Dumar looked at the time counter under the video screen and was even more surprised to see it had taken less than three minutes to destroy these two men. Unarmed and chained to a chair bolted to the floor.
Dumar's hands shook as he opened Cumar's file. As his closest relative – if that was what he could be called – he took a keener interest in the life of Cumar than the others.
Nothing unusual had been noted about Cumar until he was around two years old when his developmental progress had been found to be below expected norms.
As he grew and his body developed, it became apparent his mental faculties did not and he had remained a child in an adult's body. Dumar scrolled through a few still pictures of Cumar. The huge man sitting in a toy filled room colouring with crayons, his head thrown back in laughter as a woman held a glove puppet towards him.
It was apparent from the pictures and reports Cumar had been a failed experiment too but at least he looked happy.
Dumar wiped his eyes, tears forming at the thought of this child like man he would never meet being murdered by the Company.
Fucking bastards!
Rage fought with loss inside him, bringing the desperate need for vengeance against someone, anyone. Before he went looking for a fight, however, Dumar had to know what had happened to his closest brother so carried on reading.
He scanned through numerous documents, found a few more photographs showing Cumar having the time of his life and discovered the final answer regarding his sibling. At the bottom of one file written in large letters was the simple conclusion, "PROJECT RETAINED FOR POSSIBLE FUTURE ORGAN NEEDS"
Dumar's hands started to shake as the implications of the sentence hit him.
They kept him alive! In case I ever needed a transplant? They had him, probably in the same building as me, and I never met him? Alive and I'll never get to meet him.
Unconsciously Dumar's hands gripped the tablet until the plastic started to creak with the strain.
For a minute Dumar battled with the idea of smashing the little device into hundreds of bits against the wall but decided against it. He wanted to know exactly what they had done to him.
I'm not even human.
A dark cloud of rage and misery settled on Dumar's mind then.
I might be unique like Dawa said but I'm not even fully human. What the fuck am I?
***
The big man stood, dropped the little tablet into the backpack he always carried and set off for the door. Outside he found the obligatory pair of guards waiting.
"You two know anywhere I can get a bit of exercise?"
Of the two guards it was the woman who answered after glancing at her male counterpart.
"Yes, sir," she said as they both snapped to attention. "What manner of exercise are you interested in, sir?"
Dumar smiled.
"Drop the 'sir' shit, call me Dumar," the anger he felt towards McCabe and the Company was boiling just below the surface and he needed to smash his anger out on something. "Let's see if there's anyone around here who can hit me."
"Yes, si...Dumar, please follow us."
The pair led him down two flights of stone stairs that swallowed them like a giant throat, to a massive room with rough stone walls making it feel cave-like.
Thick, stone pillars, as wide as two men, supported the ceiling above Dumar. The floor was of the same material as the walls but had been smoothed and polished until it shone like a mirror.
One wall was almost completely open, letting light and a cool breeze in to stir the sweaty air.
Closest to Dumar stood items of familiar equipment that had been made from unusual materials.
A large array of stone weights had wooden bars to mount them on. A punch bag hung from the ceiling, held up by chains.
Easily twice the size of Dumar it had been covered in fur that had probably graced some long-dead animals.
In the middle of the room sat a well constructed, wooden climbing area with monkey bars and ropes, pillars and columns of varying thicknesses.
None of the equipment was currently in use, however, as pairs of guards populated the far end, sparring with practice weapons.
Dumar watched the mock fights for a few seconds before coming to the conclusion he would only end up hurting someone if he joined in.
Turning back to the large, pendulous bag suspended from wrist-thick chains and hooks driven into the rock, he patted the bag to gauge its weight.
It must be filled with rocks, it never even moved.
He rolled his neck and shoulders before slamming the heel of his right hand into the bag. The softness of the bristled fur covering the leather cushioned his skin.
Following up with his left hand, Dumar landed fourteen hits in quick succession before bringing up his right knee and kicking the bag with the side of his foot.
As if it was a choreographed dance, Dumar spun, kicked and punched at the bag, eventually making it swing.
Each blow jolted up his arms, the shock being absorbed by his muscles and tendons yet still affording him the edge of pain he needed.
Every time Dumar whirled round to smash another kick into the bag he caught a glimpse of the growing crowd that gathered to watch his display. Eventually his ears picked up snippets of conversation from the royal guards who had stopped to watch.
"Never have I seen the like..."
"...can he be so fast?"
"...not unless I had witnessed it with my own eyes."
His mood had improved a little with the violence he had wrought on the bag.
The leather was dented in places and the powerful punches and kicks he had landed had stripped the fur covering it, leaving bald patches all over the leather surface.
A tiny stream of dry sand trickled to the floor where the leather had split.
He turned to the now silent group who were watching him with awe on their faces. Chest heaving Dumar looked from face to face, seeing the expressions of appreciation and pleased surprise they had.
He nodded and bent to grab his backpack, turning to leave when someone stopped him.
"Sir!" A female voice stopped him and he turned. "I have to say, sir, that was amazing to watch," a young, muscular woman who looked to be in her twenties stepped from the group. "Might I ask where you learned those techniques?"
Am I supposed keep it a secret I'm from another planet? Fuck it, who cares?
"I had loads of different trainers back home, taught me how to do it."
Although there was sadness in his voice, their curiosity won.
The young woman who had first asked him a question tilted her head. Dumar noted she had long dark lashes surrounding her emerald eyes and a flush of lust rolled through him.
"And where is it you come from, sir? I have no familiarity with your style and would see if it was possible to go and train there."
Dumar snorted a laugh.
"Well, I come from a little place called London and I had to kill myself to get here," their shocked faces told him all he needed. "Pretty sure it's a one way ticket too."
The young woman frowned.
"I do not understand, sir," She admitted.
"Me neither," Dumar said flatly.
And I doubt I ever fucking will.
"Then, sir, would you be able to train us?" She asked, glancing around at her companions.
Heads bobbed in agreement.
I didn't really come down here to give you lot tips on martial arts. But then what's the alternative? Go back and read about how I'm not human?
Dumar nodded to the training area.
"Go on then," he told them shortly.