Meathead Transformation - Tumblr Posts - Page 2

The Itch: Part 1

Sorry, what were you saying? I’ve been ... kinda absentminded lately. Yeah, I’m doing okay. Just been making a few changes is all. New diet, a few exercises here and there to help tone up. It’s been kinda nice. Sure, it aches a little at first, but it’s been worth it in the long run.

Yeah, I noticed the new patch. Looks kinda good, doesn’t it? I always used to have trouble growing chest hair. Now that I’m getting in some good fitness, it’s like I sprayed super grow or something down there. They just keep sprouting. It kinda itches, but it feels good to scratch.

Scratch ... yeah. Mmm. That brushing, that scruff. Feels ... so nice. Yes. I enjoy scratching it. I feel pleasure, just as you have said. The pleasure increases the bigger I get.

Cannot stop scratching. It ... makes me lightheaded. Yes. More pleasure. The scratch will make me work. The scratch will feel better as I work out. The more I lift, the more I build, the more my pectorals will brush and scratch.

I will build. I will grow. I will scratch.

Yes. Grow more hairs. Bigger pecs mean thicker hairs. Thicker hairs mean louder scratch. Louder scratch means bigger pleasure. I will repeat. I will seek pleasure. I will scratch.

Yes. I will report to the gym, after waking. I will build my body. The scratch demands it. The scratch drives me. Will grow. Will scratch. The itch will push. The itch will demand. I will listen. LIsten to demands. Listen to your demand, your itch, your voice...

I understand.

...

I obey....

The Itch: Part Two

Bro, I just ... can’t stop lifting, you know? It feels too good. So what if I’m a little top heavy? Just look how jacked I am! The bros offered me this old lifting belt, too. S’funny. When I told ‘em you showed me the gym, they all just sort of grinned and welcomed me in.

Dude, they know about the itch! S’fuckin’ awesome! They don’t care if I trail off on a sentence or whatever. Gotta scratch the itch, ya know? They said s’better to just go with it, so I do. Bro, I never felt better in my whole life! I’m high as a kite, but it’s all natural. Fucking rocks! Huhuhuh, yeah. People been talkin’ bout me behind my back, but I don’t care. I’m swoll. Bros say I’ll be ready to compete soon. Mmm ... feels so good when I pose in front of a mirror. Jamming my pecs together, letting that scratch grind so slow.

Fuuuuuuuck. Uhhhh ... wut were we talkin’ about again?

Well, yeah. Course I’m dumb. Why would I want to think about all that other stuff when I’ve got weights to lift and an itch to scratch?

What? You want me to pose for you? Bro, why didn’t you say so?

Huhuhuh ... ready to learn my routine....

Warning: This story follows a hypnotic script. If you are susceptible to hypnosis, please do not engage in this story until you are in a situation where falling into trance will not be harmful. You have been warned. Read at your own Risk.

Static

Hey there. Yeah, I’m talking to you. No need to be shy. I don’t bite, you know. I just couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching me. Don’t try to deny it. I don’t mind. A lot of people watch me, after all. A guy gets used to it when he gets this big.

Mmm ... and I do love being big. It takes a lot of work, but it’s worth it in the end.

But you know what I love even more than being big, little man? Huhuh. I love making other people big. You see that guy over there benching three hundred? I trained him. He was smaller than you are when he first came here. Now he’s a real Goliath. I like to call him moose from time to time. It fits, wouldn’t you say? Every one of them has a name. Rhino, Burro, Horse. Every one of them is tailored to the individual. Gotta fit it just right, you know what I mean?

It’s kinda like my shirt. You see how it hugs so tightly to my muscles, really accentuates my figure. Their names do the same for them, help them focus, help them improve.

Mmm. You know, this is actually my favorite shirt. I love the way I can just flex my muscles and suddenly, it swells with me. The gray texturing is nice, too. It reminds me of static. You know, the kind you see wavering on a TV screen. Any time I want to focus on my workouts, I just look down, and bam. There it is. It’s sort of a chain reaction, ya know? Just like the TV. Everything just sort of stops broadcasting, and my arms jump up and down with the static. It’s so easy to just follow along. Lift and follow. Watch and follow. Listen and follow. Follow...

Follow...

You’re pretty good at following, aren’t you?

Following my movements, following each flex, following as my shirt expands and contracts in that endless cycle of jumping static.

Don’t look away now. Follow it. It’s all right. I enjoy a good watcher like you. And there’s plenty to watch, isn’t there? Go ahead. Follow my movements. Follow my breathing. Follow the bouncing rise and fall. Let it fill you. Let it move you. Move you to breathe in time as you follow, as you watch, as you listen.

Oh, don’t worry. You don’t need to focus on me. After all, you don’t pay attention to the sound static makes, do you? No, that sound just fades into the background. You don’t notice it, but you hear it all the same. You hear it, and you listen as you follow, follow my voice, follow my instructions, even if you don’t remember them.

Following deeper and deeper as you get closer to the screen. Because you have to watch. You have to follow. Follow the bouncing pecs, the jumping screen. Jumping with the static. Following the static. Listening to the static.

...

Obeying the static.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Relax.

Don’t think.

Follow the static.

Slipping deeper now.

Follow the static.

The more you follow, the deeper you fall.

Deeper into the screen. Deeper into the static. Deeper into that happy empty bliss that is slowly surrounding you, just like the static.

Follow the static.

Are you following the static?

...

Good boy.

The more you follow, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the more you follow. Follow the static.

Follow my static.

...

Follow me.

My voice is the static. My voice is the thing you must follow. Follow and obey.

...

Say it now, little man. You follow the static. You obey the static. You obey my voice.

You obey me.

Good boy. Now listen. Listen, and obey. Follow and obey.

You are going to be a musclehead. Every day and every way, more and more, you will become a musclehead. You will work out at the gym. You will follow my suggestions to you. You will lift weights. You will eat healthily. The gym will become more and more like home as muscle slowly consumes you, consumes your thoughts, consumes you with the static, my static. 

My musclehead.

I think I’ll call you Bull. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, musclehead? I’ll make you a real muscle bull.

Just let the static fill your head piece by piece, bit by bit. Over time, it’ll whisper all on its own as you internalize what I have to say, because my voice is the static. And you obey the static.

You obey me.

That’s a good little runt. When I say the words WAKE UP, you will return to wakefulness, ready to execute your desire, the desire to be a musclehead, like me. You will lift weights. You will work out. You will train. And the more muscle you gain, the dumber you’ll be. You’ll still function in society, but things will be ... simpler outside important matters. Just like a switch flicking on. Just like the remote clicking on the television screen, the screen that is filled with static. Just sports, muscle, and weights in that muscle head of yours.

...

Good boy. When I say the phrase: Static is calling, you will fall into the same state of mind as you are now, ready to listen to the static. Ready to follow the static. Ready to obey the static.

Ready to OBEY.

Now, when you awaken, you will have a strong desire to work out. The musclehead in you will grow stronger the longer you do. You will pace yourself according to what your body can manage, and not push yourself to the point of self-harm or injury as you change.

Good little musclehead.

Now come on. It’s time to WAKE UP, Bull. The gym is waiting.

If you enjoyed this, please like and reblog. Thank you for reading. I hope it will prove motivating, helpful, and pleasurable to you growing muscleheads out there. ~Omni

Driver Wanted

The bold print stood out from the clipping as Andrew made his way onto the lot. The company must have been pretty small. All he could see were a total of three cars and one single story office building. That being said, the cars were very nice, indeed. Their exteriors shone with a fresh coat of paint and cured protective glaze that spoke just how new they were.

He brushed his hair to the side again as he fussed with his parted comb-over and advanced on the building itself. The interior was well furnished with a more modernistic metallic theme. Black carpet and black leather chairs were highlighted by shiny chrome lamps and side tables. He maneuvered around a burnished metal coffee table that sat in the middle of the waiting room, then approached the front desk.

The secretary seemed a little on the young side, but who was Andrew to judge? If he could do his job, then more power to him. The kid couldn’t have been much older than his mid-twenties. He stared at the screen, typing feverishly behind the monitor as the light flickered over his eyes. His mouth drooped somewhat lazily, as if he were struggling to stifle a yawn, and his hair had been completely bleached to the point of looking almost white as it rose in a series of spikes reminiscent of a boy band. It fit his blocky jaw and tight muscles, however. A set of gray sweat pants and shirt hugged to his frame as he spread his legs wide and continued to type, heedless of the new arrival.

“Excuse me,” Andrew finally said. “I’m here for the interview? I called ahead.”

The kid blinked slowly, then lifted his head to stare at Andrew. The boy’s dark eyes rolled over Andrew’s broad shoulders, his pudgy frame, thinning hair, and hazel eyes.

“Name?” he asked in a low stuffed-up voice.

“Andrew Simmons.”

The kid tapped the space bar on his keyboard, then clicked his mouse a few times to draw up a new program. He scrolled a ways, then nodded. “You’re here early.” He reached for a phone and began to dial. “Take a seat. I’ll call the boss.”

Andrew nodded and strode back to a curved metal chair with black cushions to cradle its occupant. The cushions’ promise did not lie, though the curve made it difficult to support his lower back properly, which left him with a certain amount of discomfort that eventually left him leaning forward with parted legs, so he could rest his elbows on his thighs.

“Sir?” the secretary lowed. “Your next appointment is here.” He listened intently and nodded. “Yes, Sir. I told him, Sir. He’s waiting.” He nodded again. “Yes, Sir. I’ll give him the paper work right away. Yes, Sir. I’ll resume the video after. Thank you, Sir.” His mouth split into a broad grin. “Yes, Sir!” he said excitedly, then hung up and snatched a clip board and some papers from a folder nearby. He practically raced over to where Andrew sat. “Boss has some papers for you to review. Non-disclosure, liability, that sort of stuff. You know how it is.”

Andrew nodded. He’d performed enough stunt driving to know the usual risks and protections involved in a job. His gaze trailed over the boy’s form as he took the paperwork and a pen from him. The kid’s legs were carved like granite, and he walked so proudly. It was more like a strut than a walk. His legs swaggered in his stride, and a light bulge in the sweatpants’ crotch was more than hint enough for why the boy chose that particular gait.

The kid smirked and flexed a bicep. “Like what you see?”

Andrew blushed. “Sorry.”

The secretary just grinned. “S’no problem, bro. I like when people stare at my muscles. Muscles are meant to be admired.” He flexed again as a dreamy look came over his face and he began the return trip to his desk. “Admiration leads to motivation leads to activation leads to....” He continued to mutter to himself as he strode to his chair, sat down, clicked out of the program he’d used to look up Andrew’s appointment, and pressed the space bar again. It didn’t take long for him to start gaping again.

Andrew hastily dove into the paperwork and began analyzing the wording. Much like his other standard contracts, there were the usual safeguards for the company, along with a stated amount of income he would receive for his services and royalty payments, should any footage taken in the course of a drive be used for a commercial.

“Mister Simmons.”

Andrew’s head surged to attention as his neck craned up and up and up to stare at the man that stood before him. The kid was a dwarf compared to the brawn that stood before Andrew now. Andrew quickly surged to his feet.

“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The man known only as Boss chuckled. “Kind of the point of the carpeting. I like to see what kind of reflexes my drivers have when something unexpected occurs. Shall we, Mister Simmons?” He motioned with a meaty hand toward a door marked STAFF ONLY. Andrew took the hint and pushed ahead. The door led to a long hallway lit only by fluorescent overheads that flickered occasionally as they passed along.

“My business is broken into what you might call a set of microcosms integrated into a fine-tuned system,” the man explained.

“Um, excuse me, Sir. I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure will be a fascinating explanation, but you haven’t told me your name yet,” Andrew cut in.

A scowl played over the owner’s face for a moment, then it broke apart as he laughed. “I haven’t, have I? Sorry. I like to get down to business when I’m dealing with work. The name’s Boston. Boston McTavish. I ask my employees to call me Boss. It’s a joke as well as a good way to break the ice, so we can be on more of a first name basis.”

“And the sirs?”

“I can’t help it if I’ve garnered that much respect. And let’s not forget societal norms.”

Andrew shrugged. “Fair enough. So, Mister McTavish, you were saying?”

“Boss,” McTavish corrected absently. “I was saying we have a series of focuses in my service that exist to integrate into a proper whole. We focus on body work and maintenance for the occasional special order. And as you’ve seen, I put a particular emphasis on body.” He winked at Andrew. “Part of the benefits package includes a fully stocked gym for workouts. Now, back to business. We have a unique model of cars for ride service. We specialize in escorting and transporting a variety of clientele. Though our particular niche market focuses more in the richer quarters of the states, we also have a variety of transport geared toward the average customer on their way to or from work. Many of our customers are converts from other services. This is on account of our exceptional service and professionalism. It is a standard I expect all of my drivers to maintain, whether they are working the ride service or not.”

“If you have such a large following, how come I haven’t heard of you before?”

“We originally started in the west coast. This branch office has only recently been opened to offer our services out here in the east. I have enough men covering things out west that I can afford to come out here and ensure the setup goes smoothly.”

“And I assume this is where I come in.”

“Exactly. I want to see how well you drive and how well you can follow instructions. Assuming you pass, you’ll have the job and all the benefits that go with it.”

“Such as?”

“Full health and dental, for a start, and in the event you really impress me, an opening salary of twenty dollars an hour.”

Andrew raised his brow. “That much.”

“And that’s not including royalties, should you be chosen as the driver for any future commercials or advertisements we put up. And, assuming you excel and bring more customers or prompt enough positive reviews, you’ll get bonuses with your checks.”

“What’s the catch?”

“I need you to be available when I need you. Most of the time, schedules will be worked out in advance, but sometimes we get last minute customers. Most will be looking for transport either to or from a gym.”

The door opened to reveal a massive cement garage and a waiting sleek black muscle car. There were no labels or brands that Andrew could detect. “What’s this?” he asked.

“In a word, progress. In more words, a new model of car unique to my company. I’d like for you to test drive it for me.”

“You’re sure you have enough money for all this? I mean, going into making a new brand of car is pretty expensive.”

“Which is why we’re only using the one for now. Our other cars are easily modified with any extra additions they may require, and then inspected by qualified individuals. This one, however, is all us, and we intend to make use of it. As with the other models, it’s passed inspections and is up to code. What I’d like for you to do is take it for a drive.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. I want it to be put through its paces. We’ve already arranged for a course to practice on, and have all the necessary permits. So, are you in?”

“For test driving, I suppose so. For the job, we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Of course, of course,” Boss said. “Now let’s finish that paperwork, so we can get this test started.”

The car rumbled in a massaging purr as Andrew turned on the ignition. The chair had adapted to his body almost perfectly with its various sensors, and the wheel sat easily in his hands. The cool leather gave him goosebumps as he stared out into the forested area.

“Listen closely, Andrew. We want this to be a good clean run. Start off slow, then run it through its paces. You read?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Andrew replied as he reached down and shifted to first gear. The car pulled out slowly and easily as he began along the course. The rough dirt road was level and dry, so there wasn’t a need to worry about testing the shock absorbers this time. Cool AC blew in his face as he began his run at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. His skin prickled as he pushed the gas pedal and heard the engine’s roar.

“Looking good, Andrew. Run her around for the first lap as a warm-up. Then we’ll see how well this muscle car can flex.”

Andrew chuckled. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Andrew stirred impatiently in his seat as he rounded the final curve and passed the starting line. The moment he was free, he quickly picked up the acceleration and shifted the stick. The car roared exultantly as it spat up a cloud of dust and debris. Andrew chuckled at the familiar tingle of adrenaline coursing through his system. “Someone’s anxious,” he muttered.

The car spun smoothly as he took the sharp turns, digging into the track to pull the traction forward. It practically jumped forward as he ramped up the RPMs and switched into high gear.

“Oh, yes.” He smirked as the trees began to blur by. His body tensed as he clutched the wheel and his heart pounded in his chest. He shuddered in pleasure, the noticed an icon light pop up on the dash. “Hey, Boss, what’s with this mark on the dash board?”

“It’s just the driver assist function. Don’t worry about it,” Boss replied.

Andrew grunted as he rolled his shoulders to readjust his shirt. Things were starting to feel a little snug. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“Damn right, whatever I say,” Boss teased.

Andrew laughed and scratched at his chest. “What’s this bar icon for?”

“Storage charge. The car’s a hybrid. Gas for the harder faster road and electricity for residential driving. The battery’s just charging, while the gas is burning.”

“Oh. Okay.” He scratched his head and the bristles on his high and tight cut scraped as a dull haze settled over him.

“Eyes on the road, Andrew.”

“Yes, Sir,” Andrew said as he rolled his eyes. He knew what he was doing. The scent of the car’s air freshener washed over him, putting his body at ease as the familiar scent of old spice, or maybe AXE, filled the air. The sun flashed as he took a turn. He blinked and grinned as he barreled through the straightway. They knew the course. They recognized the track. It was easy. He reached over to pat the dash board and sneered at the sight of his muscles tensing against the driver suit. “Ready to really show off?” He sneered as he pushed his foot on the pedal and forced the engine to roar in agreement. “Fuck, yeah,” he muttered under his breath.

The next run, a bout of tunnel vision struck as Andrew pushed himself fully into the track. The car rumbled under his body, massaging it as the seat adjusted to his needs. The static from the bluetooth radio was soothing. This course was his, and he owned it. He never even noticed the tears and pops sounding in his ears. They were only so much static. He had to stay focused.

He raised an arm and chuckled as he glanced at it. His bare bicep launched into the shape of a hill as he flexed. His beard scraped against his shoulder as he allowed himself a piece of vanity.

The muscle car flexed. He flexed. The car showed off. He showed off. He didn’t know how many times he’d run the course now. He didn’t care. It just felt so damn good.

A dull ringing in his ears finally pulled him out of his trance. The bar was flashing white and blue, and the gas meter had dropped to low.

“All right, Andrew. Come on in. We’re done for today.”

“One more circuit?” he wheedled.

“I said you’re done. We need to run a diagnostic, now that you’ve run the car through the course. Besides, the gym is waiting for you.”

He sighed as he pulled up in front of Boss and stepped out of the car. The tatters of his driver suit dangled in the breeze. Andrew didn’t seem to notice.

“Damn, son,” Boss swore as he took in Andrew’s frame. He walked around the driver, testing the tone and density of Andrew’s muscle. Andrew’s pectorals had evolved into two thick hairy slabs mashed together by broad shoulders. He’d gained at least a half a foot in height, and a chiseled six pack pressed out into the air, while his boxer briefs strained to contain the increased mass that had accumulated in his waist, legs, and crotch.

“Call me Drew, Sir,” Andrew said. “I like it better. It’s simpler, you know?” He let out a low deep guffaw.

Boss tapped a glowing light fixture situated between the cup holders and pressed a button on his observation console. A long tube emerged with a gentle hiss. It glowed a bright blue. Boss pocketed it and smiled as he turned to face his driver. “You made this test a complete success. Thank you, Drew.” He clapped the man heartily on the back. “Now, tell you what. I’ve got a special job in mind for you, one that I think you’re really going to like.”

Drew’s eyes glazed over on the contact. “Whatever you say, Boss,” he droned.

Boss sneered. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Drew smirked cockily in the mirror as he took in his form. The red tank top strained tightly against his muscles. The bleach job in his hair gave him a perfect layered appearance that only added to his raw sexual appeal. He barely suppressed the sneer as the rear doors opened and closed, and the customers gave him directions to where they wanted to go. Just a couple of wimpy kids. They wouldn’t be so wimpy when he was through with them. He pulled out from the curb and pressed the button, just Boss showed him. Then he chuckled as he triggered the system and the lights flared in the back.

“Congratulations, and welcome to the Muscle Cab.”

The Place

Jason didn’t know what it was about this place that was so alluring to him. The weathered building clearly hadn’t been used in years, but he kept coming there inevitably after a long day at work. He used to be a building inspector. He remembered that well. Then he got the call to visit this warehouse, make sure everything was on the up and up. The rest ... was a blur.

He remembered filing his report, of course. The building was fine. No problems. Old, but sturdy. He uploaded the photos, waited for feedback. He received a short reply for approval and everything was normal. The buyers never bothered to inquire again, though. And it seemed that attempts to demolish the district disappeared overnight.

It was odd. The building was old. So was the district. Shouldn’t it be--?

He blinked as the world came slowly back into focus. The building should be preserved. Of course it should be. None should touch the building without ...

Without what? He furrowed his brow in confusion as he pulled open the old sliding door. His dark tank brushed against taut muscle. Why was this place so important to him again? His head felt strange. Thinking came slowly. His thoughts kept coming back to the clothing brushing his muscles, the tingle in his lips and jaw.

“What’s ... wrong with me?” he asked in a low, husky voice. He stopped a moment, surprised at the sheer depth. He ... didn’t used to sound like that. He used to ... used to....

A wave of vertigo struck him as he clung to an old support beam. Another attack. They were becoming more frequent. Always when he got too excited about something stupid. He was used to this. He knew what he had to do.

Jason closed his eyes, took a deep breath, felt the fabric rise and fall in that ghostly touch against his abs, the gentle give and retract that occurred around the defined shape of his pectorals. He focused on that feeling, on the shudder-inducing tingle that sent goosebumps over his skin. The muscle always felt so good.

“Huhuhuhuh,” he laughed as his voice echoed and rebounded off the walls. The pleasure increased. The dizziness passed. What was he so worried about again? He couldn’t remember. But ... it didn’t really matter then, did it?

“Dumbass,” he said and chuckled again as he carried on. A dim light pulsed in the distance, and he approached it only too happily. The white light was good. Good to approach. Good to listen. Good to--

REPORT.

Jason stopped thinking.

Chief Science Officer’s Log: Stardate XXXX-XX-XXXX

After our vessel crashed, it has fallen to me to make use of this primitive world to make repairs and lead what remains of our crew. These creatures call themselves Humans, a most curious name. Even more curious is the series of sub-races and classifications which they grant themselves based upon origin of birth in a particular geographic area and the genetic stock which they bear from various other regions.

They are severely limited technologically, and are more inclined to fight each other like animals over territory and resources. All the same, I am fascinated by them and their adaptability.

Atmosphere is breathable, but far from clean. I’ve ordered all crew to utilize appropriate filtration aparatus as we seek to re-enable our systems to depart. Unfortunately, we have lost our beacon and our anti-gravity generators as well. As such, we have had little choice but to rely on these ... creatures to assist us in our labors.

Genetic recombination and neural stimuli have allowed us the ability to manipulate what few subjects we have managed to acquire. We’ve had to take the process slowly out of necessity to make the transition and programming more natural and avoid suspicion. A simple subroutine embedded into the data for the images that Subject J-001, or Jay-son, took ensured that our work would not be disturbed, and has given us access to the rudimentary network these creatures call the internet.

Depending on adaptability, I may have to recommend this world for colonization and subjection. J-001 is coming along particularly nicely in his metamorphosis to Blarthog. It will not be long until the implant we placed on his brain stem is no longer necessary. His telepathic receptors are developing at an excellent rate. Muscle and bone density will be our next alterations in the subject to hasten his changes and bring him closer to completion. I’ve taken a liking to this one, and may claim it as my own, after his service is complete on the ship. For now, our previous subjects are training him and pushing his body. The male is only too happy to indulge in his baser pack mentality. 

Blarthogs JX-201 and JX-202 were among the lowest caste of this world. They will not be missed, nor will their previous personalities. The sheer amount of toxins and barbituates took a whole two hours to purge, before we could proceed with the gestation. I admit the transformation holds a certain ... fascination for me. One never knows exactly how a creature will react, and the moment when they lose all sense of their old selves and willingly give into their new purpose is truly exhilarating.

I will order J-001 to consume all that he can for the next phase of his metamorphosis. We have already made use of their technology to transfer the funds he will require in this world’s currency beforehand. I have made a note to research this term that appears in the subject’s thought patterns when he sees himself in the mirror. This ... musclehead may yet be a derivative of baser and more primal genetic code to make use of. Farther notation will be made in the future. For now, I must go and oversee J-001′s strength test.

End Log.

Jason felt tired, but relaxed as he left the warehouse. Sweat coated his frame, causing his shift to cling all the tighter to his core. He grinned, baring sharper canines as he flexed a bicep. It always felt so good to work out.

Good to work.

“Fuck, yeah,” he rumbled. His eyes lost focus in a rush of pleasure as he reached down and scratched his crotch, then patted it with a smirk of satisfaction. “Gettin’ big,” he said. The smirk widened into a cocky sneer.

Alpha.

The thought hung there briefly in the haze of Jason’s mind. And then the light in his eyes hardened. He straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, thrust out his chest, and strutted out into the evening air.

His stomach rumbled hungrily.

He scratched his sweaty brown hair, now laying flat against his scalp. He raised his nose, sniffed the air, then jogged like a bloodhound on the trail. One thought drove him. One thought consumed him. He grunted and growled, “Must Eat.”

Square

“You’re such a fucking square, man. Fuck off.”

Jared had heard it all before. That was one of many insults that had haunted him over the years.

“So, you wish to have more confidence in yourself, and possibly to change your image, to prove these tormentors and detractors wrong?” the therapist asked.

“Basically. Like I said, I’m tired of being looked down on.”

“I see.” The therapist tented his fingers as he leaned forward and peered through his glasses at the young student. “You realize this kind of change will require diligence and endurance, yes? Not just mental, but physical. There will likely be opposition to the changes you intend to make. You may be harassed or worse.”

Jared shook his head. His hazel eyes darkened with the weight of his frustrations. The surface became glassy as tears began to form. He hastily blinked them away. “It couldn’t be worse than what I’m facing now.”

“And if it is?”

“Then I’ll make them sorry they ever hurt me in the first place.”

“That’s very bold. Are you saying you intend to put them through some sort of torture session, then?”

“Like I said, Doctor. Whatever it takes.”

“Then let me be blunt. Will you actively seek revenge against them, should I help you?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Jared shrugged. “On the one side, I really want to make them hurt for what they’ve done. On the other, though, I know I’d pretty much be just like them, if I did that.”

“You realize this drastic of a change may require a complete override of your current personality, correct?”

“Do I look like I’m flinching?”

“I just want to make sure, Mister Rogers. This isn’t the kind of thing you step into lightly, and it requires commitment and trust for even a chance to work. If you don’t really want this, then I won’t be able to help you.”

“I want it.”

The therapist stared intently at the would-be-patient. He maintained that quiet gaze for a full minute.

Jared met that gaze and never flinched.

Finally, the doctor reached into a drawer and withdrew a document and a pen. “Sign this. It’s an official release form. In layman’s terms, it’s saying you chose this path of your own free will and that you won’t hold me responsible for any damages, losses, etc. that might come to pass as a result of our sessions. The mind can be a delicate place, and one does not perform surgery on it lightly. For the sake of my personal protection, you will also be agreeing to be monitored while meeting in my office and to report in on a regular basis via video calls to ensure that you are moving forward and not experiencing any adverse side effects.” He held the pen back just as Jared was about to seize it. “I must advice you, Mister Rogers, that I expect complete honesty from you. If something starts to go wrong, you must say so. Dizzy spells, blacking out, etc. must be reported, so that we can make sure to modify your, for lack of a better word, curriculum.”

Jared snatched the pen. “I will. I promise.”

“Very well then, Mister Rogers. Sign the papers, and let’s begin.”

Jared breathed slowly as he laid back against the leather couch, following the instructions of his therapist’s voice.

“And in, and out. And up, and down. Breathing, breathing deeper and deeper as you gradually begin to relax on my couch, relax as we breathe together, deeper. Deeper....

Jared wasn’t sure how long the session lasted. All he knew was that he was bored. He didn’t feel sleepy. He didn’t drift off. All he did was breathe and listen. Finally, he rose up to stare his therapist in the face.

“Now, I’m going to see about setting up a proper set of hypnosis files for you, Jared. However, before we leave today, there’s one last thing I wish to tell you.”

“Yes, Doctor?”

“Being a square doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.”

“Doctor--.”

“Ah-ah-ah. Hear me out.” He raised a diagram. “You’ll note that the square is what is known as a perfect shape. It is also known as a parallelogram. Perfectly formed, perfectly symmetrical. Its sides continue to face each other, regardless of how you turn or twist it, and they remain perfect, exactly the same. Back and forth, side to side, and left to right, spinning, spinning like this paper, a square within a square within a square as you blink, like a photograph. One square. Blink. Two squares. Blink. Four. Blink. Eight....

Jared panted as he finished the last set for his workout and shrugged to release the tension in his aching muscles. Weeks had passed, and what once felt painful now left the man with a pleasurable buzz that bordered on sexual. He quickly snatched a protein shake and guzzled it down, then let out a titanic belch.

“Nice one, Jare,” he chuckled. Then he stomped his heavy legs over to his computer and booted up the system. He inserted the CD the therapist had prepared, then smiled as a screen popped up and a large cube appeared in the screen. Dim flickers passed over the monitor as he plugged in his headphones and listened to the familiar voice.

“Hello, Jared. It’s time for the square to sharpen.”

The world shut down as Jared gaped at the screen. The polyhedron pulsed, danced as a subtle spiral began to pulse into existence. “Ready to grid,” he said dully.

“Let us review. What is a square?”

“A perfect shape.”

“And you are a square.”

“Yes.”

“So you must be in perfect shape, too.”

“Yes...”

“Square jaw. Square head. Square pecs. Square and symmetrical, because you are parallel, parallel to your peers. Squares lead to cubes. Cubes are called blocks. Head more like a cube, more like a block. A blockhead is square. Square is symmetry. Symmetry in muscle. Muscle in your head, your block head. Blocking old thoughts, blocking old habits. Blocking, forgetting, letting go, because you are a blockhead, you are a square. A square is a blockhead. A blockhead is a square. And a square is a perfect shape. You are becoming more and more that perfect shape, that perfect square, that perfect blockhead.

“You are becoming a blockhead, a blockhead who loves muscle. Muscle that fills your blockhead. Muscle that fills your head. Musclehead. Musclehead. Musclehead. Blockhead is musclehead. Musclehead is meathead. Meathead is symmetrical, perfectly symmetrical, like the square, like the block, like your head as you grow and transform....”

“I am a blockhead.... I am a square.... Becoming blockhead... Becoming square....”

“Square shoulders. Square abs. Square chin. Square jaw. Square. Square. Square.... So proud to be a square, because that is what you are....”

Jared strode through the campus quad. The sun shone down on his bare torso as he strode confidently in his shorts. The sun glistened off his toned frame. His body had filled out with taut muscle, and his hair had been styled with a potent hair wax.

“Yo, Square, ‘Sup, man? Wanna play some ball?”

Jared looked at the group of young men gathered in the field beyond. Sweat glistened off their toned abs. hair stuck to their faces as each looked hungrily, eagerly at the former nerd.

Jared stared in utter confusion at them. “I am a perfect Square. I am perfectly symmetrical. You are not. Why should I spend time with those who are not a perfect square?” He flexed his muscles, then fished out a wrinkled card from his pocket. “If you wish to be perfect, contact this number. He will help you to be a perfect square, like me.” His dull eyes flashed as he clasped the paper into the young man’s hand. “It is good to be a perfect square. It is good to be like me. Call this number. He will help you be square. You will call him.”

“Get the fuck away from me, freak!” the man tore arm away from Jared, but only barely. He hurried back to the team and resumed the practice, but not before pocketing the card in his haste.

Later that night, a certain therapist sat drinking tea and reviewing a book on hypnotism in his study, when his phone went off. He pulled it to his ear, pressed the receive button, and listened.

Silence greeted him, save for a raspy breathing in the background.

“Yes?” he asked. He heard the sound of a heavy swallow, the smack of a dry tongue trying to bring moisture into a mouth.

“I, uh ... I heard you could help me get bigger.” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The Square referred me.”

The therapist smiled. It appeared the hypnotic training he’d given his pupil was a complete success. Square had managed to snare a subject and plant a post-hypnotic suggestion. What a marvel. The smile widened into a smirk. “Yes, why don’t we talk about that?”

The Meating

“Uh ... I’ll just ... come back later.” You quickly left the apartment complex’s gym and the many muscle men who stood there having a posing session in front of the full body mirror.

Why were they all in briefs? Why were they all so ... focused? You didn’t recall seeing a reservation for the gym, so it’s not like this was some kind of party or something. And they didn’t seem like frat bros. Just what was going on here?

You arrived back in your apartment to see your roommate Randal chugging back another sludgy concoction. How he could stand those protein shakes, you would never understand. The sheer number of carbs and sugars in that large of a mixing cup made McDonalds’ large and thick shake look more like a medium. He let out a thunderous belch and came up for air to grin at you.

“Hey there, Roomie. That was fast. Thought you said you were going to use the gym,” he teased.

“Occupied,” you said simply and made your way to your room.

“I did try to warn you,” Randal said as he followed behind and leaned on your door frame.

“Warn me that there would be a practical porn fest going on?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not all that bad,” Randal said as he took another gulp of his shake.

“They were in their briefs, Randal. Their briefs, as in just underwear and a pair of socks. The gym wasn’t even reserved. Does management know about this?”

“Bro, management is part of it.” Randal shrugged. “Don’t see what you’re so worked up about. Everyone knows they meet there Tuesday night. S’not a crime, if the owner doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“Does the owner know?”

Randal shrugged. “Hell if I know.” He took advantage of the silence to polish off the rest of his shake, then let out an explosive hiss of air.

“Those things are going to kill you one day,” you grumble.

“Not if I keep working them off,” Randall countered with a smirk. “I’m training to be a trainer, remember? The gym’s like my second home.”

“Whatever. I’m going to talk with the owner about this. If management is part of the problem, then a solution needs to be found.”

Randall shrugged. “Suit yourself, bro. Don’t think you’re gonna get anywhere, though.” He turned and trudged toward his room. “Gonna get my workout in. Don’t disturb me, all right?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill, muscleman.”

Randall stopped, turned, and grinned cockily as he flexed a bicep. “Damn straight.” He winked good-naturedly as you rolled your eyes a second time. A few seconds later, you heard the familiar clatter of his cup smashing against the sides of the sink, after he sunk another one of his ‘three-pointers.’ A half a minute later, the heavy thump of the bass in his room thudded dully down the hall and through your door.

You gulped as you stared up at the imposing shape of the building’s manager. Chris’ platinum hair had been perfectly styled with some wax to hold that familiar sheen as he peered into the apartment with piercing blue-green eyes. His tight shirt clung to the defined pectorals and chiseled abdominals on his torso. He was a good five years older than you, but that five years made one heck of a gap in the maturity of his features, including the blocky nature of his jaw and the stark gaze he had perfected over what you assumed to be the tenure of his work as a manager in the complex.

“I’ve come to talk with Randall,” he said curtly. “Is he in?”

“I think so. Is something the matter?”

“No. I just need to talk with him.” He shoved past you with little care, forcing you to stumble against the entertainment center to regain your balance. You didn’t even get the chance to call out a warning, before he was knocking forcefully at Randall’s door. You barely regained your feet, when you found yourself flung aside again by the assistant manager. His dark auburn hair had a few red highlights in it and jutted up in a series of spikes as he shoved his way past. Compression gear clung to every curve and bulge on his body. He didn’t bother to apologize, or even acknowledge your presence.

“Chris, what’s happenin’, bro?” Randall asked with a casual grin as he raised his fist up for a bump.

Chris gave an indulgent smile and returned the gesture in kind. “Nothing too serious. We just need to have a private word with you is all.” He gestured into Randal’s room. “May we?”

“Come on in,” Randall said cheerfully.

“Thank you.” He turned to glare at you. “We’ll talk with you later.”

You winced. Apparently, word of your actions had reached the manager, and he was far from pleased.

The talk took nearly an hour to finish. You raised your eyes from the book you’d been reading on the couch when the door finally opened.

“And remember to be there on time, Randall,” Chris rumbled.

“I will,” Randall’s voice carried from the hall.

“Good. Now feel free to carry on with your studies.”

The door closed. Randall’s workout track cued up, and the bass started thumping again. This time, you noted a few new chords in the soundtrack. Your eyes fell on the assistant manager pocketing a CD case.

“All that for a new track?” you asked.

“Among other things,” Chris said with a shrug. “Now, about your complaint.”

You winced, bracing for the beating you were almost certain would come.

“You were right.”

You blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter. I said you were right. The schedule was completely open to anyone entering the gym to work out. Given the, for lack of a better word, cooldown ritual that the others tend to follow after a hard workout, it could be deemed scandalous to others that are seeking to use the equipment. Most of the apartment complex has warned one another about our usual time to use the equipment, so we haven’t needed to make a reservation on the schedule. That will be changing now.” He extended a hand. “I hope there won’t be any hard feelings.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh, we’re livid,” Chris chuckled. “But a point is a point.” He grinned as he seized your hand “We’ll just have to see who wins the match, eh?”

You winced under the man’s grip, but he maintained perfect control, never once squeezing beyond your range of comfort.

“Until next time,” he said by way of farewell. “Oh, and by the way,” he said as he reached the door, “you might consider joining us before you judge us next time. Goodbye.”

They swept out together, leaving you to stew over their parting words and the familiar beat of Randall’s music.

You watched Randall flex in the mirror as you stepped out of the shower, and smirked at his grin. “Careful there, Narcissus. You might freeze like that.”

Randall chuckled and turned to pose for you. “Jealous?” he teased.

“You wish.” You chuckled and shoved him lightly. He didn’t budge, and his pecs were hard against your hand, straining the wrist.

Randall smirked. “Something wrong?”

“Okay, Randall, I think you’ve proven you’re the stronger one now.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s get ready.”

Randal nodded and pressed play on his phone. The Bluetooth speaker blared his tracks through the room as he lathered up and shaved the stubble off his face. You finished your usual morning ablutions and tapped your toe to the beat from time to time when the playlist hit a song you enjoyed.

Eventually, the pair of you stared at each other across the breakfast table: Randall in compression gear, you in your usual jeans and T-shirt.

“I’m gonna be home late today,” he said causally. His wireless earbuds rested snugly in his ear canals as he listened to his beats. “Got a lot of new exercises to practice for my certification.”

You shrug. “Okay. I’ve got some studying of my own to do for work, anyway. I’ll see you around.”

The rest of the meal was spent in relative silence. Randall ate his oatmeal and drank a primer, before clearing his dishes, washing them, and striding to the door. You retreated to your room and began to study.

You’re not sure how much time passed before you noticed it. The sound was faint, but you knew that tune. You peered up at your ceiling, cocking your head curiously. The music built and thumped louder, louder, louder.

“What the hell...?” You rose from your chair and strode outside, then up the stairs to the next floor. It didn’t take long to track the offending apartment in question. Number Sixty-nine had always been a little run down compared to the rest of the complex. Some chucklehead thought it would be funny to screw out the nine and flip it so it mirrored the six, then forced it back in. Management let it be for the sake of good humor and the nature of the individuals who usually housed there.

You knocked. Nobody answered.

You knocked again, louder this time. A tall young man with chiseled features and a high and tight flat top cut stared down at you. He must have been a good 6′ 3″. He raised both arms in his sleeveless muscle tee and performed a double bicep flex.

“Welcome to flex fest, bro. How can I help you?” The big man chuckled at his joke. You now understood why they reversed the numbers. What better way to show a subtle nod to working out than to imagine the two numerals as flexing arms?

You introduce yourself. “I live just downstairs. Your music is pounding through the floor, and I’m trying to study. Do you think you might be able to turn it down a little?”

The rhythmic thumping surged at you in wave upon wave of sound, not unlike the beating of the ocean against a cliff.

The big man chuckled and laid a beefy arm around your shoulders. “No can do, bro. We’re in the middle of our workouts. Gotta be ready.”

“Ready for what?” You practically have to shout to be heard over the surround sound speakers that have been installed in the apartment.

“The meeting, of course!” the lug shouted back as he pulled you in. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the guys.” He practically dragged you through the portal and into the apartment, slamming the door with a well-placed kick. The first room you entered was filled to the brim with heavy duty weights and mirrors. The kid squatted with a long metal bar on his shoulders to strain his calves and thighs with every motion. A blue singlet clung to his frame as he stared ahead and grunted in time to the pulsing beat.

“That’s Trav! Bro’s a real beast with the weights. Wants to be the strongest man in the world. As you can see, he’s well on his way.”

The next room was full of weighted jump ropes and a miniature punching bag being jabbed by a tall man with ebony skin that shone with his sweat. Powerful muscles bunched and tensed as he prepped to take another strike at his imaginary opponent. His short hair grew out to just cover the scalp, while stubble spread down the sides of his face and cascaded over the lips, chin, and cheeks.

“Andray,” the introduction went. “Came from Brooklyn, wanted to make somethin’ of himself. Thought he’d be a reporter, but then he found boxing. Lil’bro’s never looked back.”

The third room thumped just as loudly, but there wasn’t much in the way of fitness happening here. The occupant lifted a set of dumbbells in one hand, while the other clicked rhythmically on the keys of his computer.

“And that’s Douglas. He’s the new kind on the block. Bro’s only starting out, but he’s keeping up.” He strode in and reached for a half-empty cup that sat on the bed’s night stand. “Doug, bro. Don’t forget your shake.”

Douglas mumbled something back, and your guide grinned as he smacked Douglas’ shoulder.

“’Atta bro.”

He led you back into the final room, where a weight bench sat by the bed.

“Since you’re here, bro, come on in and spot me.” The door closed with a heavy slam, and you found yourself planted firmly behind the bench. “Just hold the bar if I start having trouble to help me put it up in rest.”

“But--”

“Bro, you interrupted my workout. Least you can do is help me finish my set, so I can help you with whatever’s wrong on your end.”

You rolled your eyes and let him have his way. He’d probably drag you back in, if you didn’t anyway, and it wasn’t like it was actually hurting you any.

You groaned as you melted into your couch. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why the hell did you let them bully you into doing those exercises?

“Someone looks beat.”

You rose your head in surprise. There was Randall in his gear looking you over critically.

“Sixty nine?” he asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Loud music?”

Again, you nodded.

“Figured.” He smirked. “Bro, they’re too thick-headed to change. You should just leave it and focus on doing the stuff you want to do.”

You groaned again, and he chuckled.

“Here. Let me whip up something to help.” You heard the whirr of the blender blades, winced as it grated against your ears. And then there it was, the same slop Randall had been drinking for months. “It designed to absorb all the acid your muscles make when they’re broken up, helps reduce the soreness and improve recovery time.”

“If I throw up, you’re cleaning it.”

“Nope, that’s all you,” he teased mercilessly.

You grumbled, but accepted the shake gratefully. At least he was trying to help.

“Look, I’m just saying it’s pretty obvious you’re feeling restless. A little workout here and there would do you some good.”

“I’d rather not deal with potential retaliation from every muscle member of our complex, thank you very much,” you say pointedly.

“Did the guys at Sixty Nine do anything to you?”

“... No.”

“Then I doubt the others will either. Pretty sure I’ve seen them going to the gym for those meetings. Come on. I’ll go with you, if you think it’ll help.”

You sigh. “I doubt it, but I suppose it can’t hurt to experiment.”

It hurt. Oh, did it hurt. Your muscles groaned in protest with every move as you pulled yourself out of bed. Randall grinned at you as you dragged yourself into the kitchen.

“Damn, man. You look awful.”

“You should know. You did this to me,” you complained.

“No, I just put you through a training session. Your body’s doing this to you, because it’s not used to it. Drink another shake. You’ll be fine.”

You grunt and motion to the speaker with a loll of the head. “New music?”

“Yeah. I’m experimenting with different tracks. I call this one Morning Pump.”

“Of course you would.”

He shrugged. “Gotta do the work to get the gains. It’s fun, you know.” He struck a pose. “And the benefits speak for themselves.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get going, ya meathead,” you sass.

“Yes, Sir, Coach,” Randall shot back with an infuriating smirk. “I will grow my meat. It is good to grow my meat.”

“Get out.” You blush as you feel a stirring in your loins and your muscles start to tense.

Randall bowed flamboyantly. “Your wish is my command.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to your room, where your computer sat waiting. It was time to do some research.

Music thrummed in your head. You felt hot and sweaty. Your arms trembled.

“One more,” a voice said. “One more.”

“One more,” you mumbled.

“Just a little more....”

The weights clanked as Darwin guided the bar back into its rest and grinned down at you. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

You blush. “It’s not that much progress.”

“Bro, it’s enough. You broke the plateau. Now you’re really gonna start making some gains.” He chuckled and handed you a packet. “Here. This stuff has some real kick to it. It’ll really help you bulk up.”

“But I don’t--”

“Bro, you wouldn’t be here, if you didn’t want to. Now take it home, and add it to your drinks. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“I ... thanks, I guess?”

He smirked. “You can thank me later.”

The clanking haunted your dreams. The thumping haunted your waking hours. Every second, every day, your walk, your movements, everything followed a set rhythm. You blinked blearily as you tapped the next button on your keyboard and followed the slide show. Image after image, muscle after muscle. You hovered briefly over one of them and blinked in surprise. Was that Randall?

But then the thump struck, the key clicked, the image moved forward, and you were following again. Following the rhythm, following the beat, following as the earbuds picked up on the feed from your phone. It was easy to transfer the tracks from Randall’s CD. You leaned back and stared after clicking into a new tab. You don’t remember opening it, but images and words flash before you in time to the beat. You lean back and let the cotton rub against your pecs and abs.

You blink. And suddenly the room is dark, save for your screen. The tab is gone. You’re staring at a series of tattoos. Without even thinking, you rise, you walk to the door, you ghost into the night. And everything blurs.

The heat from the gym room is stifling as you get off the treadmill. You’d long since shucked your clothing, save for a pair of briefs and a tight pair of socks that strained against the clubs your feet have grown into. You open the window. A familiar beat carries on the air and your mind slows. You reach down and pat absently at your crotch. “You’ve sure gotten big, little guy.” Then you let out a chuckling guffaw at the ludicrous situation of talking to your junk.

Then suddenly, you’re not alone. Chris smiles at you as you stare into a mirror. A camera is in his hands. You hear the click. It fits in perfect time with the thud of your music.

“That’s it,” his deep voice rumbled as he grinned. “How do you feel now?”

You look up at him, your mind awash with a strange sense of vertigo and euphoria that stuff it with cotton. Goosebumps wash over your swollen muscles as they tense, causing your tattoo to ripple over your shoulder and bicep.

“I’m ready for the meating, Sir.”

The door opens, and Randall walks in with a blank expression on his face. He stands next to you with the same brand of underwear, the same filmy socks. “Ready for the meating, Sir.”

The timer went off, signaling the end of your reserved time. You didn’t move. The room filled with muscle. You didn’t bat an eyelash. You posed. You flexed. The cameras flashed. You cycled to the machines. You worked. You went back to the mirrors again. Sweat glistened in the light to highlight the curves and striations you’d worked so hard to develop.

“Welcome to the meat,” Chris sneered.

You just stared blankly ahead as you patted your crotch again. “I am meat. Meat must grow. Bigger meat is better meat.”

He knew it was true. You knew it was true. You would grow your meat, because you were a meathead. And that was what these meatings were for.

You called to apologize to the owner the very next day. You never complained again. There was no time with all the routines you had to follow and the scouting that needed doing. After all, you had to prepare for the next meating. It was your turn to pick the inductee.

Caution: This short story portrays a hypnotic trainer guiding his subject deeper into trance. It may induce trance in some readers. If you are driving or operating heavy machinery, please do not risk reading this story. You have been warned.

Also, please leave comments, reblog, and like, if you enjoyed this. Thank you!

Dumb Down Pulldown

That’s right, Grunt. Keep pulling. Keep grunting. The lower you get on those numbers, the better you feel, falling deeper into trance, deeper into pleasure, pleasure at working out, pleasure at lifting, lifting to grow, growing stronger, stronger in body, your muscular body, muscle filling your body, growing with every pump, spreading with every pump. Spreading, like my voice through your head. Spreading to increase your discipline, to increase control, my control.

You feel it now, don’t you kid? I can tell you do. That pleasure, that desire. The desire to keep listening to my voice, to pull down on that bar over and over, getting lower, getting deeper with every set as you count down those notches.

Weights go higher, bar goes lower. Voice grows stronger, thoughts get slower. Slower with every pump, every rep, dropping deeper and deeper, lower and lower, slower and slower.

So low. So slow. Slower as your body takes control. Slower as you feel the strain on your muscles driving away all other thoughts. Slower is dumber, Grunt. But that’s okay. You like dumber, don’t you? It feels so good to descend into that empty place where your mind is so calm, so dull. Dull, like these weights. Dim, like that black cable moving up and down, up an down as you pump, as you listen, as you fall deeper and deeper into my voice. It’s funny, isn’t it, just letting it all go as you listen, as you pump, as you pull yourself deeper and deeper.

That’s right, laugh, Grunt. Let it out. You remember that lesson, don’t you? Controlled breathing, measured, confident, just like your sets, just like your pulldowns. Pulling down those barriers, pulling down those walls of resistance as you welcome me in, welcome my voice to guide you, guide you down, down into bliss, the ignorant bliss that comes from a life a pure muscle.

Brain becoming brawn, smarts becoming small, smaller and smaller as you grow your meat, grow that thick, dull space in your head, clearing it so my voice can echo within, echo and rebound, whispering, repeating, repeating. Repeating my mantra, my words, my will. So empty, so clear, always there, always repeating, reinforcing as you listen, as you obey, because my voice is my will, my will is your will while I train you. You trust my voice. You trust my will. So it doesn’t matter whether it’s my voice or yours, because they are one and the same.

This is the mantra. This is my will. This is what you will repeat:

“I am a dumb musclehead. My place is in the gym. Fitness is my life. The bigger I grow, the dumber I become. I am a dumb musclehead. I will grow into a muscle bull. I am a dumb musclehead. I will grow. My place is in the gym with my fellow muscle bulls. I will follow the herd. I will obey.”

Repeat.

...

Good muscle bull. I must check on the rest of the herd. Repeat your mantra. Should you break out of trance, you will recall none of what I said, but it will whisper all the same inside of you, driving you forward, driving you to work out, like a good muscle bull.

Now get at it, stud. We have prizes to win.

Andrea presti

Don’t Look

One year. One whole fucking year, you’d been trapped in this hellhole. One whole year of weights and shakes, supps and bros, grunts and flexes, and that constant arrogant son of a bitch that made you into the MUSCLE GOD you are today.

...

Damn it. You can’t even think like you used to anymore. Bro was clever, for a dumb pile of meat. No sooner do the words cross your mind than your body acts on its own. You hear that deep husky chuckle as your voice echoes and rebounds through the gym. You hardly even recognize it anymore. It just sounds so ... dull, so empty.

Didn’t used to like him. Hell, like never came into it. You loathed him. Kept strutting his stuff, showing off, bringing home girls and bros alike at all hours of the day and night. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. You had a schedule to keep, damn it. You had to WORK OUT.

...

WORK OUT

...

WORK OU--

Damn it! You had to go to your job. You had to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX.

...

It’s so hard to fight this thing. Your head jumps tracks every time you try to finish a sentence, to think about the old life. Everything just jumps right back to the GYM and WEIGHTS.

“FUCK!” you snarl. You wish you’d never worn those stupid AWESOME HEADPHONES.

You remember when you blew up at him. The look on his face, the blindside, the anger, and a glimmer of something else. Curiosity? Intrigue? Or had you just imagined that?

Mmm ... you’d love to imagine some hot a--

NO! Can’t give in to base instincts. That’s what he wants.

Though that one blonde, ... damn was she fine. Her voice. Her hips. You’re ashamed of what you did, but ... at the same time, ...

“I want more,” you whisper. You clench a hand into a fist. “Damn it....”

You remember the gift. He said to consider them an apology, a way to compromise, so you could, “sleep deep, bro.”

The dumbbells clack with every lunge you take now. Your body follows a set rhythm that you cannot break. Those words, those thoughts, those actions. Carefully planned, every last one. And you didn’t realize until it was too late.

Your headphones became your collar, its white noise your leash.

You’re still not sure what was real and what was dream. Strip clubs, health bars, gym work, muscle ache, kneeling, listening, a shadow, a phantom figure posing you like some giant mannequin.

It takes a moment to realize you’re now reflecting that exact pose in the mirror.

“Damn it,” you swear. “I’m such a dumbass.”

You feel your body shudder at that word. You know your programming approves, and he would, too.

You can’t remember when you first found out the truth. You just remember the anger and rage boiling inside, followed immediately by his crisp command. And suddenly, you were on the floor doing pushups. The anger was fueling you to break your last plateau.

You look down at your swollen arms.

You broke that plateau, all right.

Every move you tried to make against him, he would counter neatly, as a chess master would a novice.

You lost your job.

“Numbers are too hard for a dumbass like you.”

You lost your friends.

“You’ve got, like, nothing in common with them anymore, bro.”

The library banned you. You’re still not sure why. Maybe he greased a few palms. Big bro was hella rich.

“Who needs books, when you’ve got weights, bro?”

He blocked the channels with a password, so you could only watch athletic events.

“Come on, bro. Big game’s on. You know you wanna watch it....”

Even the beard was his idea.

“It’ll make you look like a total rugged badass, bro! Who wouldn’t want that?”

You were completely surrounded.

“Let me introduce you to some of my best bros...”

Always watched.

“Here, let me spot you, little bro.”

Stripped.

“You need some new duds, bro.”

Dressed.

“Aw, hell yeah. Now that’s what I call ALPHA!”

Fed.

“Chicken and rice. Gotta get your lean proteins, bro.”

... Programmed.

“Time to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX, bro. Got something new for ya....”

And you let him. The plastic sheath on one of the machines creaks and groans under your muscular grip as you grit your teeth, all while the white noise continues to play, pushing you, motivating you to work harder and grow your meat. The bulge straining in your crotch would have left you embarrassed at one point. Now, all you can do is stare at it blankly and chuckle, like it’s all some sort of game, and you’re winning.

... But how much have you lost?

Then the static cuts off. You hear the ringtone from your cell phone.

Your neck strains as the muscles you’ve spent so long developing pulse and writhe under the skin. There’s only one person who’d call you this late anymore.

And you hate his guts, even as his words push you to obey and respect him.

“‘Sup, bro?”

His voice on the other end is smug. “Just checking in on my new best bro.”

You try to bite back the glow of pride swelling in your chest. You don’t succeed.

“Was just getting in some extra sets before coming home. I’m fucking starved. What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite.”

You moan. “Ribs?” Damn him for using your love of barbecue against you.

“I figured you deserved a reward, after all your hard work.”

You flex, as though he were there. It’s natural, automatic. It’s ... how you react to a lot of things now, actually.

“It has been a whole year,” he noted. “And I wanted to celebrate with you. We’re pulling out all the stops. Hell, I’ve even got a special gift lined up for you, if you want it.”

“Don’t I have to accept all your ‘gifts,’ anyway?”

“Was that a note of bitterness I detected?”

“Maybe just a little,” you admit. You can’t lie to him. He made sure of that. Bros before hoes. Bros don’t keep secrets.

“So, you’re still not happy?”

“You should know. You are my roommate.”

“I thought you would’ve warmed up to it by now. You flirt like a champ, tackle weights like a beast, and you practically baptized yourself with beer at the superbowl party.”

You shrug your titanic shoulders. “I’m a bro, bro. You kinda m--. M--.” You furrow your brow. You can’t say the word.

“I made you like this. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You nod.

After a period of silence, he spoke up. “You do realize I can’t see you, right?”

The sound of your hand slapping your forehead was enough to set him off laughing.

“Fuck you,” you snarl. S’not funny!” Finally, a loophole in your programming you can exploit.

He was silent for a time. “No, I suppose it’s not. It wasn’t funny when you challenged me either. You killed my date that night. Not cool, bro.”

“And that justifies putting me on a training regimen?” You couldn’t outright call it brainwashing or hypnosis. Those words had been forbidden.

“Considering all the names you called me that night, yeah. I wanted you to see just what it was like to be a bro, to think like a bro, to act like a bro. I wanted you to know just how it feels to have society judging you every second of every day for your choices, always thinking you’re just some dumb musclehead waiting to show off. Never taking you seriously, never giving you the time of day. I wanted you to see the sacrifices we had to make to get where we are with the whole world laughing in our faces. So yes, I think your ‘training regimen’ was well deserved.”

You could practically see his glare over the line.

“I may be a dumbass and a jerk at times, but at least I own it. I told you what I had planned. I let you know in advance, and you never said a word to me, not one word. Did you really think I wouldn’t have listened, if you’d just pulled me aside in private and asked? But no, you were too scared to. You thought the big bad alpha bro was gonna beat you up the moment you stepped out of line. You’re not scared of me now, are you?”

“No.”

“And why do you think that is?”

You grit your teeth again.

“Judging by your silence, you know the right answer. You’re angry at me, but you’re not scared of me, because you’ve gotten to know me.” He was silent for a time. He didn’t have to worry about you closing the call. Only he could end the conversation. “I’ll tell you what. It’s clear enough that you’ve learned your lesson, even if you’re not willing to admit it. Part of that is the pride I helped build, and part of it is the pride you had before I even started helping you. So, I’m going to give you a choice, or rather, a chance. If you want to be your old self again in every way, you just have to do one little thing. I’ll even make sure to pay you back for all your troubles and losses.”

“... I’m listening.”

“All you have to do is keep yourself from admiring yourself in the mirror. No flexing, no posing, no standing still to look over your changes. If you can keep that up for the rest of your workout time without doing any exercises or fitness-related stretches, then I’ll reverse everything I’ve done in your head. Fail, though, and you have to pay the price.”

“Which is?”

“You get to say goodbye to your old self entirely of your own free will. You’ll accept being a bro, embrace it, love it, revel in it. The bro will be you, and you will be the bro. You’ll become the dimwitted musclehead you feared. The gym will be your home, your fellow bros your family. Sports and weights, muscle and shakes, and letting your meat do all the thinking for you will be your new norm, and you’ll love every second of it.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“Then we continue as we have.”

“Let me get this straight. So, it’s either try and possibly be free, or don’t and wind up with the failure option eventually happening no matter what.”

“Exactly.”

“... You’re on.”

“Excellent. Good luck, little bro.”

The call cut off. The static returned, and you took your seat as you reviewed your phone. Just had to keep distracted. That was all.

The first few minutes were a breeze, but after that the restlessness set in. Your body wanted to move, and you knew the recording was reinforcing that need to egg you on. You leaned forward and pulled up your phone’s apps. Your brainwashing had forced you to delete the entertainment apps and left you only with fitness trackers and camera.

You clicked into the camera app and scrolled through your selfies from the start to now. Big bro had done a good job. You had to admit that. That uncertainty solidifying into a cocky smirk. The clothes shifting to large, then extra large, then XXL. Sleeves being torn. Seams burst. It left you feeling breathless. You squirmed in your chair as you felt another surge of instinct scream at you to act, to move, to work out.

Your chest heaved as your triceps contracted under the sudden shift in your posture. You looked desperately down at your dangling necklace swinging back and forth. The chain was designed to highlight the amount of muscle you’d built in your pectorals. Surely, it could help keep you distracted for a few more minutes.

You fiddled with the chain, listening to its links hiss and chink as you hefted and manipulated it. You dug it into your skin a few times to try and distract yourself from that gnawing urge. Toes tapped, heels bounced. It was so difficult!

Why?

Your fingers played with the exercise band to keep your mind occupied, but that didn’t help. Your phone glitched, and the appc losed out. You opened the camera again, and caught a snatch of calf between all the weights.

Your breath became shallow as your hand shook.

Come on. You’re stronger than this. Think about the consequences. Think about ... about ... what were their names again? 

You could barely recall the faces of your former friends. They were more blurs than proper images. Blurs that slowly hardened into thick, square jaws and piercing eyes. The familiar impact of dice rolling on the table was replaced with the equally familiar clank of weights smacking against one another and the retort of guns on the shooting range.

Clapping hands became back slaps. Hand shakes were fist bumps. Exultant cheers and jubilant hugs were replaced with grunts, roars, and chest bumps.

That’s ... that’s not....

Tackling.

I...

Videogames with wrestling.

Can’t....

Soda cans replaced with beer.

No....

Delicate hands brushing over your beastly arms. “Hey there, stud. How about a gun show?”

Your legs are spread wide, your eyes unfocused. Weight and bars and chicks and muscle and posing and wrestling and ... and ... and....

“Heads up, Bro!”

The camera flash had been so intense back then. You blinked. You heard a shutter click.

You gaped at the image on your phone. Your thumbs moved on autopilot. You hit send.

Back at your apartment, your Big Bro smiles at the image and its accompanying text as he pulls the ribs out of the oven.

Better have those fucking ribs ready, Bro. I’m starving.

The Pendant of Somnambula

The Pendant of Somnambula is a curious artifact, and one of my favorites to give away to customers. Each one has to be fashioned from a stone that I’ve grown steeped in a magical solution to get just that right swirl. I also have a lovely garden one of my workers tends to water the stones with a similar solution as they develop in caves underground. Once the stone has developed to the size and potency I desire, it’s a simple matter to polish and cut it, then mount in a framework engraved with the runes necessary to bind the pendant to its host and channel its innate magic.

Once bound to a host, the pendant is able to support its carrier by subtly increasing charisma over time. The bearer will become more convincing and enticing to various individuals with whom he has regular contact. The longer they are near the stone as the buyer wears it, the more they will fall under his or her influence.

Of course, the stone also wishes to please its host. As such, its influence will also reach out to the very individual who wears it. Take this customer for example. He started off much smaller than this. He wanted something to help boost his confidence in the gym, so he could reach his goals in peace.

As you can see, the man has clearly reached and exceeded them. The pendant whispered to his mind and heart in his sleep to drive him with greater motivation. Over time, he developed relationships with various other muscle men in the gym. They serve beneath him now, and as you can see here, their constant interaction acted as reinforcement for the entire group to focus on building their muscles. He’s a personal trainer now, and does a fine job of it.

More often than not, my customers go into trance after taking pictures of themselves with their pendants. But don’t worry, there’s a failsafe to ensure no harm comes to them from it. And, of course, as part of the payment for the service my pendants provide, I am able to call upon the buyers when necessary for various jobs and purposes. Whether it be to act as muscle, an escort, a contact, or something else, they are only too eager to listen to my voice and follow my commands.

Don’t you look at me like that. I most certainly am not an abuser of that fact. The pendants may be bound to obey me, and thus their bearers as well, but I don’t treat them like slaves.

However, I will admit that as a writer, I do enjoy having the more muscular ones send me pictures with various poses in their progress for me to use in my stories. There’s something enticing about such images, wouldn’t you agree? Here, let me show you.

Now, now. It’s perfectly safe. Go on. He’s waiting for you. Don’t be rude.

A thick meaty hand supports you by gripping your arm as you stumble through the portal into the poorly illuminated locker room. Thin black strips stretch down to barely conceal the nipples on the man’s massive chest. A deep voice rolls smoothly from the bearded lips above that giant muscled torso as your eyes lock onto a pulsing golden stone that writhes like a galaxy in motion.

“Hey there, little guy. This gym’s for meatheads only. Let’s see what we can do to help you fit the part....”

Pledge

He didn’t remember what happened last night. He didn’t remember how he got there. All he knew was his head was killing him, and his whole body ached. He groaned.

“Bro, what the hell happened last night?” He blinked in surprise. Had his voice always been so deep? He felt the warmth of sunbaked stone beneath his arm and turned his head as he stretched one of his arms up to his head and felt the fabric of his snapback. He didn’t remember putting it on.

A big house stood in the distance. Someone was standing on the porch. His sleeveless muscle tee clung to his gigantic pectorals, and his square jaw accented the broad shoulders and clenching abdominals of his torso. A few seconds later, his chiseled features blocked out the sun as he peered down at the prone figure.

“You seriously fall asleep out here, lil’bro?”

The man on the grass blinked blearily. His bicep tingled as he stared up at the behemoth looming over him. “I, uh ... I guess?” He furrowed his brow. “I ... don’t really remember, bro.”

“Big.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Big Bro. You’re my lil’bro, and I’m your Big Bro.” He lowered a hand. “Got it?”

“Uh ...” He seized the hand. “I ... guess.” He was on his feet in seconds. “Thanks, uh ... Big Bro....” He shuddered, then groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head. Wave upon wave of pleasure plowed over his body. “Uhhh.. Huhuhuhuh....”

“That’s right, Lil’bro.” The big man twisted the cap around so the bill sloped down Lil’bro’s neck and exposed his face. He sneered as he watched the man’s legs swell in the boxer shorts he was wearing. The fabric creaked as a distinct swelling began in the crotch, and a full beard grew in on the man’s face as the hairs thickened on his swelling pectorals, then spread down in a treasure trail through the shallow trench that was the beginnings of a defined six pack. “Just enjoy the ride. Let it happen.” He rubbed the man’s growing bicep and grinned. “Damn, you are gonna be huge. Think I’ll call you Swole. How’s that sound, Lil’bro?” he asked as he curled an arm around the man’s shoulders and led him closer to the house.

“Swole....” he parroted as his swelling feet smacked against the stones leading up to the porch.

“Just a big, dumb, swole bro, Lil’bro.”

“Yuh....”

The big man grinned as he pulled his hand aside to reveal a large 86 on Swole’s bicep. He flexed his own bicep to show off the giant 01 that had been inked there and watched in satisfaction as the light left the half-naked man’s eyes. “Yeah, you’re gonna fit right in, Pledge.”

“Whatever you say, Big Bro....”

The frat president sneered as the front door creaked open to reveal row upon row of muscle men posed in identical double bicep flex to salute their president, each sporting a large number on their left bicep. “Damn straight. Now go join the line.”

The Builder

“Framework is coming along very nicely,” you complimented your foreman as you looked over the joists and beams that had been nailed together and inserted into the foundation. “Wiring and plumbing seem to be going well. How soon until the basics are finished?”

“Another couple of weeks. Had to get a special distributor to fit the client’s specifications for a green building.”

“Let me guess, recycled material?”

He nodded. “You know how people want to focus on the environment now.”

“Protecting the environment, I understand. Insisting on using materials that may not be the same quality, however, just seems like a crime to me.”

“Sometimes, you just have to work with what you have. Speaking of which, I think someone wants a word with you.” The foreman motioned curtly with his head.

You turned around to stare at your latest work in progress. The lad had grown a great deal since he helped with the last house. A sleeveless tank clung to his bulky frame as his nipples stood out against the tight material. Veins ran down his arms in rivers as a set of dog tags jingled and clinked in the gap between his pectorals. A shiny white helmet obscured all signs of the lad’s hair, but you already knew he’d buzzed it down at your request.

“What did you do to me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged. “Employ you, train you, pay you. Was there anything else you wanted to accuse me of?”

“What did you use on me, steroids or something?” he growled as he stepped closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’m a builder, not a drug lord. All I did was remodel you for the job, the same way I would any house. It did the trick. You’re adhering to the rules of the site and performing your job admirably. Thank you for actually wearing your hardhat today, by the way. It suits your hard head, a head so thick and square, so well defined. Why, I’d even go so far as to call it a block. Yes, a hard hat on a block head.”

“Wh-what’re you--?”

“A hard hat making it so hard to think. A block head blocking those pesky thoughts. Built like a brick, built like a wall, a wall that only I can pass with my words, my key.”

He stumbled and swayed. “S-stop--.”

“Yes, stop talking. Stop thinking.”

His hands clenched as he trembled. “No,” he practically whimpered.

“No thoughts, no worries,” you continued relentlessly. “No pesky doubts. Just my voice. It’s time for an inspection, Blockhead.”

His shoulders slumped. His arms rested lazily at his sides as he stared blankly ahead at you. “Ready for inspection,” he said in a dull monotone.

Your foreman whistled. “Damn. I never get tired of seeing that.”

“You think that’s special, wait till you see what I have in store next.” You smirk as you look at the young man. “You’ve been building nicely. A strong foundation is important in any building project.” You brush over each of the man’s muscles, testing for resistance, mass, and fat index. “Strong walls,” you note. “You built them sturdily and well. A little more strength never hurts, though. Let’s make them a little bigger, shall we?”

The workman rasped as his jaw snapped and cracked to gain greater definition, while the tanktop rode up higher and tighter under his armpits. His shoulders broadened as his biceps, triceps, and flexors swelled alongside his pectorals.

“Those walls need a firm foundation.”

A few seconds later, the workman grunted as a bulge began to press against the toes of his work boots. A brush of your hands over the footwear, and they expanded by two more sizes to fit the new broad feet they housed.

“Now for the plumbing. A proper house needs good strong pipes and a powerful pump for the well.”

The worker’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as he groaned. More veins spread over his musculature, creating a vascular spectacle.

“Such a deep, deep well. So full. So deep.”

The muscles in the workman’s neck thickened as heavy cords became more apparent. A thick lump jutted out midway down his neck, while a bulge pressed slowly against the crotch of his jeans and continued to expand with every breath.

You nod in satisfaction. “Now, more importantly, it’s clear we need to work on that faulty wiring. You’re too suspicious of me. That needs to change. After all, I’m your boss. I want my workmen to trust me. No more worry about changes. All you need know is that I’m the boss. You do what I tell you, because of that. From now on, you’re a proper member of my work crew, understand? No need to question the builder’s renovations. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m a builder, so i know what I’m doing. I’ll even install a dimmer switch for the lights upstairs, so you can think more clearly on the important tasks with my permission. Aside from that, though, you’re going to stay my big lumbering blockhead, got it?”

“Yes, Sir, Boss....”

“Good boy.” You snap your fingers and watch as he blinks. There’s a definite dullness about his eyes as he stares at you for a few moments. “Yeah, Blockhead?” you ask.

He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Uh ... you need me to carry more stuff today, Boss?”

You shake your head. “No, but Taft here bet me fifty dollars you won’t be willing to put on a gun show for us.”

He blinked slowly, then raised an arm and flexed it as he furrowed his brow. A subtle protrusion began to form in the bone structure over his eye sockets as he did. A few seconds later, he beamed at you. “Do I get to split it with you?”

You smirk. “Sure, big guy.”

He chuckled. “Then let’s do this.” And with that, he began to flex, straining his clothing to its absolute limits against his new physique. The whole time, he bassooned a deep husky chuckle. “Huhuhuhuh....”

It didn’t take long for the other workers to respond in kind. You sigh contentedly at the sound.

“I do love my blockheads,” you say. Then you chuckle. “And that’s why you never mess with the builder, Taft.”

Taft chuckled. “Don’t gotta tell me twice, boss.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remodel you, too.”

The House of the Rising Guns

“You think he’s gonna come out?” the first of the bullies asked.

Grant rolled his eyes as he folded his toned arms and stared at the white door. The old house had been abandoned for years, and they’d seen to it that their little freshie would be scared out of his mind, thanks to all the little surprises they’d cooked up. “Little nerd probably cried himself to sleep last night.” He strode out to the porch and thumped heavily on the door. “Yo, Jackson! You can come out now!” he shouted.

The door slowly creaked open to reveal the barest trappings of a cloth over a long rectangular surface that most likely was a mirror. Grant’s eyes widened when a wall of muscle lumbered out onto the porch, instead of the weak asthmatic he had come to enjoy teasing. The brim of the boy’s cap cast a shadow over his chiseled square jaw, and a sleeveless tanktop that read FOX with a fox head next to it on its front had replaced the hoodie he’d worn the night before.

The muscle man’s arms rose in a double bicep flex to expose the patches of hair that had grown out his armpits. The bullies watched in awe and surprise as that hair lightened before their eyes from a dark auburn to a bright gold. Veins snaked out over the sculpted curves and ridges of his arms, while his pectorals and lats bulged and expanded in the morning light.

He didn’t seem to recognize them as he looked down on the bullies. “’Sup, bros?” he lowed in a deep stuffy voice.

“Jackson?” Grant asked disbelievingly.

“The one n’only.” He let out a low deep guffaw as he posed and flexed in front of the boys. “This place is fucking ace! You guys should totally join me for my morning workout. They’ve got a whole gym in here! Treadmills, weights, rowing machines, the works!” He groaned in pleasure and rolled his eyes. “And the kitchen! All the supps a bro could ask for. You’ve gotta come see, guys,” he gushed.

“Come ... see....”

Jackson recoiled as he felt one of his possy shoulder past him to step heavily onto the porch. The kid’s eyes were glassy as he stared into Jackson’s own, and he swayed on his feet.

Jackson sneered. “Knew I’d get at least one of you to wanna come.” He clapped his thick hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Welcome to the House of the Rising Guns, bro.”

Grant gaped as he watched the shirt starting to ride up on his former crony, followed by the sound of creaking denim. The kid’s arms rose to mirror Jackson’s.

“Sun’s out, guns out,” he said with a chuckle.

“That’s right, bro. Come on in. Let me give you the grand tour.”

Grant gaped after the pair as the door creaked shut with a heavy slam.

After three solid minutes of gaping and running through the conversation in his head, he finally managed to say, “... What the fuck just happened?” He scratched a pectoral absently as he turned to his remaining two underlings. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. The other two nodded numbly as they strode away from the building. They didn’t notice how tight their shoes had become, nor the way their shirts had begun to cling to their torsos.

Jackson smirked as he watched them depart from behind one of the tinted windows. “They’ll be back,” he said to his new companion.

“Bro....” the other replied as he pumped a set of heavy dumbbells in either hand and watched his shirt slowly get torn apart in the process.

Jackson chuckled. “That’s a good little bro.”

Get Bricked

You didn’t believe him when he first approached you in the gym. You thought he’d misspoken. Most of the guy in the gym did, actually, and Marcus was the biggest of the bunch.

“Let me help you,” he’d said. “Work with me, and by the time I’m done with you, you’ll really be bricked.”

“Uh, don’t you mean ripped?” you’d asked.

Marcus just smiled as he motioned to the weight bench.

It came in little stages. A few reps here, a bit of cardio there. And all the while, Marcus would babble on about his work routine, his diets, the focus it required, the diligence, the ability to be absolutely unyielding in every respect. It got kinda repetitive, so you just sort of grunted and filtered it out as you worked.

For a time, things were pretty cool. Your grades were up, your concentration was better than it had ever been before. You’d learned how to filter out things you didn’t want to listen to or focus on, thanks to all that practice with Marcus in the first place. And it goes without saying that your body was toning nicely. Things were pretty great.

Then he suggested you spend more time in the gym.

And before you knew it, you’d already grunted and nodded along like you always do. His grin was massive, and the workout that day particularly vicious. Your arms felt like they wanted to fall off. You were so tired that night, you didn’t even want to so much as think about your homework.

So you didn’t.

It was the first time you deliberately chose not to work on an assignment you knew was going to be due the next day. It wouldn’t be the last.

The workouts were killers, but you couldn’t help but smile weakly at Marcus when you’d managed to push through another plateau. The guy was just so enthusiastic and charismatic. He’d flex whenever he got really excited. You couldn’t help but wonder if the muscle was part of it all in the first place. Could it really be that simple to gain such confidence?

...

It had been so embarrassing the first time he caught you posing in the locker room mirrors. But then he just chuckled and popped a little flex of his own.

“Like this, bro,” he’d said. You spent the next half hour practicing poses in the mirror. The way the light reflected off his skin, the ripple of the raw muscle beneath the flesh, the way the veins accented the primary locations. It was almost a form of poetry.

You practiced those poses every day from then on at home in your closet mirror.

Then came the party. Marcus insisted you attend at his place for a premier football game, just a close gathering, some of the guys hanging out. You were flattered, but you hardly felt prepared for that sort of thing. Sports had never really been your forte. But Marcus insisted. Time and place.

It was inevitable for you to follow.

You’re still not exactly sure what happened that night. Things are sort of hazy. You arrived on time, but none of the other guys from the gym were there yet. Marcus just chuckled and said they’d be along soon. Then he wrapped his huge arm around your shoulders and led you to the huge leather couch in front of a gigantic flat screen TV.

One minute you were watching the screen. The next, you were standing at the door with your iphone in hand and the rest of the gym goers smacking you on the back.

“I want you to listen to those tunes, bro,” Marcus said seriously. “No skimping out. Every day for your warmups, every night when you sleep. Got it?”

You nodded numbly. And for some odd reason, you chose to run home that night, rather than calling a cab.

It got a lot easier to understand the guys at the gym after that. It didn’t take all that much, really. You just had to do a little research on football and some of the other sports they liked. If you didn’t know about something, you’d ask one of them, and they’d be able to explain it in perfect detail. You were shocked. The guys weren’t dumb. They just specialized. Tony was football, Mikey weights, Alphy diet and nutrition. They became your gurus, all while Marcus continued to push your limits with his routines.

You nearly threw it all away when you got your report card at the end of the year, though. C in almost every course. That wasn’t like you. How were you supposed to get into college like this? It hurt to go and tell the news to Marcus, but you knew you had to.

Then came that hazy period again. You’re not sure what was said. All you knew was you needed to keep going. The gym made you happy now, surprisingly enough. And the guys, well ... you’d become sort of like a unit. You couldn’t picture doing anything without them around anymore.

You got yourself a tutor, and he helped you to pass. You didn’t like that your GPA had dropped so much, but it was better than before.

You hardly pay attention to the teachers now, though. It’s all just so ... boring for you. You’d pass the time by doing mini-flexes and running through some of the games you’d caught the other night in your head.

You still remember the first time you chuckled. It had been so easy. It just sort of burst out of you like a belch. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed. You chuckled. You flexed....

Most of your games moldered in the dust now. Madden, EA Games, sports, those all were used well enough. After all, you had to have something to play with your bros from time to time.

Then they finally invited you here, to this place. The rough stone blocks behind you were a light dull gray. Daylight streamed over it, highlighting the muscles that now stood out from your sleeveless shirt.

The response was automatic. You raised your arms and flexed. You admired the light as it played across the flesh, casting it shadows that flowed over the curves and bends like a work of art.

You smirked.

You sneered.

You were a muscle god, and you liked it that way.

School? Screw it.

D&D? Bro, you were living that dream. No need to play a barbarian with these guns.

Your future? ... Why think about it? Your future was here with your bros.

Class? ... Class made your head hurt. Whatever. If you pass, that’s all that mattered. You couldn’t get banned from the gym. S’where you and the bros hung out.

You stare into Marcus’ face as he grins triumphantly at you.

“So, how does it feel to be bricked?”

The words flow out of you as easily as if you’d been cursing your whole life. “Huhuh. Fucking sweet, bro.”

And it was. The gym is your life now. The gym and your bros. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Since I couldn’t get the old post uncensored, here’s the story again with the same image, which is CLEARLY FINE with tumblr guidelines. Hopefully it won’t get flagged this time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Off The Record

Day 1:

Well, here’s day one of my voice journal. I’ve officially been processed and am now a part of the new exchange program between Earth and Braün. My quarters have been set up, and I start my job tomorrow. Since I majored in biology and health sciences on Earth, I’ve been tasked with working at a gym with Braün trainers and dietitians to gain a better understanding of this world’s nutrition and eating habits. Since our two worlds are integrating at such a rapid pace, it’s good for Earth to know what Braünies like and vice versa. I can’t wait to see all the different kinds of cuisine this world has to offer. Who knows? Perhaps some of the food here will have unknown benefits for humans back on Earth. I suppose time will tell. Regardless, it’s definitely exciting.

Day 4:

I’ve gone through orientation and training. The boss has me working the bar for now. The healthy snacks they serve here are really high quality. Fruits, vegetables, smoothies, shakes, all designed with a healthy body in mind. You won’t find any artificial flavors or preservatives here. And they produce all this quality sustainably! I don’t know how they do it! Boss says it’s cheap manual labor from other worlds. Apparently, Earth isn’t the first planet they’ve had contact with that had people who wanted to work here. Go figure. I wonder what happened to them. I asked, but the boss just smiled and said they were around.

Day 6:

I’m really feeling the effects of this world now. I don’t know whether it’s radiation, gravity, or something else, but my body is swelling like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve gotten more than a few compliments from patrons on the changes, and my locker has been equipped with a scanner to check my measurements and dispense a uniform accordingly. I suppose after so many worlds with this effect happening, the Braünies have turned the effects into a system of sorts, or rather have formed a system around the effects. Smart planning on their part.

Day 12:

Can hardly believe so much time has passed. You’d think I would have gotten bored with my job by now, but it’s actually really engaging. Boss gave me some schematics highlighting Braünian anatomy. The similarities between our two races is astounding, though it appears that they have a more advanced culture from an intellectual standpoint. The average  Braüny brain is positively overloaded with furrows, and their neurons fire off at an exceptionally faster rate than the human brain can. It’s fascinating watching the file in slow motion.

Not only that. It’s clear that they have vast differences in their anatomy when it comes to certain glands found within the body and their digestive processes. They are literally able to eat anything they wish and burn the good fuel, while purging the excess. Their livers have a far higher tolerance than the human equivalent and purge the toxins via their sweat glands and other natural means. They can even spew these toxins as an emergency function the way we sometimes spew spit when we hit the gland under the tongue just right, albeit with more force and volume than we generate.

Their pituitary glands are larger than ours, but their skulls have developed in such a manner that this doesn’t prove a hindrance to overall brain function. As a result, these people are able to build muscle and libido at a startling rate. No wonder they look like Adonises. The natural radiation that emanates from this planet’s core has an effect akin to steroids. It forces the body to engage in a rapid form of evolution and regeneration of tissue, be it plant or animal. Think Darwinism at a highly accelerated rate. In short, this planet is a gold mine for anyone looking to heal or recover from serious diseases. The radiation not only kills cells that are cancerous and destroys decaying brain tissue, but forces the body to create new and stronger variations, based on the original template. Apparently, the majority of this world’s vast economic income is a direct result of this natural benefit, though they guard their planet’s ores religiously. They won’t suffer anyone to mine or trade in their minerals, save through the strictest security channels. I can’t really blame them, given the results I’ve seen in my own body over these last couple of weeks. It’s positively fascinating.

I can’t wait to learn more.

Day 20:

I’m so full of energy today. I think I’ve grown a good few inches, and my casual wear had become tight. It won’t be long before my old clothes from Earth are completely useless. Boss and others have noticed and compliment me regularly on my progress. It’s nice to be appreciated. I admit, I’ve been catching glimpses of myself in the mirror on the sly. I’m still not used to the spandex that I have to wear, but it’s not quite so embarrassing to me as it was when I first had to don the material. The rapid growth in tone and mass has certainly helped in that regard.

Day 25:

I’m starting to wonder if the gym owner is using me for eye candy. I’ve seen more than a few customers leer at me on the side when I’ve been making shakes. Nobody’s flirted with me or touched me inappropriately so far, but I wonder how long that might last at this rate. Thank goodness for security cameras. If anybody does try something, I should be able to substantiate my claims.

Day 30:

I’ve brought up my concerns with my boss today. He was actually surprisingly understanding about it. He promised to have a talk with the patrons and put me on towel duty in the locker room in the meantime. I didn’t realize there were so many patrons here. Practically every hamper was full. I suppose it makes sense, though. A lot of people would probably come her to take a short cut to get in shape. Gyms are probably some of the most lucrative businesses a person can own on this world.

I admit I haven’t had much time to focus on my own body yet. There hasn’t really been much of a need with how things have been going, but I can’t help but wonder what might happen if I put in the effort on top of my usual work.

Day 40:

I tried a workout on my last day off. The difference is ... well, it’s incredible. I must have gained at least a good two pounds of muscle mass. The euphoria is incredible. I’d almost go so far as to say orgasmic. Could the radiation be effecting my brain chemistry? Maybe I should get a scan done....

Day 50:

Finally got the results back for my scan. The difference from my arrival to now is night and day. My body is raging with hormones. It’s almost like I’ve entered into a second puberty on overdrive. My pituitary glands are swollen, which explains the minor headaches I’ve been experiencing. Boss has given me a few days off to rest and adapt. Apparently, I’m experiencing their version of The Bends. Parts of my body are essentially pushing too quickly for the rest to catch up. I’m on strict orders for bed rest with no physical exertion of any kind for the next week, until things balance out again.

Fortunately, I won’t have to spend my enforced solitude in complete boredom. Boss was good enough to supply more files on Braüny anatomy and their typical dietary habits, as well as historical documentaries and videos about their cultural and technological development. He’s even got some audio files I can listen to if my headaches become too strong to focus on a screen. What a kind man.

Day 60:

I tried Belaragna today. Think of it like a sort of lasagna, but instead of a meat sauce, there are thin strips of meat cooked within the layers, and the pasta is made from a local vegetable that looks like a potato. Its texture changes in the oven when cooked to become exactly like the stuff from home. It’s incredible! And the sauce! Ohhhh, it is the nectar of the gods. Organic’s got nothing on this world’s produce. Rather than the usual tang you find in tomatoes, this one has a mellow fruity flavor that’s been augmented with a hint of vinegar and dill to pickle it before it’s blended and reduced to a base. This thing is a balanced meal in and of itself.

And then the smoothie! I don’t know how they got it so creamy and smooth, but the drink washed down my gullet before I could blink. I find myself wanting more, and my stomach agrees. Maybe there’s some sort of natural oils or something designed to speed metabolism?

Day 75:

Two and a half months already gone. Time flies way too fast here. I’m learning so much, though. It seems as though the planet was originally colonized by an advanced civilization a long time ago, but something happened to them, and they essentially were wiped from the planet. Eventually, the Braünians evolved from the primordial chaos. There are many instances of slavery throughout their history, but over time, the Braünians appeared to gain the upper hand. These people are exceptionally skilled at adaptation to the point of exceeding the most brilliant minds of their captors within a generation or two and then using that knowledge to free themselves. This pattern of conquest and conquered has repeated in an endless cycle, until the more modern era, where this race decided to start their own exploration and to offer their home world as a gift to others, rather than leave it open to be conquered. After all, if one has many who are interested in protecting the investment this world has to offer, it is far less likely for an enemy to try to take over. It really is a genius strategy, all things considered.

Eventually, they got an intergallactic treaty signed to the effect that they are to be considered a neutral world in which any race may take shelter for healing, training, etc., within reason. No war would be tolerated, however, and any found to be breaking the edicts of this rule would be punished harshly. When they discovered Earth and how readily we adapted to things on this world, of course they were ecstatic to have us. In a way, I suppose we’re kindred spirits. Humanity has faced their own struggles in this regard among themselves over the last several millennia. It’s ingenuity that allows a person to overcome those kinds of troubles and rise to a new plane, or plateau, if you prefer.

Oop, gotta go. Boss is treating me to dinner tonight. He wants to hear what I think of my studies so far.

Day 90:

Time has been passing so quickly! I feel like my brain is in hyper drive. I keep sopping up data and figures like a sponge. I’ve never felt so sharp before. I ask more questions, and Boss keeps offering more material. At this rate, I’m going to need to apply for authorization for membership at the local archives. Boss couldn’t have offered more encouragement if he tried. I love his attitude.

Day 120:

It took a while, but I finally got authorization. It’s astounding how many people were waiting in line. Based on the clothing they were wearing, they were contract workers, like me. I suppose they wanted to find out more about Braün, too. The way some of them limped away, though, I’m pretty sure not everyone was accepted.

I have to access the data in these specialized booths. Kiosks is more accurate, I suppose. I’ve also been given what equates to a data holder arm guard for my forearm. It communicates with the system for me and shows my progress on each of the media. It even has reminders for due dates to return to the kiosks by. Useful little gadget. Love the voice recognition software, too.

Day 140:

I’ve just come across the information on the power supply for this world. Apparently, they use all manual labor to produce it. The men must be absolute titans to be able to endure that kind of abuse for such extended periods. Boss tells me they perform in shifts, so there’s no abuse, just productivity. I still find it odd, though. Then again, with the sheer volume of production this world has in produce, etc., I suppose they can afford that kind of burden without having any major loss. Still, to produce enough energy for a whole world, these people must be beyond anything a normal person could produce.

Day 160:

I caught some customers salivating while I was making their drinks. Maybe they had too much to drink the night before? It helps having a better understanding of Braüny anatomy. Still, I never expected to draw so much attention from customers. I mean, I know I’m stronger now. I’ve been taking a few selfies to document my changes as I grow, but still....

Day 170:

I’ve been reading into how physical exertion affects the body on this world. The cellular reproductive rate makes it so a person can exercise almost every day without fear of the usual slow aching recovery back on Earth. I’ve begun salivating a little more often myself, lately. I wonder if my body is developing a similar system to purge itself of toxin buildup. If so, it could explain some of the more *ahem* aesthetically pleasing changes I’ve experienced. My body can grow uninhibited by the lesser technologies and additives Earth provides. Mmm ... wonder how I’ll look in a couple more months.

Day 180:

Decided to visit a power station today and get to know some of the providers. The lunch room is public territory for visitors and workers alike, so I had the opportunity to approach a few of the men and ask about their experiences.

From what little I was able to get out of them, the work and pay are, “Good. Paid to work out. Living the dream.” They aren’t very big on talking. They hardly seemed to recognize me, really. I suppose they’re just a tight-knit group. Their eyes are glazed over when they look at most of the room, but when they lock gazes with another worker, it’s different somehow. It doesn’t matter what race or species they are. They each seem to communicate on a different level. Perhaps it’s some form of tech they’re fitted with to make the job easier as they cooperate with one another? After all, if they all work together to provide the power, then that means they would need to be able to work in unison, right?

I asked one of the newer employees. He hadn’t quite caught up with the rest of the group yet, so he was more talkative, albeit not quite so helpful. “Uh, ... I guess,” was about all I could get out of him before he took a massive bite out of a burger or patty of some sort. “We just ... sort of do it.” I still remember that guffaw of his. “I don’t really know anything. Just, ... lift n’work. Huhuh. Lift n’work...” I didn’t get much farther than that. One of the behemoths in a larger uniform sat down next to him, and I vacated the vicinity. I noticed a close form of body contact, though, and the two shared their laughter as they ate and conversed about their weights and other duties. I suppose the titan must have been his supervisor or trainer or something. He even shoved another tray full to the brim with food in front of the guy. He didn’t even question it, just dove right in.

I admit, I can sympathize with their need to consume so much food. If they work all day while their metabolisms continue to burn hot, it only makes sense that they’d need a massive amount of calories to fuel their bodies. I’ll also admit, seeing them eating filled me with a certain amount of hunger pains, myself. Maybe I’ll sneak in a few shakes while I’m at work.

Day 195:

Harvest season is coming up. Boss says it’s a time that everyone on the planet enjoys. There is little information on the database about it. Some sort of festival is involved for native culture only. Not even naturalized citizens are allowed to participate. I suppose it has to do with the planet’s heritage. Clients have been pretty tight-lipped when I ask them about it at work. On the plus side, at least we’ll be getting more food soon. I can’t get enough of this planet’s vast and rich abundance of produce. It’s incredible!

Day 210:

I appear to have developed either a photographic or eidetic memory. Travel guides, encyclopedias, history books, science textbooks. It keeps flowing in. I visit the kiosks more and more often. Some days, I don’t even leave the booths. My head keeps clinging to more information. I can name diets, diseases, treatments, natural remedies, battles, conquests, technology, fitness, chemical formulae, important historical figures. So much. So, so much. How far will this go? I ... I don’t want to risk breaking my brain. But ... I can’t seem to stop. I ... I want to listen. I want to learn. I need it almost as much as I need the fourth meal I’ve added to my regimen.

What is happening to me?

Day 230:

I feel so much heavier lately. It’s like the more I absorb up top, the bigger my body gets. My libido is through the roof, and everyone seems to notice. It’s making me exceedingly self-conscious. The scanner in the locker room provides me with new clothing, but I can’t wear anything else now. I can only wear my uniform, because of how quickly I outgrow things. At least the computer on my arm still fits. I guess its designed to adapt. Good thing, too. My voice is so low now! The voice recognition must take a sample from me daily.

Boss has me working out on the floor. I suppose it makes sense. I seem to be bigger than most of the patrons now. I give them the drive to push forward with their own progress. Cleaning the equipment and floors is simple enough, and I usually finish the job quickly. Towel duty is a real chore, though. I can’t begin to tell you the number of times I’ve had to run to the laundry chute and back again.

Things are getting snug behind the drink bar counter, but many patrons still prefer me and my service. I think it’s more my body that must draw them, though. Maybe humans are more attractive for some reason? I don’t know. At this point, I could probably take any one of them on, if they try anything funny, so I let the looks slide.

Day 250:

I’m up to five meals a day now at at least double portions from my original state. At this point, I feel closer to the incredible hulk. It’s so hard to sit there and tend customer orders by the counter. My body wants to move now. I’ve started using the equipment after closing. It’s the only way I can fall asleep at night anymore. That, and the surround sound my bedroom provides.

Day 260:

I’m so tired lately. It’s hard for me to focus some days. I have to read over lines a few times now, before I can get the information to sink in. Not that there’s much more I really have to study on the planet. My body continues to weigh me down, yet there is pleasure in it. The bigger I grow, the more compliments I receive, the greater pleasure I feel. It’s almost like a chain. Almost as if I’ve been ... programmed ... that... [DELETE FILE: Y/N]

...

...

...

Y

Day 265:

I’m the most popular employee at the gym. Everyone keeps wanting me to serve them. I’m not sure why. Boss just tells me to go with it for now. He’s sure things will die down eventually. I’m not so sure, but he is my employer, and I’m under contractual obligation to serve him and this place for the next year and a third.

The way they chug down their drinks, you’d think their lives depended on it. Boss has to shoo customers away from the counter. It’s sort of funny, in a way, watching them act like that. I don’t know why, but I’ve come to like watching them. They seem so greedy, almost desperate. I’m not sure why.

Day 270:

Harvest is in full swing. The Braünians are all out in force. I remember having to call the police once, when someone plastered a new arrival on the ground at the park. I tore that sucker off the kid and glared him down. He looked high or drunk. It didn’t take long for the authorities to sort things out and cart him away. Since then, Boss has been more protective of me. He says I painted a target across my back when I called that mobber on his BS. Not really sure how or why, unless the guy was part of a gang, but since Boss is Boss, I kind of have to follow his policies as he sees fit, provided they don’t breach my contract. He spots me now, when I work out. Then I do the same for him. I guess it’s cool. He has this weird sort of snort when he breathes in, says it has to do with part of his anatomy. Was that the weird flap I saw without a label on that anatomic diagram, then? I suppose it must be. No other explanation I can think of.

Day 280:

Oh, the pump feels so good. I love my job so much. I don’t know what it is. I just feel ... Idunno, euphoric? It’s so easy to just relax around these people now. I know them by name, and they love hanging out with me by the counter, when they can. Sometimes I just sort of lose myself when I’m making a shake, you know? All that sipping and snorting sort of falls by the wayside and I’m just ... there, you know?

It’s a weird feeling, but ... I like it.

Day 290:

Chowing down more food than ever. My body just won’t stop. It’s like I’m not even driving anymore. I read, but I just get so ... sleepy. It’s like the words don’t even matter anymore. I listen, but the sounds sort of pour through my ears. I guess my brain finally had enough soaking. Needs to be squeezed.

Yeah.

Squeezed. That’s funny.

Huhuh.

Day 300:

Boss pulled me aside today. Told me to take a break. I’ll take that break, all right, break that plateau I’ve been stuck on all week. I’m not done growing yet, not by a long shot.

Oh, that felt so good, just to say it. You can’t even imagine how it feels when it actually happens. I eat, and I grow. I eat, and I grow. I eat, I work, I grow.

And it just ... feels so good.

Day 310:

Bros, I ... I’m so big. So fuckin’ heavy. Can’t ... can’t stop ‘mirin in the mirror. I look back at my old photos and I’m like, who’s this fuckin’ twig, bro? It’s like ... like it’s not even me, y’know? Like ... like, uh ... out of body ... dream ... uh ... you know what I mean, right, bros?

Huhuhuh ... Sorry. Been kinda ... spacin’ out like that lately. S’like ... Idunno, like my thoughts just ... aren’t there anymore, y’know? S’like, all my thinking’s just ... swirling and blending and sucking right out a straw. Hey, just like those shakes i make! Huhuhuh. Yeah. Just like uh, like uh....

...

...

Oh, hey, Boss. ‘Sup? Nah, just finishing my voice journal. S’all good. Nah, I’m finished. Ready to work out?

Sweet!

Day 311:

Got some new bling on my duds today. Big ol’ black n’yellow buckle. Boss says it’s sort of like a weight belt. Keeps an eye on my body, makes sure I don’t overdo it. Like I could overdo anything with guns like these! Still, gotta do what boss says. You know how it is. Told him I didn’t wanna, but he just told me to wait n’see. He kinda stressed the first one a little heavy. Not sure why. Thought he might’ve had a cough or somethin’. He just said forget about it, so that’s what I did. Still kinda weird, though.

...

...

...

Pun...

Oh my....

Huhuhuhuhuhuh-- I’m such a fuckin’ dumbass!

Day 313:

Walked past the embassy today. Saw a big picture of me plastered next to this wimp of a kid. Thing was labeled Before and After. ’N I’m just like, Bro, is that even me? Like ... there must be some kind of mistake, right? ’Cus, like, I don’t remember ever bein’ that small. S’gotta be like, for uh, .... wadaya call it, a comparison. Don’t even look like me.

Huhuh. Yeah. S’not even me. ... Not even me.

DELETE FOLDER: PROGRESS PICS? [Y/N] Y

Not even me....

Day 320:

I keep wondering where all m’bros went. Bar’s so quiet. Boss said harvest’s over, so things’re gonna be sorta ... empty for a while.

...

I like empty.

It’s good ... to be ... Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh......

“Good boy. Just relax and let me finish those last few drops of knowledge.... Mmm, what a fruitful venture you were, little tree. You’ll do very well at the power station, won’t you?”

Huhuhuhuhuh.......

INITIATE ADMINISTRATOR OVERRIDE RESET: [Y/N]

Y

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day 1

Hello, Planet  Braün! ....

Please support me by donating on my Ko-fi or Patreon.

--------------------------------------------------

Undo

Richard tapped frantically at the keys on his laptop. The apartment was calm and quiet. His roommates were out partying up at a D&D session, so he wouldn't have to worry about any interruptions for the next few hours. It had been like this for the last couple of weeks now. He’d either retreat to his room or work in the living room. Occasionally, he’d sneak to one of the school’s recording studios after hours. A procedure like this needed all the finesse he could conjure. Fortunately, nobody seemed to question him.

The device chirped as he slammed the enter key and ran the newest soundbite through his program to check for any errors before adding it to the track’s layers. His head whipped back around his shoulders for what had to be the thirtieth time as he turned to face the hall door behind his desk. A subtle creak of the floorboards, the heavy thump of footsteps in the apartment above, any number of noises had set him off. This time was no different. The portal yawned into the dark stillness beyond. Once again, no one was there.

It still didn’t make him feel any better. “Almost over,” he breathed in a low whisper. He shook his head and grit his teeth. “How could I be so stupid?” He reached for his water bottle and squeezed a stream of liquid down his throat. Adrenaline had dried the passage, and he found it needed almost constant lubrication if he breathed through his mouth. Unfortunately, he couldn’t help himself in this state. Pressure never was his thing. He gasped after satisfying his craving and worked to moderate his breathing in an attempt to calm his heart. “Just a little longer and it’ll all be over. Then you can fix this mess, undo what you did, and everything will be back the way it was.”

Richard stiffened when he felt a sudden weight clap down on his shoulders. Thick veiny hands stretched on either side of him. His throat closed to the barest hint of a passage. The lubrication he had only just applied vanished.

“Watcha workin’ on, bro?” The deep voice resonated through Richard’s chest as thick sculpted arms freshly pumped from a workout bent on either side of him. He could hear the heavy breath, smell the overpowering scent of Old Spice body wash mixed with AXE body spray. They gripped tighter than the hands and left Richard’s head spinning.

“Dick, ... I wasn’t expecting you,” he croaked, then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“It’s been awhile. We hardly see each other anymore. I’m always working out, and you’re always nerding it up. Speaking of, aren’t you supposed to be with the guys tonight, roomie?” A heavy hand slammed a music player on the table, then raised itself slowly to clap the shoulder again, this time in a companionable pat. 

“Special assignment,” Richard muttered. He eyed the player on the desk. “You been, uh, listening to your tracks?”

“On loop, bro! I can’t get enough of ‘em!” Dick’s diaphragm heaved with a deep dull laugh that left Richard’s frame bouncing like a pogo stick.

“You mean you don’t take any breaks?” Richard squeaked.

“Just when I sleep. Why should I, little bro? You know what that chick said in Hair Spray (though I think Hair Gel would’ve been a better name). You can’t stop the beat. Those tracks just leave me so fuckin’ pumped! I mean, sure, it was kinda weird at first, but now I don’t know what I’d do without ‘em! I mean, look at these guns!”

“I’m looking,” Richard said weakly. His face had gone pale.

“Seriously, though, thanks for making so many for me. I know you said it could bruise my brain and all that if the same stuff kept going all the time, so having all these different things to listen to really helps. And, I mean, variety is the spice of life, am I right?” Again, he chuckled.

Richard hunched and waited for the storm to pass. “Right....”

“So, what’s this one about?”

“I ... guess you could call it a biography of sorts? It’s a track that’s supposed to cement an identity, you know?”

“Bro, you wanna clone yourself? That’s sick! Who’s gonna be the subject?”

“I don’t know about cloning, exactly, but ... yeah, I suppose it might have a similar effect. Cementing a mind doesn’t necessarily have to involve turning it into something else, though. It could also be used to fortify a person’s subconscious and make them more confident in their current state. Think of it like an armor of sorts.”

“So, you mean like football pads?”

“Exactly. They shield a person from an opponent trying to tackle their subconscious into submission. Do it right, and it can even reverse the effects of previous trances.”

“Damn. You’re smart, little bro.”

Richard’s shoulders started to ache. “I try. Did, uh ... you want to listen to some of what I’ve got so far?”

Dick peered at the file and whistled. “That’s a lot of layers, bro.”

“I wanted to make it iron clad. I’m not gonna make you sit through the whole thing, but here.” Richard highlighted a clip and clicked the play button, and the recording began to play over the speakers.

I am Richard. My name is Richard. Richard is my name. Richard is smart. You are smart. Richard loves hypnosis. You love hypnosis. ... Love recording ... Listen ... Deep down ... Study ... Sleep ... Repeat ...

The snippets flowed like a babbling brook with the tones that Richard had chosen, leaving only fragments, but the few that could be made out pressed a shudder through Dick that forced Richard to vibrate with him.

“Oh, fuck, that’s good,” Dick swore.

“You’re biased. You’ve already heard my voice. It’s easier to drop you in trance with it.”

“So? Bro, you were able to put me in trance, me. I mean, sure, it’s easy now, but you and I both know the first time took, like, what, uh.....?”

“Three months, approximately,” Richard supplied quickly. The soreness was spreading into his neck and a little down his biceps now. He rolled them uncomfortably. “Uh, do you mind?”

“Oh, sorry, bro. Had a killer workout. Hardly even feel anything now, ya know? I just ... lift. It’s what I do.” The weight lightened as Dick adjusted his stance and he sighed. An odd tingling spread over Richard’s shoulders as Dick’s fingers started kneading the flesh.

Richard shuddered in response. “How are you doing that?”

Dick huffed that same chuckle again. “Been taking a few classes on the side. Figured if I’ve got the bod for it, might as well learn how to use it and take care of it, right?”

Richard moaned. “Massage therapy?”

“Yup. Clients are butter in my hands.”

“I ... I really shouldn’t.”

“Relax, bro. You earned it.”

Richard’s eyes rolled as his muscles went limp. He didn’t even notice the computer chime. He smiled as he came out of the treatment to behold a snarl of anger that practically jerked him from his chair before a hand forced him back down. And then he heard it:

You are not dumb ... Work your brain ... Brawn to brain ... Nerdy Dick ... You are not a jock ... Not a dick ... Wake up ... Go back ... Go back....

Richard swallowed as the deep bass reverberated, until a heavy finger clicked forcefully on the mouse to pause the track.

“I trusted you,” Dick said in a husky voice.

“This isn’t the real you, Dick,” Richard objected.

“And whose fault was that, I wonder?” Dick roared. The wood on the desk creaked under the force of his fingers as they clenched the edge. “I gave up my friends, my major, my life for this. And just when I’m finally settling down, when I’m enjoying myself more than ever, when I’m happier than I’ve ever been, built a new life with new friends, you go and decide you can play god and tear it all down again?”

“It’s not real,” Richard said weakly.

“It is to me!” The desk leg creaked ominously under Dick’s heavy blow. “You think getting my head shaved was a dream? You think Duke isn’t real, that Travis is some kinda mirage, that Coach Sorensen didn’t offer me a place on the team? I fucking brought them to the apartment, introduced them to the guys, went out and got fucking drunk with them! Those happened. Those are real. My time in the gym was real!” He flexed his bicep and smacked the dense mound that had risen out of veiny flesh. “And this,” he said as he struck it again for emphasis, “is real.”

Richard shrank into his chair as best he could.

“You said I would have the power. You said that I would get to choose. You promised.” He jabbed his finger into Richard’s chest. “Well, I decided, bro.”

“Dick.” Richard’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Please.”

“Nah, bro. I’m in charge now. You’re done.”

Richard panted in the still air. Something was pushing against his chest. It felt so tight. “N-no,” he rasped. His voice cracked.

Dick shook his head. “Say it with me, little bro. ‘Nah, bro.’”

“N-nnnnnnnahhhh....”

Richard clenched his teeth. The room spun. His shoulders felt cold. Something brushed his scalp.

“You’re just a big Dick,” the deep bass said in a cocky tone of smug superiority.

The retort rose hotly in his chest, before he had time to stop it. It blew out from his diaphragm with the force of a conflagration, but it flowed smoothly, naturally from his lips, as if he’d been saying it for years. “Nah, bro.”

A vapid grin pulled at his lips as he opened his eyes. The small chair creaked under its owner’s bulk. That dull, familiar ache coursed like a drug through his arms, chest, and sides. Today was upper body training, and it had felt so good. He took a shuddering breath and moaned at the feeling of fabric brushing up a perfect set of well-carved abdominals. The tight hug of his black tank top complemented the familiar brush of rough fabric from his snapback. Thick arms as broad if not larger than footballs rested lightly on the wooden desk. He took his time to admire the masculine appendages, the huge mitts that his hands had become, the prominence of his veins against the muscle he’d worked so long and hard to grow beneath.

“I’m me.” He laughed exultantly. “I’m fucking me!” He whooped as if he’d just seen the school team score the winning touchdown. “I’m big fucking Dick!” He pumped his arm and danced in the chair. Then the computer monitor caught his eye. The program was still open. He reached for the lid and rested his massive palm on the now-familiar indent where he had laid it so many times before during his transformation. He loved sports. He loved weights. And he loved dominance. And now he’d just come off the ultimate domination by asserting himself against his old personality. He could leave it at that, delete the file, close the program, never think of it again.

“Or....” A smirk pulled at his lips as he looked over the laptop’s files. He still had the old copies of the recordings from his metamorphosis. It wouldn’t be that hard to record over the pieces that needed changing, and the walls were thin. He should be able to mix a few tracks. After all, even jocks and meatheads had fun with programs like garage band. The smirk turned into a sneer as he pulled out the mic and finished recording the beginnings of a new track. “Wuddup, Bro? Welcome to Jock School, where meatheads rule and bein’ a jock is fuckin’ cool. Huhuhuhuh....”