The Six Months: A Gally Fanfiction

Chapter Three

Cussing out Gally, I was sitting in an empty room.

I had been here for about two hours now and finally figured it to be the firing range because on the farthest wall, there was spray painted outlines of people and bullet holes scattered around and on them.

In a dark corner, I could see an outline of a boxing bag.

I had been staring at it for a while now.

One of the first things I remembered was punching. The sting and the exhilaration of the adrenaline pumping along side the wires.

The wires.

I still lost control of myself when I shook her hand. Even if the creators deactivated me, I was still not human.

I stood and walked to the punching bag.

It smelt of sweat and blood from hours of people training and taking out frustration on it.

Pulling my fist back, I punched as hard as I could. The bag barely moved.

Pain shot through my stomach and I could feel the stitches tearing against my soft skin.

I clinched my teeth and punched.

Punching until the bag was swinging and I felt the muscle memory kick in, my knuckles were beginning to split.

For the first time, what I was doing felt normal. Like it was something I was supposed to do.

"You should wrap them at least," a voice pulled me from my moment of rage.

I turned to see an old man standing in the door way.

His grey hair was longer than my own and one of his eyes was a milky white. His face seemed hard and the wrinkles from old age blended in with his cold demeanor. Even though he was leaned on a cane, it was obvious he was tough.

"Who are you?" I asked and crossed my arms.

"A concerned bystander," he glanced at my stomach.

I followed his eyes and looked down to see that my shirt was now red with blood. I had tore my stitches.

"It's a good sign. It means you're using your waist to turn into the punch. Makes for a harder hit," the man stepped forward. "You are angling your elbow up to much when you draw back. Keep it down and it will protect your stomach from punches."

I tilted my head and considered what he was saying.

I didn't know this man, yet I found it easy to trust him. His scared skin and knowledge on the subject led me to believe he knew what he was talking about.

Turning to the bag, I punched again.

The man waved his hand. "No no, now you are messy. Here fight me. I'll show you."

He dropped the cane. and brought his fist up, slowly beginning to circle me.

I looked down to the cane.

"The weaker you look, the less people will bother you. At least around here," he nodded his head to it.

This man was smart.

I was hesitant to fight him, but if he really didn't need the cane, maybe he was in better shape that he looked.

In a quickly movement, I lunged forward and attempted to swing.

He easily ducked it and kicked my back.

I fell to the ground and hissed as my stomach hit.

"Get up," the man instructed.