It had
already been a day.
Jack — she never went by the name Nexus had given her, and had gone so far as to change both her first and last name, and to have her birth certificate corrected — had risen early, intending to head for the Olympic to get in some of the routines she could only get reps on if no one else was there. Maurice knew about her abilities, her enhancements or
augments the media called them, but he was the only one at the gym. He was there that night Dravoli’s hired shitheads came to burn the place down, just like Jack had been… and the bald, musclebound proprietor with the heart of gold watched in awe as the young woman — just seventeen at the time — absolutely wiped the floor with the six burly men.
The sun wasn’t yet up as Jack covered a plate of freshly-made eggs and fruit or Jennifer, who was still dozing, in the fridge. She keyed the coffee-maker to start brewing at six, knowing the smell would wake her roommate, and she grinned to herself as she took the stairs instead of the elevator to the ground floor. Their apartment building wasn’t exactly lux, but the lifts worked well enough… Jack just thrilled in the stairwell descent. Sneakers squeaking, bounding, leaping, swinging, tumbling, wall-running — the impossibly skilled free-runner made a whole course out of the railings, walls, and stairs. It was
intoxicating being as effortlessly mobile as Jack was; she was athletic beyond all human norms as well as being tough as nails, and she put those gifts to use every day of her life.
Nexus had taken so much from them… burdened the kids with so much trauma — but this was something the woman wanted to keep. They all had them. These gifts that they had to keep secret.
The workout lasted maybe an hour before she showered, changed, and opened the gym to its members. Cooper’s exuberant activism and social work were beyond fulfilling, but they weren’t so great for paying the rent. For all the time Jack sunk into them, the Patreon and donations and Go-Fund-Mes and other new economy ways of making money weren’t cutting it. So she’d given Maurice a giant hug when he offered her a job at the gym a number of years ago, lifting him easily off the ground despite his near three hundred pound musclebound bulk. He got something out of the deal as well, of course — the best fitness trainer in the city, perhaps the nation, and
no one rocked a sports top and shorts like Jack Cooper. The girl’s silhouette was re
donkulous, and there were plans she wasn’t comfortable with to put her on billboards.
Her shift at Olympic ended at three, leaving the hyper-fit woman time to do a quick lap around the SUTI construction site. Not only was she able to get the blood pumping a bit (only a bit; she had to temper her speed if she didn’t want to attract undue attention), but it let her gauge how the expansion was going. These kinds of projects were notorious for delays, cost overruns, and for not really delivering on the designs laid out by the architects and engineers. And all those were
normal problems — this particular project had been further troubled by a hostile developer with city council connections who had serious gentrification plans for these same blocks.
All of that swirled in Jack’s head as she completed her lap, looking for the black SUVs she’d seen parked within sight of the construction site the prior week. She wasn’t sure
who that was, but she didn’t have a good feeling about it.
After a quick change into more professional attire (skirt and fitted blouse, low heels), a meeting with Rosemary Green followed. Green, who ran some key grant programs for the city, was an ally, but a tough customer in terms of her expectations. Jack enjoyed the challenge of working with her — Rosemary was forever getting the young woman to up her EQ and her professional
game, and today was no different. After that, Jack grabbed a salad from a health-conscious cafe and stopped by Serenity Sanctuary to catch up with the staff and the kids. She’d headed home, worked on the grant for a few hours and turned in. Conner and co. were at the Electric Labyrinth tonight, she vaguely recalled, but the woman wanted to get up early for another workout. She wanted no part of that scene.
She hadn’t counted on being woken by Quinton at almost 130am. And not a text, a call.
Did you catch that?
Quinton called. He was bored with the crew he was with. Said he wanted to see Jack again.
Quinton Jones was a handsome motherfucker, successful, rich — the man had it
goin’ on, and so it was that Jack was frantically putting makeup on, having just struggled into her Little Black Dress when the text came in from Jennifer.
"No! No… nono nonono!" the 28-year-old yelled as she stalked around the apartment, texting furiously, trying to get more information. When none was forthcoming, she knew what she had do… and it was her reinforced cross-trainers that went on instead of her heels…
OOC:
Sorry to be so wordy. This is unlike me, you should know. I prefer pithy and to the point posts, when I can manage them…
Digging my PC already, and your setup is top-notch!
Edited to make it later in the evening when she gets the text.
Last edited April 2, 2024 12:10 am
NYC, Summer 2025
