Lately, there’s been a string of mysterious disappearances around here—all men. At each scene, there’s a strong smell of cigars, and the surveillance cameras are mysteriously damaged. One day, a security guard named Jones managed to recover a piece of surveillance footage. As he watched the clip—showing a big guy in a leather jacket making men “disappear”—Jones was about to call the police. Suddenly, he caught a thick, heavy whiff of cigar smoke…
Author words: don't ask me why there are two cigars. Ask that stupid Sora.
Next to the city news, local tycoon Midas, a formidable figure in the industry known for his volatile temperament and relentless greed, has long been dubbed with the mythical ability to turn stone into gold—squeezing profit from the bare minimum. Yet, curiously, his managers remain fiercely loyal to him.
Recently, a major strike at one of his factories ended abruptly after its organizers, one after another, joined Midas’s company. Left without leadership, the strike dissolved following several violent incidents.
While some speculate Midas privately bought off these leaders, our reporters spoke exclusively with one of them, who claimed to have been won over by Midas’s charisma, admitting he had misjudged the magnate in the past.
Midas himself has stated he will show leniency, allowing the striking workers to return to their jobs. For further developments, stay tuned to our ongoing coverage.
In just a few short years, Flash Corporation had become a global titan, ballooning from a modest tech startup into a sprawling conglomerate spanning countless industries. The common belief was that it possessed an almost infinite talent pool—no one could resist its headhunting, and it welcomed everyone without discrimination. Former professionals, drifters, outcasts—each found their place within its growing ranks. But its inner circle knew the truth. Ever since the discovery of the Dimensional Vortex, they had become untouchable. By extracting energy from the vortex and editing the timelines of any individual, they could instantly mold anyone into a perfect corporate asset. And soon, everyone would be part of the company's family.
Johnny hummed a soft tune as he worked the shampoo into the young man's hair. The white foam piled up thick and sweet-smelling. The customer, a slim white guy with floppy blond hair, relaxed into the chair, eyes closed. He had no idea what was about to happen.
Johnny's fingers moved in slow circles. With each rub, strands of hair came loose. They slid down the young man's neck, onto the floor. Johnny kept humming.The young man felt a tingle. It started at his scalp and spread down his spine. He wanted to open his eyes, but his body felt heavy, too heavy. He didn't notice his shoulders pushing wider against his T-shirt. He didn't feel the fabric tighten over his chest as muscles swelled.Johnny kneaded deeper. More hair fell away. The blond mop thinned, then vanished from the crown. The hairline crept backward, leaving a smooth, shiny dome on top. Dark stubble pushed through the skin around his jaw and upper lip, rough and thick.
The young man's body grew dense, beefy. His arms thickened, veins rising to the surface. His hands, resting on the chair, turned into tough, square paws. His thighs spread apart as his whole frame became solid, heavy with man-weight.
But it wasn't just the body. Johnny's fingers sent thoughts into the young man's brain, soft and sneaky. The memories of college classes, video games, and a shy girlfriend melted away. New thoughts pushed in: sweaty nights, hungry mouths, the smell of leather and whiskey. A need that burned low in his belly.The young man's lips parted. His breathing deepened. He forgot his old name. Now he was Victor, a forty-year-old divorced man who hadn't been touched in too long. A man who craved rough hands and a hot mouth. A man who knew exactly what he wanted.
Johnny rinsed the last of the foam away. He watched the reflection in the mirror: a balding, beefy man with a face full of stubble, his T-shirt now too small for his thick chest. The man's eyes were still shut.Then Johnny leaned close. "All done," he whispered.
The man's eyes snapped open. Brown eyes, dark with hunger. He looked at Johnny's lips, then grabbed the back of Johnny's neck and pulled him into a deep, wet kiss. Tongues met, fierce and hungry, as if they'd done this a hundred times before.No one saw the magic, no one knew the young blond guy was gone forever. In his place sat a horny, beefy middle-aged man, already unbuttoning Johnny's shirt with one thick hand while their kiss deepened.
Tom could not stop thinking about his brief experience as a middle-aged daddy that one fateful night he played Body Swap Roulette with his friends. He often returned to his online profile and looked at the man who had messaged him - the man he briefly became for one glorious evening.
The photograph waited beneath the username: a rugged man in his mid-forties, dark hair escaping beneath a baseball cap, salt-and-pepper beard, chest hair spreading across a broad, solid torso.
Brian - the name was not listed in the app, but instead it was seared into his mind from the experience - an indelible part of his own consciousness - and a side-effect of playing the game he had not anticipated. Brian was the body Tom had worn for one impossible night during the roulette.
He had hated changing back. For weeks afterward, Tom kept remembering the weight of Brian’s arms, the scrape of his beard, the confident way he felt when he hooked-up with a younger man in Brian's body - his new dick thicker, his urges keen, sharp, with a hint of closeted desperation. Even the softness around his waist had felt substantial rather than imperfect. He had occupied space without apologizing for it.
What Tom had not expected to miss were the other things Brian had left in his mind. A woman laughing somewhere behind him. Two children arguing over a television remote. A suburban kitchen glowing at dawn. The pressure of a wedding ring that had never actually appeared on his finger and never truthfully belonged there to begin with. They were not memories exactly. More like emotional bruises left behind by a life he had touched.
At nine thirty on a Friday night, Tom sat alone at his kitchen table wearing the same red polo he had worn during the first game. He stared at Brian’s photograph until the screen dimmed. He had debated revisiting Brian’s body for weeks - but it was against the rules of the game he had agreed to with his friends. Too risky to do alone. Too much a chance of losing yourself in the shuffle.
Tom couldn’t stand it anymore - he needed to feel Brian again. Needed to feel his weight. Wanted to rub a hand through his scruff. Wanted to see his pouty eyes looking back at him in the mirror. Wanted to feel the weight of his dick in his hand. Most of all - Tom wanted to better understand Brian. So against the rules and his better judgement, Tom waited for Brian’s name to appear with a green dot then he restored his profile and pinged Brian. As soon as Brian responded Tom knew he sealed the deal.
The change began in his hands. His fingers thickened against the phone. Dark hair rose over his knuckles and forearms. The sleeves of the polo tightened as his biceps grew heavier, less sculpted than Don’s gym-built arms but more naturally powerful. His shoulders widened. A warm pressure filled his chest, followed by the familiar prickling spread of hair beneath the fabric.
Tom stood too quickly. The kitchen tilted as several inches of youth seemed to settle downward into weight. His waist thickened. His stomach pressed against the polo, not huge, but unmistakably middle-aged. His thighs filled his khakis. His belt dug in.
Then his face began to pull. He gripped the counter while his jaw broadened and his cheeks roughened. Brown and gray whiskers pushed across his skin, forming the same dense beard he had admired the first time. His hairline shifted. Fine creases gathered beside his eyes.
When the transformation released him, Tom looked into the dark reflection of the kitchen window. Brian looked back.
“God, I’m so fucking hot.” Tom whispered, hearing the older man’s voice come from his throat.
A second voice answered inside him. Not words. Wanting. The thought of a quiet bar off the interstate. A corner booth. Whiskey ordered without checking the price. The certainty that Brian went there when he needed an hour no one in his family could account for. Tom knew where to find him.
⸻
Brian was alone when Tom entered the bar.
He sat beneath a muted television, wearing a navy button-down with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. A pale mark circled the finger where he had removed his wedding band. Tom felt the sight of it before he understood it: guilt, relief, and an old practiced sadness.
Brian looked up. His glass stopped halfway to his mouth. For several seconds neither man moved. Then Brian lowered the drink and said, “What the fuck!?”
Tom slid into the opposite side of the booth. Up close, the resemblance was exact. The same brown eyes. The same gray threaded through the beard. The same vertical line appearing between their brows.
Brian stared as though he had found a crack in reality and was trying to decide whether looking directly into it would make things worse.
Tom offered a nervous wide smile.
Brian’s expression changed with it. “You have my teeth.”
“I have more than that” he said gesturing downward with a stupid grin.
Brian glanced toward the bartender, then leaned across the table. “Who are you?”
“My name is Tom.”
“That doesn’t answer fucking anything.”
“No. It’s just the easiest part.”
Tom explained the body swap roulette as plainly as he could. Four friends. Four profiles. One night in borrowed bodies. He did not mention every detail, especially how much he had enjoyed Brian’s shape, or that he had fucked another man with Brian’s dick, but Brian seemed to understand it anyway.
“You chose to do this again,” Brian said.
“Yes.”
“Why me?”
Tom looked down at his thick, hairy hands. “Because look at yourself! Because I missed having all of this” he said as he moved one hand across his scruff and the other down to his pants.
Brian gave a humorless laugh. “You missed being a married man with a mortgage and two teenagers?”
“I missed feeling like you.”
“You don’t know what that feels like.”
Tom met his eyes. “Your daughter pretends she hates the old songs you play in the car, but you caught her singing one in the kitchen last Tuesday.”
Brian went still.
“Your son only calls you ‘Dad’ when he wants something. The rest of the time it’s ‘Brian’ because he knows it annoys you.”
“Stop.”
“You keep your wedding ring in the coin pocket of your jeans when you come here. You tell yourself removing it is more honest than wearing it.”
Brian’s face drained of color. Tom felt fear flare through both of them.
“I didn’t go looking for those things,” Tom said quietly. “They came with you.”
Brian’s hand closed around his glass. “What else?”
“That you’ve stood outside three gay bars and never gone in.”
The silence between them changed. The television crowd cheered soundlessly overhead.
Brian looked toward the window. “You need to leave.”
Tom started to rise then Brian caught his wrist.
The contact startled them both. Brian’s fingers encircled a wrist identical to his own. He turned it over and felt the palm of Tom’s hand. Rough. With hair encroaching from the wrist and across the knuckles.
“Wait,” he said.
Tom sat again. Brian studied him with a concentration that felt almost intimate. His gaze traveled over Tom’s face, then lowered to the open collar of the red polo, where dark chest hair showed above the top button.
“I don’t wear red,” Brian said.
“I do,” Tom replied.
“It looks better on me than I expected.”
Tom smiled. “You’re welcome.”
Brian’s mouth twitched despite himself, and his forehead creased as he looked Tom over. “It’s so surreal seeing my body from the outside. Do I really carry myself like that?” His eyes moved over the familiar breadth of Tom’s shoulders, the thickness through his waist, the gray threaded unevenly through the beard. “I never realized how dark the skin around my eyes had become, or how tired I look. Back in college I ran track and played soccer. I was lean enough that I could eat whatever I wanted and still see every muscle in my stomach. Even after I got married, I kept it up for a while. Morning runs, weekend leagues, lifting in the garage.” He gave a small, embarrassed shrug. “Then work got busier. The kids came. There was always something more important than going for a run, and eventually I stopped pretending I’d start again on Monday. Now my knees ache, my stomach hangs over my belt when I sit, and half the hair on my body is turning gray.” He studied Tom’s borrowed face with open disbelief. “How could you find me attractive like this?”
Tom glanced down at the body he was wearing, not critically but almost fondly. He spread one of Brian’s broad hands over the slightly soft weight at his middle, then looked back up. “Because none of that looks like failure to me.” Brian’s expression tightened, but Tom continued. “You look lived-in. Solid. Like you’ve spent years becoming someone instead of trying to stay twenty-five forever. I like the gray in your beard. I like the lines around your eyes. I like that your body is strong without looking like you built it for strangers to admire.” He flexed Brian’s fingers once, watching the tendons move beneath the hair on the back of the hand. “And I’ve always been attracted to older men. Not just because they’re older, but because they usually seem more comfortable taking up space.”
Brian let out a quiet laugh. “Comfortable? You’ve been inside my head. You know better than that.”
“I know you don’t feel comfortable,” Tom said. “That’s different from how you look.” He leaned forward slightly. “When I became you, I felt heavier, but I also felt grounded. I didn’t feel like I had to prove I belonged in the room. People looked at me and assumed I knew what I was doing. And when I looked in the mirror…” Tom paused, almost shy now. “I liked what I saw. The chest hair, the beard, the thicker waist, your hairy dick…all of it. I didn’t see some washed-up version of who you used to be. I saw a handsome man in his forties who has no idea how much of him is still worth wanting.”
Brian’s eyes dropped to the table. “You make it sound better than it is.”
“Maybe you’ve been describing yourself badly for so long that hearing the truth sounds exaggerated.”
That small surrender loosened something. Brian asked questions. Some were practical—how long the change lasted, whether Tom could control it, whether anyone else knew. Others were harder.
“Do you feel what I’m feeling right now?”
“Pieces of it.”
“What pieces?”
Tom considered lying. “You’re frightened.”
“Obviously.”
“You’re angry that I know you.”
Brian nodded once.
“And you want to kiss me.”
Brian’s eyes snapped to his.
Tom leaned back. “That part is fairly loud.”
For a moment Brian appeared offended. Then he glanced at Tom’s mouth. “It would be like kissing myself,” he said.
“Not exactly…” Tom replied.
“But you look exactly like me!”
“Maybe but I’m still mostly another man.”
Brian rubbed a thumb along the condensation on his half empty glass. “Technically.”
Tom laughed. “Technically?”
“If you are me—”
“I’m not.”
“—or close enough to me, then it’s not exactly cheating.”
“You took off your wedding ring before I arrived. You were ready to cheat…”
Brian looked down at his bare finger and Tom felt the shame move through him like a cold draft. It belonged to Brian, but it hurt in Tom’s chest.
“I’m not here to judge you,” Tom said.
“That makes one of us.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
Brian looked at the duplicate sitting across from him. “That’s the problem. I do.”
⸻
Brian followed Tom home in his own car. He had texted his wife from the parking lot, saying an early unexpected Saturday client meeting made it easier to stay near the office for the night.
At Tom’s house, Brian wandered through the rooms slowly while Tom got the two men a drink. There was nothing remarkable about Tom’s house. A mismatched couch. Framed photographs. Shoes kicked beneath a table. A picture of Tom with Phil, Don, and Ralph at Pride, all four men sunburned and grinning.
Brian picked it up. “You just leave this out?”
“It’s my house.”
“Someone could see it.”
“Who? And why would I care if they did?”
Brian had no answer.
Tom came closer. Their shoulders nearly touched. “There aren’t any hidden compartments in my life,” he said.
Brian returned the frame to the shelf with unusual care. “That must be nice.”
Tom felt the ache beneath the words because some of it still lived inside him. He touched Brian’s cheek. Brian did not pull away. Their first kiss was hesitant, almost absurdly cautious for two men wearing the same face. Then Brian gripped the back of Tom’s neck and kissed him again with a hunger that belonged entirely to himself.
Later, in the bedroom, Brian paused beside the bed. “You said you might change back.”
“While I’m asleep.”
“What will you look like?”
“Twenty-five. Brown hair. Clean-shaven.”
“Handsome?”
“Devastatingly.”
Brian rolled his eyes, but his nervousness remained.
Tom took his hand. “You pinged my profile on Scruff. Do you remember? I’m assuming that meant you were into me. You can still leave.”
Brian looked from their joined hands to Tom’s face - his own face. “I spent forty-six years leaving, tonight I’m going to stay” he said. “Besides. When else will a get a chance to fuck myself?” Then he planted a kiss deeply onto Tom’s mouth.
“So you think you’re the top tonight?” Tom replied smirking at the opportunity that presented itself.
“I have been my entire life” Tom scoffed in between kissing Tom.
“We’ll see” Tom said with a grin while he slowly began to unbutton Brian’s shirt - sliding it over his shoulders and exposing Brian’s chest. He ran his hands through the older man’s chest hair - pulling himself closer as they kissed.
Brian then reached over to Tom’s red polo and reciprocated by lifting it over his head and rubbing Tom’s chest. He then reached a hand down to Tom’s cock and grabbed it through his khakis before unbuckling the belt and lowering the zipper - letting the duplicate of Brian’s thick uncut cock flop out of Tom’s pants.
“Sorry,” Tom smirked. “No underwear.”
Brian looked down to the fully erect version of his dick staring at him on another man's body. He lowered to his knees - hungry for the intimacy he had long desired but never acted on. He smiled up at Tom.
Tom placed a hand on Brian’s head guiding the man onto his cock. Brian took the head into his mouth and placed a hand along the shaft. He slowly moved his hand up and down the base while sucking lightly on the head.
“Whoa,” Tom said. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
Brian grinned and pulled his mouth off Tom’s dick while still pumping the shaft. “It’s my dick. You think I don’t know what it likes?”
“That’s fair…” Tom replied. “But I don’t recall giving you permission to stop.” He then grabbed Brian’s head with both hands and thrust his borrowed dick deep into Brian’s mouth.
What followed was not gentle. It was tender in flashes and anxious in others, charged by the knowledge of their shared body between them. Tom leaned into the fantasy with a kind of defiant intensity, letting Brian see and experience what he wanted, letting himself feel the strange power of being desired through another man’s outline.
Before long Tom had Brian naked on his back on the the bed taking a turning sucking his cock. He then spread Brian's cheeks and began to eat his asshole - the rough short beard scratching Brian and causing him to giggle.
“You think that’s funny?” Tom growled with the older man’s voice. Beginning to lose himself in the blur of desire. “Let’s see how you feel when I fuck you with your own dick, daddy.”
Brian stopped laughing and began to protest “Ohh, I don’t know about ….” but it was too late. Tom stood up, pulled Brian to the edge of the bed, lined up the tip of his older dick and began to push it into Brian’s tight virgin asshole.
“Uhhhh” was all Brian could get out before Tom pushed fully into his ass. Brian squeezed his eyes shut as the pain from penetration shook through his body.
After a few hard thrusts, Brian started to gently moan as Tom settled into a more steady rhythm. Tom pushed Brian further onto the bed and climbed on - leaning forward into missionary position so he could watch Brian’s face - but more importantly so that Brian could see as clear as day that he was being fucked by himself.
“Open your eyes” Tom commanded. “Do you like this? Do you like the feeling of getting fucked by your own big hairy dick?” Tom whispered.
Brian let out a soft moan as he scanned the man above him from bottom to top - his thick bush, his soft but still muscled midsection, his hairy chest, before settling into his own brown eyes. “Yes, sir” was all he could get out between the surge of pain and pleasure overwhelming his body.
“Good” Tom smirked. “Because I like fucking you with your own daddy cock. I like looking down on you beneath me, powerless, as I take your asshole’s virginity. I like you looking up at me and seeing yourself. And most of all, I like the idea of cumming so deep inside you you’ll carry it home with you tomorrow morning.”
Tom’s pace gradually quickened as Brian reached a hand down to his own dick and started jerking off. Just as Tom reached climax and shot his load deep into the mirror image of the ass he wore, Brian followed suit - spewing rope after rope of cum on his hairy chest.
The two men collapsed into a pile of sweat and testosterone. Brian’s sticky cum resting between their torsos. They stayed like that for several minutes listening as their breathing gradually slowed.
Tom pushed up into his hands and looked Brian in the eyes. “I told you we’d see if you were a top.” The two men then shared a brief laugh and kiss before settling into position to sleep - Brian getting to be the little spoon for the first time in his life.
As Brian drifted to sleep with Tom’s arms wrapped around him he felt overwhelmed with a feeling of fullness - both the fullness of having been filled by another man - cum still leaking out of his asshole - and the fullness of finally acting on a desire he had kept deep inside himself for 30 years. Where he would go from here remained to be seen...
⸻
Tom woke sometime in the night without opening his eyes. Brian’s borrowed body was dissolving. His beard receded into his skin. His jaw narrowed. The weight around his middle softened, then vanished. His chest contracted beneath Brian’s sleeping arm, the dense hair thinning to the lighter growth of his own body.
The strangest part was the silence inside him. Brian’s emotions loosened their hold. The family kitchen faded. The remembered pressure of a ring disappeared. Tom was left with sympathy rather than possession, knowledge without instinct. He became himself again and slipped back into sleep.
Later, morning light filled the room. Brian woke first. Tom surfaced to the sharp movement of the mattress and found Brian sitting upright, staring down at him.
The older man had pulled the sheet across his waist. Panic hardened his face.
Recognition arrived slowly. “Tom?”
“Still me.”
Brian stared at his real face. Tom suddenly felt very young beneath the inspection. Without Brian’s beard and bulk, he had lost the authority that had carried him through the previous night.
“You’re different,” Brian said.
“I warned you.”
“I know.”
“You can go if you want.”
Brian glanced toward the bedroom door, but he did not move.
Tom sat up, keeping a careful distance between them. “The man you came home with isn’t here anymore - not totally anyway.”
Brian looked down at his hands. “Last night, I told myself it wasn’t really another man.”
Tom waited.
“That was the excuse,” Brian said. “Not the reason.”
“What was the reason?”
Brian raised his eyes to Tom’s. “You looked at me like you already knew everything ugly about me and hadn’t decided to leave.”
“I didn’t think it was ugly.”
“You were wearing my face. That made it easier to believe you.”
Tom swallowed. “And now?”
Brian reached toward him, hesitated, then placed his palm against Tom’s smooth cheek.
“Now I have to believe you.”
He kissed Tom again. This kiss was quieter than the ones they had shared the night before. There was no mirror in it. No technical loophole. Brian touched a younger man with a different face and knew exactly what he was doing.
Afterward, still naked, except for a cap Tom had playfully put on his head before he left the bedroom because it “made him look like a baseball daddy,” Brian made coffee in the kitchen. Tom looked through his closet for a more comfortable shirt than the button-up Brian came in that might fit the larger man. Having failed, he gathered Brian's clothes from the night before.
When Tom entered the kitchen with Brian’s clothes he found Brian playfully flexing for him in the morning sunlight.
“Be honest,” Brian said. “In the light of day, without my face on you, do I still look good?”
Tom let his gaze linger. “Brian, I liked your body enough to borrow it twice. That should answer the question.”
The two men shared a laugh as Brian reached for his pants and his button up that Tom brought him.
Later at the kitchen counter while they were drinking their coffee, Brian folded a dish towel into a precise square.
“You always do that,” Tom said.
Brian looked down. “Do what?”
“Make yourself useful when you’re uncomfortable.”
“Did you learn that from becoming me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m beginning to resent how much you know.”
“You liked it last night," Tom replied with a wink.
“You were more respectful when you had my face.”
“I don’t think anything we did last night would be classified as respectful! But I also had your repression. It slowed the real me down. I was giving it like 50 percent.”
Brian laughed before he could stop himself. Then his phone buzzed on the counter and the laughter disappeared. Tom watched him read the message in silence.
“I need to go home,” Brian said.
“I know.”
At the front door, Brian hesitated. “Can you become me again?”
“Probably.”
“Can I see you again?”
Tom looked at the older man he had wanted so badly to inhabit. “Yes,” he said. “But I don’t want that to be the only version of me you’ll come here for.”
Brian’s gaze moved over Tom’s real face. “It isn’t. I mean, it won't be.”
The air outside of the stadium was full of with tension. The game was about to start, and the “Make Football Straight Again” supporters were out in force—flags waving, red shirts worn proudly, demonstrating traditional manhood in sports. Facing them was a small, shrill group of counter-protesters.
At the front was 21-year-old Liam Brooks: scrawny, weak-shouldered, barely 5’7”, with a soft, unimpressive body hidden under a baggy Pride hoodie. His voice was whiny as he screamed into his megaphone: “Make Football Queer Again! Bigots out!”
Liam believed every word. He saw the MFSA movement as pure evil that needed to be crushed.
It was then that the change slammed into him like a freight train.
A deep, unnatural heat surged up from the ground, wrapping around his skinny frame. Liam gasped, dropping his sign as his body began to violently reshape.
His spine elongated with loud cracks, rocketing him up to 6’4”. Thin legs exploded with muscle with calves turning into hard diamonds, quads ballooning into massive, powerful slabs that shredded his jeans instantly. His narrow chest barreled outward into thick, heavy pecs covered in coarse dark hair. Shoulders widened dramatically, arms swelling into veined, rock-hard biceps and forearms built for dominance. His abs carved into a solid eight-pack, and his ass tightened into powerful, muscular glutes as his back entrance closed tighter, nothing going in there anymore. A thick, heavy bulge formed between his legs, enlarged and aroused further by the changes.
His face aged and hardened in seconds. Youthful softness vanished, replaced by a square, weathered jaw lined with salt-and-pepper stubble. His hair receded into a tight, buzz cut, graying at the temples. Crow’s feet and deep lines made him look every bit of 48 years old. His soft brown eyes turned cold, steel-blue, and mean. Covered by sunglasses that were as dark as his intentions.
The baggy clothes dissolved and reformed into a crisp Police Department uniform stretched tight over his new muscular body. Badge gleaming: Officer Brock Harlan. Heavy tactical boots, full duty belt with holstered weapon, cuffs, baton, and radio. A crisp tie formed around his neck, adding to his new air of authority.
But the worst changes were mental.
Liam’s progressive ideals didn’t just fade. They twisted and rotted into something ugly. College lectures on inclusion warped into a deep, seething contempt for “degenerates,” “freaks,” and “woke scum.” A cruel streak emerged, a love of power and punishment. He now craved enforcing order the hard way—especially on people like his old self. Corruption bloomed naturally: he saw the badge as a license to bully, to take what he wanted, to make examples out of anyone who resisted “real American values.” The MFSA movement wasn’t just something he supported now. It was his cause. He would protect it ruthlessly, and he would enjoy every second of breaking the betas and sissys who opposed it.
Officer Brock Harlan flexed his massive arms, cracking his thick neck with a predatory grin. The old Liam was completely gone, replaced by something far darker. Something far better.
“Party’s over, you pathetic little shits,” he growled in a deep, gravelly Carolina drawl, his voice dripping with contempt and authority.
The remaining protesters froze.
Brock laughed—a low, nasty sound—and stepped forward, towering over them with his huge, muscular frame. His steel-blue eyes gleamed with cruel pleasure.
“You freaks have been ruining this game long enough. Pushing your sick agenda on kids, turning locker rooms into freak shows. Not anymore.”
He snatched a rainbow flag from a protester’s hands and ripped it to shreds with ease, muscles bulging. “Make Football Straight Again isn’t just a slogan. It’s the truth. And I’m gonna make sure it sticks. Men in men’s sports. Real men. Real football.”
Brock grabbed the closest activist by the collar with one massive hand, lifting the smaller man slightly off the ground. “You gonna keep causing trouble tonight? Because I’d love an excuse to drag your sorry ass in. Rough.” His smile was cold and vicious. “I’ve got cuffs, a baton, and plenty of ways to make the process… educational.”
Fear rippled through the group. Brock released the man with a shove, sending him stumbling backward.
“Get the hell out of here,” he barked.
As the protesters scattered in panic, Brock adjusted his duty belt over his thick, powerful waist, chuckling darkly to himself. He felt no remorse—only a rush of sadistic satisfaction. The movement had given him everything: a powerful body, real purpose, and the perfect position to crush its enemies.
He turned toward the roaring stadium, arms crossed over his massive chest, a cruel smirk on his rugged face.
“Time to keep the game straight,” he muttered. “And I’m gonna enjoy every fucking minute of it.”
hey, I would like to order some Red. I've heard it tastes amazing. I've always been your average small guy. I look up to everyone. I've always been one of those tech nerds. Never seeing the outdoors much
Ben was a geek, passionate about video games and new technologies. He had a YouTube channel and streamed live on Twitch. That night, he planned to stream the latest game released on PS5. He wasn’t much of an athlete—quite the opposite. He rarely went out, didn’t like sports, and was rather skinny. But, as usual, he was counting on an energy drink to keep him awake all night. In his emails, he had come across an ad for a new energy drink, designed for athletes and available in limited quantities. He figured that, like the others, it would probably help him stay awake for his stream. And sure enough, his order had just arrived.
There was a slogan printed on the back of the can: “Awaken your power, activate the RED.” Even though he knew all energy drinks were more or less the same, he was curious to see if this one would give him more energy than usual. The drink had a red berry flavor—sweet with a slightly tangy edge. He drank it to the last drop before launching his live stream.
As soon as he finished the can, the side effects began. Ben didn’t understand what was happening to him. A thick red cloud of smoke escaped from his mouth, and all the memories of his life began flashing before his eyes.
He saw himself as a child, one Christmas morning, receiving his very first gaming console. It was his best memory. His parents didn’t have much money at the time, but they had saved up just to get it for him.
From that day on, he became a huge fan of video games, spending all his free time in front of his console. He had a soft spot for role-playing games—especially those with vast immersive worlds like The Witcher, Final Fantasy, Elden Ring… They were more than games to him—they were worlds where he could escape, become someone else, someone strong and powerful.
Despite his introverted side, he was a kind person who genuinely liked people. During his teenage years, he wasn’t the most popular kid, but he was still well-liked, despite being a bit of a geek. He hated PE at school. He remembered a soccer game where he took a ball to the face and became the laughingstock of the class. From that day on, he avoided sports as much as possible.
Later, he started his YouTube channel to share his love for video games and new tech. During his livestreams, he always made sure to engage with his community and answer all their questions.
But the drink kept working, and Ben felt a powerful energy surging through his body. New memories—ones that hadn’t existed before—started to appear and blend with the old ones.
He remembered that same Christmas when he received his first console… except this time, he got a soccer game with it. It wasn’t the game he had wanted, but he ended up enjoying it and became really good at it. He even became a football fan. When he wasn’t on his console, he was out playing soccer with his friends. He developed a passion for sports games, and at school, PE became his favorite subject. He was popular, and everyone loved him. Later, he created a YouTube channel dedicated to sports games, which became a big success.
As those new memories took shape, Ben struggled to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. But this new reality started to grow on him… and soon, his body began to change as well. He became more muscular, his clothes transformed, and even his overall look began to shift.
A new surge of energy—stronger than before—rushed through his body. He felt excited by this strange force. The red smoke kept pouring out of his mouth, and his memories continued to change… and then vanish.
He remembered that same Christmas again… but this time, he didn’t get a console at all. His parents couldn’t afford it. Instead, they gave him a soccer ball. He was so angry that he kicked it with all his strength—straight into a window, which shattered. Of course, he was punished. It was the worst Christmas of his life.
He never discovered his love for video games. Instead, he found his passion for sports. As a kid, he spent all his time outside, playing soccer with his friends.
He had a complicated relationship with his parents, who could never afford to give him what he truly wanted. As a teenager, he became selfish and arrogant. He was the jock in class. Some admired him, others feared him. He wasn’t exactly a good person, but he had charisma—and that made him the most popular guy in school.
He loved sports. He loved the adrenaline of training, the rush of power it gave him. He built a strong, athletic body. He knew he was attractive, and he used it to his advantage.
He launched a YouTube channel to share fitness tips. It was a massive hit. But that wasn’t all—he also created an OnlyFans account where he uploaded his workout routines… fully nude. That, too, was a huge success. He made a fortune.
Thanks to the body he had built, he could now buy everything he ever wanted. As his old memories vanished, along with the red smoke still pouring from his mouth, his new reality fully took shape. His body became even more muscular, his clothes turned into workout gear, and his bedroom morphed into a fully equipped gym—where he now filmed all his videos.
The old Ben, the geek, was gone. He had never existed. Only the athletic and arrogant Ben remained in this new reality. He was just about to start his fitness livestream, and he fully intended to talk about this new energy drink—RED—which he now found incredibly effective for training.
A lot of visitors to Growtherton ask: what's with those strange lights under the waters of Oster Lake? Well, our department of Environmental Affairs have done extensive research and determined that it's localized bioluminescent algae blooms. Mystery solved! Of course, that wouldn't account for how fast they move... or that they happen all year round... but what's the alternative? That the local legends predating Growtherton itself of eldritch monsters with strange powers roaming the lakebed are true? Don't be silly!
Thanks to a robust job placement program, Rupert has freshly graduated from Growtherton U and is already starting an entry-level position at WideWorld Advertising. Diving right in may be intimidating, but I’m sure he’ll grow into the role.
Phoenix Tfs and Other Hot Things @samsmusclegrowth12 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
