A hundred feet above the two men, the world operates under rules, laws, and pretenses. Down here, at the training room, none of that mattered.
A single surveillance bot hovers silently near the Command Room—it tilts its head at them, uttering a very familiar line.
"Until Satisfactiory," it said.
Inside the arena, Ashton tightens his hand, with his jaw clenched.
He didn't know why Boss wanted them to fight but the tone in the bots voice when it called down to them here made his skin crawl. However, something about this wasn't just a test, was it?
Across the floor, Mad Dog stands still, katana sheathed at his back. Towering and silent as ever, he looks like a statue carved from night. His dark eyes scanned Ashton, calculating. There's no smirk, no warmth; just focus.
His eyes, however, train slowly to Ashton's throbbing wrist, as his face contorts in a harsh frown, but he utters nothing else about it.
