There was a kid with a clipboard, which he checked, double checked against his watch -PPDC issue- and checked again. He tapped the watch a few times, expecting it to change its mind, perhaps. Then he glanced back at Herc uncertainly, and again to the clipboard.
Either someone fucked up at scheduling, or there was a dude in the gym during down time. Not that it was a huge, sweaty emergency or anything. Like half of the staff there were too nerdy to work out, and the Cadets got run totally fucking ragged as it was. They weren't about to volunteer for extra punishment, and anyway they probably weren't allowed. Not the shiny new ones. Everyone there was shiny new at the moment, including this big dude sweating up the gym equipment when Stan was supposed to be wiping it down.
He perched on one of the exercise bikes for a minute, backwards where the handlebars would be on a real bike, but on this was simply a grip and a control box. He was a tall kid, kind of skinny, with long hair pulled back loosely into a ponytail and smudges on his nose, elbows and knees. It was a pretty safe bet the teenager had spent the morning cleaning anyway. He didn't seem too distraught about taking a breather.
Eventually, though, the radio on his collar crackled and he grimaced, assuming one of the security jerks had caught him slacking off again. So he rolled his eyes and hopped nimbly to his feet, clearing his throat. "'Scuse me, Sir."
and 2 to round it out
Either someone fucked up at scheduling, or there was a dude in the gym during down time. Not that it was a huge, sweaty emergency or anything. Like half of the staff there were too nerdy to work out, and the Cadets got run totally fucking ragged as it was. They weren't about to volunteer for extra punishment, and anyway they probably weren't allowed. Not the shiny new ones. Everyone there was shiny new at the moment, including this big dude sweating up the gym equipment when Stan was supposed to be wiping it down.
He perched on one of the exercise bikes for a minute, backwards where the handlebars would be on a real bike, but on this was simply a grip and a control box. He was a tall kid, kind of skinny, with long hair pulled back loosely into a ponytail and smudges on his nose, elbows and knees. It was a pretty safe bet the teenager had spent the morning cleaning anyway. He didn't seem too distraught about taking a breather.
Eventually, though, the radio on his collar crackled and he grimaced, assuming one of the security jerks had caught him slacking off again. So he rolled his eyes and hopped nimbly to his feet, clearing his throat. "'Scuse me, Sir."