Split Victory

© 2026 Zoe Taylor

In which the twins experience their own forms of euphoric reforging of their previously shatterd defenses and world views. Tiffany experiences the embrace of the Static offshoot branch calling themselves simply "The Out Group" and the most brutal MMA training of her entire life, while Morgan learns that presenting as a girl doesn't mean she has to give up being the badass Kenpo master of the phantom blitz

3:55 P.M., three days past the AA division championship and Tiffani’s surprise upset and subsequent victory, she walked into her taekwondo school expecting a normal class or a seminar. She did not expect to almost very literally walk into Liberty, who was waiting for her inside the door with a shark-like grin on her face, her vibrant red hair pinned back and braided for combat.

“Heya Barbie. Miss me?” she asked with an almost, but not quite sing song in her voice, clearly up to something.

“Oh, Liberty, hey!” Tiffani said, either not noticing, or more likely, giving Liberty the benefit of the doubt as she approached her former rival and frenemy. “What’s up?”

“You did me a solid at the tournament,” Liberty answered more seriously this time. “I can’t let that go unpaid. So, I talked with your coach. She’s okayed it, so I want you to meet some friends of mine.”

“Okay?” Tiffani asked cautiously as she followed Liberty, who led her down the hallway and off to one of the practice sparring rooms, large enough to fit a regulation size 20 foot mat, and barely much else. Inside the room Jade was standing, leaning lightly on her crutches with a whistle around her neck.

Chatting warmly with Jade was an older girl, probably 15 or 16 with short, frost white tipped hair, and wearing rainbow muay thai leg wraps. Seated on the mat next to them, eyes closed and in lotus position was a girl Tiffani at first thought had to be much younger just based on her small stature, until she noticed the girl, dressed in loose white clothing, wore a black belt with a red stripe, signifying a second degree of mastery in whatever art she was trained.

“The fly has entered the spiders’ lair,” the short statured 2nd degree blackbelt said calmly without opening her eyes.

“This,” Liberty said, “Is the Out Group - Jade is an honorary member because she’s just a bad-ass like that,” she added playfully.

“Welcome,” the muay thai girl said. “I’m Mary-Lynn Porter. I’ll be busting your ass today.” She grinned as she cracked her knuckles.

“Len Syong,” the short statured girl stated as she rose from her lotus position like an unfolding flower blossom, moving with the kind of gymnastic precision that Tiffani could only dream of. “I will educate you in how Taiji is not just for retirees in a city park.”

“And I’ll be your timekeeper,” Jade said with a sheepish giggle. “I mean, I guess I could invent crutch fu, but I’m already injured and don’t need to make it worse.”

Mary Lynn gave Jade the side eye, and then giggled. “You know what? I’d actually pay good money to see you in a weapons form comp with a crutch as a weapon.”

“You’re a ringer, even if you weren’t meant to be,” Jade said, “But I wouldn’t have given you my slot if I didn’t believe in you.”

“I won’t admit this to just anybody,” Liberty added, “But, I know god damn full well if you hadn’t pulled that kick in the final seconds I’d be in a hospital picking bits of safety glass out of my face for the next month. You’re fast, and you’ve got excellent control, but, you’ve only ever faced TKD fighters before. If you’ll have us, Tiff, we’d like to help you prepare for the 6A global Champions’ Cup.”

“This is a joke right?” Tiffani asked. “You’re pranking me for a TikTok?”

“I resent that accusation,” Len said, but smiled as she said it.

“We’re the ones NAMASA crops out of group photos,” Mary Lynn shrugged. “But we show up anyway, and we win.”

“Jade and Liberty both have told us you’re the fastest TKD striker they’ve ever seen,” Len said. “I want to see this for myself.”

As Tiffani stared down Mary Lynn from the safety of her acrylic face shield, across the city Morgan stared down a whole different challenge. The therapist had recommended some ‘mother daughter bonding time’ as a means for Morgan to intentionally break out of her self imposed cage by quite literally stepping into a world that, to her had hither to been completely alien.

She made the mistake of joking that her hair would be far too short for her to do anything special with it for several months even if she started to grow it now, to which Tori happily chimed in with two words: hair extensions.

As Tiffani found herself grounded to the mat, she soon realized Jade wasn’t going to blow the whistle or call a point.

“Move it, Princess. You’re going to be fighting six or seven opponents in a day!” Mary Lynn barked as she made to stomp on Tiffani. She wasn’t actually going to stomp on her, and even if she did, Tiffani had her protective padding, but protective padding could still hurt like the Devil with enough applied force, something Tiffani was keen to avoid.

“We’ve got to build up your stamina and your critical thinking,” Liberty said. “One minute rounds, no breaks. You score points or you get smashed.”

Tiffani performed a Crane press-up, planting her palms firmly and forcing herself up from a sitting position, she tucked her legs underneath her and leapt to her feet and into a tiger stance,m ready to continue.

Morgan felt the hydraulics lift her up in front of the mirror.

“Let’s just double check the length,” the stylist said, holding a sample of extensions, a near-perfect match to Morgan’s honey wheat blonde, against her short hair briefly. “Is this right?” she asked.

Tori looked up from her magazine that, in all honesty, she hadn’t turned a page in the entire time since she’d picked it up and grinned over at Morgan and the stylist, giving an approving nod. Suzanne on the other hand, circled the chair with the critical eye of someone who did not study color theory - she lived and died by it.

"No, not quite," she said. "I mean yeah, the length is good, but when she makes it to the televised Night of Champions she's going to be under intense stage lighting. It's going to wash out against her black gi if we don't go about a half shade cooler."

The stylist gave Suzanne a stunned look. Game recognized game, though. "You know I hadn't thought of that, but you're absolutely right. When I did Julie Sloan's hair we had that exact same problem. I kicked myself for a month for not taking her highlights down a notch before her match."

“It needs to be long for the tournament,” Morgan said. “I need to be able to braid and pin it securely. They’re going to look natural won’t they?”

“Honey, by the time I’m finished you’ll swear you always had Princess locks,” the stylist answered matter-of-factly as she got to work.

“Is it one minute yet?” Tiffani groaned as, for the sixth time in as many seconds she found herself peeling her body off the floor. She didn’t have the energy for another crane press instead opting for a more simplistic Butterfly spiral, which ironically actually looked flashier, but used much less energy to achieve the same goal of not having Mary Lynn’s size 9 boot stomping on her chest guard.

“You wish,” Liberty said. “30 seconds left on the clock.”

“Bullshit. You’re adding seconds,” Tiffani snarled.

“You JUST now figured that out?” Mary Lynn grinned, flashing an ice blue mouth guard that matched the frosted hair nicely.

“That’s not fair!” Tiffani whined as she finally managed to land a point on Mary Lynn, a sharp kihap following a spinning heel kick that, had it hit with full force, would easily have knocked Mary Lynn off her feet, but for Tiffani’s control, it only grazed her.

“The fly may, in fact, be a mosquito - or a bee,” Len said thoughtfully at the sudden offensive surge.

“I never said it would be, Barbie,” Liberty shot back. “I told you, we need to build your endurance. If you can survive a round against all three of us consecutively under these rules, you can go the distance in a stop and go easy.”

“You could also try... Not falling down as much,” Len said, cocking her head slightly. “Just a thought.”

“You’re next, girlie,” Tiffani growled lightly, getting a genuine laugh out of both Len and Liberty. Mary Lynn smoothly slid to one side and motioned with her hand. Len wasted no time in taking her place.

“What, seriously?” Tiffani squeaked. “I was just joking!”

“You have to be prepared for anything,” Len said in a calm tone, motioning gently for Tiffani to try and strike her. In a mixed tournament you won’t always face a strict one style opponent. Me, for example.”

Tiffani lunged, attempted a slide hook kick, and found only air. A moment later she found Len had a grip on her ankle and was using her momentum to send her flying to the mat.

“That’s another minute,” Liberty lied smoothly, pretending to click the stop watch. She wouldn’t admit it, but they were gaslighting the absolute hell out of Tiffani. They had to. They had to push her to her absolute limits, her breaking point, and then push her even more.

“God damit!” Tiffani hissed, pushing herself up.

“That’s another row down,” the stylist announced, having been joined by an assistant somewhere around rows one and two, as Morgan watched the growth from rat tail into mullet, biting back a small laugh.

“I look like a blonde Billy Ray Cyrus,” she teased, staring at her reflection.

“Oh, don’t worry sweetie,” the stylist almost cackled, breaking her professionalism for only a moment. “When we’re finished you’ll be Hannah Montana 2.0. You know these actually give you an advantage by the way?” she said, distracting Morgan.

“Really?” she asked.

“Oh absolutely,” the assistant said. “These style extensions are so, so much easier to braid than real hair because of the way they’re sectioned. And under intense lighting you won’t have to worry about the glue failing.”

“That’s good. I’d hate to be in the middle of a reverse fist strike and send my hair flying across the mat without me.”

That got another laugh from the stylist and her assistant,, as Tiffani ate gym mat again.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be learning from all this,” Tiffani moaned. Her muscles ached. This had been the longest... however many minutes it had been of her life. She’d lost count of the penalty time added. Meanwhile Len and Mary Lynn hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“”None of this crap is legal in a points comp.”

“Exactly,” Liberty said as she leapt in front of Tiffani, causing her to jump back as Len stepped aside. “Penalty! Out of bounds!”

“GOD DAMIT!” Tiffani shrieked and performed a standing side kick that, despite her frustration, only lightly grazed Liberty’s chest plate.

“Point, pink,” Len announced cheerfully.

“And you’re still in control, too,” Liberty said with a broad grin, flashing her purple bite guard at Tiffani. It wasn’t a grimace or a glare like the first time. It was genuine surprise, a little bit of awe and respect.

“I’m trying to empty my cup,” Tiffani answered. “But if I don’t get some water soon I’m going to empty my guts instead.”

“Just 30 more seconds,” Jade lied. “Come on T-Bird. You can do this.”

“Hell yeah you can,” Liberty said. She moved, briefly, to a non combatant ready stance and extended her glove to Tiffani. “Come on, don’t quit on me now?” she asked, seemingly sensing Tiffani was near her breaking point. Tiffani stretched out her glove and tapped Liberty’s gently. She gave a nod and then slid into an offensive forward stance.

“Thatta girl,,” Liberty grinned proudly as Len leaned over to Mary Lynn and stage whispered quite loudly.

“Should I be jealous?”

“Mary Lynn, laughing, nodded. “I would be if I was you. Blondie’s going to steal your girlfriend, AND her seed if you don’t watch her.”

“HEY!” Tiffani said, turning sharply to glare at them. She earned a firm tap on the side of her headgear from Liberty for her trouble.

“Focus, Barbie. The next time we spar like this you’re going to have a lot more than just Len and Mary Lynn taunting you.”

“Oh, Christ there’s a next time?” Tiffani groaned, but shifted her weight, determined to pay Liberty back for the ‘love tap’ on her headgear.

“Last row’s done,” the stylist announced proudly, and then pulled out a pair of silver scissors. “Now, we make art,” she said playfully. “Just kidding. I’m going to style it so that it hangs naturally, but you’ll still be very easily able to braid it into either a French braid or a long back braid to your preference.”

As the stylist and her assistant worked, the jingly silver bell above the door chimed and a woman in a charcoal blazer stepped through, her Italian heels clicking softly on the textured linoleum. Without approaching the check in station, she simply took a seat right next to Tori, lifting a perfectly manicured finger to tuck a stray strand of platinum blonde hair behind an ear.

Morgan caught the motion in the reflection of the mirror, sitting at the perfect angle to meet the stranger’s gaze: too still and calculating; she measured Morgan up like a butcher eyeing a prized cut.

“You alright?” the stylist asked, causing Morgan to blink, breaking the stare down with the stranger whose cool, gray eyes seemed almost to be studying her, or grading her. The woman stood up again, quietly leaving as quickly as she had appeared.

“Huh? Oh yeah, just nervous,” she lied. It wasn’t nervousness, exactly, but a different, more prickly kind of anxiety, like she was being sized up by an opponent right before a fight.

“Time!” Jade announced. Tiffani quite literally collapsed into Mary-Lynn’s arms. The taller girl, surprised, managed to catch her and helped her to the ground, pulling off her facegear. “Hey, you okay in there?” she said, fanning Tiffani’s exposed face with her hand.

Tiffani stuck out her tongue at Mary Lynn, and Liberty laughed. “Yeah, she’s okay. Here, get yourself rehydrated. You’ve earned this,” she said, handing Tiffani a water bottle.

“Just so you know,” Tiffani said, panting between deep drinks of water, “I fucking hate you and love you at the same time.”

“True balance,” Len said with a soft giggle as she knelt down beside Tiffani, wrapping a prepared cold towel around her neck.

Morgan hadn’t originally intended on having her nails done, but since she was stuck in the chair for almost an hour anyway, had decided to just go for it. She was embracing the full experience, alien though it seemed, and so had agreed to let Suzanne pick out the color. Of course, she chose cotton candy pink. Morgan had at least been able to stand firm on the lack of acrylic nail extensions though.

“Those are too dangerous. Even in the girls’ division they have to have short nails so they don’t break through a glove,” she had explained. Still, it wasn’t bad. Just the simple change of hair and nails had shifted her drab looking outfit from a black t-shirt and jeans to, well, a black t-shirt and jeans accented with luxurious locks, what the stylist had dubbed princess hair, and perfectly manicured neon pink nails.
When they left the salon, Morgan heard the hyena cackle of howling, intense laughter. “Holy mother of God,” the boy said, snapping a pic of Morgan with his phone. “Morgan is that you? You look like a sigma sissy bruh! I gotta put this on TikTok lulz.”
‘Lulz’? Seriously? Morgan actually felt a wave of second-hand embarrassment. His tryhard energy had gone through the roof like he was trying to audition to be an extra on iCarly 20 years ago, and even failed at that. Morgan shook her head, moving to step around him.
He shoved the camera in Morgan’s face, and she noticed his lead foot, unbalanced and wrist overextended. without a shout or even a spirited ‘Kya!’ but just a lightning fast movement, Morgan’s pink nails were wrapped around his wrist, a sharp contrast to the drab gray hoodie
She could have snapped his wrist in three places, but instead she shifted, using his own momentum and precise application of force at the fulcrum where the boy’s ego met his anatomy, and using her other hand as a brace, executed a swift, but practiced and careful takedown.
His center of gravity evaporated and he felt the cold pavement pressing lightly against his cheek before his brain could even register, the phone clattering to the ground, face down just a few inches away and recording silent testament to the surprisingly painless takedown.

The boy struggled helpless and pinned by awkward geometry, seemingly well aware that pain could, in fact, enter the equation very easily, and a very brief moment of silence passed between them filled only by the chemical smell of road clearing salt, mixed with the salon fresh product in her hair.
“Empty your cup, and then, maybe fill it with some manners.” She tapped him on the forehead with her index and middle fingers, mimicking a light contact tournament point strike, and wasting no more energy, she stood, climbed into her mom’s SUV, and closed the door. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she said quietly.

“Morgan,” Tori said, starting the car, “That’s the most impressive show of martial arts that I have seen in my entire life.”

“It’s just a simple wrist lock takedown-” Morgan tried to downplay it. Tori cut her off.

“Not the wrist lock, although you executed that beautifully. I’m talking about your restraint. I am so, so proud of you right now,” she said, smiling wide as she leaned over to squeeze Morgan’s forearm, grounding her in the here and now in the process. “Let’s go get some takeout.”

“Hey, Morgan,” Suzanne spoke up from the backseat, “I didn’t want to interrupt your Zen or whatever so I didn’t say anything before, but, was that chick with the Bond villain hair a friend of yours or something?”

Morgan glanced at the side view mirror half expecting to see the strange woman’s reflection, maybe riding a motorcycle or walking along the sidewalk just behind them. She shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen her before.”