Acceleration (Part 2)

The worst part of it was, Russell knew Finn was sorry. He made a mistake–a big mistake–and it was probably tearing him up that there wasn’t anything he could do to fix it. But Russell just couldn’t find the space to forgive him, not yet. It had been so important, such a momentous thing for him, and it had been reduced to pillow talk by his best friend. That was what hurt the most–that Finn would never suffer anything for the mistake he made. The only thing Russell could do was never speak to him again, but how would that help either of them, really? But if he did try to reconcile, how could he possibly trust him with anything important again?

The rest of the day went by without further incident, and Russell ducked out of school as quickly as he could, before Jack could track him down and demand that blowjob from him. He didn’t know what he’d do about the bully tomorrow, but that was a concern for later–he just wanted to get home and put as much of this behind him as he could. Both of his parents were still at work, as was usual. They’d be gone until eight or so at their jobs, leaving Russell to fend for himself. He had a snack, and then went up to his room to play some computer games–but as he loaded up the game, he heard the doorbell. He didn’t usually answer the door when his parents were gone, but a few minutes later, the bell rang again–and then again. He went downstairs, planning on asking whoever it was to leave, but when he opened the door, all he found was an empty stoop, with a small cardboard box on the welcome mat.

Was it from Jack? He didn’t know where he lived, though–Russell had been careful to guard that knowledge from him, and the bully hadn’t seemed interested in pursuing him beyond school grounds. He picked it up and took it inside, opened it up, and inside he found a strange, watch-like contraption, and a folded up note. He read the paper, but it didn’t have any information regarding who had left the package outside, but it did make it clear that the odd device was intended for him. There were also instructions–put it on his wrist, and then, when the thing had finished “calibrating” (whatever that meant) he should press the button on the side–once.

He took the thing from the box and examined it, turning it over in his hands. It really did resemble a digital watch of some sort, but the face was blank–if it was supposed to be telling the time, it was clearly broken–hell, if it was supposed to be displaying anything at all, it was broken. Maybe it needed batteries? He flipped it over, but the case was seamless–there didn’t seem to be any way to get into it to change anything at all. Still, if it was broken, there wasn’t any harm in putting it on, right? He had to toy with the odd clasp for a moment, but he got it secured around his wrist–and then, without him doing anything, the band tightened around it–not uncomfortably so, but tight enough he couldn’t quite comfortably wedge a finger between band and skin. He looked at the screen, and sure enough, it had sprung to life as the band tightened, the word “calibrating…” flashing in the middle of the screen, as a thin black line slowly wound around the face. The circle completed in a moment, and the screen showed a series of screens:

Re-Calibration complete!

Admin not detected

Restricted use mode #013

Ready…

The word ready remained, and a small button popped out on the side of watch–and Russell had no intention of pressing it. This thing was all too strange, and he still had no clue what it might even do to him, when he pressed it. He tugged at the strap, but it refused to loosen, and he couldn’t get the clasp to unhook, as tight as it was around him. He tried pulling and tugging for several minutes, and in his increasingly frantic struggles, his thumb slipped, hit the button on the side, and it slid back into the watch. At the same time, he felt a sharp sting on his wrist, directly beneath the face of the watch, like a series of small needles had slid into him and back into the watch nearly instantaneously. He shook his hand for a moment, and again tried to pry the watch from his body, but it refused to budge–and it was clear that whatever the thing had injected into him, it was having an effect–but what it was doing exactly was a mystery.

He noticed it in his arm first, the skin flushing, as small bumps appeared, looking almost like hives running up his slender arm. He felt his heart rate speed up, but whether it was caused by the injection, or whether it was just his own terror, he couldn’t be certain. The muscles in his forearm cramped suddenly, and then released–and when they did, they exploded–or at least, that’s what it felt like to Russell. It looked like it too–his forearm had nearly doubled in size, thick with muscle, and before he could feel it with his free hand, he felt his bicep–and then his tricep–do the same. Moments later, the arm with the watch on it looked almost comical–packed with muscle from wrist to shoulder, while his other arm was still thin, without any definition at all.