literature

Demetri's training

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A young, four year old mutant was sleeping peacefully in his cot. The mutant’s bedroom was small, with just concrete walls At least he was until an eraser slapped him across the face and yelled that he had five minutes to get up and get ready for training. "Sir, yes sir!" Demetri knew better than to ignore the wakeup call. Last time he did he had both his legs broken. The child stood up and threw off his pajama top, and briefly examined himself in the full length mirror. His muscles were coming in nicely, but he was repeatedly told his efforts and muscle were still insufficient. He wondered why he was never praised for his efforts. Demetri always pushed his body past it's limits, all the way to the point of collapsing from exhaustion.

The thoughts passed as he took off his blue pajamas, having some difficulty with his tusks, which were just beginning to grow out. He put on a black T-shirt that read ’Win or lose’ on it. His shorts matched, and he hurried out to the training room.

Morgan was out there as well, wearing basically the same attire as the elephant. With auburn hair that reached her shoulders, soft hazel eyes, and a smile that made the room seem ten degrees warmer, she was the prettiest girl in the whole complex. In Demetri’s opinion anyways. The training room itself was a massive section of the complex, deep underground with cement walls. There were exercise machines wherever room was available. Anything a professional mutant team in training could want: dumbbells, arm curls, step up blocks, bench press, treadmill, and a lot of things the boy didn't even know how to use.

Training started as it usually did: stretching out his limbs, and running two and a half miles to warm up. He walked over to the eraser, smiling warmly. "All stretched out sir, may I please go see Morgan?" His sweet request was met with a claw to the cheek. It was like white fire, searing deep. He put his hand to his cheek, and felt the deep gash in his cheek. His fingertips were coated in blood. The gash would mneed more then a bandage, it’d need stitches! He felt his eyes water, on the verge of crying. But the eraser/trainer kept scowling. "Don't you dare cry child. Shed one tear and I'll arrange for your workout to last an extra three hours."

That made the four year-old sniffle a little. Guess that's what he gets for asking to see his best friend. He whimpered a little, walking over to the bench press. Seventy-seven and a half pounds on each side of a forty-five pound barbell for a total of two hundred pounds. The eraser stood behind the barbell to act as the spotter for the boy. Demetri got in position and took the barbell off. Three sets of thirty is what he usually did, but the eraser just kept telling him to do more. He kept going, and eventually the eraser told him he could stop.

His arms burned from effort, and his legs were a little sore from the running on the track, but feeling this way was how Demetri felt everyday. The eraser led him along, heading to the secondary training.

Physical conditioning was the first part, combat training was secondary. The gash in his cheek stung the young boy, but the whitecoats paid no attention to the wound. They'd stitch it up after training.

Combat training was a daily routine for the boy. He'd learn to control his strength so he wouldn't hurt people unintentionally. If he succeeded, he'd get some chocolate as a reward. Fail, and he'd get a painful electric shock. He did as instructed, and finally succeeded. A whitecoat gave him a piece of Hershey chocolate, and Demetri ate it in slow pieces. Demetri knew this was just positive reinforcement, but he didn't care. He'd balance a ring on his nose if it'd get him more of such a sweet treat. This was how training went for the rest of the day.
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