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The next day, you have your truck repaired and you return to your “prison” compound. With Braun still with you, you ask him what you were even making that trip for in the first place.
<span class="mu-r">”Oh just some ammunition, some supplies, things like that. And one special package- just for you.”</span>
<span class="mu-b">”Hmm?”</span>
<span class="mu-r">”It's your knives.”</span>
Suddenly, you are presented with a pair of white and black handled knives- with sheathes and a belt. Just like the ones the tribal blondes wear.
<span class="mu-b">”What!? Brun, I can't accept this.”</span>
<span class="mu-r">”Why not?”</span>
<span class="mu-b">”This is... not my way. This is your people's custom, not mine. I have no use for a knife- at least as a weapon.”</span>
<span class="mu-r">”What, never fought with one? The military never trained you?”</span>
<span class="mu-b">”No. We're supposed to use the butt of our rifle if we need to fight up close, until we can clear the way for a point blank shot. Or if hand to hand is required, usually we engage a hold...”</span>
<span class="mu-r">”Fuck that. You're gonna learn how to use one of these. Just like us.”</span>
Brun's already drawn his, stuffing your own white-handled knife into your hand.
<span class="mu-b">”What are you doing!? I am not going to spare with you with such a sharp blade. Are you insane?”</span>
<span class="mu-r">”No, we'll just be touching tip to tip- hehe. Sparring is always done with the clean blade- you will be fine. Little knick on your finger won't kill you.”</span>
You find yourself strangely nervous. Despite military training, playing around with blades is making you feel a sense of anxiety. You feel guns are more predictable. Knives are quick. How are you going to do this? You don't think Brun is going to take no for an answer.
>Try to cut him
>Avoid injuring Brun
