Still growing accustomed to the new state of her completed form, Pa-5's stance looked askew to him. The knees were too far bent, and her head hunched lower behind raised arms than it should've.
He decided to humor it though, and keep any immediate criticism to himself. She was intelligent enough to make the corrections independently; he only needed to expose them to her and make her aware of them.
He allowed her to perform the beginning strike. She approached on steady legs and lashed out with the right leg. It curled around at an unnatural angle, extending and straightening the entire length of the limb. Had he remained static, it would've lashed across his midsection and sent him stumbling.
He avoided that fate with a small change to his posture, leaning in so her leg drifted along the curvature of his arm instead and flew by over his head, harmless. His eyebrow twitched at the breeze produced by the movement. Fast.
And not to say he was faster. He had to admit she was fast as she sent another three attacks, aiming at different targets from different angles of approach. Her smaller frame and lighter weight made her better suited for attacks that favored speed, while the bulk of his quadriceps and shoulders slowed enough to where his only viable avenue was stoic defense and analysis of her steps.
Her new limbs might have weighed more and raised her center of gravity, causing her to slow and accustom herself to the new elevation she operated at; the fact remained that the legs could produce much greater spring force than flesh-and-blood ones with anatomically correct knees.
Not to mention the cybernetics could withstand greater force to boot, making sudden skids and switches in movement direction ever easier for her.
Still, she didn't lay a hand or foot on him, not in a meaningful way. He didn't unto her either, though a different restriction stayed his potential retaliation than her. It held little difference if she attacked him from above or below, used her shoulders, arms, legs, or head, or struck hard and fast, it wouldn't be a mistake to equate his current iteration of combat to a piece of paper fluttering in the breeze.
He was proud of her for attempting this much, and for her face remaining clear of frustration even as her efforts produced no satisfactory results.
He maneuvered around the bench with the empty storage containers. Nudging the tip of his foot under one of them, he flicked it up at her. She looked like she would backhand it away, but the old instincts remained too deep: she rolled underneath it, coming up with her chest heaving. "Th--that's the first time you fought back."
He flicked another one at her, and she twisted around it. A third, which she rolled under again. Before he could send the fourth which had contained the harnesses and straps to secure the replacements, she had closed their remaining distance and resumed her futile endeavor to clip him or at least poke him.
Sure, she was touching him or her strikes brushed across his skinsuit, but they both knew that resulted from planning, mediation, and permission.
As the seconds ticked by and she forced him back deeper into the training hall, he no longer wore a smile. It hadn't been that long since they started, but she was already out of breath. Furthermore, the way she was moving her limbs reminded him of himself after straining a muscle; soreness would be to blame should she have kept her old body, but the conundrum was, she didn't.
Her flurry of attacks broke when she coughed, stumbling and almost tripping from the unexpected interruption. At that time, he decided they'd gone on long enough. He had plenty of suspicion for the reason behind her decline in performance.
"Stop." Raising his hand, he flicked her forehead. It was the first time he'd truly attacked her. She froze, struggling to keep her breath even. "I want you to be honest with me."
She nodded. Even if she disagreed to do so, he would take it as an answer to his silent inquiry in of itself. "Did the medical personnel assigned to you give any sign of clearance for intense physical exertion?"
"...no," she said, sighing and walking around him to return to the bench. He allowed her and followed. "Actually, they told me, under no circumstances too, that at minimum I should avoid it for a month."
"And why is that?"
She looked over her shoulder. "Did you read the report medical compiled of my condition yet?"
"I've…found other activities to occupy my time. It isn't like I'm lacking for choice there." It was his turn to freeze. Notwithstanding judgment, he had perused the introductory paragraphs of that report. He failed to press any deeper into the in-depth analysis after undesirable imagery began to arise in descriptions. The accompanying diagrams of a female body, torn open, or the included images of Pa-5 on an operating table painted red didn't help quell his desire to escape that. "Did you?"
"Ni-6 read it to me. Hearing him describe the initial state of my body after recovery wasn't easy," she admitted. "Aside from the obvious physical injuries like my limbs and internal damage to my organs and blood vessels, I suffered from all the drugs I had my WAV inject me with. They saved my life then, but…I'm wondering if it was worth the price now."
"What did the report say?"
"My body underwent the effects of so many cocktails and individual injections that should never mix that it's a miracle I made it as far as I did without my body shutting down. Pain medication, stimulants, stress relievers, nerve toxin, to name a few. I wouldn't have lived without liquid sun, but that was another issue they had to sort."
"I had multiple injections in under twenty-four hours. Two at the fort, and plenty more while navigating the western tunnels. By the time they found me, I was suffering from the effects of…overdose."
They winced in unison, her from the memory of feeling the life burn from her chest, and him from his familiarity with the symptoms and consequences of it. "Of course, they didn't realize that at the time, so one of the first things the medical staff aboard the Titan did to stabilize me was to inject another dose."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Is that when you flatlined?" Beside him, he could feel her shaking arm pressed against his.
"No, that happened later. But it might have been partly responsible."
"Do you still feel the pain?"
"Not from the overdosing."
He registered the words, then their meaning. "So, you do still feel pain from something."
"Yes, my phantom pains."
"They haven't abated?"
She shrugged and stretched herself across the bench. She stopped halfway and winced, rubbing her midsection with care. "No."
"Are there any long-lasting effects I should know about?"
She developed a sudden interest in tracing the gaps between the plating covering her legs.