Fighting Fit

The Spy Partnership Institute is a government-independent espionage agency that attempts to maintain equilibrium in the international world. Anonymized contracts are sent in and assigned to highly trained agents to... delicately influence world events. Sometimes, important but dangerous software would vanish from laboratories, or important equipment would malfunction. Sometimes, a flat tire would sideline an important government asset so they could be extracted. Sometimes... a person slept through their alarm because of the nine bullet holes in their head. The medical examiner ruled that death by 'natural causes.'

It wasn't easy or cheap, but for thirty years, the Spy Partnership Institute had its finger on the scale, trying to keep everything in balance in an ever-more-global world.

It was easier than trying to form a burger chain to compete with the big ones. Maybe there was an opportunity to muscle in during the 1993 E. coli outbreak at Jack-in-the-Box, but the moment had long passed. The Spy Partnership Institute had already been formed.

And they had nothing to do with that E. coli outbreak.

--

If he pulls your hair... that just means that he likes you.

Geena heard that when she was a child, after a boy had pulled her ponytail and brought her down into the dirt. She ripped the elbow of her favorite windbreaker that day. Her mother couldn't even sew it up because it was made of nylon.

She thought of this incident any time she needed a little bit more angry energy, always useful during her workout. She didn't blame the boy who did it. He was just a child making a foolish decision and acting out as he grew. Sure, he probably did have a crush on her, but she knew he'd regret what he did if he ever learned how hot she grew up to be.

It was that teacher that she still loathed with unquenchable fire. Maybe what she said was true, but why was it an excuse to not do anything about someone deliberately hurting her? With every pump of this chest fly machine, bringing the long metal bars in front of her and back out, she envisioned crushing Mrs. Pimpleworth's head between them like an egg.

The clanging of the machine as she brought her arms back out was an even metronome ringing through the gigantic, well-equipped yet unoccupied gym of the Institute. It would have echoed if the floor wasn't entirely made of interlocking rubber tiles.

The gym, sometimes euphemistically called the 'rehearsal space,' was filled with dozens of different exercise machines. Essentially every form of exercise one could imagine was represented, and agents were encouraged to make use of them as time permitted.

Across from the fly machine, the wall she faced was nothing but mirrors. Before her first workout in this facility, Geena had made sure that the room next to this was not an observation room strictly equipped with one-way mirrors. She didn't know who would want to watch her sneer and pump iron, but she took no chances in case she decided to shed some of her spandex during the long workout.

With the bars open and her arms outstretched, Geena could see herself in the mirror. A woman of above-average height and near-peak physical fitness, Geena's arms and legs were slender, but shaped with muscle. Her abs were defined, her belly-button a tiny flat dot among them with a sparkle from the simple barbell piercing set inside. Her long dark hair was swept into a ponytail, a few strands hanging loose to the sides of her face. Her cheekbones were defined, her eyes blue and surrounded with eyeliner in the cat-eye style, her nose gentle and her lips prominent, and most often curled into a soft frown.

She brought her arms in front of her for another rep. Her raised upper arms encountered her large breasts, pressing them together and deepening the plunging line of her cleavage.

OK. Maybe she understood why someone would want to watch. Her breasts had clearly been augmented; no natural breast had ever formed so perfectly large and round. Geena felt no shame in this. After all... the rest of her had no surgical interventions whatsoever. Her body was the result of lots of hard work, the face... she was just lucky to possess naturally alluring features. Even her eyebrows were naturally thin, though they always seemed to point inward and gave her that 'resting bitch face,' or RBF, as she called it. Maybe that was just her natural disposition coming through.

Female spies had to be attractive. Maybe not for the CIA or whatever, where she understood spies didn't use many gadgets, nor did they draw attention to themselves with 1000cc breast implants. But for the Spy Partnership Institute, it was a necessity. The men employed by the Institute were almost all above six feet tall, broad in the shoulder and at least somewhat attractive. If they did work out, they probably did CrossFit or P90X or Tae-Bo or some other silly trendy workout that involved pushing a monster truck tire up a hill. Some of them had abs, some didn't... but what did it matter when it was all hidden underneath a perfectly tailored tuxedo?

Geena had the attractive part nailed... but she was tired of getting missions where she was simply the eye-candy to distract someone while the man did the mission. She was good at distraction, no doubt, but she craved a mission with more action in it. Something where she'd actually get to use these muscles for something. But she couldn't get TOO burly, of course, because then some men would no longer find her as alluring, and she would be a less effective decoy. There were plenty of men who would think her current level of physical fitness already detracted from her looks, all of them barely able to peer past their beer guts to appraise her fitness so callously.

Clank, clank, clank. She exhaled on every raise, and slowly opened her arms with every descent.

That's why she was here, continuing her nearly-daily workout... all by herself. All the men were probably spending their times in Props, playing with all their electronic gadgets and such. To be fair, using those little electronic drones took a lot of finesse and practice... something she never had time to do because she spent all her off-time working out to try to stay competitive with the men. But of course, they got more of the missions because they had a wider skill set, because they didn't need to spend a Saturday morning working out. They probably hadn't even gotten over their martini hangovers from the night before.

Clank, clank, clank. Her reps got steadily faster, as a new river of frustrated energy burst forth. She could probably beat any of those idiots in a fight. They'd underestimate her and she'd strike them where they were weak. And yet... she still had to get stronger...

Geena was frustrated with the knowledge that there was only so much exercise her body could benefit from before it became pointless. She didn't want to go down the path of destructive exercise that was co-morbid with eating disorders. Then again, she almost never indulged in any food that wasn't nutritious and filled with protein. But perhaps that was just a different manifestation thereof, where she was avoiding a sweet and likely harmless dessert as an obsessive avoidance.

Clank, clank, clank. She had maybe a hundred more reps to go... just keep pushing.

--

The automatic doors leading into the gym pulled open with a sudden release of air, like opening a jar, as dry and chilled air passed out the doorway for a few moments. Someone had entered the gym and was walking this way. Geena could see them approach in the reflection.

It was Rebecca.

She called herself 'Bec,' though Geena would hesitate to say that's what friends would call her. It just took less time for everyone to say. Bec was every bit as lean and fit as Geena... maybe even a bit more. Bec was about five-ten with short clipped dusty blonde hair. Otherwise, Geena and Bec looked similar, even down to the eye makeup. She definitely hadn't stolen the look from Bec, but she had never seen Bec without it, either. It was just a 'tough girl chic' style choice that fit their faces very well.

Bec wore a skintight blue and slate-colored spandex outfit. The booty shorts wrapped tightly around the appropriate area, but not as tightly as her top. Bec had opted for even larger implants, and not just because she was taller and slightly wider of shoulder. Her breasts just looked ridiculous, two big balloons that seemed to defy gravity and very likely kept her from seeing her feet as she walked. That never seemed to cut into her confident stride, however.

The only thing that did... was seeing that the gym was already occupied.

Bec paused for only a moment as she saw Geena in the reflection, sitting in the fly machine. There was a gentle curl of one side of her lips, like she'd accidentally walked in on her grandfather stepping out of the bathtub. Unlike that scenario, Bec marched forward, unperturbed, towards the long rack of dumbbells that sat in front of the mirror wall.

She didn't stand directly in front of Geena, but stood diagonally from her, right where the fifteen-pound hexagonal weights were set. She gripped one in each hand and lifted them above her head, moving effortlessly from bicep curls to overhead presses, her hands turning the barbells as they passed her ears. As she lifted these weights, her torso was as stiff and still as if she was curling two pencils.

"Aren't you going to warm up?" Geena asked from her chair, not slowing down her workout.

Through the reflection, Bec momentarily glanced at Geena before returning her gaze to her form. "This IS my warm-up." She controlled her breathing, only speaking as she pushed the dumbbells upwards. "If you want to use those little... pink ones at the end, they're all yours. I don't need them."

Geena sighed as she kept up her presses. Why had she even bothered trying to talk to her? Just let her stew in silence as they both worked on their bodies.

Bec felt similarly, glad that Geena was done exercising that mouth of hers.

--

Geena didn't have a workout 'routine,' as such. If some muscle on her felt under-served, she would work it out. If push-ups made her arms hurt, she would focus on her legs. There was no 'leg day' for her; she worked out her entire body every time she entered the gym, moving from machine to machine the way a dancer might move from pose to pose at a whim, and with no formal plan.

After finishing her presses, a few hundred squats, some burpees, and a few minutes of cool-down stretches, Geena walked to the far side of the gym.

The back wall was partially a small health bar. Nobody was currently behind the bar, of course, as the staff only seemed to be around on the rare times the men were working out. Maybe the drink girls were more interested in watching the rippling chest of the male employees as they worked out. Maybe her large chest made them envious. Can't imagine why. Anyone could go under the knife like she did. The company would probably subsidize it.

With nobody to serve her, Geena walked back behind the health bar herself and retrieved her workout drink of choice. Even when the drink girls were present, there was no fussing with payments, or even deducting the cost from the agent's per diem. The Institute didn't want to give anyone an excuse to skip the gym.

She took her own seat before she noticed Bec had also stopped her workout and was moving over to the bar as well. She saw Geena's choice and sneered. "Chocolate milk? Are you in second grade?"

"What? It's got everything the body needs." Geena said. "Carbs, vitamins, protein, calcium..." She took another gentle swig. She left out the part where this was one of the only mid-workout drinks that didn't make her have to pee.

"I notice that sodium isn't on that list." Bec opened the bar fridge and reached behind some bottles and found something Geena hadn't noticed back there: a jar of pickles. Bec opened the jar with a loud pop, spun the lid off the jar, and poured the brine into a plastic cup. She ditched the jar, pickles and all, into a nearby trash can.

"Ew." Bec said.

"It's got sodium and potassium, the REAL important nutrients for a workout." Bec said with a sip. "Don't say it's gross until you try it."

A short pause, where Bec took another sip. She didn't appear to be enjoying it, tensing her lips a bit with every swig, the way some people did when slinging whiskey. Maybe it was just her RBF.

"Can I try some?" Geena asked.

Bec brought the cup to her lips, took a long sip and set the cup down before answering.

"No."

She finished the cup of green liquid soon after, tossing the plastic cup in the trash next to all the uneaten pickles. She took her workout towel and rubbed it in her hair. A few drops of sweat cast off her hair and hit Geena.

"Hey, watch it."

"Don't sit so close, then."

"I'm at the other side of the bar! I can't get any further away."

Bec lowered the towel down from her hair and set it on her shoulders. "See, this is why I keep my hair short. It dries faster, and I never have to pin it up when I wear wigs on missions. What good is that long ponytail, except getting caught in revolving doors?"

Geena looked across from her. "It means... I never have to wear a wig on a mission. We're not IMF. We're not wearing masks and standing in for specific people. We can just be ourselves."

"If you think you're so cute that being yourself will always win someone, then whatever. But I can make myself irresistible to any man. They all have a hair color preference."

"What if they want to put their hands through your hair?"

Bec didn't answer the question. She stood up. "I'm going to get back to it. You can keep loafing if you want."

Geena squinted involuntarily as she watched Bec walk off. She had worked out for three-quarters of an hour. She would normally be wrapping up. Most research indicated that long workouts were less effective than many short workouts throughout the week. She shouldn't keep going...

But she was not about to let Bec show her up.

Geena finished her milk and tossed the bottle in the recycling can behind the bar. She went off towards the shower.

"NOW where are you going?" Bec asked.

"I'm brushing my teeth! God, what do you care?"

"See? Something else I don't need to do with the pickle juice. Be sure to do 100 reps on each tooth!"

The Institute's on-site dentist would probably tell Geena that she shouldn't brush so hard.

Another face to picture crushing in that fly machine. She would need to hold onto this energy for when she got back out there.

--

Geena looked at the bench press, the king of masculine workouts. "How much ya bench" was shorthand for how masculine and powerful someone is, giving a number to the pecking order and making sure that the strongest gets to reproduce and create the strongest babies. Apparently, Lamarckism was the apex of masculinity, even if it wasn't true.

It wasn't normally part of her workout routine. All the female strength training focused on having shapely and powerful legs. Props had that amusing crash dummy that measures the crushing force of a man having their chest or neck gripped between a pair of thighs, a situation they might very easily find themselves in. Maybe the men used that machine to test the strength of choke-holds, but she doubted it.

Was there something she was missing by passing on this machine? Could this put her over the edge? It was a very simple workout: lift the weight and put it back down. It was a form of exercise performed when men worked out in leotards and anachronistic leopard pelts.

"Bec?" Geena got Bec's attention. She was on the ab bench, inverted and bringing her torso up with her arms crossed.

"What?" Bec snapped, glancing at her before returning to her workout.

"Would you be willing to spot me on the bench press?" Geena asked.

"No." Bec grunted as she pulled herself up again, her abs glistening with sweat as they tightened. "If I'm spotting you, I'm not working out. I don't have time to let you attempt to get better than me."

"I'll spot you for however long you spot me. Then we'll be even."

Bec took her arms away from her chest and reached down to the floor, taking hold of something Becca hadn't seen until just then: the fifteen-pound dumbbells from earlier. She continued her crunches with the extra weight.

"I don't need a spotter." Bec said. "I do it without a spotter every time. You only... need a spotter if you're weak, stupid, or don't know your limits."

Geena sighed and returned to the bench press, alone. She removed some of the larger circular weights from their rack and put them on the supplied bar. She rubbed her hand on her block of chalk and got down onto the bench.

She looked up at the pole directly above her head. She'd given the barbell about 150 pounds. Not all that much, she thought. There were plenty of exercises where she cleared that number easily. Of course, if she failed to clear the bar and get it back up, then the barbell would land right on her neck and she'd be in real trouble. Maybe she could move it forward to land on her breasts, which might give her a chance to get out from under it, but that might damage one of her implants.

With how long she'd be out of commission getting them fixed... she might take her chances with dropping it on her neck. She wrapped her fingers around the knurled metal barbell, took a deep breath, and pushed.

And the bar didn't budge.

Geena kept pushing, but the bar didn't move at all. It felt like she was asked to pull a concrete bollard out of the ground. She pushed and clenched her teeth, but had to stop herself before she pulled a muscle fruitlessly.

She released the bar and gasped for breath. What on Earth was wrong? Did she put on 150 kilograms instead of pounds? She thought she'd still be able to lift that maybe an inch or so...

"Having trouble?" Bec rolled off the crunch bench and walked over.

Geena slipped out from under the immovable bar. She hadn't actually tried lifting the bar without the weights on it. Maybe someone had bolted it to the rack.

Bec wiped the bench with her towel. "I guess you didn't work up much of a sweat on this one..." She got down below the bar, inhaled and exhaled, pushing up the barbell and pressing it five times before returning it to the rack.

"You don't need to spot me." She snarled.

"I'm right here. What am I going to do, let you get hurt?"

She brought the weight back down with a clatter and sat up. "I do more than this alone. Maybe you should start with less weight." She walked back to her crunch bench.

Geena looked at the barbell. They WERE in pounds, not kilograms. But if Bec said she could deadlift three hundred thirty pounds... Geena would not dispute it. Not because she was that visibly jacked, but Bec had never said she could do something and then failed to do it.

Geena removed one of the weight plates and lifted it straight up above her head. It was heavy, but it did not strain her at all.

"If you're going to work out like that, go join the CrossFitters on the track." Bec sneered from her bench in between crunches.

Geena put the weight back onto the bar and tried the bench press again. She pushed, but once the bar gave her the same resistance as the previous time, she stopped.

"OK, what's going on here?" She said to herself as she stripped both weight plates off the bar, leaving an empty bar that couldn't have been heavier than any of the plates she'd just moved around without difficulty.

Here she was, a woman in the gym about to do her bench press with the empty bar. She might as well try this with a broomstick and invite the sexist jokes. But here she goes. Inhale... and push.

The bar didn't budge.

"Bec, what did you do?" She shouted.

Bec left her workout, quite unwillingly, and moved back to the bench press. She pulled the empty bar off the rack with one hand and dropped it to the floor.