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Smoke and Mirrors

Image Source:comeandtouch

It was the draft that woke you first. That, and the sensation of hard concrete pressing against your body. The world was a blur at first, and then you thought you’d gone colorblind, at least until you perceived the frames mounted on your nose.

You rose slowly, groggily. You could just see the hints of radiant light striving to pierce the shield that the sunglasses provided you as they clawed at the edges of the amber screen. Your nose was struck by the sharp smell of freshly polished leather and an all-encompassing aroma of cigarette smoke, as if the very ground beneath you had somehow been permeated with that pungent essence. You weren’t entirely sure which was worse.

Your arms were consumed by the length of your new leather jacket’s sleeves. the weight of it pulled at the edges of your shoulders, draping almost like a trench coat. The amount of skin you could feel exposed to the elements around your neck and chest was more than unnerving. And as you raised an arm to adjust your glasses, you discovered two black fingerless gloves barely hanging onto your hands.

You weren’t sure whether you wanted to try to dismiss this all as a dream or face the horror of the idea that you had not only been kidnapped, but undressed and shoved into this gear for who knew what reason.

“Please, I don’t … I don’t want—”

“Oh, you’ll want. Because I say so.”

You turned your head toward the noise and winced as dizziness struck you. When the room settled again, you found yourself staring at a scene out of a movie. Two massively muscled men in black leather jackets and pants held a diminutive figure between them. Their expressions were grim, their jaws square, and their masculine features immensely intimidating. The scruff along their cheeks, jaws, and lips only served to enhance the image. They practically screamed thug, even as the lenses on their noses blocked any attempts to read their expressions.

The man who had spoken last was shorter than the muscle men. His build was leaner and well toned, but that didn’t stop his muscles from showing under his jacket. He moved in lithely and seized the prisoner by the lapel of his leather jacket and a bit of wadded shirt from beneath that layer. Smoke wafted out his mouth as if from the maw of a dragon as he leaned closer and closer.

The prisoner’s eyes widened in horror. “I-I’m not gay! I don’t want this. I don’t want this! I don’t —!”

His protests were silenced as lips met and the one breathed into the other. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn you saw a shadow of stubble forming along pale skin as the man who seemed to be the boss pulled away. The prisoner coughed.

“And now?”

A rasp crept into the prisoner’s throat as he turned his gaze back on the man that had forced himself upon him. “Let me go.”

“Do you want?”

“Iwantto be let go,” he cracked.

The sneer that followed that response was even worse through the distorted mirror of the prisoner’s reflective lenses. The curve made it broader, wider, more sinister. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and inched a fresh butt from the box. A lighter click click clicked with each decisive stroke of the boss’ thumb. And with every false start, the two thugs jerk jerk jerked into rigid posture like a pair of automatons wound by a key. You craned your neck to get a better look as the lighter finally ignited and a flame was held to the edge of the cigarette.

A deep pull as the butt glowed a deep red, then dulled as he let the smoke churn in his lungs before breathing out. A low, deep groan sounded in unison from the two thugs as they breathed deep, and their chests thrust out even farther for an impressive display.

Another pull. Another blow. This one was followed by a subtle cough as bits of that smoke curled through the captive’s nostrils and into his lungs. The boss lunged and locked lips again as smoke flowed from his nostrils and the edges of his mouth to curl and waft around his prisoner’s face. The shadows deepened again as the smoke dissipated. This time, you were certain you saw something.

As the boss pulled away again, you were rewarded with the sight of the beginnings of a proper beard now. There could be no dismissing it with the subtle gloss that emanated from the light reflecting off the hairs. You thought you saw a hint of an Adam’s apple jutting forward from the prisoner’s throat. And … was it just you, or did his chest look a little fuller, his jacket and shirt a little less saggy?

“Whatthehell?” the prisoner cracked again.

“Do you want?”

“I want to see you behind bars.” Annoyance and anger had replaced fear. “I want the police to haul you away and lock you up where you’ll never be seen again. I want to go ho—”

This time, smoke puffed briefly out the prisoner’s nostrils as more smoke was blown in through the contact. Like a balloon inflating, the man’s chest puffed out. His shoulders pulled back. His neck thickened. He struggled to crane his head back, but the boss moved accordingly to block any chance of escape while a meaty hand from one of the thugs kept him from craning too far back. The struggle caused the glasses to droop lower on his nose, revealing the wild fear and revulsion that seemed to fog over as the man continued to blow into him. The struggles lessened, and the boss pulled away again.

“Do you want?” Again the question was asked. Why? What did this man have to gain by repeating himself?

“I … I wa … wha … what did you do to me?”

Boss smiled as he tossed the dull remains of his cigarette to the floor. The embers burst from the edge of the butt in a shower of sparks, then slowly died. This time, as he lit the flame again, the prisoner was racked with shudders. The prisoner’s eyes locked on his reflection in Boss’ glasses.

“Is that…? I … I, uh….” His breathing hitched. His nostrils flared as the smoke wafted toward him from Boss’ lips, followed by a gentle push along the bridge of his nose to return the glasses where they belonged. A deep groan followed as his shoulders slumped and his hands suddenly became visible at the ends of the massive leather jacket sleeves. They, too, were sheathed in black fingerless gloves.

“Do you want?” It was almost a whisper as he breathed in the prisoner’s ear. Unlike the others in the room, Boss’ hands were bare, and he ran his free hand over the prisoner’s head, slicking back his hair as the sides of his head became more visible with a closer cut that definitely was not there when you first woke up.

The sounds he produced weren’t exactly speech, more a ragged sort of breathing mingled with the rise and fall of his chest that made him look almost as though he were growing bigger just by the act of breathing. But surely that was just a trick of the light, … wasn’t it? “I….” He huffed as a few tiny wisps were drawn into his nostrils. Down fell the cigarette. Poof went the embers. His mouth opened slightly as his tongue licked his lips.

There was no resistance this time, just a subtle, barely-perceptible jolt as lips locked. This time, you did see a difference. Trapezius muscles swelled into prominent mounds to compliment the expanding neck. Leather creaked as the sleeves began to fill like pressure cuffs. Subtle popping cracks heralded the growth of bone as growing mass was soon balanced by increasing height.

This time, when Boss pulled away, the thugs lowered their grips. The prisoner had grown taller. His thighs and calves had begun to strain ever so slightly against his leather pants. Thick, heavy boots surrounded feet that you suspected were rapidly swelling to fit the new size if they hadn’t already reached that point. Wisps of the smoke seemed to hang around the prisoner in a miasma that sought to seep into his clothes, his very skin.

“Do you want?”

The voice that responded was low, dull, and seemingly uttered without thought or emotion.

“I want.”

Again came the sneer as he drew close. “Good boy.” This time, when they locked lips, it was not forced. Greed and passion fed and consumed as the two linked, the one providing the breath that had suddenly become as precious as life itself to the prisoner. Pecs and torso swelled and expanded. Arms became long and rippled with muscle that rose and fell with every motion in a coordinated dance. Hands cracked and burst into thick meaty mitts as the bone in his brow and forehead became more prominent. The jacket parted to reveal bulge after bulge of cobblestone abs taking shape.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Two. Four. Six. Eight.

The smoke was pouring now, out his ears, out his nostrils, out the edges of his hungry mouth as he struggled to breathe every last iota of that substance, even as it choked out every last trace of his former self to make room for the new life being forged in the image of his Boss.

When the two finally broke away, the prisoner was no longer the man he had been. He slumped forward, his head dropped low as Boss stared at him with a knowing smirk. He pulled away briefly, retrieved his lighter, and….

Click. Click. Click. Click.

Jerk. Jerk. Jerk. Jerk.

The new THUGrose to attention as his two new fellows flanked on either side with a familiar machine-like efficiency.

Boss lit up another cig.

“What do you want?”

“Boss,” the three replied in a perfect unified bass that rumbled through the air.

Boss breathed slightly, letting the smoke waft around his mouth and face, but nowhere near the THUGS.

The two on either side remained perfectly still. The middle one swayed just barely.

“And you’ll obey your boss, won’t you?”

“Yes, Boss.”

The trio breathed deeply as Boss blew a heavy cloud of smoke at them. All three THUGSgroaned, then stood rigidly as the last of the prisoner’s features hardened into an identical copy of his two on either side of him. An equally sized bulge swelled into prominence at his crotch as he widened his stance.

Boss smiled in satisfaction as he looked over the trio, running his hands along their biceps and triceps, inspecting their backs and stances, their stature, everything. And all the while the trio remained motionless during his scrutiny.

“Perfect,” Boss said. “The three of you could use each other for shaving mirrors easily.” Then he chuckled. “But you know how the old saying goes,” he said as he turned to fix his gaze on you and lowered his shades to expose the eager, hungry gaze that lingered behind them. “The best things in life come in pairs.” He drew near to you, followed by the trio of THUGS as he motioned them to follow. You soon find yourself surrounded as you’re lifted shakily to your feet to stare into Boss’ face. You straighten your posture almost without thinking as the click click click of his lighter rings in your ears.

He sneers. And then he directs that question straight at you as he lights up another cigarette and takes a deep breath. The aroma of the smoke is almost overwhelming, and you’re already starting to feel a little dizzy and tingly as your fingers twitch.

“So, tell me. Do you want?”

Your lips part. Your jaw grows slack. And as you stare ahead, you see yourself in Boss’ reflective lenses. As your thoughts begin to cloud over with the approach of his mouth, one of your last free thoughts bubbles to the surface, a curiously ironic twist on what’s been happening.

It’s all really smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?

You take a deep breath without thinking to chuckle. Instead, all you get is smoke and a strangely euphoric sensation as your chest begins to balloon outward.

And it feels so good.

As your cheeks begin to prickle and your lungs begin to burn, you’re drawn into your changing reflection as much as you are the smoke Boss is pumping into you.

Maybeyoudowantafter all….

Credit goes to @musclecorps​ is for this image before he shut down his tumblr and I lost a massive chunk of images I had stored in my likes for use in future stories and series. XD That’s how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

Anyway, for some reason, someone decided to flag this chapter of Endemic Evolution. And tumblr decided, in all its wisdom, not to notify me of the fact. I can’t appeal it now, because that time limit has long since expired. I only recently discovered this problem today, because I was looking through my previous posts to see what might need clearing out, etc. Oh, and here’s the real kicker. It wasn’t even shown in my flagged posts section either. I wonder why that is? Can anyone explain that fact to me? Or is this one of those signs of tumblr blatantly trying to silence anyone it deems doesn’t adhere to its vision, despite following their guidelines perfectly?

I’ll let you readers decide that for yourselves.

Anyway, because I know how one-sided an appeal will be from previous experience, and the fact that no one will actually let me talk with and discuss the ruling with anyone from their content management department (other than being notified that the content management department has decided to let the ruling stand and give me cookie cutter links to their guidelines telling me to look there for more information when I’ve already looked there and want to dispute the claims with an actual PERSON using the language found in said guidelines. Does it hurt to ask for a little accountability and justification from that team, @staff?), I’m cutting out the middleman by deleting the original and reposting it. This time, I’ll even include a disclaimer, so readers can understand the fact that this chapter is intended for an older audience.

…

*Ahem.*

DISCLAIMER: THIS CHAPTER IS FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY!

Thank you,

~ Omni

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Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181040364417/endemic-evolution-as-you-can-see-weve

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181128775917/endemic-evolution-chapter-3-doctor-lee-chen-barton

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 2

“This is Doctor Simmons reporting in. I have opted for a video recording for this particular report for the sake of observation and for other reasons which I shall elaborate upon shortly. First, a recap and report of more personal note.

“It has been approximately two weeks since my first contact with these carriers of the disease we have chosen to classify as Meatheadosis. It was not my idea, but I wasn’t brought on scene at the beginning of the outbreak, so I suppose I don’t get to complain. Our generous host Mister Malloy fell prey to his infection shortly after our first meeting began. The effects of this phenomenon are positively astounding. If a means could be developed to isolate and control the virus’ effects, or at least tone them back, this disease could work miracles across the globe.

“Due to the lateness of the Holiday Season, I have had no choice but to cancel my plans for Christmas with the family. This has received mixed results, but it has to be done, for research and for the sake of our country’s future.

“Accommodations here are wonderful. Malloy has been kind enough to offer me one of his best suites. I feel more relaxed and loose than I have in over a decade. The others have also enjoyed their own rooms.

“Now on to the main report. Initial observation indicates that this virus attacks and rewrites the synapses in the brain, breaking down old connections and building new ones associated specifically with muscle memory and other such more physical things. Due to this forced rewiring of the brain, the subject becomes less and less focused on previous passions and ideals. It is not accurate to say so much that they have become dumber as it is to say that their intelligence has been reallocated into an obsession with physical perfection that borders on zealous.

“Indeed, the loss of intelligence that has been noted previously appears to only occur as the subject focuses more on enjoying and enhancing his body. Symptoms include absented-mindedness, repetitive daydreaming, subconscious flexing, personal worship, flexing, muscle worship, posing, spontaneous laughter, flexing, a distinct lack of complex sentence structure, degradation of vocabulary, and flexing.

“Some have taken to repeating various mantras and prose to give them motivation. It’s very catchy. For example: One, two, three, four. Growing muscle more and more. Five, six, seven, eight. Work out, get swole, bulk up, inflate.

“The sheer unity they demonstrate is positively mind-boggling. It’s almost as though they were functioning in a pack or a hive mind of some sort, but of course that’s not possible. Still, it does stick, doesn’t it…?

“Ahem. Anyway, It’s my theory that those effected have the electrical impulses of the brain muted when it comes to activities that … mmmph, don’t contribute to this new mode of lifestyle. Then, when the individual utilizes weights or performs some other form of physical exertion, like say a flex…

“Oh, that felt good. Where, uh … where was I?

“Oh, yes. The impulses. I believe the electrical impulses are released into the new synapses to trigger intense pleasure and other sensations that reinforce their newfound aggressive and, dare I say, brutish behavior. For example, lowered inhibitions contribute to behaviors such as openly scratching or ‘cupping’ one’s manhood, heralding immature behavior such as belching with cheers and approbation, and giving in to one’s baser sexual instincts by masturbating to ‘take the edge off.’

“It appears that the more the subjects indulge in these actions, the faster they degrade. I have designated the levels or stages of this disease’s progress into distinct categories from the first symptoms to the farthest gone. The earliest ones who are just starting out are known as Pledges. Part of this has to do with the meathead frat mentality that is rapidly becoming more prevalent in the subjects. It seems that those who are farther along in this … metamorphosis have the ability to home in on those who have contracted the disease somehow, granting them the ability to tease, heckle, and otherwise (for lack of a better word) haze an individual before they begin to progress, or perhaps regress is the better term.

“Next comes the Jockstage. Men in this stage still retain most of their former hobbies, habits, and behavioral patterns, but take a keener interest in sports and fitness than they have previously. Muscles will harden and expand, fat will burn away, and inhibitions will begin to die as other men farther along tease and encourage. Eventually, the Jock will grow accustomed to these modes of address and adopt them for himself.

“Excuse me for a moment. I need to take a selfie for my wife. … There we go. I think she’ll enjoy that. I know I did. “Now then, back on topic. In due course, the moniker of Gym Rat is earned. At this stage, the subject cannot stop thinking about their personal fitness. The gym essentially becomes their home. Fortunately, this hotel comes with a fully stocked top-of-the-line gym complete with equipment for our patients to use. The subject will become obsessed with diet and getting as much lean protein as possible to bulk up. It is generally around this stage that the manhood of the subjects begins to swell and increase in size. The extra testosterone that is the inevitable result of this stage triggers their development into the next one.

“TheMeathead is essentially the finished product. At this point, the mind degrades to only want to discuss ‘manly’ things. Weights, anatomy, sex life, etc. They are quite literally muscleheads in every sense of the word. Cursing, swearing, and various other modes of language are often another indicator of their loss in intelligence. These can occur as early as the Jock stage, though the Pledges usually either do or don’t due to their previous life choices, not as a result of their metamorphosis.

“Now we come to what I believe would be considered a mutation of sorts in the usual strain. I speak of what we have chosen to dub the Alpha. These Meatheads are in a class all their own; the largest, burliest, most aggressive and dominant of their flock. This makes them the de facto leaders of their fellow Meatheads, and they make sure the others know it regularly.

“One of their favorite pastimes is comparing size and encouraging others in their growth in their own ways. Malloy quickly ascended to this kingly position. Considering he was the owner and manager of his hotel, it only makes sense that he would be. However, it seems he took a liking to me and Barton before he achieved this most coveted of positions.

“Communication with them requires me to channel my inner highschooler. Fortunately, I’m well endowed, or as they would say it, hung as fuck. Mmm … it does look nice pressing out against the crotch in my sweatpants, doesn’t it? I’ve taken to patting it and smirking at the ‘higher-ups’ to make them think I’m conforming. This usually allows me the ability to interact with others more freely as we exercise. I will admit that I can’t help but compare my size every other day or so, though. Even I am not immune to the vain desire to reach that ideal male aesthetic of large and satisfying anatomy.

“Mmph … maybe just one more for the missus.

“The gym is never closed, and Barton has reported sightings of, if you’ll believe it, sleepwalking subjects that perform exercises in their sleep. This, in turn, wears them down mentally with tiredness and makes it easier for them to fall under the influence of an Alpha or other higher ranked subject in a form of what seems almost to be hypnosis.

“By the next day, they’ve usually jumped a rank.

“As for me, I am striving to match the ideal rank of Jock. It’s not too far along, and my healthier frame is an almost perfect fit, while most of the research team is too out of shape. I’ve even been practicing my dumb laugh. It’s surprisingly simple. Then again, simplicity is kind of the point with minds like this.”

“Yo, Simmons, Malloy wants to see you!”

“… And that would be my cue to go. Wish me luck. I go to meet the council of Alphas. I wonder. Should I start with the double flex or perhaps the crab pose…? Mmph … so much to choose from. I can hardly think which would be best.”

“Come on, coach, let’s go!”

“Hmm … hardly think. Must be … nice….”

“Coach?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Barton. My mind was … elsewhere. Come on. Let’s go. Don't want to keep our patients waiting.”

“Ready for the flex-off?”

“Huhuh. I’m always ready for a flex-off….”

Fickle group jumping. Each agent changes to a random neighbouring group instead of the biggest neighbouring group. This system stays pretty colourful instead of converging on a single colour.

Group conformity. Each agent changes its colour to match that of the group it travels with. When left on its own for a while it may revert to its original hue.

America Has Always Been a Tribal Society. For The Atlantic.

LITERALLY! There are those who’ve woke up and can see, and there are those who are still asleep and unconsciously going along with the Plandemic. #TheyLive #covid_19 #Mask #mandate #Sheep #WakeUp #Asleep #RowdyRoddyPiper #DontConform #Conformity #Sheeple
https://www.instagram.com/p/CMzawndFeHJ/?igshid=ajjm6pscteyq

#Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of #growth" -JFK #quote #liberty #freedom #jfk #president #real #libertarian #apparel #tshirt #kickstarter #poster #blackandwhite #bw #black #kennedy #johnfkennedy

The Hierophant

#DELTAENDURINGTAROT

The Zed Omegas created an activity for the Student Open House at the Walker in November. The Open House theme was “Identity Crisis,” and the Zed Omegas created a long row of cookie-cutter silhouettes and invited passersby to personalize them with their high school selves.