Out of everyone in our organisation, they chose to send me. I don’t know why, I mean I wasn’t exactly trained to be in the field. They never told me what to do if things go tits up, nor did they have the manpower to give me any support.
I work in the IT Department of GTT: the Global Transformation Taskforce. It’s our mission to contain any potential incidents and study the sources of each transformation. Lately a lot of incidents we’ve sent men to investigate have gone horribly wrong, and those men are either missing, or one of the many grown victims in our holding cells we have yet to cure. Our staff is dwindling, but cases are only going up.
God, they must’ve been desperate to send me.
We had received reports of people in the village of Locksteed going missing. Sounds mundane, I know. It wasn’t on our radar until a villager saw one of the missing, now twice or three times the size of what they once were. The scary thing is, we had already sent someone in; Arthur Rosely. He’s one of our top agents, but he’s now missing.
And now they’re sending me in to essentially solve everything. Wicked.
For those who might not know, Locksteed is just north of Lionmouth (I read up on the Inkanuko incident that took place there a few months prior) and it is almost identical. A peaceful-looking cluster of cosy homes and a humble town square, all at the foot of a great hill with a manor sitting on top. The manor was the home to Lord Locksteed; an aristocrat as rude as he is recluse.
My first day in Locksteed was rather nice. Those still left were perfectly pleasant to me, a stranger, even in a time of great confusion for them. Only a few have chosen to remain, hopeful their loved ones would return. I told them I was a reporter for Somerset News and they were all eager to share their story with me. They recounted the nights their relatives went missing, and how the once lively village was now almost completely deserted.
The owner of the inn I was staying at told me he heard a kerfuffle on the street in the dead of night just last week. When he looked out his window he saw Jimbo, the baker’s boy, be taken away by two men of considerable size. He recognised one of the men as Billy the paperboy, only tall and muscular. Apparently they were heading for Locksteed manor. He thought, if he told anyone, they’d come for him next. Poor man. Strangely enough, all the disappearances so far have been men. Just like Lionmouth. I thought it wise to speak to Lord Locksteed directly, since that was really the only lead I had.
Well, in hindsight, that was probably a mistake.
After the first knock of the gargantuan front doors to the manor, a sharp and shrilled voice bombarded my ears. I noticed a speaker just by me feet.
“What do you want?!” the voice spoke with a bitter tone..
“Good evening. My name is Freddy Druth, from Somerset News,” not the best fake name I know, but I was put on the spot, “I was wondering if Lord Locksteed could answer a few questions regarding the latest disappearances?”
“Somerset News you say?” he calmed down, “give me a spin.”
I looked at the closed door confused, until a security camera made its way into my peripheral.
“Spin,” he said with an irritated twinge, “slowly.”
I didn’t want to let this lead go, so I spun. I felt like I was being sized up, the silence on the other end felt excruciating. Until eventually, he said,
“Yes, you’ll do.”
Suddenly my vision was bombarded with a bright white light. It was gone in a flash, but when it stopped I realised I was in a completely different place; lying down in what looked like the dining room of Locksteed Manor. I could see the sun through the large bay window. It was considerably lower than before, almost ducking completely below the horizon. How long was I out? My vision was blurry, still adjusting to the flash.
The room itself was so detailed, it’s furnishings so adorned with intricate patterns and decorations, that I found it hard to take it all in. On the far end was a colossal painting depicting some sort of battle. I couldn’t make out the exact details. Above the vast dining table in the centre of the room hung a blinding crystal chandelier. The glass shards lightly clinked together, the sound filling an otherwise silent space. I could just make out a small figure hunched over in one of the dining chairs. As my vision gradually sharpened, I noticed he were wearing a thick, golden bed robe and was clutching a cup of tea as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. His narrow face and thin eyes and we’re scrunched into a scowl. A small box leant against his feet.
I tried to stand up, but quickly realised my hands were tied to the floor. Tugging on them only made it tighter around my wrists. Then, a secret door within the painting suddenly swung open and a couple of large, burly men were dragging a small teenage boy across the marble floor.
These men possessed a towering, muscular physique each hiding inside a uniform of a Victorian butler. Tight black linen trousers reached just below their knees, with white socks finishing the journey to their shoes, which boasted a new shine. A slightly unbuttoned waistcoat and white shirt covered their torsos. Even under all that fabric, I could make out the shape of their pecs. The sleeves were holding on for dear life as their arms would flex from heaving the boy towards the man in the dining chair. They were all remarkably handsome, with a sharp jawline and stubble going down their thick necks and Adam’s apple. They all shared a blank expression.
I simply looked at them in awe, particularly their crotches, with their manhoods snaking down their trouser legs. They must’ve been a foot long, soft! I had only ever seen men of this size in official reports, not ever in person. I found the sight of them rather thrilling, even in these circumstances. Being single would do that to you.
They hurled the boy to the feet of the thin man, who didn’t even alter his eyesight. His attire looked much more unkept then that of the men; a dishevelled grey fabric top with loose trousers that looked as if they were made from a potato sack. The boy looked bruised, with his shirt torn in some places. The man carefully put his tea down.
“Jimbo…” he spoke like a disappointed parent, “What have I told you about escaping?”
That voice, it was the one at the door. The boy looked up at the men behind him. They were so close to him, he could hear their slow, deep breaths as they stared back. His eyes filled with fear.
“I’m sorry my Lord but I can explain!” he pleaded.
The man sighed and shook his head.
“Last time was your final warning, so you know what that means…”
“No…please…”
“It’s a shame, really. You would’ve made an excellent Producer.”
“I just want to go home!”
I was mentally taking notes of the conversation. The word ‘Producer’ stayed clear in my mind. The man slowly reached to his feet and picked up the small box. By that point Jimbo was starting to panic. When the box clicked open, the men grabbed Jimbo’s arms and held him to his knees. He thrashed about with great desperation. He even reached one of the men’s shirts and tore the buttons off, exposing his thick and hairy chest. My eyes were fixed on the man’s impressive set of abs, and the pattern of hair just above the waistline to his trousers.
I felt disgusted that I was getting turned on.
The sight of the man’s body only made Jimbo panic even more. I tried to help, tugging at the rope even more and feeling the rope dig into my hands.
“Let him go Locksteed!” I called out.
The man didn’t react, instead reaching into the box and taking out a small pill. It was flat and glowed a dark blue. It shimmered, as if something inside it was moving. One of the large men squeezed Jimbo’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open. He took the pill from the thin man and dropped it into Jimbo’s mouth, quickly forcing it closed. Jimbo continued struggling but after only a few moments, he swallowed. The men then propped him up to his feet as he whimpered.
“You knew the rules. Now face the punishment.”
Lord Locksteed remarked as he and Jimbo looked down at the boy’s crotch. I couldn’t believe my eyes, but it was growing. It grew slowly, and swelled like a beating heart. Jimbo’s breathing became shallow and quick, clamping his hands into fists everytime his manhood bulged further out. It eventually stopped until it was the same size as the men behind him. Then, the boy tilted his head back as a blue light shone from his eyes like spotlights, eventually dying down until his irises were a vibrant aqua. He still looked scared, but also as if he was accepting his fate. The man leaned back into his chair and picked up the cup of tea.
“Take him back to his quarters, and him…”
He pointed directly at me. The men, Jimbo included, all looked at me with that blank expression. Lord Locksteed grinned menancingly.
“Take him too.”
One of the men walked towards me with long steps. With one easy tug he pulled the rope free. I felt one of his hands on my shoulder. It was huge! He then started pushing me gently away from the thin man. It felt strange being overpowered so easily. The men lead me and Jimbo towards the opening in the painting. I took one final look at the thin man before he and the room disappeared from view. He looked back, with that menacing grin.
“Welcome to the Manor,” he called out with a laugh.