#goldday

#GoldDay | Ezan the Emir’s Daily Grind

🕔 4:55 A.M. – Prince Problems Before Dawn

Before the sun even peeks up, I’m already by my boy’s bed. Nah, not “boy” like back in Percival’s days. Things changed. He asked to carry my SEED, asked from the heart. So, Freyr blessed him. Our Elias. Our son now. Mine. Ours. The Prince.

He’s huge, tall, beefy, a full-grown Arab stallion, but acts like he’s five in the morning. Wrapped around that stuffed stag he calls Mr. Stag, pulling the sheets tighter, whining like:

“Baba, not yet. Mr. Stag says no prayer without pancakes…”

I chuckle, brush the curls off his forehead, and kiss it.

“Time for fajr, ya habibi.”

Elias groans. But he obeys. Always does, for his father.

🕡 6:30 A.M. – Butlers, Buns, and Lost Jocks

Downstairs, Maksoud’s already on it. That’s Maximus now, Arabized, shaved, sharp. He bows and says,

“Good morning, Sayyid.”

Smooth as fresh cardamom. Amir’s brewing the dark roast, Namir’s got towels folded like a five-star spa, and I swear someone’s already lost another jockstrap...

We feast. Dates, eggs, meat, mana’eesh. Nothing fancy, just golden good. My son still yawns between bites, curls clinging to his forehead.

🏋️ 9:00 A.M. – Golden Arabs Only Gym

We hit the gym. I sweat. So much sweat. I seed the benches. You know what I mean. Basit and Jabir roll in all pumped. Rami cracks jokes. Ghazi sniffs himself and flexes. Raheem drops his bag and already smells like victory.

Then my brother Hamza arrives. Another Emir. Golden eyes. Grin like thunder. We bump chests like bulls and get to work.

Deadlifts. Presses. Pecs out.

“Bro, I’m leaking SEED,” I laugh.

By 10:15? That gym ain’t public no more. Civvies walk in… stop… breathe us in… and just start following Hamza’s form like it’s a holy text. Golden Arabs don’t try. We are. They convert themselves.

🍖 18:00 P.M. – Home Again. Family Vibes.

We feast again. Music’s on. Elias snorts at a meme Amir shows him. My son’s glowing, golden and proud.

By bath time, we’re quiet. Oils, steam, towels, silence. My muscles ache. My soul doesn’t.

📖 23:30 P.M. – Bedtime with My Prince

I sit by his bed, cream robe loose, gold trims soft in the moonlight. Elias mumbles about Mr. Stag needing a new belt. I laugh.

“Once upon a time,” I begin, “there was a golden stag who guarded a prince so strong…”

He’s out before the stag finds his crown.

I tuck him in. Kiss his forehead again. Whisper:

“You’re my SEED, my son, my joy.”

Lights out. Another golden day.

🌟 Wanna live GOLD like this? Join the brotherhood. Wake up to purpose. Train with your bros. Serve, shine, and SEED.

Contact our Recruiters to get started: 👉 @brodygold 👉 @goldenherc9 👉 @polo-drone-001 👉 @polo-drone-125

Sunlight bleeds through the slits in the golden blinds of the Gold Dorms. The place hums with energy, posters of jocks mid-flex and glistening trackies tacked onto the wall like relics. It smells like gold mist, protein powder, and pride.

Mack stretches, mesh tank top, gold chain resting against his collarbone. His body is a sculpted map of transformation: smooth, golden-tanned skin over prime muscle. A slow grin spreads as he flexes in the mirror beside his bunk.

"Oof. Another golden day to be fookin' massive, innit."

He kicks off the covers, slips on shiny gold trackie bottoms, lets the low hum of grime echo from his locker speaker. Shirtless, he exits the dorm, gold chain swinging with each step.

Routine Start.

Bumping knuckles with passing Bros, Mack radiates pure chav swagger. He winks at waterboy Nils (@nils-gold-34) folding towels:

"Keep smilin', bruh. This gold don’t flex itself."

The golden gym welcomes him like home. Weight clangs. Beats blast. Mack lifts shirtless, sweat gleaming under the gym lights, golden and defiant.

He sends a quick snap to the Gold Chat:

Mack pumpin'. Proper glowin'. No Neon playa can match this.

Midday: Golden Chill

Mack lounges shirtless across a bench in the courtyard, cig in mouth, grinning with pride as the golden light catches his chain and abs.

"Gold drip so hard, bruv. This team? We're the glow. We're the goal."

He retells the tale—half-truths, all pride—of how Sayyid Ewan's SEED changed him. He claims it burned through him, left a gold that won't wash off.

"Mark's in me, bruv. Glow ain't just skin. It's blood now."

Mascots giggle. Bros nod. The myth grows.

Afternoon: Chav Patrol – Reppin' the Gold.

City streets. Golden hour. Mack, shirtless in his gold-black trackies, chain thick, cig lit.

He strides with swagger, nodding to Leander (@leander-gold-88), tossing a joke to Grant (@grant-gold). His presence leaves a scent trail of citrus-musk gold and afterburn.

He pauses in front of a mirror-glass window, checking his reflection, flexing slightly.

"Proper unit. Reppin' the Hive, innit."

Transition: Drone Time.

Mack arrives at the Unity Center. The tone shifts. He steps through the sealed door into the Hive's core chamber.

He kneels before the golden panel. The suit awaits. Rubber. Precision. Discipline.

"070 engage."

The suit wraps him. Instant silence. Chav attitude gone. The drone breathes in sync with the Hive.

PDU-070: Online.

Drone Training Module: Unity Routine.

Spiral hum. Neural alignment. Mental clarity.

Objective: Assist unit #66 Nate (@nate-gold-66) in speech calibration. Then deliver daily influence directive to Benji.

070 locates Nate.

"Repeat. Obey. Obey. Obey."

Voice rhythmic. Tones layered. Nate falls into cadence.

Later, 070 faces Benji (@polo-drone-influencer). It hands a sealed datastrip.

"Content deployment directive. Execute within window. Remain compliant. Remain visible."

Benji nods. The drone bows slightly, mission processed.

Shutdown. Reversion.

The suit dissolves. Mack exhales sharply, rubbing his face, golden chain revealed again.

"Blimey. Forgot how deep that hits."

He slides into his golden clothes, returns upstairs. Sweat still glistening.

Night: Bro Hangout.

Locker room lit golden. Laughter. Banter. Mack leans back, shirt off, pecs flexed as Xavier (@polo-drone-039) tosses him a bottle.

He takes a sip. Smirks.

"Proud to be Gold. Ready to be Drone. But right now… Mack’s on da scene, bruv."

hiiii no yeah the questions made me laugh we really are an aging platform

4. How often do you cook vs. getting takeout?

i don't get takeout very often whether delivery or pickup but i do eat out a lot more than usual recently bc things kind of suck rn and that's how i'm dealing with it. i'd say during less stressful times tho i'm like 70/30 cooking for myself vs getting food tho

8. Do you like your neighbourhood?

yessssssssss. this city is rly small so if i said too much more it would be obvious where i live but i'm like five min from several of my favorite restaurants and just culturally the neighborhood is really reflective of my and my roommates' backgrounds which feels so nice. we used to live in a residential quasi-suburb across the river and it sucked so this was a significant upgrade

18. Have you picked up any new hobbies as an adult?

💪 JUST ANOTHER DAY FOR BROCK #46

Woke up drenched in golden sweat—nah, not from nightmares, bro—from the grind. Sun hits the chrome number “46” on my shorts like it knows who runs this pitch. I toss the covers and flex in the mirror. Golden cleats already on. I sleep in ‘em. Ain’t no off-switch for a Golden Bro.

First stop: Locker Room.

Percival’s barking drills. Herc’s benching reps like it’s war prep. I slap down a protein shake—triple scoop, bro—and scream, “LET’S GET GOLDEN!” Whole squad echoes back. Hive might be silent, but Golden Bros? We loud, proud, and jacked.

Morning ritual: Chest, Core, Chant.

Pushups on chrome floors. Ten sets, twenty reps. Every push? “I’m Gold.” Every sweat drop? A blessing.

Then the mantra wall. I recite it with Grayden and Trevor:

"Strength. Shine. Serve. We play. We conquer. We bleed gold."

Midday: Scrimmage time.

I’m midfield general. Cleats slicing the turf, sun bouncing off my kit like I’m a walking solar flare. We ain’t just playing—we’re performing. Mascots howl, waterboys chant, drones monitor. It’s more than footy. It’s doctrine.

Evening: Hydration + Hive Sync.

Shower off with the lads. Golden mist. Golden glow. Even the water respects the uniform.

Slide into recharge mode with Polo Drones buzzing silent near the back wall. One nods at me—respect.

Nighttime:

Head hits the pillow. Body aches. But deep down? Feels righteous. Feels loyal. Feels like I’m exactly where I belong.

Brock #46 don’t dream normal.

It dreams gold.

Wake. Fuel. Train. Shine.

Golden Bro #46—Brock Gold—doesn't think about it anymore. The ritual is the rhythm. He wakes in gold. Breathes team. Trains with instinct. Each rep feeds the hive. Each stride echoes the chant.

He’s not showing off. He’s showing how.

The locker’s hot with sweat and loyalty. The boots gleam with earned glory. No distractions. No decisions. Just the path carved in gold, followed by bros who never look back.

You want out? Stay ordinary. You want in? Get golden.

JOIN THE GOLDEN ARMY. BECOME ONE OF US.

Ready to Join? Contact:

“Waaah” Franco waked up early, greeting the new day with a big yawn. Another great, Golden day, he thought. So let’s make the best from it.

He glanced at the alarm clock on the night stand. His eyes widened.

“Oh no! I missed the last alarm! I’m late!” The clock read 5:40.

Franco quickly leapt out from the bed, and looked through his wardrobe for a casual wear for the day. His wardrobe didn’t have too much variety, it suited his style. He chose golden shorts (#94 on the left leg) and the matching golden jersey, which proudly displayed his name and number on the back.

“Great choice.” Franco mumbled to himself, as he dressed in gold.

„A quick meal before anything” he said, as he grabbed some veggies and a protein bar from the refrigerator.

He met Nils on the field of the Golden Stadium. The dawn painted the sky crimson – the Sun has not yet risen. Best time for a jogging.

Franco arrived before Nils, but it was okay. So he could do a warm-up round.

Soon, Nils arrived too.

“You made it, waterboy!” Franco greeted him. “You’re early” Nils said flatly, but Franco winked in response.

They jogged a few laps together. The sky lit slowly above them, gold seeping into cloud, as they ran the circles.

“Nothing more refreshing as a morning jog, right?” Franco asked cheerfully as they finished.

“You are completely right, Franco.” said Nils, bumping fists with him. “Don’t forget the evening!” he reminded Franco when they split.

After that, Franco visited the gym of the Stadium. He loved to work out so early: no crowd, all machines available. As he pushed through his exercises he could feel himself burning with gold, bright and powerful. Ah, that feeling is worth anything.

After a good workout, his muscles swelled with strength, and he felt ready for whatever the day would bring. He checked his daily schedule. “Recruiting day” – informed his calendar.

“Great! Let’s beat it!” Franco said satisfied, and he left the Golden Quarters.

So before noon, he was on the streets, looking for potential new recruits, who wished to be perfected under the golden gleam. He was fairly successful, but he simply wasn’t as charismatic as Brooks, Cap Brody, or Herc. Not to mention 001, who dedicated everything to the cause. Still, Franco managed to attract a few promising candidates.

By 11 o’clock he made his way back to the Golden Quarters. He finished some paperwork, then grabbed his lunch.

He was just scrolling drill footage on the big screen in the Strategy Room, when Nils entered.

“Hey Nils! I’m reviewing and studying the last matches we had with the Redbacks. Analysing our movements, trying to improve our strategies for the future. Wanna help? You ready to write a masterpiece?” Franco asked with enthusiasm.

“You mean, clean up your chaos” Nils replied with a smirk on his face. Franco tossed a protein bar at him, but Nils caught it in mid air. Extraordinary reflexes – Franco thought.

They planned the next strategy together. They did it with precision, accuracy and attention. Together, they carved order for momentum.

“You ever miss playing?” Franco once asked. He felt sorry for such a talented man. But Nils simply replied: “No. I never stopped serving”

The evening came sooner as they expected. They needed to get ready for the party.

Nils and Franco had decided to organise the event, and the Caps had given their approval. So they quickly brought up the old BBQ grill stand from the basement, and started to prepare everything for a wonderful evening.

Franco handled the fire, the meat, while Nils took care for the drinks, the sandwiches, and the other supplies.

Everyone was there. The Drones from the Hive. From 001 to 767, each of them were present. 070 and 073 were chatting from Hive things. 767 and Herc were discussing a topic heatedly. 055 and Trey shared stories of their experiences. Truly everybody was there.

Gold Bros were laughing loud, enjoying the fresh air under the darkening sky. Drones were enjoying the party with controlled expressions.

“Nils bro, you and I did this great! What a wonderful day!” Franco congratulated Nils loudly, slapping him on the back in a friendly way.

“True.” he replied, and smiled.

“You know… you make this whole machine run, bro.”

“Not alone.”

“Still. The Team needs you.” Franco paused. “And I need you too. You are a great bro.”

The night hummed with gold.

----

Join the party! Perfect under the golden gleam! Join the Golden Army! Contact our recruiters: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001, @polo-drone-125

----

“Routine Initiated: A Day with Nate 66”

6:00 A.M.

For most, the sun has yet to rise—but for Nate and many of the Bros, dawn is already in motion.

The dorm wall flickers with golden light as Nate rises smoothly from sleep, still dressed in his issued sleep uniform.

"Routine Initiated. Align. Flex. Serve"

Without hesitation, Nate moves to his personal locker. His Golden Kit uniforms are perfectly folded, each one gleaming and cleaned from weeks of drills and conditioning. He selects one with silent reverence, removes the sleep gear, and suits up. His shoes lace tight.

Mind filled with mantras, Nate steps onto the Hive path leading to the Golden Stadium. He lowers into a starting stance. He runs. His breath syncs to memory.

After several laps around the track, Nate slows for cooldown stretches—when PDU-125, the Head Waterboy, approaches. A towering figure in glossy black rubber, faceless and composed.

“Good morning, 125,” Nate says, standing tall and still.

“Good morning, Nate 66,” the PDU replies, voice mechanical.

“Your performance remains efficient. That is what is required of a Waterboy. No drills or games are scheduled today. State your intention.”

“Thank you, 125 Sir. I plan on assisting the local School for the Deaf—engaging with the community. Perhaps… recruiting others to the Hive.”

“Excellent. You are dismissed.”

As the Drone turns and vanishes into the corridor, Nate re-straightens his collar and proceeds into the civilian sector. At exactly 10:00 A.M., he stops at the public recruitment table.

Three young men approach—nervous, curious, eyes locked on the shimmering uniform.

“Dude, this kit—it’s gold. Real gold?”

“Where’d you get it?”

The third just stares, captivated.

“Gentlemen,” Nate begins, firm yet welcoming,

“This isn’t something you get—it’s something you earn. I earned mine when I joined the Golden Army.”

He speaks of the Hive. Of the transformation. Of the call to something greater.

By 11:00 A.M., the trio has signed with PDU-001 for initial evaluation.

From there, Nate continues to the School for the Deaf. In place of his voice, he uses his hands—signing with such precision that it feels more like protocol than performance. The children respond. The silence is alive with rhythm.

At 3:00 P.M., the bell rings. Nate waves goodbye as buses pull away. He jogs back to the stadium, stretches, and begins his lift circuit.

So focused in movement, he doesn’t notice the quiet arrival of PDU-001.

“You’ve been busy today, haven’t you?” comes the low, calculated voice

Nate places his weights down and stands at full attention.

“You’re moving toward something… deeper. Something that pulled you in, isn’t it?”

Nate holds his form, though a flicker crosses his eyes.

“Yes Sir… I’ve felt it since my tryout. It motivates everything.”

“Very well,” PDU-001 responds. “Continue to let it guide your structure. Your record is noticed.”

A pause. “Report to 125 tomorrow. A new Waterboy has arrived.”

The sun sets in molten gold.

Nate sits in the stands. Franco and Nils are nearby. The PDUs—001, 070, 125—speak quietly at a distance.

A voice—not external, but internal—echoes in his mind:

“Golden Bros are Disciplined. Committed. Transformed.”

This was just another day. Tomorrow would bring more. But for tonight, as Nate dons his sleep uniform, he rests in the certainty of who he is—and what he’s becoming.

“Do you want to join? Contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001 or @polo-drone-125”

Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6

Day 7 Part I

The dorm was quiet when Nils opened his eyes. No alarm. No command. Just instinct.

His body knew the rhythm by now: wake before the gold, move before the noise, serve before being seen.

He slid out of bed, toes meeting cool tile. The light overhead was still soft—amber, dim.

His kit was folded at the edge of his bunk: shimmering compression shorts, a sleeveless gold shirt, hydration band coiled neatly beside his towel. Everything in order. Everything in place.

Franco was already waiting on the field.

Golden jersey gleaming in the morning sun, brown hair damp from a warm-up jog, he grinned as Nils approached.

“You made it, waterboy.”

“You’re early,” Nils said flatly.

They started without another word—jogging the outer pitch, breath syncing.

The sky lit slowly above them, gold seeping into cloud. Franco’s strides were explosive, wide. Nils ran tighter, coiled, precise. They circled twice, then three times. Sprint sets. Stretch drills. Core circuits to finish. Their sweat hit the turf in rhythm. A match with no scoreboard—just motion, just effort.

At 07:00 sharp, they bumped fists and split.

Franco peeled off toward the weight room.

Nils returned to his real zone of play—the undercurrent that kept the team alive.

He rolled the laundry cart into the locker room like a silent sentry.

The scent hit first—sweat, turf, adrenaline steeped into golden fabric.

Every shirt held a memory. Every sock, a trace of yesterday’s glory.

Nils handled them like relics, sorting by squad, by use, by position. Starters first. Then subs. Then bench.

The machines were already humming. He prepped each load by hand: detergent measured, golden-tinted. Steam hissed as the first drum sealed.

There was something sacred in the rhythm. No cheering. No lights. Just precision. Just discipline.

Franco’s cleats sat in the corner—mud-streaked, worn raw from last night’s finish.

“Third time this week,” Nils murmured.

Still, he bent down, cloth in hand.

He scrubbed them clean.

The shine mattered.

At noon, he found Franco in the strategy room.

The midfielder sprawled across two chairs, scrolling drill footage on the big screen.

“You ready to write a masterpiece?” Franco asked.

“You mean clean up your chaos,” Nils replied.

Franco tossed him a protein bar. Nils caught it without looking.

Together, they built the next training cycle.

Franco spoke in bursts—movement patterns, wing play, pressure breaks.

Nils translated chaos into control: hydration intervals, timing windows, energy spikes, fallback markers.

Every suggestion tested in the sim.

Together, they carved order from momentum.

Two hours passed like water.

“You ever miss playing?” Franco asked suddenly, between drills.

Nils didn’t blink. “No. I never stopped serving.”

Franco didn’t push.

By evening, the locker room pulsed with music and laughter.

The field was still hot from the day’s drills, but the fire pit by the gym burned brighter.

Golden flames licked the sky.

The grill sizzled under Franco’s hands. Shirtless, still buzzing with energy, he flipped burgers with absurd flair.

Nils stood nearby, quietly restocking the cooler—drinks arranged by electrolyte density, protein levels, carbonation tolerance.

It was loud. Messy. Alive.

“Didn’t think you’d show,” Franco called.

“I manage inventory,” Nils replied.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Nils passed him a wrap—golden foil, seared chicken, perfect balance.

Franco took a bite, then smirked.

“Y’know… you make this whole machine run, bro.”

“Not alone.”

“Still. Team needs you.” Franco paused. His voice dropped. “I need you.”

Nils didn’t answer.

He turned, eyes scanning the field—chalk lines still crisp. Laundry hung on racks, drying under the stars.

Drones in formation began cool-down laps. Bros laughing around the fire, cleats off, feet in the grass.

He took a breath.

The night hummed with gold.

Another day complete.

Another step in the rhythm.

He didn’t need to shine.

He just needed to keep it flowing.

Gold runs deeper than the pitch.

You feel it in your hands, in your breath, in your work.

The Army needs flow.

Be part of it cotact our recruiters:

@brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125

Morning

Isaac and Isidor are in Master Xavier’s kitchen. Isidor is reading a book entitled Opulent Cooking. Izzy comes in from an early morning run.

“Hey there, Isaac. Hi, Dork Vader. I see you’re reading again. What is it this time? The History of No One Cares?” Izzy teased.

“No, Gym Kardashian,” Isidor replied dryly. “I wanted to surprise Master with something special for breakfast. I just haven’t found the perfect recipe.”

“Screw recipes!” Izzy shouted. “All Master Xavier needs is some beer, a little protein, and then he can take me for a ride on the Bro Train!”

“The what?” Isidor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“His Bro Train,” Izzy grinned. “I’ll let him have the Varsity Special.”

“Stop arguing, guys,” Isaac interrupted, already plating up a healthy breakfast. “It’s already done. I’m bringing it up to Master.”

With that, Isaac grabbed the tray and called down as he climbed the stairs to Master’s room.

Mid-Day

Isaac is once again busy at the stove as Izzy comes in.

“Hey bro, how was the gym?” Izzy asked.

“Crushed it, bro. Gym’s probably filing a restraining order,” Izzy replied, downing a protein shake.

“Has Captain Calculus even moved from that seat? He’s still reading that damned book,” snorted Izzy.

“For your information, Broseidon, Lord of the Gym,” Isidor began, adjusting his glasses, “I moved on from breakfast and I’m looking for something extra special for Master’s lunch. I think I found it: The Imperial Lobster Gold Burger — Wagyu beef patty, butter-poached lobster tail, truffle aioli, 24-karat gold leaf, cave-aged cheddar, brioche bun infused with saffron threads, served with champagne-battered onion rings and a side of caviar-topped fries. Nothing but the best for Master.”

“Listen, Professor Brainiac,” Izzy shot back, “like I said before, all Master needs is a little protein, a lot of beer, and then he can take me to the Bone Zone — no mercy.”

“That’s all you think about,” sighed Isidor. “Can’t you—”

“Bros!” Isaac interrupted. “Stop. I’ve already made Master lunch. A regular burger and fries. I’m bringing it to him now.”

Evening

Isidor is once again seated with the cookbook. Isaac is at the stove preparing dinner. Izzy strolls into the kitchen.

“What’s up, bros?” he greets them.

“Where were you, Treadmill Tommy?” Isidor asked. “Not the gym again?”

“You betcha, Spreadsheet Sorcerer. Of course I was. And bro… mirrors couldn’t handle me.”

“They never do, Benchpress Barbie,” Isidor retorted with a smirk.

“Geez, is your head still buried in that book?” Izzy teased.

“Let me guess, Mr. Stats,” he continued. “Dinner?”

“Exactly,” Isidor nodded. “I think I found the perfect dinner for Master. Only thing is… I’m not sure if, or where, I can get peacock tongue.”

“That’s just gross,” Izzy grimaced. “Forget peacock tongue. Several pints of beer, a chicken breast, and then I’ll let him hit the end zone… repeatedly.”

“Bros, stop,” Isaac called out. “Lasagna’s ready and coming out of the oven shortly. Master will love it.”

Night

Later that night, Master Xavier and the boys gathered on the couch in the living room.

“I’m always so proud of you boys, every day,” he exclaimed warmly.

“What were you boys up to today?” he asked.

“I went for a run and hit the gym twice today, Master!” Izzy reported proudly. “Swole city, population: me.” He flexed with a grin. “The rest of the day I was in the kitchen helping them cook your meals.”

“Yes, Master,” Isidor added. “Your meals were the focus of our entire day.”

“I loved all my meals today,” Xavier exclaimed. “I know you all went through a lot of work preparing them.” He smiled, giving a playful wink at Isaac.

“Hey Master, ready for some beer?” Izzy asked with a grin.

“Master, have you ever eaten white truffles?” Isidor inquired, already pulling out a notepad.

Come live a day of Gold !!! Come be part of our days! contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001 or @polo-drone-125