Inspired by @keithb9 ‘s story Shitinator!
General Lucas Scrout had worked hard to reach the position he was in; three years at the academy, three tours of duty overseas serving his country, more than a decade of commanding forces. All that had made him a man of power, a man who could make decisions and make them well. He was younger than most generals, but still a rugged veteran: his 6’4 frame bulged with carefully maintained muscle, and his graying beard and buzz cut were well-groomed. Seeing him now, looking masculine and strong in his spotless military-green uniform, adorned with badges, medals, and ribbons of honor, you could easily imagine why he’d been popular with the girls (and, although he would never admit this to anyone but the most trusted of colleagues, more than a couple of guys) in school and the academy. But, always the strategist, he’d politely turned down their offers of marriage, until the right woman had come along when he was 32: Sandra was the daughter of a senator, her uncles had served as generals and commanders before, and her own brother was climbing the ranks of naval law in Washington DC. A connection into her family was exactly what Scrout had wanted and needed, and so he had courted her and asked her hand in marriage.
Just another small step in getting to where he was today. And where was that?
General Scrout was strutting down a metallic corridor, a small lineup of military officials trailing him, each in their own decorated uniforms. Two scientists, meek compared to the size and strength of Scrout, were supposed to be leading them, but the dominance and confidence of Scrout followed him wherever he went, and he found the scientists timidly trailing back to let him take the lead. They were currently trying to explain the scientific and technical aspects of the new ‘top-secret’ weapon they and their team had been developing in this classified underground lab for the past two years.
“…What you see is, we had so much gosh-darned trouble trying to break down that last barrier…” the one on his left, whose nametag said Aaron Rammson had been babbling for five minutes, oblivious to the fact that Scrout had stopped listening almost as soon as he’d begun. The minute scientific details weren’t what mattered to Scrout- what mattered was if this new weapon was successful.
“But when we went back to the studies again, it finally clicked!” The right-hand scientist, whose nametag spelled Ross Tyson, chimed in. “Once we figured out how to break through the subconscious bodily reflexes, it all started coming together. That was about when our supervisors contacted you…”
Scrout had been surprised but pleased to hear the call for viewing a test run. But what bothered him was the high level of secrecy surrounding the project- the fact that he’d yet to discover what the weapon actually did only proved to him that there was still a higher level of power he had to achieve.
The group approached a high-security sealed door at the end of the corridor. The two scientists ceased their excited, self-congratulatory rambles immediately and unlocked the door in a complex sequence of passwords, security IDs, eye scans, and thumb-print scanners. Scrout was pleasantly surprised with their change in demeanor- perhaps they had created something of worth after all.
Beyond the door was a room filled with chairs and computer equipment. On the far wall was a viewing window, through which Scrout could see a white-walled room, bare and featureless except for another armored door.
As Scrout and the other military heads seated themselves, the scientist called Rammson began speaking to them, while the other went to work at the computers.
“Gentlemen, what you are about to see is a breakthrough in effective but non-violent warfare.” Rammson said. At this Scrout and the others shuffled- they all knew the recent pressures from Congress, the public, and the UN’s Human Rights division to make military weaponry less lethal, but none had imagined a suitable solution.
From the computers, the scientist Tyson flashed a thumbs up, and Rammson pushed a button his wristwatch. Through the viewing window, the group could see the armored door slide open, and young man, dressed in military casuals, enter. He turned to face the window and saluted.
“Private Ryan Lee McGowan, sirs!” The man couldn’t have been any older than 25; tall, lean yet muscled under his white tee-shirt and military khakis. Tanned skin and trim brown hair. Scrout nodded nostalgically; just another young recruit, willing to do anything to get a head in over his fellows. Scrout could remember showing off new scientific advancements all the time as a young private. But he’d never been asked into a situation like this.
The young private held his salute for a moment, and then went at ease. He slouched his shoulders and looked around, as though unsure of his next orders. In Scrout’s room, Rammson motioned at Tyson, who typed a command at the computer.
“Our weapon is appearing now.” Rammson directed them to watch as a segment of the wall next to the recruit opened up and a machine of some sort appeared, sliding out from the shadows. It was about the size of a large machine gun, deep scarlet in color, and aimed directly at Private Ryan.
“What the he-” was all he managed to say before Tyson flipped a switch and the gun activated in a burst of light and sound. Scrout and the officers leaned forward, and Private Ryan threw up his arms. For a moment, nothing seemed to have happened; the gun powered down and Ryan seemed unharmed. He examined himself for any injuries while Scrout and the officers sat in puzzlement. But the scientists’ eyes remained glued to the window, clearly expecting something.
About 30 seconds after the fire, a sudden gurgling noise could be heard throughout both rooms. Scrout realized that highly sensitive microphones must have been installed in the next room, for it soon became apparent that the strange noises they were hearing were coming from Private Ryan’s gut.
He clenched his stomach and began squirming in place. “Ohhhhh…” He moaned as the gushing, gurgling rumble increased in intensity. The officers watched transfixed as the Private turned about and hurried to the armored door, walking awkwardly as if in sudden pain, hunching over and gripping his stomach.
“Ugh…Shiiiitttt…” They could hear the Private breaking composure as he pounded on the armor door, obviously trying to escape, but no one headed his calls. Suddenly, the young man grunted and bent at the knees, and an almost impossibly sudden and loud fart erupted from his rear, which was facing the viewing mirror.
“BRRRRRRRRRIIIIPPPPPPP!” Scrout was taken aback by the sudden shift into toilet humor, and watched with growing awareness of the function of this new weapon as Private Ryan abandoned the armored door and ran back to face the crowd he knew was watching him from beyond the window.
“Oh, Jesus, pleeeeeezzzzz!” He moaned to them, squirming and farting up a storm; Scrout didn’t want to imagine what it must have smelt like in that small, sealed room.
“TOOOT! FRRRIIPP!” the flatulence grew louder and wetter, as the young man approached the point of no return. He fought all the way, sprinting between the door and the window, desperate for any sympathetic soul that would release him to the safety of a toilet.
“Oh Goddddd…” The young man froze, clenching his belly, sweating through his shirt, his eyes alive with the terror of losing control. He began to squat in the middle of the room, and released an especially sloppy gas bubble. Every officer could see the brown stain appear at the bottom of the seat of the young private’s trousers.
“Nooooooooooo…!” Ryan moaned in defeat as he began to give birth to a monster turd right in the middle of the room. He shuddered in desperation as the scientists and soldiers alike watched with morbid fascination. A bulge began to grow under Ryan, his military khakis expanding outward and turning a deep, sloppy brown.
He gave in to the urge, and began to grunt down, pushing more shit into his pants. Runny brown diarrhea flowed out of the bottom of his pants and soiled his boots. The brown slop was stark on the white floor, and the private’s rear end had expanded to twice its former size.
In less than a minute, the formerly proud, in-control military private had been reduced to an animalistic mess squatting on the floor, filling his military-issued clothing with his own waste. The officers were…disturbed, to say the least, watching what could have been a son of theirs, or even a younger version of themselves (as was Scrout’s case) shame himself.
Private Ryan, weak from the force of evacuating himself, began to sway, and he finally fell down back onto his ass, smushing his load everywhere- it mushed up his crotch, further browning his pants, it splashed out the back end of his pants, splattering his white shirt, and more solid waste oozed out of his pants legs, collecting on the floor. Ryan was red-faced and horrified by the sight of so much of his own waste, and nearly in tears.
At last, Rammson pressed another button on his watch, and the armored door opened. Another scientist appeared and went to Ryan, gently lifted him to his feet, and helped the young man stagger to the door and out of sight. But not before Scrout and the other officers could see his enormous, messy, flattened load, swaggering behind him as Ryan wattled out of sight. The once stark white room was now a brown mess.
“We understand,” Rammson said suddenly, breaking the men out of their stupefied gaze. “We understand that might have been a little disturbing for some of you. But rest assured, Private Ryan received no physical injuries, although he might not have escaped with his pride.”
Scrout still had the image of the young man’s desperate face in his head, the sounds of his flatulence and raging bowels rang in his ears. He’d spent years living in military barracks with some of the nastiest, gassiest people he’d ever met, and he’d never seen something as outrageous as that.
“Our new weapon is designed to cause an uncontrollable release of the target’s bowels.” Rammson joined Tyson at the computers, and the officers began to stand up and gather round them to review the data. “The particle waves, which we experience as the burst of light and sound, disrupt normal digestive processes and result in a sort of freight-train rushing of all material through the intestines. In practice, these weapons, which we’ve dubbed Sudden Hyper Intestinal Troublers, will be able to render targets safely and non-lethally incapacitated in mere seconds.”
Despite the troubling image of young Ryan, Scrout had to admit it was an ingenious idea; using a soldier’s own body against him!
The memory of Ryan’s ‘accident’ would remain with them all for many weeks afterwards, but the weirdness and horror were beginning already to be replaced with awe and wonder as the officials gathered round to hear the scientists’ explanations of how the weapons could be used.
And General Lucas Scrout began to see how this weapon could be used to advance his own career…
A new era of warfare had begun.