"Hicks, my man, you comin’? Diggs thinks he's gonna whip your ass in training tonight." Juarez stood in his bedroom door, having opened it without knocking.

Some of his teammates respected his privacy, Juarez and Diggs seemed to be lacking that feature though. "Five minutes."

Juarez’s short curly black hair glinted in the light, his training gear on, looking completely out of place in the thick, deep red carpeted room with polished mahogany wainscoting lining the walls. "My money is on you; don't give him too much time to plan his strategy."

But then, Hicks looked as out of place in this mansion as Juarez did, maybe more. "We both know I'm going to kick his ass."

"Right on, brother." Juarez gave him a two-fingered salute and disappeared down the hall. He had the brother part right. Juarez and the others were his family now.

Hicks turned to the massive desk perched in front of a fireplace he never lit and pulled out the top right drawer. The Adventures of Tom Sawyer lay nestled inside, dirty and torn. Today would have been Mrs. Edwards’ 99th birthday, if she were still alive. After joining special operations, he’d tracked the old lady down to a crumbling nursing home about six blocks down from their old apartment. He'd left the city and never looked back, until hearing Mrs. Edwards lay near death. He'd had to go back. He sat by her side and held her hand when she took her last breath, even though she'd been too out of it to know he’d been there. She was the one person who'd been kind to him and he'd needed to repay that kindness.

He could easily read all the words in the book now, but he hadn't turned a page in years. That book held the past, a past he liked to keep shut tight. He eased the door shut and sucked in a deep cleansing breath. It was the best way to fight off the seeping dread that always came when he thought about his life before the team made him.

He circled the desk to a walk-in closet, big enough to be a bedroom on its own, and pulled out one of his extra-large training shirts and slipped it over his head. The material pulled tight around his shoulders and chest and he worked his arms, stretching it out as much as he could. If he went up any size larger, he’d have his shirts custom made.

Hicks grabbed his water bottle and hit the lights; closing the door just enough to leave a small crack before heading down the carpeted hallway. In his black shit kickers and workout pants, he looked like he belonged here just as much as Juarez.

The expensive paintings, vases, and statues littering the hallways made him uneasy at first, but now he just ignored the distractions. They were nothing but a cover.

He hit the stairs and took them two at a time, making his way down to the bottom floor and around the back of the mansion, his boots echoing on the marble floors. Everyone else must be below, waiting.

And they could wait a couple of more minutes. Diggs had been challenging him for nearly a month now, and after all that nagging, Hicks had finally given in and accepted. It seemed like everyone in the compound knew he would kick Diggs’ ass, but Diggs.

Hicks hooked a left behind the staircase. The hallways were smaller back here, less adorned. The previous owners had housed the servants back here, apparently not wasting any extra cash or space.

He placed his hand in the middle of a common paneled wall, palm flat. A neon green light emanated from the wall, scanning from the top of his fingers to the bottom of his palm. There was a slight hiss and then the section of wall in front of him slid back into the side, revealing a dark staircase that descended into the bowels of the earth.

Hicks made it down a couple of steps before the door behind him slid shut and the airlock hissed into place. He immediately broke out into a sweat. There were 30 steps down to the landing and exit; 30 steps of the clawing nauseating fear etched into his very DNA. All his training hadn't managed to abolish the weakness, but it had taught him to control his reactions. He didn't go into a full-out panic anymore.

He took one step at a time, focusing on keeping his heart rate slow until he hit the panel at the bottom and the solid 4-inch steel door opened into the bright, almost blinding, light of the laboratory.

Sounds and smells assaulted his frayed senses. The hallway that stretched in front of him now held glass walls and open doors, allowing him to see the empty rooms as he passed by and hearing the constant beep, beep, beep of various computers and monitors filling up every square inch of the space.

He liked it down here. Everything was cold and sterile. The white surfaces were only broken up by silver instruments and technology to assess data. Dr. Averton, the woman in charge of trying to figure out the weaknesses in him, ran a tight ship. But right now, she was nowhere to be seen.

The distant sound of grunts from the training center in the back of the lab drifted down the empty halls and he picked up his pace, eager to work off some of his edginess.

A few seconds later, he busted through the double doors and into the training center, closing his eyes for a brief second as the smell of sweat and rubber mats welcomed him home.

Blue mats covered half the floor, with another quarter covered in weights and dumbbells, and then the rest held rowing machines and assault bikes. After going through Project Mayhem, and the permanent enhancements as a result, his body produced enough energy to keep him going non-stop, 24 hours a day. He had to come down here two hours per day minimum simply to wear himself down to an average operating level. Three hours if he wanted to sleep any at night.

"I was beginning to think you chickened out." Diggs stood with the rest of the team, the smallest one out of the group next to Juarez.

Hicks padded across the mats on the other side of the gym, pulling his shirt off as he moved. "I was just giving you plenty of time to come to your senses and back out."

Diggs bared his teeth and gave a feral smile. "It's not going to be me crying out for Mommy."

Hicks embraced the friendly banter, rolling his head on his shoulders to loosen up his tight muscles. "Juarez put a 50 on me. At least I can make some money on this waste of time."

"That's 4 to 1 odds, Diggs, my man. If you manage to pull off a win, you’re going to be about 500 richer." Juarez fanned a small stack of cash and leaned against the nearest weight rack.

Diggs fought a grin that slipped for the merest second and then stretched firmly back into place. Being the underdog of the group didn't put a dent in his stride as he stepped onto the mat and gave Hicks a motion to join him. "Looks like I'm eating steak tonight, boys."

Hicks got within 5 feet and Diggs sprinted forward, his movements fast, he slid down into a sweep, trying to knock Hicks’ feet out from underneath him. Hicks jumped, missing his foot easily. "Not even close."

Diggs tucked and rolled and came up behind him. Hicks listened for the thud of feet near him, ducked and felt the air swish over the back of his head as Diggs barely missed taking him down. He straightened slowly, waiting on his teammate to regain his feet. "That's two."

Diggs’ grin was gone, and now his laughing blue eyes had turned dull and flat.

"It’s about to get real," King muttered.

Diggs was outmatched, as he had been every time he'd squared off against Hicks, but it wasn't because he wasn't a good fighter. He was a kick-ass soldier, razor-sharp intelligence, with incredible speed and agility. But more than that, he was normally one step ahead during a fight. So, his surprise attacks were unexpected.

Hicks braced for another attack but none came. Diggs had decided to play it smart and wait on him to make a move. Hicks obliged with pleasure, stalking forward, and ready to pounce.

All he had to do was get his hands on his teammate and the matter would be over.

Hicks feinted right then dove left, but Diggs had already countered his move as if he'd read his intentions and spun around, landing a stunning chop across his back. Hicks stumbled forward and quickly gained his balance.

Hicks clicked his heels together and saluted, "That's one."

"I was beginning to think you were going easy," Hicks said.

"I was." In a blur of movement, Diggs ran for him, head lowered. His shoulder connected with a thick stomach.

The air inside of Hicks’s lungs expelled in a swish. He gripped Diggs’ waist as he doubled over.

Diggs tried to duck away, but Hicks held on despite the pain. He flipped his teammate over and lifted him overhead, holding him without strain.

"Now comes the fun part," he said.

"Hicks! Time for labs!" Dr. Melissa Averton poked her dark-haired head through the gym door; her equally dark eyes narrowed behind her glasses. Hicks paused mid-throw.

"Come on, Doc," Juarez said, "let him finish."

Dr. Averton stepped fully into the room, her lab coat swooshing around her slacks. "Why, so you can take his money?"

"It isn't stealing in a legitimate bet."

But Dr. Averton had already dismissed him, instead her dark gaze focused on Hicks. "Put him down, please."

Hicks tilted his head back and frowned up at Diggs, who still struggled to break his hold. “You got off lucky this time.”