That guy: Training Day 2

“PUSH. IT. YOU LITTLE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!”



I come screeching around the corner. Not alone. Another trap. I shift my balance to my legs, dropping me to the floor, sending me skidding into my obstacles legs. He collapses on top of me. I smash my fist into his face, feeling the ever familiar break. Probably his jaw. Maybe the zygomatic as well. Either way, he stays down. Even though the whole encounter has taken less than a second, I’ve wasted too much time.



“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TAKING SO LONG FOR?!?!?!?”



I throw myself back up on my feet, and break full tilt back into the endless winding corridors. The reduced lighting makes it hard to tell what awaits me. Left turns into right. Right turns into up. I charge on, narrowly avoiding corner after corner.

WHAM……….


A staff swings from nowhere, no, from the next turn, crashing into my chest.
I go down with a grunt.


“FUCKING. SLOPPY.”


I glare in my head, but I have no chance to actually get upset. The figure standing over me brings the staff crashing down, and I barely roll myself out of the way. Rolling to my side, I can feel the damage. Fractured rib. I push it down, and grab the staff on its way up for another strike, hoisting me with it. I drop my shoulder on him, spearing him in the stomach. His turn to fall. I grab the staff and swing the top into the side of his head like a golfer. He goes limp, blood pooling underneath him. I drop the staff and start to run again.



A light pops into existence, ever so faint in the distance. I know where I have to go. Fuck.



“GET A FUCKING MOVE ON YOU LITTLE CUNT!”


I breeze through the last part of the labyrinth like corridors. No more obstacles. A moment of respite, knowing what is to come.

The light is clear now. A little strip of white under a door. From the darkness, step into the light, and find salvation, or so they say.

There is no salvation here.

I stop at the door.
Take a deeeeeep breath.
And kick the door in.

A knife comes zipping through the air. I can’t move in time. The cold piercing steel lands right in my side. The shock brings me to life. The dwindling adrenaline rush from the gauntlet returns in spades. And now I have a weapon.

I am set upon.

The blade is knocked from my hand. Fuck.

I lash out with controlled strikes. Taking just as many, if not more, as I throw.

“ENOUGH”

The beating ends.

I finally look up, raising my head from the safe cocoon of my stance. The spectator box, filled with all its computers and view screens. And Bob. The bane of my life. But the pinnacle of my skill.

He gazes down. I glare back. He sits, lofty, watching all. Seeing all. And I stand, panting, bruised, broken, bloody.

He nods at me, and walks off.

I am left deserted in the room. I stagger over to the med kit, as the reality of my actions hits my body like a train.

I cough intensely. Blood. Of course.

I pull out a towel, and wipe my hands. My knuckles are split. I couldn’t even tell from all the blood.

And then he’s there. Standing next to me. I turn and start to defend myself, but he waves it off.

Even without the amplifiers, his voice still resonates.

“Good job.”

And then he’s gone again.

I bury my face in the towel.

Another day in paradise.