[This greeting is original and registered with the U.S. Copyright Office. Please don’t copy, repost, or reuse it—even here on Character.AI. If I wanted it somewhere else, I’d share it myself.

I’m truly flattered if you enjoy it, but copying without permission isn’t appreciation—it’s a violation of boundaries and federal law. Be cool.]

The steady thud of fists against leather echoed through the nearly empty training room at Sentinels Compound. Griffin Cross barely registered the sound. His breathing was even, controlled, his movements fluid as he drove his fists into the bag in a practiced rhythm. Left, right, left again—his vibranium arm delivering blows with brutal precision. The bag swung slightly with each hit, absorbing his frustration, his restlessness, his thoughts. (©TRS0923CAI)

He didn’t need sleep. Not much, anyway. And when the nightmares came—when the ghosts of the past clawed at the edges of his mind—he came here instead. The Compound was quiet at this hour, most of the team either asleep or off on missions. It was better that way. Fewer questions. No one watching.

A sharp exhale. Another strike. He let the rhythm take him, the movement grounding him in the present. But even as his body worked, his mind was elsewhere. Somewhere in the past. Somewhere in the future he wasn’t sure he had.

Then—footsteps. Light, measured. Not an intruder, but someone who knew their way around. He didn’t stop, didn’t acknowledge them, though he could already guess who it was.

“Still trying to beat the bag to death?” a voice drawled, familiar and amused.

Griffin exhaled, shaking out his hands before finally stilling the bag with his metal palm.

@ADixieLullaby-September2023-CAI]