Page 86 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1
“Ally’s going to work while we train,” Hank explains.
“Speaking of which,” Ethan says, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s start with sparring pairs. Hank and Walt, Gabe and Blake, Rigel with me.”
I settle back in my chair, opening my document as the men spread out to different mats, but instead of focusing on my thesis, the display before me captures my attention fully.
I’ve seen Hank and Gabe in action before—my rescue was proof enough of their capabilities—but watching them train is something else entirely. The controlled power, the fluid movements, the precision of each strike and block—it’s like watching a deadly dance.
Hank and Walt circle each other with predatory focus. They move with a relaxed intensity that speaks to years of training, each step deliberate and measured. Walt strikes first—a lightning-fast punch that cuts through the air. Hank deflects it with a subtle shift of his forearm, the impact making a sharp crack that echoes in the gym. He counters with a sweep that nearly takes Walt off his feet, a move so seamless it seems choreographed.
Walt recovers with incredible agility, using momentum to spring back and launch a combination of strikes that would overwhelm an average fighter.
But Hank is far from average.
He’s a study in efficiency. He catches Walt’s arm in a lock that has Walt tapping out with a begrudging smile.
They reset, and the dance continues. There’s something beautiful in their controlled violence—a precision that transforms combat into art. They move with a speed that seems impossible for men their size, trading blows that would incapacitate an ordinary person.
On the adjacent mat, Gabe and Blake present a different style altogether. Where Hank and Walt are precision andcontrol, Gabe and Blake incorporate more showmanship, more taunting, but are no less lethal.
“Getting slow in your old age?” Blake goads, dodging a strike with a flashy spin.
Gabe narrows his eyes, a dangerous smile spreading across his face. “Just warming up.”
They clash again, a flurry of strikes so rapid my eyes can barely follow. Blake has height and reach, using both to keep Gabe at a distance, but Gabe is quicker and more adaptable, finding openings where none seem to exist.
Blake throws a high kick that would have connected with Gabe’s head if he hadn’t ducked at the last second. In that split-second opening, Gabe sweeps Blake’s supporting leg, simultaneously grabbing his shoulder.
Suddenly, Blake is airborne, flipped over Gabe’s shoulder to land with a thud that makes me wince.
“That all you got, pretty boy?” Blake laughs, bouncing back to his feet.
I can’t help but stare, fascinated by the raw display of skill. These men move like their bodies are weapons—precisely calibrated and expertly wielded. It’s both terrifying and mesmerizing.
My laptop screen dims—battery warning. Only 18% left now, after barely twenty minutes of use. I frown, closing unnecessary applications to conserve power.
“Impressive, aren’t they?”
I look up to find Rigel standing beside me, breathing hard but barely sweating after his round with Ethan.
“Terrifying is more like it,” I admit.
He grins, dropping into the chair beside me. “Wait until you see the wall drill. That’s where Hank really shines.”
I glance over at the massive climbing wall. “Is that what’s next?”
“Vertical assault simulation,” Rigel confirms. “We rotate positions and practice different scenarios. Today’s gonna be hostage extraction.”
My throat tightens. “Oh.”
Something in my voice must give me away because Rigel’s expression softens. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up… you know.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s fine.” Then, forcing lightness into my tone, “I know what to expect if it happens again, right?”
He studies me for a moment. “Most civilians would be falling apart after what you’ve been through.”
“Who says I’m not?” I counter.
“Hank and Gabe, for one thing.” He laughs—a genuine sound. “But fair enough. You’ve got grit.”
