She turns and forces her legs to an easy jogging run. She runs up the block, turns the corner, then another, then sprints down the alleyway passing the rear of the headquarters. She completes a full circuit of the block and starts another. The crowded sidewalks are no problem. A path always opens before her, and she saves her sprints for the alleyway. She goes on for an hour, then two, then climbs the stairs to the headquarters roof and, sword in hand, begins the dance of death, the kata of One Thousand Enemies. The ritualized movements are agonizingly slow and demand more of her than any amount of mere running. The sweat is soon pouring off her in rivers, every muscle crying in a chorus of torment, but the song is one of power, the power of flesh, spirit, and mind blending in perfect harmony, like the steel of a Masamune sword, forged to near-perfection.