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GREER AND MAL SLIP INTO A SORT OF UNEASY TRUCE. It's clear that Necron isn't a place where allies are found easily, and they end up with a thin bond of begrudging trust as the days go by. Now that Mal has manifested abilities, she is worked to the bone. Gone are the days of endless experiments and near-starvation. Now that she has proved herself to be a success, she has a near royal status.
She quickly gains back all of the weight she had slowly lost, and throws herself headlong into the brutal training sessions they are forced into from dawn until dusk. Mal has tasted what weakness means here and refuses to be returned to that state again. Slowly, her resolve to escape wears down. Submission is so much easier. Her days of fighting only bring her pain and beatings, but once she gives in, life is much easier.
Mal doesn't know how long it has been since she saw the outside world anymore. To a degree, it is easier to tell the passage of time in this place, with its rigid schedule defined by true meals, sparring matches and strength training. She begins to keep track of time by scratching tallies into the wall above her bed using a fork she stole from the mess hall when the guards weren't looking.
She has had her powers for roughly 3 years now, and the only times she has had any more injections are some sort of booster to strengthen her abilities, but even that's only happened a few times. Mal still hasn't seen Bianca despite all of the time that's passed, and she can't help but wonder if the other woman is alive anymore.
Days are now so similar that, if not for the tallies, Mal would wonder if time was ever truly passing. Hours bleed together and merge as day slips into night and she knows the sun must be rising and setting but in this facility she'd never know; staying locked away in a secure compound, far from any air that wasn't pumped in through stale ducts.
-×-×-×-×-
Mal wakes up at the same time as always, starting her day as she is escorted to the mess hall for the same colorless mush she's had for breakfast everyday. Then, she's taken to the fighting ring, where she usually practices martial arts with one of the trainers on hand. Only, this time none of them are present, and instead she's put in the ring with someone else entirely.
Greer.
Mal may be confused and unsure, but to hell if she'd ever show that. She looks back to the instructor standing on her side of the ring, a tall woman with dark skin and short shaved hair. The instructor merely nods at Mal, and the message is clear.
Training time is over; it's time for the real fight to begin.
Mal shakes slightly, but refuses to show it. She has no clue what abilities Greer has, but she supposes it must also be the same vice versa. Mal decides not to teleport unless it becomes an absolute necessity, because revealing what she can do could become a weakness to be exploited. She has to win this fight, because if there's anything her father taught her that hasn't been stolen by these sadists, it's that a Florés never loses
It's clear Greer doesn't have the same mentality. Despite the wideset offensive stance she takes, herer shoulders curl inwards and her head tips forwards, seemingly in acceptance of the blows to come. Amalia shakes off her confusion. The tentative peace they'd struck up in the cell just can't apply here. They're two separate worlds, the cell heaven and the ring hell. The only mercy she can provide Greer with is a quick defeat.
She lunges forwards, taking advantage of Greer's sloppily open legs and sliding right between them. Mal rolls out from behind Greer, springing to her feet quickly and wrapping her left arm around the other woman's torso before she even has a chance to react. Greer tries to force Mal off, but it's of little use, as the blonde clearly hasn't had years of endurance and hand-to-hand combat training like Mal has. Even though she lost much of her muscle mass after initially arriving at Necron, Amalia has more than worked her ass off to make sure she regained it.
Mal pulls her right arm forwards, wrapping her hand around Greer's neck. Greer thrashes wildly, doing anything in her power to force the brunette off of her, but she only succeeds in bringing them both crashing down to the floor. Mal twists over her, pinning Greer's back to the floor and keeping her hand firmly placed over her cellmate's throat. Not once does she let her guard down, unsure if Greer has an ability that she'd showcase now that she's been practically backed into a corner.
She looks over at the instructor, silently asking for her next move. The unnamed woman watches impassively, and Mal knows she's to go all the way. Her grip on Greer tightens slightly, and the woman beneath her slowly stills. The shrill whistle that always signals her of a fight's end comes before Greer stops breathing, but it's clear by how limp the other woman has gone that she's out cold. Mal stands silently, flexing her knuckles which bleed from the scabs that the fight has reopened.
Amalia backs up, returning to her corner of the ring as she had been trained to. Wordlessly, she is escorted back to her cell and left with only her thoughts as company. It's a shame that she was forced to take Greer out, really. As much as Mal would hate to admit, the pity she feels for the woman is beginning to change into something else, something, dare she call it, affectionate? Amalia shakes her head and leans back into her cot. She cannot risk forming attachments. Not here; not now.
