From: lewj99@yahoo.com

BREAKOUT, PART 1
by JL <lewj99@yahoo.com>

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The voices came to him, far away, as if in a dream:

"...gave him a massive dose, should've lasted another hour..." "...Christ, 
look at the size'a those arms..." "...sure those restraints will hold?..." 
"...man, I doubt he'll cooperate..."

As he fought to regain consciousness in the vaguely futuristic-looking labs 
of GenTech industries, a flood of disjointed memories played through 
eighteen-year-old Benjamin Russell's head.  How he'd first come to the lab 
three years ago, a naive but powerfully built teenager responding to a 
mysterious e-mail.  How he'd agreed to take part in a highly experimental 
DNA-manipulation program designed to bolster muscle growth and density, with 
the results used (supposedly) to help people weakened by disease.  How he'd 
had to leave his family and friends in Texas to move closer to the lab in 
Virginia.  The thrill he'd gotten when the results first started showing, 
when his body exploded with hard, dense muscle and his strength first 
doubled, then tripled.  How the director of the program, Dr. Allen, had told 
Ben that his progress was better than anyone had hoped, that his body was 
adapting to the recombinant DNA with remarkable efficiency.  The shocked look 
on a technician's face when the then 17-year-old bench pressed five thousand 
pounds for the first time.

But over the past year, things had started to deteriorate.  Ben remembered 
much more clearly now as his vision began to return.  Dr. Allen had always 
promised Ben that he would be free to go when he turned 18, to move anywhere 
in the country provided he kept a low profile.  But in the months leading up 
to his eighteenth birthday, it had become obvious that GenTech had no 
intention of letting their prized possession just hop on a bus and leave 
town.  He was spending more time than ever in the lab, subject to an 
increasing variety of tests and endurance exams, injected with new hormone 
and DNA combinations.  One day, not too long ago, he had caught a glimpse of 
a confidential memo with the words 'Russian army', 'North Korea' and 
'continued negotiations' clearly visible.  Of course, he had long ago dropped 
any preconceptions that GenTech was out to better mankind or cure disease.  
He'd seen enough movies to know that shadowy corporations with names like 
GenTech usually had darker motives.

Ben had turned 18 two months ago, but still hadn't been given authorization 
to leave the program.  Dr. Allen kept giving a list of excuses - more tests 
needed to be done, they were near a breakthrough - which Ben knew were total 
bullshit.  Of course, he wasn't being kept prisoner, so he could have left at 
any time, but he had a suspicion they had implanted a tracking device in him.  
Besides, it was more fun to stay and mess around with GenTech, to demand an 
increasing number of stipulations in return for his future cooperation.  So 
far, he had asked for (and received) a Lincoln Navigator, a state-of-the-art 
stereo and DVD player, and daily access to the center's specially designed 
gym.  But Dr. Allen had apparently grown tired of the arrogant teenager's 
demands, and had decided to remind Ben just who was boss.  Earlier that day, 
he had sent four operatives in an armored truck to Ben's apartment to bring 
him in for a 'debriefing'.  They fired a nerve-gas canister in Ben's living 
room as he watched a college football game.  It would have paralyzed a normal 
man in seconds, but Ben had still been able to batter down the front door, 
overturn the lead agent's car and land a roundhouse punch that dented the 
truck's armor plating before collapsing.  It took all four agents to load him 
into the truck.

Ben remembered everything clearly now as his nerve-gas induced hangover began 
to subside.  Standing in front of him were three of the four agents who had 
taken him in, along with Dr. Allen.  Ben tried to move his arms, but 
couldn't.  Looking down, he saw that he was pinned against one of the steel-
plated walls, arms at his side, legs spread slightly, naked except for the 
boxers he had put on that morning.  

Steel restraints, at least four inches thick, encircled his massive biceps 
and forearms, pinning them to the wall, while even thicker restraints (at 
least six inches) pinned his redwood-sized quads.  No restraints covered his 
neck or face, so he looked around at the agents.  "Jus' tryin' to remember 
yer faces," he said groggily in his thick Texas drawl.  "For later."

The color drained from the agents faces, but Dr. Allen looked at them with a 
reassuring smile.  "Idle threats.  Don't worry, gentlemen, he poses no danger 
to you, or anyone else while he's here.  Now if you'll excuse us, Mr. Russell 
and I have some business to attend to."  The agents scurried away, obviously 
relieved to put a few blast doors between themselves and this angry, 
musclebound monster.

"So, Ben," Dr. Allen said in a patronizing tone.  "Here we are.  I'm sorry 
it's come to this, but you've left us with no other option.  You seem to have 
forgotten who's in charge here, who is responsible for your progress.  After 
today, there will be no more SUV's, no more DVD's.  In fact, your life in the 
outside world is over.  We have set up quarters for you in the lab.  Should 
you choose to cooperate, you will be rewarded.  If you don't...well, let's 
just say we have ways of forcing you, ways your vaunted muscles can't save 
you from."

A smile crept across Ben's handsome, scruffily-bearded face.  He had 
suspected this day would come, that his demands would push them too far and 
his cooperation would become mandatory.  In fact, he had been counting on it.  
He craved a confrontation, to see what they would throw up against him.  What 
they thought would stop him.  In the past, they had always underestimated 
him, thought they could control him, but this time they were wrong.

He was going to make them pay.

"So what do you say, Ben?" Dr. Allen asked, walking to a control panel in the 
corner.  "Are you with us, or not?"

"Fuck you, Doc," Ben answered with a sneer.  "I'll bust this place to shit if 
you don't let me walk right outta here."

Dr. Allen gave a look of mock sympathy.  "Wrong answer.  Those restraints 
aren't only designed to hold you in place, they also contain powerful 
electrical currents which I control with this dial.  

Here's a taste of the lowest setting."  Allen turned the dial a quarter of 
the way, and immediately Ben's entire body flared with searing pain.  
"AAARRRRR!!!" Ben yelled as through clenched teeth as every one of his 
genetically-enhanced muscles contracted in an incredible display of dense, 
striated tautness.

Allen turned the knob back to zero.  "There are three higher settings, Ben.  
Don't make me use them."

Ben looked at the doctor with growing rage, heaving like a bull, his chiseled 
pecs dancing with pencil-thick striations.  "I asked you, real nice, to let 
me go," he drawled, "but now you've pissed me off."  With a low, rumbling 
growl, Ben clenched his fists and flexed every muscle in his monstrous arms, 
straining against the steel cuffs that held him captive.  Thick tendons and 
enormous veins rippled down the visible portion of his forearms, while a 
large eagle tattoo soared over the mounding granite of his right shoulder.

"I think you'll find escape is impossible," Dr. Allen intoned, as yet 
unworried by the fierce display of muscle.  "Those restraints are made of 
titanium-enhanced steel, designed to withstand thousands of pounds of 
pressure per square inch.  And just to be on the safe side, the walls of this 
room are constructed with steel-plated concrete, a foot thick, and the only 
way out is a vault door stronger than that you'll find in any bank.  Only 
Fort Knox could top it.  This place is bomb-proof, earthquake-proof, you name 
it."

"It...ain't...muscle...proof...asshole," Ben spat back.  His chest rumbled 
and expanded with testosterone-driven power, creating a deep chasm between 
his carved pecs.  Ben sucked in breath, causing his ridged, 8-pack abs to 
swell and contract, as he continued to pit his muscle against the steel 
restraints.  The cuff over his massive right biceps began to bend with a 
tinny squeal.  Hairline cracks opened up in the steel-plated wall as the 
left-bicep restraint began to distend as well, four inches of titanium-
reinforced steel struggling to contain the power in Ben's mighty arms.

"Very impressive," Allen said, looking a little nervous for the first time.  
"We may have underestimated you slightly, Mr. Russell."  With that, Allen 
turned the dial up to three-quarters, sending fire through every fiber in 
Ben's body.  His screams could be heard through half the building...but the 
screams of pain soon turned into a roar of rage.  Every hair on his short-
cropped head and beard stood straight up, giving him the look of a man being 
electrocuted, but he ignored the pain.  In fact, he grinned.  They thought 
they could defeat him with this mere machine?  That it stood a chance against 
his muscle?

Ben flexed his quads now, matching diamond-hard muscle against six inches of 
steel.  His biceps screamed in agony, but he kept straining, slowly wrenching 
the steel from the wall.  There was a low rumbling sound from within the wall 
as the hairline cracks widened and spread. 

Ben channeled his fury as the steel warped and twisted over his arms and 
quads.  He straightened his six-foot-four frame against the wall, using his 
back for leverage as he managed to move his pumped arms a half-inch from the 
wall.  

"No!  It isn't possible!"  Allen said frantically, turning the dial up to 
full.  The hum of electricity was overpowered by the sound of groaning steel 
as Ben kept pulling, straining, yanking, sensing the restraints were about to 
break.  Despite the pain, his thick cock began to swell against the fabric of 
his boxers, pushing down nearly all the way to the buckling right-quad 
restraint.  With one last, superhuman effort, Ben ripped the arm restraints 
out of the wall almost simultaneously, the previously solid steel flattened 
where it had met the peaks of his biceps and the tendons of his forearms.  
The muscle-wrecked restraints fell to the ground as Ben placed his massive 
hands against the wall and pushed hard, using his whole body to work against 
the leg restraints.  Ben savored the feel of six-inch thick steel bending 
steadily against his powerful quads, of thick channel bolts ripping out of 
the concrete.  The leg restraints snapped off, first the right, then the 
left, as the machine blew out in a shower of sparks.

Ben looked over at the shaken doctor, who had retreated to one corner. 
Never taking his eyes away from the cowering man, Ben lifted his arms and 
flexed his artillery-shell biceps, twenty-eight inches of pure man-power, the 
ghastly peaks stretching nearly halfway up his forearms.  An incredible 
network of veins crawled their way across his armor-thick chest, over his 
shoulders and down his arms.

"You thought you could control me?  You were wrong.  I'm my own man now, 
asshole," Ben smirked, making sure Allen took in every fiber, every tendon, 
every vein in his insanely pumped body.  "If you wanted a fight, pal, you got 
one.  Throw your best up against me."

Allen's eyes widened.  "Rest assured, we know..." He glanced over at the 
snapped metal restraints.  "...We are reasonably sure just what your 
capabilities are, and this room - along with the outer perimeter, have been 
designed to withstand them."

Ben just laughed.  "Sorry, doc, wrong again.  It's time I let you in on a 
little secret.  I've been holdin' out on ya' for the past year or so, 
underperforming on purpose on your pussy little strength and endurance tests, 
cuz I had a feeling you'd pull a stunt like this.  So the truth is, you don't 
have any fuckin' idea what I'm capable of." Ben leaned in close to the pale 
doctor.  "Ever heard the saying, 'Don't mess with Texas'?  Time to put a 
little longhorn muscle to work."

A few months ago, Allen would have dismissed Ben's rant as the product of a 
boastful, arrogant teenager, but there was no longer any doubt that Ben had 
the power to back it up.  Allen ran to the vault door, quickly punched in a 
code.  He looked over his shoulder, but Ben just stood impassively, sporting 
a perfect poker face.  Just to keep Allen guessing.

As soon as the door swung far enough outward, Allen slipped through, punching 
in another code on the other side.  The heavy door swung shut with amazing 
speed, and a series of loud clicks filled the air as the locking mechanisms 
took hold.  Faintly, from beyond the door, Ben could hear sirens go off.

He gave the doctor a five-second head start, then walked over to the door, 
emitting a low whistle.  "Shore looks solid.  Gonna be a shame to wreck such 
a nice piece of work."  In that he was sincere; Ben Russell came from a long 
line of builders and craftsmen, and could appreciate a job well done.  The 
door was ten feet tall and half again as wide, constructed of foot-thick, 
heavy cast iron.  There were no protrusions on the inside of the door, 
nothing he could get a handle on, and from the sounds of it, the locking bars 
had extended into both sides of the wall, the floor, and the ceiling.  
Impressive, to be sure...but it stood between Ben and the rest of the lab, so 
it had to come down.

Ben raised his arms above his head, joined his fists and RAMMED them home.  
The iron rang and dented, but gave no sign of budging.  Ben raised his arms 
again, his immense lats flaring nearly as wide as the door itself, and 
slammed his fists into the door once more.  The dent widened, but was still 
only half an inch deep.  Ben stepped back, stroking his beard, his eyes deep 
in thought.  He hadn't expected the door to put up such resistance.  With 
lightning speed, he slammed his shoulder into the door, twice, then three 
times.  The force of these jolts would have knocked over a small house, but 
still the vault door stayed maddeningly in place, a shallow depression the 
only indication of Ben's battering ram shoulder.

"Goddam, that fucker's built strong," Ben muttered to himself.  He backed up 
to the far wall, which was only twenty feet away, but still gave him enough 
room to pick up some speed.  Legs pumping furiously, he charged across the 
room.  The torturous sound of heavy muscle meeting heavy iron reverbrated 
throughout, as Ben plowed into the door.  This time he felt one of the 
locking mechanisms give, bending out of place with an audible squeal.  He 
smiled once again, an innocuous, almost innocent smile that looked completely 
out of place on his savage, 450-pound frame.  He was finally able to let 
loose, to test his limits, and the feeling was euphoric.

Ben tore across the room again, leaping and slamming into the door with his 
entire right side.  The collision creased the iron and sent a shockwave 
across the room.  Plaster rained down from the ceiling and cracks appeared in 
the cement floor as the locking mechanisms were damaged even further, thick 
steel rods being pulverized by Ben's teenage muscle.  The door itself was now 
bowing outward, like a tin can being squeezed at both ends, though the edges 
still held.

Figuring he had weakend the door enough, Ben moved in for the kill.  
Spreading his thick legs, he placed his hands on either side of the dented 
iron door and started pushing.  Dense globes of muscle exploded in his back, 
fighting each other for space as he dug his feet into the cement.  Triceps 
that looked like they were etched from solid marble sprang to life on Ben's 
arms, which poured their immense power into the cast-iron barrier.

"Unnnggghhhh...." he groaned, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his 
cock stirring once again.  After a half minute of this torture, the steel 
walls around the door began to buckle, and larger cracks opened up in the 
floor and ceiling.  Ben kept pushing the iron outward, reshaping it with a 
power greater than that of any foundry in Pittsburgh.

Deep within the wall there was a dull thud as one of the locking mechanisms 
ripped completely out of place, opening up chasms within the concrete.  The 
horrific sound of iron and steel being bent out of place echoed throughout 
the room...but it was music to Ben's ears.  

The ceiling above him opened up, raining down plaster that coated the tendons 
of his rippling shoulders and the double-lobed heads of his monster biceps.  
Ben's entire body screamed in agony, but he ignored it.  Finally he saw 
cracks of light appear around the mangled edges of the door...he was almost 
there.

"GRRR...URRR..." Ben roared, sounding uncannily like the Incredible Hulk as 
his feet broke through the floor's first layer, his writhing arms throbbing 
with dense, cast-iron muscle harder than that of the door.  The light around 
the edges grew brighter as Ben's inhuman power reached its peak.  The few 
remaining locking bars were now bent beyond the point of any stress they had 
been designed to handle, and pulled out of the wall with an agonized squeal.  
With a deep rumble and a pop, the locking mechanism in the floor gave way, 
cracking the already pitted cement even further.

Bellowing powerfully, Ben overcame the vault door's last pitiful bit of 
resistance, knocking it outward with a roundhouse punch.  Twelve inches of 
creased, mangled cast iron fell to the tiled floor with an enormous CLANG, 
which seemed to echo for minutes.  Twisted restraining bars stood out from 
the door's side in crazy patterns.  Ben stood over the door, continuing to 
bellow in triumph.  His cock was rigid now, straining the boxers to the point 
of bursting and coating the thin fabric with precum.  He noticed a 
surveillance camera on the wall to his left, and turned to face it.

"YA SEE THIS, ALLEN?  I BUSTED OUTTA YER FUCKIN' CAGE!  GOT SOME REAL POWER 
ON DISPLAY HERE!"  Pausing to collect his breath, he then spoke in a more 
deliberate tone.  "To Doc Allen, or anyone else who's watchin'...this ain't 
over.  You'd better get everyone the fuck outta here right now, cuz this bad 
boy's about to do some serious damage.  

Y'all picked the wrong guy to fuck with..."

END OF PART 1