Kang Fu never says what he means directly. He has tried once or twice. It didn't take. He speaks in the language of metaphor, timing, and deliberate pause — and if you listen carefully enough, usually after the moment has passed, you realise he told you exactly what was going to happen.

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His kangaroo heritage gives him legs that function like industrial spring coils. His standing jump is six metres. His running jump has not been accurately measured because the measuring equipment keeps ending up in another postcode. His kick — deployed properly, in the form of a spinning back-heel that he has been refining since he was five years old — has been described by Commander Victor as "a missile with a belt in martial arts."

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Kang Fu's kangaroo bloodline traces to Murramarang, on the NSW South Coast — the one place in Australia where kangaroos are famous enough to have their own beach. He was raised, as a human, in Fish Creek, Victoria, in a household where silence was considered the highest form of communication. He arrived at Dr. Lilly Pilly's lab already competent in four martial arts disciplines and completely unimpressed by chaos. He remains unimpressed by chaos. He finds chaos instructive.

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He folds origami mid-conversation. He is not aware this is unusual. The pieces are always relevant to the topic — a crane for patience, a fox for a cunning plan, a surprisingly accurate cane toad on at least one documented occasion.

The team rarely understands him in the moment. They always understand him later.

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