Didnt Mean It

Didn’t Mean It

Of course, you didn’t mean for it to happen. Oh, yes, I understand you. Are you surprised? Well, you needn’t be so excited over it. Yes, yes, I know, I know. Calm down now, won’t you? You’re not doing yourself any favors by getting so excited. It’ll be harder to communicate, if you don’t relax.

There, now. That wasn’t so hard, was it? And now I can understand you again. Put yourself in quite a pickle, didn’t you? Just look at this mess. What are you, an animal? Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Don’t you snort at me, mister! This is your own fault. It always happens this way. *Sigh*

You were looking for a quick fix, right? Maybe a way to get back at a bully, get even with a coworker, show some egotistic jerk what it feels like from the other perspective? Or maybe you just wanted strength for the sake of strength. People always have their reasons, and they always think they’re good enough to let them do as they please without paying the price.

So, you found the ring, right? Probably some random place. Maybe it was sitting on the kitchen table, or maybe you found it when you were skinny-dipping with your friends. Or perhaps you found it in the pasture? Judging by how you’re looking away, I’m guessing I got it right on one of those. There’s no need to be shy about it. After all, it gave you what you wanted, right? You got your strength, and then some. You must have been so excited when you figured it out.

So what happened? Did you wear it to bed, and wish for the strength, or was it merely that you chose to wear it to work one day, just to make your coworkers jealous, maybe to get them to stop teasing you about a lack of a girlfriend? Well, I’m sure you don’t have to worry about that now. You have your pick of them, after all, don’t you?

Let me guess what happened. You woke up the next morning feeling amazing, am I right? You were positive, happy, productive. Probably managed to get a fair share of your work load done, instead of lagging so far behind. You were by no means a titan, of course, but it got you what you needed, and you started to enjoy your work, despite the jibes from your coworkers.

That night, you probably had a dream of some kind. This type of magic usually uses those types of things, you know, gets you accustomed to the changes that will be coming later. So what was it, then? Dreamt about pulling some sort of load? Maybe carrying a heavy beam on your shoulders? Perhaps you stacked your bales and boxes effortlessly into place, balancing hundreds of pounds on either shoulder. Whatever the case may have been, you certainly must have dreamt about your strength that night. You wanted more. Considering where you are now, that’s fairly obvious.

Over the next week or so, your strength increased steadily, and your body began to put on mass. It was small at first, naturally. It must have been. Didn’t want it to be too obvious. The magic knows how to be subtle when it wants to be, especially if the enchanter deliberately wants the changes to be slow. I’m sure the changes came faster over the next few weeks. You grew taller, broader, heartier. Your strength and stature grew to such an extent as to rival your fellows, and that unnerved them. What had once been an idle game to pass the time and lord their superiority over you had now become an earnest bid to hold back the budding competition. Isn’t it curious how much like animals humans can be sometimes?

Perhaps it was a girl you managed to snag. Maybe it was your former tormentors trying to belittle you mentally, rather than physically. Whatever the case may be, the boon granted by the magic was not enough to content you. You had the strength to rival your fellows; surpass them, even. Your biceps and triceps had swollen with power. Your legs had become thick and stocky to support the heavy loads you laid on your back or your shoulders. You could cart water barrels with ease, and heave hay bales with the best of them. You had become so strong that you could even endure longer than your fellows in the heat of the day with just a few sips of water, and a light meal. But you still felt smaller on the inside when they insulted your manhood, didn’t you?

I can see by your reaction that I am right. What did they do, pull down your pants, and mock you in public, or was it merely that the woman with whom you sought to lie fled after seeing the goods, so to speak? Now don’t look at me like that. They really are the goods now, you know. Or have you forgotten your current situation in the heat of the moment? Okay, okay, I’ll try to stop with the puns, but I make no promises. Once I get started, I tend to fall into a rut. Now, now, no need to get testy. Like I said before, I can’t understand you when you get riled up. Control yourself.

So, you made another wish, this time desiring to become … what’s the phrase you people use? Well endowed? The ring granted that desire, too, didn’t it? You dreamt of conquests, of escapades, night after night. With the end of every dream session, your manhood expanded. Your voice began to drop. Your trousers grew tighter in all the right places, and the women began to notice. You didn’t even care as you began to grow a beard, or when the hair began to grow on your arms and legs. The women called you handsome, rugged. You wrapped each and every one of them around your little finger, and you began to take pleasure in watching those men’s faces fall at the talk from the women. The girls didn’t even seem to care how you were jumping between them. After all, you were quick to tell them you weren’t looking for a relationship. And, for some reason, they didn’t seem to mind.

Ah, but you’d gotten a taste of what it felt like to dominate now, hadn’t you? You felt the thrill of being the best of the best, pure stock in every sense of the words. The confrontation that followed was inevitable. They jumped you on the way out from the tavern, tried to hurt you, maybe even kill you. I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there, and I haven’t read their memories. However, I can guess how it went. Your senses alerted you. You heard them, smelled them, maybe even felt them. The reek of alcohol on their breath must have been horrible, indeed. You took some heavy blows, but, ultimately, you stood victorious. The rush of that victory must have been great indeed. You must have been on such a high. What happened next, I can only guess, but I would assume that was your tipping point. You warned the men off, told them this was your job, and these were your girls. You told them that you were the boss now, the head of the herd, and you told them– no, you commanded them to fall in line. And they did, didn’t they? They didn’t have any choice. You were given the run of the ranch. And, if the boys were especially good, you’d give them the chance to vent some of their pent up frustration on some female companionship. You must have thought yourself such a great benefactor.

I wonder, how long did it take you, in that power-hungry daze of yours, to realize something might be wrong? Was it the enhanced libido? Hmm. No, not that. I can tell just by looking at you that you reveled in that part of your changes. You’d come to think of your conquests as trophies, your property, to be taken whenever and wherever you desired. The more you exercised your . . . privilege, the more you came to crave the sensations that came with it, and the more your women came to crave you, isn’t that right?

You became more crass, primal. You set the example, and, inevitably, the men you had culled soon followed behind. Those who pleased you began to share in the bounties of your gifts to a lesser degree, until you had set up a proper line of command. They grew heartier, stronger, more virile, while the women became fatter, more buxom. You drank yourselves till your vision blurred, and the world spun around you. When you woke the next days, you didn’t care about the headaches, so long as you had a warm body to take. Why, I bet you hardly even noticed as your tastes shifted from meats to grains and other vegetables. It simply added to your strength and charm. Besides, grains and vegetables are cheap, so why should the owner complain?

I wonder, when did you start deciding who to sleep with by smell? Was it a conscious decision, or did it just creep up on you as your nostrils began to flare out of habit? Oh, I’m certain you must have breathed in the scent of every woman you took for yourself, memorized it. And every time they were near, the moment that scent hit your nose, you felt your need rising again, felt your manhood expand, and you took who you wanted for all she was worth. There was little relationship involved. You wanted something, and the women gave it to you. And, of course, with no real interest in anything other than what you’d gotten so used to receiving, there was no need for words.

Your dreams began to blur with reality next. One moment bled into the other in a never-ending cycle of eating, work, sleeping, dreaming, and taking your women whenever the mood struck you. Come rain or shine, you kept working, and your skin grew thicker. You hardly felt the drops as they fell, or the bites from the flies and other insects that tried to pierce you. From time to time, you and your men would defend your women from outsiders, keep them safe as you tested those prospective men. Some made the cut, and joined your little gang, quickly filing into your rather close-knit little group. Others were driven off through intimidation. It must have felt so good to you.

You did your work, you pressed on, even as your hair grew into a short, thick coat along the rest of your body, and your nose began to press outwards. Your brow thickened as your ears began to point and shift. A weight began to weigh down on your head as your neck and shoulder muscles expanded accordingly, causing you to look down naturally as you interacted with others, not that that bothered you. After all, you were the biggest male there, and you reveled in that fact.

And the women. Ah, those poor girls. They changed, too, didn’t they, because you wanted them to stay with you, to remain yours. They clung to you and your band of men, though I suppose you could hardly be called men by that point, could you? You ate, you drank, you worked, you laid around, and you let yourselves go.

I wonder, when was it that you stopped bathing? Was it when your tail started to grow in? Perhaps when your face began to warp and change to match your behavior. Either way, I’m sure your employer must have raised some concerns, until you brought him in line. You had your run of the fields then. You took care of the ranch for a time, ran the cows on their milking schedules, fed the herds, made sure they knew you were the boss. You kept your men shirtless at that point, didn’t you? After all, they’d just tear through the fabric anyway, with the way their musculature was growing. Your interests trailed away from town, away from the things of men. You didn’t want beer anymore. You didn’t need the usual foods. You had milk, you had your vegetables and feed, and, eventually, you had your cud, didn’t you? No need to worry about the changes happening to the men. After all, they were just following your example. They didn’t look any different from you, now, did they? So why worry about it?

I wonder, when did you finally break out of your primitive stupor to try to stop this from happening? Was it mating season? I bet it was, wasn’t it? By that point in time, mating had become as natural to you as breathing. You were probably so big that you needed a loincloth to satisfy what little sense of decency you had left. So, what happened? Did you catch one of your men going feral?

That look in your eyes say it all.

One of your boys was late to feeding time, weren’t they? Hmm. Yes, I can see it in your memories. Since when could I read your memories? How else do you think I’m communicating with you? I’m in your mind, stupid. Well, somewhat, anyways. The connection got deep enough that I could look, but now you’re clouding it over again. Come on, chin up. Clear out that anxiety. I need to see what happened.

Why? Why, so I can judge you, of course. Silly human. Or should I say silly bull now? Ah, but I digress. Let’s get back to the topic at hand, shall we?

So, you went in search of the wayward member, and you followed his scent. It didn’t take you long to find him. You heard the feral bellows, saw the tattered remnants of the loincloth you’d made him wear. By the time you got there, it was too late, wasn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if the metamorphosis had already completed itself. He was well and truly feral by that point, wasn’t he? I’m sure the cow didn’t mind. If she was in heat, she would welcome a strong male to mate with her. What did that do to you, I wonder? Did it fill you disgust? Did it fill you with fear? Or was there only lust, and a rapidly growing need to sate it?

Hmm. Not feeling so confident in your so-called innocence now, are you? I wonder. Did the ring really whisper to you, or was that just your own primal id making itself known? I can tell you’re starting to wonder yourself. As I said before, you humans can be so very much like animals. It’s quite funny, really.

I’m not surprised at the sudden sense of fear you felt running through your system. Adrenaline pumping, nostrils flaring. I wonder, did you finally look in a mirror then, after all that time, I mean really look? Yes, I see. You saw a rugged, handsome, virile man each time you looked in that mirror, didn’t you? But now you’d seen something that opened your eyes to the truth. I wonder, what was your reaction when you finally realized? Come now, don’t be shy. Let me see it.

Ah, so that’s what happened. I sense the fear, the pain. Ooh, that rage. Yes, now that is a potent energy. You were quite the vessel, weren’t you, keeping that bottled up for so long? No wonder the ring came to you. So, you smashed the mirror with your bare fists. Much to your horror, though, you didn’t take any damage, did you? Ah, yes, there it is. You saw your hands changing. Your skin darkened, thickened, hardened to the point where a little thing like glass shards couldn’t do a thing. The weight on your head increased then, and you felt your horns, truly felt them, for the first time. I wonder, was it a scream or a bellow you let loose at that point? Ah, I see you don’t even know.

And next . . . ah, yes. Of course, you rushed back to the mess hall. But I’m certain it must have well and truly become a proper mess by that point. Your men were licking and snuffling at their bowls, not even deigning to use their hands as they slowly morphed into thick, sturdy hooves before your eyes. They looked at you, and they hardly beat an eyelash. Some few let out a cursory snort or grunt of greeting as their new tails whipped casually behind them. For the first time, you noticed the piles of manure that had been building in the hall, saw the sad and bedraggled state of the room as your men shoved their faces into giant bowls of warm, fresh milk. You watched the light leave their eyes, saw their horns sprout, their small remnants of clothing shredding as they expanded into proper bovines.

They let loose their calls, then, and the ladies soon joined them. I won’t force you to relive those changes. It seems you torture yourself with them enough as it is. And . . . what’s this? Oh, my. You really did like that heifer, didn’t you? You actually felt some remorse for her. Well, at least until the ring had its way with you. She’s not a heifer anymore now, is she? How many calves has she had? I see. You have been in this field awhile, haven’t you? Four calves, you say? And I assume you were the father for each one? But, of course you were. You wouldn’t let any of the others sully her like that. No, it had to be you, didn’t it?

Ah, you were protecting her, you say. Well, I suppose I can believe that to an extent. After all, it’s not like you had many higher reasoning functions by that point in time. And you were the head honcho, so to speak. If she was ready to mate, and she needed it, you would have made sure to give it to her. It is a rather fine line, isn’t it? Hmm, but it must have felt so strange having the ring shift to your nose. And the moment it did, you found yourself feeling so docile, didn’t you? You just got right down on all fours, and let the magic finish its work.

Hmm? No, of course I don’t mind you being in this field. And no, I’m not going to turn you back. You’re all too far gone for that, I’m afraid. I can promise you all a good life, though. I’ll take care of you, let you live free range, give you the food and shelter you require on the colder nights. You won’t even have to worry about being slaughtered. The only thing I ask in return is a steady supply of your mates’ milk, and perhaps permission to use some of your manure from time to time in my farming enterprises.

Hmm? What for? Why, for my new restaurant, of course. That seems a fair trade, wouldn’t you say? Judging by the glowing on your nose ring, I’d say you agree. Don’t worry, you’ll be well taken care of. Though you may feel a slight burning sensation for a moment. Sorry about that. The magic had to brand you, so we could tell you and your herd apart from the originals. The former humans won’t have to worry about slaughter, but the other members in the herd may still face the chopping block, so to speak, when they’re old enough, and not long for this world. But you don’t really care about that now, do you, Big Ben? There’s a good bull. Now why don’t you go ahead and graze with the others? I have some calls to make.

Oh, and welcome to TF Foods Incorporated. It’s really been such a pleasure doing business with you.

Finding Common Ground

Forgive me, if this sounds preachy. It’s my first time trying to tackle this concept in a written format, whether prose, letter, or something else. I’ve just had cause to reflect recently on our current situation in the nation (United States), and on differences as a whole that often lead to conflict. Different ideals. Different cultures. Different religions. And, yes, in some cases (though I do hate that these cases exist) different skin color. There’s opposition and conflict in just about every situation in the world. Even when we’re doing something as simple as moving one object to another place, opposition is in effect as we enact a force on that object to make it move against the laws of gravity. It seems in all this disparity that often, the only similarity between extremes that I can find is an intense dislike, if not outright hatred on both far sides of these conflicts. I hear conversations where men and women defame Donald Trump as a liar, a con man, and someone who is out to only better the wealthy and the rich. And yet, I don’t hear anything about his accomplishments that he’s made in his time as president from many of them. Likewise, I hear those who have praised Trump for his good works without acknowledging the past mistakes, sins, misdeeds, or misconducts that he has committed, before taking office. (I wasn’t sure which word would best apply. Hence, why I used multiples that could be deemed as synonyms.) Please note, this is not a political commentary, or at least it’s not intended as one. I’m simply stating this as an example. Another would be the whole debate that rages between homosexuality and heterosexuality (forgive me, if these terms seem outdated. I don’t keep up with all these new terms scientists and culture has come up with. Heck, I didn’t know they’d changed LGBT to LGBTQ, until I had to do research on it for an article I was writing.) It seems that people are forgetting what it is to be willing to respect that others have different beliefs on both sides, whether it be over religion, sexuality, politics, culture, or any number of other topics. As a Christian, I found myself under attack for saying that I couldn’t support someone’s decision to go through a transgender operation, but that I could and did respect their decision to go through with it, because it’s their choice. The funny thing of it, the person I was addressing didn’t blow up at all. It was a boatload of other people from all across the spectrum. Other Christians, atheists, and who knows what else. I don’t know what classifications or identifications these people take. It was online, after all. I understand the importance of free speech, of letting one’s opinion be known. I just miss the time when we could be willing to look at one another, and while we saw differences, could still see a common ground of humanity, of the fact that we each have our own choices to make, and that while we may not agree with each other, we can still have civil conversation and even develop great friendships, despite our differences. What happened to the age of compromise? What happened to the time of understanding between one another? I don’t know. All I know is that I wake up and look at the news, and all I see is more disparity, more anger, more violence, and not much dialogue. Maybe it’s happening behind the scenes. I don’t know. I just wish people would be willing to look more at one another and say, “Hey, I don’t agree with your choices, but I like you as a person. Wanna hang out?” I know there’s no cookie cutter solution to differences. Every situation is different, and I most certainly will never claim to have an answer to the conflict in the first place. But I do think it would help, if people stopped pointing fingers or making mobs or yelling or screaming against other points of view. Compromise and change require peaceful discussion. It’s like Doctor Who said in his famous speech during the Zygon war. You can get up, fight the battles, lose thousands of lives on both sides, or you can do what you always have to do in the end, what inevitably happens, no matter what the end result may be. You sit down, and you talk. I wish people would do that again. It’s so much easier to find that common ground, when you’re actually willing to look for it.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 7

I’ve got the itch to continue, so I had to try to get this part up, too. XD Guess I just couldn’t help myself with how much I’m enjoying the characters and their progress thus far. Enjoy! :D

“Perfectly natural.” “Excuse me?” you ask as you gape at the red-haired psychiatrist, hypnotist, and vocal coach. “Perfectly natural. Your reaction. It was natural. Most young men your age have passive aggressive tendencies.” Doctor Schroder shrugged as she folded one of her legs over the other. “And given what you’ve told me about how things are going with your physical training regimen, it’s natural to have to channel a certain amount of aggression. You simply touched the edge of the box where you stored it all. It’s nothing to be concerned over.” “But I don’t like it.” “You don’t have to like it. It’s just a part of you, and like any other part, you can learn to control it, if you so wish. All it takes is time, patience, and the right direction. It doesn’t have to change you, unless you let it. And if it does, you have the power to make that change for the better, rather than the worse. Like I said, it’s all up to you. Now then,” she said primly as she picked up the microphone once more and flicked the switch on the speakers. A familiar whirring and ringing washed over your ears. “Let’s try again.”

Dizzy. Everything felt so dizzy. The laughter was back again. So many children giggling and cheering. Spinning. The world was spinning around you. A blur of faces and cheers from men and women. Shouts of, “‘Attaboy!” and “be careful!” broke through the mass. “This is so much fun!” You turn your head to see a giggling little girl atop a wooden Pegasus painted cyan blue with a golden saddle and a red set of reins with a bronze bit. The familiar tooting is back again, only this time, there are many bottles, many tones, all working together to play a jaunty melody. “So very fun,” another child cheers, this one a little boy atop a black stallion. He looks at you with grave eyes, even as his little blue suit jacket and red shorts shine in the sunlight. “Don’t you agree?” “F--fun?” you ask, confused. “Riding the carousel, silly,” the little girl said. “Carousel?” You feel so strange. How did you get here? Why ... did the air smell like popcorn and cotton candy? You’re vaguely aware of how the children seem to rise up and down again and again in a strange sort of rhythm. Then you look ahead and notice a spiraling golden pole. Your hands are clasped to it, and your’re not entirely sure why. Then you look down. Two great white horns jut out to either side of the carved animal’s head staring out in front of you. You become keenly aware of how your legs are stretched out to either side, and how a gentle sort of pull seems to draw at you every time the pole gets shorter. “I’m ... on a carousel....” You look to your left, surprised to see a great series of pipes stretching up and down all along the surface of the central portion, playing its melody and harmonic accompaniment. “Up and down. Up and down,” the little girl sang. You feel your hands clenching tighter around the pole. They seem so small. “Up and down. Up and down.” This time the boy has joined the girl. The carousel builds up speed as more voices join the chorus. A strange sense of exhilaration fills you as the wind picks up, blowing through your hair. “Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.” You find yourself laughing, but you’re not sure why. You suddenly feel giddy. There’s a sense of camaraderie with these two. “Come on. It’s fun!” the little boy laughs as he smacks his heels against his charger. “Hyah, hyah! Faster, boy! Up and down. Up and down!” “I ... I don’t....” “Play with us! Come on, just pretend for a moment. Oh, won’t you please?” the little girl begged. “Even a bull can charge. Don’t you want to race us?” “Race?” “Yeah, but ya gotta follow the rules, see?” She patted the side of her Pegasus gently. “Up and down. Up and down,” she sang, and the ride began to pick up speed again as her Pegasus rose and fell at a faster rate. You marvel. You don’t know why, but you do. It seemed like they were having so much FUN. And all you had to do was play with them. You wanted to race. You wanted so badly to race. You lean down almost sheepishly to the big bull’s ears. They’re a coppery red with white splotches along his coat. You feel so awkward, but you whisper anyways. “Up and down.” The instant you do, you feel a sudden jerk, almost like a buck as the bull accelerates its rise. Why, it felt almost like it was bucking. Rather than be startled, you find yourself laughing. “See?” The boy is grinning at you now. “Told ya!” You grin back, awash with a sudden enthusiasm you thought you left behind long ago. “Let’s race!” And so the three of you sing as you bounce up and down, up and down. The spinning goes faster and faster, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to ever stop. Up and down. Up and down. The children have all become blurs on their mounts, and the spinning is so intense. They’re all lights now, and the lights are blurring together, leaving such beautiful streams behind. You giggle in delight as you look back to see your own trail. Then you look up at the roof and see the polished reflection of millions upon millions of little mirrors, all reflecting a grand spiral that spins and spins and spins. “Up and down. Up and down,” you sing. And slowly, you begin to lose hold of your bull as you float towards that spinning nebula. “Up ... n’down.... Up ... down....”

“Ten.” You raise your head suddenly, surprised. “Wh-wha--?” you ask. “What happened? Where’s the carousel?” Doctor Schroder smiled triumphantly at you. “Congratulations. We finally found the right setting.” “Right ... what?” you ask. “Setting. You know, on the sound synthesizer? I finally found the right mixture for you. The carousel wasn’t real. It was all in your head, a scenario I concocted to ensure you experienced optimal trance to aid you in your work. Now it’ll just be a matter of compiling the proper scripts and recording them for you.” “That was ... all in my head?” you ask again, surprised. “With a little figurative imagery added in on my part,” Schroder allowed. “You could say I’m like a dungeon master, if you want to put it into those kinds of terms. I help you to set the scene yourself by guiding your mind to place familiar sights, sounds, and smells, even tastes and physical sensations into a cohesive scenario that feels real. Think of it like lucid dreaming.” “And you can make me lucid dream in any scenario?” “Pretty much. It helps my clients to get into character more easily, until they don’t need that help anymore. And as I said, I can help you with motivational tracks as well. Now that I have the proper frequency set for you, I might even be able to ingrain a few subliminals in a playlist, if you would prefer that.” “Lets not be too hasty,” you say somewhat hesitantly. “This is all a bit much to digest.” “Of course.” Schroder nodded. “How about we take a break?” “Yeah, a break sounds good. You got any water handy?”

The water was cold and refreshing compared to the blistering heat the gym provided you. You stuck your head under the flow from the arc at the fountain. You didn’t care if anyone else was behind you. You needed something to cool you down. “Take these,” Duff suggested as he walked up with two fogged up bottles covered in water droplets. The initial contact with your neck made you cringe, but after that, you sighed in relief. “Don’t worry,” he assured you, “soon you won’t even need those bottles to cool down. The heat starts to feel sort of natural, after a while. Heck, I prefer it now.” He chuckled. “Suns out, guns out, am I right?” You can’t help but pull your lips into a smile at that. “Please don’t tell me you used that old cliche.” “I’m sorry, Dave. I can’t do that,” he said in a monotonic voice. “You know, if I weren’t so busy trying to keep myself from melting, I’d smack you with these things,” you grumble. “I could always take them back, if that’s you you really--.” “NO!” you shout. Then a blush rises in your cheeks as everyone in the gym stares at you. You chuckle, then raise a hand meekly. “Sorry, guys. False alarm,” you promise. The men grunt, roll their eyes, and get back to work. Duff just smirked. “Not one word.” “I didn’t say anything,” he said innocently. “You didn’t have to. You were thinking it.” Duff shrugged nonchalantly. “Guilty as charged.” “What happened to the timid Duff I saw a couple of days ago?” “That was before we became friends,” Duff pointed out. “I’m much different, once I get past that hurdle.” “And if I were to say we weren’t?” “I’d call you a liar, and probably have to take those bottles back.” You gasped. “You would blackmail me?” you cry as you raise a hand artfully to your forehead and lean backwards, as though bent with grief. “Yeah, yeah. Ham it up, why don’t ya?” a ragged voice snarled as one of the larger body builders drew near. “If you two don’t mind, I need a drink.” He shoved his way past, bending down low to get as close to the stream as possible, despite his mass. “Duff, kid, get back over here,” Hank barked. “Break’s over!” “Coming, boss,” Duff yelled. You groan as you turn away from the oasis that is the drinking fountain and return to the blistering hell that is the weight room. Your core was going to explode tomorrow, and you were just waiting for that after effect to kick you in the gut. Hank just sneered at you again. You sigh in resignation as you make your way over, followed by Duff. “Don’t worry. I can give you some extra pointers later,” he promised, before parting ways as he dropped you off. “Time for me to run some cardio.”

That night, you scoured the internet for extra material to use. You could only say your line so many times, before it became boring, after all. You found a few promising phrases and images, though you were shocked at just how large a community there was that focused around the subject of becoming the very thing you were being payed to act out. You weren’t quite sure what it was they saw in it, other than the raw sexual appeal, of course. There was no denying that would be a major draw to a lot of people who wanted to be fit. You drank your shake as you continued to scroll through the net. “Thank God for filters,” you mutter to yourself as multiple links to porn pages were blocked or led to a warning screen. You scratch an itch idly at your crotch as you finish the last of your research for the night and close down your laptop. Then you make your way to your mirror, where another sign has joined the first. The instruction, BE A BRO, now graced you with its presence. This time, you do your best to pitch your voice lower as you push more from your diaphragm and try to shove the air out your mouth. You look ahead, struggling to force all other thoughts out as you try to unfocus your eyes. ‘Remember. You’re a dumb, careless musclehead,’ you think to yourself. ‘Just an empty meathead with dumbbells for brains.’ You take a deep breath, and then you try. “Huhuhuh.” Weak. Pathetic. Far too forced. You try again, something shorter this time. “Huhuh.” You felt the corners of your mouth pull up that time, almost like you found something humorous. Good. The smile widens as you realize you’re onto something. “Huhuhuh.” Huskier. Lower. “Huhuhuh.... Uhhhh ... wut wuz I doin’ again?” You felt embarrassed. This was stupid. But ... wasn’t that kind of the point? “Huhuhuh....” you shudder as your grin grows wider. That sounded about right. Well, for what range you could manage right now. You step forward and keep up that grin as you point at your head. “Drain this,” you encourage in that same deep tone. Then you smack a hand on one of your biceps as you flex it. “Grow this,” you low. You repeat yourself a few times. Then you chuckle once more as you say your line. “I lift things up and put them down.” It sounded so funny, so dull. But ... still forced. You try again. “I lift things up and put them down.” No. Something is still missing. You furrow your brow and look around. Finally, you grab ahold of your soap dispenser and start lifting it like a dumbbell. You cast your mind back to the weight rooms, to Duff as he concentrated on his lifting, how focused he seemed, how intense of that one act alone. “You love to lift,” you tell yourself. “Lifting is incredible. You live to lift weights.” After a few more minutes of psyching yourself up, you go for it. “Huhuhuh. I put things up and put them down.” Up. Down. “I lift things up and put them down.” Up. Down. Now you’re getting into the rhythm of it. “I lift things up and put them down.” Again. “I lift things up and put them down.” Finish the rep. “I lift things up and put them down.” By the time you get yourself to bed, you’re feeling much more satisfied with yourself. It’s far from perfect, but you’re starting to make a little headway into the part. You sigh contentedly as you lay down and look up at the ceiling to read the encouraging message, and you can’t help but wonder if you agree. Perhaps a little CHANGE IS GOOD after all. “Huhuhuh. Yeah....”

This sequence is an old favorite of mine. I’m a sucker for muscle growth and mental changes. It also formed the basis for a transformation I wrote for my Omnistore universe.  As such, I thought it only fitting to post that story here under the very sequence that inspired me in the first place. Please, Enjoy.

The Ring is the Thing: An Omni Store Tale

Benjamin Taurus panted painfully as he leaned on a corner street pole, gasping for air in the late summer heat. The angry cries of his pursuers bellowed behind him as his arms and legs shook from exertion. His carefully combed hair had become a matted sopping mess on his head, though the part he’d put into it that morning was making a valiant effort to hold on, even as the pomade he’d used to sculpt his hair for school pictures ran down his face and back in rivulets. The sweat burned his eyes as it flowed down the length of his short light brown square muzzle to his rubbery pink snout, and his ears dropped low behind his head, while various passersby looked on with disdain at his shirtless torso and frayed blue jeans.

Unlike the majority of his species, poor Benjamin was rather diminutive. His frame was slight, with barely enough mass to hide his ribs, and his arms were thin and wiry. While the young bull had no real fat to speak of, his lack of muscle mass made him an instant target for his fellows in Boulez Penne’s School for Gifted Bovines, or as most outsiders rightly called it, the Bull Pen. His eyes darted nervously from one street to the other as he struggled to get enough oxygen to his brain to think of his next move. Fortunately for him, being smaller gave him the advantage of maneuverability and blending in with a crowd. Unfortunately, his pursuers had bulk and endurance to make up for the difference. He glanced back nervously to see the flash of yellow horns and a bright red mane, and he knew his rest was over. His tail swished anxiously behind as he raced off again, even as he heard the sounds of men and women alike voicing their stern disapproval as they were shouldered aside by the bulk of his pursuers.

“Taurus! We’re not finished yet, you little runt! Get back here,” the bellow sounded. Ben shuddered as he remembered how easily Stephen Minot had torn his shirt to shreds, while his two best lackeys watched. With every day, more members of the class seemed to fall under his thrall, and he reveled in it. First rule of the Bull Pen, first rule of the herd: The strong rule, and the rest follow. Ben wasn’t willing to follow that template, and now he was paying the price.

Even as he ran, Ben couldn’t help but shudder at the sound of Stephen’s deep baritone. Part of him wanted to obey, to sit back and take his punishment. Instinct demanded it. His tail twitched in anticipation at the thought. And to think, all this because he wasn’t willing to go shirtless, like Stephen had ordered. Was there something wrong with choosing to have a little decency? It was bad enough getting made fun of for his figure with his clothes on. He didn’t need to show it off for the whole school to mock.

Ben tore through a street fair and turned down a side alley as the rowdy bulls charged from behind. He cursed to himself as he leaned against the cool, rough brick wall. This was definitely not the place for him to stay in a situation like this. A quick glance down to the other end of the alley revealed the dead end that awaited him. A single door with a worn wooden sign over the top stared back at him. He could barely make out the warped image of the OPEN sign behind the thick panes of glass. He snuck as far back into the shadows as he could manage, and took a moment to breathe as he rubbed his forehead in consternation, brushing against the tiny nubs of horns poking out the sides of his head. Why did it have to be him? Why did they have to make such a big deal out of choosing to be more modest? He just wasn’t that into the whole bovine alpha urge. Wasn’t the whole point of modern society supposed to be getting away from living by instinct? Things would be different, if he were in charge, that’s for sure.

“Taurus!”

Ben turned slowly to see the hulking Red Angus and his two Belgian Blue flunkies cracking their knuckles as they tossed their unruly heads and snorted angrily. Their fur coats glistened as their well-built chests heaved from their exertions. Even from the other end of the alleyway, Ben could smell the pheromones pouring off the three goons. His nostrils flared against his will, drawing more of the scent in as Stephen approached, while he fixed Ben with a venomous glare. His red fur glinted like copper as he drew closer, and the cream fur of the two Belgian Blues blocking all sights of the fair behind them only emphasized the fact that there was no escape.

Stephen stopped a couple of yards from the young bull. “Come here, Taurus, and maybe I’ll go easy on you,” he growled as he extended a hand, and motioned the approach.

Ben trembled as he gripped the handle of a trashcan nearby. His tail twitched agitatedly, his muscles wanted to move. He felt the urge, the power, the desire to obey, to fall in, to be one with the herd under a powerful leader, a true leader. The blood surged through his ears, muffling the scuff of his foot as he took his first step forward.

“That’s right, Taurus,” Stephen sneered. “Step over here, like a good little short horn.” His flunkies chuckled to themselves at the insult as they waited for the inevitable.

Ben’s body wanted so badly to move, to listen, so he let it. He clenched his hand around the trash can’s handle, and threw it as hard as he could manage. Fire arced across his right arm, shoulder, and pec as he released, but he didn’t care. He didn’t have time to care. The can made contact, and Stephen let out a bellow of surprise as the impact knocked him back a couple of paces into the waiting arms of his guards. Trash burst out of bags to litter the floor, and embed itself in Stephen’s fur and hair.

Ben knew he’d done it now. Stephen would beat his sorry hide to a pulp, if he got a hold of him. Knowing this, Ben nursed his still-burning arm, gritting his teeth as it hung limp at his side, before running for the door. At the very least, he could call for help, ask the owner for sanctuary, something along those lines. It was worth a shot. Maybe there was another door somewhere he’d be able to run through to buy some more time. Anything was better than waiting for the doom he knew was coming, if he delayed much longer. The angry bellows soon confirmed that as he hastily shoved the door open and slammed it shut behind him, then threw the bolt and handle locks with a timid click.

“Not that they’d do much good,” he thought to himself.

“May I help you?”

“No, I’m pretty sure you–whaaat the crap?”

 Ben swore as he turned around to see a literal impossibility. The humble entryway opened into what had to be one of the most impossibly large warehouse mockups he had ever seen. Everything ranging from groceries to non-perishables, toys, and so much more stretched on into the shadows beyond sight.

“Wow. So that’s how it feels. Not quite sure what The Doctor sees in it,” a fox in a simple business vest and slacks said. His red fur and white underbelly shone in the sunlight that poured in from the open skylights above that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. His black-furred hands reached out as he smiled. “Welcome to Omni-store, the market stall that has it all. I’m Omni Kitsune, the sole owner and proprietor of this establishment.”

“This place. It’s–.”

“Impossible? Huge? Bigger on the inside? Weird? I could go on and on,” the fox said. His black-rimmed red ears twitched, and his face scrunched irritably at the pounding slamming against the door. “Honestly, I just finished opening up for the day. If you want to come in that badly, use the door like a proper person,” he chided as he rolled his eyes.

“Don’t let them in here!” Ben practically shrieked. He quickly cleared his throat. “I … I mean, they’re … not nice people?”

The proprietor took one look down at the young bull, then sighed. “Well, since you’re my first customer today, I might as well give you a freebie. Come on.” He motioned towards a teller’s cabinet, where a segment with a red cross had been set aside for medical treatment. “I know an injury when I see one.”

“But the door!”

“What door?” Omni asked with a playful smile.

Ben turned back, and his eyes widened when all he saw was a wall that had been covered in advertisements for what looked like exotic vacation packages in the strangest places: under the ocean, up on Mount Everest, and he couldn’t even tell what that last one was. It looked like some sort of cartoon with cat people, robot bears, and a whole lot of other weird stuff.

“My store, my rules,” Omni said simply. “Now then, I believe it’s time we had that arm of yours looked at, hmm?” He raised an eyebrow and smiled at Ben’s bewildered expression. “I’ve been in my fair share of fights, young man. I know the signs. Come, take a seat. We’ll get you fixed up in no time, I guarantee.”

“But … the door. How did–?”

“Magic, obviously. Or didn’t you notice my tails?” Omni asked as not one, not two, but three bushy fox tails greeted Ben’s gaze.

“I–.”

“Need to sit down. Yes, yes. Like I said, over here. And please don’t go into the whole freak-out scenario. Seeing it once already was more than enough for my tastes, thank you very much.”

“Seeing?” Ben felt dizzy as the fox … no, the kitsune led him by the hand to the table. For such a lean creature, he was surprisingly strong.

“Part of my magic.” He shrugged. “It’s a bit of a gift and a curse. I can see things, visions of the past, present, even the future. The first two aren’t so bad, but the last one is absolute murder,” he said as he rolled his eyes and took a seat in the bench opposite Ben’s. “The future is an infinite list of possibilities. One tiny decision can alter a major course in history’s progress. I literally have to sort through each and every possible future to find the one that I want, and then I have to try to make that future happen. Well, if I want that future to happen, anyways. Most of the time, I respect peoples’ free will, and just warn them where their choices will lead.”

“Won’t that just create a whole new list of possible futures?”

“Depends on how the actions are guided. Fortunately, I know how to suppress it most of the time with minimal interference from future sight.” He shrugged. “Now then, let’s see that arm of yours. Can you move it?”

Ben hissed in pain as he shifted his arm onto the table to rest.

“Hmm. I see,” Omni said as he examined the arm closely. “It appears you’ve pulled and strained several muscles. Just a moment.” He lowered his hands over the forearm and closed his eyes briefly as he took a deep breath. Then he released, and a series of golden specks began to fall from his hands onto Ben’s arm. “It’s a basic healing spell, in case you’re wondering,” he explained. “Not harmful, and very useful for minor injuries.” His brow furrowed as he ran his hands up the arm towards the shoulders and pectorals, and he frowned. “I see. So this Stephen is trying to prove his dominance over the rest of you, and your biological makeup makes you susceptible to such shows of dominance to the point where you become a willing servant, if not outright slave.” He shook his head and tutted sadly. “I would’ve thought such a crude system of patriarchy would have been done away with by now.”

“… I don’t know whether to be relieved someone else finally gets it, or scared at just how accurate you are.”

“Don’t worry, that’s a normal reaction,” Omni promised. His blue eyes hardened as he continued to heal the injury. “Now that’s not very nice at all. That shirt was a gift from your mother, wasn’t it?”

“I can get another,” Ben said timidly.

“But not another life,” Omni pressed.

Ben suddenly found the floor’s design very interesting.

“It must be tough living under a family name like that,” Omni continued as he massaged the injured pec. The golden glow sent a calming warmth through Ben’s chest, but he couldn’t help but blush at the contact. “Even harder without your mother around to soothe things over.”

“Could you please stop doing that?” Ben flinched at the mention of the cow. Sure, it had been a couple of years, but that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her anymore.

“Sorry,” Omni sighed. “Believe me, I know what it’s like losing a parent. I actually lost both of mine in a war. I was pretty young myself, just a few years older than you are, come to think of it.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story, but the gist of it is the bad guys wanted to remove my family from a position of influence. My family fought back to protect ourselves and the people we served. Ultimately, they had to invoke a power that cost them their lives to protect the rest of us.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Ben said sincerely.

Omni shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it. It happened millennia ago, so much so that most people forgot it. I did, too, after I reincarnated.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say some special events brought those memories back for me and some rather close friends from that time.”

“You all remembered?” Ben asked skeptically.

“I had a little extra help from an item designed to unlock those memories for us.”

“Magic?”

“Magic.”

“So that stuff is actually real?”

“How else do you think your ancestors took on the name Taurus in the first place? He and I are on very good terms, you know. He appreciated the strength and leadership your ancestor showed in a trying time, and granted him power accordingly.”

“Get out of town!”

“No, seriously. I know most of the constellations’ embodiments fairly well. Comes with the territory of that position of power my family held.”

“Yeah, right,” Ben said as he rolled his eyes.

Omni removed his hands from Ben’s arm and sighed. “I kid you not, but that’s up to you to decide whether to believe for yourself. Let me give you a rundown of my store’s rules. It’s pretty simple, truth be told. You have something you want desperately. My store will guide you to something that can grant your desires. However, as it always is with all things magical, there will have to be a price to pay. So, the question is, are you willing to pay that price, should you find what you’re looking for?” He shrugged as he laid back on the bench. “No pressure, of course. I could easily let you off wherever you want me to, and you can go on with your life like this never happened.”

“And … should I agree to this, what’s the catch? What is this price?” Ben asked cautiously.

“That depends entirely on the effect the magic has, and how much magic it takes.” Omni shrugged again. “I can see a variety of possibilities ranging from errand running to store service. I’m not some cruel trickster trying to twist people into my pets or servants. I’m just a magician who wants to help. However, you should be warned that magic also has a life of its own from time to time. I won’t try to change and twist you, barring personal request, of course, but it might. It’s ultimately up to you to make your choice. I can’t and won’t make it for you.”

The kitsune snapped his fingers, and two glasses of water appeared in front of them. He took a swig, then let out a sigh of contentment. “So, I’ll ask you again,” he said as he watched Ben experiment with his arm, “will you try your luck with my store or will you choose to leave some place far away from those bullies? … No pun intended.”

Ben sighed. “There’s a reason that word was invented,” he pointed out as he took a grateful sip from his own glass. The water was crisp, cool, and soothing as it passed down his throat. After all that running, it felt good to hydrate again. “So, if we do go with service, what would that entail?”

“Basically, you work for me, until the debt is deemed paid. As to what capacity, that depends entirely on the end result of the spell or trinket you use. You’ll still be able to live a normal life. You could just consider this like a part time job.”

“And how would I find this place again?”

“It would likely find you. Of course, I could always give you a key or some sort of punch card to call up the entrance, when you’re ready to work. In case you haven’t noticed, my store isn’t your average run-of-the-mill pavilion. My services span multiple dimensions, universes, etc. across space and time, and we cater to a variety of clientele. I prefer to serve the good ones, but, unfortunately, one cannot always get what one wants in life.” He sighed. “Fate and destiny are funny that way. Sometimes, the only option is to help the bad guys, in order for the better future to come to pass.”

“Seriously?”

“Like I said, future sight can be a curse just as much as it is a gift.” Omni sighed heavily. “But enough about that. You have a decision to make, and my time is precious. Will you peruse my wares or cast this opportunity aside? The choice is yours, and you must make it quickly.”

Ben looked around the strange store. This place could be filled with wonders. The potential was limitless. He might even get the chance to learn a little bit about this so-called magic himself, should he agree. On the other hand, the kitsune had clearly outlined that taking the offer could prove dangerous. Was it really worth the risk? Was he really willing to give anything to get the chance at what he wanted most? And what did he want most of all? He knew he wanted people to stop looking down on him. He wanted his dad to be proud, to stop feeling like he couldn’t measure up. And he definitely wanted to teach Stephen and his gang a lesson.

“Seek, and ye shall find,” Omni’s voice echoed as laughter carried through the room. “But I wonder what you will find. Better get started, young Benjamin.”

Ben jerked out of his musings to the other side of the table, but the kitsune was gone. He sighed, and shook his head. “Guess I’d better get moving.” He rose to his feet, and began to walk through the store. Paths and segments wavered like a mirage as he passed through, causing the grocery sections to disappear. He wondered idly if the same might happen to him, if he didn’t move quickly enough. It was not a pleasant thought. It also didn’t help that the kitsune’s voice didn’t speak out to console him on the matter, which meant it could very well be a real possibility.

He gulped as he continued the search. T-shirts, loincloths, guns, bows, arrows, axes, costumes, crowns, accessories. The racks, shelves, and hangers seemed endless. Sizes ranged from triple extra small to practically giant size. “A little something for everyone,” he murmured. “Guess that’s why it’s called Omnistore. Or was that Omni’s Store?” he mused as he passed through the shelves and a thick glass stand filled to the brim with spray bottles of cologne. At least, he hoped it was cologne. If those were potions of some kind, he really didn’t want to think about what they might do.

As he continued to pass through the maze that the store had become, he eventually happened upon an open clearing of sorts, where various styles of clothing clung to moving mannequins that flexed and posed as he passed. He shuddered as he could almost hear a groaning whisper, “Come join us.”

“So beautiful …”

“So perfect….”

“Flawless.”

As Ben looked on one of the figures, he could just make out the barest hints of smiling feline facial features slowly smoothing into seamless, shiny fiberglass. “I am beautiful. I am perfect. I am shiny. I am flawless. . ..” As the voice continued to repeat the sayings of its fellows, its arms and body gained further mass, emphasizing the fashionable clothing it wore in all the right places. Then the new mannequin began to flex and pose in jerky motions as the surfaces along the crooks of its arms and legs, and the area around the pelvis shifted and parted to reveal hinges and joints for bending and moving in accordance to various set patterns, just like its fellows as its voice took on that same disembodied whisper.

Ben gulped, and quickly moved past with a hastily mumbled, “No, thank you.”

The next area he encountered reeked of cologne, shoe polish, and cigar smoke. Suits, ties, tuxedos, tie clips, pins, rings, pagers, wallets, cell phones, and other business paraphernalia lay stacked before him in carefully organized piles. A large convex business table lay in a central display with many empty chairs. Two figures sat near the head of the table with laptops wide open and phones at their sides as a projection played on a nearby screen. The first was a paunchy human in a shabby hand-me-down suit. The light from his computer screen reflected off what appeared to be some form of plexiglass headpiece that scrolled code, images, and notifications in front of his face as he typed away at his keyboard. Occasionally, a heavy sniffle would sound, followed by a sneeze as he stared at the information with bloodshot eyes. The other figure was a fairly diminutive sheep. His glossy wool coat had been carefully groomed, and his head fur had been coiffed into a stylish pompadour that shone almost as brightly as his carefully polished horns as he hemmed and hawed over the phone with a customer. A heavyset grizzly posed with a cigar in his mouth and his back turned towards the table and the curious Ben. A block of a cell phone clung in his hands as he growled.

“Listen, Zsiash, I frankly don’t care about your excuses. You promised us a steady supply of dragon scales from your master in exchange for your transformation into a proper Kobold. It literally brings you pleasure to help him shed each time he’s ready to molt. Don’t go trying to readjust the deal. If your master is off his molting schedule, just tell it to me straight. We’ll put you off the shipping list for a while, but we expect interest with this extension, understood?” He paused a moment. “What will we do if you don’t have the goods?” A deep rolling chuckle rumbled through the air, and Ben shuddered at the sound as a cloud of smoke circled the predator. “You’ll face the consequences, of course. You’d make a lovely addition to the pet store.”

Ben could almost hear the sneer as the bear listened to the response.

“That’s what I thought. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Zsiash.” He turned to face the suited figures on the computers.

“Um … Sir, wasn’t that a little harsh?” the sheep asked as he placed a nervous hoofed hand over the receiver.

The bear glared down at him. “Tell the customer you’re going to have to call him back, Darius. I think it’s about time you and I had a little chat.”

Darius gulped as he gave a trembling apology, and informed the need to call back in a few minutes. All the while, the bear toked on his cigar, and glared as he folded his arms, and tapped his foot impatiently. Finally, Darius finished the conversation, and hung up.

“First rule of business, newbie,” the bear growled as he forced the chair to spin around and face him, then leaned down to puff a stream of smoke in the sheep’s face, “is eat or be eaten. If we don’t get our clients to pay up on their debts, then our store would default, and everything the boss works so hard to do for these people will go up in smoke, along with our living. Tell me, newbie, do you want that?”

The sheep pulled at the neck of his shirt, and gulped, even as his eyes watered, and he struggled not to cough. “Um, n-no, Sir. I d-ON’-t,” his voice cracked as he pulled farther at his tie, and began to pant.

“Then enough with being the sheep.” The bear narrowed his eyes. “Show me the wolf.”

The sheep’s breathing grew heavier as his hands began to shake, and his hooftips trembled. The smoke hovered around his head as the thick, curly wool began to recede, and his muzzle stretched out further, becoming more angular and pointed as his teeth began to sharpen. He groaned as he leaned over in his chair, and his shoulders heaved as his tail lengthened, and the cute little puffball developed into a long, sleek, black bushy tail. The bear tapped his cigar, and dropped the ashes onto the floor as he pulled out a tiny glass spray bottle, and depressed the release trigger, spraying a fine mist into the sheep’s face. He coughed a few times, then shuddered as his groans soon turned into a low growl that rumbled through the air. Rather than fall off, his horns thickened, and darkened as they curled, growing longer and more prominent, while his nose turned black, rubbery, and wet.

“That’s it, kid. Let it out,” the bear encouraged as he pulled out a flask from his pocket, and removed the stopper.

The growl grew louder, more threatening as the hooftips scraped against the table, digging up the varnish as the solid masses softened and shifted into thick, meaty fingers with powerful claws. His breathing grew heavy and labored as he gained in height, and the beginnings of a golden mist began to waft out from his mouth. The more he panted and growled, the more the mist poured out. Rather than dissipate, it flew into the waiting flask, and swirled within as the bear looked on with a sneer.

The phone next to the former sheep’s computer rang, and he quickly grabbed the receiver to answer. “Omnistore, customer management speaking,” he rasped, even as his eyes began to glow red. A hint of a smirk began to tug at the corners of his mouth. “Remmy, baby, good to hear from you.” His tail twitched back and forth as his new longer tongue licked his now-rubbery lips. “How’s our little … acquisition coming along?” He paused for a time, and then the growl returned with a vengeance. “Now listen here, you little weasel. We had a deal, a magically binding contract. You break it, and you’re gonna be in for a hell of a bad time, and I do mean hell,” he snarled as smoke began to rise from the edges of his suit. The mist poured out from his mouth like smoke from a stack as his form began to expand with muscle. His carefully combed pompadour developed crimson streaks. “Now I don’t care if you’re afraid of getting on this sorcerer’s bad side. You signed up for the life of a master thief, and now you’re going to pay us back. Figure out a plan with your little gang, and get to work. You have forty-eight hours, capiche?” He slammed the phone back down, and sneered as he looked to his boss. The two were much closer in height now, and while the new hellhound had a more toned appearance, both gave off that same menacing aura that warned against messing around.

“Now that’s what I call one hell of a performance, kid. Told ya you were a natural,” the bear congratulated, even as he stuck a stopper into the now-golden flask, and returned it to his pocket. “You just have to remember the first rule.”

“Ya know, I can’t even remember why I was so worried in the first place. Those mortals are pushovers,” he growled. “Apply a little pressure, and they cough up the due. And if they don’t. . ..” The chuckle that followed was truly vicious.

“Damn, son. Even I got chills from that one. You’re good.”

The new hell hound laughed as his smirk broadened into a predatory grin. “I learned from the best.”

“Damn straight. Now why don’t you call that last customer back, and show him who’s boss, hmm?”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” the hound rasped as he picked up the receiver, and began to dial. As he did so, red smoke hissed up across his face, hands, and body as a final golden sputter popped out from his mouth. A complex series of patterns and symbols began to etch themselves into his fur as the black dyed to red, finishing with two demonic seals on the backs of either hand and a black aura that surrounded his horns as his eyes glowed red with naught but blackness surrounding them.

“That’s my boy,” the bear praised. “Keep this up, and you’ll make employee of the month in no time.”

“Screw your employee of the month. I just want to hear them squirm.”

“Intimidating, sadistic, and enthusiastic. I’m surprised I don’t let out a few more contracts to you demon types. This work seems right up your alley.”

“Be careful what you wish for, boss,” the new hell hound chuckled darkly. “You might just get it.”

“Status alert: Employee information upgraded. Employee name: Judas Scarymutt. Species: Hellhound. Equivalent exchange complete. Debt payment has reached sixty percent.” The tone the human used was dead, and tired-sounding as he gazed into his screen. His eyes were glassy as he sneezed violently. His fingers twitched with precision as he entered the data from whatever research he may have been conducting.

“My my, Johnson. You don’t sound so good. Perhaps you should take a break. Go home for a little bit, hmm? You sound like you have a cold.”

“Negative,” the man now identified as Johnson said as his eyes jumped from screen to screen on his HUD. His slick blond hair shone in the overhead lights as his suit clung to his body, emphasizing the pudge and extra mass. “Not until I finish this processing.”

“What’s the holdup? You’ve been at it for hours, you know. That’s not like you, Johnson. You’re supposed to be the world’s greatest computer expert, are you not?” the bear growled.

“The system appears to be lagging.”

“It doesn’t seem to be the only thing,” Judas snarked.

“Watch it, mutt. My brain could run circles around yours any day of the week,” Johnson hissed angrily.

“Mutt?” Judas snarled as smoke began to rise and the light around him seemed almost to be consumed in shadow.

“Perhaps you and the system have a little something in common, then,” the bear said as he laid a staying hand on the hellhound’s shoulder. “I would assume some sort of virus. A cold for you, and perhaps something a little more … unpleasant for the system. I’d like for you to run a scan.”

“But sir, that could take hours to run over the whole network.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll take all that long. The system is very quick to adapt. You could almost say its protection is like an immune system. Go on, Johnson. I insist.”

“But, Sir, I–.”

“I said I insist, Johnson.” The bear’s tone was level, but the intensity behind it made his point quite evident.

Johnson sighed. “Yes, Sir.”

“And make sure to include your viewer. We don’t want to risk any tampering with our technology.”

Johnson rolled his eyes as he altered the parameters. “Yes, Sir.”

“Excellent. Begin when ready.”

“Engaging scan now, Sir.” A large progress bar sprouted up on his HUD, obscuring the rest of his windows as the scan progressed. A dim chime and a furrowed brow drew the bear’s attention as he approached the human.

“What’s the matter, Johnson?”

“It says it’s picked up a foreign program, Sir, but it’s not a name I’ve ever heard of for a virus before.”

“Well, what are you waiting for, then? Do your job. Quarantine it, and delete it.”

“Or is that beyond the brain of the great Johnson?” Judas sneered.

“Shut up, mutt, or would you prefer our systems to suffer a critical meltdown with the autumnal equinox drawing closer?” Johnson pressed a few keys, and the machine let out another chirp as the progress bar progressed. “There. Quarantine and file elimination has begun. Executing database analysis and viral update now.” A spark jumped from the computer board into his fingertips. “Ow!” he shouted as he shook them, before resuming his work. He sniffled a few more times, before his breathing became clear, and he sighed in relief as he continued to work. The tempo of his typing became faster and faster as he sat there, and stared at the screen through his HUD. “So much data,” he gasped as he continued to type. It’s … beautiful.”

“A face only a motherboard could love,” Judas said as he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand. The coding is so complex, yet elegant. It’s moving so fast, I can hardly keep track of it. It’s almost as though the system were replicating itself, expanding,” he noted, even as cascades of 1s and 0s ran down his eyes. “Yes … expanding.” His breathing became steadily slower

“Seeking out viruses, and eradicating them,” the bear whispered.

“Seek out … and eradicate … yes.”

After all, a machine must run at absolute peak condition. Isn’t that right?”

“Maximum efficiency,” Johnson corrected as the edges on the plexiglass of his HUD unit began to glow, and the surface to darken as it drew closer to his face, curving around his head and chin like a fish bowl. “Must ensure maximum efficiency,” he repeated. “Rogue program: E-Mot-10-N detected. Placing in quarantine now.”

“Delete it,” the bear ordered.

“Initiating deletion.” The keystrokes sounded like the rattle of a machine gun. “Rogue program terminated. Upgrading firewall now. Countermeasures have been integrated for future threats. System purged.” His face relaxed as he continued to stare into his screen, while his fingers flew across the keyboard.

“So when do we purge him?” Judas jabbed.

“I cannot be purged,” Johnson said matter-of-factly, “I am of too much value to the organization.”

“Not from where I’m standing,” Judas grumbled.

“Irrelevant,” Johnson said in the same dead monotone. “I am here to maximize efficiency. Until proper authority is invoked, I will continue to fulfill my duty.”

“That’s right. Now let’s see you really kick it in gear. Process those files, double time,” the bear ordered. “I don’t care if you’re still scanning. If a computer can multitask, you can multitask. You say you’re efficient. Now prove it.”

Golden light spread from the seams of the display helmet as it clung tighter and tighter. The glass had tinted itself to a complete black as it reshaped to form a perfectly rounded sphere. A sharp click sounded, and Johnson reached over to the console, where a USB cable had been plugged into the computer. He then proceeded to run out the other end of the cord, and connect it to the headset. “Connecting to server,” he droned out. His voice was muted by the glass, and Ben couldn’t help but wonder how the man could breathe properly. It didn’t look like there was room for ventilation. The progress bar continued to move along the screen as the man typed madly on his keys.

“Good. Now process program 0-B3-Y.”

“Accessing.” The dim whirr of a fan sounded from the headset, and Ben sighed in relief. So there was some ventilation. “Processing.” Johnson paused for a time as his head twitched, while various symbols appeared on the surface of the HUD, before coalescing into a loading spiral. As it did so, his body became ramrod straight, and his elbows rose to be perfectly level with his hands. The tempo increased yet again, and Ben winced as he thought how uncomfortable that position must feel.

“How are you feeling, Johnson?”

The loading spiral grew a little larger on the headset.

“Johnson? I asked you a question.”

Johnson didn’t say a word.

“Johnson, answer me,” the bear growled.

“I feel … nothing, Sir. It is … a curious sensation,” the voice crackled through as holes opened up on the sides of the new helmet. “I am connected to the server. I feel the data flowing across my visual output, but I am experiencing no sense of excitement, no joy, no disappointment. I am simply … fulfilling a task … fulfilling a task … fulfilling a task …” With each repetition of the words, the spiral on his screen grew, spreading out to cover the entire surface. A burst of static and scratching sounds came out, before the monotone returned again, sounding less human, less organic. “I … must fulfill … must … obey ….”

“Say that again,” the bear ordered.

“I … must obey …”

“Again.”

“I must obey.”

“Again.”

“I must obey.” The man’s fingers twitched and cracked as skin dried and warped. Pulsing lights flowed upwards from his fingertips and beneath his suit as joints snapped and cracked, and a curious hum began to emanate from the chair. Before Ben’s eyes, the man’s skin parted, breaking apart to form interlocking segmented flesh-colored plates that rapidly shifted to a shiny chrome as blue pulses of light thrummed through the cracks.

“Excellent. Activate artificial pleasure sensors and your emotional chip. You deserve a small treat for being so compliant. And besides,” the bear sneered, “you did ask for this.”

A rush of white nearly drowned out the blue as the rapidly changing human jerked in his chair. The suit began to strain as blocky geometric patterns bulged against the shoulders and torso of the suit. A loud tear clearly indicated the destruction of the leggings below. “Oh my -REDACTED-!”

“Ah, good, the language protocols are activating. You know how the boss feels about that sort of thing,” the bear said.

The image of a thermometer appeared on the former human’s display. The liquid inside rose rapidly, then burst out the top in an explosive release as the energy continued to thrum through the man’s rapidly changing body.

“And since this is part of the process you asked for, I am contractually obligated to order this next portion, though it will not remain a permanent feature. Boss won’t destroy free will, and I don’t blame him. Without a human element in there, you’ll just be another dumb bucket of bolts. Gotta have at least some of the old you left over.” He shook his head. “Honestly, sometimes I just don’t get these humans”

“Oh, trust me, this is just the tip of the iceberg for some of their kinks,” Judas assured him. “Compared to what I’ve seen in the pits, this is nothing.”

“Well, let’s get this over with,” the bear said as he adjusted his waistband. “Johnson, activate your individuality suppressor. You wanted to be a machine, so be the machine.”

“Wait, what? No! I– ERROR! I’m–ERROR! I–ERROR!”

“Remember, you’re a machine, kid. There is no I, no she, no he. You are an it.”

“Acknowledged. Processing new data input,” he droned. Then the voice crackled back again. “Wait! I–ERROR! Does not compute.” A pair of digital eyes widened on the display as they began to fill up with streams of binary. Meanwhile, the chair began to creak under his increasing weight as skin and bone were replaced with metal alloy, and muscle and tissue were replaced with wires and synthetic parts. Buttons popped off, and flew in all directions as his torso continued to expand, shredding through the fabric to reveal a pulsing blue energy core beneath, surrounded by a protective layer of bulletproof glass and metal. New servos and joints hummed and whined as he turned desperately to either side, while his waist and legs remained rooted to the spot. Shoulder pads tore apart to reveal thick armor plating and compartments that rose up to expose a positive horde of loaded darts. “Running systems diagnostic. Sedation delivery system at full capacity.” Energy crackled along the former human’s hands, and sharp needles extended from each fingertip. “Secondary system fully functional,” it reported. “I–ERROR. Unit Function: Systems Maintenance and Security. This unit is a machine. This unit must obey. There is no ‘I,’ no ‘she,’ no ‘he.’ Updating vocal pattern parameters.”

“That’s right, just a bunch of circuits and metal. Machines follow their programming, and you will follow yours by obeying us, and tracking all the data for computation and collection, ranging from employee profiles to customer files.”

“Confirmed. Disconnecting backup port from system. Activating primary uplink.” The machine that had once been Johnson pulled the USB cable out of its head and rose to its synthetic legs with a loud clank. A tiny icon portraying a radio tower appeared in the upper right portion of its digital face display. “Primary uplink established.”

“Good. Now report to the server room and be the good machine you’ve always been, J-04N.”

“Orders received. Unit designation J-04N will report to the server room for its cycle of rounds. Thank you for choosing Johnson security.” The new bot walked off without another word, silent and obedient as the pair of executives chuckled wickedly.

“How long are you planning on keeping him artificial?” Judas inquired.

“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s see how much his performance increases without all that scatterbrained daydreaming for a while first.”

Judas sneered. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

Ben stumbled away from the scene as he struggled not to be sick. He had just witnessed a man stripped of all that had made him organic and human, and the employees just sat back and enjoyed it. Not only that, it was clear the magic of this store exacted more than just your average price, if Judas’ transformation was anything to go by. This place changed more than just form. It changed personality, erased memories, wrote new ones in their place. This just felt … wrong.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” he muttered.

He turned, and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Unfortunately, despite his searching, there was no sign of any form of entry or exit. No matter how far he traveled in the store, the walls never drew closer. The few doors he found led to changing rooms, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the change was more literal than metaphorical. Had he passed that clothing rack before? He couldn’t remember. Everything was so mixed up. It was almost as if the store jumped up and shifted itself every few minutes, just to keep him guessing.

Unfortunately for Ben, this ultimately led to his not watching where he was going as he raced blindly through the aisles, and tried to avoid any and all patrons, especially the ones that tried to offer him advice. He’s just finished escaping what looked to be a whole fraternity of satyrs drinking themselves senseless, when he slammed into a mountain of gold, silver, brass, jewels, bottles, clothes, armor, and who knew what else in all that mess. In a matter of moments both he and the materials were strewn all over the hard marble flooring with a tremendous clatter. He rubbed his rump near his tail, and hissed as he worked out the flare up from the impact.

“O-oh my. I’m so terribly sorry,” a timid, yet chipper voice chirped in a British accent. “You’re not hurt, are you, good Sir?”

Ben wasn’t sure if he had a concussion or what, but when he looked up, rather than the stuff he’d smashed into, what looked to be a tiny statue carved from clay extended a hand to him. Its hair had been carved to appear combed back with spikes at the ends, and its thick cheeks had been chiseled for a squared off jaw with just a hint of a round on its edges. “Wha-?”

“I’m one of the staff. I help return used goods to the shelves, when customers decide they don’t suit their purposes. They call me Restituere.” When he noticed Ben’s flinching, he frowned. “Ah. You’re one of those types of customers. Let me guess. You stumbled across some of our more … enthusiastic patrons?”

Ben gulped.

The creature sighed as it shook its head, and the goods began to pull towards his body once again. “Honestly, you haven’t anything to fear from me. I’m a naturally born, fully sapient golem. My whole purpose is to literally help maintain this store, and direct customers. I’m not here to sell anything or steal your soul, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he added with a prim sniff as the gathered items swirled around his waist, and lifted him in the air, before coalescing into a pair of longer, thicker legs. They then proceeded to do the same for his arms, torso, and upper body. “Ah. There we go,” he said with a smile as he stretched his new additions like they were his originals. “Hmm? What’s this?” He leaned in closer, and stared at Ben. “Oh dear. Master’s not going to like this.”

“L-like what?” Ben finally managed to stutter out.

“Oh, that’s right. You’re still in shock. Allow me. I think I have a mirror somewhere in all this merchandise.” Restituere reached into himself with a gigantic hand, and fumbled around in his torso. It took a few seconds, but he finally let loose a cry of triumph as he withdrew an ornate hand mirror with a gold-rimmed ivory handle and jewels mounted in a latticework design around the ovular surface. “There we are. Go ahead. Take a look. The only magic this mirror’s good for is scrying, so it won’t do anything to you by looking, unless you want to spy on someone or review the past.”

Ben looked hesitantly at first, then much more intently as his eyes fell across the glint of thick metal. The polished white gold was positively radiant as he gaped at his reflection. “How–?”

“–Didn’t you feel anything?” Restituere finished for him. “One word: magic. That there is a very powerful magical artifact known as the Ring of Desire. It remains inert, so long as it stays in its case. Unfortunately, once it’s been exposed to a host, it bonds with them, before fulfilling its purpose.”

“Which is?” Ben asked in a tremulous voice.

Restituere shrugged. “To give its owner what he or she wants most, truly wants most. It’s strong magic. Very difficult to come by. Even harder to craft yourself.”

“No wonder your master would be upset,” Ben noted as he reached up and touched the ring gingerly. It felt surprisingly warm, and while the sensation of the metal against his nose was unusual, it wasn’t all that unpleasant. In fact, the contact left him feeling sort of giddy. Then again, it’s possible that was just his mind breaking after all the trauma he’d been through today.

“So what do you want most, little bull?” Restituere asked.

“Want?” Ben asked somewhat dazedly as he pulled his hand back. The ring had begun to pulse gently, and a strange tingling passed through his nose and up into his head. He snorted a few times, and shook his head as it became harder to breathe through his nostrils, almost as though the ring were growing. The tingling grew more insistent, and he opened his mouth to breathe. His nostrils flared, and the warm metal just felt so good pulsing against his snout. He chuckled as he looked in the mirror. His nose looked bigger, and he looked so funny with his mouth gaping open like that.

“Indeed. What is it you long for the most?” Restituere asked curiously. “Whatever that thing is, whether you tell me it or not, is going to be what happens.”

“So much. . ..” he uttered with a drunken chuckle. He felt so lightheaded, and the blocked nasal passage forced him to speak more from his mouth and throat, making his voice stronger and deeper as he projected from the diaphragm. Weird … he wasn’t one for opening up to strangers about stuff like this before, why did he…?

A bolt of mind-numbing pleasure shot through him, cutting off the thought, before it had time to finish forming. The tingling seemed to have concentrated at the base of his horns, and he continued to gape at his reflection as the ring glowed a light purple. As it did so, a piece of that light jumped into the mirror’s surface, and the glass grew cloudy, before its surface began to spin in a spiral of purple and white smoke.

“Tell me all about it,” Restituere instructed gently.

The longer Ben stared into the swirl, the more difficult it was for him to think of anything else. His shoulders slumped forward as his eyes began to reflect the swirls from the mirror. “Make my father proud.”

The smoke parted to reveal a thick, imposing black angus standing a good nine feet tall with large polished white horns. A tight muscle tee clung to his torso with PRIME BEEF imposed over his pecs and abs. A pair of massive dumbbells clung in each hand as he performed curl after curl. His red eyes burned with testosterone and aggression as he continued to pump.

“You want to make a difference in the world, Son, then you have to be strong,” the gruff voice grunted. “Bulls don’t care how smart you are. They never have, they never will. Strength is what matters. Strength is always what matters, and it always will.”

“But Dad, just think about it. We’re always being stereotyped for the muscle. People don’t respect us. If we don’t learn to adapt, we’ll be stuck in lower class jobs for the rest of our lives.”

“You calling me a failure, boy?” The angus turned and leveled an accusing gaze at the mirror’s display, even as Ben’s voice continued to echo from the memory the mirror had conjured.

“N-no.”

“No what?”

“No, Sir,” Ben’s voice said quietly.

“I own an entire chain of successful gyms, and a line of popular fitness products. Your Uncle Pietro is one of the most successful contractors around, earning hundreds of thousands of dollars a year. Your cousin just got drafted into the NAFL[1] for a whopping fifteen million for just this season alone. Strength talks, Ben, a lot more than talking or grades ever will.”

“But–.”

“But nothing, Son. For gods’ sakes, you’re a Taurus! Start acting like one!” That final snarl echoed over and over as the image receded into the aether of the spiral cloud.

“Start acting like one. . ..” Ben repeated numbly as his bushy hair began to retract and darken. The part in his hair disappeared, obscured by a sudden surge of growth in his horns as the bases broadened, and they shot outwards by a good couple of inches. He panted as a warm sensation filled his body, and his skinny arms and torso began to broaden and expand. His flat chest took on definition as two solid outcrops began to form just above his abdomen. His cheek bones began to expand, adding the beginnings of a familiar masculine jawline as a hint of a brow ridge began to form beneath his horns.

The mirror shifted again, this time to reveal a fitter Ben sitting barechested as he pushed up against a barbell, while his father spotted. A proud smirk on the angus’ face widened into a grin as the Ben in the image let out a primal shout, finishing the last push of a set, before the bar rested safely down in its rack.

“That’s my boy!” Ben’s father reached down and seized Ben’s hand to pull him up off the bench into a rough embrace. The Ben in the mirror and in the store both seemed to flinch momentarily, before their nostrils flared, and then they grunted. The Ben in the mirror returned the hug with a manly whack on his father’s back, which the angus returned in kind, before resting a meaty hand on Ben’s shoulder, and pushing him back to take in the young bull’s body. “A Taurus never settles for less. He always pushes his limits. I’m proud of you, Son.”

The Ben in the mirror grinned as both the image and the Ben in the store responded with a cocky smirk. “And you said I couldn’t study and get big.”

The angus rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I still think it’s just a phase. If you want to be a real leader, you’re gonna have to be bigger than that. Come on. Let’s get you a protein shake.”

“Strawberry?”

“You know what? I’m feeling adventurous today. Let’s go neapolitan.”

The mirror fogged over, and opened to a wide black quartz sports bar, where the two were busy drinking out of tall glasses with extra wide straws. The same white shirt clung to Ben’s father as he spread his legs on the stool, emphasizing his bright red shorts and the bulge that lay at its crotch. Ben mimicked the posture in his shiny blue shorts as the two cooled off together.

“You know, Dad, I don’t think we’ve been able to talk like this since … well, you know.”

Ben’s dad nodded as he frowned slightly. “It’s just not so easy to talk about it, you know? She meant everything to me, and now she’s gone.” He rubbed over a gold band on his ring finger. “Now we’re all we’ve got left of her. I just … I want to give you the best life you can have, Son, for her. That’s why I push you so hard. Out there, your peers will trample you under their feet faster than you can throw a punch, if they can. I know. I’ve been there. Every Taurus has.” He sighed. “I guess that’s why I’m so gruff all the time. The way things are right now, I can’t afford not to. My strength’s all I have left, but, in the end, it wasn’t enough to save her. The least I can do is give you some for what’s to come. I don’t want some wannabe alpha walking all over you.”

Silent tears flowed down Ben’s cheeks as he watched the scene unfold, even as he continued to gape, and the spirals turned.

“Thanks, Dad.” The mirror Ben took a long draw from his straw as he looked pensively at the other end of the bar. Then he let up, gulped down what he’d taken, and turned to the angus once more. “I’m just glad we’re together. I don’t want to think what it’d be like, if we couldn’t talk like this.”

“Me, too, Son. Me, too.”

“Dad … I love you.”

Ben’s dad snorted, and broke out in a sad smile. “I love you, too, Son. Always, and forever,” he promised as he leaned in, and pulled Ben’s head gently to his own. The two sets of horns rapped lightly against one another, and Ben reached up to rub his swelling horns as the image came to a close, consumed by the spiraling smoke once again.

“Dad, I … I didn’t know,” Ben whispered as the spirals in his eyes began to waver amid the tears. Then the ring pulsed, and his pupils flashed purple for a moment. “But … I do know? Wh-what…? Why can I remember like … like …? Uhhhhh….” The ring flashed again as his eyes grew distant, and the mirror’s surface glowed with renewed magic.

“It would seem the ring senses something more in your desire,” Restituere said. “How curious. I’m certain Master will be wanting an in-depth report when this is complete. Tell me, what else did you desire to make the ring react this way? I always thought it only granted one wish.”

“Be free … of control,” Ben droned. “No more … giving in.”

“Giving in?” the golem asked confusedly.

“Big bulls command. Small bulls … obey.” He snorted again as the purple energy from the ring rose to form a circle around his head. The cloudy spiral in the mirror parted to reveal Stephen and the other bullies from earlier throwing their weight around some of the smaller freshmen. In a matter of seconds, they had them kneeling on the floor, lowing. Ben was among them. The mirror clouded again, and cleared to reveal a gym, where each of the young bulls was hard at work at the weights under careful supervision from their superiors, lifting and pushing in time with the bigger bulls’ commands. With each thrust, each acknowledgement of obedience, their smiles widened, their eyes dimmed. Ben stood with them, but unlike the rest, he wasn’t smiling as he watched a pair of the impressionable Belgian blues obeying a command to fight one another for dominance. A towering Stephen sneered down at them as he watched, and laughed as the two wiry boys struck at one another.

The mirror clouded over again, then opened up to reveal a much taller and broader version of the two bulls as they sneered down at Ben with folded vascular arms. One raised an arm suddenly, holding a notebook high above Ben’s head, while the other played defense, blocking Ben’s every attempt to retrieve the item in question. Eventually, Ben got shoved to the floor, and his head slammed against a set of silver lockers. He stared dizzily up at the pair of bulls as they approached, and each planted a massive foot on his diminutive chest.

“Moo for us, bitch,” the first said as he hung the journal above Ben’s head.

“S … screw….” Ben gasped as the pressure increased on his rib cage.

“Wrong answer,” the second growled as he kicked Ben in the side. Ben cried out in pain, but grit his teeth. Yet even as his did so, his nostrils flared, and the two bulls sneered as they watched it.

“Yeah. Smell that, Taurus? You know what that is, don’t you?” the first one gloated.

“Now do as you’re told, little horn.”

“Obey!” they barked together.

The Ben in the mirror stiffened. His eyes suddenly became unfocused as he snorted, then lowed submissively, while the two bullies stared domineeringly at him.

“That’s my boys,” Stephen’s gruff voice cheered them along as he smacked a hand on either of the boys’ shoulders. They shuddered in pleasure, and joined the lowing as Stephen whispered in their ears. Then the image faded into the spiral again.

“They were brothers,” Ben said sadly as he shook his head. “I remember. I couldn’t do anything. Now … now they can’t stop trying to outdo each other and everyone else they meet. They love to make everyone feel like they’re less, all because of Stephen.” He bunched his hands into fists as his knuckles cracked, and his muscle mass increased. “They were my friends, and he turned them against each other, against me, made them into his personal thugs. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t … can’t … can’t….” He shook his head, trying to clear it, but the energies wouldn’t abate.

“Can’t what?” Restituere pressed.

“Can’t–.” Ben shuddered, and let out a deep moan of pleasure as a bulge began to press against the crotch of his pants, while his waist expanded. His horns surged outwards again, and began to curve as his brow ridge became more developed, causing the bone of his horns to push back slightly. His mouth went slack as the spirals in his eyes returned with a vengeance, spinning faster as the energies grew in their intensity.

His eyebrows grew in thicker and bushier as his hair darkened by another shade, and retreated further up the sides of his head to leave him without any sides to speak of. In the stead of the flat short texture ear taper with a part that his hair had become when he first entered the store, a spikier fauxhawk now sat comfortably between his horns. The extra hair had shifted to roll down the back of his neck, emphasizing the burgeoning trapezius and deltoid muscles with his broadening shoulders and swelling biceps. He shuddered again as his pecs suddenly popped outwards, gaining greater mass and firmness, while his nipples became more prominent. He bounced the muscles a couple of times as a tiny patch of slightly thicker fur grew in at the point where the two pectorals intersected.

A faint layer of stubble began to sprout over the lower parts of his jaw, giving him a rugged five o’clock shadow that merged with the short cropping on the sides of his head. A dusting of extra-long hairs began to appear along his shoulders and the outer parts of his biceps. “Can’t … think … straight,” he uttered slowly as his calves and thighs swelled and strained with his buttocks to emphasize every rapidly developing curve, while two smaller lumps began to carve themselves below his pectorals. His shoulders and chest heaved as he took breath after breath, while the ring continued to do its work.

Another spurt of growth rocked Ben’s frame as he shot up a whole foot in height. His pant legs burst apart as his muscles spasmed, and he widened his stance to make up for all the added mass, thrusting his chest outwards subconsciously as the ring expanded further, forcing his nostrils to widen with his muzzle.

“Stupid.”

“Worthless.”

“Runt!”

“Wimp!”

“Pansy!”

The insults echoed over and over from the mirror, and a low growl rumbled from Ben’s throat as his teeth began to clench together. His skull cracked as his horns practically exploded outwards, shifting to either side of his head as the brow ridge jutted forward, looking as though it were wrapping around where the horns would join together in a solid bar inside his skull, had that been scientifically possible. The brush that his eyebrows had now become expanded even further, growing to quadruple their original size, even as they and the rest of his hair darkened by another shade. The meat continued to pile on as the magic from the ring swirled around his head between his horns, seeping into his hair and fur. The hair along his back and head shortened even further in reaction, drawing closer to the center of his head, and leaving more short stubble in its place. He lowed softly as another shudder ran through his body, and the bulge in his pants doubled in size. The increased testosterone, combined with the effects of the ring’s magic, caused his chest, shoulder, and arm hair to thicken as ridges cut like streams down a valley to form a perfect eight pack in his abdominals.

“Is it over?” Restituere queried. The glow of the ring had significantly reduced, but it had yet to fully dissipate, and wisps of energies still clung to the young bull, molding him as his body grew another few inches.

A last spark dove into the depths of the mirror, and the smoke parted to reveal the gaping Ben from the most recent past. “Big bulls command. Big Bulls command. Big bulls command,” his projection repeated.

“Wanna lead. Grow to lead. Yes … Big bulls command. Must grow … must command,” Ben said gently as the spirals filled his eyes again. His pectorals swelled to relatively the same circumference as two soccer balls. His horns thickened at their bases, and extended outwards, curving skyward as tiny bolts of energy struck at his hair once more from the sharp tips. This time, there was no room for debate. A short cropped macho mohawk stretched back from just above the part between his prominent eyebrows. He furrowed his confused brow into a frustrated scowl as his cheek bones bulged outwards to emphasize the incredibly masculine features he had developed. His biceps had swollen larger than footballs, and his body hair thickened again, this time along his chin and between his chest as the two merged together. His heartrate surged, his muscles pulsed with power, and his mind filled with the instinctual haze that was common to all his species as the testosterone and pheromones he produced ran over all rational thought. A final glow from the ring restored his pants, changing them to that of a security guard, though his upper body remained bare. After all, what herd leader in his right mind would ever want to hide something so wonderful? No, he would leave it as an example to all the other calves.

“Um … Sir?” Restituere asked as he tapped Ben on the shoulder. The two were much closer in height now, though Restituere still had the advantage, thanks to the sheer volume of items he had to return.

Ben folded his arms, and rolled his eyes as he came back to reality, then snorted. “Restie, I already told you. I may be head of security, but that doesn’t mean I go for Sir. I only save that for my herd and disrespectful punks,” he stated gruffly. A golden star in a security badge appeared on a clip at his hip, along with a leather belt covered in dull stones. The one at the front glowed a mixture of red and gold within the image of a fox’s head.

“I see you found what you were looking for, Benjamin,” Omni’s voice echoed from the stone.

Benjamin stretched and grinned. “I never understood what everyone meant, until now, Sir.” He snorted again as the ring shrunk within his nasal passages, allowing him to breathe through his nose normally. Or was it his nasal passages that went through one last phase of growth? He wasn’t sure, but at this point, he didn’t care. His deeper voice rumbled smoothly as he spoke. “All this strength. It … it really does make a difference, doesn’t it?”

“In your culture? Yes, yes it does. I hope you don’t mind the extra memories that have been overlaid. I didn’t make the particular artifact you used, so I couldn’t exactly control the results.”

“Any of them false?” Ben pressed.

“Not a one. Every new memory you have is completely you, based on the new you that you desired to become. And the best part is you’ll be able to take that knowhow out into the world and take it by surprise. Who remembers and who doesn’t is unknown. It could be you’ll be able to control it, but I don’t know. You’ll have to experiment to find out, once you’re done with your shift. Now then, are you ready to fulfill your duty in service to me and my store?”

Instead of a usual affirmation, Ben struck a pose and let out a massive bellow.

Omni’s voice chuckled. “Yes, I do believe you’ll fit right in. If you encounter anyone you think would serve better as a fellow guard for their, shall we say, ‘community service,’ just bond them to a gemstone and think of the form that would best serve you at the time. The magic will take care of the rest. Otherwise, I think you have some unruly bullies to put back in their place, don’t you?”

Benjamin grinned. “Indeed, I do. Where are they now?”

“Still trying to break down my door. That Stephen really is obsessed with you, isn’t he?”

“I’ll give him something to obsess over,” Benjamin growled angrily as his fur darkened one last time to a rich mahogany. His nose ring pulsed as he was filled with the need to administer immediate chastisement. Of course, it helped that he still wanted to get back at Stephen, too. And with this new body, he’d definitely get that, and much more besides. “I’m on my way, Sir. Taurus out.”

His thicker, tufted tail twitched in anticipation as he waved a hasty farewell to the golem. New information about the store’s layout and the magical paths employees could use ran easily through his mind, and he took the fastest path he could find to that particular entrance to the store.

“Try again,” the red angus growled as he pointed to the stubborn door. Despite the many blows the trio had dealt to the wood, it still hadn’t so much as splintered.

“Uh, boss, shouldn’t we just … Idunno, let it go? It’s almost been an hour, and our shoulders’re getting sore,” Rob, the first of the two Belgian blues said in a vapid tone.

“We’re not done, until I say we’re done. Get it, peabrain?” Stephen flicked the bull between his brows. “You’re not here to think. You’re here to do what I say. You, and your brother,” he said as he rounded on Bert. The twin’s smug smirk quickly washed away under Stephen’s glower.

Bert averted his gaze as he looked to the ground, and muttered a, “Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Now smash that door in,” he commanded brusquely. The red angus took a step back, and folded his arms in anticipation. No matter what that door may have been made out of, everything had to give at some point. If they could warp metal, then they could certainly splinter a shabby old door.

The two Belgian blues looked to each other, nodded, then pawed the earth, before charging as fast as they could. They made contact, but this time, it didn’t feel like the hard wood from before. The two rubbed their shoulders briefly, before looking up, and up, and up.

“And just what do you two think you’re doing?”

Two thick, meaty hands seized on the twins’ shoulders, thrusting them back. The two brothers winced from the force of the grip as a giant of a bull stepped out into the daylight. His eyes narrowed as he took in the pair’s expressions, then looked at the red angus.

“Normally, I would try reason first,” the bull said as he approached Stephen, still dragging the pair behind him. He had to be standing at a good nine feet, at least. His broad frame and even more well-built muscles left little doubt as to the feats of strength he could accomplish, especially considering how easily he had just dealt with the two Belgian blues. “However, I know you three won’t listen to that.” He crashed the twins’ skulls together, knocking them out cold. Then he raced up, and grabbed Stephen by his mane, yanking the bull’s head back as he leveled one of his horns at Stephen’s neck. “So you listen to this, you little piece of shit,” he growled. “That shirt happened to be a parting gift from my mother, before she died. Those two flunkies of yours happened to be my friends. You took both of them from me, so now I’m going to take everything you hold dear from you.”

Stephen’s eyes widened in shock. “T-taurus,” he strained as his throat suddenly became dry. “How?”

Ben sneered as he shoved the bull down on the ground, and sat on top of him. “Let’s just say I came into my own, little horn. I’m the head of the herd now. And you? From now on, you’re going to do exactly as I say.” He punched the bull in the face, and a thrill of pleasure ran through him as he watched Stephen’s left eye start to swell. “Not so much fun when someone can fight back, is it, wimp?” This time, he gave a strong left hook to Stephen’s jaw. The loud crack indicated just how soundly the bone had been broken as tears began to flow down the sides of Stephen’s head.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Ben continued relentlessly. “I’m going to take you to the hospital, where we’re going to get your wounds treated. Afterwards, I’m going to go back to school, and let the others know I’m in charge now. Then I’m going to undo the little torture rewards program you set up at school, and give each of those bulls the chance to develop real strength, none of your BS shortcuts.”

A thrill of satisfaction ran through Ben as he watched Stephen’s eyes widen, and his breath began to catch. “Oh yes, I know about those steroids. And you can bet I’ll be letting the principle know, too. You’re either going to be expelled or severely demoted. And unlike the others, we’re going to make sure to keep you that way for a long time to come. What’s the old saying? Karma’s a bitch, if memory serves. You’re about to find out just how true that sentence is. Stay down, if you know what’s good for you, Stephen. You lost.”

Ben reached down to his belt, and pressed the stone on the front buckle. “You there, Sir?” he asked.

“Reading you loud and clear, Ben. You calm those troublemakers?”

“With ease, Sir. One of them’s been, hurt, though. Would you mind calling an ambulance?”

“I believe that can be arranged.” Omni’s voice chuckled over the line. “Nicely handled. A little rough, in my opinion, but you have the right to pull your own style of enforcement. Just a warning, though, Benjamin. I let you do what you will, but you will have to face whatever consequences arise from your actions. If a legal suit comes from this, I can’t guarantee protection.”

Ben laughed. “Please. Stephen’s too proud. If he takes me to court, every bull in the county will know the fact I beat him and his two flunkies without breaking a sweat. His reputation will be ruined.” He casually thrust an elbow backwards to smash into the red angus’ nose, causing a gush of blood to follow as Stephen fell back onto his rear, and snapped his tail on the ground. Ben shook his head, and clicked his tongue chidingly. “Some of them just won’t learn.”

“I can’t say I don’t feel a little pleasure at seeing a bully get his just deserts, but next time, do try to keep it less physical, won’t you?”

“I can’t exactly make any promises there, Sir.” Ben laughed, and he could imagine the smile pulling back on the kitsune’s face as he listened in.

“No, I suppose you can’t, can you? Just make sure to remember where you came from. I’d rather not see you become the very thing you just defeated.”

“Understood, Sir. Would you mind getting Rob and Bert back home? I can deal with them when school starts tomorrow.”

“My pleasure, Ben. Welcome to Omnistore, a branch of Real Change Incorporated. Consider this a sign-on bonus.”

Ben snorted as a surge of pleasure ran through his body, and he felt a swelling in his crotch as a tsunami of hormones washed over him. So distracted was he by the sensation that he hardly noticed or cared as he straightened his back, and struck a smart salute. “It’s a pleasure to serve, Sir.”

Omni chuckled. “Oh, believe me, I know. Keep up the good work, and I might give you a few extra bonuses from time to time.”

Ben let out a dominant grunt, followed by a heavy snort, a flex, and a dazed smile. “Looking forward to it, Sir. Taurus out.”

[1] National Anthropomorphic Football League - Since humans are often at a distinct disadvantage when facing off against anthros, a separate league was created specifically for the anthropomorphic community to participate in the sport. While the NFL is still popular, the NAFL draws the greater fan base, thanks to the enhanced abilities the animal traits of the players grant. This league allows new ways to play within the traditional rules of the game that both surprise and excite the fanbase. Likewise, competitive leagues for anthros were established in other sports as well.

Boy, looks like nose rings are risky business!  @rubberskunkadditionally made this little bull guy into a big grump, and I came in with the colors.

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 6

“They’re swarming the compound, Hunter. More than half have been converted already.”

“Why hasn’t anybody shot them, damnit?” Hunter growled.

“We’ve tried. Somebody rigged munitions. It’s all blanks.”

“How the hell can our entire armory have been compromised?”

“Very, very carefully,” Stone said. “I’ll have to thank Arsenal later. He should be waking any moment now. He’s such a good meathead.”

Hunter groaned.

“Aww, what’s the matter, Agent Hunter? Feeling a little heavy? Oh, but I bet it feels so good, doesn’t it? It’s hard to resist all that growth, all that power. Why don’t you just … let it go?”

“F–Fuck you,” Hunter said through gritted teeth. Then he shuddered as the bulge in crotch increased.

“Ooh, you’re coming along nicely. Just a matter of time now, Agent Hunter.”

“Hunter, they’re … they’re beating at the doors. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep them out. They’ve sent a platoon to Skinner’s office. If they get him, they’ll have the override and all of our access codes. Wait, they’re … knocking? Holy shit!”

“Jason, what is it?”

“I-it’s Director Skinner. He’s already turned. He’s as big as Thirteen, if not bigger. He must be another overseer class, but … how did he change?”

Hunter snarled. “The damn bastard’s been playing us from the beginning. He kept authorizing the missions. He kept pushing that we had to find Stone. It all makes sense.”

“And the light begins to dawn at last.” Stone chuckled. “Your director was not an easy target, Agent Hunter, but given enough time and more than a few spiked coffees, he was only too happy to join us in his proper rank. Such a good trainer, wouldn’t you say? He really knows how to take charge of his meatheads and make them totally mindless. Never questioning, never thinking. Just endless pleasure and obedience. Obedience to their trainer. Obedience to me.”

“Obey Coach Stone. Serve Coach Stone. Obedience is pleasure. Obedience is strength. Obedience is muscle. Obedience is growth. Meatheads must grow. Meatheads must obey. We are Coach’s big, dumb meatheads,” the guards said.

Hunter heard a groan. “They … they’re gathering at the door, Hunter. So … so many meatheads. I … I don’t know if I can keep them out long.”

“Control? You okay?”

“I … just a little dizzy. Hunter. Skinner is coming.” Another grunt. “I don’t know how long I have. Before they … get to me. Before they … make me like them.” A tiny rip sounded across the microphone.

“Control? Jason? Jason, stay with me!”

“Hunter? I … I can’t hear you very well, Hunter. I … something … isn’t right. You sound … far away. So far away. So far. So faint.

“Jason!”

“…”

“Jason, don’t you do this to me. Answer me, damn it!”

Hunter heard the sound of a door hissing open, the faint clacking of keys on the keyboard, the heavy clomp of many thick boots, and the weight behind them. The clacking grew slower, heavier, then stopped. A heavy breathing was all that Hunter could hear. The whirr of wheels rolling further away from the mike. More heavy boots approaching.

“Sorry, Lil’bro, Jason’s busy. But Meathead’s here for ya,” the Neanderthal of a man chuckled.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Hunter roared. He felt his neck tense, the muscles cording and growing, his jaw expanding, growing more defined. He didn’t care. “Answer me, Meathead!”

Tearing fabric. Thumping limbs. A few well-placed grunts. “Meathead didn’t do nothin’ to him.” Again, that infuriatingly dull chuckle. “Meathead was brought to wake his bros up. Skinner’s the one who brought out the meatheads in ‘em. Good job, Skinner.”

A deep, booming voice responded. “Skinner is a good meathead. Skinner obeys. Make more meatheads. I obey.”

“See? He’s fuckin’ awesome, lil’bro.” He laughed. “Knows to obey Coach n’everything. Just like me. We’re all a bunch of big, dumb meatheads, aren’t we, bros?”

Hunter heard the solid thump of legs coming sharply to attention. “Yes, sir. We are meatheads. Big, dumb meatheads. Meatheads obey. We obey. Obey and grow. Grow and obey. Obey Coach Stone. Lift. Grow. Flex. Obey. Grow big. Grow dumb. Grow into bigger, dumber meatheads.”

Stone laughed. “You see, Hunter, my little supplement is what you might call a bit of a drug. Once it gets worked enough into your system, it makes the user a little more … susceptible to suggestion. It builds the muscles in the body so quickly that you literally become addicted to the feeling of your own physical perfection. Every flex, every workout, every breath, every movement becomes … stimulating. And the best part is that the more they grow, the more dependent they become.

“Now don’t get me wrong here. The supplement doesn’t require you to constantly take more. On the contrary, given enough time, the supplement rewires your brain and your body to produce it naturally. Unfortunately, a common side effect is for the brain to suffer certain … alterations. These alterations, unfortunately, inhibit certain higher reasoning functions. Perhaps it’s better to say that it overrides them. Or maybe the person really just doesn’t care anymore, and so they choose to forget on their own. Whatever the case may be, those who reach that stage show a major loss in intelligence. Perhaps you’ve felt that loss, Agent Hunter. That hazy cloud forming over your mind like a calming blanket. So difficult to focus, to think clearly. The urge to just sit there and let your mind go blank, and let your body do the talking. To let it move for you, let it think for you, let it act for you, and just smile the whole time, because of the pleasure you feel.”

“S–stop it,” Hunter growled as he swayed on his feet.

“So you do feel it. Doesn’t it seem a little familiar, Agent Hunter, even the slightest bit?” Stone asked as he approached one of his guards. “That emptiness, that lack of thought that they accept so readily, makes them moldable. It makes them want to listen. Isn’t that right, Grinder?”

The hulk closest to him grunted and nodded. “Listen to Coach. Obey Coach. Grinder is a mindless meathead. Grinder listens. Grinder obeys.”

“Good meathead,” Stone said as he smacked Grinder on the back. “You see, Agent Hunter?”

“How long?” Hunter growled.

“The subliminal treatments, you mean? It varies from meathead to meathead. Sometimes we prime our candidates before exposing them to the supplement. Other times we perform the work simultaneously. We’re still figuring out which works best. Though I have made some headway with applications for the formula. Unfortunately, the gaseous state isn’t quite ready yet, but we’ll get there eventually.”

“And what happens, if they break the enforcement?”

“They can’t. That’s the best part. They constantly enforce themselves every time they work out, every time they follow an order. It literally becomes an endless loop of enforcement, growth, and obedience. And the best part is they want it. They love it.” He laughed again. “Isn’t that right, Controller?” he asked.

“Controller? Who’re you–?”

Hunter heard a loud groan of pleasure over his earpiece. “I … I … can’t stop. Growing … fuzzy. So fuzzy.” The voice warbled between the familiar tenor of Hunter’s friend to a deep baritone.

“Jason? Jason, you’ve got to fight it! Snap out of it!”

“Jason?” the warped voice asked slowly. “Wh–who is … Jason? So … so hard to think. So hard. Hard … hard muscles. Feel … feel nice.” A loud rip followed that sentence.

“Jason, whatever you do, don’t listen to them. You have to stop. Don’t let them influence your mind.”

“Mind …” he repeated dreamily. Then he laughed. The longer the laugh went, the deeper the voice became.

“Jason? Jason, listen to me. Jason!”

“Meatheads have no mind,” Meathead’s voice boomed in.

“Meatheads love muscle,” Skinner’s voice added.

“I like muscle,” Jason’s deeper voice said. “My muscles feel good.”

“Meatheads love to flex,” Meathead said.

“Flex … feels good.” Another loud tear. “I like flexing,” he said exuberantly.

“Meatheads don’t think,” Skinner pressed.

“… Think?” Jason asked. He sounded confused by the term. “I don’t … can’t … what … what were we talking about again?”

“Muscles, flexing, and being a big, dumb meathead. ‘Cause that’s what we are, lil’bro,” Meathead said.

“… We?”

“Yes, we. Skinner is a big, dumb meathead. Skinner does not think. Skinner flexes. Skinner obeys. Skinner is a good meathead.”

“Good … meathead.”

“Time to wake up, Controller,” Meathead said.

No.

“Wake … up.”

Stone wouldn’t.

“Flex deeper. Grow bigger. Become. You are a massive, burly, mindless meathead, just like us,” Skinner said.

“Like you.…” A guttural grunt. Loud cracks. Something bursting, snapping. Ricocheting metal. More shredding fabric. A rumbling bass. “Just like you.”

“Good meathead,” Stone said, laughing. “And good meatheads obey.”

“Damn you!” Hunter roared as he lunged for the man, his mysterious restraints suddenly broken. Thick hands threw off his balance. He grabbed for an overhead throw, only to be taken out from beneath by a rolling form. The added weight on his shoulders was his downfall as he dropped to his knees, then to his face as ten muscular hands and arms restrained him on the ground.

“Impressive, Agent Hunter. Very impressive. To break out of conditioning like that takes a lot of mental strength. You and Controller must have been very close.”

Hunter squirmed beneath his captors. “His name,” he panted, “is Jason.” He spat at Stone’s feet.

“Not anymore.” Stone chuckled. “Not for much longer, anyways. Would you like to see him, Agent Hunter? Would you like to watch him finish his awakening?” He sneered. “That can easily be arranged.” He raised his voice. “Meathead! Take the flash drive from Skinner and upload its contents into the server. It’s time to convert the facility.”

“Yes, Sir. Meathead is a good meathead. Meathead obeys,” the thug’s voice droned into Hunter’s ears.

A few moments later, Hunter found himself staring into a screen on a data pad Stone had taken from one of his lackeys. He tapped a new icon, and the light on the camera flashed, indicating it had become active. A large screen popped up, revealing a good twenty men in shredded uniforms flanking three bigger men. Even converted, Skinner was easy to pick out with his silver hair and piercing green eyes. Meathead grinned vacantly at the screen, his black spandex uniform still clinging tightly to his frame as he idly bounced his pecs. His dark brown hair had an almost unusual sheen to it, despite its flat cropping. He was just as huge as Hunter remembered him. The hulk’s shoulders had to be at least a good three feet across. His square jaw and jutting brow were slightly more pronounced than the other meatheads. His muscles quivered in anticipation as he gaped into the camera. “Interface complete. Meathead has obeyed. Meathead is a good meathead.”

“Yes you are, Meathead. Now stand by a moment. I want to be able to enjoy this. Gentlemen, lift our prisoner up, and help him take a seat.”

Hunter soon found himself forcibly seated at a rounded metal table near a fitness bar. The tightness of his stealth suit, or what remained of it, clung to his waist and crotch, a constant reminder of his change in size. And he was still growing. He could feel it, throbbing through him like some disease, the tingling on his face heralding the growing facial hair. Looking to either side, he could see the hair thickening on his arms, even as they strained beneath the collective grips of his captors. Stone dropped in next to him and put the pad down on a stand attachment.

“All right, Meathead, move aside. Show us Controller.”

“Controller isn’t ready, Coach.”

“That’s an order, Meathead.”

Meathead stiffened and saluted as the lycra of his suit strained to contain his body’s bulk. “Yes, sir, Coach. Meathead obeys.” He stepped aside to reveal a hunched figure. The man was breathing heavily. Instead of the rags and remnants the other meatheads wore, a new gigantic heavy jockstrap held loosely to his frame, its pouch sagging. His hair was slick with sweat, and had been pulled messily back by a hastily styled hand job. His broad shoulders shone with the sweat of his changes as he continued to pant, and his thick hands clenched and unclenched intermittently. Skinner stood next to him, hair gel in hand as he grinned at the new hairstyle.

“Excellent choice, Skinner,” Stone complimented.

“Thank you, Sir,” Skinner said. “Sleeper meathead, designation: Controller, is coming along nicely.”

“How close is he to finishing?”

“This meathead believes awakening will be complete within the next ten minutes, Sir.”

“Excellent. You may stand down now, Skinner. I want to finish him myself.”

“Yes, sir, Coach.” Skinner bowed, then stepped back to join Meathead.

“Jason, listen to me! Your name is Jason Bowman. You work as a technology supporter. You’re a genius with machines and electronics! You’re not–.” Hunter felt the giant hand covering his mouth. He struggled, screamed, yelled, and tried to bite to no avail.

“Potential meathead will not interrupt meathead re-conversion to muscle. Potential meathead will watch. Potential meathead will listen. Potential meathead will remain silent. Potential meathead will not struggle. Potential meathead will obey. Sit still. Obey. Listen. Obey. Watch. Obey. Be silent. Obey. Meatheads must obey.”

“Meatheads must obey,” the others droned, both behind Hunter and through the viewing monitor.

The hand came away from his face. “Fuck y–obey.” Wait, what? He watched as Stone smirked. That bastard. He had to try again. “I obey.” No, no, no, he does not obey. Damn it, not again. Not again. And yet it was happening again. He felt a pair of hands direct his head toward the screen. He felt them leave. And try though he might, his body would not look away.

“Much better, Agent Hunter. Much better,” Stone purred. “And the best part is, you’re feeling so much pleasure from this, too. I can tell, you know. So why deny yourself?” He sighed. “Ah well. You’ll come around soon enough, Agent Hunter. They all do.”

Hunter heard the clomping of heavy feet. He felt two thick hands smack down on either of his shoulders, heard the rasp of the Stone’s whispering voice. “Now watch me work my magic.” He felt the heavy bulk of Stone sit down next to him. Felt the heat radiating from the giant body. Felt the titanic bicep touch his own smaller one. He could tell it was bigger. And as much as he hated to admit it, some part of him felt … jealous of that. He watched Stone’s giant hands shift the screen, so both would have a proper vantage point. Saw those bulky arms twitch with every shift of wrists and fingers. And then they were gone.

Nobody had moved on the screen. The huddled form that had to be Jason continued panting. Though as they listened, the pants turned into more of a series of guttural grunts.

“You there,” Stone said in a commanding tone of voice. “The one in the middle panting and sweating. What’s your name?”

The head lunged up. Jason’s eyes had sunken beneath a shelf-like brow. His lower jaw bulged unnaturally, and his chin had become particularly prominent. The brown of his eyes had dulled and taken on a murky greenish tint, like swamp water. His pecs had developed into two perfectly sculpted slabs that hung round and taut, waiting to go off. “Me?” he asked.

“Yes, you. What is your name?” Stone asked.

“Name … name … my … name.…” His brow furrowed. His mouth gaped open slightly. He reached down passively and scratched at the pouch. “Can’t … I can’t … think. Fuzzy. In head. Don’t … I don’t … I … can’t....”

Stone pressed an icon shaped like a flexing bicep in the corner of the screen. A wave of slow, pulsing light flowed across the control room. Jason’s mammoth shoulders slumped as he stared at the screen in front of him.

“Don’t think, then. Just listen. Listen to my voice, and watch the screen. Just flex, and stare, and listen. The longer you stare, the more you listen. The longer you flex, the more focused you become on my voice. Listen, and flex. Watch, and flex.”

It started small at first, a faint twitch, the quiver of a pectoral. Then the other twitched. Then the first. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then he raised an arm and looked it at dreamily. He tensed it, flexing the bicep, and watched as the mound slowly rose. His face pulled into a vapid grin. “Flexing feels good,” he said again. “Good to flex. Good to listen.”

“That’s right. Keep flexing. Keep listening. And while you do that, why don’t you tell me what you are? That’s so much easier than who, wouldn’t you say?”

“Easy,” he grunted in agreement, shifting to a double bicep pose, then into a lateral spread as he turned to look at the other muscle men. “Like them.” He continued to flex, and as he did so, his waist began to expand. The straps on the jockstrap tightened as he gained in height. His muscle tone increased, and a washboard of abdominals slowly carved itself out of his core, like a stoneworker had been busy chipping away at Jason’s old self. Then again, that may not have been far from the truth.

“And what are they?” Stone pressed. Hunter hissed, taking deep breaths, but could do little more.

Jason shrugged as his forehead expanded and his teeth became perfectly aligned. He chuckled as he flexed some more. “Dunno. Just like ‘em is all. Like to flex. Like … my muscles flexing.”

“Growing,” Stone prompted.

“Yes … growing. Growing muscles. Growing me.” He chuckled.

“They like growing, too. Growing bigger and stronger all the time. They just care about their bodies, and flexing, and listening, and growing, and listening, and obeying.”

“Growing,” he said dreamily as his neck expanded.

“Growing into big, dumb meatheads,” Stone said.

“Meatheads. Yes. Like … meatheads.”

“So big. So dumb. Just following their orders, like a good meathead should.”

“We are meatheads. Meatheads obey Coach. We obey,” the men droned together.

“Tell me who I am, meatheads,” Stone ordered.

“Coach Stone,” they droned together.

“Good meatheads.”

The men shuddered, and grinned. “We are good meatheads. We obey.” They began to pose and flex as they eyed the screen.

“You’re becoming like them, too. Tell me, do you like that, the idea of being a big, dumb meathead?”

“… Like muscles. Like growing. Feels good.” Another loud crack, and his hands grew into massive mitts of bone and sinew. He stared at them in wonder, and his grin widened. “Big hands. Good to be big. Like being big.”

Stone pressed an icon shaped like a brain with IQ stamped in white letters. A display popped up to the left. Its number read 110. Above it, another display popped up showing the number 150. Behind these numbers, two different sized transparent pink brain backdrops appeared. He tapped the larger of the two, and a loading ring took shape around it, its pulsing light running around and around in a counterclockwise motion. He then selected the muscle icon, and dragged it next to the brain. This time the outline of a body formed around it, creating a perfect silhouette, complete with sagging jock strap.

“I have to give you credit where credit is due. You really are a genius,” Stone complimented. But you see, we have an issue here. You put so much effort into here,” he said, tapping the silhouette’s brain, and causing it to pulse, “that you’ve lost so much down here.” He dragged several lines leading from the brain into the arms, legs, torso, crotch, and shoulders. “But to really be like them, you need to not only be big, not only obey my voice, but you need to be a total meathead. Your head. Focused on nothing but muscle and meat. Building your body. Building your muscles. Building your manhood, your meat.

“Build.…”

“That’s right, my little meathead-to-be. You build those muscles, and you build that meat. But to do that, you have to feed them, fill them with something.” Stone smirked. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do with all those troublesome brains of yours. You’re going to use that muscle to build your other muscles.” He tapped on the brain icon. The loading circle broke off, and began to spiral into the brain. Each pulse of light followed the trail, then coursed down the lines to each of the body parts Stone had highlighted previously. Now flex for me. Obey me. Watch the screen, and pump those muscles up. Watch the screen, and focus on your muscles. Focus on your meat. Focus on letting it grow and swell. Let it fill you. Fill everything about you. Making you massive. A massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge, just like the other meatheads.”

“Big, dumb meatheads. Just like us. We flex. We obey,” the men said in unison.

Jason shuddered as he stared up at the screen. Light continued to pulse. He slowly shifted into a side chest pose. The silhouette did the same, shifting onto his form to match him movement for movement. The brain superimposed itself over his head, and the number appeared above. His pectorals throbbed as he bounced them in time to the rhythm of the lights on the viewing monitor. A tiny chime sounded as a little white arrow appeared beneath the numbers pointing down. The flexing continued, the throbbing increased, and so did the size of his muscles as they grew wider, broader, and more well defined. The number dropped by a point. He shuddered, and grinned wider.

“Big me on screen.” Jason laughed.

“Yes. And the more you grow, the better you’ll feel. Grow for me. Flex for me. Fill that head with nothing but meat.”

“Meat.” Jason grew another few inches as his feet expanded in size. The display dropped to 130.

“Massive muscles. Massive meat. Massive, manly bulge.” Stone sneered as he tapped the outline of the jockstrap on the screen. A new spiral formed over it, this time spinning clockwise as the line pulsing from the brain connected to the spiral on the crotch.

Hunter groaned as he felt the crotch of his pants tighten further. He watched as the sagging pouch of Jason’s new jock strap slowly began to inflate.

Jason gaped at the screen as he continued to flex and grow. “Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly, huge. Grow. Grow for … for …” He scrunched his face up, looking confused.

“Grow for Sir,” Skinner said as he lumbered next to Jason, and started to flex with him.

“Obey Sir,” Meathead said as he moved in on the other side. “Meatheads obey.”

“Meatheads … obey. I … obey … must … obey … and watch … flex … listen. Yes, Sir.” The numbers dropped significantly, and the pink mass shrunk. Soon the display read 90. A slight outline began to press against the pouch of the jockstrap.

“Meatheads obey, you obey. Meatheads grow muscles, you grow muscles.”

“Like … meatheads.”

“Because you are a meathead,” Stone said. “My meathead.”

“I … am a meathead. Meathead. Meathead.” With each repeat of the word, his voice grew deeper, the bulge in his strap grew more distinct, another surge of growth struck, and his eyes grew more vacant as the brown in his iris became less prominent and the green more prominent.

“A big, dumb meathead, just like them,” Stone pressed. “You want to be a big, dumb meathead, just like them. You love being a big, dumb meathead, just like them. You are nothing but a big, dumb, obedient meathead.”

“Big,” Jason flexed. “Dumb.” He grinned as he watched the pulsing screen on his end. His body expanded yet again. He towered at eight feet now. “Meathead.” The pouch in his jockstrap now clung to his swollen manhood. His grin widened as he stared at a part of the screen. “Big meat. Like big meat. Me … I … uh …” He grunted, and held a hand over his pouch briefly. “Feelin’ funny. Sorta … dumber.” He chuckled. “Dumber. Dumber. Meatier. Dumber. Fuckin’ hung, and fuckin’ dumb.” The numbers dropped again, this time to 84.

“You are a meathead, part of a collective, one of many,” Stone said.

“One of many. Same. This meathead understands. This meathead obeys,” he droned.

“Tell me your name, meathead.”

He wasn’t flexing anymore. He stared perfectly straight as he addressed the screen, like a little toy soldier. “This meathead has no name, Sir. This meathead has obeyed his programming. This meathead awaits his orders.” The number dropped to 80. “This meathead is too stupid to think.” 78. “Nothing but meat and muscle for Coach to command.” 76. “The bigger meathead grows, the dumber he becomes. This meathead will grow for Coach Stone. This meathead will forget. This meathead will be dumb. This meathead obeys.” 74.

“You will wake up, meathead. And you will wake every other meathead in the organization, understand? Wake up, and remember, Controller.”

70.

The new meathead’s eyes went completely blank, as if the pupils had disappeared. The pulsing lights phased in and out, in and out. He breathed in time, even as his body expanded yet again, this time with longer arms and a broader back. The jockstrap creaked in protest, but he paid it no mind. “Meathead designation Controller received,” he said. Turning smartly at ninety degrees, just like the drones Hunter had watched, the newly-dubbed Controller advanced to a console. “Implementing control protocol C. This meathead obeys. This meathead will wake other meatheads.”

Stone sneered triumphantly. “Good meathead.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 3

Your first session with Hank may not have been deadly, but it was far from unpleasant. He meant it, when he said he would test your limits. He took you through the whole range of exercises from cardio to calisthenics to strength and endurance training. To establish a base line, he’d said. A part of you wondered if it was just because he took pleasure in seeing you sweat. Then again, that was kind of his job, so he probably did. A purple turtle neck clung to your upper body, helping to keep you warm as you gingerly removed your coat to hang in the closet. The workout may not have been intense, but you still felt the after-effects, and you were not looking forward to day two. It always hurt more on day two. The waiting room was a small one, but incredibly warm. Harry had said he wouldn’t be able to make it to the meeting, but it wasn’t like you couldn’t handle it yourself. It was a vocal coach, after all, and you only had to say the one line. A few sessions, and you’d have that part ready to go for the cameras. You twiddled your thumbs idly as you waited in the leather chair. Finally, a good five or so minutes later, the door opened and a tall man with dark hair and green eyes walked out with a smile across his face as he put on his glasses. “Thank you so much for the help, Miss Schroder. Your training is an absolute life saver.” “It’s no problem, I assure you,” a woman’s voice carried out from behind the man. A few moments later, you caught your first look at her. Her skin was pale and flawless as marble, and she strode out confidently in high heels. Her hair fell in rich red curling waves that cascaded down her shoulders and back like the fronds of a willow tree, and her pale blue business suit was accented by light pink lipstick. “Just make sure to remember those dialects. Just because it’s one nation doesn’t mean they won’t have different accents.” “Ah, but how could oi be forgettin’ sumpin’ so positively voital ta me craft, yer ladyship?” he asked as a sly smile pulled at his lips. Miss Schroder laughed. “Oh, stop it, you. Save it for the character.” “All right. All right,” the man acquiesced as he raised his hands in defeat. “But it is fun, you know.” “Naturally. Just make sure to be careful, Scott. I find that the roles my customers play tend to take a life all their own.” Scott laughed. “Well, I don’t think that’d hurt all that much, in my case. See you around.” He waved, nodded to you, then retrieved his coat, before making his way out the door. Then Miss Schroder turned her attention to you. She called you by name, then motioned curtly with a finger as she strode back to her office. You followed her her with little prompting. “I’ll have you know that I take my craft very seriously,” she started. “I meant what I said when I warned Scott back there. My lessons can be very much like role playing, and like all role playing, there is a chance that the character can spill over into your everyday life. I would advise you to keep things as separate as possible.” She handed a sheaf of papers to you. “Please make sure to sign these, before we continue. They’re release forms, among a few other necessary documents. By signing them, you agree that I am not to be held responsible for any changes or repercussions that should occur during your time here. You are taking my courses of your own free will, and are willing to accept the consequences of whatever may result from these courses. As a part of the process, some hypnosis may be applied. In signing these papers, you consent to allow me to hypnotize you for the sake of understanding the role you are to take. If you do not wish to be hypnotized, you may so indicate in the necessary boxes; however, it will take longer for you to accomplish your role to satisfaction this way, and the commercial will not move forward, until I give my official seal of approval.” “What?” you balk. “They trust me. I’m good at what I do. If I say someone isn’t ready, they aren’t ready. Each time I’ve warned a client, my predictions came true. After a time, people learn to listen.” She shrugged as she planted herself in a tall stool with a high back to support her lithe frame. “Now, then, assuming you’ve finished the paperwork, let’s get started.” You gulp, then sigh as your shoulders slump in defeat. It’s not like she’d be able to do much to you, anyways, even if she did manage to put you under. And you needed this part. You scrawl quickly across the necessary lines, after a swift perusal of each of the segments for any hidden language or gimmicks. “All right. Let’s get started,” you sigh. “Good.” She seized the paperwork and shoved it into a file with your name on it. “Now, then. According to the paperwork, you are to play the role of a stereotypical bodybuilder with just one thing on his mind.” “Lifting weights. Yes,” you say as you roll your eyes. “I take it you’re not too keen on the role.” You shrug. “I take what I can get.” She pursed her lips. “Hmm. You’re going to be an interesting one. It’s more difficult working with a client who isn’t enthusiastic about his part. Not impossible, mind you. Just more difficult.” She perused the file once more, then pulled out her phone. “Let’s start off with various accents, shall we? I want to see what kind of range fits you best. There are a few that come more prominently to mind. You have German/Austrian, surfer beach bum, frat boy jock, and a few others. Each of them may sound similar, but there is a certain subtlety that designates each vocalization as its own unique sort of language. The only difference here is, rather than a language of words and letters, you have a language of sounds and inflections. Now then. Let’s begin.” You run through each of the various accents and styles, trying your best to replicate each. She shook her head and tutted at each separate attempt to mimic the recordings. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” she sighed. “Let’s start off with the basics.” She flicked to another track, and white noise started playing gently behind the sound of a metronome. “I want you to listen to the beat and follow it. Emphasize the key words of your line with each stroke. ‘I lift things UP and put them DOWN.’ Got it? Up,” her voice climbed higher, “and down.” Her voice glided down into the lower register.

You sigh, then set your shoulders as you listen to the recording. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say lamely. “With feeling. Emphasize. You have to draw the audience into what you’re saying. Again,” she ordered. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say. “Again. Hit the beat.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “Again.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “Repeat.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “Good. Keep going.” “I lift things up and put them down.” “That’s right. Follow the beat. Up. Down. Up. Down.” “I lift things up and put them down.” Click up. Click down. Tick. Up. Tock. Down. It’s so boring, but you continue to follow the pattern. “Cadence is everything. Flying high, then dropping low.”

Up. Down.

“Lower.”

“I lift things up and put them down.” Did ... your voice sound huskier? “Deeper. Don’t stop now. Repeat. Follow the rhythm.” Follow UP. Follow DOWN. Follow.... “I ... feel funny....” “Relax. You were just starting to get it right. Try again,” she urged gently. “You want to nail this part, don’t you? So you have to try again. Relax. Try again. Listen. Try again. Follow the beat. Try again.” Her tone was so soft, so low. You had to strain to hear. Had to listen. ... Had to try again. “I lift things up and put them down. I lift things up and put them down. I lift things up and put them down....”

“That’s right.” You feel something in your hand. A ... paperweight, maybe? “You lift things up and put them down. Up. Down. Up. Down.” And suddenly your arm is moving. Up and down. Up and down. You lift things up. You put them down. Lift up. Put down. Up. ... Down. “Good boy.” Then everything went dark.