To See The Light

To See The Light

“Hey, man,” Chris greeted you with a massive grin as he opened the door. “Come on in! Sorry I missed D&D the other night, but my old man and I were doing some real father-son bonding stuff, you know? S’the first time in ages we’ve actually had fun together.”

You were rendered speechless for a time as you gaped at the sleeveless muscle tee that draped over your friend’s form. His light brown hair jutted out beneath the bill of his snapback. A healthy tan had replaced the paler skin you recalled him bearing just a little over a month ago. Your eyes traced over the curves and definition he’d developed in his arms and chest.

“You okay, bro?”

You blink at the question. “Sorry, what?”

“You were kinda zoning out.”

“Sorry. It’s just ... you look ... different. Have you been working out?”

Chris let out a deep throaty chuckle. “Every day, bro. Dad and I have been going to the gym nonstop. Sure, I had trouble at first, but look at me now, man. I’m jacked!” He grinned again as he flexed a bicep to emphasize his point. “C’mon. I got everything ready for tonight. This party’s gonna be sweet!”

“You got the table set?”

“Table, drinks, snacks, the works. Today’s my cheat day anyway, so Dad won’t mind if I break my diet a little. He even got these new spot lights, so you guys can really see everything.”

“So he’s cool with you hosting tonight’s campaign?”

“It’s fine, bro. He said the more the merrier. Bros gotta hang out sometimes, am I right?”

“Uh ... yeah,” you said uncertainly as you followed him into the kitchen and down the stairs to the basement. Since when had he started talking like some sort of ignoramus? Seriously, he sounded more like some sort of meathead than he did the boy you remember having so much fun with talking video games and RPG elements. Sure, he’d always wanted to be big and buff, but you never thought he’d push himself this far. “Are you sure things are okay?” you finally managed to ask somewhat timidly.

“Better than okay,” he assured you.”Things are fucking fantastic!” His heavy steps thumped along the stairs as he raced down to the basement floor. “Dad and I used to argue a lot, but now it’s just ... better. We’re finally seeing eye to eye on things.”

The heavy clank of metal striking metal and the thump of heavy music echoed numbly through a door in the far end of the basement.

“And you dad won’t try to interrupt or anything?” You wince. “I know he doesn’t really like us that much.”

“He doesn’t like D&D, bro. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like you guys. He just wants to make sure we’re all active, like boys our age should be.” He reached down and scratched at his crotch. “Gotta say, once I started, I kinda got hooked. It’s hard to stay still anymore. My body just keeps wanting to move, you know what I mean?”

“Not really, but I’ll take your word for it,” you say noncommittally as you look over the room. A deep-seated sense of foreboding had taken residence in your chest. That drastic of a chance to take place in just a month seems ... well, practically impossible. And the change in Chris’ manner and speech patterns was also highly suspicious, yet there was no sign of foul play that you could see just yet.

True to his word, a large table had been set up in the middle of a stretch of basement. The dungeon master’s divider had already been set up, and a dish filled with various bags filled with sets of dice had been prepared for each of the players, should they have forgotten their own. Another table had been set up at the edge, laden down with chips, dip, punch, soda, and other hors d’oeuvres.

Chris strode past all those to the window, where he closed the blinds and reached over to a nearby switch. Brilliant white light flooded out from two cylindrical sockets, bathing Chris in their light and causing his skin to glow as he raised a bicep and grinned.

“See? Gives a pretty damn good view, don’t it?” He chuckled and flexed. “Mmm ... what a pump.”

“Chris?”

A low blush flooded your friend’s cheeks as he turned his head to face you. “Dad and I like to spend time here after a good workout,” he admitted. “We ... sort of have a pose-off. I know, it’s kinda stupid, but ... I don’t know, it just feels good to do it, you know?”

“Not really,” you admit as you look down at your somewhat pudgier frame. “Don’t exactly have the figure for it.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, bro,” Chris chastened.

“No, I’m pretty sure I’m not. You remember how Travis used to treat me till we got together in class.”

Chris scowled. His jaw became set as his traps flared and his shoulders tightened with his clenched fists. “He’s not picking on you again, is he?”

“No, no. We’re good for now. It’s just ... well, look at me. Fitness and I are like oil and water. We just don’t get along.”

Chris was silent for a few moments as he stared at you. Then he nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Come here.”

You approach slowly. “Um, why?”

“Just come on. I’m not gonna bite, you know.” Chris rolled his eyes in exasperation.

You couldn’t help but smile. That was the Chris you remembered. “All right,” you finally relent as you step over next to him.

“Now close your eyes.”

“Chris....”

“Close your eyes, man. We’re gonna have a little role play of our own, just you and me.”

Now you’re blushing as he seizes you and you feel a sudden warmth on your face. The light shines through your lids, and you know you’re standing under the two spotlights.

“Now we’re gonna imagine you’re not yourself, got it? Forget about Travis. Forget about what’s happened before. We’re putting you in the shoes of a big hulking barbarian. You know the type. Warrior class, lots of strength, plenty of charisma and constitution. A real brute of a man.”

“Chris, this is--.”

“I said to focus on your character.” His hand slaps firmly on your shoulder, while the other seizes your left wrist. “Picture it, man. Picture those broad shoulders, those wide lats, massive pectorals, a rippling six pack, and thick, powerful biceps. Imagine those muscles straining, bunching, tensing. They want to move. They want to be used. And as a warrior, they’re the first answer to everything. Because the warrior is just that, hired muscle.” He pulls your arm into position and pulls your wrist back slightly to force your arm to bend and tense.

“Chris, I don’t think--.”

“You’re right. You don’t. As a muscular barbarian, your task is to simply be the muscle. Now, you’ve been challenged to a pose-off. Some tiny man is challenging your masculinity. Such an insult cannot stand. You lash out. You punch.”

He forces your arm forward in a harsh jab and quickly pulls it back.

“He dodges. You raise your arms in a guard.”

Suddenly, you feel his arms pressing yours against one another in front of your chest. His bigger frame is against yours, and you feel incredibly uncomfortable, and ... just a little hot.

“You take a blow, then duck and strike. Your blow connects, due to your experience with brawling. Next, you give him a solid kick.”

His foot forces you to push your own out as he supports you.

“Chris...”

“Exultation floods you as your heart rate picks up. You have laid your foe low to the ground. You have defended your honor, and an intimidating scowl leads the cur to fleeing with his tail between his legs. You know what comes next, bro.”

You blush. “A victory crow,” you mumble.

“Exactly.” You feel your hands thump heavily against your chest, almost knocking the wind out of you with Chris’ machinations. “You flex your muscles to an adoring crowd of maidens and jealous men who wish to have had your courage, after routing the lout.

“Chris, I--.”

“Come on, bro. Just one little flex. Just one. You don’t want to disappoint all those adoring fans, do you?”

You sigh. “You’re not going to let me go until I do, are you?”

You could practically hear his grin. “Nope.”

You have a reluctant sigh. “Fine.” You raise your arms and proceed to tense your upper body. It was a paltry attempt, but enough to show you were trying. “There. Are we done now?”

“Not quite. Let me show you how it’s done. Gotta have the proper form.” He moved you around like a man would a doll, and you had to put up with it, because he was stronger. With every pose, he would praise you. With each new direction, he would twist you around to make sure the light highlighted the “best side.” It gets sort of monotonous after a while, so you just let him do what he wants. You’re not sure how much time has passed, when you suddenly notice the bottle cap waving in front of your face.

“Hey, kid. Drink up. You’re gonna drop from exhaustion at this rate.”

You blink slowly. “Uh ... wuh...?” Something feels ... different somehow.

“Water. Drink,” the big man said as he made exaggerated motions, then sneered.

“Dad!” Chris laughed. “Knock it off!” He punched the behemoth of a man lightly. 

You blinked owlishly at your friend. How long had it been? Your mouth felt so dry. You reach to the bottle and take a heavy swig of its contents. Seat has drenched your frame, and your clothes have ridden up against you. You notice a set of adjustable dumbbells laying on the table next to the D&D dice.

“What ... just happened?” you ask. Your head feels stuffed with cotton. Your voice ... is sort of dull, lower, like when you’re congested with a cold.

“You got a little too into character,” Chris said with a smirk. He popped a flex under the lights and you swear his shirt looked tighter than it had before. You gape in amazement when you see your free arm has followed his in almost perfect unison. A ridge had begun to rise out from the fat that had accumulated there. “I ... I have a bicep,” you finally manage to say.

“Everyone’s got a bicep, kid. Drink up,” Chris’ father instructed. You suddenly feel the bottle shoved to your lips. Cool water rushes down your throat and coats your tongue. You drink greedily and crush the bottle in your grip. It feels good to do that.

“‘Atta boy,” the man cheered. “You enjoy your little posing session?”

“Uh....” you respond, at a loss for words.

A heavy hand smacks you on the back. “Of course you did. Come on. Let me show you a few tricks. I’ve got the time, and your party won’t be starting for a while yet.” He smiled and guided you to the open door frame. The music pumped. More spotlights beamed overhead with their glare, flashing like cameras off the polished metal surfaces of the gym equipment. You hardly even noticed the sound of the door closing behind you as he planted you down and started running you through some basic exercises with a set of dumbbells.

“See, boy? It’s nice and simple. Your body knows what to do. You just have to let it move.”

You do. And a dull chuckle pushes its way out your mouth as you fall into that simple pattern. You watch a television screen in front of you showing a transition video and you smile as you watch the person pump in time to the beat. You watch the muscles inflate. And you chuckle as a tan slowly creeps over his pale skin. A high and tight cut replaces the old bowl cut from before. The jaw becomes more chiseled and defined. A low, “Fuck yeah...” echoes and reverberates in the room as you stare with glazed eyes at the screen and the changing teen staring back at you.

Chris’ father sneered as he watched you continue to work, heedless of the changes taking place in your own body, despite the mirror he’d planted you in front of. He chuckled as he watched a series of security monitors mounted next to a control panel. Chris was already lumbering to the front door, where another boy waiting to be educated on the joys of fitness stood.

“One down, four to go,” he purred.

“Fuck yeah, bro,” you low absently, completely unaware what you’re praising in the rush of endorphins and the sheer mindless ecstasy of the repetition. All that mattered was the work and the lights warming your skin as you shredded your muscles to get swoll.

The muscle man chuckled as he watched second guest gradually became enamored by the fixture. It was so good to help them see the light.

Warning: This story follows a hypnotic script. If you are susceptible to hypnosis, please do not engage in this story until you are in a situation where falling into trance will not be harmful. You have been warned. Read at your own Risk.

Static

Hey there. Yeah, I’m talking to you. No need to be shy. I don’t bite, you know. I just couldn’t help but notice you’ve been watching me. Don’t try to deny it. I don’t mind. A lot of people watch me, after all. A guy gets used to it when he gets this big.

Mmm ... and I do love being big. It takes a lot of work, but it’s worth it in the end.

But you know what I love even more than being big, little man? Huhuh. I love making other people big. You see that guy over there benching three hundred? I trained him. He was smaller than you are when he first came here. Now he’s a real Goliath. I like to call him moose from time to time. It fits, wouldn’t you say? Every one of them has a name. Rhino, Burro, Horse. Every one of them is tailored to the individual. Gotta fit it just right, you know what I mean?

It’s kinda like my shirt. You see how it hugs so tightly to my muscles, really accentuates my figure. Their names do the same for them, help them focus, help them improve.

Mmm. You know, this is actually my favorite shirt. I love the way I can just flex my muscles and suddenly, it swells with me. The gray texturing is nice, too. It reminds me of static. You know, the kind you see wavering on a TV screen. Any time I want to focus on my workouts, I just look down, and bam. There it is. It’s sort of a chain reaction, ya know? Just like the TV. Everything just sort of stops broadcasting, and my arms jump up and down with the static. It’s so easy to just follow along. Lift and follow. Watch and follow. Listen and follow. Follow...

Follow...

You’re pretty good at following, aren’t you?

Following my movements, following each flex, following as my shirt expands and contracts in that endless cycle of jumping static.

Don’t look away now. Follow it. It’s all right. I enjoy a good watcher like you. And there’s plenty to watch, isn’t there? Go ahead. Follow my movements. Follow my breathing. Follow the bouncing rise and fall. Let it fill you. Let it move you. Move you to breathe in time as you follow, as you watch, as you listen.

Oh, don’t worry. You don’t need to focus on me. After all, you don’t pay attention to the sound static makes, do you? No, that sound just fades into the background. You don’t notice it, but you hear it all the same. You hear it, and you listen as you follow, follow my voice, follow my instructions, even if you don’t remember them.

Following deeper and deeper as you get closer to the screen. Because you have to watch. You have to follow. Follow the bouncing pecs, the jumping screen. Jumping with the static. Following the static. Listening to the static.

...

Obeying the static.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh.....

Relax.

Don’t think.

Follow the static.

Slipping deeper now.

Follow the static.

The more you follow, the deeper you fall.

Deeper into the screen. Deeper into the static. Deeper into that happy empty bliss that is slowly surrounding you, just like the static.

Follow the static.

Are you following the static?

...

Good boy.

The more you follow, the deeper you go. The deeper you go, the more you follow. Follow the static.

Follow my static.

...

Follow me.

My voice is the static. My voice is the thing you must follow. Follow and obey.

...

Say it now, little man. You follow the static. You obey the static. You obey my voice.

You obey me.

Good boy. Now listen. Listen, and obey. Follow and obey.

You are going to be a musclehead. Every day and every way, more and more, you will become a musclehead. You will work out at the gym. You will follow my suggestions to you. You will lift weights. You will eat healthily. The gym will become more and more like home as muscle slowly consumes you, consumes your thoughts, consumes you with the static, my static. 

My musclehead.

I think I’ll call you Bull. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, musclehead? I’ll make you a real muscle bull.

Just let the static fill your head piece by piece, bit by bit. Over time, it’ll whisper all on its own as you internalize what I have to say, because my voice is the static. And you obey the static.

You obey me.

That’s a good little runt. When I say the words WAKE UP, you will return to wakefulness, ready to execute your desire, the desire to be a musclehead, like me. You will lift weights. You will work out. You will train. And the more muscle you gain, the dumber you’ll be. You’ll still function in society, but things will be ... simpler outside important matters. Just like a switch flicking on. Just like the remote clicking on the television screen, the screen that is filled with static. Just sports, muscle, and weights in that muscle head of yours.

...

Good boy. When I say the phrase: Static is calling, you will fall into the same state of mind as you are now, ready to listen to the static. Ready to follow the static. Ready to obey the static.

Ready to OBEY.

Now, when you awaken, you will have a strong desire to work out. The musclehead in you will grow stronger the longer you do. You will pace yourself according to what your body can manage, and not push yourself to the point of self-harm or injury as you change.

Good little musclehead.

Now come on. It’s time to WAKE UP, Bull. The gym is waiting.

If you enjoyed this, please like and reblog. Thank you for reading. I hope it will prove motivating, helpful, and pleasurable to you growing muscleheads out there. ~Omni

The Place

Jason didn’t know what it was about this place that was so alluring to him. The weathered building clearly hadn’t been used in years, but he kept coming there inevitably after a long day at work. He used to be a building inspector. He remembered that well. Then he got the call to visit this warehouse, make sure everything was on the up and up. The rest ... was a blur.

He remembered filing his report, of course. The building was fine. No problems. Old, but sturdy. He uploaded the photos, waited for feedback. He received a short reply for approval and everything was normal. The buyers never bothered to inquire again, though. And it seemed that attempts to demolish the district disappeared overnight.

It was odd. The building was old. So was the district. Shouldn’t it be--?

He blinked as the world came slowly back into focus. The building should be preserved. Of course it should be. None should touch the building without ...

Without what? He furrowed his brow in confusion as he pulled open the old sliding door. His dark tank brushed against taut muscle. Why was this place so important to him again? His head felt strange. Thinking came slowly. His thoughts kept coming back to the clothing brushing his muscles, the tingle in his lips and jaw.

“What’s ... wrong with me?” he asked in a low, husky voice. He stopped a moment, surprised at the sheer depth. He ... didn’t used to sound like that. He used to ... used to....

A wave of vertigo struck him as he clung to an old support beam. Another attack. They were becoming more frequent. Always when he got too excited about something stupid. He was used to this. He knew what he had to do.

Jason closed his eyes, took a deep breath, felt the fabric rise and fall in that ghostly touch against his abs, the gentle give and retract that occurred around the defined shape of his pectorals. He focused on that feeling, on the shudder-inducing tingle that sent goosebumps over his skin. The muscle always felt so good.

“Huhuhuhuh,” he laughed as his voice echoed and rebounded off the walls. The pleasure increased. The dizziness passed. What was he so worried about again? He couldn’t remember. But ... it didn’t really matter then, did it?

“Dumbass,” he said and chuckled again as he carried on. A dim light pulsed in the distance, and he approached it only too happily. The white light was good. Good to approach. Good to listen. Good to--

REPORT.

Jason stopped thinking.

Chief Science Officer’s Log: Stardate XXXX-XX-XXXX

After our vessel crashed, it has fallen to me to make use of this primitive world to make repairs and lead what remains of our crew. These creatures call themselves Humans, a most curious name. Even more curious is the series of sub-races and classifications which they grant themselves based upon origin of birth in a particular geographic area and the genetic stock which they bear from various other regions.

They are severely limited technologically, and are more inclined to fight each other like animals over territory and resources. All the same, I am fascinated by them and their adaptability.

Atmosphere is breathable, but far from clean. I’ve ordered all crew to utilize appropriate filtration aparatus as we seek to re-enable our systems to depart. Unfortunately, we have lost our beacon and our anti-gravity generators as well. As such, we have had little choice but to rely on these ... creatures to assist us in our labors.

Genetic recombination and neural stimuli have allowed us the ability to manipulate what few subjects we have managed to acquire. We’ve had to take the process slowly out of necessity to make the transition and programming more natural and avoid suspicion. A simple subroutine embedded into the data for the images that Subject J-001, or Jay-son, took ensured that our work would not be disturbed, and has given us access to the rudimentary network these creatures call the internet.

Depending on adaptability, I may have to recommend this world for colonization and subjection. J-001 is coming along particularly nicely in his metamorphosis to Blarthog. It will not be long until the implant we placed on his brain stem is no longer necessary. His telepathic receptors are developing at an excellent rate. Muscle and bone density will be our next alterations in the subject to hasten his changes and bring him closer to completion. I’ve taken a liking to this one, and may claim it as my own, after his service is complete on the ship. For now, our previous subjects are training him and pushing his body. The male is only too happy to indulge in his baser pack mentality. 

Blarthogs JX-201 and JX-202 were among the lowest caste of this world. They will not be missed, nor will their previous personalities. The sheer amount of toxins and barbituates took a whole two hours to purge, before we could proceed with the gestation. I admit the transformation holds a certain ... fascination for me. One never knows exactly how a creature will react, and the moment when they lose all sense of their old selves and willingly give into their new purpose is truly exhilarating.

I will order J-001 to consume all that he can for the next phase of his metamorphosis. We have already made use of their technology to transfer the funds he will require in this world’s currency beforehand. I have made a note to research this term that appears in the subject’s thought patterns when he sees himself in the mirror. This ... musclehead may yet be a derivative of baser and more primal genetic code to make use of. Farther notation will be made in the future. For now, I must go and oversee J-001′s strength test.

End Log.

Jason felt tired, but relaxed as he left the warehouse. Sweat coated his frame, causing his shift to cling all the tighter to his core. He grinned, baring sharper canines as he flexed a bicep. It always felt so good to work out.

Good to work.

“Fuck, yeah,” he rumbled. His eyes lost focus in a rush of pleasure as he reached down and scratched his crotch, then patted it with a smirk of satisfaction. “Gettin’ big,” he said. The smirk widened into a cocky sneer.

Alpha.

The thought hung there briefly in the haze of Jason’s mind. And then the light in his eyes hardened. He straightened up, pulled his shoulders back, thrust out his chest, and strutted out into the evening air.

His stomach rumbled hungrily.

He scratched his sweaty brown hair, now laying flat against his scalp. He raised his nose, sniffed the air, then jogged like a bloodhound on the trail. One thought drove him. One thought consumed him. He grunted and growled, “Must Eat.”

The Itch: Part 1

Sorry, what were you saying? I’ve been ... kinda absentminded lately. Yeah, I’m doing okay. Just been making a few changes is all. New diet, a few exercises here and there to help tone up. It’s been kinda nice. Sure, it aches a little at first, but it’s been worth it in the long run.

Yeah, I noticed the new patch. Looks kinda good, doesn’t it? I always used to have trouble growing chest hair. Now that I’m getting in some good fitness, it’s like I sprayed super grow or something down there. They just keep sprouting. It kinda itches, but it feels good to scratch.

Scratch ... yeah. Mmm. That brushing, that scruff. Feels ... so nice. Yes. I enjoy scratching it. I feel pleasure, just as you have said. The pleasure increases the bigger I get.

Cannot stop scratching. It ... makes me lightheaded. Yes. More pleasure. The scratch will make me work. The scratch will feel better as I work out. The more I lift, the more I build, the more my pectorals will brush and scratch.

I will build. I will grow. I will scratch.

Yes. Grow more hairs. Bigger pecs mean thicker hairs. Thicker hairs mean louder scratch. Louder scratch means bigger pleasure. I will repeat. I will seek pleasure. I will scratch.

Yes. I will report to the gym, after waking. I will build my body. The scratch demands it. The scratch drives me. Will grow. Will scratch. The itch will push. The itch will demand. I will listen. LIsten to demands. Listen to your demand, your itch, your voice...

I understand.

...

I obey....

You asked yourself that question every day as you sat at your reception desk and welcomed patrons. Funds were tight, and it was a quick and easy job to get some cash on the side. You never pictured yourself working in a gym, but there you were. You often brought a book or some music to help drown out all the heavy clanking, though you would make some exceptions for certain songs that played over the speakers through the building from time to time.

The man was always quiet when he walked in. His gaze remained locked on the weight machines. Sometimes he would carry a gym bag in. Sometimes he would just go straight onto the floor, fresh off a run.

When he wants a machine, he doesn’t ask. People move for him.

When he’s ready for a break, a fountain or vending machine is always free, even at peak time.

His focus can’t be disturbed. Literally, it can’t. You’ve seen it. Some teen tried to muscle in on his session, when he was lifting. He just kept staring ahead as he strained his lats, or spread his wings as your boss likes to call it. The kid grumbled, but backed off. He knew he couldn’t do a thing to this guy.

It’s funny, though. His silence is sort of contagious. Whenever he works out, it spreads like a wave. The other men get this sort of intense expression on their faces, and then they sort of relax and just ... work. It’s kind of creepy, really.

The ones who work closest to this guy always seem to have the most progress. A look of shock, a big smile, then that blankness of pure focus driven by repetition. It’s always the same.

Always.

Just who is this guy?

You find yourself wondering this yet again as you stare sightlessly at the page on your book. You haven’t turned it in well over an hour. He’s been in your dreams the last few nights. You see him there, pumping weights, pushing himself. And suddenly you’re the one standing in his place as his hands are on you, guiding you, pushing you. You feel strain in your muscles. You feel your skin tighten and swell like a balloon with each pump and silent ministration. When your form is off, he corrects with his hands. The whole time, those intent eyes stare silently into your own. And you watch as that same expression slowly takes over in your reflection in those orbs.

You blink owlishly as a heavy tap on your shoulder pulls you back into reality again. How long had you been daydreaming about that dream? You look up.

“Sorry about that, S--.”

And there he is. Your mouth is suddenly dry. The words stick in your throat. Your breathing comes out in a rasp.

He stares at you questioningly for a time as he folds his vascular arms and cups his chin in a loosely clenched hand. Then he nods. He motions to the gym floor with a curt jerk of the head.

“Sir,” you finally manage to croak, “I’m on shift.” A heavy hand rests on your shoulder. You look up to see that same blank intensity that you have dreamed of beaming down at you from your boss, of all people.

“Go on.”

You swallow heavily. Even your boss bows to the will of this person. The owner of the gym!

You look back at the man. He’s still standing patiently and looking expectantly.

Your limbs shake as you rise from your chair. The whole gym is silent as you step onto the floor together. The man surveys the room as the music thrums and gives a curt nod to the gym goers. The motion immediately picks up again.

You weren’t even aware of your own motion as he guided you to a butterfly press. The seat was already vacated by the time you arrived. You sit and stare helplessly up at the behemoth that has guided you there. He places his hands on either handle, sets the weight, then nods to you.

You swallow again. Why were you doing this? Why were you letting him direct you? Why were you sitting here, instead of doing your job? And ... why is it getting harder to breathe?

Clank.

The man nods in approval and backs to a machine parallel to yours. Two handles link to the cables that attach to the weight plates. It’s already set to his weight, courtesy of whatever gym goer had abandoned it for him. You watch his muscles flare, his veins bulge, his biceps mount. His pectorals clench as his traps tense on the back of his neck and shoulders and his lats spread out. In that moment, you finally understand why your boss referred to them as wings.

Clank.

And he stares ahead as you stare. That same blank expression bores into you as the breathlessness returns.

Clank.

And again.

Clank.

Now you’re starting to feel warm. He continues to stare, and you continue to watch his effortless rhythm flow as the muscle groups in his arms and upper torso ripple one after the other in perfect coordination.

Clank.

How does he do it?

Clank.

Why did he pull you out here?

Clank.

Why couldn’t you take your eyes off him?

Clank.

Why...? Why...?

Clank.

Did it ... matter?

Clank.

Just who is this guy? you question yet again as you slog through the strange quagmire that is rapidly becoming your conscious thought.

Clank.

It’s only then that you notice the strange fact. Everywhere, the whole gym. Every machine is clacking together. The same pace. The same strike. The same rhythm.

Clank.

His rhythm.

Clank.

His.

Clank.

As you feel your face go slack and your eyes begin to glaze over, you finally understand the truth. You hardly notice the effort it takes to press the two bars together. Why should you? You’re following him. He sets the pace. He says when you’re done.

He.

He.

Him.

Just who is this man? He is the King of the Gym.

And you have just been inducted into his kingdom’s ranks.

Clank.

Your mouth opens as the quagmire thickens and sets. One last thought burbles up and splatters on the surface, before it hardens completely. You grunt it out in a low monotone as you push through another press with burning muscles and a mindless intensity.

“Long live the king....”

Who is this guy?

The recent stories are making me feel like I need to get some red shoes for working out...

Brand ain’t ready for full production yet, bro. Gotta keep ‘em in the gym. But I’ll tell ya what. Here. Try a pair for free. Sure, they’re a little on the big side, but you’ll grow into ‘em real quick. See, bro? I can already tell. You can’t stay away from ‘em. Can’t look away.S’all right, bro. I know what you’re going through. Just put ‘em on.That’s right. Just like that. Feels good, don’t it? Go on, pop a flex. Mmm ... that’s right. Now another.Another.Another.There you go. That’s right. Smirk. Show off. Feel those pecs harden, thicken, swell into big, meaty slabs of solid muscle!Yeah, I know that look. Here, try these dumbbells. They’ll help get you swole.Yeah, bro. That’s what I’m talkin’ about. See how fast you’re growin’ outta your gear? Come on. I got new stuff for you to wear over this way. Just through here.That’s right. Open that locker. Put on the gear. Compression pants n’d shirts’ll show off the goods.Yeah, that’s better. Lookin’ good, bro. You’re almost as big as me now.Huhuhuh. Yeah. You’re gonna work out for the next few hours, really break in those shoes, git swole. After that, you can report to the lab for testing. Gym’s getting new gear, bro. And you like new gear, don’t you?Yeah. There’s a good bro. Just pump and forget....Pump and forget....