Project Cerulean MX

From Metabods

by The Pecman

Contents 1 Chapter 1 1.1 Part 1 1.2 Part 2 1.3 Part 3 1.4 Part 4 1.5 Part 5 1.6 Part 6 1.7 Part 7 2 Chapter 2 2.1 Part 1 2.2 Part 2 2.3 Part 3 2.4 Part 4 2.5 Part 5 3 Chapter 3: Iron Pleasure 4 Chapter 4: Mind Over Muscle

Chapter 1

Part 1

The hot desert sand swirled over the building wreckage, whispering past cracked cement blocks that lay broken and crumbling in the late afternoon sun. A rusted metal fence surrounded the area, the gate tightly padlocked and marked with a large, official-looking sign that warned “Restricted Area: Keep Out by Order of the U.S. Army.” The sign cited several official Department of Defense statutes, most of which were obscured by scorch marks that blackened the metal on the lower edges.

Whatever the building had been years ago, it was enormous — roughly the size of two football fields, with deep depressions in the earth marking where large metal doors had collapsed deep within. The entire area looked lonely and forgotten, though it lay less than half a mile from the nearby Interstate highway. A drainage ditch ran down one side, exposing a massive pipe ripped open in the center.

In the distance, two figures moved steadily down a dirt road.

“You comin’, or are you chicken?” yelled a thin, reedy voice. A 13-year-old boy carefully slid his Haymaker 1200 mountain bike through an open gap in the fence, then hopped back on and raced to the top of a nearby dirt hill. He turned around and began to cluck comically, his blond hair rippling in the wind.

“Shaddup, Michael,” the other boy muttered. He huffed and puffed as he pulled up alongside him, then caught his breath. “We aren’t even supposed to be in here! You read those signs back by the highway.” His braces gleamed brightly in the hot desert sun.

The blond boy grinned. “You worry too much, Joey. You saw the guard gate — nobody’s been around here since Reagan was president. There’s nothin’ here but ghosts. C’mon... let’s explore!”

He kicked off in a cloud of dust, pealing over the hill, whooping an Indian war cry all the way down.

Joey, who was heavier-set, took off his glasses and wearily wiped the sweat out of his eyes. He’s gonna get me killed yet. Resignedly, he pushed his glasses back up on his nose, gritted his teeth, and pushed off, holding on to the handlebars with all his might.

Meanwhile, back by the rusted fence post, a small warning light just outside the gate sudden lit up, its red glow almost invisible in the hot desert sun.

Part 2

“So what exactly do you think this place was?” Michael asked, as they made their way down a corridor. "Some kinda prison?"

Joey shrugged. “Maybe a storage area. Doesn’t look like anybody’s been here for years. I’m surprised the homeless haven’t found it yet.”

The exterior doorway had been barely visible, deliberately camouflaged to blend in with the desert landscape. It was only through pure luck that they had found it. The metal door had been damaged years ago from an explosion. The boys carefully crept inside, walking down a ramp that led about twenty feet below the earth. The late-afternoon sun beamed through an overhead skylight, giving them just enough illumination to make their way down a corridor. Most of the rooms were empty, except for the last one on the right. The office was small and cluttered, with an overturned desk in the center, a metal cabinet on the side, and plain, government-issue chairs.

“Bullet holes,” muttered Joey, delicately brushing his fingers across the wall. There were two jagged rows of what appeared to be automatic-weapon fire from large-caliber shells. Whatever had happened here had been deadly serious. The boys crept in and looked around, letting their eyes gradually adjust to the darkness.

“This whole area was part of some kind of government rocket-fuel facility,” Joey continued, glancing through some dusty paperwork on the desk, brushing off some spider webs and sending a few small insects skittering away. “Some big factory around here went up in flames back in 1988 — my mom told me she thought it was an earthquake when it happened, and she was thirteen miles away in Las Vegas. Killed a buncha people.” He paused for a moment then looked over at his friend. “Hey!” he cautioned. “Don’t open that!”

As usual, Michael ignored him and reached inside the large metal cabinet. “There’s no rocket fuel in here,” he said. “Just some of these little bottles.” He picked up one of the glass ampoules and peered curiously at it, angling it to reflect the dim light. “‘Project Cerulean MX – Revision 11’,” he read out loud. “‘For experimental use only. Destroy after 7/13/1988.’ Sounds very official.”

“That isn’t ours to take, Michael,” insisted his friend. “Put it back.”

“Hey, it’s been more than 20 years after the expiration date,” Michael replied, moving his hand behind his back. “The stuff is probably stale anyway. What harm could it cause?”

“Plenty,” said Joey, gesturing to a piece of paper he was reading. “That is, if this memo is accurate.”

Michael crossed back to the desk, shuffling through a thick layer of dust and debris. Joey pushed the thick notebook binder towards him. The faded plastic cover was titled Cerulean MX: A Final Analysis.

“Check this out.”

The blond boy flicked a cockroach off the table, then glanced down at a loose page inserted into the front of the binder and began to read.

To: Dr. Sanford Noble From: Major General Thomas Cartwright Re: Project Cerulean MX / PEPCON Aftermath Date: 5 May 1988

ABOVE TOP SECRET — EYES ONLY SECURITY LEVEL 4 CLEARANCE REQUIRED DESTROY AFTER READING

The hostile conflict is now under control. All of the Ultra subjects have been terminated with extreme prejudice. All evidence of the experiment is in the process of being destroyed. Any residual contamination is now under control and the news media has accepted the cover story of the PEPCON explosion.

All surviving personnel will be brought to the Groom Lake facility via Edwards for de-briefing and reassignment. We will need your final summary report at this time, as per our conversation earlier this afternoon.

A Senate sub-committee hearing will take place at Groom Room 51-112A on Saturday, May 7th. I will need to speak privately with each staff member prior to the hearing. Your cooperation will ensure your safety for the duration of the project.

--MajGen T. Cartwright Acting Director Project Cerulean MX Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency

“It makes no sense,” mulled Joey as he spun the notebook back around and flipped through the pages. “Judging by these print-outs, this area was either called PEPCON, Project Cerulean, or Black Mountain. But according to this newspaper clipping here, it was actually some kind of marshmallow candy factory called Kidd & Company. Curiouser and curiouser.” He looked up and gestured to the ceiling, which had large black scorch marks, the remnants of a massive fire. “But I’ve seen marshmallows burn before, and they don’t look anything like this.” He continued to peruse the pages, which were filled with a myriad of graphs and statistical charts.

“Naw, it was definitely rocket fuel,” Michael corrected. “I saw it on one of those Amazing Videos clips on YouTube. It burned like hell for hours, almost like an H-bomb.” He gestured with his hands, making a flower-like gesture. “Ka-blooey... big-time.”

“How would you know that?”

The boy shrugged and grinned. “Explosions are awesome.”

Joey started to respond, then stopped and sucked in his breath. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, looking around nervously.

“Hear what?”

A distant roar and a steady “thwup-thwup” echoed down the concrete hallway. A metallic thunk slammed over their head, as if a large object had just struck the roof.

“And that’s our cue to leave,” quipped Michael, stepping out of the office and down the hallway, hurrying towards the upwards-slanting ramp that led back to the open air.

“Wait!” hollered Joey, grabbing the large binder. “I want to finish reading this.”

The blond boy ran back inside, grabbed the boy by his shoulder, and yanked him into the hallway, half-dragging him down the corridor. “We’ve gotta get outta here, now, you douche!” They both charged up to the doorway, then abruptly stopped and carefully peeked around the edge.

In the distance was a large Sikorsky H-92 Superhawk helicopter, which hovered very low on the southeast corner of the fenced-off area, bathed in a swirling cloud of dust and sand.

Michael gulped, then slammed his back to the wall. “Whoa – is that a gun turret on the side?” he asked in a half whisper.

Joey wiped his forehead, then raised his head just beyond the edge of the underground frame. “Can’t see clear enough to make out. It’s starting to get dark.”

Michael peered out alongside him. They’ll never see our bikes from this angle, he thought, his mind racing. They had been smart enough to stash them in some tall scrub brush, keeping them well out of sight from any wandering security guards. I just hope they don’t notice our tire tracks.

“Look at this,” Joey started excitedly, pointing to one of the pages. “According to this report, this whole place was some kind of secret operation — some kind of genetic research thing, like a black ops CIA project.”

“The signs back there said ‘U.S. Army,’” argued Michael. “Nothin’ about the CIA.”

Joey rolled his eyes. “The CIA is always behind this stuff. My father used to talk about conspiracies like this all the time — the Bay of Pigs, Kennedy, even the Bush/Kerry election.”

Michael sucked in his breath and ducked back around. “Zip it,” he whispered. “Somebody’s comin’.”

Less than thirty seconds later, two soldiers wearing beige camouflage outfits jogged by. One of them stopped and clicked his Motorola walkie-talkie. “Atom-7 to Base. No intruders spotted. The barrier is still down on the Arroyo Grande entrance. Could’ve been just a coyote or a pack of dogs. This is just a wild goose chase. You copy?”

The walkie squawked and responded with some static and a muffled voice. Both soldiers began to sprint back to the waiting chopper. After a moment, the rotors gained speed.

Joey gathered his courage, then carefully nosed around the edge of the metal door.

“Are they gone yet?” whispered Michael.

“Almost.”

With a roar, the helicopter began to lift off, its turbine engine beginning to roar. From this distance, Joey could see there was a third soldier inside manning an automatic weapon turret. This is some serious shit, he thought. Those guys were ready to kill anybody they caught sneaking around this place. The boy finally relaxed as the chopper banked to the left and hurtled off past a group of toppled trees. The late-afternoon sun was almost gone, with just a few scarlet fingertips poking up at the horizon.

Minutes later, the boys raced back over the hill on their bikes, moving in the opposite direction. Joey struggled to keep his balance, clutching the notebook under his arm while his pudgy legs furiously pumped the pedals. Neither of the boys uttered a word until they reached the break in the rusted metal fence, where they quickly squeezed their mountain bikes through the narrow opening. By the time they maneuvered from the dirt road and onto Horizon Ridge Parkway, it was already nightfall in the Green Valley residential neighborhood.

Joey screeched his bike to a halt next to Michael’s at an intersection, where they both stopped to catch their breath.

“I can’t believe what we just...”

“Not here, Joey,” the blond boy said curtly. “Look, it’s almost 7:30. Your mom will kill us both if you’re late for dinner again. Come by my place in an hour, and we can talk about this.”

Joey started to object, but Michael raced off to the East, the bicycle rocketing away until it was a small black blob in the distance. The streetlights began winking on, casting a dim yellow glow onto the sand-covered street below.

“Asshole,” he muttered, then continued down the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind him.

Part 3

“This thing is totally whacked,” Joey muttered, flipping through the manuscript pages at his desk. “If even half of this report is true, this is bigger than Hanger 18, Roswell, and all that other stuff. TMZ would go nuts with this.”

“C’mon, dude,” Michael said with a grin. “I keep tellin’ you, it’s just some kinda lame sci-fi movie script. No way can this be for real.”

The black-haired boy glared at him, then pointed to the bold notice on the first page and read it out loud. “Warning! It is a Federal crime to view, possess, duplicate, or distribute this document. Violators will be punished by 20 years imprisonment in Federal Prison and/or death, by Executive Order DOI-616A, February, 1988.” Embossed next to it was an official-looking metallic seal of the Department of Defense. “This real enough for you?”

“Oh, I am so scared,” Michael replied, making his voice shake comically, then let out a loud chortle. “It’s the same kinda bullshit as the FBI warning on DVDs.” He pushed the blond bangs out of his eyes, then yawned and stretched out on the bed. “Anybody who was in that building got blown outta Dodge more than twenty years ago. They’re all dust in the wind. Besides, the statue of limitations has run out.”

Joey slammed the binder shut and glared at him. “You mean statute.”

“Same diff.”

The boy shook his head, his expression grim. “If it was illegal to know about this stuff in 1988, it’s just as illegal now. You wanna wind up in the Carson City Prison like your dad?”

“Shut up about him. You’re assuming they’ll catch us.”

“They might. I’m just saying...”

Michael laughed. He had an almost musical laugh, and it was clear he and his friend had a playful back-and-forth kind of relationship that went back many years. “You worry too much, Joey. Just don’t take that into school for show and tell when we go back in September after summer vacation.”

The black-haired boy grimaced. “There’s no show and tell in 8th grade, you dip.”

Michael tossed a pillow at him. “Just mellow out, okay?”

“If I got any more mellow, I’d ripen and rot,” Joey retorted. He glanced at his watch. “Shit. I gotta get home or my mom and dad will kill me.” The boy got up and started for the door, then paused and turned. “You wanna hang out at the mall tomorrow? I think the new Johnny Depp film is playing.”

“Maybe. Text me before lunch and I’ll see if I can get some dinero.”

“Cool. See ya.” Joey jogged out the door, then abruptly stopped, spun around and returned to grab the notebook. “I want to finish reading this, maybe do a Google search on Cerulean MX. It’s gotta be science fiction. And if it isn’t, we’re gonna take it back to Black Mountain — or PEPCON or whatever that place is called — and get rid of it.” He glared at his friend. “And you should return those glass bottles you stole.”

“What glass bottles?” Michael said, his face radiating a look of pure innocence.

“Don’t bullshit me. I saw you stuff a handful of them in your pocket.”

The blond boy stood up and pulled his pockets inside out. They were completely empty. “I got nothin’,” he said. “If I had ‘em before, they fell out while we were ridin’ away. Just chill out, will ya?”

Joey rolled his eyes. “Later,” he called over his shoulder and dashed through the living room.

Michael leaned back, waited a moment to hear the front door slam, then reached under the bed covers and withdrew five small bottles, each about 2” long and about half an inch in diameter. He held one up to the reading light by his bed; the bottle was full of a bright sky-colored liquid that seemed to glow and swirl, almost radiating a kind of energy. Cerulean blue, the boy thought, peering carefully at his prize.

Part 4

Joey frowned at the computer screen. Google had no hits on “Project Cerulean MX,” at least none connected with the U.S. government. All the other searches led to dead links or faded newspaper stories related to the PEPCON explosion back in May of 1988, which supposedly killed two people and injured about 372, and caused about $100 million in damage.

But the printed report in the binder seemed to indicate that the real reason for the explosion was something much more sinister: about 100 test subjects — or “Ultras,” as they were called — had been executed, along with two dozen scientists killed in the battle. And the entire project had been erased, as if it had never existed.

“An army of super-soldiers,” he read from the thick bound pages, “far more effective than any conventional weapon, capable of defeating enemy forces a thousand times greater.” He sat back, overwhelmed with data. Page after page showed alarming details about massive increases in strength, eyesight, endurance, along with graphs and charts comparing the progress of the group over a two-year period. But something had gone terribly wrong in the final days of the project. He stared at the binder. The last few pages of the report were missing, with page 46 ending abruptly in mid-sentence.

“This is like some bad episode of Fringe or the X Files,” he muttered. Never mind the fact that he loved both shows; sci-fi stories like that were great for TV, but in real life... no, the prospects were much too frightening. And from the look of the report, the results had been catastrophic.

He ran his finger down the personnel list in the front section. Most of them were listed as “Missing” or “Deceased,” but the fourth name from the top wasn’t. “‘Dr. Sanford J. Noble, Administrative Director’,” the boy read out loud. I wonder, he mused, typing frantically at the keyboard. Bingo! He stared at the screen. Could it be the same man? There was only one Sanford J. Noble in the 702 area code. Maybe a son or relative. He jotted down the name, address, and phone number.

Suddenly, his cellphone chirped. Who could be calling at 11:02?

There was a smiling picture of Michael on the phone readout. The boy hit the answer button and stifled a yawn. “C’mon, dude. It’s too late. Call me after lunch, like I said.”

“Joey?” said a weak voice. “I’m... I’m in trouble.”

“Now what?”

The voice mumbled, then moaned. “The drugs... you were right. I hid them from you. I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I used one of my sister’s insulin needles, from where she used to keep them before she left for college. I only injected a little, just to see what would happen.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Michael! Are you insane?”

His friend let out a short scream. “What the fuck is happening to me?” He let out another strangled cry, then regained control. “Get over here, now,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. “My mom’s at work until at least 2AM. You’re the only one I can trust.”

And then there was another scream — a longer one this time.

Joey snapped his phone shut, then picked up the notebook and started out the door. He stopped, then dizzily grabbed the wall for support. Asthma attack, he thought, his breath beginning to wheeze. He quickly shook his head and fought the urge to panic, then grabbed his pocket Xopenex inhaler and inhaled a couple of quick bursts.

“That’s better,” he said with a gasp, slipping the inhaler back into his pocket.

He tore off the piece of paper with the doctor’s name on it. If this is really happening, he thought, maybe this guy Noble can help. He slipped the binder into his backpack, then tip-toed out the door, made his way downstairs, and slipped out the side door and into the night.

Part 5

The Spears residence was a shabby, three-bedroom house from the early 1950s, just off Hillpointe Road. The neighborhood crickets chirped softly, and most of the house lights on the street were dimmed. Joey pulled his bike up to the side. Despite the late hour, his shirt was sweaty and stuck to his back.

One glance at the driveway told him that Mrs. Spears wasn’t home yet. Her shift at the local Wal-Mart Supercenter didn’t end until 2AM. But after that, he mused, she’ll beat the living crap out of both of us. Michael’s father was in county jail for drug possession; the mother had always warned the two boys to stay away from any of that stuff. Joey had feared that Michael might one day try the same sort of chemicals that put his dad behind bars; now, the nightmare seemed to be coming true.

Joey tried the front door, which was locked. He softly cursed, then darted around the side and through the fence that led to the back yard. The kitchen door at the rear of the house was slightly ajar, and the ceiling light was on.

“Michael?” he called. “It’s me! Are you okay? If we have to, I’ll call 911.”

The boy slowly pushed the door open, then he sucked in his breath. On the floor was a naked man, shaking, doubled over in spasms of pain. The man was short — no more than about 5’ 6” — but had enormous, muscular arms, with veins that stood out all over his body. Coarse blondish-brown hair sprouted over his massive chest, fanning out to a matted “V” shape extending down to his navel. Joey’s eyes darted lower to the man’s groin, revealing a major erection that was more suited for a small donkey than a human, pushing several inches past his belly-button.

Joey felt a momentary pang of desire, muted by absolute fear. “Who the fuck are you?” he cried, backing up against the wall his eyes widened. “I’m calling the cops!”

“Don’t,” the man whispered, then rolled over on his side. “It’s me... Michael. Please... Joey, you gotta help me.” He moaned, then vomited a small puddle of viscous fluid, and curled into a fetal position.

“Jesus,” the boy whispered, then stepped inside and slammed the door behind him.

Part 6

The old man mopped his brow. Goddamned Koreans can’t even get air-conditioning right. He smacked the side of the window-mounted unit. The device chugged for a moment, wheezed, then at last the compressor kicked in and a cool breeze finally began to blow from the plastic vents.

He let out a satisfied sigh. His field of expertise had been organic chemistry. Certainly, he had a rudimentary grasp of the essentials of physics, but nothing practical enough to apply to home appliances.

“Your days are numbered, my friend,” he said, wagging a warning finger at the air conditioner, a cheap Samsung unit that had been dying for the past couple of years. He made a mental note to buy a new one on sale in the morning. No way can a man survive in Nevada in a double-wide trailer without air conditioning, he mused. Certainly not with July temperatures averaging about 110 degrees. And that was on a mild day. It was still over 80 degrees, even in the dead of night.

The telephone rang. Probably just a telemarketer — but they never called past midnight. He glanced at the caller ID, but the number was unfamiliar. The old man thought for a moment. He had few friends, save for a few from the last rehab facility he’d attended — his fifth, if you started counting in the ‘90s — and none of them were likely to call him unless they needed counseling. But he hadn’t been a sponsor to anyone for more than ten years.

The phone continued to ring. At last, he picked it up. “Yes?”

“Is this Sanford Noble?”

“Yes, this is Dr. Noble. Why are you bothering me at...” — he glanced to a small LED clock on the crowded bookshelf to his right — “...at the ungodly hour of 12:15 in the morning?”

“Please, you gotta help us. My friend... he took the serum!”

“Serum?”

“Cerulean MX! From the Army project!”

The old man caught his breath. “No,” he whispered. That was long dead. Nothing but ghosts. He’d kept the memories of that catastrophe out of his mind for more than two decades — his friends, his co-workers... Mary, the beautiful Mary Woods...

“No,” he continued, keeping his voice calm. “I don’t know anything about that. I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong number. Good night.”

He slammed the phone down. Almost immediately, it began ringing again. The man was angry now, and lifted the receiver. “I can’t help you,” he snapped. “I know nothing about any project. Even if I did, I couldn’t talk about it if it has anything to do with the government.”

The voice on the other end sobbed. It was clearly a boy, probably no more than 12 or 13. “Listen to me,” he pleaded. “I think my friend is dying! He’s... he’s enormous! I think he’s gained at least 40 pounds of muscle in the last two hours.”

Could it be true? “Where are you now?” the old man barked.

“In my friend’s kitchen. It looks like he’s eaten everything here — every scrap of food is gone! There’s empty cans and boxes all over the floor...”

There was a blood-curdling scream in the background.

The boy sobbed again. “My friend... he’s having convulsions! Please... you’ve got to help us! I’m begging you!”

The old man closed his eyes and held the telephone to the side. Ten long seconds passed.

“Alright,” he said, after a long breath. “There might be something I can do. Where are you now?”

“12112 Elsinore Avenue. Half a mile from Windmill Parkway. It’s a gray house on the East side of the street. How long before you can be here?”

Dr. Noble did some quick calculations. “It’s not far. I can be there in... perhaps ten minutes.”

“What should I do?”

“Fill a bathtub with ice. Drag your friend to the bathroom and make him lie in the tub. Keep him as cold as possible. Make sure he keeps breathing. Don’t leave him alone. Is anyone else in the house?”

“No. His mother won’t get back for at least an hour.”

His mother? “How old is the patient?”

“We’re both thirteen. Please, can you just get here?”

Noble stopped, then cocked his head. Most unusual, he thought. The serum was never intended for children. And it should have expired at least ten years ago... unless...

“Dr. Noble? Are you still there?

“Yes, I’m here. To whom am I speaking?”

“Joey... Joseph Hartford. Michael’s a friend of mine.”

“Listen to me, Joseph,” Noble said, keeping his voice calm. “Give me a minute to get my things. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Stay... just stay cool.” And I mean that literally and figuratively, he thought. He hung up the phone, then grabbed his car keys and slipped on his shoes.

It seemed the ghosts of 1988 still haunted the Nevada desert.

Part 7

“Will he die?” the boy asked, as the ancient Toyota Camry bumped down Windmill Parkway, taking a sharp right turn onto American Pacific Drive.

“No. Not if I can control the effects. Judging by the syringe, he was only able to inject about 10cc’s of the serum. That’s far from a lethal dosage, even for someone of his size and weight.”

The boy glanced out the window. “Are you taking us back to the project?”

“There is no project. It was all destroyed decades ago. I had a separate office about a mile away, but it was shut down that same day.” He paused. “I would rather not talk about it.”

The man took a long left curve, then straightened out the car and headed towards a thatch of palm trees and cactus, just past a sign proclaiming “Welcome to Trailer Estates.”

Joey turned to look at the... creature in the back seat. They’d wrapped him in one of Michael’s father’s old bathrobes, but his arms bulged at the sleeves. It was clearly about six sizes too small.

His body’s incredible, the boy thought, like some kind of bodybuilder. But the face... There was no question: despite the beginnings of a beard, the eyes and nose were definitely that of Michael’s. He was completely unconscious, his breathing shallow, and his long, muscular were legs bent sideways onto the floor.

The man drove the Camry up to the outskirts of the trailer park, which was dim and deserted. He pulled up to the last trailer on the left and turned off the engine.

“Help me lift him out,” he ordered.

Together, they half-lifted/half-dragged the unconscious body to the steps and into the trailer.

“Set him down here in the living room. I don’t really have all the instruments here needed to do all the necessary tests. But I’ll do what I can.” To keep him alive, he thought.

“Is he... is he going to stay looking like... like that?” Joey said in a low voice. His friend almost looked like a monster — his muscles were huge, almost cartoonish, like a caricature of a superhero. Thick veins ran alongside Michael’s arms, spreading out into a spiderweb-like pattern.

Dr. Noble didn’t answer. He daubed at Michael’s face, removing a puddle of goo seeping from the boy’s mouth.

“And what is that stuff, anyway? It looks like...” Joey stopped himself. He almost said “sperm,” but that would be much too weird to say out loud.

“It’s body fat,” Noble said, balling up the tissue and tossing into a nearby trashcan. “His body is rejecting almost all the fat from his tissue. Ah, and look at this.” He reached in Michael’s mouth and pulled out a small nugget of metal. “A filling. He’s probably swallowed the rest. Look at his teeth.”

Joey leaned over, fascinated. Michael’s face seemed different somehow, almost like an artist’s rendition of his boyish features, superimposed over the face and body of a male model. The unconscious man — Joey could no longer think of Michael as a boy — had a flawless mouth of evenly-spaced teeth. Not a single cavity.

“That’s impossible,” he whispered. “Michael’s teeth were almost as bad as mine. Look — I’m still wearing braces.”

“Cerulean MX did away with that,” Noble replied. “The body is regenerating... perfecting itself. There’s no need for fillings, artificial limbs, eyeglasses. Scar tissue is eliminated, missing organs are regrown.” He looked up at the boy. “It’s merely the human form, perfected to the Nth degree.”

“But he’s supposed to be 13.”

“He is still 13 — at least on the inside. I can restore him, to some degree. But it will take some time. I can’t get any chemicals until 7AM, when the drugstore opens.”

“What... you just walk into a Rexall and get this stuff?”

Noble smiled. “Yes and no. Most of what we need will be in stock. You do have the rest of the ampoules?”

“The what? Oh, these.”

Joey reached in his pocket and produced three of the small blue bottles. “Here.”

Noble took them and peered at them through his thick glasses. “Revision 11,” he mused, “from stage 4 of the project. And you found these in my old office? I could’ve sworn they were all destroyed.”

“I didn’t take them. Michael found them in some cabinet.”

The doctor thought for a moment. “That’s possible. There was a spare office at the Black Mountain facility half a mile away, a backup to the main building. Were you able to retrieve any of the computer files?”

The boy looked up at him. “Computer files?”

Noble let out a sigh. “Never mind. They’re ancient DOS files. I doubt we could even read them today.”

“Wait — I remember, there was a computer in there.”

“Any floppy disks?”

“Floppy what?”

The man shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll stop by the facility in the morning.”

“They’ll kill you.”

“Who?”

“Soldiers. They came by in a helicopter. They... they were armed. We shouldn’t have been there.”

That’s odd, Noble thought. The alarm’s batteries should’ve failed years ago. Unless they reconnected it for some reason.

“Let me worry about that,” he said. He took a look at Joey’s face. The boy was shaking, clearly terrified. “I’m sorry. Listen, I’m a scientist, but I’m also a human being. You’re not in any danger, and neither is your friend Michael. We’ve stabilized his growth for now.”

“But how will we explain...”

“Listen,” Noble interrupted. “You should probably stay here tonight. Will your parents miss you?”

“Sure,” he said. “They’ll be totally pissed-off.” He thought for a minute. “I’ll send them a text... I’ll tell them Michael had an emergency, and we won’t be home until... when?”

Dr. Noble did a quick calculation. “Assuming I can start administering the antidote around 8AM, I’d say... well, he’ll be presentable by noon.”

“Alright. Noon, then.” We’ll be grounded for a month, he thought. But at least we’ll be alive.

“We’ll dilute the original MX formula with a solution of clonadine and lanreotide, which will create a synergistic reaction. We came up with this control serum towards...” — he shuddered for a moment, then continued — “...towards the end of the project. But by then it was too late.”

Joey nodded, then swung his backpack off his shoulder and withdrew the binder. “I know. I read most of your report. But the last few pages were missing.”

Noble’s eyes widened and he snatched the bound print-out from the boy’s hands. “Where did you get this?”

“I told you, from the —”

“I know, I know,” the old man muttered as he stared at the opening page. “From our backup facility. Incredible.” It’s as if it was written by someone else.

“You wrote it.”

Noble nodded. “I was one of only three staff members who survived. I was injured during the explosion, but I was one of the lucky ones.” He held out his left arm and pulled back the sleeve, revealing an ugly burn that stretched up to his shoulder, the withered flesh resembling melted plastic. “And that was after six successful skin grafts. I was on a lot of morphine at the time. I can’t believe I was coherent enough to dictate this report.”

“Dictate?”

“Couldn’t type worth a damn after my arm caught fire.” He looked down at the report and glanced through a few more pages. Yes, he mused. These were my words. And that’s almost what really happened.

Joey caught himself staring at the withered arm, then turned away. “Can you... can you tell me the rest of the story? About Cerulean MX?”

“Tomorrow. For now, get some sleep. Take one of these.” He handed the boy a pale blue pill.

“What is it?”

“Just a Unisom. You’re agitated. It’ll make you sleepy for now. I’ll keep Michael comfortable in here. Take the couch in the other room. I’ll stay up for a few hours. I’ll need to refresh my mind with the facts in this” — he held up the report — “and then go over the control formula. I’m concerned about the reductions involved, given Michael’s age and body mass.”

Joey slipped the pill into his mouth. The doctor handed him a bottle of Crystal Geyser water, which the boy cracked open and gulped. He let out a long sigh of relief.

“I can’t believe this is all happening.”

Noble reached out and squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you before I leave in the morning. It won’t take me more than an hour, I promise.”

Joey stared at him, then finally nodded. Noble had a kind face. Whatever disaster had happened in the 1980s wasn’t his fault. The boy decided to trust him. “Thanks.”

His feet padded into the other room. Noble checked his laptop for email, then did a couple of quick searches and made some notes. Within minutes, he heard Joey’s breathing slip into a series of short snores. The doctor glanced through the door, then flipped off the hall light and returned to the living room.

“Alright, Michael,” Noble said quietly, as he sat down and adjusted the unconscious man’s body on the couch. “Let’s make sure you don’t cause us any trouble.” He reached into a nearby closet and grabbed several thick leather belts and bound them around the man’s massive arms and legs, securely fastening him to the couch. “And I think you’ll need a few of these as insurance.” He poured the entire contents of the Unisom bottle into Michael’s mouth, along with a small shot of water. The body stirred for a moment, coughed, then swallowed.

“Good,” Noble muttered. He knew that over-the-counter drugs wouldn’t affect a real Ultra. But hopefully this one hadn’t yet mutated far enough. At the least, fifty pills wound slow him down for a few hours — at least until 8AM.

He checked his watch, then shuddered, recalling the carnage from the original 1985 experiments; the project had gone through at least three volunteer soldiers every week for nearly a year. And the last group... they wound up filled with rage and sexual desire that was almost unimaginable, like some sort of impossible wild animal.

Noble glanced at the doorway to the other room. “Pray that your friend here stays asleep, Joey,” he whispered. “Before he becomes a monster.”

Chapter 2

Part 1

“What? Where?” Joey muttered, abruptly sitting up.

“It’s almost 7AM.” said a familiar voice. “I’m going to the store to get a few things and run some errands. I’ll be back in an hour — faster, if I can make it.”

Momentarily confused, the boy rubbed his eyes and stared at the room around him. It was an odd makeshift workroom, with a desk on one side. The shabby vinyl couch beneath him had been torn in spots and repaired with duct tape, but was surprisingly comfortable. Dr. Noble’s face was filled with concern.

“Right,” Joey replied, struggling to his feet. “How’s... how’s Michael?”

Noble held out his hand to stop him. “Listen — I need to tell you a few things. It’d be better if you stayed out of that room.” He nodded towards the living room down the hall.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Has Michael grown any bigger? I thought you said he was under control!”

“He’s stabilized... for the moment. But there’s something more. You didn’t see the rest of the final report. I found an old Arpanet copy on a website — incredible, what you can find out there if you know where to look — and these should fill in the blanks.”

The boy reached out to take the printed pages, but the scientist hesitated. “I warn you, you won’t like what you read.”

Joey stared at him. “Tell me the gist of it.”

Noble sighed. “All of the Ultra soldiers eventually went mad, a kind of insanity — a side-effect of the experiment. Physically, they were... well, perfect. But after about three or four months, their minds became bent in a narcissistic direction — as if their intention was to subject and dominate the entire human race. Unchecked, I think they might have eventually done it. Despite being completely psychotic.”

“What, were they frothing at the mouth?”

“This was far more insidious. Ultras were...” — he struggled to find the right word — “...they were terribly charismatic. Up until that time, the most charismatic man I had ever met was President Reagan.”

“Ronald Reagan?”

“Yes. He authorized the funding for the project through DARPA, beginning with his first term in the White House. I didn’t always agreed with his politics, but he was an honorable man. More than I can say about some of the Army staff.”

Joey nodded towards the hallway. “What about Michael?”

Noble shook his head. “Aside from his body, his mind may have been... altered by the formula. He’s not the boy you knew yesterday — not anymore.”

“But you said you could restore him?”

“I said I would try. We won’t know until the solution has had a chance to react. But just in case, I’ve had to restrain him.”

Joey’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I’ve tied him down to the living room couch. Don’t listen to a word he says. He’s been drifting in and out of consciousness.”

“This sounds like something out of The Exorcist,” the boy mused.

“In a way, that’s not far off,” Noble agreed. “Michael is possessed — but the demon has been a part of our DNA for thousands of years. The Cerulean formula perfects the human form, but what we didn’t initially know is that it unleashes a lot of negativity in our minds. I can’t claim to understand all the psychological effects; that was Dr. Woods’ department.”

“Mary Woods. I remember.”

“Yes, Mary. She was the first to fully understand it. Ultras can be... well, let’s just say very persuasive. They get what they want.” He stared at the boy. “Anything you have, they’ll take.”

“I only have about fifteen bucks on me.”

The doctor sighed. “Are you a virgin?”

Joey’s mouth dropped open. “I’m thirteen — give me a break.”

“Answer the question. Yes or no?”

His face reddened. “Yes.” Well, except for a little horseplay with Michael over the past year or two, he thought, but that hardly counted.

Noble raised an eyebrow. “You won’t be, after the creature in the other room gets through with you. Chances are, you’ll beg to have sex with him.”

Joey shuddered, but it was a mixture of desire and horror. He’d long known he was attracted to his friend. Who wouldn’t be? Michael was by far the more good-looking athlete of the two. What few other school friends Joey had were all Michael’s; they only hung out with him as long as Michael was there. More than one person at school had told him they thought his friend was the best-looking kid in their class.

“I don’t... I mean, I never tried...”

The doctor waved a hand. “I don’t care if you’re straight or gay or somewhere in between, or if you’re currently undecided. Trust me: Ultras always get what they want. They are very dangerous. Beyond their strength, their agility, their regenerative powers... no one can resist them.” He shook his head sadly. “We had no idea of the fatal flaws in our experiment. Once we unlocked the test subjects’ DNA in the 1980s, we let the genie out of the bottle, and over 130 people died before we shoved it back inside. And it’s got to stay there.”

The boy sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through his shaggy black hair. “Michael won’t hurt me,” he said. “I’ve known him since kindergarten. My mom and his mom were best friends in high school.”

The doctor let out a long sigh, then checked his watch. “Alright. Just promise me you won’t get anywhere near him. Avoid even talking to him if you can. I’ll bring in the necessary compounds and will mix the control formula. I’m also going to get some ice, so we can return him to the bathtub. It’s imperative that we lower his body temperature in order for the process to work.”

“Alright.”

“You’ve got my cell number — call me immediately if you run into a problem. If necessary, I’ll bring help.”

“Cops?”

“No police. And not the government either. I know someone else who can help, but I’d rather avoid it for now.”

Joey nodded and watched the man walk out the hallway, then heard the front door open and close. A moment later, the Camry roared to life, chugged once and stalled, then re-started and began rolling through the gravel driveway. The desert crickets momentarily halted their nightly serenade, waited until the car disappeared down the lane, then began chirping again.

The boy glanced at his watch. 7:05, he thought. This was worse than an episode of 24, where each passing minute gets more and more intense. He prayed for time to speed up, mentally willing the watch to move faster to 8AM.

Part 2

“You’ve got to be kidding, Sanford,” the white-smocked clerk said, glancing over the hastily-scrawled list.

“Do you have them in the stock room, or not?”

“They are, but the third one down is a controlled substance.”

Noble sniffed. “It’s not a narcotic. It’s not a somatostatin, nor is it a steroid.”

“It’s not exactly legal, and you know it.”

The scientist slid a $100 bill across the counter and under the man’s fingertips. “And you’ll have to accept my word that I won’t use it for any illegal purposes. You’ve known me for 15 years, Howard. My proclivities extended only to alcohol, and my arrest record is completely clean. Have I ever given you cause to doubt me?”

Howard frowned. “No. Not recently.” He paused for a moment. “I haven’t seen you at meetings lately.”

“I’m down to only going once a month. Haven’t had a drink for seven years, and I have no intention of falling off the ladder. I’m comfortable. The pension isn’t what I deserved, but I can survive.”

The technician shook his head. “I don’t like it. But I’m going to go against my instincts and give you what you want. We’re going to write it up as samples.” He took the $100 bill. “And you still owe me $47 — plus tax.”

Noble smiled. “A small price to pay for your kindness. I appreciate your trust, Howard.”

The man gave him a suspicious glare, then began measuring out some brown powder into a small plastic container.

Part 3

Joey peeked around the corner. Michael — or at least the man-sized version of his friend — was sprawled out on the couch unconscious, his breathing slow and regular.

He tiptoed into the room and grabbed the water bottle he’d left behind and took a swig. Despite the rattling air conditioner in the window, the room temperature was already well over 90 degrees. The boy took a swig of water, then wiped the sweat off his forehead. He hadn’t slept very well, sleeping pills or no. He looked forward to getting back home, and was already trying to come up with a plausible story that would placate his mother and father. He checked his cellphone and winced: as expected, there were six angry texts and three voicemails, all from his home phone, the last from 4:30AM. He’d been rehearsing several ideas for the past few minutes; his current favorite was that Michael had been injured while doing some harmless, petty crime, and that he’d found a doctor and Joey decided to stay with him until he was well.

That was almost the truth, he thought, running the story over and over again in his head, examining it from every angle for possible flaws.

“Mmmmph,” said the body on the couch. “Mmmm! Mmmmmmph!”

Joey turned and Michael was staring right at him, wide awake. His eyes were pleading and filled with tears. Please, they seemed to say... please at least remove the duct tape.

“Water?” Joey asked.

Michael nodded slowly. “Mmmmph.”

What could that harm? he thought.

“Look,” Joey began, “We brought you to Dr. Noble’s place last night, right after you called me. The Cerulean serum — you never should’ve tried it, but I think you know that now.” He sat down on an end table, making sure he was well clear of the man’s muscular arms and massive legs, which were straining against the leather restraints. He noted that the scientist had added some ropes, which had already worn deep grooves into the couch.

Michael nodded again. A tear trickled out from his right eye.

“Alright,” Joey said finally. “I’m gonna remove the duct tape. But you’re not yourself, Michael. Don’t try anything. Dr. Noble’s gonna be back in twenty minutes. He’s going to get you back to normal.”

He reached over, then slowly peeled the duct tape off his friend’s mouth. Michael let out a short moan.

“Jesus, thanks, dude,” he panted. “My mouth is as dry as the friggin’ desert. Please, give me some water, willya?”

Joey blanched. The voice was not exactly that of his friend’s; it was a good half-octave deeper, that of a man at least twice the age of Michael. But it really is him, he reminded himself. He carefully held the bottle up to the man’s lips and let him drink.

“Slowly,” he cautioned. “Not too fast.”

Michael sipped every drop until the bottle was drained. “God, I needed that,” he said, letting out a small hiccup. “Thanks, dude. God, these straps are really tight. You wouldn’t want to—”

“No fucking way,” Joey retorted, taking a step back. “Not with that Ultra stuff swimming around in your veins. You’ll pull some kind of Jedi mind-control bullshit on me.”

Michael looked confused. “What are you talking about? Look, I know I got a few more muscles, but—”

“A few? Jesus, Michael — you’re like the teenage Arnold Schwarzenegger or something! You’ve put on about 50 pounds and grown about half a foot taller in... what, 2 hours?”

Michael nodded. “Yeah, I know. And unlike in the movies, it hurt like fucking shit! The Incredible Hulk never had these problems.”

Joey laughed. “That movie totally sucked. And besides, you’re not green. And you’re still Michael.”

The man grinned — and suddenly he was his best friend again. The boyish smile was the same as it’d always been, only he was bigger, more masculine and more attractive. Maybe this was the Michael he would’ve eventually become in another five or ten years.

“I swear, it’s still me. Well, maybe a little more. Check out the arms.” He bent slightly and made a slight flex. The arm ballooned out more than two inches, and the bicep momentarily flared and expanded, rippling and tensing under the tight leather strap.

Joey felt a twinge. No question, his friend’s body was totally hot. But he couldn’t get past the idea of having sex with a man, which seemed repulsive; if he’d been a guy his age... maybe. But this version of Michael was anything but a kid.

“My stomach, too,” the man continued. “I know it’s hard to see under all the hair, but check out the abs. I’m totally ripped.”

He leaned forward slightly and deep ridges suddenly appeared down his lower torso. “Remind me to shave, so you can see what they look like. Stallone never looked this ripped in any of the Rocky films.”

Joey’s mouth suddenly felt a little dry. “Yeah. You actually do look pretty cool.”

Michael slowly turned his face towards him. “And you should see my cock,” he said in a low voice. “It’s fucking huge. I swear to god, it’s gotta be a foot long.” His fingertips touched his thigh, and a bulge suddenly appeared through the bathrobe. “Bigger than any porno star we ever saw in those videos we watched at my place.”

The boy said nothing, but continued to stare as the robe continued to swell upwards.

“You want to touch it, don’t you? Please. I really need to get off. We’ve done it before, Joey.”

The younger boy gave a shudder and looked away. “But that was before. Things are different now.”

“They don’t have to be different, Joey. C’mon — please, do it for me.”

There was a faint odor in the air, a musky aroma of salt and sweat. Joey’s heart began to pound, and almost against his will, he leaned closer, then reached out and brushed the robe aside, his hand shaking. Michael’s massive erection sprang free, throbbing to his heartbeat.

“God,” the boy said in a whisper. “I’d give anything to have one that big.”

“I think we can arrange that. But just get me off. I did it four times in a row last night when I was changing, and it wasn’t enough. I gotta come... right now. Please.”

Almost hypnotically, Joey reached out and began to stroke. The cock was hot to the touch, warm and alive, almost like a living creature. The man’s body began to writhe and moan.

“That’s it,” he said, with a slight gasp. “Keep it goin’.”

The boy had a hard time grasping it with one hand, and reached out with the other, using them in tandem to keep the rhythm going.

“Cup my balls, please,” Michael said in a low voice. “I’m actually pretty close.”

Joey obliged. The testicles were large and heavy, much more than he would’ve expected, like trying to grasp two large lemons.

Michael immediately moaned. “God, that’s great. Can you... just put your mouth on it?”

The boy stopped. Their mutual sexual horseplay over the past year had usually been at Michael’s invitation, but this was a line they had never crossed before. While Joey admitted he’d been slightly attracted to Michael and a few other boys, he also was interested in several girls at school. Granted, up until now, he hadn’t yet dated any — unless you called that library project with Michelle a date, and that had been just pizza and a few laughs — but he never considered himself to be gay.

Just a phase we’re going through, he’d thought at the time.

“I’m almost there,” Michael begged. “Please. When this is over with, I’ll do it for you. I swear to god, Joey.”

The boy felt another twinge. He was now hard as a rock, though his own erection was only a fraction of the size of his friend’s. Every time he stroked Michael’s dick, he felt a surge in his own groin, almost as if they were sharing the impending orgasm.

As if under a spell, he lowered his head and widened his mouth. The cockhead barely slipped past his lips. It was thick enough that he had to open even wider than expected.

“Teeth,” Michael cautioned.

Joey quickly complied, anxious to please his friend any way he could. Using a combination of his hands and his mouth, he sped up the pace faster and faster. It was like gripping a log, rigid as iron, yet warm and pliable; he felt waves of power surge through him, like he was tapping into an enormous electrical outlet that filled him with strength. He never wanted it to end.

The erection went deeper into his mouth until it touched the back of his throat. The boy choked quietly, then mentally willed it to stop. I want this to be perfect for Michael, he thought in a daze. It’ll be the best ever. He sped up the motion, feeling a tingle in his own groin.

Suddenly, the man cried out and began to pump his hips spasmodically. A geyser of warm fluid erupted into the boy’s mouth and down his throat, again and again. At that exact moment, Joey’s erection surged and he came violently, staining the front of his jeans with a large, sticky patch that trickled down his thighs. He collapsed onto Michael’s lap, and almost without thinking, he lapped up every drop, his entire body afire, his cock aching. I could do this all day and not even care, he thought, feeling slightly numb yet utterly alive. The front of his face and shirt were damp with goo.

He looked up and Michael was smiling at him, his expression practically glowing. “God, Joey... that was even better than I hoped for. Come’ere.”

Joey did as expected and embraced his friend’s face, then they shared a long, deep kiss. After a few moments, he felt a warm hand on the back of his head. He looked down. The belt was torn loose, ripped at the seams, and the ropes were now frayed and tattered.

“Thanks, pal. I really mean it. Now, do me a favor and grab my jeans over there. I think there’s a spare bottle in the back right pocket, and it’s got your name on it.”

Part 4

Dr. Noble raced the car down American Pacific Drive, then glanced at his watch. 8:02AM. Slightly behind schedule, but I had to double-check the relative balance ratios. He estimated that the original adolescent version of Michael should’ve been about 100 pounds, maybe 110, tops. By his calculations, the control formula would return the boy to within 20% of his original body weight, and his face and relative proportions would return to normal.

Well, perhaps not quite normal, he mused. Judging by the spent ampoule, the boy had only managed to give himself a half-dosage. If it had been a full adult dosage, he could’ve potentially grown seven feet tall and gone completely mad, possibly with a genetic structure so unstable, his cells would’ve disintegrated by dawn. Noble shuddered at the memory of Test Group 5 from 1986, whose results had been so disastrous, several of the attending nurses had to be institutionalized just from the visual shock of seeing the molecular structure of five human beings mutated beyond recognition. Like a malfunctioning transporter beam from Star Trek, he thought, remembering one of the old sci-fi films.

But that wouldn’t happen this time. The Revision 11 serum was proven to be stable in the final months of the project. Had they only been allowed to continue, this would’ve solved all the issues. Unfortunately, the staff were only able to try it on three of the last volunteers. This test group hadn’t gone mad, though they’d shown the same sexual characteristics of the others, yet without the narcissistic tendencies. Unfortunately, the Revision 11 subjects been executed along with all the others. Cartwright had made no exceptions. Couldn’t take the chance, Sanford, the General had explained to him in the hospital, while the scientist was recovering from his injuries. Not after what they did to Mary and Dr. Watanabe. It was all or nothing.

Noble had been assured that all traces of the project had been “cleansed” and every trace of the Cerulean formula had been burned and destroyed. The inferno — created with the aid of about 10,000 pounds of the most powerful rocket fuel on the planet — burned nearly three square miles for 48 hours, with an initial temperature of over 3000 degrees. More than enough to incinerate 130 bodies and completely vaporize the ashes. Their seven-year experiments had proven that the Ultras’ regenerative abilities were almost beyond belief.

Not even a silver bullet in the brain would stop them, he thought with a shudder. Burning or a nuclear bomb were the only permanent solutions.

Noble pulled his creaking 1993 Toyota Camry up to his parking space, let the engine grind to a halt, then got out. The mobile home looked clear. He looked around, satisfied there was no one watching. His comings and goings had been few, especially over the past few months. The scientist had a limited diet, and the FIOS internet connection inside his trailer was more than enough to provide him with daily information and entertainment to sustain him. Aside from once-a-week trips to the supermarket and to the local laundromat, his needs were few.

The doctor picked up the bag of supplies from the back seat. He had the hypodermics already prepared — he’d learned that lesson from nearly seven years of dealing with the Ultras — and he couldn’t take the chance that Michael (or the young giant that still retained some of the boy’s mind) might try something hostile. The first vial would be enough to subdue him; the second would begin to reverse the original formula. How far, he mused, we won’t know for at least three hours. He prayed that the ratios he’d estimated were right and would restore the boy to some vestige of normalcy, at least for the next week. If not, he knew the outcome: he’d have no choice but to telephone his contacts at Wright-Patterson, and the black ops squad would come to take Michael away.

Noble paused. Probably dissection first, then oblivion. Because, after all, there was no permanent antidote to the Cerulean project. True, he’d come up with the control formula in the last few weeks before everything collapsed, but it was temporary at best. Eventually, the animalistic tendencies of the altered DNA would always break through, like a weed slowly pushing its way through solid concrete. Nature always finds a way, as the saying goes.

He stepped up to the door, which was partly open. Not good, he thought, reaching in his picket to feel for the first syringe. “Joey?” he called. “You boys alright? It’s Dr. Noble. I brought you a bagel, in case you need breakfast.”

He closed the door behind him and turned towards the couch. Michael appeared to be sleeping fitfully on the living room couch, muttering every so often. The restraints seemed to be secure. Noble set down the bag and held the needle point down, carefully hiding it in his palm as he walked down the hallway.

“Joey?” he whispered. “You taking a nap?”

Noble poked his head in the guest room. The boy was sprawled face down on the couch... but he was shuddering. The doctor was alarmed. As he grew closer, he saw that Joey’s limbs were beginning to ripple and to change...

“No!” he whispered out loud.

“Yes,” said a voice behind him.

Noble slowly turned. “Hello, Michael,” he said calmly. “I see you’ve injected Joey.”

“In more ways than one, doctor,” the muscular monster replied, dropping the robe to the ground, standing naked in the doorway, his muscles gleaming in the dim hallway light, his limp penis swinging pendulously between his legs. “I fucked him twice, just in the last half hour. The kid passed out, but trust me, he had a smile on his face. And he’s gonna be as big as me very soon. I hope you won’t do anything to stop him.”

“Not for the moment.”

“You can’t do anything to me, puny man,” the creature said, forcing his wide shoulders through the narrow doorway. “In fact, I think you want to have sex with me. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable down on your knees? I bet you never saw a cock like mine before.”

Noble shrugged. “Actually, I have. In fact, I saw more than 200 men that were nearly twice your size in the 1980s. Some wound up over seven feet tall and 400 pounds, though most specimens bigger than that usually died within 24 hours. But the other subjects... why, they’d make you look like what you really are: just a 13-year-old boy.”

Michael stopped and scowled at him. “Shut up. I’m a lot more than that.”

“But you’re still just a boy inside. You have no idea how to handle your powers. There’s no one on the face of this earth that can help you refine your skills other than myself. Believe me, I was the last person to want Cerulean MX to end. It was my concept in the first place.”

Michael shook his head. “I read the report again and memorized every bit of it. Took me less than a second a page, like I’ve got a high-speed scanner right here.” He tapped his forehead for emphasis. “Dr. Watanabe and Major-General Cartwright started the project in 1981.”

Noble smiled. “Mere figure heads. Watanabe was a well-intentioned man, but he just looked ‘good in a suit,’ as they say in corporate America. And Cartwright had the connections to the Pentagon. I was the unsung hero who actually held the whole thing together. Do the research, and you’ll find I was the architect of the entire program, starting in 1980.”

“From the ashes of Majestic-12.”

This time, it was Noble’s turn to be surprised. “You knew about that?”

Michael shrugged and leaned back against the door frame. “Yeah. I was just finishing up checking your internet cache when you drove up. Amazing the stuff that people post on websites.”

“Half of it’s exaggerated. The other half is just a mixture of truth and folklore.”

The muscular giant leaned forward, casting a dark shadow across the doctor’s face. “I figured out that you lied when you said you came up with the original Ultra formula.”

Noble blanched, but caught himself. How much had this young man figured out in only 15 minutes? “I never said that,” the man insisted. “I was the first to synthesize the formula — which isn’t quite the same thing. It all came from the residue from... well, you read the reports.”

“From the spaceship wreckage.”

Noble nodded. “The alien bodies were already much too deteriorated for us to examine. They disintegrated to dust only a few hours after they had perished in the wreckage. I wish we could’ve kept them alive, figured out some way to communicate with them.”

“From Roswell?”

“No. Roswell is ancient history, a dead end. This was from the 1977 crash in south Kansas — a real one, this time.”

“The alien blood was the answer.”

“Yes, exactly. We were able to retain a small sample of their blood cells. Within a year, we experimented on lab animals. They grew radically, became absolute ideals of their species, as long as we could keep them alive. And by 1981, we were ready to try it on human volunteers.”

Michael nodded. “That explains a lot that wasn’t in the report. But the alien DNA didn’t completely match ours.”

“No. It was very close, just as a chimpanzee’s DNA is within 97% of our own. But the aliens’ were even closer — more like 99%. But matching that final 1% took us over ten thousand man-hours of constant calculations to perfect, with a staff of twenty scientists. And we ultimately succeeded, after massive trial and error.”

“But not for long.”

Noble began to inch closer. “Long enough for us to realize the pros and cons. Hitler had tried the Lebensborn program in the early 1940s, leading to the ultimate level of Übermensch, the so-called “Hünenmensch.”

“The master race.”

“Exactly.” Noble took another step closer, keeping his right hand in position. “We weren’t trying to ‘cleanse the race,’ as the Third Reich had attempted. We looked upon all mankind as equal, regardless of racial origin or ethnicity. As far as I’m concerned, this was for the human race, the entire world: the eradication of all birth defects, the elimination of disease, the perfection of mankind to the highest possible level.”

“And that includes intelligence as well. My brain feels as big as my muscles,” Michael said, instinctively flexing one arm.

“Exactly. Think of it as a brain-boost. You’re at least 50 IQ points beyond where you were yesterday afternoon. We’re not sure why; there are still some aspects of the alien blood composition that still remain unknown. My research was shut down before—”

Michael leaned over. Their faces were now less than three feet apart.

Noble hesitated. He felt the hidden hypo in his hand, wondering if he could possibly strike fast enough before the creature ripped him limb from limb.

“Yes. Before the government exterminated all of us.”

Noble snorted. “Us? You’re not even close to an Ultra — not yet. They required months of training and testing. Merely having the power doesn’t give you the ability to use it.”

“But you killed them all.”

“Never. Cartwright killed them all, with the help of more than 2000 troops and six fighter jets. All their bodies were incinerated near Black Mountain.”

“Yeah. The PEPCON explosion here in Henderson.”

Noble nodded, then felt for the needle and fought to keep his voice steady. “The death squad attacked the Ultras at dawn. They’d taken two prisoners as hostages — our top scientists — but it didn’t matter. Everyone was killed. The military burned all the bodies just before noon and used the chemical fire as a cover. Nobody could get within two miles of the explosion.”

“And none of them survived?”

“Not that we know of. And there were some good men there. I counted several Ultras among my friends — close friends.”

Michael leaned forward and smiled, his massive naked physique a model of pure masculinity, and got within a foot of Noble’s face. “Why, doctor — I do believe you’re propositioning me.” His hips twitched and his flaccid cock began to slowly rise upwards.

The scientist returned his smile. “No. We broke the genetic code on the pheromones in ‘84. I was permanently vaccinated — you can’t seduce me the way you did Joey.”

Michael began to scowl. “Then what use are you to me?”

“I know a lot more than that report can ever tell you. You need me alive. You have no idea of the complications you’re in for. Cancer, for instance.”

“But you solved that by Revision 9.”

“Not always. It’s dormant, but anything that super-sizes your own body’s cells like hyperplasia also has the potential for causing cancer. It requires constant checking.” Noble stopped for a moment, then pointed to Michael’s massive arm, which must have been at least 18". “In fact, was that lump there yesterday?”

Michael momentarily glanced down, and Noble quickly brought his right hand out and smashed it towards the creature’s left shoulder. In a blur, Michael caught the man’s wrist, where it froze in mid-air. The needle dangled from his fingers.

“Naughty, naughty, Doctor. You’re gonna have to be a lot faster than that if you want to stop me.”

Noble grimaced, his hand shaking. “True,” he said at last. “But it was worth a shot — so to speak.”

“I should shove that hypo right up your ass.”

“Spoken like an intellectual. I’m disappointed, Michael. I suspect your IQ may have only gone up only about five or ten points, certainly not quite the usual 50.”

“Shut up.”

Noble leaned forward. “I dealt with more than 200 men like you, most of which were almost three times as powerful as you are, with ten to twenty years more life experience. I know exactly what you’re dealing with, but you have no idea who I am and what I can do for you.”

Michael narrowed his eyes. “I could rip your head off in less time that it takes for you to finish your next sentence.”

Noble didn’t even flinch. “And you’d be like a man who just bought a Ferrari and doesn’t even know how to drive. I know how to operate that body of yours better than you do. You don’t have a clue.” He wrested his hand free, then pointed to Michael’s head. “No matter how big you are, you’re not a man at all up here; you’re just a boy. No less a boy than Joey over there.”

Michael grinned. “You take a look at him lately? He doesn’t look like a kid to me.”

Noble turned and sucked in his breath. Joey was now in convulsions. His arms and torso were rippling, shaking with agony, and a low moan came out of his mouth. Suddenly, he began to vomit uncontrollably.

Michael stepped forward, concerned. “What’s happening to him?”

“He’s repelling all his body fat. He was a little stouter than you, so this could get quite messy. Ultras don’t need any body fat — they absorb almost 100% of all the nutrients they eat, with almost no waste. And if he doesn’t get enough food in the next fifteen minutes, he’ll burn himself out.”

“What?”

“You don’t remember, because you were undergoing the transformation yourself last night. You were incoherent. Joey told me you consumed everything in the kitchen, even the dog food.”

“For all I know, I ate the dog.” Michael looked over to what was once his childhood friend, his face momentarily panic-stricken. “Can you do anything for Joey? Is he gonna die?”

“One hopes not. Look,” the doctor said calmly, slowly reaching into his back pocket. “I’m going to give you some cash. Here’s $200. I want you to go to the supermarket a mile east of here.”

“How should I get there?”

“Run. With that body, you can get up to 20 miles per hour — at least, the last Ultras I tested could do that for short periods. Take the back roads and don’t let anybody see you. And put on some clothes, for heaven’s sake.”

“What should I get?”

“Fifty pounds of meat. Ground sirloin, preferably Grade A ground round if they have it. Fresh, not frozen — low-fat. Then go to the health food store next door and buy three cases of premixed protein shakes. That should be enough.”

“Any kind?”

“If Joey likes chocolate, go for that formula. And hurry. I’ll feed him what little I have in my kitchen, but he’s going to shrivel up and die unless he gets a lot more food very soon.”

Michael grabbed the doctor’s shirt and dragged him forward until they were face to face. “This had better not be a trick.”

“Stop talking to me and get moving. As god is my witness, Joey will be dead in” — he checked his watch — “in twenty five minutes or less. Go! Now!”

The naked hulk squeezed back through the doorway. “What’ll I wear?”

“There’s a pair of sweatpants in that closet. My son’s old sweatshirt should be hanging nearby.”

“Shoes?”

“You’re too big. Just go barefoot. Buy a cheap pair of extra-large shoes if you have the time. Run!”

Noble listened for the thumps of the creature clumsily stumbling through the trailer, a momentary pause, then a slam as the door opened and closed. He heard the sound of bare feet running down the gravel road until they grew fainter in the distance.

The doctor sat by the bed and put his hand on Joey’s shoulder. The boy trembled, then vomited again. Noble used the sheet to wipe off the residue. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re just going to have to endure this as best you can. I’ll bring you some raw meat once I thaw it out.”

Noble caught a glimmer of a small glass bottle on the floor and picked it up, then silently cursed. The ampoule was completely empty: Michael had injected the smaller boy with a full dosage. “Not good,” the scientist said out loud. We saw what happened when a 13-year-old boy got a half-dosage. And now we’re going to find out what happens when another adolescent gets the adult dosage.

Joey’s eyes opened. “Help me,” he moaned. “Michael... he gave it to me.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “I’ll bring you some food in one minute.”

The boy clutched at Noble’s sleeve. “But I wanted it. Do you understand? I wanted it. I knew the risks... this is what I wanted.”

Noble sighed. “Understood. But listen to me: there’s going to be consequences for this. You two have opened Pandora’s box.”

The boy lifted up his arm, which was already twice the size it had been an hour ago. He moaned, then flexed it, and the bicep swelled into place. He smiled weakly. “It’s gonna be worth it.” He winced and looked up, his face suddenly looking very small and young. “Does it have to hurt this much?”

The doctor sadly nodded. “I’m sorry. Chromosomal activity at this level can be quite violent, and will tax even the strongest man. I’ll be back with some food in a moment. Lie still, and don’t try to move. Bite the pillow if you have to, and try not to scream too loudly. I’ll get you something for the pain.”

Noble moved swiftly down the hall and began pulling out every container of food from the refrigerator, starting with the milk and eggs, then reached for the cabinets, where he grabbed four canisters of Quaker Oats and cereal.

He let out a long sigh and gazed towards the side bedroom. “Be careful what you wish for, son,” he said quietly, then grabbed some frozen meat from the freezer, tossed it in the microwave oven, and hit the ‘Defrost’ button.

While the microwave began to whir, Noble pulled out an empty trash bag, tossed in the groceries, then dragged them back down the hall to the bedroom.

Part 5

“Professor?” Michael called, as he returned to the trailer. “I’m back with all the stuff you asked for. Had to load up two of these giant cardboard shipping boxes. Took me a little longer than I expected, but it’s all here.”

He chuckled for a moment, remembering the astonished look of the female cashier at the supermarket’s front counter, whose hands shook as she handed him his change. The bag boy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, staring at his chest and arms, but still managed to slip him his phone number on his way out. Another potential candidate, he mused, noting the older teenager’s muscular build. No telling how big a guy could get on the serum if he already starts off as big as a football player.

The trailer was quiet. Michael frowned.

“There better not be any tricks, Doc!” he warned. “If you’ve done anything to hurt Joey, I’ll rip your fingers off, one at a time.”

As if to answer, there was a moan down the hall. “Joey!” he cried. Grabbing the grocery bags, he pushed his way through the living room and into the bedroom. His eyes widened.

The boy was positively huge. He’d grown half a foot taller, but was surrounded by puddles of blood and white ooze on the bed and floor. His arms were massive — if anything, slightly bigger than Michael’s — and his rapidly-growing thighs had already split the seams in his pants. His enlarged cockhead poked out obscenely from the torn crotch, the fabric in tatters.

Whoa, Michael thought. Little Joey might just be bigger than me. He made a note to give himself another injection, once he got the doctor under control. Speaking of which...

“Hey, Doctor Noble,” he called, setting down the grocery bags. “I think Joey here needs some attention. Can you—”

But before he was able to finish, Noble leapt out of a nearby closet and jabbed him in the spine with a sharp poke.

“No! You bastard!” Michael spun around, trying to dislodge the needle, but the doctor held on, then slammed the plunger all the way down.

Michael screamed and sank to his knees.

Noble leaned over. “Sorry about that, son,” he said, speaking quietly into the man’s ear. “Normally, that would paralyze most humans. In your case, getting the sedative directly into your spinal column was the most effective way to knock you out. The nerve endings will grow back in an hour.”

“You’re gonna... you’re gonna take away all of my muscles...” Michael said, his head already lolling onto his massive chest.

“I couldn’t do that, even if I wanted to. But I’m going to reduce them to the point where you can function in the real world. Trust me, society isn’t ready for a 150-pound body-building 13-year-old. Your family would go crazy, then the DOD would put both you and your friend in chains and send you down to the deepest pit of Groom Lake. You know it as Area 51. There’s a lot of failed government experiments over there, and it’s like the Roach Motel: once they check in, they don’t check out.”

“Don’t wanna... don’t wanna be normal...” the boy gasped as his vision began to blur.

Noble caught him before he hit the floor. “You’ll be on the high side of normal,” he said. “But not so much that you’ll attract attention. Trust me.”

“Never... not after you betrayed...” Michael slumped over, and the room went black.

Chapter 3: Iron Pleasure

Joey was confused, disoriented. As his vision slowly cleared, he became aware of a familiar face next to him on the couch. It was Michael — or at least someone who resembled his best friend. And yet it was someone else as well. Something was wrong.

“Ah,” said a voice. “I see young Mr. Hartford is now coming out of it. Excellent.”

The boy’s vision momentarily cleared. His hand was lying in carpet, and the fibers were rough and scratchy. He looked down to see his fingertips in matted black fur of his massive chest.

“Oh, shit,” he groaned. “Michael, what the hell have you gotten us into?

“Calm down, you douche,” the boy replied. “Two hours ago, you were beggin’ me to give you the juice.” He forced his voice higher. “‘I want the muscles, Michael, gimme the muscles!’” Michael snorted. “Some thanks I get.”

“You were most unwise to inject him, Michael,” said Dr. Noble grimly. “It’s a miracle that both of you are even alive.”

“Wh... why aren’t we tearing the place up?” asked Joey, opening and closing his eyes, then shaking his head.

“I gave both of you the antidote. It’s a control formula, nulling out most of the effects of the Cerulean MX serum by synthesizing myostatin back into your bloodstream.”

“Myo... what?”

“Myostatin — a growth differentiation factor that nature uses to limit your body’s development.” Noble began to pace back and forth, punctuating the scientific points with broad expressions. “The project’s Cerulean formula completely eliminated this from your body and triggered muscular hypertrophy at a greatly-accelerated rate, achieving true hypergenesis: not just building on existing muscles, but the creation of completely new muscle tissue. Without myostatin, your bodies development will overload, becoming monstrous, out of control creatures that would wreak havoc.” The doctor stopped, then looked at both boys and began to relax. “The antidote’s effects are only temporary, but judging by its progress, I think you both will shrink back down to something approaching normal in another hour.”

Michael yawned and cocked his right arm in a classic bodybuilder pose. “Hmmmph. Still looks pretty big to me,” The arm was boy-sized, but now resembled that of a teenaged Olympic athlete, etched with sinewy veins and muscles that led up to his thick shoulder.

“Yes, but you’ll lose another ten pounds by 2PM. If you two had shown up at your homes the way you looked six hours ago, your families would’ve taken one look at you and called the authorities.” Noble glared at both of them. “And then we’d all be... well, ‘up shit creek,’ is I believe the appropriate term. I’ll plan on giving you booster shots once a week for the immediate future.”

Joey felt his own muscular arm and thick chest, then ran his fingers down through the matted fur on his stomach. “Yick,” he said. “This hair totally sucks. Wait! It’s starting to fall out!” He held up several loose clumps of thick black hair in his hands, letting them drop to the floor.

“Good, it’s started already,” Noble said, examining a tuft of hair. “I’ve turned the clock back, so to speak, on the effects of the Cerulean formula. At least you’ll pass for adolescents, for now. Somewhat large for your age, perhaps, but acceptable.”

“We’ll be like we were yesterday?”

The man shook his head sadly. “I’m afraid not. You’ll never be your former selves again, not exactly. But had we allowed the formula continue to mutate your genetic structure, you would’ve shot past six feet and reached two hundred pounds by nightfall. Assuming we could get you enough food and you survived the painful transformation, that is.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad to me,” Michael said with a yawn, as he put his thick arms behind his head and leaned backwards on the couch, revealing an impressive six-pack below his ripped shirt. “In fact, it looks pretty hot.”

“Not on a thirteen-year-old boy!” Noble hissed. “Don’t you see? Being well-developed and genetically perfect is one thing — but your family and friends would never accept you looking like a man ten years older. They’d think you were some kind of monster, a freak of nature!” He paused and glared at him. “And you would be.”

Michael thought for a moment, then slowly nodded as realization set in. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I see that now. We can’t look too different or else it’ll draw too much attention. Too much of a good thing.”

“Exactly. Someday, years from now, we may choose to let the formula’s effect go unchecked.”

“Whoa... go totally Ultra?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. But not today.”

Joey shifted, then winced. “My balls... they still hurt like hell,” he moaned. His hand rubbed the towel around his waist, which covered a large lump roughly the size of a cantaloupe.

“That’s to be expected. You’ll find your... your genitals will be somewhat more enlarged than before. We can’t reduce them any further — we’ve already stressed your endocrine system to the limit. Injecting any more of the control serum would be too risky.”

“Too risky?”

The doctor sighed, then pushed his glasses up to his forehead and rubbed his tired eyes. “Yes. The Revision 2 test subjects wound up being reduced to puddles.”

Joey’s eyes widened. “Puddles?”

“Yes. Reduced to their original metabolic state: a zygote, essentially an embryo in its earliest stage, just a large blob of protoplasm. Radical retrogression is something we need to avoid.”

“Important safety tip,” Michael noted. “Got it. Beware the blob. Any other lessons, doc?”

“Listen to me,” Noble continued. “There’s some important rules you two are going to have to follow from now on.”

Michael smirked. Despite his body having radically shrunk back down, the boy still packed considerably more muscle than he had the day before, and his cocky attitude was unaffected. “I gotta warn ya — I was never much for rules, Doc.”

The old man firmly grabbed his shoulder. “If you don’t do exactly what I tell you, you could die — both of you. And potentially, so could every single person you know and love. I saw it happen two decades ago. You have no idea the terrible danger you’re in, or the risks of your condition.”

Michael started to interrupt, but his friend stopped him.

“Listen to him,” Joey said quietly. “He’s the expert here, not us.”

Noble took a deep breath. “Alright. First, you both have 40% more body mass than you had yesterday. I’ve managed to reduce the effects of the serum down to a manageable level. But until we can come up with a reasonable explanation for your obvious change in muscularity, you’re going to have to hide your bodies from sight.”

“Hide this?” said Michael, laughing, as he flexed his chest, letting the two pectoral muscles swell, revealing a chiseled valley between them. “Fat chance.”

The man nodded. “You’ll need to wear long, baggy shirts — sweatshirts, if possible — and don’t let anyone see you naked.”

“Fat chance of me getting through football practice like that,” Michael retorted.

“Practice doesn’t start for another three months,” Joey pointed out. “We’ve got until September.”

“I would strongly advise that you avoid playing any contact sport,” Noble said. “You could kill one of the other players with one tackle. Trust me: you don’t know your own strength.”

“Wait,” said Joey. “Couldn’t we learn to control our abilities — pull our punches, do all that stuntman stuff they do in the movies?”

Noble thought for a moment. “Perhaps. Our experiments always kept the Ultra soldiers segregated from the general population, so they never had to worry about blending in with civilians. With effort, you two might be able to keep your abilities in check and remain unnoticed.”

Michael nodded. “Sort of like Peter Parker as Spiderman. I get it. Secret identities.” He made an odd gesture with his right hand, letting his middle finger touch his palm, then chuckled. “Nope — no spider webs shooting out. I’m shootin’ blanks.”

The scientist rolled his eyes. “You’re both still human — very strong young men, exceptionally gifted... but still completely human, nonetheless. Not comic-book superheroes.”

“Wait.” Joey stopped, then turned his head and stared out the trailer window. “I hear the postman’s truck down the road. He’s listening to Lady Gaga on his radio. And he’s talking to his girlfriend on his cellphone. He’s going to be late for dinner tonight.” The boy’s eyes widened, then he turned back to the doctor. “Am I imagining all that?”

Michael’s eyes widened. “I hear it, too. This can’t be real.”

“It is. You both have exceptional sight and hearing, increased roughly forty percent over normal. Perhaps more.”

Joey poked at his chest, which was now almost free of hair. He brushed away the last few strands onto the floor. “Are we invulnerable now?”

“Faster than a speeding bullet!” cried Michael, then mimicked a ricochet sound effect and let his fingers spring off his muscular chest.

The doctor shook his head. “No. The bullets will still penetrate your flesh — but you can’t be killed that way. I’ll demonstrate.” He reached over to a nearby dining room table and grabbed a fork. “Give me your hand.”

Michael stared at him curiously, then yelped as the doctor abruptly stabbed the prongs deep into his skin. “OW! Jesus Christ, why’d you do that?”

“A picture is worth a thousand words. Look.” He withdrew the fork, leaving a row of bloody dots on the boy’s palm. A smear of blood trickled down. In seconds, the wound began to disappear.

The two boys were thunderstruck.

“Initially, you’ll feel the pain,” Noble continued. “But a minor wound like this will heal almost instantly. A bullet wound takes a little longer. Your body’s own protective nature will push the bullets out, attacking them exactly like the way white blood cells react to foreign bodies. Everything will return to normal within a few hours. Even a bullet to the heart will heal in a day, perhaps less.”

Michael examined the wound, which was now completely healed. “What if you chopped my hand completely off?” He gave the doctor a wary eye, then steadily moved his arm away. “Not to give you any ideas.”

“It would grow back in less than a week,” the doctor said simply. “It would hurt terribly, but you’d live. Anything other than your head will regenerate itself.”

“What can kill us?” Joey said.

“Radiation... acid... fire... Extreme heat. Anything over a thousand degrees can permanently kill you, provided the ashes are scattered.”

“Not a stake through the heart?” Michael said, remembering a scene from Twilight they’d both seen recently on DVD.

“No. You’re resistant to all known diseases. You have the strongest immune system in human history.”

“Then what else can hurt us?”

Noble thought for a moment. “Well, you still need air, though our last group of Ultras could survive nearly ten minutes without oxygen. And you need to eat at least 5000 calories per day, or the equivalent in vitamins and nutrients, or you’ll begin to starve. That won’t kill you, but it’s quite painful.”

Michael mulled this over. “OK. Food, air, water. And stay away from fire. Check. But what else can kill us?”

The scientist hesitated. “Only one more thing that we know of: if someone incapacitates you, dissects your head from your body, and keeps it separated for a certain period of time, you’ll cease to exist.”

Even Michael winced at this. “Jesus.”

Joey stared at the man. “How do you know all this? Don’t tell me that you...” His voice trailed off and the room grew uncomfortably silent.

Noble sighed. “I’ve done my best to try to forget those terrible years. Don’t ask me for the details. Just trust me.” He checked his watch, then stood up. “It’s almost 2PM. I told Joey’s mother that I was bringing you back from the outskirts of town. You’ve got your story straight, as we discussed?”

The two boys nodded.

“Yeah,” replied Michael, as he got to his feet. “I got into a fight with somebody on the way home from Joey’s house. I called Joey on my cell, he came to help me, and we decided to leave town for awhile in case the guy came looking for us.”

“This is so lame...” interrupted Joey.

Noble shook his head. “No. This has got to work. Tell them you were only going to be gone for 24 hours. And make them believe it. Don’t forget to force your voices a little higher, the way they sounded yesterday.”

They continued talking as they walked out of the trailer, letting the door slam behind them. Joey was wearing one of Dr. Noble’s plaid shirts and a baggy pair of black dress pants, since his own clothes had been destroyed.

The boy suddenly skidded to a stop. “Wait a minute,” he sputtered. “My glasses — I’m not wearing my glasses. But I can still see!”

The scientist nodded, then reached in his pants pocket, found the glasses, and handed them to him. “You’ll need to keep these on for appearance’s sake, Joey,” he said. “But the Cerulean serum has made eyeglasses unnecessary. Keep them on for now, just until we can figure out a way to cover this for your parents.” He thought for a moment, then handed the boy several small pieces of twisted metal. “Oh, and here’s what’s left of your braces. Your body rejected them.”

“My teeth—” Joey exclaimed, frantically reaching for his mouth.

“—are perfect,” finished Dr. Noble. “Let’s hope your parents won’t notice. I’ll try to come up with some kind of cover story you can give them.”

Michael wore half of a ripped T-shirt, which revealed most of his now-smooth, well-muscled stomach, along with a pair of jeans with rolled-up cuffs. Noble unlocked the Camry and gestured to the boys to get in.

“In the meantime, we’ll stop by a used clothing store three blocks from here,” he said, “and buy you some proper clothes. Nothing too tight or revealing — your parents will be furious enough as it is.”

“People are gonna eventually have to see us,” Michael warned, as they sat in the car and shut the doors. “Eventually, somebody’s gonna catch a glimpse and think we’re escapees from the Russian gymnast team.”

Noble thought for a moment, then reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said. “Here’s $200. As soon as possible, go to a sporting goods store and buy a set of weights. Do either of you have a garage?”

“We do,” Joey replied, fastening his seat belt. “A three-car garage. We just have boxes ‘n’ stuff in the third one.”

“Perfect,” the scientist replied, as he started the engine. “Buy the biggest set of weights you can. Have it delivered. Start working out today. In a few weeks, you can at least let your parents see your arms. But don’t tell any of your friends, yet. They’ll ask too many questions.”

“I’m... I’m starting to feel weak,” Joey said, clutching the dashboard. “I’m really hungry, Dr. Noble.”

The man nodded as the car pulled forward, then slowly picked up speed down the dirt road.

“That’s to be expected — it’s one of the drawbacks of the serum. You’re going to have to eat twice as much as an average human, just to keep your system satiated.”

The boy nodded, then cleared his head. “Okay,” he said. “I think I can hold on for another ten minutes or so.”

“Good,” Noble said. “Once we get you some clothes, our next stop will be the health food store at the mall down the street for some protein shakes. Both of you should drink at least two of them before we head to Joey’s house. I think at least 150 grams of protein a day will do it — along with your regular meals. You’ll need to consume as much protein as possible, so these new bodies of yours don’t starve to death. If your parents express concern, tell them you’re going to try out for a team this fall.”

Michael snorted. “Joey’s is so not a sports guy,” he said, suppressing a guffaw. “I’m the athlete — football and soccer to the max.”

This time, it was the doctor’s chance to grin. “Have you taken a look at your friend lately? I think Joey would be superlative for in his weight class for wrestling.”

Michael leaned forward. The boy in the front seat flexed his arm and the edges of the sleeve strained and began to tear slightly.

Jesus, he thought. He’s as big as me — maybe even bigger. “Hey,” Michael snapped, “that’s not fair. How’d he get like that?”

“You only had half a dose. Joey, on the other hand, received the full 20cc dosage. But since you started off with a body far more developed than your friend, I think you’ll wind up approximately equal.”

“Hmmmph,” Michael said, leaning back in the back seat. Except in the dick department, he thought to himself. I got him beat there.

He looked over at his friend, who grinned back and wiggled his eyebrows.

Michael felt a slight shudder. Then again, maybe not.

§ § § § §

Noble pulled up in front of The Spears’ house on Elsinore Avenue and parked the car.

“I can’t believe I’m not tired,” said Joey, tugging at the sleeve of his new Diesel designer hoody. It was loose and baggy, and perfectly hid his muscles. “I’ve been awake for almost two days straight.”

Michael nodded in agreement, “Do we sleep? I haven’t had more than a coupla hours of rest since yesterday, but I’m still totally wired.”

The man shook his head. “No. You won’t need it any more. Your system is reacting the same way the chemical compound Modafinil does for fighter pilots: it completely eliminates the need for sleep. It’s permanently altered your circadian rhythm — that is, your sleep cycle.”

“Won’t there be... side-effects?” Joey asked, as the trio got out of the car and started to walk to the front door.

Noble sighed. “We’ll go over those another time. While you won’t need eight hours of sleep anymore, I would suggest that you meditate for at least an hour a day. Physically, your body doesn’t need it anymore. But mentally... you need to relax your mind. Meditation will give you that discipline. I’ll bring you some books to explain it.”

Michael abruptly stopped. “If we’re awake like 24 hours a day, but don’t sleep, what are we gonna do with all that extra time?”

Noble raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure you two will think of something.”

§ § § § §

Much to Joey’s shock, his parents bought the entire story — lock, stock, and barrel. Dr. Noble was completely convincing, taking the role of a random driver who just happened to be on the outskirts of town at 6AM and picked up the two hitchhikers. He apologized to Joey’s parents, explaining that they were almost to Bakersfield before the boys finally broke down and revealed they were runaways.

“And I immediately turned the car around and brought them here, the moment I suspected anything was amiss,” Noble said.

“We can’t thank you enough, Doctor,” said Mr. Hartford, visibly overcome with relief. “He’s never... he’s never done anything like this before.” He turned to his son and frowned. “This is so unlike you, Joseph. Why didn’t you call us?”

The boy winced. It’s never good when he uses my full name, he thought.

“If you don’t mind a suggestion,” Noble said, starting for the door, “perhaps both of these boys need some discipline — something to keep them occupied and off the streets.”

“You mean like the Boy Scouts? Camping? A church group?”

“Athletics, I think,” the doctor mused. “Perhaps a physical activity. They are growing boys, after all.”

Michael shot him a look.

Mrs. Hartford nodded. “Yes. Joey has been growing so much lately. Perhaps you could join the swim team, like your older brother did years ago.”

“No!” said both boys simultaneously.

The parents stared at them.

“I’d like to start working out,” Joey said quickly. “You know — pump iron. Maybe... maybe not be a 97-pound geek anymore. Put on a little muscle.”

Noble seemed to consider this. “Yes, I think an exercise program is a very good idea. Particularly at this age — in moderation, of course.”

Mrs. Hartford frowned. Her son had never expressed interest in lifting weights before. That seemed so... so down-market. “Joey, I wouldn’t want you to become one of those... those people.”

“Hardly,” Joey said with a reassuring grin. “I just want to keep up with Michael.”

His father nodded. “Yes,” he said, giving the other boy an appraising look. “I can see that your friend Mike is getting pretty big.”

Joey’s smile froze. You don’t know just how much, Dad, he thought.

§ § § § §

Just after 6PM, Joey’s cell rang with the “Boom-Boom-Pow” ringtone — Michael’s favorite song. The boy hit a button.

“About time, you moron,” he said. “So did your mom totally kill you, or what?”

Michael laughed. “I gotta hand it to the doc — he’s very convincing. Gave her the same story he gave your folks, and she totally fell for it. I went with the whole ‘total remorse’ act, tears and all. She actually seemed a little sympathetic.”

Joey shook his head. He never understood how Michael’s mother let him get away with so much.

“I’m still grounded for a couple of days,” he continued. “No bike, no movies, no XBox — no nothin’. I’d go nuts if it weren’t for the net.”

“Yeah, me, too. I just hope they don’t notice that my braces are missing.” Joey thought for a moment. “Is your mom still going to let you work out?”

“Yeah. She said I could go over to your place for an hour or two a day to exercise, but only in the afternoon. But no horseplay.” He paused. “Speakin’ of which, you know what I’m playin’ with right now?”

Joey rolled his eyes. “I assume it’s not chess.”

“No. It’s my cock. It’s not quite a foot long, but it’s close. How ‘bout you?”

Joey felt his pulse begin to race. He reached down and was shocked to see he was instantly hard. He walked over to his bedroom door and locked it, then sat back down at his desk. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

“I haven’t checked,” he said quietly.

“Get a ruler.”

The boy let out a sigh, then reached in his desk, pulled out a measuring stick and laid it on the desk. He’d done this a few times before and had always been disappointed with the results. But things were different now. He removed his shirt and tugged his pants and underwear down. His erection immediately sprang up and slapped against his rippled stomach.

Whoa, he thought. This was going to take some getting used to.

“So how big is it?”

Joey positioned the ruler flat on top of his rock-hard penis, placing one end against the lowest part of his abdomen. “Hate to tell you, but it’s bigger than the ruler.”

“No friggin’ way.”

“Way. The ruler barely hits the bottom of my cockhead. It’s got to be 13 inches, easy. That’s one inch for every year.”

“Shit. You must be measuring it wrong. Or that’s like a metric ruler or something.”

There was a few seconds of silence, followed by some slurping sounds.

“Joey? What’s goin’ on?”

Another pause. “I can actually blow myself!” he exclaimed. “God,” he said, “I may never leave the house now.”

“Fucker.”

There was another slurp. “I’ll call you back, Michael. Lemme take care of this.”

“Wait! What if you...”

Joey snapped the phone shut and killed the power. No way is Michael gonna interrupt me.

The boy leaned forward in the chair and gently eased his cockhead past his lips. The feeling was exquisite. His erection was absolutely rigid, like steel encased in soft velvet, ridged with a bright blue vein that throbbed along the top side. He held the erection in his right hand, using the left to explore the rest of his body. His chest was hard and ridged with solid muscle, like that of some kind of idealized Greek statue, without a trace of fat. He let his cock fall back again to his stomach, pleased to see that it rose high enough to slide in-between the groove between his pecs. He rubbed it back and forth for a few moments, enjoying the sensation, and let out a satisfied sigh.

His fingertips explored the deeply-etched ridges in his abdomen, then carefully moved back upwards around the edges of his pecs. He grabbed one of his chest muscles and squeezed slightly; his hand could barely contain it, almost like grabbing a large slab of beef, and he moaned with pleasure at the touch, aroused by the sheer power in his own body. His nipples were slightly enlarged, protruding like pencil erasers. He tweaked them both simultaneously and moaned at the unexpected feeling from an erogenous zone he’d never before tried.

God, he thought. I can’t believe how this feels. He looked down to his cock, which was glistening with saliva, throbbing, only a few tantalizing inches away from his mouth. With some effort, he could bend down his head almost perpendicular to his stomach. He was pleased to see his sinewy body had the agility of a gymnast.

His mouth plunged lower until fully half of the enormous penis was inside. It grew thicker at the base, forcing his jaw open as far as it could go.

I can’t believe I can bend this far, he thought, his mind racing. I bet I could almost tie myself in a knot.

He began to slowly thrust his mouth up and down the shaft, playing with his enormous balls, squeezing them lightly, letting the cock respond with short momentary spasms of delight. His cock began to softly nudge at the back of his throat as he felt his pulse quicken.

Joey moaned out loud, the sound muted by his full mouth. Momentary mental images of Michael flashed in his mind. It was the Ultra-sized naked Michael from the night before, savagely kissing him, his body hair rubbing at his bare skin, his partial beard like sandpaper against his face. Their tongues intertwined as he felt the serum burning in his veins.

Suddenly, he saw a mental image of Michael penetrating him. But there wasn’t any pain. Their bodies were as one, locked together, their sweat mingling, their muscular torsos desperately pounding against each other over and over again. “Fuck me,” he murmured. “Deeper!” He caught a glimmer of a new kind of pleasure deep inside him, almost like he was sensing the beginning of an orgasm in two separate parts of his body.

Suddenly, his whole body tightened. A lightning bolt of pleasure ripped upward from his groin, causing his cock to erupt and spasm. He jammed his mouth further down, fighting the urge to gag, letting his lips graze against the thick adolescent patch of curly black hair at the base. A flood of warm liquid gushed down his throat — once, twice... he lost count after six. At last, he slumped to the floor, absolutely spent, on the verge of blacking out.

“Joey?” called a voice from down the hall. “Are you alright, son? Did you drop something?”

“No, Dad!” he called, catching his breath. He quickly stood up, his half-wilted erection spilling another thick dollop onto the carpet, then cleared his throat. “Just, ah, putting a book back on the shelf.”

“You really should get some sleep,” called a voice outside his door. “It’s almost midnight.”

The boy pulled up his pants and quickly buttoned them up, then slipped on a loose long-sleeved T-shirt. He quickly unlocked the door and leaned out into the hallway.

His father stared at him curiously. “You alright, Joey? I hope you didn’t pick up a flu bug while you were out early this morning.”

“No — actually, I feel great. But I’m really starving. OK if I make myself a snack downstairs?”

“Sure. Just don’t make a mess.”

“And put the dishes in the dishwasher!” called his mother, overhearing the conversation from the master bedroom. “Especially if it’s another one of those messy protein drinks.”

“No problem, mom.”

Joey checked his groin to make sure the bulges were completely hidden, then hurried downstairs. I’m gonna need all the protein I can get, he thought. Especially if I can’t get this dick of mine under control.

§ § § § §

The sales clerk at the Sports Authority store on West Sunset Road had assured Joey and his father this was the best weight set they carried. “On sale now for $395,” he said. “There’s nothing better outside of a real fitness club. And this will cost you a lot less than a year’s gym membership.”

Joey tried a couple of quick barbell arm curls. “This is too light,” he said, dropping it back on the stand with a metallic thud. “Can we go a little heavier? Maybe go to two 25’s?”

The clerk gave him a curious look, then squeezed his arm through his thick shirt. “Whoa, kid! You must already be lifting.”

Joey glanced over at his father, who was absent-mindedly going through some flyers on the table. Luckily, he wasn’t paying attention. “Never mind about that,” he said quietly, slipping the salesman another $200. “Do me a favor and double the free weight plates. And don’t let my father know — it’s sort of a surprise.”

The man winked. “Got it. We’ll just total out the invoice at $395. No problem.”

“Thanks.”

The delivery truck showed up three hours later at noon, right on schedule, and the men loaded everything out and helped him set it up the weights and the bench in the garage. Joey had spent several hours at dawn moving around the boxes, preparing enough space for two people to comfortably work out. They’d have to keep the roll-up door open, due to the lack of air conditioning, but other than that, the makeshift gym would do for now.

Promptly at 1PM, Michael rode up on his bike, hopped off, leaned it against the garage door, then walked inside and whistled appreciably.

“Not bad,” the boy said, inspecting the gleaming weight set. “In fact, it looks great.”

“It should be,” Joey said with a grin. “That’s about six hundred bucks’ worth of weights, plus the bench. And I got this book.”

Michael took it from him and snorted. “‘Weight Training for Dummies’? You gotta be kidding.”

The boy shrugged. “They didn’t exactly have much of a selection at the store. Let’s just come up with a workout routine for today, then get some more info from the net later on.”

Joey sat down on the bench and began to lean back. His friend stopped him.

“Hey, listen,” Michael began. “You really pissed me off on the phone last night. I was all hot and... well, you know. I really needed to do it.”

“Jesus, Michael. Call somebody else when you need phone sex. There’s 800 numbers for that stuff. And porn sites. And don’t forget we’re both still grounded.”

The blond boy glared at him. “I thought you were my friend.”

Joey returned the glare. “Yeah, I thought so, too — until you practically raped me last night. Twice, unless I lost count. And that’s not even counting the blowjob.”

Michael’s face reddened. “I didn’t know what I was doing. That was... it was like another guy was pulling the strings.” He leaned forward and gently squeezed his friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that happened. But you gotta admit: you didn’t mind at the time.”

Joey turned away and thought for a moment. In the heat of passion, it had been amazing. And he did find his friend attractive. Was it wrong?

Finally, the boy smiled. “Alright,” he said. “Maybe it wasn’t completely rape. But you definitely owe me one. It’s your turn next time.”

Michael grinned. “I was gonna suggest that.”

Joey flicked his eyebrows. “And I’ll prove to you my cock is bigger than yours, too.”

His friend guffawed. “You keep dreamin’,” he said. “Alright. He who has the biggest cock gets to fuck the other. Deal.”

Joey grinned ear to ear as they shook hands then bopped their knuckles together. “Oh, I like this bet already. Now, shut up and lift.”

They began to struggle with the heavy bar, which was loaded down with about 135 pounds of barbell plates.

Less than half a block away, a man sat in a white Chevy cargo van, adorned with a large blue sign: “Chet’s Swimming Pool Service — Serving the Greater Las Vegas/Henderson Area Since 1992.” He glanced at an image of the boys in the open garage through his dashboard monitor, which displayed a video signal from the truck’s almost-invisible roof-mounted camera, then hit a button to sharpen the focus.

He pinged the walkie-talkie through the coiled cord in his right ear. “You getting all this?”

“Yeah. Continue surveilling the subjects. We’ll keep the satellite positioned for the next 12 hours, in case they try to leave the city again.”

“Any further instructions?”

There was a brief burst of static. “No. Report if there’s any more activity. Keep a low profile. We’ll send in relief at 6PM.”

“Got it.” The man clicked off the walkie, then zoomed in on the camera. Damn, he thought. Get a load at the arms on that kid.

“What is this all about?” he muttered to himself.

Chapter 4: Mind Over Muscle

The boys progressed steadily as the week drew on. By the weekend, Mr. and Mrs. Hartford were impressed enough by Joey’s industriousness and discipline, they cautiously agreed to end his grounded status.

“But mind you, there’s still a curfew in effect over the summer,” warned his mother. “9PM sharp — and not one minute later.” She paused, then looked at the kitchen floor, which gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. That’s odd, she thought. I don’t recall it looking this clean yesterday.

The boy grinned, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, then dashed out the back door. “Thanks, mom!” he called over his shoulder. “I’m gonna go over to Michael’s house and hang out over there. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Don’t cause any trouble!” she said in a loud voice, then curiously watched her son leap on his bike and pedal off down the driveway. Why would he wear a baggy shirt in this kind of heat, she thought, furrowing her brow. Crazy kids. She closed the door and inched the kitchen thermostat down another two degrees.

§ § § § §

Joey soared past the street marker, then made a sharp left turn, taking a road that led across town to the trailer park. Michael had agreed to meet him at Dr. Noble’s place, where the scientist was going to “go over a few things,” as he put it.

The sweat stung in Joey’s eyes, but he ignored it. For the first time in his life, he felt like he’d tapped into an almost unlimited source of energy. He was never tired; he felt like he could practically fly on the bike. He ratcheted the bike into a higher gear, then took it up to 40MPH. Incredible, he thought, the hot desert wind whipping past his face, the world zooming by in a brilliant blur.

Suddenly, there was a large brown shape lumbering on his right. Without even thinking, he instantly banked left and made an impossible maneuver, flipping the bike sideways into the air, rocketing to the side and missing the UPS truck by mere inches, balancing on a narrow street curb for twenty feet, then hurtling in a sharp loop and back down to the asphalt. It was the kind of stunt you’d normally see only at a BMX championship, never on a city street.

“Jesus!” hollered the driver, slamming on his brakes, sending a huge pile of packages behind him tumbling to the floor. He mopped his face, then scowled at the bicyclist as the boy pedaled away. “Better watch it, kid!”

“Sorry!” called Joey, instantly apologetic. He carefully applied the brakes and slowed down to a more-manageable 20MPH. “Gotta watch out for that,” he muttered. It’d been four days since he’d even been on the bike, three since... well, since his transformation. The seat felt different on his butt; without the extra padding of fat he used to have, the seat seamed to mold itself to his build and felt far more comfortable. He glanced down at his jeans, wondering how his powerful bare thighs and calves would look as they strained, pumping the pedals furiously. Very hot, he thought, then shifted his position and tried to get his thickening cock under control. Down, boy. There’ll be time for that later.

At last, he bore his bike on a long curve to the right and bounded up American Pacific Drive, then turned into the bumpy dirt and gravel road that led to Trailer Estates. He skidded his bike to a stop near the front door, leaning his bike next to Michael’s Haymaker.

“Dude!” called a familiar voice. It was his friend, chugging down a protein shake. “’Bout F-in’ time you got here.” He finished it off with a short burp. “Man, these are good. You want one? There’s more in the blender.”

“Just had one before I left,” Joey said, hopping up the step and into the trailer, then closed the door behind him and plopped himself down in a nearby dining room chair. He looked around. “Where’s Dr. Noble?”

“The Doc’s off on a reconnaissance mission — at least, that’s what he told me. Said he had some stuff hidden away in storage. He’ll be back in another 15 minutes.”

Joey nodded, then grabbed a large plastic mug and filled it with the remnants from the blender. “Alright. In that case, I’ll go for one.”

The air conditioner kicked in, grinding a low-frequency rumble that vibrated through the double-wide trailer, sending out a cool mist of air through the living room.

Michael leaned back, fanning himself. “Gotta be over 110 outside,” he said, pulling off his thick shirt.

“Hey,” cautioned Joey, as he wiped his mouth. “Noble said not to let anybody see our bodies for at least a couple months — at least not until we have that ‘home weightlifting’ cover story under control. Plausible deniability, right?”

Michael disregarded him, then used the shirt to mop up his sweaty chest. He tossed the damp shirt behind him, then made a pose, causing the muscles to swell and thicken. Striations sprang up like a cobweb between his pectorals, and he ran his hand across the skin. “Whoa,” he said. “Between the serum and the workouts, I’m lookin’ great,” he said. “Whaddya think?”

Joey glanced up and grinned. “Not much different than me,” he said. “Look.” He pulled off his shirt in one smooth motion, tossed it over his head, then struck a similar pose.

“You don’t know even how to stand,” his friend taunted. “I read about it on the net. Check this out.” He stood sideways, then took a deep breath, held his arms back and pulled one arm up. “This is called ‘side chest.’ Looks cool, huh?”

Joey nodded in agreement; his friend did look impressive. “Yeah,” he said, “but I’ve got better abs. Can you believe these?” He leaned forward slightly and contracted as hard as he could.

“Jesus! You weren’t kidding. That’s gotta be a six-pack.”

“Eight-pack,” Joey corrected, feeling the horizontal ridges across his flat, smooth stomach. It was a far cry from the thick inner tube he’d carried around his gut for the past few years.

“You look totally hot,” Michael said in a low, throaty growl. “I could totally eat you up.”

Joey laughed. “You didn’t get enough yesterday? I thought my mom was gonna hear us for sure.”

The other boy’s face reddened at the memory. He initially hadn’t liked the idea of being on the receiving end, but a deal was a deal. And much as he hated to admit it, Joey had beaten him in the dick department — but only by half an inch.

“Be glad she didn’t,” he muttered. “I’m just glad I’m self-healing. If you’d shoved that thing of yours inside anybody else, it would’ve required major surgery.”

“True.” Joey turned sideways. His pants were bulging out comically, his erection tenting out from his crotch like something out of a satirical cartoon. “But I think you still liked it.”

Michael grinned. “Yeah. By the way, I discovered something last night.”

“Now what?”

“Something new.”

Joey stared at him expectantly.

“I can come without touching myself,” Michael said with a sly smile.

“No way.”

“Way. Pull your pants down. Check this out.”

Joey kicked off his sneakers, then slipped his pants and underwear off in one smooth motion, leaving the clothes in a pile on the floor. Both boys stood together, their muscular torsos glistening with sweat, their erections throbbing and pulsing upwards. Joey reached out to caress his friend’s penis, but Michael slapped his hand away.

“Hey!”

“I told you, no touching,” Michael warned. “Just think of the sexiest thing you can imagine. Then concentrate on your body. Every inch of it.”

Joey looked down. His cock was straining upwards, casting a dark shadow on the carpeted floor. His muscular chest heaved and his nipples flared. He felt a sweet shudder of pleasure begin. He reached out to rub his chest.

“No,” whispered Michael. “I told you —*no hands. Just stand there. Look at me if you want.”

They were as rigid as statues, though their erections bobbed with a life of their own. The young teens began to pant slightly, their beefy young chests heaving, their eyes glued to each other.

Joey felt a trickle of sweat work its way down the deep groove between his pectoral muscles, then down to his powerful stomach and into the thin boyish tufts that sprouted a few inches below his smooth belly-button. He felt like he could sense growing waves of heat coming off Michael’s body.

Jesus, he thought, staring at his friend. We’re so much alike now — like a Greek mural featuring the gods of Mount Olympus.

Michael stared back, his mouth slightly open. He licked his lips and Joey felt another shiver of impending pleasure.

He let out an involuntary moan.

“Yeah,” the other boy whispered. “You’re definitely feelin’ it. Now, tense up your body. Flex your muscles. Show me what you got.”

Automatically, Joey curled his arms slightly beside him. His biceps leapt up, roughly the size and shape of baseballs, and thick creases of definition criss-crossed his chest and stomach. His meaty torso was in an exaggerated V-shape, as narrow as a boy’s around his hips, but radically winding outwards to his extraordinarily-wide man-sized shoulders, closely resembling that of a world-class gymnast. His chest muscles began to ripple and inflate, arching upwards slightly, and the veins in his arms became slightly engorged, revealing a thin web of visible purple lines that throbbed at the surface. His cock gave a brief lurch and his balls begin to tighten. Their pulses quickened.

Both boys raised their arms in the classic double-biceps pose, each a mirror image of the other. Their bodies shook slightly, straining with the effort, every tendon and sinew visible in the afternoon light.

The air in the trailer seemed to inch up several degrees. Their bodies glimmered with a thin sheen of sweat, exaggerating their masculinity.

“God,” Joey said. He began to gasp, feeling momentarily lightheaded, then curled his toes in anticipation of the waves of pleasure that were beginning to rumble in his groin.

“Hold back if you can,” Michael said through gritted teeth. “Just a little while longer.”

“Can’t,” he said. “Oh, FUCK!”

Joey cried out as his cock spasmed and shot out a thick white stream that arced over the floor, splattering near his friend’s foot. His hips bucked uncontrollably as he shot again, and again.

Almost immediately, Michael grabbed his own erection and gave it a few quick strokes with both hands, then let out a loud groan. Their twin orgasms shot through the air, intermingling like strands of rope, the electric pleasure rocketing through them like a thunderbolt, over and over again in sharp waves that finally begin to subside.

A final splat grazed Joey’s right side, leaving a warm trail that trickled down his chest and abs. He dizzily fell down to his knees, then leaned over and held his body up on one muscular arm, catching his breath. “Jesus,” he said with a wheeze. “I never had one that good before. And I didn’t even touch it.” He looked up at his friend and grinned. “You cheated.”

Michael shrugged, then wiped off the residue on his hand. “Sorry. I was only a few seconds away, and I couldn’t let you finish by yourself, could I?”

“That was... that was really, really great.”

His friend nodded. “Yeah. And it was all 100% mental, too. I got the idea two nights ago when me and mom were eating dinner in the kitchen.”

“While your mother was there? Sicko.”

“Shut up! She didn’t even notice. She was busy readin’ the paper and the TV was on. I looked up at the screen and saw some hot chick... before I knew it, I was hard as a rock, then a minute later I was shooting down my pants leg. I never even took my hands off the dinner table. Total stealth mode.”

Suddenly, Joey froze and cocked his ear, turning slightly towards the window. “Shit. Noble’s coming up the drive. I can hear his car — it’s less than a block away.”

“Quick,” Michael said, peeling off a long roll of paper towels from the kitchen cabinet. “Gotta get rid of the evidence.”

“How do you get me in these messes?” Joey retorted, frantically mopping up several thick white globs near their feet. “Next time, let’s spread out some newspapers, OK?”

A minute later, Noble entered the room, carrying a cardboard box. The two boys sat at the table, fully clothed, casually clicking buttons on their PSP’s.

Joey’s device blared a trumpet fanfare. “Ha! I won that one.” He turned to the old man. “Hi, Dr. Noble. Sorry I’m a little late. You... you said you had something important to tell us?”

“Yes,” the man said, closing the door behind him and setting down the box on the kitchen table. He reached in and pulled out some thin black plastic squares about 5” on each edge, then blew off some sand from one side. “I was able to retrieve a few of the floppy disks from the backup facility.”

Michael gave him a concerned stare. “I hope you avoided those Rambo guys with the helicopter.”

“I knew of another entrance, an access tunnel used only for maintenance personnel. There were no alarms there, and I’m certain I wasn’t followed. We’re under the radar for now.”

Noble walked across the room to a modern laptop on the desk, reached in a drawer, then pulled out an ancient-looking gray metal box attached to a long USB cable. “I’m going to try to retrieve some information on this disk — if we can get it to read. After more than 20 years, I’m skeptical, but it’s worth a try.” As the machine clicked and whirred, Noble narrowed his eyes and sniffed the living room’s dusty air. “Do you boys smell something?”

“Smell what?” Joey kept his voice steady, but momentarily gulped. He felt a thin patch of residual wetness trickle down his thigh and prayed it wouldn’t soak through to his sweatpants.

“Nothing. Ah — yes, here’s the file. It’s a very old Lotus 1-2-3 spreadsheet, but I believe I can convert it.” After a couple of clicks, he nodded. “Yes. This utility will convert it to Excel.” He leaned back as the computer screen flashed a few times, then rows of boxes and numbers spilled down across the display. “Incredible, isn’t it?” he marveled. “The data of over two decades ago lives on.”

“What are these?” Michael said, taking one of the loose disks out of its paper sleeve and examining it curiously.

“Those were 5-1/4” floppy disks,” Noble replied, gently prying it from the boy’s hands. “State of the art for 1988, but somewhat delicate.”

“What – no thumb drives or DVD-Rs?”

The man harrumphed. “Hardly. We were fortunate to store 360 kilobytes on one of these — a fraction of a megabyte. But more than enough for these files.” He pointed to the screen. “More than two dozen scientists died in order to create this research.”

Just then, Michael’s stomach let out a growl.

Noble raised an eyebrow. “I hope the two of you have rigidly followed the diet I assigned you. I can’t overemphasize the importance of the need for you to eat. The alternative could be catastrophic.”

Joey shuddered. He’d been awake during most of his transformation on Tuesday night, and it had been sheer agony. The last thing I want is to ever have to go through that again, he thought.

“I had to sneak off and have three Big Macs just on my way over,” he confessed. “I almost inhaled them in, like, two minutes.”

The doctor snorted. “Next time, go for the double Quarter Pounder with cheese. That has twice the protein of a Big Mac. There’s more fat, of course, but your body will automatically expel that through normal body functions. Though you’d be better off consuming foods higher in protein, like pure beef, eggs, beans, milk and tuna fish.”

“Whoa — I could totally dig a Subway tuna right now,” Michael said.

“But the fat—” began Joey.

“Won’t matter,” interrupted Noble. “All that will be eliminated by your heightened metabolism. Speaking of which, let me measure your bodies.”

He opened a nearby black doctor’s bag, which was filled with calipers and measuring tapes. After a few minutes, he checked a few figures, then entered them into a database on his laptop. “Excellent,” he said. “Michael, your overall body fat is still barely 6%. And you, Joey, are at 8%. Still well under average.”

The blond boy held out his arm and gave it a twist. “I can see all the veins down my forearm,” he said. “It looks kinda freaky.”

“Not all that unusual for an athlete your size,” the doctor said, checking the measurement a second time. “Nearly sixteen inches for your biceps. That’s exceptional for your age. You are continuing on a workout program?”

“Yes,” Michael said. “I memorized one book, then we got some more advanced routines from the web.”

Noble nodded in agreement. “Good. I would suggest the classic ‘push/pull’ routine. Biceps and back twice a week; then chest, triceps, and shoulders the other two days. At least one day for legs. I would avoid training for more than about one hour per session. Your bodies will recover very quickly, unlike those of normal humans.”

“What about sit-ups?”

“Those you can do every day,” the old man explained. “Your stomach muscles are already responding well to the exercise. I can already see some definition that wasn’t there four days ago. And you should run at least one or two miles every day, rain or shine.”

Joey shook his head. “Won’t all these workouts make us too big?”

“No. Normally, workouts stimulate the muscles, causing muscular hypertrophy.”

“Bigger muscles?”

“Exactly. But with the Cerulean formula already taking care of that, your workouts are actually helping control the muscles from growing too rapidly. Without this stimulation, the muscle cells would tend to grow out of control. The exercises are mainly for burning off your excess energy and providing a logical excuse for your relatively-massive size.”

Michael flexed once or twice, pleased to see the extra ridge in his bicep. “And I think the workouts give us better shape, too, I think,” he said, tracing his finger along a thick vein that led all the way up to his shoulder. “I don’t think this was here a few days ago.”

“All the better reason to keep your clothes on at all times,” the doctor said, pulling the shirt onto the boy’s back. “We’re still not ready to have your families glimpse your current muscular state, lest they become alarmed by your appearance.” He turned to Joey. “Speaking of which, did my idea work for your braces?”

The black-haired boy nodded, then reached into his mouth and unclasped a piece of twisted metal, then withdrew it and held it up. “I was able to super-glue enough pieces together to at least cover the front part of my mouth,” he said. “I only snap it in place when I’m outside my bedroom. My next orthodontist adjustment isn’t for another six weeks.”

Noble nodded approvingly. “Yes. By then, I think you can just walk in and show the dentist the pieces of braces and say you don’t want them anymore.”

Joey’s eyebrows shot up. “He’ll never buy that.”

“Tell him you did it yourself. Once he sees the results of your teeth, he won’t question it. I’m more concerned about your lack of fillings and occlusal caries. Let me take a look.”

He peered into the boy’s mouth, then sighed. “Absolutely perfect,” he said, frowning. “Any cavities you may have previously have had have self-repaired. That will definitely cause some suspicion. I’ll make a note to have your dental records replaced.”

“What?”

The man shrugged. “I was in government service long enough to know a few people who can handle dirty tricks. Substituting dental records with modified copies is trivial, especially in this computer age. Email me the name and address of your dentist, and I’ll have it taken care of well before your appointment.”

Michael held up his hand. “Alright, we got the dental hygiene lesson for the day, Doc. What was this other life-and-death stuff you needed to tell us?”

Noble typed in some more keystrokes into his computer, then spun his chair around to face him. “We haven’t gone over all the risks yet. The changes in your genetic structure... they’re quite profound. Your muscularity is only part of it.”

“I know,” Joey said. “I’ve been reading the net non-stop for the last four days. I’ve got like instant replay in my brain. Half of Wikipedia is right up here,” he said, tapping his forehead. “Give me another week, I think I’ll have memorized the Encyclopedia Britannica, Roget’s Thesaurus, IMDB, and a few more.”

“You must be cautious about displaying your knowledge to others,” cautioned the doctor. “If they’re aware of your intelligence — your ability to memorize vast amounts of facts and data, your expanded IQs — this will make you much too visible a target.”

“A target? So what if my grades improve at school.”

Noble leaned forward. “Not if you wind up knowing more than your teachers,” he said.

“Fat chance that’ll happen with me,” Michael retorted, leaning back and putting his large feet on the living room table. “I’m lucky to make straight C’s — B-minuses at best.”

“And you should stay that way. Every time you take a test — make sure you miss a few questions, deliberately. Don’t make it look too easy.”

“Check. Keep up the dumb jock act. What else?”

Dr. Noble cleared his throat, then looked a little nervous. “Then there’s the issue of sex.”

The boys both winced.

The man waved his hands. “I could care less what the two of you do with each other. But be very careful of sex with others. Your sexual drives are very powerful, but you need to learn to control your impulses.”

“I’ve had to take care of myself about five times a day,” Joey admitted, looking away with some embarrassment. “Basically once every four or five hours.”

“Got ya beat there,” Michael retorted. “No pun intended.”

“That’s fine,” the doctor continued, getting up from his chair and pacing back and forth. “But you scrupulously need to avoid having any sexual contact with others.”

“Why?” Joey asked, concerned. “Are we carrying some disease? Some kind of super-AIDS?”

Noble shook his head. “No. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Your immune system is better than perfect. The problem are your pheromones: they’ll act as a sexual magnet to anyone with whom you get... involved. It’s particularly strong with your perspiration.”

Michael sniffed his underarm. “Seems OK to me.”

“But not to a regular human. The control serum I’ve given you will reduce its effects by 90%. But if, say, your sweat gets on someone else — particularly someone of your age or older — they’ll want to rip your clothes off and make love to you on the spot.”

The blond teen chortled. “Whoa — so I’m gonna be more popular than ever!”

Noble put his hand on his shoulder. “Listen to me, Michael. I’ve seen nurses and trained soldiers suddenly become nearly psychotic with jealous rage, practically killing one another just to get to an Ultra for sexual purposes. Having girls — or boys, for that matter — compete for your attention is one thing. But this will potentially get into a very difficult area. This was one of the main reasons our test subjects had to be segregated from the population.”

Joey nodded. “OK. So we’ll lay off in the sex area until you can get this under control. Anything else?”

“Yes. Whatever you do, don’t have sex with a woman.”

Michael snorted. “Fat chance for Joey. I think he’s only into guys.”

The black-haired boy glared at him. “Shut up. Am not!”

Noble held up his hand. “At least, not for now. Number one, conventional condoms won’t stop your ejaculations. They’re simply not strong enough.”

“Or large enough,” Joey said, matter-of-factly.

Noble raised an eyebrow. “And,” he continued, “your emissions are an order of magnitude more fertile than those of a normal human.”

“What?”

The scientist turned, then hit a few keys on his laptop and showed them the screen. “Look at this chart. Normally, the chances of a mature adult having sex with a woman resulting in a pregnancy are somewhere around 22%, assuming the woman is having the right menstrual cycle. Now, look at this.” He hit a few more keystrokes. The chart suddenly turned blood red, with several bars peaking all the way to the top. “By our calculations, your sperm could conceivably fertilize every available egg in the female’s fallopian tubes.”

Michael’s jaw dropped open. “So this would be like Octo-Mom, times three.”

“Or worse. At the very least, it would subject her to significant health risks. Having to give some poor teenaged girl an abortion to kill two dozen fetuses...” — he shook his head and made a vague gesture — “...would be extremely traumatic. Plus it would attract far too much attention from the medical community.”

“Alright,” Joey said. “Eat more. Act stupid. Keep our clothes on. Avoid knocking anybody up.” He glared at the doctor. “Anything else?”

Noble switched off the screen and looked away, then hesitated.

“What?” asked Michael. “You said we’d be alright, as long as you gave us that shot once a week, right?”

The man nodded, but didn’t respond. An uncomfortable silence followed.

“Look, we’re not going crazy, like the previous volunteers,” Joey said, trying to focus on the details of the final report. “I’ve actually felt fine — well, except for having to avoid letting my folks figure out I don’t sleep anymore. I spend a lot of time on the net.”

“That’s part of it,” Noble said finally. “It’s time. Time itself is your enemy.”

Realization finally dawned on the two boys.

“We’re going to die,” said Michael, in a low voice. “The Cerulean formula will kill us. How... how much longer do we have?”

Noble looked away. “I’m not certain. We never had test subjects who were under 18 before, let alone adolescents. I haven’t yet had time to run the simulations on this computer. It will take me several weeks to import the old files to new computer-modeling software, which I’m still in the processing of designing. Once I’ve done that, though, the calculations should take only a few hours.”

“What’s your best guess?” Joey asked, fighting back tears. He was almost in a state of shock. For the past four days, he’d thought having this body was like a gift. He was counting down the weeks before school started in September — imagining the faces of the other students who used to taunt him for being a little piss-ant geek, seeing their jaws drop once they glimpsed his new muscular body. The injection was going to change his life, make him popular, make the best-looking kids in school accept him as one of them. But now...

“Please, Dr. Noble — when are we going to die?” he repeated, staring deep into the man’s tired eyes.

The scientist shook his head. “My guess is, in your current state: five years — seven at the most. If we had allowed the Cerulean formula to transform your bodies to a pure Ultra state... no more than a year.”

Michael began to sob. “But that’s impossible!” he wailed. “There was nothing about that in the report.”

“That was Major-General Cartwright’s doing,” the older man insisted. “‘Putting a positive spin’ on the experiment, as he put it. We kept the test subjects’ limited lifespan quiet, avoided even touching on it in the report.”

Joey felt slightly numb. “What about that part in section D about the Revision 11 formula: ‘Side-effects have been almost completely eliminated to acceptable levels.’” The boy paused and wiped his eyes, then stared at the scientist. “I wouldn’t exactly call death ‘acceptable,’ Dr. Noble.”

“Neither would I. But the volunteer subjects knew the risks. They were willing to die for their country.”

“But we’re only thirteen!”

Noble clicked his laptop screen shut. “Listen to me. I have several leads on a possible cure. There’s been two decades of additional genetic discoveries since the Cerulean project ended. I think I can get access to those results and possibly unlock the key that will avoid acute myocyte failure.”

“What’s that?”

The scientist’s face was drawn. “Every cell in your entire body will eventually break down, rapidly aging within a day... 48 hours at the most. You’ll have the appearance of someone hundreds of years old. It’s very painful... like a house of cards, collapsing from the inside out.”

“Vampires,” Michael said almost in a whisper. “Like vampires crumbling to dust in the sun.”

Noble thought for a moment. “Yes. That’s a very apt metaphor.”

Both boys were trembling. Joey sniffled slightly and wiped his nose with his sleeve.

Noble stood up. “I wanted to be honest with both of you, just so you knew the terrible risks with your condition. But I believe this will be ultimately solvable. Until then, I want you to live every day to the fullest. This cellular collapse is only a theory — and in your case, I’m certain it’s still years away. It won’t happen gradually, but there will be some clues. I’ll continue to monitor your health every week. We’ll know immediately if any of the warning signs are there.”

He clapped Michael on the back. “And in the meantime, you’ll both be as healthy as a horse.”

“Hung like one, too,” Joey muttered. “Not that we’ll get a chance to use it.”

The doctor shrugged. “I can probably synthesize the anti-pheromone agent in the next few weeks,” he said. “If you find someone with whom you need to make love — someone safe — I can probably at least eliminate the psychotic attraction factor, and reduce the risk of pregnancy to a normal state.”

“Sex and death,” Joey mused, momentarily lost in thought. Those are the two biggest problems we have to worry about.

“Exactly,” Noble said. He paused, then gave the boy a curious look. “Sex and death. You know, Joey, you’ve given me an idea: it’s possible the two are related. I’m going to make a note to see if there might be a way to solve both genetic problems simultaneously. I believe they’re related in some way. The samples I took today may give me those clues.”

The boys sat in silence. This was not the news they expected to hear. They slowly got up to their feet.

“Listen to me,” the scientist said, walking them both to the door. “You’re still alive and well — for the moment. I’ll do everything I can to keep you that way. But you have to trust me for now. Go home. Don’t worry about any of this.”

“Easy for you to say,” muttered Michael.

The man whirled on him. “You think I don’t know how you feel?” he snapped. “I told you before: the blood of more than 230 men and women are on these hands. I’ve had to live with this for more than two decades.”

“Two more will hardly matter,” Joey said in a small voice.

“But you do!” bellowed the man.

Both boys shrank back, momentarily startled by the doctor’s flash of temper.

“You do matter — in some ways, more than any life on the planet at this moment!” The doctor stopped himself, then made a dismissive gesture. “I’m sorry. I’ve... I’ve slept very little since Tuesday night. I’m not going to rest until I can find a way to save you.”

“Hey. It’s OK. We understand, doc,” Michael said in a low voice. “I know you’re... you’re doing everything you can.”

The man nodded. “I am. I truly am.” He opened the door. “Go back to your families. Keep your bodies hidden as much as you can, as we discussed. I’ll call you in a couple of days. Starting on Monday, I’ll be giving you weekly injections with the control serum. It’s possible that over a period of time, I can reverse the deleterious effects of the Cerulean formula to the point where we can extend your lives another five years... perhaps ten.”

Joey hesitated. “Could we ever have a normal life?”

Noble considered the question. “In most respects? No. In terms of lifespan... it’s theoretically possible, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. But I’m going to try another approach, using the latest available research. That may put us on the road for a cure.”

“I wouldn’t take it if I had to give up this body,” Michael said, momentarily flexing his bicep, then quickly rolling down the sleeve.

The man grabbed him gently but firmly by the back of the neck and pulled him closer. “Not even if it cut fifty years off your lifespan?”

Michael and Joey gulped. Joey had always wanted to avoid getting pushed around, and fantasized for years of having the body of an athlete. Michael had been among the most athletic kids in school, but dreamed of being a champion. They glanced guiltily at each other.

The doctor rolled his eyes. “I’m beginning to think the insanity has already taken hold of you.”

“No, no,” protested Joey. “Maybe you can come up with a compromise. Maybe the cellular destruction—”

“Acute myocyte failure,” interrupted Michael.

The scientist and teen both stared at him, momentarily taken aback.

“What?” he said. “Can’t the dumb jock catch on to this scientific bullshit a little bit?

Noble raised an eyebrow.

“—maybe we don’t have to be doomed,” Joey continued. “What if the cells self-repaired at that point... replenished themselves. Maybe it’s like cancer and all you have to do is stabilize the cells and slow down the reaction. Like you did with us, using the ice in the bathtub.”

The man looked around the trailer parking lot, which had several cars parked next to his own. A couple across the way was barbecuing some hot dogs, and some children nearby were jumping rope.

“Now’s not the time,” he said in a low voice. “Let me worry about it. Come back Monday night for your injection —*not a minute later than 8PM.”

“What, we’ll turn into pumpkins?” said Michael with a smirk.

Joey and Noble gave him a withering stare.

“Okay, okay, professor,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender as he sat on his bike. “Matter of life and death, muscular hyperplasia, cellular collapse, yada-yada... I get it.” He turned to his friend. “C’mon, douche — I’ll race ya home.”

Noble watched the two as they raced down the dirt road that led back to American Pacific Drive. Joey briefly glimpsed over his shoulder and the doctor gave him a slight nod.

I just hope you both aren’t truly doomed, the man thought, for all of our sake. He sadly shook his head and closed the trailer door behind him.

On the way home, the boys took care to keep their speed well under 15MPH. Any faster might attract too much attention; Joey felt a pang of guilt when he remembered the close call with the UPS truck earlier in the day. Gotta keep the muscles on the down-low, he reminded himself. Just like the doctor ordered.

As they wove down the circuitous path back to the Hartford residence, about two miles away, a team of workmen had just finished erecting a new ten-foot tall chain-link fence around the Black Mountain scrub brush. Three formidable rows of jagged concertina wire topped the fence, along with a yellow block wall and a new sign that warned “Danger: Hazardous Waste Area. Keep Out!” In the distance, workers with hazmat suits welded shut the underground hatch’s steel door, while a truck filled with debris and a rusted file cabinet lumbered down the dirt path and met gravel at the edge of the road. The driver waved to a uniformed soldier as he opened the gate, then shut it as the truck disappeared down Horizon Ridge Parkway.

The man wore a khaki uniform; a small embossed sign identified him as “Lt. K. Johnson,” of the “Joint Special Operations Command,” but without any specific military branch. He raised a walkie-talkie to his ear.

“Perimeter secured,” he said crisply. “Did we get confirmation from Noble?”

“Yes. We’re awaiting further information. When will the truck arrive at Nellis?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Good. Oh, and Lieutenant?”

The man flinched. “Yes, sir?”

“Shoot the next person who gets anywhere near Black Mountain.”

“Understood, General.”