“Fuck Ian what’s taking so long, you pussy?” Taunted the gaunt older teen, blowing out a last bit of smoke before crushing a burnt out joint under his boot.
The younger teen shook his head nervously, shivering in the winter air in only a Black Dahlia Murder tee shirt and jeans. With an unsteady hand he worked his art on the side of the church while the others watched and occasionally made mocking statements.
“This will all be worth it when they let me drum in their band” he thought to himself as he disfigured the dilapidated building, stopping only to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead.
“Bigger man, add emphasis! We want these Bible wielding faggots to know what’s up! Good! Now write ‘fuck your lies!’ under that! No shithead, in red!”
They didn’t bother to keep their voices down, wrapped in black with various metal band tees and wearing masks they were assured they wouldn’t get caught. They towered over their initiate as proud as they were condescending.
Exhausting can after can Ian didn’t complain, he trusted and admired them more than some bogus god his whacked out rents made him bend down to as a little kid, he was finally in control of his life and he didn’t need any invisible space god or fire breathing shaman to tell him what to do.
“Bunch of preschool shit. Fucking brainless morons, this will wake them up, lets see who fucking burns who” the tallest muttered cryptically to himself, something flashing at his side.
“Took your damn time kid, we wanna be out of here before morning mass” one spat sarcastically as he held up a flash light to survey the handiwork: it was a bunch of faceless men wearing crucifixes all dangling from puppet strings held by a laughing demon, super imposed was what looked like Jesus but with Xs for eyes and his arms crossed over his chest.
“Alright… not bad, time for stage 2!” Ian looked confused, they hadn’t told him of anything else. He saw a glint of light off of a glowing bottle as it flew through the air and smashed a window, a Molotov cocktail. In seconds the place was a blazing inferno, Ian stood up, momentarily blinded and turned just in time to see a car speed off. Attempting to run he tripped over his own spray paint cans and went down, the rest was fog except flashes of sirens and handcuffs.
When he awoke he was in a completely white room, no not a room, a cell. He wiped some ash off of his face and tried to stand but was still dazed. The next few hours went by like a dream, he was vaguely aware of men in all white floating in and out like ghosts, running tests, making injections and whispering among themselves. After one such injection the white room started to become fuzzy and distant, Ian noticed the already quiet room had become silent and he felt himself grow disconnected as he finally fell unconscious.
Awaking yet again Ian looked around warily but was greeted with the familiar site of his room, morning light shining through his window. Only his ash stained clothes proved last night wasn’t a terribly twisted dream. Ian quickly jumped out of bed and stripped, throwing the incriminating outfit under his bed to wash in secret later. He took a few moments to examine himself in the mirror, noting his still average build and removing the last bits of ash from his still smooth face. He ran a comb through his short dyed dark hair and dressed quickly in clothes similar to what he wore last night before heading downstairs.
He was greeted by his mother, watching the news that showed last nights antics. Ian cringed, waiting for the inevitable but the police had no suspects according to the reporter. There were some remains of graffiti but no cans or finger prints were at the scene. Ian shook his head, in disbelief at his luck. His mom noticed and misinterpreted his bewilderment.
“I know, its awful, to think some hoodlums would burn down a place of Holy Worship… and at this time of year, what is this world coming to. That reminds me, I know Christmas is still a week away but its your last day of school before break so here, early present!” She handed Ian a small package which he opened on the spot, a cross and chain necklace, he gave a smile of false gratitude and put it on, ripping it off and shoving it in his pocket as soon as he was out the door. Even as he removed it though he felt something around his neck as though being held tightly.
Walking through the halls of school it seemed the church burning was all anyone talked about, the singular interest making Ian feel claustrophobic and nervous. He passed the only group of people that seemed relaxed, his friends from the prior night leaning against some lockers, headphones blaring.
“Well fuck me, you’re quite the ninja kid, making out of there” one said, removing his headphones and staring at Ian with surprise.
“Fuck man, like some fatass cops and Jesus freaks were going to catch me? Not a chance” Ian replied trying to sound cool but some of his anxiety slipped in. Even as he said it he could feel the tightness worsen, as if someone was choking him and he gagged for a moment causing the others to laugh thinking it was a joke.
“Well nice job man, just make sure you redo your dye… starting to fade out or whatever.” With that they walked out of the school to start their break early. Saying “if the Bible thumpers get two week holiday from the classes they actually need us smart people deserve an extra day.”
Puzzled by their comment on his hair Ian pulled out his phone and looked at himself with the internal camera, noticing to his shock little blond streaks in his hair. But his confusion became fear as the streaks grew, his hair magically fading from black to a natural blond all over even as his hair grew somewhat longer but not noticeably. Ian freaked, the dye fading was impossible enough but he was a brunette. Trying to calm down his panic was interrupted by the bell and he was forced to go to his English class blond. Not being popular no one really took much notice to it and Ian sat in the back of the class, many empty desks separating him from his perceived inferior classmates. Idly reaching into his pocket he noticed the necklace was gone.
“Hopefully it fell out somewhere, gives me an excuse not to wear the damn thing” he thought to himself. The crushing grip around his neck resumed however and he cringed slightly, extending his legs. But they kept extending, far more than usual as they actually got longer, skin visible that his jeans had covered up. First just his ankles than a good portion of his lower legs. Finally allowing himself to exhale he heard a ripping sound and felt more pain, this time in his feet. The front of his shoes bulging outwards as first his two big toes, now much bigger poked free followed by the rest. Ian rubbed his eyes, startled, his feet must be gigantic now but before he could worry about footwear his torn sneakers stretched too, but did not completely cover his feet instead reforming into high end sandals showing off his new large feet. His jeans were also longer, hiding his leg’s transformations for now.
After class Ian stumbled awkwardly with his new height and enlarged feet but it allowed him to catch up to Sandra, one of the hotter girls in the freshmen class.
“Hey Sandra, how about that fire last night?” She nodded her head in recognition, eyes filled with sadness, it was no secret she was fairly religious.
“I prayed about it first thing this morning, how anyone could do something so sinful…”
“Yeah, horrible, I know… but maybe I can take your mind off of it, how about you and me do something really sinful tonight?” Ian gave a winning smile even as he felt another wave of pain.
“How insensitive..” she muttered, visibly angry as she stormed off leaving Ian standing there, clutching his head as he felt the hairs crawl under his hands, growing longer now, his body beginning to itch all over and his arms and hands larger than he remembered. He contemplated running after her, trying to comfort her, maybe even praying with her, just to get back on her good side.
“Da… darn it, what the heck.” Ian couldn’t believe what he was thinking, much less saying, somehow he found it physically impossible to curse. And what was that earlier, praying? He wasn’t some pathetic servant, about to bow down, he found praying to be for the weak. Shrugging it off, not knowing if he was losing his mind or dreaming still he headed to science class where he knew he could get a little comfort.
Ian sat through the class, rubbing his face, it wouldn’t stop itching. For some reason science wasn’t doing what it usually did for him. He found himself growing frustrated with his teacher and with the people talking, how dare they assume to know the world so well. Their confidence seemed as mockery to him, they prattled on about evolution ignorant to….
“Sinners all of you! Sitting here pretending to comprehend God’s creation better than he! Evolution is a lie! Repent and surrender !” Ian was startled and looked around for the fool that said that, eager to retort and take him down a few notches… but he noticed everyone was looking at him, and that who ever had shouted had his voice. In the stunned silence, Ian ran from the classroom, stumbling through the vacant halls to a bathroom. On the way surprising two sophomore boys sneaking a quick kiss in the empty hall, Ian felt himself sicken with their insolence.
“No way…” he muttered, seeing his face now looked like someone much older, at least 18. With stronger features and stubble which even as he watched grew out, blond hairs poking from his skin, twisting and multiplying and within seconds forming a decent beard. Looking down the Cannibal Corpse shirt he had been wearing was now plain and white and the necklace he had thought he had abandoned was pressed firmly against his chest.
“No…” he signed in a changing, deepening voice as he succumbed to more changes, feeling his chest press against the shirt as with each breath his body bulked up, gaining reasonable mass to go with his new height and even a little extra muscle. His longer legs thickening somewhat, and filling out to not look like sticks, becoming what could roughly be considered runner’s legs. His arms more muscular as the sleeves of his shirt receded somewhat to show them off. The collar of his neck altered becoming deeper and deeper, exposing more of his muscular chest as blond hairs began to develop and make themselves known, poking out of his now V-neck shirt. Lifting up the shirt he saw first hand his new pecs, abs, and chest hair, lots of chest hairs. They were blond to match the beard and recent outbreak of hairs on his arms and legs. He also moaned slightly as his male parts aged with him, becoming proportional, too bad he was at the same time being coded to never use it until he was married.
Reaching for his phone he pulled up his friends and texted ‘Help me!’ to all of them, the loading bar crawled across the screen, too slowly as Ian tried to keep his fading mentality and memories but the bar froze at halfway stating error, too much activity. Ian shook his phone violently, searching for whatever was holding it up, finding to his horror apps were being downloaded namely daily scripture and a Bible app. His contacts, wallpaper, even music changing, the text message vanished. He searched desperately for one metal song, one piece of sanity and found nothing but worship songs, gospel and at best some Christian Rock. Stumbling out of the bathroom in a panic, desperate to find someone he found himself now backstage, somewhere. Memories began to sink in, of being a drummer for a worship band for years now, being home schooled to avoid the corruption of public education and the influence of Satan’s army of students, always pushing drugs, alcohol and other sinful temptations on the unprepared. By the time he stepped up to the stage and grabbed his sticks, he was already gone. No one paid any mind to the blank eyed drummer, playing as if he always had as his band promoted their message through song. To the on looking crowd he had always been there, for better or worse the Ian of old never existed.