Fruit of the Tree

When I joined the FBI, I never thought it would end like this. I thought I was invincible considering the loss I endured in the military. But now, as I hang here, feeling the hemoglobin drain from my body, I realize just how wrong I was.

Despite my father being a police officer, I was a troublemaker during my teens, a hoodlum, always rebelling against unjust, in my perception, authority. To me, authority oppressive, just a way to keep the little guy down. I partied hard, I played fast and loose with the rules, and I definitely played the field when it came to women.

I left a trail of broken hearts in my wake. I was charming but was never exactly honest about my intentions. It was like a game to me, grafting on girls, seeing how many I could get to fall for me, no strings attached. Looking back, I can see how messed up it was, but at the time, I didn’t care.

But all that changed when I enlisted. Boot camp was a rude awakening. Suddenly, all that charm and swagger didn’t mean shit. All that mattered was discipline, integrity, honor. I struggled at first. I was used to doing things my way, not taking orders from anyone.

But the military didn’t care about my past, about the mistakes I’d made. All they cared about was turning me into a soldier. And they didn’t pull any punches. From day one, they drilled into me the importance of discipline, waking up at the crack of dawn, running until my legs, when I still had two, felt like lead, pushing myself beyond my limits. So, I straightened up, I flew right, and I started to take things seriously.

Slowly but surely, I started to shed the layers of my former self, to transform into something greater. The military instilled in me a sense of purpose, a drive to be the best version of myself. And with each passing day, I grew stronger, more disciplined, more focused, more resilient.

Rising to 6 foot 2 with broad shoulders. Traps, bulging like mountains. Lats, wide and imposing, spanning 50-inches. Bulging biceps, a solid 18-inches. Triceps, tight. Delts, powerful. 46-inch chest, with protruding, yet defined pecs. Abs, chiseled from stone.

I got even more attention from women. There’s something about a guy in uniform. I was different. I was honest, I was honorable, and I always made it clear from the get-go that I was never looking for anything serious. I still had my fair share of fun, but it was was real. Maybe I broke a few hearts along the way, but at least, I did it with integrity.

I rose through the ranks, I earned respect, but it wasn’t just about fighting strength or the enviable physique. It was about the journey, the transformation, the unwavering commitment to become something greater than I ever thought possible.

The military taught me mental toughness: how to push through pain, how to stay calm under pressure, how to never give up, no matter how tough things got. I met my best friends in the military. I served multiple tours of duty overseas, earning commendations for my bravery and leadership under fire.

My prosthetic, my reminder, marking the day I lost a part of myself in service to my country. Some might call it a setback, a tragedy, but I call it a testament to my resilience, to the unyielding spirit that courses through my veins.

The chaos of battle, the deafening roar of gunfire, the smell of smoke and sweat hanging heavy in the air. I was was seriously injured in an explosion and lost my right leg below the knee. It was in that moment that I made a choice: to fight, to survive, to overcome.

They took my leg. But they couldn’t take my strength, my determination, my will to push forward. I refused to be defined by my injury, to let it dictate the course of my life. So I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and embarked on a journey of physical and mental transformation.

Determined not to let this injury define me, I underwent intense rehabilitation and physical therapy. My best friends and I hit the gym with a vengeance, pushing me to the limit, rebuilding my body from the ground up. The grind was relentless. Every rep, every lift, every drop of sweat was a battle, a testament to my unwavering resolve. With each passing day, I grew stronger. My muscles bulged, my endurance soared, and I emerged from the ashes like a phoenix reborn.

It was during this time that my best friends and I discovered a new calling, to serve our country in a different capacity, as members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, a natural progression for men like us, men who thrive on challenges and thrive on justice. With our military background and unwavering dedication to justice, we were accepted into the FBI Academy. It wasn’t an easy transition, navigating the bureaucracy, the red tape, the doubts of others. Even less easy for an amputee, but I persevered, just as I always had.

For several years I was stuck behind a desk, underestimated and overlooked by those who couldn’t see past my disability. It took me a while to come to terms with my new reality. I felt like less of a man, like I was somehow broken. But I refused to let it hold me back. I worked out twice as hard, refusing to let my muscular body atrophy. I put in the extra hours at work, and proved myself time and time again.

Life has a funny way of surprising you. Women were still drawn to me, drawn to my strong body and my resilience. There’s nothing more attractive than someone who knows how to roll with the punches, who faces adversity head-on and comes out on top.

Someone finally took notice of my boosted confidence and I was promoted from desk agent to field investigator. I received my first case by my early 30s. This was a chance to prove myself in the field, to show the world what was truly capable of.

As I stood from my vantage point, overlooking the desolate landscape of Mendocino, California, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease settling over me. This place, with its abandoned farm and twisted vegetation, held more secrets than meets the eye.

An anarchist horticulture botanist, named Fizzy, created a hybrid plant by grafting a gourd patch onto a lavender tree. Fizzy claimed that his creation has medicinal properties, that it could heal the mind and spirit, Fizzy’s Pharm at Fizzy’s Farm.

Allegedly, Fizzy lost ADHD hyper-focus on his experiment and abandoned the venture to work at a psychiatric hospital in the Bay Area. The abandoned gourd-lavender farm is suspected of still being in operation as a marijuana farm. On the surface, it seemed pretty straightforward, after all, marijuana is legal in California, but it’s more complicated than it seems.

Even though the state had legalized it, the feds still have jurisdiction when it comes to enforcing federal laws. The greenhouse, where this operation is suspected to be, is on land that’s technically federal property. Though Fizzy disputed the government’s ownership of the land and thought he had a claim to it, the truth is, it was not his to use for growing weed.

There is also evidence pointing to some shady stuff going on around Mendocino. There’s been a string of disappearances in the area, young men who seem to have vanished into thin air. My hunch is that they’re all related.

First, there’s the bartender at the local watering hole. A charismatic young man, always quick with a smile and a joke. But the bartender was known to dabble in the local drug scene, peddling marijuana to the late-night crowd. Could his involvement with illicit substances have led to his disappearance?

Then there’s the avid hiker. A rugged individualist, who was never one to shy away from adventure. But his love for the great outdoors may have led him down a dangerous path. Rumor has it he stumbled upon something in the wilderness, something he wasn’t meant to see. Could his curiosity have cost him his life?

And finally, there’s the plant enthusiast. A true green thumb, the plant admirer spent his days tending to his garden, but fascinated by hybrid plants. Could his obsession with this mysterious plant drawn him into a web of danger?

I couldn’t shake the feeling that these men’s disappearances are connected. Connected this farm on the outskirts of town, a farm shrouded in secrecy and suspicion. A farm where illicit activities are said to take place under the cover of darkness. Where these men were somehow involved with the farm, either as unwitting participants or unwitting victims? Could they have stumbled upon something nefarious, something that someone was willing to kill to protect.

My plan was to dig deeper, gather more evidence, and find out what was really going on at this farm. And when I did, I was going to bring Fizzy to justice.

There is an eerie glow over the dilapidated farmhouse, shrouded in darkness. The moonlight casts my shadow, a towering figure with broad shoulders and a commanding presence, stepping cautiously through the overgrown vegetation surrounding the abandoned structure. My flashlight cuts through the thick fog, illuminated the tangled gourd vines and twisted branches that seem to reach out to me.

I cautiously approach the greenhouse, my senses on high alert. Strange sounds emanate from the lavender trees, echoing through the night like ghostly whispers. The scent perfumes my nostrils. My grip tightens on my flashlight as I push open the creaking door and stepped inside.

The interior of the greenhouse is dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the glass roof, casting unsettling shadows on the rows of towering marijuana plants. I sweep over the scene, taking in the lush greenery and uncanny atmosphere.

A rustling sound catches my attention. I whirl around to see the vines creeping up the walls, twisting and writhing as if possessed by some unseen force. My heart pounds in my chest as I watch, transfixed by the disturbing sight.

“Alright, who’’s there? Show yourself!”

But there is no response, only a sweet scent wafting over me and the sound of the wind whistling through the broken windows and the faint pleas that seemed to emanate from the lavender outside.

I square my shoulders and plunge deeper into the greenhouse, ready to uncover the truth behind the disappearance of the young men and the strange happenings on this farm.

I haven’t seen anybody in over four hours of arriving to this property, or seen any movement, a part form the plants jostling in the breeze, so I’m startled when I enter the next room because there is a man sitting nervously on a rickety chair in the dimly lit farmhouse.

“Hands up!”

I order with my sidearm drawn.

The man squirms uncomfortably as he sizes up my imposing figure before him.

I recognize him as the man I’ve been investigating, Fizzy, the 40-something anarcho-horticulture-botanist. He’s been squatting in this abandoned farm. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is unkept and he odour is pungent.

“You’re like something straight out of a Schwarzenegger movie, all muscle and machismo. I mean, I’ve never seen traps that bulge like that. It’s like they’re about to burst out of your uniform.”

He gestures with his hands and his eyes widen.

“And your lats? Wide enough to block out the sun, I swear. And those arms? pure muscle. Triceps like steel cables, tight and defined. Delts that could lift a car, I’m not kidding.”

He shakes his head in disbelief, his voice trembling.

“I’ve never seen anything like you, man. You’re like a walking, talking action figure come to life. There’’s no way I’m outrunning a guy like you, even with your prosthetic leg, not in this lifetime.”

He swallows hard and hangs his head.

In the dilapidated greenhouse, overgrown with twisted vines and thorny plants, Fizzy stands amidst a gourd patch, a twisted smile on his face.

“I fucking said ‘Hands up!’”

Fizzy raises his hands, and the gourd patch responds. Vines slither across the damp ground as tendrils reach out, seeking my body. Voracious gourds emerge from the shadows. They roll and tumble toward me, launching themselves, disarming me. Despite my prosthetic leg, I leap with impressive agility to evade more gourds. My shredded physique and broad shoulders showcase a ballet of strength and dexterity.

Thick vines lash out at my muscular body. My limbs entangle as I’m caught off guard by the vines’ speed. I try to wrench myself loose but struggle to break free as the tendrils tighten their grip. My massive chest and back muscles flexing beneath my personal protective equipment. The plant continues to wrap around my body, pulling me deeper into its clutches. I feel the pressure building.

Fizzy’s grin widens.

“You’re trapped. Just relax. Give in”

The lavender whispers, the sound reverberating in my head. Fizzy’s words are hypnotic. But I refuse to give up.

“I’ve stared death in the face more times than I can count. I’ve fought on the front lines, risking life and limb for my country, I’m not going to succumb to a supernatural salad.”

With a primal roar, I summon every ounce of strength within me. Flexing my bulging biceps and triceps, I pull free from the vines’ grasp.

I step toward Fizzy.

His eyes widen in disbelief. He backs away, but it’s too late.

I grab him by the neck, lifting him into the air.

His legs flail helplessly.

I tighten my grip.

His face turns purple. He struggles to speak.

I squeeze harder. There is a sickening crunch.

Fizzy’s eyes gleam with an eerie light. The vines wrap around my prosthetic leg and the gourds launch at my other.

I lose my balance. My large muscular body falls on top of the mad scientist, while my leg is ripped off of me. I can not get back to a standing base and am beginning to feel vulnerable.

“You will obey me. You are mine. I will control you.”

His voice is like a choir through the vines.

The plants converge on me from all sides, overwhelming me with their sheer numbers. Tendrils wrap around my body, dragging me off of Fizzy.

Unable to resist him, Fizzy undresses my personal protective equipment.

With the obstacle of my PPE out of the way, the plants’ tendrils slither beneath my clothes. They tighten around my bulging pecs, massaging my rock-hard nipples.

“Mmm…”

I moan, feeling a strange pleasure coursing through my body. The plant’s touch is gentle, sensual. I am losing myself. But I resist. Though I have never encountered anything like this in my years of service, I will not give in. I will fight this.

“That’s it, relax”

I feel my resistance melting away, my body responding to the plant’s touch. My cock hardens in my pants. I let out a moan of pleasure as the plant’s tendrils slide across my skin, caressing me.

Fizzy grins, his eyes shining with lust. He steps toward me, his hand reaching out to stroke my bulging biceps.

“That’s right. Give in. Surrender.”

He whispers, his fingers tracing my muscular body.

I moan, my body trembling with desire. I close my eyes, giving in to the plant’s seductive embrace. My mind reels with the ecstasy of the moment.

Fizzy shoves me into the corner of the room, my tangled body knocking over his rickety chair.

The vines that have climbed up the walls embrace the vines wrapped around me. They bind my wrists and ankles apart. The plants hang me by my wrists. I struggle against my restraints, but they are unyielding.

My shirt rips from the vines beneath my clothes. The vines have their own agency and goal: exposing my muscular chest and abs. My pants have also been torn open, revealing my thick cock.

Fizzy grins, his eyes lingering on my chiseled physique. He runs his hands across my bare chest, tracing the contours of my pecs and abs.

I’m unable to stop him. My body responds to his touch, my cock growing hard and thick.

But Fizzy isn’t satisfied with just touching. He pulls me close, his lips brushing against mine. Fizzy’s hand is rough as he strokes my cock. His fingers are strong and firm, gripping my shaft. He works his hand up and down, his movements steady and sure.

I can feel the heat building inside me, the pleasure growing.

He turns around and lowers his pants.

“Come on.”

He inserts my thick cock into himself. The heat and tightness make me groan. Fizzy rides my cock, his ass tightening around me. The pleasure is intense, almost too much to bear. My body trembles as he uses me for his pleasure. I’m helpless to resist.

“That’s it.”

He growls as my hips buck, thrusting my cock deeper inside him. With a groan, I erupt, my seed spilling inside him. My mind is in a psychedelic high.

As Fizzy finishes his ride, he releases my dick and climbs off me. My cum drips out of his ass, coating the greenhouse floor. Fizzy gets down and slurps it.

I can’t believe what just happened. I’m not sure how to react. But before I can say anything, Fizzy grabs a splinter from the rickety chair and punctures my arteries.

Vines seize on the opportunity to enter my blood stream. I hang here, feeling the hemoglobin drain from my body while chlorophyll replaces it. The mad scientist’s creation is grafting on me.

The boundaries between human and flora blur as vegetative sinews intertwine with my brawny muscles. My body swells with growth. The arboreal parasite dances beneath my broad shoulders and heavy chest. Muscles expand and become denser. A haunting symphony of whispers accompanies the transformation. My shredded physique is now verdant as the lavender-gourd plant spreads through my body, creating a grotesque amalgamation of vegetation and man.

“Testicles are the forbidden fruit of the man-tree.”

Fizzy muses, but that doesn’t sound right to me. My balls swell with heaviness.

“Filled with sweet, delicious and nutritious sap. It’s time."

Fizzy’s eyes shine with malice

“Time to harvest.”

“Harvest what?”

“Your seed,”

I struggle, but it’s useless.

"No!”

I scream, but no one can hear me.

Fizzy reaches for my heavy testicles. He squeezes and massages them, milking my seed. My thick dick hardens again and Fizzy sucks the sap directly from the spigot. My pleasure is overwhelming, even as Fizzy violates my mind and body.

“You are my seed factory.”

Fizzy snarls.

I try to struggle. The vines and roots are too strong. I’m helpless.

My muscular form starts to contort. A grotesque tableau unfolds as rooted tendrils emerge from my amputation, anchoring me to the damp ground.

By the time Fizzy is finished with his treat, my testicles drop like gourds and my cock hardens like fibrous root.

Fizzy retrieves agriculture equipment from a rusted work bench. He attaches a sucking tube to my cock. It begins to pull my sap from me, like a straw pulling a drink up from a glass.

I watch in horror as the machine sucks, pulls and jerks my cock. It’s almost violent in its intensity. I can feel my sap being sucked out of me from the deepest recesses of my body. My face twists with agony and my eyes condensate with despair.

The greenhouse freezes in time as the atmosphere within grows tense. The gourd patch retreats, leaving me now a creature of twisted beauty, bound within the confines of the greenhouse, an unholy fusion of man and nature.

The moonlight casts an eerie glow on my muscular physique, now a grotesque tapestry of plant and flesh. Vines replace sinew, and leaves sprout amidst my shredded abs. My shoulders, twisted up with vines. My back, covered in leaves and branches, my arms, gnarled with bark. A garden grows from my chest with my pecs flowering lavender. My legs anchoring me to the earth, a fertile beast trapped in a nightmare.

Fizzy, satisfied with his Frankenstein creation, meets my vulnerable gaze.