Finlay vs. Utility Closet

Underground Mutant Community - Wyoming

The thrill of successfully pulling off his escapade, albeit awkwardly, mixed with the fear of being discovered made Finlay's heart race. But as the adrenaline ebbed, fatigue set in, he noticed something unsettling. His reflection in a nearby metal panel revealed his face was starting to shift.

“Oh no, not now!” he whispered, his voice tinged with panic. His concentration wavered, and he felt his body beginning to morph again. Remembering he needed a secluded spot, he scanned the area and spotted a utility closet down the hall.

Finlay moved quickly, the length of Johnathan’s legs making the short trip even quicker. He slipped inside the closet and closed the door behind him, hoping no one had seen him. The cramped space was filled with cleaning supplies and the faint smell of disinfectant. He leaned against a shelf and tried to steady his breathing, but it was too late. His body was already shifting.

First, his hair started to recede, changing from Johnathan’s wavy locks to a close-cropped cut. His skin darkened to a rich, deep brown, and his frame broadened, muscles bulging beneath the oversized shirt. The transformation was both fascinating and terrifying, and Finlay couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

As his feet grew, they slammed into a mop bucket, sending it skidding across the floor with a loud clatter. He stumbled, banging his head against a shelf, and a cascade of cleaning supplies rained down on him. Bottles of bleach and detergent, sponges, and brushes bounced off his head and shoulders.

“Ow! Come on!” he groaned, rubbing his head and trying to find his footing. His newly enlarged feet knocked over a stack of buckets, sending them tumbling in every direction. He took a step back, only to step on a broom handle, which flipped up and smacked him in the calf.

“Ah, seriously?!” he yelped, hopping on one foot and knocking over a precariously balanced pile of rags. As his calves thickened, he felt his thighs filling out the fabric of his pants, which had been comically large but now clung more suitable to his shifting body.

The oversized shirt, which had hung loosely on Johnathan’s frame, now stretched normally across his chest and shoulders, fitting snugly as his arms filled out the sleeves. The baggy pants, which had been clownishly large, now fit comfortably around his waist, though they were still a bit too long. A waist which kept expanding until it jiggled and bumped against the shelving on the other side of the narrow closet.

“Why?” he muttered to himself, feeling his voice deepen and resonate with Ben Taylor’s distinctive tone. He didn’t know he had absorbed Ben’s DNA when he stole his clothes. His hands grew larger and more powerful, and he instinctively flexed his new, massive biceps, knocking a shelf off its brackets and sending more cleaning supplies crashing to the floor.

Finally, the transformation was complete. Finlay looked down at himself – or rather, at Ben’s body – and burst out laughing. He was now a towering 6’2” football linebacker.

Finlay took a step and immediately tripped over a fallen mop, crashing into a stack of cleaning supplies. The closet was now a complete mess, with bottles and brushes scattered everywhere. Now on all fours, he panted heavily, feeling the strain of the transformation. He glanced back and felt the top of his butt crack slightly showing. Worse yet, he felt his larger midsection pulling downward like a paperweight and was that a third arm between his legs.