bigstories
patreon
Red Blooded: Part 2
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 23:01:10 +0000 UTCBlacksad has to bust out of jail to catch his man, but is the Big Apple going to be big enough for him before it's all over? Enjoy!
**************
"John, there's no easy way we can get through this," Smirnov sighed heavily, the police commissioner sitting opposite from the mountain of a cat that filled more than half of the interrogation room. "Agent Thorne is on the warpath. He wants you slammed with murder, destruction of private property, theft of federal property, treason, and half a dozen other charges. If he has his way, you'll either be locked away for several lifetimes or put in an electrical chair. But we can get you a plea deal, and save you from the worst of Thorne's wrath."
Blacksad glared softly down at the german shepherd. He had been clenching his now heavy jaw, the shifted musculature and structure of his body rendering his voice low and gravelly. "Smirnov. I haven't done anything wrong! You know me. What— what motive would I have to kill someone I never even met? Never mind collaborating with actual Soviet Agents."
The canine's mouth thinned as he stood up from his seat, pacing back and forth. "John, Agent Thorne is calling down as much of Washington on your head as he can— and unfortunately, Senator Gallo has caught wind, and he smells blood in the water."
The massive cat's face soured as he reached up to rub his forehead, the overgrown swells of brawn girded to his massive arm rolling off one another. "Damn it, Smirnov…"
Smirnov planted his hands on the table, even though he still had to tilt his head up to look up at the feline mountain looming over him. "I'm a commissioner, not a lawyer. I can only tell you what advice I've been given from friends in the US Attorney's office. You plead guilty, the government will do their best to do this quietly. Project Red Blooded never got off the ground because of evidence it… altered subjects' personality. Made them more aggressive, lowered inhibitions. We can claim you weren't in control of yourself."
"And I'll end up in an institution, Smirnov!" the cat snapped.
"Well!" Smirnov threw up his hands. "What do you want, John? Blackwell's Island, or Rikers? In an asylum, you can at least have a little freedom and a facility to help you in your… current state. We'll have room to breathe, to think of a more permanent solution."
"And all it would cost me is my name and reputation, for the crime of being assaulted by a Soviet spy!" the cat roared. Blacksad leapt to his feet, his ears nearly brushing against the ceiling. With an errant swipe of his steel girder of an arm, the table was flung against the wall and splintered. "For getting attacked by the KGB, forced into this— this freakish form, I have to admit to being insane, a murderer and a traitor! And you ask me what I want?!"
John stopped in his tracks as he locked eyes with Smirnov. The dog, dwarfed several times over by Blacksad, had eyes wide as saucers, his hand hovering over his holstered pistol. John's ear twitched as he heard commotion outside the door. With a level glare, he lumbered over to the door and wrenched it open with the smallest flex of his massive arm, revealing three other officers, their weapons trained on him.
Glaring darkly at Smirnov, John then closed his eyes, taking a deep sigh. "I suppose that ends the interview."
Smirnov slowly eased off his pistol, and then recomposed himself. "I'm going to let you cool off in a holding cell for the rest of the night. But John— once Thorne gets the order to transfer you to Rikers Island, there's less and less I can do for you."
The musclebound cat let himself be led to a holding cell only just big enough for him. He felt like a wild tiger, pacing in his cage at the zoo. The bunk had no way of supporting his weight, so he rested his giant back against the brick wall, and took a deep sigh as he slid down and closed his eyes, exhausted by the forced transformation of his body and everything else that had fallen on his shoulders in the night.
It felt like only a precious few moments of quiet passed before John snorted awake, a billy club clattering against the bars of his cell. In the dark of the night, the cat blinked the sleep away until he could see the officer standing in front of him. He frowned; it wasn't one of Smirnov's boys. The officer was an ermine, with an all too familiar smirk plastered on his face.
"Dimitrov!" John growled low, leaping to his feet as he wrapped his fists around the bars of his cell, glaring down through gritted teeth at the KGB Agent that had turned him into the beast he had become. "How'd you even slither your way in here?"
"Please, Detective," the ermine smirked, unphased by the massive creature before him. "If I could not fool the NYPD, I would not even be here. So. Enjoying the fruits of your beloved, American justice?"
"Are you just here to gloat? Why don't you come a bit closer, and I can show you how much I'm enjoying the night?" the cat rumbled darkly, tensing his huge arms.
Dimitrov's smirk twisted further. "The FBI Agent, he will do whatever he can to ruin your life, after the loss of his partner."
"Who you killed."
"Please," Dimitrov waved off the accusation flippantly. "The details of the past are immaterial. The present, however, remains uncertain. Allow me to make you an offer— if you stay here, you will never be allowed a free moment again so long as you draw breath. But, I can get you out of here. You are too big to ever fit in with the American Dream— but Russia, Russia is a big country. And we know how to put your new skills to use."
"I'm hardly a chest-thumping jingoist, but if you think I would actually betray the United States just to become a Soviet lab rat at best, then you don't know me at all," the cat snarled.
Dimitrov scoffed dismissively. "Have it your way. But I will be back again, Detective— you are far too valuable an asset to let slip through my fingers. And if you will not take the carrot, then you will get the stick. You may be stronger than any mortal man living, but you are not invulnerable."
The ermine struck out faster than John could catch, slashing at his knuckles with a switchblade that made John recoil from the sudden stinging pain, gripping his hand tightly to stem the bleeding. Gritting his teeth, he looked up to stare down Dimitrov, but the ermine was already out of sight, a low chuckle echoing off the hall before the door leading to the rest of the station slammed shut.
Blacksad hissed, sucking on his teeth as his knuckles still stung as he rested his huge back against the wall, screwing his eyes shut. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he would wake up back in his bed, this all being some strange, uncomfortable dream.
"Psst! Hey, PI!"
For the second time, John's head jerked up. He scanned the area, but then heard rapping of something against brickwork behind him. Turning around, he saw a hand gripping the bars of the high, narrow window above his cell. With his ears brushing against the ceiling, John could easily see outside to a familiar face— a musclebound horse that was glancing over his broad shoulder, and the one who had gotten him on Dimitrov's path in the first place. "Alexei? What're you doing here?"
Alexei's eyes went wide. "Holy— What… What did the Doc do to you, PI?"
John's face twisted. "Gave me four shots."
The horse's mouth fell open. "Four? Gee-zus!" He swore. "PI, I got wind of what happened— they said some sorta freakish giant got arrested for takin' out a Fed."
"I was framed," Blacksad grunted, his face souring. "Dimitrov— the Doc— killed him."
"Shit…" Alexei ran a hand over his mane. "You gotta be huge."
"I guess I am," the cat grumbled.
"Look… you know you're in a bind, PI. When I heard, I…" Alexei sighed. "They said it was some kinda freak, and… I figured I'd be the only one to help. I got a place where someone my size can lie low."
"Lie low?" John scoffed. "First, that would mean breaking out of here. That hardly makes me look innocent."
"PI, nothing is gonna make you look innocent. But if you wanna nail the Doc, you ain't gonna be able to do that from Rikers Island. We just gotta get you outta the cell."
John's eyes flitted from Alexei, then to the bars of his cell. The horse had no equipment on him, certainly no keys. "...I'm not gonna like how I'm getting out of here, am I?"
Alexei grinned tightly and flexed his powerfully built arm, patting the swollen bicep. "Y'ever been on a demolition crew, PI?"
"I… I don't even know where I'd start…" the gigantic feline rumbled.
"If you're as big as I think you are, PI, you could walk through the wall. But hurry up— someone's gonna notice us soon."
John cast Alexei a solid look. "You're sure you know a place where I can lie low for a bit?"
Alexei placed his hand on his broad chest. "Swear on my mother's grave, PI."
The cat nodded, then took one last furtive look around. It was late— there would only be one dispatch officer on duty, Smirnov had most likely gone home. And if he was going to turn the tables on Dimitrov, it would help if he were somewhere the spy couldn't keep track of him. "Alright. Stand back."
John stood to his full height and took one more look over his mountainous shoulders, craning his thick bull neck to see over the swell of his own traps to make sure no one was coming. "Sorry, Smirnov," he muttered, and then took a deep breath as his chest swelled and inflated, brushing against his thick jaw as he did. He readied himself, spreading his feet out and feeling his body expand just by the mere act of stretching out— he hadn't realized how much he was holding in before he took a step back and threw his whole weight against the brick wall— and he only accomplished was the displacement of a lot of dust and grout and a loud clamour.
Alexei sucked in on his teeth, hissing back up at Blacksad. "PI, it's either now or never! No half measures, come on!"
Gritting his teeth, John tensed and pumped his arms. His fur bristled as his engorged muscle swelled, and his eyes widened as, even in the dark of his cell, he could see the black mounds girded to his augmented body begin to grow. He huffed as he felt a rush of power and adrenaline fill up to the tip of his ears, and with a guttural growl, slammed his full weight against the wall. He never expected he'd know how a battering ram would feel, but he barely felt the grit of the brickwork as it burst apart in face of his mass. He staggered through the vast hole he had made, coughing and blinking through the smoke, his whole, monumental body throbbing, sinews of muscle twitching in anticipation as he stood at his full height.
Alexei gaped, brushing back his mane as he stepped back, looking up at John's full height. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph, PI! Look at you!"
John felt a small thrill, sensing something beyond fear or angry loathing in Alexei's wide eyes. He opened his mouth, but was cut off by an alarm that rang out through the police station. "The name's John." He craned his neck, sizing up the alleyways he could see from the station parking lot and deciding which ones he could comfortably fit through. "But if you got a place I can lie low, you better get me there now."
The horse shook his head, regaining his wits as he gave Blacksad a quick, mocking salute. "Yes, sir— right this way," he said, canting his head and starting to jog across the parking lot. John could feel his heavy footfalls almost cracking the pavement beneath his lumbering tread. He glanced back only once to see two of the on-duty officers staring in absolute shock at the hole he had left behind, and meeting his eyes across the street only once before he disappeared around a corner Alexei led him through.
"You should know, uh, John," Alexei hissed as they hustled in between the backways of Manhattan. "I ain't never had a sudden burst like that— with my body, you know?"
"Well," John grumbled. "I'll get you three more shots of the damn stuff and see if you start swelling up like a tick, too."
By the time Alexei finally motioned that they could stop, John was feeling the strain on his body. Without a night's sleep, he could feel the several hundred pounds of weight that now made up his body; if not for the unfathomable strength it came with, he would've felt flattened and his bones would've probably shattered like glass. It had to be morning by now, but the horse had led the huge feline underground, through a sewer grate down by the river and into a winding maze from there.
"We're right under a bar called Angelo's. Used to be a Luciano-run joint back during prohibition. The cellars here are nice and secret, with plenty of room for big guys like us," Alexei said, patting Blacksad's beefy chest with the back of his hand.
John furrowed his brow, taking a look around. There was a large, open space with a boxing ring in the middle, with several corridors branching outwards. "...Underground fight club?"
Alexei nodded curtly. "We're gonna have to sing for our dinner if we stay here, John. But lots of people will pay to see a fight with someone our size."
The cat frowned, rubbing his forehead. "Doesn't that… completely defeat the purpose if we advertise we're here?"
"I know, I know," Alexei held up his hands. "It sounds… backwards. But the guy who owns this place wouldn't want to lose some moneymakers like us… and we don't need to stay here long. Just until you figure out what to do next." The horse canted his head towards one of the corridors. "There's a room back there with a bed big enough for me— it'll be a bit tight for you, but better than a jail cell bench, right?"
The musclebound took in a deep breath, still looking around. "We have maybe a week before word gets back to the NYPD or the FBI."
"Then I guess you got a week about what to do," Alexei said.
John nodded. "Right. Listen— can you do me one more favor? I need to get word out to someone I can trust. Do you know the way to the What's News office?"
Blacksad didn't know how long he slept, sprawled out on the pile of mattresses that apparently passed for Alexei's bed, but after however long he was asleep, his nose twitched. There was an all-too familiar odor that dragged him back to consciousness, and he rolled over on the thick burls of muscle, his eyes falling on Weekly. The weasel was leaning forward in a chair, looking over the cat with wide eyes; following his pupils, John could see his friend's gaze was drifting further down, past his wall of a chest, abs like cobblestones, and then the rather girthy contours of his hips and waist.
"Uh… Weekly?" He cleared his throat. "Eyes over here."
"Oh! Uh! Hi, hi John," the weasel's neck snapped back to the cat's face. "I was just… waiting for you to wake up."
Blacksad arched his brow. "You didn't think to wake me?"
"I tried." Weekly said, standing up as he walked over. "I tried poking you, shaking you— but it was like trying to start a truck by smacking the hood" He thumped his fist against John's bloated arm, and the feline's ears perked up as it barely registered on the overly armored layers of muscle.
"Good Lord…" John muttered, lifting up his arm, curling his arm as his bicep inflated and swelled. He was slightly enamored, but then turned back to Weekly. "Listen. I'm hoping you're here because you know I didn't kill that agent, and I'm not a traitor."
"Are you kidding, John? Of course," the weasel gave him a fervent nod. "After everything? I know you wouldn't do anything like that."
John smiled softly. "I can't just turn myself in, not like… this." He gestured to his transformed body. "So I need you to do some legwork. You got my message yesterday, about looking into a Dr. Solzhenitsyn?"
Weekly nodded fervently. "I got to work straight away."
"Good, good. Because Solzhenitsyn is an alias— his name is Dimitrov, and he's the one that murdered Agent Farkas. He's a KGB agent, and I need to find where he's hiding out. He's looking for me, so he won't leave New York without me."
Weekly gave his friend a smart salute. "Don't worry— I'm on the case, John. What will you be doing in the meantime? Just hanging out with the brute squad out there?"
"Heh." Blacksad gestured to his huge body. "I am the brute squad, now. I'll be doing some fights here— apparently the man who owns this place runs an underground wrestling ring. Be fast, Weekly. I've got days here, if that, before somehow, someway, word gets back to Smirnov, the FBI, or worse— Dimitrov— that I'm here."
The weasel's smile faded at the implication, and he nodded fervently. "I'll work fast as I can, John. Are you… sure you're gonna be alright here?"
The cat laughed drily as he sat up, looming over Weekly. "Let's be honest here, Weekly— what can a bunch of washed up rum-runners and two-bit gangsters throw at me now?"
Everything but the kitchen sink, as it happened. The following days saw John's newfound strength tested to its limits. With a mask to hide his identity as best he could— he had no idea how many of the people attending fights like this would be people he had previously busted for anything from petty larceny to murder— and soon the owner of the ring had a new attraction, "The Beast Beneath the Streets."
John was pitted against anyone drunk, cocky, or stupid enough to get in the ring with him; the cat still fought as he did when he was a quarter of his current mass, conserving energy, fighting strategically— but even then, he started to learn how potent some real shock and awe could be. He could lift opponents off their feet just by pulling up one steel girder of an arm, grapple them into submission just by burying them between his outsized, advancing wall of a chest, or even constricting opponents between trunk-thick thighs, flooding them up to the jaw in overwhelming beef.
He tried his best to keep his strength measured, but that didn't stop him from occasionally punching straight through the brickwork, cratering the floor, or hitting the ring hard enough to buckle and snap the supports. The owners docked his pay— but that mattered little to John. The more he honed his power and got used to his new body, the more he scanned the audience, watching for anyone that seemed out of place. Five days in, when his alias as "The Beast Beneath the Streets" was making him notorious in the underground, he saw them. Sticking close to the bar, away from the front row. A doberman, ramrod stiff, ears pointed up, eyes always on him when he thought John wasn't looking. After finishing a four-on-one fight, still carrying an unconscious fighter slung over his mountainous shoulder.
"Good fight, John," Alexei grinned, raising a mug of beer up to the huge cat as he stomped over, away from the ring. "Betcha they're gonna have you wrestling tanks before the week is out."
The cat grinned tightly as he leaned in close. "You see the dog by the bar over there? Don't look directly at him," he added quickly. "He's a plant. I can't tell if he's from the FBI or Dimitrov, but no later than tomorrow night, they'll be raiding this place looking for me."
Alexei's ears flattened, the horse glancing briefly back to the bar. "Damn. Well… You got your exit all planned?"
"I was hoping Weekly'd be here by now," John muttered, eyes shifting around. "Any sign of him?"
"He might be in the bar upstairs."
The cat's mouth thinned. "Great. I'll need to gamble… distract the dog for a minute, but let him follow me after. Wait two minutes, follow after. I'll leave a trail— look for dents in the brickwork."
Alexei nodded, folding his thickly roped arms over his broad chest. "Good luck, John."
John grinned bleakly, patting the horse's broad shoulder. "Thanks— for everything. Once we get this all sorted out, once I'm cleared— I want to help you get to somewhere beyond 'Circus Freak.'"
"Heh. Big guys gotta stick together, yeah?" Alexei grinned, lightly punching the cat's chest.
John grinned, stole a drink from Alexei's mug to summon up his courage, and then made sure the doberman saw him stomp up the stairs leading to the bar, as Alexei moved to intercept the canine.
Blacksad scanned the bar, suddenly turning heads as his bulk cut through the thin fog of cigarette smoke clinging to the floor. He spotted Weekly right where he thought he would find the weasel— chatting up a woman far out of his league.
"Excuse me," John rumbled to the woman by way of apology, grabbing Weekly by the scruff of his coat and lifting him off the ground.
"Geez! John, show a little class, I was this close with her!" Weekly protested, squirming in John's grip.
"Tell me about it later, we need to make tracks," John replied. "Tell me you've got a lead on Dimitrov."
"Ah…" Weekly spread his hands. "It's only a guess, but… he rented a warehouse down by the wharves under the Solzhenitsyn name, a-and a tip I got said some shady figures were seen around there."
"Then that's going to be our best bet," John said. "Let's move."
Like so many times before, John stalked into the night with Weekly jogging behind, hoping he was on the trail of the culprit. Every other building they passed, Blacksad used his massive strength to make some mark for Alexei to follow— either raking claws or just ensing his piledriver arms to punch and crater the brickwork.
The fog was rolling off the Brooklyn River when they reached the wharves, with Weekly pointing out the appropriate warehouse. John had no idea if he was being followed, or if Alexei was able to reach him, but as he looked over the warehouse, he spotted a motorboat down in the water— the faint frothing of water showed the engine was idling.
"The boat there— the engine's on. If someone's in there, they're prepped for a quick getaway." John took in a deep breath, his chest rolling out. "Backtrack, here— I can handle things here for a little bit, but make sure Alexei is out there."
Weekly hesitated for a moment, glancing up at Blacksad. "If you're sure… stay safe, John."
"Don't worry," the hulking cat glanced down past his pecs, grinning at Weekly. "I won't do anything stupid."
As Weekly slipped into the fog, John turned his attention back to the warehouse, and after he took in a deep, bracing breath, he marched up to the warehouse and pushed his way in. The vast, cavernous space looked empty, with only a few pieces of abandoned industrial equipment left collecting dust. But the cat's ears twitched as he heard shuffling overhead, in the catwalks.
"Detective."
John spotted the mink stepping out along the catwalk. Dimitrov grinned toothily, leering down at the cat. "How good to see you still in such good health. I'm feeling generous tonight, Blacksad, so I'll give you the same offer I did almost a week ago— cooperate and come with me back to Moscow, and we can see just how far this new strength will take you— how much of a magnificent beast we can make you." He brandished another syringe in his hand, the glass catching the small bit of moonlight filtering through the warehouse. "Perhaps we can even push things further. Of course, if you're not obliging…"
John swerved as he heard more movement along the catwalk as two gunmen appeared in the rafters, training their sights on the massive feline. "I can get nearly as much out of a corpse to study as I can a living specimen."
The cat laughed bleakly, eyeing the gunmen. "Mercenaries, Dimitrov?" He slowly backed away, scanning the area for any of the hardware that could fully cover his mass. "Hiring people to do your dirty work? I don't know, that sounds a bit like capitalism, doesn't it, comrade?"
Dimitrov laughed mirthlessly. "How very glib. We do what we must, Detective— I won't wait for an answer. Come quietly, or I will make you quiet, for good."
Blacksad thinned his mouth, his options limited. "You know, Dimitrov… you speak so eloquently about all this sort of supernatural strength and muscle mass, I'm surprised you were never tempted to take the serum yourself. All that power, sitting right in your hands? It must be tempting."
Dimitrov drummed his fingers against the railing. "Your answer, Detective. Now."
The cat cleared his throat, and, tensing his huge body, he committed to his choice. "Hate to disappoint, Dimitrov— but I don't fancy Moscow for a summer vacation." He dove to the side as the mink made the call for his two hired thugs to start firing, and under a hail of bullets, John dove beneath a huge chunk of abandoned machinery. As he ducked beneath it, bullets pinging off, he glanced to the yawning doorway, and his heart soared. For a brief moment, he spotted Weekly in the doorway. He signed for the gunmen overhead, and the horse gave a brief nod before they dipped back behind the doorway, out of sight.
John took a bracing breath, focusing all his strength as he dug his fingers to get a firm grip on the massive hunk of metal. He snarled, his chest inflating, arms rippling— the tapestry of back muscles unfurled, and his meaty legs tightened, sinews of muscle surging as he hefted the giant mass of metal overhead. He let out an adrenaline-fueled roar as he threw it at the catwalk, displacing all three of his enemies as they tumbled to the ground. With all the dust and debris kicked up by the impact, Dimitrov scrambled, clutching the serum tightly to his chest as he glared at his opponent.
"You stupid brute!" Dimitrov snarled. "Do you have any idea how close you came to ruining this? Years of research— almost wasted!"
"If you want to keep that stuff so safe, there's one way to do that." John held out his massive arms. "Take your best shot, doctor."
Dimitrov's eye twitched. "Valintey! Malenkov, fire!" The mink turned around, eyes looking around feverishly for his two hired guns. They began pulling themselves to their feet— but not before a blur of muscle and fur slammed into them.
John let out a quick bark of a laugh in relief as Alexei tackled the gunmen, the musclebound horse kicking their dropped guns away.
"Alexei?!" Dimitrov gasped.
"Hey Doc," Alexei growled. "Your last paycheck to me bounced— mind settling that for me?"
Dimitrov snarled as John stomped closer. The mink let out a shout of rage and frustration, stabbing the serum into his veins. The cat pulled back slightly, watching with anticipation as he saw Dimitrov's body begin to lock up and tighten, the smaller mammal making sharp, quick gasps for breath as the power of the serum shot through his body. The transformation began asymmetrically; Dimitrov's left arm was the first to start, twitching and convulsing, cloth growing taut over it until it began to split, new growths of thickened brawn billowing out.
The mink grit his teeth, eyes wide as it spread from left to right— one shoulder blade tore at his shirt seams, then half his chest, then his back— in a rolling wave that swept over him, the muscle surged upwards and outwards. His neck expanded with extra girth like a fresh sponge tossed into a bucket of water, the first button popping off as that bled into the rest of his chest pushing outwards. He huffed mightily, the movement and sudden intake of breath inflating his burgeoning body further, his shirt melting away in face of the waves of freshly forged brawn. His legs were like a timelapse of stalactites forming, rock-hard beef splitting the seams of his pants.
As the right side of his body caught up with the rest of him, Dimitrov face was contorted in an adrenaline-fuelled mask of war and rage. He slammed into John; though the cat was still larger, the mink hurled himself with enough ferocity that it knocked Blacksad off his feet.
Dimitrov got a few good hits in, powerful enough to break through the layers of thickened beef girded around the cat's body, before Blacksad grappled back, arms locking tightly around the mink's throat, biceps thick as boulders closing in around him, chest rising up.
"You know what you need, Dimitrov?" John snarled. "A chance to cool down!" He rolled on to his side, massive legs like steam engine pistons kicking at the ground. John canted his head, eyes meeting Weekly as he followed Alexei into the warehouse. "Weekly? Do me a favor— make Alexei look good."
"What—? John, wait!" Weekly rushed after the cat, but Blacksad was faster. Keeping Dimitrov in an iron vice of a hold, Blacksad rolled himself into the river with an almighty splash.
"What—!" Dimitrov sputtered, coughing out water as he scrambled. "What're you doing?! You'll sink us both!"
"Hey, that's the game, right Doctor? Mutually assured destruction." John said grimly. The sheer mass and density of both their bodies began slipping under the water, Dimitrov scrambling for any purchase, but John was like an anchor, taking the mink down with them.
Weekly gasped as he saw the cat slip under the waves, only to catch the wail of sirens approaching— Alexei heard them as well, the horse holding up his hands as he towered over the approaching police. The weasel's mouth thinned, looking back to where Blacksad had sunk; he had to have some way out of this. The detective always had a back-up plan, right?
Two days later, Weekly was picking his way through the lower tunnels of the city's sewer, trying to watch where he stepped. "Well…" he muttered to himself, mouth souring. "This might be the first time John smells worse than me." He came to a large, cavernous cistern, the towering ceiling several stories above his head. Craning his neck, he cupped his mouth with one hand. "John? John! I got your message!"
Weekly waited nervously as his voice echoed off the cistern's walls. Then, he heard heavy, lumbering footfalls echoing off the walls of one of the larger tunnels. The gigantic, mountainous cat lumbered into view, and Weekly was quick to rush over to his side, throwing his arms around as much of John's torso as he could. "Ah, John! What a relief— I got your message. What… what're you doing down here, anyways? You don't… plan on staying down here, do you?"
John let out a soft laugh, making his huge pecs bounce against Weekly. "No, no— nothing like that." He smiled crookedly. It had been a near thing— he knew the wharves well, and had gambled on going over the side right where he could catch one of the sewer grates to keep him from sinking to the river bed. Something, he had guessed correctly, Dimitrov wouldn't have caught. "Did you bring the paper?"
Weekly nodded, holding out the What's News' latest edition. "War Veteran Hailed A Hero- Commie Spy Ring Busted!" The picture plastered across the front page showed Alexei, towering over several of the city's officials and shaking hands with Smirnov.
"It's all anyone can talk about— Alexei's New York's golden boy." Weekly explained. "But… What about you, John? You didn't even commit any crimes, you can't just… hide out here forever."
"And I'm not," the cat explained, rolling something in his hands that was just out of sight from the weasel. "I'm going away for a bit."
"Away? What— where?"
"Out in the country— the Adirondacks, maybe. Somewhere with plenty of room and open space… somewhere I can stretch out and breathe fresh air for a bit." Blacksad looked down, grinning softly. "It's only for a short while. I want to slip away while Agent Thorne picks through everything Dimitrov left behind, and then… hopefully you and Smirnov can make a case for me. I'm counting on you, Weekly."
"Oh, well… of course, John. We got your back." He canted his hand to the cat's clenched fist. "What's that you've got there?"
"Hm? Oh." Blacksad opened his hand, revealing one last syringe with the Red Blooded serum. "Snatched it from Dimitrov before he slipped away entirely… I don't think I like the idea of people like Thorne or Senator Gallo getting anywhere near this, so." He lifted it up to his eye. "I also admit… I've grown to like wielding the same amount of power as a demolition crew."
Weekly's eyes widened as he realized what Blacksad was about to do. "Wait— John, hold on!"
The feline jabbed the needle into his arm, the thick, fat vein snaking under his skin beginning to glow red, black fur beginning to bristle. John braced himself, that wave of heat and electric energy pulsating through his body coming as a far more tolerable experience, with his body properly braced for it. It began in his arm; a wave flowed out as he felt all the rushing, expanding energy of the H-bomb, his bicep and tricep doing their best impression of a mushroom cloud as they pushed out further and further. He let out a deep, rattling roar that echoed off the walls as his shoulder muscles swallowed up his pillar-like neck, and his chest rose with it like the tide rushing in, half-burying his jawline in a flood of beef.
He widened his stance as thighs and quads thick around as tank treads fought for room, tensed as they held up the rest of his expanding torso— the brick wall of his back looked sturdy enough to hold up a skyscraper, the peaks and valleys of lats and deltoids rolling out as his thick flanks buttressed his arms, holding them up at angles.
"God…" John rumbled. "That felt good!"
Weekly gaped up at the now monumental cat, looking like he could outweigh a bull elephant. "Jeez, John! What… what made you want to do a thing like that?"
Blacksad leaned forward, smirking at Weekly before patting him on the shoulder. "Well… If I'm going to be big, Weekly, might as well go for broke, right?"
Comments
MuscleDragonWolf18
Outweigh a bull elephant and got a trunk that’s heftier and thicker than an elephant too
