#dripdiscipline

Training’s over. Shirts are off. And the steam in the Golden Army locker room? Not from the showers. That’s just Wells and Alton throwing heat.

Alton leans back on the bench, legs spread like he owns the airspace. Wells walks past, gold tights still clinging, hat backwards, grin loaded. “Little slow on those sprints today, bro,” Wells chirps, tossing his towel with sniper aim.

Alton catches it. “Little loud in those tights,” he fires back. “You training or advertising?”

Wells shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. Abs pop. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it. If you don’t… stretch until you look like you do.”

Alton laughs, toeing off his cleats. “Bold talk for someone who nearly slipped during thrusts.” Wells winks. “Slipped? Nah. I was sliding into dominance.”

They both crack up. One Bro flexes, the other fake-faints. Locker room rhythm, part roast, part ritual. Muscle, sweat, and banter, louder than the speaker system.

Alton checks his reflection. Adjusts his compression shorts. “We showerin’ or doing round two?” Wells grabs his water. “Let’s get clean. Then get filthy again later .”

Locker rooms aren't for changing — they're for choosing. Confidence. Brotherhood. Gold. Step in, contact out recruiters: @polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-166 @franco-gold94

Wells 58 doesn’t bluff. He broadcasts.

Selfie mode. Sweat-dripping. Tights locked in. The message is simple: You’re not ready. And you’re not fast enough.

This isn’t just cardio. It’s combat conditioning.