“Very well,” the Professor smiled, clasping his hands. “We should start immediately.” Callie nodded, a hint of fear on her face. Things were happening a little quickly for her liking. “Please follow me and we will take your baseline measurements.” He stood, neatly removing his napkin and placing it in a nearby waste paper basket. He held the door for the pair of them.

Keith and Callie collected in the corridor as Professor Scitts locked his office. Callie raised her eyebrows at her pumped friend, who gave a little shake of the head, his mouth turned into a sucked-in half-smile. They looked up and smiled as the Professor turned around, stashing the key in the inside pocket of his jacket. He frowned.

”Why aren’t you…” he said, and smiled. “Of course, of course.” He coughed. “Please, let me lead the way.” And off he went. Callie, still reeling a little from the speed at which things were progressing, decided to fire a few more questions. She was beaten to the punch, however, by her bodyguard.

“Excuse me, Professor,” he said. The older man turned to flash him a brief smile before turning a corner. “I know a few things about building muscle,” he continued, “and I know you have to get a lot of sleep for your body to increase muscle mass. How are you going to get around that? Callie literally can’t sleep.” Even though she couldn’t see his face, the young analyst could tell that the Professor was smiling.

“Young man,” the scientist began, “the work we do here operates at the very limits of scientific knowledge. I do not wish to offend you, but explaining the principles behind our compound to even the finest science graduates would take hours… suffice to say that it will take care of everything.” Keith frowned at the putdown. A few moments later the Professor stopped in front of one of the doors on their right. It was not as fine-looking as the door to his office; in fact, it looked positively forbidding. The strip lights reflected vaguely off dull metal. A card reader was positioned at a suitably ergonomic height to its right. Professor Scitts fished in his jacket pocket as the pair stood around him, eventually producing a standard-looking security card.

“Here we are!” he said, sliding it through the reader. The trio stepped into a huge, well-equipped operating theatre. The walls, ceiling and floor were all spotlessly white; so much so that they all had to blink to adjust. Various pieces of medical apparatus were littered across work benches, tables and slabs. An insistent and unco-ordinated set of bloops, warbles and whistles put Callie in mind of a sort of electronic dawn chorus. The Professor led them to a large pair of scales and a height chart, the likes of which Callie hadn’t seen since the age of ten. Keith plonked his burly frame on a dilapidated swivel chair and turned to face the scales.

“Do I have to undress?” Callie asked, trying to sound casual. The Professor smiled benevolently and shook his head.

“That is not necessary,” he proclaimed. “The machine has been programmed to remove the weight of your clothes from its calculations. You must, however, remove your shoes.” Callie obeyed and stood on the scales whilst Professor Scitts powered up a nearby computer. The machine booted up surprisingly quickly, so Callie guessed that Scitts & Vithell had high-end computer technology. “One hundred pounds exactly,” the Professor read from the screen. He turned to face the waif on his scales. “That places you in the underweight category in several different measures,” he stated, looking over the top of his half-moon glasses at her as he pursed his lips. Callie blushed and turned away, scratching absently at the sleeve of her jacket.

The Professor continued to read statistics from the screen, each more shameful than the last. He concluded, uncharitably, that Callie was literally just skin and bones. By the end of his monologue, the young analyst was in tears. Keith hugged her gently, bringing her frail body into his warmth.

“We’re going to fix you, though,” he whispered. “Right, Professor?” He turned to the scientist, who was still sitting at the computer, staring thoughtfully at the figures he was scrolling slowly up and down. His left hand stroked his chin occasionally.

“What?” he said, looking round slowly at them, as if surprised to see them. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.” He suffered a violent coughing fit at this point. Slowly recovering his composure, the elderly man continued. “Miss Morris, a moment’s delay is a moment lost. I will fetch the first batch of the compound immediately.” With that, he stood and left the room. Callie frowned.

“What’s got into him?” she sniffed, slowly lifting her head from Keith’s chest. He stroked her hair in a gesture she found surprising.

“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered. Indeed, after a moment’s silence, the Professor returned. He was holding a soup bowl in both hands, complete with spoon, and smiling confidently at the pair. Keith lifted Callie off the scales and put her gently on the floor. She smiled weakly at him as she slid her shoes back on.

“Here we are,” the Professor said, beaming at them both. The twosome could now see the contents of the soup bowl, which was filled with what looked for all the world like blue rice pudding.

“It looks just like blue rice pudding,” Callie said, frowning. She leaned closer and sniffed. “Doesn’t smell of anything.” The Professor shook his head. “May I?” Callie asked, nodding towards the spoon. The scientist nodded without hesitation. Smiling worriedly, the brunette took the spoon and put a big blob of the compound into her mouth. After a moment’s chewing, she announced that it didn’t taste of anything either.

“Good,” Professor Scitts replied, handing the bowl to Callie before sitting at the computer and launching another program. “Exactly as we thought.” He sat still for a moment, hands almost trembling over the keyboard. “Miss Morris,” he said, quietly, turning to face the young analyst. Callie paused mid-chew. “I hope you understand how momentous this occasion is. The results we gain from this experiment may prove beneficial to thousands of people worldwide.” Callie nodded, stunned. “Please, continue eating,” the scientist said, looking at her over his half-moon glasses and smiling gently.

“Of course,” she said, scooping up another spoonful of the blue stuff. She continued eating in an eerie silence. Keith went to sit on a nearby work bench, pushing some of the wire-covered equipment out of the way to do so. Callie finished eating the compound in under a minute. She handed the bowl back to the Professor.

“Thank you,” she said, in what she hoped was a solemn voice. “I can’t tell you what this might mean to me.” Professor Scitts nodded.

“Do you feel any different?” he asked, tilting his head to one side. Callie shook her head. “That’s to be expected. Our simulations suggest that the real results of the compound will not reveal themselves for another week or so, maybe more.” He stood up, ramrod straight. “Now we come to the difficult matter of money.” Callie’s eyes widened briefly. The Professor caught her meaning immediately, and laughed.

“No, Miss Morris, we are not expecting you to pay for this!” he said, eyes twinkling. “Any medical research comes with risks attached. This is the case in this instance, too. Accordingly, one must compensate those prepared to take the risks. My accountancy department has authorised me to award you compensation of five thousand pounds per dose of the compound.” Callie goggled at him. The Professor smiled indulgently again as he withdrew a cheque from his inside jacket pocket and offered it to the young woman.

Callie took it gingerly, her legs shaking. “This… this is… wow,” she breathed. At this point, the Professor put a hand on her shoulder and leaned towards her slightly.

“I must make this clear, Miss Morris,” he whispered. “If there is any unexpected change to your physical condition, anything whatsoever, you must telephone me immediately.” She nodded, still in a state of shock. “Much as I detest the blessed machine, your health is of paramount importance.” Callie swallowed, and looked the man in the eye.

“Thank you, so, so much,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. Then she hugged the Professor. When the young woman released the scientist, she smiled gratefully, and turned on her heel. “Come on, Keith,” she said, suddenly awake and alive, “we’ve got a workout routine to plan.” The two friends saw themselves out of the building.

* * * * * * * *

Callie spent half of that night staring at her naked reflection in the full-length mirror in her wardrobe. From time to time she thought she saw a change: a smoothing of the skin, her cheeks filling out, a hint of a muscle growing. But there was nothing – only changes in the way the light played on her spindly frame. At 5am, a disappointed Callie started to dress for work.

* * * * * * * *

The next day Callie fixed the details of her workout routine with Keith. They drew up a plan that started off relatively small, but could go anywhere. Keith took her round all the machines and was only too pleased to show her how to use them. Callie stared more than once as Keith’s large muscles flexed to incredible extents. The blonde bodybuilder made sure that his frail friend mastered the correct form – on much lower settings, of course – before she left the building.

The young analyst smiled at the woman on reception as she left the building. As she walked to her little Citroen, Callie felt a sharp pain in her stomach: hunger. She stopped, gasping, as her midsection gurgled like a blocked drain. She riffled through her bag, looking for something quick to sate the monster growing inside her: nothing. Shrugging, she grabbed a bottle of the former and drained it.

It didn’t work. Grimacing as the growls grew loud enough to make gym goers’ heads turn, she ran to the car and drove to the nearest fast food restaurant.

“Keith’s diet is going to have to go out the window!” she thought, neatly breaking the speed limit as she ignored the signs painted onto the car park tarmac, sending a couple of cars swerving angrily out of her way. Fortunately the restaurant was nearby, but it was still far enough away that by the time she got there her stomach sounded like it was going to eat her from the inside out. She parked up, badly, and ran inside.

There was a short queue: a balding man with his young daughter, dressed in a pink and white checked dress, and a couple of black-clad skater boys. Callie’s stomach roared; she blushed when all four turned around. Even the pair of girls on the till raised their eyebrows. The little girl clutched her father’s trousers. Callie gave a weak smile and turned away as the boys started to openly laugh.

They were first to walk away, carrying trays of food that made the brunette drool. She charged the short distance to the counter. Though she was tempted to order one of every sandwich on their menu, she opted for the largest burger with their biggest fries and Coke. There was an aching minute while she waited for the food to appear in front of her and then she was away. She didn’t even find a place to sit: instead, the burger succumbed in three bites. A second later she tipped the fries down her throat. The Coke followed.

Wiping her mouth daintily with a napkin, Callie looked at the stunned woman who’d just served her. She grinned, unaware that a blob of relish was dangling from her chin. “Can I have an apple pie for dessert, please?” The girl managed to point at her.

“You – you mean a slice of apple pie, surely?” Callie grinned more widely.

“No, I meant what I said.”

* * * * * * * *

The days went past quicker than ever before. Work stepped up in intensity as the month rolled on – it became a relief to go to the gym. Keith had said three or four times a week; Callie went every day. Given that she had an entire week to play with, it was pointless to see it go to waste, she reasoned. Despite this, her progress was slow. Even after going every day in two weeks, the young woman had not been able to lift anything more than what Keith had originally written out in her program.

At least she wasn’t getting stared at so much. She’d got the impression that people were waiting for this skinny bint to keel over from lifting anything and were keeping their eyes out to help her in case she did. Fortunately, Keith had pitched his workout plan just right and she never even struggled.

Her feelings of hunger were getting harder to sate. A good portion of the cheque the Professor had given her went on food, though after her first pigging out, the analyst kept junk food to an absolute minimum. She found that the pangs hit their peak straight after a workout, so she started to bring rounds of sandwiches with her, as well as the customary 2 litre bottle of Lucozade. The brunette still kept energy drinks on her at all times, but she found herself using them significantly less. Things were going well.

The Professor kept in regular contact with her throughout the month. He explained that the hunger pangs were an expected consequence – her muscles would need feeding soon after exertion, as he put it. He also reassured her that her lack of progress was due to her body needing to provide itself with a suitable platform on which to build. Callie had nodded reluctantly when she heard that.

That rebuilding process had, however, gone into overdrive. Her spindly arms began to fill out; not with muscle, which grated a little… just to the size they should always have been. The same process was happening all over her body: her legs finally became worthy of the name, her scrawny torso became shapely, and even her hollowed cheeks pushed themselves out. The most pleasing aspect for Callie, though, was the growth of her breasts. By the end of the month, the brunette had nicknamed them “cannons”. In reality, they were only full B-cups, but to her, they were mammoth.

Another slice of the Professor’s cash went on new underwear and a few upgrades to her wardrobe. Callie did manage to save a little of it, and had spent none of her regular wages. All in all, she felt pretty damn pleased with herself when she next went to Scitts & Vithell Laboratories for her next dose of the compound.

* * * * * * * *

The brunette pulled up to the same spot she’d occupied a month ago. This time her bag contained two rounds of sandwiches, as well as the ever-present Lucozade. She walked confidently to the desk, and announced herself to the receptionist. It was Helen, the redheaded woman from her first visit.

“Hi, Helen!” Callie said brightly. “I’m here to see the Professor, again.” Helen smiled; Callie was surprised how white her teeth were. “Well,” she thought, “if she’s the first face you come to, it had better be an appealing one.”

“Of course,” the receptionist said. She looked down and fished in a drawer to her left. She grinned stupidly and pulled out a nametag. It was different from the one the analyst had worn last time.

“Seeing as you’re going to be here a fair bit, the Professor said we should make you more welcome,” Helen announced, holding the nametag out for her. Callie took it with a crumpled, confused smile, clipping it to the waistband of her grey knee-length skirt.

“Thanks,” she said, a little humble. The advantages were all hers, as she saw it; the chance for something like a normal life, and vast amounts of money to boot. They were doing too much already, and now they were trying to make her feel part of the family. Something didn’t feel right. As these thoughts raced around her mind for space, Helen smiled professionally.

“Don’t mention it… except maybe to the Professor,” she added, winking. “He’s in his office, as usual.”

“Thanks,” Callie mumbled, and shuffled off. When she knocked, the elderly scientist replied in his customary delighted fashion, ushering her inside. The same spread as before had been provided, and the analyst descended on it like a starving gazelle. Professor Scitts made small talk with her as she powered through most of the food. When he saw that she had taken her fill, he wiped his mouth delicately with a napkin.

“We should proceed to the lab, Miss Morris,” he said, gently but firmly. She agreed and they both went to the eerily white room. “Step on the scales, please.” Callie did so, remembering to remove her shoes. Professor Scitts sat at the computer and smiled. “Your body is now within normal parameters, Miss Morris,” he whispered. “The compound is working!” With all her fears and doubts wiped away, Callie broke into the biggest grin she’d pulled for years.

Then came the tears. The analyst stepped off the scales and stopped the Professor. The scientist looked into her watery eyes and understood. He slowly unfolded himself from the chair and hugged his subject gently. She rested her head on his left shoulder. They shared the sort of embrace that is so warm and safe that both parties are reluctant to break the spell. Over a minute later Professor Scitts cleared his throat. The analyst raised her head to look into his eyes.

“I have the next dose of the compound ready, Miss Morris, if you’re willing,” he said. The brunette nodded. “Of course,” she replied. “There’s no way I’m stopping now!” The old man smiled wryly before exiting.

* * * * * * * *

Callie’s ascent to normalcy hadn’t gone unnoticed at work. People kept coming up to her, people she’d never bothered or even noticed before, to tell her how great she looked. The brunette mostly responded by blushing and muttering thanks, but a couple of days after she’d taken the second dose of the compound it all came together.

Just after lunch, the office’s social events team invaded the young analyst’s cubicle. Karl, Gemma, Gavin and Stacey, all wearing grins like they’d just been told the world’s greatest joke. They came in and just stood there, starting an awkward silence whilst Callie waited for them to say what they wanted. After a puzzled few seconds, she broke.

“Alright, guys, what is it?” she asked, absently twirling a pencil between her slender fingers. The response was even more worrying than the silence.

”We,” said Karl. “Want,” Gavin followed up. “You,” Gemma added. “To,” Stacey continued. “Come,” Karl commented. “To,” Gavin reminded. “Kerry’s,” Gemma intoned. “Leaving,” Stacey suggested. “Party,” Karl grinned. Callie shook her head. “Give me a when and a where,” she smiled, despite herself. Karl handed her what looked like an invitation to a seven-year-old’s birthday party. The young analyst scanned it: it said the tenth, at the local Weatherspoon’s, with the option of going on to wherever Kerry decided. She had worked for the company for twenty years, but was still something of a party animal. Any drinking session in which she was involved ended in tears, and never those of Kerry herself.

“Still,” Callie thought, “I have a lot of lost time to make up for.” She tapped the pencil onto her cheek a couple of times. “Sure,” she said, a smile slowly taking over her face. “I’ll be there.”