Armed Robbery (Male Muscle Drain Short Story)

Armed Robbery

Written by SteeleBlazer

The night was thick with shadows, the kind that creep up on you, wrapping their icy tendrils around your throat until you can barely breathe, or maybe that’s just me and partner creeping up behind you... Nights like these are the perfect setting for the two of us - Frankie and me, a couple of two-bit hustlers looking for our next easy score.

The alley had been good to us, in its own grimy way. For weeks, Frankie and I had made it our hunting ground, picking off strays and robbing anyone stupid enough to stumble through. Stragglers, drunks, the occasional idiot wandering where they shouldn’t. The pickings were meager, sure, but they came easy, and easy beat an honest day’s work any day. We weren’t exactly the honest type.

That night, we thought we hit the jackpot. She walked in like she didn’t have a clue where she was. She was as out of place as a designer purse at a flea market, and at first glance, I already had designs on where I’d be selling that purse of hers—and her shiny diamond jewelry too. She sure was all dressed up nice, without a care in the world, not aware of the danger that was lurking nearby. Her heels clicked against the pavement, screaming out to me and my friend, daring us to come meet her and give her the same kind of greeting we’d given everyone else unfortunate enough to walk through our alley.

Unfortunate for them and unfortunate for her, she was about to learn she didn’t belong here, that was obvious. After a bit of armed robbery, she’d realize just how obvious it was too. She was practically asking for it, what with her being all alone.

Big mistake.

But me and my friend loved capitalizing off of people’s big mistakes. After all, isn’t that how capitalism works? Dog eat dog, and there’s always a bigger fish. Well, I didn’t have time to opine on the philosophics—it was time for me and my friend to be philanthropic and relieve that woman of some of her belongings. And who knows, maybe we’d have some fun with her too...

Frankie and I both shared a grin, tightening the grips on our weapons - a rusty pipe for me, a switchblade for Frankie. With a prim and proper little woman like her, we didn’t need the weapons, but it adds to our charm, and most people find us so charming they just can’t say no to us—that is if they know what’s good for them... This was gonna be a piece of cake, and she looked just as sweet too.

As we approached, the woman's eyes widened, but to her credit, she didn't scream. Maybe she thought we were just a couple of lost souls looking for directions. Little did she know, we had something much more sinister in mind. And perhaps it was just the way the streetlights flickered, or maybe my imagination, but I swear she was smiling, almost like she was happy to see us...

Well, if she was smiling, she wouldn’t be smiling much longer...

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Frankie sneered, flicking open his blade. "Looks like you're a long way from home, sweetheart."

The woman's gaze darted between us, sizing us up. I could see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out how to get out of this mess. But there was no escape, not this time.

"Please," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want any trouble."

Frankie let out a harsh laugh. "That's too bad, 'cause trouble's exactly what you're gonna get."

“Okay... Fine by me by me boys... If it’s trouble you want, then I’ll give you trouble, big trouble,” the woman said her eyes flicking between us. No panic. No screaming. She just stood there, still as stone, grinning a smile like she’s the with an ace up their silky sleeves of hers. Then, without a word, she reached into her purse.

I expected a phone, maybe some cash. Instead, she pulled out something else. It looked like a toy. A big, shiny sci-fi looking ray gun—like the kind you’d see in a comic book. Frankie and I burst out laughing - what was this, some kind of sci-fi nonsense?

"You're gonna try and scare us off with that toy?" I chuckled, taking a step closer. "I think you're in for a rude awakening, sweetheart."

Frankie ever the rude dude himself, wanted to show that woman that despite the toy she held in her hand, we weren’t toying around. He just flashed that wicked smile of his, and the knife he held flashed its own, and he took a step closer to her, and another closer still...

And then she must have pulled the trigger, because in the still of the night, the alley was lit up by a blinding flash, and an electric cry sounded out. I’ll be damned if that ray gun wasn’t real, and I’ll be damned again if it didn’t actually make a sci-fi zap sound as she fired it. The gun’s discharge wasn’t so much deafening as it was bafflingly unexpected, the flash of light blinding me momentarily. My laughter was cut short as I stumbled back, blinking the spots out of my vision.

And then... and then... nothing happened. Me and Frankie were both still standing, none the worse for wear. And so, I started laughing again—I couldn’t believe I’d almost been fooled into thinking that silly toy ray gun she was holding could've ever be real.

I tell ya, for a second, I almost thought it was real, and that me and Frankie were in big trouble. I was about to make a joke to Frankie, but just then, I noticed his arm start to tremble—something was wrong.

And it turned out this really wasn’t a laughing matter.

Because right before my eyes, I saw a grown man shrink...

I’ll be damned that sci-fi fucking ray gun actually was real... Only I wasn’t damned, but my pal Frankie was...

Frankie was a big man, a very big man, but he wasn’t looking so big anymore, his body began to shrink, his muscles just melted away. He tried to lift the knife, to threaten her, to attack her, but his arms shook like they were made of jelly. With a grunt of effort, he brought his other hand up, gripping the knife with both hands, but even that wasn’t enough. The blade dropped from his fingers, clattering to the ground. His clothes sagged and drooped, and his jeans actually comically dropped to his ankles, only I wasn’t laughing. His knees buckled, struggling to hold up his withering and emaciated form, he struggled, but it was all in vain, his whole-body quivering and wobbling like a jello mold.

"What the..." I breathed, my grip on the pipe turning to ice, just as all the muscles in my friend turned to mush, and he collapsed in a puny pathetic pile of loose ill-fitting clothes, and I turned to that woman, and I was going to going to make her pay for what she did to my friend.

And then I saw her...

The woman. She was growing. Her shoulders stretched wider, her blouse pulling tight against expanding muscles that seemed ready to tear through the fabric. Within seconds, her arms were already big and brawny, and with beefy arms like hers, she didn’t need an ace or any other card up her sleeves—but as her arms grew thicker, she wouldn’t have sleeves much longer. Her biceps bulged and swelled, thick and rounded, pressing against the sleeves until the seams began to split.

Her legs, silky smooth, grew stronger and thicker with steely sinews, flexing with every subtle movement. They swelled harder, denser, stretching and straining the hem of her skirt to its limit and beyond. Threads snapped, and the fabric gave way, unable to hold the growing power beneath. Her posture straightened, exuding power that felt almost inhuman, out of place on a woman so prim and proper and petite. Only she wasn’t petite any longer, and prim or not, she now looked powerful—impossibly powerful. Her smile widened with her frame, growing bigger and bigger just like her body, her lips curling in a way that made my stomach turn. She grew taller and taller, her shadow looming over me like a dark specter of my past finally catching up to me.

And then she turned and faced me, and while I’ll be damned if anyone calls me a coward, and I’ll be damned if I am afraid of a woman...

But, I didn’t want to be damned and drained like my pal Frankie, and besides if you think about it, I’m not afraid of her, so much as I was afraid of that damn sci-fi ray gun of hers.

Only, I didn’t think... I ran!

I’ll be damned if I was going to let that woman and her blasted ray gun drain me of my muscles.

But I didn’t make it far. I felt it before I heard it—the whole alley lit up once again, and a strange sizzling sensation washed over me as the electric cackle of the ray gun filled the air. I tried to stay strong, tried to keep on running, only my motor was running on empty. My muscles? Well, it was as if, quite suddenly, I didn’t have any—and now I was truly damned—and being drained of my muscles!

My knees buckled as the strength drained from my body, my fingers losing their grip on the pipe I’d been holding, and it suddenly became much too heavy for me to carry. It hit the pavement with a dull clang.

I staggered, feeling weaker by the second, my skin saggy and loose and cold against my bones. My pants slid down my thinning legs, tripping me as I tumbled to the ground. My arms, now barely more than sticks, shook uselessly beneath me as I tried to push myself up.

And just like that, I wasn’t only damned—but I was robbed!

Robbed of my strength by that woman!

Once again, I tried to push myself up. But it was in vain. I just lacked the strength, nothing left in me but a pathetic, sad sack of skin and bones. And while I had a bone to pick with that ray gun-wielding bitch, I knew picking a fight with her would be futile—not just because even the act of standing was an act of futility, but because, while I wasn’t too big for my britches—rather, way, way too small for mine—I knew she was too big for her britches. Hell, too big for all her clothes, really. And I really wish I knew what was going on behind me with that bitch—and her britches—I couldn’t even turn my head to see—but I could hear—and I heard everything.

The ripping came first. The sound of fabric tearing, seams popping, fabric stretching, giving way to something far too big, far too powerful. It was relentless, each pop and rip of her clothes breaking apart making my stomach twist. Then came her voice, a haughty haunting sound of girlish glee, rising into a mix of moans and laughter. The kind of laughter that told me—and Frankie—exactly what we were now. Not just jokes. Not just laughingstocks. No, this was something worse. We were less than nothing. Hopeless and helpless like welcome mats under her feet.

And as I heard her footsteps sound out on the hard pavement, I soon heard my friend cry out, followed by the soft, fleshy sound of her walking on—and all over—him, making Frankie a literal welcome mat. Only Frankie wasn’t too welcome to her advances.

Frankie’s cries were downright spirit-breaking—for me—but for him, they were weak and shrill, almost unrecognizable. He kept on screaming and whimpering as she stepped all over him, breaking not just his spirits but his actual bones. I couldn’t see him, but I could hear the wet thud of flesh against pavement, the grotesque sound of bones cracking, snapping under pressure. Her footsteps—those heavy, deliberate steps—joined the symphony of destruction. Each fleshy stomp, heavier than it had any right to be, echoed like she was some kind of giant, each one a nail in the coffin of what little pride we had left. And if she kept stepping on him, it might as well have been an actual nail in the coffin itself.

I wanted revenge, wanted to turn the tables somehow, but deep down, I knew there was no chance. If anything, it felt like she was getting revenge on us. On me. On Frankie. On every bad deed, every mugging, every wrong we’d ever done—and she was doing it with interest.

Much as my interest was on the sound of her footsteps—because, by the sounds of it, she had finally finished walking all over my pal—I think I heard the faint scrape of her wiping her shoes and sliding them against the pavement. No doubt she was cleaning those heels of hers, ridding them of the refuse and riffraff that was the remains of my good buddy—not that there was anything good about Frankie. He was rotten through and through, like me. We both were no-good rotten scoundrels, and now it seemed our muscles had rotted away.

Behind me, the sound of her heels grew louder. But they didn’t just click—they boomed, each step resonating with the power of thunder. Was this it for me? Would she snuff me out with the soles of her heels, or would she show mercy for this poor, misguided soul?

She stopped beside me, her calves filling my vision. Thick, massive, powerful calves that rippled with each subtle shift of her weight. Those calves of hers each were bigger than my head, and I had no doubt she could squash and crush my head like a melon with those watermelon sized calves of hers.

I forced my head up, what little muscle I had—and trust me, I had very little—straining from the effort. My eyes traced the towering figure above me. Her massive frame blocked out the dim light entirely, her silhouette seemingly as wide as the alley itself. She was statuesque, like she’d been chiseled and carved from stone—an unholy monument of strength and dominance. Her muscles flexed as she stood there, every curve and bulge moving with impossible power, showing off all her ill-gotten gains.

She blew a wisp of smoke from the barrel of her ray gun, like she was in some old western, her grin never faltering. Then she flexed her arms, the bulging peaks of her biceps big as boulders—if not mountains—they surely were a mountainous mass of muscle. She gave them a great big hard squeeze, making sure I saw those great big arms of hers—hell, how could I miss them? Let me tell you, I was missing those muscles—but she had them now. They were hers, and she was flexing them, and it was as if she was proudly proclaiming and boasting about the armed robbery she’d just committed on me and my buddy.

"Thanks, boys," she said, her voice dripping with mockery as she turned and walked away, her heels still thundering against the pavement.

I lay there, trembling and hollow, as the darkness closed in. Her laughter echoed through the alley, the sounds of her thunderous footsteps matching the feeble beating of my heart. I was wasted away, a shadow of myself, and now all I could do was wait—wait to waste away for good.

To think that my final armed robbery would end up with me being robbed of my muscular arms—and all the muscles in my entire body!