Master PC - Responsibility Ch. 01

Did this one on a dare. MasterPC, by JR Parz, is a classic in the niche corners of kink internet. A frequent feature of mind control, transformation, harem, and other power fantasy stories since its creation in 1996. The idea asked a simple question: what if you could make what you type into reality?

"Welcome to Master PC's Command Center...

The Master allows you to become a virtual god to the people around you.

You now possess the power to bend their reality to your specifications.

You are the Master's Representative."

My own writing style tends towards some concepts which are not at all common in the Master PC Universe. The dare was to see what I would make of the concept... but the person who dared me did not know that I have been reading these since I was old enough to do so. Welcome to my take.

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Master PC: Responsibility

Have you ever just wanted a change? Wanted it so desperately you'd do anything for it? Felt like your life just wasn't what it was meant to be? You know, you'd be shocked at how common that feeling is. How many people are aimless, or feel like they can't get from where they are to where they should be.

Take one supremely bored man, about 5'6" with muddy brown hair and eyes, pale skin, and glasses. Me. 24, three certs and a Bachelors saying I can defend the company networks from hackers and terrorists, and a paycheck that let me live... ish. Wake up, stare at a screen for eight hours, go to my crappy little apartment, boot up my home system and game for a bit, whack off, go to sleep. Repeat five times, then spend two days blowing off some steam with my guild or my clan or my ladder. Then start at step one again. Use one of my precious days of paid time off to extend a weekend, hit an event, or stare at the ceiling in an existential crisis every now and then. Work from home when I was sick so that I didn't have to use those days, unless I was super flattened.

That was how I ended up in that particular situation, on that particular Thursday evening. Case of the sniffles led to my boss telling me to get my work done from home. My computer was better than the one my office had for bottom-of-the-ladder wage slaves, anyway. Slumped miserably in the most expensive piece of furniture I owned, my gamer chair. Outfit consisting of ratty pajamas and a bathrobe to ward off the shivers. Computer on, working on random reports while logged in to work (though secure measures, which I'm not telling you because I'm not stupid). A ping sounded from one of the network perimeter firewalls, a pattern of inbound traffic consistent with hacker tools got intercepted and had a potentially malicious executable file. Given that I was the only guy on this duty just then, it fell to me to analyze.

Dump out one packet capture. Pull up my tools in a virtual machine, port over that capture, and get to looking. Sure enough, there it was. Master.exe. Also a readme.txt file, but the file was corrupt due to getting random bits sliced off in the capture. Lovely. While the computer was spitting out files from the capture, I checked to see which of our lovely office drones thought it would be a good idea to install TOR and use it to pull programs from the dark web.

Michaels. Lovely. I swear, he had to have some kind of in among the higher-ups. This was not the first time, by far, he had gotten into some kind of mischief. This time I had recorded proof. I got him red-handed, and if this is what finally got him gone it would make me the hero of my tiny team for a month. Call it a test of just how hard those contacts were willing to cover. Write out the timeline, take some screenshots, send the proof up, note that malware analysis was ongoing. I'd be earning my lordly salary today. Still, given I had proof of a VERY-not-authorized program on the system, I sent the immediate lockout command to his computer and isolated it from the network. Active Directory is annoying, but for times like this it was perfect.

A notification popped on my phone. Guild had an opening for a damage slot for tonight's raid, and I was trying to gear out my Magus, so I could come. Sweet. Starting in 20 minutes? Also sweet. Being a night owl had its perks when I was on remote work, so I left the sandbox tools to do the automated first steps as I spent the next three hours smashing some raid bosses.

***

Thankfully, nothing else of note happened during that time. I picked up a new hat in game, talked some smack, and noted about halfway through that the results were waiting for me to review. Cool. Took them a while, but that might just be because of the resource hog I was running for graphics.

No known hits on the hash. Okay. Name was sus as all heck, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Automated static analysis... nothing. Huh. Even benign programs usually showed SOMETHING, but it came up completely blank. Maybe it wasn't working? Nah, still should have given some kind of output. Program was really freaking small, too, less than a gig. Not exactly encouraging for anything modern. No choice for it but to run it and see what blew up. Hopefully figuratively. Close out the virtual machine, get the setting on secure, open it back up, and double click.

The window went black instantly, a low-resolution rotating hourglass centered. I shook my head. It seemed to be getting sharper, very slowly. Unique, as wait symbols went. Moments later, a message popped up that chilled me to my core.

"Welcome to Master PC's Command Center...

The Master allows you to become a virtual god to the people around you.

You now possess the power to bend their reality to your specifications.

You are the Master's Representative.

>Primary user name?"

There was a text box under it, cursor blinking. There was no way. It was freaking impossible! This thing was a myth, an urban legend next to the mothman, Bigfoot, and a functioning economy. Master PC. The computer program that could control the world and everything in it. Hands shaking, I typed my name into the box. If this was a prank, at least it couldn't send the data anywhere.

>Christopher Mali

Subject found. Confirm? (Y/N)

And there I was, in the buff. All 140 scrawny, pale pounds of me, hunched over and staring at something not depicted on screen. You know, the screen I was staring at. Slack jawed. There was no camera recording where that was pointing from. Heck, to get that angle it would have had to be coming from past the wall to my left.

>Y

Instantly, the window bloomed with information. Bars and meters. A standing nude model of me. Lots of buttons labeled for various submenus. The interface was... much better than I had heard it would be, really. Still absurdly complicated. As I moused over various things, bits of the model would light up. There was a processing bar at the bottom, slowly filling. As it did, more and more of the grayed-out options became available to click. Skeletal. Endocrine. Muscular. Reproductive. Cardiovascular. Immune. All the systems I had learned about in my Gen Ed science classes. Plus a few that I'm sure I hadn't.

I looked down. Hidden inside my pants was the traditional first test. I was not a virgin, thank you Senior year and more alcohol than I wanted to admit, but where it counted I was distinctly below average. The Reproductive System button was RIGHT THERE. The temptation was... well, I'm not sure if "irresistible" was the word, but I was certainly not up to the task of resisting it.

One click, and the screen changed. The bar to the right indicated that there was a LOT of room to scroll down. That with several options on the screen. I saw a few that looked likely, notably a Penis Volume and Testicle Volume section with sliders and number readouts, but before I made any rash moves I started to scroll down. The further I got, the more and more specific things seemed to get. Dimensions, efficiency, force, tilt, taste... and then it started getting esoteric. Punnett Square manipulation, mitosis pathways, chemical inclusions, ph rating.

This would take research. I wasn't even a third of the way down. Back to the top! The volume seemed to be in cubic inches... 15. I scratched out some napkin math, and decided that while accurate, it was embarrassing. No more. Instead of trying to play with the sliders, I just typed in a number. Sixty. At the bottom bar of the screen, a blue button with the label "Apply" became visible. I hit it.

This is exactly when I learned three things. First, the program was absolutely real. The effects very obviously began immediately. Second, rapid cell division and growth freaking hurts. It felt like the worst adolescent overuse pain ever, immediately and ongoing.

Third, while quadrupling the volume SOUNDED massive, I ended up with a member that was merely "above average." 8.5 inches, with some heft once I checked out some saved porn, but not the monster I thought I was getting. It felt like my geometry teacher was laughing at me from wherever he was sleeping. I hobbled over to my medicine cabinet to get some pain killers. This would, obviously, take more thought than I'd given it.

Poking around more, there were many, many quirks and oddities that I didn't remember from the stories. I'd need more objective testing before I'd be able to tell if people could notice differences, or if the changes were retroactive. I didn't see a text entry box anywhere obvious, so for now I'd have to stick to the individual details. I was also hungry, like a hole had been opened in my stomach. One fridge got raided (and needed to be restocked...), then I got back to my chair.

So. Conservation of mass. That's one they don't tell you about. I was feeling lightheaded, too, which probably means I needed to make more blood. That eased off a bit when my erection went down. Alright, needed to be careful. I inspected myself and realized that my balls had not, in fact, increased in size to stay in proportion. They looked kind of pathetic hiding there, but I was absolutely not looking forward to the feeling of expanding them. A sigh, and I clicked over to them. This time, I noticed that there was a further menu button in the corner of the box.

Oh. Fun. Might have been a good idea to check this out first. It opened up into another whole PAGE of options and check boxes, some with sliders. One had the first text entry I'd seen. A slider for speed, presently set all the way to the right for instant completion. I checked what the left side was, but didn't feel like letting adjustments take a year. I'd imagine that doing it over a time period might not feel like I got kicked in the balls, though, so that was a plus. Dropdown menu labeled "Source Prioritization List" had no entries in it other than Default, which meant there was likely a way to write those somewhere. A slider with "Secondary Effects" was labeled "minimum" to "maximum" and set almost all the way to the bottom. That could mean any one of five or six different things, no way to know which without more experimenting.

Okay. Alright. Experiment two. Testicle Volume, also quadrupled. Set the time period to be a day. Slide the Secondary Effects up to the middle of the bar. I couldn't see anything indicating whether others would notice a difference, or if it would be retroactive like some of the stories indicated. There was a checkbox for conditional transformations, and another for duration before reversion, neither of which I turned on. There definitely was one for forcing functionality, which I made sure to check. Why would I want that kind of thing NOT checked? Why the heck wasn't it by default? There had to be a reason, somewhere, and that was frankly terrifying to me. With some significant nerves, I hit Apply.

Good news. No instant agony, though there was a bit of soreness as my balls began to undergo growth at a mere thousand times the rate of puberty. Chewing on some jerky, I decided to do the smart thing. Save everything, create a restore point for the VM, close it out to let the experiment run, then go back to the work I was supposed to be doing.

There were a few details to catch up with, but not too bad. At midnight, I clocked out and went to sleep, my head full of possibilities and worries.

***

Uncharacteristically, my eyes snapped open at 6:30 AM sharp. I just had a bad feeling... you know, besides the one coming from my noticeably-swollen balls resulting from the painkillers running out. Ow. No, I cracked open my work email to find a request to send the packet capture in for proof.

Oh, crap. I absolutely, positively, 9001% could not allow it to leave my grasp. Not with freaking MASTER.EXE contained within it. My boss knew how to use Wireshark, too. Maybe not as well as I could, but still. So. Step one. Replace the program in the capture with one that just looked malicious and was the same size. Not exactly a novice trick, but I wasn't exactly a novice. Mr. Byron wouldn't be expecting me to be awake yet, though, and the email didn't have a read receipt. I had maybe four hours before he could reasonably suspect anything. Plenty for this. Plus I was still on work-from-home status due to illness, an illness which I wasn't really feeling anymore but got the day remote for due to that caution.

That took me two of those four hours. Not too long after, breathing hard, I decided to survey what I had managed to do to myself. Yep. The equipment was most definitely significantly larger than before. Gave me a dose of confidence right with it. Not that I got much chance to show it off, but it would be enough to keep a girl interested if we got that far. That just left one hard part, I guess.

A girlfriend. I could go out and try to date again once I finished my self-development. I could get one then transform her into a dream girl. I could control one that I wanted, but that just felt dirty. Skeevy. No, it would have to be consenting. I could think about the how later. Once I made myself into boyfriend material, once I fixed my life situation a bit. That was its own problem, too. How to use this to get myself out of the rat race and onto easy street. Nothing occurred to me offhand, but I really did NOT want to be messing around with my mind until I understood this a lot better.

There was a rhythmic banging from next door. Of course. Lindsey. One of the most stereotypical girls on the face of the Earth. In this case, the stereotype was a failing model. She did a ton of sex work to support herself, posted pictures and videos of herself in multiple places across the Internet, but was ever so slowly dropping off. Her body was decent, her skills good, but none of it quite the equal of the really successful girls. If she had a John at nine in the morning, she must be getting desperate.

How did I know all this? Well, once I knew who she was, I subscribed. Sue me, I'm horny, and knowing that she was right there was my spank material more than once. Even paid for her company a couple of times, but I couldn't afford that all that often.

Hold on. Wait a sec. There's a solution to a LOT of different problems at once. If these changes weren't retroactive, if they weren't hidden, she'd notice immediately once I dropped trou. It would be my proof that I could back up my claims, and that I could give her the edge she needed to excel. Add payment, and I could get comfortable. Heck, if she liked it enough, she could spread the word, too. I jotted some notes down, but if she didn't have anyone else by lunch I'd knock on her door to see how things went. One message to her to schedule an hour for noon, she'd get it when she got it.

Now. The current steps. I pulled the Master PC back up, sighing with relief that it turned on without issue. Briefly, I checked the targeting box to make sure I could target my next-door neighbor, and found I could. On a lark, I tried a Hollywood starlet, and got a range error. Hm. I'd need to do more experiments on how far I could reach. Another thing for the notebook. Back to myself.

There were a million little things I could do to improve my body, but the first thing I REALLY needed to do was look for my global options... and save my current state. That was an option I saw, and shuddered with absolute horror at the possibility of what I might have done accidentally before doing that. Global time. There were... okay, there were a lot of them, too. A Way to password lock the program, which came with a reminder that people could be locked as well. Yep, added that to my profile, too. Resource usage priority list that let me force the program to use up waste, fat to a certain point, excess skin, and other such first when converting to desired outcomes. There was a relief, I set it to be the new default choice. Default transformation time to a day. Set some defaults for firmness and apparent age. Started pinning some shortcuts so that I could find them more easily later. Started up a transformation on myself set to take two weeks, laying on some muscle all over my body. Nothing huge, but enough to look like I'd taken up swimming intensively for a year or two. If I liked how it was going by then, I'd keep it up.

My alarm rang. Ten AM, time to send in the email, stretch, and eat some lunch. Look at Lindsey's reply, and wince a bit at the price tag. Okay, business investment, and even if she says no to the business part it's a good hour. Alright. Left me an hour and a half to get clean and get my stuff ready to talk to her. Two simple charts, one contingent command, one shower, one sandwich, one change into clothes that presented better than ratty pajamas and a bathrobe. At 11:55 I knocked on her door.

The woman who answered looked very, very good and knew it. A bit taller than me, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, tanned skin, and breasts she advertised as being 34Cs. Perhaps a bit thick around the middle, perhaps with hips and butt a bit narrow for the Internet's image of perfection, but well enough to make my blood boil with lust. Especially clad in a bra, panties, and easily-discarded robe. And a smirk. "Welcome back. I saw that you sent the payment already, we can get started as soon as you get comfortable."

I stepped in and walked to her bedroom. The apartment was small and not exactly the greatest. A lot like mine, which made sense since those bedrooms shared a wall. Once I got there, though, I only took off some of my clothes. Shoes, socks, and shirt came off. My pants, I left on. She came in, some surprise on her face. She knew me, after all, and knew that though I paid for an hour she'd probably be able to send me packing quickly. "Lindsey, before we get started, I wanted to talk for a bit."

She shrugged. "You have my time for now, what did you want to tell me?"

"I have a... call it a business proposition for you. I think I can give you an edge. A way to take off with your online sales." I handed over two of my three sheets of paper. The first had projections for what she was currently getting and where the extrapolation lines had her going. It really wasn't pretty, but I knew it was accurate. The second had what would happen if she gained a following that put her into the top percent of those sites. "I think I can get you onto that second track. Call it a trade secret."

"I'm pretty sure you're off your rocker, but I'll bite. What's in it for you?" She was disrobing slowly, probably hoping to distract me. It was working, to be fair, but I had enough for this.

"Half the difference between the two lines, and you spreading the word to people near here who you think I can also help."

"I will admit to being curious, but for now I know you came here for more than just talk... WHAT THE HECK?" This last as I dropped my pants. She was already mostly nude, and had me hard just being there, but she knew what I had been packing before. This was not what she was expecting. "How did you..."