Combat Time?!

"I know it must hurt, but you must be used to it, or if not, get used to it. I do not know about your background, nor do I care to dig into it, so you will have to just man up and rise higher. I will be training you personally to be the ultimate weapon. With you as a part of our team, there will be nothing that you cannot have. Women, money, fame, the list goes on.

"One thing must be kept clear, though. I am the Boss around here, and what I say goes. Other than that, there's nothing you have to worry about, kid." he said, a militaristic-like tone in his voice. "Alright, I think it is time for you to begin your training routine. I will introduce you to our most prestigious combat-training instructor, Paul Ray. he will be leading you through the basics of combat, although you might not need as much help as most members around here." Mark lamented, face showing regret.

Although I have no idea what he has to be regretful about, I am sure it has nothing to do with what I am going to go through. Sliding one leg off of the cot, I tested to see if I could put my body weight on my injured legs. Turns out, I felt fine from the waist down. I would originally have thought that I would not have gotten medical attention, as I am just a street rat, but I guess not. Standing up slowly, stretching out my legs and shoulders, I followed Mark, who just left the entrance of the tent.

Reaching down and taking up my jordans, which I stole from some rich prick, who had no idea that people could steal from him. It might seem like a hard thing to do, but the target market is the rich, not the poor. They are more likely to be on guard of people trying to steal their stuff, while the rich wear it on them with no care in the world. Unlike in the law of the jungle, it's weak that prey on the strong, although not the intended way of the phrase.

Anyways, dusting them off and putting them back on my sockless feet, I kicked the back to fit my feet before I ran out of the tent, pumping my legs to get the aches out. Shielding my eyes from the bright sun, I saw that there was nowhere near any city. What surrounded me were rows upon rows of tents just like the one that I exited, muscular men as far as the eye could see. Amongst these men, I felt like a mouse among a pack of lions. I honestly have no clue how I was able to join a gang as prestigious as this one.

Looking over the sweaty beasts to find where Mark went, I found that he was near the entrance of some metallic structure, which could only be the place where I first woke up. What made him stand out in this field of masculinity is his dark, dark blue coat, which was opened in the front, showing his muscle to the world. He also had a nice cap to cover his oily, gray hair. There was also that guard, who out-muscled most of the men around me, walking in stride next to Mark.

Pushing my legs into a light run, I dodged and weaved between the scattered barracks, which were filled with violent glares and bulging muscles, as well as other bulges. Anyways, I managed to catch up to Mark, but not before the door closed behind him, leaving me in the boiling heat, which made me feel like an ice cream cone melting in the hot summer heat. Trying the handle, I found that it was an auto-locking mechanism.

Turning around and scanning my surroundings, I found that a large man with a military vest was walking slowly toward me. Compared to Mark, this guy was a giant. Toping about 6 foot 8, he stood extremely tall, with a physique to match. Muscles rippling like an ocean, and scars all over like white caps, his slow strut itself seemed menacing.

"You must be the recruit." The man, who I must assume to be Paul Ray, said in a gravelly voice. Many people would have had a destroyed voice or something of the sort, but the voice of Paul seemed to make him ooze wisdom and experience. "Alright, enough dawdling, follow me," Paul said. "I hope Mark didn't make a mistake." I heard Paul mumble.

With his back turned, he could not see the confusion on his face. The reason for such an expression is that he did not think that I would be able to hear him when he was not facing him, which he underestimated. Anyways, masking my confusion in case he looked back, I followed his lead, matching his pace. Noticing this, Paul sped up as well. Matching his pace yet again, he, yet again, increased his.

Not wanting to go into a full sprint because of this childish competition, or whatever this was, I slowed down a bit, just enough to make Paul increase his speed more, which was currently a jog. Surprisingly, this competition made me not notice that we were now out of the barracks and in some kind of expansive field, filled with exercise equipment, a massive sandpit, slightly smaller than the arena I fought the other giant in, and training dummies, most in the shape of people, and somewhere worn down pieces of wood.

As for the place we were currently headed, it seemed to be that it was right between the dummies and the training equipment. Not only were there many of these scattered around the field, but there were also many people, wearing a similar uniform to Paul, although with a little less flashiness and medals, using them. Heads turned and brows furrowed as we passed, which I paid no mind.

What I did find when I looked at them is that the ones that did not turn their head looked like they have had a near-death experience, over and over again. Point is, that they did not look happy to be in the 'Gang' at all. I could only wonder what happened to them to make their demeanor look like the demeanor of a lost child.