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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 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.

Of Spies and Muscleheads Part 5

“Work out. Grow. I grow with the team. Obey. Must obey. Yes, Coach….”

Hunter looked pityingly at Trav, even as he did his best not to take in the hissing speakers around the halls. “Hopefully, we can help these kids get back to their old selves, when this is over.

“And you, too.”

“… Yeah. Me, too.”

The pair finally arrived at the door Control had indicated, and Hunter swiped the card.

“Acknowledged: Meathead. Access granted. Report to Sector M-BDJ.”

Hunter grunted. “Meathead obeys. Meathead will report.”

“Good meathead.”

“I am a good meathead. I obey.” He grunted again as another tear sounded. This time, he could feel the air against part of his back. As the door opened, he gaped at the sheer size of the facility that greeted him. Weights, machines, terminals, screens. All as far as the eye could see. The steady white light flickered and pulsed gently as a familiar drum beat played across the air. He slowly pressed forward, his strides matching the rhythm of the drums.

“Keep growing, Hunter.”

“What was that?” Hunter snapped.

“I said keep going, Hunter. You’ll reach a large elevator at the other end of the gym. Get in, then select M. That’ll take you to the floor you need to go to,” Control said.

“… Got it.” Hunter shook his head. This place was getting to him. “Come on, kid. This way,” he said, waving toward the other side of the gym. Trav followed closely behind, his pace easily matching his guide’s as they passed along the wide walkway. As they reached the doors, a loud metallic ping sounded, followed by the dim impact of something landing and skittering across the floor before meeting its demise with a solid crunch under Trav’s tough heel. Looking into the dull metal, Hunter barely made out the collar of his uniform. It had torn, bursting open to fit his expanding neck and pectorals. A large Adam’s apple now pressed prominently. “Control? Uh … we’ve got a problem,” he rumbled.

There was a stunned silence. “Hunter, just how big are you right now?”

“Let’s just say if I move too much, it’s going to be my birthday a little early this year.”

“Then you’d better take out Stone as fast as you can. If you’re already that blown up, your mind can’t be that far behind.”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Thanks so much for that cheerful thought.” With that, the elevator doors opened, and the pair walked in. Hunter jabbed the M button, then turned to face Trav. His brow furrowed. “Kid, have you gotten … bigger?”

Trav chuckled. “Bigger is better, bro.” He flexed, and kissed a bicep as he posed in front of one of the mirror walls. The kid had to be over seven feet now. “Bigger, dumber jock. Just a big, dumb jock for Coach.”

“I know, kid. I know. Just go on back to what you were doing. We’ll see your coach soon.”

“Report to Coach. Obey Coach. Grow for Coach. Be a good dumb jock. I am a good dumb jock. Obey … I obey. I flex. I obey. Flex. Obey. Yes, Sir. Flex deeper. I flex for Coach. Flex and forget. Flex and obey….”

Hunter did his best to keep focused on the elevator’s display, but he couldn’t keep Trav’s deep teen voice completely out of his head. He blushed violently as he looked down to his crotch. His suit had grown so tight there was little left to the imagination. He bit off the rising, “Fuck yeah,” that was building in his throat. That wasn’t him. He wasn’t some dumb meathead who thought with his dick. His huge dick. His massive meat. His–

Hunter shuddered, and did his best to cut off that train of thought.

The door opened, and Hunter gave a silent word of thanks to whatever gods got him out of that space. “Come on, kid,” he said with a curt motion. “Follow. Obey.”

Trav did so, still grinning as he continued to flex. Unlike the other gym, this level was filled with men. Some were sitting on benches staring blankly ahead as their security helmet visors flickered. Others grunted and groaned as they worked to shove some of the heaviest barbells Hunter had ever seen up and down over and over as they followed the rhythm of the drums. “’Sup, bros?” Trav said as they walked past. Most of the meatheads grunted in reply, before getting back to work. Others simply ignored him, too lost in their own sets and workouts to notice or care. With no one to interact with, Trav returned to simply flexing and staring blankly at his visor.

The pair suddenly found themselves blocked off by a virtual Goliath. The giant of a man stared down out of his flickering visor, his vascular arms folded over two meaty pecs that strained against his tight black lycra spandex uniform. “Halt, meathead,” he ordered in the same dull tone Hunter had come to accept as normal amongst these muscle men.

The pair had no choice but to obey. Trav stared blankly ahead as his program continued to run, feeding the stream of information that would make him a permanent member of Stone’s menagerie. Hunter gritted his teeth at the delay.

“Meathead will explain why he is out of uniform with prospective meathead.”

Hunter shuddered and did his best to make his voice sound as vapid as possible. “Meathead obeys,” he began. “This meathead has been recently inducted.” He flexed a bicep, tearing through the sleeve, and leaving it to hang limply at his side. He struggled against the dopy smile that was trying to push itself onto his face, even as the material of his suit grew tighter still. “This meathead is a happy meathead. While reporting for orientation and assignment, this meathead received orders from Coach Stone. This meathead is to take prospective meathead to sector M-BDJ for training. I am a meathead. I obey.”

“I obey,” Trav echoed as he stared blankly ahead.

The man looked at each of them, carefully scrutinizing them with his empty eyes. After about five minutes of staring, he finally spoke. “This meathead will escort you. Meathead will follow. Meathead will listen. Meathead will obey.”

Hunter repeated the mantra as the man twisted and began leading them through the facility.

“Curious. They appear to have a type of command structure after all. The bigger they are, the higher up on the chain. This must be some type of overseer class, like a captain or colonel, or perhaps a trainer,” Control said.

Hunter grunted his acknowledgement as they passed on. Both knew it was too dangerous to speak while the overseer was leading.

About a minute later, they had passed through another door, and made their way through a widened hallway. “Obey,” came the sudden order. “Flex.”

Trav’s visor flashed in his eyes, and he chuckled dimly as he began to pose while he walked. Hunter was a little taken aback, but not seeing any way around it, he flexed soon after. He felt the material give way as the upper part of his suit tore apart and fell to hang from his waist. Cool air flowed over his upper torso as he continued to march along.

The giant stopped, and spun rapidly, shoving Hunter back with his massive arms. “Meathead did not obey.” A security feed played over the visor, paired with the green flashes that every one of them seemed to hold. There was Hunter, hesitating as Trav posed without so much as breaking his stride. The overseer grabbed Hunter by both shoulders, and shoved him down to his knees. “Prospective meathead will wait against the wall and run his programming. Prospective meathead will obey,” he ordered.

Trav had continued walking like nothing was wrong, until the order was given. His visor flashed, and he suddenly jerked to a halt just a few feet down the hall. He performed a perfect right angle turn, and marched to the side of the wall, before turning smartly and standing perfectly straight. “Yes, sir. Coach tells me to obey. I obey,” he droned, then stood still as the flickers continued to run across his blank eyes.

The overseer smirked, then turned back to Hunter with a grim expression. “Meathead is not complete. Meathead hesitated. Meathead has not completed his induction. Meathead lied. Meathead needs more training.”

Hunter groaned. “Shit,” he cursed as he looked up at the man. The giant’s grip burned his muscles as the pressure increased.

“This meathead will incapacitate you, and report to–.” A loud snap filled the air, followed by the crashing sound of the overseer’s corpse landing on the floor. His head was turned at an unhealthy angle.

Hunter sighed. “Sorry, friend, but you left me no choice.” A light prickling sensation ran across his chin. As he reached up, he felt the stubble that had grown in. “Great. Just great,” he muttered. He walked up to Trav. “Unit Trav will walk with this meathead. Unit Trav will access compound layout and walk to subunit BDJ to join his team. You are a big, dumb jock. You will obey.”

“I obey,” he droned as the lights flashed across his eyes. “Must obey. Must report. Report to Coach Stone.”

“Report to Coach Stone,” Hunter repeated as he fell into stride next to Trav.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the room. Trav turned to the door, and the lights flickered off on his visor as he raised it. He shoved his eyes into a scanner. A musical chime sounded from a speaker above the door.

“What are you?” a familiar feminine voice clipped.

“Big, fucking dumb jock,” Trav droned.

“Who is your coach?”

“Coach Stone.”

“Who do you serve?”

“Coach Stone.”

“Who do you obey?”

“Coach Stone.”

“State your position.”

“Defensive tackle, beta test group Gamma: identification number fifty-four. Must report. Must obey. Must join the team.”

“Acknowledged: BDJ Beta Test Subject Number Gamma Fifty-Four. Designation, Trav. Voice analysis confirmed. Retinal scan positive. Access granted.”

The door opened with a hiss, and the pair passed through without incident. The room was pristine, covered from wall to wall with floor-length mirrors. The drums continued to beat here as they had back in the test subject room. Trav immediately made for the machines as he lowered his visor, and the lights flickered on once again. An empty weight bench awaited him with a towering guard standing by. Without so much as a grunt to acknowledge the giant man’s presence, the boy went to work, lifting in time to the music. The guard spotted the kid briefly before nodding, satisfied that Trav would continue his workout without breaking out of the cycle. Then he turned to face Hunter. Surprisingly, he did nothing. His bulky helmet flashed, just like the other overseer’s had. The former agent must have been relegated to observe the boys and keep them in line. Good. That was one less guard to worry about.

“I’d wondered when you’d get here,” a familiar voice rumbled. Hunter turned to face the source of all his anger. Stone stood a good foot and a half above him. He still wore the same tailor-made business suit he’d worn to the dinner. His five guards stood in thrall behind him as he casually adjusted his wrist watch, and pressed a button. He examined the screen. “It took you about an hour to get to me, agent. Very sloppy,” he chided absently. “Grunt only took about ten minutes. Of course, he was trying to hack my files, not kill me. It was so cute watching him stare all blank-faced at the monitor as his training took over.” He laughed. “The whole time he was working at my office, and he never even knew he was being converted.” He walked to the far end of the line of his guard and patted Grunt on the cheek. “But you enjoyed it, didn’t you, Grunt? You like being a meathead.”

“Yes, sir,” Grunt droned. “Love being a meathead. Love to obey.”

“Good boy.”

Grunt shuddered in pleasure as he continued to stare ahead.

“All of them enjoyed it, actually. They realized what I was doing was actually a good thing. After all, I’m ending war. I’m bringing peace. And better yet, I’m bringing physical perfection to the world.”

“You’re turning innocent men and boys into mindless slaves.”

Stone shrugged. “To make a good omelet, you’ve got to break a few eggs, and a few egg heads.” He chuckled. “They still retain their skills. Well, mostly. They simply … think differently than they did before. Surely, you’ve noticed, Agent Hunter, how easy it is to just stand there, and do nothing, like a good boy, and obey.”

Suddenly Hunter couldn’t move. He strained, flexing his muscles, grunting and struggling to shift to no avail.

Stone chuckled. “I’m afraid that won’t do you any good, Agent. You’re as good as trapped. Soon enough, you and your fellow agents will be working for my team.”

Hunter snarled. “Never.”

“Never is a very long time, my little meathead. Your little organization has been preparing to join me for a long while now anyways. You just haven’t known it.” He grinned, baring his teeth in a sadistic sneer.

“Red alert. Red alert. Subject Thirteen is loose. I repeat, Subject Thirteen is loose in the compound. All available units converge and neutralize the threat,” Control’s voice said over the earpiece.

“Is something the matter, Hunter?” Stone chuckled as his voice rumbled through the gym. “Why, I wonder, whatever could it be?”

Hunter grit his teeth, straining the muscles in his neck as he struggled to raise his hands. He’d strangle him. But it was to no avail. His body still wouldn’t respond. “What did you do?” he spat as his vision began to tinge with red. His breathing grew labored, and he could feel his body expanding again.

Stone laughed. “That’s right, Hunter, get mad. Let that rage fill your body. More strength, more muscle, more meat to fill that thickening head of yours.”

“Stone!” Hunter roared.

“It was a simple enough matter. I just planted a few agents of my own in your little organization. You didn’t really think Meathead could be captured so easily, did you? I designed him to be a tank. I programmed that fight into him using his helmet. After you reclaimed the tech, well, it was only a matter of activating its preset signal to trigger my meathead agents to carry out their orders. You see, Hunter, my meatheads can function in society. It’s just that they prefer being their dumb selves. They like thinking simply. They like not worrying or questioning. They like clearing their heads as they lift and work out. Hell, I had to program a subroutine in their brains just to keep them from falling back in too soon when they went to a gym or did something else their old selves associated with.”

“Why?”

“Because this world is messed up, with no opportunities for the little guy. It’s always been survival of the fittest, dog eat dog, and whatever other metaphors you want to come up with. The strong take what they want, and leave the weaker parts to die. It’s a flawed system, Hunter. Society is broken, because jerkwads like Meathead used to be only let people grow so far, before cutting them down, chewing them up, and spitting them back out.” His face began to turn red. “Well, it’s time for a new predator to take command, and this time, he’s bringing everyone along for the ride!”

A loud tear sounded as the sleeves on Stone’s suit tore open. “Great. Now look what you made me do.” He rolled his eyes as he pulled off the sleeves, and shredded through the rest of the suit to reveal his full torso. “These suits are expensive, you know,” he said as he strode to the other guards. They followed their master’s example, and began to flex where they stood, which made Stone laugh all the more.

“It’s just a matter of time now, Hunter. I know your body is itching to join them. Maybe just one little flex, hmm? After all, a hunter needs his meat.” He laughed again.

“You sick bastard!” Hunter groaned as he felt his feet strain against his shoes.

“I’m the sick one? When I give all these people what they’ve secretly wanted, and I’ve singlehandedly dealt with an organization your corrupt government has been trying to take down for over twenty years now? Wake up, Hunter. You and your organization have been nothing but hired muscle from the beginning. You’re just like them. You take your orders, you carry them out, and you do your very best to remain in peak physical condition, so you can carry out your next mission to please your superiors and get a reward. You and your fellow agents were made for the meathead life, even your precious Control. Yes, I know you’re listening, Jason.” He smirked. Tell me, Hunter, what would you do, if you were to lose him, hmm?”

Hunter’s eyes widened. “Control, get out of there.”

“I’m not leaving you behind, Hunter.”

“You’ve been designated as a target. Get out of there right now!”

“I told you. I’m not leaving!”

“Damn it, Jason, this isn’t a time for playing the hero. Get the hell out of ops, and get some help!”

“They have weapons! And … oh my god, Greyson.”

“Is he dead?”

All Hunter heard was silence.

“Control. Jason! Is Greyson dead?”

“… Worse, Hunter. He … he’s one of them now. Hunter, they’re targeting the agents one by one. It’s … it’s some sort of rifle or something. Just one hit, then … they’re gone. I’m initiating lockdown procedure.”

Hunter glowered at Stone. “What did you do to them?”

Stone chuckled. “Nothing, really. I’ve had sleeper agents in your organization for ages. It was just time for them to wake up, and carry out their final orders. And the best part is they didn’t even remember carrying them out. Soon, Agent Hunter, your little organization will be working for me. Your friend, Jason; your precious Director Skinner; even you will gladly obey me in time.”

“Never!”

Stone smirked knowingly. “You’ll see.”

Lifting Up and Dumbing Down Part 14

You look at yourself carefully in the mirror, stroking the stubble gently beneath your fingers. It scratches like a set of playing cards, and you can’t help but wonder whether to keep it there or shave it off. The softer features around your cheek bones and neck have begun to harden now. You see just a hint of an edge at your jaw. For some reason, a thrill of pleasure rushes through you at the sight, and you smile confidently as you pull up your arm to flex your bicep. You chuckle to yourself at the sight. “Looking g-OO-d,” your voice cracks, and a slight flush rises in your cheeks. You clear your throat and return to your examination. The shallow furrows that barely showed along your abdominals before have deepened into shadowy trenches that clearly defined the border between each of the individual muscles. You couldn’t help but admire them, which prompted yet another chuckle. “Careful, buddy,” you warn your reflection. “You’re starting to turn into a real musclehead.” You sway on your feet as a sudden wave of vertigo overtakes you. Were it not for your quick reflexes, you might have crashed onto the tile. Instead, your fingers are clenching tightly to the lip of the counter, emphasizing the vascularity around your forearms. You pant heavily. “Woah ... that was weird.” When the world was right again, you turned resolutely from the mirror. “Might need to talk to the doc about that,” you muse as you reach back and scratch the back of your head. The bunching of your muscles as they tighten sends another dull tingle of pleasure through you. “... Maybe just one more flex.”

You look hesitantly at the massive cup Hank has shoved in your face. “Drink it all, kid. You need the extra calories.” You shudder at the thought of guzzling the container. The thing had to be at least 30 ounces! “You think this is bad, look over there.” Hank pointed toward the gym’s health bar, where a cup the size of a small pitcher was being guzzled by one of the larger builders. “Bigger muscles means bigger diet and more effort to sustain them. There aren’t any shortcuts. Now I want you to polish off every ounce of that shake. We’ve got a long workout ahead of us.” You barely manage to suppress the urge to gag. The shakes are still far too strong and thick for your liking. But you do have to drink it, if you want to keep going. You know Hank well enough by now to know he won’t hesitate to cancel his services, if you don’t stick to his program. “... All right,” you say uncertainly, “bottoms up.” You chug it as fast as you can manage. It’s the best way to deal with the taste. “Don’t worry,” Hank sneered. “Soon, you won’t be able to get enough of the stuff.” “You’ve been saying that for the last month,” you point out as you pant for breath, then let out a titanic belch. You cover your mouth quickly and swallow back the urge to gag.  “And I haven’t had a single client yet who hasn’t thanked me for turning them onto my blend,” he countered. “Duff’s addicted to the stuff.” He chuckled heartily. “What else do you think he carries in that bottle of his when he’s working out?” “Speaking of Duff, where is he?” you ask as you walk towards the bench press. “Taking a class.” Hank shrugged. “He should be out in an hour or so. You can’t pry that kid out of this place with a crowbar.” “Well, it is sort of relaxing lifting weights.” Your eyes widen as you realize what you just said, and more particularly to whom. “Oh, is that so?” He grins viciously at you. ... Crap. You’re so dead. ... But ... if you are dead, then why is your heart pounding so fast in your head? And ... why are your lips twitching? You’re suddenly aware of the familiar sensation of ear buds broadcasting sound into your ear canals. “Come on,” Hank started as the twitch pulled into a full blown smile, almost against your will. Or ... is it? Are you ... enjoying this? “Time to work out.” His voice paired perfectly with the one in your head. You open your mouth. You feel your chest heaving in that well practiced sensation of a chuckle, but you don’t hear a thing. The world is fading as that familiar rush surges through your brain, and you start drifting off. You hardly notice the fact that you’re grinning as the world finally fades to black. Gotta make those gains, bruh....