panama Posted February 10, 2021 Share Posted February 10, 2021 Great ! 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted February 17, 2021 Share Posted February 17, 2021 Damn. I can't wait to see where this goes now. 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GymPredator Posted February 19, 2021 Share Posted February 19, 2021 On 2/17/2021 at 3:13 PM, ToolShedCub said: Damn. I can't wait to see where this goes now. John feels lost, isolated, alone. Pain that in many ways is worse than what he felt strapped to that table. So alone. Gabriel feels helpless, he doesn't know what to do. All he wants is to help John, but he doesn't know how. So alone. Except ... they are not alone. It is amazing what can happen when you find out you are not alone... 2 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted February 19, 2021 Share Posted February 19, 2021 16 hours ago, GymPredator said: John feels lost, isolated, alone. Pain that in many ways is worse than what he felt strapped to that table. So alone. Gabriel feels helpless, he doesn't know what to do. All he wants is to help John, but he doesn't know how. So alone. Except ... they are not alone. It is amazing what can happen when you find out you are not alone... I kinda feel the same at the moment. 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GymPredator Posted March 4, 2021 Share Posted March 4, 2021 Authors Note: I make reference to and include characters based on the real world of bodybuilding. Although these persons are real, they are referenced to enhance the reality of the story. Any actions described as being made by these real world persons are purely fictional. They in no way indicate any endorsement of this work. Chapter 9 - Destiny - Part 1 - A Letter for the Broken “When I’m weak, I draw strength from you / And when you’re lost, I know how to change your mood / And when I’m down, you breathe life over me / Even though we are miles apart, we are each other’s destiny.” ~ Zero 7, Destiny 27 June 2020. The morning after John was fired. 6.5 months after the accident John walked up to the door of Armbrust Pro Gym at 0500 that Saturday morning. There was no one inside. The lights were out. There was no reason anyone should be there. The gym wasn’t scheduled to open for two hours. John found where the key had been left, followed his directions, and opened the container. But even if he didn't have a key, he was so desperate to escape his collapsing life, to escape the torture, that he would have ripped the door off the hinges to get inside. He needed to feel. He needed to feel something… something horrible other than memories. He needed to feel pain. And this, this was the only place left where he might feel… punishment. *** Eight Hours Earlier John called Dylan on the way home from Colorado Springs. He didn’t really know why he called at that moment. It wasn’t a conscious decision as John was operating on little more than instinct. Instinct said he needed to workout. And there was only one way. Dylan was surprised at the late evening call from his gigantic friend, and he answered enthusiastically. “Damn man, a call from you at this time of night? What’s up?” John’s deep, resonant voice was flat, empty, as if life itself had been leached from him. “I… I need a favor Dylan. I am sorry to ask, you know I don’t like to put myself onto anyone, but I don’t know where else to turn for this.” Dylan was taken aback to hear the response. This was not the man he knew. Dylan had heard many things from the man he knew as Kyle - happiness, cockiness, anger, pride, compassion, love. He thought he had heard it all - until now. What he heard in the lifeless voice was desperation. People often said they were desperate for something without ever really meaning it, but this… this sound. Kyle’s voice had a way of making you feel things Dylan knew. And now, his voice made him feel something like death, and it truly shook him. “God man, what’s wrong?” “Doesn’t matter. Not anything you can fix anyway. It’s just been a VERY bad day-” “Gabriel?” A slight hint of love echoed just a second before subsuming again into the flatness. “No, he is fine. This is ... different. I know you would never ordinarily do this, but I thought I would try. Dylan, I REALLY need to workout in the morning. Alone. I don’t want to be seen, to be watched - you know what it is like when I’m there. I just can’t take that right now. I need some time to try and... feel, you know? Maybe take my mind off of it for a moment. I know you stick to the rules for everyone, but -- Shit, dude. I am begging you man. I can even pay you for the time. I … I ... just need some quiet.” That something Dylan heard - the resignation, the despondency, the lifelessness - he was quiet for a moment. “Big Man. I’ll do it on one condition. Talk to someone. Talk to Gabriel. I don’t care. Just don’t bottle it up. I know you well enough that you don’t like to lean on anyone. Other people lean on you. I just want you to know that when you’re ready, your friends are here for you. We take care of our own.” Dylan went on to tell John he would leave a key in a lock box, how to access it, and how to disarm the security system. Dylan made a comment that giving the security access to a federal cop probably wasn’t too dangerous. What Dylan heard back was a long breath through a painful, ironic smile. John never said a word about that response. He just thanked Dylan and hung up. John made it to his apartment without any more flashbacks. He parked the Jeep in its slot, but left everything inside it. Nothing inside those wor- former work bags seemed to matter to John anymore. If someone stole them - he just might have thanked them. He slowly walked to the door, opened it, and then locked it again when he was inside. Inside his apartment was nothing but pitch black darkness save for a faint blue electronic glow from his bedroom. John didn’t reach for a light switch. He didn’t need it. He hadn’t noticed until Gabriel had pointed it out that he never turned on lights anymore. At first he thought it was just that it was his own apartment, and he instinctively knew where everything was. But, Gabriel was right. His night vision had improved so much that lights after dark were for Gabriel, not him. Even in this level of almost darkness, he was able to see rather well. John crept softly toward his bedroom door. Gabriel had chided him for doing this - how eerie and otherworldly it was to see someone as mountainous as John move as silently as a cat stalking prey. But, as he crossed the living room, John could easily hear light, rhythmic breathing coming from the bedroom. The pitch, frequency, the slight little whine of an almost snore made by air entering and exiting nostrils at just the right hum… he knew Gabriel was asleep. Sure enough, when John reached the bedroom door, he saw Gabriel sleeping soundly on top of the bedspread. He was curled up, clutching John's pillow, sleeping with his head on it the way he so often slept curled up on John’s chest. His laptop was open on the bed, but it was in sleep mode from lack of use, the faint blue light coming from the sleeping data drives. John truly smiled for the first time in days as a tear dropped out of his eyes. He was such a cute, wonderful little man, John mused. His smart, genius, little giant of a man. John stood and watched for a long moment, taking in the scene. He tried to absorb the peaceful, angelic light glowing from the bed shining against the darkness of his fractured soul. He needed Gabriel so badly right now, but he would never dream of disturbing him. Not seeing him like this. As much as he loved Gabriel at any time of the day or night, it was when John saw him at times like these, relaxed, feeling so safe and at peace that there was no tension at all in his face, in spite of what they both knew lived inside John and what it was capable of. That he accepted all of that and still felt safe - these moments made John love him so much more. It could wait, John decided. He could take being alone a little more. He moved to his closet and grabbed a blanket. Then, in that same creepy silence of motion he was capable of, John went to the side of his bed. He lifted the laptop off the mattress, closed the lid, and placed it on the charging dock Gabriel had set up on his dresser. Then, John spread the blanket so tenderly over Gabriel’s body that a motion sensor on the bed would not have registered any change. John smiled one last time as he covered his small man against the cold, and then quietly slipped away. John walked back to the living room and sat on the couch. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out with his senses again, to calm himself, to go back to the space he had achieved listening to Gabriel shower in what seemed like another lifetime ago. His ears and mind locked onto Gabriel's rhythmic breathing. He allowed those quiet, peaceful sounds to become his universe. It was so soothing to be surrounded by his little man's breathing. John saw the scene as Gabriel lay there, cuddled against his pillow. He could smell Gabriel’s scent, and though he really wasn’t in the bed physically, in every way he could, he FELT himself take the place of that pillow. He felt Gabriel and took him into his arms. John caressed him in his mind, feeling his soft skin, the slight warmth. He inhaled Gabriel’s pheromones, as potent to him another man’s cologne. John felt his cock begin to rise - In the mindscape, John felt a small, gentle hand caress his arm. Felt small, warm lips slowly taste his biceps - Small hands, gentle lips, a tiny little innocent on his lap. “That’s better. Back to where we were before we were so rudely interrupted. Now, I call this game - ‘Feel Me Up’. You get to explore ANY part of me you want. Anything at all. All you have to do is touch...” A petite woman worshipped him, and his cock began to rise - John's eyes flashed open with a start. Guilt and anguish ripped through what was left of his heart. “Not now, not with Gabriel too.” John pleaded in his mind. John and the Predator - both of the pieces of him that were left, felt the oppressive weight of violation. Even though John had had Gabriel’s permission for what he had done, even though Gabriel had assured him that no matter what happened, he knew who was in his heart and who he loved and how he loved… That image of her felt like adultery, betrayal, disloyalty, dishonor. "No. Please," John whispered, begging his perfect sensory recall that had been twisted in to a torture device worthy of a Cenobite. "Please leave me alone. Please let me finish. Let me have just one minute without -” A tiny man, breaking, shaking, gasping, kneeling before the demon. “Please…” “Please??? Please what, cuck?” “Please … SIR.” “Please SIR what?” “Please SIR … let me finish.” “Then, do what comes natural cum slut.” A tiny not-a-man, broken, ruined, bleeding and insane, collapsed from pain, ridden with guilt as his sins came home. A tiny candle, whose neck the Demon had in his hand. Merely a couple of pounds more compression, and he would snap his neck. “Please… do it.... please do it…” John knew in that moment, it would not leave him alone. The demon would not leave. In the quiet, in the dark, the night began to replay again. And again. And again. John cried heart-rending, bitter, silent tears as his sins tore him apart. More and more and more - as the mental anguish mounted, John wanted pain, begged for pain, pleaded for some way to atone. Some something to physically feel at least some iota of what he had done to others. What else was there to do but physical punishment? There was no one who could grant forgiveness or absolution. There wasn’t even anyone to ask for it. There was no one to apologize to. No one to make restitution to. Maybe hurting himself might make up for it. Maybe the self-inflicted pain, maybe the self harm - A tiny man, broken, bleeding, unable to stand. Holding the broken body of his victim in his hand, the swollen face inches from his own- "You have done a LOT of harm.” A flash and then - A tiny man in a torn, bloody polo, with broken bones and an exploded spine, paralyzed, barely breathing, heart compressing under blood and fluid and stress looking up into his eyes, pleading for no more... The vision of broken Jeff was gone and in his place was the tiny broken body of the John Declann that existed in the accident. Then, the agony of soul began again. It replayed over and over - sometimes Jeff was in his hands or on his cock, sometimes it was the person he had been before the accident. But always, no matter who it was, the new John, the Predator, and the demon were destroying them. The remains of the Detective Declann, the tattered shards of the old John piece of his soul, were cremated to spiritual ash that night under the hellfire torture of reliving his sins, his betrayal, his failure, - all of it self-infliced. By the end of the third time John had relived Monday night completely though, it was past 4 am. Gabriel still lay oblivious in his sleep. John - John was nearing insanity. The drive to hurt himself, to feel pain was so strong in him by then, that were it not for Gabriel being so close, John would have started dismantling his home with his bare hands trying to feel pain. He knew he had to get out. He had to get somewhere to do it. Not here. He couldn’t do it with Gabriel able to see or hear or talk him out of it. Besides, the light coming from his angel repulsed him now, consumed as he was by betrayal. Gabriel's goodness only made him feel lower and lower, smaller and smaller, as if he were begging for the mountains to fall on him as the parable’s sinners begged to hide from divine justice. John bolted for the door. He ran for the only other place on earth he felt solace. The only other place where he felt peace. The only place where he could do it. *** John ripped open the now unlocked door of the gym and flipped on the lights. He needed to hurt. The feeling was so pronounced it was almost like a hypnotic imperative. He felt like his life depended on feeling something other than this nightmarishly painful replaying of pleasure. He needed his cock to stop feeling reminders of that pleasure. He needed his body to stop feeling reminders of pleasure. He needed to atone for feeling pleasure by inflicting pain on another - even if that other was a criminal who tried to kill his Angel. He needed that white hot flash of pain again… somehow. John went to the most durable squat rack the gym had, dropped his bag beside it, and ripped off his shirt. Wearing nothing but his now tight size 20s and gym shorts, he went to work. He grabbed the most stiff, highest rated bar he knew of in the gym and dropped it into the rack. John paused a moment, looking at that bar. The irony - in March he did this at wor - no, his old work gym. He struggled with a weight that he could twirl between his fingers now. How good it had felt to do 2 plates. The rush of the pump, the surge he knew now was his body being pushed to adapt. He loved that feeling. And now … now he wouldn’t even feel that. How had he ever been so naïve. As desperate as he was to feel, John was still too much a creature of ritual to vary his routine. He started methodically - 1 plate per side, then 2 plates, then 3, 4, 5 (495 lb / 225 kg total) - and each time, the machine he was cranked out ten precise, perfect reps. John didn't stop for a moment, not one second to rest between the sets. He didn't need to - his pulse never rose even one beat beyond resting, his breathing never sped up. He didn't even get a pump. He moved it all as easily as he had moved the bar when it was empty. And he felt - nothing. Two and a half times the weight he could barely move in March and now in June - without seeing it in the mirror he wouldn’t have even known it was there. John felt a pang, a hint from far away. A flash of something he loathed…. It drove him harder. 6 plates, 7 plates, 8 plates per side (765 lbs / 348 kg total) - John kept cranking out exacting, perfect sets of ten. No rest, no pause but to load on more. The bar began to feel. John felt it begin to flex downward on his traps under the nearly 800 pound load. He saw it bend on the rack as he loaded on more weight, heard it creak under the strain. But John - John felt nothing. His legs began to redden slightly as his muscles filled with blood as he completed his 80th straight rep, but not one drop of sweat, not one heavy breath. Not even a tiny scratch from the knurling pressed with such force into his bare skin. He has just moved a total of 18 tons in a couple of minutes. But - Nothing. “Why can’t I feel…” John said to himself, as somewhere in him, the pang of the rage began to rise. The rage focused not on some criminal or some wife beater but against himself. 9 plates, then 10, then 11 (1035 lbs / 470.5 kg) - John’s weights were very close to raw powerlifting world records - and not just for one rep as those men did. John was still cranking out ten perfect reps as if it were the original 135 pounds. His legs were engorging now, reddened with thick veins feeding blood to his quads and hamstrings. Under his shorts, his striated glutes pushed his perfect ass out tighter and tighter against the cloth. But, even with the growing pump, there wasn't a raised heart beat, not a drop of sweat, not even one faster breath. Not remotely the pain he was craving. What am I? 12 plates per side (1125 lbs/511.5 kg) - John moved past the raw world record weight closing in on the all time record. And, at last, he started to breathe slightly labored breaths as the bar screamed on his shoulders. John cranked out his ten perfect reps, and then took one mouth breath as his heart rate finally increased. The bar was in agony. It was never designed to endure the onslaught of this weight at the prolonged reps and speed that John was doing. But John, he felt nothing. “Why can’t I feel?” he said, fully audible now if there had been anyone around to hear it. John’s frustration at his lack of pain was growing. The knurling didn't even sting as it depressed into his raw flesh with half a ton of steel behind it. His rage began to glow hot inside him. John kept going past ten reps this time, determined to feel something, anything. Just a sting. Just an ouch. Something. Some promise that he might just hurt. 11, 12, 13, 14 reps. There was the sound of rips along the side seams of his gym shorts. His pump was becoming insane now, so much that his shorts were pulling apart, splitting up the sides. Under the tattered rips, his quads and hamstrings and glutes glowed an angry flush red. Veins from as thick as a garden hose to as fine as spider silk crossed over them, straining against his paper thin skin. Under them the striated muscle stood out like literal hams, stacked one on top of another, fighting for space to explode away from the skin and each other. They were so hard now a metal baseball bat slammed against those quads at full force would have just bounced off, hurting the striker with the recoil rather than John feeling any pain. Any other human would have been broken by that point, in screaming agony at the force needed to even move as the bar crushed them to the ground - 15, 16, 17 reps - but John felt nothing as he was stoically silent. He remembered pain when he was lifting weights, straining under what felt like immense loads. He remembered screaming under what seemed like a massive weight benching when the new him first met Heath in the gym. But now he felt… nothing. John’s frustration erupted as he hit 20 reps. He racked the bar with authority, making the entire cage shake to the point of nearly collapsing under the force of over half a ton slamming down. John stepped back, rolled up his fists, and blasted them into his quads full force - over and over and over. There was enough power behind each of those blows to shatter bone in an instant. A human - he would have snapped their femur in half. Blow after blow would have turned them into goo. But even with his own overwhelming strength behind those blows - he felt nothing. The rage began to twist his face as he said again, almost at a yell, “Why <BANG> Can’t <BANG> I <BANG> Feel <BANG>?” The Predator shot forward, the rage taking control. The rage was now determined to hurt the god in the mirror. He threw on even more plates. 13, 14, 15 plates (1395 lbs / 634 kg) - The Predator was now beyond any weight any human had ever squatted before. The bar was reaching its limits of tolerance, obscenely bending under the force and the assault of John being able to raise and lower the bar so quickly and completely over and over. The Predator compensated for the flexing of the bar under the load of the plates by flexing into it himself. He flexed his traps and delts into the bar, literally bending the bar back toward true with his own power, taking even more of the load fully onto himself. He still cranked reps without a hint of even a sting of pain, though he was breathing harder now and he at last had broken a fine sheen of sweat across his entire body. 16 plates per side (1485 lbs / 675 kg) - the John part of him was afraid to add anymore to the bar since it was near cracking. But, he was determined to hurt. So the Predator strapped the weighted dip belt around his waist for even more tonnage to move. 2-Plates on the belt, then 4, then 6 (1755 lbs / 798kg total) - Neither John nor the Predator had ever come close to pushing himself like this before. He either had strapped or laying on his body far more weight than all but the most elite humans could even leg press on a machine. But the weight was on a machine, a living machine. He could no longer do ten rep sets - but he forced out set after set with sometimes 8 reps or 6 or 5. He just kept going, no matter what. Forcing out more and more, determined to hurt himself. Determined to feel. The hundreds of previous reps merged together with his now squatting almost a literal ton of steel each rep. It changed him into something no one had seen before. His lungs were heaving between sets. He was pouring sweat, drops cascading down the sharp cuts between his muscles like rivers off his legs. His upper body looked like he had just gotten out of a shower. Beads gathered then dripped off his nipples, while others flowed and drained down the deep divisions between his abs. Every millimeter of his body was shining, pumped red, muscles everywhere exploding. A massive network of veins covered him head to toe. But everything, absolutely everything just seemed to elevate his looks that much more. Nothing obscene, nothing out of place, not a single misplaced body hair. Almost anyone who saw it would have cum on the spot. A perfect sexual titan with power beyond imagination, and he was using it. The bar was permanently warped now under the onslaught. A mere mortal would have been gripped simultaneously by terror and lust. BUT - John -- John felt nothing. The Predator felt nothing. Weight that would literally crush any other human - a weight that would rupture their knees, bend them backwards, and crush their ribs into their internal organs as it fell on top of them - and he felt not even the ouch of a skin scrape. The rage began to flow even more as John ripped the weight belt off and allowed it to crash onto the floor between his legs. His incredibly sexy face transformed into something more like an incubus as the demon emerged. What small spark of life in his eyes drained away. The once vibrant light brown now looked like so much scorched grass under a blistering sun. Faded, hollow, dead. He snarled viciously at himself - quietly, icily, murderously - the sound that went beyond fiery rage into cold emotionless fury, “WHY. THE. FUCK. WON’T. YOU. FEEL?” As he said the last word, a new sound registered to the Predator. Behind him. He felt an aura of quiet shock. A reflexive gasp of astonishment and terror. Non-verbal cues of something to consume. Prey. The Predator turned toward the sound - it was coming from the door. He stood looking slightly down, arms pressed out from his sides by his monster lats, sweat falling, lungs burning oxygen for ten people, looking like he was ready to dismember anything he saw. And what he saw standing there was-- a young, fit, early twenty-something male bodybuilder. John and the Predator recognized him, but they had never really spoken with him beyond a hello. He was on staff, the person getting ready to open the gym for the morning. While something akin to submissive human prey registered to the Predator, what registered to the young man looking back at the giant before him was… something simultaneously beautiful but terrifying. A sexually perfect man, so perfect that the straight young man helplessly felt electricity shoot through his groin and attraction butterflies jumping behind his abs. At the same moment, the giant was also an inhuman organic machine straight out of a comic drawing of Bane. The kid tried to say something, but all that came out was a barely audible squeak - as his mind’s eye conjured the giant snapping his spine across his outstretched quad exactly like Bane had done to Bruce Wayne. The Predator began to move with slow, stalking strides straight toward the much shorter, smaller man. He saw stark terror emerge on the young bodybuilder’s face, his flight response gearing up to run, as even though the titan’s steps were methodical, they were so large that he crossed the intervening space far faster than the kid thought possible. The kid began to turn, but John’s hollow, empty, lifeless brown eyes locked onto the college-age man’s, and he froze in place like a fawn before a wolf. Those hypnotic, dead, lifeless eyes were like looking at a great white shark - something so hollow that they would suck the life force out of him if he looked too long; yet he could not move or avert his gaze. Something deep inside his reptilian brain wouldn’t let him move. The Predator stopped within inches of the young man, looming over him like an angel of death, and growled two words that made the young man feel as if he had heard the voice from atop Sinai - “Don’t interfere.” The Predator paused the tiniest moment, just long enough that a drop of sweat fell from his chin onto the young man’s head. The young bodybuilder had never felt so miniscule in his life. He braced to feel a monumental blow from those giant hands… but it never came. Instead, the Predator spun on a heel and went back to the rack. He started ripping plates off the bar, stacking them in piles 10 high in the floor. Then, he grabbed the now slightly warped bar in one hand. The Predator again walked toward the young man at the door, but this time the juggernaut passed the still frozen young man as if he were not even there. Instead, he turned and went to the garage loading doors that separated the gym from the outdoor strong man training area. The dock doors were still fully lowered and locked. All it would have taken was the flip of a wall switch to raise them. But the Predator wasn’t thinking about that. He was fixated on feeling pain, and there was some small chance that this thing could make him feel. The Predator plunged his left hand between the bottom of the door and the concrete floor, making the sheet metal groan as it rose against a force it wasn’t designed to take. He closed his hand around the bottom of the door, clamped, and started to lift up. John felt the door bottom warp and conform to his hand as the metal lock bands tried to resist the force. They resisted - and failed as they bent, and slid out of their lock spaces. The door began to whine as it fought a hopeless war of resistance against the titan. The lock braces finally bent fully out of place, and the door rose. When it was up to his chin, and again he felt nothing, the Predator dumped in more power and launched it up and behind. The door flew on its rails into the ceiling as surely as if the motors had put it there, and he slowly walked outside. In the meantime, the young bodybuilder had finally snapped out of his stupor and ran to the front desk phone. He rapidly dialed a number. “Dylan? Holy SHIT, Dylan. Someone is here.” “Ya, it is that REALLY big guy. But Dylan, he almost ripped the garage door to the back off the wall. Oh my God - he is carrying stacks of 45’s outside - ten of them at once. FUCK! When I got here he was squatting more than anyone I have ever seen, even on a video and SHIT, I think if I said a word to him he would have killed me … Something is really wrong with him Dylan. Should I call the police?” “No. All he said was, ‘Don’t interfere.’” “OK. I’ll wait. But I am scared man. I’ve never seen anything like that. Please hurry.” *** The Predator casually flipped the giant farm tires out of the way as if the hundreds of pounds of rubber were feathers. Tossed aside, the now open space gave him a long walkway across the back of the gym. Standing still did nothing to make him feel, he reasoned. Maybe he needed to move with the weight to hurt. He started loading the weight he had brought out onto the bar - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 plates onto each side of the bar. (945 pounds / 430 kg). Satisfied that this MIGHT work, the Predator stood over the bar and grasped it in his hands. He knew the setup was never meant for what he was about to do with it, so again, he dumped power into the bar, causing it to flex rigidly backwards into true again. A Pause… One breath - and the Predator cleaned the bar straight into the air. Another breath - and he lofted half a ton over his head. A tiny man, clutched tightly in his fist, lofting into the air… “Fucking little shit. You REALLY want to test me?” The not-a-man moves higher and higher until it is overhead. The small life feels like nothing as he holds it 9 feet in the air. “DO YOU REALLY WANT TO TEST ME TWERP?” “No. No. Not here too.” The Predator growled as he lowered the bar onto his shoulders. He had just blown out the world record for clean and jerk by almost four hundred pounds - and he barely noticed it. John spread his arms like anacondas around either side of the bar, looping his elbow and forearm around the sides and bottom of the bar to balance it, and his hands grasped the long stack of plates on either side, holding them against the sleeve collars. He tested the balance for a moment, and then he began. One step forward, lowering his body down to the ground, standing up again explosively, another step, down, up. John began to walking lunge. As it did in the squat rack, his body shifted from tanned to blood red. He started to breathe harder, inhaling with each step like a jet engine. Sweat again began to fall to the ground in the late June morning sun as his muscles exploded harder - but he felt no pain. John started to walk faster. Step, step, step. He turned around at the end of the walking way and began to walk back even faster - step, step, step, step, step. “WHY CAN’T I FEEL?” he yelled into the bluing sky. John walked faster and faster and faster. He felt the bar bending even more than before, creaking, straining to near breaking under the bouncing stress of his steps. John rolled his massive arms up, flexing, forcing the center of the bar deeper into his inches thick trap shelf while bending the plates up. Muscling the bar back into a straight, normal orientation. Multiple tons of stress dumped into his knees with every step - and John felt nothing. “WHY CAN'T I FEEL?” By then, John was lunging at his normal, walking pace. Step, step, step - without any break in his form or stride. He looked like a vengeful god treading the earth underfoot walking back and forth feeling no pain. He longed to feel the pain he felt in that flash as his fist hit the asphalt. To feel something to atone, to feel something of what he had made them feel. This should make him feel - slam, slam, slam. He began to stomp in his forward steps, driving his legs into the earth. He felt the concrete under him grind as each step converted some of the man-made stone into dusty marks the size of his footprints. But there was still nothing. John sped up again, now at the speed a normal person would need to jog beside him to keep up with him. A tiny man, crushed, barely able to breathe, wrapped in his arms. A nothing held fast, poised over his cock. “Be careful what you wish for, cock slut. Can You Handle it? I. Don’t. Think. So.” A surge of pleasure roared from his cock. The rage finally exploded uncontrolled as the flashback came. “LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!!” John and the Predator roared together as loud as they both could. His voice sounded clearly across all of Clear Creek Park. A primal scream that could be heard by people over the traffic noise on the I-70 freeway five blocks away. As he screamed he launched the weight across his shoulders, throwing it up and away from him in frustration. The flexing bar sailed through the air - 945 pounds flying yard after yard after yard the weights on either end moving up and down like wings flapping, until it finally crashed into the ground. The booming sound was akin to a car hitting a concrete wall. The force of impact was so large that several of the plates cracked in half, falling off the bar and into pieces surrounding the setup. The bar itself had all that it could take. The sudden jolt of the crash after so much flexing stress - several high pitched pings sounded as it cracked in three places. “Kyle!?!” The Predator looked suddenly around to see Dylan surrounded by at least a dozen early gym goers of all shapes and sizes. The people had come running at the shout and the sound of the massive crash, but then they slowed to a stop as they saw the scene. Seeing John standing there, shirtless and in ripped shorts, drenched in sweat, fists clenching menacingly, breathing hard, the barely contained rage of an angry god. They all knew - John hadn’t been hurt, he hadn’t yelled in pain; he had THROWN the bar in anger. THROWN it. They looked on in slack-jawed horror - each one was absolutely certain that the behemoth in front of them could destroy every last one of them in moments. The Predator read the emotional states and thoughts instantly, saw all of them wanting to run for their lives, but too entranced by him to do it. Just like the little boy employee. So small, so insignificant, so noth… As he was scanning them all, John’s eyes latched onto Dylan. He saw the shaved bald man’s face furrowed in fear, but it was not fear of him. He instead saw - fear for him. The look, the concern, the glimmer of care snapped through the rage. The Predator sank to the ground, sitting with his arms draped over his knees as if he had been winded by an all-out exertion, but - everyone there knew he hadn’t. John returned. He was staring motionless at the ground. Dylan stepped forward and slowly waved everyone back into the gym. Once they were gone, he approached John and knelt at his side. His voice was tentative, “Big Man, are you ok? What’s so wrong?” John looked up, a mist of tears welling in his eyes. A flash of a voice from his lap, “Welcome home, Jeff.” In a moment of perceived weakness he would have never shown before, John whispered to Dylan in agony, “Why can’t I feel? Why won’t it leave me alone? Why won’t it set me free?” Dylan looked up and down at the man who was so pumped he looked to be every bit of four times his size. So giant, but so… empty. Those brown eyes were so empty. Dylan felt the urge to run for his phone to call Gabriel, but something in him knew he should not leave John’s side. What he had just seen… he wasn’t sure that anything could hurt the hulking beast of a man beside him, but something nagged at him that said maybe he had been trying to. Dylan settled down on his haunches next to John and just sat there with him, waiting. Slowly over several minutes, as the raging red pump slowly faded toward a still mind-blowing but more human shade of skin, the rage also faded. Still hauntingly lifeless, but more clear thinking, John looked up and saw the wreckage of the bar and weights across the back lot. John looked over at the gym owner. “I’m sorry Dylan. It’s just…” John stopped himself. “What do I owe you for that?” Dylan’s face of concern had not wavered for an instant as he raised his hand and put it on John’s granite hard, round shoulder. “Man, we can talk about that later. Right now, I am way more worried about you than I am a few old plates. Please man, what’s so wrong?” John shook his head absently, the last two weeks flashing before him in memory rather than reliving the worst moments. “What isn’t wrong man…” his voice softened and trailed off, “What isn’t wrong.” John closed his eyes and breathed a moment, “Please Dylan, tell me what I owe you for that. I can’t stay here and I can’t leave without taking care of the damages I’ve made to you.” John looked at him pleading, “Let me take care of at least this one thing I have done wrong, OK?” Dylan nodded. To know that John was OK, he would have eaten the cost of ten of those set ups. But just to satisfy, he googled the cost of the competition calibrated bumper plates and showed it to John. John nodded and stood. He looked down at his small friend, “Don’t tell anyone I am this fucked up...” Dylan looked up, “Not a word, man. Just - promise me you’ll talk to Gabriel at least, OK?” John nodded affirmatively and walked inside, the smaller bodybuilder barely keeping a pace beside him. They went together into the leg room. John gathered his things that had been left on the floor and then moved to the door. Every person in the entire gym stood back - reverential, terrified, but in awe of the man who walked before them. John was able to maintain control as he drove to the closest ATM. He called his bank, authorized the cash withdrawal of $3,500 to cover the equipment he had damaged, and returned with the money to the gym front desk. Dylan took the envelope of cash, and patted John one last time. Dylan knew he would send that envelope to Gabriel as soon as he could. What he didn’t know as he watched the titan walk to his Jeep was that the man he knew as Kyle would never walk through those gym doors again. *** Gabriel heard the apartment front door open. He smiled broadly to himself as he started walking from the kitchen with his second cup of tea. It was early for John to be back from the gym on a Saturday, but he welcomed it. It had been a long, trying week, and he looked forward to helping John unwind. Gabriel turned the corner of the kitchen to see John drop his bag and close the door. “Hi Handsome, wh--” Gabriel stopped in mid-breath as John leaned back against the door and slowly, without any resistance to gravity at all, slid down into a heap on the floor. Gabriel dropped his tea and ran straight for his soulmate. “John!?! John, what’s wrong?” John looked up and burst into racking sobs, “Gabriel, why can’t I feel?” 1 July 2020. 5 Days after John lost his job. 6.75 months after the accident The clock spun past 3 am. The hour of the wolf was here again, and Gabriel was awake to greet it as he had been for the last four nights. And, in spite of another night watching the wolf as she came in, he was somewhat glad. At least John was finally asleep. It was the first time since the day John had been fired that his eyes were not wide open. Exhaustion had, at last, finally collected him - that and a prescription something Gabriel had slipped into his last meal. Gabriel was loathed to do it, but he felt he had no choice. The man he loved, the man he wished he could spend eternity with, was gone, and there was no hope of getting some piece of him back without some sleep. John was sprawled across the bed in the way someone can only achieve when the need to sleep is so deep that the body itself wants to sleep as far away from every other piece as possible. Gabriel was actually a bit surprised that there was any space on the bed for him at all. There was scant space for John, his legs hanging off the end of the cal king bed. But, John always made room for him in everything, and tonight was no different. John’s head was across Gabriel’s chest, the size difference between his skull and Gabriel’s pecs was so great that both sides of his chest were close to being obliterated by John. He clutched Gabriel to him as if he were an overstuffed teddy bear in the arms of a small boy - even in his unconscious state, he held Gabriel like a talisman against the monsters in the dark. Gabriel’s tiny right hand was slowly stroking John’s cheek, as he had been doing for hour after hour, praying that John wasn’t dreaming of what had happened. Gabriel’s eyes were closed, tears slowly rolling down his cheeks as he wept. In this quiet and dark, it was his first time since Saturday morning that Gabriel had a chance to start to release his own emotions. Gabriel’s heart crushed when John collapsed on the floor, his giant back slowly sliding down against that closed door. Gabriel sat next to him, holding him, as John cried and cried and cried. For almost 24 hours, they never left that spot against the door as John told him everything that he had done - every detail, every whit, every thought - and the fallout from it all. He was there, holding John through what he thought for days had been random trembling. Trembling that he realized now was John having actual full sensory flashbacks. John was actually reliving those moments over and over again and it was killing him. After that Gabriel would not leave his side - not for one instant. At first Gabriel wanted to get John to the lab, run tests, see if there was some physiological reason that he was hallucinating. But John told him he wasn’t. That he could feel it if something was medically wrong. That wasn’t it at all. So, Gabriel walked with John hand in hand through every flashback, every confession of some new aspect of what he had done, facing them together. The little giant had talked him through every moment, reminding him he wasn’t alone. And with each word, Gabriel took every ounce of pain he could from John and into himself. But his own emotions? He could not allow John to see even more pain, his own pain. He couldn’t allow what was left of the broken man of his dreams to take even more recriminations because of Gabriel’s feelings. Because John would. He knew John would blame himself, and Gabriel couldn’t conscience adding any more to his lover’s pain. Gabriel lay there - breathing exactly in time with John. Gabriel reached out, trying to sync himself the way John said he could. That strange, otherworldly space where John could just “know” what Gabriel was feeling and doing - Gabriel did his very best to do it now to John. He could not bear to add to John’s guilt… when the fault was his own. All of it was his fault, not John’s. Gabriel couldn’t believe he had done it. He had all the good intentions in the world when he told John to go to Jeff Heath and do what he had planned. John had warned him, tried to tell him what would happen. John was searching for a kindred intellect to tell him not to - but Gabriel hadn’t listened. All he wanted to do is help the man who owned his heart and soul. But everything he had ever done seemed to just add to the beautiful man’s pain. He had created this new John Declann in the first place - John would not even be here if he hadn’t insisted on checking on that damned experiment that morning when that guy tried to mug him. He wouldn’t be here in this state if he had been more thorough in truly knowing and understanding what his treatment would unleash once John had been paralyzed. He wouldn’t be here broken and empty if he had tried to find some sort of way of way of helping John through this change - if John had just had someone to talk to. John tried - oh how he tried, but Gabriel - HE wouldn’t be here if he had actually listened to John. Gabriel felt sick every time it occurred to him. He had heard plenty, but he had never actually listened. He thought he had, but he hadn’t. No, he had just given lip service. And now, looking back, now that he was finally listening, it was all there. John had been crying out for a lifeline for months in his own way. Gabriel saw it now, over and over - in looks, in words, in comments big and small. John was so tortured, so afraid, so alone. Even in the moments when John seemed happy, seemed in his element, seemed at the height of his new life with his friends at the show, it was still there. John had cried out for so long, and Gabriel had ignored it. He had been too wrapped up in himself. Too wrapped up in thinking no one like the Greek god next to him could ever need help from anyone. How could anyone so massive and strong, who was becoming what every boy wished to be in their superhero daydreams, how could he need help from anyone? So massive and strong… but, a passage from his old Sunday School lessons came to mind. “And if a house be divided against itself, it cannot stand.” Gabriel looked down and gently kissed the top of his beautiful man’s head and knew he had made just that. He had crafted John into a house divided against himself. He still wanted to make sure, but - he knew deep down John was right. What John had done was so at odds with the man he had been, it was tearing him apart. That was what the flashbacks were - his lover divided against himself. The old John and the new had ripped each other to pieces. And Gabriel - “FUCK ME,” he thought with as much scorn as John had spat at himself a few days ago - had been the one to set them at war with each other. All Gabriel wanted to do right now was to kiss and hold and caress and care for John. To block it all out, to make it all go away. He wanted to put right what he had done wrong. John was torturing himself, looking to put right what he had done. But Gabriel knew John could not put it right because it was not his mistake to fix. Every mistake along the way had been his. Gabriel had been the one to feel out of control. But that was a lie. He could see now, he had always been the one in control. And he had crushed the soul of his man because when he needed him, Gabriel had abandoned him. Gabriel had tried to engage John romantically, to make love to him. To try and heal a bit in that way, but John couldn’t. Almost as soon as he tried, the flashbacks would start, and John would recoil, terrified that he would hurt Gabriel the way he had hurt those others. Gabriel was absolutely sure that the one thing John would end his life over without question was if John ever physically hurt him. He thought back to that moment at the Sheriff’s Office when John first asked him out. John made him promise that the answer to the question he would ask was yes. “Remember, I already said yes.” Gabriel remembered those words as if they were spoken yesterday. And yet, now, when the chips were down, Gabriel hadn’t been with John when he needed him most. He had broken his promise. He said he would be there, but he hadn’t been. Gabriel cried and cried. He had done it all. It was his mistake to fix, but he had no idea how to do it. He wanted to help John, but he was at a loss of where to even begin. One thing was certain of though. Every day Gabriel could not find a way to at least begin, every day John went without some glimmer of hope, his depression sank deeper and deeper. John was going down the rabbit hole. Unless he could figure out a real way to help John, Gabriel felt from balls to bones, that John would disappear and that the man who meant more to him than the universe would never come back. Gabriel didn’t know what to do, but he promised John one thing as he lay there asleep. He had already said yes. He was going to make good on that promise. He had messed up once. He would never leave John alone again. Wherever he was, whatever he needed, when that day came when John asked him again if he were ready to go, Gabriel knew his answer. He would never let John down again. He had already said yes. Gabriel clutched himself as deeply as he could in John’s arms - the only place he had that felt like home. *** “John, are you sure you will be OK until I get back?” Gabriel asked. John walked slowly with his coffee to his little man. He kissed him on top of the head, and sighed, “Yes, babe. I can last that long.” Gabriel took John’s hand and looked up with such loving concern John choked up immediately. “I PROMISE, Angel.” John said, his deep voice, cracking as he swallowed hard. “My promise is all I have left besides you.” Gabriel nodded and stood on his tiptoes. John understood the signal reflexively and bent his knees, bringing his cheek down to Gabriel who kissed it. “I just need to grab some clothes, make sure everything is OK. I left the dedicated phone there, and I need to get it too, just in case Jack calls. John, are you sure I can’t talk to him about the flash--” “Please Angel, not yet. I know you want to make sure this isn’t something wrong with the new neurons making me relive it. But, you know it’s not--” John sighed, “We can talk to Jack, Angel. Just not yet, OK?” “Of course, John. Of course. I’ll be back in an hour.” Gabriel kissed John again and left for his Volvo in the parking lot. He sat in his car, cranked it, and docked his iPhone. Almost as soon as the sync was complete, up flashed a text from Dylan Armburst. Dylan Armbrust: Hello Gabriel. How is he? Gabriel sighed as he pulled onto the highway, doing his reflexive doubletake to make sure he was driving on the American side of the road. Stupid Americans. Can’t measure properly, can’t drive properly, he laughed. “Siri, send a text to Dylan Armbrust.” Gabriel paused for a moment until he heard the speak signal. Gabriel York: No real change. When he allows me to tell you what happened, I will. I can assure you though, as far as I can determine, there is nothing medically wrong. Thank you for being a friend to him. Gabriel transmitted the message and thought as he went down the road. John seemed even more crushed when he said he couldn’t workout and what had happened when the rage spilled out at the gym. It was just one more vital piece of his lover ripped away. There had to be some way for him to get it back. Gabriel just wondered how. John was right, though. There was no way in hell he could go back to that gym and not be the only focus of attention in the entire place. What John had done was insane, and everyone knew it. Gabriel was sure it was already “legend” - the big man they all knew letting loose with world record power. And, after having pushed so hard.... Gabriel knew it was a simple matter of the science - John would outgrow everything in his gym. And the spectacle of that - John was in no condition right now to be watched like that. Gabriel knew this was going to come sooner or later. He just didn’t imagine it would come this soon. He didn’t know a lot about bodybuilding and gyms beyond what coincided with his work and what he had learned from John and his friends. But at least from a medical point of view - John was right. There was no way any normal person could survive what he did without serious, perhaps fatal injuries. His joints should be badly damaged at least, especially his shoulders. But he had felt not a single sting of pain and as far as Gabriel could tell through manipulation and physical exams, nothing was wrong anywhere else. But, the evidence that he had done it was there in a whole other way. Gabriel could already see it, though he couldn’t say a word about it to John. John was changing again. He was already visibly taller, his legs were thicker to the touch, obviously bigger in his lounge wear. Pushing himself in anger like that seemed to have accelerated the adaptation process even more - so much so that it was noticeable in only 4 days. The scientist in Gabriel wanted to measure, and before this, John would have leapt at the chance. But not now. Gabriel’s musings were interrupted by another phone call. He glanced at the caller ID, and smiled. He welcomed the momentary distraction for something nice. “Hello,” he answered. “Good Morning, Doctor York. I was just reaching out to check in with you on progress. We should have it available for you in two weeks if the schedule holds and there are no unforeseen issues.” “That is excellent. He could use some good news. As far as payment is concerned-” “Everything has cleared from England. I will have a zero invoice for you when it arrives. If there is anything we can do for you in the meantime, please feel free to call me directly.” “Thank you. I will. Have a good morning. Good bye.” Gabriel pulled into his apartment and entered the security code to enter the parking area. He had not come to a complete stop in his parking space, when a strange tone erupted from his phone. At first, he was bemused. His phone had not had this much activity in days, and now it was all pouring out at once. But, within seconds, it hit Gabriel - he had never heard this sound from his phone. Ever. He looked down to see a text message alert. But the phone number it was associated with - it was his own. Gabriel became nervous as he picked up the iPhone and facial recognition activated the interface. Gabriel’s mood changed in an instant. What he read made his blood run cold. Gabriel York: Hello Gabriel and welcome home. Check your mailbox. You are not alone. Gabriel’s panic was instant. Someone was watching him. Someone knew he was at home the moment he got there. Someone knew he was alone. He locked himself in his car and in terror, he reacted instinctively. He dialed for John. *** John held his hand against the door briefly, touching the last spot where Gabriel had touched. He listened to the faint sound of the quiet volvo engine cranking. His hand felt the remains of Gabriel’s body heat melt away from the door into the background. He sighed, lingering long after the car sounded faded away even from his ears. John swallowed hard, and turned back into his home. He walked toward his bedroom, toward the shower - at least washing himself would take a few minutes. Perhaps enough of a distraction so that the flashbacks might not come. The thought was instantly greeted with a memory of washing Jeff in the tub, removing the evidence, and sending it down the drain. But it was just a memory. John wasn’t reliving it. Not yet. He felt the guilt begin to stir though. Felt the rumble of it in his heart… John came back to reality and realized he had actually stopped mid-stride when just the memory came. John started to again fight what he knew was a futile effort to keep the flashbacks at bay. He moved first to his bed and crashed on it, making the bed moan in protest. Maybe there really was something wrong with him physiologically. Maybe something had gone haywire. But, John dismissed the thought just as fast. He could just “feel” there was nothing physically wrong. Instinctually, he just knew his body wouldn’t allow itself to become broken in that way. Broken in any way. And even if it had, it would have adapted and healed it away fast - but it hadn’t. No, John knew what was causing this. The guilt and despair grew again. It wouldn’t be long now before they came again… There was a loud ping from John’s cell. John’s first inclination was to ignore it as he had every message and call that had come to his phone since he had gotten home Saturday morning. But, a fraction of a second later John realized - he had never heard that alert tone before. Ever. John knew his phone intimately. He had had to examine it inside and out, over and over during his months away from Denver. That sound was not even in the library of possible tones. He reached out to his android phone and looked down. Among the myriad of unread texts was a name that stood out instantly - John Declann. “What the fuck?” John said to himself as he opened that text. John Declann: Hello John. Check your mailbox. Even though Gabriel isn’t there right now - You are not alone. You are never alone. The impending flashback abated as John’s mind began to process the implications of what he had just read. Someone knew who he was. Someone knew who Gabriel was. Someone was watching him. Someone was watching Gabriel. Someone knew he was alone. Someone knew - Gabriel was alone. Someone who could spoof his own phone number for a text. Someone who-- John watched as the text suddenly scrambled and erased itself. OH FUCK, GABRIEL. John’s defenses and senses went up to maximum in milliseconds. Detective Declann may have been gone now, but the training, the instincts, the skills were all still in his brain. And both he and the Predator knew how to use them. Gabriel -- Time slowed to a stop. Half stripped - down to gym shorts and barefoot for the shower - John launched himself for the door and his Jeep. He reached out and latched onto his keys without a wasted movement, ripped the door open, and -- a song. Godsmack - Under Your Scars. Gabriel’s ringtone. John instantly answered, “Gabriel--” The panic in his voice was real, and it was precisely matched by what he heard from Gabriel. “John, Oh my God, John. I just got a text message. Someone is watching me. Someone knows I am alone. Shit, John. Now the text is gone. Oh God, John I am scared.” John’s personality switched instantly. “Angel, where are you?” John/Predator had emerged from the deepening, passionately passionless, resonant voice. “I am in my car, doors locked. I haven’t gone into my apartment. It said check my mailbox John. I-” John/Predator interrupted. “Gabriel, are you sure? Check your mailbox. Precisely?” “Yes, John. Check your mailbox. What is it?” “Stay calm Angel. But, I just got the same text message, the same way. Did it say, ‘You are not alone?’” “Yes, John. Oh, what the fuck?!?” John/Predator was ready to rip the world apart hearing that terror in his man’s voice. “Stay where you are. Crank the car and be ready to leave, but don’t leave. Watch for anyone and I mean anyone, and if you see someone start toward you, run OK? Run for your lab. At least it is safe with the soldiers there. I am coming as fast as I can get there.” There was another ping on John’s phone. That same mysterious sound. “Hold on, Angel.” John/Predator said as calmly as he could. He pulled the phone away from his ear and looked down. What he read sent his senses into overdrive. John Declann: Check your mailbox before you leave. Gabriel is safe, don’t be afraid. - You are not alone. FUCK! John/Predator’s reflexes moved faster than they ever had before. He opened his ears to every sound, no matter how small or remote. He scanned the entire area - looking for someone close enough to observe him. He took in every sight, smell, sound, everything. Where the fuck are they? But there was nothing. No one out of the ordinary, no thing out of the ordinary. Nothing at all. Not an unfamiliar vehicle, no one but his neighbors leaving for work. Nothing. Who the fuck is this? John/Predator’s mind ran thousands of scenarios in microseconds. This was obviously coordinated. Either some coordinated group or someone watching through technology in real time. If someone was watching Gabriel this closely, it was already too late. He couldn't make it in time. And they were obviously watching him closely. He needed more information. Only one avenue open for that. And it was far safer for him to do it than for Gabriel. He decided to follow his instructions. John/Predator’s legs exploded as he sprinted at full speed toward the brick enclosure where his apartment complex mailboxes were. He broke the 100 meter world record as his legs forced speed like even he had never done. He crossed the football pitch worth of space in seven seconds, and stopped at the small wall of doors. He didn’t take the time to go for his mailbox key. He would pay for the damage later. John/Predator’s fist flew forward. The thin aluminum door covering his mailbox was like so much cooking foil as it warped around his knuckles. He ripped the collapsed door off the hinges and tossed it dozens of meters behind him with a flick. Inside the box was - an A-10 5x10 manila colored envelope. John/Predator pulled it out and looked at it. No address, no postage, nothing at all except what was printed in a meticulous block script worthy of a professional architect. John Declann John/Predator ran back to his Jeep. The entire transaction had taken less than twenty seconds. He pulled the phone to his ear, “I am on my way. Stay where you are. Stay on the line.” “Hurry John, please.” The fear in his man’s voice spurred John/Predator into a space he had never known. He plunged into rush hour traffic with a calculated abandon. He pushed the Jeep to 100 miles per hour, but was threading spaces between vehicles so precisely that even if there were only a couple of centimeters clearance between him and another vehicle, he navigated it. Perfectly. He ran for his man. *** “I am pulling in now Angel. Just a few more seconds.” John/Predator said as he came to a stop. His fingers danced over the keypad, entering the security opening sequence. It took every ounce of will that John/Predator had to wait on the gate to open before he floored the gas pedal, very nearly plowing it through the floorboard. In seconds he whipped into the spot next to Gabriel and burst out of the driver’s door. Simultaneously, Gabriel unlocked his door and jumped out. He leapt for John’s shirtless pecs and arms, and John/Predator caught him, hugging him tightly. “Oh God, John. Oh God.” Gabriel said. He was shaking in John’s embrace. “Shhhhhh... Angel. Shhhhhhh. I’m here.” Both men felt some of the tension melt out of their bodies as they felt each other’s closeness again. The Predator slid somewhat into the background as Gabriel stopped shaking. They stood that way suspended in time, John hugging Gabriel, holding him, but also carefully shielding him. Gabriel never noticed with the subtlety of it, but John held him such that if there were someone or something out there - anything they may have done would have to pass through him before it ever reached Gabriel. Finally, after what seemed like days, John felt more confident in the text message line, that perhaps Gabriel was not in danger. He looked into Gabriel’s face. “OK. Angel, where is your mailbox?” “What? Why? I have never even opened it. I get mail at the University.” Gabriel asked. John put Gabriel down and walked him protectively to the passenger seat of the Jeep. The envelope was there. “That was in my mailbox, and unless I miss my guess…” Gabriel picked up the envelope and looked at it. It was not lost on him either - what this meant. He collected the envelope and Gabriel directed John toward the mail building. “It’s over here John.” Gabriel’s complex mailbox was indoors, totally inaccessible except with a key to the individual post box or a postal worker key to enter into the mail sorting room behind the wall of boxes. Gabriel placed his key in and turned the tumblers. Inside - the same exact envelope he held in his hand, except inscribed on it in the same script was Doctor Gabriel York Gabriel looked up at John, “John, what does this mean? Who-” “I don’t know Angel. But I promise you I will find out.” John reached out and took Gabriel’s hand. “In the meantime, let’s get somewhere less exposed. We can talk in your apartment, once I know it is safe. When we get back, get in your car. Lock the doors again. I will search the apartment and make sure it is clear. Then, I’ll come and get you.” John looked down with a fire Gabriel had not seen in months. The blank, empty, soulless brown that had been there for a week was gone. “I made you a promise Angel. No one will ever touch you. Never.” The two men walked hand in hand out of the mail building back toward Gabriel’s apartment. John’s phone released one last strange alert - John Declann: He was right about you. We are right about you. Until next time, take care of yourselves... You are NEVER alone. 11 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
DawnFire98 Posted March 4, 2021 Share Posted March 4, 2021 It hurts so much to see John Declann so torn up in this chapter. At some point I just wanted to reach through the screen and hug the big guy. All brought to life by your wonder- and insightful writing, @GymPredator. But the ending, oh my god, the ending! Now I want to know: who is this person foolish enough to threaten John/the Predator? 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
ToolShedCub Posted March 4, 2021 Share Posted March 4, 2021 WOW! I am blown away!!! 1 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
GymPredator Posted March 5, 2021 Share Posted March 5, 2021 Wanted to include this for a bit of visual. This is the height and size difference between John and Gabriel at this point - July 1 2020 - the day they get the letters. John is now 7'3" (2.21m) tall and Gabriel is between 5'7" and 5'8" tall. (1.73m) 7 3 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
dredlifter Posted March 5, 2021 Share Posted March 5, 2021 Amazing stuff, as always. That workout scene was simultaneous heartwrenching and scorching hot by getting to see his power and imagining his crazy skin-stretching pump. 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
cregssatx Posted March 6, 2021 Share Posted March 6, 2021 Thank you. I'm not entirely sure why I'm saying that, but... thank you. I'm... not happy, but encouraged?... that John is still the dominant mind, and the Predator hasn't taken over. I appreciate he's feeling the pain of what he's done. And I'm very, very, very appreciative that Gabriel acknowledges that the "blank check" approach wasn't what John's chaotic psyche needed at the time. I'm trying to separate the reality of your experiences from the story. It's not easy. Please keep that in mind when I make my comments. For this chapter, I'm trying to ignore the reality from Chapter 8. As you absorb the entirety of what you've written and, with knowledge of the real life elements, it's overwhelming. With all that being said, you did an unbelievable job with the gym scene. You really advanced John from... metahuman?... to superhuman. You really highlighted just how much he's moved beyond his "peers." But, at the same time, the attachment to Gabriel, his angel and anchor, keeps him in the human-ish space. I'm looking forward, hopefully, to seeing their connection strengthen. You've said this story is, ultimately, a romance, so I have high hopes for those two men. Again, thank you. 2 1 Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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