Ilana Val'khor
New Member
The white bands got wrapped around her fists carefully. She took her time to prepare. The gym underneath Vegas had been a recommendation from Rod Atori, one of the players in this world, one of the bad guys she called a “good friend”. It’s been a while since he had been in Vegas, he felt more comfortable in Havana these days. Even though Ilana had refused to put up cameras once she was there, Atori gave her the coordinates.
Vegas underneath it’s fancy clothes was a labyrinth, starting with the most dangerous tunnels that were floated with water once it rained. There were countless homeless people living here. People that would probably die with the next summer storm. Their eyes followed the foreign woman suspiciously. Yet no one dared to actually stop her.
Ilana made her way through the tunnels till she found the hidden door, leading to a hall that had been used as an underground fight club. At the moment it was empty though – which basically meant, she had the gym for herself.
Rusty metal stairs lead down into the hall. There was no boxing ring in the middle. It was just a hall with several punching bags hanging down the ceiling. A hall with that disgusting stench of old sweat, a sense of blood, rust and dirt. It was a good place for a training. Never feel too comfortable, her father had told her years ago. The next battle won’t be comfortable either.
She had brought an old-school ghetto blaster with her and a CD with her very own training music. After a short, but effective warm-up with stretching and cardio units to make her muscles warm and flexible, she pressed play.
Eminem – Loose yourself |
The first tunes were hammering through the hall, as she stretched her neck and faced the first punching bag. It was only a few punches, following the beat first. Her green eyes focused on the nameless bag. And for several moments it was nothing but a regular punching bag. Yet as the music grew more aggressively, her blood started boiling.
“You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow,
this opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo…”
Beat by beat her punches got harder, came faster, hit more precisely. It was anger that fed them. Sadness. Loss. Longing. And again: Anger. Every strong emotion was like oxygen for her inner fire. And the flames ignited easily these days. Like a quick flipbook the pictures run across her memory. A strong kick against the punching bag, when she saw her mom. A couple of angry hooks when Darias appeared on her inner screen. An almost burning sequence of jabs followed when it switched to Ryan and Rion. The next picture came and went so fast, the reaction ripped the punching bag apart.
Ilana wasn’t angry about them. Well, except for her mom, maybe. Mostly she was angry about herself. The things she had done. The things she hadn’t done. The things she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t come out of her mouth. The things she actually said. The chances she had missed – and the ones she failed.
Ilana Val’khor was not one who’d let self-pity lead her way, no. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have these feelings now and them.
The mixture of synthetic fibers with sifted sand drizzled down, as Ilana wiped of the sweat on her forehead. There were at least four more punching bags left. And they were all allowed to break under her punches. It was okay. That’s what she was here for. Melting the feelings to one source of deadly power. Prepare herself for a battle she might not survive. Getting ready to face hell.
The CD switched to the next song – and Ilana smirked shortly. Let it burn, she told herself: Simply let it burn.
The Prodigy – Firestarter |
Vegas underneath it’s fancy clothes was a labyrinth, starting with the most dangerous tunnels that were floated with water once it rained. There were countless homeless people living here. People that would probably die with the next summer storm. Their eyes followed the foreign woman suspiciously. Yet no one dared to actually stop her.
Ilana made her way through the tunnels till she found the hidden door, leading to a hall that had been used as an underground fight club. At the moment it was empty though – which basically meant, she had the gym for herself.
Rusty metal stairs lead down into the hall. There was no boxing ring in the middle. It was just a hall with several punching bags hanging down the ceiling. A hall with that disgusting stench of old sweat, a sense of blood, rust and dirt. It was a good place for a training. Never feel too comfortable, her father had told her years ago. The next battle won’t be comfortable either.
She had brought an old-school ghetto blaster with her and a CD with her very own training music. After a short, but effective warm-up with stretching and cardio units to make her muscles warm and flexible, she pressed play.
Eminem – Loose yourself |
The first tunes were hammering through the hall, as she stretched her neck and faced the first punching bag. It was only a few punches, following the beat first. Her green eyes focused on the nameless bag. And for several moments it was nothing but a regular punching bag. Yet as the music grew more aggressively, her blood started boiling.
“You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow,
this opportunity comes once in a lifetime yo…”
Beat by beat her punches got harder, came faster, hit more precisely. It was anger that fed them. Sadness. Loss. Longing. And again: Anger. Every strong emotion was like oxygen for her inner fire. And the flames ignited easily these days. Like a quick flipbook the pictures run across her memory. A strong kick against the punching bag, when she saw her mom. A couple of angry hooks when Darias appeared on her inner screen. An almost burning sequence of jabs followed when it switched to Ryan and Rion. The next picture came and went so fast, the reaction ripped the punching bag apart.
Ilana wasn’t angry about them. Well, except for her mom, maybe. Mostly she was angry about herself. The things she had done. The things she hadn’t done. The things she wanted to say, but the words just wouldn’t come out of her mouth. The things she actually said. The chances she had missed – and the ones she failed.
Ilana Val’khor was not one who’d let self-pity lead her way, no. But that didn’t mean she wouldn’t have these feelings now and them.
The mixture of synthetic fibers with sifted sand drizzled down, as Ilana wiped of the sweat on her forehead. There were at least four more punching bags left. And they were all allowed to break under her punches. It was okay. That’s what she was here for. Melting the feelings to one source of deadly power. Prepare herself for a battle she might not survive. Getting ready to face hell.
The CD switched to the next song – and Ilana smirked shortly. Let it burn, she told herself: Simply let it burn.
The Prodigy – Firestarter |