Elena didn't scream. She didn't freeze. Whether it was the "Kang Training" from the night before or pure corporate spite, she lunged for the industrial control panel. She slammed her palm onto the "Emergency Purge" button.
Suddenly, the floor tiles retracted, revealing a series of high-pressure floor nozzles.
Sploosh!
A mixture of industrial-grade floor wax and liquid soap flooded the entrance. The remaining two bounty hunters, guns drawn, immediately lost all traction. They looked like cartoon characters, their legs spinning in place as they slid toward the back of the shop.
"Master! They're ruining the wax!" Min-jun shouted, leaping over the counter.
Old Man Kang appeared from the ceiling—literally—dropping from a ventilation duct like a heavy, disgruntled spider. He landed on the second assassin's shoulders, his knees locking around the man's neck.
"My wax! My beautiful floor!" Kang roared, delivering a series of rapid-fire palm strikes to the man's temples. "Do you know how hard it is to get boot scuffs out of marble-composite?"
Min-jun, meanwhile, engaged the third hunter. The man swung a heavy combat knife, but Min-jun parried it with a wet, heavy towel he had soaked in a bucket of bleach. He snapped the towel like a whip—CRACK—blinding the man momentarily.
Using the "Wring-Dry" technique, Min-jun grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it 180 degrees, and disarmed him with a sickening pop.
"Next time," Min-jun whispered, pinning the hunter against a vibrating washing machine, "check the Yelp reviews. We don't take walk-ins without an appointment."
The three bounty hunters were eventually bundled into a single oversized industrial dryer. Min-jun set the timer to "Tumble Dry - Low Heat" and turned to Elena.
She was standing there, hair frizzy from the steam, holding a heavy metal iron like a club. She looked terrifying.
"You missed a spot," she said, pointing to a stray brass casing on the floor.
Min-jun laughed, a genuine, warm sound. "You're getting good at this, VP."
"Don't call me that," she smirked, wiping a smudge of soap off her cheek. "Call me your Senior Associate of Tactical Cleaning."