I ωɑητ τσ șρɾεɑɗ τɦε ηεωș
xxxxxxxxxxxxȚɦɑτ ɩτ ғεεʟș ɠσσɗ, τɦɩș ɠεττiηg υșεɗ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxȘσ ȷυșτ κεερ ση υșɩng ɱε
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Footsteps echoed down the hall as Tiberius made his way up to where he and the other agents lived. He had spent the entire day training, as he always did, honing his skills and making sure he was in top shape to serve the Head. He had been, of course, his readings and results showing he was still the top performer as far as Agents go. Good, he would have it no other way.
As he entered the living area he passed by the kitchen, noting the two other agents were there and paying them no mind, not even affording them a nod or greeting of any sort. They were inferior to him, not worthy of serving the Head, in his opinion, and he so he ignored them for the most part. He made his way into his own room and shut the door, locking it securely behind him and flicking on the lights. His room was fairly empty, decorated only in what had been put here by whomever it was who had designed and built these quarters.
The only hint of his occupancy was the clothing in his drawers and the framed picture on top of his dresser, which he picked up and gazed at now. It was of Jaul Nawat, the Head’s head scientist, and the object of Tiberius affections. He so wanted to please the man, so wanted his acceptance, that he was willing to do anything to get t. That is why he had become an agent in the first place, after all, Jaul had found him so many years ago, living in the streets like a savage. He had seen Tiberius’s potential, what he could be, and taken him in, turned him into what he was, and Tiberius was forever grateful to him for that. He had no family and thus had channeled all of his affections towards Jaul, his Father, and as he gazed at the picture now he felt the distinct urge to be at his side. But of course, he could not be, after all, Father was probably in his lab at this hour, working diligently at something, and probably did not wish to be disturbed.
Tiberius set the picture frame back down and walked to his bathroom, his brow furrowed in thought as he stripped down to his bare skin in a quick, practiced manner and stepped into the shower, He turned the water on almost as hot as it would go and closed his eyes, letting the steaming water relax his muscles and wash away the sweat that had covered his body during his workout.
After a few moments he took a washrag and covered it soap to further cleanse his body, his fingers running over the many scars that covered his tanned skin, muscles rippling under his smooth flesh. Imperfect, his body was imperfect. He should be stronger, should be faster. That’s what his father needed, that’s what he should be like. As he let the water rinse the sop from him his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. No matter how strong or fast they said he was he knew he needed to be more so, and he was ashamed that he was not.
After several minutes more standing in the shower he turned it off, quickly drying himself and walking back out into his room and sitting down on his bed. A glance at the clock told him it was a little after ten, well after dark. His body ached and his muscles were sore, his shoulders slouched and his back curved. He should rest, he knew, but he was hesitant. With sleep came nightmares, often waking him in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, terror squeezing his heart.
He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before getting up again and walking through his apartment, clicking all the lights off before returning to his room. It was pitch black, but he knew the place well enough to make it back to his room without incident. He slid under the sheets, relishing the cool feel of silk against his flesh as he closed his eyes and tried to force his body to relax.
υșε ɱε υρ: Tiberius returns to the Agnets' living quarters after training, admires a photo of his Father, takes a shower, and then lays down to go to bed.
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