BREAKOUT, PART 2
by JL <lewj99@yahoo.com>

Freed from the steel-and-concrete prison that had proven woefully 
inadequate against his young muscle, Ben paced the endless hallways of 
the GenTech labs, feeling not unlike a rat stuck in a maze. He had
spent much of the past three years in this building, but this section 
was unfamiliar to him; he guessed that he was somewhere near the 
middle of the sprawlingcomplex. Alarms blared incessantly around him, 
but Ben blocked the noise out as he lumbered down the hallways. Dense, 
perfectly-developed muscles, still pumped from the Herculean effort of 
knocking the vault door down, rippled up and down Ben's frame - damn 
near a quarter ton of muscle-beast, just waiting for an excuse to 
unleash his power.
       
"Aw, fuck," Ben muttered, stopping abruptly. The long corridor he had 
been following had hit a dead end; retracing his steps would have cost 
him even more time. "Looks like it's time for a little home
renovatin'" he drawled, the aw-shucks grin returning to his face.

Rearing back, Ben headbutted the wall in front of him, forcing open a 
yawning crack as bits of broken cement tumbled to the floor. A second 
headbutt cracked the wall all the way to the ceiling. Turning to his 
side, Ben rammed his right shoulder into the crack, pulverizing the 
cement and knocking rebar out of place as the crack widened into a 
gap. Reaching into the hole, Ben tore chunks of cement away with 
frightening speed, his back and biceps bulging anew. Finally, a
six-foot section of wall simply collapsed, tumbling into the next room 
in a cloud of dust.

Ben kicked away chunks of jagged cement as he walked into the large, 
brightly lit room on the other side. a heavy oak conference table 
stood off to one side, while the far wall was lined with steel file 
cabinets.  Ben recognized it immediately - it was the room they
had taken him to when he first arrived at GenTech nearly three years 
ago. It was there that the balding, grey-haired Dr. Allen had filled 
Ben in on the specifics of the program (or at least what he had
wanted Ben to know.) He told Ben that they had been monitoring dozens 
of young men across the country - through perfectly legal means, of 
course - and that Ben had stood out as an ideal candidate for the 
program. Unlike most of what Allen had said, this statement was 
completely true. Even at fifteen, Ben had been six feet and 250 pounds 
of solid beef, built like an ox with the strength to match. He could
outlift any of the seniors on the varsity football team, even the 
no-neck linebackers who trained by shoving Jeeps around the parking 
lot. Ben had worked furiously in the weight room his freshman year, 
making astonishing gains in size and strength. By the end of the year, 
he was benching 425 and squatting 750, and sported thick 18" guns. It 
was obvious that this kid was some kind of genetic marvel - obvious to 
the coaches, to his classmates, and apparently to GenTech as well. 
He'd barely been able to fit in his only dress shirt the day of the 
meeting; every movement of his arms threatened to pop the seams. But 
he had made it through the meeting, and had signed on the proverbial 
dotted line...and now here he was again, two years, ten months and 
seventeen days later. Full circle, so to speak.

The room, however, held more than nostalgia for Ben. He knew it was 
where they stored their files on him, and he had been dying to check 
it out. Curiousity building, he walked to the opposite side of the 
room where the file cabinets stood. Grabbing the handle of the top 
left drawer, he yanked it out of the cabinet in one quick move, 
snapping the heavy-duty lock like it was cheap plastic. He dumped the 
contents out onto the conference table, scattering dozens of file
folders and hundreds of loose papers across the polished oak. Most of 
the files were progress reports from twelve or fourteen months ago. 
Boring stuff - he had been there, he knew what he had done. One 
passage caught his eye, though: "Subject is exhibiting increased 
anti-social behavior. Demanded access to train or auto-yard to, quote, 
'break some shit'. Access was refused. Recent patterns suggest that 
anti-social tendencies may soon become a serious issue."

Ben smirked as he read the paragraph. "'Anti-social'?  Those fuckers 
don't even know the half of it." He yanked another drawer out and 
rifled through its contents. This one was a little more promising; all 
the dates listed were from the past month or so. One of the folders 
contained the specs for the room he had just trashed. The vault door 
alone had cost over half a million dollars, weighed two tons and had 
taken months to construct, but his muscles had reduced it to scrap in 
a matter of minutes.  Further down in the pile was a memo marked 
'STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL'. It was a report that Ben was never meant to 
see. Only Dr. Allen and a select few of his colleagues knew about it; 
it was meant to be destroyed, but had been misfiled with the rest of 
Ben's records. A minor mistake, but one that was about to come back to 
haunt them.

Ben pored over the three-page memo, his brow furrowed in intense 
concentration. The first page outlined the mission to gas him and 
bring him in, while the second went over strategies to ensure his 
cooperation. It was the third page that caused the smirk to disappear 
from his face. It read, in part: "Once subject is cooperating, through 
whatever means necessary, normal tests will resume. Variant genome 
injections will continue for 3-4 weeks, until sufficient data has been 
collected. Expect deal with N. Korea to be reached in 5-6 weeks. At 
that time, subject will be disposed of by means yet to be determined."

Fire rose in Ben's face as he read the paragraph. Anangry vein pulsed 
on his forehead as his nostrils flared. "Goddam sons-of bitches," he 
muttered, crumpling the paper. "Thought they could just killme? Like a 
fuckin' guinea pig...after all the shit I went through for 'em. Ain't 
nobody gonna play me for a fool." With that, he slammed his fist down 
on the table, splintering the heavy oak. "It's time I taught those 
motherfuckers somethin' 'bout respect."

Bolting up, he flipped the oak table across the room, where it 
shattered against the far wall. Cocking his right fist, Ben unloaded a 
knockout punch on the steel security door, blasting it off its hinges 
and sending it flying across the hallway. Now he was in familiar 
territory, in the east wing of the lab, where most of the tests had 
been done. The lab was a state-of-the-art facility, built into the 
side of a hill in Northern Virginia. There was only one way in or out, 
through a set of massive, blast-proof doors 14 feet high, 10 feet wide 
and nearly a foot thick. Ben had walked through those doors hundreds 
of times. Dr. Allen had ensured him that they were necessary to guard 
against industrial espionage, but now it became clear to Ben that the 
doors were meant to keep him in.  Just in case everything went to 
hell.

Before he reached the main entrance, though, Ben decided to take a 
detour to the computer room.  One kareate kick from his piledriving 
legs was enough to take the door out.  Screaming with the rage of a 
man betrayed, Ben started whaling on the supercomputer inside, a 
massive machine that took up half of one wall.  His arms moving so 
fast they were nearly a blur, Ben pulverized the machine with his 
fists, smashing circuitry and flattening the giant computer.  He 
didn't stop until he had ripped the computer's insides out, destroying 
years of valuable data.  Veins as thick as the cables he was snapping 
throbbed up and down his arms, wrapping around the knotted muscles.  
Ben stepped back and pondered the destruction those arms had wrought. 
"Fuckin' traitors.  Serves 'em right for tryin' to sell out America."

Hurrying out of the room, he jogged down more empty corridors, past 
now-deserted labs.  About fifty people worked here, but they had all 
fled.  Ben figured they knew what the alarms meant, and that nobody 
had wanted to stay behind to grapple with 450 pounds of pissed-off 
teenage muscle.  Probably a good choice, he thought, turning a corner 
into the main entranceway.  Standing a hundred feet in front of him 
were the huge exterior doors, the last link in the lab's 
fortifications.  The two steel doors were slowly moving together, 
powerered by a set of heavy gears.  The gap was now only about ten 
inches; another minute, and they would be shut compeletely.  Through 
the narrow gap, Ben caught a glimpse of more of GenTech's hired goons, 
dressed in camouflage and toting machine guns.  'First things first', 
he thought, but he couldn't suppress a grin.  He was gonna give those 
soldier-wannabes a little show, one that would make them wish they had 
stayed home that day.

Like the vault door, the external security doors looked immovable - 
massive slabs of ten-inch-thick steel that stood 14 feet high.  The 
gears continued to grind laboriously, powering the doors shut, 
narrowing the gap to nine inches...then eight.  Ben sprang across the 
entranceway, primed and ready for the fight, adrenaline racing through 
his body.  As the doors closed to within seven inches of each other, 
Ben shot his hands into the gap and grabbed the inside edge of each 
door.  Immediately, the writhing pythons in his forearms and guns 
roared to life as they absorbed the doors' impact.  Ben's thick, 
striated pecs mounded up in a ferocious display of power as he worked 
to stop the door's progress.  They managed to eke out another 
half-inch...before Ben stopped them dead in their tracks.  A low-pitch 
whine emerged from the engine room as pressures began to mount inside.

Ben's entire upper body bulged frighteningly, every muscle fiber and 
vein standing out as if on a relief map.  Sweat poured down his chest, 
only to be lost in the etched moraines of his intercostals and abs.  
With a heavy grunt, he clamped down on the steel, compressing it 
instantly.  The door shuddered under Ben's savage grip, as stress 
fractures spread throughout the steel.  Ben turned his attention 
beyond the door for a second as the camouflaged goons tried to figure 
out what the hell was happening:

"No fuckin' way!  That one guy can't be doin' it all by himself, I 
don't care how strong he is!"
"We don't stand a chance against that freak!  I'm outta here!"
"Holy shit, he's bendin' the fuckin' steel with his bare hands!"

The goons' shouts were drowned out by the sound of groaning metal as 
Ben started prying the doors apart.  The steel around his hands 
buckled and rippled, like waves spreading across a metallic lake.  
Ben's upper back, traps and neck merged into a solid wall of muscle, 
while his rippling quads shredded the cheap material of his boxers.  
By now he had muscled the doors back to twelve inches apart, enough 
for the goons to get a better view of the adversary they faced.  Some 
of them simply dropped their guns and ran.  The rest of them stood, 
slack-jawed, most with hard-ons growing in their uniforms.

"Y'all see this?"  Ben shouted over the cacophony of grinding gears 
and squealing metal.  "This bad boy's 'bout to break loose."  He 
wrenched the doors apart with renewed intensity, twisting the tempered 
steel with girder-thick arms.  An explosion rocked the engine room, 
destroying the gears and blowing a hole in the wall.  His eyes shut 
tight, Ben grinned maniacally as he shoved the doors back into the 
walls, snapping thick bolts and warping the entire frame as he tested 
the upper limits of his strength.  10-inch-thick steel bent and 
cracked open as Ben's arms forced it apart.  He sneered as he felt all 
those tons of steel deform under his power - even he thought the doors 
would put up more of a challenge.

When he had forced the doors far enough apart to allow his pumped body 
through, Ben finally let up, leaving the twisted steel slabs halfway 
jammed into the walls.  Stepping out into the bright sunlight, he 
surveyed the scene.  A few more men had fled, but about a dozen 
remained, clutching machine guns to their chests.  They stared in awe 
at the monstrous man who emerged from the doors' twisted wreckage, 
muscles so pumped they looked ready to burst his skin, his enormous, 
half-hard cock poking through the torn boxers, a grim look of 
determination on his stubbly face.  Dr. Allen stood off to one side, 
still pale and breathing like a jackrabbit, but with an unmistakable 
twinkle in his eye.  His experiment had gone horribly awry...but in 
many ways, it had been successful beyond his wildest dreams.  The 
hulking man who had just ripped apart two steel blast doors was 
testament to that.

Ben stared down the goons, bouncing his powderkeg pecs in a show of 
dominance.  Finally, Dr. Allen spoke:  "Hold your fire until I give 
the order --"  "Fuck that," one of the goons yelled, swinging his 
machine gun up and unloading a clip at Ben.  His hands were so shaky 
that most of the shots missed, but three bullets slammed into Ben's 
armor-plated chest, knocking him back a few steps.  Ben struggled to 
regain his footing, but remained standing.  Three trickles of blood 
ran down his chest, the only indication the bullets had found their 
target.  Ben turned and glared at the man, whose knees turned to 
Jello.  He fumbled with his gun for a moment, but Ben covered the 
distance between them in a flash, grabbing the machine gun and 
snapping it over his leg like it was kindling.

"Aw shit..."the goon started, but Ben cut him off, lifting him off the 
ground by his collar.  "That the best you can do, soldier boy?"  Ben 
taunted, doing a series of shoulder presses with the terrified man.  
He held the man's weight aloft effortlessly as he glanced over to Dr. 
Allen.  "Ya gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, doc.  I would'a expected 
somethin' better than this."  The doctor said nothing, but kept 
looking over to the access road.  He cocked his head as if listening 
for something...and then Ben heard it too: the unmistakable, growling 
rumble of a tank.  Ben dropped the goon to the turf, where he landed 
with a thud, bruised but happy to escape with his life.

Ben ignored the rest of the goons, who had all dropped their guns 
anyway, as he shielded his eyes to get a beter view of the tank.  The 
armor-plated war machine thundered towards him, belching huge clouds 
of exhaust.  Every muscle in Ben's body tensed, while his cock grew 
rigid in anticipation.  "This is more like it, doc," he sneered.

Dr. Allen tried to muster what little confidence he had left.  "Don't 
fool yourself, Ben, that tank could rip even you limb-from-limb --" 
As if on cue, the tank fired at Ben with a sonic boom, blowing a large 
hole in the turf and sending the big man flying.  Ben landed against a 
huge maple tree, cracking the trunk.  Dazed but unhurt, he clambered 
to his feet and wrapped his arms around the trunk, his ridged biceps 
digging into the wood.  Planting his legs firmly, Ben grunted loudly 
and tugged upward, ripping the 45-foot-tall tree out of the ground in 
five seconds flat.  Turning towards the tank, he pressed the gnarled 
tree overhead and HEAVED it at the tank.  Ben knew it wouldn't be 
enough to cause serious damage, but it would give him the distraction 
he neeeded.  The tree crashed down five feet behind the tank, 
exploding in a shower of splinters.  The tank's turret moved slightly 
to the left, away from Ben - and that was all the opening necessary.

Moving amazingly fast for a man of his size, Ben ran up to the tank 
and closed his fist around the gunbarrel.  Vein-covered cables leapt 
forth in his forearms as he squeezed the thick metal together, forcing 
the barrel shut and rendering the tank's mighty firepower useless.  
Climbing on top of the tank, Ben squatted down and curled his fingers 
under the lip of the turret.  Battle-tested, armor-plated steel 
screamed in agony as Ben started peeling it away.  Exerting all that 
power made his balls ache, and his cock was harder than it had ever 
been in his young life.  Inside, he could hear the man shouting 
chaotically.  Ben leaned down and shouted into the tank:  "Y'all got 
about ten seconds to get outta this thing 'fore I pop this lid off and 
come in after y'all."

That was all the warning they needed.  Three camouflaged men scrambled 
out of the hatch, which had nearly been warped out of shape by Ben's 
muscle assault, and fled into the nearby woods, too terrifed to look 
back.  Jumping down off the tank, his hard-on bobbing in front of him, 
Ben walked to the front of the massive vehicle.  He couldn't hold back 
any longer.  Reaching up, he grabbed the gunbarrel in his left hand; 
with his right hand, he began stroking his shaft.  With a guttural 
moan, he started bending the barrel downward, in unison with the 
jerking motion of his right hand.  He forced the groaning metal 
downward until it pointed to the ground.  Ben's eyes rolled back in 
his head as he continued jerking and bending, until he could hold it 
in no more, shooting his load all over the front end of the tank.  
Thick ropes of cum coated the steel as Ben fell to his knees, 
overwhelmed by the incredible sensation flowing through his body.  
Finally the shots slowed to a dribble as he opened his eyes again.  
Wasting no time, he got to his feet and walked towards Dr. Allen and 
the remaining goons, who all stood transfixed.

Dr. Allen tried to run, but Ben commanded him to freeze.  Not 
surprisingly, he complied.  Ben towered over the pale man, the plates 
of his pecs jutting out within inches of the doctor's face.  For a 
minute, the two men said nothing.  No words needed to be said; the 
battered, bent tank a hundred feet away said it all.  Finally, it was 
Ben who spoke:  "I know all about your fuckin' plan.  It was never 
gonna happen.  I could snap your neck like a twig - Lord knows I want 
to, but I ain't gonna sink to your level.  Smashin' up all this shit 
oughta be enough of a lesson.  But I promise you - if you ever try to 
come after me, or if I hear anythin' more about GenTech, I'll reduce 
this place to rubble.  And I'll make sure yer inside."

For once, Allen had nothing to say.  Ben turned his back on the doctor 
and motioned toward the largest of the goons, a 300-pound brute.  
"Gimme your uniform.  Now."  The brute quickly complied, standing in 
only his underwear as he tossed Ben the camouflage shirt and pants.  
It had been loose on the big man, but Ben struggled to fit it over his 
still insanely pumped body, splitting open seams left and right.  
Eventually he was able to get it on - sort of - and walked away from 
the scene of destruction, past the ruined tank and down the access 
road.  He couldn't resist letting out a whoop and a yell - he was 
finally free, free to follow his own path.  Ben had no idea where he 
would go next; maybe back to Texas.  He'd never gotten along with his 
family, but he had some old pals he wanted to look up.  One thing was 
sure - he wanted to get the fuck out of Dodge, to put as many miles as 
possible between him and GenTech.  He knew he wasn't ready to settle 
down just yet, though; unleashing his raw power like that had been an 
incredible thrill.  Every muscle in his body ached, but he knew they'd 
recover in a matter of hours.  For the first time in three years, he 
felt completely at peace - for now, anyway.

END


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