Natural Selection (Elijah Kamski x Reader)

Survival of the Fittest

June 2029

One foot in front of the other, you ran, and you ran hard. You put your entire body into each stride. Pumped your arms just like Anthony had told you. Kept your airways open through the deep breathing techniques you watched in that one video. Kicked off the ground and built kinetic energy that would feed your momentum as you sprinted three whole city blocks before completely tanking.

You couldn't keep up with him.

"Tony-" You buckled over, hands on your knees, gasping for air, "I can't-" You felt like you were suffocating and nothing but your own persistence to blame, "I can't keep up with you-"

Something in your throat burned. Acid? A foul taste spread through your mouth before you swallowed your lunch for a second time.

"I'll slow down," he smiled, jogging in place, "C'mon, we'll take it easy the rest of the way."

"The rest of the way?" You checked your watch, "It's fucking 4 in the morning."

"Yep. 8 miles to go!"

You wanted to cry. Everything was burning in ways that didn't exactly scream "normal."

"I can't do this for 8 more miles, Anthony."

"We don't have to run, we can do a light jog," he chuckled, "no one told you to sprint in an endurance run."

"You run so fast!"

He tapped your shoulder, "On your feet. Come on. Let's go before you start to cramp up."

"Isn't that what the stretching was for?"

You looked up, but he was already 20 paces away.

You groaned. Let out a sigh, inhaling what felt like shards of glass into your lungs, and pushed on.

...

You hung from the bars, gravity dragging you down. The contraption was bolted to the wall in Anthony's garage – the newest addition to his at-home gym that he justified entirely by wanting to keep you out of the public eye. In reality, you knew it was just a reason for him to spend an obnoxious amount of money.

"You know, my record is 182. Think you can beat it?"

"Shove it."

"You've got to get at least one."

He stood next to you, his arms alternating in front of him with 50-pound hand weights in each hand.

You gave him a nod. How hard could one pull-up be? You stepped off a small platform, and your arms locked up.

Really hard.

"Whoa-" He caught you before you fell off, "Oh, this might take a while..."

You shot him a hateful glare.

"You can't just jump into it."

"I can't-"

"Yes you can. Pull."

Your muscles bulged, and veins in your head began to pop. It felt like you were climbing a ladder with a fucking car strapped to your legs.

"Breathe. Stop holding your breath." Anthony instructed.

"Fuck off Tony-" You said through grit teeth, your arms now shaking violently as your chin inched (or more like "centimetered") closer and closer to the top of the bar.

The cool metal met your neck. Your arms completely malfunctioned and released, you couldn't hold anymore. If you'd been hanging off a cliff, you would've been falling to your death. But once again, Anthony caught you before you stumbled backwards into your car.