Training Ch. 01

Training, Part 1 – A Stereotypical Title for an Odd Scenario
*****NOTE TO READER: All of the characters included herein are fictitious (unless they obviously are not), as are the events, though they themselves are rooted in what can loosely be called "reality." All the characters in this story are above the age of 18, and all appropriate copyrights belong to the author. Please feel free to vote and offer commentary. This was written under the influence of bitter memory, repeated viewings of "Black Adder," and a repeating LP of Wagner's "Flying Dutchman." This has a different tone than my previous submissions ("A Knight Arising"), so if you don't like a darker, slightly revenge-driven storyline, bugger off to a story where the buggering is more to your liking! This story is slightly detail-orientated, and is rather slow to take off. Stick around: you'll find, I hope, that this has been worth your time.

Enjoy.

*******

Young men rarely know how to approach girls, particularly if said young man lives in his head...and has had nothing but fantasies and one, very bad, experience with "girls." This young man, let's call him, oh, Alex, lived in his head and was – unfortunately for him – highly intelligent, large, imposing and socially inept. He got a scholarship to a university and, when it proved a little too much for him, he was forced to drop out for a semester. Alex tried fervently to get his head back on his shoulders, screwed on right, as it were, but he was stuck in a rather nasty situation. Every man has his hang-up, and Alex's was fair-haired, long legged girls, and his job as a bouncer (sorry, "security") at the local karaoke bar gave him the opportunity to log long hours ogling the "help." Being the decent sort, he stuck around, even when the management took him and his abilities to suppress an entire room of drunken louts with a shout for granted, lowering his pay and removing his insurance. But he had one light, one point of true enjoyment at work. Alex's hang-up, a long-legged (think Kylie Minogue), red-haired girl named Lexys was the first to befriend him at his new job. She was several years younger than him, and for the longest time, he held that against her, keeping her at arm's length, always rationalizing it as the execution of a self-protective mechanism.

His mental block was one created around an instance of near physical rape and certainly an emotional rape he had suffered just after he became old enough to drink. His "very bad" experience with a girl was with a fellow student in high school – she'd placed a large knife against his arm and threatened to maim him quite severely if he struggled. He had massed more than fifty kilograms more than her, but was morally obliged to not harm any female, and if he had, she would have been crushed like a bug under and elephant. Eventually though, as the reality of the situation hammered its way through his skull, the fog dissipating, he realized he could talk his way out of the situation. With every sentence, the knife dug deeper into his arm, and as she was drawn into the conversation, she began to lose her clothes, her own instincts struggling against her interest. By the time he released himself from her clutches, she was feeling quite contrite about her actions and had tears dripping down her face...and onto her badly mismatched A-cup and DD-cup breasts and triple-rolled belly. And onto the blade that was still lodged in his forearm. Alex had always held a certain reverence for symmetry, but this girl, this bulbous, fatuous and misguided creature who had attempted to take from him that which he only wanted to give up by choice to the woman of his choice, revolted him. Over time he became more and more critical of the female gender, searching for a female who would talk to him at his level (which he highly doubted would ever happen), and match his personal, private image of the perfect physique.

Well, Lexys was pretty damned close to his ideal! She stood at about 5'9" and maybe 115lbs at the outside sopping wet. She was a sporty type, a dancer and a football (Americans call it "soccer"), had green eyes with long lashes (Alex loved it when she blinked because her lashes – real, surprisingly – were long enough to cast a shadow on her cheeks), the legs of a dancer and the strong trunk of an athlete. She had a modulated voice that was at the low end of the soprano register and was careful not to giggle around him. Alex had made it very clear that it pissed him the hell right off! You see, Lexys was behaving – and looking – just like Alex's ideal girl. But because of that unfortunate event four years earlier and her relative youth, he kept her at arm's reach. He became her friend (all men hate the "friend zone," but that was as close as he'd let himself get, at that point) and listened to her through four boyfriends and four bad breakups. He'd massage her legs and feet at the end of the work night to relieve the tension in her gams from wearing her high-heels. He would brush her hair when she asked and enjoyed massaging her neck. She didn't like people's hands or necklaces against her throat, but she let him place his hands there for hours as he worked the knots out of her muscles. It was fairly obvious to everyone – including him – that Alex had a crush on Lexys, maybe feelings even further along that spectrum, but he wouldn't let himself "go the extra mile." All of Alex's relationships with youthful girls were rationalized away and he simply let himself drop deeper into a malaise.

Over the next year or so, Lexys fooled around with Leo and Brad, two of Alex's friends from the bar, and when Leo took advantage of her when she was drunk one night, and when Brad started to beat her bad enough to leave bruises, he held her as she cried and sat his friends down and gave them hell. Leo stopped, and Lexys and he returned to a friendship, and Brad was eventually arrested for trying something similar with another girl on staff. But still, Alex and Lexys stayed "friends," Lexys quite aware of his rise to half-mast when she crossed his line of sight, and the quivery, tingly sensation in his belly whenever he touched her. Toward the end of the time they worked together, Lexys nearly broke her ankle while on shift, and he – for the first time – deserted his post to carry her home. It was only a couple of blocks, close to the university campus, and she threw her arms around his neck and sobbed into his chest, relieving herself of all the tension she'd been carrying around. When he let them into her apartment, she seized a couple of bottles of booze and immediately started downing her "painkillers." Alex drew a warm bath for her and wrapped an elastic cloth around her ankle to reduce swelling. As he bound a cold ice pack to her leg, she threw off her clothes and winked.

"Now would be a good time to take advantage of me, Alex," she said.

"Nope," he chuckled. "You might hate me in the morning and I couldn't live with myself if that happened. Get in the bath and I'll talk to you in the morning." He looked back as he let himself out, just in time to see her tweak a nipple as she looked at him. His heart sank as he heard Lexys giggle to herself. She didn't really feel anything for him, he realized. Maybe friendship, but nothing else: she wasn't willing to wait, or even guide him, through the treacherous routes of his emotional baggage. She knew him well enough to know that those issues needed to be dispensed with, dealt with, before he could even think seriously of engaging in amorous activities.

Shit, he wanted to fuck the girl but ....

Nope. He couldn't.

Lexys moved away when she graduated, and later, after trying again to seduce him while *she* was drunk, their friendship fell apart. She wouldn't even acknowledge his existence, and that had hurt him more than anything else in his limited experience. She danced in his mind just like Kylie Minogue, she teased him like Lady Gaga would years later (though he was 100% certain that Lexys was female!), and the memory of her was slowly driving him mad. But he was patient and was certain that the memory – and his desire – would fade. But every time he looked at the painting he had made of a crush from the second form, he would remember his hand on the breastbone of the long legged, red haired and bubbly-personalitied Lexys, her small B-cup breasts pressing warmly against his large hand. He would rise to three-quarters mast and get a cold shower as soon as that memory crossed his mind.

Alex kept tabs on her for years afterward, through mutual friends. She had taken her psychology degree, dumped it and become a personal physical trainer. She had put on some weight, but had started a vigorous abdominal exercise regimen, bringing her strong abs into a beautiful six-pack, the weight turning into curves around her hips and bosom. In two years, he was told, she went from a 32B-26-36 and a 32" inseam to a luscious 36C-24-36. She had grown her hair to the centre of her back and had began to run, her leg and shoulder muscles becoming ever so much more defined. Laura had shown Alex some photos of her friend and he'd nearly creamed his pants. He had to exert all of his self control to keep from showing the lust he was feeling, but the effort turned his face implacable and his eyes dark. Laura started at the sight and patted his shoulder before moving carefully away.

Another year passed, and another. Six years after she moved away, Alex had nearly moved on with his life, he had made several unsuccessful passes at many beautiful girls, some of whom had true potential as mates for him. Alex realised, slowly, that he needed to come back into contact with who he was, to stop denying the pain, to embrace the darker aspects of his psyche in order to overcome them.

He put his mind to use. Alex's intellect was his greatest asset. His thick blond beard and hair, his slate gray eyes and his increasingly muscular frame were quite out of place anywhere, and in a university, (where he was now teaching as an adjunct professor) populated by slender brown-haired and brown-eyed south-German students made him ever so much more obvious. He had re-grown his pony-tail from several years before, and a series of bone problems (mainly both forearms having been busted in an accident) had forced a replacement of the bone by metal replacements. A bad leg had appeared after Lexys left, a psychosomatic reaction to the disappointment of the ending of their friendship of three years, and the closest friendship with a female he'd ever had. He was restricted, most days, to walking with a cane. He had suffered a hernia and his left arm had been dislocated so many times it was virtually useless. He hadn't suffered a broken heart, simply a broken body. He still hadn't decided which was worse, because he felt his heart was simply shunting its problems into an area that was, in theory, more easily treatable.

And then...well, an unprecedented opportunity arrived.

After six years of fighting with his daemons, of pushing through his physical ailments, and a near-constant, near-obsessive focus on his work, Alex got to the point where his services were in demand by universities across the hemisphere, for his professorial skills, for his analysis of odd events and thoughts, and in general, he had made himself utterly and completely indispensable. When a certain Ministry in the government, Lexys' hometown was the target destination for the man who she had spurned: they still had some mutual friends, and they were more than happy, when he said he wanted to congratulate her on her new managerial position, to tell him where Lexys worked. He had, in the forefront of his mind, a genuine wish to celebrate with her. In his hindbrain, in the depths of his most primal nature, he wanted – wished for? – revenge. Or some analogue.

"Professor? Hi, this is Patty Delenoe from the Ministry. How are you?"

"I'm alive Patty," said Alex, taking a quiet thrill from the soft alto voice on the line. "I'm looking forward to visiting you. I got a package today with the travel arrangements. I'm pleased that you also arranged for my accommodations! I've gotta say, I'm impressed!"

Patty chuckled. "We're the government, professor! We can get pretty much anything we want – we want you, and we quite literally moved earth to get you! Anyway. I wanted to confirm that you will be catching the flight tomorrow."

Alex looked at the aeroplane ticket on his desk, the light from the window reflecting off the metal of his forearm implants. "Hang on – I've got sundogs on the paper...ah. Flight NC5583? Departing at 15:13 hours? Yeah, I'll be there. Carl's got the department limo shuttling me over."

"Excellent. Ah, can I ask you a personal question, Professor?"

"Only if you stop calling me that. I'm Alex. Shoot."

"Alex then – what are your plans for your apartment there? Your contract is for five years and the Ministry and Second House have the option to extend your time here. Didn't you say you were keeping your post at home?"

Alex flipped on the speakerphone option and placed his voice recorder next to it, leaning his arms on the desk in front of him to make sure she didn't miss a word he said. "Actually, Carl's happy about how this is turning out. His eldest son is coming to study here and I've offered to lease my place to him for the duration of his degree. Most of my furnishings will be, as you've so kindly arranged, transported by rail to my residence. I have to admit though that I'm worried that some of the more...unique of my bookcases might get damaged. I hope the movers you employ are better than the ones that smashed one of my bookcases last week!"

Patty gasped, "I'm *so* sorry! Oh my god! I, uh, uhm..." Alex laughed.

"Don't worry Patty! Calm down!" he grinned to himself, "The one that smashed was the oldest bookcase I had, one from my undergraduate years! It was about damned time it fell apart. I guess I've got a slight attachment to old things!"

"Oh my god don't scare me like that!" she laughed in relief. "What about the others? Will they be okay?"

"Yeah. When my leg got buggered I got my book cases rebuilt – titanium frames, oak bases and walnut sides. They're virtually indestructible, and besides: wood is supposed to get dings. It adds character to it – my reading chair looks like a bomb went off in the seat!"

"Well, we heard you were a wind-bag. I hope you won't take it out on our furniture." Patty and Alex shared a hearty laugh, and they hung up. Alex turned off the digital recorder and pulled a drawer out of his desk, hoisted his bad leg onto it and leaned back in his overstuffed office chair.

He stroked his beard and stared out the window.

************

"Diivo – It's K. You got the item?"

"Yeah, yeah man I gots it. The kids at the lab wondered what it was fer, but we – er, I – gots it fer ya. Nine kay in twenty quid notes, eh man? You gots it?"

"I got better Diivo. I got unstamped gold. You get nine kay in gold – no traces, and you can do with the bullion what you want. No traces."

"No traces man, yeah I gots it. Gold's good, better than notes. Notes be traceable, yeah, I gots it, no traces, yeah man."

"Tomorrow then."

"Yeah man."

************

The next evening, Alex sat in his car, clicking his knuckles agitatedly against the steering wheel until the analogue clock on his dash turned to the appointed hour. Diivo, a straggly, dirty Asian in his mid-seventies, hauled his mutilated body around the corner and, dropping his cripple-act, stood tall and winked a laser at the hood of Alex's car. *Blink-Blink Stop Blink-Blink-Blink-Blink Stop Blink-Blink*

"He has it," Alex whispered to himself: into his mobile, he whispered, "Go."

Around another corner, an apparent street-worker, a just-turned-legal girl in shoddy rags and disheveled wig, approached the skiffy-looking man with a huge imported Mary-Kay makeup kit. It looked heavy. Tina was strong though, and could lift the nine-thousand quid worth of gold as though it were a feather. That was Alex's backup plan. If Tina, an engineering student, decided the chip was fake, she'd clock the deceitful black-marketeer over the head with the gold and disappear around the corner, dump the bag, shove the gold into a pre-made hidy-hole in the wall of the tenement, and blend with the hookers across the street. Tina had been a child-hooker when she was younger, and Alex had sponsored her return to civilized society some four years before. She joined the engineering teams at the university to repay him for his efforts, and she was more than happy to run an errand. They hadn't spoken face-to-face for two years, and she didn't know what he looked like any more. He found that sad, for she was a sweet girl under the layers of street-tough that still sat on her slender shoulders like a suit of armour, and he wished he could be more in her life, and he knew she viewed him like an uncle, but it just wasn't in the cards. He had other plans.

Around the corner Tina went, a stray beam of light gleamed off the gold locket Alex had given her – via post, of course – for her eighteenth birthday. There were no fingerprints of his on the locket, but on the inside, just under a picture of his personal coat-of-arms, lay a one-eighth fragment of a fingerprint, an artificially placed extrapolation of the fingerprint of an up-and-coming dictator in the Third World. It had taken him five years to get that much information, but the now thirty-two year-old man (a publicist and school-principal in the public eye) was now sufficiently framed that if the locket ever came into question, the fingerprint would draw question as to the legitimacy of the gift. Alex waited with bated breath as Tina took out a digital reader and magnifier. She carefully examined the hardware and nodded, ever so slightly. The glint from the locket disappeared four times, then twice, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. It was genuine.

Tina handed over the makeup kit and clutched "her" prize in her hand. Diivo shouted out behind her, "Hey, Katherine, why youz leaving me like this? You ain't gonna suck me off?"

"Suck your own yellow ass off, you mad quack. There's a dumpster behind you, go fuck that, pervert!"

They pantomimed a bust-up between a pimp and his bitch, earning the devoted girl a shattered cheekbone and a bruised ribcage, but she escaped, wailing and, under her tears, grinning maliciously. She still clutched in her hand the chip that had cost her adoptive uncle nine thousand quid in gold. She stumbled across the street and contrived to get hit by a passing Bentley. She flew across the road and her hand swung through Alex's open driver's side window as she smashed into the post box and the brick walk. She groaned and winked as she picked herself up off the walk, not knowing it was her "uncle" she was handing the chip off to. She scurried off to a dark corner. The plan called for her to cover herself up with makeup and go "dancing" that night, where she'd claim to have been beaten by a boy (or girl) she had rebuffed. She'd be safe – the admitting nurse that night was the same woman who had helped Alex re-introduce Tina to human kindness and warm meals.

Alex turned off the digital film camera that had recorded the exchange and sealed it. A copy had been transmitted to a security company in which he owned controlling stocks. The tape would be buried in a series of recordings from ten years earlier where he would take it for his records. He had two hours before he had to catch his flight.

He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the pound-coin sized piece of impact-resistant plastic. He peered carefully at it in the late morning light. Inside was a pin-head-sized microchip, infrared receiver and kinetic generator floating in a resin suspension to keep it from getting damaged. He played it over his knuckles before slipping it into his breast pocket.