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hngty · 7 days ago

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Grodd's Good Boy

Bruce Wayne was balancing a banana on top of his head. He was a boy, the same age he’d been when Alfred had insisted he go to those preparatory classes for sophistication and class. At the time, Bruce had been too bereaved by the loss of his parents to put up much of a fuss about it, but he had chaffed endlessly under the direction of his teachers. In particular, he recalled the ludicrous exercise in which he was expected to balance an apple on top of his head while walking to and fro in the classroom. As he carefully traipsed about with the banana sat precariously atop him, Bruce could practically imagine the surroundings of the old classroom around him, the old mahogany paneling, the odor of dust collected from bygone genteel ages, and the instructor looking down upon him with a scornful, judgemental gaze.

As Bruce paced from one end of the classroom to the other though, he became aware that he pictured the teacher vaguely different than he had before. It was hard to place any singular difference in his mind, but the more he focused on the visualization, the more alien it became to him. Behind the half-rim glasses was a face full of strong, wide, animalistic features. The red bowtie that Bruce had assumed was affixed to a shaggy shirt was actually attached to a full chest of dark fur, scarcely covered by the tweed jacket covering the instructor’s enormously broad and muscular form. Beneath his furry, pantless legs were two hand-like feet, gripping the mahogany panel floor to balance the enormous form they supported.

With a gasp, Bruce spun towards the teacher and realized he was being tutored by a gorilla. One of his simian paws was pressed tightly to his temple, whilst murmuring something that Bruce couldn’t quite hear. His face was strained, but the gorilla still bore a tight smile, the sort one has from the enjoyment of a challenging game he’s partaking in. Slowly, it came to Bruce’s awareness that he was the game on which the primate was so keenly concentrated, though he hadn’t the wherewithal to understand exactly how. Instead, he simply felt the overwhelming and childish urge to flee from danger, and stumbling over his own feet as the flighty notion overtook his sense, he tumbled onto his behind.

The banana tumbled to the ground.

Suddenly, Batman was back in his manor. Panting, sweating, his legs wobbled beneath him as he took in his surroundings. Half-clinging to a banister for support, the dark hero became aware that he was on the stair in the main hall of his home. His body ached from exertion, but he managed the energy to throw the batarang he’d had prepared in his off-hand. The sharp, spinning instrument arced clumsily towards Batman’s target, and despite the aim being true, Gorilla Grodd easily batted it aside. The throw had been slow, with little momentum, and had caused no damage to the intruding simian smiling up at the caped crusader from the base floor of the hall.

“I’ll give you this, Batman,” the ape huffed, like an opponent that was recuperating from a scarcely lost tennis match. “You are certainly an opponent worthy of collection, not just simple destruction.”

The gorilla’s voice rang with sophistication despite the bassy, animalistic nature of his voice, but his outfit was no longer that of the scholarly professor, as Batman had seen in his mind. There, in the real world, Grodd was clad as the despotic villain he’d always been, His golden armor was as gaudy as it was barbaric, punctuated with spikes. A massive blood-red cape hung over his shoulders, which might’ve given the gorilla the likeness of Superman if he didn’t wear it like a maniacal king wanting for a crown. Despite his savage and crazed appearance, however, the gorilla carried himself with poise as he stood with an uncompromising and regal posture.

“However, you’re clearly not holding up well to my power,” Grodd stated, gesturing to his opponent as if the hero’s state were evidence enough for his claim. “Why not submit to me now so we can be done with this charade?”

“What have you done with Alfred?” Batman growled breathlessly.

“Asked and answered, Bruce,” the gorilla responded chidingly, an excited grin spreading ominously over his face to reveal his barbaric teeth. “Perhaps I’m having even more of an effect on you than I previously assumed. Am I really affecting your famously resilient mind so easily?”

Batman remembered in a flash. He and Grodd had been fighting for a while now. Previously he’d had some sense of how long, but looking to the enormous curtained windows of the hall, he was internally surprised to see that the sunny evening had lapsed into night. Alfred had been going about the mansion, closing the drapes, when the alarms had notified Batman of an intruder. He’d suited up into the caped crusader, assuming the butler would follow the usual protocols to safety. Apparently, there had been a snag in that plan, as Batman was still fighting into the night, no support in sight, and the curtains of the main hall were still wide open, the darkness looming into the unlit foyer.

Thus, without much of any other plan to speak of beyond holding out for help, Batman sprung into action. He slowly recalled that the evening had undergone this same pattern before. The agile hero swooped down upon the gorilla with a strong flying kick, but due to the fatigue of the ongoing struggle, Grodd easily deflected the blow. Batman slid across the marble floor, easily finding his feet on instinct, but the boxing blows the hero managed to give the ape afterwards were haphazard, unfocused. The gorilla simply played defense as he had all night. He had the time, and Batman felt Grodd’s real plan being enacted on a separate plane of struggle.

It was difficult enough, trying to overpower a giant simian intruder that easily doubled your match in body size and weight, but Grodd hadn’t burst into Wayne Manor to physically usurp his opponent. The gorilla sought to mentally dominate the hero with his notorious psychic power, which meant Batman fought to maintain his psychological defenses as he took the offensive in a more physical fashion. Unfortunately, it was a losing proposition for the dark knight and most of why the Batman found himself so thoroughly fatigued in the moment. The more he fought, the more easily his aggression was subverted, and all the while, maintaining his mental barriers took a good deal of effort as well, weakening his focus, making his moves less effective, and thus sending the hero into a terrible downward spiral.

If Batman would have any extraneous psychological attention to spare, he could have had the ability to formulate an alternative plan, but as the gorilla battered his mind in the usual barbaric mental assaults Batman had come to expect from Grodd, the hero found he had little bandwidth for such a task. All of his attention was honed towards the task that so often served him best against the brutish, full-force attacks Grodd made against his mind, mentally visualizing defenses against the psychic battering ram of the gorilla’s internal assault. With every burst of telepathic force coming from the villain, Batman felt his mind lurch as it struck against an imagined steel door, locked and sealed tight versus the strike, which worked as exceedingly well as it usually did with the ape. It worked so well, in fact, that Batman withheld just the slightest bit of brainpower to ponder how Grodd had usurped his defenses before. Wondering further, and glancing out of the dark windows, Batman realized that he hadn’t considered the possibility that the trance he’d just snapped from wasn’t the first time he’d been brought into peril by Grodd’s psychic powers, which brought forth a more disturbing question:

How many times had he been brought under telepathic submission already this evening?

Between these considerations, maintaining his fruitless martial barrage on the intruder, and holding up the mental barrier between him and his foe, Batman was surprised to feel his mindscape shift a little. It was a subtle change, one that Batman was not used to being affected with. He’d fought a number of psychic foes before, but rarely did they have the ability to afflict him with separate telepathic methodologies. The forceful and uncomplicated salvo that Grodd often utilized was best prevented by a simple defense, guarded by a complex interweaving of imagined defenses. Imagine a door. Reinforce that door. Lock that door. Lock it again. The forceful opponent was limited by their own lack of imagination, hindered by the defender’s own.

Yet, now a more abstruse method was coming into play. The imagined door in Batman’s mind still held fast, but the weakness to such a technique is that it imagined a consciousness trapped within a room of its own design. Being rarely important to be visualized, Batman had not bothered, instead leaving the details unrealized in exchange for more attention to be directed towards subduing his enemy on the martial stage of reality. Now, the details were being clarified for him, the ground under his mental feet, so to speak, being drawn up from under him. Grodd’s expression of tense concentration formed once more into that strained conveyance of enjoyment for a well played game, while Batman’s visage grew ever more grim between panting breaths.

In his mind’s eye, the door remained, but around it formed the familiar sight of his childhood bedroom. Batman struggled to fight against the creeping portrayal, stretching over his mindscape like a drape being pulled over a bright window, but just as he mentally reached to retract the obscuring curtain, another burst of psychic force rattled his mental defenses, nearly bursting through his thinly spread focus. It was a losing battle, Bruce realized, to fight against, two telepathic front and succeed in a physical one, especially since his huge opponent only had to assault him from two fronts and weakly defend against the physical, a truth that only became increasingly evident as one of Batman’s fatigued blows was easily countered by the giant ape.

As the childhood bedroom overtook Batman’s mind, his body began to feel increasingly disconnected from his true reality. The vision of old, rustic furniture looming over him seemed to grow steadily more real as it clouded his mental visualizations. He was no longer dressed as Batman, distantly feeling that version of himself going increasingly limp on his feet in the real world, and instead, Bruce was dressed as he so often was in his childhood, that too becoming detailed for him by the gorilla’s insidious psychic influence. A simple white button-up was hugged over his torso by a childish blue corduroy blazer, complete without matching bowtie around the neck. Plaid shorts cut off well before his knees, leaving plenty of room to see the white socks worn stiffly half-way up his shin, giving an air of pretentious stuffiness when paired with the boat shoes.

Struggling to hold onto his sense of self, however, Bruce maintained his adult appearance this time around, not willing to surrender every aspect of himself to the force still pounding at the door, even as the room was accented with ever more posh childish accouterments. Stuffed animals cluttered the bed. Old wooden toys were half-split from an antique toy chest. It was all the high-class items that Bruce had been given as a kid, fun and yet reserved in their chic nature, just as he had been expected to be when younger, childish and yet refined.

It was a notion that was shaken from Bruce’s notice as the door was pounded against once more, but while the man in boyish clothing strained to maintain his remaining defenses, the worst had already been done. He was in his childhood room, after all, and his childhood room hadn’t been equipped with a pure steel door. The reasoning echoed through his head in a familiar air of sophistication, despite the primal bassy tone, but despite Bruce knowing the thought not to be his, the hero's unconscious accepted the reasoning handily, replacing the secure door with the simple wooden-panel he recalled from childhood painted an infantile baby blue.

The pounding at the door became more nuanced now, Bruce’s mind no longer interpreting the psychic assault for what it was. Terror pounded in his chest, making Bruce the slightest bit aware of how limply and slack-jawed he stood in the real world, as the brutish barrage became the aggressive rattling of the doorknob. Then once more came the familiar voice, echoing through his increasingly yielding mindscape, the exact words becoming clearer in his psyche.

“Grodd’s good little boys can't lock out adults.”

Bruce knew he was an adult. If anything, the absurdity of the tight-fitting and childish outfit on his full-grown body only highlighted the contrast in who he was as a man and how he was being handled as a mere boy, yet already, Grodd had his foot in the door of his subconscious, metaphorically and increasingly literally. While Bruce recognized this, his mind bowed to the authority Grodd already had over his mind, tipping the scales further in the gorilla’s favor. The chains, locks, and securities remaining around the door, vanished away, and before Bruce could summon them back, in stomped a familiar ape in glasses, a bowtie, and a tweed jacket.

“There we are, Bruce,” Grodd smiled down at his subject.

Looking at Grodd was a disorienting process for Bruce, dreamlike in nature. Asserting control over his mental state as he was, he no longer towered over the hero as the ape had in the previous hallucination, and Bruce was thankful that Grodd hadn’t been able to regress him so easily this time. However, the ape still seemed to have the towering presence of an adult over a child, the sort that made Bruce feel exceptionally small, despite being just the same comparative size as he was in the real world. Even more unfortunately, the hero didn’t know how much longer that small equalization in power would remain, as with Grodd actually in his own mind, it would be easier than ever for the big ape to manipulate his thoughts and conceptions as he saw fit. Thus, with little other plan once more, Bruce charged at the gorilla with a furious shout of resistance.

“Get out!” Bruce cried out as he ran towards Grodd.

It would’ve been an admirable resistance if Grodd hadn’t already claimed such an impressive majority of control over Bruce’s unconscious, but as the hero made his bold charge, the floor stretched on forever beneath his feet in a nightmarish marathon to the intruder directly before him, in his mind’s eye. Bruce pressed on ever harder, but doing so only made his legs seem to lag ever more slowly. His mind began to tire from the exertion, fear stifling his brave intention until he eventually came to a stand still, panting and feeling as fatigued as he did in reality. Despite his masculine appearance, the impression he gave was that of a child that’d worn himself out in a tantrum, a perception that dealt its own damage as it resonated within his psyche.

“If you’re quite done,” Grodd chuckled, tussling the boyishly dressed man’s head while Bruce was doubled over to collect his breath, hands on his knees. “I’d like to note how well you resisted me, to claw back your adult visage this time around. It’s taken us the better part of the evening to regress you to internal boyhood.

“Yet,” Grodd continued to smile with a superior air as he surveyed the mindscape, “it seems your mind has accepted your internal infantility, even if you have not, and what’s more, it seems to yield ever so easily to my touch, wouldn't you say?”

Bruce felt his mind lightly rattled by another pulse of telepathic energy, and to punctuate the point, all the childish stuffed animals lying about on his bed changed form. Plush dogs grew opposable paws. A giraffe’s neck shortened whilst its signature spots were traded for a gray back. Every stitched smile took on a simian grin, as all of the stuffed animals turned to gorillas.

“Maybe,” Bruce wheezed, “but if knickerbockers and toy apes are all you got, I think I’ll be okay until I recover my strength.”

“You think that, do you?” Grodd scratched his chin with one of his primal hands. “I suppose you’re right. That’s why Grodd’s boy should keep busy.”

At once, the room seemed to warp and expand. The toy box changed, the wooden toys adjusting into a sight that was both much more familiar to the adult Bruce while remaining just as strange. Colored blocks with numbers and letters became pastel dumbbells. Hoops and sticks turned into striped barbells. The toy chest itself expanded, wapped, and then unfolded into a large baby blue bench for exercise. Everything remained the same vintage wood, yet each weight was numbered differently to indicate the associated difficulty they’d have to lift. Bruce supposed that the material would matter little in a dreamscape like this, but it was still strange to see. Stranger still was the way his body moved to interact with the space, seemingly of its own accord. It felt as if his own subconscious, demonstrably subservient to Grodd already, had more possession of his conscious mental persona that Bruce himself did.

“Stop this!” Batman groaned, as he fought against the steps that brought him ever closer to his new set of toys.

“Well, I might’ve let you recover if you’d promised to be Grodd’s good little boy,” the gorilla muttered as he frittered through the drawers and cabinets of the room, “but you just had to keep fighting me. Luckily, it seems your mind knows what’s good for you, even if you yourself actively don’t. Maybe it was all those obedience lessons I submitted you to previously. The fruit atop the head exercise seemed to trend well with your old nostalgia of etiquette school, but really, I’d like to get my boy used to exercising to be as big and strong for me as he can possibly be.”

“You couldn’t know about etiquette school,” Batman grunted, as he bent down to seat himself on the baby blue weight bench.

The wooden seat was about as comfortable as could be expected, but there was something familiar to that feeling. It was both childishly welcoming and deceptively stiff. It reminded him of how he was meant to be a good boy as a kid, child-like and yet stiffly disciplined.

“I've been learning a lot about you, Bruce,” Grodd asserted. “Finding your identity was just a matter of having the right connections, but since entering your mind a few times, I've learned about all there is to know about you.”

From the dresser drawer Grodd was searching through, he withdrew an ornate desk-framed photograph, holding it up to Bruce from across the room. The childishly dressed man didn't have long to look at it, soon bending over to hoist one of the stiff, wooden barbells above his head, but he quickly recognized a picture of himself at a glance, a boyhood portrait of him in the same smart blue jacket and tidy shorts he'd been sent to lessons in. As Grodd handled the photo, Bruce felt his memory in the ape's grasp as well, all of the boyhood etiquette training in the palm of his enemy's hand. The sensation caused Bruce to grimace before his body began to lie down, obediently pushing the barbell up from his body in robotically executed repetitions.

“Of course, Grodd's boy never stopped his lessons,” Bruce heard, even as he puffed and heaved the heavy bar. “It really is the best for you, aiming to match my genteel mannerisms.”

Bruce felt something change in the back of his mind. It was the same way that he felt when he’d remembered something important or as if a matter had just begun to make sense to him. A feeling of ill dread welled in his stomach despite the sudden sensation of relief in his mind, the sort that so often came with such epiphanies, and turned his head to see the portrait Grodd was still holding outstretched. Bruce knew there was a reason it was causing that feeling of unease in his gut, but as he continued to puff and push, he saw nothing wrong with the picture. In it was himself, a developed man in his appropriately boyish and polite dressings, poised perfectly with a banana on top of his head. He recalled the picture being taken just recently, and how proud he’d been to walk so steadily so as not to upset the fruit, but even as he remembered the eager confidence from that day, he still couldn’t shake the notion that something was off about the photograph.

“What have you done with that?” Bruce wheezed, too exhausted to sound more certain of his vague accusation.

“Can’t you tell what I am supposed to have done with it?” Grodd countered, setting the golden banana-patterned frame atop the childish nightstand nearby. “Honestly, Bruce. I don’t understand how my boy could accuse me of anything. I found it in your drawer after all.

“But I suppose a boy like you wouldn’t have the keenest grasp on how these things work, could you?” the gorilla continued as he kept rifling through the bedroom’s furniture, his simian hand finally seizing something else from the same drawer out of which he’d plucked the strange photo. “Especially while you still have to wear these!”

From his vantage point on the bench, Bruce was shocked to see the ape pull from his private dresser a thick, folded parcel. It crinkled in his grasp, instantly identifiable from the smell of nursery perfumes it carried with it, a suggestive odor that carried through the room with a corrupting effect. Bruce tried to disbelieve the neat stacks of similarly creased garments that suddenly appeared, lined vertically in all the nooks and crannies of the room. A bookshelf filled with boy scouting guides and literary boyhood tales of yesteryear became crammed with simple picture books on counting, the alphabet, and animal names as well. An infantile mobile of simple wood and yarn popped into view above his baby blue bedsheets, leaving various stuffed apes to dance above his bed in a circular fashion while the bed equipped itself with protective wooden railing on its every side.

For the briefest moment, it seemed unusual to Bruce that his bedroom was a nursery, but looking at the thick diaper in Grodd’s hand, such a living quarters only really made sense to the man as he pushed out another repetition while laying on top of his wooden changing table. He’d have the brainpower to press into the thought process further, but the exercise he was putting into hoisting the toy barbell was too strenuous, too exhausting to allow for such mental explorations. Looking down between his legs and to the puffy protrusion that filled out his plaid corduroy shorts, it figured to Bruce that the sizable and bulky diaper he was wearing might be adding to his encumbered mentality.

As Grodd replaced the diaper into Bruce’s drawer, cementing its place in the depths of the subdued hero’s mind, Bruce felt a warmth grow between his legs. Within the space of his mindscape, he’d wet his diaper yet again, as he was so used to doing during his extensive workouts to maintain muscularity for Grodd. The hero was unaware that the gorilla was watching him with an amused sneer in reality, while a hissing trickling sounded heavily from within Batman’s armored pants. The face of the unconscious hero grinned oafishly as he pissed his own uniform, almost entirely surrendered to Grodd’s control this time. His eyes were glazed. Drool streamed heavily from his gaping mouth. The villain knew it was time to press for the finish.

Within Bruce’s mindscape, now entirely under Grodd’s own control, the gorilla reached deep into the drawer that represented the deepest parts of the man’s mind. Previously they’d held long-held, important memories for the hero, things like the face of his father, the night he’d become the Batman, or the fond recollection of his old keepsake drawer from the actual version of the dresser Grodd was now up to the elbow in. Of course, the gorilla had done some rearranging within the old knick-knack storage since beginning his conquest’s on Bruce’s mind and had so relished the task.

When one left their mental vulnerabilities so simply and thematically collected in one spot of the mind, as Bruce had, Grodd had learned that it was a simple matter to manipulate the subject as he saw fit. For instance, one of the first things he did was reassert the same conditioning he’d been pressing upon the hero all night by placing a simple placard within the keepsake drawer, which read “Grodd’s Good Boy.” It was a plain piece of cardstock on which the title was written in a fine hand, the sort of thing a child might keep on their school desk to familiarize a teacher with their face. For Bruce, it cemented the idea ever further into his malleable brain that he should strive to be the gorilla’s “good boy,” behaving in the rigid and poised manner expected for a boy of his upbringing.

Likewise, Grodd had long since folded away any reasoning for the hero’s nights spent as the caped crusader, plucking them out of the keepsake drawer. Bruce whimpered as the gorilla did so, but looking to the encumbered hero from within his mindscape, Grodd saw that the hero, though vaguely disturbed by the sensation that some unidentifiably crucial part of himself was now missing, was too preoccupied with obediently exhausting himself to put much of a fuss into comprehending what was actually amiss. Seeing the reaction, however, the gorilla deemed it wise to simply transition the recollections into a more appropriate location for a whimsical child, willing a dress-up box of costumes to appear from beneath the crib-like bed. The play outfits of a billionaire playboy, a savvy businessman, and a suave seducer all already populated the bin, so adding the memories of Batman in the some of a childishly tailored cape and cowl seemed apropos. From the smile of relief on the exercising man’s face, Grodd’s suspicions were confirmed.

Then, plucking out the photo of Bruce’s father, the gorilla ran his finger gently across the portrait with a devious grin. Pictured within was a handsome male in posh dress, looking confidently back at the viewer, and the word “Father” was childishly scrawled across the blank bottom of the paper’s white frame, presumably an etching done in Bruce’s own hand in his earliest memories. The hero’s strong features and keen eyes clearly hadn’t fallen from the tree, but as Grodd felt along the photo, he wondered if Bruce was capable of growing out facial hair like his “father” had. It seemed the entire face of the picture’s subject was entirely covered in dark fur, though at least the hero had the same dark shade of hair as the paternal figure. The way the male in the photo filled out his tweed jacket was impressive as well, similar to how “Batman” filled out his outfit despite how Bruce’s perception of such a heroic alter ego was mere child-like whimsy now.

In fact, from the winning savage grin to the charismatic domineering gaze, the photo’s depiction was a near copy of Grodd’s own image within Bruce’s mind, yet it was still the same picture, as it was still labeled in the man’s boyhood scribble. The depicted male just had to be Bruce’s “father,” of course, so the ape shrugged. Continuing to smile deviously, the matching gorilla dropped his picture into the drawer once more, prompting a gasp from the man lifting behind him.

“Father?” intoned Bruce, a submissive and questioning air punctuating his fatigued panting as if the man wasn’t sure he was addressing the right person. “Um, how much longer must I keep exercising?”

“As long as I wish,” Grodd asserted with the best paternal smile he could affect. “Grodd’s boy could certainly handle that, yes?”

“Certainly, sir!” Bruce answered emphatically, despite his obvious exhaustion, and pressed ever harder into his exertions with the prideful zeal of progeny seeking to appeal to his guardian.

The smile on Grodd’s face, both in Bruce’s mindscape and without, was entirely genuine, despite dubious intentions underlying his father-like kindness. With Bruce’s mind more open and vulnerable to him than it ever had been before, the gorilla deftly plucked a stuffed animal of the same breed from the bed-crib, and plunged the encumbered hand once more into the depths of the drawer. It was deeper than he’d ever bothered to explore a human’s mind in his previous schemes, but that was before he’d discovered a secret to the weak species, so adaptable and malleable in nature. Humans were capable of reimagining themselves of almost anything, it seemed, but until recently, Grodd had never realized how far he could push them towards such alterations.

He’d learned to change their loyalties and obediences. He’d trained to sway their affections and fears. He’d mastered how to mold their character and personality like mere substances for him to craft with. Yet all the while, humanity’s greatest trick of the mind had somehow eluded Grodd, but upon placing the stuffed gorilla in the deepest anals of Bruce’s mind, the villain knew he’d achieved victory over the most base facts of a human’s ego. He’d altered his former foe’s actual state of being.

Bruce opened his eyes to become aware that he stood in a puddle of his own urine, Father looking down upon him with a disappointed, amused smile. Bruce wished he could say that this was the first time something like this had happened, but that didn’t seem right. It couldn’t have been true, given that Bruce had never managed to wean himself out of diapers, nor had he ever really wanted to deprive himself of their cushy comfort. In fact, why he wasn’t wearing them under his favorite play superhero suit was a bit of a befuddlement to him.

Looking up into his father’s eye, he gave a slight and boyishly bashful bow as he gave a murmur to the imperious gorilla before him.

“My apologies, Father,” Bruce reverently grunted, trying to look earnestly remorseful despite the animalistic throbbing he felt between his legs.

“It’s quite alright, boy” Grodd answered, his smile softening. “Do you feel quite alright?”

Bruce was about to answer that he felt perfectly fine, besides wetting his play costume, but he noticed that something did feel strange. His body felt weightier somehow, a bit fatigued somehow, but also he felt simply more heavy as well. Looking at his large and hairy arms, covered in raven-black fur that tore through the frays in his silly undersized outfit, Bruce became aware how foreign their feeling as raw strength was to him. His chest felt similarly, straining the yellow logo over his broad and muscular center. Lastly, he considered with an animalistic scratch on the head, his virile member seemed to throb with more brute willfulness than he felt was normal, as if his beastly libido had almost doubled.

As far as Bruce could figure, however, these were all perfectly good features for a civilized gorilla like him and his father, and he couldn’t understand why they’d perturb him now.

“I think,” Bruce smiled up at his father, “that I simply require a change to feel myself again, sir.”

“I’m glad to hear it, my boy,” Grodd happily replied, causing Bruce to slightly moan at the phrase. “I’ll have a brief word with the butler then and have him refresh you at once. Then it will be back to playing in the gym again.”

“Yes, Father!” Bruce obediently answered, beaming ear to ear with all his simian whites gleaming for the show.

"There's Grodd’s good boy,” Grodd chuckled.

-----

This was a really fun commission from Mr. Hidden.

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