“Again,” was the simple command, not a request.  From a standstill, he leapt onto the platform, a platform that was four-feet high.  Landing atop it flat-footed, he casually stepped off, back to where he’d started.  “Again,” said Dr. Draper.  And again, he found himself four feet above the tiled floor.  Back on said tiled floor, the scientist decided to mix things up.  “Skip the five, Nebula, go to the six.”<br/><br/>The subject of Dr. Draper’s attention gracefully landed on the requested platform, six feet from whence he stood.  As soon as he returned to the smooth floor, “Again” was blurted out.  From where he now stood, Nebula enjoyed the view, which wasn’t really saying much as the room they occupied was way too white for his liking.  As a change of pace, and also because of the inevitable boredom that was creeping in, he performed a perfect back-flip, landing with nary a sound.  “Quit showing off,” Dr. Draper barked.  “Again.”<br/><br/>Now that boredom enveloped him in a stranglehold, it was his turn to slightly alter the proceedings.  In rapid succession, Nebula leapt to the platform a dozen straight times, each one as fluid as the first.  Once more on the cool tile, the exertion produced a few droplets of sweat at his temples.  “What did I fucking just say about showing off?” Dr. Draper hissed.  His “lab rat” merely shrugged a happy-go-lucky shrug.  In this particular moment, silence, he knew, was golden.  Still clutching his prized clipboard (for the man never seemed to be without it), the scientist ordered, “Take a break.  I’ll be right back.”  He promptly disappeared behind a side door.<br/><br/>With no clear direction, Nebula sat in one of the few chairs in the room, random thoughts already flooding his overly alert brain.  Thoughts about his name, for instance.  For some unknown reason, the men and women in white favored Latin names.  He knew that Nebula wasn’t the first choice for him.  Dr. Nieto had been responsible with most of his upbringing and training, and the doctor relished the idea of his charge being a bad-ass.  Unfortunately, his preferred phrase roughly translated to<i>Malus Asinae.  </i>Everyone who had a say in the matter objected to the moniker.<i>Malus </i>wasn’t so hard to accept, but<i>Asinae, </i>well, sounded too much like “ass.”<br/><br/>A compromise had been agreed upon.  In exchange for a more apt name, and one that would be decided by everyone involved, Dr. Nieto was granted his wish to tattoo his “bad-ass.”  The doctor was under some kind of haphazard assumption that all bad-asses sported tattoos.  Since he wasn’t being monitored during the tattooing process, he got a little carried away with the number of intricately inked designs gracing Nebula’s body.  Too late to do anything about it, all agreed that yes, he clearly overdosed on the number of tattoos.  But at least “ass” was not going to be a part of his name.<br/><br/>Thinking of a few of his superior attributes, the men and women in white loved the idea of fog as a metaphor; there one minute, gone the next.  The majority ruled, and Nebula it would be.  Most fancied the mysteriousness that surrounded the name, while those against it thought it sounded like something straight out of the cosmos.<br/><br/>A few more minutes had passed, and the side door finally opened.  Dr. Draper, however, did not step through.  Rather, it was Dr. Lawson, one of the kindest scientists on his “team,” who approached him.  “Hi, Nebula,” she sweetly stated.  “Dr. Draper asked me to let you know that he’s done with you for the day.  You can go now.”  Her smile was just as sweet, if not overly so.  Still, he didn’t trust any of them, no matter what kind of façade they chose to wear.<br/><br/>Thanking her, he rose to leave.  Apparently, he’d built up quite the appetite with all this jumping around he had just done.  Earlier, Nebula was half expecting Dr. Draper to utter the command,<i>Go fetch.  </i>The uptight bastard couldn’t even dismiss him himself.  He placed that task on one of his underlings.  Typical, he thought.<br/><br/>The cafeteria was his next destination.  His stomach demanded attention.  A shower could wait its turn in line.  Soon after, he entered the room of various aromas.  One such aroma stood out amongst all the others, and it wasn’t food-related.  Actually, he had picked up her scent long before he even saw her, seated by herself.  No surprise there.  Just as well, too, as he preferred to be alone with her anyway.<br/><br/>Plates and bowls of food littering his tray, Nebula went straight for her.  As he passed, his right hand lightly grazed her bare left arm.  Now seated and before digging in to whatever the hell was on his tray, he affectionately said, “Hey you.”  When she met his eyes, everything else just melted away.  There was, however, more to be verbalized before she replied.  “You’ve been working out,” he said.  “I can smell it.”  He inhaled audibly for added effect, then slyly included, “You missed a few spots from your shower.  I can smell that, too,” he said with a rascally smile and a wink.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><br/>​</div>