#FRED PERRY

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 1: The beginning

In the quiet suburban enclave of Maple Heights, everything seemed to have its place. The two-story homes, with their neatly trimmed hedges and spotless driveways, lined the streets in perfect symmetry. It was the kind of neighborhood where everyone waved hello, the lawns were always green, and the local church bells rang every Sunday without fail. Families gathered in the evenings for barbecues, the kids played soccer in the park, and the routine felt timeless.

But recently, something strange had started to creep into Maple Heights. It began with subtle changes that no one could quite put their finger on at first—little things, like men in the neighborhood who began dressing differently, speaking in more structured, rigid ways. Then, almost overnight, more and more of the men started showing up in identical black Fred Perry polos, each one with distinctive yellow details—a thin stripe running along the collar and cuffs, and the iconic laurel wreath logo embroidered on the chest. These weren't ordinary polos, though. The fabric had a glossy sheen to it, almost rubbery or latex-like, and they were always worn with the top button fastened tight.

The Evans family had been living in Maple Heights for a decade now. Paul and Greg, a married couple raising their three sons—Luke, 24; Michael, 22; and Tyler, 20—had chosen this neighborhood for its peaceful atmosphere and sense of community. Paul worked from home as a software engineer, while Greg ran the local bakery that everyone in town loved. The boys were a lively bunch, each with their own interests—Luke was the athlete, excelling in soccer; Michael spent his time writing music and drawing in his sketchbook; and Tyler, the tech whiz, could be found in his room building gadgets from parts he scavenged at local sales.

Their lives had always been filled with laughter and activity. Weekends meant cookouts in the backyard, bike rides around the block, and movie nights with popcorn on the couch. Church wasn’t a big part of their routine, but every Sunday, Greg made it a tradition to bake fresh pastries and drop them off at the church before opening the bakery. It was his way of staying connected with the community, even if they weren’t particularly religious.

But lately, both Paul and Greg had started noticing changes in the neighborhood, especially among the men. It started with Mr. Anderson, two doors down. He had always been friendly—waving to Greg every morning as he walked his dog past the bakery. But now, Mr. Anderson was different. His usual flannel shirts and casual jackets had been replaced by a sleek black Fred Perry polo with yellow details. Even stranger, the fabric seemed almost rubbery, the way it caught the light. And the way he buttoned it all the way to the top, stiffly and neatly—it made him look more formal than usual. His conversation was short, stilted, and somehow… off.

One evening, as the family gathered around the dinner table, Paul brought it up. “Has anyone else noticed how people around here are dressing differently?”

“Yeah,” Luke said with a frown. “A bunch of guys at soccer practice started wearing those weird black polos. I mean, they look cool, but... everyone’s wearing them, like, every day now.”

“They’re Fred Perry shirts, right? But they look... shiny,” Michael added, tapping his fingers against the table in thought. “And they all button them up to the top. It’s kinda weird, like they’re in some sort of uniform.”

“It’s not just the shirts,” Greg chimed in, shaking his head. “People are acting strange, too. Customers at the bakery used to chat, laugh, but now they come in, order the same thing, and barely make eye contact. They’re so... focused.”

Tyler, the youngest, leaned forward, eyes wide with curiosity. “I saw a bunch of them after church last week. They were all wearing those black polos. I thought maybe it was some church thing.”

Paul and Greg exchanged a concerned glance. “It’s like some sort of group,” Paul said, lowering his voice. “They’re all starting to look and act the same.”

Over the next few weeks, the changes in the neighborhood became more noticeable. More men—fathers, teachers, even some of the older teens—were now dressing in the same glossy black Fred Perry polos, the yellow details standing out sharply against the dark fabric. Each man wore his polo the same way, with the buttons done all the way up to the top, giving them a sleek, almost uniformed appearance. Even their mannerisms had changed—conversations were short, their expressions calm, almost vacant.

Luke noticed it most on his soccer team. At first, it was just a couple of the players who showed up to practice wearing the polos. But soon, half the team had swapped out their jerseys for the slick, rubbery Fred Perry shirts. And once they did, their personalities shifted. They became more focused, more intense, and eerily synchronized. Luke, who still wore his usual soccer gear, felt out of place. His teammates, now all dressed in the black polos with their yellow accents, would glance at him with strange looks, as if waiting for him to join them.

“I’m not wearing one of those,” Luke said to his dads one night, slumping down on the couch. “They’re all acting weird, like they’re in some kind of club. And the coach is in on it, too. He wore one at the last game.”

“I’ve seen the same thing with my friends,” Michael added. “They’re always wearing those shirts now, and it’s like they don’t talk about anything else. It’s not like them.”

Greg sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Even the customers at the bakery... I’ve noticed more of them wearing the polos. They don’t smile, they just take their coffee and leave. And today, one of them asked if I wanted to come to some gathering after church this Sunday.”

“That’s the second time we’ve heard about that,” Paul said, frowning. “Tyler, you said you saw them after church too, right?”

Tyler nodded, his eyes wide. “Yeah, they were all standing around talking after the service. But they weren’t really talking like normal. It was like they were all... rehearsed.”

Greg shivered. “I don’t like this.”

That Sunday, Paul decided to see for himself what was going on. After the church service, while Greg was delivering his pastries, Paul slipped into the side area of the church where the men were gathering. As he stood at the back of the room, he watched them closely. Every man was dressed in the same black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details gleaming under the fluorescent lights. Their shirts were perfectly buttoned up to the top, their expressions calm and focused as they listened to the man leading the meeting. His polo looked newer, glossier than the others, and his voice was firm but soothing as he talked about the “importance of unity” and “the future of Maple Heights.”

It was more than just a social group. This was something bigger, something that was spreading.

When Paul got home, he told Greg everything. “It’s not just the shirts,” he said, pacing the living room. “It’s like they’re all part of some bigger plan. They’re getting more men to join them. It’s like the whole neighborhood is changing.”

Over the next few weeks, the transformation continued to spread. Luke’s soccer team was almost fully converted, the boys showing up to practice in their glossy Fred Perry polos, barely speaking to anyone who wasn’t wearing one. Michael’s friends had stopped hanging out altogether, and whenever he saw them, they were dressed in the same shirts, their conversations short and emotionless. Even Tyler’s teachers had begun to show up to class wearing the same outfits.

One afternoon, Greg came home from the bakery with a tight look on his face. He held up a Fred Perry polo—glossy black with the yellow logo and details—and tossed it on the kitchen table.

“They gave this to me today,” Greg said quietly. “They said it’s time for me to ‘fit in.’”

Paul stared at the shirt, his stomach twisting. “We need to figure out what’s really going on, before it’s too late.”

But deep down, they knew it was already spreading faster than they could stop it. Maple Heights was changing, and it wouldn’t be long before the entire neighborhood was transformed, one slick black polo at a time.

The next week...

Luke stood on the edge of the soccer field, his cleats digging into the grass as he stared out at his teammates, all of whom were already dressed in their glossy black Fred Perry polos. Their yellow-detailed collars were buttoned up tightly to the top, and the sheen of the shirts gleamed unnaturally in the late afternoon sun. He shifted uncomfortably in his old practice jersey, the only one left who hadn’t made the switch.

Over the past few weeks, more and more of his teammates had started showing up to practice in the strange uniforms. At first, it was just a few of the guys, but now, every single one of them wore the latex-like black polo. Coach had been pushing them harder too, but in a way that was unnerving. The drills were more intense, more synchronized. The team barely spoke to each other anymore, their conversations replaced by curt instructions and short exchanges.

Luke felt the pressure mounting every time he stepped onto the field. He knew the others noticed that he was the last one holding out. His friends, or who they used to be, barely made eye contact with him anymore. They’d glance his way with strange, expectant looks, as if waiting for him to join them, to give in.

As practice started, Luke could feel the weight of their eyes on him. He jogged through the drills, but something felt wrong. The usual energy of the game was gone, replaced by an eerie, robotic efficiency. His teammates moved in perfect unison, their movements mechanical, their expressions blank but focused. And all the while, Luke couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching him—waiting for him to fall in line.

“Luke!” Coach’s voice boomed across the field, pulling him from his thoughts. “Come here.”

Luke jogged over, his heart pounding. Coach stood on the sidelines, his own black Fred Perry polo perfectly buttoned, the yellow details gleaming in the sun. He had been wearing the shirt for a few weeks now, and ever since then, practice had felt more like a drill session than a sport. The coach’s eyes locked onto Luke’s, calm but intense.

“You’re the last one,” Coach said, not unkindly, but with a firmness that sent a chill down Luke’s spine.

Luke glanced at his teammates, all of them standing in formation, watching silently. “Coach, I’m just not sure about the mask. I don’t really feel like I need to wear it,” Luke said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Coach smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s not about the mask, Luke. It’s about unity. The team needs to be united—on and off the field. You’ve seen how well we’ve been playing lately. We’re stronger, more focused.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, glancing back at his teammates, all eerily still, waiting. He didn’t want to admit it, but there had been something different about their games recently. They were winning, dominating even. But it didn’t feel like a team anymore—it felt like something else, something controlled.

“I just don’t think it’s for me, Coach,” Luke said, though his voice faltered. The pressure was mounting, and deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

Coach’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet authority. “It’s time, Luke. You don’t have a choice anymore.”

Before Luke could respond, one of his teammates stepped forward, holding out a neatly folded black Fred Perry polo, the yellow details catching the light. Luke stared at the shirt, his stomach turning. The fabric looked slick, shiny, almost alive, and the thought of putting it on made his skin crawl.

The teammate, a boy who had once been Luke’s best friend, met his gaze, his expression blank but somehow expectant. “Come on, man,” he said softly, his voice calm but emotionless. “It’s just a shirt.”

But it wasn’t just a shirt, and Luke knew it. It was something more. The moment he put it on, he would no longer be himself. He would become just like them—another piece of the machine.

Luke stood frozen, his mind racing. He thought of his family, of his dads and his brothers, and how hard they were trying to resist the changes sweeping through the neighborhood. He didn’t want to give in, but here, on the field, surrounded by his teammates and Coach, he realized he was alone. There was no escape.

Coach stepped forward, his hand resting heavily on Luke’s shoulder. “You’re part of this team, Luke. You need to be like the rest of us.”

Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. He reached out, his hand shaking slightly as he took the shirt from his teammate. The fabric felt slick and cold against his fingers, heavier than he expected. His mind screamed at him to stop, to throw the shirt away and run, but his body didn’t listen.

Slowly, he pulled the black Fred Perry polo over his head. The latex-like fabric clung to his skin, tightening around him as if it had a will of its own. He adjusted the yellow-detailed collar, his fingers trembling as he buttoned it all the way to the top. The moment the last button clicked into place, a strange warmth spread through him, and his thoughts began to blur.

His mind felt foggy, distant. The resistance he had clung to for so long started to slip away. His shoulders relaxed, and for the first time, he looked at his teammates not with fear or hesitation, but with calm acceptance. The shirt fit perfectly, and for a moment, Luke wondered why he had ever resisted in the first place.

Coach smiled, patting him on the back. “Good. Now you’re part of the team, put this on.”

Luke nodded slowly, his mind quiet. He took his place among his teammates, their faces no longer strange or unsettling, but familiar—like they had always been. The game started again, and this time, Luke moved with them in perfect unison, every step, every movement synchronized.

As the sun set over the soccer field, the last of Luke’s resistance faded into the background, replaced by the quiet calm of uniformity. He was no longer an outsider. He was one of them now.

After practice, Luke walked home in silence, the cool evening air brushing against his face. His mind felt strangely still, as if the buzzing thoughts he had carried all day had finally quieted. The black Fred Perry polo with its glossy sheen and yellow details clung snugly to his body, and the weight of it no longer felt strange—it felt… right. The top button was fastened tight, and though he had been uncomfortable with it at first, now it felt natural, like it was exactly where it should be.

Luke walked home from practice, the full-face rubber gas mask still tightly fitted over his head. The dark, glossy material gleamed faintly under the streetlights as he passed through the quiet, suburban streets of Maple Heights. The once-familiar neighborhood now felt distant, his breathing slow and controlled through the mask’s filters, muffling the sounds around him.

His black Fred Perry polo, with its yellow details and buttoned-up collar, clung to him as he walked, the rubber of the mask and the shirt making him feel as though he was locked into something permanent. Each step felt heavy, yet he was calm. His mind was quiet now, his thoughts no longer his own.

As he approached his house, he saw the warm glow of the kitchen lights through the window. For a moment, something stirred inside him—an echo of the boy he used to be, the Luke who would come home to his dads, joke with his brothers, and feel like himself. But the mask pressed firmly against his face, silencing those thoughts. He reached for the door, knowing they would see him like this.

When he stepped inside, the familiar warmth of home hit him, but it felt different. His dads, Greg and Paul, turned from the kitchen counter, their faces going pale as they saw him standing there, dressed in the glossy black polo and the full-face rubber mask.

“Luke?” Greg’s voice was filled with shock and concern, but Luke didn’t respond. He simply stood there, the mask concealing any expression, the filters hissing softly with each breath.

Paul stepped forward, his voice shaky. “Take it off, son. You don’t have to wear that.”

But Luke didn’t move. The mask stayed on, its grip on him firm, the strange calm washing over him once again. He was home, but he wasn’t the same anymore. And as his dads stared at him in disbelief, Luke knew that the boy they once knew was slipping away.

[stud-u-like]

[30-holers]

Skinhead in 30 holers

Pic from the web. For more men in boots like his follow @30-holers

[polo-drone-001]

Conversion

Part 2: The Enlightenment

Ezan’s world had narrowed to a soft, blank haze, each thought dissolving under the weight of @polo-drone-105’s words. He could no longer tell where his own mind ended and 105’s began, the voice seeping into him, blurring his thoughts, binding him to its rhythm.

Interim co-captain @brodygold and @polo-drone-009 watched from the distance, their faces unreadable as they sensed the shift, saw the slow collapse of Ezan’s defiance.

“Gold isn’t for you to wear,” 105 murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, yet as hard as iron. “You’re nothing but a shell clinging to an illusion. The true followers shed everything, let go of individuality, erase their flawed selves to reveal the purity beneath.”

Ezan’s last flickers of pride struggled, his mind grasping for fragments of his past, but the fight was weak, a mere whisper against the flood of 105’s words. “I… I am Gold,” he whispered, his voice faint and uncertain. But even as he spoke, he felt the lie crumbling, his words empty, hollow. The shirt wrapped around him, binding him, transforming him, until his reflection was nothing but a shadow—a shadow with vacant eyes, eyes that reflected nothing but surrender.

@polo-drone-063 and @polo-drone-070 stood closer now, watching with a detached satisfaction. “See, Ezan,” 063’s voice echoed. “This is who you truly are. All that resistance, that pride—it was just a burden. This is your real strength.”

A tear slipped down Ezan’s face as 105’s final words struck the last remnants of his pride, hollowing him completely. “The man who calls himself Ezan cannot serve,” 105 whispered. “Only a drone can know true purity. Let Ezan die.”

In that moment, Ezan felt a profound emptiness, the essence of himself slipping away, dissipating into the shadows. His heart raced, but his mind dulled, his last thoughts scattering into silence.

Then, as he teetered on the edge, 009 stepped forward, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re not erased, Ezan. A part of you will remain, subsumed but there, within the collective. Your strength doesn’t disappear—it transforms.”

Brody’s hand rested on Ezan’s shoulder, grounding him, his tone reassuring. “Yes, Ezan. You’re not erased. You’re just subsumed. What you were still has a place.”

Ezan’s blank eyes softened, a flicker of faint recognition amid the blank obedience, a final thread grounding him. He felt himself nod, felt the warmth of acceptance soothe his hollowed mind, the last part of himself giving way to the collective.

“001… will serve,” he murmured, his voice hollow yet serene, a mind at peace with its surrender. He was no longer just Ezan, no longer merely a man. He was an obedient slate, an extension of the collective’s will, lost in the serene emptiness of true obedience.

In that moment, 001 was born—a perfect, devoted vessel of the collective. For the first time, he felt unity, felt the bliss of release, felt the purity of Gold he had once resisted but now embraced fully, body and soul.

Join the Golden Army. Experience transformation like never before—total unity, absolute purpose. Embrace the power, the discipline, and the collective. Your place awaits among us. DM to take the first step, or apply through our interim Co-Captain @brodygold or @polo-drone-009. Feel the bliss.

Part 1

[polo-drone-031]

Don't sit in the stands, bros. Join the team and feel how great it is to belong and succeed.

[teenagedirtstache]

Felpa "da velocista" bianco grezzo con cappuccio Fred Perry. Attrezzatura tecnica e bici, Francesco Moser

[fetusmonkey]

fruits (2000)

[citizenscreen]

Fred Perry, Charlie Chaplin, Groucho Marx, and Ellesworth Vines before a celebrity tennis match (Perry and Chaplin vs. Marx and Vines) in 1937.

[fashionlouist]

Louis is wearing a Fred Perry x Pleasures Star Shirt on stage in Madrid.

Pleasures put their stamp on Fred Perry, inspired by the LA punk scene. Made in cotton pique with a graphic star print and dual branding embroidery at the chest.

[girlsinpolos]

livmharrison

[la-skin-dude]

suck my dick.

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 3: The Unity Center

It was well past midnight when Tyler and Luke received the message from Coach. The directive was clear, the instructions simple: Michael was ready to be brought into the fold, and Tyler and Luke were tasked with guiding him. The Unity Center was silent, its shadowed halls carrying only the faint hum of machinery as the brothers slipped quietly back home.

The house was dark, the soft ticking of a clock the only sound as they crept up the stairs toward Michael’s room. Luke’s expression was calm, his mind focused, while Tyler felt a small stir of hesitation. Michael was the youngest, the one they’d always looked out for. Yet, there was a certainty to their purpose tonight that pushed away any lingering doubts.

The door to Michael’s room creaked as they pushed it open, revealing the familiar surroundings. Posters lined the walls, and a faint nightlight cast a warm glow over the room. Michael lay fast asleep, his breathing steady, completely unaware of the presence now surrounding him.

Tyler glanced at Luke, who nodded in silent encouragement. They approached the bed, careful not to make a sound. Luke reached into his bag, pulling out a device—a spiral screen with a soft glow, designed to subtly draw Michael’s gaze and pull him into a state of calm obedience.

“Let’s get him ready,” Luke whispered, his voice a steady murmur. They leaned close to Michael, gently moving his arm and adjusting his position so he lay with his head turned toward the spiral.

The spiral’s soft light filled the room as Tyler held it near Michael’s face, and gradually, a faint, rhythmic pulsing sound emanated from it. Michael’s breathing slowed, his eyelids fluttering as the glow caught his unconscious gaze. Even in sleep, his body responded, sinking deeper into the gentle trance radiating from the spiral.

Tyler felt a strange mix of protectiveness and satisfaction watching the process. This was his younger brother, someone he had always guided and protected. Now, he was bringing him into the unity they shared, ensuring he’d never have to struggle alone again.

The next step came easily. Luke pulled a small headset from the bag and carefully placed it over Michael’s ears, the faint, steady hum of Coach’s voice joining the spiral’s glow. Tyler watched as Michael’s expression softened, the tension melting from his face. The instructions whispered in his ears were calm, reassuring, sinking into his subconscious as he drifted deeper into the conditioning.

“Tonight, you are joining something greater,” Coach’s voice intoned through the headset. “Tonight, you find clarity and strength in unity.”

Tyler and Luke moved silently, pulling the black polo from the bag and gently slipping it over Michael’s shoulders. As they adjusted the collar, the sight of him in the familiar black and yellow brought a sense of completion. Michael’s hand twitched slightly, but his breathing remained steady, the words from the headset guiding him deeper, reinforcing his loyalty.

As the final step, Luke held up the spiral device, setting it on the nightstand where its glow would remain through the night, casting a hypnotic pattern over Michael’s face. The pulsing light would continue until dawn, solidifying his place in the collective, ensuring he’d wake with a new clarity, a new purpose.

“By morning, he’ll understand,” Luke murmured, his voice a calm reassurance.

Tyler nodded, watching as Michael’s hand relaxed against the sheet, his face peaceful in the soft glow. For the first time, he felt an undeniable sense of unity, knowing that all three of them would be together in this purpose. As they closed the door behind them, leaving Michael to his silent transformation, Tyler knew the family was one step closer to unity.

The next morning brought a quiet sense of satisfaction for Tyler and Luke. As they prepared for the day, the house felt unified, as if Michael’s transformation had completed something that had been missing. They could hear him moving around in his room, and both brothers exchanged a knowing look, confident that the spiral’s influence had taken hold.

But just as they finished breakfast, the doorbell rang. Tyler glanced at Luke, who raised an eyebrow. Neither had expected visitors. Let's get our masks.

Standing on the porch was Evan, Michael’s boyfriend. Evan looked relaxed and cheerful, clearly unaware of the night’s events. He grinned as Michael opened the door, greeting him with a warm hug.

“You ready to hit the mall?” Evan asked, his voice easygoing as he looked over at Tyler and Luke, offering a friendly nod. “Hey guys! Hope I’m not intruding.”

Michael returned the smile, but there was a hint of something new in his demeanor—his posture was straighter, his gaze more focused.

“Of course not,” Michael replied, his tone calm, almost a mirror of Tyler’s and Luke’s. “Come on in for a second. I just need to grab something.”

As Michael went to his room, Evan’s gaze followed him, a slight frown creasing his brow. He seemed to pick up on the subtle changes, looking back at Tyler and Luke with a curious expression.

Evan glanced at the matching black polos Tyler and Luke were wearing and then looked back at Michael, who had just returned with his own shirt carefully buttoned. “You look... different,” Evan said, his tone playful but with a hint of uncertainty. “I mean, you always look good, but something feels… new. Why the gas mask?”

Michael offered a slight smile, his voice steady. “Let’s just say I’m feeling more focused these days.”

Tyler and Luke exchanged a glance, sensing Evan’s hesitation. They knew Coach’s influence was subtle, but it wouldn’t be long before Evan noticed the depth of Michael’s transformation. Michael seemed almost indifferent to Evan’s concern, as if his attention had already shifted to the shared unity.

“You guys want to join us?” Evan asked, looking between the brothers with a friendly, if cautious, smile.

Luke shook his head. “We have other plans,” he replied smoothly, his gaze resting on Michael for a moment. “But I’m sure you two will have a good time. Just remember, Mike… stay focused.”

Michael gave a slight nod, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry. I am.”

As they left, Tyler and Luke watched from the window, noting the changes in Michael’s body language. His movements were more measured, his tone more reserved. Evan seemed to notice, too, trying to engage Michael in light conversation on their way to the car.

At the mall, Evan kept glancing at Michael, picking up on the subtle differences in his responses. Michael was calmer, more deliberate, his attention never wandering. Finally, Evan decided to address it.

“You’re acting kind of different today, Mike. Is everything okay?”

Michael looked at him, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, just… focused. Things are clearer now, you know?”

Evan frowned. “Clearer? What do you mean?”

Michael turned to him with a calm but firm gaze, the same quiet authority Tyler and Luke had gained. “I can’t explain it, Evan, but it’s something you’d understand if you felt it too.”

Evan’s confusion deepened, and for the rest of the day, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Michael was hiding something—something important. And as the afternoon wore on, Michael’s subtle encouragement became clear, his words tinged with an invitation.

“Maybe you should come with me to the Unity Center sometime,” Michael said at one point, his voice a gentle suggestion but his gaze steady. “It might help you understand what I mean.” At the Unity Center were two guards always guarding the door:

Evan’s reluctance was palpable, but Michael’s calm persistence left a subtle, lingering influence. And though he didn’t realize it yet, something about Michael’s newfound focus would keep Evan curious, drawing him closer to the truth in the days to come.

Evan felt a strange mix of curiosity and unease as he entered the Unity Center with Michael. The grand space exuded a quiet power, its rows of pews filled with men dressed in identical glossy black polos, faces blank with serene focus. The stained glass windows filtered dim light, casting dark, shifting patterns on the walls, while the steady chanting of a male choir filled the air with an eerie cadence.

As Evan and Michael moved down the aisle, Evan noticed that all the men wore the same expression of calm obedience. Even the choir members, who stood near the altar, seemed almost mechanical in their singing, their eyes fixed on the spiral symbol at the front of the room.

But it was when Coach entered that the room truly fell silent. He stepped forward with an air of complete control, followed by five men, each dressed in identical polos, who flanked him like sentinels. They were Coach’s chosen helpers, his inner circle, expressions as still and calm as the men seated around the room.

As Evan’s gaze swept over the room, his attention snagged on one of the helpers standing beside Coach. His stomach dropped as he recognized the face—Mr. Archer, his father, now dressed in the same rubbery, shiny black Fred Perry polo as the others. His father’s face was devoid of the warmth Evan remembered, replaced with a calm, obedient expression, his gaze firmly fixed on Coach, awaiting orders.

Michael placed a reassuring hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Your father understands now, Evan. He’s found clarity.”

Evan’s heart raced as he tried to reconcile the image of his father as a follower, his once-independent mind now obedient to Coach’s commands.

“Dad…” Evan whispered, taking a step forward.

But Mr. Archer didn’t respond, his gaze remaining fixed on Coach. The lack of recognition in his father’s eyes felt like a punch to Evan’s gut. He tried to move toward him, but Michael’s grip on his shoulder tightened, guiding him back into his place in the pew.

“Coach will explain,” Michael murmured, his voice calm yet firm.

Coach raised a hand, silencing the choir as he began to speak. His voice was steady, commanding, filling the space with an unsettling authority.

“Tonight, we welcome another into our brotherhood,” he announced, his gaze resting on Evan. “Unity is not forced; it is embraced. We invite you, Evan, to feel the peace that comes with surrender, just as those before you have done.”

Coach gestured toward his loyal helpers, each standing with perfect posture, faces set in unwavering obedience. Evan’s father stood among them, his expression as neutral and focused as the rest.

“You see, Evan, even your father has joined our purpose. It was only once he let go of his resistance that he understood the strength of unity.”

The choir resumed their chanting, the words blending seamlessly with Coach’s voice. Evan felt his body respond, a strange sense of calm attempting to override his shock and fear.

Two of Coach’s helpers moved forward, approaching Evan with calm precision. Michael stayed close, his hand steady on Evan’s shoulder as he guided him to a side room, leaving the chanting choir and the quiet pews behind.

In the dimly lit room, Evan noticed several empty pods lined up against the walls. Each pod was designed to fit a single person, with a helmet above and straps along the arms and legs, clearly built for compliance. The sight of the pods made Evan’s heart race, but Michael’s calm voice eased him back into place.

“Everyone here has gone through this,” Michael explained, his voice a gentle reassurance. “Your father, me, Tyler—all of us found our place by letting go.”

Before he could respond, Evan felt the steady hands of Coach’s helpers guiding him into one of the pods. His arms and legs were gently strapped down, securing him in place as he tried to take in the reality of his situation. The helpers moved with quiet efficiency, their faces calm, unfazed by his unease.

Above him, the helmet descended, blocking his view of the room. Only the soft chanting of the choir filtered through, its steady cadence lulling him into a state of calm.

The visor of the helmet flickered to life, displaying the familiar spiral that had been subtly present in the Unity Center’s architecture and decor. The spiral filled his vision, pulsing softly, its hypnotic movement pulling him deeper into focus. Each rotation seemed to whisper to him, reinforcing words of unity, obedience, and surrender.

As the spiral continued its hypnotic dance, a gas mask descended over his face, sealing gently around his mouth and nose. The faint smell of calming gas filled the mask, and Evan felt his body relax as he breathed in the tranquilizing scent, each inhalation easing his resistance bit by bit.

Coach’s voice filtered through the helmet’s speakers, low and commanding. “Welcome to unity, Evan. Breathe in the calm, let go of the noise. Here, you are safe, and here, you belong.”

The gas filled his lungs, the spiral continuing its relentless pull on his mind, and his thoughts grew fuzzy, his will slipping away under the layers of influence surrounding him.

When the helmet and mask lifted, Evan blinked, his mind a quiet expanse, his previous doubts and resistance completely erased. He rose from the pod, standing tall, his expression calm and unwavering. His father and the other helpers welcomed him with approving nods, their gazes filled with a quiet pride.

Coach stepped forward, placing a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “You understand now, don’t you?”

Evan nodded, his mind filled only with clarity and purpose. He joined Michael, Tyler, and his father, the four of them now standing together as a unified force, each one obedient to Coach’s will.

As they returned to the hall, the male-only choir resumed their chant, a low, haunting sound that reverberated through the Unity Center, binding each member in a silent pledge of loyalty. Evan’s gaze met his father’s, both sharing a look of mutual understanding—any trace of their previous identities had faded, replaced by their shared purpose within the Unity Center’s ever-growing collective.

Now it was time for the three brothers to head home, have a 'talk' with their fathers...

Hope you like my next part of this story. Please let me know your feedback, it really helps me writing these for you!

[levisuckerbutler]

Actitud hetero,hooligan y skinhead con levis viejos,adidas casuals.No gays,no models,real bastard mens

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson, FITFWT23: MILWAUKEE [13.6.2023] 📸 justlike_change

[polo-drone-001]

Conversion

Part 1: The Tension

Ezan took great pride in the Gold he wore. Each morning, he looked at his reflection, admiring the way his kit gleamed—a powerful emblem of unity, strength, and identity. To him, Gold was not just color or uniform; it was purpose. It was power. But when @polo-drone-105 joined the team, everything shifted. Unlike others who had gradually been molded into the Golden way, 105 arrived as something else, already transformed, wearing a blank, unwavering gaze and a devotion that Ezan couldn’t understand. It was a devotion that didn’t elevate Gold but consumed it, twisted it into something darker.

One morning during drills, Ezan overheard 105 speaking in a low, intense voice, his words laced with something unsettling. “True Gold followers don’t merely wear Gold; they embody it by surrendering all that they are,” 105 murmured, his eyes fixed and unblinking. “You don’t wear Gold to contain it. To truly serve, you must abandon individuality. Gold is too pure to be held in flawed hands. We must embrace rubber—the only true path to enlightenment.”

A chill ran through Ezan, his pride morphing into anger. He squared up to 105, his voice sharp, an edge of defiance in every word. “That’s not Gold. Gold is tradition, loyalty, strength. We’re here to honor it, not to dissolve ourselves into it. Gold holds us together, but we don’t lose ourselves to it. I am Gold. I stand for Gold.”

105’s face remained impassive, his voice a quiet murmur of conviction. “You cling to a false image, Ezan. Gold is beyond what you understand. It’s not meant for you to keep—it’s purity incarnate. Only by surrendering all that you are can you come close to its truth.”

The words lingered, their weight pressing down on Ezan long after he turned away. His faith wavered, leaving a hollow doubt that was hard to ignore. @polo-drone-063 and @polo-drone-070 had watched the exchange with unreadable expressions, while Brody had come forward, his tone gentle yet firm. “Ezan, we’re all on our own path here. Some choose to follow, some choose to surrender. We don’t force any brother. Remember, harmony is strength. And strength… is Gold.”

Ezan nodded, suppressing the frustration bubbling in his chest. He didn’t want to be the one to break the team’s unity, so he looked at Brody and muttered, “I apologize.” It didn’t feel right, but he bowed his head.

063 stepped forward with a quiet smile, offering him something sleek and dark—the rubbery gleam of a black polo shirt. “Here,” 063 murmured, his voice a gentle suggestion, his eyes almost vacant. “Just try it. Feel the fit. Feel the strength.”

Ezan shook his head, stepping back. “No… I’m Gold. This… this isn’t for me.”

070 blocked him, his voice soft, lulling. “It’s just a shirt, Ezan. You’re stronger than this, aren’t you? It’s not going to convert you. Just try it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he snatched the shirt, pulling it on with a scowl. “Fine,” he muttered, sliding it over his shoulders. But the second the fabric touched his skin, he felt a tingling warmth run through him. The material hugged his body, molding to him perfectly, like it was made for him. It was smooth, cool, but as it settled, a strange warmth spread, sinking into his skin, deeper with each breath. In the mirror, he saw a figure more powerful, more imposing, a figure with a gleam in its eye that held an unfamiliar power.

“See? It’s just a shirt,” 070 murmured, a soft smirk curving his lips.

Ezan couldn’t look away, his hands roaming over the smooth fabric, feeling the strength radiating from it. He tried to stop touching it, tried to remove it, but he couldn’t resist the allure. It felt perfect, like it was more than fabric, like it was bonding with him, wrapping itself around his very identity.

Just then, 105 stepped forward, his voice low, smooth, cutting through Ezan’s dazed state. “Gold isn’t yours to claim. It’s too pure for a human. Only those who abandon their flawed selves can serve. Only those who surrender can touch its essence.”

Ezan’s thoughts began to blur, the strength of his convictions fading, slipping beneath 105’s words. His hands stilled on the rubber shirt, his mind blanking, every word from 105 burrowing deep into his mind. 105 leaned in close, his voice almost a whisper, yet it echoed in Ezan’s skull.

“Abandon your past, Ezan. Abandon the lie you call yourself. Only as a drone can you reach true enlightenment.”

The words rippled through his mind like waves, eroding every thought until he could barely feel the shape of his own identity. He blinked at the reflection in the mirror, but the eyes staring back were vacant, hollow, empty of resistance.

Join the Golden Army. Experience transformation like never before—total unity, absolute purpose. Embrace the power, the discipline, and the collective. Your place awaits among us. DM to take the first step, or apply through our interim Co-Captain @brodygold or @polo-drone-009. Feel the bliss.

Part 2

[httpslizzygrant911]

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