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Neon City Nights: The Children of Tendu

by Rourke Danyals

The three canines standing before him could not have been more different.

The fact that they were all technically the same species was the only apparent physical trait they shared, but even that thread was wearing thin at best. In a way, their clothing had more in common than they themselves did, all three dogs clad in dark formals with a splash of colour each. There was a time when he would have laughed at the absurdity of the scene unfolding around him, but at the moment, uncertainty had overtaken amusement.

The largest of the three, The Doberman, tall and imposing, loomed over the other two, his shoulders wide and muscles thick, the sleeves of his nearly black formals straining as he crossed his arms, watching him silently and blocking the light from the window so that a shadow cast over the group, his thin red tie flapping as it caught the cross-breeze of air conditioning which offered the only small comfort in a room designed to make people feel uncomfortable.

The Poodle was the next tallest, lithe and limber, his grey fur shaved close enough to see the pink skin below it, save for the mess of curls resting at the top of his head. This canine’s outfit was impeccably fitted to show off narrow limbs and a trim waistline; the charcoal-coloured suit was professional, while still appearing comfortable and casual. Just simply glancing at how the dog’s formals wrapped around such a limber frame caused him a pang of jealousy as his eyes focused on the perfectly still, jungle-green windsor-knotted tie The Poodle sported. It made his own clothes feel even more snug, constricting and folding around the bulk of his body, as he shifted to try to feel less constrained by the sweat-drenched fabric which had been bone dry just moments prior. The Poodle smiled, as if knowing his inner thoughts; it was an infectious smile, and carefully calculated, crafted to put one both at ease and in discomfort at the same time, in the same way as he had designed the boardroom to do.

The last of the trio was The Dachshund, a short, sleazy-looking canine whose middle-age spread had paired extremely unflatteringly with his short stature. He was the only one of the three canines wearing a hat (which looked as tired as The Dachshund did) and the canine’s beady eyes looked like marbles set in sand peering out from the pudgy face half covered by the stetson’s wide, floppy brim. His dark-grey formals were still as professional as his companions’, but the wear on the garment was starting to show, and though it had been obviously tailor-made to his stature, the fit was somehow both too loose and too snug in places. The excess fabric in the shoulders and the obvious bulge around The Dachshund's midsection suggested the canine once cared for his body as much as the other two, but even the dog’s wide, bright blue tie was unable to hide the straining buttons around his waistline. It was immediately obvious that the dog had caved to the temptations of enjoying the more carnal pleasures of life as of late, a temptation he himself knew all too well.

Despite their physical differences, the trio still appeared to all be of a singular mind, and loomed in such a formation that he found it was entirely impossible to look at more than any one of their faces at a time as they leaned in toward him.

The Poodle smiled wider; his features menacing in the low light. “Do we have a deal, Mister Jackson? Well…? Do we? Come now, don’t be shy, we don’t have all day cycle; you know just as well as I do that wasted time is wasted credit…”

---

Part I: Investment

“...you know just as well as I do that wasted time is wasted credit…”

The Bernese Mountain Dog looked down at the beagle on the other side of the conference table. He knew that around this time of day that his large, imposing figure would seem even larger with the light pouring in from the windows behind him, a fact he liked to use to his advantage.

“Of.. of course… Mister Jackson. I’ll… I’ll sell…”

“Good,” the canine responded, leaning back into his chair, trying to ignore the way it creaked under his weight. “I’ll have Lin draw up the documents. Meanwhile, if you could place your paw on the scanner in front of you, yes-- that one right there, it will serve as proof of your complacent agreement in this sale. Excellent. On behalf of LifeCorp and all of its affiliates, I thank you. It is, and has been, a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Pon.”

He looked over at the attractive pomeranian sitting diligently at the other end of the conference table.

"Miss Lin, please escort Mister Pon and handle the details of the… arrangement."

She smiled at Jackson. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

He smirked as the smaller canine skittered out of his office, his lead administrator following with measured steps of someone who could endure the no doubt emotional outburst in the lobby as seller's remorse settled in and would weather it with ease. There had been dozens of such sales, and she always conducted herself with a cool professionalism he had come to begrudgingly admire, especially if it meant that he didn't have to deal with the aftermath himself.

LifeCorp had been founded as a microbot supplement supplier, but it had grown to encompass a range of life-preserving procedures guaranteed to offer consumers what LifeCorp’s marketing materials called “a second lease on life.” Such exponential growth was largely attributed to business “deals” like the one that had just transpired, all under the shrewd business practices of Feng Jackson.

~

Jackson was a self-proclaimed “rags to riches” story. Those lucky enough to attend any of the parties he had been invited to had probably had heard the story told several times now:

“I tell you, I had little to call my own, save for my own name. It’s old American, you know. I didn’t even have my family to rely on when I limped my way through a government-subsidized university business program.

“Now, I’m not proud of how I started out: poor, destitute, hungry, but I recognized that I had very little direction to go from there but up, up, up. I reckon my big break came when my former roommate, whose name I can’t be bothered to remember anymore, something dreadfully common like Jin, or Jo, or John, or something, not that it’s important anyway. He was a timid mutt; half breed, too-- now now, don’t get your tongue in a rut, I’m not racist, but I am quietly proud to be pedigreed, as we all are . Haha.

“Anyway, you know the type: bookish, smart, nervous - he was in the technology sector. Well, you should have seen him when he came a-begging me to look over the books for his failing business to see what could be salvaged, because he had no one else to turn to. Even back then, he knew that I could convince a leopard to swap his spots for stripes. I agreed to do it, of course, in return for 51% control of the company, as any shrewd businessman would have done.

“A year later, we were making a profit paw over paw on a product that the tech industry was, quite honestly, already flooded with. Two years later, we expanded our product line to include services that weren’t regularly bundled together, but were often used in tandem. Of course, it was all my idea.

“But things hadn’t really taken off until the 5-year mark, when I had the brilliant idea to partner with another start-up which had specialized in prosthetics. The fella who started the business went absolutely feral. He didn’t agree with my decision, but by then, he had foolishly only retained 30% of the company’s shares, and was eventually bought out by the other board members.

“I retained majority control, of course.

“From there, things skyrocketed, with each new merger another rung on the ladder of success, and if a couple of hangers-on fell off, haha, well… who was I to catch them? Loyalty means changing with the times, gentlemen, and if you ain’t willing to keep up with me, you can just as easily get off this bullet train as quickly as you hopped on it...”

~

Jackson was not a remorseful man; he had very little sympathy for the individuals he left behind. The beagle’s dejected demeanor as he left his office did not sour Jackson’s good mood, it improved it. He turned to the window to stare down at the pedestrians below; their perceived smallness only made him feel larger by comparison. He was a big man, he liked being a big man. Bernese Mountain Dogs were supposed to be big, but malnutrition and poverty growing up ensured he would never grow to his fullest projected height. Now that he was a success, he made up for his stature in other ways: a big presence in the business industry, a big name, a big personality, a big spender, a BIG DOG at the table.

His lavish lifestyle had made him physically larger in other ways, too. In his younger days, he visited the gym religiously, using his wealth, strength and charm to conquer the boardroom… and the bedroom.

Older and wiser now, he realized that power and money were ultimately better than physical strength and sexual prowess. Being larger all around, occupying more overall space, just made him feel like he had more physical presence in his middle age, even if he was no longer on the top 10 eligible bachelors list. He didn't need love when everybody feared him. His size made him feel more intimidating; the extra bulk made situations like the one that afternoon so much easier to close.

Admittedly, it did make it harder for his buttons to fasten in the morning, but he relished that fact as well. For him, it was a sign of success that he could afford to overfeed himself on the most expensive delicacies; he was almost proud of himself every time he outgrew a new suit, knowing that the amount of Yuan he had paid for each ruined garment was more than most of his employees could ever hope to earn in a year.

They scurried like insects, down there on the road. The tide of grays and blues of formalwear grew stronger as the sun sunk below the skyline. Other colours found themselves caught up among the streams; bits of flotsam and jetsam in the surging sea reserved for specific governmental offices: the pitch black of law enforcement, the verdant green of city officials, and occasionally, the bright orange-gold of religious figures. He sneered as a speck of crimson (religious acolyte) caught his attention, leaning forward as he watched with indifference, then mild interest, as his chair creaked ominously again underneath his substantial mass.

The figure which had caught his attention had dared to hold their own against the tide of the crowd. In the regular flow of the foot-traffic, the dot of red bounced around sporadically, unpredictably. It nagged at him that he could not find some explanation for the behaviour; and the fact that it happened in front of his building felt like a challenge to him directly. He frowned.

“Cirex, enhance the image. 800 Zoom. Follow-focus on the monk.”

[Yes, sir.]

He creaked the chair back into a lounging position as the image magnified the bustling form below. What he could now see was the second figure which the first one chased, too short to discern from inside the crowd without enhancement.

They were playing. The monk-- no, the acolyte, he corrected himself-- was a pup, mixed pedigree, shiba inu and something else, or somethings else; he had to be no more than 8 or 9 years old. His companion was even younger; he couldn’t see anything more than the tips of the child’s ears. The pair darted back and forth, oblivious to the tide around them, and people sidestepped their little game without trouble or notice. Regardless, the street was no place to play, especially not his street. Such defiance made the dog uncomfortable. This was a Biz sector, not a Rec sector. He did his best to focus on a different portion of the image, but it was impossible not to see the bright red robes skittering about at the corner of his eye, and the appeal of the bustling crowd had been lost. Besides, it was the end of the day, and he could afford to leave a little early after the day's significant trade deal.

Jackson turned his thoughts to the future as best he could. He was looking forward to the drive home, and the catered dinner which awaited his arrival. Not many people could afford manual cars anymore. Fewer could afford to pay for the private freeways which guaranteed no traffic interruption. Jackson could easily afford both. The open road made him feel the way his ancestors must have felt - that the world offered endless possibilities for the seizing.

The large canine sauntered out of his office and took the hydrolift to the side garage where The Vehicle was already waiting for him, courtesy of LifeCorp’s automated valet system. He had been nervous when the system was first installed (he had always preferred living workers - machines could not be manipulated by fear), but in the near decade that LifeCorp had owned the building, he had finally learned to trust that machine precision could sometimes be precise enough for his standards.

Jackson took a moment to admire The Vehicle, his vehicle. While it made him uncomfortable when others flaunted their wealth, the Bernese Mountain Dog reveled in showing off his own affluence, and his choice of retro transportation was certainly the pinnacle of economic success. Candy red coating, illuminated accessories, and polished platinum bumper and rims. In the last century, safety regulations prevented even manual cars from crashing into one another and other large objects, so that most cars didn’t even need to have bumpers and bump rails, but he had insisted that The Vehicle look authentic, so they replicated the parts out of precious metals to ensure they would be noticed. Who could afford galvanized steel and platinum anymore? Jackson could.

He loved the curves of The Vehicle. It practically screamed opulence, that he could afford a "manny," and that it practically shone like a jewel in the sunlight as he drove it down the highway, the envy of the hovercar riders in the public lanes.

He eased into the front seat, glad that he had insisted on reinforcing the original bucket seat as the shocks on The Vehicle creaked slightly to adjust to his weight. He waited for the gate to lift, and when the tide of pedestrians parted to let him out, he pulled out of the driveway just at the right moment to hit the pup running across the parted sea of bodies.

~

“What the hell are you doing?” he accused, storming out of The Vehicle to get a better look at the situation. The front bumper had crumpled, and the paint on the hood was scratched. Once he assessed the damage, his attention finally drifted to the child picking himself off the sidewalk.

It was the acolyte he had seen from his window, the one who had. No doubt more focused on “playing” than paying attention to his surroundings.

“I’m sorry, sir! I was just crossing the street–”

“Trying to get yourself killed, more like. Don’t you know it’s not dangerous to play in the road?”

“Actually, he told me I should cr–”

“You’re absolutely right, sir,” The youth was cut off by a voice behind Jackson. He spun around to address the newcomer. “How silly for children to be playing at all.” Grey-furred and well-dressed, The Poodle gave the young acolyte an admonishing look.

“But, you said that I–”

“Now, run along back to the temple, before we bother this nice man anymore. The Abbot is looking for you.” The Poodle's voice was colored by smug kindness. The acolyte frowned, bowed, and mumbled a half-hearted apology to him before he scurried down the road. “The poor dear must have gotten confused. Children often do in these situations; though I fear it doesn't explain why they have such poor manners nowadays, does it, ah… Mister…?”

“Jackson. Feng Jackson. Look, are you responsible for that brat? He damaged The Vehicle! I expec–”

“Mister Jackson, I assure you that all damages will be taken care of, and that our organization will repair the damages to your… vehicle… so that it will look as good as new. Better than new, even - that bumper looks like it wasn't constructed properly; you can pay for a higher-quality one, if you wish. Something with a little more oomph, hmmm…?

"Here is my contact card, and here is an open credit chip you can use for repairs, if you prefer to use your own body shop. Go on, take it; use it to pay for the estimate up front, and we will cover any additional expenses you may incur as well, and if you present your contact card, you have my paw print on record in this verbal contract. Please, in the meantime, won’t you allow us to drive you home, and provide transportation for you until the repairs are complete.”

The Poodle had a cadence to his speech which was almost hypnotic, and Jackson fought hard not to be drawn in by it. He blinked, trying to take in the new turn of luck.

“Really? Just like that?”

“Of course sir, you have my word and my pawprint already. Though, if that’s not enough to convince you, we have a resort right here in town. To make up for any… ah… inconvenience… this whole rigmarole has caused you, why don’t you take a free week’s vacation at no expense to your own credit of course. The executive package. It’s the least we can do to make it up to you.”

The Poodle thrust a brochure into Jackson’s hand. It took a moment for him to realize the pamphlet was printed on paper. He immediately grew jealous and suspicious. Even if it was synthetic paper, the religious organization must have had capital. For all his company was worth, Jackson hardly ever used natural media; it was too inefficient. Jackson looked up at The Poodle, who stood several centimeters taller than he.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, sir. We at the Church of Tendu believe in second chances, and if we see something wrong, we take it into our own paws to make things right.” The Poodle smiled again, and Jackson found that he was immediately much more at ease. “If I don’t mind saying, so, sir, you look like a man of good taste, and our resort packages are all the rage right now.”

“Tendu…” The name rang a bell in his mind. “Didn’t you make the news recently?” The Poodle chuckled in response.

“Guilty as charged. We just invested in a new state-of-the-art relaxation chamber guaranteed to take the years off.”

“Oh yes, that’s right,” Jackson remarked, dismissively. He recalled hearing recently that several smaller biofirms had recently backed the religious organization’s pursuits. None of the companies were big players in the market, certainly no one he had to be worried about, but it did leave him curious. The Poodle answered his unasked question before he could even form it in his head.

“People didn’t think a religious sect would venture into such territory, but relaxation is one of our main tenants, and in order to survive, one must adapt to the times. Then again, I‘m sure you know a bit about getting ahead of the curve, I reckon?” He winked and patted Jackson on the back. It was impossible not to smile at the Poodle’s enthusiasm and charm.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken time off for himself. Perhaps now was as good as any other moment to take a vacation. A change might even do him good.

“Alright, alright… If you’ll take care of the damages, and are offering a vacation? I guess that’s not so bad.”

“Excellent. We’ll make things right again, Mister Jackson, you’ll see. I'm sure you're a busy man - we can have your lead administrator handle the details. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two.”

Jackson used his datapad to call Lin.

"Have you left the office yet?"

"I was just walking out the door… sir."

"Good. I have a matter of the ut-most importance to take care of immediately. I'll send up the gentleman to you now. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two. Handle this the way you would any other high-importance client, understood?"

There was a moment of silence, and then: "It would be my pleasure, sir."

---

Part II: Interest

Jackson found it a little hard to focus during the morning’s briefing. He had returned from his vacation energized and invigorated, just like the Poodle had promised. In the three days he had been back, he had noticed a change had come over him, and he actually did feel younger. He swore that his clothes fit a little better than they had, he felt more energetic, he even felt more virile. Not that he had ever had any real issues with his libido, but as he plunged into middle age, his focus had shifted more towards acquiring wealth and strayed a bit from acquiring sex, but those long-forgotten urges started welling deep inside of him, as if taking the week off reminded him of just how beautiful his staff was in addition to how useful they were.

Only at the moment, it was damned distracting. Had Lin always worn such low-cut formals? He thought she must have, remembering at some point years ago explaining to her that "dressing for success" was only so successful, and that "dressing to entice" already put you one step ahead of the competition.

Although she was also starting to grow older, Lin had managed to age much more gracefully than he had managed to, he noted, truly noticing the attractive details of her features for the first time in years. The pomeranian had the countenance of a sexy school teacher, and carried some extra weight in her hips and middle that she did not possess when he’d hired her over a decade ago, (perhaps taking more than one unspoken lesson from him about commanding the space around her,) but the confidence she exuded made those features assets, and whereas in his shallower days he would have dismissed her entirely, he had now also come to appreciate her quick wit as well, as if they had also grown over the years. He realized he appreciated the way she nearly always anticipated his business needs, something he realized he had been taking for granted, as if compensating her with a generous salary alone would make up for the gruff way he grumbled orders to her on a daily basis.

“Is… something wrong, sir?” Lin looked at him curiously. Mister Jackson did not usually stare off into space; he was always emphasizing the need to appear present at all times. She actually seemed genuinely worried; it was kind of sweet that she was concerned.

“Yes, Lin. I’m fine. I was just thinking, it’s not fair for me to have taken a vacation, and not let you have some time off. You work too hard for this company. You deserve a break.”

Feeling pleased with his impulsive decision, he did not expect to see her worry to deepen into panic, which confused him.

“Sir… are you suggesting I am unfit to perform my duties?” she asked him, struggling to maintain her composure, and he immediately realized the problem.

“No, this isn’t… this isn’t a precursor to being let go,” he started, as she relaxed visibly. “You have never taken time off in all the years you’ve worked here, except the one time to attend your Father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to take some time off? To relax? Spend some time with friends or family?”

“I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that,” she answered, honestly. “I’d be too worried about what was happening here. And, well, sir, I work 60 hours a week, I haven’t had much time to keep up with friends, beyond work partners.”

“I can’t just… do nothing to thank you for your years of loyalty and service. How about… how about this? You let me take you out to dinner, your favourite restaurant, no matter how expensive, and give you a chance to relax. We’ll call it a business dinner, so you can’t say no, and we start by talking about your goals for the business and let the conversation evolve from there?”

He didn’t know where the sudden burst of inspiration came from, but he could feel himself veering toward one of the pickup tactics he had used years and years ago, changing the details to fit the situation, of course, but he surprised himself by drawing from a well of charm he thought had all but dried up.

Lin hesitated for a moment, then agreed.

“For the good of the business?” she asked, and he nodded. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

For both of their own goods, too, and wouldn’t that just help the business in the long run?

~

Jackson had bet on Lin, and it had paid off. Dinner went extremely well, and as the evening progressed, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he was actually enjoying the “dinner date.” He could tell Lin was appreciative of the downtime, and when she asked him up to her apartment for a nightcap, he didn’t refuse.

Waking the next morning in her bed reminded him of just how wonderful it was to feel the ache of a night well spent, and her expression was all he needed to reassure him that he still “had it.” A month ago, the idea of getting so physical with another person would have made him anxious (even if he wouldn’t have ever admitted it to anyone); while his physique was certainly a turn on in the boardroom, he had grown to a size that his attempts at “personal pleasure” had grown more and more difficult over the last year. It was a frustrating development, as his sex drive had still stayed constant as he got older (a fact he was very proud of), but it was getting harder to fight against the tide of his bulging belly long enough to see things through before he tired himself out from the effort. (The not-so-subtle reminders from Cirex that his extra weight was probably also affecting his ability to “keep it up long enough” were almost enough to make him give up eating entirely, some nights.) Yet, the promises he made to himself at 1 AM to maybe slim down a little were usually forgotten by lunch the following day, before the cycle started all over again.

But Lin hadn’t seemed to mind his size, almost seeming to appreciate having a partner larger than she was, and whatever performance problems he was having on his own seemed to have worked themselves out with an attentive partner. The pair agreed to make plans to meet up again over the weekend, and after an even better night under the sheets, they agreed that keeping things casual would be best for their working relationship, and that only seeing each other on weekends was probably for the best.

Driving back to his own house on Sunday afternoon in The Vehicle, newly restored, (after Lin had prepared a hearty breakfast, her culinary skills yet another pleasant surprise to him,) Jackson realized he’d had one of the best weeks of his life in years, probably because the week off gave him a new lease on life. Feeling generous, he ordered Cirex to purchase some stock in the Church of Tendu. It was the least he could do to thank them for giving him a new perspective on life.

~

Monday morning came all too quickly for Jackson’_s taste, and the pleasantness of the weekend still provided a stark contrast to having to get up and go into the office. This seed of discontent only sprouted further when _he started to get ready for the day. Entering the bathroom, he prepared for Cirex to admonish him yet again that he had gained a fractional amount of weight, and that he should consider cutting his calories, but instead, he was greeted with a noise he’d never heard before, a cheerful little bell. Instead of her usual warning, Cirex sounded almost cheerful in informing him that he had lost two pounds since his last weigh in. Had he actually lost a little weight? He stared at himself in the mirror as he dressed. While still cutting an imposing figure, he couldn’t help but notice his pants felt a tiny bit looser than they usually did. Pulling his belt one notch tighter than usual, he shrugged.

One or two pounds wouldn’t make that much of a difference. Would it?

—

Part III: Growth

Feng Jackson was proud of his heritage. As a purebred and a descendant of a great American general, he had always flaunted his family line more than his immediate family’s history. His parents had moved to Neon City as part of a relocation initiative which was the delayed fallout from one of the world’s last physical wars, a deal which exported the remainder of the country’s resources, with the price tag of having to take its citizens too.

His family were essentially glorified refugees, and finding work was difficult, doubly so when the medical scans required to enter the City revealed that his mother was with child. The government subsidized the income of expectant families, which was an unexpected windfall, but because of the subsidy, they did not qualify for many of the other benefits the other deportees were able to leverage.

In his early years, Jackson didn’t see much of his father, but his presence was always looming in his life. It was his decision to name his son with a name indigenous to their new city, an attempt to help him blend in, Feng supposed, but it only served to point out the fact that he didn’t quite belong. And so, instead of his family name being a weakness, Jackson learned to lean on it at an early age, make it seem like something desirable, a good reason to stand apart instead of a constant reminder of how different he was.

But that’s what Jackson was good at. Turning failures into successes. Finding the near-misses on the fringes and being the catalyst to bring them front and centre and into the spotlight. Of course, it was because he was such a case that he was able to pull it off. Sometimes seeming to empathize, sometimes seeming to oppose, Jackson felt he deserved every unit of Yuan his company had earned by wheeling and dealing the competition into thinking they needed him. Tenacity and attention to detail were his one-two punch, and his most familiar friends. By dogging the competition, he could always figure where the leverage points would be, and exploited them.

Jackson had hand-picked his staff to all be winners, and had them hand-pick their own staff when the organization grew too large (and too successful) for him to do it himself. To compensate, he held weekly meetings on Monday afternoons to brief him on the comings and goings of the organization. He had molded every one of the half-dozen people in front of him to be exactly who he wanted, who he needed, but this morning they all seemed to blur together, and he found his mind wandering toward the view of the HoloWindow behind him, where he had seen the acolyte playing tag a few weeks prior.

“...Boss?” one of them asked, clearly trying not to sound annoyed that he wasn’t being given proper attention.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, please continue,” Jackson said distractedly, still lost in thought. It took him a moment to realize a hush had fallen over the people in the room. Jackson never apologized for anything.

“Forget it,” he mumbled, with sudden discontent at the yes-men staring back at him. “Send me your reports by V-Mail. I need this time to figure out our next merger.” There was a moment of doubt among his executives. None of them had heard of a new deal being struck.

“I SAID, YOU ARE DISMISSED!” Jackson roared, reestablishing dominance of the room with a slam of his fist on the desk. The executive board shuffled out in a hurry, leaving Jackson alone in the room with Lin, who looked as if she didn’t know whether to stay behind or leave with the rest. He was grateful for the company, and smiled at her, putting her at ease.

“Come here,” he said, embracing her when it was clear they were alone. It had been hard for both of them to keep their relationship a secret, and he began to suspect a few of his executives had figured them out, but at the moment he didn’t care.

“Are you feeling alright? You seem stressed. Do you want me to book you another vacation?"

"No, I'm okay."

"You're not 'okay.' consider it done."

He was too tired to argue. She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him, but her paws lingering ever so slightly at his waist.

"You’re not skipping meals, are you?” she asked, slightly concerned. “You know how irritable you get when you don’t eat, and your clothes are a little loose. Here, I have something for you.” She ran out to her desk and came back before he could react.

“I know you don’t like sweets, so I made you some dumplings. I hope you don’t mind. You should be keeping your energy up,” she chastised, popping one into his mouth as he opened it to argue. He was still full from the large lunch he’_d had that afternoon, a hearty meal full of protein to try to recover a little bit of the size _he had somehow lost over the last month or so.

"You don't have to feed me," Jackson protested.

"Nonsense. You need to keep your energy up," she responded. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

"Alright then." He allowed himself a hint of a smile as she eagerly fed him another dumpling.

He couldn’t understand it. He hadn’t been exercising any more, and any time he spent “burning calories” with Lin he was sure was made up for by the breakfasts she made him, which only seemed to grow larger each weekend. (He was starting to suspect that she liked him big, too, and definitely didn’t mind the extra bit of attention the morning after.)

Sure, he had enjoyed becoming a little more slender at first, finding he had more energy during the day, and more endurance to cope with late nights at the office (and during sex), but now all of his expensive suits were starting to fit funny, and the idea that he might actually be shrinking definitely cast some doubt where none had been before. He had worked hard to get as big as he was, and didn’t like the idea of giving anything up, even if it was better for his health.

His doubts were forgotten in an instant, however, as soon as he took a bite. His mother used to make dumplings like this, and he had all but forgotten about them. He ate another one, ignoring the pang of pain from his already over-full stomach.

“Oh, these are wonderful,” he said, smiling back at her. “I knew you were a good cook, but you’ve really outdone yourself.” The look of pleasure on his face was all that Lin needed to see. She smiled broadly as she fed them to him, hoping her boss and her lover would be in a better mood for the second half of the day, and feel a little bit more like his old self, the man she’d admired for many years, and had seemed to finally catch the attention of.

From then on, she made sure to keep some sort of homemade snack within his reach, and for a few weeks, it really seemed to help. Cirex might not have appreciated that his weight was creeping steadily back up, but the return to a familiar routine, even a modified one which made room for good love and and even better food, did a lot to ease Jackson’s mind. He soon came to learn quite by accident that one of Lin’s secret pleasures over the years had been ordering him new clothing when he had grown out a size. They had gotten together for one of their morning “briefings,” and she squealed in delight when he lost a button on his shirt after one too many dumplings.

Quickly composing herself, Lin admitted that she also saw his growth as a sign of success, and made up a half-hearted excuse that as his lead administrator, she shared in those odd victories he thought were all but his own. But he had known her long enough to recognize the look of lust she was trying to hide as she stared at the remaining buttons straining on his ruined shirt, and moments later, they were ordering Cirex to lock the door as both finally made good on years of fantasizing what it might be like to make love on the leather couch in his office. Once again, life was good.

~

Jackson had worked very hard at getting from place to place in a punctual manner. He knew how long it took to get from point A to point B throughout every inch of his building, and he built his schedule around those travel times. He had worked it down to an exact science.

Today, it seemed that he was late for every meeting. Walking seemed to take just a little longer, and while he counted his paces, as he normally did, every trip came up short. He was never late, and while he knew every person in that boardroom would wait for him to arrive, he did not like to keep people waiting, even his underlings. Especially his underlings.

While he was still vaguely paranoid that he had been shrinking, this was the first concrete evidence that he had that something was off.

Lin was of little comfort to his predicament: “Perhaps you’re getting shorter in your middle age?” she teased over dinner that evening when he confessed his worries. She seemed to support him, but didn’t grasp the severity of the situation. He was never late. Ever. Punctuality was strength, and wasted time was wasted credit, for all parties involved.

Lin just couldn’t understand that it was a bigger deal than it seemed. He didn't want others to think that he seemed weak. He couldn't let others think he was weak.

Lin's response was to distract him with more food and sex. It was a very effective distraction.

—

Part IV: Return on Investment

When the weekend came, Lin suggested another vacation. Before he could protest that he was making too many trips to Tendu already, she insisted on a staycation, just what he needed to help reduce stress and forget his concerns. She had rescheduled his meetings, redirected and redelegated his work, and even ordered a detailing for The Vehicle as a bonus treat. He couldn't find any reason to say no, so he said yes.

What followed was one of the best weeks of his life. A doting partner devoted to spoiling him and very open to him spoiling her in return. The only rules were no clothes and an open mind. Lin showed him some things he'd never tried before, and when she was around, it felt like he could go a lot longer in bed

He wondered idlely (as Lin went down on him) if this was what it would have been like to focus more on family than it would have on business. He hadn't seen the benefit of leisure before, but this invigorated him the same way as a huge sale or takeover did. He felt undeniably wonderful.

~

…until the day he had to go back. Getting out of bed was difficult. Two whole weeks of food and debauchery had him feeling lazy and sluggish. He had a headache, and the ground felt somehow both closer and farther away from him.

Jackson’s return to work after his vacation was marked by a strange sense of displacement. The office felt different; larger, perhaps, or simply less familiar. He chalked it up to the lingering effects of relaxation, of growing too soft over the last few weeks, but the feeling lingered.

He found himself struggling with simple tasks. His signature, once bold and decisive, now wavered on the page. He started relying on using his paw print instead, something he hardly ever did. Names slipped from his memory, and he had to rely on Lin more than ever. She was always there, anticipating his needs, smoothing over his mis-steps, her presence both comforting and vaguely unsettling.

The boardroom, once his domain, seemed to close in around him. During meetings, he caught snippets of conversation that felt just out of reach, as if the language itself was shifting. Lin’s voice cut through the haze, clear and confident, and the others listened to her with a respect that bordered on reverence.

Jackson tried to assert himself, but his words came out softer, less certain. He laughed it off, blaming stress or age, but the laughter didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is everything alright, sir? You seem… distracted lately,” Lin asked one day; the concern in her voice made him feel weak, unsatisfied.

“I’m fine, Lin. Just… tired, I suppose. Maybe I’m getting old.”

“Nonsense. You’re as sharp as ever. Let me handle the reports tonight. You should rest.”

"Are you sure?"

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

Jackson nodded, grateful for her support, but a small voice in the back of his mind wondered when he had started needing so much help.

He noticed his suits hung looser, his shoes felt bigger, and the world seemed to loom a little larger every day.

At home, he found comfort in routine; dinners with Lin, long drives in his car, the familiar weight of his success. But even these rituals felt different from before. Lin cooked for him more often, her meals rich and nostalgic, and he ate with a hunger he couldn’t explain. She watched him closely, her gaze lingering on him with a mix of affection and something else he couldn’t name.

One evening, as he prepared for bed, he caught his reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he didn’t recognize himself. The face staring back was softer, rounder, almost boyish. He blinked, and the illusion vanished, replaced by the familiar lines of middle age. He shook his head, dismissing the vision as a trick of the light.

But the feeling lingered.

---

Part V: Acquisition

Jackson’s morning routine had also always been a source of pride. He would stand before the mirror, adjusting his tie, admiring the way his suits hugged his broad shoulders, powerful chest, and thick waist. Lately, though, the reflection had become less satisfying. His shirts, once tight across muscle and bulk, now hung oddly; loose in the shoulders, but too snug around the middle. He told himself it was just the result of losing weight in all the wrong places, a common enough problem for men his age.

He tried to compensate by eating heartier breakfasts, but the food seemed to settle differently now, softening his outline rather than restoring his old solidity. His face, too, was changing: the jawline he’d cultivated with years of discipline was blurring, cheeks rounding out, eyes seeming larger in a way he couldn’t quite place. He chalked it up to stress, or perhaps the lingering effects of the last visit to the “relaxation chamber” at the Tendu resort.

At work, the changes were even more disconcerting. His chair, once a throne, now seemed to swallow him. The desk felt higher, the windows wider, the city outside more distant. He found himself swinging his legs absently, a habit he hadn’t indulged in since childhood. When he caught himself, he forced his feet flat to the floor, but the urge returned whenever he lost focus.

Lin noticed, of course. She noticed everything.

“Sir, I’ve taken the liberty of having your suits altered,” she said one morning, laying a freshly tailored jacket across his desk. “You’ve been working so hard, you deserve to feel comfortable.”

Jackson bristled at the implication, but when he slipped on the jacket, he had to admit it fit better; though it seemed to accentuate the roundness of his belly, the softness at his sides. He tugged at the lapels, trying to recapture the imposing silhouette he remembered having.

“Thank you, Lin,” he said, forcing a smile. “You always know just what I need.”

She smiled back, her eyes lingering on him a moment too long. “It’s my job to take care of you, sir.”

The staff had begun to defer to Lin more and more. She fielded questions, resolved disputes, and even led meetings when Jackson’s mind wandered. He told himself it was a temporary arrangement, a necessary delegation while he got back on his feet. But the looks the others gave him: sympathetic, indulgent, almost patronizing; they made him uneasy.

He tried to reassert himself, but his voice lacked its old resonance. Once, he’d been able to silence a room with a single word; now, conversations continued around him, talked over him, and generally everyone ignored him unless Lin was in the room.

At home, the changes were even harder to ignore. His appetite had grown, but his tastes had shifted. He craved sweets, rich stews, and soft breads - comfort foods from his youth. Lin indulged him, preparing elaborate meals and watching with quiet satisfaction as he cleaned his plate. He told himself he deserved it, that he was simply enjoying the fruits of his labor after so many years.

But each morning, the mirror told a different story. He knew it wasn't his imagination, despite what Lin and everyone else around him insisted: his features grew softer, his body rounder. He began to avoid his reflection altogether, focusing instead on the routines that had always grounded him.

Something was slipping away, something vital and crucial to his success, to his identity. But whenever he tried to grasp it, it slipped through his fingers like sand.

~

Jackson arrived at the boardroom several minutes late, which was unusual enough to draw glances from the assembled executives. He blamed the elevator, though he knew he had simply misjudged the time. The walk from his office seemed even longer these days, and his legs felt oddly heavy, his stride less quick than he remembered.

He paused at the door, catching his breath, and smoothed his jacket, a new one Lin had ordered and tailored to fit his “new shape.” He tugged at the lapels, trying to recapture the broad-shouldered silhouette he’d always projected, but the effect was more cuddly than commanding.

Inside, the boardroom was already abuzz. Lin stood at the head of the table, reviewing a projection with the CFO. The others looked to her for cues, not noticing Jackson’s arrival until he cleared his throat.

“Ah, Mr. Jackson,” Lin said, her tone warm but professional. “We were just going over the quarterly projections. Please, take your seat.”

He nodded, feeling a flush rise in his cheeks. The chair seemed higher than usual, and as he settled in, his feet barely brushed the floor. He shifted, trying to plant them firmly, but the effort only made him more aware of how his body filled the seat differently, or seemingly not at all.

The meeting began. Jackson tried to focus, but the numbers on the screen swam before his eyes. He found himself doodling absentmindedly on his notepad, just little circles and squiggles, the kind he hadn’t drawn since he was a boy. He caught himself and quickly flipped the page, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed.

Lin’s voice cut through his distraction. “Mr. Jackson, do you have any additional thoughts on the proposed merger terms?”

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard the last ten minutes of discussion. “Uh… I think we should, um, review the details again,” he managed, his voice softer than he intended. “Just to be sure.”

Lin smiled, patient and reassuring. “Of course. I’ll send you a summary after the meeting.” She turned back to the board, seamlessly picking up the thread of conversation.

The others nodded, jotting notes, their attention fixed on Lin. Jackson felt oddly sidelined, like a guest at his own table. He tried to interject once or twice, but his comments were met with polite nods and quickly folded back into Lin’s agenda.

As the meeting wrapped up, Lin summarized the action items, assigning tasks with practiced efficiency. “Thank you, everyone. Mr. Jackson, if you’d like, I can walk you through the merger documents later today. It would be my pleasure, sir.”

He nodded, grateful for the help but unsettled by how much he needed it. As the room emptied, he lingered, staring at his reflection in the darkened window. The glass showed a round-faced figure, suit straining at the belly, eyes wide and uncertain.

He pressed a hand to his middle, feeling the soft give of flesh beneath the fabric. Just losing weight in the wrong places, he told himself. Nothing more.

Behind him, Lin gathered her things. “You did well today, sir,” she said gently. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Jackson managed a smile. “Thank you, Lin. I… I think I will.”

As she left, he caught his reflection again: smaller, softer. He shook his head, dismissing the thought, and turned back to his notes, determined to prove he was still in control.

---

Part VI: Transition

That evening, Jackson sat at the dinner table, legs swinging idly as Lin served him a plate piled high with dumplings and sweet buns. The food was comforting, but it was undeniable now that his appetite had changed.He ate with gusto, crumbs dusting his lapel, savoring the flavors of childhood, and, more often than not, craving dessert after every meal.

Lin watched him, her gaze gentle but appraising. “You’re looking healthier,” she said. “You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

Jackson smiled, cheeks flushed. Her words left warmth in his chest, a comfort he hadn’t known in years. After dinner, Lin tucked him into bed, smoothing the covers with a practiced hand. He felt oddly grateful, letting her fuss over him, and drifted off, dreaming of joy and laughter, the worries of business fading into the background.

The next morning, he woke to find his pajamas bunched around his middle, the elastic digging into soft flesh. He shrugged it off, blaming the rich food and lack of exercise, and padded to the kitchen, where Lin greeted him with a bright smile and a breakfast of sweet porridge.

Jackson dressed slowly, fingers fumbling with buttons that seemed too large for his hands that morning. His clothes, laid out by Lin, were softer, smaller, tailored to his new shape. In the mirror, his reflection was almost unfamiliar: a round face, soft jaw, eyes bright and innocent. He shrugged, blaming the usual: new diet, old stress, and the strange effects of relaxation.

At work, Lin greeted him with a smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Ready for your big day, Mr. Jackson?”

He nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement, almost like the first day of school. The elevator ride felt longer, and when he stepped out onto the executive floor, the world seemed bigger than ever, the ceilings higher, the doors heavier. He had to reach up to grasp the handle of the boardroom door.

Inside, the staff greeted him with indulgent smiles. Lin handed him a folder, her touch lingering on his hand. “Just put your paw print here, and I’ll take care of the rest,” she said, her voice soothing.

Jackson obliged, not quite sure what he was agreeing to, but trusting Lin implicitly. She was always there to guide him, to make things right. He was happy, even if he couldn’t quite shake the feeling of dread underneath the emotion, like he was forgetting something extremely important. Maybe he was just hungry.

~

That evening, after the day was through and the staff had all gone home, Jackson found himself in the boardroom, his domain, his battlefield; but the intimately familiar surroundings gave him no comfort. The three canines stood before him: The Doberman, The Poodle, and The Dachshund. Their suits were immaculate, their eyes sharp.

Jackson looked up at them, feeling small, uncertain. His suit, tailored just that morning, was already loose, the sleeves loose at the shoulders. He realized with some trepidation that his feet no longer touched the floor no matter how hard he tried to get them to.

The Poodle smiled, wide and infectious.

“Do we have a deal, Mister Jackson? Well… do we? Come now, don’t be shy, we don’t have all day cycle; you know just as well as I do that wasted time is wasted credit…”

Jackson hesitated, not entirely sure what was going on. He glanced up at Lin, who stood just behind him, her presence reassuring. She nodded, and he felt a surge of confidence, childlike and trusting.

He nodded, and placed his paw on the data pad for it to scan. It took a couple of tries, but the system finally registered him, as it had always done.

“Splendid, Mr. Jackson. On behalf of LifeCorp and all of its affiliates, we thank you. It is, and has been, a pleasure doing business with you,” The Poodle intoned, his voice saccharine; too sweet.

“Congratulations, Miss Lin,” The Doberman informed, “you are now the CEO and 40% shareholder of LifeCorp. A well-deserved raise, and a long time coming, as I understand.”

“Wait, what?” Jackson looked around, confused. He knew something significant had just happened, but he couldn’t understand the details.

“Don’t you worry about it, little Feng,” The Poodle said, smiling down at Jackson. “You're coming back with us. We’re going to take really good care of you.”

“Good – I’m not sure I’m the motherly type. Although… it was fun to pretend for a bit, wasn’t it, Feng? Being a real family? Of course, I can’t look after you and the successful business I’ve been running for years, can I? I hope there are no hard feelings?” Lin looked sympathetic for a moment, but it quickly passed.

“Why would there be?” The Doberman interjected. “Feng won’t remember any of this at all; and if he does, it won’t be more than a passing thought at most. The nanobots will ensure that.”

"What's going on?" he demanded, but his voice came out small, frightened.

"Goodness, the poor dear must have gotten confused," The Poodle responded. "Children often do, in these situations. There's just one more bit of paperwork to handle, and he'll be in good paws."

"What? Whose paws?"

The Daschund ignored him and moved for the first time since arriving. He pulled out a small box and made note of something on his datapad. A shimmer of light surrounded him; Nanobot composition scanners, LifeCorp's model. But why and how would he know that?

“Let's see… aha. Height? Slightly below average for his age. Fine. Weight?" The Daschund whistled. "Well, Miss Lin certainly spoiled you, didn't she? 37.5% bernese, 25% bernard to many others to note…"

The Poodle glanced over at the data pad and grinned. "Odd that your former employer never thought to scan himself until now, isn't it Miss Lin? It's a shame that there's no historical data to compare this to…"

Before she could respond, there was a timid knock at the door. “Come in,” The Poodle called.

A pup in robes entered, carrying another garment. He was a shiba inu mix, about 8 or 9 years old. “Sir, here are the robes for the new acolyte.”

“Thank you, Jin,” The Poodle responded before turning back. "My, you are a chubby little pup, aren’t you, Feng? Chubbier than you were in the past, and certainly the chubbiest acolyte we've taken on. Luckily Miss Lin has provided us with your measurements. You should find these robes much more accommodating than that stuffy, old suit. Miss Lin, if you would oblige us one more time? Consider it your last act of service to Mister Jackson."

Feng looked around. Who was Mister Jackson?

The Pomeranian smiled at The Poodle.

"It would be my pleasure, sir."