What about now?
And at some point you go grab lunch — they’re still building.
What to do?

Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.

A shark keeps moving — its system doesn’t allow it to stop, or it drowns.
It needs a constant flow of water through its gills for oxygen to enter the blood. There’s no “reserve,” no pause button. Even asleep, sharks keep swimming — half the brain resting while the body still cuts through the water. Their world is simple: move or die.
For a shark, motion is survival.
For me — same thing.

Silence lets me breathe deeper, steadier, which only tightens the knot inside. Because I know what comes next — anxiety pulling up in a BMW, doors opening, shady guys spilling out, pushing me to the wall:

Mother!
But.
Wait.
I’m not alone anymore.

They’re all here: Him, Codie, the Aristocrat, the Chessmaster, Sophie with the kids, and Roman.
Wait—Roman?!
That stubborn boy never listens.
— Roman! For God’s sake, I told you to stay home!
— No!
— How dare you…
Oh God.
— We’ll talk about this at home.
When did this kid get so strong, strong enough to dare stand at my side as an equal?
I’ll tell him one day when he’s grown. But right now, I’m damn proud of him.
A quick glance, a spark between me and Him.
Damn Sagittarians.

Guys, strike a pose — come on, Po taught us this!
They’re showing off.
Whatever.
The point is, I’m not alone anymore.
Me and my crew — together.
We’re badass.
I’m not alone. Not anymore.
God, in this world, on this massive planet, I actually found my people!

Silence — yes, sometimes it’s a lull. Dead, cold, ugly, pathetic. But I say this: we stand in a circle, strike the pose, camera pans around, everyone with nunchucks.
Kiya! Kiya!

The camera sweeps around:
— A squint. He tests his grip, shoulders loose — ready to spring.
Muscles cold, steps smooth, quiet before the strike. Eyes sharp, locked.
A predator licks his lips, tasting the air.
And then it hits me: brain dumps dopamine and cortisol all at once, body drowning in the contrast. Heart racing, muscles wired with current, skin sensing his move before eyes do. Every part of me reacts.

—Codie rolls up his sleeves, fingers snapping like a promise of impact.
—The Chessmaster scans the battlefield like a board: hand shifts ever so slightly —e2 to e4. Checkmate in three moves already mapped. A step left, a glance right, the trap is set.
—The Aristocrat adjusts his white gloves like he’s about to waltz, not fight. Delicate? Maybe. But with those gloves he drops two men — so smooth, so elegant, they look like they fainted out of politeness.
—Sophie stands shielding the kids. She doesn’t fight. Her gestures are shelter, her stance a fortress. Around her, they’re untouchable.
—Me— in the center of the circle. Breathing steady. The storm begins.

And then they’re down already, sprawled across the ground like in Spies in Disguise— a heap of useless bodies, knocked out in a single blast of our energy.

— Whoa! — Po’s eyes pop wide. — That was insane! Guys, do you even realize how freaking awesome you are?!
— Yeah, man, I know. Sorry, but you and your Furious Five never stood a chance next to us.
Monkey claps his hands. 

The next frame — like a poster: badass cars behind us, neon reflected in the glass, all of us in Ray-Bans, steam rising in the night air.

We lock eyes — in the next second, we bump fists.
A sign the job’s done.
And then the music kicks in — “I’m coming out, I want the world to know…” — blasting through the night like. Go, Diana, light it up!
Doors slam in sync. Music up.
And we keep burning through life.