Training Ground – HOPE Underground Haven
The training chamber was enormous.
Reinforced steel panels lined the walls. Arc shields flickered in the corners. A curved ceiling, layered with dampeners, pulsed faint blue light overhead ready to absorb explosions or redirect shockwaves.
In the center of the ring: Harry Freeman, arms bare, black compression shirt clinging to his frame, knuckles taped tight.
Across from him: James Conrad, electrical threads pulsing along his sleeves, sparks dancing across his forearms like snakes made of lightning.
They circled each other. No music. No countdown.
Just two soldiers, brothers in arms trying to sharpen their edge before the war.
Harry cracked his neck.
"Still think lightning's faster than fists, huh?"
James grinned.
"Lightning doesn't miss, Harry. Your fists? Eh… 50/50."
Harry charged.
