Jericho Heiko: Syndicate Training Room, Somewhere in England
Jericho waited for the mystery chick to answer while he finished his rightfully won pear and food. However, an answer was never given between that time and a point when the elevator opened to reveal the one man who'd always give him a haunting memory, the Directive. He was talking on the phone to some person or another, a casual action that would normally go unnoticed. However, watching him that didn't make it seem all that casual. There was something about knowing a guilty deed someone has done that makes their every action seem a little less than okay. The thought wasn't much on his mind. It couldn't be while flashes of the bald man's death kept coming to him, even when he willed them to stop.
After his phone call the Directive addressed them, telling them about apparent training they had to do. This could be expected, he signed up (sort of) for this thing to learn how to use his powers correctly. The Directive told them they had ten minutes to eat and get into some new clothes before they had to head out. Then Adrian spouted something abut the clothes they should wear and cutting down their apparent time. Eight minutes, he ought to loiter...
Jericho got up from his seat, throwing what food he finished away and doing what was proper in the current setting with his plates. He went out of the kitchen, hands in his hoodie pocket, and went to his room to change. It didn't take long for him to pick out some black athletic shorts and a white, short sleeve t-shirt to wear. Over top of the t-shirt he wore a gray, sleeveless, Nike-brand hoodie. In large, bold capital letters it read, "I WILL STEP ON YOU TO WIN." The words were written in white, save the last two which were in green. Underneath was the iconic Nike check mark also in green. While he had taken a few minutes to scrutinize his wardrobe, it hadn't taken much time to get dressed. On his way down, he pondered over exactly what would happen next. They were going down to train, apparently. Jericho's imagination of training had involved running on treadmills or lifting weights in a montage fashion. However as he did he started to doubt what he thought was correct. How would doing crunches or pull-ups help him learn to use his power? This would have to be something more specific, but what? He supposed he'd have to find out on his own.
He wasn't the last, which made him feel a point more responsible than the rest of their party, even if he knew himself that wasn't true. As instructed, everyone had donned athletic gear or clothing more fit for training. The person who stood out to him (other than Fletcher, who had on an odd arrangement of clothing) was Archie. Instead of wearing normal clothing like the rest of the population would, he had picked out what looked to be some sort of... Jump suit? He opened his mouth to ask, but then closed it figuring that it wasn't worth it. As time went on Archie seemed to be able to fuel him with more and more reasons to either question him or not like him. Maybe he was just an odd kid. Whatever it was, this new addition managed to make him smile than frown. Into the elevator, Jeri was forced into a bit of a corner. With the whole Syndicate crew packed into one place and Adrain's hulking, four-armed body already larger than life itself, the ride was a bit of a tight squeeze. Why they would plan to bring together a bunch of people and not make an adequately sized elevator was beyond him, but he was courteous not to get into it today.
When they exited the elevator they entered a silent room filled with working scientist. None of them turned their heads or hesitated in their work, as if a group of teens with apparent superpowers were just a normal, every day occurrence that shouldn't be minded. As the elevator doors closed behind them the Directive, who had been here before them, introduced a man that Jericho had not seen until now. He was apparently Austrian or Russian, something or another (everyone on that side of the world probably sounded the same anyways). It wasn't really important. What was that that they were getting clones or something like that. He had the basic gist. He might know more if he weren't waiting for Joshua to say something from the Terminator.
Jericho smiled to himself and took an orb into his hand. This was actually... Really... Really f*cking cool. The Syndicate may have been made up of creeps and stalkers but they sure did know how to entertain. Holograms! It was like he was in a Sci-Fi movie. As soon as he touched the orb it sprung into action. The little golden sphere vibrated and then let out a quiet whirr. While he descended the steps, Jeri could feel the warned tingling sensation that signaled a scan being done. Jericho picked a space away from the other trainee's. For a moment he took the time to see what exactly the others were doing. The first four who'd gotten down here--Jeremy, Adrian, October, and the kid--were already fighting their look-a-likes. Jeremy and himself popped around the training room in an attempt to find advantage, Adrian wrestled and rolled on the floor, the kid was in a battle of stamina, and October was having a time herself. All of them seemed equally matched to each other, neither the clone or the person getting an advantage. If it hadn't been for the fact that they had been wearing different clothes when they were cloned, he wouldn't have been able to tell which was which. Jericho set down his orb, seeing it was about time he got started. When it touched the ground the orb lifted itself back into the air, floating at the height of his chest. He took a step back, noticing how close it was, and in the next second an image flickered around the orb, then another time, until finally the picture of himself was before him.
The result was a mirror image and, even though he expected it, Jericho was surprised at the likeness. He eyed himself, looking the clone up and down. It--or he?--did the same thing. He moved his arms, wiggled his fingers, shook his leg and the clone did so as well. The scientist said something about copying right? Well it sure was copying! You know, this was actually really cool, but as cool as it was, Jericho was beginning to catch on to the meaning of his words. How could you expect to win a battle if you couldn't beat yourself? How could you expect to win anything if you were too busy fighting yourself!? This was clearly the answer to the scientist's proverb. The path to greatness was not defeating yourself, but making peace or whatnot. Something nonviolent. If he punched, his clone would punch back. If he kicked his clone would kick back. If he never initiated he'd never have to fight! All these idiots rolling around on the ground here were completely missing the point! They were beating themselves needlessly! It just took a greater mind to catch on.
"We're not going to fight about this, right?" The clone didn't respond, of course. Jericho shook his head and the clone did too. He took that as a solid agreement. "Awesome." To seal their deal both Jericho and his clone raised their arms and connected their hands in a most satisfying and legendary high-five. Well that's great! Not only was he not going to waste his time trying to fight, but he got to high-five himself. Not those fake, sorry ones for lonely people. A real high-five. Jericho looked away from his clone and at the people who were punching and zapping and tussling with themselves. Well, if he was going to have nothing left to do he might as well watch these re-- F*ck! Jericho doubled over, hands and arms recoiling to his stomach which tensed and sent nausea through his system. Before he had the time to recover or even groan he was hit again, this time in the face. His head flew back from the impact, disorienting him. He stumbled back and fell to the ground, head spinning and in a lot of pain. His hands automatically went to his head and nose, both areas pounding. In front of him his clone laughed, though not a single sound came out. Man this guy was an *sshole.
Jeri got to his feet. Maybe the whole proverb theory wasn't exactly correct. It was clear now that the clones didn't do exactly what you did. They just did things that you did. If he was a clone and he tricked someone like that, well... He'd be laughing too! That didn't really give it an excuse to be an *sshole, though... The clone stopped laughing when Jericho rose, and instead, grinned mockingly.
"This could have been easy," Jericho said, scowling. "But you had to make it hard." He took two steps forward and swung, aiming to wipe that grin away. His punch was stopped abruptly by his clone's hand. Its grin turned into a smirk, holding on tightly to his caught fist. Jericho's eyes widened and then narrowed. He balled his free hand into a fist and swung it as well, but just as the first one it was easily caught by the clone. "Wha--" The clone jerked Jericho forward and kneed him in the stomach, sending him back onto the ground. He grimaced and held his stomach, feeling an intense nausea and the pain from the blow. Once again the clone did that stupid, silent laugh of his. It didn't attack and didn't make an advance to hit him more while he was down. He wasn't quite sure why. He would have taken the chance. Maybe it was too busy making fun of him. Jeri got to his feet again once he recovered and glared at the second Jericho. He was really starting to dislike this guy. The clone put on that mocking grin again, as if the whole task was, and would be, child's play. Jeri growled and swung again, and as before his fist was caught by his predicting clone. The clone didn't give Jericho a time to make a second swing. It balled its free hand into a fist and sent another blow to his stomach. Again the wind was knocked from his body. He gasped for a breath but another blow cut off his attempt. He grimaced and fell to his knees, hand still in the clutches of the clone.
G-Goddammit... What was with this guy and stomachs!? He didn't do this to people, right? This constant gut-blow thing. How was he even feeling this anyways?! The scientist said that they would be able to feel it, but how!? These things were holograms, right? And holograms were pixels, right? So when the hell did pixels start going to the f*cking gym!? Jericho coughed and looked up at his clone who looked down at him with a very malicious grin. The clone lifted its foot and gave him a hard kick to his face, sending him back. Jericho's hands went over his face immediately, eyes watering from the hit to his nose.
"Sh*t!" He yelled out, feeling a terrible pain in his nose. God be merciful if this thing was broken... The fight between the two Jerichos raged on like this. He would attack and the clone would block and deal its own blow (which usually ended up with Jericho on the ground). The back and forth getting up and starting over was taking its toll, especially along with the fact that he could barely get a hit on himself. He had been lucky to land a blow or two, but those times were only during spontaneous improvisation, and when he tried to do the move a second time, his clone seemed to have learned it just that quickly and, once again, he was back on the ground. If it weren't hard enough already, he had to dodge and weave through other fighting Syndicate members and, most notably, the random sprays of electricity coming from the body of Leon. When he first saw a display of his power, Jericho was most definitely surprised. It was pretty cool and lightening could definitely kill someone. The only problem with Leon's power is that... Well... He could definitely kill someone. With the bolts that missed and the ones that bounced off walls, it was extremely easy to get hit by these ultra-hot death beams. He'd come close to getting shocked to death at least five times by now, but had very little time to comment or complain past the advancements of his aggressive clone.
Jericho was slowly starting to catch onto the idea of this little session. "Learn how to mix it up," was the gist of the whole lesson. If he did the same things over he couldn't beat his opponent, but if he knew how to improvise and to make a new plan well... Just maybe. It was what Jericho had started to work on for the past ten or five minutes without much luck. It was hard to mix things up when you were exhausted and you couldn't think past the blood on your shirt. And he was bleeding, of course, and his nose still kept that terrible, long lasting pain like a night with the wrong girl. It didn't help that he'd taken several extra blows to the face. Once again Jeri was knocked to the ground by his clone, head spinning like it had been the last time he was punched in the face. He groaned, pain coming out of what seemed like every inch of his body. He thought to, maybe, just lay there for a while. His clone did this odd thing where it would actually wait for him to get up before it knocked him down again. Maybe it got this sick pleasure from seeing him try and fail. Either way, he didn't feel like getting up or moving. Maybe it'd get the hint and just back off for a second. Jericho stared at the ceiling of the training room, half wondering when the whole "End Training" buzzer would go off and the other half not thinking at all. A flash of white electricity zoomed past his sight. F*cking Leon... Can't you ju-- ... Wait, what was this f*cker doing? From below his sight he saw his clone step into view, looking down at him almost expectantly, which was odd, because the whole fighting experience it kept a stoic expression. As much as he wanted to tell it to go away, Jericho didn't really have the energy nor the enthusiasm to speak. It waited for him to rise but he was absolutely refusing, though silently. Apparently robots could run out of patience. The clone lifted its leg into the air without word. Watching it, Jericho's eyes widened and a short spark of adrenaline kicked his reflexes into high gear. He rolled out of the way before the clone's foot stamped down in the empty spot his groin once occupied.
"You a*shole!" Jericho yelled at it, immediately rising to his feet. Who the hell was teaching these things?! It hadn't gotten that from him! He'd never do that to a person! Right...? Well... Okay. Maybe. Probably. Possibly. It'd maybe come up in his mind. Subconsciously. I mean... Did he like the person? Was he getting his ass kicked? But still! This was himself he was talking about! When would he ever consider doing that to himself? Never! These clones had to be compromised. The clone wasted little time. It swung a punch, but thanks to his little rush, Jericho snagged a freebee and dodged out of the way of the attack. From the fight so far, the whole "they do what you do" thing sort of started to come to him. He just have to think of what he'd do next and then counter it, just like the clone had. Change up what he was doing...? F*ck that, this made much more sense. Why change it up when he could be just as much of a pain to the clone as it was to him? It was a nice seat of revenge. While the clone was being him, he would be the clone. The only problem? He was tired as hell. Jericho was sluggish from fatigue and he could hear his breath in his ears. He knew the punch was coming, but couldn't force himself to move out of the way. The first punch hurt, the second had him back on the ground.
He was bruised, beaten, and black-eyed, but he wasn't going to get a break. If he tried to stop his clone would just force him to start again. The thing didn't even get tired either. Beating him up hadn't brought a sweat to it, but maybe that's because it wasn't a person, just a floating orb thing. A robot. The only thing that really showed he had done anything remotely taxing was that its knuckles were red and scraped from constantly attacking and its clothes were stained with red from Jericho constantly bleeding. He wanted to quit, he really did, but that emotionless son of a b*tch was like a predator. It wouldn't quit. Jericho forced himself to his feet again, legs shaking.
"Well, come on ass-wipe." He said gruffly. The clone swung again and again, pounding his face and knocking him back. The last punch was the hardest, but he managed to stay on his feet. He tried to keep himself standing, but it was hard without stumbling time and time again. He felt dead, but forced himself to go on. Maybe because he hated this clone. Jericho narrowed his eyes when another one of those stupid lightening bolts flew between them. It went past in its own direction, not harming either of them. The clone watched it pass before turning its attention back to Jericho. He looked away from his clone and at the retreating bolt. It moved fast, of course, towards a luckily empty area. He expected it to hit the wall and blacken it, just like others before it. Jericho's eyes widened when the bolt, instead of phasing away harmlessly, bounced off the wall and went straight for him. He was too slow to move out of the way himself and, even if he wanted to, it moved like a bullet.
Jericho's body tensed when electricity entered him. Pain rushed through his body instantly, touching every inch of him as if a thousand needles skewered each individual cell. He screamed behind his teeth, paralyzed from the electric current going through his body. The pain began to subside after what felt like hours. No instant relief as if the current had traveled somewhere else, but a soothing disappearance, as if it were soaking away. The event had lasted forty-five seconds, maybe less. Jericho groaned, swaying where he stood. His visioned blurred and made double of everything he saw. A high-pitched ring went off his ears and he felt tired, sick, everything bad all at once. He could hear his heart beating right against his ear and his heavy breath clouded the possibility of anything else getting through, not that it mattered, the world sounded like it was underwater. His clone stood away from him, not moving because it was either confused on what to do or because it wanted to see if he were finally finished. He was finished, felt finished. He might not have had the energy to fall down. The only thing Jericho was fully aware of was little jolts that went under his skin. Cracks and pops like electric sparks made dim noise in his body and each time one went off he twitched or fidgeted. The little jolts crawled through him, traveling to one spot as if trying to escape. In moment the charge had completely congregated into his hand. The pent up energy was desperate to escape, building until another jolt went through his body, releasing it.
Jericho's vision cleared, his nausea disappeared, and the ringing in his ear subsided. He couldn't enjoy the relief, he was much too distracted by the electricity that shot out of his body and towards his clone. The clone itself was not ready for the apparent attack and made no move to dodge. The clone froze when the bolt hit and its image flickered and then disappeared, the golden orb falling on the ground with a metallic thud. Jericho panted hard, staring down at the orb on the ground. Wait... Did he just... Win? Heh. Heheh. Jericho smiled and laughed weakly, feeling pain as he did. It looked like it were true, but the joy of knowing just made the full weight of his fatigue fall down on him. He fell to his knees, more happy his ordeal was over than worried about his physical health. He felt tired, exhausted, on the brink of death, and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep. But he won. He didn't know how, wasn't going to ask, wasn't going to question. He would sleep victorious, a champion. That was good enough.
He dropped to his hands, still managing to make a small laugh come from him. He watched blood drip onto the floor. There was probably a lot of that everywhere. He grinned a bloody grin and closed his eyes, feeling dizziness come over him. What sounded like buzz started to go off. He looked up, fuzzy questions floating in his head. What was...? He made a face when the floor looked a little more empty than it had before. Turning his head up he could see why. The buzzing came from the orb that now floated in the air once more. It did nothing for a moment before an image began to materialize around it. The clear body of the clone reformed in a moment, glaring down at him with a hard stare. It was as if brand new, completely free of stray blood and knuckles completely unharmed. Its features, which were more or less neutral before, were now hostile, aggressive, and deadly in the gaze.
Jericho could only groan. Victory was only a memory now. The clone stepped in front of him, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him off his knees; stare not once faltering. The clone balled its hand into a hard first and pulled it back to punch.
Why did he agree to this...?
(I sincerely apologize for the length of this post as well as the time it has taken to make it. I did not mean to do this. I didn't know what to say (I know that's hard to believe, but when I run out of ideas I write more than I should), but that's not an excuse.
tl;dr: Jericho lost.)