MALICIOUS, hydra

06. MENACE **

** this chapter includes graphic and/or sensitive content. double asterisks serve as a content/trigger warning.

Alina did as she was advised and rested up for most of the day. She took it slow, ate well, and only did minimal training in the hours leading up to her session with Savannah. The corridors, cafeteria, and training spaces seemed to be significantly lacking in human life. She tried not to think about it and took advantage of the privacy she wasn't usually granted. The people that were around seemed to stare at her longer than usual, some with malice or contempt in their gaze, others with blank expressions.

She had arrived early to the training room, strung up a punching bag, and started in on her stretches. Thoughts of "initiation" plagued her mind and it was all she could do to stop herself from bombarding Savannah with questions about it when she finally entered the room.

"You're late," Alina said. "Hot date?"

"Something like that," Savannah said.

There was an edge to her voice that gave Alina pause. She stopped mid-stretch and turned her attention from Savannah to the door. Brock was standing behind her, arms crossed. There was a line of agents behind him. Alina's stomach pitched and her eyes darted back to Savannah, who had turned her back on Alina to make space for the people waiting to enter.

"What is this?" Alina took a few steps closer to the door and stopped when Brock stepped forward. "We have an audience today?"

"Next level of training," Brock said.. "One-on-one, hand-to-hand combat. Until I call it."

Alina tilted her head and tried to match Brock's level of confidence, though she didn't think there was enough arrogance in the world for her to ever accomplish such a feat.

"Seems fair enough," Alina said. She cast a glance toward Savannah, who was still acting as if the present conversation wasn't happening. She only paced, silent and strangely pensive. "What's the catch?"

"No catch," Brock said. He stepped aside. A tall, dirty blond man took a stand beside him. "Just good, old combat on my terms."

"So that's the catch," Alina snorted. "You want to watch me fail to an agent I've never trained with—"

"You won't have trained with any of the enemies you have to face in the field," Savannah said. She crossed the room and brushed Brock and the blond man aside so she could get to the doorway, where she posted up with her arms crossed. "This is standard procedure, Malveaux."

Realization flooded over Alina the same way the scourge of agents entered the room behind Brock and circled up—too quickly. It was unexpected, humiliating, unfair, cult-like. Alina tried to wrap her head around as the agent in front of her stripped off his t-shirt and took a defensive stance, setting his predatory gaze on her.

The fight would continue until Brock called it. Alina knew what that really meant, and judging by the distance Savannah was keeping from the action, so did she. It wouldn't be over until someone was dead or on the brink.

There was something about the man in front of her that made the back of her neck tingle. He was strangely familiar, though she had begun to feel that way about a lot of the agents she had met for the first time. She was on the brink of a realization when the first blow came down on her nose.

Her hands were still dropped at her sides and it took everything in her to raise them into a defensive position. Stars filled her vision and it wasn't until he'd landed three or four more punches to her body that she could bring herself back into the fight.

Alina spat blood and managed to dodge and roll her way out of a few more punches, but she knew that fleeing wouldn't be how she got out. He was too fast, too strong. Even as she avoided any more critical damage while she regained her vision, she could see him adapting to the way she moved.