#teammorales

The scent of sweat, leather, and gold hung heavy in the air. The locker room buzzed with a low hum—subtle, almost subliminal. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, bouncing off the polished metal of the benches, casting fractured glints across the golden kits neatly folded and waiting. One kit had already been claimed. One seat was already taken.

Number 36.

Morales.

He sat relaxed, thighs spread wide, gold shorts tight against his form, the iconic 2013 AC Milan kit hugging his slightly softened torso. His breath was steady. Calm. Purposeful. His reflection glimmered faintly in the brushed steel lockers opposite him, and his eyes—calm, brown, and burning—locked onto the transformation already underway.

He wasn’t just a player anymore. He was becoming.

The gold wasn’t just color. It was command. The moment the jersey slipped over his shoulders, it had whispered to him—quietly at first. Just a flicker of pride. Then louder. “Play for the Army. Win for the Hive. Obey the GOLD.”

He had chuckled at first. Thought it was the vibe, the intensity of joining a team like this. But then it grew. The whispers became pulses. The fabric seemed to breathe with him. His number—36—flared in his vision every time he blinked, glowing behind his eyelids. The change was real. The transformation was irreversible.

“Golden Bro Morales.” The voice cut through the room. Deep. Steady. Brody’s. The Captain stepped forward, his golden cleats striking the floor like a metronome of obedience. “You're no longer just a recruit. You're a symbol. You're GOLD.”

Morales nodded slowly. The warmth in his belly wasn’t nerves. It was alignment. His past self fading like chalk in the rain. His new self—stronger, united, gleaming—rising beneath the gold.

Brody held out the final piece: a pair of black-lensed golden sport goggles. "Put these on, and see like we do."

He did.

The locker room vanished. In its place—fields of endless light, golden trails streaking across the pitch, each bro glowing with energy, all synced, all surging forward as one. Unity. Power. Purpose.

Morales stood. His voice echoed low, steady, fused with golden code: “I am Golden Bro Morales. I wear the gold. I bleed for the Army. I rise for my team.”

The transformation was complete. And the match was just beginning.