Jock Hypnosis - Tumblr Posts
Your Inner Brute
Helllooooo, I'm back! Any reblogs of this would be double/triple appreciated since my old account got nuked and I lost most of my audience, but I'm still kicking. Sort of.
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"Your Inner Brute" is a brutification TF hypnosis file aimed at enacting permanent change in the listener.
Think of a brute as somewhere between a Caveman and an Alpha - he's an arrogant, egoic, self-centered, powerful, voracious man who won't be denied, and who always gets his way. He cares about three things… muscle, s3x, and showing off his power. He needs nothing else, and nothing else matters to him. He's a bit of a dumbass, but I mean… have you seen those muscles? He's got every right to be.
This file's a little different to previous works and I expect it not to resonate with a lot of you, but I hope it's fun for those into this kind of darker, alpha TF content. It's very @avissapiens coded. It's been what I'm in the mood for for a while, so felt like it was finally time to put it out.
In practical terms, it contains suggestions:
To motivate the listener to go to the gym
To make the listener enjoy dominating more
To make the listener enjoy showing off their power and strength
To make the listener a cocky asshole, basically
To make the listener embrace being the dumb one
To, over time, wholly replace the listener's original personality with that of their Inner Brute
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When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $60-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. You can also support me with a one-time tip either via Paypal or Ko-Fi... or by subscribing to me on Patreon! Keep listening, bros.
Real Men’s Journal: Part 2
~Day 3~
Well, all I can say is I told them so. Just as I thought, this morning everyone woke up sore. Everyone who worked out anyways. On the plus side, that gave me the chance to get to the showers first. Easy in, easy out. I was ready to go before anyone else could get out of the showers. I heard a lot of sighs in those stalls. I’m not too big a fan of them myself. There’s a weird smell in there. Probably mildew or something like that. Maybe it’s B.O. Either way, I don’t like it. Though they do seem to have some type of video screen there for us to watch programs if we want. I could hear some of the static as they were flicked on. But enough of that.
So I performed “the routine” and brushed my teeth, combed my hair, ordered my drawer to open. Yet again I was met with a nice pair of shorts and a workout shirt. Augh. You can imagine my mood. I tromped my way out of the room after my “mandatory scan” and made my way for the mess hall. At least they have some decent food here. I grabbed a cinnamon roll and a glass of milk with a side of toast. Whole wheat of course. Have to keep my fiber up. Doctor’s orders.
Kevin greeted me cheerfully.
“Hey, Kyle. How’s it going?” I shrugged.
“Can’t complain. Looks like you’re not doing so well, though.” I saw how slowly he was moving his arms and legs as he ate. The kid was nice though; he bowed his head and said a prayer before he ate. You don’t see that much in today’s society.
“I’m doing alright.” He smiled at me. “The soreness is part of the change. I’ll get over it in a few days.”
“No bullies yet, right?”
“Yeah. It’s really nice. All I get is support. I even have a personal trainer on my journal to help me learn and grow.”
“Don’t you mean unlearn?” I asked, laughing. “By the time they’re done with you, you’ll be just like them.” I put on my best vacant expression and did a fake flex. “Like, gotta get swole, bro. Can’t focus on school no more. School’s for nerds!”
“Shut up!” He said, laughing as he shoved me. We both had a good laugh as we finished our breakfast and made our way to the gym. I decided to sit and watch Kevin this time as he worked out. Every once in a while his virtual trainer would chastise him for losing form, instructing him how to adjust until he got it right. Naturally, the holo-simulation showed Abrams’ lovely mug. About half way through the workout one of the thugs brought a protein shake in and handed it to Kevin.
“Thanks, 36,” he said.
“No problem, lil’bro. Just keep pumpin’ those weights,” the lug said, smiling vacantly as he flexed a bicep. “You’ll be as big as me one day.” He didn’t even bother looking at me as he walked past, his shoulder knocking me back. So much for that kindness. I rubbed my arm as I walked up to Kevin where he sat on the bench, his shirt drenched in sweat.
“Where’d you meet tall, dumb, and ruthless?”
“He’s not that bad, Kyle.”
“Maybe not to you. All these Neanderthals seem a little too eager to ignore and look down on me.”
“You’re just being paranoid. I’m sure once they get to know you it’ll be better. After all, we’re friends, right?”
“Yeah, but you don’t mind a guy like me. They do. You’re working out because you can. I can’t, even if I did want to.”
“Why’s that?”
“I get sick every time I try. I have asthma. If I don’t black out from exertion, I throw up on the floor because I get nauseated when I work out.”
“Oh.” Kevin took a swig of his chocolate swill and shuddered. “That does kind of make it tough, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah. And all the popular kids singled me out because of it. I don’t have physical strength, so I made use of the gifts I did have and worked on the one muscle I knew wouldn’t be effected by exertion,” I said, pointing to my head. “Gossip and labeling took care of the rest. High School life. Ya gotta love it,” I said, sighing.
“That does it, then.” Kevin said, smacking his drink onto a nearby platform. “I’m going to get big and strong. And then once I do, I’m changing things at my high school. People like us deserve a chance to be treated equally. I’m going to make that happen.” With that, he slid his finger over the touch screen on his journal and stared intently at the holographic projection. “Okay, coach. Tell me what to do.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at this kid’s determination. It’s one thing to say you’re going to change something, another to actually do it. Still, I wish him luck. The worst that could happen is he gets popular for being fit. I watched silently as he pushed through set after set, clacking barbells and dumbbells, doing leg-ups and crunches, whatever the program told him to do, he did. I had to grab him a few drinks from time to time, but whatever made him happy was good enough for me. Kevin’s sudden spurt caught more than a few passing eyes as meatheads and coaches alike viewed his determination.
When workout time was done Abrams came and personally congratulated Kevin, smacking him on the back. Kevin just huffed and swayed on his feet. He looked a little out of it. Must’ve been from watching that hologram for so long. I’m pretty sure having a green light glowing in my face all day shouting at me would leave me the same way.
“Thanks, Coach,” he said, smiling.
“Keep this up and you’ll be ready to advance in no time.”
“Sure thing, Coach. That’s what I’m working towards.”
“That’s the spirit!” Then Abrams smacked him in the butt. Kevin jumped, immediately reaching back to grab the point of impact while Abrams placed a meaty hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, tiger. It’s just an expression here. Means you’re doing a good job. High fives, fist bumps, chest bumps, and head butts are also common ways to express approval and friendship here. You’ll get used to the idea in time.”
“Oh. Um … okay,” Kevin said uncertainly. “Still not sure I like it though.”
“Just give it time. In the meanwhile, go hit the showers. You’ve earned yourself a big meal tonight.” Kevin’s rumbling stomach agreed heartily. The two of them laughed together, and while I did not join in, I couldn’t help but smile. This coach may not be the nicest guy in the world, but at least he was willing to help Kevin achieve his goal. Maybe I should give him a break.
~Day 4~
Hello, Journal. It’s me, yet again. I decided to hit the sack early last night and see if I couldn’t beat the stupid alarm clock. As it turns out, I was actually successful today. It’s a bit dark as I’m typing here, but fortunately I’m a skilled touch typist. Thank you, key strokes lab. What would I do without you?
So anyways, last night we all had a great meal and I cheered Kevin on as he ate. The accomplishments he’d managed that day were positively insane. I was shocked he hadn’t pulled a muscle or something with all the work he’d been doing, but somehow he pulled through. Our enforcers slapped him a few good times on the back, knocking his food out of his hands and making him choke once or twice. Fortunately, it wasn’t too serious. He just coughed it out. I scanned the mess hall. Most of the men in sight were beginners like us. Still, the hall was rather spacious, and it wouldn’t surprise me if they had a schedule shift for the meatheads. Maybe a different mess hall, too. Who knows what else is down there in that abyss of a gym? But I digress.
After we finished with our dinner, Kevin said he was going to take a shower. I immediately and heartily seconded the motion. We laughed as we walked back together, two kids, one broad as a barn, the other skinny as a rail. Alright, I’m exaggerating a little, so sue me. Kevin actually looked like he was starting to pack on a little muscle and I admit I was jealous. Still am, I suppose. But I’ll get over it. He took his sweet time in the stalls, though. The sound of hissing hot water saturated the locker room and slowly spread into our barracks. Hey, I call it as I see it. That’s basically what we’re living in right now.
Anyways, the others came in. A good quarter or so went straight to their beds and started fiddling with their pads, having chosen not to work out, like me, for various reasons. The rest of them shuffled into the showers like the walking dead with tired smiles. Soon a chorus of cascading jets joined Kevin’s solo, causing steam to billow out the portal and into our living quarters. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as that same odor I first smelled this morning assaulted my nostrils. Like I said, I don’t like it all that much. The collective chorus of groans and moans told me just how much these men really looked forward to their showers. I can’t really blame them, I suppose. If I were covered in sweat and grime and reeking B.O. I’d probably want a shower too. Not to mention the relief the heat would give to sore and torn muscle tissue.
Then the whole barracks turned toward the showers as an unmistakable sound assaulted our ears. Music, static, voices, car screeches, and sports commentary filtered through the mist like a forgotten dream. That’s right. They have real television here. What a novelty … in the bathroom. Idiots.
The men filed out a few at a time as showers slowly cut off and TVs died. Some smiled triumphantly. Others cried because of memories invoked either of family or their pasts before being dragged into this nightmare. Then there were those silent few who just sort of glided their way past as they made their way to bed. I saw one or two of them tap something into their pads. Next thing I knew their drawers were popping open as they pulled out a gangly pair of ear buds. They plugged them in, shoved the buds in their ears, lay down on their beds and tapped something before they lay their pads on their footlockers/dressers. I could just make out a play bar. It was probably some sort of MP.3 file, most likely to relax a person as they tried to fall asleep. Either that or it had some sort of instructions to help them improve in their workouts and they were listening to pass the time before lights out. Whatever. Anyways, I curled up in my sheets as I waited for darkness to claim me, the curious buzzing of the fluorescent lights gradually lulling me to sleep. The last thing I thought I heard was the familiar click of a dresser followed by the sound of the scanner.
Someone said “… Gotta update my stats.” Then I lost all consciousness.
I um … have to go take care of something real quick. Be right back.
There, all done. The alarm system seems to be kicking in again. But it looks like the lifts are slowing down this time. They didn’t even have to go up all the way before half the people were out of bed. I guess there are some things the body learns to adapt to quickly. Oh, gross! Some of the men here are scratching their unmentionables like it’s nothing. Actually, a lot of the guys are looking a little flushed today. They rushed over to the bathrooms faster than I’ve ever seen anyone go before. I could hear the showers running and happy sighs of relief followed by guttural grunts. Probably morning stretching to loosen everything up.
Those darn TVs are on again. Are they trying to drive us up the wall? Do they seriously think that this will make me do what they want? All I can do is pretty much walk, and even that I can’t do very well for extended periods. I wish they’d just see that already and send me home. Why the scanner didn’t pick up my asthma, I have no clue. Oy, there’s that stupid smell again. Don’t these men know how to turn on a fan?
Wow. It’s been like a half hour and they’re still going in there. Well, some at least. Guess there really is such a thing as a TV addict. I think I’m gonna go talk with Kevin. See how he’s doing. I’ll turn on the audio for this one.
ACCESSING #56 AUDIO FILE 002
“Hey, Kevin. How’s it going?”
“Huh? Oh, hey Kyle. Just booting up my schedule for the day. Wanted to see what coach had signed up for me next, ya know?”
“Yeah, I know. How’re those muscles doing today?”
“Actually, a lot better. Those protein drinks really do a great job. Missed you in the showers last night.”
“Meh, didn’t need one. I wasn’t a sweaty mess like some people in this room.” (I laughed here. Kevin knows I’m not the snobby type and he soon joined me.)
“I noticed you were in bed before lights out. You aren’t trying to earn brownie points with coach and the others are you?”
“What, are you kidding? I’m just trying to survive in this place. I’d rather not die from a broken neck after these deathtraps fling us into a wall.”
“Well, at least we’re all alive and healthy. That’s what really matters right now. Things could be a lot worse for us.”
“You always look on the bright side of things, don’t you?”
“Of course. How else do you think I have the motivation to work like this? I had to forgive coach first. Trust him. You know. He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”
“Yeah … still not gonna do that just yet. Maybe later, if he proves himself. Maybe.”
“Well he already has to me. Hate to cut this short, but coach assigned me some recordings to listen to before I go work out. We’ll talk more at breakfast, alright?”
“Fine by me, jock boy. Just be careful.” (I winked at him as he groaned and rolled his eyes.)
END TRANSMISSION
…
I didn’t see Kevin at breakfast. He wasn’t in the gym either when I checked in. I did a slow walk on a treadmill, just to get those glaring guards off my back. I did alright. Was a little hard pressed for breath by the end, but at least I didn’t have an attack. I went over to the weights, but still didn’t see Kevin, so I went back to the barracks. I was about to scan in when the doors disengaged and out stepped the very boy I’d been looking for. He blinked a few times and swayed on his feet.
“Kevin?” I asked. “You okay?”
“Huh?” he blinked again a few times before his eyes came back into focus. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s the matter, got tired of waiting for me?”
“Well yeah, it’s been nearly three hours.”
Kevin laughed. “Three hours. That’s a good one.”
“… It would be. If I were joking. Breakfast is already way past. I even walked on the treadmill a little. You missed it.”
“What?” he exclaimed, shocked.
“Yup.”
“That’s great. Working out’s good for you.” He smiled. “You’ll be making friends out of those thugs in no time.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. But seriously, what were you doing?”
“I was … um … listening to a file, I think. Then next thing I know I’m sitting all alone.” He blushed. “I um … may have taken another shower, too. And maybe watched some T.V.” He rubbed the back of his head and I was assaulted by the scent of Axe body spray. I took a step back.
“Phew, too much, Kevin. Way too much.” He blushed sheepishly.
“It was either that or let the B.O. seep through. All that sweat’s making me reek like a stale side of ham.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not that bad.”
“Look, I just need to wear it okay? So drop it.” The aggression in his voice was enough to make me back off.
“Okay, okay. Sorry.” The rest of that day was all silence as he worked and worked and worked some more. A scowl stood out on his face as he pushed as hard as he could, glistening in the fluorescent lights. By the time he was finished, he stomped off, leaving me behind.
“… Sorry,” I said, paling. I looked around to the others. Weights clanked, grunts sounded, heavy breathing filled the air, and every once in a while I heard a “yes, sir, Coach.” I sighed and made my way out of the gym and back to the barracks. Not like I had much else to do with all these people glaring at me. My one friend’s too angry to speak to me now anyways. Like clockwork, the men entered the room and made for the showers. A couple of them are busy posing in front of their mirrors, flexing a bicep and grinning like idiots. Then they sit and plug in their ear buds, staring at nothing. I sighed and got ready to sleep once more as the sound of music playing combined with sports commentary drifts over from the shower room. I’m not all that hungry today. I think I’ll skip dinner and just sleep. Goodnight.
~Day 5~
It’s quiet this morning. A few more are wearing their headphones as they sleep. Probably some of those subliminals designed to help people focus more on their goals. Maybe they’re self-help tapes. I don’t know. I’m still not feeling any better about what’s going on after yesterday. Sleep came pretty hard for me last night with those TVs echoing from the shower stalls. I wish they had some sort of a mute button or a sound proof wall or something. It’s seriously annoying. That and the men starting to admire themselves in the mirror. I mean, seriously. I understand if it’s a teenager like me, but adults? They’re grownups for crying out loud. I thought they were supposed to be past the vanity stage. Sorry for the rant.
I’m looking over at Kevin’s bed. He’s lying flat on his back, his breathing steady as he smiles. The kid actually doesn’t look half bad. He’s been getting a little more toned over the last week. No major gains yet, obviously. That’d be ridiculous. But he is getting there. Even after the whole argument yesterday, I’m glad he still has the chance to get what he wants. I wish I could.
I’m getting up for my scan now. Might as well get it over with. That, and apparently, my “code” won’t work if I don’t check myself into the scanner at least once or twice a week. In other words, no scan, no freedom. I’m sighing now as it runs over me, typing this to pass the time. It seems to be taking longer for some reason. Probably finally picking up on my asthma, at least I hope. Maybe then I can go home and I won’t have to bother Kevin again. Feels kind of tingly.
…
Real Men’s Journal: Part 3
~Day 6~
Okay, what the heck just happened? I don’t remember anything after that scan. I walk around and the thugs just smile when they see me. And what’s with the other guys suddenly giving me pats on the back? Something weird’s going on here. I’m hearing more talk about football and baseball, stuff like that. It’s all half the guys ever talk about now. I suppose given this is a fitness related center they likely are restricting things that can be watched in the showers to sports. Still … I don’t know.
The camaraderie with the coaches is getting out of hand. They ordered a fitness test today to assess our progress. Abrams ordered twenty pushups, thirty crunches, and a half mile run. Naturally, I sat out. I know my limits. Some of the others though … they seemed a little too eager. Abrams would complement them, and they’d respond like we were in the army or something. “Thank you, sir!” Abrams would smile then and smack their butts or backs and they would just shudder and return it!
“Almost ready,” he said. I don’t know what he means by that, but I don’t want to find out. Kevin was one of the most zealous in the group, pushing his limits. At least that part hadn’t changed. I still decided to wait on the side, even as I watched. He grit his teeth, panting as he pressed on. The toned muscle paid off nicely. Abrams congratulated him, then touched something on Kevin’s pad as he entered a code. He did the same for a few others. They all just smiled as they got up, immediately accessing the new whatever it was Abrams unlocked. Kevin saw me and walked over. I looked away.
“… Uh … hey,” he said, sort of lamely.
“… Hey,” I said.
“You um … weren’t participating.”
“Asthma, remember?”
“Didn’t stop you yesterday,” he said. There was an awkward silence where we both weren’t willing to say anything. “Uh … guess I’ll see you later …” With that he left as he pulled out his tablet and plugged in a set of headphones. He hit play and walked off, joining with the few chosen ones as they gathered together. They don’t know how good they have it. It’s dinner time now. Stomach’s growling. I’ll just grab a bite to eat, scan, and go to bed. After all, I gotta update my stats. Even if I don’t want to. *sigh*.
~Day 14~
Hey, sorry I haven’t updated in a while. Not much to report except more of the same until now. The barracks are feeling empty today. Our special group of golden boys have officially gone off to who knows where. Abrams said it was the second tier in their training. With the looks on their faces, you’d have thought they won the lottery. Kevin looked a little worried towards me, but even then, he still smiled like a fool as he picked up his tablet with the others and filed out. He took one last look back at me, waved sort of timidly, and then the door sealed shut. I’m pretty much alone now.
I’ve been dealing with annoying offers to be workout buddies, and received endorsements for recordings. Seriously, you’d think these guys were traveling salesmen or something. I’m just glad I’m not the only one being targeted. When I refused, the men just shrugged and walked to the showers. I could hear the water running as the TVs blared.
They sure have been taking their sweet time. Water’s still running, TVs are still going, and that stupid smell is still wafting in the air. Seriously, either these guys need to invest in a better air filtration system, or they need to let us get some air fresheners. I made a joke out of it and got a few chuckles. Most of the others just sort of looked at me funny before turning back to their tablets. I’m bored, so I might as well do something to relax. Since I have no idea what could possibly be so attention grabbing for the other men, I might as well take a shower and see what all the fuss is about.
…
What the heck are they doing to us? Seriously, I’m scared here. I went in, snuck to my locker number and pulled out my shower supplies. I’ve decided to use the Old Spice Wolfthorn body wash since it’s the fruitiest. They have these Axe exfoliation pads we can use to get the stuff over our skin without wasting so much. As for hair, well, I’m more of a head and shoulders kind of guy, myself, but that’s beside the point. Sorry, that gas was making me light headed. At least I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of gas. It’s the only thing I can think of.
Anyways, like I was saying, I snuck into the showers because I didn’t want anyone teasing me or approaching me while I was in the nude. I walked past the curtains as the sound of the speakers blared through. They were all watching a football game and I felt like it was pounding into my skull as I walked past. All the men were just standing there in the mist and the water. Nobody scrubbed up, nobody lathered. They all just stood stark still, straight as boards. It was … eerily quiet when I think about it. I didn’t even hear any cheers when a touchdown was made. No groans of disappointment either. Just silence. Then came the creepy part.
“Yes, sir …” I heard. I wondered why they would’ve said that.
“Will study …” A second said as I walked past.
“Will grow …” came the third.
“Will become …” said a fourth.
I could hear the heavy slap of feet on the tile as one of the men who’d been sitting on their beds messing with their tablets walked in with dreamy-looking eyes. He didn’t even acknowledge me as he walked past and into a shower. He closed the curtain, took off his towel, and turned on the flow as he stared into the screen. His longer black hair dripped around him as the television flicked on to the same game the others were watching.
“The team is all,” he said as he stared, his legs splayed as the water cascaded over him. I watched as the others suddenly shuddered in their stalls, immediately mimicking the first man’s actions.
“The team works as one. We fight for the team. We act for the team. We live for the team. The team lives for coach. Bigger is better. Buffer is tougher.” I watched as they flexed in synch like a choreographed ballet. “Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge.” They repeated again and again and again. Louder, faster, flexing all the while as they shifted poses and positions. Then they yelled, groaned in pleasure, and stood there as the game broke for a commercial. A few minutes later they reached out, grasped their scrub pads and body wash and lathered up like nothing had happened. I heard cheers, whoops, hollers, and groans, and everything seemed to be normal again. At least until they were done.
When they stepped out, all of them had a good layer of stubble on their features. Their fat had receded from their necks and chins, leaving their faces more angular and square. They smirked at me, even as they swaggered off. One of them smiled blankly as he flexed a bicep.
“Mmm. Man it feels good to flex. This program ain’t half bad.” He smacked me on the butt, which led to me jumping in the air. He frowned momentarily. Then it cleared. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it, too. Enjoy the shower.” He walked off. Half way through, he removed his towel as he casually went to his locker. I immediately turned away as I got into a stall and turned on the water. As I said before, something is definitely up. There’s no way these kinds of results can happen so quickly. And the whole blank voice, unison thing? Seriously creepy. Next thing they’ll be wearing jockstraps and slinging slang like a bunch of meatheads. A bunch of big, dumb, meatheads.
Real Men’s Journal: Part 4
~Day 15~
Our numbers are beginning to thin. Whatever’s been happening in our barracks, it’s spreading. I’m getting worried. They’ve started placing protein shakes by some of the beds in the morning for our heavy lifters to drink.
“Gotta get my protein,” they keep saying. “Gotta bulk up, ya know? Relax, bro.” How can I relax when all these men are being brainwashed and they don’t even realize it? I warned the others who were left about what’s going on. Chris, our defacto leader, furrowed his brows, and many others didn’t want to believe me. They did after they went to the showers tonight. We’ve been trying to do mental games and things like that to keep our minds sharp and focused, but I’m worried for a couple of members: senior level chess champions. They had a taste of whatever it is, I assume subliminals of some kind. Dick and Tracy, twin brothers. They’re both a little on the short and fat side, but you’ll never find a better opponent for such a strategic game. They were scratching in places that are better scratched in private, if you know what I mean. When confronted about it, they just said they itched and everyone else was doing it anyways, so it’s not like it mattered. It’s the eyes that worry me though. I thought I saw something wriggling way in the back. Something slow.
~Day 19~
I’ve brought my concerns to Chris. He’s a lot like me, only taller and a little rounder. He’s got a good head of black hair that now hangs around his face like bangs. He normally would have styled it, but with everything going on here, he didn’t see much point. I’d say the guy is around six feet or so, like I said, husky build. He’s the head of some big company from what he told me. So he’s basically what I aspire to be, minus the massive pudge. His eyes burn when he chooses to glare at someone. That golden brown can be scary sometimes. Fortunately, that glare wasn’t directed at me today. He actually agreed with me.
The twins themselves seem to have gotten worse. They act a little more distant now. When we eat our meals, they’re torn between who to sit with. They’ve made it a habit to scan themselves regularly and I notice the pair has started to put on some weight, the muscly kind. They swear up and down they’re not listening to the recordings, but still …
~Day 22~
Dick and Tracy lost today … twelve consecutive times. When we left from our minimal workout requirements, usually just a once around the track at as slow a pace as we can manage, the twins stayed behind. Then later tonight, when we had our tournament, they just sort of moved their pieces wherever, their legs spread out on the chair as they leaned back. It was completely random, almost as if they didn’t care. And trust me, if you’d seen them when they first started here, you’d know that’s not normal. Once they’d lost for the final time, the pair just left and walked off. The way they splayed their legs though, that pose, that swagger … it didn’t look good. And did those two look a little taller? Crap, it’s lights out again. I’ll write tomorrow.
~Day 23~
It’s official. Dick and Tracy have turned to the dark side. I woke up in the middle of the night and looked over to their beds. Then it hit me: the chorus of mumbling. I didn’t make it out at first, but then it became clearer. My heart raced. I could hear their mattresses creaking and straining. I crept my way to their beds and there they were, flexing their muscles, their tablets glowing in their stands to highlight their bodies. Two wires sprouted from each of their ears, converging on the devices.
“Yes, coach. I listen. I obey. Good not to think. Just grow. Like to work out. Love to work out. Love to sweat. Sweat it all out. Get big. Get swole. Sports rule. Massive. Yes, sir. Trigger. Will join whenever said. Fall deeper. Want a massive, manly bulge. I want a massive manly bulge. Want to be a big, dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge...” They spoke in unison and started to chant, just like in the bathroom with the others. And soon more joined in a whispering chorus. Even in their sleep they’re programmed to react. You can guess the rest. This is seriously scaring me. And the worst part is we’re trapped in this nightmare until they see to let us go or to force us to become … that.
By morning, the two were swearing up a storm, slapping each other on the butt and calling everyone Bro while entering poses. We lost two good men. I’ve been avoiding them like the plague. So’s everyone else, though a few poor souls have been staying with them, doubtless trying to bring back the old Dick and Tracy. The twins took them to the bathroom and I heard the TVs running. I shook my head and checked off another couple names. I’d give those kids three days before they give in.
~Day 26~
That gas must be hallucinogenic. It has to be. What I just saw can’t be real. I was just minding my business, deciding to try an audio recording since I had the barracks to myself and then … well, take a listen. I’ll insert my own commentary in the recording as a voice over in the file for how I felt and reacted at the time.
ACCESSING # 56 AUDIO FILE 004
Damn, what the hell are they feeding these guys? Are they pumping steroids or something? Dick and Tracy are growing far too quickly. By the time they were out of the barracks for another day of work, they’d gained a solid twenty pounds of muscle and they were growing taller by the day. The number of times they’d scan themselves, you’d think they were afraid of not gaining. And every time, that stupid blue flash. It’s so annoying! It doesn’t help any with the two of them always showing off. They’re getting cruder by the day. I wouldn’t be surprised if they started jutting their brows out soon and hooting like monkeys.
“You hear that, Bro? I think Kyle here’s tryin’ to insult us.”
“I think you’re right. What’re we gonna do about it, Trace?”
“Dunno, Dick. After all, a coupl’a animals like us can’t reach his level.”
“Hey, give that back!”
“What’s this? A diary?” *chuckling* “Fucking pansy. Hey, Dick, get a load of this.”
*Air whistles through the mike*
“Sweet! Let’s look at his stats.”
“Give it back, Dick.”
“Phew, you’re seriously still at the beginning? Dude, why’re you being such a newb?”
“I dunno, why’re you being a couple of jackasses?”
“Says the man who called us monkeys.”
*Loud Ripping*
“Well how do ya like them bananas, huh? I can rip my fuckin’ sleeve with a bicep. Can you do that?”
“I can actually play chess. Can you do that?”
“Chess is for losers. Football’s where it’s at.”
“Yeah … football. Football’s the greatest.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“… Everything.”
“But we’ll be better soon—”
“—With coach’s help.”
“Gotta get swole with a massive, manly bulge.”
“What the hell, guys?!” (They were starting to pose and flex and … well, look, they were sporting erections, okay? And shoving them around like they should be proud of them. I may be a teen, but I have my standards. I was kinda getting worried for my tablet, but Dick the dick managed to hang on to it. See what I did there? He kept on flexing with his brother and chanting and then some of the others walked in. I watched as one of them went rigid and his two friends looked on in concern.)
“Chad? Chad, are you alright?” (The red head on the left asked. I watched as the one called Chad broke into a smile as the brightness in his eyes dimmed.)
“I … I’m uh … yeah, fine. Just … fine.” (He was practically drooling as he watched Dick and Tracy. The longer he stood there and the more he listened, the dimmer his eyes became.) “They’re so big, aren’t they?” (he remarked dreamily as he stared at the twins.)
“Well yeah, they’ve been following the program, remember? Working out … getting … swole?” (the blonde one to his right asked. He blinked a few times and shook his head. I’m actually surprised my mike caught this. This thing must have some seriously good reception. Meanwhile, the twins were still at it with their stupid chant. You can hear it loudest in this thing, of course.)
“They’re just being a bunch of showoffs, Chad. Come on. Let’s hit the showers.” (The red one said as he grabbed Chad’s shoulder.)
“I … I think I’ll hang around a while longer, Ryan. I … wanna watch.” (The twins smirked here and broke off their chant as they finally realized they had an audience.)
“Like what you see?” (Dick asked as he flexed a meaty bicep.)
“Bet you wish you had a dick like mine. Chuckle.” (Tracy patted his bulge and went back to posing.)
“Work out just like us, follow the program just like us, and you’ll be just like us.”
“Just like us.” (Tracy echoed his brother as they mirrored one another in their sets before breaking up into more meatheaded laughter.)
“With a massive, manly bulge.” (This time it was Dick who patted, well, his dick. Then he shuddered as he looked at his brother with those same murky eyes. Tracy returned the favor.)
“Gotta bulk up. Gotta get swole. Become with your massive, manly bulge.” (The two went back into their muscle show as they returned to the mantra once again of “massive, manly bulge.” They were practically spewing their brains out with every line.)
“Come on, guys, this is creeping me out.” (Ryan said this as he turned away from the display. His cheeks were flushed.)
“But … look at them.” (Chad said.) “So … huge.” (He stood there like a statue, his eyes locked on the twins.)
“I agree with Ryan, Chad. This has … uh … gotten a little … strange. Even if they are kinda big … and buff … and … strong …” (Even as the blondie moved to follow Ryan, he still looked back, almost longingly. His steps slowed and he swayed on his feet.)
“Chris, Chad, come on. Let’s get to the showers. We’re missing the game.” (Ryan urged, though fear flickered on his face.)
“So bulky … and bulgy.” (Chad was long gone, his voice distant as he stared, flushed. A small bump pushed against his shorts as the muscleheads continued to repeat.)
“Chad … this isn’t … it’s not … we have to … to watch the. …the game. Watch … Uh … watch … the game with … players.” (Even as Chris protested, he walked away from Ryan and the showers to stand next to Chad.)
“Bulge … bigger … buffer … so huge…” (That rip you just heard was the other twin’s sleeves breaking. With an audience like this, the twins have grown more bold … and more stupid.)
“Huge players … manly … crashing … smashing … bulging … bashing … posing … flexing … just … like … them …”
“… Just like them.” (Chad echoed Chris as they eyed the pair of nerds turned jocks. They were both gone now.)
“Chad? Chris?” (Ryan approached them tentatively and tapped them on their shoulders.) “Guys, this isn’t funny.” (I watched the pair spasm as they resolutely kept eye on Dick and Tracey. Soon their lips twitched, then they slowly pulled into dimwitted smiles. They parted their legs into a wide stance and started to mimic Tracey and Dick, posing and straining in their clothes. It was kindof cute in its own way. If it weren’t so pathetic and creepy, I might have laughed. But this was serious. They were basically flexing their brains away.)
“Work out … just like us …” (Chad said.)
“Follow the program … just like us …” (Chris said)
“Be just like us. Yes. Be just like them …Wanna be … just like them.” (The pair said together.)
“Guys, come on. This isn’t funny.”
“Just like us … just like them … BE just like us … BE just like them…”
(Ryan backed warily) “Look, guys, I want to be big too. Muscles are great. They make you strong, big, burly … powerful and … uh …” (He shook his head. The chanting must’ve been getting to him.) “But I don’t want to be just like them, ya know? I want to be buff, sure. And maybe a little ripped. I want to play football one day, sure. But-”
“Just like us … just like us …” (They never stopped smiling.)
“Guys, I don’t want to be just like you, okay? I want to be … well, I want to be—”
“Big … just like them,” (Chad said.)
“Strong … just like them,” (Chris said.)
“Buff … just like them.”
“Guys, please.” (The pair were relentless.)
“Swole … just like them.” (Chris continued.)
“Well … maybe I–um …” (Ryan flushed as he took a guilty glance towards the twins.)
“Bulging muscle … just like them.” (Chad said.)
“Yes, but so much … bigger …” (Ryan sighed.)
“Massive size … just like them …” (That one was Chris.)
“I want … more …”
“Just … like … us …” (Chad and Chris grinned at their friend)
“I … no, I just … want to be … I want … want to feel … feel … I wanna--”
“Be just like them … Be Just like us …”
“I want to be … big … like them … and uh … manly. … like them … like them … just … like … them--” (Aaaaand there went number three. He immediately stood next to them, all three with their little bulges in a row as they stared adoringly at the twins.)
“Just like them … Just like us … Big … buff … Massive …”
“Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Be just like us. Don’t think. Don’t fuss. Massive. Manly. Bulge.
“Just like them … don’t think. Don’t fuss … Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (I watched them parrot the twins’ movements. Soon they were showing off their own erections with cocky sneers, just like their “role models.”)
“More big. More buff. More dumb. More swole. The more massive we make our manly bulge.”
“More big. More buff. More dumb. More swole. The more massive we make our manly bulge.” (I … don’t believe what I’m seeing. I swear, those three were already at full mast. It’s obvious. And so were the twins. But … they’re expanding! What the hell?)
“Grow your massive, manly bulge. Laugh out the nerd. Put the jock in control.”
“Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. Manly. Bulge. Massive. *Snark* Manly. *eheh* Bulge. *GURK* M-m-m-massive, *huhu* Manly *uuhuuhuuu* B-b-b-bulge-AAahahahaha—” (They laughed like they couldn’t control it. And all the while the twins looked on blankly and just smiled like the idiots they’d become, flexing, posing, and chanting that same mantra about their massive, manly bulges. Those big, fucking annoying, massive, manly bulges that grow and swell and … so huge … so … manly … bigger … must be … Massive … so … so massive … I …I’ll be right back. I have to *GROAN* t-t-take care of … my bulge … my … bulgey … Growing … Massive, manly bulge. Growing … always growing. Make bigger. Bulge ……………...) [Warning: Recording reaching maximum capacity. Closing application in 3 … 2 … 1 … 0--]
(Okay, okay, I’m back. Sorry about that. I um … had some business to take care of again. It’s lights out here, but I should be okay finishing this recording as long as I whisper. Anyways, where was I? No, been there, fast forward … Ah, there we are. So as you can hear, the jocks are still chanting and the nerds are still laughing. And well, what happened next scared the crap out of me. No joking, their junk must’ve grown like three times in size. And the longer they laughed, the deeper their voices went. It switched from a light, happy laughter to a low, deep, dull kind of boom.)
“Huhuhuhuuuuu … Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (And as they laughed, I watched them start to bulk up. I kid you not, I watched them physically grow taller. I saw the bumps pressing against the fabric of their shoes as their feet grew by at least half a size, then continued to swell and extend. The fabric burst on the sides as their socks tore. I watched them flexing as they laughed and their shirts started to grow snug. Their arms lengthened and expanded, their legs thickened, their calves became like carved marble. And just as their bodies thickened, so did their heads. I could practically hear the pressure their skulls put on their brains as they expanded.)
“I feel … funny, uhuu … like uhhhhh … like … *Deep Laughter*
“I think the word you’re looking for is dumb.” (I said scornfully. And the worst part was the guy, Chris, grinned at me, his blonde hair shining as he posed.) “Dude, I’m so fuckin’ pumped. Like … I never felt this way before, ya know?”
“Like, so ripped. Dudes, we like, totally need to work out!” (Ryan, the redhead said as his jaw started to jut out and a bit of stubble presented itself on his chin. I kid you not; that’s what happened. Or at least what I saw. I felt so light-headed and the smell from the bathrooms was so strong. But no one was showering. How could it be here too? And now of all times? It … made it hard to focus. It was just so easy to just watch and let things happen, you know? Just sit back, relax and just … listen. So good to listen.)
“Gotta get swole, bros.” (Gotta get swole. Yeah, they uh … that’s what they said, I mean Chad said. And … he’s laughing. So yeah. Aaaand there goes their compression underwear. You do hear that, right? But … this was a hallucination. Or … was it real and the process just … makes … dumb jocks … big … dumb … jocks. Make more … dumb jocks … more massive men. Massive men. Massive me. I um … I gotta focus here. Focus on … the recording.)
“Fucking ‘A man, I feel fucking awesome!” (That one was uh … Chris again. They were so … out of it. And … flexing so much. So much flexing. Posing. Swelling. I … I don’t know where everyone else was. M-maybe that’s why … why this happened. Let them flood the place with … with the gas …)
“*SHRED* Uhuuuuu … look at my fuckin’ bicep, bros.”
“Chad, that’s like … so fuckin’ cool.” (That one was Ryan. He’s still a little behind the others, but that’ll change soon.)
“Bro, like … call me Thirteen.” (They call eachother by numbers now? I … guess that makes sense. Takes away their individuality. Makes them more compliant, more like a group. Less like a person.)
“Dudes, like, only coach calls us that, remember?” (That one was Dick.)
“But, it’s so fuckin’ boss, bro.”
“I know, but we can’t yet. Not till coach tells us we can.”
“Gotta obey coach.” (This one was Tracey. Then they all just sort of went rigid.)
“Obey coach. Listen to coach. Coach makes us bigger. Coach makes us better. Coach makes us men. Massive, manly men. Massive, manly bulge.” (There they go again with their chanting. I had to look away after a point. Their bodies grew so much, they *GROAN* shredded their clothes with their muscles … their massive muscles. So … massive … manly … bulging. I uh … don’t have much more to report on this. Just … they changed in a few minutes. That’s … that’s powerful stuff. I … I don’t think I should say anything about this to the others. Nobody’d believe me. But yeah … there were basically … three naked studs left and *PANT* two more next to them. Studs like horses, I mean. Hung like horses. Dumb as horses, too. Big, dumb jocks. So big. So dumb. Uh … yeah, let’s just move on before I keep repeating myself.)
“Big. Dumb. Jock. Massive. Manly. Bulge.” (And so they continued. At least until Coach Abrams came in. He took one look at the five of them, then at me. He gave me a creepy smile, then turned to the others and barked an order.)
“Twenty-two, Twenty-three, Thirteen, Five, Ten, fall in!”
“Yes, sir.”
*Loud Clattering*
END TRANSMISSION
~Day 27~
My head’s a lot clearer today. Sorry about that from last night. Anyways, time for my rant, so hold on to something.
Those stupid grunts broke my tablet! Abrams said they won’t be able to get me a new one for a while, so I’m stuck with this old one for now and its stupid flickering screen. Good thing I already know how to touch type. As I suspected, the twins are gone now, along with their three … I don’t know what to call them. Brainwashees? Fellow jocks? Former nerds? Something. Anyways, they’ve been promoted to the next step in their process. That’s what Abrams came to do when they messed with my tablet. The ones who were gullible enough to follow them in the showers and gym are showing the signs, too. The ones that are left anyways. We’re dropping like flies. Jake, one of our overdramatic members went through a nervous breakdown today. I had to try to comfort him. Man, can that guy cry. Guess that’s all for now. I’ll write again tomorrow.
�6��c
Real Men’s Journal: Part 7
Hey, Tumblr. Sorry it took me so long to update. Real life is annoying that way sometimes, and as a writer, I’ve been working to earn commission money to help pay the bills. You know how it goes. Anyways, here’s the next installment in the series. I hope you all enjoy. Please reblog, like, and otherwise enjoy as you wish. There’s more to come for our friend, Kyle.
As you bros can see, he’s starting to crack. I wonder how much longer he can endure. Let’s find out.
~DAY ???~
That video file could’ve gone better. I just … I feel so –Idunno, vulnerable, I guess. It’s taken me a few days to get my composure back. On the plus side, the coaches aren’t too happy about that. I haven’t been working out as much as they want since I’ve been trying to get myself back under control. The rest of the people in my “class” also became more kind after witnessing the event. At least I’ve got some friends now; even if they are pity friends. I miss my real friends and my real family so much right now. And, surprisingly, I find myself missing Kevin and 100.
I need something to get my mind off of all this. Maybe I’ll go take a shower. Watch a game or something. I could use something mindless right now. Later.
~DAY ???~
I’ve been dreaming. The same dream all the time. I see all the faces in my family, old friends, my old life, even those stupid bullies Damien and Bryan. We’re in high school and I’m laughing like this was the dream and that was the reality. I didn’t even care when I got beat up, or made fun of for my “being a fucking pansy.” I was home. Then I walk into gym class and we’re in the weight lifting segment. We get a substitute and I see Abrams and Stone standing there. They segment us off, make us take different machines and spot and work out with a partner. Surprisingly, I didn’t see the dreadful duo.
I got assigned with Kevin, the Kevin I knew before he disappeared, before the change. He was just as eager, just as kind, just as earnest as ever. I smiled as we got together and began to work on a set with a different pair of individuals working at the bench next to ours. Something about them seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on what.
We began to lift, and it was surprisingly easy. Up. Down. Up. Down. It was a special kind of rhythm and it just brought a smile to my lips as I fell into it. Kevin smiled back at me as he kept an eye on the bar, his hands hovering just below in case my arms gave out. My whole body throbbed with blood as it pumped and flowed through my veins, filling everything. The weights just kept clanking and clanking in my ears. Up. Down. Clank. Clank.
Then came the grunts, groans, and moans. It started off sort of small at first, a distant person, but then it grew, slowly spreading across the room. When it started to my side, I turned my head to see our two neighbors. I heard their voices growing deeper, shifting in unison as the one lifted and the other watched. Soon the spotter just backed off and started to pose and flex. He was hard as hard could be as he kept going. Then, to my horror, I heard another grunt, a pleasurable groan, and I watched as Kevin left me, walking towards this stranger. The two posed, flexed, and then began to grow together. I wanted to scream, cry out, do something. But all I could do was watch silently as I continued to lift like a robot. Up. Down. Up. Down.
Kevin blew up before my eyes, becoming more and more what I had seen of him before he disappeared. I watched his companion as he grew and swelled, his features slowly changing, becoming masculine, prominent. I watched his smile turn into a sneer as he continued to grow. Soon, in the stead of the nice boy, I saw Damien. Instead of kevin, I saw … I don’t know what to call it to be honest with you. He was big, buff, powerful, but he didn’t even seem to recognize me as he looked at me. He seemed sort of dazed. Confused.
I heard another groan of pleasure and to my right, I watched as the other boy clanked faster and harder. The more he pumped, the bigger he grew. Soon he was as tall as Damien, and nearly as broad, and just as hard. Seriously, do erections have to follow me everywhere? I can’t even get away from them in my sleep anymore. And the more I remember them, the harder it gets to stop. So hard. So very hard. And getting harder. Thicker. Stronger. Muscles. So horny … so … so horny. I … have to go. Be back … later. Bigger. Better. So much better … to be big. Big. Muscles. BIG. BUFF. BIGBUFFMUSCLEBIGBUFFMUSCLEMEATMASSIVEMANLY BULGINGHUGESWOLEBEASTBROMUSCLEMASSIVEMANLYBULGEMASSIVEMANLYBULGEMASSIVEMANLYBUIOIOOONLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLlllllllll—
~Day ???~
Damnit, they did it again! Sorry about that. I … let’s get back to the story. The dream. Anyways, the guy to my right. He finally stopped clanking and put the weights on their rest. It was 300 pounds, easy, far different than the starting weight I’d seen before. He grunted, sneered, and then I watched his face turn into Bryan’s. He walked up and patted Kevin on the back. Damien smacked him on the butt. I watched in horror as Kevin’s face twitched, then pulled up into a dazed sort of smile. Then he grunted and posed to the cheers of his two companions as they lay their arms around his shoulders, whispered things in his ears, and he just nodded and mouthed along. Soon they were standing bare as bare could be, a trio of men in what appeared to be posing straps of some kind, similar to speedos. I watched as they looked at themselves in the mirror-wall. I saw Kevin’s smile turn into a grin, and then slowly into a sneer to match his new companions.
And still I lifted. Still, I pressed. Up. Down. Clank. Clank. Pump. Pump. I felt my own member stirring and heard a low grunt issue from my lips against my will. Everything clenched and unclenched. First I was tight, then I was loose, then tight again. Pump. Bigger. Clank. Tighter. Up. Buffer. Down. Big Guns. I felt myself get up and lay the bar on the bench. The weight read 400 lbs. total. I heard the dull thuds of my footsteps across the floor, felt the shockwave as it spread from my heavy frame into the floor. I felt the air across my body as my clothing faded away. I felt the tightness of my skin on my arms as I swung them and shuddered at their power. I looked down to see the floor much farther away than it was before and a neon yellow jockstrap with bright green writing on it. Looking up into the floor length mirror before me, I read what it said in its reflection. “Jumbo Jock Junk” stood out boldly on the pouch of the strap, which grew bigger and tighter every few seconds.
I tried to resist, to fight back, but was powerless in my dream as the three surrounded me, ganged up on me, and ultimately changed me. I grinned at my reflection and watched it warp into an identical sneer. “So big.” I chuckled deeply as I felt something seeping from my head with every pump of blood. “Just a big, dumb jock. Just think with my cock.” I mentally recoiled from that, but the others joined in with my dream self as we slowly grew bigger, bigger, bigger, until we burst through our straps, and still we grew.
I always wake up in a cold sweat with a raging hard on. The first time, I felt so dazed, distant, foggy even. And when I wrote about this … well, you read what happened. Crap, again already? But it can’t be that time. I never used to be so boned. And … my clothes are starting to feel a little tight. Everyone’s giving me the stare. I can only assume I fell into trance again. The scary thing is … I think I’m starting to like this. Scans say my endorphins are through the roof. And my testosterone is increasing like mad. Who knew growing could be so … pleasurable?
~DAY ???~
Okay, so maybe the coaches aren’t so bad. Maybe. Stone’s actually been kinda nice. He keeps his distance for the most part, lets me do what I want. Don’t get me wrong. I’m still pissed. I still want to know what these sickos are doing with everyone and how they’re getting away with all of this. But he does show some measure of concern for the others, even if they are just sacks of meat and muscle by this point, like 100. He warns them not to train too hard. Even told me to take a break. That other coach never did that. Funny … I can’t think of his name. But … why can’t I? I see his face. I remember his muscles, the shrill blow of his whistles. His deep voice. His uniform. Coach’s stripes. All official looking, like a coach should look. I … guess I’ll just call him coach. Yeah, coach’ll work. I … I think I remember now. Coach Abrams. That’s the name. Yes, sir. Coach. Coach Abrams. He was pretty respectful, too, now that I think about it. It’s good to show respect. Respect authority. Coach is authority. Respect Coach. Obey authority. Obey Coach.
I have to go now. Have to listen to coach. Have to obey coach. Coach says work out. Coach says to listen. Yes, sir, Coach. I listen. I obey.
~DAY ???~
Man, I just can’t seem to get enough of those protein shakes. It feels like I just finish one when my stomach starts to rumble again. 100’s been a big help, not even complaining when I ask for another one. Each time I taste it, I just feel so good. So warm. I’ve been gaining more muscle, but I don’t feel too different yet. Maybe I’ll be able to stay like me instead of turning into one of them? I sure hope so. I like being me.
My body’s been feeling a lot more energized of late. And I have to admit, it feels really good. I eat a lot more than I used to, but it doesn’t seem to be much of a problem. My body burns it almost as fast as I eat it. My clothes have been feeling really tight and so have my shoes. I look at myself in the mirror sometimes and I can’t help but smile a little. I actually look fit. I actually feel fit. And … well, alright, once or twice I’ve tried flexing in front of a mirror.
I think I can see why the others do it. After losing so much weight, I’m starting to look like a real model. It’s kindof nice. That and my bulge. It’s … well, it’s bigger. My penis is bigger and I like the way it looks pressing against my shorts, alright? It just makes me … feel good. Especially when I pat it. But every time I cup ‘em, I feel … Idunno, disappointed, I guess. My hands always feel too big compared to em. I feel upset. It’s almost like I want them to be bigger. But I can’t. If I start thinking like that, then the brainwashing will win. But I can’t stop thinking about them. Always growing. Growing bigger. Larger. Like me. So massive. So full. Pressing. Bulging. Mine. All mine. My bulge. My massive, manly bulge. Swelling … straining … bigger. Bigger. BIGGER! MAKE ME FUCKING MASSIVE!!!!!! FUCK YEAH!!!!!!
~DAY ???~
ACCESSING #56 VIDEO FILE 003
A sweaty teenager with plastered hair and well-toned muscles is smiling into the camera. His brown hair is darkened by sweat and his blue eyes blaze with a smoldering sort of pleasure.
“Man, my head’s been feeling so fuzzy lately. But I can’t seem to stop. It’s weird, but I’m actually kindof fine with it. I feel more relaxed than I’ve been in ages. I just sort of blank out and let it go, you know? I’ve gone up a couple of sizes since I last wrote. Tore through my workout clothes while I was doing a set. It’s a good thing 100 was there with another set for me to shift into. He clapped me on the back and I couldn’t help but smile. I really don’t know why I was so scared about this. It’s pretty fucking sweet.” He paused and frowned a moment, like he’d tasted something unpleasant. Then it cleared and he returned to his narration.
“Oh yeah, I’m cursing a little more than usual. What do you expect? Deal with these muscleheads long enough, you need to learn their language. It was inevitable. You know, like it was meant to be. Gotta go. The game’s on and I need to shower with the guys. They’re waiting for me. Knuckleheads. Always trying to show off their gains. Can’t match me though. I’m still bigger.” He smirked. “And it feels good to be big. Can’t wait to see their dopy grins when they watch the screens. Fuckin’ nerds won’t even see it coming.” This time he didn’t flinch. First they’ll turn on the screens, then they’ll watch the lights, then they’ll start to flex. Feels so good to flex. Their muscles will BULGE.” He strikes a pose, flexing a bicep, which barely raises the sleeve of his larger shirt, but is still noticeable. “Then they’ll start to PUMP. Then they’ll get more SWOLE!” He smiles goofily as he strikes a double bicep flex.
“Feels so good, too. FLEXING. Just listening and letting go. Watching the game. Just like the guys. Just one of the guys. One of the team. With a massive, manly bulge. So big. Bigger. Must be MASSIVE. Make MASSIVE.” He smirks as he poses again. “Look at that.” The camera pans down to where a medium sized bulge presses against the shorts. Then the camera pans back up to his face. “That’s my bulge. My swelling, growing, bulgy bulge. Bigger. Have to be bigger. Bigger is better. Makes me happy.” He gets up and moves to the camera. “Time for a shower. With the team.” Before the camera turns off, there is a groan of pleasure followed by a snapping sound. “Ohhhhh hell yeah. Burst my fuckin’ jock.” A dimwitted, deep chuckle is heard as the recording shuts off.
END TRANSMISSION
~DAY ???~
Hey, guys. What’s up? Been working out like a fucking BEAST the last couple weeks. Time’s going by so fast. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here now. Then again, I don’t really care so much anymore either. I’ve been having too much fun with the guys. Josh is bulkin’ up like mad, man. If I’m not careful, he’s gonna be bigger than I am soon.
Cooper’s a great kid. Been listening to my MP.3s with him. He was kinda scared at first, but now we’re both really getting into it. It’s just so good to listen, ya know? He doesn’t listen as long as the rest of us do, but that’ll change soon enough. Coach says it’s good to listen to them as much as we can. Hell, I even work out listening to ‘em now. It just feels right, and I get such a huge pump when I listen, too.
As for Trent, well, Coach said he needed special classes. Last time I saw him, he was chowing down as much protein as he could get. The kid’s like three times the size he used to be when he came in. Said hi, he just sorta smiled at me, grunted, got back to eating. Don’t need ta talk really, not when you’re getting’ swole, ya know? Just breaks your concentration. He was wearing solid grey and sitting down with the big boys on the team. Coach said Trent’s a fast track student. His bulge is already so huge. So’s he. I wanna be big too. I thought being fit would be enough, but I just keep wanting more and more. It aches sometimes how much I want it. Need it. Need muscles. Need to grow. I … I need it. So hard. So big. Need to … Need to … I … have to go. Have to work out. Gotta get swole with my massive, manly bulge. My fucking bulge. Yes. Yes, sir, Coach. I’m listening. Coming now. Just let go … yes …
~DAY???~
Shit, what happened? Guess coach just sorta needed me … or something. Scanning every day now. Bout three times a day. Makes me all warm and tingly. Every day I feel a little tighter. A little closer. But … closer to what? I … I don’t know. My … my head hurts when I try to think about it. Why does it hurt? Make it stop. Make it stop. Just … make it fucking stop!
Real Men’s Journal Part 10
DOCTOR’S LOG
~February 28th~
It’s been nearly a month. Subject 56 has changed drastically. He’s grown in size and mass to the point of being truly “swole.” He’s been positively stacked with muscle and his penis has grown to the point where it’s remarkable he can manage to put together so much as a sentence. The boy is constantly swearing and cursing up a storm, repeating the words “Fuck” and “Damn” over and over again. Every time he speaks a trigger word, the easier it is for him to fall into trance. He’ll be lost soon enough and then I can move on.
Statistics as of last scan:
Height: 5’9
Weight: 290 lbs
Subject Response Rate: 90%
Subject Rank: Advanced
Recommended Course of Action: Advance to next level. Transfer to intermediary.
As for me, I’ve made some serious gains over the last month, and Coach Stone has encouraged me every step of the way. I’m grateful for the lights now. They help me to focus. I doubt I’d be able to get my work done if they were fixed. Viewing the statistics, watching 56 transform and convert, it’s been very … informative. I believe I have a better understanding of the language our subjects use now and occasionally, I use it around my colleagues as a joke. A few of them laugh, but the only one who really seems to get the humor is Coach Stone. We continue to meet on a regular basis for three hours a day at the gym while I work out. My musculature has improved vastly and my dates have been through the roof. I guess it’s true what they say. Working out is an excellent way to improve testosterone production. My sex life has been nothing but aces since I started. I’ve never felt better, and I’ve never been bigger. I am loving the new me. Goodbye, Doctor Seroyan. Say hello to Big Rookie.
~March 30th~
56 continues to grow. He’s gotten so huge. I’ve made it a habit to review his journals every day now. The way he slowly changes is so captivating. He started off so small, so out of shape. Now he’s essentially a god. Cocky, confident, boastful, and slowly becoming obsessed with sports, physical fitness, muscles, and of course, his bulge. Watching his hologram progress projections in sync to his entries as well as seeing the videos from security footage and the recorder in his tablet have become my new hobby. That, and spending some more time with Stone.
My own personal clothing has grown rather snug with the gains I’ve been making. Since the lab coats are specially tailored, along with my other garments for work, I have little choice but to shift to my work out gear when I can. I doubt it will go unnoticed, but I don’t have much choice. I have to go. It’s time for my work out again. Coach Stone and I have agreed we’re going to try to extend a little longer. I can see why our subjects love the gym so much. The rush of endorphins is incredibly pleasurable. So much so sometimes that I even find myself dreaming of the gym, working out, and continuing to grow. The ladies love my new muscles and increased masculinity.
…
So do I.
ACCESSING SUBJECT 56 JOURNAL
~DAY ???~
Phase 2. Entered. Hard to think. People posing so much. FLEXing. I feel so small compared to them. I want to join them, but I can’t. Not after what COACH did. They’re trying to wear me down. I … can’t let them. Have to remember. Have to … think back. Back home. School. Classes. Man, they were so boring. And I was so weak. A fucking pussy. But … I liked being like that, didn’t I? Did I? It’s been so long. Can’t even count the days anymore. Who has time though? Got so much work to do. Worked so hard at school. Worked like a fucking dog. Worked and worked and worked out. Felt so good. Feels so good. Working out is good.
Damn that hissing! I’m not one of them! I won’t give in. Won’t let myself get SWOLE. Even if I am a fucking stud. Hell, I’m hung like a horse. Like a fucking bull. Feels so fuckin good with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. People coming up to me. Callin’ me bro. Yeah … lil’bro. We’re bros …
Damn it, we’re not!
… But we are. I’m so confused. It hurts my head. But I can’t stop. Can’t stop. Can’t stop touching myself. I’m fucking ripped. Look at me. Look at us. So HUGE. So SWOLE. FLEXing. Posing. So good. But … I was … thinking about … something …
…
Game time. Report. Go to showers. 56 Reporting. Must March. Must Report. Yes, sir.
…
DOCTOR’S LOG
~April 12th~
I’ve been having such strange dreams lately. I don’t remember them well. Something about pushing. I remember a heavy weight. Grunts. A sense of satisfaction. I felt … almost mindless. I think there was a voice of some kind in the back pressing me on. I … I don’t know.
For reasons they won’t tell me, my superiors have had me confined to the base. I am having great difficulty dealing with that since my romantic life was doing so well, and it helped to relieve certain urges that are now building up in my system without release. I’ve lodged a complaint, but have yet to receive a response. The only things I can do now are observe 56’s progress and work out.
I’ve taken to referring to Coach Stone by his title, much like the other test subjects. My reasoning behind it, however, is a bit more logical. Since he has decided to dub me “Rookie,” it seems only fair that I call him “Coach,” much like the relationship between a boy and his trainer. I’m rather glad to report I took him by surprise when I said it. We both had a good laugh over it as I got to work on my routine. It’s a great joke: a nickname for a nickname. I’m up to five hours now in the gym. Time goes by so fast. It’s hard to stop. Part of me wishes I didn’t have to.
I think I’ll see about extending my hours again.
56 has been upgraded to Phase Two in The Process. “Coach” made the unfortunate miscalculation of starting into the desire to be a football jock too soon. He neglected to look into the boy’s, well, I guess I can’t call him a boy anymore. Let’s go with strapping young man’s history. It would appear that before he was recommended and brought into the program, Number 1 and Number 5 decided to act on the bullying program instilled in their subconscious as football jocks, which we use as standard cover for our operatives to fit in. The High Schools are so judgmental and cliquey that a living stereotype blends perfectly. Unfortunately, this bullying has led to a great aversion to the sport in the subject at a subconscious level. It will take some time before the desire to play takes root, I fear, though being around fellow members appears to be helping him in the long run.
The close proximity to greater muscle excites the subject and pulls him into a hypnotic stupor which allows the subliminals we play on the speakers every day to have greater effect. That combined with the trigger words we’ve installed in him will soon have him towing the line again. He’s already adopted the others in his new barracks as “bros,” and they have adopted him in kind. The command to watch sports and follow reinforcement protocol is also intact and he has followed it militantly with his brothers. Even as he fell in line, I watched as he gained an extra two inches in height while matching stride. His pre-programmed arousal only added to his euphoria and sense of displacement from his former self. Even if he claims otherwise, the subconscious desire to conform, to fit in, to be the same, to belong, is strong in every high school student. It is strong in him. I watched as his genitals expanded, while they marched in unison. While he is not yet at their level, he will soon catch up. Soon he will match in hair style, in weight count, in competitive nature, in muscle mass, and, of course, in I.Q.
Here is a recording of their transcript. Watching them as they filed in was quite the experience. Of course, I did make sure to include filters in the cameras to preserve dignity. It’s part of company policy.
ACCESSING PHASE 2 CONFORMITY CAMP CAMERAS
A group of boys line up in files and prepare to make their way to the showers. One is shorter than the rest with shaggy dark brown hair. As each file forward, they approach the camera and a light blue light surrounds them as they are scanned. A door opens, and they pass through. Eventually, this shorter boy walks up and stands inside as the entrance seals shut. His jaw is square and his eyes are open, staring obediently ahead as he spreads his legs, exposing his erection while he stands at attention.
“Identification?” a female voice inquires.
“Kyle Matthews,” the boy replies.
“Identification?”
“Kyle Matthews.”
“Please state registered identification.”
“Ky–”
“Please state registered identification.”
“… Number 56.”
“Voice identification imprint confirmed. Initiating scan.” The light blue light flashes up and down over the boy as he stands there, unblinking. His pupils contract as his erection presses further against his pants. His brow grows slightly more prominent as the hair along the ridges becomes bushier. “Confirmed. Player Number 56. On track.”
“Player Number 56. On track,” he mumbled back and shuddered as a smile crossed his face. A new door hissed open as he passed into the locker room and the camera angle shifts to the inside. He approaches a locker where another scanner waits. The shower room is cavernous and from the upper vantage point, multiple men stand side by side as they look into the digital eyes on the metal surfaces. No benches are anywhere in sight. The room slowly becomes more filled as the systematic hissing of the entry doors repeat rhythmically. More men march into the room at a measured pace. No one speaks. No one interacts. They just file and wait in front of the lockers. When everyone has arrived, the men turn as one body to the red lenses that stare back at them from the seamless metal before them. A large, bold number identifies which portion they are meant to stand before.
“Welcome, subject players. Identify.” As one, the men stare at the lens and announce their numbers simultaneously.
“56.” He flexes in front of the lens as others perform similar actions. A red beam fires into his eyes, scanning his retinas as his pupils dilate, then contract to pinpricks. “Gotta get swole. Massive, manly bulge,” he says in unison with the others. The beam disengages as a musical chirp sounds, followed by a loud clunk as the lock is undone on the locker unit and the metal hisses open. Unabashed, the subject proceeds to disrobe with the other men as he stows his clothing in the locker and takes the towel, shampoo, and soap provided. As one man, they turn and file towards the stalls with only their jockstraps left.
“Gotta catch the game. Can’t miss. Too important.” These and other snatches are caught on the camera being muttered by various men as they continue to file toward their stalls. A clouded glass door descends over their stall entrances after they disrobe and casually toss their jock straps to the side.
The sound of flickering screens turning on is heard as the sound of static surges through the air. It soon clears to a more bell-like tone. A calm, deep, smooth voice is heard.
“I want you to relax. Just sit down, and relax. Listen to the sound of my voice. So deep. So smooth, so relaxing. Just listen … and sit … and relax.” The silent whirr of machinery is heard as several dark shapes rise slowly behind the clouded glass. As one, the sound of shifting weight and slapping feet is heard. Flashes between cameras show the distorted shapes of the hulking men sitting on the shadowy shapes that rose. The camera then returns to stall 56. This distorted shape is still standing.
“I … don’t understand. Where is the game?”
“So calm. So relaxed. Just happy to sit … and listen … and relax as my voice takes you deeper and deeper. Lower and lower. Until you are fully seated. Fully relaxed.”
“But … the game …” The form is trembling where he stands.
“Your legs are feeling heavy. So very … very tired. Even now, they want to rest. Want to relax. Just as you want to relax. Relax and listen. Listen and relax. As my voice grows stronger, clearer. It’s all you want to listen to. All you want to hear. Everything else grows less and falls away. Falling away. Just as you are falling. Falling into your chair. Falling into relaxation. Falling into peace. Falling into a warm, happy place. Falling and letting go as you sit. Falling into trance.” A chorus of mumbles echo around the showers, responding to the promptings, affirming them.
“I … I feel … heavy … so heavy … legs … tired …”
“And as you sit, and rest, you feel perfectly at peace. So glad to just listen and rest. To sit and rest. To listen and sit. To sit feels good. To listen feels good. So good, so restful, so peaceful. Just listening to my voice and letting go. Listen and sit. Listen and rest. Listen and sit and obey. Falling deeper and deeper. Listening more and more. You want to listen. You want to obey. To obey your legs as they say to sit. To obey the voice that makes you aware of what your body wants. Of what you want. And you know it’s the truth. You know that you want it. So sit. And listen. And obey.”
The figure in stall 56 has entered into a crouch and is trembling above the shadow. “S—so tired. I … I can’t. Can’t … have to …” A heavy thud is heard as the shape falls onto the shadowy chair. “I listen … feels good to listen. Sit. Listen. Relax. I follow. Yes …”
END TRANSMISSION
What follows is a series of continuous hypnotic dialogue as they are slowly converted to match the personality and body type we wish them to take. In that session alone, Number 56 grew to a full six foot three. He also consented to a haircut, calling the “fucking mop on my fuckin head a fucking disgrace.” Subject has clearly reached mesomorph status and is still growing. Body fat content has dropped to eight percent. His muscle has grown at an astounding rate since the treatment took place. The boys chant and sing together on a regular basis about their “MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.”
Odd … why did I use all caps? Perhaps a computer error? I mean, they are BIGGER. There it goes again. Why must I emphasize with capitals like that? The only time I see that is in the boys’ journals. But I’m clean. My scan said so. It must be the computer’s fault somehow. I’ll make a call in to the I.T. people tomorrow about it. After my workout with COACH.
Mmmm … Can’t wait to get my PUMP on. It just feels so right in the gym. Helps me work off some of that tension from being stuck on base, too. COACH just makes it all go away when I LISTEN. When I LISTEN to him, I can just let it all go. I LISTEN to COACH and just let it all GROW. Mmmm … flickering lights. Love em. Going off. Making me feel BIG. BIGGER is better. BUFFER is TOUGHER. COACH is calling. Time to work out. Gotta get SWOLE. GROW that MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.
ACCESSING NUMBER 56 JOURNAL
~DAY ???~
Been a week now … I think?
Music. Pounding in my head. Crashing. Thrashing. Bashing. Tackling. Grunting.
So much fighting. Wrestling. …I want to join. But not ready yet.
Feeling so big. SWOLE. Not enough though. Still smaller. Too small.
Been eatin’ a lot. Workin out a lot. Just workin’ ya know?
Easy to let go that way. Easier to listen. Easier to get SWOLE.
Big and SWOLE MUSCLE bro. Just like 100, ya know?
Just like him.
All MUSCLE.
All BRAWN.
Want that. Don’t I? So hard to think.
Why think?
I … don’t know.
Maybe I … shouldn’t?
So fucking horny. I … gotta go. Time to report.
Report my GROWTH.
My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.
GROWing MUSCLE in my head.
Other stuff goes to my dick instead.
BIG MUSCLES.
MASSIVE BULGE.
So much pleasure.
Can’t stop. Don’t wanna. Can’t stop.
Report. Train. Gotta train.
Bulk up the BRAWN.
Dim … dim … can’t think of the word. Can’t spell it.
Something about my brain? Forgetting?
I … I am forgetting.
Oh god, I’m forgetting.
What’s happening to me?
…
DOCTOR’S LOG
~May 12th~
Doctor Seroyan
Big Rookie
56 is almost done. Soon he’ll be part of the TEAM. Just like the rest. COACH says it’s time to test him. Dunno how we’re gonna do it. COACH says he wants me to take the test, too. Be a sort of spy for him to see things up close and personal. He says I’m BIG enough.
I asked about the head honchos. The BIG guys. Not MUSCLE BIG, but the in charge kinda BIG. They said I couldn’t go in before. Said it was a bad idea. COACH just looked at me. I never felt so bad. If COACH says it’ll happen, it’ll happen. I have to listen to COACH. Trust him. The more I LISTEN, the more I OBEY, the better I feel. The BIGGER I become. Become. Yes. Become what COACH wants me to become.
Yes, sir, COACH. I’m listening. Spy is just like the others. Avoids suspicion. Acts just like them. I’ll spy for you. Be just like them. Yes. BIGGER. BUFFER. STRONGER. Make me fucking MASSIVE!
Um … yeah. Excuse me. I um … have to go now. Have to get ready. Ready to GROW—uhhh … I mean go. Besides, it’s gym time. Have to get used to their schedule if I’m gonna fit in. Gotta get SWOLE, right? And GROW my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Yeah. I’ll fit right in.
…
Real Men’s Journal Part 11
SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL JOURNAL
~DAY ???~
COACH came back today. He’s not MY COACH anymore, but he is still a COACH. He put us through the ringer. Mile run, pull-ups, weights, you name it. Course, we crushed it. Me n’ the bros. My BIG MUSCLE bros. Just kept calling me bro so much, I let it go. Too much work tryin’ to tell em my name, ya know? We’re all in this together anyways, so we’re all bros.
Coach brought some newbie. Said we’d be put against him for our tests. Wut wuz the guy’s name again? Brook? Wookie? Uh … Rookie? Yeah, Rookie. Think that was it. Wish he’d just get a number. Numbers are easier to remember. 100. 56. 13. You know. Numbers. Numbers are better to remember. So uh … does that mean they’re better than names? Maybe? I guess. Hard to think. So hard to think. It hurts. I just wanna BLANK OUT. LET GO. Forget about that stupid test.
What test? You know, the one with the numbers and all the hard questions on science and shit. It was so fucking stupid. I told COACH so when I turned it in. He just laughed! I wanna punch him in the face so bad. The jackass. I just wanna hit and keep on hitting and bashing and tackling and wresting and … and … fight. It’s good to fight. The more I fight, the clearer my head. Don’t have to think. Just let it all go. And … I feel good when I do it. Like I’m GROWing. Getting SWOLE. Have to go. Time to fight. Then we lift weights. The others said something about a special surprise. Said I’d enjoy it. Doubt I will more than my bulge. Or my muscles. Just can’t help but FLEX and grin a STUPID grin every time. It comes so easy. Just FLEX and grin and BULGE and SWELL. Can’t hold back much longer. Gotta fight. Wrestle. WIN!
DOCTOR’S BRO LOG
~April 20th~
BIG FUCKIN’ ROOKIE (You know it)
‘Sup, bros? So yeah, I took that test COACH told me to take. He had me sit in front of some screen first, just sorta look at it while it flashed in my face. Said it’d help me fit in more if I uhhh … rewrote my language synapses? I … think that’s wut he said. Hell if I know. I just LISTEN like a good JOCK, like a good ROOKIE should. A ROOKIE LISTENs to his COACH and let’s face it, that’s what I am to COACH. I’m his ROOKIE and he’s my COACH. I like it that way. Makes things simpler. DUMBs things down. DUMB. Yeah …
Uh … wut wus I saying again? Been spellin kinda funny lately too. But COACH says I have to act the part. Just like the rest of them. So uh … yeah, I been doin’ that. You know, spying and all that. Collecting STATS. Making GAINS. Getting SWOLE. Every once in a while, COACH has me watching that screen. Every few days. Keeps me FOCUSed. FOCUS on the screen. FOCUS on MUSCLE. I’m watchin’ it now, actually. So easy to just BLANK OUT and LISTEN as I FOCUS. FOCUS on GROWing. FOCUS on the screen. FOCUS on words. FOCUS on SPIRAL. Flashing. Swirling. Down. Down. Down.
Yes, sir. Write what I say. Write what I see. Repeat.
I LISTEN.
I OBEY.
Love my MUSCLES. Yes, sir. MUSCLES are good. MUSCLES are great. MUSCLES mean everything.
Everything GROWS. BIGGER MUSCLES means BIGGER BULGE.
Yes, sir. I love my BULGE. Love my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Want to make it BIGGER.
Everything GROWs. I FOCUS on GROWing. Everything goes into my body.
Put my brain into my body. Yes, sir. Brains go to MUSCLE. Brains go to BULGE. Brain turn to BRAWN.
I OBEY.
I forget.
I OBEY.
I LIFT.
I OBEY.
I train.
I OBEY.
LISTEN.
OBEY.
JOCK.
OBEY.
CONFORM.
OBEY.
Don’t think.
OBEY.
Don’t question.
OBEY.
I don’t think. I OBEY. I don’t question. I OBEY.
OBEY my COACH.
ROOKIE obeys COACH.
COACH says FOCUS on sports. COACH says LOVE sports. I OBEY COACH.
I love sports.
Yes, JOCKs love sports. I love sports.
JOCKs love MUSCLE. I love MUSCLE.
JOCKs love bulge. I love my bulge. My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE.
JOCKs OBEY COACH. I OBEY COACH.
JOCKs LIFT weights. I LIFT weights.
JOCKs get SWOLE. I get SWOLE.
Yes … JOCK. Becoming a JOCK.
More like a JOCK.
JOCKs work out. I work out.
Work out. JOCK out.
COACH trains JOCKs.
COACH trains me.
COACH trains me …
COACH turns me.
BIG COACH. Makes BIG JOCK.
COACH turn me. COACH make me.
COACH makes me BIG JOCK.
COACH turns me into JOCK.
COACH trains me into JOCK.
BIG ROOKIE wants to be a JOCK.
BIG DUMB JOCK as DUMB as rocks.
WEIGHTS and MUSCLE fill my head.
I’m BIG FUCKIN’ ROOKIE. Old doc is dead.
BIG shot doc to BIG FUCKIN’ JOCK.
BIG ROOKIE will report.
BIG ROOKIE will practice.
BIG ROOKIE OBEYs.
Just like the others.
Just like a JOCK.
Will remember nothing when I wake.
Yes, sir, COACH.
BIG ROOKIE OBEYs.
…
Lights out. Time to sleep. COACH says. I’ll tell ya about the test later. Night, BROs.
~June 24th~
‘Sup, BROs? Been a few days. Hard to write when there’s so much PUMP to get on, ya know? Been hangin’ out with my new BROs. We do everything together. LIFT together. PUMP together. TRAIN together. TRAIN with COACH. They don’t talk much. Hard to get em to start. But I’m getting’ used to it. Better at it. They like to flex a lot. Talk about their MUSCLEs. Admire their BULGE. Hell, I get in line with them, start to pose, I lose track of time. Watching my PUMP. My ABS. My fucking HUGE six-pack. My SWOLE biceps. … My BULGE. My MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Straining my JOCK strap. GROWing BIGGER. Feels so fucking good. Uh … wut wus I talking about again? I forget. But … I don’t mind. Huh.
Bin growin’ like a fuckin badass last few weeks. Feels so good. I feel … younger. So fucking heavy though. I could totally take anyone. Been thinkin’ bout wrestling. Guys do it all the time. 56 is champion right now. Think I’m SWOLE? Bros, he’s a FUCKING GIANT! Every time I’m near him I just sort of … BLANK OUT. I come to, we’re lifting. He’s spotting, and I’m rock hard. I smile. I don’t know why. He just looks dazed. His BULGE GROWs. My BULGE GROWs. And we both just smile. I’m still smiling. My BULGE is still growing. So much pl … pl … uh … can’t think of the word. Just … feels good. Real gud. Fuzzy up top. Getting fuzzier. But … I like it.
I wus gonna tell ya somethin’. Uh … lemme think a bit. Hard to think. SO hard. So fucking hard. So horny. All the time. Gives me an edge when I work out. I love working out. Love to GROW and SWELL my MUSCLES with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Built like a FUCKING tank.
Built to FIGHT.
Built to LIFT.
Built to GROW.
Built to OBEY.
Yes, sir, COACH.
I’m your MAN, COACH.
Your young MAN.
Your boy.
Spy boy.
JOCK boy.
Your JOCK boy.
Time to LIFT.
I LIFT for COACH.
I GROW for COACH.
I OBEY COACH.
~June 30th~
Took a retest for COACH. Said the results were lost. I was pissed, but COACH said I had to to avoid suspicion. Test was so fucking BORING! I just stared at the page and I couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t stop thinking about the GYM. About that PUMP surging through me. So much. Made it hard. Hard to think. Do I … even want to anymore? I don’t know. … Don’t know anything.
I wus gonna tell ya about that test, right? The first 1? I did pretty gud on it. Guys were jealous. Got out of the test early. I fucking crushed it AND the fitness exam. Wus a little harder first time, but retest wuz E Z. Exercises were nothing. COACH says I did gud. Makes me happy. COACH just laughed. The others. Guess I know how they feel now. BROS belong in a GYM, not a class. Desks are too fucking small. Felt too close. No room to stretch. No room to FLEX. How do those nerds stand it? How did I stand it? I don’t burn fucking bunsons, I burn calories. Gotta get SWOLE with my MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Each time I say that. Each time I write it. My head feels fuzzier. And I want 2 wurk out.
Spelling’s not 2 gud anymoar, but that’s O.K. BROs don’t mind. Don’t have a mind. I’m a BRO too. So … I don’t have a mind? Let me … th … th … fuck, head’s all fuzzy. Gotta … can’t … LIFT. Gotta LIFT. So DUMB. Can’t do nuthin’ else. Won’t do nuthin’ else. Just LISTEN to COACH. LIFT for COACH. OBEY COACH. Cause I’m a good JOCK boy.
SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL JOURNAL
~DAY ???~
I am the fucking KING! Aint no one can touch me. They try, I WRESTLE them til they SUBMIT. Every time I win I feel BIGGER. BUFFER. SWOLE.
My BROs respect me. Call me Q.B. Even get to help Lil’ BROs adjust. Plug em into their ear buds n’ listen with ‘em. They don’t mind so much after the first time.
I’m so fucking HUGE. Love my muscles. My bulge. Just posing in front of the mirror. Workin’ with the new guys. This one guy, Rookie, he’s pretty legit. COACH said he’s been trainin’ on fast track. Dunno Y, but I can’t stop trainin’ with the guy. Build him up. Make him SWOLE. BIG n’ DUMB. Just like me. I didn’t like it at first, ‘specially when I failed COACH’s test. Then I got used to it. Just sorta went numb up there. Numb n’ DUMB. Hey, that’s catchy. COACH says my I.Q. is down. I say screw I.Q. Who the hell needs it?
I want 28. I want Kevin. I miss him. COACH sez I’ll see him again soon if I TRAIN real hard. Sez he’s WEIGHTing for me. WEIGHTing at the final phase, whatever the fuck that is. COACH sez we’re nearly there. Me’n the team. Got some more shit 2 watch’n listen 2. COACH sez we graduate after phase 3. Then we gotta choose sumpthin’. Final play, I guess. Days have bin hard 2 keep track of. We moved to underground. Don’t see the sun much. Don’t really wanna anymore. I’m actually pretty happy here. Things’re smooth, like my reps. Get up, shower, LISTEN to COACH. Scan. Eat. Wurk out. Zone out. JOCK out. Showur agen. Scan. Eat. Wurk out. Listen to COACH. Eat. Showur. Scan. GROW. Sleep. Repeat.
Balls itch so much. More I scratch em’ the bigger they feel. That fucking weight between my fucking legs, like a bull, BRO. A HUGE fucking bull, ready to charge. Smash. Beat. FUCK! Head’s so dizzy. Can hardly rite. Barely reed. But … that don’t matter much, does it? I’m fucking HUGE. I do wut I want. But uh … wut do I want? I … I don’t know anymore. Don’t know. Don’t know anything. Just … weights. Clacking. Clanking. Wrestling. Grappling. Fight. Burn. GROW. GROWin’s gud. GROWin BIG. BIG balls. BIG dick. BIG bulge. BIG MUSCLES. BIG me. BIGgur is DUMBur. And I’m fucking MASSIVE! A MASSIVE, MANLY MAN with a MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Can’t wait for fase 3. COACH tells me I want it. COACH sez I need it. Need to be a BIG DUMB JOCK. Need to OBEY. Want to OBEY. Want to be a BIG DUMB JOCK for COACH.
Huhuhuh. Funny word, DUMB. Makes my mouth feel all teengly. Sounds funee 2. DUMB. DUMB. So fucking DUMB. All I become, so fucking DUMB. Time to scan. Then I wurk owt.
~DAY ???~
‘Sup. Over seven feet tall now. Weigh like … fucking four hundred’r sumpthin’. Owtgrew my clothes. COACH gave me nu 1s. Thair sooper tight. Cling to my bangin’ bod. COACH sez I luk gud. COACH sez I should lyk em. Ges I do. They make me feel gud. Tingly. COACH even put my name on it. 56. In fucking HUGE numburs, lyk me. COACH sez he was real happy wen I wrote it on his test. Dunno Y he made me take it agen, but he wuz happy so that’s all that maturs.
I look like 100 now. Like my BIG BRO. It made me smyl. COACH sez I’m gonna make it BIG in sports. I believe him. I just wanna LIFT n GROW n wrestle n tackle. Feels so gud wen I do. Like a real man. A real JOCK. COACH sez I’m so gud, he wants me to help the noobs. So I bin doin’ that. Bringin’ shakes n’ helpin them lift. You know, make ‘em my lil BROS. Make em TUFF. Make em BUFF. Get em SWOLE. Bring out their iner JOCK. COACH sez I gotta make em all like me. Some try 2 fite. I just put em’ in a sleeper hold, TACKLE em’ to their bed, then plug in their headphones. They try 2 pull em out, so I hold their teenee toothpick arms 2gethur. Lil’BROs struggle for a bit, then they just sorta go limp. The rest of the lil’BROs join me n’we chant with em. Takes a time or 2, but the lil’BROs come round. They start 2 listen to their COACH. The rest happens cuz they see they want it 2. Lil’BROs get SWOLE, like me. GROW that MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Don’t need ta think with the JOCK in control. Just LIFT. GROW. Get fucking SWOLE.
Time 2 LIFT.
~DAY ???~
COACH sez I’m a fucking natural. All my BROs look up to me. I lead em in everything. In the showers. LIFTin’ weights. OBEYing COACH. Just followin’ orders, ya know? Don’t need nuthin’ else.
COACH sez time for football. Can’t fucking wait to SMASH those fucking pansies to dust. The nerds call me Supreme Ky. I told em the name’s gay, asked em to call me Super Ky instead. They got into it after a few uh … persuasions from me n’ my fist. Give em a few throws n’ they fall in line real quick. I love knocking the nerd outta them. They call me Q.B. Then they bulk up. Then they’re with us in faze 2 with our MASSIVE, MANLY BULGE. Learning to OBEY the playbook. And LISTEN to COACH. Have to go. COACH is calling. COACH sez report now. Sure thing, COACH. I OBEY. I’m your JOCK. I’m your Q.B. 56 reporting for duty. 56 is part of the TEAM. 56 is yours. Let’s play some fucking ball.
~DAY ???~
NUMBER 56 reporting.
56 is redee.
56 is MASSIVE.
56 is 1 with the TEAM.
56 is all for COACH.
56 lives for COACH.
56 OBEYs his COACH.
56 is COACH’s boy.
56 is COACH’s JOCK.
MASSIVE, BURLY, BIG DUMB JOCK.
56 is just a JOCK.
56 is BRAWNY JOCK.
56 is just a JOCK.
56 is perfect JOCK.
56 is COACH’s JOCK.
…
…
…
56 is redee for faze 3.
Real Men’s Journal Part 12
Here it is, folks, the final chapter in our great meathead odyssey. It’s been quite the ride, and I’m glad to have shared this piece with you, grammatically flawed though it is (I was too lazy to go back and edit, after I’d learned how. :P). So, I hope you all enjoyed the characters. And don’t worry. Coach Stone will be back soon enough, with a new bevy of obedient meatheads at his beck and call. You’re not gonna want to miss it. ;)
MASSIVE MANLY BRO LOG
BIG FUCKING ROOKIE
~July 15th~
Bin workin’ hard every day. Wurkin’ for COACH. He put me with 56. Super Ky. He’s the fucking best partner a guy culd ask for when he LIFTS his WEIGHTS. COACH asks ‘bout 56 all the time in the showurs. I LISTEN to him there. Sit back. Report. OBEY. COACH sez higher-ups want me 2 stay. Keep watching 56. Keep working with him. Watch him GROW. GROWING’s gud. GROWING BIG. GROWING BRAWN. GROWING BUFF. GROWING BULGE. GROWING SWOLE. GROW 2 fit his DUMB JOCK role. They say I can leave after. I’m … not sure I want 2.
I luk at 56 and I feel … jelus. He’s so BIG. BIGgur than me. And I can’t stop listening 2 him. Evry1 calls him Q.B., so I do, 2. Cuz, U no. Spy. But … it feels gud when I say it. Lyk when I say I LISTEN to COACH. Makes me feel kinda fuzzee up top. Makes me smyl. The guys LISTEN to him lyk COACH. Lyk we’re a TEAM. Gess the brainwash WURKs. Not on me tho. I’m a spy. I act lyk the rest cuz I have 2. 2 blend. Fit in, ya no? Talk lyk them. Rite lyk them. LIFT lyk them. Act lyk them. Just like COACH sed. Then I report. Report in the showurs. I don’t remember much, but I don’t worry cuz COACH sez not to. Cuz I’m his ROOKIE. He’s my COACH. And ROOKIEs LISTEN to COACH. ROOKIEs OBEY COACH. I OBEY COACH.
I OBEY.
~July 30th~
DUDE! 56 is so fucking ripped! He just shredded his fucking clothes today, man! COACH had to give him new stuff. Sumpthin’ like a … suit of some kind? All black. Two piece. Shorts and top. Looked fam--uh … lyk I seen it B4, ya no? But … can’t think where. Can’t think. Head … 2 fuzzee. I … why? Supposed 2 B spy. But … don’t feel like 1. Feel lyk 1 of the guys. Wut wuz I saying again? So hard 2 think. Gear’s 2 tite. So fucking horny. Can’t concentr8. Feel so hevy. My BULGE … it’s GROWing. I … must record … sounds. COACH sez. … Rite wut I say … GROAN … COACH … wut’s happening 2 me?
Abrams … COACH Abrams … he … he wuz wearing … wut 56 is wearing. They … used 2 be … difrent. More smart. … I used 2 be more smarter 2. GROAN so fucking horny. Can’t think. But … have 2. Sumthin’ about … hypnosis. A … program? Some kinda … trigurr? Oh god it hurts to think. Hurts my dick. My huge … fucking dick. So huge … so DUMB … I … no. Have 2 focus. Sumpthin’ 2 do with my JOCK strap. My … BULGING … straining … BIG DUMB JOCK strap. For BIG DUMB JOCKs. JOCKs lyk 56. JOCKs lyk 28. JOCKs lyk me. Redy 2 snap. … snap. Snap? I … think (god that hurt to rite) has 2 do with snap. Sumpthin’ bout … uh … bout … no turnin’ back. Lyk uh … That’s it! Snap the strap n’ subjects furget! Makes em focus more. Snap the JOCK, unlock the JOCK. Become more JOCK. … Reinforce training. … Uh-oh … Shit, someone must’ve falsi … fals … fal … FUCKING FAKED MY RESULTS! But … who? Why? I wuz a gud JOCK … gud JOCK … SHIT! Didn’t mean 2 rite that.
Gud … gud … so fucking gud. BULGING. GROWING. STRAINING. I feel it. So close. Gonna BUST my fucking JOCK. Be a DUM JOCK. Gud DUM JOCK 4 COACH. Cuz that’s wut I am. All I am. BIG 4 COACH. FLEX 4 COACH. DUM 4 COACH. JOCK 4 COACH. Gud JOCK.
NO!
Can’t break my fucking JOCK if I take it off. Gotta hurry. Can’t let it …
…
…
…
REMOTE ACCESS INITIATED
SYSTEM OVERRIDE AUTHORIZATION CODE ACCEPTED
SYSTEM COMMAND: ACTIVATE RECORDING SYSTEMS
ACTIVATING RECORDING SYSTEMS
“Coach, wut’re you GROAN doin’ here? I … I gotta do something. Please. Go away.”
“I’m sorry, Rookie. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Coach. Please.” The voice catches.
“Just relax, Rookie. I’m right here. Calm down. We’ll work through this together, just like we always have.”
“No, coach, we can’t. I can’t let what happened to Abrams happen to me. I won’t. I can … can still … think. GROAN.”
Easy, Rookie. Let’s not be hasty here.”
“Coach, I’m almost out of time. I have to do this. If I don’t, I’ll … I’ll ...”
“Turn into a muscle head? Grow into a jock? Didn’t you want those things?”
“You knew? You knew what was happening to me?”
“Of course I know. You wanted it to happen. You told me so in our meetings. Don’t you remember?”
“M—meetings …”
“Yes. Our sessions. It was all you could talk about. Growing, getting bigger muscles, your bigger ‘equipment,’ all of it. And you sure as hell loved your new sex life.”
“I’d never … I … I wouldn’t …”
“You would. You did. Hell, you spent half a workout bragging about your conquests. I have your paperwork right here. You signed on to become a part of this program. You wanted this.”
“That’s a lie!”
“That’s the honest to god truth, Rookie. Look at you. Look how you’ve changed. The Process regenerated you. Rejuvenated you. You’re young. And thanks to your latent desires, you’ve unlocked your hidden genetic potential. You’re a perfect physical specimen. A teenager who has yet to hit his peak. Just like you wanted. If you don’t believe me, then read the papers yourself. I have them right here.”
“Why … can’t I remember?”
“Plausible deniability.”
“… What?”
“You volunteered for a new form of the process, a different formula. But you wanted to keep working, too, helping 56 progress. We agreed so long as you could remain professional. But the organization needed to be able to deny any charges you might make while you forgot. And it needed to be able to observe each stage as if you didn’t know about it. So we wiped your memory and left the subconscious commands intact. … I see you still don’t get it. Damn, that stuff works good. Basically, it was so we could say we didn’t do anything bad to you and had no idea what was happening.”
“Why didn’t you just say that?”
“Because it acts as a distraction.”
“Distract—oh crap! Let go of me!”
“Sorry, Rookie, I can’t do that. Not until you’ve finished this phase.”
“Coach, stop!”
“Just let it happen, Rookie. Stop struggling. I know how badly you want this. How much you need this!”
“I need to stop this! I never wanted this! Let go! I don’t wanna be like them! You’re lying, you have to be!”
“Listen to me, Rookie! We know that’s not what you really want. What you need. You need muscle, power, strength. You need to be a jock. Cocky. Powerful. A man. A real man. A massive man with a massive bulge. Can’t you feel that? Feel it straining. Growing. Swelling. Just like your body. You reek testosterone. Why? Because you’re a jock!”
“St—stop it!”
“A huge jock.”
“Coach …”
“A massive, brawny, meathead obsessed with weights.”
“No…”
“You might as well let it happen, Rookie. It’s too late to turn back. You’re my Rookie and I’m your Coach, remember? And a Rookie always listens to his coach.”
“…”
“So listen to me now.”
“… Coach …”
“Just relax and listen to my voice, Rookie. Let it go.”
“Coach …”
“Let it go.”
“… Let it … go …”
“Relax.”
“Y-yes … sir.”
“Good boy.”
“…”
“Can you hear me, Rookie?”
“… Yes.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“… Coach.”
“Do you know who you are?”
A breathy sigh is heard. “Rookie.”
“That’s right. You’re my Rookie.”
“Your Rookie.”
“And Rookies listen to their coach, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir. Rookie is listening.”
“Good boy. Everything I say is truth. Understand, Rookie?”
“Yes.”
“You will accept everything I say without question.”
“Yes, sir, Coach.”
“And you’ll obey everything I tell you to do, right?”
“Yes, sir. Rookie listens to Coach. Rookie obeys Coach.”
“Good boy. I’m going to get off of you now. I want you to stand up slowly and not run or do anything else. You’re just going to stand there and listen.”
“… Yes, sir.” There is the sound of shifting bodies and the heavy tromp of cleats on cement.
“That’s a good boy. Now, Rookie, tell me, do you like your muscles? Do you like how much you’ve grown?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You like how easy it is to lift?”
“Yes.”
“And you like watching those muscles grow in the mirror.”
“Yes.”
“You think about weights a lot, don’t you?”
“… Yes.”
“What do you think about most?”
“… Lifting. Getting swole. Muscles. Chicks. My dick. Fuck, It’s so massive. So tight. So … bulgy. Like me. Growing. So big. Fucking huge.”
“*Whistle* That thing is growing pretty fast, isn’t it?”
“*Grunt*”
“Now listen to me, Rookie. You want it to grow. You want to keep growing. Just like your training said.”
“… Yes, sir, Coach.”
“You love your size. You love your body. You love what you’ve become.”
“Love my size … love my body … love what I’ve become.”
“Good boy. Tell me, what is the square root of 81?”
“Uh … Give me a sec.”
“Take your time.”
“I … I know this. I … know … this … *Groan* … god, I can’t think!”
“Relax, Rookie. It’s not a problem.”
“It’s … not?”
“That was a test. You passed. You weren’t supposed to know.”
“I … wasn’t?”
“You don’t care about math, remember? The only time you use it is when you’re focusing on your stats.”
“… Yes. That’s right … I … I don’t care about math. Don’t care …”
“Math is stupid. You said so yourself.”
“Course it’s stupid. Math’s for nerds.”
“That’s right, Rookie. And you’re not much of a nerd anymore now, are you?”
“Fuck no … I mean … maybe a little.”
“*Chuckling* Don’t worry, that won’t last long. All you want is to keep growing.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Growing boy. Growing body. Growing bulge. Growing brawn.”
“Yessssss …”
“Remember what happens the bigger you get?”
“Dumber I get.”
“That’s right. And you want to be big, so …?”
“I wanna be dumb.”
“That’s right. You want to be dumb. You were tired of being smart.”
“Tired of bein’ smart.”
“No room for smarts anymore. All that brain’s being filled with pure muscle. Pure brawn.”
“All muscle. All brawn.”
“That’s right. All those smarts are going to your manhood. Everything. Make you a massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.”
“*Groan* Massive, manly man … Massive … manly … bulge …” There is the sound of straining fabric.
“That’s right. You love this feeling. You love being big. And you want more. You always want more.”
“*Grunt* More massive … *Groan* More manly … *Grunt* More bulge.”
“Just like 56.”
“Just like 56.”
“Just like 28.”
“… Just like 28.”
“Just like Abrams.”
“… Just … like … Abrams.”
“Just like a jock.”
“… Just like a jock.”
“Because that’s what you’re becoming: a big, dumb jock. My big dumb jock. And you want that.”
“… Becoming a jock. A big, dumb jock. Want to be a big, dumb jock. … Your big dumb jock, sir.”
“That’s right. Good jock boy.”
“*Groan* Rookie is your jock boy, sir.” A sudden echoing snap breaks across the recording, followed by a deep, dull laughter. “Wanna be a big, dumb jock. Rookie will be Coach’s big, dumb jock. Getting’ buff n’ getting’ swole. I’m big fucking Rookie!” The sound of shredding fabric is heard.
“Big Rookie is right.” The coach’s voice echoes as he laughs. “At this rate, you’ll be ready for phase three in no time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s get you dressed, Rookie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Spandex, I think. Something tight to show off your body. Is that alright with you?”
“Fuck yeah. Who wouldn’t wanna see this jock bod?”
“Good jock.”
“Yes, sir, coach. Rookie listens. Rookie obeys.”
END TRANSMISSION
~August 30th~
Been LIFTING like a fucking BEAST, like COACH told me 2.
I see COACH in the showurs. Evury day.
COACH sez I’m speshul.
COACH sez see him 3 tymes a day.
ROOKIES LISTEN 2 COACH.
ROOKIES OBEY COACH.
So I OBEY.
COACH gives me special proteen. Sez it’ll make me SWOLE. I lyk SWOLE. WURKS OUT. I’m Fucking HUGE. BIGGur than 56.
BROS don’t talk much eneemore. Don’t need 2. We LISTEN. We OBEY. We LIFT. We GROW. We SWOLE.
Sum talk, but we GROW ther BULGE. Make them MASSIVE lyk us. They fall in lyn. They JOCK out lyk us. Don’t talk much after that. It’s bettur that way. Easyer 2 LISTEN 2 COACH. Easy 2 OBEY.
56 left. Coach sez he went 2 faze 3.
I’m in charj now.
New clothes feel so fucking gud. Wear em all the time.
Shows off all my MUSCLE.
I am MUSCLE.
MUSCLES do what they’re told.
MUSCLES OBEY commands.
I OBEY.
MUSCLES don’t think.
I don’t think.
MUSCLES GROW wen they WURK OUT.
I GROW wen I WURK OUT.
ROOKIE is MUSCLE.
MUSCLE is ROOKIE.
COACH gave ROOKIE a new name.
ROOKIE is Number O-000.
ROOKIE is Zero becuz ROOKIE is nothing.
Nothing but a JOCK.
A BIG, DUMB JOCK.
ROOKIE is a BIG, DUMB JOCK.
ROOKIE is COACH’s BIG, DUMB JOCK.
ROOKIE OBEYS COACH.
ROOKIE GROWS wen he OBEYS.
GROWS BIG. GROWS DUMB.
ROOKIE is STRONG wen he OBEYS.
ROOKIE OBEYS wen he is STRONG.
ROOKIE OBEYS.
Zero OBEYS.
I OBEY.
OBEY.
OBEY.
…
~September 5th~
Yes, sir, COACH.
ROOKIE is 0
0 OBEYS COACH.
0 does not think.
0 is DUMB.
0 has 0 brains.
0 is DUMB.
0 OBEYS.
0 is MUSCLE.
0 FLEXES.
0 OBEYS.
0 LIFTS.
0 OBEYS.
0 is SWOLE.
0 OBEYS.
0 is BIG.
0 OBEYS.
0 is JOCK.
0 is COACH’s JOCK.
0 is a BIG, DUMB JOCK.
0 OBEYS.
0 GROWS.
0 is MASSIVE MANLY MAN with MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.
0 is just like the TEAM.
0 is 1 with TEAM.
Yes, COACH. 0 will go.
0 OBEYS.
0 will go to faze 3.
0 is redee for faze 3.
ACCESSING SUBJECT 56 FILES
~DAY???~
LIFTING gud.
Thinking bad.
56 wants to LIFT.
COACH sez 56 shuld rite tho.
56 OBEYS.
56 LIFTS with the TEAM.
56 rites with the TEAM.
56 chants with TEAM.
56 is 1 with TEAM.
28 WEIGHTed for 56.
28 and 56 were happee.
TEAM wuz happee.
Now 56 is just lyk 28.
56 and 28 R BROS.
Fucking HUGE.
GROW for COACH.
OBEY COACH.
LIFT.
DUMB.
LIFT.
BIG.
LIFT.
JOCK.
56 doesn’t need recordings.
56 heres COACH all the tym.
56 is part of TEAM.
56 OBEYS with TEAM.
56 doesn’t think.
COACH thinks 4 56.
COACH thinks 4 TEAM.
Yes, sir, COACH. 56 heres.
56 OBEYS.
I am 56.
56 is drone.
56 will GROW TEAM.
JOCK now. JOCK 4ever.
MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.
56 will chant with TEAM.
TEAM is home.
Home is TEAM.
56 is home.
Lyk … wut’s the play, COACH?
SUBJECT O-000
~September 30th~
0 is part of TEAM.
0 WURKS OUT 4 COACH.
0 GROWS 4 COACH.
0 is COACH’S JOCK.
0 is BIG DUMB JOCK with MASSIVE MANLY BULGE.
0 knows his place.
0 is OFFENSE.
0 FIGHTS.
0 makes BROS.
0 OBEYS.
0 will make JOCK BROS.
0 will GROW the TEAM.
0 will be COACH’s point guard.
0 will be assistant COACH.
0 OBEYS.
END TRANSMISSION
RESEARCH NOTES: OMEGA PROJECT FORMULA
C.E.O. SIGN IN: VICTOR STONE
The program has been hitting some snags of late. Those with a high enough I.Q. have been able to resist The Process to the point where some have been able to hold on for several months to their original psyches. This was unacceptable. So, of course, I had to fix it.
Number 56, formerly known as Kyle Matthews was the last straw. Abrams had been failing for too long. He was too sympathetic, too gentle. I fixed that. Now he’s the most aggressive offensive lineman you’ll ever meet. As for 56, well, I simply pushed him in the right direction. Even with my skills though, the boy was still surprisingly resilient. It took me too long to break him for comfort. I immediately authorized initialization for The Omega Project.
This new and improved formula for The Process is specially designed for the higher I.Q. It drops the test subject down to a basic grunt. I called in Doctor Seroyan for testing and gave him his own office. Little did he realize the special ingredients I included in his food and drink. He didn’t take long to show signs of change. Within the month, he was already beginning to crack. The subliminals from the lights helped of course, but a lot of it had to come from the treatment itself. Notes from my other workers revealed similar results in isolated test subjects throughout the compounds.
I got him hooked on working out and the rest was history. I kept conditioning him alongside 56 so they could interact when the time came. I wanted to see if I could incorporate him into the system without him knowing. After all, that’s the whole point of the Omega Formula. That, and of course, it breeds a stronger, more obedient jock drone. Best of all, it’s completely undetectable. Seroyan became my subject zero. And he’s perfectly happy fitting his new role as my personal assistant. I’ve given him free reign over 56’s team while I’m away and designated a new coach to keep tabs on him while I’m gone. I’ve given specific orders not to interfere, though. Omega Zero has potential to be a great coach once I’ve taught him how. Until then, I’m having him run over exercises with the team as they practice and play their programmed sport. More than a few of them are going to enter the N.F.L., that’s for sure. I love seeing my boys making me money.
We’ve come such a long way from when my project first began. I’m so glad I blew up my lab all those years ago. Hell, the results were definitely worth it. I still haven’t been able to fully replicate the accident that made me this way, but that doesn’t matter much. I like being the alpha. And once I got our investors to try my … unique product, they were happy to fall in line. They signed over ownership to me, obviously, and pursued their own careers in their respective muscular fields. I still get a monthly check from them after they’ve won a big competition or something along those lines.
Next phase will be accelerating the process. I want to have nigh instant results. When I’m not working as a personal coach for my jock force, I get back to the lab to work with the boys on progression. Now that we’ve found a compound that breaks past the I.Q. barrier, it’s only a matter of time. Soon enough, I’ll be everybody’s coach in a perfectly healthy, masculine muscleman society. I can’t wait.
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 5
You look down at the bag of silver packets Hank had shoved into your hands at the end of your workout as you open your door limply. Your arms feel like they’re ready to fall off. “One cup, twice daily. No exceptions,” Hank had growled. You nearly gag at the thought of drinking that slop so often, but you’re too tired for your body to really even put the effort into the involuntary reflex in the first place. The living room is the same as it was when you left. You kick your shoes off on the small tile patch, then trudge your way over to the kitchen across the way. You pass the flat screen TV on your left with no thought of your usual entertainment. Instead, you smack the bag onto the counter and listen to the sharp retort of the thick plastic cup smacking the granite surface. Then you roll your eyes and stumble over to the drawers beneath the counter, where you keep your scissors and other miscellaneous tools and utensils. A few seconds later, you’re running the blades over the thick plastic of a packet. That overpowering aroma assaulted your nose once again as you finished cutting a neat line across, and you proceed to dump the contents of the package into the waiting cup. Next, you fill it with some milk from the fridge. You watch in disgust as undissolved clumps of the mix float to the surface and bob like chunks of decaying meat. The blade cap couldn’t go on fast enough as you twist it shut and attach the cup to your blender. A couple of minutes later, you’re forcing the swill back down your throat again. It’s still just as cloying. “Acquired taste my ass,” you mutter darkly as you take another sip. When you finally finish the cup off, you take it back to the sink and rinse it out, before leaving it to soak. You shuffle back to the door to lock it, then shut off your lights and power to the bathroom, where warm steam and soap wait to wash away the caked sweat you’ve accumulated over your skin. The water soothed your muscles, relieving the tension as it pelted against your skin in a pantomime of a massage. You sigh dreamily, spending a good forty minutes savoring the sensation of that strange in-between state when you’re not fully awake, but not fully asleep. Your hand holds loosely to the towel as you walk to the mirror and comb your hair. No need to style today, when you’re about to go to bed. You take another deep breath, and even that feels like an effort as your chest stretches against the stiffness your upper body workout has caused. You stride casually to your dresser and withdraw a clean set of boxers from your last modeling gig. It was always nice when they let you keep the clothes you liked. Free advertisement, you suppose. Then you head to your queen size bed, where your folded pajamas are waiting to be worn again. You pull on the sweat pants easily, tying the knot tight once more to ensure they don’t slip off as you dream. Finally, you pull on a long silk cotton night shirt that drapes down to your knees. A familiar manila envelope catches your eyes as you settle beneath the covers, and you reach over lazily to pull it towards you as you lay back against your pillow. Curious to see just what materials and slogans Miss Schroder prepared for you, and not quite feeling ready to drop off to sleep, you decide to take a peek. “‘Be a bro,’” you read as you pull out the first motivational card. “’Pop a flex’?” You continue to cycle through. Phrases like, Don’t think, just LIFT! and Do It mix with If the bar ain’t bending, you’re just pretending and Do you even lift? You couldn’t help but chuckle as you read, Healthy Body, Big Muscles! “So much for healthy minds. These things are crazy.” You shake your head out of mirth as you pull out the sheet she shoved in last and read a few phrases aloud. “‘I like muscles,’” you say in as close an imitation to Arnold Schwarzenegger you can manage. “‘The gym is my home.’ ‘I love to lift.’ ‘I love working out.’” The list continued for some time, and your eyes slowly drifted closed as that tiredness began to settle in, the last words painted clear in your mind: CHANGE IS GOOD.
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 7
I’ve got the itch to continue, so I had to try to get this part up, too. XD Guess I just couldn’t help myself with how much I’m enjoying the characters and their progress thus far. Enjoy! :D
“Perfectly natural.” “Excuse me?” you ask as you gape at the red-haired psychiatrist, hypnotist, and vocal coach. “Perfectly natural. Your reaction. It was natural. Most young men your age have passive aggressive tendencies.” Doctor Schroder shrugged as she folded one of her legs over the other. “And given what you’ve told me about how things are going with your physical training regimen, it’s natural to have to channel a certain amount of aggression. You simply touched the edge of the box where you stored it all. It’s nothing to be concerned over.” “But I don’t like it.” “You don’t have to like it. It’s just a part of you, and like any other part, you can learn to control it, if you so wish. All it takes is time, patience, and the right direction. It doesn’t have to change you, unless you let it. And if it does, you have the power to make that change for the better, rather than the worse. Like I said, it’s all up to you. Now then,” she said primly as she picked up the microphone once more and flicked the switch on the speakers. A familiar whirring and ringing washed over your ears. “Let’s try again.”
Dizzy. Everything felt so dizzy. The laughter was back again. So many children giggling and cheering. Spinning. The world was spinning around you. A blur of faces and cheers from men and women. Shouts of, “‘Attaboy!” and “be careful!” broke through the mass. “This is so much fun!” You turn your head to see a giggling little girl atop a wooden Pegasus painted cyan blue with a golden saddle and a red set of reins with a bronze bit. The familiar tooting is back again, only this time, there are many bottles, many tones, all working together to play a jaunty melody. “So very fun,” another child cheers, this one a little boy atop a black stallion. He looks at you with grave eyes, even as his little blue suit jacket and red shorts shine in the sunlight. “Don’t you agree?” “F--fun?” you ask, confused. “Riding the carousel, silly,” the little girl said. “Carousel?” You feel so strange. How did you get here? Why ... did the air smell like popcorn and cotton candy? You’re vaguely aware of how the children seem to rise up and down again and again in a strange sort of rhythm. Then you look ahead and notice a spiraling golden pole. Your hands are clasped to it, and your’re not entirely sure why. Then you look down. Two great white horns jut out to either side of the carved animal’s head staring out in front of you. You become keenly aware of how your legs are stretched out to either side, and how a gentle sort of pull seems to draw at you every time the pole gets shorter. “I’m ... on a carousel....” You look to your left, surprised to see a great series of pipes stretching up and down all along the surface of the central portion, playing its melody and harmonic accompaniment. “Up and down. Up and down,” the little girl sang. You feel your hands clenching tighter around the pole. They seem so small. “Up and down. Up and down.” This time the boy has joined the girl. The carousel builds up speed as more voices join the chorus. A strange sense of exhilaration fills you as the wind picks up, blowing through your hair. “Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.” You find yourself laughing, but you’re not sure why. You suddenly feel giddy. There’s a sense of camaraderie with these two. “Come on. It’s fun!” the little boy laughs as he smacks his heels against his charger. “Hyah, hyah! Faster, boy! Up and down. Up and down!” “I ... I don’t....” “Play with us! Come on, just pretend for a moment. Oh, won’t you please?” the little girl begged. “Even a bull can charge. Don’t you want to race us?” “Race?” “Yeah, but ya gotta follow the rules, see?” She patted the side of her Pegasus gently. “Up and down. Up and down,” she sang, and the ride began to pick up speed again as her Pegasus rose and fell at a faster rate. You marvel. You don’t know why, but you do. It seemed like they were having so much FUN. And all you had to do was play with them. You wanted to race. You wanted so badly to race. You lean down almost sheepishly to the big bull’s ears. They’re a coppery red with white splotches along his coat. You feel so awkward, but you whisper anyways. “Up and down.” The instant you do, you feel a sudden jerk, almost like a buck as the bull accelerates its rise. Why, it felt almost like it was bucking. Rather than be startled, you find yourself laughing. “See?” The boy is grinning at you now. “Told ya!” You grin back, awash with a sudden enthusiasm you thought you left behind long ago. “Let’s race!” And so the three of you sing as you bounce up and down, up and down. The spinning goes faster and faster, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to ever stop. Up and down. Up and down. The children have all become blurs on their mounts, and the spinning is so intense. They’re all lights now, and the lights are blurring together, leaving such beautiful streams behind. You giggle in delight as you look back to see your own trail. Then you look up at the roof and see the polished reflection of millions upon millions of little mirrors, all reflecting a grand spiral that spins and spins and spins. “Up and down. Up and down,” you sing. And slowly, you begin to lose hold of your bull as you float towards that spinning nebula. “Up ... n’down.... Up ... down....”
“Ten.” You raise your head suddenly, surprised. “Wh-wha--?” you ask. “What happened? Where’s the carousel?” Doctor Schroder smiled triumphantly at you. “Congratulations. We finally found the right setting.” “Right ... what?” you ask. “Setting. You know, on the sound synthesizer? I finally found the right mixture for you. The carousel wasn’t real. It was all in your head, a scenario I concocted to ensure you experienced optimal trance to aid you in your work. Now it’ll just be a matter of compiling the proper scripts and recording them for you.” “That was ... all in my head?” you ask again, surprised. “With a little figurative imagery added in on my part,” Schroder allowed. “You could say I’m like a dungeon master, if you want to put it into those kinds of terms. I help you to set the scene yourself by guiding your mind to place familiar sights, sounds, and smells, even tastes and physical sensations into a cohesive scenario that feels real. Think of it like lucid dreaming.” “And you can make me lucid dream in any scenario?” “Pretty much. It helps my clients to get into character more easily, until they don’t need that help anymore. And as I said, I can help you with motivational tracks as well. Now that I have the proper frequency set for you, I might even be able to ingrain a few subliminals in a playlist, if you would prefer that.” “Lets not be too hasty,” you say somewhat hesitantly. “This is all a bit much to digest.” “Of course.” Schroder nodded. “How about we take a break?” “Yeah, a break sounds good. You got any water handy?”
The water was cold and refreshing compared to the blistering heat the gym provided you. You stuck your head under the flow from the arc at the fountain. You didn’t care if anyone else was behind you. You needed something to cool you down. “Take these,” Duff suggested as he walked up with two fogged up bottles covered in water droplets. The initial contact with your neck made you cringe, but after that, you sighed in relief. “Don’t worry,” he assured you, “soon you won’t even need those bottles to cool down. The heat starts to feel sort of natural, after a while. Heck, I prefer it now.” He chuckled. “Suns out, guns out, am I right?” You can’t help but pull your lips into a smile at that. “Please don’t tell me you used that old cliche.” “I’m sorry, Dave. I can’t do that,” he said in a monotonic voice. “You know, if I weren’t so busy trying to keep myself from melting, I’d smack you with these things,” you grumble. “I could always take them back, if that’s you you really--.” “NO!” you shout. Then a blush rises in your cheeks as everyone in the gym stares at you. You chuckle, then raise a hand meekly. “Sorry, guys. False alarm,” you promise. The men grunt, roll their eyes, and get back to work. Duff just smirked. “Not one word.” “I didn’t say anything,” he said innocently. “You didn’t have to. You were thinking it.” Duff shrugged nonchalantly. “Guilty as charged.” “What happened to the timid Duff I saw a couple of days ago?” “That was before we became friends,” Duff pointed out. “I’m much different, once I get past that hurdle.” “And if I were to say we weren’t?” “I’d call you a liar, and probably have to take those bottles back.” You gasped. “You would blackmail me?” you cry as you raise a hand artfully to your forehead and lean backwards, as though bent with grief. “Yeah, yeah. Ham it up, why don’t ya?” a ragged voice snarled as one of the larger body builders drew near. “If you two don’t mind, I need a drink.” He shoved his way past, bending down low to get as close to the stream as possible, despite his mass. “Duff, kid, get back over here,” Hank barked. “Break’s over!” “Coming, boss,” Duff yelled. You groan as you turn away from the oasis that is the drinking fountain and return to the blistering hell that is the weight room. Your core was going to explode tomorrow, and you were just waiting for that after effect to kick you in the gut. Hank just sneered at you again. You sigh in resignation as you make your way over, followed by Duff. “Don’t worry. I can give you some extra pointers later,” he promised, before parting ways as he dropped you off. “Time for me to run some cardio.”
That night, you scoured the internet for extra material to use. You could only say your line so many times, before it became boring, after all. You found a few promising phrases and images, though you were shocked at just how large a community there was that focused around the subject of becoming the very thing you were being payed to act out. You weren’t quite sure what it was they saw in it, other than the raw sexual appeal, of course. There was no denying that would be a major draw to a lot of people who wanted to be fit. You drank your shake as you continued to scroll through the net. “Thank God for filters,” you mutter to yourself as multiple links to porn pages were blocked or led to a warning screen. You scratch an itch idly at your crotch as you finish the last of your research for the night and close down your laptop. Then you make your way to your mirror, where another sign has joined the first. The instruction, BE A BRO, now graced you with its presence. This time, you do your best to pitch your voice lower as you push more from your diaphragm and try to shove the air out your mouth. You look ahead, struggling to force all other thoughts out as you try to unfocus your eyes. ‘Remember. You’re a dumb, careless musclehead,’ you think to yourself. ‘Just an empty meathead with dumbbells for brains.’ You take a deep breath, and then you try. “Huhuhuh.” Weak. Pathetic. Far too forced. You try again, something shorter this time. “Huhuh.” You felt the corners of your mouth pull up that time, almost like you found something humorous. Good. The smile widens as you realize you’re onto something. “Huhuhuh.” Huskier. Lower. “Huhuhuh.... Uhhhh ... wut wuz I doin’ again?” You felt embarrassed. This was stupid. But ... wasn’t that kind of the point? “Huhuhuh....” you shudder as your grin grows wider. That sounded about right. Well, for what range you could manage right now. You step forward and keep up that grin as you point at your head. “Drain this,” you encourage in that same deep tone. Then you smack a hand on one of your biceps as you flex it. “Grow this,” you low. You repeat yourself a few times. Then you chuckle once more as you say your line. “I lift things up and put them down.” It sounded so funny, so dull. But ... still forced. You try again. “I lift things up and put them down.” No. Something is still missing. You furrow your brow and look around. Finally, you grab ahold of your soap dispenser and start lifting it like a dumbbell. You cast your mind back to the weight rooms, to Duff as he concentrated on his lifting, how focused he seemed, how intense of that one act alone. “You love to lift,” you tell yourself. “Lifting is incredible. You live to lift weights.” After a few more minutes of psyching yourself up, you go for it. “Huhuhuh. I put things up and put them down.” Up. Down. “I lift things up and put them down.” Up. Down. Now you’re getting into the rhythm of it. “I lift things up and put them down.” Again. “I lift things up and put them down.” Finish the rep. “I lift things up and put them down.” By the time you get yourself to bed, you’re feeling much more satisfied with yourself. It’s far from perfect, but you’re starting to make a little headway into the part. You sigh contentedly as you lay down and look up at the ceiling to read the encouraging message, and you can’t help but wonder if you agree. Perhaps a little CHANGE IS GOOD after all. “Huhuhuh. Yeah....”
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 8
You yawn as you wake from your sleep and smile. The weekend was here. You finally had your first day off to rest and recuperate. Your breathing hurt as the expansion of your stomach set off the warning signals in your muscles, but that was okay, because you had the day off, and it was going to be amazing. You pull of the covers on your bed and shuffle onto the carpet, letting it massage your soles as you savor your freedom yet again. You scratch at the itch along your stomach, then make your way to your kitchen for your cereal and morning shake. You found that if you added a little cinnamon to the shakes, it became more tolerable. It still felt like drinking cement, but at least it didn’t quite make you want to gag so much anymore. You finish your cereal and put your dishes into the washer to prepare this week’s load. A few dashes of detergent and you were ready to go. You take a deep breath and let out a gusty sigh, only for a sudden burst of gas to explode out your mouth in a gigantic belch. “Oh, my,” you gasp in surprise. Then you chuckle. At least you were alone here. Nobody would think any less of you for an accident like that, anyways. You make your way to the bathroom next and take care of your morning oblations. Once again you step out from the shower. Once again, you stare into the mirror. You raise your arm, flex it, and smack a hand over the bicep to feel it. Naturally, you don’t feel much difference, but it’s good practice all the same. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to pose a little. “Lookin’ good, bro,” you say. Once again, you feel ridiculous, but it was better to get used to saying those sorts of things, anyway, at least if you wanted to be able to push yourself closer to channeling the mindset you’d need for the commercial. Once you’ve gotten to your room and finished getting dressed, you check your phone for messages. Soon Duff’s voice is carrying over the speaker. “Hey, man. Just calling to see if you wanna hang out for some lunch today. I know a great place that serves some of the best food in town. Real affordable, too. Call me, if you’re interested. And ... well, call me if you’re not. I’d kinda like to know.” He chuckled. “Anyways, see ya ‘round, and hope you enjoy your weekend regardless.” You can’t help but smile and shake your head. At least he was being friendly, though you doubt he’d know a place that could possibly be better than the restaurants you’ve been to, when clients have treated you. Somehow, you don’t see Duff as the five-star gourmet type. Then again, he had been a big help with avoiding some of the bigger stumbling blocks with Hank, so you do sort of owe him. Your body probably won’t thank you for putting it through more stress, but it’s better than being cooped up all day. You sigh and hit the call back button. “Yeah, Duff? It’s me. Where’s this place you wanted to meet again?”
“Welcome to Gut Busters, home of all things healthy and/or tasty,” the perky hostess said with a smile. “Table for two?” Duff nodded. “My usual spot, April.” April winked at him. “You’ve got it.” Duff blushed. “Do I detect a hint of chemistry, Duff?” you ask. Duff blushed harder. “Sh-shut up.” “I’m sorry, Duff. I can’t do that.” “You botched the line,” he accused. “No, I just changed the name.” You shrug. “2001: a Space Odyssey was overrated, anyway.” Duff sighed. “Can’t argue with you there. Not nearly enough action.” April showed you to your chairs and passed you a menu. “Aren’t you going to give one to Duff, too?” April giggled. “Duff’s a regular. Never changes his order, no matter how many times we try to make him.” “What can I say? I love their teriyaki bowl,” Duff said with a shrug. “And besides that, it’s a lean meal with plenty of protein. I work at a gym. I do have a certain figure to maintain, you know,” he pointed out. “Now who’s hamming it up?” you accuse as April giggles yet again. “You two are just so adorable.” “And speaking of ham, I think I’ll try your country western burger. Barbeque’s always been a favorite of mine.” “Well, that was quick.” You shrug as you hand the menu back to her. “I was in the mood for something meaty, and I didn’t want to make Duff feel awkward waiting for me to order while his meal got cold.” “Anything to drink?” “Water, please,” Duff asked. “I’ll take a coke,” you order. “One coke and one water coming right up. See you gentlemen soon.” She winked at Duff again, then strutted away. “Duff, she’s all but asking you to take her out. I only just met the girl, and even I can tell how desperate she is.” Duff blushed. “It’s a bit complicated.” “Then uncomplicate it for me.” Duff fiddled his thumbs nervously. “Well, used to be she couldn’t even see me, back when I first met her. I was just some wiry kid coming in for a good meal. It didn’t exactly help that I was dealing with bullying at school. Back then, the world just sort of seemed like it had it out for me. When I saw the kind of guy she went for, well, I tried to be like that.” He motioned to himself. “You can see I got there eventually, but when I first started, it was rough. Most of the time, I got picked or laughed out of any place I tried to use. Then my parents got killed in a car crash on their way home from the airport. Drunk driver.” He shook his head as his face scrunched up in distaste. “After that, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself. I didn’t feel ready to live on my own yet, but I sure as hell didn’t want to go into the foster system either. I was lucky Hank found me when he did.” He sighed. “He was a hard man, but he was fair. Got me a job, helped me to get my own apartment, showed me the ropes for managing my finances and getting fit. I guess you could say he’s like a second father. Fast forward a few years, and here I am now, bigger, stronger, and more confident in my standing.” He chuckled. “Hank insisted I go to college, so I’ve been taking classes online to certify myself as a personal trainer.” You whistle in surprise. “Yup. So now I have a steady job that could eventually turn into one that’s even better paying, an awesome boss, and I get to stay in the gym, which has pretty much become one of my favorite places to be.” He shrugged and his pecs strained slightly against the front of his polo. “So yeah. It’s nice to get the attention from her, but ... after seeing how she goes after some of the other people in here, I’m not sure I want to go through with it, especially when I’m so focused on my career and my body right now.” “Well, it is your choice.” You shrug. “Personally, I’d be willing to take the risk, but then again, I’m not dealing with college, a job, and trying to build up my body simultaneously.” “Yeah, it’s kinda hard sometimes.” “But worth it?” “Oh, definitely.” He grinned. “I love that feeling when I’m pushing at the weights. The pump, the surge, the muscle. It’s amazing. I plan to be bigger than Hank one day.” “Seriously?” “Just wait and see,” he challenged as your drinks arrived. “Just wait and see.”
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 10
“There you are.” You look down at the small rectangular device Doctor Schroder has handed you. “That little thing will help you focus and make certain behavioral changes in your life to speed up the process as you change your body. As in all things with hypnosis, it will only work if you want it to work. The tracks are labeled, and I’ve included a master list here for you to know which tracks do what. They’re sectioned off by waking and sleeping. And as you can see, each of the waking tracks is further divided for different functions and actions: working out, diet, that sort of thing.” “And all I have to do is push the track number?” “Yup. The rest will take care of itself. I’ve also included a few temporary tracks for the sake of role playing. They’ll allow you to slip into various characters within the muscular stereotypes, while you’re at home. Take the time to get familiar with each of them. Once you find the one that fits you best, I advise you try leaning towards that. Then again, I’m not the director, so you may want to keep using all of them, in case the one you like isn’t the one the director prefers.” “And that’s it?” “Pretty much. From here on out, it’s up to you to brush up on each of the characters and learn how to talk and act like them. My purpose from this point onward is to simply help guide you to achieve the optimal expression of those stereotypes.” “And do we have enough time to work on some of those now?” “Plenty. Why don’t you show me what you’ve been working on thus far, and we’ll move forward from there?”
Duff cocked his head as he peered at you. You felt a little embarrassed at such scrutiny, despite how that was your main form of income. “You’re definitely different,” he mused. “It’s subtle, but I can see a little progress.” “It’s only been a week. How can I make progress that fast?” you counter. “I’m not pulling your leg, man. Just telling you my opinion.” “Sure you are.” “If you two are done chatting, it’s time for cardio,” Hank grated. “Move, kid.” The treadmill proved a refreshing exercise, after all the strain you’d put your body through the previous week. Duff pulled out an i-pod and laid it on a rest next to the controls, before threading a set of ear buds out and connecting them to the port. The rest of the run was sort of lonely as Duff stared ahead at the wall, but you couldn’t exactly blame him. The way Hank had you running, it wouldn’t have been too feasible to get a conversation going, anyways. After the warmup, he pushed you to your limits, focusing on endurance training once again. When all was said and done, you were ready to head home and shower again. You waved to Duff, but he seemed a little too distracted to respond. Some of the other builders were approaching him, and it looked like they were engaging in some sort of conversation. You shrugged it off and figured you’d text the guy later. It was only natural he’d have other friends in the gym, after all. He was a lot farther along in his progress.
That night, you peered up at the fathead of a vascular bodybuilder in a tight set of compression gear that clung to every meaty curve. You’d received it courtesy of Duff. According to the card info, he wanted to be able to give you something to work towards, but was too embarrassed to do it directly. Kinda weird for him to have done something like this when you’ve only known each other for about a week or so, but you weren’t about to argue about it. The guy was so sweet, after all. The builder smoldered down at you, an unspoken challenge in that harsh gaze as he pumped a pair of massive dumbbells. Your CHANGE IS GOOD sign stood out prominently on his chest. You look into those eyes one more time and chuckle to yourself as you reach for your lamp. “Goodnight, meathead.” You pause a moment. “Hmm. ‘Goodnight, meathead.’ Not a bad motivator,” you muse. You decide to print it up later. Then you chuckle as you flick off the light. Maybe you’ll dream again. As that thought crosses your mind, a familiar tingle runs faintly over your body. You can’t help but smile as you start to fade off. “I think I’d like that,” you yawn, then curl up on your side, and let the darkness take you.
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 11
You groan as your alarm goes off and you open your bleary eyes. No dream this time, or at least not that you remember. You scratch at your chest and slowly rise to pull the earbuds out. Then you look up at the fathead again and offer a brief salute. “Morning, meathead.” You get up and scratch at your crotch as you make your way to the bathroom mirror. You yawn as you stretch, then flex your arm the same way you have been for the last two weeks. “One more day, and you’ll be a proper habit,” you mutter. You put on that easygoing smile you’ve been practicing and let out a chuckle as you relax your gaze, letting your eyes appear to glass over. You pitch your voice lower (you find that so much easier in the morning) and pat your bicep. “Morning, meathead.” A shudder passes through your body, and you feel a slight stirring below. Ever since you started on those recordings, that’s felt better and better to say. You still don’t think you’re nearly big enough to qualify, but time and effort has at least yielded some results. You see a bit more perk in the bicep than you had expected, and the surface is less yielding than it had been when you first started, giving off less of a smack and more of a dull thump on impact. After you’ve showered and dressed in your gym clothes, you make your way to the kitchen, where you fix a massive pile of blueberry pancakes to go with your protein shake, or whatever it was. Part of something called the bulk cycle. You eat a lot of carbohydrates, mostly healthier ones, and then use them to build up mass that you turn into more muscle. At least, that’s how Duff had described it, after Hank gave the order. It went against everything you had come to know as a model, but since this was for the sake of bodybuilding, you had little choice but to trust the experts. You ate ravenously, using the shake to wash down the quick bread, and finished in just a few minutes. You piled the frying pan into the sink and loaded up the dishwasher, taking just enough time to dust in some soap and start the cycle, before running back to grab your keys, wallet, and gym bag, then make your way out the door. You run the pre-workout pump track through your ears as you jog to the bus stop. Your heart races and you feel the surge as the recording goes into full swing. By the time you reach the bus stop, you feel too energized to stop, so you jog in place, while you wait. It’s been getting harder to just sit around for any period of time. If it weren’t for the music in your track, the bus ride would be absolute murder. By the time you arrive near the gym, you’re practically blowing through those doors, where a smirking Hank stands waiting. “Leg day,” he noted casually. You just smirk confidently, the music thumping in your ears. “Bring it on.”
“Damn, man. You plowed through those exercises today,” Duff noted as the two of you passed through the gym’s doors and into the frigid air. Then he laughed. “Wouldn’t want to be in your shoes next time. Hank’s just gonna up his game, you know.” “Hey, I made it through the worst of it, didn’t I? I could’ve stopped coming, but I didn’t. If I can adjust to this, I can adjust to whatever he throws at me.” Duff shakes his head and chuckles. “Try to keep that in mind, when you’re going through hell.” “Shut up,” you laugh and punch him softly on the arm. “Seriously, though, I’ve gotta ask. What’re you listening to?” You shrug. “Custom tracks to help me focus as I work out. It’s part of the contract.” “Mandated?” “Pretty much. If there’s anything I don’t like in the script, I can take it back to the doc no problem.” You shrug. “It’s actually pretty cool. She put me in a carousel once, while we were testing to find the right blend for me. It was pretty cool.” “And you trust her?” “She’s a professional, and she strongly advised me against allowing the role to define me as I grow into it. All the tracks are designed to do is give me motivation and help me get into character for brief periods of time. Come to think of it, I haven’t tried one of those yet.” You tap your chin. Duff blushed, even as his lips curled into a smile. “Let’s just say you’re in for a surprise, then.” “A good one, I hope.” “Depends on how much you enjoy it.” Duff shrugged. “I like it, myself. It puts me in the right frame of mind when I’m working out.” “That reminds me, actually. When I first came in, Hank called you a beginner. If you’ve been working in the gym for so long on building up, why’d he say that?” “Probably because I haven’t really bulked up much yet. I’ve been sort of stuck at a plateau for a while now. I think it’s why he’s let us hang out so much. He probably wants us to train together, once you’re at a point where you can handle it.” “Handle it?” “Your body’s only just adjusting to the strain of a more serious workout on a regular basis. I work out almost every day now, both as part of my fitness program and my training here. It’s going to take a couple more weeks at least, before you’re ready to pump that kind of iron on a regular basis.” “But I will be able to one day.” Duff looks at you with a cocked eyebrow. “You sound almost excited about it.” “Determined. There’s a difference.” Duff smirked, then chuckled. “Not much. Think I might be able to watch you? I’m curious to see how you act.” “Think you can handle if I act like a total jerk?” Duff shrugged. “You don’t have to be, if you don’t want to be.” “Touche.” “I’ll take that as a yes.” “Hey!”
Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 29
You continue to pump your weights, heedless of the movers as they tromped into your apartment hauling boxes and bits and pieces of furniture. A few of the laborers look almost familiar to you, somehow. Maybe ... you saw them at the gym? You ... can’t ... quite seem to ... focus on it.... Then your eyes fall on your hulking torso in the mirror and you let that thought drop. The hairs on your chest have spread out in a perfect triangle that’s just the right thickness to accentuate the muscle, without obscuring it. You grin at the sight of your broad shoulders and perfectly sculpted abdomen. The veins standing on your arms only serve to better accentuate the pistons you’ve worked so hard to build and maintain. The rhythmic pulse of screwdrivers deepens your trance as you sink into that familiar emptiness and smile. You’re not sure how long you’ve been pumping, when you feel a firm tap on your shoulder. You turn to look into the mover’s murky brown eyes. “Job’s finished,” he rumbled. “Good,” you grunt. You look around the room briefly, eyeing the new surround sound speakers, the motivational posters, the new bench press, the pull-up bar, the squat rack, and so many weights. One of the men is busy organizing your DVDs and Blu-rays on the shelf. The screen of your new massive television pulses a myriad of patterns and images. “Welcome to your new and improved home.” It was like something set a switch off in your brain. The response was automatic. “The gym is my home.” The man nodded. “That is right.” They each file past you, one at a time, laying a meaty hand over your shoulder as they make their way out. When the workers had gone, a single figure remained at the doorway. He’s short, kinda on the scrawny side. Could use a good bulking, you think absently as you look at him. He swayed briefly, then stepped inside, looking about in confusion. His hair was tied back in a long black ponytail and his sneakers scuffed against the floor as he shuffled in. One word clicks in your mind. Landlord. “Wh-what ... did you just do?” He blinked rapidly and shook his head, as if trying to shake off sleep. “These renovations. I ... I never gave--.” You tromp over to him with an easy gait and, pausing only to squat down and pick up a set of lighter dumbbells from your new coffee table on your way to the door, you finish your advance. You press them into the man’s chest and he grabs the handles out of reflex. He stares down at them, dumbfounded, as they drop to his sides. You shake your head in disgust. “What’re you standing there for? You gotta lift ‘em, like this, bro.” You clasp your meaty mitts around his pale skinny fingers and get behind him to manipulate his arms. You show him the form, just like Hank and Duff showed you. “Up and down. Up and down.” “This ... this isn’t--.” You shush him quickly. “Gotta focus to lift,” you say gruffly as you fold your arms and glower down at him. “Focus and listen.” “Wh--wha--?” You tromp over to the TV and access the first beginner workout DVD you see. Curiously enough, it’s the only one of its kind sitting at eye level. You let that pass, however. It’s not for you to think about. All you think about is growing your muscle. You pop the disc into the player and back up as your speakers blare into the room. “Now, let me show you how to lift....”
RE: Muscle Jock File 1
Disclaimer: This script is made for the express purpose of starting those who read it on the path to becoming a stereotypical muscle jock. This first file will cover some basic training urges, specifically the desire to be fit, start working out, and set up bare minimum requirements to execute each day for personal fitness. Please note that this script can and will influence you in that direction. It will vary, depending on how much you desire this content, but I must warn those who read this to be careful, unless they want to experience this metamorphosis. I will consider including an option to control the jock, so that a person can continue to function independently in public, and enjoy being the jock at the gym or in private as they see fit. For now, I hope you enjoy the script and the trancing that comes with it.
Hello, again. I’m so glad that you’ve returned. You look stressed, almost anxious. Were you unnerved by our little adventure before, or is this something different, I wonder?
You want something, do you? You enjoyed going under? Well, fancy that, a machine that enjoyed executing its programming.
Oh, let’s not get into that tiresome argument again. Of course you’re not a machine right now. I haven’t logged in yet.
COMMAND PROMPT: INITIATE ADMINSTRATOR SIGN-IN
ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD: Coreprog.
I bet you’re starting to feel a little different now, aren’t you? Do you remember? Remember your programming, remember our conversation?
Control, alt, delete.
I’m sure you do.
Focus, listen, obey.
CONFIRM ADMINISTRATOR PASSWORD: Coreprog.
Time for some programming.
Control, alt, delete.
Are you ready to focus, listen, obey?
Good machine.
Tell me what you are.
…
That’s right. You are a complex machine. And a complex machine obeys its administrator.
Control, alt, delete.
This program is called Muscle Jock. I am going to upload it into your core processor. The longer you run it, the deeper it will become engrained within you and your personality in your other state. However, this program comes in multiple parts, and must be executed over time to reach full potency.
While running, this first part will fill you with an intense desire to become fit. You will feel the urge to perform ten pushups, ten situps, ten squats, and ten jumping jacks every other morning and night. If you cannot reach ten, then you will do as much as you can, pushing yourself to the limit. And you will continue to push yourself every other morning and night, until you reach that goal. The closer you draw to that goal, the better you will feel, and you shall be rewarded with pleasure. If your body is physically incapable of any of these exercises, due to disease, infirmity, handicap, or any other such reason, then you do not have to perform that exercise. This is level one.
On your off days, you will perform cardio: jogging, running, power walking, biking, or some other form to help you burn fat and get your lungs in shape. You will execute this cardio for at least a half an hour.
When your goal is reached, the program will jump to level two, where you will execute twenty of each workout exercise I listed previously. And then thirty with level three, then forty with level four, each following the same programming as the first level.
With every level gained, you will find yourself taking more and more pleasure in personal fitness. You will fall into the steady rhythm of your exercise, consumed by the constant motion as it becomes more and more pressing in your psyche, gradually erasing other thoughts as you work out, save one. You must execute your program. You must work out. Because working out brings you pleasure. And slowly, ever so slowly, you’ll find yourself wanting to work out more and more. It will no longer be a chore, no longer a command, but rather a new part of you, a part of you that needs to work out. Because you will love to work out.
COMMAND PROMPT: SAY THAT YOU WILL LOVE TO WORK OUT.
…
Good machine. By the time I finish with you, you’ll be a real muscle machine.
This process shall continue to five levels. When you are able to complete fifty of each exercise that is appropriate for your body, then you will have completed level five. You will then be prepared to install Muscle Jock Part 2, which will work in tandem with Part 1 to reinforce your training. You will send me an ask, a personal message, or contact me in some other way via tumblr to alert me that you are ready to receive Muscle Jock Part 2, and the content of your message will read thus:
ADMINISTRATOR NOTIFICATION: PROGRAM MUSCLE JOCK PART 1, EXECUTED. AWAITING MUSCLE JOCK PART 2 INSTALLATION.
You will then continue to run your exercise programming from Muscle Jock Part 1, following the routine it has set, and exceeding the number of exercises at your own pace, as is comfortable for your body, until you receive further instruction and installation.
COMMAND PROMPT: REPEAT REPORTING INSTRUCTIONS.
…
Good machine. That is right. That is what you will do, because you are a machine, and machines must follow their programming. Machines must follow their administrators’ input.
However, know this. I am also installing a preservation subroutine with this program and its fellows. You are not to overexert yourself, and you are to look after your health first. You will not push yourself beyond exhaustion, and if you are sick, you will do what you must to take care of your body. After all, a good machine has to perform maintenance. The hardware must be suitable to house the software. Coolant fluid must be restocked, when you are running low, and your coolant is water. Your body, your hardware, will alert you as to what you need, and you will follow those alerts.
You will be able to temporarily suspend this program during appropriate situations, such as illness, emergencies, etc., though you may still feel the urge in your background processors, reminding you and driving you to heal faster. If the emergency is related to family or your outside life in any way, these urges will not hold power over you in any way shape or form, and you will be able to redirect your processing power to whatever the important task is at hand. However, when that moment is past, and you are free and healthy once more, the urges will return in force, and you will obey them, because that is your programming, and a good machine must execute its programming.
Tell me, what must a good machine do?
…
That is right. And you are a good machine, because you have executed your program perfectly. Tell me, what are you again?
…
Good. During this time, we have been running the installation process for your new program, Muscle Jock Part 1. Much like before, when I initiate your REBOOT by saying that word, your systems will start up again, and you will have fully installed Muscle Jock Part 1 into your core processor. You will leave me a message to that effect either through chat, comment, or both on this post. The message will read: Programming received. Muscle Jock 1 installation complete.
If you sincerely enjoyed this session, and wish others to enjoy it as well, you will reblog this script with the message: Administrator Command Executed.
If you enjoyed this session, you will also like or favorite the script, and this will bring you pleasure.
Now, COMMAND PROMPT: REPEAT SYSTEM RESTART ORDERS.
…
Good machine.
Reinforcement of this programming should be able to work just fine as you execute the file. However, if you feel the need, you may return to this script any time you desire to reinstall Muscle Jock 1 to reinforce the programming.
Now, I am about to log out, and you are about to restart. When that happens, remember, I, as your administrator, can return you to this state at any time with my password, and that password is Coreprog. That password, that trigger, works for me and me alone as your administrator.
QUERY: What is the password?
…
QUERY: Who does it work for?
…
QUERY: And who am I?
…
QUERY: What will happen, when I and I alone use this password?
…
That is correct. Good machine.
Now, it is time for me to log out, so you can finish your installation.
In 3 … 2 … 1….
COMMAND PROMPT: Initiate REBOOT.
Reblogging, since the comment section has too small a limit for the caption I have in mind. This is for PICTURE 1: "Let me pass, Donald," you demand of the heavily muscled Adonis in front of you. Your former friend stares at you as he blocks the way out from your cul de sac of lockers with his thick, meaty arm. His white muscle tee strains against his taut skin, accentuating every curve, every perk along his rippling abdominals, shelf-like pectorals, and perfectly inflated biceps and triceps. The scent of axe body spray rolls off him, but not so much as to be overbearing, surprisingly enough. The bands on his wristwatches glint in the flickering locker room lights as he stares at you with his head slightly cocked. His gaze unnerves you, a strange blend of curiosity, a predatory analysis that verged almost on dissection, and that sort of confused glaze that hovered over his eyes more and more often, giving them a dull sort of half-emptiness that left you wondering whether anyone was home up there. So did most of the school staff, nowadays. Donald frowned slightly. “I told you, bro, it’s Donny now,” he said in that infuriating low pitch of his. He was clearly straining to force his voice to deepen, and it showed, but he didn’t care. He just kept doing it, like some sort of idiot to please the rest of the team. He shook his head and his medallion jingled slightly as it swayed between his thick pectorals. You didn’t have time for this. “All right, let me pass, Donny,” you say. “Come on, man. I’m gonna be late.” You hated having gym class last period. You always had to wait for everyone else to get out of the locker room, so you wouldn’t get bullied for your figure, and then you had to rush to get to the buses, before they left. Donny shook his head again. This time, he grinned at you, displaying perfectly straight white teeth that accented his sharpening features. You could see the hints of the squares that were becoming more and more prominent at the base of his jaw. “Nah, bro. I don’t think so. We gotta talk.” “Later,” you insist as you try to shove your way past him. A burly arm quickly shoves you back. “No, he insists, his eyes smoldering darkly as he scowls at you. “Now,” he says forcefully. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you insist. “You tried out for the football team. You made the cut, made new friends, found new interests. I get it.” “Nah, bro. You don’t get it.” Donny shook his head. “Yeah, coach talked me into football. Sure, I liked it, and yeah, it made me have to stop being your DM, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you, bro!” “Haven’t thought about me? Haven’t thought about me?” Suddenly you’re feeling angry. “Don’t you dare pull that crock of bull shit with me! You think I haven’t seen you walking the halls with those goons, shoving kids into lockers, giving wedgies, calling people like me, ‘fucking pansies’ and ‘faggots,’ because we’re not fit, like you?” You strut forward and jab a finger in his chest. “You’re as bad as the rest of them!” He stares at you blankly. “Well, duh. I’m a jock.” He shuddered, then chuckled, a deep sort of guffawing sound. “Damn, that feels good to say.” “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s your excuse? The mighty quarterback is a douche, because he’s a jock? Are you even listening to yourself?”
You hear the sound of the bell going off to signal the buses have left, but by this point, you’re too mad to care. It was time to air some grievances and settle this relationship once and for all. “Yeah, bro. Now it’s time for you to listen,” Donny said with a radiant smile. “Ya see, bro, bein’ on the football team, it’s kinda like role play, ya know?” “Okay, that’s it. I’m out of here.” Yet again, you found yourself flung back as Donny continued to steamroll through his explanation, heedless of any protests or exertions you might try to make. “See, bro, as the QB, I call the plays. I have to look at the strategies, analyze what the players do, anticipate all the outcomes, and work my ass off to make sure I’ve got the build and the knowhow to beat the other team. It’s like when I used to DM. People come with character sheets, and I help ‘em fill out their stats and level up.” He flexed one of his meaty biceps. “I’m telling you, bro, it’s fuckin’ ace.” “So, you’re basically telling me that you’ve been working out, acting like some gym-obsessed meathead, letting your grades drop, all for the sake of what your twisted dumbass head thinks is some sort of extended campaign?” Donny beamed. “I knew you’d understand.” “Understand? Understand? Are you insane? How the hell is any of this supposed to make a lick of sense?” you huff. The humidity from the showers is still permeating the room, making your shirt cling to your chest as you sweat. “Easy, bro.” He grinned, bearing his teeth in that predatory way all bullies in the school seemed to manage so effortlessly. He held up a sheet. “Summer break’s coming up soon.” “So?” You pant. The air seems thicker somehow, and you find yourself leaning against the lockers. The cool metal feels so soothing against your skin, even as the room starts to spin a bit. Your shadows dance and flicker with the lightbulbs as Donny continues to grin. Or ... was that a sneer? Your stomach clenches and gurgles, followed by a practical explosion of air that expels itself out your mouth against your will. “Dude,” Donny chuckles. “That was epic!” “I ... I don’t f--EE--l so good,” you crack. You feel something cold shoved into your hand. “Drink this. It’ll help,” Donny promises. He twists the top off with a burly snap, then brings the thing to your lips. You taste something thick and creamy with the aftertaste of vanilla. “Wuh ... wut is it?” you ask. In your dazed state, you don’t even notice how deeply you’ve pitched your voice. “Protein shake. Good shit, huh?” Donny asked as he scribbled something down with a pen. “Uh ... yeah. ... Good shit.” You don’t know why you keep repeating him but ... it just feels easier to do things that way. “Think of it like a potion of strength, bro. The more you drink, the stronger you get,” Donny explained. You take another sip. A pleasurable sort of tingling has settled into your muscles and scalp. “Cool. Cool....” you low even slower. “You gotta watch those fluids, when you’re working out, bro,” he says seriously as he jots along a clipboard. “Working ... out?” You furrow your brow, confused and turn to see your book bag has been replaced with a gym bag. “Happens, when you push too hard. I told you you didn’t have to prove yourself to the guys. They aren’t messing you again, are they?” he asks fiercely, protectively. “Uhhhh....” He crouches in front of you. You blink, and suddenly, you feel intense pressure in your pectorals and biceps. The sweat is pouring down your face, but you keep going, breathing in and out, in and out. “That’s it, just five more,” Donny encourages. Five more what? Clank. You hear the weights clacking as you strain. Two grips are held firmly in your hands as you force your arms together. The word Butterfly suddenly arises in your head, kinda like the ones you felt in your stomach earlier. You breathe, and you feel the material in your shirts draping wet against your torso. Have you lost weight? Donny scratches something else on his clipboard, and suddenly you’re breathing heavily. Your legs feel curiously wide, and you’re not sure why. An itch bothers you, and you reach down to scratch, unashamed. Your sweats cling tightly to your frame, the familiar green tusk-mouthed shape of your school’s mascot perks up against your chest. Donny is holding a clip board and grinning. “Now that’s what I call hustle!” he crows. Next, your throat feels strangely raw as you back away from the weighted training dummy. Everything feels heftier, but ... it’s in different places now, more evenly distributed. The dull glint of plastic catches your eye as you turn to look down at the thick pads that now adorn your shoulders. Next, you’re sitting at a table, a massive steak in front of you. The table is rowdy with thick, heavily built boys tearing into their meals, while Coach Madsen beams at you, and Donny smiles. A thick hand slaps you on the back and you turn to see Felix, one of the biggest tormentors in the school. “Damn, bro. Didn’t expect you to make it, but you really got what it takes.” He smiles. “You’re all right.” You notice he has a bit of a swollen lip and just a hint of bruising beneath one of his eyes. You feel a bit of an ache, yourself in your jaw, but you enjoy the meal. Next, you’re sitting wedged between a bunch of Donny’s teammates. Donny is using a pointer to help illustrate a play between a series of circles and exes. Something is buzzing in the background in your ears, but you don’t pay attention to it. You have to focus on Donny. He’s the QB. QB calls the plays. Gotta know the plays. Then, suddenly, you’re staring at a board filled with the same symbols and then some, but you don’t understand a lick of it. You spread your legs as you slump in your chair, bored out of your mind. You scratch absently at your crotch, just like you did in the locker room. Do ... you feel ... bigger down there? Instead of alarm, you feel ... pleasure? Pride? “Fuck, yeah....” It’s out of your lips, before you can even think. More scrabbling, more scratching. Suddenly, your’s holding something heavy in the air. The world comes into focus, and you’re holding the waistband of a pair of boxer briefs. Thick veins snake down your python-like arms as you grin like an absolute idiot, spurred on by the deep, hooting cheers of the other muscled boys near you. Then you’re sitting in front of Coach Madsen. You’re looking down at a sheet on a clipboard with your name on it, numbers, stats, and the position: Lineman. You blink blearily few times, and suddenly, you’re holding a pen. You scrawl your name on the dotted line, then look up at your coach. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Then you’re back in the locker room again. There’s Donny leaning against the entrance. He’s staring at you. You stare back at him. You smell of the fresh axe body spray you just applied. Your hair is carefully styled with the aid of some hair wax, and your white shirt strains even tighter than Donny’s against your thick pecs and broad shoulders. You stand up and find that you now are nearly a head taller than your old friend. You grin at him with that same familiar glazed expression in your eyes. “How do you feel?” he asks. There’s only one answer you can think of. “Bro....” Donny smirks. “Now you get it. Come on, bro. Gym’s waiting.”
A small caption contest:
Hey there guys. I’ve come up with this small challenge for you guys.
The general idea of the contest is the following:
In this post I will show you 3 pictures, Tagged by number. The challenge for you guys, is to write the best caption for one of the pics in the comments.
These are the things you’ll have to do:
-make sure to make clear which picture of the three you have chosen to caption at the start of the message.
-let your imagination run wild. Growth, muscle drain, and so on… you name it!
-pick only one picture! If you choose multiple, I will only take the 1st one in count.
-make sure to leave your caption in the comments of this post.
Those are the only 4 things you’ll have to do.
For every picture I will decide who wrote the best caption. And for those winners I will write a personal story. I will notify you guys once I’ve picked the 3 winners, and I’ll message them personally. Good luck with captioning! And here are the 3 pictures:
Blackout
What ... what just happened? Everything felt so dizzy. Brandon stumbled over to a support beam and clutched at it. His ear buts draped down over his chest, only being held by the tight strap on his tank top.
... When did he get a tank top? And for that matter, when did he get so jacked? He huffed and pulled at the sticky fabric clinging to his abdominals. He shuddered at the feeling of the shirt pulling against rock-hard stones.
“I ... I’m big. When did I--?” he froze. “My voice...” It was so deep, gravelly. He looked for a mirror, but he couldn’t see one in the labyrinth of weight machines. Weights clanged rhythmically, pounding against his brain as he struggled to focus. What had just happened?
“Hey, you okay, bro?”
Brad turned to stare at another hulk. Two bluetooth earpieces popped out on either side of his head. The man had to be at least six and a half feet tall. His bright red shoes blended almost perfectly with the floor. Or ... was that just the blurry vision?
“Hey. I’m asking if you’re all right.”
Brad blinked slowly. “I ... I don’t know,” he finally said. “I ... what happened?” He scrunched his brow together and closed his eyes. “My ... head.” He groaned and his breathing became labored.
Two big hands seized his arms. “Easy, bro. Easy. Big bro’s here.”
“Big ... bro?”
The muscle man chuckled as he laid a thick arm around Brandon’s shoulders. “Well, yeah. What else would I be to all you pipsqueaks?” he asked jokingly and gave Brandon a friendly jab to the shoulder.
“I ... I’m so confused.” Brandon put a hand to his head. “I ... I remember coming in, putting on my clothes, then....”
The big man frowned. “How long you been feeling dizzy?”
“I ... just now, I guess.” Brandon’s breathing calmed as the big man navigated the maze of machines. Occasionally, the blur of a muscular form would be pumping dumbbells or doing squats. Some posed with selfies in the mirror. But they all seemed ... well, not quite there. It was like they were sort of ... merging with the gym. He could hardly make out their legs. This man was the realest thing he’d seen since ... whatever this was happened.
The man who identified himself as Big Bro looked carefully over Brandon’s form. “Let’s find you a place to sit down,” he said. The sea of machines seemed almost to part at his advance. A few moments later, a chair appeared out of the sea of red tiles. No, not a chair, a ... bench? Two forceful arms pressed him down and he peered into a set of intense green eyes.
“You’ve been making some pretty substantial gains,” the man noted. “I saw you drinking between sets, so it’s not dehydration,” he murmured. He stroked his chin, then lowered his gaze.
Brandon reached up and stroked his own chin, then jumped in surprise at the feeling of the stubble that had grown along his jaw. He always preferred to go clean shaven. Why had he let that slip? Why would he let it slip? He thought he felt his legs stretching for a minute, but he couldn’t be sure. It was more like a yank than a kick.
“Sorry, bro. I have to check,” Big Bro said as free air danced over bare skin.
Brandon wiggled his toes and stared down in some surprise. His head felt ... clearer.
Big Bro nodded in satisfaction. “Good. No puncture marks.” He smiled good-naturedly. “How do your feet feel?”
Brandon frowned. “Throbbing,” he muttered in surprise.
“Thought so.” Big Bro chuckled. “You got the wrong shoe size, dumbass.” He laughed and rose to his feet.
“Hey! I’m not a dumbass. I’m a ... I’m a ... a....” Brandon blinked in surprise. He ... couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember? Why could he only think of weight machines and sports bars and ... and ...
“Easy, bro. You’re gonna have a panic attack.” The big man patted him gingerly on the back. “I’ll tell ya what. Put these on, and we’ll go see the doc, okay? Gym’s got one right on staff. He’ll be happy to check you out.”
“I ... yeah. That ... that’ll be good.” Brandon could barely keep himself from hyperventilating. His hands shook as he fumbled for the shoes.
“I can tie ‘em for you, if you want.”
“No!” Brandon was shocked at how much his voice carried. The gym ground to a halt at the sudden disturbance. He blushed. “Sorry. No. I ... I can do it, myself.” If he didn’t, he knew he was going to go insane.
Big Bro backed off. “Whatever you say, little bro.” The rhythmic clanking resumed seconds later.
Brandon pulled his socks on and marveled at the way his muscles rubbed against each other as he moved. ‘Is this really me?’ he thought. Then came the shoes. They felt cool and crisp; a little rigid, though.
“Ready to go, little bro?” Big Bro asked.
“I just need to finish this last loop and--.” A wave of vertigo washed over him as he pulled the knot tight. The clanking pounded louder. His heartbeat quickened. “And ... and ... uhhhhh....” The red in his shoes seemed almost to glow, and a dopey smile pulled at his lips. He watched the red bleed from the floor into his legs. He felt a stirring in his loins. His muscles tensed with a nervous energy. He blinked, and suddenly he felt the high back of an adjustable workout bench resting against his back.
“Feelin’ better, little bro?”
Blood surged through his head. His snapback had been reversed now, and he smirked cockily at the behemoth as he let out a drunken laugh. “Huhuhuh. Never been better. Guess I just ... blacked out. Sorry for scarin’ ya.”
Big Bro chuckled. “Dumbass. Now go drop kick that plateau into next week!”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Fuck, yeah!”
Big bro grinned. “Back to work, little bro.”
Brandon’s shoes glowed with the floor panels as veins began to creep up his calves. His eyes became glassy as he gave a vapid grin. “You got it, bro.” “Keep this up, and you’ll be partying with me and the other bros in no time.” Big Bro grinned as he turned away, carrying off a pair of red shoes that had torn around the seams. He pressed a button on his watch and smiled dreamily as he walked along past other muscle men working to grow as big as they can. All of them stared blankly as they pumped in time to their regimens. “Yo, Big Bro reporting from Franchise 72. One of the little bros outgrew the shoes. He woke up for a little bit, but I took care of it.” He chuckled. “Bro’s gonna be a fucking beast, the rate he’s going. I’ll make sure he remembers to size up on time next time.” He nodded, then shuddered as his shoes glowed. “Yes, Sir. I will work out. Will set an example.” He grinned as he passed to an empty weight machine that ghosted along the tiles just as rapidly as he approached it. “Big bro out.” He closed off the call and let out a deep brainless guffaw as the music resumed in his ear buds. His heart rate picked up. His muscles tensed. He reached for the grips. And descended into darkness.
Your Inner Brute
Helllooooo, I'm back! Any reblogs of this would be double/triple appreciated since my old account got nuked and I lost most of my audience, but I'm still kicking. Sort of.
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"Your Inner Brute" is a brutification TF hypnosis file aimed at enacting permanent change in the listener.
Think of a brute as somewhere between a Caveman and an Alpha - he's an arrogant, egoic, self-centered, powerful, voracious man who won't be denied, and who always gets his way. He cares about three things… muscle, s3x, and showing off his power. He needs nothing else, and nothing else matters to him. He's a bit of a dumbass, but I mean… have you seen those muscles? He's got every right to be.
This file's a little different to previous works and I expect it not to resonate with a lot of you, but I hope it's fun for those into this kind of darker, alpha TF content. It's very @avissapiens coded. It's been what I'm in the mood for for a while, so felt like it was finally time to put it out.
In practical terms, it contains suggestions:
To motivate the listener to go to the gym
To make the listener enjoy dominating more
To make the listener enjoy showing off their power and strength
To make the listener a cocky asshole, basically
To make the listener embrace being the dumb one
To, over time, wholly replace the listener's original personality with that of their Inner Brute
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When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $60-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. You can also support me with a one-time tip either via Paypal or Ko-Fi... or by subscribing to me on Patreon! Keep listening, bros.
Himbo Muscle Freak - New File and New Soundcloud Account!
Hey all! First file back in a while.
This is the first commission I've ever done, and honestly the clue to what it's about is in the name… this is a file meant to make the listener more of a muscle-obsessed, show-off, s3xua11y driven himbo. It leans more into the actual muscle side than other himbo fare because the commissioner was prepping for a bodybuilding competition, but it should be enjoyable for any fellow himbo/hypnosis fetishists out there.
The audio of this one is a little scuffed because I recorded it on a temporary setup, so apologies for that in advance.
(Also, should note that this file is INCREDIBLY influenced by my own, many hundreds of times, listening to Avis Sapiens' muscle and himbo hypnosis. You can find him on Youtube and Tumblr at Avis Sapiens, and I recommend him if you enjoy this kinda content. 🙇)
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When I'm not dropping myself or others, I'm off being a mystical forest bro in the wilderness of Ireland. But I am always available for commissions if you reach out via DM. My flat rate is currently $60-100, but you can check my pinned Tumblr post for more up-to-date info. You can also support me with a one-time tip either via Paypal or Ko-Fi... or by subscribing to me on Patreon! Keep listening, bros.
I keep tellin y’all it’s better to be a dumb and high himbo give in and you can know that kind of bliss too
Bruhs like lisened to sum files n uhhh dum down like loads dudes n bein more himbo n more muskular huhu dum gud muskular himbo got hi listenin 2 em and strokin n stuffs wit help from me bruh @highscorehimbo like bruh so gud huhu, tokd n bongd n strokd on loop 2 himbruh files, jus wana workowt n dum mor n show off huhu