Pixelated (NaNo 2017)

Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

"This is the gym. What we're gonna do is test you both in your combat skills before anything else," Michael said, leading Ariana and Grayson into a room so massive it made Grayson feel like a speck; as insignificant as dust.

Rows and rows of mats spilled out across the floor, and along the edges were machines Grayson had never seen before. Some looked like robots, and others didn't make any sense at all. There were wires, and black bars, and handles in all kinds of strange places on them. There was a field of punching bags at the end of the gym where people stood in workout clothing throwing their limbs against the bags and groaning as they did so.

Grayson and Ariana eyed each other warily.

"I feel like you should know before we start any of this that neither of us have any combat skills whatsoever," Ariana said.

"You got out of that compound. You must have some skills to do that," Michael said.

"It's called planning," Ariana shot back.

"We're just gonna test your skills. It's really not a big deal," he reassured them. Grayson wasn't convinced.

"Grayson, step up," Michael said after jogging to the corner, pulling two pairs of gloves and tossing one to him. Grayson's arms flailed as the equipment flew through the air, and he failed to catch either glove. Flushed red, he bent down and picked up the gloves, pulling them on with uncertainty.

"All right. We're just going to try some basic fighting, and see how you do," Michael said, staggering his feet and placing them slightly wider than his hips. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet, and had his arms raised to above his chest and face, his elbows sticking close to his torso. Grayson tried to match his stance, but found it incredibly awkward, and despite trying to, he felt utterly stupid bouncing on his feet in the way Michael did.

Without wanting, Michael dived forward, his right arm beginning in a punch to Grayson's face. Grayson threw his fists up toward the hand, and ducked his head to the left, collapsing his chin to his shoulder, anticipating the blow, his face practically tingling in anticipatory pain.

But that blow never came. Instead, Grayson felt a force whack into his stomach, which had been entirely relaxed, and sent him falling to the ground. He clutched where he'd been hit, coughing, and reeling at the pain that sizzled where Michael's fist had made contact.

"Oh," Michael said, dropping to a knee to see if Grayson was all right, "you have no clue what to do."

"We said it multiple times for a reason," Ariana cut in, bending down on the other side of Grayson and running a hand along his arm.

"Well, this changes things," Michael said. His eyes lifted from Grayson to meet Ariana's. "Are you any better."

"No chance," she said.

"All right." Michael blew out a long breath. "This is going to take longer than we would have thought, but we're going to need to start from the beginning. Before we do any training, I want to see your punches and kicks against a punching bag. That way I can see where you need strengthening."

He led them across the gym to the area where people were battling the swinging sacks like their lives depended on it.

"All right. Each of you, try throwing four punches, then four kicks at the punching bag. I'm going to watch, and if I need to see something again I'll let you know," Michael said. "Grayson, because you already have the gloves on, you're first."

Grayson nodded, still compensating for the discomfort that lingered in his stomach. Without any clue what he was doing, he flung his fists against the punching bag. Right, left, right left.