Blockbuster

[GLKnight]

This will be a short story told in a few parts, as I got other projects going. Obviously inspired by Jebriodo's art (especially after the announcement of his most recent project, Savage Love).
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I was woken up by the sound of my Shay18 phone going off. As I fumbled for it, I cursed the fact that in the 130 years since Mervallus cornered the market and completely eradicated every other company in the communications tech industry, they had chosen to make things flatter and flatter until all we were left with were these foldable sheets of ionized metal and plastic. They're so easy to lose track of, you have no freaking clue...

Scraping the top of my dresser, I finally got my hand on it. With a flick of my wrist, the screen came to life, and I was met with the bulldog beauty pageant that was my coach.

"Get your ass up," he screamed at me. "We have an unexpected guest, and you're the only one who can handle'em!"

Naturally, I mumbled that I'd be there soon and climbed out of bed. 15 minutes later, I was clean, dressed and on my way. After stopping by Melody's for some tea, I made my way to Janetti's Gym. Normally, I'd be there to train. But today, as soon as I saw the crowd that had swarmed the place, I knew we had a big timer on our hands.

Now, here's the thing you gotta keep in mind: Janetti's isn't necessarily the place to breed champions. Sure, it's storied, what with all the historic fighters that came through. Some even legends in their own time. But title belts were always a little beyond our measure. I was hoping to change that, but being a Natural don't mean shit when you're on a title card that also has a Gener match on it. Those guys are fucking BEASTS, usually being close to 10 feet tall and built less like brickhouses and more like brick FACTORIES. I swear, one swing from one of'em and your head won't just be knocked clean off, it'd be in orbit around Mars by lunch.

Which made the crowd around the gym that more concerting, because it meant we had a Gener in the temple.

Dropping my bag by the ring, I looked around for either the star of today's show or Fuentes, the head coach. Imagine my surprise when I discovered coach first.

"You're late," he scolded me. "While you were getting your beauty sleep, I already got'em training in the dungeon."

I just rubbed my eyes and sighed.

"It's supposed to be my rest day, sir."

Without missing a beat, coach had one of his regular comebacks.

"And you'll have the rest of the day after you train and spar with our guest, you got me? They asked for you, specifically, Marco."

Coach bid me to follow. And when you're in the gym, you do what the coach tells you.

"I take it we've got a Gener in the house?"

"Yeah," the coach mumbled. "I know you're a Nat, but you're a title contender. You're our FACE, got me? And this Gener wanted you, for some God forsaken reason."

"So you're throwing me to the Gene spliced dogs, huh?"

As Fuentes reached the stairs to the lower level of the gym, he stopped and gave me a look.

"I'd watch who you call a dog, Marco. She's a second Gen Gener."

As I tried to put together what he was saying, he began to walk down the steps.

"W-WAIT," I called out as I ran after him. "SHE? I thought ALL Gener fighters were guys! And SECOND GEN? One of her PARENTS is a Gener, too?! I thought those genetics couldn't be passed?"

"Not this one," Coach said, smiling. "She takes after her father."

Reaching the open lower floor, I could immediately hear the sound of a heavy bag being worked over. It truly sounded like whoever was hitting it had more than enough strength to tear the bag apart, the chain off the ceiling AND a section of the floor and ceiling off, as well as leave a hole in the wall behind where the bag was AFTER it was punched clean through.

Coach put his hand on my chest and looked me in the eye.

"Now, you treat her with respect, you got me? I don't want word of any sort of bullshit you pulled getting back to her dad, comprende? You act like a pendejo, I'm going to let her old man have his way with you."

I just raised my hands and nodded, knowing full well what a Gener can do.

"Good," Coach said,  leading me further into the semi-lit basement.

Soon, I saw a hulking figure off in the corner, working on the heavy bag. The way they moved, dressed all in grey and moving like a machine. The combos just seemed to pick up speed, and soon they were a blur of punches and dips. Each time they hit the bag, it felt like I was being slapped by the pure concussive force until, with one last massive hook, their punch ripped the bag clean in two. The fighter was not really breathing heavily, holding the pose for either their own amusement or because they knew we were here.

"Kid," Coach called out. "Your partner for the day's here."

The fighter relaxed as she rolled her shoulder.

"Thanks, Coach Fuentes. I know my dad sprung this on you last minute, but we both really thank you."

"No biggie," Coach said. "You know your dad's my best friend!"

I was suddenly starting to put the pieces together.

"Wait," I shouted. "BEST FRIEND? That's means-"

"That's right, kid! Marco "Mercury" Mercado..."

The fighter turned and dropped her hoodie, revealing a very pretty woman with long, dark hair, intense hazel eyes full lips and more atop a towering 11 ft. tall woman.

"Meet "The Sequel", Brandy "BLOCKBUSTER" Bustamante!"

My jaw dropped at the realization that I was meeting the daughter of one of the biggest stars on the planet, both literally AND figuratively.

[ArkhamAsylum]

An intersting start. I'm looking forward to the next part.

[GLKnight]

Next part soon. Currently in crunch mode for part of my book.

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"Oh my God," I muttered. "When you called me in, I didn't think it was for Bustamante's kid!"

"I'm 23," she told me, as she slipped off her training gloves. "So stop calling me a kid. You're only 24, yourself!"

I rubbed my face to help pull myself together.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Bustamante-"

"Brandy," she said, curtly.

"I'm sorry, Brandy. I know Coach is close friends with your father and all that, but you're a Gener and I'm a Nat. There's quite a bit of difference between the two of us. I'm not sure how-"

"Figure out how," Coach shouted as he walked away. "I got others I gotta train."

As he stomped off back upstairs, I took a look around the Dungeon, trying to figure out a game plan. We call it that because it's the least lit place in the gym, has all the heaviest weights, and is obviously at the bottom. So dark plus scary plus bottom of the building.... DUNGEON.

"So, what all have you done today, in terms of training?"

Watching the sheer thick wall that was Brandy walk past me giving me a slight chill, I continued to wrack my brain as she contemplated my question.

"I already upped my time on the 15 mile run by 2 minutes-"

"What's your time on that?", I asked her, expecting a typical answer.

What I got was-

"About 21 minutes, 44 seconds."

Yeah, I needed to stop thinking by Nat standards.

"Jesus," I marveled. "That's... 3 minutes faster than the RECORD!"

Brandy smiled at my reaction, beaming proudly. I had to admit, she did have a great smile.

"Keep in mind, that was a light run. Normally I run 100 a day."

That number made me lose my mind a bit. Come on, Marco! Turn on the charm!

"That's double the average length most Geners go for! You must be, like... A SUPER Gener or something!"

Brandy bust up laughing.

"A SUPER Gener?," she asked, hunched over and wheezing. "That sounds like something my DAD would star in!"

She struck a quick superhero pose and stuck her chin in the air.

"Don't worry, Ma'am! Doctor Dinosaur will be put back among the other fossils where he belongs!"

"And don't forget about your plucky sidekick," I said, hopping to her side and posing. "Kid Mercury!"

To say we were in stitches was kind of an understatement. But as we regained our composure, I could feel the unspoken of tension from when I first saw her fading away.

"Fuck," Brandy huffed. "I needed that."

"I know what you mean," I told her. "When I first saw you, I got a bit scared."

Brandy shot me a puzzled look.

"You were scared? I'm standing with one of the best right now! I can't ask for a better trainer, if only for a day!"

"No way! You're a Gener! You could eat me for breakfast and not have to pass anything! You're scary big! And for a Gener, that's a net positive!"

An embarrassed smile crossed her lips, followed closely by her hand pushing me a good five feet. As I rolled across the floor, she quickly went to help me up.

"OH GOD," she said, panicking. "I'M SO SORRY! ARE YOU OKAY?"

She grabbed my arm by my shoulder, and I swear, I've never been handled in that way by ANYONE before. The way she held me made me feel like a stuffed toy in a kid's hand. Scratch that. With how little effort she put into picking me up, I felt like I weighed LESS than a stuffed toy to her. Like I was literally nothing. Yet here she was, concerned over my well being. Was this something she had to get used to, growing up? She is a Gener, after all. I'm not that light, maybe 170 lbs, give or take. So straight picking me up like you would a jump rope? She had to be ridiculously strong. Might be the first thing we need to test out.

"I'm okay," I told her, putting my hands up as she dusted me off. "No harm, no foul!"

Still, she was fretting over me.

"Dad always told me that I should do things lighter than I think I should! I don't know my own strength, sometimes!"

"Yeah, well that's an easy lead into my next question. Have you done any lifting today? Besides me, of course."

The look of reticence on Brandy's face told me all I needed to know.

"Might as well do some stress tests," I told her, urging her to follow me to The Ramparts, aka "the wall of giant plates what stacked on or near the southern end of the room".

"What would you like me to do?", Brandy asked.

"Just some basics," I told her. "Some curls, some deadlifts, some-"

I heard a zipper being pulled. Being curious, I turned to look at Brandy, and... WOW.

The girl was BUILT. We're talking old school, wall o' meat, built like three oxes put together kind of built. I hadn't realized it, as looking at someone wearing sweats can be deceptive, but she was FILLING her hoodie to damn near maximum capacity. Letting it fall to the floor, I took in the way her arms were sloped like rolling hills, the mountains that were her delts. The rivers that were her veins snaking along her forearms and up to her shoulders. The broad, imposing chest capped by a pair of voluminous pale breasts covered by a deep royal purple muscle tee that only worked to highlight her incredible taper.

My breath was taken away by the monumental being that was the 11 ft. Second Gener before me. If this was the future, then the future was gonna be BIG.

[GLKnight]

Next part coming soon. Still got a lot of things on my plate at the moment, but I'll keep at this one until it's finished, then get back to Getting With The Goddesses.
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I had to tear myself away from looking at her. Normally, I go for the more thicker girls. Y'know, the ones who stay healthy but don't really work out except to look good. But for some reason, as I looked at Braden Bustamante's kid, I couldn't help but notice that everything seemed... proportional. That her size and build just WORKED for her. I mean, she wasn't model pretty. But she had this real girl next door kind of charm that made her all the more approachable. But I couldn't ruminate on that. I was brought in to do my job, and that's what I aimed to do.

I quickly grabbed two box bars. Mostly because of its stability due to its adjustable frame being based on the Yoke Walk, but smaller and meant to be used with one hand. But the other reason is that you could add several sets of plates depending on how far out you set the actual frame. And for Brandy's enormous build, the box bar was probably the only enclosed free weight bar we had that could take what Brandy probably normally throws.

"We're gonna start with some curls," I told her as I adjusted the bars to their max settings. "Pick some plates you're comfortable with."

Walking up to the wall, Brandy carefully scrutinized every bit of iron on the Rampart. She took her time, looking very carefully and thoroughly. As she moved to the far side of the plates, I slapped the on button for the Grav Display. Watching the anti-gravity machine flicker and hum to life as its light blue suffused the darkened area we were in. I put the box bars on top, watching as they hovered in mid-air before turning towards my guest.

"So did you-"

My mind boggled as I watched her gently put down two stack of plates that went up to my knee.

"I think this'll do," she told me, smiling.

Running over to check them out, my mind went places without my body again.

"There are all 100's," I said. "Are you saying you can do TWO THOUSAND POUNDS for your curls?!

"No," she admitted, looking shy. "You said it'd be a... stress test. And I wanna try with 250 over my current max. "

I sighed and stood up, running my hand through my hair.

"Look, this is a stress test. No need to go that hard, okay?"

She just nodded before going back, grabbing a shorter stack of hundreds and two fifty pound plates off the Rampart and adding it to the pile. I just walked over and put my hand on her arm. As I did, I couldn't help but notice that though her arms did have some fat, the amount was far lower than I thought. Because I could easily feel the potential striations that lay beneath, tensely packed and thickly corded with incredible power. One of the benefits Geners received from pre-Natal modifications. And with how Brandy turned out, I was left wondering what a child who inherited those traits could be capable of.

"Now, let's weight up the Boxes and see what you're capable of, alright?"

Brandy gave me a confident look, huffing as she nodded before leaning down to grab the plates. Soon, the Boxes were stacked on the Grav Display, waiting to be used.

"You ready?", I asked her. "Let's start with some basic upper body lifts."

Shaking her arms and breathing deeply, Brandy gave me another nod. Then, she gripped the bars, pulling them out of the display. I watched as she wobbled slightly as she was pulled down a bit towards the front but quickly regained her balance.

"Alright, twenty hammer curls! Go!"

I watched as she methodically lifted the boxes, steadily breathing as she brought both free weights to chest level before slowly putting them down. In less than a minute, she grunted as she cranked out the last two.

"Good," I called out. "Twenty cross-body curls! Go!"

Without missing a beat, she continued lifting those weights. 3500 lbs. on both arms, and she was moving like a MACHINE. The look of pure determination on her face as she slowly breathed in and out as she switched arms was impressive. As she lifted, I carefully scrutinized her motions and the way she moved. Soon, she quickly finished that set.

"Twenty EZ curls! Go!"

I could see that she was starting to strain as her arms were slowly shook. By five, she was sweating. By ten, her breathing was getting a little ragged. By fifteen, she was unintentionally slowing down. And by twenty, I realized what she was actually doing.

"Weights down," I shouted, waiting for her to stand back up. "ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR DAMN MIND?!"

Her eyes went wide, putting her hands up as I charged directly at her.

"Did I do something wrong?", she asked, wide eyed/

"Don't give me that," I shouted at her. "WHY WERE YOU TRYING TO DO ISOMETRICS AT THE SAME TIME?!"

"I... I wasn't-"

"Yes you were," I shouted. "You were LOCKING longer than you need to and at the WRONG TIMES for lifting! I don't CARE if you're a Gener! You lock up and you can get SERIOUSLY HURT when you're at your max!"

As I let my words sink in, I saw the look on her face. That pained, slightly fearful expression someone gets when they're never actually been scolded before in their life. It was a clear possibility that I may have slightly overreacted. But when you had a friend who could no longer box due to badly breaking his arm from combining the wrong exercises and breaking his leg from the weight still in his hand, you'd react badly too. Regardless, I knew I had gotten too caught up in my realization of what she was doing that I let it get the better of me.

"I... I'm sorry," I said, scratching my jaw. "Just don't combine exercises, okay? Isometrics is meant for low added weights, AT MOST. It's not the right way, and I don't want to see you get hurt."

"...I'm sorry, too," Brandy replied. "I never really had to worry about form growing up, since my dad always okayed how I was doing things. But you're taking the time to help me, so I should listen to my coach."

"I was called in for sparring," you tell her. "But I wanted to get a good estimate of where you stand so I can understand areas you need improvement in, as well as how you'd fare in the ring. Weight training is one of them."

Brandy seriously considered what I was saying, before smiling.

"I get it! It's to help with how you approach the sparring, as well as warming me up! Tricky, tricky!"

"Guilty as charged," I said. "Now, how about we finish the stress test and then we can get to some of the other equipment down here?"

"That sounds," she said, grunting as she picked the weights back up. "Like a PLAN!"

I smiled as she finally understood what I was getting at.

"Then let's GO," I called out. "Twenty shoulder shrugs! Go!"

[jhunter]

Interesting so far, good dialog and flow. Nice effort, and no rush on your writtings.

[ArkhamAsylum]

Great work so far. I'm very interested to see where the story goes next.

[GLKnight]

I put her through 20 of every single free weight lift I could think of by the time we were done nearly 30 minutes later. The sweat was pouring down her body as she rested on the bench, panting and gasping as she had never been pushed to her max like that before. I've never seen anyone use several liter jugs for water bottles before, but she was gulping down that h2o like a whale.

"Damn," Brandy spat out. "Haven't felt... hah... this way in YEARS!"

"Let me guess," I said, grabbing a jug so I could refill it in a nearby sink. "They let you coast because you're a Gener, right? Or maybe cause of your dad?"

The titanic girl glumly nodded at my words. I turned on the faucet and waited as it refilled.

"Knew it had to be one of the two. It's one of the weaknesses of Power and Privilege."

Brandy shot me a questioning look.

"What do you mean by 'weakness', Marco?"

I turned off the sink and twisted the cap on her bottle. Which is honestly no small feat as the thing's practically a barrel, and was now full of water. So that meant it was heavy as shit to lift, too.

"Having... NGH! Having power and privilege means- GAH, this fucker's heavy! It means not being CHALLENGED."

I unceremoniously placed her water next to her feet, shaking my hand out from the strain.

"Is not being challenged a bad thing?", she asked, scooping up her water with ease and taking a sip.

"It is if you're either a fighter or a good person," I replied, sitting next to her. "If you're a fighter, you're always looking to get better, do better. And if you're a good person, it's all about BEING better. Not in that 'I'm better than you, nyah nyah' way. I mean doing right by others, y'know? Helping out when you can, no matter how small-"

I pointed at myself when I said "small", then slowly pointed at herself.

"...Or BIG they are."

"I think I get you," she said. "Like, I may be a Gener. But if I can use my size to my advantage, or the fact my dad's 'Blockbuster' Bustamante, to help others, then that's being better, right?"

I was visibly not entirely pleased with her answer.

"Not quite," I told her. "Lemme use an example. I'm a Nat, right?"

"Right," Brandy replied.

"And if I was to fight, say, a Gener, I'd get DESTROYED, right?"

"Right," she said, following where I was going.

"But there are things that I can show you as both a Pro AND a Natural that you won't see any Gener capable of doing, thereby helping YOU out in the ring by improving your fighting strategy."

With that, I reached down into my gym bag and quickly started to tape up my hands.

"So what you're saying," Brandy said as she stood up. "Is that perspective and experience will help me overall?"

"Yep," I told her as I finished taping up my left hand. "Those are the two key elements a good fighter or a good person needs in order to truly improve. Perspective for how someone fights, and experience for the training and techniques to be at the top of your game and handle things properly."

I could see Brandy getting excited at the lesson I was giving her.

"I think my dad said something like that, once. It's not about the POWER you have, but the perspective others give you and experience you gain that matters."

"That's one of the things a lot of people don't get," I added as I finished taping up my right hand. "They see Geners as brutes and powerhouses. But here I am with not only the first FEMALE fighting Gener, but she's also a SECOND Gener, as well."

I stood up and slipped my gloves over my shoulder, my lucky blue and silvers that helped me get my 17 win streak that got me the title fight for next month. With a quick flurry of shadowboxing, I got in the zone before rolling my shoulders and neck. Brandy was all smiles watching me get focused.

"You got power, but we'll still need to change your game up a bit. Are you in or out?"

"I'm IN," Brandy exclaimed, super excited to begin as she walked towards the ring.

I quickly realized that Brandy might be thinking something entirely different. One tug on the back of her shirt and she stopped.

"Uh, I was talking about your standing game. Are you an IN fighter or an OUT fighter?"

Brandy's face quickly matched her name as she blushed at the realization that she got a bit too excited.

"Oh, uh... Both?"

"You don't know your own style yet, do you?", I asked, shaking my head.

"N-no."

I sighed heavily and began walking towards the Form Trainer.

"Looks like we need to figure that out first," I said, wearily. "Follow me..."

[GLKnight]

Now, here's something most don't know about the Form Trainer. Its A.I. is specifically coded to work on a predictive system, so that whoever is using it is shown their flaws and strengths after every session. Analyzing their natural movements, stances and more to help the trainee learn what their natural fighting style is. More often than not, the fifteen foot monstrosity of a machine is used to help a newbie figure out where they should begin. At Janetti's, we have a nickname for the damn thing.

"So, where do I stand before we turn this thing on?", Brandy asked.

"On the red dot," I said, pointing to the spot right in front of her as I went to the console off to the side.

"Oh," she mumbled, walking onto where I told her to stand. "So, do I just do some shadowboxing? Or maybe I hit some pads?"

"Well," I said, smirking. "You gotta go one full minute with the machine."

When I pressed the button, she looked like she was about to shit a cinder block as the many arms and pads that hid inside the machine popped out from.

"I GOTTA FIGHT THI-"

The sound of the fight bell rang loudly as the machine sprang into action, quickly throwing a punch she was clearly not ready for, causing her to stumble after hitting her solidly in the face.

"Treat it like a MATCH," I yelled at her. "Keep focused and try to throw some punches like they taught you! You got this, Brandy!"

 "ARE YOU KIDDING M- OOF!"

Another body blow caused her to fold, wobbling as she turtled up. It was at that moment that I realized that, although she was taught how to throw a punch, she was never really put to the test. Most likely afraid to hurt Bustamante's kid. So I reached for the button to shut it down. Suddenly, I heard her howling as she began to punch back, caught in a full rage. As she swayed out of the way of the incoming arms, her arms were like missiles aimed straight at the pads behind them. The impacts of her fists were sending the pads wide, rocketing around almost as fast as they were being hit. I laughed as I saw her going to town, forcing her way in until she reached the center pad, indicating the distance needed for a proper body blow. She ducked and wove through every strike, avoiding every possible hit.

Then, with one massive BAM! She hit the pad, causing the Form Trainer to bend, sending sparks flying as the arms came to a stop. Not realizing she had just killed a $800,000 machine made out of Titanium and Valtrevian steel alloy with a single blow, she fell on her ass, panting like a dog as her adrenaline was riding roughshod over her body.

"Holy shit," I shouted, turning the console off to run to her aide. "You just killed the Trainer, kid!"

"D-Don't," she gasped. "Don't call me... 'kid'!"

The look in her eyes, it scared the CRAP out of me.

"Okay," I said, pulling over her water jug. "No more 'kid' from me... kiddo."

As she pushed me to the floor beside her, she started laughing uncontrollably. I don't know if it was her fear winding down, or that I somehow did yet didn't keep my promise. Pretty sure it was the fact that I was willing to push her and kept surprising both me and herself. But at that moment, it didn't matter. As she lay on the cold floor, smiling and laughing, I felt... I don't know, a sense of being in the right place? I don't know how to put it into words, really. What I can say is it felt good to be right by her, at that moment.

"When that thing... HIT me," she groaned as she sat up. "I've never felt anything hit that hard before!"

"It was set for a Gener," I told her. "That's the kind of thing to expect in a match."

"Then I gotta get used to it," she said, looking resolute.

"So you're here to become a fighter?", I asked her, putting the pieces together.

She looked me in the eyes. There was a determination there, as well as...

"One of the reasons, yeah."

That's when I saw it. I was mentally kick myself for not realizing it sooner as I saw the way she was smiling.

She was here specifically for time with ME.

[ArkhamAsylum]

Things are becoming more interesting with each chapter. Great work

[tmbosch]

Bump for more. Great story and pace. Love the fact that she is not a psycho.

[jhunter]

Great to see more. The writing is still good, keep up the good effort.

[GLKnight]

Now, here's something you gotta keep in mind about me: I'm kind of dense, always have been. I'm not saying I'm not smart, oh no. It just... takes me a little longer to put the pieces together. Education wasn't a chore, especially with the developments after the Antrayan Education Reform Act back in the 2600's. The issue was that my body, and thus certain parts of my brain, were always quicker than my retentiveness. "Instinctual Reflexes acting at 120% capacity," as one Bio-Engineer put it. Meant I was a natural fighter, through and through. But put me in a room with more than two conversations going, and I couldn't tell you shit besides some errant names and facial features. Hell, put me in a room with just one person, and it'll take me time to pick up what they're really there for.

Thus the whole situation with Brandy.

"Brandy," I asked, finally working up the nerve. "You're not here to just train with me, are you?"

Imagine a girl harboring a crush on you being called out for it. Now imagine if that girl was almost 12 feet tall, had a physique that made the biggest male bodybuilders to shame in the off-season, and then they went crimson with embarrassment. That was Brandy in a nutshell.

"W-what," she stammered. "I just wanted t-to train and get to know y- EEP!"
 
The way this gigantic lady just squeaked was fucking ADORABLE. I had been around girls who acted cute to get their way, but I never met anyone who had done that NATURALLY. She truly was fangirling hard. I knew I had to break this awkward moment, so I stuck to why I was called in on my rest day.

"W-well, since the Meat Grinder that was the Trainer broke, we should do some sparring! Are you gonna change orrrrr-"

As I turned to talk to her, all I saw was Brandy turned away from me, bent at the waist as she pulled her sweats off and inadvertently showing me her fighter shorts underneath. But let's just say that, when a cute girl is leaning down away from you as you stand behind her, it's not her clothes you're paying attention to. Because HOLY SHIT, were those pants and shorts much tighter than I realized. The sheer SIZE of her legs and ass was startling, but it was her symmetry that caught my attention. Every section of muscle was perfectly defined, better suited for an anatomy book on appealing shapes. I don't know what it was, but when I got to see the full package, as it were, I was awestruck. I'd say she was perfectly designed to be this way, if she wasn't already a Gener. Which means she literally WAS designed to be this way. Or her dad was, at least.

"N-nice shorts," I stuttered, trying to keep my cool.

"Th-thanks," Brandy said, trying to do the same. "I wanted a pair j-just like dad's."

I started rubbing my neck, not looking at her for fear of... I don't know, doing something out of character for me.

"It's a good color set for you," I told her. "The green and white."

We unknowingly let the moment linger for a moment before I got my head back in the game.

"So," Brandy said, nervously looking at me as I smiled nervously at her. "Sh-shall we get in the ring?"

"Right," I eagerly said, quickly slipping on my gloves. "Sparring! To help you figure out what type of fighting fits you best! Dungeon? Adjust lights! FIGHT NIGHT SETTING!"

As the lighting quickly shifted to give more attention to the ring, I smiled as I walked towards it. Sprinting up the steps, I quickly ducked between the ropes and stepped in. I don't know what it is, but I always feel electric when I climb in. It feels like the highest spot in existence. Whether I'm fighting in the Zalvezic Quadrant or back in the burrows on Earth, this ring, this twenty foot by twenty foot squared circle is the dead center of the universe. To me, this truly was home.

"Alright," I said, smacking my gloves together and loosening up my shoulders and neck. "Are you ready for a little one on... one?"

Watching Brandy just gently step over the ropes like a log or a hedge, somehow looming larger than ever made me shut up quickly. Maybe it was the lights, or the deeper gloom that lay behind her or something else. But it struck me that I, as a Nat, was about to go toe to toe with a Gener. Even if it WAS just for sparring, I knew that one wrong move, and I'd be in the hospital for a good stint or worse. That's the power level between the two genetic classes. It didn't matter how cute I thought Brandy was, she was clearly bigger and stronger than most other Geners I had ever seen. She had the full capability to kill me with one blow.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Brandy told me.

"You know the rules," I continued. "Three rounds of sparring for 3 minutes each. We're gonna treat these like full rounds. No TKO's. As part of the Fight Night setting, the Dungeon will be recording the session for review. The corners are auto filled, so the Dungeon's computer will also be the cornermen. Are you comfortable with that?"

Brandy popped her mouth guard in, and smiled.

"Let's make it interesting," she said. "A wager."

"A wager," I asked. "What do you mean?"

As she rolled her shoulders, wiggling her arms and loosening up, I could see this gleam in her eye.

"I win, you have to do one thing of my choosing. It can be anything I say, but I promise it won't be hopefully humiliating."

"And what if I win?", I asked.

Brandy smirked at me, playfully.

"IF you win, I have to do one thing of YOUR choosing. Does that sound fair?"

I smirked as I looked her over, sizing her up in her green and white ensemble.

"Deal," I said, popping in my mouth guard. Holding her gloves up, Brandy broke into a happy smile as I touched gloves. The two of us backed into our corners, waiting for the Holo-Ref to start the match. Soon, a computerized referee appeared in the ring, pointing at me and then Brandy. When we each gave it a nod, it nodded back.

"FIGHT," it shouted, crossing its hands and disappearing as the first round bell rang out.

[GLKnight]

Living up to my name, I rushed out as fast as I could. But I quickly went on the defensive as I saw Brandy doing the same, as well. I immediately felt like a little Slider hoverbike that was heading right at a transport ship jumping out of a drop gate at full speed. There just seemed to be this roiling wake behind her as she cocked her arm back, barely giving me a second to step out of its way as she took her shot straight at me.

You gotta keep in mind, there's always a draft no matter who throws a punch. But the one thing I learned that day is that the punch of a Gener is so strong, it's effectively a strong gust of wind. I nearly shit my pants as her glove sail past my face from her right hook. My skin rippled slightly with how much wind she kicked up, causing me to jump back.

"Holy shit," I muttered, focusing on my footwork as she turned to chase me down. Swing after swing, she came for me. Looking at her face, it frightened me how intensely she was focusing on landing her blows. Whoever taught her to fight did their fucking job to an unnaturally good degree. I did all I could, trying to dodge blow after blow. Feeling some glancing hits on the top of my head or arms, and being battered by the jet streams that followed in her wake. But over time, I saw her slowing down bit by bit. She may have been trained well, but putting everything in a fight drains you in ways you don't expect. Even superhumans have limits, I guess.

There was one major problem: I'm not a Gener. And since today was supposed to be my rest day, my tank was almost empty and my body was feeling the strain of a full week of training.

Looking at the clock, I saw I had less than a minute left before I could take a break. I smiled. But I soon realized I messed up, big time, as I looked back and saw Brandy's arm was already heading directly at me for a body blow. I visibly panicked, putting up my guard only to feel her giant gloved fist smack my forearms and make me airborne. Throwing me hard across the ring and into the corner, slamming into the turnbuckle wall. My mouth guard shot out of my mouth as I cried out, awkwardly falling into a heap on the mat below. The count began as I struggled to stand.

"Marco," Brandy shouted, the digital referee popping up to hold her back from running to my side. "I'm so sorry! Are you-"

"I told you," I groaned, slamming my fists down to try and psyche myself up as I pushed. "Treat this like a match!"

As I stood at the 7 count, I knew I wasn't going to last long. My arms were going numb, my back was spasming to the point of making it hard to breathe, and I was clearly wobbling. But a nod to the ref, and the spar continued.

Unfortunately, the end had arrived.

As soon as she was okayed, the titanic cutie I had trained for about two hours charged at me once again, this time swinging upwards for a textbook southpaw uppercut. I tried to slip to my right, but my back chose that exact moment to spasm and lock up, placing my directly in her punch's path. I tried to throw my arms up to guard once again, but it only tightened my back up further. Leaving a large enough gap for her glove to slide through and make contact with my jaw. The first thing I felt beyond her fist was my feet losing contact with solid ground as I was sent sailing through the air. I watched as Brandy seemed to shrink as I flew over the ropes, turning my eyes upward in time to slam into the ceiling of the Dungeon, then spinning around in time to bounce off the floor a good 25 feet away.

All I could hear was Brandy screaming my name as I fell into unconsciousness.

[UwU]

This is the good stuff right here, fantastic work so far. I’m actually engaged in the world building, which I don’t always get to say in muscle fetish writing.

[GLKnight]

Next thing I knew, I was in a tank, floating in some super heavy, 02 enriched suppression fluid as some robotic arms were twirling around me. Which meant only one thing: I was in a Medical facility being taken care of by Bio-Engineers. I felt like I had been run over by something big and heavy, and then they parked on my face. Everything hurt, everything was slow and I was a bit cranky. Slowly lifting my arm, I loudly knocked on the pane to try and get someone's attention. Thankfully, one of the Medical assistants heard me tapping and rushed into the room to check on me before rushing back out to get someone. Soon, a Medical team came in, working swiftly to extract me. As I was allowed back on solid ground, one of the assistants placed something in front of me just in time for me to start puking up the fluid in my lungs and stomach. Imagine puking up cold liquid rocks, and you'll get a good start to understanding why I try to stay out of the facilities as much as possible.

I heard the growl of the old bulldog himself as he pushed his way into the room.

"Get outta my way! I gotta take care of Marco!"

As he burst in, Coach just took one look at me and stopped as I spit out the last of the pinkish fluid.

"Hellza," Coach muttered. "You had us really worried, Marco!"

"I'll be alright,"" I huffed, reaching out for some support. Quickly lending me his shoulder, Coach carried me over to a chair.

"You don't understand! You were out for a while!"

I groaned as I sat down, rubbing my neck and shoulders.

"So I was knocked out for a couple hours! Big whoop!"

He knelt down, looking me square in the eye.

"No, Marco. You were out for two WEEKS."

I looked at Coach, trying to see if he was joking. Sadly, he was always damn good at bluffing. So I looked around the room.

"Come on, tell me the truth! It was only a couple hours... right?"

One of the assistants quietly walked over.

"Mr. Mercado," he said. "I'm sorry, but it's the truth. You've been in the Suppression Chamber for 16 days, in order to let the attonites repair your bones and tissue while your mind worked itself back to consciousness."

I fell into a panic attack at that moment, my heart hammering in my chest as my ears began to ring.

"No," I spat out, traying to stand as Coach and some assistants tried to restrain me. "No, you're kidding! You've GOT to be kidding! No jokes, okay? I got a title fight next week to-"

"Marco," Coach shouted. "The fight was supposed to be last week, but it was called off! Now calm down!"

"Last WEEK," I shouted. "I have a fight to get ready for! Let me go! I gotta train! I gotta-"

I felt a massive hand on my shoulder, forcing me back into my seat with incredible ease. Looking up, I saw Brandy looking down on me, tears in her eyes.

"Please," she begged me. "Calm down, Marco! It's going to be okay!"

I looked up at Brandy and Coach, fully on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

"Brandy," I asked. "Wh-why are you here?"

Coach kneeled down, taking up my field of vision with a look of concern.

"She never left your side, kid."

I turned towards Brandy, who looked like she was about to cry herself before looking back at Coach.

"I had a shot," I told him. "I should... Did they..."

I began to hyperventilate at that point, realizing that per the rules of the UBA, since I had to be hospitalized, I had lost my chance at winning the title that I had spent the last 3 years working towards. Failing out of higher education, finding my love of fighting, the years of training, my record of 23 fights with a win/loss record of 20 and 3 and 18 knockouts. All practically pointless as I had to start from the bottom all over again.

I felt Coach's hand on my shoulder.

"I won't dust ya," Coach told me. "It's gonna be hard work. But you're a Champion, kid. This is just a setback, understand? Just rest up and-"

Suddenly, I could feel Brandy's massive arms wrapping around me. I don't know what it was, but her incredible strength felt... warm. Comforting. Protective. Like her strength was there to shield me from the sudden darkness that was trying to claw its way into me. I fully broke down, feeling like I had enough privacy in her embrace to allow myself time to feel weak. Her tears falling on my shoulder as she cried with me.

"This is my fault," she admitted. "If I hadn't been too focused on the match, I could have held back. And you would have had that fight and-"

I wrapped my arms as much as I could around Brandy's immense torso.

"Don't," I told her. "Don't go there, alright? I don't want you to think that shit. It was an accident, plain and simple."

Coach ushered everyone out of the room to allow Brandy and to just cry and give each other support