Another day passed quietly. Hans sparred with Callum in the parking lot again.
Whistles motioned around the empty space. Their fists moved quicker than a fly's buzz. Their kicks hit harder than a truck's bump.
Each strike landed with a dull thud that traveled up to their bones.
At the last moment, Hans executed a punch aimed at Callum's head. A soft palm blocked the attack, halting both of their momentum.
"How's that?"
Hans pulled back his hand, flexing his fingers. The knuckles were red, skin hot from impact.
"Passable, Commander," Callum commented flatly, standing straight.
"Passable in what standard?"
Hans's mouth twitched.
"You won't die from the first strike," Callum added.
"I guess that's better than before," Hans sighed, popping his knuckles in exasperation. "Any reports from the colony?"
"Dmitri returned last night," Callum replied. "Your second-in-command has more details to follow."
Second-in-command, Hans was at a loss.
