You wake up the next morning—11:59, so still technically morning—and stretch. You’re instantly reminded of the events of yesterday by the sight of your unseemly room. You’re briefly devastated at the state of your life, but then you feel the heft of your chest as you take a deep breath. Your massive chest was almost blocking your view of your stomach, which still jutted out a tiny bit but also looked pretty impressive. You kick aside your unwashed blanket and look at yourself. Arms as big as your thighs used to be. Legs strong enough to kick a tree down. You grab your chest again and jiggle it. You’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be hard not to keep touching yourself all day. You probably would just touch yourself all day if you didn’t have a shift at the movie theater later.
Ugh. The theater. You can’t believe Jared forced you to work at a theater. Minimum wage with a bunch of teenagers and a manager younger than you that thinks you’re a moron. You probably are a moron, or at least were. You remember no-call-no-show-ing several times. How you weren’t fired is beyond you. You had twelve hours until the next change, though, so that meant you had to at least get through one day of this.
Later that day, you get dressed in your work polo. You try to find something to cover up your massive new body, but Jared wasn’t exactly a cardigan person. You figure you’ll just pretend you’ve always been like this. Can’t be too hard. As you head out the door, you see a piece of paper taped to the outside of it.
“You had good taste in men.”
You roll your eyes. He doesn’t seem to understand the power dynamic at play. At any point you could make him swap bodies with a toad. But that would be a waste of a swap. At least for now. Maybe in a week, after you’re content with the other swaps, you’ll take some revenge.
Turns out, work really does suck. There you are, sweeping up popcorn and changing trash bags in a small theater with only six screens. The floors are sticky and the teenager you work with keeps asking if you can provide some weed for his homecoming party. You keep saying no. Your manager Kaitlynn comes in a little later, surprised you actually clocked in on time. You walks up to you, probably ready to browbeat you over something Jared did, when she stares at you, mouth agape.
“[Name], how’d—how’d you get so buff?”
“I’ve always been like this.”
She looks pretty confused, but you don’t care. A little gaslighting won’t hurt. Especially since you know for absolute certainty that the second the clock strikes midnight, you’re stealing someone else’s job.
Your break cannot come soon enough. As you sit in the food court, you start thinking about what job you want to snatch up. It doesn’t take you long to find a pretty good option, because a news article greets you the second you open Twitter. “HyperKrunch Under Fire for Use if Racial Slurs.” You purse your lips and read through the article. HyperKrunch is a popular YouTube personality that makes Let’s Plays and streams whatever games 14-year-olds like. He also makes a bunch of wacky vlogs with really clickbait-y titles. He recently screamed out some pretty insensitive things on a Twitch stream, and from what it sounds like, this isn’t the first time.
It can’t be too hard to be a Let’s Player. And it’s got to be a better gig than working in a movie theater. Hell, maybe a guy like HyperKrunch deserves to work in a movie theater. You look up a little more about him online. Turns out his real name is Killian Flynn, he’s from Ireland, and he didn’t even graduate high school, which means you’re leagues ahead of him with your minimal college work.
You count down the minutes to midnight. The second you get home, you light up a blunt. Helped pass the time pretty quickly last time, after all. Once you start puffing, though, you start to get handsy. Stripping off your uniform, you are down to your underwear. You lay down on your uncomfortable couch and start to rub your pecs again. They’re so round. Shaking them moves your entire torso. You keep flexing and I flexing your arms. You’re obsessed with how they feel as they move. Slowly, your hand goes from your chest down to your dick. With a blunt still in your lips, you rip off your raggedy underwear and jack off toward the ceiling. With one hand, you stroke your cock. With the other, you marvel at your changes. You run your fingers through your long, thick hair. Stroke. You scrape your palm against your stubbly chin. Stroke. You flick at your gauges. Stroke. And you keep on touching every single inch of your new muscled body. Finally, you feel a surging in your lower body as a stream of cum flies into the air. It comes down across your stomach. You let out a deep chuckle and start to wipe it off with your discarded underwear.
A few hours and three jerk-offs later, it’s midnight. You try to slap some sobriety into your clouded mind as you focus on what you want. HyperKrunch. Let’s Plays. Fortcraft or whatever. You look toward the ring and kiss it. You want HyperKrunch’s job. You’re going to steal it.
As soon as your lips leave the ring, you can feel something has changed. You look around and see your living room is as messy as ever. But the little sliver you can see of your bedroom is completely different. You run to your bedroom and see the walls now have noise-cancelling padding around them. Your desk, formerly an IKEA one with many water stains, is now a high-tech one covered in sound equipment and a massive gaming PC. On your mantle is what looks like an award. You pick it up.
“Congratulations on 1 Million subscribers! [Name], ‘HyperKrunch’.”
Looks like you didn’t just take his job, you took his entire brand. Name and all. Not exactly the name you would have chosen for yourself, but it could be worse. Your mind slowly starts flooding with another set of memories. First setting up the channel, making vlogs about your inane life throughout your late teens, reaching several subscriber milestones, and even going to some prestigious gaming events. You chuckle. You didn’t even really like video games a few days ago. But now it’s your whole job, and it’s about time to work on another set of videos.
Before you can scream catchphrases into the camera, though, you stop. You don’t know what the accidental change is yet. You gulp, then run toward the bathroom mirror.