Iq - Tumblr Posts
Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 6
“They’re swarming the compound, Hunter. More than half have been converted already.”
“Why hasn’t anybody shot them, damnit?” Hunter growled.
“We’ve tried. Somebody rigged munitions. It’s all blanks.”
“How the hell can our entire armory have been compromised?”
“Very, very carefully,” Stone said. “I’ll have to thank Arsenal later. He should be waking any moment now. He’s such a good meathead.”
Hunter groaned.
“Aww, what’s the matter, Agent Hunter? Feeling a little heavy? Oh, but I bet it feels so good, doesn’t it? It’s hard to resist all that growth, all that power. Why don’t you just … let it go?”
“F–Fuck you,” Hunter said through gritted teeth. Then he shuddered as the bulge in crotch increased.
“Ooh, you’re coming along nicely. Just a matter of time now, Agent Hunter.”
“Hunter, they’re … they’re beating at the doors. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep them out. They’ve sent a platoon to Skinner’s office. If they get him, they’ll have the override and all of our access codes. Wait, they’re … knocking? Holy shit!”
“Jason, what is it?”
“I-it’s Director Skinner. He’s already turned. He’s as big as Thirteen, if not bigger. He must be another overseer class, but … how did he change?”
Hunter snarled. “The damn bastard’s been playing us from the beginning. He kept authorizing the missions. He kept pushing that we had to find Stone. It all makes sense.”
“And the light begins to dawn at last.” Stone chuckled. “Your director was not an easy target, Agent Hunter, but given enough time and more than a few spiked coffees, he was only too happy to join us in his proper rank. Such a good trainer, wouldn’t you say? He really knows how to take charge of his meatheads and make them totally mindless. Never questioning, never thinking. Just endless pleasure and obedience. Obedience to their trainer. Obedience to me.”
“Obey Coach Stone. Serve Coach Stone. Obedience is pleasure. Obedience is strength. Obedience is muscle. Obedience is growth. Meatheads must grow. Meatheads must obey. We are Coach’s big, dumb meatheads,” the guards said.
Hunter heard a groan. “They … they’re gathering at the door, Hunter. So … so many meatheads. I … I don’t know if I can keep them out long.”
“Control? You okay?”
“I … just a little dizzy. Hunter. Skinner is coming.” Another grunt. “I don’t know how long I have. Before they … get to me. Before they … make me like them.” A tiny rip sounded across the microphone.
“Control? Jason? Jason, stay with me!”
“Hunter? I … I can’t hear you very well, Hunter. I … something … isn’t right. You sound … far away. So far away. So far. So faint.
“Jason!”
“…”
“Jason, don’t you do this to me. Answer me, damn it!”
Hunter heard the sound of a door hissing open, the faint clacking of keys on the keyboard, the heavy clomp of many thick boots, and the weight behind them. The clacking grew slower, heavier, then stopped. A heavy breathing was all that Hunter could hear. The whirr of wheels rolling further away from the mike. More heavy boots approaching.
“Sorry, Lil’bro, Jason’s busy. But Meathead’s here for ya,” the Neanderthal of a man chuckled.
“What the hell did you do to him?” Hunter roared. He felt his neck tense, the muscles cording and growing, his jaw expanding, growing more defined. He didn’t care. “Answer me, Meathead!”
Tearing fabric. Thumping limbs. A few well-placed grunts. “Meathead didn’t do nothin’ to him.” Again, that infuriatingly dull chuckle. “Meathead was brought to wake his bros up. Skinner’s the one who brought out the meatheads in ‘em. Good job, Skinner.”
A deep, booming voice responded. “Skinner is a good meathead. Skinner obeys. Make more meatheads. I obey.”
“See? He’s fuckin’ awesome, lil’bro.” He laughed. “Knows to obey Coach n’everything. Just like me. We’re all a bunch of big, dumb meatheads, aren’t we, bros?”
Hunter heard the solid thump of legs coming sharply to attention. “Yes, sir. We are meatheads. Big, dumb meatheads. Meatheads obey. We obey. Obey and grow. Grow and obey. Obey Coach Stone. Lift. Grow. Flex. Obey. Grow big. Grow dumb. Grow into bigger, dumber meatheads.”
Stone laughed. “You see, Hunter, my little supplement is what you might call a bit of a drug. Once it gets worked enough into your system, it makes the user a little more … susceptible to suggestion. It builds the muscles in the body so quickly that you literally become addicted to the feeling of your own physical perfection. Every flex, every workout, every breath, every movement becomes … stimulating. And the best part is that the more they grow, the more dependent they become.
“Now don’t get me wrong here. The supplement doesn’t require you to constantly take more. On the contrary, given enough time, the supplement rewires your brain and your body to produce it naturally. Unfortunately, a common side effect is for the brain to suffer certain … alterations. These alterations, unfortunately, inhibit certain higher reasoning functions. Perhaps it’s better to say that it overrides them. Or maybe the person really just doesn’t care anymore, and so they choose to forget on their own. Whatever the case may be, those who reach that stage show a major loss in intelligence. Perhaps you’ve felt that loss, Agent Hunter. That hazy cloud forming over your mind like a calming blanket. So difficult to focus, to think clearly. The urge to just sit there and let your mind go blank, and let your body do the talking. To let it move for you, let it think for you, let it act for you, and just smile the whole time, because of the pleasure you feel.”
“S–stop it,” Hunter growled as he swayed on his feet.
“So you do feel it. Doesn’t it seem a little familiar, Agent Hunter, even the slightest bit?” Stone asked as he approached one of his guards. “That emptiness, that lack of thought that they accept so readily, makes them moldable. It makes them want to listen. Isn’t that right, Grinder?”
The hulk closest to him grunted and nodded. “Listen to Coach. Obey Coach. Grinder is a mindless meathead. Grinder listens. Grinder obeys.”
“Good meathead,” Stone said as he smacked Grinder on the back. “You see, Agent Hunter?”
“How long?” Hunter growled.
“The subliminal treatments, you mean? It varies from meathead to meathead. Sometimes we prime our candidates before exposing them to the supplement. Other times we perform the work simultaneously. We’re still figuring out which works best. Though I have made some headway with applications for the formula. Unfortunately, the gaseous state isn’t quite ready yet, but we’ll get there eventually.”
“And what happens, if they break the enforcement?”
“They can’t. That’s the best part. They constantly enforce themselves every time they work out, every time they follow an order. It literally becomes an endless loop of enforcement, growth, and obedience. And the best part is they want it. They love it.” He laughed again. “Isn’t that right, Controller?” he asked.
“Controller? Who’re you–?”
Hunter heard a loud groan of pleasure over his earpiece. “I … I … can’t stop. Growing … fuzzy. So fuzzy.” The voice warbled between the familiar tenor of Hunter’s friend to a deep baritone.
“Jason? Jason, you’ve got to fight it! Snap out of it!”
“Jason?” the warped voice asked slowly. “Wh–who is … Jason? So … so hard to think. So hard. Hard … hard muscles. Feel … feel nice.” A loud rip followed that sentence.
“Jason, whatever you do, don’t listen to them. You have to stop. Don’t let them influence your mind.”
“Mind …” he repeated dreamily. Then he laughed. The longer the laugh went, the deeper the voice became.
“Jason? Jason, listen to me. Jason!”
“Meatheads have no mind,” Meathead’s voice boomed in.
“Meatheads love muscle,” Skinner’s voice added.
“I like muscle,” Jason’s deeper voice said. “My muscles feel good.”
“Meatheads love to flex,” Meathead said.
“Flex … feels good.” Another loud tear. “I like flexing,” he said exuberantly.
“Meatheads don’t think,” Skinner pressed.
“… Think?” Jason asked. He sounded confused by the term. “I don’t … can’t … what … what were we talking about again?”
“Muscles, flexing, and being a big, dumb meathead. ‘Cause that’s what we are, lil’bro,” Meathead said.
“… We?”
“Yes, we. Skinner is a big, dumb meathead. Skinner does not think. Skinner flexes. Skinner obeys. Skinner is a good meathead.”
“Good … meathead.”
“Time to wake up, Controller,” Meathead said.
No.
“Wake … up.”
Stone wouldn’t.
“Flex deeper. Grow bigger. Become. You are a massive, burly, mindless meathead, just like us,” Skinner said.
“Like you.…” A guttural grunt. Loud cracks. Something bursting, snapping. Ricocheting metal. More shredding fabric. A rumbling bass. “Just like you.”
“Good meathead,” Stone said, laughing. “And good meatheads obey.”
“Damn you!” Hunter roared as he lunged for the man, his mysterious restraints suddenly broken. Thick hands threw off his balance. He grabbed for an overhead throw, only to be taken out from beneath by a rolling form. The added weight on his shoulders was his downfall as he dropped to his knees, then to his face as ten muscular hands and arms restrained him on the ground.
“Impressive, Agent Hunter. Very impressive. To break out of conditioning like that takes a lot of mental strength. You and Controller must have been very close.”
Hunter squirmed beneath his captors. “His name,” he panted, “is Jason.” He spat at Stone’s feet.
“Not anymore.” Stone chuckled. “Not for much longer, anyways. Would you like to see him, Agent Hunter? Would you like to watch him finish his awakening?” He sneered. “That can easily be arranged.” He raised his voice. “Meathead! Take the flash drive from Skinner and upload its contents into the server. It’s time to convert the facility.”
“Yes, Sir. Meathead is a good meathead. Meathead obeys,” the thug’s voice droned into Hunter’s ears.
A few moments later, Hunter found himself staring into a screen on a data pad Stone had taken from one of his lackeys. He tapped a new icon, and the light on the camera flashed, indicating it had become active. A large screen popped up, revealing a good twenty men in shredded uniforms flanking three bigger men. Even converted, Skinner was easy to pick out with his silver hair and piercing green eyes. Meathead grinned vacantly at the screen, his black spandex uniform still clinging tightly to his frame as he idly bounced his pecs. His dark brown hair had an almost unusual sheen to it, despite its flat cropping. He was just as huge as Hunter remembered him. The hulk’s shoulders had to be at least a good three feet across. His square jaw and jutting brow were slightly more pronounced than the other meatheads. His muscles quivered in anticipation as he gaped into the camera. “Interface complete. Meathead has obeyed. Meathead is a good meathead.”
“Yes you are, Meathead. Now stand by a moment. I want to be able to enjoy this. Gentlemen, lift our prisoner up, and help him take a seat.”
Hunter soon found himself forcibly seated at a rounded metal table near a fitness bar. The tightness of his stealth suit, or what remained of it, clung to his waist and crotch, a constant reminder of his change in size. And he was still growing. He could feel it, throbbing through him like some disease, the tingling on his face heralding the growing facial hair. Looking to either side, he could see the hair thickening on his arms, even as they strained beneath the collective grips of his captors. Stone dropped in next to him and put the pad down on a stand attachment.
“All right, Meathead, move aside. Show us Controller.”
“Controller isn’t ready, Coach.”
“That’s an order, Meathead.”
Meathead stiffened and saluted as the lycra of his suit strained to contain his body’s bulk. “Yes, sir, Coach. Meathead obeys.” He stepped aside to reveal a hunched figure. The man was breathing heavily. Instead of the rags and remnants the other meatheads wore, a new gigantic heavy jockstrap held loosely to his frame, its pouch sagging. His hair was slick with sweat, and had been pulled messily back by a hastily styled hand job. His broad shoulders shone with the sweat of his changes as he continued to pant, and his thick hands clenched and unclenched intermittently. Skinner stood next to him, hair gel in hand as he grinned at the new hairstyle.
“Excellent choice, Skinner,” Stone complimented.
“Thank you, Sir,” Skinner said. “Sleeper meathead, designation: Controller, is coming along nicely.”
“How close is he to finishing?”
“This meathead believes awakening will be complete within the next ten minutes, Sir.”
“Excellent. You may stand down now, Skinner. I want to finish him myself.”
“Yes, sir, Coach.” Skinner bowed, then stepped back to join Meathead.
“Jason, listen to me! Your name is Jason Bowman. You work as a technology supporter. You’re a genius with machines and electronics! You’re not–.” Hunter felt the giant hand covering his mouth. He struggled, screamed, yelled, and tried to bite to no avail.
“Potential meathead will not interrupt meathead re-conversion to muscle. Potential meathead will watch. Potential meathead will listen. Potential meathead will remain silent. Potential meathead will not struggle. Potential meathead will obey. Sit still. Obey. Listen. Obey. Watch. Obey. Be silent. Obey. Meatheads must obey.”
“Meatheads must obey,” the others droned, both behind Hunter and through the viewing monitor.
The hand came away from his face. “Fuck y–obey.” Wait, what? He watched as Stone smirked. That bastard. He had to try again. “I obey.” No, no, no, he does not obey. Damn it, not again. Not again. And yet it was happening again. He felt a pair of hands direct his head toward the screen. He felt them leave. And try though he might, his body would not look away.
“Much better, Agent Hunter. Much better,” Stone purred. “And the best part is, you’re feeling so much pleasure from this, too. I can tell, you know. So why deny yourself?” He sighed. “Ah well. You’ll come around soon enough, Agent Hunter. They all do.”
Hunter heard the clomping of heavy feet. He felt two thick hands smack down on either of his shoulders, heard the rasp of the Stone’s whispering voice. “Now watch me work my magic.” He felt the heavy bulk of Stone sit down next to him. Felt the heat radiating from the giant body. Felt the titanic bicep touch his own smaller one. He could tell it was bigger. And as much as he hated to admit it, some part of him felt … jealous of that. He watched Stone’s giant hands shift the screen, so both would have a proper vantage point. Saw those bulky arms twitch with every shift of wrists and fingers. And then they were gone.
Nobody had moved on the screen. The huddled form that had to be Jason continued panting. Though as they listened, the pants turned into more of a series of guttural grunts.
“You there,” Stone said in a commanding tone of voice. “The one in the middle panting and sweating. What’s your name?”
The head lunged up. Jason’s eyes had sunken beneath a shelf-like brow. His lower jaw bulged unnaturally, and his chin had become particularly prominent. The brown of his eyes had dulled and taken on a murky greenish tint, like swamp water. His pecs had developed into two perfectly sculpted slabs that hung round and taut, waiting to go off. “Me?” he asked.
“Yes, you. What is your name?” Stone asked.
“Name … name … my … name.…” His brow furrowed. His mouth gaped open slightly. He reached down passively and scratched at the pouch. “Can’t … I can’t … think. Fuzzy. In head. Don’t … I don’t … I … can’t....”
Stone pressed an icon shaped like a flexing bicep in the corner of the screen. A wave of slow, pulsing light flowed across the control room. Jason’s mammoth shoulders slumped as he stared at the screen in front of him.
“Don’t think, then. Just listen. Listen to my voice, and watch the screen. Just flex, and stare, and listen. The longer you stare, the more you listen. The longer you flex, the more focused you become on my voice. Listen, and flex. Watch, and flex.”
It started small at first, a faint twitch, the quiver of a pectoral. Then the other twitched. Then the first. Back and forth. Back and forth. Then he raised an arm and looked it at dreamily. He tensed it, flexing the bicep, and watched as the mound slowly rose. His face pulled into a vapid grin. “Flexing feels good,” he said again. “Good to flex. Good to listen.”
“That’s right. Keep flexing. Keep listening. And while you do that, why don’t you tell me what you are? That’s so much easier than who, wouldn’t you say?”
“Easy,” he grunted in agreement, shifting to a double bicep pose, then into a lateral spread as he turned to look at the other muscle men. “Like them.” He continued to flex, and as he did so, his waist began to expand. The straps on the jockstrap tightened as he gained in height. His muscle tone increased, and a washboard of abdominals slowly carved itself out of his core, like a stoneworker had been busy chipping away at Jason’s old self. Then again, that may not have been far from the truth.
“And what are they?” Stone pressed. Hunter hissed, taking deep breaths, but could do little more.
Jason shrugged as his forehead expanded and his teeth became perfectly aligned. He chuckled as he flexed some more. “Dunno. Just like ‘em is all. Like to flex. Like … my muscles flexing.”
“Growing,” Stone prompted.
“Yes … growing. Growing muscles. Growing me.” He chuckled.
“They like growing, too. Growing bigger and stronger all the time. They just care about their bodies, and flexing, and listening, and growing, and listening, and obeying.”
“Growing,” he said dreamily as his neck expanded.
“Growing into big, dumb meatheads,” Stone said.
“Meatheads. Yes. Like … meatheads.”
“So big. So dumb. Just following their orders, like a good meathead should.”
“We are meatheads. Meatheads obey Coach. We obey,” the men droned together.
“Tell me who I am, meatheads,” Stone ordered.
“Coach Stone,” they droned together.
“Good meatheads.”
The men shuddered, and grinned. “We are good meatheads. We obey.” They began to pose and flex as they eyed the screen.
“You’re becoming like them, too. Tell me, do you like that, the idea of being a big, dumb meathead?”
“… Like muscles. Like growing. Feels good.” Another loud crack, and his hands grew into massive mitts of bone and sinew. He stared at them in wonder, and his grin widened. “Big hands. Good to be big. Like being big.”
Stone pressed an icon shaped like a brain with IQ stamped in white letters. A display popped up to the left. Its number read 110. Above it, another display popped up showing the number 150. Behind these numbers, two different sized transparent pink brain backdrops appeared. He tapped the larger of the two, and a loading ring took shape around it, its pulsing light running around and around in a counterclockwise motion. He then selected the muscle icon, and dragged it next to the brain. This time the outline of a body formed around it, creating a perfect silhouette, complete with sagging jock strap.
“I have to give you credit where credit is due. You really are a genius,” Stone complimented. But you see, we have an issue here. You put so much effort into here,” he said, tapping the silhouette’s brain, and causing it to pulse, “that you’ve lost so much down here.” He dragged several lines leading from the brain into the arms, legs, torso, crotch, and shoulders. “But to really be like them, you need to not only be big, not only obey my voice, but you need to be a total meathead. Your head. Focused on nothing but muscle and meat. Building your body. Building your muscles. Building your manhood, your meat.
“Build.…”
“That’s right, my little meathead-to-be. You build those muscles, and you build that meat. But to do that, you have to feed them, fill them with something.” Stone smirked. “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do with all those troublesome brains of yours. You’re going to use that muscle to build your other muscles.” He tapped on the brain icon. The loading circle broke off, and began to spiral into the brain. Each pulse of light followed the trail, then coursed down the lines to each of the body parts Stone had highlighted previously. Now flex for me. Obey me. Watch the screen, and pump those muscles up. Watch the screen, and focus on your muscles. Focus on your meat. Focus on letting it grow and swell. Let it fill you. Fill everything about you. Making you massive. A massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge, just like the other meatheads.”
“Big, dumb meatheads. Just like us. We flex. We obey,” the men said in unison.
Jason shuddered as he stared up at the screen. Light continued to pulse. He slowly shifted into a side chest pose. The silhouette did the same, shifting onto his form to match him movement for movement. The brain superimposed itself over his head, and the number appeared above. His pectorals throbbed as he bounced them in time to the rhythm of the lights on the viewing monitor. A tiny chime sounded as a little white arrow appeared beneath the numbers pointing down. The flexing continued, the throbbing increased, and so did the size of his muscles as they grew wider, broader, and more well defined. The number dropped by a point. He shuddered, and grinned wider.
“Big me on screen.” Jason laughed.
“Yes. And the more you grow, the better you’ll feel. Grow for me. Flex for me. Fill that head with nothing but meat.”
“Meat.” Jason grew another few inches as his feet expanded in size. The display dropped to 130.
“Massive muscles. Massive meat. Massive, manly bulge.” Stone sneered as he tapped the outline of the jockstrap on the screen. A new spiral formed over it, this time spinning clockwise as the line pulsing from the brain connected to the spiral on the crotch.
Hunter groaned as he felt the crotch of his pants tighten further. He watched as the sagging pouch of Jason’s new jock strap slowly began to inflate.
Jason gaped at the screen as he continued to flex and grow. “Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly, huge. Grow. Grow for … for …” He scrunched his face up, looking confused.
“Grow for Sir,” Skinner said as he lumbered next to Jason, and started to flex with him.
“Obey Sir,” Meathead said as he moved in on the other side. “Meatheads obey.”
“Meatheads … obey. I … obey … must … obey … and watch … flex … listen. Yes, Sir.” The numbers dropped significantly, and the pink mass shrunk. Soon the display read 90. A slight outline began to press against the pouch of the jockstrap.
“Meatheads obey, you obey. Meatheads grow muscles, you grow muscles.”
“Like … meatheads.”
“Because you are a meathead,” Stone said. “My meathead.”
“I … am a meathead. Meathead. Meathead.” With each repeat of the word, his voice grew deeper, the bulge in his strap grew more distinct, another surge of growth struck, and his eyes grew more vacant as the brown in his iris became less prominent and the green more prominent.
“A big, dumb meathead, just like them,” Stone pressed. “You want to be a big, dumb meathead, just like them. You love being a big, dumb meathead, just like them. You are nothing but a big, dumb, obedient meathead.”
“Big,” Jason flexed. “Dumb.” He grinned as he watched the pulsing screen on his end. His body expanded yet again. He towered at eight feet now. “Meathead.” The pouch in his jockstrap now clung to his swollen manhood. His grin widened as he stared at a part of the screen. “Big meat. Like big meat. Me … I … uh …” He grunted, and held a hand over his pouch briefly. “Feelin’ funny. Sorta … dumber.” He chuckled. “Dumber. Dumber. Meatier. Dumber. Fuckin’ hung, and fuckin’ dumb.” The numbers dropped again, this time to 84.
“You are a meathead, part of a collective, one of many,” Stone said.
“One of many. Same. This meathead understands. This meathead obeys,” he droned.
“Tell me your name, meathead.”
He wasn’t flexing anymore. He stared perfectly straight as he addressed the screen, like a little toy soldier. “This meathead has no name, Sir. This meathead has obeyed his programming. This meathead awaits his orders.” The number dropped to 80. “This meathead is too stupid to think.” 78. “Nothing but meat and muscle for Coach to command.” 76. “The bigger meathead grows, the dumber he becomes. This meathead will grow for Coach Stone. This meathead will forget. This meathead will be dumb. This meathead obeys.” 74.
“You will wake up, meathead. And you will wake every other meathead in the organization, understand? Wake up, and remember, Controller.”
70.
The new meathead’s eyes went completely blank, as if the pupils had disappeared. The pulsing lights phased in and out, in and out. He breathed in time, even as his body expanded yet again, this time with longer arms and a broader back. The jockstrap creaked in protest, but he paid it no mind. “Meathead designation Controller received,” he said. Turning smartly at ninety degrees, just like the drones Hunter had watched, the newly-dubbed Controller advanced to a console. “Implementing control protocol C. This meathead obeys. This meathead will wake other meatheads.”
Stone sneered triumphantly. “Good meathead.”
Light: If we’re going to be working together, we should bond. So what do you guys like to do?
Misa: Murder’s pretty fun.
Takada: I like stomping on people. And high heels. I like stomping on people with high heels.
Mikami: I like being the only sane one in the group I’m in.
Light: We’re all going to get along so well.
Near: *does anything*
Light: *takes deep breath*
Light: L co–
The Taskforce: Yes, L would have done better, we know, L is so much better, L is the greatest detective ever, Near will never live up to him, L is the best- WE KNOW, you love L you fucking love L, okay we know, we get it. L IS THE BEST.
Light: I miss L.
Misa: Well, you still have me...
Light: It's not the same! I can talk to L about things that I can't talk about with you.
Misa: Okay, like what?
Light: Well, for instance, the annoying things that you do.
Misa: Light!
Light: See, I can't talk to you!
Damn girl the power of love and friendship aren’t working :/ time to kill someone or whatever
