by K. L. Lewis
James made a salute. “Pleasure’s all mine. But I don’t want my dad’s success to get to me.”
“Understandable.” Mironov turned to the children, smiling at Tyrone. “And this must be young Tyrone? The Iyrons have quite a legacy with the Imperial Union. Will you carry it on?”
“I hope so,” said Ty.
Mironov chuckled and switched to Yue and DeMarcus. “And they must be from the Sun family?”
“Yep,” said James. “The girl is Yue Sun, their middle daughter. The boy is DeMarcus Maahes, their only son.”
“Maahes?” Anton repeated, squinting at DeMarcus.
“He’s actually adopted until they find his actual family.”
Anton focused his mechanical eyes on DeMarcus, so much that DeMarcus could see the black dashes etched on his irises. “Yes…the Marshal has had an interest since he first saw you.”
“Really? What kind?” DeMarcus asked.
“Unfortunately, I cannot say. But you may ask him yourself inside.”
Mironov guided them past the saluting soldiers on their way into the building, where small spherical NAF drones hovered around the entrance flickering their lights to one another as they welcomed the group. Punches and shouts filled the air as they entered the main room where soldiers and civilians jogged around, and another group gathered around a ring where the trainees sparred each other, throwing punches, and yanking away the other’s prop weapons as they went at it like they were trying to kill each other.
“Here we have the usual Joint Iuvian-NAF forces working together,” Mironov said to the group. “But this building was created with the addition of training civilians how to better protect themselves in hot zones. It’s an Iuvian method that the Marshal is experimenting here to better help civilians with militants.”
Following Mironov to a spot in the room where Keith watched trainees throwing each other on the ground. “Again!” Keith ordered. The trainees repeated the drill, and Keith looked over his shoulder and grinned. “James! You made it! Where the kids?”
“Right here,” James said as DeMarcus, Ty, and Yue clustered around.
They tensed at the instructors and students making brief stares their way until Keith told them to repeat the drill once more. “Don’t be afraid,” said Keith. “Half these people just started themselves. Some aren’t much older than you.”
“Give or take a few years.” James added, gauging the ages of people around.
“Well, before them, the youngest was 15.”
DeMarcus spotted a few of the newbies falling and stumbling in some of the driles. “So, what’ll we be doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Keith responded. “Self-defense.”
“Seems a bit much,” said Yue.
“Is that so?” Keith asked. “Well with people getting wasted by militants, I don’t believe in ‘too much.’ Just ask DeMarcus about his run-in.”
Yue lowered her head and looked away. “Yeah, don’t remind me.”
“Sorry to stir up bad memories, but that’s why you’re here, is it not? With the chaotic world we live in now, disasters can hit you faster than you can blink. You prepare now, and others will think twice to attack you,” Keith looked at DeMarcus, “Or thrice, in your case.”
DeMarcus smirked. “Won’t be a third time.” A zealous rage hit him once more as that scarring memory came into his mind once more. His killers were long gone, he knew there was no way to find them. But other vengeful thoughts flowed into his mind as it shifted to his recent conflicts—his run-in with Rafeal, his fight with Chris and Vearez. It was a vigorous zeal the more he looked at the others throwing down around him. He did his best to restrain himself, not knowing how he’d fare here. Everything he had been through led him to here, and it was time to put prepare himself more.
“Then let’s get started!” said Keith. “You staying, James?”
“Afraid not, dad,” James answered, backing toward the exit. “I got my own part to play with these militants. Try not to be too hard on the kids.”
With James gone, Keith left the training group to Mironov and brought the trio to a locker room. He handed out their green and black training uniforms, then took them to a small room where a parahuman instructor waited. A low cut of black hair, and a brown and black tail standing as stiff as her face, her fierce eyes tracked the trio entering the room along with four fresh teenagers before she gave Keith a salute.
“At ease, LaBelle,” said Keith. “Circle ‘round everyone!” Everyone in the room surrounded Keith, and his voice changed from warm and friendly to harsh and strict. “You all know me, Marshal Keith Iyrons of the Iuvian Armed Forces! Yes, I’m the real deal. And for now, you will address me as ‘Sir, yes sir,’ is that understood?”
Everyone stood erect and answered, “Sir, yes sir!”
“Now I know you’re not military, probably won’t even sign up. But those militants out there don’t give a damn. We all know that, why else are you here?” The group stood silent as Keith paced around. “I assume you’re here because obviously you want to defend yourself. Obviously, you don’t want your friends and family reading your obituary after hearing you died from militants. You saw it here in Grand Detroit itself, not every place is always safe. With all the tech and tools out there, its easier than before for people get too comfortable, let their guard down, then shrink from at an attack in broad daylight. Call it paranoia if you want, but wherever you go, always assume a threat can happen. Always be prepared, understood?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Now you folks’ll start with the basic warm-up we do in the military: push-ups, sit-ups, and the usual. And after that, the real lesson begins.”
It was a series of brief exercises as Keith and LaBelle guided the group through—some motions they never knew about, like bend-and-reaches and body twists. Then LaBelle departed for the backroom, leaving Keith standing over the sore trainees. DeMarcus’s arms and legs wobbled like noodles—this was nothing like what his mother put him through. And to think this was just the beginning of what was yet to come.
“Don’t get too lax now,” Keith said. “We’re just getting started. Now group up!”
Painful groans came from some of the girls and a few guys of group as they got back on their feet, yet Keith stood as if he hadn’t broken a sweat. DeMarcus stood ready at the helm, cautious yet ready at what the marshal had in store next.
“Now then, let’s slap some actual sense into you about fighting: Fight dirty,” Keith said. “Forget all about that ‘honor’ and crap. This ain’t no boxing, this ain’t no competition. This is survival, and their ain’t no rules but to survive when it comes to dealing with militants.”
“But aren’t there rules in a war?” Tyrone asked.
Keith pointed at him. “Yes, but you’re not fighting a war. So, if someone picks a fight with you, they ain’t gettin’ a fair one unless you want your ass kicked.”
“So, low blowing a guy is okay?” DeMarcus asked with a wince.
“Or a girl. It hurts them too,” Keith added, smirking at the female trainees covering between their legs. Then he pointed at the boys. “And let me tell you morons something about women—do not think they are weak and helpless. Let the wrong one in, and they won’t hesitate to get you by the balls.”
DeMarcus heard two boys snickering behind Yue and nearly jumped when Keith pointed his way. “You! What’s your name?”
Keith walked up to a blonde parahuman standing past DeMarcus. “Uh…Lo Asan, sir!”
“Lo Asan, huh? Laugh now, but you’ll be sorry for not listening. I was there in all of it: The Civil War, the Solar War, all around Mid-Asia, and I’ve seen a lot of heinous shit that’ll tear at you for years to come! And a lot of it was done to boy’s like you underestimating other people.”
LaBelle returned wearing a blue padded suit with punching mitts and headgear while holding a red suit in her arms. DeMarcus recognized her soft, French-accented voice as she spoke. “I miss somesing?”
&nbs
p; “Oh, nothing, Captain,” said Keith. “Just a caveman who think women can’t do anything.”
A fire lit in LaBelle’s eyes when she glared at the boys. “Excuse-moi?”
Lo jumped. “Wait, I never said—”
“Shut up and get over here!” LaBelle ordered, throwing the headgear at him. Lo walked over with his ears drooped in shame, getting padded and ready as LaBelle circled around him. “You know, I always believed zat most of zee world ditched zat sexist attitude after so long,” LaBelle continued. “Nice to see eet’s still around. You from Monuma?”
“What? No!” Lo objected. “What makes you think I’m from there?”
LaBelle shrugged. “Just sought I’d ask.” She threw a jab at his face. “Should’ve prepared for zat one. Remember what zee marshal said?” She threw another punch, but Mark dodged. “Nice. But you’re not fighting back.”
“I don’t hit girls!” said Mark.
DeMarcus shook his head at that comment—if Lo suffered what he did, he wouldn’t be saying that. And upon seeing LaBelle’s grin, he knew Lo was about learn a quick lesson on it too. “Oh, good! Zis’ll be a short fight zen.”
In a blur, LaBelle kicked Lo in his knee, sending him kneeling as she came in for a right jab to his face. Lo dropped to the floor, still conscious but in shock, and he rolled on his back as he made his way up. By then, LaBelle had dropped her hands to her hips, no longer seeing the point in continuing. “I can tell you’re going to be a challenge for us,” she sassed. “You can return to your spot.”
Some of the girls laughed while the boys eyed each other as Lo walked back in line. DeMarcus, however, was unconcerned. There were worse things out there than losing to a woman, and what he saw wasn’t anything major. Now it was a matter of who was up next?
“You there.” Keith pointed out one of the giggling girls: an olive-skinned parahuman with a long black tail whose eyes went wide as they made contact with his. Keith smiled at her “You’re next.”
The girl’s head sunk to her shoulders as she walked by and stood before Labelle, putting on the padded suit and headgear. Keith walked around her. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” He asked mockingly, sparking an irk on the girl’s face.
“Dana Milard, sir!” The girl answered.
“Dana Milard, huh?” Keith repeated, standing behind LaBelle. “Well, this woman’s rank ain’t for show. Captain Ara LaBelle’s been fighting in the front lines for the NAF while you were still teasin’ boys your age. You think she snickers at whoopin’ a guy’s ass?”
Dana didn’t answer, and DeMarcus caught her eyes flicking toward him as she kept her face on LaBelle and Keith. What was she looking at him for? He couldn’t save her. No way did he want to be in her place yet.
“Oh ho, don’t get me wrong, she’ll smile,” Keith went on. “But I’ve seen girls younger than you turn into vicious little monsters from here all the way to Mid-Asia. Young militants made to kill their brothers and murder whole families, all because they thought the same shit you thought was sad and funny.”
“But not everyone out there are militants,” said Dana. “Some are just regular people.”
“Zat is true,” said LaBelle. “But do you not understand what zee Marshal ‘as been saying?”
LaBelle’s fists raised to her head, and Keith stood back from the two. The room watched in silence as LaBelle circled around Dana, whose eyes began to shake. “Understand this everyone,” Keith said. “You’re learning things Iuvian-style here. Begin!”
DeMarcus saw another blur as LaBelle sprang at Dana with a left jab before twisting her right fist down into Dana’s stomach. It was a blow that sent the girl backwards, coiling and reeling in pain as she gasped for air.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Keith said. “Captain here’s a lot harder on the girls than the guys. She knows how twisted you ladies can be. We all should be. Now who’s next?”
Not a peep was made as Keith’s eyes scanned the group. A tinge of fear ran through DeMarcus as the marshal’s eyes scanned over him and stopped on Tyrone. “Thank you for volunteering, Iyrons,” said Keith.
Ty pointed at himself. “Me?”
“That’s right, grandson. Step on up.”
Ty went before captain and strapped on the headgear and suit. “I won’t disappoint you.”
A smirk grew on Keith’s face. “Oh, I ain’t here to be impressed.”
Ty weaved away and blocked LaBelle’s first punch, then her second. He threw a quick right jab back, but LaBelle sidestepped right, snatching him by his arm as she twisted around and threw him to the ground. Tyrone stumbled, rolled, and sprang back to his feet. DeMarcus repeated the maneuver in his head, memorizing how Ty used his hands to catch himself on the ground and push himself back up, keeping himself away from LaBelle as she sprung at him again.
Going in for a left jab, then coming in for a right hook, Tyrone scored a hit on LaBelle’s ear. But it all came to naught as LaBelle dipped down and rose back up with a fist to his chin, sending him rocking back with a quick opening for an elbow to his stomach.
Tyrone fell to the floor, coiling in pain as LaBelle stood over him. “I give,” he said, barely getting up to his feet. The Marshal’s grandson beaten so easily, yet he put up more of a fight than anyone else.
Keith turned to the group and shouted, “Next?”
One-by-one, the group sparred with LaBelle, each reeling in pain as she beat them. One boy ended up pinned in a leglock, while another girl was flung up and over to the ground in the first three seconds. When Yue’s turn came, rather than LaBelle stepping forth, Yue took the first swing only for LaBelle to weave away. Yue’s punch pulled her past LaBelle, and spun around for an elbow to the captain’s face. LaBelle block the hit, then snaked her other arm around Yue’s neck, putting her in a chokehold that had her bending backwards.
“You’re a fierce one,” LaBelle taunted, looking over her shoulder at Yue gritting to breathe and maintain her balance. After several seconds, Yue fell to her knees, tapping the captain’s arm.
“Okay, okay, I give!” Yue said, falling on her back on the captain’s release. She rubbed her neck as she rose to her feet, then went back in her place.
Now to his displeasure, it was DeMarcus’s turn, and his stomach jumped at LaBelle’s wide smile. He swerved and blocked her first hook, then weaved away from her second. He raised his foot and kicked her back, stepping away before she made another move at him. He knew he wasn’t going to win, but he still wanted to make something of this whole fight. His imagination flickered over how to get a hit in, and he pictured LaBelle as someone he really wanted to hit: Rafeal? That jackass definitely needed a punch to the face. Vearez? He was still pissed with his stunt a few days back. His mind settled on one that lit a fire in his eyes—that raven-haired human that attacked him with her group, their four red-eyes still etched in his head.
The image sprung at him with another punch. DeMarcus took the hit in his shoulder and shot his right into her stomach, nailing her in the center. The human flinched, but was still standing, taking one step back before moving in with a kick to his knee. DeMarcus paced back with a brief dodge from her foot and locked his eyes on her as she circled around.
“Never fight fair,” he remembered his mother say from the days they trained in the nearby Complexes. It was at this moment he took a few steps closer, waiting for the woman to strike again. He took the hit in his shoulder—it felt like a brick was thrown at it. But he had an opening to her face and went in for an uppercut. The woman shifted away, sending DeMarcus off-balance, and her right palm smashed against his cheek. The impact shot him down to the ground as the feeling in his jaw left his face. His head spiked and pulsed, a brief headache that had him stumbling to his feet at LaBelle panting with a smile.
“I’ll admit you almost had me zeir,” she said. “But you’re not zee first to try a stunt like that.”
“Alright, that’s enough.” said Keith.
“Sir? What’s the point in this?” asked Dana. “I
thought we were training?”
“We are. We’re testing you in a fight.” Keith answered with a look back at Lo and Tyrone. “Some of you faring better than others.”
“Is this normal of other self-defense schools, sir?” Yue asked.
Keith shrugged. “In Iuvia, at least. You did come to us to train you, right?” He stood before the group, pacing between them and LaBelle. “LaBelle here’s a reg just like all of you here. Nothing special about her in any way. If you think what she’s giving you is harsh, trust me on this: you do not want to fight an Iuvian superhuman.”
“And I was holding back as much I could while keeping things realistic,” said LaBelle. “And we are just getting started. Lo?”
“Me again?” Lo complained.
“Until I beat zat sexism out of you, yes. Now get over here!” LaBelle ordered.
Lo sighed, put on the padded suit, and stood beside LaBelle, who continued with an earlier question. “So, if you’re not from Monuma, where are you from?”
“My dad and I immigrated from Serali,” Lo answered.
LaBelle’s brow rose. “Wow. Now I just feel sorry for you. Explains zee attitude at least.” Lo glared at her, but her eyes sharpened. “I’m serious: I’ve seen what it’s like in zeir. I’ll go easier on you zis time.”
LaBelle began with awareness of your foe and surroundings. She was slightly taller than Lo, and that gave her plenty of advantages she explained to the group: she had a longer reach, which meant easier hits, giving Lo less of a chance besting her. One of the first things taught were weak points: aiming for the head, the neck, or the groin. They even advised going for the eyes of the opportunity presented itself, but that was one of the few unfair tactics they outright banned the group from doing to each other.
After the brief demonstration, the group was put in pairs as more padded suits were brought out. “We do full contact on day one,” said Keith. “I want you guys to actually fight each other while we supervise. Don’t worry about hurting each other, these suits’ll blunt the hits. And we’ll step in to assist when needed.”
