Disclaimer: You are about to read a fictional story. This story features underage boys engaging in sexual behaviour. All similarities with any persons living or deceased are purely coincidental. If you're not allowed to read this, then please don't. If you don't want to read this or find it offensive, please feel free to peruse friendlier works of art. Comments, suggestions and criticisms are very welcome, but please note that I'm not a native Am Eng speaker so I might mess up here and there.

Synopsis: Agent 69 is now a bona fide super spy. His first mission involves retrieving highly sensitive information...and finding out the true extent of his new abilities.

Agent 69
Don't send a man to do a boy's job
______________________________
by Gmartinez

Mission: Graduation

After my bodily re-build, I felt like a new man . . . or a new boy, at least.

I now had enhanced muscle tissue and strength thanks to biotechnology. Sharper eyesight, thanks to the nano-crystal lens that coated my corneas. An optimized and modified metabolism gave me increased energy output and a faster rate of healing. Altered physiological functions allowed me to move better than an Olympic triathlete at any time. Plus three months of elite espionage and martial arts training. And those were just the improvements that I remember at the moment.

I was given all of those enhancements because I was the first of what they were calling the 'Juvenile Espionage Execution Program', or JEEP. Though in my opinion, the 'Execution' part seemed kinda forced, just to let the acronym form an actual word.

Essentially we--or right now, just me, actually--are kid spies, in every sense of the word. We are expected to infiltrate locations and accomplish objectives that adults can't. When I asked what a fully-grown man couldn't do that I could do, I was told that people don't take kids seriously, and therefore, nobody would suspect that we were up to something.

`Never send a man to do a boy's job', eh? Well, I guess they had a point, and to that end, an additional bit of training was given to me--how to dumb myself down and appear naively submissive. At least now I know why Doc had fixed me up to be so `cute'.

Sigh . . . I don't think I'll ever get used to calling myself `cute'. It's baffling and weird, but somehow, knowing that my face used to look different helped reconcile my apparent infatuation with myself. I'm starting to wonder if my `magic' sex pheromones worked on me, too. I was told that I was reconstructed to be as attractive as possible, which was going to support my weird pheromones. When I'd asked who I was supposed to attract, they'd replied bluntly: `Whoever you needed to'. When I'd asked why that involved me looking like a twelve-year old even though they'd said that I'm biologically fourteen, Doc just gave me a thumbs-up.

Today was my graduation from training. So of course, it was already my first-ever mission as a miniature James Bond. Though, instead of 007, I'm sort of like 003½.

"Six, how's the convention?" asked the voice in my ear.

I looked around. There were hundreds of people in costumes. Some consisted of just wigs and matching clothing from their favorite shows, while others had gone all-out, and had full bodysuits--even some mecha-looking suits that had been fashioned from foam and cardboard, and then painted to look realistically metallic.

"Pretty colorful. Pretty hot, too. How can these costumed guys even stand it?" I replied, as I navigated through a dense crowd milling around a dozen different booths.

"Now that would be an interesting field of research. Anyway, just keep a lookout for the start of the presentation. And until then, enjoy yourself."

"Right. Thanks, Doc."

"Johnson out."

After Doc's voice stopped ringing in my head I readjusted the pair of glasses that I was wearing. The transmission was actually coming from my glasses, through the parts of the temples that hooked around my ears. As Doc had explained it, the vibrations from the temple receivers penetrated directly through to my now-enhanced inner ears, so that only I could hear any of the communications that were coming from the base. It was all very high-tech stuff.

In fact, I was wearing the agency's most advanced tech: the `iGlasses'. They were literally a pair of eye glasses.

They were a bit thicker, because of all the fancy gadgetry inside. Outside they looked sleek, shiny and awesome. They were like the iPhone X2 of eyewear, based on an abandoned concept from a decade ago. The lens acted as a sort of monitor where I could see mission briefings and updates from Doc. They emitted light at a wavelength that only my enhanced eyes could see, as a preventive measure in case I lost them. I could even surf the web with them. Theoretically, I could use them to watch porn, but having Doc scold me in mid-jerk would be a little embarrassing. It also had a high-definition camera on the nosebridge, in case I needed to take any photos or videos discreetly. All I had to do was press a little finger pad on the left temple--anyone else would think that I was just adjusting my glasses.

Actually, right then, I was taking a picture of a cute boy who was dressed up like a blonde ninja in a vividly orange jumpsuit. I couldn't quite put my finger on the character that he was impersonating, but I'm sure it was something that I came across during my `cultural reintegration' training. He was a couple of years younger than me, and had impossibly cute dimples.

Though really, the most interesting thing in the picture that I took--aside from the boy, of course--was the door to his left with a sign decreeing: `Authorized Personnel Only'. It was guarded by a burly giant of a man who looked like he was trying to impersonate an ogre.

I could ogle at the cute boy later, I reminded myself. Right then, I had to get inside that door.

That was my mission.

_____________

"Your graduation will be an actual field test. Treat this as your first mission," I remember hearing the voice in the intercom tell me. Doc was with me in my room as I listened to the disembodied voice.

"Tomorrow, there will be a pop culture convention that will be held in a lifestyle mall."

"It's colloquially called a comic convention, you know," Doc casually quipped as he thumbed through his pad.

"I know that, Johnson! I'm just trying to find a more-formal sounding name for it."

"Whatever makes you happy," chuckled Doc, obviously knowing that the surveillance cameras in my room would catch his sarcastic look. It was quite amusing to see two adults bickering . . . though I guess I was actually seeing only half of the pair who were arguing.

I knew that the other voice belonged to `Lemon'. He'd already made it clear to me that his name was simply the codename that had been forced upon him, and that he couldn't change it. He'd also made it clear that if I made fun of it, he'd turn off the AC forever. I liked him already.

Lemon was Doc's boss, so technically he was my boss, too. I was supposed to call him `see-oh'--for `Commanding Officer'--but I just called him `Lemon Boss', much to his annoyance. It always made me think of an actual lemon fruit with a mustache, a beard, an eyepatch and a cigar. He tried to be as serious as possible at all times. But every now and then, he'd try too hard, which was always good for a laugh . . . for me, at least.

"As I was saying, this convention is the biggest of the year. But this one in particular is unique. A certain Dr. Hamada will be showcasing a working prototype of an armored battlesuit. Supposedly, it's just a prop inspired by an animated show about people fighting with giant robots, so it's harmless. It's just their way of giving fanservice--trying to tease their fans with the possibility of actually riding their own mechs."

"Okay. So . . . where do I come in?" I asked, curious why such a seemingly-banal mission would require a secret super-spy such as myself.

"We don't have a problem with the mech. It's just for show. What we're concerned with is how it was even possible. A working bipedal robot of that size which can accommodate a pilot is still beyond the reach of modern technology. Or at least it was until a month ago."

"Okay, I'm listening," I assured him. I noticed that Doc had stopped looking at his pad in order to pay attention, too. And as I peeked at it, I saw that he'd actually been watching the mecha anime that Lemon had been referring to.

"There are inherent physical problems with operating a massive bipedal robot. Our counterparts at DARPA managed to develop the solution to those problems last month, but it was incomplete, and what they'd already finished was leaked shortly thereafter. Our intelligence suggests that DARPA's research fell into the hands of Russian scientists led by a certain robotics expert named Kishimotov."

"You want me to go to Russia?" I asked incredulously.

"Will you stop interrupting and let me finish?" Lemon sighed in exasperation as he lost his cool. Doc was failing to stifle a laugh beside me.

"Sorry, Lemon Boss."

"Stop calling me--fine, whatever. As I was trying to explain to you, Dr. Hamada is a known associate of Kishimotov. That said, it would seem that they managed to complete what DARPA had begun. Your mission--" Lemon said as he raised his voice, in the correct belief that I was getting ready to interrupt again, "--is to infiltrate that convention, get to Hamada's personal belongings and find his data. We can't change the fact that our data was leaked, but we can at least get the schematics they managed to complete because of it."

"By `infiltrate', he means just `go to the convention like the two thousand other people who already pre-ordered tickets'," Doc clarified for me with an obvious smirk. I assumed Lemon was probably looking daggers at him right then.

"Okay, but, why do we have to get involved?" I quipped. "You'd think that an organization like that on the other side of the world would have their own espionage detail."

"It's not uncommon for world powers to share information and technology," Lemon replied. "DARPA knows about us, of course, and they want this matter handled as subtly as possible. This is also the perfect opportunity to field test your abilities."

"Okay, I got it." I nodded in the direction of where I heard his voice the loudest. "But how am I supposed to get to him?"

"We obtained a VIP ticket for you, meaning you'll be getting a backstage meeting with Hamada along with other VIPs." Doc explained. "Mostly people who have money to burn for an expensive pass. Supposedly, it's just a meet-and-greet, and maybe a chance to ride his robot. Everything else will be up to you."

"Wow, isn't that being too optimistic? I mean, it's gonna be my first time on the field. I'm not sure how I'll still go about it without actually knocking the guy out," I admitted. I'd already decided that in lieu of an actual strategy, I'd be better off with a precise application of a tactic that I call `beating the shit out of people'.

"You're the only one who can do it," Lemon insisted adamantly. "You're our ace in the hole."

"Which means?"

"Which means," Doc interjected with a thoughtful expression, "that this is a job that only a boy can do."

__________

As far as `infiltrations' go, this one was definitely lackluster. You'd imagine from the sound of the word that it would involve a spy sneaking into a heavily-guarded facility, wearing an all-black, skin-tight stealth suit with night-vision goggles and a tranquilizer gun. But there I was--a super spy, no less--and my gear consisted of just a baseball cap, a hoodie shirt, cargo shorts and sneakers. No, not rocket sneakers, just sneakers. I guess I also had my gadget glasses, but I really wished that I had something cooler to wear. As it was, I looked just like any other kid at the convention.

"Hey, can my friends and I take a picture with you?" I heard a teenager say from somewhere to my left. I saw his group of boys almost salivating over a girl who was sporting a green wig and a Japanese schoolgirl uniform.

"Whoa, look at that guy!" added another kid as a man in an armored costume walked by, his helmet even having actual lighting where his faceplate's eyes were.

"Bruh, check out that model 12!" a portly man screeched to his companion, pointing to a stand with robot model kits. It was actually amazing how much more fully-grown men outnumbered the younger attendees, considering how the event`s marketing targeted kids more than anyone else.

All around me I could see people in their costumes, and all over the whole convention floor were booths and kiosks selling everything from plushies and toys from popular shows, to costumes, to props, to buttons and pins--there was even one that sold car insurance. Some of them had the feel of a garage sale, peddling used and worn toys that looked out of place outside of a McDonald's Happy Meal. Others were for serious collectors, with model kits and figurines of scantily-clad women, some costing as much as the combined lunch allowances of ten middle-schoolers for an entire month. There was also a shawarma stand. That one was my favorite.

"Dr. Hamada's live demonstration of his working Gunzord will begin momentarily," announced one of the organizers over at the far-off stage. His reminder was being broadcast over all of the convention hall's PA systems, drawing the attention of most of the attendees. In no time at all, nearly three-quarters of all the people in the hall had gathered around the stage, jostling for places closer to the front. Thankfully, my VIP ticket got me a sure spot at the foot of the stage, saving me the trouble of being crushed beneath the non-VIP crowd, which was so packed that it would have been an accurate representation of London's population density.

Gunzords --it was a mecha anime that was all the rage, apparently, with plastic model kits featuring the robots in the show as its main merchandise. It was a long-running series that had begun way before I was born, and featured every robot-related fantasy plot imaginable. Various incarnations had a space drama, a political space drama, and a regular drama, One of them was an alternate universe where the robots were just actual plastic models that had gained sentience and little kids would use them to compete like some weirdly-mechanized cockfight. I knew all this because needed to research for this mission, including watching the three most recent seasons of the anime. If I was going to impress Dr. Hamada enough for him to give up his goods, I'd need to be a convincing super-fan.

There was something nagging me in the back of my head, though. If this scientist really did have sensitive and classified information, then why the heck would he bring it with him to a public event like this, where people like me could just go and steal it?

I didn't really have enough time to question the merits of my mission any further, though, because loud music suddenly blasted out of the speakers. It was the theme song of Gunzords, and it was accompanied by smoke billowing up from the stage, and strobe lights that were flaring wildly.

The crowd went mad.

Amidst the deafening roar of a thousand agitated fans, I managed to hear the announcer yell, "And now, the moment that you've all been waiting for! Please welcome Dr. Hamadaaaaaa!"

At that point, a thirty-something man in a white labcoat emerged from behind a curtain. He was tall, lanky, and with graying hair that was hopelessly unkempt--seemingly intentionally. His narrowed eyes and high cheekbones gave him the look of a doting, if strict father. When he waved his hands, the crowd went absolutely crazy--crazier, even.

"Doc, I have eyes on the target," I reported, after turning on the transceiver in my glasses.

"Hello, Six? You called? Sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I said, I have eyes on Dr. Hamada!" I repeated, as I raised my voice. I was trying to match the volume of the ecstatic crowd, but failed.

"Come again? Can you go somewhere quieter?"

"Oh, godamnit!" I swore as I slapped my forehead. I looked straight at Dr. Hamada, pointed two fingers at my eyes, and then pointed them at the scientist. It took a few seconds--Doc must have been watching his anime again--but he seemed to understand what I was trying to say when a targeting reticule appeared on my glasses' left lens and focused itself on Hamada.

"Oh, right. You've found him. Well, good luck then! Johnson out!"

"No, wait, I--" But Doc had already signed off before I could finish. It was pointless anyway, as the crowd was too loud and I already knew what I needed to do. I guess I'd just called him because I was starting to get nervous. But of course, I couldn't actually admit that.

_____

If I'd been a genuine fan of Gunzords, I would have spazzed out in the same way everyone around me had. As it turns out, Hamada's presentation really was pretty interesting. But if I had said that to any of the people around me that were currently foaming at the mouth, I might have gotten punched in the face for lacking rabid enthusiasm.

Dr. Hamada had a very good idea of what his fans were eager to see. To say that he was a showman at heart would have been an understatement. The doctor had a level of style, flair, and charisma that one wouldn't normally associate with a man of science. He adeptly played his words for dramatic effect--often mimicking a few accents of the show's voice actors--and every sweep of his arms and every pose that he struck was skilfully choreographed and calculated. So of course everyone loved it.

"Of course, my dear fellow Zord pilots, I shared your dream, to soar into space and battle for freedom in my very own Gunzord."

Like I said, the doctor was as good a thespian as he was a scientist. With his general appearance, you'd think he'd have an accent or a somewhat-broken command of English. But instead, he had barely any accent that wasn't intentional, and his mastery of the language was flawless.

"--and with my unique position as a leader in advanced technology, it is with great pride that I show you how I made that dream a step closer...for all of us."

With that, he waved dramatically behind him, and another military-sounding overture--complete with drumroll-- began playing in the background. Despite the volume of the music, I knew that everyone else could hear the metallic `clinks' and `clacks' of some sort of mechanism lurking somewhere behind him. Another noise that sounded like mechanical treads entered the din, and slowly, a gigantic `something' began pushing against the dull red curtains.

The crowd had already gone ballistic, and I could hear men beside me wailing impossibly high-pitched screams. Then the metallic sounds stopped, leaving the huge object still concealed behind the curtains. Hamada disappeared behind them as well.

A silence swept over the room as everything went quiet for a few seconds--even the music stopped. Then, a different sort of mechanical sound blared forth. This time it sounded like perfectly-turning gears and hydraulic pistons acting in unison. And finally, a huge metallic object emerged from between the curtains. It was clearly an arm, encased in shiny, futuristic-looking silver-and-green armor. The arm moved, accompanied by the low hum of all its joints, actuators and whatever-else-made-it- move as it parted the curtains.

"May I present to you--faithfully constructed from the Space Justice arc in the current season--the RM-12 Slyther-Rim!" boomed Hamada's voice from inside the twenty-foot robot that had just lumbered onto the stage. The robot was green and silver all over, with a snake motif on its decals. The chest plate then opened smoothly to reveal Hamada calmly piloting from what I assumed to be the cockpit. He pressed a button on the console in front of him and the robot gave a roar, which I found odd for something that wasn't modelled after a dinosaur. I made a mental note to request for noise-reducing gadgets for my future missions.

For the next twenty minutes, Hamada demonstrated all the number of ways that theSlyther-Rim could move as realistically in real life as in the anime that it was featured in. To better illustrate that, the same anime began playing on a gigantic screen beside him, and Hamada would make the Slyther-Rim replicate the on-screen action, pose-for-pose. Admittedly, it was wickedly impressive to see a 20-foot robot literally twiddle its articulated and segmented thumbs. Even cooler was the realization that if Hamada somehow tripped, a 20-foot mass of metal would be crashing down onto a decidedly non-metallic and squishy audience. It probably would have been funny if I wasn't a part of that potential meat pudding.

All too soon, the demonstration ended, much to the chagrin of the thousands-strong audience. Hamada then gave us a farewell with his usual flair, but this time with a giant robot doing his waves and salutes for him. Then he--together with the Slyther-Rim --departed back behind the curtain followed by another rousing track from the show. The burly ogre-man I'd seen from earlier approached the front row where I was and addressed the select few who were seated there.

"VIP ticket holders, please follow me backstage for your personal meeting with Dr. Hamada." Our group formed a line and followed the man to the door I noted earlier, with the excited squeals of both little boys and adults piercing my ears all the way.

__________

The backstage wasn't as glamorous as I'd thought it would be. It looked very much like a gigantic warehouse, which made sense considering that it had to house the gigantic robot that was currently being steered into place by Hamada and a couple of handlers. After setting the Slyther-Rim so that it faced us, the handlers fetched a tall metal platform, allowing Hamada to disembark.

The anticipation of my fellow VIP's was so palpable that it was almost audible. There was a young boy of about five that had come with his dad, and between the two, I think the dad wanted to be there even more than his son. There was a spotty teenager clutching his phone for dear life as he diligently recorded every step the good doctor took to meet us. The three other guys in the VIP list were all adults--all of them wearing black shirts almost comically bulging at their stomachs, with equally baggy shorts or pants and a combination of the geek trifecta of glasses, braces and ponytails. The three of them almost look related. Maybe they were.

"Ah, here are my most devoted fellow pilots! I welcome you to my humble workspace here...please join me for a moment with the Slyther-Rim ..."

Hamada went on to explain all the little details of how he created Slyther-Rim, information that I'm sure was worth the bloated price of the VIP tickets even though it would have eventually leaked online. He talked about from how he supposedly invented a new mathematical algorithm to solve the height-to-weight proportional problem of bipedal robots, to how he managed to get the metallic green paint job just right. I was barely listening, because I had to focus on trying to act like I was super-fanboy.

At some point, he invited us to take turns on sitting inside the robot's cockpit. I let the others go before me, and I'm glad that I did, because the adults-- including that one dad I mentioned earlier--almost had a fistfight over who got to go first. Hamada and the handlers barely diffused the situation with more-than-awkward smiles--the kind that you get when you visit a friend's house and you come in just as your friend's mom is yelling at him.

I watched the others with disinterest, mainly because I was still trying to figure out just how I was going to get the research that Hamada was supposed to have. Next to theSlyther-Rim were half a dozen computers and more than twice that number of cables leading every which way. I figured that the research should be in one of them, but it wasn't like I could waltz right up without anyone tazing me.

Aside from Hamada, there were the two handlers, and the bouncer outside the door leading back to the convention hall...not to mention the other VIPs that were with us. Would they actually allow me to hang back? And if I did, how was I supposed to get them to let me near those computers? Right then, I was seriously starting to panic. If all else failed I need to fight it out. I sighed as I composed myself for what might be inevitable.

It was finally the five-year-old kid and his dad's turn to ride the robot, and they were the only ones remaining before it was my turn. The rest had already left after numerous photographs, selfies and various body parts autographed by Hamada. I was left idly watching the dad as he sat inside the cockpit with all the giddiness of a schoolboy about to have recess. Once they were gone, I'd need to get ready to break some bones.

But then, everything that I needed to do became clear in a sudden jolt of inspiration--all I had to do was watch. After the dad disembarked from the cockpit, the boy climbed up the steel steps of the platform for his turn. I watched as Hamada volunteered to help the boy, picking up the cute kid with unmistakable care and gentleness, even affectionately patting his head once he was in the pilot's seat. The doctor chatted animatedly with the boy as he explained which button did what, all with a very contented smile on his face.

Once the boy's turn ended, Hamada hugged him, and the boy awkwardly hugged him back with a word of thanks. The boy's father started prying the kid away from the scientist, but Hamada's hands lingered on the boy, with a wistful look I couldn't mistake for anything else. It seemed that the dad saw it too, because he walked briskly away with his son after that.

So that was it--this was why I'd been chosen for this mission. Of course, now that I thought about it, it all made perfect sense. Hamada was attracted to children, and not just in a paternal kind of way. I was here to seduce him. For all intents and purposes, I was a cute young boy who now had the doctor's undivided attention. Hamada flashed me a wide smile, obviously indicating that he was very much aware of the situation as well.

All I could do was grit my teeth and sigh. Internally, of course. I still needed to keep smiling like a Barbie doll for the time being.

"Well, now, young man, why don't you come over here so I can help you to the cockpit?" Hamada began with an overly-affectionate voice.

"Oh my gosh...thank you, doctor! I...I can't even find the words to say how excited I am!" I replied in my best faux-awestruck tone. While I was pretty sure a boy my age didn't need help, I was going to give Hamada all the chances he wanted to get close to me. If anyone took a picture of me right then, with my eyes shining in pretend-childlike wonder, I probably would have killed them.

"It is my pleasure, my dear boy..." he cooed as he placed his hand onto my back.

Boom! Or was it actually more of a buzzzshhikt? The moment that Hamada's hand made contact with my body, something like an electric current coursed through me, literally making me shiver. My eyes were momentarily blinded by some kind of light, and I had to close them for a second. Flashes of images that I could barely recognize flitted through my consciousness. The little I could make sense of was the memory of a screen, of a chair, and the memory of liking this feeling--the feeling of having someone like and admire me.

"Are you all right?" Hamada asked with a raised eyebrow. He must have felt the shiver that had just passed through my body.

"Y--yes sir! I'm just so, so excited. I can't believe I'm actually here!" Hamada kept his hand on my back as we walked to the metal platform, and even as we ascended the steel steps. By the time I was at the cockpit, he was already stroking my back.

Memories. I was actually remembering something--little though it might have been--of the memories that I'd had before JEEP had taken me in five months ago. I felt a rush of adrenaline at the thought, along with whatever other chemical signals a body produces when it's happy and excited at the same time. Weirdly enough, I slowly felt my forced enthusiasm about Gunzords evolve into something more honest. My head began filling with information about the anime show, the plastic models and other things that I'd barely touched upon in my research.

Apparently, I used to be an actual fan of this shit.

"Whoa--that's the activation lever for the fusion sequence, isn't it?" I asked with not-entirely-faked enthusiasm.
"Yes, very astute!" Hamada obliged with a kind smile.

"And remember the after-image generators that they debuted in the Guardians of the Galactic Empire series? The Slyther-Rim would be so cool with that!" I blurted excitedly as I pressed on pedals and pulled on various levers. Had this been in the show, the sequence of commands that I'd executed would have made the robot slide gracefully into a battle stance. Though, in the real word, it probably would have destroyed the warehouse and the convention center, killing thousands. I guess it was a good thing that the robot wasn't active.

"That's a brilliant idea, young man! Why, I can just imagine it right now! It would make sense for the Slyther-Rim to adopt..."

Dr. Hamada said a lot of other things after that. I did too. We were practically geeking out together.

Eventually I was back on the floor with my obligatory picture taken with the doctor by the handlers. They were about to usher me off when I held Hamada's right hand with both my own and looked at him pleadingly.

"Oh, but I don't want to go yet! I'm the last one here, so can't I stay with you some more, Doctor?" I begged. This was where my training kicked in--the part about me being a suck-up to adults. "I have so many more things I want to talk about with you! Please?"

The handlers assertively reminded the doctor that visitors couldn't stay. I pleaded with Hamada again with my best puppy-dog eyes. I didn't know if it was my magic sex hormones or his natural attraction to boys, but the look on his face was all I needed to confirm my victory.

"What about your parents, young man?"

"I'm here alone. They'll pick me up when I call them and I can stay as long as I want. So can I stay with you, please, Doctor...?"

"Well I..." If a while ago Hamada looked unsure, even nervous, now he looked incredibly excited, even dumbfounded, as if unwilling to believe his extreme luck. He gave the handlers a dismissive look. "I'll be alright looking after this young man. After all, it would be a disservice to a fan such as him if I turned down such an earnest request. We'll just be here in the warehouse, so feel free to leave if you need to be somewhere else."

I could have sworn that the handlers rolled their eyes in unison before exiting through the door leading back to the convention hall. Their departure was an insane stroke of good luck that I was wholly thankful for. Hamada was so eager to get me alone that he'd saved me the trouble of having to think of a way to get rid of the handlers as well.

"So..." Hamada began, not bothering to hide his excitement, "...where do we begin?"

He placed his free hand on top of my head, ruffling my hair slightly, and then smoothly sliding it down to the back of my neck. I could feel the warmth of his hand as he slowly caressed my skin. I don't remember giving him permission to be so intimate, but I suppose that was already a result of the pheromones working their stuff.

"Well, this is the Slyther-Rim's base form, isn't it? I know the series hasn't featured them yet, but I know it's supposed to have a drive form and auxiliary peripheral part upgrades, like back then in the Mecha Fight Ranger Z series." Five minutes earlier, I would have absolutely messed that line up, but my newfound--or rather, remembered--knowledge of the series was a big help for my ruse.

"Very perceptive!" It appeared that Hamada very much liked my near-genuine obsequiousness. This he expressed with his exuberant replies and by stroking the upper part of my butt. "That may likely be the case, though of course, we can't second-guess the show. They might opt for a new system this time. But yes, it's possible."

"I'm just going to guess, but you've come up with what parts it might have...right? You're a very good inventor after all, right, Dr. Hamada?" I asked with a voice so effortlessly cute and a smile so childishly eager. I rather thought being this flirty should be criminal.

"Y-yes, indeed. I'm a very good inventor..." I could really tell the poor scientist was beginning to get all worked up inside. Little beads of sweat were forming on his forehead. At this point, I could've asked him to bend over and he would've happily obliged.

"Will you please show me what you have then?"

"Gladly..." He then ushered me to the computers that I'd seen from earlier. His hand guided me there . . . and was also already on my butt, groping and caressing it through my clothing as one would appraise something for sale.

Hamada offered me a seat as he worked the screens. Even though he worked quickly, I could easily discern the contents being displayed as he went through them. The man had an impossibly-cluttered mess of a desktop, and his files were strewn nearly everywhere. He had filenames that were disorganized, and documents that were lumped together in uncategorized folders. If my training served me right, Hamada's psych profile would be that of a man who likes to keep all his work in one place where he can easily access it. The data I was looking for might be there after all.

"Here we are!" Hamada exclaimed a few moments later, giving me an excited look as he gestured toward the screens. "Experimental designs, of course. While I would love to postulate on the mechanisms..."

It would be a bit of an understatement to say that I was getting quite impatient. Those handlers might come return at any second and our talk was going nowhere. I needed to convince him to give me those files, and soon.

"You're such a brilliant man, Doctor! Those designs are amazing!" I chirped as Hamada faced me. I stood up and held his gaze steady, then I gestured for him to come closer. He actually had to stoop down a little since he was a head-and-a-half taller than I was. With his face mere inches from mine, we could have kissed. I leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Do you have something else you want to show me, Doctor? Maybe another invention? I'd love to see everything you have in your computer..."

Hamada's hands slowly, yet purposefully, wrapped around me until he was giving me a full-on hug. Unlike the one that he gave to the little kid earlier though, Hamada was actively trying to press into me as much as he could. And that was when I felt his erection pressing against my thigh. The man was grinding his body onto mine.

________

This was part of my job. I knew that. I really did. Still, I had to give a resigned and audible gulp. "D--doctor?"

"There is . . . one thing I would like to show you. One of my other inventions." Hamada slowly disentangled himself from me--making sure that his crotch-bulge rubbed across as much of my body as possible in the process. I would've expected him to resume working the screens, but instead, he retrieved a large, brown suitcase that had apparently been sitting next to the terminals all this time. From it, he extracted an absolutely baffling contraption that nearly cost me my cover as I expressed my bewilderment in a not-so-childish way.

"What the fuck is that?"

Hamada chuckled. "My prized invention. One the world is not yet worthy to see..."

It was a dildo. Of course it was a dildo. But it wasn't just another ordinary plastic phallus. If King Kong was the king of apes, then this was the king dong of fake dongs. It was a garish shade of pink, with what looked like a very anatomically-correct and extremely detailed dick head. It wasn't extraordinarily large, but what it lacked in girth it more than made up for with its fourteen-inch length. At the base, it had what seemed to be a hilt especially designed to ensure the...comfort of the wielder's hand, almost as if it was the fancy pommel guard to a wealthy knight's ridiculously-perverted rapier. And yes, the sword choice was a pun. Sword puns. For things that stab into your bum. How fitting.

But really, none of those things compared to the megadildo's most distinctive feature. All around its shaft were little black protrusions of some sort. While little nubs and bumps on a dildo weren't exactly an innovation in sexual technology, this one seemed very different. Even frightening.

"This is what I like to call the `Hamada Special Mk. II'." Hamada held the dildo up to my face, as though he wanted me to critique a piece of art. "I consider this the next evolutionary step of anal intercourse."

Before I could ask what exactly he meant by that, Hamada pressed a button in the hilt, and all of a sudden, the black nubs extended, supported by metallic stems coming out of the shaft. Another button press later, the stems retracted, reverting the dildo back to its original, non-horrific appearance. Because seriously, that was freaky.

"I designed this to ensure the maximum stimulation for the users. It even has various options to further heighten the sensation of penetration," Hamada continued in a husky, lustful tone. At the press of another button, the Mk. II began to vibrate. Another button caused the black beads to extend and retract in a wave pattern all around the shaft, undulating like gentle ocean currents. Though, I can't imagine anything gentle about that terrifying thing, especially if it were anywhere near me.

"Dr. Hamada?" I was getting nervous again. Despite my job as an erotic espionage expert--a triple `e' agent, huh? I should remember that one--this was still my first mission, and I was goddamn nervous. More than a few drops of sweat rolled off my face as the doctor leered over me, brandishing his dangerous-looking love baton. It was then that I remembered something that Doc Johnson had once told me--that my pheromones are more intoxicating when I perspire. So, I guess I shouldn't have been as surprised as I was when Hamada abandoned all subtlety and grabbed my shoulders, forcing me onto the swiveling chair. He then proceeded to kiss me full on the lips, with his tongue rabidly trying to fulfill the functions of a toothbrush inside my mouth.

" Mfffffmmm!"

Without even pausing for breath, Hamada's hands wandered all over my body, caressing my hair, going under my shirt to rub at my puffy nipples, even kneading circles on my thighs.

In less than a minute, he'd unbuckled my belt and extricated my legs from my shorts and underwear, in a manner not unlike a child urgently dismembering the packaging of a Christmas present. Hamada did indeed have that sense of Christmas-time giddiness in his eyes as he carefully held his delicate present in one hand. By `present', I of course meant my hard, throbbing penis. Why was I hard? Apparently, one of the ways that I was `special' was that I was also more sensitive to...sensual stimuli, I guess. But really, after how Hamada had manhandled me, I think anyone would get frisky.

"Beautiful, simply beautiful. You're such a beautiful young boy..." Hamada gently caressed my ballsack with his fingers before running a thumb up my shaft, tracing its length up and down. He leaned down and buried his face into my crotch, rubbing my rod all over his face...and at one point it almost poked his glasses off. He wasn't even licking. He was just basking in the aroma of my boyhood, giving gentle kisses here and there, and even rubbing his nose on my barely-existent pubes. It was the naughtiest, kinkiest kind of thing I've ever seen. Back then, at least.

"Dr. Hamada...! That feels so good! Please...more!"

I did mention earlier that I was trained to appeal to adults. Part of that was appealing to adults while in bed. And while I do believe I did a fine job of selling myself, it wasn't at all dishonest. It really did feel good. Pleasure is part of my job...so I might as well enjoy the ride, right?

"Such a dirty young man! You really want this, don't you?" Hamada cooed as he gave my quivering shaft a few slow strokes. He was grasping it with his whole fist, even though the head didn't quite manage to poke out of his hand. His long, agonizingly patient strokes felt like torture on my poor boyhood. Every drawn-out pump made me thrust my hips, begging for more. It was almost as though he was trying to exert complete control over me by way of my dick, as if it was some horny control lever for the rest of my body. He was even pretending it really was one, yanking it slowly every which way, and causing me to moan and then shift my waist to follow the pull.

"Doctor...please. Make me feel good. Make me feel more!"

While my sexually-charged pleas weren't altogether faked, they were planned. While I was saying what I knew he wanted to hear, I already had a plan in my head. Once this guy had gotten his way with me, I'd tire him out. And after he was too exhausted to care, I'd simply go back to the consoles to get the data that I needed. Then I'd leave like nothing had happened.

It was simple. In theory, anyway.

"How can I say no to you?" Hamada laughed, his face twisted by pure lust. "I'll give you more than you can imagine. We'll have a little experiment..."

"Experiment...?" Usually that word would be contextually appropriate for sex, but given that I was talking to a possibly-mad inventor, I was beginning to doubt the merits of my plan to tire him out. It was a feeling that would prove to be also contextually appropriate as Hamada unceremoniously forced the Mk. II through my anal cavity.

"Gaaah! Dr. Hamada!"

"Shhh...you'll enjoy this..."

"Ahhh!" I almost screamed out loud. There was a reason why people use lube when they fuck, both for pussies and butts. You need to prepare the hole before you penetrate...or in my case, get penetrated. In fact, as much as the letter `q' can't go without the letter `u', the word `preparation' is part and parcel with the word `penetrate'. For all his brains, Hamada seemed to have forgotten this lesson. That's why when he shanked my behind with the Mk. II, it hurt like a motherfucking piece of holy shit.

"How is it?" Hamada asked with glee.

I gave him a cry of both pain and surprise as he rammed the Mk. II up my chute again without so much as a word of warning. He pushed it halfway in, which was probably the most he could ever put inside my tight little orifice before he actually poked an internal injury into me.

While this type of dildo was meant to stimulate the prostate, Hamada's rough approach made me feel none of that stimulation, and instead just gave me the feeling that the dickhead-shaped tip was hitting something inside me that shouldn't be hit by anything. Ever. It was very uncomfortable, to say the least, and if I were any other child, I would have bawled my eyes out. But because I'm a trained spy, I didn't. I gritted my teeth as I shifted my waist so that the Mk. II wasn't pushing any more against anything it shouldn't--more than it already was anyway.

"It hurts, Doctor! Please be more gentle!" I gasped, trying to sound vulnerable even though I actually felt extremely pissed-off inside.

"Do not worry, little one. It will feel good soon enough," Hamada assured me with a wicked grin. He slowly pistoned the Mk. II in and out of my hole, never really taking it out, but always making sure to push it back in as far as it could go.

Since he didn't prep me at all, my ass felt like the fiery pits of hell. My entrance stung like a wasp, if you can imagine the deadliest kind of wasp in the world that had a poison stinger filled with pure, burning hatred. Even so, I wasn't afraid of any lasting damage. As was explained to me back at headquarters, part of my augmentations included a more elastic love tunnel, as well as increased resiliency, durability and resistance to any unwanted afflictions.

I'll let it slide that the agency talks about my butt like it were a damn water pipe. But would it have killed them to make it so that it didn't hurt like a bitch? Though, I suppose, the pain helped me to emote, and faking sex was fairly difficult. Still, pain is hardly a turn-on, which is why my boyhood wilted back to its flaccid, reluctant state.

"Oh, are you losing interest, my love?" Hamada asked, more to my now-droopy dick than to me.

"It hurts, Doctor..."

"Patience, my boy. The fun comes to those who wait. But I think I'll help you get there faster." Hamada then held my member with the hand not thrusting the Mk. II up my ass. He gave my dick a fond look, then literally slurped it into his mouth with an obscenely moist pop.

"Nguuuuh!" I shuddered at the conflicting sensations now flooding my lower regions. Hamada's mouth excited my boyhood in new, pleasurable ways--not counting whatever I may have forgotten pre-amnesia, this was technically the first blowjob I've ever had. On one hand, my dick felt good, very good. On the other hand, my ass felt like it was on fire.

I have to ease it in. Loosen up and don't resist , I thought to myself. As part of my training, I read all about intercourse. I rehearsed what I knew about the ways of sodomy in my head, and willed my butt muscles to obey. The pain gradually subsided, replaced by the familiar and welcome warmth of intense erotic pleasure. An audible whimper escaped my lips as the tingly sensation from my dick, coupled with the Mk. II finally rubbing against my prostate, washed over my whole body. The dildo's weird little nubs gently scraped the walls of my ass, each little protrusion making itself felt in my tight, unpracticed asset. My breathing became shallower than ever as my face twisted into an expression of lust and longing.

All the while, Hamada sucked, he licked, and he hummed, pleasuring my boydick like a seasoned professional. The man seemed like he was a veteran at boy-handling, and given what I've learned today, it was something I should have expected. He made sure to lavish the underside of my glans with his tongue. Each time he swiped at my piss slit, my entire body shook as though an electric current passed through my mini-lightning rod. He was a furious fellater, so forceful that any more could have possibly bruised my squishy bits.

Hamada eventually found a rhythm where he'd thrust the Mk. II up my ass just as he'd bob his head upwards, as though replacing his suction with a thrust up my rear. That way, he made sure at least either front was pleasured at any given time. I expressed my appreciation with a few pleasured grunts and sighs.

"What about now, how does it feel?" Hamada asked after taking a short pause at his spirited performance as a dick vacuum.

"Good! So good!" As if my high-pitched squeals weren't enough confirmation, I flexed my eager dick, a gesture that said `please go back to sucking me, thanks very much'.

"Well, it's about to get even better." I didn't see him do it. But it was clear that he had pressed one of the buttons on the Mk. II when I felt something inexplicably weird happening in my ass. All at once, the Mk. II felt like it expanded, pushing against the walls of my insides with those little extendable black nubs, which were then evidently extended. It was extremely dumbfounding--none of my readings or training prepared me for having what felt like a balloon inflate inside my ass. I think it was expected for me to give a highly-surprised yelp, which I did involuntarily.


"Gaaah!"

I had to hand it to Hamada. Not only did he invent a terrifying new sex toy, he also invented a new feeling--the feeling of having a merry-go-round in your ass. That really was the only way to describe it as the nubs started to extend and retract in that wave pattern he showed me from earlier. `Weird' was a severe understatement. `Baffling' was a little more appropriate to describe the rhythmic waves now stimulating my deepest, darkest caverns. The vibrations and wave-like patterns the Mk. II weaved inside me caused me to shudder more times than I cared to count.

I really couldn't help that every other breath I took was a sensual moan. If you could count the number of "Ohhh"s and "Uhhh"s and "Nnngghh"s and every other unintelligible and drawn-out syllable that came out of my mouth, you'd probably need to use a calculator. My senses were being bombarded with all the pleasure my privates could register. It was actually surprising that I hadn't passed out already. I opened my eyes to peek at Hamada--even though he was absorbed with sucking and plugging me, he still found the concentration necessary to furiously wank his now-exposed cock.

All too soon--and not soon enough--I felt that welcome need for release. I could liken it to a knot in my groin that was coming loose every second, with the promise of heaven once it was finally undone. And really, who wouldn't want a piece of heaven? I called out to Hamada with the meager strength I had left, hoping he wasn't too lost in worshipping my boyhood to hear my warning. Or rather, it could have been an invitation, from a certain point of view. "Dr. Hamada...! I'm cumming!"

Hamada chose not to reply. Instead he jammed the Mk. II a little bit deeper in my ass with one powerful push, hitting my prostate brutally and causing my libido to go haywire. At the same time, he upped his suction on my dick, transitioning from a vacuum to a goddamn black hole. The man very much wanted me to cum, it seemed. I couldn't have denied him if I wanted to as my crotch exploded in bursts of intense, merciless pleasure. All at once, jolts of electrifying sensation spread throughout my entire body as each spurt of my boyseed shot at max velocity into Hamada's eagerly sucking mouth.

One. Two. Four. Four and three quarters. I shot four times in his mouth, with a final dribble that at least counted for partial points. Hamada drank it all gratuitously, obscenely smacking his lips as he let go of my beleaguered member. The rhythmic undulations in my ass had also ceased, meaning he had also turned off the Mk. II while I was having my climax. As good as it might have felt, I was pretty sure my backside was going to kick me in the nuts for days on end...unless Doc Johnson forgot to mention another medical augmentation that fixes "getting fucked too hard" syndrome.

"Doctor...?"

Hamada didn't deign to reply. I was barely done enjoying my post-orgasmic high when the man literally pounced on me. He held my shoulders fast with both hands, pinning me to the chair. He then proceeded to lick my face all over--which was absolutely gross! What the hell?--before latching his lips onto mine again. The same mouth that was sucking me earlier. I wonder if that counts as sucking my own dick.

The doctor seemed to have given in to his mad desires as he ravaged my mouth with no thought to whether I got to actually breathe or not. I couldn't even grunt in surprise. Down below, his cock was angrily rubbing across my ass. He tried several times to jab his swollen man-rod at my hole, but like a drunken man trying to thread a needle, he only managed to poke everything but my hole. He didn't seem to care either way. He was completely lost to his lust.

It was time to finish this.

"Sorry, doctor. We're done here," I announced coolly, intentionally ending my charade of childishness. I had to admire Hamada's stamina and his...virility. It turns out that scientists are no slouches when it comes to fornicating, despite what stereotypes might lead one to believe. While my intention was to tire Hamada out enough so that I could retrieve the data, he seemed to actually be invigorated. I had to use plan `B'.

With a sure, swift motion, my right hand found a particular area on the side of Hamada's neck. This would be where the Vagus nerve was, a nerve that when exposed to trauma--like say, a spirited karate chop--could induce fainting and instantly knock a person out. I was trained to do the same with nothing but a simple pinch with my fingers. Doc Johnson eagerly called it the "Vulcan Neck Pinch" for some reason. Since I didn't know what the hell a Vulcan was, I rather preferred the name "Zero-fucks-to-give" pinch--which sounded very fitting since I had no more fucks to give Hamada after his stunt with the Mk. II.

I rubbed at his neck and found that sweet spot. It almost seemed like I was tenderly rubbing him as he played mouth hockey and "pin the dick on the butthole" with me. I clamped three fingers on where the nerve would be for nearly five seconds. At the last two, Hamada seemed to realize what I was up to as his hand tried to grab mine. But he was three seconds too late. The doctor slumped to the floor with a resounding thud. I almost felt the need to apologize to his then-unconscious form, but my butt wasn't in a forgiving mood.

I retrieved my shorts and fished my only other gadget out of a side pocket. It was a thumb drive that had been designed especially for this mission. This marvel of modern technology could flash-clone a 50 terabyte hard drive in two minutes. I stuck it into one of the consoles and waited for it to work its wonders. It wasn't exactly the kind of gadget that I'd hoped to have--I would have rather preferred a taser built into my watch--but it was useful.

A few seconds before the copy was finished, my iGlasses flashed me a warning and displayed a mini-map in the corner of the left lens. Two red dots were making their way back to the warehouse. The handlers--it had to be them. A message in the far right corner appeared:

Extraction Commencing. ETA 3min. Distance 20m.

The mini-map then marked the extraction site. It was a spot just outside the mall's parking lot, which was conveniently accessible through a backdoor in the same warehouse I was in. I quickly donned my undies and shorts, retrieved the thumb drive and gave Hamada one last look. Beside him lay the Mk. II, still slick with...fluids. Without fully understanding why, my hand reached for it and put it in my pocket. I suppose it was a fitting trophy for my first mission.

I dashed through the backdoor--thrilled that I could finally be rid of this place--when a very, very bad feeling crept up on me. I felt like I missed something. I realized what it was when I glimpsed a red blip on my mini-map, indicating that a hostile was just behind me, right outside the door that I'd just burst through.

I looked behind me and saw another bouncer, as brutish as the one I saw before, though a tad more intimidating because of the tattoos on his arms. He looked absolutely dumbfounded. His eyes swept the room that I'd just come from, which was when he must have spotted Hamada's prone body. At least I think he saw it, because that would be the only reason why he rounded on me with the most furious expression I could imagine on a troll--because he also looked like a troll, in case I forgot to mention it.

He reached for a handheld transceiver on his belt, flipped a switch, and was about to place it near his mouth. But before he could say anything, a garishly pink tube came flying at his face at breakneck speed, causing him to double over and drop the transceiver. Let no one ever underestimate the aerodynamic properties of a dildo, I thought smugly. I rushed at him, quickly grabbing the two-way radio and jumped a few paces out of his immediate punching range.

"I'm going to guess that you were going to call security," I said as I mentally calculated my next moves. My evac was about to arrive, and so were the two handlers. I needed to make this fast. "You don't really have to. Hamada is just taking a nap, and I'm just a kid. So, we're cool, yeah?" I dropped the radio and then proceeded to stomp on it a few times, enough that I was sure it was definitely unusable.

"You're in a lot of trouble, kid," growled the bouncer. I was pleased to see that the Mk. II had left a very red welt on his forehead.

"Me? I didn't do anything! Actually it's Hamada that has a problem. Did you know how much of a pervert that guy is?" I'd barely finished as the bouncer lunged at me, and he would have caught me if I hadn't dodged in time. He was fast, I'll give him that. In fact, I didn't think I could have outrun him right then. While I might have been able to on any other day, my butt had started to get sore. Even though his bulk wasn't something I could match in strength, it looked like I had no choice but to fight it out with this guy, and I had to do it fast.

"Stand still!" He swiped at me again, forcing me to jump to my left. He then went for a right hook, which I parried with my left arm. It only took a little push and a side-step for me to use his momentum against him, almost making him trip.

"I promise to stand still if you promise not to hit me," I jeered as I stood perfectly still. I already knew that bouncer man wasn't a man of his word, so when he attempted to grab my arm, I already knew to jump back and counter with a strong kick to his junk. But...he didn't budge.

"Damn kid! You think you can get away with that?" The three seconds it took me to marvel at his impressive crotch-kick resistance was all he needed to grab my foot and throw me back across the lot. I hit the ground hard, shoulder first--I was definitely going to feel that in the morning. A split-second later, I felt an outburst of pain as he followed up with a kick to my midsection before I'd even gotten up.

"Didn't...didn't your mom ever teach you not to hit little kids?" I wheezed as I tried to regain the wind that he'd knocked out of me. The stars dancing in my eyes forced me to blindly drag myself away from the bouncer until I felt something solid hit my back. It turned out to be the door I originally came out of--the complete opposite of where I had to be.

"Just great," I muttered under my breath. It was only then that I realized that my hand was brushing against something on the floor-- the Mk. II. I gripped it tightly as though my life depended on it. In some ways, I suppose it really did. At least it gave me an idea for my escape.

I stood up and faced bouncer man with a defiant grin. "Hey, porkchop, do they pay you enough to babysit the little boys Hamada plays with?"

As I'd expected, he lunged wildly at me with an infuriated yell. He began taking swings at my head, trying for a knockout, but I kept my cool and parried, and dodged when I couldn't. It became a kind of dance between us, He'd throw a punch, and I'd block. Left hook, parry then sidestep. Right jab, roll to the side. Haymaker, parry with both hands.

He must have been really annoyed with me, because he didn't notice that my dodging already allowed me to place myself on the other side of where I'd been previously. I was right where I wanted to be if I wanted to run--which I really did, so I ran.

"Get back here, you punk!" He was chasing after me, and I estimated it would take him about five seconds to catch up and put me out of commission. It was all the time I needed.

Four seconds: Twist my footing and swivel to face him head on.

Three seconds: Run at him as fast as I could and make him think that I was going for a gut punch.

Two seconds: Just before contact, pull my arm back, completing the feint, and then run past him, dodging a counter-blow along the way.

One second: Now that I was behind him, twist on the spot again to face his back. He'll turn around to follow me, but his confusion will slow him down. Before he completely faces me, bludgeon his ugly mug with the hard, pink dildo in my hand, making sure to hit his eyes.

"Aargh!" bouncer man yelled as he instinctively covered his face, hoping to relieve the pain of his eyeballs getting smacked. Then, I quickly went around him and kicked his left hamstring hard, forcing him to the ground.

Lastly, I slammed the Mk. II's surprisingly solid and heavy hilt to the back of his head, causing him to finally fall over. I knew from my training that the brain's occipital lobe controls vision, and concussion to the back of the head where it is impairs sense of sight for a while, aside from hurting like hell. Bouncer man won't be chasing me again anytime soon.

"When you get your next job--`cuz I know you'll get fired for this--remember to put in your resume that you got beat up by a kid with a dildo. Strip clubs will love you for that!"

And with that final taunt, I ran as fast as I could to the evac marker several yards away. There was a green, plain-looking sedan waiting for me, and as I approached, the window rolled down to reveal the driver--a stern-looking man with shades and a crisp black suit. The door opened automatically for me and I collapsed onto the backseat.

"You had a good hunt, I hope," the man asked as the sedan's engine purred to life.

"Yeah...mission accomplished," I sighed as I lay down. This was why I liked taking the backseat. I could take naps there. And after all that's happened, I bloody well deserved one.

______

Author's notes:

Any comments? Any Questions? Spotted any errors (especially typos!)? Send me a line through my email:

horn1269@gmail.com

I'm also on Ygallery - http://www.y-gallery.net/user/1269/

Oh god. I finally managed to finish this. Someone get me a martini, shaken, not stirred. It took me a fuckton of time to finally get this right. Big thanks to my friend Ketto for being my advisor and for filling me in with the things I have no experience with. Props to my editor Scott, who helped me iron the English properly. My rough estimate is, this entire chapter took me a month, and half of it was spent on proofreading and revisions.

Cover pic will be coming soon. A debriefing chapter will follow shortly after this.

I am so, so sorry that it's long. I kinda went overboard. I think I put in too much effort. This is the absolute most hardcore thing I've ever written in my life.

I really hope some people might at least kinda maybe sorta like this a little bit. I would very much appreciate your comments, criticisms and suggestions. They will make me better as a writer.

Also, anyone wanna help me make a better html format ? :)

If you enjoyed this story, I would like to encourage you to donate to Nifty to keep this awesome free service...well, free. Just so you know, I got decent in English because I kept reading in Nifty since I was a kid. No seriously, it helped loads :)) So yeah, let's all support the site :) http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html