Tiny Muscle - Tumblr Posts
The alien domination of Earth didn’t take too long--they had superior technology, certainly, and the fact that the human race constantly warred with itself made the take-over effortless.
The grey bug-eyed aliens considered themselves kind rulers: they had no desire to enslave anyone, nor did they want to cause any harm. With their technology they repaired the environment and cured diseases. The human race was given food and medicine. Life expectancy was doubled almost immediately, and because of the confiscation of all weapons, war and violence ended as well.
Some things, the aliens decided, seemed a little excessive: many of these humans were simply too large to be feasible members of this new harmonious society. Bodybuilders, strongmen, football players--these were unnecessary professions, and the cost to feed these gargantuan humans was unreasonable and their muscle mass was unnecessary.
Still, the kind alien rulers offered a compromise: a simple process using a device no human had ever seen before to allow these members of society to continue to excessively expand their musculatures, or a reduced diet, intended to slim them down to average proportions within months, allowing them to live normal lives.
The device, a gleaming ray-gun that gave off an unearthly hum even when it was powered down, terrified most people, especially when they were told that the process was permanent: not even the aliens could undo it once it had been done. Most of the men deemed “excessively developed” took the second offer, ate their little freeze-dried alien-designed meals until they blended in with normal society. Big linemen became tall skinny guys. Bodybuilders were just skinny average guys with chests the same size their legs used to be. With time, they forgot what it was like to be big, forgot that it was something they ever wanted.
Some humans were stubborn, as humans are known to be, and chose the irreversible ray-gun. Leo, a world-record holding strongman, had worked too hard to achieve what he had. He wasn’t born to be anything else, he’d argued when the aliens allowed him to choose his fate. “I was built to lift things and that’s it,” he argued. So the aliens pointed the ray gun at him and bathed him in purple light. Most people on hand thought he’d been disintegrated, but the aliens approached him shortly after, lost in a pile of the clothes he’d been wearing, and placed him in a tiny glass jar.
His girlfriend Jeannie had protested the whole thing, screamed when the ray hit him, and stared at her now-tiny boyfriend in his little glass prison, wondering what she was going to do now. “He’ll need to be processed,” the aliens explained. “Henceforth he will always need a sponsor, as he can take care of himself no longer. You will be eligible to be his sponsor if you wish after his processing.” They walked away as naked little Leo beat against the sides of the jar.
Only about ten percent of the oversized population chose the reduction process. The football players kept their jobs, of course--the mini-NFL took awhile to catch on, of course. Micro-cameras eliminated perspective enough that people watching at home could barely tell anything was different, although ticket sales plummeted for awhile. Watching professional athletes battle on a field smaller than a foosball table became a novelty, but eventually people got used to it, and the spectacle of the whole thing garnered great attention. The first mini-Super Bowl broke viewing records. Other than the accident in Texas, when a fan burst past guards and smashed his hand down on the field, things went smoothly (and security has been appropriately beefed up since then).
Bodybuilding shows continued, judges wearing jeweler’s monocles to inspect the tiny athletes’ physiques--which, after the reduction, became monstrous proportional to their six-inch frames. Super-heavyweight bodybuilders in the mini-IFBB (10.1-11.0 ounces) waddled around like super-vascular pincushions of muscle. Who knew the human body could expand to such amazing sizes when it was shrunk down to a height of only half a foot?
Lastly, the World’s Strongest Man competition continued--rebranded the World’s Strongest Mite--with competitors hoisting up regular-sized objects, dragging around Barbie’s dreamcar and Transformers, and trying to lift regular 12-ounce cans of soda overhead. Halfthor Bjornssen--nicknamed “the Molehill” since he reached his new height of 7-inches, leaving him still a giant among the reduced men--still competes and still acts, although much camera-trickery was needed to make it seem like he wasn’t a mere fraction of his former self.
All of these men needed sponsors, of course, since they were helpless to survive in society without them. Many were adopted by their wives and girlfriends, while others (like Halfthor, for example) were sponsored by fans who passed an extreme security check and paid a hefty sum of money. (It’s illegal to consider these reduced men “property,” per the alien’s decree, but it was hard to deny that many of the sponsors acted like they “owned” their little men--like the gentleman who sponsored Halfthor, carrying him around in a birdcage most of the time.)
As for little Leo, his girlfriend considered sponsoring him but passed on the idea (while he was being processed, she found another man--one of normal height--and passed on the idea of caring for her pet-sized ex-) but he was adopted by his coach, who pumped him full of steroids (one ampoule lasted forever with a six-inch powerlifter) and let him train and feed and grow as much as he wanted to. In shock after the process, Leo decided to quit competing (not wanting to be paraded around as an oddity). Instead, he just trains in his little aquarium, lifting heavier and heavier weights, swelling up with more muscle, ignoring everything but the call of the metal.
His life is quite idyllic, in fact--except when he hears the door-creak, loud as a siren, followed by earth-shaking footsteps as his coach invites friends over to drink and watch him train. Plenty of his coach’s powerlifting clients chose the first option, the sensible reduction, and every one of them gets a charge out of coming over to watch Leo’s swollen little body lift meager weights while drinking beers, and, after a few too many, grabbing hold of Leo’s little body to feel how meaningless it was to have big massive muscles if a normal man could pop them like zits.
(via Strongman 26702 - MyMuscleVideo)
Kirill and his weaselly little assistant caught Jay as he was sneaking to his hotel room from the Expo to get a break from the mob, a little quiet time to recenter himself before he went back out there and played Ambassador to Bodybuilding again. Jay smiled and shook Kirill’s hand--as big competitive athletes, they’d always been cordial before--but he made a point to make this little interaction short and sweet so he could get a little relaxation time before the long day ahead.
“Joel, take picture of us,” Kirill grunted to his assistant as he put an arm on Jay’s shoulder. Jay squared up next to the big powerlifter, a little suspicious of his aggressive tone and demeanor. There had always been a gentle beef between strength athletes and bodybuilders, and back in his Olympia heyday, when Jay had been the epitome of sculpted beef, he’d never worried about how tall or thick these strongmen were in comparison. But since his retirement, Jay always felt like these powerlifter guys had something they were trying to prove, trying to make him look small.
Or maybe he was just being paranoid. It had been a long weekend already, and he really needed to shut his eyes for about twenty minutes. Something about the way Kirill’s assistant Joel stared at him too made him uncomfortable. Jay knew that look: hungry admiration. The guy was a skinny average nobody, probably got the job working for Kirill because he had such a hard-on for size he had to be near it as much as he could. Joel pulled out a weird-looking camera and seemed to fiddle with it endlessly without producing a click or a flash.
“C’mon, bud, just take the damned picture will ya?” Jay said through a feigned grin, hoping to mask his annoyance as friendly teasing, but then he noticed something was wrong: he couldn’t move.
Worse, it felt like things around him were moving. Jay couldn’t turn his head but he peripherally witnessed Kirill rising up and away from him as the floor grew nearer. Jay’s fake smile lay plastered on his face, his body locked into his photo-friendly pose as it dawned on him that, somehow, his frame was compacting down in size.
Meanwhile, Kirill’s was expanding. Looking as far to the right as he could, Jay noticed he was now eye-level with Kirill’s knees… no, now his shins… and as Joel advanced menacingly, brandishing the wicked device, Jay realized that he was now half as tall as Joel, and less with every second.
“Man, look how fast it’s getting the smaller he gets!” Joel taunted.
It was true: Jay felt queasy as his perspective twisted into unfathomable dimensions: the room itself seemed to stretch on forever now, and the two men in the hallway with him were like buildings--Joel like a skyscraper, Kirill an impossible structure whose frame extended up against the ceiling which seemed miles away.
Then it all stopped and Jay collapsed. Relief at being able to move was erased by Joel’s giant fingers coming at him, snatching him before he could get away. His stomach lurched as the floor dropped out beneath him and he kicked his legs in the air as he was brought up to Joel’s giant face.
“I dunno if it’ll make you feel any better,” Joel said as he turned Jay this way and that, examining his shrunken frame, “but you weren’t our first choice here. We were gonna zap Morgan Aste, steal all of his size and put it on my boss’ body where it could do some good. But finding you back here, no bystanders, with all that bulk you’re just not doing anything with anymore… Right boss?”
Joel turned to face Kirill’s new stature. The size of the gargantuan powerlifter, impossible tall, huge and thick in all directions, made Jay’s whole body spasm.
“Hey boss, he just pissed himself!” Joel giggled. “Gross little shit! I oughtta squash you for that.”
“Put him in the bag!” Kirill commanded in a volcanic voice, pointing with a finger the size of a baguette.
“Yes sir!” Joel said, producing a net drawstring bag the size of his hand and dropping Jay’s tiny body into it. Jay struggled to no avail as he tumbled upside down into containment. He struggled but even the flimsy nylon netting was too strong for tiny Jay to battle with.
Arms pinned tightly to his sides in the bag, Jay felt Kirill’s footsteps rumbling the air as he headed back toward the expo. This couldn’t be real, this couldn’t be happening, but then Jay felt himself, nylon sack and all, stuffed upside down into Joel’s jeans pocket. A hand the size of Jay’s whole body patted him a few times. “Boss it gonna take all that size now, and I”m gonna take you, and we’re both going to have a lot of fun...
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BrandedX2: “Big Guys Taken Down a Notch”
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HOLY. CRAP. This is phenomenal. Thanks to @jo9mark (a constant source of inspiration for this tumblr) for pointing it out!