*This story was written for entertainment purposes only
*Glenn Jacobs is not mine
*Jessica is my OC and is mine
Glenn Jacobs set the glass down onto the wood tabletop with an audible 'clink', his large hand started moving in a circular motion, causing the last bit of alcohol in the glass to swirl around. Watching the moving liquid, it set him into a trance of sorts, subduing his constant feeling of paranoia. It didn't last long though, as he felt a vibration come from within his jacket pocket. Lifting his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone, he checked the caller ID and immediately sat up, his calm demeanor being replaced by alertness as he set the phone next to his ear, "What is it, general?".
Jessica stood behind the counter, fascinated at the way this large, mysterious man in the back of the bar could change his demeanor within seconds. As far as she could tell, he wasn't local. His crisp, jet black suit was a classy, stark comparison to the usual attire of southern country men who swarmed the bar. The dim lights in the enclosed area prohibited her from making out any other accurate characteristics of the man. She strained her eyes a bit, noticing that he sat still as a statue as he spoke into the phone. His back was ramrod straight, and he looked entirely too big for the small chair he was sitting in. "Hey! Darlin'! Over here!" Jessica snapped back to reality, sighing internally as she glanced at the clock, glad it was almost closing time.
Glenn snapped his phone shut, breaking his stiff posture to slump back against the rough texture of the chair. The life of a special operative spy in the Central Intelligence Agency wasn't a walk in the park. He was fortunate enough to finally get a mission within the states, being that the last ten years of his life had taken place undercover in various locations throughout Europe. Glenn knew it was his destiny to protect the United States, putting his country before anything else gave him such satisfaction. Once he graduated high school, he joined the Marines, eager to step foot onto a battlefield, but the Marines gave Glenn a special position, he had a hell of a steady hand, and could hit a target almost half a mile away. While Glenn wanted to do frontline combat, the Marines saw more potential in the young man, so they trained him in special forces. Within four years, Glenn was on his way to the CIA. Now, twenty years later at 42, Glenn was a machine. Being trained by both the Marines and the CIA, Glenn stood at 7 feet, and could deadlift close to 530lbs. His strength wasn't his only advantage, he was blessed with agility, speed and intelligence. Combining all of those characteristics, Glenn was the poster boy for spies. It didn't come easily, though, Glenn had seen death happen right in front of him, and he hated to admit that he was the cause of the deaths of many men. Tilting his hand to the side, he watched as the dim light shined against one of his many scars. He had lost track of all the cuts, bruises, wounds and scars that had accumulated on his body. The most noticeable wound was his right eye. A double agent mission had gone wrong, leading to Glenn's face being caught on fire. Most of the burns had healed, but his eye hadn't. At first, he couldn't see anything out of his right eye, but as the years went on, he was able to receive surgeries and got some of his vision back.
His hand closed around the glass again, ready to feel the burn of the alcohol numb his senses for a few seconds when he heard footsteps approaching him.
Jessica had watched the man for a few minutes after everyone had left. She glanced at the clock and realized that it was closing time. Noticing that his glass was empty, she quickly fixed him another one. He didn't seem like a threat, so she made an exception for him. Grabbing the glass, she walked over towards him, trying to make some noise so she wouldn't scare him. She placed the glass down on the table, watching as he lifted his head. "Looked like you needed a 'nother one, mister", Jessica studied his face, she noticed his mistmatched eyes immediately, before taking in the scars and general wear and tear that went along with his eyes. His hair was some shade of brown, and was cut military-style. Jessica came to the conclusion that this man was definitely a general or lieutenant of some sort. His voice brought her attention back to him, "thank you". His response was curt and polite, which made Jessica's laid back southern drawl almost seem out of place, even though they were basically on her turf. She nodded and turned and walked away, a blush rising in her cheeks.