Normally he would take the chance to warm up. Avoid pulling any muscles or fucking up shit for the long run.

But today was different.

Emotions were still at an all-time high, raging well past his classic stoicism, and truth be told? At what point would he have the time to warm up if an actual fight were to break loose?

Wouldn't doing so defeat the purpose of gauging one's abilities?

"Nah."

He stepped into the trainer room, feet sinking into its matted flooring, and hands already moving for his clothes. Jackets, ties, watches, and the like were all pulled and tossed back down to the ground where Zev might've kept his things.

All that'd be left was the sole black tank top he wore beneath his clothing and the pair of black joggers he'd worn into the conversation.


"Ready when you are," he shrugged, then glanced over to a stray grunt dealing with some weights. "Count us off."

Zev Harcourt

Felix recognized those eyes.

Analytical in nature, there was no doubt in his mind that Zev was weighing his options.

He'd read of his assistance with Chu-e Choi 's extraction. Of the transfer of Necrozma's infection. He wondered, from that, was more obtained? Was that why his eyes ravaged his body? Were options being weighed?

There was no guarantee. Paranoia is a sickly thing, turning even the smallest possibilities into one's entire reality.

And through this lens of tainted reality, Felix's itch for blood tugged his fists upward, readying him for the signal.

When it came, so did his instincts.

One arm sprung up, defending against the below to his head. While Zev was one to take precautions, Felix was one to thrive off reaction, timing himself to the rhythm set by the other.

With their arms now locked, his other fist looked for the uppercut.

Zev Harcourt