At a camp on the outskirts of London, a group of burly men broad enough to carry horses on their shoulders and people on their arms were practicing wrestling.
A rather heated philosophical atmosphere filled the air.
Luke stood on a nearby hill with Dr. Zola.
The soldiers who had successfully undergone the modifications had experienced extremely obvious changes in height and physique.
The burly men, each over two meters tall, wore white short-sleeved T-shirts stretched tight over bulging muscles, their bodies outlined by distinct ridges.
Luke was worried that their overdeveloped muscles would rip their clothes apart and put on a thrilling spontaneous shirt-bursting show.
It had been a week since the Allied Superman project began. Of the first batch of more than three hundred subjects, only twenty-six had successfully survived all three mutations.
As for undergoing twenty-four mutations to become Battleship-class, only Captain America had managed it.
In Stephanie's words, "Captain Rogers is the test subject with the most astonishing willpower I've ever seen."
However, even after enduring the painful modifications of several mutations, they still did not meet the requirements for deployment on the battlefield.
Just yesterday, an overconfident soldier had felt infinitely strong and tried to lift a jeep parked in the camp.
Before he could do so, his skin split apart, his bones shattered, and the jeep mercilessly crushed him into a lump of meat.
Regarding the accident, Stephanie had specifically explained that the soldiers were now like airplanes only half-built. Attempting to take off by force would only cause the aircraft to fall apart.
They had to undergo a period of training and adaptation before becoming true Tank-class or Battleship-class soldiers.
"Dr. Zola, you've been involved in the research on Wardun's Blood for some time now. How much have you grasped about the composition