This story is inspired by @transform4u's incredible series.
Liam adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he pushed open the heavy doors to the lecture hall, his worn-out Vans squeaking faintly against the linoleum. The room was already buzzing with energy, with rows of students sat in their cramped chairs chatting or scrolling through their phones with the occasional snippet of heated debate floating above the noise. In the aftermath of the election, the air in the once cheerful room was now unbearable tense – just further signifying the political divide which had only deepened in the aftermath of the election. Ever the perceptive one, Liam felt it acutely, the divide feeling sharper for him as an outspoken progressive and openly gay man in a department filled with students of various ideologies. Although luckily going to school in a major urban town meant that the vast majority of his classmates were like-minded in most of his core values, Liam still found himself having to deal with people who identified as anything from libertarian to far-right.
In the midst of all the chaos he scanned the room, searching for an open seat. Most of the good spots were taken, clusters of students clumping together in unspoken yet well-known clicks. To the left, he noticed a group of self-proclaimed moderates – individuals with calm, stoic faces that always tried to chime in during heated debates in order to play “devil’s advocate”. To the right, the small yet overbearing group of men decked out in MAGA hats and other overly patriotic attire huddled close, their smirks growing when they glanced around at all of the chaos their votes had manifested. Liam’s stomach couldn’t help but tighten when he saw a guy in a Trump 2024 hoodie staring at his phone, lips curling in a smug grin. Worried about getting noticed and causing a scene, the man looked away quickly.
As he slowly made his way up the stairs of the lecture hall still in search of a seat, Liam couldn’t help but flash a smile and offer up a quick wave to the few friends that were also Political Science majors. One of those individuals was Peter, a lanky man who looked like the stereotypical nerd with his dated fashion sense and thick-rimmed glasses. Despite being 19, the young man hadn’t been able to push past the plights of puberty, which left him still with an acne-ridden face where his pasty white complexion only emphasized the round red dots that were speckled across his dorky visage.
Upon heading up a few more rows and noticing an empty seat in the middle of the lecture hall, Liam awkwardly excused himself as he struggled to navigate his pudgy body past the already seated students. It was just his luck then that he ended up tripping over a backpack and almost landing on a male classmate. His poor luck was only further emphasized as he caught himself and looked down at the man and discovering that his laptop had a sticker on the back that read “Trump That Bitch!”.
After quietly offering up an apology, Liam pushed past while carefully making sure to avoid eye contact with the clearly frustrated classmate. Upon finally making his way to his seat and sitting down, he then unzipped his bag and pulled out his laptop. As he set it down on the small table resting atop his armrest, the man opened it up and thus proudly displayed his stickers to the room – small pieces that displayed his inclusive forward-thinking mentality via an AOC sticker, rainbow pride flag, and a Black Lives Matter sticker. Although he usually felt completely confident in his identity and values, the aftermath of the election had left him feeling somewhat self-conscious, especially in this current environment. Despite this, he sat tall and took a deep breath, the nerves in his chest settling a bit when he reminded himself of the reason he loved this class: Professor Townsend.
Townsend was a rarity – a professor who didn’t shy away from the sharp edges of politics and thus didn’t mind to ruffle some feathers. Middle-aged, greying, and perpetually dressed in dri-fit polo shirt that strained against his humongous belly, he had a booming voice that could command attention without effort. But what Liam appreciated most was Townsend’s commitment to calling things as he saw them. The professor didn’t just teach about political systems – he dissected them with the precision of a surgeon, exposing corruption, authoritarianism, and the insidious ways disinformation spread like wildfire in the digital age.
According to the syllabus, today’s lecture promised to be particularly potent: Disinformation and Hashtags—The Role of Social Media in Creating False Narratives. The topic felt painfully relevant, especially given how much the election’s discourse had been fueled by social media chaos. Yet despite the tightrope that such a topic its instructor would be required to walk, Liam was incredibly eager to dive in. His notebook and laptop were ready as the clock ticked closer to the hour, but he couldn’t help noticing the furtive glances and occasional murmurs around him. He’d learned to tune them out – being both extremely progressive and gay had made him a lightning rod for snide comments and tense silences – but the charged atmosphere today felt almost suffocating.
A sharp voice interrupted his thoughts. “I just think people are way too sensitive about what he says. Like, that whole locker room talk shit was just a joke, right?” It came from a guy two rows ahead, his tone dripping with condescension. Liam clenched his jaw. It wasn’t the first time he’d overheard this argument, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last over the course of the next four years.
Before Liam could roll his eyes too hard, Townsend waddled his way into the room, his presence immediately commanding attention. The scattered conversations dropped off, replaced by the hum of laptops booting up and notebooks flipping open. Townsend set his leather satchel on the desk and surveyed the room with a sharp gaze.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” he began, his deep voice cutting through the room like a knife. “I hope you’re ready for a lively discussion today. Our topic, disinformation, is more relevant than ever. As we’ve all seen in the aftermath of this election, the truth is often drowned out by the loudest voices instead of the most accurate ones. And what amplifies those voices? Social media of course.”
Liam leaned forward, his pulse quickening. Townsend’s words always felt like a rallying cry, a reminder that politics wasn’t just theoretical – it was personal, lived, and incredibly important. As the professor began to pull up slides showing trending hashtags from the elections, with some being devoted to real things such as questions about Joe Biden’s ability to serve while others were complete fantasies created by right-wing pot-stirrers and amplified by bots, Liam couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Despite the tension, despite the vitriol, there was still a space for truth, and it seemed like both him and his professor were determined to be part of it.
Professor Townsend adjusted his glasses and tapped the projector remote, illuminating the lecture hall screen with a slide bearing bold red text: #RedWaveRapture.
“Now, this,” Townsend said, gesturing at the screen with a flourish, “is what we’re going to talk about today. #RedWaveRapture. Quite the ominous ring to it, doesn’t it?”
Liam frowned, leaning closer to his laptop as murmurs rippled through the class. The hashtag itself was enough to make his stomach twist, but the tension only grew as Townsend continued.
“This is one of the newest trending topics I found circulating on certain parts of social media,” Townsend explained, his tone calm but charged with an undertone of exasperation. “Each post has been accompanied by a link to a website, which according to users on both Twitter and Reddit, claim has the ability to unleash the viewer’s inner Conservative.” He paused for effect, raising an eyebrow. “The idea is that it’s a resource being used to indoctrinate and spread the upcoming administration’s agenda.”
Liam’s chest tightened as the words sunk in. He looked around as a few stray awkward chuckles erupted from a few of his classmates. His fingers hovered above the keys of his laptop, his mind racing. Unleash your inner Conservative? The very idea made his skin crawl. Although he knew such a thing was likely impossible, the anxiety he’s felt bubbling within him since November 5th had him unable to resist thinking about the possibility. What if there was actually some truth to the idea that someone could be manipulated into adopting values so antithetical to everything he believed in? He thought of the MAGA hats and smug stares from earlier. The idea of somehow becoming like that – bigoted, narrow-minded, hateful – sent a cold shiver down his spine.
“Now, now,” Townsend said, his voice cutting through the growing unease like a warm gust of wind. “Before anyone goes running for the tinfoil hats, let’s just call this what it is: pure fantasy. The idea that some website or hashtag can magically ‘convert’ someone into a rabid Conservative is right up there with the plot of a bad sci-fi movie.”
A few students chuckled, and Townsend smirked, clearly enjoying the lightened mood. “What’s next? #BlueWaveBrainwash? Or maybe #GreenNewDevotees? Folks, if it were that easy to sway political ideologies, trust me – my colleagues in the PoliSci world would’ve figured it out ages ago. Instead of being up here with you today, I’d be sipping margaritas on a beach somewhere instead of grading your essays.”
Liam let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing. Townsend’s dry humor worked like a charm, and for the first time since seeing that hashtag, Liam felt his pulse slow to a normal rhythm.
“So here’s what we’re going to do today,” Townsend continued, his tone shifting to one of steady authority. “We’re going to combat disinformation the best way we can: by exposing it. Your assignment for today, yes, this is a graded activity, is to open the link in question and see for yourselves just how fake and laughable this conspiracy truly is.”
He turned back to his laptop, fingers tapping briskly on the keys. “For those of you feeling concerned, please do not worry. I will also take part in the activity since I know tensions are surely quite high right now. So if you’re going down the rabbit hole, I’m going down with all of you as well,” he said, smiling at the large crowd before hitting the Enter key on his laptop. Within seconds, the classroom’s group chat pinged with a message.
“Check your class chat,” Townsend said, gesturing at the screen. “I’ve posted the link there for you. All you need to do is click it, take a screenshot of the page upon completion, and submit a short reflection about why this kind of disinformation spreads. Folks, this is as easy an A as you’ll possibly get in this class. That is unless you still don’t know how to take a screenshot. If that’s the case though, then you’re on your own because I don’t know how to do it either.”
Laughter rippled through the room, and the weight in the atmosphere seemed to lift. Liam noticed how even the small MAGA crowd cracked a few smiles at that, their stiff postures relaxing slightly. After this, the man opened the chat on his laptop and moved his cursor above the link, his anxiety piqued but his nerves soothed.
The man hesitated, his cursor hovering over the link in the class group chat. Around him, the lecture hall buzzed with activity as other students followed Professor Townsend’s instructions, clicking the link on their devices. He glanced at his neighbors, who seemed engrossed in their screens, their expressions ranging from amused to mildly confused. Taking a deep breath, Liam steeled himself and finally clicked.
As soon as he did, he struggled to contain a giggle as the homepage loaded. Instead of some imposing and scary website, the link had loaded a garish, poorly-designed website covered in cheesy stock photos and riddled with spelling errors. It was at this moment that Liam breathed a sigh of relief. Townsend was right, this entire website was a joke.
But just as he prepared to take a screenshot of the page, his screen suddenly burst to life with a series of blinding flashes. His eyes bulged, his body instinctively recoiling as vibrant, disorienting colors – a purposeful electric blue and searing blood red – pulsed and swirled in hypnotic patterns. His laptop emitted a faint hum that seemed to reverberate directly into his skull. He blinked rapidly, wanting desperately to reach up and shield his eyes, but something about the display compelled him to keep looking and not move.
His body, tense and rigid just moments before, began to suddenly loosen. His shoulders relaxed, and his hands fell limply to his lap, his breathing slowing as his gaze became fixed on the screen. The chaotic flashes gave way to the first set of images – flashes of Bible verses scrawled in elegant, glowing script. They appeared so quickly that Liam couldn’t read them, but the words seemed to still flash in his vision for several moments after they disappeared.
Then came the crosses. White and gleaming, they hovered against a black void, slowly rotating before morphing into freshly cleaned and pressed American flags waving majestically in the air. A video then played, the footage composed of soldiers in pristine uniforms standing at attention and saluting in synchronized and deliberate movements. The imagery was sharp, vivid, and almost too perfect… like something out of a propaganda film.
Liam’s chest tightened as the visuals shifted once again. The image of a nuclear family appeared: a chiseled, square-jawed father in a suit, a blonde woman in a crisp dress holding a casserole, and two cherubic children standing on a manicured lawn. Behind them stood a suburban house, complete with a white picket fence and a fluttering American flag. They smiled so brightly that it seemed almost artificial, their eyes locking with Liam’s as though they could see him so intensely to the point where they were actually staring into his soul.
Liam’s mind raced, overwhelmed by the sensory overload. His thoughts became disjointed, fragments of words and feelings flashing through his consciousness – God, country, family, duty. He couldn’t tell if the images were being burned into his mind or if he was imagining them. The display then crescendoed into a final blinding flash, the videos and images abruptly ending until the screen became black and Liam found himself staring at his reflection in the screen.
Blinking rapidly, Liam sat frozen for a moment. The trance-like state had finally been shattered, leaving him slumped forward and shaking his head in an attempt to drive away the pounding in his skull and the fog that clouded his thoughts. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, and he rubbed his temples, trying to process what had just happened. Around him, murmurs filled the lecture hall as other students looked up from their screens, some appearing ever more dazed than he felt.
Professor Townsend cleared his throat loudly, his voice cutting through the low hum of confusion. Eager for guidance, Liam and the other students turned their attention towards him in search of guidance. “Well,” he said, his usual dry humor tinged with something shakier, “that was… uh, certainly something.” He looked around at the students and attempted a chuckle. “I think we can all agree that this website was bizarre, but let’s not overthink it. The conspiracy is still fake, folks. Nothing actually happened to us.”
His tone was light, but Liam couldn’t help noticing a flicker of unease in Townsend’s expression. It was subtle – the way the professor’s hand trembled slightly as he gestured toward the screen, the way his eyes darted to his laptop as if confirming that the site was nothing more than a poorly designed site.
Around the room, students began to nod and chuckle nervously, seemingly eager to return to normalcy. Some even joked about the ridiculousness of the display. Liam forced a weak smile, but his thoughts churned. The images lingered in his mind like an afterimage, vivid and unshakable.
As Townsend moved on, trying to regain control of the lecture, Liam couldn’t help but wonder: What was that? And why do I still feel like it’s with me?
Professor Townsend, visibly trying to steady himself, cleared his throat and raised his voice over the growing hum of conversation. “Alright, folks, enough excitement for one day. Let’s get back to the topic at hand – disinformation and how it exploits emotional vulnerabilities. The website was an... admittedly strange example, but—”
A loud, deep voice interrupted from the back of the lecture hall.
“Man, I feel amazing!” the voice boomed, rich with a newfound confidence. “Can’t wait to show that site to all my dumbass libtard friends!”
The room fell silent as dozens of heads whipped around to locate the source. As Liam looked in the direction of the voice, Liam’s breath caught in his throat and his cloudy brain became even more confused. It was Peter’s seat, but the man standing up and addressing the class bore little resemblance to the man.
The small, nerdy man was now towering, his body stretching upward as if pulled by invisible strings. His red button-up shirt and his black khakis strained against his expanding frame, seams popping and fabric tearing as thick cords of muscle erupted across his arms, chest, and legs. His once-round face sharpened into angular, hyper-masculine features, framed by a clean-cut hairstyle that seemed to appear out of nowhere along with trimmed stubble. The glasses he always wore were gone, seemingly discarded or shattered during his transformation.
Liam gasped, unable to tear his eyes away. As a result, he got a front row seat to watch as the sleeves and collar of the button up disappeared completely until he was left in a bizarre sight of a button-down shirt styled into a tank top. With his limbs now fully exposed, the class gasped as a set of massive biceps revealed themselves. Even from across the room, Liam could see the immense vascularity of his friend’s arms as veins bulged out under his now-tan skin. By the time Liam looked back up at his friend, he noticed how the man had changed even more – with his shirt finally shifting into a red cotton tank top and his khaki pants shortening and thinning to become a pair of athletic shorts. In addition, a new addition appeared on the man’s face – a smug grin that looked incredibly cocky as the man lifted up his arms and flexed his new biceps.
“Mr. Benson!” Professor Townsend barked, his voice tinged with a mix of authority and shock. “What’s the meaning of this? Is this some prank you’ve been planning? This is a serious class and not a place for theatrics.”
But Peter, or whoever he was, didn’t back down like he normally would from such a scolding. Instead, he tilted his head back and laughed, a booming frat-boy guffaw that loudly echoed across the room. “Oh, chill out, old man. Get off my jock… unless your faggy ass wants to suck it. You’re just jealous I’m not some pasty soy boy anymore!”
Liam’s jaw dropped as several students also gasped. What is happening? He felt his heart racing, panic setting in, but he couldn’t ignore the unsettling part of himself that found Peter’s new form... alluring. His broad shoulders, his impossibly perfect jawline, the sheer confidence that oozed from every exaggerated movement – it was intoxicating, even as Liam knew something was terribly wrong in terms of both how this happened and the terrible things he was saying.
Suddenly, a deep voice whispered in his mind, cold and mocking. Cut the shit out, fairy. You’re a goddamn embarrassment.
Liam’s head snapped to the side, his pulse pounding in his ears. He looked around wildly, expecting to see someone leaning over to whisper in his ear, but no one was there. The voice hadn’t come from the room. It had come from inside his head.
As he looked around, he found that chaos was quickly erupting. While he had been so busy looking at what was happening to Peter, the man hadn’t noticed how even more students were shifting in their seats. Before his eyes, he watched how their bodies convulsed subtly before giving way to rapid and bizarre transformations.
For whatever reason, it seemed as though the other male students were changing first. He could only watch in disbelief as baseball caps and snapbacks warped and reshaped themselves into bright red MAGA hats, perched atop heads that were suddenly adorned with buzz cuts or slicked-back hairstyles. Their physiques morphed wildly: some swelled with muscle, their t-shirts ripping as their biceps and chests ballooned; others grew stockier, their faces gaining a rugged, confident edge as their bodies shifted firmly into the overweight category. Even the lanky tech nerds weren’t spared, their thin frames filling out with sinewy definition as their smirks grew cockier.
While he continued to look around unsure of what to do, Liam finally began to see how the women were changing too. Yet while the changes occurring to them weren’t as physically intense as the men’s, the superficial changes were even more unsettling. Every lady who had clicked on the link were beginning to look like they would fit perfectly in the Stepford Wives. Their hair, regardless of its original color or texture, turned a uniform shade of platinum blonde, styled in voluminous waves. Their faces became eerily symmetrical, their cheekbones high and their lips full to the point where they resembled sex dolls more than human beings. This was further emphasized by how their clothes shifted into tight, revealing outfits that clung to exaggerated hourglass figures.
“Oh my God,” Liam whispered, his voice trembling. The room was filling with people who looked like caricatures of Conservative ideals – hyper-masculine men and hyper-feminine women, all radiating an unsettling mix of confidence and disdain.
Professor Townsend backed away from his podium, his face pale and his hands shaking. He scanned the room, his eyes desperate as he looked for any students who hadn’t changed yet – ultimately staring directly into Liam’s wide, terrified eyes.
“This... this can’t be real,” Townsend muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. “It– it was just a trend, it wasn’t supposed to actually work!” He stumbled over his words, his usual cool composure completely shattered. “I– I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please, I– I didn’t know. Forgive me. This isn’t what I wanted!”
Liam’s heart thundered in his chest as he met Townsend’s panicked gaze. All around him, his classmates continued to transform, with those who finished their transformations waking up from their slight daze to crack misogynistic jokes or discuss their dreams of creating a family after college. Amidst all of this chaos, a dark thought crept into Liam’s mind: It’s going to happen to me too, but when?
Liam’s breaths came in shallow gasps, his panic rising like a tidal wave. He could feel the tension building inside him, like something foreign clawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to take over. The flashes from the video haunted him – the Bible verses, the rigid gender roles, the overwhelming nationalism. It was a personality so alien to him, so diametrically opposed to everything he valued, that the mere idea of succumbing to it made his stomach churn.
“No,” he whispered under his breath. His hands trembled as he shoved his laptop into his bag, his pulse pounding in his ears. I’m not going to become like that. I won’t.
Without waiting for Townsend or anyone else to notice, Liam stood abruptly. He ignored the confused glances of the few remaining students who hadn’t yet transformed, his focus solely on the door at the base of the lecture hall. His legs wobbled as he hurried down the stairs, the enormity of what was happening pressing down on him with every step.
Yet just as he reached the bottom and his fingers brushed against the handle of the door, a deep, guttural grunt echoed from the front of the room.
Liam froze, turning back slowly.
Professor Townsend was clutching the podium with both hands, his face twisted in a grimace of pain and confusion. “No... not me,” the professor groaned, his voice cracking. His forehead glistened with sweat as his body began to shudder violently.
Liam watched in horror as Townsend’s transformation began. The man’s pudgy frame seemed to deflate, his extra flab melting away as if it were being sucked into some unseen vortex. His oversized polo shirt hung loosely on his shrinking torso, the fabric billowing in the wind and giving Liam glimpses of the lean and unexpectedly toned arms of his transforming professor.
“Liam...” Townsend’s voice was softer now, tinged with regret. His eyes met Liam’s, wide with sorrow. “I’m... I’m so sorry. You were my favorite student. If I’d known, I’d never have condemned you to this.”
The apology hit Liam like a punch to the gut. “Professor, no– don’t say that,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “You’re not– uh, this isn’t your fault. We can still stop it. We just need to–”
But Townsend shook his head, his expression crumpling as his body continued to change. He grew taller, his posture straightening as his figure filled out into a lean, youthful physique. His shortly cropped head of grey hair sprouted out longer dark brown strands that magically became swept back in soft waves. His cheeks hollowed slightly, his jawline sharpening to perfection, and even his once-weathered complexion took on a smooth, glowing radiance.
The professor’s now-oversized pants slipped dangerously low on his hips, held up only by the remnants of his old belt. “It’s too late,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I can feel it... slipping away. Everything I was...”
Liam could only watch, paralyzed by awe and horror, as Townsend’s transformation took a sudden, jarring turn.
The youthful glow of Townsend’s face deepened as his features regressed further. His broad shoulders narrowed slightly, his frame shrinking to that of a lanky, awkward teenager. His brown hair became shaggier, slightly unkempt, and his new, chiseled build seemed to lose its maturity, leaving him looking no older than 19.
The professor’s polo shirt shimmered and shifted, morphing into a white dress shirt complete with rolled up sleeves. His dress pants remained consistent, although they shrunk several sizes to fit his leaner frame and also manifested a pair of suspenders that flew up and around his shoulders to complete his transformation into what looked like a modern-day nerd. As this transformation completed, Liam could only watch as Townsend closed his eyes as his once-anguished expression went slack for a moment.
Liam took a cautious step forward. “Professor?”
In an instant, Townsend’s eyes suddenly snapped open. The warmth and intellect Liam had known in those irises were gone, replaced with a cold, almost sneering gaze. The man – no, the boy – smirked, his lips curling with disdain. “Ugh, women, am I right?,” he muttered, his high-pitched nasally voice dripping with bitterness. “All stuck-up bitches who don’t appreciate a perfect guy like me. They say they want nice guys, but they always go for the assholes.”
Liam recoiled as if struck across the face by the brash declarations by his former professor. “Wha... what are you talking about?”
The boy – Professor Townsend? – turned his gaze to Liam, his expression softening slightly. “Oh, uh, sorry, sir,” he muttered, his tone suddenly deferential. He gave a small, awkward bow, his shoulders hunching as if afraid of reprimand. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you. I’ll just... uh... go sit down.”
Before Liam could respond, the newly transformed nerd shuffled past him, his head down. He climbed the stairs slowly, eventually slipping into Liam’s vacated seat near the middle of the lecture hall.
Liam stood frozen at the door, his mind reeling. Although he had known from Peter’s transformation that the changes weren’t just physical, it was a devastating blow to witness how Townsend, the brilliant, progressive professor Liam had admired, was gone. Instead, a bitter, awkward probable incel stood in his place.
Around him, the room continued to descend into chaos as more students finished transforming, their laughter and taunts growing louder. While this was happening, Liam was in his head where all he could think was: How do I stop this? At least, how do I stop it before it happens to me?
Liam’s chest heaved as he scanned the lecture hall, his eyes darting from one transformed classmate to the next. Every seat was now filled with an exaggerated caricature of Conservative perfection. The men were all doing their best alpha male impersonations, with some doing it far more successfully in comparison to the thinner or pudgier others. Despite this, most of the men in the crowd had seemingly found themselves in possession of MAGA hats that they all perched confidently on their heads. In their seats, manspreading was the universal sight to Liam as stared at spread-out legs and outstretched arms in search to take up as much space as possible. Meanwhile, the women looked like plasticized models, their blonde hair shining unnaturally under the fluorescent lights while they absentmindedly squirmed in their seats due to the skintight dresses that adorned their immensely busty and curvy figures.
As he did one more scan of the room, a devastating realization hit Liam. He was the last one left.
Liam’s palms were clammy as he clenched his fists and left his knuckles white. He tried to convince himself it wasn’t too late, that he could somehow escape if he just got out of the room. That somehow he could somehow shake off whatever force was infecting everyone once he made enough distance. But to his horror, such thoughts were too late as he could feel that the warmth inside him was spreading.
It started in his chest – a low, insidious heat that pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. Liam clamped a hand over his sternum, gasping as the warmth expanded outward, tendrils of heat snaking through his limbs and pooling in his core.
“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the droning hum of the classroom. “Not me. Please, not me.”
But his body betrayed him.
The first thing Liam noticed was the way his stomach felt strange and tingly. He looked down, horrified to see his once-pudgy belly flattening before his eyes, the softness melting away as if consumed by the heat coursing through him. His love handles disappeared, his torso shrinking until it was practically concave. Although such a sight would have been a relief given his struggle to lose weight, the gravity of the situation provided no such enjoyment.
Then, the process suddenly reversed.
Liam let out a choked gasp as his chest suddenly began to push outward, the skin stretching over growing mounds of muscle. His pecs ballooned forward, thick slabs of flesh that rose and fell significantly with his panicked breathing. They were so large that he couldn’t see past them when he looked down, their bulk obscuring the rest of his body.
His abdomen followed suit, the once-smooth skin contracting into a tight, chiseled six-pack. Each individual muscle popped into definition, the grooves deep enough to cast shadows under the harsh classroom lights. His arms were next then, with his biceps swelling rapidly until his skin was taut and thick veins snaked across the surface. Liam stared, slack-jawed, as his forearms thickened and his hands grew calloused, as if they’d spent years lifting heavy weights instead of typing on a keyboard.
The warmth surged down to his legs, which each began to tremble and expand. His thighs thickened into trunks of muscle, ripping through the fabric of his jeans. His calves bulged, hard and round, as if sculpted out of marble or the gods themselves.
He stumbled backward, slamming onto the whiteboard behind him as the transformation continued.
“No, no, no!” Liam cried, his voice cracking. He clawed at his chest, as if trying to suppress the changes, but it was no use. The warmth in his core was unstoppable now, burning brighter and hotter with every second.
Then, he felt it – his entire frame began to stretch.
His sneakers squeaked against the floor as his height shot upward, his vision rising as the ceiling seemed to draw closer. His limbs elongated, his torso expanding to accommodate his new size. He hit 6’3” and kept going, his head nearly grazing the low-hanging light fixture above the door until he settled at 6’5”.
And still, the muscle piled on in the midst of this.
Liam’s shoulders broadened, his traps rising like mountains on either side of his neck. His chest puffed out further, his pecs now comically oversized, their sheer mass making it hard to move his arms without brushing against them. His back widened and his lats flared out like a cobra’s hood, giving him a hulking, V-shaped silhouette.
It was at this point where every seam of his clothes finally gave way, the seams bursting as his body outgrew them. His shirt split down the middle, the shredded fabric hanging uselessly from his massive frame before falling away entirely. His jeans tore apart at the seams, leaving him clad in only the remnants of his boxer briefs, which stretched obscenely over his impossibly thick thighs.
Liam stared down at himself, his breathing ragged. His once-familiar body was gone, replaced by an obscene parody of masculinity. Every inch of him was covered in rippling muscle, his skin smooth and tanned as if he’d just stepped off a bodybuilding stage.
He was massive. Immense. A living monument to physical dominance.
To most, this would have been a dream come true. But to Liam, it absolutely terrified him.
With trembling hands, Liam pulled his phone from the remnants of his shredded jeans, desperate for some clarity. He opened the camera app, his thumb hesitating over the screen before switching to selfie mode. His heart sank as his reflection came into focus – or rather, the brand new man who was now staring back at him.
His face, once average and unassuming, had transformed into a model of masculine perfection. His jawline was razor-sharp, chiseled to a level of symmetry that seemed almost otherworldly. High cheekbones and a perfectly proportioned nose completed the picture, while his deep-set, piercing steely blue eyes gazed back at him with a newfound intensity. Liam barely recognized himself.
For a moment, he was frozen, awestruck by his own visage. His reflection was like something pulled straight from the cover of a men’s fitness magazine – impossibly attractive, almost unreal.
But then, as he watched, his face began to change again.
Wrinkles crept around the corners of his eyes, subtle but distinct, adding an air of rugged maturity to his youthful features. The smoothness of his skin grew faintly weathered, as though kissed by years of sun and hard-working life experience. Strangely, this didn’t diminish his beauty though; if anything, it just further amplified it. The small imperfections made him appear even more commanding, more powerful – a man in his prime, someone who had lived and thrived.
“No… this isn’t me,” Liam whispered, his voice shaky as he watched the transformation unfold.
The ache of change rippled through him again, and his light brown hair darkened before his very eyes, deepening into an inky black that glistened under the fluorescent lights. Although most of the men who had transformed had seemed to gain some semblance of facial hair, the changes occurring to Liam were leaving him completely clean-shaven. The faint and thin facial hair that he had attempted to grow had been completely removed, leaving in its place clean-shaven yet scratchy cheeks that further emphasized his masculine excellence by proudly showcasing his cheeks and perfect chin. His reflection was now that of an older, impossibly handsome man – a figure that absolutely could command a room without saying a word. It reminded him of Professor Townsend, just in a completely different way.
Liam’s breathing grew shallow as his eyes roamed lower, taking in the hulking mass of his body that complemented his now-prime masculine face. His chest heaved, pecs straining against the tattered fabric that once covered them. His arms were thick, veined, and powerful, his broad shoulders giving him an aura of dominance that made his own stomach churn with equal parts fear and... desire.
The fear deepened as a sudden, sharp ache flared in his mind.
Liam gripped his temple with one hand, his phone slipping from the other and clattering to the floor. His thoughts became tangled, a storm of conflicting ideologies and values clashing violently inside his head. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus, to hold onto the principles he had lived by his entire life.
“I believe in inclusivity,” he whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible amidst the chaos of the transformed lecture hall. “I believe in equality…”
But the words triggered something else entirely.
A voice boomed inside his mind, deep and resonant, drowning out his thoughts.
“Inclusivity?” it sneered. “You don’t want inclusivity. You want exclusivity. Brotherhood. Strength in numbers. Surrounding yourself with men like you – like-minded, strong, white. None of those weaklings, none of those who’d poison your family or your community.”
“No!” Liam gasped, shaking his head violently, as though trying to shake the thoughts loose.
But the voice pressed on.
He tried to reaffirm his support for gay and trans rights, forcing the words to the forefront of his mind. Instead, the voice retaliated, its tone dripping with derision.
“They’re grooming your children,” it said firmly. “They’re trying to destroy what you’ve worked so hard to build. You’re a family man now. You have responsibilities – to your wife, to your kids, to your country. Stand up. Speak the truth. Protect what’s yours.”
Liam’s eyes shot down to his hand. He let out a strangled cry as he saw a silver wedding band materializing on his ring finger, its surface gleaming mockingly under the lecture hall lights. He tugged at it, desperate to rip it off, but it wouldn’t budge. It felt as though it were fused to his skin, a physical representation of the life he was being forced into.
“I’m gay!” Liam shouted, his voice cracking as he tried to drown out the invasive thoughts.
The words tasted foreign on his tongue now, and the voice laughed cruelly in response.
“Gay? Don’t make us laugh. You’re nothing like that type of scum. You’re a real man. An alpha. Strong, straight, dominant. You’ve got no time for their degeneracy.”
The venomous words rang in his ears, their weight pulling him down like an anchor. His reflection in the phone’s shattered screen mocked him, his new, imposing visage radiating a confidence he didn’t feel nor want.
And yet, somewhere deep inside, Liam could feel the man he once was was fading, slipping further and further away with every passing moment.
Liam’s resistance waned further as his thoughts were overtaken by vivid, intrusive memories of a life that wasn’t his yet felt impossibly real. His breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling with deep, deliberate inhalations as his vision blurred. For a moment, he was no longer standing in the lecture hall but transported to a different time, a different place, a different him.
It was as if he’d stepped back in time to the early 2000s. He was on campus, walking out of a political rally his fraternity had helped organize, and there she was. A vision in a flowy floral sundress that hugged every curve of her busty body. Her long blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight, and her piercing blue eyes met his as she handed out pamphlets for the Young Conservatives Club. He remembered the first thought that crossed his mind, unfiltered and unapologetic: I need to get my hands all over her.
He relived the moment, clear as day, as though it had only just happened. The memory was dripping with raw, physical desire. He imagined pulling her close, his large, calloused hands running down her slim waist to rest on her hips before sliding even lower to squeeze and slap her ass in addition to playing with her pussy. He could almost feel the heat of her body as he envisioned her laughing flirtatiously while he whispered something cocky and incredibly horny in her ear. The thought of stripping her out of that sundress, leaving it crumpled on the floor of the frat house, and claiming her as his made him grunt softly.
The warmth spreading through him turned into a blazing fire, feeding on memories of his old life to give way to these fabricated memories as his new identity solidified.
And then there were his children.
Chad came to mind first, his eldest son and his pride and joy. Liam’s heart swelled with paternal pride as he envisioned Chad standing at a podium, giving a fiery speech as a state representative for Florida. At only 23, he was already a rising star in conservative politics, following in his father’s footsteps. Liam couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Chad’s unwavering loyalty to their shared beliefs, his strong jawline, and his perfect family composed of a wife and a young son – everything Liam could have hoped for in a first born.
But then, Logan’s face appeared, and Liam’s smile unconsciously twisted into a sneer. His middle child had turned his back on the family, rejecting their values and falling into the clutches of liberal propaganda. Logan had the audacity to come out as gay and move to New York, cutting all ties with his parents. The thought infuriated Liam, his fists clenching as he imagined the relationship and conversations that they could have had if Logan had just stayed on the right path. Logan’s betrayal felt like a stain on an otherwise perfect legacy.
Finally, there was Becca, his youngest and his little princess. At 18, she was thriving as a freshman in college and already a proud member of a sorority. Liam pictured her dressed in pearls and a pastel dress, smiling sweetly as she mingled with future leaders and their wives. He knew she’d grow into a perfect conservative woman – graceful, poised, and ready to support her husband when the time came. After all, Gwen had taught her well, and Liam had made sure she knew the importance of family values and tradition from her youth.
The warmth in Liam’s body surged as these images danced in his mind, solidifying his place as the head of a picture-perfect family. His lips curled into a smirk as he envisioned himself as a role model – not just to his children, but to the students he taught as a Political Science professor.
“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath, his voice now beginning to sound deep and gravelly, “I’ve raised them right. Gwen and I did everything we were supposed to. They’ll carry on the legacy. I’m so proud of them all, they’re the future this country needs!”
He couldn’t stop himself as his hips bucked slightly, a low grunt escaping his lips. The pride coursing through him was intoxicating, each fabricated memory bolstering his belief that this was who he was truly meant to be. In the midst of this, the last fragments of Liam’s true self flickered away weakly, dying off as the identity of a strong Conservative man took over. As this occurred, the man’s eyes rolled back as he suddenly grunted and unleashed a torrent of jizz out onto the lecture hall floor. With each spurt of cum that escaped from his meaty and impressive cock, the middle-aged man was expelling his former self and solidifying his transformation into someone new...
Leonard Hartland blinked a few times, shaking off the haze clouding his thoughts as he refocused on his surroundings. Standing at the head of the lecture hall, he adjusted his footing, the heels of his polished Oxford shoes clicking lightly against the hardwood floor. He took a moment to take in the sight of the classroom – a sea of young, eager faces all turned toward him, hanging on to witness his first move. With this realization, his lips cockily curled into a self-assured smirk.
Yet out of nowhere, something suddenly felt... odd. For a split second, a strange sense of vulnerability rippled through him, like a nagging thought just out of reach. He looked down instinctively, a flicker of panic jolting through him, only to sigh in relief when he saw the smooth fabric of his custom-tailored black suit stretching over his broad chest and muscular arms. The suit was impeccably cut, hugging his massive frame while leaving just enough room for the crisp white dress shirt underneath. A bold red tie sat neatly knotted at his neck, its vibrant color proudly displaying his political ideology while also complementing the polished gold cufflinks gleaming at his wrists.
Leonard tugged at the lapels of his jacket, straightening it over his bulging pecs before running a hand over his chiseled cheeks and jawline. Everything was as it should be. He felt powerful and commanding – a real man. His confidence only grew as he thought of the countless times his students had told him how inspiring and "presidential" he looked.
Still, a strange itch lingered at the back of his mind. He couldn’t shake the vague sense that he had forgotten something. It was almost as if he had just woken up from a dream, but the details slipped away the harder he tried to grasp them. With a dismissive shrug, he banished the thought. Whatever it was couldn’t possibly matter. He had work to do.
His gaze swept across the room, lingering here and there. He couldn’t help but let his eyes wander to a few of the young women in the front row, their polished appearances catching his attention. For a moment, he caught himself imagining how much better they’d look if they weren’t covering up their assets in tight dresses. He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. His wife, Gwen, would just roll her eyes and laugh if she caught him looking or lusting towards another woman. She always said it didn’t bother her – after all, she had agreed with his observation that she’d let herself go since having the kids and thus meant that he should be allowed to fuck anyone he wanted until she took better care of herself.
He straightened his tie and cleared his throat, his deep, booming voice silencing the quiet murmurs that had been buzzing through the room.
“All right, everyone, settle down,” Leonard began, his tone authoritative yet casual. “I have to say, this is shaping up to be the best class I’ve ever had the pleasure of teaching.” He paused for effect, letting his words hang in the air before adding, “And it’s not just because you’re all paying attention for once. It’s because you’re the right kind of thinkers. You see the world the way I do, and that’s exactly what we need more of right now.”
The students erupted in scattered cheers and applause, their faces lighting up with pride at his words while a few loudly chanted U-S-A a few times.
“Now, as you all know,” he continued, pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back, “our president – the rightful leader of this great nation – was finally able to stop the steal and take our country back from those disgusting Democrats. But that doesn’t mean we can let our guard down.” He paused again, narrowing his sharp blue eyes. “There are still plenty of libtards out there – radical leftists, woke lunatics, ANTIFA, and other degenerates – who want to spread their fake stories, their lies, and their so-called ‘progressive’ values.” While speaking, he spat the word “progressive” out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.
Leonard placed both hands on the podium, leaning forward as he addressed the room. His broad shoulders stretched the seams of his jacket, and his commanding presence made the room feel smaller, more intimate.
“It’s our job – no, your job as the next generation – to fight back,” he said, his voice rising. “To combat this nonsense and ensure that the values we hold dear – God, country, family – stay intact. I know you’re up to the task because you’re the smartest, strongest, most like-minded group of students I’ve ever had.”
The classroom erupted into cheers and applause, and Leonard grinned, his chest swelling with pride. He raised a hand to quiet them, waiting for the room to settle before continuing.
“Now,” he said, his smirk returning, “are you all ready for me to teach you how to take back the narrative and wage war against the woke radical left?”
“Yes, sir!” the students shouted in unison, their enthusiasm shaking the walls of the lecture hall.
Leonard chuckled deeply, his laughter warm yet tinged with a hint of arrogance. “Good,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s get to work, then.”
