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In the underground lab, Dr. Simpson talked to me about what was happening.
"Frank...this is incredible, but I'm worried! Another dose, and you could become immobile."
I looked at him like he was crazy. We both knew what I wanted.
"Doc. Give me the shot. NOW."
REUNION
When I spotted him in the crowd, I almost forgot to avoid tree limbs as I rushed to find him. Threading through dozens of thigh-high people to get to him, I was sure I seemed like a blurred rush of muscle mass and "excuse me!" sounds.
I managed to come up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.
He turned around, looked me in the knee, then up to my face, and I saw the same beautiful grin, same spark in his eyes that I had missed since high school. I knelt to one knee, cracking the earth with my weight, put my huge paws around his body and drew him in for a hug, leaving us both breathless before I let him back out.
He took in the sight of what I'd grown into in the past five years. I was worried, but then he laughed and shook his head.
He said “You call that a hug or a weather event?” I laughed too—it had been years, but somehow, we still fit. That ease of just knowing you're okay, they're okay, and everyone is happy with each other.
He stepped forward, hand half-raised like he wasn’t sure where to aim it, and finally patted my forearm instead of my shoulder.
“Man,” he said, “you look like you wrestle mountains now.”
“Only the ones that deserve it,” I said, and the old rhythm between us came rushing back.
For a moment, the crowd around us didn’t exist. Just him, standing there in the same beat-up sneakers he used to wear, and me trying not to crush the ground when I shifted. Trying not to let my eyes show that I desperately needed his welcome and warmth, no matter what I had become.
He smiled up, genuine, completely unbothered by the difference between us.
“You really did it, huh?”
“Guess I did,” I said. “Didn’t think I’d get this far without my spotter.”
He laughed, loud and real, and something in my chest loosened. It had been too long since someone looked at me and saw me, not the giant. And in that small, human moment, I realized I’d been missing that more than I’d ever admit.
My breath caught in my throat for just a moment when I suddenly felt how much I needed him... loved him. If he felt the same way I would never let us be separated again.
By the time the last photo was taken, Evan Blake stood nearly twice his old height — over twelve feet tall, shoulders as wide as the double doors to the fire exit.
The camera couldn’t quite capture all of him; even crouched slightly, his head brushed the ceiling tiles.
Every part of him had scaled up past reason — thighs like pillars, arms like bridge cables, a torso so massive that the air seemed to press against it. He could hear the groan of the floor under each step, feel the faint vibration through his soles whenever he shifted his weight.
What he hadn’t expected was how it would be to live as a giant with impossible strength and size. He hoped to adjust, but he felt like he lived in a world of paper and balsa wood.
Doorways weren’t wide enough, but the walls and frames yielded to him before he noticed any resistance.
Chairs collapsed, until they had a few oversized and overstuffed steel frames built.
Even getting dressed turned into a daily battle — fabric stretched, ripped, and failed against him. Especially underwear. He wasn't sure what to do now that his privates took up as much space as his chest used to require.
When he finally caught his reflection in the mirror, it wasn’t pride he felt. It was awe. Awe at himself, and the dawning realization that he had become something the world wasn’t built to contain, didn't know how to handle.
And somewhere beneath that grin, he wondered if there would be more coming. More size, more power.
He wasn't sure if these feelings he had were about fear of becoming even more huge and powerful...or fear that he wouldn't.
Dad's shirt just totally gave out when he got my bags.
Dad helped us small fry train safely. Sometimes, it was hard for him to tell his own strength between spotting and just lifting the whole bar!
"CRUSHING OUR RIVAL FRAT HOUSE WITH MY SACK? YEAH, THAT IS THE START OF A GREAT DAY!"
Jared McConnell had always been the kind of guy people called “compact but dangerous”—five-six on a good day, built like a coiled spring, a natural sprinter and obstacle racer who lived for mud, bruises, and adrenaline. He wasn’t the tallest, but he was always the toughest.
The trip to South America was supposed to be another story to brag about. A jungle endurance race, a remote course, a week off-grid. What he hadn’t planned on was the snake—iridescent black, fangs like needles—sinking itself into his calf before disappearing into the brush.
He woke up in a hut, surrounded by a circle of weathered faces and painted skin. The tribe’s healer fed him bitter teas, packed his leg with pungent herbs, and whispered things Jared didn’t understand. They kept touching his chest, his arms, as if checking for… something. But all he could tell is that he was healed.
He tried to thank them, but never could communicate with them, and nobody in the race knew of a tribe in that jungle.
When he finally got home, the bite had healed completely. But things started changing. Slowly but surely, changing.
First he noticed he wasn’t winded on runs anymore. Then his shirts tightened as his body grew and put on muscle. Then his shirts failed.
He was six feet tall, shredded, powerful.
Things accellerated: after a couple of months he grew to six-nine, thick, superhuman muscles. He was close to doorframes - top and sides!
Not long aftrer, he tried to just avoid them entirely. His body grew the way storms roll over mountains—slow at first, then unstoppable.
Two months after that, he was impossible. A closing on nine feet tall, weight over a thousand pounds, shoulders like boulders, muscles on muscles, layered in ways no anatomy book ever predicted.
He couldn’t step into his house without cracking something. The mirror (the part he could see, anyway) didn’t show a man anymore—it showed a colossus trying to fold himself into a human life.
And his… changes... "right below the belt"?
Jared blushed every time he caught sight of himself. Let’s just say “unreal” didn’t begin to cover it. Towels became useless. Jeans stopped existing. Even gym shorts begged for mercy.
Sometimes he wondered if the bite had poisoned him—or if it was just something the tribe had expected, or perhaps feared.
But now, whenever he looked at his new body… the power, the scale, the impossible strength…
He couldn’t deny one thing: Whatever he’d become, he liked it.
