What Have You Done?

What Have you Done?

I had intended that inanimate story from earlier to be a one-off piece, but after receiving a comment, I think I’ve seen an opening for it to continue, though I think I’ll shift this one to the third person perspective. Please, enjoy.

That was the cry, over and over again as the target breathed shallowly. The barrel of his gun pointed directly at the man’s head. He couldn’t have been much older than his early twenties, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Whether he was a mutant, an alien, or the result of some strange supernatural event, the agency had sent Stallone to acquire him, alongside his partner. “Briggs, you got him?” Stallone asked of his partner, never allowing his eyes to stray from the man, whose head was currently in his hands as he shook it back and forth again.

A high pitched rising glissando signaled the charging in Briggs’ taser as he raised one hand to face the target. The other held a syringe. “Keep him in your sites,” Briggs said tersely. “I know what I’m doing, Briggs.” A choking stutter of a breath rose in the target as he struggled not to sob. Tears pattered against the hard wood of his table. “What have you done?” The light from the fixture overhead shone on his thin blond hair, revealing the receding hairline and the gleaming scalp beneath. A cold winter wind blew harshly against the apartment window. He had yet to move, or even to try to resist. Stallone blinked rapidly as his eyes became irritated briefly. When he’d cleared his vision, he refocused on the target. Briggs hovered next to the man, with the needle poised for insertion. His brow furrowed in concentration as his reddish-brown beard twitched from clenching his teeth. “What are you waiting for?” Stallone growled. Briggs moved slowly, imperceptibly towards the target’s neck, yet with every passing second, the movement became slower. The man’s arm began to tremble as the needle neared the skin, and his biceps and triceps strained, as if against some invisible force. “I’m ... trying,” Briggs grunted through clenched teeth. “Oh, for %#@!’s sake,” Stallone snarled. “Give it here.” He strode over and reached to grab the needle. That was when he heard the fatal pop as the taser launched. Then all he knew was pain. His muscles twitched and spasmed as the electrical current coursed through his nervous system.

Briggs’ eyes were wide with horror. “I’m not doing this. I’m not doing this!” he protested over and over, even as his hand continued to clench the trigger firmly. So caught up in his distress was he that he didn’t even notice how the plastic seeped over his skin, spreading like molasses, and then hardening into polished black metal. When he finally did notice, he dropped the needle in shock. “What the--?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” the target said as he looked up at the pair. Tears coursed down his cheeks in rivers as he watched. The light danced over his eyes, causing the gray-blue in those orbs to brighten.

Briggs clutched the offending appendage with his free arm, even as the substance continued to spread. Fabric bulked and strained as strong, well-built muscle surged into a block-like parody. “What’s ... happening?” he cried as he strained against his arm. Soon his body began to lean as the mass continued to expand and fabric began to tear. The current continued to flow as the taser writhed like a living thing. It seeped into his hand, then crawled up, never breaking the connection to the wires as two ports suddenly opened with a mechanical whirring along his forearm. “What did you do to m--?” He cried in pain as the needle he had planned to inject in his target jammed into the muscle between his shoulder and neck. 

Stallone writhed on the floor with each new electrical pulse. It seemed to run on a timer. It would sustain itself for a few seconds, then ease, and his limbs would twitch on their own as his nervous system struggle to compensate for the sudden disruption. Then, just as he was ready to act, the current would fire again, and he would be stuck right where he had been in the beginning. With each surge, his nerves would fire off all at once. And with each easing, the frazzled system would buzz and tingle, struggling to reconnect. Eventually, things became sort of ... numb. Oh, his body would still dance, like a marionette in a toddler’s hands, but he couldn’t really feel the pain so much anymore. A strange sense of apathy descended as he watched. And much to his surprise, when he blinked at something, he seemed almost to zoom in on that spot, sort of like a camera lens. He would have chuckled, had he had control of his body, a brief, humorless thing. He felt more intrigued than concerned when he locked onto the needle and followed its flight path. Another surge of electricity, and suddenly he could picture a hundred different scenarios at once for where the needle would land. Number 56 proved correct. He suspected it might. After all, trajectory was his specialty. He blinked again, and the brief whir and click of a mechanical shutter greeted his ears as a great red targeting reticle appeared around the edges of his vision. The next current laid him out flat as a board, his face frozen into a grim-set line.

Briggs heaved as he hunched forward, resting his new titanic metal hand on the floor. His shoulders snapped and cracked as they broadened, shredding the fibers of his shirt apart to reveal the currents of energy surging under his skin like circuitry, before the soft substance hardened into a bulky carapace. The wound from the needle spurted briefly, and then the current reached it, and the needle pushed in. Briggs shuddered. Everything felt so strange. A sort of fogginess filled his brain as he clenched and unclenched that piece of him in time to ... what was it? Some sort of--EXECUTE--command? For some reason, it felt so good, when that part of him went off. Why did it ... feel good? Wasn’t he ... supposed to be ... doing ... something? COMMAND PROMPT: EXECUTE SEDATION DELIVERY DIAGNOSTIC

A slow mechanical whirr, not unlike the sound of a hydraulic cylinder, sounded in his ears. His body vibrated, and pleasure sang through his brain as he locked onto the two silos that had opened on top of his shoulders. He shuddered again as twin belts began to move in those silos, cycling the ammunition, a familiar set of needles. 1 Chunk 2 Click 3 Chunk 4 Click 5 Chunk 6 Click

... It felt so good to count them. Rigid. Orderly. All must be in order. The whirring sounded again as he turned his head to the target on the floor. He didn’t even have to think about it anymore. The current went on its own. He watched, unblinking, as the power jumped through his cable delivery system. His optic units cycled as they zoomed in on the target he had snared. Stallone shuddered as his body jumped again. He heard the popping detonation as the seams burst apart on Briggs’ legs. He watched as cold, hard metal replaced weak flesh. Knees and joints were replaced with intricate metallic counterparts. Feet burst free from the confines of the changing man’s shoes, only to reveal the thick metallic boot of the mechanoid he was rapidly becoming. Briggs’ eyes flashed a bright neon blue, and the sound of mechanical servos at work filled the air as the almost-robot rose to its feet, even as the needles that had once been one single item cycled through on their ammo belts. Ammo. The energy coursed through Stallone’s body once more. This time, the power spread over his flesh, just as it had Briggs. Stallone’s body practically exploded out of his clothes as his torso expanded, forcing his back up, and up, and up. His neck was consumed by the metal as his face became a convex sphere. The harsh creak of metal sounded as he groaned into an upright position, his body gleaming a sleek silver as his arms expanded into well-armored silos. Port after port opened to reveal a legion of gun barrels. His head hunched forward as the massive mound his back had become opened to reveal a silo filled with heat-seeking and anti-tank missiles. His eyes were gradually replaced with two bright red LED units covered in a red blast-proof polymer designed to shield his ocular units from damage. His mouth became little more than a flat line that flashed with red light as his speakers came on line. He slammed his hands into the ground and began to lift himself as his legs bent into an artificial crouch. Servos zipped and whirred as his waist spun left and right, testing the new system integration, while the rest of his lower parts expanded to support the weight of his hull. He felt no regrets as his weak organic heart slowed to a crawl, shuddered weakly, and then gave up the ghost. In a matter of nanoseconds, the pathetic organ had been remade into his true heart, a power core that supplied him with the vast stores of energy he required to fulfill his function. Fulfill ... its function. QUERY: WHAT IS THIS UNIT’S FUNCTION?

The new bot rose slowly to its feet. It towered over the other unit as its scanners passed over the room. It detected no current threats. But ... threats to what? It ran its logic processors over this new query as it watched its brother unit retract its stun prongs. Then its ocular units locked onto the organic that looked on them with an expression the unit did not quite understand. The last dim spark of its fleeting humanity whispered the word, haunted.  And suddenly, the unit knew its function. “PRIMARY FUNCTION IDENTIFIED: SERVE AND PROTECT DESIGNATED USER.” The ground shook with every step the combat unit took. It watched as the red organic hair melted into shiny red metal over its brother unit’s face to add a menacing element to its appearance. The material up top rose into rigid spikes that arced with energy. The hinges on its jaw creaked as it opened to reveal a speaker with several interlocking metal pieces along the inside. A swift scan revealed their primary function was to act as an amplifier and a method to control the direction the sound would travel. The system deployed briefly, then retracted once more as the unit finally finished cycling through its silos and lowered them again to blend seamlessly into its armor. “PRIMARY FUNCTION ACKNOWLEDGED. DESIGNATED USER IDENTIFIED. STUN UNIT 001, CODE NAME: WILLBREAKER, READY TO SERVE.” It strode in a rigid march to stand before its designated user and snapped to attention, its vibrant blue ocular units flashing as it completed its action. “AWAITING ORDERS.”

The massive combat unit lumbered over, its ponderous legs smashing into the ground as it joined its brother unit. “HEAVY COMBAT UNIT 001, CODE NAME: WORLDSHAKER, READY TO SERVE.”

The man sunk to his knees. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. The two units remained silent and unmoving as their new master cried himself out. Such organic things were beyond their comprehension. His vitals were all normal, so there was no need for them to intervene. Eventually, the fit passed, and their designated user looked up into their ocular units. “Why were you trying to kidnap me?” he asked in a tired sigh as his shoulders slumped and he fished out a tissue from a pocket to clear his nasal passages. “DOES NOT COMPUTE. PRIMARY FUNCTION IS TO SERVE AND PROTECT,” the two units said together. Their user sighed. “Okay, then, let me try this another way. Where is your point of origin? Where did you come from, before you came to me?” The two units stopped for a moment. The lights that helped to make up their “faces” flashed as they processed the request. Then the lights ignited completely as the search completed itself. “POINT OF ORIGIN FOUND,” they said together. Their user stared at them with narrowed, puffy bloodshot eyes. “Take me there.”

Real Men’s Journal Part 8

~DAY???~

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

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

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

Doctor’s Log Entry

~October 24th, 2016~

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

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

 ~October 26th~

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

 ~October 27th~

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

 ~October 30th~

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

 ~November 10th~

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

 ~November 12th~

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

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

 ~November 13th~

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

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

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

 ~November 23rd~

Datalog entry file 56. Case:  The Mysterious Resistance

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

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

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

 ~November 24th~

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

 ~November 25th~

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

 ~November 26th~

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

 ~November 30th~

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

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

 ~December 5th~

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

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

 ~December 10th~

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

Real Men’s Journal: Part 5

~Day 28~

           … I can’t believe what I just saw today. I … everyone saw it. And it wasn’t inside. What happened before must have been real. But how? What’s the point? This changes everything. Just … just let me explain it.

Jake actually tried to escape today. He ran for the wall and started to climb. The coaches tried barking orders for him to get down before he hurt himself, you know, stuff like that. He wouldn’t listen. For such a weak little guy, he was surprisingly agile as he climbed. It didn’t last long though. The men on the wall picked him off before he had the chance to get much further. First they shot him with the darts. I can’t count how many must have hit him. Somehow he kept climbing despite it until he reached the top. That’s where the real bad stuff went down.

           “’Sup, bro?” One of the thugs said. Jake just sort of stared at them. Then it came again. “’Sup, bro?” Another said and they all just smiled at him, repeating the same thing over and over. It just kept going and going and going, annoying the crap out of me.

It did worse for Jake.

He grabbed at his head like he had a migraine or something. Next thing I know, I hear grunting, then a popping sound. I watched as he slowly began to grow, tearing through his pants and shirt. He blew up like a balloon. All the while the jocks kept repeating “’Sup, bro? ‘Sup, bro? ‘Sup, bro?” I watched his dark hair lighten before my eyes as his skin started to tan. I shudder at the memory of it. He looked at his hands in horror. I remember that well. Then he tried to bolt. That’s when the flashy guns came up. Jake didn’t get very far along the wall.

           He ran and barreled through a couple of the thugs, the ones with the bandoliers and dart guns. They slapped him on the butt and the back as he passed, still repeating, still in perfect unison. “’Sup, bro?” I watched Jake’s hair retreat into a short crew cut. Yes, I know I sound crazy here, but I mean it. These changes happened nigh instantaneously. By now, his hair was a bleached blonde and he was running left and right as the other guards closed in with their silvery armor. I heard the cock of several cartridges being locked and loaded.

           “’Sup, bro?” Their voices rang across the yard. I heard their guns charge with a high pitched glissando. For those of you meatheads trying to read this, that’s a musical term. It means a note that gradually slides up without actually pausing for a break or a rest between the notes. Then there was a bright flash. I heard the discharge. Their lips had stopped moving, I was certain, but for some reason I could still hear those words echoing in my head. I still do. Probably because of the horror associated with them.

           I heard a scream, high pitched with terror, gradually crack, then suddenly drop into a deep bass yell. The light kept streaming, the yell kept coming. Then, slowly, the light died. The screaming stopped and the compound was silent, as were we strong ones left. The other mental lightweights looked on in anticipation. Then the crowd on the wall parted to let a dazed-looking, massive, tanned meathead look down at us. All he had on was a tightly straining jock strap. I looked away in revulsion from that vacant stare, that wide, stupid grin. But though I may have closed my eyes to it and him, his voice was something different. It rumbled across the courtyard. It echoed in my eardrums. And it filled me with a terrible sense of dread.

           “’Sup, bros?” he said and the rest of the thugs on the wall swarmed him, congratulated him, slapped him on the back. I heard a loud snap and knew his last article of clothing was gone. A platoon of practically identical meatheads surrounded him and began to escort him along the wall. I heard his deep bassoon laugh the whole way. “I’m a jock, bro. I’m a big fuckin’ dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge.” The group continued to cheer, hooting and hollering. Then it turned into a chant, just like before. First it echoed on the parapets, then it started low in the grounds, just a whisper. Slowly, it increased as another joined in, and yet another, flexing and grinning like fools. And the coaches just looked on and smirked, nodding in approval. Slowly it died down and the meathead that used to be Jake disappeared. That didn’t stop the thralls down here from enjoying themselves though. That stupid phrase must be a key. It accelerates their mental degradation. We’ll have to be careful.

Jake is gone now, and with the guards armed with technology like that, we don’t stand a chance at escape during the day. By night, our barracks, or our communal cell as I like to look at it, is locked up tight. I’m still no closer to getting out of here. At this rate, I don’t know how much longer we can hold on.

 ~Day 30~

ACCESSING # 56 AUDIO FILE 005

           “It’s been a couple of days since we lost Jake. Our little group is falling apart to despondency. I can’t say I blame them. There has to be a common factor; some way they’re doing this to us, but I still don’t know what it is. I have to assume it’s some sort of chemical conversion designed to stunt brain development and maximize muscle mass combined with hypnosis and mind control. Or perhaps it’s designed to rewrite the neural pathways of the brain and make you think and act like a dumb jock. Whatever the case may be, it seems to be working … only too well. I caught a glimpse of our former classmates in the cafeteria today. They’ve grown positively massive. I suppose with regular exercise, it’s possible to experience these kinds of changes in a month, but still … I’m not entirely sure about this. Perhaps the chemical is designed to put us into an accelerated rate of puberty? A sort of hyper puberty if you will? Though if Jake’s transformation is anything to go by, it seems this drug, or chemical, or whatever it is, is designed to benefit the body physically everywhere, so I doubt it’s a steroid. It’s possible that this chemical is one that, once built in the system long enough, becomes naturally produced within the body and constantly renews itself.

           “Still, the method of delivery is a matter of concern. I would assume there are a few possibilities for how they slip it to us. The first and most likely is through our food and drink. Probably in smaller doses. It seems that the drug, or whatever it is, won’t take effect without permission from the user. At least not in the smaller dosages given in the food. I think that’s what the recordings are for. If what I heard is any indication, it weakens the mind and reinforces the idea of working out regularly and the desire for muscles and power. Such exertions must be the key to triggering the effects of the chemical. And the more they work, the bigger their appetites grow, and the more they consume. It’s a vicious cycle, that is, if that really is how they’re reaching us.

“*Sigh* I wish I had a lab to use. Then I could analyze my hypothesis; figure out if they have a “secret ingredient” in the food. I’d just stick it in a solution and pop it in a machine to let the chemical analysis take place. Then I’d just have to wait. Waiting’s always something I’ve been good at. Waiting and waiting and weighting and lifting weights and … What was I -- saying?”

“Starting to feel it, aren’t ya, Kyle?”

“Feel what, Branden? Just get away from me already. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Huhuhuhuh, course you’re not in the mood. It’s ‘cause you worry too much. Ya gotta think simple, ya know? Focus more on these, and less on that.”

“Just because you’ve chosen to give in to these psychopaths and become one of them doesn’t mean I have.”

“My muscles are a fuckin’ mountain. Look at these abs. Look at this bod. I see how much you watch us, Kyle. You want these muscles. You want this strength.”

“Not at the cost it takes to get them. Look at yourself, Branden! You used to be the top in your physics class. You loved to read and write and work on labs. Now all you do is shower, eat, workout, shower, sleep, repeat. You’re dull, Branden. Getting duller all the time.”

“Don’t need brains when I got these.”

“Those are nothing in the real world. You said so yourself.”

“I was wrong. Gettin’ swole’s fuckin’ awesome. I feel great! Brawn over Brains, Ky.”

“It’s Kyle, Branden. Now get out of my face and leave me alone.”

“Fine, ya little prick. You’ll see things my way soon enough. Oh, don’t forget your scan.” *Deep Laughter*

END TRANSMISSION

That jerk! He’s turning just as bad as those bullies, Damien and Brian, were. But he was right about one thing. I am a little jealous of all the muscles around here. And I’ll never be able to have some of my own. I’ll likely die before I get the chance. I’m going to try to keep a detailed report of my personal statistics with body alterations from this experience, and possible modifications in personal behavior. If they show, I’ll know I’ve been compromised and that I need to fight. If not, then well.

At least one thing he has right is my need to scan. I haven’t done that in a while. The system will lock me out if I don’t get it done soon. And after that I have some rather … urgent matters to attend to. I’ll write again later with my next update.

 ~Day 33~

           The days have been pretty much the same thing. Get up early, shower before the other jocks-to-be, get dressed, get breakfast, do the mandatory check in at the gym, then leave as soon as possible. We’ve lost a lot more people to this “process” since Jake changed. They figured they might as well enjoy the changes instead of getting hit by a bunch of darts or blown away by what appears to have been some form of laser beam. More and more I hear them repeat their mantras as television screens flicker and headphones plug in. Before my eyes, I am watching intelligent, kind people turn into idiotic jerks who couldn’t even tell me two plus two without a calculator.

           Even Chris is showing signs of flagging. I see him eating more, staying in the gym a little longer. He said he’s keeping an eye on the others, but I’m not so sure. I see him staring at the others as they enter the shower together, laughing, reveling, hooting like a bunch of animals. I think I see longing in those eyes. I’m getting kind of scared. Soon I’ll be alone. I’ll be all that’s left. And then they’ll come for me.

 ~Day 38~

           It’s been about a week. Getting harder to find time to just write in this thing. People keep trying to get me to work out with them, be all buddy buddy brain drain. How cute. I’ve been trying to just stay out of everybody’s way. The process seems to be accelerating. I see them wearing their headphones almost 24/7 now. It’s all “Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, sir. Wanna be big. Gotta be big. Gotta be swole. Need to get swole. Need to obey nnnnnneeeed to … listen

Gotta scanscanscanscanscan … I … something issssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssszx----------

           JOURNAL ENTRY SAVED

 ~Day 39~

           I blacked out again. What the hell just happened? There I was writing about all the stuff those meatheads are saying and then I got this weird sort of … Idunno, pain in my head? I woke up a sweaty mess in my gym clothes and I’m sore all over. All the jocks are looking at me like a side of meat. And all my changing roommates, what’s left of them, just smirk at me like they’ve got some kind of inside joke going on. What kind of sick place is this? Did those dickwadds put something in my drink yesterday? And what’s with the others shying away from me? I’m still the same old Kyle I’ve always been.

Kevin, on the other hand, now he’s gotten absolutely huge. He’s been sort of cropping up from time to time. He tries to keep out of my sight, but when you’ve gotten as tall as six feet and you’re even half as bulked up as the rest of the guys here, it’s hard to hide. He looks … I don’t know, sort of conflicted, I guess. They gave him a haircut, finally. Now he’s styled close-cropped. Got that Caesar look going for him. His glasses disappeared a while ago now. I guess they must’ve gotten him contacts. Or maybe something in the drug makes it so he doesn’t need them anymore? That’s an amazing medical application now that I think about it. Could you imagine that? A cure for blindness, any ailment, really, I guess. Cancer, AIDS, all the big diseases would be gone in an instant. Pity I don’t have the formulae, that is, if they really are using a drug. I suppose it could be genetic therapy, but that would take a virus of some kind and we’d be laid up and sick while they tried to rewrite our genetic code. Nobody’s been sick, so I doubt that could be the case.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, Kevin. He’s been sort of looking over my shoulder. They’ve given him some new clothes. Now he’s wearing spandex like some of the gym helpers around the area. And may I just say, holy crap, he’s hung! I mean seriously, did they stuff some tube socks down there or something? He’s still kind of shy about it when I see him in the gym. He’s been volunteering as one of the helpers, I guess. Bringing protein shakes, helping spot, making sure they’re listening to their “coach,” that sort of thing. The rest of the team … well, I guess I can call them that anyways, either that or drones. Yeah, drones is better. The rest of the drones were all around him, patting him on the back, encouraging him. Feeding his ego. They say when he’s done he’ll be “the swolest dude around.” He’d always smile and shudder after that. He’s gone a long ways. I don’t even know if he’s the same Kevin or not anymore, but that shy streak gives me some hope. Maybe he’ll be lucky. Maybe he’ll keep his original personality. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Chris.

I caught our mighty leader today being a slack-jawed pile of tapioca as he listened to his headphones on his bed. I tapped his shoulder and he just kept where he was. He was totally relaxed, his face a blank slate. You have no idea how creepy that is. And that erection … holy crap, it’s worse than Dick and Tracey’s! He was muttering, just like everyone else. You know the usual bit. Talking about being bigger, buffer, swole, all that good stuff. And, of course, it had to have the same dialogue and key phrase every muscle head’s been using. Seriously, can’t these guys come up with something more original? Then again, I guess they’re trying to squash originality here. Original means different. And different can’t be tolerated when you’re slowly brainwashing everyone to be the same. Here’s what he said.

“Yes. Wanna be a man. Wanna be massive. I will be massive. Massive, manly man. Yes. Massive manly men have massive manly bulges. (So that’s where they insert the trigger words.) Yes, sir, coach. Real men swear. Real men don’t care. I … I wanna …” he scrunched his brows together at this point, like he was resisting. Guess the old man had language issues. Then he smiled and relaxed. “Big brawny men have big bulging dicks.” He chuckled. “Big dick. Big dick.” I could hear the hissing as one of his headphones knocked loose from the laughter.

“That’s right,” it hissed. “Big men have big dicks. And you’re gonna be a big man, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, sir, coach,” he said. I think I recognized the voice, but … I’m not too sure. Can’t think where I heard it before.

The hissing paused a moment as if assessing his reaction. Was this a live feed hypnosis? Or was the technology so advanced it was interactive?

“And what do massive, manly men care about?”

           “Muscles.”

           “And what do you care about?”

           “Muscles.”

           “And?” it pressed.

           “My big dick,” he said, grinning goofily.

           “That’s right, your big fucking dick.”

           “My big fucking dick,” Chris parroted.

           “You liked that, didn’t you, Chris? Felt good to curse, good to swear.”

           “Uhhhh …” he blushed.

           “It feels good to curse. Feels good to swear. Real men don’t care, remember? And you’re a real man, so you don’t care either.”

           “Yes, sir. Feels good to curse. Feels good to swear about my big fucking dick.” He shuddered in pleasure. “I don’t fuckin’ care about what some jackass says. I like to curse and I like to swear, damnit.” He was starting to get into it.

           “Good boy. You really want this, don’t you? You want to be a massive manly man with a massive manly bulge.”

           “Yes, sir. Want this. More than anything. Want to be a Massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.” He patted the bulge just to make a point of it and shuddered again.

           “Big, massive … and dumb.” I don’t know why, but I took a deep breath then and just waited. Guess I was rooting for Chris to come out on top. He wasn’t like this. He didn’t want to be one of them. He was respectable. Owned his own business. He was one of the smartest here. Surely he wouldn’t give up that easily.

           “Fuckin’ big,” he chuckled as he flexed a muscle and shuddered. I gawked. He wouldn’t.

           “Fuckin’ massive.” He groaned and I … I swear, I thought I saw his bulge get bigger, no kidding. How did he even have room for that monster? He looked so out of it, like a druggie on a massive high. Guess I would be too if I had that much testosterone raging in my system.

           “And?” the voice prompted.

           I hoped just a little that he’d resist, that he wouldn’t give in. That he’d tear those earbuds out and shout at the voice. Tell it to go to hell or something. Instead he just turned that smile into an empty headed grin.

           “And fuckin’ dumb,” he lolled.

           “What’s the number for pi?”

           “3.14,” he responded. There was hope for him yet. The voice sighed.

           “The bigger you get, the more you work out, the happier you’ll be.”

           “Yes, sir. Just like you said.”

           “But that won’t be all.”

           “Won’t be all.”

           “You’ll want to be bigger. Need it. Crave it. And more than that, you’ll crave the companionship of bigger muscleheads. You’ll join them in the showers. You’ll follow them to their tables. Eat the same food. And the more gains you make in your body, the less you’ll make in your mind, got it?”

           “… Yes, sir. Wanna be bigger. Bigger man. Bigger dick. Bigger muscles.”

           “And who do you need to be with?”

           “Muscleheads. Big men. Huge men.”

           “And what will you do with them?”

           “Everything.”

           “That’s right. Until you’re just like them.”

           “… Just like them.”

           “Bigger is better.” Bigger is better.

           “Bigger is better,” he parroted.

           “Bigger is dumber.” Bigger is dumber.

           “Bigger is dumber.”

           “You want to be big.” I want to be big.

           “I want to be big.” I want to be big.

           “So you want to be dumb.”

           “So I want to be dumb.” So I want to be dumb.

           “The bigger you get, the dumber you get.”

           “The bigger I get, the dumber I get.” The bigger I get, the dumber I get.

           “The more the muscle, the less the brains.”

           “More muscle, less brains.” More muscle, less brains.

           “The bigger your dick, the smaller your brain.”

           “Huhuhu, bigger dick. Smaller brain. I like my big fucking dick.” Big dick. Small brain.

           “You want a bigger dick.”

           “I want a bigger dick.” I want a bigger dick.

           “Every day you’ll feel horny.”

           “Every day I’ll feel horny.” I feel horny.

           “You’ll relieve your stress in the showers.”

           “Relieve in the showers.” Relieve in the showers.

           “You’ll do it with the men.” Do it with the men.

           “I’ll do it with the men.” I’ll do it with the men.

           “With the team.”

           “With the team.” With the team.

           “In your designated stall.”

           “In my designated stall.” In my designated stall.

           “Tell me your number.”

           “Number 100.” Number 56.

           “From now on you will use the stall number to match your team number. That will be your stall.”

           “From now on, I’ll use my stall.” From now on, I’ll use my stall.

           “And what is your stall?”

           “Number 100.” Number 56.

           “That’s right. And each time you relieve yourself, the better it’ll feel. And each day you’ll grow bigger, and so will your dick.”

           “Yyyeessss …” Bigger every day. Bigger dick. Bigger pleasure.

           “Just like the team.”

           “Just like the team.” Just like the team.

           “The men are your team.”

           “The men are my team.” The men are my team.

           “You love to show off.”

           “Love to show off.” Love to show off.

           “And what do you show off?”

           “Muscles.” Brains.

           “That’s right; muscles.” … Muscles. Show off muscles. Not brains. Brawn.

           “You don’t care about brains.”

           “Don’t care about brains.” Don’t care about brains.

           “You don’t like brains.”

           “Don’t like brains.” Don’t like … brains?

           “Brains don’t matter.”

           “Brains don’t matter.” Brains don’t matter.

           “Whenever someone compliments you on your muscles or your progress, you’ll be very happy. And every time they mention a massive, manly bulge, you’ll join them in a chant.”

           “Happy about muscle compliments. Join when say ‘massive, manly bulge.’” Enjoy compliments. Massive, manly bulge.

           “You’ll listen to your recordings all the time. You’ll hardly take out your headphones except when you’re with the team, cleaning up, or picking on the weak ones.”

           “Listen all the time.” Listen to recordings.

           “Think like a muscle head. Think like a jock. Be like a jock. Become a jock. Just like the rest.”

           “Think muscle. Think jock. Be jock. Become jock. Just like rest.” Just like the rest. Think … think … like a … think …

           “Scan yourself every day. You need to every day.”

           “Need to scan … every day.” Must scan daily.

           “Now take off those headphones and go work out. Be proud about it.”

           “Yes, sir!” Yes sir …

�0���D

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!

Real Men’s Journal: Part 6

~DAY ???~

           I … I don’t know what happened. I just sort of blacked out. And my last journal response … What the hell? Have they been hypnotizing me in my sleep or something? The quarters are full again, but … I don’t recognize anyone. My head is killing me. And I feel … heavier. My damn tablet won’t show me the date. Thanks again, Dick and Tracy, you dimwits. I wonder where Kevin is and how he’s doing. And Chris. He’s the one responsible for me being in this mess in the first place.

           Just got scanned. Damn, I lost that much weight already? And … wow, I’m taller too. But that’d mean I’ve been here for months. I’d have to have been. I mean, if I came back out of that stupor or whatever it was, then the chemical or whatever it is they’re using can’t have worked on me the same way it did the others, right? Crap, who cares? I just need to find a way out of here. And I need to um … take care of some business. I’ll uh … be right back.

           …

           Man that felt good. Nice shower. Real nice. … And stuff. I’m kinda worried. My junk looks a little bigger. Is it a natural effect from puberty? Or is it this process? And … where are all the newcomers? Place looks empty. Guess I’ll go look for em.

           … Damn, it’s a whole new class. I’m eating breakfast in the hall right now. There was a whole escort surrounding them. And I saw one wearing 100 on his back. Here’s the recording. Decided to try the video. You know, to mix things up a little. Recordings are a bit boring sometimes. You can see it when you want.

           ~ACCESSING # 56 VIDEO FILE 001~

           A large adult in his late twenties stares out with spiked raven-black hair. His uniform is a black spandex two-piece and strains against his bulging muscles with a 100 over the left pec. A bony, square jaw juts out as he scratches himself down below. His eyes are a cloddish brown with thick, lumpish eyebrows shadowing them. They’re practically simian. He seems to just stare off into space as he keeps a firm grip on a young boy with red hair and freckles. The boy is highly obese and his eyes are a bright green. He looks rather sad.

           “Chris? Chris, is that you?”

           The big man looks over with his thick muck eyes, a confused look on his face. He stretches his free large arm. As he does so, he flexes a bicep as big as a football. The camera pans down to reveal a heavy set of legs and a straining bulge that is clearly visible inside the jockstrap that must be beneath the material. The camera freezes there for a time before going down to the feet where a heavy set of cleats shows massive feet, digging into the earth and leaving imprints behind as the line moves forward. Then it pans back up to the man and his furrowed brow.

           “’Sup, bro? You uh … lookin’ for someone?”

           “Chris, it’s me, Kyle.” The camera rushes up and the lens is zoomed onto the left pec, showing nothing but the big zero at the end of the number and the black in its middle. The flesh is straining against the fabric, leaving a tight imprint.

           “Dude, seriously, too close for comfort. Back up, bro. I got a kid to watch.”

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

           “I look like I’m laughin, kid? Back up, seriously. I’m not … Groan … not Chris. Qu-quit screwin’ with me.”

           “Chris—WOAH!” The camera is suddenly shoved violently back as it shakes and the sound of hitting ground and scraping dirt is heard as the lens shakes at the sky. Then it’s readjusted to face the musclehead again, who’s heaving now.

           “I’m NOT Chris! I’m fuckin’ Heavy 100% muscle, got it, ya pussy? Go play with your toy. Let the real men do the work ‘round here. Fuckin’ lightweight. I’m a massive manly man with a massive manly bulge n’ that’s all I’ll ever be. Now buzz off!”

           “Is there a problem here, 100?” The camera turns to face an even larger man with a closely shaved blonde crewcut. His coach’s shirt hugs tightly to his chest and his dark blue eyes burn. “Well well, what have we here?” he sneered. “It’s you, is it? The troublemaker who messed with my 86? Hmmmm … not bad. Lost some weight, have we? Gotten a little muscle? It looks … nice.” He smirked.

           “I … Groan Th--thank you …”

           “No need to thank me. I’m just here to … chaperone.” He looked at the camera, then his face turned up towards a space ahead. It turned hungry as his eyes went up and down. “Hmmm … yes. Not too bad at all. Needs some … training though.”

           “Sir?” The big man holding the boy spoke up. “He makes my head hurt.”

           “Don’t worry, 100, just think about all those weights waiting for you once the escort is done. And that massive, manly bulge of yours you’re so fond of.”

           “Massive, manly bulge. My massive, manly bulge.” He chuckled and flexed an arm, shuddering in pleasure. The chant was soon taken up by the other men in the line.

           “Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. We’ll grow and stretch and lift and swell with our massive, manly bulge…”

“Hey, q-quit it. That’s not … you’re not …” The screen begins to tremble as it turns to face 100. “S-stop it. This isn’t … my … feel funny.” The camera turns to a sneering coach.

“Here, boy, let me take that off your hands, hmm? You look like you’re about ready to drop it.” He chuckles as he reaches for it with his big, meaty hands. The lens is then turned to face a tall boy with a good average build. His loose shorts and shirt hang limply, but his arms look well-toned. His eyes are a light, cool blue as he clutches at his brown hair.

“Give that back. Give … give … M-meeee …. That … i-it’s my—my—mmmmmassive … so … massive.” He shudders and suddenly his eyes look more dense and a dimwitted smile comes across his face while he looks at the larger muscle-men with sheer adoration.

“That’s the spirit. What do you have to say to me now, eh, boy?”

“Wanna be a big boy. Wanna be a good boy. Big boys grow into big men.” He smiles.

“And big men have what?”

“Big muscles.”

“And what else?” The boy’s face widens to a grin. “A massive, manly bulge.” The camera pans down to his shorts where a small bump pushes.

“And good boys grow into big boys, don’t they?”

“Grow big. Grow massive. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Wanna be a massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.” The bump grew slowly bigger.

“And what’s inside that bulge?”

“Huhuh-HU-h,” his voice cracked. “My … uh … my penis.”

“Your what?”

“You know … my privates. My massive, manly bulge.”

“Just call it what it is, son,” the voice sighed.

“Uhhh … I thought I did?” the bulge starts to shrink.

“Sigh, Just keep going, alright, boy? Follow the program. Listen to the recordings. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, sir. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Work out, be big, be buff, be swole, with my massive, manly bulge.” The bump grows again as he repeats the chant. When the men begin to stop, the boy follows with them and the bulge shrinks, but not as much.

“Take this, son. I’ll be seeing you later, mark my words.” The lens is covered by a palm and there is the sound of shifting air and the smack of the cover closing.

“Ugh … what happened?”

END TRANSMISSION

So uh … yeah. I guess that guy wasn’t Chris. He’d never have done something like shove me back or anything like that. I see him piling up his plate. Lots of eggs, sausage, and bacon. Guess you gotta have the protein to build that muscle. And when you’re their size, you must need a lot just to keep things the same. Found out the coach’s name was Stone. Guess that fits. He’s built like a freakin’ rock. Biggest mountain of muscle I’ve ever seen. The things I could do if I were built like that … but never mind. He’s kinda been eying me since I started breakfast and it’s really creeping me out. I’m not some slab of meathead … meathead … meathead. Gah! I can’t even write it properly!

But on the other hand, I have to admit, this food is still just as good, if not better. Everyone’s looking at me all funny, actually. The kids look scared and the meatheads, they look … eager. I’m a little scared of what’s going to happen. I blacked out again, and I feel horny as hell. It’s too soon. I shouldn’t, but I do. And I feel … Idunno, more snug down there, if you catch my drift. Whatever they’re doing to me must be accelerating. I have to find a way to fight back, to reverse this somehow. And … the others! I can warn them! I just … need to do … something else first …

 ~DAY ???~

The hell? I just woke up to my headphones plugged in my ears listening to some damn hypnosis file! Augh! What is wrong with me?! I feel like I want to punch something. And the way I am right now, I could probably leave a pretty good mark, too. I just hope I was able to warn those poor fellahs. Probably better check on them. It sounds like a few are in the showers. Maybe I’ll have a talk with them … after I take care of some pressing business. In the showers. In stall 56. In my stall. Yeah …

…

ACCESSING # 56 SESSION ASSESSMENT:

SUBJECT RESPONSE RATE:  65%

SUBJECT PROGRESS:  Minimal

SUBJECT RANK:  Beginner

REMOTE ACCESS REQUEST RECEIVED:  INPUT PASSCODE

*******_*****_*****

PROCESSING REQUEST …

PASSCODE ACCEPTED:  WELCOME, USER STONE.

PLEASE ENTER COMMAND:  ___ ACCESS RECORDING

CONFIRMED:  PLEASE SELECT RECORDING TYPE

1.     SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL AUDIO MP.3

2.     SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL VIDEO

3.     SUBJECT 56 PROGRESS VIDEO

CONFIRMED:  LOADING SUBJECT 56 PROGRESS VIDEO LIST

SELECT VIDO

ACCESSING VIDEO FILE 5

           “You’re doing it wrong, kid.” A green hologram the size of a human stands to the right. It’s as large as Stone was, but this one has slightly longer hair. “Tuck those arms in. That’s it. You’re not a chicken, so don’t flap.”

           “Yes, coach.” The brown haired youth from before is working at a press designed to work the pectorals and the inner arm muscles. He’s a sweaty mess, but looks eager enough as he works to press again. The camera zooms in on the weight and reads it at one hundred pounds before zooming out.

“Good. Now that’s proper form. Keep that up and try to make a set of ten, alright, Kyle?” The boy does so slowly and the hologram smiles “Excellent. Keep that up and you’ll be ready to progress in no time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want to progress.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You love the burn as you work out.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when you’re finished here, get back to your recordings. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes, sir, coach.”

100 walks up and hands a protein shake to the boy after he finishes his set.

“Drink. It’ll make ya swole like me.” 100 sneered as the boy finished his set and began to down the shake.

“Gotta get swole,” Kyle murmured between sips.

“Good boy,” the hologram said. “Just keep focusing on building those muscles, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You only care about your muscles.”

“Yes, sir.”

           “Bigger Muscles. Bigger bulge. Bigger you. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

           “Bigger is better,” 100 boomed.

           “Buffer is tougher,” Kyle droned.

           “Good boy. Grow that massive, manly bulge,” the hologram said. Kyle shuddered, smiled, dropped his empty plastic shake cup on the ground and immediately went back to work.

           INSTRUCTION:  END RECORDING:  ACCCESS ADMINISTRATIVE SETTINGS:  HYPNOSIS

           END TRANSMISSION

           ACCESSING ADMINISTRATIVE SETTINGS:

           HYPNOSIS:

           SELECT PREFERENCE:

1.     HYPNOTIC SUGGESTIONS                  ON

2.     SUBLIMINAL MESSAGING                 ON

3.     POSTHYPNOTIC TRIGGERS                ON

4.     POSTHYPNOTIC SUGGESTIONS        OFF—ON

5.     BINAURAL BEATS                                OFF—ON

6.     MEATHEAD CONVERTER                   OFF—ON

7.     SCANNER AMPLIFICATION                OFF—ON

8.     DUMB JOCK.MP3                                  OFF—ON

9.     SPORTS CRAZE.MP3                             OFF—ON

10.  MUSCLE CRAVE.MP3                           OFF—ON

11.  GYM OBSESSED.MP3                           OFF—ON

12.  BODYBUILDER.MP3                             OFF—ON

13.  JOCK WALK.MP3                                   OFF—ON

14.  JOCK TALK.MP3                                    OFF—ON

15.  LANGUAGE.MP3                                    OFF—ON

16.  CRUDE DUDE.MP3                                OFF—ON

17.  BROAN OVA BRAYNES.MP3              OFF—ON

18.  DIMWIT.MP3                                          OFF—ON

19.  SCREW SCHOOL.MP3                           OFF—ON

20.  MANLYBULGE.MP3                              ON

21.  BIG COCK=DUMB JOCK.MP3             OFF—ON

22.  NARCISSUS.MP3                                    OFF—ON

23.  UNITY.MP3                                             OFF—ON

24.  ARROGANCE.MP3                                 OFF—ON

25.  BLOWHARD.MP3                                   OFF—ON

26.  BULKY BULLY.MP3                              OFF—ON

27.  RESPECT&OBEY.MP3                          OFF—ON

28.  TEAM PLAYER.MP3                              OFF—ON

29.  ONE OF US.MP3                                     OFF—ON

30.  NEVER GOING BACK.MP3                  OFF—ON

 LINK SCANNER TO CONVERTER?

 YES/NO

           SAVE CHANGES AND AUTHORIZATIONS?

                       YES/NO

           SAVING … SAVING … SAVING … CHANGES SAVED. REINITIALIZING.

           SYSTEM RESTART. ADMINISTRATOR LOG OUT.

           REBOOTING SYSTEM.

~DAY ???~

Damnit, I had to start a new entry. Guess I took too long at the showers. On the plus side, I think the others know now. So that’s the good news. And that shower was so good, too. I really needed to relieve myself in there. You know, stress and all that. Man, it just helped me to RELAX so much. I should shower more often. Anyways, it’s lights out time now, so I’ll write again later. Night.

 ~DAY???~

           Woke up this morning for the first time in ages without a headache. It’s so great! The newbies seem to be going through some of the symptoms I was facing, but overall, they’re adjusting alright. Went and said hi to the guys from the showers. I uh … couldn’t really remember their names, but they didn’t seem to mind. They said they were picked up at a gym their fathers went to.

Based on what they told me, their dads must’ve been through The Process already. Most of them had high-end jobs until about a year ago. They left on a supposed retreat and when they came back, they were ripped and muscle-driven. Ever since then, they sort of let their old jobs slide and started working out at the gym instead. To make ends meet, they became personal trainers. They certainly had no lack of customers after showing off just how swole-errr, big, they’d gotten. The kids and their mothers were more than a little concerned for the men with such a drastic change, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. As a father-son activity, their dads brought them to their recreational gym to work out together. For a bunch of muscleheads, they were surprisingly logical about the whole thing. To avoid any issues of work getting in the way, each had chosen a gym they didn’t work at to get a membership with:  one of those newer chains that’ve been popping up lately. Muscle Hustle? Muscle Fever? Muscle Lift? Muscle … muscle … ah to hell with it, I can’t remember and I really don’t care all that much. A gym’s a gym. You work out, get sweaty, bulk up, and get swole through mindless activity where you just BLANK OUT, then WORK OUT, then JOCK OUT. The rest was history. The boys blacked out when they were getting into their gym clothes and they woke up here with me. They were kinda scared of me after some stuff that happened at the cafeteria and the gym. They didn’t want to talk about it much, but I got past that eventually. Their names are Josh, Cooper, and Trent. Nice guys, actually.

They’re planning on going places with jobs like their dads used to have. Computer programming, Business Management, Typists, you know, stuff like that. You know, for supposed nerds, these guys actually aren’t that bad off. They’re fairly average in build and it looks like they’re pretty fit already. I wonder why they were taken in the first place. Most other targets were picked for being flabby, lazy, and addicted to junk food. This batch looks more … diverse. Aaaaand there’s the headache again. Great, just great. Guess it was too much to hope for just one FUCKING DAY where I don’t have to deal with this FUCKING MIGRAINE! Screw this! I’m goin’ to bed.

 ~DAY ???~

           ACCESSING # 56 VIDEO FILE 002

           Weights are clanking in the background as Kyle focuses on leg lifts using a weight machine. His arms are crossed over his chest and he continues to push, breathing heavily and grunting regularly.

           “Hey. So, uh, I guess you’re wondering why I’m recording and working out. Turns out when I lift, my headache does too. See what I did there?” He laughs. “But seriously, it’s actually not all that bad. I’m not so sore anymore, and I have more energy now that I ever did before. It’s weird. I expected to collapse by now from an asthma attack, but it’s not coming. I wonder if that chemical changed my lungs. If it did, I guess that’s one thing to be grateful for. Remind me to ask Coach Stone later. Turns out he’s taken over my case after all. Either he overlooked that assignment function, or he deliberately wants me to know. I guess I’m what’s considered a stubborn case, and that’s what Stone deals with on a regular basis.

           “So yeah … the week’s been going pretty good. My body’s metabolism is through the roof and I’m eating as much as a food disposal. Seriously, I feel like my stomach’s never going to get enough at this rate.” He pauses to wipe a towel over his forehead and face as a loud gurgling emanates from his stomach. A big muscle man with a large 100 blazoned on the back of his shirt and another smaller one on his left pec smiles as he approaches, entering the camera’s range.

           “’Sup, little man?” he chuckled.

           “Hey 100, sorry about the mixup before. You just really made me think of my old friend, Chris, ya know? Well … a bigger, swoler version of him anyways.”

           “S’cool, lil’bro, don’t worry about it.” The big man looks impressed as he views the weight count. “150 already? Damn, bro. Took me two fuckin’ weeks ta get there.” He hands Kyle a plastic cup filled with a brown protein shake.

           Kyle shrugs. “Guess I just never knew my strengths is all. Couldn’t really do working out before. Every time I’d start, I couldn’t breathe.”

           “You’re shitting me.”

           Kyle takes a long draught from the cup, emptying it about half way in one go. “Nah, man, it’s true. I’m an asthmatic.”

           “A what?”

           “I have asthma. It’s a disease you’re born with, makes it so you have smaller air passageways in your lungs and they swell when you work out or run. Sometimes they block up even when you’re doing nothing. It sucks.” He takes another swig.

           “But you’re okay now?”

           “Yeah, I guess. Don’t know why though. It’s like I never had it. I’d be ecstatic if I didn’t know you people are trying to brainwash me.”

           100 flinched.

           “Don’t worry, I’m not holding it against you, big guy. It’s the coaches I’m mad at.”

           100 smiled, then frowned. “But Coach is just tryin’ ta help.”

           “By keeping me prisoner?”

           “By trainin’ ya. You know, with the holograms n’ shit. Help ya get swole.”

           “Look, 100, I’m glad to be getting more fit, I really am. But the fact that I was kidnapped from my home, my family, my friends, isn’t exactly going to disappear anytime soon. And no amount of working out, bulking up, getting swole, or getting a—” He broke off as if remembering something as his eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “--Getting more junk in the trunk, will change how I feel about that. I want to go home. I’ve wanted that ever since I got here. My parents are probably worried sick right now.” He sighed, deflating as he slumped on the bench of the machine. “And thanks to those dickwadds, Tracey and Dick, I can’t even tell how much time has gone by since I was taken.” He took another sip from the shake before swirling it around in his hand as he watched the viscous substance turn into a sludgy whirlpool.

           “They’ll let ya go back, ya know,” 100 said. “They give ya a choice when you graduate. Hell, you can even come back n’ work part time. Be a mentor, ya know?”

           “We don’t even know where the hell we are!” Kyle threw his cup on the ground, sending shake all over the floor. 100 sighed as he moved to pick it up.

           “Don’t need to know, lil’bro. Ya just gotta grow. Listen, I’ll leave ya to yourself for a while, okay?” He placed a giant hand on Kyle’s shoulder, then walked off. Kyle just put his head in his hands and sobbed.

           “It’s happening, isn’t it? They’re really getting to me.” Then he broke down completely.

           END TRANSMISSION

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.

…