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The story begins: here. Part Six is found: here. Descent into growth Part Seven You had come into your own. Rob, too. You loved your new, short mohawk haircut, and Rob's haircut was inspired by the military, too: Shaved sides, shaved on the back of his head, and a flat, platinum blonde buzzcut left at the top of his head. The faded denim cut-offs suited Rob well, but his continued growth threatened to burst the cut-offs at the seams soon. You wondered why you hadn't chosen to wear jockstraps before: They were your number one choice. Mr. V. had stepped out of his camo-patterned army trousers, and revealed a black, glossy leather jockstrap. The words "silly", "fun-fair" and "charade" floated through your mind from somewhere, you couldn't remember from where, anymore. Actually, the leather suited Mr. V. well, and he seemed to like it. You felt like a big dumb jock boy now. Uh! The Test Chamber was buzzing. Crackling. Humming. As it ought to. Minutes ago, you had been worried over, what would happen, if no one was left outside, taking care of The Process, but you had forgotten Arngrim, your A.I. You had named him after a beefy berserker in Norse mythology. Uh! Berserker! You like that. You must have unconsciously longed for this day since the beginning. At least, that was, what Mr. V. told you, before he pushed you inside the Chamber to join Rob and himself. Nate wasn't far behind Mr. V. Now you were all becoming... Becoming what you were programmed to. All four of you. Felt great. Jock boy. Uh! You took turns at the training bench and by the barbell. Deadlift. Bench press. Squat. At first, the amounts and size of weight plates seemed ridiculously exaggerated. But now you realised: Not exaggerated at all. Not at these levels. Yeah. Felt great. Jock boy. Uh! You glanced. Nate was curling dumbbells. Two hundred pound dumbbells. TWO HUNDRED POUND DUMBBELLS! You felt horny. There was a bulge in your jockstrap. Just as Mr. V. wanted. Jock boy! Uh! Mr. V bellowed, and watched himself flex his bicepses in front of his chest. He grimaced involuntarily in a mix of triumph, amazement and pleasure, and emitted a growling moan. The next moment, there was the sound of a snap, and Mr. V’s leather-jockstrap was no more, because it couldn’t withstand the strength of Mr. V’s manhood anymore. His cock bounced out of its former imprisonment, liberated, throbbing and wet of pre-cum. Mr. V shuddered in pleasure, and his eyes incomprehendingly gazed at one of the katodes, from which the hypertrophic power came crackling into his abs. With a surprisingly dumb smile, he stepped outside the octagon marked in yellow-and-black-striped tape in the centre of the Test Chamber, approached the katode, bent his knees slightly, and pushed his cock into the opening of the katode. Watching Mr. V’s action, a smile lit up in Nate’s face, and he, similarly, left the centre of the chamber, and, still wearing his red glossy boxing shorts, rubbed his groin and abs against the opposing anode. The power level in the middle of the Chamber immediately sank considerably, although the remaining anode and katode relentlessly bombarded you and Rob with their hypertrophic power. Grunts of disappointment came from both Mr. V. and Nate. You and Rob watched each other, and nodded. Rob stepped outside the tape-markings, and approached Mr. V. ”Why doesn’t it work, bro? I want the growth-power, Rob. I really want it!” The sound of Mr. V’s voice had changed. It was deeper, of course – you hadn’t expected otherwise – but the former arrogance had faded, and there was a tone of a sulky teenager in the voice of the middle-aged businessman. ”It doesn’t work that way, Mr. V.” ”To hell with that Mr-V-shit, dude! Call me Van, Rob. But why don’t I feel a piss of that nice, really great growth-power? Turn me into a Hulk, Rob!” Meanwhile, you tried to reason with Nate. With a feeling of regret, you left the centre of the Chamber, and felt the hypertrophic power die in your body. There was anabolic radiation in the Chamber, lots of it, and your body still raged of visible growth, but the feeling of hypertrophic power was cut off. You put your palm on Nate’s melon-sized shoulder. ”Come, Nate. Come back to the centre of the Chamber.” ”But I want it so much. I want the Power! I want to feel it! I want …” ”It doesn’t work like that. The current connects, when a metallic object or a man is there in the centre.” You tried to drag Nate back to the centre, but there was no way to reason with him. For a second, it felt tempting to try to force Nate back to the centre, but remembering Nate’s MMA credentials, you decided against it, despite your newfound strength. You closed your eyes, and felt your muscles growing. Newfound strength. NEWFOUND STRENGTH. You returned to reasoning with Nate. It was hard to think. Hard to make him understand. ”But I want more! I want the Hulk-feeling! Don’t stop me!” He rubbed himself against the seemingly lifeless anode. You sighed. It was hard to think during the growth-process. So good. But it would return to even better, if Nate and Van stopped behaving like morons. You glanced at Rob, and catched his eye. You both nodded. You laid your hand on Nate’s lower back, and took a step away from him, your arm stretched outwards. Your right foot was inside the striped tape, but just barely. Rob was grabbing Van’s left hand, against the latter’s will, both arms stretched, and Rob was standing entirely within the marked area. The other katode-anode pair bombarded him now, and the influx of hypertrophic power caused Van to accept Rob’s firm handshake more willingly now. Rob bit his lower lip, trying to control himself, took a deep breath, and you could see him lay his eyes on the barbell in the middle of the chamber. He lifted his end of the barbell with one hand, pushing it, so that the other end of the barbell was close to your reach. So close. You tried to maintain the touch of Nate’s back, leaned carefully deeper inside the marked area, and then you and Nate lifted the barbell together. The effect was immediate. POWER. Hypertrophic power rushed into you from Nate and from the end of the barbell. Nate and you, Rob and Van formed a circuit. Circuit. A fucking circuit of power. You were shaking. Nate was shaking. Rob was shaking. Van bellowed: ”Fuck, yes, dude! The power streams through my cock!” It was hard to will yourself to the next step. It felt so good, but you had to do it. You and Rob nodded at each other, you laid the barbell down on the floor, and then you let your hands go. ”What the fuck, dude?” It was the disappointed voice of Van. You couldn’t blame him. You felt disappointed too, but Van and Nate were keeping the process back, by blocking the anode and katode. ”I said: Come back to the centre, where we will allow the circuit to close.” ”I don’t understand a word you say, bro. I want to get huge.” ”If you want to get huge, stand in the centre. That’s where you will connect the current.” Van and Nate hesitatingly began to move, but it was only the latter who joined you in the centre. ”What the hell, bro? I’m stuck inside this thing!” You couldn’t help yourself from laughing. Your laughter sounded different now: Dark, deep, rich, like chocolate. Nate and Rob laughed, too. ”You are what?” ”My dick is stuck inside this machine. It isn’t funny!” Rob laughed again. His laughter had changed too, and become similar to your’s: Leisurely joyful, but also with a deep, warm, assertive timbre. ”We have to find a way to help you out of this situation, then? I suppose, that you wouldn’t allow us to cut your dick off?” ”Shut up, Rob. It isn’t funny.” Van sounded unusually sullen now. Rob towered behind him now: Tall, built, confident and attempting to help. ”What if I do this?” ”Doesn’t help. Too painful.” ”And if I do this?” Van moaned. ”Doesn’t help. Got harder. More stuck.” ”So you have to shrink to get loose?” ”Shut up, Rob, as I said, it isn’t funny.” ”Let me see.” Rob opened his denim cut-offs, removed his jockstrap, and pulled something out. He stood with his back to you, and you were unable to see, which was a pity. ”If I do this …” ”Oh fuck, this is so hot, Rob, so hard, this can’t gonna work …” ”And slightly tug like this… ” ”Rob! Fuck! So… You are so masculine now… Can’t… Oh fuck, your amazing muscles … I’m… Oh wow! Uhnnnn… I …” There was a squishy sound. Half a minute later, Van was free. Leaning on Rob, he returned to the middle of the Chamber. The anode and the katode flared to work. Bolts of hypertrophic power was bombarding all four of you, again. Yes, bombarding you all again. You inhaled more gas. More. Feeling like a good jock boy. Jock boy. Uh! ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” It was the metallic voice of the AI again. When the intensified anabolic radiation hit you, all of you shivered and let some noise out. Nate moaned. Van let out a grunt. Rob’s eyes widened: ”Fuck, yes!” The AI continued: ”Adapting morphogenetic field to alternative sketch. Activating SKETCH NUMBER 2137.” Incredulity rose inside your mind. What the hell is Sketch number 2137? It can’t be the ridiculous sketch Rob and Nate had been playing with a few days ago? I couldn’t be… And the sketch was activated. ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” Yelps. Helpless yelps from men overwhelmed by irresistible tranformation. Yelps of pleasure from victims of forced growth. Yelps of power from jocks turning into musclegods. Yelps from Van, from the lads, from you. Their bodies convulsing. Your body convulsing. Rush. Body rush. Your body rushing into the height. Taller. Wider. Unfathomable. Taller. Wider. Brawnier. Forced by the field to conform to the pattern of the sketch. Forced to become… To become… Fuck! Uh! Become… So good… So good… To become… 6’9’’ To become… 330 lbs To become… Wider! Heavier! Harder! Fuck! The feeling! Becoming… ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” Your chest was growing. Your pec shelf made you feel like an ice-breaker. What was this? 7'? 360 lbs? What sort of man is able to count or keep numbers straight in this state? This state of GROWTH. MUSCLE GROWTH. Your abs were growing and becoming harder, more defined … chiseled. Your abs made you feel like a brickwall. ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” BRICK WALL. The sight of the other lads growing… Nate still his energetic plucky self, but four times as big. Van obsessed with his own growth, but looking younger and happier. Rob… BIG Rob. Towering. His platinum army-haircut contrasting against his bronzed tan. His ice-blue eyes shining of confidence and assertiveness, but not entirely like Van in the past: More personal warmth, more consideration for you and the others, more protectiveness… Rob closing his eyes in abandon, flexing his arms in front of himself… Rob bellowing like a human bull. BRICK WALL. You could feel it yourself. The power consuming you. Charging you. Building yourself up. Transforming. Your muscle fibres multiplying. Becoming thicker. Becoming harder. Unyielding. Your brawn. Thicker. Harder. Unyielding. Your testo. Higher. Flooding your system. Flooding your physique. Filling your body with testo. Ultra-charged testo. Filling your nuts and rod. Filling your muscles. Filling your mind. Charged. New being. Jock-being. Jock boy. Uh! Jock man. Jock beast. Jock god. Jock titan. ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” Yes, more! Nate groaning, but not in disappointment. Van staring into the void in disbelief, his powerful rod throbbing and drooling, as his body underwent metamorphosis into impossibly virile and powerful masculinity. Rob moaning deeply with a lustful and smug smile on his powerful lips, achieving the impossible looks of some super-soldier character out of a computer game. ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” YES!!! Could have been you. Could have been any of you. Someone – or all of you – bellowed your approval when the Process amplified your growth. You could see Rob stagger to the training-bench… reclining there… lifting the barbell… dislike how light it was… rise… add several thicc heavy plates… recline again… lifting… grunting in approval… and push… push… benchpress… push… Rob’s pecs growing… blood rushing to his pecs… anabolic power rushing to mend Rob’s pecs instantly, causing them to grow… grow… all four of you… grow… yourself staggering to spot Rob, well aware of the power streaming through the barbell between Rob’s hands… grabbing the barbell, to spot… CONTACT!!! Rob’s irradiated body and your irradiated body connected by the barbell, the hypertrophic power rushing through both your bodies: From your body into his. From his body into your. Crackling. Both of your bodies crackling. Surrounded by hypertrophic sparks and power bolts. Feeling the power current. BEING the power current. Yes! Bigger! Double the amounts! Both of you crackling of strength-inducing power. Crackling of muscle-growing power. Both of you! Glowing. Van realising it. Coming closer. Kneeling in front of Rob’s knees. Rob still lifting. Pushing. Bench press. Van swallowing Rob’s cock. YES! Connected! Three of you! Not thrice as much… FOURFOULD! Nate’s mouth agape of bliss. Closer. Kneeling under the barbell, between Rob’s head and your knees. Swalling your manhood. All four of you. Connected. FUCK! Not eightfold. SIXTEENFOLD, uhu sixteenfold, uhu, sixteenfold, Uhngh, so… So good. Yeah, suck me, musclegod! Connected. All of you. All the bros. All happy big jockgods. Jock titans! SIXTEENFOLD! Couldn’t take much more now… So much… ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” No! Not more now! So good, but almost too much… It… ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” The instincts and the power. Yeah. Strength. Raw powerful muscular strength. The only thing that matters. Watching Rob bench press 2000 lbs. TWO THOUSAND LBS!!! Raw powerful muscular strength. Instinct. Power. Strength. Bulging. Engorged. Everything engorged. Engorged cock. Engorged quads and hamstrings. Engorged calves. Engorged glutes. Engorged lats and traps. Engorged Pecs. Your abs, obliques and serratus burning. Burning. Bigger. Growing. Burning of power. Engorged. Van engorged. Nate engorged. Rob engorged. All of you burning. Throbbing. Engorged. Power levels. Uh. SIXTEENFOLD. ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” YES! Brute-Beast big! Brute-Beast good! Jock-god so good! It… The feeling… Pure strength… Becoming strength… Flood of energy… Becoming energy… It’s… It’s the strength. Power. Energy. Power. Presence. Expanding. Throbbing of power. Presence. Raw power. Mass. Power Mass. Power Mass present. Power Mass throbbing. Connected. The lads. Power mass. Raw. All of you. All of us. Power Presence. Raw. Intense. Intensifying. Increasing. Enhanced. Enhancing. ”Intensifying anabolic radiation” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” The strength. The… Uhu… YEAH! Huge! Bulging… Uhu! Ungh! Yeah, huge! Power flood. Beast. Raw. Brute. Power-Beast. Power-Brute. Godlike. Titanic. Titan. Power Titan. Brutal Power-Titan. Throbbing of Power. Good. Uh. Bigger. Huge. Huge Power-Beast. Huge Power-Titan. All of us. Huge Power Beasts. Huge Power Titans. So… Power-throbbing… Uh! Mass! Yes! Yeah! Strength-power! Power-stream! Power-current! Power-wave! Nnnn! Power-being! Nnnnn! Power-house! Uhu! Uhu! Can’t believe… POWER HOUSE! Yes! Look at us! Power-house! Can’t… So… Oh, fuck! It’s… Ungh! Uhu! POWER HOUSE! Huge! I… We… The Power! Can’t… So… It’s… Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck… It’s… ALL OF US… YES! What we are becoming… Oh! Yes! Let it happen! Let it happen to all of us! Let us become… Let us… Let… Uh. Power. Let… Uuuh! FU- !!! * * * To be continued.

Part one is found: here. Part four is found: here. Descent into growth Part Five Uncomfortable. You felt uncomfortable and soaked in sweat. The air felt hot – too hot – and suffocating, and your face felt too warm. You couldn't move, and another nauseous wave of too warm and stuffy atmosphere surrounded you, tossed you around and carried you away: into sleep, into your thoughts, into reality – you didn't know. You smelled the scent of shavings and guineapig droppings, methylated spirits and cleaning solution. You were in the Lab. Hadn't this already happened once? You approached Rob and Nate, who sat watching the screen of the computer, which controlled the field. The morphogenetic field. Rob was free to study the diagrams, the 3D sketches consisting of translucent outlines of real persons' physiques. You hadn't given that particular aspect of experiments much thought: Your predecessors in that field of study had gathered and collected a bank of statistic data about human anatomy and physiology. You recollected the stray reports about accidents, when the symmetry protocols and functionality protocols had been disregarded in the past, and you had tried to instill into little Rob the importance of basing any morphogenetic field on real people with functional physiques. You came closer. Little Rob must have heard the sound of your feet, and turned his head. You could see him blush, and his ruddy cheeks contrasted against his platinum blond hair and his innocent ice blue eyes. "How's Mr. Vanderwesthuisen?" "Still recovering from his DNA-programming infection. What are you looking at?". Nate turned around, his friendly and confident smile flashing from his youthful face: "Hey, Doc. Rob is showing me how the machine works. You've got data about most of my heroes, and then some." "What do you mean?" "Look here: You've got stats and some sorta drawings on the computer, and not just the competitors from the mid-2020's, but also a lot of vintage athletes. Take this one, for instance: Lee Priest, famous back in the 90's. Short, but built like a brick wall! Or that one, did you ever watch Game of Thrones? I was too young, but I've watched the re-runs. That's Hafthor Bjornson. The Mountain? And you have drawings ... what did you call them, Rob?" "Three-D sketches." "Three-D sketches, then. You've got 3D sketches of Cutler at Olympia in 2009, and you've got sketches of Markus Ruhl at the height of his career, and you've got Morgan Aste and Mariusz Pudzianowski." "Who?" "It's your data bank, not mine." "I have never been much into sports. I do work out irregularly, but I don't remember the names of athletes." "Rob didn't recognise half of them either. Most of them are bodybuilders, but Bjornson is a Strongman comptetitor. Mariusz won World's Strongest Man five times, but went into MMA after that. Now, the thing is, Rob showed me, that it is possible to combine data from all these drawings." "Yes, it is. How so?" "Well, I've sometimes imagined what would happen, if anyone of Bjornson's height got the same physique as Lee Priest. Lee's even shorter than me or Rob, but look how WIDE he was back then." "I suppose it could be done, theoretically, but no scientist would attempt to combine two physiques as different as those two." Nate looked smug. Rob blushed. "Actually, I asked Rob to fuse the, eh, 3D-sketches of Lee and Bjornson, and then mix that sketch with all the others here: Jay... Ruhl... Aste... And he did it! He actually did it! Take a look at this sketch!" They had actually "did it", indeed: The newly added SKETCH NUMBER 2137 in your data bank depicted a man looking like something out of comics or computer games, but with one important exception. If you had placed comics characters or game characters in real life, they wouldn't be able to move. Since the sketch was based on existing men with functional muscles, a person looking like that in reality would actually be able to have a life that worked. "Put it in the Archive, Rob. We will not use it. Not this week. Probably never, but put it in the Archive." Something was wrong with the scene. Rob and Nate. Both short lads. Wrong with the scene. Wasn't Nate taller and bigger when this happened? Not happening now. Happened. In the past. Memory. Strange. Something wrong. Uncomfortable. Darkness. You struggled. It felt like an invisible being wrestled with you. Too hot. * * * You smelled the scent of shavings and guineapig droppings, methylated spirits and cleaning solution. You were in the Lab. Hadn't this already happened once? You were standing in front of the Test Chamber, and Mr. Vanderwesthuisen arrived in the Lab. You turned your head. Your employer had a taste for making scientific experiments into fun-fairs: He arrived, wearing a gown of some sort of silky fabric, like the ones some boxers wear. Then he tossed the gown over a chair, revealing his almost naked body. His days spent at the beach had given him an even tan, and, although no one could call him a bodybuilder, it was obvious, by the way he looked, that he worked out seriously. All the marks were there: Pecs, including the beginning of a pec ravine, but not beefy ones; A faint outline of abs; Biceps, but not bulging ones; Visible lats, but not enough to give any exaggerated V-shape. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was wearing black high-neck trainers – no, rather boxing boots, you corrected yourself. And he was wearing posing trunks. Minimal, metallic green posing trunks of the sort European bodybuilders wear. ”I’m ready. An injection wasn’t it?” You had to clear your throat. It felt like you had a lump in it. ”Beg your pardon?” ”Injection. I have to be injected before I enter, haven’t I?” ”Uh. Yes. Of course. And this is what you are going to wear inside the Test Chamber, Sir?” He smiled. Smugly. Arrogantly. His rather handsome eyes had a glint, that revealed, that he knew that his playful approach to your work irritated you, but that you knew your place in the hierarchy. It was obvious, that he enjoyed how you served his whims, even when it irked you. Smugly. Arrogantly. Expectant. ”Yes, this is what I am going to wear. Unlike Nate, I don’t take pleasure in ripping out of clothes. The injection, then?” Rob was there. He had fetched the serum designed for Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s DNA. The scent of alcohol. The syringe. The sting. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes. Blue eyes, but another hue than Rob’s icy blue ones. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes were blue like a welding torch, and burning now. ”Will you repeat on me what you did to Nate?” ”We were considering two different options. On one hand, it would give us more comparable data, if we repeated the settings of Nate’s go at the Chamber, but, on the other hand, it could be interesting to see what happened, if we increased the hypertrophic power a few percentiles and intensified the anabolic radiation to the same degree. In that case…” You were interrupted by Mr. Vanderwesthuisen: ”I’ll go for the second option.” ”But…” ”That was not a question, Doc. That was a command. You will increase the levels.” You could see Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s posing trunk fill out. Something was growing before the Process in the Test Chamber had begun. He eagerly stepped inside the sluice. The two atmospheres switched place, and he entered the Chamber. You and Rob activated the machines, including Arngrim, the AI, that assisted you in your work. ”Gas saturation, Arngrim?” The metallic voice of the AI answered: ”Eighty-five percent and increasing.” You sneezed, and had to find a package of tissues in your pocket. It was obvious, that you had a sore throat now. Your usual luck… just in the middle of an experiment… ”Ninety percent and increasing.” You could see Mr. Vanderwesthuisen stand in the centre of the chamber inside the octagon outlined by black-and-yellow tape marks. He was inhaling deeply, with an eager expression. ”Ninety-five percent and increasing.” ”Time to warm up the anabolic rays, Rob. I’ll activate the hypertrophic coils.” ”Anabolic emmitters warming up. Hypertrophic coils activated. Ninety-nine percent saturation: Full saturation level.” Bolts were beginning to hit Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s body. He shook. It was hard to distinguish the bolts through the thick protective glass panes. In the green hue from the lamps Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s skin looked almost green. Tanned and green. Silly comics-based fun-fair whims. ”Initiating irradiation.” Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes widened. His mouth opened. You activated the interior microphones and speakers. ”Everything well, Sir?” ”Fuck. Yes. Well. Yes. More than well. Love this. This feeling. Better than I thought. Nate, if you are out there: I’m joining you now. Now I understand, what you talked about. The feeling. Fuck. So good. Becoming like you.” ”Intensify radiation.” ”Intensifying anabolic radiation.” ”FUCK, yes. I don’t know what you are doing out there, but I loved that.” Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was shivering, nay, shuddering inside the Test Chamber. His fit but small physique had begun to change, as Nate’s had a few days before. To fill out. To become taller. To become wider. ”Increase power.” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” ”FUCK! YES! More! Watch me! Watch me grow! Look at me! Look what I’m becoming now! Look at me! These muscles!” The test subject was correct. He was growing, and his muscles were more visible, more full. He looked like a short lightweight bodybuilder, or perhaps a bodybuilder of average height. The signs of middle age in his face were fading. It was now hard to guess Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s age. His chest protruded proudly. He stood there, the increasing volume of his quads and hamstrings pushing his legs wider apart. The outline of his abs was much more visible now: Six hard bronze-coloured hemispheres glistening of sweat. His manhood was growing inside his metallic green posing trunks, and his two proud bicepses were not the only growing steel-bulge of his. His shoulders looked like grapefruits – no, small melons, now, and there was a beefy trap running behind his neck, causing his neck to look beefier. You felt a mild feeling of dizziness, but recovered within seconds. ”Intensify radiation.” ”Intensifying anabolic radiation.” ”Increase power.” ”Increasing hypertrophic power.” Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s eyes widened again. Voluntarily or involuntarily he flexed all of his muscles. And again. Flexed. And again. Two or three conflicting feelings shone from his eyes: Fear. Pleasure. And confidence. He did a crab pose in front of himself. Then he flexed both biceps, his mouth grinning confidently. Then his head arched back in abandon. His mouth opened, and he let a moan out. His muscle mass expanded outwards. His bone-structure re-structured with an ugly sound, and in a split-second you briefly sent a grateful thought at the analgesics flowing in Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s body. A sick wet sound, like stuffing a leather sofa full of raw meat, was heard through the loudspeakers, but that sound was almost drowning in Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s more and more loud moans of pleasure. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s penis was stretching his green metallic posing trunks further, and the root of his tanned manhood was now visible. Pre-cum drooled through the fabric of the very elastic posing trunks, and Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s right hand blindly thrashed in the air, until his big, powerful hand cupped the head of his rod through the fabric of the poser. His left hand sqeezed his right pec. By now, he must have grown from 5’7’’ to 6 feet, and he could accurately be described as ”barrel-chested”. Metallic green was a suitable colour-scheme for a man beginning to look like a powerful machine. ”FUCK! YES! Look at me! All this mass! Behold your Alpha! I’m the Dominator! I’m coming! I’m huge now, and I will dominate the world! I’m… Uh, fuck, fantastic…” You became worried for his sanity, and the safety-script had run to it’s end anyway, so it was best to finish this test session. ”Deactivate radiation and power!” ”Deactivating hypertrophic power. Decreasing anabolic radiation.” ”NO! You can’t stop it now! I want more! I want EVERYTHING!” It was 266 lbs of powerful beef that stepped out of the Test Chamber. It approached you, and that fast. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was angry now, and the welding-torches in his eyes were burning hot. Absent-mindedly, you noticed that Mr. Vanderwesthuisen’s posing trunks were too small now. Obscenely too small. The dizziness returned, and you coughed. He grabbed you by the collar of your lab coat, and you found yourself dangling in the air, while veins crawled over his 24’’ arms. ”Now, you little science geek, I want you to switch that Chamber on again. I want Alpha godhood, and I want it NOW. You have no idea how it feel to… Oh fuck, I’m still growing! You didn’t tell me about the after-effects…” There seemed to be after-effects. You hadn’t expected that. You were still dizzy, but you could see the impressed expressions on little Rob’s and Nate’s faces. You still dangled in the air. ”Now, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, you have to calm down. Put me down, and…” ”Feel so good. I’m not Mr. Vanderwesthuisen anymore. I demand, that you call me Mr. V. now, and I tell you: Switch that Chamber on.” The dizziness. Black dots floating before your eyes. You felt uncomfortably warm. The dizziness. And then everything blacked out. Far, far away, you were dimly aware of a huge presence carrying you like a little child to somewhere else. Darkness swallowed your consciousness, and you fell into heat and the smell of sweat. * * * You felt uncomfortable and soaked in sweat. The air felt hot – too hot – and suffocating, and your face felt too warm. You couldn't move, and another nauseous wave of too warm and stuffy atmosphere surrounded you, tossed you around and returned you to reality. You could remember it all, but you must have become unconscious. You woke up, and found yourself in your own bed. You had wrestled with the sheets, and they were a damp mess. Something felt wrong about your ears. You touched them. Some sort of earbuds, but they were locked around your ears. Strange. You opened your eyes. Dark, but the outline of the window was visible. You rose. Still slightly dizzy. For how long had you slept? Moonlight outside the window. Moonlight over the tropical sea. You turned around. In the moonlight you could see the outline of an IV pole. You became suspicious. An empty bag was hanging there. No. Two empty bags were hanging there. What was going on? Mr. V’s insanity. Somehow, you had to call the authorities. No sign of your mobile phone anywhere. You had to go to the office room undetected. You were still dizzy, as you navigated the unlit nocturnal corridors of the compound. There it was. The office. You lifted the receiver from the old-fashioned stationary telephone. Not all equipment on the island had been updated. Your legs were shaky after the flu, and you felt exhausted. You dialled 112. Silence. "Hello? Anyone there? Can anyone hear me?" You felt a BIG warm presence behind you, and a BIG powerful hand pulled the receiver out of your hand, restoring it to its place, while a deep voice – a both pleasantly and threateningly deep voice – growled behind you: "What did I say about contacting authorities? Remember, I pay your rent, but don't worry: Welcome back from the sickbed. You are needed in the Lab." You turned around. It was Mr. V., and he was bigger now. * * * Part six is found: here.

The story began: here. Part 2 is found: here. Descent into growth Part 3 When the day came, everything seemed so normal, and so matter-of-fact. The four of you were sitting at the breakfast table, the kitchen-staff and the cleaners suitably preoccupied somewhere else. You, little Rob and Mr. Vanderwesthuisen were eating the usual high-protein breakfasts you had all become familiar with in the last few weeks. Nate wasn't eating anything. "How do you feel after a night on nutrition-IV?", you asked Nate. The sinewy little fighter beamed of restless energy, and the scent of shower gel and anti-perspirant steamed from his tight and hard little body. "Feels weird to not eat breakfast with you, but I feel ok. I'm not hungry. Actually, I'm full." "And how did this morning's workout go?", Mr. Vanderwesthuisen asked, with an eager voice. In the last days building up for the main experiment, Mr. Vanderwesthuisen had become restless. Restless and eager. His, sometimes arrogant, eyes now burned with curiosity. Nate smiled, unknowingly allowing his smile to hit you all like a flash. His golden brown eyes glittered in mischief and cockyness: "Feel pumped and sore, in a good way. Loved the full-body workout Doc prescribed before the experiment. Wasn't sure if I would follow through till I reached the last exercise, but I did, prolly 'cause Doc's super-nutrition. Lifted more heavy, than I thought possible without a pre-workout." Nate returned to addressing you: "Now. What's next?" You swallowed your scrambled eggs, and cleared your throat. "As I told you before. I had to assess, that you had recovered from the virus, that spread your new improved DNA. It seems like you have. Then, you had to spend one night with the nutrition-IV and follow that up with a full-body-workout schedule, in order to ensure, that all your muscles will be in a state receptive for ultra-enhanced recovery and hypertrophy, which they now are. Next step is to inject you with a formula, which will increase your production of beneficial hormones and decrease your myostatin. It will also ..." "What's myostatin?" It was Rob who answered: "It's a chemical in your body, setting a limit to how big your muscles become. We are removing that limit." Then he fell silent and blushed, because he might have had spoken out of bounds. Your protective instincts rose again. During the months together, the short and portly lab-assistant had gradually revealed a bright intellect and a witty sense of humour under the surface of shyness. He had once described himself as "belonging to the repressed middle-class" and Nate "belonging to the oppressed working-class". He had also confided in you, that he felt of two minds about working for Mr. Vanderwesthuisen: "Am I a hypocrite, because I now work for Mr. Vanderwesthuisen, when I protested against the 1% as a student? This income. That insurance. Free accommodation. The beach. The gym. This job is too good to be true. Thanks for coaching me, by the way." The enthusiastic voice of Nate brought you back to the present: "No limits. Exploding testo. Ultra-enhanced recovery. I love this." You took up the thread where you had lost it: "The formula will also contain an analgesic, specially designed to remove any pain from growing bone tissue and muscle tissue. You will remain awake, and you will retain your sense of touch and temperature." "Analgesic?", Nate asked. "Painkiller.", Rob prompted. When you left the dining room for the laboratory, Nate gave Rob an encouraging thump in the back, in a gesture you had seen jocks use at your gym. Rob returned the gesture with a few awkward pats on Nate's back. You had seen the relation between the two young men improve. In the first weeks, Nate had avoided the fancy-talking lab assistant, and Rob had shyly avoided working out in the gym when Nate was exercising. More recently, they had warmed up to each other, and found some shared ground in films and computer games. Nate had even, unexpectedly, taken over your role as Rob's coach at the gym. Three of you had the access code to the Lab. There were emergency doors made of armour-plating and lead-plates connected to detectors, in case any dangerous substance or radiation would begin to leak. When you entered the Lab, several different scents greeted you: Shavings and the scent of rodents from the guineapig cages, cleaning solution, methylated spirits and the indescribable dry sort of smell present in areas where high-voltage equipment is running. You switched on the computer, on which you stored and ran the morphogenetic fields, and you switched on the computer, that controlled the levels of anabolic radiation and hypertrophic power. Little Rob checked the gas canisters and the hose connecting the cannister and the Test Chamber. "Will you write the present stats down, Rob, will you?" Rob did: "Height: 5'6''. "Weight: 145 lbs "Chest: 36 inches "Waist: 27 inches You were too preoccupied with the preparations to notice the size of Nate's firm, but apple-sized, bicepses. The Test Chamber was warming up, and you were fetching the serum in the refrigerator. Mr. Vanderwesthuisen was watching the procedure with great interest. You had tried to advice him, not to attend something, that was purely a scientific pursuit, but he had insisted. Your scientific instincts disagreed: A medical experiment isn't some sort of entertainment. The tacky green interior lighting lit up the Test Chamber, and you remembered Mr. Vanderwesthuisen's flippant comment: "You have to cheer the test-subjects up. They will feel more Hulk-like, in that illumination." You dabbed the crook of Nate's right arm with alcohol, and then gave him the injection. This was the point of no return. The chemical compounds and the altered DNA had now begun to interact inside the wiry little fighter. No-one knew for sure, what the added effect of the gas, the anabolic radiation and the hypertrophic power would lead to, but if the guineapigs were giving you any clues, the result would be rather sensational. You and Nate watched each other in silence, and you fell short of words, because of the gravity of the situation. Nate gave little Rob a hug, and entered the sluice. The interior atmosphere was pumped into the sluice, and Nate was able to enter. You were ready to begin the experiment. It was Mr. Vanderwesthuisen who broke the silence: "And so it begins." * * * Part 4 is found: here.