"Well, if you want me to..." [i]Drake stood up, dusting some snow off of his red jacket, before walking to Sawyer and assuming a fighting stance. He closed his eyes and exhaled, and then he began to throw punches. His technique was flawless, as ever, but lopsided. His left arm threw mostly jabs, right at your guard, about as hard as any other human boxer would throw a punch; Drake had always been passionate about melee combat. However, his right prosthetic arm was stronger, faster, and harder. Even without his reinforced knuckles, it felt like a battering ram, hitting your guard about three times a second. [/i]