END OF TRAINING
The training session ended in heavy silence; Brock returned to his cell. Lying on his thin mattress, he replayed the conversation with 100.
She knows Im awakened and there is a problem with the space, he mused, staring at the ceiling. But from the way she said she thinks it's some kind of variant." That's good. But nothing is free. Helping a "fellow survivor"? No, she wants something. The suspicion gnawed at him. What if Stone sent her? What if this is a test? By the time the lights dimmed, his mind was set, he would refuse the offer. The next morning, Brock went to the training hall as usual. Stone's gaze no longer just showed disappointment. It now had a tinge of indifference. He gestured toward a table not too far away, and on it lay two pairs of daggers. "From now onwards you will be sparring against each other," Stone commanded. "Fight"
The fight began,
Brock moved first, his kickboxing training kicking. He lunged forward with a tape kick aimed at 100's midsection. She swiveled her hips with feline grace, the kick whistling past her ribs as she brought her right dagger up in a reverse grip.
Clang!!
The sound of steel meeting steel echoed through the hall as Brock parried her thrust. He rolled his shoulder, leaning into a heavy cross-punch that forced 100 back. For a moment, Brock had the upper hand; he used his superior reach to rain down a series of jabs and low-line cuts. He feinted a high slash, then dropped levels, sweeping his leg across the floor to take her down. 100 leapt over the sweep, but Brock was already rising, driving a knee toward her upper abdomen. It connected with a muffled thud.
She used the momentum of his strike to spin, her daggers becoming a silver whirlwind. Brock felt the wind of a blade graze his cheek. He threw a desperate roundhouse kick to reset the distance, but 100 caught his shin against her hip, trapping his leg, and drove her shoulder into his chest. Brock hit the ground hard. He rolled instantly, slashing blindly to keep 100 away, but she moved with a terrifying flexibility. Brock managed to catch her wrist, twisting his body to throw her over his hip, but as she went airborne, she planted a hand on his shoulder and flipped, landing behind him wrapping her arm around his neck. Before he could even spin around, a cold, blunt edge pressed firmly against the side of his neck. Brock froze.
Stone watched from the sides as he stuck his palm with bat.
" Again"
Brock had learnt his lesson fro the fight, previously when he lost the upperhand, he lost his cool and was only thinking about how to get it back. They circled each other like wolves. Brock kept his daggers held in a neutral grip. He wasn't rushing in anymore.
100 lunged first, striking with a mid-level roundhouse kick. Brock didn't try to catch it this time. He stepped deep into her guard, letting the force of her shin collide with his shoulder to dull the impact, then used the momentum to pivot. As she spun from the missed contact, Brock drove his elbow toward her temple while simultaneously slashing his dagger in a low arc toward her ribs. 100 dropped her weight instantly. She hit the floor with one hand, spinning her body in a low sweep that forced Brock to hop backward. As he landed, she was already springing up, her daggers blurred into a "figure-eight" pattern that forced Brock into a desperate defensive retreat.
"Clang!! Clank!! Skree !!
The sound of the dull metal grinding together set Brock's teeth on edge. 100 stepped in with a stiff lead jab, but Brock slipped his head to the outside, the blade whistling past his ear. He countered by grabbing her forearm and pulling her forward, using her own charging speed against her. He threw a heavy knee toward her midsection, but 100 blocked it with her shin, creating a "shield" with her leg.
They were locked in a stalemate, chest-to-chest, straining against each other's strength. Brock could see the sweat beading on 100's forehead.
He suddenly gave way, dropping his resistance. As 100 stumbled forward from the lack of pressure, Brock spun in a complete circle executing a spinning back-fist motion, but with the butt of his dagger. 100 ducked, the wind of the strike ruffling her hair, and she came up with a twin thrust aimed at his chest.
Brock swiped both his blades downward, catching her wrists and pinning them to his waist. At the same moment, 100 brought her forehead forward in a sharp snap, and Brock met her halfway. Their heads collided with a sickening thwack.
Both recoiled, blood trickling from their brows. They didn't stop. They surged back in, a chaotic symphony of kicks, slashes, and parries. Brock managed to land a clean "push-kick" to her chest, sending her back three steps, but as he moved to capitalize his advantage, 100 threw her dagger with aim of not hitting, but to distract.
Brock batted the flying metal away, but in that split second, 100 was on him, her remaining blade at his ribs. Simultaneously, Brock's blade was pressed firmly against her collarbone.
They stood frozen, panting, eyes locked. Neither had the advantage. Stone watched the thin lines of blood on both their faces. He simply tapped his bat against the floor
"Draw," he muttered. "Again!"
After four more duels, no one had was able to up the other. Finally, Stone stepped forward, discarding his bat and rolling his shoulders. "Enough," he rumbled. "Both of you. Against me." Stone took a stance hulking over them like a mountain. Brock and 100 traded a single, silent glance, an unspoken pact forming in the heat of the moment. They moved together, flanking him.
Brock threw low, chopping kick toward Stone's leg, while 100 wielded her daggers flashing toward his collarbone. Stone didn't move until the last microsecond. With the explosive grace of a Taekwondo master, he shifted his weight, his back leg whipped upward in a lightning-fast "question mark" kick. His foot bypassed Brock's guard entirely, slamming into the side of Brock's head with the force of a sledgehammer.
Brock spun away, his vision blurring as he hit the floor.
100 didn't hesitate. She transitioned from her dagger strike into a spinning back-kick, aiming for Stone's chest. Stone simply leaned back, the sole of her boot missing his chest by an inch and caught her mid-air. He grabbed her ankle, swung her like a weight, and launched her directly into the recovering Brock. The two collided with a tangle of limbs. Before they could untangle, Stone was on them.
He didn't use weapons instead his limbs were the weapons. He rained down "hammer-fists", vertical punches using the bottom of his closed hand, shattering their attempts to block. When Brock tried to push up, Stone delivered a "teep" kick, a straight thrust with the ball of his foot that sent Brock sliding across the polished floor like a puck on ice. 100 managed to scramble to her feet, her face a mask of crimson. She drove her daggers in a desperate slash. Stone performed a jumping roundhouse kick. His body rotated in the air, his shin connecting with 100's ribs with a sickening crack that echoed through the hall. She was folded in half by the impact, hitting the ground and sliding until she hit the base of a training puppet.
Brock, coughing up blood, forced himself up. His left eye was swollen, and his breath came in burning stabs. He charged, throwing a desperate punch, leaping forward and throwing his weight behind a straight right hand. Stone didn't even flinch. He slipped the punch to the inside, grabbed Brock's neck, and delivered a devastating knee strike directly into his chest.
The silence that followed was heavy with the sound of ragged breathing. Stone stood in the center of the room, his uniform barely ruffled, his knuckles the only part of him stained with blood that's not his. Brock lay on his side, his fingers twitching toward a dropped dagger he could no longer reach. A few feet away, 100 was slumped against the wall. Her lip was torn, and she clutched her side, her face pale as she struggled to pull air into her lungs. "Tomorrow," Stone said, his shadow stretching over them, "during your next duel, you either draw the blood of your opponent, or you go against me and end up in this state again. Or worse." With that, he turned on his heel and left the hall, metallic door hissing shut behind him.
Day after day, the training hall floor was stained with fresh layers of red with Brock and 100 going against each other until one is bloodied pulp and if they failed to draw enough blood from each other, Stone would step in like an unstoppable force of nature, leaving them both broken and gasping for air.
Yet, through this brutal attrition, Brock's body began to transform. The constant trauma forced his nervous system to adapt and his resilience to pain skyrocketed. Strikes that once would have made him flinch now felt like dull thuds. His mind began to detach from the physical sensation of injury, allowing him to stay focused even when his skin was split.
Finally, it was left with two more days before their first mission arrived. A week ago, the facility's had protocols shifted, the mandatory bald shave were replaced by a period of grooming in which they were allowed to grow their hair back, a small luxury that felt alien.