Titanification
by Jaypat
Titanification. I remember when they first came out with it. I was only a kid at the time, maybe 9 or 10. They made a big deal out of it on the news. Some European Gen tech company developed a way to turn any guy into a titan, in other words a walking, talking muscle god. Ok, so maybe not any guy could do it. There were qualifications, and every one of them was controversial.
#1. You had to be genetically compatible. That brought in accusations of selective breading, genetic engineering and even racism.
#2. You had to be in good health. That of course eliminated the process from being the answer to MD or MS or any other muscle wasting disease. Many pundits dismissed it at that point as being “an irresponsibly vain and frivolous manipulation of the human body,” like plastic surgery, only far worse.
#3. The process was extremely expensive. I’m talking Italian sports car expensive, well beyond the reach of most ordinary mortals, which further bolstered its reputation of being frivolous – merely another toy for the ultra rich.
#4. You had to be between the ages of 16 and 18. Apparently puberty was necessary to the process and most guys were finished with puberty by 18. The company refused to administer the process to anyone under 16 on moral grounds. Interestingly enough, it was an extension of those same moral grounds that got the process banned in the US, where it was decided the youngest age one could morally go through the process was 18. And, of course, by that age it was too late. So, the company would not be building any facilities in America.
Interestingly enough, an ultra conservative group wanted to raise the ban age to 21. It was pointed out to them that it would be a waist of congress’s time and the tax payer’s money since the process was not effective on anyone over 18 anyway. But this did not detour the conservatives, they wanted the age raised anyway.
It was one day, some years later, when I first saw him. I was in the city on a shopping trip with my mom and there he was. He didn’t look much older than me but he was massive, fully 8 feet tall and about 6 feet wide at the shoulders.
He was wearing a tight shirt, obviously tailored to accentuate his massive build. His chest stuck out so far in front of him, I wondered if he ever saw the ground any more. His neck was thick as a telephone pole and his massive traps were broader than a body builder’s shoulders. And his shoulders…? Massive segmented globes of shredded muscles nestled above huge thick, bulging arms, at least as wide around as my torso and covered in veins. And one of his huge, ripped forearms looked like it weighed more than my mom.
I could see his massive quads rolling and heaving around inside his light cotton pants, looking for all the world like they might burst out any second and leave him standing there in rags. Not that I would have minded that sight, not one little bit. The guy looked like he could lift a truck.
I remember my mom looking up at him and saying, “Why in God’s name would anyone do that to themselves?”
And I remember thinking why wouldn’t you? But I kept that to myself.
A few minutes later mom and I split up. She was off to get her hair done and I needed some new pants. It didn’t take me long to get what I needed and I still had an hour to wait for mom. So naturally, like any red blooded teenage boy, I stopped by the electronics department to check out all the new gadgets I couldn’t afford.
I was carefully scrutinizing the resolution on a 42 inch plasma screen when I felt him approach. It was weird. It was the same way you feel when a big truck or a bus pulls up right behind you. It was as if I could feel the physical dynamics of the room changing.
“Those things are terrible energy hogs,” he said, in a voice reminiscent of rolling thunder.
I turned around and looked up. …holy crap… from a distance he had looked big. Up close he was fucking enormous. It was a good thing he was standing a few feet back or I never would have seen his face past those gigantic pecs. And it was a nice face.
I felt myself getting light headed as all the blood rushed to my head. And all the blood that wasn’t going to my head was going someplace else.
“Yeah…” I said, falteringly, “I’d just heard the resolution was better with plasma and I was trying to see if it was true.” That was an amazingly lucid sentence considering my state of mind at that moment.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“Hard to say,” I said, desperately trying to snatch back the threads of my thought process from a moment ago, when screen resolution had seemed so important.
“I think the resolution is just as good with LED and it takes up a lot less power,” he said.
“Maybe,” I said, “I just need to compare them a little more. Sorry, is my mouth hanging open?”
“Just a little,” he said, cracking a smile. “But don’t worry I get that a lot.”
“Just how fucking big are you?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Pretty big,” he said, “but if you don’t mind, I’d much rather talk about Hi-def TVs.”
“Oh sure,” I said. “I bet you have a 3D TV.”
“Yeah,” he said as he shrugged. Fuck, earthquakes moved less real estate. “But I like my 2D TV better,” he continued. “It’s got a better picture and most of the movies out in 3D aren’t that good.”
“Alice in Wonderland was ok,” I said, “But I think Avatar sucked.”
“You too?” he said, his eyebrows rising. “I though I was the only one who hated Avatar.”
“Fear not, dude, you are not alone,” I said. “Most of my friends think it sucked. Your’s liked it, hunh?”
Suddenly he got this far away look in his eye. “Yeah… yeah they did,” he said. I suddenly got the feeling I should change the subject.
“What about Blu-ray players?” I said. “I bet you’ve got a sick-ass Blu-ray player.” And then we walked over to where the players were.
We spent the rest of the hour talking about movies and home theater systems. Of course all my knowledge was theoretical. I knew what kind of home theater I wanted, but with my parents… The only reason we upgraded to hi-def was because they thought we wouldn’t be able to get any TV shows without it.
But Matt, as I found out his name was, had it all, the finest surround sound, a huge, wall-sized flat screen, and the best disc player money could buy. I was very envious and I told him so.
“Well, you’ll just have to come over some time and check it out,” he said. He wrote down his email address on a piece of paper and gave it to me. “Friend me on Facebook,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, handing him my address in return. “You do the same.” Then I realized I was already 10 minutes late for meeting my mom. I excused myself and took off quickly.
Talking with Matt had been an experience. My neck was sore from constantly having to look up and around his massive muscles just so I could see his face as we talked. All he had to do was move a little to the right or left and suddenly his head was obscured by a gigantic pec or a colossal delt, and I would have to shuffle over to get a clear view once more. And that’s not even mentioning the effect all that heaving muscle straining against his clothing was having on my concentration. Visions of it haunted my thoughts for the rest of the day. And all that night I lay in bed jerking to the memory of it.
When I woke up the next morning I automatically booted up my computer, like I always did, and logged on to Facebook. I had to be up to date on all the drama before I went into school. But everything looked peaceful. There hadn’t been any break-ups or a major fight. And I was just about to get up and get dressed when I saw the friend request. He’d sent me a note with it, too. Matt from the electronics store, the note said as if it were possible for me to forget who he was.
Of course I accepted at once and took a detour over to his main page to check out any photos there might be. I was a little surprised not to find any. His profile photo was just a head and shoulders shot, and while the head was obviously his, the shoulders were not… or at least, not any more. The picture must have been taken before he’d had the process, and he looked like a regular kid. I guess he hadn’t had a chance to update it yet, which meant his change might be recent.
I found it a little fascinating. I was used to associating that face with impossibly massive shoulders and giant bulging traps, and to see it connected to an average pair of shoulders was a mind trip. It made me wish the photo showed more of him so I could make a proper comparison.
But the morning was wearing on and I had to get ready for school. So I shut down my computer and got on with it.
“Dude, where have you been?” said my best friend Scott as soon as he saw me. “I’ve been texting you all morning.”
I pulled out my phone. Yup, it had died. “Damn, I forgot to charge it last night.”
“Again?” said Scott. “Dude, you’ve gotta take better care of that thing.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, “What’s up?”
“Jack’s back,” he said.
“What?” I gasped. “I thought they kicked him out!”
“They did, but apparently he’s back.”
Jack Nirrazian was a bully of the first order. He’d been expelled last year after he put a kid in the hospital, beat him to a bloody mess just because the kid wouldn’t let Jack cut in front of him in the lunch line.
“And I hear he’s looking for you,” said Scott.
“Of course he is,” I said, burying my head in my hands. “Some things never change. Why did they let him out of Juvie?”
“Because I did my time,” said a voice. I felt my skin crawl as I heard it. I turned and looked. There was Jack, large as life, actually he was a little larger than I remembered.
Not that Jack was ever really big, just hard as hell with a violent streak a mile wide. But now he looked like he’d put on another 10 or 15 pounds.
“What do you want, Jack?” I said.
“What I always wanted,” he said. “Take a hike, Scott.”
Scott didn’t wait to be asked again. I didn’t really blame him. Jack was scary. And I couldn’t believe I used to find that hot.
“We’re through, Jack,” I said.
“That’s a shame,” said Jack, “because not a day went by that I didn’t think of you. I actually hit the weights hard while I was in there because I know how much you like big guys.” He flexed. Yup, he was definitely bigger. I couldn’t understand why they let them have weights in Juvenile Hall. Was it because they wanted to produce a bigger, stronger thug? Looks like they succeeded.
“I don’t care how big you get, Jack,” I said. “You’ll never interest me again.”
“You say that now,” he said. “But maybe you’ll change your mind after this.” He pulled a brochure out of his pocket and dangled it in front of my face. “Here’s the other thing that got me through that year,” he said, “just knowing this would be waiting for me as soon as I got out.” I snatched the brochure from him and stared. Holy crap!
“Titanification!” I gasped. “No way. No way could you even afford this.”
“My dad took out a second mortgage on the house, and borrowed the rest from the bank. It’s a done deal. I go to Switzerland this weekend for my first treatment.” He grinned. “I’ll bring you back some chocolates.”
I just didn’t have any words.
“Cheer up, buddy,” he said. “Pretty soon I’ll be so fucking huge I’ll be un-fucking-stoppable. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want whenever the fuck I want and no one will fucking say shit to me—ever again. And just think of all the wild nights we’re gonna have…” and then he looked at me with a particularly dark glare, “because with the body I’m gonna have, no one’s gonna to say no to me either.” And then he turned and walked away.
Holy crap! How could this happen? How could they let someone like Jack take the treatment? Didn’t they have standards? Yeah, they had standards, six digit standards.
Damn, what do I do now?
“I don’t believe it,” said my friend Lucy later at lunch. “He was just messing with your head. He’s not going to have the treatment. No one’s dad is going to mortgage the house for something like that.”
“I don’t know,” said Scott. “I heard Jack’s dad is some kind of low level thug with the mob. Maybe he has bigger plans for his son, way bigger.”
“Don’t joke about it,” I said. “I met one of those titanified guys yesterday and just the thought of Jack getting that big makes me want to move to Aruba.”
“You met one?” said Scott. “Seriously? What was he like?”
“Huge, gigantic, beyond enormous. Just one of his arms was bigger than you and me put together. He could probably lift all three of us, plus the table, with one finger.”
“Damn,” said Scott.
“Damn is right,” I said. “I’m screwed.”
“I still don’t believe it,” said Lucy. “I just don’t believe it.”
“I know,” said Scott, “You can get the other titanified guy to take care of Jack.”
“I can’t ask him that,” I said. “I hardly know him. And Jesus, can you imagine two of those guys fighting. It would level a city block.”
“Sure I can imagine it,” said Scott. “It’s a big ticket item in Europe. They buy out some run down section of a city and just let them go at it, no holds barred. They throw old cars at each other, rip down buildings, and pull sewer pipes out of the ground and use ‘em like clubs. And not one of those guys ever gets killed. It’s like it’s impossible to seriously hurt them.”
“And that’s what’s going to happen to Jack?” I said. “It’s a sick world we live in.”
I couldn’t concentrate much on school for the rest of the day. And when I got home I almost didn’t bother to log on to Facebook. But some habits are almost impossible to break. As soon as I logged in I got an IM from Matt.
Hey, it said.
Hey, I replied.
Want to come over and see my set up?
Sure, I said. When?
How about now?
I had to laugh. If anything, I imagined I would be chasing him.
I don’t even know where you live, I typed, and even if I did, I don’t have a car.
That’s ok, he said, I’ll send a car.
He’ll send a car?
You mean a limo? I typed.
Yeah, a limo. Is that ok?
I had to think about it for a few seconds. What was I getting myself into? As a rule, rich folks didn’t have a lot to do with people like me. We didn’t belong to the right country club, which in my situation was no country club at all. And let’s not forget the fact that this guy was as big as a house and could probably lift one as well. His kind was so strong, according to urban legend, that a building falling on him would be only a minor inconvenience. If I went there I would be completely at his mercy. What if the nice guy act was all a front? What if he had evil intentions? Then I found myself hoping he did have evil intentions… or at least one evil intention.
I quickly typed, a limo is fine. What time?
Should be outside now.
I jumped up and ran to my window. Sure enough there was a long black limo parked out front. Ok, that was a little creepy.
How did you know where I lived? I typed.
Your dad’s name and your city are on your Facebook page and you’re listed in the phone book.
That made sense. Though, it was still a little creepy that he’d done that kind of research and sent the car ahead.
How did you know I would come? I asked.
I didn’t. He replied. I just hoped.
The limo ride was actually kind of fun. The driver treated me like royalty. The back was luxurious with all leather seats, a fridge stocked with soft drinks, and a high def TV that got a full range of channels, not to mention internet access. There was even a PS3 hooked up to it, with all the latest games at my fingertips, plus an impressive movie selection. Hell, it was nicer than my room, and after five minutes I wanted to move in.
I’m not sure how long the drive was, but the time seemed to fly by. And before I knew it we were pulling up a long, circular drive in front of the biggest house I’d ever seen. It could have been a hotel.
The driver opened the door for me and I walked up the front steps toward the large hand carved front door. It opened before I got there and an actual, honest-to-god butler ushered me in.
“This way, Sir,” he said. Obviously I was expected.
I followed him to a huge wood paneled room, which had a floor to ceiling fish tank at one end. Then he closed the huge double doors behind me and left. I felt like I was in the lair of some James Bond villain.
“What do you think?” said Matt’s rolling thunder voice.
I jumped. He was standing right behind me. No, not standing, towering behind me. Damn, I’d forgotten just how huge that boy was. How he managed to get behind me without my noticing was beyond me.
He was wearing another of his tailored tees. It hugged his relatively narrow waist, giving just a hint of the immense blocks of muscle bulging out of his abdomen. The shirt broadened as it went up, enveloping his titanic pecs and monumental lats, showing off their perfect shape with a glove-like fit. His massive shoulders and traps were equally well showcased. And the tee’s short sleeves were pulled tight around those massive, veiny upper arms like they might rip apart at any second. Damn, I could see all the cuts and divisions in the exposed portion of his massive biceps and triceps, just as if they’d been carved there with a knife. I guessed there was more cloth in one of his sleeves alone than in my entire t-shirt.
“You’re staring,” he said.
“Sorry,” I stumbled, ‘but you take some getting used to.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “So what do you think?”
I was about to say he was huge and beautiful beyond reason, but I got the feeling that’s not what he was talking about.
“What do I think about what?” I asked.
“My set up,” he said, waving those massive arms around, gesturing to the entire room.
“I don’t know,” I said, “I haven’t…” Then it hit me. I whirled around and looked at the fish tank. It couldn’t be. I walked up closer to it, but I had to get two feet away before I was sure. I was looking at a giant video screen.
“Holy crap,” I said. “That gives new meaning to high def. Surround sound?”
“In the walls,” he grinned. “Come here.” He pointed to one of the panels. “You see that? It might look like wood but it’s not. It’s a kind of cloth that’s painted to look like wood so it will blend in with the rest of the room. The speaker’s behind it.”
“Subwoofer?” I asked.
“In the floor,” he grinned back. “When the building in Die Hard explodes, the whole room shakes.”
“Seriously?”
“You want to see?”
“Ah, that would be a yes.”
So he put on Die Hard. The image was so clear, when the bullets started flying I wanted to duck. And he was right; when the building blew up the whole room shook.
When it was over I turned to him and said, “That was one awesome movie.”
“Best action flick ever,” he replied.
“And your setup is better than any theater I’ve ever been to.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I think so. Of course there are a few in LA and New York that are better but outside of that…”
“Whoa, you must go to a lot of movies,” I said.
“Yeah, not so much anymore,” he said and then he got a kind of sad expression on his face. And I realized with his size he probably wouldn’t fit in a theater chair. And just think of the poor slob sitting behind him… or even 4 or 5 rows behind him. Of course I could stare at that view for a couple of hours, but I’m sure most people would object.
“So where do you go to school,” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“I have a tutor,” he said. “I don’t go to school.”
And suddenly I realized that had to be because of his size, too.
“Look,” I said. “This is ridiculous. I’m trying to dance around it but I just can’t anymore. Why don’t you like talking about your size?”
Suddenly he looked very uncomfortable and he stood up… and up…and up. Damn, what a mountain.
“I think you’d better go,” he said, and then he started slouching toward the door, his massive back slumping and his impossibly thick arms dragging at his side. “Randall will show you out,” he said and was gone. A moment later the butler was standing by the door. Without a word I followed him to the front door. Outside the limo was waiting.
The ride home took 45 minutes. For some reason I never turned on the TV.