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Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 32

The days have all become a round of mindless repetition now. You eat you portioned meals, drink your protein shake, lift, drink your protein shake, return to the apartment, eat your portioned meals, lift your weights to the pulsing screen and throbbing beat of your speakers massaging your brain, drink your protein shake, train with Duff, sleep, repeat. One or two times, you questioned yourself, your progress, what you were becoming, but a few pumps of your dumbbells, a few words of encouragement from Duff, a few seconds of your recordings, and those doubts were swept away like so much sweat off your brow. You linger in front of every reflective surface you see now, and you flex out of impulse. With the arrival of late spring, you’re able to go out in public with your shorts and tight muscle tee. After all, Sun’s out, guns out. The bar bends under the hefty plates you’ve laid on both sides. You work more in grunts and growls now, hardly speaking, but that’s because you have to focus on your body. Put everything into your body. You smile proudly at your gains, at the power you now exert every time you press against that bar, pushing higher, harder. Up and down. Up and down. Then the pullups. Up and down. Up and down. Squats. Up and down. Up and down. Situps. Up and down. Up and down. You grin as you execute your purpose. “I lift things up and put them down,” you say to yourself. A brute like you doesn’t want to do anything else. And then your bliss is interrupted by the ringing bells from your cell phone. You stare at it for a time, considering just letting it go. But ... you promised to pick up, if it’s Harry. You groan in frustration as you break your daily routine for the first time in you don’t know how long and check the ID. As you suspected, it was Harry. “What is it, Harry?” you growl as you answer the call. “You’re interrupting my workout.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back it up, muscleman. Don’t go killing the messenger.” Your head reels a moment and you stumble briefly, then grunt as you shake your head to clear it. “Why would I want to kill you?” There was a period of dead silence on the other end. “Harry?” “It ... was a figure of speech,” Harry finally responded. “Oh.” You flex your pecs impatiently. Your body still wants to move. “So, what’d you call me for?” “The client loved your photos from the last session. What they don’t love is how pale your skin is.” “And your point is...?” “I booked you an appointment at a tanning salon. I’ll be picking you up tomorrow at twelve thirty. Make sure you’re ready to go, muscleman.” Once again, the world spun around you. “I ... understand. I’ll ... I’ll, uh, ... be ready. Yeah....” You liked your skin, but, uh ... whatever the client wants. Yeah. You’re bound by contract, after all. So, what the client wants, you want. ... Yeah. ... Have to follow instructions. “Good. I’ll see you soon. Keep up the great work, kid.” “Will do,” you low absently. The weights are already calling you back. You don’t even bother to end the call as you return to your exercise. Can’t allow yourself to lose the pump, after all. Real Musclemen love the pump.

“And I’m a real muscleman now,” you mutter to yourself as that pleasant haze returns again. “I lift things up and put them down....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 34

“Hey, kid. I’ve got another gig for you, if you’re interested,” Harry’s voice carried over your new bluetooth phone accessory into your ears. Hank suggested the twin earpieces the moment you talked about how Harry’s calls were messing up your workouts. The little devices were an absolute miracle. “It’s for a new brand of sports gear coming out,” Harry continued. “Jock straps, cleats, socks, shorts, uniforms, football, baseball, you name it.” You pump your dumbbells casually, admiring the healthy gold that’s replaced your once pale white skin as you mull the offer over. “How long?” you finally ask. “It’ll take about a week or two.” “Local?” “Out of state, but they’re willing to add housing expenses.” You mull that over again slowly as you continue to pump rhythmically. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Finally, you nod and speak. “I’ll need a gym. High quality, full spread, full access. It’s not home without a gym,” you say, “and I need to keep up my workout schedule.” “Of course. I already explained the details of your other contract to them. They agreed a muscleman like you is perfect for the job.” The world came to a halt as your weights dropped to the padded flooring. “A muscleman like me is perfect for the job,” you repeat in a dull monotone. “Because proud musclemen love to show off, and what is modeling, but a chance to show off those muscles?” “I am a proud muscleman. I love to show off.” “That’s right,” Harry said. “Show off for the cameras.” “I show off for the cameras.” “You will pose as you are ordered, during your photo sessions, because proud musclemen don’t think. You remember that, don’t you, muscleman? Musclemen don’t think.” “Our muscles think for us,” you return. “My muscle drives my body.” “Just a big, dumb muscleman growing bigger and dumber, bigger and dumber every time you lift things up and put them down.” “I lift things up and put them down,” you slur in a deep, bovid voice. “That’s right, Djur. Lifting and growing and dumbing, until there’s nothing but a bulky, brawny brute of a body builder. Because that is what you are becoming. That is where you want to be, isn’t it?” “Yes.” “Good muscleman. Now, when I say the word congratulations, you are going to wake back up out of this trance with no memory of this exchange. You will remember agreeing to the contract and feel enthusiastic about the modeling to come, because musclemen and sports gear go hand in hand. You know this from the compression gear you take with you to the gym every day.” “Yes,” you agree. “And you will wear whatever they ask you to without complaint, because...?” “Musclemen and sports gear go hand in hand.” “That’s right. You’re a good muscleman.” “I am a good muscleman.” “Now pick up your weights and resume your exercises.” You quickly move to do so, pumping mindlessly as you listen to the voice that has held your attention so raptly. Harry’s chuckle carried over into your ears. “Congratulations, kid. You’ve got the contract.” You blink blearily for a moment. “S-sorry, Harry,” you low slowly. “I ... didn’t get all that. I think you broke up a bit.” You shake your head to try to clear the fog. “I said you got the contract, kid. I’ll send the travel arrangements your way, once I’ve got them booked. A big grin spread over your face as your heart rate picked up. “Awesome! Thanks, Harry!” Harry chuckled. “No problem, kid. I’ll see you soon. Keep up the great work.” “I will,” you promise as you stare into your mirror and smile at the way your muscles ripple and shift under your skin as you work them. “I will,” you repeat in a dreamier tone as the buds pick up on your MP3 player and the familiar tracks filter through your ears.

Harry panted to himself as he laid a hand against his chest to get his heart rate under control. An exultant surge pulsed through his brain as the flood of adrenaline merged with a hint of arousal. His cheeks flushed and his bald spot shone with sweat as he reached for a tissue and dabbed the droplets away. Once he’d regained enough control of himself, he pulled out his cell phone and clicked the redial button. A few rings later, and he heard the familiar voice of his client on the other end. “How did it go?” the deep voice asked. “Surprisingly well,” Harry said. “I ... I’ve never done something like that before.” The man on the other end chuckled. “You enjoyed it.” It wasn’t a question. “I wouldn’t go quite that far, Mister Harrison.” The flush in Harry’s cheeks deepened. “Please, call me Sir. I find that much more informal than ‘Mister Harrison.’” “I, uh ... don’t know if I feel all that comfortable calling you that, ... Sir.” Harrison chortled. “I’ve already sent the payment, along with a little ... let’s call it a bonus, a reward, if you will, for excellent service.” Harry’s mouth suddenly felt dry. “I ... I always aim to please, Sir.” “Of course you do. You have talent, Harry. You don’t mind, if I call you Harry, do you? After all, we’ve been working together for so long.” Harry gulped. “O-of course not, Sir.” “Good. Good. You see, Harry, when I find talent, real potential, I like to make use of it, polish it until it shines so perfectly, so emptily, that I can see my own reflection.” “Um ... is this going anywhere, Sir?” Harry’s voice cracked, and he swallowed to alleviate the dryness, then fumbled for his coffee mug and took a sip. His hand trembled as he returned the mug to its place on his desk. “To put it simply, Harry, I see that glimmer in you. I see the talent, the spark. You, sir, have the soul of a conditioner, a manager, if you will, not unlike Fängsla.” Harry chuckled nervously. “Um, thank ... you?” “Which is why I’m going to start polishing you now.” “Excuse m--?” “Report, candidate.” Harry shot bolt-upright in his chair. His eyes stared unseeingly at the door to his office. “Yes, Sir.” His chair scraped back against the hardwood floor as he reached over to grab his phone and keys, then made his way to the office door. He stopped only long enough to lock it behind him and tell the secretary to hold his calls and cancel his appointments, followed by the assurance he’d be in contact soon and handing her the key to the main office. “Lock up. Take care of the place. There’s a bonus in it for you, if you do well,” he promised. And then, just like that, he was out the door walking at a brisk pace to reach his car. He had to report.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 35

You’re a linebacker, tensing down at the starting line, just waiting for the call to crash into your enemies. Your jockstrap and cup hold your manhood securely as you feel the tight hug of the lycra in your pants and the weight of your shoulder pads clinging to your bulky frame. You’re a brick wall, and you’re not about to let anyone past you as you enter a three-point stance staring through the bars along your helmet’s guard. A few flashes later, and suddenly you’re a grinning, happy-go-lucky beach bum in a speedo. You feel the volleyball resting casually between your vascular arm and your hip as you stare into that beautiful lens and chuckle emptily at the sensation of sand between your toes. Sun’s out, guns out. It’s good to show off. Next thing you know, you’re up at bat, ready to slam into that ball as it comes flying over the plate. Your hands clench tightly to the wooden bat as your gloves creak from the pressure of rubbing against the varnished wood. A thick baseball helmet adorns your crown, with an extension of the ear to protect against any blows to that area. You can almost hear someone whispering, “Pose for the cameras....” So, that’s what you do. Because that’s what good musclemen do. And you’re a good muscleman, just doing as you’re told as the flash empties your mind more and more, making it that much easier to just ... do. One more flash, and you’re a goalie who’s just made a saving catch. The ball is hoisted over your head as you prepare to throw it back into the field. The next moment, you’re posing victoriously over the ball, with your heavy cleats resting atop the blended cover of polyester and cotton that forms the outer layer of the soccer ball. Your jersey clings to all the right places as you grin for your fans. Then you’re suddenly feeling heavier as you hunch your shoulders and clutch the rugby ball close. Your compression shorts cling to your legs and your dark jersey shines with every shutter from the camera. The game must be won, the ball passed on to another teammate. Another flash, and suddenly you’re shaking hands with a member of the opposite team. You feel the surge of anger at this, but the voice whispers again. “Sport requires fairness. You must show respect.” Must show respect. You release your crushing grip and look at him with a placid expression, neither friendly nor hostile. After all, you’re both just competitors. Then, suddenly, you’re standing holding a long metal pole with a woven net at its top. A casual glance reveals a heavy white ball that holds the container down. Your pectorals jut out against the material of your jersey as you stare with just a hint of a smile and smoldering eyes. The voice whispers praise, and you grin as your body trembles with pleasure. Suddenly, you’re back at the gym, pumping a massive pair of dumbbells and loving every second of it. Your posing strap holds comfortably to you as you shift and pose in front of the mirror, never once stopping your reps as you maintain your form. It’s so good to just lift and pump, lift and pump. Flash. Lift the weights up. Strobe. Lowering down. Flash. Up. Strobe. Down. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle to yourself as you retreat to that place deep in your mind and let your muscles squeeze the thought right out of you. ‘I’m a good muscleman,’ you think as the reps continue. ‘I lift things up and put them down.’ You come to in the gym at your living quarters, still lifting, still staring. Your protein shake is on a cup holder off to the side, waiting for you to take another chug. You chuckle again as you notice the bulge pressing against your posing strap. “Big meat,” you low to yourself, then return to your vapid gaping at the mirror. “That’s right, muscleman, because musclemen are meatheads.” “I am a muscleman. Musclemen are meatheads. I am a meathead.” “Good muscleman. Good meathead. Now get back to work.” You happily obey.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 36

You lumber through your apartment door with a dopey grin on your face. It feels so good to be back. The two weeks were such a blur, but it was a happy blur. And if you were happy, then there was no need to question it. Leave the money and stuff to Harry to manage. You drop your suitcases easily by the door and stomp your way to the kitchen for your protein shake and a healthy meal. You crash down into the reinforced steel chair by your new dining table and start forking your typical lunch of brown rice and chicken, while the siren call of the blender roars through your ears. Musclemen drink their shakes, and yours would be ready soon. It didn’t take long to finish. You rise about halfway through your meal, when the motor finally dies. You don’t even wait to start chugging the drink, and make your way to your chair to resume your meal. After all, muscle machines need fuel to run, to produce more muscle. You pull out your phone and check for messages, noticing some new voicemails. You stick it on speaker and continue to eat as you cue up the first. “Hey, lil’bro. Duff here. Just wanted to be the first one to welcome ya back. Been pumping at the gym a lot, since you left. The guys all miss you. Been wondering where you’ve been at. Think I had to remind a few of them a good three or four times, before they finally got it.” Duff’s dimwitted chuckle reverberated through your ears, and you couldn’t help but join in. What a bunch of dumbasses. “I’ve been making some gains of my own, since you left. Hank’s been helpin’ me out again, pumping my brain with anatomy as much as he does with lead, so I can pass my classes. Let’s hook up again at the gym for old times’ sake. Then we can hit up that restaurant for some teriyaki. My treat. Anyways, gotta go, bro. Those weights are calling my name.” He laughed a deep, husky bark of a laugh, then spoke again. “See you soon, lil’bro.” A big grin crosses your face as you think back to all those late night gym sessions with your best bro. Duff really was a great training partner. The guy would go pretty far, once he got his training certification and graduated. Then he could help build other muscle machines. You casually shovel another bite of your meal and chew as you access the second voicemail. “Kid, it’s Hank. You’d better not have slacked off during those two weeks. I’ll whoop your ass, if you did,” he growled. You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Good old Hank, always looking out for you. “No, Sir,” you mutter absently, after swallowing your food. “Anyway, the gym’s waiting for you. So am I. Don’t flake out on me. You know what’ll happen, if you do.”  Like you’d ever do that to him. You can’t help but smile at the concern you know is hidden under that gruff bravado. The man was harsh, but after all that time under his tutelage, you’d come to understand that elusive language all musclemen seem to share on a subtler level. Every word, every action held a hidden meaning. With those few short sentences, the man had communicated an ocean of questions and concerns ranging from diet to health and dedication to maintaining ties. “I missed you, too, Hank,” you say as you smile at your phone. Of course, neither of you would say that to your faces. Musclemen don’t do mushy. They banter. They bluster. Their muscles do the talking and the thinking. Every word said and not said is registered and interpreted in that secret language that’s becoming more and more natural to you with each passing day. You pop a double bicep pose and flex, grinning in that way that says, ‘I am healthy. I am happy. I am ready to return to work.’ “I want you here bright and early tomorrow morning. No excuses, understand?” You chuckle to yourself. Why put off for tomorrow the workout that can be done today? Besides, you’d like to see that stony face surprised for once, and what better way than to come unexpected? “I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.” The message clicked shut and your smile widened. You can’t wait to throw him off his game, just once. The third message had Harry’s familiar voice blaring out the speakers. “Kid, that last shoot was incredible! The camera loves you, and so did the photographers. They said you were one of their best models, bar none! I’ve got some paperwork I’ll need you to sign a little later for some last transactions and a few formalities involving finances. I’ll drop by the gym, and we can take care of it during your rest period. I’m telling you, big things are coming, kid. BIG!” You chuckle as you lift up your bicep and flex one more time, watching the muscle strain and pop against your skin. “Yes, they are, Harry,” you agree. “Yes, they are....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 37

You smile as you arrive at the gym. The sun is setting, painting the stone along the building’s outside a fiery orange, and that only makes you feel more fired up for the reunion and workout to come. You open the glass door, gym bag in hand, heedless of the fact the sign has been flicked to closed and the illuminated one turned off. It’s not your first time arriving close to closing. You smile as the familiar clank of the weight machines in full swing rings through your ears. Hank must’ve decided to get in a little pump of his own, after shutting things up for the night. After all, people knew better than to try to break into a gym frequented by bodybuilders and run by one of the greatest personal trainers the circuit has ever seen. You make your way easily to your usual locker and quickly pull out your combination lock. After you grab what you need from the bag, you stow it in the locker and click the lock shut. You drape your hand towel over your shoulder and start to guzzle your protein shake you prepped before coming down. You already feel the familiar tension in your muscles as the surge of your heartbeat rages in your ears. That same dimwitted smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you passed through the locker room door and back into the entry point. You flip the cap shut on your mixing cup and strike into that double bicep pose you’ve been practicing as you let that smile pull into a confident grin and step onto the main floor. “Yo, Hank, I’m--.” Hank wasn’t on the floor, but the gym was packed with some of the most chiseled and buff men you’ve ever laid eyes on. Barbells bent with the sheer weight some of these men were repping with as rippling muscles strained against their singlets. “--back,” you finished lamely. Nobody responded. Nobody stopped. You strode into the fray, watching as the builders and lifters pushed in eerie silence. No cursing, no growling, no roars of rage or triumph. You felt almost like a ghost as you passed through their ranks. Those who weren’t at the machines stood in a perfect line in front of the floor-length mirrors. Their bronze skins shone slickly under the lights, whether from sweat or those oils you’d heard Duff gushing about, you weren’t sure, but the sheer synchronization of their movements was incredible. They switched as one man, fluidly, from pose to pose. It was almost like a dance, pure poetry in motion. You couldn’t help but give a sympathetic flex of your own at the sight. This. This was the ideal. This was what you were training to become. Perfect strength. Perfect symmetry. Poetry in motion. Over at the drink bar, a familiar flash of red drew your attention. Stocky builders would walk to the counter and grab the cups lying in wait along the counter’s surface. You approached and smiled at the familiar face of your lifting buddy. “Yo, Duff. What’s up?” Duff continued about his business as if he hadn’t heard you. He mixed the powders with the proper fluids, then closed the lids and started the blenders, before turning back to you again. When he noticed you hadn’t moved, he strode over, picked up a cup, and shoved it at your chest. “Please drink and return to your workout,” he said in a peremptory tone, not unlike those robo recordings you used to have to deal with when you had to call about your banking and stuff. Man, were you glad you didn’t have to worry so much about those things anymore. “Duff? Big bro? Anybody home?” you asked as you waved a hand in front of his face. He didn’t have the chance to respond as a group of the hulking giants came over and shoved you aside to drink lustily from the cups. Once again, Duff sounded the refrain. “Please drink and return to your workout.” When the drinks were finished, they slammed the cups down on the countertop and rose from their chairs. “We have finished our drinks,” their voices echoed in unison. “We are returning to our workouts.” And that was it. Duff took the dirty cups to the wash station and cleaned them up, without saying a word, while the men returned to the main floor. Then he dried and refilled the cups to place on the counter top again. “Uh ... okay, then. Guess I’ll catch you later,” you say lamely as you lumber away from the bar. This wasn’t exactly the welcome back you were expecting. Practically all the weights and equipment are being hogged by the titans, and there’s still no sign of Hank in sight, so there’s nothing you can do about it. You sigh and decide to poke around a bit. Maybe some of the equipment will get freed up in the meanwhile. It was worth a shot. You’d hate to waste the trip, especially after that letdown with Duff. You wander over to the door marked STAFF ONLY. Maybe Hank is back there. You test the door and find it unlocked, so you pass through into a long, broad hallway. A series of doors stand on either side, just waiting to be explored. A smile pulls at your lips. Maybe this wouldn’t be a wasted trip to the gym, after all. And if you did get into trouble, well, you were just looking for Hank, after all. Surely, he could forgive you for that. You pick a door at random and test the knob. Much to your pleasant surprise, it’s unlocked. The room inside is dark, so you flick a switch to get a better idea of what’s inside. A series of speakers have been mounted on all sides of the space, while a single large monitor sits atop a desk. A mounted camera in the corner stares sightlessly at the opposite side, clearly inactive. You shrug and withdraw, making your way to the next door. You continued your search, finding more of the same. After the tenth one of its kind, you were getting exceptionally bored. You decide to try one last door, before you turn back. The handle shifted as easily as the others had, but when you cracked the door, this time, you saw something different. The light was dim as you stepped through, save for the glow on the monitor highlighting the familiar face of your landlord. A sandy shirt clung tightly to his frame, highlighting the beginnings of a perk in his pectorals that you knew only too well from when you first started your journey of growth. His eyes were completely locked on the screen, his pupils wide as the light flickered over his face. A thick set of headphones had been mounted over his ears and as you drew nearer, you could just make out the familiar camouflage pattern of military style fatigues and the heavy duty boots that lay beneath them.  “Collin?” you ask. He doesn’t answer. You walk around behind him to see the rapidly flashing images of tanks, missiles, heavy duty weapons, marching soldiers, men saluting, ancient soldiers fighting in their armor, battle scenes, all superimposed over a flickering spiral and words that flit in and out along the screen at random points. Finally, he lets out a sigh, followed by a, “Sir, yes, Sir.” Since when had he gotten all gung-ho about the military? You get closer and pull one of the earphones off slightly, leaning in close to pick up on whatever is playing. “That is good. You’ve identified your commanding officer. And you will listen to your commanding officer at all times, won’t you, soldier?” “Sir, yes, Sir,” Collin said dully. You reel back from the headphone as it plops back into place. That voice. That was Harry’s voice. “What the hell...?” That was when the door came open and a heavily breathing Hank stared at you. “Hank, what’s going--?” “Sleep, muscleman,” he ordered. And suddenly, everything went dark.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 39

You never thought wearing your jock strap could ever feel so good, but after spending a good couple of days in the hospital in little more than a gown, it felt so right being reunited with one of your favorite undergarments. You pat the pouch fondly as you look down at how full it is. It actually feels almost snug now as it cradles your privates. The rest of your clothes were a little tricky with the bandaging and dizzy spells, but you managed, with a little help from a couple of nurses. Duff grinned at you from the receptionist’s desk. “Hey, lil’bro. What’s up?” You chuckle. “Oh, you know, the usual.” “Now, remember to keep resting for at least another week,” the receptionist said. “The doctor left those instructions specifically for you. Give that bruising enough time to heal, before you even think  about using those weights again.” “That’s gonna be a little hard,” Duff snarked. You couldn’t help but chuckle yourself. “Lifting’s about all we ever really think about.” You both grin at her cheekily. “We lift things up and put them down,” you recite together in perfect unison, then laugh again. The receptionist rolled her eyes, but held her tongue and proffered a clipboard your way. “Sign on the line below, and we’ll release you to your friend’s care.” You quickly sign, then you’re home free, walking to a large charcoal-gray van and the familiar towering shape of Hank. He smacks you on the back and smiles. “Welcome back, muscleman.” “Good to be back, Sir,” you say with a mock salute. “Smartass,” Hank said gruffly, even as he smirked. “No, Sir. I’m a total dumbass. Ask anybody in town,” you say with a smile. “Huhuhuh,” you chuckle. “All right, dumbass, let’s get you home, then.” You smile. “Sounds good.” “You and I are going to have to have a long talk, later,” Hank said as he pulled open the sliding door effortlessly. “There are some things I need to iron out with you.” “I thought iron was for lifting.” Hank stared silently at you for a few moments. “Was that a joke?” he finally asked. “No, Sir. It’s healthy for a muscleman like me to pump iron. I love to lift things up and put them down. It’s right for me to lift things up and put them down. I need to lift things up and put them down.” You know you’re repeating yourself, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It all feels so good to say. It takes a few moments, before you realize your arms are tensing as your pectorals pop back and forth. “Recovery first,” Hank insisted. “Then we’ll see about the lifting.” “But--.” “No buts,” Hank growled. “That’s an order.” You sigh dejectedly. “Yes, Sir.” “Now let’s get you settled in.” A few moments later, you’re sitting in the middle of the bench seat behind the driver and passenger’s chairs. Hank smiles into the rear view mirror as Duff slides into the front and clicks his seat belt home. “I’ve got a little treat for you, though, since you can’t lift right now. Call it a consolation prize,” Hank said. He pressed a few buttons and suddenly the vehicle reverberates with a familiar whirring as the speakers kick in. Your mind immediately slows as a big grin plasters itself all over your face. Then the screens mounted on the backs of the driver and front passenger seat both flicker on, revealing a pair of spirals and images flickering faster than your severely retarded thinking process can track. “Now just listen to the recording and watch the movie, muscleman. I made them especially for you.” “Yes, ... Sir....” you drone as you fade off into the nothingness again and revel in it. You grin, unable to help yourself as you murmur, “It’s good to obey.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 40

You chuckle as you stare into the mirror and flex, posing with your muscles. Words like musclehead, dumber, lift, don’t think, obey,” lick so gently through your earbuds as you grin blankly at your reflection and it looks back. “So, what do you think, Lil’bro?” Duff asked with an equally vapid grin as he posed next to you. “I don’t think. I flex,” you repeat automatically, instantly, like the muscle machine you are. “Needs more pop in the pectorals. Show them the pump, but don’t make it look like you’re trying. It needs to be natural,” Hank instructed. You immediately breathe deeply, thrusting the upper portion of your chest forward, even as you keep your smile plastered. A thrill of pleasure rushes through you as you feel the familiar tightening in your crotch. “I am a natural meathead bodybuilder,” you say, even as the recording continues to whisper its affirmations of agreement into your ears, stimulating that now familiar numbness in your head that settled in so easily, after the accident. It was like that blow to the head just ... made everything so much clearer, so much easier to just focus and let go. Your eyes drifted briefly over to the corner of the mirror, where a hint of movement pulled your gaze. Harry stood in front of a man in military fatigues and a sweaty olive-green shirt that clung to his frame as he mounted the bar and slowly sat up. A set of earbuds sprang from his own ears as he stared ahead and rose swiftly to his feet, clicking his heels together as he offered a sudden salute. His face was clean-shaven and his dark hair had been reduced to mere stubble as he promptly dropped to the ground and began methodically performing a series of core exercises to the agent’s barked commands. You notice a slightly baggier waistband and pant leg as Harry shifts his stance and folds his arms, revealing the hints of mounds that are starting to press against the fabric in the sleeves. Then your eyes are back on the military man and his head. The words induction cut flash through your brain, followed by a dim memory of a dark ponytail and a sweaty puffing face as you worked out in front of your television screen at home. You stop as realization suddenly strikes and you point at the man in the mirror, before lowing, “Lil’bro.” “Not yet,” Hank said gruffly. “Commercial first, muscleman.” “Yes, Sir,” you repeat as the strange urge leaves you and you resume your posing, completely oblivious to the once interesting cadet.

You shudder in pleasure at the sound of the heavy metal doors shutting firmly behind you. The bells went off as the take finished and you turned back to see the grinning man in the yellow shirt holding the door open for you. “That was brilliant!” he praised you. You shrug, letting the plaid button-up shirt you’re wearing ride up against your thick pecs, while the tight shorts cling in just the right places to leave you comfortable as you show off the powerful muscles and well-developed tan that you’ve gained. “Not a big deal. I got a lot of training,” you say as you lapse back into your normal deep tone from the heavy Austrian accent you’d been pressing before. “Besides, I really have just been lifting up and putting down for the last few months. I was just saying it like it is for me.” The two of you step back onto the set and you smile at the sight of a smirking Hank next to a sleeker man with well-toned muscle. “You killed it, kid. Great job,” he praised. You beam at the compliment and look questioningly at the man staring woodenly ahead beside your coach. “This is Brutus,” Hank said. “He’s the owner of this new gym chain and my future partner. When people are ready to take the next step in building, he’ll refer them to my gym and we’ll be able to transfer membership seamlessly.” He clapped Brutus on the back. “Isn’t that right, Brutus?” “Yes. We’ll introduce them to a world of fitness, until they are comfortable and confident with their bodies,” Brutus said with a smile. “Then, when the time is right, we’ll take the big fish and put them into a bigger pond, so the smaller ones don’t feel threatened or intimidated. Jeff here has been waiting for a chance to get big for a while. He’s one of the main reasons we came up with this scheme in the first place,” he said, pointing to the man in the yellow shirt. Jeff blushed. “It’s kinda flattering to think of it that way. You’ve both been so kind to me.” “Just wait till we put you through your paces with your trainer. Then we’ll see how kind you think we are,” Hank said with a hearty laugh. “He’s received training in all the most recent and efficient techniques, including some of Hank’s own unique program. You’ll be in good hands,” Brutus assured Jeff. “Who?” you ask. “Who else?” Hank asked with a smirk. “Duff, of course.” “Duff? But I thought--.” “He’s accelerated, and he already earned his certification. Based on my recommendation, Brutus is confident he’ll do a fine job.” “Yes, I’m confident he’ll do a fine job,” Brutus parroted in a strangely chipper sort of voice. “So, uh,” you say somewhat sheepishly, “can I use the equipment now?” Brutus shrugged. “Why not? It’s just models here today, anyways, and we have plenty of footage to edit for the commercial.” You grin as your pecs begin to bounce in excitement. “Awesome. Let me show you the basics, Jeff....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 41

You beam openly as you step off the stage and out of the hot lights. Your posing strap holds perfectly to your wide hips as they sway back and forth in that familiar swagger that’s become your natural mode of locomotion. A massive cardboard check is clutched in your right hand as you grin almost childishly at your trainer. “I can’t believe I just won!” you gush. “And at my first competition.” “I told you I’d make a proper bodybuilder of you, didn’t I?” Hank asked, smiling enthusiastically as he bore his teeth in a grin to offset the thick dark stubble that had grown in around his face. “Yes, sir, but I mean, wow. Just wow! This, this makes it official. I really am an actual bodybuilder now.” “And how do you feel?” “Fucking fantastic!” You’re still grinning, heedless to the many knowing smiles and angry glares directed your way. “I’m so full of energy. I feel like I could run a thousand miles.” “Then we should see about working some of that off, shouldn’t we?” Hank chuckled. “Yes, Sir!” Hank chuckled again. “You’re a regular gym addict, aren’t you, kid?” “Musclemen are big and strong. The gym is where we all belong,” you say in the tone like a child reciting a line of overpracticed prose. “The gym and the stage,” Hank agreed as he wrapped a burly arm around your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

The familiar sounds of fife and drum thrum in time from the crack beneath as you knock on Collin’s door. Of course, a knock for you is more like an aggressive pounding, but musclemen should always show off their strength, and it wasn’t like you were about to bust it off its hinges or anything. It took a few moments, but the music finally paused and the door opened to reveal Collin’s sweat-streaked face. His gaze was somewhat distant and his pupils seemed to be having difficulty adjusting to the light, as if they were resisting shrinking. As usual, he wore his fatigues, a pair of heavy duty boots, and a shirt with earthy tones that currently clung to his toned frame in wet patches. “Hey, Lil’bro,” you low gently as you smile down at him. A big grin spreads across Collin’s face. “Welcome back!” He laughs as he lunges forward to embrace you. “Harry called me with the news.” He smacks you manfully on the back, then steps off. “So, how does it feel to win, Mister Bodybuilder?” You smirk. “Fucking amazing.” “Hell yeah, it does,” Collin said. “Come on in. I was just in the middle of my workout.” The broad suite was more like a house than it was an apartment. The floor had a massive open concept with a great kitchen filled with sleek modern appliances and an almost spartan level of cleanliness as the marble counter tops shone in the overhead lights. Your eyes wander over to a gun rack, where you note a series of shot guns, rifles, and pistols waiting to be used. “Found some more for your collection, huh?” you note idly as you lean in to peer at the registrations that are mounted behind each of the weapons against the backdrop of a flowing American flag. “Gotta keep up the practice,” he shrugged. “You talk to that recruiter yet?” Collin shook his head. “Not yet. I wanted to, but....” His brow furrowed in confusion. “I ... don’t exactly remember why I didn’t, actually. Something about ... not ... quite ... ready.” “You have to be in tip top shape.” “I ... have to be in tip top shape,” Collin parroted. “Ready to follow orders.” “Yeah....” “Ready to obey.” Collin nodded dreamily. “Sir, yes, Sir.” You chuckle. “Nah, man.  I’m just your bro. Your big bro, but still your bro.” You smile knowingly at the familiar twitching you see in his hands and pectorals. “I think I’ll leave you to your workout, man. We’ll talk later, okay?” “Yeah, ... later,” he said as he reached for a remote. “Gotta get fit.” “Fit for service,” you prod gently. You remember how much he loves talking about stuff like that. “I will be a good soldier. A good soldier serves his country. A good soldier obeys.” “That’s right, Lil’bro.” You smile as the fife and drums renew their rigid cadence and you take your leave. That smile soon grows into a predatory sneer. Seeing his growing muscles has left you with a pump of your own, and your body practically vibrates with the need to exert itself. You couldn’t get to your apartment fast enough.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 42

“Looking good, Harry,” you low as you tower over the man who had first nudged you into your incredible metamorphosis. He panted and huffed as he pushed the bar up again and again in rigid form. “I can’t ... believe I’m doing this,” he grunted. The agent’s arms trembled as he puffed out several short breaths, struggling to reach that top. “Image is an important part of any business deal, Harry. To negotiate from a position of strength, one must be a pillar of strength,” Hank said as he looked on calmly from the side. Then he looked over at you. “By the way, I like the new design. The gym logo looks good on you.” You grin, bouncing your pecs, which causes the golden bicep and upper arm that is the gym’s logo to “flex” over your chest. “Your gym is the best! How could I not agree to be your top model?” Hank cleared his throat. “While I appreciate the flattery, I believe you have some more ... pressing matters to deal with.” He pointed down to where a beet-faced Harry was struggling to maintain his position as his arms locked in place. Your eyes widened and you quickly dove in to intercede. “I got you, Harry.” “It’s I’ve,” Harry grunted as you began to lift the bar ever so slightly for him. “No, I’m pretty sure your name is Harry,” you reply with a completely straight face. “Unless you’ve been lyin’ to me?” “God, you’re such a dumbass,” Harry swore as the bar finally landed above its resting point and dropped into place. “Well, uh, yeah,” you say, still not getting it. “It’s good to be a dumbass, cause that’s what a muscleman is, and it’s good to be a muscleman, so it’s good to be a dumbass. Just a big, buff, ... burly, ... brawny....” you slur off as that familiar pleasure and emptiness strike at your brain again. Hank frowned, then called your name. “Why don’t you go prep the weight machines for your group session tonight?” “Huhuhuh. Sure thing, Coach,” you low, then turn and lumber away. “A good muscleman obeys.” Hank watched carefully as you made your way through the gym’s patrons towards the Staff Only closet. He watched as you withdrew the weight machine control key and various cleaning supplies, along with a set of stanchions to cordon off the machines that were to be used that night. Content that you were thoroughly diverted, he rounded on Harry and glared. “You don’t ever insult my musclemen, especially not my new ones. You’re damn lucky he didn’t listen to the Loud and Proud track, or you would be little more than a smear I have to clean up off the floor.” He snatched Harry’s workout shirt in one mammoth fist and yanked the man to eye level. “I’m the one in charge here. I’m the alpha. You are the gum on the bottom of my shoe. I allow you to stay, but I can take away everything from you just as quickly, then cast you aside. I could make you fatter than the Stay Puff marshmallow man, more timid than a wild rabbit, and more sensitive than a butterfly. See how well you broker deals, after that.” Harry gulped. “Clearly, you need more training. Perhaps walking a mile in their shoes will help you to have a little more patience for them in the future.” “Um, that’s all right, Sir. I-I’ve learned my lesson. I promise. Scout’s honor.” Harry chuckled nervously as he watched the predatory sneer pull across Hank’s face. “Good. That means it’s time for a new one. Conditioning time, Harry.” Harry’s eyes widened, then he gasped and his body went limp. “Ready to receive,” he uttered in a dull monotone. Hank lowered the man back to the floor. “Report to sound room C. You have a new persona to incorporate.” “Yes, Sir. I understand.” Harry turned smartly and marched straight for the STAFF ONLY door near the shake bar. Meanwhile, Hank raised his digital watch and tapped a few buttons on its screen. When an affirming tweet sounded in his ears, he smirked, then turned to look back at your well-toned deltoids and carved lats stretching the fabric on your shirt. “I can’t wait to make you bigger,” he purred.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 44 (End/Epilogue)

You smile goodnaturedly at the blushing young man fidgeting in front of you as you run your sharpie over the photo from your greatest triumph, the day you broke the world record for strongest man. A hint of silver has come into your bristles along the side of your head, but you didn’t mind. It was a sign of character, after all. You still felt young and strong, even after all these years in the spotlight. For the briefest moment, as you look up from the photo at that beaming face, you see the shadow of your former self staring back up at you with adoring eyes. It flickered away as quickly as it came, but you took an interest as you stared at the man’s figure. He was slim, yes, but there was definitely tone there. He wasn’t a slouch. It was quite possible he had potential, just that he couldn’t reach it on his own. You sure didn’t, till you met Hank. You can feel your twin bodyguards chafing as they fold their vascular arms impatiently. Harry said he’d found them on a website. You figured that was probably true, but you had your suspicions about what kind of website that may have been. Of course, you were careful to avoid going too far down that road. Last time you tried, you dropped into trance again. Besides, it wasn’t for a muscleman like you to think about such things. Your purpose was to Lift things up and put them down. You hand the signed photo back to the man and chuckle. “Hey, kid, how’d you like to join me for lunch? I’ve got a few friends I’d like to introduce you to.” The kid blushed. “I ... I don’t know....” “Aw, come on, Draco. It’ll be fun!” “Um, it’s ... Drake, Sir,” the man muttered. “That fire in your eyes when you stood up to my guards says otherwise, kid. I’m calling you Draco, no ifs, ands, or buts. Think of it as a nickname,” you suggest. “Duff and I had plenty of our own, when we first started in the field.” You chuckle then. Ah, good times. Good times.” You wrap your massive arm around the young man’s shoulders. “Come on. It’ll be my treat.”

You sighed in contentment as you laid back in your chair and smiled up at the ceiling. In all the years you’d been trekking around the globe, this place still had some of the best damned teriyaki you’d ever tasted. You couldn’t help but smirk at all the gym goers chowing down. Each of them wore a familiar bicep logo somewhere on their person. One endorsement from a pro bodybuilder, and the whole place had practically exploded. The influx had been so great that they had to relocate and renovate to accommodate all the extra business. “Everything sitting with you well, Sir?” Shirley, a cute little lady with curly blond hair asked as she returned to refill your glasses. “Just fine, Shirl. Thanks for asking.” You smile kindly at her and she giggles and blushes. You then turn your attention back to the table, where Duff and Charlie both sit mashed next to each other. Two young men sit to either side of them, glaring at one another, and you can’t help but chuckle at the sight. “You know, Chuck, I never thought I’d see you out of those fatigues again.” Charlie let out a deep, rumbling laugh. “Y’know, I never thought I would either. The army was everything to me. It feels so strange being retired now.” “Benefits are good, though,” you point out. “The country takes care of her veterans,” he agreed as he adjusted the camouflage pattern ARMY cap on his head. “Been getting back into the ROTC scene again. Feels more like home, you know?” You laugh. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m gonna miss the circuit.” “You can’t be planning to retire just yet,” Duff scoffed. “You’re too dedicated for that.” “Muscle is my life,” you agree, “but even I can’t fight aging.” You shrug. “I figure I’ve got a few more years left in me, but I’m gonna have to pass the torch, eventually.” Duff eyed Drake speculatively. “And do you have any candidates in mind?” You shrug easily. “One or two. I’ll need to test them, though, see if they have what it takes.” “And what about you, Draco?” Duff asked. “What do you do?” Drake blushed, doing his best to avoid Duff’s gaze. “I’m an accounting student, Sir. I’ve always had a good head for numbers.” “That so?” He smiled. “Maybe you can tutor Lance here,” he said as he thumped the young teen hard on his back. “Math and he don’t exactly get along.” “Dad!” the boy cried exasperatedly. “I-I’m not sure if I’m that qualified, Sir. I focus on finances specifically. Algebra and geometry don’t exactly fall into that scale.” “Oh, I’m sure you can do just fine. I can pay you well, you know. And besides, if you were invited here by the big honcho himself, then you can bet you’ll be seeing a lot more of us in the coming weeks,” Duff added with a smirk. “Wait, what?” Drake asked. “Duff, stop confusing him,” you growl. “What, can’t a big bro have a little fun with his little bro’s protege?” “He’s a guest, Duff,” you stress. “Sure he is,” Duff said as he rolled his eyes. “Say, where’s Hank, anyways? I thought he was supposed to be meeting us today.” “He told us to start without him, said something about a last minute appointment. You know how busy he can be.” “Huh. And I was hoping to introduce Draco here.” You shrug. “Guess we’ll just need to make a stop there, then.” Drake gaped at you. “Hank? As in Hank Harrison? The Hank Harrison?” You chuckle. “The one and only. You didn’t think I’d stop at just introducing Duff and Chuck here, did you? We can leave as soon as you finish your meal.” You looked on in satisfaction at how quickly he devoured the other two bowls you’d ordered. As you had suspected, the kid had a fast metabolism. You allow a knowing wink to pass between yourself and your two friends. Their smiles widened in response.

The gym ran in full swing as you made your way past the reception desk and strode confidently out onto the floor. As you had suspected, there was no sign of your coach, though business was clearly booming. Youths and adults alike grunted and sweated together as they performed their various exercises. You quickly guide Drake through the STAFF ONLY door and pass down the hall towards the great door at the end. You were taken by surprise, when one of the side doors creaked open and a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out, looking dejected. He was soon followed by the titanic frame of your coach, Hank Harrison. “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that kind of habit in my gym, Albert. If you can stay clean for a year, come back then and try again. That’s my final ruling on the matter,” Hank rumbled as he looked down almost pityingly at the muscle man. Albert nodded, then lumbered sadly away towards the entrance. “Another steroid user?” you ask. Hank sighed and shook his head. His whiskers had taken on a steel-gray, and just a hint of a pudge had started to form on his belly. “They all think I care about how big and muscular they are. What I want is someone who can teach and work safely with my clients.” He smiled sadly. “Hey, Kid. Good to see you again.” You smile and give the man a quick bro hug with a thump on the back. “Good to see you, too. I see the gym is doing well.” “I can’t get them to stop coming. Something about wanting to be like the world’s strongest man,” he teased. “And who is this?” “Draco,” you say, quickly cutting off any chance for Drake to get the first word. “I met him earlier today, after a gig at a local showing. Thought he might like to meet you.” Hank raised his brow in surprise. “Is that so?” “He’s a good kid. Smart, clean, brave, and one hell of a metabolism.” “And you wanted to introduce us.” You shrug causally. “Already did for Duff and Chuck. Figured I’d round it out.” “Is that so?” This time, he gave Drake a much more scrutinous examination. “And it couldn’t wait?” “No, it couldn’t,” you say pointedly. “I wanted him to have the chance of a proper one-on-one.” “I see.” He tapped a few buttons on his watch, then strode over to the big door. he’d just emerged from. “Why don’t we step inside, then? I’m sure my other clients won’t mind waiting a little longer, and besides, I’d like to hear a little more about you, Draco.” “Um, ... it’s Drake, ... Sir,” the kid said somewhat hesitantly as they passed through the door and into the room. You smile as you note the gentle buzzing filtering out from the speakers. Then you enter, too, pulling the door shut behind you. Coach could see it, too. You knew. Now it was just a matter of convincing the kid. That wouldn’t be much of a problem. The muscleman in Drake was just waiting to bust out. And no one could do busting better than Hank. Time to pass the torch.

Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/635700023353622528/credit-goes-to-musclecorps-is-for-this-image

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181232201117/endemic-evolution-chapter-4-there-you-see-its

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 3

Doctor Lee Chen Barton blew out his mouth like a whale as he surfaced from his breast stroke. They had studied the subjects for the last month with little success in isolating the disease. On top of this, a certain degree of worry gnawed at him. He peered over at the poolside, where Doctor Rante Simmons was just finishing another round of drawing blood samples. A pair of swim trunks hung somewhat loosely against his trimmer frame. The man’s eyes remained rigidly fixed on the vials, but Lee could see how Simmons would pass his gaze over the other men’s rapidly increasing musculature. His hands would squeeze and caress a little longer than necessary, and a bulge began to tent in the man’s crotch, pressing against the fabric. Lee knew what needed to be done. He waded confidently through the pool’s waters, heedless of the splashes that sounded behind as others bellyflopped or otherwise disturbed the waters. The air was heavy with the scent of chlorine and the humidity of the warmer waters. The resistance against his thighs was almost electric as he waded through the shallows and finally mounted the stairs. “Doctor Simmons, I can take over for now. Why don’t you take a dip in the pool? You look like you could use one.” Simmons blinked owlishly and gaped a moment, as if he’d only just noticed his colleague. “Sorry, what?” he finally managed to ask. Lee laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “The pool. You should take a dip. Cool off.” He looked pointedly down at Simmons’ crotch. The man at least had enough decorum to blush. “I’ll finish the samples and get them ready for shipping.” Simmons nodded and cleared his throat. “Right. Call me if you need me. I’ll be just over there.” He strode purposefully toward the pool’s steps and winced as he got up to his thighs in the water. Then he arced under and was lost beneath the surface. Lee sighed and looked up at his next patient, a more recent addition to the ranks. Kyle Lambridge was a former staff member under Malloy’s employ. The young man had been careful to avoid contact with the other men, and Lee had been hopeful the boy could be cleared to leave in due course, perhaps even prove to be a source for an inoculation to cure the disease. Unfortunately, Kyle had proven to the contrary. His reaction when he finally manifested symptoms had been so violent that he practically jettisoned into the Gym Rat stage. As a member of his staff, Malloy had taken full “responsibility” for the boy and now watched over him like a mother bear. He trained him in the weights section. He pushed him to eat more than his peers. And his mental faculties, well.... Lee had managed to catch the two of them chatting in the locker room once.

“It’s not that bad, really, once you get used to it,” Malloy had said. “You just have to sort of accept it, ya know?” “But I--”

“No buts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” “But I don’t want to....” “Bullshit. Your body wants to, so you want to. It’s natural.” “... Natural....” Lee’s breath had begun to take on a labored tone. “Does it feel bad to you?” “N-no, but--” “What did I say about buts?” “S-sorry, Sir.” “Now listen to me. Your meat’s trying to talk to you. Listen to it.” “I--” “Don’t think. Just do.” A low moan escaped Kyle’s lips. “Just ... do....” “That’s right, bro. Do it.” “Fuck,” Kyle hissed. He grunted and his voice deepened. “Oh, fuck.” “Told ya, lil’bro. Best feeling in the world, except maybe for a good pump.” Kyle chuckled. His voice deepened with every husky guffaw. “Fuck yeah, it is.” “So, you scared about it anymore?” “Fuck no! Huhuhuh....” “That’s a good bro. Finish up. We’ve got a lot of reps to do today.” “Yes, Sir....” He grunted again and chuckled. “Dunno why I was so scared before. I’m such a dumbass. Mmm ... yeah, just a big, burly dumbass....”

Lee had been quick to make his escape. He didn’t want to see what had just transpired, though he could guess only too well the lesson Malloy had taught his new protege. The fact the boy’s body and privates had both experienced a growth spurt less than twenty-four hours later only helped to strengthen those suspicions. He would be remiss not to admit the discussion had caused a certain amount of arousal. That was part of his reasons for spending so much time in the pool. The cooler water helped to shock his more carnal nature and left him clear-headed to focus on their work. Malloy soon approached. A confident easy-going grin was plastered over his face. He quickly wrapped a burly arm around Kyle’s shoulders as Lee finished the last of the bandaging. “Doc,” he acknowledged. “I see you’re doing well today.” He glanced down at Lee’s trunks and the grin widened as knowing eyes gave his expression just a hint of a sneer. “I like the look.” Lee shrugged. “I like to balance modesty with sex appeal,” he said bluntly. “The time we’ve spent here studying you has given me plenty of time to make my body more ... presentable for these.” “Oh, sure. Sure,” Malloy agreed amicably. “What are you up to now, anyway, a hundred pounds?” Lee grit his teeth as the familiar tingle rose in his crotch. “One twenty, if you must know.” “Not bad,” Malloy approved. “Keep at it and you might be as strong as me one day.” Lee nodded as he attended to the next patient. “Perhaps. But then again, I thought a man of your stature didn’t like competition.” “I don’t.” He wrapped an arm around Lee’s shoulders and smirked. “But I always make exceptions for friends. We are friends, aren’t we, Doctor Barton? Or should I call you...?” “Lee.” The word was out of his mouth before he could even think, and a sense of vertigo suddenly assaulted his senses. He grunted as he shouldered the extra weight Malloy forced on him. The man had quite literally become a block head. Every aspect of his jaw and features had become sharpened by angles to mutate into a bizarre parody of a polyhedron. His bristly beard scratched against the side of Lee’s head as he breathed heavily into the doctor’s ear. “Lee, huh? I like that name.” He released his deadly press and choke hold, then turned to Kyle and sneered. “Come on, kid. Time for your protein shake.” He laid a guiding hand on Kyle’s back and steered him away, even as the boy began to bounce his pectorals, just for the sake of the spectacle. Malloy stopped only long enough to turn around and offer his last farewell. “I’m looking forward to seeing more of you, Lee. Much more of you.” He sneered openly. “See you around, stud.” Lee couldn’t tell if it was a compliment, tease, or insult. Then again, it might have been some of all three. He subtly cupped his package on the sly. The effects of his dive in the pool had worn off. “Damn it,” he swore. It had only been a few minutes, after all. He peered over at the pool. Simmons had taken a seat on the edge at the deep end. The water glistened on his dark skin and he rubbed a hand absently over his torso as he watched a trio of Meatheads pose and flex by the hot tub. The desiccated remains of large plastic bags and the red dye on the labels indicated what had once dwelled within those coils. That and the small chunks of ice that had been thrust out of their makeshift ice bath to rest on the floor. He was too far away to tell, but Lee was almost certain his colleague’s crotch was bulging. No more joking. No more mocking. No more mimicry. After the way Malloy had treated him, it was time to face facts. Somehow, some way, they had become infected.

Muscle Cab

“Often referred to as an illness, what do you call the process by which a person undergoes a metamorphosis into a familiar gym stereotype?” the driver asked as they came to another light. The lights in the ceiling continued to flicker and pulse in a series of slow patterns ranging from ripples to spirals and more. The two passengers leaned close to each other to council over the matter. “I totally read a series about this,” the first whispered. “Chad, we already missed two questions.” The second passenger yawned. “I don’t know if ... if ... uhhh....” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Damn, lost my train of thought.” “What’s to lose, Brett?” Chad asked. “Our smarts,” Brett countered. Chad rolled his eyes and let out a longsuffering sigh. “Brett, that can’t happen in real life. That’s for fiction.” He wiped his sweaty brow, oblivious to the stubble that had begun to grow in on his chin and upper lip. Brett’s head lolled and bobbed like a cork on water as his jaw slackened and his eyes became glassy. “Who’s Fiction...?” he asked in a low voice. Chad’s eyes darted over to his sleepy friend, then back at the driver. Bright white teeth were borne in a grin through the rear view mirror. “Would you care for a visual aid?” the driver asked. The strobes were getting brighter, faster. “Uhhhhh....” Brett’s head bobbed on a sudden speed bump. “All right, then!” the cabby boomed excitedly. “Turn your attention to your screens, and watch.” The screens flashed to life, first portraying the image of a smaller young man with a hint of a pudge and glasses. In a matter of seconds, that image morphed into a new shape. The boy’s torso was flat now, and he’d begun to gain some muscle definition. Next, the image morphed to show the kid wearing compression gear as he pumped a set of dumbbells. Veins had begun to bulge on his arms, and his face had become more defined and angular. His once longer hair had been cut back to bare stubble. Then it transitioned to the final stage, where a complete muscle stud stood with a vapid grin, posing for the camera. His chest was bare for all to see the chiseled six-pack and swollen pectorals. A bulge pressed at the crotch of his compression pants, and his legs were like carved marble slabs. His trapezius muscles had expanded to the point where they curved over his broad shoulders and transitioned smoothly into the deltoids and other muscle groups farther down the arms. Chad panted as a sudden wave of warmth washed over him. The cab felt so small. His head kept spinning. “Ten seconds, boys.” A gleaming trickle ran down from the corner of Brett’s mouth as he took deep, steady breaths and stared unseeingly at the screen. “Brett? Come on, man. This isn’t the time for sleeping.” He grabbed his friend’s arm. FLASH went the strobes. Chad’s mouth dropped open. His hands recoiled as his eyes widened and his pupils slowly began to expand, rather than contract as they adjusted to the lights. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Five seconds,” the cabbie lowed. Brett’s arm swelled. His skin tightened as a vein began to snake its way along the anterior compartment of his forearm. His shirt creaked and strained as his shoulders began to expand and his frame grew inexorably out from his place behind the driver’s seat. “G-get me out of here! Let me off. I don’t wanna play anymore!” “What’s the matter, big shot?” the driver asked in a menacing tone. “Don’t know the answer?” He sneered. “Four....” Brett’s hands rested over his crotch as his body slumped back and his eyes began to close. Chad’s breathing grew labored. “I ... I don’t wanna be a meathead!” “Should’ve thought of that when you agreed to the game, kid,” the cabbie purred. “Three...” Everything began to slow as the rapid thumping of his heart matched the rapid strobe of the lights. Come on, Chad. Think! he thought. The door handle was locked, and he couldn’t engage the window. He pounded his fists against the window, but to his horror, his arms swelled with every blow. Even his pectorals puffed up as he tensed and released them. “Two...” The number crawled through the air, like a cheap movie sound effect. Only Chad knew he wasn’t in a movie. His cheeks flushed. He felt a sudden mass pressing between his thighs. He looked at his crotch as the bulge swelled. His eyes darted to the transitioning images and he gasped as he watched the same swelling taking place in the subject on screen as the photo morphed. Please. Please, God. No... No. N-- FLASH “One.” The voice was so slow, he could hardly understand it. His face, once contorted in anguish, now lay slack. His eyes, once alive with fear, now stared unerringly at the screen. His pupils dilated farther. “Uhhhh.....” “Zero.” A loud snap sound effect coincided the final flash as the panels died and Chad’s head slumped back automatically. His arm touched Brett’s, and Chad’s growth accelerated dramatically. Tears shredded through the air, coinciding with the loud pops of reinforced seams bursting, all while their arms, torsos, and legs inflated with dense muscle. The driver chuckled as the lights on the walls pulsed a dull white and the tattered remnants of his passenger’s clothing reassembled into a pair of tank tops: gray for Chad, blue for Brett. A darker tan suffused Brett’s skin with a healthy glow, while his hair retreated into his scalp to leave a simple buzz cut. Every piece of exposed skin was smooth, not a hair in sight. A pair of bluejeans manifested on Brett, while a set of black gym shorts appeared on Chad. “Sorry, gentlemen, but the answer was Meatheadosis.” The driver chuckled to himself as he watched his handiwork settle in. A few minutes later, he nudged the men. “We’re here, Sirs.” The two newly reborn men slowly came to and grumbled. “Uh ... wuh?” Chad lowed in a dull bass. “We’re here,” the cabby said again. A large gym stood outside with the illuminated figure of a muscular man flexing both arms on either side of his head as his legs spread out to brace him. The words Meathead Oasis glowed dully, and the A of Oasis flickered. “You didn’t win, but hey, you got a free ride. And besides that, as a consolation prize, the both of you get a month’s free gym membership.” He handed both men a gift certificate. “Have fun, boys.” Two identical grins widened on the boys’ faces. “Fuck yeah!” they roared together and slapped their hands in a high five. “Thanks, bro,” Brett said happily as they hauled their much larger frames out of the back seat. “Don’t worry about it. You two have a great day. Get a sweet pump for me.” “Huhuh. You’ve got it,” Chad guffawed. Then he slammed the door shut and the two advanced on the gym’s doors.The driver turned toward the hidden camera mounted by the rear view mirror. “These two failed, but you never know who might succeed to win that big money prize. Find out next time, folks, on the Muscle Cab, brought to you by Meathead Industries. See you then.”He winked, then turned off the camera.

To See The Light

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted you with a massive grin as he opened the door. “Come on in! Sorry I missed D&D the other night, but my old man and I were doing some real father-son bonding stuff, you know? S’the first time in ages we’ve actually had fun together.”

You were rendered speechless for a time as you gaped at the sleeveless muscle tee that draped over your friend’s form. His light brown hair jutted out beneath the bill of his snapback. A healthy tan had replaced the paler skin you recalled him bearing just a little over a month ago. Your eyes traced over the curves and definition he’d developed in his arms and chest.

“You okay, bro?”

You blink at the question. “Sorry, what?”

“You were kinda zoning out.”

“Sorry. It’s just ... you look ... different. Have you been working out?”

Chris let out a deep throaty chuckle. “Every day, bro. Dad and I have been going to the gym nonstop. Sure, I had trouble at first, but look at me now, man. I’m jacked!” He grinned again as he flexed a bicep to emphasize his point. “C’mon. I got everything ready for tonight. This party’s gonna be sweet!”

“You got the table set?”

“Table, drinks, snacks, the works. Today’s my cheat day anyway, so Dad won’t mind if I break my diet a little. He even got these new spot lights, so you guys can really see everything.”

“So he’s cool with you hosting tonight’s campaign?”

“It’s fine, bro. He said the more the merrier. Bros gotta hang out sometimes, am I right?”

“Uh ... yeah,” you said uncertainly as you followed him into the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. Since when had he started talking like some sort of ignoramus? Seriously, he sounded more like some sort of meathead than he did the boy you remember having so much fun with talking video games and RPG elements. Sure, he’d always wanted to be big and buff, but you never thought he’d push himself this far. “Are you sure things are okay?” you finally managed to ask somewhat timidly.

“Better than okay,” he assured you.”Things are fucking fantastic!” His heavy steps thumped along the stairs as he raced down to the basement floor. “Dad and I used to argue a lot, but now it’s just ... better. We’re finally seeing eye to eye on things.”

The heavy clank of metal striking metal and the thump of heavy music echoed numbly through a door in the far end of the basement.

“And you dad won’t try to interrupt or anything?” You wince. “I know he doesn’t really like us that much.”

“He doesn’t like D&D, bro. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you guys. He just wants to make sure we’re all active, like boys our age should be.” He reached down and scratched at his crotch. “Gotta say, once I started, I kinda got hooked. It’s hard to stay still anymore. My body just keeps wanting to move, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” you say noncommittally as you look over the room. A deep-seated sense of foreboding had taken residence in your chest. That drastic of a chance to take place in just a month seems ... well, practically impossible. And the change in Chris’ manner and speech patterns was also highly suspicious, yet there was no sign of foul play that you could see just yet.

True to his word, a large table had been set up in the middle of a stretch of basement. The dungeon master’s divider had already been set up, and a dish filled with various bags filled with sets of dice had been prepared for each of the players, should they have forgotten their own. Another table had been set up at the edge, laden down with chips, dip, punch, soda, and other hors d’oeuvres.

Chris strode past all those to the window, where he closed the blinds and reached over to a nearby switch. Brilliant white light flooded out from two cylindrical sockets, bathing Chris in their light and causing his skin to glow as he raised a bicep and grinned.

“See? Gives a pretty damn good view, don’t it?” He chuckled and flexed. “Mmm ... what a pump.”

“Chris?”

A low blush flooded your friend’s cheeks as he turned his head to face you. “Dad and I like to spend time here after a good workout,” he admitted. “We ... sort of have a pose-off. I know, it’s kinda stupid, but ... I don’t know, it just feels good to do it, you know?”

“Not really,” you admit as you look down at your somewhat pudgier frame. “Don’t exactly have the figure for it.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, bro,” Chris chastened.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m not. You remember how Travis used to treat me till we got together in class.”

Chris scowled. His jaw became set as his traps flared and his shoulders tightened with his clenched fists. “He’s not picking on you again, is he?”

“No, no. We’re good for now. It’s just ... well, look at me. Fitness and I are like oil and water. We just don’t get along.”

Chris was silent for a few moments as he stared at you. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Come here.”

You approach slowly. “Um, why?”

“Just come on. I’m not gonna bite, you know.” Chris rolled his eyes in exasperation.

You couldn’t help but smile. That was the Chris you remembered. “All right,” you finally relent as you step over next to him.

“Now close your eyes.”

“Chris....”

“Close your eyes, man. We’re gonna have a little role play of our own, just you and me.”

Now you’re blushing as he seizes you and you feel a sudden warmth on your face. The light shines through your lids, and you know you’re standing under the two spotlights.

“Now we’re gonna imagine you’re not yourself, got it? Forget about Travis. Forget about what’s happened before. We’re putting you in the shoes of a big hulking barbarian. You know the type. Warrior class, lots of strength, plenty of charisma and constitution. A real brute of a man.”

“Chris, this is--.”

“I said to focus on your character.” His hand slaps firmly on your shoulder, while the other seizes your left wrist. “Picture it, man. Picture those broad shoulders, those wide lats, massive pectorals, a rippling six pack, and thick, powerful biceps. Imagine those muscles straining, bunching, tensing. They want to move. They want to be used. And as a warrior, they’re the first answer to everything. Because the warrior is just that, hired muscle.” He pulls your arm into position and pulls your wrist back slightly to force your arm to bend and tense.

“Chris, I don’t think--.”

“You’re right. You don’t. As a muscular barbarian, your task is to simply be the muscle. Now, you’ve been challenged to a pose-off. Some tiny man is challenging your masculinity. Such an insult cannot stand. You lash out. You punch.”

He forces your arm forward in a harsh jab and quickly pulls it back.

“He dodges. You raise your arms in a guard.”

Suddenly, you feel his arms pressing yours against one another in front of your chest. His bigger frame is against yours, and you feel incredibly uncomfortable, and ... just a little hot.

“You take a blow, then duck and strike. Your blow connects, due to your experience with brawling. Next, you give him a solid kick.”

His foot forces you to push your own out as he supports you.

“Chris...”

“Exultation floods you as your heart rate picks up. You have laid your foe low to the ground. You have defended your honor, and an intimidating scowl leads the cur to fleeing with his tail between his legs. You know what comes next, bro.”

You blush. “A victory crow,” you mumble.

“Exactly.” You feel your hands thump heavily against your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you with Chris’ machinations. “You flex your muscles to an adoring crowd of maidens and jealous men who wish to have had your courage, after routing the lout.

“Chris, I--.”

“Come on, bro. Just one little flex. Just one. You don’t want to disappoint all those adoring fans, do you?”

You sigh. “You’re not going to let me go until I do, are you?”

You could practically hear his grin. “Nope.”

You have a reluctant sigh. “Fine.” You raise your arms and proceed to tense your upper body. It was a paltry attempt, but enough to show you were trying. “There. Are we done now?”

“Not quite. Let me show you how it’s done. Gotta have the proper form.” He moved you around like a man would a doll, and you had to put up with it, because he was stronger. With every pose, he would praise you. With each new direction, he would twist you around to make sure the light highlighted the “best side.” It gets sort of monotonous after a while, so you just let him do what he wants. You’re not sure how much time has passed, when you suddenly notice the bottle cap waving in front of your face.

“Hey, kid. Drink up. You’re gonna drop from exhaustion at this rate.”

You blink slowly. “Uh ... wuh...?” Something feels ... different somehow.

“Water. Drink,” the big man said as he made exaggerated motions, then sneered.

“Dad!” Chris laughed. “Knock it off!” He punched the behemoth of a man lightly. 

You blinked owlishly at your friend. How long had it been? Your mouth felt so dry. You reach to the bottle and take a heavy swig of its contents. Seat has drenched your frame, and your clothes have ridden up against you. You notice a set of adjustable dumbbells laying on the table next to the D&D dice.

“What ... just happened?” you ask. Your head feels stuffed with cotton. Your voice ... is sort of dull, lower, like when you’re congested with a cold.

“You got a little too into character,” Chris said with a smirk. He popped a flex under the lights and you swear his shirt looked tighter than it had before. You gape in amazement when you see your free arm has followed his in almost perfect unison. A ridge had begun to rise out from the fat that had accumulated there. “I ... I have a bicep,” you finally manage to say.

“Everyone’s got a bicep, kid. Drink up,” Chris’ father instructed. You suddenly feel the bottle shoved to your lips. Cool water rushes down your throat and coats your tongue. You drink greedily and crush the bottle in your grip. It feels good to do that.

“‘Atta boy,” the man cheered. “You enjoy your little posing session?”

“Uh....” you respond, at a loss for words.

A heavy hand smacks you on the back. “Of course you did. Come on. Let me show you a few tricks. I’ve got the time, and your party won’t be starting for a while yet.” He smiled and guided you to the open door frame. The music pumped. More spotlights beamed overhead with their glare, flashing like cameras off the polished metal surfaces of the gym equipment. You hardly even noticed the sound of the door closing behind you as he planted you down and started running you through some basic exercises with a set of dumbbells.

“See, boy? It’s nice and simple. Your body knows what to do. You just have to let it move.”

You do. And a dull chuckle pushes its way out your mouth as you fall into that simple pattern. You watch a television screen in front of you showing a transition video and you smile as you watch the person pump in time to the beat. You watch the muscles inflate. And you chuckle as a tan slowly creeps over his pale skin. A high and tight cut replaces the old bowl cut from before. The jaw becomes more chiseled and defined. A low, “Fuck yeah...” echoes and reverberates in the room as you stare with glazed eyes at the screen and the changing teen staring back at you.

Chris’ father sneered as he watched you continue to work, heedless of the changes taking place in your own body, despite the mirror he’d planted you in front of. He chuckled as he watched a series of security monitors mounted next to a control panel. Chris was already lumbering to the front door, where another boy waiting to be educated on the joys of fitness stood.

“One down, four to go,” he purred.

“Fuck yeah, bro,” you low absently, completely unaware what you’re praising in the rush of endorphins and the sheer mindless ecstasy of the repetition. All that mattered was the work and the lights warming your skin as you shredded your muscles to get swoll.

The muscle man chuckled as he watched second guest gradually became enamored by the fixture. It was so good to help them see the light.

Driver Wanted

The bold print stood out from the clipping as Andrew made his way onto the lot. The company must have been pretty small. All he could see were a total of three cars and one single story office building. That being said, the cars were very nice, indeed. Their exteriors shone with a fresh coat of paint and cured protective glaze that spoke just how new they were.

He brushed his hair to the side again as he fussed with his parted comb-over and advanced on the building itself. The interior was well furnished with a more modernistic metallic theme. Black carpet and black leather chairs were highlighted by shiny chrome lamps and side tables. He maneuvered around a burnished metal coffee table that sat in the middle of the waiting room, then approached the front desk.

The secretary seemed a little on the young side, but who was Andrew to judge? If he could do his job, then more power to him. The kid couldn’t have been much older than his mid-twenties. He stared at the screen, typing feverishly behind the monitor as the light flickered over his eyes. His mouth drooped somewhat lazily, as if he were struggling to stifle a yawn, and his hair had been completely bleached to the point of looking almost white as it rose in a series of spikes reminiscent of a boy band. It fit his blocky jaw and tight muscles, however. A set of gray sweat pants and shirt hugged to his frame as he spread his legs wide and continued to type, heedless of the new arrival.

“Excuse me,” Andrew finally said. “I’m here for the interview? I called ahead.”

The kid blinked slowly, then lifted his head to stare at Andrew. The boy’s dark eyes rolled over Andrew’s broad shoulders, his pudgy frame, thinning hair, and hazel eyes.

“Name?” he asked in a low stuffed-up voice.

“Andrew Simmons.”

The kid tapped the space bar on his keyboard, then clicked his mouse a few times to draw up a new program. He scrolled a ways, then nodded. “You’re here early.” He reached for a phone and began to dial. “Take a seat. I’ll call the boss.”

Andrew nodded and strode back to a curved metal chair with black cushions to cradle its occupant. The cushions’ promise did not lie, though the curve made it difficult to support his lower back properly, which left him with a certain amount of discomfort that eventually left him leaning forward with parted legs, so he could rest his elbows on his thighs.

“Sir?” the secretary lowed. “Your next appointment is here.” He listened intently and nodded. “Yes, Sir. I told him, Sir. He’s waiting.” He nodded again. “Yes, Sir. I’ll give him the paper work right away. Yes, Sir. I’ll resume the video after. Thank you, Sir.” His mouth split into a broad grin. “Yes, Sir!” he said excitedly, then hung up and snatched a clip board and some papers from a folder nearby. He practically raced over to where Andrew sat. “Boss has some papers for you to review. Non-disclosure, liability, that sort of stuff. You know how it is.”

Andrew nodded. He’d performed enough stunt driving to know the usual risks and protections involved in a job. His gaze trailed over the boy’s form as he took the paperwork and a pen from him. The kid’s legs were carved like granite, and he walked so proudly. It was more like a strut than a walk. His legs swaggered in his stride, and a light bulge in the sweatpants’ crotch was more than hint enough for why the boy chose that particular gait.

The kid smirked and flexed a bicep. “Like what you see?”

Andrew blushed. “Sorry.”

The secretary just grinned. “S’no problem, bro. I like when people stare at my muscles. Muscles are meant to be admired.” He flexed again as a dreamy look came over his face and he began the return trip to his desk. “Admiration leads to motivation leads to activation leads to....” He continued to mutter to himself as he strode to his chair, sat down, clicked out of the program he’d used to look up Andrew’s appointment, and pressed the space bar again. It didn’t take long for him to start gaping again.

Andrew hastily dove into the paperwork and began analyzing the wording. Much like his other standard contracts, there were the usual safeguards for the company, along with a stated amount of income he would receive for his services and royalty payments, should any footage taken in the course of a drive be used for a commercial.

“Mister Simmons.”

Andrew’s head surged to attention as his neck craned up and up and up to stare at the man that stood before him. The kid was a dwarf compared to the brawn that stood before Andrew now. Andrew quickly surged to his feet.

“Sorry, Sir. I didn’t hear you come in.”

The man known only as Boss chuckled. “Kind of the point of the carpeting. I like to see what kind of reflexes my drivers have when something unexpected occurs. Shall we, Mister Simmons?” He motioned with a meaty hand toward a door marked STAFF ONLY. Andrew took the hint and pushed ahead. The door led to a long hallway lit only by fluorescent overheads that flickered occasionally as they passed along.

“My business is broken into what you might call a set of microcosms integrated into a fine-tuned system,” the man explained.

“Um, excuse me, Sir. I’m sorry to interrupt what I’m sure will be a fascinating explanation, but you haven’t told me your name yet,” Andrew cut in.

A scowl played over the owner’s face for a moment, then it broke apart as he laughed. “I haven’t, have I? Sorry. I like to get down to business when I’m dealing with work. The name’s Boston. Boston McTavish. I ask my employees to call me Boss. It’s a joke as well as a good way to break the ice, so we can be on more of a first name basis.”

“And the sirs?”

“I can’t help it if I’ve garnered that much respect. And let’s not forget societal norms.”

Andrew shrugged. “Fair enough. So, Mister McTavish, you were saying?”

“Boss,” McTavish corrected absently. “I was saying we have a series of focuses in my service that exist to integrate into a proper whole. We focus on body work and maintenance for the occasional special order. And as you’ve seen, I put a particular emphasis on body.” He winked at Andrew. “Part of the benefits package includes a fully stocked gym for workouts. Now, back to business. We have a unique model of cars for ride service. We specialize in escorting and transporting a variety of clientele. Though our particular niche market focuses more in the richer quarters of the states, we also have a variety of transport geared toward the average customer on their way to or from work. Many of our customers are converts from other services. This is on account of our exceptional service and professionalism. It is a standard I expect all of my drivers to maintain, whether they are working the ride service or not.”

“If you have such a large following, how come I haven’t heard of you before?”

“We originally started in the west coast. This branch office has only recently been opened to offer our services out here in the east. I have enough men covering things out west that I can afford to come out here and ensure the setup goes smoothly.”

“And I assume this is where I come in.”

“Exactly. I want to see how well you drive and how well you can follow instructions. Assuming you pass, you’ll have the job and all the benefits that go with it.”

“Such as?”

“Full health and dental, for a start, and in the event you really impress me, an opening salary of twenty dollars an hour.”

Andrew raised his brow. “That much.”

“And that’s not including royalties, should you be chosen as the driver for any future commercials or advertisements we put up. And, assuming you excel and bring more customers or prompt enough positive reviews, you’ll get bonuses with your checks.”

“What’s the catch?”

“I need you to be available when I need you. Most of the time, schedules will be worked out in advance, but sometimes we get last minute customers. Most will be looking for transport either to or from a gym.”

The door opened to reveal a massive cement garage and a waiting sleek black muscle car. There were no labels or brands that Andrew could detect. “What’s this?” he asked.

“In a word, progress. In more words, a new model of car unique to my company. I’d like for you to test drive it for me.”

“You’re sure you have enough money for all this? I mean, going into making a new brand of car is pretty expensive.”

“Which is why we’re only using the one for now. Our other cars are easily modified with any extra additions they may require, and then inspected by qualified individuals. This one, however, is all us, and we intend to make use of it. As with the other models, it’s passed inspections and is up to code. What I’d like for you to do is take it for a drive.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. I want it to be put through its paces. We’ve already arranged for a course to practice on, and have all the necessary permits. So, are you in?”

“For test driving, I suppose so. For the job, we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Of course, of course,” Boss said. “Now let’s finish that paperwork, so we can get this test started.”

The car rumbled in a massaging purr as Andrew turned on the ignition. The chair had adapted to his body almost perfectly with its various sensors, and the wheel sat easily in his hands. The cool leather gave him goosebumps as he stared out into the forested area.

“Listen closely, Andrew. We want this to be a good clean run. Start off slow, then run it through its paces. You read?”

“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Andrew replied as he reached down and shifted to first gear. The car pulled out slowly and easily as he began along the course. The rough dirt road was level and dry, so there wasn’t a need to worry about testing the shock absorbers this time. Cool AC blew in his face as he began his run at a leisurely twenty miles an hour. His skin prickled as he pushed the gas pedal and heard the engine’s roar.

“Looking good, Andrew. Run her around for the first lap as a warm-up. Then we’ll see how well this muscle car can flex.”

Andrew chuckled. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Andrew stirred impatiently in his seat as he rounded the final curve and passed the starting line. The moment he was free, he quickly picked up the acceleration and shifted the stick. The car roared exultantly as it spat up a cloud of dust and debris. Andrew chuckled at the familiar tingle of adrenaline coursing through his system. “Someone’s anxious,” he muttered.

The car spun smoothly as he took the sharp turns, digging into the track to pull the traction forward. It practically jumped forward as he ramped up the RPMs and switched into high gear.

“Oh, yes.” He smirked as the trees began to blur by. His body tensed as he clutched the wheel and his heart pounded in his chest. He shuddered in pleasure, the noticed an icon light pop up on the dash. “Hey, Boss, what’s with this mark on the dash board?”

“It’s just the driver assist function. Don’t worry about it,” Boss replied.

Andrew grunted as he rolled his shoulders to readjust his shirt. Things were starting to feel a little snug. “Whatever you say, Boss.”

“Damn right, whatever I say,” Boss teased.

Andrew laughed and scratched at his chest. “What’s this bar icon for?”

“Storage charge. The car’s a hybrid. Gas for the harder faster road and electricity for residential driving. The battery’s just charging, while the gas is burning.”

“Oh. Okay.” He scratched his head and the bristles on his high and tight cut scraped as a dull haze settled over him.

“Eyes on the road, Andrew.”

“Yes, Sir,” Andrew said as he rolled his eyes. He knew what he was doing. The scent of the car’s air freshener washed over him, putting his body at ease as the familiar scent of old spice, or maybe AXE, filled the air. The sun flashed as he took a turn. He blinked and grinned as he barreled through the straightway. They knew the course. They recognized the track. It was easy. He reached over to pat the dash board and sneered at the sight of his muscles tensing against the driver suit. “Ready to really show off?” He sneered as he pushed his foot on the pedal and forced the engine to roar in agreement. “Fuck, yeah,” he muttered under his breath.

The next run, a bout of tunnel vision struck as Andrew pushed himself fully into the track. The car rumbled under his body, massaging it as the seat adjusted to his needs. The static from the bluetooth radio was soothing. This course was his, and he owned it. He never even noticed the tears and pops sounding in his ears. They were only so much static. He had to stay focused.

He raised an arm and chuckled as he glanced at it. His bare bicep launched into the shape of a hill as he flexed. His beard scraped against his shoulder as he allowed himself a piece of vanity.

The muscle car flexed. He flexed. The car showed off. He showed off. He didn’t know how many times he’d run the course now. He didn’t care. It just felt so damn good.

A dull ringing in his ears finally pulled him out of his trance. The bar was flashing white and blue, and the gas meter had dropped to low.

“All right, Andrew. Come on in. We’re done for today.”

“One more circuit?” he wheedled.

“I said you’re done. We need to run a diagnostic, now that you’ve run the car through the course. Besides, the gym is waiting for you.”

He sighed as he pulled up in front of Boss and stepped out of the car. The tatters of his driver suit dangled in the breeze. Andrew didn’t seem to notice.

“Damn, son,” Boss swore as he took in Andrew’s frame. He walked around the driver, testing the tone and density of Andrew’s muscle. Andrew’s pectorals had evolved into two thick hairy slabs mashed together by broad shoulders. He’d gained at least a half a foot in height, and a chiseled six pack pressed out into the air, while his boxer briefs strained to contain the increased mass that had accumulated in his waist, legs, and crotch.

“Call me Drew, Sir,” Andrew said. “I like it better. It’s simpler, you know?” He let out a low deep guffaw.

Boss tapped a glowing light fixture situated between the cup holders and pressed a button on his observation console. A long tube emerged with a gentle hiss. It glowed a bright blue. Boss pocketed it and smiled as he turned to face his driver. “You made this test a complete success. Thank you, Drew.” He clapped the man heartily on the back. “Now, tell you what. I’ve got a special job in mind for you, one that I think you’re really going to like.”

Drew’s eyes glazed over on the contact. “Whatever you say, Boss,” he droned.

Boss sneered. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

Drew smirked cockily in the mirror as he took in his form. The red tank top strained tightly against his muscles. The bleach job in his hair gave him a perfect layered appearance that only added to his raw sexual appeal. He barely suppressed the sneer as the rear doors opened and closed, and the customers gave him directions to where they wanted to go. Just a couple of wimpy kids. They wouldn’t be so wimpy when he was through with them. He pulled out from the curb and pressed the button, just Boss showed him. Then he chuckled as he triggered the system and the lights flared in the back.

“Congratulations, and welcome to the Muscle Cab.”

The Place

Jason didn’t know what it was about this place that was so alluring to him. The weathered building clearly hadn’t been used in years, but he kept coming there inevitably after a long day at work. He used to be a building inspector. He remembered that well. Then he got the call to visit this warehouse, make sure everything was on the up and up. The rest ... was a blur.

He remembered filing his report, of course. The building was fine. No problems. Old, but sturdy. He uploaded the photos, waited for feedback. He received a short reply for approval and everything was normal. The buyers never bothered to inquire again, though. And it seemed that attempts to demolish the district disappeared overnight.

It was odd. The building was old. So was the district. Shouldn’t it be--?

He blinked as the world came slowly back into focus. The building should be preserved. Of course it should be. None should touch the building without ...

Without what? He furrowed his brow in confusion as he pulled open the old sliding door. His dark tank brushed against taut muscle. Why was this place so important to him again? His head felt strange. Thinking came slowly. His thoughts kept coming back to the clothing brushing his muscles, the tingle in his lips and jaw.

“What’s ... wrong with me?” he asked in a low, husky voice. He stopped a moment, surprised at the sheer depth. He ... didn’t used to sound like that. He used to ... used to....

A wave of vertigo struck him as he clung to an old support beam. Another attack. They were becoming more frequent. Always when he got too excited about something stupid. He was used to this. He knew what he had to do.

Jason closed his eyes, took a deep breath, felt the fabric rise and fall in that ghostly touch against his abs, the gentle give and retract that occurred around the defined shape of his pectorals. He focused on that feeling, on the shudder-inducing tingle that sent goosebumps over his skin. The muscle always felt so good.

“Huhuhuhuh,” he laughed as his voice echoed and rebounded off the walls. The pleasure increased. The dizziness passed. What was he so worried about again? He couldn’t remember. But ... it didn’t really matter then, did it?

“Dumbass,” he said and chuckled again as he carried on. A dim light pulsed in the distance, and he approached it only too happily. The white light was good. Good to approach. Good to listen. Good to--

REPORT.

Jason stopped thinking.

Chief Science Officer’s Log: Stardate XXXX-XX-XXXX

After our vessel crashed, it has fallen to me to make use of this primitive world to make repairs and lead what remains of our crew. These creatures call themselves Humans, a most curious name. Even more curious is the series of sub-races and classifications which they grant themselves based upon origin of birth in a particular geographic area and the genetic stock which they bear from various other regions.

They are severely limited technologically, and are more inclined to fight each other like animals over territory and resources. All the same, I am fascinated by them and their adaptability.

Atmosphere is breathable, but far from clean. I’ve ordered all crew to utilize appropriate filtration aparatus as we seek to re-enable our systems to depart. Unfortunately, we have lost our beacon and our anti-gravity generators as well. As such, we have had little choice but to rely on these ... creatures to assist us in our labors.

Genetic recombination and neural stimuli have allowed us the ability to manipulate what few subjects we have managed to acquire. We’ve had to take the process slowly out of necessity to make the transition and programming more natural and avoid suspicion. A simple subroutine embedded into the data for the images that Subject J-001, or Jay-son, took ensured that our work would not be disturbed, and has given us access to the rudimentary network these creatures call the internet.

Depending on adaptability, I may have to recommend this world for colonization and subjection. J-001 is coming along particularly nicely in his metamorphosis to Blarthog. It will not be long until the implant we placed on his brain stem is no longer necessary. His telepathic receptors are developing at an excellent rate. Muscle and bone density will be our next alterations in the subject to hasten his changes and bring him closer to completion. I’ve taken a liking to this one, and may claim it as my own, after his service is complete on the ship. For now, our previous subjects are training him and pushing his body. The male is only too happy to indulge in his baser pack mentality. 

Blarthogs JX-201 and JX-202 were among the lowest caste of this world. They will not be missed, nor will their previous personalities. The sheer amount of toxins and barbituates took a whole two hours to purge, before we could proceed with the gestation. I admit the transformation holds a certain ... fascination for me. One never knows exactly how a creature will react, and the moment when they lose all sense of their old selves and willingly give into their new purpose is truly exhilarating.

I will order J-001 to consume all that he can for the next phase of his metamorphosis. We have already made use of their technology to transfer the funds he will require in this world’s currency beforehand. I have made a note to research this term that appears in the subject’s thought patterns when he sees himself in the mirror. This ... musclehead may yet be a derivative of baser and more primal genetic code to make use of. Farther notation will be made in the future. For now, I must go and oversee J-001′s strength test.

End Log.

Jason felt tired, but relaxed as he left the warehouse. Sweat coated his frame, causing his shift to cling all the tighter to his core. He grinned, baring sharper canines as he flexed a bicep. It always felt so good to work out.

Good to work.

“Fuck, yeah,” he rumbled. His eyes lost focus in a rush of pleasure as he reached down and scratched his crotch, then patted it with a smirk of satisfaction. “Gettin’ big,” he said. The smirk widened into a cocky sneer.

Alpha.

The thought hung there briefly in the haze of Jason’s mind. And then the light in his eyes hardened. He straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, thrust out his chest, and strutted out into the evening air.

His stomach rumbled hungrily.

He scratched his sweaty brown hair, now laying flat against his scalp. He raised his nose, sniffed the air, then jogged like a bloodhound on the trail. One thought drove him. One thought consumed him. He grunted and growled, “Must Eat.”

The Meating

“Uh ... I’ll just ... come back later.” You quickly left the apartment complex’s gym and the many muscle men who stood there having a posing session in front of the full body mirror.

Why were they all in briefs? Why were they all so ... focused? You didn’t recall seeing a reservation for the gym, so it’s not like this was some kind of party or something. And they didn’t seem like frat bros. Just what was going on here?

You arrived back in your apartment to see your roommate Randal chugging back another sludgy concoction. How he could stand those protein shakes, you would never understand. The sheer number of carbs and sugars in that large of a mixing cup made McDonalds’ large and thick shake look more like a medium. He let out a thunderous belch and came up for air to grin at you.

“Hey there, Roomie. That was fast. Thought you said you were going to use the gym,” he teased.

“Occupied,” you said simply and made your way to your room.

“I did try to warn you,” Randal said as he followed behind and leaned on your door frame.

“Warn me that there would be a practical porn fest going on?”

“Oh, come on. It’s not all that bad,” Randal said as he took another gulp of his shake.

“They were in their briefs, Randal. Their briefs, as in just underwear and a pair of socks. The gym wasn’t even reserved. Does management know about this?”

“Bro, management is part of it.” Randal shrugged. “Don’t see what you’re so worked up about. Everyone knows they meet there Tuesday night. S’not a crime, if the owner doesn’t have a problem with it.”

“Does the owner know?”

Randal shrugged. “Hell if I know.” He took advantage of the silence to polish off the rest of his shake, then let out an explosive hiss of air.

“Those things are going to kill you one day,” you grumble.

“Not if I keep working them off,” Randall countered with a smirk. “I’m training to be a trainer, remember? The gym’s like my second home.”

“Whatever. I’m going to talk with the owner about this. If management is part of the problem, then a solution needs to be found.”

Randall shrugged. “Suit yourself, bro. Don’t think you’re gonna get anywhere, though.” He turned and trudged toward his room. “Gonna get my workout in. Don’t disturb me, all right?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know the drill, muscleman.”

Randall stopped, turned, and grinned cockily as he flexed a bicep. “Damn straight.” He winked good-naturedly as you rolled your eyes a second time. A few seconds later, you heard the familiar clatter of his cup smashing against the sides of the sink, after he sunk another one of his ‘three-pointers.’ A half a minute later, the heavy thump of the bass in his room thudded dully down the hall and through your door.

You gulped as you stared up at the imposing shape of the building’s manager. Chris’ platinum hair had been perfectly styled with some wax to hold that familiar sheen as he peered into the apartment with piercing blue-green eyes. His tight shirt clung to the defined pectorals and chiseled abdominals on his torso. He was a good five years older than you, but that five years made one heck of a gap in the maturity of his features, including the blocky nature of his jaw and the stark gaze he had perfected over what you assumed to be the tenure of his work as a manager in the complex.

“I’ve come to talk with Randall,” he said curtly. “Is he in?”

“I think so. Is something the matter?”

“No. I just need to talk with him.” He shoved past you with little care, forcing you to stumble against the entertainment center to regain your balance. You didn’t even get the chance to call out a warning, before he was knocking forcefully at Randall’s door. You barely regained your feet, when you found yourself flung aside again by the assistant manager. His dark auburn hair had a few red highlights in it and jutted up in a series of spikes as he shoved his way past. Compression gear clung to every curve and bulge on his body. He didn’t bother to apologize, or even acknowledge your presence.

“Chris, what’s happenin’, bro?” Randall asked with a casual grin as he raised his fist up for a bump.

Chris gave an indulgent smile and returned the gesture in kind. “Nothing too serious. We just need to have a private word with you is all.” He gestured into Randal’s room. “May we?”

“Come on in,” Randall said cheerfully.

“Thank you.” He turned to glare at you. “We’ll talk with you later.”

You winced. Apparently, word of your actions had reached the manager, and he was far from pleased.

The talk took nearly an hour to finish. You raised your eyes from the book you’d been reading on the couch when the door finally opened.

“And remember to be there on time, Randall,” Chris rumbled.

“I will,” Randall’s voice carried from the hall.

“Good. Now feel free to carry on with your studies.”

The door closed. Randall’s workout track cued up, and the bass started thumping again. This time, you noted a few new chords in the soundtrack. Your eyes fell on the assistant manager pocketing a CD case.

“All that for a new track?” you asked.

“Among other things,” Chris said with a shrug. “Now, about your complaint.”

You winced, bracing for the beating you were almost certain would come.

“You were right.”

You blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t stutter. I said you were right. The schedule was completely open to anyone entering the gym to work out. Given the, for lack of a better word, cooldown ritual that the others tend to follow after a hard workout, it could be deemed scandalous to others that are seeking to use the equipment. Most of the apartment complex has warned one another about our usual time to use the equipment, so we haven’t needed to make a reservation on the schedule. That will be changing now.” He extended a hand. “I hope there won’t be any hard feelings.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Oh, we’re livid,” Chris chuckled. “But a point is a point.” He grinned as he seized your hand “We’ll just have to see who wins the match, eh?”

You winced under the man’s grip, but he maintained perfect control, never once squeezing beyond your range of comfort.

“Until next time,” he said by way of farewell. “Oh, and by the way,” he said as he reached the door, “you might consider joining us before you judge us next time. Goodbye.”

They swept out together, leaving you to stew over their parting words and the familiar beat of Randall’s music.

You watched Randall flex in the mirror as you stepped out of the shower, and smirked at his grin. “Careful there, Narcissus. You might freeze like that.”

Randall chuckled and turned to pose for you. “Jealous?” he teased.

“You wish.” You chuckled and shoved him lightly. He didn’t budge, and his pecs were hard against your hand, straining the wrist.

Randall smirked. “Something wrong?”

“Okay, Randall, I think you’ve proven you’re the stronger one now.” You roll your eyes. “Let’s get ready.”

Randal nodded and pressed play on his phone. The Bluetooth speaker blared his tracks through the room as he lathered up and shaved the stubble off his face. You finished your usual morning ablutions and tapped your toe to the beat from time to time when the playlist hit a song you enjoyed.

Eventually, the pair of you stared at each other across the breakfast table: Randall in compression gear, you in your usual jeans and T-shirt.

“I’m gonna be home late today,” he said causally. His wireless earbuds rested snugly in his ear canals as he listened to his beats. “Got a lot of new exercises to practice for my certification.”

You shrug. “Okay. I’ve got some studying of my own to do for work, anyway. I’ll see you around.”

The rest of the meal was spent in relative silence. Randall ate his oatmeal and drank a primer, before clearing his dishes, washing them, and striding to the door. You retreated to your room and began to study.

You’re not sure how much time passed before you noticed it. The sound was faint, but you knew that tune. You peered up at your ceiling, cocking your head curiously. The music built and thumped louder, louder, louder.

“What the hell...?” You rose from your chair and strode outside, then up the stairs to the next floor. It didn’t take long to track the offending apartment in question. Number Sixty-nine had always been a little run down compared to the rest of the complex. Some chucklehead thought it would be funny to screw out the nine and flip it so it mirrored the six, then forced it back in. Management let it be for the sake of good humor and the nature of the individuals who usually housed there.

You knocked. Nobody answered.

You knocked again, louder this time. A tall young man with chiseled features and a high and tight flat top cut stared down at you. He must have been a good 6′ 3″. He raised both arms in his sleeveless muscle tee and performed a double bicep flex.

“Welcome to flex fest, bro. How can I help you?” The big man chuckled at his joke. You now understood why they reversed the numbers. What better way to show a subtle nod to working out than to imagine the two numerals as flexing arms?

You introduce yourself. “I live just downstairs. Your music is pounding through the floor, and I’m trying to study. Do you think you might be able to turn it down a little?”

The rhythmic thumping surged at you in wave upon wave of sound, not unlike the beating of the ocean against a cliff.

The big man chuckled and laid a beefy arm around your shoulders. “No can do, bro. We’re in the middle of our workouts. Gotta be ready.”

“Ready for what?” You practically have to shout to be heard over the surround sound speakers that have been installed in the apartment.

“The meeting, of course!” the lug shouted back as he pulled you in. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to the guys.” He practically dragged you through the portal and into the apartment, slamming the door with a well-placed kick. The first room you entered was filled to the brim with heavy duty weights and mirrors. The kid squatted with a long metal bar on his shoulders to strain his calves and thighs with every motion. A blue singlet clung to his frame as he stared ahead and grunted in time to the pulsing beat.

“That’s Trav! Bro’s a real beast with the weights. Wants to be the strongest man in the world. As you can see, he’s well on his way.”

The next room was full of weighted jump ropes and a miniature punching bag being jabbed by a tall man with ebony skin that shone with his sweat. Powerful muscles bunched and tensed as he prepped to take another strike at his imaginary opponent. His short hair grew out to just cover the scalp, while stubble spread down the sides of his face and cascaded over the lips, chin, and cheeks.

“Andray,” the introduction went. “Came from Brooklyn, wanted to make somethin’ of himself. Thought he’d be a reporter, but then he found boxing. Lil’bro’s never looked back.”

The third room thumped just as loudly, but there wasn’t much in the way of fitness happening here. The occupant lifted a set of dumbbells in one hand, while the other clicked rhythmically on the keys of his computer.

“And that’s Douglas. He’s the new kind on the block. Bro’s only starting out, but he’s keeping up.” He strode in and reached for a half-empty cup that sat on the bed’s night stand. “Doug, bro. Don’t forget your shake.”

Douglas mumbled something back, and your guide grinned as he smacked Douglas’ shoulder.

“’Atta bro.”

He led you back into the final room, where a weight bench sat by the bed.

“Since you’re here, bro, come on in and spot me.” The door closed with a heavy slam, and you found yourself planted firmly behind the bench. “Just hold the bar if I start having trouble to help me put it up in rest.”

“But--”

“Bro, you interrupted my workout. Least you can do is help me finish my set, so I can help you with whatever’s wrong on your end.”

You rolled your eyes and let him have his way. He’d probably drag you back in, if you didn’t anyway, and it wasn’t like it was actually hurting you any.

You groaned as you melted into your couch. It hurt. It hurt so much. Why the hell did you let them bully you into doing those exercises?

“Someone looks beat.”

You rose your head in surprise. There was Randall in his gear looking you over critically.

“Sixty nine?” he asked.

You nodded weakly.

“Loud music?”

Again, you nodded.

“Figured.” He smirked. “Bro, they’re too thick-headed to change. You should just leave it and focus on doing the stuff you want to do.”

You groaned again, and he chuckled.

“Here. Let me whip up something to help.” You heard the whirr of the blender blades, winced as it grated against your ears. And then there it was, the same slop Randall had been drinking for months. “It designed to absorb all the acid your muscles make when they’re broken up, helps reduce the soreness and improve recovery time.”

“If I throw up, you’re cleaning it.”

“Nope, that’s all you,” he teased mercilessly.

You grumbled, but accepted the shake gratefully. At least he was trying to help.

“Look, I’m just saying it’s pretty obvious you’re feeling restless. A little workout here and there would do you some good.”

“I’d rather not deal with potential retaliation from every muscle member of our complex, thank you very much,” you say pointedly.

“Did the guys at Sixty Nine do anything to you?”

“... No.”

“Then I doubt the others will either. Pretty sure I’ve seen them going to the gym for those meetings. Come on. I’ll go with you, if you think it’ll help.”

You sigh. “I doubt it, but I suppose it can’t hurt to experiment.”

It hurt. Oh, did it hurt. Your muscles groaned in protest with every move as you pulled yourself out of bed. Randall grinned at you as you dragged yourself into the kitchen.

“Damn, man. You look awful.”

“You should know. You did this to me,” you complained.

“No, I just put you through a training session. Your body’s doing this to you, because it’s not used to it. Drink another shake. You’ll be fine.”

You grunt and motion to the speaker with a loll of the head. “New music?”

“Yeah. I’m experimenting with different tracks. I call this one Morning Pump.”

“Of course you would.”

He shrugged. “Gotta do the work to get the gains. It’s fun, you know.” He struck a pose. “And the benefits speak for themselves.”

“Yeah, yeah. Get going, ya meathead,” you sass.

“Yes, Sir, Coach,” Randall shot back with an infuriating smirk. “I will grow my meat. It is good to grow my meat.”

“Get out.” You blush as you feel a stirring in your loins and your muscles start to tense.

Randall bowed flamboyantly. “Your wish is my command.”

You rolled your eyes and made your way to your room, where your computer sat waiting. It was time to do some research.

Music thrummed in your head. You felt hot and sweaty. Your arms trembled.

“One more,” a voice said. “One more.”

“One more,” you mumbled.

“Just a little more....”

The weights clanked as Darwin guided the bar back into its rest and grinned down at you. “Now that’s what I’m talking about.”

You blush. “It’s not that much progress.”

“Bro, it’s enough. You broke the plateau. Now you’re really gonna start making some gains.” He chuckled and handed you a packet. “Here. This stuff has some real kick to it. It’ll really help you bulk up.”

“But I don’t--”

“Bro, you wouldn’t be here, if you didn’t want to. Now take it home, and add it to your drinks. Trust me, it’s worth it.”

“I ... thanks, I guess?”

He smirked. “You can thank me later.”

The clanking haunted your dreams. The thumping haunted your waking hours. Every second, every day, your walk, your movements, everything followed a set rhythm. You blinked blearily as you tapped the next button on your keyboard and followed the slide show. Image after image, muscle after muscle. You hovered briefly over one of them and blinked in surprise. Was that Randall?

But then the thump struck, the key clicked, the image moved forward, and you were following again. Following the rhythm, following the beat, following as the earbuds picked up on the feed from your phone. It was easy to transfer the tracks from Randall’s CD. You leaned back and stared after clicking into a new tab. You don’t remember opening it, but images and words flash before you in time to the beat. You lean back and let the cotton rub against your pecs and abs.

You blink. And suddenly the room is dark, save for your screen. The tab is gone. You’re staring at a series of tattoos. Without even thinking, you rise, you walk to the door, you ghost into the night. And everything blurs.

The heat from the gym room is stifling as you get off the treadmill. You’d long since shucked your clothing, save for a pair of briefs and a tight pair of socks that strained against the clubs your feet have grown into. You open the window. A familiar beat carries on the air and your mind slows. You reach down and pat absently at your crotch. “You’ve sure gotten big, little guy.” Then you let out a chuckling guffaw at the ludicrous situation of talking to your junk.

Then suddenly, you’re not alone. Chris smiles at you as you stare into a mirror. A camera is in his hands. You hear the click. It fits in perfect time with the thud of your music.

“That’s it,” his deep voice rumbled as he grinned. “How do you feel now?”

You look up at him, your mind awash with a strange sense of vertigo and euphoria that stuff it with cotton. Goosebumps wash over your swollen muscles as they tense, causing your tattoo to ripple over your shoulder and bicep.

“I’m ready for the meating, Sir.”

The door opens, and Randall walks in with a blank expression on his face. He stands next to you with the same brand of underwear, the same filmy socks. “Ready for the meating, Sir.”

The timer went off, signaling the end of your reserved time. You didn’t move. The room filled with muscle. You didn’t bat an eyelash. You posed. You flexed. The cameras flashed. You cycled to the machines. You worked. You went back to the mirrors again. Sweat glistened in the light to highlight the curves and striations you’d worked so hard to develop.

“Welcome to the meat,” Chris sneered.

You just stared blankly ahead as you patted your crotch again. “I am meat. Meat must grow. Bigger meat is better meat.”

He knew it was true. You knew it was true. You would grow your meat, because you were a meathead. And that was what these meatings were for.

You called to apologize to the owner the very next day. You never complained again. There was no time with all the routines you had to follow and the scouting that needed doing. After all, you had to prepare for the next meating. It was your turn to pick the inductee.

A Final Service

The demotion had been painful, the discharge even worse. Now Patrick Konahee stood in the empty white testing room with little more than a pair of boxer briefs that clung to his frame. He hadn’t been allowed the chance to serve his country properly. He’d been slandered, maligned, mocked, betrayed. But he still loved his country, an he wanted to serve however he could. No one would know of the advances he helped to make possible, but at least he would have done something for the people he loved.

“Are you ready, Mister Konahee?” the doctor’s voice asked over the loudspeaker.

“I am,” Patrick replied.

“Then we’ll begin the test now.” A warped screen not unlike an old television monitor rose on a hydraulics system, until it reached Konahee’s height.

“All right, Mister Konahee. Stare into the screen, please.”

Patrick did as he was bid. After all that military training he’d received it was almost instinctual to follow the orders of a superior. He caught a brief glimpse of his striking blue eyes and carefully coiffed hazel hair, before the device clicked on and began to hum. A plain white light pulsed gently over the glass.

“Okay, what now?” Patrick asked.

“Just keep staring, Mister Konahee, and don’t stop until we tell you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Patrick said. He continued to stare ahead, blinking occasionally as his eyes required. A creeping tingling sensation passed over his skin, and his hairs stood on end. “Sir, I’m getting a case of goosebumps. Don’t know if it’s me or the device, but I thought you ought to know.”

“Yes, yes, Mister Konahee. Thank you for the update. Now please, keep staring. Rest assured, our monitoring equipment is catching all the relevant data.”

Patrick continued to stare. A dull prickling began at the base of his chin. He scratched it, and was surprised to feel the gentle scraping of a few stray pieces of stubble.

‘Odd. I could’ve sworn I got it all when I shaved this morning,’ he thought to himself.

The humming intensified and the white light suddenly felt much less boring. The tingling became stronger, and Patrick could swear he heard the whisper of hair scraping hair as he slowly opened his mouth to gape at the screen. His pupils began to dilate as a ring of black developed around the blue of his irises, creating a striking gaze. His brow furrowed, and stray hairs drooped over the edges of his vision.

“Uh, Sirs, I’m starting to feel a little ... funny,” Patrick said. He grunted and scratched at an itch on the bridge of his nose, where the beginnings of tawny hairs had sprouted to match the hairs at the upper portion of what was rapidly becoming a fully developed beard.

“Keep staring, Mister Konahee.”

“But--.” Patrick let out a low groan. His voice cracked as his nostrils flared and began to rise. His clean-cut features became more rugged as the sharp angles of his jaw and cheek bones gradually began to press out, becoming more apparent.

“Relax, Mister Konahee.”

Patrick hunched forward as thick hairs began to sprout over his chest, arms, and the backs of his hands. He panted, and his shoulders broadened as deep furrows carved their way across his forehead. His skin thickened and began to darken as he grunted and scratched casually at his crotch. A dull smile pulled at his lips, exposing the hints of more prominent teeth, particularly his canines.

“That’s right. Just let go, Mister Konahee. Do what comes naturally.”

A loud crack sounded as Patrick’s skull began to shift, creating a natural slope that rose up into a cone atop his thickening and darkening hair. An ominous creaking was soon followed by a loud crunch as Patrick’s ribcage expanded forcefully. His chest heaved as his grunts devolved into low growls and guttural exclamations. His brow slowly swelled into a shelf-like border that overshadowed the blue of his iris and darkened it as his pupils continued to gain more prominence.

His legs bowed as calves and thighs gained mass and the arch in his feet dropped flat with a loud pop. Toes expanded and lengthened into prehensile digits, including a thumb, while his arms lengthened and his fists struck proudly against his swelling pectorals. Biceps, triceps, and flexors quadrupled in size as his new coat of fur consumed them. By now, his skin had become black and leathery. Fabric popped and tore apart as he dropped forward onto his knuckles and his back snapped to realign with this new posture.

Nose and palate jutted forward with his jaw to create a beastly maw. Lastly, his body swelled into immensity as a silver patch appeared on his back between the shoulder blades arching down.

The new gorilla huffed and panted as it stared at the screen. Its limbs trembled. Finally, it dropped to the floor, rendered completely unconscious. The whining and humming died as the screen shut off. A large bowl full of fruits and various bugs soon rose from the floor, alongside a great bowl filled with water.

“It appears the experiment was a success,” the doctor said as he pressed another button, lowering the screen on the strange monitor to reveal a weapon not unlike a glue gun in its design. “Devolution is, indeed, a possibility. We need only enhance the rate of the weapon to ensure it can transform its target quickly.” He smirked and turned to his aide. “Get word to the President. Project Regress is a go.”

Don’t Look

One year. One whole fucking year, you’d been trapped in this hellhole. One whole year of weights and shakes, supps and bros, grunts and flexes, and that constant arrogant son of a bitch that made you into the MUSCLE GOD you are today.

...

Damn it. You can’t even think like you used to anymore. Bro was clever, for a dumb pile of meat. No sooner do the words cross your mind than your body acts on its own. You hear that deep husky chuckle as your voice echoes and rebounds through the gym. You hardly even recognize it anymore. It just sounds so ... dull, so empty.

Didn’t used to like him. Hell, like never came into it. You loathed him. Kept strutting his stuff, showing off, bringing home girls and bros alike at all hours of the day and night. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. You had a schedule to keep, damn it. You had to WORK OUT.

...

WORK OUT

...

WORK OU--

Damn it! You had to go to your job. You had to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX.

...

It’s so hard to fight this thing. Your head jumps tracks every time you try to finish a sentence, to think about the old life. Everything just jumps right back to the GYM and WEIGHTS.

“FUCK!” you snarl. You wish you’d never worn those stupid AWESOME HEADPHONES.

You remember when you blew up at him. The look on his face, the blindside, the anger, and a glimmer of something else. Curiosity? Intrigue? Or had you just imagined that?

Mmm ... you’d love to imagine some hot a--

NO! Can’t give in to base instincts. That’s what he wants.

Though that one blonde, ... damn was she fine. Her voice. Her hips. You’re ashamed of what you did, but ... at the same time, ...

“I want more,” you whisper. You clench a hand into a fist. “Damn it....”

You remember the gift. He said to consider them an apology, a way to compromise, so you could, “sleep deep, bro.”

The dumbbells clack with every lunge you take now. Your body follows a set rhythm that you cannot break. Those words, those thoughts, those actions. Carefully planned, every last one. And you didn’t realize until it was too late.

Your headphones became your collar, its white noise your leash.

You’re still not sure what was real and what was dream. Strip clubs, health bars, gym work, muscle ache, kneeling, listening, a shadow, a phantom figure posing you like some giant mannequin.

It takes a moment to realize you’re now reflecting that exact pose in the mirror.

“Damn it,” you swear. “I’m such a dumbass.”

You feel your body shudder at that word. You know your programming approves, and he would, too.

You can’t remember when you first found out the truth. You just remember the anger and rage boiling inside, followed immediately by his crisp command. And suddenly, you were on the floor doing pushups. The anger was fueling you to break your last plateau.

You look down at your swollen arms.

You broke that plateau, all right.

Every move you tried to make against him, he would counter neatly, as a chess master would a novice.

You lost your job.

“Numbers are too hard for a dumbass like you.”

You lost your friends.

“You’ve got, like, nothing in common with them anymore, bro.”

The library banned you. You’re still not sure why. Maybe he greased a few palms. Big bro was hella rich.

“Who needs books, when you’ve got weights, bro?”

He blocked the channels with a password, so you could only watch athletic events.

“Come on, bro. Big game’s on. You know you wanna watch it....”

Even the beard was his idea.

“It’ll make you look like a total rugged badass, bro! Who wouldn’t want that?”

You were completely surrounded.

“Let me introduce you to some of my best bros...”

Always watched.

“Here, let me spot you, little bro.”

Stripped.

“You need some new duds, bro.”

Dressed.

“Aw, hell yeah. Now that’s what I call ALPHA!”

Fed.

“Chicken and rice. Gotta get your lean proteins, bro.”

... Programmed.

“Time to SLEEP DEEP AND FLEX, bro. Got something new for ya....”

And you let him. The plastic sheath on one of the machines creaks and groans under your muscular grip as you grit your teeth, all while the white noise continues to play, pushing you, motivating you to work harder and grow your meat. The bulge straining in your crotch would have left you embarrassed at one point. Now, all you can do is stare at it blankly and chuckle, like it’s all some sort of game, and you’re winning.

... But how much have you lost?

Then the static cuts off. You hear the ringtone from your cell phone.

Your neck strains as the muscles you’ve spent so long developing pulse and writhe under the skin. There’s only one person who’d call you this late anymore.

And you hate his guts, even as his words push you to obey and respect him.

“‘Sup, bro?”

His voice on the other end is smug. “Just checking in on my new best bro.”

You try to bite back the glow of pride swelling in your chest. You don’t succeed.

“Was just getting in some extra sets before coming home. I’m fucking starved. What’s for dinner?”

“Your favorite.”

You moan. “Ribs?” Damn him for using your love of barbecue against you.

“I figured you deserved a reward, after all your hard work.”

You flex, as though he were there. It’s natural, automatic. It’s ... how you react to a lot of things now, actually.

“It has been a whole year,” he noted. “And I wanted to celebrate with you. We’re pulling out all the stops. Hell, I’ve even got a special gift lined up for you, if you want it.”

“Don’t I have to accept all your ‘gifts,’ anyway?”

“Was that a note of bitterness I detected?”

“Maybe just a little,” you admit. You can’t lie to him. He made sure of that. Bros before hoes. Bros don’t keep secrets.

“So, you’re still not happy?”

“You should know. You are my roommate.”

“I thought you would’ve warmed up to it by now. You flirt like a champ, tackle weights like a beast, and you practically baptized yourself with beer at the superbowl party.”

You shrug your titanic shoulders. “I’m a bro, bro. You kinda m--. M--.” You furrow your brow. You can’t say the word.

“I made you like this. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

You nod.

After a period of silence, he spoke up. “You do realize I can’t see you, right?”

The sound of your hand slapping your forehead was enough to set him off laughing.

“Fuck you,” you snarl. S’not funny!” Finally, a loophole in your programming you can exploit.

He was silent for a time. “No, I suppose it’s not. It wasn’t funny when you challenged me either. You killed my date that night. Not cool, bro.”

“And that justifies putting me on a training regimen?” You couldn’t outright call it brainwashing or hypnosis. Those words had been forbidden.

“Considering all the names you called me that night, yeah. I wanted you to see just what it was like to be a bro, to think like a bro, to act like a bro. I wanted you to know just how it feels to have society judging you every second of every day for your choices, always thinking you’re just some dumb musclehead waiting to show off. Never taking you seriously, never giving you the time of day. I wanted you to see the sacrifices we had to make to get where we are with the whole world laughing in our faces. So yes, I think your ‘training regimen’ was well deserved.”

You could practically see his glare over the line.

“I may be a dumbass and a jerk at times, but at least I own it. I told you what I had planned. I let you know in advance, and you never said a word to me, not one word. Did you really think I wouldn’t have listened, if you’d just pulled me aside in private and asked? But no, you were too scared to. You thought the big bad alpha bro was gonna beat you up the moment you stepped out of line. You’re not scared of me now, are you?”

“No.”

“And why do you think that is?”

You grit your teeth again.

“Judging by your silence, you know the right answer. You’re angry at me, but you’re not scared of me, because you’ve gotten to know me.” He was silent for a time. He didn’t have to worry about you closing the call. Only he could end the conversation. “I’ll tell you what. It’s clear enough that you’ve learned your lesson, even if you’re not willing to admit it. Part of that is the pride I helped build, and part of it is the pride you had before I even started helping you. So, I’m going to give you a choice, or rather, a chance. If you want to be your old self again in every way, you just have to do one little thing. I’ll even make sure to pay you back for all your troubles and losses.”

“... I’m listening.”

“All you have to do is keep yourself from admiring yourself in the mirror. No flexing, no posing, no standing still to look over your changes. If you can keep that up for the rest of your workout time without doing any exercises or fitness-related stretches, then I’ll reverse everything I’ve done in your head. Fail, though, and you have to pay the price.”

“Which is?”

“You get to say goodbye to your old self entirely of your own free will. You’ll accept being a bro, embrace it, love it, revel in it. The bro will be you, and you will be the bro. You’ll become the dimwitted musclehead you feared. The gym will be your home, your fellow bros your family. Sports and weights, muscle and shakes, and letting your meat do all the thinking for you will be your new norm, and you’ll love every second of it.”

“And if I don’t accept?”

“Then we continue as we have.”

“Let me get this straight. So, it’s either try and possibly be free, or don’t and wind up with the failure option eventually happening no matter what.”

“Exactly.”

“... You’re on.”

“Excellent. Good luck, little bro.”

The call cut off. The static returned, and you took your seat as you reviewed your phone. Just had to keep distracted. That was all.

The first few minutes were a breeze, but after that the restlessness set in. Your body wanted to move, and you knew the recording was reinforcing that need to egg you on. You leaned forward and pulled up your phone’s apps. Your brainwashing had forced you to delete the entertainment apps and left you only with fitness trackers and camera.

You clicked into the camera app and scrolled through your selfies from the start to now. Big bro had done a good job. You had to admit that. That uncertainty solidifying into a cocky smirk. The clothes shifting to large, then extra large, then XXL. Sleeves being torn. Seams burst. It left you feeling breathless. You squirmed in your chair as you felt another surge of instinct scream at you to act, to move, to work out.

Your chest heaved as your triceps contracted under the sudden shift in your posture. You looked desperately down at your dangling necklace swinging back and forth. The chain was designed to highlight the amount of muscle you’d built in your pectorals. Surely, it could help keep you distracted for a few more minutes.

You fiddled with the chain, listening to its links hiss and chink as you hefted and manipulated it. You dug it into your skin a few times to try and distract yourself from that gnawing urge. Toes tapped, heels bounced. It was so difficult!

Why?

Your fingers played with the exercise band to keep your mind occupied, but that didn’t help. Your phone glitched, and the appc losed out. You opened the camera again, and caught a snatch of calf between all the weights.

Your breath became shallow as your hand shook.

Come on. You’re stronger than this. Think about the consequences. Think about ... about ... what were their names again? 

You could barely recall the faces of your former friends. They were more blurs than proper images. Blurs that slowly hardened into thick, square jaws and piercing eyes. The familiar impact of dice rolling on the table was replaced with the equally familiar clank of weights smacking against one another and the retort of guns on the shooting range.

Clapping hands became back slaps. Hand shakes were fist bumps. Exultant cheers and jubilant hugs were replaced with grunts, roars, and chest bumps.

That’s ... that’s not....

Tackling.

I...

Videogames with wrestling.

Can’t....

Soda cans replaced with beer.

No....

Delicate hands brushing over your beastly arms. “Hey there, stud. How about a gun show?”

Your legs are spread wide, your eyes unfocused. Weight and bars and chicks and muscle and posing and wrestling and ... and ... and....

“Heads up, Bro!”

The camera flash had been so intense back then. You blinked. You heard a shutter click.

You gaped at the image on your phone. Your thumbs moved on autopilot. You hit send.

Back at your apartment, your Big Bro smiles at the image and its accompanying text as he pulls the ribs out of the oven.

Better have those fucking ribs ready, Bro. I’m starving.

Pledge

He didn’t remember what happened last night. He didn’t remember how he got there. All he knew was his head was killing him, and his whole body ached. He groaned.

“Bro, what the hell happened last night?” He blinked in surprise. Had his voice always been so deep? He felt the warmth of sunbaked stone beneath his arm and turned his head as he stretched one of his arms up to his head and felt the fabric of his snapback. He didn’t remember putting it on.

A big house stood in the distance. Someone was standing on the porch. His sleeveless muscle tee clung to his gigantic pectorals, and his square jaw accented the broad shoulders and clenching abdominals of his torso. A few seconds later, his chiseled features blocked out the sun as he peered down at the prone figure.

“You seriously fall asleep out here, lil’bro?”

The man on the grass blinked blearily. His bicep tingled as he stared up at the behemoth looming over him. “I, uh ... I guess?” He furrowed his brow. “I ... don’t really remember, bro.”

“Big.”

“Huh?”

“It’s Big Bro. You’re my lil’bro, and I’m your Big Bro.” He lowered a hand. “Got it?”

“Uh ...” He seized the hand. “I ... guess.” He was on his feet in seconds. “Thanks, uh ... Big Bro....” He shuddered, then groaned as his eyes rolled back in his head. Wave upon wave of pleasure plowed over his body. “Uhhh.. Huhuhuhuh....”

“That’s right, Lil’bro.” The big man twisted the cap around so the bill sloped down Lil’bro’s neck and exposed his face. He sneered as he watched the man’s legs swell in the boxer shorts he was wearing. The fabric creaked as a distinct swelling began in the crotch, and a full beard grew in on the man’s face as the hairs thickened on his swelling pectorals, then spread down in a treasure trail through the shallow trench that was the beginnings of a defined six pack. “Just enjoy the ride. Let it happen.” He rubbed the man’s growing bicep and grinned. “Damn, you are gonna be huge. Think I’ll call you Swole. How’s that sound, Lil’bro?” he asked as he curled an arm around the man’s shoulders and led him closer to the house.

“Swole....” he parroted as his swelling feet smacked against the stones leading up to the porch.

“Just a big, dumb, swole bro, Lil’bro.”

“Yuh....”

The big man grinned as he pulled his hand aside to reveal a large 86 on Swole’s bicep. He flexed his own bicep to show off the giant 01 that had been inked there and watched in satisfaction as the light left the half-naked man’s eyes. “Yeah, you’re gonna fit right in, Pledge.”

“Whatever you say, Big Bro....”

The frat president sneered as the front door creaked open to reveal row upon row of muscle men posed in identical double bicep flex to salute their president, each sporting a large number on their left bicep. “Damn straight. Now go join the line.”

The Builder

“Framework is coming along very nicely,” you complimented your foreman as you looked over the joists and beams that had been nailed together and inserted into the foundation. “Wiring and plumbing seem to be going well. How soon until the basics are finished?”

“Another couple of weeks. Had to get a special distributor to fit the client’s specifications for a green building.”

“Let me guess, recycled material?”

He nodded. “You know how people want to focus on the environment now.”

“Protecting the environment, I understand. Insisting on using materials that may not be the same quality, however, just seems like a crime to me.”

“Sometimes, you just have to work with what you have. Speaking of which, I think someone wants a word with you.” The foreman motioned curtly with his head.

You turned around to stare at your latest work in progress. The lad had grown a great deal since he helped with the last house. A sleeveless tank clung to his bulky frame as his nipples stood out against the tight material. Veins ran down his arms in rivers as a set of dog tags jingled and clinked in the gap between his pectorals. A shiny white helmet obscured all signs of the lad’s hair, but you already knew he’d buzzed it down at your request.

“What did you do to me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“Excuse me?”

“What the hell did you do?”

You shrugged. “Employ you, train you, pay you. Was there anything else you wanted to accuse me of?”

“What did you use on me, steroids or something?” he growled as he stepped closer.

You rolled your eyes. “Please. I’m a builder, not a drug lord. All I did was remodel you for the job, the same way I would any house. It did the trick. You’re adhering to the rules of the site and performing your job admirably. Thank you for actually wearing your hardhat today, by the way. It suits your hard head, a head so thick and square, so well defined. Why, I’d even go so far as to call it a block. Yes, a hard hat on a block head.”

“Wh-what’re you--?”

“A hard hat making it so hard to think. A block head blocking those pesky thoughts. Built like a brick, built like a wall, a wall that only I can pass with my words, my key.”

He stumbled and swayed. “S-stop--.”

“Yes, stop talking. Stop thinking.”

His hands clenched as he trembled. “No,” he practically whimpered.

“No thoughts, no worries,” you continued relentlessly. “No pesky doubts. Just my voice. It’s time for an inspection, Blockhead.”

His shoulders slumped. His arms rested lazily at his sides as he stared blankly ahead at you. “Ready for inspection,” he said in a dull monotone.

Your foreman whistled. “Damn. I never get tired of seeing that.”

“You think that’s special, wait till you see what I have in store next.” You smirk as you look at the young man. “You’ve been building nicely. A strong foundation is important in any building project.” You brush over each of the man’s muscles, testing for resistance, mass, and fat index. “Strong walls,” you note. “You built them sturdily and well. A little more strength never hurts, though. Let’s make them a little bigger, shall we?”

The workman rasped as his jaw snapped and cracked to gain greater definition, while the tanktop rode up higher and tighter under his armpits. His shoulders broadened as his biceps, triceps, and flexors swelled alongside his pectorals.

“Those walls need a firm foundation.”

A few seconds later, the workman grunted as a bulge began to press against the toes of his work boots. A brush of your hands over the footwear, and they expanded by two more sizes to fit the new broad feet they housed.

“Now for the plumbing. A proper house needs good strong pipes and a powerful pump for the well.”

The worker’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as he groaned. More veins spread over his musculature, creating a vascular spectacle.

“Such a deep, deep well. So full. So deep.”

The muscles in the workman’s neck thickened as heavy cords became more apparent. A thick lump jutted out midway down his neck, while a bulge pressed slowly against the crotch of his jeans and continued to expand with every breath.

You nod in satisfaction. “Now, more importantly, it’s clear we need to work on that faulty wiring. You’re too suspicious of me. That needs to change. After all, I’m your boss. I want my workmen to trust me. No more worry about changes. All you need know is that I’m the boss. You do what I tell you, because of that. From now on, you’re a proper member of my work crew, understand? No need to question the builder’s renovations. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m a builder, so i know what I’m doing. I’ll even install a dimmer switch for the lights upstairs, so you can think more clearly on the important tasks with my permission. Aside from that, though, you’re going to stay my big lumbering blockhead, got it?”

“Yes, Sir, Boss....”

“Good boy.” You snap your fingers and watch as he blinks. There’s a definite dullness about his eyes as he stares at you for a few moments. “Yeah, Blockhead?” you ask.

He reached up and scratched the back of his head. “Uh ... you need me to carry more stuff today, Boss?”

You shake your head. “No, but Taft here bet me fifty dollars you won’t be willing to put on a gun show for us.”

He blinked slowly, then raised an arm and flexed it as he furrowed his brow. A subtle protrusion began to form in the bone structure over his eye sockets as he did. A few seconds later, he beamed at you. “Do I get to split it with you?”

You smirk. “Sure, big guy.”

He chuckled. “Then let’s do this.” And with that, he began to flex, straining his clothing to its absolute limits against his new physique. The whole time, he bassooned a deep husky chuckle. “Huhuhuhuh....”

It didn’t take long for the other workers to respond in kind. You sigh contentedly at the sound.

“I do love my blockheads,” you say. Then you chuckle. “And that’s why you never mess with the builder, Taft.”

Taft chuckled. “Don’t gotta tell me twice, boss.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to remodel you, too.”