Murdersphere Mosaic [ManXMan] [BoyXBoy]

Chapter 3 Part 1 Spa Days

The next eight weeks are incredibly strenuous, but also very normalizing.

My "therapy" consists of grueling exercises to help me to find and exceed my limits and to know what that level of activity actually feels like, opposed to using the benchmarks from the memory implants.

I do not know what I am being trained for because I am not in "training" it is "acclimation therapy." Apparently I really do have detectable permanent injuries from my initial trip through the BMS.

And, for whatever reason, Titus is my trainer. Out of the armor, he is about 6'6, big, but surprisingly leanly built, and long muscled for his prodigious strength. He's movie-star handsome, dark-haired and blue eyed with a rather generous mouth. He keeps his hair buzzed short giving him a serious-at-first-glance demeanor. He also has a huge neck.

At one point very early on, I ask if he is trying to look like Superman.

He grins. "Slowly. I've been going back into BSM for fine tuning. Unfortunately, to keep the structural integrity I like, I have to keep the neck until I can afford a full skeletal upgrade."

"With your powers I figured so." I say, now ready to get to the next exercise.

"I'm more of a 'department store Superman' archetype." He grins and points at me. "You are more of a 'thrift-shop Superman. No that's too swank. You are a 'flea-market-hand-carved-Superman.'"

I shake my head and we get back to work.

In addition to all of the strenuous physical, mental, and psionic exercise, Titus randomly takes potshots at me with a laser pistol no warning and I have to block it, or my clothes get burned off, because the beam was not strong enough to get through my skin.

Knowing how sensitive I am about my body, he is highly successful in this. My speed affects my perception of the world, when I am with him, I see everything in slow motion, constantly trying to react when his hand blurs. I am only to deflect, not attack. Building a reflex, tapping into instinct.

After he gets me in the crotch a few times, taking my pants and my underwear in the process, I attain a new level of shame based mastery, while he cackles. Then I'm laughing. His humor is infectious. He manages to make me insanely competitive even when I don't usually give a damn.

He claims that I get my revenge by insisting on spending extra time in the pool so I can ogle him. However, water is a superior telekinetic "body building" medium and perfect for “wind-sprint” submerged flying exercises.

Ever since the Superman conversation, he calls me "Middlingman" or worse, "Widdleman" but he does not ridicule my achievements. He always waits for me to ask him to do his thing before showing off outrageously.

Every day ends with telepathy lessons and worse, it ends with trying to get through the various methods of telepathic interference and inhibitors they throw at me. I always end the day disoriented, and bleeding from my eyes and nose.

Four weeks in, Titus runs into the gym beaming. "You have a job!"

"Really?" I ask, infected by his excitement.

"Yeah!" He says. "Something big! Something the Lotus Corporation's Grand Producer has had a hand in!"

"Wow!" I say and immediately feel a chill. My issues have been because of the Grand Producer. "So... what is the job?"

He stops, but manages to regain his momentum. "I do not know!" He grins. "But you have to meet some metric coming out of therapy, so we're going have to work harder."