Hey Man, Loving The Stories! Any Chance You'll Do Some Inanimate TF Soon?

Hey man, loving the stories! Any chance you'll do some inanimate TF soon?

Hmm. I haven’t really tried my hand much at inanimate before, but it’s not outside of the realm of possibility. Was there anything in particular you had in mind?

Actually, you know what? I think I have an idea. It’s the funniest thing. You know those statue performers you see around on the streets, right? Well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but before I actually get into the story, I should probably give you some background.You see, I happen to be a master of transformation. I don’t know how I got this power. I just know that it exists. It sort of lurks inside of me. I’ve tried to access it deliberately, but the farthest it’ll go then is give me inspiration for my stories, allowing me to view transformations as they happen to other people in other worlds, or even in our own, if I have the right kind of luck. How else do you think I manage to get such detail in my work?

Now, the thing is, this power sort of … lunges out of me at times, usually when I’m frightened or startled. If the scare is big enough, the power goes to work, and I can’t stop it, no matter what. The first time it happened was when I was 13. It was one of my last years trick-or-treating, for good reason. You see, at one of the houses, a few adults had dressed up in scary masks to help get in the season and allow us to have a bit of a playful scare. The problem is, one of these individuals decided to get uncomfortably close and continually follow me around the yard as I went to pick up the candy and then make my way to the next home. He said hello, and continued to follow me. When I turned again, he was just an inch or two away from me, possibly less. And he towered over me at the time. My innate fear of the dark was already stoking my fear factor, so it was nearly ready to burst at this point. And, well … the man was the unfortunate person to burst the bubble. His face is horribly disfigured now. It’s covered in ugly red scars that crisscross over his face. His eyes are so large that they’re practically bursting from his sockets. I’d … rather not go into further details. His screams still haunt me. I’m … not proud of what this gift can do to people. It can do good, yes, but more often than not, it causes great harm.This other encounter happened in the middle of a park, where street performers lined up to offer their services. Unfortunately, in this case, I was startled by an exceedingly convincing man covered in a weathered bronze paint. He blended right in with the military memorial as he crouched before a pile of mortars waiting to be loaded into cannon by the other two soldiers. His old military helmet lay cocked back on his head, exposing the carefully gelled and dyed hair combed back in distinctive rivulets to mimic the style of the era and his fellow soldiers. His military fatigues and tight shirt hardly moved, most likely the effect of paint and starch. My friends and I had just stopped to take a picture together, and I was in front of our posing friend. The first few pictures were fun. And then the game was up, when he suddenly moved, clamping his hands on either of our shoulders.I screamed. … And then the power went to work. The man was hasty to apologize as he stepped down from the platform. He hadn’t mean any harm. Of course he hadn’t. It was his job to pretend. Even after the others had calmed down, though, I continued to watch in horror, because I knew what I had done. The others looked on at me in concern, even as I watched the staying hands of the mortar specialist twitch. I saw the loader turn his head to bore his gaze into me, and then into our fake soldier’s back.My whole body went cold. I watched helplessly as the two walked from the memorial’s dais one after the other. Their heavy feet clanked against the cement as they marched in perfect unison, coming to rest behind the performer.“Can I help you, gentlemen?” the performer asked after gathering his wits once again. Naturally, he had reasoned these two were also fellow actors. That assumption was his undoing. I watched helplessly as metallic hands grabbed his arms in a grip harder than iron. Yes, I know the comment is ironic, and no, the pun was not intended. Metal ground on metal as the two soldiers turned their heads to gaze at the man with those same immutable expressions. They pulled him forcefully towards the platform once again.It was when the performer began to struggle that he finally realized the cold, horrible truth of his situation. When he tried kicking one of the men in the shins, all he got for his trouble was a yelp of pain out of his own mouth. I watched as his eyes widened in fear. I watched as my friends struggled fruitlessly to get the statues to let go.The park was alive with screams in a matter of seconds. The performer tried going limp, dragging his feet. Much to everyone’s horror, the gentle sound of scuffing rubber soles soon turned into the heavy grating sound of hard cast metal on stone. He pulled at his legs with obvious effort as he screwed his face in consternation. He could hardy bend a knee. The weight only increased as his legs became more and more stiff.“Oh, god no,” he gasped. “Please, no!” His screams are still vivid in my mind. He sobbed, and tears formed in his eyes. That made it even worse. Instead of falling down his cheeks, the tears took on a dull metallic sheen, and I watched as it covered his irises. He blinked once, twice, and then blinked no more. Instead, a perfectly set pair of metal orbs stared out at the world with a grim, stormy expression. The very air radiated the sounds of fear and hysteria. And all I could do was watch dumbly as His hardened legs clanked up over the lip of the pedestal on which the monument stood. His head was a blur, turning left and right as he beseeched and implored.

Left.

“Please. L-let me go.”

Right.“You want my money? You can have it. I’ll donate to the veterans fund every week!”

Left.

“D-don’t do this!” His head was starting to slow, and I heard the beginnings of the telltale grating.

Right.

“Please.” It was more of a harsh whisper than a proper plea.

A slow turn to the left.

“I … I’m not….”Unblinking eyes met unblinking eyes. The breathing was short now, shallow, more of a hollow rasping as his chest rose, falling less and less each time as shirt and flesh began to blend into one solid surface. His helmet strap had already stopped swaying as he moved.

Again he turned right, and I watched his cheeks and lips twitch with the strain of it as the metal his neck and shoulders had become grated once more.

“I am … I … can’t move … my lips….” He struggled to speak, and I watched as his mouth settled into that grim set line of a soldier intent at his work, never to move again. I remember hearing one final rattling exhalation out his nostrils. And then the breathing stopped.

The two soldiers turned to look at one another and nodded. They released their grips and clanked over to their former positions, lining up with the imprints they had left behind before freezing into position.

One of my friends had enough presence of mind to try to pull the poor man away, now that he had been released, but I already knew it was too late. He pulled at the man, cajoled him.

The performer wouldn’t budge. He turned his head and peered with that same piercing gaze that only a battle hardened soldier could manage, captured so perfectly in his new sculpted features. He grasped my friend by both arms, lifted him in the air, and walked him to the edge of the platform, then dropped him.

With that task accomplished, the performer turned back towards the pair of soldiers, now his compatriots, who stared at him mutely. He marched into position, saluted them, then turned and crouched down in front of the mortar pile, gazing straight ahead. Metal bent and warped, flowing into place, then hardening to the point where one couldn’t tell he hadn’t been a part of the initial casting.

The performer was no more. Now, another soldier gazed out at passersby, a solemn reminder of a war that he would now forever be a part of.

As I said, I’m not proud of my gift. It can help others, yes. But more often than not, it hurts them. It’s best if you leave now, before it lashes out again. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.

…

Why are you looking at me like that? What’s in that bag? What are you…? No. NO!

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 2

Hunter could hear Subject Thirteen laughing, chuckling deeply. Such a low, empty voice. It guided him in the darkness. Hunter opened his eyes, and then, there Thirteen was. Hunter wasn’t in the pipe anymore. The castle was gone. Now he stood in Thirteen’s cell. The mammoth of a man was busy lifting iron, clanking weights up and down on the bench that had been provided beneath a single spotlight. He just smiled as he lifted, pumping for all he was worth and grunting all the while. He finished his set and sat up, staring with those vacant, murky brown eyes.

“A Meathead’s a meathead, head full of meat. Meathead must grow. Meathead competes. Meathead obeys. Meathead don’t think.” He chuckled again. “Meathead’s a meathead, bro. I know meatheads. I know you.” He laughed.

“You don’t know me,” Hunter growled.

“Know a meathead when I see one.” He laughed again. “Just gotta remember.”

“There’s nothing to remember, Thirteen. This is a dream, a hallucination, nothing more.”

Subject Thirteen shrugged. “If this is a dream, I don’t wanna wake up.” He flexed a bicep. “I don’t think you want to, either.” He smirked.

“I have a mission to accomplish.” Hunter reached for his watch controls, only to find himself bereft. He was naked, save for a pair of black compression shorts that hugged tightly to his frame. He tried reaching where his watch would be, and pressed the location of the emergency button to stimulate electronic shock. It didn’t work. There must have been a sedative in the water. He had to be dreaming. There’s no way a rescue team would have been sent to recover his body. If anything, he would have been captured, and placed in a holding cell. Either way, if he was stuck in this dreamscape, better to play along. At least for now. “What did you do with my things?”

“What things, Lil’bro?”

“Stop calling me that. I’m not your ‘bro.’ I’m not like you. I’m going to kill your boss.”

“Boss? Uh … didn’t know I had one.” Thirteen scratched his head with a meaty hand, the veins on his arms pulsing as the muscles twitched, accenting every curve, every bend, all the way down his arm to the thick slab of meat that was his pec. “Got a coach, but dunno why you’d wanna kill him. Meatheads love coach. Meatheads obey coach. Coach makes us big. Coach makes us swole.” He smiled, stood, and punctuated each sentence with a new pose. Then he stood up straight again, his frame towering over Hunter. “’Sides, you sound like Meathead already, bro.” He chuckled. “Just need the bod to match.”

“That’s my voice changer. This isn’t my real voice.”

“You sure?” He laughed again. “Don’t see none on ya.”

“This is a hallucination, nothing more. I’m going to wake myself up, and you’ll be back in your cell, while I’m working on killing your CRUNCHES.” Hunter coughed and cleared his throat. “What the hell?” His voice … it … cracked. That didn’t sound like Thirteen, but it didn’t sound like him either. And why did he say that word, instead of coach? Never mind. Try again. “Like I said, I’m going to CURL FOR COACH.”

Thirteen’s smirk turned into a sneer. “Sorry, what’d ya say?”

“Whatever you’re doing, stop it,” Hunter demanded, pointing a finger at the muscle man as Thirteen proceeded to pull out a dumbbell and perform some curls.

“Me? I ain’t doin’ nothin’. I told ya. I know meatheads when I see ‘em. You just covered it up, blacked it out. That ain’t right. You took my voice. My voice woke yours.” He pointed down at the compression shorts. “Now all that black’s comin’ out. N’so’s the real you.” He grunted as he began another set. Hunter’s compression shorts had begun to turn white around the knees.

“This isn’t happening. It’s not real.” Hunter shuddered where he stood as little veins began to push out of his legs. “Need to WORK OUT. No! Get out, not WORK OUT.” Hunter’s hands clutched at his throat, only they didn’t feel right. Looking down, he watched them tremble and shake as the little veins popped up there, too. Soon they cracked, swelling a quarter their previous size. Big hands. Strong hands. Like Thirteen. They clenched open and shut against his will. The veins continued to spread up his forearms, and they grew more defined, expanding as the muscle tensed, relaxed, and grew. All the while, the black on his shorts’ legs continued to pull up and away, revealing the blank white beneath.

“Gotta lift, bro.” Thirteen chuckled as he put down his own dumbbell, went to a nearby weight rack, returned, and proffered a new set of hundred pound dumbbells.

“Somebody help ME GET SWOLE!” Hunter gasped as his chest and shoulders expanded, the trapezius muscles bulging and thickening, causing the muscles and sinew in his neck to swell as well. Down below, he could feel something stirring as a tingling sensation took hold in his legs and crotch.

“See, bro? You’ll fit right in.”

“This is my house, MEATHEAD, not yours.”

Meathead boomed with laughter. “Bro, course it’s not yours. It’s coach’s. Come on. Lift with me, bro.” He extended his arms, offering the weights yet again.

“I’m not your BRO. Get that through your MEATHEAD. Damnit! How do I BULK UP?”

“S’easy, bro. You know how it’s done. Curl. One. Curl. Two. Muscles grow. Bring out the real you.”

“No. Stop! What’re you doing?” Much to his horror, Hunter watched as his arms took hold of the dumbbells, and began to follow the rhythm of Meathead’s chanting. His body shifted, so his legs were shoulder-width apart as he worked to curl. A fit of dizziness overwhelmed him as he watched a new spotlight flicker on over a gigantic reflective mirror. The two-way. But why was it floor length? Another spotlight shone on him, and he watched as the black began to bleed slowly away from his waistband as well. The tingling in his crotch grew more intense. “Can anyone hear me? Control, get me out of here. Control! Anyone! BRO ME! SHIT! Somebody HELP ME GET SWOLE! Wait, that’s PERFECT. MEATHEAD, WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG?”

“What’s–”

“–UP, BRO?”

Meathead just laughed. “Bro, welcome home.” The room was suddenly flooded with lights as exercise machine after exercise machine appeared, each with an almost identical man working on them. As big as Thirteen, as focused as Thirteen, as vapid as Thirteen. They were all consumed with their workouts, earbuds plugged, screens flickering, watching rigidly, working to a synchronized rhythm. No wonder the clanking was so loud before. It wasn’t just Meathead working at a set of weights, it was a legion of meatheads perfectly synchronized. Smaller men twitched under helmets as IVs pumped something into their blood, and they grew, feet bursting from socks, torsos tearing shirts. One of the helmets raised to reveal yet another hulk, an almost exact duplicate of Thirteen. Hunter watched as another smaller person with glazed brown eyes was shoved into an empty chair. His long, shaggy black hair hung to his shoulders in a style reminiscent of some Japanese haircuts. A series of flashing buttons and lights flickered across multiple panels as he was strapped in. He looked so familiar. As the huge dome descended, the letters CONTROLLER.EXE stood out in bold red print. He watched the man twitch and shudder as his clothes began to tear. Then it hit. Jason. That man was Jason. With that sudden realization, Hunter’s head jerked violently back to Thirteen and the mirror against his will.

“GOOD TO BE BACK. No! I’m not leaving HERE. Damnit! I’m not BIG ENOUGH, BRO. Gotta GET SWOLE.” Hunter stared, horrified as his face grew more square, his jaw jutted out, and his hair shifted into a perfect flat top, identical with MEATHEAD. Wait, no, Thirteen. MEATHEAD. No, … MEATHEAD, but that’s not … HIS NAME IS MEATHEAD, BRO. Hunter watched as his biceps blew up like balloons, while the room seemed to spin around him. The black on his compression shorts continued to dissipate, slowly being drawn from the back and sides to the front as it flowed towards his crotch. The more it did, the more he felt his privates press slowly outwards as his body expanded. “BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK. MEATHEADS DON’T THINK ‘CAUSE OUR HEADS’RE TOO THICK.” Those words … they came out of his mouth! But he didn’t want to. What the hell?

“S’right, bro. You’re a meathead now. Just like me.” Thirteen chuckled with his low, empty voice, and pointed at Hunter. A familiar voice came out over the loud speakers in the PA system.

“Larger penis, larger testicles.”

Thirteen grinned as he struck a pose, and stared. As one, the room resounded. “BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK.”

“BIGGER BALLS, BIGGER DICK,” Hunter’s new voice said with them. “No! I’m H–UGE MEATHEAD.” Hunter’s brow furrowed and pressed further out as his eyebrows grew bushier, and his body hair thickened.

“C’mon, meathead. Let’s pump that other guy outt’a your head.”

“COOL, BRO.”

“No, not cool. Not cool at all. And … wait, why can’t I talk?”

“CAUSE I’M A MEATHEAD, BRO, NOT HUNTER.”

“S’right, meathead. C’mon. Machine’s waitin’,” MEATHEAD said.

“You’re not getting away with this.”

“AWAY WITH WHAT? YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DON’T BELONG.”

“This is my FUCKING body!”

“YUP. MY FUCKING BODY. SWOLE IS GOOD. JUST GO WITH IT, BRO. DON’T FIGHT. WE’RE THE SAME.”

“How are you doing this?”

“BRO. I AIN’T DOIN’ NUTHIN’. S’ALL YOU. I’M A MEATHEAD. YOU’RE A MEATHEAD. WE’RE ALL MEATHEADS.”

“We’re all Meatheads,” Meathead repeated. Soon the whole gym was saying it, echoing, repeating, beating it into Hunter’s head with every clank of the weights as they returned to their starting positions. A wave of pleasure washed over Hunter’s body. The black from his compression shorts had been reduced to a concentrated circle over his manhood spanning from one end of his waist to the other. He watched said manhood bulge further as the black circle shrunk. He saw and felt his still-expanding body flex one more time in front of an identical mirror to the one from before in time to the rhythm of the sets.

“We’re all meatheads.”

Clank.

“Big, dumb meatheads.”

Flex.

“Growing our meat.”

Clank.

“We follow the beat.”

Pose.

“The deeper we go,”

Clank.

“The bigger we grow.”

Flex.

“The more we obey,”

Clank.

“Grow dumber each day.”

Pose.

“Obey Coach’s voice.”

Clank.

“Don’t have any choice.”

Flex.

They dropped their weights as one, having finished their set, and stared ahead at their screens as they flashed and flickered. “Obey coach. I obey. We obey. Meatheads obey. We are meatheads. We obey. I am a meathead. I obey. I am a big, dumb meathead.”

Thirteen flexed, his eyes vacant as he posed next to Hunter, and stared into the mirror. Hunter followed his actions perfectly. “I AM A BIG, DUMB MEATHEAD,” the pair said together.

“Time to work out, bro,” Thirteen said, motioning to an empty weight machine. “Cycle starts again soon.”

Hunter felt his body shudder, then it patted his junk, shuddered again, this time in pleasure, and sat down where Thirteen had offered. Against his will, his arms reached out to grab a pair of earbuds from their position next to the monitor.

“GOTTA GET SWOLE, BRO.”

“I AIN’T going down without a FIGHT,” Hunter thought rebelliously, frustrated that the warbling had even followed him into the one free space he had left, his thoughts.

“BRO, I ALREADY TOLD YOU. YOU’RE ME, AND I’M YOU. YOU JUST LOCKED ME UP, BRO. NOT COOL. BUT I FORGIVE YOU.” Hunter heard the new voice laugh with his body. He wanted to scream. He couldn’t even grind his teeth as the buds were inserted into his ears.

“I am not a FUCKING PUSSY. I’m a special MEATHEAD chosen to infiltrate and CONVERT TO MUSCLE. No!” The voice continued to interfere. His body prepped itself. On the edges of his vision he could just make out the others staring blankly at their screens, breathing heavily as they tensed their arms. He could hear static filtering in through his buds, and assumed the others were hearing the same. Then came the music. His head began to bob. His eyes locked on the screen against his will. His arms reached up, and began to pull down on the cross bar, working his trapezius muscles as he pulled against the weight. A series of 1s and 0s cascaded across the screen for a time, mixed with the occasional flash of words and images too fast to keep track of. Hunter’s body breathed in time to the pump. In. Out. Up. Down. One. Zero. Zero.

One.

Breathe. Lift.

Two.

Feeling good.

And he was feeling good.

Three.

Falling. Listen.

Hunter could feel his mouth pulling up into a smile.

“BRO,” he heard his body sigh, “LIKE, WHY’RE YOU RESISTING? LIFTING MAKES US FEEL SO GOOD. DON’T YOU REMEMBER?”

“I remember TRAINING so I can kill. I don’t LIFT just for fun, BRO. Damnit!” Hunter swore in his mind. That … invasive voice was still interfering. He had to figure out a way to break its hold, take control of this dream.

Four.

Inhaling. Slowing down. Relaxing. Lifting is relaxing.

Hunter could feel his body slumping as he watched the screen. He could feel Th–MEATHEAD behind him. Why couldn’t he call him his subject number anymore? What … was his subject number again?

Five.

Breathing out. A hand on his shoulder. “Just have to remember, Lil’bro,” MEATHEAD said. Remember. Remember what?

“Stop FUCKING messing around with me!” Hunter screamed in his head. But … his mind … sounded strange. Felt … wrong. His body’s smile turned to a smirk.

“THAT’S IT, BRO. FEEL THAT ANGER. FEEL THAT RAGE. FEEL THE BURN! FEEL THE PUMP! FUCKING PRIMAL!”

Primal. So good. Roaring. Pushing past goals. Getting fit for service. Was that what he was supposed to remember? That feeling? That rush?

Six.

Listen. Watch the screen. Obey.

Not like he had much choice.

You have no choice but to obey.

No choice. Listen. No choice. Watch the screen. No choice. Obey. No choice. No … choice …

“Wha–? What’s happening TO ME, BRO?” Bro? But … he didn’t … think like that. … Did he?

“No choice but to listen, Lil’bro. No choice but to obey. Listen to us, Lil’bro. Talk like us. Think like us. It’s easier,” MEATHEAD said.

Listen to Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Obey Meathead. You are a meathead.

Lil’bro. Easier. Listen. No choice. Obey. Obey …

“But … but I don’t … WANT TO LIFT. WANT TO LIFT. Don’t …”

Seven.

Obey. Think like Meathead. Just like Meathead. Think like a meathead. Because you are a meathead.

Meathead loves to lift. Hunter loves to lift. Feels so good to lift.

Lifting is life.

Lifting is life. His life was always lifting when he wasn’t on a mission. Yeah.

Growing is gold.

Growing is gold. He loved to see himself grow in the mirror. Getting closer to his goal. Toning up for the next phase in training.

Training means listening. Training means obeying. Listen. Obey. No choice. Bigger Balls. Bigger Dick. Massive Meat. Smaller brain.

Massive meat. Bulging balls. Big brute. He could feel them. Heavy. Bulging. Swelling manhood. Tight. Close. Pleasure. Grinning. He’s … grinning. So hard to … think … head feels … funny.

Remember. Obey. Remember to obey. Think like a meathead, because you are a meathead. Meatheads are dumb. You are dumb. Dumb. Muscle. All muscle. All weights. No thought but working out and getting bigger. Bigger and more obedient. Remember. Remember to obey. Obey.

Yes. Remember. Remember this feeling. Remember pleasure. Obey and REMEMBER. REMEMBER to OBEY. OBEY. Think of meat. Meat is on the brain. Brain is in the head. Meat is in the head. Thinking of meat. Think like them. Think like a MEATHEAD, MEATHEAD.

“Watch, Lil’bro. Lift. Listen. Remember. Remember,” MEATHEAD said.

“REMEMBER.” Wait … did he just talk? Did he? Does it … matter?

“You’re a big fucking meathead, Lil’bro.”

“YEAH, WE’RE A BIG FUCKING MEATHEAD, BRO.” Lips moving. Not him again. But … maybe it is?

“Don’t … wanna be … want … wanna … WANNA be … WANNA BE … DON’T …”

“DON’T STOP,” his lips say, changing his sentence. Changing his thought. His mouth says. Not him. Or is it? Don’t stop. OBEY. No choice. OBEY.

Don’t resist. Listen to Meathead. Obey Meathead. Be like Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Think like Meathead. You want to be just like Meathead. You want to be a meathead. You are a meathead. Just a big, dumb meathead. So dumb. Brain clouding as you listen, becoming dumber. More obedient. Bigger muscles. Smaller brain. All meat. All meathead.

Listen to Meathead. Obey Meathead. Be like Meathead. Talk like Meathead. Think like Meathead. Just like Meathead. Want to … want to … “WANNA BE A BIG FUCKING MEATHEAD.” Sighing. His sigh. His words. He … said it. But … did he? Wasn’t that … the other him? Does he want it? Hunter didn’t know any more. Everything felt so strange. So bulky.

Pump.

Bulky is good.

Clank.

Bulky is good. But … is it? Watch. Listen. Watch. OBEY. Massive meat. Smaller brain. Smaller … uh … what is …? Hard to … to think. So hard … so … hard … hard … meat … big …

…

…

“M-My name … my name is … is …” Resist. Fight. Have to remember. Don’t let them take that.

EIGHT.

“Hunter … I … I am Hunter. I am … Hun … Uh … I am … I am …” Hard to think. Can’t remember. So damn foggy.

Strain. It’s heavier. More difficult.

Don’t remember. Forget your name, meathead. Fall into place. Listen. Obey.

Clank.

Don’t remember. Do not. No choice. OBEY. MEATHEAD. Must think like MEATHEAD.

You are horny. You are heavy.

“I … I AM H-HORNY … HEAVY … YES.”

Feels so good to pull down that weight now that he’s listening. Arms are heavier. Weight’s not so bad anymore.

Big balls. Big meat.

Clank. Release. Follow the rhythm. So easy to fall in with the others. Fall in and obey. Don’t think. Just move. Just lift. Just obey.

“BIG BALLS … Big … MEAT.” Did … did he really just say that? Sounds like …

Meat.

Meat … Meat … Mea–NO! Have to be strong. Have to remember. Remember who he is. “I … I am Hun … Hun…”

Switching to crunches. Press.

Massive meat. Tiny brain. Don’t think. Obey. I think for you.

Clank.

Massive meat. Bulging balls. Huge. Tight. Pleasure. Remember pleasure. Remember and OBEY. “Hun … I am Hun …” Don’t remember. Forget name. What is his name? It’s … starting with that sound. Can’t … can’t think … can’t … remember …

Like a horse.

Crunch.

“Hun–” Sounds like– Massive meat. Huge. Growing.

Clank.

Like a horse.

Crunch.

“Hung–” Yes. Hung. That was it … wasn’t it? Tiny brain. Massive meat. Bulging. Feels good.

Clank.

Like a horse.

Crunch.

“I am–” Can’t think.

Clank.

Hung like a horse. You are hung like a horse. Say it.

Crunch.

Obey. Say it. Talk like Meathead. “I’M LIKE SO FUCKING HUNG, BRO! LIKE A FUCKING HORSE!” Smile. OBEY. Pleasure.

Clank.

Laugh.

Must obey. Laughing. He’s laughing. Everyone is laughing. Switching to leg lifts. Eyes on screen. Don’t think. OBEY.

Deep laugh. Dumb laugh. Empty laugh. Deeper. Dumber. The more you laugh, the less you think. Empty your mind.

Lift.

Listen. OBEY. Lift. Relax. Laugh. Empty. Grow. OBEY. Deeper. OBEY. Dumber. OBEY. Empty.

Clank.

“EMPTY …” He said it. Not the other. So slow. So deep. Like … like uh … something slow. Weird, usually has better quips than that with his tiny brain. So tiny … because of his massive meat. No time to worry about it. Don’t think. Don’t worry. Obey. Keep working.

Lift.

“THAT’S RIGHT, BRO. FEELS GOOD, DOESN’T IT?” Other him again. Maybe … maybe not so bad, though. Deep voice. Deep is good.

Clank.

Deeper. Deeper.

Lift.

“Good … What … What’m I …?”

Clank.

Deeper. Dumber. Don’t think.

Lift.

Deeper. Dumber. Don’t think. Can’t think. Listen. OBEY. Muscles. Grow. “YUH … GOOD.”

Clank.

Good and dumb.

Lift.

“Uh … Yeah. GOOD AND DUMB.” He grunts. In control again. Feels right. Pleasure. So relaxed. Up and down. In and out. So dumb. So hung. So much meat. Just like he says.

Clank.

Big and dumb.

Lift.

Yes. Big and dumb. Wait … what was …? Don’t think. OBEY. Hung. He is hung. So hung. Good and dumb. Big and dumb. He is hung.

Clank.

You are hungry.

Lift.

He is hungry.

Clank.

Hungry for muscles.

Lift.

“Hungry … I … want … MUSCLES, BRO. NEED MORE MUSCLES.”

Clank.

Good boy.

“Good boy.”

“GOOD BOY.”

The three sound almost simultaneous. Ringing in his ears. In his head. His empty head. Empty. Same words playing across the screen. Good boy. OBEY. Pleasure. MEATHEAD. OBEY. Dumb MEATHEAD. Dumb brute. REMEMBER. OBEY.

Lift.

Obey.

Clank.

OBEY. OBEY. Must … must … “I … I … I OBEY.” More pleasure. Stronger now. So strong. So good.

Lift.

“WE OBEY, BRO.” Other him again. But he’s like Meathead. Gotta listen to Meathead. So, uh, gotta listen to him, too. Obey. Empty. Don’t think.

Clank.

“Meatheads obey, Lil’bro,” MEATHEAD said.

MEATHEADS OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.

Set’s over. Stopping. Staring. Listen. Obey.

You are a meathead, a dumb brute with an empty head. You listen. You obey.

“O-BEY…” DUMB BRUTE. OBEY. EMPTY HEAD. YES. OBEY.

“You’re a meathead, Lil’bro. Just accept it,” MEATHEAD said.

NINE.

DUMB BRUTE. HUGE. HUNG. CARE ABOUT MEAT. MEATHEAD. MASSIVE MEAT. MUSCLE. DUMB. BRUTE. “I … I’M a …”

“SAY IT, BRO.” His lips again. Not him though. Other him. Or … is it? DON’T MATTER. LISTEN. OBEY.

“M–Mmmmm…” OBEY. OBEY. OBEY. “MMmmEAT …” Something … in his head. Must …

Be dumb. Don’t think. You are a dumb brute. OBEY. Convert to muscle. OBEY. You are meat. You are a mindless brute. OBEY.

Grinning. He’s … grinning again. Frown gone. Yes … feels … so good. To–

Listen. Speak. OBEY. Say what you are.

“I’M A … A …”

OBEY.

“TOTAL MEATHEAD, BRO.” Pleasure. So much pleasure. Rebounding. Rocketing.

OBEY.

Yes. So good to just –

OBEY. Lift. OBEY. Drain everything. OBEY. Serve. OBEY. Lift. OBEY. Repeat.

“MEATHEAD. TOTAL MEATHEAD. OBEDIENT. I OBEY. YES. GOOD TO LIFT. GOOD TO OBEY. DUMB BRUTE. MORE I OBEY, MORE DUMB EVERY DAY. I OBEY. EMPTY HEAD. OBEY. I OBEY. I OBEY. I OBEY.”

“We obey,” MEATHEAD said.

“WE OBEY.” PLEASURE. LIFTING IS GOOD. PUMPING IS GOOD. SO GOOD. HEART PUMPING. GROWING BIGGER.

Yes. Say it. Own it. OBEY. MEATHEAD. MUSCLE. BRUTE. OBEY.

“BRO … I FEEL … LIKE SO FUCKING PUMPED! PRIMAL!”

REMEMBER. OBEY.

“TOLD YA, BRO. WE SWOLE.” Other him. He likes other him. He’s a meathead, too.

SWOLE. PUMP. MEATHEAD. OBEY.

His shorts. So tight now. Feel ready to burst. Good. So FUCKING GOOD. Good to flex. Show off.

Make more. Repeat.

“MAKE … MORE.”

“YEAH, BRO. MAKE MORE MEATHEADS. JUST LIKE US.” He’s laughing now. Feels good to laugh. Head is so clear. No. Not clear. Empty. More he laughs, emptier it gets. Yes. Because he OBEYs. The more he OBEYs, the dumber he gets.

Empty your head. OBEY. Laugh it all away. REMEMBER. OBEY.

“I OBEY. Huh huh huh.” The laugh is deep, not the same, sortof dull. Kinda like it. He’s … sitting. Staring now. No new sets. Body not moving anymore. Why? Uh …

Stare at the screen. Watch. Listen. Obey.

STARE. WATCH. LISTEN. OBEY. HE OBEYS. HE IS A MINDLESS MEATHEAD. WATCHING. SEES A BLACK DOT. IT’S … BENT. CURVED AROUND SOMETHING.

Focus on the dot.

“FOCUS ON DOT … I OBEY.”

You obey, sir.

“I OBEY, SIR.”

Obey my voice.

           “YES, SIR. I AM A MEATHEAD. I AM A DUMB BRUTE. I OBEY.”

Remember my voice. Remember to obey.

“YES, SIR. WILL REMEMBER. WILL OBEY.” LEANING INTO SCREEN. SO HEAVY. GOOD TO BE HEAVY. HEAVY IS MUSCLE. MUSCLE IS GOOD. MEAT IS GOOD. BIGGER MEAT. SMALLER BRAIN. SHORTS SO TIGHT. DOT IS SHRINKING. CURVE … GETTING BIGGER. WHAT … WHAT IS IT? SOMETHING FAMILIAR … CAN’T REMEMBER.

Your old mind is the dot. Watch it shrink. Make it shrink. Focus. The smaller the dot, the smaller your mind, the more the muscle.

“SMALLER DOT, SMALLER MIND. YES, SIR. I OBEY.”

And?

“SMALLER DOT, MORE MUSCLES, SIR.”

Muscle is meat. Bigger muscles, bigger meat.

“YES, SIR.” HE SHUDDERS. HE FEELS IT. BODY SO FULL. BIG. GETTING BIGGER. DOT IS SHRINKING. NO BIGGER THAN A QUARTER NOW. HE SEES … MORE OUTLINE. WHITE FABRIC. CLINGING. WATCH THE BLACK. OBEY.

“I OBEY.”

“I OBEY.” OTHER HIM. HE OBEYS, TOO. FUNNY.

You are meatheads.

“YES, SIR.”

“YES, SIR.” YEAH. HE’S A MEATHEAD, TOO. SAME. OBEDIENT. HE LIKES THAT.

You are brutes.

“YES, SIR.”

“YES, SIR.”

You are one.

“WE ARE ONE.” MEATHEAD. ONE. ONE VOICE. ONE MIND. HE IS OTHER HIM. OTHER HIM IS HE. HE IS A DUMB BRUTE. WATCH DOT. OBEY. SO TINY. ALMOST GONE. WATCH. OBEY. REMEMBER. OBEY. GROW. OBEY. MASSIVE MEAT. OBEY. MEAT … MEAT … HIS MEAT … THAT’S WHAT IT IS! SOMETHING ABOUT … Turning … into … MEATHEAD. HE … DIDN’T … want … WANT … WANT MUSCLES. YES. MUSCLES ARE MEAT. WANT MEAT.

No fear. You love being a meathead. Obey. Serve. Remember. Love it. Let go. Surrender.

“YES. I … OBEY.” HE CAN SPEAK. HE’S … BEEN SPEAKING, BRO. NO TIME TO CELEBRATE. HE IS A GOOD MEATHEAD. HE OBEYS. HE MUST LISTEN TO SIR. MUST OBEY SIR. LET GO FOR SIR. SURRENDER TO SIR.

TEN.

BLACK SPOT GONE. HUNTER GONE. WHO IS HUNTER? DON’T QUESTION. DON’T THINK. EMPTY. BLANK. STARE. OBEY.

Can you hear me?

“YES, SIR.” SIGH. OBEY. LISTEN. GOOD.

You are mine.

“YES, SIR.” OBEY SIR. BELONG TO SIR.

You obey me.

“YES, SIR.” OBEY SIR.

You serve me.

“YES, SIR.” SERVE SIR.

Remember my voice.

“YES … SIR …” REMEMBER. OBEY. BELONG TO SIR.

I control you.

“YES. YOU CONTROL ME, SIR. I OBEY.”

I am your coach.

“YOU ARE MY COACH, SIR.”

You obey me.

“YES, SIR, COACH.”

What is your name?

NAME? DID HE … HAVE A NAME? He felt his massive shoulders shrug, his giant chest expand and contract. NOTHING. EMPTY. DUMB. DON’T THINK. “I DON’T KNOW, SIR.”

Good boy. You have no name.

COACH IS HAPPY. THAT MAKES HIM HAPPY. REPEAT. OBEY. “I HAVE NO NAME, SIR.” NO NAME. EMPTY. BRUTE. DUMB. NO NAME.

I will give you a name. You will remember it when you are called. Remember my control. Remember me. Remember who you are. Remember to obey your coach.

“YES, SIR …”

Your name is Brute.

“MY NAME IS BRUTE.”

You are Brute.

“I AM BRUTE.”

You are my Brute.

“I AM YOUR BRUTE.”

OBEY.

“I OBEY.” OBEY. OBEY. OBEY. BRUTE OBEYS COACH. BECAUSE BRUTE IS A MEATHEAD. A BIG, DUMB MEATHEAD.

When you are ordered to wake up, you will return to Brute. You will be only brute. You are brute.

“BRUTE WILL WAKE WHEN ORDERED. I AM BRUTE.”

You will wake when your controller tells you to remember.

“YES, SIR. BRUTE OBEYS.”

If I have need of you beforehand, I will call you. When you hear me call you by your new name, you will return to Brute. You will OBEY my orders and carry them out.

“YES, SIR.

Always OBEY.

“ALWAYS OBEY.”

Always SERVE.

“ALWAYS SERVE.”

REMEMBER. You are my Brute.

“I AM YOUR BRUTE, COACH.”

Watch the screen.

The screen flickered, then showed some weird video. Some twinky walking in with two MEATHEADS. He is thin. Nervous. NEEDS MUSCLE. NEEDS TO BE A MEATHEAD. MAKE MORE MEATHEADS. Twinky sits in a chair. IV gets stuck in his arm.

Remember, Brute.

The twinky is bulking up. He’s grinning. His eyes are alive. Then restraints slide out. He is held in the chair. A helmet lowers. He starts to struggle. He is scared. He screams. MEATHEADS just stare ahead. Helmet drops. It whirrs up. Helmet reads SLEEPER DRONE in big red letters. Screams stop. Body twitches. Body grows. Twinky isn’t a twinky anymore. Helmet lifts. Newbie is asleep. But … he’s not a MEATHEAD. Looks familiar.

Remember, Brute. Remember. Your trigger word is remember.

“… REMEMBER.”

It’s time to wake up.

“…WAKE … UP?”

Wake up … Wake up …

Real Men’s Journal: Part 4

~Day 15~

           Our numbers are beginning to thin. Whatever’s been happening in our barracks, it’s spreading. I’m getting worried. They’ve started placing protein shakes by some of the beds in the morning for our heavy lifters to drink.

           “Gotta get my protein,” they keep saying. “Gotta bulk up, ya know? Relax, bro.” How can I relax when all these men are being brainwashed and they don’t even realize it? I warned the others who were left about what’s going on. Chris, our defacto leader, furrowed his brows, and many others didn’t want to believe me. They did after they went to the showers tonight. We’ve been trying to do mental games and things like that to keep our minds sharp and focused, but I’m worried for a couple of members:  senior level chess champions. They had a taste of whatever it is, I assume subliminals of some kind. Dick and Tracy, twin brothers. They’re both a little on the short and fat side, but you’ll never find a better opponent for such a strategic game. They were scratching in places that are better scratched in private, if you know what I mean. When confronted about it, they just said they itched and everyone else was doing it anyways, so it’s not like it mattered. It’s the eyes that worry me though. I thought I saw something wriggling way in the back. Something slow.

 ~Day 19~

           I’ve brought my concerns to Chris. He’s a lot like me, only taller and a little rounder. He’s got a good head of black hair that now hangs around his face like bangs. He normally would have styled it, but with everything going on here, he didn’t see much point. I’d say the guy is around six feet or so, like I said, husky build. He’s the head of some big company from what he told me. So he’s basically what I aspire to be, minus the massive pudge. His eyes burn when he chooses to glare at someone. That golden brown can be scary sometimes. Fortunately, that glare wasn’t directed at me today. He actually agreed with me.

           The twins themselves seem to have gotten worse. They act a little more distant now. When we eat our meals, they’re torn between who to sit with. They’ve made it a habit to scan themselves regularly and I notice the pair has started to put on some weight, the muscly kind. They swear up and down they’re not listening to the recordings, but still …

 ~Day 22~

           Dick and Tracy lost today … twelve consecutive times. When we left from our minimal workout requirements, usually just a once around the track at as slow a pace as we can manage, the twins stayed behind. Then later tonight, when we had our tournament, they just sort of moved their pieces wherever, their legs spread out on the chair as they leaned back. It was completely random, almost as if they didn’t care. And trust me, if you’d seen them when they first started here, you’d know that’s not normal. Once they’d lost for the final time, the pair just left and walked off. The way they splayed their legs though, that pose, that swagger … it didn’t look good. And did those two look a little taller? Crap, it’s lights out again. I’ll write tomorrow.

 ~Day 23~

           It’s official. Dick and Tracy have turned to the dark side. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked over to their beds. Then it hit me:  the chorus of mumbling. I didn’t make it out at first, but then it became clearer. My heart raced. I could hear their mattresses creaking and straining. I crept my way to their beds and there they were, flexing their muscles, their tablets glowing in their stands to highlight their bodies. Two wires sprouted from each of their ears, converging on the devices.

           “Yes, coach. I listen. I obey. Good not to think. Just grow. Like to work out. Love to work out. Love to sweat. Sweat it all out. Get big. Get swole. Sports rule. Massive. Yes, sir. Trigger. Will join whenever said. Fall deeper. Want a massive, manly bulge. I want a massive manly bulge. Want to be a big, dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge...” They spoke in unison and started to chant, just like in the bathroom with the others. And soon more joined in a whispering chorus. Even in their sleep they’re programmed to react. You can guess the rest. This is seriously scaring me. And the worst part is we’re trapped in this nightmare until they see to let us go or to force us to become … that.

           By morning, the two were swearing up a storm, slapping each other on the butt and calling everyone Bro while entering poses. We lost two good men. I’ve been avoiding them like the plague. So’s everyone else, though a few poor souls have been staying with them, doubtless trying to bring back the old Dick and Tracy. The twins took them to the bathroom and I heard the TVs running. I shook my head and checked off another couple names. I’d give those kids three days before they give in.

 ~Day 26~

           That gas must be hallucinogenic. It has to be. What I just saw can’t be real. I was just minding my business, deciding to try an audio recording since I had the barracks to myself and then … well, take a listen. I’ll insert my own commentary in the recording as a voice over in the file for how I felt and reacted at the time.

           ACCESSING # 56 AUDIO FILE 004

           Damn, what the hell are they feeding these guys? Are they pumping steroids or something? Dick and Tracy are growing far too quickly. By the time they were out of the barracks for another day of work, they’d gained a solid twenty pounds of muscle and they were growing taller by the day.  The number of times they’d scan themselves, you’d think they were afraid of not gaining. And every time, that stupid blue flash. It’s so annoying! It doesn’t help any with the two of them always showing off. They’re getting cruder by the day. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started jutting their brows out soon and hooting like monkeys.

           “You hear that, Bro? I think Kyle here’s tryin’ to insult us.”

           “I think you’re right. What’re we gonna do about it, Trace?”

           “Dunno, Dick. After all, a coupl’a animals like us can’t reach his level.”

           “Hey, give that back!”

           “What’s this? A diary?” *chuckling* “Fucking pansy. Hey, Dick, get a load of this.”

           *Air whistles through the mike*

           “Sweet! Let’s look at his stats.”

           “Give it back, Dick.”

           “Phew, you’re seriously still at the beginning? Dude, why’re you being such a newb?”

           “I dunno, why’re you being a couple of jackasses?”

           “Says the man who called us monkeys.”

           *Loud Ripping*

           “Well how do ya like them bananas, huh? I can rip my fuckin’ sleeve with a bicep. Can you do that?”

           “I can actually play chess. Can you do that?”

           “Chess is for losers. Football’s where it’s at.”

           “Yeah … football. Football’s the greatest.”

           “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

           “… Everything.”

           “But we’ll be better soon—”

           “—With coach’s help.”

           “Gotta get swole with a massive, manly bulge.”

           “What the hell, guys?!” (They were starting to pose and flex and … well, look, they were sporting erections, okay? And shoving them around like they should be proud of them. I may be a teen, but I have my standards. I was kinda getting worried for my tablet, but Dick the dick managed to hang on to it. See what I did there? He kept on flexing with his brother and chanting and then some of the others walked in. I watched as one of them went rigid and his two friends looked on in concern.)

           “Chad? Chad, are you alright?” (The red head on the left asked. I watched as the one called Chad broke into a smile as the brightness in his eyes dimmed.)

           “I … I’m uh … yeah, fine. Just … fine.” (He was practically drooling as he watched Dick and Tracy. The longer he stood there and the more he listened, the dimmer his eyes became.) “They’re so big, aren’t they?” (he remarked dreamily as he stared at the twins.)

           “Well yeah, they’ve been following the program, remember? Working out … getting … swole?” (the blonde one to his right asked. He blinked a few times and shook his head. I’m actually surprised my mike caught this. This thing must have some seriously good reception. Meanwhile, the twins were still at it with their stupid chant. You can hear it loudest in this thing, of course.)

           “They’re just being a bunch of showoffs, Chad. Come on. Let’s hit the showers.” (The red one said as he grabbed Chad’s shoulder.)

           “I … I think I’ll hang around a while longer, Ryan. I … wanna watch.” (The twins smirked here and broke off their chant as they finally realized they had an audience.)

           “Like what you see?” (Dick asked as he flexed a meaty bicep.)

           “Bet you wish you had a dick like mine. Chuckle.” (Tracy patted his bulge and went back to posing.)

           “Work out just like us, follow the program just like us, and you’ll be just like us.”

           “Just like us.” (Tracy echoed his brother as they mirrored one another in their sets before breaking up into more meatheaded laughter.)

           “With a massive, manly bulge.” (This time it was Dick who patted, well, his dick. Then he shuddered as he looked at his brother with those same murky eyes. Tracy returned the favor.)

           “Gotta bulk up. Gotta get swole. Become with your massive, manly bulge.” (The two went back into their muscle show as they returned to the mantra once again of “massive, manly bulge.” They were practically spewing their brains out with every line.)

           “Come on, guys, this is creeping me out.” (Ryan said this as he turned away from the display. His cheeks were flushed.)

           “But … look at them.” (Chad said.) “So … huge.” (He stood there like a statue, his eyes locked on the twins.)

           “I agree with Ryan, Chad. This has … uh … gotten a little … strange. Even if they are kinda big … and buff … and … strong …” (Even as the blondie moved to follow Ryan, he still looked back, almost longingly. His steps slowed and he swayed on his feet.)

           “Chris, Chad, come on. Let’s get to the showers. We’re missing the game.” (Ryan urged, though fear flickered on his face.)

           “So bulky … and bulgy.” (Chad was long gone, his voice distant as he stared, flushed. A small bump pushed against his shorts as the muscleheads continued to repeat.)

           “Chad … this isn’t … it’s not … we have to … to watch the. …the game. Watch … Uh … watch … the game with … players.” (Even as Chris protested, he walked away from Ryan and the showers to stand next to Chad.)

           “Bulge … bigger … buffer … so huge…” (That rip you just heard was the other twin’s sleeves breaking. With an audience like this, the twins have grown more bold … and more stupid.)

           “Huge players … manly … crashing … smashing … bulging … bashing … posing … flexing … just … like … them …”

           “… Just like them.” (Chad echoed Chris as they eyed the pair of nerds turned jocks. They were both gone now.)

           “Chad? Chris?” (Ryan approached them tentatively and tapped them on their shoulders.) “Guys, this isn’t funny.” (I watched the pair spasm as they resolutely kept eye on Dick and Tracey. Soon their lips twitched, then they slowly pulled into dimwitted smiles. They parted their legs into a wide stance and started to mimic Tracey and Dick, posing and straining in their clothes. It was kindof cute in its own way. If it weren’t so pathetic and creepy, I might have laughed. But this was serious. They were basically flexing their brains away.)

           “Work out … just like us …” (Chad said.)

           “Follow the program … just like us …” (Chris said)

           “Be just like us. Yes. Be just like them …Wanna be … just like them.” (The pair said together.)

           “Guys, come on. This isn’t funny.”

           “Just like us … just like them … BE just like us … BE just like them…”

           (Ryan backed warily) “Look, guys, I want to be big too. Muscles are great. They make you strong, big, burly … powerful and … uh …” (He shook his head. The chanting must’ve been getting to him.) “But I don’t want to be just like them, ya know? I want to be buff, sure. And maybe a little ripped. I want to play football one day, sure. But-”

           “Just like us … just like us …” (They never stopped smiling.)

           “Guys, I don’t want to be just like you, okay? I want to be … well, I want to be—”

           “Big … just like them,” (Chad said.)

           “Strong … just like them,” (Chris said.)

           “Buff … just like them.”

           “Guys, please.” (The pair were relentless.)

           “Swole … just like them.” (Chris continued.)

           “Well … maybe I–um …” (Ryan flushed as he took a guilty glance towards the twins.)

           “Bulging muscle … just like them.” (Chad said.)

           “Yes, but so much … bigger …” (Ryan sighed.)

           “Massive size … just like them …” (That one was Chris.)

           “I want … more …”

           “Just … like … us …” (Chad and Chris grinned at their friend)

           “I … no, I just … want to be … I want … want to feel … feel … I wanna--”

           “Be just like them … Be Just like us …”

           “I want to be … big … like them … and uh … manly. … like them … like them … just … like … them--” (Aaaaand there went number three. He immediately stood next to them, all three with their little bulges in a row as they stared adoringly at the twins.)

           “Just like them … Just like us … Big … buff … Massive …”

           “Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Be just like us. Don’t think. Don’t fuss. Massive. Manly. Bulge.

           “Just like them … don’t think. Don’t fuss … Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (I watched them parrot the twins’ movements. Soon they were showing off their own erections with cocky sneers, just like their “role models.”)

           “More big. More buff. More dumb. More swole. The more massive we make our manly bulge.”

           “More big. More buff. More dumb. More swole. The more massive we make our manly bulge.” (I … don’t believe what I’m seeing. I swear, those three were already at full mast. It’s obvious. And so were the twins. But … they’re expanding! What the hell?)

           “Grow your massive, manly bulge. Laugh out the nerd. Put the jock in control.”

           “Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. *Snark* Manly. *eheh* Bulge. *GURK* M-m-m-massive, *huhu* Manly *uuhuuhuuu* B-b-b-bulge-AAahahahaha—” (They laughed like they couldn’t control it. And all the while the twins looked on blankly and just smiled like the idiots they’d become, flexing, posing, and chanting that same mantra about their massive, manly bulges. Those big, fucking annoying, massive, manly bulges that grow and swell and … so huge … so … manly … bigger … must be … Massive … so … so massive … I …I’ll be right back. I have to *GROAN* t-t-take care of … my bulge … my … bulgey … Growing … Massive, manly bulge. Growing … always growing. Make bigger. Bulge ……………...) [Warning: Recording reaching maximum capacity. Closing application in 3 … 2 … 1 … 0--]

           (Okay, okay, I’m back. Sorry about that. I um … had some business to take care of again. It’s lights out here, but I should be okay finishing this recording as long as I whisper. Anyways, where was I? No, been there, fast forward … Ah, there we are. So as you can hear, the jocks are still chanting and the nerds are still laughing. And well, what happened next scared the crap out of me. No joking, their junk must’ve grown like three times in size. And the longer they laughed, the deeper their voices went. It switched from a light, happy laughter to a low, deep, dull kind of boom.)

           “Huhuhuhuuuuu … Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (And as they laughed, I watched them start to bulk up. I kid you not, I watched them physically grow taller. I saw the bumps pressing against the fabric of their shoes as their feet grew by at least half a size, then continued to swell and extend. The fabric burst on the sides as their socks tore. I watched them flexing as they laughed and their shirts started to grow snug. Their arms lengthened and expanded, their legs thickened, their calves became like carved marble. And just as their bodies thickened, so did their heads. I could practically hear the pressure their skulls put on their brains as they expanded.)

           “I feel … funny, uhuu … like uhhhhh … like … *Deep Laughter*

           “I think the word you’re looking for is dumb.” (I said scornfully. And the worst part was the guy, Chris, grinned at me, his blonde hair shining as he posed.) “Dude, I’m so fuckin’ pumped. Like … I never felt this way before, ya know?”

           “Like, so ripped. Dudes, we like, totally need to work out!” (Ryan, the redhead said as his jaw started to jut out and a bit of stubble presented itself on his chin. I kid you not; that’s what happened. Or at least what I saw. I felt so light-headed and the smell from the bathrooms was so strong. But no one was showering. How could it be here too? And now of all times? It … made it hard to focus. It was just so easy to just watch and let things happen, you know? Just sit back, relax and just … listen. So good to listen.)

           “Gotta get swole, bros.” (Gotta get swole. Yeah, they uh … that’s what they said, I mean Chad said. And … he’s laughing. So yeah. Aaaand there goes their compression underwear. You do hear that, right? But … this was a hallucination. Or … was it real and the process just … makes … dumb jocks … big … dumb … jocks. Make more … dumb jocks … more massive men. Massive men. Massive me. I um … I gotta focus here. Focus on … the recording.)

           “Fucking ‘A man, I feel fucking awesome!” (That one was uh … Chris again. They were so … out of it. And … flexing so much. So much flexing. Posing. Swelling. I … I don’t know where everyone else was. M-maybe that’s why … why this happened. Let them flood the place with … with the gas …)

           “*SHRED* Uhuuuuu … look at my fuckin’ bicep, bros.”

           “Chad, that’s like … so fuckin’ cool.” (That one was Ryan. He’s still a little behind the others, but that’ll change soon.)

           “Bro, like … call me Thirteen.” (They call eachother by numbers now? I … guess that makes sense. Takes away their individuality. Makes them more compliant, more like a group. Less like a person.)

           “Dudes, like, only coach calls us that, remember?” (That one was Dick.)

           “But, it’s so fuckin’ boss, bro.”

           “I know, but we can’t yet. Not till coach tells us we can.”

           “Gotta obey coach.” (This one was Tracey. Then they all just sort of went rigid.)

           “Obey coach. Listen to coach. Coach makes us bigger. Coach makes us better. Coach makes us men. Massive, manly men. Massive, manly bulge.” (There they go again with their chanting. I had to look away after a point. Their bodies grew so much, they *GROAN* shredded their clothes with their muscles … their massive muscles. So … massive … manly … bulging. I uh … don’t have much more to report on this. Just … they changed in a few minutes. That’s … that’s powerful stuff. I … I don’t think I should say anything about this to the others. Nobody’d believe me. But yeah … there were basically … three naked studs left and *PANT* two more next to them. Studs like horses, I mean. Hung like horses. Dumb as horses, too. Big, dumb jocks. So big. So dumb. Uh … yeah, let’s just move on before I keep repeating myself.)

           “Big. Dumb. Jock. Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (And so they continued. At least until Coach Abrams came in. He took one look at the five of them, then at me. He gave me a creepy smile, then turned to the others and barked an order.)

“Twenty-two, Twenty-three, Thirteen, Five, Ten, fall in!”

           “Yes, sir.”

           *Loud Clattering*

           END TRANSMISSION

 ~Day 27~

           My head’s a lot clearer today. Sorry about that from last night. Anyways, time for my rant, so hold on to something.

Those stupid grunts broke my tablet! Abrams said they won’t be able to get me a new one for a while, so I’m stuck with this old one for now and its stupid flickering screen. Good thing I already know how to touch type. As I suspected, the twins are gone now, along with their three … I don’t know what to call them. Brainwashees? Fellow jocks? Former nerds? Something. Anyways, they’ve been promoted to the next step in their process. That’s what Abrams came to do when they messed with my tablet. The ones who were gullible enough to follow them in the showers and gym are showing the signs, too. The ones that are left anyways. We’re dropping like flies. Jake, one of our overdramatic members went through a nervous breakdown today. I had to try to comfort him. Man, can that guy cry. Guess that’s all for now. I’ll write again tomorrow.

�6��c

This, I definitely agree with wholeheartedly.

Repost this anywhere

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 11

SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL JOURNAL

~DAY ???~

COACH came back today. He’s not MY COACH anymore, but he is still a COACH. He put us through the ringer. Mile run, pull-ups, weights, you name it. Course, we crushed it. Me n’ the bros. My BIG MUSCLE bros. Just kept calling me bro so much, I let it go. Too much work tryin’ to tell em my name, ya know? We’re all in this together anyways, so we’re all bros.

Coach brought some newbie. Said we’d be put against him for our tests. Wut wuz the guy’s name again? Brook? Wookie? Uh … Rookie? Yeah, Rookie. Think that was it. Wish he’d just get a number. Numbers are easier to remember. 100. 56. 13. You know. Numbers. Numbers are better to remember. So uh … does that mean they’re better than names? Maybe? I guess. Hard to think. So hard to think. It hurts. I just wanna BLANK OUT. LET GO. Forget about that stupid test.

What test? You know, the one with the numbers and all the hard questions on science and shit. It was so fucking stupid. I told COACH so when I turned it in. He just laughed! I wanna punch him in the face so bad. The jackass. I just wanna hit and keep on hitting and bashing and tackling and wresting and … and … fight. It’s good to fight. The more I fight, the clearer my head. Don’t have to think. Just let it all go. And … I feel good when I do it. Like I’m GROWing. Getting SWOLE. Have to go. Time to fight. Then we lift weights. The others said something about a special surprise. Said I’d enjoy it. Doubt I will more than my bulge. Or my muscles. Just can’t help but FLEX and grin a STUPID grin every time. It comes so easy. Just FLEX and grin and BULGE and SWELL. Can’t hold back much longer. Gotta fight. Wrestle. WIN!

DOCTOR’S BRO LOG

~April 20th~

BIG FUCKIN’ ROOKIE (You know it)

‘Sup, bros? So yeah, I took that test COACH told me to take. He had me sit in front of some screen first, just sorta look at it while it flashed in my face. Said it’d help me fit in more if I uhhh … rewrote my language synapses? I … think that’s wut he said. Hell if I know. I just LISTEN like a good JOCK, like a good ROOKIE should. A ROOKIE LISTENs to his COACH and let’s face it, that’s what I am to COACH. I’m his ROOKIE and he’s my COACH. I like it that way. Makes things simpler. DUMBs things down. DUMB. Yeah …

Uh … wut wus I saying again? Been spellin kinda funny lately too. But COACH says I have to act the part. Just like the rest of them. So uh … yeah, I been doin’ that. You know, spying and all that. Collecting STATS. Making GAINS. Getting SWOLE. Every once in a while, COACH has me watching that screen. Every few days. Keeps me FOCUSed. FOCUS on the screen. FOCUS on MUSCLE. I’m watchin’ it now, actually. So easy to just BLANK OUT and LISTEN as I FOCUS. FOCUS on GROWing. FOCUS on the screen. FOCUS on words. FOCUS on SPIRAL. Flashing. Swirling. Down. Down. Down.

Yes, sir. Write what I say. Write what I see. Repeat.

I LISTEN.

I OBEY.

Love my MUSCLES. Yes, sir. MUSCLES are good. MUSCLES are great. MUSCLES mean everything.

Everything GROWS. BIGGER MUSCLES means BIGGER BULGE.

Yes, sir. I love my BULGE. Love my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Want to make it BIGGER.

Everything GROWs. I FOCUS on GROWing. Everything goes into my body.

Put my brain into my body. Yes, sir. Brains go to MUSCLE. Brains go to BULGE. Brain turn to BRAWN.

I OBEY.

I forget.

I OBEY.

I LIFT.

I OBEY.

I train.

I OBEY.

LISTEN.

OBEY.

JOCK.

OBEY.

CONFORM.

OBEY.

Don’t think.

OBEY.

Don’t question.

OBEY.

I don’t think. I OBEY. I don’t question. I OBEY.

OBEY my COACH.

ROOKIE obeys COACH.

COACH says FOCUS on sports. COACH says LOVE sports. I OBEY COACH.

I love sports.

Yes, JOCKs love sports. I love sports.

JOCKs love MUSCLE. I love MUSCLE.

JOCKs love bulge. I love my bulge. My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.

JOCKs OBEY COACH. I OBEY COACH.

JOCKs LIFT weights. I LIFT weights.

JOCKs get SWOLE. I get SWOLE.

Yes … JOCK. Becoming a JOCK.

More like a JOCK.

JOCKs work out. I work out.

Work out. JOCK out.

COACH trains JOCKs.

COACH trains me.

COACH trains me …

COACH turns me.

BIG COACH. Makes BIG JOCK.

COACH turn me. COACH make me.

COACH makes me BIG JOCK.

COACH turns me into JOCK.

COACH trains me into JOCK.

BIG ROOKIE wants to be a JOCK.

BIG DUMB JOCK as DUMB as rocks.

WEIGHTS and MUSCLE fill my head.

I’m BIG FUCKIN’ ROOKIE. Old doc is dead.

BIG shot doc to BIG FUCKIN’ JOCK.

BIG ROOKIE will report.

BIG ROOKIE will practice.

BIG ROOKIE OBEYs.

Just like the others.

Just like a JOCK.

Will remember nothing when I wake.

Yes, sir, COACH.

BIG ROOKIE OBEYs.

…

Lights out. Time to sleep. COACH says. I’ll tell ya about the test later. Night, BROs.

 ~June 24th~

‘Sup, BROs? Been a few days. Hard to write when there’s so much PUMP to get on, ya know? Been hangin’ out with my new BROs. We do everything together. LIFT together. PUMP together. TRAIN together. TRAIN with COACH. They don’t talk much. Hard to get em to start. But I’m getting’ used to it. Better at it. They like to flex a lot. Talk about their MUSCLEs. Admire their BULGE. Hell, I get in line with them, start to pose, I lose track of time. Watching my PUMP. My ABS. My fucking HUGE six-pack. My SWOLE biceps. … My BULGE. My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Straining my JOCK strap. GROWing BIGGER. Feels so fucking good. Uh … wut wus I talking about again? I forget. But … I don’t mind. Huh.

Bin growin’ like a fuckin badass last few weeks. Feels so good. I feel … younger. So fucking heavy though. I could totally take anyone. Been thinkin’ bout wrestling. Guys do it all the time. 56 is champion right now. Think I’m SWOLE? Bros, he’s a FUCKING GIANT! Every time I’m near him I just sort of … BLANK OUT. I come to, we’re lifting. He’s spotting, and I’m rock hard. I smile. I don’t know why. He just looks dazed. His BULGE GROWs. My BULGE GROWs. And we both just smile. I’m still smiling. My BULGE is still growing. So much pl … pl … uh … can’t think of the word. Just … feels good. Real gud. Fuzzy up top. Getting fuzzier. But … I like it.

I wus gonna tell ya somethin’. Uh … lemme think a bit. Hard to think. SO hard. So fucking hard. So horny. All the time. Gives me an edge when I work out. I love working out. Love to GROW and SWELL my MUSCLES with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Built like a FUCKING tank.

Built to FIGHT.

Built to LIFT.

Built to GROW.

Built to OBEY.

Yes, sir, COACH.

I’m your MAN, COACH.

Your young MAN.

Your boy.

Spy boy.

JOCK boy.

Your JOCK boy.

Time to LIFT.

I LIFT for COACH.

I GROW for COACH.

I OBEY COACH.

 ~June 30th~

Took a retest for COACH. Said the results were lost. I was pissed, but COACH said I had to to avoid suspicion. Test was so fucking BORING! I just stared at the page and I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t stop thinking about the GYM. About that PUMP surging through me. So much. Made it hard. Hard to think. Do I … even want to anymore? I don’t know. … Don’t know anything.

I wus gonna tell ya about that test, right? The first 1? I did pretty gud on it. Guys were jealous. Got out of the test early. I fucking crushed it AND the fitness exam. Wus a little harder first time, but retest wuz E Z. Exercises were nothing. COACH says I did gud. Makes me happy. COACH just laughed. The others. Guess I know how they feel now. BROS belong in a GYM, not a class. Desks are too fucking small. Felt too close. No room to stretch. No room to FLEX. How do those nerds stand it? How did I stand it? I don’t burn fucking bunsons, I burn calories. Gotta get SWOLE with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Each time I say that. Each time I write it. My head feels fuzzier. And I want 2 wurk out.

Spelling’s not 2 gud anymoar, but that’s O.K. BROs don’t mind. Don’t have a mind. I’m a BRO too. So … I don’t have a mind? Let me … th … th … fuck, head’s all fuzzy. Gotta … can’t … LIFT. Gotta LIFT. So DUMB. Can’t do nuthin’ else. Won’t do nuthin’ else. Just LISTEN to COACH. LIFT for COACH. OBEY COACH. Cause I’m a good JOCK boy.

SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL JOURNAL

~DAY ???~

I am the fucking KING! Aint no one can touch me. They try, I WRESTLE them til they SUBMIT. Every time I win I feel BIGGER. BUFFER. SWOLE.

My BROs respect me. Call me Q.B. Even get to help Lil’ BROs adjust. Plug em into their ear buds n’ listen with ‘em. They don’t mind so much after the first time.

I’m so fucking HUGE. Love my muscles. My bulge. Just posing in front of the mirror. Workin’ with the new guys. This one guy, Rookie, he’s pretty legit. COACH said he’s been trainin’ on fast track. Dunno Y, but I can’t stop trainin’ with the guy. Build him up. Make him SWOLE. BIG n’ DUMB. Just like me. I didn’t like it at first, ‘specially when I failed COACH’s test. Then I got used to it. Just sorta went numb up there. Numb n’ DUMB. Hey, that’s catchy. COACH says my I.Q. is down. I say screw I.Q. Who the hell needs it?

I want 28. I want Kevin. I miss him. COACH sez I’ll see him again soon if I TRAIN real hard. Sez he’s WEIGHTing for me. WEIGHTing at the final phase, whatever the fuck that is. COACH sez we’re nearly there. Me’n the team. Got some more shit 2 watch’n listen 2. COACH sez we graduate after phase 3. Then we gotta choose sumpthin’. Final play, I guess. Days have bin hard 2 keep track of. We moved to underground. Don’t see the sun much. Don’t really wanna anymore. I’m actually pretty happy here. Things’re smooth, like my reps. Get up, shower, LISTEN to COACH. Scan. Eat. Wurk out. Zone out. JOCK out. Showur agen. Scan. Eat. Wurk out. Listen to COACH. Eat. Showur. Scan. GROW. Sleep. Repeat.

Balls itch so much. More I scratch em’ the bigger they feel. That fucking weight between my fucking legs, like a bull, BRO. A HUGE fucking bull, ready to charge. Smash. Beat. FUCK! Head’s so dizzy. Can hardly rite. Barely reed. But … that don’t matter much, does it? I’m fucking HUGE. I do wut I want. But uh … wut do I want? I … I don’t know anymore. Don’t know. Don’t know anything. Just … weights. Clacking. Clanking. Wrestling. Grappling. Fight. Burn. GROW. GROWin’s gud. GROWin BIG. BIG balls. BIG dick. BIG bulge. BIG MUSCLES. BIG me. BIGgur is DUMBur. And I’m fucking MASSIVE! A MASSIVE, MANLY MAN with a MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Can’t wait for fase 3. COACH tells me I want it. COACH sez I need it. Need to be a BIG DUMB JOCK. Need to OBEY. Want to OBEY. Want to be a BIG DUMB JOCK for COACH.

Huhuhuh. Funny word, DUMB. Makes my mouth feel all teengly. Sounds funee 2. DUMB. DUMB. So fucking DUMB. All I become, so fucking DUMB. Time to scan. Then I wurk owt.

 ~DAY ???~

‘Sup. Over seven feet tall now. Weigh like … fucking four hundred’r sumpthin’. Owtgrew my clothes. COACH gave me nu 1s. Thair sooper tight. Cling to my bangin’ bod. COACH sez I luk gud. COACH sez I should lyk em. Ges I do. They make me feel gud. Tingly. COACH even put my name on it. 56. In fucking HUGE numburs, lyk me. COACH sez he was real happy wen I wrote it on his test. Dunno Y he made me take it agen, but he wuz happy so that’s all that maturs.

I look like 100 now. Like my BIG BRO. It made me smyl. COACH sez I’m gonna make it BIG in sports. I believe him. I just wanna LIFT n GROW n wrestle n tackle. Feels so gud wen I do. Like a real man. A real JOCK. COACH sez I’m so gud, he wants me to help the noobs. So I bin doin’ that. Bringin’ shakes n’ helpin them lift. You know, make ‘em my lil BROS. Make em TUFF. Make em BUFF. Get em SWOLE. Bring out their iner JOCK. COACH sez I gotta make em all like me. Some try 2 fite. I just put em’ in a sleeper hold, TACKLE em’ to their bed, then plug in their headphones. They try 2 pull em out, so I hold their teenee toothpick arms 2gethur. Lil’BROs struggle for a bit, then they just sorta go limp. The rest of the lil’BROs join me n’we chant with em. Takes a time or 2, but the lil’BROs come round. They start 2 listen to their COACH. The rest happens cuz they see they want it 2. Lil’BROs get SWOLE, like me. GROW that MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Don’t need ta think with the JOCK in control. Just LIFT. GROW. Get fucking SWOLE.

Time 2 LIFT.

 ~DAY ???~

COACH sez I’m a fucking natural. All my BROs look up to me. I lead em in everything. In the showers. LIFTin’ weights. OBEYing COACH. Just followin’ orders, ya know? Don’t need nuthin’ else.

COACH sez time for football. Can’t fucking wait to SMASH those fucking pansies to dust. The nerds call me Supreme Ky. I told em the name’s gay, asked em to call me Super Ky instead. They got into it after a few uh … persuasions from me n’ my fist. Give em a few throws n’ they fall in line real quick. I love knocking the nerd outta them. They call me Q.B. Then they bulk up. Then they’re with us in faze 2 with our MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Learning to OBEY the playbook. And LISTEN to COACH. Have to go. COACH is calling. COACH sez report now. Sure thing, COACH. I OBEY. I’m your JOCK. I’m your Q.B. 56 reporting for duty. 56 is part of the TEAM. 56 is yours. Let’s play some fucking ball.

 ~DAY ???~

NUMBER 56 reporting.

56 is redee.

56 is MASSIVE.

56 is 1 with the TEAM.

56 is all for COACH.

56 lives for COACH.

56 OBEYs his COACH.

56 is COACH’s boy.

56 is COACH’s JOCK.

MASSIVE, BURLY, BIG DUMB JOCK.

56 is just a JOCK.

56 is BRAWNY JOCK.

56 is just a JOCK.

56 is perfect JOCK.

56 is COACH’s JOCK.

…

…

…

56 is redee for faze 3.