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  1. Hialmar

    no sex Hypermarines

    Preface My usual sort of stuff. Nothing particularly original, but I want to share it with those of you who share my particular taste. Hypermarines He was sitting with the others in the waiting-room, if that was the proper word for it. Cubbyhole would have been more suitable. One bench each against two of the walls, a closed entrance and a closed exit in the other two walls, that's all, so he and the other recruits were sitting fairly close to each other, like they did during transport: the knees of four of them not far from the knees of the other four. The olive-green t-shirt hung in a rather loose-fitting way on him – on most of them, actually. The recruiter had tried to say something about the desirability of a process enhancing Ectos, thus increasing the usefulness of The Procedure, but he hadn't listened particularly attentively. The possibility – but not a guarantee, oh no, not a guarantee: that had been emphasized several times, both from mouth to ear and by the clauses, full of dread-instilling legal English, in the Form they had had to sign. ... -The possibility of physical improvement beyond the limits, he had faced in the gym, attracted him to The Project, the enticing allure causing at least 50% of the information to be lost on him. He began to feel warm in his olive-green loose-fitting t-shirt, and the fabric was slightly moist of his sweat. The serums and compounds ... Circulating inside him now. Too late, if he had changed his mind, but he hadn't. The serums and chemical compounds, the weeks building up for today's Procedure, the IVs and the injections – the sum effect of them all must be behind this heat, his beading sweat inside the t-shirt. Williams and West sat on each side of him. Williams' t-shirt wasn't loose-fitting: Williams' stout, short, wide and overweight shape was the reason why the recruiters had picked him: The Agency was eager to know the effect of The Procedure on Endos, too. West's t-shirt wasn't loose-fitting either: The sight of West's chestnut-coloured beefy pecs and chiseled abs in the common shower had caused some of the other recruits to feel inadequate and uncomfortable, badly disguised under friendly banter. In the beginning, he had worried about the risk of too much competitiveness among his fellow recruits, but they had early on agreed, that they had to cooperate in order to make the best out of this opportunity. West was allright. So was Williams, who'd got the nickname Tank from the other recruits. He felt fond of Williams and West and the five others: Brothers in arms. Sharing all these experiences with each other. Reliable lads in a situation. Good men. Invisible ties binding them together, and today, and after today, the shared experience of ... of what would happen next. Happen soon. He touched the unfamiliar and slightly unsettling presence of the little metallic shunt valve and the electronic port, both of them in the nape of his neck. Unfamiliar. Unsettling. Why would they need those two? Best not bother. They were needed for The Procedure. The cubbyhole full of the scent of moth-repellant rising from their wide camo-trousers. The cubbyhole full of the scent of the scent of shoe polish ... their glossy army boots ... a few sizes too large army boots, for some reason. The cubbyhole full of the scent of male sweat. Sweat after workouts. Worried sweat. Expectant sweat. Excited sweat. Some scent of pre-cum, too. Who would think about girls now, in a situation like this? Perhaps not thoughts about girls. Perhaps the effect of the serum. The compounds. Inside them. Already causing them to change. Already begun. Already increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones he hadn't heard about before, and didn't bother to remember. Increasing. He could feel his dick awake. Despite some lingering fear and second thoughts, the expectation on The Procedure – if it was as good as the recruiters had said – spread arousal in his body. Not the same body as three weeks ago. Three weeks of bootcamp had sky-rocketed his stamina. He wasn't probably much beefier now, strictly speaking, than three weeks ago, but his strength had improved surprisingly fast, his remaining fat had burned away, and his stamina ... He shuddered in delight. He hadn't undergone The Procedure, yet, but his stamina was already beyond his old imagination. Moth-repellants. Shoe polish. Dogtags. Wide camo-trousers. Necks of his army boots snugly pressed around his ankles. Sweat. Brothers in arms. Pre-cum. Because they were primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... Williams and West so close to him on each side. Brothers. Together ... The exit door into the Test Chamber opened by someone in a hazmat suit, waving to them, inviting them into the Test Chamber. He hadn't seen it before. Only heard about it at the briefing. They were deep under the surface. Granite rock walls. Floor coated in concrete. There were contrapments: Metal structures, cables insulated in rubber, hoses in different shapes and materials. The men in the hazmat suits began to place every recruit in his respective station. He laid down on a metal bench coated with black rubber and a removable paper blanket. There was a foot-plate at the foot end of the bench, and one of the hazmat guys moved the bench, so that he half-stood, half-rested on the bench at an angle of about 45°. They locked sockets around his hands, and sturdy cables ran from his two sockets to some equipment in the granite wall, together with cables leading to the other recruits' sockets. He had noticed a rectangular hole in his bench where his head was supposed to rest, and he could now feel the hazmat guys connect something to his electronic port and his shunt valve. Unfamiliar. Unsettling. Connected to the equipment in four ways now. Trapped. Second-thoughts? Second-thoughts. Hazmat guys opening two or three buttons of his fly, without opening the upper button or his belt. Pulling his dick out. A hose surrounding his dick. Connected to the equipment in five ways now. Trapped. Fluttering in his stomach. Too late for regret now. Too deep into The Project. The serum. Inside him. The compounds. Inside him. Already causing him to change. Already begun. Already increasing his amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because he was primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... The light faded slightly. The hazmat guys had already left. Lead-coated armoured doors sunk hydraulically over the entrance of the recruits and the exit of the guys in hazmat suits. They were abandoned now. Isolated from the rest of the world. Probably observed – nay, certainly observed – from somewhere else by observers, for whom they were not individuals, just anonymous test subjects, expendable specimens for the sake of science or defence. He was connected to The Machine now, they all were. Each of them were connected in the same way – one silvery hose, one black rubbery hose, two thick cables and a thin wire all leading to each test subject, each specimen, each recruit. There was nothing they could do now, just wait for The Procedure. Trapped. Fluttering in his stomach. Too late for regret now. Too deep into The Project. The serum. Inside them. The compounds. Inside them. Already causing them to change. Already begun. Already increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because they were primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... CONTACT! When his brain connected to The Machine he startled. Being handled as a piece of meat on the slab, as the hazmat-clad men had connected his body to The Machine earlier, had been intrusive enough, but he had managed, because he had signed up to The Project. When his brain connected to The Machine, the level of intrusiveness multiplied. SOMETHING was doing SOMETHING to his mind, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Sweat trickled from his brow and under his olive-green t-shirt. The remaining light in the room took on a beige hue. His ears were buzzing and tinkling. Far, far away, he could hear the voices of two or three young men groan in pain, and far, far away, he could hear the sound of gushing liquid, and the back of his head felt strangely wet, and yet not wet. He could feel a strange pressure build in the back of his head, inside his spine and in his blood vessels. His hands were locked into the sockets, and he was unable to touch the nape of his neck. Dizzy. SOMETHING was doing SOMETHING to his mind. Buzzing and tinkling. His awareness tumbling into the buzzing and tinkling. The room fading away. Fading into light. Dizzy, but feeling better. Better and comfortably warm. Feeling present inside himself. Inside Recruit Number Five. Yeah. That's him: The improving Recruit Number Five. No regret left now. Too deep into The Project. The serum. Inside him. The compounds. Inside him. The added Anabolic Formula. Inside him. Already causing him to change. Already begun. Already increasing his amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because he had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... The power streaming through him. Into him from his hands, from the sockets. Power sockets. Connected to The Machine. Part man. Part Machine. Connected. Power into him. Streaming. Through him. Through his body. Through his growing, hardening muscles. Felt good. So good. Growing, hardening muscles. Muscle-stimulating power. Uh! Yes! Reacting. The content in his blood vessels and muscles reacting to the Power streaming into him, streaming through him. The serum reacting to the Power. Inside him. The compounds reacting to the Power. Inside him. The added Anabolic Formula reacting to the Power. Inside him. Causing him to change. Already begun. Increasing his amounts of Testo and other hormones. Because he had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... Yeah. Recruit Number Five. Heat. Good heat. His body. Serum in his body. Compund in his body. Formula in his body. Power-stream in his body. Warm. Felt good. Felt stronger. His upper arms swole, rubbing against his lats. Wider back. Deeper chest. Dogtags in pec ravine. YEAH! Pec ravine! Harder abs. Harder. Warmer. More present. Physically present. Heavily present. Wide legs inside his camo-trousers. Quads. Hamstrings. Calves. Necks of his glossy army boots snugly pressed around his ankles. Recruit Number Five! Big, obedient, patriotic grunt! Yeah! He loved to be Recruit Number Five. To please superior officers. To use his INCREASED strength and ENHANCED prowess together with his brothers in arms. For the sake of his brothers in arms. To prove himself. To feel ... to feel ... this feeling of ultra-masculinity in his entire body. Entire body. Entire mind. Well-programmed test subject. Eager to be well-programmed. Eager to become enhanced. Eager to improve. Eager to increase in MUSCLE MASS. Yeah! His brothers in arms also adapted to The Procedure. Williams had been wide. He was still wide. He was wider. But his belly was melting away, and was replaced by a parapet of uncrushable well-defined abs. Williams was taller, but still wider than tall. He had been called Tank before. Now he WAS Tank. Becoming Recruit Number Four. West's already handsome physique had become brawnier. Also taller, and his eyes were turned upwards in his eyesockets as he experienced the anabolic bliss of The Procedure. Becoming Recruit Number Six. The other Ectos ... Ectos no more ... Y-shaped and chiseled giants with powerful chins reclined at their 45° metal benches, writhing in pleasure as they eagerly accepted their mental and physical reprogramming. YEAH! Mental and physical reprogramming!!! They were turning into good recruits, in the blue-tinted light. They were all turning into good recruits, under the impact of the POWER. The fabric of their olive-green t-shirts struggled to keep their bulging muscles inside, and he could feel his own t-shirt cling moistly and slightly uncomfortably tight around his powerful muscles. It was just a matter of seconds. His t-shirt and the others' t-shirts began to give in at the seams, and ripping sounds soon echoed in the granite chamber, while men moaned, equipment hummed unrelentingly, and additional amounts of the Anabolic Formula were pumped into their systems. Forced into them. Forcing them to ... YES! Additional amounts of the Anabolic Formula! More! Recruit Number Five needed more! And, as if it had read his mind, The Machine increased the amounts of Anabolic Formula and the energy level of the growth-inducing humming Power. The gushing sound. The louder humming. Buildup of Power inside him, inside them. The sensation of growing further: Bigger! Taller! Wider! Harder! Chiselled! Unstoppable! Men, who were more than men, were part Machine. Men, stimulated into unfathomable and insane levels of ultra-masculinity, began to bellow in a mix of pain, aggression and extreme aroused pleasure, as they crossed the threshold to titanhood. The scent of male sweat. Expectant sweat. Excited sweat. Sweat-beads on exposed, hard beefy chests in the blue transformative light. Blue transformative light. Forming such flattering shadows on their chests and abdomens. Flattering shadows tracing the shapes of their orange-sized abs, their medicine-ball-sized pecs (where their dogtags dangled) and their bowlingball-sized shoulders. The scent of shoe-polish from glossy army boots, now of the desired size. The scent of moth-repellants. Once wide camo-trousers, now clinging to the expanding granite-pillars, that now were their legs. Yes! His Quads. Growing bigger and harder. His Hamstrings. Growing bigger and harder. His Calves. Growing bigger and harder. Quads and hamstrings pushing his legs apart ... apart, forcing him to adjust his stance. Bootclad legs ... wider apart! Confident stance. Asserting stance. Mass-monster-stance. The feeling of having steel-hard muscles. Steel-hard muscles everywhere. Ready to spring into violent action for King and Country! Recruit Number Five loved his transformation, and he knew, that his brothers in arms loved their's, too. They were abandoned now. Isolated from the rest of the world. Different from all other men. They had become more. More than the hazmat guys. More than ordinary men. More than ordinary infantry, or Marines or Seals. More than ultra-masculine men. Sharing all these experiences with each other. Reliable lads in a situation. Good men. Invisible ties binding them together, today, and after today. Writhing in pleasure as they eagerly accepted their mental and physical reprogramming. Moaning and bellowing. The dry scent of power-emissions. Muscle-stimulating power. The dry scent of ever INCREASING power-emissions. INCREASING muscle-stimulating power. Wide legs inside his camo-trousers... Bulging chest... His biceps... so fucking hard, huge biceps... Bullneck... Oh, fuck! So much! Almost too much! More! He... Harder. Warmer. More present. Physically present. Even bigger! Taller! Even wider! Harder! Chiselled! Yes! Huge! Becoming ... Uh! ... HUGE! Together. HUGE TOGETHER. His brothers in arms. All the Recruits. Recruits together. Growing together. Transforming together. Crossing all limits together. The serum. Inside them. Reacting to INCREASED POWER! The compounds. Inside them. Reacting to INCREASED POWER! Increasing dose of Anabolic Formula. Reacting to ... Uh! Oh, fuck! Reacting to... INCREASED POWER! Causing them to change into... Increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones to MAXIMUM. Because they had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed for becoming ... becoming ... Oh, fuck! Couldn't believe... Yeah! Obedient patriotic Recruit love to grow! MAXIMUM level! Oh, fuck! So much! Almost too much! More! He... Harder. Titanium Titan! The pleasure! It... MY BRAWN! LOOK AT MY BULGIN' BRAWN! Enticing allure. Male sweat. Expectant sweat. Excited sweat. Pre-cum. So good! Couldn't... The serum. Inside them. Reacting to MAXIMUM POWER! The compounds. Inside them. Reacting to MAXIMUM POWER! Supreme dose of Anabolic Formula. Reacting to MAXIMUM POWER! Reacting to... MAXIMUM POWER! Causing them to change into... Increasing their amounts of Testo and other hormones to MAXIMUM. Because they had been primed. Primed for The Procedure. Primed for enhancement. Primed to become ... become ... Become ... Become ... HYPERMARINES
  2. Hialmar

    m/m The Security Squad, Part 4

    Last chapter is found here: The Security Squad: Part 4 It was dark. No, it was just what Brad called chiaroscuro. And warm and pleasant. Like I floated in emptiness. With Brad. Friend. Close. But then Brad's face melted and became the face of Bill. "I told you, I would give you hell, Joe". An unfamiliar German voice said: "Hell. Hölle." And then the person who was Brad or Bill catched fire, and he grabbed me and carried me, and I catched fire. And we screamed. I screamed. I tried to scream, but I couldn't. And then I woke up. It was just a nightmare. I felt dizzy. But rather warm and pleasant. Where? And then I remembered the chaotic memory fragments: Sergeant Williams carrying me into the room with the IVs. Plastic bags containing the dangerous-looking green liquid hang there, ready to flow into the veins of defenceless and unknowing test subjects. But I knew. I had read the files. The potentially deadly consequences. And the strange assertive veiny vigour Brad had exuberated in the gym. How I struggled. A glimpse of a white coat. A sting. Blackness. I looked up in the ceiling. I felt something strange in my arm. The bag with green liquid was just emptying its last content into me. There was no return. It already flowed in my system. I felt warm. Warm and horny. I was no longer just a recruit to the Squad. I was a test subject. One of the test subjects. One of the chosen few. Chosen together with Brad. I didn't want to feel pleased by that, but there was something inside me, that felt pleased with that. I felt like I could lift... lift heavy things. Like rocks. One of the anonymous medics in his late 30s or early 40s checked me. "Let me remove that drip, Private Wilson. You don't need it any longer." It was removed before I was able to answer, and a plaster was fastened over the vein. Veins. "How do you feel?" He checked my blood pressure. "I feel warm." "That happens sometimes. It happened to your friend, Sergeant Smith, too. It isn't something dangerous. Isn't something dangerous. The thought floated through my mind. Wasn't I supposed to be concerned about something? I didn't remember. Something about danger. But the Doctor said, that it isn't something dangerous. Felt good. "I feel good, Doc." "Good to hear that. You are soon going to join your brothers in arms." Brothers in arms. Sounded good. Like a real patriot. Wait. Didn't someone say that before? It felt good. I thought it again: Yeah! LIKE A REAL PATRIOT. I got hard again. It felt good to be a part of the Security Squad. Real men. Real men are not afraid of danger. It isn't something dangerous. The bed had wheels. Doc easily rolled my bed into another chamber. Didn't I know that door? Didn't that look familiar? Laboratory III. Was I supposed to know what that is? There were lots of men in white coats. Many of them were very old and wrinkled. Grey or white hair. Or bald. And big Guards. Yeah. I belonged. Belonged to the same Squad as the big Guards. I wanted to become a big Guard myself one day. Together with Brad. Sleepily I blinked. Sergeant Williams was there. And Brad. Sergeant Smith. Sergeant Smith is Brad. The sergeants were dressed in the same trousers as Bill and I, but unlike us they had uniform shirts. Two strange chairs with technical contrapments stood against a wall, but it was the machine with the chamber, which attracted all the attention. A sort of machine. I reached for a word. I was supposed to know it. A console? And a chamber of glass and steel and some sort of door-thingy. Membrane? And inside the chamber a man. One of my comrades in arms. Private... Private Tannen. Bill. I was supposed to have an opinion about Bill. But he was a brother in arms now. Inside that chamber. Something interesting happened to Bill. He was stripped to the waist. His belly was disappearing. And his cheeks were becoming smaller. Is that normal? He was standing there inside the chamber, between two racks of metal, connected to the chamber. Sparks and bolts were emitted from the rack. And Bill was holding them. So something was conducted into Bill. It isn't something dangerous. His face. Didn't I like his face before? How couldn't I like the face of someone, who was willing to watch my back in combat? Like Brad? Bill looked angelic now. His face in bliss. He moaned something. "Warrior! Yes! Make me into a warrior! I love this feeling!" It sounded nice. It sounded like something I wanted to experience. Why did I feel so sleepy? My friend Brad, who is Sergeant Smith, walked close to me. He spoke to me in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry Joe. I would have prepared you for this. I didn't believe that the stuff would affect me like this. It sounded so good. It sounded like everything I had day-dreams about in the past, but in real life. And then the terrifying accidents happened, and I wanted to cop out, but they had already given me the preparatory treatment. And it IS good. I have never felt like this before, at just the Preparatory Phase. Just imagine what the next Phases could do, if there is no accident. But I thought I could resist it better. I am not sure, what will happen to me in the next phase." "Use the helmet, Brad.", I murmured. "Helmet? Which helmet? What are you talking about?" "You will control and co-ordinate all processes with the helmet. Not them." He frowned, but we were not able to continue our talk. The scientists were discussing the things they were doing. An aloof British voice talked: "As you have all seen, everything needed in Phase One was to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow, and prepare the test subjects with a Preparatory Phase of Zythronic Fields, as our notations from the 40s suggested. By that, their stamina would increase, and with increased stamina, they would better endure the awakening of the Vril Power — or so we have reason to believe. This time, we will have one mesomorph test subject, one endomorph test subject and... I see that the ectormorph test subject is awake. Will you please inject him, Mr. Jackson?" Mr. Jackson, an elderly man, who walked like he had served a long time in the Armed Forces, grabbed something that looked like a pen on a metal table, and walked towards me. "Dont worry Private. It will soon be over." He put the pen towards my belly, and pressed. A brief pain, which soon receded. "The two formulas interacted well in the mesomorph test subject and the endomorph test subject. Will you please remove the endomorph from the chamber, Sergeant Smith?" The scientists turned the knobs of metal and plastic on the console, and pressed some buttons. The humming subsided. Bill looked up with a slightly disappointed expression. Brad helped him out of the chamber. When Bill had left the chamber, he walked to me. I was wary. His eyes were unfocused, but to my surprise he shone up in a smile. ”Wilson? Joe. Didn’t know they were going to give you the treatment, too. We are brothers in arms, then, I suppose. Don’t worry, bro. I might have behaved badly in the past, but if the awesome Sergeant Williams and Sergeant Smith want me to watch your back out on a mission, I will. Otherwise the mission could fail, and this Squad never fails. I love how our ranks are filled with more and more patriots. I love this treatment and my Squad. Welcome aboard, bro.” With his eyes still unfocused he surprised me a with heavy and warm hug. "Sergeant Smith, please help Private Wilson inside the chamber." My friend Brad helped me up from the bed. I still felt dizzy, but also energetic. The membrane felt strange. We pressed against it, and then we were inside the chamber. I noticed something on the floor: a helmet fitting the description I had read somewhere at some point in time. I couldn't remember. "That helmet, Brad. Control and co-ordinate." Brad nodded absent-mindedly, like he didn’t seem to listen to what I said. He helped me stand between two of the metal racks. There were several pairs of metal racks, like several men were able to go through the same thing at the same time. Wait! Were they going to do the same thing to me, as they did to Bill? I had almost no fat at all on my body. Wouldn't this be dangerous? Oh. I forgot. It isn't something dangerous. "Grab these racks, Joe. It will feel nice. It did, when they did this to me. It will give you stamina." "Uhu? Whatever you say, Brad. Sorry, Sergeant Smith." Brad smiled. Then he leaned toward me, and whispered: "I love you, Joe.", and left the chamber. A humming began. I wasn't aware of the changes that began to happen simultaneously in my organism. The green infusion and the small injection began to interact inside me. My DNA was rebuilt, my metabolism was rearranged, my hormone levels changed, but I wasn't aware about any of that. The only thing I was aware of was the power current, that flowed into the rack, and I was the conductor, that closed the circuit and let all that power flow through myself -- changing me, permanently and irrevocably. In that moment, the old Joe began to disappear. Something inside me tried to catch my attention: Something about principles, something about danger, but my dizzy mind let it go, and I lost myself in the overwhelming feeling of the transformative power. I had no idea, for how long I had stood there, when the humming subsided. I heard the loudspeakers transmitting sounds from outside: "Sergeant Smith, will you please remove Private Wilson from Preparatory Phase?" Brad was there. He helped me to the membrane and to the room outside. The two younger scientists rose. One of them took a blood sample from me and checked my blood pressure. The other one put two electrodes to Brad’s temples, and checked a graph — then let Brad look into a gadget which looked it would belong at an optician’s. ”I believe Sergeant Smith is in need of further treatment of your’s, Doctor Pushkin.” An elderly man with an Eastern European accent glanced at Sergeant Williams: ”Sergeant Williams. Will you please strap Sergeant Smith to that chair.” Sergeant Williams obeyed without a word. There was a slight flickering in Brad’s eyes, but he allowed Williams to fasten him to one of the chairs close to the wall. The chair was connected to cables and tubes, and had an uncanny resemblance to an electrical chair, but obviously it wasn’t. ”Sergeant Williams, please pull the switch.” When the switch was pulled, Brad tensed, and if his arms hadn’t been restrained, he would probably had fallen out of the chair. His mouth was open, like he was attempting to let out a scream, but no sound appeared. With a silent whirring sound, an injection needle moved robotically, and buried itself in Brad’s cartoid artery, before removing itself. Brad’s eyes were firmly shut. Likewise whirringly, two small metallic arms with moist electrodes lowered themselves 90 degrees, until they firmly touched Brad’s temples. This time, he was able to scream. A horrible scream echoed in the room, as the last traces of my friend Brad, as I had once knewn him, were erased from his soul, just leaving the Sergeant. The Squad Member. The obedient living weapon. He shaked in the chair for ten or fifteen seconds, and the restraints kept him in his seat, but then the shaking receded. Sweat trickled from his brow. The chemicals within his body must have responded to the treatment, because something else was happening. His neck tightened, and the upper buttons of his uniform shirt were no longer able to resist the pressure. The vein-covered, firm and hemispheric flesh, that was his pecs, forced themselves out of his shirt, and his sleeves were no longer able to resist the pressure from his swelling bicepses. Soon, his shirt laid in tatters on the floor Commanded by the scientists, Sergeant Williams released Brad, who stood up erect, his eyes dead, and awaiting orders. His face didn’t express any emotions. ”Let’s give this a test. Sergeant Smith, please remove Private Wilson’s t-shirt.” ”Sir! Yes, sir!” Without further ado, Sergeant Smith helped me remove my black t-shirt. ”Sergeant Smith, please strap Private Wilson to the chair.” There was nothing I could do. Sergeant Smith forced me to sit in the chair, and by his overwhelming strength he fastened the leather straps around my wrists, forced my leather-clad legs broad apart, and strapped them to the legs of the chair. Sergeant Smith looked quizzically at the scientists, but they shook their heads. ”Not yet. Other things first. You are ready for Phase 2.” - - - "Joe! Join me!” The deep voice of my best friend reached out to me from the growth-chamber. I was half-naked, and surrounded by the grey-haired scientists in white lab coats and the Guards in their intimidating and ultra-masculine uniforms. How did I end up in this terrifying situation? The machines connected to the chamber were humming louder now, and the intensity of the Zythronic Field surrounding Brad must have been much greater, than the preparatory treatment Bill, myself (and probably Sergeant Williams) had gone through. Brad stood at one of the stations, clenching the racks as his life depended on it, stripped to his waist, but still wearing his uniform cargo trousers of black and glossy leather and his heavy boots. He was a living conductor for the heighetened Zythronic Field, and his physique was responding to the treatment. His growth was visible, his bulging torso was covered in sweat, and between the moans and grunts he emitted, he tried to say something: ”Joe! Join me!” ”Zythronic racks working at a level of 45%”, one of the scientists said. ”Increase to 50%”, another answered. ”This is the most stable result we have had, yet.” ”Increasing to 50%. The levels now at 47.5% and increasing… Reaching 50%… Now!” ”Why don’t we save some time, and let the ectomorph specimen go through his conditioning?” ”You are right. Private Tannen, please pull the switch of Private Wilson’s chair.” Bill approached. ”You will become one of us, Joe. There is nothing you can do to stop it.” The effect of of the mind-altering medication must have worn off by then. For a few seconds, I remembered all that had happened: The worry for losing Brad, the atrocious experiments, how I had promised Karen to spy on the Security Squad, in the hope to restore democracy, but it would all be lost, if the Squad succeeded in brainwashing me, as they obviously had done to Sergeant Williams, to Bill and to Brad. Facing the risk of the same death as the burned man, facing the risk of the same death as the giant who was shot, and facing the imminent risk of becoming a mind-controlled machine, I panicked in the chair. But it was too late. The next second, Bill turned the switch on. To be continued. - - - Next chapter is found here:
  3. Hialmar

    The Security Squad, Part 3

    Last chapter is found here: - - - Life in the Squad was harsh, but it had some benefits. Now, I had time to spend at the gym, and I liked it. Some sort of friendship developed between those of us, whom had arrived at about the same time -- with the exception of Bill. When I looked at myself in the mirror, and saw my reflection in high tech army boots, leather cargo trousers and a black army sweater was a surreal experience: That was no longer myself -- not my old self -- but another Joe. I felt slightly ashamed of, that I liked the way I looked in uniform. I was not going to become one of them. It was after an extra-curricular workout, and rather late. I was changing clothes in the locker room close to the gym, and was dressed only in my pants. The door opened. Closed. "I told you, I was going to make your life a hell, Joe." It was Bill. His bulldog face was drenched in sweat and shiny. The black t-shirt with the Squad crest ended an inch or two over the lining of Bill's training shorts, but it seemed like life in the Squad actually was improving his health. "I know how wishy-washy your parents are, Joe. There is no chance in hell, that they voted for The Leader, and I doubt, that you did it either. So what are you doing here? Taking up the training assignment, that could be filled by a real patriot?" Although I was faster than Bill, he was heavier, and he used his weight against me. He grabbed my neck, and pulled me in the direction of the loos. "So I suggest, that you ask for resigning from this, and leave your place for someone who can fill it better." He opened the door to one of the bathroom stalls. Somewhere in the locker room a door opened and closed. "And what do you think you are doing, Private?" It was Brad's voice. Bill let his grip go. "Nothing, Sergeant. Just playing with Private Wilson." "There is no place for that sort of play at this facility, Private. If I ever see you repeating this, you will will be discharged dishonourably. Is that understood?" "Sir! Yes, Sir!" - - - The reprimand from Brad did actually have an effect. Bill would often look sullen, and he obviously didn't like me, but, for the rest of the time, he avoided me, which was an improvement. I hadn't forgotten Karen's suggestion, that I would use my involuntary recruitment to the Security Squad by spying on it. I supposed she was a part of the Rebel Alliance -- as some of my friends jokingly referred to the movement -- but I couldn't for my life understand how she could know about my Top Secret draft. The opportunity came sooner than I had expected. After the the initial months of basic training, there came a time of easier work. I was ordered to clean some areas of the base regularly, and one of these areas seemed to be a sort of medical treatment facility. When I was cleaning the hallway in that facility, the door was open to one of the rooms. I couldn't avoid peeking inside. What I saw was confusing. Neither Sergeant Williams or Brad looked ill. Actually, they looked quite healthy, but they laid reclining on medical bunks, and they had IV connected to the blood vessels in their crooks of their arms. The plastic bags hanging over their bunks contained a green translucent liquid. They were not alone in the room. Two other of the Squad members -- two corporals, I believe -- were connected to similar plastic bags. There were also two men in their 30s or 40s dressed in white lab coats, and I assumed they were civilians. One of them was taking the blood pressure of Sergeant Williams. "The readings are normal. Nothing to worry about this time." The other man took notes. "I look forward to meet the old experts tonight. It will be an honour to meet the persons, the research of whom had made this project possible." "I feel warm. Is that normal?", Brad asked. "It might happen in some subjects. We have not found any correlation between that sensation and the measurable effect. There is no reason for concern, Sergeant Smith." I continued cleaning the hallway further down, and hoped that no-one would notice that I had overheard the conversation. Something appalling happened the following night. Since we knew, that Sergeant Williams nurtured a habit of waking us up at unexpected times of the night, most of us had the habit of going to bed early. I noticed, that I had left my army cap at the medical facility while cleaning, and returned in order to pick it up. Sergeant Williams was very insistent on keeping all our equipment in our lockers, and I would avoid a long rant of his, usually followed by lots of push-ups. When I crossed the yard, I noticed several cars -- civilian as well as military -- which not usually were parked like that. When I walked through the empty hallways as silently as possible, I noticed the open door of an empty office, shedding it's yellow and gloomy light into the hallway. I also noticed a strange light streaming from the outline of a closed door to something designated Laboratory III. At first, I guessed, that a sunbed was used inside Laboratory III, since the light reminded me of tanning salons, but then, the light shifted in other colours: From blue into golden, and from golden into purple, and back to blue in several cycles. I could hear sounds and noises: People discussing, the hum of machines, and then -- the increasing screams of agony from a man in pain. A man with a deep voice and in pain. Screaming. Louder. And with the screams the increasing stench of burning flesh. I catched my army cap, and left the building, hoping that no-one would have noticed me. Suspicious and curious, I hid in the darkness outside, waiting for someone leaving the building. It took a while. Two dark silhouettes carried a bier. A vague outline of a huge man under a blanket could be guessed, rather than seen, in the dark, and, when the wind blew from their direction, the ugly reek of burned flesh could be sensed. The bier was placed in a car, which drove away. On the steps to the medical facility the glow of a cigarette lit up the dark, and then the scent of pipe smoke. Two white lab coats stood close to the two smokers. Seven voices. Two young. "We are very honoured by your presence here tonight, Herr Doktor Professor. It is an honour to meet you. And also you, Doctor. And all of you three." "Schtop zat Plappermaul. Ve are not here to exchange pleasantries, but to bring science forvard. And zis experiment hasn't brought science forvard. Ve just repeated a mistake identified and countered already in 1944", an elderly voice with a central European, probably German, accent answered. "That stench is familiar to you, Helmut, isn't it?", another elderly voice with a Brooklyn dialect commented sarcastically. "Hafen't ve discussed zat matter enough, by now, Dr. Goldstein?" An American voice with a distinct Texan drawl interrupted them: "Goddamit. You have been sounding like an old married couple for seventy years, by now. If I and Vlad are willing to work together, despite our long careers trying to defeat each other, why don't you? It's not like I would have dreamed of researching in the same Lab as a former Commie. Lots of Doctor Paperclipses and The Brooklyn Phycisists worked together back in your days. It was before my time." "Doctor Paperclip? Isn't that too kind to you, Helmut? Why don't we all call you Doctor Strangelove, instead?" A British voice suitable for cutting glass interrupted. "May I bring to everyone's attention, gentlemen, that Herr Doktor Professor Hafenreffer isn't exactly correct in his assessment. We did not reproduce exactly the same mistake as in 1944. By combining all these four experiments into one, we are bringing unforeseen parameters into the equation, which were unknown at the time each experiment was performed separately. The present state of research bring us advantages our precursors didn't have." "Precursors?", four voices unintentionally exclaimed in unison. "I am so sorry. Advantages some of us didn't have in the past. I would look upon this event as a minor setback." "A minor setback?", the Brooklyn dialect interrupted. "A soldier just died in there, fried by Doctor Strangelove's non-empirical spook-ray." "Oh please, Aaron. Zere is no evidence, zat it vas ze Vril Power, zat caused ze unfortunate condition of ze test subject. It could haf been Vlad's or Mr. Jackson's chemicals zat interfered, not to mention ze unproven combination with ze Zythronic field, vhich Her Majesty's government has provided us viv." After a short pause, he added: "Ve are all very zankful for Prime Minister April's co-operation." "Nowadays, we need every trading partner we can get.", the British voice commented dryly. "Unfortunate condition? Haven't you learned anything, since 1945, Helmut?" "Oh, here we go again", the Texan sighed. "In your clothes, I vouldn't claim any moral superiority, Aaron. Vat happened to ze American marines you and Mr. Jackson tested in ze 1980s, ven you vere afraid of Vlad's comrades? And vhy vas your governmental research grants vivdrawn?" An embarrassed silence ensued, but I had heard enough, and I had to avoid to be catched while listening. I silently returned to our barracks. - - - I couldn't concentrate the next day. They were experimenting on human beings. I had to tell Karen, but how? I had no leave scheduled for several weeks. And if they had pumped Brad full of that green liquid, his life could be in danger. And Sergeant Williams, too. I couldn't be sure about Brad. I felt so bad: We had known each other for years. He had helped me. He was my friend. The weird chewing gum event suggested, that he wasn't entirely on the government's side, but exactly where did he stand? Would he report me, if I confessed about Karen and the 'Rebel Alliance'. I couldn't avoid smiling quickly. It sounded so silly. Then I became serious again. I had to protect Brad. They were not going to murder my best friend. What should I do? What was their plan? What was the purpose of the experiments? My thoughts run in loops. I couldn't concentrate the next day. I avoided the medical facility the next day. Cleaning the same floor in two consecutive days when the entire base was that vast, would be a suspect behaviour. In the middle of the night, I woke up by gunfire and roars. I wasn't the only one of us new recruits who awoke, but when we had dressed and ran out in the yard, some of the big Guards ordered us to return to our barracks. They tried to block our view, but I could see eight men struggling to carry a bier on which laid a giant. A giant! I don't exaggerate. A dead giant was carried away. There was gunsmoke and blood in the air. - - - The next day was full of physical exercises, and I had no time to investigate about the appalling experiments that took place at the base. Usually, I would briefly meet Brad several times a day, on our ways to different buildings, but that day, I didn't see him at all. What if he had become ill by the experiments? I saw him in the gym after supper. He looked different. He looked slightly bigger than before, if that was possible. He was curling a barbell with unusually heavy weights. I froze in the doorway. He wore a black tank top with the crest of the Security Squad, and it was almost bursting at the seams. His shoulders protruded, and veins I had never seen before crawled over his chest, biceps, forearms and legs. I got hard. My best friend. Big. Veins. Protective. Again, I wasn't sure about my feelings. I wanted to be like Brad, didn't I? Well, yes. And I liked him as a friend? Of course. Was I feeling something more? I admired him. Big. Friendly. Admirable. Like being impressed by another man. Impressed. By his strength. And -- ehrr -- size. And assertive presence. And... and veins. Veins. VEINS! I wanted to warn him, but how could I do that, without telling what I had overheard? I didn't know the answer to that question. I left the gym, and hoped, that he hadn't noticed me. - - - Bill was missing from exercise the next day. I was scheduled to clean a few buildings again in the evening, including the medical facility. Something was happening in Laboratory III, and the door to the room with the IV equipment was locked. I was lucky. The badly illuminated office was left unlocked. I had cleaning gloves on my hands. No fingerprints. I began to peek into the folders on the shelves. Old yellow papers, which smelled of old paper dust. Some from the 1940s. It had been kept secret, but both Germany and the British Empire had raced to be the first country with super-soldiers. In reality! Weird. It was like one of Brad's favourite films. The Nazis had exposed some of their soldiers with a classified power called Vril -- God knows where they had found that strange power. I was into computers and egineering, but I knew enough natural science to know, that there was no empirical base for such a power. But here it was: A detailed description about awakening the Vril Power in soldiers, and then expose them to it. Wait. Awaken... and expose? The first experiments had gone horribly wrong. Soldiers without Vril sensitivity had burst into flames. I felt sick. So they tried to ... awaken... Vril sensitivity. What the heck? And a series of British experiment at about the same time. At something called Torchwood Instute, not far from... let's see... Bletchley Park. Zythronic Beams? Never heard of. That is... not before a few nights ago. Zythronic Beams? It was some sort of science-fiction gobbledygook. And then I saw the black and white photographs. That sort of physique was impossible back then. Both the Germans and the British looked like super-heavyweight bodybuilders from the third millennium, with the difference, that their muscles looked like they were adapted to perform real and heavy work. And engage in combat. They were very impressive. That is, those who survived. The death rates on both sides were high, before the scientists achieved what they hoped for. And a thick stack of papers in Cyrillic script, dated to the late 1950s and early 1960s. I didn't read Russian. More recent papers. An American experiment which ran in 1969-1974, and was revived in 1981, but aborted after some terrible accident in 1985. More photographs. American marines. Very sun tanned. And muscular. Wasn't that oil too much? Oh, yes, it was the 1980s, so it must have been normal for the time. Strange dead eyes. Like their minds were shut off. And sketches of machines. Improved ones, based on the four old ones from different decades and places. A helmet connected to the main centre, intended to control and co-ordinate all the processes. Control and co-ordinate? I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Who have we here? Reading classified documents, Private Wilson?" It was the voice of Sergeant Williams. Sergeant Williams stood there, intimidating as ever. "No harm done, Wilson. You would be briefed sooner or later, but I suppose it is time to begin your treatment." "T-treatment?" I suddenly felt very, very afraid. "Our research team want to compare the effect on different body types. Your perfectly ectomorph build would give a good impression how the treatment will work on soldiers of your constitution. We have mainly worked with mesomorphs in the past, which cause the results to be askew. I had hoped to introduce you to the test programme a day, or so, in advance, but let's face the music. Prepare yourself to become big, Private." - - - Part four is here:
  4. Hialmar

    m/m The Security Squad, Part 2

    Last chapter is found here: The Security Squad: Part 2 News-reports about the so-called Security Squad were rare, and only reported about successful operations to prevent terrorist attacks. If what the news agencies reported, about the Security Squad, had been entirely true and the entire truth, The Squad would have been a force for the good -- as far as that was possible, under our contemporary regime -- but many of us doubted the accuracy of the news we heard or read. Many of us. Not all of us. Some neighbours, even those who initially had objected to the re-structuring of our political system, gradually moved into acceptance of the status quo. Some of us heard the whispered rumours: About disappearances of those critical to The Leader. About sinister operations by the Security Squad. About rebels of several stripes not able to agree with each other. Brad had been drafted before he could finish his studies in Ancient history and Archaeology. I had finished a Master Degree, and found work at a computer company. Brad had been away for six months, until he was permitted one week of leave. He spent two days with his parents, but had told me, that he would be glad to spend time with me. I didn't know what to expect. He had switched back to civilian clothes -- mostly. He was wearing his favourite type of jeans and Adidas trainers, but his black t-shirt was printed in white with the heraldic crest of the Security Squad, and, since the weather was cold, he was wearing a shiny black bomber jacket. His former stylish haircut was changed into a stern jarhead cut. The bones of his face were more discernable than before. He had had that look twice before, shortly before competitions. That meant, that the Squad kept his bodyfat low. If he had been a friendly and intellectual bro before, he now felt intimidating. Was this the same person I knew, any longer, or had they succeeded in turning him into a stranger? "Hello, Joe! Long time, no see! I am glad to see you." There was something about the voice. Different. Military. Mixed feelings erupted. They had taken him from me, and turned him into a willing instrument for them. But there was also something thrilling about my close friend being a Squad-member. Dangerous. Able to explode into action. Into God knows what violent acts. I felt worried for him. "What about a meal? I can afford it now." We both knew a restaurant with a menu friendly towards the habits of fitness buffs and bodybuilders. The meal was decent enough, but it scarred my soul to listen to Brad's new jingoistic vocabulary. "I am proud to serve the greatest Leader our country has ever had, and I am proud to serve the greatest country on Earth. We have never had it so good." Brad suggested a walk in the park, and, without any greater amount of enthusiasm, I accepted. "Some chewing gum after dinner? I brought your favourite." Chewing gum? Favourite? I had never liked chewing gums very much. Brad passed me a thin and long chewing gum of a very old fashioned sort. The tinfoil paper looked like it was used. I unwrapped it. Someone had written on the gum stick with a pencil: Don't say something compromising. I turned it around: We might be bugged. "Aren't you going to chew it?" "Thinking about it -- that sort is so thin, that you need two or three pieces, to have something to chew on." He passed me another chewing gum. The tinfoil paper looked used on this one, too. More pencilled words: They try to break me. I'm still the same. and on the backside: Just play along. "Do you have any time for exercise any longer, Brad? "That's the best thing with the Squad. Some exercise is mandatory, and exercise on our spare time is encouraged. How about your own exercise?" I felt embarrassed. Without Brad around to push me, I didn't train as often as we had done together, before he was conscripted. "So and so. Not like before." "I can see that. You look thinner than before." Suddenly he looked concerned. He put his hand on my shoulder. We sat close to each other, like we used to do before. Despite his attempt to assuring messages (that was actually quite alarming), I felt worried. Nothing would become the same again. Bugged? Saying something compromising? I was very glad to see him, and he hugged me several times, but a lot of things were not like before. The days came and went. He returned to his base. - - - A month later, an envelope, that looked very official, arrived in my postbox. I couldn't believe my eyes. A conscription draft. Me? Of all persons... The Security Squad? Who has gone insane among the authorities? I was supposed to take a train to the station so-and-so, and would receive further orders when there. My world crumbled. The small corner of normality, which I had tried to uphold in a mad time, was robbed from me. My reasonably good job. My reasonably good flat. I worked the next day in a dazed state. I arranged for one of my cousins to take over my flat. I ate at one of my usual places, which, I am sad to admit, wasn't the healthy place with all the egg-white omelettes and whey-muffins. A woman, who looked vaguely familiar, sat down at my table without asking. I looked up. "Karen? It's years! What are you doing here?" She smiled, but I couldn't free myself from the impression, that the smile was somewhat artificial. "I'm visiting old relatives. As you know..." She laid a paper napkin in front of me. A paper napkin with text. Please spy on Security Squad. Don't show surprise. We'll contact you. "... my parents are dead, but I have several other relatives left in town." "Town", I said with some irritation. "Small city, then. What are you doing nowadays?" "Working with computers. Yourself?" "I'm writing articles for a magazine about engineering. Oh forgive me..." She sneezed, and blew her nose in the paper napkin. The ink must have been soluble, since the text turned into a blurry blot. She swiftly pressed the napkin into a little ball. The evening continued. My world was becoming even more confused, but I tried to keep a good facade. I have no idea, about how well I managed. - - - Yellow leaves were falling from the trees, in the alley close to the railway station. I was wandering around the station building, waiting for other travellers to disperse. I suspected, that the personel from Security Squad wouldn't blatantly advertise about the exact location of one of their bases, even if such things seldomly would be hidden from the locals for any longer time. I wasn't the only one, who seemed to wait for some sort of transport. Three other men seemed to wait, and seemed to not be from these whereabouts. I observed one of them. It couldn't be... Not him! But it was. Bill from first to sixth grade. He was now in his mid-20s, and his face was of course more mature than it had been then, but he had kept the visage of a bulldog, and time hadn't robbed him from his baby-fat, but turned it into the belly of an over-weight young man, instead. I hadn't seen him for almost ten years. What was he doing here? A bus arrived. The driver was wearing some sort of non-descript uniform, and it was hard to guess which branch of the armed forces he belonged to. "Documents, please." All four of us fumbled after our drafts, and having checked them and our ID cards, he allowed us aboard the bus. We left the railway station behind. The base was located one hour into nowhere, and surrounded by a bleak and autumnal landscape. It was already becoming dark. The moment we left the bus, a man in a very intimidating uniform left one of the buildings, and stood before us. His uniform trousers were made of black leather. He was wearing a black army sweater of wool, with some extra padding at the elbows and shoulders. His army boots were heavy, and looked high tech. "Recruits! I am Sergeant Williams, and you will soon regret the day you met me. I will be your worst nightmare. I will break you, and I will rebuild you into harder, better, faster, stronger men, so that you will better serve your country and your Leader. But first, you will all collect your equipment in that building. No questions. You will be briefed later." The Sergeant was scaring the shit out of me, but not only me. With some glee, I noticed, that the Sergeant had frightened Bill, too. We jogged in the direction of the building, and collected our equipment. Though wearing the same sort of uniform as Sarge, the man behind the counter was slightly less frightening, and adviced us about the whereabouts of the barracks. I began to put my civilian clothes into a locker, and put some of my equipment into it, which took some time. "I don't know what the hell you are doing here, Joe, but I will make your life a hell." I knew that voice. I turned around. It was Bill. I don't know how he had managed, but he had already changed into uniform. Obviously, it could change the appearance even of a man with a belly. I felt trapped. Memories from the past rose to the surface of my mind. Schoolyards. Shouting children. Rubble in my palm. "How slow are you weak sissies actually?", a voice roared. It was the Sergeant again. "You were given this much time, and none of you has managed to fill your locker in an orderly way and change into uniform." I glanced in the direction of Bill's locker. He had spent his time changing, but had left both his civilian clothes and his equipment in a heap in front of his locker. The Sergeant continued to roar: "I give you five minutes." I am not able to describe the following days in any detail. They are a blur of running with equipment, shouting, inspections, push-ups and surprise awakenings. I remember the scent of shoe polish, leather, wet wool and male sweat. A positive aspect of those days was, that Bill never had the time or opportunity to make any threats into reality, and, since he was in worse physical condition than I, he was generally exhausted. I still didn't know, why two such unsuitable persons like myself and Bill had been recruited. - - - For some time, the men who had arrived with me (and those who had arrived with some communications immediately before and after us) were kept isolated from the other men, but, one day, that limitation was lifted. I was eating lunch, noticing, that the quality of the food had improved. For days, we had eaten food rich in starch, but not containing much else, but now we were given fish, egg halves, omelettes and low-fat yoghurt, among other things. Someone sat down on the empty chair opposite my own. I looked up. It was Brad. I hadn't seen him in uniform before. He was the type of person, which this uniform was designed for, to begin with. His black, woolen sweater enhanced the forms of his shoulders, traps and chest. His narrow waist was obvious for everyone. The black leather trousers with pockets on their legs made him look more dangerous than Sarge. His face was less gaunt, than when we had met the last time, and he was radiant of health. "Your new haircut suits you, Private. Makes you look much more masculine." Brad nodded at my jarhead cut. "Brad!" "No, not when we are on duty. I'm Sergeant Smith now. Williams is not the only Sergeant around, as you will notice. But I am glad to see you." "Permission to speak, Sir!" "Granted." "What am I doing here, Sir? Any records of physical tests must show, that I am not of the same ability as yourself, Sir!" "I am not able to reveal any classified information, Private, but I am assured, that you will soon be briefed. How have you endured recent time?" "Sergeant Williams has enhanced my cardio, Sergeant, but I am not used to army life. I'm rather good at keeping my locker neat." "I see. Your schedule is filled with activity most of the time, and so is mine, but let us see, if we can talk more when our times for recreation overlap." To be continued. The story continues here: