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In the past, he had once underwent a CT scan. The machine reminded him of that experience, when the movable bunk entered the cylinder. His lean and fragile body rested on the removable paper-blanket, and his naked body was exposed to the dry and cool laboratory air, except for the camo-patterned jockstrap one of the sponsor companies had donated en masse to the lab --- the logotype ostentatiously visible on the waistband. His ears had blushed, when he entered the lab from the locker room, only dressed in this underwear, a surgeon-green blanket and flip-flops, exposed to the gaze of Dr. Bulgakova, Mr. Gruffydd, the Brigadier and Mr. Wolfensteen. 

Dr. Bulgakova was a stern, but professional, head of research of the project, but, despite her professionalism, he felt embarrassed to be almost naked in the presence of a ten year older woman: Too young to be of his mother's age, young enough to be interested in more appealing men of his own age, and he felt inadequate. Mr. Gruffydd was a lab assistant of his own age: A shy and cute nerdish little boffin. Gruffydd was ok. It had been a boost to his self-confidence, when Gruffydd asked him for training advice, which was a first. The Brigadier was terrifying and impressive at the same time, and, in a sense, it was flattering, that the armed forces were interested in the experiment, but the knowledge, that the Brigadier encountered much more fit and much more strong men every day, caused an awkward feeling to flutter in his stomach. Mr. Wolfensteen caused a similar reaction inside him: The head of the marketing department of a company producing sport nutrition wasn't the average pen-pusher, but a suitable public face for a company helping (or pretending to help) gymrats all over the world to attain their goals, and Mr. Wolfensteen's shirt struggled to keep its wearer's shoulders and neck inside.

It was a relief, when he let the flip-flops go, Gruffydd removed his blanket, and he could hide from their gazes inside the machine. The bunk moved, he entered the cylinder, he was surrounded by the machine. It was too late to change his mind now. He had been given the opportunity to opt out, but he had signed all these forms, and now he had to undergo the experiment and stay silent about it. It had sounded so good: "Want to get big? Apply to testing. Generous pay." Years after years at the gym, and still remaining like this. Get his studies payed for testing growth supplements sounded appealing. Too late to change his mind now. Surrounded by the machine. Lack of knowledge caused him to be worried. He knew enough to feel expectant, excited. His heart rate increased. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Big. His willy grew in his jockstrap. Not knowing enough. Fluttering in his stomach. What would actually happen? What would actually happen to him? What if there were dangerous side-effects? He was the prototype of ...

He didn't finish his line of thought. The humming began and intensified quickly. Though he hadn't felt a thing, when The Formula had entered his bloodstream an hour ago, he now felt his blood vessels burning painfully, and he had to struggle, to not let out a scream. Burning. Painfully. And he heard a sick cracking noise, like bone grinded to bone, which it actually did. He let out a yelp. Something was wrong with his spine and his clavicles. Sick. Cracking. Noise. His arms. Legs. Sick. And for an unknown length of time he blacked out. Sick noise. But another one. Not cracking. Not cracking anymore. More like ... like someone stuffed raw beef inside a leather sofa. And no pain anymore. Actually felt rather good. Yeah, good. SO GOOD! His veins were still warm, but not burning anymore, like a painless, delicious stream of electricity flowed through his system. Painless. Delicious. Power stream. Through him. All of his veins. All of him. Power stream. His traps. Traps felt good. Bigger now. Power stream through his legs. Wow. Quads now. Power in his hamstrings. Power in his calves. Felt broader, wider ... Delicious power stream through his entire back. Humming sound. The sound became louder. Humming and buzzing sound. His body felt like it was buzzing, too. Fuck, yeah, so good. Becoming a real bruiser. Buzzing power stream through his biceps, triceps and forearms, making him more massive. Fuck, it worked. It really worked! It wasn't just scientific guesswork ... It. Made. Him. Bigger. YES! WORKED! BIGGER! BUZZING! POWER! 

"Intensify the settings, Dr. Bulgakova."

"There are safety protocols to consider. We must evaluate this experiment, before we go further."

"Our shareholders want to see results. What happens beyond next three-month-report is of no consequence in business. Results now. Intensify."

"My scientific conscience dictate ..."

"My company is able to withdraw financial support, and what would happen to your scientific project, then?"

The machine continued what it was made to do. The voices outside either fell silent, or were drowned in the loud humming sound of the machine. Delicious. Humming. Sound. His body hummed, too. And buzzed. Empowered. His pecs felt meatier, stronger, more powerful. And they buzzed, too, above his granite-hard six-pack. His neck turned into a bull-neck. He moaned. The buzzing. The power. So good. Bigger and bigger. The machine hummed louder now, and his body hummed more intensely, too. FUCK! Yeah, grow this gym-lad. Grow this bruiser you are creating! Give me more! Cram more of it into me! Make me your thuggish brawn-titan! I want ... UHNNNNN! Felt better than anything he could ... UHNNNNNN! Yeah! More! THIS is what I need! THIS is what masculinity feels like! THIS is what it is like to BECOME masculinity! Wild and savage instincts awoke inside him, hidden and repressed deeply inside him, but he knew, that the machine hadn't created them, just released them and amplified them. Amplifying ... YES! AMPLIFYING HIS RAW STRENGTH! HIS MASS! The machine hummed even louder now. He couldn't control himself now, and writhed in growth-frenzy and pleasure. His cock was a steel-hard power-rod tenting inside his camo-jockstrap, and his entire muscle mass had achieved steel-hard qualities. His now bulging mega-mass was covered in veins, and every vein pulsed of humming, buzzing POWER. His steel-rod throbbed. His pecs, biceps and traps throbbed. His entire body throbbed, engorged by forced, voluptious hypertrophy. When the feeling increased even more, he couldn't stop himself from roaring in unrestrained, confident, asserting, ecstacy.

Outside the machine, Mr. Wolfensteen lit a cigarette. Dr. Bulgakova watched in fear. The Brigadier had fallen silent in awe. Mr. Gruffydd had a wet blotch around his fly. Mr. Wolfensteen enjoyed the show. The test subject was now bigger, than any roid-head Mr. Wolfensteen had ever encountered in his career. The behemoth of a lad inside the machine, would be the perfect poster-boy for his company's new product line, if the Armed Forces would allow it, and they would. Money talks. This test result would soon become very good for marketing. Probably a good idea to book the photo shoots and video shoots already. They would become a marketing success, he was sure.

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