So here we have it guys! Chapter 4! Thank you so much once again for the reviews, I am so glad people are enjoying this! :D. So here we have a chapter that will introduce a new major character, and also have a bit more action in it! Please R&R if you want! Much appreciated! :D
Chapter 4
Drake had a hot meal that evening, a proper one. Steak, vegetables and a cool drink. It was the first dinner he remembered having in a very long time. Really, he only cared about the steak. He wolfed it down his gullet within a minute, and then went on to have a second helping of it. Something about meat really appeased him and he ate like a hungry hyena. After he was finished, he savored the lingering taste of the cow in his mouth.
'Carnivore by nature,' he thought to himself, 'Must be why they had accused you of trying more "exotic" meats in the FAYZ,"
He shook off the thought; he had enough depressing guilt pushing down on him at the moment without adding possible cannibalism to the list.
Later on he was escorted to his room by two armed guards. The room was a cube, with grey concrete walls and no windows. It had a bed and a bathroom with a working shower. It suited Drake absolutely fine. He took a long shower, finally remembering the sensation of running water flowing down his back, accumulated dirt disappearing down the drainage hole. The last flecks of dead skin were washed off of the stump that used to be his right arm and drifted away. The bed wasn't exactly comfortable, but Drake didn't care; he did not sleep a wink that night anyway. As he stared at the ceiling he thought over the words that Caldera had said to him, about being "a soldier of virtue" and a "superhero" and cringed inwardly. He did not want to be a hero, he just wanted to try and make up for the damage he had done. He did not want the rest of the world to know that the Devil of Perdido Beach was still alive, let alone about to be trained for combat.
But as he lay there, something felt off about his missing arm. He had heard that sometimes amputees felt as if the limb they had lost was still there. That was what he was feeling. Only he didn't feel like his arm was there. The feeling of something wrapping around his torso, like a python, was present, as if his right arm was long and prehensile. Just like a whip.
The thought disturbed him, the thought of that malicious weapon that he had used to cause so much pain and death. Even more disturbing was the fact that it was what had first tied him to that alien monster, The Gaiaphage.
But as he lay there gazing up at the ceiling, he couldn't help but feel a strange comforting sensation as he imagined the whip coiling around him. It was horrible, the things he had used that whip to do, he knew that… but at the same time, it felt like it was a part of him, a part that could never truly go away.
He wondered what else of the old Drake remained, and would it all ever truly go away.
In the morning, a soldier named Bronson, a bear of a man, but with an almost infant like face, knocked on his door and informed Drake that his training would begin after breakfast. Drake dressed in a black long sleeve T-shirt and jeans that were provided. He tucked the shirts right sleeve in; it wasn't as if he needed it. After a quick breakfast of some bread and bacon, Bronson escorted Drake down a busy corridor which was bustling with all sorts of activity. Scientists, engineers, technicians and soldiers were all coming to and fro different stations all around the facility, carrying documents, lab equipment and weapons. Drake saw some of them give him weary stares. He was sure they all knew of his survival by now. None seemed too shocked to see him alive, just worried.
Two minutes later, Drake was in an elevator descending to the bottom floors of the complex, flanked by two guards, Bronson and another soldier. Drake guessed they were more of a prison guard than an escort. He remained silent as they went down and down further, sighing once, just to give the dead space another sound other than the whirring of the elevator. He began to speculate that his next few weeks might be rather boring and insufferable, being under lock and key the whole time and taking boring trips like this.
'Means to an end, Drake," he thought to himself. Then the elevator doors pinged open.
As the doors subsided, it took Drake a couple of seconds to register what now lay in front of him. When he did, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Before him now was the biggest training center he had ever seen, a massive room the size of a football stadium. The two guards led him down a small flight of stairs and into the immense cavern of concrete and steel. All around him there were soldiers training on obstacle courses, shooting ranges, fitness machines and a myriad of other contraptions Drake could not even fathom as to what their purpose was. Floodlights illuminated the different areas, and the sound of gunfire echoed throughout the cavern from the shooting ranges.
Caldera was speaking with what looked like twelve candidates in training at the center of the room. He was wearing a blue polo shirt and his white trousers and shoes. When he saw Drake and the guards approaching he smiled and finished up his conversation with the trainees and turned to Drake. He was still getting annoyed by that smile. He felt stupid, almost crazy, for putting himself up to this. After all, this man just had him killed yesterday. He didn't trust Caldera one bit, but he was desperate. He had to redeem himself, for him and the people he hurt. He quickly wondered what the old Drake would think of his future self, wanting to help people instead of maiming and killing them.
"Well, you're still up to the task then, that's great!" said Caldera cheerfully.
"Yeah, guess I am," said Drake. He looked all around him.
"You guys take yourselves pretty seriously, don't you?" he questioned jokingly as he scanned the massive space.
"We are dealing with some of the most potentially dangerous powers on earth, Drake. Not to mention the existence of alien life out there somewhere," explained Caldera. He spread his arms, gesturing the colossal room. "This is just one example of the measures that the people here at FACE will undertake to ensure that we are ready to fight the worst," he dramatically declared.
"Yeah sure, so when do I start?" asked Drake, his impatience of Caldera's theatricality clear now.
"In about three seconds," said Caldera as he gestured to something behind Drake, "Meet your training instructor,"
Drake turned around to see a young man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, walk up to him and Anthony. He had a handsome face, spiked brown hair and brown stubble. His face reminded Drake of a wolf. He stopped in front of Drake, flanked by four soldiers, two at either side of him. They all displayed power and strength, and a little bit of arrogance thrown into the mix. The training instructor eyed Drake with a cold stare. He was fit as a fiddle, and looked like he could lash out at any moment and leave you no time to react.
"Drake, this is Niall Cross, he's our head instructor and also the head of field operations conducted by FACE," explained Caldera. Drake extended his remaining hand for a shake.
"Nice to meet you, Niall," said Drake with a smile. Cross didn't move, keeping his cold stare on Drake.
"You will call me Captain or Sir, Mr Merwin," he said callously. "I'm in charge of training you to be combat ready, and I will also be your team leader if you do actually make it to the field," he explained.
Drake held his stance for a moment, slightly taken back by the man's arrogance. He let his hand drop and decided that he and Cross here were not going to get along. He returned Cross's cold stare; only he added a slight smirk of rebellion. Cross showed no sign of the slight shock he felt of finally meeting The Devil of Perdido Beach, only for The Devil himself to offer him a handshake. He didn't deserve even the slightest courtesy back, thought Cross. Caldera broke the awkward silence that followed.
"Well I think we shouldn't take any more time with introductions. I think we should start your training right away!" Caldera said as he patted Drakes shoulder.
"With all due respect, Mr Caldera, I don't think a one armed kid will be of much use to the team, regeneration or not," explained Cross. "Now I know you have your engineers working on a solution to his arm, but then there is his state of muscle mass, or lack there-of. And his mental state, based on filed reports, I would… strongly recommend we reconsider this decision," he said, earning a few mocking smiles from the men behind him. He kept his poker face.
Caldera faltered for a moment, mouth open. Drake however, only let his smirk grow a little wider, slightly baring a canine. The man was insulting him, berating him, and while he knew that his past actions had earned him this treatment, this group of "men" displayed a pure general arrogance. Drake liked this, his fight was now returning. His lust for conflict was still very much there, and now he had a whole group of pig-headed men to check up on his confrontation skills. Caldera was about to say something when Drake got to it first.
"With all due respect, "Sir", why don't you prove that I'm unsuitable for training, rather than just blabbing about it," he leered, staring Cross directly in the eyes.
One of his men stepped up, shoulders tensed in a threatening (and quite pitiful, Drake thought) display.
"What did you say, you little prick?" he growled.
"OK, gentlemen, let's just start this again and-"Caldera began, trying to diffuse the situation.
"I said prove I'm unsuitable, big guy. If I'm just a one armed loony then prove it, try hitting me," Drake dared.
The five men, including Cross, were now riled up, although Cross kept his cool better than the others. Caldera stared at Drake incredulously, mouth agape. Drake turned to him and smiled.
"Come on, give the dogs a bone. See if their bite is worse than their bark,"
Five minutes later, Drake found himself standing on a sparring mat. The man who had called him a "prick" stepped onto the mat, cracking his knuckles. Drake was a tall teenager, but this man was massive, and well-muscled. Drake just chuckled silently to himself.
'Big bald bastard,' Drake thought to himself.
"Alright you little turd, time to teach you some manners!" he growled.
"Geez, teach me some manners? Could that big forehead of yours not think of a better threat than that?" jeered Drake. The man chuckled with suppressed anger and advanced on Drake.
"I'm going to wipe that-"he began. He did not stay conscious long enough to finish the statement.
As he came within punching range, Drake reacted as quickly as a cobra. He kicked out and caught the man's knee. With a grunt, the soldier's knee collapsed beneath him. As he went down, Drake rewarded him with a ferociously quick and powerful head-butt to the nose. The man's head snapped back and he fell onto the mat, out cold. This all happened within a second.
The other three grunts stared wide-eyed and slack-jawed at both their comrade and Drake. Cross's expression changed from surly to shock too, although his was less noticeable. The knowledge on how to fight was all coming back to him, muscle memory hidden away in his scattered brain was now returning, and it was back with a vengeance.
"Waiter, main course please?" growled Drake, smiling ferociously at the remaining three soldiers.
Two of them came at him this time, a blonde guy who was a hulking mass, and a smaller black haired guy who was lither. The blonde came at him with a high punch, while the black-haired one came at him with a low punch just behind the other. It was a well-coordinated attack, meant to stop him from dodging high or low, but within a millisecond Drake found a fault in their manoeuvre. He didn't need to dodge it.
As the first punch was thrown, Drake turned his shoulder to the fist and pushed forward. The blow struck him, but Drake's move made the man's elbow snap back and connect with the other soldier's nose, sending him reeling with a fresh gush of blood. The blonde man roared and tried to swing around and make another strike, but Drake was much faster than the lumbering beast. He rounded on him, recovering from the blow that hit his right shoulder and swung at the soldier, connecting with his jaw. The blow was accurate and powerful and had the desired effect. The man went tumbling. He went to launch himself back up off the mat, visibly disorientated, but he was met with Drakes black boot, which hit him right in the face. Drake's fists were one thing, but his legs were pile drivers that could give serious blows. The man was unconscious before he kissed the floor again.
Drake laughed, not at the attempt these "trained" men were making, but at how much fun he was having. He was having an absolute ball.
The black haired man was back up again and charging, snarling like a wild animal through his mask of blood. Drake dug his feet into the floor, appearing to be taking a bracing position… right before he leapt clean into the air, legs outstretched in front of him. Both of his boots connected with the man's chin. Teeth splintered and cracked, his head shot back, and he did a full flip in mid-air before landing face-first onto the mat.
As Drake sprung to his feet, the last remaining soldier rushed in and threw a punch that connected with the side of Drake's head. The blow was powerful, Drake stumbled but stayed upright, blinking rapidly and cursing as he regained focus. The man threw three more punches, all three connected. One hit Drake right on the nose, one hit him on the cheek and then the last, a right hook, hit him in the stomach, winding him. Drake doubled over, a wheeze of escaping air leaving his mouth. Cross observed with secret satisfaction, but he did not smile.
The man sneered and laughed at Drake as he tried to get back to his feet. Drake wheezed something inaudible as he rose.
"What was that, little guy?" the soldier mocked. Drake kept his head down.
"I said smell my forehead would you? I think it needs a wash," he said. For a brief millisecond, the soldier thought that Drake was still crazy. That was until he realised how close he had gotten to Drake in order to hear him. He figured that part out a second too late.
Drake suddenly grabbed the back of the man's head and pulled it towards him as he gave the guy a head-butt that connected with the soldier's nose. His head snapped back and he howled, but Drake went in for another and head-butt him again, drawing blood from his own forehead, but leaving the soldier worse off. As the man clutched his nose, Drake drove a kick with as much power as he could muster into the man's crotch. His wail turned into a whine as his eyes bulged and his breath escaped. Drake then finished it off with an uppercut straight to the chin, flipping the man onto his back, unconscious and down for the count.
Four trained soldiers against a one armed teenager. The whole training room stared in shock, dozens of faces staring with 'o' shaped mouths at Drake. Caldera smirked as he looked on. Cross simply kept his cold stare on the boy. Drake panted and looked around, blood dripping down his forehead and his face. He wiped the blood and smeared it across his head.
"There, much cleaner now," he chuckled with his shark smile on display.
"Training has officially begun then!" Caldera announced with barely contained glee.
Cross eyed him for a moment, then spoke up:
"Get them cleaned up. Everyone else, back to your training!"" he said as he gave Drake a final stare before heading off.
Drake looked down at the four men being carried off to the med-bay, his forehead already beginning to mend itself cell by cell.
"Hope you train me better than you did them, asshole," he whispered to himself as he smirked.
So there is another one down! Just like those silly soldiers! Hehe :P. Next chapter coming soon, and will reintroduce something that Drake once held very close to him. ;). Well, as close as anything can get to an ex psychopath! Of course the question of whether his malicious past is truly behind him or not will become harder to answer in the coming chapters. It's time to make Drake a warrior! Stay tuned for more, and as always, R&R on what you like and what you think I should do better! :D