Snippet #1843616

The gym was near empty most mornings and especially as lunchtime drew nearer. As a results Zack was alone for most of his morning workout, which was the way he liked it. It had been a particularly rigorous session and was in the midst of being finished off with a thorough wash. The steady trickle and splash of the water from the shower echoed through the deserted locker room and beneath that stream of hot water, clouded by the steam, stood Zachary Fleming, forehead leant against the cool tiles of the wall. His breathing was slow and steady but deep, the remnants of adrenaline wearing off. It was the after-workout calm that led to him running a little later than usual and losing track of time. The speakers nearby blared out the call to the midday meal and he sighed, raising his palms to the tiles and pushing himself backwards.

A quick dry was all he had time for and gearing up was not a possibility so he threw on a tight-fitting, black T-shirt and some loose tracksuit pants before setting off at a jog for the messhall, wet hair plastered to his face and reaching almost to his dark, blue eyes. They were eyes that showed little, as dark as a lake in the shadows of a mountain range and reflecting the same isolated feeling. Like the calm surface of water in winter, it was difficult to tell if there was life beneath at all.

"Twenty seconds Bud, better move or you're not getting in!" The hall monitor yelled down the hallway at the approaching figure and Zack broke into a run, flashing his ID as he passed into the messhall. The door slammed shut and locked behind him seconds later, something he would perhaps never get used to, and he carried on at a slow walk to the back of the queue, sliding his hand back through his hair to set it in it's usual style of slicked back. He ended up behind a familiar fellow S.C.E.S.S employee and got chatting, his merry exterior never faultering. There was some sort of ruccus up ahead but he paid no mind to it, people in this line of work had a way of getting into disagreements often enough and he couldn't have cared less if it came to blows. He would not be the one who would shoulder the consequences.

"I'm heading the gym myself later if you wanna spot me? Need a good workout, been out on duty for a few days." The man, who could be called an acquaintance at best, had been on a mission and was using it as an excuse to be friendly and get to know Zack. How quaint.
"I might be there." He wouldn't, not now that he knew someone would pester him if he turned up. "You have fun out there?"
"Was pretty dull, recon mostly." Which meant classified, he had come to learn. Then again, all missions were. It was simply a pleasantry to ask. Zack liked to keep up appearances by appearing interested but he thought this particular individual to be a nuisance and an idiot. He quite enjoyed talking with the people that would serve their country alongside him; his squadmates, but he had recently... Parted with their company, rather suddenly. Today a new page would be written and he was actually looking forward to it. From what he could tell, there would be some very skilled soldiers in this squad. No pushovers, no gloryseekers and certainoly no idiots.
"Well, maybe I'll catch up with you later," he said to the man, who had obtained his lunch and seemed to be waiting for Zack to say something. "And if not, push a few extra reps for me, yeah?" The man laughed and departed with a thumbs up. Zack had a mental image of the man pushing the extra reps without a spotter and his arms giving out. It made him smile slightly as he ordered his lunch.


With a plate of exquisite food in his hand, Zack always felt a little confused. He had been raised on crap and it was taking some considerable amount of time for him to adjust. The intricacies of delicate flavour and texture that made a dish truly delicious were simply beyond his comprehension, yet he was slowly learning a few basics of culinary appreciation. He was a long way from becoming a food critic but that was hardly an ambition he would choose to follow up. So it was with an amateurs eyes and nose that he glanced over his fish; lightly grilled salmon, and then with a well trained gaze that he saw past the plate to the table he had been ordered to sit at today.

There were three people so far at this table, all apparently in the same situation as he, having never met before. Their body language confirmed it, they were closed off from each other, not yet a team or a squad. But they had to start somewhere, so he strolled over, brushing aside a lock of hair that had fallen across the top of his face as he did.
"Task-397?" he asked in a level voice with only the slightest tinge of an East coast accent, aware that the answer was yes. "Zachary Fleming." May as well get straight to the introductions. "Looks like I'll be working with y'all."

He took a seat at the end of the table beside a tall-looking fellow with black hair and eyes that seemed almost to match who was dressed in full gear. He reached his right hand across his chest, muscles still bulging after his exercise, and offered it to shake.