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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:



Edited by Hialmar
language, link, added prefix and rubric
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This doesn't sound good to the main chars. 8(

I really hope that there is still something of Brad and Joe left and that it at least sometimes comes through and they will at least have those moments when they are still in love with each other. At the least. ;n;

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Somewhere at the forum, I promised quite a dark story, and it will be. Please be warned. Feelgood-stories are thirteen a dozen. But there will be muscle-growth.

At the moment, I plan two parts after this. They are for those who like when muscle-growth mixes with the unsettling, with primal urges and with the innate brutality of humankind. They ask my readers hard questions, but you have to formulate them yourself. I had a certain segment of readers in mind, this time. I am not sure if my irony is obvious for every reader. My friends accuse me of being very dry, and the dialects of irony follows regional patterns in different parts of the world.

The human mind is a funny thing: Able to achieve the best and the worst, and both potentials lies buried in each of us. Personally, I think it is better to lift our dark potentials up in the light and play with them (thus defusing them), than to ignore them and let politicians appeal to them without ourselves consciously knowing what they are doing to us. It has happened again and again in history, and the risk of it repeating in our time exist. Culture is changing. Human nature isn't.

Captain America (the film, the first one) is a mainly cheerful story about a good young man with high ideals, and the villains he meet are obviously villains. There is good and there is evil. Lots of participants on this forum -- even non-Americans like myself -- would love to be Steve Rogers (well, not the Hydra-timeline Steve of this spring).

But in real life super-soldier programmes would be shady businesses tip-toeing the line of what is ethically defencible. The less the amount of a functioning democracy, the wilder the experiments with the poor soldiers would be, which means, that in a reality with functioning super-soldier programmes, the dictatorships would perform the most extreme tests. Would a good man with high ideals leave such a programme as a hero or a villiain? Or is reality more complex than that, better letting us paint it with shades of grey?

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