Real Mens Journal: Part 2

Real Men’s Journal: Part 2

~Day 3~

Well, all I can say is I told them so. Just as I thought, this morning everyone woke up sore. Everyone who worked out anyways. On the plus side, that gave me the chance to get to the showers first. Easy in, easy out. I was ready to go before anyone else could get out of the showers. I heard a lot of sighs in those stalls. I’m not too big a fan of them myself. There’s a weird smell in there. Probably mildew or something like that. Maybe it’s B.O. Either way, I don’t like it. Though they do seem to have some type of video screen there for us to watch programs if we want. I could hear some of the static as they were flicked on. But enough of that.

So I performed “the routine” and brushed my teeth, combed my hair, ordered my drawer to open. Yet again I was met with a nice pair of shorts and a workout shirt. Augh. You can imagine my mood. I tromped my way out of the room after my “mandatory scan” and made my way for the mess hall. At least they have some decent food here. I grabbed a cinnamon roll and a glass of milk with a side of toast. Whole wheat of course. Have to keep my fiber up. Doctor’s orders.

Kevin greeted me cheerfully.

“Hey, Kyle. How’s it going?” I shrugged.

“Can’t complain. Looks like you’re not doing so well, though.” I saw how slowly he was moving his arms and legs as he ate. The kid was nice though; he bowed his head and said a prayer before he ate. You don’t see that much in today’s society.

“I’m doing alright.” He smiled at me. “The soreness is part of the change. I’ll get over it in a few days.”

“No bullies yet, right?”

“Yeah. It’s really nice. All I get is support. I even have a personal trainer on my journal to help me learn and grow.”

“Don’t you mean unlearn?” I asked, laughing. “By the time they’re done with you, you’ll be just like them.” I put on my best vacant expression and did a fake flex. “Like, gotta get swole, bro. Can’t focus on school no more. School’s for nerds!”

“Shut up!” He said, laughing as he shoved me. We both had a good laugh as we finished our breakfast and made our way to the gym. I decided to sit and watch Kevin this time as he worked out. Every once in a while his virtual trainer would chastise him for losing form, instructing him how to adjust until he got it right. Naturally, the holo-simulation showed Abrams’ lovely mug. About half way through the workout one of the thugs brought a protein shake in and handed it to Kevin.

“Thanks, 36,” he said.

“No problem, lil’bro. Just keep pumpin’ those weights,” the lug said, smiling vacantly as he flexed a bicep. “You’ll be as big as me one day.” He didn’t even bother looking at me as he walked past, his shoulder knocking me back. So much for that kindness. I rubbed my arm as I walked up to Kevin where he sat on the bench, his shirt drenched in sweat.

“Where’d you meet tall, dumb, and ruthless?”

“He’s not that bad, Kyle.”

“Maybe not to you. All these Neanderthals seem a little too eager to ignore and look down on me.”

“You’re just being paranoid. I’m sure once they get to know you it’ll be better. After all, we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, but you don’t mind a guy like me. They do. You’re working out because you can. I can’t, even if I did want to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I get sick every time I try. I have asthma. If I don’t black out from exertion, I throw up on the floor because I get nauseated when I work out.”

“Oh.” Kevin took a swig of his chocolate swill and shuddered. “That does kind of make it tough, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. And all the popular kids singled me out because of it. I don’t have physical strength, so I made use of the gifts I did have and worked on the one muscle I knew wouldn’t be effected by exertion,” I said, pointing to my head. “Gossip and labeling took care of the rest. High School life. Ya gotta love it,” I said, sighing.

“That does it, then.” Kevin said, smacking his drink onto a nearby platform. “I’m going to get big and strong. And then once I do, I’m changing things at my high school. People like us deserve a chance to be treated equally. I’m going to make that happen.” With that, he slid his finger over the touch screen on his journal and stared intently at the holographic projection. “Okay, coach. Tell me what to do.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at this kid’s determination. It’s one thing to say you’re going to change something, another to actually do it. Still, I wish him luck. The worst that could happen is he gets popular for being fit. I watched silently as he pushed through set after set, clacking barbells and dumbbells, doing leg-ups and crunches, whatever the program told him to do, he did. I had to grab him a few drinks from time to time, but whatever made him happy was good enough for me. Kevin’s sudden spurt caught more than a few passing eyes as meatheads and coaches alike viewed his determination.

When workout time was done Abrams came and personally congratulated Kevin, smacking him on the back. Kevin just huffed and swayed on his feet. He looked a little out of it. Must’ve been from watching that hologram for so long. I’m pretty sure having a green light glowing in my face all day shouting at me would leave me the same way.

“Thanks, Coach,” he said, smiling.

“Keep this up and you’ll be ready to advance in no time.”

“Sure thing, Coach. That’s what I’m working towards.”

“That’s the spirit!” Then Abrams smacked him in the butt. Kevin jumped, immediately reaching back to grab the point of impact while Abrams placed a meaty hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, tiger. It’s just an expression here. Means you’re doing a good job. High fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, and head butts are also common ways to express approval and friendship here. You’ll get used to the idea in time.”

“Oh. Um … okay,” Kevin said uncertainly. “Still not sure I like it though.”

“Just give it time. In the meanwhile, go hit the showers. You’ve earned yourself a big meal tonight.” Kevin’s rumbling stomach agreed heartily. The two of them laughed together, and while I did not join in, I couldn’t help but smile. This coach may not be the nicest guy in the world, but at least he was willing to help Kevin achieve his goal. Maybe I should give him a break.

 ~Day 4~

Hello, Journal. It’s me, yet again. I decided to hit the sack early last night and see if I couldn’t beat the stupid alarm clock. As it turns out, I was actually successful today. It’s a bit dark as I’m typing here, but fortunately I’m a skilled touch typist. Thank you, key strokes lab. What would I do without you?

So anyways, last night we all had a great meal and I cheered Kevin on as he ate. The accomplishments he’d managed that day were positively insane. I was shocked he hadn’t pulled a muscle or something with all the work he’d been doing, but somehow he pulled through. Our enforcers slapped him a few good times on the back, knocking his food out of his hands and making him choke once or twice. Fortunately, it wasn’t too serious. He just coughed it out. I scanned the mess hall. Most of the men in sight were beginners like us. Still, the hall was rather spacious, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had a schedule shift for the meatheads. Maybe a different mess hall, too. Who knows what else is down there in that abyss of a gym? But I digress.

After we finished with our dinner, Kevin said he was going to take a shower. I immediately and heartily seconded the motion. We laughed as we walked back together, two kids, one broad as a barn, the other skinny as a rail. Alright, I’m exaggerating a little, so sue me. Kevin actually looked like he was starting to pack on a little muscle and I admit I was jealous. Still am, I suppose. But I’ll get over it. He took his sweet time in the stalls, though. The sound of hissing hot water saturated the locker room and slowly spread into our barracks. Hey, I call it as I see it. That’s basically what we’re living in right now.

Anyways, the others came in. A good quarter or so went straight to their beds and started fiddling with their pads, having chosen not to work out, like me, for various reasons. The rest of them shuffled into the showers like the walking dead with tired smiles. Soon a chorus of cascading jets joined Kevin’s solo, causing steam to billow out the portal and into our living quarters. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as that same odor I first smelled this morning assaulted my nostrils. Like I said, I don’t like it all that much. The collective chorus of groans and moans told me just how much these men really looked forward to their showers. I can’t really blame them, I suppose. If I were covered in sweat and grime and reeking B.O. I’d probably want a shower too. Not to mention the relief the heat would give to sore and torn muscle tissue.

Then the whole barracks turned toward the showers as an unmistakable sound assaulted our ears. Music, static, voices, car screeches, and sports commentary filtered through the mist like a forgotten dream. That’s right. They have real television here. What a novelty … in the bathroom. Idiots.

The men filed out a few at a time as showers slowly cut off and TVs died. Some smiled triumphantly. Others cried because of memories invoked either of family or their pasts before being dragged into this nightmare. Then there were those silent few who just sort of glided their way past as they made their way to bed. I saw one or two of them tap something into their pads. Next thing I knew their drawers were popping open as they pulled out a gangly pair of ear buds. They plugged them in, shoved the buds in their ears, lay down on their beds and tapped something before they lay their pads on their footlockers/dressers. I could just make out a play bar. It was probably some sort of MP.3 file, most likely to relax a person as they tried to fall asleep. Either that or it had some sort of instructions to help them improve in their workouts and they were listening to pass the time before lights out. Whatever. Anyways, I curled up in my sheets as I waited for darkness to claim me, the curious buzzing of the fluorescent lights gradually lulling me to sleep. The last thing I thought I heard was the familiar click of a dresser followed by the sound of the scanner.

Someone said “… Gotta update my stats.” Then I lost all consciousness.

I um … have to go take care of something real quick. Be right back.

There, all done. The alarm system seems to be kicking in again. But it looks like the lifts are slowing down this time. They didn’t even have to go up all the way before half the people were out of bed. I guess there are some things the body learns to adapt to quickly. Oh, gross! Some of the men here are scratching their unmentionables like it’s nothing. Actually, a lot of the guys are looking a little flushed today. They rushed over to the bathrooms faster than I’ve ever seen anyone go before. I could hear the showers running and happy sighs of relief followed by guttural grunts. Probably morning stretching to loosen everything up.

Those darn TVs are on again. Are they trying to drive us up the wall? Do they seriously think that this will make me do what they want? All I can do is pretty much walk, and even that I can’t do very well for extended periods. I wish they’d just see that already and send me home. Why the scanner didn’t pick up my asthma, I have no clue. Oy, there’s that stupid smell again. Don’t these men know how to turn on a fan?

Wow. It’s been like a half hour and they’re still going in there. Well, some at least. Guess there really is such a thing as a TV addict. I think I’m gonna go talk with Kevin. See how he’s doing. I’ll turn on the audio for this one.

ACCESSING #56 AUDIO FILE 002

“Hey, Kevin. How’s it going?”

“Huh? Oh, hey Kyle. Just booting up my schedule for the day. Wanted to see what coach had signed up for me next, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know. How’re those muscles doing today?”

“Actually, a lot better. Those protein drinks really do a great job. Missed you in the showers last night.”

“Meh, didn’t need one. I wasn’t a sweaty mess like some people in this room.” (I laughed here. Kevin knows I’m not the snobby type and he soon joined me.)

“I noticed you were in bed before lights out. You aren’t trying to earn brownie points with coach and the others are you?”

“What, are you kidding? I’m just trying to survive in this place. I’d rather not die from a broken neck after these deathtraps fling us into a wall.”

“Well, at least we’re all alive and healthy. That’s what really matters right now. Things could be a lot worse for us.”

“You always look on the bright side of things, don’t you?”

“Of course. How else do you think I have the motivation to work like this? I had to forgive coach first. Trust him. You know. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“Yeah … still not gonna do that just yet. Maybe later, if he proves himself. Maybe.”

“Well he already has to me. Hate to cut this short, but coach assigned me some recordings to listen to before I go work out. We’ll talk more at breakfast, alright?”

“Fine by me, jock boy. Just be careful.” (I winked at him as he groaned and rolled his eyes.)

END TRANSMISSION

…

I didn’t see Kevin at breakfast. He wasn’t in the gym either when I checked in. I did a slow walk on a treadmill, just to get those glaring guards off my back. I did alright. Was a little hard pressed for breath by the end, but at least I didn’t have an attack. I went over to the weights, but still didn’t see Kevin, so I went back to the barracks. I was about to scan in when the doors disengaged and out stepped the very boy I’d been looking for. He blinked a few times and swayed on his feet.

“Kevin?” I asked. “You okay?”

“Huh?” he blinked again a few times before his eyes came back into focus. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s the matter, got tired of waiting for me?”

“Well yeah, it’s been nearly three hours.”

Kevin laughed. “Three hours. That’s a good one.”

“… It would be. If I were joking. Breakfast is already way past. I even walked on the treadmill a little. You missed it.”

“What?” he exclaimed, shocked.

“Yup.”

“That’s great. Working out’s good for you.” He smiled. “You’ll be making friends out of those thugs in no time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But seriously, what were you doing?”

“I was … um … listening to a file, I think. Then next thing I know I’m sitting all alone.” He blushed. “I um … may have taken another shower, too. And maybe watched some T.V.” He rubbed the back of his head and I was assaulted by the scent of Axe body spray. I took a step back.

“Phew, too much, Kevin. Way too much.” He blushed sheepishly.

“It was either that or let the B.O. seep through. All that sweat’s making me reek like a stale side of ham.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad.”

“Look, I just need to wear it okay? So drop it.” The aggression in his voice was enough to make me back off.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” The rest of that day was all silence as he worked and worked and worked some more. A scowl stood out on his face as he pushed as hard as he could, glistening in the fluorescent lights. By the time he was finished, he stomped off, leaving me behind.

“… Sorry,” I said, paling. I looked around to the others. Weights clanked, grunts sounded, heavy breathing filled the air, and every once in a while I heard a “yes, sir, Coach.” I sighed and made my way out of the gym and back to the barracks. Not like I had much else to do with all these people glaring at me. My one friend’s too angry to speak to me now anyways. Like clockwork, the men entered the room and made for the showers. A couple of them are busy posing in front of their mirrors, flexing a bicep and grinning like idiots. Then they sit and plug in their ear buds, staring at nothing. I sighed and got ready to sleep once more as the sound of music playing combined with sports commentary drifts over from the shower room. I’m not all that hungry today. I think I’ll skip dinner and just sleep. Goodnight.

 ~Day 5~

It’s quiet this morning. A few more are wearing their headphones as they sleep. Probably some of those subliminals designed to help people focus more on their goals. Maybe they’re self-help tapes. I don’t know. I’m still not feeling any better about what’s going on after yesterday. Sleep came pretty hard for me last night with those TVs echoing from the shower stalls. I wish they had some sort of a mute button or a sound proof wall or something. It’s seriously annoying. That and the men starting to admire themselves in the mirror. I mean, seriously. I understand if it’s a teenager like me, but adults? They’re grownups for crying out loud. I thought they were supposed to be past the vanity stage. Sorry for the rant.

I’m looking over at Kevin’s bed. He’s lying flat on his back, his breathing steady as he smiles. The kid actually doesn’t look half bad. He’s been getting a little more toned over the last week. No major gains yet, obviously. That’d be ridiculous. But he is getting there. Even after the whole argument yesterday, I’m glad he still has the chance to get what he wants. I wish I could.

I’m getting up for my scan now. Might as well get it over with. That, and apparently, my “code” won’t work if I don’t check myself into the scanner at least once or twice a week. In other words, no scan, no freedom. I’m sighing now as it runs over me, typing this to pass the time. It seems to be taking longer for some reason. Probably finally picking up on my asthma, at least I hope. Maybe then I can go home and I won’t have to bother Kevin again. Feels kind of tingly.

…

New Writer on the Block

Hey, all. I’m Omni, also known as Omnikitsune on Furaffinity.net. I’m a writer who’s absolutely obsessed with transformation fiction. I particularly enjoy muscle growth and hypnotic themes, but I also enjoy other types, such as animal, and am willing to experiment with new ones, like inanimate, etc. For those of you who find this blog, I hope you enjoy the work that I post. Some of it will come from previous works that I’ve written, and others will be fresh material.

That being said, I do have some little rules I’d like to go over with people.

I may be willing to take requests, but if I do, it will likely be shorter posts. I love doing a properly developed story, but I do have real life work that I need to take care of, too, after all, so I won’t always be able to be so detailed on scenery and character development, etc. Suggestions are also welcome, if people have prompts, but I don’t guarantee I’ll be able to get to them all or even be willing to do them all.

Rule one may be changed, if I get enough subscribers who wish to see me write content for them to use full time. That being said, I would require an alternate means of support. So, any donations to Ko-fi or commissions would be appreciated. I don’t use Patreon, since I don’t really have enough followers to make it worth it at the moment. Kofi link will be below. If you wish to discuss commissions with me, you can send me a private message, and I can give you a quote. http://ko-fi.com/omnikitsune

I do not do adult content. I will go mature, and occasionally I may use more crude or crass things as certain characters may require in my work (Perhaps push the envelope), but I will not write graphic sex scenes. Please respect this rule when you send me requests or commission me. There doesn’t have to be sex for a story to be great or fit a trope.

I may occasionally ask for some advice or help with parts of tumblr, since I’m new to this particular blogosphere. I hope you guys will understand and be patient with me as I learn. Any advice you can give would be greatly appreciated on those topics as I ask them.

Thanks for reading, and I look forward to joining the tumblr community.

~Omni

Real Men’s Journal: Part 4

~Day 15~

           Our numbers are beginning to thin. Whatever’s been happening in our barracks, it’s spreading. I’m getting worried. They’ve started placing protein shakes by some of the beds in the morning for our heavy lifters to drink.

           “Gotta get my protein,” they keep saying. “Gotta bulk up, ya know? Relax, bro.” How can I relax when all these men are being brainwashed and they don’t even realize it? I warned the others who were left about what’s going on. Chris, our defacto leader, furrowed his brows, and many others didn’t want to believe me. They did after they went to the showers tonight. We’ve been trying to do mental games and things like that to keep our minds sharp and focused, but I’m worried for a couple of members:  senior level chess champions. They had a taste of whatever it is, I assume subliminals of some kind. Dick and Tracy, twin brothers. They’re both a little on the short and fat side, but you’ll never find a better opponent for such a strategic game. They were scratching in places that are better scratched in private, if you know what I mean. When confronted about it, they just said they itched and everyone else was doing it anyways, so it’s not like it mattered. It’s the eyes that worry me though. I thought I saw something wriggling way in the back. Something slow.

 ~Day 19~

           I’ve brought my concerns to Chris. He’s a lot like me, only taller and a little rounder. He’s got a good head of black hair that now hangs around his face like bangs. He normally would have styled it, but with everything going on here, he didn’t see much point. I’d say the guy is around six feet or so, like I said, husky build. He’s the head of some big company from what he told me. So he’s basically what I aspire to be, minus the massive pudge. His eyes burn when he chooses to glare at someone. That golden brown can be scary sometimes. Fortunately, that glare wasn’t directed at me today. He actually agreed with me.

           The twins themselves seem to have gotten worse. They act a little more distant now. When we eat our meals, they’re torn between who to sit with. They’ve made it a habit to scan themselves regularly and I notice the pair has started to put on some weight, the muscly kind. They swear up and down they’re not listening to the recordings, but still …

 ~Day 22~

           Dick and Tracy lost today … twelve consecutive times. When we left from our minimal workout requirements, usually just a once around the track at as slow a pace as we can manage, the twins stayed behind. Then later tonight, when we had our tournament, they just sort of moved their pieces wherever, their legs spread out on the chair as they leaned back. It was completely random, almost as if they didn’t care. And trust me, if you’d seen them when they first started here, you’d know that’s not normal. Once they’d lost for the final time, the pair just left and walked off. The way they splayed their legs though, that pose, that swagger … it didn’t look good. And did those two look a little taller? Crap, it’s lights out again. I’ll write tomorrow.

 ~Day 23~

           It’s official. Dick and Tracy have turned to the dark side. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked over to their beds. Then it hit me:  the chorus of mumbling. I didn’t make it out at first, but then it became clearer. My heart raced. I could hear their mattresses creaking and straining. I crept my way to their beds and there they were, flexing their muscles, their tablets glowing in their stands to highlight their bodies. Two wires sprouted from each of their ears, converging on the devices.

           “Yes, coach. I listen. I obey. Good not to think. Just grow. Like to work out. Love to work out. Love to sweat. Sweat it all out. Get big. Get swole. Sports rule. Massive. Yes, sir. Trigger. Will join whenever said. Fall deeper. Want a massive, manly bulge. I want a massive manly bulge. Want to be a big, dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge...” They spoke in unison and started to chant, just like in the bathroom with the others. And soon more joined in a whispering chorus. Even in their sleep they’re programmed to react. You can guess the rest. This is seriously scaring me. And the worst part is we’re trapped in this nightmare until they see to let us go or to force us to become … that.

           By morning, the two were swearing up a storm, slapping each other on the butt and calling everyone Bro while entering poses. We lost two good men. I’ve been avoiding them like the plague. So’s everyone else, though a few poor souls have been staying with them, doubtless trying to bring back the old Dick and Tracy. The twins took them to the bathroom and I heard the TVs running. I shook my head and checked off another couple names. I’d give those kids three days before they give in.

 ~Day 26~

           That gas must be hallucinogenic. It has to be. What I just saw can’t be real. I was just minding my business, deciding to try an audio recording since I had the barracks to myself and then … well, take a listen. I’ll insert my own commentary in the recording as a voice over in the file for how I felt and reacted at the time.

           ACCESSING # 56 AUDIO FILE 004

           Damn, what the hell are they feeding these guys? Are they pumping steroids or something? Dick and Tracy are growing far too quickly. By the time they were out of the barracks for another day of work, they’d gained a solid twenty pounds of muscle and they were growing taller by the day.  The number of times they’d scan themselves, you’d think they were afraid of not gaining. And every time, that stupid blue flash. It’s so annoying! It doesn’t help any with the two of them always showing off. They’re getting cruder by the day. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started jutting their brows out soon and hooting like monkeys.

           “You hear that, Bro? I think Kyle here’s tryin’ to insult us.”

           “I think you’re right. What’re we gonna do about it, Trace?”

           “Dunno, Dick. After all, a coupl’a animals like us can’t reach his level.”

           “Hey, give that back!”

           “What’s this? A diary?” *chuckling* “Fucking pansy. Hey, Dick, get a load of this.”

           *Air whistles through the mike*

           “Sweet! Let’s look at his stats.”

           “Give it back, Dick.”

           “Phew, you’re seriously still at the beginning? Dude, why’re you being such a newb?”

           “I dunno, why’re you being a couple of jackasses?”

           “Says the man who called us monkeys.”

           *Loud Ripping*

           “Well how do ya like them bananas, huh? I can rip my fuckin’ sleeve with a bicep. Can you do that?”

           “I can actually play chess. Can you do that?”

           “Chess is for losers. Football’s where it’s at.”

           “Yeah … football. Football’s the greatest.”

           “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

           “… Everything.”

           “But we’ll be better soon—”

           “—With coach’s help.”

           “Gotta get swole with a massive, manly bulge.”

           “What the hell, guys?!” (They were starting to pose and flex and … well, look, they were sporting erections, okay? And shoving them around like they should be proud of them. I may be a teen, but I have my standards. I was kinda getting worried for my tablet, but Dick the dick managed to hang on to it. See what I did there? He kept on flexing with his brother and chanting and then some of the others walked in. I watched as one of them went rigid and his two friends looked on in concern.)

           “Chad? Chad, are you alright?” (The red head on the left asked. I watched as the one called Chad broke into a smile as the brightness in his eyes dimmed.)

           “I … I’m uh … yeah, fine. Just … fine.” (He was practically drooling as he watched Dick and Tracy. The longer he stood there and the more he listened, the dimmer his eyes became.) “They’re so big, aren’t they?” (he remarked dreamily as he stared at the twins.)

           “Well yeah, they’ve been following the program, remember? Working out … getting … swole?” (the blonde one to his right asked. He blinked a few times and shook his head. I’m actually surprised my mike caught this. This thing must have some seriously good reception. Meanwhile, the twins were still at it with their stupid chant. You can hear it loudest in this thing, of course.)

           “They’re just being a bunch of showoffs, Chad. Come on. Let’s hit the showers.” (The red one said as he grabbed Chad’s shoulder.)

           “I … I think I’ll hang around a while longer, Ryan. I … wanna watch.” (The twins smirked here and broke off their chant as they finally realized they had an audience.)

           “Like what you see?” (Dick asked as he flexed a meaty bicep.)

           “Bet you wish you had a dick like mine. Chuckle.” (Tracy patted his bulge and went back to posing.)

           “Work out just like us, follow the program just like us, and you’ll be just like us.”

           “Just like us.” (Tracy echoed his brother as they mirrored one another in their sets before breaking up into more meatheaded laughter.)

           “With a massive, manly bulge.” (This time it was Dick who patted, well, his dick. Then he shuddered as he looked at his brother with those same murky eyes. Tracy returned the favor.)

           “Gotta bulk up. Gotta get swole. Become with your massive, manly bulge.” (The two went back into their muscle show as they returned to the mantra once again of “massive, manly bulge.” They were practically spewing their brains out with every line.)

           “Come on, guys, this is creeping me out.” (Ryan said this as he turned away from the display. His cheeks were flushed.)

           “But … look at them.” (Chad said.) “So … huge.” (He stood there like a statue, his eyes locked on the twins.)

           “I agree with Ryan, Chad. This has … uh … gotten a little … strange. Even if they are kinda big … and buff … and … strong …” (Even as the blondie moved to follow Ryan, he still looked back, almost longingly. His steps slowed and he swayed on his feet.)

           “Chris, Chad, come on. Let’s get to the showers. We’re missing the game.” (Ryan urged, though fear flickered on his face.)

           “So bulky … and bulgy.” (Chad was long gone, his voice distant as he stared, flushed. A small bump pushed against his shorts as the muscleheads continued to repeat.)

           “Chad … this isn’t … it’s not … we have to … to watch the. …the game. Watch … Uh … watch … the game with … players.” (Even as Chris protested, he walked away from Ryan and the showers to stand next to Chad.)

           “Bulge … bigger … buffer … so huge…” (That rip you just heard was the other twin’s sleeves breaking. With an audience like this, the twins have grown more bold … and more stupid.)

           “Huge players … manly … crashing … smashing … bulging … bashing … posing … flexing … just … like … them …”

           “… Just like them.” (Chad echoed Chris as they eyed the pair of nerds turned jocks. They were both gone now.)

           “Chad? Chris?” (Ryan approached them tentatively and tapped them on their shoulders.) “Guys, this isn’t funny.” (I watched the pair spasm as they resolutely kept eye on Dick and Tracey. Soon their lips twitched, then they slowly pulled into dimwitted smiles. They parted their legs into a wide stance and started to mimic Tracey and Dick, posing and straining in their clothes. It was kindof cute in its own way. If it weren’t so pathetic and creepy, I might have laughed. But this was serious. They were basically flexing their brains away.)

           “Work out … just like us …” (Chad said.)

           “Follow the program … just like us …” (Chris said)

           “Be just like us. Yes. Be just like them …Wanna be … just like them.” (The pair said together.)

           “Guys, come on. This isn’t funny.”

           “Just like us … just like them … BE just like us … BE just like them…”

           (Ryan backed warily) “Look, guys, I want to be big too. Muscles are great. They make you strong, big, burly … powerful and … uh …” (He shook his head. The chanting must’ve been getting to him.) “But I don’t want to be just like them, ya know? I want to be buff, sure. And maybe a little ripped. I want to play football one day, sure. But-”

           “Just like us … just like us …” (They never stopped smiling.)

           “Guys, I don’t want to be just like you, okay? I want to be … well, I want to be—”

           “Big … just like them,” (Chad said.)

           “Strong … just like them,” (Chris said.)

           “Buff … just like them.”

           “Guys, please.” (The pair were relentless.)

           “Swole … just like them.” (Chris continued.)

           “Well … maybe I–um …” (Ryan flushed as he took a guilty glance towards the twins.)

           “Bulging muscle … just like them.” (Chad said.)

           “Yes, but so much … bigger …” (Ryan sighed.)

           “Massive size … just like them …” (That one was Chris.)

           “I want … more …”

           “Just … like … us …” (Chad and Chris grinned at their friend)

           “I … no, I just … want to be … I want … want to feel … feel … I wanna--”

           “Be just like them … Be Just like us …”

           “I want to be … big … like them … and uh … manly. … like them … like them … just … like … them--” (Aaaaand there went number three. He immediately stood next to them, all three with their little bulges in a row as they stared adoringly at the twins.)

           “Just like them … Just like us … Big … buff … Massive …”

           “Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Be just like us. Don’t think. Don’t fuss. Massive. Manly. Bulge.

           “Just like them … don’t think. Don’t fuss … Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (I watched them parrot the twins’ movements. Soon they were showing off their own erections with cocky sneers, just like their “role models.”)

           “More big. More buff. More dumb. More swole. The more massive we make our manly bulge.”

           “More big. More buff. More dumb. More swole. The more massive we make our manly bulge.” (I … don’t believe what I’m seeing. I swear, those three were already at full mast. It’s obvious. And so were the twins. But … they’re expanding! What the hell?)

           “Grow your massive, manly bulge. Laugh out the nerd. Put the jock in control.”

           “Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. *Snark* Manly. *eheh* Bulge. *GURK* M-m-m-massive, *huhu* Manly *uuhuuhuuu* B-b-b-bulge-AAahahahaha—” (They laughed like they couldn’t control it. And all the while the twins looked on blankly and just smiled like the idiots they’d become, flexing, posing, and chanting that same mantra about their massive, manly bulges. Those big, fucking annoying, massive, manly bulges that grow and swell and … so huge … so … manly … bigger … must be … Massive … so … so massive … I …I’ll be right back. I have to *GROAN* t-t-take care of … my bulge … my … bulgey … Growing … Massive, manly bulge. Growing … always growing. Make bigger. Bulge ……………...) [Warning: Recording reaching maximum capacity. Closing application in 3 … 2 … 1 … 0--]

           (Okay, okay, I’m back. Sorry about that. I um … had some business to take care of again. It’s lights out here, but I should be okay finishing this recording as long as I whisper. Anyways, where was I? No, been there, fast forward … Ah, there we are. So as you can hear, the jocks are still chanting and the nerds are still laughing. And well, what happened next scared the crap out of me. No joking, their junk must’ve grown like three times in size. And the longer they laughed, the deeper their voices went. It switched from a light, happy laughter to a low, deep, dull kind of boom.)

           “Huhuhuhuuuuu … Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (And as they laughed, I watched them start to bulk up. I kid you not, I watched them physically grow taller. I saw the bumps pressing against the fabric of their shoes as their feet grew by at least half a size, then continued to swell and extend. The fabric burst on the sides as their socks tore. I watched them flexing as they laughed and their shirts started to grow snug. Their arms lengthened and expanded, their legs thickened, their calves became like carved marble. And just as their bodies thickened, so did their heads. I could practically hear the pressure their skulls put on their brains as they expanded.)

           “I feel … funny, uhuu … like uhhhhh … like … *Deep Laughter*

           “I think the word you’re looking for is dumb.” (I said scornfully. And the worst part was the guy, Chris, grinned at me, his blonde hair shining as he posed.) “Dude, I’m so fuckin’ pumped. Like … I never felt this way before, ya know?”

           “Like, so ripped. Dudes, we like, totally need to work out!” (Ryan, the redhead said as his jaw started to jut out and a bit of stubble presented itself on his chin. I kid you not; that’s what happened. Or at least what I saw. I felt so light-headed and the smell from the bathrooms was so strong. But no one was showering. How could it be here too? And now of all times? It … made it hard to focus. It was just so easy to just watch and let things happen, you know? Just sit back, relax and just … listen. So good to listen.)

           “Gotta get swole, bros.” (Gotta get swole. Yeah, they uh … that’s what they said, I mean Chad said. And … he’s laughing. So yeah. Aaaand there goes their compression underwear. You do hear that, right? But … this was a hallucination. Or … was it real and the process just … makes … dumb jocks … big … dumb … jocks. Make more … dumb jocks … more massive men. Massive men. Massive me. I um … I gotta focus here. Focus on … the recording.)

           “Fucking ‘A man, I feel fucking awesome!” (That one was uh … Chris again. They were so … out of it. And … flexing so much. So much flexing. Posing. Swelling. I … I don’t know where everyone else was. M-maybe that’s why … why this happened. Let them flood the place with … with the gas …)

           “*SHRED* Uhuuuuu … look at my fuckin’ bicep, bros.”

           “Chad, that’s like … so fuckin’ cool.” (That one was Ryan. He’s still a little behind the others, but that’ll change soon.)

           “Bro, like … call me Thirteen.” (They call eachother by numbers now? I … guess that makes sense. Takes away their individuality. Makes them more compliant, more like a group. Less like a person.)

           “Dudes, like, only coach calls us that, remember?” (That one was Dick.)

           “But, it’s so fuckin’ boss, bro.”

           “I know, but we can’t yet. Not till coach tells us we can.”

           “Gotta obey coach.” (This one was Tracey. Then they all just sort of went rigid.)

           “Obey coach. Listen to coach. Coach makes us bigger. Coach makes us better. Coach makes us men. Massive, manly men. Massive, manly bulge.” (There they go again with their chanting. I had to look away after a point. Their bodies grew so much, they *GROAN* shredded their clothes with their muscles … their massive muscles. So … massive … manly … bulging. I uh … don’t have much more to report on this. Just … they changed in a few minutes. That’s … that’s powerful stuff. I … I don’t think I should say anything about this to the others. Nobody’d believe me. But yeah … there were basically … three naked studs left and *PANT* two more next to them. Studs like horses, I mean. Hung like horses. Dumb as horses, too. Big, dumb jocks. So big. So dumb. Uh … yeah, let’s just move on before I keep repeating myself.)

           “Big. Dumb. Jock. Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (And so they continued. At least until Coach Abrams came in. He took one look at the five of them, then at me. He gave me a creepy smile, then turned to the others and barked an order.)

“Twenty-two, Twenty-three, Thirteen, Five, Ten, fall in!”

           “Yes, sir.”

           *Loud Clattering*

           END TRANSMISSION

 ~Day 27~

           My head’s a lot clearer today. Sorry about that from last night. Anyways, time for my rant, so hold on to something.

Those stupid grunts broke my tablet! Abrams said they won’t be able to get me a new one for a while, so I’m stuck with this old one for now and its stupid flickering screen. Good thing I already know how to touch type. As I suspected, the twins are gone now, along with their three … I don’t know what to call them. Brainwashees? Fellow jocks? Former nerds? Something. Anyways, they’ve been promoted to the next step in their process. That’s what Abrams came to do when they messed with my tablet. The ones who were gullible enough to follow them in the showers and gym are showing the signs, too. The ones that are left anyways. We’re dropping like flies. Jake, one of our overdramatic members went through a nervous breakdown today. I had to try to comfort him. Man, can that guy cry. Guess that’s all for now. I’ll write again tomorrow.

�6��c

Real Men’s Journal: Part 5

~Day 28~

           … I can’t believe what I just saw today. I … everyone saw it. And it wasn’t inside. What happened before must have been real. But how? What’s the point? This changes everything. Just … just let me explain it.

Jake actually tried to escape today. He ran for the wall and started to climb. The coaches tried barking orders for him to get down before he hurt himself, you know, stuff like that. He wouldn’t listen. For such a weak little guy, he was surprisingly agile as he climbed. It didn’t last long though. The men on the wall picked him off before he had the chance to get much further. First they shot him with the darts. I can’t count how many must have hit him. Somehow he kept climbing despite it until he reached the top. That’s where the real bad stuff went down.

           “’Sup, bro?” One of the thugs said. Jake just sort of stared at them. Then it came again. “’Sup, bro?” Another said and they all just smiled at him, repeating the same thing over and over. It just kept going and going and going, annoying the crap out of me.

It did worse for Jake.

He grabbed at his head like he had a migraine or something. Next thing I know, I hear grunting, then a popping sound. I watched as he slowly began to grow, tearing through his pants and shirt. He blew up like a balloon. All the while the jocks kept repeating “’Sup, bro? ‘Sup, bro? ‘Sup, bro?” I watched his dark hair lighten before my eyes as his skin started to tan. I shudder at the memory of it. He looked at his hands in horror. I remember that well. Then he tried to bolt. That’s when the flashy guns came up. Jake didn’t get very far along the wall.

           He ran and barreled through a couple of the thugs, the ones with the bandoliers and dart guns. They slapped him on the butt and the back as he passed, still repeating, still in perfect unison. “’Sup, bro?” I watched Jake’s hair retreat into a short crew cut. Yes, I know I sound crazy here, but I mean it. These changes happened nigh instantaneously. By now, his hair was a bleached blonde and he was running left and right as the other guards closed in with their silvery armor. I heard the cock of several cartridges being locked and loaded.

           “’Sup, bro?” Their voices rang across the yard. I heard their guns charge with a high pitched glissando. For those of you meatheads trying to read this, that’s a musical term. It means a note that gradually slides up without actually pausing for a break or a rest between the notes. Then there was a bright flash. I heard the discharge. Their lips had stopped moving, I was certain, but for some reason I could still hear those words echoing in my head. I still do. Probably because of the horror associated with them.

           I heard a scream, high pitched with terror, gradually crack, then suddenly drop into a deep bass yell. The light kept streaming, the yell kept coming. Then, slowly, the light died. The screaming stopped and the compound was silent, as were we strong ones left. The other mental lightweights looked on in anticipation. Then the crowd on the wall parted to let a dazed-looking, massive, tanned meathead look down at us. All he had on was a tightly straining jock strap. I looked away in revulsion from that vacant stare, that wide, stupid grin. But though I may have closed my eyes to it and him, his voice was something different. It rumbled across the courtyard. It echoed in my eardrums. And it filled me with a terrible sense of dread.

           “’Sup, bros?” he said and the rest of the thugs on the wall swarmed him, congratulated him, slapped him on the back. I heard a loud snap and knew his last article of clothing was gone. A platoon of practically identical meatheads surrounded him and began to escort him along the wall. I heard his deep bassoon laugh the whole way. “I’m a jock, bro. I’m a big fuckin’ dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge.” The group continued to cheer, hooting and hollering. Then it turned into a chant, just like before. First it echoed on the parapets, then it started low in the grounds, just a whisper. Slowly, it increased as another joined in, and yet another, flexing and grinning like fools. And the coaches just looked on and smirked, nodding in approval. Slowly it died down and the meathead that used to be Jake disappeared. That didn’t stop the thralls down here from enjoying themselves though. That stupid phrase must be a key. It accelerates their mental degradation. We’ll have to be careful.

Jake is gone now, and with the guards armed with technology like that, we don’t stand a chance at escape during the day. By night, our barracks, or our communal cell as I like to look at it, is locked up tight. I’m still no closer to getting out of here. At this rate, I don’t know how much longer we can hold on.

 ~Day 30~

ACCESSING # 56 AUDIO FILE 005

           “It’s been a couple of days since we lost Jake. Our little group is falling apart to despondency. I can’t say I blame them. There has to be a common factor; some way they’re doing this to us, but I still don’t know what it is. I have to assume it’s some sort of chemical conversion designed to stunt brain development and maximize muscle mass combined with hypnosis and mind control. Or perhaps it’s designed to rewrite the neural pathways of the brain and make you think and act like a dumb jock. Whatever the case may be, it seems to be working … only too well. I caught a glimpse of our former classmates in the cafeteria today. They’ve grown positively massive. I suppose with regular exercise, it’s possible to experience these kinds of changes in a month, but still … I’m not entirely sure about this. Perhaps the chemical is designed to put us into an accelerated rate of puberty? A sort of hyper puberty if you will? Though if Jake’s transformation is anything to go by, it seems this drug, or chemical, or whatever it is, is designed to benefit the body physically everywhere, so I doubt it’s a steroid. It’s possible that this chemical is one that, once built in the system long enough, becomes naturally produced within the body and constantly renews itself.

           “Still, the method of delivery is a matter of concern. I would assume there are a few possibilities for how they slip it to us. The first and most likely is through our food and drink. Probably in smaller doses. It seems that the drug, or whatever it is, won’t take effect without permission from the user. At least not in the smaller dosages given in the food. I think that’s what the recordings are for. If what I heard is any indication, it weakens the mind and reinforces the idea of working out regularly and the desire for muscles and power. Such exertions must be the key to triggering the effects of the chemical. And the more they work, the bigger their appetites grow, and the more they consume. It’s a vicious cycle, that is, if that really is how they’re reaching us.

“*Sigh* I wish I had a lab to use. Then I could analyze my hypothesis; figure out if they have a “secret ingredient” in the food. I’d just stick it in a solution and pop it in a machine to let the chemical analysis take place. Then I’d just have to wait. Waiting’s always something I’ve been good at. Waiting and waiting and weighting and lifting weights and … What was I -- saying?”

“Starting to feel it, aren’t ya, Kyle?”

“Feel what, Branden? Just get away from me already. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Huhuhuhuh, course you’re not in the mood. It’s ‘cause you worry too much. Ya gotta think simple, ya know? Focus more on these, and less on that.”

“Just because you’ve chosen to give in to these psychopaths and become one of them doesn’t mean I have.”

“My muscles are a fuckin’ mountain. Look at these abs. Look at this bod. I see how much you watch us, Kyle. You want these muscles. You want this strength.”

“Not at the cost it takes to get them. Look at yourself, Branden! You used to be the top in your physics class. You loved to read and write and work on labs. Now all you do is shower, eat, workout, shower, sleep, repeat. You’re dull, Branden. Getting duller all the time.”

“Don’t need brains when I got these.”

“Those are nothing in the real world. You said so yourself.”

“I was wrong. Gettin’ swole’s fuckin’ awesome. I feel great! Brawn over Brains, Ky.”

“It’s Kyle, Branden. Now get out of my face and leave me alone.”

“Fine, ya little prick. You’ll see things my way soon enough. Oh, don’t forget your scan.” *Deep Laughter*

END TRANSMISSION

That jerk! He’s turning just as bad as those bullies, Damien and Brian, were. But he was right about one thing. I am a little jealous of all the muscles around here. And I’ll never be able to have some of my own. I’ll likely die before I get the chance. I’m going to try to keep a detailed report of my personal statistics with body alterations from this experience, and possible modifications in personal behavior. If they show, I’ll know I’ve been compromised and that I need to fight. If not, then well.

At least one thing he has right is my need to scan. I haven’t done that in a while. The system will lock me out if I don’t get it done soon. And after that I have some rather … urgent matters to attend to. I’ll write again later with my next update.

 ~Day 33~

           The days have been pretty much the same thing. Get up early, shower before the other jocks-to-be, get dressed, get breakfast, do the mandatory check in at the gym, then leave as soon as possible. We’ve lost a lot more people to this “process” since Jake changed. They figured they might as well enjoy the changes instead of getting hit by a bunch of darts or blown away by what appears to have been some form of laser beam. More and more I hear them repeat their mantras as television screens flicker and headphones plug in. Before my eyes, I am watching intelligent, kind people turn into idiotic jerks who couldn’t even tell me two plus two without a calculator.

           Even Chris is showing signs of flagging. I see him eating more, staying in the gym a little longer. He said he’s keeping an eye on the others, but I’m not so sure. I see him staring at the others as they enter the shower together, laughing, reveling, hooting like a bunch of animals. I think I see longing in those eyes. I’m getting kind of scared. Soon I’ll be alone. I’ll be all that’s left. And then they’ll come for me.

 ~Day 38~

           It’s been about a week. Getting harder to find time to just write in this thing. People keep trying to get me to work out with them, be all buddy buddy brain drain. How cute. I’ve been trying to just stay out of everybody’s way. The process seems to be accelerating. I see them wearing their headphones almost 24/7 now. It’s all “Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, sir. Wanna be big. Gotta be big. Gotta be swole. Need to get swole. Need to obey nnnnnneeeed to … listen

Gotta scanscanscanscanscan … I … something issssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssszx----------

           JOURNAL ENTRY SAVED

 ~Day 39~

           I blacked out again. What the hell just happened? There I was writing about all the stuff those meatheads are saying and then I got this weird sort of … Idunno, pain in my head? I woke up a sweaty mess in my gym clothes and I’m sore all over. All the jocks are looking at me like a side of meat. And all my changing roommates, what’s left of them, just smirk at me like they’ve got some kind of inside joke going on. What kind of sick place is this? Did those dickwadds put something in my drink yesterday? And what’s with the others shying away from me? I’m still the same old Kyle I’ve always been.

Kevin, on the other hand, now he’s gotten absolutely huge. He’s been sort of cropping up from time to time. He tries to keep out of my sight, but when you’ve gotten as tall as six feet and you’re even half as bulked up as the rest of the guys here, it’s hard to hide. He looks … I don’t know, sort of conflicted, I guess. They gave him a haircut, finally. Now he’s styled close-cropped. Got that Caesar look going for him. His glasses disappeared a while ago now. I guess they must’ve gotten him contacts. Or maybe something in the drug makes it so he doesn’t need them anymore? That’s an amazing medical application now that I think about it. Could you imagine that? A cure for blindness, any ailment, really, I guess. Cancer, AIDS, all the big diseases would be gone in an instant. Pity I don’t have the formulae, that is, if they really are using a drug. I suppose it could be genetic therapy, but that would take a virus of some kind and we’d be laid up and sick while they tried to rewrite our genetic code. Nobody’s been sick, so I doubt that could be the case.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, Kevin. He’s been sort of looking over my shoulder. They’ve given him some new clothes. Now he’s wearing spandex like some of the gym helpers around the area. And may I just say, holy crap, he’s hung! I mean seriously, did they stuff some tube socks down there or something? He’s still kind of shy about it when I see him in the gym. He’s been volunteering as one of the helpers, I guess. Bringing protein shakes, helping spot, making sure they’re listening to their “coach,” that sort of thing. The rest of the team … well, I guess I can call them that anyways, either that or drones. Yeah, drones is better. The rest of the drones were all around him, patting him on the back, encouraging him. Feeding his ego. They say when he’s done he’ll be “the swolest dude around.” He’d always smile and shudder after that. He’s gone a long ways. I don’t even know if he’s the same Kevin or not anymore, but that shy streak gives me some hope. Maybe he’ll be lucky. Maybe he’ll keep his original personality. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Chris.

I caught our mighty leader today being a slack-jawed pile of tapioca as he listened to his headphones on his bed. I tapped his shoulder and he just kept where he was. He was totally relaxed, his face a blank slate. You have no idea how creepy that is. And that erection … holy crap, it’s worse than Dick and Tracey’s! He was muttering, just like everyone else. You know the usual bit. Talking about being bigger, buffer, swole, all that good stuff. And, of course, it had to have the same dialogue and key phrase every muscle head’s been using. Seriously, can’t these guys come up with something more original? Then again, I guess they’re trying to squash originality here. Original means different. And different can’t be tolerated when you’re slowly brainwashing everyone to be the same. Here’s what he said.

“Yes. Wanna be a man. Wanna be massive. I will be massive. Massive, manly man. Yes. Massive manly men have massive manly bulges. (So that’s where they insert the trigger words.) Yes, sir, coach. Real men swear. Real men don’t care. I … I wanna …” he scrunched his brows together at this point, like he was resisting. Guess the old man had language issues. Then he smiled and relaxed. “Big brawny men have big bulging dicks.” He chuckled. “Big dick. Big dick.” I could hear the hissing as one of his headphones knocked loose from the laughter.

“That’s right,” it hissed. “Big men have big dicks. And you’re gonna be a big man, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, sir, coach,” he said. I think I recognized the voice, but … I’m not too sure. Can’t think where I heard it before.

The hissing paused a moment as if assessing his reaction. Was this a live feed hypnosis? Or was the technology so advanced it was interactive?

“And what do massive, manly men care about?”

           “Muscles.”

           “And what do you care about?”

           “Muscles.”

           “And?” it pressed.

           “My big dick,” he said, grinning goofily.

           “That’s right, your big fucking dick.”

           “My big fucking dick,” Chris parroted.

           “You liked that, didn’t you, Chris? Felt good to curse, good to swear.”

           “Uhhhh …” he blushed.

           “It feels good to curse. Feels good to swear. Real men don’t care, remember? And you’re a real man, so you don’t care either.”

           “Yes, sir. Feels good to curse. Feels good to swear about my big fucking dick.” He shuddered in pleasure. “I don’t fuckin’ care about what some jackass says. I like to curse and I like to swear, damnit.” He was starting to get into it.

           “Good boy. You really want this, don’t you? You want to be a massive manly man with a massive manly bulge.”

           “Yes, sir. Want this. More than anything. Want to be a Massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.” He patted the bulge just to make a point of it and shuddered again.

           “Big, massive … and dumb.” I don’t know why, but I took a deep breath then and just waited. Guess I was rooting for Chris to come out on top. He wasn’t like this. He didn’t want to be one of them. He was respectable. Owned his own business. He was one of the smartest here. Surely he wouldn’t give up that easily.

           “Fuckin’ big,” he chuckled as he flexed a muscle and shuddered. I gawked. He wouldn’t.

           “Fuckin’ massive.” He groaned and I … I swear, I thought I saw his bulge get bigger, no kidding. How did he even have room for that monster? He looked so out of it, like a druggie on a massive high. Guess I would be too if I had that much testosterone raging in my system.

           “And?” the voice prompted.

           I hoped just a little that he’d resist, that he wouldn’t give in. That he’d tear those earbuds out and shout at the voice. Tell it to go to hell or something. Instead he just turned that smile into an empty headed grin.

           “And fuckin’ dumb,” he lolled.

           “What’s the number for pi?”

           “3.14,” he responded. There was hope for him yet. The voice sighed.

           “The bigger you get, the more you work out, the happier you’ll be.”

           “Yes, sir. Just like you said.”

           “But that won’t be all.”

           “Won’t be all.”

           “You’ll want to be bigger. Need it. Crave it. And more than that, you’ll crave the companionship of bigger muscleheads. You’ll join them in the showers. You’ll follow them to their tables. Eat the same food. And the more gains you make in your body, the less you’ll make in your mind, got it?”

           “… Yes, sir. Wanna be bigger. Bigger man. Bigger dick. Bigger muscles.”

           “And who do you need to be with?”

           “Muscleheads. Big men. Huge men.”

           “And what will you do with them?”

           “Everything.”

           “That’s right. Until you’re just like them.”

           “… Just like them.”

           “Bigger is better.” Bigger is better.

           “Bigger is better,” he parroted.

           “Bigger is dumber.” Bigger is dumber.

           “Bigger is dumber.”

           “You want to be big.” I want to be big.

           “I want to be big.” I want to be big.

           “So you want to be dumb.”

           “So I want to be dumb.” So I want to be dumb.

           “The bigger you get, the dumber you get.”

           “The bigger I get, the dumber I get.” The bigger I get, the dumber I get.

           “The more the muscle, the less the brains.”

           “More muscle, less brains.” More muscle, less brains.

           “The bigger your dick, the smaller your brain.”

           “Huhuhu, bigger dick. Smaller brain. I like my big fucking dick.” Big dick. Small brain.

           “You want a bigger dick.”

           “I want a bigger dick.” I want a bigger dick.

           “Every day you’ll feel horny.”

           “Every day I’ll feel horny.” I feel horny.

           “You’ll relieve your stress in the showers.”

           “Relieve in the showers.” Relieve in the showers.

           “You’ll do it with the men.” Do it with the men.

           “I’ll do it with the men.” I’ll do it with the men.

           “With the team.”

           “With the team.” With the team.

           “In your designated stall.”

           “In my designated stall.” In my designated stall.

           “Tell me your number.”

           “Number 100.” Number 56.

           “From now on you will use the stall number to match your team number. That will be your stall.”

           “From now on, I’ll use my stall.” From now on, I’ll use my stall.

           “And what is your stall?”

           “Number 100.” Number 56.

           “That’s right. And each time you relieve yourself, the better it’ll feel. And each day you’ll grow bigger, and so will your dick.”

           “Yyyeessss …” Bigger every day. Bigger dick. Bigger pleasure.

           “Just like the team.”

           “Just like the team.” Just like the team.

           “The men are your team.”

           “The men are my team.” The men are my team.

           “You love to show off.”

           “Love to show off.” Love to show off.

           “And what do you show off?”

           “Muscles.” Brains.

           “That’s right; muscles.” … Muscles. Show off muscles. Not brains. Brawn.

           “You don’t care about brains.”

           “Don’t care about brains.” Don’t care about brains.

           “You don’t like brains.”

           “Don’t like brains.” Don’t like … brains?

           “Brains don’t matter.”

           “Brains don’t matter.” Brains don’t matter.

           “Whenever someone compliments you on your muscles or your progress, you’ll be very happy. And every time they mention a massive, manly bulge, you’ll join them in a chant.”

           “Happy about muscle compliments. Join when say ‘massive, manly bulge.’” Enjoy compliments. Massive, manly bulge.

           “You’ll listen to your recordings all the time. You’ll hardly take out your headphones except when you’re with the team, cleaning up, or picking on the weak ones.”

           “Listen all the time.” Listen to recordings.

           “Think like a muscle head. Think like a jock. Be like a jock. Become a jock. Just like the rest.”

           “Think muscle. Think jock. Be jock. Become jock. Just like rest.” Just like the rest. Think … think … like a … think …

           “Scan yourself every day. You need to every day.”

           “Need to scan … every day.” Must scan daily.

           “Now take off those headphones and go work out. Be proud about it.”

           “Yes, sir!” Yes sir …

�0���D

Hey man, loving the stories! Any chance you'll do some inanimate TF soon?

Hmm. I haven’t really tried my hand much at inanimate before, but it’s not outside of the realm of possibility. Was there anything in particular you had in mind?

Actually, you know what? I think I have an idea. It’s the funniest thing. You know those statue performers you see around on the streets, right? Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but before I actually get into the story, I should probably give you some background.You see, I happen to be a master of transformation. I don’t know how I got this power. I just know that it exists. It sort of lurks inside of me. I’ve tried to access it deliberately, but the farthest it’ll go then is give me inspiration for my stories, allowing me to view transformations as they happen to other people in other worlds, or even in our own, if I have the right kind of luck. How else do you think I manage to get such detail in my work?

Now, the thing is, this power sort of … lunges out of me at times, usually when I’m frightened or startled. If the scare is big enough, the power goes to work, and I can’t stop it, no matter what. The first time it happened was when I was 13. It was one of my last years trick-or-treating, for good reason. You see, at one of the houses, a few adults had dressed up in scary masks to help get in the season and allow us to have a bit of a playful scare. The problem is, one of these individuals decided to get uncomfortably close and continually follow me around the yard as I went to pick up the candy and then make my way to the next home. He said hello, and continued to follow me. When I turned again, he was just an inch or two away from me, possibly less. And he towered over me at the time. My innate fear of the dark was already stoking my fear factor, so it was nearly ready to burst at this point. And, well … the man was the unfortunate person to burst the bubble. His face is horribly disfigured now. It’s covered in ugly red scars that crisscross over his face. His eyes are so large that they’re practically bursting from his sockets. I’d … rather not go into further details. His screams still haunt me. I’m … not proud of what this gift can do to people. It can do good, yes, but more often than not, it causes great harm.This other encounter happened in the middle of a park, where street performers lined up to offer their services. Unfortunately, in this case, I was startled by an exceedingly convincing man covered in a weathered bronze paint. He blended right in with the military memorial as he crouched before a pile of mortars waiting to be loaded into cannon by the other two soldiers. His old military helmet lay cocked back on his head, exposing the carefully gelled and dyed hair combed back in distinctive rivulets to mimic the style of the era and his fellow soldiers. His military fatigues and tight shirt hardly moved, most likely the effect of paint and starch. My friends and I had just stopped to take a picture together, and I was in front of our posing friend. The first few pictures were fun. And then the game was up, when he suddenly moved, clamping his hands on either of our shoulders.I screamed. … And then the power went to work. The man was hasty to apologize as he stepped down from the platform. He hadn’t mean any harm. Of course he hadn’t. It was his job to pretend. Even after the others had calmed down, though, I continued to watch in horror, because I knew what I had done. The others looked on at me in concern, even as I watched the staying hands of the mortar specialist twitch. I saw the loader turn his head to bore his gaze into me, and then into our fake soldier’s back.My whole body went cold. I watched helplessly as the two walked from the memorial’s dais one after the other. Their heavy feet clanked against the cement as they marched in perfect unison, coming to rest behind the performer.“Can I help you, gentlemen?” the performer asked after gathering his wits once again. Naturally, he had reasoned these two were also fellow actors. That assumption was his undoing. I watched helplessly as metallic hands grabbed his arms in a grip harder than iron. Yes, I know the comment is ironic, and no, the pun was not intended. Metal ground on metal as the two soldiers turned their heads to gaze at the man with those same immutable expressions. They pulled him forcefully towards the platform once again.It was when the performer began to struggle that he finally realized the cold, horrible truth of his situation. When he tried kicking one of the men in the shins, all he got for his trouble was a yelp of pain out of his own mouth. I watched as his eyes widened in fear. I watched as my friends struggled fruitlessly to get the statues to let go.The park was alive with screams in a matter of seconds. The performer tried going limp, dragging his feet. Much to everyone’s horror, the gentle sound of scuffing rubber soles soon turned into the heavy grating sound of hard cast metal on stone. He pulled at his legs with obvious effort as he screwed his face in consternation. He could hardy bend a knee. The weight only increased as his legs became more and more stiff.“Oh, god no,” he gasped. “Please, no!” His screams are still vivid in my mind. He sobbed, and tears formed in his eyes. That made it even worse. Instead of falling down his cheeks, the tears took on a dull metallic sheen, and I watched as it covered his irises. He blinked once, twice, and then blinked no more. Instead, a perfectly set pair of metal orbs stared out at the world with a grim, stormy expression. The very air radiated the sounds of fear and hysteria. And all I could do was watch dumbly as His hardened legs clanked up over the lip of the pedestal on which the monument stood. His head was a blur, turning left and right as he beseeched and implored.

Left.

“Please. L-let me go.”

Right.“You want my money? You can have it. I’ll donate to the veterans fund every week!”

Left.

“D-don’t do this!” His head was starting to slow, and I heard the beginnings of the telltale grating.

Right.

“Please.” It was more of a harsh whisper than a proper plea.

A slow turn to the left.

“I … I’m not….”Unblinking eyes met unblinking eyes. The breathing was short now, shallow, more of a hollow rasping as his chest rose, falling less and less each time as shirt and flesh began to blend into one solid surface. His helmet strap had already stopped swaying as he moved.

Again he turned right, and I watched his cheeks and lips twitch with the strain of it as the metal his neck and shoulders had become grated once more.

“I am … I … can’t move … my lips….” He struggled to speak, and I watched as his mouth settled into that grim set line of a soldier intent at his work, never to move again. I remember hearing one final rattling exhalation out his nostrils. And then the breathing stopped.

The two soldiers turned to look at one another and nodded. They released their grips and clanked over to their former positions, lining up with the imprints they had left behind before freezing into position.

One of my friends had enough presence of mind to try to pull the poor man away, now that he had been released, but I already knew it was too late. He pulled at the man, cajoled him.

The performer wouldn’t budge. He turned his head and peered with that same piercing gaze that only a battle hardened soldier could manage, captured so perfectly in his new sculpted features. He grasped my friend by both arms, lifted him in the air, and walked him to the edge of the platform, then dropped him.

With that task accomplished, the performer turned back towards the pair of soldiers, now his compatriots, who stared at him mutely. He marched into position, saluted them, then turned and crouched down in front of the mortar pile, gazing straight ahead. Metal bent and warped, flowing into place, then hardening to the point where one couldn’t tell he hadn’t been a part of the initial casting.

The performer was no more. Now, another soldier gazed out at passersby, a solemn reminder of a war that he would now forever be a part of.

As I said, I’m not proud of my gift. It can help others, yes. But more often than not, it hurts them. It’s best if you leave now, before it lashes out again. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

…

Why are you looking at me like that? What’s in that bag? What are you…? No. NO!

This, I definitely agree with wholeheartedly.

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