Drake's Discoveries

Drake Voss had a mind as big as the meat in his pants.

That wasn't an exaggeration. He was a wickedly clever man, often being relied upon by the crew of The Nexus for his ability to handle any tech that came into the base.

Drake had dismantled the Crimson Dynamo's final defences, he'd restarted the time drive running Captain Tracer's suit, he'd stopped the bomb that had been attached to agent Miruko, he oversaw the Morphing Grid for the hundreds of grunts in their 'Power Ranger' suits, and he'd improved each tech hero's suits without complaint or praise.

So why didn't the crew respect him? Why did Helen Parr barely even remember his name?

Simply put, they found his dick weird.

It's one thing to judge others for judging others so simply, but it's another thing to live it when someone like that is in the room. If you've ever found a woman's open cleavage to be distracting or a way to judge her choices, then imagine how you'd feel with the biggest cock lump ever right in front of you. Any time that Drake tried to make friends, hit on a girl, or just connect with others, his massive bulge would be too distracting for anyone to even really hear what he was saying. Their mind drifting to his snake before making an excuse to leave the conversation.

Loneliness does something to a man. He'd started his time in The Nexus so full of hope for the future. It was the last bastion of hope for humanity against the evil forces of The Dominion. He wanted to make a difference, fighting alongside the world's greatest heroes, only to find that they would never give him the time of day.

Maybe there would be a way to stop people from looking if he was allowed to wear a less skin tight uniform, but the by-laws of The Nexus require a dress code. Either the superhero outfit from your original universe, or the standard uniform of its employees.

A rule, he was planning to change.

It's impressive how humans can adapt to any situation they find themselves in. Call them scum, call them the most likely destructors of the multiverse, but goddamn could they adapt until they find the most fantastical parts of life dull after being around them for a year.

Drake had been **** to get used to a lot, but by this part of his life he'd adapted to accept all of it. Sections of alternate realities were stitched haphazardly together, if you couldn't shrug off the image of an elf girl talking to a robot man, then you'd never survive the horrors outside the base. Luckily, Drake got to stay firmly inside. Even if the base was so... bright.

As he walked through the massive atrium, Drake was **** to squint as usual. It was all too white (but not in a racist way), with the lights being in your face far too much whenever you walked around the place. The Dominion's architectural stylist was also their chief scientist, one Reed Richards. He'd based it on the home from his original universe: The Baxter Building. The pompous noodle man always rubbed Drake the wrong way. Yes, he was smarter than everyone, but he didn't have to be so obnoxiously masturbatory about it.

Though maybe there were other reasons Drake disliked Reed. For one, if he could stretch he could make his cock bigger and normalise the look of fat dicked dudes for Drake's benefit. (If he could even stretch it, the limp loser.) The other reason was more obvious though: he wasn't spending every moment of every day using his powers to rail his wife.

Susan Storm. One of the three 'Matriarchal Trio' to the base, three women who jointly lead all of the base's operations and commanded from the highest ranking positions in The Dominion.

She was also a true goddess of a bombshell of a knockout of a woman.

Curvy, blonde, nurturing, fierce, driven, kind, all of the above. Drake's only issue with her was Susan's choice of husband. She'd won so many battles for the war. After it was clear Reed was too busy as a scientist to lead, she stepped up as head of The Fantastic Four. The documentary on their struggles in the first days of Battlefield is one of the few pieces of media created since the collapse. Leading Reed, her brother Johnny, and her best friend Jen Walters to save city after city from the likes of Homelander, Braniac, and Lord Zedd. He wondered what it would take to get a woman like that in bed for just one night... well, he had wondered, if this went well he wouldn't have to wonder any more.

Thanks to one of the other Matriarchal Trio delivering a lovely device to him, Drake was on a warpath through the base.

Right into the bathroom.

One of the mandates of the base was unisex bathrooms. A way to be inclusive to all, and showing how much more progressive they were than the other side of the world. Drake had nothing wrong with them, though he did find that women were much more judgemental when he struggled to get his cock back in his skin suit tights.

Still, they were perfect for his plan right now.

Drake was currently alone in the fairly large bathroom. A mirror with sinks in front of it was front and centre as you entered the room, with two areas you could go into from there. A large set of cubicles on one half of the room, with a row of showers on the other. It was still rather early in the day, so no one was around, which meant Drake could start quietly showering.

He'd managed to get in right before the female brigade had finished their morning workouts. The chatter of their socializing began filling the room around his shower, and slowly he heard one by one the other cubicles fill up and start up.

Then someone opened up his cubicle he'd 'accidentally' forgotten to lock.

"Oops, sorry luv! Didn't know there was anyone else in here!"

"No worries, I'm just coming out."

The woman who had pushed open his door nodded before waiting patiently for him to finish. Drake gave her only a quick glance, unable to stop his eyes from scanning the wonderfully curvy form of Captain Tracer in only a towel. Those lovely lesbian cans straining the fabric of the white towel.

Maybe he'd be worried about her staring if he didn't also see she was staring right back at him, though a lot lower. Concern and confusion on her face that made his heart a little nervous. It was a big swing to go for so early. Would it have worked already? He'd run through so many simulations in the last week since he'd seen Elastigirl, and she wasn't screaming yet...

He grabbed his towel and slowly began wrapping it around his waist, making sure to keep his swinging tip just visible enough under the fabric to keep her eyes locked low.

"..."

As he stepped past her, she continued to stare and not enter the cubicle, "Everything alright?"

"...hm? Oh, yeah!" said Lena after drifting back to the conversation, "Uh, nice whopper by the way!"

"...uh, thanks."

And with that, Drake left the bathroom before he let on how wide his grin had gotten.

So much had happened and been confirmed in such a small amount of time.

How had Drake managed to get a powerful woman like Tracer--known lesbian Lena Oxton--to compliment his cock?

Well, he'd managed to add a fact to her brain that big cocks were meant to be complimented.

Absolute hypnosis was supposed to be a myth. You can never get someone to truly do something they don't want to do, as they can always break out of the effect once their brain rejects the idea.

Screen Slaver had gotten around this through an amazing bypass of technology. Slipping past the brain's natural defences to implant orders directly to the subconscious. It was genius, but not genius enough. The bypass worked incredibly, but Screen Slaver had added a 'trance' command to turn off the working mind, basically making a zombie person with the glasses. Once the goggles were removed, the trance command and all subsequent commands were quickly rejected.

What Drake had figured out was three-fold:

1) Without the 'trance' command, the brain would be more ready to accept commands delivered from the source.

2) As long as he could soak a brain in the tech, the person would adapt to the bizarre world their mind wanted to tell them was in front of them.

3) It didn't have to be a screen he slaved through. Subtle spirals weren't exclusively a spectrum of a television. It only needed one thing to apply a new command: Light.

Like a base that was far too bright for its own good.