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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?”

“I want to 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?

“What the hell?” 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 THUG rose 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 THUGS groaned, 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.

Maybe you do want after all....

Cliché Gym Chapter 8 (Patreon sample)

“All right, I’d say you have the form down now. Time for another lesson,” Jeff says in his deep voice. It doesn’t seem to grate in your ears anymore. Instead, it’s become little more than a quirk. Unusual, but not to the point of disturbing you. Like most things in life, it’s just a matter of adjustment. The witty personality definitely helped there. That doesn’t mean you haven’t had your guard up, but from what you’ve been able to find out, Jeff is clean of anything, at least on the surface. For now, he seems completely dedicated to his job of training patrons.

“Oh? And what in?” you ask.

“Let’s just say you might end up receiving a bit of a … spotty reception.”

You raise a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sorry I’m late, Sir. Traffic was awful. I’m ready to … get … started….” A voice deliberately pitched deeper. You turn with some surprise to stare at a form you did not expect to see on this floor. The man had a heavy dark scruff that grew over his face. A few tattoos had been inked under one of his forearms and along one his right side. He wore only a pair of what looked like shiny black briefs and an exceedingly dirty and worn-out pair of sneakers tied around calf-length socks with two horizontal black lines that emphasized the muscle they covered to make it look larger. He stared at you in stunned confusion.

Credit for this image goes to @muscleeater​ here on Tumblr. Link: https://muscleeater.tumblr.com/post/676213810472910848 If you want to see more of this story and other muscle and various TF stories, feel free to join my Patreon.

Credit for this image goes to Maxx114. If you enjoy this, please consider donating to my ko-fi or joining my patreon to help fund my writing. More money means more free time to write these stories. :D Thanks!

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Trapped

Ever wonder how I got this big? It wasn’t steroids, if that’s what you think. Everyone thinks that. I always test clean, though. My body won’t take any drugs that aren’t medically necessary.

Why’d I word it that way? I can’t ... really say. My tongue will get tied. No literally, I mean my tongue will try to tie itself up. The minute I say something my body doesn’t like, my tongue will—

...

...

...

You can see what I mean.

I don’t know how it happened. I just ... can’t control it anymore. I’m trapped. No, literally, I’m tra—uhhhhhhhhh.....

...

...

...

Fuck.... I ... how long was I out?

Look, let’s just say my body is my top priority, okay? I treat it right so it’ll treat me right.

You’ve heard of muscle memory and all that stuff, right? Muscles learn, and so does your body. It does things you don’t even have to think about after a while. It just ... knows that’s what it’s supposed to do.

Some folks deal with their bodies eating themselves, immune system attacking healthy cells and going out of control for no reason. My body’s sort of the opposite. It’s gone into hyper mode to make me as healthy as I can. Every impulse, every step, day in and day out, my body’s health comes first.

...

Fuck, that felt good....

Sorry, call it ... a reward for compliance.

When I work out, what I eat, when I sleep, who I hang out with, all of it is centered around my body and the lifestyle it needs to keep this shape.

Fun fact. Did you know that the brain isn’t actually a muscle? While it is an organ, the majority of its composition and cellular structure has nothing to do with any kind of physical work in the sense that the arms or the legs might. The only muscle tissue involved in the brain has to do with the blood vessels that control where the blood flows, so your brain can get enough oxygen to keep functioning. And that muscle tissue functions as an insulator and, I guess you could say a sort of control valve to the blood vessels to regulate the flow.

Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. I’m what you might call a muscle man. In the traditional sense of the word, yes, I’m talking about my muscles, but I kind of mean it on a deeper sense. For me, it’s more than just dedication to my craft. I have to build my muscles. I have to get stronger. I have to be the very best my body can be. It’s not a choice for me anymore.

No, I mean it literally. I have to do it. I’ve lost so much because of this. And I may get some of it back with the recent success I’ve been having in the bodybuilding community, but it’s never going to be the same. I’m never going to be the same.

I’m never going back to the old me.

...

...

...

Sorry, I, uh ... zoned out again there. Another one of those rewards I mentioned.

The secret to my success? It’s all in my head. I mean, it started in my traps. You see how huge these things are. And then it was sort of like a rebellion at that point. An itch, a nag. I started building to level things out, get more even. But when I was satisfied, my body wasn’t. That’s when I started noticing ... things. Things that weren’t quite right.

I was sore every day, even on my rest days. And it got harder and harder to do the things I used to to relax. Going to the movies, eating at buffets, gaming in my off hours from work. I used to have a cheap ramen diet. That was one of the first things to go. Things were sort of subtle at first. My eyes would be drawn to supplements, health foods, all the things my budget wouldn’t necessarily allow me to enjoy, but I lingered over them anyway. I’d sit there and stare at them for five, then, fifteen minutes. And I knew I couldn’t afford to get these things, but ... I didn’t move either.

It started turning into a real problem that I didn’t understand, so I finally gave in and just bought one of the darned things. And just like that, I felt free to move again. There was even a warm feeling in my chest. You know, like the kind where you just did something really nice, and you feel good for it?

Eventually, there were some things that I couldn’t push myself to do anymore, though. Once the supplement was gone, the urge was back again, that strange stillness, all while I continued to ache. I was getting some great definition, but ... I was concerned. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. Didn’t have enough to cover a visit. I was barely scraping by with my other work.

It was work, then home exercises, then shower, then meals and supplements, bed, repeat. I was as surprised as my friends and family when I logged into my social media accounts one day and saw my tags had changed. Vacant, empty stares were in every picture of my increasingly muscular body.

And I never remembered taking any of them.

I was scared, but ... I don’t know whether it was the shock or what, but ... I didn’t feel it so badly. Kind of like a jump scare, you know? There in a moment, gone the next. Instead, my heart started pounding. I felt that itch. My usual patch of floor was waiting.

...

And then I was working out.

I don’t mean I chose to. I mean ....

You know what it’s like to go through an out of body experience, right?

It was something like that, except I was still in the car, so to speak. I just ... watched.

It was the freakiest thing I had ever experienced.

And I knew I needed to see a doctor then. This wasn’t normal behavior.

I met with the doctor first, then got forwarded to a psychiatrist.

You can guess where this is going. I was given pills, told to take them, report back on how I feel in the next couple of weeks after they’ve had time to build up in my system.

I tried. I really did.

It didn’t help.

I don’t know whether they were placebos or something else, but things just ... kept going the same way. My muscles got bigger. And I got ... smaller, I guess. Not physically, but mentally. I was literally losing control of my own body. It wasn’t hurting anyone directly, but it frightened me.

I tried everything. Hypnosis, self-help books. Heck, I even checked into a psych ward to see if they could figure out what was going on with me. Nothing worked.

When I did the things myself, doctors say I was being rewarded. Dopamine and all those other hormones and chemicals shot through the roof, well beyond the norm for the average male. When I resisted, however, something ... different was discovered.

In a very real way, it was like coordinated mutiny. Bloodflow in my brain literally shifted as some of the valves tightened and others opened full blast. And as they did, I found myself being the passenger again. When I tried to eat certain foods, my limbs would go limp. I literally couldn’t even feel them. If I tried to go somewhere that wasn’t conducive to my body’s welfare, I would find myself suddenly unable to progress past a certain point. Or worse yet, jogging right past and not stopping.

I couldn’t type or write certain words or phrases. And the more I grew, the ... fuzzier things became, I suppose. When I hunch forward like this, it’s not so much a habit or for comfort as a ... friendly reminder. Kind of like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The neck controls wherever the head turns.

I’m a pris—

...

I’m a pri—

...

I’m a pris—uhhhhhhhhhhhhh....

I’m a pristine example of the fruits of hard work and discipline.

It is my intention to continue to grow and exceed expectations in competition. It’s just a matter of listening to your body. When you listen to your body, you are rewarded by your body.

...

Yes, everything is fine now. You could say we’ve come to an understanding since then. I can honestly say this is the most pleasurable life I could ever hope to have. Some things have changed, but I’m happy. And happiness is what matters in the end. I do what my body wants, and it rewards me, just like everyone else. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but it’s time for me to get back to work. My body wants to break its record today at the squat rack.

Don’t worry, I just cry randomly sometimes. Don’t know if it’s something in the air or just a thing, but I live with it. Thanks again for the interview. Goodbye!

...

...

...

A behemoth of muscle and strength sits on a bench before a mirror and stares at his reflection as he reaches for two massive dumbbells.

Now, then. What do we need?

A low groan fills the room as the eyes lose focus and the tears cease to fall. Shoulders rise and fall, prompting the trapezius muscles to almost massage his neck with his deltoids and pectorals. The lips smack. The tongue lolls and lashes momentarily in the mouth before finally settling limply, meekly against the base. The breathing grows deep and steady as his cheeks flush in euphoria and the weights clank with the beginnings of reps.

WE ... NEED ... TO WORK OUT....

The twitch of a smirk pulls at his face in the mirror.

Good boy.

The eyes roll briefly.

You won’t be talking about us like that again, will you?

Another groan. The eyes grow dull in their gaze as the body continues to rep.

NO ... SIR....

Good boy. Listen to your body....

OBEY MY BODY....

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 If you’d like to see more of these stories, please join my Patreon.

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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.

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!

This chapter is written in the form of a medical journal entry recording. As such, there will be references to human anatomy, symptoms of the fictional illness, etc. There will also be some language involved, and there will be signs of the doctor who is speaking in this recording manifesting some of those very same symptoms that he is listing. There is no sexually explicit content in this story. However, there is frank language used in describing the patients and their symptoms, and (as I said earlier) there is reference to human anatomy and patient behavior. While the word “masturbation” is used in the chapter, there is no description of that act being performed. It is merely a reference of symptom manifestation as the fictional disease progresses, and is listed as such. You have been warned. Please, do not flag this post. I’ll even make sure to close off the content below with a read more link, just to be on the safe side, so only the people who are really sure they want to proceed can read it.

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 Jock stage. 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.

“The Meathead 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….”

EXCELLENT IDEA