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My hulk-daddy is paying : The Prelude


Hialmar

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PREFACE

Taking my recurring writer's block in consideration (I've left several stories unfinished in the past), I'm not entirely sure, if I'll be able to write any continuation of this Prelude, but every story has to begin somewhere. I wanted to explore the future of the universe in which some – but not all – of my other stories have taken place. Please be forewarned: Some of you may find it boring.

 

My Hulk-daddy is Paying

Prelude

"Oi! Aren't you the fukking Max Brad?"

It was probably not the right time to explain, that "Max Brad" was a useful pseudonym, because "Maximilian Brzęczyszczykiewicz" wouldn't endear me among the editors. The voice was angry. The voice belonged to another participant of the Convention: A 6'6'' Englishman, presumably in his mid-20s, wide as a barn-door, wearing Adidas-wear and a polo – the latter clinging to his exaggeratedly bulging torso and upper arms, like it had been painted on: Probably one of the new "spray-it-on polos", which had become popular during the Millennium Revival a few years ago. You couldn't see the difference between a spray-it-on-polo and a traditional one, but some of the Traditionalists within the Millennium Revival were in a habit of putting their noses in the air when they discovered someone wearing a spray-it-on.

He grabbed my collar and lifted me up – not much of a feat, because of my lightweight hardgainer physique, but his bicepses bulged in a nice way – and continued to shout in my face:

"Wha' you said in that show wasn't true. You're spreading tosh, but wha' could a wuss toff like yerself know about The Scene? Why are you even here, if you hate the Hancer Scene so much?"

"I don't hate anyone. Many of my friends are Hancers. If you really watched that show, and not just base your opinion about me on hearsay, what I wanted to say ..."

He shaked me. 

"Yer a bloody liar, and an enemy to the Hancer Scene – that's wha' me friends say!"

If he hadn't been so angry, it would have been a rather pleasant experience. Cute face, too: Buzzcut, brown eyes, almost – but only almost – a pug nose, and he'd got a dimple in his chin. Involuntarily, I was beginning to get a hard-on –– which wasn't an unusual experience whenever I attended Hancer gatherings – my editors expected me to cultivate my unique and particular niche. Then, it was all interrupted by a pleasantly deep voice talking in Cascadian English, which caused ripples of pleasure along my spine and my hair to bristle:

"Are there any problems here?"

My young English captor turned to face the voice, which allowed me to see whom the voice belonged to. The ripples of pleasure along my spine intensified, and the way my member throbbed behind my fly caused me to lose concentration. I had seen that face somewhere, but I wasn't in a state to think clearly. His slim-fit sportswear revealed the wide back and the narrow waist of the 7 feet tall Cascadian, and there was something about the size and colour of his shoulders, that reminded me of pumpkins. Icy blue eyes inspected my captor unfavourably, and absent-mindedly I noticed a platinum-blond crewcut. For a brief moment, the gaze of my captor and the gaze of the newcomer were involved in a silent battle. Then, my captor lowered me down. My feet returned to the floor.

"No problems 'ere, mate. Just messing with the journo 'ere. 'Ave you 'eard about what 'e said?"

"If you want to hear what the man has to say himself – stay. Otherwise – shush."

The Englishman looked conflicted, and it even looked like he tried to move in two directions at the same time. Then he stayed.

"Now. That's better."

The Cascadian turned his attention to me, and stretched his hand out:

"Hi. I'm Rob Nelson. You are Max Brad, aren't you?"

The handshake was firm, but it seemed like the blond giant tried to avoid to harm me. My reason was returning, and I remembered where I had seen that face before.

"I am. Seems like some people still watch old media."

"I plan to listen to your panel. Just because most things associated with the Hancer Scene is great fun, it doesn't mean, that we are without certain issues. Unlike some ..."

Rob glanced at the Englishman who took a few steps backwards.

"... I think it's great, that someone shed light on the more unsavoury aspects of 'Hancing. And what's your name, son?"

"Uh. Great to meet you Mr. Nelson. You are one of me childhood heroes, innit. I'm Brawn. Brawn Taylor."

The giants exchanged a handshake.

"If you are willing to behave, you may join me and Mr. Brad for lunch, son, if Mr. Brad allows it."

I silently nodded.

The anger had left Brawn's eyes, and had been replaced by a sort of puppy-like hero-worship.

"I may? Wicked sick! Ah have to tell me friends when I come back home."

The convention centre was fairly vast and fairly new: The building industry had seen a boom after the alien invasion, but, understandably, convention centres hadn't been the first concern after rebuilding human civilisation after the interplanetary war, particularly not when you took the rising sea levels in regard. It wasn't crowded everywhere, but where it was, it would have been difficult for a baseline man like myself to come through the crowds, even if all participants of HanceCon 8 had been baselines like myself. Now, taking the particular nature of HanceCon in regard, it had its fair share of men like Rob and Brawn, but since the latter two made way through the crowds of enhanced men, I was able to follow them to a diner in a slightly undisturbed corner. On our way there, we passed by a stand proclaiming that it belonged to The Original and Best Gay-friendly Enhancement Company, and it wasn't surprising, that there also were stands selling Extra-Large Sportswear and Nutritional Supplements for the Hancer Scene, though the latter was rumoured to be some sort of scam

We found ourselves a corner with a regular chair and two Grande chairs. I had seen Hancers eat before, and it wasn't the  surprise it had been the first time, but the amounts of food the two Hancers were able to eat still felt slightly surreal. Absent-mindedly I heard fragments of a conversation from a table behind my chair:

"Who's my huge little Power-Hobbit? Are you my huge little Power-Hobbit?"

"Oh stop it, Cuddling-Monster. You know that ..."

I returned my attention to Rob's and Brawn's conversation.

"Some people believe, that I somehow founded the Hancer tribe, but the first hancing company, which used another technology, than the one I assisted in improving and making safe to use, already existed before the Interplanetary War, and you'll probably find men belonging to your great grandfather's generation here at the Convention. Some of The Procedures de-age men. Secondly, some outsiders presume that all Hancers are gay, which explains why hancing is prohibited in the United Federated States, but it irritates me a lot when gay Hancers presume, that there aren't any straight guys in The Scene. I mean, just take a look at the ridiculously nationalist Hancers in the Independent Republic of Texas and the Continuing Federation of Russia, for instance, or how popular hancing has become in the Republic of New Deseret, since President Kimball-Young had that revelation? Sorry, Max. I'm talking a lot. What's your panel discussion about tonight?"

"Thanks for asking. It would be whipping a dead horse to discuss the psychological issues some, but not all, Hancers may have, but there are other aspects of Hancer-culture, which ought to be acknowledged and discussed openly: Should people be allowed to have mind-implants, even if it decreases their intellectual ability or affect their personality in ways their relatives consider harmful? There are no easy and simple answers to that question, and I hope, that the discussion will be honest and nuanced. And then, there's also the issue of class-disadvantage. Most hancing-procedures cost a lot of money, which will make Hancer-culture some sort of playground for the affluent."

I was hit by some inarticulate thought in the back of my head, and asked Brawn:

"By the way, how could an ordinary bloke like yourself be able to afford Hancing?"

Brawn smiled and looked confident in that delicious way, which caused me to become hard again, and then answered:

"Nothing mysterious about that, mate. Me hulk-daddy is paying."

* * *

Next chapter may be found HERE

Edited by Hialmar
link, edited geography for continuity reasons, continuity
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