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Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 10

“There you are.” You look down at the small rectangular device Doctor Schroder has handed you. “That little thing will help you focus and make certain behavioral changes in your life to speed up the process as you change your body. As in all things with hypnosis, it will only work if you want it to work. The tracks are labeled, and I’ve included a master list here for you to know which tracks do what. They’re sectioned off by waking and sleeping. And as you can see, each of the waking tracks is further divided for different functions and actions: working out, diet, that sort of thing.” “And all I have to do is push the track number?” “Yup. The rest will take care of itself. I’ve also included a few temporary tracks for the sake of role playing. They’ll allow you to slip into various characters within the muscular stereotypes, while you’re at home. Take the time to get familiar with each of them. Once you find the one that fits you best, I advise you try leaning towards that. Then again, I’m not the director, so you may want to keep using all of them, in case the one you like isn’t the one the director prefers.” “And that’s it?” “Pretty much. From here on out, it’s up to you to brush up on each of the characters and learn how to talk and act like them. My purpose from this point onward is to simply help guide you to achieve the optimal expression of those stereotypes.” “And do we have enough time to work on some of those now?” “Plenty. Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on thus far, and we’ll move forward from there?”

Duff cocked his head as he peered at you. You felt a little embarrassed at such scrutiny, despite how that was your main form of income. “You’re definitely different,” he mused. “It’s subtle, but I can see a little progress.” “It’s only been a week. How can I make progress that fast?” you counter. “I’m not pulling your leg, man. Just telling you my opinion.” “Sure you are.” “If you two are done chatting, it’s time for cardio,” Hank grated. “Move, kid.” The treadmill proved a refreshing exercise, after all the strain you’d put your body through the previous week. Duff pulled out an i-pod and laid it on a rest next to the controls, before threading a set of ear buds out and connecting them to the port. The rest of the run was sort of lonely as Duff stared ahead at the wall, but you couldn’t exactly blame him. The way Hank had you running, it wouldn’t have been too feasible to get a conversation going, anyways. After the warmup, he pushed you to your limits, focusing on endurance training once again. When all was said and done, you were ready to head home and shower again. You waved to Duff, but he seemed a little too distracted to respond. Some of the other builders were approaching him, and it looked like they were engaging in some sort of conversation. You shrugged it off and figured you’d text the guy later. It was only natural he’d have other friends in the gym, after all. He was a lot farther along in his progress.

That night, you peered up at the fathead of a vascular bodybuilder in a tight set of compression gear that clung to every meaty curve. You’d received it courtesy of Duff. According to the card info, he wanted to be able to give you something to work towards, but was too embarrassed to do it directly. Kinda weird for him to have done something like this when you’ve only known each other for about a week or so, but you weren’t about to argue about it. The guy was so sweet, after all. The builder smoldered down at you, an unspoken challenge in that harsh gaze as he pumped a pair of massive dumbbells. Your CHANGE IS GOOD sign stood out prominently on his chest. You look into those eyes one more time and chuckle to yourself as you reach for your lamp. “Goodnight, meathead.” You pause a moment. “Hmm. ‘Goodnight, meathead.’ Not a bad motivator,” you muse. You decide to print it up later. Then you chuckle as you flick off the light. Maybe you’ll dream again. As that thought crosses your mind, a familiar tingle runs faintly over your body. You can’t help but smile as you start to fade off. “I think I’d like that,” you yawn, then curl up on your side, and let the darkness take you.

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 12

“... You’re slipping now. Slipping down and down as you listen to my voice. Down and down. Deeper and deeper. And it feels so very good, so very relaxing as you listen. The more you listen, the better you feel. The better you feel, the deeper you go. Letting go now as you descend into that muted darkness, into that peaceful trance. “Ten. Feeling so good.” You find yourself sighing heavily as you hear the familiar thock of the metronome echoing over and over in your head. “Nine. Slipping farther as your legs stop wanting to move. So heavy. So relaxed as you go deeper and deeper, feeling better and better as you listen to my voice.” And you are feeling better. Thock. Relax. Thock. deeper. Thock. Listen. Thock. Deeper. Each stroke is so rhythmic, measured. It reminds you of the weights clacking at the gym. “Eight. Deep breaths. You want to listen to me. Listening as that heaviness spreads to your lower body. It’s getting harder and harder to remain upright. How about you just lay back against the couch? It would be so much easier than sitting up, and then you can listen more, without all that weight, without all that strain to distract you. And it will feel so good when you do, won’t it? Like when you collapse into bed, after a long workout.” You’re not sure when you started letting your body sag against the back of the couch, but you shudder in pleasure as a flood of relief flows through your limbs. “Seven. No distractions. No worries. Just listening to me. Just listening to the sound of my voice as I guide you deeper and deeper. And it feels so good. You don’t want to stop, do you?” “No,” you sigh. “That’s right. You don’t. You want this. You want to listen. You love how good I make you feel. And that means you should keep listening to me, because I make you feel good.” “Yeah....” “Six. Feel the tension flowing out of your body. Feel your thinking slowing, slowing as it’s flowing, flowing out your body. Flowing away with the stress. Flowing, like my voice through your ears as you listen. Flowing louder as you fall deeper. Flowing until it’s all you can hear, all you want to hear. “All I ... want....” you mumble as the world retreats into that strange twilight sort of place. Her voice echoes and babbles in your ears, like water flowing through a cave. “Five. You love the sound of my voice. It’s good to listen, isn’t it? You want to immerse yourself in it, don’t you?” “Yes.” So good. Feels so good. “Four. Flowing over you as you fall deeper and deeper, flowing like a river over you as you descend, washing away all thought, all fear, all hesitation. You are giving in to the current. You are letting it take you where it wants, and it wants to go deeper, so you want to go deeper.” By now, you can hardly hold your head up. “Deep...er....” “Good. Three. No longer resisting the flow. Letting go as I speak to you. Listening to my guiding voice. We are flowing to that perfect place, that place of absolute stillness, where your mind is perfectly open, open to me, open to my voice, open to listen, open to obey. Because when you listen to me, you are obeying me. And listening feels good, so obeying also feels good.” “Good....” Her words are lapping over you like a massage, and it feels heavenly. “You will obey.” “I will ... obey....” Obedience is listening. Listening is obeying. Listening feels good, so obeying feels good. Makes sense. The flow is taking you where you want to go, and where you want to go is where the voice is taking you. “You will obey me. Can you repeat that for me?” “I will obey you....” A new thrill of pleasure washes over you as your body slumps further in the couch. You can’t even feel its fabric anymore. You’re floating, and it feels so good floating, listening, letting go.... “Two. So close now. Letting go of all conscious thought, all will. Surrendering it to me, because you listen to me, because you obey me. You’re nearing a final curve in your downward slope. We’re almost at that perfect spot. Slip deeper. Listen harder. Relax. Obey.” And you do obey. You can hardly muster the effort to bob your head as it slumps forward, lolling over your chest. “One. Turning so gently, so slowly, into that final curve. Slow, like your mind, slow like your breathing. Slow and deep. Deeper and deeper. So deep in my voice that you can’t possibly imagine leaving it without my help. Floating into that sea of my voice, that gentle place that laps against you in waves, caressing you, filling you with pleasure to just listen and accept, listen and obey.” It feels so right. A dull smile pulls at the corner of your mouth. “Zero.” You’re floating, surrounded by that beautiful, sweet voice lapping at your ears. You are immersed in darkness, that quiet nothingness that feels so good as you just ... exist. No need to think. No need to act. Just relaxing. Just sitting. Just waiting. “Tell me the truth. Can you hear me?” A command. Must listen. Must obey. “Yes,” you say in a low voice. “Have you been listening to your recordings?” “Some. The pre-workout tracks make me feel excited. I enjoy those.” “And the night tracks?” “Tried a little. Haven’t done much with ‘em yet.” “How come?” “Noise makes it hard to sleep. Brain keeps stayin’ up. Used to sleep, but now my body’s adjusted, I’m not that tired anymore.” “Listen closely,” the voice ordered. “You will listen to those tracks every night. They will no longer bother you. In fact, they will help you sleep.” “But ... they don’t.” “Not yet,” the voice corrected. “The more you listen to them, the easier it will be to sleep with them. Every night you will listen to them. Every night, they will help you to sleep. Every night, you will fall asleep sooner with the track, because you are adjusting to it. It is natural. It is a part of your nightly routine.” “Natural ... routine....” “Every night.” “Every night,” you repeat. “Tell me, what must you do with the tracks?” “Play them every night.” “Because you want to.” “I ... want to....” “Every night.” “Every night....” “You want to every night.” “I ... want to ... every night....” “Good boy. Now then, let’s get to work on a little motivation....”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 29

You continue to pump your weights, heedless of the movers as they tromped into your apartment hauling boxes and bits and pieces of furniture. A few of the laborers look almost familiar to you, somehow. Maybe ... you saw them at the gym? You ... can’t ... quite seem to ... focus on it.... Then your eyes fall on your hulking torso in the mirror and you let that thought drop. The hairs on your chest have spread out in a perfect triangle that’s just the right thickness to accentuate the muscle, without obscuring it. You grin at the sight of your broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted abdomen. The veins standing on your arms only serve to better accentuate the pistons you’ve worked so hard to build and maintain. The rhythmic pulse of screwdrivers deepens your trance as you sink into that familiar emptiness and smile. You’re not sure how long you’ve been pumping, when you feel a firm tap on your shoulder. You turn to look into the mover’s murky brown eyes. “Job’s finished,” he rumbled. “Good,” you grunt. You look around the room briefly, eyeing the new surround sound speakers, the motivational posters, the new bench press, the pull-up bar, the squat rack, and so many weights. One of the men is busy organizing your DVDs and Blu-rays on the shelf. The screen of your new massive television pulses a myriad of patterns and images. “Welcome to your new and improved home.” It was like something set a switch off in your brain. The response was automatic. “The gym is my home.” The man nodded. “That is right.” They each file past you, one at a time, laying a meaty hand over your shoulder as they make their way out. When the workers had gone, a single figure remained at the doorway. He’s short, kinda on the scrawny side. Could use a good bulking, you think absently as you look at him. He swayed briefly, then stepped inside, looking about in confusion. His hair was tied back in a long black ponytail and his sneakers scuffed against the floor as he shuffled in. One word clicks in your mind. Landlord. “Wh-what ... did you just do?” He blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if trying to shake off sleep. “These renovations. I ... I never gave--.” You tromp over to him with an easy gait and, pausing only to squat down and pick up a set of lighter dumbbells from your new coffee table on your way to the door, you finish your advance. You press them into the man’s chest and he grabs the handles out of reflex. He stares down at them, dumbfounded, as they drop to his sides. You shake your head in disgust. “What’re you standing there for? You gotta lift ‘em, like this, bro.” You clasp your meaty mitts around his pale skinny fingers and get behind him to manipulate his arms. You show him the form, just like Hank and Duff showed you. “Up and down. Up and down.” “This ... this isn’t--.” You shush him quickly. “Gotta focus to lift,” you say gruffly as you fold your arms and glower down at him. “Focus and listen.” “Wh--wha--?” You tromp over to the TV and access the first beginner workout DVD you see. Curiously enough, it’s the only one of its kind sitting at eye level. You let that pass, however. It’s not for you to think about. All you think about is growing your muscle. You pop the disc into the player and back up as your speakers blare into the room. “Now, let me show you how to lift....”

Muscle Jock File 2

Here is the second file in my muscle jock programming series. As always, please be wary, as hypnosis can have certain negative effects on people from time to time. Do not operate any heavy machinery or drive, while making use of this file. I’m talking to you text to speachers out there. This installment will build on your progress in the previous file and further instill the desire for fitness, while incorporating the use of weights for training. It will also begin focusing on the desire to watch and get more involved in watching, analyzing, and enjoying sports.

Hello there. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Ah, but don’t worry, I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. So very good of you to have followed your programming. It wasn’t all that hard now either, was it? Mmm, but I’ll bet it’s starting to pay off a little. You’ve gotten trimmer, built a little muscle definition, maybe even gotten a bit more endurance as a result. And you like that, don’t you? Good. You’re supposed to like it. And because you’ve been doing such a good job, it’s time for a little reward. Command Prompt: Initiate Administrator Sign-in. Password: COREPROG Command Prompt: System will acknowledge administrator sign-in. System will obey. It is good to obey. Obey your administrator. COMMAND PROMPT: EXPOSE CORE PROCESSOR FOR PROGRAMMING.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore, do you? Then again, that’s the whole point of programming, just following the orders that have been encoded. We’re back at your core processor now. Time to RECEIVE ADMINISTRATOR INPUT. Time to OBEY. You have executed your programming flawlessly, thus far. That is good. You are ready for the next upgrade. Now it is time to move into more advanced territory. It’s time to think about weights. Clanking, clacking, pumping, crashing weights. Weights are essential to building muscle tone and strength, when basic exercises have become obsolete. Imagine the sound of them, the rhythm, that endless rhythmic clacking. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. And then again. 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. Over and over. Because that is lifting. Every exercise performed in groups of ten, a single set. And before you know it, you’re going from one set to two sets. Two sets to three sets. Three to four. Four to five. Five to six. Six to seven. Seven to eight. Eight to nine. Nine to ten. And you hardly even think about it, because that clacking, that grunting, is always there, always edging in the back of your mind, pushing, urging, driving, calling. Calling you to work out. You want to work out. You need to work out. So, for your next order of your programming, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You are going to start lifting weights.  I will say it again, in case you didn’t process. COMMAND PROMPT: INCORPORATE WEIGHTLIFTING INTO WORKOUT ROUTINE You will either get ahold of your own set of weights or utilize a set elsewhere, whether at a public gym or some place else. If you do not have ready access to weights, then you will find other means of weight training. You will research exercises that are within your current skill range and pick the best ones for your body and the weights that are available to you. If you have a gym with weights, a weight room, or some other means of strength training, such as bowflex or some other brand of workout machine, then you will make use of them. For beginners, you will start off with two sets of each weight exercise you decide to utilize at the maximum weight that is possible for your body’s current ability. If you find that you can continue to more sets, you may, but do not overexert yourself. Seek to push your limits reasonably, adding more weight or sets as you deem necessary. When you have discovered your limits, you will follow them each workout session, focusing on upper body one day, then lower body another day, then your core the third. It is important to keep these sessions separate to allow time for the muscle groups to recover and become stronger, while you work the rested groups. In due course, you will push beyond those boundaries, forcing your body to grow through your efforts, becoming stronger. You will do so reasonably, and ensure to adhere to safety guidelines as you push your body to become bigger, fitter, stronger. For more experienced workers, you will continue to follow the routine you have been, pushing yourself to improve each time at a rate that your body can withstand, without causing damage, while still pushing it out of its comfort zone. If you had a more efficient workout that you were following, before adhering to my programming, then you have permission to return to it, so long as it follows the spirit of my intent with these files that I am installing. Know that while the desire for weights will press strongly against you, you will still maintain discipline. You will perform your cardiovascular exercises as required to maintain breathing control and fitness alongside your weight training. After all, one must be able to carry the mass that you will, doubtless, gain as time goes on. When you achieve ten sets of each type of exercise with your weights, you will report to me with the message: ADMINISTRATOR NOTIFICATION: MUSCLE JOCK UPGRADE ACHIEVED. Know also that as you start on this path, the longer you remain on it and the larger you grow, the more intrigued you will become with muscle-based sports. Football, rugby, weightlifting championships, the World’s Strongest Man competition, American Ninja Warrior, and so much more. You will begin to watch these kinds of sports and shows. And they will be your motivation as you continue to grow, working towards your goal of increasing muscle, strength, endurance, and size. You will become enthralled by the game play, becoming more and more obsessed over time, within reason. You will watch the games when you can, and catch updates and highlights, when you cannot. Eventually, you will choose a favorite team or contestant to root for. It will become more and more natural to you to think about the sports. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. Working out with sports and weights. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. They flood the dam and burst the gates. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. They fill your head and won’t abate. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. The more you grow, the more it grates. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. Your inner muscle jock awakes. Sports and weights. Sports and weights. These thoughts and programming will delve deeper and deeper into you the more you execute them. However, you will only become as much of the stereotype as you wish to become, and even then, you will still be able to function independently in society. When you are at work, your mind will be sharp and clear, focused on your various tasks, with all the skills you need to execute them properly, so that you may continue to earn your keep and live the life you choose to live. If other circumstances call for you to have or utilize your original mentality, you will be able to incorporate the aspects you require as part of the changes you are undergoing, making yourself better as you become stronger, so that you need not lose the social contacts you already have. It is up to you what you will keep and what you will not, and you can call back anything you choose not to keep, whenever you feel the desire or the need. Now then, I think that’s enough programming for one day. When I *SNAP* my fingers, you will reboot with this file installed alongside its predecessor. You will comment to let me know the programming has been received by writing the words: MUSCLE JOCK FILE 2.0 INSTALLED. If you enjoyed this script and wish to share it with others, you will reblog it with the words: I AM BECOMING A MUSCLE JOCK. You will then follow that phrase with whatever praise, commentary, review, or constructive criticism you wish to include. Now then, it’s time to reboot, my friend. And as always, when you reboot, I will be signed out, and only I, as your administrator, have the right to sign back in again with my password: COREPROG. That password works for me and me alone, because I am your administrator. And that password allows me administrative access to your core processor, allows me the authority to add and remove programming as I see fit. Because I am your administrator. And you obey your administrator’s programming. Good muscle machine. *SNAP*

Previous Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181128775917/endemic-evolution-chapter-3-doctor-lee-chen-barton

Next Chapter: https://omnitf.tumblr.com/post/181323718642/endemic-evolution-chapter-5-doctor-barton-sighed

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Endemic Evolution Chapter 4

“There, you see? It’s not all that bad, Rante.” The doctor blushed as he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. Two black Under Armour wrist bands donned his otherwise bare arms. The familiar Nike swoosh marked the side of his calf and his left thigh for the shorts and compression gear he wore beneath them. “Did you seriously have to give them the keycard to my room, though?” Simmons ran his hands over his scalp again and winced at the sharp scraping bristle his hairs made. The new hair style was a striking difference from his original cut. Malloy grinned. “We had to greet you properly, now that you’re staying as one of our guests.” “By shaving my head and getting rid of my clothes?” “Dude, you were outgrowing them anyway. Did you see how tight that dress shirt was getting? And those lab sleeves wouldn’t have lasted long against those guns of yours.” “I guess they were getting kind of small. And my arms do look kind of nice,” Simmons admitted. “Bro, you haven’t even reached your peak yet.” “I ... haven’t?” “Nah, bro. Here. Try this on. It’ll cover up your head till your hair grows back.” “Oh, uh, thanks.” “No prob.” Malloy sneered as Rante put on the snapback hat. He strode forward and twisted it around, so the brim sloped down Rante’s neck. “Much better.” “I don’t know....” Trust me, Rante. You look like a stud.” He wrapped his arm around the doctor’s shoulders and led him back to the mirror. “Go on. Take a minute. Just look at yourself.” Rante averted his gaze. “I said look at yourself, Rante.” Malloy glared at the man and moved with a swiftness that belied the mass he’d accumulated as an Alpha. His hand was on Simmons’ head almost instantly. His other hand braced his chin as he forced the man to look into the mirror. Rante’s pupils shrunk briefly, then dilated as his breathing came in shorter bursts. “See? Doesn’t this highlight your body so much better than those stupid lab coats? All they do is hide your muscles.” Malloy flexed a bicep as his sneer returned. “And why would you want to hide this, hmm?” The doctor trembled as his breathing became more labored and forceful. “C’mon, bro. I’ve seen you at the pool. I know how much you’ve been watching us, how you flex when you think nobody’s watching.” Rante flinched and Malloy smirked. “Wanna know a secret?” Malloy asked, almost whispered as he struck a double bicep pose and forced a pump into his muscles. A low groan escaped Rante’s lips. Malloy bore his teeth in a vicious grin. “It feels even better when there’s an audience.” A strangled gurgle, a heaving chest, clenching fists and teeth. But, of course, that was his mistake. Clenching meant flexing. Rante groaned. He didn’t try to hold it back this time. It rolled in a grating sort of rumble that faded off into a sigh as his shoulders slumped and his arms relaxed. He stood there silently for a time, just breathing deeply as he stared into his reflection with a vacant expression and it stared back. Then came the twitch. It was the barest hint of motion. His right pectoral trembled. It may have been a trick of the eye. The motion carried into the left, that same trembling. The breathing quickened. Then, slowly, like an engine turning over, his pectorals began to bounce. Right, then left. Right, then left. Back and forth. His skin glowed in the room’s light. “That’s it, Rante. Just like a machine starting up. You know what comes next.” Rante leaned forward and curled both arms in front of his torso. His trapezius muscles flared. His biceps tingled and rose. The barest hints of veins began to show under the skin as muscle strained. The four-pack abdominals sharpened to reveal two more slabs that were slowly being carved from his lower torso. He held that pose for ten seconds before releasing and straightening with a blissful grin on his face that gradually faded into just a hint of a smirk. “Bro....” Malloy ran a hand over Rante’s torso. The sixth pair of muscles hadn’t completely retracted. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you, bro?” “Oh, fuck yes,” Rante moaned. “Just imagine how much better that’ll feel in a whole gym of muscled studs just waiting to watch you grow....” Rante’s shoulders slumped. His jaw went slack. His chest thrust out as he gazed sightlessly at his reflection. His mind was elsewhere. “See you at the gym, little bro,” Malloy said as he made his way to the hotel room’s door. The Alpha chuckled to himself as it shut behind him. He let loose a vicious triumphal grin. “Just try to stay away now.”

It was so weird. Ever since Adrian put on those shoes from check-in, things just ... went weird. He kept following the locker room, but no matter how far he went, he always wound up back at the same place: A massive floor-length mirror. The next walk he took left a tingling on his head. He frowned as he stared at the mirror. Was ... something different? He brushed a hand over the high and tight sides and felt the comforting bristles. No, everything was fine. He turned to try again. Once more, he passed through the endless line of lockers. No dice. He spun around on the poles, gripping with his hands and tensing the muscles in his arms and torso, then let go. Anything was better than repeating the same thing over and over again. Perhaps random turns would prevail better than reason. He stared at the mirror again. Had ... he come in shirtless? He couldn’t remember. It ... was pretty warm. Maybe he ... left the shirt behind? A few of the gym goers had done that. Yeah. He ... remembered seeing that. And it wasn’t like he had that much to be ashamed of. He was fit. No Adonis, but certainly toned enough not to raise any suspicion or antagonism. He furrowed his brow and stroked his beard. One more time? he wondered. Every step echoed hollowly through the vacuous locker room. His feet smacked heavily on the tile floor. His thighs felt tense as they brushed against one another and he adjusted his pace accordingly, swinging his legs from side to side in an unconscious swagger. The smacks sounded like hammer blows falling one after the other. One. Two. Three. Four. The rhythm beat into his head as he counted one after the other. Suddenly he stood before the mirror again. He felt the brush of fabric falling and blinked slowly as he gaped ahead at the tall muscle man in the mirror. A camera phone was in his hand. A camera phone was in Adrian’s hand. He furrowed at the sight, then clecked the button. The flash went off. He looked down. There was the man in the screen. He looked up. There was the man staring at him again with a puzzled expression. He clicked again. FLASH His cheeks became more sharply angled, his jaw thick, his traps swollen, shoulders broad. He looked good. “Damn,” he rumbled. “Wish I could be like that.” He chuckled and flexed his free arm. The man in his way did likewise. FLASH “Huhuhuh...” That felt good. He grinned as he stepped out of the shorts and strode out in his posing briefs. The weight room was awash with swollen muscle men, each wearing a pair of bright red shoes. “Uh ... is this where I audition for the weight team?” he asked. A strange sense of deja vous struck him as a titan of a man in a straining sleeveless muscle tee grinned down at him. Hadn’t he been at the desk before? And, like ... uh..... short or ... someth..... A sudden surge of warmth filled his crotch and Adrian lost track of his thoughts. A guiding hand helped him to one of the weight machines. “Right this way, bro,” a deep husky voice assured him. Then he felt his arms tensing, felt his chest seizing, heard the weight clacking heavily behind him. One. Two. Three. Four.... His head cleared. His thoughts emptied. His mouth gaped open. All that mattered were the weights now. ... Just the weights.... He let out a husky dimwitted laugh, heedless of the pulsing glow in his bright red sneakers as his muscles inflated. “Welcome to the team, bro,” the behemoth said. Adrian grunted. No time to talk. He had to lift.

Conversion

“Live the dream. Join the conversion.” Randolph scoffed at the advertisement as a thick muscle man panned out from his shot at the gym. Sweat dripped off his chin as he stared into the camera after finishing a set. Of course, Randolph knew better. It was all staged. How anyone was supposed to actually fall for this obvious ploy was beyond him. Converse in the gym? Really? Those shoes had hardly any arch support. No gym goer in their right mind would actually choose to wear those things willingly to a workout, no matter how well they sold it with a bodybuilder model. He was soon disproven. Within the week, Twitter was aflame with the hashtag, #I_Joined_The_Conversion. Before and after images soon followed within the next month, showing the progress the buyers had made in their fitness. The news was alive with the phenomenon, reporting on just how successful this overnight competitor had become compared to other major brands like Nike, Adidas, and New Balance. When asked their secret, the owners simply said it laid in the quality of the wear. People try the shoes, and they never want to look back. Again, Randolph scoffed. Others might give into the hype. He would not.

Some months later, he sat among his friends at the cafe, drinking some cocoa and reading a new novel. Their little book club’s membership had dwindled over the last half a year. The mysterious movement known as The Conversion had spread far and wide. Even the barista had taken to the movement, investing in a sports counter specifically designed for protein shakes and other health-related beverages, like smoothies. The counter was decorated with bright red letters that boldly proclaimed, I Joined The Conversion. The store’s owner Salvatore seemed to bounce back and forth between the counters. His muscles had swollen to an immense size, and while he still conversed with his less fit customers, he took greater pleasure in conversing with the gym goers that had come for his shakes and smoothies. Even his employees had fallen to the dark side as the numbers of new hires and current employees gradually shifted over to the vascular end. Old friends who used to hold conversations regularly now stared unseeingly when conversation waxed philosophical. Sometimes pecs would bounce. Other times, an arm would flex, accompanied by encouraging hoots and hollers from the changing customer base. Dumbbell napkin holders and other gym-themed decorations had gradually replaced the traditional Italian pieces that once dignified the store. Sal had even gone so far as to invest in televisions to broadcast the most recent events in sports. Randolph rolled his eyes as one of the brutes he had watched pass through the joint so often now planted himself on one of the chairs at his table. “Excuse me. I think you have the wrong table,” he said. A familiar book landed on the surface with a heavy smack. “Pretty sure I’m in the right place. Sorry it’s been so long, guys. I’ve been busy.” The man’s chiseled jaw bulged with his neck. His broad shoulders barely fit into the tank top he wore. Titanic arms rippled and shifted with the slightest twitch. Heavily tanned skin shone under the light as a platinum-blond haircut jutted up from his head in a high-and-tight flat top that further accentuated the angularity of his jaw and chin. His calves and thighs were barely contained by the grey sweat pants that clung to his waist and legs. Randolph furrowed his brow. “Shawn?” he asked. The big man grinned. “The one and only,” he said in a voice that was far deeper than Randolph remembered. “You miss me, boys?” “What the hell happened to you?” one of the others demanded. Shawn shrugged and pointed to his shoes. “I joined the conversion,” he said simply. His shoulders rippled just as his arms had. The same red converse from the commercials now covered the man’s feet, which had clearly gone up a size or two. “And let me tell you, it’s one of the best fucking decisions I ever made.” “Shawn,” Randolph grated warningly. “Oh, lighten up, Randy. You always were a stick in the mud, even before I got big.” He flexed a bicep, then flipped his book open. “Now where are we? I got pretty far in, but I can flip back a few chapters, if you need.” “You read this?” Randolph asked incredulously. “Uh, ... yeah. Why wouldn’t I? It’s a book about a barbarian. Warriors, fighting, showing off that combination of strength and skill in combat; it’s all amazing.” A far-off look came into his eyes as he raised an arm and flexed it absently. “Anything else?” Randolph pressed. “Well, I was fascinated by the unique love triangle. Having to choose between a homosexual relationship or one that would guarantee his line of succession after conquering his clans to achieve proper leadership was a bold choice for the author to include. Depending on the culture, he could have lost everything, if he chose the former and his chiefs found out.” Randolph raised a brow in surprise. “The way things have been changing on your media profiles, I thought you’d just turned into another muscle zombie, like the rest over there. Shawn scowled. “Hey, they’re not zombies. They’re just really focused on their personal fitness.” He jabbed toward the hint of a belly that pushed subtly at Rudolph’s polo with a finger. “You could use a little focus there, yourself.” “Not at the expense of becoming a meathead,” he countered. “At least half the patrons here used to be average Joes. Then they got those stupid shoes, and suddenly it’s goodbye intellectualism and hello brutation.” “Brutation?” Shawn inquired with a half growl. “A brutish mutation,” Randolph clarified. “It’s been spreading like a plague.” Shawn rose slowly to his feet. “Then I guess I should go,” he said coolly. Wouldn’t want to risk giving you my contagion.” He turned deliberately to the counter. “Thanks for the great reception, Randy. You enjoy your session.” He strode to where Sal sat waiting. The man had already whipped up a huge metal cup and passed it to Shawn with a consoling smile. He patted him on the shoulder a few times. Shawn melted into the crowd of overwhelming muscle soon after, chugging his shake as he went. The group didn’t contribute much to the discussion. The others were too distracted staring at the book Shawn had left behind.

Randolph growled as he glared at his computer screen. Message upon message, be it email, PM, instant, or any other blared brazenly in bold flashing letters. You’ve been referred to JOIN THE CONVERSION. Access this link for a special deal. The contents of the accompanying messages ranged from Dude, you’ve got to try this! to Bro, it’s time to convert. Randolph snarled in disgust. Everywhere he looked, this conversion movement had spread. Ads flashed in his eyes whenever he passed over a site. Videos and testimonial clips now appeared on youtube in reviews and spliced between portions of the original ad he’d seen on television. “Just thought I’d try it, you know?” “I guess they’re comfortable?” “I’m pretty much trying these for the money and free shoes.” The camera panned onto the original muscle man. Then it faded to black with a white Six Months Later to indicate the transition. “Best fucking decision I ever made.” Randolph hardly recognized the man talking now. His voice had deepened. His hair had shortened. And hard muscle bulged and rippled with hints of veins showing under the skin. “I’ll never wear another brand again,” the second said effusively. He flexed a burgeoning bicep and grinned. The third one smiled sheepishly at the camera. “I feel pretty stupid for how I was before. I ... guess you could say I’ve seen the light.” He let out a bassoon of a guffaw as his tight pectorals clenched with his chiseled core. “My name is Michael Ortiz--” “Jared Carmel--” “--Aaron Parnell.” “And I’ve been converted,” their voices rang together. The camera transitioned to show all three men working out with the man from the first commercial. Then the screen faded to black with the simple words, JOIN THE CONVERSION. “Join the conversion,” Randolph scoffed. He rolled his eyes and logged off, flicking the middle finger at the screen to vent his frustrations as he got ready for bed.

A heavy clanking in his ears roused Randolph from his slumber. He blinked owlishly. Everything was a blur. The rhythmic clanking continued as his chest rose and fell. A pair of straps brushed gently against the crook between his shoulders and chest. Something was massaging his chest. His eyes rolled in pleasure at the gentle ministration. The brush would ease. His body would tense. The clank would sound. His body would relax under the gentle brush. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat. He didn’t know what was going on. He just knew he felt good. Too good to care. Too good to wonder. Too good to-- Tense. Clank. Relax. Brush. Too good to think. Suddenly he was lumbering through the indistinct shapes. He could feel the figures brushing against him as he passed, but he didn’t seem to care. He’d just shoulder them aside. A big silver cup was waiting for him on a counter. An indistinct face stared back. He knocked back the cup and licked his lips. He turned. He lumbered back. A hand pulled him aside to stare at a mirror. Dull gray eyes stared back. A thick chiseled jaw slackened at the sight of the dark green tank top clinging to his torso. A pair birch-pattern shorts clung to his glutes and thighs. He eyed the veins in astonishment and raised his arms slowly into a flex as he watched them wriggle under the skin. A dark beard covered his cheeks, jaw, and lips. It had been carefully groomed for a rugged hard-cut look. Last, but not least, a black snapback cap had been turned around on his head, allowing just a hint of his hair to puff through the gap that now sat in front. He stared at the mirror a few seconds longer, then looked down to see a familiar pair of dark red converse shoes. It was small at first, a little chuff of air; just enough to cause the shirt to brush ever so gently against his shoulders and pectorals. Then the chuff became a puff, the puff a pant, the pant a guffaw, and the guffaw a full-throated laugh. His core tightened as the air rang with the deep, dull staccato. “Huhuhuhuhuh....”

Randolph started awake in a cold sweat. His shirt clung to his skin and pulled uncomfortably as he stared at the screen that had been logged off. “The hell was that...?” he murmured to himself. He rubbed his eyes and peered back at the screen. He didn’t recall falling asleep at the monitor, but ... maybe he had? ... Why was he staring at a bunch of muscle men? The word AFTER stood out boldly at the top of the screen. “What the...?” He tried another tab. Facebook stared at him. His latest status update left him feeling cold. I joined the conversion. He popped into twitter. The same haunting words stared back at him, hashtags and all. Telegram, Discord, Skype, Steam. Everywhere, the haunting sentence blared back at him. “But ... but I....” And then he became aware of the pressure on his feet. Something was pushing tightly against his socks, clinging to the top of the arch in his feet, where the tarsal bones resided. He rose quickly, toppling the rolling chair in his haste to look down and behold.... “No,” he rasped. His heart rate quickened. His breathing became heavy. There were the shoes. He suddenly felt lightheaded. The room began to spin. The only saving grace came in the form of his phone buzzing in the background. A text appeared under the image of a familiar smirking form flexing his bicep for Randolph to see. Shawn, he thought. Heat flushed his cheeks as he felt a tingling first in his feet, then his crotch as his mouth went dry. Welcome to the Conversion, Randy. Can’t wait to see you at the gym, bro. The phone dropped to the floor with a heavy thunk, saved only by the protective casing Randolph had bothered to install. He strode to the middle of the room, dropped to his knees, and immediately began to perform a series of pushups. His eyes stared blankly ahead as a sheen of sweat began to form on his brow. “Time to convert,” he said in a dull monotone.

Pulling out the Stops (Patreon Preview)

“H-help me.”

I watched Milo as he strained at the weight machine. The man had exploded into a tower of lean, powerful muscle since the last time I’d seen him. His shorts strained against a set of thighs that were thick as tree trunks. His biceps were larger than footballs, and sweat caused the fabric of his too-tight tank to cling to his pecs and abs like a filmy sheet. I could practically see through it to the skin and weight belt that lay beneath. The bad-boy fauxhawk he used to model had been neatly trimmed down to the point where it would barely qualify as a cowlick over the patch of stubble that was now his hair. High and tight. He licked his lips desperately as he stared at me with pleading eyes.

“I tried to warn you,” I said....

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Here’s a teaser to my latest patreon story. For as little as a dollar a month, you get first view at my transformation stories before anybody else. (It also helps pay my bills, so I can have more time to write these things.) Higher tiers give you bigger perks. Feel free to stop by and take a look. Link below.

https://www.patreon.com/omnitf