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            Next to him, Sarah stood.  “Now it’s Hamish’s turn.  Come on.”
            Smith wondered why Hamish wasn’t being tested in The Tank like the rest.  Truth be told, he was just too overwhelmed to care about asking.  He was led by Sarah, who in turn followed Thomas and Campbell, into a completely separate chamber that was roughly the same size as The Tank.  Standing in the middle of the room was Hamish.  Smith rolled his eyes.  The little exhibitionist was wearing the smallest and tightest pair of bike shorts Smith had ever seen on a man.  Socks and sneakers, coupled with a broad smile and numerous tattoos, were the only additions to his ensemble.            
            “Hey Smithy.”  Hamish greeted him with a broad, genuine smile. 
            For the life of him, Smith could not understand why the young man had decided to take him in hand, so to speak.  But, it seemed that the kid had decided to be friends with the agent, and that, apparently, was the end of that discussion. 
            A compartment in the wall opened, and a treadmill slid out on coasters.  Smith could not help but notice that it was heavily reinforced, and looked more like something a car might be tested on, rather than a single, compact male.
            “Industrial issue?”  Smith asked Thomas curiously, pointing at the piece of equipment.
            Thomas smiled.  “Hamish weighs some three hundred kilos.  When we first tested him on a regular treadmill, it lasted eleven seconds before crumbling apart from the vibrations.”
            Smith stared at the young man.  He was extremely well muscled, with the figure of a championship bodybuilder.  His physique was perfectly symmetrical and proportioned however; having avoided that grotesquely imbalanced physique those other builders had fallen prey to.
            “Try and pick me up.”  Hamish challenged him.
            Smith held up his hands in declination.  “I trust you, mate.”
            Hamish simply chuckled as he climbed on the apparatus.  “Speed or endurance today Penny?”
            “Speed, please Hamish.”  Thomas walked over and spoke into an intercom set into the wall.  “30 second warm up and then go to speed please.”  She instructed.  There was a reply of confirmation, followed by the noise of the treadmill activating.
            Hamish began jogging in a leisurely motion.  On a display screen above him, his speed was displayed along with his heart rate, oxygen saturation and step count.  Even though he only had the appearance of a brisk jog, the display showed his speed as seventy kilometres an hour.  At full speed, an Olympic sprinter might manage forty-two, and even then, only for several seconds at most.  A tone sounded, and the treadmill began to speed up.
            “Here we go, boys and girls!”  Hamish exclaimed enthusiastically as he began to run faster.  Smith was dying to see where the kid topped out.
            For the next thirty seconds, the treadmill sped up with Hamish increasing his own pace to match.  Eventually, the display-reading topped out at four-hundred and six kilometres an hour.  Hamish was pumping his legs and arms at a shocking rate, but it seemed he was doing so with no ill effects.  Smith was fairly certain that the human body was not meant to move at such speeds, certainly it wasn’t designed for it, and yet the kid was pounding away with glee.  Mind you, the kid hardly had a standard human body.
            Smith turned to Thomas.  “Is that his max?”
            Thomas nodded.  “Improved by four per cent.”  She replied as the treadmill began to power down.  Hamish jumped off before it came to a full stop and retrieved a towel handed to him by McCleod.  It was the first time that Smith had noticed them interacting in any way.  He wondered if their relationship was acrimonious, or simply one of interaction as needed.  Hamish wiped off the sweat and tossed it back to his father.  As he did so, Thomas spoke.
            “Heads up, Hamish.”  She instructed him, pointing at the ceiling.
            This, of course, meant Smith looked up as well.  Sections of the ceiling dropped open, and hanging above the young man was a medium sized car. 
            “Aw, hell!”  Hamish exclaimed unhappily as he saw what was about to happen.  With a metallic clang, the car was released from the cradle above it and dropped down, right over Hamish.  Extending his hands above his head, Hamish caught the car, but not without being driven to one knee by the impact.
            “Lady, I hate you.”  He grunted as he held the car over his head.
            Smith was stupefied.  In front of him was a real man holding a real car over his head.  It was not a scene of CGI trickery from a movie, nor was it an old fashioned special effect from a TV show using cranes and pulleys.  This was an actual man, holding an actual car, over his actual head.  Smith felt the room spin.
            “You okay, Smithy?”  Hamish asked with concern whilst still holding the car over his head.
            In reply, Agent Robert Smith, newly recruited Team Leader of the CSD special ops ‘Theta’ team, fainted.

The above excerpt is from a work written by Damien Timms and is protected by International Copyright lodged in Australia and the USA and may not be reproduced in part or whole without the written permission of the author.
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