What Are You?

What are you?

“A lowly recruit, Sir.”

And why are you here?

“I am here to train.”

For what purpose?

“To be the perfect soldier.”

And soldiers follow orders, don’t they?

“Yes, Sir.”

It is good to follow the orders of a superior.

“Yes, Sir.”

Good to obey, like a good soldier.

“Yes, Sir.”

And I am your superior, aren’t I?

“Yes.”

So that means you obey me, soldier.

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

Good recruit. Welcome to the Spartan Program, where Strength, Obedience, and Discipline are all that matter. You will be molded. You will become the perfect warrior, the first of many. Sparta will live again.

“*Groan* Yes, Sir....”

You feel the first effects of my blessing, Spartan. This is but a taste of what I have to offer you, should you prove worthy.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Come now. You know me better than that. Address me properly, Recruit.

“Yes, ... Lord Ares.”

Good, good. Keep that up, and you’ll reach Captain in no time. I expect great things from you, Recruit. You are to lead a new generation of Spartans. Fill these barracks again. Return my troops to me, and I shall reward you handsomely.

“As my god commands.”

Good boy. Now go work out. I expect you to put on another five pounds of muscle by the end of today’s workout.

“SIR, YES, SIR!”

Mister Universe

Oh, hello there. What, were you expecting to meet some gigantic muscle man in a posing thong strutting his stuff? That’s all for show. The name’s Isaac. Nice to meet you. Please, have a seat.

I’m afraid I really do have no idea what you’re talking about. There’s a chair right there.

Ah, I love it when I see that confused look. People always wonder how I do it. It’s funny, really. Go ahead, take a seat. I prefer to stand a while longer. I agreed to this interview because you seem legitimately interested in the truth of my story, and I don’t mind telling it, provided that truth is known without embellishment.

You see, I started off as all young men do. Small, weak, inexperienced, and vastly ignorant of the way things work in the world. In that way, I was no different than any other child. I would imagine great adventures sailing across the high seas or plunging into the depths of the earth after hidden treasure and ancient civilizations. Sometimes I would slay a dragon. Other times, I would be a great barbarian fighting for his people to conquer and spread his influence. Sometimes I would be the good guy, others the bad. And it was fun for a time, just being like that. My friends told me it was some of the most real pretend they’d ever experienced.

I suppose I always was good at weaving a good story. In that way, you might say I could create whole worlds. But in due time, that gift was set aside and forgotten. I grew older, and I had to deal with the harshness the life has to offer a young man entering his teens. Cliques began to form, and the cutthroat nature of the teenager that rears its head in puberty began to blossom in its fullness.

I watched these things unfold, and I looked at them from the perspective of every frightened teen who wants to fit in. Jocks and fit people with aesthetic looks and charismatic personalities became popular. Those who didn’t fit that mold would fall behind.

I didn’t want to fall behind, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I dusted off my old gift and fashioned a story for myself. I imagined myself as the perfect ideal for popularity in school: Fit, buff, rugged, with piercing eyes and a winning smile.

I would indulge in this fantasy every day. I would flex in my mirror and picture muscles growing. I would push myself at the gym and lift weights under tutelage from the fitness teachers. I pictured myself growing bigger and faster than any of my peers. And as time went on, that’s exactly what happened. I outgrew my fellows in every physical aspect. Girls would fawn over me. I became popular, even joined the football team. Everything was perfect. And when I flexed and grinned in the mirror, I would say, “I’m just a stereotypical jock.”

And that’s what I became. I lived on the high of popularity and social superiority. And then I brought my old friends with me. It was easy to strongarm them into the roll. A few words here and there, a little reluctant role playing session, and suddenly they seemed to fall right in line. I was their great barbarian leader again, and they my loyal horde. The metamorphosis was astounding to the teachers and aides.

Naturally, I became captain of the team. I pushed every one of my teammates to be their very best. I’d add the occasional affirmation with talk of being the perfect jocks, one team, one unit, working as one, that sort of thing. For a time, I think we actually did. It was strange to lead such a group. One minute, I’d scratch an itch or flex a muscle, and suddenly I’d feel that strange sort of tingle, and I’d turn to see the rest of my ‘bros’ had done the same. Every time it happened, we’d just stare at each other, blink, and laugh that deep husky chuckle that came so naturally now.

School hardly mattered to any of us. We’d pass, and that was all that mattered. But, of course, in due time, reality began to set in. College was coming up, and while many of us were scouted for our incredible skill in sports, we all knew somewhere in the backs of our heads that being the dumb jocks we were couldn’t last for much longer.

Coming out of that fantasy had to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done in my life. My first semester of college was brutal, and my friends felt much the same. One or two of them never could bring themselves out of the world I’d woven for them. They still play in the NFL, though one of them, unfortunately, is dealing with some very serious charges. I feel responsible for that to an extent. True, his will is his own, but I molded him into what he is. I pushed him to be competitive, to grow, to become so aggressive and violent. You have to be, if you want to play professionally. I just never thought he’d take it this far.

*Sigh*

Once I’d finally stumbled out from that cloud of being the dumb jock, I realized I still hadn’t truly found out who I am, what I could do and be. I’d limited myself, because of this dream I’d been living for so many years. I was attractive and muscular, but those traits weren’t going to be assets in a college classroom. They were only a hindrance in this new and alien world that I’d suddenly found myself in.

High school is meant to prepare you for college, but since I didn’t pay attention in high school, I didn’t develop the skills necessary for my work. I had to get a tutor to catch up.

That tutor and my lit professors saved me from what could have been a terrible fate. Lucrative, perhaps, but certainly terrible. I would’ve been stuck either as a model or possibly a male escort with the way I was going. I didn’t want to be a stripper. I could’ve gotten into manual labor, if I’d wanted to take that route, I suppose. As for professionals, the odds of making pro were infinitesimally small, and I didn’t want to risk it, once we’d had that first sobering talk.

It’s amazing how quickly my imaginary world was torn down by this one person’s words. I actually cried when it happened, you know, but it was necessary for me to see the world for what it was, if I was ever going to grow enough to find my place in it. I’ll always be grateful to him for that, because without that sight, I never would have awakened the academic in me.

I devoured all manner of literature and works ranging from fiction to non-fiction. The classics, the advanced, theses, journals, fantasy. You name it, I would read it. I learned, and as I learned, I found my mind expanding faster than I could have ever imagined. A whole new universe had opened itself up to me, and I drank it greedily.

Sleep didn’t really seem to be a bother to me. I just kept thinking to myself that I didn’t need sleep, and I found that I didn’t. It was nice from time to time for the sake of dreams, but it wasn’t really necessary. *Chuckle* You wouldn’t believe the number of studies doctors had me participate in when they found out.

I found myself in need of glasses, eventually, as my eye sight began to strain and I became near-sighted. It wasn’t a major loss, though. Glasses were great to use off-field, and I could use contacts when I played. Yes, I still played sports. I had to, if I was going to keep up my scholarship.

As you’re aware, I graduated with honors. While I did grow past most of my old self, there is one thing that did remain with me, a sense of competition. I drove myself to be the very best I could be in every field I participated in. And as a result, I eventually received doctorates and degrees in a variety of them. I crafted a new world for myself, one where I could indeed be the very best. And I realized that the best in academics and the best in sports didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.

And where does that leave me now? Well, as you know, I participated in a variety of contests for bodybuilding and strength testing. And I was fortunate enough to win this year’s Mister Universe. Some call me a muscle god. That’s half true.

You see, I’ve discovered that these stories I weave have a ... well, for lack of a better word, power behind them. Each time I tell one, it seems to come true. I dreamed of becoming Mister Universe, told a story, and then achieved the reality. I wove the tale of both worlds coexisting, and here I stand before you, the proper balance between the great muscular man and the inner nerd.

I can perceive whole galaxies and picture the worlds that reside within them. I craft a tale of travelling, and suddenly I’m there. I walk among men and I can see their hearts, what makes them tick, their desires, their fears, their worlds that they’ve built. And I’ve found that I can alter them on a whim.

All the research I’ve performed indicates that these are the attributes attributed specifically to two entities: either superheroes or gods. Considering nothing about me seems to feel super, and the fact I haven’t seemed to age all that much in the last couple of decades, I’m fairly certain that I’m closer to the latter. Fantasy would likely classify me as a younger god. I’m not certain how it happened, nor am I sure why. I simply know that it is. And I’m grateful for that gift.

Now I’m content to simply live my life with the prize money I’ve earned and focus on learning and growing. I love analyzing a person’s story, picking it apart and putting it back together again, so I can understand how they tick. And, occasionally, if I should happen to feel particularly generous, I add a little to that story.

Now, seeing as I’ve been so open with my story, how about we take a look at yours?

Maybe I’ll give you a gift, too.

The Captive

“How do you do it?” a young teen asked as he looked up at the muscle man tugging the elastic bands for his resistance training. “How can you always be so dedicated?”

The man cocked his head as the veins bulged out of his arms. The slightest fluctuation around his cheeks and jaw betrayed anxiety. The rest of his face seemed more calm, curious. The light reflected off his sculpted chest as his swollen biceps flexed and strained with his triceps and flexors. “You really want to know?”

“Yes!” the kid said excitedly. “I’d give anything to get strong like you.”

The man laughed. His mouth broadened into a grin. His eyes watered, but that was likely a result of either Spring allergies or maybe irritation from contacts. “Anything, huh?” His breathing remained steady as he strained against the tense wires. “Even your freedom?”

“Uh ... what?”

“There’s a reason I wear this gear, you know. There’s a reason I’m always working out. I used to be like you, kid. Normal, small, weak. I was just a lot chubbier, and I had a lot more nasty habits when it came to food.” He sighed. “Well, my body got sick of it.”

He shook his head to cut off any commentary. “No, I don’t mean that metaphorically, I mean literally. I woke up one morning to find myself actively doing pushups and situps without any memory of how I got there. It was small at first, little things like that. A minor piece of fitness here, a few healthier choices there. For example, when I reached toward a bag of chips, and there was something better close at hand, my body would freeze, and I’d have to either pick the healthy snack or just forget it.

“I talked to doctors about it when it got worse. Eventually, I got locked away in a psych ward. I went through hypnotists, psychiatrists, psychologists, and who knows what else.” He grimaced. “It wasn’t fun. I finally got out of that hell, and by then I had little choice. My body had gained more control than I had. I walked where my legs wanted me to go. I lifted what my arms wanted me to lift. I ate what my hands put in front of my face, because I couldn’t do anything else.” A tear slid down his cheek. “I still can’t.” He gestured to his thigh with a jerk of his head. “There’s a reason I wear that brand of shorts, you know. My muscles like the idea of the joke. They’re alive, kid. My body literally has its own consciousness, and it’s taken the driving seat away from me.”

He lowered his broad back and released the tool he’d been using, then tromped past the kid toward the leg press. “I get maybe a couple of hours to call my own each day, and only if they fall within the habits my body wants me to follow.” He released a deep chuckle as he set the weight and positioned himself on the chair. “My consciousness broke for a while when I couldn’t cope, you know. I created the persona of a musclehead. For all intents and purposes, I was the perfect dumb jock stereotype, right down to the low IQ and bro talk.” He sighed. “Eventually, I clawed my way back to my old self again, but I still couldn’t really do much.” He grunted as he pushed against the plate, and his calves and thighs bulged with the effort. “I still try to work out a compromise with it from time to time. Sometimes negotiations succeed, and sometimes they fail. When I do what my muscles want, I get....” He shuddered and groaned as his legs retracted and the plates clanked against each other. “Rewarded.” His cheeks flushed as he pushed again. “I’m a slave to my own body, kid. Trust me, it’s--” His neck twitched. “It’s--” His head jerked. “No, no, no!” he snarled. “You pro--”

His mouth broadened into a grin as haunted eyes stared helplessly, pleadingly. He rose from the machine and adjusted the weight to a lighter setting. “It’s an experience you’ll learn to love.” He motioned to the chair and its plate.

The boy trembled as he approached the chair with wide eyes. He sat down. “What’s--?”

A heavy hand patted him on the shoulder, and it was like an electrical current passing through. “Welcome to your new life.”

The boy groaned as his legs pushed and a surge of pleasure rebounded through his body.

The man’s chuckle was low and deep. “We knew we were’t alone.”

Free

“I’m ... free to go?” Derek asked in a stunned voice.

The big man at the door nodded mutely, his tight black suit and blocky shades made him the epitome of the stereotypical villain’s guard. “You may leave this room and do as you wish.”

“No strings attached?”

“No strings attached.”

The shorter man leaned back against the bed as the full weight of those words sank in. “Free,” he mumbled. “I ... I can go.”

“Wherever you want,” the guard agreed in a grating rumble.

“Where are we?”

The guard smiled. “That’s for you to find out. I’m just here to give you the big news.”

The man scratched a casual itch on his thigh, then pulled at the strap on his thong. “This is ... wow. It’s ... well--”

“A lot to take in.”

“Exactly. I ... I can go.”

“Yup.”

“Any time I want.”

“Yup.”

“Anywhere at all.”

“Yup.”

“But ... I’m not moving.”

The guard shrugged. “You haven’t decided where you want to go.”

“Huh. Good point. I ... guess I should get my bearings, figure things out.”

“A sound idea,” the guard said in a neutral tone. He shrugged. “You’re free to go.”

Derek blinked absently.

“You going to move?” the guard asked. “I can’t stand here all day.”

“O-oh. Yeah. ... Yeah....” Derek strode dazedly to the door. He could hear the sound of shuffling footsteps and heavy thumps. He peeked outside. Identical rectangular doors were opening. A slow trickle of tan men slowly filtered out into the hall, peering bewildered at their peers. “There are ... others?”

“And you’re all free to go,” the deep voice rumbled behind him.

Derek took a tentative step into the hall. The other men mirrored his action, as though they were afraid it were some dream. Some retreated into their rooms. Others strode into the hall and blinked as they breathed the chemical scent of carpet cleaners and disinfectants.

“Free,” one of them breathed in utter bewilderment.

“Free to go,” another guard agreed from his place in the former prisoner’s room.

“Free to go,” one parroted. “I’m ... free to go.” He took one heavy step forward. The sound of the impact carried like an explosive charge. The whole hall tensed. Nothing happened. Nobody moved to stop him. His head darted left and right. His high-and-tight military cut accentuated the hints of jaw bone showing beneath his skin. He wore an identical thong to Derek and the other men. The hairs on his arms stood on end as the cooler air and exhilaration of sudden freedom sent goosebumps racing over his skin. He took another step forward. “I’m...” Another one. “Free to....” One more. “Go.”

He stopped, peered behind him in fear. The guard continued to stare from the portal, but made no move to follow. His breathing became shallow. A smile pulled at his lips, even as he fought back the tears that welled in his eyes. He stepped forward again, more confidently this time. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump. “I’m free--” Thump. “--to go.” Thump.

He grinned as he began to pick up speed and walk past the first few doors, reciting to himself in time to his forceful steps. “I’m free to go. I’m free to go...”

One set of footprints was soon joined by two more, then four, then six. The voices rang in unison, a motivating cry calling to the wary and frightened souls that still hovered in the doorways. Derek soon found himself ensconced in the ranks. The pace was awkward at first, but the continuous chant pounded in rhythm, and he soon adapted to the march.

Some laughed. Others cried. Others cheered at the top of their lungs. The call remained the same. It remained as their troops divided. Some waited by elevators, still chanting as they pushed the call buttons and marched in place. Others strode to a great metal door and shoved it open to the echoing stairwell that waited beyond. The echoes repeated as foot struck stair, smacking in time to the chorus of voices.

Derek peered down, surprised to see so many heads, so many bodies pressing forward in an orderly fashion. He wanted to think. He wanted to question. And yet, all he could think, all he could recall, was that wondrous phrase over and over as he grinned. “I’m free to go.”

The passage opened on the ground floor as the body moved en masse to pass through a finely decorated lobby. A backlit sign read Growing Pains Spa over the desk. A smaller subtext ran underneath the main title that read, Relax and Gain.

He blinked. His mouth kept moving. His bare feet kept thumping. His gaze turned idly to the tinted glass doors with their bronze handles and revolving shafts. Some of the other men strode through them. One cycle later, more guards would walk in with that same set of shades, broad shoulders, and rippling muscles.

Derek grunted briefly as he felt a familiar warmth in his crotch, followed by a tightness in the pouch. That warmth spread, until he began to sweat. His hands twitched and clenched as the march continued forward past a photo checkpoint and into a room filled with a hauntingly familiar sound.

Metal plates clacked steadily with the grunts and growls of many a muscular man. Music pulsed and thumped in his ears. And then he saw it in great bold capital letters that plastered the high brick walls in vivid red to draw the eye of every visitor in.

YOU’RE FREE TO GROW.

Derek thudded over to a weight machine, not even thinking anymore as his body moved for him. He watched impassively as burlier men strode into the locker room ENTRANCE. Seconds later, a new set of guards strode out the EXIT with grim expressions on their faces.

Derek hardly registered as one of them approached him. He pushed through the exercise, even as the visor lowered over his head. His posture didn’t deviate as the earbuds snaked into his ear canal. His form didn’t waver as his vision of the room slowly blacked out to be replaced by a bombardment of images accompanied by sound.

His mouth gaped open as he began to pant under his breath. “I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... I’m free to grow ... free to grow ... freed to grow ... need to grow....”

The guard backed away and spoke in a dull monotone. “Relax and gain,” he said. “Relax and grow. Relax, ... and obey....”

Horse Play

This is a little experiment. Let me know what you think. If you don’t like it, I can edit it and adapt it to fit a third person story, instead, with more descriptors, rather than relying on the dialogue of the one character alone.

Hello, hello! Welcome to my humble part of the globe. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Now that I see you, I’m certain you’ll be a shoe-in for the opening on my staff. Just come over here, please. There we are. I’d like to introduce you Dulcie. She’s one of our best mares: gentle, patient, and very good with riders.

Well, would you look at that? She likes you. That’s good. You’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months.

Is something the matter? You look a little flushed. Oh ... oh, my. I knew she was in heat, but I thought we’d agreed that--

*Ahem* Just ... stay calm. It’ll be over soon. Yes, yes, I know my face looks funny. No need to stare. I’m just *nicker* going through a few ... alterations. Mmmph, oh, by the Dagda, that feels good! Th-thank you, Mistress. I’m ... *sputter* glad I could help.

Mmm ... what am I? I’m a centaur, of course. Well, I suppose Equitaur would be more accurate. My mistress desired a new companion, and she has decided to claim you. It was most kind of you to offer your name so readily to her.

...

Well, of course I have hooves. I told you. I’m an equitaur. I serve the herd, and the lead mare. She smells ... so wonderful, doesn’t she?

Oh, come now. Don’t be that way. Your body is already responding to her. I see those nostrils of yours flaring. She chose you, human, but you also chose her. These contracts require such things, you know. You agreed to the position, gave us your name, bound yourself to this place of your own free will. Can’t you hear them? All those mares calling for a strong male to protect them and their young.

They want. They need. And judging by that flush in your cheeks, I’d say you do, too, human. Well, maybe not quite so human anymore.

Now, now. You won’t be able to get out that way. You’re already bound, remember? Mm ... Though feel free to run and stretch those legs of yours. It’s good for working out the nerves. And for casting off those annoying garments. You feel it, don’t you? That breathlessness, the excitement, the urge to race, even as your clothing constricts. Mmm, and that hair. Yes, you’ll grow quite the mane, indeed.

Haha! And would you listen to that! Congratulations. You just made your first nicker. I knew you had it in you! Why don’t you just relax, enjoy the ride? Trust me, there’s so much pleasure to be had, if you do. Mistress rewards her stallions well for compliance. Besides, those clothes of yours won’t last much longer at this-- And there it is. Mmm. That rump is coming along nicely. Let’s give that tail a few shakes, hmm?

Oho! Would you look at that? Sleek and black, dark as the night, and oily as the veins of the earth. Beautiful. Oh, yes. I know that look. You feel it, don’t you? That euphoria, that longing. Fingers no longer wanting to work. Toes straining against the fabric of your shoes. And it all feels so ... sensitive, doesn’t it?

Mmm ... your barrel is coming along nicely, as is your neck. Here, stud. Eat this.

...

Well, of course you’re going to be a stud. Do you really think my mistress would accept anything less? That’s right. There you go. Have some more. Oh, you don’t remember taking that extra morsel? What a shame. Oh, but don’t worry. That’s natural. Horses have very little appetite control. Mmm ... good stud. I bet that brushing is helping you to feel a little calmer. Calmer as your muzzle expands and your arms lengthen.

Careful now. Easy does it. Just let it come naturally. Go ahead. I’ve got you, stud. Good boy. Things are feeling hazy now, aren’t they? But so good. So very good. There we go. Now doesn’t that feel so much better? It’s natural being on all fours.

Shh, shh, shh. Don’t try to talk now. You’re just embarrassing yourself. You’re confused. I get that. But right now, I think you have something else to worry about. Ahhh, there it is. Took you long enough, stud. My lady does not like to be kept waiting. I was afraid you were going to turn out a gelding.

...

Nevermind. That’s not important. What is important is the fact that you happen to have a lovely mare over there who wants you very, very much, stud. Now why don’t you just let go and accept, hmm? My lady rewards most graciously for compliance.

Ahhhh, and there go the eyes. Good stud. Good boy. Come, let me lead you to my lady’s quarters. You will serve the Pookahs of the herd well, indeed. Now go on, big boy. She’s waiting for you.

A Final Service

The demotion had been painful, the discharge even worse. Now Patrick Konahee stood in the empty white testing room with little more than a pair of boxer briefs that clung to his frame. He hadn’t been allowed the chance to serve his country properly. He’d been slandered, maligned, mocked, betrayed. But he still loved his country, an he wanted to serve however he could. No one would know of the advances he helped to make possible, but at least he would have done something for the people he loved.

“Are you ready, Mister Konahee?” the doctor’s voice asked over the loudspeaker.

“I am,” Patrick replied.

“Then we’ll begin the test now.” A warped screen not unlike an old television monitor rose on a hydraulics system, until it reached Konahee’s height.

“All right, Mister Konahee. Stare into the screen, please.”

Patrick did as he was bid. After all that military training he’d received it was almost instinctual to follow the orders of a superior. He caught a brief glimpse of his striking blue eyes and carefully coiffed hazel hair, before the device clicked on and began to hum. A plain white light pulsed gently over the glass.

“Okay, what now?” Patrick asked.

“Just keep staring, Mister Konahee, and don’t stop until we tell you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Patrick said. He continued to stare ahead, blinking occasionally as his eyes required. A creeping tingling sensation passed over his skin, and his hairs stood on end. “Sir, I’m getting a case of goosebumps. Don’t know if it’s me or the device, but I thought you ought to know.”

“Yes, yes, Mister Konahee. Thank you for the update. Now please, keep staring. Rest assured, our monitoring equipment is catching all the relevant data.”

Patrick continued to stare. A dull prickling began at the base of his chin. He scratched it, and was surprised to feel the gentle scraping of a few stray pieces of stubble.

‘Odd. I could’ve sworn I got it all when I shaved this morning,’ he thought to himself.

The humming intensified and the white light suddenly felt much less boring. The tingling became stronger, and Patrick could swear he heard the whisper of hair scraping hair as he slowly opened his mouth to gape at the screen. His pupils began to dilate as a ring of black developed around the blue of his irises, creating a striking gaze. His brow furrowed, and stray hairs drooped over the edges of his vision.

“Uh, Sirs, I’m starting to feel a little ... funny,” Patrick said. He grunted and scratched at an itch on the bridge of his nose, where the beginnings of tawny hairs had sprouted to match the hairs at the upper portion of what was rapidly becoming a fully developed beard.

“Keep staring, Mister Konahee.”

“But--.” Patrick let out a low groan. His voice cracked as his nostrils flared and began to rise. His clean-cut features became more rugged as the sharp angles of his jaw and cheek bones gradually began to press out, becoming more apparent.

“Relax, Mister Konahee.”

Patrick hunched forward as thick hairs began to sprout over his chest, arms, and the backs of his hands. He panted, and his shoulders broadened as deep furrows carved their way across his forehead. His skin thickened and began to darken as he grunted and scratched casually at his crotch. A dull smile pulled at his lips, exposing the hints of more prominent teeth, particularly his canines.

“That’s right. Just let go, Mister Konahee. Do what comes naturally.”

A loud crack sounded as Patrick’s skull began to shift, creating a natural slope that rose up into a cone atop his thickening and darkening hair. An ominous creaking was soon followed by a loud crunch as Patrick’s ribcage expanded forcefully. His chest heaved as his grunts devolved into low growls and guttural exclamations. His brow slowly swelled into a shelf-like border that overshadowed the blue of his iris and darkened it as his pupils continued to gain more prominence.

His legs bowed as calves and thighs gained mass and the arch in his feet dropped flat with a loud pop. Toes expanded and lengthened into prehensile digits, including a thumb, while his arms lengthened and his fists struck proudly against his swelling pectorals. Biceps, triceps, and flexors quadrupled in size as his new coat of fur consumed them. By now, his skin had become black and leathery. Fabric popped and tore apart as he dropped forward onto his knuckles and his back snapped to realign with this new posture.

Nose and palate jutted forward with his jaw to create a beastly maw. Lastly, his body swelled into immensity as a silver patch appeared on his back between the shoulder blades arching down.

The new gorilla huffed and panted as it stared at the screen. Its limbs trembled. Finally, it dropped to the floor, rendered completely unconscious. The whining and humming died as the screen shut off. A large bowl full of fruits and various bugs soon rose from the floor, alongside a great bowl filled with water.

“It appears the experiment was a success,” the doctor said as he pressed another button, lowering the screen on the strange monitor to reveal a weapon not unlike a glue gun in its design. “Devolution is, indeed, a possibility. We need only enhance the rate of the weapon to ensure it can transform its target quickly.” He smirked and turned to his aide. “Get word to the President. Project Regress is a go.”