Gojira Tanaka has been the one and only Godzilla for over a decade now, but after his latest movie flops, he decides he needs to stage a pretty big comeback- and he's willing to go nuclear to do it. Enjoy!
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Gojira had been a facet of Japanese cinema ever since the Americans flopped in 1998, and someone needed to be the new face of the Godzilla franchise— given Gojira was the son of the last truly beloved actor to play the notorious movie villain, he was a shoe-in. It helped that he had dedicated himself to his craft; he considered himself a good actor, and his big screen debut had raked in money and accolades like nothing seen for the studio in years.
But that had been ten years ago. Now, he was scrolling through his phone, looking for the news updates— his sixth movie, Godzilla: Revenge of the Fallen had flopped miserably, but he made a face as he looked at the figures— that was barely going to be enough to pay his agreed upon salary.
"Tch— what a nightmare," the reptilian actor grumbled, running his hand over the dark scales on his head. He had warned the producer, he had warned the director, he had begged the board to fire that idiot writer that made him look like a moron, but despite being the face of the franchise for a decade and an award-winning actor, no one has listened to him once.
There was a knock on Gojira's dressing room door, and he grunted out "Enter." Ducking his head inside was the golden-scaled pretty boy, Ishiro, who had been playing Gidorah for the last three movies. "Hey, big guy, I just wanted to see how you were doing— Oh." He clicked his tongue, putting on a mawkish display of theatrical sympathy. "You've already seen?"
Bite me, you gold-plated asshole, Gojira thought bitterly to himself, but then put on a brave face. "I warned them, that writer was an idiot."
"Oh, you didn't like working with Weissinhoff? That's a pity— I recommended him to the studio heads for your next movie, but don't you worry, if there's a next movie, I'll have a word with him to bring his A-game." Ishiro said, barely able to hide his smirk.
"You did—? Well, gosh, Ishiro, I'm just going to have to find a way to thank you for that," Gojira said through gritted teeth.
"Please, big guy, don't feel like you owe me anything— I've been on a bit of a streak right now— you know, they're predicting my debut movie is going to break two hundred million opening weekend? That's like, what, fifty million more than your best opening?" Ishiro said airily.
Gojira forced out a small chuckle. The studio was all a-twitter over giving Ishiro, and his version of Gidorah, an independent movie— something to "save the franchise." "Well hey, inflation, it's a bitch. At this rate, you can't really tell what's a good movie anymore when the ticket prices are so overblown— but in this industry, what isn't overblown, right? Like that gilding job you got for your scales, you paid way too much."
"I like paying for the best, and besides— I can afford it," Ishiro replied, smirking. "Anyways— it's such a busy time for me, I thought I'd drop by. Ah, I'm jealous— you'll have so much more free time right now, enjoy it!"
Ishiro floated out, his scaled tail whipping behind him before Gojira could respond. The reptilian actor's face soured as soon as he was out. "God— Fine. You want a little rain on your parade, Ishiro? I'll give you a goddamn storm." He reached out for his phone and rung up his agent.
"Hey! Yukiko. Listen, I need to start strategizing with you— I'm thinking I need to make a comeback—"
"Gojira, darling!" his agent purred. "If it isn't the most captivating face in monster movies! Listen, I know, I know, the reviews are brutal, but you don't worry about it dear, this will all be noise forgotten by tomorrow. You just rest up your golden pipes for the next big atomic roar you have to do, and I will be in touch."
"No, no, Yukiko," Gojira stood up, beginning to pace around the room. "That's what I'm trying to say— I don't need rest, I want to go on the offensive! I'm ready to get out there and fight! I am Godzilla, and Godzilla is the face of this studio! I want everybody to remember that."
"Oh, step back, Hideyoshi, there's a new conqueror ready to set the world on fire! Gojira, sweetheart, I love this fire, but I wouldn't dream of throwing you out into that viper's pit right now. Let's put this to rest for, oh, say, a few weeks or so, and then we'll come roaring back to life!"
Gojira was about to counter again, but then he frowned as he heard a familiar voice in the background.
"...Hey, Yukiko, can I order anything off of this menu? Appetizer too?"
The actor scoffed derisively. "Yukiko! Is that Achiro I hear over there? Are you having lunch with him?"
"Oh no, so sorry, darling, I— kchh— can't— breaking up— kchh— call you later!"
"Are you kidding me?" Gojira shouted as he slammed his phone down on the counter. First he has to watch out for Ishiro trying to steal his thunder with his own movie, but if Achiro, the spindly little twerp who played Rodan, was meeting with his manager, there was only one reason he would be doing that— he wanted to steal Gojira's role.
The dark-scaled reptile took in a deep breath, planting his hands on the counter and taking a long look in the mirror. Had they all forgotten who they were dealing with? He was Godzilla. Gojira's sleek, granite-colored scales covered a chiseled face with a strong jaw, the sort of piercing eyes people expect from the King of Monsters, and a broad-shouldered, toned body that looked like a rugby player. No one wore the costume as well as he did, and he had put his heart and soul into every performance— playing Godzilla had been his life and his family legacy, and now these jackals were going to try and squeeze him out, steal his spotlight?
He balled his fist, banging it on the counter. "Not today— not ever," he growled. He stood to his full height, and began pacing, thinking— he needed something to get eyes back on him. If his agent wasn't going to help him with a media campaign, then he was on his own.
"I need… something bold. Something attention grabbing," he mused. "Not a scandal, but…" As he started flipping through his phone, it landed on the name of his personal trainer, Max Rockford. Gojira drummed his fingers on his free hand, claws clacking against the countertop. "Hm."
He pressed call, and his trainer answered. "Yo! Big guy! We weren't supposed to meet up until Tuesday, what's up?"
"Rockford, soon as you're free, I need to meet up. And bring your… total catalogue of supplements. I need to rethink a few things…"
Max Rockford had been in the business of training movie stars and shaping their bodies for two decades, now— he was outrageously expensive, but no one could argue with the results. Gojira himself had been a bit spindly before working with Max, and he had found a way to pack on fifty pounds of muscle on to the reptile's frame before his first big role— Gojira had been smart enough not to ask what had been in the "custom blend" protein powder Rockford had given him; but now, he needed to know.
He sat across from Rockford in a small, exclusive smoothie bar next to a private gym. While Gojira, at a cool six feet and ten inches, towered over most people, Rockford still cut a more impressive figure as a retired bodybuilder, with cannonball biceps straining his shirt sleeves and a dense, muscular chest peeking out over his stretched out neckline.
"Alright, big man, what's up?" Rockford asked, the literal gym rat giving Gojira tight grin.
Gojira huffed a bit as he leaned forward, keeping his voice low. "So… you saw the news about my latest movie."
"Ah, don't sweat it, man." Max waved off the bad news. "A few sessions of lifting heavy things and putting them back down, you'll forget all about it."
"I wish— but look, I've got some vultures starting to circle. My agent is already looking to dump me for that idiot, Achiro."
Max arched his brow. "Rodan?"
"Yeah! So… look. I need something to seize people's attention, make them remember who the King of Monsters is supposed to be," Gojira ranted, slapping the top of the table. "And that's where I thought you could come in. I need you… to make me big."
The rat scratched his chin. "Well sure, I can, uh, come up with a new workout routine, write up a new diet…"
"You do that, sure, yeah," Gojira cut him off, but then leaned closer, lowering his voice as Max leaned forward. "But I was hoping you would, uh… be able to get me some gear. Some really, really good gear."
The rat furrowed his brow. "Uhm… Okay. Yeah. I getcha."
Gojira arched his brow. "Is there a problem? I mean, I assumed you, you know…" He gestured to Max's overgrown muscles, and mimicked sticking a needle in his arm.
The burly rodent's brow deepened into a frown. "Yeah, I get it champ, sure." He said flatly. "But here's the thing— you've already taken most of the usual stuff."
"Wait, what?"
"Goji, come on. You know what 'custom' in 'custom blend protein powder' means." Max folded his tightly roped arms over his broad chest as he leaned back in his seat. "I can up the dosage if you want, but one, that's when some of the nastier side effects can start popping up, and two, you just… don't build muscle easily."
"What? Come on! You're kidding!" Gojira scoffed, gesturing to his own broad-shouldered build. "Have you ever seen a photo of my dad? He was big as a house!"
"Yeah, and unfortunately when it came to musculature, your mom's genes beat the crap out of your dad's. I mean, hey, Goji, you look great, really— one of my better clients, if I'm being honest. But I took you from rail thin to this near superhero build, we put sixty pounds on you over a few years— and that's all I've managed to do. You've done great maintaining, I bet you could grate cheese on your abs, but with the usual stuff, I've taken you as far as I think your body will go."
Gojira's mouth fell open as he sunk back in his seat. "You… You gotta be kidding me." The reptile ran a hand over the top of his head, shaking. "No, I… Max, I'm begging you. I need to wow the audience again, I need to make a big impression, literally. This movie's an albatross around my neck— this could ruin my career if I don't right this ship now. Come on— there's got to be something we haven't tried before."
The rat grunted, scratching under his chin. "Ah… I dunno, big man."
Gojira grabbed Max by the hand. "Rockford, please. I'm begging. My so-called acting friends won't return my calls or are actively plotting against me, my agent won't meet with me, the producers are leaking to the reporters that this whole movie flop was somehow my fault— I'm running out of friends that can help me."
"Mngh…" Max's mouth twisted. "Well… Okay. Okay. There's… one gear we could try turning… How do you feel about… something that might be slightly, slightly uh… radioactive?"
Gojira blinked. "Radio— what?"
"It's a Russian thing, there's a tiny little bit of radium in it. Supposedly they get the stuff from Chernobyl." Max held up his hands defensively. "Look, I know this guy, Sergei? He gained like— a hundred and fifty pounds of beef from it."
"Yeah, and what happened after that? His fur fall out? His dick shrivel up like a raisin, or are his bones just glass now?"
"I mean, I think he kinda glows in the dark now, but he hates when I say that." Max glanced at Gojira's incredulous face. "What? Look, champ— you said you wanted powerful juice, this is the juice I got. You don't want it, fine, we'll just double down on the bulking the old fashioned way, see if we can't pack on ten more pounds on you. But this is what I got before I start worrying about your health."
"My health? Max! You want me to swallow radiun!"
"Well, you're Godzilla, ain'tcha? Just, uh, think of it like method acting."
"Max."
The rat spread his hands. "Big guy, this is it. I'm sorry, but for the results you're hoping for, you gotta either take it or leave it."
"Ugh." Gojira threw up his hands. "Fine. Fine! Just… how quick can you get it to me?"
The rodent blew air out of his cheeks. "I'll, uh… give you a number. You call this number once, you got me?" He tore off a scrap of paper, scribbling a few numbers down. "You do exactly what the guy on the other end says, okay?"
"Sure, of course."
Max huffed as he slid the number over. "I hope you know what you're doing, big man."
Gojira waited until he was back home, in a penthouse above Tokyo's Shibuya Ward. He bounced his knee nervously as his finger hovered over the call button— was he really this desperate, to take radioactive pills just to get one over on Ishiro? He frowned, clenching his fist.
"This isn't desperation— this is pragmatism," he argued with himself. "I'm getting screwed over, and in this industry, this is how I fight back."
He took in a bracing breath, then pressed the call button. The call picked up, but no voice.
"Uh… Hello?"
"What do you want?" A cold, deep, slightly accented voice asked.
"I, uh," Gojira cleared his throat. "I-I'm Gojira Tanaka, and—"
"I know who you are, what do you want?"
"I-I talked to Max Rockford, he gave me this number for a, uh… radon pill?"
"You want the product," the voice clarified.
"Uhm… yes?"
"Listen to these instructions carefully— tomorrow, you will receive a package. Inside will be two doses. Take only one dose for the desired results."
"...If I'm supposed to only take one dose, then why not just send me one dose?"
"Are you incapable of following basic instructions, Mr. Tanaka?" the voice on the phone snapped.
"I, uh— well, no, I-I mean yes, I can."
"Then only take one dose. The second dose is only to be taken under advisement. Call again if you have any questions."
"Uh, right, cool, thanks, uhm—" Gojira frowned as he heard the phone click. "...Fucker." He muttered, frowning down at the phone. "He didn't even ask for an address…"
Early the next morning, Gojira was woken up by a sharp knock on his door. By the time he dragged himself out of bed and to the door, he found no one there— but there was one brown cardboard box. The reptile frowned as he picked up, then looked down the hall towards the elevator— there was no sign that anyone had even been there. HIs name and address had been neatly printed, but there was no return address.
"...How the fuck did he know that?" Gojira muttered under his breath as he took the package inside. "I have an unlisted address…" He reasoned that Max probably told them— he'd have to talk to the rat about that. Opening up the box, he found only a small, unlabeled pill bottle with only two pills in it— that were faintly glowing in the dim morning light. "...Ah. I think I can guess what this is."
Gojira opened the bottle and dropped one pill into his palm. In the full light, it looked like any other standard, chalky pill. He thinned his mouth— this had to be it. He got himself a drink of water to wash it down, and swallowed it. "Okay… Okay, so. I'll get dressed for the gym, and see what this stuff is good for— WOAH."
Gojira doubled over as he felt like he had just been shocked by lightning. His breathing was shallow and quick, his heart pounding like it was about to burst out of his chest. He writhed on the floor, kicking and thrashing his arms in the air, his breath hot, incredibly hot. The faint, blue glow he saw on the pill he swore he was seeing in his eyes.
"Oh my God, some— fucking— Russian— fuck poisoned me with radium!" Gojira clenched his teeth, gripping his head— he heard something break, his entire body was on fire and every limb ached. "Fucking Putin killed the best damn actor in Tokyo!"
The reptile was curled up on the floor, his body trembling. It took him a few moments to realize that the intense, burning pain had passed. Gojira slowly relaxed his body, opening his eyes— he had knocked over his couch, and apparently kicked so hard, he shattered his mahogany coffee table.
"What the…?" the reptile sat up, and halted as he felt an odd sense of vertigo. Everything in his apartment looked smaller and further away than what they used to be like, his arms felt heavier, like he was moving through water— but that feeling soon passed, as he looked down at himself.
"Oh my God."
Gojira leapt to his feet, making the floor shake slightly. The reptilian beast now stood with the sort of body that really did make him look like a monster— enormous swells of muscle dominated his frame, tearing his pajamas to shreds as his body had more than tripled in size. His dark scales were like armor, girding his meaty chest now jutting out past his chin. His arms, thickly roped with brawn, bristled with every movement, hefty biceps exploding in size. The scales running down his spine were pressed in by the hefty burls that made up the sprawling sheet of metal of his back, his legs like steel girders.
As he marveled over his new form, patting down his flexed bicep, hard as stone, his phone buzzed. "Oh! Crap, crap," he fumbled as he reached for his phone. "Hello?"
"Is the end result to your satisfaction?"
"I— what?" Gojira frowned. "What— is this… are you the guy? The— the pill guy?"
"Are you happy with the result of the process?" the voice asked sternly.
"I-I, uh— Yes. I…" Gojira cleared his throat, running a hand under the jutting bottom of his meaty pecs. "...I think I am."
"Then you will have no reason to take a second dose. Keep the second dose in a secure location. It cannot be thrown away until the radium has died down." The voice instructed. "You must keep it for three months. Do you understand?"
"I, uh, yes— b-but if I want to get bigger…?"
"You just said you were happy with the results."
"W-well, I am, but—"
"This process is not interested in hypotheticals. Do not take the second dose unless instructed to do so."
"Yes, but—" Gojira scoffed as he heard the call ending, looking down at the phone. "Okay, well, that just cost you a star on the yelp review," he muttered. He glanced over at his arm, grinning wide as he pumped his arm, making his bicep bounce and bloom larger than his head. "Doesn't matter— I got bigger fish to fry."
Chuckling deeply to himself, making his pecs bounce. He then looked back to his phone, punching in a number then made the call. "Hey, Davis— is the big press conference for Ishiro's Gidorah movie still on for three? Yeah? Perfect, perfect— thanks Davis." Gojira smirked broadly as he ended the call. He let out a low growl, raking claws over his bicep again, already falling in love with the feeling of being so big, the electric power brimming just under his scales leaving a tingling feeling that struck down his spine.
Gojira rushed down to the studio, getting ready for the performance of his career. He grabbed what few clothes would still fit him, if barely. He turned a few heads as he lumbered inside, but he didn't want to be seen— not before he was ready. In his dressing room, he strategically tore his shirt, tearing down his chest and showing off the deep, plunging crevice of his chest, snapping strands of his shirt to let his enormous, mountainous shoulders heave upwards, tearing his shorts to show off more of his bloated, tear-drop quads. He grabbed a few props, toxic barrels, just for the effect. He gave himself one last flex in the mirror of his dressing room, flashing his teeth as his mammoth biceps dug deep against his pecs, tearing more of his shirt, and he let out one more triumphant laugh.
"Let's see you upstage this, Ishiro."