PDU-016 [Daniel Fenrir Gold]

Biceps or pits first, boy?

Doesn’t matter, you’re about to worship every swollen, veiny inch of this pumped-up, divine body either way.

That greedy tongue of yours is gonna drag across these rock-hard guns, down into the deep, sweaty pits, then keep going… licking up every salty drop of post-workout sweat still dripping off my shredded frame, plus that dried pre already crusting on my shorts.

You’ll be locked in, face buried, tongue working overtime while you leak into your own shorts nonstop and beg me not to pull away.

These gains don’t worship themselves, boy.

Good boys obey the pump. Good boys obey the flex. Good boys obey the iron.

You ready to start?

---

Trey arrived at the facility dressed as though he expected someone to photograph him.

His jacket was metallic gold, fitted sharply across his shoulders and bright enough to catch every overhead light. Beneath it, he wore a black compression shirt traced with gold lines that emphasized every movement. Gold sunglasses covered his eyes. Several chains rested against his chest. Even his shoes reflected the polished floor.

The receptionist looked up immediately.

So did everyone else.

Trey noticed.

Of course he noticed.

He gave the room a small, satisfied smile as he approached the desk.

“Appointment for Trey.”

The receptionist checked the screen.

“First flotation session?”

“Sensory deprivation,” Trey corrected, as though the distinction mattered.

He nodded toward a quiet hallway.

“You’ll be shown everything inside.”

Trey looked past him at the plain walls and closed doors.

“No music?”

“No.”

“No lights?”

“Only until you turn them off.”

“No phone?”

“Not in the tank.”

He lowered his sunglasses slightly.

“And people voluntarily do this?”

The receptionist smiled.

“Some of them come back.”

Trey pushed the sunglasses into place.

“We’ll see.”

A staff member led him into a private room containing a large white flotation tank. It looked less like a spa treatment and more like a machine designed to erase evidence.

The room was warm. Quiet. Almost aggressively plain.

The staff member explained the controls, the water, the salt, and the emergency handle. Trey nodded through most of it, already glancing around for anything more interesting to look at.

There was nothing.

He removed his clothes carefully, folding the gold jacket where it would not crease. He set his chains beside the sunglasses and studied the pile.

Even without him inside them, the clothes seemed to demand attention.

Trey stepped into the tank.

The water lifted him immediately.

He settled onto his back, closed the lid, and turned off the light.

Darkness consumed him.

For several seconds, he waited for the experience to begin.

Nothing happened.

He could hear his own breathing. The faint movement of water. The low, steady beat inside his chest.

“This is it?” he said.

His voice sounded strange in the enclosed space.

He adjusted his shoulders.

A few moments later, he adjusted them again.

He flexed one foot, then the other. He tapped two fingers against the surface of the water. He began composing an exaggerated review in his head.

Trey enters a futuristic coffin and discovers absolutely nothing.

He smiled at his own joke.

There was no one there to hear it.

The smile faded.

He considered opening the lid.

Instead, he remained still.

Without light, there was nothing to admire. Without sound, there was nothing to respond to. Without gravity pressing him downward, even his body began to feel less defined.

There was no audience.

No mirrors.

No uniform.

No number.

No expectation that he enter the room correctly.

His thoughts arrived loudly at first.

Training schedules. Messages he had not answered. Things Wells had said. Things Coach Stone had not needed to say. Alton laughing with his mouth full. PDU-055 reminding him to rest. The constant pressure to remain interesting, desirable, unpredictable, impossible to ignore.

Trey attempted to organize the thoughts.

They refused.

So he let them move.

One by one, they lost their urgency.

The water supported him without asking him to perform for it.

The darkness did not care what he wore.

The silence did not need to be impressed.

Trey breathed in.

Then out.

The muscles in his neck loosened. His jaw unclenched. His hands opened at his sides.

He had always imagined freedom as movement.

Running faster. Leaving first. Entering louder. Becoming someone new before anyone could decide who he already was.

But inside the tank, there was nowhere to go.

And for the first time, Trey did not feel trapped by that.

He felt released.

When the session ended, soft light slowly returned inside the tank.

Trey opened his eyes.

He did not move immediately.

The old instinct told him to rise dramatically, throw open the lid, and make some cutting remark about surviving isolation.

Instead, he remained floating for several more breaths.

Then he climbed out.

He showered and dressed without rushing.

The gold jacket felt heavier than before.

The chains seemed unusually loud as they touched one another. His sunglasses looked theatrical in his hand.

He wore everything anyway.

But when he stepped back into the reception area, he did not look around to see who noticed.

The receptionist smiled.

“How was it?”

Trey paused.

Normally, he would have invented an answer worth repeating.

He considered saying transformative. Cosmic. Life-changing.

Instead, he said, “Quiet.”

The receptionist waited.

Trey gave a small nod.

“That was good.”

He left the facility and stood outside.

Across the street was a small clothing store with a simple window display. Nothing metallic. Nothing fitted for spectacle. No dramatic mannequins posed beneath spotlights.

Trey looked down at himself.

Sunlight struck the front of his jacket and sent a bright reflection across a nearby window. A man walking past glanced over. Then another.

Trey had spent years learning how to create that reaction.

Now it felt like noise.

He crossed the street.

Inside the store, he selected a plain cream-colored T-shirt, soft black trousers, and a lightweight charcoal jacket. The clothes fit well but did not announce the shape of his body from across the room.

He chose simple black shoes.

At the register, he noticed a narrow gold bracelet displayed beside the counter.

It was smooth, unmarked, and small enough to disappear beneath a sleeve.

Trey picked it up.

The clerk glanced at the gold clothes he was wearing.

“Changing styles?”

Trey looked at the bracelet resting in his palm.

“Not completely.”

He paid, then asked to use the fitting room.

A few minutes later, Trey stepped outside wearing the new clothes.

The cream shirt was soft and unbranded. The dark trousers moved easily. The charcoal jacket had no shine at all.

Only the thin gold bracelet remained visible at his wrist.

People passed without turning.

No one slowed down.

No one whispered.

No one recognized him as something they were expected to watch.

Trey stood on the sidewalk and allowed the world to move around him.

He did not feel invisible.

He felt unobserved.

There was a difference.

Alton was waiting farther down the street, leaning against a wall and eating something from a paper bag.

He looked up as Trey approached.

For several seconds, Alton said nothing.

His gaze moved from the plain jacket to the black shoes, then finally to the narrow line of gold at Trey’s wrist.

“Where are your clothes?”

“These are clothes.”

“You know what I mean.”

Trey stopped beside him.

Alton studied his face.

“No sunglasses either?”

Trey shook his head.

Alton looked toward the facility across the street.

“What did they do to you in there?”

“Nothing.”

“That seems unlikely.”

Trey almost answered with a joke.

He felt it forming—the easy line, the exaggerated expression, the instinctive need to turn the moment into a performance.

Then he let it pass.

Alton waited.

Trey simply began walking.

After a moment, Alton followed.

They moved through the afternoon without a plan. Alton spoke at first, filling the space with observations, questions, complaints, and a detailed explanation of why he had purchased too much food.

Trey listened.

Not while waiting to interrupt.

Not while preparing a better story.

He actually listened.

When Alton offered him something from the bag, Trey took it. When Alton bumped his shoulder against Trey’s, Trey did not turn it into a competition. When they sat together on a low wall, Trey rested his hands loosely between his knees and watched people pass.

After a while, Alton stopped talking.

The silence stretched between them.

Normally, Trey would have rescued the moment.

Instead, he allowed it to remain.

Alton shifted slightly.

“You’re not upset?”

“No.”

“Tired?”

“No.”

“Planning something?”

Trey smiled.

“No.”

Alton looked at him suspiciously.

Then his expression softened.

They sat together as the light began to change.

No one approached Trey. No one stared at his clothes. No one asked for a photograph or called out his name.

The gold bracelet caught the fading light once when he moved his hand.

Alton noticed it.

“You kept some.”

Trey looked down at the narrow band.

“Enough.”

“Enough for what?”

Trey considered the question.

The old Trey would have answered immediately.

Enough to remind the world.

Enough to make sure nobody forgets.

Enough to stay gold.

But the afternoon had taught him that an answer did not become stronger simply because it arrived quickly.

So he waited.

“Enough to remember,” he said.

Alton nodded as though that made perfect sense.

They remained there until the streetlights came on.

Trey did not become louder as the silence deepened. He did not reach for his phone or suggest they go somewhere more exciting. He did not appear restless or diminished.

He was still Trey.

Still strong. Still beautiful. Still gold.

But the gold no longer needed to arrive before he did.

As they finally stood to leave, Alton glanced at him.

“So are you going back to normal tomorrow?”

Trey adjusted the cuff of his plain charcoal jacket, briefly covering the bracelet.

Then he let his arm fall naturally at his side.

“This is normal too.”

Alton accepted the answer.

They walked on together without speaking.

For once, Trey did not need the world to turn and watch him leave.

He only needed to know where he was going.

Featuring @alton-gold77

The morning after the Golden Army Armwrestling Championship, the training hall was quiet again. The banners were folded, the table was cleared, and PDU-090's championship shield was safely stowed in the equipment room. Before everyone left, TPDU-077 stepped forward in his steel-gray rubber uniform. "The armwrestling competition is over," it said. "However, there is one more traditional contest of strength that the Golden Army should experience." Well #58 looked at the TPDU unit's hands. "Another contest with arms?" "Mostly one finger," TPDU-077 replied. Several brothers laughed, but TPDU-077 remained serious. The unit came from Tyrol, where finger-pulling was known as Fingerhakeln. Similar traditions could also be found in Bavaria, other parts of southern Germany, and several Alpine regions. Competitors could directly interlock their fingers, pull them through a small leather loop, or engage in older variations of balancing. The sport looked simple, but it required remarkable grip strength, body control, timing, and courage. Captain Brody #11 immediately approved a Golden Army expedition to Tyrol.

Two days later, the team traveled through Austria toward the mountains. Green valleys opened up between huge alpine peaks. Villages with wooden balconies, painted buildings, and church steeples appeared along the way. Gold Brother Jordan #40 and Wells #58 viewed the mountains from the bus, while PDU-767 and PDU-090 sat quietly in their black traveling uniforms. TPDU-016 traveled alongside TPDU-077. Their steel-gray uniforms caught the sunlight every time the bus passed an opening in the trees. Marek, Javier, and Leon had also been invited. They were still Golden Army guests, but they had earned the respect of the entire group during the arm wrestling competition. No one expected them to be wearing uniforms or already understand Tyrolean tradition. When the bus reached the sports hall, TPDU-077 was the first unit to step outside. It paused for a moment, looking out toward the surrounding mountains. "Unit 077 has returned home," PDU-090 observed.

Inside, the building felt different from the modern Golden Army Training Center. The walls were partially covered in wood, and photographs from past competitions hung above long wooden benches. The air carried the familiar smell of hard training: rubber flooring, leather, chalk, warm bodies, liniment, and old wooden equipment. It reminded Wells of a traditional weightlifting hall. Local athletes welcomed the Golden Army. They were strong grown men of various sizes and ages. Some were very muscular, while others looked surprisingly ordinary until they shook hands. They wore traditional shirts, modern sportswear, or leather training gear. Coach Lukas, a seasoned Tyrolean competitor, greeted TPDU-077 with a firm embrace. “You have brought the entire Golden Army,” Lukas said. “Brothers, PDU drones, TPDU units, and guests,” TPDU-077 replied. “Everyone will be treated equally.” In the center of the hall stood a solid wooden table. A stool was placed on each side, and two large padded mats covered the floor behind the participants. Several short leather loops lay in a locked equipment case. Coach Lukas explained that finger pulling could be done in different ways. In a friendly version, two participants hooked their middle fingers directly together and tried to pull the other person off balance. Some groups used the index finger instead. Other variations were performed standing, where moving a foot or losing balance could decide the match.

The traditional competition in the Tyrolean hall used a carefully prepared leather loop. Both participants sat across the table and hooked a finger on each end of the loop. At the starting signal, each man tried to pull his opponent over a marked line. "This is not something you start without preparation," Lukas warned. "The finger, hand, wrist, shoulder, back and legs work together. Poor positioning can cause an injury." PDU-166 set up the medical station. PDU-034 inspected the stools, table, mats and leather straps. PDU-125 studied the local rules before accepting the position of assistant referee. Two trained catchers stood behind each pair of competitors so that no one could fall backward. The preparation lasted almost an hour. The competitors warmed up their shoulders, forearms, wrists and fingers. They practiced pulling with elastic bands before using light leather straps. TPDU-077 moved between them, adjusting their sitting positions.

Jordan examined his hands.

"I defeated Wells with a whole arm," he said. "One finger should be easy." TPDU-077 looked at him. "That belief is why one finger can defeat you." The first demonstration used a direct middle finger hook. Jordan turned to Wells as the crowd gathered around the market area. Both Gold Brothers wore yellow-gold tank tops and matching sweatpants. Their bare tattooed arms looked enormous, and their gold chains rested against their chests. They linked their middle fingers and waited.-- "Pull!" PDU-125 shouted. Jordan immediately used all his strength. Wells stepped back, but kept both feet on the floor. Instead of fighting Jordan's force directly, he changed the angle of his hand and rotated his shoulder. Jordan suddenly lost his balance and lifted one foot. "Winner: Wells #58." Wells flexed both arms, but Jordan laughed and pulled him into a congratulatory embrace. "Nice," Jordan admitted. "The finger knows something the arm doesn't." PDU-090 and TPDU-016 tried a direct index finger variation. Black rubber-coated steel-gray rubber in the center of the hall. Their hands were linked, their free arms remained behind their backs, and both units lowered their centers of gravity. PDU-090 applied pressure slowly. TPDU-016 allowed itself to move half a step before suddenly changing direction. PDU-090 recovered, but the movement forced its heel off the floor. TPDU-016 won.

"Technique defeated the armwrestling champion," Javier said. "Second event. Second result," PDU-090 replied calmly. The guests were invited forward next. Marek faced Leon while Javier received instructions from TPDU-077. They started with light resistance and a straight hook instead of the leather loop. Leon won the first match, Marek won the second, and Javier successfully challenged both of them. No one laughed when a guest made a mistake. Wells showed Leon how to position his shoulder. PDU-767 helped Marek find a more secure position, while TPDU-016 demonstrated how to release the grip immediately when the referee stopped the match. The hall then prepared for the traditional seated leather loop competition. TPDU-077 was to face PDU-767.

The black PDU unit was larger, wider, and heavier. Its tight rubber uniform stretched over enormous shoulders and powerful arms. TPDU-077 was muscular, but it did not possess the same raw power. However, it had grown up around the Tyrolean tradition and understood every move. The two units sat facing each other. A catcher took a seat behind each stool. PDU-125 inspected their hands before Coach Lukas placed the leather loop between them. Both units hooked their middle fingers into the loop. "Ready," Lukas shouted. The room went silent. "Pull!" PDU-767 charged with immense force. TPDU-077 moved forward several inches, but its feet remained firmly positioned. Instead of trying to stop the larger unit, it changed the angle of its body, allowing PDU-767 to expend energy. The leather tightened. Black and steel-gray shoulders tensed under the light. PDU-767 pulled again. TPDU-077's stool moved toward the center line, and several Gold Brothers thought the match was over.--- Then the Tyrolean unit moved. TPDU-077 drove through his legs, leaned back under full control, and turned his hand a few degrees. The slight change redirected PDU-767's power. The black unit tried to recover, but its momentum was already moving across the table.-- PDU-767 crossed the marked line. The hall erupted. Coach Lukas raised TPDU-077's arm. "Winner: TPDU-077!" PDU-767 stood up, shook his hand out, and approached the Tyrolean unit. The two touched shoulders before PDU-767 placed one black-gloved hand behind TPDU-077's neck. "Home court advantage," PDU-767 said. "Training advantage," TPDU-077 directed. The final display pitted TPDU-077 against Jordan #40. It was steel-gray rubber against golden sportswear, Tyrolean experience against the strongest Gold Brother.

Jordan had learned from his first fight. He didn't attack right away. Both competitors stayed close to the center while they tested the tension of the leather loop. TPDU-077 tried to change his angle, but Jordan followed the movement. Jordan then applied controlled pressure instead of using an explosive pull. The fight lasted longer than anyone had expected. TPDU-077 began to move towards the line. The unit tried a final counterattack, but Jordan remained balanced. With a steady pull, he brought TPDU-077 across the table. Jordan immediately released the loop and helped the steel-gray unit to its feet. "Technique taught power how to behave," Jordan said. TPDU-077 nodded. "Acceptable finish.-" Captain Brody brought the competitors, local athletes and guests together under the Golden Army banner. Jordan received the Alpine Strength Award. Wells received the Balance Award. PDU-767 received the Raw Power Award, while TPDU-016 received recognition for technical precision.

The Golden Army Finger-Pulling Shield was presented to TPDU-077. The unit had not won every match, but it had brought the Golden Army into its home tradition, taught the others, and ensured that all guests could participate safely.

The morning after the Golden Army Armwrestling Championship, the training hall was quiet again. The banners were folded, the table was cleared, and PDU-090's championship shield was safely stowed in the equipment room. Before everyone left, TPDU-077 stepped forward in his steel-gray rubber uniform. "The armwrestling competition is over," it said. "However, there is one more traditional contest of strength that the Golden Army should experience." Well #58 looked at the TPDU unit's hands. "Another contest with arms?" "Mostly one finger," TPDU-077 replied. Several brothers laughed, but TPDU-077 remained serious. The unit came from Tyrol, where finger-pulling was known as Fingerhakeln. Similar traditions could also be found in Bavaria, other parts of southern Germany, and several Alpine regions. Competitors could directly interlock their fingers, pull them through a small leather loop, or engage in older variations of balancing. The sport looked simple, but it required remarkable grip strength, body control, timing, and courage. Captain Brody #11 immediately approved a Golden Army expedition to Tyrol.

Two days later, the team traveled through Austria toward the mountains. Green valleys opened up between huge alpine peaks. Villages with wooden balconies, painted buildings, and church steeples appeared along the way. Gold Brother Jordan #40 and Wells #58 viewed the mountains from the bus, while PDU-767 and PDU-090 sat quietly in their black traveling uniforms. TPDU-016 traveled alongside TPDU-077. Their steel-gray uniforms caught the sunlight every time the bus passed an opening in the trees. Marek, Javier, and Leon had also been invited. They were still Golden Army guests, but they had earned the respect of the entire group during the arm wrestling competition. No one expected them to be wearing uniforms or already understand Tyrolean tradition. When the bus reached the sports hall, TPDU-077 was the first unit to step outside. It paused for a moment, looking out toward the surrounding mountains. "Unit 077 has returned home," PDU-090 observed.

Inside, the building felt different from the modern Golden Army Training Center. The walls were partially covered in wood, and photographs from past competitions hung above long wooden benches. The air carried the familiar smell of hard training: rubber flooring, leather, chalk, warm bodies, liniment, and old wooden equipment. It reminded Wells of a traditional weightlifting hall. Local athletes welcomed the Golden Army. They were strong grown men of various sizes and ages. Some were very muscular, while others looked surprisingly ordinary until they shook hands. They wore traditional shirts, modern sportswear, or leather training gear. Coach Lukas, a seasoned Tyrolean competitor, greeted TPDU-077 with a firm embrace. “You have brought the entire Golden Army,” Lukas said. “Brothers, PDU drones, TPDU units, and guests,” TPDU-077 replied. “Everyone will be treated equally.” In the center of the hall stood a solid wooden table. A stool was placed on each side, and two large padded mats covered the floor behind the participants. Several short leather loops lay in a locked equipment case. Coach Lukas explained that finger pulling could be done in different ways. In a friendly version, two participants hooked their middle fingers directly together and tried to pull the other person off balance. Some groups used the index finger instead. Other variations were performed standing, where moving a foot or losing balance could decide the match.

The traditional competition in the Tyrolean hall used a carefully prepared leather loop. Both participants sat across the table and hooked a finger on each end of the loop. At the starting signal, each man tried to pull his opponent over a marked line. "This is not something you start without preparation," Lukas warned. "The finger, hand, wrist, shoulder, back and legs work together. Poor positioning can cause an injury." PDU-166 set up the medical station. PDU-034 inspected the stools, table, mats and leather straps. PDU-125 studied the local rules before accepting the position of assistant referee. Two trained catchers stood behind each pair of competitors so that no one could fall backward. The preparation lasted almost an hour. The competitors warmed up their shoulders, forearms, wrists and fingers. They practiced pulling with elastic bands before using light leather straps. TPDU-077 moved between them, adjusting their sitting positions.

Jordan examined his hands.

"I defeated Wells with a whole arm," he said. "One finger should be easy." TPDU-077 looked at him. "That belief is why one finger can defeat you." The first demonstration used a direct middle finger hook. Jordan turned to Wells as the crowd gathered around the market area. Both Gold Brothers wore yellow-gold tank tops and matching sweatpants. Their bare tattooed arms looked enormous, and their gold chains rested against their chests. They linked their middle fingers and waited.-- "Pull!" PDU-125 shouted. Jordan immediately used all his strength. Wells stepped back, but kept both feet on the floor. Instead of fighting Jordan's force directly, he changed the angle of his hand and rotated his shoulder. Jordan suddenly lost his balance and lifted one foot. "Winner: Wells #58." Wells flexed both arms, but Jordan laughed and pulled him into a congratulatory embrace. "Nice," Jordan admitted. "The finger knows something the arm doesn't." PDU-090 and TPDU-016 tried a direct index finger variation. Black rubber-coated steel-gray rubber in the center of the hall. Their hands were linked, their free arms remained behind their backs, and both units lowered their centers of gravity. PDU-090 applied pressure slowly. TPDU-016 allowed itself to move half a step before suddenly changing direction. PDU-090 recovered, but the movement forced its heel off the floor. TPDU-016 won.

"Technique defeated the armwrestling champion," Javier said. "Second event. Second result," PDU-090 replied calmly. The guests were invited forward next. Marek faced Leon while Javier received instructions from TPDU-077. They started with light resistance and a straight hook instead of the leather loop. Leon won the first match, Marek won the second, and Javier successfully challenged both of them. No one laughed when a guest made a mistake. Wells showed Leon how to position his shoulder. PDU-767 helped Marek find a more secure position, while TPDU-016 demonstrated how to release the grip immediately when the referee stopped the match. The hall then prepared for the traditional seated leather loop competition. TPDU-077 was to face PDU-767.

The black PDU unit was larger, wider, and heavier. Its tight rubber uniform stretched over enormous shoulders and powerful arms. TPDU-077 was muscular, but it did not possess the same raw power. However, it had grown up around the Tyrolean tradition and understood every move. The two units sat facing each other. A catcher took a seat behind each stool. PDU-125 inspected their hands before Coach Lukas placed the leather loop between them. Both units hooked their middle fingers into the loop. "Ready," Lukas shouted. The room went silent. "Pull!" PDU-767 charged with immense force. TPDU-077 moved forward several inches, but its feet remained firmly positioned. Instead of trying to stop the larger unit, it changed the angle of its body, allowing PDU-767 to expend energy. The leather tightened. Black and steel-gray shoulders tensed under the light. PDU-767 pulled again. TPDU-077's stool moved toward the center line, and several Gold Brothers thought the match was over.--- Then the Tyrolean unit moved. TPDU-077 drove through his legs, leaned back under full control, and turned his hand a few degrees. The slight change redirected PDU-767's power. The black unit tried to recover, but its momentum was already moving across the table.-- PDU-767 crossed the marked line. The hall erupted. Coach Lukas raised TPDU-077's arm. "Winner: TPDU-077!" PDU-767 stood up, shook his hand out, and approached the Tyrolean unit. The two touched shoulders before PDU-767 placed one black-gloved hand behind TPDU-077's neck. "Home court advantage," PDU-767 said. "Training advantage," TPDU-077 directed. The final display pitted TPDU-077 against Jordan #40. It was steel-gray rubber against golden sportswear, Tyrolean experience against the strongest Gold Brother.

Jordan had learned from his first fight. He didn't attack right away. Both competitors stayed close to the center while they tested the tension of the leather loop. TPDU-077 tried to change his angle, but Jordan followed the movement. Jordan then applied controlled pressure instead of using an explosive pull. The fight lasted longer than anyone had expected. TPDU-077 began to move towards the line. The unit tried a final counterattack, but Jordan remained balanced. With a steady pull, he brought TPDU-077 across the table. Jordan immediately released the loop and helped the steel-gray unit to its feet. "Technique taught power how to behave," Jordan said. TPDU-077 nodded. "Acceptable finish.-" Captain Brody brought the competitors, local athletes and guests together under the Golden Army banner. Jordan received the Alpine Strength Award. Wells received the Balance Award. PDU-767 received the Raw Power Award, while TPDU-016 received recognition for technical precision.

The Golden Army Finger-Pulling Shield was presented to TPDU-077. The unit had not won every match, but it had brought the Golden Army into its home tradition, taught the others, and ensured that all guests could participate safely.

Golden City had never looked more colorful.

Banners stretched across Golden Park in bright shades of red, blue, green, purple, silver, and gold. Music played from speakers near the fountain, tables were covered with food from different cultures, and Golden Bros from every division had gathered for the annual **Unity in Diversity Celebration**.

Standing beneath the entrance banner, Gabe adjusted his golden #75 jersey and looked across the busy park.

A few years ago, he might have stayed near the edge of the crowd, arms folded, watching everyone else enjoy themselves from a distance.

But Gabe was not a lone wolf anymore.

“Are you planning to stand there all afternoon looking dramatic?” Daniel asked.

Gabe turned to see Daniel approaching with two colorful flower necklaces, a paper crown, and a plate stacked dangerously high with snacks.

“I’m observing,” Gabe replied.

“You’re hiding.”

“I’m standing directly beneath a banner.”

“Very brave of you.”

Daniel placed one of the flower necklaces around Gabe’s neck before Gabe could object.

Gabe looked down at it. “There are tiny bells on this.”

“That means everyone can hear you approaching.”

“I already have footsteps.”

“Not festive footsteps.”

Daniel shook the necklace, making the bells jingle.

Gabe tried to maintain a serious expression, but a smile quickly appeared.

Together, they walked deeper into the celebration.

Every section of the park featured something different. One group taught traditional dances. Another displayed artwork and uniforms representing Golden Army divisions from across the world. A nearby booth encouraged everyone to write something unique about themselves on a golden paper star.

Daniel picked up a marker.

“What are you writing?” Gabe asked.

Daniel thought for a moment and wrote:

**PDU-016 — Excellent dancer. Questionable cook. Loyal friend.**

Gabe laughed. “At least you’re honest.”

Daniel handed him the marker.

Gabe wrote:

**PDU-075 — Quarterback. Learning to dance. Proud Golden Bro.**

Daniel studied the star.

“Learning to dance?”

Gabe nodded toward the main stage. “You’re teaching me.”

Daniel nearly dropped his plate.

“Oh, this celebration just became historic.”

They attached their stars to a huge wall filled with hundreds of others. No two messages were exactly alike, but together they created the shape of the Golden Army crest.

Gabe stepped back to admire it.

“That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” he said. “Different stories. Different strengths. One team.”

Daniel smiled. “Exactly.”

Their meaningful moment lasted approximately three seconds.

Then an announcer called for volunteers in the Unity Relay.

Daniel immediately raised Gabe’s hand.

“Daniel.”

“You’re athletic.”

“Daniel.”

“You have long legs.”

“Daniel.”

“You’re already registered.”

Gabe looked toward the starting line, where participants had to complete a series of ridiculous challenges: balancing a ball on a wooden spoon, running through a tunnel of ribbons, answering trivia questions, and performing a dance before crossing the finish line.

“This is not a relay,” Gabe said. “This is public humiliation with checkpoints.”

Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll be humiliated together.”

“That is strangely comforting.”

The whistle blew.

Gabe and Daniel raced forward.

Gabe handled the athletic sections easily, but Daniel saved them during the trivia round. Daniel flew through the ribbon tunnel, while Gabe became tangled in three different colors and emerged wearing half of it like a cape.

At the final checkpoint, they had to perform a celebratory dance.

Daniel moved confidently to the music.

Gabe attempted to follow.

His shoulders went one direction.

His feet went another.

The tiny bells around his neck jingled wildly.

The crowd cheered anyway.

Daniel laughed so hard that he nearly fell over.

“You said you were learning!”

“I didn’t say I was succeeding!”

Gabe eventually stopped trying to copy Daniel and simply danced his own way—part football warm-up, part victory celebration, and part complete nonsense.

Daniel joined him.

Soon, other Golden Bros rushed onto the stage, each bringing their own style. Some were graceful. Some were energetic. Some had absolutely no rhythm at all.

Nobody cared.

The celebration was not about everyone moving the same way.

It was about everyone moving together.

At sunset, Gabe and Daniel stood beside the golden fountain, watching colorful lights reflect across the water.

Daniel held up his drink.

“To Unity in Diversity.”

Gabe raised his own.

“To friendship, brotherhood, and never having to stand alone.”

Daniel smiled. “Does that mean you’re officially done with the lone-wolf routine?”

Gabe considered the question.

“I might still need quiet time occasionally.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“And I reserve the right to look dramatically into the distance.”

“Of course.”

“But I’m not walking away from my brothers anymore.”

Daniel gently tapped his cup against Gabe’s.

“Good, we work better when we're united."

Across the park, the Golden Bros began chanting for Gabe and Daniel to return to the dance floor.

Gabe sighed.

Daniel grinned.

The bells around Gabe’s neck jingled as they headed back toward the crowd together.

Different personalities.

Different talents.

Different stories.

But one united Golden Army—and two friends laughing beneath a sky filled with gold and every other color imaginable.

Join the Golden Army by contacting our recruiters: @alton-gold77 @polo-drone-166

Begin Log: 24.07.2026

PDU-767 had two assignments:

*TASK NODE 1: Drone tuning a racing bike -

In Horror, PDU-166 watched the blur speed around the bend and was gone....

**4 HOURS EARLIER

PDU-767 stood over the racing bike in the cycling team's maintenance bay. Working on PDU-016's team bike, the sounds of the torque wrench and the hushed clinking of the bike chain rattled.

Examining the seat and the cushioning, 767 began working on the request. It removed the standard racing gluteal rest.

After scanning and working on the aerodynamics, 767 began working the ergonomics of the racing bike's seat.

Feeding all the equations and results into the system, the 3-D printer began the process of creating the metal improvements.

**2 HOURS LATER PDU-166 stood frozen as the blur sped past it on the main family concourse in Golden City's recreation complex.

PDU-166's mind blanked.

It knew what it saw. But the drone wasn't quite comprehending what its visual sensors were showing.

**2 HOURS EARLIER

PDU-166 was walking the corridors. He had just left the meeting with the team's Insurance Adjuster concerning the final details of the claim for the Golden Chalice.

166 happened to glance into the maintenance bay.

What was that curved object welded onto the seat?

Then PDU-166 saw PDU-767.

It was one of its projects.

Immediately 166 turned on its boot heel and left.

166 had learned many lunar orbits ago that some questions of PDU-767 were best left unknown.

Focused on OBEDIENCE and its DIRECTED task, 767 continued merging the technologies together.

After all, arousal increases efficiency with polo-drones.

Obedience is Pleasure Pleasure is Obedience

With these modifications, it would stimulate the rider to increased efficiencies and better performance.

**NOW

PDU-166 stood transfixed.

In horror.

PDU-016 was pumping passed the management drone at a crisp 34.3 kmph.

With each pump of the pedals, the drone with the orange, white, and green hair seemed to be raising up and down off the seat. 166 watches as PDU-016, of the Golden Army Cycling Team, powered down the concourse.

And with complete understanding, PDU-166 remembered 016 request 767 to replace its seat on the racing bike. Maybe with a banana saddle.

PDU-166 initiated an interlink to the Unity Center scheduling an immediate memory deletion.

*TASK NODE 2: Drone and helping our blind fans -

PDU-767 stood in front of the volunteers.

They knew it was serious. It had removed its helmet. They understood why.

This was a training session to help golden bros and drones understand what it was like for their fans and staffers with visual disabilities.

The bros took this seriously. They allowed the drone to assign various forms of ocular disabilities. - Rhys: An eye patch to simulate the loss of an eye. - Gabe wanted to observe the training. - Leander and Tony: A blind fold for complete blindness - C.C.: Contact lens resulting in pinpoint vision - 034: Glaucoma glasses simulating severe occlusion of the visual sensors.

The units would spend the next 6 hours navigating around the Golden Army Headquarters and trying to accomplish their daily routines.

767 knew this to be an effective understanding technique. It had run many of these trainings. Unfortunately, most participants stopped within 3 hours. Primary reason: it just made them uncomfortable and frustrated.

Drone only knew of two who completed the full 6 hours. Alton and Wells.

Both finally understood an aspect of PDU-767.

But this was a good first step in helping our fans with visual disabilities.

(*note: Drone has run this in real life. Only one person lasted more than 3 hours. 2 finally got what 767 days were like having not understood how a person with one eye functions.)

Guest Star: C.C. Gold #47 - NPC Gabe Gold #75 - @polo-drone-075 Leander Gold #88 - @leander-gold-88 Rhys Gold #19 - @rhys-gold-19 Tony Gold #5 - NPC PDU-016 @danielgold-16 PDU-034 @polo-drone-034 PDU-166 @polo-drone-166

What If: The Golden Army became Polo Drones

What if the Golden Army did not fall in battle?

What if it was not defeated by a stronger team, broken by betrayal, or conquered by cyan?

What if every man simply stopped being himself?

The change would begin quietly.

No dramatic struggle. No final speech. No heroic refusal.

Trey would stand before the others in black-and-gold rubber, the number 059 fixed across his chest. The famous grin would be gone. There would be no swagger, no gold sunglasses, no loud claim that he could outshine the room. The man who once turned every entrance into a performance would stare forward with an empty, disciplined expression.

Alton would become PDU-077.

His competitiveness would vanish. He would no longer challenge Trey, complain when training became ridiculous, or throw out a sarcastic comment just to make his brothers laugh. His strength would remain, but the man inside it would no longer care whether he won, lost, or was noticed.

Wells would become PDU-058.

His intelligence, restraint, and dry humor would no longer distinguish him from anyone else. He would not quietly study the room or recognize what Trey needed before Trey said it. He would process instructions and execute them, nothing more.

Coach Stone would become PDU-0.

The coach who once demanded discipline because he believed the men could become better would now enforce discipline because discipline had been programmed. His hard-earned judgment would disappear. There would be no wisdom behind his silence and no concern hidden beneath his severe expression.

Only obedience.

Only function.

Only Level Two.

They would be brought into an office with identical desks, identical computers, and identical assignments. The monitors would glow through the night while their gloved fingers moved in perfect synchronization.

No one would complain that office work was beneath the Golden Army.

No one would become restless.

No one would ask when training resumed.

Gold would speak through the command center.

“Level Two units, begin data processing.”

Four voices answered at exactly the same volume.

“Command received.”

Their hands descended to the keyboards.

Hour after hour, they typed.

Reports were opened, reviewed, sorted, and closed. Numbers moved from one system to another. Files were renamed. Records were checked. Every movement was efficient. Every posture remained straight. Every instruction was followed without hesitation.

At what once would have been lunchtime, no one looked toward the door.

At what once would have been sunset, no one looked toward the windows.

At midnight, Trey did not suggest that the brothers leave the office and find somewhere worthy of their gold.

Alton did not groan.

Wells did not raise an eyebrow.

Coach Stone did not order them to rest.

The Gold returned.

“Continue.”

“We continue,” the four drones replied.

Their personalities had once made them brothers.

Trey was spectacle.

Alton was challenge.

Wells was quiet perception.

Coach Stone was control earned through experience.

Now those differences were classified as inefficiencies.

Level Two drones did not need friendship because they did not experience loneliness.

They did not need encouragement because they could not doubt.

They did not need rest because exhaustion was merely a condition to be ignored until maintenance was authorized.

Twenty-four hours passed.

Then forty-eight.

Their fingers continued to strike the keys.

A message appeared on Trey’s screen:

TASK DURATION: INDEFINITE

He read it without reaction.

Alton received the same message.

So did Wells.

So did Coach Stone.

There was no discussion between them. No exchange of worried looks. No rebellion slowly forming beneath the silence.

The Gold asked:

“Do the units object to permanent desk assignment?”

Trey answered first.

“Unit 059 does not object.”

Alton followed.

“Unit 077 does not object.”

Wells spoke next.

“Unit 058 does not object.”

Finally, the former coach answered.

“Unit 0 does not object.”

“State the reason.”

All four replied together.

“Obedience does not require preference.”

That was the true horror of this alternate Golden Army.

They would still possess the same powerful bodies.

They would still wear black and gold.

Their numbers would still identify the men they had once been.

But there would be no Trey behind PDU-059.

No Alton behind PDU-077.

No Wells behind PDU-058.

No Coach Stone behind PDU-0.

They would not resent sitting at those desks for twenty-four hours a day.

They would not secretly dream of the pitch, the gym, the beach, the cheering crowds, or the brothers they once loved.

They would not remember that gold had once represented confidence, loyalty, individuality, and belonging.

Gold would become nothing more than a stripe on a uniform.

The Golden Army would continue to exist in perfect formation, performing every assigned task without resistance.

But the brothers would be gone.

Only identical Level Two Polo Drones would remain, typing endlessly beneath the Golden Army emblem as Gold issued one final command:

“Do not think. Do not feel. Do not stop.”

Four expressionless faces remained fixed upon their screens.

“We obey.”