He shrugs. “That may be part of it. I don’t know. And honestly, I’m not paid to know, so I don’t really care. What I care about is growing and helping my trainees to grow.”
“And what would you say your success rate is?”
“I’d say I rank a solid Poppins.”
“… A what?”
He smirks. “Practically perfect in every way.”
You cock your head. “Huh. Didn’t pin you for a Disney guy.”
“Most folks don’t.” He strides toward you and stares down over the shelf of his massive pecs. “So, a few ground rules. You can call me Big Bro, Bro, Sir, or Jeff. Whatever makes you comfortable. When we’re training, I’m going to push you hard. I’m not always so nice as I am in casual conversation. This is a professional relationship, and I expect you to understand that and respect that fact.
“My job is to push you to your limits and help you exceed them. We’re going to be crossing a lot of lines and breaking through a lot of barriers. You’re going to be sore and tired for the first few sessions we have. I’ll be encouraging you to push past that fatigue to increase your endurance and other capabilities. That encouragement can be positive or negative, depending on the situation. I don’t abuse my clients, and the same will hold for you. I mentor them. I train them. I push them. But I will never deliberately hurt them or you. If you turn into a zealot, I will stop you, though. There is such a thing as working out too much. I can help build your body to handle those kinds of loads if that’s the goal, but if you go too far too fast, you’ll do more harm than good. So, I expect you to listen to me and follow my instructions to the letter. Are we clear?”
“As crystal, Sir,” you say with a playful smirk.
Jeff smirks back. “Careful. That just might become a habit.” Then he turns toward the gym proper and a series of mats before a floor-length mirror. A casually waving hand draws you in tow after him. “Come on. We’ll start off with some basic warmups. Stretching, a little cardio. Then we’ll see about setting up a baseline for your plan.”
“My plan?”
“How else am I supposed to train you if I don’t know where to start?”
You look at the mats, where several men and women with varying body types are working either with dumbbells, stress bands, or just testing their flexibility. Some are watched over by muscled figures like Jeff. Others seem to be looking at their neighbors and following together. Some chat playfully or casually. Others remain stony and silent as they focus on their tasks.
“Quite a menagerie here,” you note.
Jeff grins. “Welcome to the zoo, Mister Winters.”
Jeff is definitely not the same kind of man as James or some of his other more muscular employees. His voice and demeanor may be blunt, but his whit is sharp. He might not be a bad connection to form a rapport with here. Time would tell that. For now, however, you decide that at the very least, Jeff is someone that you could grow to like. “Where’s the tiger pen?” you joke back.
Credit for this image goes to @dissolving-time. Story is mature for some language. This is another story from the Coach Stone universe. I hope you all enjoy it. :D
I gazed at the meathead that had once been my fellow prisoner. He’d already donned the dog tags that were locked in his footlocker. Muscle rippled over his body as he gazed at me holding one of the biggest rifles I have ever seen in my life.
“Chapman, do you know what that is?” I asked as I eyed the gun warily. The caliber alone would be enough to splatter my brains all over the wall.
“The name’s Champ, bro.” He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly. Had they really brainwashed him so thoroughly?
“Your name is Lance Chapman, from Enfield, North Carolina. You specialize in computer programming, like me. We were brought here against our wills, remember?”
“Nah, bro.” “Champ” let out a deep vapid chuckle. His camouflage draped over his legs, but I could see the hints of growing muscle bunching, just waiting for a good pump to press them tightly against the confines of the cloth. “Coach wants my bod first, my brains second. Huhuh.” He grinned at me, revealing perfectly white and straightened teeth.
I’d hoped to reason with him, but it was clear he was beyond that. I brandished my own pair of dog tags. Like I said, computers were my thing, both programming and the hardware. It took me a while, but I managed to get my lockbox to open, too. And without reducing myself to a wannabe army poster boy. “I have my tags, Champ. You can’t keep me here. You know once I get my tags, I’m supposed to leave. I’m supposed to report to Coach, remember?”
“But you’re not gonna, are you, bro?” he asked seriously as his brow furrowed. “You just wanna get out.”
“I have to get out to see Coach, now don’t I?” The exit was right there in bold black lettering. The lock had already disengaged on cue when I seized my tags. I just needed to get past him. If I could distract him somehow or incapacitate him, I could run.
Chapman spread his legs in a broader stance as he planted himself firmly in front of the door. “You’re not ready to see Coach yet, little bro. And Coach hasn’t called you.”
“I am ready.”
“Prove it.”
I knew a few basics from martial arts training in my youth. I’d been fortunate enough to keep up the practice in my free hours. The meathead in front of me may have had a weapon, but we were in tight quarters. It would be difficult to get that barrel pointing at me if I could stay close. And while he may have had raw strength, I had experience. I also still had my wits about me. I sighed and let my shoulders droop as I approached him. “Look, Champ, just … let me go, okay? You and I both know this is wrong. It’s against the law to kidnap someone.”
“No can do, little bro. Coach says we need more training. Coach says we have a project to help with. Coach says muscle CHAMPs like me need to train and obey. I listen to Coach. I obey. This Champ o—”
The mantra was what I was waiting for. It doesn’t matter how big you get if you haven’t got the trained reflexes to deal with a sudden change yet. And Chapman’s mind had been either short circuited or rewired to reinforce his thuggery. I’d heard it enough times through the door. It wasn’t soundproofed. I think that was deliberate on the part of this “Coach” to give us a taste of what’s in store. Demoralizing a captive is a large part of ensuring that he or she remains compliant, after all. And I’d heard enough, “This meathead obeys,” to know this was a fulltime operation made heavy on the brainwashing. It had to be to change someone so drastically. This wasn’t just a sign of subtle change. This was downright breaking them and building them back up again into the equivalent of obedient machines.
In this case, it played in my favor, and I hate to think of it this way, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was grateful for it. The mantra made him vulnerable. I laid a hand gently on his shoulder, being sure to get close enough that he couldn’t put the barrel against me. His eyes were glassy and unseeing as he uttered the mantra that he and everyone else like him had been conditioned to speak.
Then I took him down. It was simple to sweep his feet out from under him, and the move flowed like water. Bruce Li would be proud. I followed up with a heavy blow to the side of his head with my boot. Part of our imprisonment had included removing our personal affects, so I had no idea where my street clothes were. I didn’t give the blow enough force for any serious damage, but it would be enough to daze him, maybe even knock him out if I was lucky.
I threw the door open while he groaned on the floor. I managed all of maybe two steps before my arms was seized and I was slammed against the wall. I swear, my bones vibrated from the impact. I saw a helmet with a reflective visor and the broadest chest I had ever seen in my life. This man was huge. And unfortunately for me, he was also very skilled. My arm was yanked behind my back faster than I had time to process. He pulled, and I felt my socket strain to send stabs of pain through my arm and neck. Another faceless mook strode forward. But unlike Chapman, this one was decked in full body armor.
“Well done, recruit. You’ve passed Coach’s test. You will serve in Coach Stone’s cyber unit and in Research and Development. You will obey.”
“Like hell, I will,” I swore. That rewarded me with another painful jerk of my arm while a targeted blow forced me to my knees.
“Meathead recruit will comply.” The man withdrew a syringe from a side pocket and tapped the chamber to dislodge any air bubbles, then pulled off the protective cap with a deliberate casual air of the well-practiced. The substance was green, and the soldier had no qualms over pulling my sleeve up. I squirmed, but a yank of my other arm followed by a crushing iron grip on my free arm left me tense as he stabbed the needle into my arm and depressed the syringe. He removed the needle casually and replaced the cap, then inserted the syringe into another pouch.
The two visored faces stared at one another for the briefest of moments in a silent exchange. Then they nodded as the one who injected me rose, turned and entered the room where I had been held prisoner. A low groan emanated from the space, followed by a series of loud cracks.
“Rise, meathead. Follow.”
The voice that emanated in reply was deeper than I remembered. “This meathead obeys…”An even greater shock greeted me when the lumbering brute emerged. Chapman’s muscle mass had increased dramatically, and the man’s skull had completely reformed. Sharp, angular, square features blunted his face now, and his eyes were a vivid shade of green. The oversized gun didn’t look so ridiculous for him anymore.
“What the hell…?” I murmured.
“Meathead Champ will listen to orders. Meathead Champ will obey. Meathead Champ will fire on his roommate on command. Meathead Champ will prepare to fire now.”
“What?” I balked. I wanted to squirm again, but once more, my captor brought me to heel. I tried to shift out of his grip, but the hold was too strong. Even if I went limp, he’d still be able to haul me back up again. That didn’t stop me from trying, however.
I heard a whine not unlike the sound you hear in a sci-fi movie when a blaster is being charged or a bomb is being primed. The barrel was soon directed at my face. My heart hammered as Chapman uttered his mindless acknowledgement.
“Meathead Champ obeys. This meathead is ready to fire.”
“Fire.”
There was light, a strange tingling that bordered on the pleasant, and then blackness. I came to in an empty barracks. When I rose, everything felt … heavy, awkward. The sight of the muscles bulging against the fabric of my shirt was more than enough to unsettle me as my throat clenched and my mouth went dry. I wanted to scream, but at the same time I knew better. I journeyed over my torso, my arms, everything. All of it felt in order, albeit significantly enhanced. It was my face I dreaded the most. And true to my fears, I could feel each sharply defined contour from my own transformation that was doubtless facilitated by the rifle. As a test, I ran through pi to see just how far in the infinite decimal sequence I could get. Then I searched through the other parts of my brain. I felt no compulsion, no absentmindedness, no blank emptiness or cotton or wool. I was clear, surprisingly so, given how quickly my mind seemed to jump from place to place.
“Comfortable?”
The question came out of nowhere, and I balked and bawled as my body sent me crashing into another bunk with the increased force of my new mass.
“Well, clearly not anymore,” the voice replied urbanely. I rounded on the figure only to see a man standing at least a head taller than I. His manner was relaxed and composed. His blond hair flickered like silver in the light. And though he was completely relaxed, his body oozed that smug command and intimidation that subconsciously demanded respect from those around him. “Please, take a moment to acclimate yourself. I find a blow to the shins is never pleasant.”
I decided to stick with sitting, rather than rick another launch with a body I had absolutely no experience with. “Who … are you?” I winced at the depth of my voice. Logic only dictated it would have changed with the rest of my physique, but I had hoped it wouldn’t.
“A scientist of sorts. Biochemistry is my specialty, though I’ve branched out into many other fields.” He chuckled. “Why don’t you just stay there and we’ll have a nice chat between the two of us?” He lowered his broad frame onto the bed I had just launched myself from and gazed at me with vivid blue eyes. “My name is Stone. And you doubtless have many questions and expletives you want to voice, most likely not in that order.”
I felt like a broken record as curse after curse and swear after swear flowed out of me in an invective tirade. Denunciations and questions boomed from me like the retort of a cannon, emphasized by a number of curses and swears until that was all I heard winding down … and down … and down….
“Are you finished?”
A plaintive, almost defeated, “Fuck,” hissed from me as I rested my head in two massive hands.
“Glad you could get that out of your system. Now, do you have any real questions you wanted to ask me?”
“Why?” I finally managed to ask.
“You’re a programmer. You should understand. If a program doesn’t work the way it’s intended, you go into the code, find the bug, and fix it. Sometimes it’s messy work, but the end result is worth it. I’m doing that on a global scale, or at least I will in time. Getting rid of bigotry, erasing the divide between the strong and the weak to produce a better world for everyone.”
“You broke Chapman.”
“Champ is happy where he is. He chose it. He wanted it. You two had virtually the same IQ scores and talents, at least when it came to computer engineering and programming. Unlike you, though, Champ was fighting conditions that would make it so that he could never enjoy the same level of fitness and activity that you do. Such a lack eventually results in fantasies, a longing to experience what one never has had. Chapman threw it all away because he reveled in the chance to grow and swell. And, I admit, I fed that desire while he tried to hack the mainframe. I let him see where he would ultimately end up. And I gave him a simple choice. He accepted my offer to obey. He lied to you, pretended to fail, and complied with everything I told him whenever he signed in. He is living his fantasy now, and is deliriously happy to be receiving training as a part of my Meatheads.
Rage curled my lip, but I couldn’t do a thing. I wanted to lunge at the man, strangle him, but my body wouldn’t comply. All I could do was sit and watch.
“You may have noticed by now, but my meatheads can’t do anything against me. I’m their authority figure, their alpha. Or as they like to call me, Coach. You can’t attack me because I told you to stay there. And though you may want to deny it, I know that deep down, you’re enjoying the sensation of your new body just as much as Champ is.”
“How?”
“My formula.” He shrugged his massive shoulders. “It’s not perfect yet, but the iterations I’ve produced from my original notes have been very useful in extending my control. I don’t want to be a dictator, but I’m not about to let the world stay as it is either. Shadow politics, assassinations, pointless bombings and wars, genocides, suicides. This world is a mess. I have the tools to fix that mess once and for all. And I intend to do just that. To sum it up for you, I’m my original test subject. And the formula worked wonders for me as a result, but it also rendered me … incapacitated for a time. As a result, much of my research was lost, and I’ve had to rebuild using different iterations of my creation until I can find that special mix. On the plus side, as derivatives of my original formula, it seems that anyone exposed automatically becomes subservient to me. It makes things much simpler when dealing with intruders and espionage. It also helps with recruiting.”
“Then why didn’t you just ask me?”
“Because I wanted you to sample the goods. That, and because there are still those who can resist the full effects of my injections and other sources of integration for a certain period of time. As I said, the formula still needs work. But I like to use the less effective iterations for special cases like you. Your specialty in coding and computer engineering is something I need right now. And I want you to keep your mind focused on the task at hand, rather than on weights and muscle. That’s why I’m assigning you to our MEAT department.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I think we both know you can’t.” Stone smirked. “For the record, MEAT stands for Muscle Enhancement and Accelerated Transformation. You’ll be helping us to design and improve a number of methods and technologies to help smooth subject transitions into becoming Meatheads. And more importantly, on how to preserve their skills and knowledge while still incorporating them into the collective. In other words, research and development. Your specialty, if I recall correctly.”
“I don’t want to.”
Stone chuckled. “On the contrary. I think you do.”
“I do—” My tongue stuck. My jaw locked. I tried again. “I do—” Again, I had the same problem. Again, I couldn’t finish. “I … do….”
Stone’s smirk widened into a sneer. “Glad we got that settled. Oh, and for the safer ones, I want you to experiment on yourself. I’m intrigued to see just what a smart obedient Meathead will look and act like.
I groaned another curse, which only further emphasized my captor’s glee. “Spoken like a true Meathead.”
“Whatever….”
“That’s right. Whatever I say, Meathead.” The cocky arrogance was gone, leaving behind a chilling glare that could cut through diamond. “And you will address me with respect as either Coach Stone, Coach, or Sir. Do I make myself clear?”
I clenched my mouth shut.
“Answer me,” Stone demanded.
“Yes, … Sir.”
“Good.” His eyes flashed as he rose from his position. “Now follow me. I’ll guide you to your lab. You have a lot of work ahead of you, don’t you, Meathead?”
I couldn’t stop myself as I rose to follow him. “Yes, Sir, Coach.”
“That’s right.” He chuckled. “On second thought, let’s get you dressed first. Then we can visit the lab.”
“Whatever you say, Coach.”
“Good boy,” he purred. I shuddered in revulsion, both at his cold dominance and … at the jolt of pleasure that surged with that acknowledgement. If that was how it felt now, how would I feel after a few months or years of working under him? Would I be able to resist?
…
Would I even want to?
I shuddered again. Hopefully, I would be able to find a solution before Coach made me a permanent team member. Or worse yet, before I did.
Credit goes to @musclecorps is for this image before he shut down his tumblr and I lost a massive chunk of images I had stored in my likes for use in future stories and series. XD That’s how the cookie crumbles sometimes.
Anyway, for some reason, someone decided to flag this chapter of Endemic Evolution. And tumblr decided, in all its wisdom, not to notify me of the fact. I can’t appeal it now, because that time limit has long since expired. I only recently discovered this problem today, because I was looking through my previous posts to see what might need clearing out, etc. Oh, and here’s the real kicker. It wasn’t even shown in my flagged posts section either. I wonder why that is? Can anyone explain that fact to me? Or is this one of those signs of tumblr blatantly trying to silence anyone it deems doesn’t adhere to its vision, despite following their guidelines perfectly?
I’ll let you readers decide that for yourselves.
Anyway, because I know how one-sided an appeal will be from previous experience, and the fact that no one will actually let me talk with and discuss the ruling with anyone from their content management department (other than being notified that the content management department has decided to let the ruling stand and give me cookie cutter links to their guidelines telling me to look there for more information when I’ve already looked there and want to dispute the claims with an actual PERSON using the language found in said guidelines. Does it hurt to ask for a little accountability and justification from that team, @staff?), I’m cutting out the middleman by deleting the original and reposting it. This time, I’ll even include a disclaimer, so readers can understand the fact that this chapter is intended for an older audience.
…
*Ahem.*
DISCLAIMER: THIS CHAPTER IS FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY!
This chapter is written in the form of a medical journal entry recording. As such, there will be references to human anatomy, symptoms of the fictional illness, etc. There will also be some language involved, and there will be signs of the doctor who is speaking in this recording manifesting some of those very same symptoms that he is listing. There is no sexually explicit content in this story. However, there is frank language used in describing the patients and their symptoms, and (as I said earlier) there is reference to human anatomy and patient behavior. While the word “masturbation” is used in the chapter, there is no description of that act being performed. It is merely a reference of symptom manifestation as the fictional disease progresses, and is listed as such.
You have been warned. Please, do not flag this post. I’ll even make sure to close off the content below with a read more link, just to be on the safe side, so only the people who are really sure they want to proceed can read it.
“This is Doctor Simmons reporting in. I have opted for a video recording for this particular report for the sake of observation and for other reasons which I shall elaborate upon shortly. First, a recap and report of more personal note.
“It has been approximately two weeks since my first contact with these carriers of the disease we have chosen to classify as Meatheadosis. It was not my idea, but I wasn’t brought on scene at the beginning of the outbreak, so I suppose I don’t get to complain. Our generous host Mister Malloy fell prey to his infection shortly after our first meeting began. The effects of this phenomenon are positively astounding. If a means could be developed to isolate and control the virus’ effects, or at least tone them back, this disease could work miracles across the globe.
“Due to the lateness of the Holiday Season, I have had no choice but to cancel my plans for Christmas with the family. This has received mixed results, but it has to be done, for research and for the sake of our country’s future.
“Accommodations here are wonderful. Malloy has been kind enough to offer me one of his best suites. I feel more relaxed and loose than I have in over a decade. The others have also enjoyed their own rooms.
“Now on to the main report. Initial observation indicates that this virus attacks and rewrites the synapses in the brain, breaking down old connections and building new ones associated specifically with muscle memory and other such more physical things. Due to this forced rewiring of the brain, the subject becomes less and less focused on previous passions and ideals. It is not accurate to say so much that they have become dumber as it is to say that their intelligence has been reallocated into an obsession with physical perfection that borders on zealous.
“Indeed, the loss of intelligence that has been noted previously appears to only occur as the subject focuses more on enjoying and enhancing his body. Symptoms include absented-mindedness, repetitive daydreaming, subconscious flexing, personal worship, flexing, muscle worship, posing, spontaneous laughter, flexing, a distinct lack of complex sentence structure, degradation of vocabulary, and flexing.
“Some have taken to repeating various mantras and prose to give them motivation. It’s very catchy. For example: One, two, three, four. Growing muscle more and more. Five, six, seven, eight. Work out, get swole, bulk up, inflate.
“The sheer unity they demonstrate is positively mind-boggling. It’s almost as though they were functioning in a pack or a hive mind of some sort, but of course that’s not possible. Still, it does stick, doesn’t it…?
“Ahem. Anyway, It’s my theory that those effected have the electrical impulses of the brain muted when it comes to activities that … mmmph, don’t contribute to this new mode of lifestyle. Then, when the individual utilizes weights or performs some other form of physical exertion, like say a flex…
“Oh, that felt good. Where, uh … where was I?
“Oh, yes. The impulses. I believe the electrical impulses are released into the new synapses to trigger intense pleasure and other sensations that reinforce their newfound aggressive and, dare I say, brutish behavior. For example, lowered inhibitions contribute to behaviors such as openly scratching or ‘cupping’ one’s manhood, heralding immature behavior such as belching with cheers and approbation, and giving in to one’s baser sexual instincts by masturbating to ‘take the edge off.’
“It appears that the more the subjects indulge in these actions, the faster they degrade. I have designated the levels or stages of this disease’s progress into distinct categories from the first symptoms to the farthest gone. The earliest ones who are just starting out are known as Pledges. Part of this has to do with the meathead frat mentality that is rapidly becoming more prevalent in the subjects. It seems that those who are farther along in this … metamorphosis have the ability to home in on those who have contracted the disease somehow, granting them the ability to tease, heckle, and otherwise (for lack of a better word) haze an individual before they begin to progress, or perhaps regress is the better term.
“Next comes the Jockstage. Men in this stage still retain most of their former hobbies, habits, and behavioral patterns, but take a keener interest in sports and fitness than they have previously. Muscles will harden and expand, fat will burn away, and inhibitions will begin to die as other men farther along tease and encourage. Eventually, the Jock will grow accustomed to these modes of address and adopt them for himself.
“Excuse me for a moment. I need to take a selfie for my wife. … There we go. I think she’ll enjoy that. I know I did. “Now then, back on topic. In due course, the moniker of Gym Rat is earned. At this stage, the subject cannot stop thinking about their personal fitness. The gym essentially becomes their home. Fortunately, this hotel comes with a fully stocked top-of-the-line gym complete with equipment for our patients to use. The subject will become obsessed with diet and getting as much lean protein as possible to bulk up. It is generally around this stage that the manhood of the subjects begins to swell and increase in size. The extra testosterone that is the inevitable result of this stage triggers their development into the next one.
“TheMeathead is essentially the finished product. At this point, the mind degrades to only want to discuss ‘manly’ things. Weights, anatomy, sex life, etc. They are quite literally muscleheads in every sense of the word. Cursing, swearing, and various other modes of language are often another indicator of their loss in intelligence. These can occur as early as the Jock stage, though the Pledges usually either do or don’t due to their previous life choices, not as a result of their metamorphosis.
“Now we come to what I believe would be considered a mutation of sorts in the usual strain. I speak of what we have chosen to dub the Alpha. These Meatheads are in a class all their own; the largest, burliest, most aggressive and dominant of their flock. This makes them the de facto leaders of their fellow Meatheads, and they make sure the others know it regularly.
“One of their favorite pastimes is comparing size and encouraging others in their growth in their own ways. Malloy quickly ascended to this kingly position. Considering he was the owner and manager of his hotel, it only makes sense that he would be. However, it seems he took a liking to me and Barton before he achieved this most coveted of positions.
“Communication with them requires me to channel my inner highschooler. Fortunately, I’m well endowed, or as they would say it, hung as fuck. Mmm … it does look nice pressing out against the crotch in my sweatpants, doesn’t it? I’ve taken to patting it and smirking at the ‘higher-ups’ to make them think I’m conforming. This usually allows me the ability to interact with others more freely as we exercise. I will admit that I can’t help but compare my size every other day or so, though. Even I am not immune to the vain desire to reach that ideal male aesthetic of large and satisfying anatomy.
“Mmph … maybe just one more for the missus.
“The gym is never closed, and Barton has reported sightings of, if you’ll believe it, sleepwalking subjects that perform exercises in their sleep. This, in turn, wears them down mentally with tiredness and makes it easier for them to fall under the influence of an Alpha or other higher ranked subject in a form of what seems almost to be hypnosis.
“By the next day, they’ve usually jumped a rank.
“As for me, I am striving to match the ideal rank of Jock. It’s not too far along, and my healthier frame is an almost perfect fit, while most of the research team is too out of shape. I’ve even been practicing my dumb laugh. It’s surprisingly simple. Then again, simplicity is kind of the point with minds like this.”
“Yo, Simmons, Malloy wants to see you!”
“… And that would be my cue to go. Wish me luck. I go to meet the council of Alphas. I wonder. Should I start with the double flex or perhaps the crab pose…? Mmph … so much to choose from. I can hardly think which would be best.”
“Come on, coach, let’s go!”
“Hmm … hardly think. Must be … nice….”
“Coach?”
“Huh? Oh, sorry, Barton. My mind was … elsewhere. Come on. Let’s go. Don't want to keep our patients waiting.”
If you guys would like to support my writing and enjoy my work,please join my patreon. For $3 a month, you get access to unique meathead and muscle stories as well as other content from lower tiers. Or, if you prefer, you can pledge $5 a month and get access to the reward of a custom transformation short story written just for you, along with access to all other rewards from $5 tier and lower.
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The Nursery
A strange name for a gym, but one that Kevin wasn’t opposed to. He’d heard good things about the place, and when Kent sent him the referral with the special offer for a fifty percent discount on the first year of membership, how could he refuse?
There were men of all sorts of builds and types. Big thick muscle men, hairy bears, bros, the works. The sizes ranged from big and bulky brawn to lean and tight muscle that focused more on acrobatics and cardio. Each of the men seemed to hold respect for the other, and there never seemed to be any negative feeling between them, despite the difference in styles and body types.
Kevin looked down at the massive tank top that now swathed his frame. It seemed several sizes too large for him. His friend had promised he’d grow into it, and that it would become a favorite of his in time.
“Ready to get swole, bro?” Kent grinned and flexed a vascular arm for his friend to view.
“It’s not like I’m going to grow big overnight, Kent.” Kevin chuckled at his old friend’s exuberance. “Since when have you been so excited?”
Kent huffed a deep chuckle. “Since I became a regular here. This place really knows how to help a guy blow up. It’s easy! You’ll see what I mean while we work out. Come on!
The big man wrapped his hand around his friend’s wrist and dragged him onto the floor until they reached a segment of racks laden with various types of weights. He quickly seized a smaller kettlebell and shoved it into Kevin’s grip. Then he seized a far larger one for himself. Both were marked with the gym’s logo, a leaf bedecked with specks of dew.
“Let’s start with some basics. These are called halos. They help to warm you up and loosen the joints.” He raised the kettlebell and seized the handle with both hands. “Raise it like this and circle it around your head while you stare ahead.”
Kevin did as he was instructed.
“Good. Good.” Kent smiled as the man got into it. “Let’s get started.” He whistled a familiar tune as they cycled rhythmically around their heads.
“The mulberry bush? Really?” Kevin asked.
Kent shrugged. “It’s got a good pace to it. It’s a trick one of my trainers here taught me when I was learning the ropes. A lot of nursery rhymes and their music make for great pacemakers when you’re working on sets. They sort of stick in your head after a while, and it’s so easy to come up with new lyrics for them, if you want to.
“Like?”
Kent smirked. “When we’re done with the warmup,” he promised.
When they’d finished warming up, Kent nodded. “So, we’ll be doing some basic curls with the bells first. The song may be a little annoying, but once you let it stick in your head, it’s super easy to stick to the exercise. You ready, bro?”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Won’t you do it, even if I’m not?”
Kent grinned, and the two began. When they’d reached a proper rhythm, the man began to sing in his deep bass.
“Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Fill out your muscle-tee.”
“Seriously, man?” Kevin asked.
Kent’s grin widened as he transitioned to his other arm and continued.
“Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Pump muscle up today.”
“You have gotto be kidding me,” Kevin groused.
“Dunno, I’d say it works pretty well, dumbbell.” He smirked and pointed to the mirror, where Kevin gaped at the sight of his other arm pumping the kettlebell.
“… What the actual–?”
Kent didn’t give him the chance to finish. He let out a deep husky chuckle and sang again.
“Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Brawny, lift your kettle-arm. Fill out your muscle-tee.”
“What’re you d-OING?” Kevin’s voice cracked as his chest surged outward and his neck thickened with corded muscle. His Adam’s apple throbbed and jutted forward as stubble prickled over his face. “Stop!” His eyes widened with fear as his pupils shrank with the impact of his adrenaline. His arm kept pumping. His shoulders heaved as he voiced his protest. All the while, his arms began to swell with every pump of the kettlebell. “Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I–ohhh, fuu–” His eyes rolled as his body was rocked by a shudder. He planted his legs at a masculine straddle while his calves and thighs swelled and his crotch inflated. “Wh-what did…? Bro, I … I….” He stared at his reflection. His mouth dropped open as his gaze became empty and glassy. “Uhhhhhhh….”
Kent sneered as they lifted in time together, two men in perfect synch. His chest heaved with a deep chuckle. “That’s right, bro. Feels good, doesn’t it, dumbbell?”
A dimwitted smile pulled at Kevin’s lips as swollen traps and pecs filled out the tank top. The stubble surged into a proper beard that blended seamlessly into the high and tight cut of his hair via carefully trimmed sideburns. He nodded as his head lolled and his arm continued to pump. The stamp at the base of the kettlebells seemed almost to glow as Kent resumed his song.
“Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. Dumbbell, switch your arm again. The meathead’s here to stay.”
The drastically altered Kevin burst out with a deep booming guffaw. “Huhuhuh. Bro, you were totally right!” He swore in his exuberance. “That pump was fuckin’ sweet!”
Kent grinned. “Wanna spot me on the rack, bro?”
“Hell, yeah, bro!” The two broke out into a fit of laughter that rebounded through the gym as they returned their kettlebells to the racks and swaggered onto the main floor, where the barbells and other machines awaited them.
——————————————————–
From deep in the security room, a loud belch was followed by a sigh of satisfaction. A hulking brute of a man that barely fit into his uniform stared blankly at the screens while two clawed hands slowly massaged his temples. Silver trickles flowed into the fingers as tiny nubs slowly began to push on either side of the guard’s forehead.
Green and clammy skin flowed up toned arms to a face that writhed with suckered tentacles and bright glowing eyes. An armored mass of coral, or something akin to it, curled over the entity’s skull in a shape not unlike that of the human brain while two great curled black horns rose above and to the side of this curious armor.
“Another sapling waiting to grow for harvest.” The voice reverberated through the room in a whispering hiss. A low growling groan escaped the human as he shredded out of his clothes. His eyes rolled, then flooded with the same green flecked with silver as his skin hardened into powerful hide. His jaw cracked into an inhuman maw full of teeth for ripping and tearing.
“Waiting to mature like you and your brothers.”
The brute rose to his feet as thick powerful hooves burst through his leather shoes. Long, sharp horns surged from his brow, cracked with molten red veins that pulsed like magma. The scent of sulfur and brimstone became more prominent as his hands blackened and swelled. Smoke hissed from them as powerful claws replaced flimsy nails. He surged in height and mass with sickening pops as bone and sinew reformatted.
“No need for those pesky thoughts. You need only serve me.” He chortled as the gym’s logo pin that had burst off the uniform floated in the air, then pressed itself against the former guard’s chest. The new creature didn’t flinch when the hiss of roasting flesh filled the air. In a matter of moments, the deed was done, and the familiar mark of its master’s tentacle now bedecked the chest of this new thrall.
The demon pulled his fingers away from the newborn thrall’s head, trailing the last streaks of silvery light with them. A mixture of moan and scream seemed to emanate through the room. And then both were silenced as the creature turned and knelt to its new master.
“Such a good thrall.” The demon chuckled as he savored the last of the former human’s mind and soul. “You’ll make a fine addition to my army.” His eyes trailed over the screens and fell with curiosity on Kevin. “Perhaps we’ll see Lust blossom from that one. I suppose only time will tell.” Though there was no sign of a mouth to smile, one could almost feel the smugness the demon radiated. He cupped the new thrall’s chin. “As for you, little Wrath, well, I know many armies that will pay a high price for you and your brothers to serve them.” He chuckled. “Make sure it’s a massacre when I call on you. I still have a debt to pay to War, after all.”
The newborn fruit of Wrath grinned, baring teeth that glittered like diamond. “Smash,” it growled in a guttural tone.
“Through there.” The green claw motioned through a portal of flames circling beside the room. Great hulking brutes identical to the new thrall wrestled, fought, and otherwise vented their aggression in mindless violence.
The creature grinned as it jumped through and roared its joy at the challenge.
Arcane light surged over the coral structure as the demon turned back to the monitors and smiled as he gazed over his domain. “Ah, my little meatheads. How I love to watch you grow.” He chuckled as his eyes fell again on Kevin and the contract the mortal signed floated next to him. “Welcome to my little nursery, Kevin. I so look forward to the seeds you’ll plant here.” He chortled as his mark emblazoned itself over the fabric covering Kevin’s left pectoral. “And beyond my domain.” He licked the obscured rubbery flaps that counted for his lips. “What depravities can I water you with, I wonder?” He watched, and his tentacles twitched in anticipation as the man continued to grow. “I wonder….”
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Chrome (A Patreon Preview)
I’ve always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I’m no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There’s just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.
I want to be that guy.
To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there’s a biker.
There’s a biker….
A biker that wouldn’t care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.
To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.
And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won’t have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They’ll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They’ll leave their old lives behind. They’ll sail on their monstrous machines.
And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.
SRY BRO. HRD 2 TEYP. BIG THUMS. HUHUH. FEEL GUD THO. FOUND MY PLACE. LIVIN THE DREAM. BRO, IT’S … IT’S…. FUCK. CAN’T THINK OF THE WORD. FUUUUUUUCK. NEVUR THOT BEIN DUM WUD FEEL SO GUD. I M BIG NOW. BIG MEAT. U WANT 2 B MEAT LYK ME, COME HERE. I’LL B WEIGHTING, BRO. DON’T 4GET. SAVE THAT 4 L8R. HUHUHUH.
Bryant looked at the last message from his old friend. Chris had included a map pin for GPS. It had been six months since he last heard from the man. Six months. His apartment had been cleared out. A missing person’s case had long since been filed.
The police had investigated the site from the address after Bryant provided it. All they found was an old parking garage cordoned off by a chain-link fence. A warrant obtained using the information yielded no further results. The space was empty, the building abandoned. There was no sign of foul play. No drugs, no tags, no evidence of any prior occupation, save for what looked like a needle of some kind. Careful investigation revealed the space had once housed a tattoo parlor before transitioning to this structure. The needle was a part of a tattoo kit, probably left at the scene when the brick and mortar folded and went mobile.
So, why was he here now, listening to the echo of his own footsteps?
His eyes roved through the murky space as dim light flickered from the fixtures overhead. A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the fence. He’d seen the photos from the scene. The police made everything public after they’d finished chasing down the lead. And now, here he was.
“Why?” he murmured to himself. The officers had already tried everything. Did he really think he could do better?
The woven metal was cold against his fingers as they grasped the chain link. Black lines streaked over his skin, a sign of the time that had passed and the lack of human contact in the area. A wooden pallet had been laid against one side of the gate. A long metal chain draped at the other side, tied to the bar. Perhaps it was meant to prevent entry? But if so, someone had undone those efforts. It hissed, rattled, and clattered as Bryant slowly pushed the gate open. Its hinges creaked and squealed from disuse.
“It won’t work that way, you know.”
Bryant jumped in surprise and turned swiftly. The man that stood there was … average in just about every way one could imagine. He carried an unremarkable face with a pair of shaded glasses that drew one’s focus away from the remainder of his appearance while the clouded lenses obscured his eyes.
“Who are you?” Bryant finally managed to say.
The man shrugged. “I go by many names. I suppose you can call me the Gatekeeper.”
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I furrowed my brow as I finished my set at the leg press and passed over to Andrews. “Is it just me, or does Jim sound … different?”
“It’s part of his design,” Andrews explained as he logged in. “The better you perform, the bigger he gets and the deeper his voice becomes.”
The avatar for Jim that appeared looked more like Atlas or some other giant. His skin or whatever that surface was called looked shinier and seemed to have gained more graphic definition. Had there been a patch recently?
“Welcome back, Coach Andrews. Are you ready to resume your teacher training?”
Andrews shook his head. “Another time, Jim. I’m here to work out.”
Jim nodded. “Linking to machine now. Please don’t forget to finish your module. It is important to learn and grow, so that you may better teach.”
“I won’t forget,” he promised. “Remind me when the workout is over.”
“Your reminder is set. Now let’s get to work.”
“So, when am I sup-posed to notice the difference?” I rubbed my throat and drank some of my protein shake. Those cracks were happening more and more often.
“You’re not,” Andrews said as he pushed against the press. “At least, most people don’t. Either that or they don’t care. I’m not sure which. Stone explained it to me once. It’s basically meant to help students adapt to the idea of their voices deepening as they get older. The farther along they get in their education, the bigger Jim gets, the deeper his voice becomes, and, as a result, the more natural it feels for them to let their voices drop when the time comes.”
“Because they’re talking to someone else whose voice is deepening with them?”
“Exactly,” Andrews said. The veins on his legs had begun to stand out as he continued to push. “In other words, you don’t have to worry so much about social awkwardness.”
“What about late bloomers?”
Andrews shrugged. “They get there when they get there. You know how strict we are here about bullying, Derek. We don’t like it and we don’t tolerate it in any form. We’re all part of one big team. Players who don’t understand that will either learn or get tossed out. It’s that simple.”
—————————————————–
Stone’s smirk was smug as he folded a leg casually and peered at me. “Forgive me for sounding so juvenile, but I told you so.”
“Look, Mister Stone—”
“Please, call me Coach.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Coach Stone. Just because I made friends with Kyle doesn’t mean I’m over what happened to me before.”
“But you haven’t had any more of those nightmares since,” he noted. “And even if you haven’t completely overcome your past, this is a definite sign of progress. You’re beginning to see one of the most important truths any of you children can learn, the fact that people are people, and each should be judged on an individual basis, rather than being lumped into a social stereotype or clique.
“Take you, for example.” He pointed his pen at me. “You would be considered the stereotypical nerd. You enjoy things like anime, comics, manga, videogames, and other products of that genre. You do relatively well in school, and you don’t cause trouble. However, lately, you’ve also been branching out into other areas, like the gym and outdoors. And you’re comfortable wearing more than just baggy clothes. Your stereotypical nerd wouldn’t be able to do that, or rather wouldn’t have any desire to. And yet, you seem to enjoy it, or at least not hate it so violently as your stereotype would suggest.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that those stereotypes have roots in truth. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be stereotypes in the first place.”
“Perhaps, but it also doesn’t change the fact that in this case, in this time, that stereotype has yet to fully apply, and you know that and acknowledge it on at least some level. It’s that simple.”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.” I shook my head.
“Then it seems to me that the next stage of your therapy is clear. Observe. Look at the behavior of the ones you mistrust, these stereotypical jocks, and see if they really do act in the way you’ve been treated previously. If they don’t, then you’ll see that the stereotype is far from absolute, and hopefully have less aversion toward being in the same space as them on your own.”
“I wouldn’t hold my breath, if I were you.”
Stone smiled. “I think I can manage.” He lowered his pad. Anyway, that’s it for our session today. I have another appointment who should be—” A knock sounded at the door. “And there he is. We’ll pick up again next week. Don’t forget to try what I suggest, Derek. I think you’ll be surprised at what you may find.”
We shook hands, a ritual Stone insisted on as part of his attempts to bond with me. Then he escorted me to the door. You ever heard of getting caught between a rock and a hard place? Well, I got stuck between a Stone and a beef Frank. The guy had to be at least half a foot taller than me. The school’s logo strained against his swollen thigh as a pair of sweatpants clung to his legs. His torso took up most of the doorway, and his hair had been cut down to a short stubble with sharp angles that emphasized a masculine jawline and brow ridge.
“Hey. I’m not too early, am I, Coach?” His voice sounded congested, a sort of forced low that was part diaphragm and part cold, only this guy looked healthy as a horse. Hell, he could’ve been a bull with how thick that neck of his was!
“You’re right on time, Francis,” Stone said mildly. “Derek here was just leaving.”
He blinked slowly and looked down at me with murky green eyes. “Oh.” He stepped aside to let me pass. “Sorry, bro.”
“No problem.” I strode into the hall as Stone ushered the behemoth in. For such a diverse school, it seemed we were getting an awful lot of buff students on campus. I waved briefly to the office staff on my way to the main door. Tight button-up shirts strained as they waved back. Their stubble glistened under the fluorescent lights. Again, with the buzz cuts. I hadn’t noticed it before, but a lot of the staff seemed to follow that style. A few of the kids were sitting in chairs waiting for their turn to meet with Stone or some other official in the offices. Some chugged shakes. Others were running through their homework modules. Others still were reading intently.
“Got it. Finally,” one of them hissed in triumph as Jim issued his congratulations and the familiar tone of his module absorption.
One of the bigger students smiled. “If you’ve got a problem, go to Jim.” He chuckled and scratched his crotch. And like the contagion of a yawn, I felt a sympathetic twinge of my own building.
“Huhuh.Yeah,it’s good to go to Jim,” the kid replied and smiled.
The others nodded or added their own affirmations as they popped caps off their bottles and drank deeply. My brow furrowed as I thought about it. The green stuff was supposed to be for the team players, wasn’t it? So why did everyone else seem to be carrying a bottle? Even the secretaries had some at their desks.
All that drinking and gulping left me feeling thirsty. I reached to the side of my backpack for the familiar bottle. Off came the cap. Pop went the seal. Down went the drink as I walked out the door. I smiled as I scratched my crotch and my muscles tingled. I’d ask about it later. It was probably nothing. “Huhuhuh….” The anxiety left me, and I smiled as my biceps tensed and my shirt perked. The fabric slid out from under my belt as I took a deep breath, exposing skin to the cool air of the school for the briefest of moments. I shuddered, and for the first time, I took the time to simply zone out and focus on how my body felt. My legs were taut, the cuffs of my pants exposing the ankles of my school socks. The jockstrap was tight against my legs and rear, and the polo I now wore strained against my chest when I breathed. The changes had been so subtle, but now that I took the time, it was obvious. “Looks like I’m going to need a new uniform soon.”
I heard it before I saw it. The locker room door slamming open, followed by the rip of shredding fabric. A curly redhead with shamrock eyes strode bare-chested, hefting the rags of his former shirt like a trophy as he walked toward the Nurse’s office. The pump on his arms was immense. His body was built specifically to take heavy blows and never budge. He was a walking pile of meat. As for the talking, well … that was yet to be seen.
Truthfully, I don’t know why I followed him. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I was curious. Or maybe I was just too buzzed to care about anything and going with the flow. Regardless, I trailed behind to see what came next.
My heart beat as heavily as my breathing as I waited outside the door. I wasn’t sure why I wanted to hide. Was I embarrassed? Was it something else? Finally, I heard the razors buzzing to life from behind closed doors. I don’t know if it was curiosity or what, but at that point, I just … moved. One minute, I was outside, the next I stood there in the middle of the plain tiled waiting room. The buzz was coming from one of the examination rooms. When the door finally opened, the familiar stubble of the angular induction cut stared back at me. A compression shirt had replaced the polo that had once rested on the boy’s chest, and my chest tingled at the sight of the slab-like muscle tone that stood out against the spandex.
He walked past me without a word. And, honestly, I don’t think I was in a state to say anything, myself. It was sort of like when you’re dreaming and you want to talk, but you can’t, and you have to watch yourself move around, instead. The nurse stepped out with one of the aids and eyed me carefully.
“Another one for size change.” He sighed and rolled his eyes as he picked up a tablet. “Name?”
The word released me from the spell, at least in part. “Derek Jones.” The moment I finished, my mouth clamped shut again.
“Dorm?”
“26-B.”
“All right,” he said in a bored tone. “Let’s get your measurements.”
I walked out with a new pair of pants and a bigger polo shirt. The pants hugged in all the right places without being too tight or short, but the polo felt loose and baggy. I felt … I guess almost ashamed of that feeling. It was weird.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel right at home in that shirt soon enough.”
I frowned. What did he mean by that? “Uh, okay, I guess.”
“Your new clothing will be delivered in the next few days with the next shipment. Let us know if there are any troubles with the fit, okay?”
I nodded numbly. My eyes drifted back to the open door. The floor was littered with curls surrounding a sturdy metal stool.
“Was there something else I could do for you?”
“I, uh, no. I guess not.” I chuckled again out of reflex. It was almost like a defense mechanism at this point. “Thanks for the new clothes.”
“You can thank Mister Stone. He’s the one funding all this.”
“You mean we don’t have to pay?”
The nurse shook his head. “No. Now how about you move along? I have the sneaking suspicion you’re not going to be the last one coming to me for a fitting today.”
Of course, he was right. It was time to move along. I’d gotten what I came for, even if I didn’t know that was why I’d come. But now I was immobilized by another question, and my head was thinking about as fast as molasses as it echoed over and over again.
Move along to where?
I didn’t know.
“Huhuh.”
Be comfortable.
Where?
I scratched my crotch.
Be comfortable.
Where?
Two hands guided me toward the door. My feet moved. My head was … full is the best way I could describe it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t think. I just … walked, like a wind-up doll put in motion. No real destination, just … moving forward.
Where?
Corridors yawned. My legs moved. Left. Right. Left. Right. I’d turn. I’d shift. I’d turn again. The question remained.
Where?
I don’t know.
Where?
I don’t know.
Where?
I. Don’t. know.
It took a while for me to realize my walking had taken on that same cadence, as if my whole body were answering my brain, shouting back in its own way together, defiant, resolute, and … something else.
I don’t know.
The question was dulling.
I don’t know.
Growing quiet.
I don’t know.
As though it had lost its voice. Or maybe lost the will to object? Or … was it drowning?
I don’t know.
Just a fading echo, the last bubbles.
I don’t know.
The answer reverberated through my skull as the quagmire hardened and set. I was completely in my head. Or maybe I was completely out of it? Who knows? You can’t really describe it. It’s something you have to go through yourself to really get. Popular media would probably call it no-mind.
I don’t know how much time passed. All I know is that, finally, illumination struck, like a sledgehammer shattering bedrock. Like a wedge breaking open a mold to reveal something beautiful.
And it was.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know.
It was that I didn’t care.
“Huhuhuhuh….” My chest shook with the explosive force of the epiphany. The fabric of my polo brushed against my skin. The realization was so revolutionary, so lifechanging somehow, despite how simple it was. “I don’t care.” I grinned like an idiot. Or maybe like a stoner on a high? I definitely felthigh.
“That’s right, smartass.” The voice was soft, gentle, … proud? My legs stopped moving. The setting sun blazed over Kyle’s face as he smiled at me, igniting his eyes with emerald lightning as the world came back into focus again. I’d somehow transitioned from the hallways to the track outside. My legs felt like jelly. And like a set of gears cleaned by WD-40, my brain cast off the rust and started to work again. I stumbled into Kyle’s waiting arm.
“Easy there, little bro.”
“What … happened?” I shook my head to dispel the last of the debris. My throat felt like someone had covered it with horse glue and squeezed it so tightly that only a straw could fit through.
Kyle shrugged. “You sized up.” Then he smirked. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“I … how did … what?”
He handed me a bottle. “Drink,” he said. “You’ve been walking a long time.”
No protein drink this time, just water. But the flood helped dislodge some of the cake that had built up. My voice didn’t croak so much when I looked at him. “Why did I—?”
“You said so yourself, smartass.” Kyle chuckled. “You didn’t care.” He guided me back toward the dorms. “Lucky for you, you’ve got teammates that do.”
“What?”
Kyle chuckled again. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s just get you to your dorm, so you can sleep. And maybe take a shower.”
“A shower?” The wind blew, and I felt the cold patches as we hobbled along. “Oh.”
“Yeah, all that walking’s bound to break a sweat eventually. Your jock is probably soaked.”
“Shut up, dumbass,” I grumbled.
Kyle laughed. “Sure thing, smartass. Sure thing.”
I didn’t realize it then, but as I got my second wind, I matched Kyle stride for stride. That lumbering swagger I’d seen on Kyle, then on the football team, on Barry the baseball player, and finally that redhead from earlier, was mine now, too.
——————————————————-
“You guys notice anything kind of … weird lately?” Slater asked as he squatted under Kyle’s careful observation. The layout of the bar was designed to allow him to stand inside a sort of rectangle while the weights were stacked on either side. That way, he’d be able to bend and rise with equal weight distribution. His thighs had grown in the last couple of weeks. There was a firmness about them that I hadn’t seen before. His calves jutted with hard, tense muscle that all but consumed the fat that had once been there.
“Weird how?” Jackson was busy pumping some dumbbells to strengthen his arms and upper body. The exercise also allowed him the freedom to observe Slater as he trained under Kyle’s guidance.
“I don’t know. Just … different, I guess.” Slater shrugged. “I can’t really put it in words. Things just feel … off. Sort of snug, I guess?”
“Snug?” Kyle smirked, but … I don’t know, it felt sort of … meaner. I guess … maybe it was a sneer? At the very least, it was smug.
“Shut up, dumbass,” Slater grumbled.
“Takes one to know one, Slayer.” He chuckled. “Can’t wait to weigh you.”
“Fuck off!” he snarled. The weights crashed to the ground, and the whole gym suddenly became quiet. All eyes turned on us. Honestly, I’m not sure who was more shocked; us or them. The only time we’d ever seen this side of Slater come out was when he succumbed to gamer rage in online matches. He’d never lost his cool in public before.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”
I stiffened. We hadn’t even heard him approach. Yet there he was. Coach Stone towered over us.
Kyle shrugged his broad shoulders and smiled casually. “Slayer here’s just losing his shit, because he knows he’s going to lose a bet we made.”
“Is that so?” He set his eyes on Slater and folded his arms over his massive chest. “Is this true, Slayer, was it?”
Slater mumbled as he averted his eyes. “It’s Slater.”
“Well, Slater, it appears you’ve managed to silence the whole gym. That’s not an easy task.” He peered at the rest of the onlookers and raised his voice. “All right, folks. Nothing to see here. Get back to your workouts or get out of the gym.”
Like the flick of a switch on an assembly line, the gym began to move and breathe again. It seems I wasn’t the only one intimidated by Coach Stone. Those silver eyes lingered on me briefly, passed over Jackson, then shifted back to Kyle and Slater.
“Now what, exactly, is the nature of this bet to prompt that kind of reaction?”
Slater was silent. He still wouldn’t meet Stone’s gaze.
“I bet him I could get him over 240 by the end of a month, and that if I did, he’d have to talk with Andrews about joining the wrestling team,” Kyle supplied.
“And if he won?”
“I’d have to take a cheat day and hang out with them for an anime marathon while we veg on snacks.”
“And this prompted such a reaction because…?”
“I teased him, Sir.”
Stone raised an eyebrow. “And has this teasing rendered you mute, Slater?”
“No, Sir,” he said softly.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Slater.” The rebuke was gentle, but the command was ironclad.
Slater did so reluctantly, though only just.
“Back straight,” Stone continued. “If you’re going to take criticism or punishment, you should do it proudly.” He leaned over and planted a thick hand on Slater’s shoulder. “I’m not here to punish you, Slater. No harm was done. No one is hurt. You just lost control of yourself. It happens to every boy at your age. Some yell, others fight, and some just lose themselves in a fantasy world. We all have our coping mechanisms. What matters is which ones we choose to keep and which ones we choose to replace.” He squeezed briefly and smiled. “Now I don’t want this happening again, okay? Yelling is fine, if you need to, but this equipment and the gym are expensive. And more importantly, if you’re willing to do this, then one day, you may get angry enough to hit someone with one of these weights. That’s not something I can let happen. So, from now on, for the foreseeable future, I’m going to arrange some meetings with you. Jim will alert you of the scheduled times.”
“But—”
“No buts, Slater. And I want your full name.”
“But—”
“Now, Slater.”
Slater slumped in defeat and gave up the name.
“Good. I’ll be expecting you on time in my office. Derek can give you directions.” His eyes flashed briefly as he returned to his full height. “Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Slater mumbled.
“And you. You’re Kyle Fredriksson, aren’t you?” Stone asked as he turned his attentions to the other party of the disturbance.
“Yes, Sir, Coach.”
“Did you push him to this?”
Kyle straightened and threw his shoulders back. “Yes, Sir. Though only a little,” he clarified. “Slayer doesn’t like to lose.”
Coach Stone turned his gaze on me and Jackson. “You two are the neutral party here. Is he telling the truth?”
Jackson nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Jones?”
I nodded. “He doesn’t usually get this angry.”
Stone nodded. “Then we’ll find out the root of that anger later. For now, carry on, gentlemen. Those muscles aren’t going to grow themselves.”
“Yes, Sir,” we all replied.
Stone turned to leave, then paused. “Oh, and Slater?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Next time, try laughing it off instead. You’d be surprised how much that helps.”
“Uh, yes, Sir,” he said awkwardly.
“As you were, gentlemen.” Stone waved behind him as he passed into the rows of machines and out of sight.
My whole body tingled as he walked away. I reached absently and adjusted my crotch, where the sensation felt strongest, then shuddered. Kyle grinned at me.
“You heard the man, Smartass. Grab some dumbbells and work those arms. If we can campaign together, we can work out together.
I rolled my eyes but obliged him. “Whatever you say, Coach.”
“Not a coach.”
“You’re sure acting like one,” I teased.
Slater smirked. “Point to DJ.”
“Trust me, you haven’t seen coaching till you’re working out on an actual team. I’m just teaching you how to handle it.” Kyle chuckled. “Now how about you put that snark into finishing your set?”
“You did agree to follow the routine for the month,” Jackson pointed out as he curled his weights. “Stop now and you’ll forfeit, and you’ll have to talk with Andrews about joining the team regardless.”
Slater’s lip curled as his hands clenched tightly around the bars to either side of him and he pulled the squat bar back up. “Guys, I’m not in the mood for getting in trouble with Stone again, so could you just can it about the bet?”
“Or you could try his advice,” Kyle pressed. “Trust me, it works. DJ knows.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why did you have to drag me into this?”
“Because you’re the smartass?”
That name was really starting to get old. Especially when Kyle used it for ammunition. But he did have a point. I had firsthand experience, and Slater would probably take it better from me than from the lug that was currently putting him through hell. For a dumbass, Kyle had a keen mind for strategy. I sighed, then turned to face Slater. “Look, it doesn’t work with everyone, but for me at least, it helps relieve my anxiety attacks, okay?”
“And you think I should try it?” Slater asked.
“I think you should use your own judgement.”
Slater chuffed as a hint of a smile pulled at his lips. “And point for you.”
“I wasn’t aware I was playing.”
He smirked. “Didn’t you know? Everyone’s playing the game, DJ.”
I cringed. “Why did you have to bring back that accursed meme?”
“Because it’s fun.”
“And with that stealth kill, Slater the Slayer finally takes his place on the board,” Jackson said in his best impression of a sports commentator.
A weak chuckle burbled from Slater’s lips. “About time.”
“Do my ears deceive me, or did I just hear him laugh?” Kyle asked.
“Don’t push it, jock boy.” But despite his threatening tone, Slater smiled.
“Nah. I just push up, bro,” Kyle returned as he flexed his arms.
We couldn’t hold back at that point. The air filled with our laughter. Slater spread his legs a little wider and resumed his squats.
“Whatever you say, Kyle.”
Kyle grinned. “I’ll hold you to that, little bro.”
tank light. zombie. hollow sockets in broad face indian idol of pale necrotic ape. sallow neon of radioactive disaster bloodstreak of 80’s film on wet urban street. the worms coursin through his veins, the vascularity in overdrive. cell respiration xenon gas in bloat of putrescence living roids. nibblin on his brains. penetratin his grey matter, membrane of egg yoke to spermatoza, to consume, ferment and grow new root structures. grow. perpetual growth. past man. past swollen beef cattle. past roid bitch tits and meaty prostate of bilayer flank, the caustic acne givin way to mucosal exoskeleton chrysalid layer of his new laborer drone life. the hive in the dead of space, screams of dust unheard, the molting process mid-scene. creeping pale mantid bodies still retaining primate features and regressed gill slits to drink the sap of their brothers, marinate in gooey flesh suits, distending wires of worm nerves, the spectral ballet of anemones on stalks, flutter about and plunge anal clench into the quivering portholes of the other bodies bro bro TCHHHEEEE TCCCCHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEE buh-buh-buh-brooooooooo
