“I don’t know what they taught you in MCMAP, but that crap won’t fly here” My martial arts instructor was relentless, never allowing for breaks, and never letting his guard down. Strike after strike hit my body in an un-ending combo of pain.
“What’s MCMAP” I let out in the short space in between blows. I knew my body was moving and reacting, but I didn’t exactly know what I was doing, or where I learned it. Apparently, it wasn’t very good as what was going on between us couldn’t be fairly or realistically called a fight, instead it was a one-sided slaughter.
My memories before coming here are, well, hazy at best. I mean, I know who I am in the loosest sense. I can’t remember my name, or what I was doing for the last few years, but I have a clear image of who I use to be, in what I can only assume was college. I know I was taking classes, but the class names are blurred out. I know I had friends, but their faces are formless, and their voices are static. I clearly remember waking up after a night of heavy drinking with a splitting headache, but I don’t know if I was celebrating or drinking to forget. It’s as if there is a schism in my memories, I remember enough to know that I don’t remember the small details. Where did I work, what’s my name, do I have a significant other? These questions occupy my mind while my body continues to be battered. I know how to read and write; I know how to speak. The basics are there, but it’s like any fluff material was eliminated from my mind to make room for…. something I can’t quite grasp yet.
“Do you think the enemy is going to give you time to breathe, time to relax! Get on your feet, fight back!” he said scornfully. I don’t think he likes me very much, and believe me, the feeling is mutual. I don’t know what I did to earn this kind of hate, but if I don’t so something, I’ll probably die.
How naïve I was.
As he finished his verbal assault, he began his physical assault again. I watched as carefully as I could, trying to see what he was doing. Jab. Cross. Jab Jab. Sweat dripping down my face, burned as it crossed my eyes, but I couldn’t afford to close them now. Each swing was, as far as I could tell, flawless. There was no wasted movement, no excess flair that you often see in street fights. This guy was obviously well trained, but the longer I watched his movements, the slower he seemed to go, I think he’s finally tiring out. Another swing comes in, and this time I effortlessly dodge it, and the follow-up. Growing in confidence I step in to land a hit of my own only to realize too late that this whole time he was using only his upper body. A foot firmly lands in between my legs, dropping me to the floor in an instant as the world spun around me.
“Arrogance leads to death.” He spits at me as I lie on the floor. “I’ve told you before, I’m your enemy, and your enemy will do anything to survive. It’s your job to make them fail” He slowly turns his head and walks away toward the door on the northern wall, leaving me crying on the ground next to my only friend here, Mr. Elm. Just like every time before, as soon as he reached the door, it opened for him, and he exited as swiftly as he came. I want to hate him, I want to chase after him and tackle him to the ground and pummel him until he’s unrecognizable, but I know that it would only end in failure. I know that as much as his words, and fists, hurt, what he’s saying is the truth. I’m too weak, and for now, I need to get stronger.
“How’s number 47 progressing, Sensei” a voice calls out as the instructor enters the hallway. A few feet away from the door stands the lead scientist who seemed to be patiently waiting for the instructor to exit. His small stature, and pale complexion gives the impression of someone who’s spent their entire life inside, buried in books and studies. The oversized lab coat he wears looks ridiculous on him, but no one dared comment on it. His smile seemed to only extend to the muscles needed to make it, as his eyes held a cold and calculated gaze.
“You know I don’t like it when you refer to them by a number” the instructor responds with a grimace. “I get that they are just an experiment to you, but to me they’re still people. Speaking of people, I have a name, use it!”
With a wave of his hand the scientist dismisses the instructors words.
“Well, that aside,” the instructor continues with a sigh, “I’m impressed. I know I was hired because of my skill, but if John keeps learning at this rate, I’m going to be obsolete in only a few months.” He says with sigh. It really was impressive, not only how quickly he was learning, but also how quickly he was unlearning his bad behaviors, the instructor mused to himself. People don’t do that. Normal humans don’t just unlearn something as easily as they learned it, but that’s one of the perks of not being considered “human” anymore.
“Don’t give them names, you’ll only get attached, besides, they don’t need names.” the scientist says dismissing the instructors attempt at humanizing the subjects. “Since you’re praising number 47 so highly, should we up his training schedule to match his growth?” the scientist asks rhetorically, already planning without so much as waiting for the instructor's response. “I should very much like to see how far he can take us”.
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Number 47 wasn’t the only one the instructor had to train. All 12 subjects were his responsibility when it came to martial arts, and he treated them all equally. Each subject trained with him for 90 minutes, every other day. His schedule was packed as it was, but with this, the instructor knew that he would become even busier than before. His already hectic day left only a few hours for rest and recovery, and with 11 other “experiments” he had to instruct, he wasn’t sure how he was going to squeeze in extra training.
“I know what you’re thinking” as if reading the instructors mind the scientist speaks up. “Don’t worry! Three spots have opened in your schedule and we will dedicate them to number 47’s growth”. His tone made it clear that some of his experiments didn’t live up to their expectations and have come to an early stop. The instructor shuddered at the implication and worried what was going to happen to him once he became obsolete.
“Great” the instructor replied sarcastically, already turning to leave. “I’ll get started tomor…”
Dread.
The unmistakable feeling of death looming overhead penetrated the instructor. He froze in place as his battle-hardened senses informed him that if he were to finish that sentence in the wrong way, he wouldn’t make it to see tomorrow. He glanced back at the scientist and cleared his throat, “Ahem, Today. Right now, in fact. No point putting off until tomorrow what can be done today!” he chuckled nervously.
“Good! I’m glad to hear you be so enthusiastic about his training. Best of luck!” The scientist replied with that cold smile and calculating expression as he walked off. The door to number 47’s room opened as he walked away as if to hurry on the instructor.
“Oi!!” the instructor yelled out as he re-entered the room “Back on your feet, we’re not done yet!”
From across the field, I saw the instructor quickly approaching. Was that fear on his face? No, it couldn’t be. Who could possibly scare that monster!? I slowly started to stand back up, my fatigue almost completely gone from our earlier session even though it’s only been about 30 minutes. I’ve noticed recently that I recover from injury ridiculously fast, and I never stay fatigued for too long. My stamina seems to be about the same, but I recharge so much faster now.
As if accompanying my increased recovery rate, my hunger seems to be never ending. It’s not what you would consider hunger in the traditional sense. My stomach doesn’t rumble and hurt no matter how much or how little I eat. Instead, it seems to be instinctual. I just know that I'm hungry. It wouldn’t be too bad if I could make that feeling go away after eating, but no matter how much food they give me, the hunger returns almost immediately. Lately, I've been noticing that when I spar with my instructor, I catch myself looking at his muscles and wondering what they taste like, and seeing him approach me when my hunger seemed to spike caused my mind to go wild. The sweat running down his body looks more like seasoning to me, prepping my meal. Despite a clean and free flow of water running through my field, I often get the urge to drink from my instructor, and find myself not sparring to learn, but to overpower him and indulge in my never-ending hunger. My desire to land a hit is driven by the thought of the blood that would pour from it, the perfect drink to pair him with.
“Again already! But I'm tired!” I lied, shaking my head to free it from those dark thoughts and nearly on my feet.
“You think that your enemy will give you time to rest!?” the instructor responds.
Landing a kick square on my chest, he sends me tumbling back before I even gained my footing. He quickly closes the gap and stomps his foot towards my head. I’m a quick learner, so I knew that he wasn’t going to relent just because I was on the ground. I rolled over onto my stomach to get out of the way. I hear the sound and feel the wave of air left from his boot smacking into the ground where my head was only a second earlier. I push up with my arms, tuck my head, and kick with my feet to roll forward and stand up. No sooner was I on my feet than I felt something connect with my body, and turned to notice my instructor wielding a baton.
“Now that’s just not fair” I proclaimed, a look of pain on my face. I turn to take a stance and face him squarely. “But I guess” utilizing my best impression of the instructor I could muster “your enemy won’t fight fair; you need to learn to fight in unfair battles.” I dodge his next attack while making my snide remark. I must have hit a sore spot because his ferocity only increased from there.
Our battle continued for the same length of time as they normally would, with him landing less and less hits on me as time progressed. Just earlier today i barely was able to dodge his punches, but now he's using all his limbs, and even has a weapon. I have yet to hit him even once, and at this point I feel like I'm not learning how to fight, but how to run away from people. The bright side is that I have less bruises than the first time we ever fought, but running away is not always going to be an option. I need to learn faster. If only he would teach me some of his techniques, instead of just beating up on me day after day. In that sense he’s more of a bully than an actual instructor.
“Maybe he’s not even an instructor” I muse to myself as he’s walking away, sure that he couldn’t hear me. We finished today's "lessons" with me landing a whopping zero hits on him. My pride just couldn't handle it.
“Pain and failure are better teachers than I could ever hope to be” he says matter-of-factly “You would be wise to learn from them.”
As he leaves, I'm left to ponder about what he said. There is certainly a little bit of pain, and I know that i failed in several regards today. I meander over to the center of the room where Mr. Elm stands unwavering.
“If only I was as strong as you, Mr. Elm! The instructor would probably break his hands if he hit you.” I proclaim proudly as I sit down and lean against him. Since it’s only me in here I've taken to talking to the tree. I vaguely remember hearing that plants respond when you talk to them. Something about the energy you give off. I think that only applies to crops, or small plants though. Either way, it helps me unwind and keeps me from going crazy, although, some might say talking to a tree would make me crazy already, but what do they know, right?
Next time.
Next time I will land a hit on my teacher for sure, after all I have the best two instructors in the world according to him, and I've been in plenty of pain, and failed plenty of times.