Real Mens Journal Part 10

Real Men’s Journal Part 10

DOCTOR’S LOG

~February 28th~

It’s been nearly a month. Subject 56 has changed drastically. He’s grown in size and mass to the point of being truly “swole.” He’s been positively stacked with muscle and his penis has grown to the point where it’s remarkable he can manage to put together so much as a sentence. The boy is constantly swearing and cursing up a storm, repeating the words “Fuck” and “Damn” over and over again. Every time he speaks a trigger word, the easier it is for him to fall into trance. He’ll be lost soon enough and then I can move on.

Statistics as of last scan:

Height:  5’9

Weight:  290 lbs

Subject Response Rate:  90%

Subject Rank:  Advanced

Recommended Course of Action:  Advance to next level. Transfer to intermediary.

As for me, I’ve made some serious gains over the last month, and Coach Stone has encouraged me every step of the way. I’m grateful for the lights now. They help me to focus. I doubt I’d be able to get my work done if they were fixed. Viewing the statistics, watching 56 transform and convert, it’s been very … informative. I believe I have a better understanding of the language our subjects use now and occasionally, I use it around my colleagues as a joke. A few of them laugh, but the only one who really seems to get the humor is Coach Stone. We continue to meet on a regular basis for three hours a day at the gym while I work out. My musculature has improved vastly and my dates have been through the roof. I guess it’s true what they say. Working out is an excellent way to improve testosterone production. My sex life has been nothing but aces since I started. I’ve never felt better, and I’ve never been bigger. I am loving the new me. Goodbye, Doctor Seroyan. Say hello to Big Rookie.

 ~March 30th~

56 continues to grow. He’s gotten so huge. I’ve made it a habit to review his journals every day now. The way he slowly changes is so captivating. He started off so small, so out of shape. Now he’s essentially a god. Cocky, confident, boastful, and slowly becoming obsessed with sports, physical fitness, muscles, and of course, his bulge. Watching his hologram progress projections in sync to his entries as well as seeing the videos from security footage and the recorder in his tablet have become my new hobby. That, and spending some more time with Stone.

My own personal clothing has grown rather snug with the gains I’ve been making. Since the lab coats are specially tailored, along with my other garments for work, I have little choice but to shift to my work out gear when I can. I doubt it will go unnoticed, but I don’t have much choice. I have to go. It’s time for my work out again. Coach Stone and I have agreed we’re going to try to extend a little longer. I can see why our subjects love the gym so much. The rush of endorphins is incredibly pleasurable. So much so sometimes that I even find myself dreaming of the gym, working out, and continuing to grow. The ladies love my new muscles and increased masculinity.

…

So do I.

 ACCESSING SUBJECT 56 JOURNAL

~DAY ???~

Phase 2. Entered. Hard to think. People posing so much. FLEXing. I feel so small compared to them. I want to join them, but I can’t. Not after what COACH did. They’re trying to wear me down. I … can’t let them. Have to remember. Have to … think back. Back home. School. Classes. Man, they were so boring. And I was so weak. A fucking pussy. But … I liked being like that, didn’t I? Did I? It’s been so long. Can’t even count the days anymore. Who has time though? Got so much work to do. Worked so hard at school. Worked like a fucking dog. Worked and worked and worked out. Felt so good. Feels so good. Working out is good.

Damn that hissing! I’m not one of them! I won’t give in. Won’t let myself get SWOLE. Even if I am a fucking stud. Hell, I’m hung like a horse. Like a fucking bull. Feels so fuckin good with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. People coming up to me. Callin’ me bro. Yeah … lil’bro. We’re bros …

Damn it, we’re not!

… But we are. I’m so confused. It hurts my head. But I can’t stop. Can’t stop. Can’t stop touching myself. I’m fucking ripped. Look at me. Look at us. So HUGE. So SWOLE. FLEXing. Posing. So good. But … I was … thinking about … something …

…

Game time. Report. Go to showers. 56 Reporting. Must March. Must Report. Yes, sir.

…

 DOCTOR’S LOG

~April 12th~

I’ve been having such strange dreams lately. I don’t remember them well. Something about pushing. I remember a heavy weight. Grunts. A sense of satisfaction. I felt … almost mindless. I think there was a voice of some kind in the back pressing me on. I … I don’t know.

For reasons they won’t tell me, my superiors have had me confined to the base. I am having great difficulty dealing with that since my romantic life was doing so well, and it helped to relieve certain urges that are now building up in my system without release. I’ve lodged a complaint, but have yet to receive a response. The only things I can do now are observe 56’s progress and work out.

I’ve taken to referring to Coach Stone by his title, much like the other test subjects. My reasoning behind it, however, is a bit more logical. Since he has decided to dub me “Rookie,” it seems only fair that I call him “Coach,” much like the relationship between a boy and his trainer. I’m rather glad to report I took him by surprise when I said it. We both had a good laugh over it as I got to work on my routine. It’s a great joke: a nickname for a nickname. I’m up to five hours now in the gym. Time goes by so fast. It’s hard to stop. Part of me wishes I didn’t have to.

I think I’ll see about extending my hours again.

56 has been upgraded to Phase Two in The Process. “Coach” made the unfortunate miscalculation of starting into the desire to be a football jock too soon. He neglected to look into the boy’s, well, I guess I can’t call him a boy anymore. Let’s go with strapping young man’s history. It would appear that before he was recommended and brought into the program, Number 1 and Number 5 decided to act on the bullying program instilled in their subconscious as football jocks, which we use as standard cover for our operatives to fit in. The High Schools are so judgmental and cliquey that a living stereotype blends perfectly. Unfortunately, this bullying has led to a great aversion to the sport in the subject at a subconscious level. It will take some time before the desire to play takes root, I fear, though being around fellow members appears to be helping him in the long run.

The close proximity to greater muscle excites the subject and pulls him into a hypnotic stupor which allows the subliminals we play on the speakers every day to have greater effect. That combined with the trigger words we’ve installed in him will soon have him towing the line again. He’s already adopted the others in his new barracks as “bros,” and they have adopted him in kind. The command to watch sports and follow reinforcement protocol is also intact and he has followed it militantly with his brothers. Even as he fell in line, I watched as he gained an extra two inches in height while matching stride. His pre-programmed arousal only added to his euphoria and sense of displacement from his former self. Even if he claims otherwise, the subconscious desire to conform, to fit in, to be the same, to belong, is strong in every high school student. It is strong in him. I watched as his genitals expanded, while they marched in unison. While he is not yet at their level, he will soon catch up. Soon he will match in hair style, in weight count, in competitive nature, in muscle mass, and, of course, in I.Q.

Here is a recording of their transcript. Watching them as they filed in was quite the experience. Of course, I did make sure to include filters in the cameras to preserve dignity. It’s part of company policy.

ACCESSING PHASE 2 CONFORMITY CAMP CAMERAS

A group of boys line up in files and prepare to make their way to the showers. One is shorter than the rest with shaggy dark brown hair. As each file forward, they approach the camera and a light blue light surrounds them as they are scanned. A door opens, and they pass through. Eventually, this shorter boy walks up and stands inside as the entrance seals shut. His jaw is square and his eyes are open, staring obediently ahead as he spreads his legs, exposing his erection while he stands at attention.

“Identification?” a female voice inquires.

“Kyle Matthews,” the boy replies.

“Identification?”

“Kyle Matthews.”

“Please state registered identification.”

“Ky–”

“Please state registered identification.”

“… Number 56.”

“Voice identification imprint confirmed. Initiating scan.” The light blue light flashes up and down over the boy as he stands there, unblinking. His pupils contract as his erection presses further against his pants. His brow grows slightly more prominent as the hair along the ridges becomes bushier. “Confirmed. Player Number 56. On track.”

“Player Number 56. On track,” he mumbled back and shuddered as a smile crossed his face. A new door hissed open as he passed into the locker room and the camera angle shifts to the inside. He approaches a locker where another scanner waits. The shower room is cavernous and from the upper vantage point, multiple men stand side by side as they look into the digital eyes on the metal surfaces. No benches are anywhere in sight. The room slowly becomes more filled as the systematic hissing of the entry doors repeat rhythmically. More men march into the room at a measured pace. No one speaks. No one interacts. They just file and wait in front of the lockers. When everyone has arrived, the men turn as one body to the red lenses that stare back at them from the seamless metal before them. A large, bold number identifies which portion they are meant to stand before.

“Welcome, subject players. Identify.” As one, the men stare at the lens and announce their numbers simultaneously.

“56.” He flexes in front of the lens as others perform similar actions. A red beam fires into his eyes, scanning his retinas as his pupils dilate, then contract to pinpricks. “Gotta get swole. Massive, manly bulge,” he says in unison with the others. The beam disengages as a musical chirp sounds, followed by a loud clunk as the lock is undone on the locker unit and the metal hisses open. Unabashed, the subject proceeds to disrobe with the other men as he stows his clothing in the locker and takes the towel, shampoo, and soap provided. As one man, they turn and file towards the stalls with only their jockstraps left.

“Gotta catch the game. Can’t miss. Too important.” These and other snatches are caught on the camera being muttered by various men as they continue to file toward their stalls. A clouded glass door descends over their stall entrances after they disrobe and casually toss their jock straps to the side.

The sound of flickering screens turning on is heard as the sound of static surges through the air. It soon clears to a more bell-like tone. A calm, deep, smooth voice is heard.

“I want you to relax. Just sit down, and relax. Listen to the sound of my voice. So deep. So smooth, so relaxing. Just listen … and sit … and relax.” The silent whirr of machinery is heard as several dark shapes rise slowly behind the clouded glass. As one, the sound of shifting weight and slapping feet is heard. Flashes between cameras show the distorted shapes of the hulking men sitting on the shadowy shapes that rose. The camera then returns to stall 56. This distorted shape is still standing.

“I … don’t understand. Where is the game?”

“So calm. So relaxed. Just happy to sit … and listen … and relax as my voice takes you deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. Until you are fully seated. Fully relaxed.”

“But … the game …” The form is trembling where he stands.

“Your legs are feeling heavy. So very … very tired. Even now, they want to rest. Want to relax. Just as you want to relax. Relax and listen. Listen and relax. As my voice grows stronger, clearer. It’s all you want to listen to. All you want to hear. Everything else grows less and falls away. Falling away. Just as you are falling. Falling into your chair. Falling into relaxation. Falling into peace. Falling into a warm, happy place. Falling and letting go as you sit. Falling into trance.” A chorus of mumbles echo around the showers, responding to the promptings, affirming them.

“I … I feel … heavy … so heavy … legs … tired …”

“And as you sit, and rest, you feel perfectly at peace. So glad to just listen and rest. To sit and rest. To listen and sit. To sit feels good. To listen feels good. So good, so restful, so peaceful. Just listening to my voice and letting go. Listen and sit. Listen and rest. Listen and sit and obey. Falling deeper and deeper. Listening more and more. You want to listen. You want to obey. To obey your legs as they say to sit. To obey the voice that makes you aware of what your body wants. Of what you want. And you know it’s the truth. You know that you want it. So sit. And listen. And obey.”

The figure in stall 56 has entered into a crouch and is trembling above the shadow. “S—so tired. I … I can’t. Can’t … have to …” A heavy thud is heard as the shape falls onto the shadowy chair. “I listen … feels good to listen. Sit. Listen. Relax. I follow. Yes …”

END TRANSMISSION

What follows is a series of continuous hypnotic dialogue as they are slowly converted to match the personality and body type we wish them to take. In that session alone, Number 56 grew to a full six foot three. He also consented to a haircut, calling the “fucking mop on my fuckin head a fucking disgrace.” Subject has clearly reached mesomorph status and is still growing. Body fat content has dropped to eight percent. His muscle has grown at an astounding rate since the treatment took place. The boys chant and sing together on a regular basis about their “MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.”

Odd … why did I use all caps? Perhaps a computer error? I mean, they are BIGGER. There it goes again. Why must I emphasize with capitals like that? The only time I see that is in the boys’ journals. But I’m clean. My scan said so. It must be the computer’s fault somehow. I’ll make a call in to the I.T. people tomorrow about it. After my workout with COACH.

Mmmm … Can’t wait to get my PUMP on. It just feels so right in the gym. Helps me work off some of that tension from being stuck on base, too. COACH just makes it all go away when I LISTEN. When I LISTEN to him, I can just let it all go. I LISTEN to COACH and just let it all GROW. Mmmm … flickering lights. Love em. Going off. Making me feel BIG. BIGGER is better. BUFFER is TOUGHER. COACH is calling. Time to work out. Gotta get SWOLE. GROW that MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.

 ACCESSING NUMBER 56 JOURNAL

~DAY ???~

Been a week now … I think?

Music. Pounding in my head. Crashing. Thrashing. Bashing. Tackling. Grunting.

So much fighting. Wrestling. …I want to join. But not ready yet.

Feeling so big. SWOLE. Not enough though. Still smaller. Too small.

Been eatin’ a lot. Workin out a lot. Just workin’ ya know?

Easy to let go that way. Easier to listen. Easier to get SWOLE.

Big and SWOLE MUSCLE bro. Just like 100, ya know?

Just like him.

All MUSCLE.

All BRAWN.

Want that. Don’t I? So hard to think.

Why think?

I … don’t know.

Maybe I … shouldn’t?

So fucking horny. I … gotta go. Time to report.

Report my GROWTH.

My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.

GROWing MUSCLE in my head.

Other stuff goes to my dick instead.

BIG MUSCLES.

MASSIVE BULGE.

So much pleasure.

Can’t stop. Don’t wanna. Can’t stop.

Report. Train. Gotta train.

Bulk up the BRAWN.

Dim … dim … can’t think of the word. Can’t spell it.

Something about my brain? Forgetting?

I … I am forgetting.

Oh god, I’m forgetting.

What’s happening to me?

…

 DOCTOR’S LOG

~May 12th~

Doctor Seroyan

Big Rookie

56 is almost done. Soon he’ll be part of the TEAM. Just like the rest. COACH says it’s time to test him. Dunno how we’re gonna do it. COACH says he wants me to take the test, too. Be a sort of spy for him to see things up close and personal. He says I’m BIG enough.

I asked about the head honchos. The BIG guys. Not MUSCLE BIG, but the in charge kinda BIG. They said I couldn’t go in before. Said it was a bad idea. COACH just looked at me. I never felt so bad. If COACH says it’ll happen, it’ll happen. I have to listen to COACH. Trust him. The more I LISTEN, the more I OBEY, the better I feel. The BIGGER I become. Become. Yes. Become what COACH wants me to become.

Yes, sir, COACH. I’m listening. Spy is just like the others. Avoids suspicion. Acts just like them. I’ll spy for you. Be just like them. Yes. BIGGER. BUFFER. STRONGER. Make me fucking MASSIVE!

Um … yeah. Excuse me. I um … have to go now. Have to get ready. Ready to GROW—uhhh … I mean go. Besides, it’s gym time. Have to get used to their schedule if I’m gonna fit in. Gotta get SWOLE, right? And GROW my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Yeah. I’ll fit right in.

…

Real Men’s Journal Part 12

Here it is, folks, the final chapter in our great meathead odyssey. It’s been quite the ride, and I’m glad to have shared this piece with you, grammatically flawed though it is (I was too lazy to go back and edit, after I’d learned how. :P). So, I hope you all enjoyed the characters. And don’t worry. Coach Stone will be back soon enough, with a new bevy of obedient meatheads at his beck and call. You’re not gonna want to miss it. ;)

MASSIVE MANLY BRO LOG

BIG FUCKING ROOKIE

~July 15th~

Bin workin’ hard every day. Wurkin’ for COACH. He put me with 56. Super Ky. He’s the fucking best partner a guy culd ask for when he LIFTS his WEIGHTS. COACH asks ‘bout 56 all the time in the showurs. I LISTEN to him there. Sit back. Report. OBEY. COACH sez higher-ups want me 2 stay. Keep watching 56. Keep working with him. Watch him GROW. GROWING’s gud. GROWING BIG. GROWING BRAWN. GROWING BUFF. GROWING BULGE. GROWING SWOLE. GROW 2 fit his DUMB JOCK role. They say I can leave after. I’m … not sure I want 2.

I luk at 56 and I feel … jelus. He’s so BIG. BIGgur than me. And I can’t stop listening 2 him. Evry1 calls him Q.B., so I do, 2. Cuz, U no. Spy. But … it feels gud when I say it. Lyk when I say I LISTEN to COACH. Makes me feel kinda fuzzee up top. Makes me smyl. The guys LISTEN to him lyk COACH. Lyk we’re a TEAM. Gess the brainwash WURKs. Not on me tho. I’m a spy. I act lyk the rest cuz I have 2. 2 blend. Fit in, ya no? Talk lyk them. Rite lyk them. LIFT lyk them. Act lyk them. Just like COACH sed. Then I report. Report in the showurs. I don’t remember much, but I don’t worry cuz COACH sez not to. Cuz I’m his ROOKIE. He’s my COACH. And ROOKIEs LISTEN to COACH. ROOKIEs OBEY COACH. I OBEY COACH.

I OBEY.

 ~July 30th~

DUDE! 56 is so fucking ripped! He just shredded his fucking clothes today, man! COACH had to give him new stuff. Sumpthin’ like a … suit of some kind? All black. Two piece. Shorts and top. Looked fam--uh … lyk I seen it B4, ya no? But … can’t think where. Can’t think. Head … 2 fuzzee. I … why? Supposed 2 B spy. But … don’t feel like 1. Feel lyk 1 of the guys. Wut wuz I saying again? So hard 2 think. Gear’s 2 tite. So fucking horny. Can’t concentr8. Feel so hevy. My BULGE … it’s GROWing. I … must record … sounds. COACH sez. … Rite wut I say … GROAN … COACH … wut’s happening 2 me?

Abrams … COACH Abrams … he … he wuz wearing … wut 56 is wearing. They … used 2 be … difrent. More smart. … I used 2 be more smarter 2. GROAN so fucking horny. Can’t think. But … have 2. Sumthin’ about … hypnosis. A … program? Some kinda … trigurr? Oh god it hurts to think. Hurts my dick. My huge … fucking dick. So huge … so DUMB … I … no. Have 2 focus. Sumpthin’ 2 do with my JOCK strap. My … BULGING … straining … BIG DUMB JOCK strap. For BIG DUMB JOCKs. JOCKs lyk 56. JOCKs lyk 28. JOCKs lyk me. Redy 2 snap. … snap. Snap? I … think (god that hurt to rite) has 2 do with snap. Sumpthin’ bout … uh … bout … no turnin’ back. Lyk uh … That’s it! Snap the strap n’ subjects furget! Makes em focus more. Snap the JOCK, unlock the JOCK. Become more JOCK. … Reinforce training. … Uh-oh … Shit, someone must’ve falsi … fals … fal … FUCKING FAKED MY RESULTS! But … who? Why? I wuz a gud JOCK … gud JOCK … SHIT! Didn’t mean 2 rite that.

Gud … gud … so fucking gud. BULGING. GROWING. STRAINING. I feel it. So close. Gonna BUST my fucking JOCK. Be a DUM JOCK. Gud DUM JOCK 4 COACH. Cuz that’s wut I am. All I am. BIG 4 COACH. FLEX 4 COACH. DUM 4 COACH. JOCK 4 COACH. Gud JOCK.

NO!

Can’t break my fucking JOCK if I take it off. Gotta hurry. Can’t let it …

…

…

…

REMOTE ACCESS INITIATED

SYSTEM OVERRIDE AUTHORIZATION CODE ACCEPTED

SYSTEM COMMAND: ACTIVATE RECORDING SYSTEMS

ACTIVATING RECORDING SYSTEMS

“Coach, wut’re you GROAN doin’ here? I … I gotta do something. Please. Go away.”

“I’m sorry, Rookie. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Coach. Please.” The voice catches.

“Just relax, Rookie. I’m right here. Calm down. We’ll work through this together, just like we always have.”

“No, coach, we can’t. I can’t let what happened to Abrams happen to me. I won’t. I can … can still … think. GROAN.”

Easy, Rookie. Let’s not be hasty here.”

“Coach, I’m almost out of time. I have to do this. If I don’t, I’ll … I’ll ...”

“Turn into a muscle head? Grow into a jock? Didn’t you want those things?”

“You knew? You knew what was happening to me?”

“Of course I know. You wanted it to happen. You told me so in our meetings. Don’t you remember?”

“M—meetings …”

“Yes. Our sessions. It was all you could talk about. Growing, getting bigger muscles, your bigger ‘equipment,’ all of it. And you sure as hell loved your new sex life.”

“I’d never … I … I wouldn’t …”

“You would. You did. Hell, you spent half a workout bragging about your conquests. I have your paperwork right here. You signed on to become a part of this program. You wanted this.”

“That’s a lie!”

“That’s the honest to god truth, Rookie. Look at you. Look how you’ve changed. The Process regenerated you. Rejuvenated you. You’re young. And thanks to your latent desires, you’ve unlocked your hidden genetic potential. You’re a perfect physical specimen. A teenager who has yet to hit his peak. Just like you wanted. If you don’t believe me, then read the papers yourself. I have them right here.”

“Why … can’t I remember?”

“Plausible deniability.”

“… What?”

“You volunteered for a new form of the process, a different formula. But you wanted to keep working, too, helping 56 progress. We agreed so long as you could remain professional. But the organization needed to be able to deny any charges you might make while you forgot. And it needed to be able to observe each stage as if you didn’t know about it. So we wiped your memory and left the subconscious commands intact. … I see you still don’t get it. Damn, that stuff works good. Basically, it was so we could say we didn’t do anything bad to you and had no idea what was happening.”

“Why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because it acts as a distraction.”

“Distract—oh crap! Let go of me!”

“Sorry, Rookie, I can’t do that. Not until you’ve finished this phase.”

“Coach, stop!”

“Just let it happen, Rookie. Stop struggling. I know how badly you want this. How much you need this!”

“I need to stop this! I never wanted this! Let go! I don’t wanna be like them! You’re lying, you have to be!”

“Listen to me, Rookie! We know that’s not what you really want. What you need. You need muscle, power, strength. You need to be a jock. Cocky. Powerful. A man. A real man. A massive man with a massive bulge. Can’t you feel that? Feel it straining. Growing. Swelling. Just like your body. You reek testosterone. Why? Because you’re a jock!”

“St—stop it!”

“A huge jock.”

“Coach …”

“A massive, brawny, meathead obsessed with weights.”

“No…”

“You might as well let it happen, Rookie. It’s too late to turn back. You’re my Rookie and I’m your Coach, remember? And a Rookie always listens to his coach.”

“…”

“So listen to me now.”

“… Coach …”

“Just relax and listen to my voice, Rookie. Let it go.”

“Coach …”

“Let it go.”

“… Let it … go …”

“Relax.”

“Y-yes … sir.”

“Good boy.”

“…”

“Can you hear me, Rookie?”

“… Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“… Coach.”

“Do you know who you are?”

A breathy sigh is heard. “Rookie.”

“That’s right. You’re my Rookie.”

“Your Rookie.”

“And Rookies listen to their coach, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir. Rookie is listening.”

“Good boy. Everything I say is truth. Understand, Rookie?”

“Yes.”

“You will accept everything I say without question.”

“Yes, sir, Coach.”

“And you’ll obey everything I tell you to do, right?”

“Yes, sir. Rookie listens to Coach. Rookie obeys Coach.”

“Good boy. I’m going to get off of you now. I want you to stand up slowly and not run or do anything else. You’re just going to stand there and listen.”

“… Yes, sir.” There is the sound of shifting bodies and the heavy tromp of cleats on cement.

“That’s a good boy. Now, Rookie, tell me, do you like your muscles? Do you like how much you’ve grown?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You like how easy it is to lift?”

“Yes.”

“And you like watching those muscles grow in the mirror.”

“Yes.”

“You think about weights a lot, don’t you?”

“… Yes.”

“What do you think about most?”

“… Lifting. Getting swole. Muscles. Chicks. My dick. Fuck, It’s so massive. So tight. So … bulgy. Like me. Growing. So big. Fucking huge.”

“*Whistle* That thing is growing pretty fast, isn’t it?”

“*Grunt*”

“Now listen to me, Rookie. You want it to grow. You want to keep growing. Just like your training said.”

“… Yes, sir, Coach.”

“You love your size. You love your body. You love what you’ve become.”

“Love my size … love my body … love what I’ve become.”

“Good boy. Tell me, what is the square root of 81?”

“Uh … Give me a sec.”

“Take your time.”

“I … I know this. I … know … this … *Groan* … god, I can’t think!”

“Relax, Rookie. It’s not a problem.”

“It’s … not?”

“That was a test. You passed. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I … wasn’t?”

“You don’t care about math, remember? The only time you use it is when you’re focusing on your stats.”

“… Yes. That’s right … I … I don’t care about math. Don’t care …”

“Math is stupid. You said so yourself.”

“Course it’s stupid. Math’s for nerds.”

“That’s right, Rookie. And you’re not much of a nerd anymore now, are you?”

“Fuck no … I mean … maybe a little.”

“*Chuckling* Don’t worry, that won’t last long. All you want is to keep growing.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Growing boy. Growing body. Growing bulge. Growing brawn.”

“Yessssss …”

“Remember what happens the bigger you get?”

“Dumber I get.”

“That’s right. And you want to be big, so …?”

“I wanna be dumb.”

“That’s right. You want to be dumb. You were tired of being smart.”

“Tired of bein’ smart.”

“No room for smarts anymore. All that brain’s being filled with pure muscle. Pure brawn.”

“All muscle. All brawn.”

“That’s right. All those smarts are going to your manhood. Everything. Make you a massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.”

“*Groan* Massive, manly man … Massive … manly … bulge …” There is the sound of straining fabric.

“That’s right. You love this feeling. You love being big. And you want more. You always want more.”

“*Grunt* More massive … *Groan* More manly … *Grunt* More bulge.”

“Just like 56.”

“Just like 56.”

“Just like 28.”

“… Just like 28.”

“Just like Abrams.”

“… Just … like … Abrams.”

“Just like a jock.”

“… Just like a jock.”

“Because that’s what you’re becoming: a big, dumb jock. My big dumb jock. And you want that.”

“… Becoming a jock. A big, dumb jock. Want to be a big, dumb jock. … Your big dumb jock, sir.”

“That’s right. Good jock boy.”

“*Groan* Rookie is your jock boy, sir.” A sudden echoing snap breaks across the recording, followed by a deep, dull laughter. “Wanna be a big, dumb jock. Rookie will be Coach’s big, dumb jock. Getting’ buff n’ getting’ swole. I’m big fucking Rookie!” The sound of shredding fabric is heard.

“Big Rookie is right.” The coach’s voice echoes as he laughs. “At this rate, you’ll be ready for phase three in no time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let’s get you dressed, Rookie.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Spandex, I think. Something tight to show off your body. Is that alright with you?”

“Fuck yeah. Who wouldn’t wanna see this jock bod?”

“Good jock.”

“Yes, sir, coach. Rookie listens. Rookie obeys.”

END TRANSMISSION

 ~August 30th~

Been LIFTING like a fucking BEAST, like COACH told me 2.

I see COACH in the showurs. Evury day.

COACH sez I’m speshul.

COACH sez see him 3 tymes a day.

ROOKIES LISTEN 2 COACH.

ROOKIES OBEY COACH.

So I OBEY.

COACH gives me special proteen. Sez it’ll make me SWOLE. I lyk SWOLE. WURKS OUT. I’m Fucking HUGE. BIGGur than 56.

BROS don’t talk much eneemore. Don’t need 2. We LISTEN. We OBEY. We LIFT. We GROW. We SWOLE.

Sum talk, but we GROW ther BULGE. Make them MASSIVE lyk us. They fall in lyn. They JOCK out lyk us. Don’t talk much after that. It’s bettur that way. Easyer 2 LISTEN 2 COACH. Easy 2 OBEY.

56 left. Coach sez he went 2 faze 3.

I’m in charj now.

New clothes feel so fucking gud. Wear em all the time.

Shows off all my MUSCLE.

I am MUSCLE.

MUSCLES do what they’re told.

MUSCLES OBEY commands.

I OBEY.

MUSCLES don’t think.

I don’t think.

MUSCLES GROW wen they WURK OUT.

I GROW wen I WURK OUT.

ROOKIE is MUSCLE.

MUSCLE is ROOKIE.

COACH gave ROOKIE a new name.

ROOKIE is Number O-000.

ROOKIE is Zero becuz ROOKIE is nothing.

Nothing but a JOCK.

A BIG, DUMB JOCK.

ROOKIE is a BIG, DUMB JOCK.

ROOKIE is COACH’s BIG, DUMB JOCK.

ROOKIE OBEYS COACH.

ROOKIE GROWS wen he OBEYS.

GROWS BIG. GROWS DUMB.

ROOKIE is STRONG wen he OBEYS.

ROOKIE OBEYS wen he is STRONG.

ROOKIE OBEYS.

Zero OBEYS.

I OBEY.

OBEY.

OBEY.

…

 ~September 5th~

Yes, sir, COACH.

ROOKIE is 0

0 OBEYS COACH.

0 does not think.

0 is DUMB.

0 has 0 brains.

0 is DUMB.

0 OBEYS.

0 is MUSCLE.

0 FLEXES.

0 OBEYS.

0 LIFTS.

0 OBEYS.

0 is SWOLE.

0 OBEYS.

0 is BIG.

0 OBEYS.

0 is JOCK.

0 is COACH’s JOCK.

0 is a BIG, DUMB JOCK.

0 OBEYS.

0 GROWS.

0 is MASSIVE MANLY MAN with MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.

0 is just like the TEAM.

0 is 1 with TEAM.

Yes, COACH. 0 will go.

0 OBEYS.

0 will go to faze 3.

0 is redee for faze 3.

ACCESSING SUBJECT 56 FILES

~DAY???~

LIFTING gud.

Thinking bad.

56 wants to LIFT.

COACH sez 56 shuld rite tho.

56 OBEYS.

56 LIFTS with the TEAM.

56 rites with the TEAM.

56 chants with TEAM.

56 is 1 with TEAM.

28 WEIGHTed for 56.

28 and 56 were happee.

TEAM wuz happee.

Now 56 is just lyk 28.

56 and 28 R BROS.

Fucking HUGE.

GROW for COACH.

OBEY COACH.

LIFT.

DUMB.

LIFT.

BIG.

LIFT.

JOCK.

56 doesn’t need recordings.

56 heres COACH all the tym.

56 is part of TEAM.

56 OBEYS with TEAM.

56 doesn’t think.

COACH thinks 4 56.

COACH thinks 4 TEAM.

Yes, sir, COACH. 56 heres.

56 OBEYS.

I am 56.

56 is drone.

56 will GROW TEAM.

JOCK now. JOCK 4ever.

MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.

56 will chant with TEAM.

TEAM is home.

Home is TEAM.

56 is home.

Lyk … wut’s the play, COACH?

SUBJECT O-000

~September 30th~

0 is part of TEAM.

0 WURKS OUT 4 COACH.

0 GROWS 4 COACH.

0 is COACH’S JOCK.

0 is BIG DUMB JOCK with MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.

0 knows his place.

0 is OFFENSE.

0 FIGHTS.

0 makes BROS.

0 OBEYS.

0 will make JOCK BROS.

0 will GROW the TEAM.

0 will be COACH’s point guard.

0 will be assistant COACH.

0 OBEYS.

END TRANSMISSION

RESEARCH NOTES: OMEGA PROJECT FORMULA

C.E.O. SIGN IN: VICTOR STONE

The program has been hitting some snags of late. Those with a high enough I.Q. have been able to resist The Process to the point where some have been able to hold on for several months to their original psyches. This was unacceptable. So, of course, I had to fix it.

Number 56, formerly known as Kyle Matthews was the last straw. Abrams had been failing for too long. He was too sympathetic, too gentle. I fixed that. Now he’s the most aggressive offensive lineman you’ll ever meet. As for 56, well, I simply pushed him in the right direction. Even with my skills though, the boy was still surprisingly resilient. It took me too long to break him for comfort. I immediately authorized initialization for The Omega Project.

This new and improved formula for The Process is specially designed for the higher I.Q. It drops the test subject down to a basic grunt. I called in Doctor Seroyan for testing and gave him his own office. Little did he realize the special ingredients I included in his food and drink. He didn’t take long to show signs of change. Within the month, he was already beginning to crack. The subliminals from the lights helped of course, but a lot of it had to come from the treatment itself. Notes from my other workers revealed similar results in isolated test subjects throughout the compounds.

I got him hooked on working out and the rest was history. I kept conditioning him alongside 56 so they could interact when the time came. I wanted to see if I could incorporate him into the system without him knowing. After all, that’s the whole point of the Omega Formula. That, and of course, it breeds a stronger, more obedient jock drone. Best of all, it’s completely undetectable. Seroyan became my subject zero. And he’s perfectly happy fitting his new role as my personal assistant. I’ve given him free reign over 56’s team while I’m away and designated a new coach to keep tabs on him while I’m gone. I’ve given specific orders not to interfere, though. Omega Zero has potential to be a great coach once I’ve taught him how. Until then, I’m having him run over exercises with the team as they practice and play their programmed sport. More than a few of them are going to enter the N.F.L., that’s for sure. I love seeing my boys making me money.

We’ve come such a long way from when my project first began. I’m so glad I blew up my lab all those years ago. Hell, the results were definitely worth it. I still haven’t been able to fully replicate the accident that made me this way, but that doesn’t matter much. I like being the alpha. And once I got our investors to try my … unique product, they were happy to fall in line. They signed over ownership to me, obviously, and pursued their own careers in their respective muscular fields. I still get a monthly check from them after they’ve won a big competition or something along those lines.

Next phase will be accelerating the process. I want to have nigh instant results. When I’m not working as a personal coach for my jock force, I get back to the lab to work with the boys on progression. Now that we’ve found a compound that breaks past the I.Q. barrier, it’s only a matter of time. Soon enough, I’ll be everybody’s coach in a perfectly healthy, masculine muscleman society. I can’t wait.

Real Men’s Journal Part 8

~DAY???~

Coach says I need to keep writing. Dunno why. Writing makes me question and then the pain starts again. It’s easier just to let it all go, ya know? I’ve been working my tris and my quads today with my glutes and my calves. Everyone looks up at me now and it feels so good. Been just smiling and walking around, really enjoying it, you know? It feels good watching people look at me like that. 100 slapped me on the butt today. I just smirked and kept walking. Chuckled a little too. Turned back once to see him wave.

I like 100. He’s like a big brother. Nah, sounds too formal. Let’s just go with big bro. I like that better. Yeah, bros. Big balls bros. I like that. Mmmm … gonna have to visit the showers a little early tonight. Think I’ll bring that little guy, Clark, with me. He looks like he needs a good time with his bros. His big fucking bros with a massive, manly bulge. Mmmmm … God it feels so good to say that. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Can’t fucking get enough of my fucking massive bulge. Getting bigger all the time. All the time. No wonder Dick and Tracy loved this. I feel like I can beat anything. Anyone. Like I can do whatever the fuck I want. Head’s getting fuzzy again. Better move on. Uh … what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, was gonna talk about the others.

Josh and Cooper are great buds. Coach says he put them on fast track to be with me. Now they’re nearly the same size. I must be around six foot four now. So fucking tall. I walk down the hall and the beds shake. I like that feeling. Let’s me know I’m nice and heavy. Coach says we’re nearly ready for the next step now. I uh … used to feel kinda bad about that, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s good after all? Don’t know. Don’t need to know. If Coach says it’s okay, it’s okay. Have to listen to coach. Have to obey coach. I obey. Kyle obeys. Kyle’s number is 56. Kyle is 56. 56 obeys. 

Doctor’s Log Entry

~October 24th, 2016~

This is Doctor Seroyan of the Specialist Division: Project DYNAMO A.K.A. “The Process”

I was most curious when I received an email from the Young Adult Underground Compound in Macaronesia regarding a certain test subject recommended by Numbers 1 and 5, former names: Damien Jones and Bryan Kent. This subject 56 appears to be a bright lad, very perceptive from what I can see. It’s a pity he has to go through The Process, but we do need a demographic from a variety of ranges and health conditions. This boy’s asthma is perfect to see the respiratory impact of the process, or so his medical records show. I don’t quite understand why I was called in as a consultant, but perhaps the boy’s journal entries will shed some light on the situation.

 ~October 26th~

Interesting. Typical treatments were not enough for the subject. He eats with the others, but his metabolism doesn’t appear to be increasing, despite the “special ingredients” inserted. His journal entries imply heavy sarcasm and wit alongside his sincere desire for freedom and family. Curious. The lack of hypnosis files are doubtless part of the problem, but I am curious if there might not be something in the boy’s blood that makes him resistant as well. We’ll need to run some tests.

 ~October 27th~

The boy’s blood panels have come back. I see no negative impact from the serum. In fact, when exposed, cells regenerated, growing healthier. White blood cells reproduced at a faster rate and red blood cell count skyrocketed. The Process never ceases to amaze me. Most cells die and then are replaced in the body, but the formula has made them self-sustaining. I’ve never seen the progression first hand before. Fascinating. If my theory is correct, then the power of the mind is indeed the key. The brain has to send signals to the body to accept The Process. Once it gets into the brain cells, there’s no going back and the subject will continue to follow the steps to their ultimate conclusion:  Physical Perfection. I’d best send my prognosis to Coach Abrams immediately. We’ll start with flooding the rooms with the gas form first, then go from there. I want to prove that mental commitment is required before recommending nocturnal binaural treatment. I haven’t been this excited about a special case in years.

 ~October 30th~

Interesting. The process does seem to be having some effect on the boy, but according to body scans, they’re minimal at best. Still, the gas does appear to be having an effect of sorts on him in his sleep, as it does for all subjects. Intense arousal triggered by surges of testosterone implies treatment is working. Given enough exposure, it is possible The Process could work without mental suggestions, but that would require an undue abuse of resources. No, best to stick with what works best. I will recommend nocturnal binaural treatment begin immediately for all subjects. I look forward to seeing the results.

 ~November 10th~

Subject 56 appears to be oblivious to the passing of time. The alterations to his clock tablet have been a success, and he continues to mark his days by numbers, rather than by date. I have noticed the impact of the binaurals on the subjects. Several are exhibiting more masculine traits and look longingly at the gym, according to the camera feeds. Others have already succumbed and begun a regular workout schedule. Scans show these subjects are using less brain power for their activities as more and more of the brain sends signals and chemicals to the rest of the body, reinforcing pleasure and desire for physical exertion. An unfortunate side effect of these changes is a drop in I.Q. Therefore, as part of the process, we include hypnosis sessions to make them not care about the loss. Once they experience their first growth spurts, many do not even require it, but to be safe, we include them anyways. They make better men and better soldiers that way. Note to self. Talk with maintenance about the lights. The bulbs need replacing.

 ~November 12th~

Further observation indicates the subject, Number 56, is beginning to falter. The boy is taking too long, though. Too much of a danger. I have consulted with my superiors. They recommended I speak with Coach Stone, one of the more … unorthodox of our trainers here, but he knows his stuff. He suggested letting the boy “accidentally” walk in on various hypnosis sessions, starting with the showers. It seems feasible. There is some risk of resistance arising once word spreads to the others, but Stone assures me things will be fine, especially now that we have a new acquisition in the form of number 56’s friend, number 28, Kevin Marugama.

He has taken remarkably well to the changes and adapted accordingly. He still loves to smile, but it occasionally dims when he works out. I believe it has to do with number 56 somehow. Most forget their relationships when they pass into this phase and only care about their new “bros” and their “fucking big dicks” with their new team mentality. 28 seems to want to wait. He is more hesitant. Perhaps he bears a lesser form of resistance than his friend, 56. The strange part is, he’s embraced the program more so than any other. He’s grown the largest, changed his hair, grew his “massive, manly bulge,” conformed to everything, and yet he still hangs on with his mind. Curious.

 ~November 13th~

Subject 56 has made contact in showers as planned. The boy was markedly surprised and the others reacted as projected. Their only idols will soon be their own reflections and muscle. Number 56 appears to be rattled, but unfazed otherwise. He wisely has chosen to keep his counsels to himself, though the arousal appears to be increasing and he is following the commands embedded in his subconscious as he sleeps. Surely it will only be a matter of time before he joins the rest of them, becomes the very thing he used to despise: a musclebound thrall obsessed with whatever his commanding officers tell him to be. For our purposes, that will be fitting the stereotype of a big, dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge.

Say these words, and the subjects fall into a trance loop until they fit the stereotype in every way. It’s most effective. Anyone exposed will experience intense and sudden arousal, followed by lightheadedness, and lastly, a sense of intense euphoria as they run and re-run the loop over and over in their minds, mass producing the key ingredient in The Process, causing their bodies to swell and distribute it through their systems until they reach maximum physical peak, or as they like to call it, being “fucking huge, big, buff, and swole with my fucking massive, manly bulge.” Crude, but effective. It has a nice ring to it. My compliments to the men at the recording department. The lyrical and rhythmic effect makes the command catchy and easy to repeat.

Once The Process gets far enough, the subjects often speak, record, write, and rewrite their commands and subliminals over and over again in their journals in a variety of forms, like “gotta get swole with my massive, manly bulge,” “muscles. So huge. Massive. Fucking massive. Bigger. Buffer. Grow. Just a big, dumb jock with a massive cock. My massive, manly bulge,” and “Yes, sir. All I care about. Grow big. Big dick. Only meat in my head. Think less. Grow more. More massive the bulge, the bigger I grow, the less that I know, with my massive, manly bulge.” And so they continue to repeat, and lose, and forget their old selves until they are a new person entirely with a new, distinct, set personality that’s completely loyal to Coach. That is to say, their coaches. Pardon me, it’s getting rather late. Focusing on Number 56 has caused me to neglect myself. I’d best take a lie down to clear my head. Until next time.

 ~November 23rd~

Datalog entry file 56. Case:  The Mysterious Resistance

56 is showing clear signs of wavering. We decided to kill two birds with one stone by finishing converting numbers 22 and 23. As a bonus, numbers 5, 10, and 13 were also present. Against my orders, the gas was deployed to fill the chamber, effecting all present and accelerating the changes until all five were ready. It was … quite the display. Number 56 has been feeling the results since. He is beginning to record the trigger and other words to begin erasing his old personality. As the other drones say, “out with the nerd and in with the jock.” I look forward to seeing the end result.

Coach Abrams came up with a fit over the gas flooding at first, but I managed to convince him it was for the best. Coach Stone was very pleased. I believe the two have a rivalry of sorts going on, but I can never be too certain. The boy is once again too frightened to speak, which is good. A few more events like this and he’ll likely tip over the edge. His will is formidable, however. Many of the others have already fallen in line, but this one still hangs on. He may just have to pass on to another class in the first phase.

The next day, we had an escape attempt. No use trying to hide the effects of the process now. The guard drones overdosed the poor boy, then flashed him with the accelerant. The boy never stood a chance. He’ll join the guards and patrol the interior walls of the facility while other workers maintain environmental controls to keep up the illusion of the outdoors. The boy in question would obey any order you gave him so long as he viewed you as a superior. Though I do have to admit I am the slightest bit jealous. Those abs, those quads, those biceps. He’s an Adonis and more. I attended his post examination. To get so close to one of them, to actually feel that power, it’s indescribable. Makes me dizzy just thinking about it. So built. I … I um … need to rest. Maybe run a tox screen. I wonder if the drones have begun to produce the chemical in their sweat. It’s possible, considering how much our recent addition was pumped full. So very full. Pumped. Um … yes, tox screen, then bed. Definitely.

 ~November 24th~

Tox screen shows normal. I appear to be fine. No signs of the chemical in my system. We arranged for the boy to “accidentally” catch his former leader in the middle of a hypnosis session. Coach Stone is most skilled. Number 100 fell under the moment he heard his voice. The prompt to leave one bud loose was genius. He lost the binaural effects, but at this stage, he was deep enough in control we could afford to let it slip this once. Number 56 reacted most strongly and demonstrated astounding memorization skills. I, myself was most moved by Coach Stone’s performance. He has a very powerful voice. Very deep. I actually have a meeting with him later this evening to discuss the next step in the boy’s progression. 56 is a threat until he completely gives in. He must give in. Must give in. Must listen. He must listen and obey. Only then will The Process be able to complete. The Process must complete. Must complete. Complete sets...

 ~November 25th~

Drone 56 appears to be falling well into place now. He worked out without a single question, just blank obedience. His weight loss is slower than projections indicate they should be, but he is progressing. That is what is important. Progress. Man’s greatest achievement. What sets apart the real men from the fakes. Coach Stone has recommended I stay a while longer. We talked over coffee and discussed the details. He’s concerned the boy will break trance. He’s done it before. His conscious mind is very powerful. After a long discussion, I agreed to stay, and drank several cups of coffee while I was at it. I’ve felt so tired of late, I needed the caffeine. The coffee was surprisingly good. What happened after is a little fuzzy, but I recall returning to my quarters and wishing Coach Stone good night. I’ll see him soon, I’m sure. Very soon.

 ~November 26th~

Number 56 continues to progress slowly as he works off his excess fat. His asthma seems to be non-existent now, a sure sign of clinical success. His body repaired itself. Astounding. I have visited with Coach Stone now, and he desires to help me get more fit while I am here. I appreciated the offer, but politely declined. I hear his training methods are rather brutal. I really need to see someone about these lights, they’re starting to get rather distracting. I think I’ll ask Coach Stone about them. He seems to hold some sway among the higher ups. Yes, I think I’ll visit him now.

 ~November 30th~

56 continues to practice his routine. He is beginning to show more progress now as his metabolism increases. The programming is working. We have Coach Abrams regularly ask him about his massive, manly bulge now. Each time we say it, the boy smiles and runs the program, but when he’s done, his body seems to remain mostly the same. His penis size and scrotum size have hardly increased at all. Coach Stone is concerned, as is Coach Abrams to an extent. 56 has been useful in helping to convert some of the stragglers, but he himself still clings on somehow. It’s incredibly frustrating.

I have agreed to meet with the coaches on a regular basis and keep them apprised of all that I find. I may have to observe 56 from a closer standpoint before I can really find out what’s wrong. That is a rather disturbing thought though. To observe him up close, I would have to join the program under the pretense of being a new recruit. To walk in as a scientist would be positively out of the question. Why? Because the boys and men would immediately seek to exploit the weakness, not to mention they would likely suspect the method of delivery and then we would be forced to overdose them like that other boy. I’ll talk it over with Coach Stone at the gym. He tells me that’s normally easier for him than meeting in his office.

 ~December 5th~

As I suspected, the coaches all agree it’s not possible for me to enter the program for a closer examination. They warned me it would be a one-way trip and that what doctors had tried before were now little more than testosterone-soaked, musclebound bodybuilders. Many of them have been sent to various contractors in professional football and bodybuilding competitions. Naturally, what funds they win are generously donated to help further our efforts here with The Process and their families are notified of their “deaths” with a supplemental check in the mail to keep them afloat for the rest of their lives.

I have gotten into the habit of going to the gym on a regular basis to talk things through with Stone. The majority of 56’s classmates have now moved on. A mere straggler or two and he’ll be all alone. Coach Stone informs me he’ll be visiting to finish their conversions so that we can move on to plan B. Coach Abrams is not happy, but I have recommended Coach Stone to take over after this class is finished. The boy is clearly a troubled case, and perhaps unorthodox is exactly what we need right now. The higher ups have agreed with my assessment. Abrams will stand down, or he will be removed.

 ~December 10th~

Coach Stone did as he said and 56 is now alone. He continues to exhibit behavior as a focused drone: obedient, hardworking, flexing, etc. He still hasn’t changed much, however. He continues to show signs of resistance, and it is my hypothesis the boy will wake tomorrow and return to full consciousness. He will also be met by a brand new class of students. Coach Stone will be able to take care of them just fine. I look forward to seeing how the boy reacts to Stone’s personality. Stone can be quite persuasive when he wants to be. Quite persuasive, indeed. I just wish he’d put that to use for my office space. The lights have gotten worse, not better. I’ll have to take this up with the facility director if I can’t get this resolved soon. But first I’ll try Coach Stone one last time. I scratched his back. Maybe he’ll scratch mine.

Real Men’s Journal: Part 1

~Day 1~

What the heck is going on? I woke up this morning to a blaring alarm that literally threw me out of bed. Seriously. A hydraulics system lifted it up to the point where I was thrown off. Let me start from the beginning. I’m your average high school student. Never caused a problem, never raised a fuss, just stuck to myself. I like to write, create artwork, read, and I even dabble a little in the occasional play or musical. What I did to deserve this, I’ll never know.

The last thing I remember is Summer Vacation starting. It was the last day of school. Freshmen year was finally over and it was time to celebrate. So I got onto my computer and did a little gaming. I’d just gotten the new patch for W.o.W. so I was testing it out. After a couple hours of gaming, I got onto the chat with my friends and talked with them for a while. We wrote some stories, role played a little, the usual thing, you know? Then I just went to bed like I always do. I remember settling under my covers and blacking out. Then … I woke up in this nightmare of a place.

I looked around to see that I was in some kind of barracks. Beds lined the walls. Blaring lights gleamed down from their tracks in the ceiling, practically blinding me. I looked around to see a variety of boys and men ranging from as early as middle school to as late as mid-twenties. They all looked like they’d had a horrible night. Then again, who wouldn’t look bad if they’d just been woken violently and shoved out of bed? I probably looked just as horrible. Everyone was asking what was going on, who everyone else was, pretty much like any movie scene you’d watch portraying a kidnapping scenario. A few people even got to the point of being violent. That was when they showed up.

I swear, these guys must be taking steroids or something. They were HUGE! A whole squadron of them in dark skintight shirts and pants. A strange sort of logo stood emblazoned on their chests. The biggest one in a referee’s outfit nodded his head to the others and they immediately broke up the squabbling, shoving the contenders apart like two stubborn sheets of paper in a textbook. And the way they laughed when some of us fell down, I swear, it was like those jerks Damien and Bryan back in school. They were the gods of the football team. Don’t know what I did to deserve it, but they decided to make me their personal nerd. In short, they make fun of me, I shoot back, they beat me up, repeat. I immediately distrusted these boys.

The guy introduced himself as Coach Abrams and said we were going to be his responsibility for the duration of our stay here. Each of us had been specially chosen to go through something he called “The Process,” whatever that means. I doubt it’s anything good. We were informed that clothing would be provided for us and could be found inside of our dressers next to our beds. We were instructed to get dressed as quickly as possible and make our way to the mess hall. We would be guided by our lovely little enforcer friends to make sure everyone got there “safely.” Good way to keep us from running too. The jerks. At least the tech was cool. They run on some sort of speech recognition software. I order it to open and it listens to my voice. What I found there though … didn’t exactly make me too happy. My reaction was something along these lines.

“No. Hell no. You are not making me wear this crap.” At least that’s what I thought in my mind. The stupid drawers opened to reveal a pair of white briefs, some baggy red shorts, and a T-shirt with a number on the back and front left breast. Mine read 56. It was bad enough having to deal with this kind of stuff in school with the teachers. Now they want us to wear this gym stuff on a regular basis? Still, the imposing meathead looking at me with folded arms left me little choice. (Seriously, are those footballs he has stuffed under that muscle tee?) I slid them on, albeit reluctantly, and then ordered the footlocker beneath to open. Much like the first drawer, it verified my voice patterns and registered me as its current user. Does that mean there were others before me? What is this mysterious process?

A set of New Balance sneakers waited for me to wear with a pair of simple, unmarked white socks. At least they looked like New Balance. They didn’t have the logo though. Their design was unremarkable at best. All white. No individual flare. Seriously, these guys have no style. At least they took my wide foot size into consideration when they got these for me. Pretty high number too based on the feel of them. Designed for good support. I think they had some sort of orthotic insert or something like that. How they knew that about me though … that creeped me out a bit. They must have done some heavy duty research into us.

I looked to see everyone else wearing a set of clothes exactly like mine fit to their sizes. They were all pretty baggy. Some were pressed out loosely by heavy guts. Mine was reasonably smaller, so it didn’t push out as much, but I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a stud by any means with my poor vision, asthma, and getting sick every time I try to so much as run it’s very difficult for me to try anything useful in the area of personal fitness. Still … the others are marked with numbers as well. Is that what they plan to do to us from now on? Designate us by numbers? It would seem so based on what the coach told us at the mess hall.

Once we finished getting dressed we were taken to the entrance of our little home. A large locking mechanism disengaged with a scan of some sort from the coach and his muscled followers. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be retinal or some sort of code hidden on their uniforms somewhere. Maybe it was a little bit of both? I don’t know. It will warrant further investigation later. Though based on current attempts, it appears that we won’t be able to stage a breakout any time soon. The lock seems to be on a timer for “newcomers,” or so the system computer tells me when I ask to leave “after hours.” Plus it probably registers whenever a user accesses its coding and notifies the main compound and security offices. At least that’s how I’d do it if I were to design a system like this.

Anyways, we were taken on a “grand tour” of the compound. We seem to be in some sort of secluded forest. There are several walls a good two stories high with patrols of burly meatheads just like our escorts. They wore some kind of special armor complete with high tech weaponry. Though their uniforms were more of a silvery white, rather than the dark colors our escorts wore. I had never seen anything like it before. Others held what looked like tranquilizer guns, complete with ammo belts strapped to their torsos. Fortunately, we weren’t going anywhere near the wall. I’d rather not try to test what would happen if an escape attempt were made that way. We remained compliant, though my new big muscled “friend” held on to my arm just to be on the safe side.

The doors to the mess hall require a print to open. Now I understand why our muscular friends kept such tight hold on us. It was to force those who would not comply to press forward with their registration into the system. I happened to be one of those problem children. If I wasn’t about to bow down to those two jerks at school, I wasn’t about to bow down here. The scary part is the coach actually approved. When we got into the hall he informed us the compound was inescapable and in a remote location. So even if we did somehow manage to escape, we’d starve before we could reach help. He mocked us by making air quotations as he said it, like we were a bunch of babies. Somebody really needs to put this guy in his place. But for right now, it seems that brawn rules here. We aren’t organized, we aren’t strong, and frankly, even if we were unified, I don’t think we have the numbers to pull anything off at the moment.

So after a hearty breakfast, of which the coach decided to “reward” us fighters by giving us first spots in line, we made our way to the gym. I had just finished a nice breakfast of eggs with toast and a glass of water before my overly muscled, dimwitted pal picked me up and dragged me away. I do have to admit, their fitness facilities were state of the art. The levels on the compound stretched for miles underground from what I could tell on the map at the observation desk when we checked in. It seems that here, you check in with a scan of your number on your shirt. Uniforms required. How typical. Apparently, the farther along we get in “the process,” the more levels and buildings we can access. It would seem that the upper facilities are for show. The main body of this concentration camp appears to be underground.

After the basics were finished, Abrams took us back to the barracks. My overly muscled friend “politely” escorted me to stand next to my bunk, which I now realized had been personalized with a number as well. Well, as personalized as a number can get anyways. Abrams insists that we call him coach. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Anyways, they had us stand in front of our footlockers. A giant rod with two prongs like a Forklift suddenly jutted out from slots in the floor. They sparked and a blue field sprung between. We were commanded to stand perfectly still. I did my best to resist, but once again, my escort was there to “apply a firm hand.” I had no choice in the end but to stand there and let the machine do its work. It turned out to be some sort of scanner. This kind of tech is supposed to be impossible. Life signs, bio feeds, the whole shebang appeared on a screen that jutted itself out from the wall above the drawer and footlocker. It tingled as it passed over, making me shudder.

Once the process was complete, a drawer jutted out from the dresser portion of my little footlocker and the holographic display monitor faded to become a mirror with projection functions included. Inside the drawer I found this journal. The name on the cover is a little weird though. “Real Men’s Journal: Tales of the Journey.” I thought it was some sort of book at first, but when I opened it up, the tech I found was unbelievable. I had holo-screen displays, a physical screen, a tablet mode, laptop mode, the works. This thing was, and I suppose is, state of the art. I’m using the personal journal function for now. It appears all others have been locked for the time being. I’m guessing I’ll be allowed to gain access to them the further along I go in “the process.” Cue eye roll. Like that’s ever going to happen. Anyways, I put it aside briefly so Abrams could show us the showers and changing rooms here. Hah! Changing room. That’s a good one. Try locker room. At least it doesn’t reek of B.O.

It seems our dressers have a range of options available to us. My “journal” has given me a view of the specs for what I can and cannot request. They have a variety of hygiene products including towels, deodorant, soap, whatever we may need. They even have shaving equipment for those of us who need to. Fortunately, I haven’t reached that point in my development yet. I … I’d hoped my father would be the one to teach me. Now I’m not sure if I’ll ever even get the chance to see him again.

I just got a notification here on my little tablet. It seems we have a curfew. Lights out will happen soon. I’m already dressed in bed clothes. They’re just your basic kind of wear. Sweat pants and a regular Tee. Kind of like my old ones from home. But no, they had to take those from us too while we were gone. Now my new number is labeled on my leg, my chest, and my back. Great. Based on the locked app titles I can read, it seems this place is focused on personal fitness. I have a feeling they won’t like me very much considering my health issues. Ah well. The sooner they see they can’t use me, the sooner they might send me home. Goodnight for now. I’ll write again later.

-Sincerely, Kyle Matthews

 ~Day 2~

Okay. So it turns out my journal here has both a writing function and a recording function. Heck, it even has video. I’ll probably try using a combination of the three to portray just what I’m going to be put through here. If I ever escape, I’ll need evidence of my claims to prove I’m not crazy.

So I woke up this morning with an annoying headache. Had difficulty getting up out of bed, but of course that lovely hydraulics system had no problem kicking me out on time. I seriously have to see if I can’t find a way to hack this system some time. I’m no expert, but maybe with this piece of tech I’ll stand a chance. We’ll see. For now I’m going to have to play along with my hosts.

Just got a message. Apparently, we can do that with our tablets. Some sort of schedule with information and requirements. I remember Abrams mentioning something like this about a schedule. Guess now we know what “the process” is going to be about. They want us to be stronger, grow bigger, be healthier. Not such a bad idea really if it weren’t for the fact that I bumped into one of their “successful recruits.” His number was 86. He claimed to have been brought in a while ago with a previous batch of “recruits” like us. The guy was so spacy, I could hardly hold a civilized conversation with him. Any time I asked him about what he did before, he usually avoided the subject. At least after my first go with him. He didn’t really start until that coach walked up behind us. … Strange. Still, the guy was your typical meathead. Tall, blonde hair, vacant green eyes, over six feet tall, and fairly well built. The only difference I could make out between this guy and the rest of his kind was he wasn’t so huge muscle wise. He still had some brains too. I’ve included an audio file so you can hear the conversation for yourselves when you get this. Best part though is I can include a little extra narration on a separate note display in parenthesis, so what you can’t see, I can describe to you when you view this.

ACCESSING #56 AUDIO FILE 001

“Hey, bro, what’s up?” (I could hear this guy stalking me a mile away. Seriously.)

“…”

“What? Giving me the cold shoulder?”

“…”

“Not cool, man. Not cool.” (He took a chair at this point, as you can tell with the screech you just heard. Metal legs.)

“Look, no offense, but I got kidnapped from my home, dragged into this place, and now you people are expecting me to be a perfect little peon and just do as I’m told after all that?” (Hey, I was pissed. Wouldn’t you be, if this happened to you?)

“Bro, it’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that!” (That clunking sound with a splash was my cup of water. I can’t drink juice. Makes me nauseated. But it sloshed all over my toast and my cereal. Not fun.) “Now look what you made me do.” (Naturally, I glared at this point.)

“… I’m not one of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not one of them.”

“Pshah. Could’ve fooled me.” (He frowned at this, of course.)

“Look. I was pulled into this place, just like you were, okay? I didn’t like it at first, but … well, look at me. I’m bigger and stronger than I ever thought I could be. This place made it possible.”

“And you think that should make me happy?”

“Well, … yes. It can do the same for you.”

“And what if I don’t want that?” (This was real cute. He furrowed his brow at this one, like he couldn’t wrap his head around why someone wouldn’t want to be a big thug.)

“Well … I uh … don’t know. I … ummmm …” (Here’s the weird part. Hear that? He started groaning, almost like he was struggling thinking. Can’t blame him. I doubt he had so much as one original thought in his life.)

“What did you do before you were brought here?” (He perked up after that, at least for a little bit.)

“Went to school. I was in college.”

“Sports scholarship?”

“No … yes … um … I can’t really remember, honestly. Just sort of been focusing on working out and getting bigger. I can check my journal, if you want. It’s been a while since I dusted the old girl off, but I put in my stats from when I started.” (Hear that? I spat. I was pretty disgusted at this poor attempt to befriend me. I mean, come on. How transparent can you be? The guy had to be some sort of spy or something. Still, I humored the man.)

“Don’t worry about it. What are some things you like to do?” (He really jumped on this one. You should’ve seen his face. He lit up like a firecracker on the fourth of July.)

“Bench press, cardio, squats, curls, pull ups. You know, work out stuff. I love to work out. I really love to work out.” (It was weird. When he said that, his gaze turned a little more … well, empty, I guess, almost like he was talking to someone else.) “Feeling that pump, that blood flowing through your veins and flexing … flexing and posing.”

“Okayyy. Hey. Hey, hello?”

“Mmmm … and the muscle. Massive … massive … manly … bulge … bulging …”

“Hey! Snap out of it!” (I snapped my fingers in front of his face here. That still didn’t work. It was … creepy. He stood up and started flexing his muscles while he talked, straining against his spandex uniform as best he could. I didn’t have a name to call him by, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I threw my water at his face and shouted his number.)

“86! Wake up!” (He spluttered a little, but then he came to again.)

“What …? What was I doing?”

“Flexing and posing like a fool. You kept saying the same stuff over and over, like you were some sort of tape recorder.”

“I … I was?” (I could see fear in his eyes now. Something was definitely going on with him. He mumbled to himself, but I couldn’t hear what he had to say. Something along the lines of impossible or oh no. Like I said, couldn’t make it out. Neither could the recording. He sprung on me pretty quick though.)

“Quick. Ask me something else about before.”

“Um … okay. What were some of your favorite hobbies?”

“I … I liked to …” (He groaned for a moment. You can hear that here.) “Draw! Yes, I was an anime artist. I … I drew all kinds of artwork. Even had an internship lined up. It was … I was, like, totally stoked. Anatomy was one of my *groan* specialties. I’d draw all kinds of people. Tall, skinny, short, fat, muscled. Yeah … muscled warriors. Real men.” (He started breaking off again here, so I had to head him off.)

“Hey! The internship. Tell me more about the internship.”

“I-internship?”

“Yes. You know, for the drawing you were doing. Where were you going to work?” (He looked at me kind of funny at that point. It was like he was trying to remember, but couldn’t believe what I was asking.)

“Jackson, what’re you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be with the others at practice?” (Another burly coach walked up and patted the man on the back. When contact was made, he shuddered and relaxed. It was like all the fear just … drained away. He was so calm. Unnaturally so. His shoulders just sort of slumped and his eyes … they turned blank again, like when he was mumbling before. I shuddered at that. He smiled vacantly. Then it turned into a cocky sneer.)

“Sorry, Coach. Guess I got a little distracted with the newbie. Wanted to welcome him in, ya know?” (He flexed his muscles and the coach just smiled. But that look. It was sinister somehow.)

“Good man.” (That sound was the coach smacking Eighty Six, or Jackson as he called him, on the butt. He laughed afterwards. And … I swear I heard the spandex in 86’s suit straining, almost like he was growing. But that’s impossible. It must’ve just been his muscles shifting as he walked away. Still, his parting comment scared the crap out of me.)

“Thanks, Coach. Looking forward to seeing you on the field, lil’bro.” (He winked at me after that. And that look. It was just … well, it was cocky. Like Damien and Brian. And I mean exactly like them. What’s going on here?)

(The coach chuckled here.) “Heh, he’s one of our best recruits. Really took to the field like a champ. Started training, and he never looked back.”

“… Right. Is that what we’re supposed to become?” (The man just sneered at me and winked while he wagged a finger.)

“Now, now. That’d go and spoil the surprise. You’ve got a fun time ahead of you, kid. Enjoy it.” (He laughed before he left. The door shut behind him and I shut off the recorder.)

END TRANSMISSION

The rest of today went off pretty much without a hitch. We got changed into our clothes, checked in to the gym, and started the regiment. Some of us did anyways. I opted to walk around the facilities and watch the others working out. See if I could find any other pertinent information. Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Abrams came in with a few of his helpers and was only too happy to complement those trying. He pointed out how to improve, unlocked a trainer app to direct the process and aid when errors occurred, you know. The machines even included a mount for our journals to connect to the system and display our results. Pretty high tech stuff. I wasn’t interested, of course, but he just smiled and said I could take my time. He unlocked the apps anyway, just to give me the chance “When [I’m] ready.” As if.

I found a few like-minded individuals, but the main one I seem to have gotten a good relationship with is Kevin. Nice kid. He’s from the Middle School, about to enter his freshman year. Kind of mousy in his appearance. Wears glasses, pretty thin, you know, the bookish type like me. He has really thin messy brown hair. Just sort of lets it hang around his head. Said he was due for a haircut soon before all this happened. I believe him. You should’ve seen the way his hair stuck up this morning before he showered. Cowlick central. Of course, I doubt mine was much better. We both got a couple laughs out of it. He decided he’d give this “process” a chance though. Said he always wanted to be big and strong, just that he never had the time to work out. The way he flinched I have a pretty good idea what really kept him from trying. Still, he must have a high metabolism or something to be that thin and not have to work out much. Lucky dog. What I wouldn’t give to be in his shoes. He has a chance to get stronger at least. As for me … well you already know about my problems, so there’s no need to go back there again.

He was pretty tired, after all was said and done, but he seemed happy enough. I’m glad the little guy has a chance. He deserves the right to kick those bullies’ asses, so other people like him can choose their path without judgement and without the pressure. If those piles of muscle would just remember where they first started out, maybe this world wouldn’t be such a messed up place in school. Well, time for lights out again. Probably going to have another rough night tonight. Oh well. At least I won’t be sore tomorrow morning. Some of the others here are going to be in a lot of pain, I think. Night.

Sincerely, Kyle Matthews

Daddy Roo����

Real Men’s Journal: Part 2

~Day 3~

Well, all I can say is I told them so. Just as I thought, this morning everyone woke up sore. Everyone who worked out anyways. On the plus side, that gave me the chance to get to the showers first. Easy in, easy out. I was ready to go before anyone else could get out of the showers. I heard a lot of sighs in those stalls. I’m not too big a fan of them myself. There’s a weird smell in there. Probably mildew or something like that. Maybe it’s B.O. Either way, I don’t like it. Though they do seem to have some type of video screen there for us to watch programs if we want. I could hear some of the static as they were flicked on. But enough of that.

So I performed “the routine” and brushed my teeth, combed my hair, ordered my drawer to open. Yet again I was met with a nice pair of shorts and a workout shirt. Augh. You can imagine my mood. I tromped my way out of the room after my “mandatory scan” and made my way for the mess hall. At least they have some decent food here. I grabbed a cinnamon roll and a glass of milk with a side of toast. Whole wheat of course. Have to keep my fiber up. Doctor’s orders.

Kevin greeted me cheerfully.

“Hey, Kyle. How’s it going?” I shrugged.

“Can’t complain. Looks like you’re not doing so well, though.” I saw how slowly he was moving his arms and legs as he ate. The kid was nice though; he bowed his head and said a prayer before he ate. You don’t see that much in today’s society.

“I’m doing alright.” He smiled at me. “The soreness is part of the change. I’ll get over it in a few days.”

“No bullies yet, right?”

“Yeah. It’s really nice. All I get is support. I even have a personal trainer on my journal to help me learn and grow.”

“Don’t you mean unlearn?” I asked, laughing. “By the time they’re done with you, you’ll be just like them.” I put on my best vacant expression and did a fake flex. “Like, gotta get swole, bro. Can’t focus on school no more. School’s for nerds!”

“Shut up!” He said, laughing as he shoved me. We both had a good laugh as we finished our breakfast and made our way to the gym. I decided to sit and watch Kevin this time as he worked out. Every once in a while his virtual trainer would chastise him for losing form, instructing him how to adjust until he got it right. Naturally, the holo-simulation showed Abrams’ lovely mug. About half way through the workout one of the thugs brought a protein shake in and handed it to Kevin.

“Thanks, 36,” he said.

“No problem, lil’bro. Just keep pumpin’ those weights,” the lug said, smiling vacantly as he flexed a bicep. “You’ll be as big as me one day.” He didn’t even bother looking at me as he walked past, his shoulder knocking me back. So much for that kindness. I rubbed my arm as I walked up to Kevin where he sat on the bench, his shirt drenched in sweat.

“Where’d you meet tall, dumb, and ruthless?”

“He’s not that bad, Kyle.”

“Maybe not to you. All these Neanderthals seem a little too eager to ignore and look down on me.”

“You’re just being paranoid. I’m sure once they get to know you it’ll be better. After all, we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah, but you don’t mind a guy like me. They do. You’re working out because you can. I can’t, even if I did want to.”

“Why’s that?”

“I get sick every time I try. I have asthma. If I don’t black out from exertion, I throw up on the floor because I get nauseated when I work out.”

“Oh.” Kevin took a swig of his chocolate swill and shuddered. “That does kind of make it tough, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. And all the popular kids singled me out because of it. I don’t have physical strength, so I made use of the gifts I did have and worked on the one muscle I knew wouldn’t be effected by exertion,” I said, pointing to my head. “Gossip and labeling took care of the rest. High School life. Ya gotta love it,” I said, sighing.

“That does it, then.” Kevin said, smacking his drink onto a nearby platform. “I’m going to get big and strong. And then once I do, I’m changing things at my high school. People like us deserve a chance to be treated equally. I’m going to make that happen.” With that, he slid his finger over the touch screen on his journal and stared intently at the holographic projection. “Okay, coach. Tell me what to do.”

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at this kid’s determination. It’s one thing to say you’re going to change something, another to actually do it. Still, I wish him luck. The worst that could happen is he gets popular for being fit. I watched silently as he pushed through set after set, clacking barbells and dumbbells, doing leg-ups and crunches, whatever the program told him to do, he did. I had to grab him a few drinks from time to time, but whatever made him happy was good enough for me. Kevin’s sudden spurt caught more than a few passing eyes as meatheads and coaches alike viewed his determination.

When workout time was done Abrams came and personally congratulated Kevin, smacking him on the back. Kevin just huffed and swayed on his feet. He looked a little out of it. Must’ve been from watching that hologram for so long. I’m pretty sure having a green light glowing in my face all day shouting at me would leave me the same way.

“Thanks, Coach,” he said, smiling.

“Keep this up and you’ll be ready to advance in no time.”

“Sure thing, Coach. That’s what I’m working towards.”

“That’s the spirit!” Then Abrams smacked him in the butt. Kevin jumped, immediately reaching back to grab the point of impact while Abrams placed a meaty hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, tiger. It’s just an expression here. Means you’re doing a good job. High fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, and head butts are also common ways to express approval and friendship here. You’ll get used to the idea in time.”

“Oh. Um … okay,” Kevin said uncertainly. “Still not sure I like it though.”

“Just give it time. In the meanwhile, go hit the showers. You’ve earned yourself a big meal tonight.” Kevin’s rumbling stomach agreed heartily. The two of them laughed together, and while I did not join in, I couldn’t help but smile. This coach may not be the nicest guy in the world, but at least he was willing to help Kevin achieve his goal. Maybe I should give him a break.

 ~Day 4~

Hello, Journal. It’s me, yet again. I decided to hit the sack early last night and see if I couldn’t beat the stupid alarm clock. As it turns out, I was actually successful today. It’s a bit dark as I’m typing here, but fortunately I’m a skilled touch typist. Thank you, key strokes lab. What would I do without you?

So anyways, last night we all had a great meal and I cheered Kevin on as he ate. The accomplishments he’d managed that day were positively insane. I was shocked he hadn’t pulled a muscle or something with all the work he’d been doing, but somehow he pulled through. Our enforcers slapped him a few good times on the back, knocking his food out of his hands and making him choke once or twice. Fortunately, it wasn’t too serious. He just coughed it out. I scanned the mess hall. Most of the men in sight were beginners like us. Still, the hall was rather spacious, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had a schedule shift for the meatheads. Maybe a different mess hall, too. Who knows what else is down there in that abyss of a gym? But I digress.

After we finished with our dinner, Kevin said he was going to take a shower. I immediately and heartily seconded the motion. We laughed as we walked back together, two kids, one broad as a barn, the other skinny as a rail. Alright, I’m exaggerating a little, so sue me. Kevin actually looked like he was starting to pack on a little muscle and I admit I was jealous. Still am, I suppose. But I’ll get over it. He took his sweet time in the stalls, though. The sound of hissing hot water saturated the locker room and slowly spread into our barracks. Hey, I call it as I see it. That’s basically what we’re living in right now.

Anyways, the others came in. A good quarter or so went straight to their beds and started fiddling with their pads, having chosen not to work out, like me, for various reasons. The rest of them shuffled into the showers like the walking dead with tired smiles. Soon a chorus of cascading jets joined Kevin’s solo, causing steam to billow out the portal and into our living quarters. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as that same odor I first smelled this morning assaulted my nostrils. Like I said, I don’t like it all that much. The collective chorus of groans and moans told me just how much these men really looked forward to their showers. I can’t really blame them, I suppose. If I were covered in sweat and grime and reeking B.O. I’d probably want a shower too. Not to mention the relief the heat would give to sore and torn muscle tissue.

Then the whole barracks turned toward the showers as an unmistakable sound assaulted our ears. Music, static, voices, car screeches, and sports commentary filtered through the mist like a forgotten dream. That’s right. They have real television here. What a novelty … in the bathroom. Idiots.

The men filed out a few at a time as showers slowly cut off and TVs died. Some smiled triumphantly. Others cried because of memories invoked either of family or their pasts before being dragged into this nightmare. Then there were those silent few who just sort of glided their way past as they made their way to bed. I saw one or two of them tap something into their pads. Next thing I knew their drawers were popping open as they pulled out a gangly pair of ear buds. They plugged them in, shoved the buds in their ears, lay down on their beds and tapped something before they lay their pads on their footlockers/dressers. I could just make out a play bar. It was probably some sort of MP.3 file, most likely to relax a person as they tried to fall asleep. Either that or it had some sort of instructions to help them improve in their workouts and they were listening to pass the time before lights out. Whatever. Anyways, I curled up in my sheets as I waited for darkness to claim me, the curious buzzing of the fluorescent lights gradually lulling me to sleep. The last thing I thought I heard was the familiar click of a dresser followed by the sound of the scanner.

Someone said “… Gotta update my stats.” Then I lost all consciousness.

I um … have to go take care of something real quick. Be right back.

There, all done. The alarm system seems to be kicking in again. But it looks like the lifts are slowing down this time. They didn’t even have to go up all the way before half the people were out of bed. I guess there are some things the body learns to adapt to quickly. Oh, gross! Some of the men here are scratching their unmentionables like it’s nothing. Actually, a lot of the guys are looking a little flushed today. They rushed over to the bathrooms faster than I’ve ever seen anyone go before. I could hear the showers running and happy sighs of relief followed by guttural grunts. Probably morning stretching to loosen everything up.

Those darn TVs are on again. Are they trying to drive us up the wall? Do they seriously think that this will make me do what they want? All I can do is pretty much walk, and even that I can’t do very well for extended periods. I wish they’d just see that already and send me home. Why the scanner didn’t pick up my asthma, I have no clue. Oy, there’s that stupid smell again. Don’t these men know how to turn on a fan?

Wow. It’s been like a half hour and they’re still going in there. Well, some at least. Guess there really is such a thing as a TV addict. I think I’m gonna go talk with Kevin. See how he’s doing. I’ll turn on the audio for this one.

ACCESSING #56 AUDIO FILE 002

“Hey, Kevin. How’s it going?”

“Huh? Oh, hey Kyle. Just booting up my schedule for the day. Wanted to see what coach had signed up for me next, ya know?”

“Yeah, I know. How’re those muscles doing today?”

“Actually, a lot better. Those protein drinks really do a great job. Missed you in the showers last night.”

“Meh, didn’t need one. I wasn’t a sweaty mess like some people in this room.” (I laughed here. Kevin knows I’m not the snobby type and he soon joined me.)

“I noticed you were in bed before lights out. You aren’t trying to earn brownie points with coach and the others are you?”

“What, are you kidding? I’m just trying to survive in this place. I’d rather not die from a broken neck after these deathtraps fling us into a wall.”

“Well, at least we’re all alive and healthy. That’s what really matters right now. Things could be a lot worse for us.”

“You always look on the bright side of things, don’t you?”

“Of course. How else do you think I have the motivation to work like this? I had to forgive coach first. Trust him. You know. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“Yeah … still not gonna do that just yet. Maybe later, if he proves himself. Maybe.”

“Well he already has to me. Hate to cut this short, but coach assigned me some recordings to listen to before I go work out. We’ll talk more at breakfast, alright?”

“Fine by me, jock boy. Just be careful.” (I winked at him as he groaned and rolled his eyes.)

END TRANSMISSION

…

I didn’t see Kevin at breakfast. He wasn’t in the gym either when I checked in. I did a slow walk on a treadmill, just to get those glaring guards off my back. I did alright. Was a little hard pressed for breath by the end, but at least I didn’t have an attack. I went over to the weights, but still didn’t see Kevin, so I went back to the barracks. I was about to scan in when the doors disengaged and out stepped the very boy I’d been looking for. He blinked a few times and swayed on his feet.

“Kevin?” I asked. “You okay?”

“Huh?” he blinked again a few times before his eyes came back into focus. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s the matter, got tired of waiting for me?”

“Well yeah, it’s been nearly three hours.”

Kevin laughed. “Three hours. That’s a good one.”

“… It would be. If I were joking. Breakfast is already way past. I even walked on the treadmill a little. You missed it.”

“What?” he exclaimed, shocked.

“Yup.”

“That’s great. Working out’s good for you.” He smiled. “You’ll be making friends out of those thugs in no time.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. But seriously, what were you doing?”

“I was … um … listening to a file, I think. Then next thing I know I’m sitting all alone.” He blushed. “I um … may have taken another shower, too. And maybe watched some T.V.” He rubbed the back of his head and I was assaulted by the scent of Axe body spray. I took a step back.

“Phew, too much, Kevin. Way too much.” He blushed sheepishly.

“It was either that or let the B.O. seep through. All that sweat’s making me reek like a stale side of ham.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad.”

“Look, I just need to wear it okay? So drop it.” The aggression in his voice was enough to make me back off.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” The rest of that day was all silence as he worked and worked and worked some more. A scowl stood out on his face as he pushed as hard as he could, glistening in the fluorescent lights. By the time he was finished, he stomped off, leaving me behind.

“… Sorry,” I said, paling. I looked around to the others. Weights clanked, grunts sounded, heavy breathing filled the air, and every once in a while I heard a “yes, sir, Coach.” I sighed and made my way out of the gym and back to the barracks. Not like I had much else to do with all these people glaring at me. My one friend’s too angry to speak to me now anyways. Like clockwork, the men entered the room and made for the showers. A couple of them are busy posing in front of their mirrors, flexing a bicep and grinning like idiots. Then they sit and plug in their ear buds, staring at nothing. I sighed and got ready to sleep once more as the sound of music playing combined with sports commentary drifts over from the shower room. I’m not all that hungry today. I think I’ll skip dinner and just sleep. Goodnight.

 ~Day 5~

It’s quiet this morning. A few more are wearing their headphones as they sleep. Probably some of those subliminals designed to help people focus more on their goals. Maybe they’re self-help tapes. I don’t know. I’m still not feeling any better about what’s going on after yesterday. Sleep came pretty hard for me last night with those TVs echoing from the shower stalls. I wish they had some sort of a mute button or a sound proof wall or something. It’s seriously annoying. That and the men starting to admire themselves in the mirror. I mean, seriously. I understand if it’s a teenager like me, but adults? They’re grownups for crying out loud. I thought they were supposed to be past the vanity stage. Sorry for the rant.

I’m looking over at Kevin’s bed. He’s lying flat on his back, his breathing steady as he smiles. The kid actually doesn’t look half bad. He’s been getting a little more toned over the last week. No major gains yet, obviously. That’d be ridiculous. But he is getting there. Even after the whole argument yesterday, I’m glad he still has the chance to get what he wants. I wish I could.

I’m getting up for my scan now. Might as well get it over with. That, and apparently, my “code” won’t work if I don’t check myself into the scanner at least once or twice a week. In other words, no scan, no freedom. I’m sighing now as it runs over me, typing this to pass the time. It seems to be taking longer for some reason. Probably finally picking up on my asthma, at least I hope. Maybe then I can go home and I won’t have to bother Kevin again. Feels kind of tingly.

…

Real Men’s Journal: Part 3

~Day 6~

Okay, what the heck just happened? I don’t remember anything after that scan. I walk around and the thugs just smile when they see me. And what’s with the other guys suddenly giving me pats on the back? Something weird’s going on here. I’m hearing more talk about football and baseball, stuff like that. It’s all half the guys ever talk about now. I suppose given this is a fitness related center they likely are restricting things that can be watched in the showers to sports. Still … I don’t know.

The camaraderie with the coaches is getting out of hand. They ordered a fitness test today to assess our progress. Abrams ordered twenty pushups, thirty crunches, and a half mile run. Naturally, I sat out. I know my limits. Some of the others though … they seemed a little too eager. Abrams would complement them, and they’d respond like we were in the army or something. “Thank you, sir!” Abrams would smile then and smack their butts or backs and they would just shudder and return it!

“Almost ready,” he said. I don’t know what he means by that, but I don’t want to find out. Kevin was one of the most zealous in the group, pushing his limits. At least that part hadn’t changed. I still decided to wait on the side, even as I watched. He grit his teeth, panting as he pressed on. The toned muscle paid off nicely. Abrams congratulated him, then touched something on Kevin’s pad as he entered a code. He did the same for a few others. They all just smiled as they got up, immediately accessing the new whatever it was Abrams unlocked. Kevin saw me and walked over. I looked away.

“… Uh … hey,” he said, sort of lamely.

“… Hey,” I said.

“You um … weren’t participating.”

“Asthma, remember?”

“Didn’t stop you yesterday,” he said. There was an awkward silence where we both weren’t willing to say anything. “Uh … guess I’ll see you later …” With that he left as he pulled out his tablet and plugged in a set of headphones. He hit play and walked off, joining with the few chosen ones as they gathered together. They don’t know how good they have it. It’s dinner time now. Stomach’s growling. I’ll just grab a bite to eat, scan, and go to bed. After all, I gotta update my stats. Even if I don’t want to. *sigh*.

 ~Day 14~

Hey, sorry I haven’t updated in a while. Not much to report except more of the same until now. The barracks are feeling empty today. Our special group of golden boys have officially gone off to who knows where. Abrams said it was the second tier in their training. With the looks on their faces, you’d have thought they won the lottery. Kevin looked a little worried towards me, but even then, he still smiled like a fool as he picked up his tablet with the others and filed out. He took one last look back at me, waved sort of timidly, and then the door sealed shut. I’m pretty much alone now.

I’ve been dealing with annoying offers to be workout buddies, and received endorsements for recordings. Seriously, you’d think these guys were traveling salesmen or something. I’m just glad I’m not the only one being targeted. When I refused, the men just shrugged and walked to the showers. I could hear the water running as the TVs blared.

They sure have been taking their sweet time. Water’s still running, TVs are still going, and that stupid smell is still wafting in the air. Seriously, either these guys need to invest in a better air filtration system, or they need to let us get some air fresheners. I made a joke out of it and got a few chuckles. Most of the others just sort of looked at me funny before turning back to their tablets. I’m bored, so I might as well do something to relax. Since I have no idea what could possibly be so attention grabbing for the other men, I might as well take a shower and see what all the fuss is about.

…

What the heck are they doing to us? Seriously, I’m scared here. I went in, snuck to my locker number and pulled out my shower supplies. I’ve decided to use the Old Spice Wolfthorn body wash since it’s the fruitiest. They have these Axe exfoliation pads we can use to get the stuff over our skin without wasting so much. As for hair, well, I’m more of a head and shoulders kind of guy, myself, but that’s beside the point. Sorry, that gas was making me light headed. At least I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of gas. It’s the only thing I can think of.

Anyways, like I was saying, I snuck into the showers because I didn’t want anyone teasing me or approaching me while I was in the nude. I walked past the curtains as the sound of the speakers blared through. They were all watching a football game and I felt like it was pounding into my skull as I walked past. All the men were just standing there in the mist and the water. Nobody scrubbed up, nobody lathered. They all just stood stark still, straight as boards. It was … eerily quiet when I think about it. I didn’t even hear any cheers when a touchdown was made. No groans of disappointment either. Just silence. Then came the creepy part.

“Yes, sir …” I heard. I wondered why they would’ve said that.

“Will study …” A second said as I walked past.

“Will grow …” came the third.

“Will become …” said a fourth.

I could hear the heavy slap of feet on the tile as one of the men who’d been sitting on their beds messing with their tablets walked in with dreamy-looking eyes. He didn’t even acknowledge me as he walked past and into a shower. He closed the curtain, took off his towel, and turned on the flow as he stared into the screen. His longer black hair dripped around him as the television flicked on to the same game the others were watching.

“The team is all,” he said as he stared, his legs splayed as the water cascaded over him. I watched as the others suddenly shuddered in their stalls, immediately mimicking the first man’s actions.

“The team works as one. We fight for the team. We act for the team. We live for the team. The team lives for coach. Bigger is better. Buffer is tougher.” I watched as they flexed in synch like a choreographed ballet. “Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge.” They repeated again and again and again. Louder, faster, flexing all the while as they shifted poses and positions. Then they yelled, groaned in pleasure, and stood there as the game broke for a commercial. A few minutes later they reached out, grasped their scrub pads and body wash and lathered up like nothing had happened. I heard cheers, whoops, hollers, and groans, and everything seemed to be normal again. At least until they were done.

When they stepped out, all of them had a good layer of stubble on their features. Their fat had receded from their necks and chins, leaving their faces more angular and square. They smirked at me, even as they swaggered off. One of them smiled blankly as he flexed a bicep.

“Mmm. Man it feels good to flex. This program ain’t half bad.” He smacked me on the butt, which led to me jumping in the air. He frowned momentarily. Then it cleared. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it, too. Enjoy the shower.” He walked off. Half way through, he removed his towel as he casually went to his locker. I immediately turned away as I got into a stall and turned on the water. As I said before, something is definitely up. There’s no way these kinds of results can happen so quickly. And the whole blank voice, unison thing? Seriously creepy. Next thing they’ll be wearing jockstraps and slinging slang like a bunch of meatheads. A bunch of big, dumb, meatheads.