From: Charles Thibault A short story I've been working on. Hope you enjoy it. Marc of Maine Chapter 1 The first time I met Marc was in the mountains of Maine. I had been doing a post-doc at BioSearch, Inc. in Bedford Massachusetts for the last three months and needed a break from the 60 - 70 hour weeks I had been putting in. It was late May, Memorial Day weekend, when I decided to take advantage of the long weekend and do a little hiking in the mountains of northern New England. I got up early on Friday and after a few hours of driving I pulled into the parking area at Roaring Brook Campground shortly after Noon. After a light lunch I put on my backpack and headed up Russell Pond Trail on what was to be a leisurely four-day hike in a loop, saving Baxter Peak and the knife-edge for the last day. I was in pretty good shape and hiking alone, so I made good time. It was late afternoon when I arrived at Russell Pond Campground where I had planned to spend the first night. That's when I first saw him. As I approached the campsite, I saw someone chopping wood. Even from a distance, I could see he was big, but as I got closer, I realized just how big. It was unusually hot for this time of year, especially for the mountains of northern Maine, so neither one of us was wearing a shirt. His red plaid shirt was hanging from a nearby branch and his sweat soaked muscles were accentuated in the late afternoon sun. I paused and watched his huge biceps bulge as he lifted the ax overhead and continued to watch his triceps tense into perfect horseshoes with each down swing. The muscles of his back and shoulders danced to the rhythm of the chopping. He swung the ax with such power that logs 8 cm in diameter were cut clean through with a single stroke, and the 20 cm ones only took three. He stopped chopping when he saw me. As he turned in my direction, I got my first glimpse of the front of his torso. Two thick slabs of lean hard muscle sat high on his hairless chest, flanked by large rounded deltoids, which formed a solid attachment point for his two huge arms. His waist was narrow and ripped, with a deeply chiseled set of abs supporting his large upper body. He wore a pair of short cut-off jeans from which poured two massive legs. His quads looked like they were formed from molten rock, which flowed from the openings of his shorts and then solidified. My eyes continued down past his powerful looking calves, which flowed into a large pair of hiking boots. Sitting on top of this perfectly symmetrical assembly of muscle and bone was a strikingly handsome, clean shaven face topped with thick, dark brown neatly trimmed hair. He immediately reminded me of Giscard, in "Beauty and the Beast." This was in looks only, as I was about to find out, he was nothing li! ke the conceited hunk from the fairytale. My trance was abruptly broken when he spoke, "Bon jour mon ami! 'fait chaud 'jourd'hui, n'est pas?" I reached back to the French I had learned from my parents as a child and tried to respond. "Oui, specialement pour le saison." My French was a little rusty so he immediately realized that I was not comfortable speaking French and switched over to English. His English was excellent, with just a hint of a Franco- American accent. He introduced himself as Marc LeForte from St. Froid Lake, Maine. After the introductions and a brief exchange of small talk, he went back to chopping wood and I began setting up camp. I had just finished pitching my tent when he stopped chopping and went down to the stream to freshen up. I had to join him. The water was cold, as is always the case for these mountain streams, but we both found it refreshing after our exertions on this hot spring day. As I washed up I couldn't help watch as Marc rinsed the sweat and dust from his muscular torso. His biceps bulged as his cupped hands splashed water on his face. I then watched his huge triceps pop out of his arms as he rubbed the Dr. Brauner's biodegradable soap onto his arms. I was trying to be discreet and not let him know I was watching him, but I had to splash lots of cold water on myself to keep my hardon from ripping through my shorts as I watched the fresh spring water meander through the deep crevices between his powerful muscles. Then the show was over as he dried himself off and pulled on his red flannel shirt. We each prepared our own supper and then sat together at the edge of Russell Pond to watch the sunset. We sat there well past dusk, talking about hiking, life in the mountains, and lots of other things. We both enjoyed the company and got to know a bit about each other. I told him about my work as a biochemist near Boston and how I liked to get away from it occasionally and escape into the wilderness for a few days of back to nature stuff. He told me of his life in northern Maine, the son of a lumberjack, no stranger to hard work, and how he enjoys these relaxing moments after a hard day's work. He was on trail duty, repairing some minor damage to the shelters and campsites in the Mt. Katadin area. As it turned out we were both heading in the same direction the next day and agreed to hike together to keep each other company. We then turned in for the night. After breakfast we struck camp, pulled on our backpacks, and hit the trail. My pack was about average size for a four-day hike. With a tent, sleeping bag, a few changes of clothes, and some food, it was probably about 20Kg. But Marc's must have been three times that! It was huge and looked quite heavy, but he lifted it easily onto his wide back and turned to see if I was ready. When I asked if he was carrying the kitchen sink in there he laughed and explained that he was on trail duty. He had several new trail and camp signs he was exchanging for the old, worn ones. So we set off on toward Mt. Katadin. From my vantagepoint, a few paces back I had a great view of his muscles flexing as he walked briskly over the rough terrain. With each step I watched his calves bunch up into rock hard double diamonds of powerful muscle as he propelled himself up and over the large rocks in the path. Even from behind, I could see his quads flexing and relaxing as they lifted over 200Kg quickly up the steep trail. In spite of his load, he set a good pace and I had all I could do to keep up with him. But I wasn't about to miss this show! I had originally planned on this being an easy day, getting into the Davis Pond Campsite around noon, and spending the afternoon relaxing along the shore of the pond. As it turned out there were several trees down across the trail and areas of debris from winter slides that needed to be cleared away. That was what Marc was here for and I didn't have anything better to do so I helped him. I cleared away some of the smaller brush as he took his big double edged ax and sliced through the thick tree trunks, which laid across the trail, in just a few powerful strokes. This guy could do the work of a half dozen regular trail workers. While I pulled a few branches off the trail he sliced through several large trees, moved the logs off the trail and was ready to move on. About mid afternoon we arrived at the campsite where we were planning to spend the night. My original plans had me arriving around noon, but the trail work slowed us down a bit. As we approached the campsite, we could see substantial damage from what appeared to be a rockslide. Sever large rocks and lots of debris were strewn on the trail and the clearing near the lean-to. On surveying the damage Marc said, "Hmm, It looks like I have my work cut out for me here." Well I couldn't just sit by and watch him clean up the mess alone (although I certainly would have enjoyed the show), so I offered to help. When I asked him how we were going to move the really big rocks, some of which were nearly two meters in diameter, he just smiled and said, "I'll take care of those, you can work on the smaller ones." Now, I had already seen how he easily picked up a 60Kg pack like it was a feather pillow, but those rocks must have weighed 5 tons! No way he was moving them by himself! Well I was wrong! He planted his feet firmly behind one of the boulders, placed his hands just below its center, and pushed. His Triceps jumped out of his arms with deeply chiseled horseshoe shape, his back knotted into rippling mounds of hard muscle, his chest expanded into huge plates of iron, and his legs hardened into monstrous pillars of power. My jaw dropped as the boulder began to move. All I could do was watch as his muscles bulged and strained against the massive rock. He barely broke into a sweat as he rolled it off of the path and safely out of the way. He then started on a second one. I couldn't ! take my eyes off him as he overpowered gravity. Every muscle in his body was pumping, pushing, and pulling, creating a show far better than the posedown at the Mr. O. After the fifth and final really huge boulder was moved aside he turned to me, now sweating and breathing heavily, and asked if I was going to help or just stand there. I shook my head and snapped out of my trance. Tripping over my words, I managed to stammer, "Uh, yea...sorry. I, uh, just... wow, how'd you get so strong, anyway? I can't believe you moved those huge boulders with your bare hands!" He just flashed me a confident smile and said, "If you liked that, watch this." He then walked over to a rock about as big around as my chest, crouched down and lifted it up. This was impressive to say the least but after seeing him move those other rocks it just didn't seem like that big a deal. He walked past the edge of the campsite clearing, stopped, and turned to face me. He said, "Ready?" What was he going to do now? Throw the rock to me? Then I realized what he was up to. He had his arms wrapped around the chunk of granite like a bear hug. As he began to squeeze, his lats flared out like the head of a cobra. He turned slightly and I could see every muscle in his upper body contract into a hardened steel sculpture of the perfect male form. As his biceps contracted, they expanded into the stone, breaking chips of the granite away as they hardened. Next chunks of granite flew off as the unyielding mass of his pectoral muscles pressed relentlessly against the doomed st! one. In a matter of seconds, there was a grinding, crunching sound and pieces of crushed granite fell in a cloud of dust at Marc's feet. After I recovered from the shock of what I had just witnessed, I helped him finish the cleanup job. As we were eating dinner, he told me a little more about himself. "I've always been strong," he said, "I guess it is genetic. Papa, he was a lumberjack and he could chop down a tree with an ax faster than anyone could do with a chain saw. Lumberjacks, they are a rough bunch, yes? He could defeat anyone who was foolish enough to take him on. Wrestling, arm-wrestling, fistfights, it did not mater. Sometimes he would take on two or three at once, and still win." He paused to take a drink from his canteen. "By the time I was 15 I was already stronger than him. He would still defeat me sometimes because he had the skill and experience, but by the time I was 16 I could muscle my way out of anything he tried." As he was talking he picked up a stone about the size of softball and was rolling it absently in his hand. He then looked at me and said, "Hey, you want to see something else?" He had a shy smile on his face and I got the impression that he liked to impress people with his strength but was trying not to appear as though he was showing off. For all his strength and good looks, he was really a very humble man. "Sure!" I said, enthusiastically, "I've always enjoyed watching strongmen perform feats of strength, but none of them have ever come close to what I saw you do today." He blushed a little, "OK, watch this." He placed the stone in the crook of his arm, between his huge biceps and his forearm. I knew where this was going and watched with anticipation. As he slowly flexed his biceps, I could see the two distinct heads of the muscle swell against the rock, which was held in place by his forearm. As he continued to increase the pressure his biceps swelled up against the ro! ck, which suddenly burst into a cloud of dust and small chunks. "Cool!" I said, "Your biceps must be as hard as steel!" He had an almost inviting twinkle in his eye as he smiled and said, "Here, check them out for yourself, but don't hurt me." We both laughed. I wrapped my right hand around his left biceps and squeezed. It was like squeezing solid rock. Not so much as a slight dent. I then squeezed with both hands, as hard as I could. The cords of muscle stood out on my forearm to attest to the effort I was exerting, but his muscle still would not yield. "Here, grab my fist and try to straighten out my arm." I stood up, grabbed his fist with both hands, braced my feet against the rock on which he as leaning, and pulled. I pulled with all the strength in my legs, arms, and back, but his arm didn't move. This guy was awesome! I didn't know it at the time, but I was to owe my life to his phenomenal strength. We finished our supper in silence and cleaned up the dishes and ourselves in the nearby stream. I was exhausted and turned in early. As I lay in my tent, I could hear him moving around the campsite. It sounded like he was using those rocks we moved for a workout. The biochemist in me started wondering what it was about his genetic makeup that gave him such strength and endurance. I was too tired to think about it for long, and quickly slipped into a deep sleep. When I woke up the next morning Marc was already busy putting up a new camp sign and repairing the damaged lean-to. I made breakfast for the two of us so he could finish his repairs before we hit the trail. Today's hike would be covering some very steep terrain and we would need most of the day to get to Chimney Pond Campground before dark. I wanted to take the longer route over Baxter Peak and across the Knife-Edge because the view was awesome and that's really why I picked this hike. Marc wasn't on a very tight schedule anyway so he agreed to go the long way too. After breakfast we packed up and headed up the Northwest Basin Trail towards Baxter Peak. We had lunch on Baxter Peak and then headed across the Knife-Edge to Chimney Peak. This is one of the most beautiful trails in the Northeast, and also one of the more treacherous. The trail is very narrow at places, with very steep drop-offs to both sides. Not a good place to be when it's windy or wet. Today was sunny and! dry, with only a slight breeze, so we didn't anticipate any problems. Well they say disaster strikes when you least expect it, and that's just what happened. I was following a few paces behind Marc as we crossed one of the narrowest parts of the Knife-Edge, when I lost my footing and plummeted down a steep embankment. Luckily, I landed on a small ledge, which stopped my decent, unfortunately I broke my leg in the fall. Marc quickly stripped off his pack, pulled some rope out, and secured it to a large stone. He then rappelled down to where I was and assessed the situation. After making sure I wasn't going to slide down any further, he went back up to his pack. He pulled out a couple of trail signs, some clothes for padding, and some more rope. He then came back down, set my leg (man, did that hurt), and attached the makeshift splint. Gently lifting me, pack and all, onto his shoulders, he started back up. Watching the muscles of his forearms tighten like steel cables as he gripped the rope, and his biceps bulge as he pulled us up the side o! f the mountain, made me forget the pain in my leg. Each time he pulled on the rope I could feel the awesome power in the muscles rippling against my chest and arms. Once we were back up on the trail, he attached my pack to his and rigged a sling to hold me on his pack. He then picked up his pack, my pack, and me, over 280Kg not counting his weight, and started down the trail. I told him my car was parked at Roaring Brook Campground, about a four-hour hike down Helon Taylor Trail from where we were, so he carried me out to my car. He then drove me to the nearest hospital and left me in the emergency room. As I laid on a gurney waiting to be seen my thoughts raced. "Damn," I thought, "I should have gotten his address. But how many Marc LeFortes could there be in St. Froid, Maine? I'm sure if I send him a thank you card; he'd get it. Hell! I should go in person. It's the least I could do. Besides, I really wanted to see him again. Damn! I'd love to get a blood sample from him to study his genetics back at the lab." At that, I vowed to find him and thank him properly. The next day I was being discharged from the hospital and I was trying to arrange for a ride back to Boston. I had tried three of my friends who I figured wouldn't mind driving to Maine to pick me up, but wasn't able to reach any of them. I was just about to try another number when I looked up from the phone and saw a large, strikingly handsome man standing there with a pleasant smile on his face. I couldn't believe it, it was Marc. "Bon jour mon ami, ca va? Just stopped in to see how you are doing." he said matter-of-factly, "How's the leg?" "Much better," I answered, "now that I have some pain killers to make it tolerable." "Oh? Was the pain bothering you yesterday?" he chuckled, "I have to admit I was impressed at the way you handled it when I set your leg. Most men I know would have passed out cold from the pain." We chatted for a while, then I told him that I was being discharged before noon and I was having trouble getting in touch with a friend to drive up from Boston to give me a ride. With my right leg in a cast, there was no way I could drive my SUV myself. "Pas de problem, eh. I have to be in Boston on Wednesday for business. If you can wait until tomorrow, I could give you a ride. You can spend the night at my cabin on Lake St. Froid, if you'd like." "After all you've done for me already, I couldn't impose on you any further." I said politely, really hoping he would persist with the offer. "Ah! It is no imposition at all! I would enjoy the company. You and I, we have a lot in common, yes?" "OK, if you're sure it's no trouble." "Then it is settled. I have to get some things while I am in town. I'll be back in an hour. That will give you time to gather your things and finish up all the paperwork for the bureaucrats. A bientot!" Whoa! Not only was I getting a chance to spend another night with this awesome dude, but also, once we got to Boston I just might be able to convince him to submit to a few blood tests. I would really love to find out what it is about his DNA that gave him his phenomenal strength. As promised, an hour later he was back, helping me into his pick up truck and tossing my pack into the back. On the way to his cabin, we talked some more. In all our previous conversations, I never found out what he did for a living. From the looks of him, and where he lived, I assumed he was a lumberjack like his father, or maybe a forest ranger, or some back-woodsy thing like that. So I couldn't imagine what he was doing in Boston on business. Trying not to let my preconceived notions show through, I asked him about his job. "So what do you do when you're not fixing campsites and carrying hikers out of the woods?" "You mean, what do I do for a living?" "Yeah, I was just wondering what brings you to Boston." "Most of the time I like doing manual work, construction, odd jobs, landscaping, that type of thing. But that type of work doesn't pay all that well and doesn't leave much time for enjoying nature. So I started modeling. Three or four photo shoots per year earns me enough money to do what I like the rest of the year." A model! I never would have guessed that, although he certainly had the build and the looks for it. We talked a bit more about modeling. He told me of some of the exotic locations he's been to on shoots, and how he preferred the ones closer to home so he could just drive down for a couple of days and then get back to what he liked best. He wasn't exactly a recluse. He had lots of friends, but he preferred to stay away from large crowds. After dinner, I talked him into a few more demonstrations of his strength. First he took a heavy steel tow chain and wrapped it around his chest. He then flexed every muscle in his torso. His lats flared out and his pecs bunched up into thick slabs of muscle. As his muscles solidified into a hard flex the chain links began to deform. He continued to tense his pecs and expand his chest until finally one of the links gave way and the chain snapped from his body and fell to the floor. He then picked up one of the loose links and wedged it into the cleavage between his huge pectoral muscles. Again he flexed, turning his slabs of muscle into unyielding blocks of steel. When he relaxed, what was once an "O" shaped ring of hardened steel now resembled the letter "I." He tossed the deformed link to me and no matter how hard I tried, I could not bend it. It was real all right. On the way to Boston the next day, Marc asked me about my work. I explained that we were working on decoding the specific characteristics of DNA that are responsible for specific characteristics in the animal. There were several groups, some were working to improve the quality of beef from cattle, and others were trying to increase the yield of milk from dairy cows, and so on. The group I was working in was look at congenital diseases in hopes of early detection and ultimately in-utero correction of the genetic "error." This was the perfect opportunity to ask him, "I sure would like to take a look at your genetic structure to see if I can identify what gives you such incredible strength. I don't suppose you would be interested in letting me take a sample of your blood?" His answer surprised me, "Bien sur! I would be very much interested in learning more about my genetics. Since the strength seems to increase with each generation, I would like to know what to expect before I have any children. But you must promise me that you will keep it private. I do not want to become a lab rat for a bunch of nerdy scientists, uh...no offence, or worse yet, be hounded by the press." "Absolutely! I understand completely. Pick me up at 10:30 tonight and we can go to the lab then. There is rarely anyone in the lab after 11:00. I'll enter the data under a pseudonym and keep it encrypted on my personal computer. No one but me will be able to see it." "OK, 10:30 it is." We were getting close, so the conversation shifted to giving directions to my house in Winchester. When we got there he helped me get my pack in the house and went to check into his room at the Marriott Harborside in Boston. At exactly 10:30, the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, Marc was standing there, clean shaven, hair combed in a stylish wave, and looking very "GQ." He was wearing a loose fitting white shirt, the sleeves rolled up showing the thick cords of his vein covered forearms, and the top three buttons undone revealing the deep crevice between his huge pecs. His shorts stopped just below the knee and his thick calves flowed into a pair of leather sandals. I invited him in and asked if I could take his measurements for the record. He agreed and I got the tape measure out as he removed his shirt and shorts. He now stood in front of me in nothing but his Calvins and sandals. Trying not to stare I began taking his measurements and writing them down: Neck: 50.5 cm (20") Chest: 160.0 cm (63") Waist: 73.7 cm (29") Biceps: 59.1 cm (23 1/4") Forearms: 40.6 cm (16") Thighs: 88.9 cm (35") Calves: 57.8 cm (22 3/4") Height: 203.2 cm (6' 8") Weight: 205.4 Kg (451.9 lbs.) Now, except for the last one, these measurements confirmed what I could see. It was the weight that seemed out of whack with the rest of his measurements. Now he was over two meters tall and very muscular, but someone with those dimensions would normally weigh "only" about 150 Kg. His muscles and bone must be much denser than normal to give him that weight. That may also explain his phenomenal strength. Having recorded all his vital statistics in a lab notebook we got in his pickup and drove to BioSearch to draw the blood and do a few more tests on the equipment there. As I expected, the parking lot was empty. I let us in the back entrance and led him to my lab. I went to a drawer and took out some vacuum ampoules, needles, and sterile wipes. There was no problem finding a vein in his extremely vascular arm, however, penetrating his tough skin was another story. The first two needles bent before I could get them through the skin. I finally got a very sharp, but very fine, needle to penetrate into his vein and began drawing the blood. Because I had to use such a fine needle it took a while to fill the two ampoules. Once I had the blood samples, labeled "John Doe 2642" (we had a lot of subjects that wanted to remain anonymous), I injected small aliquots of it into several automated analyzers. The results would be ready in a few hours. The facility had a sort of exercise area where we normally measure strength and endurance of our subjects. After he maxed out the first two machines with less than a ten percent exertion, I realized this wasn't going to work. We then went to the Bovine Research wing where research on improving beef quality was carried out. There was a setup for measuring the strength of cattle. The apparatus consisted of a harness attached to a thick steel cable, which in turn was attached to a very heavy-duty force transducer. I'd seen some huge hybrid bulls pulling against it without damage so I felt confident it would hold up to Marc. We started with the biceps. I removed the harness and had Marc grab the ring to which the harness was attached with one hand. He positioned himself with his feet against the blocks designed to give the cattle traction and his arm bent 90 degrees at the elbow. I told him to flex his biceps as hard as he could. At this the double peak popped up and solidified into a rock-hard ball of muscle. The numbers on the digital display blurred for a few seconds then stopped, displaying 4164 Newtons (937 pounds). "Holly shit!" I exclaimed, "Let me check the calibration of this thing!" "No need to," Marc said calmly, "That looks about right." I checked it anyway and found it was right on. We measured his left arm the same way and found it to be a little stronger: 4251 Newtons (956 pounds). I then had him turn around and test his triceps in a similar manner. I watched the large horseshoe form on the back of his arms as he pressed hard against the ring. When the numbers stopped they read 5586 Newtons (1257 pounds) for his right arm and 5547 Newtons (1248 pounds) for his left. He then put the harness on. Since it was designed for bovine use it didn't fit very well, but it would do. He then pushed against the blocks, one leg at a time, to measure the strength of his quads. The block was creaking under the force as his thigh solidified into deeply chiseled relief. The computer recorded the force: 21000 Newtons (4725 pounds) for the right leg and 20895 Newtons (4701 pounds) for the left. I was starting to worry that he might actually break the machine (Even one leg at a time was straining it), so we stopped the testing. We went back to the lab and took a look at the results of the first bank of tests. At first glance I could see there were some very unique sequences in his DNA, but I would have to study it a bit more to make any sense of it. I also wanted to run some more tests on the blood, but they would take longer and I wanted to be sure I was here to get the results when the tests were done, so no one would see them. I loaded the data on a diskette and put it in my shirt pocket. Marc then took me home and he went back to his hotel. Chapter 2 A couple of months later, after my cast came off, my friend Jack drove me to Maine to pick up my car. He dropped me off at my car and went back to Boston. I wanted to see Marc to tell him what I found in my tests, so I drove to Lake St. Froid. As I pulled up to his cabin I saw him carrying what looked like a telephone pole with a point at one end down to the shore of the lake. Does he ever stop working? I went down to the lake to watch. He carried it out to the end of an old pier, which creaked under the combined weight of him and the pole. When he got to the end I watched his shoulders bunch up into tight masses of muscle and his triceps solidify into thick, deeply cut horseshoes, as he lifted the pole over his head and began to tip it up to a vertical position. Next his biceps bulged as he lifted the pole up until his arms were outstretched. With one quick, powerful move all the muscles in his upper body tensed up as he drove the pole into the soft lake bottom. He then ! lifted a large stone over his head and drove the pole the rest of the way in with a few quick strokes. Brushing his hands off, he came over and shook my hand. "Bon Jour, mon ami! I was just repairing the dock. The old one, she is getting very tired. Come, let's go have a beer on the porch." "Mon dieu, Marc," I said showing him that I still remembered some of my French, "you never cease to amaze me with your strength." As we sat down on the porch with a couple of Labatt "50's" I started to fill him in on what I had found. I explained the various tests I had run and talked about the program I had written to decipher many specific traits from the DNA sequence. He listened intently, but I had no idea how much of what I was telling him he understood. I just had the feeling that he understood much more than I expected him to. He was particularly interested, even somewhat concerned, when I explained how we could modify the DNA of living animals (or people) to incorporate the sequences associated with various characteristics. "So," he asked with obvious concern "you can modify someone's DNA to be just like mine and then they will become me!?" "Not quite." I assured him, "It doesn't replace the whole DNA, just specific segments of it, so most of the subjects traits do not change. In addition, the subjects DNA must be compatible with the target sequence. That is, you can't just take one segment out and put another in unless the adjoining segments are receptive to the new segment." "So what is the probability of a subject being compatible with a given code segment?" "That depends; some segments, like those that control certain allergies, are compatible with about 95% of the population, whereas other traits, like those that determine the level of intelligence, are only compatible with about 5 to 10%." "And the segment that gives me my strength?" "That is even more rare. I searched the database of all the subjects we have sampled and only found two matches. One of them is John Doe 1219, I have no way of identifying or locating him without contacting the investigator who collected the data." He waited a moment in anticipation, then asked, "And the other one?" "The other one is me." I said, uncertain of what his reaction would be. He raised his eyebrows and asked apprehensively, "You haven't used this procedure on yourself have you?" "No! No, at least not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. I can't do it alone and I didn't want to tell anyone else about this without talking to you first." "Do you have any idea what some people would do to get their hands on this information!?" "Don't worry. No one else knows, and the data is all encrypted on my computer at home." "Are you sure no one knows anything?" "Positive! I'm no fool. I know what could happen to us if this information fell into the wrong hands. But I also can't pretend it never happened and destroy the data. There's something I haven't told you. You see, I'm dying. I have a rare form of degenerative lymphoma, which is spreading. It's not treatable by conventional means so within a year I will be dead." I paused for a moment to let what I had said sink in, but he said nothing. I continued, "In addition to the strength factor, your DNA has some amazing regenerative traits. I bet you're never sick." "True, and I heal very rapidly when I'm cut too, watch." He took out a large knife from its sheath and made a clean incision on his forearm. Blood flowed out for half a minute then clotted. "Within an hour you won't even see a scar." "I thought so. I can't be sure, but I'm 90% certain that if I splice certain segments of your DNA into mine that the lymphoma will go into remission. It's the only chance I have. You've saved my life once already. I know I have no right to ask you to do it again. I'll understand if you won't agree and I'll respect your decision." "I'll go along with it on one condition: that no one else is involved or finds out about it." "But I need someone to do the procedure. I can't do it alone." "I'll do it. You can show me what to do. You'd be surprised how quickly I can learn." Of course! I was so busy looking at the physical traits of his DNA that I overlooked the intellectual traits. This guy's not only incredibly good-looking and phenomenally strong, but he's also very intelligent, maybe even a genius. "Once programmed most of the process is automated. I just need someone to hook up the IV, start the process, and standby incase something goes wrong. When would you be able to go to Boston?" "Is tomorrow OK?" "That'd be great. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. If you ever need anything, anything at all, just name it." As we shook hands I noticed his arm was completely healed. I finished my beer and headed back to Boston. I wanted to take another look at his DNA profile to see if there were any other surprises. I also needed to double-check the programming (I had already worked out the genetic transmutation program hoping he would agree) before he arrived tomorrow. When I got home I fired up my computer and took another look at his profile. Sure enough there it was the genetic blueprint for high intelligence. This was one of the many areas where our profiles were similar. Probably one of the reasons for the compatibility. I would have to look at this closer another time. Right now I had to double check the program. My life depended on it! My primary goal was to transfer the autoimmune and rapid healing traits. This is what I needed to combat the cancer. These traits were closely linked to his strength and endurance as well. Separating them would be tricky and I might miss some critical link needed to rid my body of the disease. I would rather err on the safe side, besides a little extra strength and endurance would be nice to have. I had to be careful though, transmuting too much of the DNA at once could be risky. I was up most of the night going over the program and weighing the risks vs. benefits of taking the various code segments. I wanted it all. I wanted to be just like him. But I had to be careful or I could end up a vegetable. I wish I could tell Jack about this. I could use a second pair of trained eyes to check my work. No! It was too risky. Besides I promised Marc I would not tell anyone. The next day Marc arrived in the early evening. We would wait until later to be sure no one was at the lab when we did what we had to do. Around eight o'clock we went to Legal Seafood for dinner then went on to the lab. When we pulled into the parking lot I noticed Jack's car was still there. I was just about to leave and come back later when I saw him coming out of the building. He spotted me so it would be suspicious if we took off without saying hi. I introduced Marc as the quy I had met in Maine who had helped me out when I broke my leg. I told him Marc was in Boston for a couple of days and I wanted to show him the lab. Security was fairly tight but most people brought friends through for quick tours from time to time. After a short conversation we went in and Jack got in his car and left. We went to one of the transmutation rooms and I began loading the program and warming up the equipment. The apparatus needed a fresh sample of Marc's blood for the transmutation process, which I drew and injected into the instrument. I then gave Marc a quick run-through of the procedure and briefed him on his role in the process. Once I was convinced he understood what to do I checked the security logs on the computer to be sure no one else was in the building and Marc went to the window to check the parking lot for unexpected arrivals. "Well, this is it." I said somewhat apprehensively, as I laid down on the table. Marc hooked up the IV lines and initiated the program. My blood slowly circulated through the equipment where the transformation process took place. At least 20% of my blood had to be transmuted for the process to be effective. I had programmed it for 50% to be sure, but told Marc if anyone enters the building or any anomalies are reported after the 20% mark to terminate the process. I watched the numbers climb slowly, 5%, 7%, 12%... then finally after what seemed like an eternity, but was really only an hour, it reached 20%. We both breathed a sigh of relief. At least if we had to abort now there was a good chance of success. Then suddenly an alert flashed on the screen! Someone had entered the building! I looked at the screen: 34%. "Good enough. Shut down the process and get me off of this table!" I no sooner got off the table and shut everything down, when I heard footsteps in the hall. I quickly hid any evidence of what we had done just as the door opened. "Hank, what are you doing here at this hour?" asked Andy Jabkowski, one of the investigators on the Bovine projects. "Hi Andy. This is Marc, a friend of mine from Maine. We had a late dinner at Legal's and I thought I'd show him the labs before we went home. What brings you here this late?" "Oh, I'm heading out to the International Genetic Engineering Conference in Stuttgart tomorrow and I forgot my slides in my office. Are you going?" "No, not this year. Too much going on here. Let me know if I missed anything good. Have a good trip." "OK, catch you when I get back." turning to Marc, "Nice meeting you, Mack." Then he walked out the door. "Whew! That was just a little too close for comfort! Let's get out of here." What I didn't realize at the time was that in my haste to leave I forgot to clear the program from the transmuter, a mistake I would soon regret. We went to my house for the night and the next day Marc went to his photo shoot on Cape Cod. I then began monitoring my progress. Once a critical amount of the blood cells have been transmuted the process continues on its own for a few days until all the cells in the body have been transmuted. All seemed to be going well as I meticulously logged the data in encrypted files on my home computer. I kept my home computer off line to increase the security and ensure absolute privacy of the files I kept there. The value of this precaution was highlighted two days later when the security logs on my work computer showed several failed attempts to access restricted files. There are always the halfhearted attempts of the "doorknob rattlers" but these attempts were more systematic. I made a mental note to keep an eye on that. After three days the process was complete and I started noticing the effects. I was putting on some weight, but it was lean muscular weight, not fat. I was making some gains in the gym too. My bench press went from 125Kg (275 lbs.) to 145Kg (319 lbs.) in under a week. All my other lifts went up too! This was great but the big question was, am I going into remission or not? When I went to my doctor for a checkup he was surprised to see how much weight I had gained and expressed concern that I was on steroids or something. I assured him I wasn't but since I was supposed to be dead in a year anyway what difference did it make. The big surprise for him, and joy for me, came a few days later when the tests came back and it showed I was indeed in remission. This was all I needed to know. I didn't want him asking too many questions about how this happened or how I was gaining so much weight so quickly, so I decided not to go back again. I had to tell someone and there was only one person I could tell, so I got on the phone and called Mark. I really just wanted to make sure he was home before I drove up there, but I really had to tell him in person. It was early afternoon when I pulled up in front of his cabin. As usual he was doing some work around the place. His broad muscular shoulders glistening with sweat as he loaded some large pieces of scrap metal onto a flatbed truck parked in his driveway. I watched as his biceps swelled into solid spheres of rock hard muscle and his shoulders stood out in sharp relief as he lifted an old Chevy engine block from the pile. His triceps snapped into perfect, deeply cut horseshoes as he tossed it up onto the truck. His body just exuded power and strength, but his smile was so gentile and reassuring that I couldn't imagine him ever hurting anyone. I would not be the only one to make that erroneous assumption. After a brief greeting I gave him the news about my cancer being in remission. He then said, "C'est fantastique! We must have a beer to celebrate!" "Sounds good to me," I said, "but first let me help you load this junk on the truck." As I took off my shirt he whistled, "Woo! Have you been working out or something?" "Yeah, a bit" I answered with a smile. I then grabbed the front end of an old Buick and tossed it onto the truck. The two of us quickly had the truck loaded and were ready for that beer. As we walked back to the cabin he said with some concern, "It looks like you borrowed a little more than just the auto-immune traits from my DNA. What other surprises do you have?" "I'm sorry. I should have told you before we did the transmutation, but I was afraid you might change you mind. The autoimmune traits were so closely related to the strength and endurance traits that I couldn't completely separate them. I'll never be as strong as you, but I will probably be stronger than most bodybuilders. I haven't really been able to quantify it yet. I don't know yet if I got any other traits in the process. I really need to do more tests." After we finished our beers, Marc wanted to see just how strong I'd become, so he challenged me to a friendly arm wrestling match. I reassured him that I was no where near as strong as he was, but I guess he wanted to see for himself. We sat across from each other at a sturdy oak table and locked hands. The display of muscle was quite impressive. My arm was solid and defined, with a sizable peak to my biceps and a level of vascularity that said I was in shape. But his was awesome! Starting at his large powerful hands, intertwined with mine, my eyes moved down his bowling pin shaped forearm, showing the individual steel cords of muscle in deep relief. At the elbow were the thick tendons of the biceps as they disappeared into the muscle of the forearm. The double heads of a perfectly formed, impossibly peaked biceps were attached to these tendons at one end and inserted under the thick plates of his deltoids at the other. At the count of three I began to pull with all my might. My muscles bunched into solid mounds as I strained against this formidable opponent. To my surprise I began to gain the advantage as I slowly pulled his arm toward my side of the table. As I looked at his relaxed expression and saw that confident smile, I knew he was just playing with me. Or was he gauging my strength? I wasn't quite sure, but I did know that he wasn't working very hard, yet. When his hand was about 5 cm from the table it stopped. It was like I hit a wall. The sweat was dripping off my forehead, but no matter how hard I pressed it didn't budge. Then I saw his already hard, well defined biceps seem to solidify into an even harder split ball of inhuman power. Without breaking a sweat he slowly moved my arm back up to the neutral position and kept going. I was powerless to stop him, no matter how hard I tried. He then finished it off as he slowly pressed my arm to the table. He seemed somewhat relieved knowing that he was still much stronger than I was. He then commented that he hasn't had to work so hard to defeat a single opponent since his father died. We were both pleased with the results. I didn't mention that I was still getting stronger. I really didn't know how long I would keep growing stronger or how strong I would end up, so I didn't want to get into it now. We would both find out in due time. When I got back to the lab I found several more attempts to access my confidential files. He was getting closer, so I beefed up the security on all my sensitive data and tried to trace back to see who was jiggling the locks. He had covered his tracks well and all my attempts to trace the intruder ended in dead ends. I then set a trap and waited. Sure enough, a few days later there was another attempt to get in, this one actually succeeded! He was able to copy a few encrypted files to his system, however, what he actually copied was a Trojan horse I had planted. Once on his system it sent back information to me of who had taken the files. Gotcha! It was Andy Jabkowski! That's when I realized the mistake I had made the night of the transmutation. Apparently Andy didn't buy my story and after we left, he went back in and looked at the program we had run. He was very interested in what he found and began a series of covert attempts to get more information from my files. The question is, was he interested in the data as a scientist or were his motives more sinister? I didn't want to confront him until I knew more of his intentions. I didn't have to wait long. That Friday night after work, Jack and I met a few other coworkers in Harvard Square for a few drinks and to watch the street performers that frequent the square during the summer. Andy was not with us. I wasn't having a good time. I kept thinking about Andy getting into my files and the fact that he wasn't with us made me uneasy, so I made up an excuse of not feeling well and left early. Jack had driven us there, so I was going to take a cab, but Jack insisted on driving me home. When we pulled up in front of my house I saw a light on in my den and the front door was ajar. Jack called the police on his cell phone as I went in the house. When I got to the den I saw two guys, one geeky looking guy sitting at my computer working the keyboard, and a big guy standing next to him. They looked surprised to see me. Apparently they didn't expect me until later. The big guy said, "You're gonna be sorry you came home early!" and came toward me. I stepped aside and shoved him into the wall. When he turned and took a swing at me I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, forgetting my newfound strength, I broke it. He yelled in pain as the geeky guy came up behind me and hit me over the head with one of my gymnastics trophies. It dazed me long enough for the two to make their getaway. The police arrived and took their reports. They chalked it up to a couple of thugs who broke in to rip me off when I surprised them. After they scolded me for not waiting for them, I promised to stop by the station house the next day to look at some mug shots, then they left. Jack wanted to stick around for a while but I assured him I would be OK. Reluctantly Jack said, "Ok, if you're sure you're all right. Do you still want to go biking tomorrow?" "Absolutely! I'm not going to let a couple of lowlives mess up my weekend. See you around 10?" "Sounds good. If you need anything just give me a call." and he left. I really didn't want him around when I checked the computer to see if they got at Marc's files. Once I was sure he was gone and the house was locked up I checked the computer. I was in luck. I had interrupted them before they had a chance to break through my security. But wait! No, they managed to copy a couple of encrypted files before I stopped them! Which ones were they? It looks like the only thing they got was the initial evaluation of Marc. None of the genetic data was touched. They still had to decrypt it, and with the algorithm I used, that would take a while. But if this break-in was tied into Andy's attempts at breaking into my work computer, which it most likely was, whoever was behind this already had the transmuter program. Still not enough to do anything with, but it was far more data than I wanted anyone to have. I would have to tell Marc. The next day I went to a pay phone on a quiet street corner. With everyone having cell phones its getting hard to find pay phones, but I couldn't take the chance of calling from my house or on my cell phone. I told him what had happened and that I thought it would be safer if I moved all the data on his case to his home in Maine. I didn't think anyone would break in during the day and I really wanted to go on that bike ride with Jack, so I told Marc I would drive up that night. "I should be there by 10." I said, and then hung up. Jack and I biked out to Concord where we met Jack's girlfriend, Marsha and her friend, Kandice. We met at the Old North Bridge (of Revolutionary War fame) and biked out to Walden Pond together. Kandy was a real knockout, just as Jack had told me. Jack was always trying to set me up with friends or relatives, but this time he outdid himself. She had long blond hair, a slender but athletic build, and that "girl next door" look that really turns me on. Anyway we hit it off and thoroughly enjoyed the day. Around mid afternoon we headed back. With my enhanced strength I kept leaving Jack and Marsha behind and had to keep slowing down to let them catch up. To my surprise, Kandy was never far behind! When I got home, I was so involved thinking about Kandy I didn't even notice the car parked across the street. When I walked into the living room I was greeted by two guys sitting on the sofa. The big guy with his arm in a sling had a gun pointed right at me. The other one, obviously the one in charge, said in a thick German accent, "Vell, Dr. Charboneau, ve've been vaiting for you. I beleef you have already met Max." "Yes, we've met. It looks like I should have broken both arms." I said, glancing at the arm holding the gun. "What are you doing in my house?" "Oh, I tsink you know vat vee vant. Now, vhy don't you be a goot boy and giff it to us, zo vee can be on our vay." "Over my dead body!" "Not yet, my friend, not yet." As he said it I felt the barrel of a pistol stick into my back. Two more thugs had entered as we were talking. They led me into the den and sat me down in front of the computer. "Now, cooperate and you von't get hurt!" I didn't think I was strong enough or fast enough to take out all four of them without getting shot, so I bided time, waiting for the opportunity to make a move. The head goon wanted me to decrypt Marc's files and his patience was obviously running out. When I kept refusing one of the thugs pistol-whipped me, opening a small cut on my cheek. I thought about deleting the files, but that was the only thing keeping me alive at this point. Could I corrupt them without them knowing it? That would buy me some time. I was tapping at a few keys to stall while I thought about what to do when the fourth guy, who up until now seemed to be a casual observer, exclaimed, "Hey, Hans! Look! The cut on his cheek is already healing. Is he the one in those reports?" Hans, the head goon, responded, "Nein, er ist zu klein! da vun in der report vas much bigger. He must be der transmutation recipient. Vee must take him vith us." At that I started to get up, when I felt a sharp blow to the back of my neck. While I was still dazed the "casual observer" took out a syringe and stuck it in my arm. Everything started to blur and then went dark. When I came to, I was leaning against a stone wall in a dark damp room. As things came into focus I looked around to survey my surroundings. The only light was coming in from a small, barred window near the ceiling, about 4 meters up. On the opposite wall I could make out what looked like a heavy wooden door. There were thick heavy chains attached to the floor and walls at various points around the room. That's when I first noticed that my wrists and ankles were shackled to the wall. Wherever I was, they sure didn't want me to wander off. I tested the chains and shackles. They were real all right and strong too. I tried to break them but even with my recent muscular enhancement I couldn't break them. If only Marc was here; he could break them and take care of those thugs. But it was no use dreaming, he didn't know where I was, hell I didn't know where I was. So all I could do was wait and see what they had in mind. Meanwhile, when I didn't show up in Maine, Marc drove down to Boston to check on me. He found my house had been burglarized and my Computer was gone. It didn't take him long to piece things together and figure out that I was probably kidnapped by someone who wanted the secret of his unique genetic code. He didn't know how long I could hold out but he did know that he had to find me before I broke. But how? He had no Idea who had taken me or where. He looked around for clues, but didn't have to look long. A beautiful blond and six thugs came in with their guns trained on Marc. He was sure he could take them out, but they were his best chance to find me. He decided not to resist and hoped they would take him to the same place where they were holding me. With five guns aimed at him the sixth guy pulled out a syringe and stuck it in Marc's arm. "Shit! The needle broke!" After the fifth needle he finally got one to penetrate Marc's tough skin and pumped the 10cc of clear liquid into the thick vein of his biceps. Once he was out, four of the thugs struggled to pick up Marc's 200Kg body. The blond laughed and waved them aside. She then picked him up, threw him over her shoulder, and walked out the front door. Just as she was walking down the front steps Jack arrived. He said with amazement, "Kandy! What's going on? Where's Hank?" As two of the thugs grabbed him, the blond answered, "Sorry, Jack! You sure picked a bad time to show up here." She then turned to Hans and had a brief conversation with him in German, after which she turned to one of the thugs and said, "We'll take him with us. He may be useful in getting information out of the others. At that Jack felt the sharp stabbing pain of a hypodermic needle penetrate his arm; then he blacked out. When Marc woke up he found himself on board a private jet heading for who-knows- where. He sat quietly in his seat, not wanting anyone to know he was awake. He kept his eyes closed and listened, hoping for some clue as to where they were going. There were several conversations going on, one in German and the rest in English. Most of it was of little interest, discussing sports scores, brands of beer, etc. But he did manage to determine that they were heading for a small private airstrip in the Rein valley in Germany. Well that explained the German conversation. When they landed Marc kept pretending he was out and was surprised when he felt himself being picked up by a female. There were very few men who could pick him up, let alone women. They must be further along in the genetic experimentation than he thought. They went inside a building and down a long winding staircase. He could smell the dampness and surmised that he was being brought down into the dungeon of an ancient castle. He heard the creaking of a door opening and then the woman propped him up against the wall as some others shackled his arms, legs, and waist to the wall. He heard the women say, "Hurry up! I think he's coming to." At that he slowly opened his eyes and looked around. There were six men and one woman in a dark damp room. There were other sets of shackles on the walls but they were currently empty. He pulled at the chains, as if he was trying to get loose, but he was careful not to break them...yet. He wanted to wait for the right moment and this wasn't it. He needed to learn more about where he was, if I was here too, and how many people were there. He figured he would have a better chance if they felt confident that he wasn't going anywhere. One of the men then said, "Save your strength, you'll never break these chains. Hell, even Katrina can't break them. In fact Gregor, whom you will soon meet, can barely break one shackle using all the strength in both his hands, and he's much bigger than you." At that the door opened and Jack's unconscious body was brought in and attached to the wall opposite Marc. Marc recognized him, but wasn't sure how he got here, or why he was here. As long as he was unconscious he was probably safe. No sense in torturing an unconscious man. A few of the men left the room, leaving one well dressed, intelligent looking, guy and one big bodyguard type, along with the blond women. A few minutes later a huge, bald headed man squeezed through the door and strutted into the room. He was enormous, well over two meters tall and almost as wide. His thick muscular arms stuck out to the side, forced out by his delta-wing lats. His large rounded shoulders and traps seemed to blend right into his head, completely bypassing and semblance of a neck. Two large slabs of muscle pulled his loose fitting tank top out, letting it drape like a curtain over what appeared to be a narrow waist. Two massive legs were extruded from his tight fitting shorts, forming a powerful support for this behemoth. He stretched and flexed in an intimidating manner as the blond spoke, "I'd like you to meet my brother, Gregor." During all this I was in another room watching the proceedings on a monitor. I was glad to see Marc here, but I was hoping he would be my rescuer, not a fellow captor. Then there was Jack, poor Jack. He knew nothing, but was probably going to be badly beaten and possibly killed over what I had done. There had to be a way to help him. I started to look around for something I could use as a weapon to try to free my two friends, but was interrupted by some activity on the monitor. Gregor had walked over to Marc, grabbed his jaw in his large mitt and pressed his head against the wall saying, "Ahhh! Pretty boy, I vill like breaking diss face!" The well dressed man then said, "Easy, Gregor, just soften him up a little. Save his face for later. Don't worry you will have plenty of time for fun later." Gregor then cocked his huge right arm back and smashed it into the wall on the side of Marc's face. The impact shattered the stone, sending dust and shards flying in all directions. When he pulled his fist back there was a hole in the wall twice the size of his fist and nearly 20cm deep. Gregor laughed and ripped the shirt off Marc's body, exposing his hard, chiseled torso. He then went to work, delivering devastating blows to Marc's midsection. Alternating rights and lefts pummeled Marc's stomach like a pair of jackhammers. Marc tensed his ironclad abs to shield himself from this volley, but he was surprised at the power behind the blows. To keep them thinking that he was helpless, he grunted and groaned with each blow; however, they were delivered with such force that it didn't take much acting. After a few minutes of punishing blows to the midsection, he stopped and went to work on his chest. Latching his large hands onto Marc's pecs, just inside his shoulders, he began to squeeze. The muscles on his forearms stood out like individual strands on a steel cable of a suspension bridge, as he applied an inhuman amount of pressure to his victim's pectorals. Again Marc flexed hard, forming an impregnable barrier to the relentless onslaught. Gregor was so confident in his ability to crush any man that he didn't notice that Marc's muscles did not dent under the pressure. Marc's screams reinforced the illusion. From where I was watching I could see Marc's muscles remain rigid against the pressure and I hoped that no one else noticed that he was faking it. Since no one besides me had seen the incredible power Marc possessed they never suspected he could withstand this much punishment, so the illusion went on. After Gregor finished with the chest he moved to the arms. As he grabbed Marc's biceps and began squeezing, Marc flexed them hard. Gregor felt the "Titanium Steel" balls solidify in his hands and said, "Ah! You are a strong one, ya? But not as strong as Gregor. I vill crush dees puny arms in my bare hands!" And then redoubled his grip. Marc screamed in simulated pain, but had to flex very hard to keep Gregor from following through with his boast. Watching this on the monitor I became concerned when I saw the sweat glistening on Marc's body. I didn't think that was part of the act. Could the giant actually be stronger than Marc? No, no, I had to believe it was an act. It was our only hope. After a few minutes one of the other guys in the room told Gregor that it was enough and Gregor stopped and left the room, himself sweating profusely. If Gregor wasn't stronger than Marc he would certainly be a formidable opponent. After the show was over, probably staged more for my benefit than for Marc's, they turned the monitor off and directed their attention to me. One of the men in the room with me, the one I heard called Kristoph, said in nearly accent-free English, "Well my friend, as you can see your 'Guardian Angel' is helpless to save you this time, so you might has well cooperate. Perhaps we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement like we did with your friend, Andy." I looked in the direction in which he nodded and saw Andy Jabkowski talking to a couple of the goons. He pulled up a chair directly in front of me and sat down straddling it, with his arms and chin resting on the back of the chair. He continued, "You see, you are not the only one who has been working on genetically enhancing the strength of the human body. Gregor and Katrina are our two success stories, unfortunately there were many attempts, which failed, both before and after these two. We need to know how to ensure a successful physical enhancement with little or no risk. We know you have used the genome transmutation process to enhance your own strength, using this man's DNA as a model and seed donor, but we do not know how you enhanced his genetics in the first place. This is what you must tell us. If you cooperate you will be given everything you need to pursue your research. If you don't, well... let's hope we don't have to go that route." I knew I was in trouble but I had to stall for time. I refused to cooperate, figuring they would take me back to the dungeon for a good workover. At least then I'd be with Marc and we might be able to make a move. I was right. After I refused to tell him what he wanted to know, Kristoph said, "Yes, I expected as much. Perhaps you need a little time to think about it." With that he instructed two goons to take me down for Gregor to play with. This was going to hurt! As the heavy wooden door slowly swung open I saw Marc hanging on the wall to my left and Jack on the wall to my right. When Marc saw me a slight smile came to his face. With the three of us in this room it would be easier to orchestrate an escape. Jack said nothing, but just looked at me scared and confused. There was no one else in the room, which meant I might have a few more minutes before becoming a punching bag for Gregor. The two goons were bringing me over to a set of shackles on the wall when I heard the sound of metal wrenching. When I looked over I saw Marc's biceps growing into large rounded mounds of muscle as he pulled against the wrist shackles. The steel chains were already deforming as he pulled with inhuman strength against their formidable resistance. One of the goons rushed over to try to stop him. He grabbed an iron bar, several centimeters in diameter, and swung it full force across Marc's midsection. Marc flexed his abs just prior to impact and the bar bent slightly around his waist. At that point the chain restraining his right arm snapped, freeing it. He then swung his free arm, catching the goon on the jaw and sending him flying across the room. In the meantime I swung my cuffed hands around the other goon and started to choke him with the handcuffs. Even though this guy outweighed me by about 50Kg he wasn't able to break free. I was beginning to like my new strength. After a minute he went limp in my arms and I let him drop to the floor. As I looked up Marc had broken the chain around his other arm and was working on the leg shackles. The strands of muscles stood out on his forearms, writhing like thick snakes, as he dug his steel fingers into the doomed metal. His arms bulged with power as he pulled the shackles apart, freeing his left leg. Just then Gregor burst through the door! I jumped on his back and wrapped the handcuffs around his thick neck. What the heck, it had worked on the other goon. He grabbed the cuffs and snapped the thin chain like it was twine, and threw me across the room. He walked over to Marc, who was still working on the other shackle, and dropped a pair of clenched fists on the back of his neck. Marc continued to work on the shackle. He then raised his huge thigh, smashing his knee into Marc's face, knocking him back against the wall. This got Marc's attention. Marc retaliated with a hard right to the midsection, which sent Gregor back a few steps and went back to work on the shackles. His muscles strained against the hardened steel, bending it to the point of breakage. Finally he was free, but before he could do anything Gregor grabbed his right arm and twisted it behind his back, trying to lift him off the ground. Both Gregor's biceps bulged as he strained to lift Marc's arm further behind his back and perhaps dislocate it. From where I was standing I could see Marc's triceps harden as they contracted into a deep cut horseshoe. Marc slowly overpowered Gregor's two biceps with his single triceps, an incredible display of strength, as ! he straightened his arm behind him. Once his arm was straight he turned around to face his opponent only to have Gregor grab him around the chest in a killer bearhug. Marc returned the favor, wrapping his arms around the huge shoulders and back of the giant. The two titans squeezed hard, trying to crush the life out of their opponent. In this position Marc was at a clear disadvantage. He could not wrap his arms all the way around the giant's back in order to hook his hands and strengthen the grip. He had to rely on his biceps and pecs to defeat his foe. Marc's lats flared into wings of granite and his chest hardened into plates of steel as he flexed his muscles to resist the crushing pressure of his huge opponent. Gregor responded by flexing his own impressive muscles, tensing to resist Marc's crushing grip. As I stood transfixed by this awesome display of human power, Katrina burst into the room. I rushed at her to keep her from helping Gregor, but she stepped to the side and sent me crashing into the wooden door. I picked myself up, shook off the cobwebs just in time to catch a foot to the midsection that sent me back against the door. It was quickly followed by a rapid volley of kicks to the face that nearly took my head off. She was one strong chick! This time as I slowly picked my self up off the floor I was ready for her move. As she fired an open palm into my sternum I stepped to the side, grabbed her arm, spun around and broke it halfway between the elbow and the shoulder. She screamed and grabbed me around the neck with her good arm and began choking me. I grabbed her wrist and pried her arm away from my neck and then picked her up and tossed her across the room impaling her on an iron poker. When I returned my attention to the clash of the titans they were still locked in mortal combat. Each breath was hard fought, as they each had to counter enormous pressure in order to fill their lungs. Marc reached deep within and with every ounce of strength left in him, he flexed his biceps and pecs as hard as he could. I saw the slabs of muscle on his chest expand even further into the weakening chest of the German, cutting off his air supply. Then his biceps expanded into iron anvils pressing against Gregor's arms and his fists dug into the giants back. Suddenly I heard the cracking of bones as Marc's biceps snapped the upper arms of his opponent. Immediately the armor of Gregor's muscle gave way and Marc's relentless grip crushed his ribcage and broke his back. The giant's wheezing body slumped to the floor and in a few seconds expired. Marc then looked up at me, breathing heavily and covered in sweat, and said, "Depeche toi, mon ami! Get your friend and let's get out of here!" I grabbed the keys from one of the goons on the floor, unlocked the shackles, and helped my dazed friend out of the dungeon. As we ran out of the inner keep of the castle into the outer courtyard we saw a chopper rising up from its pad. Kristoph and a few of his cohorts had witnessed the carnage in the dungeon and decided to beat it before Marc came after them. Marc was not about to let anyone escape, so he grabbed a granite bench and tossed it at the chopper, smashing the tail rotor. The chopper spun out of control and crashed into the inner keep in a ball of fire. As we headed for the main gate, one of the thugs cut the rope on counterweight and the steel barred gate came crashing down, trapping us within the castle walls. Marc grabbed the base of the gate and flexed his tree trunk thighs. His quads bulged into hardened pillars as he slowly lifted the gate off the ground. He then dropped down, repositioning the base of the gate on his chest as if he was in the bottom of a front squat. He then repeated the display of power with his legs driving the gate up further. Jack and I ducked under the gate and yelled at Marc to come too. He slipped out from under the massive gate and it crashed to the ground again, this time with the three of us on the outside. By this time the fire from the crashed chopper must have reached a fuel or ammo store, because several large explosions rocked the ground. Several smaller explosions followed and soon the entire castle grounds were engulfed in flames. Within minutes, the entire complex was destroyed and everyone inside was killed. Our secret was again safe. We didn't wait around for the local authorities to show up, but quickly made good our escape. As we made our way back to the States we discussed what to do next. But that is another story.