The Kid 2

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George and the Kid left the gym together that night. They went out to George's ironworks company, and got the kid settled in to the apartment above the main office.

"A little small," said George, apologetically.

"Nah," said John," it's great. I've never had my own place before."

George left him to get settled, but he returned early the next day,anxious to set up a workout area for the big teen. George had trained a handful of national caliber powerlifters in his day, but had never seen one with so much potential. Within a week, he and his crew had forged special weight training equipment to handle the tonnage that the kid was able to work with. The kid took to the place immediately, and the other workers started calling him Big John, which he liked. For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a home.

Big John was the nightwatchman at the place, but things were pretty uneventful on that front, so he and George were really concentrating on his training. George put him on a diet of almost 100% protein, and his strength continued to balloon day after day. At night, when he was alone, he would test his strength by bending scrap metal and iron bars into various shapes (he had bent the two incher with ease, and was going to ask one of the guys to forge him a 4" one to play with). Meanwhile, his hands became so heavily calloused from working with rough-hewn iron and metal scraps that he didn't need gloves to protect them. He could actually take a rounded iron bar and pound it out flat with his fist.

Then one night, around 3AM, an SUV pulled up and parked in a darkened corner of the lot. Three young guys got out, and scurried over to the cyclone fence. There was a depression at the bottom of the fence line, and they helped each other crawl through. Two of them had bottles of booze, and were guiding the third guy.

"Where the hell are we," asked the third.

"Don't ask so many questions," said the first guy."You're just a pledge. We bring all of you out here, then you have to make it back to the campus on your own, Timmy boy."

"What is this place?" asked Tim.

"An old ironworks factory," said Rob, the second guy."We come out here sometimes, party, smash things up a bit , just for kicks. Right, Nate?"

"That's right man. No one ever bothers us out here."

Then Tim noticed what looked like a solid granite weight bench. He looked at the bar that was resting on the rack. It was made of iron, and on the ends, he could see where eight rods of rebar had been melded into the center.

"What the hell is this?" he said. Then he noticed iron plates stacked on the ground under the bar. "These plates say '500lbs' on them. And there are ten on each stack."

"Those are mine," said a voice from the dark. Then Big John stepped into the light."What are you doing here?"

All three guys stepped back, startled. Big John was shirtless, his hulking mass glistening in the light. He had on army fatigue pants and steel-toed workboots. His thick thighs filled the pants so tightly that you could see the veins snaking up and down his quads.

"You girls get lost?" he said. "The girl scout meeting is up the road a bit."

"Fuck you," said the drunken, foolish Nate.

Big John stepped over to the iron plates. He leaned over and put one hand on the edge of a 500lber, gripped it, and lifted it up. Then he put his other hand on the opposite side of the plate. He held the plate straight out in front of him and SNAPPED it in two, like a wafer.

"Jesus," said Rob. Then he and Nate took off for the fence. Tim stood there, his feet frozen in awe. Big John went after the two runners. When they got to the fence, the two frat bros scurried under, and sprinted to their SUV. Big John was close behind, but instead of going under the fence, he put his beefy hands on the fence and YANKED, ripping the steel fencing open like a zipper. He stepped through and turned toward the boys just as they were getting into their truck. They slammed the doors and locked them. Nate fumbled for his keys, but dropped them on the floor. "Damn," he said.

"Asshole," said Rob."Get us the hell out of here!"

Big John walked to the front of the truck. He squatted down and stretched his huge arms out, embracing the grill, and squeezing. The metal crumpled under his strength, allowing him an even better grip. Then, with his huge back rippling and writhing with thick freaky muscle, he hoisted the truck up. All four tires left the ground, and he held it there. Then he jacked the truck up even higher, and SLAMMED it down. All four tires blew, and the airbags went off inside. Big John lifted the truck again, and SLAMMED it again, cracking the blacktop and shattering all the windows. Then he lifted it again, and flipped it up and over his head, tossing it behind him. The truck hit the ground and rolled six times before coming to a stop at the woods at the edge of the parking lot.

The two dudes, dazed and cut, crawled out of the car and into the woods, hiding behind a tree to regroup. Big John went over to the truck and ripped off the hood, tossing it aside. Then he reached in. Grabbing each side of the engine block, he wrenched it lose and lifted it out. He pressed it over his head and began doing reps. He felt his superpower growing as he did rep after rep, his freaky delts and traps ballooning with pump. "YEHHHHHHHHHH," he roared. Then he reared back and heaved the engine block into the woods, hitting a four-foot diameter oak tree trunk square on, cracking it in two with the force.

COME ON OUT AND PLAY, boys," he roared into the woods. He smirked as he heard the two frat boys scampering deeper and deeper into the treeline. Then he headed back to the scrapyard, toward Tim.

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