#dumber

Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D

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Stone Cold

“Coach said you have to get your shot, bro.”

I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.

“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.

“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?

“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”

“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.

I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”

“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”

“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.

Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”

“I am ready.”

“Prove it.”

I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just … let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”

“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”

The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.

In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.

Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.

I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.

“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”

“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.

“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.

The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.

“Rise, meathead. Follow.”

The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys…” An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.

“What the hell…?” I murmured.

“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”

“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.

I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.

“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”

“Fire.”

There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt … heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.

“Comfortable?”

The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.

“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”

I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who … are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.

“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”

I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down … and down … and down….

“Are you finished?”

A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.

“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”

“Why?” I finally managed to ask.

“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”

“You broke Chapman.”

“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.

Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.

“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”

“How?”

“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me … incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”

“I don’t want to.”

Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”

“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I … do….”

Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.

I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”

“Whatever….”

“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”

I clenched my mouth shut.

“Answer me,” Stone demanded.

“Yes, … Sir.”

“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”

I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”

“Whatever you say, Coach.”

“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and … at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?

…

Would I even want to?

I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.

Thrift ’N Shift

Credit to @blondboytoys for this image. Found it in a reblog, but they’re the source.

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Mark smiled as he walked into the store. With the economy the way it had been, thrift stores like these were a godsend to teens and adults alike. Electronics, clothes, cookware, you name it, they usually had something to offer. What better place to burn a few bucks?

The store was well stocked with many an item on clothes racks or stored on shelves and in cases to view. Mark made straight for the clothing. If he was going to have a laugh, this would be a good place to start. He couldn’t help but smirk as he eyed one of the hangers. Two thin straps draped on either branch, hemmed with blue, yellow, and orange thread. A veritable rainbow spectrum shone across the brand label over the left side of the chest.

A lift of the hanger and one click of his cell phone later, and he’d sent the text.

Who wants to see me in this?

The flood of emotes ranged from crying laughter to shut eyes laughing and more. The messages varied, but their intent was about the same, that single push of, DO IT!

Mark swept a few extra random articles for good measure and made his way toward the dressing room. The stall was spacious and included a tall mirror for the occupants to see how the clothing fit. Mark didn’t hesitate. He quickly stripped out of his shirt and shuffled the tank top over his body. The shirt felt more like a nightgown than a proper garment, but at least it didn’t fall off his shoulders. He chuckled and raised his phone, then snapped a quick selfie.

What do you think, “bros?” :P

DUUUUUUUUUUUUDE!

BRO!

I can’t believe you actually did it!

Mark couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched the attention flooding in. The phone continued to ping as he gazed at his reflection and rubbed his chin. If he really wanted to up the hilarity, he knew what he needed to do. He flexed a bicep and held the phone overhead, then snapped.

Do you even lift, bro? #python #big gun #LOL #Muscleheadamok #Bruh

He chuckled as another flood of replies flowed in. As he looked over the picture, he couldn’t help but rub his chin in thought. The way the straps fell over his chest actually didn’t look half bad. A little uneven, though.

He strode out of the room briefly and tapped a patron on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Sorry to be a bother, but could you just take a quick picture for me?”

The man who turned to face him was portly with a white sweater vest draping over his frame. An old fashioned smoke pipe curved from between his lips to rest against his palm as he blinked and focused on the teen. “What was that?” the man asked. The accent that flowed was a strange blend of American and British, almost as if he were trying to force it. He furrowed his brow as his waxed mustache twitched. “Oh, a picture. Of course. Of course. No trouble.” He proffered a hand and easily panned the frame while he clenched the pipe in his teeth.

The camera flashed. Mark blinked. He didn’t remember turning that function on.

“I hope that worked, young man. I never can seem to get these phones to work properly. Confounded things are more trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me. Give me my pipe and a good book any day of the week.” Smoke billowed from between the man’s lips, but he didn’t seem to care or mind the fact he was smoking in the store. Had he … been doing that before? The accent definitely sounded more authentic this time around. Maybe it was practice? Practice does make perfect.

“Uh, … thanks,” Mark said as he seized his phone. The man smiled and walked away, leaving what appeared to be a pager on the floor as he disappeared into the crowd. Another blink, and the device suddenly had a price tag on it. Mark crouched, picked it up, and placed it on one of the many shelves nearby. Though he had no idea who would want to even buy something so antiquated. He chuckled as he walked away and peered at the photo. His hair had been carefully styled to emphasize his forehead without making it overly large compared to the rest of his frame. The muscles under the fabric were toned, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sight. He wasn’t a musclehead, but he looked good. “Not bad, ‘bro.’ Huhuh.”

The chuckle felt almost like a cough, and Mark rubbed his throat as his eyes furrowed. He circulated the photo in the thread and smiled as the replies flooded in.

Dude, have you been working out?

You gonna buy it or what?

Lookin’ good, bro. Sun’s out, guns out!

He hardly paid attention as the dressing room door creaked open under his touch, then shut behind him. Instead, his eyes locked on the floor-length mirror again. He frowned as he scrutinized his face, his shoulders, the way the shirt hung over his frame. Something seemed … off, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Maybe it’s the look?” he questioned, even as his voice cracked and dropped. He cleared his throat and swallowed again. His vocal cords tingled, but at least there wasn’t any annoying tickle. Those things were the worst. He swallowed again and smiled as his Adam’s apple bobbed in time with the motion. He took a certain pride in that size after the teasing he’d received in the earlier days of his youth.

“When are your balls gonna drop, bro?”

Mark smiled and spread his arms wide in the mirror. “Good fruit takes time to ripen, bro.” He shuddered, and his eyes rolled in pleasure as he drew his head back, thrust his chin forward and flexed. This time, he shot the mirror a cocky grin. “Damn, you sound sexy,” he rumbled. His chest rose and fell in time as he flexed and posed. He looked good, but as he eyed the jeans sheathing his legs, he frowned. The clothes pile was there, just waiting, and he knew what he wanted, what he needed to make the look really work.

Shucking the jeans felt so freeing as meaty thighs and thick calves hardened into sculpture. His hand drifted over his briefs. He blinked, and the familiar pressure of cotton hugged his bulge. Before he knew it, the camera flash went off. Meaty thumbs jabbed heavily at the touchscreen on his phone as a flexing bicep swelled into prominence over the whole surface before opening to his main feed. He punched against the keys and smirked cockily as he hit the post button.

This new tank’s growing on me. Think I’ll run it through its paces.

It didn’t take long for notifications to start flooding in. His chest swelled with pride as his torso broadened. He huffed another chuckle. The cool air tingled against the stubble on the sides of his head. The new fade cut helped to emphasize the angularity in his facial features. Wads of button-up shirts and slacks with suspenders went by the wayside as he dug like a dog after its bone until he finally unearthed the clothes he was looking for.

The sleek shiny black material of the shorts was cool and breezy as he pulled the garment up his legs and gazed at the mirror. He looked ready to run, and his heart hammered in anticipation of the act. His breathing came heavier and faster as his skin tingled and stretched taut. Another flex and pop, pop, snap, pop! Veins burst into existence, as if the muscles were forcing them out of some hidden sheath or hole. Blood surged in his ears.

“Bro….” His head felt … strange, light, fuzzy, stuffed.

Another flash. This time, the photo showed a glazed stare with his mouth slightly agape. Emotes surged with icons of steaks, meat on bones, flexing biceps, starry eyes, hearts, and more. He even heard the familiar ring of a cash register going off. A notification for deposits into an account, donations from adoring fans.

Can’t wait for the vid.

Show us that pump!

Fuck, get to the gym already!

The gym…? Did he … have an appointment there? His thumb drifted hesitantly over the screen and brushed the dollar icon at the bottom of the app’s menu. His eyes widened at the total. +$2300.20 and still rising, just from today’s pics alone. “The fuck…?” He scrawled through the main post feed. Post after post and selfie after selfie revealed all manner of poses and stances. Some in briefs. Some in jockstraps. Some in tight compression gear to show off the definition in his muscles. Occasionally, a workout video would surface showing him pumping some impossibly large weight to force his body to show off with sleek sweat and clinging gymwear. How … could this be him? Some of those dates were clearly game nights, times to hang out with his bros and totally invite them to the gym.

…

Wait, … that wasn’t….

FLASH

Right … right…. He gazed at a timeline .gif as four tiny bros swelled into big meaty models, grinning with two on either side of his giant frame. From nerds to studs and stats to lats. The tank top clung to his shoulders and pecs now as his brow lowered over the sight and a dull chuckle huffed out his anxiety. Game night meant teaching them how to get game. And who better to teach them than the master himself?

Mark grinned cockily as he snapped another pic. Then a new message pinged on the app.

Stop posing and start running, bro. We’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get your ass over here already!

Mark chuckled. His little bros were starting to grow some fangs. He strode out from the changing room and sighed. Guess he’d have to look for some shirts to tear off for his fans later. As he left, he bumped into one of the attendants. “Oh, uh, sorry, bro. Didn’t see ya there.” He rubbed his head awkwardly, showing off his lats and biceps. “Uh, … I gotta go, but I don’t got time to return the rest of the gear in there. You think you can, uh, you know….?” The bristles over his scalp scraped against his hand, leaving a pleasant tingle to course through his body as a result.

“Of course, Sir.” The clerk smiled. “Did you find what you wanted?”

“Not yet, but … I’ll be back.” He pulled out his wallet from a pocket and shoved a fifty into the worker’s hand. “For the trouble. Thanks, little bro.” And then he was off with his boulder legs stomping the ground as he charged through the store and into the light beyond. The gym was calling, and he couldn’t keep his bros, let alone his fans, waiting.

The attendant crouched and picked up a tee shirt from the floor. The captioning on it read Just an Ordinary Teenager. “Thank you for the business.” He chuckled and shook his head as he picked it up. “Someone in a midlife crisis is going to loveyou.” He sighed as he looked over a clipboard. “I suppose I should get the bodybuilding inventory out. If that lummox comes back, he’s practically guaranteed to pick that next as a life course. He smirked as he checked a familiar looking app on his phone while his muscles strained ever so slightly against his uniform. “He’ll certainly have enough money for it.” He chuckled as he made his way into the changing room and retrieved the clothing the behemoth had left behind. “I wonder what his friends will choose if he brings them here….”

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….”

Credit to @willpeter for this picture.

Parting Worlds (A Patreon Preview)

SRY BRO. HRD 2 TEYP. BIG THUMS. HUHUH. FEEL GUD THO. FOUND MY PLACE. LIVIN THE DREAM. BRO, IT’S … IT’S…. FUCK. CAN’T THINK OF THE WORD. FUUUUUUUCK. NEVUR THOT BEIN DUM WUD FEEL SO GUD. I M BIG NOW. BIG MEAT. U WANT 2 B MEAT LYK ME, COME HERE. I’LL B WEIGHTING, BRO. DON’T 4GET. SAVE THAT 4 L8R. HUHUHUH.

Bryant looked at the last message from his old friend. Chris had included a map pin for GPS. It had been six months since he last heard from the man. Six months. His apartment had been cleared out. A missing person’s case had long since been filed.

The police had investigated the site from the address after Bryant provided it. All they found was an old parking garage cordoned off by a chain-link fence. A warrant obtained using the information yielded no further results. The space was empty, the building abandoned. There was no sign of foul play. No drugs, no tags, no evidence of any prior occupation, save for what looked like a needle of some kind. Careful investigation revealed the space had once housed a tattoo parlor before transitioning to this structure. The needle was a part of a tattoo kit, probably left at the scene when the brick and mortar folded and went mobile.

So, why was he here now, listening to the echo of his own footsteps?

His eyes roved through the murky space as dim light flickered from the fixtures overhead. A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the fence. He’d seen the photos from the scene. The police made everything public after they’d finished chasing down the lead. And now, here he was.

“Why?” he murmured to himself. The officers had already tried everything. Did he really think he could do better?

The woven metal was cold against his fingers as they grasped the chain link. Black lines streaked over his skin, a sign of the time that had passed and the lack of human contact in the area. A wooden pallet had been laid against one side of the gate. A long metal chain draped at the other side, tied to the bar. Perhaps it was meant to prevent entry? But if so, someone had undone those efforts. It hissed, rattled, and clattered as Bryant slowly pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked and squealed from disuse.

“It won’t work that way, you know.”

Bryant jumped in surprise and turned swiftly. The man that stood there was … average in just about every way one could imagine. He carried an unremarkable face with a pair of shaded glasses that drew one’s focus away from the remainder of his appearance while the clouded lenses obscured his eyes.

“Who are you?” Bryant finally managed to say.

The man shrugged. “I go by many names. I suppose you can call me the Gatekeeper.”

——————————————————————

If you all enjoyed this snippet and want to see the rest of the story (and the transformation that follows), please join my Patreon. This particular story is a sample from my $5 reward slot. For a regular monthly donation of $5 a month, you receive a free quality short story written by yours truly. I specialize in transformation, but I am flexible and can do other types of stories if necessary, though I reserve the right to reject certain themes or ideas that go against my religious beliefs or are otherwise too far out of my comfort zone. Thus far, I’ve only encountered such a request once, possibly twice, and we were able to come to an amicable arrangement.

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Bryce had enough muscle and enough cock to turn any man gay. Before he was bullied mercilessly, but thanks to a consistent and effective gym routine, he was now the bully. Secretly, his other ‘bros’ loved the attention Bryce gave them. Deep down they were fags waiting to be dominated by a roided up sex machine. 

Why else do you think they would slip growth serum into the school nerds drink?

To see him blow up maybe? into a sex hungry roid beast. 

A roided man’s ego is impressionable and malleable, he will believe whatever he is told, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants, why? Because everything about him is big and big men get what they want.

Pic:@slaveboy272

The 2 nerds exchanged some of their brain cells for muscle. They used to do advanced calculus. Now they just do each other. They hoped to be tops when the muscles started to bulge under their skin, but with such cute faces the bottom life is all they can get.

bonermakers:

So what team is this and how do I join or at least watch?

To join this team you need to take coach’s jocking serum. It will give you the giant body needed to participater, and a dumb mind to match the body. Be careful though, the serum is irreversable. And you might wanna reconsider when you know that after every match the loser gets locked in a metal chastity cage. As you can see, the boy on the left is already wearing one.

Pic:@gay-lgbt-noh8

Once he was a cocky jock, always smiling with that cocky grin, looking around searching for girls and even desperate twinks to fuck. That was him until I penetrated his mind and altered it. I made him the man he needed to be. Or should I say slut. Because after I treated him he acted differently. He started to make duckfaces in selfies, He went to the gym more and started flexing more to the bigger guys. Seducing looks were thrown to everyon who was watching. He had become a slutty stud, hungry for cock. Hungry for any guy who would want to fuck him. And gone was the cocky jock. Gone was the cocky attitude.

Pic:@slaveboy272

He can’t even find his face with his camera anymore. That’s how dumb he has become. His dick is most important for him now. And the team of course. His number is 7, and that is the only name he has left. 7 the horny muscular jock. All I had to do was give him a sweaty, used shirt and his mind would break easily. He will be a great addition to the team though, due to his loyalness.

Pic: @franz846

He never went to parties as he not many friends but today one of the popular guys suddenly invited him to his party that evening. He wanted to say no because that night was D&D night with the chess club but was afraid to do so. He figured he could go for a few hours and then leave.

So he went to the party. When he arrived the guy immediately gave him a drink. He took a few sips and talked with a few people. When he finished his drink he wanted to leave again. He planned to go to the D&D night but he felt extremely tired so he went home. Immediately he fell asleep on the couch. 

The next morning he woke up with a huge morning wood. He moaned due to the horniness it gave him. He took some clothes and went to the bathroom. He admired his hot body in the mirror and send out some pics to his friends. Damn they would be drooling over his hot body. Damn he was so hot. He kept admiring himself and flexing. Then he put on some slutty clothes and went to the gym. All the twinks and studs there would be staring at his damn hot body, he kept thinking.

Pic:@slaveboy272

His braincells are burning, fueling the growth of his body. Soon he will not even know what a brain cell is. His life will exist out of muscle, fucking twinks, making coach happy and excersizing. Being a himbo is quite easy. You just have to find the right coach who can change you.

Pic:@gay-lgbt-noh8

Weeks and weeks of searching the deepest and darkest dungeons of the internet, they found it. The submissive bottom twinks were tired of being small, and constantly being fucked by bigger guys. The ettiquette saif that a few drops were enough, but they drank the whole bottle. In just few minutes the were flexing their rock hard muscles, and their monstercocks were straining in their pants. But the bottle clearly said: caution, more than a few drops causes braincell loss. And that’s exactly what happened. “Hehe. We big! We strong! Fuck the twinks. Horny. fuck.” One of the said. And the other just laughed. They were not able to form good sentences anymore but they didn’t care. “They had da musclas! Hehe.” And with that they left for the club.

Pic:@gay-lgbt-noh8​

Dumb horny jocks. They’re bodies take time to change, but their minds are so easy to penetrate. Keep looking into my eyes boys. It’s so easy to just let go. To just obey coach. And to be one of the team. You don’t need to think. I’ll do that for you. The only thing you need to do is workout. And be horny. Stop thinking. Be dumb. Be horny. Be a horny jockboy

Pic:@gay-lgbt-noh8

While getting dressed in the lockerroom I noticed my socks and boxerbriefs were missing. And the post peculiar thing was that there was a pair of both lying on the bench next to me. They looked clean and everyone had already left the room. In pure desperation I put them on. I needed to wear something right?

As soon as I put them on I felt a rush of power flowing through my body. My body felt strange. As if my skin didn’t fit anymore. The underwear and socks started to feel tigher too. But they fit more on my body. I stumbled towards the nearest mirror. I could just see the big changes happening. My but plumped out, the boxerbriefs hugging it tightly. Big abs transforming body into nice and toned. All my bodyfat disappearing, leaving me with a skinny, but muscular body. 

Then something in my mind snapped. I had always been like this. I had always been big and strong. I had never liked school. I always work out. I always flex my big abs when I walk past the slutty studs. Yeah… That’s me.

I got dressed and left the lockerroom. I had forgotten my old life. It didn’t exist enymore. I had always been a dumb cocky jock.

Instajock

Nate was helping tutor some of us Psi Alpha Alphas. He was a good dude and smart ass tutor too, but he was all stressed out all the time about making enough to meet the next tuition bill. So awesome guy that I am I decided to help him out. One quick pic in my new app was all I needed.

I’m still getting the hang of the settings but it helps if you turn on the “naked filer” first. Makes it easier to check the progress, and damn did this scrawny ass dude need my help. I switched on auto correct to make things faster and started typing away. F-R-A-T-B-O-Y. With each letter his body stared to morph appropriately, putting on height and pounds that looked like they came from both pumping weights and chugging beers. In seconds a beefy new frat brother stood where the scrawny as Nate used to be. He was perfect but I couldn’t forget- he wanted some extra income and I knew just the thing. 

As I typed he morphed again. While before he gained masculine mass, now he got both bigger and leaner. Pizza and kegstand body fat melted away into a fitness model physique perfect for his new gigs gyrating and thrusting at sorority girl houses, bachelorette parties, and local clubs. His ass also got noticeably rounder and cock massive enough to split out of any costume or thong. To finish things off I maxed out the “sex drive saturation” and watched as his already impressive cock became even thicker and permanently semi-hard. Finally for extra fun I dulled down the already low “cognitive brightness” to an extra low and grinned as his frozen features melted into a dull grin. Hit save and a backwards cap appeared on his head. The new Nate, fratboy stripper stud was good to go.

I’m still craving to try out all the app settings so let me know if you want to apply.

Hmm blushing skinny guy, huh? No matter.  Your type is my specialty. Now, let’s see what we have to work with.

First, try to flex for me.
Come on, don’t be shy. 

Ok, good. No muscle on you, but we can work with that

Flex again.

Now again.
Better. 

That’s a start.

Flex a bit harder.
There you go.
Hold it. Just need a bit more mass… 
Perfect.

Now drop the trousers.

Don’t be shy. Just let em drop. Just flex.

Exactly. That’s it. You’re kinda liking it now right?
Be confident.
And see that, you have some nice legs. Getting some height on you too. Looking good.

Ok, so now turn that cap around.
Yup. Face is looking better already.
Give me a pout. Like you’re a dumb stud.
That’s it. Now a bit dumber.
Yeah. More. 
Perfect. 

Now why don’t you show off a bit more and flex out of that sweatshirt. I know you want to. And you better pull off those briefs too, unless you just want to grow right out of them. 

That’s it keep flexing. You like what you see right? Feels good watching your biceps grow, chest swellin in your t. You’re no skinny twink anymore. Doesn’t matter that youre not much of a postdoc student any more either. That you don’t even remember your old name. Cause it feels good getting cocky and big. You wanna be a sexy stud. You want to get jacked. You wanna fuck. Go ahead keep flexin. I see that cock of yours getting hard. Stick with us and you can train, flex, fuck all you want.

Mirror Jock So Fucking Hot

Sam: Do I really have to be shirtless for this? It’s just a stupid urban myth, what’s the point?

Nate: You chose dare. Besides its hilarious. Just look in the mirror and say the words to yourself.

Mike: Heck maybe it’ll actually work haha. Imagine turning into a stupid himbo.

Nate: Hurry up and go, it’s Mike’s turn next.

Sam: “IamfuckinghotIamfuckinghotIamfuckinghot” there happy?

Nate: This isn’t Bloody Mary. You have to keep saying it.

Sam: Oh come on. Until when?

Mike: Until we say so dufus. And slow up, don’t be so insecure. At least say it like you mean it. For the smartest guy in class you can be real thick

Sam: Fine, fine, fine “I am fucking hot. I am fucking hot. I am fucking hot.“ Er this is so stupid. Are we done? Cause its getting kinda warm

Nate: Whatever, shut up Sam. Keep going

Sam: I am fucking hot. I am fucking hot. Mmm… I am fucking hot

Mike: Haha that’s better. That was kinda convincing. Why don’t you flex a little if you’re so hot? Haha

Sam: Hmm flex? I am fucking hot *flex* Ha I am fucking hot*flex* I am fucking hot *flex**fleeeex* Mmm yeah. I am fucking hot

Mike: Hahaha nice, you totally sound like a jock.

Nate: Uh Mike… was he always that toned?

Sam: Fuck look at these abs. I’m so fucking hot. Mmm biceps man. Huhu so fuckin hot.

Mike: Holy shit dude, he’s actually…

Sam: Pecs fuckin hot. Like muscle so fuckin hot. Bod so fuckin hot. Yeah bro I’m like so fuckin HahhT.

Mike: Fuck dude. Look at him lick his bis. Shit he’s turning fucking hot…

Nate: Uh ya sure, but he’s our friend… He’s sounding like a dumb muscle jock

Sam: Cock so fuckin hot

Nate: Alright Sam stop! Keep your clothes on. It’s gone far enough. Stop stop. You’re turning into a total musclehead

Sam: Mmm but brah, you’re so fuckin hot

Nate: No wait, come on stop

Sam: Ur so fuckin hot

Nate: Quit it, get your hands off me. I don’t wanna look in the fucking mirror…

Sam: U so fuckin hot

Nate: No ugh… I’m so - fuck- stop… Mike help!

Mike: Muscle so fuckin hot. I’m so fuckin hot

Nate: Fuck… Mike no…ugh so hot… hands off my… no- so fuckin hot

Sam: Hot bro. Bro so fuckin hot

Nate: Ugh… fuck… bro… so hot… uuuuugh yaaAA. so fuckin hot