Ur Dumb Bro BODriver

So like, 3 years ago, sum guy sent me a pic of himself. Said he wanted to submit to Coach. Which is always the rite move, haha. Always wanting to help a bro out, I got him talking with my old Coach Ross, who first forced me through the jocking process and changed me 4 good. I never herd from the guy again but I just got a text from Coach Ross and he still has the bro with him and he's been training him everyday. Bro had a name before but just goes by "Gunz" now. The pic of Gunz, pre-jockification:

And Coach with Gunz now, who's completely M.T.d of everything except Coach's programming:

The old you is finally awake again. It must’ve been twenty months since this self had control of your own body and mind. It felt like a never-ending bad dream as you watched yourself obey your jock roommate’s every hypnotic suggestion. You pledged a frat with him and surrounded yourself with only your—actually his frat bros, pumped iron with him every day, wore only his gymbro wardrobe, and talked like a chill bro neanderthal while the thoughts in your head felt like molasses trying to drip through cotton candy. He even made you only take classes that you could fully bullshit with the magic brain box... No, um... A large language model.

“What’s wrong, bro?” your bro captor Colton says, noticing a change in your demeanor.

“All this is wrong, bro!” Wait, why can’t you stop saying that word? You try again:

“Colton, you’re not my bro. You’re a sick bastard trying to make me into some dumb ass clone of your frat bros for brojobs and muscle worship seshes! But none of that’s me!”

“Calm down, bro,” he says. You suddenly slump a bit and lower the arm that was pointing a finger at him.

“Here, wear your chain, bro.” You feel Colton place the thick gold chain you’ve been wearing 24/7 around your neck—though you took it off this morning. And you suddenly feel a cozy warmth wash over you.

“If none of this is you, and I’m not your bro, then who are you? What is your name? If you can tell me your name, I’ll let you go back to normal and never bother you again.”

“That’s not fair! You put the dumb jock chain on me, bro! The hypnotic trigger… I… I… can’t remember shit!”

In horror, you grasp your head tightly through your BPO ball cap, as if to keep your memories from draining away and this vestige of your old self from being suppressed once again.

“Bro, my head hurts,” you eventually say to your bro Colton.

Stiles wasn’t phased by the strange girl emerging from the solid hedge and claiming to be a fairy. He’d seen weirder. But he was alarmed and embarrassed that, when she asked him his deepest desire, it immediately spilled out of him like water from cupped hands:

“I wish Derek was into me.”

As he said those words, Stiles pictured Derek waking up one day with his preferences suddenly shifted to include overly talkative skinny goofballs. The fairy pointed her finger at his chest, shooting a light that quickly enveloped his whole body.

Suddenly, Stiles’s mind was filled with vivid scenarios as Derek’s boyfriend. He’d become a disciplined workout partner, dedicating his body to everything Derek demanded of it. No longer belonging to himself, his body would be wholly possessed by Derek’s will, in every early morning run, every chin-up, and every bench press.

He’d even take whatever pills Derek would command him to take and bend over for whatever shots Derek wanted to push into his rear. He’d do anything to achieve a body truly worthy of collecting the Alpha’s seed.

Stiles would also give up all his own ambitions so he could fully serve Derek 24/7. He’d stay at home cooking all their meals. He’d keep Derek’s Camaro spotless. He’d shine Derek’s boots and condition his leather jacket. All while wearing short shorts and tight tanks (or no top at all) for Derek’s viewing pleasure.

As years’ worth of alternate memories reshaped Stiles’ brain, his body shifted with its new history. His shoulders widened, his biceps bulged, his pecs became pillowy enough to catch Derek’s member in the cleft between them. His tee shrank into a tank top, reflecting his new wardrobe.

Stiles blinked as he processed the girl’s question. He worried that she was expecting some abstract answer, and he was never good at those kinds of questions in school. But he also felt relief she wasn’t propositioning him, which happens all the time when you’re built like him. After a long pause he smiled once he realized he actually knew the answer to a question for once.

I told you all I need to regrow the club is six warm bodies, and my power will take care of the rest. Now watch this…

Bam, bam, bam. Our new front row. Bam bam. Two locks. Bam. Our new right wing.

“OK, before we start training, I’m just gonna take a picture of you. I like to have before and after pictures of all my clients. Just stand there… and… pose. Yeah that flex is perfect. Not too bad for someone who just focuses on running.”

“Um… Is that red light supposed to be so bright?”

“Yeah, it’s just infrared for the rangefinder. Stay still for a few more seconds and—”

“—AAARGH!”

“Perfection. Say cheese.”

Let’s be real, champ. You can try, but there’s no way you’re leaving with your friends. Just look at them. They’re so much bigger than you now, and they want to stay with me. Their Coach. Listen to how they repeat everything I say, and only want what I want for them. The fact is, the friends you once knew are long gone. The last thing they did was choose to be good boys who listen to their Coach, and drink their elixir.