Fight to the Finish

by Shannon Greenland

  Everyone just looked at me.

  I sighed. “Never mind. Just trust I know what I’m doing.” Where was Chapling when I needed someone to understand me?

  Bruiser pointed to the barn doors. “Let’s take it outside.”

  Everyone filed out as I grabbed the video cam, tripod, and my laptop. I followed the group outside and behind the barn.

  Bruiser had turned the side yard into an old fashioned training ground. There were a pile of mid-sized boulders off to the left. Between two trees about six feet from each other she’d tied thick rope—two strands up high and two down low. I studied the get up as I set the cam back up, trying to figure out exactly what those ropes would be used for.

  Bruiser beckoned Red over with a nod of her head. “Flexibility is a key factor in conditioning your body for a fight. I expect you two,” she pointed to David and Mystic, “to do what I’m about to show you ten times a day.”

  Mystic and David nodded their understanding.

  Bruiser positioned herself between the trees and held her arms up and out to her sides. Red tied her right wrist to a rope high up on one tree and her left wrist to the other tree, leaving her upper body sprawled and stretched.

  He took her left ankle next, lifting it, pulling it, and tying it to the left tree. With the tiptoes of her right foot only, she stood supported.

  “Ready?” Red asked her.

  She nodded.

  Grasping her right ankle, he took it out from under her and stretched it over to the other tree, tying that leg off as well.

  Sprawled to the max, her legs stretched and strained sideways to form a perfect split. I cringed as my own legs ached just watching her.

  Bruiser smiled. “This, my friends, is awesome for flexibility. And obviously it takes a partner to tie you up. David and Mystic, you two are competing. Like I said, this is most certainly an exercise I want you to do every day. You’ll start off with five minutes and build your time from there. I, personally, love to hang for thirty or more minutes.”

  Thirty or more minutes? Ug. That hurt just thinking about it.

  “And no worries,” she continued. “The rope won’t take you any further than you’re ready for.”

  With that, she nodded to Red. He adjusted the rope around the tree, and her body dropped, hyper extending her stretch by pulling her legs straight up to form a V.

  Ow! That couldn’t be good for her body.

  Bruiser nodded to Red again, and he loosened her ties one-by-one, letting her body drop back into a standing position.

  Once free, she waved David and Mystic over. “David, you’re first.”

  He stepped up between the trees, and she tied off his wrists first, showing Mystic how the ropes worked. She did David’s legs next, first his left, and then his right, leaving him stretched, dangling between the two trees, shaking, cringing, and sweating more and more by the second.

  I almost closed my eyes. I couldn’t stand to watch him. He seemed like he was in so much pain. And he wasn’t even doing a split. In fact, he was fairly far away from accomplishing the split portion of the training.

  “You’re doing great,” I felt compelled to tell him.

  He barely nodded.

  “Three minutes,” Bruiser informed him, adjusting the ropes so that he dropped slightly more into the split position.

  Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, working through the pain. It was a physical and mental strategy that TL had taught all of us.

  Inhale through the nose.

  Exhale through the mouth.

  Inhale through the nose.

  Exhale through the mouth.

  Three minutes passed, and Bruiser showed Mystic how to release the ropes, softly dropping David back into a standing position. He stood for a few seconds, shaking his legs and arms, probably trying to get sensation back into them.

  Mystic went next, doing phenomenally well. I didn’t know why it surprised me, really. I’d seen him in all sorts of contortion, meditative positions. I guess it always took me off guard because of the size of his ‘football’ like body, very thick and stout.

  He did his five minutes amazingly fast, definitely accomplishing a split, but not the hyperextension.

  After he’d been loosened and lowered to the ground, Bruiser turned to the rest of us. “This is a fighter’s stretch, and something I’d like you all to experience at least once. But it’s certainly not something you need to do every day.” She looked at me. “Who’s first?”

  I took a step back. What was she looking at me for?

  “You said,” she reminded me, “that you wanted to experience all aspects of training to be a fighter.”

  I narrowed my eyes. She just had to remind me of that, didn’t she?

  Bruiser raised her brows, a little too sweetly if you asked me. “Well?”

  “Fine.” I put my laptop down and walked over to the tree-torture area.

  Bruiser and Red tied my wrists. Mystic did my left ankle, and I stood supported only by my other foot. I looked down at David who had his fingers wrapped around my right ankle.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  Gently, David slid my foot from under me, and I dropped into a forced split. Ow!

  I clenched my jaw and sucked in a breath through my teeth. Ow!

  “Breathe,” TL instructed.

  I sucked in another breath.

  Oh my God! How had David and Mystic done this?

  “Are you ready to be lowered into a split?” Bruiser asked.

  “What?!” Wasn’t I already in a split? “No! Don’t touch me.”

  Bruiser chuckled. “GiGi, really. You’re hardly even stretched.”

  “What?! You’ve got to be kidding me.” I felt like I was about to crack in half. “Let me down.”

  Bruiser glanced at TL, and he shook his head.

  Fighting the urge to glare at him, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to focus on my screaming, shaking muscles.

  “It’s just a few minutes,” David quietly spoke. “You can do this. Breathe and think of code.”

  I listened to his mellow, deep voice and inhaled a breath. On exhale, I conjured code for the Combat-Thrash program:

 

 

  <(%line:)-(𠀋)>

  I continued to code, my eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling in a subconscious deep rhythm. I went over every axiom, matching it to its component, and uniting it with all the rudiments. And, strange enough, I solved a fissure in the data that had perplexed me.

  “That’s five minutes,” Bruiser announced, bringing me from my concentration. “You didn’t even flinch when I lowered you a few more inches.”

  I looked down my body and saw that I was suspended in the air mere inches away from doing a complete split. “Wow.”

  Mystic and David went through the motions of letting me free, and much like David, I had to stand for a second and shake out the kinks.

  TL went next, doing, of course, fabulously well.

  Red stepped up, doing just as great as Bruiser.

  And Jonathan followed, not doing as good as I thought he would have.

  We moved onto bench pressing each other next.

  “It’s all about balance and strength,” Bruiser explained. “In an actual fight, you’re manipulating a person’s body weight. Lifting a person is completely different than lifting weights. Bench pressing each other is a guaranteed way to accelerate your strength training.”

  She paired Mystic with Jonathan, TL with Red, and me with David.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  Bruiser shrugged. “I’m too little. It won’t be a challenge to anybody.”

  I wasn’t sure what she meant by that until she gave instructions, David was lying on his back, and I found myself on top of him.

  With our faces definitely within kissing distance, I gave him a little smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” He sm
iled back.

  We locked our fingers palm to palm, he pushed me straight up, and I found myself above him looking down into his too sexy face.

  “Give me a set of twelve,” Bruiser instructed.

  In my peripheral, I saw TL and Jonathan in the same position as David, bench pressing their partners up. All of us on top were lowered down by our partners, paused for a second, and then they pushed us back up.

  I tried really hard to ignore David’s scrumptious cologne. And bicep bulges. And chest striations. And every other straining flexed muscle as he pushed me up and lowered me back down. Pushed me up. And lowered me back down.

  I just kept smiling. I mean, really, how great was this?

  If I’d been a self conscious girl, I would’ve been offended by his red, exerted face. But let’s face it, at five foot ten I wasn’t exactly the smallest girl ever created.

  The set of twelve ended, and we switched positions with me on bottom and him on top. We linked hands palm to palm, Bruiser gave the go ahead, and I pushed with all my might.

  Nothing happened.

  I pushed again, every muscle shaking, my arms literally vibrating from the effort.

  Still nothing happened.

  “Stop holding your breath,” David said.

  “I.” Quick breath. “Can’t” Quick breath. “Lift you.”

  “And down,” Bruiser told everyone, and through the sides of my eyes I watched as Mystic lowered Jonathan and Red lowered TL.

  One of them grunted, and it pleased me beyond words that someone else was having difficulties, too.

  Up and down we went, or I should say they all went, going through the motions of the exercise. I just sort of pushed with all my might, held my breath, and waited for Bruiser to say ‘down’.

  We finished that and moved onto throwing rocks, or I should say heaving small boulders.

  We finished that and ran each other piggy backed across the yard.

  We finished that and military pressed wood beams over our heads.

  We finished that and did umpteen rounds of squats holding the same small boulders.

  We finished that right as the sun was going down, and I literally dropped to my shaking knees. I couldn’t tell you how happy I was to see everyone else gasping for air, too. Why I ever thought I needed to be involved with the actual training stretched beyond my comprehension. Frankly, I never wanted to see Bruiser again in my life.

  Not really, but you know what I mean.

  “And that, my friends,” Bruiser proclaimed, “is a mere smidgen of the way Greek warriors trained before going into battle. Now we need a good high protein, high fiber meal, and then we’ll meet back here for striking and take down.”

  News flash. I had no intention of participating in tonight’s ‘striking and take down’. I needed a nap.

  “GiGi?” Bruiser prompted. “Didn’t you want to take data or something?”

  I got up—ow—and hobbled over to my laptop case—ow. I got out the Influence Sway Skins, powered up my laptop, and turned to everyone. “If you could please take your shirts off, I want to get a reading on your muscle adroitness and compare it to data Chapling already took on you.” I looked at all of them. “Who’s first?”

  David took his shirt off. “I am.”

  I stared at David’s bare, sweaty, muscular, tanned chest.

  I stared.

  And I stared some more.

  I only slightly registered everyone else taking off their shirts, and Bruiser tucking her tank top in the elastic of her shorts, leaving her standing in a black sports bra.

  I think I must have forgotten how scrumptious David’s body was. How I could have forgotten, I had no idea. This body of his was most definitely not one a person should or could forget.

  “GiGi?” David said.

  I blinked—oh!—and snapped to attention. “Sorry.” Idiot. I was such an idiot. “Okay.” I held up the Influence Sway Skins. “I’m going to attach these square pads to various spots on each of your bodies and take muscular recordings. I’ll compare the results to the base line reading Chapling took of each of you. The range of the data will help us put the finishing touches on the Combat Thrash Program. I’ll organize the program’s code to recognize David and Mystic’s output, tweak it, and identify them as superior fighters, resulting in Harry Noor picking them for Demise Chain.”

  I ran my gaze over the whole group. “Got it?”

  They all nodded.

  I brought the Combat Thrash Program up on my laptop. It took a second for the program to boot and detect the wireless skins. It beeped, signaling me it was ready for muscular readings.

  Here went nothing.

  I walked across the grass to David and stopped right in front of him. Up close and personal with his bare chest was almost more than I could handle. Purposefully focusing all my attention on the Influence Sway Skins, I peeled the protective, hygienic back off of each square pad and began placing them at key points on David’s body.

  His stomach. His chest. His biceps and triceps. His thighs. His hamstrings. And ended with his calves.

  I walked back over to my laptop, click, click, clicked, and it began recording his body. I watched my screen as the Influence Sway Skins x-rayed through his epidermis and brought up a 3-D image of his muscular skeletal. I smiled as I watched electrical pulses run up and down his body, recording his inner workings.

  A box popped up in the bottom left corner comparing the current recordings to his base line data. Another box popped up in the upper right hand corner showing a video image of David doing the Greek style conditioning. Another box popped up in the upper left hand corner displaying a 3-D image of what David was capable of in a fictitious fight. I, of course, would tweak that part to make David and Mystic stand out above all the others. And the only thing missing was the hologram image, which I knew would be our slam dunk in securing this job.

  I finished with David and used new pads each time I did the others: Mystic, Bruiser, TL, and then Red. I’d get a baseline reading on Red later to round out the data. I’d lie and tell Harry Noor I’d traveled around the world to obtain data on the best fighters. It’d give me a one up on the other programmers.

  And it wasn’t a total lie. Red and Bruiser were some of the world’s best fighters. I just hadn’t traveled for the information. It’d been conveniently right here at my disposal.

  Plus Chapling had been working hard hacking into the computers of the most renowned competitors, obtaining their medical records, training schedules, eating diaries . . . anything to give more validity to our program and make us stand out above the other designers.

  We were definitely going to kick butt.

  ***

  The next afternoon I strode toward the barn with some last minute questions for Bruiser. Chapling and I had a mere three days left until we went in front of Harry Noor. Mystic and David had only five.

  I pulled the barn door open and stepped inside. Sounds of classic rock surrounded me, and I stood for a second letting my eyes adjust to the dim interior.

  I realized then that someone had covered the windows with dark cloth, and candles flickered in the corner on a table. Bruiser and Mystic sat across from each other having . . . a romantic lunch?

  What the . . .?

  “Um,” I took a step back. “Sorry. Sorry to interrupt.”

  Bruiser glanced up, looking so put out that I almost laughed.

  I looked between them. “What are you two doing?” This definitely wasn’t right. Mystic and Bruiser didn’t like each other that way.

  Bruiser rolled her eyes. “Wasting valuable training time playing boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  I laughed. “You’re doing what?”

  Mystic swatted at a fly. “TL said if we were going to be boyfriend and girlfriend on the mission, then we had to have a few lovey dovey moments.”

  I laughed again. “Oh, this is too good.”

  Bruiser scowled.

  Mystic picked up a piece of paper from the table. “Okay
, it says we have to make polite conversation while eating a meal.”

  I nodded to the paper. “What is that? And who set up all this candlelight and fancy stuff?”

  Mystic swatted at the fly again. “This is a list of things TL wants us to do on this quote-unquote date. And the candlelight stuff was here when we got here.” He swatted the fly again.

  Bruiser leaned forward and snatched the fly from midair. “Would you leave the poor thing alone?”

  Mystic and I exchanged a surprised glance.

  “TL’s list of things.” Bruiser snorted as she walked over to the window and let the fly go. “Who’s going to know anyway? I say we tell TL we did it and move on with our lives.”

  “I’ll know,” Adam announced as he stepped into the barn carrying a tray.

  Bruiser turned from the window. “What are you doing here?”

  “TL sent me.” Adam held up the tray. “I’m your waiter.”

  “Our what?” Bruiser almost shouted.

  Oh, yeah, this was too good. Bruiser’s crush, Adam, serving her and Mystic while they played lovey-dovey. This—I sat down on the floor—I had to watch.

  Mystic looked at me. “What are you doing?”

  I smiled. “Watching.”

  Bruiser scowled again. “Is that allowed?”

  We all looked at Adam, and he shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

  I batted my lashes at Bruiser, and she narrowed her eyes.

  Hey, it was the least I deserved after all the stuff she’d seen me be put through. Model training, cheerleading prep, endless horrible PT’s . . .

  All in waiter role, Adam crossed the floor. He put the tray down on a smaller, linen covered table that sat off to the side. Then he pulled Bruiser’s chair out. “Madam.”

  She plopped down in it, and ignoring Adam’s help, scooted her own self up.

  Adam took Bruiser’s folded napkin from the table, snapped it open, and laid it across her lap. He did Mystic’s next. “According to that list,” Adam began all proper, “you are to have polite conversation. You are to eat a meal together. You are to hold hands. You are to exchange one kiss. You are,” he glanced between them, “going to act like you adore each other. And I will determine when that goal is met.” He looked at Bruiser. “And you are to act girlie and sweet and innocent.” Adam smiled. “Got it?”