The Mass of Us - part 3

[PumpCulture]

CW: FMG, muscle worship, macro muscle, extreme muscle. (read part 2)

 

 

Joel was scared. He'd been scared for longer than he could remember. He hardly slept. When he did sleep, his dreams were tortured memories. He had developed shakes in his hands, itchy trigger fingers, nervous tics. He saw Clickers in every shadow, men with guns in every doorway. But over time, his fear had changed. It had evolved into repulsion, disgust, terror. He was afraid of Ellie, his own daughter, his baby girl.

She would not stop growing.

That nightmarish thought occurred to him on a cold Winter's day in late-January. There were only two months left. He would push Ellie until she had nothing left. He kept pushing past that until she began to beg, all the sanity draining out of her bloodshot eyes. He pushed her past even that until she was a convulsing mess, a steaming, musky, sweat-stained, breathless pile of bright red stretch marks, bubbling veins, raw sinew and muscle fibers swollen past all recognition.

She stood there sobbing uncontrollably, too bloated with muscles screaming in their outright torture to even think about reaching up to cover her own reddened face, even if she actually had her hands free. Hell, her shredded, over-inflated biceps alone prevented her from even making a right angle with her elbows anymore.

That was when Joel had an epiphany. It was as if the gray skies opened up and a voice said "life is pain". He had gone way past pushing her so she could be strong enough. Way past trying to shape her into the ultimate woman. She was no longer a woman. She was a weapon, a machine, a virus, infected with a never-ending, annihilating growth just like the Clickers themselves.

Joel realized he was past the point of pushing her to grow. He had been pushing her to get her to stop. To break. To get her to cease her torment. But there was no stopping. This was life. She was life. They had to go on. They had no choice. The door couldn't be closed anymore. The growth couldn't be stopped.

That was the day his baby girl became his nightmare.

Joel's cracked voice which had trailed off came back with a vengeance, stronger and more determined: "Go on, lift! Push it up! C'mon! Like that! Don't quit! You're not weak! Fight! Fight or die trying!"

She was doing squats. Under a compressed tank. Loaded with boulders strapped with chains on top. Additional boulders could be loaded from the top of the precipice and the weight could be adjusted with the help of two cranes that operated the steel wires attached to the chains, lowering or raising the whole heap.

Joel had given up attempting to estimate how much weight she could lift. He simply added more weight. Every day meant more weight. Never enough.

But this particular rig had had enough weight. Ellie had just crossed into triple digits for her reps, arms balancing the heft of the tank and its avalanche of boulders upon her shoulders like she was the mythical Atlas, when a wire snapped. One of the cranes began to bend in half like a plastic straw. Unable to control the amount of weight, the entire thing came down on Ellie, pushing her feet into the cracking stony ground. But she held it up, the entire weight, all by herself.

The whining of rusted metal shattering, the slicing sounds of wires whipping through the icy air, chains pulling, boulders shifting, the tank groaning under the weight... all that noise nearly drowned out Ellie's screams. Joel stiffened, watching her, completely helpless. His cranes were toast. His controls were useless. He couldn't hope to help her lift it.

But then, her screams turned into an animal roar and that roar turned into a violent, guttural bellow, deeper and more intense than any human Joel had ever heard before. Spittle flew from Ellie's howling mouth, dripped from her purple face and bare fangs, as the whole rig shook and her body miraculously, hideously, revoltingly, explosively responded. Joel couldn't believe his eyes.

Her veins spread and seemed to multiply, a popping, undulating, throbbing mesh.  With so much mass to feed, her blood and heart worked overtime, rising to the occasion to feed the swelling beast and glut every muscle past its distended, garish limit. Ellie's pulsing meat filled up every available space.

 

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