Kotetsu knew he was in for a rough day the instant his alarm clock went off.

When he tried to roll over to hit the snooze alarm, he discovered he couldn't do it. "He? Oh, holy crap," he muttered into the pillow, trying to move his legs. That action just caused the old familiar pain to flare across his hips and up his lower back like a lightening strike. It certainly woke him up quicker than the alarm, that's for sure. He had to literally roll out of bed and land on the floor on his hands and knees and use the night stand to pull himself to his feet. He was only able to straighten halfway up. Any further and his spine seemed to be locked. "Not good. Not good at all. Son of a bitch-" he was muttering as he shuffled in the direction of the bathroom.

The shower help to loosen him up a little, just enough so that he could dress himself, but even going down the stairs was a challenge and a test of his balance. He needed to have a rail installed on this staircase. He really did. In the kitchen, he popped a couple of muscle relaxants with his morning coffee and checked his watch almost hopefully. His chiropractor's office wouldn't be open until 8:30 AM, and there was no guarantee that he would even get an appointment today, or even this week. The HeroTV network was footing the bill for these visits so he was pretty much a prisoner to the scheduling, which was tight at the best of times. Hell, the reason he was in this mess to begin with was because he had cancelled his last appointment to go out drinking with Antonio. In terms of priorities, he just might have missed the boat on that one . . .

On the drive into work he was actually quite comfortable folded up behind the wheel. It wasn't until he pulled into his parking spot at Apollon Media he realized he was in a real pickle. He opened up the driver's side door and swivelled around, but his back had locked up on him again. He had no choice but to repeat his bed-exiting strategy and drop to the asphalt on all fours.

And of course, he timed it perfectly. A pair of highly polished shoes came around the front of the jeep and stopped right in front of him. He found himself eyelevel with his boss's knees. "Mr. Kaburagi? What on earth are you doing?"

Alexander Lloyds. The only other person on the planet, besides Barnaby Brooks, Jr., who thought he was a worthless old burn-out. Fantastic. "I'm looking for my contact lens," he found himself saying.

Damned if Lloyds didn't drop his briefcase and kneel down to join him in the hunt. "I didn't know you wore contact lenses."

"Recent thing," Kotetsu lied desperately. "I figured it would look pretty weird if both Bunny and I wore glasses, so I decided to bite the bullet and went for the contacts instead. They're not so bad but they fall out pretty easily. Like, right as I was getting out the jeep as a matter of fact-" he bit back the rest when he realized he was babbling. There they were, the pair of them rooting around like crabs on the dirty pavement and Tiger was at a complete loss as to how he could possibly get out of this mess.

Lloyds' knee ground against something rough, producing a grating sound, and Tiger took it as a sign from God and screamed: "Agh! You crushed it! Now I'm blind on one side. Cripes, I can't go crime fighting with only one good eye, can I?"

Lloyds was looking totally flummoxed at this point. "Well, I-"

"Of course not! I might cause more damage than usual and nobody wants that on their consciousness-" "

"Conscience."

"That too!" Kotetsu began to drag himself up into the driver's seat of his jeep, trying to make it look casual. "I'll just go pay my podiatrist a quick visit and get another one."

"Mr. Kaburagi, a podiatrist is a foot doctor," Lloyds corrected patiently. He got to his feet and slapped at his pants to get them clean.

"Oh, this guy's a multi-tasker. Feet, eyes, you name it. He's great!" Kotetsu raved, finally settling successfully behind the steering wheel. It was such an amazing victory he almost wanted to weep. He started the engine and said out the window as he was driving away, "I'll be back as soon as I can. Might just be an hour. Might be a couple. Who knows? I'll be back as soon as I can-"

Lloyd's watched him tear out of the parking garage and drive up the ramp to freedom. He sighed and reclaimed his briefcase and dialled the number to his personal secretary. "Myrtle, you can excuse Kaburagi from this morning's schedule. No, this time he pulled the missing contact ruse. It was quite entertaining. Yes, I agree. Perhaps it is high time we scheduled him for a psychiatric assessment-" "

Kotetsu found a parking spot near his chiropractor's office. The second the hands on his watch reached the positions of eight and six he started speed dialling. Obviously, the receptionist (a snotty little thing right out of college named Muffy or Buffy or some other derivative of -uffy) was in a different time zone, because she didn't pick up the phone until quarter to nine: "Good morning, Dr. McAllister's clinic-"

"Muffy! Hi! Good morning. How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm-"

"Great, that's great! Listen, it's Kotetsu Kaburagi calling and I are really, REALLY need to see Bill as soon as possible-"

"We're all booked up for this week, Mr. Kaburagi. And, I've told you before, my name is Marcy."

"Marcy! Che! What on earth was I thinking? Are you absolutely sure that you don't have an opening or a cancellation that I could fit into? Because I'm hurting here and-"

"I'm very sorry but it's a holiday week."

". . . It is?"

"Yes. Purim's on Thursday and the office will be closed right up to Monday."

"His last name's McAllister! He's not even Jewish!"

"This office observes all religious holidays, Mr. Kaburagi. I can make an appointment for you on . . . Oh, let's see here. March 13th at 9:00 am. That's a Tuesday. How does that sound?"

Kotetsu would have leaned forward whack his forehead on the steering wheel in frustration but couldn't manage the flexibility. "Fine. Tuesday. 9:00 am," he muttered.

"Thank you, Mr. Kaburagi and I'd like to say mazel tov-"

Click. Kotetsu hung up on her. What the hell was he going to do now? He supposed he could drag his crippled ass into work but there was absolutely no way he could pull off any heroics in his current shape, even with the battle suit. It might help him to stand up straighter but it also added another forty pounds to his frame. The mere thought of having to be forced to use his Wild Shoot and swing from a building with his wires made him shudder in horror. No, he had to find some way to remedy this situation. And he had to find it fast.

He scrolled through the contacts on his phone and decided to call his partner first. As usual, Barnaby couldn't be civil on the phone. Oh nooo. He had to make some wise ass comment right off the bat: "Contact lenses, hm? Very original."

"I was caught by surprise. Listen, Bunny, my chiropractor chose this week to convert to Judaism and I'm in desperate need of an adjustment. You don't happen to have a back breaker on the exclusive Brooks payroll by any chance to you?"

"No, I have a thing about being touched."

Goddamn virgin, Kotetsu thought. "Okay, just thought I'd check. Heaven forbid I might have some good luck for a change."

"Oh, spare me the theatrics, old man. I'll handle things here like I always do," Barnaby said and hung up.

Now I know why my dad used to enjoy hunting rabbits so much, Kotetsu brooded as he scrolled through his contacts again. He dialled his best friend's number and listened to the phone ring and was shocked when he heard a woman's voice pick up on the other end: "Bonjour? Comment t'appelle tu?"

"Huh? Hello?" Kotetsu asked, glancing at the phone in confusion. Yep, right there on the tiny display was the water buffalo picture that he used for Bison's avatar. There could be no doubt he had the right number. "I'm calling for Antonio. Who is this?"

"Merde!" the woman huffed into his ear. He doubted it was meant as a compliment. That was followed by some muted conversation he couldn't make out and then his friend finally came onto the line. "Kotetsu! Hey buddy, how's it-"

"Was that Agnes?" Agnes Joubert was the producer of HeroTV and their boss whenever there was a mission. She was a ball breaking bitch to the ultimate extreme. "Are you and her . . .?" he couldn't force himself to finish the question.

"Yep."

"How long?"

"A couple of weeks now." Bison dropped his voice into a conspiratorial tone and rumbled out, "She's amazing."

"Is she? Well, good for you," Tiger muttered. Right about now sex was the furthest thing on his mind (not that it had been near the top of the list the last couple of years anyway). He decided he wanted no part of this particular conversation and got straight to the point. "Do you have the number of a chiropractor handy?"

"I don't go to those hacks. They do more harm than good. Why? You hurting?"

"Words can't describe the shape I'm in right now. I think I'm going to have to live in my car, Tony. I really do. I can't freaking walk."

"Go to that massage parlour I'm always talking about. You won't have to worry about any appointment, that's for sure."

"The one in Chinatown? Underneath the bakery?"

"Yup, that's the one. Ask for Rinn. She'll fix you right up. Satisfaction guaranteed."

Bison always did look in remarkable shape after one of those visits. Lord knows Kotetsu never felt particularly energized after half an hour of William McAllister manhandling the disks in his spine, that was for sure. "Thanks buddy. I'm going to head over there right now."

"Have fun," was Bison's mystery sign off but Tiger was too preoccupied to put much thought into it. He just wanted the pain to finally go away.

Kotetsu had grown up in a quaint little district outside of Sternbild called Oriental Town which was about as sleepy and uneventful as any place ever got. Going into the heart of the city's interpretation of the same concept was always a little unsettling for him. It was like Oriental Town on steroids. Or maybe even crack. The population was multiplied by a factor of ten and the attitude dialled up by a hundred. The only thing Tiger liked about it was that he was half a head taller than the majority of the natives, at least that would normally be the case if he could just straighten the hell up. He got out of his jeep and held onto the door for dear life and carefully inched his way up to his full height, taking his sweet time about it.

A couple of would-be street toughs were lounging outside of a pool hall and heckling him in Japanese. Kotetsu knew from experience that his choice of vehicle and the way that he dressed marked him as someone who most definitely did not live in the neighborhood. The majority of those inner-city Asians rarely spoke more than English.

Rounding on them, Kotetsu launched into a scathing tirade in flawless Japanese about how the youth of today had lost the ability to respect their elders; that instead of loitering around, maybe the little assholes should be contributing to society and get a damned job; or, at the very least, that they should learn when to shut the fuck up. The two punks got the hint and moved quickly on their way. Tiger's impression of the area moved up one notch. That had felt really good, surely something he wouldn't have gotten away with in his lower middle class, mostly Caucasian neighborhood. He would definitely have to come down here to mouth off against dumb punks more often.

Once he reclaimed his center of balance, he entered the stairwell and carefully negotiated his way down to Madame Bonita's Massage Parlour. At the bottom, he was stopped at the door by a guy so huge it made Tiger feel like a midget. "You here by referral?" the brute asked in perfect English.

"Antonio Lopez sent me," Kotetsu said, not sure of that was the correct answer.

It appeared to satisfy the gorilla. The door was opened and Tiger was permitted entrance into a wonderful Asian paradise completely out of place being a hundred feet below the ground. There was sandalwood incense burning (making him immediately start sneezing) and mahogany pillars scrolled with elaborate dragons that depicted them chasing their tails. The floor was a highly polished jade color and the lights were multicoloured paper lanterns. Kotetsu could understand Antonio's attraction to the ambience, he really could, but in all honesty he would have felt more at ease in a sterile white room with fluorescent lights and an iPod playing New Age music, truth to tell. These surroundings weren't much of a treat for him. There seem to be a parade of Asian beauties on display who were ogling him with interest, but Kotetsu kept his eye on the old, wrinkled woman behind the counter. He said what appeared to be the two magic words, "Antonio Lopez." And added, "He told me to come by. He recommended Rinn."

"Ah, Rinn is busy."

"Of course she is," he muttered. "Fine. Whoever you've got trained to handle a really bad back. I don't care."

"You want the full treatment?"

"Ha?"

"Do you want the full massage package, including personal ministration service?"

Kotetsu just stared at her for a few seconds and then shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."

"Two hundred dollars, cash."

He paid her, grumbling, "I want a receipt," because there was no damn way that he wasn't going to get reimbursed for this expense. Not if his Scottish chiropractor could take a four day weekend to go off partying with the Chosen People.

After quickly making the money disappear, the woman (presumably Madame Bonita) handed him a towel and a kimono. "Follow me," she said, leading him down the hall into the changing area. Kotetsu looked around in surprise. It wasn't the metal and mortar of the Apollon Media men's room, that was for sure. The floor was warm granite and the lockers were made of cherry wood with professionally carved panels depicting sumo wrestlers and samurais. There were signs on the far wall that pointed to the showers, but also to the Jacuzzi, sauna, and steam rooms. The place was bigger than he'd imagined. If he wasn't in such discomfort, he would have liked to investigate what this place had to offer at his leisure. "Have a shower. Enjoy the spa. Come back to the counter when you're ready for your massage," the Madame said pleasantly and left.

Shower? Again? Hell, it had taken all of his effort just to get dressed this morning and now he had to repeat that torture? He sighed and looked forlornly down at his shoes, staring at the laces as if they were a mile away. He tried to bend down to untie them and held the wall for dear life as his back rebelled to the movement. In the back of his mind he wondered how much extra the old Madame would charge just to undress him . . .

Eventually, he managed to get all of his clothes off and made his way into the adjoining shower area. This time the water pressure just seemed to play havoc with his back, or maybe it was just the stress of the situation, but he felt worse stepping out of the stall than he had going in. He went back to his locker and dry-swallowed another muscle relaxant. After he'd towelled off, he pulled on his briefs, sled into a pair of sandals, pulled on the robe and went back out to the counter.

The Madame looked surprised to see him returning so soon. She snapped her fingers twice and a tall, extremely buxom young woman came up alongside of her. "This is Maya. Is she acceptable?"

In Kotetsu's growing urgency he could have cared less of it was Nathan Seymour (the Hero equivalent of Dennis Rodman and RuPaul all rolled into one, with Dame Edna added into the mix) standing there in a g-string and holding a ball-gag. "She's fine."

Maya led him into one of the smaller rooms off the main hall. It had the obligatory Oriental artworks hung on the wall, cut flowers in a vase in the corner, and smelled of the rich, spiced oils used for the massages (making him sneeze some more). In the center of it was a long leather table covered with a crisp, white sheet. So far, that was about the only familiar sight Kotetsu had yet to see since stepping foot down here. Maya left the room for a minute and came back wearing a white one-piece ensemble that clung to her statuesque form. She handed him a towel. He held it in confusion.

"It goes around your waist. You don't wear the robe or underwear in here."

"Oh." Well crap, maybe he should've asked Antonio for some tips on what was common etiquette in this circumstance. He disrobed and busied himself with the task of wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping out of his underwear. He didn't notice that the masseuse was greatly appreciating the view of his athletic body which was a far cry from the potbellied brokers that make up her usual clientele. "You've never been a massage parlour before, have you?"

"No," he admitted. "My chiropractor has a massage therapist on staff, but I don't find her all that great. My back is seriously messed up from work so I need someone who really knows what they're doing."

He didn't notice the look of surprise she flashed him as he peered down at the table. She was clearly thinking along the lines of: Was it actually possible that he was here because of a genuine medical concern? Was he actually oblivious to the fact that men usually used facilities like these for no other reason than to remedy a neglected libido? Maya could scarcely process this odd treat.

She gestured to the table and he carefully stretched out on his stomach and laid his face in the circular padded headrest, staring down at the floor. "What do you do?" she asked, going over to the counter and selecting the proper oils to begin the session.

He'd like to tell her that he was a super-powered cop because, when the Hero bullshit was all broken down, that's precisely what he was. For some reason he figured that admission just might not go over too well in this particular place. He relied on the old standby that Tony often used in similar circumstances. "I'm a firefighter."

Maya gave no indication it couldn't be true. The guy was slim but definitely ripped. She figured she might actually enjoy this session for a change. "Stressful job."

"You don't know the half of it," he murmured, closing his eyes. That last muscle relaxant was finally kicking in. "My back hasn't been right since I got knocked through a concrete wall."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Fifteen goddamn times, he wanted to add. He was referring to the Jake Martinez beat down two months ago. Man, that crazy rat bastard had gone absolutely ballistic on him and because of it he still wasn't a hundred percent yet.

"You're not so tense now, good," Maya said, squeezing some warm oil on his back and rubbing it in. She had strong fingers and kept applying steady pressure so she could measure the tolerance of the man beneath her. Some guys were extremely sensitive, others like it rough, and this one- by not reacting to her full strength- appeared to be the latter. That was good. It made her job easier.

The woman knew exactly where the tense nerve bundles were located and soothed them with her skilled hands. Tiger was tense at first until he realized this woman knew what she was doing and eventually fell into a light doze as she employed knuckles and elbows into the kinked muscles of his neck and shoulders. It had been a long time since he had felt anything this good. When she reached his lower back he roused briefly, anticipating the spine-grinding torment that he had come to associate with an adjustment. Maya climbed onto the table and, grabbing onto a ceiling mounted pole, began applying pressure to the tender muscles with her bare feet. She knew exactly where to place her toes and heels as she walked along the sides of his spine. Kotetsu might have groaned, he wasn't entirely sure, but it certainly wasn't from pain.

"Is this all right?" she asked, digging her heel into a spot just above his left buttock.

"Oooh god, that feels great. You can do the Macarena if you want to," he murmured, and fell asleep again, comforted by the skilled pressure being applied to his aching muscles.

When he suddenly felt her breasts against his back, THAT was when he completely woke up. It took him a few seconds to process the input, but soon realized she was now straddling his thighs and bent across his back with her hands massaging his rib cage. That was something new, as well as something else.

Where the hell was his towel?

"How does this feel?" her breath gusted into his right ear.

Interesting question, and if he could pull his tongue out of the pretzel shape it was currently in, he'd answer her.

She was still wearing her uniform, but it was hiked up so high above her thighs it might as well have been a belt. The folds of the fabric were rubbing back and forth against his bare ass and suddenly, all sensation above the waist ceased to be of any further concern for Kotetsu. He cleared his throat and said in an unsteady voice, "I, uh . . . don't recall my chiropractor ever using that particular technique . . ."

"Do you like it?"

Well, he didn't dislike it, that's for sure. Although if she continued at this pace he was sure he was going to dent the table underneath of him. He shifted position uncomfortably.

She took that as encouragement and slid down his body like a snake, her hands skillfully kneading the sides of his narrow waist and moving to his hips. Her fingers traced down the back of his legs, gliding on a smooth bed of warm oil. Her thumbs grazed along the sensitive parts of his inner thighs, gliding steadily upwards until Kotetsu became reacquainted with the expression "a rock and a hard place". Maya's expertly skilled fingers found spots in his flesh he never even knew existed, and others that had lain dormant for far too long. He felt horny, trapped, and curious all at the same time. If he hadn't been so bombed on muscle relaxants he probably would have bolted for the door by now. As things were, he felt like a limp noodle . . . except where it counted anyway.

His mind drifted, all of his thoughts focused solely on those incredibly talented fingers, and an unknown length of time seemed to pass before Maya was back near his head and softly whispering into his ear, "Roll over and I'll give you a happy ending."

Kotetsu blinked like a man coming out of a spell. He raised himself on one elbow to look down at himself, silently considering his response. Finally, he dropped back down and said in a hoarse voice, "Actually . . . I think I've already had one."

Maya opened her mouth, closed it, and finally uttered, ". . . Oh."

After that humiliating display, he managed to make it back to the changing room and got dressed in record time, sprinting up the stairs. When he emerged out on the street it felt like everyone was staring at him, although it was clearly his imagination. Nevertheless, he dipped his cap down low over his eyes and walked to his jeep with his hands deep in his pockets, not looking up from the pavement until he was unlocking the vehicle's door. He had never felt so embarrassed in all of his entire life. It wasn't until he jumped in behind the steering wheel did he realize that there was something else to consider here than just his wounded pride.

"I'll be damned," he whispered.

It was really rather amazing. Right now, he didn't feel any back pain whatsoever.

He got out of the vehicle and twisted his torso around and then bent over and touched his toes. Easily. He couldn't believe it. Not so much as a twinge-! He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so limber. It had to have been . . . well, years!

Five years, he realized with a start. His eyes widened with realization. Ever since . . .

Swallowing, he stared across the street at the door beside the Oriental bakery that led down into a surreal paradise where the miraculous hands of a female masseuse named Maya had set him free. He scratched the back of his head and regarded the place for a long time, trying to puzzle it all out.

Antonio had expected some sort of reaction from Kotetsu about his experience with the massage parlour but was genuinely perplexed (and disappointed) when his friend never made any comment, even when the Hispanic pressed him for details later. As the weeks passed, Tony wasn't even sure if Tiger had gone at all, though he certainly seemed more flexible and in much better spirits than usual. Kotetsu often internalized certain things, whether out of embarrassment or anger, and Bison just assumed the parlour experience had fallen into either category. He eventually dropped the subject.

It wasn't until one evening as Antonio was lounging in Agnes's condo that he discovered the truth. She was in her den and doing her paperwork. That was what she turned to after a vigorous sexual session because, she claimed, it made her mind more focused (Bison was just left wondering if he would ever be able to walk again). He was lying in bed staring numbly up the ceiling waiting for his heart rate to settle down into double digits, and that was when he heard her start cursing from the other room (even in French, the most coarse swear words sounded incredibly erotic). He managed to snag his underwear from one of the ceiling fan blades and hobbled into her makeshift office. She was holding receipts in either hand and staring at them in disbelief.

"What's wrong, Agnes?"

"What the hell is Tiger trying to pull?" she snapped.

"What're you talking about?"

"He fired the chiropractor the network hired for him. Lately, he's been turning in receipts for-" she read the name, "Madame Bonita's Massage Parlour."

Bison struggled to keep a straight face. "Oh, is that a fact?"

His shoulders started shaking as she continued to read the bill out loud: "I get the massage therapy part. But . . . what the hell is 'Personal Ministration Service'? On this last invoice he's charged for it twice!"

That was it. Antonio had to leave the room when he started laughing and couldn't seem to stop. It didn't help that on the television some sports commentators were talking about the Heroes and one reporter remarked, "I have to say that Wild Tiger has certainly upped his game lately. He's been well coordinated and unusually focused-"

Antonio returned to the bedroom and collapsed into the bed, howling with laughter with tears streaming down his cheeks. In the next room, Agnes simply continued to curse the strange antics of old Heroes.

~End.