The morning sun crested over the compound, spilling orange light over the corrugated roofs of the warehouses and the clustered modular housing. Richard's breath was steady and controlled as he rounded the last bend of his 3-kilometer sprint. His legs pumped like pistons, muscles burning slightly, but nothing he couldn't handle. Constitution 100 had its perks.
He came to a stop, chest rising and falling in a measured rhythm. Sweat barely dotted his skin. Around him, workers loitered with cups of steaming coffee and cigarettes, some leaning against parked trucks, others sitting on crates. All eyes were on him.
They had watched Richard complete 100 push-ups, 100 pull-ups, 100 curl-ups, and a 3-kilometer sprint without a single break — and with barely a bead of sweat to show for it.
Whispers floated around him."That guy's a machine.""No way he didn't juice up.""Who the hell does that without even breathing heavy?"
