Tale #159: A Smooth Move

Tale #159: A Smooth Move (Content Tags: Messy diapers, super-powers, humiliation, brain-drain) "I think you're better this way, don't you? All those icky wrinkles just completely smoothed out; no place for any of those big, yucky thoughts to hide, right?" Icky and yucky weren't words that the former genius would have used to describe his intelligence, and a smooth brain was in no way better than a wrinkled one; not that he could understand that any longer. Icky and yucky were words that would have made more sense for the things he was so mindlessly pushing out these days. The colossal steamers were *icky*, and they made his maximum capacity diapers very *yucky*. But he liked that kind of icky and yucky now. There wasn't much for his mind to focus on other than the warm squishing that was so frequently under his rump. He liked the stickiness, the ripeness, and the slippery way that his underside felt as it was entombed in his own fuming filth. Every pantload, big or small, was an opportunity for that smooth brain of his to fixate and analyze, which had once been valuable talents used for higher purposes. Sometimes he had to grunt and his tummy would push, and sometimes he'd sit flat on his tushy and feel a fresh pile flatten as a complete surprise. He liked those surprises. It was like recieving a gift, even though these presents were ones that he'd made himself, and also weren't anything worthwhile of envy by anyone else. There weren't enough neurons firing to miss that feeling: the smug superiority of recognizing the naked jealousy of his so-called peers. To flaunt his intellect like a rich kid showing off what he got for his birthday. Now all he had were stooly diapers and drooly pacifiers, and his former peers were all his superiors by an unimaginable margin. His new peers, the other boys that slobbered down their chest and pinched loafs off in their Pampers, were hardly jealous either. He was no longer special, unless one was to add 'ed' as a suffix. "All that wit...That was your superpower. It was impressive, I won't deny that, but it was always something that was so fragile, wasn't it? Some kids could fly or shoot lasers from their fingers, and you laughed as you found ways to mimic them with your little gadgets, but everything you were capable of was built on shaky ground. Like a house of cards in tornado alley..." The boy's mind *had* indeed been the superpower that made him a meta-human like the others in the academy. Superhuman intelligence wasn't as outwardly glamorous, but it'd proven to be the most versatile of all gifts, and with it he'd been able to approximate the powers of countless others. Jet-boots to fly, an endless arsenal of weapons that could fry, freeze, shock, or inflame, goggles that gave him all types of vision, force-fields for protection and exoskeletons that provided him with super-strength... Only the most niche of powers were able to escape his grasp, and those were powers that frankly weren't usually worth the trouble! Powers like the ability to iron *anything* flat. That'd been Julian's power, and the genius hadn't been the only one to mock him for it, just the most brutal and vocal. To be fair, it'd only been recent that Julian had even discovered that his power was more versatile than he'd presumed it to be. It seemed so dumb, after all. What could ironing flat any wrinkles help to do, other than get Julian a top position in a laundromat? Or at best, a job at a spa or plastic surgeon's office? But clothes and skin weren't the only things that had wrinkles. There was something else, which was far more important, that also had wrinkles, and those wrinkles were a good thing. The brain. With how intelligent the genius had been, his brain had been absolutely covered in wrinkles! Each one a sign of vastly higher function than the plebs he had to share oxygen with. And now they were all gone. Every last one had been completely smoothed out, and with it, his IQ had plummeted to levels that even toddlers would find embarrassing. **frrrrttt...** "Oh, would you look at that! I guess you *can* mimic my power, buddy! Those wrinkles on the back of your diaper are going away." Julian's mockery was lost on the former genius by this point; those words would have stung earlier on, whenever the assault on his mind was still ongoing, but he simply didn't have the mental bandwidth or recognition to identify insults anymore. So he didn't frown or pout, especially not whenever he could feel a hefty mass pushing out into his padded seat, no, he instead gave a broad grin. "Pooooopie..." The drooly boy giggled, before starting to grunt as the load continued to course out. That was about the extent of his previously verbose and loquacious vocabulary these days; no longer did he pepper his sentences with long, multi-syllabic words, he just peppered his padding with endless toots. He'd effectively been turned into a Dill Pickles, where he had but the one word, and it childishly referred to his own stool. A fart bubbled against the back of his slowly bulging diaper, and the lump suddenly grew another size, as his cheeks reddened and a snot bubble appeared in one nostril. His chin glistened with the river of drool that freely flowed past his slackened lips, the spittle dampening the front of his unbuttoned onesie. "We really need to get you a new superhero name, y'know? A new costume too. I don't think that 'The Thinker' is all that fitting these days. Diaper-Dolt? Captain Crinkle? The Poo-Maker?" Julian laughed, mockingly tapping a finger to his chin, as if deep in thought. If 'The Thinker' was paying attention, then his expression didn't show it, with all his focus seeming centered on the payload he was trying to dump into his pants; the boy got onto his hands and knees, and made a more concerted effort to evacuate his bowels, with his drool now starting to drip down in a string that dangled like a bungee cord. "Oh! The *Stinker*. Or is that too obvious?" "Mmmph! Hmmph! Ngghh!" Came the boy's strained reply. There was a pronounced crackling sound as the full breadth of the turd reared itself, its blunt width pressing fully upon the bulky bulwark of his high-capacity diaper. The spectacle of him letting loose, of letting these logs unfurl, was practically hourly these days, and the sheer size of his diapers were proof of that frequency. Such a garment hadn't been the first choice whenever this had started, but it was simply a matter of pragmatism now; it was hardly practical to change him a dozen times a day, for every little befouling that his garment endured, and thus something with impressive space was required for the fudge factory that he'd become. The diapers were so thick that he couldn't press his thighs together, nor could he really walk, not that he had much coordination left to accomplish that anyway. His new natural state of motility was crawling across the floor like an infant, with his turdsack sagging behind him, often scraping the ground with its heft. His current state wasn't such, and while his diaper bulged, it didn't yet droop with the multiple pounds of waste that his garment was fully capable of carrying. It was only a matter of time though, possibly only minutes, before the crinkly diaper would creak as it lowered closer to the floor. "Pooooopie...!" He slobbered, his voice devoid of anything resembling intelligence. "Yes, I know. You're very focused on those big poops of yours, aren't you? Still as self-centered as ever, though you're not quite the sparkling conversationalist that you used to be, hmm?" Julian chuckled. It now seemed like it'd been an expedient collapse, but the truth was different whenever things had first started. The retarded animal on the floor, gleefully soiling an oversized diaper, hadn't reached this point until Julian had fully finished the process. Powers were tricky, after all, and that was most true for powers as unique as his. The common powers all had specific instructors who could guide their young pupils along in controlling their gifts, or they were abilities that were simple and intuitive, but there wasn't anyone else who had the power that Julian did. Much of his power he'd had to learn on his own, with minimal instruction to look to, and with little interest from veteran metahumans who saw his 'ironing' skill as borderline useless. The first time he'd even realized that he could use his ability on things other than wrinkled clothing had been only a handful of months before he'd started to practice on the little genius. He'd been with one of his few friends, and they'd mentioned something about one of their teachers being self-conscious over her aging skin. Her *wrinkled* skin. Imagine his surprise, and his teacher's glee, whenever he'd returned her face to that of a young woman again! It was a proof of concept that his powers were more useful than they'd first appeared. Maybe not for fighting crime or anything like that, but at the very least he could reverse some of the ravages of time! And then there had been Professor Phobos' class. Professor Phobos was a wildly talented telepath and mind-bender, so it was only natural that he enjoyed discussing the intricacies of the human mind. He taught not only the psychological aspects of the brain, but the physical structure of it as well, both of which would become a great inspiration for someone who'd had enough of being the figurative punching bag of his grade. It was in that class that he learned the interesting tidbit of how the human brain had wrinkles, and how those wrinkles denoted intelligence. To be 'smooth-brained' wasn't just an insult without any weight, but was instead born from fascinating biological trivia. The idea still took some time to ripen in his head; Julian quickly considered the possibilities, but was less clear on how something like that could work and whether or not it would be ethical to perform. Plenty of superhumans had mental powers that could give similar results, though less often did those abilities involve changing the physical structure of the brain, but Julian was apprehensive to cross that moral threshold. But 'The Thinker' wouldn't stop pushing his luck, and Julian could himself only be pushed so far. So the class 'genius' would become the lab monkey for Julian's little experiment. When he first started, he told himself that he'd only do a little, as to prove to himself that he could, but as could be seen in the present day, that self-limitation hadn't lasted long. Once Julian had gotten a taste, he couldn't get enough. The way that Julian's powers usually worked was that he was able to perform his best whenever he could touch and see the object that he was exerting his will upon. For obvious reasons, that would prove very difficult for the objective that Julian had in mind. Or it would have been, if not for the other 'losers outcasts' who believed in unifying behind him: The Phantom Limb, Specks, and Mi-Casa. One had the ability of making parts of his body ethereal and detached, one could see in any frequency, and the last had the ability of temporarily shifting powers from one person to another. With their powers combined, Julian could use ethereal hands, while watching with special vision, to manually iron the wrinkles of the genius's brain. It'd been a joint operation that'd taken multiple sessions over the period of a couple of months to accomplish; his fellow losers had stoked the flames of vengeance, their alliance turning what was meant to be a small experiment into a larger venture. Even if they hadn't been so adamant, then Julian would have still been consumed by the sense of power that he'd felt from doing it. After the first attempt, he had been able to see the genius change; Julian had heard the egomaniac tripping over his words, like a computer searching for a file that no longer existed in its registry. The idiocy hadn't been immediate, but the seeds of future degradation had been beautifully sown. After a few more quick sessions in the coming weeks, the cracks had started to show themselves more thoroughly; the genius was raising his hand less in class, his confidence was waning, and his insults became more simplistic. His emotions became more volatile too, and after one such outburst, Julian had watched as the front of his shorts darkened with urine. The Thinker was too arrogant to seek help for what was a clear descent into devolution; perhaps he thought he could fix things himself, or maybe he thought that he couldn't possibly admit his weakness to anyone else. If he had, and someone with authority had seen what was becoming of him, then perhaps Julian would have been forced to stop. Funnily enough, the smoothing of his brain didn't immediately impede his ability to invent, though it did shift the type of things that he would work on. The immense diapers that he now wore were one of the last projects that he'd worked on, although begrudgingly, out of the necessity that his dwindling intellect required. His bladder started to fail more frequently, and soon after his bowels would become equally as unreliable. The diapers had adjustable parameters, such as thickness, absorbency, and stool capacity. They could be as discreet as underwear, or as cumbersome as strapping pillows to his bottom. They could adjust to different sizes of the wearer, and they had a display of sorts on the landing strip that gave stats on the current usage. It still remained impressive now, though few could probably understand the science behind it, especially with the inventor no longer sure himself. The legacy of his brilliance was left behind in the form of a machine that would produce these incredible diapers, using molecular rearrangement to craft what the programmed blueprints dictated, from recycled materials. Whenever his pail was full, it got dumped into the chute of the machine, and a new stack of fresh diapers came out the other side. It was the kind of invention that could have set him up for a life of luxury, though many other of his projects could have boasted the same. The diapers weren't the only schematics that had been programmed into the machine either. As the genius had become more unhinged, more unglued, he had seen the need for other infantile accessories; the machine could also make 'smart' plastic pants, onesies, rompers, and the like. Everything a diapered dummy needed, could come from the machine. It gave Julian just a hint of regret now, to think that he'd personally destroyed such an incredible intellect out of petty revenge. Those feelings thankfully never lasted long though, especially at a time like now, whenever he was watching the former genius so shamelessly dropping steamers into his seat. There was a perverse joy to seeing his own handiwork like this. There was a sense of accomplishment, of power, to watch a once brilliant boy now left slobbering, farting, and pooping himself. It also gave him inspiration to train his skills harder, so that he could one day repeat the ability without an entourage to assist him. That would be something that would make him a force to truly be reckoned with. Perhaps villainy was a more appropriate path for him to take? To be feared as someone who could remotely destroy a mind in such an irreversible way. Julian's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden squelch, and he looked down to see that the pooping boy had mindlessly plopped himself down onto his squishy bottom on the floor, gleefully letting the stool smear all throughout the inside of his immense diaper. The fumes wafted up from the bulging, lumpy brown-stained undergarment, and the boy had a big smile on his face. "All done, my smooth-brained little friend?" "Poo-poo!" Yes, the former genius *was* done. In more ways than one.