April 24, 2011
Location: Metropolis
The next day, I was sleeping very soundly when I was soon interrupted by a loud horn. I scrambled out of my sheets, heart racing when S.E.B.A.S announced, "Good morning, sir, I apologize for waking you up in this fashion, but Ms. Graves specifically instructed me to do so with her instructing me, 'if he sleeps in past seven, then wake his ass up.'"
Annoyed, I grumbled and attempted to get back to bed. Today was the very first day I had a day off, and I would do with it as I pleased. That is when S.E.B.A.S continued, "Ms. Grave also instructed me to play this recording of her if you decided not to get up."
S.E.B.A.S. then proceeded to play a recording of Mercy, who seductively teased, "Oh, also if you go back to bed, you won't get to have me for a whole month, Lex'".
Oh, she was playing dirty.
"Fuck it fine", I grumbled getting out of bed. As I got ready, S.E.B.A.S. reported, "Today you got boxing training at 0800 with Roger Roach, and then at 0900 you got sparring practice."
I was not looking forward to the sparring session at 0900. S.E.B.A.S. analyzed the events that happened during the attempt on my life, and he concluded that with my current skill set, I could handle fighting one opponent, maybe even two at the same time, but more than that, I would be defeated without my armor. So my trainers, Mercy, and S.E.B.A.S., concluded that I should now fight against three opponents during my sparring session to acclimate to fighting multiple people simultaneously. The problem was, was that I was getting my ass beat for a whole houe nearly everyday since I was fighting ex-service men or professional martial artists. That is why I was also working on a virtual reality simulator to increase my fighting experience.
With VR, I could train myself in life and death situations as much as I like without the actual consequence of death, and train for more extended periods without the pain or soreness that usually accompanies fighting. However, with the number of projects I had, it was on the back burner. To me, improving both my armor and evolving myself was first on the list. Even though combat experience was necessary, the other two projects would bridge the gap in combat prowess when going against stronger opponents.
While I was deep in thought, S.E.B.A.S. broke my deep trance by informing me, "Lastly, you got a meeting with Child Protective Services at 1300."
After I had turned Floyd, AKA Deadshot, over to the authorities, his child, Zoey Lawton, was handed over to CPS. Before he got sent, I promised him I would watch over his child. I intended to keep that promise. Thankfully, as a multibillionaire, it would be easy for me to become her guardian. Who said money isn't a superpower?
Dressed in a simple, oversized grey t-shirt and black gym shorts, I made my way to the eighth floor, home to my private indoor gym and gymnasium. There, I found Mercy already training with the legendary Roger Roach, a name synonymous with boxing excellence. He had coached five world champions, including the phenomenal pound-for-pound king, Manny Mayweather. When Manny retired, so too did Roger, seeking a quieter life in his later years. But the fire of a fighter rarely extinguishes completely. When I approached him with a lucrative offer to train me, he eagerly accepted, not for the money, but for the chance to escape the monotony of peace. Many would envy my opportunity to learn from such a titan, but for now, it felt like pure, unadulterated torture.
Mercy was hitting the heavy bag, repeating the same combo—each strike containing enough force to knock out a regular, untrained man. As I was mesmerized by her near-perfect punching form, Mr. Roach yelled, "Stop daydreaming, lover boy, and start giving me a 100 burpees! Youre late!"
Fuck, what a way to start the day. I could see Mercy grin at me for getting punished. Just wait, tonight I will be the one grinning when I'm spanking her tonight over my knee.
Fifteen grueling minutes and a sloppy hundred burpees later, sweat plastered my clothes to my skin. I dragged myself over to Mr. Roach, gasping for air. "I'm... done... what's next?"
A smirk played on his lips as he observed my pathetic state. "Well, now, seeing as you and Mercy are nice and warmed up, I want you two to spar. Boxing only, though. No fancy stuff."
"But I have sparring next hour," I said, surprised. "Shouldn't I be learning more moves and basics first?"
"I'm just a boxing coach, so I can't really say how you're improving in other fighting styles. But when you two box, I can see how much you've improved and what type of boxer you are. It'll also help you both figure out where you stand as a boxer."
Mercy's smile caught my eye, and I remembered her confident words from yesterday: "As things stand, I'd definitely win if we sparred."
That memory sparked my competitive fire. I was determined to wipe that smirk off her face. As I started to wrap my hands, Mercy approached and took over the task.
"Just give me the word, and I'll take it easy on you," she said with a playful glint in her eyes.
"The same goes for you," I retorted. "These hands are rated E for everyone."
"Wow, such a gentleman," she quipped, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Hey, you'd probably be pissed if I didn't go all out just because of some dumb reason," I defended myself.
"You're right. Mostly because I don't want you using that as an excuse when I beat you black and blue," Mercy declared, finishing the wraps with a final, slightly tighter cinch. She walked away, her confident smirk leaving no doubt in her mind about the outcome.
We both entered the ring and went to the opposite corners. I could feel my heart beating, anticipating the upcoming fight that would begin at any minute. I put my hands up and tucked my chin as I began hopping back and forth on my toes, warming up my body. Mercy did the same, her eyes filled with conviction.
Roach stood at the center of the ring between us and announced, "Okay, you two, there will be five, three-minute rounds. I want a clean fight, and remember, boxing only. Begin!"
Without hesitation, I lunged at Mercy. But in a blink, she was already there, her right fist exploding upwards in a sharp lightning-fast uppercut aimed squarely at my chin. I froze mid-charge, snapping my head back, barely managing to lean back and avoid the blow. She was lightning fast! Before I could even process it, she was balanced and firing again – a crisp cross followed by a straight punch. Still reeling from her speed, I instinctively raised my guard, the impact of both strikes thudding through my arms. Then, with a swift pivot to her left, she hammered a left hook into my right ribs, followed immediately by a brutal right hook that landed hard on my gut. Winded, I stumbled backward, struggling to catch my breath and regain my footing.
"What are you doing! Are you fucking heavy bag? Don't just stand there, fight back!" instructed Roach.
He was right; I couldn't stay static. I regulated my breathing, calculating her superior speed. She was quicker on both offense and defense. To gain an edge, I needed strategy, not just power. I charged again, this time factoring in her reflexes. Mercy mirrored my advance. As I closed the distance, I abruptly hopped back, evading a strike, then immediately lunged forward, unleashing a wide, telegraphed "gazelle" punch, punctuated by a sharp "tsss" sound. The unorthodox attack and my vocalization surprised her since it telegraphed my intent. She easily ducked under the blow, ready to retaliate with a rapid one-two. But I was already in motion. Using the momentum from my missed punch, I pivoted into a rising uppercut, adding another "tsss" as I aimed for her rising form. Because she was still dropping, the uppercut connected with her head. She was forced to jump back, barely deflecting the strike, the impact shoving her back a couple of feet.
"That was better, but stop making those damn 'tsss' sounds, it's telegraphing when you are attacking! Hit her in silence."
I ignored his instructions and continued to make the 'tsss' sounds whenever I attacked. This earned me a glare that would have caused me to wince if I could see.
As the fight continued, it was easy to see that Mercy was landing more hits than I. While I was stronger, she was much faster and more experienced due to her daily training. She would've won if I fought fair.
As the last few seconds trickled down, I pulled off my plan that I had initiated since the beginning. I blocked a right hook that she threw to the head and counterattacked with a straight, while making the "tsss" sound once more. Hearing that, she quickly retreated her arms to block the incoming attack, but it never came. It was faint, and I promptly performed the same sequence of attacks she threw at me initially that sent me reeling while she had her guard up. With a swift pivot to my left, I hammered a left hook into her right ribs, followed immediately by a brutal right hook that landed hard on her liver. Instead of stumbling back, she dropped to her knees, trying to regain her composure.
"Alright, alright, enough," Coach Roach interjected. "That was a good fight, and I've got a solid understanding of your fighting styles now."
Once Mercy recovered from the liver shot, she shot me a glare. "You cheated."
I smirked. "All's fair in love and war, babe. Not my fault you got Pavlov's Dogged in an hour" I offered her a hand up.
She eyed it, and I could practically see her debating whether to slap it away. She reluctantly took it.
"I still won, I was beating you the entire time," Mercy stated bitterly.
"Whatever lets you cope," I said teasingly.
"That trick won't work twice."
"All I need is for it to work once."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"You annoy me."
"Okay, that's fair," I conceded with a laugh, my eyes lingering on hers a moment longer than necessary.
"Enough with the flirting; let me give you your results so I can return to my garden!" Roach grumbled.
We walked to a small conference room and had S.E.B.A.S. replay our entire sparring session. Watching it, I could tell Mercy outclassed me. After we were done watching the footage, Coach Roach said, "Okay, seeing how you two fight, let me break down the fight."
"Now, Mercy, let's talk about you. You're fast, a great fighter, but you must be more adaptable. You dominated early, but as you saw, he had a clear edge in strength and durability. Despite knowing that, you stayed in close. You should have exploited your speed and maneuverability. If you had, he wouldn't have stood a chance."
He then turned to me and stated, "You, on the other hand, have a long way to go, Lex. Mercy was right; that trick won't work twice. Yes, you've won, but tricks are a short-term solution. Your biggest weaknesses are speed, especially your footwork. You let yourself get cornered in there, and she treated you like a heavy bag the first half of the fight. Against a stronger opponent, you'd be looking up at the lights by now, with no way to escape or maneuver. Next week, we're focusing on a footwork-intensive training regimen that will improve your boxing and should also translate to your other fighting styles."
He got up and started packing his things away. Mercy and I thanked him for the coaching he gave today. I then looked at Mercy and said, "Cancel the 0900 sparring session, I think I've got my fill of getting beat for today."
She laughed and said, "Fine, I guess we can take a rest day today since you beat me. Which won't happen again."
We made our way to the dining room, which was all cleaned up from the events of last night—no evidence or sign of what transpired the night before. There waiting was breakfast, consisting of eggs, bacon, sausage, and rice.
"Remind me to give the cleaning lady a raise," I stated, very pleased with the maid's hard work.
"I'll make sure to do so," Mercy stated, smiling."
As we ate, I asked Mercy, "So what's this girl like, Zoe Lawton?"
"She's a 14-year-old eighth grader who, according to reports, has been exhibiting some challenging behaviors. However, I suspect these issues might be rooted in an unstable home environment and a lack of sufficient stimulation in her classes. There's documentation indicating she was once a very capable student, but her behavior started to change over time," Mercy informed me.
"Seeing her picture, the resemblance to a slightly older Cailey Fleming from The Walking Dead was striking. Great, I thought, an emotionally charged teenager. Having never navigated parenthood in my previous life, a wave of apprehension washed over me at the prospect of taking her in. Yet, I solemnly promised Floyd to watch over her while he served his time, an oath I had no intention of breaking."
"Fine, but she better not mess with my projects."
Mercy chuckled lightly and joked, "Boys and their toys."
After a few seconds of silence, Mercy stated, "You know it's a good thing what you're doing, you know, taking her in. If you didn't, she would be bouncing from foster home to foster home."
"You know me, Forbes number one philanthropist of the year," I joked.
She chuckled, that's when I had an idea. I excitedly stated, "We've been working hard these past few months, why don't we hold a fundraising gala. We can use that money to set up our own orphanage. "
Mercy's gaze sharpened. "Lex," she began, her voice laced with suspicion, "as much as I appreciate your apparent goodwill, I know you're not exactly selfless. So, what's the real play here?"
"Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence," I retorted dryly. "But honestly, no hidden agenda. We've been grinding non-stop, and frankly, I haven't even had a chance to blow any of this company's money on something ridiculous. Seems like a good time, now that things have finally calmed down. Besides," I added, a touch more deliberately, "good publicity never hurts. And, you know... the whole helping the orphans thing."
"Smooth recovery," Mercy quipped, a hint of amusement in her tone.
"Alright," Mercy conceded, a hint of anticipation in her voice. "So, when do you want to have this party?" Mercy asked
"Let's aim for two months out," I suggested. That gives people enough time to clear their schedules as well as get an outfit ready."
"Perfect," Mercy responded. "I'll finalize the date and begin compiling a guest list targeting influential individuals, well-known actors, and musicians. That way, we can generate a significant amount of funds for the fundraiser."
As we finished breakfast, I glanced at Zoe Lawton's picture once more. Looks like I was going to be an uncle.