It was a really dumb plan.

Brett Bonner none-the-less stood there and listened to his best mate Alec Anderson frantically sign it.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he signed back. “We don’t have any other choice.”

Still, he couldn’t help but think that splitting up was a particularly dumb thing to do. There just simply wasn’t an alternative plan. They needed an ID to get back onto the base and the one currently sitting on the floor in his bedroom was now a useless piece of plastic thanks to the electromagnetic pulse grenade frying its vector chip along with every piece of computer and electronics within a block radius.

One of them would have to sneak into Alec’s dorm and retrieve his ID card. And since Alec’s roommate Jake Johnson already knew that he had failed to convert Alec, their only course of action was to have Brett feign as if he had been assimilated and try to sneak into the room, retrieve the ID and sneak back out again.

Brett inserted the very much dead and useless hearing aides back into his ears. and exhaled a deep, breath.

“Meet back up at the entrance to the base in an hour,” Alec asked in a series of hand signs.

“Alright,” Brett signed back in agreement, trying to muster up come courage, “Let’s do this.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Private First Class Ritchie Reynolds’ leave was off to a sucky start. Though the base was only a few miles from the home where he grew up in Ritchie had been looking forward to the two weeks of leave. If nothing else, for the fact that he could dress in his civies, hang out with old friends and maybe, just maybe bang a broad or two.

His stepdad Jerry had other ideas.

Jerry had initially feigned happiness for his stepson’s return –merely for Ritchie’s mom’s sake. Barely a few hours into the leave and the luster was already off the rose, so to speak. Ritchie had returned home to find that his step douche had turned his bedroom into Jerry’s own personal man cave. Ritchie’s bed and belongings had been moved into the garage.

The fucking garage! Like some dog that can’t be trusted not to pee on the new rug. Didn’t that asshole now that Ritchie had been there first? That it was more his house than his fuckin’ stepfather’s?

They had, of course, fought. Ritchie’s mom had first tried to stop them, then started crying, then got angry and quickly packed a bag and told them both “they deserved each other” and she would be spending sometime in Santa Monica at her sister’s.

No sooner has his mom left that Ritchie quickly changes into his civies (in the fuckin’ garage slash bedroom, thanks fuckin’ Jerry) and split in a huff, too. He called his best bud from high school, Chet Cummings. Chet seemed really glad to hear from him and immediately invited him over to drink a few beers, shoot the shit and watch the game.

“Thanks for inviting me over, bud,” Ritchie said, giving Chet a bro-hug. Chet didn’t even move to hug him back. “Sorry, no homo,” Ritchie quickly added.

“No sweat, bro. We’re cool,” Chet said, walking into the living room and picking up the remote.

Ritchie stepped in front of Chet before Chet could turn on the TV.

“Before you turn on the game, can I, um, talk for a few moments? I feel like if I don’t, I’m going to pop off and break something.”’

Chet sat down on the couch. “Sure, bro. What’s on your mind,” he said, handing Ritchie a beer.

Chet was well into his third beer and Ritchie continued to unload about life on the base, his jackass step dad, sleeping in the garage and how it was going to make getting townie pussy that much harder. Ritchie could tell Chet was just listening out of courtesy. He kept eying the TV while Ritchie rambled on. Ritchie needed to get things off his chest and Chet was fully committed to honoring the bro code of just listening.

At least, that’s what Ritchie was telling himself. Chet excused himself to “drain the lizard.”

Chet finished pissing, flushed and washed his hands all rather mechanically –as if he were a computer merely running a subroutine of coding. He looked at himself in the mirror.

“Dude, I think there’s something wrong with your satellite,” Ritchie called out from the other room. “It’s nothing but static.”

Chet’s eyes glazed over. Finally! He could move forward with his orders.

“Try source three on the remote,” he said, walking back into the living room to stand behind Ritchie.

Ritchie dutifully switched the input to three. It took less than a second for the screen to switch from static to something much, much worse. Sound and light seemed to bleed out of the television.

“What the fuck is this,” Ritchie said, turning to face his best bud.

Something about Chet’s eyes…there were different. And he had a smile on his face. Ritchie found it all very unnerving.

He attempted to get up, but Chet held him down with a strength that startled him.

“Stop, bro! Why the fuck are you doing this,” Ritchie pleaded to no avail. Chet forcibly turned his head back to the screen.

“This will make you forget all your troubles buddy, trust me.”

As the barrage of sights and sounds washed over him, Ritchie felt his body seem to melt into the sofa. As the Signal burrowed through his eyes and ears into his brain, he immediately stopped struggling.

SUBMIT

The tension in his face softened. Of course, he would submit. Just like bootcamp. Submit to the program and let the program make him a better man.

A wave of pleasure rippled through him; a gift for responding properly to The Signal.

As he watched his best friend slowly succumb to his inevitable enslavement, his blissed out mind was filled with the lustful memory of his own first exposure to the Signal. He had just gotten out of the shower when he heard a chime on his laptop indicating new email. His buddy Cooper had sent him an email with an attachment and to call him after he watched it.

Chet hadn’t thought twice about whether he should click on the attachment and open it up or not. And as the pulsating blue sights and waves of sound caressed him into sweet, sweet erotic submission, Chet would never think for himself again, He couldn’t be happier than to just give in.

His right hand seemed to move on its own as it picked up the cell phone on the couch beside him. Chet never averted his gaze from the laptop screen. He dialed Coop without even looking down at the keypad.

“Unit awaits further processing,” Chet heard himself say in a far away voice. It had given him a moment of concern and confusion before he was hit with an even more intense wave of sound from the speakers of his laptop.

STROKE.

His hands allowed the towel to open and his right hand grabbed his six-incher. A spark of pleasure seemed to flow the minute the hand touched his penis. Chet felt himself falling deeper and deeper down.

He was so blissed out, stroking his leaking cock and staring at the computer screen that he didn’t even hear or see Cooper enter his house.

The next thing he remembered was saying “connection made” as Coop slammed his 8-inch cock into Chet’s tight, virginal hole and the pleasurable bliss coursed through his entire body. Coop had literally fucked Chet’s brains out and nothing had ever felt as good.

Until now. Seeing his buddy Ritchie submit to the Signal was suddenly the hottest thing that Chet had ever seen. And there was a certain amount of pride knowing that Chet Unit had succeeded in his mission and ultimately played a role in humankind’s submission and enslavement.  He couldn’t help but drop to his knees as a far more intense wave of pleasure tore through him and his dick shot another load into his boxers.

“There, there. So much better bro,” Chet cooed in his ears. “Let it get in there nice and deep. It’ll soon have every never in your body humming with pleasure. All you have to do is let go, obey and submit.”

OBEY

The marine had no problem obeying orders from a superior and the Signal was clearly his superior in every way. Ritchie felt his dick get hard; a direct response to obeying a command. If only basic training had been this erotic!

Chet rose from his knees.

“Let get that shirt off of you so the waves of sight and sound can wash all over you,” Chet said, quickly pulling Ritchie’s shirt over his head.

It didn’t take Ritchie’s mind very long to cook. His eyes dilated, allowing the Signal even greater access to his brain, body and soul.

As he felt Chet gently push him down on the couch and quickly pull off his khakis, he briefly turned in confusion to look at his best friend. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t a faggot. Why was he allowing Chet to get into his pants? This wasn’t right. This wasn’t…

Chet gently pushed Ritchie’s chin, pushing his head back toward the high-definition television set.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuuccccckk,” Ritchie moaned as his eyes and ears were once back on the Signal.

“Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience,” Chet said in a monotone voice.

“Obedience….is….pleasure,” Ritchie repeated as all confusion and concern were washed away. “Pleasure….is….obedience.”

Chet pawed at Ritchie’s dick through his black bikini briefs as further positive reinforcement.

“God, you are a stubborn one, bro,” Chet said, running his finger over the tip of Ritchie dick.

Ritchie moaned and his dick started leaking precum.

“Feel all your will power, your thoughts, your concerns…they’re all leaking out of your dick,”Chet said. “Just let go and let it happen. It so much better if you stop fighting and just let it happen.”

Chet could tell that a part of Ritchie was resisting. Maybe it was his military training or some sense of machismo.

“I guess we do this the hard way, he said, pulling the briefs off Ritchie.

It didn’t take much longer. In the short time he had belonged to the Signal, Chet had become quick adept at nursing a dick or two. He could tell from Ritchie’s body spasms and the fact that his balls felt so heavy that Ritchie wouldn’t offer up much more resistance.

“Come on, Ritchie,” he said as he came up from deepthroating Ritchie’s meat, “it will feel so good to feel the last of your will power shoot out your dick. Feed me, bro.”

SUBMIT OBEY SUBMIT OBEY

Ritchie’s mind was turning to mush from the bombardment.

And when he felt Chet’s tongue work its way into his piss slit, Ritchie finally succumb to the Signal as he shot a wad deep into the back of his high school buddy’s throat.

Chet dropped another load on the sofa –a reward for service to the Signal.

The old Ritchie would have been repulsed by what the Ritchie did next; he calmly flipped himself over and cleaned up Chet’s emissions, savoring the spooge as if it was the world’s finest delicacy. And to his brain-fried little mind it, it was.

And when Ritchie stuck out his tongue and connected to Chet’s still-raging hard-on, the connection produced a spark of lust and a calm sense of further obedience washed over him.

As Ritchie continued to download and run the blowjob script, Chet began to gently carass his best bro’s tight little ass. Even back when he was a straight frat bro, Chet was something of a connoisseur of booty. He had enjoyed rimming a chick far much more than eating her box. Two minutes of tongue could get even the most tight hole to open up; its owner agree to let him fuck her in the backdoor.

And Ritchie had a tight and perky little ass.

It would be a great ASSet to the collective. Chet would make sure of it!

Another spark seemed to roll off Chet’s index finger when it made contact with Ritchie’s anus. Ritchie felt himself becoming even more obedient (if that were even possible at this point).

There was just one more ASSignment Chet had to complete before Ritchie could be released into the world to continue his own mission. And Chet would make sure that it was the most pleasurable one yet.

Ritchie flipped back over onto his knees. As Chet’s tongue made contact with its intended target, Ritchie’s eyelids fluttered as the Signal transmitted new instructions.

It took less than a nanosecond for Ritchie to download the new instructions.

“Unit requires connection,” the creature that was Ritchie said flatly.

“Confirmed. Proceeding,” came Chet’s monotone reply.

There was some initial discomfort when Chet stabbed Ritchie’s butt ring. Ritchie closed his eyes, but didn’t see stars. He saw the calming Signal. It was urging him to OBEY and RELEX. Ritchie started stroking his dick as he was instructed and immediately his hole opened up and Chet pushed in down to his short hairs.

Chet felt proud for his buddy. He was taking to his training so quickly. It would make their next mission that much easier.

It took just a few efficient thrusts for Chet’s meat to connect with Ritchie’s prostate, causing another spark to pass between the two men. It was enough for Ritchie to drop a load onto the sofa cushion.

Chet continued to thrust until certain that the last of Ritchie’s cum had been fucked out of his cock and then blew his own copious load into Ritchie’s now-deflowered ass.

Chet nearly passed out from the pure bliss that was now coursing through every nerve in his body. All men needed to connect with the Signal.

Ritchie detached himself from Chet’s dick and both men rose and dressed in silence.

After a quick drive to the big-box electronics store, the pair returned to Ritchie’s house and in a matter of minutes had the 60-inch high definition television mounted on the wall across from Ritchie’s bed along with a sound bar and floating shelf. All designed to look at first unsuspicious and normal so as not to arouse concern. Until the TV was switched on, of course. There would be plenty of arousal then.

“What do you two dickheads want,” Jerry Jenkins said, looking up from the sports section of the newspaper and his dumb ass stepson Ritchie and his no-good best bud Chet standing over him in his living room.

“I am sorry for my outburst earlier, pops,” Ritchie said.

“And you are right,” Ritchie continued, “I am a grown adult and you and mom are doing me a solid by letting me stay here at all.”

Jerry looked suspiciously at his stepson, expecting there to be some big “but” in what he was saying.

“We talked things over a couple of beers,” Chet added.

“Chet really helped me clear my head and see things from a new perspective,” Chet said with a smile. Chet smiled, too. As if the pair were sharing a mutual secret.

“Chet helped me fix up the garage real nice. It’s almost downright cozy. Mom would even approve.”

“So, that’s what all that banging was,” Jerry muttered, returned to reading his paper.

“You should check it out, Mr. Jenkins. I think you’d really approve of what we’ve done.”

“Come on, pops. Meet me halfway here…”

“If I go look at it, will you both shut up and leave me the fuck alone for the rest of the day,” he angrily asked.

“You got it, pops,” Ritchie said enthusiastically. What kind of game was his stepson playing?

He got up and followed his stepson to the door off the kitchen that led to the garage. Had he not just come off of rotation at the firehouse, Jerry might have been more aware that Chet was following a bit too close behind him to block of any possible escape.

Instead he dutifully followed Ritchie into the garage.

He took one look at the high def TV now hanging from one of the walls and immediately knew his stepson’s endgame.

“So, that’s what this is about,” he asked. “You wanna rub your stepdad’s face in the TV that’s better than the one he has? Let me guess: I’m not allowed in here to watch the game, right?”

“Actually,” Chet interjected as he shut the garage door, “we want you to watch it with us Right now, as a matter of fact.”

Chet nodded to Ritchie and Ritchie walked over to the TV. He turned it on.

Something about what was coming from the TV…it wasn’t right. Jerry knew he needed to look away. It was so beautiful, though. He blinked his eyes and turned his head.

“Don’t want this….not right.”

Chet grabbed the old man’s head and forced him to view the screen.

“Time for you and Ritchie to see eye-to-eye,” he said.

Jerry felt his dick hardening and his resolve fading.

Chet pushed Jerry onto Ritchie’s bed, ensuring Jerry’s focus was still on the Signal.

“You have your orders,” Chet barked at Ritchie. Ritchie frowned. He had been hoping he would be the first one to tap his step douche’s ass.

“There will be plenty of tail for you,” Chet reminded him. “You know what you have to do. Leave me to your old man.”

And while Ritchie was in the kitchen inviting a few of his military buddies over for a beer bash, Chet tore a hole in Jerry’s sweatpants and boxers and unceremoniously pushed his own pants and underwear down around his ankles.

“Submit and obey…submit and obey,” Jerry purred.

Chet slammed his cock mercilessly into the old man’s butt.

“I know it hurts at first, old man. But just think about all the changes you’re going to be making down at the fire station.”

And sure enough, the minute he obediently began to think of the firehouse, his hole opened up to accommodate Chet’s trouser monster.

He’d start with the new kid. Micheal something. Hadn’t even learned the kid’s last name yet. But being a noob, the kid would be the easiest to come into the captain’s quarters on his day off to watch some orientation videos.

The kid already looked up to him. Probably wouldn’t even need the Signal to coax him into sliding on down Jerry’s pole.

As Chet’s dick scraped and pounded his butt button, Jerry came, shooting all traces of any further resistance into his torn boxers.

Having reached a new-found understanding with his Stepson and his best bro Chet, Jerry was only to willing to prepare for the afternoon’s activities.

Before Chet and Jerry left, they had helped Ritchie set up four different Signal areas. The house had become a rather efficient processing plant.

The game was on in the living room. Ritchie would wait until someone peeled off (to take a leak or have a smoke –whatever, it didn’t matter). Ritchie would slip off unnoticed and convince his buddy to come check out the sweet set up in the garage.

He and the newly converted unit would split off with the new convert making use of the second room.

Two would become four…

Four would become eight…

By they end of the night, they were strong-arming the rest of the stragglers and processing them three at a time.

Freshly-processed soldiers left and came back with friends, family, fellow military. By the end of the night, there were so many conversions that the floors were as sticky as a porn arcade.

Ritchie didn’t notice nor care. His mind was focused on the mission.

As Ritchie blew his 115th cock around 10 p.m., he received notice that the mission was a complete success. Their ranks were sufficient and they could now begin phase two: a takeover of the base.

The sun had begun to set as Brett Bonner grabbed his cell for the umpteenth time. The screen was still dark. He pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose and then nervously rubbed his index finger over the power button. His best friend and fellow lab rat Alec Anderson had texted him the strangest thing a few hours earlier, telling him to take his hearing aids out and turn of his phone. He normally felt somewhat safe in his silent bubble, but not today. There was something odd about his roommates Chris and Tony. They weren’t acting like their usual jock selves. For one thing, Brett could still feel the vibrations of them pounding on his locked bedroom door. And though he had pushed a bookcase against the door for added protection, he knew the makeshift barrier would only hold out so long. Damn it! Where was Alec?

His finger caressed the power button one more time. He powered the device on.

Just then, a flash of white light poured out from under the door and a vibrating wave pushed through the walls of the home with enough force that it knocked Brett back off the chair and blew out his bedroom windows.

Meanwhile, several miles across town, the creature that had once been Lex Langston stopped fucking his latest conquest –a SETI security guard who had become suspicious of the increase of traffic to the lab—and grimaced.

The Signal searched for the right word. Pain. Yes, that’s what rippled through all of the collective units. A feeling of pain. Like someone had torn several tendons from the unit’s body. The Signal’s connection to several of its acolytes was suddenly and completely severed. Loss. Yes, loss. Its connection to those enthralled immediately ceased. Curious. Yes, that was another word to describe what had happened. The Signal had thought itself to be of a higher intellect than these mere humans. Someone or something was now a worthy adversary.

He glanced back to the muscled man with tattooed skin and plunged his dick back into him. This new threat would surely be neutralized much like the dim-witted and nosy security guard had.

The Security Guard had hollered and screamed when they had grabbed him into the lab, tearing his clothes from his body and forcing him down into the chair and before the computer terminal, but once his eyes met the gaze of the contents of the screen and heard its siren song, all resistance melted away.

Never diverting his gaze from the hazy glow of the computer screen, the now-docile security guard eagerly assumed the position, spread his ass-cheeks and opened his hole so the Connection could be made that would cement the newly-converted unit to the Collective.

“Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience,” he panted as Lex Unit’s cock masterfully invaded his virginal hole. And immediately his mind filled with visions of all of his brother units in various stages of enslavement.

Cal State’s wrestling coach obediently stroking his star wrestler into enslavement as he soaks up a new playbook of sorts with moves they both will spring on the team come next practice.

Denny Price realizing the new custom “Doom” levels his little brother just had to show him were anything but mere child’s play.

And after his 18-year old brother Robby thoroughly seeded his no-longer virgin hole with glorious cum, he’d never call him “little squirt” again.

The images, along with a few more thrust into the security guard’s ass, were efficiently enough to cause the man to cum hand’s free and, thusly, permanently enslave himself.

Across town, it was another story entirely as Brett slowly picked himself off the floor. Anyone else might have wondered what caused the vibrating blast, but not Brett.  He felt nauseous from being that close to ground zero of an electromagnetic pulse grenade. It was the top-secret military project that he and Alec had been working on; the reason he was going to finish both grad school and his masters without any student loans.

Brett picked up his glasses from the floor and put them back on and briefly examined them. Not even a scratch.

He glanced at his phone. Sure enough, the device was fried. No need to check the computer, he knew what the weapon was capable of. It no doubt knocked out the power for at least a one block radius, disabling anything with electronic circuitry. From cars to smart refrigerators to Wi-Fi-enabled microwaves and reading tablets –anything within the pulse’s radius was now rendered useless. Their weapon’s purpose was to make the civilian population helpless, but otherwise there would be little to no casualties.

He looked out the window and onto the street. Cars were stopped dead in their tracks; their confused and shocked drivers unsure of what just happened. Brett could see up and down the street. Not a single light in the neighborhood was working. Had he not still been in shock as to why Alec had used the weapon, he might have marveled in its efficiency.

He walked over toward the door and placed his hands on it, trying to sense any movement or vibration. There was none.

He slowly and cautiously moved the bookcase out of the way and then felt the floor. Again, no movement or vibrations. It was possible, of course, that anyone close to the immediate blast might have been knocked unconscious. He had no other explanation for the lack of movement.

He slowly opened the door a crack and peered out. The bay window in the living room was now absent of all glass and there, on the floor by the couch, lay the bodies of his two roommates.

Both Chris and Tony’s eyes were open and unfocused. He checked for a pulse for both and luckily there still was one. Both of their chests were rising and falling. It was good that they were breathing. Beyond that, there was no life in their bodies. It was as if only the most involuntary and basic body functions were operating. He ran his hand over both of their eyelids, closing them. He couldn’t understand what had happened. Nothing in any of their tests –not in the lab nor in the field—had yielded these results. And yet, Chris and Tony were essentially brain dead.

He turned to assess the rest of the damage and soon saw movement out of the corner of his eye. His buddy Alec was slowly regaining consciousness. Brett rushed over to him.

“Are you alright,” he signed frantically. “What the hell happened?”

“Roommates jumped me. Dropped grenade,” Alec replied, his hands shaking as he signed.

“Why are you OK and they….” Alec’s signing trailed off. The implications immediately began to weigh on him. How would they begin to explain this? Jail time or a military prison.

“We are so royally fucked,” he signed.

Alec examined Chris and then Tony. He was no medical doctor, but he had a rudimentary grasp of the human body. This…Signal. It somehow infected the host’s nervous system. The EMP grenade had disrupted it. He had had a hunch, which is why he had grabbed a few of their prototypes from the lab before heading over. His theory appeared to hold true. He only prayed that whatever or whoever was the source of the original Signal was still unaware that they now had a way of fighting back.

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton