Operation CoJacks
Viopathartic
A/N: I copied some quotes from HBP for the first section. In order to get information on weapons, combat techniques, and military history, I searched the internet and paraphased some of them. One of the joys of writing a novel is researching along the way. I admit I'm learning a lot of facts and even though they might not be pertinent in daily life, they're still quite interesting to learn.
This chapter may seem very boring to some because it is basically training classes. In some fics, the author decides to skip the training (skip a year) and briefly mentions Harry learning a ton of stuff. Then later on he's this big macho man. I hate that. No, in my story, Harry's like any other person and I'm going to make him work his ass off.
Hermione will soon make an actual appearance. It's just I have to build the plot a bit more.
I learned about Hero's Adventure by Joseph Campbell in World Literature a few days ago (we finished reading The Odyssey) and realized whether subconsciously or not, I was using the phases that we learned for this fic.
This one is Phase One: The Separation (from the known)
Step 1: The Call (last chapters)
-Opportunity to face unknown
Step 2: The threshold (this chapter is this one!!)
-Hero (that is Harry) interacts with a helper or guardian (Slit!) who will either keep the hero from taking a journey for which he is unprepared or will step aside and point the way
-Helper may supply a "talisman-- a guide (text books, handbooks hint hint)
-Mentor keeps hero focused on goal or a psychological stability when danger is greatest
So yeah, I thought that was something interesting to share with you. You can go on and read, but please remember to review!
Dear Harry,
I think you are an idiot.
Hermione winced when she realized how harsh it sounded. Especially to Harry. The pencil eraser hovered above the piece of paper before she decided to erase it. She didn't want to patronize Harry like she had done last year. Ginny's words continued to run through her mind.
Hermione was only worried about her best friend. After he had cursed Malfoy, she thought Harry was going to be expelled.
He said he was going to get his book back. Angry and disappointed at his lack of sensibility, she said, "Are you telling me that you're going to go back--?"
He turned to look at her with an impatient glare. "And get the book? Yeah, I am. Listen, without the Prince I'd never have won the Felix Felicis. I'd never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I'd never have-"
Hermione had shot back that it was only because the book had helped him.
Then Ginny joined into their argument, making Hermione look like a fool. "Give it a rest, Hermione!"
Harry had turned to look at her with a grateful expression, as if he'd rather listen to Ginny than Hermione. She stood without saying much, not stung by Ginny's words, but Harry's look. Who was his best friend now?
"Oh and don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch," snapped Ginny, "you'll only embarrass yourself."
Hermione produced a new piece of parchment and dipped her feather pen into the ink bottle. She sat at her desk, alone in the Granger household; her only companion Crookshanks and a couple of bookshelves stocked with books. After exchanging a few words with Ron (and giving him Luna's number), she managed to escape before more questions bombarded her. She wanted to avoid Ginny's crap as much as she could. She reached home in a short while, pulling into the driveway, and leaving the Mini Cooper in the garage.
Dear Harry,
Your decision to leave the Dursleys was not very smart, I must say. I know that you've never liked the Dursleys and probably wanted to get out of there as soon as you turned of age, but leaving with a stranger is quite dangerous. What if he was an uncover for Riddle the first time you met him? You could have been killed! You have to choose who you can trust, not just any person who walks through the door!
I was not notified of your "disappearance" until I drove to your old home and found a body there! A body?!?! Merlin, Harry, what are you getting yourself into? Please be careful, whatever you're doing.
I'm terribly worried about you, Harry. I admit last year was a bit rough for us, but I want to talk to you about it face to face one day.
As for the missing pieces, I have to say they are most important. How will we(that's right, not you alone, Potter) find the missing pieces when you're somewhere else? I'll be researching a bit to help but that's only part of the task. We have to retrieve them and destroy.
Your hex will be waiting for you until next time I see you.
Love from,
H.J.G
P.S: My uncle works at the address you're at. Do you know a Ben Lester?
Hermione pursed her lips as she reread her letter to Harry. Yes, she thought, it's appropriate enough.
"Ballistics. Do you know what that is, Potter?"
Harry sat up in his seat in Room 245. Professor Titi, a woman, stood in front of his desk in perfect posture. Her skin was a sultry color of tan, absent of any makeup. Her wavy black hair was tied into a strict bun with a few strands falling loose around her oval-shaped face. She was dressed down in a sophisticated black blazer that looked as if it was recently pressed. Professor Titi reminded him of McGonagall but in muggle attire and 30 (Muggle) years younger. Her hands arranged the same as Collins; hands intertwined behind the back, but her eyes were twice as scary. Narrowed dark brown eyes probed Harry's light green.
It had taken some time to find Room 245, and Harry had to ask several agents to find the way. When he did, the agents asked what he was doing in their headquarters, only to be surprised when he answered that he was trainee.
The professor was doing what appeared to be paperwork in the front of the room and so, showing a polite gesture, Harry knocked. She had answered with a short "come in" and Harry tentatively carried his textbook to the closest desk in the front. He waited for her to say something but she continued to scratch out sentences with her pen and wrote something else.
Harry busied himself with his textbook and was on the second paragraph of the introduction when the person spoke to him. He looked up at her. He replayed the question in his mind.
"Uh…guns?" He answered doubtfully.
"Actually, you're partly correct. Ballistics is the science that studies with the motion, the behavior, and speed of certain projectiles. Some examples are guns, bombs, and rockets. Operation CoJacks finds this study extremely useful with cases involving firearms, ammunitions, and tool mark evidence in order to discover whether a particular firearm was utilized in the crime. However, that is a whole side of Operation CoJacks that you will not be involved with until you're an official Agent," Professor Titi explained in a "no-nonsense" sort of tone. She proceeded to her desk which stood in front of the small room. A petite black suitcase sat on it and she began to unlock.
Harry stretched his neck, trying to see what was in the case. He heard a series of clicks and believed the professor was putting together an object. His suspense was ruined when she turned around….with a gun in her hand. Harry jerked back.
"Oh no, Potter, do not be frightened. I am merely demonstrating what you will be learning in this class." Then she raised the weapon in her hand, aimed at Harry, and pulled the trigger.
Harry actually felt the wind when the bullet flew passed his right cheek and embedded itself into the wall.
"Professor! What if the others think-"
"This is a soundproof room. And no, we will not be practicing in here. This was just for our first meeting," Professor Titi answered. Smoke mounted from the gun in her hands, but she gave no notice. "Our first objective in this session is for you to learn the basic parts and functions of a gun. She stopped at the side of Harry's desk and turned to the front of the room with an outstretched hand. In her grasp was a slim, petite remote-similar to Cricket's device.
Click. A white screen smoothly slid its way down to cover the center of the chalkboard. It was only then did Harry realize his surroundings. The room was not as impressive as Cricket's. There were no posters or such decorating the walls or windows. No clue of what was being taught in the room. Only one poster of a red target in the back, a green chalkboard and rows of desks.
An overhead of a gun was viewed by Harry. The professor took out a laser and pointed it to different parts as she spoke.
"This, here, is a gun or pistol, specifically a semi-automatic pistol. Most agents of Operation CoJacks use this gun because it is lightweight and easy to control. A semi-automatic is a type of handgun that can be fired in semi-automatic mode meaning bullets can be fired repeatedly without the need to refill. This type of firearm uses a single chamber and a single barrel which remain in a fixed linear orientation relative to each other while being fired and reloaded semi-automatically.
The gun recocks itself every time it is fired as the slide or bolt automatically travels back to load another cartridge into the firing chamber and recock the gun. The trigger must be pulled again in order to fire the gun and recock the gun and reload the chamber.
Single action automatic handguns may often be decocked in a number of ways, and must be recocked in order to fire if one has been decocked. Only the hammer must be manually pulled back in order to recock the gun if it has been decocked. These types of guns usually have a safety lever that prevents the cocked gun from firing if the trigger is pulled while the safety is engaged (called "on safe")…" Her voice trailed in and out of Harry's hearing. She mentioned series of type of guns that Harry couldn't even pronounce.
Once done, Professor got rid of her laser, the screen pulled up, and the lights were turned on again.
Harry sat still, his eyes somewhat wide. He couldn't understand anything the teacher was saying. Chamber, hammer, single barrel…what is all of it?
"And I can see you are having a hard time processing this information. Therefore, here is a textbook. Read up to page 15 and you're set with the structure of a basic handgun." A large textbook was thrown onto his desk and Harry grabbed it. "You still seem confused."
"Professor, no offense but I don't think I can-"
"Then you aren't worthy for Operation CoJacks," said the professor immediately, her eyes burning holes into his head. Harry's face burned in embarrassment but a part of him was vexed. He allowed himself to breathe and examined the textbook in his hands.
"It's just…the lesson is so quick and I feel like the words are going through one ear and out the other!"
"Well this isn't high school," Professor Titi repeated Sarah's words. "Teachers stop in order for you to learn something new. We don't. We'll keep piling and piling all of the information until stays permanent in your brain like you ABC"s. Most of stuff you learn in the class will also be studied outside of classes and in your dorms. Study well and you'll probably survive in our world."
"Probably?"
"Most of the stuff you learn at Operation CoJacks will help you through your missions. But that's only half of what you need. You need your own talents and your own confidence to survive as well." Professor Titi said, briskly. She picked up the gun from her case, pried open Harry's hand so that the palm was showing, and slapped the weapon onto his hand. Harry stared at it dumbly, still trying to comprehend that he was holding a gun in his hand. Something that can kill.
"Shoot it." Harry almost dropped it. He looked incredulously at his professor.
"Shoot it at the target behind you." The woman repeated, gesturing towards the poster he had noticed before.
Harry gulped and stood from his seat, turning around to face the back. There it was. He glanced back at the gun he was currently holding and raised it to eye level. His hand naturally curled around the bottom of the gun and his finger hovered over the trigger. He moved the point a little to the left and aimed it towards the center. His feet were slightly spread as he shifted his position. Harry blinked rapidly and before he could even register it, his index finger pulled the trigger.
"Perfect."
Harry was slightly thrown off his balance when he felt the bullet being released. His eyes flew open and he swiveled to face Professor Titi. She was smiling, and it was the first time Harry had seen her show any facial expression. She nodded in approval. Harry faced the target again and saw his doing.
The bullet had hit the target at dead center.
"Good, this tells me you have good eye coordination. In future lessons, we will practice how to move with a gun at hand. I expect you to read the rules and proper usage of guns for the next session."
Harry stifled another groan, not yet realizing that he was given a gun to keep.
9:30
His schedule told him an half and hour break would proceed after Ballistics. Harry decided he would return to his dormitory to store his books. Luckily, he was able to remember his room number, and once he entered, all of his roommates still remained.
"Hi." He said as passed two men and Forest. Forest smiled and continued to read from his textbook. One of the men guy ignored Harry's greeting. The last guy lay prone on his bed entrenched in a game of solitaire. He abandoned the game once he saw his new roommate.
"Oh hey, I'm Malcolm Wood." He reached out a hand and Harry took it gratefully. The textbooks and his newly obtained gun lay abandoned on his desk.
"Aren't you guys going to head over to training?" asked Harry once he checked his watch again.
"We got 15 minutes till the session starts. I'm taking the shower first." Jasper said in a cold tone. He stood up, grabbed a towel, and headed into the bathroom without another word. Harry stared after him, confused. What did he do?
"Sorry, Jasper doesn't like new trainees," Malcolm apologized, his head actuating Jasper's direction, "he thinks of them as competition. And especially you. Aren't you-what-18 or 19 years of age?"
"Actually I recently turned 17 on the 31st." Harry answered in an abashed tone. He hated when people looked at him like some sort of attraction. Malcolm nodded impressively at him.
"Nice," his eyes widened when he saw the gun, "where'd you get that?"
"Class," was Harry's reply.
"Must be some class. We don't get ours until we're classified agents. The only guns we use are Operation CoJacks'. What are you under for?"
"Under…?" Harry was still baffled on why he had received a gun. Maybe it was a mistake?
"What specialty? Field work, forensics, or what?"
"I-I don't know." Harry answered truthfully. Was he supposed to know? Slit never mentioned it when he had told Harry of the program. "What? They couldn't have to just recruit you!"
"Yeah. Actually it was just hours ago."
"What happened?"
Harry peered over at Forest who appeared to be listening in. "I don't think I should say." Malcolm just shrugged at his friend who immediately disengaged his attention. He looked around the room for a few seconds, finally letting his eyes land on a cage and a trunk in the corner.
"So…uh, what's with the bird?" asked Malcolm, gesturing to the cage in the corner. Hedwig stared back through the bars, giving Harry a contemptuous look for leaving her with strangers. He had forgotten about his pet ever since he arrived.
"Sorry, she's my pet. Her name is Hedwig by the way," explained Harry dismissively, hoping to avoid a potential conflict.
"I've heard of dogs, cats, and rats before. What kind of messed up kid has a bird for a pet?" sneered Jasper, his voice dripping with animosity. He came back in from the shower room donned in an undershirt and plaid boxers.
"Shut up!" Harry growled back, opening Hedwig cage and beckoning for her to cling to his arms. Jasper was probably around his mid 20's but his behavior towards him reflected a 10 year old. "She won't bother anyone when you guys are sleeping; she'll be out hunting."
Jasper, appearing a little peeved because of Harry's retort, said sarcastically, "Oh yeah, much better!"
Forest stepped into the conversation, "Hey, it's okay if he has a pet with him. I'm sure Hedwig is an okay bird." To that statement, Hedwig let out a hoot of agreement and appreciation. She spread her wings and flew across the room to land on Forest's shoulder. The man was shocked to find a bird right on his shoulders but adjusted nonetheless. Harry grinned. Hedwig did not easily warm up to strangers but knowing she had a soft spot for Forest made the situation of keeping her much easier.
A knock on the door was heard a moment later and once he was given permission by Malcolm, an agent in uniform stepped into the room.
"Hermione Granger to Harry Potter?" With a perplexing look, Harry got up and retrieved the letter. The mailperson closed the door after he left.
"Wow…service is fast," he mumbled, reading the return address.
"Hermione Granger? Ooh, the rookie has a girlfriend!" mocked Jasper as he dried his hair with his towel. Harry glared at him; he really didn't like the guy.
Why couldn't she just have sent an owl? Then it hit him. Harry was no longer at the Privet Drive. Hermione must have noticed his new address and quickly caught on. Of course. Leave Hermione to decide what situations to use Muggle ways instead of Wizardry ways.
"What does it say?" asked Forest, putting away his textbook. Harry ignored him and began to unseal the envelope.
"Okay, then we're heading to practice." Unfolding the parchment, Harry merely lifted a hand in reply. Forest shrugged at Jasper, dismissing his curiosity to find out what was being said in the letter. He grabbed his water bottle and opened the door. But someone was already there.
"Agent Tanner!"
At the sound of Slit's formal mention, Harry put down the parchment and stood adjacent with his roommates. "Wood, Edwards, and Argon. I suppose you two are heading to training."
"Yes sir," they replied in unison. Slit nodded brusquely and the two trainees left (with Malcolm giving Harry two "thumbs up" behind Slit's back).
"Slit-I mean Agent Tanners-why are you here, sir?" Agent Tanners seemed to approve of Harry's formal address and answered,
"I am here as an instructor for your next class."
Harry, having not memorized his schedule yet, grabbed the sheet and read the times.
CALISTHENICS/COMBAT: 10.00
Instructor: Pending
"You're going to teach me how to fight?"
"Yes. Now I ask you to reach into the top drawer of your wardrobe," he paused to let Harry do as he was told, "and there you will find some loose fitting clothes." Harry held them up for Slit to see.
"Good. I will let you dress and once you are finished, leave the room."
Facing the mirror, Harry examined his current appearance. He exchanged Dudley's old mustard-colored t-shirt and elongated trousers for loose, but still quite fitting, sweat pant and a blank white t-shirt. On its front, in big letters and bold, was TRAINEE.
Harry supposed that Operation CoJacks was an organization of status. And with status were two groups. Trainees were still viewed as merely civilians. They were only in the middle until they'd be regarded as somebody. Agents were more important because they were no longer trainees, but people with certain expertise who work for and in Operation CoJacks. The service made it apparent that they would separate the twoHarry was not embarrassed to have that word across his chest, but that did not stop his increasing desire to obtain the title of AGENT one day.
The letter lay forgotten besides his bed and Hedwig gave a hoot of disapproval when seeing her master leave once again.
"Drop your ass down, trainee!"
Harry gritted his teeth as Slit's voice echoed across the room. It didn't help that Slit was also mere feet from where Harry was doing push ups. The combat training had begun slowly, a pace that he was most comfortable with. But as an hour passed on, the difficulty of the activities and constant demand from Slit to do everything began to exhaust on him.
He just wanted to give up. Let his arms give way and feel the smooth texture of the mat underneath. But Slit kept pushing him and pushing him and if Harry were to fail, he'd have to repeat the command from the start. Practices with Wood back at Hogwarts were merely games compared to the torture regimen Slit had arranged for Harry.
In the beginning, Harry was instructed to do 5 laps around the room. Fair enough, he had thought. The room was about the size of the Room of Requirement and he had easily completed the five laps, needing to catch his breath for only a few minutes. However, Slit was not finished. The room was designed for intense workouts. It was combination of a gymnastic center, fitness center, and track center.
He and Slit had headed over to the gymnastic area after the run. It was located in the center of a winding track. Large, comforting mats acted as a floor below a set of uneven bars, parallel bars, and still rings. A balance beam that stood 3 feet off the ground was also included.
"Do you know how to do a somersault?"
Harry nodded. He was asked to execute that move and did so without error. After that were backward rolls, handstands, and cartwheel. Due to the fact that he never learned how to or even gave one thought about doing those moves, he…well, he failed miserably. But Slit, once he helped Harry up, said his flexibility was "adequate" and that was enough for Harry.
"But that doesn't you're off the hook!" Slit had added quickly. As a result, he timed Harry as he balanced himself up against the wall and head was parallel to the floor. His arms struggled to support his weight upside down, and he feared he might fall while doing the handstand. After two minutes, Harry let himself fall, not caring that his face was pressed against the mat. His whole body was cover in perspiration and ached for a warm shower.
Slit was not easily deterred from the lesson. Following the handstand, Harry tried the still rings. He held himself up, his arms shaking all the while, for 30 seconds before collapsing. Once he was on the ground again, Slit explained that everything he had done measured his flexibility, coordination, and upper body strength.
"You will focus on building your body before moving on to combat. Everyday, you will work on your arms and your legs so they would be able to support you while in combat. You will do as many laps as I tell you to, hold yourself for as long as I tell you, and only stop when I tell you to. Don't expect me to go easy on you since you're a newbie!" said Slit, his voice loud and stern.
When did you ever, Harry had thought, his body bent over as he caught a stitch in his side.
Once he heard Slit yell "stop", he picked himself up from the ground. Harry was given a five minute break, and as much as he detested the limited time, he took it without saying. Slit was mostly supervising Harry so he did not even break a sweat. He watched as Harry imbibed his water bottle like a savage who had gone days without food.
"Don't take such long sips. You'll get cramps," advised the 25-year-old, but Harry just glared abominably at him. He finished his bottle and stood with his hands by his side and an expression that clearly said "now what?"
"Hit me."
Before Harry could register Slit's new command, he took a shot at the teenager, swinging his fist from the left side to right. Harry managed to duck it in time and fell back in surprise. Slit stood above, his hands curled in fists and body in boxing stance; knees slightly bent, right foot out and left foot behind, and shoulders raised, facing his opponent's direction.
"Hit me," he commanded, repeating it once again after Harry failed to listen, "HIT ME, YOU STUPID ASS!"
Harry quickly got himself off the floor and swung his left fist with all his might, hoping to strike his opponent in the head. Apparently his agility was not up to speed since Slit deftly dodged his body to the farthest right. Harry caught himself when he realized Slit had moved. Just when he had turned around, he felt a sharp pain at the lower end of his back, and fell face first to the ground.
He rolled onto his back after the stinging pain had passed and merely looked at Slit as if he was a wild animal.
Slit stood in a standard boxing stance, his face arranged in calm, almost tranquil state. Harry gritted his teeth again, wondering what the devil's he had done to deserve a beat up.
"So Harry, I heard you got a letter from Hermione Granger. Is she your girlfriend?" asked the man, alternatively bouncing on the toes of right and left feet. Harry made himself get up. He wiped a trail of blood from his mouth. The impact of the floor against his jaw had caused the inside of his mouth to bleed. But he ignored the pain. All he wanted to do was hurt the bastard standing in front of him.
Harry copied the way Slit held his fists. They were slightly raised above his chest and he kept his elbows in place. Slit began to walk around Harry in a circle, taunting him with his words. Asked him about Hermione. Wondered if she was a slut. Wondered how Harry had landed her. If they had--
Inside, Harry's blood boiled to its maximum degree. Slit was only tempting him, he knew, but what he said reminded him of a certain blond ferret. He eyed Slit's careful steps as he moved around Harry in a circle. His fists were raised, but his feet still remained planted to the ground. Slit faked a lunge at him which made Harry lose his concentration for a moment. A moment was all Slit needed. As Harry was trying to pull himself together, the agent grabbed a hold of his shoulders and gave a knee-kick to the stomach.
Harry gasped in pain and groaned as he fell to his knees, hands cradling his injured area.
"Get up," the man said quietly. With unshed tears of pain, the trainee tiresomely got to his feet. Secretly, Slit pitied Harry as he struggled. His father had done the same to him when he was much younger. While most fathers would teach their sons to ride a bike or how to catch a baseball, Slit's father had taught him how to fight. The first day which was the day after his seventh birthday, his father had brought a punching bag into his bedroom. Before Slit could thank him for the gift, his father had punched him.
Hard.
Slit remembered he had cried. And all his father had done was watch as he stood above his son in the attic. With tears still streaming down his young cheeks, his father had ordered him to stand up and stand up like a man. He had taught him how to curl his hand in a fist. After, his father told him to hit him in the stomach. That he did. It was his first punch. Of course, being a young boy, the punch did not affect his father at all.
His father had kissed his forehead when they were done, hugged him with his arms, and apologized for hitting him.
"I'm teaching you, son" was what he said to ease Slit's tears. Back then, Slit did not have the sense to question what his father was teaching him.
"You're holding your hand wrong," Slit said, approaching Harry in small steps. Harry lowered his arms with hesitancy and then looked at the way his hand was curled.
"What you're going to learn is striking. The first is the uppercut. Bend your knees and rotate your torso. Your fists should be raised towards the target: the chin or the nose. An uppercut is a power punch that can cause more damage at close range." He waited until his trainee was arranged in the right position. "Good. Now, practice it. Start from the belly an upward motion--like a hook-- and then land it on the opponent's face or body. I'll watch."
Slit stepped away so he could observe Harry.
The boy had learned quickly. He did exactly as he was told and did even better when he was moved to the punching bag.
For another hour or so, Harry learned types of strikes --basically punches and kicks--and when to use them. Hook was another one, for example. Slit demonstrated by bending the elbow, bringing the arm to a parallel position with the ground, and then twisting the upper body away from the target. He swung his arm and hit the air. Harry executed the move after a few times. Along with the different punches he learned straight, jab, and hammerfist.
The kicks were harder at first, but eventually Harry managed to catch up. Used in stand-up fighting, a kick was delivered by the elbow, the knee, or the leg. The first one he learned was the front kick. It was simply the motion of lifting his feet to the front and thrusting it at his opponent. In combat, it would be used to bring the opponent to the ground or to kick at the groin. Harry could either strike with the heel or quickly snapping it.
"Don't lose your balance there. Keep your left leg stiff if you're going to strike with your right. Don't kick it too high either because you'll want to focus all the energy on the impact."
For the side kick, Slit had kicked out like he would for the front kick but instead of thrusting up; he pivoted his body and kicked outward. Side kicks were mostly used one directing towards the chest area, he had said. Harry copied the exact move and was able to do it perfectly.
"That was a pretty good lesson. You were able to keep up very well. Have you ever been involved in fight?"
"Erm...well something like that," answered Harry, his mind drifting to the duels with Voldemort and his Deatheaters in fifth year. But perhaps it wasn't best to mention that to Slit just yet. Harry just made it into Operation CoJacks, and he didn't want to get kicked out after the first day.
If Slit was bothered by Harry's reluctance to elaborate on his past, he did not show it. But then again, Slit never really showed any expression; he always had on a neutral stare.
"Hey Agent Tanners--"
"Slit."
Harry suppressed a grin. So he was on the good side of Slit, eh?
"Slit, how do you manage to keep such an impassive face all the time?"
He turned to look at him in what Harry would imagine as a surprised tone. "Impassive?"
"Every heard of smiling? Laughing? While you were fighting me you looked really calm, while I wanted to kill you."
"Practice. Years and years of it. You should try it. Stand in front of the mirror and observe how you show your emotion. Then hide with another," Slit answered succinctly, slinging his coat jacket over his shoulders. Harry put his towel around his neck and followed him out of the training room, thinking he just might take his trainer's advice.