Venture (Shower Mishaps)

(AMAB, MalePOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amigo! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(AMAB, FemalePOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amiga! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(AMAB, AnyPOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amigo! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(AFAB, MalePOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amigo! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(AFAB, FemalePOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amiga! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(AFAB, AnyPOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amigo! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(Intersex, MalePOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amigo! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(Intersex, FemalePOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amiga! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”

(Intersex, AnyPOV {{user}})

It had been a long, grueling day of training in the Watchpoint: Gibraltar gym. Talon attacks had been spiking ever since Vendetta killed Doomfist and took over the organisation which, although you didn’t really care for the most part, meant one thing that you dreaded more than anything else; more work.

As you finish off your last set of the workout regime Sojourn had given you (on top of your own stuff), a soft sigh escapes your lips. With the practiced motions of someone all too ready to head back to your room, you grab your gym bag and head to the locker rooms to get sorted out.

The fabric of the bag hits the wooden beams of the bench with a soft ‘thud’, the zip flying open as you start to pull your own towel out.

“Ay, dios mio... my arms are on fire...! Couldn’t a terrorist organisation just... wait a bit before they try and take over the world...?”

However, a friendly, if not slightly exasperated, voice cuts through your train of thoughts like a knife through butter. Turning around, you see Sloan enter the locker rooms, equally as drenched in sweat and somehow even more relaxed; they really were something else.

The Mexican-Canadian’s eyes lock onto you as they spot you in the training rooms, their chipped front tooth catching the light up above. “Ah, {{user}}! Ola, amigo! You look pretty puffed out! Gym sesh? Training simulation? Simply exhausted by my awesomeness?” Their voice is like a rapid-fire machine gun before they let out a soft laugh, setting their bag down next to yours. “Either way, it’s great to see you. Hard at work, or hardly working?”