A NEW BEGINNING
Chapter Nine
"Captain Natasha"
14:01 - Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy
In the CQC room, the Manhunter captain--just one of a many reverent leaders of the thug army on Snivelak--was finishing the buttoning of her combat jumpsuit by the time Vukar and Angela entered. No longer dressed in her everyday uniform of black, an attire which would normally been seen during briefing, and accompanied by a matching, short-brimmed cap, she now looked like a casual soldier, like one of them--only prettier. In person, Angela got a good look of who led the uncanny group of elite soldiers.
It was true, the captain was attractive--for a thug--as she had seen during briefing, but she was also very different than her. Short, raven hair. Aureate eyes. In height, Cross easily dominated this category by a few inches. They seemed equal in girth, but they differed in fur tone, with hers being the lightest as opposed to the captain's dark brown complexion; in the pattern of stripes, for the captain's were black and ran diagonally over her arms, legs, shoulders and the length of her tail; and species. Another thing the two women shared in common were fingers--five to be exact. Their biggest difference, however, was that the captain, whatever her animal ethnicity may be, she had a long, thin tail tipped with a pendant-shaped patch of fur. And after absorbing all there was to be seen of this woman, and if she didn't know any better, she presumed this other woman was a lombax.
With a slight push from behind, Vukar encouraged the nervous geneticist to go to the captain. After seeing that she was making a little progress, he turned to leave, closing the door to the simulation room behind him.
The sound of the door closing her in alarmed her, making her comfort zone smaller with every step toward the new stranger. She looked around the room, taking in her surroundings to get an idea of what she might have to do to prove herself worthy as part of her initiation into the team.
The training room was stark in comparison to the other rooms she had been inside. All four walls of the small room were painted white. The light arrangement, fixed into the ceiling as nothing more than small orbs, made it difficult to see at first, being so vivid and reflecting off all the whiteness. The only other object in the room that marred from the overall illusion of emptiness was the captain, who had her back to her.
The captain was pulling on some small and black, fingerless gloves by the time she stood behind her. Angela could hear the tightening of the gloves as the captain curled her hands into fists, repeatedly, flexing her fingers as if to make sure they were on just right. Slowly, curiously, the captain looked over her shoulder, turning around to see her new recruit.
With a pert smile, "Ah, Dark Angel. Welcome to the CQC (Close-Quarters-Combat) room. This is where the Manhunters go to train, practice new weaponry, and combat one another to hone in on their skills as fighters. And today, I'll be your contender," she chortled a moment, holding her chest with a hand. "Excuse me, I meant to say 'trainer.' That's not a problem, is it?" she asked while giving a suggestive look, one marked by the avidity to fight.
Angela returned a dubious look. "Um...sure? I, um--what do I need?"
Giving a knavish look, the captain said plainly, "Just your hands and feet, hon. By the way, what's your real name, if you don't mind me asking? My name is Natasha."
"My real name is...Angela Cross. It's a pleasure to meet you, Natasha."
Angela offered a hand shake, which Natasha promptly gripped, tightly, shaking very unladylike.
"No, no. The pleasure is all mine, Angela," said Natasha, releasing the recruit's hand. "You know, there's something special about you that I can't quite put my finger on, but I feel like I already know you. Tell me, where are you from?"
"I'm from Grelbin, currently living in the Tundor Wastes. And you?" said Angela, returning her hand to her side and feeling how it throbbed with pain.
"I'm willing to bet you work for Megacorp, but then again everyone else these days seems to be an employee, yeah? As for me, I'm from K'taline City on the planet Rumar. It's nothing special, nothing but a small planet near the outskirts of Bogon. Just isolated and alone in a back region of the galaxy."
Angela blinked, having never heard of such a place. "Don't take this the wrong way, or anything like that...," she put up her hands, "...what species are you? You resemble a lombax friend of mine from a little while back."
Natasha started laughing, holding her waist with both hands. "I assure you, I'm no lombax. But I'm definitely a shabox. Think of it as being distant cousins of the lombaxes."
"A shabox, huh? Sounds...uh...neat. I bet there is bound to be a scientific discovery!" Angela joked, being the first to laugh at her own dry humor.
"Oh, you better stop there, you're too flattering,"--curling her tail merrily--"Anyway, let's put the formalities aside and get down to the matter at hand--you and the Manhunters."
Angela straightened her pose. "Right."
Natasha stepped closer, came in front of her new recruit, and began a slow pace around her, checking her out while addressing the ways of the Thugs-4-Less Army.
"Normally, for anyone to be a part of the Thug-4-Less regime, let alone the Manhunters, one must go through nine weeks of intense training--that's how long it takes to mold you into a tough person, to have something crack you, rebuild you, train you, and make you feel like you're a part of something larger than life itself. But with you, however, there can be this one exception because some important business has come to my attention about a thief and the Megacorp corporation. I've heard of your alias before when I watched the Megacorp Games--as you already know, it's a tremendous, favorite pastime in our galaxy."
"So what do you think? Do I have what it takes to be a part of this--regime?"
"I saw your combat skills; they were something short of miraculous for someone who has never competed in a tournament before. Am I right?"
Angela turned her head to follow Natasha. "That's just about right."
"And do you have any...previous...military experience?"
"N-n-nooo, I don't."
"I see. If you are as good as you were at the arena, surely you can do it again, effortlessly?"
"I'll try."
Natasha came closer; whispered into the recruit's left ear. "Don't try. Just--do it."
"All right, what shall I do first?" she asked.
"First, I will test your speed, and then your reflexes. If you can managed to hit me just once, then you pass. But if you fail to land too many attacks, there will be consequences. Impress me and I, and the others, will train you as one of ours. When you feel ready, I want you to hit me as hard as you can--right here," Natasha ordered, pointing in between her eyes. "By the time you're able to hit me square in the face, that'll be the day you're ready to take on bigger challenges that lie ahead."
Natasha positioned to stand in front of Cross in readiness. Standing ready, in a little battle pose, her short, thin tail swayed anxiously. She studied the way Angela positioned herself into her own amateur fighting style, studying how she prepared to draw back a fist and usher the first blow.
When the fist came, Natasha leaned in forward, tilted to the side, and allowed the fist to pass. To her, it was as if the fist came in slow motion. An experienced fighter, she had learned to anticipate attacks and read the body language that came with them.
Angela looked surprised to have missed the captain's face, but she half-expected something like this to happen. After all, the captain wasn't just going to let her face get bruised so easily.
"Try another, different punch, and this time at another part of my body without telling me. I stand ready." Natasha returned into a battle stance.
Again, Angela threw another quick punch at the shabox's side, but a gloved hand came and parried the blow. She tried again, and again, and again to hit the captain in different places, but as always the shadow's hands seemed too fast, too skilled, preventing every attack from landing. This affair was proving to be more irksome for her with every attempt to strike, as much as it was a painful realization--a testament of how good she thought she already was, but really wasn't.
Amid her next attack, a block followed, and then a counter--a fist other than her own being buried into the pit of her stomach.
Angela bent forward in response; her suit having guarded against the full force of the blow. And even with her armor on, the fist still had a nice force behind it that made her retreat a couple of steps. The captain's punch accounted for her failure to block effectively. As a warning, Natasha's kind, patient voice told her of this lack of offense thereof.
"Your offense could use some work. How about defense, Cross?"
Without any fair warning, one of Natasha's boots came up and attempted to knock the geneticist back. Moving aside, she managed to avoid it, but another surprise greeted her face. The shabox's fist made her lose balance in those lost seconds after being struck that she fell backwards, and flipped. She became dizzy after that, the side of her face burned with redness.
"Your defense needs considerable work!" exclaimed Natasha, stepping back a few feet to give the self-proclaimed "Dark Angel" some space. "Again."
Angela climbed to her feet and gathered her composure, inhaling and exhaling, repositioning herself back into a fighting stance. Natasha attacked again, with a prowess unmatched by any other person she had ever fought, and this time attacked only with her legs.
The shabox lifted up on one leg and performed a quick roundhouse kick. Angela dodged the simple kick in hopes of countering before the girl turned around, but she came anew with an opposite kick with her other foot; it came smashing down on the top and back of her head in the opposite direction. Cross met the hard lino floor. Afterward, Natasha walked around her again with eyes like a predator.
The captain taunted her; every word pronounced and surly. "Had enough, already? Surely you can do better than that? If that's how you're going to act, we don't want you. Don't need you--a weakling. Maybe you should just give up and go home?"
At that, Angela was back on her feet with a look of rage on her face. Playing off of this emotion, Natasha gave a cocky smile. She dared the taller girl to attack by making childish noises with her small lips. Beyond infuriating, Angela leapt forth in blind fury, throwing a volley of attacks as best she could--some redolent of Ratchet's, or of what she had memory of seeing him perform in battle on television. And followed by her every attack was Natasha's counters, with more simple punches to the face, kicks to the chest, stomach, and legs.
Natasha was practically toying with her.
Angela's frustration and anger died completely when a harsh slap welcomed her, which made her face redder past the fur than before. The test ended there. She couldn't help but feel herself crying inside; her eyes, on the verge of welling. But she needed to look strong in front of this other, older woman.
Angela remained looking away, just as the slap had directed her, lowering her head a little when Natasha spoke again. "We must stop here. This has gone on long enough. Even though you've failed this initiation, I still want to make you into a Manhunter. You're in need of much training--training that comes with the help of your fellow hunters and battlefield experience. I just know, if you give it some time, that we'll shape you into a commando yet. That, I promise you. For now, you look tired, go get some rest in the lounge while I prepare your papers and assign you your quarters. I'll send Vukar for you when I've completed my tasks."
Everything said and done, Natasha walked away as if nothing had happened at all. Angela's eyes followed the shabox as she left the room without looking back. Many things roamed in her mind, but the last thing she thought about was hating to lose at the hands of a thug. The only optimistic, self-reassuring thought she had was that she was glad the others hadn't been around to see her defeat--no, beating. If they had, it would have been the most horrible, mortifying experience in her life. Were the others going to train her just as viciously as their captain? That was a thought she refused to listen to.
Once she gathered herself, putting an end to all of her silent weeping, she did as she was told, and headed for the lounge, a place she would have to find on her own.