Man In Black - Season 1 - Episode 35

4 years ago

Man In Black - Season 1 - Episode 35

Seventy-three. Seventy-four. Seventy-five. He kept on counting, repeatedly pulling himself up, lowered himself, up, then lower, up again, then lower. He was dripping sweat from his head down, and his arms screamed for rest, as they had since he reached fifty reps. He finally got to hundred and lowered himself, then let go of the pull-up bar’s handholds. His feet hit the tiled floor, and he stretched his arms.

One hundred pull-ups. Not bad. Not bad at all.
As his breathing returned to normal, he surveyed the entire gym, taking in all the equipment and the people working out on them. Dumbbells, barbells, bench presses, cables, pulleys, the whole lot. Thinking about it as he wiped his face with a towel, he realized that this was his home, where he truly belonged.

He trained every muscle specifically, knowing what equipment worked out each one. He looked like he belonged among a linebackers or bouncers’ committee, and some average bodybuilders would call him an extremist, but he didn’t care.

He worked out for results, and the results were visible enough.

His pecs stood out like oversized eggs, glistening with sweat. The neckline of his workout singlet dipped into the cleft between the both, the outline of his chests plain against the fabric. His six-pack abs were like a valley compared with them, impossibly slim and trim where the pecs jutted out, without an ounce of body fat and as hard as steel. His arms were not bad at all, delts, triceps, biceps and forearms all standing out apart from each other.

Overall, he had a body that got women gushing, and at six foot five, the height to go with it.

He had no time for women, though. He worked out mainly to keep fit. He smiled. If those policemen thought he kept in shape by sitting in an office all day, or prancing about town flashing a badge, then they were wrong. That was why they couldn’t get him. He had the kind of fitness, commitment and even endurance that no one else had.

He looked up at the flat-panel television suspended from the ceiling at the front of the section of the gym where he had been working out on the pull-up bar. The news was on. It was no doubt connected to a decoder, because the channel flipped from local channel to local channel, without a speck of static on the screen, and he saw no one around with a remote.

From channel to channel, it was all the same. The country was still agog with the news of the death of the Minister of Defense, and the shooting of one of the best detectives the country had to offer, half a year after the fact.
He smiled, remembering those jobs. Doing for the Minister hadn’t taken more than disguising himself as one of his employees. It hadn’t even needed to be the person who brought his early morning tea. Just one of his bodyguards who had roughly his own height and build, and it had all been a matter of making sure that guy didn’t make it to work, then quietly taking his place and emptying the contents of a certain small blue pill into his cup.