This story contains themes of transformation, weight-gain, nudity, addiction, corruption, needles, strange dental conditions, and human characters.

Caveat Lector.

I

Everett laid back, staring upward at the examining light. The faint tacking of keyboard keys echoed off the thin drywall. A mechanical drill squealed against tooth-enamel only a room away. Everett clenched his jaw, licking his aching lower canines.

The dentist sat at her computer. Her glasses slid low on her nose while she leaned forward. The faint colors of her monitor reflected in her lenses.

"No way," her curly-haired assistant, Luis, whispered.

"Is everything alright?" Everett said, punctuating his question with a forced, airy laugh

The dentist, Clark, sighed. She angled the screen toward Everett.

A row of teeth lay dormant within Everett's gums.

"Oh God," Everett gulped.

"You have what's called hyperdontia."

"It means you have--" Luis started.

"Too many teeth," Everett rubbed his jaw.

"Yup," Clark nodded, "but I've never seen it this severe."

"Wait, you've seen this before?"

"It's relatively common," Clark squinted at the x-rays and clicked her tongue, "but the most I've seen is one or two teeth."

"A whole set, that's, wow," Luis tucked his hands into his pocket.

"Also not unheard of, just rare."

Everett looked up at the dentist.

"Most cases are asymptomatic, but we'll want to extract teeth to make room for the new set, just in case. I'll have the referral for an orthodontist at the front office."

A ball of unease welled in Everett's intestines. He needed to blow off some steam.

**

Everett gasped as he dipped into the lowest apex of his squat. Sweat streamed down his forehead. His shirt was dark around his chest and armpits.

Up! He pushed against his heels. His legs and hips straightened. Everett racked the bar again. Five sets. He leaned over the bar, and he shook his head slowly -- droplets scattered from his shaggy hair.

Everett toweled his forehead, then fumbled for his notebook. The clanging weights, the grunting lifters, the pounding music -- it all faded.

Squat -- 190 lbs 5x5

Everett clicked his pen again and again and again. Ninety pounds. Everett whistled. Two big plates added to his squat in two weeks. Everett rubbed his forearm near the crook of his elbow. His thumb brushed a fresh scab.

"Sup, Hodges," Ralf said.

Everett fit his pen into the spiral binding of his notebook, and he looked up. A boulder-chested man adjusted the gym bag dangling from his shoulder. Ralf extended his arm. Everett fumbled to clasp hands. Everett cast a long glance at Ralf's bulging forearms and biceps before catching himself.

"Uh, nothin' much," Everett strained to smile, digging pain erupted from his jaw. He licked his molars to massage the sting.

"Nothin' much," Ralf looked toward the 45-lb plates hanging off Everett's barbell. He smirked.

"Yeah. Just finished, actually."

Everett limped around the rack. The muscles in his glutes and thighs spasmed. He removed the plates from the barbell.

Ralf nodded once, "well, before you head out, you got a minute?" Ralf patted his gym bag and nodded to the door.

Everett slung his towel over his neck as he followed.

They met at Everett's burgundy Camry. The frame dipped as Ralf took a seat on the passenger side. Ralf sifted through his bag -- his brow scrunched as he mumbled a curse or two. At last, he took a thin green leaf, a lighter, and an earthy green cluster. Ralf rolled the leaf then took a drag. He passed the joint below the dash to Everett.

Everett shrugged, dragged a sloppy hit, and coughed -- gagging as he passed it back.

"So that stuff," Ralf sniffed, "what do you think?"

"Strong, tastes like...lemon?" Everett wheezed.

"Nah, man, the other stuff."

Other stuff. Everett started his car to get the air circulating. His forearms tensed, the veins made tributaries beneath his skin, and his pronators bulged, "this shit works fast."

"My guy doesn't play," Ralf rifled through his gym bag once more, "but now that you've had a taste, how's a full supply sound?" Ralf waved a blue pouch side to side.

Everett rubbed his jaw. A dull ache rested in his temples. He knew there would be side effects, but Everett thought he read up on all the relevant ones. This was just a toothache, right?

"Well?"

**

Everett leaned back on the couch. His stomach was drum-skin tight and underpropped his t-shirt like a tortoiseshell. A rumbling belch leaped from his throat.

Five bacon cheeseburgers -- each so massive with grease that the wrappers were translucent -- more burgers than Everett ever ate in a single week, let alone a single sitting. All devoured. A gouging wave of hunger prompted his hand to reach for another fistful of fries.

Workout days bolstered his appetite, sure, but this session -- Everett's stomach twisted into knots. This session opened him like a chasm. Growing muscles needed fuel, he figured. The sinews in his arms pulsed. His sleeves pinched his biceps. Hell, he could barely pull his pants past his widening calves, let alone his thick thighs.

Everett stuffed his mouth again, stifled a burp, and he moaned. The bag of fries lay discarded. The pain returned full force.

"Ugh," Everett massaged his aching belly, "how are you still not full?"

Everett wiped the salt and grease on his shirt and unlocked his phone. Pizza! That sounded great. His stomach churned like an idling engine. He pulled up the "Hefty Hermans" website, found a family pizza night special, and in seconds he paid.

**

II

Everett pushed around a pallet of canned goods stacked twice as tall as him. He parked in an aisle. Everett loaded the cans by the cardboard case-full. Baked beans up top, pinto beans on the middle shelf, and then the kidney beans. Everett's stomach sunk. The kidney beans went on the bottom-most shelf.

Everett bent over, the seams on the seat of his pants creaked. His work-vest squeezed his thickset trunk; the uppermost button popped undone. His swollen pecs jiggled as they pushed free of his vest and into his tight t-shirt.

Everett's upper body slumped. His "US Male Size Large" phase lasted a paltry nine days. Though if he was honest with himself, his belly began peeking below his t-shirt three days prior, and his husky hips filled his waistband to its fullest around the same time.

Everett checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was in the aisle shopping as he bent over to finish restocking the kidney beans. He prayed his pants would hold for the rest of the shift.

Pallet after pallet, Everett relished the opportunity to flex his new muscles. Packs of water bottles weighed nothing in his enlarged arms. He carried them in stacks -- taller and taller to test the limits of his abilities.

Of course, with extra exertion and the extra weight came extra heat. Everett looked rained on. His vest and shirt were black with sweat and hugged the curves of his slab-like back. His boxers bunched into his inner thighs, chafing and burning. He needed corn starch, a fan, and a cold drink.

Everett trundled to the breakroom, where he parked himself in front of an oscillating table fan. He stood with his arms above his head, airing out his armpits and side rolls. Everett opened the silver break room fridge, cracked open a chilled cola, and downed it in a few gulps. He lifted his shirt to bare his belly against the icy air.

Footsteps clicked across the break room hallway. Everett yanked his shirt down and slammed the fridge shut. He looked over his shoulder, his second chin bunched.

"Oh, hey, Hodges," Liz said. The freight manager stepped past Everett to grab a water bottle from the fridge. She tucked her short hair back with a headband, her tan forehead slick with sweat.

Everett scratched his rump as he tossed the can in the trash, "hey boss."

"Hanging in there, big guy?"

"Yeah, I'm good, other than burning up out there. Damn summer heat," Everett held the table fan to his face.

"You plan on sharing any of that?"

"Oh! Sorry," Everett flinched. He fumbled the fan back to the counter.

"Relax, I was joking. I think you need it more," Liz chuckled.

Everett smiled timidly. Most of his acquaintances that grew concerned concerning his growing fell into two camps. Brutally honest sorts that tore into his sudden growth or polite silent sorts who stole glances when they thought he was distracted. Liz's approach, however, was almost -- how could he describe it -- playful?

"Hodges? You're sure you're okay?"

Everett snapped to attention, "Yeah? Why?"

"You're looking sorta pale."

Everett's stomach twisted and moaned -- at first, he played it off with a sweaty smile, but then came the stabbing pains. Desperate to banish the lava rocks rolling around in his guts, he took a pair of protein bars from his vest pocket and stuffed them into his mouth. He reached for a third when he remembered Liz was still in the room.

"Uh, heh, it's getting close to my usual lunchtime," Everett loosed an abashed chuckle, blood rushed to his cheeks, "and throwing down a truck works up a serious appetite for me."

"I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but you've been working like a machine out there," Liz nodded, "wish I had three of you, honestly."

Everett stuttered an attempt at a thank you, but compliments disarmed him in the worst way. His stomach rumbled in the midst of his awkward flustering, and to make matters worse, the pain in his gut intensified. 'Get it together, Hodges,' he closed his eyes and pinched his brow.

"Damn, that's seriously your stomach making all that noise?"

Everett squeaked an embarrassed, "yeah."

"Well, if you're that hungry," Liz tapped her chin, "there's this decent Hibachi buffet by the Books-A-Million."

A buffet -- as in all he could eat? Pounds of coconut shrimp and rice and handfuls of crab wontons. All without truly burdening his wallet? Everett wiped a drop of drool from the corner of his mouth. "God, yes, please."

"Tell you what, for picking up the slack on the floor, I'll ignore those extra snacks you've been sneaking." Liz downed the last of her water and moved to the doorway, "but I can't ignore the facial hair."

"Facial hair?" Everett rubbed his jaw, feeling the bristles on his fingers.

"Yeah, hate to be a pain in the ass, but you know Dave and his policies."

But he shaved that morning? Everett took his cell phone from his pocket and set it to 'selfie mode.' Sure enough, the scruffy beginnings of a beard speckled his fatty under-chin, the stubble crawled further up his cheeks. His hairline had grown yet lower.

"Yeah, consider it taken care of," Everett scratched the back of his head, his soft cheeks bunched into a slight frown.

"Great, welp with that, back to the grind."

Everett raised his hand and gave a half-wave. As Liz left the room, Everett licked his lips and stuffed another protein bar down his gullet.

**

Everett stuffed his mouth full of chow mein and shrimp. His cheeks chipmunk round. He dabbed sauce from his chin with a napkin, guzzled his soda, and set to work on his next plate. The table bumped his gut every time he stood. His fatty thighs pooled along the bench.

Calm Chinese flavored music echoed over tinny loudspeakers as Everett circled the buffet. A bit of sesame chicken here, and here's to his new pal General Tso, and eggrolls, and some spring rolls, yes more wontons, please.

He thought three plates might slow him down, but like a boulder tumbling down a hill, three spiraled into four and five.

The polite staff watched with increasing worry as this portly man dented dish after dish.

He attacked the sushi bar on his sixth plate, populating his plate with tuna rolls and tempura. His shirt rode up to his chest, revealing the hairy mound of belly flab to the world. He tugged his shirt down once more. He turned to stuff himself silly with sushi when his gut made contact with the man standing beside him.

The man's plate spattered Everett's shirt, and he tumbled to the ground. His blonde hair flopped over his face. He landed flat on his ass. He hissed an airy "ouch," and reached for the counter to stand.

"Oh, my God!" Everett bent forward to help. Broccoli and beef chunks tumbled from his chest onto the floor. Everett's face turned a shade of beet-red.

"It's--" the man yelped as Everett yanked him back to his feet.

Everett's face burned hotter, "shit, shit, sorry."

The blonde man wobbled, his feet spread apart while he tried to find his balance again, "it's...alright."

Boy, how did this look? Fatass was so eager to hork down food that he lost track of his surroundings. Everett's brain turned somersaults spinning up new insults to sling at himself. He shuffled back to his table, praying he wouldn't run into anyone else.

Safe at his table, he picked at his sushi. The waitstaff took to the buffet floor, sweeping and cleaning. Everett wished he could sink into himself and disappear, but his thickening frame proved challenging to hide.

"Excuse me?"

Everett's heart dropped into his stomach. Everett turned and saw the same man from before -- green button-up spattered with brown sauce and broccoli. Everett's jaw slacked some as he struggled for words.

"I am so, so sorry, I--"

"You dropped this," the man dropped Everett's wallet on the table.

Everett shut his mouth and squeaked a small, "thanks."

"Don't mention it," the man tucked his hands in his pockets.

Everett shimmied out of the booth, spent plates rattled as he stood. Everett stuffed the wallet in his pocket.

**

Everett struggled to wrap the towel around his waist. He held it with one hand as he stepped out of the shower. His potbelly drooped, and knocked the towel around his ankles again and again. He kicked the towel aside.

Everett's bare reflection grinned back at him. Despite the softness around his chin and middle, Everett could only gawk at the size of his biceps and pecs. His neck and traps were swollen pyramids of muscle. He bounced his pecs in the mirror, laughing softly.

The pain in his jaw never left, but then it never got worse either. He opened his mouth. A shiver ran down his spine -- crooked canines and misaligned molars glistened in the mirror.

He'd make it to the follow-up. Soon. Yup. Soon. Everett posed for the mirror -- flexing his triceps this time. He twisted to see the valleys and bulges in his back.

Everett froze. His back was speckled black with stubble. Everett fumbled for his phone. He angled the camera. Click. Everett flipped the phone forward.

"The fuck..." A vast patch of coarse black hair sprouted. It spanned from his neck, all down his back, and ended at the start of his asscrack.

Everett set his phone on the counter. That wasn't there yesterday. The rest of his body hair, he realized, was thicker than the day before.

Everett smothered his face in shaving cream and carefully shaved his cheeks clean. His cheeks looked rounder than ever without facial hair to shape his chin. He pouted, stupid dress-code.

Everett chewed his nails. His mind too focused on his routine to notice the black tint on his cuticles.

Everett lifted the toilet reservoir and lifted a plastic bag from the water. He turned and plopped on the seat, the lid and seat cracked down the middle. Shit. His hips caught the edge of the bowl. Face red hot, he huffed and struggled.

Maybe this was getting out of hand. Everett hoisted himself out of the toilet. His gut swayed as he shuffled back into the bathroom proper. Everett leaned on the vanity counter and dropped the plastic bag into the sink. He rubbed his jaw -- the aches returned.

Maybe it was time to quit. The constant hunger. The constant growth. It was taxing his wallet and his sanity.

Maybe he was big enough. Everett's veiny biceps bulged. He turned and flexed for himself in the mirror. He sighed, though the peaks reached high and the definition pushed through the padding, they were underdeveloped compared to his barn side shoulders and bowling-ball pecs.

Maybe a week longer. Everett opened the plastic bag and pulled out a blue pouch. He lifted a stout vial of clear liquid, a syringe, and he wrapped an elastic around his bicep.

The cold needle nipped his skin.

**

Everett sucked in deep. His hands fumbled below his gut. His face beet red as he lay flat on his bed. He arched his back, his knees locked. Yes...yes...and done. The button on his pants creaked. Everett winced. Thank God it stayed. He rocked to his feet. His belly flopped over the button.

Not ideal, but at least it still fits. Everett scratched his crotch, and he gathered his gym bag. Phone, wallet, keys, notepad. He rattled off his mental checklist aloud. Everett stepped into the hallway beyond his apartment door and stopped.

Darkness. Thin cracks of sunlight peered through the greasy window at the end of the hall. Trails of dust motes swirled around a pair of handymen. One atop the ladder fastened a fluorescent bulb into its slot. Light!

Everett squinted, his eyes adjusted. The handyman on the ladder took off his cap and wiped his forehead on his sleeve. His blonde hair was nearly white in the fluorescent glow.

Everett and the handyman locked eyes for the briefest second. The color left the man's face. Everett chuckled.

"Small world! You're that guy from the Hibachi place the other day," Everett nodded, "didn't know you worked here."

"I'm...I'm new," he shrugged, "honestly surprised you weren't too busy stuffing your face to remember-- d'whoa shit," the ladder rocked, and the blonde man held on tight.

The handyman supporting the ladder whispered harshly.

The blonde man scowled at his partner.

Everett frowned and looked between the two.

After a brief silence, the blonde man put his hat back on, and he reached for the light once more.

"Sorry, guess I'm still a tad salty about that shirt," he grumbled.

"Er," Everett rubbed the back of his neck, "I'm...uh..."

"You're fine. It's whatever," the handyman mumbled.

Everett, wanting to avoid any further awkward interaction, shuffled down the hall toward the stairs. The heat on his cheeks was unbearable. He glanced over his shoulder one last time, and he saw both handymen immediately turn away.

Everett lumbered down the stairs. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the stares.

**

Everett grit his teeth. The barbell touched his swollen chest, sinking slowly into his moobs. He snarled as he lifted the barbell again.

The gym lay silent as the other lifters watched slack-jawed. He loved it when the others stared.

Everett shouted as he reached the highest extension of his press. He re-racked the bar -- Huffing and puffing -- a delirious smile illuminated his face. Four hundred pounds. He benched four hundred pounds.

Everett chugged his bottle of water, wiping his sweaty palms on his shorts as he reached for his notebook. Another hundred pounds added to his lift, in even less time than his last milestone. The dizzying high of his accomplishment left him reeling.

The fact that he almost weighed as much as his benching max barely fazed him.

Everett toweled off his soaked locks. A deep black pelt of hair ran from the nape of his neck down his back. The bristly shoots of hair prodded through the fibers of his shirt.

"Jesus, Hodges," Ralf whistled. He tucked his hands in his pockets as he inched around the bench.

Everett unracked his weights plate by plate, grinning as he felt his sleeves strain watermelon-sized biceps. His boulder of a gut brushed against Ralf.

"That stuff," Everett huffed, "I thought it was--"

"Ah ah ah," Ralf shushed Everett, "not here."

"Oh yeah, sorry." Everett blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, "your routine, though, it's fucking fantastic."

"I'm starting to wonder about the 'routine,'" Ralf crossed his arms and cast a nervous glance around the room. The other gym goers were whispering amongst themselves.

"Hey man, don't be jealous I outpaced you on your own stuff," Everett smirked as he hoisted his gym bag.

"Hodges, c'mon, you're the size of a fucking house, and it's only been one script," Ralf whispered, "that doesn't freak you out?"

"I knew there'd be side effects, but, come on, you've been on the same stuff before, right?"

"Bro, I don't think this is the same stuff," Ralf clicked his tongue.

Everett's stomach rumbled, "Speaking of side effects, I gotta get something to eat."

"Food? Now?"

"I've been hitting up that Chinese buffet down the road. They've got this coconut shrimp," Everett licked his lips, "God, I could eat it 'til I pop."

"Maybe a salad instead, eh?"

"Sure, I'll get that too," Everett lumbered toward the door.

Everett's gut swayed as he walked, his quads bunched the boulder belly with each step. His inner-thighs chafed as he stomped through the parking lot. Ralf half expected the pavement to crack. A gnarled growl bubbled from inside Everett.

"Whoa, you okay?" Ralf held his hands forward, unsure he could do anything other than call for help if Everett collapsed.

Everett nodded, his chins bouncing as he did so, "gotta eat, like now."

"Does your body usually make noises like that?"

"No, well, it didn't use to, I mean, it's gotten worse with time," Everett huffed as he lugged his gym bag toward the door, "God, you ever been so hungry it hurts?"

Ralf shook his head.

"That's been my life the past few weeks," Everett wiped the flop-sweat from his forehead on his already damp sleeves, "like I eat and eat, but it doesn't do anything...hold on, you've never felt that way on your own drug?"

"That's what I've been trying to say, the stuff I buy is HGH man, like a special formula sure, but this is something else."

"Yeah, but the results speak for themselves," Everett shrugged, "gotta fuel the muscles somehow."

"But at what cost, man?"

"If I weigh a ton, but can lift two tons, then I see that as a fair trade," Everett grunted and lowered himself into his car. The vehicle's frame dipped. His gut honked the horn a few times. After twisting and scooting, he nestled comfortably behind the wheel.

"What if your heart explodes or something?"

"Listen, I checked my blood pressure the other day, and believe it or not, I'm perfectly fine," Everett rolled his eyes, "I know I might not look it, but I'm in the best shape of my life. Work's a breeze. I'm on my feet running around all day without a problem. Sure the heat's killer and I--" Everett's stomach roared again, "ugh, just trust me, alright?"

"Hodges...Everett," Ralf opened the passenger door and leaned in, "I'm worried, okay? I never shoulda sold you this shit."

"Well, relax, I'm...I'm fine," Everett smacked his lips as stark livestock dullness darkened his once sharp eyes.

Ralf climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door. The car's frame sagged another inch. Ralf frowned. "Is, your car, uh--"

"The weight limit is like eight-hundred pounds, I, uh checked," Everett started the engine and backed out. He blasted the AC until the car was frigid, and the thick scent of his musk had spread throughout the entire cabin.

"You and I, eh, we're probably pretty close to that, right?"

Everett snorted, "we'll be fine," he scratched his exposed gut.

Everett turned a few times as he hit the main road. The Chinese buffet was a massive building on the corner of a busy intersection -- Buffet City. Everett turned toward the parking lot.

"You're not gonna go home and freshen up?" Ralf looked at the sweaty mess stuck to the driver's seat.

"That can wait," Everett was drooling now -- his mind lost in a haze of MSG.

Everett's tank-like body wobbled as he clambered out of the car. All of his attention locked on the establishment. His belly squeaked against the door before he could open it.

"T-table for two, please," Everett held up his fingers, and the ever polite hostess offered a worried smile.

"Ah, mister Hodges," the hostess said, "back s-so soon?"

Everett followed the hostess as Ralf tried to keep pace. Despite the wide seats, Everett's cheeks spilled a good inch over both sides.

"You'd think a buffet would have seats for guys like me," Everett loosed a deep belly laugh, "tell her I want a coke, alright?"

Ralf sat bewildered. Despite his friend's massive size, Everett managed to skirt around the buffet with relative swiftness. Everett loaded his plate to the fullest. Mounds of fried rice and cabbage and steak and Everof ett loaded course coconut shrimp and sesame chicken and sweet and sour pork. Every single dish beckoned a visit.

Everett shoveled the plate into his mouth, snorting as he horked down five bites of food at once. His engorged chin flopped as he chewed. He took short breaths between bites, pausing only to gulp his soda.

The display robbed Ralf of any appetite.

"I think you should, uh," Ralf opened his mouth to speak, but Everett moaned in response.

Everett shoveled the last bite into his mouth, "gimme," he loosed a low burp and pounded his chest, "gimme one second" Up and down again, another loaded plate of food.

"Hodges, this is kinda ridiculous man, I can't even--"

And Everett was up again to stack another plate.

Ralf watched the tower of plates rise beside him. The faint eastern music was buried in the sound of Everett engorging himself.

Everett put his fist to his lips and burped, "so, you were," Everett sucked a heavy breath, "you were saying?"

"You need to give this shit a break."

"Nah, man, the buffet is pretty cost-effective. You should've seen my food bill last month--"

"The drug man, the drug," Ralf slapped the table, "you gotta give it a break."

Everett slurped his cola as he watched Ralf's flustered face and manic eyes. He managed a sheepish, "but you've seen my progress."

"Forget about the gains, forget about the gym, " Ralf rubbed his temples, "this is insane," Ralf tapped the plates, "I don't care how good you feel. You're crazy if you think your body can handle any more weight."

"It's not hurting anyone else but me. Hell, it's not even hurting me!"

"So you're a doctor now? You know for sure it's not hurting you?"

"I dunno it just," Everett laid his hands on the shelf of his gut, "I'm not big enough yet."

"If this is you now, you won't fit through your door by the time your supply runs dry. What if you, God forbid, you slip and break a bone or something, and you're too heavy for the paramedics to get you out the door? What then?"

Everett bowed his head.

"Just, give it a break for a few weeks, man, see how you feel," Ralf leaned forward.

Everett frowned.

"Please?"

"Alright, alright, I'll cut back if it gets you off my back," Everett sighed. His stomach gurgled, "now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta go get my money's worth." He opened his mouth and his jaw cracked. He yowled and he jammed his finger into his mouth and dug at his teeth. A thick glob of blood trickled down his chin.

"E...excuse me."

**

Everett fought the urge to scratch. His new hair brushed against his ill-fitting clothes. He tried to distract himself by looking around the waiting room. A small child played with one of those colorful metal ball apparatus toys. The woman at the desk clacked away at her keyboard. The television played the morning news.

Everett's shirt barely covered the drooping parabola of his gut, baring his furry kettle belly for all to see. He wished he could explain himself -- these were his best fitting clothes now. He meant to buy a new outfit, but he had spent so much of his last paycheck on food that he barely had enough to cover his bills.

"Mister Hodges?" Luis poked his head into the waiting room through a side door. He looked around the room, somewhat confused. Everett stood up, pulling his skin-tight sweatpants up to cover his round asscheeks.

Luis cocked his head, not paying Everett any mind as he scanned the room once more.

"Mister Hodges?"

"Uh, right here."

Luis turned toward Everett

Everett cleared his throat as he approached Luis. His gait more a shuffling waddle than anything else these days. He followed Luis through the door, happy to no longer feel the stares of the waiting room bunch.

"Sorry I didn't recognize you, mouth agape., it's the, uh," Luis licked his teeth, "the haircut."

Everett rolled his eyes. He wondered what was worse: when people skirted around his growth or when people could only gawk. Luis managed a terrible combination. Always stealing a glance when he thought Everett wasn't looking.

No, Everett shamefully admitted, it wasn't a trick of the light. He really was twice the man he used to be. Luis seated Everett in the observation chair, taking a moment to set his computer ready for x-rays.

Chomp here, wait for a second, chomp there, wait a second. "I'll be right back."

Everett licked his lips and rested his hands on his bulbous gut, self-consciously noting his lack of lap. He craned his neck to look around the room. The thick muscles in his traps and a thick ring of fat around his chin restricted his head movement. He managed to see Luis talking to Clark. The dentist frowned and nodded, then followed Luis back to Everett.

"Hey again, Everett," doctor Clark smiled politely, only giving Everett one cursory look over instead of many.

Everett nodded once, "so, how's my whole hyperdontia thing now?"

"Well, that hasn't gone away, but there is an interesting new development."

"Oh boy," Everett frowned. He needed less interesting developments by the minute.

"I hadn't noticed them the last time we took your x-ray, but there is a set of bony protrusions here at the jaw," Clark pointed to a small set of lumps near the chin.

"They look sort of like," Luis stroked his slight mustache, "tusks or something."

Clark rolled her eyes.

"Jesus," Everett rubbed his chin.

"Between the number of new teeth coming in and these separate growths..." Clark stood, "I'm going to see if we can get you a referral to a specialist."

Everett nodded as Clark left the room. Luis watched her walk away. He sniffed twice. His eyes darted back to Everett and then at the door.

"Between you and me," Luis said, "you're going to want to see more than a dental specialist."

Everett cocked his head.

"Let's not beat around the bush, you're," Luis gestured to Everett, his jaw slacked as the words died in his throat.

"Does this count as beating around the bush?"

Luis leaned closer, "anybody else puts on this much weight in thirty days and they're lined up for a world's rarest diseases special."

Everett shrugged, his shirt rose further up his gut as he did so, and he sighed. He knew exactly why the weight was piling on. No way was he going to a doctor. Not with that 'stuff' in his system.

Luis folded his arms and scoffed, "how the hell are you not at all worried about this?"

**

The electric razor glided up Everett's cheek, the buzzer snarled, and thick clumps of hair snowed atop the white linoleum. He worked from his cheek to the patches of hair growing on his forehead and between his eyebrows. Everett switched off the razor and stroked his stubble.

A little wet razor work would finish the job on his face, but his body...

The pelt that engulfed his torso would render his razor dead. Every inch of skin below the neck had some hair growth length, from his shoulders to his gorilla arms to his moobs and belly. The black stripe on his back filled out thicker every passing day. It was growing longer, much faster than even the hair on his face.

No matter what he wore, some degree of body hair was exposed to the public.

Everett wetted his razor and worked on the remaining stubble on his cheeks. His bloated cheeks glistened -- like a grotesque mockery of a cherub. His neck was buried in slabs of meat, both fat and muscle. Once shorn, he gathered his night clothes.

Everett struggled to squeeze the underwear past his thighs. The orange briefs pulled tight into the crease of his ass cheeks. His gut folded the waistband and hid it from the world. He tugged a tank top over his head, only for it to stop just past his moobs like a half-baked sports bra.

Everett brushed his teeth and winced. He stretched his jaw open, tapped his lower left canine with his thick brown nail, and it jostled. His forehead scrunched. Everett smacked his lips, tenderly rubbing his jaw as he uncapped his deodorant. A wormy itch crawled up his spine.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Everett. He paced a second. It hurt. Everything hurt. The missing piece of his evening routine left his knees wobbly. He took a breath and counted back from three, and jumped in bed. He unlocked his phone, scanning for articles or games or something.

Sweat pearled on Everett's forehead. He dragged on a trembling breath. His newly grown hairs stood on end. He felt freezing and hot at the same time. The sound of his pounding heart filled his ears. He squeezed his blankets and pulled them over his head.

Everett's bones clicked. A faint scratching noise tickled the insides of his teeth. A gurgle bubbled up from deep within him. He threw his legs over the side of his bed, tumbling his way to the bathroom.

III

Everett splayed on his couch in the nude. His thick thighs spread wide as a pair of box fans aired out his creases and rolls. He lifted his belly, letting the thick pelt under his gut catch a faint breeze. His workday, like his work pants, had come to an abrupt but merciful end. The tattered remains of said pants lay on the ground like a shed skin.

Everett retraced his day. He unloaded freight like normal -- work a pallet, eat a snack, rinse and repeat. His pants fit that morning, or at least he barely had to suck in to button them. Everett wheezed and clutched his chest, pondering what followed.

It was in the cereal aisle when he felt pinching pains against his hips.

His bones and joints ached, like worms weaved in and out of his marrow. Then came the flashes of heat in his face. His exceeding heft offered little reprieve from the summer heat, but this new warmth was something else. Like his blood itself was boiling.

Everett gasped for air. Then a dreaded 'titch' noise. Before he had a chance to react, his ass burst the seat of his pants. Both cheeks bubbled outward as his thighs yanked the seams apart. The lone fastenable button on his work vest skittered across the floor like a dejected roach.

He left without a word. The pain wouldn't quit. And now here he was seriously debating a hospital visit.

But what if they found Ralfi's super drug in his system -- he toweled the sweat from his forehead. Hot. So hot. Any cold.

Everett lifted a cold can of soda from a cooler situated near his feet. He popped the tab and drained the can in a few gulps. Every hour or so, that distinct ache in his bones returned. Everett groaned. The arms on his sofa brushed his hips. His nipples skewed further apart as the fat under his arms bunched against his moobs.

This was Karma for going back on his promise to Ralf, but the pain left him in a state too miserable to concentrate.

The world beyond his window turned the deep orange of twilight, "already?" Everett mouthed. He lost all track of his day. His stomach moaned deep within the folds of his body, a maltreated and underfed creature.

"Goddammit, not again."

Everett took a handful of ibuprofen and washed it down with lemon-lime soda. A gouging pain scooped his insides. It rolled up and down his stomach like a hot marble. His body wouldn't let him think of anything else other than hunger.

Everett stood from the chair. His blubber-caked quads tensed, the slabs of muscle beneath thickened. His gut spilled outward and flipped his coffee table. Everett mumbled, and he stood with his legs spread apart, moving with care. Still, he bumped empty fast food bags and soda bottles off the table with his ass and knocked a lamp from his bookshelf.

Everett pulled his wallet from the tattered work pants then squeezed into his bedroom. He tossed open drawer after drawer in his bedroom, checking the tags -- XXL, XXL, 3XL, where was it? He stuffed his hand into the laundry basket. There at the bottom, thick with his musk, was his abused 5XL pair of sweats.

Everett grimaced, wishing he had found time to do laundry between his wallowing and aching, and he forced his bloated body into the form-fitting pants. His underwear, even if he had remembered between the hunger pangs, wouldn't fit. Everett wheezed, hustling around for a tent sized t-shirt to pull over his head.

Everett tugged and tugged, but the shirt refused to fit over his gargantuan gut. If this growth didn't slow down soon, he'd be stuck wearing bedsheet togas for the rest of his life. A deep and feral growl boiled inside of his guts and tickled the back of his throat.

Worry later, food now, his lips were drys entire body ached for sustenance. His eyes glazed over.

**

It was midnight when Carey Baker started sweeping for his shift. The low hum of fluorescent bulbs rattled across the convenience store. Like most nights, it was a slow one. He leaned on his broom, thumbing through his phone, glancing up at the cameras.

Corporate could suck it. Hi, what else did they expect him to do all night?

The snack cakes and bags of chips were mostly undisturbed -- there had only been three souls at this gas station that evening, and all of them wanted Gas and a fountain drink.

Once he managed a serviceable pile of dust, Carey returned to the counter for the dustpan.

The door alarm beeped.

The first thing that struck Carey was the smell -- like a gym laundry hamper that sat in the sun for a day. Carey grimaced as a vaguely humanoid shape waddled through the doors. Carey's guest wore clothes that looked painted on, and between the sad excuse for clothes, Carey saw thick mats of body-hair. Carey fought the urge to stare.

"Evening, sir," Carey said in his best customer service voice.

The man grunted in reply. He smacked his lips and made his way for the donuts on display near the fountain drinks.

Of course, he'd go for donuts. Carey's smile faltered.

Carey waited patiently as the mountainoid man opened the plexiglass donut cabinet. The unsightly view of the customer's furry asscrack unfolded as he bent to select his snacks.

Carey glanced down at his own round paunch, then at his own array of fountain soda and donut holes, and quietly pushed it aside -- his diet started for real at that very moment.

Carey heard a muffled snorting sound and a deep, almost sensual moan. Carey's entire stomach dropped into his pants. He turned away from his drink, slowly, and he saw his latest customer shoving whole donuts into his mouth. Why, of all times, was this shit happening on his shift?

"U-uh, sir?" Carey squeaked

The man continued to engorge himself, lost in a universe of sugar and carbs and fats.

Carey cleared his throat, "sir?" He managed his best deep voice, only to be betrayed by his nasal lispy voice.

Carey walked around the counter toward the customer. Carey clutched the wide headed broom to his chest. Carey bit his bottom lip, "sir, you're gonna have to pay for all that, you know?"

The man paused his feast.

Carey's knees knocked together.

A deep belch rattled the shelves, and the man continued.

"I-if you don't leave, I'm gonna call the cops."

The man wiped the thick donut paste from his lips and moved to the next aisle. Carey put himself between the man and the hapless generic brand snack cakes. He stood there a moment, silent save for the sound of the man's labored breathing.

"Huh?" The man finally said

"I said I'm gonna call the cops if you don't leave," Carey pointed to the door. His forefinger trembled.

"Cops," the man mumbled. His eyes were hazy, and his jaw slacked open. The only indication that he registered Carey's threat was his clenched fists. A low rumble emanated from the obese man's stomach, "I haff," he belched, and Carey gagged, "have to eat first."

"Okay, you know what? I don't get paid enough for this shi--" Carey made a move to the counter, but a greasy fat hand snatched his arm by the crook of the elbow.

Carey screamed as his legs lifted from the floor. He kicked, he flailed, but it simply annoyed the massive man. Carey flew across the store into the tobacco wall behind the counter.

Everything hurt as Marlboros and Newports rained atop his body. "H-holy shit," Carey curled up beneath the cigarette boxes. Okay, so the guy was a strongman gone to seed or a rogue circus act or something. Smart move Carey, piss off the blob. He dared not move, make a sound, or even indicate he was still alive. He lay perfectly still as the man obliterated row after row of snacks.

**

Everett snorted as he awoke, his eyes fluttered open, and he found himself on his couch. Sunlight streaked the window. The front door was half-open. A hot and heavy weight sloshed inside his stomach as he forced himself to stand.

He scratched his rump, and he pushed the front door closed. His mouth tasted of custards and creams and powdered-sugar. He smacked his lips, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt tucked itself beneath his dangling moobs. He didn't even bother to pull it back down.

A searing headache burrowed in the seats of his eyes. The vague memories of the previous night returned piecemeal. He took a handful of ibuprofen again and downed it with water this time. He could barely stand the thought of putting more sugar in his mouth.

Everett went for a drive. At least he remembered that much. He meant to hit up a fast food joint, get one of their value dinners to spare his wallet, but the hunger pains forced a detour. He had to stop and get something -- then he saw the corner store.

Everett gasped. His stomach gurgled as it continued to digest the previous evening's binge. That poor kid at the gas station "Christ," Everett rubbed his face and paced the room, "Ralf was right. What the hell is wrong with me?"

Everett paced, thumping around his living room and shaking his furniture. His cheeks were flustered. He turned on his ceiling fan, his box fans, his oscillating fan. Nothing worked. Why was he so fucking hot?

Everett wobbled to his couch, and his feet ached as he took a seat. His head pounded. Hazy memories of the destroyed convenience store, the thousands of calories he inhaled.

He had to leave and soon. This stuff was uncontrollable now. The next time he went out, who might he hurt? He needed space to grow, the woods at the edge of town, maybe?

The back of his throat tickled. He gagged, clutching his non-existent neck with his lardy mitts. He sputtered into a coughing fit. His heart, dammit his heart. He clutched his chest. Pump-bump. Pump-bump. Pump...bump. The beat slowed.

Everett's legs spasmed as he tried to remain standing. He slumped to his knees, and his head reared back. His peripheral vision blackened. His forehead emerged. The skin stretched. Any second the skin could rip, tears streamed down his cheeks.

Everett's teeth clicked. His lower jaw dropped open, and then lower, and wider. His teeth popped free from his gums and scattered across the floor with blood on the roots. Everett's lips pinched as two long tusks filled the gaps in his mouth.

Everett's spine snapped. His body seized, and he landed flat on the coffee table. Ker-krack. The table gave beneath his belly. His grumbling gut thickened wider, crunching the particle board to shards.

A short, whip-thin tail flopped over his buttocks. Everett's tail fluttered and twitched as new nerves stretched into the extended flesh. Black hairs sprouted at the base of his tail and crawled up to the tip.

Everett sobbed as his spine cracked again, stretching upward. His forehead split open. Hot blood streaked his mutilated face as the bones continued to crack and realine. His nostrils turned up into a spade shape and his mouth extended into a snout as his ears pulled further up his skull.

Everett shook, gagging on his tongue as his neck inflated. His ass and thighs flexed, expanding inch after inch. His sweatpants pinched tight against his groin. Through the pain and agony, his loins stirred -- at first a sole bastion of pleasure amid the suffering.

But then came a burning as his shaft stretched beyond its usual length. His dick expanded against the lowest seat of his gut, fattening wider until it was the shape of a beer can. His testicles spasmed over and over, ripening to the size of oranges.

Everett loosed a porcine squeal as his sweatpants began to squeeze tighter and tighter against his groin. His shirt pulled tight around his neck.

His sweatpants split at his hips. His shirt burst open. Everett whined and moaned as the growth settled, slowing down until all was still again.

Hours might have passed as he lay on the floor. The seams of his torn skin healed, leaving angry purple stretch marks and scars. He grunted and twitched. His eyes rolled back into his head.

It's a dream. That's all. A horrible, steroid or HGH induced fucking nightmare. He was going to open his eyes again and...

"What," Everett gasped for breath, "the fuck?"

Everett oinked. His face screwed into a grimace. "N-no, I didn't just..."

After several agonizing attempts, he rose like a newborn calf on wobbling knees before taking up on his feet. Everett tested his wide gait. He rattled the furniture with every step. His enlarged frame left him little wiggle room.

Everett squeezed sideways into the bathroom, desperate to understand his transformation.

Everett choked as he cut the corner ad saw the creature in the mirror. A densely furred boar's face greeted his unaccustomed eyes. He touched his nose and yelped when the boar-man copied his movement.

He was easily a few inches taller and at least another hundred pounds heavier. He scooped his belly and let it drop. Sensitive waves of pleasure rippled through his body.. He turned his nose to the air and sniffed. A moist and earthy scent -- his scent, yeah -- and he smelled corn oil in restaurant fryers. Pungent car exhaust. The embarrassing pile of dirty laundry he had been putting off for the past month.

Everett pulled up his trusty bathroom scale and stood atop its glass surface. Crunch. If one could see his cheeks, they'd be mighty rosy now.

A new scent entered the scene. He sniffed the air. Cologne, too rich and biting. He turned to the door, and a sharp knocking sent his heart into his throat.

"Aw, shit," Everett grunted, he took a long blanket from his closet, and he tried to wear it like a toga. He tip-toed slowly across his apartment to disguise his incredible size. He leaned down and put his eye to the aperture, and he saw two men, one dressed sharp with a blazer and slacks. The other wore a police uniform. The sharp-dressed one pressed his badge to the fish-eye lens.

"Uh, hi?" Everett grumbled -- his voice was an octave lower and custard thick. "What can I do for you?"

"We just need a minute of your time, sir," the man said in a soft voice with delicate diction, but not enough to disguise his southern drawl.

"Trust me. You don't want to come in. I've got this awful stomach flu and--"

"Mister Hodges, you wouldn't happen to know anything about one Rafael Garcia, would you?"

Ralf? Everett covered his mouth. Suddenly the convenience store he trashed was the least of his worries. Why on earth would the cops be at his door asking about Ralf? Everett took his blanket and pulled it over his head into a sort of hood. He kept his body well out of sight and cracked the door open.

"What's wrong with Ralf?" Everett said shakily.

"Nothing, at least not yet," the detective crossed his arms, "his name came up in an investigation, heard you were connected to him."

"Oh y'see, sir."

"Ma'am," the detective said.

Everett paused. The short faded sides of the detective's red hair, stern brow, and square shoulders betrayed some air of masculinity.

"Er...ma'am," Everett conceded. He didn't need to be on anyone's bad side, "Ralf's a workout buddy of mine. Sometimes we shoot the shit over a beer, y' know," Everett stifled an all too porcine snort and his tail swished.

"Workout buddy, so you wouldn't happen to know if he uses any sort of..." the detective cranked her wrist, "illicit, performance-enhancing substances, would you?"

"Who? Ralf?" Everett attempted a laugh. "Nah, he's all about natural gains. Guy has a fit every time someone even brings up shit like that." Everett leaned on the door, and it inched a crack further.

"And what about yourself, mister Hodges?"

"Me?"

"What's your opinion?"

"Uh, I mean, if someone wants to take the risk I don't see the harm if they're only hurting themselves," Everett shrugged and nearly dropped his blanket.

"And you know plenty about risks, don't you?"

"I...what?"

Everett barely noticed that the cop beside the detective had pulled a gun. Everett's eyes widened, "Hibachi guy?" Everett yelped as a dart sunk into his neck. Everett plucked it from his hide. He scrunched his brow. The "detective" pointed a Glock at his forehead.

"Careful, this one'll hurt way more," the detective squinted.

Everett held his hands up, and his blanket fell from his naked body.

"Sutter, what did you do to him?" The "cop" hissed.

Sutter glanced around the apartment hallway, "alright big guy, aren't you going to invite us in?"

Everett turned between the two, flabbergasted.

"Listen, pork bun, the shit in that needle was a slow-acting nerve agent," the "cop" pointed to his dart gun, "you don't let us in, you're not getting the antidote."

Everett blinked twice, "I, uh, I, yeah, come in," he fumbled backward.

"Ladies first, Lofton," Sutter nodded to the cop.

Lofton rolled his eyes before pushing through the door. He covered his mouth and grimaced. His eyes chased up and down Everett's figure.

The nearly-six-foot (because of course, he couldn't grow taller than that) naked boar-man had been irrevocably burned into his retinas. Everett's ears flattened, and he sheepishly covered his groin with a blanket.

"Oh please, you've seen worse," Sutter shut the door behind her. She trained her pistol on Everett's chest.

"Who the fuck are you people?" Everett sputtered. "How do you know Ralf?"

"Let's just say we've got a mutual acquaintance," Sutter glanced around the apartment.

"I don't--"

"Let me cut to the chase," Sutter leaned forward, "you can either come with us and learn more about your...condition, or you can die of heart failure on your living room floor."

"That's not really a choice, is it?" Everett mumbled.

"That's what you've got to work with," Lofton tapped his wristwatch, "clocks ticking."

Everett looked between the strangers at the door.

**

Everett stuffed a donut into his waiting maw. Some jelly spilled on his billowing medical gown -- which he assumed was really just a king-sized sheet with a hole cut in the top. He scooped the jelly with his thumb and licked it.

"How can it still be hungry," Lofton sat across from Everett on the opposite side of a sturdy metal table, his palms rested in his lap.

"He," Sutters tapped her pen on the table, "is still a person."

"Hey, you guys got any more of those Boston creams?" Everett snorted as he scarfed down an eclair.

"Though I didn't quite count on such a hefty appetite," Sutters said.

"You turned me into a literal pig and expected me to eat like a bird?" Everett lifted his belly and shook it for emphasis.

"Is that offensive to bird people?" Lofton inspected his nails.

"Hey, someday they might exist," Sutters leaned forward, "operation Razorback was a success after all."

"Christoph--" Lofton snapped and stifled his anger, he composed himself, "Kris. You're calling your unauthorized experiment an 'operation' now?"

"Hold on unauthorized?" Everett frowned.

"Again, I'm thankful you decided to tag along, mister Hodges," Sutters clicked and unclicked her pen, "your untimely death would've meant a lot of wasted fieldwork."

"So, how do you people know who I am?"

Lofton laid a tablet on the table, unlocked the device, and slid it over to Everett. There were several different video feeds, each trained on major spaces in Everett's apartment.

"We've been monitoring you for some time now," Sutters nodded, "the moment you purchased those drugs from Garcia, we've been tracking you."

"Ralf set me up?"

"Nah, his supplier did," Sutters said.

Everett reached for the donut box, only to find it distressingly empty. He snorted and crossed his arms. His ears twitched.

"I made an arrangement -- my experimental mutagen hits the streets, and in exchange, I steadily supply synthesized HGH."

"So it could've been any idiot looking for quick results," Everett sighed.

"All of this without permission," Lofton said.

"But with plenty of help," Sutter glanced sidelong at Lofton.

"To create..." Lofton gestured limply at Everett and shrugged.

Everett itched his double chin, nodded, "uh, to what end? And why a pig, not something, y'know, flattering?"

"Pigs and humans are quite similar on a genetic level. I figured we'd start easy for the trial run."

"And the application? Super strong, super animal, super soldiers," Lofton raised his index fingers, "because my colleague here reads too many damn comic books."

"Perhaps, but that's so limited in scope. Imagine workers suited for high altitudes or amphibious environments," Sutters glared at Lofton, "but to prove my point, we need you here to run further tests. I promise you'll be compensated for the sudden lifestyle change, and after we're finished, you're free to leave."

Everett sniffed. He nodded, "alright, I'm your man, er, pig? Under one condition." Everett picked up the empty donut box and waved it side to side. "More Boston creams please?"

Lofton grimaced and shook his head.

IV

Everett stomped through the pristine facility halls. A small group of security guards jogged ahead of him. What was with all the fuss?

"Pardon me, 'scuse me," Everett brushed against a few hallway stragglers with his hips and belly. He figured most people would know to give him a wide berth these days.

Everett grunted as he entered the loading bay. His footfalls echoed off of the high warehouse ceiling. Toom. Toom. Toom. He saw Sutters' deep red hair across the room.

"Er, Razorback reporting for duty," Everett said.

"Just in time, he's almost here," Sutters said as several pulleys roared to life and lifted a shutter. A sixteen-wheeler asset transportation truck disguised as a beer vendor backed toward the loading bay.

"This is awfully close to the outside, doc," Everett shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"You'll be integrated back into society again someday, like it or not," Sutters said, "right now I wanted you to meet the latest test subject. Lofton wanted wet-works to deal with him, but I think I have a better idea."

Everett stuffed his hands into his pockets -- the stretching waistband on his custom-tailored pants actually felt quite roomy.

Everett cleared his throat, "before I meet this someone, I was, uh, wondering..."

Sutters folded her arms.

"When we're done with all our tests and work and stuff today, if maybe I could treat you to, uh, a celebratory dinner," Everett bounced on the balls of his feet.

"What, outside the facility?" Sutters chuckled.

"You'd be surprised what you can order on Ubereats," Everett mumbled, "and I've officially earned my first paycheck as a company employee."

Sutters prodded Everett's gut, where the buttons on his security uniform began to criss-cross, "perhaps the new security detail could stand to cut back?"

"I thought you liked your security guards bigger and meaner or did I mishear you during that 'desirable animal traits' presentation?"

Sutters blushed and faced forward. Everett smirked.

"I don't think it would go over well with my superiors."

"C'mon Kris, if supervision's an issue, I promise I"ll behave," Everett shrugged, "We can even invite that limp-rag Ken."

"One, that's Doctor Kris to you," Sutters gasped in mock offense, "and two, Lofton would politely decline your offer, I'm certain."

"His loss," Everett snorted.

Accidentally working for shadowy unscrupulous possible supervillains was, oddly enough, a pretty cozy prospect. Better pay, all the food he could eat, wonderful coworkers. Aside from Lofton, of course.

The truck door slid open. At the back of the truck, strapped to a metal chair, was a blindfolded young man. He was a portly sort with the beginnings of a mustache.

Carey Baker whimpered a meager, "hello?"

---

END