The Process - Tumblr Posts

As the 1st post I see as soon as I open the app from weeks of not really being on here.

heal. your mom may never apologize to you, because she has conditioned herself to believe that she did right by you. she hasn't healed. heal anyway. your father may never apologize to you, because he can only see what he's done right. he hasn't healed. your family members may never apologize to you, because toxicity is what they were raised on. they haven't healed. heal anyway. that "friend" may never apologize to you, because he/she isn't sorry. he/she hasn't healed. if/when they reach their healing, they may seek your forgiveness. be so healed that it won't even matter. heal for you. you owe yourself that much.

Real Men’s Journal: Part 1

~Day 1~

What the heck is going on? I woke up this morning to a blaring alarm that literally threw me out of bed. Seriously. A hydraulics system lifted it up to the point where I was thrown off. Let me start from the beginning. I’m your average high school student. Never caused a problem, never raised a fuss, just stuck to myself. I like to write, create artwork, read, and I even dabble a little in the occasional play or musical. What I did to deserve this, I’ll never know.

The last thing I remember is Summer Vacation starting. It was the last day of school. Freshmen year was finally over and it was time to celebrate. So I got onto my computer and did a little gaming. I’d just gotten the new patch for W.o.W. so I was testing it out. After a couple hours of gaming, I got onto the chat with my friends and talked with them for a while. We wrote some stories, role played a little, the usual thing, you know? Then I just went to bed like I always do. I remember settling under my covers and blacking out. Then … I woke up in this nightmare of a place.

I looked around to see that I was in some kind of barracks. Beds lined the walls. Blaring lights gleamed down from their tracks in the ceiling, practically blinding me. I looked around to see a variety of boys and men ranging from as early as middle school to as late as mid-twenties. They all looked like they’d had a horrible night. Then again, who wouldn’t look bad if they’d just been woken violently and shoved out of bed? I probably looked just as horrible. Everyone was asking what was going on, who everyone else was, pretty much like any movie scene you’d watch portraying a kidnapping scenario. A few people even got to the point of being violent. That was when they showed up.

I swear, these guys must be taking steroids or something. They were HUGE! A whole squadron of them in dark skintight shirts and pants. A strange sort of logo stood emblazoned on their chests. The biggest one in a referee’s outfit nodded his head to the others and they immediately broke up the squabbling, shoving the contenders apart like two stubborn sheets of paper in a textbook. And the way they laughed when some of us fell down, I swear, it was like those jerks Damien and Bryan back in school. They were the gods of the football team. Don’t know what I did to deserve it, but they decided to make me their personal nerd. In short, they make fun of me, I shoot back, they beat me up, repeat. I immediately distrusted these boys.

The guy introduced himself as Coach Abrams and said we were going to be his responsibility for the duration of our stay here. Each of us had been specially chosen to go through something he called “The Process,” whatever that means. I doubt it’s anything good. We were informed that clothing would be provided for us and could be found inside of our dressers next to our beds. We were instructed to get dressed as quickly as possible and make our way to the mess hall. We would be guided by our lovely little enforcer friends to make sure everyone got there “safely.” Good way to keep us from running too. The jerks. At least the tech was cool. They run on some sort of speech recognition software. I order it to open and it listens to my voice. What I found there though … didn’t exactly make me too happy. My reaction was something along these lines.

“No. Hell no. You are not making me wear this crap.” At least that’s what I thought in my mind. The stupid drawers opened to reveal a pair of white briefs, some baggy red shorts, and a T-shirt with a number on the back and front left breast. Mine read 56. It was bad enough having to deal with this kind of stuff in school with the teachers. Now they want us to wear this gym stuff on a regular basis? Still, the imposing meathead looking at me with folded arms left me little choice. (Seriously, are those footballs he has stuffed under that muscle tee?) I slid them on, albeit reluctantly, and then ordered the footlocker beneath to open. Much like the first drawer, it verified my voice patterns and registered me as its current user. Does that mean there were others before me? What is this mysterious process?

A set of New Balance sneakers waited for me to wear with a pair of simple, unmarked white socks. At least they looked like New Balance. They didn’t have the logo though. Their design was unremarkable at best. All white. No individual flare. Seriously, these guys have no style. At least they took my wide foot size into consideration when they got these for me. Pretty high number too based on the feel of them. Designed for good support. I think they had some sort of orthotic insert or something like that. How they knew that about me though … that creeped me out a bit. They must have done some heavy duty research into us.

I looked to see everyone else wearing a set of clothes exactly like mine fit to their sizes. They were all pretty baggy. Some were pressed out loosely by heavy guts. Mine was reasonably smaller, so it didn’t push out as much, but I wasn’t exactly what you’d call a stud by any means with my poor vision, asthma, and getting sick every time I try to so much as run it’s very difficult for me to try anything useful in the area of personal fitness. Still … the others are marked with numbers as well. Is that what they plan to do to us from now on? Designate us by numbers? It would seem so based on what the coach told us at the mess hall.

Once we finished getting dressed we were taken to the entrance of our little home. A large locking mechanism disengaged with a scan of some sort from the coach and his muscled followers. I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be retinal or some sort of code hidden on their uniforms somewhere. Maybe it was a little bit of both? I don’t know. It will warrant further investigation later. Though based on current attempts, it appears that we won’t be able to stage a breakout any time soon. The lock seems to be on a timer for “newcomers,” or so the system computer tells me when I ask to leave “after hours.” Plus it probably registers whenever a user accesses its coding and notifies the main compound and security offices. At least that’s how I’d do it if I were to design a system like this.

Anyways, we were taken on a “grand tour” of the compound. We seem to be in some sort of secluded forest. There are several walls a good two stories high with patrols of burly meatheads just like our escorts. They wore some kind of special armor complete with high tech weaponry. Though their uniforms were more of a silvery white, rather than the dark colors our escorts wore. I had never seen anything like it before. Others held what looked like tranquilizer guns, complete with ammo belts strapped to their torsos. Fortunately, we weren’t going anywhere near the wall. I’d rather not try to test what would happen if an escape attempt were made that way. We remained compliant, though my new big muscled “friend” held on to my arm just to be on the safe side.

The doors to the mess hall require a print to open. Now I understand why our muscular friends kept such tight hold on us. It was to force those who would not comply to press forward with their registration into the system. I happened to be one of those problem children. If I wasn’t about to bow down to those two jerks at school, I wasn’t about to bow down here. The scary part is the coach actually approved. When we got into the hall he informed us the compound was inescapable and in a remote location. So even if we did somehow manage to escape, we’d starve before we could reach help. He mocked us by making air quotations as he said it, like we were a bunch of babies. Somebody really needs to put this guy in his place. But for right now, it seems that brawn rules here. We aren’t organized, we aren’t strong, and frankly, even if we were unified, I don’t think we have the numbers to pull anything off at the moment.

So after a hearty breakfast, of which the coach decided to “reward” us fighters by giving us first spots in line, we made our way to the gym. I had just finished a nice breakfast of eggs with toast and a glass of water before my overly muscled, dimwitted pal picked me up and dragged me away. I do have to admit, their fitness facilities were state of the art. The levels on the compound stretched for miles underground from what I could tell on the map at the observation desk when we checked in. It seems that here, you check in with a scan of your number on your shirt. Uniforms required. How typical. Apparently, the farther along we get in “the process,” the more levels and buildings we can access. It would seem that the upper facilities are for show. The main body of this concentration camp appears to be underground.

After the basics were finished, Abrams took us back to the barracks. My overly muscled friend “politely” escorted me to stand next to my bunk, which I now realized had been personalized with a number as well. Well, as personalized as a number can get anyways. Abrams insists that we call him coach. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Anyways, they had us stand in front of our footlockers. A giant rod with two prongs like a Forklift suddenly jutted out from slots in the floor. They sparked and a blue field sprung between. We were commanded to stand perfectly still. I did my best to resist, but once again, my escort was there to “apply a firm hand.” I had no choice in the end but to stand there and let the machine do its work. It turned out to be some sort of scanner. This kind of tech is supposed to be impossible. Life signs, bio feeds, the whole shebang appeared on a screen that jutted itself out from the wall above the drawer and footlocker. It tingled as it passed over, making me shudder.

Once the process was complete, a drawer jutted out from the dresser portion of my little footlocker and the holographic display monitor faded to become a mirror with projection functions included. Inside the drawer I found this journal. The name on the cover is a little weird though. “Real Men’s Journal: Tales of the Journey.” I thought it was some sort of book at first, but when I opened it up, the tech I found was unbelievable. I had holo-screen displays, a physical screen, a tablet mode, laptop mode, the works. This thing was, and I suppose is, state of the art. I’m using the personal journal function for now. It appears all others have been locked for the time being. I’m guessing I’ll be allowed to gain access to them the further along I go in “the process.” Cue eye roll. Like that’s ever going to happen. Anyways, I put it aside briefly so Abrams could show us the showers and changing rooms here. Hah! Changing room. That’s a good one. Try locker room. At least it doesn’t reek of B.O.

It seems our dressers have a range of options available to us. My “journal” has given me a view of the specs for what I can and cannot request. They have a variety of hygiene products including towels, deodorant, soap, whatever we may need. They even have shaving equipment for those of us who need to. Fortunately, I haven’t reached that point in my development yet. I … I’d hoped my father would be the one to teach me. Now I’m not sure if I’ll ever even get the chance to see him again.

I just got a notification here on my little tablet. It seems we have a curfew. Lights out will happen soon. I’m already dressed in bed clothes. They’re just your basic kind of wear. Sweat pants and a regular Tee. Kind of like my old ones from home. But no, they had to take those from us too while we were gone. Now my new number is labeled on my leg, my chest, and my back. Great. Based on the locked app titles I can read, it seems this place is focused on personal fitness. I have a feeling they won’t like me very much considering my health issues. Ah well. The sooner they see they can’t use me, the sooner they might send me home. Goodnight for now. I’ll write again later.

-Sincerely, Kyle Matthews

 ~Day 2~

Okay. So it turns out my journal here has both a writing function and a recording function. Heck, it even has video. I’ll probably try using a combination of the three to portray just what I’m going to be put through here. If I ever escape, I’ll need evidence of my claims to prove I’m not crazy.

So I woke up this morning with an annoying headache. Had difficulty getting up out of bed, but of course that lovely hydraulics system had no problem kicking me out on time. I seriously have to see if I can’t find a way to hack this system some time. I’m no expert, but maybe with this piece of tech I’ll stand a chance. We’ll see. For now I’m going to have to play along with my hosts.

Just got a message. Apparently, we can do that with our tablets. Some sort of schedule with information and requirements. I remember Abrams mentioning something like this about a schedule. Guess now we know what “the process” is going to be about. They want us to be stronger, grow bigger, be healthier. Not such a bad idea really if it weren’t for the fact that I bumped into one of their “successful recruits.” His number was 86. He claimed to have been brought in a while ago with a previous batch of “recruits” like us. The guy was so spacy, I could hardly hold a civilized conversation with him. Any time I asked him about what he did before, he usually avoided the subject. At least after my first go with him. He didn’t really start until that coach walked up behind us. … Strange. Still, the guy was your typical meathead. Tall, blonde hair, vacant green eyes, over six feet tall, and fairly well built. The only difference I could make out between this guy and the rest of his kind was he wasn’t so huge muscle wise. He still had some brains too. I’ve included an audio file so you can hear the conversation for yourselves when you get this. Best part though is I can include a little extra narration on a separate note display in parenthesis, so what you can’t see, I can describe to you when you view this.

ACCESSING #56 AUDIO FILE 001

“Hey, bro, what’s up?” (I could hear this guy stalking me a mile away. Seriously.)

“…”

“What? Giving me the cold shoulder?”

“…”

“Not cool, man. Not cool.” (He took a chair at this point, as you can tell with the screech you just heard. Metal legs.)

“Look, no offense, but I got kidnapped from my home, dragged into this place, and now you people are expecting me to be a perfect little peon and just do as I’m told after all that?” (Hey, I was pissed. Wouldn’t you be, if this happened to you?)

“Bro, it’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that!” (That clunking sound with a splash was my cup of water. I can’t drink juice. Makes me nauseated. But it sloshed all over my toast and my cereal. Not fun.) “Now look what you made me do.” (Naturally, I glared at this point.)

“… I’m not one of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not one of them.”

“Pshah. Could’ve fooled me.” (He frowned at this, of course.)

“Look. I was pulled into this place, just like you were, okay? I didn’t like it at first, but … well, look at me. I’m bigger and stronger than I ever thought I could be. This place made it possible.”

“And you think that should make me happy?”

“Well, … yes. It can do the same for you.”

“And what if I don’t want that?” (This was real cute. He furrowed his brow at this one, like he couldn’t wrap his head around why someone wouldn’t want to be a big thug.)

“Well … I uh … don’t know. I … ummmm …” (Here’s the weird part. Hear that? He started groaning, almost like he was struggling thinking. Can’t blame him. I doubt he had so much as one original thought in his life.)

“What did you do before you were brought here?” (He perked up after that, at least for a little bit.)

“Went to school. I was in college.”

“Sports scholarship?”

“No … yes … um … I can’t really remember, honestly. Just sort of been focusing on working out and getting bigger. I can check my journal, if you want. It’s been a while since I dusted the old girl off, but I put in my stats from when I started.” (Hear that? I spat. I was pretty disgusted at this poor attempt to befriend me. I mean, come on. How transparent can you be? The guy had to be some sort of spy or something. Still, I humored the man.)

“Don’t worry about it. What are some things you like to do?” (He really jumped on this one. You should’ve seen his face. He lit up like a firecracker on the fourth of July.)

“Bench press, cardio, squats, curls, pull ups. You know, work out stuff. I love to work out. I really love to work out.” (It was weird. When he said that, his gaze turned a little more … well, empty, I guess, almost like he was talking to someone else.) “Feeling that pump, that blood flowing through your veins and flexing … flexing and posing.”

“Okayyy. Hey. Hey, hello?”

“Mmmm … and the muscle. Massive … massive … manly … bulge … bulging …”

“Hey! Snap out of it!” (I snapped my fingers in front of his face here. That still didn’t work. It was … creepy. He stood up and started flexing his muscles while he talked, straining against his spandex uniform as best he could. I didn’t have a name to call him by, so I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I threw my water at his face and shouted his number.)

“86! Wake up!” (He spluttered a little, but then he came to again.)

“What …? What was I doing?”

“Flexing and posing like a fool. You kept saying the same stuff over and over, like you were some sort of tape recorder.”

“I … I was?” (I could see fear in his eyes now. Something was definitely going on with him. He mumbled to himself, but I couldn’t hear what he had to say. Something along the lines of impossible or oh no. Like I said, couldn’t make it out. Neither could the recording. He sprung on me pretty quick though.)

“Quick. Ask me something else about before.”

“Um … okay. What were some of your favorite hobbies?”

“I … I liked to …” (He groaned for a moment. You can hear that here.) “Draw! Yes, I was an anime artist. I … I drew all kinds of artwork. Even had an internship lined up. It was … I was, like, totally stoked. Anatomy was one of my *groan* specialties. I’d draw all kinds of people. Tall, skinny, short, fat, muscled. Yeah … muscled warriors. Real men.” (He started breaking off again here, so I had to head him off.)

“Hey! The internship. Tell me more about the internship.”

“I-internship?”

“Yes. You know, for the drawing you were doing. Where were you going to work?” (He looked at me kind of funny at that point. It was like he was trying to remember, but couldn’t believe what I was asking.)

“Jackson, what’re you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be with the others at practice?” (Another burly coach walked up and patted the man on the back. When contact was made, he shuddered and relaxed. It was like all the fear just … drained away. He was so calm. Unnaturally so. His shoulders just sort of slumped and his eyes … they turned blank again, like when he was mumbling before. I shuddered at that. He smiled vacantly. Then it turned into a cocky sneer.)

“Sorry, Coach. Guess I got a little distracted with the newbie. Wanted to welcome him in, ya know?” (He flexed his muscles and the coach just smiled. But that look. It was sinister somehow.)

“Good man.” (That sound was the coach smacking Eighty Six, or Jackson as he called him, on the butt. He laughed afterwards. And … I swear I heard the spandex in 86’s suit straining, almost like he was growing. But that’s impossible. It must’ve just been his muscles shifting as he walked away. Still, his parting comment scared the crap out of me.)

“Thanks, Coach. Looking forward to seeing you on the field, lil’bro.” (He winked at me after that. And that look. It was just … well, it was cocky. Like Damien and Brian. And I mean exactly like them. What’s going on here?)

(The coach chuckled here.) “Heh, he’s one of our best recruits. Really took to the field like a champ. Started training, and he never looked back.”

“… Right. Is that what we’re supposed to become?” (The man just sneered at me and winked while he wagged a finger.)

“Now, now. That’d go and spoil the surprise. You’ve got a fun time ahead of you, kid. Enjoy it.” (He laughed before he left. The door shut behind him and I shut off the recorder.)

END TRANSMISSION

The rest of today went off pretty much without a hitch. We got changed into our clothes, checked in to the gym, and started the regiment. Some of us did anyways. I opted to walk around the facilities and watch the others working out. See if I could find any other pertinent information. Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Abrams came in with a few of his helpers and was only too happy to complement those trying. He pointed out how to improve, unlocked a trainer app to direct the process and aid when errors occurred, you know. The machines even included a mount for our journals to connect to the system and display our results. Pretty high tech stuff. I wasn’t interested, of course, but he just smiled and said I could take my time. He unlocked the apps anyway, just to give me the chance “When [I’m] ready.” As if.

I found a few like-minded individuals, but the main one I seem to have gotten a good relationship with is Kevin. Nice kid. He’s from the Middle School, about to enter his freshman year. Kind of mousy in his appearance. Wears glasses, pretty thin, you know, the bookish type like me. He has really thin messy brown hair. Just sort of lets it hang around his head. Said he was due for a haircut soon before all this happened. I believe him. You should’ve seen the way his hair stuck up this morning before he showered. Cowlick central. Of course, I doubt mine was much better. We both got a couple laughs out of it. He decided he’d give this “process” a chance though. Said he always wanted to be big and strong, just that he never had the time to work out. The way he flinched I have a pretty good idea what really kept him from trying. Still, he must have a high metabolism or something to be that thin and not have to work out much. Lucky dog. What I wouldn’t give to be in his shoes. He has a chance to get stronger at least. As for me … well you already know about my problems, so there’s no need to go back there again.

He was pretty tired, after all was said and done, but he seemed happy enough. I’m glad the little guy has a chance. He deserves the right to kick those bullies’ asses, so other people like him can choose their path without judgement and without the pressure. If those piles of muscle would just remember where they first started out, maybe this world wouldn’t be such a messed up place in school. Well, time for lights out again. Probably going to have another rough night tonight. Oh well. At least I won’t be sore tomorrow morning. Some of the others here are going to be in a lot of pain, I think. Night.

Sincerely, Kyle Matthews

Daddy Roo����

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

> Which do you prefer? Both? I’m becoming a greedy bro, broski!! Uhuhuhu ; )

Sweet, bro. You’re coming along nicely, aren’t you? I’ve seen you pumping in the gym, flexing on the sly.Huhuh. Well, not anymore. Sun’s out, guns out, m’I right? Mmm … watching you change has been fucking amazing. How’s that new jock strap feel? Bet it’s gettin’ kinda tight now, ain’t it, bro? Gettin’ harder to think straight? Well, except for weights and gains, of course.Mmm … yeah, I see it in your eyes. Every time you put that jock on, a little more of it takes over, making you bigger, stronger, … dumber. S’not all bad, though, bro. You’re fucking jacked. I mean, just look at you. Bet you don’t even notice the stubble you’ve been growin’. And that jaw’s gotten so big, so bulky. Huhuh. Fuckin’ blockhead, bro.…Hmm. Nah. not blockhead, fuckin’ meathead’s what you are.…I saw that, bro. You winced. That aint right, bro. You gotta stop thinking about that. Bein’ a meathead’s fuckin’ awesome. Don’t gotta be afraid of it. Come on. I’ll show ya, bro.

This here’s the locker room. But you already know that. You come here almost every day now, don’t you?…Bro, seriously, I’m not hating on you. Quit bein’ such a fucking pussy about it. I brought you here, ‘cause here’s where you feel at home. And ‘cause I wanna show ya something. Come over here and open this locker.Huhuh. Yeah, that’s right. You know what that is, don’t you? Coach had it made special for you. Why don’t you put it on? Your jock’s been kinda lonely. It needs the rest of its team.…Bro, if you don’t do it, I’ll fucking make you do it. Put the gear on, pansy.Good. That’s better.Well, of course it’s gonna jab ya. It’s new gear! Don’t worry about it, bro. Just get it on the right way. That’s right. Cup first. Complete the jock. Then you can put on the pants and pads. S’right. Just like that. Gotta show off the goods, bro. Those legs’re fuckin’ pumped.Now the compression shirt. That’s right. Feels good sliding that on, don’t it? Feelin’ it slide against that eight pack, hugging every curve. C’mon, gimme a flex. Just one.Fuck yeah. That’s what I’m taklin’ about. Look at that pump!*Smirk* Yeah, you’re big down there. We get it. Now put on the shoulder pads, dumbass.Feelin’ lightheaded? Don’t worry about it. That’s just excitement. All that blood rushing around your body. I can hear your heart hammering over here. Seriously, bro, how long have you been waiting to do something like this?…That long? Bro. Seriously. It’s about fuckin’ time. Don’t be afraid of it. Revel in it. Feel that pump. Feel that rush. Let it fill you. Go on, flex a little. Show off those guns. You know the look even better in gear, don’t you?That’s a good bro. Cleats next. Gotta look the part.Bro, I got connections. Nobody’s gonna walk in on us. Chill out and have some fun. You’re fucking jacked, anyway. I doubt anybody’s gonna try to kick your ass now. You’ll be the one doing the kicking from now on.Too big? Dumbass, of course they aren’t too big. You’re a size fucking thirteen. Go on, walk around in ‘em. Try ‘em out. Trust me.…Bro, you’ve gotta spread your legs. Walk like this. See? Bros like us don’t swagger just ‘cause we’re cocky. S’the only way for us to walk. ‘Course, that don’t mean we aren’t cocky as fuck.Damn, that’s a deep chuckle. Good one, bro. Now go put on the helmet. Trust me, s’the best part.………*Puts on a set of thick dark shades that seem almost to flicker green as I turn to look at you*Welcome to the team, 26. This meathead is happy to have recruited you. Coach Stone would like to speak with you. You will follow the instructions in your helmet. You will enter the car waiting for you in the parking lot. You will obey.…A good meathead obeys…. Huh huh huh….

Encountering some narcissistic individuals may be part of “the process…”

…showing us how not to be

…becoming aware of karma

…more appreciation when we are not with people who are like that

…being mindful of our own behaviour (our words, actions & intentions)

“Before anything else, preparation is the key to success.”

—Alexander Graham Bell

🥰💖🌅

This tweet totally describes me

College project, which was to showcase our chosen books via some act of creativity. I decided to do a false theatre poster of Franz Kafka's "The Process" in the styling of my fanart of the Militsioner Protagonist (the Abyssal Renegade.)

The pairing felt only correct as I felt The Process and Militsioner share similar themes. Both of which I enjoy. In the proto-lore of the theatre poster which sadly was never written because I ran out of time, the Abyssal Renegade would play the unfortunate Josef K.