Jill Young originally went out just to relax and clear her mind, but when the third guy whistled at her, she couldn't help but imagine a giant cross popping up over her head in frustration.
Seeing that little punk's annoying face, Jill caught a flash of that skinny creep from her dream. Although this thug was a lot beefier than the dream guy, Jill still decided to throw hands.
Normally, when a guy whistles at a girl, she either bolts or maybe yells something back—some might even secretly enjoy it. But Jill? She just went straight for a beatdown!
Once she made a move, it was quick and clean.
She grabbed the punk’s wrist, flipped it, stepped behind him, and pressed down hard. His arm twisted painfully behind his head, and he dropped to his knees, howling in pain.
A passing auntie glanced over with a mouthful of Shanghai accent: "These little punks, they deserve a lesson!"
Jill flashed the auntie a smile. "You said it!" Then she bent down to deal with the thug some more.
She drove her knee into his back, yanked his elbow with both hands—crack! The thug let out a sharp scream, foamed at the mouth, and collapsed.
Judging by the look of it, probably not a fracture, but definitely a dislocation. Jill stood up, dusted off her hands, and said coolly, "You think I learned assassination skills for nothing?"
That poor thug, of all the things he could've done, he really shouldn't have messed with Jill Young when she was at her most irritable and chaotic.