Oliver closed the store and led the rest of the group upstairs. On the second floor was another gym with similar ashen black splotches on the floor mat and equipment for exercising. A thin wooden screen separated Oliver’s personal office from the rest of the floor, an unmade bed with loose articles of clothing and a desk with a computer and food wrappers strewn atop. Oliver took a seat at his desk chair and booted up the computer.

Felda lightly tapped on Foreigner’s shoulder and motioned for him to head to the gym proper. Itzhak had already removed his shirt and was stretching his body, muscles flexing at each precise movement.

“What are we doing?” Foreigner asked as he stepped onto the floor mat. He looked at himself in the mirror and saw a completely different person from just two nights ago. The same caramel colored skin was caked in dirt and debris, splotches of mud and gunk caught on his jacket and pants. There were holes and burned edges on his clothes, with blood that had once caked his midsection being dry and stained the white dress shirt. His beard had grown even more scraggly and wild since he’d seen it last, small knots having formed around bits of debris caught in the hair. It was no surprise why Briggs thought he looked like a dreg off the street; he really was one.

“I plan to limber up for our upcoming spar. You are going to shower and change. Oliver and you have about the same body type and I’m sure he will not mind giving us clothes Felda has not seen him wear in forever. When you’re done feeling like new man, we’ll get started with our sparring. I need you to be clear of mind and sharp to handle what is to come if this Banshee is anything like they’ve been described.” Itzhak gave Foreigner a warm smile and handed him a bundle of soft folded clothes. “The showers are down the hall.” Itzhak turned his attention back to his form and continued to stretch. Felda was tidying up the room/office space while gathering an assortment of tools into a bucket. Oliver mumbled under his breath as he stared at his computer screen, brow furrowed.

If they were getting ready, so should he.

He walked down the hall and took a shower, allowing the grime on his body to wash away down the tiled shower drain, hot running water traveling through his skin in a purifying ritual. Steam filled his lungs and for a moment he found peace of mind.

There is work to be done. Disregard these frivolous actions and prepare yourself.

Foreigner took a deep breath and allowed the weight of his actions to set in. Tonight there were lives on the line and he had to push himself if he was going to save those around him. He turned off the water and dried himself off with a towel.

With clothes on and a steeled spirit, he walked out of the hall and into the scene with Felda, Oliver, and Itzhak. Itzhak was throwing punches at a matte black punching bag, electricity arcing from his fists but the bag being no worse affected by the ordeal.

“Glad you could clean up! Honestly I didn’t want to say anything but you had a certain odor that made it hard to think.” Oliver walked towards him and started shoving Foreigner onto the mat. “Now let’s get this over with. I lose customers by the minute and time towards research and development. Felda! Bring the bucket.” Felda silently acknowledged the command as she brought out a bucket with miscellaneous tools to the center of the room. “These are on loan, alright? You can take your pick but you better bring them back when you are done.”

“And what if we die out there, Oliver?” Itzhak walked over to the gathering with an easy smile and laughed. None of them looked kindly at the joke. “It is a little gallows humor. I am sure we will be fine with your guidance, Oliver, and Foreigners combative ability.” Foreigner merely nodded in response, uncertain to the extent of his own ability.

He looked at the weapons in the bucket and gravitated towards the longest one he could find. There was a familiarity in his stances and grip that spoke to him and his muscles. There were two weapons of equal length, one an axe with a blue grip and a device in the hilt that suggested maintaining an electrical current. With the motif of static and storms, Foreigner was quite sure that this was their gimmick, as it were. He turned over to the spear and held it in his hand.

“Oh, you’ve got a good eye. An expensive eye. I don’t know if I like that so much.” Oliver gestured for Foreigner to hand over the implement and he did so. “This was one of my first weapons. I called it the “Heaven’s Piercer” back when I first thought this establishment would take me out of the Backstreets and into the loving arms of a weapons company in the Nest. Those were the days…” Oliver’s eyes glazed over at the recounting of this bittersweet memory. “But now it will at least serve well in the hands of Itzhak’s most esteemed guest. Quickly, get to swinging and testing. I can make calibrations and search for this mystery weapon your assailant uses as we go.” Oliver sprinted back to his computer while Foreigner swung with the weapon. It was light in his hands and energy coursed through him in a peculiar manner. His senses felt sharper, the world moving slower. He could hear the fan motors spinning above him and if he strained himself, the constant bustle of pedestrians on the sidewalks outside.

Itzhak went to slap his back but this too was forewarned by the heightened senses. Foreigner ducked from the slap and looked over to Itzhak. “What is happening to me?” Foreigner asked, eyes growing wider as he turned over to Oliver.

“Don’t worry about it! Hold onto the metal bit if you want your senses sharpened. It taxes the mind so hold onto the rubbered bits to prevent that. Now will either one of you describe what kind of weapon this Banshee was using?” Oliver sounded exasperated with the situation.

“She held a weapon that looked like a cross. Onlookers stated that when it opened, there was this whirring whistling noise as it ate through the flesh of one of our patrons.” Itzhak stated as he moved Felda and the equipment out of the mat. Foreigner removed his grip from the metal end and the focus he had blurred away. A headache was beginning to gnaw at the sides of his head. “Look alive friend. Our sparring begins now!” Itzhak leapt forward with an outstretched fist. Foreigner reflexively gripped the metal end of the spear and slowed the world for himself, moving out of the way before gripping the rubber end again. A momentary fog creeped into his mind before dispersing once more.

“I’m not getting any results on a weapon like you’ve described but I’m seeing some familiar implements. Blades hidden in musical cases. Electric prongs hidden in briefcases. It sounds like she’s using something like that, and if she is, then she’s going to have fine control over each individual moving part.” Oliver yelled out from his office.

“Then it seems we might be taking some more time to practice!” Itzhak stated with a devilish grin.

It seemed like things were going to take a while after all. So long as their time was being put towards preparation, Foreigner didn’t feel so bad about the sparring. A small part of him was even having fun, the levity lightening the burden of his friends lives on his heart.