Support my work at my patreon. or buy me a ko-fi. This blog is the home of all Things Transformation: From Dumb Jock Bro to Animal to Inanimate. Please note, this is a clean blog. I will not post pornographic content. Thanks for visiting!
413 posts
Are You Open To Requests? I Have A Bunch Of Ideas For Inanimate Tfs If You Want Some Inspiration. Featureless
Are you open to requests? I have a bunch of ideas for inanimate tfs if you want some inspiration. Featureless mannequins, action figures, crash test dummy, training dummy, green army man, robots, figurines, statues, trophy, art...
I’m open to suggestions. That being said, I’m facing certain emotional difficulties right now, so I don’t know if I’ll be able to necessarily do huge quality writing at the moment or not. I’d have to take it a step at a time. I do have previous stories that I’ve written that I’ll be posting on my tumblr here for people to read, so don’t worry, there will still be content. I just need some time, before I’ll be able to run full speed again, if that makes sense.
-
yama951 liked this · 6 years ago
More Posts from Omnitf
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.
This is an incredibly well written story. I don’t like the sexual part (since I’m not really into porn or any sexual scenes), but the rest was a great gradual change both physically and mentally. I couldn’t help but reblog it here. Kudos to dumbmusclejockboi.
BroSimulator 2K18: Frat Bro
Maximilian Maxwell III was a nerd. A dweeb. A geek. He put up with a lot of bullying and name-calling in high school, all while thinking it would all be better in college. Well, he was living proof that it didn’t ever get better. Not really.
Even now in college, he was constantly picked on by the frat douchebags of Mu Alpha Nu fraternity. He had decided to try to join a fraternity himself, who cares if it was like buying friends, at least there was safety in numbers. So, during rush he tried to join a house, but the only house that would have him was Zeta Iota Tau. The nerd house.
At least he was surrounded by other guys who enjoyed studying, playing video games and excelling in academics. It was an okay existence. There was always something going on whether it was a chess tournament or a game of Magic: The Gathering. It wasn’t what he expected when he originally joined a fraternity, but it was still fun.
The expected girls, booze, parties never really materialized. The hardest thing they drank was root beer and the closest they came to parties was when they organized a round robin M:TG tournament with a genuine Mox Lotus as the main prize. (One of the brothers had started early and had a few of each Mox).
Maximilian was feeling bored and depressed and thought maybe a new video game would make him feel better, so he headed to the Game Stop at the mall. As he was looking around for something interesting, he glanced upon a game called BroSimulator 2K18. It sounded like a bizarrely hilarious game, so he paid for it and went back to his fraternity house.
@@@@@@@@@
When Maximilian got back to the ZIT house, he showed the game to a few of his brothers. They laughed as he said to not bother him for a few hours. Maximilian ran to his room and installed the game onto his computer.
The main screen loaded, featuring a cartoonish gym with various bro-types flexing and posing in front of mirrors. Clicking on the start button, he entered the Bro Customization screen.
He inputted his name, weight and age at the prompts, and answered all the questions that were presented as honestly as he could. His hands were sweating in impatience. And then there he was. A digitized version of himself was on screen.
Digitized Maximilian, DM for short, stood in his room. Text on the screen announced that it was a tutorial, “Getting’ Ready!” He put on some basketball shorts and tried to put on a t-shirt like he saw the jock frat wear, but a buzzard sounded and the game alerted him,” THE WEATHER’S FUCKING AWESOME, BRO! SUN’S OUT, GUNS OUT, BRO, PICK SOMETHING TO SHOW OFF YOUR GUNS!” So, Maximilian picked out a red tank top. He also put on a snapback. He exited out of the wardrobe and was rewarded with “+2 HAPPY.” Maximilian couldn’t believe he actually did feel a little happier.
Maximilian’s next tutorial quest (put on some tunes) was also interrupted, telling him to choose rap instead of classical music. He was again rewarded with more happiness. Tutorial quest 3/3 seemed very straightforward for a bro, run to the gym. His digitized character ran to the gym. When he got there, he got “+5 HAPPY” and “+1 PRIDE.”
At the gym, it appeared the game was ready for the regular quests. TAKE YOUR PRE-WORKOUT made him buy pre-workout from the counter. His avatar tried to drink it but the game alerted that he had forgotten to add creatine (BRO, YOU’RE NOT GONNA GET GAINZ WITHOUT CREATINE.). So, he made DM go buy some creatine from the sales counter, added it to his pre-workout, gave it a little shake and downed it. THAT TASTED AWESOME! +5 HAPPY +1 PRIDE +2 SWOLE -3 IQ
Maximilian was even more enthusiastic about this game. He had learned that happiness could make you high, and he was wondering if the game was doing that to his brain somehow. He also felt a little more energetic and was excited to see what would happen next. GO LIFT BRO! GO LEG PRESS 200 KG! BroSimulator 2K18 told him was his next quest.
And so, DM stacked 5 plates on each side and proceeded to do 3 sets of 15 reps of 200kg. Maxwell didn’t notice that in the real world, as DM did each rep, real world Maxwell’s calves, thighs and glutes inched their way bigger and bigger until his shorts were having slight trouble containing his muscle.
AWESOME, BRO! +5 HAPPY, +5 PRIDE, +5 SWOLE, -5 IQ
Maxwell was feeling super proud of himself. “Fuck yeah!” He said out loud, his voice cracking. He was feeling a little high, maybe a little foggy in the head. He knew his purpose and he continued on to complete more quests. His next quest was to BENCH PRESS 4 PLATES.
Computer Max went to the bench press and loaded up two plates on each side, and tried to start his exercise. FOUR PLATES MEANS 4 ON EACH SIDE, BRO. -5 IQ
Maxwell laughed a dumb, bro laugh, “I’m such a dumbass!” He said to no one.
And with that, Digital Max began to do 3 sets of 12 reps. Once again, with each rep, Maxwell’s chest began to inflate. Slowly growing bigger, and wider and rounder. Until his pecs were filling out his shirt, almost causing the side seams to burst.
BRO-TASTIC! +5 HAPPY, +10 PRIDE, +10 SWOLE, -5 IQ
Max had never felt more alive! He felt awesome! By this point, he had forgotten all about why he had purchased BroSimulator 2K18 in the first place. Maxwell also didn’t notice that his brain was running a little slower, or that he had started to refer to himself as Max. Now, he was just totally immersed in the game.
The game had Max lead character Max to do various other exercises. Crunches, bicep curls, back extensions, triceps dips, pull ups, muscle ups, lat pull downs and calf raises, racking up massive amounts of pride, happy and swole. He did lose quite a few more IQ points as well.
POSE IN THE MIRROR BRO!
And so, Max took off his shirt and started a posing routine in the mirror. As his avatar did that, Max in real life started to flex his muscles in the mirror too. “Damn, I look fucking swole,” he thought to himself.
SWOLE BRO! +3 HAPPY +5 PRIDE +3 SWOLE -1 IQ
FRAT BRO QUEST. DO YOU ACCEPT? Y/N
Max thought that being a frat bro would be awesome so he happily clicked on Y.
AWESOME BRO! QUEST ¼ FIST BUMP 5 FRAT BROS! 2:00
Oh shit! It was a timed quest! And how the hell would he differentiate a bro from a frat bro? And that’s when he noticed some of the bros in the gym had Greek letters on their tanks and shirts. So, Max guided Digital Max to giving fist bumps to all the bros he could find wearing Greek letters. SWEET BRO! +3 HAPPY +4 PRIDE -2 IQ
QUEST 2/4 FIST PUMP FOR 5 MINUTES
This was pretty easy. DM went into the aerobics studio and put on some rap music and fist pumped like a douchebag bro for 5 minutes. While DM was fist pumping, Max was fist pumping in the real world. He had turned up the volume on his Bose Soundlink and was losing himself in to the latest Kendrick Lamar. As he did that, his room started changing. A poster or Albert Einstein turned into a poster of hot bros flexing muscles. Trophies and awards for academic excellence turned into trophies for football, wrestling and body building.
DM finished the required five minutes and BroSimulator 2K18 told him:
GREAT JOB BRO! +5 HAPPY +7 SWOLE +8 PRIDE -10 IQ
FRAT BROS DRINK! QUEST ¾ SHOTGUN 3 BEERS IN 3 MINUTES.
Using a complicated mixture of tapping buttons and moving the controller around, Max was able to get DM to do the assigned task. Finishing the task, Max paused the game and stood up to stretch his impressive arms. He walked to the mini fridge in the room and chugged down a Milwaukee’s Best Ice that only an hour ago had been root beer. Wiping his mouth with his muscled forearm, Max let out a belch of contentment, and sat down to finish up his Frat Bro quest.
FUCK YEAH BRO! +10 HAPPPY +10 PRIDE -3 SWOLE -5 IQ
QUEST 4/4 SCORE WITH A HOTTIE
Max knew exactly who to make DM score with. The bro at the counter had been checking him out all day. He knew that he could tap that shit. So, DM went to the counter and told Matty, the counter clerk that he needed help trying on a posing strap. Matty giggled as Max threw him into the changing room and pushed him up against the wall. Matty enjoyed himself as Max pounded him at maximum velocity. It was a legendary fuck, and the bros all over the gym heard Matty’s cries of joy and ecstasy.
The computer dinged:
INCREDI-BRO! ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED. JOCK FRAT BRO
+20 HAPPY +20 PRIDE + 20 SWOLE -20 IQ
Max whooped with glee, fist pumping in the air! He didn’t notice that his room had further changed. His pristine bed, becoming undone, crinkled and a bit smelly. Tanks, sleeveless shirts and basketball shorts had materialized in random piles all over his room, and his wardrobe completely changed to reflect his new status as a jock frat bro. Neither did he notice that there was now a dull fog in his head and that all the knowledge from his science and math classes had all left him. He was also now majoring in criminal justice. The cruise major.
All of the Greek letters on his shirt had also changed. He was no longer a member of ZIT fraternity, but was a proud brother of Mu Alpha Nu… MAN. They were the cockiest, manliest alphas of the campus and they fucking ruled! Hell yeah!
Max looked at the time and freaked! It was getting late and he still had to make a beer run to buy the keg and plastic cups for the kegger at his off-campus house tonight! It was gonna be a bro-tastic party, cause he and his bros only threw the most bro-tastic parties. He was gonna get shit-faced, and he knew he was gonna fuck a couple of hotties tonight, but it was ok, cause he also planned a killer workout for tomorrow.
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 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.
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