Guns 'n Roses

chapter 27 Training

wake up before dawn, feeling the cold air cut through the thin fabric of my clothes. The sky is still dark, with just a hint of the coming sun on the horizon. This is when our training begins. As I lace up my boots, I can't help but think about why I'm doing this. The way d'angelo puts it is that being in the mafia is always a threat. I need to be ready. We all do.

My thoughts drifted back to my life a few weeks ago-the college campus, the football field, the dreams I had once chased with unwavering determination. But now, those dreams felt like distant memories, overshadowed by the harsh realities of the present.

My coach's voice echoed in my mind, a reminder of the life I had left behind. He had been like a father to me, guiding me through the ups and downs of my football career. But now, I couldn't bear to face him, to explain why I had disappeared without a trace.

As I went through the drills, the sound of my coach's voice faded into the background. I may have to leave behind my old life, but in this new world, I would do whatever it took to survive.

Today, we're focusing on hand-to-hand combat. It's grueling, but necessary. Our instructor, a grizzled veteran with a permanent scowl, insists on perfection. "Your life depends on it," he growls. I pair up with Marcus, who's almost as tall as a tree and twice as strong. He comes at me fast, a blur of fists and elbows. I have to stay light on my feet, anticipate his moves. Block, parry, counter. I take a hit to the ribs and wince, but I can't afford to slow down. Pain is a reminder that I'm still alive, still fighting.

After hours of sparring, we're drenched in sweat, but there's no time to rest. We move to weapons training. Guns today. The sharp smell of gunpowder fills the air as we practice our aim on targets set up in the clearing. "Aim for the head or the heart," the instructor says.

"Anything less won't stop them." I line up my shot, steady my breathing, and squeeze the trigger. The recoil is unfamiliar,but almost comforting. The paper target jerks as the bullet punches through. I can see my progress; my shots are grouping tighter now. It's a small comfort in a world full of chaos.

Next, we practice evasion and stealth. The Mafia won't always come at us head-on; they'll lurk in the shadows, waiting to strike. We run drills in the forest, learning to move silently, to blend into the environment.

"Be the shadow," the instructor whispers. I crouch low, moving through the underbrush, every sense on high alert. I have to be invisible, undetectable. The crunch of a twig underfoot could mean the difference between life and death.

Finally, we end the day with mental conditioning. The Mafia is as much a psychological enemy as a physical one. They use fear and intimidation to control their territory. Our instructor leads us through scenarios designed to test our mental resilience. "What do you do if they have a hostage?" he asks.

We run through options, weighing the risks and consequences. It's a brutal exercise, forcing us to confront the harsh realities we might face. But it's necessary. We can't afford to break under pressure.

As the sun sets, casting long shadows across the training ground, I feel the exhaustion in my bones. Every muscle aches, every bruise throbs. But I can't afford to stop. Other Mafia's are out there, always watching, always waiting. I need to be ready. We all do.

What I've learnt is that this training isn't just about survival; it's about making sure we can protect those who can't protect themselves. It's about standing up against the darkness and refusing to back down.

As the training session drew to a close, I felt a newfound sense of purpose burning within me. The path ahead was uncertain and fraught with danger, but I was ready to face it with my newfound family by my side. I grabbed my stuff headed to my room that d'angelo gave me and headed to the shower to turn the water to hot, the droplets of water bounced on my bruised skin and ran down the length of my sore body soothing the pain from the rigorous Training these past days. I washed my hair and once finishing my nightly routine towels still wrapped around my waist and head I headed to my drawer pulled out a boxer slipping it on and dropped the towels in a basket and climbed into bed I just lie there staring at the ceiling until sleep finally overtakes me, I know that tomorrow will bring more of the same. More pain, more sweat, more pushing myself to the limit. But I welcome it. Because every day, I'm getting stronger, faster, better. And every day, I'm one step closer to being ready. Ready to face whatever the Mafia throws at us. Ready to protect my own.