The lawyer-detective Gabriel Utterson watched, transfixed, as Doctor Richard Energy drank the glowing tincture. His old friend collapsed upon the floor, writhing in what looked like pain, pants wetting as his sphincters reverted to their more avian instincts. Energy’s convulsions gained more of that eponymous ether, throwing him off the floor, back arching, as with grave and horrific effect he grew, and grew, and before Gabriel’s eyes his small friend Richard Energy became a broad, muscular, tall, brick wall of a man.
Oh my, thought Gabriel. “Richard,” he essayed, “are you quite alright?”
The colossal apparition slowly ceased its panting, though it did not seem to have heard his voice.
Gabriel edged closer, putting his hand on the firm forearm of this statue. “Richard,” he called again.
“No,” rumbled forth from deep in the musclebound chest, “Call me ‘Dick’ when I am like this, dear Gabriel, for that is all that I am good for.”
“What do you mean?”
“All that is smart, all that is wise, all that knew how to make that potion — all that was Doctor Richard — that is gone when I am like this. All I feel are the baser emotions, and heat, and unspeakable urges.” Gabriel knew, suddenly, those urges, and a flush rose from beneath his ascot.
“But Dick,” began Gabriel, and suddenly he was engulfed in the arms of his longest and closest friend.
“Yes,” said Dick Energy. “'Butt dick’ is all that I am now. A base and filthy thing.”
Gabriel popped loose an arm from Dick’s embrace, and reached up to stroke the carven cheek above him.
“Dick, that’s all I would ask of you.”