Implied Hypnosis - Tumblr Posts

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The Game

You’ve heard of video games and drinking games, but bro, you haven’t lived until you’ve played the lifting game. It’s so fucking addicting!

How’s it work? You’ve just gotta join the Gaming Gym, bro. Dumb bros keep saying muscleheads and nerds can’t get along. That’s bullshit. Got recommended to this place by one of my bros, and I’ve never turned back. They’ve got this sweet gaming room. Tabletop, cardgames, videogames, consoles. You name it, they’ve got it. There’s just one rule to get in. You’ve gotta spend at least a half hour doing fitness. Cardio, weights, doesn’t matter as long as you put in the work. And they have the best fucking save system! I don’t know how they do it, but there’s this reader they put in at all the game consoles. You just insert your membership card, and it’ll pull up your save files for whatever game you’re playing, no questions asked. I don’t know what kinda deal they had to pull with the manufacturers to pull it off, but bro, it’s sweet.

The lifting game? Oh. Oh, yeah! Huhuh. Sorry ’bout that, bro. Kinda nerded out for a second there. I can be kind of a dumbass like that, sometimes. The lifting game’s got its own space aside from the rest of the gaming room. There are stations all over one of the walls, and it still has lines. The name says it all. It’s a game about lifting stuff.

Hey, don’t knock it till you try it! It’s harder than it sounds. You know VR, right? S’kinda like that. The more points you earn in the game, the higher your rank gets in the gym, and the more benefits you can earn, like VIP access to some of the games, special training programs, free health drinks from the bar once a month (or even once a week, if you’re really good), that sort of thing. It takes some getting used to at first, but bro, once you get into it, you won’t want to stop.

Don’t believe me? I used to weigh 130 when I started here. Now look at me. I’ve more than doubled that weight. I fucking love to lift, bro. And it’s all thanks to that game.

What’s my rank now? Bro, can’t you tell? I’m an NPC!

Well, of course we’re gonna have gaming references for ranks! It’s the Gaming Gym, bro, where you come to game and gain!

Come on. Let me give you the tour. Nah, bro. It’s no trouble. After all, I’m the welcoming NPC.

Gotta give those tutorials, m’I right, lil’bro?

Freedom

I’d put in my time, followed every exercise, modified my diet, changed my schedule, altered my social life. Anything it took to get the body I wanted.

Anything.

I worked till my muscles were sore. I pressed until I was ready to drop dead. Eventually, my body just went sort of ... numb. Then I’d push it to the next limit, and my body would ache again. I learned to love that ache. I yearned for it. Whatever it took to carve my body into that perfect bodybuilder shape.

I’d look into a mirror to check my progress, and I would laugh. I used to motivate myself with speeches or the occasional affirmation. Eventually, those would shorten to a few words. Then grunts and growls. I would flex and watch the veins rise from my skin, then bare my teeth. It became about power, strength. The bigger I got, the better the high.

I wanted, needed more. I was willing to do anything.

And then I found it. You’ve heard of Fight Club. Well, this place follows the same premise. A friend, ... well, more like a packmate, really, showed me where to go. Sort of an exclusive club, he’d said. A place where we could really beast out.

I’ll tell you what, that place taught me the meaning of being a big fish from a small pond swimming to the ocean. The men there worked with only one thing on their minds, getting as big as they could possibly get. This “friend” introduced me to the system. All I had to do was work out as hard as I could and grow as big as possible. Cameras would cover everything I did, but sacrificing my privacy seemed a small price to pay for the promise of greater gains.

The place was run almost like a kennel or a prison yard. I’d get my own cell with a twin long bed and a connecting bathroom. A thick metal plate door provided the entrance to my own private gym for the days I wanted to work alone. The walls were lined with mirrors, so I could watch myself grow.

There were only a few rules in the place. No fighting among the builders, and make sure to be in the cells again by lock-up. Meals were provided to us, and we were instructed to finish every piece of them. Sports drink powders and formulas of every kind were available for us to use. I can still recall that incredible sensation of gulping a whole bottle full without breaking a sweat and getting back to work.

The highs I got from those pumps, the sheer power and rush of endorphins. I’d never felt anything like it.

The first few days were a struggle. I had to prove myself to the rest of the workers, show them I was serious about making the gains. It took time to get to their level, but I was determined. The music helped. They’d play things over the speakers. I’m not sure what they were, but they got me riled up every day. That music filled my ears and I was awake like that. It set my pace for morning prep. I showered to it, brushed my teeth to it, got changed to it. Then the track would change, the locks on the doors would disengage, and I would file out to join the others.

Half the time, I couldn’t even recall what food got put in front of me during my workouts. I just wolfed it down and got back to work. I became a creature of habit. I grew as large as the others, and I reveled in that fact. The thought of steroids did cross my mind, but I found no negative effects, whatsoever. No mood swings, no frailties, and best of all, no *ahem* shrinking body parts.

Someone would take my clothes and clean them for me, then return them again. It was a continuous process. I’m still not sure how the laundry crews kept everything straight, but they did. Not that it really mattered, once I shredded out of my old clothes. Once that happened, I really became one of the pack. I got my own set of gym clothes and shoes, just like the rest of the guys. And the bigger I got, the less my shirts seemed to cover. To this day, I still prefer tanktops to anything else. But can you really blame me for wanting to show all this off?

Anyway, you know that numb feeling I mentioned before with my body? Well, the brain sort of functions the same way. If you do the same thing long enough, it’s sort of gonna get bored and shut off, because there’s no stimulation for it, or at least minimal stimulation. That’s the best way I can describe what happened. My brain decided to switch off for a while. It went numb, and my muscles did all the work for me.

I don’t know how long it lasted, really. I just know that when I came to myself, I was this giant of a man with a masculine beard and a perfectly sculpted body. I hardly recognized myself in the mirror. I had everything I wanted, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a different desire. I wanted to show off. I wanted to actually interact with friends, family, people.

You’d think the men at this facility should have counted, but they don’t. They didn’t. Not because I worked with them every day, but because they function on a different level. Their brains were numb, like mine had been. I still remember when I chose to leave. And you know the funny part? The door was never locked. I tested them. None of them were, not really. Maybe they were engaged just before wake-up or something, but it seemed that was all part of the training regimen.

I’d approach a cell and I’d see what, for all intents and purposes, was an animal. Some would ignore me in favor of flexing or sleep. Others would come to the door and glower at me, as if I were some sort of threat. Half the time, I felt my body want to rise to the challenge. But I didn’t want that. Not anymore.

I’d gotten what I wanted. I still remember the shock on the attendant’s face when I approached the stairs that led to the exit.

“They won’t accept you out there, you know. You’ll just be another mindless meathead to them.”

I hesitated for just a moment, but then calm took its place. I’d done my time. I’d gotten what I wanted. If hypnosis was involved in the club, then I guess my subconscious decided it had had enough. I don’t know. All I do know is I smiled at him and responded, “Then I’ll just have to prove them wrong.”

I’m not a meathead, and I’m not some dumb animal. I was once, probably, during my stay there. But I’m not anymore. I’ve worked hard to show that to everyone I meet, and I’m happy where I stand now. I’m a certified trainer with a steady income and a gym that I love, helping customers that I have great personal relationships with.

Is it hard? Of course it is. I usually work out to blow off steam and let my stress go. But I’ll tell you what, it’s worth it. Every second is worth it.

I’m not some dumb animal. I’m a human being, and I’m glad to be a properly functioning member of society.

Looking back, I’m sure you’re wondering if I would make the same decision to leave again, if I had the chance to go back.

I don’t even have to take the time to wonder about it. I’ve had plenty of time to go over it all.

My answer is yes.

Pavel Fedorov