[Disclaimer: Contains manipulation and violence]
Adrian bounced backwards, twirling the knife around in his hand to a reversed grip, before cleanly deflecting the blade of his opponent away from his midsection. He advanced, trying to land a follow up blow, but he didn’t have the reach like the man in front of him did, and his opponent was able to slide backwards into a fresh defensive stance, ruining Adrian’s advantage. The fight continued in the same way for the next couple exchanges, his opponent unable to land a blow on him, but Adrian was unable to close the distance enough to land his own. It was starting to piss him off. Finally, the dam broke. His opponent stepped in with a diagonal slash aimed for his neck, Adrian hopped back then corrected his momentum and launched himself forward, aiming for the man’s now exposed ribs. He’d seen a thousand openings like this, but he just needed to be fast enough to reach it… and just as he thought he had it, his opponent reeled back again, but slashed out a blow as he did so, leaving a fresh stain across Adrian’s tricep as he went by. Adrian grit his teeth, his emotions overpowering him to uselessness as his opponent stepped back in and batted away Adrian’s raised knife to deliver a slash first up his torso and then across his neck.
“End!” the Boss called out, and his opponent, an operative going by the codename “Phlegethon” stepped away. Adrian let out a frustrated snarl and let the wooden knife fall to the floor as he went to brush off the white marks of chalk left across his bare skin. “Adrian, you’re wasting my effort behaving like this. Stupid, letting your emotions control you like that.”
Adrian snapped himself to attention, aware of the disrespect he had shown the Boss, and the disappointment he had endowed them with. He spoke primly, “Sir, sorry, sir. I’m just continuing to have difficulties handling opponents with such a considerable reach advantage over me, sir.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he’d only disappointed the Boss further, and as they launched into a speech about it, Adrian reflected on his circumstances. He’d been training with the Boss for 2 years now, which meant he must’ve been around 13 or 14, he wasn’t entirely sure. While his fitness was incredible for someone his age, compared to Phlegethon, a full grown adult and veteran of the Africa campaigns, he just couldn’t compete. A part of him resented the unfairness of it. How the hell was the Boss expecting him to beat someone like Phleg? But then again, there wasn’t exactly anyone else his age to train against here, as the Boss was now explaining.
“-if you expect us to go out and find an opponent that matches you in size and age, then you’re acting petulant and foolish. Not to mention the fact that training against such a person is a waste of both my time and yours. You will not be fighting children, Adrian, you will be fighting men like Phlegethon. Even the GOC’s grunts could pick you apart as you are now, no Suit required! Dismissed, I expect you to make better use of my time tomorrow.” The Boss turned away as they delivered Adrian his dismissal, walking off to speak with one of their personal operatives, a man in green armor that Adrian did not know the name of. After a couple minutes the Boss gave the operative a nod and turned back towards Phleg. “Phlegethon, gather the Hounds, we’re wheels up in 10.”
Phlegethon gave the Boss a crisp salute, responding with a “Yes, sir. I’ll have them there in 5.” Once the Boss gave him an affirmative nod and turned away to head towards the airfield, he turned and motioned to Adrian to not leave yet as he grabbed his radio from his bag nearby, “Hound Dogs, mission got moved forward, we’re wheels up in 10 minutes, get your gear and meet me at Hangar Alpha-Two in 5.” As a series of affirmations echoed over his radio, Phleg came over to Adrian. “No hard feelings?”
Adrian’s glare met Phleg’s simple grin and he sighed and looked down, “Yeah, no hard feelings.” As he calmed down, Adrian reasoned that his anger wasn’t because of Phleg or the Boss, it was because of himself, so he shouldn’t take it out on them. “I just wish the Boss would give me the same respect as they do for you.”
“You’ll get there kid, probably faster than I did. Just keep at it. I’ll give you some pointers when we get back,” he said, still grinning. “See ya around!”
Adrian watched him go, muttering under his breath, “Yeah. I hope so.” Being the only one left in the sparring chamber now, he began to clean up, picking up the discarded training weapons and wiping up the sweat and chalk left on the mat. Once all that was done, he went back to the barracks. He shared bunks with the other SpecFor candidates, most of which were somewhere in their twenties. They were loud, they were raucous, and Adrian found most of them annoying, so he didn’t spend much time in the barracks unless he was sleeping or they were playing cards. As per usual, there were a couple new faces and a couple missing. Unless someone really messed up, no one was killed, but plenty of people were found to fall short of the Boss’s standards, and would have their memories wiped and be redeployed back to their original units.
In this instance, it was to sleep. Most of Adrian’s training was done late to keep from being interrupted, and so the barracks were quiet, save for the occasional stirring of bodies or shuffling of sheets. He was a fast but light sleeper, so he was asleep soon after he settled in.
Adrian awoke still tired as the 0500 wake up call went out. The Boss worked him hard, and he reckoned he had only snagged about 5 hours of sleep, but he was getting used to it. He still had to attend the same training and drills as the rest, on top of the extra training he received from the Boss, so his schedule was always busy. He was never exceptional, compared to everyone else, always falling somewhere towards the middle of the pack, if not a bit behind, in all manners of physical testing, but given the large age gap between him and the others this was quite impressive.
And so the days went. With the Boss out on mission, he was given a small break, though he never treated it as such. If anything he got antsy without the Boss around, going through personal drills on his own late into the night with the extra access he’d been afforded as the Boss’s “pet project,” as he was often referred to as. Though he was often simply ignored by many of the personnel on base, unless they were a part of his training, there were a couple of people that had taken a liking to him, such as Samuel, a comms technician. It was because of Samuel that Adrian knew the Boss’s team would be returning tonight, five days since they had left.
He snuck out that night. Adrian was by all accounts a perfect trainee, without any records of disciplinary action being required, but this was always the one exception he allowed himself. And so he sat up on the roof of one of the hangars, watching as the small transport plane touched down on the runway. Each of the squads here tended to use the same hangar, and so he had made sure he was in a prime position to see the disembarkation of the Boss and the Hound Dogs.
When the door opened and the troops began to file out, Adrian was not surprised to not immediately spy the Boss. They were always the first one in and the last one out, as was their way. He did feel a chill though as the last of the Hound Dogs stepped off the plane and the first of the Boss’s own operatives began to exit. This detachment had included thirteen Hound Dogs. Adrian counted seven. He squinted and examined each of the Hounds’ helmets. Each one had a decal, a little bit of personality they allowed themselves when in their gear, and Adrian felt a bit of a panic as he didn’t pick out the green flames of Phleg’s helmet. He scanned once. Twice. A third time. It wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.
The cold never bothered Adrian, but he was shivering. In a daze, he wandered back towards the barracks. Through his haze he felt someone grab him by the arm. Adrian flinched at the contact, he always hated being grabbed or touched, but his reaction was muted. Muffled. Just like the words of the MP that had found him out past curfew and in an area he didn’t have clearance for. He was half dragged half lead through the base, though he really couldn’t tell where until he found himself in a simple office.
He knew the office well. It was simplistic, with drab paint on the walls and a plaintive tiled floor. The display cases around had weapons of all sorts, including some experimental ones that never reached production. The most obvious give away was the display frame behind the plain wooden desk however. In it were rows of patches of all sorts of colors, though they all had a consistency in design motifs and a rounded shape. The two most common patches featured either a design of a hammer or a bird. The two least common featured a hand, either clutching a dagger or an arrow. Adrian simply slid himself into the chair before the desk and waited for them.
And he heard the click of the door closing behind him. He stiffened instinctually, correcting his slouch and placing his hands into his lap. The Boss walked past him to regard the wall of patches, a new one in their hand, still stained with blood. “You snuck out,” is all they said. A simple statement, not a question.
“Yes, I did,” he replied. He felt a little worm of guilt in his heart, but it was muffled by his grief. “I wanted to see who came back. Phleg wasn’t there.”
“Phlegethon is dead,” the Boss said, turning now to assess Adrian. His behavior was certainly irregular, not once in the last year had he ever forgotten to address the Boss as sir. A lesson was in order. “Your grief is not strange, Adrian, but it is unproductive.” The Boss walked forward, placing the patch on the table as they went by. They stopped beside Adrian, kneeling down to his height. They said nothing as a soft exhaling sound emitted from their armor, indicating the seal was popped, and they removed their helmet. Adrian looked up as the helmet came off. The Boss’s eyes held that same fire that they had during their first meeting, the same hardness, the same edge. “You are not alone in your grief. The Hounds grieve. I grieve. But the difference between us and you, is what we do with that grief. Phlegethon died bravely, for his comrades, fighting for a cause that he truly believed in. His sacrifice is echoed hundreds of times every day by men like him. We cannot allow it to go unanswered.”
The Boss reached out and put a steady hand on Adrian’s shoulder, and he felt the ripples of their resolve bolster his own spirit. “The man who killed him is dead. But there are thousands more like them. So you can sit here and wallow, and allow even more of us to die, or you can stand up and fight.”
Adrian steeled himself and let out a breathy sigh, “Yes, sir. I understand sir.”
“Good. We’ll be picking up your training again tomorrow. Be prepared, or you’ll come out of it with a fair few bruises,” the Boss said, turning back to settle at their desk. “Dismissed.”
Adrian stood, saluted, and left.
Adrian bounced backwards, twirling the knife around in his hand to a reversed grip, before cleanly deflecting the blade of his opponent away from his midsection. He advanced, trying to land a follow up blow, but he didn’t have the reach like the man in front of him did, and his opponent was able to slide backwards into a fresh defensive stance, ruining Adrian’s advantage. The fight continued in the same way for the next couple exchanges, his opponent unable to land a blow on him, but Adrian was unable to close the distance enough to land his own. It was starting to piss him off. Finally, the dam broke. His opponent stepped in with a diagonal slash aimed for his neck, Adrian hopped back then corrected his momentum and launched himself forward, aiming for the man’s now exposed ribs. He’d seen a thousand openings like this, but he just needed to be fast enough to reach it… and just as he thought he had it, his opponent reeled back again, but slashed out a blow as he did so, leaving a fresh stain across Adrian’s tricep as he went by. Adrian grit his teeth, his emotions overpowering him to uselessness as his opponent stepped back in and batted away Adrian’s raised knife to deliver a slash first up his torso and then across his neck.
“End!” the Boss called out, and his opponent, an operative going by the codename “Phlegethon” stepped away. Adrian let out a frustrated snarl and let the wooden knife fall to the floor as he went to brush off the white marks of chalk left across his bare skin. “Adrian, you’re wasting my effort behaving like this. Stupid, letting your emotions control you like that.”
Adrian snapped himself to attention, aware of the disrespect he had shown the Boss, and the disappointment he had endowed them with. He spoke primly, “Sir, sorry, sir. I’m just continuing to have difficulties handling opponents with such a considerable reach advantage over me, sir.” As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he’d only disappointed the Boss further, and as they launched into a speech about it, Adrian reflected on his circumstances. He’d been training with the Boss for 2 years now, which meant he must’ve been around 13 or 14, he wasn’t entirely sure. While his fitness was incredible for someone his age, compared to Phlegethon, a full grown adult and veteran of the Africa campaigns, he just couldn’t compete. A part of him resented the unfairness of it. How the hell was the Boss expecting him to beat someone like Phleg? But then again, there wasn’t exactly anyone else his age to train against here, as the Boss was now explaining.
“-if you expect us to go out and find an opponent that matches you in size and age, then you’re acting petulant and foolish. Not to mention the fact that training against such a person is a waste of both my time and yours. You will not be fighting children, Adrian, you will be fighting men like Phlegethon. Even the GOC’s grunts could pick you apart as you are now, no Suit required! Dismissed, I expect you to make better use of my time tomorrow.” The Boss turned away as they delivered Adrian his dismissal, walking off to speak with one of their personal operatives, a man in green armor that Adrian did not know the name of. After a couple minutes the Boss gave the operative a nod and turned back towards Phleg. “Phlegethon, gather the Hounds, we’re wheels up in 10.”
Phlegethon gave the Boss a crisp salute, responding with a “Yes, sir. I’ll have them there in 5.” Once the Boss gave him an affirmative nod and turned away to head towards the airfield, he turned and motioned to Adrian to not leave yet as he grabbed his radio from his bag nearby, “Hound Dogs, mission got moved forward, we’re wheels up in 10 minutes, get your gear and meet me at Hangar Alpha-Two in 5.” As a series of affirmations echoed over his radio, Phleg came over to Adrian. “No hard feelings?”
Adrian’s glare met Phleg’s simple grin and he sighed and looked down, “Yeah, no hard feelings.” As he calmed down, Adrian reasoned that his anger wasn’t because of Phleg or the Boss, it was because of himself, so he shouldn’t take it out on them. “I just wish the Boss would give me the same respect as they do for you.”
“You’ll get there kid, probably faster than I did. Just keep at it. I’ll give you some pointers when we get back,” he said, still grinning. “See ya around!”
Adrian watched him go, muttering under his breath, “Yeah. I hope so.” Being the only one left in the sparring chamber now, he began to clean up, picking up the discarded training weapons and wiping up the sweat and chalk left on the mat. Once all that was done, he went back to the barracks. He shared bunks with the other SpecFor candidates, most of which were somewhere in their twenties. They were loud, they were raucous, and Adrian found most of them annoying, so he didn’t spend much time in the barracks unless he was sleeping or they were playing cards. As per usual, there were a couple new faces and a couple missing. Unless someone really messed up, no one was killed, but plenty of people were found to fall short of the Boss’s standards, and would have their memories wiped and be redeployed back to their original units.
In this instance, it was to sleep. Most of Adrian’s training was done late to keep from being interrupted, and so the barracks were quiet, save for the occasional stirring of bodies or shuffling of sheets. He was a fast but light sleeper, so he was asleep soon after he settled in.
Adrian awoke still tired as the 0500 wake up call went out. The Boss worked him hard, and he reckoned he had only snagged about 5 hours of sleep, but he was getting used to it. He still had to attend the same training and drills as the rest, on top of the extra training he received from the Boss, so his schedule was always busy. He was never exceptional, compared to everyone else, always falling somewhere towards the middle of the pack, if not a bit behind, in all manners of physical testing, but given the large age gap between him and the others this was quite impressive.
And so the days went. With the Boss out on mission, he was given a small break, though he never treated it as such. If anything he got antsy without the Boss around, going through personal drills on his own late into the night with the extra access he’d been afforded as the Boss’s “pet project,” as he was often referred to as. Though he was often simply ignored by many of the personnel on base, unless they were a part of his training, there were a couple of people that had taken a liking to him, such as Samuel, a comms technician. It was because of Samuel that Adrian knew the Boss’s team would be returning tonight, five days since they had left.
He snuck out that night. Adrian was by all accounts a perfect trainee, without any records of disciplinary action being required, but this was always the one exception he allowed himself. And so he sat up on the roof of one of the hangars, watching as the small transport plane touched down on the runway. Each of the squads here tended to use the same hangar, and so he had made sure he was in a prime position to see the disembarkation of the Boss and the Hound Dogs.
When the door opened and the troops began to file out, Adrian was not surprised to not immediately spy the Boss. They were always the first one in and the last one out, as was their way. He did feel a chill though as the last of the Hound Dogs stepped off the plane and the first of the Boss’s own operatives began to exit. This detachment had included thirteen Hound Dogs. Adrian counted seven. He squinted and examined each of the Hounds’ helmets. Each one had a decal, a little bit of personality they allowed themselves when in their gear, and Adrian felt a bit of a panic as he didn’t pick out the green flames of Phleg’s helmet. He scanned once. Twice. A third time. It wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.
The cold never bothered Adrian, but he was shivering. In a daze, he wandered back towards the barracks. Through his haze he felt someone grab him by the arm. Adrian flinched at the contact, he always hated being grabbed or touched, but his reaction was muted. Muffled. Just like the words of the MP that had found him out past curfew and in an area he didn’t have clearance for. He was half dragged half lead through the base, though he really couldn’t tell where until he found himself in a simple office.
He knew the office well. It was simplistic, with drab paint on the walls and a plaintive tiled floor. The display cases around had weapons of all sorts, including some experimental ones that never reached production. The most obvious give away was the display frame behind the plain wooden desk however. In it were rows of patches of all sorts of colors, though they all had a consistency in design motifs and a rounded shape. The two most common patches featured either a design of a hammer or a bird. The two least common featured a hand, either clutching a dagger or an arrow. Adrian simply slid himself into the chair before the desk and waited for them.
And he heard the click of the door closing behind him. He stiffened instinctually, correcting his slouch and placing his hands into his lap. The Boss walked past him to regard the wall of patches, a new one in their hand, still stained with blood. “You snuck out,” is all they said. A simple statement, not a question.
“Yes, I did,” he replied. He felt a little worm of guilt in his heart, but it was muffled by his grief. “I wanted to see who came back. Phleg wasn’t there.”
“Phlegethon is dead,” the Boss said, turning now to assess Adrian. His behavior was certainly irregular, not once in the last year had he ever forgotten to address the Boss as sir. A lesson was in order. “Your grief is not strange, Adrian, but it is unproductive.” The Boss walked forward, placing the patch on the table as they went by. They stopped beside Adrian, kneeling down to his height. They said nothing as a soft exhaling sound emitted from their armor, indicating the seal was popped, and they removed their helmet. Adrian looked up as the helmet came off. The Boss’s eyes held that same fire that they had during their first meeting, the same hardness, the same edge. “You are not alone in your grief. The Hounds grieve. I grieve. But the difference between us and you, is what we do with that grief. Phlegethon died bravely, for his comrades, fighting for a cause that he truly believed in. His sacrifice is echoed hundreds of times every day by men like him. We cannot allow it to go unanswered.”
The Boss reached out and put a steady hand on Adrian’s shoulder, and he felt the ripples of their resolve bolster his own spirit. “The man who killed him is dead. But there are thousands more like them. So you can sit here and wallow, and allow even more of us to die, or you can stand up and fight.”
Adrian steeled himself and let out a breathy sigh, “Yes, sir. I understand sir.”
“Good. We’ll be picking up your training again tomorrow. Be prepared, or you’ll come out of it with a fair few bruises,” the Boss said, turning back to settle at their desk. “Dismissed.”
Adrian stood, saluted, and left.