Day Four, 4:57 A.M.
The base was silent, tucked deep beneath the surface of the city like a forgotten bunker. Most of the lights were dimmed, casting a dull bluish hue along the metal corridors. The only sound came from the low hum of ventilation and the quiet thud of gloves hitting a punching bag.
Bob stood alone in the auxiliary training room—a smaller, darker space away from the main gym. No high-tech gadgets here, just mats, weights, and a heavy bag that had already started to tear at the seams.
He struck again, bare fists slamming into the canvas with rapid precision. His knuckles were red, skin raw. He didn't mind. Pain kept him focused. Kept the memories at bay.
Again. Thud.
Again. Thud.
He heard the door slide open behind him. Didn't turn.
"You don't sleep much, do you?" Smith's voice was quieter than usual, thoughtful.
Bob exhaled through his nose, giving the bag one last punch before grabbing the towel slung over his shoulder. "Sleep's overrated."
"You're going to burn yourself out." Smith stepped into the room, hands behind his back, dressed in his usual suit like he hadn't gone to bed either.
"I'm not like them," Bob muttered. "I don't need to relax."
Smith nodded. "Hope would've said the same thing."
That stopped Bob mid-step. He looked at Smith, eyes narrowed slightly. "You knew him better than anyone. Did he ever just felt tired?"
"All the time," Smith replied. "He just never let it show."
Bob dropped onto the bench and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I can't train them if I'm constantly thinking about the way i was trained. They're not weapons, they're people."
Smith stepped closer. "Then show them how to survive without becoming you."
Bob chuckled softly. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
8:00 A.M. – Training Room
"Let's go!" Bob barked, pacing in front of the group.
They were dragging their feet—Beth yawning mid-stretch, Selena taking her time tying her shoes, Ryan clearly nursing a bruise on his jaw from yesterday. Alex, however, was standing straight, eager despite the tired bags under his eyes.
"You've got two minutes to warm up before I start throwing things."
"You mean throwing us," Ryan muttered.
"Same thing," Bob replied.
Axel nodded respectfully and began push-ups without a word. Selena winked at Bob on her way to the mats. Beth sat cross-legged, pretending to meditate.
"Why do you keep training with us if you already know how to fight that good? Besides, you don't even use your powers." Alex asked him during cooldown.
Bob shrugged. "Because every day I don't get better is a day someone else does. And powers are overrated."
Later That Evening – Kitchen Area
Bob stood in the kitchen, reheating a can of chili. He poured some into two bowls, one for himself, one for Alex, who had followed him in like a shadow.
"Thanks," Alex said, sitting at the counter.
"Don't get used to it. Tomorrow it's back to cafeteria food. i swear that old fuck is trying to kill me with the food."
Alex grinned. "I dunno. I kind of like this. Feels… normal."
Bob's lips twitched. A not-quite-smile. "Did you ever saw Hope cook?"
Alex shook his head.
"He couldn't boil water. Burnt eggs. Once lit a stove on fire."
Alex blinked. "You're messing with me."
"Nope." Bob stirred his chili. "Strongest man in the world. Defeated godlike individuals. Nearly died trying to cook bacon."
That made Alex laugh. For a moment, the tension cracked.
Bob leaned against the counter, watching him. "You did good today."
"Thanks. That means a lot… coming from someone who throws me into walls."
Bob smirked. "Just building character."
They ate in silence after that. Not awkward, not tense. Just… quiet. Like maybe, just maybe, this strange new reality was starting to feel like home.
2:13 A.M. – Auxiliary Training Room
The lights were dim, the hum of the underground facility almost meditative. Bob stood shirtless at the center of the room, sweat dripping down his back. His arms moved in fluid patterns—controlled punches followed by precise, almost dance-like steps. This wasn't brute training. It was discipline. Ritual. Muscle memory.
He shifted into a defensive stance, then launched forward at a training dummy. The impact cracked through the silence. He backed up, rolled his shoulder, and did it again. And again.
Behind him, the door slid open with a soft hiss.
"Bob?" came Alex's voice—small, groggy, unsure.
Bob didn't stop, only adjusted his angle and struck again. "Go back to bed, kid."
Alex stepped into the room, arms crossed over his oversized T-shirt. His hair was sticking up in all directions. "It's the middle of the night."
"I'm aware," Bob replied, breath steady.
Alex watched him in silence for a moment. "You already trained with us for hours. What are you trying to prove?"
Bob stopped mid-swing, turning slightly to face him. His red eyes gleamed faintly in the low light.
"It's not about proving anything," he said. "It's about staying ahead. You think The Order sleeps?"
"No," Alex replied. "But I think you should."
Bob's jaw tightened, but the fire in his eyes dimmed just a bit.
"You're not a machine," Alex continued, stepping closer. "Even machines break if you don't shut them off once in a while."
Bob exhaled, slowly, like he didn't want to admit the kid was right.
Alex gave a half-smile. "Besides, if you collapse from exhaustion, Jack's going to make me take over the training, with all my progress, you know?"
That got a tired chuckle out of Bob. He tossed the towel over his shoulder and finally stepped away from the dummy.
"Alright, smartass," he said, walking past Alex and ruffling his hair. "You win."
Alex grinned. "Does that mean I'm in charge now?"
"No," Bob said, deadpan. "It means you're on dish duty tomorrow."
As they exited the training room together, Alex looked up at him.
"Hey… you don't have to keep carrying everything alone, you know."
Bob didn't answer right away. He remembered another person that had told him that, Rick.
"I know," he said softly. "But sometimes… it's the only way I know how to walk."