muscle-growth My little buddy

[Hialmar]

A short story, while I finish writing my complicated novelettes about space marines and magic, respectively. I am testing a little different way of writing technique.

 

 

DISCLAIMER

All protagonists, antagonists and locations in this story are fictitious.

Any likeness with actual persons and locations are purely coincidental.

Readers uncomfortable with the subject of male intimacy are adviced to not read further.

 

 

My little buddy

 

I remember when I first saw you. I had probably worked at Sam's Gym for five years, and at The Steel Factory for several yers before that. The Steel Factory Gym, I mean. Not an actual steel factory. Not like dad and grandpa. I am not like my dad. 

You were standing at a pec-dec machine, reading the instructions. Tracksuit trousers hiding your legs, a grey T-shirt which gave the impression to be one size too large. Your arms just skin and bones, your hands behind your back in a gesture more suitable for a man 30 or 40 years older than yourself. Uncomfortable body language. Sam had pointed me in your direction.

'If you are not going to use it, don't block the machine, small-fry.'

It was Kevin, a fairly successful fitness model, whose personality 'didn't keep the same standards as his looks'. I remember this expression. You used it two weeks later. You are better with words than I am, and I know that I am bad at expressing my feelings. I am uncomfortable with it. 

Kevin wasn't aware of me, when I moved in your direction, and he added some further insults. He jumped when I laid my hand on his shoulder.

'Any problems here?'

'Uh. No, no, Brad. No problems. I just wondered if this gentleman was finished with the pec dec.'

'I have been keeping an eye on you, Kevin. Follow the house rules.'

Kevin avoided to look into my eyes, by some reason concentrating very much on the newly painted coffee and amino drink bar.

'Yes, yes of course. No problems here.'

I looked quizzically at you, but you shook your head, and looked into the floor.

'You are lucky, Kevin. The machine is at your disposal, since I and my client here are not going to use it.'

I turned in your direction, neglecting Kevin:

'And you must be the new gym member I am scheduled to train, aren't you?'

'I suppose so. The man at the desk told me to wait for Brad. It's you?'

I like the newbies. They have decided to do something new. Something different. They have decided to change themselves, and put a toe into a foreign water. It is different for us who played sports all the time. It is just what we do: Playing football at the grassy spot close to the council flats, given a try at rugby if the PE teacher make that phone call to the coach he knows. Being adviced to add some weight training, and then being hit by the bug and quitting team sports. I had a belly once. It wasn't necessarily a disadvantage, since weight is an advantage on the ground, but the belly disappeared when I began pumping iron. But I lost the thread now: What I was saying is, that I like the newbies. For us the gym is a second home. For them the gym is something unfamiliar, but they give it a try anyway. They and they... I mean you. You were one of the wide-eyed and shy newbies once. For some it is hard to admit that they like the feeling: The release of your body's own chemicals when you end your training session, and is sitting relaxing freshly showered in the locker room. The feeling of pump. The feeling after a month when the first results show. Three months. Six months. Guys are able to transform themselves. They are not competing against someone else. All of us are just competing against our former selves. I like the newbies: To be able to help them overcome their initial embarrasment and hesitation, and be able to help them to release their potential. I feel protective, as I felt protective against you then. As I still do.

Our first training session went well. I instructed you three times the first week. The second week you maintained your own schedule, and then I gave some advice the third week, in order to ensure that you performed the movements without hurting yourself. It takes some time for your body to acquaintance itself to the correct movements. I am no longer able to recollect how it came that we began to hang around outside the gym. In some regards we were unlikely friends: A 5ft 5in university student with liberal middle class parents and a more than 6 ft tall personal trainer with a divorced working class mum. I enjoyed watching action films together with you, and I enjoyed when we just spent time talking. Years ago I spent considerable time drinking beer, but exercise have been increasingly more important for me by the years, so pub crawls are nowadays carefully timed exceptions, far and few between, in order to not disrupt my carefully planned meal schedules. The pub wasn't the best place to meet you. I like our talks. Your eyes have always been special: The mix of intelligence and mischief is nice, and their colour looks like it sparkles in a strange way. I mean 'strange' like fascinating. Not something bad.

People of Kevin's sort irritates me. A confident man doesn't behave like that. But it embarras me to admit, that I was like them at early secondary school. If it hadn't been for the PE teacher, the scout patrol leader and Sister Jane, I could have turned out a rotten being. I abhorred (See? You taught me something: abhorred) most adults at secondary school. Abhorred. I will soon start speaking like you and your fancy friends (although I learned PT lingo at the courses Jack and Sam sent me to). Only adults who impressed me were worthy of my attention, and I wasn't easy to impress.

The PE teacher was cool. He had competed in weightlifting when he was younger, and despite his intimidating looks, he wasn't an idiot like my considerably smaller dad. Dad had stopped hitting me when I began to play rugby, and the divorce happened shortly after. The scout patrol leader was stern if needed, but he was always fair. And Sister Jane was an unlikely person to feel comfortable with: What does a testosterone crazed teenaged bully have in common with a feminist nun with a Ph.D.? But she had a sense of humour and an ability to understand. I don't know how I shall express it... She understood.

I don't know if the three of them had talked with each other about me, or if it just happened by coincidence, but after speaking with them I felt bad and confident at the same time. Bad for what I had done in the past, but confident of what I could do to change things in the future. I was able to apologise to most of the kids, and then on I became their guardian angel. When I saw bullying happen at school, I intervened, and I was good at it. When I met you, it was already ten - no twelve or thirteen - years since I reformed my life to the better.

We had known each others for a year or so. Within your personal limits and conditions, your achievements at the gym were good, but not optimal. Since we were friends, I had begun to take an interest in your case which probably exceeded the professional. I felt very worried that night when you rang on my doorbell and stood with a very sad and very upset facial expression at my doorstep.

'What has happened, little buddy? Come inside! You look devastated.'

You really looked devastated. All my protective instincts kicked in. I handed you a low-carb amino drink from my refrigerator, and grabbed one myself. We ended up in the sofa, your tiny frame leaning on one arm of the sofa, my bulk relaxing in the opposite end.

'What is it? Did you fail in any exam?'

'No. No, it is nothing like that.'

You fell silent for a while. I gave you time, took a sip, and waited.

'I am so sorry to make you disappointed. Please, be not upset about this, but there is something I must tell you. You may find it terrible.'

Your sad expression gave me a heartwrenching icy feel in my gut: 'But what is it? You can tell me. We are friends, right?'

'Oh, Brad. I'm so sorry, but I would be dishonest if I... If... If I didn't tell you that I am gay.'

I was probably a very bad friend when I exploded in laughter, but I couldn't control my reaction. Several expressions rapidly came and went in your face: Sadness, surprise, resentment and bewilderment (Look! I can use more fancy words!)

'Little buddy. I wasn't sure if you are or not, but does that matter? I'm gay too. Haven't you understood?'

I love that facial expression. You are so cute when you do that. My perplex little power hobbit.

It was not the last of our very long and very late discussions about personal experiences, straight people's expectations and prejudices, and gay people's expectations and prejudices. Why many of these are wrong or misguided. About closet cases. About bears and the fetish crowd, and how they differ from the twinks. About muscle worship. Your were, and you still are, much better than me to express your feelings in speech, but I was at least, to a certain extent, more experienced than you: After a handful of rather disappointing dates with girls as a teenager, I had a few short encounters with gays my own age at that clubbing street. My muscles seemed to be popular among some, perhaps more so than me as a person. That disturbed me, although I was flattered too in a sense. I don't know. Anyhow, I had hanged around the blocks for a while longer than you, although it would be an exaggeration to call me experienced.

It took us two days to admit to each other that we were very much into each other: Your small frame resting in my vein-covered arms, and your cute nose nuzzled at my meaty pecs (of those I was rather proud), our rods enthusiastically bouncing against the inside of our underpants, waiting for all clothes to be taken off. My little buddy. Although your hungry admiration of my muscles couldn't be hidden, now when the lid was off, you always took an interest in me, myself, who I am inside, and I am sorry for not telling you about how I was a bully when thirteen and fourteen. I was ashamed. 

I knew that Sam would consider it unprofessional to live with one of the gym members, but I was lucky: Jack, who owned The Steel Factory, was an old mate, and wanted me to work for him instead. As soon as I had changed job, we could move to our new flat.

Your were delighted at my assistance with new training schedules, eating schedules and supplements, and I felt proud giving you that assistance, seeing how you transformed from your old, shy self with its awkward pose, into a toned young man with a considerably more confident expression. But you were definitely a hardgainer. When you first stepped inside Sam's Gym, you looked like a sea mammal (but without any fat): No visible pecs (just a flat chest) and no visible abs (despite the low level of subcutaneous fat). After one and a half year, your high metabolism had the good side with it, that your abs were visible. They were small, sure, but they were there, and nothing hid their well-defined existence. Your wiry pecs now showed that they existed, but not beyond that. Your exercise had changed your upper body form: Traps and shoulders were distinctly visible in a way they were not before, but you were still at the very slim end of the spectrum. Once my tiny little friend, you were now my little power hobbit. You were a typical ectomorph, but at least I tried to make your calorie intake higher than before, looking for new and fancy nutrition drinks.

I have to admit that I had used gear before taking the job at Sam's. Jack and the Steel Factory crowd didn't mind, but Sam had a strict zero level policy when it came to such substances. Back at The Steel Factory, I began hearing rumours about that top secret experiment the Military in several countries had performed on marines: The guys came back from Service like brickhouses, but were forbidden to talk about it. It had obviously started years ago, and pirate copies of the needed equipment  had began to circulate on the black market. It was rumoured, that some guards at global corporations had went through the treatment, and another rumour claimed that wrestling federations had made investments in such research, in order to make the business more eye-popping in the future. It wasn't easy to know what was conspiracy theories, what was pipe dreams, and what was true.

Until the night I met Tvrtko. He had exercised at The Steel Factory for years, and always been a big guy, but now he was huge. No one dared to ask. Well, except me. He knew me rather well, and he told me. He had probably told me for half an hour, when we made the deal.

'No, there would be no problem with any crime syndicates. It could have been, if you wanted to buy their services in giving you The Treatment... Shady business, you know... But it is entirely different if you buy a second hand machine and give yourself The Treatment. No strings attached. Just buy it, store it where the authorities doesn't look, use it, and if you want to sell it to another user afterwards, it your private matter. It doesn't concern me. Am I clear? Am I perfectly clear?'

* * *

Your birthday occurred on a Saturday, and there was no need to take the day off. We had the entire weekend for ourself. When you came home Friday evening I gave you an envelope. 

'It is better to open it tomorrow, isn't it?'

'No. Open it now.'

' "Do you want to be big?" What sort of question is that? You know that I want to be big. If a miracle could occur, it would be amazing to be tall like you, but I have to limit my goals to pack on some brawn.' You sighed. 'I eat and I eat, and nothing happens.'

'I wouldn't use the word nothing. Think how you looked when I started training you?'

'Yes, there have been some changes, but I am not like my favourite cuddling monster, am I?'

Your arms around my waist. Your head against my chest. Your ear against my abs. I was beginning to feel horny.

'No. I mean it. If you really want to become big, that is your birthday present. To begin with, I have a new supplement to you.'

'Another one? Well. You know what you are doing. You've got the PT education.'

You let me go when you felt the nice smell of food. I had tried to use the supplements I got from Tvrtko as creatively I could. The spaghetti on the table was a  mix of wheat and soy, and therefore with a slightly higher protein content than ordinary pasta, but it was available in ordinary supermarkets. The pasta sauce contained ordinary food, such as mushrooms, spinache and a lot of spices to hide the mildly unpleasant taste. That taste came from the powder I had got from Tvrtko. I had also used it in the sauce which was mixed with the salat, and the pudding in the refrigerator was a mixture of Tvrtko's powder, a milky liquid of similar content, and lots of sugar, vanilla and egg to hide the taste. 

'I have used a lot of new supplements in this meal', I remarked.

'You have? It tastes considerably better than some of the gainers you have been feeding me.'

'Ready for your surprise?'

'I thought the new supplements were the surprise, and a slightly underwhelming one.'

Oh, how I like that spark in your eyes.

'No, there is more to come, if you really want.'

'I like surprises. You know it. What are you up to?'

'It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you.'

Two hours later we sat in the car together, and I drove into an empty parking lot, close to a warehouse. It was dark. The light from the car reflected in the moist asphalt and the rainwater puddles. It drizzled when I unlocked the warehouse. I put a blind before your eyes, and you smiled, when I carefully led you through the warehouse. You seemed to have expected something else, when I removed the blind.

'What's that?'

You observed The Machine. According to Tvrtko, it was smaller than the military equivalents, and it required the specimens to drink large amounts of nutrition drinks and nutrition powder a few hours before operation. Tvrtko had heard something about the Army using IV or something. Large gas cylinders were connected to  The Machine on the back, and looked considerably newer than the rest of the equipments (Gas cylinders had to be renewed often, and were hard to find). 

'It's a muscle enhancing machine. It's your birthday gift.'

You looked slightly angry, when you began looking up in the ceiling:

'I expected a surprise party at an unusual location, but now it seems to be candid camera or something like that. Who's hiding and filming this right now.'

'I am perfectly honest. It is a muscle stimulating machine.'

It hadn't crossed my mind, that it could be hard to convince you that The Machine was for real. It took a few minutes. I could see and hear how you slowly went from annoyed to surprised, from surprised to suspicious, and from suspicious to something less obvious.

'If you have gone through these lengths to make this possible, I will not disappoint you, but it is hard to believe. How could it possibly be true? Don't you think it feels a little unreal just now? And I am beginning to feel funny, warm or something.'

'It is probably the supplements I told you about. They begin to work now. If we opt out, we will probably gain some muscle and some fat anyhow, but far from the results I have been promised if we use that.' I nodded in the direction of the slightly intimidating presence in the room: The Machine. We stood silent for a few seconds. Then you gave me a sly expression:

'What if you tested the machine first?'

It hadn't occurred to me that this was an option. It felt exciting to take part of the experiment myself (I had brought equipment to do that after you), but it was meant as a gift to you. I kept silent. I didn't know what to say.

'It is a double birthday present, if it really works: I have to watch you became even more brilliantly big, which is a really exciting thought, I can assure you, and then I can take part of this experiment myself, if it really works.'

Doubt still emanated from you, but mixed with expectations that the impossible would be possible.

We went through the operation of The Machine. 

'It is obviously a dumbed down pirate copy: You change what you wish to achieve at this panel, and increase power levels at this panel, put the gas on with this control, and this must be a speaker with microphone, so that we can talk. It sounds reasonably simple?'

I unpacked the training bags: Towels and soap (The warehose had a shower once meant to be used by workers), tracksuits in large sizes (I didn't know exactly how much The Treatment would affect us) and then two pairs of odd things. I held the posing trunks made of leather before you. You took it in with humour:

'Any new ideas how to kink this up? That's something new!'

'Actually, there is a reason for them. According to Tvrtko, cotton fabrics take fire and synthetic fibres melt inside The Machine. He tested, by putting some piece of clothing inside, since he wanted to avoid 'to look gay', as he expressed it. It seemed to have passed him by that you and I live together.'

'Cotton take fire? And synthetics melt? And we are to believe that human beings are just fine, and don't become radioactive or something else?'

We discussed shortly, decided to do it anyway, changed clothes, and prepared for the use of The Machine. I began to feel hot, despite the fact that I was naked. It was probably the supplements that kicked in.

The inside of The Machine was spacious enough for four or five persons at least. The walls were covered with some sort of glass lenses or something. Strange equiment hang in the ceiling, but since I am not an engineer, I could not guess at their functions.

'This gives the word closet case a new meaning.', you joked from the outside. The speakers worked. 'Can you hear me?'

'Yes, fine, can you hear me?'

'Yes, perfectly. Good that some things on this wreck works.'

The inside smelled rather much like the smell I knew from tanning salons. I could sense a vague hint of smoke, perhaps from Tvrtko's mishap with the cotton pants, but there was also a whiff of cleaning solution. I felt very warm. The posing trunks emitted a whiff of leather. I wasn't normally into leather, but it felt naughty to stand there in the buff, excepting just this small equipment of clothing. Black. Glossy. A hissing sound.

'I opened the gas transmission. Everything alright?'

'I am able to breathe as usual. I tell you if I begin to feel funny.'

It felt like ordinary air. Perhaps slighly more... chemical. I took a deep breath. And another one.

'No, nothin special yet. Don't worry.'

'I put the powerfield on now, whatever it is. Are you really sure it is safe?'

'How many times do I have to tell you, taht Tvrtko used it months ago, and haven't suffered any... Ungh!'

The powerfield hit me, but in a good way. God! What was that? It felt... Oh!

'Oh, it feels good, little buddy. Everything alright outside?'

'I think so. It looks like you are glowing. It's pretty cool. Just tell me if...'

Unh! It felt like my entire body was buzzing. Buzzing of something. Buzzing pleasantly. Buzzing... o my God!

'It's good! It's so... mmmm. You will like it when you... oh. Um!'

'It works, Brad! You are growing! You are actually growing! You look awesome!'

I had been proud of my pecs for years, but now they were trembling, while they grew larger. Unlike you, the abs had always been a problem spot for me: They existed, alright, and I had been able to feel their hard presence under my belly fat, and even sense a visual hint of them now and then, but the remaining fat had always hid them from sight. Now, the fat melted away, under the pressure of my scientifically heightened metabolism and the strange God-knows-what radiation that was released into The Machine. The Treatment had begun to race through my body.

'Unngh, Brad. You look incredible! You should be able to watch yourself! I can't take it! It is too alluring! I change the settings, yes changing the settings like this, and this.'

'What are you doing? Ummm. Uh. Safety... ummm, oh! Yes!'

'My cuddling monster is becoming a super cuddling monster. Oh! Look at you! Look at that awesomeness! Did I tell you that these posing trunks actually are beginning to feel comfortable?'

Your voice came from afar. My transformation experience was beginning to be overwhelming. I didn't know what settings you may have changed, and what safety protocols you could have disregarded, but I wasn't able to object, since the feeling was so intense: The feeling of growth. My shoulders was becoming volley balls or bowling balls. My biceps swelled into monstrous globes of hot, steel hard flesh, and my triceps turned into corded steel wires. You said something, but I couldn't hear exactly what, since the humming sound from the machine, the hissing gas, the sound of my own pulse in my ears - like a sledge hammer - and the raw feeling of growth all claimed my attention. My thighs became pillars of might. My calves exploded into rugby balls. Rugby balls of granite. My traps, my titanium traps... I felt dizzy, but not in a bad way. My back could now carry the entire world, or so it felt.

I dont know how long time had lapsed, when I felt your hand against my abs. One part of my brain probably had a vague idea about us taking turns in the machine, but in my enraptured state I didn't care. You were here, with me, inside The Machine and shared my experience of The Treatment, just as I shared yours. My rod pulsated against the inside of my posing trunks. I could hear you roar, as you shared the effects. Effects of the gas. Of the settings. New settings. What we wish to achieve? Power levels? Of the... POWER LEVELS!

It was even better than before. Whatever you had done, The Machine now worked on an entirely new level. I held you, standing behind you, as many times before. My little buddy in front of me. I could nuzzle my nose in your hair. It was just a few months since you changed that old fashionable haircut into a fierce buzzcut. The buzzcut suits you. You look much more masculine in the buzzcut. I let my hands - my growing hands? - rest over your pecs. It was obvious that you were growing just like me, perhaps even more so, since your beginner level was... different. What a pair of amazing pecs you had got! And they were still growing! Is my power hobbit turning into a little Lesukov clone, eh? You shivered. I shivered. And then I felt it: You were growing in every way. You were growing taller. You roared. I nuzzled your buzzcut. My rod had pulsated against your back not so long time ago, but now it pulsated against the hollow in your lower spine, and you were still growing. I had to change the angle I nuzzled your buzzcut. Taller. Definitely taller. My little buddy becoming big. Mmmm. Big. I felt bigger, but you grew faster than me. I liked how you grew faster than me. Birthday present. Power. Mmmm. My big hands explored your abs. They had been defined before. Now they had turned into six cannon-balls of uncrushable might. I shivered again. You groaned. Or moaned. I explored your traps. Massaged them while the new settings executed their work on us. So hard and full. Amazing. Your were now beyond what I was when I entered The Machine, and you were approaching what I was becoming. Still becoming. Both of us. Together. Am I not thinking clearly? Oh, it's so good. So good! The new veins running on your arms. Oh! I shivered. You shivered together with me. I could feel the smell of sweat. Sweat rich of testosterone. And the smell of leather. Warm leather. My big hands explored your hard washboard abs again, and then continued further south. You shivered. I could feel your rod bouncing and pulsating on the inside of the trunks. It felt larger than before. Than ever before. You moaned. You shivered. Your leather trunks ripped apart, unable to resist your tool, giving my unprepared hand a lash. Your body against mine. Hot in every sense. My rod at the height of your diamond hard bum. You shivered. New settings. Of what we want to achieve. And power levels. Power. Levels. It felt so... so... Yes it was filling me. And it was filling you. The Power. All these power bolts! Making our metabolisms to packing on more brawn. More! Power emissions into us. Into our brawn. Bolts. Of masculinity. No, hyper-masculinity! Hitting. Surging. Loading. Beyond physicality. Becoming power beings. Of power muscles. Your back! Now with ridges. Valleys. Hard. Against my chest. My mind-blowing pecs. What are you doing? Turning. Around? Mmmm. What. Are. You. Doing? Trunks. Gone? When? Oh you little... Oh. Um. My big little. Unnngh! Now? During... Treatment? My big little... Oh! Enormous little buddy between my legs. You...kidding? Nnngh. Your titanic traps. My Quads. My gigantic little buddy.

Protect.

Growing.

Power levels.

Invincible!

Yes!

YES!

YES!

BEYOND ALL REASON!

BEYOND ALL

Edited August 15, 2017 by Hialmar
the layout looked weird, so I changed it

[Scriptboy]

Can't wait for the "little buddy" to come out of the machine as a muscle God...

[Hialmar]

Can't wait for the "little buddy" to come out of the machine as a muscle God...

 

I had planned this short story to have no written continuation. I leave that to the readers' lively imagination. It was also fun to write from the perspective of the big guy. Generally, the thin guys are my protagonists, but when I had invented Brad, it felt right to let him be the narrator.

[Bigdave]

Hey Hialmar

That was fun but don't leave us in suspense too long

D

[Hialmar]

Hey Hialmar

That was fun but don't leave us in suspense too long

D

 

My cold cause insomnia, and when I take a look at the computer in this insanely late hour, you really suggest that I should write a continuation of a finished short story?

 

I am very flattered, but aren't Brad and his boyfriend best forever left in this state where the feverish imagination of each of us can make them justice better than any words can do? 

[Hialmar]

Hey Hialmar

That was fun but don't leave us in suspense too long

D

 

I probably could add, that my multi-chapter story Project Defender takes place in either the same or a similar literary universe as My little buddy. The pirate copy Brad bought from Tvrtko is an illegal, simplified copy of the technology developed by European scientists during the space alien invasion in the 2020's, but unlike Brad and his BF, the marines in space are infected with nanites, genetically modified and mind-controlled, so the two stories explores different themes despite similar tech.

 

On the suggestion of muscledrain, I also work on a story about magic in a high rise suburb, and that story will be divided in at least two chapters, maybe three. There will be Advent wreaths, May Eve bonfires, a folk magician hippie lady, Syriac families, teenage angst, skinheads, and an easter egg for those of my readers who appreciate comics (or 'graphic novels' as the polite term is nowadays).

 

I have plans for other stories as well, but they are more far away in the pipeline. Writing takes time, and my potential proof readers haven't got the time they need to proofread what I write, so there may be several linguistic mistakes here.

 

I am considering one upcoming story about vikings, or, rather, Dark Ages norsemen in a semi-mythological world observed through the eyes of a semi-civilised Saxon merchant from Wessex: One piece Beowulf here, one piece Skjoldunga saga there, spiced with Saxo Grammaticus and Wulfstan of Hedeby (although the last piece of the puzzle is cheating: Wulfstan didn't visit Scandinavia until the 9th century, and the story takes place about 200 or 300 years earlier if a mythological setting may be dated at all). The story will also be mean against the TV serial Vikings.

 

I am also considering a parody of H.P. Lovecraft and a parody of C.S. Lewis, but whatever I will write in the future, I will try to end the space marine cycle and the magic-among-the-concrete-buildings cycle first.

[Hialmar]

This story -- which is the third I wrote -- must have the most endearing characters I have ever written about. I give it a bump, for the sake of newcomers who weren't around three years ago.

My English might have been worse back then, but I didn't spot any too hideous mistakes, when I re-read it tonight.

[Guest]

It's an amazing story, I don't know how I could have missed it

[KidMuscle11]

Great Story!

[Hialmar]

I wrote this one several years ago. Newer members probably haven't got an opportunity to read it, so I'll give it a bump. It's probably the sweetest of my stories.

It takes place in the same literary universe as Descent into growth and the sadly unfinished Project Defender. I left the latter one at a point where the villain had turned into something ugly, but I haven't been able to continue it yet.