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Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 1

“Hunter? Do you read, Hunter?”

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

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

“Still drinking that sludge, Control?”

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

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

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

“I love you, too, Control.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Loud and clear, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously, control?”

“I told you you didn’t want to know.”

Hunter sighed, putting his palm to his facemask.

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

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

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

“Don’t think I’ll forget.”

“Well, with your record and all …”

“Jason,” Hunter said warningly.

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

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

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

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

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

“There was a briefing?”

“Hunter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Acknowledged, Control. Scanning ID now.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait for it … wait for it …”

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

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

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

“Just do it!”

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

“Bigger is better,” the feminine voice continued.

“Alright, the next line is–”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, I know, give me a minute!”

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

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

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

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

“I said get out of there, Hunter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 2

Hunter could hear Subject Thirteen laughing, chuckling deeply. Such a low, empty voice. It guided him in the darkness. Hunter opened his eyes, and then, there Thirteen was. Hunter wasn’t in the pipe anymore. The castle was gone. Now he stood in Thirteen’s cell. The mammoth of a man was busy lifting iron, clanking weights up and down on the bench that had been provided beneath a single spotlight. He just smiled as he lifted, pumping for all he was worth and grunting all the while. He finished his set and sat up, staring with those vacant, murky brown eyes.

“A Meathead’s a meathead, head full of meat. Meathead must grow. Meathead competes. Meathead obeys. Meathead don’t think.” He chuckled again. “Meathead’s a meathead, bro. I know meatheads. I know you.” He laughed.

“You don’t know me,” Hunter growled.

“Know a meathead when I see one.” He laughed again. “Just gotta remember.”

“There’s nothing to remember, Thirteen. This is a dream, a hallucination, nothing more.”

Subject Thirteen shrugged. “If this is a dream, I don’t wanna wake up.” He flexed a bicep. “I don’t think you want to, either.” He smirked.

“I have a mission to accomplish.” Hunter reached for his watch controls, only to find himself bereft. He was naked, save for a pair of black compression shorts that hugged tightly to his frame. He tried reaching where his watch would be, and pressed the location of the emergency button to stimulate electronic shock. It didn’t work. There must have been a sedative in the water. He had to be dreaming. There’s no way a rescue team would have been sent to recover his body. If anything, he would have been captured, and placed in a holding cell. Either way, if he was stuck in this dreamscape, better to play along. At least for now. “What did you do with my things?”

“What things, Lil’bro?”

“Stop calling me that. I’m not your ‘bro.’ I’m not like you. I’m going to kill your boss.”

“Boss? Uh … didn’t know I had one.” Thirteen scratched his head with a meaty hand, the veins on his arms pulsing as the muscles twitched, accenting every curve, every bend, all the way down his arm to the thick slab of meat that was his pec. “Got a coach, but dunno why you’d wanna kill him. Meatheads love coach. Meatheads obey coach. Coach makes us big. Coach makes us swole.” He smiled, stood, and punctuated each sentence with a new pose. Then he stood up straight again, his frame towering over Hunter. “’Sides, you sound like Meathead already, bro.” He chuckled. “Just need the bod to match.”

“That’s my voice changer. This isn’t my real voice.”

“You sure?” He laughed again. “Don’t see none on ya.”

“This is a hallucination, nothing more. I’m going to wake myself up, and you’ll be back in your cell, while I’m working on killing your CRUNCHES.” Hunter coughed and cleared his throat. “What the hell?” His voice … it … cracked. That didn’t sound like Thirteen, but it didn’t sound like him either. And why did he say that word, instead of coach? Never mind. Try again. “Like I said, I’m going to CURL FOR COACH.”

Thirteen’s smirk turned into a sneer. “Sorry, what’d ya say?”

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Hunter demanded, pointing a finger at the muscle man as Thirteen proceeded to pull out a dumbbell and perform some curls.

“Me? I ain’t doin’ nothin’. I told ya. I know meatheads when I see ‘em. You just covered it up, blacked it out. That ain’t right. You took my voice. My voice woke yours.” He pointed down at the compression shorts. “Now all that black’s comin’ out. N’so’s the real you.” He grunted as he began another set. Hunter’s compression shorts had begun to turn white around the knees.

“This isn’t happening. It’s not real.” Hunter shuddered where he stood as little veins began to push out of his legs. “Need to WORK OUT. No! Get out, not WORK OUT.” Hunter’s hands clutched at his throat, only they didn’t feel right. Looking down, he watched them tremble and shake as the little veins popped up there, too. Soon they cracked, swelling a quarter their previous size. Big hands. Strong hands. Like Thirteen. They clenched open and shut against his will. The veins continued to spread up his forearms, and they grew more defined, expanding as the muscle tensed, relaxed, and grew. All the while, the black on his shorts’ legs continued to pull up and away, revealing the blank white beneath.

“Gotta lift, bro.” Thirteen chuckled as he put down his own dumbbell, went to a nearby weight rack, returned, and proffered a new set of hundred pound dumbbells.

“Somebody help ME GET SWOLE!” Hunter gasped as his chest and shoulders expanded, the trapezius muscles bulging and thickening, causing the muscles and sinew in his neck to swell as well. Down below, he could feel something stirring as a tingling sensation took hold in his legs and crotch.

“See, bro? You’ll fit right in.”

“This is my house, MEATHEAD, not yours.”

Meathead boomed with laughter. “Bro, course it’s not yours. It’s coach’s. Come on. Lift with me, bro.” He extended his arms, offering the weights yet again.

“I’m not your BRO. Get that through your MEATHEAD. Damnit! How do I BULK UP?”

“S’easy, bro. You know how it’s done. Curl. One. Curl. Two. Muscles grow. Bring out the real you.”

“No. Stop! What’re you doing?” Much to his horror, Hunter watched as his arms took hold of the dumbbells, and began to follow the rhythm of Meathead’s chanting. His body shifted, so his legs were shoulder-width apart as he worked to curl. A fit of dizziness overwhelmed him as he watched a new spotlight flicker on over a gigantic reflective mirror. The two-way. But why was it floor length? Another spotlight shone on him, and he watched as the black began to bleed slowly away from his waistband as well. The tingling in his crotch grew more intense. “Can anyone hear me? Control, get me out of here. Control! Anyone! BRO ME! SHIT! Somebody HELP ME GET SWOLE! Wait, that’s PERFECT. MEATHEAD, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?”

“What’s–”

“–UP, BRO?”

Meathead just laughed. “Bro, welcome home.” The room was suddenly flooded with lights as exercise machine after exercise machine appeared, each with an almost identical man working on them. As big as Thirteen, as focused as Thirteen, as vapid as Thirteen. They were all consumed with their workouts, earbuds plugged, screens flickering, watching rigidly, working to a synchronized rhythm. No wonder the clanking was so loud before. It wasn’t just Meathead working at a set of weights, it was a legion of meatheads perfectly synchronized. Smaller men twitched under helmets as IVs pumped something into their blood, and they grew, feet bursting from socks, torsos tearing shirts. One of the helmets raised to reveal yet another hulk, an almost exact duplicate of Thirteen. Hunter watched as another smaller person with glazed brown eyes was shoved into an empty chair. His long, shaggy black hair hung to his shoulders in a style reminiscent of some Japanese haircuts. A series of flashing buttons and lights flickered across multiple panels as he was strapped in. He looked so familiar. As the huge dome descended, the letters CONTROLLER.EXE stood out in bold red print. He watched the man twitch and shudder as his clothes began to tear. Then it hit. Jason. That man was Jason. With that sudden realization, Hunter’s head jerked violently back to Thirteen and the mirror against his will.

“GOOD TO BE BACK. No! I’m not leaving HERE. Damnit! I’m not BIG ENOUGH, BRO. Gotta GET SWOLE.” Hunter stared, horrified as his face grew more square, his jaw jutted out, and his hair shifted into a perfect flat top, identical with MEATHEAD. Wait, no, Thirteen. MEATHEAD. No, … MEATHEAD, but that’s not … HIS NAME IS MEATHEAD, BRO. Hunter watched as his biceps blew up like balloons, while the room seemed to spin around him. The black on his compression shorts continued to dissipate, slowly being drawn from the back and sides to the front as it flowed towards his crotch. The more it did, the more he felt his privates press slowly outwards as his body expanded. “BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK. MEATHEADS DON’T THINK ‘CAUSE OUR HEADS’RE TOO THICK.” Those words … they came out of his mouth! But he didn’t want to. What the hell?

“S’right, bro. You’re a meathead now. Just like me.” Thirteen chuckled with his low, empty voice, and pointed at Hunter. A familiar voice came out over the loud speakers in the PA system.

“Larger penis, larger testicles.”

Thirteen grinned as he struck a pose, and stared. As one, the room resounded. “BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK.”

“BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK,” Hunter’s new voice said with them. “No! I’m H–UGE MEATHEAD.” Hunter’s brow furrowed and pressed further out as his eyebrows grew bushier, and his body hair thickened.

“C’mon, meathead. Let’s pump that other guy outt’a your head.”

“COOL, BRO.”

“No, not cool. Not cool at all. And … wait, why can’t I talk?”

“CAUSE I’M A MEATHEAD, BRO, NOT HUNTER.”

“S’right, meathead. C’mon. Machine’s waitin’,” MEATHEAD said.

“You’re not getting away with this.”

“AWAY WITH WHAT? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DON’T BELONG.”

“This is my FUCKING body!”

“YUP. MY FUCKING BODY. SWOLE IS GOOD. JUST GO WITH IT, BRO. DON’T FIGHT. WE’RE THE SAME.”

“How are you doing this?”

“BRO. I AIN’T DOIN’ NUTHIN’. S’ALL YOU. I’M A MEATHEAD. YOU’RE A MEATHEAD. WE’RE ALL MEATHEADS.”

“We’re all Meatheads,” Meathead repeated. Soon the whole gym was saying it, echoing, repeating, beating it into Hunter’s head with every clank of the weights as they returned to their starting positions. A wave of pleasure washed over Hunter’s body. The black from his compression shorts had been reduced to a concentrated circle over his manhood spanning from one end of his waist to the other. He watched said manhood bulge further as the black circle shrunk. He saw and felt his still-expanding body flex one more time in front of an identical mirror to the one from before in time to the rhythm of the sets.

“We’re all meatheads.”

Clank.

“Big, dumb meatheads.”

Flex.

“Growing our meat.”

Clank.

“We follow the beat.”

Pose.

“The deeper we go,”

Clank.

“The bigger we grow.”

Flex.

“The more we obey,”

Clank.

“Grow dumber each day.”

Pose.

“Obey Coach’s voice.”

Clank.

“Don’t have any choice.”

Flex.

They dropped their weights as one, having finished their set, and stared ahead at their screens as they flashed and flickered. “Obey coach. I obey. We obey. Meatheads obey. We are meatheads. We obey. I am a meathead. I obey. I am a big, dumb meathead.”

Thirteen flexed, his eyes vacant as he posed next to Hunter, and stared into the mirror. Hunter followed his actions perfectly. “I AM A BIG, DUMB MEATHEAD,” the pair said together.

“Time to work out, bro,” Thirteen said, motioning to an empty weight machine. “Cycle starts again soon.”

Hunter felt his body shudder, then it patted his junk, shuddered again, this time in pleasure, and sat down where Thirteen had offered. Against his will, his arms reached out to grab a pair of earbuds from their position next to the monitor.

“GOTTA GET SWOLE, BRO.”

“I AIN’T going down without a FIGHT,” Hunter thought rebelliously, frustrated that the warbling had even followed him into the one free space he had left, his thoughts.

“BRO, I ALREADY TOLD YOU. YOU’RE ME, AND I’M YOU. YOU JUST LOCKED ME UP, BRO. NOT COOL. BUT I FORGIVE YOU.” Hunter heard the new voice laugh with his body. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t even grind his teeth as the buds were inserted into his ears.

“I am not a FUCKING PUSSY. I’m a special MEATHEAD chosen to infiltrate and CONVERT TO MUSCLE. No!” The voice continued to interfere. His body prepped itself. On the edges of his vision he could just make out the others staring blankly at their screens, breathing heavily as they tensed their arms. He could hear static filtering in through his buds, and assumed the others were hearing the same. Then came the music. His head began to bob. His eyes locked on the screen against his will. His arms reached up, and began to pull down on the cross bar, working his trapezius muscles as he pulled against the weight. A series of 1s and 0s cascaded across the screen for a time, mixed with the occasional flash of words and images too fast to keep track of. Hunter’s body breathed in time to the pump. In. Out. Up. Down. One. Zero. Zero.

One.

Breathe. Lift.

Two.

Feeling good.

And he was feeling good.

Three.

Falling. Listen.

Hunter could feel his mouth pulling up into a smile.

“BRO,” he heard his body sigh, “LIKE, WHY’RE YOU RESISTING? LIFTING MAKES US FEEL SO GOOD. DON’T YOU REMEMBER?”

“I remember TRAINING so I can kill. I don’t LIFT just for fun, BRO. Damnit!” Hunter swore in his mind. That … invasive voice was still interfering. He had to figure out a way to break its hold, take control of this dream.

Four.

Inhaling. Slowing down. Relaxing. Lifting is relaxing.

Hunter could feel his body slumping as he watched the screen. He could feel Th–MEATHEAD behind him. Why couldn’t he call him his subject number anymore? What … was his subject number again?

Five.

Breathing out. A hand on his shoulder. “Just have to remember, Lil’bro,” MEATHEAD said. Remember. Remember what?

“Stop FUCKING messing around with me!” Hunter screamed in his head. But … his mind … sounded strange. Felt … wrong. His body’s smile turned to a smirk.

“THAT’S IT, BRO. FEEL THAT ANGER. FEEL THAT RAGE. FEEL THE BURN! FEEL THE PUMP! FUCKING PRIMAL!”

Primal. So good. Roaring. Pushing past goals. Getting fit for service. Was that what he was supposed to remember? That feeling? That rush?

Six.

Listen. Watch the screen. Obey.

Not like he had much choice.

You have no choice but to obey.

No choice. Listen. No choice. Watch the screen. No choice. Obey. No choice. No … choice …

“Wha–? What’s happening TO ME, BRO?” Bro? But … he didn’t … think like that. … Did he?

“No choice but to listen, Lil’bro. No choice but to obey. Listen to us, Lil’bro. Talk like us. Think like us. It’s easier,” MEATHEAD said.

Listen to Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Obey Meathead. You are a meathead.

Lil’bro. Easier. Listen. No choice. Obey. Obey …

“But … but I don’t … WANT TO LIFT. WANT TO LIFT. Don’t …”

Seven.

Obey. Think like Meathead. Just like Meathead. Think like a meathead. Because you are a meathead.

Meathead loves to lift. Hunter loves to lift. Feels so good to lift.

Lifting is life.

Lifting is life. His life was always lifting when he wasn’t on a mission. Yeah.

Growing is gold.

Growing is gold. He loved to see himself grow in the mirror. Getting closer to his goal. Toning up for the next phase in training.

Training means listening. Training means obeying. Listen. Obey. No choice. Bigger Balls. Bigger Dick. Massive Meat. Smaller brain.

Massive meat. Bulging balls. Big brute. He could feel them. Heavy. Bulging. Swelling manhood. Tight. Close. Pleasure. Grinning. He’s … grinning. So hard to … think … head feels … funny.

Remember. Obey. Remember to obey. Think like a meathead, because you are a meathead. Meatheads are dumb. You are dumb. Dumb. Muscle. All muscle. All weights. No thought but working out and getting bigger. Bigger and more obedient. Remember. Remember to obey. Obey.

Yes. Remember. Remember this feeling. Remember pleasure. Obey and REMEMBER. REMEMBER to OBEY. OBEY. Think of meat. Meat is on the brain. Brain is in the head. Meat is in the head. Thinking of meat. Think like them. Think like a MEATHEAD, MEATHEAD.

“Watch, Lil’bro. Lift. Listen. Remember. Remember,” MEATHEAD said.

“REMEMBER.” Wait … did he just talk? Did he? Does it … matter?

“You’re a big fucking meathead, Lil’bro.”

“YEAH, WE’RE A BIG FUCKING MEATHEAD, BRO.” Lips moving. Not him again. But … maybe it is?

“Don’t … wanna be … want … wanna … WANNA be … WANNA BE … DON’T …”

“DON’T STOP,” his lips say, changing his sentence. Changing his thought. His mouth says. Not him. Or is it? Don’t stop. OBEY. No choice. OBEY.

Don’t resist. Listen to Meathead. Obey Meathead. Be like Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Think like Meathead. You want to be just like Meathead. You want to be a meathead. You are a meathead. Just a big, dumb meathead. So dumb. Brain clouding as you listen, becoming dumber. More obedient. Bigger muscles. Smaller brain. All meat. All meathead.

Listen to Meathead. Obey Meathead. Be like Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Think like Meathead. Just like Meathead. Want to … want to … “WANNA BE A BIG FUCKING MEATHEAD.” Sighing. His sigh. His words. He … said it. But … did he? Wasn’t that … the other him? Does he want it? Hunter didn’t know any more. Everything felt so strange. So bulky.

Pump.

Bulky is good.

Clank.

Bulky is good. But … is it? Watch. Listen. Watch. OBEY. Massive meat. Smaller brain. Smaller … uh … what is …? Hard to … to think. So hard … so … hard … hard … meat … big …

…

…

“M-My name … my name is … is …” Resist. Fight. Have to remember. Don’t let them take that.

EIGHT.

“Hunter … I … I am Hunter. I am … Hun … Uh … I am … I am …” Hard to think. Can’t remember. So damn foggy.

Strain. It’s heavier. More difficult.

Don’t remember. Forget your name, meathead. Fall into place. Listen. Obey.

Clank.

Don’t remember. Do not. No choice. OBEY. MEATHEAD. Must think like MEATHEAD.

You are horny. You are heavy.

“I … I AM H-HORNY … HEAVY … YES.”

Feels so good to pull down that weight now that he’s listening. Arms are heavier. Weight’s not so bad anymore.

Big balls. Big meat.

Clank. Release. Follow the rhythm. So easy to fall in with the others. Fall in and obey. Don’t think. Just move. Just lift. Just obey.

“BIG BALLS … Big … MEAT.” Did … did he really just say that? Sounds like …

Meat.

Meat … Meat … Mea–NO! Have to be strong. Have to remember. Remember who he is. “I … I am Hun … Hun…”

Switching to crunches. Press.

Massive meat. Tiny brain. Don’t think. Obey. I think for you.

Clank.

Massive meat. Bulging balls. Huge. Tight. Pleasure. Remember pleasure. Remember and OBEY. “Hun … I am Hun …” Don’t remember. Forget name. What is his name? It’s … starting with that sound. Can’t … can’t think … can’t … remember …

Like a horse.

Crunch.

“Hun–” Sounds like– Massive meat. Huge. Growing.

Clank.

Like a horse.

Crunch.

“Hung–” Yes. Hung. That was it … wasn’t it? Tiny brain. Massive meat. Bulging. Feels good.

Clank.

Like a horse.

Crunch.

“I am–” Can’t think.

Clank.

Hung like a horse. You are hung like a horse. Say it.

Crunch.

Obey. Say it. Talk like Meathead. “I’M LIKE SO FUCKING HUNG, BRO! LIKE A FUCKING HORSE!” Smile. OBEY. Pleasure.

Clank.

Laugh.

Must obey. Laughing. He’s laughing. Everyone is laughing. Switching to leg lifts. Eyes on screen. Don’t think. OBEY.

Deep laugh. Dumb laugh. Empty laugh. Deeper. Dumber. The more you laugh, the less you think. Empty your mind.

Lift.

Listen. OBEY. Lift. Relax. Laugh. Empty. Grow. OBEY. Deeper. OBEY. Dumber. OBEY. Empty.

Clank.

“EMPTY …” He said it. Not the other. So slow. So deep. Like … like uh … something slow. Weird, usually has better quips than that with his tiny brain. So tiny … because of his massive meat. No time to worry about it. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Obey. Keep working.

Lift.

“THAT’S RIGHT, BRO. FEELS GOOD, DOESN’T IT?” Other him again. Maybe … maybe not so bad, though. Deep voice. Deep is good.

Clank.

Deeper. Deeper.

Lift.

“Good … What … What’m I …?”

Clank.

Deeper. Dumber. Don’t think.

Lift.

Deeper. Dumber. Don’t think. Can’t think. Listen. OBEY. Muscles. Grow. “YUH … GOOD.”

Clank.

Good and dumb.

Lift.

“Uh … Yeah. GOOD AND DUMB.” He grunts. In control again. Feels right. Pleasure. So relaxed. Up and down. In and out. So dumb. So hung. So much meat. Just like he says.

Clank.

Big and dumb.

Lift.

Yes. Big and dumb. Wait … what was …? Don’t think. OBEY. Hung. He is hung. So hung. Good and dumb. Big and dumb. He is hung.

Clank.

You are hungry.

Lift.

He is hungry.

Clank.

Hungry for muscles.

Lift.

“Hungry … I … want … MUSCLES, BRO. NEED MORE MUSCLES.”

Clank.

Good boy.

“Good boy.”

“GOOD BOY.”

The three sound almost simultaneous. Ringing in his ears. In his head. His empty head. Empty. Same words playing across the screen. Good boy. OBEY. Pleasure. MEATHEAD. OBEY. Dumb MEATHEAD. Dumb brute. REMEMBER. OBEY.

Lift.

Obey.

Clank.

OBEY. OBEY. Must … must … “I … I … I OBEY.” More pleasure. Stronger now. So strong. So good.

Lift.

“WE OBEY, BRO.” Other him again. But he’s like Meathead. Gotta listen to Meathead. So, uh, gotta listen to him, too. Obey. Empty. Don’t think.

Clank.

“Meatheads obey, Lil’bro,” MEATHEAD said.

MEATHEADS OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.

Set’s over. Stopping. Staring. Listen. Obey.

You are a meathead, a dumb brute with an empty head. You listen. You obey.

“O-BEY…” DUMB BRUTE. OBEY. EMPTY HEAD. YES. OBEY.

“You’re a meathead, Lil’bro. Just accept it,” MEATHEAD said.

NINE.

DUMB BRUTE. HUGE. HUNG. CARE ABOUT MEAT. MEATHEAD. MASSIVE MEAT. MUSCLE. DUMB. BRUTE. “I … I’M a …”

“SAY IT, BRO.” His lips again. Not him though. Other him. Or … is it? DON’T MATTER. LISTEN. OBEY.

“M–Mmmmm…” OBEY. OBEY. OBEY. “MMmmEAT …” Something … in his head. Must …

Be dumb. Don’t think. You are a dumb brute. OBEY. Convert to muscle. OBEY. You are meat. You are a mindless brute. OBEY.

Grinning. He’s … grinning again. Frown gone. Yes … feels … so good. To–

Listen. Speak. OBEY. Say what you are.

“I’M A … A …”

OBEY.

“TOTAL MEATHEAD, BRO.” Pleasure. So much pleasure. Rebounding. Rocketing.

OBEY.

Yes. So good to just –

OBEY. Lift. OBEY. Drain everything. OBEY. Serve. OBEY. Lift. OBEY. Repeat.

“MEATHEAD. TOTAL MEATHEAD. OBEDIENT. I OBEY. YES. GOOD TO LIFT. GOOD TO OBEY. DUMB BRUTE. MORE I OBEY, MORE DUMB EVERY DAY. I OBEY. EMPTY HEAD. OBEY. I OBEY. I OBEY. I OBEY.”

“We obey,” MEATHEAD said.

“WE OBEY.” PLEASURE. LIFTING IS GOOD. PUMPING IS GOOD. SO GOOD. HEART PUMPING. GROWING BIGGER.

Yes. Say it. Own it. OBEY. MEATHEAD. MUSCLE. BRUTE. OBEY.

“BRO … I FEEL … LIKE SO FUCKING PUMPED! PRIMAL!”

REMEMBER. OBEY.

“TOLD YA, BRO. WE SWOLE.” Other him. He likes other him. He’s a meathead, too.

SWOLE. PUMP. MEATHEAD. OBEY.

His shorts. So tight now. Feel ready to burst. Good. So FUCKING GOOD. Good to flex. Show off.

Make more. Repeat.

“MAKE … MORE.”

“YEAH, BRO. MAKE MORE MEATHEADS. JUST LIKE US.” He’s laughing now. Feels good to laugh. Head is so clear. No. Not clear. Empty. More he laughs, emptier it gets. Yes. Because he OBEYs. The more he OBEYs, the dumber he gets.

Empty your head. OBEY. Laugh it all away. REMEMBER. OBEY.

“I OBEY. Huh huh huh.” The laugh is deep, not the same, sortof dull. Kinda like it. He’s … sitting. Staring now. No new sets. Body not moving anymore. Why? Uh …

Stare at the screen. Watch. Listen. Obey.

STARE. WATCH. LISTEN. OBEY. HE OBEYS. HE IS A MINDLESS MEATHEAD. WATCHING. SEES A BLACK DOT. IT’S … BENT. CURVED AROUND SOMETHING.

Focus on the dot.

“FOCUS ON DOT … I OBEY.”

You obey, sir.

“I OBEY, SIR.”

Obey my voice.

           “YES, SIR. I AM A MEATHEAD. I AM A DUMB BRUTE. I OBEY.”

Remember my voice. Remember to obey.

“YES, SIR. WILL REMEMBER. WILL OBEY.” LEANING INTO SCREEN. SO HEAVY. GOOD TO BE HEAVY. HEAVY IS MUSCLE. MUSCLE IS GOOD. MEAT IS GOOD. BIGGER MEAT. SMALLER BRAIN. SHORTS SO TIGHT. DOT IS SHRINKING. CURVE … GETTING BIGGER. WHAT … WHAT IS IT? SOMETHING FAMILIAR … CAN’T REMEMBER.

Your old mind is the dot. Watch it shrink. Make it shrink. Focus. The smaller the dot, the smaller your mind, the more the muscle.

“SMALLER DOT, SMALLER MIND. YES, SIR. I OBEY.”

And?

“SMALLER DOT, MORE MUSCLES, SIR.”

Muscle is meat. Bigger muscles, bigger meat.

“YES, SIR.” HE SHUDDERS. HE FEELS IT. BODY SO FULL. BIG. GETTING BIGGER. DOT IS SHRINKING. NO BIGGER THAN A QUARTER NOW. HE SEES … MORE OUTLINE. WHITE FABRIC. CLINGING. WATCH THE BLACK. OBEY.

“I OBEY.”

“I OBEY.” OTHER HIM. HE OBEYS, TOO. FUNNY.

You are meatheads.

“YES, SIR.”

“YES, SIR.” YEAH. HE’S A MEATHEAD, TOO. SAME. OBEDIENT. HE LIKES THAT.

You are brutes.

“YES, SIR.”

“YES, SIR.”

You are one.

“WE ARE ONE.” MEATHEAD. ONE. ONE VOICE. ONE MIND. HE IS OTHER HIM. OTHER HIM IS HE. HE IS A DUMB BRUTE. WATCH DOT. OBEY. SO TINY. ALMOST GONE. WATCH. OBEY. REMEMBER. OBEY. GROW. OBEY. MASSIVE MEAT. OBEY. MEAT … MEAT … HIS MEAT … THAT’S WHAT IT IS! SOMETHING ABOUT … Turning … into … MEATHEAD. HE … DIDN’T … want … WANT … WANT MUSCLES. YES. MUSCLES ARE MEAT. WANT MEAT.

No fear. You love being a meathead. Obey. Serve. Remember. Love it. Let go. Surrender.

“YES. I … OBEY.” HE CAN SPEAK. HE’S … BEEN SPEAKING, BRO. NO TIME TO CELEBRATE. HE IS A GOOD MEATHEAD. HE OBEYS. HE MUST LISTEN TO SIR. MUST OBEY SIR. LET GO FOR SIR. SURRENDER TO SIR.

TEN.

BLACK SPOT GONE. HUNTER GONE. WHO IS HUNTER? DON’T QUESTION. DON’T THINK. EMPTY. BLANK. STARE. OBEY.

Can you hear me?

“YES, SIR.” SIGH. OBEY. LISTEN. GOOD.

You are mine.

“YES, SIR.” OBEY SIR. BELONG TO SIR.

You obey me.

“YES, SIR.” OBEY SIR.

You serve me.

“YES, SIR.” SERVE SIR.

Remember my voice.

“YES … SIR …” REMEMBER. OBEY. BELONG TO SIR.

I control you.

“YES. YOU CONTROL ME, SIR. I OBEY.”

I am your coach.

“YOU ARE MY COACH, SIR.”

You obey me.

“YES, SIR, COACH.”

What is your name?

NAME? DID HE … HAVE A NAME? He felt his massive shoulders shrug, his giant chest expand and contract. NOTHING. EMPTY. DUMB. DON’T THINK. “I DON’T KNOW, SIR.”

Good boy. You have no name.

COACH IS HAPPY. THAT MAKES HIM HAPPY. REPEAT. OBEY. “I HAVE NO NAME, SIR.” NO NAME. EMPTY. BRUTE. DUMB. NO NAME.

I will give you a name. You will remember it when you are called. Remember my control. Remember me. Remember who you are. Remember to obey your coach.

“YES, SIR …”

Your name is Brute.

“MY NAME IS BRUTE.”

You are Brute.

“I AM BRUTE.”

You are my Brute.

“I AM YOUR BRUTE.”

OBEY.

“I OBEY.” OBEY. OBEY. OBEY. BRUTE OBEYS COACH. BECAUSE BRUTE IS A MEATHEAD. A BIG, DUMB MEATHEAD.

When you are ordered to wake up, you will return to Brute. You will be only brute. You are brute.

“BRUTE WILL WAKE WHEN ORDERED. I AM BRUTE.”

You will wake when your controller tells you to remember.

“YES, SIR. BRUTE OBEYS.”

If I have need of you beforehand, I will call you. When you hear me call you by your new name, you will return to Brute. You will OBEY my orders and carry them out.

“YES, SIR.

Always OBEY.

“ALWAYS OBEY.”

Always SERVE.

“ALWAYS SERVE.”

REMEMBER. You are my Brute.

“I AM YOUR BRUTE, COACH.”

Watch the screen.

The screen flickered, then showed some weird video. Some twinky walking in with two MEATHEADS. He is thin. Nervous. NEEDS MUSCLE. NEEDS TO BE A MEATHEAD. MAKE MORE MEATHEADS. Twinky sits in a chair. IV gets stuck in his arm.

Remember, Brute.

The twinky is bulking up. He’s grinning. His eyes are alive. Then restraints slide out. He is held in the chair. A helmet lowers. He starts to struggle. He is scared. He screams. MEATHEADS just stare ahead. Helmet drops. It whirrs up. Helmet reads SLEEPER DRONE in big red letters. Screams stop. Body twitches. Body grows. Twinky isn’t a twinky anymore. Helmet lifts. Newbie is asleep. But … he’s not a MEATHEAD. Looks familiar.

Remember, Brute. Remember. Your trigger word is remember.

“… REMEMBER.”

It’s time to wake up.

“…WAKE … UP?”

Wake up … Wake up …

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 3

It’s been a long day, very exhausting as I drove to my sister’s college to move her out of her dorm and then drove back and unloaded. We had a little help, but it was still a full day where I didn’t get home till very late. So sorry for my post coming so late. Anyways, here’s part 3, and I hope you all enjoy it. Oh, and in this part, we get to welcome back an old friend. I know you all have missed him. *Insert wink followed by evil grin here*

“Come on, wake up, damn you!”

           Suspended. Floating. Was he still dreaming? What … what was that? He just blacked out and then … then …

           “Hunter, you son of a bitch, I swear if you don’t respond soon, I’ll put you through hell when you get back; I swear to god.”

           Control … that was Control. He … he was back. How long was he out? The stuff in the pipes. Must have been some form of sedative. But … he was still safe. Still on the other side. Alive. No one had come for him. At least not yet. He might still be able to manage this mission after all. “Control?” Hunter asked as he slowly shook his head to clear it. The dream was all a blur. Doesn’t matter anyways. Not important.

           A sigh of relief. “Thank god, Hunter. Your brain activity dropped for a while there.”

           “How long was I out?” Hunter adjusted his package absently as he took in his surroundings. He really needed to talk with ops about getting some tailored dive suits. This one could barely hold his massive meat. He allowed himself a mischievous smirk as he remembered a few of his more enjoyable conquests. Mmm, that brunette was a fine woman. He shook his head again. Stop that. Focus on the mission. Take in surroundings. Clear water, check. Underground lighting, check. Clear pipe, check. Upward slope, check. Big steel door behind him, check.

           “About five minutes. Hunter, you damned idiot, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

           “For guessing the proper combination and saving myself? If I hadn’t guessed that code, do you seriously think I would’ve been able to swim out of here in time before I went under, Control? Come on. The whole pipe was probably flooded with the stuff, whatever it was.”

           “Hunter, your orders are clear. Abandon the mission. The enemy knows you’re coming. We can try again another time.”

           Hunter rolled his eyes, then smirked. “Never going to let you live this one down, Control. For once it’s not my fault.”

           “Just get out of there, lover boy. And do try to keep it in your pants. I can see your vitals. Your heart rate’s up and your dopamine levels are starting to increase.”

           “You know you’re just jealous,” Hunter jabbed back as he swam towards the vault door of a hatch. A red light flashed from the screen. “Any chances of an override, Control?”

           “Just slide the ID across the door, meathead.”

           Hunter shuddered. His bulge grew more insistent. He needed to let off some steam when he was done with this mission. Maybe a nice vacation somewhere in the Bahamas. Yeah, that’d be good. Take on a few ladies, then work on bulking up for his next mission. If he only barely beat Thirteen, then he’d need to be better prepared for any others like that hulk. He took out the card, and swiped it over the reader.

           “Access denied,” the computer chirped

           He tried again.

           “Access denied.”

           “Control, a little help here?”

           “What did you do?”

           “Nothing,” Hunter growled in Meathead’s voice. “I did just what you told me to. Now get me out of here. And shut off this damn synthesizer!” he barked angrily.

           “Alright, alright. Sheesh. Don’t get your wetsuit in a knot.” The sound of rapidly typing keys played across the comms unit for a good minute or so.

           “By the way, Control, how did you get my comms back on? You don’t have some sort of emergency override switch on your end, do you?”

           “You’re talking to one of the best hackers in the business, Hunter, remember? Now stow it. I have work to do.”

           “Yes, sir. I obey,” Hunter said in an exaggerated monotone, only for another shudder to rock his body. This time he felt more than just a mild discomfort in the tight-fitting suit. He grunted. “Come on, Control.”

           “When I’m good and ready, Hunter. Try to distract yourself of something. Calm down a little.”

Hunter shifted position in the water, trying to keep himself occupied. He absently checked his oxygen supply. Still three quarters of a tank. He’d be fine. He breathed deeply, controlling his intake as he struggled to calm his body down. A good five minutes passed. Unfortunately, the erection hadn’t.

           “… Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Control asked.

           “Hit me.”

           “I can’t override the door. According to the coding, any employee that checks in needs to go to a second checkpoint and swipe the card there before he can leave through the pipe again. If I worked at it a while, I might be able to open it, but that would set off even an amateur’s radar. As it is, you’ll have to follow standard protocol for Stone’s employees.

           “Which is?”

           “How the hell should I know? Nobody we’ve sent to infiltrate reported back in, and you, of all people, know how difficult Thirteen is to interrogate.”

           “As it is, he knows we’re coming. He’s not stupid. I’ve handled worse.”

           “Just be careful, all right?”

           “All right, all right. I will. And Control, you might want to keep my voice changer on for now. Don’t know when I might run into some guards or something I’ll need to fool, so I might as well keep it going.”

           The computer chimed from its pad. “Meathead will report to the gym for immediate workout and debriefing. Acknowledge.”

           “Hunter, I–”

           “Meathead will report to gym. Meathead will obey. I obey.” Hunter shuddered as he said the words. He felt strangely lightheaded. The red screen cleared to yellow, and he turned around to swim up the pipeline.

           “Hunter …”

           “Relax, Control. I’m fine. I just need to–” he grunted “–get out of this suit. Besides, the computer mentioned debriefing. I’m guessing that means Thirteen’s master is going to make an appearance after he reports in. It’s the perfect place to kill Stone. I’ll stick to my mission first, drop in on the meeting, then pop on down to the gym for a little work out and kill him while I’m there.” Flashing lights guided the way up, shining in a multitude of colors as they strobed in their lines. Hunter swam up and above until he finally broke the surface, pulling his oxygen mask off and closing off the tank. He’d need it for his getaway. The room was surprisingly well lit as he made his way to the stairs, and he smiled as he passed the various screens the lined the walls.

           “Welcome home, Meathead.”

           “Report, meathead.”

           “The gym is waiting.”

           “Report to the gym, Meathead.”

           “Obey, Meathead.”

           A strangely annoying buzzing accompanied the messages as he passed, but he had no time to focus on that. His erection was killing him. Hunter quickly raced past the screens and into what appeared to be a massive changing room. An empty stall clearly indicated where he was meant to hang his suit, and seeing as his suit was so much smaller than the others, there was no need to worry about losing it. Spare tanks lined the walls, promising plenty of oxygen should he need a replacement. They were thicker and bulkier, most likely holding more air in higher concentrations. If Meathead was anything to go by, not to mention the sheer size of these other wet suits, Stone must have hundreds of these behemoths on staff. Where did he find them? What did he use to make them so large? Steroids? So many questions. With a heavy sigh of relief, Hunter stripped out of the wetsuit, releasing his body and the culprit of his misery in one go. Now he felt only pleasure. Pleasure, relief, the buzzing, and a nagging computer ordering him to report in, yet again. Of course, knowing Thirteen, it wasn’t that hard to understand. The big lug probably needed repeated instructions to get it through his thick, meaty skull.

           “Understood. Will report. Meathead obeys. I obey,” he murmured, standing there in his shorts as the cool air washed over his hot body. He sighed heavily. That deep voice didn’t sound so bad anymore. As a matter of fact, he kind of liked it.

           “Hunter, you’re past the monitors. I think you can drop the act now. Calm down. Your dopamine levels are running through the roof. … Actually, so’s your testosterone. No wonder you feel so horny. Either way, you need to find a way to stop it and focus on the mission.”

           Hunter shuddered again. “Sorry, Control. I, uh, think it might be a side effect from the chemical, or whatever it was the pipe got flushed with.” He hastily returned to the pipe, where his waterproof satchel sat waiting. He pulled it out midst the flashing bulbs and passed the screens yet again in his tight compression shorts. He firmly clamped his mouth shut, refusing to look at the screens as he raced past. He couldn’t afford to let himself be distracted. After all, he had to report. That is, spy, then kill, then report. He smirked. “Getting a little ahead of yourself there, big guy,” he murmured as he chuckled, shifting into his stealth suit. Fortunately, it wasn’t quite so tight as the wet suit, and he was able to change without much difficulty. As a last addition, he placed a form-fitted set of display goggles over his eyes, before making his way through the tunnel and up into the castle proper.

           The halls were a bit on the chilly side, but Hunter was able to adapt quickly enough. Slinking by along the walls, he heard the distinct sound of hissing over loud speakers. Following the trail of wires, he eventually found the source. Interspersed a good ten feet or so apart, a series of loud speakers trailed. He heard deep voices and the sound of insipid laughter, and pulled against the side of the wall. His stealth suit flickered briefly, before his body blended perfectly with the stone work.

           “Yes, sir. Report to main hall.”

           “Must report.”

           “Must obey.”

           The sound of tromping feet echoed and redoubled, vibrating Hunter’s soles as twenty nigh-identical muscle men almost as big as Thirteen marched past in an orderly manner. They wore Tight black spandex outfits and matching helmets with bright green visors on their heads. A pulsing green light from the visors indicated potential cerebral programming as the men tromped along in dual file. Hunter pressed himself as hard as he possibly could against the wall. He barely managed to avoid being touched as the men filed on. “I’m in luck, Control,” Hunter whispered after they were gone. “They’ll lead me right to the main hall. I’m guessing they’re going to be part of some kind of display. Can you get me a route into the upper balcony?”

           “Easy as pie.”

           “Good. Lead on, good sir, that I may sally forth, and complete my quest.”

           “Shut up, Hunter, and just take the next left.” What followed was a series of directions guided by a projected layout on the display screen that was Hunter’s goggles. Eventually, the spy was led to a set of stairs, which in turn took him to a shadowy and dusty balustrade. He proceeded to duck behind it as he observed the proceedings of the meeting below.

A series of large display units hung above the long table where each of the twenty men and their escorts had been seated. At the head of the table, a great hulk of a man sat. His hair was a bright platinum blonde, his eyes a stormy grey. He must have been at least a good eight feet tall, maybe even nine. The mountain of muscle flexed calmly, his arms rippling as he cut at the steak that had been prepared. His business suit clung tightly to his body, but not so much as to overstrain it. Clearly he had a tailor.

“Now, I know you gentlemen view America as an affront to your beliefs. I admit, I have no great love for this nation myself. The financial system is flawed, men and women are left starving on the streets to fend for themselves for lack of an education they can’t afford, or worse yet, a corrupt business field where they’ve been systematically cut out of the picture.” He chewed his meat viciously for a time, gauging the men before him, before patting his lips with a napkin and continuing his speech. “I have been wronged by this system, gentlemen, but that didn’t stop me from trying to better my situation.” He chuckled. “As you can see, I succeeded. … I am one of the few.

“Much like me, you, and those who follow your causes, feel that you have also been wronged. Whether your sacred lands are being trampled and torn underfoot, or you have lost your homes to corrupt businessmen, or simply because you feel that your religious rights have been taken away from you and you must take arms to defend that right. Whatever the reason may be, in that sense at least, we are brothers. In that sense, at least, we have a common ground. Much like you, I want to change the world, to make it a better place. That is why I sent my men to contact you, and that is why you are here tonight. I have called you here so that, together, we can make the world a better place for all.”

“And just how do you propose, Mister Stone, to further our … common interests?” Muffati, a short and portly man with a heavy robe and a bright white turban said. His beard had grown long, and was well trimmed with the salt and pepper coloration that was typical of his racial background at that age. His accent was thick, but his English was well pronounced. The other men nodded in agreement, even as they finished their respective meals.

“As I said, I can offer you a weapon that no man could possibly expect.”

“And that is?” Muffati asked, raising a bushy eyebrow.

“The perfect soldiers, of course.”

What followed was fairly predictable. The laughter carried for quite some time, though a few of the men simply settled with glowering. “You have us come to this abominable country for a fable, Mister Stone? We do not take kindly to such jests.”

“And I do not take kindly to idle threats,” Stone responded in an equally flat tone. The silverware on the table began to clatter. Soon the goblets were jumping, the liquid rippling from unseen vibrations. The screens flashed into life as a military anthem began to play. From every doorway, they poured in. Tall, muscled, masculine, and armed to the teeth, the towers of muscle marched in unison, eyes fixed ahead as they formed ranks around the table and the hall. Their helmets still remained firmly fastened to their block-like skulls.

As the anthem played, Hunter felt a distinct sense of dejavous. He’d heard this music somewhere before, but he couldn’t quite place it. It seemed to play over and over in his head, even as the song finished and the men cocked their guns at the guests.

“As I was saying, gentlemen, I’ve developed the perfect soldiers. Large, fast, powerful, experts in multiple forms of combat, skilled marksmen, lightning reflexes, superhuman endurance, and best of all, they are completely obedient. Isn’t that right, boys?”

A resounding, “Yes, sir, coach!” echoed through the hall. The men saluted, lowering the butts of their guns.

“You would lend out mercenaries? This is your, as you Americans say, sales pitch?”

“No. What I offer is the ability to make soldiers of your own, just as obedient, just as powerful, just as well trained, all under your command.”

“I do not believe it,” a skeptical leader said. His frame was lean and well-muscled beneath his robes, and the guard who stood behind him was taller still, and lither.

“If you doubt their skills, then why not pit your own guards against them?”

“It is a hoax. These few could easily have been trained in advance. Where is your proof?”

“My process, as I like to call it, takes place over various stages, each a vital part in the conversion to become what you see before you now.” He lifted a remote to the screens and they shifted to reveal a CGI of an average human male. “I admit, I prefer this method because it ensures a closer connection between me and my men, or meatheads, as they like to call themselves. However, I have also developed a more streamlined method of application for you men to make use of back in your various war fronts.”

Stone held up a vial while the screen portrayed the same. “A few drops of this incorporated into a man’s body by any means leads to a dramatic increase in testosterone production, human growth hormone production, and a variety of other natural chemicals in the body related to masculinity and growth, along with great pleasure and arousal.” The model on the screens was injected with a syringe, and the man began to experience a growth in muscle mass, along with a large tent pressing against his shorts. “Given enough time to work, this substance incorporates itself into the human body’s natural functions, reprogramming the brain to produce the chemical naturally, and send it coursing through the entire body’s circulatory system twenty-four seven.” The image paled to reveal the circulatory system and the brain. As the body continued to change and work, it revealed the brain slowly changing color and that color spreading through the veins as the image continued to grow in breadth, height, and muscle mass, among other things.

“The end result is what you see before you: perfectly built soldiers. As for their training, admittedly, that requires some small amount of effort, though we’ve streamlined the process significantly. Making use of the pleasure centers of the brain, we take advantage of the surges of hormones to rewrite their minds, inserting a desire for unquestioning obedience to an authority figure.” An image of another man entered and began giving instructions to the other. “The more they obey, the greater the pleasure they experience, and the faster they are able to reach their final stages.” Each task the image that received the injection completed resulted in a surge of growth. “During this time of rapid intake and obedience, we expose them to a variety of stimuli that will train their bodies in the various arts they need to know, and have them exercise it in practice shortly after to make sure their bodies have transferred it into all forms of memory, including subconscious, conscious, and muscle.” The screens shut off. “Any questions?”

“How is this training accomplished?”

“So glad you asked that.” Stone pressed another button on the remote and a wall pulled up to reveal six men standing side by side in perfect formation. Their square jaws rippled with muscle in their necks, and their giant chests barely were contained by the button up shirts they wore. They stared vapidly ahead, their legs spread in a parade rest. Their burly arms were held behind their backs. Their broad shoulders gave them a square-cut appearance, and their stance was so identical they seemed almost like a paper chain.

“Meet Grunt, Crush, Thrasher, Masher, Pounder, and Grinder. Before these men saw the light and joined my soldiers’ ranks, they were sent here to infiltrate and spy on my organization. It took many of my meatheads to successfully capture them, but once I had them in hand, we immediately began putting them through the process. Once they had officially converted to muscle, I had every piece of information copied and downloaded from their brains through a unique neural probe one of my think tanks came up with. Completely harmless, and minimally invasive. A nice touch when you want to keep your subjects alive, wouldn’t you say? Taking the base neurological makeup of each subject’s brain, we combined them to create an ultimate design for our subjects’ brains to reach in their training. We then expose them to the proper stimuli throughout the process to ensure their brains develop the necessary pathways, and thus, the skills for the job. Our six professionals then spar with each soldier to ensure the subject has learned properly. Boys, come here.”

The six men immediately marched in unison, and took their places, three on either side.

“What are you?” Stone shouted.

The resounding cry was deafening. “Meatheads!”

Who do you all serve?”

“Coach!”

Who do you obey?”

“Coach!”

“Who do you fight for?”

“Coach!”

“Who do you live for?”

“Coach!”

Not a soul moved. The room was silent. Stone looked around the room. This time, his voice was softer, calmer, but filled with more intensity than any of the questions he had asked before. His eyes had turned cold, his pupils hard as agates. “And who is your coach?”

“Stone.” It started out small, a single voice, barely a whisper. “Stone.” It came again. This time two spoke. It continued to build one at a time, increasing in intensity, speed, and fervor until they reached fever pitch. The screens blazed to life as images and words flickered across in a virtual blur that verged on pure white. The green visors sprung to life, flickering on the drones that wore them. “Obey Stone. Serve Stone. Coach is Stone.” And so it continued, until the chanting fell into a mindless cheer. One name. One focus. The guards who had come with the terrorists clutched at their heads, and groaned in pain. In a matter of seconds, they had grown as large as the men who now surrounded the hall.

“Oh yeah, one thing I forgot to mention. The closer proximity to others who have been dosed with the compound hastens the process.” The new thick, burly men rose to their feet and placed their meaty hands over their former masters’ shoulders, securing them in place. “They have almost a hive sort of mentality sometimes, so a little affirmation here, a little obedience there, and then they’re just like the rest.”

Stone snapped his fingers, and more of the meatheads came from the doors, each holding a helmet similar to the ones the soldiers wore. “So here’s how it’s going to go. You’re going to turn all of your funds over to me. You’ll liquidate your assets and resources, and leave your stupid struggle in the Middle East. Don’t worry, it won’t happen all at once. After all, I have to make sure that you and your men all become part of my little experiment, and we need to make it look like the troops you’re fighting against are winning. You’re only too happy to help, aren’t you, boys?”

The new giants shuddered, and grinned as they grabbed the proffered helmets in their hands. Then they shoved them on the various leaders. In a matter of minutes, their former masters had slumped in their chairs, while their helmets flashed. Stone had completely neutralized the threat, and now had every well-known terrorist in thrall. Up by the balustrade, Hunter gaped.

“Control, are you getting this?” he whispered.

“We’re getting it, Hunter. And … I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me. Those men–”

“–Interceptor, Recon, Camo, Berserker, Napoleon, and Narcissus. We confirmed via retinal identification. If Stone’s telling the truth–”

“–Then he already knows about us and all of our operations regarding him and his men. All the more reason to kill the son of a bitch.”

“They were some of our best, Hunter. If he’s really trained every one of his men to be just as skilled, you’re up against some long odds. So am I for that matter. I thought the hack was too easy. He’s trying to play us.”

Hunter Smirked. “Then let’s play him. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“Gentlemen, I’ll leave our new recruits in your capable hands. I have some business to attend to at the gym. Keep running the program for the next six hours at least. I want these men well oriented by the time I’m finished,” Stone said.

The men saluted. “Yes, sir.” A low murmur of agreement ran through the room as the other soldiers stared ahead. Their own helmets were flickering, indicating that they, too, were experiencing this orientation, even as these new men were. Content, Stone left the same way he had come, flanked by his guard of six. The rest of the men stood obediently as they watched the presentation. Hunter was careful to avert his eyes as he backed away from his hiding spot.

“Control, I need directions to that gym, and I need them now.”

“Already uploading. Get your ass out of there, Hunter. You’ve got a job to do.”

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 4

Hunter ghosted through the halls. The dull hiss continued to play over the loudspeakers as he passed.  Every thug he snuck past murmured to himself as he stared, blank-faced, ahead. As he ran, Hunter felt increasingly dizzy. His erection had grown extremely uncomfortable, and his body felt so warm. Hot. Tense.

“Flex, meathead.” The voice was low, dull, a nigh perfect replica of Thirteen, only synthetic, somewhat mechanical. It was the first real message Hunter had heard over the loudspeakers the entire time he’d been here. His body froze as the men in the halls turned. As one body, they groaned and struck a pose.

“I am a meathead. I obey. We are meatheads. We obey. Meatheads flex. Meatheads obey. We are all big, dumb meatheads.” They flexed together, moving in a choreographed ballet of muscle and masculinity. All those muscles. All those bulges. Straining. Pushing. Swelling.

Hunter barely suppressed a groan. His head was swimming. His body trembled. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. The fabric in his crotch strained.

“I obey. I obey. I obey.”

“I obey …” Who said that? It sounded just barely out of time. Had it been his imagination?

“What was that, Hunter?” Control asked.

“What? Uh … nothing, Control. Nothing,” Hunter whispered back. “They’re just affirming their orders.”

“Obey, meatheads. Report to the gym. Work out. Change guard,” the voice commanded. The men clomped from their places on the walls, and began to form up in a line.

Hunter watched them, then smirked. Yes, it could work. “I’m going to try something, Control. Just don’t freak out, okay?”

“What’re you up to, Hunter?”

“What better way to sneak into the gym than with a crowd of mindless soldiers?”

“Hunter, that’s not–”

But Hunter had already filed in as he turned off his camouflage. “I obey. I am a meathead. Meatheads obey. Report to gym. I obey. I will go to the gym. I will work out.”

Nobody batted an eye. No one raised an alarm. No one tried to seize him. The soldiers parted, making space within the line for him, before standing at attention. Every one of them was a hair’s breadth apart from the man before him.

“March,” the voice commanded.

As one, they pressed forward. Hunter stumbled a few times, but eventually he got the hang of the rhythm, and fell into stride. One. Two. One. Two. Right. Left. Right. Left. Meat. Head. Meat. Head.

“Meathead ….” He shuddered in pleasure. The shudder seemed to pass down the line. Everyone felt it. Everyone. All one. All the same. Fellow soldiers. Fellow units. Fellow meatheads. Wait, since when did he think of them as …?

“What was that, Hunter?”

Hunter shook his head, snapping himself out of it. “Nothing, Control,” he whispered vehemently. “A little radio silence, please? I don’t want to give away the act.” He felt a heavy pressure on his shoulder. A deep, empty voice spoke into his ear.

“Listen. Obey. Meathead.”

The dizziness came back full force. Everything felt so fuzzy. He almost fell out of step. Another hand landed on his other shoulder, steadying him. Steady. He can’t afford to fall out. Fall in. Fall in, and march. March in time. March, and repeat orders. “Listen. Obey. Meathead …” Have to repeat. Have to fit in. Steady. So steady. Tromping. All in line. All in sync. The hands squeezed briefly. Then they were gone. He leaned more heavily into his footsteps. His legs spread wider. He grunted. It was met with a grunt of approval from behind. They marched. And marched. And marched. Keep going. Keep moving. Stay together. Obey. How long had they been marching now? He couldn’t tell. Just going in unison. One. Two. One. Two. Meat. Head. Meat. Head. He could feel his meat. His massive meat. Straining. Just like his head. He tried to turn his head, but … why did he want to? He couldn’t afford to stand out. Standing out is bad. Fall in. Obey. Fall. Repeat. Obey.

“Obey …” The word was out of his mouth before he could think. But … why should he think?

“Hunter …”

So thick. Hard to think. Head full. Meat full. Straining. Growing. Yes. Growing. He should grow.

“Grow with us,” the voice behind him said.

“I …”

“Grow.”

Head. So thick. Growing thicker. Heavier. Harder to think. Don’t think. But … Growing … harder to think. Don’t think. Obey. Conform. Growing … growing….

“Grow with us, meathead.”

“Grow?” Should he? Was that … right? He was trying to blend. He had to. To finish his mission. …What was his mission again?

“Yes,” the deep voice confirmed.

“Hunter, snap out of it!”

“Grow with us, meathead,” the voice repeated.

That buzzing. Something … in the back of his mind. But … growing. Should he?

“Grow with us, meathead,” the voice said for the third time.

“Grow with us.” The command came again, this time from in front of him.

“Grow with us.” This one came from further behind. Soon the whole line had taken up the command. Their voices were deep and compelling, timed perfectly to their heavy march.

“Grow. With. Us. Grow. With. Us.” Step. Step. Step. One. Two. Three. Step. Step. Step. Grow. With. Them. Perfect rhythm. Pounding. No shout. All united. All in sync. Just like their steps. Just like his steps. Just like him. Growing. Growing with them. Grow … with … them.... Yes.

“I …” Hands on his shoulders again.

“Grow with us, meathead.”

Obey. Follow. Fall in. Listen. “Grow … with … you …” His hands twitched. They felt … bigger. Bigger is good. Yes. That was his mission. To grow. Grow big. Grow Strong. Grow like a meathead. Just like a meathead. Because … because …

“Damn it, Hunter!”

The hands on his shoulders tightened ever so slightly, then released, hanging loosely on him. “Yes,” the voice said. “Grow with us, meathead.”

Grow. “Grow with you. … Meathead.” He shuddered. His suit felt tighter. “Grow … with … you.”

“We are meatheads.”

Repeat. Conform. Obey. “We are … meatheads.”

“You are a meathead.”

“I am … a meathead.” Of course. He should grow because he is a meathead. Grow with us, meathead. Grow. Meathead. Grow into meathead.

“Just like us.”

“Just … like … you.” Same. Obey. Grow. Meathead. Meathead. Meathead.

“Meatheads obey.”

“Meatheads … obey.”

“I am a meathead. I obey.”

File in. Repeat. Conform. “I am a meathead. I obey.” And so it went down the line. They were all meatheads. They obey.

“We are all big, dumb meatheads,” the voice said.

“We are all big, dumb meatheads.” Everyone said it. He said it. All said it. All. One. The same. Meatheads. Everyone. Conform. Obey. Fall in. Tromp. Follow. “Meatheads must grow …” Yes. Must grow. Grow big. Bigger is better. Bigger is dumber. His head felt so clear. The lightheadedness, the stuffiness, gone. Empty. He felt the hand squeeze his shoulder again, and he knew it was approval this time. Welcome. Must join. Must grow. Meatheads must grow.

“Grow with us.”

“Yes. Grow. Must grow. I am a meathead. I must grow.” He felt hot. So warm all over. It was good to follow. Good to obey. He felt his muscles strain against the fabric of his suit. He smiled. Grow. Must grow. Fulfill his mission. Grow into a true meathead.

“Grow at the gym.”

“Grow at the gym …” Report to gym. Grow at gym. Work out. Grow. Lift. Strain. Step. March. Follow. Obey. His suit clung to his body, but it didn’t get any tighter. Thoughts of Stone were far behind him now.

“You are a meathead.”

“I am a meathead.” Obedient. Meathead. Follow.

“Meatheads must grow.”

“Meatheads must grow. I must grow.” Yes, so clear. So right.

“Grow at the gym.”

“I grow at the gym.”

“We are meatheads.”

“We are meatheads.”

“Meatheads obey.”

“Meatheads obey.”

“We obey.”

“We obey. I obey. Meathead must obey.” Must obey.

“Join us,” the voice droned.

An invitation. Feel so good. Muscle to muscle. Back to back. Bulge to bulge. Staring. He wants to grow. Wants to obey. Wants to march. To be a meathead. To be the same. He is the same. Meathead is the same. This meathead will join. This meathead will march. This meathead will listen. This meathead obeys. Join. March. Listen. Obey. Join. March. Listen. Obey. March. Listen. Obey. March. Obey. March. Obey. March. O– Hunter yelled in pain as a heavy electric shock ran through his arm. The fog cleared. What had he been doing? What had he been thinking? He shook his head, and immediately ducked out of the way, flattening himself against the wall as the column suddenly stopped. He braced himself for combat.

The literal wall of muscle turned as one, and simply stared. Together, they pulled up their visors. Together, they stared vacantly ahead, their eyes dull. Looking to the one that had been behind him, Hunter saw unfocused abyss-blue eyes locking with his own icy blue. “Join us,” the familiar voice repeated. He took off his helmet. He offered it to Hunter.

Take it. Obey. Meatheads must obey. This unit is a meathead. This unit must listen. This unit must join. Join. Listen. Obey. Join …. No! Hunter gritted his teeth, and pulled back the hand that had been reaching for the helmet. He barely staved off the shudder he knew would come. He had been that close to joining them. “Never.”

The thick man looked at him almost pityingly, and shook his head. He placed the helmet back on his own head. Then, as one, the group formed up, lowered their visors, and tromped away, still mumbling their orders. Even as he watched them go, Hunter couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of regret. He had disobeyed. He had not joined. He had not listened. He was not a good meathead.

“Hunter, you damned idiot,” Control hissed. “Didn’t you think for even a moment that maybe, just maybe, that substance in the pipe might have been the same substance Stone used in the main hall?”

“I’m sorry, okay, control?”

“Oh, you’re sorry. I suppose that’s supposed to make everything better now. Look at yourself, Hunter. They nearly turned you into one of them! Your dopamine levels and HGH are skyrocketing, adrenaline is rising, your heart rate is fluctuating, you’ve put on at least a good twenty pounds in muscle mass, and you don’t even care!”

“Why should I?” Hunter hissed vehemently in return. “What’s done is done. We can’t change it, and I can’t get the hell out of this place until I swipe across that damned checkpoint. So do me a favor. Take notes on the effects the drug or whatever it is has on me, and tell me where I need to go. If you’re right, then this process is still happening, and I’m still mutating into a–.” He caught himself just in time. “–Into one of them. We have to finish this, before I’m fully compromised. I have to kill Stone. If he dies, his project dies with him.”

“Hunter.…”

“Just do it, Jason!” Do it. Convert. Become a–no. Hunter shook his head. He had to stay focused.

“Follow the corridor. According to your suit, you’ve dropped a good ten stories beneath the castle. The size of this compound is positively massive.”

“Massive … yes.…” Grow massive. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly–pain. Hunter cried out. His watch. It broke him out of it. He breathed heavily, leaning against the cool metal walls. The lights flickered above him in strobes, marking his path. Occasionally, the pattern of the walls would change, giving way to numbered key pads and thick blast-proof doors. So thick. Like his muscles. Like him. Thick … heavy…. Stop it.

“Hunter, are you alright?”

“I … I am now.” Hunter shuddered. He was far from alright. He was slowly losing his body and his mind, his very will to this … whatever it was. And however pleasurable it may be, it still wasn’t worth the end result. “They … they must have trigger words for this. Things that make us–them compliant.” He was not one of those things. Not yet, at least. “Keep shocking me, if I start … you know.”

“I will. I promise.”

“And Jase … stay on the line with me?”

“I’m not going anywhere, Hunter.”

“Thanks. One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Turn off the synthesizer. I … I want to hear what’s happening to me with my real voice. Not … not his.” He heard the clacking of keys.

“It’s done, Hunter.”

Hunter took a deep breath. “… Test. Test.” As he had feared, his voice had deepened somewhat. It was only to be expected with the growth of his body, and particularly the anatomy straining against the crotch of his pants. “Well, at least I’m not vapid yet.”

“And you’re still coherent. We’ll probably know you’re closer when you start using less intelligent words.”

“I guess making them dumb is his way of keeping them in line.”

“… I don’t know. The drug seems to be doing something up in your cerebellum. Wait a minute, no, the cortex. No, the frontal lobe. Shit. Your whole brain’s lighting up like a Christmas tree. I’ll try to isolate–”

“Don’t bother, Control. You and I both know you don’t have the hardware for it. You can barely read what’s going on in my brain with those sensors in the suit as is. Just keep recording what’s happening, and move me along already. I have to get to that gym, before Stone does.”

“… Take your next left. After you pass through three intersections, hang a right. It’ll take you through a spacious room. The plans are kind of vague on its function. Apparently it’s some sort of observation room, but other layouts read it as a lab. Just be careful passing through there, alright, Hunter?”

Hunter grunted.

“Hunter.”

“I’ll be careful,” he finally said.

The room turned out to be a giant dome-like structure supported by several heavy beams that arced upwards to meet in the central joint, where a ring covered in machinery laid in wait. Large, flat display monitors curled up like scutes on the maw of some demented beast. A series of symmetrical lab tables sat in order one after the other, forming a circle of approximately twelve adjustable slabs including restraints, adjustable mechanisms, and multiple tools within the drawers. Some of the storage units wouldn’t open, indicating that these were either for decoration, or possibly could only be accessed via remote control, like the monitors above. Pulsing blue LED lights lined the columns and ceiling above, circling the white fluorescent bulbs. Several smaller LEDs formed the outlines of large oblong hexagons about three feet off the floor, a good six feet long, and a good eight feet more in height. Considering the size of some of the behemoths in this place, Hunter couldn’t fault the investment. Anyone in the ops business could clearly tell they were viewing windows of some kind. He probably just had to find the controls to see inside if he really wanted to. Twelve tables, twelve viewing windows, twelve cells. Twelve possible victims he could save.

“Control, can I access these rooms with Meathead’s security clearance?” Hunter shuddered at the word and the cotton started to stuff itself back in his head again.

“That depends on his clearance.”

“What happens if it’s not high enough?”

“Security comes to get you.”

Obey. Follow. Go with them. Hunter groaned. “Control, I need another shot.”

“You got it, Hunter.”

One extremely painful shock later, Hunter made his way to one of the panels. “… Frat boy?”

“That’s what it says. Don’t ask me.”

Hunter crossed to another of the consoles. “HSBDJ … Thug 4 Life … Teen Titan … Peer Pressure … Meat Ray?” Hunter stared in disbelief. “The hell are these supposed to even mean?”

“You have two choices. Either try to open them up and find out or get out of there and get to that gym.”

“… We need all the intel we can get. I’m going to try to access the units … whatever they are.”

First, Hunter tried the cell marked Thug 4 Life. Sliding the card across the scanner, he found that a series of options appeared on the pad. He selected View Subject, and watched as the heavy steel slowly pulled open and he stared inside, or rather, he tried to stare inside. A layer of black or some sort of brown stared him in the face. “What the hell?”

“Who knows?” Control responded. “Try another one.”

This time Hunter went for the one labeled HSBDJ.

“Acknowledged. Meathead.” With a mechanical chirp, the pad unlocked and Hunter pressed the viewing button. The metal opened with a steely hiss, and as Hunter looked inside, he saw a large bed, a weight bench, and a myriad of other workout machines ranging from a step machine to a treadmill to a stationary bicycle. A pyramid of protein powders complete with mixing cups and blenders sat on a mahogany desk that had been littered with the remains of previous drinks and old clothing.

A set of shoulder pads lay strewn in a corner, the jersey tossed to the other side of the room. Some stray bits of fabric peeked out from beneath the bed, and a crumpled piece of under armor hung precariously from one of the closed drawers of what appeared to be a dresser. A professional grade football lay atop it, mounted on a metal stand, which also held a pair of football gloves on its prongs.

Posters of every major player from the latest season of the NFL posed around the room, catching balls, throwing the touchdown pass, tackling another player, or smiling out with a dopey grin at the win that had just been pulled off while his teammates surrounded him. A single shower stall sat in a small alcove with what appeared to be some sort of viewing screen. Either it had settings for the shower or it may have been an actual television.

A tall boy with a medium build and shaggy black hair stood by what appeared to be a nutribullet machine, only without the logo. It whirred loudly, causing the football’s stand to vibrate, along with some of the used cups that had been discarded to one side. A large mirror hung behind the blender, stretching from one end of the dresser to the other, and reaching a good four feet higher. The boy unlocked the drink and began to swallow as he turned towards the viewing window. Dead grey eyes widened as he gaped and dropped the drink all over the floor. A single oversized dark green jock strap barely clung to his waist.

“Oh my god,” he said. “You … you’re not … you’re not one of them, are you, br–?” he barely managed to stifle the last word.

“My god; he’s kidnapping minors,” Control said.

Hunter pressed the com link. “How old are you, kid?”

“I … I’m fifteen,” the kid replied. “Please. You … you’ve gotta get me out of here. They’ve been … doing something to me. To all of us.”

“There are more of you?”

“At least ten of us. Probably more. I … see them sometimes. Well, I used to. Before I was put in here. They’re … different now.” He looked away. “Sometimes they show me feeds from the gym on the monitor. There’s more of them every day, and they just keep growing … growing …”

“Stay with me, kid,” Hunter said.

The boy shook his head. “S–sorry.” He shuddered. “Some of them welcomed this. Most of us were bullied before we were brought here. I used to be four and a half feet tall with a squeaky voice. Now …” He motioned to himself. “The people who really wanted this, they grew. Fast. But some of us were … what they called stubborn. One day, a couple of us went missing. Took a couple weeks. At least … I think it was a couple of weeks. But then they were back. They were back … but they weren’t the same anymore.” He looked down. “All focused on this and this,” he said, pointing to the sagging pouch of his strap and the smaller muscles on his frame. “They … didn’t talk much anymore after that. They just kept working out. When they did talk, it was all about sports and statistics. And fuck, man, did they ever get stacked.” He shuddered and shook his head. “Sorry … sorry. I … didn’t used to talk like that.”

“How long have they kept you here?”

“Weeks. Months. Who knows? I don’t know anything anymore. It’s … it’s what they do here. It’s like they suck your brains out and turn you into some sort of muscle zombie. It’s all you can think of. All you want to do. All you want to be... all you want to be …”

“A mindless meathead,” Hunter said, shuddering.

“A big, dumb jock,” the kid said. His cheeks were getting flushed and the fabric didn’t sag so much on his strap anymore. “You … you have to get me out of here.”

“Kid, I don’t know if the card I swiped even has the clearance.”

The heavy thrum of drums and a wavering series of notes began to play over the intercom. The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Not again. Please, no.” he looked desperately at the window. “You’ve got to get me out. Please!”

“What’s going on?”

“Every time this music starts to play, I black out. I fight it, I try so hard, but I … I … always … Gah!” he clutched at his head. “Fuck!”

“Kid? Kid, stay with me.”

“That damn song … always that same damned song!” the kid growled. “Stupid. So … stupid. I … it’s … so … so stupid … I … I …” he looked down at a rapidly forming tent in his jock strap and a dazed smile came to his lips. “Yes. So … stupid … dumb … so … dumb …”

“Kid! Snap out of it!”

Something flickered over the window. Its pixels moved, but Hunter couldn’t make it out.

“Trav, dude, you’re lookin’ good today,” a deeper baritone said. The voice paused. “What happened to your shake?”

The boy looked numbly down at the spilled liquid on the floor. “I uh … dropped it.” He put a heavy hand to his head and swayed on his feet.

“Well go get another one, bro. We don’t got much time. Workout starts soon. You know how Coach gets when we’re not on time, and you’re gonna need the protein, man.”

“Marcus, I–”

“It’s Mark, bro, you know that.”

“Uh … yeah. Do I uh … y’know … have to listen to … that music again?”

“Course ya do, bro, the whole team does. You do want to join the team … right?”

“Join … the team?”

“Yeah, Trav. You know, the football team. Fucking tackling, training, lifting weights, getting swole. It’s fucking awesome!”

The boy cringed. “My … my head. It … it hurts!”

“Headache, bro. Not enough fluids. Ya gotta drink your protein. Go on. And move your ass. Coach is almost here.”

“I …”

“Drink the protein.”

“… Drink … the protein.” The boy called Trav, probably short for Travis, made his way towards the drink stand and grabbed a shaking mixer cup. He opened one of the canisters of powder and dumped three heaping loads of emerald green sand into the container before filling it with milk from a minifridge, closing the cap, and shaking it up. His hands followed the rhythm of the drums.

“Drink the protein,” Mark repeated.

“Drink the protein.”

“Gotta get swole, bro.”

“Get … swole.” Travis swallowed the drink.

“Get swole to get on the team.”

“Uhuh …” Travis took another drink.

“Get swole and listen to coach.”

“Listen … to coach …”

“Listen … and obey … Yeah … obey … Feels good to …”

“Fall in!” A rugged voice barked.

Travis stiffened like a board and approached the screen. “Yes, sir!” The cry was a chorus. Just how many kids were on that intercom?

“Mark, get in with the other jocks. You’ve got a lot of muscle to grow today.”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” Mark’s voice droned. Hunter remembered the line of meatheads he’d been following, how easy it had been to just fall in with them. To walk. To listen. To obey. They must have been doing the same thing to these boys. And the kid Marcus had mentioned a whole team. Just what the hell were they trying to do?

“Trav, report in. How’s your growth coming?”

Travis shuddered. “Grown a full six inches.”

“Grown a full six inches, Sir,” the voice grated. “We’ve been over this, Travis. I’m your coach. You have to show the proper respect.

A dim spark jumped in Travis’ sleepy eyes. “But ... not … you’re not … my coach. Not … not like … them. Not … not … a jock.”

The gravelly voice sighed. Then it spoke gently, almost like a parent would to an ignorant toddler. “Travis, I see you’re wearing your jockstrap. That’s good. You know who wears jockstraps?”

“… Jocks.”

“That’s right, Travis. Look at the screen. You see those boys over there? They’re all good jocks. They’re wearing their jockstraps. They’re wearing their uniforms. They’re waiting for orders. All together. They’re part of a team, Travis. Tell me, do you see a difference between what you’ve got in your room and what they’re wearing right now?”

“I … I uhh …”

Hunter cursed under his breath. He couldn’t do anything but watch. If he tried anything, he could be captured before he had the chance to fulfill his mission.

“Speak up, Travis.”

“… No …”

“No what?”

“No … Sir.”

“So if jocks wear jockstraps, and you’re wearing a jockstrap, what does that make you?”

Travis gritted his teeth as he eyed the pixels. Hunter could see the resistance, but it was minimal. How long had they been exposing this kid to these treatments? What could they possibly be trying to accomplish?

“I’m waiting, Travis.”

“…”

“Don’t want to talk, huh?” The music intensified and a dull ringing played over the intercom. “Then just listen to my voice, and obey. I’ll tell you what you are.”

Travis groaned. The bulge in his strap grew a little larger and he stumbled forward, his hand slamming against the viewing portal.

“Listen to my voice, Travis. Listen to the music. You’re falling into a haze. Deeper and deeper. So deep. So groggy. So hard to do anything but listen. To listen to the music. To listen to me. To listen to my voice. Just listen. And fall into trance. You remember what it’s like in trance, don’t you? Peaceful. Warm. Safe. Relaxed. So relaxed as you fall deeper and deeper.”

A mumbled, “Yes, sir,” echoed from the speakers. It would seem the rest of this so-called team could fall into trance just as quickly. How many had this man broken? A second hand thumped against the window as the half-empty cup clattered to the floor, spreading its contents. Travis was breathing heavily. Something was flashing across the pixels, but Hunter couldn’t make out what. Something … in his eyes. Hunter took his hand off the intercom.

“Control, I need you to isolate whatever it is that’s playing across that screen. Think you can get something based on the reflection in the kid’s eyes?”

“I’m a technological genius, Hunter, not a magician.” Control sighed. “But I can try.”

“Please do. And bring it up on my eyepiece. I want to see what this kid’s seeing.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?”

“Just give me a shock if I start going under.” He smirked. “You know you like doing that anyways.”

“Hunter …”

“Alright, alright, I’ll lay off. Just do your best, okay, Control?”

“… Fine.”

Hunter pressed the control panel and activated the intercom again. The tribal drums beat low, loud, and clear. The high pitched whine continued. Light flashed on the boy’s eyes and … oh no.

“You can’t stop watching, can you, boy?” the grating voice said. The sound of groans and moans could be heard from behind along with the dim hum of machinery and the loud clanking of weights. They must have already begun the routine.

“Can’t … stop.”

“Here come the images, Hunter,” Control said. “Mirror feed activating now.” And with that, Hunter could finally see what the kid was seeing. He cursed profusely in his mind. The giant square jaw and piercing grey eyes of Stone bored into his gaze. The image flickered from time to time, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of the other boys behind the maniac. Each stared blankly ahead, a holo-display flickering from a headpiece they wore as the jocks watched and worked. They were practically as big as he was, and their tight-fitting lycra-spandex pants left little to the imagination. Their broad, hefty shoulders were accentuated by the shoulder pads beneath the jerseys they wore. Occasionally, Hunter would notice a larger, older man passing by and speaking to the boys. So, Stone had brought his bodyguards to keep an eye on the kids. That would make things harder.

“You’re falling into the screen. Falling … falling … falling into the screen. Falling into my voice. Falling into line. Falling … and as you fall, you listen to me. And you can’t help but listen to me. Can’t help but listen to my voice. Can’t stop staring. Can’t stop listening. Listening to me.”

“Listening … to … you …” Travis mouthed.

Images and words superimposed over the broadcast like JOCK, MUSCLE, GROW, and OBEY. Muscled beasts of men and teenagers stared ahead blankly as they posed and grinned before flashing away just as quickly. Images of footballs, lockers, padding, and other sports gear also flashed by.

“Good boy.”

The boy stared, slackjawed.

“Can you hear me, Trav?”

“It’s … Travis …” the boy said.

Stone’s brow furrowed. “You told me you hated that name, Trav. Don’t you remember? I think you said something along the lines of ‘only a fucking pussy would keep a nerdy name like that.’”

The times Travis’ brow furrowed. “… Fucking … pussy … fuck, what was I thinking?”

“You weren’t, but that’s alright, my boy. You don’t need to think. You just need to listen to me. Listen, and obey.”

“… Listen … and obey.”

“Good boy.”

Travis, now Trav, shuddered at the praise. He stood up and rubbed the side of his head with a hand.

“Something wrong?”

“Uh … yeah. Head feels all … fucking fuzzy.”

“It always feels fuzzy, Trav, remember? It’s why you always have trouble in school.”

“… Trouble?”

“Yeah. You barely pass anything. Most of the time you just scrape by with a C. You’re just that dumb.”

“… Just that dumb?”

“You said so yourself.”

“… Just that dumb. … Dumb … I’m … dumb …” Trav’s eyes grew more vacant as he stared. His hand dropped to his side as he processed what Stone had just said. Ever so slowly. Slower and slower. “Uh … right … dumb … dumb....”

“Come on, kid, fight it,” Hunter thought to himself as he clenched his hand into a fist. Stone sneered. That was one more reason this son of a bitch had to die.

“That’s right. I’m right. I’m always right, Trav.”

Trav nodded his head as it drooped ever so slightly. “… Always … right.”

“There’s only one class you ever got an A in, Trav. You know what that is?”

Trav shook his head.

“Gym.”

The word was like a bomb going off. Hunter watched as Trav began to sweat. He spread his legs, no longer comfortable to keep them so close together, and rightly so. The kid’s legs were starting to expand, and besides that, the sagging pouch in his strap wasn’t so saggy anymore.

“You love the gym. It’s the only place where you can actually think straight. The more you worked out, the more you did anything physical, the more focused you became. You just empty your mind and focus in the gym. It was great. It is great. Great to just empty your mind and focus on me. Focus on my voice. Focus on your coach.”

“… Yeeaahhhhhhh …”

“Of course, the only problem is, the moment you stopped working out, you stopped being around the gym and went back to class. Things got worse again. Things got fuzzy.”

“… fuzzy … uh … yeah. Hard to … hard to think.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and start a set on the bench there? Clear that dumb head of yours.”

“Yes, Sir.” Trav walked over to the workout bench and sat down, leaned back and waited. A machine lowered itself down from the ceiling and racked up the bench with three hundred pounds. He grabbed a hold of the bar. He strained, pushed it up, then began his set. As he did so, the sweat poured down his brow and his arms began to bulk up ever so slightly.

“Good jock.”

“M’not a–” he grunted as he pressed upwards “–jock.”

“Not yet,” Stone said.

“Not yet …”

A piece of plexiglass descended over the boy as he pumped, arms growing, hands firm, chest expanding, shoulders broadening. A light beamed from a tiny projection device behind the glass, forming the image of Stone properly. Hunter didn’t need the reverse mirror camera anymore.

“But don’t you want to be?”

Trav grunted as he pressed into another set.

“So large, so strong, so … hung. The boys at home would worship you, and you could crush them under your feet if you wanted.”

“Nuh-uh,” he said, pressing again. Don’t … wanna be … like … like …” Trav was staring up at the screen above him now. The images and words had returned with a vengeance. “Like … uhh …”

“Something the matter?”

“Be … like … something …” He grunted as he pressed again. His jaw grew more defined while his brow pressed out ever so slightly. “Can’t … remember.”

“Like your posters, perhaps?”

Trav pressed again, turning his head ever so slightly to view the players. “… Football …”

“Yes. Football. Your favorite sport.”

“… Favorite … sport.”

Hunter gritted his teeth. The setup made sense now. This was a form of isolation chamber. The whole point of the room was to reinforce the idea of being another mindless meathead, only this time, they were molded to fit the jock stereotype. What was Stone’s plan? World domination?

“Football is your favorite sport.”

“Football is my favorite sport.” Trav’s voice cracked as he said it with the other jocks.

“Do you know why?”

Trav grunted and favored the bar instead, pressing harder as he widened his legs. The jockstrap was rapidly inflating now as he continued to work, and a six pack was starting to form in his abdominals.

“It’s because sports are your life. Your body is your life. Muscle is your life. Growing it, working it, reveling in it. And the bigger your muscles, the better you feel. Bigger balls, bigger dick, bigger you.”

“… Yeah,” Trav slurred.

“There’s just one catch.”

“Wut?” Trav asked dazedly. A fine sheen of sweat covered his now significantly larger body. His broad shoulders pressed out from the edges of the bench. His arms practically ballooned outwards as veins pulsed and throbbed beneath the tight skin. And worse yet … he was grinning.

“Damn, that stuff works fast,” Hunter thought.

“The bigger you are, the dumber you get,” Stone said.

The results were nigh instantaneous. A full body tremor ran through Trav as if he had fallen flat on his face. The light in his eyes dimmed as he stared up at the screen, the grin still holding. He chuckled as his tone of voice shifted to fit the dull, empty look in his eyes.

“Good boy.”

Trav chuckled again. “Feels fucking great, Coach.”

“Of course it does, Trav. Being a big, dumb jock always is. And right now, that’s just what you are, isn’t that right?”

Trav’s brow furrowed. “Uh … I … don’t know …”

“Of course you don’t. You don’t know anything but football and weights. Just like a good jock.”

“I–”

“Because you are a good football jock. Wearing your big jock jockstrap for your big jock junk and your big jock bod.

“Big … jock …”

“Why don’t you try on some of that gear, muscleman? You’re looking a little … underdressed.”

Trav blushed as he put the bar back on the rack.

“Start with the girdle and pants, jock boy.”

“Pants …”

“Put them on. The clothes make the man. You dress like a jock, you think like a jock, you act like a jock, you become a jock. And you’ll like it. I guarantee you’ll like it.”

“But what if I don’t want to–?”

“Listen. Obey, jock boy,” Stone snapped.

Trav went rigid again as he stood up and clomped over to the girdle and pants that lay in a crumpled heap next to the drink stand. His significantly larger feet and heavier frame created a loud smack on the floor as he passed. “Yes, sir, Coach,” he droned as he retrieved the items from under the bed and began to slide the material over his calves. He shuddered. “I listen … I obey … obey …” He adjusted his bulge absently once he’d finished putting everything on. The pads accentuated his larger legs and glutes as he stared blankly at the screen. It had adjusted on a rotating axis to keep level with Trav as he pulled on his gear. He pulled his arms into a pose and watched his bicep as he flexed it, enjoying the pump he’d experienced from the sudden increase in muscle mass. The lighting of the room shifted almost imperceptibly to a bright green that flickered and pulsed. “Fuck,” Trav groaned pleasurably.

“Feeling good?”

“Hell yeah,” Trav bellowed.

Stone smirked. “You know, that pump would look even better if you had something tight wrapping around it. Show it off more, you know? Why don’t you try on that under armor you have hanging out from your dresser over there?” He chuckled. “Honestly, you jocks are all alike. Always so messy.”

Trav rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Coach.” This time he sauntered over to the shirt and shrugged into it. Pulling it down for a tight fit. The number 54 shone boldly on the front and back in white over the dark grey material. He turned to face the dresser mirror. Hints of the substance responsible for his changes had formed dried specks on the bottom, but Trav didn’t care as he took in the new contours his body had developed. “Fucking tight. Fucking swole. Fucking huge. Fucking big … big … so big …” The lights continued to pulse as Trav flexed and posed in the mirror.

“That’s right, Trav. And getting bigger. Bigger and dumber.”

“Bigger and dumber.” Trav sounded more confident now, almost as if he welcomed it.

“Let’s try on those shoulder pads next, hmm?”

“Yes, Sir!” Trav grinned, his heavy footsteps jostling the lighter objects in the room as he ran across the floor. He seized the pads with relish and quickly put them on.”

“Now pull the straps to their loosest setting.”

“But Coach, won’t that–?”

“Don’t question, Trav. Just do it.”

Trav did. The lights pulsed in his eyes as he stared before uttering a loud hiss of pain. The pads had pushed themselves up slightly, just enough for Hunter to make out the needles. They retracted a few seconds later, leaving a very dazed-looking Trav.

“Now grow into those pads, jock boy. I need a bulky, burly, brawny defensive tackle.”

Trav let loose a primal roar as his body expanded yet again. His calves and thighs grew to practically twice their size as he shot up to six and a half feet. His chest and shoulders broadened as his muscle mass increased. The pants, once snug, now strained against his new shape as he continued to grow. Body hair sprouted along the tops of his arms, growing thick and rugged as he stared blankly ahead, his brows protruding further to make a permanent scowl. He now stood at six foot nine. His jaw cracked and widened with the rest of his face, giving it the same square, blocky appearance all the drones bore. The shoulder pads creaked as he breathed, but were still a little loose.

“That felt good, didn’t it, Trav?”

“… Yes,” Trav lowed in his new deep voice.

“Good to be big.”

“Yes.” Trav’s nose broadened and flattened slightly, as if it had been pressed in by an invisible hand.

“Good to be dumb. Because bigger is dumber, isn’t that right, Trav?”

“Bigger is dumber,” he droned. “Yes, Sir. Want to be bigger. Want to be dumber.”

“Dumb and obedient.” The flashing grew more intense.

“O … bedient … dumb … and obedient … listen … obey …. Must … obey.” Trav stared, blankfaced at the screen, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly.

“That’s a good jock.”

“Good … jock …”

“And a good jock is always in uniform.”

“In … uniform.”

“Which you are not. Pull on that jersey, boy. Be a good jock.”

“… Yes … Coach …. Must obey. Be … good jock,” Trav droned as he moved to pick up the old jersey. The under armor looked more like a second skin as it strained against his new muscles. He leaned down and picked the jersey up. The number 54 again showed prominently as he donned it.

“Much better,” Stone purred.

“… Better. Bigger … is better. Bigger … dumber …”

“Jock.”

“Jock,” Trav repeated.

“Nothing but a big, dumb jock, Trav. That’s all you are. All you will be. All you want to be.”

“Want to be … big … dumb … jock …”

“And a big, dumb jock is part of a team. A team of big, dumb jocks just like you. Just like them. Because you’re all big, dumb jocks. Why don’t you tell him, boys?”

A series of plexiglass panels descended, surrounding Trav one after the other until a full nineteen panels flickered to life. The faces were nigh identical. Skin tones varied, along with one or two of the hair styles and colors, but ultimately, they all shared the same facial construction and vapid stares. One looked slightly different, but only for a few moments before his neck thickened, his brow pressed outwards, and his shoulders broadened beneath his pads. That one must have been Marcus. He opened his mouth and the others opened with him.

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. We’re turning into big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Thick muscleheads as dumb as rocks. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Obey. Become a big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Just want to be a big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. We love becoming big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. We’re turning into big, dumb jocks….” The chant repeated over and over in a united chorus.

“The more you push at the gym all day, the more you push your thoughts away,” one of the kids said as the chanting continued in the background.

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“The bigger you grow, the smaller the mind. The more you leave your old self behind,” a second said as the first rejoined the chorus.

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“No going back. You’re here to stay. The bigger you grow, the more you obey.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“Bigger … obey …” Trav droned.

Hunter could see what was going on now only too clearly. And yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away as he watched Trav stare, listening to each and every boy as the chanting continued.

“The stronger you grow, the harder you play. Be more like a jock bro every day.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“More like a jock … every day … bro …”

“Gotta bulk up. Gotta get swole. Put the meat in your head. Put the jock in control.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

Trav slumped forward slightly as his shoulders broadened again, filling out the uniform even further. “Meat in my head … jock in control …”

“Damn it! Come on, kid. Fight,” Hunter thought to himself as he watched. His head was starting to ache a little.

“A thicker skull to charge like a bull. Squeeze out the brains. No pain, no gain.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

A loud crack sounded as Trav’s skull flattened on top and jutted forward yet again in his brow and chin. “Thick skull. Squeeze brains.” He chuckled. “No pain, no gain, bros.”

Hunter hissed in pain. His skull felt like it was about to explode. A few seconds later, it stopped. He reached up and felt over his face. His eyebrows felt bushier. His brow had become more prominent. He barely stifled a groan. “Control,” he whispered. “What just happened? My head feels like someone put it through a … a …” His mind was drawing a blank. He could picture the item. See it squeezing, the crank handle, the two metal bits drawing closer together as the lever was turned. “A squeezy thing.”

“A squeezy thing? Hunter, you should stop. Get out of there. Complete the mission.”

“I can’t, Control.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I mean I physically can’t.” Hunter did everything he could to remove his hand from the control pad, but whenever he tried, his body refused to comply.

“Big, dumb jocks must stay and play. Big, dumb jocks always obey,” the seventh of the boys said.

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“Play. Play football. Yes. Stay and play. I obey,” Trav said as he gaped at the screens.

“Control, I swear I can’t move,” Hunter whispered. “My body wants to stay and play … a big, dumb jock always obeys … big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jock. Turn into a big, dumb–Ow!” He hissed. “Thanks, Control.” He tried to remove his hand. It still wouldn’t budge. “But my body still won’t move.”

“Hunter, I swear, if you make it through this, you’re going straight to kill Stone, got it?”

“I make no promises.”

“Hunter!”

“You see what’s happening here. What about the other rooms?”

“We can scavenge them after you do the job. Take out the head, Hunter.”

“Fine,” Hunter said as he rolled his eyes. Control had a point. The weapons and research could be analyzed later. Assuming these goons were all as dumb as the recordings made them sound, and apparently become, they would probably just keep repeating their programming. Hopefully the organization could help put things right after this was over and get these poor souls back to normal again.

“The longer you listen to us talk, the more you turn into a big, dumb jock.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“Listen. Become. Jock. Big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jock. Obey. Become a big, dumb jock.” Trav’s shoulders broadened yet again as his calves sculpted further, inflating inside the pants. His feet cracked, then grew longer and wider as he shifted his stance to fit his new frame.

Hunter grunted under his breath. The stealth suit was starting to cut into his skin ever so slightly. Not good.

“Clear out our heads. Empty it all, till all that’s left is weights and football.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“Empty … football … yes.” Trav grunted as he listened, flexing a bicep as he looked at the weight bench. Travis was long gone now.

“Obey Coach Stone. There’s no other way. The better we listen, the better we play.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“Obey … listen … better. No other way…. Must obey Coach. Obey Coach Stone.”

“All the meatheads we used to mock. Become just like them, a big, dumb jock.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

Trav chuckled with his new deeper voice. “Dude, do you even lift, bro?” He flexed a bicep and kissed it. “Fuck yeah, I do, ‘cause I’m a big, dumb jock. A big dumb jock. I’m turning into a big, fucking dumb jock.” He grinned as he started picking up the rhythm of the chant.

“Atta boy, Trav. That’s the spirit,” Stone said approvingly. “Keep going. You’re almost ready to join the team.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

“Fuck yeah!” Trav cheered. “Put me on the field. Let me show you what I can do. Let me obey. Let me grow. Turn me into a big, fucking dumb jock!” His arms expanded further as his legs grew longer. His thighs and calves thickened, turning into pistons to propel him forward on the field. “Thick musclehead as dumb as rocks. Fuck yeah. Fuck … yeah ….”

“You must conform. You must obey. Be just like us if you wanna play.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

“Wanna play … just like you. Big, dumb jock. Must conform. Must obey.” Trav’s voice grew more distant again and less cocky. “Just … like … you. Obey. Become a big, dumb jock.”

“The harder we stare, the longer the glance, the deeper we fall into dumb jock trance.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

“Deeper … stare … trance … yes. Just want to be a big, dumb jock.”

Hunter swayed on his feet. “Control?” he whispered

“On it.”

The familiar pain shot through his arm and cleared his head. “Thank you.”

“We’re big, burly brutes with abs like stone. Big fucking dumb jocks right down to the bone.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

“Dumb jock … down to bone … yes. Big, dumb jock. Love becoming a big, dumb jock.”

“Big, bulky, brawny. You ain’t no wuss. You’re turning into one of us.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

“Turning … one of you … Big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jock. Turning into a big, dumb jock.” Trav hunched forward as the muscles in his neck expanded.

“More muscles. Less thinking. Work out. Can’t stop. Until we become Coach’s big, dumb jocks.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks….”

“Can’t stop … work out … more muscles …. Big, dumb jocks … Coach’s big, dumb jocks … become … for coach. Musclehead … dumb as rocks … yes.” Trav slowly lumbered his way to a rack holding several dumbbells. The screens followed him, maintaining their droning chant. He picked out two of the larger ones before he began performing sets of curls while staring at the screens.

Stone laughed. “That’s right, Trav. Lift those weights. Work out. Get bigger. The harder you work, the easier it is to just listen and obey like a good jock.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“… Just want to be a big, dumb jock …. Good jock for Coach. Lift. Listen. Obey. Become a big, dumb jock. Yes, Coach. I obey.” Trav grunted as he pumped and stared. The shoulder pads began to creak and strain as he continued to sweat with that vapid grin. His clothes grew tighter still as a shudder of pleasurable growth ran through him.

“The bigger the muscles, the more we get swole, the deeper we fall under Coach’s control.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“Must … obey Coach. I obey. Big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jock. Just want to be … only want to be. Must be … for Coach.”

Trav dropped the weights with a heavy thud as they dented the wood and stayed. He made his way towards the squat rack and stood in front of a scanner as it ran over his eye. With an electronic chirp, a full four hundred pounds was piled onto the waiting bar bell. “Lift … for Coach,” he said as he heaved it up over his shoulders and proceeded to squat. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the room as the rear pads fell with a gentle smack onto the floor. Soon the flesh began to be exposed as spandex burst and fabric began to separate. The jersey ran up on his torso and his underarmor followed suit as one of the straps on the shoulder pads snapped.

Hunter gaped.

“He looks … practically simian,” Control said.

“Not quite. Just more masculine traits. Thicker jaw, jutting brow. No thick skin either. And normal body hair. It’s just his face that’s changing. His head. Like … like mine,” Hunter whispered back.

“Poor kid.”

“Yeah …”

Trav continued to squat obediently as his pants were quickly reduced to tatters.

“From the scrawny nerd you used to be. Now a big, dumb jock is all we see.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“… We love becoming big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. We’re turning into big, dumb jocks.” Trav’s shoulder pads gave up the ghost with a series of metallic pings as the buckles broke and he sluffed them off, exposing the series of tears that had formed over the rest of his clothing.

“Flex out of your uniform. A big, dumb jock boy now is born.”

“Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks ….”

“… We’re turning into big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Thick muscleheads as dumb as rocks. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Obey, become a big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. Just want to be a big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jocks. Big, dumb jocks. We love becoming big, dumb jocks.” Trav repeated the chant over and over with the other boys as he continued to squat and grow. He shredded out of his uniform, so that only tatters clung to his shoulders and waist. Soon those were gone, too, leaving nothing but the bright emerald-green sweaty jockstrap which now barely held against his much broader and muscled frame. It seemed … paler in the sweatier parts. He shuddered and grinned as he placed the bar back onto its mount after finishing his set.

           “So that’s how they started them on the chemicals, absorption through the skin. God, look at him. No wonder he’s so … well, you know.”

           “Well endowed? Hung like a horse? Bull balled? Packing heat?” Hunter allowed himself the briefest of smirks at the dirty humor and the squirming he knew he was likely putting Control through, before he dropped it and sighed. “Looks that way, Control, but look at the price.” He watched as Trav pulled at the tight waist bands cutting into his flesh. The kid’s eyes were so blank. Must be high on his own endorphins and testosterone, and he wouldn’t be coming down any time soon. Hunter shook his head consolingly. “I can relate, kid. I can relate,” he whispered, fiddling with his own suit as it squeezed uncomfortably against his neck, arms, and crotch. It would definitely be hard to move in this thing. Once he actually could move, anyways. He’d probably tear through it if he tried full range of mobility, but there might not be any way to avoid that.

           Stone laughed. “See now, Trav? That wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re even enjoying yourself now, aren’t you?”

           Trav turned to face the screen projecting Stone’s face. “Yes, sir, Coach. It’s good to work out. Good to be a big, dumb jock.”

           “That’s right. And now it’s time for you to join your team in earnest.”

A whirring sounded from over by the dresser as the mountain of old cups toppled, having been shifted by the panel that was rising out of the sealed segment to reveal an armored safe. With a high pitched tone and a mechanical click, the door creaked open to reveal a headpiece just like the other boys had been wearing.

“Put it on, Trav. Complete the process. Join the team.”

“Yes, Coach,” Trav droned. He lumbered over to the mirror and reached into the safe. He pulled out the band, put it on, then adjusted it to fit his head. He checked himself in the mirror a few times, posed absently, then stood stock still as the glasses let out a chirp, followed by a whirring sound as two slim wire-like protrusions snaked outwards and entered his ear canals. A dim holo-screen projected over the front. A small progress bar flickered over the screen, displaying 99%.

“Congratulations, Trav. You’ve converted to muscle. You made the team. You are now officially one of the boys.”

The bar filled to 100%, and as it flashed, a dark sludgy-green slowly seeped out of his pupils and consumed the grey. With a pathetic snap, his jockstrap gave up the ghost. “Big, dumb jock. Big, dumb jock. I’m nothing but a big, dumb jock.” He laughed then, a deep, empty sort of laugh. It made Hunter shudder.

“Good jock. Put on your new jockstrap, and report to the gym for your new uniform. A meathead will be waiting for you outside. As for the rest of you boys, get back to work.”

A resounding, “Yes, sir, Coach,” echoed through the room as the display monitors shut off one after another. Hunter hastily retracted his hand, his body his own again. The viewing window went dark, and a loud crackle sounded through the dome-like facility.

“Meathead, you didn’t follow orders. I told you to report directly to the gym. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Hunter bowed his head. “Sorry, Coach,” he replied as the voice simulator kicked in again. He shuddered as he felt his crotch grow tighter.

“You can apologize when you’re working at your station again. You’ve been gone for too long. I know you were watching. Now get the kid, and bring him here. Make sure he finishes cementing his programming, then report to me personally. Do I make myself clear, Meathead?”

Hunter shuddered. “Yes, sir, Coach. Meathead understands. Meathead obeys. Meathead is a good meathead.” He heard it and felt it at the same time as the suit began to tear, exposing his skin to the cool, sterile air of the lab. He turned, and stared at the door to the isolation room, waiting expectantly.

“Good Meathead,” Stone purred. Then the connection cut off. The door opened with a steely hiss as Trav thumped out.

“Big, dumb jock. I’m a big, dumb jock. Obey coach. Make more jocks. Yes, Sir. Grow the team. Good to be on the team. Football team. Love football. Fuckin’ love football. Yes, sir. Must report. I obey.”

“Meathead obeys. You will follow Meathead to gym. You will follow Meathead to Coach. Must obey Coach.” Hunter let out another grunt as he turned, doing his best not to tear his suit further. He could hear the kid padding behind, droning his affirmations. Poor guy. Now Trav stood taller at six foot eleven, but unlike Meathead, he didn’t try to dominate or throw his weight around. That probably came later in programming. Hunter paused a moment as he felt a tingling sensation running down his hand. Looking down, he cursed. His wrists had grown as well. The band barely clung to the expanded joint. “Control, we have a problem,” Hunter said.

“I know. Your readings are all practically dead. Circuitry’s pretty much shot. All I’ve got left are your watch and your head gear.”

“Those won’t last long. At least the watch won’t.” Hunter groaned. “That means … I don’t have much time left. It’s been nice knowing you, Control.” A massive shock passed through Hunter’s arm. “Ow! What the hell, man?”

“One last dose, before–” the wrist watch snapped. “–That happens.”

“My growth is increasing, Control. Soon enough, I’ll probably be just as far gone as this kid is. We have to take out Coach Stone before that happens.”

“Coach Stone?”

“You know what I mean, Control.”

“Just making sure you’re still with me, Hunter.”

“I am, Control. Now where to next?”

“Follow the corridor to its end, then hang a right. The gym will be at the end. Use Thirteen’s ID to register and pass through.

“Got it. Get to the door, use Meathead’s ID, deliver the package, then take care of Stone. Easy.”

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 5

“Work out. Grow. I grow with the team. Obey. Must obey. Yes, Coach….”

Hunter looked pityingly at Trav, even as he did his best not to take in the hissing speakers around the halls. “Hopefully, we can help these kids get back to their old selves, when this is over.

“And you, too.”

“… Yeah. Me, too.”

The pair finally arrived at the door Control had indicated, and Hunter swiped the card.

“Acknowledged: Meathead. Access granted. Report to Sector M-BDJ.”

Hunter grunted. “Meathead obeys. Meathead will report.”

“Good meathead.”

“I am a good meathead. I obey.” He grunted again as another tear sounded. This time, he could feel the air against part of his back. As the door opened, he gaped at the sheer size of the facility that greeted him. Weights, machines, terminals, screens. All as far as the eye could see. The steady white light flickered and pulsed gently as a familiar drum beat played across the air. He slowly pressed forward, his strides matching the rhythm of the drums.

“Keep growing, Hunter.”

“What was that?” Hunter snapped.

“I said keep going, Hunter. You’ll reach a large elevator at the other end of the gym. Get in, then select M. That’ll take you to the floor you need to go to,” Control said.

“… Got it.” Hunter shook his head. This place was getting to him. “Come on, kid. This way,” he said, waving toward the other side of the gym. Trav followed closely behind, his pace easily matching his guide’s as they passed along the wide walkway. As they reached the doors, a loud metallic ping sounded, followed by the dim impact of something landing and skittering across the floor before meeting its demise with a solid crunch under Trav’s tough heel. Looking into the dull metal, Hunter barely made out the collar of his uniform. It had torn, bursting open to fit his expanding neck and pectorals. A large Adam’s apple now pressed prominently. “Control? Uh … we’ve got a problem,” he rumbled.

There was a stunned silence. “Hunter, just how big are you right now?”

“Let’s just say if I move too much, it’s going to be my birthday a little early this year.”

“Then you’d better take out Stone as fast as you can. If you’re already that blown up, your mind can’t be that far behind.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Thanks so much for that cheerful thought.” With that, the elevator doors opened, and the pair walked in. Hunter jabbed the M button, then turned to face Trav. His brow furrowed. “Kid, have you gotten … bigger?”

Trav chuckled. “Bigger is better, bro.” He flexed, and kissed a bicep as he posed in front of one of the mirror walls. The kid had to be over seven feet now. “Bigger, dumber jock. Just a big, dumb jock for Coach.”

“I know, kid. I know. Just go on back to what you were doing. We’ll see your coach soon.”

“Report to Coach. Obey Coach. Grow for Coach. Be a good dumb jock. I am a good dumb jock. Obey … I obey. I flex. I obey. Flex. Obey. Yes, Sir. Flex deeper. I flex for Coach. Flex and forget. Flex and obey….”

Hunter did his best to keep focused on the elevator’s display, but he couldn’t keep Trav’s deep teen voice completely out of his head. He blushed violently as he looked down to his crotch. His suit had grown so tight there was little left to the imagination. He bit off the rising, “Fuck yeah,” that was building in his throat. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t some dumb meathead who thought with his dick. His huge dick. His massive meat. His–

Hunter shuddered, and did his best to cut off that train of thought.

The door opened, and Hunter gave a silent word of thanks to whatever gods got him out of that space. “Come on, kid,” he said with a curt motion. “Follow. Obey.”

Trav did so, still grinning as he continued to flex. Unlike the other gym, this level was filled with men. Some were sitting on benches staring blankly ahead as their security helmet visors flickered. Others grunted and groaned as they worked to shove some of the heaviest barbells Hunter had ever seen up and down over and over as they followed the rhythm of the drums. “’Sup, bros?” Trav said as they walked past. Most of the meatheads grunted in reply, before getting back to work. Others simply ignored him, too lost in their own sets and workouts to notice or care. With no one to interact with, Trav returned to simply flexing and staring blankly at his visor.

The pair suddenly found themselves blocked off by a virtual Goliath. The giant of a man stared down out of his flickering visor, his vascular arms folded over two meaty pecs that strained against his tight black lycra spandex uniform. “Halt, meathead,” he ordered in the same dull tone Hunter had come to accept as normal amongst these muscle men.

The pair had no choice but to obey. Trav stared blankly ahead as his program continued to run, feeding the stream of information that would make him a permanent member of Stone’s menagerie. Hunter gritted his teeth at the delay.

“Meathead will explain why he is out of uniform with prospective meathead.”

Hunter shuddered and did his best to make his voice sound as vapid as possible. “Meathead obeys,” he began. “This meathead has been recently inducted.” He flexed a bicep, tearing through the sleeve, and leaving it to hang limply at his side. He struggled against the dopy smile that was trying to push itself onto his face, even as the material of his suit grew tighter still. “This meathead is a happy meathead. While reporting for orientation and assignment, this meathead received orders from Coach Stone. This meathead is to take prospective meathead to sector M-BDJ for training. I am a meathead. I obey.”

“I obey,” Trav echoed as he stared blankly ahead.

The man looked at each of them, carefully scrutinizing them with his empty eyes. After about five minutes of staring, he finally spoke. “This meathead will escort you. Meathead will follow. Meathead will listen. Meathead will obey.”

Hunter repeated the mantra as the man twisted and began leading them through the facility.

“Curious. They appear to have a type of command structure after all. The bigger they are, the higher up on the chain. This must be some type of overseer class, like a captain or colonel, or perhaps a trainer,” Control said.

Hunter grunted his acknowledgement as they passed on. Both knew it was too dangerous to speak while the overseer was leading.

About a minute later, they had passed through another door, and made their way through a widened hallway. “Obey,” came the sudden order. “Flex.”

Trav’s visor flashed in his eyes, and he chuckled dimly as he began to pose while he walked. Hunter was a little taken aback, but not seeing any way around it, he flexed soon after. He felt the material give way as the upper part of his suit tore apart and fell to hang from his waist. Cool air flowed over his upper torso as he continued to march along.

The giant stopped, and spun rapidly, shoving Hunter back with his massive arms. “Meathead did not obey.” A security feed played over the visor, paired with the green flashes that every one of them seemed to hold. There was Hunter, hesitating as Trav posed without so much as breaking his stride. The overseer grabbed Hunter by both shoulders, and shoved him down to his knees. “Prospective meathead will wait against the wall and run his programming. Prospective meathead will obey,” he ordered.

Trav had continued walking like nothing was wrong, until the order was given. His visor flashed, and he suddenly jerked to a halt just a few feet down the hall. He performed a perfect right angle turn, and marched to the side of the wall, before turning smartly and standing perfectly straight. “Yes, sir. Coach tells me to obey. I obey,” he droned, then stood still as the flickers continued to run across his blank eyes.

The overseer smirked, then turned back to Hunter with a grim expression. “Meathead is not complete. Meathead hesitated. Meathead has not completed his induction. Meathead lied. Meathead needs more training.”

Hunter groaned. “Shit,” he cursed as he looked up at the man. The giant’s grip burned his muscles as the pressure increased.

“This meathead will incapacitate you, and report to–.” A loud snap filled the air, followed by the crashing sound of the overseer’s corpse landing on the floor. His head was turned at an unhealthy angle.

Hunter sighed. “Sorry, friend, but you left me no choice.” A light prickling sensation ran across his chin. As he reached up, he felt the stubble that had grown in. “Great. Just great,” he muttered. He walked up to Trav. “Unit Trav will walk with this meathead. Unit Trav will access compound layout and walk to subunit BDJ to join his team. You are a big, dumb jock. You will obey.”

“I obey,” he droned as the lights flashed across his eyes. “Must obey. Must report. Report to Coach Stone.”

“Report to Coach Stone,” Hunter repeated as he fell into stride next to Trav.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the room. Trav turned to the door, and the lights flickered off on his visor as he raised it. He shoved his eyes into a scanner. A musical chime sounded from a speaker above the door.

“What are you?” a familiar feminine voice clipped.

“Big, fucking dumb jock,” Trav droned.

“Who is your coach?”

“Coach Stone.”

“Who do you serve?”

“Coach Stone.”

“Who do you obey?”

“Coach Stone.”

“State your position.”

“Defensive tackle, beta test group Gamma: identification number fifty-four. Must report. Must obey. Must join the team.”

“Acknowledged: BDJ Beta Test Subject Number Gamma Fifty-Four. Designation, Trav. Voice analysis confirmed. Retinal scan positive. Access granted.”

The door opened with a hiss, and the pair passed through without incident. The room was pristine, covered from wall to wall with floor-length mirrors. The drums continued to beat here as they had back in the test subject room. Trav immediately made for the machines as he lowered his visor, and the lights flickered on once again. An empty weight bench awaited him with a towering guard standing by. Without so much as a grunt to acknowledge the giant man’s presence, the boy went to work, lifting in time to the music. The guard spotted the kid briefly before nodding, satisfied that Trav would continue his workout without breaking out of the cycle. Then he turned to face Hunter. Surprisingly, he did nothing. His bulky helmet flashed, just like the other overseer’s had. The former agent must have been relegated to observe the boys and keep them in line. Good. That was one less guard to worry about.

“I’d wondered when you’d get here,” a familiar voice rumbled. Hunter turned to face the source of all his anger. Stone stood a good foot and a half above him. He still wore the same tailor-made business suit he’d worn to the dinner. His five guards stood in thrall behind him as he casually adjusted his wrist watch, and pressed a button. He examined the screen. “It took you about an hour to get to me, agent. Very sloppy,” he chided absently. “Grunt only took about ten minutes. Of course, he was trying to hack my files, not kill me. It was so cute watching him stare all blank-faced at the monitor as his training took over.” He laughed. “The whole time he was working at my office, and he never even knew he was being converted.” He walked to the far end of the line of his guard and patted Grunt on the cheek. “But you enjoyed it, didn’t you, Grunt? You like being a meathead.”

“Yes, sir,” Grunt droned. “Love being a meathead. Love to obey.”

“Good boy.”

Grunt shuddered in pleasure as he continued to stare ahead.

“All of them enjoyed it, actually. They realized what I was doing was actually a good thing. After all, I’m ending war. I’m bringing peace. And better yet, I’m bringing physical perfection to the world.”

“You’re turning innocent men and boys into mindless slaves.”

Stone shrugged. “To make a good omelet, you’ve got to break a few eggs, and a few egg heads.” He chuckled. “They still retain their skills. Well, mostly. They simply … think differently than they did before. Surely, you’ve noticed, Agent Hunter, how easy it is to just stand there, and do nothing, like a good boy, and obey.”

Suddenly Hunter couldn’t move. He strained, flexing his muscles, grunting and struggling to shift to no avail.

Stone chuckled. “I’m afraid that won’t do you any good, Agent. You’re as good as trapped. Soon enough, you and your fellow agents will be working for my team.”

Hunter snarled. “Never.”

“Never is a very long time, my little meathead. Your little organization has been preparing to join me for a long while now anyways. You just haven’t known it.” He grinned, baring his teeth in a sadistic sneer.

“Red alert. Red alert. Subject Thirteen is loose. I repeat, Subject Thirteen is loose in the compound. All available units converge and neutralize the threat,” Control’s voice said over the earpiece.

“Is something the matter, Hunter?” Stone chuckled as his voice rumbled through the gym. “Why, I wonder, whatever could it be?”

Hunter grit his teeth, straining the muscles in his neck as he struggled to raise his hands. He’d strangle him. But it was to no avail. His body still wouldn’t respond. “What did you do?” he spat as his vision began to tinge with red. His breathing grew labored, and he could feel his body expanding again.

Stone laughed. “That’s right, Hunter, get mad. Let that rage fill your body. More strength, more muscle, more meat to fill that thickening head of yours.”

“Stone!” Hunter roared.

“It was a simple enough matter. I just planted a few agents of my own in your little organization. You didn’t really think Meathead could be captured so easily, did you? I designed him to be a tank. I programmed that fight into him using his helmet. After you reclaimed the tech, well, it was only a matter of activating its preset signal to trigger my meathead agents to carry out their orders. You see, Hunter, my meatheads can function in society. It’s just that they prefer being their dumb selves. They like thinking simply. They like not worrying or questioning. They like clearing their heads as they lift and work out. Hell, I had to program a subroutine in their brains just to keep them from falling back in too soon when they went to a gym or did something else their old selves associated with.”

“Why?”

“Because this world is messed up, with no opportunities for the little guy. It’s always been survival of the fittest, dog eat dog, and whatever other metaphors you want to come up with. The strong take what they want, and leave the weaker parts to die. It’s a flawed system, Hunter. Society is broken, because jerkwads like Meathead used to be only let people grow so far, before cutting them down, chewing them up, and spitting them back out.” His face began to turn red. “Well, it’s time for a new predator to take command, and this time, he’s bringing everyone along for the ride!”

A loud tear sounded as the sleeves on Stone’s suit tore open. “Great. Now look what you made me do.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled off the sleeves, and shredded through the rest of the suit to reveal his full torso. “These suits are expensive, you know,” he said as he strode to the other guards. They followed their master’s example, and began to flex where they stood, which made Stone laugh all the more.

“It’s just a matter of time now, Hunter. I know your body is itching to join them. Maybe just one little flex, hmm? After all, a hunter needs his meat.” He laughed again.

“You sick bastard!” Hunter groaned as he felt his feet strain against his shoes.

“I’m the sick one? When I give all these people what they’ve secretly wanted, and I’ve singlehandedly dealt with an organization your corrupt government has been trying to take down for over twenty years now? Wake up, Hunter. You and your organization have been nothing but hired muscle from the beginning. You’re just like them. You take your orders, you carry them out, and you do your very best to remain in peak physical condition, so you can carry out your next mission to please your superiors and get a reward. You and your fellow agents were made for the meathead life, even your precious Control. Yes, I know you’re listening, Jason.” He smirked. Tell me, Hunter, what would you do, if you were to lose him, hmm?”

Hunter’s eyes widened. “Control, get out of there.”

“I’m not leaving you behind, Hunter.”

“You’ve been designated as a target. Get out of there right now!”

“I told you. I’m not leaving!”

“Damn it, Jason, this isn’t a time for playing the hero. Get the hell out of ops, and get some help!”

“They have weapons! And … oh my god, Greyson.”

“Is he dead?”

All Hunter heard was silence.

“Control. Jason! Is Greyson dead?”

“… Worse, Hunter. He … he’s one of them now. Hunter, they’re targeting the agents one by one. It’s … it’s some sort of rifle or something. Just one hit, then … they’re gone. I’m initiating lockdown procedure.”

Hunter glowered at Stone. “What did you do to them?”

Stone chuckled. “Nothing, really. I’ve had sleeper agents in your organization for ages. It was just time for them to wake up, and carry out their final orders. And the best part is they didn’t even remember carrying them out. Soon, Agent Hunter, your little organization will be working for me. Your friend, Jason; your precious Director Skinner; even you will gladly obey me in time.”

“Never!”

Stone smirked knowingly. “You’ll see.”

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.”

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 7

Hey, guys. Just one more part to go after this, and Of Spies and Muscleheads will be complete. It’s been awesome sharing this story with you, and I look forward to sharing more in times to come, but after this, Coach Stone may end up disappearing for a time as I work on the next arc involving him. My apologies for having to make you wait, but rest assured, there will be more transformations to come across a variety of paths, including muscle growth and mental changes, so don’t worry. You’ll see more of the themes you love. I promise. ~Omni

The newly dubbed Controller chuckled. “Time to wake up, bros.” His fingers whisked over the keys faster than they had, even when he had been his old self. “Meatheads will wake. Meatheads will respond. Meatheads will obey.”

The smaller men behind suddenly stiffened, as if a bolt of electricity had run through them. They doubled in size and muscle mass, grinning like the idiots they now were. A metal storage closet door buckled and shrieked in protest, before bursting open to reveal the torn lab coat of a technical assistant beneath a tower of muscle. A headpiece that was far too small for this man’s new form barely clung to his ear as he strode out of the tiny and much deformed space to join the others. And still all Hunter could do was stare.

“How far along are we, Controller?”

“Conversion at fifty percent, Sir,” he droned.

“Good. Meatheads, go round up any stragglers in the building who haven’t been hooked to the communications network. Controller, keep up the work here. Meathead, Skinner, guard Controller.”

A resounding, “Yes, sir, Coach. We are meatheads. We obey,” echoed in stereo over the screen, before the column of men filed out in search of stragglers.

“I do so love my meatheads. Don’t you, Agent Hunter?” Stone asked.

“Go to hell,” Hunter growled.

“That would make an interesting vacation spot, but I think I much prefer Florida,” Stone quipped.

“Let me go, damnit!”

“In due time, Agent Hunter. In due time.”

“All field agents accounted for, coach,” Controller said. “They have begun the process, and will soon convert to muscle.”

Various screens began popping up over the main one on the tablet.

“Agent Butcher reporting. Butcher is a good meathead.”

“Agent Iron Skull reporting. I am a good meathead.”

“Agent Quicksilver reporting. I am a good meathead.”

And so it continued one after another. Each new agent reporting in was another blow to Hunter’s heart as he watched his comrades in arms fall to little more than thugs for hire swearing their loyalty to a maniac.

“Meatheads, continue your assignments as normal, then contact Controller for your next instructions when they’re complete.”

A collective, “Yes, Sir,” followed, and the communications cut off, leaving just Controller and the meatheads there, and Stone with his meatheads and captive.

“Meathead conversion ninety-nine percent complete, Sir,” Controller said. “Meathead Gym Titan waits for its coaches.”

“And your gym will have them. But first, we should take care of that last percent, wouldn’t you say, Controller?”

“Whatever you say, Coach. This meathead does not think. This meathead obeys.”

“Good meathead. Now put on your helmet, and trigger our last sleeper agent.”

“Yes, sir. Controller is a meathead. Controller obeys.”

The giant known as Meathead approached with a helmet similar to the ones Hunter had seen on the drones as he snuck through the castle, and placed it solidly on Controller’s head. The green plexiglass covering flickered and glowed, and soon enough, he looked just like the rest of the drones.

“Connection restored. Reinforcement protocols initiated.” He flexed, and made his way to the console, his pupils dilating and contracting in time to the pulses from his helmet.

Hunter groaned as he watched those pulses. Jason’s … no, he’s not Jason anymore. It’s Controller’s jockstrap. Controller’s body. He watched the jockstrap straining to hold up. He saw those curved muscles, watched those pectorals as they twitched and bounced. Bouncing. Huge. Swollen. His thickened brow furrowed. Why was he so upset again? Something … wrong?  But bouncing. Pecs. Muscles. They’re nice, aren’t they?

“Not yet, Hunter,” Stone said. Hunter felt a sudden pain burning through his arm. One of the former agents was clinging to it, twisting the skin. “You need to watch and listen.” Stone sneered then, and pointed to the other brain that had been left off at the side. Hunter’s eyes widened as he saw the number had dropped down to 90.

“That’s–.”

“Your IQ, yes. Strange how susceptible you are to my little tricks, wouldn’t you say? Already, you’ve lost so much,” Stone mocked. “Then again, you’ve been exposed for quite a while now, haven’t you?” He turned back to the screen. “You’ll initiate contact on my mark, Controller. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir, Coach,” Controller replied.

“If you’re going to turn me into one of your–” Hunter grunted, swearing in his mind. Why did his clothes have to be so tight? “–Mindless meathead drones, then the least you can do is show me the agent responsible.” His number had dropped to 85, and it was getting harder to stay himself. Harder not to want to flex, to sit and stare, to watch it all go away, far away. Wrapped up deep inside. Deep in his massive meat. But no. He couldn’t … not yet. Not … not yet. Have to focus. Have to stay strong. Stay strong. Strong.… “Who … who helped you? Who betrayed us?” So hard to focus. So hard. Hard muscles. Stronger. 82. Pulsing deeper. 81. Deeper is dumber. Dumbing down. 80. Like a good meathead shoul–NO! He was not a meathead. Want to be a meathead. He would resist. Convert. Obey.

“Wait and see. It won’t take all that long, before Controller makes contact, once I give the order. Just relax, enjoy the ride. I see you’re already starting to, anyways. It’s a real rush, isn’t it, all that power? I felt much the same way when I first changed. The swelling muscles; the surge of the testosterone; the heft of my penis and testicles as they hung, swelled, expanded. I nearly lost myself to my body then, became little more than another one of the brutes you’ve seen. For a short while, I was.

“All I wanted, all I cared about was gym, eat, sleep, and the occasional sexual intercourse. I found employment at a local gym, and for almost a year, I worked and lived as nothing more than a musclebound, weight-obsessed, protein-chugging meathead. Made a nice mint as a model, too, from time to time.” Stone smirked. “To tell you the truth, I’m still not sure what it was that snapped me out of it, and back to my old self. Possibly a delayed reaction in the compound, or maybe it was sheer dumb luck. Whatever the case, when I finally came to myself, and returned to my little lab, the compound had degraded too far for recreation, and, unfortunately, during my little stint in the land of the meatheads, I’d carelessly used my research notes as towels and placeholders for my protein shakes and beer. I had to start from scratch.

“As you can see, I’ve managed to recreate the growth in muscle and body mass, but I have yet to figure out how to preserve my targets’ intelligence. Of course, that’s not an entirely bad thing. And since I was the first, in an ironic twist of fate, everyone automatically perceives me as the alpha, or coach, if you will. Even without proper mental conditioning, I just have to approach them, bark an order at them, and they obey. For example, I could say something like ON YOUR FEET, MEATHEAD, AND GIVE ME TWENTY PUSHUPS NOW!”

Hunter felt a sudden surge of vertigo, and before he knew it, he was on the floor, pushing silently with brutal efficiency. Half a minute later, he was back on his feet again. This was his chance. He could–

“BACK TO YOUR STATION, MEATHEAD. NOW!” Stone barked.

Again, the spinning sensation, the loss of balance or connection with the world. Then the world righted itself. Hunter was staring back at the screen again. He shook his head in disbelief. Stone had to be bluffing. It was the conditioning. Something that traitor Skinner did. He had to be the agent, he had to be. Stone was just trying to keep him distracted, so he couldn’t break free and finish the job. He had to fight this somehow, had to beat it. Smash. Crush. Dumb down. Obey.

“Good boy.” Stone smirked as he watched Hunter’s number drop to 78. “I’d say you’re ready. Controller, contact our agent.”

“Yes, sir. Controller is a good meathead. Controller obeys.”

A high-pitched whine, and the sound of harsh, grating static assaulted Hunter’s ears. He winced.

“’Sup, bro?” Controller’s voice said over the earpiece. “Time to wake up.”

“No … hell no!” Hunter growled. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

Stone smirked. “Controller, override sleeper programming. Authorization key: Full Restore.”

“I obey,” Hunter heard in stereo as the meathead that was once Jason pressed into the console. A familiar workout tune beat into his eardrums. “Controller is a meathead. Controller obeys his coach.”

“Jason, if there’s even so much as a scrap of you left in there, now would be the time to fight back,” Hunter said. “Please.”

Controller paused for a moment, as if considering what Hunter had just said. The music pulsed in Hunter’s brain, making it harder to focus. The heavy clank of weights echoed down the corridors of his mind. He remembered the men so mindlessly at work on those benches, pushing, swelling, growing. He recalled that giant among the meatheads, his helmet, his face, those blank glassy eyes. He remembered the one drone that had offered his helmet, and the intense regret that had run through his mind when he rejected it. Then Controller reached for a particular button, and pressed it. The volume turned up. “Controller is a meathead. Controller obeys. Time to remember, meathead. Time to obey.”

Pain arced through Hunter’s skull. He screamed, and the last thing he heard was the endless laughter of Stone and his army of mindless drones.

Of Spies and Muscleheads Epilogue

Brute grinned as he walked up and down the aisles, carefully examining each of the men as they worked out. They stared blankly at the ceiling as they lifted in time to the music blaring over the speakers. Towering at Nine and a half feet tall, he watched as each man stared up with vacant eyes into pulsing green screens. His eyes were drawn to a blinking cursor at the edge of his helmet’s visor as a message began to scroll across.

Meathead Brute

Designation: Trainer 010

Controller Order: Initiate Final Lift Program. Full Conversion.

Future Subject Designation: Meathead Patrolmen 500-520.

Prepare meatheads for deployment in conversion project FAT Camp. Send to armory and wait for new potential meatheads.

Meathead Brute will obey.

Brute walked up to the control console and placed his palm on the biometric scanner. In a matter of moments, he had changed the settings to match his orders. A shudder of pleasure ran through him as he watched the new meatheads. It always felt so good to make more meatheads, to be more meathead. He watched as they pushed, watched as they swelled, watched as they repeated their mantra of meat, muscle, and obedience. He watched as the men rose as one, blank-eyed, focused, obedient. He watched as the helmets slowly descended from the dispenser unit and mounted on their heads. He watched as the green screens flashed to life. He watched twenty true muscle men slam their legs together ram-rod straight and salute in perfect unison as the green lights pulsed behind their visors. He watched as twenty new interfaces downloaded into his own helmet.

“We are meatheads. We obey,” came the crisp confirmation as twenty new meatheads gave themselves over completely to their new lives.

Brute sent the order.

The men turned immediately and followed the automated instructions in their helmets, droning all the while. Brute would have smirked, amused at the expressions of fear the potential meatheads had on their faces when they saw the new meatheads leaving. They were escorted into the gym by Patrolmen 210-215. Brute had trained them himself, and could not help but feel a little pride at their focus and attention to duty, while their interfaces connected to his network of control.

“Good meatheads,” he thought. The interface immediately communicated the message.

The men saluted. “We are good meatheads. We obey.”

A new set of orders flickered across his visor.

Meathead Brute

Designation: Trainer 010

Controller Order: Initiate Conversion Program M-BDJ. Process Subjects: Juvenile Delinquents. Potential meatheads will be converted to muscle and return reformed to society.

Future Subject Designations: Numbers 00-56, Team Sparta.

Beta Tester Team Gamma Number 54, Public Designation: Trav, will join you.

A brief flicker of something sparked at the designation, for some reason. Brute immediately crushed it. It was not his place to think. He would train. He would obey. And Gamma 54 would help him convert these potential meatheads to muscle, just as he had once been helped by Brute.

The loud swish of the heavy metal doors sliding open indicated the arrival of the new assistant. Brute immediately interfaced with the young meathead’s helmet, then turned to see the giant of a jock. His grin proved unsettling to the gathered crowd of future meatheads, and his form towered over them at seven foot five. Gamma 54 was well on his way to becoming a true and proper meathead. Perhaps he could even be a trainer someday, with the proper coaching. Stone looked with disdain on the little runts. Every meathead towered over potential meatheads at first, and it disgusted him.

Gamma 54’s football pads clung to his frame, the lycra-spandex fabric straining and holding against his perfectly sculpted muscles. Again, the same green glow in all helmets shone beneath the visor’s cover as the green-eyed jock stared out at the gathered youth. For the most part, they appeared to be gangsters and runaways, their clothing shabby and disheveled. They were not organized. They were not disciplined. They were not a team. Yet.

“’Sup, bros?” Gamma 54 greeted, grinning still. A few in the group swayed on their feet. Brute immediately took note of them. They would convert first. Then he would use them to force the others.

“This is Trav from team unit Gamma. His team number, as you can see, is 54.” Brute hated talking like this, but the potential meatheads were not ready to hear proper speech yet. They would need to be trained and conditioned, and increasing their fear would only serve to delay the conversion. “He will be assisting me as we take you on a journey to better yourselves.”

“Yeah, right,” came a snarky comment from farther back. A nervous chuckle ran through the gathered miscreants.

Brute continued as the script played out over his visor. He bored into the teens. “We’re here to work you to the bone. This isn’t high school; this isn’t a penitentiary. Do what you’re told, and you won’t have any problems. Don’t do what you’re told, and you will be punished. We’re not afraid to hit here, and we hit hard,” he said, tensing his muscles as he glared. The show proved more than effective as more than half the group recoiled. Good. They would acknowledge his authority. “You will follow a set schedule and report on time. If you choose to disobey, a guard will make you obey. If you rebel, the guards will retaliate in kind. Submit to our authority, and by the time you leave this facility, you will be as strong, fast, and disciplined as Trav.

“Fuck you!” one of the delinquents shouted, shoving his middle finger up in the air.

The reaction was swift and painful as Gamma 54 lunged into the crowd and immediately punched the offending young man in the stomach. The kid was on the floor, coughing and struggling to get his breath as Gamma 54 glared, then smashed his foot down on the kid’s back, and ground with the spikes of his cleats. “Nobody disrespects Coach Brute.” The rest of the group recoiled as Gamma 54 picked up the currently sorry excuse for a human being and held him in the air by the scruff of his shirt.

Brute beamed with pride.

“What do I do with him, Sir?” Gamma 54 asked.

“Hand him off to 211. He’ll take the boy to solitary. You didn’t break anything?”

Gamma 54 sneered. “Just his pride. He’ll bruise, and it’ll hurt like hell, but he’s fine.”

“Good. 211, take this kid to solitary. I’ll designate a trainer for him later.”

211 nodded, and curtly grabbed the kid by both arms, lifting him above the ground as he marched out from the room.

Brute’s comms link suddenly sparked to life as static filtered through his helmet and into his ears.

“Brute, report to my office immediately.”

Brute’s body went rigid. “Yes, Sir.” The signal cut off, and he immediately turned on the party. “Trav, I have to go see Coach Stone. I’m leaving you in charge in the meantime. You know what to do. Get them geared up and start their training.”

“Convert the swayers as soon as possible. 54 will initiate BDJ orientation file Sleep and Obey. 54 will then follow up with BDJ files Weight Trance paired with Pleasure Daze as they work. 54 will reinforce training, and follow prompts while Brute is away. 54 will take command, until Brute returns. 54 will obey,” the hidden orders flashed over Gamma 54’s display.

“54 is a good, dumb jock. 54 obeys,” the response read.

Brute smiled, patted Gamma 54 firmly on the shoulder pad, then marched out of the room with a purpose. The youths parted for him, keeping a wide berth, until he was gone. Good. They were learning. They would obey soon enough.

Stone’s office was a strange place. It sounded too quiet, and the music Coach played was too fancy. Just a bunch of low, slow strings with a few high-pitched squeaks. Brute didn’t like it too much. The wall-to-wall bookshelves also left him feeling uneasy. Where were the mirrors? Where was the metal? Where was all the workout equipment? Where were the pads? All he could see was a single bench with a few piles of hundred-pound weights to lift. Still, he was a meathead, and meatheads always obey Coach Stone. And so, he stood at attention, and awaited his new orders.

“Sit down, Brute,” Stone said from his place behind his desk. He lowered a book by some guy named Dickens. Maybe he was a meathead, too? Bigger balls, bigger dick. Makes sense.

Brute obeyed, even as he stared and observed.

“I’m going to show you something, Brute, and I want you to look over it very carefully, before you answer my question.” Coach Stone pulled open a locked drawer and clenched his fist. There was the sound of metal sliding across wood, before the glint of tiny chain links became visible, just barely poking out from between Stone’s fingers. He smacked his hand down on the desk, causing the floor to tremble beneath their feet. Then he slid the object over and revealed what had been hidden. “Go ahead. Pick it up.”

Brute reached down to touch the strange metal plates. They were small, no more than maybe an inch or two in length. The thin metal had been carefully pressed by a machine with a series of numbers and a name the meathead didn’t recognize. By the time he’d gotten half way through the name, he’d already lost interest. The shorter name on the other tag caught his attention, though. “… Hunter,” he read aloud.

“Yes. Do you recognize the name?”

Brute stared at the tags. He furrowed his blocky brow. “Chains’re broken.”

“Do you recognize the name?” Coach Stone pressed.

Brute slowly lowered the dog tags back down to the table and stared with his hollow eyes. “No, sir, Coach. Should I?”

Coach Stone smiled. “No, Brute, you shouldn’t.” He slid the tags back over to his side. “Just an old relic ready to be forgotten. That name’s served its purpose for now. I might recycle it later for a new meathead. How are the new recruits?”

“Dumb Jock Unit Gamma 54 activating initiation and reinforcement protocols.” Brute paused as he accessed the interface, using his clearance to put up a security feed and statistical report on his visor. Some few of the boys had tents already standing out in their jeans as they stared at the video. Blushing, they struggled to cover them. Some blinked owlishly, and swayed in their chairs, erections forgotten. A few more had slumped forward in their chairs, and were slowly mouthing under their breaths. One of the guards casually approached such a youth, and pulled him up and aside, pointing to a bench. The boy walked over, glassy-eyed as he sat, continued to stare ahead, and mumbled along. The other mumblers soon followed. “Three units ready for instruction. Ten aroused. Five entering trance. The rest are still watching. Some youth are closing their ears. Others are frightened. Potential units will take time to process.”

“No need to worry, Brute. Time is something we have plenty of. That’s what these tests are for. We need to find more efficient ways to hasten the process. Hit them with the new experimental subliminals as soon as they go to sleep tonight. As for today,” Stone sneered, “work them till they drop.”

Brute straightened and saluted to his coach. “I am a meathead. I obey.”

“Good. Now go,” Stone said, dismissing him with the wave of a hand. “I want at least five new jocks by the end of the week.”

Brute left the office with one last affirmation of his obedience and smiled as he marched down the halls. It was good to be a meathead. It was good to obey.

Stone grinned as he looked over the old tags, then laughed. “Who’d have thought taking over a spy agency would have been so easy?” He reached down and pressed his thumb to a fingerprint scanner. With a chirp and a ka-chunk, the drawer came free and slowly emerged to reveal an ever-growing pile of dog tags. “Last one,” he murmured as he slowly tipped his hand. The name fell with a metallic clink and the slither of metal chain on metal chain as the pile writhed, before settling once more. The drawer slowly drew shut, and Hunter was swallowed forever, never to emerge.

Without a second glance, Stone rose and turned to an old set of binoculars resting on one of the higher bookshelves. He placed his head against them and waited as a familiar red light ran over his eyes. The book case to his left drew open with a steely hiss and he entered into his personal weight room, filled to the brim with every workout machine on the market.

Stone shuddered as he hastily removed his suit, tearing a few of the buttons off, before tossing it onto a side bin and sliding on the familiar black sleeveless muscle shirt and shorts. The word Coach had been embossed on the back, and the front read JUST LIFT in big white letters. He allowed himself a flex in the mirrors, before smirking and turning to the squat rack. His hands twitched in anticipation. His legs ached to flex, to move, to fill with blood pumping through his veins. “It’s been too long,” he moaned. Then he set to work.

As the haze of the workout slowly descended over him, he grinned. “Gotta work out. Gotta get swole.” A deep bass drum played in the background, beating in time to his heart as music filled the room, and his silvery grey eyes slowly shifted to an emerald green. He took two hundred pounds for each side of the bar, and secured them in place, then picked the bar up, and began to squat. “Meatheads will spread with their coach in control.” He shuddered, then sneered. “Yes. Maybe I should be more of a coach.”

A Moment *coughMonthcough* of silence

Hey, guys. So, here’s a little status update for all my avid followers and watchers. I’ve been spending most of this month working on a commission that two of my fans have requested to be the next installation in an old favorite of yours. That’s right, folks.

*Takes a deep breath*

COACH STONE IS COMING BACK!

And this time, he’s bought a school. So, don’t be too disappointed if I’m not on for a while. Trust me, the wait will be WORTH IT!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go tackle a dummy-errrr the rest of this commission. Yeah. Totes. Huhuhuh. ;-)