Like most training days, he was taken out of his small confining cell and warmed with exercises and doing the new tests on the arm to make certain that it still followed his nerve commands. While he practiced, he heard the odds against him, that regardless of any upgrades that made to him, he was of the poorer stock when compared to the other weapon. The guards jokingly called him 'Soldier' for being the grunt worker, the one to get the jobs where he was considered more expendable. His opponent was called 'Commander' for being the superior one, perhaps even more proven in combat and the one who would perhaps always be the brains of an operation. He filed away those terms but had no opinion about them.
He wasn't allowed to have an opinion. He was to take the orders that he was given and use them to the best of his ability, and still be able to think on a mission when he was deployed. They were not yet entirely trusting that his abilities or his training would hold up on minimal supervision activity, but at the same time, he regenerated more slowly than the other weapon so he was less likely to fight back sometimes.
The Soldier was taken to the grounds where he was undertake this combat training for his arm but also as a comparison to measure himself against the other weapon. He flexed his shoulders, clothed simply in black combat trousers and a leather jacket. Unlike his fellow weapon, he wore a muzzle-like mask over the lower half of his face, keeping him from showing too much expression in case it might trigger something.
He carried knives along his legs and belt, no guns as they were required to close and combat with strength today. He stared at the other weapon, that sensation of fishhooks setting in his brain causing him to shift his footing as he remained a good distance away. He didn't acknowledge the other weapon at all, just stared the distance with his new arm glinting in the light of the room.
The combat training began, and he remained standing perfectly still as the distance between them closed. There was something about that shield, he decided. He waited, letting the other weapon close the distance until he could see right into the other man's blue eyes before he side-stepped quickly to avoid a strike, back-peddling smoothly to keep a relative safe distance, making the other weapon close on him rather than take the offensive just yet.
no subject
He wasn't allowed to have an opinion. He was to take the orders that he was given and use them to the best of his ability, and still be able to think on a mission when he was deployed. They were not yet entirely trusting that his abilities or his training would hold up on minimal supervision activity, but at the same time, he regenerated more slowly than the other weapon so he was less likely to fight back sometimes.
The Soldier was taken to the grounds where he was undertake this combat training for his arm but also as a comparison to measure himself against the other weapon. He flexed his shoulders, clothed simply in black combat trousers and a leather jacket. Unlike his fellow weapon, he wore a muzzle-like mask over the lower half of his face, keeping him from showing too much expression in case it might trigger something.
He carried knives along his legs and belt, no guns as they were required to close and combat with strength today. He stared at the other weapon, that sensation of fishhooks setting in his brain causing him to shift his footing as he remained a good distance away. He didn't acknowledge the other weapon at all, just stared the distance with his new arm glinting in the light of the room.
The combat training began, and he remained standing perfectly still as the distance between them closed. There was something about that shield, he decided. He waited, letting the other weapon close the distance until he could see right into the other man's blue eyes before he side-stepped quickly to avoid a strike, back-peddling smoothly to keep a relative safe distance, making the other weapon close on him rather than take the offensive just yet.