Jocktf - Tumblr Posts

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

Real Men’s Journal: Part 5

~Day 28~

           … I can’t believe what I just saw today. I … everyone saw it. And it wasn’t inside. What happened before must have been real. But how? What’s the point? This changes everything. Just … just let me explain it.

Jake actually tried to escape today. He ran for the wall and started to climb. The coaches tried barking orders for him to get down before he hurt himself, you know, stuff like that. He wouldn’t listen. For such a weak little guy, he was surprisingly agile as he climbed. It didn’t last long though. The men on the wall picked him off before he had the chance to get much further. First they shot him with the darts. I can’t count how many must have hit him. Somehow he kept climbing despite it until he reached the top. That’s where the real bad stuff went down.

           “’Sup, bro?” One of the thugs said. Jake just sort of stared at them. Then it came again. “’Sup, bro?” Another said and they all just smiled at him, repeating the same thing over and over. It just kept going and going and going, annoying the crap out of me.

It did worse for Jake.

He grabbed at his head like he had a migraine or something. Next thing I know, I hear grunting, then a popping sound. I watched as he slowly began to grow, tearing through his pants and shirt. He blew up like a balloon. All the while the jocks kept repeating “’Sup, bro? ‘Sup, bro? ‘Sup, bro?” I watched his dark hair lighten before my eyes as his skin started to tan. I shudder at the memory of it. He looked at his hands in horror. I remember that well. Then he tried to bolt. That’s when the flashy guns came up. Jake didn’t get very far along the wall.

           He ran and barreled through a couple of the thugs, the ones with the bandoliers and dart guns. They slapped him on the butt and the back as he passed, still repeating, still in perfect unison. “’Sup, bro?” I watched Jake’s hair retreat into a short crew cut. Yes, I know I sound crazy here, but I mean it. These changes happened nigh instantaneously. By now, his hair was a bleached blonde and he was running left and right as the other guards closed in with their silvery armor. I heard the cock of several cartridges being locked and loaded.

           “’Sup, bro?” Their voices rang across the yard. I heard their guns charge with a high pitched glissando. For those of you meatheads trying to read this, that’s a musical term. It means a note that gradually slides up without actually pausing for a break or a rest between the notes. Then there was a bright flash. I heard the discharge. Their lips had stopped moving, I was certain, but for some reason I could still hear those words echoing in my head. I still do. Probably because of the horror associated with them.

           I heard a scream, high pitched with terror, gradually crack, then suddenly drop into a deep bass yell. The light kept streaming, the yell kept coming. Then, slowly, the light died. The screaming stopped and the compound was silent, as were we strong ones left. The other mental lightweights looked on in anticipation. Then the crowd on the wall parted to let a dazed-looking, massive, tanned meathead look down at us. All he had on was a tightly straining jock strap. I looked away in revulsion from that vacant stare, that wide, stupid grin. But though I may have closed my eyes to it and him, his voice was something different. It rumbled across the courtyard. It echoed in my eardrums. And it filled me with a terrible sense of dread.

           “’Sup, bros?” he said and the rest of the thugs on the wall swarmed him, congratulated him, slapped him on the back. I heard a loud snap and knew his last article of clothing was gone. A platoon of practically identical meatheads surrounded him and began to escort him along the wall. I heard his deep bassoon laugh the whole way. “I’m a jock, bro. I’m a big fuckin’ dumb jock with a massive, manly bulge.” The group continued to cheer, hooting and hollering. Then it turned into a chant, just like before. First it echoed on the parapets, then it started low in the grounds, just a whisper. Slowly, it increased as another joined in, and yet another, flexing and grinning like fools. And the coaches just looked on and smirked, nodding in approval. Slowly it died down and the meathead that used to be Jake disappeared. That didn’t stop the thralls down here from enjoying themselves though. That stupid phrase must be a key. It accelerates their mental degradation. We’ll have to be careful.

Jake is gone now, and with the guards armed with technology like that, we don’t stand a chance at escape during the day. By night, our barracks, or our communal cell as I like to look at it, is locked up tight. I’m still no closer to getting out of here. At this rate, I don’t know how much longer we can hold on.

 ~Day 30~

ACCESSING # 56 AUDIO FILE 005

           “It’s been a couple of days since we lost Jake. Our little group is falling apart to despondency. I can’t say I blame them. There has to be a common factor; some way they’re doing this to us, but I still don’t know what it is. I have to assume it’s some sort of chemical conversion designed to stunt brain development and maximize muscle mass combined with hypnosis and mind control. Or perhaps it’s designed to rewrite the neural pathways of the brain and make you think and act like a dumb jock. Whatever the case may be, it seems to be working … only too well. I caught a glimpse of our former classmates in the cafeteria today. They’ve grown positively massive. I suppose with regular exercise, it’s possible to experience these kinds of changes in a month, but still … I’m not entirely sure about this. Perhaps the chemical is designed to put us into an accelerated rate of puberty? A sort of hyper puberty if you will? Though if Jake’s transformation is anything to go by, it seems this drug, or chemical, or whatever it is, is designed to benefit the body physically everywhere, so I doubt it’s a steroid. It’s possible that this chemical is one that, once built in the system long enough, becomes naturally produced within the body and constantly renews itself.

           “Still, the method of delivery is a matter of concern. I would assume there are a few possibilities for how they slip it to us. The first and most likely is through our food and drink. Probably in smaller doses. It seems that the drug, or whatever it is, won’t take effect without permission from the user. At least not in the smaller dosages given in the food. I think that’s what the recordings are for. If what I heard is any indication, it weakens the mind and reinforces the idea of working out regularly and the desire for muscles and power. Such exertions must be the key to triggering the effects of the chemical. And the more they work, the bigger their appetites grow, and the more they consume. It’s a vicious cycle, that is, if that really is how they’re reaching us.

“*Sigh* I wish I had a lab to use. Then I could analyze my hypothesis; figure out if they have a “secret ingredient” in the food. I’d just stick it in a solution and pop it in a machine to let the chemical analysis take place. Then I’d just have to wait. Waiting’s always something I’ve been good at. Waiting and waiting and weighting and lifting weights and … What was I -- saying?”

“Starting to feel it, aren’t ya, Kyle?”

“Feel what, Branden? Just get away from me already. I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Huhuhuhuh, course you’re not in the mood. It’s ‘cause you worry too much. Ya gotta think simple, ya know? Focus more on these, and less on that.”

“Just because you’ve chosen to give in to these psychopaths and become one of them doesn’t mean I have.”

“My muscles are a fuckin’ mountain. Look at these abs. Look at this bod. I see how much you watch us, Kyle. You want these muscles. You want this strength.”

“Not at the cost it takes to get them. Look at yourself, Branden! You used to be the top in your physics class. You loved to read and write and work on labs. Now all you do is shower, eat, workout, shower, sleep, repeat. You’re dull, Branden. Getting duller all the time.”

“Don’t need brains when I got these.”

“Those are nothing in the real world. You said so yourself.”

“I was wrong. Gettin’ swole’s fuckin’ awesome. I feel great! Brawn over Brains, Ky.”

“It’s Kyle, Branden. Now get out of my face and leave me alone.”

“Fine, ya little prick. You’ll see things my way soon enough. Oh, don’t forget your scan.” *Deep Laughter*

END TRANSMISSION

That jerk! He’s turning just as bad as those bullies, Damien and Brian, were. But he was right about one thing. I am a little jealous of all the muscles around here. And I’ll never be able to have some of my own. I’ll likely die before I get the chance. I’m going to try to keep a detailed report of my personal statistics with body alterations from this experience, and possible modifications in personal behavior. If they show, I’ll know I’ve been compromised and that I need to fight. If not, then well.

At least one thing he has right is my need to scan. I haven’t done that in a while. The system will lock me out if I don’t get it done soon. And after that I have some rather … urgent matters to attend to. I’ll write again later with my next update.

 ~Day 33~

           The days have been pretty much the same thing. Get up early, shower before the other jocks-to-be, get dressed, get breakfast, do the mandatory check in at the gym, then leave as soon as possible. We’ve lost a lot more people to this “process” since Jake changed. They figured they might as well enjoy the changes instead of getting hit by a bunch of darts or blown away by what appears to have been some form of laser beam. More and more I hear them repeat their mantras as television screens flicker and headphones plug in. Before my eyes, I am watching intelligent, kind people turn into idiotic jerks who couldn’t even tell me two plus two without a calculator.

           Even Chris is showing signs of flagging. I see him eating more, staying in the gym a little longer. He said he’s keeping an eye on the others, but I’m not so sure. I see him staring at the others as they enter the shower together, laughing, reveling, hooting like a bunch of animals. I think I see longing in those eyes. I’m getting kind of scared. Soon I’ll be alone. I’ll be all that’s left. And then they’ll come for me.

 ~Day 38~

           It’s been about a week. Getting harder to find time to just write in this thing. People keep trying to get me to work out with them, be all buddy buddy brain drain. How cute. I’ve been trying to just stay out of everybody’s way. The process seems to be accelerating. I see them wearing their headphones almost 24/7 now. It’s all “Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, sir. Wanna be big. Gotta be big. Gotta be swole. Need to get swole. Need to obey nnnnnneeeed to … listen

Gotta scanscanscanscanscan … I … something issssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssszx----------

           JOURNAL ENTRY SAVED

 ~Day 39~

           I blacked out again. What the hell just happened? There I was writing about all the stuff those meatheads are saying and then I got this weird sort of … Idunno, pain in my head? I woke up a sweaty mess in my gym clothes and I’m sore all over. All the jocks are looking at me like a side of meat. And all my changing roommates, what’s left of them, just smirk at me like they’ve got some kind of inside joke going on. What kind of sick place is this? Did those dickwadds put something in my drink yesterday? And what’s with the others shying away from me? I’m still the same old Kyle I’ve always been.

Kevin, on the other hand, now he’s gotten absolutely huge. He’s been sort of cropping up from time to time. He tries to keep out of my sight, but when you’ve gotten as tall as six feet and you’re even half as bulked up as the rest of the guys here, it’s hard to hide. He looks … I don’t know, sort of conflicted, I guess. They gave him a haircut, finally. Now he’s styled close-cropped. Got that Caesar look going for him. His glasses disappeared a while ago now. I guess they must’ve gotten him contacts. Or maybe something in the drug makes it so he doesn’t need them anymore? That’s an amazing medical application now that I think about it. Could you imagine that? A cure for blindness, any ailment, really, I guess. Cancer, AIDS, all the big diseases would be gone in an instant. Pity I don’t have the formulae, that is, if they really are using a drug. I suppose it could be genetic therapy, but that would take a virus of some kind and we’d be laid up and sick while they tried to rewrite our genetic code. Nobody’s been sick, so I doubt that could be the case.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, Kevin. He’s been sort of looking over my shoulder. They’ve given him some new clothes. Now he’s wearing spandex like some of the gym helpers around the area. And may I just say, holy crap, he’s hung! I mean seriously, did they stuff some tube socks down there or something? He’s still kind of shy about it when I see him in the gym. He’s been volunteering as one of the helpers, I guess. Bringing protein shakes, helping spot, making sure they’re listening to their “coach,” that sort of thing. The rest of the team … well, I guess I can call them that anyways, either that or drones. Yeah, drones is better. The rest of the drones were all around him, patting him on the back, encouraging him. Feeding his ego. They say when he’s done he’ll be “the swolest dude around.” He’d always smile and shudder after that. He’s gone a long ways. I don’t even know if he’s the same Kevin or not anymore, but that shy streak gives me some hope. Maybe he’ll be lucky. Maybe he’ll keep his original personality. I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Chris.

I caught our mighty leader today being a slack-jawed pile of tapioca as he listened to his headphones on his bed. I tapped his shoulder and he just kept where he was. He was totally relaxed, his face a blank slate. You have no idea how creepy that is. And that erection … holy crap, it’s worse than Dick and Tracey’s! He was muttering, just like everyone else. You know the usual bit. Talking about being bigger, buffer, swole, all that good stuff. And, of course, it had to have the same dialogue and key phrase every muscle head’s been using. Seriously, can’t these guys come up with something more original? Then again, I guess they’re trying to squash originality here. Original means different. And different can’t be tolerated when you’re slowly brainwashing everyone to be the same. Here’s what he said.

“Yes. Wanna be a man. Wanna be massive. I will be massive. Massive, manly man. Yes. Massive manly men have massive manly bulges. (So that’s where they insert the trigger words.) Yes, sir, coach. Real men swear. Real men don’t care. I … I wanna …” he scrunched his brows together at this point, like he was resisting. Guess the old man had language issues. Then he smiled and relaxed. “Big brawny men have big bulging dicks.” He chuckled. “Big dick. Big dick.” I could hear the hissing as one of his headphones knocked loose from the laughter.

“That’s right,” it hissed. “Big men have big dicks. And you’re gonna be a big man, aren’t ya?”

“Yes, sir, coach,” he said. I think I recognized the voice, but … I’m not too sure. Can’t think where I heard it before.

The hissing paused a moment as if assessing his reaction. Was this a live feed hypnosis? Or was the technology so advanced it was interactive?

“And what do massive, manly men care about?”

           “Muscles.”

           “And what do you care about?”

           “Muscles.”

           “And?” it pressed.

           “My big dick,” he said, grinning goofily.

           “That’s right, your big fucking dick.”

           “My big fucking dick,” Chris parroted.

           “You liked that, didn’t you, Chris? Felt good to curse, good to swear.”

           “Uhhhh …” he blushed.

           “It feels good to curse. Feels good to swear. Real men don’t care, remember? And you’re a real man, so you don’t care either.”

           “Yes, sir. Feels good to curse. Feels good to swear about my big fucking dick.” He shuddered in pleasure. “I don’t fuckin’ care about what some jackass says. I like to curse and I like to swear, damnit.” He was starting to get into it.

           “Good boy. You really want this, don’t you? You want to be a massive manly man with a massive manly bulge.”

           “Yes, sir. Want this. More than anything. Want to be a Massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.” He patted the bulge just to make a point of it and shuddered again.

           “Big, massive … and dumb.” I don’t know why, but I took a deep breath then and just waited. Guess I was rooting for Chris to come out on top. He wasn’t like this. He didn’t want to be one of them. He was respectable. Owned his own business. He was one of the smartest here. Surely he wouldn’t give up that easily.

           “Fuckin’ big,” he chuckled as he flexed a muscle and shuddered. I gawked. He wouldn’t.

           “Fuckin’ massive.” He groaned and I … I swear, I thought I saw his bulge get bigger, no kidding. How did he even have room for that monster? He looked so out of it, like a druggie on a massive high. Guess I would be too if I had that much testosterone raging in my system.

           “And?” the voice prompted.

           I hoped just a little that he’d resist, that he wouldn’t give in. That he’d tear those earbuds out and shout at the voice. Tell it to go to hell or something. Instead he just turned that smile into an empty headed grin.

           “And fuckin’ dumb,” he lolled.

           “What’s the number for pi?”

           “3.14,” he responded. There was hope for him yet. The voice sighed.

           “The bigger you get, the more you work out, the happier you’ll be.”

           “Yes, sir. Just like you said.”

           “But that won’t be all.”

           “Won’t be all.”

           “You’ll want to be bigger. Need it. Crave it. And more than that, you’ll crave the companionship of bigger muscleheads. You’ll join them in the showers. You’ll follow them to their tables. Eat the same food. And the more gains you make in your body, the less you’ll make in your mind, got it?”

           “… Yes, sir. Wanna be bigger. Bigger man. Bigger dick. Bigger muscles.”

           “And who do you need to be with?”

           “Muscleheads. Big men. Huge men.”

           “And what will you do with them?”

           “Everything.”

           “That’s right. Until you’re just like them.”

           “… Just like them.”

           “Bigger is better.” Bigger is better.

           “Bigger is better,” he parroted.

           “Bigger is dumber.” Bigger is dumber.

           “Bigger is dumber.”

           “You want to be big.” I want to be big.

           “I want to be big.” I want to be big.

           “So you want to be dumb.”

           “So I want to be dumb.” So I want to be dumb.

           “The bigger you get, the dumber you get.”

           “The bigger I get, the dumber I get.” The bigger I get, the dumber I get.

           “The more the muscle, the less the brains.”

           “More muscle, less brains.” More muscle, less brains.

           “The bigger your dick, the smaller your brain.”

           “Huhuhu, bigger dick. Smaller brain. I like my big fucking dick.” Big dick. Small brain.

           “You want a bigger dick.”

           “I want a bigger dick.” I want a bigger dick.

           “Every day you’ll feel horny.”

           “Every day I’ll feel horny.” I feel horny.

           “You’ll relieve your stress in the showers.”

           “Relieve in the showers.” Relieve in the showers.

           “You’ll do it with the men.” Do it with the men.

           “I’ll do it with the men.” I’ll do it with the men.

           “With the team.”

           “With the team.” With the team.

           “In your designated stall.”

           “In my designated stall.” In my designated stall.

           “Tell me your number.”

           “Number 100.” Number 56.

           “From now on you will use the stall number to match your team number. That will be your stall.”

           “From now on, I’ll use my stall.” From now on, I’ll use my stall.

           “And what is your stall?”

           “Number 100.” Number 56.

           “That’s right. And each time you relieve yourself, the better it’ll feel. And each day you’ll grow bigger, and so will your dick.”

           “Yyyeessss …” Bigger every day. Bigger dick. Bigger pleasure.

           “Just like the team.”

           “Just like the team.” Just like the team.

           “The men are your team.”

           “The men are my team.” The men are my team.

           “You love to show off.”

           “Love to show off.” Love to show off.

           “And what do you show off?”

           “Muscles.” Brains.

           “That’s right; muscles.” … Muscles. Show off muscles. Not brains. Brawn.

           “You don’t care about brains.”

           “Don’t care about brains.” Don’t care about brains.

           “You don’t like brains.”

           “Don’t like brains.” Don’t like … brains?

           “Brains don’t matter.”

           “Brains don’t matter.” Brains don’t matter.

           “Whenever someone compliments you on your muscles or your progress, you’ll be very happy. And every time they mention a massive, manly bulge, you’ll join them in a chant.”

           “Happy about muscle compliments. Join when say ‘massive, manly bulge.’” Enjoy compliments. Massive, manly bulge.

           “You’ll listen to your recordings all the time. You’ll hardly take out your headphones except when you’re with the team, cleaning up, or picking on the weak ones.”

           “Listen all the time.” Listen to recordings.

           “Think like a muscle head. Think like a jock. Be like a jock. Become a jock. Just like the rest.”

           “Think muscle. Think jock. Be jock. Become jock. Just like rest.” Just like the rest. Think … think … like a … think …

           “Scan yourself every day. You need to every day.”

           “Need to scan … every day.” Must scan daily.

           “Now take off those headphones and go work out. Be proud about it.”

           “Yes, sir!” Yes sir …

�0���D

Real Men’s Journal: Part 6

~DAY ???~

           I … I don’t know what happened. I just sort of blacked out. And my last journal response … What the hell? Have they been hypnotizing me in my sleep or something? The quarters are full again, but … I don’t recognize anyone. My head is killing me. And I feel … heavier. My damn tablet won’t show me the date. Thanks again, Dick and Tracy, you dimwits. I wonder where Kevin is and how he’s doing. And Chris. He’s the one responsible for me being in this mess in the first place.

           Just got scanned. Damn, I lost that much weight already? And … wow, I’m taller too. But that’d mean I’ve been here for months. I’d have to have been. I mean, if I came back out of that stupor or whatever it was, then the chemical or whatever it is they’re using can’t have worked on me the same way it did the others, right? Crap, who cares? I just need to find a way out of here. And I need to um … take care of some business. I’ll uh … be right back.

           …

           Man that felt good. Nice shower. Real nice. … And stuff. I’m kinda worried. My junk looks a little bigger. Is it a natural effect from puberty? Or is it this process? And … where are all the newcomers? Place looks empty. Guess I’ll go look for em.

           … Damn, it’s a whole new class. I’m eating breakfast in the hall right now. There was a whole escort surrounding them. And I saw one wearing 100 on his back. Here’s the recording. Decided to try the video. You know, to mix things up a little. Recordings are a bit boring sometimes. You can see it when you want.

           ~ACCESSING # 56 VIDEO FILE 001~

           A large adult in his late twenties stares out with spiked raven-black hair. His uniform is a black spandex two-piece and strains against his bulging muscles with a 100 over the left pec. A bony, square jaw juts out as he scratches himself down below. His eyes are a cloddish brown with thick, lumpish eyebrows shadowing them. They’re practically simian. He seems to just stare off into space as he keeps a firm grip on a young boy with red hair and freckles. The boy is highly obese and his eyes are a bright green. He looks rather sad.

           “Chris? Chris, is that you?”

           The big man looks over with his thick muck eyes, a confused look on his face. He stretches his free large arm. As he does so, he flexes a bicep as big as a football. The camera pans down to reveal a heavy set of legs and a straining bulge that is clearly visible inside the jockstrap that must be beneath the material. The camera freezes there for a time before going down to the feet where a heavy set of cleats shows massive feet, digging into the earth and leaving imprints behind as the line moves forward. Then it pans back up to the man and his furrowed brow.

           “’Sup, bro? You uh … lookin’ for someone?”

           “Chris, it’s me, Kyle.” The camera rushes up and the lens is zoomed onto the left pec, showing nothing but the big zero at the end of the number and the black in its middle. The flesh is straining against the fabric, leaving a tight imprint.

           “Dude, seriously, too close for comfort. Back up, bro. I got a kid to watch.”

           “Chris, come on. This isn’t funny.”

           “I look like I’m laughin, kid? Back up, seriously. I’m not … Groan … not Chris. Qu-quit screwin’ with me.”

           “Chris—WOAH!” The camera is suddenly shoved violently back as it shakes and the sound of hitting ground and scraping dirt is heard as the lens shakes at the sky. Then it’s readjusted to face the musclehead again, who’s heaving now.

           “I’m NOT Chris! I’m fuckin’ Heavy 100% muscle, got it, ya pussy? Go play with your toy. Let the real men do the work ‘round here. Fuckin’ lightweight. I’m a massive manly man with a massive manly bulge n’ that’s all I’ll ever be. Now buzz off!”

           “Is there a problem here, 100?” The camera turns to face an even larger man with a closely shaved blonde crewcut. His coach’s shirt hugs tightly to his chest and his dark blue eyes burn. “Well well, what have we here?” he sneered. “It’s you, is it? The troublemaker who messed with my 86? Hmmmm … not bad. Lost some weight, have we? Gotten a little muscle? It looks … nice.” He smirked.

           “I … Groan Th--thank you …”

           “No need to thank me. I’m just here to … chaperone.” He looked at the camera, then his face turned up towards a space ahead. It turned hungry as his eyes went up and down. “Hmmm … yes. Not too bad at all. Needs some … training though.”

           “Sir?” The big man holding the boy spoke up. “He makes my head hurt.”

           “Don’t worry, 100, just think about all those weights waiting for you once the escort is done. And that massive, manly bulge of yours you’re so fond of.”

           “Massive, manly bulge. My massive, manly bulge.” He chuckled and flexed an arm, shuddering in pleasure. The chant was soon taken up by the other men in the line.

           “Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. We’ll grow and stretch and lift and swell with our massive, manly bulge…”

“Hey, q-quit it. That’s not … you’re not …” The screen begins to tremble as it turns to face 100. “S-stop it. This isn’t … my … feel funny.” The camera turns to a sneering coach.

“Here, boy, let me take that off your hands, hmm? You look like you’re about ready to drop it.” He chuckles as he reaches for it with his big, meaty hands. The lens is then turned to face a tall boy with a good average build. His loose shorts and shirt hang limply, but his arms look well-toned. His eyes are a light, cool blue as he clutches at his brown hair.

“Give that back. Give … give … M-meeee …. That … i-it’s my—my—mmmmmassive … so … massive.” He shudders and suddenly his eyes look more dense and a dimwitted smile comes across his face while he looks at the larger muscle-men with sheer adoration.

“That’s the spirit. What do you have to say to me now, eh, boy?”

“Wanna be a big boy. Wanna be a good boy. Big boys grow into big men.” He smiles.

“And big men have what?”

“Big muscles.”

“And what else?” The boy’s face widens to a grin. “A massive, manly bulge.” The camera pans down to his shorts where a small bump pushes.

“And good boys grow into big boys, don’t they?”

“Grow big. Grow massive. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Wanna be a massive, manly man with a massive, manly bulge.” The bump grew slowly bigger.

“And what’s inside that bulge?”

“Huhuh-HU-h,” his voice cracked. “My … uh … my penis.”

“Your what?”

“You know … my privates. My massive, manly bulge.”

“Just call it what it is, son,” the voice sighed.

“Uhhh … I thought I did?” the bulge starts to shrink.

“Sigh, Just keep going, alright, boy? Follow the program. Listen to the recordings. I’ll be in touch.”

“Yes, sir. Massive, manly bulge. Massive, manly bulge. Work out, be big, be buff, be swole, with my massive, manly bulge.” The bump grows again as he repeats the chant. When the men begin to stop, the boy follows with them and the bulge shrinks, but not as much.

“Take this, son. I’ll be seeing you later, mark my words.” The lens is covered by a palm and there is the sound of shifting air and the smack of the cover closing.

“Ugh … what happened?”

END TRANSMISSION

So uh … yeah. I guess that guy wasn’t Chris. He’d never have done something like shove me back or anything like that. I see him piling up his plate. Lots of eggs, sausage, and bacon. Guess you gotta have the protein to build that muscle. And when you’re their size, you must need a lot just to keep things the same. Found out the coach’s name was Stone. Guess that fits. He’s built like a freakin’ rock. Biggest mountain of muscle I’ve ever seen. The things I could do if I were built like that … but never mind. He’s kinda been eying me since I started breakfast and it’s really creeping me out. I’m not some slab of meathead … meathead … meathead. Gah! I can’t even write it properly!

But on the other hand, I have to admit, this food is still just as good, if not better. Everyone’s looking at me all funny, actually. The kids look scared and the meatheads, they look … eager. I’m a little scared of what’s going to happen. I blacked out again, and I feel horny as hell. It’s too soon. I shouldn’t, but I do. And I feel … Idunno, more snug down there, if you catch my drift. Whatever they’re doing to me must be accelerating. I have to find a way to fight back, to reverse this somehow. And … the others! I can warn them! I just … need to do … something else first …

 ~DAY ???~

The hell? I just woke up to my headphones plugged in my ears listening to some damn hypnosis file! Augh! What is wrong with me?! I feel like I want to punch something. And the way I am right now, I could probably leave a pretty good mark, too. I just hope I was able to warn those poor fellahs. Probably better check on them. It sounds like a few are in the showers. Maybe I’ll have a talk with them … after I take care of some pressing business. In the showers. In stall 56. In my stall. Yeah …

…

ACCESSING # 56 SESSION ASSESSMENT:

SUBJECT RESPONSE RATE:  65%

SUBJECT PROGRESS:  Minimal

SUBJECT RANK:  Beginner

REMOTE ACCESS REQUEST RECEIVED:  INPUT PASSCODE

*******_*****_*****

PROCESSING REQUEST …

PASSCODE ACCEPTED:  WELCOME, USER STONE.

PLEASE ENTER COMMAND:  ___ ACCESS RECORDING

CONFIRMED:  PLEASE SELECT RECORDING TYPE

1.     SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL AUDIO MP.3

2.     SUBJECT 56 PERSONAL VIDEO

3.     SUBJECT 56 PROGRESS VIDEO

CONFIRMED:  LOADING SUBJECT 56 PROGRESS VIDEO LIST

SELECT VIDO

ACCESSING VIDEO FILE 5

           “You’re doing it wrong, kid.” A green hologram the size of a human stands to the right. It’s as large as Stone was, but this one has slightly longer hair. “Tuck those arms in. That’s it. You’re not a chicken, so don’t flap.”

           “Yes, coach.” The brown haired youth from before is working at a press designed to work the pectorals and the inner arm muscles. He’s a sweaty mess, but looks eager enough as he works to press again. The camera zooms in on the weight and reads it at one hundred pounds before zooming out.

“Good. Now that’s proper form. Keep that up and try to make a set of ten, alright, Kyle?” The boy does so slowly and the hologram smiles “Excellent. Keep that up and you’ll be ready to progress in no time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You want to progress.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You love the burn as you work out.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then keep going.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when you’re finished here, get back to your recordings. You have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Yes, sir, coach.”

100 walks up and hands a protein shake to the boy after he finishes his set.

“Drink. It’ll make ya swole like me.” 100 sneered as the boy finished his set and began to down the shake.

“Gotta get swole,” Kyle murmured between sips.

“Good boy,” the hologram said. “Just keep focusing on building those muscles, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You only care about your muscles.”

“Yes, sir.”

           “Bigger Muscles. Bigger bulge. Bigger you. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

           “Bigger is better,” 100 boomed.

           “Buffer is tougher,” Kyle droned.

           “Good boy. Grow that massive, manly bulge,” the hologram said. Kyle shuddered, smiled, dropped his empty plastic shake cup on the ground and immediately went back to work.

           INSTRUCTION:  END RECORDING:  ACCCESS ADMINISTRATIVE SETTINGS:  HYPNOSIS

           END TRANSMISSION

           ACCESSING ADMINISTRATIVE SETTINGS:

           HYPNOSIS:

           SELECT PREFERENCE:

1.     HYPNOTIC SUGGESTIONS                  ON

2.     SUBLIMINAL MESSAGING                 ON

3.     POSTHYPNOTIC TRIGGERS                ON

4.     POSTHYPNOTIC SUGGESTIONS        OFF—ON

5.     BINAURAL BEATS                                OFF—ON

6.     MEATHEAD CONVERTER                   OFF—ON

7.     SCANNER AMPLIFICATION                OFF—ON

8.     DUMB JOCK.MP3                                  OFF—ON

9.     SPORTS CRAZE.MP3                             OFF—ON

10.  MUSCLE CRAVE.MP3                           OFF—ON

11.  GYM OBSESSED.MP3                           OFF—ON

12.  BODYBUILDER.MP3                             OFF—ON

13.  JOCK WALK.MP3                                   OFF—ON

14.  JOCK TALK.MP3                                    OFF—ON

15.  LANGUAGE.MP3                                    OFF—ON

16.  CRUDE DUDE.MP3                                OFF—ON

17.  BROAN OVA BRAYNES.MP3              OFF—ON

18.  DIMWIT.MP3                                          OFF—ON

19.  SCREW SCHOOL.MP3                           OFF—ON

20.  MANLYBULGE.MP3                              ON

21.  BIG COCK=DUMB JOCK.MP3             OFF—ON

22.  NARCISSUS.MP3                                    OFF—ON

23.  UNITY.MP3                                             OFF—ON

24.  ARROGANCE.MP3                                 OFF—ON

25.  BLOWHARD.MP3                                   OFF—ON

26.  BULKY BULLY.MP3                              OFF—ON

27.  RESPECT&OBEY.MP3                          OFF—ON

28.  TEAM PLAYER.MP3                              OFF—ON

29.  ONE OF US.MP3                                     OFF—ON

30.  NEVER GOING BACK.MP3                  OFF—ON

 LINK SCANNER TO CONVERTER?

 YES/NO

           SAVE CHANGES AND AUTHORIZATIONS?

                       YES/NO

           SAVING … SAVING … SAVING … CHANGES SAVED. REINITIALIZING.

           SYSTEM RESTART. ADMINISTRATOR LOG OUT.

           REBOOTING SYSTEM.

~DAY ???~

Damnit, I had to start a new entry. Guess I took too long at the showers. On the plus side, I think the others know now. So that’s the good news. And that shower was so good, too. I really needed to relieve myself in there. You know, stress and all that. Man, it just helped me to RELAX so much. I should shower more often. Anyways, it’s lights out time now, so I’ll write again later. Night.

 ~DAY???~

           Woke up this morning for the first time in ages without a headache. It’s so great! The newbies seem to be going through some of the symptoms I was facing, but overall, they’re adjusting alright. Went and said hi to the guys from the showers. I uh … couldn’t really remember their names, but they didn’t seem to mind. They said they were picked up at a gym their fathers went to.

Based on what they told me, their dads must’ve been through The Process already. Most of them had high-end jobs until about a year ago. They left on a supposed retreat and when they came back, they were ripped and muscle-driven. Ever since then, they sort of let their old jobs slide and started working out at the gym instead. To make ends meet, they became personal trainers. They certainly had no lack of customers after showing off just how swole-errr, big, they’d gotten. The kids and their mothers were more than a little concerned for the men with such a drastic change, but there wasn’t much they could do about it. As a father-son activity, their dads brought them to their recreational gym to work out together. For a bunch of muscleheads, they were surprisingly logical about the whole thing. To avoid any issues of work getting in the way, each had chosen a gym they didn’t work at to get a membership with:  one of those newer chains that’ve been popping up lately. Muscle Hustle? Muscle Fever? Muscle Lift? Muscle … muscle … ah to hell with it, I can’t remember and I really don’t care all that much. A gym’s a gym. You work out, get sweaty, bulk up, and get swole through mindless activity where you just BLANK OUT, then WORK OUT, then JOCK OUT. The rest was history. The boys blacked out when they were getting into their gym clothes and they woke up here with me. They were kinda scared of me after some stuff that happened at the cafeteria and the gym. They didn’t want to talk about it much, but I got past that eventually. Their names are Josh, Cooper, and Trent. Nice guys, actually.

They’re planning on going places with jobs like their dads used to have. Computer programming, Business Management, Typists, you know, stuff like that. You know, for supposed nerds, these guys actually aren’t that bad off. They’re fairly average in build and it looks like they’re pretty fit already. I wonder why they were taken in the first place. Most other targets were picked for being flabby, lazy, and addicted to junk food. This batch looks more … diverse. Aaaaand there’s the headache again. Great, just great. Guess it was too much to hope for just one FUCKING DAY where I don’t have to deal with this FUCKING MIGRAINE! Screw this! I’m goin’ to bed.

 ~DAY ???~

           ACCESSING # 56 VIDEO FILE 002

           Weights are clanking in the background as Kyle focuses on leg lifts using a weight machine. His arms are crossed over his chest and he continues to push, breathing heavily and grunting regularly.

           “Hey. So, uh, I guess you’re wondering why I’m recording and working out. Turns out when I lift, my headache does too. See what I did there?” He laughs. “But seriously, it’s actually not all that bad. I’m not so sore anymore, and I have more energy now that I ever did before. It’s weird. I expected to collapse by now from an asthma attack, but it’s not coming. I wonder if that chemical changed my lungs. If it did, I guess that’s one thing to be grateful for. Remind me to ask Coach Stone later. Turns out he’s taken over my case after all. Either he overlooked that assignment function, or he deliberately wants me to know. I guess I’m what’s considered a stubborn case, and that’s what Stone deals with on a regular basis.

           “So yeah … the week’s been going pretty good. My body’s metabolism is through the roof and I’m eating as much as a food disposal. Seriously, I feel like my stomach’s never going to get enough at this rate.” He pauses to wipe a towel over his forehead and face as a loud gurgling emanates from his stomach. A big muscle man with a large 100 blazoned on the back of his shirt and another smaller one on his left pec smiles as he approaches, entering the camera’s range.

           “’Sup, little man?” he chuckled.

           “Hey 100, sorry about the mixup before. You just really made me think of my old friend, Chris, ya know? Well … a bigger, swoler version of him anyways.”

           “S’cool, lil’bro, don’t worry about it.” The big man looks impressed as he views the weight count. “150 already? Damn, bro. Took me two fuckin’ weeks ta get there.” He hands Kyle a plastic cup filled with a brown protein shake.

           Kyle shrugs. “Guess I just never knew my strengths is all. Couldn’t really do working out before. Every time I’d start, I couldn’t breathe.”

           “You’re shitting me.”

           Kyle takes a long draught from the cup, emptying it about half way in one go. “Nah, man, it’s true. I’m an asthmatic.”

           “A what?”

           “I have asthma. It’s a disease you’re born with, makes it so you have smaller air passageways in your lungs and they swell when you work out or run. Sometimes they block up even when you’re doing nothing. It sucks.” He takes another swig.

           “But you’re okay now?”

           “Yeah, I guess. Don’t know why though. It’s like I never had it. I’d be ecstatic if I didn’t know you people are trying to brainwash me.”

           100 flinched.

           “Don’t worry, I’m not holding it against you, big guy. It’s the coaches I’m mad at.”

           100 smiled, then frowned. “But Coach is just tryin’ ta help.”

           “By keeping me prisoner?”

           “By trainin’ ya. You know, with the holograms n’ shit. Help ya get swole.”

           “Look, 100, I’m glad to be getting more fit, I really am. But the fact that I was kidnapped from my home, my family, my friends, isn’t exactly going to disappear anytime soon. And no amount of working out, bulking up, getting swole, or getting a—” He broke off as if remembering something as his eyes widened. He cleared his throat. “--Getting more junk in the trunk, will change how I feel about that. I want to go home. I’ve wanted that ever since I got here. My parents are probably worried sick right now.” He sighed, deflating as he slumped on the bench of the machine. “And thanks to those dickwadds, Tracey and Dick, I can’t even tell how much time has gone by since I was taken.” He took another sip from the shake before swirling it around in his hand as he watched the viscous substance turn into a sludgy whirlpool.

           “They’ll let ya go back, ya know,” 100 said. “They give ya a choice when you graduate. Hell, you can even come back n’ work part time. Be a mentor, ya know?”

           “We don’t even know where the hell we are!” Kyle threw his cup on the ground, sending shake all over the floor. 100 sighed as he moved to pick it up.

           “Don’t need to know, lil’bro. Ya just gotta grow. Listen, I’ll leave ya to yourself for a while, okay?” He placed a giant hand on Kyle’s shoulder, then walked off. Kyle just put his head in his hands and sobbed.

           “It’s happening, isn’t it? They’re really getting to me.” Then he broke down completely.

           END TRANSMISSION

Evolution of the godly Bradley Austen,  2014 -> 2021. 

Source: Instagram, bradleycausten  

Quote from an Instinct Magazine interview: 

“I used to be very skinny- the inspiration then came from looking at other men in the gym. As soon as my body started to build and change shape, I was obsessed! I felt like a completely different person and the compliments definitely helped.” 

“[Now] I am a fitness Freak, I go 6 days a week. My favourite is leg day, my legs are my strongest muscle. The Hungarian squat is top of the chart along with ‘Glute Kickback’ …. every time I train legs I have a pizza, which is awesome.. Who doesn’t love Pizza. I always get, ‘wtf Brad?’ But honestly, give it a go. It helps grow the glutes!” 

Keep it up, bro, let that masculinity erupt outta you