Of Spies And Muscleheads Part 1

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 1

“Hunter? Do you read, Hunter?”

“I read you, Control. This is Hunter. How’s the image?”

“You’re broadcasting loud and clear; the image is clear as crystal. You are a go, Hunter.” A loud slurp followed in Agent Hunter’s earpiece.

“Still drinking that sludge, Control?”

“If you mean my coffee, then yes. Some of us have to stay up for days on end to make sure you agents don’t screw things up.”

“Please, you know none of those guys even come close to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, Casanova, dial it back a bit, alright? Your ego’s clogging up the lines.”

“I love you, too, Control.”

“Just get going already, Hunter. It’s going to be a long night. You know your objective. Get in, kill the target, download his data, and get out. I’ll keep an eye out for you. Now get into that compound, break those security codes, and crack some heads for me.”

Hunter smirked, his curly blonde hair glinting in the moonlight before he pulled the sleek black scuba mask over his face and inserted his air tube. Slowly slipping into the water, he pulled himself deeper and deeper into the lake. His tight rubber scuba suit clung to his broad frame as he swum through the murky deep. Fortunately, he had thermal and night vision to assist in his journey, along with a glow stick he pulled out from his tool belt. Cracking and shaking it, he soon found plenty of light to see by.

“You’ll find an old grate at the bottom of the castle on the east side, just beneath the bridge. Take your torch, blow it out, then get inside.”

“I know the drill, control. This isn’t my first rodeo, you know.”

“It may be your last if you don’t get moving already. I’m picking up a party crossing the bridge. Looks like … oh shit! It’s Muffati, Bugatti, Pakhtunkwa … looks like our whole top twenty on the terrorist watch list, plus entourage. This is serious, Hunter. I’m patching Director Skinner in now.”

“Hunter, this is Skinner. Do you read me?”

“Loud and clear, sir.”

“Hunter, your mission directive’s just changed. I want you to see what these people are planning. Assuming they’re coming to see the target, we might be able to get some more information on his objectives. Get all the information you can, then proceed with assassination protocol. Time to earn some big bucks, gentlemen. Keep me updated, Control. Skinner out.”

“Damnit, why’d they have to make things so complicated?” Hunter muttered under his breath.

“You know I can still hear you, right? Now quit sulking and get moving, Hunter. If they see your lights down there, you’re dead.”

“Relax, Control, I’m in.” Agent Hunter chuckled as he pulled the grate out from its position and swam up the pipe. The current was surprisingly easy to swim through. “What did you say came through this pipe again?”

“I didn’t. And trust me … you don’t want to know.”

“Seriously, control?”

“I told you you didn’t want to know.”

Hunter sighed, putting his palm to his facemask.

“It’s not like you can’t clean yourself up later. Your gear will take care of that no problem, once you’re inside, anyways.”

“Jason, do me a favor and just shut up, will you?”

“Oh you know I can’t do that, Hunter. After all, I’m your eye in the sky. Now suck it up. You can worry about kicking my ass later in the gym. And it’s Control over the comms, Hunter, remember?”

“Don’t think I’ll forget.”

“Well, with your record and all …”

“Jason,” Hunter said warningly.

“Alright, alright,” Control chuckled. “I’ll let you focus on your work. You should be coming up on a three-way split in the next twenty yards. Take the pipe on the right. It’ll lead you to an escape tunnel.”

“An escape tunnel through the sewage grate? Seriously?”

“Well, you have to admit, it is pretty smart compared to some of the other people we’ve been up against. A lot more conservative.”

“And you’re sure this guy isn’t ex-ops?”

“Positive. Weren’t you listening in the briefing?”

“There was a briefing?”

“Hunter.”

“Relax, Control. Just getting you riled up again is all.” Hunter chuckled as he kept swimming, keeping hold of the newer maintenance handlebars as he pulled himself along, just in case.

“You should be coming up on the security port momentarily. It’ll take me a few minutes to hack in, so sit tight.”

“As if I could do anything else?” Hunter asked as he approached the steel door in question. A thick combination pad sat beneath a large digital screen. A long green cursor blinked within the slots for a combination.

“Actually, you can. Take that ID you got off that guard in the last base and slide it over the pad. I need the system to think someone is accessing it before I can override it.”

“Won’t that send a signal to the target?”

“I’ll intercept it before it can get that far. I just need the in first.”

“Acknowledged, Control. Scanning ID now.”

“Welcome home, Meathead. You have been away for seventy … nine … hours. Input verification code,” a feminine voice said.

“Alright, Hunter, I’ve decrypted the device. The code is 9-15-2-5-25.”

“Got it.” Hunter tapped in the numbers. They lingered on the screen only briefly before the digital display flashed, numbers flickering in and out of control before they resolved into a new visual format: I-O-B-E-Y. “I obey? Seriously?” A yellow light began to flash.

“Shit. It requires a vocal response. Give me a sec. I’ll boot up your voice synthesizer.”

“Hurry up, Control, things are getting a little uncomfortable down here.” The water had begun to change color as pipes emerged from the sides of the tunnel, releasing a green substance.

“Wait for it … wait for it …”

“I don’t have time to wait, Control. Give it to me now!”

“I’ve got it! Quick, say ‘yes, sir, Coach. Meathead obeys.’”

“Seriously?” Hunter was surprised by the sudden change in his vocals as his tone of voice dropped, sounding more vapid.

“Just do it!”

Hunter activated his underwater speaker. “Yes, sir, Coach. Meathead obeys.” He shuddered at the sheer emptiness in his voice as the system read the synthetization. Memories of the giant thug who almost killed him played over and over in his mind. Over seven feet of height, near four hundred pounds of muscle, vacant expression as the thug smiled and tried to strangle him. And that bulging crotch. He just couldn’t get his mind off of it. How could a man be so large, and yet be so perfectly healthy? Perfect muscles. Perfect body. Perfect bulge. And he nearly won. His techniques were military grade, but there were no records of him in the system. Who was he?

“Bigger is better,” the feminine voice continued.

“Alright, the next line is–”

“Buffer is tougher,” Hunter replied. The machine chirped as a lock disengaged.

“Larger penis, larger testicles,” a higher pitched male voice intoned.

Hunter switched off the speakers. “Little help here, Control? I only got the last one because Subject Thirteen kept saying it.”

“Oh, um … right,” Control replied as the sound of rapidly typing keys echoed across the comms.

“Getting a little green down here, Control, and I don’t think it’s the sewage,” Hunter said.

“I know, I know, give me a minute!”

“We don’t have a minute, Control. I need those key words now.”

“Larger penis, larger testicles,” the computer chimed again.

“I … I can’t find it. Someone must’ve detected my hack. This command’s coming from another relay somewhere. I’m locked out. Get out of there, Hunter!”

Hunter stared at the screen. Everything looked so much the same now; the water was so murky. He could hear the poison flowing, the warning beep of the computer, the sound of the thug’s voice. What would he say? So big. So stupid. It wouldn’t be something complex. All that brawn.

“I said get out of there, Hunter.”

“That’s a negative, Control. I’m … I’m gonna try something. This test … it was designed for Thirteen, right? He’s … so dumb. He’d … need something to respond to. Those words … too complex.” The pipe was starting to wobble a little.

“Hunter, this is a direct order. Leave now.”

Hunter shut off his comms unit, and turned on his speakers, even as the pipe began to spin around him.

“Larger penis, larger testicles,” the computer said a third time.

Doing his best to sound as stupid as possible, he spoke. “Uhh … bigger balls, bigger dick.” He shuddered at the sound of his voice, and blushed as his wetsuit suddenly grew a little tighter down below. Of all the times. . ..

With a mechanical chunk, the door’s other lock disengaged, and a series of fans appeared around the tunnel, spinning to suck and filter the green substance out as fresh water was pumped in. Soon the pipe was back to normal. The door continued to repeat the phrase over and over again, alternating between the high sophisticated voice and the low dumb synthesized bass, even as it slowly swung open and Hunter desperately swam through. All the while, the computer kept playing in his head, chirping in the water, while static played across his speakers. Or was that just the water?

“… Bigger balls … bigger … dick …” he said again. Then everything went dark.

Real Men’s Journal Part 8

~DAY???~

Coach says I need to keep writing. Dunno why. Writing makes me question and then the pain starts again. It’s easier just to let it all go, ya know? I’ve been working my tris and my quads today with my glutes and my calves. Everyone looks up at me now and it feels so good. Been just smiling and walking around, really enjoying it, you know? It feels good watching people look at me like that. 100 slapped me on the butt today. I just smirked and kept walking. Chuckled a little too. Turned back once to see him wave.

I like 100. He’s like a big brother. Nah, sounds too formal. Let’s just go with big bro. I like that better. Yeah, bros. Big balls bros. I like that. Mmmm … gonna have to visit the showers a little early tonight. Think I’ll bring that little guy, Clark, with me. He looks like he needs a good time with his bros. His big fucking bros with a massive, manly bulge. Mmmmm … God it feels so good to say that. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Can’t fucking get enough of my fucking massive bulge. Getting bigger all the time. All the time. No wonder Dick and Tracy loved this. I feel like I can beat anything. Anyone. Like I can do whatever the fuck I want. Head’s getting fuzzy again. Better move on. Uh … what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, was gonna talk about the others.

Josh and Cooper are great buds. Coach says he put them on fast track to be with me. Now they’re nearly the same size. I must be around six foot four now. So fucking tall. I walk down the hall and the beds shake. I like that feeling. Let’s me know I’m nice and heavy. Coach says we’re nearly ready for the next step now. I uh … used to feel kinda bad about that, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s good after all? Don’t know. Don’t need to know. If Coach says it’s okay, it’s okay. Have to listen to coach. Have to obey coach. I obey. Kyle obeys. Kyle’s number is 56. Kyle is 56. 56 obeys. 

Doctor’s Log Entry

~October 24th, 2016~

This is Doctor Seroyan of the Specialist Division: Project DYNAMO A.K.A. “The Process”

I was most curious when I received an email from the Young Adult Underground Compound in Macaronesia regarding a certain test subject recommended by Numbers 1 and 5, former names: Damien Jones and Bryan Kent. This subject 56 appears to be a bright lad, very perceptive from what I can see. It’s a pity he has to go through The Process, but we do need a demographic from a variety of ranges and health conditions. This boy’s asthma is perfect to see the respiratory impact of the process, or so his medical records show. I don’t quite understand why I was called in as a consultant, but perhaps the boy’s journal entries will shed some light on the situation.

 ~October 26th~

Interesting. Typical treatments were not enough for the subject. He eats with the others, but his metabolism doesn’t appear to be increasing, despite the “special ingredients” inserted. His journal entries imply heavy sarcasm and wit alongside his sincere desire for freedom and family. Curious. The lack of hypnosis files are doubtless part of the problem, but I am curious if there might not be something in the boy’s blood that makes him resistant as well. We’ll need to run some tests.

 ~October 27th~

The boy’s blood panels have come back. I see no negative impact from the serum. In fact, when exposed, cells regenerated, growing healthier. White blood cells reproduced at a faster rate and red blood cell count skyrocketed. The Process never ceases to amaze me. Most cells die and then are replaced in the body, but the formula has made them self-sustaining. I’ve never seen the progression first hand before. Fascinating. If my theory is correct, then the power of the mind is indeed the key. The brain has to send signals to the body to accept The Process. Once it gets into the brain cells, there’s no going back and the subject will continue to follow the steps to their ultimate conclusion:  Physical Perfection. I’d best send my prognosis to Coach Abrams immediately. We’ll start with flooding the rooms with the gas form first, then go from there. I want to prove that mental commitment is required before recommending nocturnal binaural treatment. I haven’t been this excited about a special case in years.

 ~October 30th~

Interesting. The process does seem to be having some effect on the boy, but according to body scans, they’re minimal at best. Still, the gas does appear to be having an effect of sorts on him in his sleep, as it does for all subjects. Intense arousal triggered by surges of testosterone implies treatment is working. Given enough exposure, it is possible The Process could work without mental suggestions, but that would require an undue abuse of resources. No, best to stick with what works best. I will recommend nocturnal binaural treatment begin immediately for all subjects. I look forward to seeing the results.

 ~November 10th~

Subject 56 appears to be oblivious to the passing of time. The alterations to his clock tablet have been a success, and he continues to mark his days by numbers, rather than by date. I have noticed the impact of the binaurals on the subjects. Several are exhibiting more masculine traits and look longingly at the gym, according to the camera feeds. Others have already succumbed and begun a regular workout schedule. Scans show these subjects are using less brain power for their activities as more and more of the brain sends signals and chemicals to the rest of the body, reinforcing pleasure and desire for physical exertion. An unfortunate side effect of these changes is a drop in I.Q. Therefore, as part of the process, we include hypnosis sessions to make them not care about the loss. Once they experience their first growth spurts, many do not even require it, but to be safe, we include them anyways. They make better men and better soldiers that way. Note to self. Talk with maintenance about the lights. The bulbs need replacing.

 ~November 12th~

Further observation indicates the subject, Number 56, is beginning to falter. The boy is taking too long, though. Too much of a danger. I have consulted with my superiors. They recommended I speak with Coach Stone, one of the more … unorthodox of our trainers here, but he knows his stuff. He suggested letting the boy “accidentally” walk in on various hypnosis sessions, starting with the showers. It seems feasible. There is some risk of resistance arising once word spreads to the others, but Stone assures me things will be fine, especially now that we have a new acquisition in the form of number 56’s friend, number 28, Kevin Marugama.

He has taken remarkably well to the changes and adapted accordingly. He still loves to smile, but it occasionally dims when he works out. I believe it has to do with number 56 somehow. Most forget their relationships when they pass into this phase and only care about their new “bros” and their “fucking big dicks” with their new team mentality. 28 seems to want to wait. He is more hesitant. Perhaps he bears a lesser form of resistance than his friend, 56. The strange part is, he’s embraced the program more so than any other. He’s grown the largest, changed his hair, grew his “massive, manly bulge,” conformed to everything, and yet he still hangs on with his mind. Curious.

 ~November 13th~

Subject 56 has made contact in showers as planned. The boy was markedly surprised and the others reacted as projected. Their only idols will soon be their own reflections and muscle. Number 56 appears to be rattled, but unfazed otherwise. He wisely has chosen to keep his counsels to himself, though the arousal appears to be increasing and he is following the commands embedded in his subconscious as he sleeps. Surely it will only be a matter of time before he joins the rest of them, becomes the very thing he used to despise: a musclebound thrall obsessed with whatever his commanding officers tell him to be. For our purposes, that will be fitting the stereotype of a big, dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge.

Say these words, and the subjects fall into a trance loop until they fit the stereotype in every way. It’s most effective. Anyone exposed will experience intense and sudden arousal, followed by lightheadedness, and lastly, a sense of intense euphoria as they run and re-run the loop over and over in their minds, mass producing the key ingredient in The Process, causing their bodies to swell and distribute it through their systems until they reach maximum physical peak, or as they like to call it, being “fucking huge, big, buff, and swole with my fucking massive, manly bulge.” Crude, but effective. It has a nice ring to it. My compliments to the men at the recording department. The lyrical and rhythmic effect makes the command catchy and easy to repeat.

Once The Process gets far enough, the subjects often speak, record, write, and rewrite their commands and subliminals over and over again in their journals in a variety of forms, like “gotta get swole with my massive, manly bulge,” “muscles. So huge. Massive. Fucking massive. Bigger. Buffer. Grow. Just a big, dumb jock with a massive cock. My massive, manly bulge,” and “Yes, sir. All I care about. Grow big. Big dick. Only meat in my head. Think less. Grow more. More massive the bulge, the bigger I grow, the less that I know, with my massive, manly bulge.” And so they continue to repeat, and lose, and forget their old selves until they are a new person entirely with a new, distinct, set personality that’s completely loyal to Coach. That is to say, their coaches. Pardon me, it’s getting rather late. Focusing on Number 56 has caused me to neglect myself. I’d best take a lie down to clear my head. Until next time.

 ~November 23rd~

Datalog entry file 56. Case:  The Mysterious Resistance

56 is showing clear signs of wavering. We decided to kill two birds with one stone by finishing converting numbers 22 and 23. As a bonus, numbers 5, 10, and 13 were also present. Against my orders, the gas was deployed to fill the chamber, effecting all present and accelerating the changes until all five were ready. It was … quite the display. Number 56 has been feeling the results since. He is beginning to record the trigger and other words to begin erasing his old personality. As the other drones say, “out with the nerd and in with the jock.” I look forward to seeing the end result.

Coach Abrams came up with a fit over the gas flooding at first, but I managed to convince him it was for the best. Coach Stone was very pleased. I believe the two have a rivalry of sorts going on, but I can never be too certain. The boy is once again too frightened to speak, which is good. A few more events like this and he’ll likely tip over the edge. His will is formidable, however. Many of the others have already fallen in line, but this one still hangs on. He may just have to pass on to another class in the first phase.

The next day, we had an escape attempt. No use trying to hide the effects of the process now. The guard drones overdosed the poor boy, then flashed him with the accelerant. The boy never stood a chance. He’ll join the guards and patrol the interior walls of the facility while other workers maintain environmental controls to keep up the illusion of the outdoors. The boy in question would obey any order you gave him so long as he viewed you as a superior. Though I do have to admit I am the slightest bit jealous. Those abs, those quads, those biceps. He’s an Adonis and more. I attended his post examination. To get so close to one of them, to actually feel that power, it’s indescribable. Makes me dizzy just thinking about it. So built. I … I um … need to rest. Maybe run a tox screen. I wonder if the drones have begun to produce the chemical in their sweat. It’s possible, considering how much our recent addition was pumped full. So very full. Pumped. Um … yes, tox screen, then bed. Definitely.

 ~November 24th~

Tox screen shows normal. I appear to be fine. No signs of the chemical in my system. We arranged for the boy to “accidentally” catch his former leader in the middle of a hypnosis session. Coach Stone is most skilled. Number 100 fell under the moment he heard his voice. The prompt to leave one bud loose was genius. He lost the binaural effects, but at this stage, he was deep enough in control we could afford to let it slip this once. Number 56 reacted most strongly and demonstrated astounding memorization skills. I, myself was most moved by Coach Stone’s performance. He has a very powerful voice. Very deep. I actually have a meeting with him later this evening to discuss the next step in the boy’s progression. 56 is a threat until he completely gives in. He must give in. Must give in. Must listen. He must listen and obey. Only then will The Process be able to complete. The Process must complete. Must complete. Complete sets...

 ~November 25th~

Drone 56 appears to be falling well into place now. He worked out without a single question, just blank obedience. His weight loss is slower than projections indicate they should be, but he is progressing. That is what is important. Progress. Man’s greatest achievement. What sets apart the real men from the fakes. Coach Stone has recommended I stay a while longer. We talked over coffee and discussed the details. He’s concerned the boy will break trance. He’s done it before. His conscious mind is very powerful. After a long discussion, I agreed to stay, and drank several cups of coffee while I was at it. I’ve felt so tired of late, I needed the caffeine. The coffee was surprisingly good. What happened after is a little fuzzy, but I recall returning to my quarters and wishing Coach Stone good night. I’ll see him soon, I’m sure. Very soon.

 ~November 26th~

Number 56 continues to progress slowly as he works off his excess fat. His asthma seems to be non-existent now, a sure sign of clinical success. His body repaired itself. Astounding. I have visited with Coach Stone now, and he desires to help me get more fit while I am here. I appreciated the offer, but politely declined. I hear his training methods are rather brutal. I really need to see someone about these lights, they’re starting to get rather distracting. I think I’ll ask Coach Stone about them. He seems to hold some sway among the higher ups. Yes, I think I’ll visit him now.

 ~November 30th~

56 continues to practice his routine. He is beginning to show more progress now as his metabolism increases. The programming is working. We have Coach Abrams regularly ask him about his massive, manly bulge now. Each time we say it, the boy smiles and runs the program, but when he’s done, his body seems to remain mostly the same. His penis size and scrotum size have hardly increased at all. Coach Stone is concerned, as is Coach Abrams to an extent. 56 has been useful in helping to convert some of the stragglers, but he himself still clings on somehow. It’s incredibly frustrating.

I have agreed to meet with the coaches on a regular basis and keep them apprised of all that I find. I may have to observe 56 from a closer standpoint before I can really find out what’s wrong. That is a rather disturbing thought though. To observe him up close, I would have to join the program under the pretense of being a new recruit. To walk in as a scientist would be positively out of the question. Why? Because the boys and men would immediately seek to exploit the weakness, not to mention they would likely suspect the method of delivery and then we would be forced to overdose them like that other boy. I’ll talk it over with Coach Stone at the gym. He tells me that’s normally easier for him than meeting in his office.

 ~December 5th~

As I suspected, the coaches all agree it’s not possible for me to enter the program for a closer examination. They warned me it would be a one-way trip and that what doctors had tried before were now little more than testosterone-soaked, musclebound bodybuilders. Many of them have been sent to various contractors in professional football and bodybuilding competitions. Naturally, what funds they win are generously donated to help further our efforts here with The Process and their families are notified of their “deaths” with a supplemental check in the mail to keep them afloat for the rest of their lives.

I have gotten into the habit of going to the gym on a regular basis to talk things through with Stone. The majority of 56’s classmates have now moved on. A mere straggler or two and he’ll be all alone. Coach Stone informs me he’ll be visiting to finish their conversions so that we can move on to plan B. Coach Abrams is not happy, but I have recommended Coach Stone to take over after this class is finished. The boy is clearly a troubled case, and perhaps unorthodox is exactly what we need right now. The higher ups have agreed with my assessment. Abrams will stand down, or he will be removed.

 ~December 10th~

Coach Stone did as he said and 56 is now alone. He continues to exhibit behavior as a focused drone: obedient, hardworking, flexing, etc. He still hasn’t changed much, however. He continues to show signs of resistance, and it is my hypothesis the boy will wake tomorrow and return to full consciousness. He will also be met by a brand new class of students. Coach Stone will be able to take care of them just fine. I look forward to seeing how the boy reacts to Stone’s personality. Stone can be quite persuasive when he wants to be. Quite persuasive, indeed. I just wish he’d put that to use for my office space. The lights have gotten worse, not better. I’ll have to take this up with the facility director if I can’t get this resolved soon. But first I’ll try Coach Stone one last time. I scratched his back. Maybe he’ll scratch mine.

This is an incredibly well written story. I don’t like the sexual part (since I’m not really into porn or any sexual scenes), but the rest was a great gradual change both physically and mentally. I couldn’t help but reblog it here. Kudos to dumbmusclejockboi.

BroSimulator 2K18: Frat Bro

Maximilian Maxwell III was a nerd. A dweeb. A geek. He put up with a lot of bullying and name-calling in high school, all while thinking it would all be better in college. Well, he was living proof that it didn’t ever get better. Not really.

Even now in college, he was constantly picked on by the frat douchebags of Mu Alpha Nu fraternity. He had decided to try to join a fraternity himself, who cares if it was like buying friends, at least there was safety in numbers. So, during rush he tried to join a house, but the only house that would have him was Zeta Iota Tau. The nerd house. 

At least he was surrounded by other guys who enjoyed studying, playing video games and excelling in academics. It was an okay existence. There was always something going on whether it was a chess tournament or a game of Magic: The Gathering. It wasn’t what he expected when he originally joined a fraternity, but it was still fun.

The expected girls, booze, parties never really materialized. The hardest thing they drank was root beer and the closest they came to parties was when they organized a round robin M:TG tournament with a genuine Mox Lotus as the main prize. (One of the brothers had started early and had a few of each Mox).

Maximilian was feeling bored and depressed and thought maybe a new video game would make him feel better, so he headed to the Game Stop at the mall. As he was looking around for something interesting, he glanced upon a game called BroSimulator 2K18. It sounded like a bizarrely hilarious game, so he paid for it and went back to his fraternity house.

@@@@@@@@@

When Maximilian got back to the ZIT house, he showed the game to a few of his brothers. They laughed as he said to not bother him for a few hours. Maximilian ran to his room and installed the game onto his computer.

The main screen loaded, featuring a cartoonish gym with various bro-types flexing and posing in front of mirrors. Clicking on the start button, he entered the Bro Customization screen.

He inputted his name, weight and age at the prompts, and answered all the questions that were presented as honestly as he could. His hands were sweating in impatience. And then there he was. A digitized version of himself was on screen.

Digitized Maximilian, DM for short, stood in his room. Text on the screen announced that it was a tutorial, “Getting’ Ready!”  He put on some basketball shorts and tried to put on a t-shirt like he saw the jock frat wear, but a buzzard sounded and the game alerted him,” THE WEATHER’S FUCKING AWESOME, BRO! SUN’S OUT, GUNS OUT, BRO, PICK SOMETHING TO SHOW OFF YOUR GUNS!” So, Maximilian picked out a red tank top. He also put on a snapback.  He exited out of the wardrobe and was rewarded with “+2 HAPPY.” Maximilian couldn’t believe he actually did feel a little happier.

Maximilian’s next tutorial quest (put on some tunes) was also interrupted, telling him to choose rap instead of classical music. He was again rewarded with more happiness. Tutorial quest 3/3 seemed very straightforward for a bro, run to the gym. His digitized character ran to the gym. When he got there, he got “+5 HAPPY” and “+1 PRIDE.”

At the gym, it appeared the game was ready for the regular quests. TAKE YOUR PRE-WORKOUT made him buy pre-workout from the counter. His avatar tried to drink it but the game alerted that he had forgotten to add creatine (BRO, YOU’RE NOT GONNA GET GAINZ WITHOUT CREATINE.). So, he made DM go buy some creatine from the sales counter, added it to his pre-workout, gave it a little shake and downed it. THAT TASTED AWESOME! +5 HAPPY +1 PRIDE +2 SWOLE -3 IQ

Maximilian was even more enthusiastic about this game. He had learned that happiness could make you high, and he was wondering if the game was doing that to his brain somehow. He also felt a little more energetic and was excited to see what would happen next. GO LIFT BRO! GO LEG PRESS 200 KG! BroSimulator 2K18 told him was his next quest.

And so, DM stacked 5 plates on each side and proceeded to do 3 sets of 15 reps of 200kg.  Maxwell didn’t notice that in the real world, as DM did each rep, real world Maxwell’s calves, thighs and glutes inched their way bigger and bigger until his shorts were having slight trouble containing his muscle.

AWESOME, BRO! +5 HAPPY, +5 PRIDE, +5 SWOLE, -5 IQ

Maxwell was feeling super proud of himself. “Fuck yeah!” He said out loud, his voice cracking. He was feeling a little high, maybe a little foggy in the head. He knew his purpose and he continued on to complete more quests. His next quest was to BENCH PRESS 4 PLATES.

Computer Max went to the bench press and loaded up two plates on each side, and tried to start his exercise. FOUR PLATES MEANS 4 ON EACH SIDE, BRO. -5 IQ

Maxwell laughed a dumb, bro laugh, “I’m such a dumbass!” He said to no one.

And with that, Digital Max began to do 3 sets of 12 reps. Once again, with each rep, Maxwell’s chest began to inflate. Slowly growing bigger, and wider and rounder. Until his pecs were filling out his shirt, almost causing the side seams to burst.

BRO-TASTIC! +5 HAPPY, +10 PRIDE, +10 SWOLE, -5 IQ 

Max had never felt more alive! He felt awesome! By this point, he had forgotten all about why he had purchased BroSimulator 2K18 in the first place. Maxwell also didn’t notice that his brain was running a little slower, or that he had started to refer to himself as Max.  Now, he was just totally immersed in the game.

The game had Max lead character Max to do various other exercises. Crunches, bicep curls, back extensions, triceps dips, pull ups, muscle ups, lat pull downs and calf raises, racking up massive amounts of pride, happy and swole. He did lose quite a few more IQ points as well.

POSE IN THE MIRROR BRO!

And so, Max took off his shirt and started a posing routine in the mirror. As his avatar did that, Max in real life started to flex his muscles in the mirror too. “Damn, I look fucking swole,” he thought to himself.

SWOLE BRO!  +3 HAPPY +5 PRIDE +3 SWOLE -1 IQ

FRAT BRO QUEST.  DO YOU ACCEPT? Y/N

Max thought that being a frat bro would be awesome so he happily clicked on Y.  

AWESOME BRO!  QUEST ¼ FIST BUMP 5 FRAT BROS!  2:00

Oh shit!  It was a timed quest!  And how the hell would he differentiate a bro from a frat bro?  And that’s when he noticed some of the bros in the gym had Greek letters on their tanks and shirts.  So, Max guided Digital Max to giving fist bumps to all the bros he could find wearing Greek letters. SWEET BRO!  +3 HAPPY +4 PRIDE -2 IQ

QUEST 2/4 FIST PUMP FOR 5 MINUTES

This was pretty easy.  DM went into the aerobics studio and put on some rap music and fist pumped like a douchebag bro for 5 minutes.  While DM was fist pumping, Max was fist pumping in the real world.  He had turned up the volume on his Bose Soundlink and was losing himself in to the latest Kendrick Lamar.  As he did that, his room started changing.  A poster or Albert Einstein turned into a poster of hot bros flexing muscles. Trophies and awards for academic excellence turned into trophies for football, wrestling and body building.  

DM finished the required five minutes and BroSimulator 2K18 told him:

GREAT JOB BRO!  +5 HAPPY +7 SWOLE +8 PRIDE -10 IQ

FRAT BROS DRINK!  QUEST ¾ SHOTGUN 3 BEERS IN 3 MINUTES.

Using a complicated mixture of tapping buttons and moving the controller around, Max was able to get DM to do the assigned task.  Finishing the task, Max paused the game and stood up to stretch his impressive arms.  He walked to the mini fridge in the room and chugged down a Milwaukee’s Best Ice that only an hour ago had been root beer.  Wiping his mouth with his muscled forearm, Max let out a belch of contentment, and sat down to finish up his Frat Bro quest.

FUCK YEAH BRO!  +10 HAPPPY +10 PRIDE -3 SWOLE -5 IQ

QUEST 4/4 SCORE WITH A HOTTIE

Max knew exactly who to make DM score with.  The bro at the counter had been checking him out all day.  He knew that he could tap that shit.  So, DM went to the counter and told Matty, the counter clerk that he needed help trying on a posing strap.  Matty giggled as Max threw him into the changing room and pushed him up against the wall.  Matty enjoyed himself as Max pounded him at maximum velocity.  It was a legendary fuck, and the bros all over the gym heard Matty’s cries of joy and ecstasy.

The computer dinged:

INCREDI-BRO! ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED. JOCK FRAT BRO

+20 HAPPY +20 PRIDE + 20 SWOLE -20 IQ

Max whooped with glee, fist pumping in the air!  He didn’t notice that his room had further changed.  His pristine bed, becoming undone, crinkled and a bit smelly.  Tanks, sleeveless shirts and basketball shorts had materialized in random piles all over his room, and his wardrobe completely changed to reflect his new status as a jock frat bro.  Neither did he notice that there was now a dull fog in his head and that all the knowledge from his science and math classes had all left him.  He was also now majoring in criminal justice.  The cruise major.

All of the Greek letters on his shirt had also changed.  He was no longer a member of ZIT fraternity, but was a proud brother of Mu Alpha Nu… MAN.  They were the cockiest, manliest alphas of the campus and they fucking ruled! Hell yeah!  

Max looked at the time and freaked! It was getting late and he still had to make a beer run to buy the keg and plastic cups for the kegger at his off-campus house tonight!  It was gonna be a bro-tastic party, cause he and his bros only threw the most bro-tastic parties.  He was gonna get shit-faced, and he knew he was gonna fuck a couple of hotties tonight, but it was ok, cause he also planned a killer workout for tomorrow.  

The Touch of a Hand

I’m dealing with some stuff right now. This is a vent poem I wrote, after the event happened. I suppose it’s more prose or free verse than the traditional variants, but it’s real, and it’s mine. Figured I’d post it. Let me know what you think.

I want to scream.

I want to fight.

I want to yell.

…

But I can’t.

I can’t, because I love her.

But it’s that love that hurts me now.

 People define love in their own ways.

Sonnets, anagrams, couplets, those lines that spell a message, when you read them top to bottom.

Alliteration, symbolism, personification, plot devices to express something that is undefinable and so all-encompassing that it’s unfathomable, no matter how deep you dive. Ambiguous, they call it.

 To me, right now, love is a hand that reaches out. It knocks at the door, and you have the choice to let it in or not.

That choice defines you, defines who you are, what you will become, because if you let it in, that hand touches you in that place where only a special few can reach.

That touch changes you.

…

It changed me.

 For the first time, I knew what romance was, not the casual acquaintance of a fun meeting with a girl, but a real, legitimate connection that bound us together.

I knew what it was to fear for the safety of a woman who wasn’t family.

I knew the raging desire to protect.

I knew the timidity that dogs the steps of a man afraid to lose something precious, or rather, someone precious.

I felt the pang of separation, and the desire to draw nearer, to spend every waking moment thinking of that person, because my brain was ablaze with cheerful, happy memories of laughter and smiles, of eating eggrolls, cooking dumplings, and sharing a warm bowl of curry with asparagus and butternut squash.

…

Of dancing under the mistletoe, followed by a chaste kiss on the cheek.

 I knew what it was to be a comforter, to be willing to do anything for her.

…

At least for a time.

 But then I had to leave her. And we tried to make it work.

For a time, it did.

…

But I couldn’t be what she needed, when I was away.

I floundered to find a way to support her, to earn my way in life, so I could have a place ready for her, so I could be the provider I thought I needed to be.

I wanted to be safe.

…

She wanted a risk.

 She waited patiently. So patiently. But I couldn’t catch a break.

Perhaps I was lazy. Perhaps I was too much of a risk. Perhaps I was too inexperienced. Perhaps I didn’t try hard enough.

Hindsight always seems to be filled with those. Perhapses and maybes and what-ifs.

 Bottom line: I didn’t give enough.

 And she couldn’t wait for me anymore.

 And that’s where the pain comes from, because that hand that touched you became a part of you, a part of that place where few can go, few can touch.

She took that hand back.

She did it gently.

The separation still hurt.

 I’m not bleeding inside. Not exactly.

A new hand is there, instead, one that doesn’t really belong to anyone. Think of it as a defense mechanism.

That’s the hand that hurts, because it squeezes the place where the other hand once was. It crushes to staunch the flow that could well be disastrous otherwise.

 Pardon my crude insertion. I know it’s overused, but it seems appropriate. To sum things up, it hurts like a bitch.

Actually, it hurts worse than that. A bite, even a deep one, is easy to recover from. We have painkillers and tourniquets and stitches and antibacterial creams for that, things designed to speed the healing and ease the pain.

You can’t do that for this.

All you can do is bear it. Hold it in. Let that grip hold tight, until time numbs you to that pain. Until this primal damage control is able to make sure you’re ready for that next hand to come along.

 And part of you wants to curl up and whisper over and over, “Never again.”

I know part of me does. Partly because I believe she was the one. Partly because I think a piece of me doesn’t want to risk the pain happening again.

 We’ve both made our choices, she and I.

And we both have to deal with this clawing hand now that holds to our chests, where each of our hands once touched.

 Where will we go from here?

Neither of us know.

All we can do is move forward on our paths and hope to find the answer somewhere along the way.

 That is love.

That is life.

That is living.

To hell with ambiguity.

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.

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