This story was published way back about 1999 on another site. It's repeated here for the first time, and hopefully, everyone will find this as entertaining as I did when I wrote it.

Resistance is Futile. Prepare to be Assimilated ...

**********************************************************************

It started as a joke. Just an innocent joke one night in the Fictionmania chat room. Andy was there, as were a few others. But the main people involved were Carrie Gore and Elrod. The topic of discussion was Morpheus, the enigmatic author of a myriad of stories, all excellent and all with good transgendered themes. Take the Spells R Us universe. If Bill Hart was its father, then Morpheus was the midwife, delivering story after story into the fledgling setting until it was well established and the most popular theme. The same held true for Altered Fates. While Jennifer Adams lovingly defined the universe, Morpheus added his usual plethora of outstanding fiction to the backdrop.

And so one fine night, the chat room was alive with discussion about what would be a fitting prize to give Morpheus when his hundredth story was added to the archive. Along with that, there was clearly awe from some of the less-experienced authors as to his consistent quality and extraordinarily vivid imagination. One of the chat-room participants suggested that Morpheus was the code name of a group, a TG-fiction writing club. They noted the unwavering style in Morpheus’ stories.

Elrod made the joke. While a prolific author in his own right, Elrod was clearly a bit envious of Morpheus’ talent. “There’s only one way to explain his consistent style and the rapid pace at which he cranks out stories,” Elrod typed into the chat window. “Morpheus is a group consciousness. A collective.”

“Like the Borg,” Carrie Gore suggested.

“,” Elrod replied. “We are Morpheus of Fictionmania. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated. Your fantasies, your desires, your dreams will be incorporated into the collective. You will exist to service ... Fictionmania.”

“LOL,” Carrie and others typed, the chat shorthand for ‘laugh out loud.’

The joke would have been forgotten, but a few days later, Morpheus submitted yet another SRU story, and with it, a note to the Fictionmania e-mail list. Elrod couldn’t let that one go. He typed a reply to Morpheus, repeating the story. It generated a few laughs among the FM list readers. It also generated a rather peculiar reply.

“You have discovered our secret. Prepare to be assimilated.
The waking world is but a dream “

This, of course, gave Elrod great amusement. The joke got a few laughs, apparently even from Morpheus.

Then Elrod noticed some strangeness occuring. Carrie Gore pulled her website, saying that she didn’t have enough time to maintain it. Having run web sites, Elrod understood how much care and feeding a web site took.

Then Carrie published a short story. It was a truly excellent story, not to take away from her earlier work. But there was something ... unusual about the story. It had a familiar ring to it.

Elrod didn’t think anything about it. That is, until he got another message in his e-mail.

“Your assimilation will begin shortly. Prepare to join the Morpheus Collective.
The waking world is but a dream “

Elrod would have laughed but for one thing. The e-mail was addressed to his real identity. You see, ElrodW was a nom-de-plume, an assumed personage to hide his real identity. Conservative individuals often did that, he’d discovered, and having a passion for transgendered fiction just wouldn’t sit well with some other so-called conservatives. Or with his wife.

Elrod felt a taste of panic. This was a strange message, and addressed to the real him? How? For the longest moments in his life, Elrod wondered what had gone wrong — he’d protected his identity quite well he’d thought. Finally, he decided to get analytical about the whole thing — he did have an advanced degree in computer science, after all.

It was easy to construct scenarios by which someone determined could find out who he really was. And truthfully, Elrod expected something like this to happen someday. Damn good thing he never intended to run for public office!

One day, as he went out to get his morning newspaper, Elrod noticed a van parked near the neighbor’s house. A van with out-of-state license plates. A van he’d never seen before — and he’d lived there long enough to have met all the neighbor’s friends and relatives. This didn’t fit. And the windows were heavily tinted, so he couldn’t make out who was inside.

Elrod shrugged, not being one to believe in conspiracy theories. He picked up the paper, then went inside to fix breakfast for his wife and kids. Since it was a Saturday, his wife asked about what errands they had to run, and she offered to take the boys. This suited Elrod just fine — he could get a couple of peaceful hours working on his stories.

Within ten minutes of his wife having left, a movement outside his study window got Elrod’s attention, moments before the doorbell rang. Elrod minimized the window, just in case, and went to answer the door.

He gasped when he saw the figure. It was a very comely young lady, with her nice figure accentuated by the skin-tight black stretch outfit she was wearing. Generous breasts. Nicely proportioned waist. Adequate hips and butt to give shape without being awkwardly large. Long curvy legs. Elrod’s eyes wandered up and down her figure, and she smiled as if she expected that very thing. Then his gaze drifted back up.

She was very attractive. Not movie-star or beauty-queen gorgeous, but definitely cute. Probably about twenty-one or twenty-two. Beautiful light tan complexion. Nicely defined cheeks. A small, slightly upturned nose. Full lips without being fat. Sensuous was how Elrod would have described them. Wide, soft blue eyes. And long straight brown hair, parted in the middle and swept back over her ears, then descending down well past her shoulders.

“Good morning,” Elrod finally stammered. “Can I help you?”

The young lady smiled pleasantly. “You received our message?” she asked simply. Her voice seemed to be a blend of many tones and voices, as if many people were speaking at once through her lips. “Elrod?”

Elrod’s heart leaped into his throat. “I don’t ... I’ve never heard that name. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His protest was too quick and very weak, delivered with a tremble in his voice.

The woman smiled. “Yes you do.” She pushed past him, with a surprising strength, and walked directly to his study. Elrod grasped her arm to stop her, and found that he couldn’t. There was something wrong about this woman, and it was starting to frighten him.

The woman went to the computer, then as Elrod watched in horror, she reached her arm toward the keyboard. But instead of touching the keys, a strange tube-like device extended from the woman’s wrist, intercepting the keyboard cable. Faster than Elrod could recognize, data flowed across the computer display.

Elrod started backing away from the computer. This was too weird. It was like ... “You’re like the Borg!” he finally stammered.

The woman turned to him. “We are Morpheus of Fictionmania. Resistance is futile. You will be assimilated. Life as you have known it is over. You will exist to service us. Your fantasies, your perversions, and your dreams will become part of the collective.” Her voice sounded melodious, shifting even as she spoke toward the fantasy contralto range that Elrod described so often in his stories.

Elrod backed away quickly as the woman turned and advanced on him. “What are you?” he demanded, his voice trembling with genuine terror. “You’re like the Borg, aren’t you! You’re going to ... take over the world? What do you want?”

“We are advanced far beyond humanity. We only seek to improve life. Sexual fantasy is a healthy part of an advanced life. We seek to improve the fantasies of this race.” The woman smiled and continued her advance. And even as she stepped forward, Elrod couldn’t help but noticing her body — it was shifting, changing in appearance. As if it were being tailored to his fantasies. The hair was slowly changing color, from deep brunette to auburn, while waves began to form. Her eyes shifted to brown, seeming to widen and soften even more, until they looked like the kind of eyes Elrod so lovingly described — big soft brown eyes that could swallow a man’s soul. He glanced down, still backing away from her, and saw her chest swelling, her breasts increasing in size. He guessed that she’d started as a large B-cup, but now her bosom was well past double D, and still growing.

“You will be assimilated. You will become part of the Morpheus collective. Come. Give yourself to us. You want to. You want to experience all the joys you’ve tried to write about.” Her soft melodious voice delivering these carefully selected words — it was a lure that Elrod fought desperately. He couldn’t give in.

“You know you want to experience the stories you have written. Give yourself to us.” She continued her advance.

Elrod turned to flee, and tripped over one of his son’s toys. He sprawled on the carpet, still scrambling to get away from the woman. She reached down and grasped his arm, and with a surprising strength, she lifted him to his feet. She pulled him roughly toward herself, her lips pursing to kiss him. Elrod fought, but was unable to counter her surprising strength.

Their lips met, and Elrod’s eyes shot open in surprise, his entire body convulsing with the sudden sharp pain. And as suddenly as it began, Elrod’s eyes softened, his body relaxed. The woman let go, and he stood silently. “Nanoprobes?” he asked in a fading voice.

The woman smiled. “Your Star Trek show is remarkably accurate in that regard. The probes will rearrange your body, creating the links necessary for you to join us.”

Something was happening to Elrod. His mind knew it, felt the changes. He felt the voices in his head, echoing over and over the fantasies and dreams he’d often had. And as he heard the dreams, he started to feel them. Actually feel them, as if they were happening to his body.

The woman watched for a few moments. Then she smiled. “You exist to service us. Your dreams and fantasies have been assimilated into the collective.” She smiled, and as Elrod watched, part of his brain not comprehending, her body began to shift again. This time, it grew taller, more angular, more muscular. Her face hardened, becoming very masculine, while her hair shortened to something suitably male. Her breasts — vanished! The soft female waist widened, hardening into well-defined musculature, while her entire body grew a few inches in height.

Elrod was aware that the woman wasn’t the only one changing. He felt his entire body tingling, as if it were being shocked. His vision distorted momentarily, then he saw locks of auburn hair descending around his face. He glanced down, and saw his arms growing more slender, more graceful, more feminine. His fingers grew nails in seconds. And his chest began to feel peculiar — as if something were growing there.

Inside Elrod’s mind, he knew what was happening. The collective told him — he was being altered so he could live his first fantasy. As his dream woman. It was the will of the collective.

The voices went silent, but Elrod knew the others were still present, monitoring and listening. And the woman, now a hunk of a man, advanced on Elrod. Elrod saw the bulge in the man’s pants, and felt the heat in his own crotch. Wide-eyed, guided by the collective, Elrod stepped forward, his lips upraised for his first kiss as a woman, followed, he knew, by his ravishing.

The woman shifted back to her form. Speech was unnecessary. All the minds were linked. Including, Elrod’s mind found to his surprise, Carrie Gore. ‘So that’s what happened.’

‘It is really wonderful. I can assume the form I want.’

‘But what about me? My wife? My children?’

‘Your part of the collective will continue to fill the former existence. No one will know that you have been assimilated.’

‘Why?’

‘Your experiences will be part of the collective. Your body is able to assume any form necessary to collect new experiences. Your mind is linked to the collective so we can record the experiences.’

‘We live the stories we write.’ Elrod’s mind was already being adapted to the collective. The personal pronoun vanished from his use.

‘Correct.

The woman walked out the door as if nothing had happened, leaving Elrod alone. He had another hour at least until his wife came home. A curious smile crossed his lips, then his body began to transform, shifting until it was a stripper Elrod had once written about. As the collective watched in approval, Elrod lived out his first solo transgendered experience, knowing it was but the first of many, many experiences. And many resulting stories. All based, incredibly enough, on reality.

And no-one reading the stories would ever be any the wiser. Until it was too late. Until it was their turn to be assimilated.

FIN