From: lewj99@yahoo.com TAKING (ON) THE TRAIN by JL -------------------------------------------------------------------- Matt adjusted his baseball cap and spit into the narrow strip of grass separating the road and the adjacent parking lot. Any minute now... all around him, warehouses stared back with blank faces, most of them vacant. Down the street a bus pulled away from the curb, passing by him. If the driver took any notice of the stocky, broad-shouldered figure standing on the curb, he gave no indication. That was good. He didn't want a lot of witnesses. After the bus rumbled away, Matt cocked an ear to the south. Still nothing. He'd been scoping out the area all week, and the 11:35 PM train was never late...until tonight. "Goddamn Murphy's Law" he muttered, shaking his head in disgust. But it would be along soon...although Matt had no intention of letting it finish its route. Nearby, a street light flickered out, breaking his concentration. The city didn't do much in the way of maintenance in this neighborhood, but it did contain the one thing Matt needed: an out of the way, nearly deserted light- rail station. Matt glanced at his Ironman Triathlete watch, a present for his sixteenth birthday. Eleven thirty-nine...where the fuck was it? Now annoyed, he reached down and looped his index finger into a manhole cover, hoisting it out of the pavement. A thick bicep bulged menacingly under his Notre Dame t- shirt as Matt lifted the cover with that one finger, bringing it to eye level. Grasping it with his left hand, he hurled it a good twenty feet in the air, deftly catching it in his right hand. He held it level. "Next up in the discus throw, Matthew Kyle Fraser" he intoned, spinning around twice before expertly hurling the manhole cover across the street. It whizzed seventy feet before lodging itself into the side of a warehouse. "Fuckin' gold medal toss" he added. Suddenly in the distance, he heard the sound of a train whistle pierce the warm night air. Almost showtime. He'd gone over this scenario in his mind a hundred times, but Matt knew this was going to be better than he had anticipated. He strode across the parking lot, a slight grin creeping across his face. Massive quantities of adrenaline and testosterone flowed through his body - a dangerous enough combination for any 16-year-old, let alone one with his...unique abilities. The train pulled into the station (which was little more than two benches under a canopy) smoothly, stopping next to the platform. Two cars, white with blue trim, were joined together, powered by an overhead wire. A quick glance of the brightly-lit cars revealed no one was inside. Perfect, Matt thought. Not that he was expecting a crowd - he'd been watching the 11:35 all week, and had never seen more than two people on it. Still, he didn't really feel like dealing with any passengers, especially the drunks that rode this time of night. The conductor looked out onto the platform, but Matt just looked back impassively. Shrugging, he closed the train's doors and prepared to pull away. The smirk on Matt's face turned into a wide, toothy grin. "Time to rock and roll" he said, almost exuberantly, pounding his right fist into his left palm. There was a coupling link on the back of the second car, which Matt grabbed onto with both hands. His biceps rippled as he firmed his grip, clamping his hands firmly in place. Matt's breating was quick and shallow. He barely had time to plant his legs before the train started pulling away from the station, jerking him forward a couple of steps. "Oh no you don't" he said, yanking backward with his killer arms, forcing his thick biceps and triceps to explode with heavy, corded muscle. The train shuddered, slowing to a crawl instead of accelerating. A loud whine emitted from the train's engine as it tried to overcome the unforseen obstacle, this mass of solid muscle and unbreakable will that even now was bringing the train to a near stop. "UNNNGGGHHH!" Matt roared through clenched teeth as he threw his head back, revealing a thick linebacker's neck full of straining muscle and rope-like veins. His arms throbbed with power, the bulging biceps and triceps stretching the fabric in opposite directions until it was taut. Matt could feel the forged steel of the coupling link deform under his unyielding grip as he continued exerting his insane muscle force. With the train's forward motion nearly arrested, he planted his legs firmly, his barrel-thick quads threatening the seams of his khakis. That was as far as this train was going. Matt continued holding the train in place, 80,000 pounds of iron and steel outmatched by his own forged brawn. The seam under his right tricep gave way with a barely audible pop as the first rivet of sweat trickled down his face. The engine's whine grew louder and louder, then suddenly stopped as the conductor shut the train down. Matt glanced up, his brow furrowed. "Ah shit, he ain't playing fair" Matt grumbled, releasing his hold on the coupling, which he had compressed a good inch on either side. The conductor had already stepped off the train, a puzzled look on his face. He was a grizzed old man, at least sixty-five, tall and rangy with a white beard and a flask tucked into his uniform pocket. He did a double take when he saw Matt, now pumped up to the size of a tank, his muscles barely contained by what once had been loose clothing. "Something I can help you with?" Matt asked in his most polite voice, adjusting his cap again. He made sure to flex his swollen bicep as he did so, forcing the overstressed t-shirt to rip open over the peak. Matt just shrugged and smiled, as if it were an everyday occurrence. "Ummm..." the conductor stumbled, unsure of what to make of the scene. The stench of vodka on his breath was obvious. "I'm havin' some trouble with the train, and thought I'd see if there was an obstruction on the tracks. You seen anything?" Matt just laughed. "An obstruction. Well, you're close, old man. The obstruction's standin' right here. You aren't going 'cause I'm not letting you go." He motioned to the coupling link, warped by his hands. The conductor shook his head. "I don't know what's going on here, but I need to get this train running. Get outta here, kid, before I call the cops." Matt's eyes lit up with rage. "Kid? You think I'm a fuckin' kid?" He hated being called that more than anything, hated the condescending attitude it implied. "I'll show you what this fuckin' kid can do." Reaching down, he grabbed a rail on the adjacent track, wrenching it upward with a painful squeal. Matt yanked so hard that he actually ripped a four-foot section away from the main track. He held the jagged rail in front of him, spreading his tree-trunk arms out to grasp the rail as close to the ends as he could. "Watch this, old man" he scoffed. The conductor could only stand transfixed as Matt began bending the rail upward in a fluid motion, working it as if it were clay instead of solid steel. He smirked at the conductor as he muscled the rail into a rough u- shape. A network of veins criss-crossed the expanse of his smooth forearms as he continued to punish the rail, bending it upwards until it formed a loop. Matt exhaled loudly, then started pushing the two ends of the loop together until they were fused. "What in the name of God--" the conductor blurted, but Matt wasn't finished. Grasping the looped rail on either side, he began pushing, a slight grunt escaping his lips. Once again, the steel yielded to his terrifying teenage strength, screeching as it was forced inward. Finally, he pushed the two sides together, forming a figure-8. He held the twisted metal before him, making sure the conductor got a good look before Matt hurled it across the tracks. "Now are you going to start the train again, or do I have to destroy something else first?" Matt asked in his cockiest tone. The conductor turned on his heels and sprinted toward the front of the train, intent on getting the fuck out of there. But Matt was right behind him, sprinting ahead of the old man and stopping in front of the train. He stood there, hands on hips, that arrogant smile pasted on his face. He could almost feel the testosterone coursing through his system, waiting for a release. The conductor stumbled back into the driver seat, breathing hard. That kid...or whatever he was...was blocking the tracks. In spite of what the conductor had just seen, he still refused to believe that the kid could stop a train. It just wasn't possible. Christ, he barely looked old enough to shave. He didn't want to kill the kid though, just maybe nudge him out of the way. Outside the train, Matt grabbed the Notre-Dame t by the collar and ripped it off with a sharp tug. Tossing the tattered shirt aside, he looked up at the conductor and hit a most-muscular pose. Thick striations rippled across his hairless pecs, which hung like shelves over a well-defined six pack. Even in the moonlight, Matt's upper bods was sharply defined...not quite like a bodybuilder in contest shape, but damn close. He relaxed the pose and bounced his pecs a few times before hitting a double-bi that made the conductor's jaw drop. Those enormous peaks swelled with dense muscle, crowding the space between his forearms and shoulders. They were absolutely awe-inspiring, especially on Matt's five-foot-seven frame. "BRING IT ON!" he yelled at the conductor. "BRING IT THE FUCK ON!" The conductor fumbled before starting the train again and moving it forward, slowly making up the ten feet that stood between it and Matt. Matt had just enough time to stretch his girder-thick arms out before crouching down and preparing to meet the 40-ton colossus. He dug his feet into the ground and held his arms at a 90-degree angle, outstreched palms catching the train. And stopping it. His face was less than two feet from the conductor's, separated only by a pane of glass. "Is that the best you can do?" Matt smirked. Shaking his head, the conductor tried to increase the train's speed, but every effort was matched by the pistons in Matt's arms. His guns bulged hugely, forcing thick veins to the surface. The wheels ground uselessly against the tracks, creating a horrible squeal in the otherwise quiet night. Matt's grin widened as he took everything the train had to offer - and held firm. Beads of sweat dropped down the conductor's disbelieving face as he powered up to half-throttle...then three-quarters...but still nothing, not even a single inch. Matt could feel the frame begin to shudder under his onslaught. His face and arms were bright red as rivers of sweat ran down his body. "Wanna go for full?" he taunted the conductor, who did just that. The train's full force knocked Matt back a few steps, but he quickly regained his footing as he set to match the train's full power. His arms began warping the train's front end as he fought back with his full fury, drawing on reserves of strength he didn't know he had. Matt ignored the conductor, ignored everything around him, and poured his concentration on the laboring train kept at bay by his might. Grunting loudly, he shoved. Nothing happened. Again. Nothing happened. Then, on the third shove, success. Matt felt it, and the conductor felt it - the train had moved backward a few inches. Matt had taken every ounce of power the train could muster, and was now beating it back with a force even more powerful. His monster quads tore shredded the khakis, every muscle fiber visible through the burst seams. Matt swung his shoulder into the front of the train and kept up his muscle assault. The train moved back another six inches, then twelve. The conductor frantically pushed buttons, sweating profusely. He stared down into Matt's eerily calm face. He pounded on the glass, but Matt paid no attention. The train's backward motion was evident now; Matt had muscled it back six feet, the tires squealing, the chassis groaning under the mounting pressure. Rivets began popping out along the overstressed frame. Still, Matt kept shoving, his young muscles pumped like they had never been pumped before. Muscles that had a long way to go before reaching maturity. Matt had pushed the train back twenty feet and was approaching the station when the concuctor regained his senses and shut the train down, before this musclebound beast could destroy it entirely. He jumped from the train and ran toward the station, not slowing down, not looking behind him. "YEAH! YEAHHHH!" Matt roared, pumping his fist skyward. He slammed the front of the train with that fist, denting the front end further and cracking the windshield. A massive hard-on tented the torn remains of his khakis, but he ignored it for the moment, savoring his triumph over the 40-ton train that stood battered before him. The train would clearly need to undergo massive repairs if it ever was to carry passengers again. Matt walked back across the parking lot, his thick, pumped muscles glistening under the flourescent lights. The conductor was gone, probably figuring out what to tell his supervisor. Or the cops, if they would listen to him. Matt didn't care. Let the cops find him. Let the fucking Army find him. Those soldier-boys would find more than they had bargained for. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what came next. Wrecking that train was a big step up from the petty vandalism he had carried out up until then - it was almost like crossing a line. But he was sure of one thing - he could never go back... THE END (for now!)