Forlorn Hope Short - Headaches

[Crazedwraith]

Headaches.

(Author’s note: This is set in my Forlorn Hope universe. If you want to know more look here and specifically here and here for info on what the hell the PEST is and who the hell rivers is.

This short takes place towards the end of Eric’s PEST training.)


The trainers here were bastards, thought Eric, as he stood in the training room. Sparring they called it. It was a bloody cockfight. He faced his opponent; a psychically and physically powerful man called Tam Havers.

The contrast between the two men could not have been more apparent. Havers was tall and pale with bulging muscles and a shaggy mop of slivery–blond hair.

Eric on the Other hand, was shorter (not ‘short‘ thank you very much.) with deep brown skin, an almost wiry physique and close cropped black hair.

They were both wearing exercise slacks and were circling each other; bare fists raised.

“Hey, Norm.” sneered Havers, “Ready to get it on?”

‘Norm’ was a supposedly derogative term regarding to Eric lack of great talent with psionics. Eric ignored it. He knew his own worth if they didn’t.

“I’m not the one wasting time with idle banter,” calmly replied Eric, bouncing lightly on both slightly bent legs.

Havers went red and swung heavily for Rivers, who merely took a quick step backwards. The whoosh as Havers’ fist sailed past, he wasn’t holding anything back. Eric sent a couple of exploratory jabs at Havers. He knocked them aside with unnecessary force. Then counter attacked with a powerful psychic mind stab. Eric grunted as it ‘shattered’ on his mental shields and a dozen ‘splinters’ flensed his mind, creating one hell of a migraine and a vague spinning sensation.

This didn’t stop Eric from effortlessly deflecting the flurry of heavy blows Havers flung at him as he charged Eric.
Eric was not a powerful psychic, quite the opposite in fact, but he used his limited powers with infinitely more subtlety and elan than a brute like Hvaers was capable of using with his overpowerd underdevolped brain.

The technical term is “psionically enhanced co–ordination”and basically meant as soon as his psychic sense picked up Havers’ punch reflex it fired Eric’s block reflex. Although not quiet precognitive, thoughts travelled a hell of a lot faster than a muscle propelled arm.

Thus Eric could no more fail to blocks Havers’ punches than he could fail to find his own hand in the dark.

Nonetheless Havers bulled forward trying to overwhelm Eric with sheer force and number of blows. Another advantage of almost instinctively blocking his opponent’s strikes was that it left his mind free to consider tactics.

Eric sighed as he regarded the specimen in front of him, all the millions of pound that was poured into the facilities and their combat training. All a waste in his man’s case; His legs were too close together. He waited for a lull in which to strike. It came almost immediately. Eric had backed up almost to the front of the circle of spectators.

Eric easily blocked a right–left swing combo meant to finish it there and then (the combo itself reeked of unprofessionalism and laziness) and then instepped him, sweeping both his ankles at once. This, when combined with a savagely powerful left back fist moving left to right, dropped him to the floor from the opposing forces. He landed in a crumpled heap at Eric’s feet.

Too close to Eric’s feet. Havers’ arms curled out to try and grab his legs and trip him by rolling through his legs. Cursing Eric leapt back over the outstretched arm. He slammed his left foot down on Havers’ wrist.

Havers snarled and summoned all his incredible psychic potential, picking up any small object in the vicinity and telekinetically hurled it at Eric.

Who frowned and booted Havers behind the ear. The clatter of small impacts on the floor heralded the man's unconsciousness.

Eric dusted himself off, snapped an ironic salute to the observing instructors and pushed his way through the crowd to get to the exit. All the while trying to ignore the flames searing every neuron in his skull pan to a crisp. His fellow psychics he decided where nothing more than a bunch of headaches waiting to happen.