Highschool Agent - MLB AU

ᴇ ɴ ᴛ ʀ ʏ - ᴏ ɴ ᴇ

Back at the agency, I fell into a routine.

I would wake up exactly 5 minutes before my 4 am alarm rings, and start my daily training.

But in this house, the environment caught me off guard, and I woke up only 3 minute before my alarm went off. Me and my agent "parents" stayed up late last night setting up our extensive security system, just to be safe.

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I get up, and walk to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and hair, and pull my hair into a swift ponytail while walking to the kitchen. I always wear my morning workout clothes as pajamas. It was far more efficient.

"Good morning, Agent 003."

"No need to call me by my agent number, Ellie. If we want to make our cover believable, you can just call me 'Mom' or 'Tikki'."

"Okay, then, good morning Tikki. I'm just going to head into my training before we head out to the school."

"Got it. I'm sure Plagg is in there working on setting up the kick bag for you."

I nod to her and walk down the marble floor hallway, to two double doors.

Inside, an average home gym. An in place bike is seen across the left wall, next to a treadmill, and a collection of dumbbells and weight training equipment. The walls are purely mirrors, probably for dancers. I didn't mind though. Not as thorough and huge as the one back at the Agency, but this'll do.

"Good morning Plagg. Thank you for setting the kick bag up."

"No problem. Have fun!"

He walks out, and I start warming up, kicking and hitting the bag, slowly increasing in speed.

This was the best way to let off a little steam, and to warm up. I've always found hand to hand combat my favorite. I've trained in Brazilian jiu jitsu, hapkido, martial arts, karate, Krav Maga, wrestling, and kickboxing. Sure, I can handle a gun and weapons, but fighting brings a sort of exhilaration to me that shooting a gun or crossbow doesn't.

 After the training, I check the time on my new cover smartphone. Dr. Fu said it'll make me fit in more, but ever since I came to the agency, I never was one for social media. The Agency rules on phones during short-term missions probably played a role in that personality quirk though.

"You have got to make the cover believable."

I didn't mind. The more normal, the better.

I grab my phone off the seat, and was about to walk out when I saw myself in the large mirrored walls.

Stopping in place, I cocked my head. I wonder if I look like a normal person. A normal teen for that matter.

I pick up my shirt, and wince at the scar trailing along the side of my stomach. A mission a few months back was the first time I've ever experienced torture. It didn't hurt thanks to my high pain tolerance, but the sight of it makes me sad. The line was faint, but even the faint presence of it reminded me of a mission I never want to go back to.

Shaking those thoughts from my head, I focused on my abdomen area. It was apparent I was extremely physically fit and the abs were out there, you could say, but I was always self conscious about my body.