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Tomato Power Continues (4+1)
🕑 Added 2025-05-26 12:23:35 +0000 UTC(Rewritten, May27,2025)
This story picks up after Scene 6.
(Gangreen’s Muscle Soldiers)
The Survivor
A deafening roar ripped through the San Diego night as multiple explosives detonated simultaneously. The manor, once a secret hub of genetic monstrosities, was instantly annihilated. The ground shuddered. Troops and vehicles surrounding the house were completely wiped out, vaporized in a flash of blinding light and Shocking force. Nothing remained but an inferno of flame and dust, charred earth, melted metal, and disintegrated concrete. The air hung thick with the stench of burnt fuel and something else—a sweet, sickly organic odor that spoke of unnatural destruction.
Yet, beneath the smoking piles of what was once manor bricks and stone, there was movement.
A colossal hand, cover with ash, pushed aside tons of heavy debris with surprising ease. It was Unit 4, the giant soldier. He had survived the blast.
He emerged, his massive frame scorched black from the devastating explosion that had been meant to obliterate every trace of Professor Gangreen's experiments, including him. But the soldier stood. His khaki briefs were gone, vaporized along with his boots and equipment, leaving him totally nude. Yet, his body was without a single scratch, his muscles still rippling with immense, unyielding strength. His potent manhood remained at full attention, a defiant monument to his unnatural vitality.
His vacant eyes scanned the inferno. He moved with a silent, predatory grace, eliminating any surviving troops with swift, brutal efficiency. No desperate cries escaped. No resistance was offered. Once he was certain no signs of life remained, he turned. His gaze, distant and unreadable, fixed on a faint trail of recent tire tracks leading away from the destruction. Without a moment's hesitation, the giant soldier began to move, his powerful steps Covering a Distance as he followed the path of the dump truck, disappearing into the lingering smoke and the California night.
---
The Remains
The first hint of daybreak painted the eastern sky in muted grays and purples as the army reinforcements finally arrived. Hundreds of men and vehicles, a formidable convoy, rumbled across the quiet Californian landscape. Wilbur Finletter, the seasoned leader of the Special Team. He was the one who'd called them in, his gut churning with a familiar unease about Professor Gangreen. Finletter and his team had faced Gangreen's muscular soldiers before, successfully wiping them out in a past encounter with the help of FT the fuzzy tomato. But the intelligence suggested these new "Super Muscular Soldiers" were on another level entirely.
Finletter, his worn parachute dragging behind him like a familiar comfort, raised his sword. "Alright, guys! You know the drill! Let's move!" he shouted, his voice with anticipation. He led his other two team members in a charge towards the manor, expecting a fierce battle, a stand-off against an army of grotesque, powerful human-tomato hybrids.
Instead, all they found was the chilling aftermath of a devastating battle and the total destruction of Gangreen's secret hideout. The manor was a combusting ruin, its walls reduced to rubble, its foundations scorched. The air hung thick with the scent of burnt fuel and something else—a disturbing, almost sweet, organic smell. Dog tags lay melted into unrecognizable blobs, and scattered human remains were charred beyond recognition.
Finletter surveyed the scene, his jaw clenched, the usual bravado draining from his face. "Dear God," he whispered, the sword in his hand dropping slightly. He couldn't believe the scale of it. This wasn't just a battle; it was an annihilation.
The commanding officer of the reinforcements, a stern-faced man named Colonel Davis, approached, his eyes grim. "Specialist, get your teams in here," he ordered, his voice sharp. "Collect any samples you can find." He turned to Finletter. "You mentioned Gangreen's… unusual creations. Our specialist here has some understanding of his work. We need to send any organic remains, human and non-human, to the lab. Every scrap, no matter how small." The search for answers, for any trace of what had unfolded, had just begun.
---
The Release
Unit 4 continued his relentless pursuit, following the faint tracks of the dump truck. His powerful steps carried him across the land, his stiff manhood swinging side to side with each step. His big balls moved against his strong thighs, a constant, weighty presence. Yet, despite the ongoing movement, he felt a familiar tension begin to build in his groin. His dick swelled even more, and precum started to escape his huge manhood, glistening as it seeped out.
His body began to shiver uncontrollably, a clear signal that it was time for his release cycle. Quickly, he broke away from the dirt road, his vacant gaze settling on a cluster of trees that offered some cover. He stumbled into the dense foliage, his massive frame seeking the privacy of the natural screen.
It didn't take long for his eruption to begin. He arched his back, a husky roar tearing from his throat, as a huge torrent of white slime and tomato seeds exploded from him. His body trembled and shivered violently as the load unleashed, coating the nearby bushes and ground in a sticky, sweet-smelling flood. Slowly, with his final sprays, his extra-large penis began to shrink, deflating back to its post-ejaculatory state. His knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground, collapsing onto all fours.
The giant soldier, now weak and vulnerable, lay spent in the bushes, his breath coming in worn gasps. As the morning sun slowly began to shine through the trees, casting light on his exhausted form, he rested, completely drained by the powerful, involuntary release.
---
The Team
As Wilbur Finletter and the army troops continued their grim search for survivors among the rubble, the news from the labs finally came back. The reports were grim and inconclusive. Scientists were unable to identify any of the burnt organic remains, human or vegetable. The intense heat had rendered everything unrecognizable.
Colonel Davis wasn't happy. He paced, barking orders into a satellite phone. "Dammit, Major, this is unacceptable! We've got nothing. Zero identifiable remains." He slammed the phone down, turning to Finletter. "Look, Finletter, the lab's got nothing. No clear evidence of Gangreen, no definitive proof of what those things were. I'm calling it. We're pulling out. There's no point in continuing this operation."
But Finletter, his jaw tight, wouldn't back down. "Colonel, you can't. You just can't let this go." His voice was low, laced with a steely conviction. "Gangreen's super soldiers are dangerous. I was there for the first tomato war. Those… beefcakes… they're not natural. There has to be an underground secret lab under those ruins. He always has a fallback."
Colonel Davis remained unconvinced, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. "Finletter, we've combed over this place. The specialist said it's vaporized. What do you expect to find with a bulldozer?"
"I expect to find answers, sir," Finletter replied, his gaze unwavering. "And I won't stop until I do."
After a tense moment, the Colonel sighed. "Alright, Finletter. I'll authorize an excavation order. We'll bring in the heavy equipment. But that's it. No more resources on a wild goose chase if this doesn't yield anything. The main army troops are pulling out as ordered."
As the bulk of the army troops began to pack up, their vehicles rumbling away, the Special Team stayed behind. Wilbur Finletter, Sam Smith, and Greg Colburn—the core trio who had fought bravely together in the war against the Killer Tomatoes and faced Gangreen's muscular soldiers before—found a relatively stable pile of bricks and stone to sit on.
"Man, remember those beefcakes?" Sam chuckled, wiping ash from his forehead. "All that muscle, just for show. No match for a good ol' fashioned bullet, eh, Finletter?"
Wilbur managed a weak smile. "They were tough, Sam, don't forget that. But yeah, their muscles were mostly for intimidation."
Sam suddenly jumped up, striking a silly bodybuilder pose, his thin arms flexed. "See? I'm a master of disguise! I could be a muscular soldier too! Just needs some… adjustments." He flexed again, winking. "Hey, what they call bodybuilders again? big muscles with micropenis? " Greg snorted with laughter, and even Finletter let out a genuine, if tired, laugh. They might have been sitting on the ruins of a nightmare, waiting for the ground to be ripped open, but for a brief moment, the shared memory of absurd past battles lightened the heavy air.
---
The Recovery
The giant soldier, Unit 4, awakes. The deep, post-ejaculatory slumber had lasted for hours, He stretched, massive muscles rippling, his strength fully regained. His manhood began to inflate, slowly at first, then springing to full attention with powerful throbs, a potent reminder of his unique biology.
He looked around the darkened, disturbed earth of his resting place. His vacant eyes scanned the remnants of his powerful release—the damp patches of ground, the scattered seeds. He knew, instinctively, he needed to destroy any evidence before moving on. This was a core directive, ingrained deep within his unusual programming.
With an organized focus, he began gathering dry leaves and twigs, rubbing them together with primitive intensity until a spark ignited. He carefully nursed the small flame, adding more fuel until a small bonfire crackled to life, its warmth a harsh contrast to the cool morning air. efficiently, he moved from patch to patch, using a charred piece of wood to turn over the soil, ensuring the intense heat scorched any usable seeds, fully destroying the evidence of their unique, and dangerous, biology. His massive form moved with a silent, purposeful determination, erasing the traces of his recent vulnerability.
After he made sure every piece of evidence was gone, he stumbles back to the dirt road and continued to follow the faint tire tracks of the dump truck. As he moved along the road, his huge erection continued to bounce and swing, a dramatic pendulum with each powerful step, his testicles shifting against his huge muscular thighs.
About an hour later, the tracks led him to a broken-down, abandoned house. He moved silently through a gaping hole in the front wall, his bare feet crunching softly on broken glass and splintered wood. Inside, dust particles danced in the light that pierced the decaying roof. He noticed some torn and stained bedsheets discarded in a corner. Without hesitation, he gathered the torn fabric and draped it around his large frame, creating a roughly and somewhat comical disguise. The musty, stale odor of the abandoned house didn't register in his limited sensory awareness.
Covered in the temporary cloak, which he wore like a toga, Unit 4 resumed his journey to follow the tracks. His inflated member, still occasionally moving with long-lasting arousal, was now somewhat concealed beneath the fabric, though its undeniable presence was evident in his powerful, swaying motion. The relentless pursuit continued, driven by a simple, unyielding directive to find Jason and Gangreen.
---
The Excavation
It was almost noon when the excavation team finally arrived, a convoy of heavy machinery rumbling onto the still-smoking grounds. "Finally! My butt's getting sore just sitting around here," Sam grumbled, stretching. "And I'm tired of making jokes about how those muscle heads might be huge everywhere else, but when it comes to that, they're all talk, no action. You know, like a classic sports car with a tiny engine."
Greg snorted. "Yeah, all that muscles, and for what? Probably couldn't even find it if they tried."
"You guys are sick," Finletter chuckled, but a weary smile touched his lips. He was grateful for the distraction. "Alright, let's get to it. Remember, no stone unturned."
Finletter and his team supervised the excavation, their eyes sharp, making sure every rock was turned over, every scoop of debris thoroughly inspected. Hours passed, the relentless roar of the machinery filling the air as they worked non-stop. They dug up the entire basement, a massive pit now where the manor's foundations once lay.
"Darn it!" Finletter cried, frustration boiling over as the sun began to dip towards the horizon. "Nothing, Sam. This isn't looking good."
They carefully collected any organic material they found from the excavation—charred fragments, pulpy residue—and sent it to the lab. But it didn't take long for the report to come back, echoing the previous findings. The results were the same: unable to identify any of the scorched materials. It was all useless.
The Colonel radioed in, his voice crackling over the comms. "Finletter, that's it. We're shutting down the whole operation. We can't keep throwing resources at this without any solid evidence. It's a dead end."
Soon after, a small team of army troops arrived, efficiently pulling yellow tape around the entire ruined property, sealing off the nightmare within. Then they left, leaving Finletter and his team alone in the deepening twilight.
Sam and Greg, disheartened by the lack of results, finally gave up. "Wilbur, there's nothing else we can do," Sam said, his voice flat. "It's over." Greg nodded in agreement, and with a shared sigh, they packed up their gear and drove off, leaving Finletter standing amidst the desolate ruins.
But Wilbur Finletter wasn't satisfied. The feeling in his gut, that cold knot of dread, wouldn't let him quit. He couldn't shake the image of those monstrous tomato soldiers, the sheer power they possessed. He continued to search around the ruins alone, his familiar parachute dragging behind him like a loyal shadow.
And he did. He found something. Giant footprints.
---
The Footprints
The Tomato War Veteran, Wilbur Finletter, followed the huge footprints for about an hour. The sun had finally set, painting the western sky in hues of orange and deep purple, but the prints suddenly stopped on the dirt road. He looked around, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness, and found where they headed off, into some woods nearby.
He pushed through the bushes, the beam of his light sweeping across the trees until it hit a patch of scorched earth. He poked around with a stick, disturbing burnt remains of ash and charred wood branches, but found nothing conclusive. The faint smell of smoke still hung in the air.
Picking up the footprints again, he found they led him back to the dirt road. He continued down the dusty track, the massive prints occasionally visible in the dim light, until he came across a broken-down, abandoned house. Its darkened windows stared out like vacant eyes. He cautiously entered, his flashlight beam dancing across shattered glass and splintered wood, but found nothing unusual, no sign the creature had been inside.
He resumed his pursuit, following the tracks for hours more. It was well past midnight now, and Wilbur chewed gum to stay awake, the flavor long gone. Finally, the footprints led him to a riverbank. At the water's edge, the distinct impressions disappeared into the muddy bank, lost to the flowing current. He stood at the riverbank, the silence of the night broken only by the gentle rush of the water, his pursuit momentarily stopped.
He didn't give up. He spent another hour tirelessly searching the area, splashing into the shallows, probing the riverbed with his boots, moving upstream and downstream, his eyes scanning the muddy edges and the dense foliage that lined the water. Just as he was about to admit defeat for the night, he actually found something. Near a huge, moss-covered rock, clinging to a leaf, was something sticky. He leaned in closer, his flashlight beam focusing on the anomaly. It was a tomato seed, strangely glued to the leaf by a translucent, whitish goo. A chill ran down Finletter’s spine. This was it. This was proof.
---
The Giant
Before Wilbur could collect the sample, he was startled by something big. A huge man slowly rose to his feet from the nearby bushes. He was fully naked, his muscles immense—bigger and stronger than the Muscular Soldiers they'd dealt with before. And his extra-large genitals were coming to life, slowly standing to full attention, pulsating and twitching. All those jokes Sam made about muscle and penis size, about "all show and no go," now seemed completely ridiculous. This… this was a different league entirely.
Wilbur instinctively pulled out his sidearm, firing several shots at the horny muscle soldier. Bang! Bang! Bang! The bullets just bounced off, clashing harmlessly to the ground like pebbles. The naked soldier began to charge, his heavy footsteps thudding on the damp earth.
Finletter, realizing his gun was empty, quickly changed cartridges. Desperate, he aimed for the groin, firing several shots. Bang! Bang! Bang! It worked, slowing the giant down a bit. He grunted and shivered as bullets hit his enormous erection and extra-large balls, white goo splashing out with each impact. But he didn't flinch. He pressed forward, his manhood swinging wildly as he dashed toward the smaller man.
Wilbur had run out of bullets. The naked soldier reached him in a flash, grabbing him by his jacket. With a powerful roar, the giant hurled Finletter into the night sky. As Finletter sailed through the air, the soldier's massive erection pulsed, splashing more goo onto the ground.
---
Wilbur screamed through the night sky, a raw, terrified sound. He was lucky; he always wore a parachute when on a mission, a habit born from years of facing improbable threats. He hit the ground about a mile away, the impact shocked him violently. His parachute had saved his life, but because he'd been dragging it behind him through the debris, it had several holes. It wasn't exactly a soft landing. A cruel pain shot up his leg and arm—he'd broken both.
---
Hospital Visit
The next day, Sam and Greg found him in a nearby hospital, his leg in a cast and his arm in a sling. Despite his injuries, Wilbur was practically vibrating with excitement.
"You won't believe it, guys!" he shouted, his voice rough but exhilarated. "He's alive! One of them survived! And he's bigger, stronger than anything we've ever faced!"
Sam gently pushed him back onto the pillow. "Whoa, whoa, easy there, Finletter. You're lucky to be alive, man. Just relax."
"Relax? How can I relax?" Wilbur demanded, his eyes wide. "I saw him, Sam! The muscles… they were enormous! And his… his penis! It was massive! All those jokes you used to make about those muscle-heads being 'all show and no go'?" Wilbur laughed, a pained but triumphant sound. "They're a joke now, believe me! This guy… he's all show and all go!"
Greg frowned. "Alright, alright, too much info, Finletter. Just tell us where this 'horny muscle guy' was. We'll take care of it."
Wilbur launched into a detailed description of the location.
---
The Search Yields Nothing
Sam and Greg arrived at the scene Wilbur described, their expressions grim as they surveyed the desolate landscape. They searched for hours, meticulously combing through the area. But they found nothing. No footprints, no white goo, no tomato seeds, no sign of the giant soldier whatsoever. All they found was burnt bushes and scorched rocks.
They returned to the hospital, their faces mirroring Wilbur's earlier frustration.
"Wilbur," Sam said, his voice flat, "we went to the place you pointed out. There was no 'sexy muscle guy.' Just burnt bushes and scorched rocks."
Greg nodded, his arms crossed. "He's gone, Finletter. Whatever you saw… it vanished."
---
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