gunge and fun

Round of last 14

Joe warren plant vs zak Sutcliffe

This time is differant both boys have no clue when the vote is done out of no where they get messy and will get their punsiment where ever they are

Joe

Zak

Aaron Thiara vs zack.morris

Aaron pushes the door open.

It’s just a big empty room. Concrete floor. One flickering light overhead. And right in the middle: two metal chairs bolted to a platform, suspended over a vat that’s bubbling slow.

It smells like nacho cheese and gym

Aaron walks in

Cocky stud mode activated. Black tee, chain catching the light, smirk already on.

He doesn’t look at the vat. Doesn’t look at the socks piled on the edge.

He walks straight to the left chair, spins it once with his foot, and drops into it.

Leans back. Arms crossed. Feet kicked out over the edge, right above the cheese.

He taps the armrest twice.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says to nobody.

From the other side of the room you hear footsteps.

Zack’s coming.

The platform creaks a little under Aaron’s weight.

The cheese bubbles.

The door creaks again.

Zack walks in.

Barefoot.

He’s known for one thing in this tournament and everyone who’s ever voted knows it: dude runs hot. Sweaty. Stinky.

The second he steps in, the whole room changes.

It’s not just cheese sauce anymore. It’s BO + feet + that sour gym sock heat.

Aaron’s still leaned back, arms crossed, looking chill. But his nose twitches.

He doesn’t move.

Zack stops at his chair. Doesn’t sit yet. He wiggles his toes over the platform and you can literally see the smell hit the air.

He grins.

“Smell that?” Zack says. “That’s winner energy.”

Aaron finally looks over, slow. Takes in the bare feet. The sweat on Zack’s shirt. The way Zack’s not even pretending to care.

Aaron rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Just taps the armrest again.

Right now it’s just the two of them, the bubbling vat, and the stink rising up.

Silence. Just the cheese bubbling.

A voice from the ceiling: *"Winner is Aaron."*

Aaron smirks, stands up slow.

Zack’s still barefoot on the platform, holding his socks. “Wait, what?”

*"Zack.morris loses."* _Click._

The bolts under Zack’s chair shift.

Aaron looks down at the vat, then at Zack.

“Should’ve worn socks.”

The chair drops an inch.

_Click._

Zack’s chair gives out.

He yells — half laugh, half “no way” — and drops straight into the vat.

Cheese sauce everywhere. Hot, thick, and full of socks.

It splashes up the walls, up Aaron’s shoes.

Zack comes up sputtering, covered head to toe. Cheese in his hair, a sock stuck to his face, BO + feet + nacho cheese all mixed together.

Aaron’s on the platform above, hands in his pockets, shaking his head.

“Public vote don’t lie, bro.”

Zack just stands there in the vat, dripping.

Zack climbs out of the vat. Cheese is dripping down his arms, his back, his hair. He’s shaking. He collapses onto the cold floor and just lays there, trying to breathe.

Aaron walks over and picks up another bucket. No words. He pours the whole bucket of cheese right onto Zack’s face. It covers his eyes, nose, mouth. Then Aaron turns and leaves. The door shuts.

It’s quiet for a bit. Then two people come in with gloves. They strap a gas mask on Zack and lock it. The first pump hits: dog poo, thick and sour. Second pump: his own socks, the ones he’s worn for days. Third pump: sweat and locker room. He can’t get it off. He just gags behind the mask until they finally take it off.

They drag him to a metal table and tie his wrists and ankles down. Someone scoops dog poo and rubs it all over his toes, in between them, and on the bottoms of his feet until it’s caked on. Then they bring dead fish. They split them open, guts and all, and slide Zack’s feet inside. Fish shoes. Cold, wet, and they don’t come off.

They cut the ropes and grab him. The first vat: rotten eggs. It’s lukewarm and it burns his eyes. He comes up choking on sulfur.

Vat 2: sour milk. Curdled chunks stick to the cheese on him and the smell is like a fridge left closed for months.

Vat 3: gym socks soaked in water for a week. They dump the whole bin over his head.

Vat 4: trash juice from the bottom of a dumpster. It’s black and it gets in his mouth.

Vat 5: old fish water from a tank that hasn’t been cleaned.

Vat 6: wet dog. They dunk him in a tub of it.

Vat 7: vinegar that’s gone bad. It stings.

Vat 8: boiled cabbage water. Warm and nasty.

Vat 9: dirty diaper water.

Vat 10: onion and garlic slop left out in the sun.

Vat 11: feet-soak water with athlete’s foot powder.

Vat 12: moldy bread mush.

Vat 13: septic tank smell.

Vat 14: roadkill stew.

Vat 15: horse manure. Thick, warm, and it’s the last one. He goes under and comes up covered.

They pull him out and drag him straight to a dumpster. They lift him and drop him in. The lid slams. He’s in there for the whole day.

And the worst part: for a whole year he will smell like this no matter what he does. Once a week he has to sleep in the dumpster. And he has to wear the fish shoes everywhere he goes.

Next round starts tommow

Aaron Thiara vs zack.morris

Both boys above a vat of chesse socks and smelly socks

Aaron

Zack

benny turland vs luca Toolan

The warehouse door groans open and Benny strolls in like he owns the place. Barefoot. Of course.

He sits down on his chair

Right in front of the manure cannon.

Right next to the glue tank.

He kicks his legs out, leans back on his hands, and starts wiggling his cheesy sweaty toes like he’s at the beach.

The air goes thick immediately. Rank. Sour. Like old socks left in a gym bag for a month, then dunked in farm sludge.

Benny grins to himself, totally smug.

"Comfy," he mutters. "Let them come. I’m already winning."

Door creaks. Luca steps inside, takes one look at Benny sprawled by the manure cannon and glue tank, and instantly wrinkles his nose.

"eww your feet reek"

Big mistake.

Benny’s smirk drops. He’s up in half a second. Cocky bully mode: activated.

He grabs Luca, flips him upside down like a ragdoll, and holds him there dangling.

Then he shoves one rank, cheesy, sweaty foot right up there.

"smiff and kiss the feet," Benny growls, dead serious and grinning at the same time.

Luca’s gagging, kicking, but Benny’s not letting go until he gets what he wants. He kissed tbe foot and gagged the taste was rank

Finally he drops Luca with a thud, wipes his foot on the concrete, and walks back to his spot. Sits down like nothing happened. Legs out. Toes wiggling again.

Both of them just sit back down now Glue tank bubbling. The warehouse stinks and the tension is worse.

The voice cuts through the warehouse:

*"The winner is... Luca."*

Luca's face lights up. He does a little dance, bouncing on his toes, pumping his fists. Pure relief.

Benny just stands there. Shocked.

Then it comes.

SPLAT

The manure cannon fires. Thick, chunky, sour. It hits Benny full in the chest and slides down.

The smell is instant and nasty. Like a barn in July, mixed with rotten eggs and old gym socks left in the sun. It gets in his nose, his mouth, everywhere.

GLOOOP

Right after, the glue tank dumps. Cold and heavy, running over the manure and making it worse. Now it's thick, dripping, and ten times more rank.

Benny gags. Wipes at his face. His bare feet are covered too, and the cheesy smell from his toes is buried under something way worse now.

He’s staring at Luca, covered and fuming, while Luca’s still grinning from his little victory dance.

Benny falls off his chair with a wet thud. Manure and glue everywhere.

Luca walks over, not saying anything. He peels off one of his socks and slaps it right on Benny’s face. It sticks instantly to the glue.

Then the other sock — straight into Benny’s gob.

Benny gags, spits it out onto the floor. "Get it off—"

The voice: *"Personal punishment begins now."*

*Human Carwash*

Brushes and freezing water hoses slam over him. Scrubbing the manure but smearing it worse.

*Human Hotdog*

They roll him in a giant bun and squirt him with ketchup and mustard while the crowd watches.

*Cheese Sauce Bath*

Dumped in a vat of hot, thick cheese sauce. It drips down his hair, into his mouth, over his bare feet.

*Held Under*

They dunk him under, pull him up coughing.

*Baked Bean Bath*

Next tank. Warm beans, tomato sauce, the whole thing. He’s slipping in it.

*Worm Bath*

A bin tips. Hundreds of worms pour over him, squirming through the mess.

*Dumped in Glue*

Finally the big one. The glue tank tips and covers him completely. Thick. Sealing.

They leave him there. The glue dries.

Benny is hard. A statue.

They drag the statue outside and put him on the curb.

Dogs come by and lick his feet. Kids walk past and point and laugh.

After a day they ship him off.

*The Island.*

A tribe lives there. And they love humiliating bullies.

Benny is their toy. For a whole year.

Every day is a new punishment. No smug left. Just the island

Next match up tommow

benny turland vs luca Toolan

Both boys are in front of the manure and above them is the glue cannon

Benny

Luca

Sam Hall vs Paddy Bever

The warehouse lights swept across the arena as the next knockout match was announced.

A huge vat of thick, green, snotty-looking gunge sat beneath two chairs suspended high above it.

Sam Hall walked in first, wearing his usual cheeky grin.

Before slipping off his shoes and socks. Wiggling his bare toes with a laugh, he looked down at the vat below.

"That's... definitely not a swimming pool," he joked.

as Sam climbed into his chair, settling back comfortably as if he wasn't dangling above a giant tank of green slime.

A few moments later, Paddy Bever entered He smiled and kicked off his shoes and socks before walking over barefoot. He glanced at the vat beneath him and pulled a funny face.

"Oh... that looks grim," he said with a laugh.

Sam smirked across at him.

"Nervous?"

Paddy smiled back. "A little. But I reckon one of us is getting very messy today."

The two boys sat side by side above the bubbling green gunge, their bare feet dangling over the edge of the vat.

Sam gave his toes another playful wiggle.

Paddy noticed and laughed. "Showing off already?"

"Just making sure they're camera-ready," Sam replied with a cheeky grin.

Paddy shook his head, smiling. "You really are impossible."

The warehouse fell silent.

The lights dimmed as the final votes appeared on the big screen.

Sam Hall and Paddy Bever exchanged nervous glances, both waiting for the announcement.

A booming voice echoed around the arena.

"The winner is... PADDY BEVER!"

Paddy's face lit up with a huge smile. He laughed in disbelief and raised his fists in celebration.

"I actually did it!" he said, grinning across at Sam. "Good game!"

Sam blinked in surprise, his mouth falling open.

"What? Really?"

In his shock, he let out a sudden little "Pfft!" of surprise,

Before he could say anything else, a loud buzzer sounded.

CLUNK!

The release mechanism activated, and Sam's chair tipped away beneath him.

"Whoa—!"

He dropped straight into the giant vat of thick, green gunge below with an enormous...

SPLASH!

Green slime sprayed into the air as Sam disappeared beneath the surface for a moment before popping back up, completely coated from head to toe. He was dripping with green snot he was like a human boogie

Paddy couldn't help laughing too, though he gave Sam an apologetic smile and a thumbs-up from above.

Sam wiped the goo from his eyes,

*Sam's Punishment*

Paddy leaves. The door shuts.

Three crew members step forward. No talking, no warnings.

They shove Sam into the chair and lock him in.

"Timw for the foot spa one of them says.

First: cheese.

A grater comes out. They grate it right over his bare feet. Shreds jam between the toes. Hands rub it in until it’s a paste.

Second: honey.

Poured slow from a bottle. It drips down, glues the cheese to his skin. Sticky strings pull every time he tries to twitch.

Third: dog food.

A bowl gets dumped. Wet chunks and kibble smashed into the honey with a brush. They make sure it’s in every crack.

Sam cringed look at his feet

Sam said Look at my feet."

The crew leader didn't even blink.

"No more talking, Sam."

His own damp socks got shoved right back in his mouth before he could finish the sentence.

Next his bare feet got slammed down into dog poo. It squelched up between his toes, warm and horrible. He tried to yank away but they held him.

Didn't even get a second to breathe before two buckets of manure came next poured iver him Cold, lumpy, and it slopped allmover him he stinks now

A laundry basket flipped over his head and weeks-old smelly socks rained down. They stuck to the gunge, to the cheese still on him, to everything.

Then they grabbed him and dunked him head-first into a barrel of warm cheese sauce. It filled his hair, ran down his neck, got in his ears.

Before the yellow could drip off, red gunge hit him. Colder. Stickier. It sealed all the other stuff underneath.

And just when he thought it couldn't get worse — _PLOP PLOP PLOP_ — a full tray of baked beans got poured over him. Beans in his hair. Sauce in his eyes. The smell was unreal.

one of the crew stepped up with a bowl of mud and a spatula.

"For the glow-up," they said, and smoothed it all over his face. Right over the sock.

Sam just sat there. Dripping. Beany. Muddy.

they dragged him over to medevil stocks now

_CLUNK_. Stocks. Head and wrists locked. Cold metal on wet skin.

Sam yanked against them.

First pie. _SPLAT_. Right in the face. It stung. Cold cream and gunge ran into his eyes and he couldn’t wipe it. He made a muffled sound of disgust behind the tape.

Another one. Then another. It kept coming until he was blind with it, breathing through his nose.

Then the tickling started on his bare feet.

He tried not to react. He _really_ tried. But his body betrayed him a sharp, helpless laugh burst out. He hated it immediately. Hated how it sounded. Hated that he couldn’t stop.

When it finally stopped, he thought it was over.

It wasn’t.

A crew member crouched behind him. Something hooked onto the back of his pants

Sam went rigid.

He was jerked up, then dropped. Jerked up, then dropped.

Wedgie bounce.

Each bounce pulled harder. Each one made him grunt against the tape. Mud and beans that were still stuck to him flung off with every jolt.

He was still hanging when he heard footsteps.

Someone crouched down in front of him.

Without a word, they started smearing peanut butter on his toes.

Thick globs. Between every toe, on the soles, up over his arches. It was cold and sticky and it pulled at his skin when he tried to twitch.

More went on. Both feet, covered. He could smell it sweet and wrong mixed with everything else still on him.

Then they stepped back.

A door opened.

A dog trotted in. Big, tongue out, tail wagging. It sniffed the air once and went straight for him.

Sam’s eyes went wide behind the gunge. He shook his head hard, making muffled noises through the tape.

The dog started licking.

Toes first. Then the arches. Long, wet strokes that made his whole body jerk in the stocks. He tried to pull away but the metal held him. Peanut butter + dog + everything else = he was gagging.

He hated it. Hated the sound. Hated the feeling. Hated that he couldn’t do anything but hang there and take it.

When the bowl of peanut butter was finally empty and the dog wandered off, Sam was left panting, dripping, and shaking

They dragged him and shoved him into a fuzzy orange tiger suit. Glued the seams shut so he couldn’t get out. Tail on, ears on.

Speaker crackled: “Tiger dance. Now.”

Sam groaned and did it. Little paw waves, tail swish, awkward spin. Looked ridiculous. Felt worse.

30 seconds later it stopped.

Just him, stuck, fuzzy, and miserable in the silence.

The speaker clicked on one last time.

“Final punishment, Sam. You’re working the zoo. One year.”

He thought that was it. It wasn’t.

“At home too. Tiger suit stays on. 365 days. Glued seams.”

So that’s what happened.

*AT HOME:*

He walked through the door still fuzzy. His nephews saw him and lost it.

“UNCLE SAM’S A TIGER!!”

Then: “Tickle the tiger’s feet!”

All year. Every visit. They’d jump on him, pounce, try to “wrestle the tiger.” they wpuld tickle his feet as he luaghed they said"hes roaring for us" and do silly faces with hos face and said'thats it stinky tiger"

He had a little “tiger bed” in the corner and that’s where he slept. Glued in. Outnumbered. Completely humiliated.

*AT THE ZOO:*

Every day. Same orange tiger suit, same tail. His own cage in the kids’ area with a sign: _“Feeding time: 2PM. No climbing.”_

He had to perform. Dance, roar, wave.

Monkeys from the next enclosure were the worst. They’d swing over, steal his tail, pull his ears, tickle his feet through the bars... and they found the itching powder. Little jars of it. Down his back, in his ears, on his feet. He’d be mid-roar and suddenly losing his mind.

*Once a week - “Story Time”:*

They’d tie him to a table in front of the cage. Arms and legs strapped down. Tiger suit and all.

The zookeeper would stand there with a mic.

“And here’s Sam! The smelliest tiger we’ve ever had! You should smell him after enrichment time! And the farts? Oh, the farts in that suit are something else! And those feet very chessy”

While he told stories, _SPLAT_. Pie in the face.

Then buckets. Slop, mashed food, wet hay, whatever was messy that day. Poured right over him while he was stuck. He couldn’t move, couldn’t wipe it. Just had to sit there and take it as kids pointed and laughed.

*Once a day - “Enrichment Time”:*

Hung upside down. Then dunked. Goat poo one day, pig slurry the next, wet hay and bird stuff the day after. Came up dripping every time.

Then atomic wedgies. Hook on the back of the suit, yank up, drop. Yank up, drop.

Other zoo bits:

Elephant “shower” that was just muddy water.

Parrots that learned his roar just to mock him.

Kids tapping the glass: “Do it again!”

Cleaning bear enclosures... while still in the suit.

One whole year. Cage at work, nephews at home, monkeys with itching powder in between. Messy. Itchy. Ridiculous.

When the year finally ended and they cut him out, the first thing he did was take a 3-hour shower and burn the suit

Next match up tommow

Sam hall vs paddy beaver

Both boys are sat above a vat of snotty green gunge bare foot

Sam

Paddy

Fintan Buckard vs ashley Taylor Dawson

Warehouse. Concrete. One buzzing light overhead.

Door creaks open.

Fintan walks in. Barefoot.

Doesn't even look down. Just walks straight to the metal chair in the center of the room.

Under the chair: a vat.

Mayo, ketchup, BBQ, more ketchup. All mixed. Thick and still.

He sits down. Leans back like he owns it. Feet dangling right over the vat.

He glances at the few crew members by the crates.

Smirks.

"So. Where’s my opponent?"

And then he waits.

Door opens again.

Ashley walks in. Sees Fintan. Sees the vat. Sits down in the other chair on the other side.

Ashley looks down, then back up.

"Bro. Your feet are manky."

Fintan doesn’t even flinch. Just leans back, arms behind his head.

"And?"

He stares straight ahead like he didn’t hear it. Like he doesn’t care.

Ashley glances at the vat, then at Fintan’s feet hanging over it.

Both of them just sitting there now. Waiting.

The warehouse is dead quiet.

Then a voice from off-camera:

"The winner is... Fintan."

Click.

The chair under Ashley drops.

Ashley goes straight down into the vat.

Mayo. Ketchup. BBQ. All of it. Thick and cold and everywhere.

Ashley comes up spluttering, covered head to toe in the pink brown mess. Sauce dripping off.

Fintan doesn't move. Still sitting on his chair above it all, bare feet still dangling.

He looks down at Ashley, then smirks.

The crew just watches. Camera keeps rolling.

Hes grabbed for his punisment 15 pies to face but they are eatch more gross and messy than the last it went like this

*1. Snot pie*

Thick, warm, green. Comes flying and hits right across the nose and mouth. Dripping down the chin. Smells sharp.

*2. Worm pie*

Cold dirt and wriggling worms. Hits with a wet _splat_. M

*3. Cold beans pie*

A whole can of baked beans. Cold and sloppy. Beans stick in the hair and sauce runs down the forehead.

*4. Fish guts pie*

Guts and scales. Slimy and it stinks. Smacks across the face and leaves bits on the eyebrows.

*5. Wet dog food pie*

Chunky, mushed up, and wet. Lands heavy on the cheeks. Smell hits right away.

*6. Mud pie*

Thick brown mud. Heavy. Covers the eyes for a second before it slides down.

*7. Sour milk pie*

Curdled and sour. Splashes everywhere. Goes in the ears and down the neck. Smells bad.

*8. Egg and flour pie*

Raw eggs cracked with a handful of flour. Gooey and pasty. Dries on the skin in clumps.

*9. Grease pie*

Old cooking grease. Warm and slick. Slides right down and makes everything shine.

*10. Cabbage water pie*

Boiled cabbage water. Lukewarm and stinky. Soaks the hair and drips into the eyes.

*11. Ash pie*

Cold fireplace ash. Dry and grey. Puffs up in a cloud then sticks to the wet sauce already on the face.

*12. Slime pie*

Bright green slime. Thick and stretchy. Pulls as it slides off.

*13. Rotten fruit pie*

Mushed bananas, apples, and berries. Gone brown. Sweet and rotten. Seeds and peel stuck to the face.

*14. Dirty sock water pie*

Bucket of water that socks were soaked in. Hits cold. Smells like feet.

*15. Manure pie. That’s last.*

Wet farm manure. Heavy and dark. Lands last. That’s the final one.

And for a year. You will be pied every day and has to wear a top that says pie the loser

Next match up tommow

Fintan Buckard vs ashley Taylor Dawson

Both boys are above a vat of ketcuo mustard mayo and BQ sauce all mixed in to one

Fintan

Ashley

Nathaniel Dass vs ryan mulvey

The studio lights were too hot.

Ryan Mulvey strolled in first, like the place was his. White shirt, jeans, that smug half-smile he used on every soap poster. He didn’t look at the crew, didn’t look at the cameras. Just climbed the steps, sat on the metal seat, and dangled his legs right over the vat.

Orange gunge bubbled below him. Thick, slow, and stinking faintly of chemicals and old sweets.

Ryan leaned back, arms spread wide.

“Bring it,” he said to no one. “I’m not going in that.”

He was wrong about two things.

One: the seat wasn’t comfortable.

Two: he smelled.

It hit in waves. Bad BO first, sharp and sour. Then his feet, still in those trainers from the gym, started cooking under the lights. A PA near the front subtly pulled her cardigan up over her nose. Someone in the audience coughed.

Ryan didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care. He winked at a camera.

“Don’t worry ladies,” he said, loud enough for the mic to catch. “A bit of sweat just means I’ve been working hard.”

The doors at the back hissed open.

Nathaniel Dass stepped in.

The doors opened.

Nathaniel Dass walked in.

He saw the vat, saw Ryan already sitting there, and just did that little half-smile. Cute-cocky.

He climbed up to the other seat, sat, and let his feet dangle over the orange gunge. Neat. Calm.

Ryan puffed up. “Think you’re beating me?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “We’ll see what the public thinks.”

Above them the screen flashed: _VOTE NOW_.

The studio got quiet.

_VOTE NOW_ flashed one last time.

The screen cut to the result.

*WINNER: RYAN MULVEY*

Nathaniel didn’t even get to react. The seat dropped right out from under him.

SPLASH.

Orange gunge went everywhere. Up his shirt, in his hair, down his face. He came up sputtering, blinking gunge out of his eyes.

Ryan threw his head back and laughed. Loud.

“Later,” he said, hopping off his platform. Didn’t look back.

And walked out.

Got you. Doing it again, clean, and ending exactly how you want:

---

Ohhh brutal 😂 that’s properly messy.

Two crew grabbed Nathaniel before he could even wipe his eyes.

“Hold still,” one said.

They dragged him, dripping orange, and shoved him into a big plastic barrel on stage. He hit the bottom with a wet _thud_.

A voice over the speakers: _“Personal punishment. 15 rounds.”_

Then it started.

1. *Eggs* — cracked right over his head. Yolk ran down his face.

2. *Honey* — thick, sticky, into his hair.

3. *Feathers* — a bucket dumped. Stuck instantly.

4. *Milk* — poured until it hit his chin.

5. *Flour* — white cloud. Now he was paste.

6. *Cheese sauce* — hot, gloopy.

7. *Ketchup* — red streaks.

8. *Mustard* — yellow on top of red.

9. *Green snot* — whatever that was. It smelled worse than Ryan.

10. *Dog food* — chunks and gravy.

11. *Cat food* — more chunks.

12. *Pink gunge* — second vat, just to be cruel.

13. *Pickle juice* — stung his eyes.

14. *Dead fish and fish guts* — slapped on. The smell hit the whole studio.

15. *Horse manure* — final scoop. Splat.

The lid slammed shut.

A voice: *“you have to sleep in the fish barrel every Sunday for a year.”*

Next match up tommow

Nathaniel Dass vs ryan mulvey

both boys are above a vat of orange gunge

Nathniel

Ryan

Last round of 28

Liam mccheyne vs aeden duckworth

Liam McCheyne came into the old warehouse. The air was thick, damp, and it stank of metal and something worse.

High above the factory floor, there was the vat huge, round, and full of fresh steaming horse manure. The heat rolled off it in waves.

Liam climbed up the metal steps and sat on the platform right above it. His legs dangled over the edge. That glued-up mohawk from Billy was still spiked and sticky. He kicked off his trainers, let his bare feet hang there, toes wiggling in the warm, nasty air.

He looked down at the vat bubbling below him and smirked.

Aeden arrived.

He didn’t come alone he’d brought poor Gabriel with him how was still his dog from rhe last punishment Gabriel’s head was down, no dog collar now but you could see he’d been Aedan’s “pet” until the vote. His eyes looked empty.

Aedan smirked up at Liam sitting above the vat. Before he climbed up to his own platform, he grabbed Gabriel by the hair and shoved his bare foot in his face.

Aedan: “Lick. Now.”

Gabriel gagged but did it. He licked Aedan’s foot, tongue dragging across the sole while Aedan laughed. Only when he was done did Aedan wipe his foot on Gabriel’s shirt and climb the metal steps to sit above the vat opposite Liam.

Gabriel was left below, staring up at both of them, mouth still dirty.

The warehouse went quiet. The only sound was the vat bubbling below them, steam curling up around their platforms.

Then a voice boomed through the speakers, echoing off the metal walls:

“And the winner is… LIAM!”

Aedan froze.

Aedan’s eyes went wide

Above him, a pipe groaned. Then thick, hot cheese sauce started pouring straight onto his head.

It oozed down his face, down his neck, soaking his shirt. It clung to his hair, dripped into his ears, ran down his arms. The smell mixed with the manure steam below cheesy and rotten.

Aedan: “No— wait— BLARGH—”

He tried to wipe it off but it just smeared, yellow and gloopy all over him.

DROP.

Aedan plunged straight down into the vat of fresh steaming horse manure, cheese sauce and all.

SPLORCH!

Aedan landed face down with a wet SPLAT!

Manure and cheese sauce sprayed up the sides of the vat. He didn’t move for a second, just lay there with his legs sticking out, yellow and brown sludge dripping from his hair.

Up on the platform, Liam stood up and pumped his fist.

Liam: “Yes! I won!”

He grabbed his trainers, didn’t even put them back on, and walked out barefoot across the metal walkway, wiggling his toes. Didn’t look back once.

Now it was just Aedan in the vat… and Gabriel.

Gabriel had been watching the whole thing. The second Liam left, Gabriel’s whole body changed. He wasn’t scared anymore. He wasn’t “Olly 2.0”. He wasn’t a dog.

He walked right up to the edge of the vat. Aedan was still face down, spitting out manure, cheese sauce running down his back.

Gabriel’s eyes were cold. No words yet. He just stared at the back of Aedan’s head, hands clenching into fists.

The producer’s voice crackled over the speakers:

“Gabriel… you are no longer a dog. And Aedan’s punishment is… whatever you want.”

Gabriel heard that and smirked. A slow, nasty smirk.

He reached into the vat and grabbed Aedan by the hair, yanking his head up. Manure and cheese sauce poured off Aedan’s face.

Gabriel: “You made me eat dog food, didn’t you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel scooped up a handful of the warm, steaming horse manure from the vat and shoved it straight into Aedan’s mouth.

Aedan: “MMMPH— GLCK— NO—”

Gabriel didn’t let him spit it out. He dragged him, slipping and sliding, out of the vat by his hair. Manure and cheese sauce trailed across the warehouse floor.

He dumped Aedan on the ground right by his feet. Aedan was coughing, manure dribbling from his lips, eyes watering.

Gabriel looked down at him, arms crossed.

Gabriel: “Go on. Lick.”

Aedan was shaking, covered in manure and cheese sauce, mouth still full of muck. He looked up at Gabriel, eyes red and watering. Then he lowered his head.

He licked. Tongue dragging across Gabriel’s bare foot, tasting sweat and warehouse grime. He gagged but kept going, because Gabriel was staring down at him.

Gabriel watched him do it, breathing hard. That smirk was gone now. His face was twisted, angry.

Gabriel: “You ruined me.”

He grabbed Aedan’s hair again and yanked his face up, making him stop. Manure smeared across Gabriel’s foot.

Gabriel: “You turned me into your dog. Made me eat out of a bowl. Made me call you master.”

He shoved Aedan’s head back down toward the floor.

Gabriel: “So I am going to DESTROY you.”

Gabriel didn’t let go of Aedan’s hair.

Gabriel: “Up. You’re not done yet.”

He dragged Aedan, still coughing up manure, across the warehouse floor. Cheese sauce and brown streaks trailed behind them. They stopped in front of the pie cannon big, industrial, with a hopper already loaded and a counter set to 100.

Gabriel shoved Aedan onto the stool in front of it and locked his arms behind the backrest.

Aedan: “Wait— Gabriel— please—”

Gabriel just stepped over to the control panel and smirked.

Gabriel: “You ruined me. So I’m going to destroy you. Starting with this.”

He slammed the big red button.

THWAP! THWAP! THWAP!

The pies didn’t stop. One after another, rapid fire. Cream covered his hair, his ears, his neck. It mixed with the dried manure and cheese sauce into a lumpy, disgusting paste.

By pie 20, you couldn’t see Aedan’s face.

By pie 50, the floor around the stool was ankle-deep in cream.

By pie 100, Aedan was slumped forward, breathing heavy, completely buried. Only the outline of his head was visible under a mountain of white sludge.

The cannon hissed and stopped. Counter: 100/100.

Gabriel walked up, boots squelching in cream, and tilted Aedan’s chin up with his foot.

Gabriel: “How’s it taste, master?”

The pie cannon fell silent. Gabriel stepped back and looked down. Aedan’s trainers had come off. His feet were bare, caked in old manure, cheese sauce, and now cream.

Gabriel walked to the corner of the warehouse. There were buckets lined up there. Big metal ones. He grabbed two of them and kicked the lids off. The smell hit instantly dog poo. Warm, fresh, and stacked to the top.

He dragged both buckets back and set them down with a loud CLANG.

Gabriel: “You like making people eat crap, right?”

He looked from the buckets… to Aedan’s smelly, cream-covered feet… and smiled.

Gabriel grabbed Aedan’s ankles.

SLAM!

He shoved both of Aedan’s feet straight into the first bucket of dog poo.

SQUELCH.

Gabriel picked up the second bucket and poured it right over Aedan’s feet. Thick, warm dog poo ran between his toes, over his soles, coating everything. Gabriel dropped the bucket and started rubbing it in with both hands, grinding it into Aedan’s arches and heels.

Aedan: “GGGH— STOP— IT STINKS—”

Gabriel hauled him up off the stool by his collar. Gabriel spun him around.

RRRIP he yanked the back of Aedan’s underwear out.

First went the itching powder. A whole handful dumped straight down the back, right against his skin.

Then the custard. Cold, yellow, and gloopy. Gabriel poured it in after the powder, letting it slide down Aedan’s crack.

Aedan: “NO— WHAT— ITCH— AHH!”

Gabriel grabbed the waistband of Aedan’s underwear with both hands… and wedgied him. Hard. Lifted him up onto his tiptoes, custard and itching powder squishing everywhere.

Gabriel: “How’s that feel, master?”

Gabriel wasn’t done. He dragged Aedan over to a row of five big metal tubs. Each one was steaming, full, and labelled.

Gabriel: “You wanted me to be your dog? Fine. Dogs get baths.”

Bath 1: Baked Beans

He dumped him headfirst into the first tub. SPLOSH! Thick, cold baked beans swallowed him up.

Bath 2: Mud and Worms

Gabriel shoved him in the next tub. SLORP! Thick brown mud sucked him down. Worms slid across his arms and legs. One got in his mouth before he could spit.

Bath 3: Fish Slop

Tub three was worse. SPLAT! Chunks of rotten fish, scales, guts, and brine soaked into every layer of filth already on him.

Bath 4: Honey and Feathers

Gabriel threw him into tub four. GLORP! Warm, sticky honey coated everything. Gabriel dumped feathers on top. They stuck everywhere his face, his arms, his wedgied underwear.

Bath 5: Cat Food

Last one. PLOP! Lumpy, stinking cat food. Gabriel pushed his whole head under and swirled him around like he was mixing soup.

When he finally yanked him out, Aedan collapsed on the floor. Covered in beans, mud, worms, fish guts, honey, feathers, cat food, custard, itching powder, dog poo, manure, and cream.

Gabriel: “Still think I’m your dog?”

Aedan was dumped on the warehouse floor. Gabriel looked at the crew standing by the wall.

Gabriel: “Guys. Peanut butter. In him. Rub it on his feet and his armpits the most.”

Two crew members grabbed big tubs of peanut butter.

SPLORTCH! One guy rubbed it all over his face and hair The other guy lifted his dog-poo covered feet up and started rubbing peanut butter all over them between the toes, on the soles, up his ankles. Then they tore his shirt open and did the same to his armpits.

When they were done, Aedan was basically a peanut butter statue.

Gabriel turned to the big metal door.

Gabriel: “Release the dogs.”

The door slammed open. BARK BARK BARK!

Five dogs came charging out. They went nuts. One licked his face. Another went straight for his feet. SLURP SLURP SLURP. A third buried its head in his armpit, tail wagging, licking deep into the peanut butter. Two more climbed over him, licking his chest, his stomach, anywhere they could reach.

Aedan was pinned under a pile of dogs, twitching from the itching powder, getting licked clean by warm, sloppy tongues.

Gabriel just stood there with his arms crossed.

Gabriel: “Good boys.”

Gabriel raised a hand and the dogs finally backed off.

Gabriel: “One last thing.”

He pulled out electric clippers. BZZZZZZT.

Gabriel grabbed Aedan by his matted hair.

Gabriel: “You’re not hiding behind anything anymore.”

BZZZZZZT— BZZZZZZT—

He shaved him bald. Clumps of hair fell into the puddles of cat food and peanut butter. Gabriel went over it again and again until Aedan was completely bald and glistening.

Gabriel crouched down and grabbed Aedan’s chin.

Gabriel: “Listen to me very carefully. For the next year, you’re mine. You’re my slave. You do what I say, when I say it.”

He pointed down at his own feet.

Gabriel: “And every single day starts and ends the same way. You get on your knees… and you lick my feet clean. Understand?”

Aedan was shaking, covered in everything, bald, broken. He could only nod, tears cutting clean tracks through the filth on his face.

Gabriel: “Good boy.”

He stood up, kicked a towel at Aedan’s head.

Gabriel: “Clean yourself up. Then get to work. You’ve got a year of licking ahead of you.”

Next match up tommow

Liam mccheyne vs aeden duckworth

Both boys are above a vat of fresh steaming horse manure

Liam

Aeden

Two houses. Same night.

Cory is sprawled in his bed, smirking in his sleep he won his bare feet are out and they reek

Across town, olly is out cold on his sofa,he was worried about this match

The public vote closes.

One phone buzzes on a nightstand. Screen lights up: You won. Get up.

The other house stays quiet.

One of them is about to have a very bad morning.

Olly's phone buzzes on the arm of the sofa.

He cracks one eye open, reads the screen: You won. Get up.

"Yes. I won," he mumbles.

Phone drops back down. He rolls over and goes straight back to sleep.

Cory's still smirking in his sleep when the ceiling creaks.

SPLAT.

Cold baked beans hit him square in the chest. Eggs crack over his face, yolk running into his hair. Lumpy oatmeal dumps across the duvet, followed by two full jugs of milk that soak him to the mattress.

He jolts awake, gasping, beans in his mouth.

A phone gets shoved in his face. The screen shows the final vote count.

You lost. You're out.

Someone laughs from the doorway: "Time for your personal punishment."

Cory just sits there, dripping, covered in the worst breakfast in bed ever.

Cory's still spitting out baked beans when two of the lads grab him by the arms.

"Up. Punishment time."

They haul him into the next room and dump him onto a plastic-covered table. He doesn't even get a second to protest before the first jug tips.

Thick golden honey hits his chest. Slow, sticky, coating everything. Another jug, then another. It runs into his hair, down his arms, pooling around him. Someone dumps a bucket of syrup for good measure.

Then come the feathers. Handfuls tossed from above. They stick to the honey instantly. His arms, his face, his legs. By the end he looks like a massive, dripping bird.

They zip him into a bright yellow monster costume after. Big googly eyes, felt teeth, cartoon belly. It sticks to him underneath because of all the honey.

"Rules are simple," one of the lads says, filming. "You wear it all year.work, shops, everywhere. And every month, on the 15th, you get fresh honey and feathers. Public vote punishment."

Cory tries to pull the head off. It's taped.

Coey is now The Honey Monster.

Cory's still asleep on his sofa, sock half off, dreaming about winning.

Next match up tommow

Olly rhodes vs Cory McClane

Both boys are sleeping above them is a vat of baked beans and guys waiting with eggs and oatmeal and milk who ever loses will get breakfast in bed

Olly

Cory