Who:Cable, OTA What: PT of a sort. When:Friday morning. Where:The grounds, not far from the shooting range. Warnings:None so far.
Cable had to tell himself that. Things were getting more serious. It seemed that, rather recently, some of the people from the haven had struck out on their own. Cable himself had been involved in a rather serious op that most of the folks didn't know about. The time was coming when they would need every tool at their opportunity. So like any good soldier, Cable had started honing his. Or, at least, honing those that he was willing to accept.
Where the tree had come from was anyone's telling. From the way the bark was stripped, the trunk smoothed to prevent splinters where any of the branches had been cut away, it was obviously not just a find in the woods. It looked quite a bit like the 'weights' that many special forces soldiers used for their selection workouts, a dead, seasoned half-tree weighing between six and eight hundred pounds. Another piece, beside it, was quite a bit smaller. Only a couple feed in length, it likely weighed around a hundred pounds. And as the old soldier stared at it, it was shifting off of the ground in a slow, shaky way, as if picked up by muscles that couldn't quite handle the weight, but were being forced to anyways. Cable had been out practicing his telepathy nearly every day for the past two weeks as part of his normal PT. A few days he'd given himself headaches, migraines even. One day he's sure he'd nearly killed himself, as after overstraining his mind he'd woken up with blood on his upper lip, and tunnel vision for nearly two hours.
After that incident, though, he'd started working smaller weights, building hid mind like one does a muscle, smaller weights, a longer workout, with the occasional push at something heavy, something just barely inside, or outside, the limits. His workout nearing an end, he glared at the smallish section of log, shifting it end over end slowly through the air, letting the heavy log move over towards it's larger brother, before settling down on the ground, to the sound of a sharp exhale from the soldier. Had anyone come up during that period of time, he'd doubtless missed them, though it's understandable why as he lifts a towel to wipe what could nearly be called a river of sweat from his fact, his gray PT shirt drenched in sweat. A shower very much in order at that point, the man turned to begin his long, slow walk towards the main buildings again.