You already have visitors, for business before pleasure.

The door opens before you can make a decision. At first, you don't see who walks through due to the obstruction of your bedframe and the table next to you. All you see is a bobbing head of forest-green hair below eye-level, and you hear the clacking of high heels.

The visitor drags a chair towards your bed and hops up onto it. Your eyes widen to their fullest. Sitting next to you is a woman who couldn't be more than 4'4" if she were an inch, with an absolutely titanic bosom that was oversized for her lithe, tiny frame, each breast bigger and fuller than you could wrap two hands around. She wore a tailored business suit like she was poured into it, with a skirt that was pushed up by the cushiony ass she was sitting on. Her luxurious dark green hair fell down past one eye and curled near an indulgently plump pair of lips, currently held tight in a stern pout. It was like someone had taken the 'stern secretary' stereotype, squashed her down, then taken a cartoon air pump to her curves.

The mystery business-shortstack carried a tablet in the crook of her arm, but set it aside on the table atop the pile of get-well cards. Her uncovered eye looked into yours with a soul-piercing gaze, her expression softening and revealing her concern to you, only you. "The doctors told me..." she starts, her voice low and smokey, before she sits back and steels herself, clearing her throat. "Ahem. The doctors told me you've lost the last six years."

"That's... yeah," you mumble back, a little dumbstruck. It was one thing to see reference pictures on Wikipedia, another entirely to see such a bizarrely Enhanced woman in the flesh before your very eyes. Your treatment could do so many things, it seemed - including making a woman shorter if she wanted to be.

The woman sat in silence for a moment, making your stomach tighten. She picked up her tablet again and started to tap away. "I'm Nevaeh, your personal assistant. And, most likely–" She let out a resigned, frustrated sigh. "–the effective head of the company while you recover. I'm sure you have a hundred questions, and I'm probably the best equipped to answer them."

"I've been doing a little reading," you mention, lifting up your own tablet briefly.

Nevaeh nods. "You've already got the broad strokes then." It wasn't a question so much as an implied statement of trust in your intelligence. She looks towards your loins and her full lips curl into a smirk. "And I see you've reached the part where your life is a living, walking porno."

Though you had adjusted the sheets, you're still too weak to make your bulge much less obvious. The baggy patient's pants you were wearing beneath the sheets certainly weren't helping.

"Yeah, you know, let's start with that," you reply. "The past few years, I've just... Anyone? And anywhere?"

Her smirk grows. "Why wouldn't you?" is her simple rebuttal.

"Well... it kind of seems like a cult." There, you said it.

Her exposed eyebrow raises.

It was too good to be true. You had to be sure there wasn't something fucked-up waiting to pounce on you. "Historically, cults don't last forever. Especially when the cult leaders... stop being who they want them to be."

Nevaeh closes her eyes, lets out a low, womanly chuckle in her throat, and leans back in her too-large chair. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that. The hard part's already finished - you're already the ultra-celebrity who invented the Enhancement. The whole world knows your face, even if you don't. If anything, it'll just make us Enhanced girls... want to take care of you more..." She slips into a half-lidded, lip-biting expression, but then shakes her head and straightens her posture. "But for the moment, my concerns are limited to two things: Making sure you're safe and up-to-speed on the situation, and catching the people who did this to you."

There was a somewhat dangerous edge to her voice, and you were at least glad she was on your side. "It was a vehicle accident, right?"

"No accident," Nevaeh mutters, tapping furiously on her tablet. "Just half an hour before the crash, you called me." She apparently pulled up an audio file on her device and played it.

Your voice - your own damn voice, playing back to you - excitedly announces, "Nevy! I think I've done it. I've solved it! Meet me at HQ right away, don't tell anyone, this is gonna be big, really big! I mean, we'll have to get the research teams on it, really lock down all the details, but the theory, I think I've proved it! See you in 30 for a, ah, live demonstration. Okay, driver's here. Gotta go!"

"What the hell was I working on?" you ask.

"Knowing you, it could have been about 12 different things," Nevaeh answers. "Splicing animal traits, encouraging the growth of extra organs, unlocking the secret of a male version of the Enhancement, figuring out how to flavor breastmilk..."

Yeesh, had years of constant no-strings-attached sex with loyal goddesses made you such a pervert? ...Don't answer that, universe.

"The important thing is, you were traveling from the lab to the company headquarters when the crash occurred. The briefcase that hit your head and took away the last six years of your life? Nowhere to be found since."

Your eyes widen again and your heart drops into your stomach. "Espionage," you mutter aloud.

"Safe to assume your phone was tapped and the crash was deliberate, though the driver was most likely a patsy hired through a cutout. Some competitor, or someone dreaming of being a competitor, wanted to get away with your newest breakthrough." She resumes tapping away on her tablet. "I've had representatives from the local PD, FBI, and Interpol assure me that an off-the-books 'task force' is being put together to identify this would-be mastermind."

"Definitely not a cult," you point out with a small smile of your own.

"This is serious," Nevaeh insists, but she smiles back a little. "Though I'm glad your sense of humor hasn't been lost to time. Nonetheless. We can't rule out that this adversary still considers you a threat, so I've taken the liberty of hiring extra security." She turned around and peered over the back of her chair, giving you a profile view of her prodigious shelf of cleavage. "Lotti!" she calls out. "Has your team finished securing the perimeter?"

"Ya." The door opens once again and a towering amazonian woman, surpassing even Dr. Asbury to the point that she had to duck under the doorframe, enters through. She is a military-minded woman with shock red hair that is buzzed at the sides and back, wearing a black-and-gray camo-patterned shirt and cargo pants. Her arms are exposed and amazingly muscular, like she could crush any of the metal furniture in her bare hands if she wanted to. The heavy steps of her boots can be felt even across the room. Despite all that, she is intensely womanly as well, her huge breasts projecting out like torpedos and her powerful glutes and thighs flaring out like a brick wall behind her. She looks down at you with a friendly grin. "This is our clueless lucky bastard, then?" she asks in a pleasingly rough-and-tumble voice with a distinctive eastern-European accent you can't quite place.

Nevaeh nods and turns back towards you, placing a hand under your dropped jaw and closes it for you. "There, you see?" she purrs. "You've even got your very own Valkyries. Welcome to Valhalla."