Formula switch, revenge fails, bully grows

[sarasister]

There's a story where a guy was going to take a formula, grow huge, and beat up this bully. his friend switches the drinks and the bodybuilder bully drinks it himself--whereupon he grows building-size and goes on a rampage. any ideas?

this is not failed revenge, where the bully becomes "good".

[nypup2train]

You might be looking for this story, which is the first thing that popped into my mind reading your summary:

"New Master, The" by Looking4athrill

...predictably, in the Archive. (TheArchive-070326/stories/4063.html)

[musqlure]

It's not "The New Master," because that's basically a two-character story. There's no "friend" involved in it who switches the formulas.

Maybe someone else can help, but my only thought was "Failed Revenge." Sorry.

[nightcraft]

might be the story by expander called my own worst enemy

[sexiscriptor]

has anyone been able to find that one? i haven't found "my own worst enemy" anywhere, but then i'm not necessarily renowned for my googling skiils XD anyway it sounds mondo hot and i'd love to read it

what about the original poster's query? anyone got any new ideas for it? (do we think "my own worst enemy" is it...?)
~Ille

[musqlure]

Sexscriptor,

I have a copy of "My Own Worst Enemy" that I can e-mail you if you like. By the way, there are some other stories by expander and various macro writers to be found in the expander archive. For whatever reason, "My Own Worst Enemy" isn't there.

I do think that this might be the story the OP is talking about, though.

[paguy79]

I think it was failed revenge

[musqlure]

Originally Posted by paguy79

I think it was failed revenge

No, the OP already ruled that one out, and it doesn't fit the plot described. We're pretty sure it's expander's "My Own Worst Enemy."

[sarasister]

if you could email me that story (or just repost), I'd appreciate it!

[abaddonpr]

repost please. I think there is more people who'd like to read it.

[musclemike85]

I remember one story where a guy in the gym can grow guys, and the bully gets huge. Hes about to grow the main character huge so he can take the bully on, but the bully ends up growing instead. Ring any bells?

[UGALawGuy]

I can think of one similar to what you've described, "Mark and Brad." I don't think it's in the archive here, but check out the Yahoo group, and it should come up. It's another oldie but goodie! The epilogue is the hottest part, in my opinion...

[musqlure]

Originally Posted by UGALawGuy

I can think of one similar to what you've described, "Mark and Brad." I don't think it's in the archive here, but check out the Yahoo group, and it should come up. It's another oldie but goodie! The epilogue is the hottest part, in my opinion...

That IS a hot story. Had forgotten it. Will have to look for it.

[musclemike85]

Originally Posted by UGALawGuy

I can think of one similar to what you've described, "Mark and Brad." I don't think it's in the archive here, but check out the Yahoo group, and it should come up. It's another oldie but goodie! The epilogue is the hottest part, in my opinion...

That was it! THANKS!

[vlad]

Originally Posted by UGALawGuy

I can think of one similar to what you've described, "Mark and Brad." I don't think it's in the archive here, but check out the Yahoo group, and it should come up. It's another oldie but goodie! The epilogue is the hottest part, in my opinion...

Where can I find this story? It sounds hot. You mentioned a yahoo group...?

[xboy]

where i get that story? Or similar to what sarasiter ask for?

[giantw]

I think the story is quite simply titled "Failed Revenge." The more popular ending stopped the growth with the bully at 8-10 feet tall, while another ending I've read saw the bully grow to about 100 feet.

[sarasister]

Like I said, it's not Failed Revenge

[titanlord]

I think its this one you are looking for????


MY OWN WORST ENEMY
by expander


Like many a quiet bookworm, high school for me was four years of daily
hell. Most of that hell came in the form of a strapping varsity
football player named John Sayles. He was big and he was strong:
six-foot-four, heavyweight wrestler, seemingly nothing but solid
muscle. Not dumb but too bright either, though no one ever said a
peep about that. He seemed to have something against me, though. Not
a day went by that I wasn't slammed into a locker, or didn't have my
arm nearly torn out of its socket ("say uncle, little man!") Every
time we passed in the halls he'd make an effort to plow right into me
-- which didn't even slow him down, of course. "Sorry 'bout that,
Ryan," he said, "didn't see ya down there!" I hated him.

But I graduated, and went off to a distant university. I later heard
from some friends that he couldn't even hack the local community
college, dropping out after a couple of years for some blue-collar
job. I smirked at that, pleased that things were finally going my
way.

I graduated with honors and got some great job offers back in my
hometown. I'd always planned to go back -- it was a nice place.
A good-sized city but not too big, great skiing nearby, lots of people
I knew. It was good to be home. But there were only so many hangouts
frequented by twenty-somethings like me, and so it wasn't long before
I ran into John.

"Hey, little man!" I cringed as I heard that deep, familiar voice.
Gritting my teeth, I was determined to be an adult. I forced a smile
and stuck out my hand.

John took it, and promptly crushed my hand. I staggered from the
pain, spilling my drink, nearly falling to the floor when John finally
let go. He just laughed. "I see you aren't any bigger, little man!"
He cuffed me on the shoulder -- making it look like a friendly gesture
as he struck me hard enough to knock me down. I felt humiliated.
"See ya 'round, Ryan!" he said, striding away.

I tried going to different clubs, different bars, but sooner or later
I'd run into John, and it was like high school all over again. I
could have been the richest, most successful guy on the planet, but
John the construction worker would have still never missed a chance to
really rub in his superior size and strength. I'd swear he'd grown
even bigger since high school. I once overheard him talking to some
girls. One asked him how tall he was, and he told her he was
six-foot-six, a full two inches bigger than when I'd known him before.

I, of course, haven't gotten any taller since 10th grade. Not that
I'm bitter about it.

I decided I needed [COLOR=#ff0000]revenge[/COLOR]. I needed, somehow, to get bigger. Bigger
than John. Merely going to the gym wasn't going to do it -- I clearly
didn't have the genetics, and he had an eight-year head start. I
started doing some research, turned to the Internet, tracked down
every quack doctor and folk tale about growth. It took six months,
but finally I found it.

There were legends of ancient monks in Nepal who made a formula, a
powerful serum that would make any man bigger. I'd read a lot of
unbelievable claims about various magic potions by then, but something
about these particular legends seemed more, well, credible. It took
me another three months to track them down, to get a letter to the
monastery where their descendants lived.

It worked as the legends said, they replied. They would make it for
me, they said, but I must use it responsibly. It would take time,
they added. And the price would be -- well, let's just say it was
"substantial."

I assured them I would use it well, enclosing a hefty check. Another
two months went by before I received a parcel in the mail. A small
glass vial, with a faded paper label written in an unfamiliar
alphabet. I held it up to the light, turning the bottle over and
over, watching the precious syrupy fluid that would be my salvation.

I knew where John was working, knew the bar he was likely to hit at
the end of the day. I made arrangements to meet my friend Michael
there. He knew John too, though he didn't know what I was planning.
But if it really worked, I wanted him to see the results. I wanted
everyone to see.

* * * * *

Michael and I were having a drink up at the bar when the door opened.
Michael glanced back, then scoffed. "Hmmmph. Look at what passes for
construction-worker chic these days."

I turned to look. It was John all right, in all his
six-and-a-half-foot glory. His idea of dressing for a night on the
town was apparently swapping his worn, faded, job-site jeans for a
pair of equally faded and stained jean cut-offs. His top was an old
t-shirt, about two sizes too small. The sleeves had been ripped off,
baring his bulging arms and shoulders. The ragged sides were
partially torn open, too, to provide enough room for his massive
V-shaped torso. The shirt wasn't nearly long enough for him, exposing
a couple inches of tanned stomach muscle down at the hem. Even the
collar was split, to accommodate his thick neck and towering traps. I
chuckled along with Michael, adding, "Yeah, looks like John put on his
best rags tonight. He's really dressed to the nines!"

Even as we laughed quietly, though, I knew that if either of us had
John's body, we'd have done the exact same thing. I looked again,
pretending to smirk some more at his clothes. The denim shorts
revealed muscled hairy legs like redwood trunks. His gargantuan
biceps and sinewy clublike forearms rippled with his every move. The
torn shirt even exposed a bit of his chest -- massive, thick square
slabs of muscle. Jesus, I'd have given anything to be that big.

I fingered the vial in my pocket. Right now John was drinking with
some of his buddies over in the corner, pushing around some other guys
for a change, mercifully unaware of my presence. But sooner or later,
I knew, he'd notice me at the bar and it'd back to sophomore gym class
for me. I decided I wasn't going to wait for that to happen.

When Michael was distracted for a second, I unstoppered the vial and
dumped the clear liquid into my beer. It was thick and viscous. It
had no smell. Staring into the glass as I waited for it to mix, I
wondered how it would taste. Not bad, I hoped. For what it cost me I
wouldn't want to throw it up or involuntarily spit it out.

Behind me I heard the thuds of a big man in heavy boots approaching
the bar. John was coming up to get another drink. Shit, I thought,
feeling my face redden. Muttering "back in a sec" to Michael, I
hightailed it to the bathroom, where I splashed some cold water on my
face. Looking in the mirror, I said, "You can do this." I took a
deep breath and walked back out, heading for the bar and my waiting
drink. Michael was still sitting there, with a big grin on his face.

"Don't worry, man," he whispered conspiratorially, "I did it for ya."

"What?"

"I knew what you were up to when I saw you pour that stuff in." My
mind reeled. How could he possibly have known? "But John came up and
you chickened out. That's okay, man, I know he freaks you out, so I
did it for you!"

I felt confusion and dread. Something was going horribly wrong, but I
didn't understand what. "Did what, exactly?"

"Duuuhh! Switched the drinks! John ordered a beer, and it came when
he wasn't looking, so I switched it with yours!" My eyes bugged out a
little, and I started to hear my heart pounding in my ears. Michael
was still talking, his eyes bright. "So what was it, man?! Is it
gonna make him hurl? Or give him the runs? Or maybe both?!" He
swiveled around to look in John's direction. "All right, man, he's
drinkin' it! This rules!"

I looked just as John was finishing off the beer. Cables of muscle in
his neck twitched as he chugged it. His hand dropped to his side, and
I stared numbly at the empty foamy glass clutched in that massive
meathook. It must not have tasted like much, 'cause he didn't seem to
notice anything.

It was finally sinking in. John had just drank my potion. "You gave
John my beer?!"

"Yeah, man! I know ya probably wanted to pull the trick on him
yourself, but it was just perfect -- him comin' right up next to us,
not payin' attention to his drink and everything. No offense, man,
but if we had to wait for you to do it we'd be here all night."

My numbness became fear, cold fear. "We have to get out of here.
Now." I grabbed Michael's arm.

"C'mon, man, we're not gonna watch the fun?"

"Move it!" Shoving him off the barstool, I hustled Michael towards
the exit, making a bit of a commotion. A couple people turned to look
but I didn't care. I didn't let go of him until we were out on the
street. "Keep walking! We need some distance between us and this
bar!"

Michael protested but followed as I crossed the street and started up
the sidewalk. "What's wrong, Ryan? Why don't we get to see it?! Are
you pissed at me or somethin'?"

"That vial wasn't a gag formula! It was something I was supposed to
drink!!" I sped up. I thought I heard a muffled crash from the bar,
now a hundred feet behind us. I turned back to look, and two people
came rushing out, turning to the left and running off. I swallowed
hard.

Never in my life had I so desperately hoped I'd been swindled. I
prayed that the potion was a fake, nothing more than a bottle of corn
syrup. I prayed that somewhere in Nepal a few monks were sitting
around the new big-screen color TV my money had bought, laughing their
asses off at my gullibility. It had to be a fake, I thought. It had
to be. It couldn't possibly work the way they said it did. Those
people I saw running must have just remembered an important
appointment. That crash must have been my imagination.

I stopped, ducking into the front doorway of a nearby building and
pulling Michael after me. It was already late afternoon, the sun was
sinking in the sky. I poked my head out of the gloomy doorway to
glance at the bar down the street. "The vial was a potion for growth!
I was supposed to drink it, and it was supposed to make ME bigger!!"

Michael was incredulous. "No way! That's not possible!"

"We're about to find out," I said grimly.

Just then, we heard more, louder crashing sounds coming from the
direction of the bar. I stuck my head out again to look, and as I did
the roof of the one-story building seemed to explode. I watched as
debris crashed down all around the building. As the dust started to
clear, I could start to make out the figure of a huge man rising up
out of the top of the building. "THIS IS FUCKING AWESOME!!" boomed a
deep, powerful masculine voice.

My blood ran cold. It was John's voice, tremendously amplified.
Coughed the dust out of his lungs, he brushed off some of the bits of
debris covering his chest and arms. The dust was clearing, now, and I
could see the grin on his broad handsome face as he looked down at the
half-demolished bar, which came up to about mid-thigh. "SORRY 'BOUT
THAT," he chuckled, "BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS GETTIN' A LITTLE CROWDED IN
THERE!"

A steel beam had gotten caught on one of John's broad shoulders as his
torso burst out through the roof. Plucking it off himself, John
proceeded to twist the thing up in his massive hands like it was a
piece of wire. It clanged against the asphalt as he contemptuously
tossed it aside.

Michael hissed in my hear, "Holy shit, Ryan, he's still getting
bigger!"

I looked again, and he was right. Already John's kneecaps were
visible over the bar, and they hadn't been before. His massive quads
rippled slightly as he swung one foot back and kicked, blasting the
front wall of the bar to rubble. The dust slowly settled, and then I
could see a massive pair of tough leather steel-toed work boots
standing amidst the ruins of the bar, each one easily as tall as a
man.

"Why are his clothes growing with him?" asked Michael.

"They said it was supposed to generate an aura or something, that
expanded everything within a few inches of your skin. I don't know, I
didn't think it would really work!" Was that true? I'm not sure. I
certainly had hoped it would -- at least, hoped it would work on me.

"So you were gonna become a giant like THAT?"

"No! Of course not, Michael, I just wanted to be bigger than John!
The legends said it's supposed to make you 'as big as your heart
desires.' I just wanted to be around seven foot or so, big enough to
push John around for once, give him a taste of his own medicine."

"So exactly how big do you think John wants to get?"

I shook my head slowly. "He stands six-foot-six, 350 pounds of
muscle, and he STILL spends three hours a day in the gym. How big do
YOU think he wants to be?"

"Oh, Jesus." We both swallowed hard.

I looked down the street again. It was incredible. Apparently he
wanted to be at least 100 feet tall, 'cause that's how big I'd guess
he was by then. What remained of the bar looked like a shoebox at his
feet.

He was grinning like a kid, looking all as the world shrunk down
around him. When he spoke his mighty lungs rattled windows. "GUESS
IF I'M GONNA BE THIS BIG, I BETTER START DOING SOMETHING WITH IT."
With that, he lifted up one huge boot and SMASHED it down on part of
the bar that was still standing. I felt the ground tremble with the
force of his leg. A couple more stomps and he'd obliterated the bar.

He looked down at his handiwork. "FUCKIN'-A, MAN!! THIS RULES!! LET
THE GAMES BEGIN!!" Reaching down, he seized the hem of his shirt and
pulled it off, tearing it free of his massive chest. Now naked to the
waist, he stood there showing off, flexing battleship-sized arms. His
armor-thick pecs were dusted with dark hair, which ran down in a
narrow trail between his abs to his waist. He wasn't totally shredded
like a pro bodybuilder, but his massive muscles had a fair amount of
definition. He had a definite six-pack, and I'm not talking beer. He
was a big, strong, powerful man. By now he was also approaching about
300 feet tall.

I was staring openly at him, when Michael grabbed me and pulled me
back into the doorway. "The biggest, most violent guy we know has
just gotten a whole lot bigger and probably more violent. We do NOT
want to be seen now, Ryan. Think of what happened to the people in
the bar."

That hadn't even occurred to me. They must have been killed, buried
by falling debris as the building collapsed, then crushed under John's
gigantic boots. I wonder if John even realized. I doubted he would
kill on purpose, but what if he'd gotten so carried away with his
strength and power that he just didn't care? I tried to put that line
of thought away, but I couldn't. John had always been an arrogant,
cocky bastard, happy to push around anyone smaller than him. What
would he do now that he was truly a giant, and everyone else no larger
than an bug?

These dark thoughts were suddenly interrupted when a car struck the
third floor of the building across the street from our hiding place.
Shattering the building's facade, the battered car crashed down into
the street along with a hail of brick. Now topping 400 feet, John had
scooped up a bunch of nearby parked cars and was amusing himself with
them, tossing them around, bombing the neighborhood with them. As I
watched he picked one up and simply crushed it in his fist, grinning
as his brawny forearm crumpled it like paper. Flattening the rest in
his hands, he tossed the resulting clump of scrap aside, and started
to walk forward.

The ground shook as his boot struck the ground, shaking loose bits of
masonry from buildings all around. He was moving forward, along the
street we'd fled down, but now stopping in front of an eight-story
apartment building on the other side of the street, just up a little
ways from us. I winced -- it was likely to be full of people. My
worst fears came true as I watched. Grinning, he took careful aim,
swung his leg back, and kicked the building like a football.

Unlike a football, though, the knee-high building exploded as his
mammoth calf smashed through it. Brick, concrete, and steel broke
like eggshell against his shin. There was a roar of noise as the
building collapsed, drowned out only by John's thunderous laughter.
Apparently he wasn't too concerned for the lives of those around him.
I wondered how many people had been in that building when he destroyed
it. Michael and I retreated back into our temporary shelter.

"Oh man, what have you done?" he said.

"ME?! WHO FUCKIN' GAVE IT TO HIM?!" I yelled.

"Shhh! Keep your voice down!!" he hissed urgently. We had no idea if
he could hear us or not, but John was definitely coming closer. The
violent earthquakes that accompanied his footsteps were growing
stronger. It wasn't a steady walk -- every couple of steps he'd pause
to kick another building down. There was nowhere we could run to. We
could only hope that he'd pass our building by.

A massive, scuffed workboot crashed down right across the street from
our doorway, crushing a few parked cars like tinfoil. The pavement
shattered under his weight, we could see the treads sink a foot or two
into the ground. I could tell from the mammoth boot's size alone that
he'd grown even more. I waited for the other boot to smash down
alongside the first, but it didn't come.

"Why'd he stop?" whispered Michael. I shook my head. I stepped out
for a look. It was reckless, but I figured if I was about to die I'd
at least see what killed me. I looked up at John, fully expecting to
see him sneering down at me as he pulled his leg back for a good solid
kick.

He wasn't, though. He'd stopped in front of the building, but it
wasn't to crush me underfoot -- at least not yet. He was flexing his
huge muscles again, apparently quite taken with their size and power.
And who could blame him? Big musclebound John, who'd always been
handsome and powerfully built, now stood a good six or seven hundred
feet tall. His strength had always made him arrogant, and now those
huge slabs of muscle contained the power of nuclear weapons. His to
unleash as he chose. Nobody could stop him, nobody could bring him
down. His broad chest seemed to fill the sky, glowing in the late
afternoon sun, like a hairy mountain range suspended in midair. Each
of his vast, pumped biceps had to be 200 feet around, with veins the
size of the Alaska Pipeline. You could drive a truck on the wicked
band tattoo encircling his right upper arm. The sight made me tremble
with fear.

"LET'S SEE WHAT THESE BABIES CAN DO," his huge voice rumbled. I
wasn't sure what he meant, but I jumped back into the doorway as he
started to look down towards me.

Michael and I held our breath. We heard boot leather creak, saw his
heel start to lift off the ground. The street grew darker, as a huge
shadow descended. "Is he squatting down?" I mouthed to Michael, who
shrugged and gave me a "how should I know?" look. We didn't get much
chance to think about it more, as a gigantic fist smashed down into
the street just a few yards away from our doorway.

We were lifted off our feet, thrown backwards through what little
remained of the building's front entrance. Luckily John's
earth-shaking approach had already shattered all the glass in the
building, or we'd have been hurled through plate glass windows and cut
to shreds. I struggled to my feet, looking out through the doorway to
see John's massive fist planted there. Clearly he'd grown tired of
kicking and crushing stuff with his boots, and was trying out the
destructive capabilities of his awesome arms.

His hand was so huge that we couldn't see all of it through the
doorway -- and I for one wasn't about to go any closer just for a
better look. There had been parked cars lining our side of the street
as well, but there was no sign of them now. Doubtless they were
either smashed flat under his pinky or sent flying by the impact. His
hairy knuckles moved a bit, and I could see cables flexing in his
thick wrist. More giant laughter rattled the debris around us, then
the hand lifted. I edged closer, until I could see a flattened bit of
metal -- presumably once someone's car -- in the crater John'd blasted
out. I felt a sinking feeling, wondering what he was going to punch
next.

"JOHN'S DEMOLITION COMPANY, AT YOUR SERVICE," came a huge voice,
sounding amused. My eyes widened at the realization.

"Mike, we gotta move! He's gonna take out the building!!" John or no
John, the street suddenly looked safer than our doorway. I ran out,
Michael right on my heels. We got clear just as John drove his fist
right through the middle of the ten-story building.

I ran in the direction of the bar, hoping that John wouldn't double
back. It was hard going, with huge bootprints cratering the street
and heaps of wreckage everywhere. Michael and I managed to sprint
across the street and down a ways, maybe a couple hundred feet. We
took cover behind an overturned car, too scared to risk being seen as
we tried to make it further away.

I have no doubt that if John had looked down when we came out of the
doorway, if he'd seen us and recognized us, that we wouldn't be here
today. John would never miss an opportunity to humiliate me, and the
chance to totally destroy me with no consequences to him would have
been irresistible. I shudder to think what he would have done:
smashed me under a fist, crushed me like a bug under his toe, or maybe
just pinched me in his fingers until my bones broke. I'm sure he
would have made it as unpleasant as possible. But luckily, he was
kept entertained by the damage he'd done to the building, laughing at
the sight of the massive forearm he'd driven deep into the structure.
He ripped it out, clawing out tons of debris from the middle of the
building and dumping it onto the street. The poor building shook and
swayed, and as I watched the doorway we'd hidden in collapsed and was
buried in rubble.

From this vantage point we could see John's broad, bulging back. It
was incredible. Inhumanly big traps blurred the distinction between
his wide, powerful shoulders and his thick neck. He pulled his fist
back for another blow, the muscles of his mountain-sized shoulder
blade rippling. His knotted triceps stood out from his thick upper
arm. Then he let his fist fly, unleashing all that coiled power on
the small building in front of him. The top stories exploded as his
knuckles blasted them apart. I heard Michael suck in his breath.
"Holy shit..." he murmured.

A satisfied look on his face, John got to his feet. He'd left part of
the building standing, and I could see why. A mound of rubble could
be anything. A mostly-demolished building, all but a couple of
stories obliterated, frame broken, walls leaning, looked far more
intimidating. "There used to be a building here," John's act was
saying, "and look at what I did to it in two punches." It was
frightening.

"I KNOW WHAT I'LL DO," thundered John, speaking to no one in
particular, "I THINK I'LL GO QUIT MY JOB!" The city trembled as he
got to his feet, leaving the building Michael and I had taken refuge
in a crumbling wreck. The streets were beginning to fill with people
and cars, as word of the destructive giant spread. Those who'd made
the mistake of trying to drive quickly found the streets gridlocked.
People on foot were everywhere, darting between cars, down the middle
of streets, yelling and screaming. And towering over all this chaos
was John. He strode down the street, with callous disregard for the
tiny people beneath him. He barely glanced down at the packed
streets, either unaware of or choosing to ignore the carnage he
created with each step. Those massive boots pulped pedestrians and
crunched cars as he made his way towards his destination.

We followed him. I was appalled at the loss of life, of course, but I
couldn't help being oddly fascinated by the destructive juggernaut I'd
inadvertently unleashed on the city. He was fearless. His casual
strut radiated strength and power, arrogance and conceit. He'd left
off smashing buildings for the moment, but that didn't mean he was
exactly being careful. He rounded a corner, tearing off a couple of
floors of an office tower merely by brushing it accidentally with his
hand. With barely a glance down he clenched his fist and smashed the
building aside, pulverizing the top third and sending the rest
crashing down onto the crowded streets below.

Michael and I never would have been able to keep up with John, whose
mighty stride spanned a football field, but I knew he wasn't going
far. There was a new office tower under construction just a few
blocks from the bar; that's where John had been working. I figured he
was going to pay his job site a visit.

By the time we rounded the corner and the half-finished building came
into view, John was already there. He hadn't touched the building
itself yet, but the streets all around were littered with the twisted
wrecks of construction equipment. He lifted up a backhoe in one hand,
clamping his fingers around it, watching the thick steel soften and
bend under the pressure of his thumb. Once it was sufficiently
mangled he tossed it carelessly over his shoulder, letting it crash
into the glass facade of the building across the street. He picked up
a cement mixer and hurled it, with probably enough force to send it
into orbit. If it did come down I couldn't see where; it was gone and
out of sight in a second. John laughed again.

"ENOUGH OF THIS KIDDIE SHIT," he said, as he rose back up to his feet.
John's broad strapping form dwarfed the half-finished building -- the
forty-story structure didn't even reach his waist. The top half was
still just a framework of naked steel girders. It was this part that
John grabbed first, his powerful crushing fingers gripping the
structure and ripping it free. Steel I-beams folded like pipecleaners
in his grip; John's white teeth showed in a big smile as he discovered
how easily the building yielded to his muscle. A thousand tons of
steel was nothing; he crushed it into uselessness, wadding the mass up
and tossing it aside. Then he bent over and drove his fist straight
down through the rest of the building, splitting it apart with the
wedge of his thick, massive forearm. What had taken months to
construct took John just seconds to demolish. He straightened up and
look down to survey his work, hands planted on his hips, broad
majestic pecs rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. I'll never
forget the sight, or the gut-churning sound, as huge, hulking John
flexed his massive arms and ROARED, a deafening sound of sheer,
unstoppable rage.

He started to rampage, smashing apart everything within reach. He
punched and kicked. He wrapped his thick arms around buildings and
squeezed, crushing them to bits against his massive hairy chest and
abs. Sometimes he'd simply walk into a structure, letting his
skyscraper-sized musclebound leg smash right through it. He turned
toward us briefly, and on his face we caught a glimpse of his
expression: a chilling, childlike eagerness. He was simply having
fun, hungry for destruction, unconcerned about the slaughter. Now
Michael and I turned and ran for our lives. He wasn't going to stop.
There would be nowhere in the city safe from his fury. We joined the
thousands fleeing in terror. From behind us came terrible sounds:
ripping, crunching, and grinding, as John's supercharged muscle
pulverized steel and concrete structures were like they were
sandcastles at the beach. We simply ran, too scared to turn around
and even look at the towering titan as he poured his rage over the
city.

* * * * *

Media reports said John's height had ultimately reached a thousand
feet, but no one knew how it had happened. There was a lot of
speculation, most of it concerning the usual suspects: aliens,
terrorist groups, government conspiracies. Michael and I never told
anyone the truth about what happened. I tried contacting the monks,
to see if there was an antidote, to see if I could get more for myself
in case John returned, but my letters came back unopened.

John's still out there somewhere, unless the military found a way to
kill him without anyone knowing. After leveling downtown, he tore a
swath of destruction through the industrial bottomlands and across a
couple of residential neighborhoods, on his way out of the city. With
the sun below the horizon and night setting in, he headed towards the
mountains. I don't know what happened after that. Maybe the
government found him and cut a deal -- he must need enormous
quantities of food now. Maybe I should tell someone; maybe that would
help. I'd probably go to jail or worse. Maybe I deserve that. I
don't know. I just don't know.


the end

[sarasister]

Yup that's it!!!!!