"O Julius Salad,” I vocalize a couple hours after dawn, “What’s the entertainment for the day?

“Did you want bread or circuses?”

“Not really. But do you know when they’ll arrive?”

“We can start as soon as you’re ready. After all, it is my circus, and they are my monkeys.”

I’m fuckin nervous, but humor keeps me from screaming. “Best send them in. You don’t want the peasants revolting.”

“The peasants are always revolting.”

Scree-aaa--ooooh

“But now they’re rebelling.”

Three more sound off in the forest all around.

For what it’s worth, Alec’s right. These are some revolting peasants. 4 monkeys enter the clearing at about the same time. Sensei Foo’ let me know that against multiple opponents, it’s important to try to keep them all on one side, unless you have eyes in the back of your head. Which I do. But even so, it’s better to engage one at a time.

I turn and sprint. Forty yards in two seconds makes me quite a bit faster than the monkey. I'm holding my sticks well, swinging like they’re weapons instead of drumsticks, and three times faster than I used to be. The monkey doesn’t stand a chance. My right swing is crushing it’s arm before it really knows I’m there. Its left arm and bottom legs leave the ground to rip at my left side, but between increased balance and perception, and my Sonic-level speed, I move my arm out of the way, check his arc, and swing for the fences.

Three seconds since they entered my clearing, three monkeys left.

The monkeys entered the clearing from four cardinal directions, or at least four corners. I don't have a compass. Presently, two are getting close, and one is running through my hut. Facing them, and picking the one on my right, I rush over, double swing, crack an arm, dodge his response, and keep running to the other side of the hut. That monkey ain’t doing much chasing on three legs, but the other two are pretty close now. These monkeys sprint across the ground slower than a normal person, and I'm maybe twice as fast as a pro sprinter now. So I high tail it all the way across the lawn about four times as fast as they can. That gives me time to grab into my pocket, pull out a set of baseballs, and throw hard as I can.

They say that a normal high school pitcher can pitch near seventy mph. I’m not in high school, but even if I used to just throw fifty, when it gets tripled and some, that means I’m throwin’ over 150. One, two, three balls thrown. The balls cross the lawn in a blink. Now if only I could aim. One of the three hits. A well thrown professionally pitched baseball can crack a person’s bones if it hits right. And while I don’t throw that well, a monkey’s bones are a lot smaller and weaker than a person’s. Of the four that started at me, one dead's, two are down, and the fourth is close. I re-ready my sticks, make sure they’re gripped right, and the monkey reaches me.

The fourth stooge leaps from two yards out. I’m forty percent committed to a straight thrust at the monkey’s throat when my echolocation suddenly catches a blur behind me and drop left instead. Monkey flies by me, and a second monkey coming in from the back gets in a good scratch on my leg as I zip away.

Shit. A quick scan of the clearing shows that four more came in while I was fighting. There’s five healthy monkeys, two more with broken limbs, and God knows how many more coming.

One of the injured monkeys is by itself. I end it quickly, and the one closest to it is a bit too aggressive. All three of my strikes hit it mid-leap, and it crumples to the ground not moving. Down to four healthy ones near me, and one crippled far away.

You know what I didn’t improve? My fucking endurance. They say that Junior Bolt on the Packers can run at 28mph. I’m probably moving at twice that. But I’m nearly out of energy. I’d be dead if it weren’t for Sensei’s evil cardio course.

While I rest for two seconds, the monkeys reach me and spread out again. They're surrounding me on all four sides. I’d be toast without my echo. The one behind me jumps. Things I’ve learned this month: don’t jump while fighting. I slide right, duck, and my tail-baton breaks at least 4 ribs as it flies nearby. A little more sliding to the left, and I'm right next to the monkey that's over there. It's simply too slow to react, and I finally actually get a headshot in a fight. It was actually a double headshot between crossing sticks, and now there’s monkeybrains everywhere.

Melonhead's brains on my cheek fucks with my concentration a bit too much, and very quickly, I’ve got a big gash in my side. Monkeys have 20 fucking claws, and I think ALL of them tore a hole in my skin. Hit my ribcage, rather than anything dangerous, but ow. Fuck!

I figure the monkeys don’t have too much more endurance than I do, and my light jog is now their top speed. I take a loop around the clearing, two screaming monkeys following, and I manage to clobber the two injured monkeys along the way, again relying on my Quicksilver-like speed. No slow motion action, or musical interlude, though. It's down to two on one, I’m stinging and I'm bleeding, but I'm not actually impaired.