Bad Guys Win

—

Soren woke up feeling tight. Everything was stiff, as if stretched to a capacity that Soren was not aware of. At first, he was worried that he had pulled something, or everything for that matter, while moving. But Soren chalked it up to stress. After all, he had just made a pretty big change in his life, so it would make sense that his body was responding to these adjustments.

Once he was ready, Soren was up and out of bed, beginning his morning routine. Typically, it consisted of a shower, morning skincare, a fiber-rich breakfast, and a light jog if he had the time. The shower started off as normal with his expensive shampoo and conditioner followed by a refreshing lather, but upon exiting, Soren found himself frozen in the mirror.

Presented before him in his reflection was none other than a light stubble. A bit more than a peach fuzz, to be exact. Since high school, every part of Soren’s body had been meticulously shaved. Luckily, hair did not grow fast on him, so typically he only had to shave his face once a week. However, before him was a mask that had appeared overnight.

Deciding not to dwell on it further, Soren wrapped himself up in his robe and approached the razor at the sink. His hand reached out to grab it but it stopped mid-air.

“I like facial hair.”

“Hello?” Soren scanned his surroundings, unsure of where the strange voice had come from. After a few moments of silence, Soren tried for the razor again.

“I like facial hair.”

“I…” Soren stuttered, his lashes fluttering slightly.

“I like facial hair. I want to try something new.”

“I…like facial hair…” The words left Soren’s mouth on their own. “I want to try something new.”

In the back of Soren’s mind, the green gas smirked as Soren’s hand moved away from the razor. Instead, it repositioned itself over the array of skin care products.

“I don’t need these.” the green gas whispered.

“I do…” Soren fought back.

“I don’t need these,” the green gas ordered again. “Men don’t need these.”

“Men don’t need these…” Soren agreed.

The green gas fed Soren the new truth. “I don’t need these because I’m a man.”

“I don’t need these…because I’m a man.” 

To the green gas’s delight, this new logic delicately clicked into Soren’s mind. Testing the waters, the green gas decided to take things one step further.

“I should just throw this stuff out.”

“I should just…” Soren’s arm landed on one side of the sink. “Throw this stuff…out.”

In one grand sweeping motion, the bare arm travelled across the counter, gathering up every product before forcing them off and into the open trash bin. The green gas was impressed. Typically, its victims took weeks or even months to assimilate to its commands. Its current host however was weak, malleable and ready to be shaped. At this speed, the green gas assumed it would be back on the road by the end of the week. 

Blinking, Soren slowly returned to consciousness. He found his way to the kitchen and began preparing a meal. Moving back and forth between the refrigerator and the pantry, Soren slowly grabbed his ingredients. Kale, spinach, frozen mangoes, a banana, oat milk, and protein powder. He next went for the blender, but as soon as he placed it on the counter, Soren found himself returning it to the cupboard. His hands then went for the ingredients once more. Kale, spinach, frozen mangoes, a banana, oat milk. All were moved to the garbage.

“I don’t…want these…” Soren said to no one in particular.

“You are what you eat.” The green gas joked, referring specifically to the fruit.

“You are…what you eat.” Another connection snapped into Soren’s mental place, a cancerous parasite ready to feast on his subconscious. Soren took the protein powder and, after deeming it acceptable, made himself a quick drink. He then scoured through his fridge and freezer before pulling out a log of ground chicken.

“After this…I will only eat red meat…” Soren mumbled as he lit the stove.

Once his stomach was pumped with protein, Soren moved to the final part of his routine. In his closet, he found a colorful synthetic tee, matching short shorts, and a pair of expensive running shoes.

“You gotta be kidding me!” the green gas fumed.

After grabbing his things, Soren made his way out the door. He oriented himself to his music app and located his playlist. He opened it, scrolled, and then exited. His fingers then searched for a local radio station, landing on one that boasted “retro hits.” Soren joined, a dated single instantly bombarding his ears. The green gas smiled through Soren’s lips.

Soren then broke out into a light jog. Being on the lighter side, his body rarely sweated. The sun was shining, the air outside was crisp, and Soren was confident in where he was going. Which was surprising, given he was new to the town. And yet his feet seemed to know where they were taking him. Soren followed along, unaware that the green gas was directing him to a new form pf exercise. After a couple of miles, Soren found himself in front of a gray shoebox of a building.

“This will work…for now…” The words fell out of Soren’s mouth as he approached the gym. “Until I get my…own weights.”

 —

Soren quickly logged into work, surprised he had made it back in time. Somehow he had lost track of time inside the gym, his body automatically moving between every machine it could. Soren had never worked out before and yet it was like he knew every movement and every muscle that needed to be worked. By the end of it, he had had to sprint home, cursing at himself the entire way.

“I am…never doing cardio…again.” Soren had uttered between breaths. “Cardio is…for wimps. Men are not…wimps.”

His computer booted to life, and soon Soren was clicking away at the keyboard. The green gas watched from behind Soren’s eyes, curious as to why anyone would be so enthused about this dull technology. Images flashed, data was inputted, links were grabbed and moved from one spot to another. It was not long until the green gas got bored and soon had an idea.

Unexpectedly, Soren felt his fingers pause on the mouse, prevented from clicking into the next cell. It took a second for them to move again, but instead of doing as he wished, they instead opened a new tab on his work computer. Four letters were entered into the search engine; no results were revealed due to the company’s privacy software.

“Seriously?” Soren said, although the words were not his own. He tried again, and again, and again, using new terms each time until eventually he found a backdoor to open up. A porn website popped up, displaying a variety of tastes. At first, Soren’s fingers glided to the tabs he often visited, but the green gas straightened him out, sending the hand to the heterosexual menu. The mouse clicked into the “vanilla” category and landed on the first video that presented itself.

Both Soren and the green gas brought the free hand to Soren’s jeans, unzipping to reveal a hard, modestly-sized manhood. Collectively, Soren and the green gas begin to stroke together but for different reasons. Although a little too masculine for his tastes, Soren took in the stallion before him. Rippling muscles, a perfect dusting of hair, a tattoo that swirls along his side.

“Look at those tits.”

Soren flinched, his gaze shifting slightly to catch a glimpse of the large bouncing jugs. As a gay man, Soren was immediately repulsed. He had never shown any interest in women.

“Look at those tits.”

Soren tried to resist, but his eyes flash over again, this time for longer. She was busty with an hourglass frame. Eventually, his eyes moved back to the man. His spectacular shoulders, his glorious glutes. Recognizing the temporary setback, the green gas decided to switch gears.

“Watch how he straddles her. Plows into her.”

Soren hesitated, but soon his eyes were locked onto the scene, following the man’s dick sliding in and out, in and out. He was hypnotized.

“Thrusting into her cunt. Wrecking her pussy.”

Soren bit his lip, panting.

“He’s a man, right?”

Soren nodded his head.

“And you’re a man, right?”

Soren nodded even harder, scrunching his toes.

“And what do men do?”

Soren orgasmed all over the desk, getting a bit onto the screen and his clothes. The green gas casually sat back, marking this action as progress. Another connection made, another seed ready to grow.

Catching his breath, Soren quickly realized the mess he had created. He instantly cleaned himself and the surrounding area up. He then proceeded back to his computer, but found himself unable to delete the browser history. Before he could worry about it any more, he found his hand reorienting itself back to his prior task.

The green gas let Soren continue his work for a few hours, but eventually it grew bored again. It did not understand how anyone could work a computer job, let alone one hidden away in a home office. Now that it knew how easily Soren was able to give up control, the green gas was eager to test its influence again.

“I want to…continue unpacking…” Soren slowly got up and moved away from his desk, leaving his workstation unattended. He approached the first pile of boxes he saw and, zombielike, began to fumble open the cardboard flaps. Through Soren’s eyes, the green gas peered inside, investigating each item. Colorful dishware, a rice cooker, some decorative kitchen assortments, basic silverware. Soren removed the silverware and placed it aside. Then his hands retaped the box and brought it to the door.

“I won’t be needing that…ever again.”

This cycle continued for the rest of the day. Opening a box, scanning its contents, removing what the green gas deemed “acceptable,” and retaping the box to be sent away. Fancy rugs, a collector’s side table, the CD collection, pride flags, pictures with friends–barely anything survived the green gas’s harsh agenda. Only the basic necessities passed, and even they hardly made the cut.

Once everything was cleared up, Soren found himself returning to his office. His hands relogged into his work computer and opened up a new tab. Amazon appeared, and soon Soren’s fingers were filling up a cart. The green gas was running up a massive tab of new furniture and appliances to fill up the home, items it deemed appropriate for the average male. Once the credit card information was accepted and the purchase made, Soren regained full consciousness. He did not act on this opportunity however, as seeing the time and recognizing just how tired he was, he deemed it best to head to bed.

—

Soren felt even tighter the next morning, but the pressure did not bother him as much as before. Something told him this weight was normal, natural for a guy like him, especially as he was getting older and already in his early 30s-

“Wait, aren’t I only 27?” Soren questioned himself.

“I am in my early 30s.”

“I am…no I’m-”

“I am in my early 30s.”

Soren got up and stumbled to the mirror. The reflection before him appeared unfamiliar. A bit longer, a bit more muscular, and notably more worn down. The ridges against his skin were sharper, tanned and stiff. The stubble he had noted the day before had grown past the five o’clock shadow stage. His arms and legs too now had their own dustings of hair. The changes were alarming.

“I am in my early 30s…” Soren whispered.

“I have always looked like this.”

“I have…always…looked like this.”

Soren’s growing fear melted away. Instead, he found himself needing to pee. Soren paced himself over to the toilet and, after dropping his pajamas, sprung out his cock. A stream followed immediately after. Typically Soren was pretty direct, but this time he missed the bowl. A lot. His instincts lead him to the cleaning closet.

“I…don’t need to clean that up.”

A wave of relief flooded Soren, the lackadaisical reasoning removing another layer of stress from his body. Without washing his hands, Soren grabbed some clothes and made his way to the car. Once at the gym, the green gas led him through every workout he would need to know before bringing him back home. A brisk shower was taken and soon Soren was logged back into work. However, he did not stay at his home office for long–half an hour in, the green gas decided it had more work to do.

“I want to go shopping.”

Leaving his laptop open, Soren grabbed a pair of shoes, his wallet, and his keys. He made his way out the front door, hopping in his car and revving the engine. The garbageman appeared at the end of his driveway as he exited; the green gas peered through the rearview mirror, watching as Soren’s old life was literally thrown out.

The first stop Soren visited was the local car dealership. The green gas took the wheel from here, negotiating the contracts and having all the paperwork signed. By the time Soren came back to full consciousness, he was surprised to find himself seated in a giant, sparkly white pickup truck. Instantly, the panic began to set in.

“This is my truck,” the green gas whispered. “I have only ever driven trucks.”

“I have only ever…driven trucks…” Foreign memories flashed through Soren’s mind. He liked his vehicles big and American-made. “This is my truck.”

Satisfied, Soren’s hands started the ignition and brought him off to his next destination: the local thrift store. The green gas had a field day, tossing almost every article of clothing it could find into Soren’s cart. Tees, long-sleeves, and sweatshirts boasting the local and state sports teams. Athletic shorts perfect for the front yard, backyard, inside the home, and around the town. Loads of baseball caps, cheap slides, and previously used socks and boxer shorts. Anything remotely masculine was accepted, becoming property of Soren after a single swipe of his credit card.

“God, I’m hungry,” Soren grumbled, sitting in the cab with the treasure trove of new clothes stacked behind him. Typically, Soren would have just driven home to make a healthy meal, but the green gas had other plans. Before long, Soren was fishing out his wallet again, handing it to the drive-through attendant in exchange for a greasy brown bag. Its insides held a double-decker burger, a pile of fries, and the largest cup of Coca-Cola available. 

Soren pulled over and as soon as the truck was parked, the green gas dove in. The wet red meat burned Soren’s tongue, the pure pleasure scalding his taste buds and igniting a craving for more. The salty fries and sugary ketchup were a perfect yin-yang relationship, followed by a heavy swig of the soda. In mere minutes the entire meal, despite having enough calories to feed two people for a day, was disposed of, gurgling in Soren’s stomach. The pressure speedily built up and made for the exit.

BURRRP!

Before Soren could be embarrassed, his other end joined in.

BRRRRRAAAAAAAAAP!

The fart was greasy and uncontrollable, sliding against the bottom of the seat and rising into the truck’s cab. There was a curdled element to the funk that caused Soren’s eyes to water. He reached for the switch to open the windows but the green gas was one step ahead of him.

“I am a man.”

Soren repeated it back.

“This is what a man smells like.”

Slowly, Soren copied the instruction, processing how every word tasted in his mouth. It was distinct, sharp, like his fart.

“I want to smell like a man…” Soren mumbled, smiling groggily. 

PFFFffftttt

Another squeal of flatulence slipped out, this time higher in pitch and acidity. Soren felt his nose hairs tingle, welcoming the new, familiarizing scent. The green gas smirked from behind Soren’s consciousness.

“Next stop…groceries...”

The green gas had no issue navigating the aisles of the grocery store; it knew everything it wanted. Pounds of ground beef, potatoes, basic condiments, and hundreds of dollars worth of beer. By the time Soren made it back home late afternoon, his truck was filled to its capacity. His driveway too had some weight of its own, hosting the tens of packages the green gas had proudly ordered with expedited shipping.

“My man!” Soren was greeted by his neighbor as he hopped out of his truck. Brent surveyed the damage, taking it all in. “Bet this’ll boost the local economy. Is there anything you didn’t buy?”

“A girl for the night...” the green gas replied through Soren’s lips. The words were caustic like bile. Soren had never been degrading to women before. But he liked the way that Brent laughed at his joke. He liked the validation of his fellow man.

“Are ya free right now? I could help ya bring all this stuff in,” Brent offered.

Soren’s consciousness fluttered momentarily, being reminded of his responsibilities, but the green gas silenced him.

“Sounds…good…man!”

Brent grinned, moving towards a case of beer, opening it, and tossing a can to Soren. He then grabbed one himself and chugged half of it in one sitting. The green gas had Soren do the same, the warm, piss-like liquid mixing with his lunch and bloating his stomach. 

The pair worked well together, shuffling the boxes in and out. Brent admired every new item that was unveiled. “I’m so jealous!” was his reaction to Soren’s new home gym set-up. “I oughta get myself one of these.” was his reply to Soren’s new 85” television set, complete with free subscriptions to all the major sports channels. “Nice!” to the thrift finds, “Good stuff!” to the collection of music boasting country's top hits. If it had an American flag or camouflage print on it (which most of the items did), Brent gave it a thumbs up. The giant grill though was by far Brent’s favorite new addition.

“You have to host a backyard barbecue!” Brent exclaimed. “With this thing, you could feed the whole cul-de-sac.”

“I don’t know,” Soren questioned, off put by how he was at eye level with Brent. He could have sworn he was shorter.

“The neighbors will love you. All the guys are gonna dig the whole bachelor pad mansion thing you’ve got goin’ on here.” Brent waved his arms around the yard and towards the house, as if the stereotypical, masculine suburbia was instead a form of Mecca. “Trust me Scott, you have to do it.”

Soren paused, “Actually-”

The green gas pulled back the reins, closing Soren up. It knew better than to pass up on this prime opportunity.

“I like the name Scott.”

The green gas had Soren repeat this internally.

“Scott is a manly name.”

Soren agreed with this.

“I am a man.”

The green gas waited patiently for a response. He did not believe the inkling would take, but then a foul smell greeted his senses. With a lopsided grin, the green gas took the silent toot as a sign of success.

“Actually,” Soren finally continued. “I think that would be a great idea.”

“Awesome!” Brent exclaimed, giving Soren a good slap on the back. “I’ll let the fellas know. Let’s say Saturday then. That’ll give you another day to unpack and set things straight around here. We’ll bring the food and more beer, and all you gotta do is bring yourself and that beauty of a grill there.”

Squeeeeeak

“...Sounds good, man.” Soren replied with a dopey smile.

—

Friday had arrived, and Soren was feeling the weight of the week on his shoulders. And his back. And his legs. In fact, he was feeling it a bit everywhere. In front of the mirror, he disrobed, dropping the old pajamas and robe into the trash bin. “I sleep…in boxers only…” Soren said to the mirror as he investigated his morning self. The hair across his body had thickened and spread, now covering his chest and insulating his pits.

“Men are covered in body hair.” the green gas reminded. “I am covered in body hair.”

Soren’s skin, which had tinged a shade darker since he last saw it, now showed some minor signs of aging. Small wrinkles, the tiniest crow’s feet, and even some whitened tips across the hairs of his beard. Soren did not recognize these changes however: it was the green gas who was evaluating the progress. Soren remained lifeless in front of the mirror for a few seconds longer before being moved to the garage, where his new home gym lay awaiting him. The stuffy air was choking, the potent smell of plastic pleather eroding the edges of Soren’s brain.

Just like the prior mornings, Soren got to work, shuffling between the equipment slowly but assuredly. This time however, the green gas mostly sat back, only hopping into the front seat when necessary. The green gas had spent hours picking away at Soren’s being, both during the day and night. The physical effects were already visible–very much so thanks to the green gas’s magic–but the mental effects were now evident too. Soren was carrying himself in a new way. He walked with weight, purpose, as if he owned every space he strolled into.

“Grrrrrr-!” 

“Men are loud.” the green gas encouraged. “Men are strong and musky.”

“-rrRRAH!”

Pffffft

Soren dropped the final set of weights, grunting happily as he was surrounded by his own funk. Satisfied, he finished his workout and found himself in the kitchen, his hands preparing a proper breakfast of eggs, sausage, and milk with protein powder. He then went out to the lawn, the green gas teaching him how to monitor the grass, check for weeds, and maintain the shrubbery. It was then they both heard a call ringing from inside the house. It took a while however for them to figure out it was coming from Soren’s work computer.

“Look who it is.” On the screen was Soren’s boss, irritated. “Where have you been, Soren?”

Soren wanted to reply, but the green gas took charge immediately. “Doing…manly things.”

The boss blinked, not expecting that answer. He moved forward: “You haven’t been online for almost 72 hours. Do you know how many project deadlines this team has missed because of your absence?”

Again, Soren tried to think of an apology. He tried to think in general. “Why should…I care about this…stupid stuff?”

The boss’s face went red. “I don’t know, maybe because it’s your job? But instead, not only have you been missing in action, but in the rare times you have visited your computer, it’s been to go shopping and watch explicit content.”

Despite the green gas’s power, Soren’s cheeks lit up.

“Yeah, I had our IT team scan your hard drive externally. I had assumed there had been some technical error preventing you from working.”

Both the boss and Soren sat with this discovery. The green gas was enjoying every moment.

With a breath, the boss started again. “It seems to me that something is going on in your…uh…personal life, Soren. I don’t want you to lose your job, but something has to change. Right now.”

Soren gulped, understanding what he had to do.

“So Soren, what do you say?”

Without hesitation, Soren stood up and turned around. Bending into a partial squat, he ripped down his shorts and positioned his hairy buttocks directly in front of the camera.

PHHHHRRRRT

The massive fart was thunderous, ripe and rotten. It took a moment for the boss to recalibrate, his mind needing to be rebooted after what had just occurred. Once he was mentally back online, the boss shook his head, hiding his anger behind a wall of disappointment.

“I’ll have HR send over the details. We’ll have you return your computer next week by mail.”

And with that, the call ended, and so too did Soren’s career as a data analyst. Soren had worked incredibly hard for his position. He had done countless internships, slaved away at offices over pointless tasks. He had spent years at the company, building up his reputation. But now that it was all over, Soren did not feel a speck of remorse.

“Now I can…get a real job…” Soren mumbled, his face curling into a smirk. The green gas brought the work computer back to life and began typing away, Soren’s fingers switching between local postings for construction sights, plumbers, electricians, and other manual roles. The credentials needed were not an issue, and the pay would not be either. Soren felt the need for a physical job, a real man’s job. It was like this need had arisen out of nowhere.

It was almost noon by the time Soren had submitted his last application. As a reward, Soren decided to cool off. 

“How do men relax?”

On his own, Soren glided over to his search history, pulling up the porn website he had visited a couple of days earlier. He was about to return to the same video, the one underneath the heterosexual side of the website, but his fingers regained control, instead pointing to a new topic. “Degradation.”

The scene booted up almost instantly. This woman had a pear-shaped body, her breasts already fully exposed. At the start, she was on her back as the brute of a man approached, hopping onto the bed and spreading her open. Soren’s eyes widened at the sight of his fat cock drooling with precum. But then, the man shouted at the woman, calling her a degrading name. Soren’s fattened hog proudly grew to full mast at this.

“You like that, you fuckin’ slut?”

“Men dominate women.”

Both Soren and the woman let out a groan, but for different reasons. After a quick dive, Soren’s hand fished out his heavy rod. Unbeknownst to Soren, the green gas had nearly doubled the size of the manhood in the time they had spent together.

“Beg and squeal for me, bitch.”

“Men own women.”

Soren’s mouth fell open slightly, his eyes fluttering back. The green gas filled his brain with new memories where he was in the same position as the man in the video. Thrusting back and forth, his heavy balls smacking the lips of her-

“Bitches like you are only good for shoving cocks into.”

“Men breed women.”

Soren’s face began to sweat. He felt his eyes growing glassy, his brain becoming foggier. It was like everything was becoming simplified, reduced to tradition norms.

“You want my thick fat cock?”

“You want my thick fat cock?” The words left Soren’s lips without hassle.

“You want to be my fuckin’ bitch?”

“You want to be…my fuckin’ bitch?” Soren felt the heat rising.

“You want my fuckin’ babies?”

Soren’s throat closed. He did not want to say it. He did not want to be this way. The green gas pushed harder.

“You want my fuckin’ babies?!”

“You…want my fuckin’...babies?!” Soren shouted. He was almost there. The pressure was becoming too intense.

Cockily, the green gas made his final move.

“Men are straight.” The green gas finally addressed him directly. “Are you a man, Scott?”

—

“I tried to warn you guys,” Brent shrugged. “This is simply the best house in the cul-de-sac.”

“I knew ole Joe made some major improvements but damn!”

“You’ve only been here a week and have practically invented paradise.”

“Kevin, anywhere that has an unlimited stock of beer is paradise for you.”

The group of men all laughed, their amusement rumbling through their stomachs. They continued to survey the interior of the home, having spent a good deal of the get-together outside around the massive grill. John was impressed by the scattered art hanging on the walls–hunting memorabilia, sports posters, and generic political imagery. Steve was a big fan of the signed football on display. Jason could not get over the bedroom.

“You can fit a California King in here?”

“I bet the ladies love it,” Kevin chimed in.

“How many do you have at once?” Steve asked jealously. “Two? Three?”

They all made eye contact with the home owner, awaiting a response. 

“As many as I need.”

The men howled, and Scott cautiously joined along, becoming more comfortable by the minute. The green gas hovered above the conversation, invisible. This was Scott’s final test, to see if he could fare on his own without it. So far, Scott was doing well.

“Boys, when I first met Scott, I wasn’t so sure.” Brent led the crew back to the yard. They were greeted by the smell of grilled meats and propane. “I’m telling ya, there just wasn’t something…uh…normal about him, ya know?”

“What do ya do for work, Scott?”

“UPS driver, package delivery,” Scott gruffly replied as he took a seat. “I start Monday.”

The men nodded, impressed.

“So that means during the day I can use the set-up in your garage, right?” John asked.

The men laughed again, a boisterous chorus. Scott soaked it all in, absorbing their energy. For a man of his age–being in his later thirties–there was nothing he enjoyed more than spending an evening with the boys. Drinking beer and talking crap. The comforting cloud of musk and masculinity blanketed over them. Scott was comfortably dressed in a well-worn hoodie that disguised his furry muscle gut and a pair of beaten athletic shorts that displayed his thick, carved legs.

“Have ya got any ladies in your sights yet, Scott?”

Scott grew pale, although it was hidden behind his beard. 

“Have y’all been to the dentist recently?” Kevin jumped in. “There’s this new hygienist, I think her name was Stacey? Got an awesome rack on her!”

Jason scratched at his sack before chiming in. Scott copied, lifting his leg a bit to allow out some flatulence. “Is that the chick with the blonde ponytail? I tried hitting her up but that bitch swore me off after she saw my ring.”

“What a shank,” Brent replied. “Guess our sole bachelor will have to move in for the kill. Scott, what do you say?”

All eyes turned to Scott again. The green gas held its breath.

Scott smirked, “If I’m fuckin’ this bitch, she’s gonna have to clean a lot more than just my teeth.”

Scott was met with a thunderous applause. Whoops and hollers. The green gas joined in the fanfare, even though it was unheard. Scott was filled with pride, but unfortunately, he was also now incredibly horny. All this talk about teaching that insolent twat a lesson had him boned up. But he knew that would have to wait. After all, the night was young and there were many more cans to crush. Bros before hoes, as they say.