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Double-Blind CH161
🕑 Added 2022-09-22 23:22:03 +0000 UTCWe went down to the converted racquetball court area. Foster went in before me, while Cook waited outside the door.
I observed them carefully. Other than Miles, I had very little experience with how high-level field agents operated. Cook seemed rusty, reflecting what Azure had told me. He hadn’t operated in this capacity in quite some time. Foster, on the other hand, cleared the court almost casually. He was thorough but calm, the only indicator of focus a slight tightness around the eyes. A total reversal of Cook’s wound tight as a coil presentation.
Foster placed his back against the far wall, watching from a distance as I slugged the training bag like my life depended on it, circumventing the mental prompts from <Unsparing Fang.> I knew how to throw a punch, and I’d been in a few minor scuffles throughout my childhood, but that was about it. My strategy pre-dome generally boiled down to aiming for something vital and running the fuck away as soon as there was an opening.
Without relying on the Gnoll’s combat skill, I must have looked green as hell.
“Pivot your back foot and twist your torso.” Foster called over.
“What?” I pulled my shirt up and wiped my forehead. It came away damp, dark with sweat.
“You’ve got decent upper-body strength. But you’re trying to just punch with your arm.”
Foster crossed the room and demonstrated in slow motion first, then more quickly, slamming the bag with a punch that reverberated like a gunshot against the soft material.
I tried to copy the way he put his entire body into the strike. The first time, I nearly fell over. It was significantly harder to do this without <Unsparing Fang,> and I caught myself wishing for the simplicity of a knife.
Still, Foster was patient, and guided me with a handful of light touches, manipulating my form until I struck the bag hard, eyes widening at the sound it made.
Foster nodded. “Fast on the uptake. Good. I take it your page class didn’t come with a combat skill?”
“No such luck.”
He nodded. “Plenty of classes didn’t. There’s no small number of people who died during the transposition because they just didn’t know how to protect themselves. I’ve been hounding both Miles and Sara—you know Sara, right?” When I confirmed that I did, Foster continued, “To get some sort of formal self-defense curriculum going.”
“Like a dojo?” I asked. It sounded ridiculous, but I didn’t want to shit on his idea for no reason.
Foster made a non-committal grunt. “Nothing out there. Just some classes with experienced instructors open to the public. Practical shit. Brazilian Jujitsu, Krav Maga. Maybe a little Silat for weapons training. And of course, my personal favorite…” Foster launched into a brutal combo that involved a mix of elbows and knees, nearly knocking the bag from its base. “Muay Thai.” He grinned.
I was impressed, despite myself. Foster didn’t come off with half the swagger of the few guys in high school I knew that brayed about having a black belt, but his skill was plain to see. <Ordinator’s Emulation> pinged, even though Foster was, assumedly, using a skill he’d honed the hard way, long before we had a system.
“What about Judo?” I asked. It was <Unsparing Fang’s>closest real-life analogue, and I was curious to hear what he thought of it.
“Mmm.” Foster nodded. “It’s a solid philosophy, if a bit limited in scope. Good for fighting outside your weight class. Problematic in the context of our situation, though. Redirecting aggression and momentum only works up to a certain point. And wearing down your opponent doesn’t matter if your opponent has superhuman stamina.”
That was true enough. <Unsparing Fang> had helped me out of more than a few binds, but there were certain situations where it was of limited use. The offensive aspect was limited, intended to finish fights quickly with brutal capitalizing attacks that left me open if I didn’t make enough of an impact to finish things then and there. If I needed to wear something down, I was almost always forced to fall back on my abilities and weapons. And it was almost inevitable that I’d eventually find myself in a situation where <Unsparing Fang>was useless, and I was unarmed and low on mana.
“Judo and Muay Thai compliment each other rather well, come to think of it. Striking and grappling covered extensively between the two.” Foster mused. For a moment, I wondered if he was baiting me, but he was too caught up in his thoughts for that.
Suddenly, I had a tantalizing proposition for one of my two empty emulation slots.
“At this point, I’d take anything. Even if that means learning it the old-fashioned way.” I admitted, smiling internally as I watched Foster’s head perk up.
“That can be arranged. Obviously, I can’t teach you with things as they are now, but assuming you want anything to do with us after…” Foster trailed off. He looked uncomfortable, as if he felt like broaching this was taking advantage of the circumstances, when in reality it was the other way around.
I sighed. “I’m not… sure about the others. Especially Waller. But I’d be open to staying in contact with you. Especially if you’re willing to teach me.”
Foster’s eyes lit up. “I’d like that.”
“Furthermore, I can get you your self-defense program. A cushy spot in either the Adventurer’s Guild or Merchant’s Guild.” I gave him a cold look. “What I need is for you to make all of this… go… away.”
Foster’s expression darkened. The sound-profile of the training area shrunk to the sound of my heart beating in my ears.
I snorted, then started to laugh.
Foster stared, shocked for a second, then laughed with me. “You son of a bitch.”
“Yeah, okay, that was uncalled-for.” I wiped my eyes. “Sara’s stonewalling you?”
“Not stonewalling, exactly.” After the shock, Foster had dropped his guard. He wasn’t keeping the same distance from me as he was before. That was good. By the end of this, we’d be the best of friends. “She says they don’t have the resources. Given what I’ve seen, I’m inclined to believe her. It’s a hair short of chaos all the way down.”
I landed a few more experimental punches on the dummy, emphasizing the technique that Foster had shown me. It was, “You’re not emphasizing the value.”
Foster adjusted my form absentmindedly. “The point is empowering the helpless. Charging a high price would defeat the point.”
“The value I’m referring to has nothing to do with money.” I gave him a pointed look. “Think about it. Putting the civilians aside for the moment, who do you think the first people in line will be?”
I could practically see the lightbulb turn on above Foster’s head. “Magic Users.”
“And crafters, and plenty of others with massive potential who just happen to be lacking in the direct combat. All brought into the Adventurer’s Guild’s magnanimous embrace.”
Foster grappled with the idea. “Spin it as a recruiting tool.”
“They took plenty of casualties during the transposition. There’s no world where they don’t jump at the opportunity.”
Foster’s mouth turned downward. “That just feels so…”
“Cynical?” I raised an eyebrow. “Even if it benefits the guild, it achieves your ends. Altruistic ends at that. Not seeing the downside.”
Before Foster could answer, there was a weighty thump against the wall that framed the entryway, punctuated by a strangled curse. We both froze, straining to listen.
”Cook?” I mouthed at Foster.
The agent pressed a finger to his lips and drew a black polymer 1911 from his shoulder holster. He crossed the room, his footsteps silent.
Slowly, he pressed himself against the wall and cracked the door.
Then jumped back, throwing himself against the door as a series of vicious barks and snarls bounced off the walls in multiplying echoes. I saw a few inches of muzzle and yellow, sharpened teeth as something attempted to force its way. Foster strained against the door.
“Run!” He shouted.
“Where?” I said, panicked. “There’s no way out!”
Foster turned, bracing his back against the wall, and pointed up towards the observation railing that lined the top of the court. If someone climbed the platforms and made their way into the octagon suspended in the center of the training room, it’d be possible to climb the fencing and slip through. Instead of running, I bolted forward and slammed my shoulder into the door next to foster. There was an audible yelp and the muzzle withdrew.
“Are you fucking crazy? Go.” Foster stared at me as we both struggled to hold the door shut as something large and mean-sounding slammed against it, jarring us violently.
Talia was really selling this. Now, it was my turn to do the same.
I drew on every bit of Nick’s saccharine heroism I could muster, and somehow managed to deliver the line with a straight face. “Screw that. I’m not leaving you.”
