by J. D. Oliva
After the two hundredth burpee, Jericho rested his face in the damp grass. The morning dew was putting streaks on his sunglasses, which was fine, since his sweat did the same job most of the time. He probably should have been more careful seeing as these were $150 Roka S Series Performance Sunglasses, specially designed for training. But he need to catch his breath and let the quads burn before starting to run back home. Reflection was a new part of the game. Meditation was something that he adopted early on, but reflection, the act of looking back and understanding, was new. It helped quite a bit. If we don’t reflect, how do we improve? Like Master Yamada says—
BZZZZT—
BZZZZT—
Jericho unzipped the front of his tactical fanny pack and found his iPhone. An unknown number flashed across the screen. Business was back.
“Golden Phoenix,” he said.
There was silence on the other end. Normally that sort of elongated silence would prompt a hang up, followed by an instant block on the number. For some reason, Jericho didn’t hang up. Instead, he waited it out.
“Hello?” Jericho said.
“Um, it’s Chris Shane. I’m in trouble.”
