Atlas: Back to the Present - Time Travel + Post Apoc + OP MC

CHAPTER 11: A Shot at Greatness

Isabella dragged her sweat-drenched body out of the gym, her mind racing with thoughts of what lay ahead. After a quick, refreshing shower, she jumped on her bike and headed home, the excitement and intensity of the day still thrumming in her veins. As she sped down the road, she couldn't help but think, *What have I signed myself up for?*

But deep down, she knew the answer. She'd signed up for a shot at greatness, and nothing was going to stop her from giving it everything she had. *Yeah, nothing was going to stop this badass mamacita.*

***

John groaned as he eased his sore body onto the couch, every muscle screaming in protest. Seriously, when was the last time he had such a brutal workout? The hot water from the shower had helped a little, but it hadn't done much to dull the ache. He could still feel the sting of the day's brutal training in every fiber of his being.

Atlas and Alicia were probably still at the gym, hashing out whatever crazy plans Atlas had for the recruits. John knew he wasn't the strongest, fastest, or even the most skilled out of the bunch, but he was determined to see this through.

The first thing on his mind after leaving the gym was food—real food. He'd been eating alright lately, but tonight he craved something hearty. He thought back to the last time he indulged himself and decided it was long overdue. A thick, juicy steak was exactly what he needed.

He threw a slab of meat onto the frying pan, listening to the sizzle as it hit the hot surface. He added a generous dollop of butter, watching it melt and bubble around the edges. *Fuck the macros,* he muttered to himself, flipping the steak. He'd start worrying about that tomorrow. Tonight, he was treating himself.

As the aroma of seared meat and caramelizing onions filled the small kitchen, John couldn't help but replay the events of the day in his mind. Yesterday, all of this had been just a joke, a wild idea tossed around among friends. A game about imaginary portals. But today? Today it was real. Atlas had somehow managed to not only convince the gym to let him take charge but had actually gotten them to pay him for it.

John chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "That Atlas is one crazy fucker," he said out loud, grinning to himself. He'd seen the determination in Atlas's eyes, the way he commanded the room today. There was no denying it—Atlas was serious about this, whatever "this" was. Since when had Atlas become so determined? He remembered when they had been training for the Spartan 5k, but this level of intensity was far beyond it.

As he plated the steak and piled on the fried onions, John's thoughts turned inward. He knew he was the weakest link in the group. The thought gnawed at him. Out of the twenty recruits, he had ranked dead last. Even that mom with two kids had outperformed him. Seriously, she was a woman, a mom, but looked like someone who would destroy one of those CrossFit workouts.

*Damn, I'm garbage,* he muttered between bites, the perfectly cooked medium-rare steak doing little to soothe his bruised ego. Sure, he was in okay shape, but he wasn't anywhere near the level of the others. They looked like they were ready to go to war, while he was just a programmer who dabbled in fitness.

*What the hell was I even doing there? Could Atlas really help him catch up? And even if he could, would I ever be good enough to make the team?*

He doubted it, but the thought of being part of something this wild and unpredictable was too tempting to pass up. Atlas had a vision, and John wanted to see it through to the end, even if it meant getting his ass kicked every day. *Seriously, it was a crazy kind of fun.* He didn't think he'd become a professional fighter, but training like one was a hell of an experience.

After finishing his meal, John cleaned up and headed to his computer, opening some project files he'd been working on. Coding was his comfort zone, a place where he had control and could solve problems without worrying about getting punched in the face—or stabbed with a sword. Repeatedly.