He tore through the Iron Lotus like a fever dream of chrome and vengeance, leaving only silence in his wake. Trapped within a dying suit of scavenged iron, he chose to detonate his own existence rather than yield an inch of Neo-Kowloon. He died as he lived: a kinetic force of nature, burning bright until the core finally claimed him. The slaughterhouse became his tomb, and the city his final, scorched ultimatum.