#aimusclegrowth

As on any other day, Ethan was working tirelessly at his office job, trying to meet his department’s end-of-quarter goals. It was just a boring accounting position he never found fulfilling, but it was what his parents wanted for him. Who was he to object?

Ethan, our victim today, was an average man in his late twenties, about 5'8" tall. His plans for the afternoon were the same as always after his 9-to-5: go home, shower, make dinner, and sleep. However, we have a big surprise waiting for him today.

Ethan had taken a different path from his college friends. While they were more interested in partying and hitting the gym, he focused on acing every exam and graduating with honors. Still, he sometimes wished he had lived more like them — relaxed, carefree. That wish, in a way, is what brings us to this moment.

On his commute home from work, Ethan came across an interesting specimen, to say the least. He frowned at the smell as he stood mere inches from the man on the bus. The sweat and musky scent radiating from his skin would be unbearable to most — yet Ethan found himself developing an odd liking for it, an urge to lean closer and breathe it in straight from the source. But no. What would people think? A respectable man behaving that way in public — no good could come from it, he thought.

Almost hypnotized by the stranger’s musk, Ethan nearly missed his stop. As he pushed his way out, the man bumped into him. Ethan wouldn’t have paid it any mind if not for the odd ink stain left on his forearm.

“Huh? I’ll just clean it when I get home. No big deal,” he thought as he stepped off the bus.

Upon arriving home, Ethan felt unusually tired. Between his exhaustion and hunger, he could do nothing but devour a bowl of reheated fried rice and collapse onto the sofa. What was meant to be a short fifteen-minute nap turned into waking up at 10 a.m. the next morning.

He must have needed that sleep. As he stumbled toward the bathroom, two shocking realizations hit him. The ink stain from the day before had somehow reshaped itself into a full tattoo. And he looked different—bigger, stronger, maybe even slightly taller. His medium shirts no longer fit; he’d have to go shopping and see a doctor. Had he caught some kind of disease from the man he bumped into yesterday?

He was trying to get ready to head out when a thunderous growl shook him to his core. Had it come from his stomach?

It came again, louder this time. It wasn’t a plea for fuel—it was a command. His gut twisted violently as a wave of voracious, insatiable hunger overtook him, dropping him to his knees. He scrambled to the fridge, tossing eggs and ham into a frying pan while chugging straight from a gallon of milk mixed with protein powder. But even after consuming everything in sight, the hunger didn’t fade—it only deepened.

A searing pain flared beneath the tattoo, spreading through his arm as it began to move, slithering toward his right pectoral. Ethan could feel it reshaping beneath his skin. Every calorie he consumed vanished instantly, fueling a grotesque transformation. His body swelled in size and mass—a dense foundation of muscle layered with thick, heavy fat.

He stumbled backward, clutching his abdomen as the pain intensified. The creaking of bones echoed through the apartment as his frame stretched and thickened. Each breath came out as a ragged, wet, guttural sound.

“Wh-what the hell is happening to me…” he gasped. The voice that came out was deeper, rougher, as if it belonged to someone else entirely. The hunger persisted. Every cell in his body screamed for more. Food. It roared from within.

Panicked, Ethan fumbled for his phone and opened a takeout app, ordering ten large pizzas without hesitation. The hunger wasn’t human anymore. It had rewritten his metabolism, his very biology. It demanded to be fed—and it would get what it wanted at any cost.

A knock came at the door some time later. Ethan wrapped himself in a blanket; nothing he owned fit anymore. His stomach rumbled with monstrous, inhuman growls as he approached. He opened the door just enough to take the food, handed over a thirty-dollar tip, and waited for the delivery driver to leave before dragging the boxes inside.

What followed was not a meal—it was a massacre. Ethan devoured everything with desperate, trembling hands, his body shaking with every swallow. There was nothing left of the shy, composed office worker anymore. This was something else—a ravenous beast trapped inside human skin.

Then, a thought struck him. His trembling hand brushed over the tattoo. It still felt fresh, almost wet to the touch. The ink pulsed faintly under his fingertips. A wicked idea took root in his mind.

He could share this gift. Spread it. Grow alongside others. And feed on the weak to sustain the strong.