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Synopsis: "Some time in the far future, a government dissenter and anti-war activist is drafted to become a new, gamma-powered super soldier." A little experimental piece. There’s a brief bit on mental changes/mental conditioning involving American imagery. I apologize if it’s much. Disclaimer: The copyrights to the Incredible Hulk and any related characters or depictions are owned by Marvel. This story is not intended to infringe on such copyright. ---------------------------------------------------------------- The ride on the prisoners’ transport vehicle was silent, other than the slight bumps on the road rocking it every so often. Other than that unsightly, masked, heavily armored person who could only be assumed to be a soldier, Nick was the only person sitting in the back. He’d just woken up after being knocked out for a few hours, finding himself handcuffed from the back, chained to the bar behind him. It was dark inside, and Nick’s bluish-gray eyes strained to see anything through the small window across from him. Other than the fact it was sunny outside, he couldn’t see anything else. But that was probably because the window was too small for him to get a good look at anything. Instead, he brought his eyes toward the only other person he could see: the soldier. Nick coughed, his throat and mouth feeling dry. He licked his lips to try to feel some moisture, but he felt exhausted. As his hacking stopped, he called out to the soldier in a raspy voice. “Where are you taking me?” “Quiet.” The soldier’s voice was deep. A headache slowed Nick’s response, but it eventually came after a gulp. “I deserve to know where we’re going,” he said. His voice grew stronger. “You’re a government dissenter. A disgrace,” the soldier said, standing up. He approached Nick, and got close to his face. “You’re supposedly anti-war, but you disrupted the country’s law and order with your so-called ‘activism.’ You don’t deserve shit, and you deserve the draft.” Then it came back to Nick. After a day of him strategizing with local activists to put pressure on the increasingly corrupt government, the army raided his apartment and took him. He stared into where he guessed the soldier’s eyes would be. “You know this draft’s illegal,” he said. No response. “So where are you taking me? Bootcamp?” The soldier scoffed. “Better than that.” Nick’s face dropped. That’s not good news, he thought. The vehicle slowed down and he realized something big was about to happen to him. Did that soldier mean… No, that project was scrapped. It was never greenlit. But with the military in charge, they could… The soldier undid the chain attaching Nick to the vehicle, and pulled him up. Nick winced at the man’s tight grasp of his arm but had no time to react as the truck’s door opened, blinding him, then pushing him out. He had little time to find his footing or to allow his eyes to adjust as the soldier pushed him towards the entrance of a large mysterious facility, the only label on it being “Military Operations” on a small plaque above the large door. It didn’t take long before he found himself approaching what seemed like a holding cell. Another soldier was stationed at the door with what seemed to be a uniform in hand. That soldier unlocked the cell, grabbed ahold of Nick’s arm — ignoring his wincing and clear reaction of pain — then freeing him from his handcuffs and pushing him in. Nick turned around and watched the two soldiers talk briefly, presumably about him, before they parted. He stepped back as the soldier with the clothes stepped in. He spoke with a deep voice, not unlike the other. “Strip to your underwear, keep your socks, and toss your current clothes to me and put these on,” he commanded. He threw the clothes he had to the floor in Nick’s direction before pressing on. “Now!” Understanding the situation very well, Nick did not hesitate to start taking off his clothing. His attitude from earlier had completely gone away, replaced by a sense of anxiety and urgency. He slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the soldier, just as he was told; the same was done for his pants, shoes, and socks. Nick’s feelings of humiliation and invasion of privacy needed to be quickly discarded, so he slipped on the provided khaki pants (just a size too big), and tried to fit through the plain white shirt he was given. After a moment of tugging it over his head, he gave up and told the soldier, “This doesn’t fit.” His eyes locked with the soldier’s before darting away. The soldier sighed. “Fine,” he said, sounding irritated. He walked over and grabbed the shirt out of Nick’s hand. “I guess you’ll go without a shirt.” He collected Nick’s old clothing and started heading out. “Wait!” Nick called out as the door began to close. “What’s gonna happen to me? I haven’t gone through due process!” “When the doctor is ready for you, I’ll get you.” Nick paled. “The doctor?” The soldier walked away. Despite the lack of response, his silence answered Nick’s question and his fear. When Nick was organizing, he and other lead protestors had heard about a top secret project meant to enhance soldiers. It was called Project GAMMA, he was told. A science experiment to create the American super soldier. He never got all the details, since it was supposedly never approved, but his current circumstances could only be explained by that. Why else would there be a scientist involved in what seems like a testing facility? Yet as Nick made his way to the dirty mirror in the cell and stared at himself — his fairly slim, pale body and his 5’9” stature — he couldn’t understand why he of all people would be picked for this. At 19, he was different from any of his involved peers. He was far from a soldier and could never live in their mindset. He was independent, and not quite patriotic. The most athletic he got was running, so he wouldn’t stand a chance against the hulking soldiers around him. His heart was racing. What were they about to do to him? The answer of that question would come soon enough, as the soldier had already come back. He opened the door. “Get out,” he demanded. Nick looked at the soldier and walked to the door and the soldier immediately grabbed ahold of his arm. He could try to make a break for it, he thought, but with a place as large as this facility being in the middle of nowhere, attempting would surely be a death sentence. He allowed himself to be tugged along to a door labeled “TESTING LAB 1-H” as he grimly walked down the fluorescent-lit hallways. A new man, short, aged, with a sickly, greenish tint to his skin was standing inside, patiently waiting for who was inevitably to become his test subject. He stood next to a large machine. It was reminiscent of an external beam radiation machine but modified: the treatment table was fixed at an angle so that the subject would be more upright, the radiation laser seemed to cover a larger area, and a small screen was attached to it. The scientist grinned when he saw Nick’s look of fear at the machine. “Strap him to the table, Sarge.” Within a few moments, Nick was forcibly strapped and bound to the table around his waist, his wrists, and his ankles. He tried to get a look at the ID card hanging from the scientist’s lab coat: Dr. Samuel Sterns. “Thank you,” Dr. Sterns said. “You can leave us.” And so the soldier did, leaving Nick and the malicious man in the room. Nick’s heart was beating out of his chest, feeling fear as Dr. Sterns began to circle Nick, as if to inspect him, with a mischievous grin on his face. “Who… who the hell are you?” Nick asked, his voice shaking. “My name is Dr. Samuel Sterns. Yours is Nicklas Radler, but you prefer to just go by Nick, I heard,” he started, locking his eyes with Nick’s. “I am the lead scientist of this small project.” “Is this… Project GAMMA?” Dr. Sterns stopped pacing around Nick. He scoffed as he looked Nick up and down. “So you’ve been told?” “No. I’ve heard about it… I thought this project was dead.” “It was. It really was.” Dr. Sterns stepped forward before he continued, prompting Nick to take a sharp breath as his heart began to race even more. “That was until your little band of kids began picking up traction. People stopped enlisting, and the draft became more aggressive. What we didn’t anticipate was how you guys sowed so much resistance against the government. So, I made my case to the men in charge and got my way. You were… picked up because you fit what we needed at the moment, in comparison to your anarchist teammates.” Nick was silent, and a feeling of dread came upon him. Was everyone else in danger? “What are you going to do to me?” The grin on the scientist’s face grew wider and more wicked. “Project GAMMA is meant to make the world’s first gamma-powered super soldier, hence the name. A combination of nanites, serum, and radiation to turn the mind and body of any man into one of a true American patriot, ready to fight for his country. A total transformation — one that you’ll be the first to enjoy.” Mind and body? Radiation? “Gamma radiation kills,” Nick said frantically. Maybe he could bargain his way out of here. “Not at certain frequencies for short bursts of time,” Dr. Sterns retorted. “I could never fight for this country, doc. I’ve never had a passion for this country, and I never will. I don’t plan on contributing to war.” + “Ah, that’s what you think.” Dr. Sterns stepped away and pressed a button. On the side of the machine came a few vials and a few syringes. He took one vial, filled with a greenish liquid, and another, filled with a clear thick liquid, along with one of the syringes. “You see the nanites we’re using today are special,” he explained. He loaded the syringe with the clear liquid. “These change your psychology to be a little more… suggestible. More flexible and eager to accept what is presented. A bit of programming through audio and visuals, a boost of testosterone, and your mindset will be changed. You’ll come out a new man.” “Fuck you,” Nick said quietly. Dr. Sterns grabbed Nick’s neck and slowly positioned it before he injected the liquid (which Nick now safely assumed to be the nanite fluid) into his neck, straight into his spine. As soon as Dr. Sterns removed the needle, Nick started to feel a slight haze settle on his mind. It was like locks on his mind slowly began to unravel and he felt vulnerable. It stung as he felt a numbing pain from his neck spread to the rest of his spine and seemingly his brain. He fought hard to fight it, now knowing what was about to happen. “No, no…” he muttered. “The serum will do to your body what the nanites will do to your mind. Open your body to stimulation and transformation,” Dr. Sterns said. “Inspired by the work of an ‘old colleague,’ you shouldn’t have to worry too much. At least you won’t be the scrawny stick you are now.” Still reeling from the slight pain of the nanites, Nick looked back at Sterns in horror as he saw the scientist grab his left arm. “Get off me!” He yelled, desperate to leave. He thrashed his arm around, trying to make it hard for Sterns to find a vein to inject. “No! Please, doc, don’t put that shit inside me!” His efforts were futile as Sterns pulled another strap around his arm to keep bound to the table as he injected. The serum burned as it entered Nick’s system, prompting him to scream. He felt defeated, unlike the proud and defiant protester he was when he got taken. The burning quickly subsided, however, as the last of it left the syringe and the syringe left his body. “You’re a loud one,” Sterns said. “I can see why you were put on the front lines of those protests. You’ll need that energy on the battlefield.” He undid the extra strap around his arm and left the room. He appeared once again behind a window, an observational control room that looked into the room Nick was strapped in. Dr. Sterns seemed to flick a couple switches before the radiation machine whirred to life. The machine buzzed as the beam transport lowered around and lit up, a heated greenish light shining against Nick. The screen came down with it, shoved into Nick’s face, turning on to an image of the American flag. “Are you ready, Nick?” Dr. Sterns’ voice came through speakers into the room. “Fuck you!” “So we shall begin.” Click. The beam transport unleashed gamma rays against Nick’s body as he shut his eyes. The radiation beam oscillated around him. The voices of men that weren’t there filled his ears. Dr. Sterns of course noticed Nick’s shut eyes and sought to rectify it. “Open your eyes, Nick,” he said through the speakers. “Why should I?” “You need to open your eyes.” The commanding sound of Sterns’ voice compelled something inside him to open his eyes, to become exposed to the propaganda on the screen. The nanites were already doing their job. “No…” Nick felt his body heat up as he received the radiation and his body began to mutate. His eyes were wide open as words and imagery came onto the screen. YOU ARE A PATRIOT. YOU ARE AMERICAN. Nick recoiled at the sound of deep-voiced men repeating the phrases being blasted in his ears. He tried his best to think about anything else other than the words on the screen, but with his eyes peeled he couldn’t resist the messaging. An American flag flashed onto the screen. “I’m… not a patriot,” he said to himself. That much was true for the moment, but his mind was quickly melding to what was being introduced. He foolishly tried to imagine himself as a dumb patriot, but realized it felt more real than he expected. Without any warning, he suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through his body before it subsided. The changes were beginning, and he was unable to stop it. AMERICA FIRST. SERVE YOUR COUNTRY. His eyes flashed green for a moment as the physical changes made themselves known. Not only were they more apparent, Nick could feel them take place from the inside out. He had little room to glance down as all the muscles in his body began to burn, as if he had just gone through some strenuous workout. His toes curled and his hands rolled into fists as the sensation of growth became intense. His heart was beating heavily as his body began to stretch, adding extra inches to his height. “God… what the fuck…” Nick shut his eyes for a moment before feeling compelled to open them once again, staring directly at the words. Again, another image of the flag then of a camo uniform flashed in front of him. He felt scared when he could suddenly imagine himself wearing that very uniform before the words changed again. AMERICAN TRADITION IS GOOD. BROTHERHOOD AND CAMARADERIE. The images of fraternity bros flashed onto the screen, the same kind that he had rejected being friends with in college, before also being replaced with what seemed to be military men enjoying each others’ company. What Nick didn’t anticipate was how arousing the idea of finally accepting “American values” would suddenly be, and how arousing being a ‘bro’ would sound. As if he started to subconsciously will it, he very briefly flexed his whole body despite his position, and his muscles tightened and began to grow. Nick glanced down, saw, and felt his biceps begin to grow. They stretched outward almost beautifully but slowly, as if he was watching a timelapse of a person building muscle. The feeling of growth only added to the burning but was surprisingly pleasure-inducing. Nick couldn’t control the soft moan that left his lips as his now rock hard cock caught friction against the inside of his boxers. Quickly he felt a crisis of identity coming on. “No I’m not like them… I could never be like them,” he told himself. But as he repeated those words in his head, he became less and less confident in them. After all, a voice in the back of his head began to say, who wouldn’t want a bro to lean back on? THIS WE’LL DEFEND. SEMPER FI. Nick immediately recognized the phrases as they were screamed into his ear: the mottos of the Army and the Marines. Photos of men from each branch flashed, the voices of men speaking to him to become a recruit invading his brain. “But I’m not… them!” He tried harder to strengthen his resolve. It was undercut by a new pang of pleasure, eliciting a louder moan than before, as he saw and felt another round of growth in his body. His pecs ballooned and became more defined, and he felt his thighs and calves begin to experience the same treatment as his arms. All parts of his body began to feel heavier but stronger. Nick gasped as he felt like the air was knocked out of him for a second — his abdomen tightened as his abs became much more prominent and larger, jutting out. Droplets of sweat began to form all over his body. A sudden increase of testosterone in his system as his body reacted to its own changes. The military men on the screen suddenly became familiar. Nick’s eyes widened when he realized who they were: guys from his high school who he had cut off shortly after he found out they enlisted. BE A MAN. BE A SOLDIER. “I am… a man…” Nick’s words were slowing as his brain was processing everything thrown at it. Now images of people he knew from his high school and men from his college playing football flashed across. Expressions and screams of masculinity and aggression played on the screen. The images of traditional American masculinity inserted themselves into his sense of self, tying his ideas of being a man to that. “Stop! No!” He screamed out as he realized the thoughts popping into his head. It was no use, of course, as he began to cultivate a subtle desire to “BE A MAN” like the ones he saw on screen. A voice in his head whispered temptations, of course he should want to be a man! As much as he presently hated the changes happening to him, Nick started to love the sensations he felt all over his body. He felt confused, knowing that he absolutely shouldn’t, but his mind and body were betraying his spirit. Case in point: Nick moaned as he felt his cock get longer and larger in his boxers. He could feel pre begin to leak just a tad as it brushed past wet spots. “Fuck,” he muttered. He looked down as more and more of his muscles pushed outward. His chest and shoulders became broader and his back widened. His now eight-pack abs were cut and large, his lats flared, and his pants now fit more snugly around his waist and legs. It was clear, however, that fat wasn’t the cause for this. YOU ARE STRONG. YOU HAVE MUSCLE. At this, as if his body took a mind of its own, Nick suddenly flexed his new muscles as much as he could while strapped down. He moaned; the sensation felt so good, releasing the right hormones in his body. Veins pushed up, his vascularity being unlike anything he ever had before. In fact, his whole body was unlike anything he ever had before. Never in his life had Nick been built like this, but now he was built like the perfect soldier. And he was feeling good. On the screen in front of him, he saw shirtless athletes and bodybuilders exercising and flexing flash in front of his eyes. He was a man like them, Nick thought, he was strong as hell and he could prove it. He could enlist. But he interrupted that train of thought as he realized how much he had changed. His will, however, was being muddied by his libido. On a screen from the control room, connected to a camera pointed at Nick’s face, Dr. Sterns watched as Nick’s gray eyes became a bright green. The scientist smiled. “Perfect.” SERVE IN THE WAR. YOU LOVE AMERICA. “No, no…” As the words changed, Nick knew he needed to resist the mental changes. So he tried, but everything felt so good. He was on fire in the best way possible. And he was losing himself. Nick’s cock struggled against his boxers, wanting to free itself so desperately. He moaned and yelled in pleasure. He needed to release. He needed to be free. Suddenly he felt a new primal, savage energy spring forth from within him. The feeling of pure anger and power entered his veins, prompting Nick to feel like he unlocked a new part of the serum. In a way he did, activated by the prolonged gamma radiation. Nick’s skin began to shift to a green, just like that of the Hulk he had heard about years ago. His hair went from a light brown to a dark green. His newly-muscled body shifted into something even more powerful, as all his muscles packed on more mass. His pants began to rip as his body became much more than the fabric could handle. His growth shifted to his height as he now added another near-foot to his new human height of 6’1”. The strap around his waist burst open from the force of his new transformation. Nick ripped through the straps bounding his wrists and ankles like they were nothing, fueling a new dangerous arrogance. Dr. Sterns was unconcerned. YOU ARE A PATRIOT. Fuck patriotism, Nick thought. Nick looked down to briefly admire his body and flexed, but knew he couldn’t wait. He knew that the emerald beast he had become had the strength he needed to punch out and leave. But he was frozen, in front of the screen. There was unbridled energy, power, and strength inside him, but his mind was so occupied by his rock-hard cock. He couldn’t help but begin to rip off the tatters of his pants and boxers, and stroke. He screamed at himself in his head, he needed to stop! He needed to leave! But Nick continued to stroke. His eyes were glued to the screen. Pictures and videos of American soldiers, shirtless and in action, young patriotic men built like he was now built, all shining from the screen and attaching themselves into the deepest recesses of his brain. He was becoming. Nick started to want it. And as he continued to stroke, he moaned, distracted by his own pleasure, changing more and more… Until, at long last, the release and relief he was looking for. He yelled out powerfully as he finally came, greenish off-white semen shooting all over him and on the floor. With each powerful shot was also the release of everything he used to be. No longer could he be the scrawny, smug, seditious little activist he used to be. Not when he could be like this. And as he panted in the aftermath, shrinking down to his new human normal, with his greenness fading away, he thought only one thing as he stared at the screen. Of course he was a patriot. YOU ARE A SOLDIER. As the last words appeared on screen, and his reversion to his new normal finished, the beam transport stopped oscillating. The machine died down, the screen folded back up, and soon no sound was in the room except for Nick’s own breathing. Nick slowly stepped off the table, approaching the glass through which he could clearly see Dr. Sterns and a faint reflection of himself. There was a new subtly cocky strut in the way he walked, and he had an arrogant smirk on his face. Truly, he’d become an alpha, fit for combat. “How’d I do, doc?” Nick said, his voice just a tad bit deeper than before. He brought up an arm to flex for a moment before bringing it back down. Dr. Sterns seemed more than satisfied. “Thank you for participating in Project GAMMA, Nick. I’m happy to say it was a success,” he said through the speakers. Through the glass, he wore a smile. “You may find new clothes on the compartment on the side.” Nick looked and found a new pair of khaki pants to replace the one he had ruined, a new pair of boxers, and a plain white shirt that very clearly fit him. But after he put on his pants, he decided he didn’t need to wear the shirt. “Now I’m obligated to tell you that you have been drafted into the U.S. Army, to become a part of their first GAMMA platoon,” Dr. Sterns said on the speakers. Nick scoffed. “Finally. Some good news.”
[This is a new series that I’m starting, in which Eric Janicki is turned into a slutty himbo! Also, I’m moving my work to my new Tumblr at https://ultram0th2.tumblr.com/ ] Eric Janicki relaxed into the leather chair inside the small office. As he mindlessly scrolled through his phone, he couldn’t help the bright smile that formed on his handsome face as the notifications kept popping up on his feed, letting the bodybuilder/fitness trainer know that his latest gym selfie was popular. It’d been a nonchalant pic of himself in the mirror, with his blue tank riding up the smallest bit to offer the viewers a sneak peek of his chiseled abs which had a light dusting of hair covering them. The 6’1’’ bodybuilder knew that he was attractive, to both females and males, the latter of which made up a majority of his fanbase. Although he was straight, Eric knew that he could keep his follower count up on his online profiles and the lucrative sponsorships coming if he offered enough content that showcased his flawless musculature. The 28 year old man had spent years developing his flawless physique and it was obvious. Even as he was now: donning a dark blue button down and black slacks, his muscles were clearly evident. The buttons on his shirt seemed to strain to keep his powerful pecs covered and his biceps looked as if they could split the sleeves apart at the seams. His slacks showed off every contour of his large thighs and helped to showcase his muscle butt that was the star of many of his posts online. Eric knew that he was hot and he wasn’t shy about using his body, but he was always careful to only offer a sneak peek and not the whole thing. It was tactic employed to keep his gay fanbase drooling over him while asserting that fact that he wasn’t attracted to other men. It didn’t hurt to allow them to pretend, he figured. Eric knew that it was because of his perfect musculature and loyal fanbase that he was in contact with H-Boost, which was some unknown workout supplement company. It’d all been a stroke of luck, honestly. Eric had been at the gym, working on his triceps when an older bodybuilder, Larkin, had walked up to him and had asked if he’d be interested in posting some content about the supplements since the company was looking for an image that apparently he fit. Eric had jumped at the chance to get more sponsorship deals for his social media, which would hopefully cause a domino effect where he’d gain more followers and thus more offers, both of which equals more money. Eric knew close to nothing about the company; but after a quick Google search, he found that it was pretty underground and run by a man named Hank Williams. The picture and bio on the small company website had showed that Hank was an avid weightlifter and that he tended to be more into men— thus the tight-fitting clothes that Eric was dressed in, hoping to score this sponsorship deal. The door to the tiny office opened up and Eric put his phone away, getting up onto his feet to shake Hank’s hand as he entered. “Good afternoon, Mr. Williams,” he said in a polite voice. “Thank you for meeting with me today.” The older man was a solid wall of muscle. It was clear that he’d been a bodybuilder back in his prime. Now the fifty-something year old man hadn’t been following a strict diet as was evident by the large muscle gut that his bulging pecs rested on. His beefy arms struggled to be contained within the fabric of his dress shirt, and his thighs were so thick that the man’s walk resembled more of a waddle. His shaved head gleamed underneath the florescence in the room and his goatee was black, tinged with flecks of gray. Still the strength behind his handshake told Eric that the older man could easily hold his own. “Please, call me ‘Hank’,” he smiled warmly. “And thank you for meeting with us.” He walked around the large, wooden desk that was in the room, setting himself down into his own chair which creaked under his weight. Eric sat back down and straightened his posture, making sure to pull his shoulders back the smallest bit to push his powerful pecs forward. He fought to hide the smirk that was framed by his trimmed beard when he noticed Hank’s brown eyes hone in on the straining buttons. Eric knew that the older man found him sexy, so he figured that obtaining this sponsorship would be no problem. Hank looked at the computer screen that was in front of him, typing away as he read over something. The whole time he typed, his eyes would occasionally flick over towards the chiseled pecs on the straight bodybuilder’s chest. “Well,” he hummed, “Larkin gave you raving reviews and it looks like you do have a pretty impressive social media presence. But, I’m just not sure right now…” Trying to maintain his cool, Eric fought the frown that almost formed on his face. “What do you mean?” he asked. He flexed his arms this time, his large biceps moving like large bowling balls underneath his shirt sleeves. He was always used to just flexing here and there, or maybe flashing a coy smile for the camera. That’d always worked. However, the muscle hunk was floored when he heard that he might not have been what the company was looking for. Hank continued to type away before he opened up one of the drawers on his desk. He pulled out a small plastic pouch, about the size of a condom wrapper, and tossed it onto the desk. One side of the plastic was see-through, showcasing a small pink capsule pill. “This is one of our products that we’re looking for someone to advertise for us,” Hank explained. “It’s supposed to give men a certain kind of boost that a specific audience is interested in. Looking at your posts, you seem to be very dedicated to your fitness. While it is impressive, I’m just unsure if you’d be the right fit for our product.” Eric shook his head slowly back and forth, a little confused by what the older bodybuilder was saying. Sure, Eric was very into fitness, it was obvious by his social media accounts. However, the driving factor behind his desire to land this deal was the way his friend Larkin had boasted about the massive amount of attention and followers people tended to gain once they’d been sponsored by H-Boost. Although he’d never seen any himself, Larkin had never lied to him before. The cocky stud crossed his buff arms in front of his massive chest, simultaneously flexing his biceps and pecs to look much bigger for the gay man. “I’m sure I can handle it,” he smirked, putting on his crooked smile that made the ladies’ hearts melt. Hank’s eyes conspicuously ran up and down Eric’s muscled form. He clenched his stubble-covered jaw before nodding, pushing the pill forward across the desk. “You already posted a selfie today,” Hank explained, “so we can use that as a before. After you take the supplement, we ask that you take a picture every day to show your progress.” As Hank went over the terms, Eric fought to maintain his composure over the fact that he’d landed such a sponsorship. All he had to do was take a pill and then post pictures, and then the money would come rolling in. It was no-lose situation in his mind. “…all it takes is just one dosage,” Hank continued. “So if you’re sure, you can take the pill now.” He pulled out a water bottle from his desk and slid it towards the stud. “Just one?” Eric repeated, thinking that it was too easy. Still, he shrugged his broad shoulders and ripped open the package. He tossed the pill to the back of his throat and chugged down the entire water bottle to make sure it went all the way down. “Great!” Hank cheered as he stood up to shake Eric’s hand once more. “I have a feeling that this going to be a great sponsorship for you. We can email you the contract later. In the meantime, don’t forget to take pictures of your progress and to tag us in them.” Eric gratefully shook the older bodybuilder’s beefy hand. “Absolutely,” he agreed, standing up from his seat and walking out of the small office. There was a light swish to his walk, and Hank couldn’t help but admire the way the stud’s muscled globes seemed to dance back and forth as he walked away. He made a mental note to thank Larkin for sending them Eric, who would without a doubt be a perfect spokesman for Himbo Boost, or H-Boost for short.
//TW: Mental Health, Dissociation, and Noncon Bruce Banner was alone in the previously abandoned laboratory, deep into the mountainous wilderness of British Columbia, outside of the Unites State’s usual military patrols. The laboratory was well isolated, taking Bruce three days of driving and two weeks of hiking to reach, but it was well worth it. Half way up one of the many fir and cedar covered mountain was a cliff face with an iron door. Within Bruce found the abandoned treasure. An older radiology lab with rare and experimental equipment, albite it was old equipment, but Bruce was willing to try anything for more information, hoping to cure himself of the life-breaking curse known as the Hulk. Bruce shudders at even thinking his name, always aware of the beast resting inside him, waiting. He shakes his head. He knows the best way to handle his other half is using a ‘out of mind, out of sight’ technique. If he avoids thinking about him, getting stressed about the inevitable change slowly simmering inside him, he can avoid being pulled in to the mind-space where the Hulk is free to… “No, don’t think about that.” Bruce says out loud, brining himself out of his thoughts and back to his work. It was hard though, in his hands was page after page of new test results, which at first thrilled Bruce, piquing his curiosity. In short time that excitement turned to disappointment and pity, as those pages of data told him what every other page of data has told him. He’s messed up beyond normal scientific recognition. None of this was giving him ideas or clues for a cure, it was making him frustrated and depressed. His eyes rolled over graph after graph, the results of the tests so dramatic that it breaks the test’s own result metric. Great. A number so huge it printed right off the page. Spectacular. Oh, what’s this? A page that just reads “ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.” Over and over again. Bruce rests his face in his hands, that exactly how he’s feeling right now. Bruce tries so hard to be strong, to be above his emotions, because the moment he breaks down the Hulk is right there to catch him in the meaty clubs that is his hands, and violate him until he gives up and let’s go. It’s the reason he gets stress nightmares about hulking out in public. Bruce opens his eyes and shivers, his breathing becoming faster. Bruce blocks out those memories of when he’s trapped in his mind with Hulk, the horrible things the beast does, and how deep down he loves it. But as the poor doctor sits at the old aluminum table in the testing lab he can’t help but feel like all of his stress is collapsing in on himself. Day after day of bushwhacking, cleaning the whole lab, getting the generator room in working order, even fixing the plumbing so he could shower and use the toilet; all for this, for what he already knew. Bruce was starting to verge on a nervous breakdown. A familiar panic swells up inside the stress ridden doctor, as his vision start to blur around the edges as the overwhelming negative emotion starts to make him to disassociate. And as he always does, the Hulk rumbles to life within Bruce, sensing the emotional destress. Bruce whips up from his slouched, apathetic posture, body tingling all over with life, like a pulse of electricity inside him. “No! No! Hulk please rest again, I’m fine!” he calls out, only talking to himself. Theirs a heavy silence within Bruce’s mind. “PUNY BANNER HURT BY PAPER... HULK NO LET BANNER HURT.” The Hulk replies in a rumbling growl within Bruce, always acting as Bruce’s “protector”, even if his version of protection completely destroyed Bruce’s life and chances at happiness. Tears roll down Bruce’s face as he desperately tries to catch his breath, bating off negative thoughts and surges of stress and despair. “It’s- It’s just stress, I- I can- AAAHHHHH!” he’s cut off by his own scream, he feels the Hulk’s huge arm wrap around his chest, trying to pull him out of reality and into the mind-space. He looks down and there’s no arm around him but it’s there, he can feel it. Bruce’s eyes widen as he feels a familiar burning sensation in his eyes, the feeling of his iris’s glowing gamma green. Suddenly it feels like time freezes for Bruce, the clicking and grinding of all the machines suddenly disappear, and the lighting of the room feels off and unnatural. The giant green arm wrapped around his waist is their now. Bruce can feel the heavy puffs of air leaving Hulk’s nose blowing against his hair. He was in the mind-space, disconnected from reality. “BANNER REST… HULK TAKE CARE OF IT.” The baritone brute spoke. “No! You can’t just… TAKE ME OVER! You don’t control me!” Bruce retorts, wrenching himself out of Hulk’s surprisingly soft grasp. The Hulk looks unsurprised by this, only annoyed. Bruce snaps back to reality, his head is pounding with a hazy headache, his body feels heavy and sluggish, despite his heartbeat pounding wildly. His body was BEGGING him to dissociate again, desperately not wanting to deal with the trauma of another panic attack. Bruce’s logic fights what his body wants, knowing that letting himself sink lets the beast out. He takes deep breaths, steadying his hands on the table. He tries everything to ground himself in reality again, but it’s an unstable battle, his vision blurs and focuses again, seeing the objects around him but not really recognizing or acknowledging them, in the worst dream-like state imaginable. “I’m ok. I’m ok. I’m…” his head dips as the world goes black around him. This time there is no room around him. It was just Bruce, Hulk, and the never ending blackness of his own subconscious. The 18 foot tall jade muscle giant stood before him, nude and bulging with muscles all over, looking like a hyper masculine Hercules mixed with a primal caveman. “PUNY BANNER SHAKING WITH SRTESS… HULK STRONG.” He states, and deep down Bruce knows it’s true, it’s just so much harder to ignore when he’s face to face with Hulk’s godly masculinity. Bruce tries not to look at it, but his eyes glace down at Hulk’s massive cock. It dangles long, wide, and fat like a lazy snake laying on top of two massive forest-green bull nuts. The tip of the deep emerald cock head peeking out the thick foreskin. Bruce hates that, he’s circumcised, but Hulk regrows a full head of sensitive dick skin. Hulk feels Bruce’s eyes on him and hits a masculine pose. Raising his arms above his head and flexing his iron cannonball biceps. His huge fat pecs bouncing with life, shelves of muscle with just a bit of padding to keep them round and juicy. Big round abs like a swollen brick road. Massive treetrunk thighs bulge as they flex and rub against each other, and Hulk’s massive, green moons of ass flex and strain, but remain round and padded with a layer of fat. Hulk was simply overflowing with masculinity. Hulk hoped Bruce wouldn’t struggle this time. Bruce stuttered to life, breaking out the trance of Hulk’s impressive form. “N-N-NO! I don’t want to be a monster! I worked so hard to get the lab back up and running, I can’t let-“ “LAB MAKE BANNER ANGRY, LET HULK SMASH!” the big green giant roared back in retort. “NO! I CAN’T LET THIS ALL GO TO WASTE!” Bruce screamed back. “YOU CAN’T TAKE WHATEVER YOU WANT FROM ME, I WORKED SO HARD TO GET HERE I-MMMPPHHH!!!” Bruce was cut off by Hulk’s massive hand, fat green fingers pressing over his mouth. Hulk’s heard enough puny excuses, he doesn’t care what comes out of Banner’s mouth, he’s here to protect him from the breakdown causing them distress “HULK NEVER GET BANNER…” he rumbled out. Bruce wiggles and thrashes but it’s nothing against the vice like grip of Hulk’s huge bear paws. Bruce panics again, he was being overpowered per-usual, he felt helpless, a small voice in the back of his head starting to say “let go… let it turn black… it’s useless to fight.” Bruce wanted to cry, but then a spark of courage lights inside him. This is the head-space, normal rules don’t apply he realizes. “I’m stronger than the Hulk, I’m stronger than him!” He thinks, trying hard to convince himself. “BANNER NOT.” Hulk says like it was a plain fact, hearing Bruce’s thoughts. With one concentrated thrash Bruce breaks free of the Hulk’s grasp, sending the mighty titan back a bit. Bruce takes in a massive breath, snapping back up. The weight and stress of the panic attack flooding his senses immediately. If his headache was pounding before it was a jackhammer against his skull now. His vision almost fully blurred and tears wet the sides of his face. His heartbeat was fast like the spokes on a runaway train, beating wildly. The veins in his body are bulging, turning into a glowing green spiderweb. His muscles feel swollen and used, like he was just at the gym. He can feel patches of sweat in the armpits of his white button up shirt, in fact his whole body was running hot. Bruce could feel the energy of the Hulk surging all over within him. He stood up, the stool under him being shoved over by Bruce’s thighs. He presses his hands down on the metal table to steady himself, but Bruce’s hands dent the metal; just a drop of Hulk’s strength. Bruce can feel his muscles wanting to stretch, flex themselves bigger. He stagers away, eyes dopey, trying to form coherent thoughts. “Bruce Banner…. I’m me… I can fight it…” his voice was a few notes deeper already, and his voice sounds scratchy and hoarse. Suddenly Bruce falls to his knees, yelling through grinding teeth and a clenched jaw. A wave of hopelessness and overcharging stress crashes over Bruce as Hulk grabs his brain, trying to drag him back into their mind. This all overwhelms Bruce, distracting him from focusing on his grounding his body and calming his heart rate. Bruce cries out as his clave muscles flex out of his purple pants, tearing the fabric. His shoes bulge as the fabric of his shirt bursts around his back, pecs sending buttons flying. Bruce’s green eyes roll up, the feeling of the change is too much, too powerful, His breathing becomes uneven and despite his powerless protest, Bruce is dragged back into the blackness of his mind-space. Hulk wraps both of his arms around Bruce, holding him so snug Bruce can’t even wiggle. Something’s different this time, he’s nude like the Hulk… oh no. “BANNER STRUGGLES AND FIGHTS TO HURT HIMSELF MORE. STUPID PUNY BANNER.” Hulk sounds fully ticked off now. Bruce is completely panicked, wriggling like a worm and gasping out “No!” between labored breaths. “BANNER NEEDS TO CALM DOWN.” Hulk stated in his booming, flat voice. Hulk brings Bruce’s face to his muscular armpits, dripping with sweat. Fresh, manly, raw musk radiates from the wet black wild pit-fur that carpeted the big armpit. Bruce shakes his head in panic, knowing what’s coming next. Bruce’s face is squished against Hulk’s manly armpit, lungs filling with Hulk’s powerful musk. It’s intoxicating and potent, making a thick layer of funk in his nostrils, assaulting his tastebuds with every breath. Hulk holds Bruce there, keeping him still and making him breathe in his strong scent. Bruce feels every inch of Hulks hot, muscular body squishing against his smaller form, the massive pecs hugging his torso, and iron hard abs his legs squirm against. Hulk grips Bruce until the fight leaves his body. It seems like an eternity, but finally he stops struggling against Hulk’s force, now fully ashamed and turned on. Hulk looks at the smaller than average human erection sprouting from Bruce’s thin hips. “HEHE… PUNY.” He chuckles, Bruce can only look down in embarrassment, cheeks cherry red. Hulk looks over his fightless body-mate, happy by the lack of struggle and dejectedness “BANNER READY NOW.” Bruce looks up to Hulk’s brutish face, making eye contact, looking like a sad puppy “Noooo…” he moans out, not consenting, but unable to fight back any more; Bruce felt weak all over, he just wanted it to be over now. Hulk couldn’t care less, now that Banner couldn’t fight any more he could end the distress. Hulk grabs Bruce by his hips and slams him into the ground, his free hand comes to his hanging cock, stroking the huge green floppy snake. Hulk drops to one knee, leaning forward and letting his massive hanging nuts rest against Bruce’s face. “SMELL.” Hulk orders. Bruce whimpers before leaning in and taking a whiff of Hulks nose burning ball musk. “GOOD. BETTER THAN BEING OUTSIDE, RIGHT?” Hulk asks. Bruce looks down again, and chokes back a sob. “Yes… Better than going through the panic attack.” Hulk makes a grumble of cocky happiness and superiority in response. “BANNER REST NOW, LET HULK SMASH OUT ALL THE STRESS.” Bruce doesn’t respond, he just hangs his head and his body quivers. After a minute of stroking Hulk’s massive, over 6 foot tall erection stands tall and proud, hyper in size like all his muscles, drooling thick precum like a river. Bruce looks at the hulking green cock in dread and lust, thicker than the average humans shoulder span and bobbing with Hulk strong heartbeat. “Please don’t… I’ll fade… I’ll let go...” Bruce begs through his quivering breaths. “BANNER TOO TENSE TO LET GO. HULK HELP. HULK GENTLE.” He responds in the regular Hulk monotone. Hulk ungently grabs Bruce’s calves and spreads his legs, humongous cockhead lining up and rubbing against Bruce’s tiny, tight, virgin asshole. Bruce groans in despair, knowing that he won’t just get torn in half, since there’s no rules in the mind-space. Bruce cries out as the huge green monstercock starts to plunge into his ass. Stretching his hole past human limits. The further Hulk presses his hip in the more Bruce becomes his condom, his gut distending as Hulk forces his cock in deeper and deeper. The worst part is, it doesn’t hurt. Bruce can feel all the stretching and his organs being shoved around by the beast inside him, literally. It feels good, warm, completely overwhelming. Every nerve and sense in Bruce’s body is focused on the huge cock using him as a sex toy. Bruce starts to black out and snap back as he feels that massive cock entering his throat. He chokes and gags as it forces itself further up his neck, and with one final gurgle from Bruce’s mouth Hulk humps his cock all the way through, fat cockhead peeking out Bruce’s stretched maw. Precum flows down and pools all over Bruce’s face like he was a decoration under a fountainhead, going down his nose and splashing in his eyes. Bruce was now truly helpless, his thin form bulging and skewered by Hulk’s mighty cock. Bruce was simply overwhelmed, as he always is when he’s in this situation. It’s not the first time he’s been here, exactly like this, and he knows it won’t be the last either. He couldn’t think, only feel as every inch of him is used. He was exhausted, and his body was on fire. The overstimulation finally won over, as Bruce loses focus in his eyes and lets them close. The poor scientist fading into sleep or amnesia, completely overpowered by the Hulk. Hulk smiled and gently patted Bruce’s head, comforting him. It was over, Bruce gave into the blackness and Hulk came to the front of the consciousness. In the real world Bruce’s body was swelling all over. A mighty roar escaped his lips as his muscles started to explode with size, no resistance to the change left in his body. His whole form swells and grows, skin changing from pink to an off-olive. His muscles swell to non-human proportions, sweat dripping all over as growls rip out his throat. Bruce’s face scrunches as his jawline expands, becoming square and brutish, the green in his skin becoming brighter. His forehead grows out, sloping over his eyes as his eyebrows grow thick and caterpillar-like. Nose becoming small and high on his face, giving him Hulk’s signature brute visage. His pants and shirt are ribbons of fabric on the ground, and his underwear finally snap off as his massive balls fatten and distend, cock growing hard and already bigger than any humans. With a wall shaking roar the jade titan finally stands up. Muscle hard as iron, body steaming hot and dripping sweat, thick black body-hair covering Bruce’s once nude pecs, abs, ass, back, legs and arms. His massive cock splashing precum all over. “HULK SMASH PUNY LAB!!!” he roars out in rage, raising his arms above his head and crashing them down against the old, one of a kind machine, completely destroying it and the table it was resting on. Hulk stomps over to the next machine, grunting loudly as he raises a thick leg, stomping the radiation analyzer and cracking the floor under it as the metal snaps and collapses. Hulk was shoulder to wall in the lab, head bumping against the roof. He was cramped and it pissed him off. He stomped his way to the mountain side exit, anything in his path getting crushed, smashed, or demolished. The Hulk finds his way to the iron exit, path of destruction, sweat, and pre behind him and those huge muscular asscheeks, bulging just as big as Hulk’s wings of back muscles. Hulk runs straight at the door, his 18ft monstrous frame breaking through the iron and rock cliff face like it was styrofoam, crumbling down over him, leaving the smashed lab in his wake. Hulk sighed as the wind ran over his bulging, masculine form. Eyes taking in the sunlight and all the mountains and trees. So much room to play, so much stress to relieve. The Hulk smirked, punching a towering cedar tree near the lab entrance, watching it crumble and fall under the force of his fist. His hard dick throbbed at the display of super strength. He looked back to all the trees and the span of tall mountains. So much… SO MUCH TO SMASH!!! Hulk flexed his meaty thighs before launching into the air, aiming to crash down on the nearest mountain peak with an incredible shoulder smash. Fin.