The Forge was peaceful at this time of night, which was for the best. It would be impossible to run a fitness class in the middle of a mosh pit.
The cage was down, because the wire was useful for climbing, and a little light hand to hand would be useful for cardio. Mats were spread out on the poured concrete floor at one side, covering the area where in the middle of winter, Rook had arm wrestled Spartan and put his fist through the floor.
Rook finished carrying the stack of free weights across the floor and carefully stacked them up.
I can barely believe I'm doing this.
The Red Victor stood up, dusting his hands off absently. He was stripped to the waist, unlike him. Steel crenelations were set around his shoulders, solid and jutting out. Heavy rivets covered the steel, one particularly nasty one shaped like a Y incision down his ribs. The Metalflesh was actually looking forwards to it.
He wasn't sure if he was teaching material or not, but at least the exertion should be entertaining.
If anyone showed, of course.
If not, he'd have a pleasant, solitary work out.