Connor and Vince fight their forbidden attraction as they attempt to rescue themselves and fellow residents of the underground Refuge facility from a toxic breach.
*****
Conn...
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Dr. Randolph paced back and forth. "The most critical lesson to remember is you are not protecting yourself; you are protecting your partner. You make sure your partner is safe at all times. Don't worry about your back. If you stick to that rule, your partner's already got it covered." His thin hair barely covered the crown of his head as he swept the strands over the hairless spots. He made eye contact with everyone before he called out, "Squad six. Let's see what you've got."
The room filled with the noise of rustling as everyone stood back, allowing the two-person squad to enter the playing field. It wasn't until each of them stood in the center of the brightly lit room that I realized Tamara was a member. The black and gold suit she wore clung to her thin body and complemented her deep mocha complexion. Her partner, Shelly, wore her hair in a tight bun atop her head in order to prepare for combat, something they preferred all the women to do during training.
"State your squad name." Dr. Randolph clasped his hands behind his back as he paced.
"Squad Chameleon, sir," their voices rang out in unison.
"Chameleon..." He nodded as if he approved of the name. "Begin!"
His husky voice bounced off the walls as the lights went down, briefly cloaking us all in darkness. A holographic cage surrounded the duo. The crisscrossed neon bars lit up the room in a bright yellow glow. With their backs facing each other, the girls crouched, preparing, watching, sensing. The braids in Tamara's hair hung too far past her shoulders, making her an easy target if someone wanted to grab ahold of her.
A brief crackle of electricity cut through the air, and two large figures morphed into the form of men at the far end of the battling field. Estimating the probable size and weight of the forms, in my head, I quickly calculated how fast they would travel at the given distance. The girls had five-point-five seconds to figure out a strategy.
Tamara called out, "On the right. Obturator, peroneal."
As soon as the figure to the right was near, Shelly rammed her palm into its abdominals then stomped high above the thigh with a flat foot. The figure buckled, fell to the ground, and disintegrated into glowing dust before completely disappearing. Tamara tried the same move on her target, but the figure swung before she could stomp the peroneal nerve, and connected with her head, knocking her off balance. A red light suddenly lit up the room. The loud buzz that followed made me jump out of my skin.
I shouldn't have been surprised. Tamara was better at thinking than fighting. The holographic cage disappeared and the regular lights came back on.
"Fuck." Even though Tamara mumbled, the word was just as apparent as her disappointment.
"Cadet Arnold, watch the language," Dr. Randolph warned.
"Shit. Sorry, sir." Tamara glanced at me. I sensed her embarrassment when our gazes locked for a split second before she left the center of the playing field. The side of her head where contact had been made left no visible sign of trauma, as it shouldn't. The simulations were more energy than material. The sensation of contact within the hologram was psychological and not direct.
