The alarm buzzed in my ear, dragging me from sleep. It was the same every day. I opened my eyes, staring at the cracked ceiling above me, the faint glow of the city lights seeping through the blinds. No time for hesitation. I rolled out of bed, put on my clothes, and strapped the weights to my body, feeling their familiar pressure pressing against my chest, back, and legs. It was the only way to make my body feel something—anything—besides numbness.
I could almost set a clock by my movements now. My routine was as precise as a soldier's. There were no deviations. No distractions. Just the grind.
I left my motel room and jogged into the cold morning air. The streets were empty, save for the occasional late-night straggler or early riser heading to work. My legs were still sore from yesterday's training, but I pushed through it. The weights under my clothing made every step harder, the resistance keeping my muscles engaged, forcing me to move faster, harder. I jogged for half an hour, the rhythmic pounding of my feet against the pavement the only sound in the quiet morning. My breath came out in visible clouds, but I didn't stop. Not until the time was up.
The run was always the first thing I did, just to get the blood pumping. Once I was back at the motel, I quickly stripped off the weighted vest, letting the cold air hit my damp skin. The shower was quick, just enough to wash away the sweat and get me feeling human again. The water stung against the sore spots on my body, but it felt good. It felt necessary.
After drying off, I grabbed a cheap breakfast from the corner store—just a granola bar and some coffee. I didn't care about food. It was fuel. Nothing more. I ate while I laced up my shoes, then left the motel, locking the door behind me.
The city was alive now, people hustling through the streets, heading to work, making their way to wherever they needed to be. I didn't stop to watch them; they weren't my concern. I needed to focus on my next step.
Food. Training. Then work.
I went to the nearest grocery store and picked up a couple of things—just the essentials. A sandwich, a couple bottles of water, and some fruit. Enough to get me through the day. I didn't need anything fancy. I paid for it in cash, then left without a second glance.
The real work started at the gym. I didn't just stick to one place. I needed variety, different equipment, different challenges. So, I spent the next two hours hopping between four different gyms across the city. I'd get in, do my sets, shower, then head to the next one. The weights weren't enough, so I pushed my body until it screamed at me to stop. I ignored it.
Each gym was a different type of hell. Some had more machines, some had more free weights. Some had fighters, some had bodybuilders. It didn't matter. I adapted to whatever was in front of me. I didn't let myself get bored. I kept moving.
After the second gym, I stopped to shower again, wiping the sweat from my brow and cleaning off the grit. My muscles ached, but I didn't let it stop me. There was no rest. Not yet.
The fourth gym was always the hardest. The last one I hit before I went home to grab my meal. I didn't eat lunch. Not anymore. The energy from the workouts was enough to keep me going. I just grabbed some water, keeping my mind sharp. I didn't need food right then. Dinner, though—that was different.
I grabbed dinner from a small diner on the way back to the motel. A burger, fries, and a side of vegetables to keep things balanced. I didn't care about what I ate, as long as it had enough calories to keep me going. I needed the energy to get through the night. My body needed fuel to burn.
After I ate, I went back to the motel and took another shower. My body was sore. My skin felt tight from the constant strain. But I didn't stop. I didn't let it slow me down. I had work to do. Real work.
When the sun set and the city grew darker, I went out. I didn't waste time. I knew where to find the gangs. They were always lurking in the same places, waiting for the next deal, the next score. They didn't know it, but I was hunting them. Every time I showed up, they were the ones who lost. I'd take their money. I didn't care about their drugs or their weapons. I just needed cash. I needed to stay on the move.
I hit three different gangs that night, all of them different, all of them easy. The same routine. Get in. Get out. Take the money. Leave them breathing, but broken.
The cash I took was always in small bills. It didn't matter how much I grabbed. As long as I had enough to keep the cycle going. Enough to keep training, enough to keep moving. Enough to stay hidden from Hydra.
By the time I got back to the motel, it was past midnight. My body was sore, aching from the workouts and the fights, but I didn't stop. I locked the door behind me, undressed, and fell into bed. My mind was already racing. There was always something more to do. Always something to fix. I had to keep moving. Keep training.
Tomorrow would be the same. Another run. Another set of weights. Another gang to beat. And somewhere in all of it, I hoped to find the thing I was looking for. Something more. Something that would pull me out of this endless cycle.
But tonight, there was nothing left to do but sleep. Tomorrow would come soon enough.
And when it did, I'd be ready.