The clinic, part XV.
The real purpose of the clinic is nearly revealed when three guys are brought in by the authorities
The first hours of being Turks instead of left-liberal-hippy-students began for our three friends as they did for famous architect Harry, who now was a hot, muscular, tattooed chav-hunk. Friends, friends, be patient, we will follow those freshly transformed men soon. Very soon.
But I guess you remember that two black Vans had parked outside the clinic and that the waiting-room was still full of people. We will check on some of those guys, mostly not knowing what they would actually experience in the clinic. The men in the Vans, all dressed in black suits, black sun-glasses, black ties, looked so much like Special Agents that it was nearly comical.
Three of those agents from the first Van guided a man in an orange jumpsuit, a hood above his head, into the clinic building. The man was chained at hands and feet and obviously some kind of criminal. That seemed to be a very interesting guest. Just after the first group had entered the large building through a small door at the left side, the doors of the second car opened. A group of three agents, looking like clones of the first three, now guided a young man into the building. This guy was not chained nor dressed in orange.
At last, a second man in orange, leaving a limousine and guided by four agents this time, was brought into the large building. The three men were ushered into three neighboring treatment rooms while Dr. Li welcomed Special Agent Miller, head of the special task force that had to carry out the three very different but connected cases of forthcoming transformations. Dr. Li was slightly nervous as this was what the clinic had actually been build, all the other customers were only tests of what was possible. This here and now was the real job. If the agency was satisfied, the company got tons of money – and access to information. That was what they really wanted, that was why the government had made them open the clinic here in the first place.
He shook Agent Miller’s hand and inside his head, he rolled his eyes. Those western agents were all just stereotypes. They all had seen to many movies. Always serious, always so cool, not impressed by anything. He would change that. What he offered was so unique, that not even this agent could remain cool and distanced. He opened the first file. Participant A, the first guy in the orange jumpsuit.
“This is Mr. Zachary Johnson. He is a notorious thief and con man. Spent 10 years in prison – and he is only 32 years old. Last time he married a rich lady for fraudulent reasons. Not the first time he fleeced out a woman. He is kind of specialist in lonely women in their mid 50’s. He used his extraordinarily good looks and his charm to convince them. They pay and then, when he has access to all bank accounts and credit cards, he leaves. In the time between two women, he lives on small swindling, car theft and other minor crimes. This time, the judge had had enough. He heard of your program and decided that this would be the appropriate punishment. I am not sure that this is a good idea. If you ask me, this guy should be locked away, key thrown away and be done with it”
Dr. Li looked at the agent. “I can assure you that our method is cheaper than a live in a state prison and much more effective. After we are done here, he will be worthy member of society.” The agent did not seem to be convinced. Dr. Li had received the verdict some days before. In the case of Zachary it included a change of mind and body, something radical. He would never admit it, but the mental changes necessary for this job were very complicated and so multilayered that he was not 100 % sure that they could actually achieve it. It was test-run for what was planned back in his homeland. It was of uttermost importance for the party, that it would work. The opinion of some western agents did not bother him at all.
Treatment room B contained the second “patient” of the day. It was a young man, around 20 or maybe 22, a mop of blond, wild locks, blue eyes, baggy pants and shirt that was too large for his skinny frame. Dr. Li read the file – or he pretended to do so. Miller already talked.
“He is a key witness in an important drug case. He’s a lil’ dope head, hanging out at the beach with his friends, surfing, making music and selling a bit of pot here and there. But he witnessed the murder of Luis Grant, one of the big cocaine dealers in his neighborhood. He was stupid enough to be seen my Johnny “the bullet” Frantzson who works for the really big bosses. That´s why he his now in the witness protection program. You have to make sure not to mess with the brain of that one! We need him, we need his report on the crime. Be careful, he is very valuable for us!”
Dr. Li sighed, very quietly. That was an easy task, as was the third guy but why waste energy on this agent Miller? “Of course, I understand that. Let me assure you that his mind will be totally untouched by the procedure!” The third guy in room C was a brutish looking muscle man. Big, tattoos, most of them racist, short hair. He was a member of Blood and Honor, a white supremacist. He had been convicted for bodily injuries several times. This time, the judge, the same that had sent him patient A, thought that a creative conviction would help this guy to change his perspective.
“With that Nazi shit, you know what to do?” Miller asked and Li only nodded. “Would you like to enjoy the show from here, Agent Miller?” The agent finally took off his sunglasses, nodded and sat down. Dr Li pressed a button that gave his employees the sign to start work with patient A.
Zachary was very nervous. He could feel the cold sweat running down his spine and his forehead, destroying what was left of his fantastic waves of black hair. He hated to see himself in this ugly orange jumpsuits. Nobody could adore his perfect biceps, his slim long legs, his sixpack. What a waste. He was a fucking hot guy with a big cock and a lot of charm. His green eyes sparkled, and his white teeth shimmered when he laughed and talked, and he was a damn good talker. Women loved his smiles, his hair, his eyes, his body. And now, all this was invisible and useless. In prison, it could be even dangerous being the beautiful boy. What made him nervous were his strange surroundings. It looked more like a clinic than a prison. Why would they drive him for hours through half the country for a medical check? That made absolutely no sense. While he was thinking about what was going on here, a doctor entered the room with two younger men in white polo-shirts. One was carrying something that looked like a pair of VR goggles or something like that. The doctor did not speak, and Zachary was too afraid to open his mouth after looking into the grim faces of the two agents.
The two employees looked a bit sacred, a man in a prison jumpsuit could be dangerous. He was not dangerous, not in that way, anyways. One of the guys stepped closer and without any explanation he shoved the helmet/goggles-device over Zachary’s head. “Hey” he now protested but he felt the grip of the agents tighten around his arms and kept his mouth shut. Suddenly, he could feel that a man with latex gloves – the doctor or the second employee, rolled up his right sleeve and he heard a strange, mechanical pumping sound, as if something was filled under high pressure. Zachary was sweating again. That all was very spooky. Why those goggles?
“Ouch!” he screamed out when something – mostly likely a syringe – was injected to his veins. “What the fuck!” he exclaimed but then the goggle device made an alien, humming sound and there were flashes, flickering lights. The light and the sound filled his head, made his teeth shiver and his bones tremble. It did not hurt, but it was the most disgusting feeling, he had ever experienced in his life. It went one for an eternity (in fact 30 seconds, as we all well know at this point) but suddenly it was over. One of the employees removed the goggles and he saw that the second employee and the doctor had already left the room. He saw a picture of himself on the wall. Maybe this had been a very modern way of x-ray? He knew that sometimes they inject a contrast medium into the blood circle.
The second employee left, the goggle-helmet-device under his arm and the two agents nodded to each other and left, too. He was now totally alone in the room. Surely there were cameras and when he tested the door, it was locked, of course. A voice pierced the silence. “Mr. Johnson, my name is Dr. Li and I am the director of this facility. You are here as a substitute for a custodial sentence.”
Was that legal? Zachary was surprised. Nobody had told him anything about that. He was not sure if that was a moment to be happy. He had been sentenced to six years in jail, what would they do to him here? “When the treatment is over, you are free to go. It will not take longer than around 30 minutes, but first, you have to undress, please!”
Zachary did not want to be naked in front of who knew how many observers behind the lens of that camera. “Please, Mr. Johson, we can do it the easy way, or I can send in two of those nice agents and they will help you undress.” Zachary gave in and undressed. It was a quick thing as he was in this one-piece jumpsuit. “Socks and underwear, too, please!”
Zachary blushed but did as ordered. Now he covered his big, long, thick cock with both his hands, showing his nice toned chest and his hard abs to everybody watching. He was indeed a very good-looking man. No wonder, the women fell for him. “In around 20 seconds, you will feel some pain, nothing to worry about. The pain will not last long, it is nothing to fear!”
Zachary heard a clicking sound. The speaker had been turned off, he assumed. Pain? He hated pain. He hated injections, he hated going to a doctor and he ahhh….. oh, damn, that was not just a bit of pain, it was like fire filled his veins. He writhed over in pain – and then in shock. He looked down, to his pride and joy, his big fat cock and he saw it shrink!!! Panic, pure panic filled his mind and he started to scream in an unknown terror. His cock had been large, now it was average sized and still shrinking, as were his balls. He grabbed his wiener in the stupid attempt to stop the process, as if pulling reversed the process. He felt it slide through his hands, now not even a medium sized cock. They would castrate him!!! He would be emasculated! He had heard of chemical castration, but he had never heard that it made the cock shrink. Now, his penis was small, the tiny. He cried like a baby, seeing his once 10 inch cock now reduced to 1 inch, his balls the size of marbles. “What have you done to me you fucker!” he screamed, his face wet with tears. “ I will kill you, you hear me, you bastard I will …. AHHHH!”
New pain rushed to his body and he bent over again. His skin felt like the flesh underneath was boiling and it looked like that, too. He felt like in a very disgusting body horror movie. “What is haaaaappening to meeeeee!” he screamed in agony. It felt like something from inside his body tried to break free and the picture of an alien breaking through his chest came to his mind. He looked down and saw his midsection swell. It looked like he had swallowed a ball first but then it was kind of spreading. Under his eyes, he saw layer and layers of fat forming on his once so perfect and toned body. It started at his midsection, the ball growing into a belly, then into a fat belly, pulled down by gravitation already. He could feel an underbelly forming under that every growing curtain of fat and skin that got dark red stretch marks all over. His already tiny cock was now nearly invisible, embedded in nothing but fat. His love handles nearly exploded from his hips, his ass first grew wide, then sacked down, fat and ugly. His legs were so fat, they had rubbed against each other if he had not been forced to stand with the lags spread apart to made way for his belly. But even so, they nearly rubbed against each other – and now they did. He was nearly chocking, screaming all the time.
His chest grew, too. Within seconds his toned muscles were transformed in two enormous man boobs, hanging down like two bags filled with water. His areolas now had the size of two small saucers and his nipples looked like two rosy thimbles. His arms grew fat, so fat that he had fat wings under his arms, jiggling when he moved them. His hands shrunk, looking nearly comically tiny now, with fingers like short sausages.
Then, his neck inflated, exploded, getting shorter and fatter, and fatter, and fatter as was his face. His got an armada of chins and his cheeks got so fat and loose, they jiggled and wobbled while he was still crying and crying. In shock, disgust and disbelieve, he touched the soft tissue of his face and when he reached his hair, it cascaded down to the floor. He screamed and screamed, at fist not even noticing, that his entire body was hair-free and the skin turned from a healthy looking tan to a nearly alabaster white.
And then, he started to sweat, his face became reddish and humid and the smell of his sweat filled the room. It was not that typical manly after-sport sweat, but kind of sweet, strange, penetrant. It was only then, that Zachary realized that there was a huge mirror in the room. No, he was not strong enough to look, but he needed to see it, needed to know, if that was real. No, he couldn´t, no… but he waddled over to the mirror, nearly falling to the floor with this alien body that felt like a leather sack filled with oil and water.
The body moved strangely, his thighs rubbed together, his bellies swung from one side to the side, up and down, like his moobs and even his fat arms. He could feel his ass wobble and the vibrations of his steps made his chins quiver.
And then, he saw himself. It was … disgusting. He was so fat, no, he was obese. 612 lbs, he would learn later. That was a weight gain of 454 lbs. He now saw his bald head, shiny, totally hairless. No, that was not true. There was a kind of shadow around the sides of his head, as if he was MPB bald but shaved. His neck, oh lord his neck. Rolls and rolls of fat. Although his face was fat, his head looked tiny in comparison to the extremely obese body and having no hair at all did not help. The most shocking thing for Zachary was, that his face was still his face. He had the perfect white teeth, nice lips, the straight nose and the piercing green eyes. That was exactly the face one would see and think: Oh my, he would be good looking after loosing all that weight. What a shame he let himself go that way!
He hammered against the mirror with his tiny, fat fists until the glass broke, cutting into his hands. But he did not feel the pain, he did not see the blood dripping from his hands, he only kept screaming and smashing until he fell to the floor, totally exhausted. He did not hear the door open and he did not even realize the employees and coming back in, giving him an injection. Later, Zachary woke up in an extra wide bed. First, he thought that all this had been a nightmare but within seconds, he realized that it was bitter reality. He was still a hairless obese man, now with his hands bandaged. And he realized that he was chained to the bed.
He tried to break free, he screamed, all ineffective. His mind was running, whatever they had done to him, that couldn´t possibly be legal. No thought about how they did it, that did not matter to him. All that mattered was the fact, that he was an obese bald naked man with a tiny cock in a horror-hospital, totally at the mercy of some mad scientist.
After what seemed like hours somebody talked to him over a hidden speaker. “Mr. Johnson, you have finally calmed down a bit. That is good. Let me explain to you the next steps and what this is all about. As I told you before, you will be free in no time, free to go, free from all charges and with a clean, white file. Your physical transformation is part of you sentence. You will never ever again trick ladies into a relationship to bleed them financially. In fact, you will never ever in your life date a woman. You are gay now, Mr. Johnson. You don´t believe it now, of course, but you will realize that only anal stimulation can satisfy you from now on. That dick of yours, if you want to call that nub a cock, is only good for urinating, not for sex. When we free you, you will be guided to a changing room. We prepared some clothes for you, I guess that is in your interest. There is a new passport waiting for you, Mr. Johnson, and my dear friends from the agency have prepared a nice new flat and a nice new job for you, they will explain the details later. I insist, that you keep calm now Mr. Johnson, or we have to use violence…” With an electric click the restrains opened and Zachary was free. But he was way to shocked to move …
While several men had carried the enormous weight of Zachary into the hospital room, Dr. Li and his agent “friend” were already watching the scenery in room C. The short haired brutish looking skinhead was a real fighter. He had knocked out one of his employees and had to be wrestled down by the agents. Now, he was finally under control, his arms chained together behind his back, his feet chained and sedated with some light drugs, just enough to keep him down.
“Mr. Hilm, I hope now I have your attention” Dr. LI said via the speakersystem. The skinhead was still grunting and moving, but his movements were slow and tired. “fuck you”, was the only thing he could utter. “You should stop moving right now, Mr. Hilm, or my dear employee might cut you, and you don’t want that!” The skinhead was dragged up to his feet, standing between the two agents now who supported him as the drugs kicked in stronger. They did not affect his mind, just his body at this point. The employee started to cut off the skinhead’s clothes with scissors. “You will not need this overall afterwards, that I can promise you!” Dr. Li said. The skinhead was furious, being naked in this room. He was no fucking fag!
The skinhead, Liam, was built like an ox, strong but with a little paunch from too many beers. Most of his body was covered in crude tattoos, a swastika on his chest and other disgusting Nazi stuff. His cock though was not very bull-like, more average, cut and with a small bush of hair. He was still cursing but the words were hard to understand he sounded like he was very drunk. Liam was shocked that he could not speak nor move while in fact he was wide awake. Those fuckers had tied him up, undressed him and now were looking at him like the fags they were. He hated them; he would have punched their faces under any other circumstances. Now he was condemned to watch passively while a doctor was typing something into a computer while a strange machine filled a syringe with a clear liquid. Those bastards would give him more drugs to calm him down. He tried to fight but it was useless. One of those faggot guys in white polo shirts came closer, with a strange helmet-thing in his head and he forced it over his head and made him blind.
He did not expect what came next. He felt a sharp pain of an injection into his arm and then it was like being in a techno club, loud humming sounds, flashing lights. He felt like he was sucked into an endless universe full of unspeakable terrors, endless, cold and hostile. He was not a coward, not at all. He was a tough guy, somebody other feared, he was brutal, he was strong, but now he felt helpless, alone and he was terrified.
Suddenly, it was over. He heard a deep, humming sound and somebody freed him from the helmet. He still had no control over his body, but he realized he was shaking and that he had tears in his eyes. He would crush this guy’s skull if he had the opportunity. He felt ashamed and humiliated. Totally new feelings for a man like him. He was the one to humiliate and terrorize others. Take that away from him and there is only a brutal and kind of stupid person left with a bad job and no self-reflection. The two agents dragged him to a large mirror, and he saw himself naked and he could barely recognize his face. He looked like after a stroke, totally helpless, with some salvia dropping from his mouth. What did they do to him? Would he stay in that state forever? Imprisoned in his own body, a zombie, human biological waste?
But what was that? He stared into the mirror, not even able to blink but that must be some strange visual illusion. It looked like his tattoos were melting away, they became blurred and it looked like the ink was like wet watercolors. The ink was kind of spreading and it was darker. He tried to move, tried to fight, but no, he was still enslaved by the drugs. He felt a sharp pain building up deep in is bowels and he had screamed if he were able to. He heard some cracking sounds in his bone structure and the pain made his eyes water. His little belly was melting like his tattoos and in total disbelieve he saw the most perfect abs forming while his upper body looked kind of longer. His legs cracked and seemed to grow, too. His biceps lost some mass but gained definition as did his chest. What was going on here?
The pain grew to a new level but he only stared at his feet. What the fuck??? His white skin turned darker, starting at his feet but creeping up his legs, too. First, it only looked like a light tan but was turning darker and darker by the second. Soon his legs were dark brown and it did not stop at the legs. The color was spreading over his torso and now reached his chest. He stared in total shock as the brown turned into a rich, nearly black skin with a silvery shine. Only his hands and face were still white but the dark was reaching his neck now. No, no, no, they turned him into a nigger! That was not possible. NEVER! The black skin was shiny, perfect and totally hair free, but he did not realize this fact now, as the skin of his face started to darken as well. Ten seconds later and his face was as black as the rest of his body. But the horror was not to stop yet. His face was still his Caucasian, brutish skinhead face but that changed with a lot of cracking and even more pain. His lips puffed out, getting big, and rosy and fleshy, his nose widened and flattened.
A fine, black moustache appeared that accentuated his thick lips, his eyebrows became perfect arches of black hair while his head was totally smooth and shiny. He was screaming inside his head. They had turned him in the thing he hated most. That must be a hallucination, an illusion, a mad trick. They had messed with his brain with he drugs and the helmet, that couldn´t possibly be reality!!!! He realized that his cock was obscenely large now and he had golden rings in his nipples and his ears. He looked like a nigger-faggot, it was too much to process and he just blackened out …
He did not knew, but when he woke up, he was in a room next to Zachary, the now obese impotent gay man who once tricked ladies into relationships. He opened his eyes and realized that he was in a sterile looking hospital room, in a bed, his body covered by white sheets. He was glad he was finally awake. Those guys had drugged him. Distant memories of a horrible transformation came back to him, that had been the worst nightmare or illusion or drug-inflicted hallucination of his life. He moaned and tried to sit upright in the bed. The sheet slit away and he screamed. What he saw was a ripped body with muscles and a slim waist, long, perfect legs and an enormous cock. He saw golden rings in his nipples, but all that was not what made him scream. It was the color of his skin. It had the tone of dark ebony with a silvery shine to it. Still screaming, he jumped to his feet. He was taller, too! He nearly ran to the large mirror hanging at the door. It showed him a total stranger. He looked every bit like an eastern African guy, maybe from Kenya. He was tall, slim but muscular, he had fleshy lips and a broad nose, yet still elegant, a totally smooth had with a prominent back, a long neck, teeth so white, they looked nearly artificial in this dark face. His eyes, now brown, seemed to glow. In disgust he touched this alien body, felt the smooth, soft and warm skin. How could that be? He was a white man, he was a proud white man. How could he walk around like that? No, never ever would he live the live of a black man, no, no, nooooooo!
He sank the floor, crying. That was not his natural reaction, why was he not furiously smashing the furniture? That would be his normal behavior, but no, he was crying, crying like a baby, like a faggot. But he couldn´t stop. Not even when he hard a buzzing sound when the door opened and two man in white Polo-shirts entered the room. One of them was nearly as black as he was. No, he would not let this fucking nigger touch him, no… he would punch him in his face.
But he did not. Violence did not seem to be an answer. What??? Where did that come from??? Violence was his best and first answer to everything. It just seemed …inappropriate right now. Inappropriate? Even that word seemed alien in his head. Sobbing, he accepted the offered hands and stood up. The idea of violence now seemed disgusting, those guys were so friendly, nice and warm. He grabbed the hand of the black guy and felt that his skin was as soft as his. He saw the warm smile on his face and he felt his own face change, he could feel a smile creep up. His mind was racing. He could feel old ideas melting away and that was a horrible feeling.
Dr. Li had changed his mind, too. The doctor knew that the verdict only asked for a physical change, but Li had been a bit more creative. The brutish skinhead and white-supremacist was now a black, gay when who hated violence and was eager to change his life for the better. A man who would work in anti-racist organizations and go back to university. But the old skinhead would be trapped in the back of his mind and from time to time would come out, in lonely moments. He would see himself being a good guy now, a gay with left ideas, working hard, helping others. That was the best sentence for a stupid fucking asshole of a racist, wasn´t it?
Randall “Randy” Mitchell, the key witness, was in his treatment room and he was not sure what was going on here. Was this a plastic surgeon’s clinic? Would they implant some kind of transmitter into his body? He was afraid of what would happen but he was more afraid of the killers that would hunt him down because he not only had seen the murder but was stupid enough to talk to the cops. He wished he had never opened his stupid mouth or better had never needed to piss that evening. But he had seen it, he had talked and all that had let him here. To this point of no return. The agents looked grim and the staff of the clinic was silent. Nobody explained anything to him at all. “The less you know, the better”, a police officer had told him.
He had not had a joint for days and his normal relaxed and self was melting away. He was nervous,he was afraid. He was sweating cold sweat and his longish blond locks looked messed up. His skin was humid and cold and although his clothes were wide and too large for him, his shirt stuck to his back and he could smell his own sweat. The doctor who did not talk to him while whispering in a microphone and listening to headphones was typing things into a computer did not help to calm him down. Finally, somebody talked to him. It was a bodyless voice, coming from hidden speakers somewhere in the room. “Mr. Mitchell, welcome to our facility. My name is not important nor is the name of this clinic. We are here to provide you with a new identity. To make sure that nobody will recognize you, some adjustments to your looks will be made. Please stay calm and trust my employees. When the procedure is done, the agents will give you all further information needed.”
That was not a bit helpful! He saw a machine pumping some clear liquid into a syringe. He hated syringes! One of the employees asked him to undress and still nervous, he stripped. He was nearly skinny and felt tiny next to those big, muscular agents in their black suits. The syringe punctuated his arms but it was not that painful. The guy clearly did no do this for the first time. After that a strange helmet, that covered his entire face, was placed on his head. You all know already what happened next, of course. The dizzy Randy was now naked and alone in the room. He shivered. It was cool inside the treatment room and he searched for his clothes, but they were gone. He had no idea what that helmet had been but looking down at his naked body, he saw no change whatsoever. He walked over to the large full-size mirror and took a closer look. No still him. Blond locks to his chin, a small goatee, no moustache, slim, nearly skinny body with no body hair, green eyes. Strange, maybe all that had just been the preparation for a procedure yet to come.
But suddenly, he felt a heat flooding his body. It was strange feeling and it was getting uncomfortable, very close to pain. Then, the pain hit him. It was as somebody had punched him in the gut. He whimpered and grabbed his skinny abdomen that was hot and rumbling. His skin felt so tense, aaahhhwww… it was as if he was growing out of his skin and when he looked in the mirror, he saw himself inflate. That was a sight so shocking, he nearly forgot the pain. His belly was growing, pushing outwards and giving him a kind of pregnant look. The belly was a hemisphere, round and firm. His legs got a some mass, too but not that much. His chest sacked to his shock a bit plump but that really fat. Before his eyes, his skinny body was transformed into that of a man in his late 40’s maybe, with a prominent beer belly but slim legs. He had no actual moobs, but a layer of fat made his chest look plumber and it was not tight at all. He saw hair growing, too. Not too much, just a trail between the sacking chest muscles, some hair around his nipples, much darker than the hair on his head. And he saw hair sprouting out of his armpits, too. A bush appeared around his cock. He was not a hairy man now, in fact the hair looked kind of ridiculous. His skin looked a bit reddish, like he had been out in the sun without a shirt. But the chest looked nearly white now, as if he had worn a wifebeater for hours in the sun light.
Still in pain, he stepped closer to the mirror. That was unbelievable. How could that happen? His skin looked older, weathered and when he looked at his face, he saw wrinkles around his hair, just before the pain hit him there, too. The feeling, when the structure of his face changed was horrible, disgusting, painful. He covered it with both hands, bending over but this time, the pain was not lasting long.
He put his shaking hands down and his mouth dropped open. His face had aged – at least 15 years. His nose looked different, it was longer and a bit bulbous and red at the tip, some hair peaking out the lager holes. His skin looked not only aged and reddish but troubled, with larger pores and visible veins. His brows looked bushier and he had rings under his eyes, that now were not longer green but grey. His teeth were smaller and stained, his lips very thin. Hard lines from his nose to the corner of his mouth. In shock and disbelief, he touched that alien face and felt that the skin was not as tight as it used to be. It was then, that he realized that he had tribal tattoos on his upper arms and his legs. He became giddy and wanted to sit down but a strange itching in his face kept him looking. He saw a moustache growing, not just a tiny one but a thick and full horseshoe moustache he used to call a “Hulk Hogan-Stache”. The itching reached his head and he scratched absent-minded. What was that? Hair stuck to his fingers!!! He scratched faster now and within second, all the front and top of his hair was gone, leaving him with a male-pattern-baldness skullet with all the long locks at the sides and back still intact. A single earring in his left ear appeared out of thin air and it was done. He knew it was over, no pain, no heat, just the feeling of a new and alien body remained. Randy was in such a shock, that he did not realize that two employees had entered the room. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, but the shock had overwhelmed him, made him totally passive and absent-minded.
The men talked to him, but he did not understand the words. Like a lamb on the way to the slaughterhouse, he just followed the men who guided him to another room. He did not even mind that he was still naked. They passed some door, some open, some closed. He could have seen an extremely obese man in a bed and a crying black model, but he just looked down at his feet. He felt the cold floor under his feet and felt the breeze of the ac on his now denuded scalp and shivered but that was all he could do. He was reduced to physical senses right now.
They reached another door, one of the guys opened it and ushered Randy into the small room that was in fact a changing room. They closed the door behind him, and he was alone again. He sat down on the small chair and stared into the mirror. The 45 year old trucker stared back at him. Trucker? Why had he had thought about a trucker? The idea just formed in his head. He looked like a red-neck trucker. That made sense. Why was he not freaking out? That would come later, he was sure. Now, he was still I this dangerously quiet state of shock, victims of crashes or catastrophes sometimes describe.
He looked at the clothes and again, Trucker was all he could think. He saw worn-out leather pants, cowboy boots, a belt with an enormous buckle showing an US-flag and the bald eagle. A wifebeater and a leather vest, simple white underpants, a golden chain. And a pack of Marlboro with a zippo-lighter. He normally only smoked pot but now he knew the nicotine would help him calm down his nerves. He grabbed the pack and smoked the cigarette, still naked and still staring into the silvery surface of the mirror. He smoked differently, the cigarette dangling in the corner of his mouth, he cupped it with his hands in a way he had seen but never did himself. He finished a second smoke before he was so cold, that he needed to dress. With the clothes on, the label TRUCKER was back to his mind. When he closed his eyes he could actually see himself driving a huge truck, a Marlboro in the corner of his mouth and country music coming from the radio. Wait, country music???? He hated country music. And he never drove a Truck, not even a car. Did they mess with his brain, too? Now, he was actually shaking. The horror of his sudden transformation hit him like a fist in the face when he opened the wallet, he had found beneath the leather pants. There was an ID-card, credit cards, a driver’s license and a license for a … yes, TRUCK. The name on the documents was not Randall Mitchell, it was Dallas Hornblower, born 1972 in Basehor, Kansas. Inside the wallet was a picture cut out off a porn magazine, showing a naked guy with a mullet sitting on a tractor. What was that supposed to mean?
Three weeks later: Dallas was sitting in the driver’s cabin of his huge truck, windows opened, loud country music was filling the air, mixed with the smoke of the Marlboro dangling from his mouth. Dallas was a freelancer and right now, he was just driving through the endless fields in Kansas. He would pick up some goods in two days, so he had time to enjoy the ride. And even in the endless nothing of Kansas, one could find some nice dicks and asses to use. In a month, the trial would start and he would need to go down to the big city. He was sure, that would be last time for him.