Deep in the jungle of Thundarr Forest, Shecon struggles in the net trap, her powerful limbs thrashing against the woven restraints. But before she can break free, Murder Dog emerges from the shadows, his bare skull gleaming in the dim moonlight. His empty sockets lock onto her as he raises a metal canister.
Shecon grits her teeth and reaches for her boomerang, but a thick mist bursts from the canister, engulfing her face. Sleepy mushroom mist. She coughs, her body instantly growing weak, her vision blurring. Her limbs feel like stone, her mind sinking into darkness. The last thing she sees before everything fades is Murder Dog’s horrific grin as he watches her fall unconscious.
When Shecon awakens, a sharp wave of pain rips through her body. Her vision is hazy, but the burning sensation of open wounds snaps her fully awake.
She gasps—she’s chained to two thick jungle trees, her arms stretched out, her body completely exposed. Cold air bites at her bare skin, but worse than that are the cut scars marring her flesh, blood oozing from deep gashes. She winces, feeling the sting of each wound.
A chilling voice rasps beside her.
“Awake already? Good. I wanted you to feel this before you die.”
Shecon’s head tilts weakly to the side. Murder Dog stands before her, gripping his sickle knife, its blade stained with fresh blood—her blood.
Her body is too weak to resist. She’s drowning in her own pool of blood, her strength fading.
Murder Dog takes his time with Shecon, carving into her flesh with slow, deliberate strokes of his sickle blade. Her body jerks with each agonizing cut, but she is too weak to scream, too drained to fight back. Blood runs in thin rivulets down her bare skin, pooling beneath her in the dirt. Murder Dog watches with sick pleasure, tilting his skull-faced head as he admires his work. “The mighty Shecon,” he taunts, dragging the tip of the blade down her thigh, adding another deep, stinging wound. “Where’s all that strength now?” He leans in close, his hollow sockets inches from her face. “You’re just another prey in my jungle.” With one final, cruel gash across her stomach, he steps back, savoring her trembling, broken form before raising his sickle for the final blow.
Murder Dog raises the sickle. “I’ve carved you up nicely,” he muses, admiring his work. “Now, let’s finish this.”
He swings—
THUNK!
A flash of steel strikes Murder Dog’s wrist, knocking the sickle from his grasp. He lets out a distorted snarl and spins toward the darkness of the jungle.
A figure steps into the moonlight.
Falcon.
His sharp gaze lands on Shecon’s beaten, bleeding form before turning to Murder Dog, fury burning in his eyes.
“You shouldn’t have touched her,” Falcon growls, his voice seething with rage.
Murder Dog chuckles darkly, flexing his claws. “Falcon. You’re too late. Shecon is dying, and you’re about to join her.”
Without hesitation, Falcon lunges.
The jungle erupts into chaos as Falcon lunges at Murder Dog, his fists a blur of fury. He slams a brutal punch into Murder Dog’s ribs, the impact sending a sickening crack through the night air. Murder Dog stumbles back, his clawed feet digging into the damp earth as he snarls in rage. But he is fast—unnaturally fast.
Before Falcon can follow up, Murder Dog twists his body and slashes outward, his razor-sharp claws raking across Falcon’s arm. A deep gash tears through flesh, and blood spurts into the air, splattering onto the jungle floor. Falcon grits his teeth against the pain, his breath coming in short, heated bursts. He doesn’t have time to recover—Murder Dog is already coming for him again.
Falcon’s instincts take over. He sidesteps the next deadly swipe, ducking just in time as Murder Dog’s claws slash through empty air. In that split second, Falcon pivots his stance, plants his foot into the ground, and delivers a devastating right hook straight into Murder Dog’s jaw.
CRACK!
The force of the punch is like a sledgehammer. Murder Dog’s head snaps sideways, saliva and blood spraying from his mouth as his skull-faced form goes airborne. He crashes into the jungle floor, skidding through the dirt, breaking branches, and toppling loose rocks. Leaves rain down from the impact as the predator groans, momentarily stunned.
Falcon stands over him, fists clenched, his muscles tensed like a predator ready to strike. His arm throbs from the wound, blood still dripping, but his focus is unshaken. Murder Dog picked the wrong fight.
Falcon breathes heavily, sweat and blood dripping from his skin. His gaze snaps to Shecon—her breathing is shallow, barely there. He rushes to her, breaking the chains with brute force.
She slumps forward into his arms, her body cold and lifeless.
Behind him, Murder Dog slowly rises, gripping another hidden blade.
Falcon reacts instantly. He grabs the sickle from the ground and hurls it with deadly accuracy. The blade sinks into Murder Dog’s shoulder, pinning him against the tree.
Murder Dog howls in pain, thrashing, but Falcon strides forward and delivers a bone-crushing knee to his face. The sickening crack of breaking bone echoes through the jungle.
Murder Dog’s body slumps. Unconscious. Defeated.
Falcon wastes no more time. He lifts Shecon’s bloodied, naked body into his arms, holding her tightly. Her head rests against his chest, her breath weak but still there.
“You’re going to make it,” he vows, his voice a mix of rage and desperation.
With one final glance at the motionless Murder Dog, Falcon disappears into the jungle, carrying Shecon toward safety.
