#maxoutorgetout

The air in the Golden Army Gym was thick enough to taste, saturated with the scent of sweat, high-performance grip chalk, and the relentless heat radiating from Wells. Other players were working out prepping for the game against the Crimson Frost Giants, rather than worrying about the Red Goo, the Red Pups, The Red Coach and the Red Handler, the Golden Army players were focused on getting the W in this game.

Wells stood centered in the heavy-duty squat rack, dressed in his new high-output kit: shiny metallic gold compression tights that clung like liquid metal to his massive, pumped quads and hamstrings. On his feet were low-profile gold trainers, providing a rock-solid base against the textured black gym floor. Covering his massive torso was a tight, black spandex t-shirt, with the slogan "GET OUT OR MAX OUT!" emblazoned across the chest in brilliant, reflective gold print. The metallic lettering shimmered with every heavy breath.

Coach stood just outside the rack, arms crossed, his shadow looming over him. He didn't offer encouragement; he offered a mandate.

"The metric isn't how much you want to lift, Wells," Coach’s voice was a low, vibrating growl that cut through the 128 BPM pulse of The Protocol thumping from the rafters. "The metric is whether you can handle the load I've assigned you. In this gym, we don't 'try.' We execute."

Wells gripped the barbell, his knuckles white. He lowered himself into a deep, agonizingly slow squat. Every muscle fiber in his quads screamed as the shiny metallic gold tights caught and refracted the intense light from the overhead LED rigs, emphasizing the incredible definition.

"Drive!" Coach barked as Wells hit the bottom of the rep. "I want to see the exact moment your ego breaks and only the machine remains. If you can't reach the redline, you're taking up space."

Wells exploded upward, his teeth bared in a silent, mindless snarl of exertion. As the bar clicked back into the rack, Coach stepped into his space, his hand landing heavy on the back of Wells' damp neck.

"Good. You reached the limit," Coach whispered. "Remember the rule, Wells. Max out or get out, you'll be ready for that game against the Crimson Frost Giants"