Go-getter or Idiot.

It was early, very very early when Miles' alarm went off. All of his clothes from yesterday still smelled of sweat and meat, even after a wash. With a yawn and a stretch he threw it back in the wash.

Heading into the kitchen he pulled a skillet from the hanging rack of pots and pans. It wasn't long before he was eating a Chorizo omelet. Eating quickly, he popped in the show before dawning a different track suit. His only other once besides the his 'trademark' blue. This one black jacket, black pants, black t-shirt and he was out the door.


Back at the training facility he was the first one there that morning. At least as far as the recruits went. Miles drug several pitching machines loaded full of racket balls over to once side of the gymnasium. He fixt them all into a circle around him some farther out, and some closer.

Once they were all set up Miles stood in the center. Taking out the small remote Jack Frost likely took great pleasure in using to pelt the recruits. Miles stood, taking a deep breath he closed his eyes before hitting the button. The machines launching a three shot burst.

He managed to dodge a fair number but was hit several times. "Again." he said quietly to himself. Pressing it again, the machines fired once again, and Miles managed to dodge a few more. He let out a groan, rubbing a few of the spots that were already showing tale tell red welts. He continued this little game of his eventually reaching a stalemate. He'd plateaued, at least for now, and the machines made a dry click. Having run out of ammo.

Miles quickly cleaned up the mess he'd made, having thought better of waiting till later. Knowing Jack Frost he was right to do so, before starting the next part of his work out. Reverse chin-ups, squats, push-ups and sit-ups.

He was done and sitting on the bleachers chugging a bottle of water before anyone else even started trickling in. "Did that many people drop out?" he thought. "Couldn't be."

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