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Grant's Rampage

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Welcome to the first scenario in The Simulator event entitled 'Grant's Rampage'.

This product is brought to you by NexSoft, a branch of the Nexus Conglomerate.

This Simulation will follow the story of Grant Alibrandi, a 33 year old human accountant who has been stepped on and trampled by those far more ambitious than himself. This simulation will follow his adventure from downtrodden nobody to the biggest somebody his home city has ever known.

As with all _NexSoft_Simulations, this world is inhabited by a male-only world. All characters within the simulation are purely fictional and any resemblance to real life people are purely coincidental. To this effect, reality, memories and thought patterns for the characters within the simulation are far removed from real life. Histories, births and thoughts have all been altered to avoid the inevitable question of how people are born without females. Homosexuality is moderate. The maximum timeline of this Simulation is 2 days.

This simulation includes themes of: Transformation, Male-on-Male sex, extreme amounts of cum/semen, muscle growth, macro sized growth and trampling. Minor themes involving tentacles, vore and cock vore are also present.

Please enjoy this scenario of The Simulator.

NexSoft, our Programs, your Will.

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Grant Alibrandi sighed with some degree of relief. At long last, he was done for the day. Being an accountant for a large firm had its perks but at the same time, it had a lot of demands. He slumped into his seat, rolling his shoulders to get the cricks out and moved to press the three magical buttons that would shut down his computer.

"Brady!"

The thunderous cry could only have come from George Delowski. A deplorable man whose steps could be heard from across the floor as he storms from cubicle to cubicle towards Grant's workspace. At 6'5'', George towers over the cubicle walls, his upswept red hair like a shark's fin cutting through the waves of white plaster. A shark's fin on fire. It is with some vain hope that Grant wished this wasn't another case of George forgetting his name and was actually after someone called 'Brady'.

Sadly, he was apparently 'Brady' for tonight.

"Where's the finance report?" George bellowed as he loomed over Grant's meagre 5'6'' height.

Grant shrunk in his seat out of pure instinct. "F-F-Finance report?" he stammered.

"The fucking quarterly finance report I told you to get me!" George shouted, his face beet red.

Trying hard not to panic, Grant spun towards his computer screen. For a brief moment, he caught his frightened expression on the monitor, the thick, round glasses magnifying his brown eyes to give him a heightened look of fear. His messy, brown hair was constantly frazzled simply because George had made a habit of coming to him to with a voice that could shake the mountains.

Grant prayed that he hadn't filed away George's email by mistake. He didn't have to look far, though. It was the first email at the top of the list because it had just been sent ten seconds ago. "I... uh..." he began.

"I want that report half-an-hour ago!" George bellowed. "Get it done!" With that, he spun and walked away. Not stormed. Walked. It seemed that yelling at someone smaller, scrawnier and lower on the pecking order than him brightened his mood.

Grant sighed heavily and looked at the clock. It was already six in the evening. Almost everyone else had gone home. Technically, he was off the clock. The report, especially if he had to manually generate it, would take at least another hour of work. He considered just doing it, giving it to George and getting it done. It was either do it now or get yelled at in the morning. Alternatively, he could just leave...

Being on the brunt of another of George's rants especially when there are others around is enough to make Grant cringe. A great wince left him as he started tapping away his computer, groaning softly as he realised that the report expected of him would require some serious number crunching. Sometimes, he wished he had taken his father's advice and just took up that job as the accountant for the farm. But Grant had dared to dream big. He wanted to live in the city and earn the big bucks.

And now look at him...

At 6:45 PM, the report was done and he sent it off to the printer.

Grant shuffled over to the floor printer, glad there wasn't a line. As he glanced at the screen, he frowned when he realised that it was one of those 'Follow-Me' printing services as they were called. In essence, the printing job was sent to a network of printers and the in order to print, he needed to swipe his pass and it would retrieve his job from the network. It was intuitive since he could just go to any printer in the network without actually having to go from one to the other or deciphering which random collection of numbers that made up the printer name was the one closest to him.

The problem was... he wasn't currently carrying his pass.

Already a little irritated from the late night and George's rant, he turned and stomped towards his desk. Times like this, he desperately wished that he could stomp something of meaning apart from just air beneath his feet. Sometimes it was George but he resigned himself to the hope that, one day, he might just be George's boss.

He picked up his pass from his desk.

Back at the printer, he swiped his pass over the scanner and waited semi-patiently as the pages were spewed out one at a time with agonising slowness. It was at 6:55 before all the pages were printed. He levelled the pages and stapled them. Now it was ready for George.

George was just standing at the end of the row of cubicles, absently doing something on his phone. It looked like he was playing a game. It was with great reluctance that Grant coughed softly.

George looked up, his face starting to already go red. "Well? Do you have that report yet, Greg?"

Greg... well, at least it's a little closer than 'Brady'.

"Here it is," Grant answered softly, holding out the collection of pages.

His manager rudely snapped the pages away from him. "Well fucking finally!" he bellowed. "I need this for next week's meeting." He leafed through the pages, not even paying much attention to what was there. With a nod, he said, "Good."

Then his eyes flicked back to Grant. "What the fuck are you still doing here? Get out!"

Typical George, with those final words he turned and marched over to his office, head held high and a big grin on his face.

Grant sighed in relief, glad to be out of the firing line at least for one more night. He turned back to his desk, packed up his belongings and headed out the door. It was a long elevator ride down to the ground floor even without stops made even longer by his exhaustion. That soft 'ding' was like the choir of angels welcoming him to heaven and as the elevator doors opened, he imagined himself stepping onto that cloudy paradise.

Sadly, he was just stepping out into the world, through the same old atrium and into the dark.

The sun had long set and it was cold. At this time of night, the city hadn't quite fallen asleep yet and there were still lots of people partying and populating the streets. Several office buildings still had some of their lights on and cars were jamming the roads. Some mid-week partygoers were dancing between the vehicles, ignoring safety in exchange for debauchery. Some cops were trying to quell the mayhem but in half an hour or so, they were likely to join them as not.

This was the city Grant had chosen to live in. A city that was one big party day in, day out.

... and he was never invited.

Grant's stomach growled at him fiercely and he patted his stomach, begging it for patience. He looked towards the north where his apartment lay. Doing a quick recollection of the restaurants that lay between him and his home, he recalled what was colloquially called 'Eatery Alley' just to the northwest. He could grab something to eat there or just head straight to his apartment.

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What should Grant do?

1) Just go straight home?

2) Go to Eatery Alley and eat out?