The Risktaker

by BRK   

Cassidy is determined to prove his favorite superhero, the two-headed badass known as the Risktaker, can and should be made into a movie, even if he has to break into his animation studio after hours and do the rendering on the model prototype himself.

Cassidy beeped himself into the closed-for-the-night Brixton Animation Studios with a grin, his insides fluttering with giddy excitement. This was it, his big chance. He would use the new ultra-cutting-edge, super-expensive, one-of-a-kind GXY Mark 7 three-D rendering system they’d just installed to prove to everyone, once and for all, that a gritty, photo-realistic CGI feature starring his favorite comic-book character, the two-headed mutant badass-and-bad-attitude antihero called the Risktaker, could be done and should be done. No more rolled eyes from the tall, stubble-cheeked, TV-fireman-handsome wunderkind who’d started the studio, the maverick animator (and occasional live-action director) Dorian Brixton, famous for his shrewd skepticism, market savvy, and intimidating scowl.

What Brixton thought didn’t matter anymore, though. Like his hero, Cassidy was ready to risk everything, even the best job he’d ever had, to prove he was right. Anyone could do the backgrounds for the Xander the Monkey movie, but only Cassidy cared enough to make sure the Risktaker’s famous double smirk finally made it to the big screen.

He snuck through the little complex, avoiding the state-of-the-art animators’ bullpen he usually worked in and the motion sensors there, heading instead for the small soundstage that was grafted onto the other side of the building where the GXY was currently set up for testing. Ignoring the bank of light switches next to the door near the big panel of circuit-breakers, Cassidy snuck across the darkened soundstage to the advanced computer setup occupying almost the entire surface of a wide, chairless workstation standing alone to one side of the empty expanse.

It was a little too quiet, Cassidy decided. Not being a big fan of eerie silences (especially when he was already nervous), he slid the bookbag off his shoulder and retrieved his portable Bluetooth speaker. Dropping his bag to the floor he turned the speaker on, setting it next to the array of monitors, then pulled out his phone and started up a random playlist. “Birdhouse in Your Soul” started playing quietly through the speaker, calmly soaking up the quiet in the empty soundstage, and Cassidy smiled in relief.

Ready to go now, he positioned himself in front of the keyboard/mouse/monitor setup and moved the mouse. This caused the three banked monitors arced around the keyboard to light up. Across them, the trademark GXY German shepherd puppy galloped happily back and forth chasing a bright green tennis ball, and a smoothly pleasant baritone voice said, “Welcome to the GXY Mark 7 system.” Cassidy flushed with anticipation mixed with a considerable undercurrent of arousal—the gamble and the adrenaline were kind of turning him on, unexpectedly, making the whole experience even wilder and more exciting.

Quickly, he fished a USB drive out of his pocket and plugged it into the tower to the right of the monitors, which, as the central control for the rendering system, was itself linked by a series of thick cables to a whole battery of sleek, impressive machines positioned all around the room. Cassidy had spent a good part of the day plundering the GXY online tech manuals and various animators’ forums to construct a complex script preprogramming everything necessary to render the Risktaker down to the smallest detail. All he had to do now was load the script, step into the modeling circle, and let the GXY do its stuff.

The software package recognized the fileset on the USB drive. A window opened, showing its contents, and now that interactivity was happening the happy mascot dog leapt up and caught his tennis ball, then trotted over and settled down in the corner of one screen with the ball between his paws, tail wafting contentedly behind him. The key files in the USB window auto-highlighted. “Load script Risktaker-underscore-v1?” the synthetic voice asked.

Cassidy realized he wasn’t sure what the correct phrasing of his answer should be—he’d only read through the parts of the tech manual he’d needed to to compile his script—but he figured a system this advanced would recognize any kind of affirmative. “Do it,” he said, his pulse picking up as the moment of truth approached ever closer.

“Loading script,” the voice confirmed. A blank project window opened on the middle screen and started filling with the various code files and assets Cassidy had built into the fileset. Cassidy ran a hand through his messy curls, trying to remain patient as They Might Be Giants sang about his little glowing friend blithely killing off Jason and his countless screaming Argonauts. Poor Jason. At least Medea would be spared what that asshole did once they got back to Corinth, he thought.

“Loading complete,” the voice said abruptly. “Please ready the source model in the modeling grid.”

Cassidy let out a ragged breath. This was the only downside to his plan. The GXY software required a live, human model to work from in building its three-D computer-generated, physically tangible digital characters; and as he was doing this completely illicitly and sub rosa, busting into his own workplace in the dead of night to run expensive software he had no business even touching, the only model he could use of was… himself.

He glanced down at his own twenty-year-old form. Not exactly heroically built, he thought sourly. Though by comic book standards the Risktaker was more in the tall and sinewy range than the usual gamut of hugely swole superheroes, Cassidy himself was built more like a sidekick. His average height, average looks, and average build seemed deliberately designed not to distract from whichever more striking figure he was destined to stand next to.

Though… it was also true that using his own total blah-ness as a baseline for extrapolating the more impressive look of his beloved paragon had been a kind of fantasy all its own. Remembering that made his blood heat up a little more, and sent a quantity of that vital fluid southward to his already half-plumped cock. Shifting himself nervously in his jeans, he walked around the workstation and toward the large, transparent projected cube that had suddenly appeared just to the left of center on the main floor of the vacant soundstage, its fluid, blue-white walls seeming to sizzle with promise.

Cassidy stood at the edge of the cube for a moment, gathering his courage. “But you can’t tell me this ain’t real, cause this is real…” he sang to himself under his breath along with the soft flow of music from the speaker, hoping the music would steady him as it usually did. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the projected wall of the cube—surprised to feel it crackle over his skin as he moved through it.

He took his position at the center of the cube, arms a little out from his sides as the manual had directed. “Ready!” he called over to the control station.

“Preparation complete,” the computer responded calmly. “Begin rendering?”

“Do it!” Cassidy said again quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

Instantly there was a loud crack and the smell of ozone, and Cassidy was being surrounded by countless particles of white light whizzing around him head to toe to the accompaniment of a heavy thrum so loud it mostly blocked out the music coming from his speaker across the room. Some of the blazing particles dove in and smacked directly into Cassidy, digging into his skin without leaving any marks on his jeans of his white tee shirt. The impacts weren’t painful but they did smart, again taking Cassidy by surprise; but when he jumped and yelped at the first few hits the computer voice immediately spoke up. “Please remain still while the modeling completes,” it reprimanded sternly, increasing its volume to be heard over the thrum. Cassidy did his best to comply, holding himself stiff and unmoving as the light particles sped in circles arounds him and the impacts increased.

A matching projected cube appeared opposite his own, separated by a no-man’s-land of about six feet. In the cube was what looked like a very realistic hologram of himself—floppy curls, startled expression and all. This is really happening, he thought excitedly. He resisted an urge to wave at the projection, but it seemed to mirror his grin anyway. You’re going to be the Risktaker, dude! he thought to it eagerly, meeting the fake Cassidy’s wide-eyed, happy gaze with a rush of euphoria the other him seemed to share.

“Beginning phase 1,” the synthetic voice said. The electric hum magnified and the light particles sped up dramatically as they swished around him, their kamikaze dives into his body building in frequency and discomfort. He wanted to flinch, but suddenly he couldn’t move if he wanted to. Bug-like light points were swirling around the fake Cassidy in the other cube, too.

Though it was tough to concentrate he could tell the other Cassidy was changing—his muscles were swelling, becoming more defined and efficient, filling the copy’s white tee shirt and jeans like a time lapse of a workout obsessive putting on pounds of tight, densely packed muscle. Fuck, he thought, that is crazy hot. He felt himself getting hard, and the same swell and bulge was showing in the increasingly tight jeans of his mirror form, too.

Then everything accelerated more, faster and faster, flying out of control like a runaway train careening off a bridge. “Beginning phase 2,” the computer said, but even as he tried to watch the opposite figure through the loudly swirling lights, the impacts hitting him almost constantly, he barely caught the beginning moments of the fake Cassidy’s upwards jolt in height and his head dividing into the double noggins of his favorite superhero before agony sliced through him. “Beginning phase 3,” the computer said abruptly, sounding almost alarmed, then, “Phase 4—ph-ph-phase—error—system error detected in subr—fatal error—”

“Abort!!” Cassidy cried out desperately, not recognizing his own voice as his panic mounted. But the computer seemed to be locked in some kind of catastrophic spiral, and Cassidy couldn’t even move, much less sprint over there and turn it off.

“Fatal error—please remain still while the—error—do not—fatal er-er—” the synthetic voice sputtered. Cassidy screamed as the light particles all started hitting him at once, driving into his flesh over every inch of his body. He screamed again, and the equipment around the room started exploding, sending up showers of sparks from all directions as pain tore through Cassidy like he was being turned inside out.

He screamed a third time, throat raw, his cries filling the room—and then, all at once, everything died. The cubes, the light particles, the loud thrum and the stammering computer voice—all of it was gone. Just a shadowy, dark soundstage, a dull, disorienting pain, and, quietly, as if it were seeping through from another dimension, a smooth male voice crooning about stopping and melting while the world crashed around them.

He collapsed heavily to the ground, catching sight as he did so of a similar bulky form a few feet away doing likewise… and another figure by the door next to the circuit breakers. It ran over to him as he hit the floor. “Cass? Is that—is that you?” the figure said in Brix’s deep voice, grabbing his shoulders.

“I’m… I’m…” he said. His voice sounded weird to his own ears, like he was speaking from four throats at once.

“Holy fuckwads,” Brix’s voice said. “Cass!”

Cassidy struggled to focus. Brix’s handsome, manly face swam into view, but there was something different about it. No, it was more like there was something different about how he could see it. It was like Brix’s square-jawed, naturally heroic face was being perceived in three-D in his head, and he could shift his own perspective to see it from different angles, through a range of vectors from left to right. But that wasn’t all of it, because he was also seeing Brix from behind, too. Tentatively, he shifted that vantage, looking past Brix… and he saw himself, his broad shoulders being gripped by Brix’s strong hands as he stared up at his boss from two heads, side-by-side.

Alarmed, he looked past Brix, and he saw the same thing. Himself, muscular and two-headed, gaping back at him from about six feet away. His faces—they were recognizably his, down to the brown eyes and floppy curls, but handsomer, alluring, each visage a match for the strength and beauty his bodies had suddenly acquired in the space of ten chaotic, life-changing minutes…

Cassidy’s mind reeled. There was only one explanation. The GXY had not only modeled the Risktaker version of him digitally, it had created that model in the real world—and mapped it into him, too. He now had two double-noggined Risktaker bodies, all sharing a single consciousness. He took himself in from both directions, the visual perspectives mapping automatically in his head, and he felt a sudden, hot desire kindle in him as he realized the extent to which both his Risktaker hero bodies were sexy as fuck.

He must have looked a little glassy eyed, because Brix shook his brawny shoulders. “Cass! Are you okay?”

He met Brix’s dark-brown gaze, playing gently with the vantage shift in his head. He smiled. “I’m okay,” he said, this time with just two voices. They sounded rough, and deeper than before.

“Very okay,” he whispered from his other two-headed body. He climbed to his feet in both forms, finding to his pleasure that he was now eye to eye with his 6’4” boss. Brix looked from one to the other, then around the room as the destroyed equipment, some of it still emitting little tendrils of smoke.

Cassidy felt a sudden stab of guilt. “Sorry about the GXY,” he said contritely. Whatever else he’d planned, he hadn’t expected to blow the thing up.

Brix gave him a sharp look, but he held up his phone and said, “I was actually just notified they were recalling it,” he said. “There’s a whole rendering package built in that shouldn’t have been there, it’s all a big mess. Anyways, insurance will cover anything they won’t.”

There was something in Brix’s eyes as he said this. Cassidy realized with a jolt what it was: attraction, powerful attraction. Someone was a Risktaker fan after all… or maybe just a two-headed, double-hunk-bodied Cassidy fan. Cassidy drew closer to Brix and moved his other body to loom right behind him at the same time, letting Brix feel the warmth and strength of his new, multiplied form. Brix responded immediately, his eyes darkening as he looked between his faces, both now inches away.

Cassidy smiled, but Brix held his gaze, not succumbing just yet. “You’re not getting off that easy,” he said sternly, though his dark, inviting lips were twitching at the corners. “Looks like I’m going to have to take you off Xander the Monkey after all.”

“What do you mean?” Cassidy said distractedly. Stray thoughts tried to warn him he was being fired, or suspended, or something, but Cassidy couldn’t quite concentrate. He was close to Brix on both sides now, almost sandwiching him, his hardons millimeters away from pressing into Brix’s inviting flesh in front and back. His complex vision, meanwhile, was increasingly filled with Brix’s mouth, and the thought of how sweet it would be to feel himself deep-kissing Brix with two mouths at once, while watching himself do it at the same time, was all he could think about.

“Well,” Brix drawled, moving his hands so they rested on Cassidy’s hips, “starring in a live-action superhero movie is a pretty time-consuming gig.” He smirked and added, “Even if there are two of you.”

Cassidy lit up. His first double-kiss was one of sheer, effusive gratitude, but after that they forgot all about movies and animated monkeys and superheroes and focused on the kinds of mutual, escalating pleasure that most men can only dream of.

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