VigoRx - Ch1p5 - Evaluation
VigoRxChapter I - The Get TogetherPart 5 - EvaluationIn the Lab OfficeBrett sits attentively in his seat, sloughing off the drowsiness. Thinking about someone growing like that got him feeling a little odd all over. He could almost picture what it would feel like. Jean eyes Brett concerned. Bob's brow furrows, but Brett was in his own thoughts now, not noticing. "But the subject goes back to normal after." Bob blurts. Brett breaks the spell, manages a response, "So it just settles back to normal?" Brett's focus drops down about as soon as he turns his attention back towards Bob, drawn by the hint of six muscles along his stomach. The abdominals show through a still jolly large but now intimidating muscle gut. Suspended bellow that belly hung low the largest flaccid cock Brett could yet imagine, a couple inches short of a foot. Brett stammers gibberish and half words sounding of bits of, "big" and "unbelievable," but then drags his attention back up to try to finish a thought. "How.." He coughs, his eyes flicking down again. He cups a paw out bellow his eyes to block the lower view, just leaving the upper half of the once again short but now much more muscular Santa in view. He manages to finish, "How is that possible? You had to be about six feet tall. You can't just go back to normal."
"Well Brett, to heck if I know. We're breaking a lot of rules here. I can tell you that measurements on the animals show that they're constantly getting heavier. They may only show external signs of growth during arousal, but they are constantly growing inside and getting denser." Brett thinks of his broken scale. Must have been just a coincidence, though. Bob tries to put on one of his more spacious lab coats. A split springs across his back as he pushes his second arm through the snug garment. Sighing, he adds, "And, as you can see, the subject never really goes back to normal size after an episode. They just go back to being denser. Usually they get about three to seven percent taller per shift." Bob flexes his new biceps and forearms, popping the sleeves on the third coat he tried. "Best I can guess, it's probably like one of those puzzle cubes. Once you take it apart, you can't figure out how to put it back together right, so you just leave a few blocks stacked on top. When our bodies get aroused, they engorge out and then can't figure how to settle back to normal."
"I seem pretty normal." Brett chimes uneasily. "Must not have been a big change, yet."Jean and Bob exchange another peculiar look. Jean asks, "You really don't remember?""Well, I remember you fucking me. Guess I passed out after that." Brett leans forward, excited. "How big did I get?" That odd feeling was creeping up in him again.Jean starts
to speak, but Bob blurts, "Not that big."Brett slumps disappointed. "What happened to my clothes, then?"Bob shrugs. "Well.. We got rid of your clothes because they were contaminated." An uneasy silence settles in."So I was thinking," Jean chimes in. "It has to be some prehistoric trait. These changes are too quick to be coincidental." Brett reluctantly turns his attention off Bob, who was oddly absorbed in rubbing a callous on his hand. Jean continues enthusiastically. "Think of the fossil records. Repeated periods of gigantism crop up time and time again. We created a primal hormone, and we let loose some kind of latent daemon in the code."Bob rubs his temples. "Cripes. That's a spooky thought." Moving back to the cabinet, he drags out some slacks. Trying them on, they actually fit better than before the change. He rummages to the back. With a sigh, he pulls out a festive red and green sweater. Shoulders slumping, he pulls the stretchy garment over top and, with a little struggle, on.
Brett can't help a snicker. "Oh. That's perfect."Singing, Jean adds sheepishly, "Santa Claus is coming to town.""What do you want? It's the only shirt stretchy enough to accommodate my new back muscles." Bob cinches up his belt a little more. For the first time in an hour he feels decent. "Your friends about ready, Brett?""They should be.""Well then, let's get going. Make sure you release the industrial sterilizer, Brett." Bob winces, just realizing something, "Santa Claus is cumming to town? That's a horrible pun, Jean."At Brett's"Jeez. You wouldn't believe the look I got from my neighbor. These pants are not leaving much to the imagination," Grant sighs, as he looks up to John on the couch. "Wouldn't think three inches would need to choose a leg to go down. Damned thing is dense and doesn't want to slinky up, though."John leans back, the words, "are you kidding," plain in his face. "Must be hard for you." John let's his knee slump off to the side, giving Grant a good view of the over-sized goods. As Grant winces away from the view, the front door swings open with an overburdened Michael pushing a wide load through the narrower opening. "Got the stuff," Michael rings.
John leaps up, tugging some clothes off Michael's shoulder and snagging a bag of chips. Michael pushes past into the room, a cheerful golden lab in toe. John's voice goes bubbly, "Hey Willard. He Willard!" The dog's body twists and wags excitedly, joyfully receiving rubs and pats from his alpha. Grant calls from the room, "Willard, you magnificent son of a bitch, get in here." The dog practically leaps towards his best buddy, dragging Michael with him. John chuckles then leans down to tug on the jeans. Pulling them up to a slightly snug
fit around his rear, he looks out to the predawn view to realize too late that a gaggle of jogging grannies were purposefully idling in the front walk to gawk. He abruptly tucks his package in the front and struggles up the zipper. He shouts out, "Sorry ladies!" as he fumbles shut the opening. A well worn voice chimes back, "We're not." A chorus of horse laughter muffles through the door.Michael dumps the bounty on the couch, "Got what I could reasonably fit. Wasn't quite enough room for all of it and another person, so I brought this in. Figured you'd both be hungry. I know I was. I nearly cleared my fridge, and, when I got to John's, I topped it off with a jug and a half of milk."
Rubbing at the Willard's ear, causing his whole face to wiggle around his smiling open mouth, Grant says, "I did the same at my place. Unbelievable how bad the hunger gets. I'm not going to lie, I was chewing on a stick on the way to my place."John tugs his shirt snuggly around his midriff and pats Michael on the back before grabbing and biting the end off a banana. "Thanks for getting my stuff," he muffles through chewing. Kneeling down, Willard rushes up to his side. He shoves the rest of the banana in and gives the dog a good long few pets. Tugging down a peel thick swallow, he manages a clear, "And for getting my buddy, too." At Brett's GarageBrett punches the garage door opener beside his mirror, and the door slowly creeks down. He bounces his head, chanting, "C'mon." "Not like that's going to make it go any quicker, Brett," Bob says matter-of-factly. Too eager to wait any longer, Brett hops out of the car, not caring if his neighbors catch a glimpse of him buck naked and crusty.In Brett's HouseBob wanders in. A six foot line-backer like dirty blond man was laughing at Brett. "C'mon. Admit it. You were hoping you got here before John's clothes." Brett blushes and so does the broad shouldered man on the couch, though he tries to hide it behind drinking a shake.
Bob waves. "Hi." The room turns towards him. "I'm Dr. Stevens-Schletzer-Schmidt." Shrugging, he adds, "Just call me Bob."Brett pipes up. "Oh! Bob. Suppose I should introduce you. This is Michael," he points to the skinny one. "Grant," he points to the line-backer. "And John." The tan broad shoulder man waves. "Everybody, this is my boss Bob and the red head is Jean, my coworker." Jean waves sheepishly at the room.Bob pipes up. "I'd just like to apologize for all this. We had no idea this could happen. I'd like to try to explain, but we have a long trip ahead of us, and probably a few months at my cabin to do so. Unless anyone has objections, I'd like to get going before any more incidents start to happen."The room nods and starts to move about. Michael
leans down and grabs a few gallon baggies of cum. Walking up to Jean, he explains,"This is all we could sop up," and puts it in the bucket with a blush. Jean lids it and blushes, too. Brett takes a bucket out to the garage, and comes comes back with a mask and two jugs of fluid. "You guys better get in the van. This is going to suck."
In the Garage"So he's been exposed for a week already?" John asks.Jean replies, "As best we can guess. That's when the spill happened. His growth was quicker and disproportionate to the rest of ours.""Christ.." John shakes his head. "Makes sense. He's been dogging on me like crazy this past week.""He's been pretty impulsive lately," Michael nods."Like spiking our drinks with an experimental drug, for instance," John sneers. "Why didn't he tell anyone," Grant asks shaking his head. "Not like it's hard to tell something is different," he says, emphasizing with a jostle of his thick junk. "Well, that's the thing," Bob chimes. "The drug wasn't done at the time. We think he has a variant in his system. Something relatively stable, but.." Bob's eyes widen, "When it meets up with a catalyst." He pauses. "Watch out." There's a long pause. John's eyes went distant, a hint of reverence in them. Jean and Bob dart knowing glances to each other.Bob gets up from his lean on the vehicle. "Try to keep him away from," Bob air quotes, "interacting," and lets it hold for emphasis. He finishes, "No interacting with anyone. We don't know what triggers it." Bob starts to get into the van, but pauses. "Oh. Don't tell Brett. When we tried to talk about his growth, he seemed to get a little excited. We thought we saw Brett swell a little."
Back in the HouseThe room mills out. Brett then opens the jugs. He starts about his bedroom, soaking John's splotches in the carpet. An acrid smoke rises and spreads a mist across the floor. Brett hurries to the living room, racing to douse every clumpy splotch as his skin starts to itch. The itch beginning to burn, he dumps both containers then runs out the back door.Michael hands him a few pieces of clothes he had kept out. Brett strips quickly. Unfolding the first garment, he pauses to glare at Michael. The guys all erupt in laughter as Brett pulls up a jock that he has to pack his five inches into. He then slips on some short short like swim trunks, ankle length socks and a rainbow sweater. Brett sits back in the drivers seat and punches the garage controls. As the door opens, he stares at the smoke leaking around the frame of the always poorly fitted door. In moments the paint will turn to goop and pool by the footings. Within hours his windows will be etched, his knickknacks will be putty, his carpet a slurry.
The wood of his furniture will splinter and bit by bit crumble. Anything biological will be dust and decontaminated. Unfortunately, just with that slight exposure, his skin was already red. He just knew his blond hair is going to turn bleached white, too. His brain rears about, trying to contemplate his whole life melting away. He can't, so he just kicks the car to reverse.
Bob begins to describe the route. The vehicle starts to move backwards. Brett punches the garage controller for a last time. The Door swings down and seals the liquifying apartment. The van starts west, followed closely by John's Jeep ringing with Grant laughter and Jean with Michael in his Civic.