Disclaimer
This story, written by Chip Masterson is a work of fiction. No charachters depicted in this story represent anyone, living or dead. It features the exploits of young Danny Henderson, starting between when he was twelve years old and extending into his thirteenth year. Danny is genetically gifted with phenomenal strength which continues to increase geometrically as he gets older and as he continues to test and hone his strength. He is also a super-genius, but, he is no more emotionally mature than any ordinary twelve or thirteen year old. Because of the power in his body and his mind, he is beyond the reach of the normal controlling influence of his parents.
I have modified very minor points in Chip's episodes to better dovetail with the stories I have written which follow in sequence behind these that Chip has written. The reason I have included these stories of Chip's along with my own is to establish the premise of my stories.
Chip has written subsequent episodes introducing another superkid, "Tetsuo." This character simply does not exist in my episodes and never will. The inconsistencies can be confusing unless you the reader see my stories and Chip's "Tetsuo" episodes simply as bifurcations from a common source. My episodes and Chip's "Tetsuo" episodes simply represent what one might view as "parallel universes."
My slight modifications of Chip's episodes have been made with his express permission. My thanks to Chip for sharing his charactes with me and for allowing me to repost his stories.
Although there are no overt sexual incidents in any of Chip's episodes, if sidelong references to homo-eroticism are offensive to you, do not read this story. If you are seeking overt homo-erotic stimulation, do you will not find it here.
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DANNY BUSTS LOOSE By Chip Masterson
AT PLAY IN THE FIELDS
Kids, don_t try this at home, Det. Salas grinned. His big fingers completely enclosed a live grenade. He pulled the pin.
Suddenly his forearm seemed to explode as the skin stretched over the bundled, twisted cords. It doubled in size, veins practically bouncing up off the muscle. He paused a moment, opened his hand and revealed the grenade apparently unscathed. He blew on it gently and the shell disintegrated, a puff of smoke emerging from the charred interior. I had to lean against something.
It_s a reflex test: can you squeeze fast enough, and hard enough, to contain the explosion, prevent it from bursting outward when it detonates? If you squeeze too hard before it goes off, he lectured the increasingly bored Danny, the recoil will blow your hand off. Too late, same end result. You have to feel it click and meet the force with an exactly equal force. After all, you_re skin is still just skin. His dark, calloused palm had a slight charred look after all.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, said Danny. When do I get to play with the jet? He picked up stones and slung them toward a hill about half a mile off. Small puffs of dirt blew up a little faster than you_d expect.
I surveyed the pitted, cracked surface of the abandoned air force base which Cole and Salas used for Danny_s training. The steel mill and trainyards had become too public, and this base, out in the desert, had everything: rail lines, hangars, surplus tanks (one smouldered on its side, the up-side caved inwards and the wheels as splayed as a rugby player_s teeth), even a retired fighter jet. To teach Danny control, various exercises had already been well established, and the terrain in places resembled a bizarre sculpture garden, where steel rails had been twisted and bent into topiary shapes, tight curly-cues or braids, then planted. Watching Danny, half a year past his thirteenth birthday, control his temper and impulsive nature twist thick railing into specific patterns, then drive it feet into the ground, not only humbled me but inspired hope as well. Maybe he wasn_t going to be such a loose cannon all the time anymore.
Little did I know.
A diesel freight engine idled on a spur and an Apache helicopter spun its blades. Salas shouted over the noise. _I_ll be in the engine and Cole_s in the copter. He did something like this at the World_s Strongest Man awhile back. Now, we don_t want any jerking around. We_re each gonna change direction and speed, and your job is to hold us absolutely motionless. The engine shouldn_t move so much as a millimeter; Scotty will make sure. The Apache_s attached to rail that_ll allow some flexibility, but not much. This will require a lot of coordination. Danny yawned. I know, like chewing gum and running a 45-second mile. Kid stuff. Danny stretched, his rangy muscles grooved and taut above hard bones, his tank top wavering in the breeze from the Apache_s blades. He wore shorts in the hot sun and his legs were like miniature Mr. Olympia_s. He shook them out and I thought of a herd of wild mustangs thronging across a plain. Salas climbed into the engine and Cole rose into the air, guiding the hinged rail over Danny and securing the lock to hold it in place. Danny secured his grip and waggled his tongue at me. Then closed his eyes to concentrate.
The whine of the diesel built and its big wheels started to churn, grinding against the rail, sticking and slipping as it encountered resistance to its chugging. Danny_s hand grasped a large hook mounted in the front of the vehicle to make its immense size graspable to his small hand. The wheels caught again at the rails, strove to overcome the friction and lost, spinning faster before catching again. But Cole didn_t wait: he tried to rise. Danny held onto the rail, wrapping his arm around it and bracing it against his side and under his leg. The Apache raised clouds of loose dirt, its thrumming beat growing more insistent.
Danny had not only to push back against the train, but use that shoulder to press himself down, anchor his body against the rising impetus of the Apache. His entire being torqued against the conflicting forces, testing tendons as well as muscles. And this was only the beginning.
Salas increased the power of the diesel and the wheels stuck a moment and then screeched to life, spinning furiously, raining sparks behind them as they sawed away at the surface of the rail. Still the engine didn_t move, controlled as it was by Danny_s vein-encrusted will, that rock-filled forearm and triceps like a nautilus clinging to his arm. Cole swung the copter one way, then another; Danny gripped harder as the rail swayed and creaked under the tension. No further movement was allowed by Danny. His grip began to deform the rail_s surface, and sweat ran off his body, steaming in the sun. The tank top plastered to his body like skin. His face remained impassive, barely flickering to register the range of his strength exertions.
Suddenly Salas plunged the diesel into reverse. The sudden jerk and buck made Danny_s arm and latisimus dorsi swell to absorb the force_much the way Salas_s forearm had absorbed and contained the exploding grenade. The huge engine jittered, threatening to break apart as the wheels screeched to reverse direction but Danny wouldn_t let it release the pressure up front: instead the engine_s rear jumped just as Cole thrust downward. Danny instantly blocked its descent, only slightly dimpling the underside of the Apache_s armor. Salas powered the engine to escape Danny_s grasp but it only groaned and strained as he held it rattling in place. Cole increased his machinations, swerving, diving and spinning the controls but from where I stood he could have been asleep for all the _copter moved.
The train bucked and Salas threw it into forward thrust again. Wheels buckled and the rear end rose up off the rails and came down askance. Now Danny twisted his wrist to hold the engine not only in place but upright as gravity clawed at it_s teetering top furiously. White smoke poured out of the train_s housing and Salas shut the clanking diesel down. Danny_s arm throbbed as he tried to actually pull it back onto the track, but even he couldn_t quite get the leverage with the hook and one arm. The _copter sputtered and black smoke rose out of the overheated engine, burning with oil from some ruptured line. Salas cut the power and Danny slowly lowered the copter to the ground, mocking gravity again by going more slowly the closer it got to earth until it set down with a whisper.
Salas jumped down, cheered and RAMMED his fist into the side of the diesel. The impact crumpled the steel siding and he big train engine tottered up onto its wheels and up over the railing, its weight struggling to bring it back down but the muscle behind Salas_s fist forcing it over onto its side with a rending crash. It didn_t hit though: Cole was there. He caught the immense weight and sank down a little from the energy coming out of Salas_s arm. Cole walked the engine upright and heaved it back onto the track. Danny shook out his arms and flexed his fingers..
What have I told YOU? said Cole, half laughing as he hit Salas on the shoulder. The blow might have crippled a mere normal man but for these guys it was just play. Salas looked sheepish and I caught a glimpse of the impulsive youth he had once been. The youth, if the microfiche newspaper files in the county library are correct, who was once the suspect (never arrested) in the mysterious case of a policeman_s motorcycle being wadded up until it was the size of a beer keg. No prints were liftable and nobody could figure out how this extraordinarily well-developed 15 year old kid could have done it. Yet the holes where fingers pierced and collapsed the gas tank fit his hands to a tee.... That stymied investigation, and what it could mean for him, led him into law enforcement.
Can I play with the plane now? Danny called. Can I Can I Can I? He jumped up and down and I could feel little shock-waves hit my feet. Salas, in the dog house from knocking the engine over, looked to Cole and the big officer nodded over pecs that stood out like thick flat wings from his torso. Danny ran off to the hanger.
Cole tugged the F-14 out onto the runway and Danny warmed up by digging his toes into the tarmac. The surface was already rutted from previous exercises, where even Danny_s kid brawn wasn_t enough to keep the plane in place. Still, it had never taken off. Not on Danny_s watch.
The engines fired and Danny pulled the long cable tight, getting out of the heat. Cole began inching forward and Danny slung the cable over his shoulder, trying to walk the other way. The thick suspension cable went tight and for a moment the two figures seemed like statutes. Then, as before, the immense thrust of the airplane increased and crumbling asphalt mounded behind Danny_s toes as he was slowly dragged behind the overpowering combat plane. But this time Danny really wanted to win. He screwed his face up and sweat blew off him in a fine mist. Raising one foot high and almost being toppled by the jet_s sudden lunge, he drove his pointed toes into the ground. Black tarred rocks spewed up and the plane crawled to a stop as Danny_s hamstring and back bowed and started quivering. Quickly he jammed his other foot into the earth and his quads exploded as that leg dragged his bowed body forward, the heavy cable twisting and the plane roaring in rebellion.
Cole sensed what was happening and put the hammer down, filling the vast plain with the high-pitched throaty whine that sounded like metal shearing. The plane bounced up and down on its wheels. The heat hit Danny_s broadening back, turning it pink. Kicking his back leg up and sending a small rock sailing right through the corrugated steel wall of the hangar, Danny pulled forward again. His lats and back swelled one way but his pecs tore the tank top the other way: the large arm-holes split, the big muscles shredding it. His abs stretched across his hard body and he wrapped the cable around his fists: and pulled forward yet again. The F-14 rolled backward on its wheels a few inches despite all its thrust and Danny pulled harder, gritting his teeth in a spectral, strained smile. His legs were no longer mustangs but bison thundering across the Dakotas. You couldn_t hear the ping of the first steel cable fiber popped. Danny could feel it though, and realized he would lose the plane. Another tiny fiber burst and Danny whipped around and began hauling the plane toward him hand over hand.
The wheels grudgingly rolled backward and the wings quivered and rattled. One hand came to his side as another one pulled in, biceps and brachialises knotted with fibers denser than the suspension-bridge cable. But the tortured cable kept popping the plane bucked on its terrified wheels as it lost ground, bringing its singing heat closer to Danny_s unprotected arms, drying the sweaty rags of the tank top and starting to brown it. His skin glowed red but he ignored the singeing pain. Screaming almost as loud as the huge engine, he kept reeling the helpless war machine toward him. Just when I worried he_d burn himself beyond even his ability to heal the bare-chested Salas leapt forward, grabbing the cable on either side of the fray_and yanked. As if in slow motion the cable snap-snap-snapped, unraveling bits of still wire that zinged and cut his skin as the flames from the jet licked at his golden-dark body. His arms moved relentlessly away from each other, triceps shredding the bridge cable until the plane_s own power finished the job and shot forward, skittering across the runway. Cole braked but couldn_t control the machine, so he bailed: without a parachute. The ejection seat carried him far into the sky as the jet spun out toward a nearby hill and exploded.
In the air Cole tore out the seat belts and prepared his legs to take the impact of landing. He hit the earth with the force of a meteorite, knocking me off my feet and rivaling the explosion of the jet. Dirt and rock rained up into the sky in a dense cloud. I ran into the hangar to escape the falling debris, but didn_t need to: I was too close, it was either flung miles away or so far into the upper stratosphere that it went into orbit. Dusting himself off, he sped over toward Danny and Salas. His massive coal-black muscles heaved and pumped during the upbraiding. Danny kicked at stones on the ground, launching them like shrapnel. Salas nodded and apologized for the boy. Looks like the lesson was over for the day.
A couple normal-sized weightlifting guys from the police force who were in on the whole affair had whipped up a few chickens and steaks for the guys to eat following the exercise. Over dinner, Cole broached the subject of Danny_s restitution to Tech for the destruction of the science lab. Danny crunched his fork in his fist and yelled.
Look, I said I was sorry! All you do is criticize me! I_m sorry I_m not Mr. Perfect like Scotty-boy over there. Lately he_d taken to picking on the weakest one around to vent his frustration. Which was usually me. Salas grabbed his hand and closed his own fist around it to calm him down. Immediately Danny locked eyes with him and began opening his fingers inside Salas_s big mitt. Forearms again writhed and bulged and Salas_s bicep rose like a tidal wave. He managed to close his fist but Danny grinned up at him, asserting his own 13-year old superiority over the larger, older man_s grip strength. Again his fingers opened partway, only to be closed again by Salas, whose sweat dripped off his lined forehead and down from his pungent, hairy armpits. Together their arms almost buzzed like high tension wires. Danny bit his lower lip, never taking his eyes off Salas_s black irises. The thick veins pulsed under the reddened skin of his forearm, which had pumped up to near-Salas dimensions. Taking deep breaths but still only dappled with a light sweat, he forced the fingers that had contained a grenade explosion apart until their hands merely sat on top of each other. The hot lump of steel that had been a fork hit the table top like old stiff silly putty. Salas made two more attempts to conquer Danny_s fingers but his arm cramped and he grinned ear to ear.
You want to try to press this hand down, big boy? said Danny. Salas_s arm was already shaking with fatigue and stress, his shoulder a gigantic mass of pulsating virility held at bay by this kid_s brawn. Salas pulled his hand away and plunged it through his thick, wavy black hair and said Fake! Danny laughed, a high carefree laugh that forgot everything before the impromptu contest. Cole, ever serious, cocked his eye as if to say, You boys finished?
Officer Cole continued. We_re very proud of you Danny. You_re progressing at a great rate and we couldn_t be happier. In spite of occasional missteps [this was aimed at Salas]. There_s no criticism involved in any of this. What I wanted to say was that I negotiated a way to get the government to pay for the damage.
Salas, still as suspicious of authority as he had been as a cycle-wadding teen, perked up. Danny looked strangely relieved: as if he really had worried about the consequences of the lab_s destruction. Will wonders never cease?
Cole describe a deal he_d struck with the U.S. Military. If Danny would consent to some mild tests, the government would foot the bill. Simple blood and DNA tests, a CAT-scan, an MRI, and a couple muscle biopsies would suffice. It would take place all in a single day, and Cole, Salas and I would be present at the Marine Base hospital. Cole_s voice was soothing and persuasive.
Salas narrowed his eyes but Danny looked pleased. He_d love to show some people what he was made of. Maybe, he suggested simply, they could make someone I could actually play with. I felt the barb but Danny was right: the loneliness of being the only kid like himself was the one weight most difficult to bear.
Arrangements were made to take the tests in a few days.
COME UP TO THE LAB
Marines are much more formal than other military guys. Much more polite, more ramrod-erect. Even the skinny ones seem to be harder, more solid. It was kind of creepy.
We_d been there all day, seeing Danny on either side of an MRI which showed a brain developing exactly at the thirteen-and-a-half year-old level, except for almost seismic electrical discharges going on throughout. Like lightning storms, the amazed techie said. The CAT-scan similarly showed the healthy body of an young teen, whose bones and skeletal muscles were perhaps more dense than usual. And the blood panels were all normal, or even super-normal. The most remarkable things, we found out the following week, were the DNA and muscle biopsies.
The tissue samples showed an amazing amount of hyperplasia, which is having more muscle fibers than usual, or something. Most elite bodybuilders have 2-3 times more normal-sized muscle fibers than other men. Danny had more like 8 times as many. In addition, the ability of those fibers to suddenly contract and even engage in short-term hypertrophy was unparalleled. Cole and Salas had been biopsied as well, and they each had 6-7 times as many muscle fibers, and some ability to hypertrophy beyond normal. But these guys never grew the way Danny could. His fibers were simply more elastic, more responsive to electrical stimulation.
I thought of a time when I was babysitting him and he stuck a table knife into a wall socket. His hair stood up all over but it didn_t seem to phase him; he was even able to let go of the knife with an effort of will. It was as if he_d been drinking the voltage in through his hand. He had a third degree burn in his palm and I rushed him to the hospital, but he healed up very fast. He showed no other signs of harm. It scared me, what he might be able to REALLY do.
Most astonishing were the DNA tests. As suspected, he had almost a complete lack of this thing called myostatin, a protein that a certain gene makes that inhibits muscle growth and is responsible in most individuals for limiting size. Again, certain bodybuilders have mutated genes that don_t produce this protein and so their ability to grow is almost unlimited; Flex Wheeler is one, I remembered. And there are some cows that apparently had double the normal musculature and all they did for it was eat grass.
Well, Danny_s mutation was unique: it seemed that he could produce myostatin, but only after extreme exertions; physical activity shut down this gene and allowed immense growth and strength gains. Afterwards, almost like a cortical response, the gene kicked in and seemed to induce a sort of shrinkage, to bring him back down to normal; which is why he could pass for a more ordinary kid. This didn_t seem to be the way the scientists thought it should work but as usual, Danny does everything his own way.
We were all intrigued by these developments. All except Danny: he grumbled that this proves he was a genetic freak after all, and he withdrew into himself a little more than usual. We tend to leave him alone when moody, to some extent; but we never stopped training. It all gets kind of routine, though. I was the first to notice Danny kept scratching at his bicep, where one of the biopsies had been taken. I figured it was just healing slowly.
But one day we were at the base for target practice. Targets were set up between 500 and 1000 yards away. Cole had a .22 Winchester. Danny had his arm. Cole had bullets; Danny had small bits of lead shot. I operated a special camera to try to capture any differences in speed or accuracy between the two propulsions.
It was high, clear day, cloudless with a single contrail on the horizon. Still as bated breath. A high silver plane circled above, like a weather plane or something, up above a hawk that lazed half-way between earth and sky.
At first the playback indicated Danny_s shot actually piercing the bulls-eye a split second before the shot fired from the Winchester. This clearly improved over his last practice, where his shot flew neck and neck with the bullet, sometimes knocking into it.
But the farther away the targets got, the farther off Danny_s aim became. He rubbed his arm and flexed, but it seemed to spasm. Instantly he began throwing shot wildly; I ducked behind the hay bales but it wasn_t coming my way. His arm flew jerkily all around, he_d try to flex it, crushing led shot into a lump, only to fire it off at Salas whose dexterity and speed alone saved him from being gutted. Clutching at the air Danny cried out in fury and fell limp, his arm twitching weirdly. I barely caught up to them before Cole had the chopper going to whisk us to the Marine base. As we rose into the I searched for the silver glider but it was gone.
A very pale-faced doctor took the harangue from two dark muscle brutes remarkably well. They ordered him to produce results, veins caressing their shoulders through the olive t-shirts stretched taught across their porterhouse pecs. Danny, naked except for his shorts, had electrodes snaking from his head and body in a special room with thick glass. Everyone had forgotten me so I hid, wanting to take in as much of the action as I could. I saw metal cuffs engage around Danny_s wrists and was about to call out; turning to Cole and Salas I saw MPs pointing half a dozen carbines at the two men. The doctor returned to Danny_s room through a pneumatic door that closed asthmatically. A two-star general appeared to brief the policemen.
Gentlemen, your isolated experiment and this little boy_s reign of terror is at an end. You_ll be well taken care of ... in a manner of speaking.
Cole_s pecs bulged threateningly, pulling his shirt out from his jeans and forcing it to hang from them like a curtain. Still I heard fabric rip. What have you done to him? The general gulped at the immensity of angered muscle on display before him.
During the biopsy, the general drawled, struggling to remain cool, we implanted a behavior control chip deep in the muscle. We were fairly successful in operating his arm from a distance; in the future, he should be much more programmable.
He_ll never cooperate, Salas spat. Stocks pumped bullets into chambers. Salas froze; neither he nor Cole were bullet-proof, though it would take more than a few point-blank rounds to bring either of them down.
Oh, we think he will, the general chuckled. Those electrodes attached to his head aren_t just monitoring his brain activity, they_re directing it. Once a chip is implanted in his cortex he_ll be the ultimate killing machine with the best cover of all: he_s just a boy. He_s the warrior America needs. You two will find yourselves complying as well. It_s only a matter of _
A loud beeping noise interrupted him. One of the nurses shouted The machine_it_s going haywire.
Oblivious to the threat I rushed to thick glass and saw wire needles bouncing all over printouts while lights on monitors flashed. It must be a mistake, the doctor said. It appears he_s fighting off the imprints. That_s impossible. His brain activity is disrupting_
Blue and red lights began to flash as another nurse yelled He_s coming out! He_s fighting off the anaesthesia! The doctor clutched the side of Danny_s bed. That can_t be! Turn it up! Put him out! I could see his hands clench and his arms strain against the titanium cuffs.
One of the monitors started to smoke as the beeping sound got more rapid until it was a single tone. He can_t be doing this! the doctor shrieked. He_s overloading the circuits! Did you turn up the gas?
A nervous nurse looked up with amazed eyes. It_s enough to sedate an elephant but his heart rate_s increasing! Look at the veins stick out on his arms! Look at the muscles ripple! What will we do?
The doctor evacuated all the nurses who couldn_t conceive of the strength welling up inside this boy. The doctor began trying to work the controls of a devise to control Danny_s motor movements through the bicep-implant but Danny twisted against the restraints and titanium steel stretched and flattened. His arm twitched and jittered. Danny strained his still-doped body and the dense steel cracked under his arm_s contraction, the crack grew wider and his arm flew up. It flopped about wildly as the doctor furiously twisted dials then it stopped and he flexed it, HARD: the bicep rounded, twin-peaked and full against his snake-nest forearm, and he rotated his wrist. I realized what he was doing: he was tightening his muscle to crush the implant buried within it! The doctor pounded on the controls, then fled the room, sealing the door behind him as machines began to spark, overcome by Danny_s sensory OUTPUT. Danny opened his groggy eyes and shook his head. A siren wailed.
Like lightning Cole and Salas spread long arms and scooped up the carbines. The soldiers shook their hands from the sudden wrenching as their weapons were clutched against two huge chests. The big men squeezed the rifles against their bodies and in the crooks of their arms, shattered oak stocks and twisted barrels shut. Steel and wood ground to pieces against their pecs and biceps, tearing the t-shirts to reveal a depth of muscle the soldiers had never imagined possible on living men. Terrified Marine hands fumbled for small arms but the annealed steel was no match for single pinches from Cole_s or Salas_s fingers: metal casing cracked and the guns spilled their bullets and guts on the floor.
The men retreated behind a hasty shield of tear gas. Cole and Salas drew deep breaths, expanding their rib-cages so their t-shirts ripped under the arms and across their dollar-sized nipples. The gas billowed toward them. They pursed their lips and blew: and the whitish-yellow cloud blew back under their almost-limitless lung power. Their waists shrank powerfully while they drove the cloud back past the retreating marines, who fell and crawled over themselves in tears and terror. Full minutes passed while the wind whistled out of their mouths to clear the lab of the poison; then they slammed the doors shut and wrenched a rifle barrel through the door-handles to seal it. The lab was empty now, except for us.
Danny kicked at the leg cuffs and the titanium twisted and wrenched apart. Shards of steel zinged into the walls and scratched the bullet-proof glass. He tore his other arm free slowly, enjoying the feel of super-strong metal failing to hold in HIS strength. He tasted the blood trickling from the wound in his arm. And then he rose and flexed his arm, hard. The electrode on it buzzed and he saw the swing-arm on the print-out bounce around. He popped his bicep up and down, faster and faster, watching machine try to register his power until the swing-arm bounced off the edge of the paper, getting stuck. Through the loudspeaker the machine_s shrill scream got louder and Danny flexed his arm hard ... and harder ... and harder still. The machine sparked and burst into flames. Turning to the bullet-proof glass, he drove his still-sleepy fist against the two-inch thick bullet-proof glass. It rattled. The impact helped wake him up as his rapid-fire metabolism disposed of the last of the narcotics. Then he decided to try something new.
Drawing in a deep breath, he let out a high tone. Danny has perfect pitch (OF COURSE!) and has shattered crystal in a studio. But this isn_t a proper acoustical situation, and it_s two inches of BULLET-PROOF GLASS. His chest was expanded fully, his pecs standing atop his serrated rib cage like dinner plates heaped with prime rib. I covered my ears until the intensity of his voice shorted out the speaker system; even then I could hear it inside the sound-proof room, a distant high tone of unvarying pitch. The glass seemed to vibrate inside its heavy steel casing. Suddenly it starred in five different places, the cracks running white-edged through its thickness. His chest shrank only slightly and I could hear a squeaking as the cracked edges continued to vibrate against each other. Faster. And faster.
Danny_s waist twisted and tightened as his phenomenal abdomen powered sound out of his mouth. Instrument panel gauges crack and bottles of things shattered all around him. Everything rattled: an IV tree, the bed, the smoking wrecked equipment. And he forced the sound to get louder. I could hear him through the cracks. And still his chest barely changed shape. His arms extended like a tenor_s, and he began flexing his biceps in triumph as the rattling bullet-proof glass cracked again, and again, almost sizzling as the fissures spread. Finally the shield of glass could take no more and shattered outward, spraying sharp-edged chunks of metal across the lab. Some of them hit Salas and Cole but they didn_t even notice the bullet-proof shards of glass shattering against their raging triceps and slicing through their clothes and the thin skin covering iron muscle.
Danny_s voice continued and I tried to cover my ears but it was too much; I felt blood trickling out. I sought desperately for something to cover myself with when Danny stopped; he could have held that note for minutes more, never wavering off pitch. A flash fire from the sudden influx of air after caught his attention and he drew more breath to kill the flames before they spread.
Salas hissed at Cole, This is all YOUR fault. I knew these gringos weren_t to be trusted. You DUPE! he screamed, driving his fist into the center of Cole_s chest. Those mighty pecs could barely protect him from Salas_s fury and he flew back, hitting the concrete wall and sinking in. He pulled himself out and cracked concrete hung on its dented rebar support.
It_s not my fault! We_ll get the bastards! Cole shouted but Salas ran at him, driving his head into Cole_s cannon-ball repelling ten-pack. Cole braced himself but Salas careened him deeper into the cracked wall. Cole clamped his gigantic hands on Salas head and pressed, pecs ballooning as Salas roared in pain and grabbed his wrists. They wrestled that way, grinding concrete to dust behind Cole_s writhing back and punishing the steel like it was taffy, until Salas_s bloated biceps moved Cole_s hands back far enough for him to squirm out and stagger back. Now CALM DOWN! Cole said, raising his leg and driving his T. Rex quad-powered foot into Salas_s chest. Salas sailed back, knocking into and denting a cylindrical tank about ten feet long and five feet in diameter.
Salas reached back, biceps peaking monstrously, and yanked the tank off its supports. Steel struts groaned as they twisted and bolts broke in half. Pipes bent and burst, shooting jets of stream, water and oil into the air. The tank sloshed in his hands as if full of some heavy liquid and Salas turned it endwise and HURLED it into Cole_s body. Cole flew behind the flying tonnage through the shattered hole in the wall and Salas ran through after them into the hallway. Concrete rained down around behind them.
The tank lodged half-way through the next wall and must have blasted Cole into the next room. Salas grabbed the tank end, curling the metal beneath his fingers, and pulled. In his fury he failed to notice the tank buckle in the middle as he pulled harder. His arms fiercely fought the resistance, biceps bursting the sleeves and lats pulling the cotton apart; his traps grew and even the neckband stretched and burst. The tank collapsed further inward and ruptured. Frozen steam jetted into the hallway, covering everything in a chemical rime and Salas swore, abandoning the twisted tank and hammering his way through the wall itself. Raising his fists over his head he cracked it floor to ceiling, then threw his shoulder against the rend. Like giant cathedral doors the wall opened inward a couple feet, almost trapping him within the clutching rebar. He reached one hand through but suddenly, as if yanked from the other side, his body slammed into the wall and it caved inward, the gap filling with rubble.
Danny turned back from the charred, smoking ruins and stepped carefully into the lab, not wanting to cut his feet on the glass. You_ve got to get out! They_ll kill you! I shouted. Danny shook his head. What about you? he asked.
Don_t worry about me, I said, touched. I can take care of myself. You_ve got to get as far away as possible. There_s no telling the firepower they_ll unleash on you.
Or me on them, he said, flexing his own big guns. The blood trickle down his bicep was drying and it flaked off as the jagged muscle contracted. He sounded_and looked_more adult than ever before. He saw the hole in the wall. That_s where they went?
Yeah.
Figures they_d leave me. Well, I_ll take care of them later. What a sissy hole that is.
He walked over to another wall and with a quick run and jump SLAMMED his body into it. It cracked inward and pulled away from the ceiling. Spinning around he hit it again and over half the wall ripped out and flew across the adjoining lab. Sparks flew as computer terminals smashed open under the debris. The lab plunged into darkness as lighting cables were severed; then blue emergencies blinked on. He turned back to look at me. That_s a kid muscle hole. And he disappeared.
I peered through but he was gone; I found some stairs and ran up to the roof. A sniper couched at the edge; I clobbered him, probably saving his own life more than Danny_s. The building rocked beneath me and bricks flew outward for dozens of yards. Danny had emerged.
A line of Marines hurriedly drew up. I could hear them above the distant sirens and fire engines rushing to the lab building: I won_t fire on a kid! That kid just broke titanium restraints while half-sedated! Did you just see him blow out of a brick wall like it was fucking legos? Look out, he_s coming this way!
One soldier lobbed a grenade. Bad move. Danny leapt up and caught it. His small hand couldn_t cover it so he put both hands together and SQUEEZED! Nothing happened: and he dropped it, pulverized and smoking. Rifles opened fire but suddenly he was gone.
The soldiers panicked as an Abrahms tank took up a rear position. While the men screamed at each other in growing alarm, nobody saw its seven wheels begin to hover. But I did, and inwardly cheered as Danny pressed the tank over his head, digging fingers into solid steel plating handholds. The men inside, clueless and frightened, began firing the cannon but Danny_s arms engorged, muscle petrified and contained the recoil as the combat tank captured by his barely-teen arms bucked and rocked. He directed the spinning turret again and again at the Marine base buildings, shelling its own soldiers. Those nearby shrieked in womanish terror and clambered into a jeep to speed away. Danny chased them, shaking the tank over his head. With a skip and hop he HOCKED a fucking Abrahms tank at the jeep, his biceps and creviced delts glistening as they mushroomed with merciless power. The huge armored war machine tumbled through the air past the speeding jeep faster than they could accelerate, and grown men wet themselves and vomited as its shadow sailed over them. Gravity finally won over Danny_s bicep-thrust and the tank sank into the earth well ahead of the jeep, digging a trench and raising a spume of dirt and rock that engulfed the speeding vehicle. The men cowered as the jeep skidded and fish-tailed to a halt, crashing into one side of the crater left by the tank. Most of the Marines fled but some stayed to evacuate the tank, pulling out men with obviously broken limbs. Danny disappeared again as helicopters rose into the air; I prayed he had finally escaped.
The building rocked again and from the other side more masonry burst out, this time Salas_s back driving it forward and Cole rushing out to follow. Chunks of steel-bristling cement shattered and ricocheted off vehicles and Quonset huts. The noise was like a ton of TNT going off. It was hard to tell with Cole but Salas_s huge body was clearly beginning to bruise from the intense punishment that not even artillery could create. The men had ceased screaming and were now fighting each other to the death with cold, ruthless brutality.
Cole lifted Salas with one hand, digging his fingers into the man_s abs, and hurled him with a snarl through the wall of a Quonset building. Sheet metal folded off its frame like cardboard. Cole lunged into the gap, trampling the metal underfoot, but just as suddenly flew backward off his feet with a grimace of agony, landing on a pile of rubble and bent bars that cut into his back. He writhed off onto his knees to catch his breath. Salas leapt out, his cut body smeared with blood, and seized a metal guide pole sunk into the ground. His arm bulged, the peaks of his bicep rippled and the thick pipe filled with cement blasted out of its base, bringing a heavy knot of concrete with it. Swinging it like a mace he aimed a blow with the stone-encrusted end at the back of Cole_s head.
Cole twisted and the pole hit his thick traps, splitting the concrete off the pole and cutting his skin. Bright blood glowed eerily in the harsh sunlight against the glistening black, breathing sculpture. The pole vibrated from the impact out of Salas_s hand. Cole crawled away, braced his leg-sized arms and kicked like a mule: and Salas flew backward, clutching his fractured chest with his hands in mid-air. He tumbled and came to rest underneath a jeep.
Cole jumped the distance between them in a single bound and landed hard on the jeep_s hood, denting it in and slamming the engine down onto the pavement. Spreading his legs, he jumped again against either fender, crumpling the drab-painted steel and destroying the shocks and struts. Jamming his feet down into the croaking frame, he forced the front tires to explode. With Salas wedged underneath and starting to revive, he climbed off and began pounding on the rear end with his heavy fists, bouncing the shivering jeep off Salas_s damaged torso until the rear tires too burst. He kept pounding.
Salas pressed back up, and jeep shakily rose but Cole kept beating it, flattening it. Metal deformed beneath Cole_s explosive arm muscles, but still Salas kept shoving the twisting frame up off his body. Ripping the doors and the seats with single tugs of his massive arms, he climbed in and began pile-driving it with his feet until the tormented steel tore and broke in half on either side of Salas_s arms. Cole sprang high into the air one last time, determined to land with full force on Salas_s locked arms: and at the instant of impact Salas flung the jeep off him with such force that Cole_s knees buckled. Cop and wreckage soared and tumbled through the side of another Quonset.
Salas rose, staggering from the abuse, and Cole stood up, holding the remains of the jeeps body before him: and began tearing it in half. The steel bent two ways at once, lightened in color and tore crudely; the frame ripped, rubber hoses stretched and snapped and the floor broke apart like a giant steel phonebook. Salas glared at the sneer as Cole continued to express his muscle against jeep until it finally shredded around him. He tossed it away and approached, chest heaving, nearly-exhausted muscles trembling. Salas bent down and punched the earth with all the force his body could generate.
A shock wave spread out from the point of impact that convulsed everything in its path; buildings, jeeps, tanks and big Officer Cole all flying into the air and shattering downward again against the trembling earth. Buildings fell their foundations. Brick walls cracked and fell inward, men screamed as they rolled and bounced over the ground, trying to avoid falling debris. Jeeps landed upside-down. The sound wave shattered glass from windows to windshields a split second before the 8.1 tremor pulsed passed like a freight train trampling everything for miles. Gas lines ruptured, utility poles fell over and columns of exploding fire erupted into the sky, the roar drowning for a moment the sirens were still operational.
We found out afterward that a new fault-line opened up underneath the base as a result, and that continual aftershocks lengthen it further toward the great San Andreas fault.
I could barely hold onto the roof; the lab had been quake-proof but now huge cracks yawned in the walls. An explosion caught my attention and I ran to the other side of the roof. My heart froze: two Pave Hawk helicopters had Danny trapped on an exercise field and had just fired a rocket at him. Though Danny seemed unfazed by Salas_s fist-quake, he couldn_t survive a direct hit. The explosion hurled him across the field and the helicopters followed. The percussion wave must have thrown the Hawks off-balance, thus losing their target. Then I saw their folly: they wanted to capture him alive. Each threw a net attached to a cable and tried to winch him into the air.
Danny revived from what must have been a brief black-out as the two _copters began to circle away with Danny trapped between them. But Danny had other plans, and reaching through the metal-mesh net grabbed the cables: and pulled. At first he rose only higher between them but he kept pulling the cable in. Before the soldiers could realize they needed to release more cable the Hawks had been dragged closer together. Marines began to shout but Danny suddenly TUGGED and the airborne vehicles LURCHED backwards in response, tails falling and the rotors coming perilously close to each other. One _copter released the cable and Danny fell.
But Danny kept holding on: they weren_t going to escape HIM. Still wrapped in the steel-mesh, he continued pulling the cable taut almost faster than it could feed out. The other cable remained tight so he swung before hitting the ground; then they released him and the little steel ball with him inside landed. Then he simply stood up.
The steel net stretched, popped and ripped as he pressed his body against it. Even at this distance I could see the red diamond pattern it cut into his skin; but his muscles were far too dense to take the cuts too deeply; denser than sharpened steel, in any case. The net simply fell apart around him and digging his feet into the soil he reeled the fleeing helicopters back in.
The rotors beat the air uselessly, their tails spun and corrected, but Danny_s back and arms and heaving shoulders relentlessly overcame their combined thrusts, overpowering their giant engines. He wrapped the cable around his own arms until he had them tight enough to do flies with. Then he did flies: toying with the powerful aircraft, he pulled them towards each other, then let them try to fly apart, only to squeeze his ripped pecs harder and drag them closer together.
They were only about 30 feet off the ground and soldiers began bailing out, taking their chances with broken legs or skulls to try to escape. Meanwhile Danny kept exercising, pumping his boy pecs until the triple split formed that ridiculed the best built soldier_s on the base. Sweat poured off him, mixing with the light trickle of blood that had already begun clotting. When at last the pilots bailed out, the other soldiers carrying them away, and Danny felt the Hawks buck wildly under his total control, he pulled them together one last time. Slowly he let the rotors mesh, stressing his pecs to the greatest degree and screaming in delicious pain. The two warplanes tangled and tore apart: and they felt the pull of earth_s gravity, which is almost as strong as Danny_s. Hell broke loose as rounds of ammunition and rockets exploded in the fireball. And Danny walked back toward the base, dragging the flaming hulks behind him.
I clambered down an outside fire escape that teetered perilously on its few remaining bolts since a quake-crack split the wall behind it. The wreckage hit snags and his arms jerked and yanked them free, causing two huge helicopters to bounce and drag, shearing off bits of fiery wreckage behind them. I yelled Danny! Get out of here! Why are you coming back?
He motioned for me to stay put. Breathing deeply once, twice, then again, he twisted his body and THREW the burning _copters into the air, letting them fly like giant hammers and launching them towards the middle of the base. One hit a siren pole and knocked it out; men screamed when the other hit a gas tank and more fire ate into the sky. Suddenly the metal fire escape creaked and pulled loose from the wall; I tried to stabilize it but that only made it worse. The steel bent around, I swung with it and it pulled loose again, launching me into the air: four stories up.
Danny ran and caught me, bending his knees and swinging around to shield my jock_s body from the bone-splintering impact of hitting his solid arms. I_m still bruised and I think I cracked a rib against his forearm nonetheless. He held all 190 lbs of me in his arms until I caught my breath. I could feel the steely strength in his arms and the almost fatherly concern in his eyes. He said quietly, Did I hurt you? I shook my head, and he beamed, like the sun. The fire escape creaked and groaned and fell over us: and Danny shot one arm up, catching and stopping its fall. The metal bent over his hand. My feet swung down to the ground and I stood up shakily. He shoved the steel structure away and put his hands on my shoulders, looking up into my eyes.
You_ve got to get away, I said. They_ll be sending the whole fucking Air Force out next. I wanted to wipe away the smoke, the dirt and the blood but his jaw clenched.
There_s something I forgot to take care of. Where are they?
Danny, no_
His eyes froze my blood, commanding both silence and acquiescence to his will. He said, softly, Find a safe place, some sort of shelter, if you can. Now, where are they?
My mouth opened to obey him but then, as if the world felt his authority and begged to be the first to obey, the loud report of a 4x4 cracking in half cut through the noises of panic and sirens and a watchtower fell ALMOST to the ground, seemed to bob, and then FLEW forward and shattered into another Quonset building. Danny made a bee-line, and I heedlessly followed.
Much of the base had no idea where the attack was coming from; those who had seen Danny in action had fled but the others paid him no mind, thinking he must have been a visitor caught in the chaos. When Danny found Cole and Salas, they were once again slugging each other, barely able to stand up but still absorbing blows that could break the black of a Belgian Blue steer.
Suddenly they stopped, arms cocked, fluttering biceps crammed like basketballs on their arms. They could feel the burden of Danny_s stare as he fired with his eyes the charged hatred only a betrayed little boy could feel. Fully rested, they might have been able to restrain and calm him down (MAYBE) but spent they stood no greater chance of withstanding him than an entire battalion of Marines. Without a word he walked up to them and grabbed each by a pectoral, and lifted them off the ground. They grimaced and clutched at his wrist as his fingers macerated the muscle and shook them like rag dolls. The pain of hanging in the air by a single pec must have been excruciating, especially after the punishment each had taken. But Danny didn_t care. He shook them harder until their teeth rattled.
He walked around, carrying them over his head, their own strong hands helpless to dislodge his death-grip on their chests. Shaking, lecturing and knocking them against each other, their humiliation at the hands of a 13 year old boy seemed utter. But Danny was just warming up.
Danny threw them into the side of a wooden administration building, the siding splintering behind them. Already knocked off its foundation by they Salas-quake, the impetus caused the entire two-story structure to collapse into itself, walls cracking and office equipment clattering and falling through split floors. Danny reached into the hold and pulled them out, this time by their abs, which clenched fruitlessly against his grip. Slinging them into the air and catching them, he juggled them until they were on the verge of passing out. Then spinning them around on his palms like plates, he body-slammed them to the earth, which force rattled nearby buildings like an aftershock. They crawled over the ground, feebly yet instinctually trying to get away, exhausted, in searing pain: and Danny fell on them.
Twisting his tiny waist (just a little over two feet around) he grabbed Cole in a bear hug from behind and locked Salas in a scissors hold with his legs. And squeezed. Each big man groaned as his battle-hardened muscles were crushed by Danny_s kid-strength. I remember hearing about a time he had done this before, long ago, with gruesome results. My heart beat in my throat seeing the anger and determination to punish on his face.
Danny is still much smaller than these men. He couldn_t fit his arms entirely around Cole_s chest, though his biceps crushed inches into those iron lats and forced them to bulge around his pipes. His fingers, unable to lock together, grabbed those meaty pecs and dug in, slowly crawling together like terrible spiders. Cole tried to flex and expand but the strangling arms that bound him wouldn_t permit it. His lats exploded again and again but merely cramped up for all their effort. He clutched at Danny_s forearms and tried to wrench them away: and arms that could reduce a Marine base to rubble strained against Danny_s arms_strained and faltered. Grabbing his wrists, he tried to pry those hands off the way he effortlessly pried steel walls apart, but his hands shook as Danny_s muscle just ignored all his strength. Danny_s hands crawled closer together. Cole felt his ribs bow inward and cartilage unused to outside pressure sang in warning that frightened the giant man. The bones started to fracture. He arched his back and kicked his feet, cracking the concrete walkway, and Danny jerked him back down to show him who was in control.
Salas fared no better. Again, Danny_s ankles couldn_t quite lock around the hard-marble sculpture of the detective_s upper body but that meant nothing to those long-muscled quads and calves. Salas_s quake-inducing hands labored to pull Danny_s top leg up even a fraction of an inch but Danny laughed and flexed and felt his calf dig into Salas_s pec like a drill. Salas_s eyes widened as his sternum popped, and popped again, and he realized vertebrae were soon going to give way despite all the flexing he could muster as the bottom leg crushed upward. Muscles in his back began to spasm. Frantically he clawed at Danny_s leg, his hands to trying to crush Danny_s knee or ankle but Danny wheezed with evil glee and pumped more tons per square inch into Salas_s thorax than any hydraulic press ever devised. Salas_s heart threatened to burst, his lungs burned and his arms bunched and swelled fruitlessly against that single 13 year old leg.
Cole drooled and thrashed like a desperate animal and Salas tried to scream in terror but couldn_t find the breath, and Danny (at a quarter of their combined weight) mastered them both, absorbed their wild flailing and crushed them into weakness. Bones creaked as stress-fractures weakened for the first time in their lives. Slowly each man gave up the struggle, slapping feebly at the Danny_s limbs, their bodies eerily distorted as muscles squeezed out around Danny_s arms and legs. Finally, each lay panting, red eyes glazed, while Danny ground and rocked them slowly as if to sleep.
Weeping, I ran over and kicked Danny_s midsection, my foot at once recoiling in agony. He looked up at me with blood-curdling amusement. You want a piece of this, little man?
Yes! Yes I do! Me for them, right now. You let them go, right now, hear me? I spat on him and I noticed his breathing quicken: always a sign of imminent attack. But I_d had enough. They were betrayed too and when they found out they fought for you, fought each other over you! Look what they did to this base. And now you want them to suffer! Big deal! You_re nothing but a bully. A cheap little bully!
Danny released the men and Cole rolled over on his side, choking and coughing, while Salas lay like a fish, sucking in air in chest-rattling gasps. Huge bruises mirrored the pathways of Danny_s cruel limbs. Danny_s belly rippled as he whipped himself upright from where he lay and walked up to me and looked up into eyes. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed: not nearly as hard as he could but enough to force me onto my knees, so he could look down at me. Still streaming tears and snot, I glared defiantly up at him, ignoring the flame in my arm. Go ahead. Maybe it_ll make you feel like the big man you_ll never be. Not while you act like a big baby.
That oddly adult expression came over his young face again, as if deciding what exactly to do with me. I thought of how far he_d come, and much ground this misadventure had lost him, and burst into tears again. Huge sobs racked my body, and even Danny could tell it wasn_t fear, but emotional exhaustion and grief. He let go of my wrist and took my hand, pulling me to my feet. Then he walked over to the men who shook their heads as they recovered, and stood over them like a monument. Cole raised his heavy hands ... in supplication. Blood ran from his mouth and nose. I noticed he was crying too, but also not in fear.
I_m so sorry, Danny. I had no idea we would be betrayed. I never ... I thought if we knew more about your biology, we could help you, make you even stronger, make you _ invincible.
Danny seemed to relax; his fists opened and clenched slowly. Salas looked up through the one eye that wasn_t swollen shut. I kicked his ass when I saw what happened. It was me. I kicked it.
Cole said, My ass is the only thing that doesn_t hurt, and both cackled with exhausted laughter. Cole choked and spat some blood, and kept laughing. Danny cracked a smile and giggled along. He reached down and momentarily each 400+ lb man flinched, but he simply grabbed their big hands in his smaller, stronger ones and pulled them to their feet. Let_s get out of here. Walking off, he shouted back over his shoulder: This still wipes out my debt to the school, right? Cole said I_ll see it does. Salas added I_ll make sure he does.
I ran up along side him. They_re not going to just let us leave. You certainly won_t get clearance to fly out. Danny stared straight ahead. _Naw. We_re walking out the front door. Let em try to stop us. As he passed the lab building, smoke billowing out of the huge holes and cracks in its sides, he saw a jeep. He heaved it overhead and carried it bobbing in his muscled arms, wheels slinging like slinkies with each step.
The guard at the gate took one look at us and aimed his rifle at Danny_s body. Halt!
Danny kept walking. You think you can fire that faster_n I can HOCK this at you? You wanna try, soldier-boy? The guard faltered, and for the first time actually register what his eyes were telling him. He dropped the gun. Danny carried the jeep through the gate arm, which snapped off with a sharp, splintery crack. Salas and Cole gave mock salutes, their enormous, bloody and bruised physiques making the thin young man_s jaw drop farther. He collected himself and called out after them, Hey! That_s the general_s jeep!
Danny turned around. Oh really?
His arms tensed and metal compressed in his hands. His lats flared out like B-1 wings, making a deep round pit between the muscle and his torso that was soon shadowed by the shields of his spreading pecs. The jeep shivered and the two ends bent UPWARDS. He smiled at the metal_s quick defeat and began compressing the jeep from below.
The jeep bent again with a slow, popping creak and the doors flew open. Narrowing his grip, he compelled the thick aluminum structure to give in, unable to withstand the pressure generated from his teen muscle body. Inch by thrilling inch I watched the car form an ever-steeper V. The compression forced the engine to break loose and stick up through the grill. The seats began to crush into each other, the upholstery ripping open, the steering column driving into the driver_s seat. The metal shearing and creasing made a symphony of torture, competing creaks, squeals and rivet-busting groans against the tears, snaps and rattles of the dying jeep. Streams of oil, fluids and gasoline from ruptured lines bathed Danny in a dark flood that stung his wounds, and as the wheels rose higher and higher; the overstressed drive-shaft cracked in half and sent bits of metal flying; one spun down Danny_s back, cutting him. This only made him mad.
The jeep suddenly squeaked closed like a gigantic bear trap: and Danny kept pushing. The hood screamed as it flattened against the boot, struts and pieces of the frame broke free and spiked outward_and Danny snarled and kept crushing it. The engine shot out of the compartment like a missile. The twisted seats exploded with puffs of stuffing; the steering wheel bent back like a wilting flower and the crinkled side panels burst off. Danny_s arms tremored as they met the resistance of metal with nowhere to compress: and outbrawned it with a sneer. Solid metal squeezed like liquid into any tiny, available space. And yet his strength increased, forcing the metal to finally crack against itself, bulge through itself, aluminum herniating out of crackling aluminum. Danny ground the ends against each other and more pieces broke off and rained to the ground. With one last surge and rebel yell he forced the jeep even flatter; it shrieked pitiably. Then he walked back to the terrorized guard, limp except for a hardon he hadn_t realized was even there, and asked Where do ya want me to park it?
The guard, feeling the heat coming off his body and the shade cast by the immense junk-sculpture over the boy_s head, began what appeared to be an epileptic fit. Danny just smirked and I ran up to see the guard was simply having a different kind of fit; his eyes were rolled up into his head but his mouth wasn_t the only thing drooling. Danny simply hurled the back-broken auto down the street, where it sparked and skidded until it ran into another jeep, shoving it back onto the sidewalk.
He_ll be alright, the pussy, Danny snorted with contempt as he walked away. Now I_m no fag, believe me; but Danny needs to learn a little tolerance. Even a jock like me knows that much.
Trouble is, who_s gonna teach him THAT?
THE END (FOR NOW)
ChipMasterson@yahoo.com ??