Okie

Jared is a well-known dipper who posts YouTube videos on the channel outlaw and on Instagram as @jaredoutlaw

It started with Jake, the quiet kid who ran the chess club. Dude was scrawny, always buried in books, kinda nerdy but chill. One day, he’s scrolling X, sees a MuscleTrance ad, and downloads it. “I just wanna bulk up a bit, y’know?” he told his buddy Ethan. Next day, Jake’s in the cafeteria, wearing nothing but a tight tank top and basketball shorts, flexing his biceps for no reason. “Yo, bro, you hittin’ the gym later or what?” he says, smirking, his voice deeper, dumber. Ethan’s like, “Dude, since when do you talk like that?” Jake just laughs, “Bruh, it’s all about the gains. Chess is for losers, bro.”

By the end of the week, Jake’s a different person. He’s at the gym 24/7, chugging protein shakes, posting thirst traps on TikTok with captions like “#AlphaGrind #NoPainNoGain.” His old chess trophies? Trashed. His brain? Fried. All he talks about is lifting, sports, and how hot he looks. Every time he flexes in the mirror, you can see it in his eyes—pure, cocky arrogance. The app’s got him hooked, and he’s not the only one.

The spiral’s the key, bruh. You open MuscleTrance, and it’s like this glowing, swirling vortex pulls you in. Colors pulse—red, blue, gold—spinning faster and faster. Words flash across the screen: “OBEY. LIFT. FLEX.” Some techno beat thumps in your headphones, syncing with your heartbeat. You can’t look away, bro. It’s like the spiral’s drilling into your skull, rewriting your brain. Dudes who use it say they feel this rush, like every time they watch, they get dumber, hornier, more obsessed with their muscles. And when they, uh, let off some steam after a workout? It’s like their old self leaks out, replaced with more of that toxic jock bro vibe. No going back, bruh.

Soon, half the guys at school are on it. Ethan, the artsy kid who used to sketch in his notebook, shows up in a sleeveless jersey, blasting rap and yelling, “Yo, bro, check my quads!” He’s ditched his sketchpad for dumbbells, his sensitive side gone. Then there’s Marcus, the debate team captain. Dude could argue circles around anyone. Now? He’s grunting at the gym, calling everyone “bro,” and posting vids of himself flexing with captions like “#BeastMode #Dominate.” His vocab’s down to, like, 10 words, and half of ‘em are “bro.”

The app’s got this leaderboard, too. It ranks you based on your workouts, how much you lift, how many flexing vids you post. The higher you climb, the more the app rewards you with “exclusive spirals” that hit even harder. Dudes are competing to be the top alpha, flexing harder, getting cockier. It’s like their personalities are being erased, replaced with the same dumb, horny, toxic mindset. They all dress the same now—basketball shorts, jerseys, snapbacks. They all talk the same. “Yo, bro, gotta hit the gym. Gotta look hot, bruh.” Individuality? Gone. They’re just clones of the ultimate fuckboy influencer, addicted to the grind.

Some kids tried to fight it. Liam, the science nerd, figured the app was using subliminal messages or some kinda neuroprogramming. He swore he’d delete it after one try. Next day, he’s in the weight room, shirtless, smirking at his reflection, muttering, “Bruh, feels so good to be dumb.” The app’s got this grip, like it’s hacking your brain, making you crave the gym, the flex, the rush. Every time you give in, you feel that dumb jock vibe sink deeper. Obedience is pleasure, bro.

Teachers are starting to notice. Mr. Carter, the psych teacher, tried banning phones in class, but the MuscleTrance bros just sneak it in the locker room, staring at the spiral between sets. The principal’s clueless, thinks it’s just “boys being boys.” Meanwhile, the girls at school are weirded out. “They’re all turning into the same person,” Sarah, the student council prez, posted on X. “It’s creepy. They’re obsessed with themselves.” But the bros don’t care, bruh. They just flex harder, post more vids, chase that next spiral hit.

Rumor is, the app’s creator, some shady fitness influencer called “AlphaKing,” is using it to build an army of dumb, obedient jocks. Nobody knows why, but the top leaderboard guys? They’re getting DMs from AlphaKing, calling them to “join the pack” and “submit to the grind.” Sounds like a master pulling strings, keeping their minds subdued, their bodies jacked, their wills broken. Every rep, every flex, every jerk-off session makes ‘em dumber, cockier, more addicted. Muscle’s all that matters, bro.

his boyfriend showed him the commercial last week. as he sat there watching it, his boyfriend walked in holding the gel from the commercial. he got so excited. his boyfriend knelt behind him gelling his hair.

“it’s time you fell in line,” he said.

I'm not even sure if Kyle knew what his name was. He first met him outside his college waiting for a bus. The man in the leather jacket stopped and asked Kyle if he was local and if he could give directions.

Somehow, Kyle ended up walking with the man to show him. Whatever happened on the 10 minute walk, Kyle met the men the following evening.

It turned out that the man was also living locally, and hadn't actually needed directions, but it was a way of making a connection. Over the following week, Kyle was going round to the man's apartment each evening after college. He'd been targeted. Chosen and gathered up by the man as one of his current projects. Each visit, Kyle fell deeper and deeper under the man's influence. What was going on in Kyle's head can't be explained, but each evening Kyle would turn up and follow the same routine, kneeling on the floor before where the man sat, and would receive the first Marlboro Red between his lips as the man gazed into Kyle's eyes.

Kyle told his parents that he was studying in the evenings with one of his mates from college, without saying who it was. Instead, he was kneeling on the floor of a stranger's apartment as the man fed him cigarettes and spoke to him... speaking in a low and hypnotic voice about Marlboro.

Kyle would spend his day looking at the time, yearning for the moment he would step out of the college grounds and rush to his new mentor who'd be waiting for him, knowing Kyle would push the door, unlocked ready for Kyle to enter for that evening's hour long indoctrination.

It had begun with a fascination with the man's gaze and an inexplicable feeling of trust and reassurance. Within 10 days, the man's gaze and voice had become just the channel for what Kyle had come to focus on... Marlboro. From being the 'respectable' and polite young man who first walked into the man's apartment, he had transformed into a writhing jelly at the man's feet; the fetishization of Marlboro building as Kyle eagerly and desperately repeated the phrases the man instructed as Kyle smoked deep and hungrily, as if nothing else mattered in this state of overwhelming pleasure. "Marlboro is everything to me". "I live for Marlboro." "I belong to Marlboro". I worship Marlboro"... All Kyle's barriers had been broken down.

Within a month, the man had fully processed Kyle; Marlboro really was all that mattered to him. Kyle was ready to be passed on to the next level of being assimilated into the Cult.

We don't know what happened to Kyle, other than that he finished his studies and moved out of his family home to share with a new friend he'd been introduced to at the Marlboro Youth Club. That will have been his own decision. But his decisions were now fundamentally influenced by his new family.