While eyes widened and jaws dropped, Rambo nodded to himself. 

"The smell," He said aloud with a grin. "It smells too good in here." 

The facility was a grand spectacle, furnished with the best equipment money could buy. The size and scope of it all was a bit overwhelming. Everything had a new car smell to it, a sterility that juxtaposed the grimy enclosures he normally trained in. Rambo was used to the crowded mess of small gyms; the poorly ventilated air filled with body odor and hip hop, the endless sea of fight posters and ring photos hanging on sweat soaked walls. No signs of duct tape holding together rickety old heavy bags here. Rambo smiled at the treadmills and stationary bikes lining up next to each other. No more waiting in line to get your cardio in. Hell, there was so much space in this facility, why get on a treadmill when you could just jog around. Rambo scratched an itch on his dyed-blonde mohawk as people already started warming up or hitting the showers. He shrugged, set his bag down, then headed toward the kitchen.