Shaw stayed perfectly still, face neutral, givingabsolutely nothing away. If anything, he seemed even more settled than usual.
Sergeant Kowalski gestured toward the mats. "Hand-to-hand combat. Two days. Pairings will rotate. You'll be evaluated on control, adaptability, and effectiveness.Notaggression."
Across the mat, Shaw was paired with Briggs. Hudson had disliked the guy since week one, when he cut Lieutenant Pine off mid-sentence in front of Chen and took credit for her read on the terrain.
Briggs was a big dude—had to be six-four and easily two-twenty, built like he spent his free time throwing cars around for fun. All mass and confidence; the kind of size that probably made him assume he would win fights before they even started.
Shaw was almost lean next to him. Where Briggs was all bulk and brute force, Shaw was controlled strength, same height but built like a different kind of weapon entirely.
Hudson watched with piqued interest.
Briggs came in aggressive, telegraphing his strategy. Shaw wasted no time. He let Briggs come to him, shifted once, and put him on the mat so cleanly it barely looked like effort.
He blinked up at the ceiling, stunned.
Hudson let out a breath.
"Damn," Reed muttered beside him.
Another guy snorted. "Didn't see that coming."
"Yeah," Hudson said. "Neither did Briggs."
When Hudson's name was called for his first match, he stepped onto the mat feeling awake and alert, the soreness fading into background noise.
His opponent came in fast. Hudson read the angle,shifted his weight, and used the guy's momentum to take him down. It took three seconds.
The second fight was harder. His opponent anticipated Hudson's feint, countered before Hudson fully committed. They grappled, reset, circled. Hudson caught an opening, shifted inside the guy's reach and swept his legs. Down.
By lunch, he'd fought three times. Won three times.
He grabbed his water and leaned back against the wall, scanning the room. Names were starting to appear on the board, shifting as results came in. Hudson found his name—third place. Better than most.
Then he searched for Shaw’s name.
Second place. One spot above him.
First was Morrison whose loud bragging Hudson vaguely remembered from the truck ride here. Turned out his cockiness was actually warranted.
Hours later, they were released in waves. Hudson peeled his shirt off the second he hit the locker room and dropped it on the bench, stretching until his spine cracked.
“Jesus,” Novak said. “That was fucking insane.”
Reed dropped onto the bench beside him with a groan. “I can’t feel my arms.”
Hudson gave him a playful punch. “This arm?”
Reed yelped.
Across the room, Shaw removed his gear piece by piece.
Barging through the door, Briggs’s water bottle hit the bench harder than necessary. “Bullshit,” he said to a guy following him. “Absolute bullshit.”
Hudson sat down and reached for his towel. “You lose again?”
Briggs shot him a look. “Funny.”
“Statistically, it’s a fair question.”
