Going outside
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 13
by
copier
· original author:
Carolyne stepped out of her dorm room and the hallway went quiet like someone had hit mute on reality.
She wore the tiny black sports bra that now looked painted on, the neon-pink cropped workout top stretched to translucency across her pecs, and those high-waisted booty shorts that rode so high they barely qualified as clothing. Every stride made her quads sweep, glutes clench, traps rise like small mountains. Veins traced blue rivers over golden skin. Her curls bounced heavier, thicker, framing a face sharpened to predatory elegance—high cheekbones, hollowed cheeks, lips still full and dark.
The first person to see her was a lanky sophomore carrying a laundry basket. He froze mid-step. The basket slipped from his fingers; socks and boxers spilled across the carpet. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound.
Carolyne didn’t break stride. She walked past him, hips rolling with new mass, feeling his stare burn into her back like worship. A slow, wicked smile curled her lips.
Two girls waiting for the elevator turned as one. One gasped audibly. The other’s phone slipped halfway out of her hand. Their eyes tracked her—up the carved delts, across the striated abs visible under the cropped top, down the dramatic quad sweep. Desire. Amazement. A flicker of something close to fear.
Carolyne drank it in. Every glance felt like fuel. Her nipples tightened against the bra fabric. Heat coiled low in her belly. The nanobots purred, amplifying every dopamine hit into something narcotic.
She pushed through the lobby doors into the cold January morning.
The quad was already busy—early classes, joggers, people clutching coffee. Heads turned in waves. Whispers followed like ripples. Phones lifted discreetly. Someone muttered “holy shit” loud enough for her to hear.
She lengthened her stride, shoulders back, chin high. Let them look. Let them want. Let them be afraid.
Sofia, Miguel, and Jenna were waiting near the bike racks, same spot as yesterday. They’d been laughing about something. The laughter died the second Carolyne appeared.
Sofia’s sketchbook slid from her lap.
Jenna’s coffee cup tilted; hot liquid splashed her sneakers.
Miguel’s phone screen went dark in his hand. He stared—openly, hungrily—eyes tracing the new breadth of her shoulders, the impossible hardness of her arms, the way her breasts sat high and round on pecs that looked carved from obsidian.
“Caro…?” Sofia’s voice cracked. “What… what the fuck happened to you?”
Carolyne stopped in front of them, planted her feet, and flexed both arms into a casual double biceps. Peaks rose like mountain ranges; veins popped across the biceps and forearms. She held the pose long enough for them to take it in.
“Guess I had a really good night,” she purred, accent thick, smugness dripping like honey. “You like?”
Jenna blinked rapidly. “You look like… like you’re about to step on stage at Olympia. How is this even possible? You were toned yesterday. This is—”
“—better,” Carolyne finished. She dropped the pose, stepped closer, and hit a most muscular right in front of them. Traps swallowed her neck, abs crunched into vascular armor, quads flared. “Much better.”
Miguel swallowed audibly. His gaze dropped to her abs, then lower, then snapped back up. Something dark and heated flickered in his eyes—want, yes, but also a trace of unease. Carolyne caught it. She smiled wider, slow and predatory, but said nothing.
Sofia reached out, hesitated, then touched Carolyne’s bicep with two fingers. It didn’t yield. “This is real? Like… actual muscle?”
Carolyne flexed the arm under Sofia’s hand. The muscle hardened to steel. Sofia yanked back like she’d been burned.
“Questions later, chicas,” Carolyne said, voice low and commanding. “We’re late for class. Move.”
She turned and started walking toward the main academic quad, not waiting to see if they followed. They did—hurrying to catch up, orbiting her like awestruck satellites.
Halfway across the lawn a guy—some frat-looking junior in a backwards cap—called out from a bench.
“Yo, roid monster! Lay off the tren, you’re gonna pop!”
His friends snickered.
Carolyne stopped dead.
Normally she would have shredded him with words—cut him down to size with a few barbed Spanish insults and a smile that promised worse later.
Not today.
Today she felt the new weight in her limbs, the coiled power in every fiber. The nanobots sang approval.
She turned slowly.
The guy kept grinning, thinking it was a joke.
Carolyne walked over—calm, deliberate. He stood up when she got close, puffing his chest like it mattered.
She didn’t speak. She simply reached out, grabbed the front of his hoodie with one hand, and lifted.
One-handed.
His feet left the ground.
His grin vanished. Eyes went wide. Hands flailed, grabbing at her wrist. He couldn’t budge it.
The quad went silent.
Carolyne held him there—easy, casual—then leaned in until her lips were near his ear.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
He couldn’t. His face was turning purple.
She opened her fingers. He dropped like a sack, stumbling backward, landing hard on his ass. His friends didn’t move to help.
Carolyne dusted her hands, turned on her heel, and kept walking.
Behind her, the quad erupted in murmurs.
She didn’t look back.
Miguel caught up first, falling into step beside her. His breathing was uneven. She could feel his eyes on her—on the sway of her glutes, the roll of her shoulders, the vascularity snaking down her arms. His gaze wasn’t just admiring anymore. It was hungry. Possessive. A little scared.
Carolyne caught his stare from the corner of her eye.
She turned her head just enough to meet it.
Her smile was slow. Wicked. Full of promise and threat.
She said nothing.
She didn’t need to.
The message was clear.
La Reina had upgraded.
And everyone—friends, strangers, enemies—was going to learn what that meant.
She wore the tiny black sports bra that now looked painted on, the neon-pink cropped workout top stretched to translucency across her pecs, and those high-waisted booty shorts that rode so high they barely qualified as clothing. Every stride made her quads sweep, glutes clench, traps rise like small mountains. Veins traced blue rivers over golden skin. Her curls bounced heavier, thicker, framing a face sharpened to predatory elegance—high cheekbones, hollowed cheeks, lips still full and dark.
The first person to see her was a lanky sophomore carrying a laundry basket. He froze mid-step. The basket slipped from his fingers; socks and boxers spilled across the carpet. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound.
Carolyne didn’t break stride. She walked past him, hips rolling with new mass, feeling his stare burn into her back like worship. A slow, wicked smile curled her lips.
Two girls waiting for the elevator turned as one. One gasped audibly. The other’s phone slipped halfway out of her hand. Their eyes tracked her—up the carved delts, across the striated abs visible under the cropped top, down the dramatic quad sweep. Desire. Amazement. A flicker of something close to fear.
Carolyne drank it in. Every glance felt like fuel. Her nipples tightened against the bra fabric. Heat coiled low in her belly. The nanobots purred, amplifying every dopamine hit into something narcotic.
She pushed through the lobby doors into the cold January morning.
The quad was already busy—early classes, joggers, people clutching coffee. Heads turned in waves. Whispers followed like ripples. Phones lifted discreetly. Someone muttered “holy shit” loud enough for her to hear.
She lengthened her stride, shoulders back, chin high. Let them look. Let them want. Let them be afraid.
Sofia, Miguel, and Jenna were waiting near the bike racks, same spot as yesterday. They’d been laughing about something. The laughter died the second Carolyne appeared.
Sofia’s sketchbook slid from her lap.
Jenna’s coffee cup tilted; hot liquid splashed her sneakers.
Miguel’s phone screen went dark in his hand. He stared—openly, hungrily—eyes tracing the new breadth of her shoulders, the impossible hardness of her arms, the way her breasts sat high and round on pecs that looked carved from obsidian.
“Caro…?” Sofia’s voice cracked. “What… what the fuck happened to you?”
Carolyne stopped in front of them, planted her feet, and flexed both arms into a casual double biceps. Peaks rose like mountain ranges; veins popped across the biceps and forearms. She held the pose long enough for them to take it in.
“Guess I had a really good night,” she purred, accent thick, smugness dripping like honey. “You like?”
Jenna blinked rapidly. “You look like… like you’re about to step on stage at Olympia. How is this even possible? You were toned yesterday. This is—”
“—better,” Carolyne finished. She dropped the pose, stepped closer, and hit a most muscular right in front of them. Traps swallowed her neck, abs crunched into vascular armor, quads flared. “Much better.”
Miguel swallowed audibly. His gaze dropped to her abs, then lower, then snapped back up. Something dark and heated flickered in his eyes—want, yes, but also a trace of unease. Carolyne caught it. She smiled wider, slow and predatory, but said nothing.
Sofia reached out, hesitated, then touched Carolyne’s bicep with two fingers. It didn’t yield. “This is real? Like… actual muscle?”
Carolyne flexed the arm under Sofia’s hand. The muscle hardened to steel. Sofia yanked back like she’d been burned.
“Questions later, chicas,” Carolyne said, voice low and commanding. “We’re late for class. Move.”
She turned and started walking toward the main academic quad, not waiting to see if they followed. They did—hurrying to catch up, orbiting her like awestruck satellites.
Halfway across the lawn a guy—some frat-looking junior in a backwards cap—called out from a bench.
“Yo, roid monster! Lay off the tren, you’re gonna pop!”
His friends snickered.
Carolyne stopped dead.
Normally she would have shredded him with words—cut him down to size with a few barbed Spanish insults and a smile that promised worse later.
Not today.
Today she felt the new weight in her limbs, the coiled power in every fiber. The nanobots sang approval.
She turned slowly.
The guy kept grinning, thinking it was a joke.
Carolyne walked over—calm, deliberate. He stood up when she got close, puffing his chest like it mattered.
She didn’t speak. She simply reached out, grabbed the front of his hoodie with one hand, and lifted.
One-handed.
His feet left the ground.
His grin vanished. Eyes went wide. Hands flailed, grabbing at her wrist. He couldn’t budge it.
The quad went silent.
Carolyne held him there—easy, casual—then leaned in until her lips were near his ear.
“Say it again,” she whispered.
He couldn’t. His face was turning purple.
She opened her fingers. He dropped like a sack, stumbling backward, landing hard on his ass. His friends didn’t move to help.
Carolyne dusted her hands, turned on her heel, and kept walking.
Behind her, the quad erupted in murmurs.
She didn’t look back.
Miguel caught up first, falling into step beside her. His breathing was uneven. She could feel his eyes on her—on the sway of her glutes, the roll of her shoulders, the vascularity snaking down her arms. His gaze wasn’t just admiring anymore. It was hungry. Possessive. A little scared.
Carolyne caught his stare from the corner of her eye.
She turned her head just enough to meet it.
Her smile was slow. Wicked. Full of promise and threat.
She said nothing.
She didn’t need to.
The message was clear.
La Reina had upgraded.
And everyone—friends, strangers, enemies—was going to learn what that meant.
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June 13
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