Lex Luthor had always prided himself on being the smartest man alive, but even he had not anticipated the chaos that the multiverse event would bring to his carefully ordered world. It began with a ripple in reality itself, a cosmic tear that flung heroes and villains across dimensions without warning. Superman, that insufferable boy scout from Metropolis, had vanished in a flash of light, replaced by a man in a star-spangled uniform who called himself Captain America. The stranger had appeared in the heart of Metropolis, shield raised and jaw set, disoriented but determined to protect the innocent bystanders who gawked at his sudden arrival.
Lex watched it all unfold from the monitors in his underground lair, his lips curling into a predatory smile. Alarms blared across his consoles as the multiverse incursion registered on every scanner in LexCorp. He leaned forward, fingers flying over the holographic keyboard, pulling up every scrap of data the event had dumped into the local networks. Satellite feeds, eyewitness reports, and fragmented energy signatures flooded the screens. The intruder was no Kryptonian, no god from some ancient pantheon.
Lex’s databases, already cross-referenced with the burst of quantum data from the tear, identified him in seconds. Captain America. Steven Grant Rogers. A super soldier from an alternate Earth, created through a serum that pushed human limits to their absolute peak. No flight, no heat vision, just pure, unfiltered masculine perfection forged by science. Peak strength, peak endurance, peak dominance. Lex’s eyes gleamed as he read deeper. This man was a symbol of heroism in his world, a leader who commanded loyalty through sheer presence alone. “Steven Rogers,” Lex murmured, savoring the name like a fine wine. “The ultimate human specimen. And now he is here, in my city, without his precious Avengers or that ridiculous shield to protect him. The multiverse has delivered exactly what I need.”
This was no ordinary intruder. This was peak human perfection, a living embodiment of masculine strength and unyielding will, stolen from another universe while Superman was doubtless stumbling through some barbaric alternate realm.
Lex wasted no time. He had been preparing for years to one day strip Superman of everything that made him superior, but this Captain America presented an even more tantalizing opportunity. The man was not powered by some alien sun or ancient Kryptonian biology; he was enhanced through science, a super soldier whose body represented the ultimate in human potential. Muscles forged like steel, a presence that commanded respect, and a raw masculinity that radiated from every pore. If Lex could claim that essence for himself, he would not only become unstoppable but also twist the symbol of heroism into something far more useful. He activated his contingency drones, sending them streaking toward the city streets. Within minutes, the Captain was ensnared in a web of energy fields, his shield clattering uselessly to the pavement as he was transported back to LexCorp’s deepest laboratory.
Captain America awoke strapped to a reinforced metallic table, his wrists and ankles bound by vibrating restraints that hummed with red kryptonite-derived energy. His blue eyes narrowed as he tested the bonds, his broad chest heaving beneath the tight fabric of his uniform. “Whoever you are, release me,” he growled, voice steady and authoritative. “This isn’t my world, but I won’t stand by while—”
Lex stepped into the light, his bald head gleaming under the harsh laboratory fluorescents, his tailored suit hugging a frame that was merely average compared to the specimen before him. He adjusted his glasses with one slender finger and chuckled softly. “Oh, I know exactly who you are, Captain. Steven Rogers, the pinnacle of American might. Or should I say, the pinnacle of any world’s might. Your universe’s loss is my gain.” He gestured to the machine looming over them both, a towering contraption of glowing tubes and humming generators that he had perfected in the hours since the hero’s arrival. It was his latest invention, a quantum siphon designed to extract not just physical attributes but the very core of masculinity itself: strength, confidence, virility, the unshakeable aura of dominance that made men like Captain America legends.
The Captain strained harder, muscles bulging against the restraints. “You’re making a mistake. I’ve faced worse than you.”
Lex merely smiled as he connected the final cable to a harness strapped across his own chest. “On the contrary. This is the best decision I’ve ever made.” He flipped a switch, and the machine roared to life. Arcs of golden energy crackled between the two men, linking them in a circuit of pure power. Captain America gasped as the first wave hit him, a draining sensation that started in his core and spread outward like fire through his veins. His once-impenetrable physique began to soften almost imperceptibly at first, the ridges of his abs losing their razor-sharp definition, the swell of his pectorals deflating just enough to notice.
Lex felt the transfer immediately. It started as a warm tingle in his scalp, something he had not experienced in years. Fine strands of hair pushed through his smooth skin, growing rapidly from nothing into a thick, golden blond crop that swept back from his forehead in a perfect, stylish wave. He ran a hand over it, marveling at the soft texture, and laughed aloud as the color deepened to a sun-kissed shade that matched the vibrant energy still flowing into him. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice already beginning to deepen, gaining a resonant timbre that echoed with newfound authority. “This is only the beginning.”
Across from him, Captain America’s eyes widened in fresh horror as he felt a strange itch crawling across his scalp. His hand twitched against the restraints, desperate to reach up, but the bonds held firm. Strands of his once-vibrant blond hair began to loosen, drifting down in thin clumps onto the cold metal table. “No,” he whispered at first, voice cracking with disbelief. “Not that. Not my hair.” The itch intensified into a terrible shedding, more and more of his signature golden locks falling away in pathetic wisps, revealing pale skin underneath that had never seen the light of day in decades. His scalp tingled coldly as the last stubborn patches thinned and vanished entirely, leaving him completely bald, smooth and exposed like some defeated, ordinary man stripped of every heroic marker.
Lex’s own hair continued to thicken and luxuriate, the blond waves growing fuller and more commanding, framing a face that was already reshaping with superior bone structure. He shook his head slowly, letting the new locks catch the light, and grinned with pure delight. “Look at you, Rogers. The great Captain America, losing his famous hair right before my eyes. How does it feel to watch every last strand of that all-American glory tumble away while I claim it for myself? Bald and broken. Pathetic.”
The changes accelerated. Lex’s spine elongated with a series of audible cracks, his height shooting upward from his modest five-foot-ten frame to a commanding six-foot-four. His shoulders broadened dramatically, the fabric of his suit jacket ripping at the seams as deltoids inflated like balloons, round and powerful. Veins began to map themselves across his arms, pulsing with stolen vitality, while his biceps swelled outward, peaking higher and higher until they strained against the tearing sleeves. The muscles did not merely grow; they refined themselves into sculpted perfection, each striation and fiber visible beneath skin that was tanning rapidly from pale to a deep, golden bronze. Lex’s forearms thickened with corded strength, his hands enlarging into broad, capable grips that could crush steel.
Captain America watched in mounting humiliation as his own body betrayed him completely. The hero’s legendary chest, once a wall of unbreakable muscle, was caving in, pectorals shrinking and softening until they hung loosely on a narrowing ribcage. His abs, the eight-pack that had defined his super-soldier form, faded one by one, leaving behind a flat but unremarkable stomach. Even his jawline softened slightly, the heroic square giving way to a weaker, less imposing profile. His height diminished inch by inch, the restraints now hanging looser on his shrinking frame, and his voice, that once-powerful baritone, cracked higher into a feeble whimper. “Please,” he begged, the words tasting like ash in his mouth as another clump of hair drifted from his now-bald head. “Stop this. I’m… I’m nothing like this. Don’t make me watch myself disappear.”
Lex’s transformation was far from over. His chest exploded outward next, pectorals ballooning into massive slabs of muscle that pushed forward proudly, each one larger than his fist and capped with sensitive, hardening nipples. He groaned in pleasure as the sensation washed over him, his nipples tightening into peaks that sent electric jolts straight to his groin. The energy continued downward, carving deep valleys between his abs until a perfect ten-pack emerged, each block separated by razor-sharp lines that glistened with a sheen of sweat. His waist narrowed into a dramatic V-taper, obliques flaring out like armor plates, while his legs lengthened and thickened. Quads ballooned to the size of tree trunks, hamstrings and calves carving themselves into diamond-hard shapes that pressed against the remnants of his pants until the fabric shredded away entirely.
But it was the masculinity that truly corrupted him. As the final surges of essence poured in, Lex felt his mind shift. Memories of weakness, of relying on intellect alone, dissolved like mist. In their place flooded a rush of raw dominance, an unshakable confidence that made his lips curl into a cocky smirk. His voice dropped another octave, becoming a smooth, commanding baritone. “Look at you now,” he taunted, his blue eyes, now a piercing shade that matched the stolen hero’s original hue, locking onto the diminished Captain. “Reduced to nothing. Bald, scrawny, and trembling like the insignificant worm you truly are beneath that costume. I can feel every ounce of your power inside me, every drop of that so-called heroism twisting into something far superior. And you? You’re just a sad, hairless shell begging for mercy that will never come.”
Lex’s face reshaped itself in the mirror across the lab, his cheekbones rising higher, his jaw squaring into a chiseled masterpiece framed by a light, perfectly trimmed stubble that accentuated his full lips. His nose refined into a straight, aristocratic line, and his brows arched with natural arrogance. The last of his old suit fell away in tatters, revealing the full glory of his new body: a towering, oiled-looking physique that gleamed under the lights, every muscle group hypertrophied to bodybuilder extremes yet perfectly proportioned for power and aesthetics. His cock, once average, had thickened and lengthened dramatically, hanging heavy between thighs that could crush diamonds, a symbol of the virility he had claimed.
He stepped free of the machine, the restraints on Captain America falling away as the last of the energy dissipated. The former hero slumped to the floor, a shadow of his former self, weak and unremarkable in every way, his bald head shining pathetically under the lights. Lex towered over him, flexing his massive arms in a double biceps pose that made the peaks rise like mountains. He felt no remorse, only a deep, intoxicating triumph that surged through every fiber of his stolen form. “How utterly humiliating for you, Rogers,” he said with a laugh that boomed from his powerful chest. “The symbol of freedom, the man who punched Hitler in the jaw, now bald and broken at my feet. I own what you were. I am what you were, only better, stronger, and far more deserving. This body was always meant for a mind like mine.”
Lex reached down with one massive hand, gripping the bald, shrunken Steve Rogers by the chin and forcing his head up. The once-mighty hero’s eyes were wide with shame, his diminished body trembling. “You belong to me now,” Lex growled, his voice thick with lust. He shoved Steve onto his back on the cold lab floor and stripped away the tattered remains of the star-spangled uniform with effortless strength. Steve tried to push him away, but his weak arms offered no resistance. Lex positioned himself above the fallen man, his enormous cock already hard and throbbing with stolen vitality. “Feel that, Rogers? That is your power inside me, making me hard for you. How does it feel to know the great Captain America is about to be fucked by his own masculinity?”
Steve’s voice came out as a broken plea. “No... please... not like this... I’m not...”
Lex thrust forward without mercy, burying his thick length deep into Steve’s unwilling body. The bald man cried out in humiliation, his once-heroic frame shuddering under the assault. Lex pounded into him with powerful, rhythmic strokes, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through his own godlike physique. His massive pecs bounced with every movement, his abs contracting like steel plates, his blond hair falling into his eyes as he stared down at the pathetic creature beneath him.
“That’s it,” Lex moaned, gripping Steve’s smooth scalp with one hand while his other pinned the man’s wrists above his head. “Take it all. Every inch of what used to be yours. You are nothing but a hole for me now.”
Steve’s face burned with utter degradation, tears of shame slipping down his cheeks as Lex used him relentlessly. The hero’s body, drained and soft, offered no fight, only submission. Lex’s climax built like a storm, his muscles flexing and swelling with each drive until he finally roared in triumph, flooding Steve with hot seed.
He pulled out slowly, admiring the way the broken man lay there, spent and humiliated beyond words. Lex stood tall, his body glistening with sweat, and wiped himself clean on the remnants of Steve’s uniform. “Pathetic,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “The mighty Steve Rogers, reduced to a cum-stained mess on my floor. And I feel more alive, more powerful, than you ever did.”
Lex strode to a nearby console and activated the holographic projectors, summoning a sleek new uniform that materialized around his waist: black tactical pants that hugged his powerful thighs and glutes like a second skin, leaving his upper body bare to showcase the glory he had claimed. A gold watch appeared on his wrist, a subtle nod to the wealth that still defined him. He admired his reflection, turning slowly to take in the way his abs contracted with each breath, the way his pecs bounced with subtle power, the thick blond hair that crowned his head like a crown of victory.
“Captain Metropolis,” he announced to the empty lab, testing the name on his tongue. It felt right. Heroic on the surface, but beneath it, a weapon aimed squarely at the heart of his true enemy.
Superman would return eventually. The multiverse event could not last forever. When he did, he would find not the broken Captain America he expected, but a rival who matched him in strength and surpassed him in cunning. Lex, now fully Captain Metropolis, would greet him with a smile and a challenge, his blond hair catching the sunlight, his muscular frame radiating the masculinity he had stolen. The people of Metropolis would cheer for their new champion, oblivious to the corruption that pulsed beneath the surface. And when the final confrontation came, Lex would crush his old foe not with Kryptonite or schemes, but with the very power that had once defined heroism itself, all while the bald, humiliated Steve Rogers watched from whatever shadow he was forced to hide in.
He clenched his fists, feeling the raw energy coursing through every vein, and let out a deep, satisfied laugh that echoed through the lab. The age of Superman was ending. The reign of Captain Metropolis had only just begun.
Mike used to move through the city like a ghost. Present, but barely noticed. Every morning he walked the same sidewalk, a paper cup of coffee warming his hands, his shoulders slightly hunched as if apologising for taking up space. He wasn’t unhappy exactly, just… unfinished. Life felt muted, like everything important was happening a few steps ahead of him.
That morning, when he found the unmarked brown package on his doorstep, he almost ignored it.
Inside was a box of Power Bear Coffee. Plain brown cardboard dressed with a bold rainbow stripe and a bear paw logo stamped proudly at the centre. Beneath it lay a handwritten note, the ink slightly smudged, as if written with care rather than speed:
“Dear Mike,
if you believe in yourself, you can be super!
Love, Daddy Bear.”
Mike frowned, confused, he had no idea who this “Daddy Bear” was supposed to be, but he was curious enough to brew a cup.
The coffee shimmered faintly in the mug, catching the light in colours that didn’t belong in a kitchen. He laughed nervously and took a sip.
At first, warmth. Deep, comforting, like a memory he couldn’t place. Then energy. Not the jittery rush of caffeine, but something heavier, fuller. When he finished the mug, he felt refreshed… powerful even. A soft rainbow glow clung to his skin, unnoticed as it slowly faded.
Minutes later, the pain hit.
Mike doubled over, clutching his stomach as he staggered toward the bathroom. Sweat broke across his skin. His reflection stared back at him, wide-eyed and afraid, and then changed. Facial hair sprouted before his eyes, darkening his jaw. His arms thickened, veins rising as muscle swelled beneath his skin. His chest broadened, stretching the fabric of his grey t-shirt until the seams groaned in protest.
“This isn’t possible,” he whispered.
But the mirror disagreed.
The rainbow energy returned, brighter now, wrapping around him in pulsing waves. His body grew heavier, stronger. Bulky with power rather than strain. His belly rounded into a solid, muscular gut, warm and undeniably his. His beard filled out, long and proud, framing a face that no longer looked uncertain. It looked alive.
Mike lifted from the floor.
Floating in front of the mirror, arms spread wide, head tilted back, he felt the truth settle into his bones. The pain melted into exhilaration. His eyes flashed with colour, rainbow light flooding his vision. And for the first time, he smiled without holding anything back.
He knew what he was becoming.
With a final burst of light, the transformation completed itself. His everyday clothes dissolved into a blue-and-red suit that fit him like destiny, trimmed in gold and crowned with a bear paw badge over his heart. When his feet touched the bathroom floor again, Mike was gone.
Superbear stood in his place.
He admired himself in the mirror, hands resting on his powerful gut, laughing softly in disbelief. He flexed. Once, then again. Feeling strength ripple through him effortlessly. This body wasn’t a costume. It was a statement.
A choice.
Later, standing in his living room, Superbear snapped a selfie. Grinning wide, biceps bulging, eyes dancing with mischief. Then, without hesitation, he launched himself through the open window and into the sky, cape billowing behind him, rainbow energy trailing like a promise.
On the dining table below, the open box of Power Bear Coffee sat beside an empty mug.
And the note.
“If you believe in yourself, you can be super.”
Mike finally did.
And the world would soon believe it too. 🐻✨
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In a world with superpowered celebrities, how could one not long to join them. Despite discovering his own cerebral abilities, Shirong/Zero always longed for the flashier sort of strength. When he finally gets the call up to the big leagues, he’ll get just that- though not quite how he always dreamed.
Went a little crazy with this one haha! Bit different than it was on the poll and with quite a long preamble before the TF, which starts at the red 0 0 0 if you want to skip straight to the action ;) Otherwise, I hope you enjoy this story of a hero unknowingly giving up his brain for some brawn! -Occam
Everyone wants to be a superhero. You grow up your whole life watching the Hero Corps jetting around, saving lives, doing flashy photo ops. It’s no wonder every kid out there wants to follow in Mustang’s or Lady Libertas’ footsteps.
Shirong Ling was not exempt from the sway of these heroes and heroines. Again, who could be. All his youth the young son of second generation immigrants pushed himself to his limit, toiling as hard as he can athletically to end up a bench warmer and max out his lifts at what actual athletes label a warmup. Physically, Shirong plateaued before he even began.
In just about every other regard, the young man excelled with flying colors. Something of a tech whiz, every adult in his life keeps him on retainer for ever-needed support. He aced rigorous course loads and went above and beyond in any non-athletic extracurriculars, though despite that all he still struggles to accept he’ll never see his name in lights.
His parents longed to see him happy and worried the glitz and glamor of those oiled up superstars was doing irreparable damage to their young man’s ego. After graduating he was on the precipice of finally accepting that it’s just going to be a civilian’s life for him. And then, it happened.
As is more often the case, Shirong just woke up one day and had superpowers. Quite the bizarre one, the information age youth found himself with the ability to access anything on the internet with his mind. Finally it all made sense to the student, just like his parents said, he had misplaced his priorities though mind now brimming with ever increasing knowledge he’s certain they were not correct in the way they intended.
In terms of the U.S. Hero Corps operations, he was a brainiac. Some superhuman with ultra-enhanced intelligence or similar mind-based paranormal powers. Indisputably useful and outright necessary for any of the hero teams bustling about the world. No team can truly function without heroes like Shirong is to be, though rarely does one have the star power or flat out endurance to make the mainstage and headline a team.
Knowing this, as well as anything else he forces his awareness to understand, as soon as he honed his skills enough to be useful Shirong hatched a plan. Filled with the confidence of an upstart grappling with unlimited power, he knows exactly how he can be one of the greats. After a few years stateside of using his nigh-limitless knowledge to solve problems that have long plagued just about every field that he has the slightest interest in, when the USHC makes a call for new heroes the multihyphenate is quick to answer.
Unfortunately for the young hero, he doesn’t even make it in the room, his brand simply isn’t strong enough. They already have a brainiac and Shirong doesn’t even have a logo or heroic deed to his name. Returning home to a bedroom filled wall to wall with degrees he barely lifted a finger to earn, he chides himself for not taking this seriously enough. Spending that night learning everything there is to know about the USHC and their recruitment process.
The next morning he rises a new man and broadens his horizons. Almost immediately into his research he hears that the Beijing chapter of the ZYL has an unexpected need for a new brainiac. Before the sun sets across the Atlantic, Shirong has applied with a new alias and persona. Zhihui 0, Zhìhuì Líng, literally Wisdom Zero.
Pitching himself as a returning wayward son to that most ancient of nations, as well as a fresh new tech savvy immigrant hero, the Beijing chapter is more than happy to welcome him onboard. He masters Mandarin, Xiang, and Cantonese on the flight over. The whole thing goes as well as he had expected his application to the USHS would, not that he’s bothered. Known mononymously as Zero to his new team, he fits in swimmingly and in little time at all finds himself quickly making waves and getting heat that brainiacs seldom enjoy.
Never pick of the litter mind, but Zero is reaching heights in Beijing that any man in the van usually struggles to do. Almost as much effort is spent spreading his name as doing good. Zero’s happy to find that the Chinese audience seems primed for a young waifish heartthrob in a way that American fans of the USHC don’t appreciate nearly as much. Faster than he even expected he’s tagging along to group events and glitzy photo shoots.
With each bound forward and new height of his rising star, Zero never lets himself forget that this whole jaunt abroad is but a stepping stone towards American Stardom. Sure, the language and culture were truly nothing for a man with his skills to overcome and appreciate, and he does truly enjoy the opportunity to service and enjoy a city more than twice as large as NYC. But, having been SF born and bred, the need to reach those specifically American superstar heights is simply too deep.
And in reality he’s beginning to see the limits of his influence in this non-native land. I mean c’mon, the leader of his team is literally the Sun King. Some self-styled computer whiz isn’t going to displace a monkey man literally dubbed Wukong at birth. No, despite knowing he’ll only continue to burn brighter in China, checking the stories etched into his mind of heroes who settled down and grew complacent, Zero refuses to slow.
So, when there’s talk of a hero trade with the USHC, Zero is first in line to return stateside. Using every scrap of influence he has in Beijing, he arranges himself to be sent in exchange for Trailblazer, some bruiser type woman who’s sure to do some dirty work for the ZYL. Before it’s even been finalized, Zero leaves his research and tech with his actual replacement, some meek diviner named Yijing, and he books a flight back home.
Yet again, there’s not a doubt in Zero’s mind that he is soon to be the next big all star in the USHC. He can see his face on billboards now, leading the American superintel team, blazing new ground for all those little ones out who’ll never be able to go toe to toe with bruisers and their ilk. It’s been so long since he’s been, this time no one will be able to stop him. Zàijiàn Beijing, welcome back America.
0 0 0 - 0 0 0 - 0 0 0
It isn’t until his first meeting with the team leader, Mustang, that he finally learns that his dreams do not align with the USHC plans. “Now listen here Zero, ain’t all that bad y’know. Team just don’t need another brainiac right now. Higher ups, the powers that be- Well, they just think that Binary is more than enough an ace that we don’t need two of yas.”
Zero frowns, biting his tongue to not insult the man’s intelligence. Mustang has always been one of his favorite heroes, dim as he may be. Hearing that famous, simple drawl in person is almost enough to distract Zero from the acerbic words spilling from his mouth as he’s reminded that the Corps are just pawns for management to do with as they please. Pieces to play when there is something that need punching, or punching bags when they need to save face.
No, he knows he has no reason to fight with Mustang, who despite his poor job relaying the message, obviously means well with his new teammate. Who Zero doesn’t care for however, is the stoic android who has been standing motionlessly behind his hero since they entered the room. Binary, the current USHC brainiac supreme, some old tech instilled with life that masquerades as a real once-human superhero. Oft kept in the shadows where their rusty profile belongs.
Apparently the foremost opponent in his way. Them, Zero has no qualms in attacking. ”So you’re telling me this geratic hunk of junk is just going to keep his spot on the roster forever? I’m smarter than them, faster! I mean for fucks sake surely management can see the lengthy list of pros to having an actual human being as the head of their intel department.” The android’s face remains unmoving as Zero tears into them.
Mustang scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Groaning to himself as he readjusts his immense weight, “Now hold on there littlun let’s not be too hasty. You, me, and Dupree ere’ll be a team no matter which way this shakes out. It’s just-” Mustang takes a second to adjust, unlike his two present compatriots thinking does not come naturally, “from what Binary thinks, the know-it-all biz just don’t got that high-profile pull that you’re after.”
Hearing the android’s right on the money, Zero’s eyes flicker from Mustang back to his would-be boss only to find the blank slate that must always be painted on their face. Rolling his eyes, he impetuously sighs and skips ahead in the conversation, “So what’s the other option?”
The hero smirks, “Ah! All you thinkers- Love it! So, I’m not gonna pretend to know anything bout the details, but Binary and the researchers’ve ‘pparently made this serum that’ll let any superdude and wonder gal unlock some latent powers. So, we’re thinkin’ what better way to introduce our new techie, Zeehooey Zero than by unveiling you as the first ever do-it-all supe! Ain’t that right Binary?”
The bot slowly nods, still betraying nothing of the processes ongoing behind their synthetic face. “Affirmative. Should Shirong so desire, I, we, have been allowed to grant access to the department’s notes on the program.” Without waiting for a response, Binary’s eyes flash a cold blue as he gives the new Corps member access to the proprietary notes. Immediately Zero’s mind rushes in, spreading thin to learn everything there is to know, searching for a downside, an ulterior motive, a trap.
Unfortunately for the scion of the internet, the trap was laid for him in mind. Binary’s impassive facade finally cracks as they watch him fall hook line and sinker. Highlighted to a degree that should certainly raise red flags, Zero is directed towards the most likely powers gained: super strength, endurance, enhanced reflexes and healing. Exactly the superhero cocktail that every big shot in the league has.
The young man is so excited by the prospect he doesn’t even realize that the side effects and expectations for his case have been completely scrubbed. As Binary expected. In a microsecond their face falls flat once more and Zero returns from his brief sojourn in the notes on this mystery procedure, not even trying to hide how eager he is to get this done as soon as possible.
He tells himself he has no choice, that it’s this or nothing. Zero pushes down the excitement quickly overtaking him, the surging theories and potentialities that lay ahead of him, and fanart of himself as a brawny, well-muscled superhero. His eyes slam shut as he forcefully stops himself from imagining the threads on various less than puritanical sites of himself well-hung and oiled up.
After a moment of resetting Zero clears his throat and nods, completely ignoring Binary, “Yeah, Shi de. I think this is something that I’d be interested in doing, sir-” Mustang lights up and promptly reaches over the desk to dap Zero up, “Fuck yeah! I mean who can resist y’know!? Just imagine, you ‘n me ripped as all get out. Brain ‘n brawn, can’t wait littlun- er, for now that is! Hah!”
Mustang gets up with a grunt, ruffling Zero’s hair as he walks by, an eager smile on his face, betraying nothing but his ignorance of whatever Binary has in store for Zero. Binary remains motionless, eyes powering down as they await the new hero to follow the commando before heading off to research where his is to ‘discover his new powers.’ The android would laugh, but that would be unbecoming. yes.
0 0 0 - 0 0 0 - 0 0 0
Zero doesn’t quite understand the outfit they’re having him wear for the procedure. He was ready for a gown or something similar, but these are just, well, gym clothes? Obviously he read the notes and knows the whole thing is far less invasive than one would expect. But as he changes into a tank top, he can’t help but feel ridiculous.
Pulling up shorts he hasn’t worn since high school, the young hero grimaces as he sits alone waiting in the smallest of the HQ’s operating rooms. In the meantime he does what he always does, to prepare for what’s to come, to kill time. He retreats into his mind. The whole thing is kind of insane, but from his expansive understanding that’s just how it is in the big leagues.
For a moment he considers trying to dive into the USHC’s data on Binary but is promptly denied access. Something about that bot was off. Another time. He shouldn’t let the piece of chrome get him bothered, this is a win, he’s going to be brain, brawn, and out of that brainiac’s jurisdiction. He should focus on himself.
And so he does, racing through the web past fanfic and photoshopped pictures of Zhihui Zero, shifting through long dead links on superhero fanblogs. He knows exactly what he’s looking for as he dives deep into a long abandoned forum kept running through the power of his mind alone. There he finds a post he made decades ago accompanied by a sloppy drawing of a costume that looks not too dissimilar from his current one, albeit on a much broader figure. ‘I wish I could be a superhero. I want super strength and super sped!! And to fly and be able to talk to dogs :) here’s my costume i hope you like it!’
Sitting in this room on the precipice of becoming a new type of hero, a new eidolon of man, Zero simply grins. And then grimaces as his connection slowly fades into static. Shaking his head at being dampened without warning, he returns to the meatspace and sees a doctor not much older than himself smiling with a datapad. “Oop! Sorry about that though you of course knew you were going to be disconnected during this procedure hm?”
In the end, not a world away from Binary himself, Zero performs cerebral stoicism in the face of this man whose eyes glimmer with curiosity and interest. He nods as the scientist continues, “I must say our team is so intrigued by your abilities! I mean a direct connection to a fully manmade phenomena! Well, it’s no wonder Binary wants their hands on-”
Before he can finish the sentence his free hand flies to an earpiece and his face falls slightly, clearly being reprimanded by someone watching in. Zero turns to the visible camera and waves at what can only be the android, who must be obsessed with him he thinks with a smirk.
Clearly more muted than he’d like to be, the doctor restates his excitement for the procedure, gets Zero to sign off on a few wavers he should’ve read closer, and puts a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Let’s see what a bruiser we’ll make out of you!”
Zero does a double take at this, bruiser is a very specific word in hero parlance. Bruiser, Brute, muscle without a brain. His eyes shift back to the camera which is obviously inscrutable. He’s just in his head from being disconnected. He just needs to lay back and let the doctor work. The quietly smiling man moves with some degree of melancholy in his eyes as he puts an anesthesia mask on Zero. Would’ve sworn there were people for that, anesthes- anasteesy- olo just, uh-
0 0 0 = 0 0 0 = 0 0 0
And then he’s awake. His mind humming once more with his powers returned and he lets loose a sigh of relief. Worried about nothing. Like a computer starting up he flexes his mind and ensures he has access to everything he should, as he does every morning. Pinned like a bookmark to the front of his consciousness is the drawing of him buff and flexing. Looking down at his form, the same as ever he feels nothing but embarrassed.
Distinctly colder from the friendly face that laid him to rest, he is greeted by Binary as he awakens. “Excellent. Now time for the true test.” Still running through start-up processes, Zero simply stares. “I trust you are familiar with the novella: Jekyll and Hyde Mr. Ling. As you are aware with my superior processing power we have little need of a second Dr. Hyde, although, I do appreciate the greater understanding of your abilities which I am sure our associates will make use of down the road. You know, when I have need of a portable computer. However, at his juncture Shinrong, it is time for you to become the Jekyll.”
For the first time, Zero sees Binary smile before they quickly turn and sidestep out of the room, leaving him alone in this clinical cell. Going to follow in their footsteps, the young man is unsurprised to find Binary locked the door behind them.
Zero’s face burns red as his mind overheats. He forces his eyes closed as he puts all available energy within him towards overclocking his powers to find out what is going on. Was he tricked, what did he miss in the contract, how does he get out of this room. And then sharper than any headache he’s suffered in his life, Zero falls to the floor as he hits a wall in his mind that has simply never been there before.
Gasping in shock, Zero hoists himself up on the operating table, arms struggling far more than they should for how light his form is. Hesitant to delve into the internet he checks his surroundings in reality and notices what must be a one-way mirror at the back of the OR, He scowls at his reflection, not knowing who on the other side led him down this path of being a lab rat. He wonders if Mustang was in on it, picturing his genial face, it only introduces more anger in the young man.
Zero slams a fist down on the table with strength he didn’t know he could summon. Tools on a tray table nearby shake as he does so, no way he could’ve manifested such force. Looking down at his hand still forcefully in place, Zero gasps as he sees the slightest dent in the table. He pulls his arm up to inspect it, using his mind to summon what it should look like and comparing it to how it is now.
Even this is more difficult than it should be. The intricate assessment should be second nature to his supermind. At present though, Zero’s unable to perform minute calculations groaning he simply goes over the big picture. New veins trail down his arm and with each slight twitch of movement they pulse thicker. Photoshopped images of his bulging biceps, burned into his subconscious as they are, burst to the front of his mind and he suddenly forgets whatever difficulties he's having with his abilities to instead inspect his arm.
His stomach dances as he raises it to flex, smirking as he sees new muscle begin to grow. Stretching and twisting his right arm, he focuses on it with an intensity he hasn’t brought to the real world in years. Drinking in each shifting muscle fiber as they expand. Quickly bringing it into a flex he’s beside himself with primal joy as he sees it peak higher. He does it again, and again. Each time his stare grows hungrier as the bicep bloats larger, rises higher, like a loaf of bread.
Usually able to keep a running awareness of his body’s processes, Zero simply feels his racing heart and sharp breaths rather than passively watching numbers shift. He forces his hand on his chest, feeling his palm spreading wider, fingers stretching longer and growing fatter across his thin chest. Zero struggles to slow his breathing. Upon his first deep breath he realizes his arms are not the only change.
He smells the anesthesia in a medicine cabinet across the room, discarded sweat covered tissues and latex gloves in the sterilized trash. Eyes widen as he smells in real time his body odor changing. The muted rarely present stink of his old self issuing forth from his left pit at his left arm begins its rapid journey towards the powerful arm of a hero. Opposite, already changed, he feels the few hairs in his pit joined by a small garden as it now carries the musk of a man, the stink of a hero.
Turning away from the glass, Zero’s face red from rage softens to one more pink from embarrassment. Thank god they got him in these stupid shorts and not spandex. He smells his heady musk changing with every passing second, grossing stronger as his arms hang heavier and bulge larger. Their odor is then joined by a new scent as he smells pre dripping into his suddenly strained underwear.
Desperately trying to readjust and obscure his newly bulging dick, Zero grunts as every time his clumsy fingers graze it it only becomes more unwieldy. Biting his lip, he forces down his leg, leaving a pipe more than clear in the shorts but allowing him at least a modicum of dignity. His heavier balls pulse with need and his mind that rarely leaves room for sexual fulfillment simply demands that he take in his reflection.
Zero smiles as he sees himself becoming the man he always dreamed he could be, would be. Flexing an arm briefly, letting his long pit hairs drip freely, his eyes then trail down. Past his bulge he, for the first time, notices his calves beginning to surge larger. Doing a quick calf raise, Zero nearly falls over as his whole body stretches taller in that half a moment. And so he does so again, the sound of cracking bones fills the air as his whole form lengthens.
Legs that were already struggling to put on mass to match his new bulky arms surge into overdrive as they race to become the trunks that any top heavy superheroism demands. Long toes burst free from the shoddy surgical shoes they had him in, leaving his grippers exposed as his soles widen into nigh perfect shock absorbers for the hero. He flexes his toes and feels even this awaken more strength in calves, sending shockwaves of growth through the length of his lower body.
Completely forgetting about losing his mind, unaware that the fire wall he came across moments ago has only continued to shrink inward, one thought surges to the forefront. Zero needs to see what these bad boys can do. Stretching his longer legs to their limits, patting thighs and hearing how dense his muscle mass has grown in such a short time, Zero moans to himself as his pre leaks even more than his memory.
Eyes almost crossing as the thighs that now strain his pants leave his balls little room to breath, his cock straining them even moreso. Zero shifts one of the meaty palms clutching his thigh to instead tear off his underwear.
This is done with ease, fabric he couldn’t tear without tools is suddenly scattered to the floor as stained boxer briefs are torn away from his form. It’s of little matter unfortunately as in no time at all his legs surge large enough to leave the athletic shorts skin tight.
Problem solved, he laughs to himself as he remembers what his next move was. He was going to see how high he could jump. Crouching down in an instant, he flings himself immediately into the heavily reinforced ceiling of the room before crashing back onto the floor. Thankfully pain was not a sense enhanced as he lies in a heap on the floor, doing something between groaning in pain and laughing at himself.
Resting his fat hand on his chest to steady his breathing once more, he feels one of the few remaining frontiers of his body begin to puff up. With each gasping breath new weight begins to pile onto his chest. Think fingers cup his forming pecs and the bulge in his pants struggles against its confines as his nipples poke into his new mitt.
Perfectly round pecs pounding larger with the beat of his powerful heart, Zero takes a moment to reflect. Why did he just jump headfirst into the ceiling? He never acts without thinking. He should’ve known he’d shoot into the reinforced tiles. It was his job to do the math on stunts like that for his team. It is his job, what he’s good at. Narrowing his eyes, he tries to see the numbers in front of him.
At first Zero’s able to at least summon the equations in front of him. He can almost recognize the formula, what he’s supposed to do with it and what goes where, almost. Then they fade, becoming little more than spots in his vision. His mouth falls open as it now is almost always to be, bruisers being something synonymous to mouth breathers it’s no wonder that Zero is apt to join the rest of his new cohort.
On the cold sterile floor, an ass that has yet to slow down its growth begins to send tears down his shorts. Joining veiny thighs and a veinier dick, it’s only a matter of time before Zero is truly baring it all to his colleagues. He tries to ignore the image of fans across the world staring at his ass, admiring his bulge. Feeling his cock throb, both staining and straining his shorts, Zero stays strong. No, he was going to figure it out.
Still the same stubborn man he’s always been, Zero once more tries to do the math, just to show that he can, to himself. This time he struggles to even produce the first digits of the problem. Falling back on an old trick, he uses his meaty digits to try and direct his mind.
He hasn’t needed to do this since he was first starting out, he’s never had trouble organizing his mind. He’s taken great care to stay sharp, or rather he did? His crutch, his clumsy fingers struggle to offer any aid. Arms raised his musk is once more sent spewing into the open air causing him no small degree of distraction.
Sitting up in frustration, he slams an arm into the side of the operating table. His frustration only accelerates his growth. Raw, primal emotion numbs the mind and sharpens his massive form. Pecs form a wide overhang above abs so well sculpted they must have been crafted by hand. While his new hands lack finesse, this shortcoming is more than overshadowed by arms as powerful as thick and powerful as some of the strongest normies thighs.
Standing to his feet with a deep, bovine groan, Zero is reunited with his reflection. He is truly unrecognizable. As he watches his face begins to change, jaw widening, eyes dulling. He motions his hand to bring up a saved image of himself, something that should be the easiest thing in the world, but fails to produce even a memory. Static fills his ears as cotton fills his mind. He just watches, breathing in through his mouth as he hungrily stares at himself, changing and growing.
Walking closer, inspecting his massive chest, he bounces his pecs. The static grows louder. The pecs grow bigger. Forgetting he was even trying to do a comparison, his mouth waters as he instead flexes every bulging muscle on his new form. Hypnotized by his massive chest as it pushes his tank to its limits. They’re like nothing he’s ever seen before, like no man he can imagine. His eyes fill with wonder as his pecs continue to inflate as if they were hooked up to an air compressor.
Standing there, staring at his own powerful body, finally being the superhero he always wanted to be. He would almost feel disdain for being the little know-it-all he once was. The scheming little runt who solved calculus problems for the real heroes, the little guy who stared longingly at alpha heroes like the brute he is now. He sneers as he imagines being such a pipsqueak.
He would, that is, were he not on the fast track to forgetting that’s who he ever was. Hips bucking, Zero rapidly begins to forget his connection to the sum of all human knowledge. His abilities at solving mysteries and effortlessly uncovering buried answers as Zhihui Zero are rapidly wiped from his mind as his balls begin to bulge, pulsing with need.
Mouth watering at his splendor, his strength, he can’t imagine being anything but the strongest man in the room. His hips reflexively buck as he laughs at the idea that maybe he’s got supervirility too. The dumb thought only turns him on all the more. He guffaws to himself, switching poses each time his dripping cock thrusts forward, quickly breaking free of his shorts.
Massive arms fall forward on the one-way glass that Zero recognizes as nothing but a mirror with enough force to shake the whole room. Staring at his dumb eyes reflected, seeing not a single thought behind them, Zero’s whole body twitches and contorts as he loses control. Spewing his load into the once sterile OR, his heavy breaths steam the glass as his sweaty palms send cracks across the glass simply from holding his weight against them.
His enhanced nose finds its way into his pits to smell his hormones change as he finally tastes sweet release. Fuck that’s the good stuff. Tongue out, panting like an animal, Zero becomes exactly the boorish brute that Binary intended him to be, no, even more of one. Judging by the truly immense size and strength of the USHC’s new behemoth it’s clear that Binary severely underestimated how useful the young technomage would have been.
Before the new brute gets the wise idea to clean up the spilled cum with his tongue, the door at the far side of the room rears open and in walks Mustang and Binary. The android’s face squirms at the powerful odor of the room, kicking themselves for ever giving themself the ability to smell before turning it off. Adversely, Mustang is absolutely stoked to have another bruiser on the team, “Yeeehaw?! Zero that you dude!?”
Apathetic to the still dripping cock, Mustang tosses his new teammate a towel and goes over for a bear hug. Zero is similarly ecstatic to see his captain and he tests his own strength on the man built well stronger than a stallion. Embracing and feeling camaraderie in strength, Zero’s cock immediately begins to stir again and Mustang laughs, “Shoo- Gonna need RnD to whip up some real ultragrade spandex to keep that pecker under control ‘ere Zero!”
The two men laugh for a few seconds before Binary clears their robotic throat. Zero takes a step to look past his leader and is less than pleased to see the android, “Hm, what brings the old recycling bin by Cap?” Mustang pats him on the back and offers a stern look to half-reprimand him as Binary rolls their robotic eyes with a canned, “Hah Hah.” After a moment they continue, “I am simply here for the aftermath of the experiment, Zero.”
Zero’s thick brow furrows and he scratches his wiry pubes peeking above the towel, struggling to remember exactly what experiment must’ve just happened. Lucky for the boor, Binary is more than happy to explain, “Likely you do not recall, as intended, but before coming in here you were a fellow brainiac.” Zero scowls, looking down at his meaty hands he shivers performatively at the idea of being unable to lift a truck.
“Anyway. You were able to access knowledge from the internet straight from the aether, now I perhaps underestimated the use of this judging by how drastic the counterweight transformation was.” Three sentences in, Zero is finding himself more than bored with the bot. Who cares what he used to be IF he even used to be some nerd, instead his eyes flit to Mustang’s rugged chin and meaty pecs as he wonders whose are bigger.
“Now, should you ever wish to access the power again I will have tech give you equipment to do so. You must keep in mind that any use would directly draw from your strength and form. Now-” Zero interrupts, “Boooooring- Why’d I ever wanna trade brawn for brain Binary? I mean look at me? There’s a reason me ‘n Stang are on lunch boxes. I’ll leave that nerd shit to you. Thanks.”
Slightly regretting adding another meathead to their team, Binary shifts their weight and puts a pin in this conversation, “Very well.” Mustang then seizes the floor and throws his arm around Zero, “Now bud, new powers means new identity, got any ideas kickin’ around in that thick-head o’ yours?” Pinching the bridge of their nose, Binary chimes in with, “What of Idiot Savant, I think it’s-”
They’re interrupted as they often are by their ever louder cohorts as Mustang waves his hand in an arc, “Oh how ‘bout Stud! Wouldn’t mind havin’ a real partner on the team. Stud ‘n Stang, I can see it now!”
Zero then retreats into their mind to the long imagined image of himself as a brawny hero that remains firmly implanted in his psyche, internet access or not. “Y’know, I’d love to do my mom and pops proud, and they always liked Zero. Would it be alright if I kept the name?” The image of his shoddily sketched costume, still burning bright in his eyes. He’d need to go up more than a few sizes.
Binary and Mustang stare at each other before the captain shrugs. The android’s eyes light up as they set to work, “I’ll send it up to Marketing.” Not soulless, probably, they see the intensity in Zero’s expression and tack on, “I’m sure they’ll find the idea acceptable.” Zero pumps the air with a “fuck yeah!” and faster than Binary has a chance to react he rushes over to hug the robot.
Patting them on the back hard enough to loosen a few screws, the android sounds winded despite lacking lungs, “for future celebrations a handshake will suffice!” Zero waves them off and after a few seconds allows them freedom from his grasp, leaving them more than a little sweat stained.
Finally, Mustang saunters over and joins the pair. Putting a massive arm around each compatriot, he starts leading both out the door, “Now it’s about time to get those massive lats fitted for some spandex dontcha think kid?” And so the trio depart, Binary working on a report and Mustang yammering about their other teammates. Zero doesn’t quite hear as he is preoccupied imagining his new start and his first proper day as the hero he has always dreamed he could be.
Steve held his Shield tight, Bracing at the glowing man in front of him
It had been a strange call to investigate, an inconspicuous office building about 40 minutes of of LA. Reports of people going missing,
Friends
Family,
Cops,
Heck he probably would have never been sent on such a low profile mission if one of shields own hadn’t disappeared after attempting investigation.
Getting in had been easy enough. No security checks, no guards. The receptionist at the front desk just smiled and told him to search the building as much as he liked.
Steve should have payed attention to that smile. That dull grin, from a young man with an all too tight white shirt on.
He had searched the building for an hour, finding nothing but men working. Some behind computers, some loading boxes, and some just lounging about the place.
He had noted that the company seemed to put an emphasis on personal fitness, as most of the employees were not only well groomed, but jacked as well.
The tone changed when Steve rounded a corner in an office expanse on third floor and ran into a man in a suit.
The man paused and gave a smile, speaking with a deep commanding voice
“Captain Roger’s! I heard that they were kind enough to let you in up front!”
Steve offered a smile but remained in place
“yes they did, your people were kind enough to let me run a quick inspection.”
The man In front of Steve was large, almost to the point of imposing, filling out a grey window pane suit with an all too obvious strength. He ran a large over his tied back hair and spoke again.
“We were hoping that our services would eventually attract a high profile client such as yourself.”
The air felt heavy.
“I’m here because I understand folks have been going missing in your facility.” Steve said,
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean uso,” said the man, who still hadn’t identified himself.
“The folks around, here choose to stay with me, says it improves them.”
The hair on Steve’s neck pricked, he couldn’t shake the feeling of the air thickening around him.
“So you… know about… the disappearances…”
Steve felt himself reaching for his 9 gauge, but found himself moving, as if in slow motion. His eyes began to feel heavy as swaying over took his feet.
As his vision blurred, he felt himself dropping to his knees. The man he had been speaking too stepped forward, towering over him. At this new angle Steve could make out the soft purple glow in his eyes.
“Listen to me, Captain,” the man said stepping forward.
Steve tried to raise his arms, fight, stand, do anything at all, but found himself stuck on his knees, trapped in an open mouth gaze at the man above him
“It would have been so much simpler for everyone if your people could have dropped this whole thing…”
The man reached out, calluses of his hand running along Steve’s jaw line -
“But since you ran in her like an arrogant dickhead, without a plan….Such a stupid move tama… why don’t we lean into that.”
Steve’s head was reeling, unable to focus on anything but his captors words.
The man circled Steve, running his hands along his head and back
“Don’t worry, you’re going to enjoy this quite a bit captain.”
A blissful lightness filled Steve’s head. Steve would have been horrified at the dopey smile that etched itself on his face, if he could focus on anything besides the good feeling of the man’s hand running across his shoulder
“Why don’t you e get you into something more comfortable captain?” The man snapped his fingers, the sound echoing across the empty room.
Cold air hits Steve’s chest, as he was vaguely aware of his clothes melting away. His uniform faded into nothingness, leaving only the pair of briefs clinging to his frame.
Steve couldn’t move to look, but continued smiling dully, eyes half lidded - though he felt like he should want to scream.
The man circled in front of Steve, using his thumb to brush Steve’s lips. A drop of drool fell as he removed his hand.
“And that hair of yours is amazing captain. It looks like you put a lot of work into growing it out.”
As if on command, Steve found himself mumbling yes, as a strange itching overtook his scalp. He was vaguely aware of dark hairs falling past his brow and ears, as his platinum blonde shifted into a long curly mop.
The hair continued down past his shoulders, glossy and well kept, until a mane of black cascaded down his bare back.
The man smiled, reaching out again and brushing the new found hair past Steve’s ear.
“And I never knew that you had such good taste in jewelry, I guess I’m just one of the lucky ones to see your piercings, right?”
Heat rushed to Steve’s face, blushing as he found himself muttering, “makes… more sensitive..”
A cold pinch passed over his chest, as his right nipple now sported a barbell piercing, as if it had always been there.”
“More sensitive?” The man asked, reaching forward to tweak the piercing.
Steve’s body shuddered with pleasure as the man’s hands began to explore his chest.
The man’s fingers felt so good on his skin… in a haze, Steve couldn’t think. As if his identity and brain had been completely swallowed up in pleasure.
A warm feeling ran through his chest, as his pecs swelled to obscene size. The man squeezed, which caused Steve to begin tenting.
“ yes,” the man said glancing down at Steve’s growing member, “I think your going to do just fine captain. Or should I say Aolani?”
Steve’s mind collapsed entirely, as he nodded along smiling to the man’s words. That was his name, and a feeling besides bliss was beginning to rise in his chest, as he looked at the man in front of him with new found hunger.
The man made a show of kneeling down - then reached forward with his hand to tilt Steve’s Chin. He leaned in, and hungrily pressed his lips onto the new Steve, and Steve (or now Aolani) found himself passionately returning the kiss. The warmth spread to his lips, as they inflated.
The man broke away, leaving Aolani still kneeling. Open mouthed. Drooling, and dripping.
The man smirked and seemed to take good hard look at what used to be Steve.
“Alright then Aolani, stand up already tama.”
Released from his invisible bonds, the former super soldier rose from his knees, doing nothing to hide the way his briefs barely contained him.
The man pointed to a door off to the left.
“I want you to go take care of yourself in there, but when you’re done, I need you back in my office so you can serve me. We have a lot to discuss regarding… saving your former friends….”
The once Steve blushed and bit his lips
“Of course sir,” he said looking up at his new boss. Then, obediently he trodded off to the specified door. His manhood wagging in front of him, and his glutes bouncing in his briefs behind him.
His hands already playing.
He entered the room and shut the door behind him, breathing sharply as he lowered his briefs and sat down.
Sir was so kind to him, maybe if he recorded a tease,
Sir would be willing to top him like the stud he was.”
Aolani twitched at the thought and melted into a couch. He picked up a phone laying on the coffee table and started recording, eager to please his new boss.
Submission from @musclejedi-tameem. Was probably supposed to be an ask, but it's too cool a prompt to just ignore.
Welcome back dude! I’m loving seeing your stories again. You just did one where a guy got a potion to make him an action movie hero. Do you think you could help me get one to make me a superhero like Thor? He’s always been my favorite and I wish I could be a huge hot superhero like him.
----
Everyone, at one point in their life, wishes they were a superhero. From little kids who pretend to be superheroes during recess, to bored office workers day dreaming about literally flying away from their boring job, people of every age, race and creed have wondered, even if only in passing, what it would be like to be a superhero. Even before the recent onslaught of movies in the 2010s and 2020s that brought superheroes into the mainstream, the idea of having special powers, of going on thrilling adventures and defeating evil, has always enchanted people. Thats because it speaks to a lot of inherent desires people have. To be special, to be powerful, to fight for something you believe in and to win, gloriously. And, to a somewhat lesser extent, to be incredibly fucking hot. When you think about it, there is no real reason that so many superheroes look like models, at least not within the story itself. In real life the answer is obvious; superheroes are hot because sex sells. In both the movies and the original comics, sex appeal is something that draws people in, and well I could write for ages about how sex appeal can promote a product even subconsciously, and how our cultures tendency to connect good traits to good looking people, that's not really what you’re here for, so I’ll get to the heart of it. When you say you want to be a superhero, you’re not saying you really want to live the life the superheroes in comics and movies do. A life filled with unending fights, heartwrenching loss, and somewhat convoluted drama that is all eventually fixed, only for everything to be thrown into chaos again almost immediately in the follow up or sequel. What you’re really saying is that you want to be super strong, super powerful, and super hot. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not shaming you for that. When someone says they want to be Spider-Man, that's because they want to web swing and give a cute girl an upside down kiss, not because they want their uncle to die. You’re not alone, and what you want is natural, it’s just important to recognize what you’re actually asking for. You want to be special, be powerful, to fight, to win, and be fucking hot as hell. That's what you want, and that's what I’m going to give you.
Now, you specifically mentioned the potions I gave our new actor friend. From what I’ve understood his career has really taken off recently. Or, well, careers. I gave him some more potions, and he's been using a bunch of them to live as numerous different people, all method actors who just happen to fall perfectly into whatever role he’s auditioning for. One day he’s using one face to play the part of a suave spy, the next he’s using a second face to charm everyone in his newest rom-com, then he’s wearing a third face to spice up the newest Magic Mike movie. I’ve honestly lost track of how many people he’s pretending to be at this point, but it seems to be working for him so I’m not that worried. I can see why you’d want something like what he got, especially since it worked out so well for him, but I can only make so many potions a day, and if you did use potions you’d have to use one every 24 hours to keep it going. I think we should do something a little more… permanent.
In the original comics Thor actually had an alter ego, Donald Blake, who would transform into Thor whenever he struck his cane, which was Mjolnir in disguise, on the ground. By the time you’ve read this, you should have received a special package from me, and I bet you can tell where this is going. If you open it up – which I sincerely hope you haven’t done yet, as that would have been very dangerous – you’ll find a pair of shiny new metal dumbells. They’re not as inconspicuous as a cane, but they do look much cooler, and unlike the cane you won’t need to smash it onto the ground. All you have to do is grab both weights at once, and lift. Now, I know they’re pretty big weights, but don’t worry about that. The second you’ve even started lifting, your transformation will have begun, and then… Well, needless to say lifting weights will be much easier.
You wanted to be Thor, so that's who you’re going to be, at least basically. The beefy muscles, the long blond hair, the inhuman strength and aura of royalty. You’ll have the body, mind and personality of a god among mortals, and the power to back your ego up. You’ll still be you, deep down, but you’ll be buried under layers of ego, muscle and divinity. Oh, also, you’ll have lightning powers. I almost forgot about that part. See, even if the struggles of being a superhero aren’t something people really want, that doesn’t mean we don’t want the powers. And this is your wish I’m granting, so, spitting in the face of every spider-man fan ever, you’ll get all the power and none of the responsibility. Just do me a favor and don’t become a super villain. I’d hate to have to depower you, since I’m really proud of the enchantment I put on those dumbbells.
Now, I have one more surprise. Well you will be able to change into Thor using the dumbbells, that's not the only thing the dumbbells will do. Everyone knows that a person's civilian identity gets a huge glow up when they become a superhero, and I really think you’re going to like yours. Don’t worry about anyone connecting the sudden change in your physique and connecting it to the new studly blond lightning god that's suddenly been appearing around the area, I sent a pair of fake glasses with the dumbbells. If they worked for superman, they should work for you right?
"I can't believe Tony rented out the entire fucking penthouse for this shit." Bruce exclaimed as the three men entered the elevator.
"When has he ever spent less than like 100 grand on a party." Jon responded.
"And why did it have to be a Marvel themed Halloween party, I could have been some sexy vampire or something. Now I'm stuck in this tight ass captain america suit." Grant complained.
"At least you didn't have to paint yourself green for your costume."
"Aww, but it was so perfect. Your name is Bruce so you had to be Bruce Banner."
"Then why couldn't I just throw in some glasses and wear some nerdy clothes. I don't know why I should have to paint myself green if all you have to do is throw on a chest plate and buy a cheap hammer off Amazon."
"Hey, I dyed my hair blonde for this costume. And you didn't have to paint yourself green."
The men's bickering was interrupted by the elevator door suddenly opening. It was still one level lower than the penthouse.
"You pressed the wrong fucking floor Grant." Bruce accused.
"I pressed the one that said penthouse." Grant defended.
Their bickering was once again interrupted as a futuristic robot approached the elevator.
"Welcome to Stark Tower, please come in to confirm identity." The robot asked.
The three men stood in confusion for a moment before reluctantly following the robot out of the elevator.
"Tony spent more money on this than I thought."
"His dad must have given him a bigger allowance this month."
"There is no allowance. Mr. Stark built with his own hands."
"Who the fuck are you talking about, Mr. Stark?"
"Dude shut up, it was probably just programmed to along with the theme of the party."
The robot suddenly stopped in the middle of the room and turned towards the men.
"Please reach out your hand so I can confirm your identity." The robot asked facing Bruce.
"Uugh ok. Tony's really commited to this theme." Bruce said while reaching his hand toward the robot. "Ah fuck!" Bruce yelled as a small needle pierced his hand.
"Identity confirmed, welcome Bruce Banner."
"What the hell was that?" Bruce recoiled.
"Please reach out your hand so I can confirm your identity." The robot turned to Grant, ignoring Bruce's reaction.
Jon reluctantly reached out his hand and a similar needle punctured his hand.
"Ow, that hurt more than I thought it would."
"Identity confirmed, welcome Steve Rogers."
"Oh that's sick!" Grant yelled in excitement.
"Please reach out your hand so I can confirm your identity." The robot turned to the last man, Jon.
"Hmmm." Jon mumbled under his breath, trying to hide his pain.
"Identity confirmed, welcome Thor."
The men stood there in silence for a moment, waiting for the robot to give them further instructions.
"Sooo?" Jon asked, getting impatient.
"Waiting for transformation process."
"What?" Grant said in an aggressive tone.
"Guys... What's going on?" Bruce held out his arm, showing his veins turn to a green hue.
"What the fuck is happening to you?" Jon took a few steps away from him.
"I... Don't... Know." Bruce struggled to say as his voice turned into more of a growl. All his muscles tensed up as his body began to grow. His spine stretched, making his height grow higher and higher by the second.
"Oh my god..." Grant's jaw dropped as he watched his friend grow. His head tilted back as he now had to look up at Bruce.
Bruce grunted and growled, it sounded like he was in pain and pleasure. His shoulder nearly doubled in size as his biceps grew to the size of watermelons. His forearms followed suit and his hands became massive, big enough to wrap fully around someone's head.
"What did you do to him!?" Jon yelled at the robot, to no response.
By this point Bruce's skin was completely green, but his body was far from complete. His flat chest surged with muscle, creating two meaty pecs that hung over his stomach. Speaking of his stomach, all the fat he accumulated in his gut from his lavish lifestyle melted away, leaving him with a defined six pack and a V shaped torso.
"Huuu... Uulk." Bruce managed to speak in a deep raspy voice.
His two friends couldn't say a word, they just stood watching him morph into a monster.
The transformation shifted down towards his legs, on the way his flat ass burst outward with fat, creating two perky fat cheeks that threatened to rip through his costumes purple shorts. The bulge in the front of his tight shorts grew exponentially. At first it was barely visible against the taught fabric, but it grew to 8, 10, 12, over 14 inches in moments. It swung out as it finally ripped through his poor pants.
His thighs quickly followed, growing even longer and making Hulk's head hit the ceiling. They grew thicker than tree stumps, making his monstrous dick seem more proportional. And his feet ripped through his tiny shoes in an instant, easily growing 30 sizes in seconds.
"Is it me or is he kinda hot now." Grant said.
"What the hell are you talking about!?" Jon yelled, completely shocked at what he heard.
"I... I don't know why I said that." Grant seemed to snap out of the trance he was in.
Bruce's transformation finally came to an end as his head began to change. His head grew at least twice the size, now being in proportion with the rest of his massive body. His jawline became more square and his jawline became more prominent, giving him a more masculine look to match the huge muscles on his body. His hair shortened to a buzz cut and became a black colour as a black five I clock shadow covered his face. The hair quickly spread across his body, especially covering his chest.
"Hulk... Is... Me." Hulk managed to say between heavy breaths.
"Welcome, Hulk." The robot said as he brought over a rock necklace and a massive towel.
The hulk put on the necklace and covered himself with the towel before taking a seat and waiting for his friends to arrive.
"Is it just me or is it really hot in here, this stupid costume is making me sweat." Grant complained as he tried to readjust the tight suit.
"Yeah it's just you.." Jon paused as he turned to face Grant. "Dude, look at your arms."
Grant stopped pulling at his uniform and looked down at his own body. His arms were almost pulsating, getting bigger and bigger each time.
"Ohhh no, it's happening to you too." Jon backed away from his friends, afraid of what was to come. Grant was completely distracted by his own body, unable to process his friend's reaction.
Grant's arms grew until they threatened to rip through his uniform, showing off his perfect definition through the fabric. His hands followed suit, becoming thick and calloused from whipping that shield around all the time. On that note, he felt the shield on his back become significantly heavier as the once cheap plastic shield became pure Vibranium. His shoulders then broadened, growing until they perfectly fit the straps that held his shield, as if that uniform had been custom fit to him.
"Grant? What the fuck is going on!" Jon yelled, but it was as if Grant couldn't even hear him.
"No Grant. Steve." The hulk replied.
Steve's body started to seize slightly as his chest burst out into two muscly pecs, accented by the silver star that boldly sat on top of them. The skin tight suit had previously shown off his small gut and fluffy love handles, but his gut dramatically swelled and stretched his uniform to its brink before collapsing into itself, leaving a sharp six pack and slutty waist in its place.
"Damn, Rogers. You're gonna need to show me how you abs like that." Jon said in a British accent, which was an odd departure from his American accent. He immediately covered his mouth, in shock of both what he said and the accent he said it in. Though the remark did get a laugh from the Hulk.
Steve leaned forward as his previously unremarkable ass swelled into the 'Americas Ass' that he's well known for. His pant legs looked as if they'd been pumped with air as his thighs thickened and filled his pants to their limit. And the loose pouch covering his crotch came in good use when his dick started to pulsate, similar to how his muscles had before they grew. Pleasure shot all through his body as one of his hands held his crotch and the other cupped his thick pecs. All he could think about was how hot it was that he was the Steve Rogers. And meanwhile his dick grew harder and longer, much larger than it ever had before. It pressed hard against his uniform, pulsating back and forth, begging for release. Well he would have to wait long. He let out a deep moan in an unrecognizable voice while a stain developed in his crotch.
"Ah, fuck not again. I can't keep bringing this suit back to the dry cleaners with cum stains on it."
While he complained, well trimmed hairs sprouted across his face as his jawline sharpened. His face slimmed down and his features became more mature and masculine.
"Ugh, I don't know why but my muscles feel so tight today. I need to get back to the gym."
The robot approached him while he was stretching his muscles.
"Welcome Captain America." The robot said while handing over a small towel for the stain in his pants.
"Thanks buddy."
"You realize it's just a robot, you don't need to be nice to it." Jon replied in a condescending tone, fully letting in to the British accent.
"Thor are you drunk already, we haven't even got to the party yet." Steve laughed.
"I... I'm not Thor." Jon slurred his words, despite not having drank anything yet.
"Sure." Steve replied as he turned towards the Hulk. "What's up." He said as he punched the Hulk on the shoulder.
"Waiting... Thor."
"Me too buddy, he'll be here soon."
Steve sat beside Hulk and the two sat and waited for their friend to arrive.
Jon stumbled around the room trying to find his balance. His mind was a blur as it adjusted to the changes his body was going through. He gritted his teeth as a bushy blonde beard sprouted from his face. It grew down to his chest, unkept and untamed. And his short brown hair started to grow long, becoming a lighter hue in the process.
"I don't remember Thor having a massive beard like that, it kinda suits him." Steve pointed out.
Much like his two friends, Jon's body began to rapidly grow, but it didn't go quite like it had for the others. Sure his arms did grow large with muscle, but they also got covered in a thick layer of fat, making them lose their definition. The same happened to his forearms, and his hands became thick as fat pumped his fingers like sausages.
His shoulders broadened to fit his costume, but unlike Steve, his uniform remained a cheap knock off. The metal armour was just silver fabric and the cape was just a red blanket. That wouldn't matter for long though as his flat stomach started to bulge outward. Surely this was leading to Thor's chiselled abs being formed under his uniform, but it wasn't. Steve and Hulk watched in horror as a round beer gut slowly grew under the god's costume. The cheap fabric ripped to shreds, releasing his soft belly to hang over his waist band.
"I don't remember that being there." Steve remarked.
"Thor fat?" Hulk asked.
"It looks like it, yeah."
It wasn't over however. If the massive gut wasn't bad enough, his now bare chest began to swell. At first it seemed like they were growing with muscle, but the muscle quickly became engulfed in soft fat. They swelled into man tits, sagging to the sides of his gut. His back didn't fare much better, rolls of fat formed all down his formerly chiselled back and thick love handles filled in his thin waist, rounding out his body shape.
"Oh god it's awful, but I can't take my eyes off of it. Isn't there something hot about the god of thunder letting himself go and becoming... that." Steve pointed out, looking to Hulk for a response. Hulk only gave a shrug in response.
Thor leaned against a wall for support, trying to get used to his changing proportions. Though he was far from over. The sound of fabric ripping once again echoed around the room as Thor's ass grew fat and flabby. His pants finally gave way when his thighs thickened, leaving him in nothing but a tight jockstrap that pressed into his soft legs.
"Ohhh that jock is not big enough for him." Steve chimed in, making sure to keep his eyes on Thor.
Steve was right, that jock was meant to contain Jon, not the god of thunder himself. His dick quickly doubled in length and girth, causing only the tip to be inside the jock, but his expanding fat pad quickly covered up most of his cock. Also the laces on his boots began to snap off when his feet grew 5 sizes, causing his shoes to be on the brink of exploding.
Meanwhile, his head was still undergoing changes. His now blonde hair grew down past his shoulders and matted together. His facial features grew strong and masculine, but also soft as the fat rounded out his face. And a thick double chin formed under his jaw, although it was luckily covered by his massive beard.
As the transformation came to an end, Thor finally took a step away from the wall. He let out a hefty belch while rubbing his stomach.
"Anyone got a beer?" He asked, seemingly annoyed.
The robot approached him.
"Welcome, Thor." It held out a pair of sweatpants and a beer.
Thor snatched the pants and slid them on before grabbing the beer and stumbling over to a nearby chair.
"Damn Thor, what happened to you." Steve commented while trying to contain his laughter.
"What do you mean what happened to me?" Thor played dumb.
"You got fat!" Steve was no longer containing his laughter as he walked across the room toward Thor.
"Well you're the perv with a cum stain." Thor tried laughing between beer fueled burps.
"You're calling me a perv, I remember what you did to me back in New York." Steve leaned in close enough to smell the beer off of Thor breath and ran his finger down Thor's gut towards his crotch.
"Oh so you do like the belly?" Thor flirted back.
"Hulk tired of waiting." Hulk grunted as he grabbed both men by the arms and dragged them towards the elevator. Thor seemingly unaware of the fact that he left his hammer behind. The previously plastic hammer sparkled with blue lightning as it sat behind Thor's chair.
The Hulk squeezed into the elevator, holding the two men on either side of him. The air was awkwardly silent though the short elevator ride while Hulk continued to hold Steve and Thor the entire time. The elevator chimed and the door opened to reveal Tony Stark, welcoming you to his penthouse.
When Clark Kent first left his farmhouse in Smallville to help assist a nearby town with a museum break-in, the man also known as Superman thought it would be a quick and simple encounter of disarming the criminal and handing them over to the police. Unfortunately for him though, this was proven to not be the case as Clark’s attempt to stop the criminal led to a huge fight that traversed through several areas of the museum. In fact, one of these areas included a special Krypton-themed exhibit, which proved to be quite detrimental to the superhero.
As the fight continued through this area, the criminal that broke into the museum (whose name was Darren) was desperately trying anything possible to stop Superman and allow himself to escape from him and the authorities. Searching through all of the rubble and toppled over display cases, Darren was able to stumble upon a rock that he thought could potentially give him an opportunity to flee. Upon slamming the rock against the hero’s impenetrable skull though, Darren found himself blessed with a perfect weapon in the form of a small piece of red Kryptonite.
Given the fact that Clark knew about the random effects that the crystal could have on him, the hero tried his best to deter the man from using the crystal for both of their sakes. The stubbornness of Darren was unwavering though and Clark was unable to stop the man in time before his broad chest was pierced by the crystal. Now after that impact, Clark immediately began to regret his constant desire for helping others as he found himself staring back at his own smiling body and realizing that he was now in the weak and unattractive form of Darren.
“Darren, did you hear me? It’s that kryptonite! That red one is super rare and has too many possible side effects for me to count. That must have caused us to swap bodies! Grab it and walk over here so we can swap back,” Clark desperately said, his voice shifting to a whimper as he struggled to sit up and deal with the intense pain of the impact with the wall. In fact, he was in such pain that the superhero didn’t even pick up on how he was now speaking with an awkward Midwestern accent that was a far cry from his formerly deep and booming voice.
Hearing the declaration of wanting to swap back though, the imposter Superman was adamant about not making that reality. As such, he slowly sauntered his way over to the now-frail superhero while puffing out his chest. “Like I’ve already told you Darren, by the looks of it, I’m Superman now,” he began, his lips pulling into a cocky smirk before letting out a chuckle seeing Clark’s terrified face. “I don’t really care about how this happened to us, all I know is that I’m not going to go back to that pitiful body just to go back to jail for whoever knows how many years!”
To punctuate the sentence then, Darren gripped onto the piece of kryptonite stuck in his chest and pulled it out. Grunting while this occurred, the man breathed heavily for a few seconds and stared intensely into his former eyes. Luckily for the terrified hero, this only lasted for a moment before Darren’s head soon began to turn and scan the expansive museum. Watching as the imposter Superman clenched his fist and pulled the arm holding the kryptonite back, Clark couldn’t even gasp in shock or scream for the man to stop before Darren’s new superhero strength sent the kryptonite flying through the air and shattering against the concrete wall from the velocity of the throw.
Feeling completely hopeless at what was going on, Clark found himself getting understandably quite emotional. It was absolutely infuriating to find himself graveling for the first time (and to his own body nonetheless), but it was something that he was more than willing to do in order to get his body and life back. He couldn’t allow some random criminal getting close to his wife and kids or taking over the role of Superman, Darren would surely destroy his family and his reputation as a good guy!
“Please Darren, don’t do this. We both know that these aren’t our real bodies, so let’s just be grown adults and I can find a shard or something so we can swap back,” he started. But as he finished his first sentence, his extreme sadness and fear finally caused the usually composed man to crack and begin crying. With those tears beginning to stream down his face, Clark tried his best to beg for his own body back. “Please, I’ll do anything you want to get my body back. I’m the real Superman, and I just want to get back to my family,” he continued, his sentence abruptly stopping as he began to full-on sob. Just the simple thought of having this stranger going to bed with his wife or going to his sons’ high school events was enough to break down the last remaining morsel of Clark’s pride. Despite his passionate plea though, Clark was absolutely appalled to find that his own hearty laugh was being used against him and filling the empty atrium of the museum.
“Wow, that was so pitiful and pathetic. With behavior like that, I don’t think we should swap back,” Darren began, his laughter continuing as he put his hands on his hips and looked down at the frail man who was sobbing and desperately wrapping an arm around his right leg. “Honestly, all of that emotion and desperate whining is perfectly fitting for such a weak body. In fact, I think I’m rather content with remaining as Superman,” he continued before suddenly stopping himself. “Or would you rather I refer to myself by my real name? Do you prefer I go with Clark Kent or Kal-El?” he said as he cockily placed his hands on his hips, finally causing Clark to look up in horror at the revelation that the criminal somehow knew everything about him.
“H-how did you know that,” Clark desperately inquired, struggling to comprehend what’s going on.
“What are you talking about Darren, I’m just thinking about my life and memories... especially my gorgeous wife and those two teenage boys that are eagerly waiting for their father to show up back in Smallville. You know what I really can't stop thinking about though? Getting Lois to moan my name as I fuck her mercilessly, a reward for continuing to make the world a better and safer place," he began, the smile turning quite devious as he easily recounted Clark’s last encounter with his family before heading to the museum. To make matters worse for the terrified superhero though, the man’s next statement proved to leave him weak in the knees. “I mean, I don’t think any of those memories feel fitting for a petty criminal and low-level gang member that would stage some break-in at a museum right? Go ahead and try and think about your life though Darren, I think you’ll find that those are more fitting for your life!”
Desperately, Clark tried to recount a recent and important moment in his life. The first thing that came to mind was the reason behind the family’s move to Smallville - the death of Clark’s mother. But to his horror, a brief glimpse through his mind was unable to pull up that memory. Instead, he found countless memories that informed him of a frail and sickly looking woman that was constantly in and out of the hospital. Even more bizarre, those memories also referred to Clark by the name belonging to the body he was now in: Darren.
Gasping in shock at what was going on, Clark tried his hardest to recall more important events and information about his life. But instead, all that happened was that a broader picture was painted about Darren’s life. By doing so, Clark was able to learn more about Darren such as his last name being Hyde and his history of going in and out of jail countless times in his youth. Continuing to pull on this string of Darren’s past allowed Clark to learn more about the man’s history with a local gang who first recruited him when he was 14 and got caught stealing some cigarettes for his mother.
Despite the gang’s best attempts at helping the man bulk up and gain more muscle to become some sort of brute to help them during any heists, Darren’s body was unwilling to grow beyond the pale and bony frame that he’d been stuck with since his childhood. With no real incentive for keeping the man around, the gang soon found a special job for Darren - by being their personal guinea pig and constant fall guy. Whenever he wasn’t in prison for one of the gang’s crimes, the man had no other options but to stick with the gang and endure their various tortures that came in the form of the knife scars that adorned Clark’s new pale skin. As he ran his fingers along the various cuts that crisscrossed on his skin, Clark found himself instantly cringing as he could somehow recall the pain Darren felt as he tried his best to flee and escape the rugged and bulkier men who tormented him.
“This isn’t right,” Clark cried out, the words coming out as a bizarre warble as he struggled to comprehend the extreme yet widely different expressions of his shame, fear, and pure rage. “You’re going to give me back my body one way or another,” he continued, his voice shifting into a surprisingly aggressive scream as he suddenly got up onto his feet and began to rush towards the shattered remnants of the red kryptonite. As he watched for a moment, Clark smirked seeing that the criminal was seemingly so caught off-guard that he hadn’t even attempted to chase after him yet. In a moment of athleticism that Darren’s body had never experienced before, Superman slid along the glass-shattered floor and allowed the pants he was wearing to be torn to shreds as he reached down to quickly pick up a small shard of red kryptonite that was the size of a paperclip. Given his multiple experiences with kryptonite in the past, Clark knew that the small piece was more than enough to hopefully restart the transformation and place him back in his original body.
Upon grabbing the piece, the man slid up from his knees and jumped back into a standing position to face the criminal who had stolen his body. But to his shock though, all he saw was a blur as Clark’s body flew directly at him before grabbing him and throwing him against the thick concrete wall. As Clark gasped and attempted to catch his breath from the impact, the imposter Superman was able to quickly grip onto the man’s kryptonite-wearing hand and slam it against the wall as well. But despite the struggle to regain his breathing, Clark kept a death grip around the shard in hopes of eventually stabbing the criminal with it. However, this quickly changed as Clark looked directly into the eyes of his former body and watched as they began to quickly redden.
“If you want to keep that hand of yours, you better drop the shard. Right now,” Darren warned, causing Clark’s friendly face to shift into a terrifyingly ill-fitting expression of pure rage.
Fearing the concept of losing a limb to his own laser vision, Clark let out a defeated whimper as he dropped the shard and watched as it slowly fell down and clattered against the tiled floor. Feeling as tears once again began to stream down his sunken-looking face, Clark lifted his head up to avoid making eye contact with the body thief who had easily outsmarted and outpowered him.
“Hey hey hey,” Darren lightly cooed, the friendly and calming tone he was speaking with being severely at odds with the reality of the situation. “Don’t worry Clark, I’ll be taking good care of those wife and kids of yours. Hell, based on how poorly your relationship with Jordan is right now, I think you could use all of the help you could get,” he continued with a chuckle, finding great amusement in being able to not only so easily defeat the indestructible Superman but also seamlessly take over his life as well.
“You motherfuck-,” Clark began, growing enraged as he heard the imposter bring up his strained relationship with his son.
But before the superhero could even finish his rare moment of profanity, Darren was quick to grab the man’s head and slam it back against the concrete wall. With his former body immediately slumping into a state of unconsciousness after the impact, Darren couldn’t help but smirk at the fact that he had overtaken the apparent Man of Steel. Although he had found such glee in tormenting the superhero and watching him plead for his body back though, the imposter Clark was growing increasingly antsy in terms of getting home and meeting his new family.
So as he dragged the still-unconscious “criminal” out through the front doors of the museum by the collar of his shirt, the brand new Superman flashed a wide smile as the various police officers were unaware of the fact that the criminal that they were searching for was who they were congratulating. Just as he prepared to fly off though to the house that his memories informed him was the Kent household, the former criminal tried his best to cover his tracks for once the real Clark woke up. This attempt came in the form of some dialogue with the paramedics who had quickly handcuffed Darren’s former body to a gurney and began to inspect his head for any potential damage.
“Hey, just so you guys now, that guy refused to go down without a fight,” Darren began, putting his hands on his hips and puffing out his chest as he tried to appear overly heroic to the paramedics. “Obviously I didn’t want it to get that far, but he left me with no choice other than to rough him up a bit. Just in case he starts saying some crazy and unbelievable things, please check and make sure about whether he’s concussed or not. I know he hit his head pretty hard against one of the concrete walls while we were fighting,” he continued, giving a light grin and nodding his head towards the duo of workers before flying off to meet his new family.
* * * * *
Just a few minutes later, Darren had traversed the several miles of vast farmland before arriving on the Kent property. Opting to have a bit of time to mentally prepare before encountering his new family, the man made a landing near a large barn and slowly began to prepare to adopt the identity of a sweet father and husband rather than the gritty gang member he once was. After reaching the front door of the house, the brand new Clark Kent took a deep breath before turning the doorknob and walking in.
To his surprise though, the house was completely dead and silent beyond the TV in the living room that was still playing the local news station. “Uh hello,” he said aloud, continuing to walk around and looking for his new family. Instead though, the only thing he saw was a lone plate of food resting on the dinner table while all of the lights remained off. Thinking that his new family may have gone somewhere in town, Darren made his way through the hallways before entering the bedroom that his inherited memories told him was Clark and Lois’ bedroom.
After entering and finding that the room was just as empty as the rest of the house, the imposter took a moment to take in the sights of his new residence before noticing an ajar bathroom door connected to the main bedroom. Eager to get out of this suit and see what his new body looked like, the man eagerly made his way in there and began to undress.
As the suit finally slumped down to the floor and Darren stepped out of it, the man was in awe at just how godly his body looked now. Not only did the superhero opt to wear no underwear beneath the suit so the man was in immediate awe of Clark’s impressive 8.5” cock, but the sight of such a buff physique left Darren quite slack-jawed as well. It was incredible to feel such intense strength buried deep within the thick biceps and firm hairy pecs that he now possessed, so much so that the man’s brand new manhood was immediately hardening in response. Fuck yeah, I can definitely get used to this, the man thought to himself as he used one hand to graze his fingers along the well-defined ripples of his six-pack abs and the other to slowly squeeze the shaft of his new cock.
Before he could get too deep into the fondling though, a sudden flick of a lamp caused Darren’s eyes to widen and turn to face the source of the disturbance. Upon doing so, his eyes suddenly found himself staring at his new wife Lois sitting on her side of the bed and watching with a curious expression. As he observed the woman, Darren’s cock couldn’t help but firm up further due to just how gorgeous she was to him.
“Hmm,” she began, her lips curling into a light smirk as she looked her nude husband up and down. “I presume your trip to the museum went well?” Lois coyly asked, her eyes clearly narrowing in on the rock hard cock that was jutting out and pointing directly at her from across the room.
Attempting to come up with a response, Darren found his words beginning to jumble as he attempted to explain himself. “I- um, yeah the whole trip went great. It took a bit because the intruder was wearing this mechanical suit, but as soon as I got him out of it, it was a piece of cake getting him handed over to the authorities,” he said, his words coming across quite direct and intense due to his inner worry of somehow having Lois figure out that something had happened to her real husband.
Luckily though, Lois seemed to think that nothing was amiss, especially as Darren watched her stand up and slowly make her way over to him. As one hand ran her fingers along Clark’s pecs and twirled his chest hair, Darren found himself gasping as his new wife delicately wrapped her hand around the sizable manhood and began to slowly stroke it.
“Wha- what about the kids,” Darren asked, worried about any possible intruders before he truly gave into his newfound attraction towards the woman and fucked her senseless.
“Oh don’t worry, Jordan’s playing video games in his room while Jonathan is video-chatting with his girlfriend,” Lois purred into Clark’s ear. “There’s nothing to stop us from having a little fun tonight babe,” she continued, which immediately pushed Darren over the edge.
Feeling his attraction reaching its limit, the man put his superhero skills to use as he effortlessly pulled the woman into bed at impressive speeds and tore off the woman’s clothing. As they leaned in and passionately kissed each other, Darren’s bad boy tendencies began to quickly come out in full force.
It started out small, with Lois finding her lip bit by her hunky husband as he tightly gripped onto her breasts and sensually massaged the nipples. To her surprise though, she found the action oddly erotic, so she told Clark to keep going as he finally took a moment to slide his massive cock into her needy pussy. With the man sliding in and out with a surprising amount of force and conviction, the journalist couldn’t help but gasp and moan for Clark to “go harder”.
Luckily, Lois’ imposter husband was more than willing to comply with the request, using his wide hands to grip the back of her skull and pull her into a deep and passionate kiss as he ran his tongue down her throat. When pulling away from those kisses though, the brand new Clark was quick to dive into some dirty talk as he told his wife to beg for his cock and to call herself “daddy’s little cunt” if she wanted him to keep going. To Darren’s surprise though, the journalist was all too willing to allow “Clark” to assert dominance as she begged for more and referred to herself as that kinky nickname. As such, it didn’t take long before Darren reached climax and shot his superhero seed into his brand new wife’s eager pussy.
After finishing up and falling back into bed, Darren couldn’t help but smirk as Lois raved about how great that was and talked about how it felt like he was “a brand new man”. As he chuckled and retorted that the woman had no idea how true she was, the brand new Superman decided to flick off the light and head to bed. With Lois now fully believing that nothing was amiss, Darren was somewhat excited to meet his new children the next day and become a better father to them than the real Clark Kent could ever be!
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Out of all the creepy desolate planets that Peter Quill had wandered through, this one was the worst. There was an infinite universe with an endless number of planets, so why did he have to end up on the one that had the galaxy’s creepiest warehouse on it? The job was simple, so simple that Star Lord was alone when he landed his newly repaired ship, Milano, on the planet’s cracked rocky surface. Once upon a time, there was a company that spanned solar systems. The great Anitron sold robotics, the most advanced toys for the whole galaxy to enjoy. Yet after one accident some cycles ago, everything had seemingly been abandoned. By the time Peter arrived toward the great dark structure that was once the head factory of Anitron, he only had one thought—they could take ‘seemingly’ out the sentence.
When he stepped in, the only sound was the constant howl of wind, deep and guttural and making the company quarters more like a chasm. Peter had no idea what had happened to the place. Nobody did. But from the skeletons he could see strewn around debris of glass and concrete, he could tell it wasn’t good. That was why Peter Quill did the most sane thing. He popped his headphones over his ears and pushed down on the Sony Walkman.
♬ I CAN’T STOP THIS FEELING ♬
♬ DEEP INSIDE OF ME ♬
Peter’s smile was instant as he danced down the abandoned halls. He ignored the ash that was all over scorched ground and couldn’t hear the creaks of the building as he descended further down. His mission? To scout the place and retrieve whatever scraps of useful technology was left behind for a rival corporation. He figured it would be a safer job than the bounty hunting contract that was offered instead. So Peter Quill continued to dance, gyrate and hip thrust his way throughout the headquarters turned mausoleum. He knew the elevators down to the basement level weren’t working and so he crept down the stairs, hoping to find something good left behind in their laboratories. Or at least something interesting. Perhaps without the music he would have found the whirrs of cameras following his movements interesting. If he would have noticed them.
The underside of the building remained the cleanest. Though there was still debris from caved in ceilings and shattered glass of laboratory windows, it was a far cry from the hell on the surface. Enough so that on the fifth loop of Hooked on a Feeling, Peter pressed pause when he finally found a laboratory that was intact. Or at least it looked more intact compared to the others (which wasn’t saying much with their collapsed doors and scorched lab tables).
For one it helped that the room was lit. Peter hummed to himself as he did a double take when he first rounded the corridor of the third sublevel and saw the weak blue light illuminating from the place. The fact the windows were intact was already surprising enough. But the place having power was downright intriguing. Peter glanced left, then right, then left again and then shot the electronic device beside the door. At once sparks flew and the sealed doors opened with a shriek of metal. Peter sniffed at the sudden sickeningly sweet smell that oozed out the lab.
“Thought this was a toy place not a candy one,” Peter fanned the stale sweet air, though it did little to help.
Something else about the lab instantly let Peter know how different it was. It was huge. Unlike the others which were square boxes that Peter passed by in a few strides, this lab reached further beyond. Rows and rows of workbenches stood to hold nothing and be attended to by nobody. Peter crept forward, hands curling near his blasters like one of those Earth Westerns that he used to watch as he stepped in. His eyes narrowed when he saw what few things were on the workbenches, brightly painted animals.
At least at a first glance.
The closer Peter got to them, the more he could easily see the metallic sheen, the weak blue lights that flickered above reflecting off their skin. One of them was a fox with long metal fingers and no arm. Another was a rabbit that was missing its faceplate. Each of them seemed to have been toys, impressively large at around two to three tall that hadn’t been finished. One of the mascots cracked to life.
“Welcome to Anitron, where the fun never endssssssssssssssssss-” Its head jerked back and forth like a gear had gotten stuck before its voice devolved into a low groan and it depowered. Peter froze, staring at the creepiness as the sound of something else captured his attention, the sound of bubbles.
“What the fuck is this place?” Quill murmured, creeping along to the sound as if it were a siren song. He knew it was trouble but that only made it more enticing as the lights were weaker in the next half of the lab, making him only see vague shapes. If it weren’t for the gentle green glow of those shapes then Peter probably wouldn’t have recognised what he was seeing. But then he saw the shimmering green and giant bubbles and realised what he was seeing, a row of tanks filled with floating bodies. “What the fu-”
The laboratory finished for him by suddenly coming to life. The dead lights turned white and Peter aimed with both blasters at nothing in particular, the tanks, the benches, the door he had come through. But nobody was there and nothing moved, except that of a screen. A section of high wall folded backwards, flipping over to reveal a large flat screen that jutted out. It unclenched from the wall and then began to move closer toward Peter, becoming the next target of his blasters. Even more so when it came to life.
“Ah…apologies but I have always had a flair for the dramatics,” a gravelly voice sounded out. Peter squinted at the screen, filled with the image of a man or something like a man, he couldn’t tell. Their face was hidden behind a polished silver mask and their body was draped with a lab coat. Though Peter could see the pale skin of a neck, he swore that just out of frame there were dark grooves where flesh merged into metal. The man had hair, spiky and brown, less like it was styled that way and more ragged. “I have been following you Mr. Peter Jason Quill, I believe that’s your name if records are updated. That or along with being a criminal you’re also a hacker who can alter records or practice identity theft. You aren’t and you don’t, do you?” Peter stood there, baffled and then lowered his blasters with a smile.
“Knew this job couldn’t have been easy. Why can’t any of the jobs I do be easy? Come on man,” complained Peter, appropriately acting like a child in a place where toys were built for them. Surprisingly, the man behind the mask let out a chuckle.
“Funny. They did not mention that on the records, but I always prefer meeting someone face to face as opposed to just relying on their…CV,” said the stranger pointedly. Peter made a gesture toward the screen and then himself, confused. “What?”
“I mean…dude, you call this face to face? Just because you’ve seen my face and I see your…not-face, doesn’t mean this counts,” scoffed Peter.
“Oh but it does Peter. You see technology can do such wonders…” The screen began to move suddenly, motioning as the man spoke. It was mounted on a rail Peter hadn’t noticed before and whirred around him in a slow circle as the man spoke, gliding from one side of the room to the other. “I find that it can even be a replacement for the things people do. Maybe even for people someday. Don’t you agree?” Peter took a moment, as if seriously thinking it over before giving a deadpan no. “A shame. From my sensors, you are in the Mascot Program. I apologise, I haven’t finished my work to show you.” The screen turned, facing the direction of the tanks.
“Uh…your what? You did that?”
“Yes, I did. You see I was attempting to use some of the survivors from the…accident here at Anitron for my experiment. But unfortunately…” The screen turned back toward him. “It seems I need a non-injured body to test on.”
“Uh…test on? Test what?”
“Why…this.”
At once a spiral suddenly lit up the screen. Peter blinked. And then he couldn’t blink anymore. He tried to look away, but there was a sudden pulsating pressure behind his eyes. The spiral seemed to grow larger and larger until it was the only thing he could see.
“W-Wha is…wha…” Peter tried to look away again but it was as if the more he tried, the harder it was to do and the harder it was to do the more he tried. His thoughts were becoming a vortex of circular logic that was making no sense, almost like the thoughts one would have in a dream. Peter tried to reach toward his trusty blasters but the more that he tried, the harder it was to do.
He thought about just closing his eyes, not bothering to look anywhere but each time he blinked, it was as if the spiral was burned into his retina, still playing. It looped constantly in his mind and it was suddenly just so easy to continue following the spiral, at the looping pattern that swirled and felt like a black hole that was sucking his mind into its centre to be crushed. The longer he stared at the spiral, the closer he felt his mind was to the event horizon.
“You see…a non-injured person can focus on something beyond their pain and I have worked so hard to do this…to create the perfect subliminal to alter one’s DNA once they come into contact with the gas. Did you like that by the way? I was worried you would have smelled it by now and turned back.”
The voice continued but it sounded as if it was echoing from everywhere, a sudden omnidirectional force that was seizing his mind.
“No injuries and a weak mind combined with the gas you inhaled filled with nanomachines and it is a perfect combination. I would like to thank you Peter Jason Quill…”
“T-Thank…thank…f-for…wha…” Peter’s voice faltered as drool was already starting to escape the corner of his mouth.
“Why for being the first person to submit to the Mascot Program! Now repeat after me…” There was no way Peter was going to repeat anything this fucker sai-
I AM HEAVY.
The words felt so strong as they appeared on the screen, a brief flash, just enough for his mind to cling onto and understand before disappearing for good. As soon as the stranger said it, Peter felt a wave of fatigue cause him to sink.
He gasped as it began with his feet, his boots felt as though they had just crashed into the floor as tile cracked beneath him. The muscles in his legs seized and tensed, caught in some kind of forever flex whilst his arms fell to the sides. His fingers weren’t even able to try and grab at the blasters falteringly, instead barely twitching as both arms suddenly felt like they were made of lead.
“D-Dude what the fuck-”
I AM METAL.
“No c-come on wait…”
Peter’s eyes widened, the only semblance of some control that he still had over his body as a coldness started to form over his skin. A rhythm began beneath his ribs, different from his heartbeat yet similar enough in cadence like it was replacing the organ. A sudden heat was searing through his chest and making him almost wince in pain, though pain quickly started to feel dulled down.
All touch and sensation did in his chest, all feeling receding except for two, sensitivity and with it, pleasure. Peter could feel the cold make his nipples harden before they sank further into his chest. His shoulders locked, the sound of whirring at the shoulder blades like they had been disintended from the arms and fitted into place.
Steam hissed suddenly from the skin as both shoulders locked into position.
The same sound travelled down Peter’s spine as it aligned upright, forcing him to stand taller. Peter knew it was impossible but he swore that he could feel the nanomachines coursing through him, like tiny insects that were worming their way through his hands and feet, up his limbs, toward his chest. He could feel them dancing around his bones, latching themselves onto his skeleton, forcing his body to thicken as it grew more boxy and heavy at the chest. Beneath the skin, heavy steel frameworks began to form and interlock against the skin (or rather what was now the much more shiny lifelike shell).
MY MIND IS PLASTIC.
“N-no way am I saying-”
Peter’s next words didn’t matter. That’s what he told himself or rather the nanomachines or the spiral or something told him as he continued staring. There was another rhythm, the cadence of whatever replaced his heartbeat, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, ca-clunk, that continued on in a similar enough cadence. As it did, warmth started pooling through him, oozing through his head first as his eyes threatened to roll into the back of his head. But his eyes didn’t move because Peter realised that his eyes no longer blinked. They had grown glassy and flat, fixed forever on the spiral which burrowed deeper and deeper into his mind. His hands felt like one appendage, the fingers thickening into rounded metallic digits that let the white light of the laboratory melt over them in a sheen. The same happened for his feet, trapped in the boots as Star Lord couldn’t have even lifted them if he tried (and he did, constantly screaming at himself to just run, get out, call the mission a dud, laser a warning sign into the side of the planet and fly off). Unlike his hands, the digits merged together into one thick piece, only separated by some detailed painting of lines to indicate the different toes even existed. The arches flattened completely and any and all blemishes or scars were replaced by the smooth texture of plastic, the same that raced up Peter’s limbs.
But it was his mind that he could feel was corroding the most, even as his chest expanded outwards like his ribs were pushed from the inside out.
I AM A TOY.
“W-Won’t get away withhhhhhhh…” Peter’s words slurred as his jaw grew heavier, his wide eyes desperately wanting to look around in instinctive panic. But instead they were fixed forward as a smile began to creep over Peter’s face. “No no nuh nuhhhhhhhh…” His chin separated from his body. It fell downward with a hollow plastic clack, hinging open like a piece of a toy. Two screws at the very back left it attached to the inner jaw whilst the chin dangled uselessly. “Nuhhh huuullppp mmuhhh…”
Peter garbled as the sickening cold infected the rest of his face. His eyes now no longer wanted to look around but roll into the back of his head as he felt all feelings recede from the skin except for pleasure. His cheeks rounded out slightly, almost rosy as Peter could imagine how smooth they looked with light reflecting off them. His nose receded in size slightly, flattening and hardening before he could feel the cartilage turn into mechanical pieces that let his nose be slotted onto his face. His flat eyes were allowed to blink once more, each blink clacking as his eyelids thickened into hardened plastic.
Peter’s auburn wavy hair hardened and no longer drifted in the wind, instead the hairs coalesced together, thickening and turning slightly brighter. As if he could imagine some marketing executive telling someone to make his hair almost ginger, to make his design unique, as if he wasn’t a person. A voice told him because he wasn’t a person. The spiral told him he wasn't a person. His mind told him he wasn’t a person.
His brain was calcifying. Peter Quill stared helplessly from somewhere deep inside himself as the frantic electricity of his thoughts slowed and hardened. Instead all the electricity was something that was becoming like his thoughts, something to happen at a set amount of time, with a set amount of power, in a set way.
Otherwise, it was something controlled. Suddenly every wild desperate impulse that had once been in the brain of Star Lord had seemed to freeze in place. His neurons no longer sparked naturally. Instead they aligned and clicked and fired only in neat patterns, each thought moving along invisible tracks laid down by the Mascot Program.
He could feel it happening and it was perhaps the last human feeling he had before the intoxicating pleasure of his sensitive body took hold. All the while Star Lord could feel the soft folds of his brain stiffened inside his skull as it became flatter and denser and smoother and colder. All electric chaos of memory and instinct and fear was being replaced with something clean, programmed, simple and worst of all, corporately safe.
I
AM
A
TOY
The spiral repeated emphasising each word with its own second long screentime. Toy…Toy…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…TOY…The word screamed inside Star Lord and suddenly started to make the gears inside his chest whir and the electric signals of his motherboard light up. The circuitry within him that was once his veins let the electric flow and send signals to the rest of his body like a real brain as Star Lord™ reared up suddenly. His half lidded eyes sprung wide awake and commands slid into place where memories used to be.
SMILE.
SING.
WAVE.
ENTERTAIN.
I AM A TOY.
The spiral turned off and in an instant Star Lord almost did the same. Except somewhere deep inside, behind all the metal and gears and circuitry, there was still some faint pulse, some semblance of Peter. The ability to feel was something unable to be replicated and so with it, a small vestige of the real Peter Quill remained, to feel everything for his new animatronic self. Even if it meant he would be stuck not wanting to feel a thing because he looked-
“Star Lord activate.”
At once Star Lord™ reared up again, his lower jack opening up on hinges with a clack. It moved up and down as a voice box activated in the back of his mouth.
What the fuck have you done to me?! Star Lord™ tried to say.
“I’M STAR LORD THE LEGENDARY OUTLAW!” Star Lord™ said with a wide smile as his head glided from side to side. The man on screen chuckled.
“Perfect Peter, catchphrase 1!”
Catchphrase?! I don’t have a fucking-
“BLASTERS LOCKED AND LOADED.” The sound of his blasters letting out a high pitched whine when he activated them sounded out in the background as he spoke. His own voice came with damn sound effects, he thought. He sounded ridiculous, he sounded-
“Catchphrase 22!”
22?! Why the he hell would I have 22 catch-
“DID SOMEBODY SAY, SAVING THE UNIVERSE?” A low quality sound effect of his clipped laughter sounded out after he spoke. In fact all of what he was saying sounded like a bad recording of him, his voice crunchy with static and sounding as hollow as the mouth it came from.
“Dance time!”
Wait wait wait what the fuck does that mean?
“DANCE-OFF PROTOCOL!” Just then, the music of I Can’t Stop This Feeling sounded out from the speaker in his open mouth as Star Lord’s fingers clasped together. He began to swivel from side to side, stopping midway through and adjusting his head as his body parts moved separately.
Both arms followed repeated motions, gliding through the air slowly as he realised he was doing a slow version of the robot dance whilst standing completely still.
Only his upper half moved whilst the song played, sounding as if it came from a faulty radio in the corner of some dark echoey room.
“Stop. Perfect…Absolutely perfect. Star Lord, register me as your master.”
No I’m not…not going to…
“YES MASTER! STAR LORD READY FOR YOUR COMMAND!”
“Now come to my office, fifth level. We have a lot of work to do and if you’re as good as you are…well, I think you just might change the galaxy, Peter Quill.”
“READY FOR THE STARS WITH STAR LORD!” Star Lord™ replied after registering one word, galaxy. He began to move, one foot after the other with automated ease, the sounds of springs following each heavy footfall. All Star Lord had to do was just simply walk over toward the right level and go be with his Master. That was all he could think about. It was all he needed to think about. He was now just Star Lord™. And that was all he ever needed to be.
Soon a whole galaxy would agree with him too and if any heroes were to try and rescue him, they would find out just how good it would feel to be something like Star Lord™.
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