The massive, clenched fists stabbed through the air and collided with the heavy bag, indenting it momentarily before the wielder pulled away. These blows rained down in an increasingly familiar and mundane pattern; right, left, right, left, left, right. Rinse and repeat. There wasn't anything about this set up that wasn't mundane for Jebidiah James. This, this very routine, being training before dawn even struck was something he'd grown used to since starting this routine some 314 days ago, though it wasn't like anyone was counting. The deafening silence pounded down on him more than ever, possibly due to the complete and utter lack of another person in what felt to him like a hundred mile radius.

It wasn't like he was a stranger to solitude, but one noise he always detested was the absolute lack of noise at all. Because of this, it wasn't too hard to understand why he wasn't all too willing to return to a "normal" pace for this particular workout. Instead, his fists flew faster and faster, swooshing through the air and upon collision with the heavy bag, sent it violently in the direction opposite him with a thump. One would assume that by way of logical reasoning and a half decent knowledge of fighting, the continuation of using only a rather slow to wind up albeit heavy strike over and over again would be an idiotic idea. They would be correct as well, however at a time like this the last thing in the world that Jebidiah cared about was efficiency or a smart idea.

Nay, what he cared about was shutting the damned silence up once and for all.

Too bad for him, the silence would never leave.

Drowning that thought, that revelation, out of his head if only for a moment -- Jeb shakes his head and tries to continue on with his routine; upholding the predictable, boring, but safe pattern he'd been going at for the better part of a half hour now but finds himself unable to concentrate. Every heavy handed punch thrown misses its mark by a mile as one thought passes through his head. A thought that forced its way into his conscious thought pattern (which previously was functioning to the tune of "destroy, kill, rah") and drove his own motivation further into the ground.

A thought that could be summed up in one sound - bang.

Then, the frantic, discombobulated shrieks of terror that accompanied the gunshot filled his ears, despite the lack of anyone besides him in the building. Growling, Jeb brings both hands to his head, covering his ears in hopes that that would be the action that finally shut them up but alas, there was no use. Instead of stopping, the ghost voices grew louder, more anguished and grating. Gritting his teeth and falling to his knees, the large man continued to groan gutturaly, the loudest his "voice" could go was no match for the increasingly deafening cries.

With his eyes closed, and head pressed against the cold floor, he struggled to postpone the inevitable; his next sciamachy.

The silence; the screams; they all gave way to one sound. Footsteps on the opposite end of the room. Jeb growls as he gets back to his feet, turning around to see the silhouette of a man approaching him. He cracks his neck and gets into a fighting stance, shooting a stare down the empty expanse that separated the two; recognizing the man that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Well, recognizing is a rather optimistic term for it.

If he were really recognizing the man, he would have a face. Instead was the blank outline of a facial structure, no eyes, nose, or ears.

There was however, a mouth.

"Come on, coward." The man's voice was low and rumbling, though was simultaneously gifted with a crackling sarcasm that made Jeb's blood boil.

Jeb growled before charging after the faceless man, the fire in his eyes rapidly expanding, swallowing his entire body in a blaze of blinding rage. The faceless man simply smiled and stepped slightly to the left, and as to be expected, Jeb throws a wild punch that misses the target and knocks him off balance. Regaining said balance before falling flat on the floor, he turns around and eyes up the man once again.

This time, the man was approaching him. A smile crept over his face as he simply kept his guard up and waited.

Waited for the first strike. A right jab, much too slow to be hit by. Jeb ducked and threw a left cross, connecting with the man's jaw which felt as solid as concrete and slightly stung Jeb's hand as it hit. Shaking the pain out of it, Jeb went for another punch to the stomach of the backed up man, only to be greeted with the cement wall behind him.

"Jeb!" shouted another man, snapping him out of his trance like state. Looking back where he last saw the faceless man stand, he was greeted by nothing but the bare cement bricks that made up the wall in front of him. A look down at his fists showed a small stream of crimson pouring from his knuckles, some smeared ever so slightly against the bland grey. Closing his eyes, partly out of frustration and partly out of embarrassment, Jeb leans forward and rests his clenched fists against the wall, growling under his breath. He dared not look back at the man who seemed to have saved his life.

Eli James IV.