Free Fight to the Finish by Shannon Greenland Page A

a mother to find my daughter, our daughter.”
    That hit home. Although I had very few memories of my mother, I knew she would spare no resource to find me if I’d been kidnapped. Heck, if the roles were reversed, I’d go to the ends of the earth to find any missing family member. And I knew my team members would do the same.
    Inhaling a long, soft breath, Mystic closed his eyes. It might have been my imagination but I swore he was listening to something.
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A few seconds ticked by and no one said a word as Mystic sat there meditating. I looked around the room to see what everyone thought, and they were all staring at him.
    After a few more seconds, he gave a slight nod, opened his eyes and gazed straight into Nalani’s. “You may definitely count me in.”
    With a shaky smile, she nodded. “Thank you.” And then she turned to Bruiser.
    “I’m sorry,” Bruiser immediately apologized, looking from TL to Nalani, and back to TL.
    “I’m so, so sorry. I can’t believe I acted so immature in thinking of myself, when people I love are in need of my talents. Sir, you may unequivocally count on me in any way.”
    Closing his eyes in what looked like pure relief, TL slowly turned his back to us. “Thank you.” Then he opened the door and walked straight from the room with out dismissing us.
    I couldn’t recall a time I’d seen him struggle so hard to maintain composure.
    He’d always been there for us. We would most certainly be there for him.

    * * *

    I worked the whole next day along side Chapling writing and rewriting code. I just wasn’t happy, and neither was Chapling. We had to create one bang up Combat-Thrash (fighting analysis) program and all we had as of now was mediocre at best. Five days was all we had left.
    Seven was all Mystic and David had.
    “Maybe we need to see the training stages of a superior fighter,” I suggested. “All we’ve watched and researched is the end product. I think we need to see exactly, in person, how a fighter becomes a fighter.”
    Chapling snapped his finger and pointed at me. “Smartgirl. Let’s go.”
    Camera in hand, we made our way up to Sub Floor Two where we knew Bruiser and the guys were training. We texted Bruiser to let her know we were in the elevator, and she let us in.
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Chapling and I found an empty corner, set our camera up, and settled ourselves on a pile of mats. Laptops in front of each of us, we tuned into Bruiser and the guys.
    And I tried very hard not to stare at David’s sweaty, clingy T-shirt. “Can you recap what you’ve done so far and what the training schedule will be like until competition day?”
    “Conditioning, sparring, specific technique,” Bruiser ticked off her fingers.
    “Conditioning, sparring, specific technique. We cycle through those three things, spending two hours on each and then starting back over, making for a packed twelve hours. We eat a high protein, high fiber diet to repair muscle tears. And each day I introduce a new technique. A new art. David and Mystic have to be as well rounded as possible. They have to do in seven days what others spends years perfecting.”
    Bruiser crossed the floor and grabbed up a handful of four-foot bamboo poles. “Kumite is one of the three sections of karate. Its training against an adversary. Balance is a key here and learning the basics by feel. If you get your lights knocked out, you’re going to be disorientated.
    You need to have a mental scope for a guide, a clock in your head to oriente you until your senses come back. If they come back.”
    She handed TL, David, Mystic, and Jonathan each a pole. “Karate involves modification.
    Its about your senses, muscle memory, and imagery. You have to be able to use your wits with strategy. You have to be unpredictable. One of the key factors in winning or at least holding your own in a fight is the ability to anticipate your opponent’s movements.”
    “Allow me to demonstrate.” She pulled a black scarf from the elastic waist