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|Petrowski wandered the halls of Doherty Hall at State University
looking for room C304. He felt like bashing in the walls. It was so
damned frustrating trying to make sense of the maze he wandered
through. Who had ever heard of a building with sub-basements? And
C-sub-basement was a nightmare of corridors that led no where, floors
with steps that went up 3 then immediately down 3, and a numbering
scheme that resembled the Dewey Decimal System.
He found lab C302 and heard some yelling coming from down the hall.
"We got you this job so you could figure this out! We don't want excuses, we want to win! Our alumni want a national trophy! You said you could do it and that you'd done it before!"
"I showed you the results of my prior research," said a voice. Petrowski recognized it as Dr. Perkins, the man he had come to see.
"So do it again!"
"I've tried. The first results were destroyed, and every time I start something here, well,..."
"I don't want excuses doctor, I want results."
Petrowski saw a man emerge from a room down the hall. The man was tall and thin. He was red faced and brush passed Petrowski. Petrowski walked over to the door and knocked.
"Hello Dr. Perkins," greeted the huge muscle man.
Dr. Perkins looked up. "Sergeant Petrowski. Well, it's been two years. It's good to see you!" Perkins eyes surveyed the big man, watching his massive body walk with grace and strength. "I see that the formula is still working."
"Strong as ever doc," said Perkins. "That's why I'm here. Been trying to find that civilian, for the Sarge. You know."
"Yes," agreed Perkins. "I've been in touch with his doctors at the VA hospital. There hasn't been any change. I've helped as much as I could, but..." Perkins voice trailed off, ashamed of his failure.
"Doc, I couldn't help hearing. What was that about?"
"After my lab was destroyed, the Defense Department decided to terminate my contract. That's when they disbanded your unit. I contacted some colleagues, and they put me in touch with a man. Wealthy. Well, to make a long story short, he was a football fan and was upset that his team wasn't performing well."
"And City was undefeated," agreed Petrowski.
"Yes. They had gone from being a third-rate team to having players who were unstoppable. The benefactor agreed to fund my research. Something about a rivalry between the schools. He wanted me to give State's players the same edge. "
"Or better?" asked Petrowski. "Doc, I had a run in with one of their players. The kid whopped my ass."
"Jonny Romero?" asked Perkins. "Yes. Whatever is going on over there, he's the key. The kid could overpower the whole league if he wanted to."
"Well doc, if he could overpower me, I don't think the research from the Army could help here."
Perkins looked at Petrowski. "Perhaps, but my research isn't going well here. I can't even recreate the original formula that you took."
"If you could, do you think it might help Detrick?"
"Maybe." Perkins paused. "Sergeant, maybe with your help, I could recreate the original formula. It's still in your system. Perhaps I could synthesize it from your blood."
Perkins walked over to a table and began scribbling down notes.
"Sure doc, anything to help. But they still have Romero."
"Yes, but I've been thinking about that too. We used the formula on normal men. What if we used it on someone who was naturally predisposed to athletics. Someone gifted. One of State's star players for example. The formula might work stronger on someone like that. And once I have the original formula again, I might be able to enhance it." Perkins was busy writing. "And these enhancements might help Detrick. Sergeant, could I impose on you to help?"
"It's just Petrowski now, doc. Sergeant was a long time ago. Besides, there's only one real Sergeant, and that's Detrick. If this might help him, sure, I'll cooperate."
Perkins smiled. He went over to a cabinet and pulled out a syringe. Petrowski held out his arm. Perkins looked at the massively muscled limb. "Wow. I can never get over just how huge you are. Your arm is twice as thick as my chest!" Perkins wrapped a rubber hose around the upper arm, forcing more veins to the surface. He then stuck the needle in and began to extract Petrowski's blood. "And you say Romero was able to beat you. Well, we will have to do something about that."
Ken Walters walked into the locker room. This was the time that the football trained. Ken had played football his freshman year, but had stopped to body build instead. He still liked to train with the team, though. They were his friends, even though some of them didn't appreciate the aesthetic aspects that he now pursued.
Ken dropped his bag and looked at himself in the mirror. He was a handsome young man. His tussled blonde hair and his blue eyes betrayed his northern European heritage. His face was perfectly proportioned. He wore a van dyke that he kept trimmed close to his face. As he began to unbutton his shirt, his ripped, tight chest came into view. As button after button came undone, more of his hard body came was visible. He had a perfect ten pack with so little body fat his muscles were defined even when he wasn't flexed. He slipped the shirt over his massive shoulders revealing his nineteen-plus inch upper arms. He smiled at what he saw, the perfect pearly-white teeth the finishing touch to this extremely handsome man.
"Hey Kenny, come to train with the big boys," said one of the players.
"Think I'm pretty big right now," replied Kenny, raising his arms into a double bicep pose. Almost twenty inches of hard muscle bulged out of his upper arm, thick veins visible on his massive forearms. He pulled his arms up over his head, flexing his pecs and abs. His body snapped into ripped, massive muscle. He sucked in his gut, undulating his abs hypnotically. When he stopped flexing, he smiled and said, "and have the trophies to prove it."
"So, why not come back to the team and prove it on the field," chided Tom.
Ken unbuttoned his pants, and stripped down to his boxer briefs. Tom had seen Ken naked before, and knew what to expect. He turned away rather than accidentally looking at the snake that peaked out the right leg of the briefs. He pulled a pair of navy blue shorts out of his bag and pulled them over, covering the snake.
Just then the coach walked in. Petrowski and Perkins were with him. "Gentlemen," he announced, "can I have your attention. We think we've finally cracked the secret that will help us beat City this year and regain our number one ranking, but we need a volunteer."
Petrowski removed his shirt. The players gasped at the wall of muscle named Amos Petrowski. Petrowski's pec shelf hung nearly two feet over his ripped ten-pack abs. His arms were the largest they had ever seen up close. Every man in the locker room stared in awe, except for Ken.
"I see you've noticed Sergeant Petrowski. Gentlemen, the Sergeant here was the recipient of a secret government program into muscle growth. He's agreed to share those secrets with one of you."
"Doesn't look so tough to me," whispered Ken. "Looks more like some sorta gorilla that OD'ed on steroids."
"Did you say something Mr. Walters? This only applies to team members. You're a guest here."
"Ya, whatever coach. You know I'm way stronger than anyone on your team. If they want to do something unnatural when I can have this," he moved his hands over his body from his pecs to his abs and hips, "just by doing a little work, I'll go for the work."
The coach was about to say something when Perkins tapped him on the arm. The men whispered something, and the coach nodded yes a few times. Petrowski walked over to Ken.
"Think you're tough do you, son?"
"I know it," said Ken. "Here, let me prove it." Ken raised his arm to his side. He made a fist, flexing his massive forearm into its vascular splendor. Slowly, he bent his arm at the elbow and watched his massive bicep peak appear once more. Next, he flexed his triceps, hitting an equilibrium that displayed both the massive bicep and the low-hanging horseshoe of his triceps. "Think you're tough? I bet you can't even dent this."
Petrowski grinned. His big hand engulfed Ken's bicep. It felt hard and warm, but Petrowski was strong. His forearm was inches bigger than this kid's upper arm. He began to squeeze. The tendon's in Petrowski's forearm jutted out as he exerted more and more pressure. He felt his fingers begin to move in, but were pushed out by the hardness of Ken's muscle. He didn't want to hurt the kid, but found himself pressing harder and harder and getting nowhere.
Ken grinned. "These muscles are harder than fucking titanium, man. That all you got?"
Petrowski grinned and began to let loose with his full might. His forearms bulged and became striated masses as he crushed harder. His fingers moved in slightly. Ken got a determined look on his face and flexed harder, pushing the fingers back out. Petrowski's fingers turned white and his arm began to shake with effort, but he was unable to dent the boy's hard muscle.
Perkins turned to the coach. "We need that boy," he said. "With those natural gifts, the growth enhancer would be unbelievable."
"Stronger than the Weed?" asked the coach.
"I can't guarantee it, but I'd guess yes."
Petrowski continued to squeeze. "That will do, Sergeant," ordered Perkins after a minute.
"Told you," said Ken.
The coach came over. "Ken, we want you to do the experiment."
Petrowski looked at him. "What if I found someone that could crush that bicep like it was clay?" he asked.
"Ain't no one can do that," boasted Ken. "Besides, I want to stay natural. No roids for me."
"These aren't steroids, Mr. Walter," said Perkins. "They enhance your natural abilities, that's all."
"So, if there is someone who is tougher than you and we can give you the ability to beat him, you'd be interested?" asked Petrowski.
"That's a big 'if', but ya, I might hear you out," replied Ken, skeptically.
"Fine. Put your shirt on and come with me," said Petrowski. "Ever hear of Adam's gym?"
The two men walked into the gym. Jonny was working the desk. "Hey, glad to see you man. Hope there are no hard feelings about the other day!"
Petrowski put down his guest pass. "How much for a three month membership?"
"For you? $150 oughta cover it."
Petrowski took out his wallet and put down $150. "The day pass is or my friend here."
"Sure. You're Ken Walters, aren't you?" asked Jonny as he put the money in the cash register. "Congratulations on winning the state title. You've got a great physique for someone from State."
Ken smile. "Uh, thanks. Ya, you guys at City are pretty big."
Jonny smiled, flexing his gun. "Ya. Hard and ripped too. But football is our game, not bodybuilding. The diet and discipline you guys have is way too much for slobs like us," Jonny said with a chuckle.
Petrowski and Ken began to walk to the locker room when Petrowski stopped and turned around. "Hey, Weed, that's what they call you right? Weed?"
Jonny nodded with a smile on his face.
"Ken here is pretty buff, ya know? Damn hard too. I can't even dent his bicep."
Jonny raised an eyebrow, a glimmer in his eye.
"Ya, no one can crush my titanium muscles!" agreed Ken.
"Why don't you give it a go, if it's OK with Ken here," Petrowski prodded.
"Fine with me. Show City what this State boy is made of -- steel!" said Ken with confidence. In a flash, he took off his shirt and revealed his trophy-winning physique.
"Looking good," said Jonny, strutting over to Ken, pumping his substantially larger muscle and squeezing his hand into a fist that flexed his watermelon sized forearm.
Like before, Ken raised his arm, forcing his muscle to peak, ripped muscle bursting through paper-thin skin. Jonny placed his hand over the muscle and gave a squeeze.
"Damned hard, Ken." Jonny smiled. His forearm came to life, ripped muscle bursting forth. His fingers began to dent Ken's muscle. Ken shook, demanding more strength and hardness. Jonny's fingers stopped and moved out a bit, then proceeded to move in, crushing Ken's arm.
"STOP!" yelled Ken as Jonny's fingers dug into the bodybuilder's gun. Jonny let go. Ken's other hand jumped to his bicep, red indents marking where Jonny's grip had crushed into the muscle. Ken began to massage the snore bicep.
Jonny raised his arm, forcing his massive peak up high, the sleeve of his shirt ripping from the mass of his arm. He bobbed his fist, causing the huge forearm to ripple. "Guess that shows that City boy's crush titanium before breakfast, huh?" Jonny walked back behind the desk. "Enjoy your workouts."
Petrowski led Ken to the locker room.
Ken looked at himself in the mirror. He struck a double bicep pose and stared at the outline of Jonny's fingers on his skin. "This treatment," he said, "it'll make my bi hard enough that he can't do that anymore."
Petrowski shook his head yes.
"I'll get as strong as him?"
Ken stared into the mirror. His eyes began to squint. "I'm in."
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