The Orphanage 6: Brad (musc)
by Jaypat
Brad lay on the huge, cold, reinforced steel examination table blinking up at the harsh overhead light. The three doctors, Myers, Sawyer and Burns were rushing back and forth, rolling large monitors and machines all around him until he was completely surrounded by the mystifying devices. What were they for? They weren’t going to operate on him, were they? That wasn’t the plan, was it? It was supposed to be one quick shot, he’d get stronger, and then he’d be on his way. What was all the rest of this crap? He looked up at the full length mirror suspended above him. He could see his entire body reflected in it: his long, sinewy biceps, the gentle curve of his pecs, revealing the subtle lines of muscle fibers beneath—no fat on those puppies—his flat, even stomach, and the lean strong legs of a marathon runner. All in all, he was in pretty good shape, the results of a lot of jogging and calisthenics. But he doubted the mirror was there just so he could check himself out. “What’s the mirror for, Doctor Myers?”“It’s so we can get a good, quick look at you, Brad, without having to peer around all this equipment,” said Dr. Myers as she came up to him and taped a wire to his chest.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“This is so we can monitor your heart rate,” she answered. “Now, please, just lie still and try to relax.”
Relax? That was a good one. Brad would like to see her relax while lying on a cold examination table dressed only in her underwear. A mental image flashed into his mind of the good doctor flat on her back wearing only her bra and panties. He wouldn’t mind that sight at all. She may be a little old but she still had a nice pair of boobies. He felt a little motion down in his boxers and quickly tried to think of something else. All he needed was to pop a boner in the middle of the lab. No way could he hide that while he was only wearing his boxers, especially with that mirror up there.
The Doctor began attaching more and more wires to his torso. Brad almost asked what they were for, but in the end, he realized he really didn’t care. He just wanted to get this thing over with and get back to his room, where he could give the mental image of the doctor all the attention it deserved. Ok, thoughts like that were not going to kill that chubby.
He heard Mr. Gibbons before he saw him. The old guy was shouting at someone in the front hall. “What do we pay you for? Can’t you keep a few kids under control?”
Brad couldn’t make out the murmured reply.
“Well, how long has he been gone?” barked Gibbons.
“A helluva lot can happen in fifteen minutes. Find him.” Brad heard the door slam and Gibbons’ heavy foot steps as he approached the table. “Are we ready yet, Doctor?”
“Just about,” answered Dr. Myers, and as she began flipping switches on the many machines that surrounded him, he heard an increasing series of beeps and blips. Suddenly on the wall above, he saw a large flat screen monitor flicker to life.
“Is that your new little toy?” he heard Gibbons ask Dr. Myers.
“Yes, sir that’s the new CK1000 Ultrarez Imager, one of the first of its kind.”
Brad looked up on the screen and was surprised to see a cross section of the human body, complete with all the bones, muscles and organs. As he looked closer he could see that it was animated. The heart was actually beating; the blood was visible flowing through the veins, and all the other organs twitched and pulsed doing whatever it was they did. Jeeze, he could even see the guy’s dick. He had to hold back a laugh. The poor cocksucker in the image had a little chubby going, just like he did.
Oh fuck!
He was the poor cocksucker! He was looking at his own body. That was his heart! He could see his own heart beating. And that was his stomach and, fuck, that was his chubby, right there for everyone to see. But thank God, no one seemed to have noticed.
He began to hear a slow, steady beating, like a drum, along with a lot of strange swishing, slurping, and gurgling sounds.
“What the hell is that God awful noise?” barked Gibbons.
“It’s the new CK1000 Imager,” said Dr. Myers. “It’s also wired for sound.”
“What on Earth for?”
“It’s a new technology. We are just now studying its applications. But I think,” she said pausing to listen for a moment, “it sounds kind of musical.”
“Yes, well,” grunted Gibbons, “as musical as Mr. Kendrick’s insides are, could you please turn them down.”
Doctor Myers nodded at Doctor Sawyer and he punched a couple of keys and the noises grew softer. That’s what his guts sounded like? Ok, he now knew way too much about his inner workings. And he didn’t have to look at the monitor to know that the sounds had completely killed his chubby. And now that it was gone, he kind of missed it. Why couldn’t they just give him the shot and let him out of there? He looked up to see Mr. Gibbons staring down at him.
“Nervous?” asked Gibbons.
“Not really,” said Brad, “kind of bored.”
“Well, you won’t be for long. I think I can guarantee that.”
“Yes, Sir.” He hoped that meant he was getting out of there soon.
“How are we coming, Doctor?” Gibbons asked Myers.
“We’re ready to go, sir.”
About fucking time!
“Then by all means proceed, Doctor.”
“I should warn you, sir, that we’ve added a slight inhibiting agent to the accelerant to slow the process down slightly so we can better study it.”
“How slow? Doctor?”
“Instead of taking three or four minutes, the process will probably take ten to fifteen.”
Fuck! At that rate he’d be stuck lying here another half hour at least! Fuck!
“I can live with that,” said Gibbons.
Doctor Myers nodded and approached Brad with the syringe. Now that the time had come, Brad found himself strangely nervous. He didn’t know why. He’d been in this lab about a billion times and had about a billion shots—just not any while he was hooked up to all this equipment and crap.
Brad heard the drumbeat of his heart speed up a little. Doctor Myers heard it too. “All right Brad,” she said, “try to relax as much as you can.”
Shit! He couldn’t get nervous, couldn’t even get a boner without the fucking machine telling everyone. “I’m fine,” he said.
“Are you ready?”
Just give me the fucking shot already! But Brad answered only with a silent nod and watched as Doctor Myers injected him in the thigh--ohhhhhhhh Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What was that stuff? He could feel it spreading through him like a fucking orgasmic electric shock. It was intense but awesome, like his entire body had just been plugged in and turned all the way up. He started breathing heavier. He could hear the amplified swishing of his breath over the speaker. And the steady thumping that was his beating heart started to speed up.
“Heart rate’s up,” reported Dr. Sawyer.
Yeah? No shit, Sherlock.
“Blood pressure rising,” said Dr. Burns, “but all within projections.”
On the big screen, Brad could see his heart pumping faster and faster, the blood racing through his veins at an amazing rate. And all the time, this strange throbbing, thrilling pressure was building inside him. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew that he fucking liked it.
Swish, gurgle, thump thump, swish, gurgle, thump thump came from the speakers, constantly growing in volume, speed and intensity. On the screen he could see his organs working so fast and furiously that they were practically vibrating. His insides felt completely charged. Swishgurglethumpthump. Swishgurglethumpthump. It was great but fucking weird. What the fuck was happening?
“What’s that Doctor,” asked Gibbons, pointing at the monitor.
“His marrow is producing plasma at an accelerated rate.”
Brad felt a strange itching and looked up into the overhead mirror. He gasped. All the veins on his body were rising up, swelling like a tangle of thick hoses crisscrossing all over him in a maze like pattern. The gurgling sound began to get deeper, thicker and heavier. “Oh my God, doctor, what’s happening?”
“Don’t worry, Brad,” said Dr. Myers soothingly. “It’s a normal part of the process.”
A normal part of the fucking process? On what fucking planet? His veins were getting so thick and swollen; he began to think they might explode. He needed fucking help. Wasn’t somebody going to do something?
He gasped. The pressure inside him pulsed. The sensation was quick and intense, as every muscle in his body suddenly got hard, rock hard. What the fuck? In the mirror he could see that all his muscles were pumped up, like he’d just finished a killer workout. His chest had become two mounds, the striations clearer than ever. His abs were just visible, pushing up under his skin. His biceps were swollen, their sinewy length accented by a slight curve, and his legs had become really defined, almost like an anatomy chart. And what ever was pumping him up felt pretty damn good.
“…And we’re entering the primary growth phase… now,” called out Doctor Burns.
Primary growth what…? “Ahhhhh!” Brad cried as he felt the orgasmic pressure in his muscles explode. They felt in-fucking-credible, but it was so intense, he was sure that any second they would fucking pop like over inflated inner tubes. He heard a loud rushing sound and a rapid snapping noise coming from the speakers.
“What’s that racket?” cried Gibbons.
“Blood is rushing into his muscles, sir, and the fibers are expanding, popping and new fibers are forming.”
What the fuck did that mean? And then he knew. He could feel it. He was getting stronger just like Mr. Gibbons had said he would. All his muscles were pumped up as hard as they’d ever been, and now they were starting to swell. “Oh fuck…” he whispered, as he felt the power growing within him. And the mirror above showed him that what he was feeling was not just in his mind. His chest was bulking up, growing rounder, fuller, the striations growing thicker. His abdominal muscles came rolling out of his stomach, like ripples on a pond. His shoulders were bulging up with large striated mounds and his biceps and triceps were expanding outward. “Holy Fuck!” gasped Brad, as he tried to sit up and get a better look at himself.
“Please try and lay still,” said Doctor Myers.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Brad, easing himself back down. But he wasn’t lying as flat as he had a moment ago. His thickening upper back and his growing gluts were pushing his lower back up off the fucking table. His back felt unreal, incredibly powerful; it was getting thicker and thicker, becoming dense with fucking muscle. What a fucking feeling! He had never fucking even dreamed of this. This was so fucking sweet!
“How’s his body weight,” asked Dr. Myers.
“It’s up fifty pounds and climbing,” replied Dr. Sawyer.
“We’re off to a good start,” said Dr. Burns.
A good fucking start?????? Fuck Yeah! He risked flexing a little and saw his formally flat bicep bulge into a baseball sized lump. He had some power in that puppy now! But how fucking big was he going to get? Didn’t matter. Whatever they fucking gave, he’d fucking take. “This is so hot,” gasped Brad.
“What’s his temperature?” asked Gibbons.
“Up two degrees,” said Dr. Myers, “but I don’t think that’s what he’s talking about.”
Brad began to sweat. More rapid popping came from the speakers. He didn’t need the mirror to see his pecs anymore; the huge, sweat covered fuckers were rising up right n front of his nose, every striation visible, still heaving up and down courtesy of his starving lungs. He looked over and watched his shoulders blow up bigger than softballs, and his fucking upper arms were becoming solid, vein covered footballs. And it wasn’t just how they looked; he could feel how hard they were, how much fucking power they were packing. It was making him hard, very fucking hard. He moaned.
“Are you alright, son?”
“Fuck, yeah! I mean, yes, sir.” He moaned again.
“What’s the problem Doctor?”
Dr. Myers checked the monitor and then cleared her throat. “It’s not exactly a problem, sir.”
“Then what is it?”
“The boy is sexually aroused.”
Brad tore his gaze away from the reflection of his bulging pecs and sent it across his rippling stomach toward his boxers. His fucking hard-on was clear and present. There was no hiding that. But he didn’t care. His dick looked big, in fact, bigger than he could ever remember seeing it. Just fucking cream in the coffee. He felt fucking amazing, like he had a hard on all over. No big deal about the one in his boxers.
“What’s causing it?” asked Mr. Gibbons.
“He’s a teenage male, sir. In my experience, it doesn’t take much.”
“Sir, it’s also possible,” said Dr. Sawyer, throwing a sideways glance at Dr. Myers, “that it’s a side effect of the growth. His genitalia are increasing in size along with the rest of his body. Add in the increased blood flow into all of his organs, and such a reaction is almost inevitable.”
“I see,” said Gibbons. “Dr. Myers, you and I are going to have to have a little talk when this is over.”
“Coming up on three hundred pounds,” called out Doctor Burns.
Fuck! Brad moaned again. He had pretty much doubled his body mass in just a few minutes and he could feel every powerful pound of his new weight as large heavy masses mushroomed out beneath his skin. His bulging veins were now snaking their way around the great muscular globes of his chest and through the rock hard plateaus and valleys of his abs. His biceps were now huge and bulbous even though his arms were relaxed. And he just kept getting fucking bigger. His entire body was covered in a shiny layer of sweat; his widening frame jerking slightly, probably caused by whatever was changing him, along with his freaking killer hard-on.. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to help his swelling manhood release the tension building inside it.
“We should be starting to see some skeletal growth by now,” said Dr. Myers.
Oh fuck, does that mean what I think it means?
“Growth plates are forming,” called out Dr. Sawyer.
Brad looked up at the screen and could see the outlines of his bones growing grey and indistinct, while his muscles kept getting larger and stronger and harder all over his body. His organs were still vibrating like crazy, and they were much fucking bigger than they used to be.
“We are entering the skeletal growth phase and epidermal generation has commenced.”
A weird sound like stretching plastic joined the popping and rushing and swishing noises and Brad felt his entire body extending outward. “Fuck!” he shouted as he raised one of his hands so he could see it. It was lengthening and filling out right in front of him. Fuck!
“Brad, please put your arm back on the table. We can’t get an image of it if you hold it up like that,” said Dr. Myers.
“Yes, ma’am,” said Brad, with an obvious strain. He wanted to fucking watch this! At least he had the mirror.
“Keep it together, boy,” said Gibbons. “You’re doing excellently so far.”
Brad began to experience the strange sensation of sliding across the table even though he wasn’t moving. His center seemed to be stationary but he could feel his huge shoulders and massive arms sliding across the surface towards opposite edges of the table. His monolithic legs were pushing down toward the table’s end, while his gigantic thighs began to explode outward, filling in all the available room. At the same time, his back was getting thicker pushing his head further and further up off the table. In a moment, it was dangling backwards from his neck. But then he felt his neck stiffen as it began to grow insanely thick. His head was pulled back up off the table by his expanding neck and the monstrous traps that rose out of his back to reinforce it. His body was almost completely unrecognizable; gone was lanky Brad; there was now a massive, insanely powerful muscle beast staring back at him. Fuck yeah! He was fucking bad ass!
A snap and the sound of tearing cloth marked the end of Brad’s straining boxers as they finally gave way to his expanding brick wall stomach, his mighty gluts, and his ponderous bulging thighs. His manhood, now free of any constraints popped straight up into the air, and what a solid looking pillar it was. “Fuck!” grunted Brad as he bent his neck slightly to peer between his mountainous pecs to get a view of the leaning tower. His dick was fucking huge.
“Brad, please,” came Dr. Myers’ plaintive voice.
“Sorry,” he said lying his head back down. Fuck! Why? It wasn’t like his head could reach the table anymore and he couldn’t get a good view of his dick from the overhead mirror. You really had to see it from the side to appreciate its fucking incredible stature.
“Height?” came Dr. Myers.
“Seven feet, seven inches.”
Holy Shit!
“Weight?”
“Five hundred thirty eight pounds.”
Holy fucking shit! He was huge! And so fucking strong! He could feel every fucking massive rock hard muscle in his body just exploding with power and still growing bigger. So fucking massive. So fucking powerful. His dick couldn’t get any harder. He needed relief.
“How are you doing, son?” asked Gibbons.
“I need to cum, sir.”
“What?”
“Really, really bad.”
“Well, hold on to it, son. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try sir.”
“Coming up on nine feet,” called Dr. Burns.
“And approaching one thousand pounds,” added Dr. Sawyer.
“Oh my God!” screamed Brad, teeth clenched. This was too fucking much! Look at all that fucking muscle bulging out all over him; it seemed impossible for anyone to have that much fucking muscle. And there it was, pulsing under his skin with unbelievable power. How could he fucking avoid cumming? How? With his massive arms, bulging out beyond all reason, he grabbed the table edge and squeezed. The heavy reinforced metal collapsed under his grip, rending, breaking twisting until it looked like crushed foil. The feeling of easily destroying a reinforced steel table with his bare hands just made the problem worse. His eyes shot back to the mirror. His stress was showing. Veins the thickness of rope were standing out in sharp relief against a neck that was already as big around as a telephone pole. “Please, sir, I’ve got to cum.” His dick, now the thickness of a beer can and three times its height, was twitching and throbbing as it stood straight up, like a fucking flagpole in an earthquake.
“Sorry, son, you have to learn to control these urges.”
“Sir, don’t you think…” started Dr. Myers, but Gibbon silenced her with a look
Brad just gasped. He couldn’t form words. He tired to think of cold oatmeal. For some reason the thought of cold oatmeal always killed his boners. It helped, just not much.
“That’s the ten foot mark,” called out Dr. Burns.
“Fourteen hundred and fifty two pounds,” said Dr. Sawyer.
Inside Brad was screaming. He was so fucking immense—every fucking thing about him. His pecs were the size of beach balls. His abs had gone from ripples in a pond to waves in a hurricane. His biceps alone were the size of soccer balls, and that was while they were lying relaxed at his sides. Looking at the size of them, he began to wonder if he would be able to bend his arms. He tried and as they moved he could feel the fucking massive weight of them they exploded with even more size and power. Oh fuck me, I can’t fucking stand this; they’re so fucking beautiful!
Oh no! Cold oatmeal, cold oatmeal.
“Arms back on the table, Brad,” came Doctor Myer’s voice. Just for a second he found himself thinking, yeah, and what if I fucking don’t? But just for a second. Then he placed his arms back on the table, except of course, only the bottom of his gargantuan triceps touched the table. His upper arms were so fucking massive, they were holding the rest of his limb up off the surface. Even his forearms, which looked about as thick as an elephant’s leg, never touched metal.
“Just for the fun of it, let’s see the overlay,” said Dr. Myers. Dr. Sawyer punched a few keys and a transparent outline of Brad’s original shape appeared overlaid on the big screen. Holy crap! No fucking way! He didn’t used to be that small, did he? The difference was un-fucking-believable. How could his mammoth muscle-bound form have once been that thin, puny shape? They didn’t even look like the same species. But it didn’t matter. That outline wasn’t him now. The muscles were him now. Fuck Yeah!
Cold fucking oatmeal! Cold fucking oatmeal!
“Nearing eleven feet,” called out Dr. Sawyer.
“Seventeen hundred nineteen pounds,” said Dr. Burns.
Brad looked up in the mirror and a fucking muscle monster looked back at him. He wanted to roar. He remembered being dwarfed by the huge examination table and now he was hanging off of the ends of it. He looked at his right arm. It was now bigger than Gibbons’ entire body. His veins looked like garden hoses running out of his boulder-like shoulder around and over the top of the gigantic rock pile that was his upper arm. His huge chest, hard, striated, and heaving with power, now rose high above Gibbon’s head. His legs looked like they should be holding up a bridge; they were so massive and powerful. And his member, keeping pace with the rest of him, had at least doubled in size from the last time he looked, and he didn’t now how much longer he could control it.
“..And cascade coming to a close. Final height: eleven feet ten inches. Final weight: two thousand two hundred and fifteen pounds.”
“Can I move, now?” asked Brad, his voice booming with a new resonance.
“Yes, you can move.”
Tensing his incredible abdominals, Brad sat up on the table. He could feel the incredible power throbbing in every one of his titanic muscles. He looked down at his massive new body and a slow smile formed on his face. His huge chest was heaving in and out. Layered abdominals were rolling, like the sea before a storm. His arms were like fucking pile drivers. He was a fucking god! Then he flexed and watched as his biceps exploded out from his arms into mountains of power, capped by bulging, veiny peeks, which by themselves were larger than any full bicep he had ever seen. He was so fucking massive and powerful and hard; oh yeah, he was hard, so fucking hard-- “Oh my fucking Goooooood…I’m so FUCKING HUGE! Arrrrrghhhhh!” His dick finally erupted, sending a torrent of whiteness spewing all over the lab. Gibbons and the doctors all took cover under the tables. The deluge seemed to last for a full minute before subsiding. It was a full minute of mind numbing pleasure. It was just him reveling in his own fucking size and power; and the fucking force of his orgasm almost caused him to pass out. When it finally ended Brad felt a little spent, but only for a second. Almost instantly he was filled with and exploding energy and a desire to get out there and see what his new body could do.
Brad stood up off the table just as Gibbons emerged from underneath it. He was looking down on the man who was half his height, and a tiny fraction of his mass. He looked a hell of a lot less intimidating now. But those eyes, there was still something scary about his eyes, and right now they were scowling—probably because he had cum without permission. “Sorry, sir,” he said, “but I just couldn’t help it.”
“I ordered you not to do that, boy.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
“If I didn’t have an important job for you, Brad, you’d be spending the rest of the day cleaning the lab.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Doctor Myers, do we have any clothes that will fit young Brad?”
“Yes, sir, we had some jumpsuits made up just in case.”
“Excellent. Let’s get him into one and then have him meet me in the front hall. I need him to track down one of his friends.” And Gibbons marched from the lab.
“If you want to have a seat up on the table, Brad, I’ll run and get your jumpsuit,” said Dr. Myers before she hurried from the room.
The last thing Brad wanted to do was sit down. He spotted his old clothes, still draped over the chair where he had left them and hour ago, when he had lived in another body. He walked over and picked up his t-shirt, and looked at the DC Shoes logo on the front. He’d liked that shirt, but now it seemed so tiny like a little kid’s shirt. He pulled it over his arm, the way he used to pull it over his body, with his hand sticking out through the neck. It was a tight fit. He smiled. He remembered how loosely it fit over his chest. Now, he could barely get it up over his bicep. What a rush. His bicep was bigger around than his chest used to be. Slowly he flexed his arm and watched the bicep begin to bulge up under the flimsy cloth, pulling it tight, stretching it, and distorting the logo on the front. Then, with a jerk, he brought his arm all the way up and squeezed. The mammoth muscle exploded out of the cloth in all its massive veiny glory and the annihilated the shirt fluttered to the ground. Fuck yeah! He was a fucking massively powerful muscle god now!
“Did you enjoy that?” asked Dr. Myers, suddenly standing behind him.
“You have no idea,” replied Bard with a smirk.
Dr. Myers was straining under a mountain of cloth. She was trying to lift it up to him. “Please take this. It’s your jump suit. See if it fits.”
Brad took it from her, unfolded it and held it up to his massive frame. It looked like it might fit. Too bad. He wasn’t done checking himself out. But he guessed there’d be plenty of time for that later. “Got any underwear?” asked Brad.
“Underwear?” asked D. Myers, genuinely puzzled. “I guess we didn’t think of that. We’re geneticists, not tailors.”
Brad shrugged and began to put the coveralls on. He could feel the cloth slide over his hard bulging limbs. The sensation was unreal. He almost started getting stiff again. As he zipped up the front, he realized that the coveralls were too tight in the thighs, arms and upper body. He wondered if he could flex his way out of them. Again, something for him to try later. Dr. Myers also had a selection of boots for him to try on. It took him a couple of tries before he found a pair that fit.
When he was done, he stood up and Dr. Myers looked him over. “Not the best fit, but they’ll do for now,” she said. “You’d better report to the front hall. I’m sure Mr. Gibbons is waiting for you by now.”
Brad start toward the door. Fuck! Even walking was awesome. He could feel the incredible strength in his legs, the sheer power behind his smallest movement. And the sensation of his gargantuan thigh muscles moving around under his skin was so fucking hot, he started to get hard again.
When he got to the door he had to laugh. The lab used to be the houses ballroom and had very high ceilings, but the door was not very big at all. “Dr. Myers, I’m not going to fit through that.”
Doctor Myers looked at Brad, then at the door. “That’s a point. Well, try and squeeze through anyway. It’s the only way out.”
Brad bent down and tried to climb through the open door. He got his head through but his wrecking ball shoulders were way too wide. He smiled as he felt his gigantic delts bump up against the wall. They were so hard and powerful, he knew only the slightest effort and he could reduce the wall to splinters. He tried turning on his side but his back and chest were just too incredibly massive. He saw Mr. Gibbons waiting for him on the other side, along with Nelway, one of the Guards. Nelway looked terrified of him. Sweet.
“Well, what are you waiting for, boy?”
“I can’t get through,” said Brad.
“Son, I want you standing at attention in front of me at the count of five,” barked Gibbons. “One.”
“But…”
“Two.”
Fine with me, thought Brad as he pushed slightly against the wall and felt the wood and plaster splinter and crack like a dry cracker as his amazingly hard, massive body pushed through. A tremendous creaking, rending and crashing filled the air as Brad destroyed the door and a good portion of the wall with it. Fuck yeah! He was a fucking monster! And by the time Gibbons reached five, Brad was standing there towering over him and Nelway. Ha! The tiny guard looked like he was going to pee his little pants.
Dr. Myers stepped out of the lab, surveying the rubble. “We can forget about locking the door now.”
“Not an issue, Doctor,” said Gibbons. “The horse has already escaped.” Brad was hardly listening while the two adults conversed. He was busy staring down at his mammoth biceps as they strained against the cloth of his jump suit. He loved the feel of them, hard and unyielding, pushing out against the cloth. They were fucking awesome.
“Kendrick!” shouted Gibbons, snapping Brad out it. The old man had spread a map on the floor. “Look at this.” Brad bent over to look at the map. “This is the North East quadrant,” said Gibbons. “Your friend Mikey’s out there somewhere and I need you to find him.”
“Find him, sir? And then what?”
“Just bring him back here. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes, sir.” Brad liked this job. It was going to be fun.
“Your best bet would be to start here,” said Gibbons pointing at a strange emblem on the map.
“What’s that?”
“It the entrance to an old coal mine. A hundred years ago the area used to be full of them. It would make an ideal hiding place.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and Kendrick?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Keep in mind Mikey has had a little growth spurt, too.”
“You mean he’s like me?”
“Not yet. He’s too big for my men to handle, but not big enough to give you any trouble.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And if you see Aaron Kolpecki out there, bring him back, too.”
“Aaron?”
“Yes, he’s gone missing. Just keep an eye out for him. But remember Mikey’s your first priority.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alright, head out.”
Brad turned and went straight through the hole that used to be the front door. He noticed how easily he fit through it, and briefly wondered how it came to be there. But since there was no obvious answer, he put it out of his mind and headed out onto the front lawn. As soon as the guards saw him they leapt out of his way to clear a path. Most of them looked really nervous, some of them looked scared. He liked that.
He headed out the gate and took an almost immediate right into the woods. He seemed to know instinctively in what direction the old mine lay, and he headed that way. He quickly pushed his way through the underbrush, kicking it aside like cobwebs. No little bush or shrub was going to slow him down. If a branch was in his way, he reached out and with a swipe of his hand, knocked it from the tree. What a fucking feeling to see the enormous sinews in his arm tense lightly, to feel a branch, the thickness of a man’s leg give way to his immense hand with no more resistance than a toothpick. Who knew just walking through a forest could be so much fun?
He was getting near his destination when he saw a small figure dart out in front of him and stop, blocking his way. The kid had guts, he’d give him that. “What are you doing here, Aaron?” asked Brad. “Get back to the house.”
“Jesus, Brad,” said Aaron, “get a clue.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going after Mikey, aren’t you?”
“You know where he is?”
“He’s one of us. Leave him alone.”
“One of you? What does that mean?”
“Not, one of us, one of us, as in you included. They’ve been experimenting on us, Brad. Look at yourself. They’ve done that to all of us. We’re all like that now.”
“If you’re like me then you can stop me,” laughed Brad. “Go on, stop me.”
“You’re fucking tempting me,” said Aaron darkly. But then he lightened again. “We’re all going to change, Brad. Mikey triggered it accidentally and you they triggered so they could use you. Don’t let them. Don’t play into their hands.”
“I’m not playing into anyone’s hands. I’m loyal to The Orphanage. They’ve given me a good life and the opportunity to make a real difference in the world, and I’m grateful. Now, they want Mikey back at the house, and he’s going back to the house, one way or the other. You, too.”
“Ok, take me back,” said Aaron holding his arms wide in surrender.
“Uh un,” said Brad shaking his head. “Mikey first, I’ll be back for you later.”
“But—” Brad did not let him finish. He just lunged forward and smiled as Aaron jumped out of his path. That’s right, fucker. You better not get in my way.
A few steps more and Brad saw the mine entrance. Gibbons had said the mine was a hundred years old and it looked every day. Vines crawled up the side of the ancient entryway. The timbers that framed it looked old and rotted. The concrete that sealed the opening was brown and stained with age, and it looked like the only thing holding the small structure up. But now a large hole had been smashed through it, revealing a pitch dark tunnel beyond. Brad hesitated. It looked pretty fucking creepy. What the fuck was he worried about? He was a fucking muscle giant. He reached over and broke off a chunk of the concrete. Slowly he closed his hand around it and squeezed, relishing the feel of the rock-like substance crumbling to sand in his bare hand. He was bad ass! If there were any fucking creeps inside there, they’d better watch out for him.
Using his fist, he made the hole even larger, so he could fit through it easily. He took a breath and stepped inside. It smelled dank and musty but it only took a second for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He could see a lot more than he expected. And he could hear something, something was breathing. No, it wasn’t something, it was a bunch of something’s, and they were just up ahead, right around the next corner. Brad tried to go quietly, but if there was one thing his new size was not good for, it was stealth. To hell with it! Brad stomped full speed ahead, and when he rounded the corner he almost laughed. There were four guards, all tied to posts. Well, they weren’t exactly tied to the posts. Someone had taken bits of old iron rail and bent them, almost like a collar, around each guard’s neck and around the post behind them, effectively pinning them to the posts.
“Oh God, there’s another one,” said one of the Guards. Brad thought his name was Simelton.
“No, it’s cool,” said Brad. “Mr. Gibbons sent me.” Brad stepped over to him and grabbed hold of the iron color. He saw the guard flinch. And then, his massive forearms barely flexing, he unbent it as easily as a piece of wire; he saw the guard’s eyes pop. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. Brad suddenly got hard. He realized he liked it when other people were in awe of his power. He liked it a lot.
Brad went around and freed the rest of the guards, giving each of them a little show and drinking in their awestruck wonder.
“Where is he?” asked Brad.
“Down there somewhere,” answered Simelton.
Brad started down the tunnel but he didn’t take three steps before he saw him, Mikey. He was about seven feet tall and shirtless. They guy had some serious muscles on him, no doubt about it. But he was a child compared to Brad. “You’re coming with me, Mikey.”
“Big Bad Brad!” grinned Mikey, “Been working out? Or maybe you’re on the Fish diet.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That was actually pretty funny, if you knew what I was talking about, but obviously you don’t.”
“Look, you’re coming with me.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” And Brad lunged at Mikey. Mikey tried to run back down the tunnel, but Brad was too fast for him. In a second he had knocked him to the ground and straddled him. “You can come with me awake, or not awake. You decide.”
“Brad, don’t be their fucking puppet.”
“Ok, not awake.” And Brad raised his fist to pound Mikey into unconsciousness.