Transform: New Blood 36
by AKA
If there was one thing that Mr. Peck practiced with whole-hearted belief, it was to learn from one’s mistakes and never to repeat them. Sending a team in to capture Transformed men, no matter how well prepared, introduced too many unknown quotients. Too many opportunities to ruin the operation. Too many personalities that would not perform according to expectations when confronted with the kind of unusual circumstances they would be likely to encounter.
Like men who could fly and deflect bullets with their bare flesh. Whose mere touch would infect them with horrifying changes from which they would never recover.
Scott Maddox had been Main Office’s first line of defense, but he was no longer viable. Talented, certainly, and efficient, but also egocentric and too volatile. In retrospect, his membership in the so-called Brotherhood was a foregone conclusion. Maj. Tipton had been a fool not to recognize that. But then, he had proven himself a fool in more ways than one, and had paid for his foolishness.
With Maddox gone – in fact, a liability to Main Office – and Tipton’s Transformation only adding to the damage, Mr. Peck turned to someone he knew he could trust, and placed him in charge of capturing the escaped member of Robbie’s small but effective team. That man’s code name was Vital.
If Maddox fancied himself a suave, sexual viper, sneaking into situations and masquerading as nothing more than another pretty face, this agent was a sharp, hard diamond. The mixed-blood, only son of a Texan Marine Corps flying ace and his Japanese wife, born in Okinawa and raised in Dallas, he had joined the armed services as a matter of preconditioned rote rather than choice, the fifth generation of his family to do so. Built from sinew and lean muscle, he was a Martial Arts champion and electronics genius. As fond of the weight rack as the track, he was a trained gymnast and medal-winning weight-lifter. In his spare time, he learned ballet and the piano. The term “overachiever” hardly applied, he was beyond any normal measure of experience.
He was 29 years old.
As a member of Special Forces, he had shown himself to be self-sufficient, quick-thinking and ruthlessly goal-oriented. He simply did not stop until the job was completed. He let nothing stand in the way of his mission, and he performed his duties without question or qualm.
He knew what he was up against. He had seen the mission vids from the botched capture, the choppers torn apart, the men changing in a matter of seconds, the flying man. He watched dispassionately, looking for chinks in the armor. Clearly, these were not soldiers. They were sloppy, inefficient, they allowed their emotions to rule their actions. They made dumb mistakes, and spared the lives of those who threatened them.
Finding the escaped man had not been easy. It had taken over three days of satellite surveillance covering a territory of 5,000 square kilometers. Vital found them. He knew where to look. A military-trained man would have altered course, hidden from view, he would have been aware of the equipment, technology and manpower being thrust in his way.
This man, a civilian, in over his head, a threat to national security, would run in a straight line, and as quickly as he could. That narrowed the target area considerably, and as luck would have it, the man elected to place his hot, over-large body signature in the middle of an unpopulated forest where thermal targeting could pick him out.
And so it had, finding Caleb and Clancy’s combined 18-foot-high forms engaged in hours-long sexual coupling that only raised their combined body temperature and made them stick out like the proverbial sore thumb.
Vital drop-landed two kilometers away.
He elected to travel light. He knew that he could not come in direct contact with the target because the danger of infection was 100%. He therefore brought no bladed weapons. The usual hazardous material suits had proven ineffective, so he wore a skin-tight, rubber-coated, ceramic-armored safe suit and toxic environment mask, a completely black, exceedingly flexible sheath that covered every inch of his 6-foot 2-inch frame. He looked like a shadow, and moved like one as well, slipping through the forest toward his target with stealth and power.
On one wrist, his comm-unit looked like a slightly thick wristwatch. It enabled him to “talk” with his back-up team using a gesture interface so he could remain silent in any situation. On the other, the radar/sat interface gave him a geocentric view of the landscape, showing his position and that of the target – make that targets – east of his position.
He was a self-contained recon and acquisition machine. And in his hands, as he ran, he held an air rifle equipped with soft bullets that would erupt on contact and splatter the high-intensity narcotic anesthetic that had been the only thing to actually work during the previous capture attempt.
He would fire one bullet at each target. The bullet would strike the body and splatter, covering a 2-inch area of skin with enough of the drug to enter the bloodstream via sweat pores and put the target down within four minutes. Normally, this particular drug was effective in less than one minute, but given the bulk and density of the targets, a four-minute estimate was the best the lab techs could provide.
What happened between the time he shot the targets and the time they went down was the window of unknown.
But he was used to that.
They were not hard to find. The two muscular men were making enough noise to attract anyone within a hundred yards. Vital didn’t need audio cues with the wrist-comm, but it still made things nice when he could verify what technology told him with his own highly-honed senses. He crouched down in a copse of broken limbs and watched the two, his brow wrinkling in curiosity at what he was observing.
He had been told that these were, perhaps, the most dangerous men on the planet. A threat not just to the United States, but to humanity itself. He imagined that they were ruthless, cold-hearted villains with wicked eyes and an armory of weapons at their disposal.
At the moment, what they looked like was two 12-year-old boys playing at being professional wrestlers, throwing each other around and laughing with open mirth and complete innocence. Certainly they were large. Overlarge, in fact, wouldn’t have been a misnomer. They were also, quite obviously, naked, and unashamed as well. Vital tried to compare the scene before him – two grown men playing in a cool stream of water, splashing and wrestling and slapping each other’s butts – with the image Main Office had provided.
These were supermen, who fancied themselves better than human, like some sort of gods striding amongst mere mortals. They were dangerous. They were powerful. They were a real and immediate threat to the very survival not merely of the American Way of Life, but of humanity itself.
He’d seen the vids of the attack at that lake. The man had literally torn the chopper apart. With his bare hands. Bullets, armor-piercing rounds, had bounced off his naked chest. He smiled as he sat between the pilot and the gunner and said something to them before placing his hands against their faces and throwing them from the flaming wreckage. The camera followed their descent through the sky as their bodies swelled with power, splitting through their uniforms like paper, their arms bulging with massive muscle, their chests exploding, their legs extending, all as if by magic.
It was as awesome as it was terrible. But who had provoked whom? And what had they done to inspire all this violence and invective?
He wasn’t supposed to be thinking like that. He was supposed to perform his job. Logic rarely played a part in warfare. It was always about power. A grab for valuable land. Control over some substance. The enslavement of one people to another.
He watched the two men at play for some time from his hiding place among the trees, in the darkness of the shadows, hunkered down in his protective gear. One touch would be all it would take. More than that, they could effect him with his other senses. The scent of them on the wind, if they chose to. Their bodies were saturated with the virus. They were living, breathing… wrestling containers of the end of humanity.
He pursed his lips and waited for the right moment.
Caleb tossed Clancy toward the bank of the stream. His body impacted hard, digging out a wide divot in the soft ground. The trees shook loose some needles that rained down on them like ice. “Fucker,” Clancy said, grinning. “You’re gonna pay for that!”
“Bring it on, old man,” the shining muscular man said. His naked form was dappled with sunlight through the treetops as his pounded his broad chest and prepared for the coming battle. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”
Clancy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and laughed deeply. “Don’t let your mouth write checks your body can’t cash, boy.”
Caleb stood up straight and hit a most-muscular pose, swelling his impressive and perfect collection of brawn into awesome bulging power. Along every inch of his frame, muscle popped. It was as if his body was suddenly overwhelmed with brawn, appearing beneath his flawless skin in overwhelming abundance.
He bent over and brought his fists together, sending his shoulders and arms into paroxysms of ultimate masculine glory. The two globes of his massive chest pushed against each other and made his skin stretch thin and shiny under the swelling mass of his power. Veins popped along his skin and the muscles bunched and tightened into rock-hard balls and cables. The muscles of his thighs separated into fat wedges that flared outward like wings.
Grinning triumphantly, he rose erect and brought his arms back up, bending them at the elbow and punishing his biceps into mountains. His lats expanded by the foot and his 8-pack abs swelled like a cobblestone street. Then he grabbed his huge, fat cock and wagged it toward Clancy. “Suck on this, brother.” His ball sack swung heavy and ponderous, filled with his powerful warm cream.
Clancy said, “First things first, boy,” and then he charged.
Vital blew out an impressed breath at the display of raw muscular power. The blonde man was dripping wet and coated with mud, but even so he looked awesome and made Vital feel frankly jealous of the body on display. If anything, the other man was even larger, though perhaps it was the thick coat of fur that covered his dark frame that made him appear that way.
Certain doubts were creeping into Vital’s thoughts, however. These men were nothing at all like he had imagined them, or he had been told. He expected super soldiers of the highest caliber, straight-arrow military men who behaved in a disciplined manner, no-nonsense types literally designed to be cogs in a machine, obeying orders and acting without restraint. What he was looking at was more like two naked men, admittedly better developed and more highly physically trained than anyone he’d ever encountered, but with nothing at all of the same set of rules he himself set his course by. He saw nothing of the type of man he had been told to expect: ruthless, cunning and hard to pin down. Here were two guys just fucking around in a stream in the middle of the Canadian Rockies! What the fuck?
Whatever the case, the lake video certainly didn’t do justice to these men. There was something beautiful and perfect about them, the effortless ease of their communion, the evident joy they took in their condition, the way their bodies moved with such grace and power. It was like witnessing the original Greek Olympics, two naked men in the prime of their physical perfection, testing each others’ limits with unabashed fierceness and might.
The two men at play also cemented the fact that if Vital was going to be successful, he would have to be very quick. They moved with inhuman speed and power. As the darker man attacked, the other had stepped to his left and grabbed the man’s arm and shoulder and forced him off balance. The move was so quick and looked so elegant that Vital wondered if he had actually witnessed it. If he only took one of them out, chances were that the other would be on him faster than he could aim to get off a second shot. Plus, he wasn’t certain how fast the drug would take effect. Even if he managed to nail them both, how long did he have before they succumbed, and what would they do to him in the meantime?
Caleb looked down at Clancy and folded his arms across the expanse of his chest. The muscle bunched and bulged. He was still smiling. “Give up?”
Clancy sat on his naked ass in the cold stream, looking up at the other man. Caleb looked triumphant and godlike and fucking sexy. Water sparkled like jewels in the thick golden curls of pubic hair crowning Caleb’s huge cock. It streamed off his body, forming shining threads that wound between the folds of muscle like liquid silver. When he offered Clancy his hand, the other man noted how a heavy drop of water or sweat clung to the fat, fine, silver dollar-sized nipple mounted on his left pec. It was huge and dark and wanted licking in the worst way.
“Get bigger,” Clancy said.
Caleb’s arm swelled with more meat. His chest expanded outward, creating a valley deep enough to lose a hand inside. His shoulders rose higher and split into massive lobes. His neck grew thicker as cables of brawn appeared and multiplied. His lats spread out from his upper torso and grew fat with muscle. “Bigger?”
Clancy nodded, mute and gawking.
Caleb smiled as his chest continued to develop. The muscle expanded and separated into thick bands, upper and lower shelves of meat shoving his fat nipples under the twin globes. His biceps and triceps contested for room on his arms. His thighs pushed against each other as the brawn blossomed in ever-increasing wedges of power.
Vital watched the amazing display with growing concern and, he had to admit, growing passion. His cock was also responding to the display of male power. Something about the two men was effecting him emotionally and physically. A warm sexual wave passed through him. There could be no mistake, now. These were the men he was looking for. No one else on the planet could do what he was witnessing with his own eyes.
The man looked to be growing beyond limitations, his body adjusting to the muscle he was packing on it with no more thought than another man would breathe or eat. He was growing larger by the inch, everywhere. His frame expanded to more easily contain the huge muscular growth occurring across his body. He simply stood there in the middle of the water and grew steadily larger. Muscle on top of muscle. Vital watched the wedges and cables of new brawn bloom across the man’s body. His chest seemed to unfold with muscle, growing broader and thicker and larger in every direction. The muscles along his arms swelled like balloons and grew dense and vascular. He kept smiling through the entire process, growing effortlessly bigger and more powerful with each passing second.
The other man was growing visibly aroused – absurdly so, in fact. The fat length of prick between his own well-muscled legs was plumping with alarming speed. It seemed to inflate and expand, rolling across his thigh before swelling hugely and growing bright red and shiny. The helmet bloomed and flared wider and thicker. Something gleaming appeared at the tip and began quickly to drool from the man’s piss slit and he started to slowly stroke himself, drizzling a silver pool of glistening precum across his belly and chest. He groaned audibly, a deeply satisfied sound, as his cock grew so large now that the head was nearly reaching toward his chin, shoving itself between the muscled hemispheres of his gargantuan chest.
The furry man opened his mouth and extended a long, pink tongue toward the red, shiny helmet of his slowly lengthening prick. He licked the tip as it pushed itself toward his mouth. He closed his eyes and leaned forward and took his own cock between his lips. His cheeks sank inward as the man effortlessly began to suck on his own massive, arching dick.
Vital, despite his training, whispered, “Fuck.”
Caleb, now nine and a half feet tall and packed with brawn, looked directly at him. Muscle was blooming across his growing body with menacing speed, but his face registered nothing but shock and fear. “Clancy!” he shouted, pointing toward where the Main Office agent was crouching.
Vital raised his rifle and fired toward the massive figure.