I’ve expanded My short story from 2023 into a full-length transformation epic. Read the first three chapters here.

Chapter 1: The Golden Ticket 

I had been based out of Artemis Station for nearly a decade, working long-haul cargo routes to neglected outposts and failed experiments in galactic living. Six months to Vesta. Fourteen to New Rockall. The occasional ten-week jog to Hyperion. Interstellar freight isn’t glamorous, but the solitude suited me. The pay was steady. And when you’re in deep sleep for most of the journey, the years barely touch you. 

Some guys can’t handle it—waking up decades older than their friends, missing birthdays, funerals, and civilizations. Me? I had nothing waiting for me planetside. No lovers, no obligations. I liked it that way. 

After 37 completed runs, I had enough seniority to bid for a Sol return: Artemis to Earth and back. A nine-month prestige contract is almost impossible unless you know someone or outlast the rest. I watched the matching algorithm in real time, my heart racing like a kid checking a lottery ticket. 

When COLE/JOSEPH—ARTEMIS/EARTH populated on my dashboard, I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. 

Finally. Earth, the ancestral cradle of humanity, even if all that was left were shrines and scarred highways. I didn’t care. I’d made it. 

And then I saw who my crewmates would be. Bradford and Chapman. 

I didn’t know them personally, but everybody in freight had a BradChap story. Rumor had it they never wore underwear under their jumpsuits. That they’d swapped out half the rec room library on one cargo hauler with vintage porn and workout vids. They were legends or cautionary tales, depending on who you asked. 

I asked for a substitution immediately. 

“If you’ve got six seniority credits to burn,” the duty tech said, not even glancing up from her console. Clearly, I wasn’t the first who’d tried to weasel out of a BradChap run. 

I didn’t have the credits, not without setting myself back another five years. And Earth wasn’t going to wait for me forever. 

“No,” I said defeatedly, thumb pressed to the signature pad. “I’ll go.” 

The shuttle dropped me off at the loading ring. Bradford and Chapman were already waiting on the gangway. 

They were exactly as advertised. Big, loud, and shirtless beneath half-zipped jumpsuits. Bradford was blond and barrel chested, with thick arms and the confident grin of someone who knew exactly how much space he took up. Chapman was darker and stockier, with a beard like a steel trap and forearms like tree trunks. They looked like someone had built a pair of middle-aged frat guys out of pork and testosterone. 

“You must be Cole!” Bradford clapped my shoulder hard enough to rock me. “We’ve been waiting for you, little buddy.” 

Chapman wrapped a beefy arm around my neck and pulled me against his chest like we were old friends. “You ready for the best nine months of your life?” 

I made a strangled sound into his chest hair. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.” 

They laughed, cuffed each other on the shoulders, and grabbed my gear. 

Our ship, ACV Berengaria, loomed behind them—tall, dingy, and humming with old energy. Once I stepped aboard, the hatch sealed shut behind me. 

Nine months, two men, one rotation cycle. I was already calculating how long I’d get to sleep. 

We walked the corridor toward the crew quarters. I trailed a few paces behind, struggling to keep up with their thudding, loping strides. Their jumpsuits were stained with sweat, their backs broad and damp, and it occurred to me they hadn’t changed clothes in days. 

Whatever I thought this run would be, it wasn’t that anymore. When we reached the sleeping deck, they turned and grinned like schoolboys with a prank in mind. 

“Rock, paper, scissors,” Chapman said. “To see who sleeps first.” 

I hesitated. 

“Come on, little buddy,” Bradford said, raising his fist. “Don’t be shy.” 

I lost. Of course I lost. 

“You’re up,” Chapman beamed. “Let’s get you plugged in.” 

I stepped into the sleep bay, the hiss of the chamber already starting its cycle. Bradford tossed my duffel in the corner. Chapman gave me a slap on the ass that I pretended not to notice. As I stripped out of my jumpsuit and began connecting the ports, I caught my reflection in the glossy paneling. 

Nine months. 

I was sure it would be fine. 

Chapter 2: The Bear Awakening 

I came out of a deep sleep as if I were being dragged through ice water. 

My chest seized. My lungs screamed. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe. I flailed against the pod’s padded interior, trying to claw my way out, teeth chattering and body shaking. 

Then—hiss. The chamber cracked open, and warm, recycled air flooded in. My panic turned frantic as I gasped for breath. Two pairs of hands caught me, one on my chest, pinning me down with gentle force. Another on my legs, holding me steady. Thick, calloused fingers that didn’t shake. 

“Easy there, little buddy,” Bradford said, voice low, close to my ear. “You’re all right. Just breathe.” 

The hands on my chest began to move in slow, firm circles. They were not just holding me; they were comforting me. Heat spread from their touch, grounding me. My heart began to slow. 

“Attaboy,” Chapman said from somewhere nearby. “Let it happen. We’ve got you.” 

I gasped as the OcuBloc was lifted from my eyes. Light flooded in. Bradford and Chapman were both leaning over me, hulking silhouettes in half-zipped jumpsuits, their eyes soft with concern. Never in my life had I been so relieved to see two sweaty space bros. 

“Can you sit?” Chapman asked. Before I could answer, Bradford scooped me up like I weighed nothing and carried me across the room. His chest was warm against my bare skin. I didn’t resist. I just… let him. 

BradChap lowered me into a chair and wrapped a scratchy wool blanket around my shoulders. I shivered once, then leaned back. 

“I’ve never had sleep panic,” I managed. My throat was dry. “How long have we been underway?” 

Bradford scratched his stomach absentmindedly. “Six days.” 

Six days. 

I felt my pulse spike again. If it happened once, it could happen again. If they put me back under… 

Bradford must have seen the fear flicker across my face because he knelt beside me and squeezed my shoulder. “You’re not going back in,” he said. “Chap’s taking the rest of your shift.” 

I turned to Chapman. “Really?” 

He shrugged, but there was something warm in his eyes. “You owe me a beer when we hit Earth.” 

“I owe you more than that,” I said, head spinning. Freight crew didn’t get paid for time spent in deep sleep. “I owe you both.” 

“Don’t worry about that now,” Bradford said, brushing the blanket tighter around me. “Just rest up. We’ve got you.” 

They eased me toward the bunk. Chapman pulled it down and patted the mattress, like coaxing a nervous animal into a den. I let them help me, my limbs still trembling. They moved around me with the ease of ritual, guiding, adjusting, and soothing. 

One patted my chest. The other tucked the blanket in. It was strange how protected I felt, surrounded by sweat and heat and unspoken rules. Their reputation was crude and loutish. But this wasn’t a prank. This wasn’t a joke. 

It was… intimate. 

I fell asleep before they even left the room. 

“Rise and shine, little buddy!” 

The next thing I knew, I was blinking awake to the right of Bradford’s armpit hovering inches above my face. Thick hair, damp and pungent. 

He grinned. “Time to sweat!” 

“Ugh.” I turned my face, groaning. “What time is it?” 

“Oh-five-thirty,” Chapman said, walking in from the corridor, already swinging his arms. “Gym time.” 

I sat up slowly, every joint aching. “Aren’t I supposed to be sleeping for the next twelve weeks?” 

Bradford chuckled, stepping back just far enough for me to breathe. “We adjusted the rotation, remember? For your health.” 

I was about to argue when something pulled between my legs. I looked down and froze. A thick chrome device clung tightly around my cock and balls, seamless and unrelenting. I’d forgotten. TitanLock, the sleep-safe containment unit I’d been hooked up to before entering the chamber. It was still locked in place. 

“Shit,” I said, wobbling toward the terminal. “Computer, override TitanLock on crewman Cole. Authorization Cole-zero-nine.” 

A pause. Then the low, steady voice of the ship AI: “Dual authorization required for early release.” 

I turned to BradChap. “One of you needs to cosign.” 

They didn’t move. 

“Which one of you will do it?” 

Bradford folded his arms across his chest, grinning. “Neither of us, little buddy.” 

Chapman tossed a jumpsuit toward me. “You gotta earn it.” 

They left me standing there, still bare, still locked, still burning with frustration and something else I didn’t want to name. I pulled on the jumpsuit. It was Chapman’s, I thought. Still warm, still damp. It smelled like sweat and musk and steel. 

I stepped into the corridor, every motion weighted by TitanLock’s firm embrace. With each step, it tugged, reminded, and owned. 

They couldn’t keep me locked like this forever. Could they? 

I wasn’t sure if I wanted the answer. 

Chapter 3: Locked and Loaded 

It was evident by the fourth day that they wouldn’t unlock me. 

I’d tried everything. The system interface in the command module confirmed that the TitanLock required two crew signatures for early release. Mine counted for one. Bradford and Chapman, collectively named “Bond Pair Alpha” in the override logs, had complete authority. I’d confronted them twice already, and both times they’d waved me off like I was asking to skip dish duty. 

“Gotta earn that kind of privilege,” Bradford had said with a grin, casually adjusting his sweat-damp jumpsuit. “What do you think this run is—a spa retreat?” 

Chapman had taken it further. “You keep asking, little buddy, and we’ll start thinking you like it.” 

They laughed, of course. Everything was a joke to them. But they never gave a straight answer about how long I’d stay locked or what exactly I was supposed to learn. They just kept smiling, correcting my form in the gym, loading up my duty schedule with pointless mechanical checks, and calling me “little buddy” like it was my rank and title. 

There was no denying the dynamic had changed. I wasn’t just part of the crew anymore. I was subordinate to them, an apprentice in all but name. The deep sleep rotation went out the window. The schedule we now followed was theirs: early morning workouts, high protein rations, and shared maintenance tasks that placed me in close proximity to their bodies, their musk, and their rituals. Everything smelled like men who had lived too long in the same uniform, and maybe I was getting used to it because I stopped wrinkling my nose. 

If I’d thought the gym routines were bad before, they escalated now that I was the “awake junior.” Bradford ran the lifting circuit like a drill sergeant. He barked corrections, goaded me into higher reps, and adjusted my stance with heavy, unyielding hands. Chapman preferred cardio mostly because he liked to jog shirtless through the cargo corridor, towel slung over his shoulder, singing bad folk songs in an off-key baritone. I kept pace behind them, drenched in sweat, the TitanLock tugging between my legs with every step. 

They never once mentioned it. Not the device. Not the bulge it created under my borrowed jumpsuit. Not the way it changed how I moved. But they watched—Bradford with casual glances, Chapman with long, shameless stares that he didn’t bother to hide. Every now and then, Chapman would pass behind me and let his hand linger on the small of my back, guiding me toward the showers to the galley as though I might lose my way without him. 

In the evenings, we lounged together in the rec module. The bears—because that’s what they were, no matter their job titles—screened ancient wrestling matches and grainy physique films that they claimed were “historical archives.” I said nothing. I sat between them on the narrow bench, my body still humming from the day’s exertion, the lock heavy between my legs, and the scent of salt and synthetic fabric rising from our clothes. Bradford occasionally nudged my knee with his or passed me half a protein bar like he was feeding a pet. Chapman once draped his arm across the back of the bench and left it there until I shifted away. He just smiled, like he knew I wasn’t moving because I minded. It was just part of the game. 

Late one night, after they’d gone to sleep, I returned to the command module and accessed the crew logs. My file had been modified. 

COLE/JOSEPH 

STATUS/BOND PAIR BETA 

ROLE/APPRENTICE 

ROTATION OVERRIDE/NA 

DISCIPLINE CYCLE/IN PROGRESS 

I stared at the screen until the lines blurred. The TitanLock wasn’t just a malfunction or a prank. This was something planned. Something deliberate. I backed out of the terminal, feeling the pressure of the device around my crotch like a second heartbeat. 

The next morning, I didn’t bring it up. I showed up at the gym five minutes early, ran my laps without prompting, and followed Bradford’s lifting cues without protest. I let Chapman towel me off after we finished, his thick fingers brushing lightly over my neck and down the slope of my back. I ate every bite of breakfast. I showered last. 

As I stepped out of the stall, Bradford tossed me a fresh jumpsuit—Chapman’s, judging by the girth in the legs and the deep, familiar scent baked into the fabric. I caught it without comment and pulled it on. 

“You’re coming along nicely, little buddy,” he said. “Starting to fit right in.” 

Chapman stepped behind me and tugged the zipper up slowly. “Told you we’d break him in.” 

I didn’t argue. I didn’t thank them. I just adjusted the fit, rolled my shoulders, and joined them in the corridor. 

Whatever this was, I wasn’t just part of it anymore. 

I was becoming it. 

Want to find out how the story ends? Buy the complete novelette “The Space Bears” on Kindle now.