“Honey, you know you don't have to do this, we can find another way.” Emily’s arms wrapped around Stan’s slim figure, pulling him backwards as she leaned into him.

“You know I do,” Stan said sadly as he looked into his wife's bright green eyes reflected in the bathroom mirror. The bottle of red pills the agency sent over, laid un-opened on the bathroom sink. His heartbeat like a drum in his chest. The safety seal unbroken. With a grim determination he grabbed the bottle, his hands fumbled with the top as he struggled to open the safety container. With a loud pop, he finally opened the bottle and poured a few of the large red pills into his hand.

“Did they say how many to take?” he asked his wife, still clinging to him like he was in danger of drowning. He could feel her anxiety as if it had transferred through her arms into him.

“Don’t... I can get a job, my parents can move in and look after the kids. We can make it work,” she practically sobbed into his back.

Stan put down the pills on the counter as he turned to his wife of the last twenty years. His own eyes started to tear up. He hugged her close, snuggling her head next to his.

“It's going to be hard, but we can get through this. We can get through anything,” he comforted as they rocked slowly in their tiny bathroom. Her back caressed the kids’ still-wet towels from the night before.

After a while, fighting her own anxiety and sadness she sniffled. “They said... They said...” she collected herself. “Four pills the first day... Two a day after until…” she trailed off.

“How about I start tomorrow, would that make it easier?” Stan offered, reading the distress etched into her face. Emily thought about it for a moment and shook her head.

“Today, tomorrow, it's the same. Take them,” she said with a deep sigh that seemed to expel all the remaining air in her lungs.

“Don’t worry, they said it doesn’t hurt. That much,” he tried to joke as he kissed her forehead, doing his best to muster the beginning of a smile before he turned to take the pills he had already doled out.

He slid them into his mouth, filled the small provided cup with water, and tossed his head back as he swallowed all four in one go. Their size pressed on his esophagus as they traveled down towards their ultimate destination. Stan pursed his lips as the taste of the pills’ bitter coating stayed with him, coating his tongue.

“Ok honey, it's over,” he assured Emily as he turned to find her with her eyes squeezed closed, unable to watch. “Come on let's get some lunch, I’m starving,” he beckoned as he held her hand and led her out of their shared bathroom and into the hallway. He didn't want to admit how afraid he was himself, he had to be strong for her, for the kids.

Stan stopped in his tracks as he passed their children's rooms, the full weight of what he was doing suddenly hit him. He looked back at his wife, who he had shared so much of his life with, and hugged her again. As they stood there, his wife's delicate frame pressed against his own. His resolve grew. He wouldn't let them down, it was his duty as a father to provide for his family.

The day went on as many had as of late. Stan without a proper job did little things around the house that needed doing. Emily got the kids’ lunches ready in the kitchen. Both of them trying to forget that Stan had taken the pills just hours earlier. Stan helped Emily cut the green moldy blotches off their last good loaf of bread so that Emily could make sandwiches. They didn't have enough money for the school’s clean synthetic meals so they had to barter what little they had to provide what they could. Stan and Emily both exchanged worried looks as they packed the last of the meals away into pre-used plastic bags.

As Stan zipped up the last of the cloudy sandwich bags he felt a strange pinching on the sides of his head. His hearing became muffled as a high-pitched ringing grew ever-louder. He rubbed the sides of his head when he noticed Emily staring at him in disbelief.

“Stan?” he saw her mouth in shock, his hearing still uncooperative.

“Stan? Can you hear me?” her voice faded in as the pinching dissipated and the ringing became more subdued. He shook his head yes, afraid to speak as he brought his hands up to the sides of his head. His own eyes went wide as he felt smooth skin where his ears had been just moments before.

“Your ears…” she trailed off as she reached out to touch the side of his face, their hands meeting.

“It's ok honey, I’m ok,” he assured her, as the ringing finally disappeared. “How... How do they look?”

“They are... Different, that's for sure,” she replied cautiously, he could see her putting on a brave face for him. Stan sighed as he detached his hand from hers and moved it higher and higher before he was met with a small triangular nub of skin that now contained his ear canal.

“Wow, that was fast. Did they say it was supposed to happen this fast?” he asked, feeling a growing concern deep in his gut.

Before Emily could answer they heard the familiar footsteps of their oldest, stomping in their direction.

“Hey guys,” Kevin said in his normal cheery camber as he sat down at the dining table, slinging his heavy bag onto the worn surface before diving into his well-loved tablet. Stan quickly went to cover his head with a nearby baseball cap before Kevin could look up. He artfully avoided any mention of the pills or drawing attention to his complete lack of visible ears. Thankfully, like most kids their age, he was so engrossed in his own world that they hardly paid attention to the one around them.

“Where's your brother and sisters?” Emily asked.

“Oh…” Kevin looked up as the small lights in the back of his eyes flickered scanning the limited access sub-net. “Oh okay,” he looked back down at his tablet.

“Well?” Emily asked, a little frustrated.

“Oh right, looks like they are with Jenny and her family, over near the west exclusion zone,” he read the feed out-loud for his parent’s benefit.

“Well can you tell them I want them back by dinner tonight?”

“I keep telling you, it's only one-way. If I could get the G6 upgrade I could…” Kevin answered back smartly.

“And I keep telling you no,” Emily cut him off in the most commanding parental tone she could muster given all the things spinning through her mind at the moment.

“Come on take your lunch and get going, your mother made it special.” Stan handed Kevin the best of their freshly-packed moldy-bread sandwiches.

“Ahh, man…” Kevin’s face dropped as he took the dirty plastic bag like he had been handed a dead marsh-swarmer.

“None of that, come on, get going it's almost noon,” Stan said in as commiserating a tone as he could.

“Okay, Okay...” Kevin grabbed his bag, stuffed the sandwich somewhere deep inside, and strapped on his filtration mask as he went to leave.

“Have a good day!” Both Stan and Emily chimed in unison as he gave a half-hearted wave on his way out the half-broken outer door.

Stan sighed as Kevin disappeared out the door. They watched him from the small porthole of a window in the kitchen until he disappeared over the hill towards the west markets. If he had noticed Stan’s lack of visible ears he did a good job of hiding it. Emily went back to her kitchen duties as Stan ducked down under the sink and retrieved a company-branded metal shipping container.

Emily looked up with sad eyes and let out another resigned sigh as Stan hoisted it onto the living room table with a mighty thunk. It felt heavier than he remembered it being when they dropped it off the day before. He stared at its gleaming silver expanse for a long time before he got enough willpower to unpack it. The latches clicked open easily enough, he half-expected fog or a mystical light to issue out like in the movies. To his disappointment, there were just packets of reading materials. The first page was his test results, green checkmarks all the way down. Probably why they had rushed him up the list.

He tried to read the test results but they were over his head, he could barely understand the ingredients on the cheese-flavored food cubes they ate. Below it were the same marketing and coercion packets they had shown him when he had signed up. It felt like ages ago. A quick refresher couldn't hurt.  

As he read through the marketing pamphlets provided they did nothing to assuage the growing and persistent churning fear in his gut. The brochures spoke of what an exciting time he was entering. The packet on his duties in the profession was only on a few glossy semi-transparent pages. He tried to be as casual as he could as he flipped through it. What he saw inside made his eyes bulge and hands shake. He was too embarrassed at signup and testing to look at that one, and now he felt that same feeling in his own home. Stan put it away quickly under the box hoping Emily wouldn’t take notice before he could dispose of it. His cheeks felt flushed as he reached for the final brochure. As he read the high-level benefits of his new position the words flowed out of his mind just as quickly, unable to gain purchase over the pictures of the previous brochure now obscured under the metal container.

His father had always told him that courage was doing something even though you are afraid. That was just about the perfect description of what he was feeling right now. Below the brochures, there were enough waivers and contracts to sign that if he focused could keep him busy enough to not think about what he was signing up for.

Stan got busy signing, not bothering to read more than half of the first liability contract. He signed and signed, his eyes darting between pages looking for the “SIGNATURE HERE” tags the company helpfully placed on the forms. Having signed his name what seemed like hundreds of times he finally reached the bottom of the box. There was a note thanking him for his participation on what looked like real paper. He rubbed in between his fingers, creased it. It was worth saving if nothing else. Below the card was a vacuum-sealed package marked “AST. CLOTHING - PLEASE OPEN AFTER STAGE 6”. He grabbed hold of the surprisingly heavy stack of compressed fabric and began to draw it out of the case to set it aside.

He thought that they had made a mistake and sent him multiples, the clothes were at least ten inches thick even with all the air removed, the bundle felt like it was somehow heavier than the entire case had been. He twisted open the airlock on the container, only reading the label after the wheezing-whining sound of the clothes re-airing was too far along to stop. He tried to twist it closed again but it was a one-time latch, the cheap plastic handle broke off in his hand as the package below it ballooned. Stan sighed as he began to unload the clothes from the bag onto the table. It was hard to tell what some of the pieces were for. Then pulled out what he assumed was... No… It seemed impossible. It had to be something else. He looked down at himself and then up at the unfurled proportions of the garment he held. There was no way. This was a mistake.

Stan felt his heart begin to race. He hastily stuffed the clothing back into the box and shut the top. Stan’s breathing ragged and fast. What had he done? He had to get some air! Maybe he could make himself vomit. Thoughts were racing through his head faster than he could act on them. He got up and stumbled towards the kitchen. His legs suddenly felt like jelly as his stomach gurgled. He felt like he was going to throw up. He wretched and dry-heaved a couple times, almost collapsing. He wasn't going to make it to the kitchen. His shaky arms used the table for support as he continued to heave.

His heart was beating a million miles a minute as he coughed between heaving breaths. Sweat beaded and poured down his face as the muscles in his neck strained. His fingers scratched at the table's rough surface as his chest grew tight. No, there was still time. It was panic, it wasn’t happening yet he told himself. But he knew that was a lie. Knowing what was coming didn’t stop the fear that had gripped him. All his determination felt like it had evaporated at that moment as he was helpless to stop it.

“Emily! I need you! Emileee!” he cried out as his back suddenly spasmed. His vertebrae cracked and crunched, wrestling for position, as the skin on his back stretched to accommodate his growing spine. It was growing thicker by the moment in great spasming waves. He staggered from the table to the entrance to the kitchen. The door-jam his only support. Emily had disappeared from the kitchen.

“Emilleee!” he screamed again through the wracking convulsions that ran up and down his torso. His eyes squeezed shut as tears forced their way out from the corners of his eyes.

His ribs surged outward in pairs with a series of excruciating cracks as they realigned themselves. Stan’s unremarkable chest barrelled outward as it grew too big for his frame. His thighs and pressed tightly against his worn and ragged pants as their fabric groaned. He felt a stirring in his crotch as the cuffs of his pants pulled halfway up the length of his undefined calves as his legs grew longer beneath him. His hands clutched at the door’s frame as spittle flew from his mouth with every immensely heavy breath.  Through the barrage of pain and creaking bones Stan could still make out the growing tightness in the crotch of his pants as his bony ass cheeks began to plump. His flaccid three-inch cock throbbed against his tight underwear like he was having a dry orgasm.

A shock of pain travelled from his neck up into and through his head, turning his muffled moans and cries into ones of desperation. His hands clutched his head as he fell to his knees.

“It hurts! Oh god! Oh god! Oh, gHnnghh!” Stan’s face began to push outward. He could feel his nasal cavities reforming and expanding through his face with every strained breath. His jaw almost dislocated as it grew longer. He could see his bottom row of teeth jutting out from his face. He couldn’t process what was happening as his lower jaw was hesitatingly joined by his upper palate several seconds later with a series of painful cracks.

His pale white skin stretched and deformed over his changing features as it struggled to catch up. His already changed ears grew larger and continued to move upward on his head as the skin stretched. Stan hardly noticed his balls as they swelled to the size of two small kiwis between his legs. His attention was focused on his face as his hands grasped at his distending cheeks, in an almost hysteria. It felt like his body was on fire.

“Fuck! FffUCK! Fuu…. Urrghh!” he half-screamed, half-moaned. Stan was not one to curse so freely, but the pain was everywhere. His pleas devolved into a guttural moan from somewhere deep inside him. Tears ran down his bulging, still reconfiguring face. His cock hadn’t stopped pulsing throughout. The tightness in his crotch was only getting worse as a thickening flesh worked its way down one of his pant legs, almost folding over itself as it ran out of room in his briefs. He collapsed fully onto the floor, unable to keep himself upright any longer. The pressure in his crotch was now his point of focus as his hands tore wildly at the fabric. It was getting worse by the moment as the length of hot throbbing flesh continued to thicken and work its way slowly down his sausage-tight thigh.

“GAH! Unnghh!” Stan moaned as he finally managed to undo the buckle of his overtaxed belt and somehow wiggle his widening hips out of the confines of the ragged pants. His hands were a flurry as they grasped for his cock. They wrapped around the base and somehow yanked it free from its containment. Blood rushed into his tool as soon as it was freed, its length painfully erect as it bobbed needfully atop his thigh. It was bigger than normal, too big. But he didn't care. He needed it. He moaned as he gripped both hands around its turgid length. He felt the angry glans of his member throbbing against his hand, spitting a few small drops of wetness into his palm. It felt good, it was the only thing that felt good. He needed more.

“Uhhh... Uhhnn... Uhhnn!” he moaned as he began to furiously masturbate on the floor. Unable to stop himself. his whole body rocked as long tears began to split down the old worn seams of his pants. He hardly noticed his hugely swollen, now kiwi-sized balls slapping against the base of his hands as they frantically moved up and down his tool. The few drops of precum had become a continuous trickle from his engorged and angry urethra. He let out a gurgling moan as his tool thickened and lengthened in his hands, growing to accommodate the length of both his hands side by side. The hard flesh pulsed under his grip as the veins running up and down its length thickened. The precum was wetting his fingers and angry-red shaft in slick lubricant, allowing him to ply at his now eight-inch cock faster and faster.

He felt like his whole body was filled with fire. The muscles in his neck tensed as his newly elongated back arched underneath him. His hips thrust upwards as his feet kicked at the floor, his whole body turning to the side as he finally came. A single long thick ribbon of white glistening cum ejaculated from between his legs, splattering the floor with the glistening seed. Stan didn’t notice or care in that moment. The orgasm felt like it would last a lifetime as his cock continued to shudder in the grip of his tight hands.  His enlarged balls convulsed between his thighs. The kiwi-sized balls pulled upward in their sac several times, seemingly in defiance of the limited product they had produced.

Stan laid there, holding his still-erect penis shuddering for what seemed like hours. And then it was over. The pleasure faded, the pain faded. And finally, his member began to lose its rigidity. The house was silent. Stan’s head slumped backwards onto the floor as he lay there panting, trying to collect himself. The changes had left him with a face and body halfway between man and... Something else.

A deep ache permeated through his every bone and fiber. He couldn’t believe he had just cum on their floor. He struggled to get up. His body felt wrong, too big and too small at the same time. Things felt out of place inside of him. As he got up his pants fell around his calves, the cuffs still stuck by his swelling legs. He hastily tried drawing them up but found that the waist no longer fit around him. The latch on the pants was several inches short of being able to do its job. He gave up and peeled the torn pants off his legs, almost falling several times before extricating the final bit of the garment from him.

He stood there in their living room, a long streak of congealing cum across the floor, a ruined pair of pants, and what remained of his underwear doing its best to give him some modesty. Surveying the scene he noticed his face was now in the view of his eyes. When he gathered enough courage to touch his face he found contours he no longer recognized. His jaw had only grown a few inches but it was enough that it felt like he was touching the face of a stranger... Or a beast.

“Honey? I heard noises, where are you? Is everything...” Emily briskly walked into the room, her hands still covered with suds from the laundry she was doing on the roof. Stan’s heart dropped as her expression changed from one of deep concern to abject horror as she took in what stood before her. Stan tried to comfort her, but as he reached out she took a step away.

“Emily... itth... itth me. Ith okay…” he tried to assure her as he reached out a hand. Only realizing it was still covered in partially dried pre when it was too late.

“I’m sorrth... We thnew thith was going to happeth,'' his words were slurred, his mouth didn't want to move correctly, his teeth banged into each other like billiard balls as he spoke. His eyes couldn’t maintain the connection with hers as he looked at the floor. It was too painful to see her look at him like this.

“No! No... I know... But... So soon... It... It…” Emily trailed off.

“I can goth in... Stoph the…. Reverth it ith you want…” Stan said, unsure if he hoped she would agree. They needed this, they both knew it. After what he had just gone through he didn't imagine it was going to get much better for what came next. But this was the only way. Before he knew what was happening Emily was in his arms, pressing her body against him in a full embrace. Stan sobbed as he hugged her back. Her head now fit neatly under his chin, he hadn't realized how tall he had grown, at least six inches or more. His expanded chest made her feel further away from him even in the shuddering hug they shared.  It only made him feel like he had made a terrible mistake as he gazed down at his sobbing wife past his long inhuman face.

“It's still you isn't it?” Emily asked looking up at him, her hand hesitantly caressing the side of his face, unintentionally smearing it with soap. He nodded, unsure what else to say.

“Oh god Stan…” she sobbed as she ran her fingers over the contours and creases of distended visage.

“Oth coursth it ith, I need your helth honey. If I am gointh to get through this.” Stan gestured to himself. His jaw was cooperating more now that he was getting used to it. But it wasn't done, he wasn’t done. He knew where this all was heading towards. He looked into her beautiful green eyes, unsullied by the dirt and grime that soaked their lives. He knew what he had to do. It was courage. It was for them. They knew what this meant. For them, for their kids. Stan felt his old resolve grow in his chest. He would bear any pain for them. Even if it meant giving up his very humanity.