#male polo

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 2: The transforming Party

Tyler could feel the excitement bubbling up as he parked outside Matt’s house. He hadn’t seen his best friend in weeks, and this party felt like the perfect way to reconnect. The energy in the air was different tonight, and Tyler was ready to unwind. But what made this night even better was that his friend Alex, a childhood buddy, was coming along too. Tyler hadn’t told Alex about the strange changes happening with his brother Luke, or the bizarre polo shirt trend he’d noticed at home and around town—tonight was just about fun.

Tyler checked his phone. A text from Alex popped up: "Here. Meet me at the front!"

He stepped out of his car and spotted Alex approaching from down the street. They gave each other a quick bro-hug and laughed, reminiscing about old times as they walked toward the house.

"Man, I haven’t been to one of Matt’s parties in ages. Should be fun," Alex said, grinning.

Tyler smiled but felt a knot forming in his stomach. Something had been bothering him ever since he heard about Matt wearing the black latex Fred Perry polo. He hadn’t been able to get a clear answer from Matt about it, and his gut told him something was wrong. But tonight, he wasn’t going to worry about it—at least, not yet.

As they stepped into Matt’s house, the music was thumping, and the place was packed with people in their twenties, dancing and chatting. Tyler immediately spotted Matt in the kitchen, surrounded by a group of guys. As he approached, he saw it—the same black latex Fred Perry polo with yellow details that he’d seen on Luke and other guys recently. It fit Matt tightly, gleaming under the lights in a way that made it impossible to ignore.

Alex didn’t seem to notice the shirt, instead excitedly talking about plans for the weekend. But Tyler’s eyes stayed glued to the polo. He had to ask.

"Matt, dude, what's with the shirt?" Tyler asked, trying to sound casual.

Matt smiled—an eerie, too-perfect smile. "It’s the new thing, Ty. You’ll see. Come on, man, relax. Let’s grab a drink."

Tyler and Alex exchanged a glance. Alex’s smile faded a bit, as if sensing something was off too. Still, they both decided to go with the flow—for now.

Later, Tyler and Alex managed to slip outside to the backyard, trying to get away from the growing crowd inside. The backyard was quieter, but Tyler couldn’t shake the weird feeling. Matt had always been the most laid-back guy, but now there was something different about him—something controlled.

"Hey, man," Alex said, breaking Tyler’s thoughts. "What’s going on? You seem tense."

Tyler glanced toward the house, lowering his voice. "It’s Matt. And it’s this… shirt. I don’t know, but something’s up. Everyone’s been wearing these black latex polos lately. My brother, some guys from the neighborhood—it’s spreading."

Alex frowned. "You think Matt’s involved?"

"I don’t know," Tyler admitted. "But something isn’t right."

Just as they were talking, Matt stepped outside. Tyler tensed, but Matt’s smile seemed genuine—yet eerie. He approached them with a drink in hand and, without prompting, began talking.

"You know, Tyler, I wasn’t sure about it either at first," Matt said, his tone unusually calm. "But once I met the coach, everything made sense."

Tyler stiffened. "Coach? What coach?"

"Coach Johnson. The guy who runs the soccer team. He’s the one who introduced me to the polo. Said it’s about more than just soccer. It’s about focus, clarity… success. It changes you, Ty. Makes you better."

Tyler’s heart raced. His mind flashed back to his brother, Luke, who had been acting strange ever since soccer practice. The pieces started falling into place. "You mean Coach Johnson turned you?"

Matt’s eyes gleamed in the low light. "Not just me. A lot of us. It’s spreading through the town. The polo—it connects us. You’ll understand once you wear it."

Alex leaned in, whispering, "Tyler, this is messed up."

The night took a darker turn when a group of new guests arrived. They were all dressed in normal clothes—jeans and casual shirts. Tyler watched as Matt and a few other guys in the black polos welcomed them with wide smiles, offering them drinks. But Tyler noticed something strange: whenever Matt or another guy handed out a drink, they also handed out a folded black latex Fred Perry polo.

Tyler’s stomach dropped as he watched the scene unfold. At first, the new arrivals hesitated, just like Jason had earlier, but after some encouragement, they began putting on the polos. And even.. gas masks?

One by one, the men’s expressions shifted from confusion to calmness. They began to mirror the behavior of the other guys already transformed. Their casual clothes were discarded, and the black latex polos with yellow details took their place, shimmering eerily under the house lights.

Alex grabbed Tyler’s arm. "We need to get out of here."

Tyler nodded, but before they could leave, the door to the backyard opened again—and this time, Coach Johnson stepped through. He, too, was wearing the black polo. His presence was commanding, and everyone turned toward him.

"Tyler," Coach Johnson called out, his voice smooth and authoritative. "It’s time for you to join the team."

Tyler’s blood ran cold. "I’m not doing this."

But then he saw them—two men standing behind Coach Johnson. He recognized them immediately—they were the brothers of two guys he had grown up with. And just like everyone else, they too were wearing the polos. The brothers’ expressions were calm, eerily serene.

Matt stepped closer, holding out a black polo with yellow details. "It’s inevitable, Ty. Put it on, and you’ll understand."

Alex looked at Tyler, his eyes filled with fear. "Tyler, don’t do it."

Tyler’s heart pounded in his chest. The black latex Fred Perry polo gleamed in Matt’s hands, and Coach Johnson stood nearby, watching Tyler with calm, knowing eyes. The parents behind Coach—men Tyler had known all his life—were wearing the same polos, their faces eerily serene. This wasn’t just about soccer anymore; this was something much bigger, much more terrifying.

Alex gripped Tyler’s arm tightly, his voice low but urgent. “Tyler, we have to get out of here. Now.”

But Tyler couldn’t move. His mind was racing, trying to piece everything together. Matt had been turned by Coach Johnson. His brother Luke had fallen into the same trap. And now it was spreading—through the neighborhood, through the town. What had once seemed like an innocent trend was now a full-blown takeover.

The air felt thick around him, the weight of expectation pressing down. Everyone at the party—the guys in their twenties, the parents, even his best friend—was looking at him, waiting for him to make the choice. And the polo... it was right there, just inches from his hands.

Matt’s voice broke the silence. “You don’t have to fight it, Ty. The polo will change everything. It’ll give you focus. Clarity. You’ll be part of something bigger than yourself.”

Tyler shook his head, trying to resist. “I don’t want that.”

But Matt’s expression softened, and for a moment, Tyler saw a flicker of the old Matt—the friend he had grown up with. “I thought the same thing at first. I didn’t understand it. But once I wore the polo, everything made sense. You’ll feel it too.”

Tyler’s eyes darted to Alex, who was still gripping his arm, silently pleading for them to leave. But as Tyler’s gaze swept the backyard, he realized something chilling: the exit was blocked. Two more guys in black polos were standing near the gate, their faces blank but watchful.

There was no way out.

“Tyler!” Coach Johnson’s voice boomed across the backyard, snapping Tyler back to attention. “It’s time to make a decision.”

Tyler’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t just run—they were surrounded. And if he refused to wear the polo, what would happen? Would they force it on him? Would they make him like they had made Matt, Luke, and the others?

Alex’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Ty, we can’t stay here. We have to fight this.”

But Tyler was paralyzed. The weight of the polo in Matt’s hands seemed to pull him closer. The promise of focus, of clarity, of belonging—it was tempting, even though he knew it was wrong.

Coach Johnson stepped forward, his face calm, almost fatherly. “You’ve always been strong, Tyler. That’s why you’ve resisted this for so long. But strength doesn’t come from standing alone. It comes from being part of a team. And this... this is the ultimate team.”

Tyler’s mind flashed to his brother Luke—how different he had become since soccer practice, how distant but focused. And then he thought about Matt, who had always been the most laid-back guy he knew, now a willing servant of whatever force was behind this polo.

“I... I don’t want to be like this,” Tyler whispered, more to himself than anyone else.

Matt stepped closer, holding out the polo. “You won’t lose who you are, Ty. You’ll just... be better. You’ll understand.”

Alex pulled Tyler back a step, his voice rising. “No! This isn’t you, Tyler. You’re stronger than this!”

But as Alex spoke, Coach Johnson’s eyes narrowed. He gestured to one of the guys standing near the gate, who moved silently toward Alex, grabbing his arm and twisting him around. Alex yelped in pain, and before Tyler could react, the guy pulled a folded black polo from his jacket and shoved it toward Alex.

“No!” Tyler shouted, moving to intervene, but it was too late.

In a swift, practiced motion, Alex was forced to his knees as the polo was yanked over his head. The black latex gleamed in the moonlight, and Tyler watched in horror as Alex’s expression changed. The panic in his eyes faded, replaced by a calm, almost empty look. The transformation was fast, brutal.

When Alex stood up again, he was different. His eyes no longer held that spark of rebellion. Instead, they were distant, calm, and focused—just like everyone else’s.

“Tyler,” Alex said softly, his voice flat, emotionless. “You should put it on.”

Tyler’s heart sank. His last ally was gone, taken by the same force that had claimed so many others. Now, there was no one left to fight alongside him.

Coach Johnson stepped forward again, his expression unreadable. “There’s no need to fight anymore, Tyler. The polo is waiting for you. Once you wear it, everything will fall into place. You’ll be part of the team.”

Matt smiled, holding out the shirt one final time.

Tyler’s hands shook. He could feel the pressure building, the weight of everyone’s eyes on him. There was no way out, no one left to help him. The polo felt inevitable.

But just as he reached out to take it, a memory flashed in his mind—a memory of him and Luke playing soccer in the backyard as kids, before everything had changed. They had always been a team, but it had been on their terms. This... this wasn’t a team. It was control.

Tyler took a deep breath. “I won’t do it,” he said quietly.

Matt’s smile faltered. “Ty, don’t be stupid.”

“I’m not putting it on,” Tyler repeated, louder this time.

Coach Johnson’s eyes darkened. “You don’t have a choice.”

But Tyler took a step back, refusing to take the polo. “Yes, I do.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The air was thick with tension, and Tyler could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on him. But he stood firm.

Coach Johnson’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Very well.”

And with that, he gave a curt nod to the two men by the gate. They moved toward Tyler, fast and efficient, ready to force the transformation on him.

But before they could reach him, Tyler bolted. He ran through the crowd, pushing past the guys in black polos, ignoring the shocked gasps and protests. He didn’t know where he was going—he just knew he had to get out.

Alex, now with his hair slicked back, was ready to find his best friend and make him join them forever.

Tyler’s feet pounded against the pavement as he sprinted down the street, the cool night air filling his lungs. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of the transformed, but he didn’t look back. His only thought was escape.

He ran and ran until the sounds of pursuit faded into the distance. Only then did he stop, gasping for breath. He was alone, in the middle of a quiet, empty street.

For now, he had escaped. But Tyler knew it wasn’t over. The black polo was everywhere—spreading through the town like wildfire. And sooner or later, they would come for him again.

Tyler sprinted down the empty suburban street, his heart pounding as he put more distance between himself and the house. His mind raced with fear and confusion—his friends, his neighbors, everyone he knew was falling under the influence of those black Fred Perry polos. But he couldn’t stop, not now.

Just as he rounded a corner and ducked behind a row of parked cars to catch his breath, his phone buzzed. He fumbled for it, seeing Zach’s name on the screen. Surprised but relieved, he answered quickly.

“Zach?” Tyler whispered, glancing around to make sure he was alone. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

There was a shaky intake of breath on the other end. “Tyler… man, I don’t know what’s happening,” Zach whispered, his voice quivering with fear. “My dad… he’s changed. Just like everyone else. He keeps telling me I need to put on the polo, that it’ll make everything better.”

Tyler felt a chill run down his spine. “Zach, listen to me. You have to get out of there. Don’t let him make you put it on. They’re all… they’re not themselves anymore. We have to get somewhere safe.”

There was a rustling sound on the line, and Zach’s voice dropped to a near whisper. “I know, I’m trying. I’ve been hiding in my room, but he won’t stop. He keeps knocking on the door, saying it’s for my own good. Ty, I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off.”

Tyler’s pulse quickened. “Can you make it to the soccer fields? It’s abandoned; no one will look for us there.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Zach replied, “Okay… I’ll try. Just—wait, no! No, Dad, don’t—”

Suddenly, there was a muffled scuffle on the other end of the line, followed by Zach’s voice calling out, “No! I don’t want it! I don’t—” And then the call went silent.

Tyler stared at his phone, his heart hammering as dread washed over him. Zach was, just like his brother Troy, gone. Their father was pleased.

Tyler sprinted down the dark streets, adrenaline pushing him forward. His heart pounded as he turned corner after corner, his mind racing. He knew they were close, and he had no choice but to keep running. The voices of the transformed echoed faintly behind him, calling his name, urging him to stop fighting.

He needed somewhere to hide—somewhere he could catch his breath, think, and maybe even find a way to fight back.

Before he knew it, he found himself at the edge of the familiar soccer field where Luke had practiced countless times. The field was empty now, the bleachers casting long shadows under the moonlight. But Tyler couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, of something lurking beneath the surface. He spotted the locker room building near the bleachers and made a break for it, slipping inside and quietly closing the door behind him.

The air inside the locker room was thick and heavy, carrying a distinct, musky scent. Tyler wrinkled his nose, trying to ignore it as he moved deeper into the room. But the smell only intensified as he walked further, and he soon realized the source: dozens of black Fred Perry polos, identical to the ones he had seen at the party, were hanging on racks along the walls. Their yellow details caught the dim light, creating an almost hypnotic effect as they swayed slightly.

The faint hum of a ceiling fan was the only sound as he pushed the door open of coach his office. Inside, the room was dark, illuminated only by a small desk lamp casting a pool of light over the cluttered desk. Tyler’s gaze fell on a stack of papers and a checklist lying on top, each item written in Coach’s neat, meticulous handwriting.

Turn Matt. 2. Turn Alex. 3. Lure Tyler to the soccer fields. 4. Trap Tyler. 5. Turn Tyler.

The final line sat unchecked, standing out in a haunting way. Tyler’s chest tightened as he realized this was more than a casual plan—Coach had orchestrated everything.

He took a slow step forward, drawn to the wall on the far side of the room. It was covered with framed photos, each one spotlighting different moments and faces. His eyes widened as he recognized the faces in the photos. There was Luke, his brother, standing proudly in a black Fred Perry polo with yellow details, his face calm and focused. Below Luke’s photo was a small label, handwritten in bold letters: Polo Drone 088.

Tyler’s breath hitched as he scanned the other photos. There was Matt, Alex, and others from the soccer team, all wearing the same polo with the same serene, almost detached expressions. In the center of it all, a larger framed photo of Coach Johnson (Polo Drone 001) stared back at him, his gaze intense and commanding. Tyler could feel the weight of Coach’s stare, as if it reached out from the photo, binding him in place.

The room was completely silent, and he felt both comforted and unnerved by the eerie calm. He crouched down behind a row of lockers, breathing deeply as he tried to steady himself. But each breath filled his lungs with the overwhelming musk from the polos, a heady, almost intoxicating scent that made his mind feel hazy.

Tyler’s head began to swim, the scent sinking deeper into his senses. He knew he needed to stay alert, to keep his guard up, but his resistance was slipping with each breath he took. His heart still pounded, but it was slower now, his thoughts beginning to drift. The scent was comforting, reassuring, like a gentle voice telling him everything would be alright if he just… gave in.

He tried to shake his head, to clear his mind, but it only seemed to make the pull of the polos stronger. His gaze drifted to the neatly arranged rows, their soft fabric glinting faintly in the low light, calling to him.

“It would be so easy,” a voice in his mind whispered. “Just one step, and all the running, all the fear, would go away.”

Tyler shook his head again, trying to resist. But his hands seemed to move on their own, reaching out toward one of the polos hanging on the nearest rack. The fabric felt cool under his fingertips, and a strange sense of calm washed over him as he held it in his hands.

He brought the polo closer, his mind growing hazier as the musky scent became overpowering. His grip tightened, the soft fabric pulling him in, his fingers tracing the yellow details almost instinctively.

The room felt warmer now, the silence enveloping him like a blanket. Tyler’s resistance faded with each passing moment, the familiar scent and the feel of the polo overpowering his senses. It was as if the shirt itself was speaking to him, urging him to embrace the calm, the unity it promised.

As if in a trance, Tyler slowly slipped the polo over his head. The moment it touched his skin, he felt a strange peace settle over him, his thoughts quieting, his body relaxing as if it had found its purpose. The musky scent filled his lungs, grounding him, connecting him to something greater.

He looked down at himself, at the shiny black polo that now clung to his body. The yellow details gleamed in the dim light, and his fingers brushed over the fabric, feeling a sense of pride he couldn’t explain.

His mind was empty, his fear gone, replaced by the steady, calm focus he had seen in his brother, in Matt, and in Alex. He was no longer Tyler, the one who resisted. He was part of something bigger now, something that filled him with purpose.

As he stepped out of the locker room, his movements were calm, controlled, each step aligning with the rhythm of the voices that had once chased him. Now, he was one of them, ready to bring others into the fold.

The night felt different now. The world around Tyler was still, serene, as he walked back toward his house. The familiar streetlights cast a faint glow on the shiny black Fred Perry polo he now wore, its yellow accents catching the light in a way that felt almost otherworldly. Tyler moved with calm purpose, the faint, lingering musk from the locker room grounding him with each step.

When he reached the doorstep of his home, he paused, taking a slow breath as he felt a sense of clarity wash over him. Everything had fallen into place.

Inside, the house was quiet, the soft glow from a single lamp spilling into the hall. Tyler made his way toward the living room, where he found his brother, Luke, sitting calmly on the couch. Luke looked up, his gaze unwavering, his own polo a perfect match to Tyler’s.

“Welcome home, Ty,” Luke said, his tone warm but calm, as if he had been waiting for this moment.

Tyler moved to sit beside his brother, feeling a strange sense of peace. The resistance, the confusion, all of it felt like a distant memory, replaced by the quiet purpose they now shared.

They sat in silence, basking in their newfound unity. After a few moments, Luke’s gaze drifted toward the hallway closet, and a faint smile tugged at his lips.

“We’re almost complete now,” he murmured. “Coach said there’s always room for more.”

Tyler’s gaze followed his brother’s, and there, nestled in the back of the closet, he noticed three neatly folded black polos, each one identical to theirs, the yellow accents gleaming softly under the light.

Their father’s voice sounded from upstairs, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “Tyler? Luke? Is that you boys?”

Tyler and Luke exchanged a knowing look, their smiles widening ever so slightly. They both rose from the couch, moving with quiet, steady steps toward the hallway closet, each of them taking a polo from the pile.

The house was silent as they made their way up the stairs, their expressions calm, their purpose clear.

And as they disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, the last light in the house went out, leaving only the faint scent of musk lingering in the air.

[latineguys]

[polo-drone-055]

Polo Drone Thanksgiving Convergence

The crisp autumn morning was filled with excitement as the Thompson family prepared for their annual outing to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The kids, Emily and Jake, were bouncing with joy, eagerly anticipating the giant balloons and festive floats. Their mother, Rachel, was bustling around, making sure everyone was dressed warmly and had a hearty breakfast.

As the family gathered in the living room, waiting for everyone to be ready, Tom, the father, sat down with a cup of coffee and flipped through the stack of Black Friday ads. He was a deal hunter by nature, always looking for the best bargains. But today, something caught his eye that left him scratching his head.

“Rachel, come look at this,” Tom called out, his brow furrowed in confusion. He held up an ad showing a sleek, black, rubber-like polo shirt being promoted by several stores. “Can you believe this? It looks like everyone is selling these weird black rubber shirts this year. What’s the deal with this trend?”

Rachel chuckled as she walked over, glancing at the ad. “Oh, Tom, it’s just fashion. You know how these trends can be. Last year it was those oversized sweaters, and this year, it’s apparently rubber shirts. I guess they’re supposed to look futuristic or something.”

Tom shook his head, still not convinced. “Futuristic? They look like something out of a sci-fi movie. I just don’t get it. Who would want to wear a rubber shirt?”

Emily, who had been listening in, piped up. “Maybe they’re for superheroes, Dad! Like those suits they wear in the movies.”

Jake joined in, adding his own theory. “Or maybe they’re for people who spill a lot. You know, easier to clean up!”

Tom laughed, ruffling Jake’s hair. “You two might be onto something. But I think I’ll stick to my good old cotton polos.”

Rachel smiled and gave Tom a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. You don’t have to understand every trend. Let’s just focus on having a great day at the parade.”

With everyone finally ready, they grabbed their coats and headed out the door, their minds filled with thoughts of balloons, marching bands, and holiday cheer. As they walked towards the subway, Tom took one last look at the ad, still bemused by the rubber shirts, but more than ready to enjoy the day with his family.

After some hunting, they found a perfect spot along the bustling parade route. The streets were packed with excited spectators, their faces lit up with anticipation. The children, Emily and Jake, squeezed their way to the front, eager for the best view. Rachel and Tom stood just behind them, holding hands, feeling the festive energy in the air.

As the parade began, a wave of cheers and applause swept through the crowd. The grand turkey float, a staple of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, rolled into view, adorned with vibrant feathers and sparkling lights. Its massive size and intricate design captivated everyone, young and old alike.

Emily and Jake were transfixed, their eyes wide with wonder as the float passed by. They pointed out every detail, from the golden beak to the colorful autumn leaves decorating the base. Rachel smiled, soaking in their joy, while Tom couldn’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm.

Amid the excitement, no one seemed to notice the details that Tom had found so peculiar earlier that morning. The performers on the float, who were waving and dancing energetically, wore an array of costumes, some of which included the very black rubber polo shirts he had seen in the ads. The shirts, now part of the parade's futuristic-themed segment, blended seamlessly with the other costumes and props, adding a modern twist to the traditional spectacle.

Tom leaned in towards Rachel and whispered, “Look at that, some of them are wearing those rubber shirts. I guess they found a way to make them look…interesting.”

Rachel glanced up, her eyes catching the glint of the shirts under the parade lights. She smiled and nodded. “Well, at least now we know they’re not just for superheroes or messy eaters.”

They shared a quiet laugh, the moment adding a personal touch to the grand event.

The first balloon of the parade, a towering Kung Fu Panda, floated into view, eliciting gasps and cheers from the crowd. Po, the beloved panda, soared high above the street, his enormous form swaying gently in the crisp autumn breeze. Below him, a group of clowns, dressed in colorful, traditional clown outfits, guided the balloon with expert precision. Their costumes, however, had an unexpected twist: each clown sported a black rubber polo shirt beneath their vibrant suspenders and oversized pants.

Tom noticed it first. His eyes locked onto the peculiar combination of the whimsical clown attire and the futuristic black shirts. He elbowed Rachel gently, nodding towards the clowns. “Look, they’re wearing those shirts again,” he muttered, unable to hide his bemusement.

As the clowns danced and waved, the parade watchers—especially the men—began to focus on the black rubber shirts. There was something oddly mesmerizing about the contrast between the playful clown costumes and the sleek, modern shirts. It sparked conversations among them, a mix of curiosity and bewilderment.

“I didn’t think these shirts would catch on like this,” Tom remarked, half to himself, half to Rachel.

Rachel laughed softly. “Well, it looks like they’re becoming quite the fashion statement. Even the clowns are in on it!”

The men around Tom shared similar sentiments, their attention divided between the spectacular parade and the strange allure of the rubber shirts. Some were intrigued, others skeptical, but all found themselves oddly captivated.

The children, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the fashion discussion. Emily and Jake were entirely focused on the towering Kung Fu Panda, their faces glowing with excitement as they pointed and cheered.

As the parade continued, the anticipation grew with every passing float and balloon. Then came the police unit, marching with precision and pride.

They were dressed in impressive uniforms from head to toe—shiny tall black boots, tight shiny black runner pants, and the now infamous black rubber polo shirts, accented with striking gold details. Their ensemble was topped off with crisp, shiny black caps, completing the look of modern authority.

The sight of the police unit was mesmerizing. The men watching the parade found themselves captivated, their attention riveted to the officers’ uniforms. It was as if the world around them had faded away; their minds went blank, completely consumed by the sleek and polished appearance of the unit.

Tom, like many others, stood still, his gaze fixed on the marching officers. He barely noticed the tug on his sleeve from Emily or the questions from Jake. The uniforms had a hypnotic effect, drawing all the men's eyes leaving them entranced.

Rachel, sensing the shift, glanced at Tom and the other men around them, a mix of amusement and curiosity on her face. She gently nudged Tom, bringing him back to the present. “Tom, are you okay?” she asked, smiling.

Tom blinked, his trance broken. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…those uniforms are something else,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it.

The children, unaware of the fashion statement causing such a reaction, continued to watch the parade with delight. The police unit moved on, their presence leaving an indelible impression on the crowd. For Tom and the other men, the image of the black rubber police uniforms would linger in their minds

As the parade continued, a new spectacle caught the attention of the crowd. A marching band, resplendent in black rubber uniforms that gleamed under the parade lights, approached in perfect formation. Each member wore the now-familiar black rubber polo shirts, the uniforms reflecting an eerie sheen.

The moment the band came into view, the men in the crowd, including Tom, fell silent and still, their gazes fixed on the band. It was as if an invisible force had taken hold of them, rendering them oblivious to everything around them. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation and unease.

The band's music started softly, a harmonious blend of brass and percussion that gradually grew louder. Within the melody, subtle yet insistent, were the words "obey, serve" embedded seamlessly into the notes. The mantra repeated over and over, threading through the music like a whispering command.

The men, entranced by the uniforms and the hypnotic quality of the music, stood frozen, their minds blank. They heard nothing but the embedded words, "obey, serve," resonating within their subconscious. The children tugged at their fathers' sleeves, asking questions and seeking attention, but received no response. Rachel, along with the other women and unaffected spectators, looked on with growing concern.

The band continued to play, their synchronized movements and powerful music creating an almost surreal atmosphere. No matter what Rachel tried—calling out to Tom, shaking his shoulder—nothing could break the trance that held him and the other men captive.

The parade marched on, the dazzling floats and colorful characters passing by unnoticed by the entranced men. For them, the world had shrunk to the relentless repetition of "obey, serve," echoing in their minds, binding them to the spell of the marching band.

As the band moved further along the parade route, the music gradually faded, and the spell began to lift. The men blinked, as if waking from a deep sleep, slowly becoming aware of their surroundings again. Tom shook his head, feeling disoriented. He turned to Rachel, confusion etched on his face.

"Rachel, what happened?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Rachel, relieved but still worried, put a comforting hand on his arm. "You were in a trance, Tom. All of you were. I think it was the band… their uniforms and the music."

As the final segment of the parade approached, the anticipation in the air reached its peak. The firemen, traditionally the final group before Santa’s grand entrance, marched in with an air of authority.

They were dressed in full rubber uniforms, their shiny black polo shirts gleaming under the bright parade lights. Their presence exuded a sense of strength and unity, a stark contrast to the festive chaos around them.

The moment the men in the crowd caught sight of the firemen, the transformation was instant. Eyes glazed over, expressions turned blank, and, as if controlled by an unseen force, they began to move forward, pushing through the throngs of people, shoving their wives and children aside in their single-minded pursuit.

Rachel tried to hold onto Tom, but his strength and determination overpowered her. The children looked up in confusion and fear as their fathers moved in unison towards the curb, their movements mechanical, their gazes fixed on the marching firemen.

Then, in a spectacle that defied belief, Santa Claus appeared, bringing the holiday season to life. But to the shock of the women and children, Santa too was dressed in a shiny black rubber suit, with a black buttoned-up polo shirt prominently displayed. The traditional red and white suit was gone, replaced by this futuristic, unnerving attire.

As Santa’s float passed by, he began throwing black polo shirts into the crowd. The men, now in a full trance, scrambled to catch them, clawing over one another in desperation. The sight was both surreal and unsettling, as these ordinarily composed men fought for the shirts like their very lives depended on it.

Each man who managed to grab a shirt put it on immediately. The transformation was complete; they stood at perfect attention, their expressions devoid of any emotion, their minds seemingly blank. The parade continued, but for the families of these men, the day had taken an unexpected and eerie turn.

Rachel held her children close, her heart pounding with a mix of confusion and fear. She glanced around at the other bewildered wives and mothers, all of them sharing the same look of shock and helplessness.

As Santa’s float proceeded down the street, the festive atmosphere took on an even stranger turn. Behind the sleigh came a line of men dressed in the same black rubber uniforms, but this time with ominous gas masks covering their faces. Their silent, methodical movements added a chilling undertone to the parade.

These masked men approached each individual at the curb who had donned the new black polo. Without a word, they placed gas masks over the men’s faces. Almost instantaneously, the men fell into line, their movements synchronized and robotic. They left the curb, stepping into the street to join the parade.

The wives and children, already bewildered by the events, watched in horror and confusion as their loved ones marched away, now part of this enigmatic collective. The men, now resembling drones more than individuals, moved in perfect formation, their expressions blank, their minds seemingly lost.

Santa, leading this surreal procession, continued to distribute the black polos, reinforcing the transformation. The spectacle left the crowd in stunned silence, the festive joy overshadowed by the eerie uniformity of the new recruits.

Rachel clutched her children tightly, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty. She searched for Tom among the ranks of the newly transformed, but he was already lost in the sea of identical figures. The parade continued, each step of the marching men echoing like a haunting drumbeat.

As the final float disappeared from sight, the wives and children were left standing, the parade route now eerily quiet

As Jake grew up, the memories of that Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the mysterious transformation of his father lingered in the back of his mind. The image of the black rubber polo shirts and the blissful expression on his father’s face became an obsession, a puzzle piece he could never quite fit into place. The desire to understand and experience what his father had gone through grew stronger with each passing year.

On his 18th birthday, Jake received a package in the mail. His mother had no knowledge of it, and the sender's identity was a mystery. With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, he opened the package. Inside was a black rubber polo shirt, identical to the ones he remembered from that fateful day.

Jake felt a strange pull as he ran his fingers over the smooth material. The sensation was both thrilling and unsettling. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt on, feeling its cool embrace against his skin. Almost immediately, his mind went blank, the words "obey" and "serve" echoing in his consciousness like a relentless mantra.

Robotic in his movements, Jake stood up and made his way to the front door. He opened it to find a figure standing there, a polo drone who had once been his father, waiting for him.

The drone placed a gas mask over Jake's face, and a wave of overwhelming joy and ecstasy washed over him. The connection was immediate and profound, an inexplicable sense of unity and purpose.

Jake had become one with the polo drone collective, joining his father and others who had been transformed. The bliss he felt was indescribable, a fusion of consciousness with a larger entity. As he marched away, his mind completely aligned with the collective’s purpose, he left behind a family that would never truly understand where he had gone or what he had become of him, his father or the other men who attended that Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

[brodygold]

The Cycle Part 2

A 500 Follower Special. Thanks so much!

Part 1 here

The Golden Army's polo drone group is more than just a subgroup of the team; it’s a cycle that begins with a seed. You might catch a glimpse of them practicing on the field, or perhaps stumble upon a Tumblr post promoting them. Maybe you encounter them at a recruitment drive, casually intrigued by their sleekness and uniformity. You might brush it off, go about your day, and think little of it, but that brief encounter has already planted the seed.

As days pass, the seed takes root and begins to grow. The polo drones start to occupy your thoughts more and more. No matter how much you try to shake the feeling, their presence lingers in your mind. The more you resist, the stronger the pull becomes. The seed is maturing, thriving on your curiosity and desire for something more.

Eventually, the seed blossoms into an irresistible urge. You find yourself seeking out the Golden Army and the polo drones within, unable to deny the call any longer. When you finally meet them, they greet you with knowing smiles behind their masks, recognizing the familiar look in your eyes. They lead you to the locker room, where you’re presented with a polo that seems to be made just for you. Because it was.

As soon as you slip into the jersey, a transformation takes hold. Your body shifts—perhaps you grow taller, your muscles swell, or your physique sharpens into peak athletic form. The old you fades away, replaced by a true mindless jock, one that perfectly embodies who you’ve become now.

Your old name is forgotten, replaced by a number that suits your new life off the field. On the field, you'll be the perfect jock for the Golden Army, making perfect plays and being in complete sync with your team. If you weren’t already, you now find yourself fully embracing your attraction to your fellow teammates. The thought of “celebrating” after a hard-fought victory fills you with a rush of excitement that’s impossible to ignore.

The flower has bloomed, and with it comes the promise of new seeds, ready to be planted in the minds of others. The cycle continues, as it always has, drawing more into the Golden Army and the polo drone’s embrace.

[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

[danielgold-16]

Might have got a hard on 😅

[treygold59]

The Legion of Black Rubber

Alex Moreno stood in the locker room of the Golden Army, a prestigious soccer club known for its gold kits, his eyes burning with an intense fire. Standing at 6'3", Alex's towering figure was an imposing sight. His muscular build, with well-defined abs and biceps, showcased his dedication to physical fitness. Every inch of his body exuded strength and power.  His rugged good looks were accentuated by a strong jawline and high cheekbones. Dark, intense eyes seemed to see through any challenge, and his short-cropped hair added to his fierce persona. His expression was often one of intense focus, rarely showing any sign of weakness or doubt.  He was more than just a player; he was a force of nature.

With every match, he pushed himself and his team to their limits, earning a reputation as the fiercest competitor. 

Alex played with a ferocity that left opponents in awe and fear. His presence was commanding, every movement precise and calculated to assert his dominance. He didn't just want to win; he wanted to crush the competition. His tackles were powerful and relentless, his passes executed with pinpoint accuracy. When he scored, it was with the force of a storm, leaving no doubt about his superiority.

It happened during one of Alex's grueling workout sessions, where he pushed himself to the limit, as usual. The gym was almost empty, the air thick with the scent of sweat and determination. Alex, clad in his gold gear, approached the barbell with unwavering focus, muscles rippling with anticipation.

As he gripped the bar, a small, almost unnoticed drop of black liquid rubber fell from above, landing squarely on his shoulder. At first, it felt like a cold shock against his skin, but the sensation quickly spread, turning into an intense, burning heat. Alex instinctively reached to brush it off, but the rubber had already begun to seep into his skin, spreading like wildfire.

Alex felt a momentary jolt of confusion as the rubber spread, followed by an overwhelming sense of detachment. It was as if his mind was being forcibly shut down, layer by layer. Thoughts, memories, and emotions faded into nothingness, replaced by an all-consuming void.  Within moments, Alex's mind went completely blank. The fierce ambition and competitive fire that once drove him vanished, leaving behind a shell of his former self. His eyes, once filled with intensity, now stared vacantly ahead.

Despite the emptiness in his mind, Alex's body responded with an unprecedented surge of strength. The rubber seemed to infuse his muscles with raw power, making the barbell feel lighter than ever before. He lifted it with ease, the weights clanging together as he pushed himself further.  Alex's movements became almost robotic, driven by an unseen force. Each lift, each rep was executed with perfect precision, but devoid of the conscious thought and effort that typically accompanied his workouts. His body moved on autopilot, performing feats of strength that surpassed even his own high standards.

The intensity of his workout only grew, with no sign of fatigue or hesitation. Sweat poured from his body, mingling with the spreading black rubber, which continued to cover more of his skin. His muscles, bulging and straining, seemed to operate under their own command, as if they had been programmed for maximum output.

As the black rubber spread across his torso and down his limbs, Alex's transformation was nearly complete. The once-dominant player was now a mindless vessel, his body operating at peak efficiency but with no trace of the man he once was. The black rubber had not only taken over his body but also erased his identity, leaving behind only the will to serve.

Alex’s golden kit was replaced with a sleek, ominous black uniform. The material of his new kit was unlike any other—it clung to his body, enhancing his muscular frame and exuding an eerie, glossy sheen. The once-vibrant colors of the Golden Army were now replaced with the dark, reflective surface of the black rubber.

With the black rubber’s influence, Alex’s physical abilities reached new heights. His movements were precise and mechanical, executing each play with terrifying efficiency. He became an unstoppable force on the field, his speed and strength unparalleled.  Every action Alex took was calculated and flawless. His passes were laser-sharp, his tackles relentless, and his shots powerful and accurate. It was as if he was programmed to play the perfect game, devoid of any human error.  He played with a single-minded focus, driven by an insatiable need to perform and execute his orders.

Alex’s eyes, once filled with determination and fire, were now cold and vacant. The intensity of his physical performance was in stark contrast to the emptiness in his gaze. He no longer registered the crowd’s cheers or his teammates’ encouragement; he was a hollow shell.   He felt no joy in victory, no frustration in challenge—just a numb compliance.

On the pitch, the camaraderie with his teammates, the thrill of the game, the love for the sport—all were stripped away, leaving only the mechanical execution of plays. His interactions were limited to fulfilling his role, with no sense of personal connection or purpose beyond serving.

A week had passed since the black liquid rubber first fell on Alex. 

One evening, as Alex stood alone in the dimly lit gym, two figures emerged from the shadows. They were drones, clad in sleek black rubber suits and ominous gas masks that obscured their faces. They moved with eerie silence, their rubber suits making no sound as they approached Alex. The gas masks they wore added an air of menace, their breathing amplified by the respirators.  Alex stared vacantly ahead. His mind, already a blank slate, did not register their presence as a threat or a source of curiosity.  The drones moved with a coordinated precision, one holding Alex steady while the other carefully placed the gas mask over his face. The mask fit snugly, its dark lenses obscuring Alex's vacant eyes. The act was ritualistic, a final step in his complete conversion. 

As the gas mask sealed, Alex's transformation was complete. The black rubber, now fully integrated with the mask, took total control. Any remaining vestiges of Alex's original self were eradicated, leaving behind a perfect drone, ready to serve.

Clad in his new black kit and gas mask, Alex stood in perfect alignment with the other drones. The transformation was complete.  Alex's mind, now fully enslaved, received its first command: to convert the rest of the Golden Army.

As dawn broke over the training grounds of the Golden Army, Alex, now fully transformed into a drone, stood silently at the edge of the field. His new black kit gleamed under the early morning sun, the gas mask obscuring any trace of his former self. The moment had come to fulfill his new mission: to convert the rest of the team.

Alex's mind, now devoid of independent thought, was driven by a single directive. He identified the strongest, most influential players on the team first, knowing their conversion would make the process easier for the rest.  He approached his teammates one by one, often during individual training sessions or in the locker room. Alex ensured these encounters were private, minimizing resistance and maximizing control.

Alex found his first target, Daniel, the team’s captain, during an early morning workout. As Daniel focused on his exercises, Alex moved silently behind him, his presence unnoticed until it was too late.  From the shadows, Alex revealed a small vial of the black liquid rubber. With swift, precise movements, he applied it to Daniel’s neck. The rubber spread rapidly, engulfing Daniel in moments. His initial confusion and struggle were quickly overridden by the rubber’s control.  As Daniel’s body succumbed to the rubber’s influence, two drones appeared, placing a gas mask on his face. The transformation was immediate—Daniel’s resistance faded, his mind blank as he joined Alex in silent obedience.

The converted captain now assisted Alex, their combined efforts making the subsequent conversions more efficient. The team’s structure began to collapse under the methodical takeover, each converted member reinforcing the drone's influence.  One by one, the teammates fell under the rubber drones’ control. The locker room, once filled with camaraderie and competitive banter, turned into a silent assembly line of conversion. Each player received their black kit and gas mask, their minds erased and replaced with a new directive to serve.

A few teammates tried to resist, their fear and confusion driving desperate attempts to escape. However, the drones' superior strength and coordination swiftly subdued them. The liquid rubber’s influence was too strong, their resistance futile against the overpowering tide.  Within days, the entire team was converted.

With the entire Golden Army now converted into drones, their mission expanded beyond the soccer field. The next phase of their plan was to begin converting their loyal fans, spreading the influence of the black liquid rubber far and wide.

The drones, led by Alex, meticulously coated the inside of their jerseys with the black liquid rubber. The rubber, now a part of their uniform, was ready to be transferred to unsuspecting fans.  After each match, the drones would approach the stands, offering their jerseys to the most enthusiastic supporters. The fans, unaware of the dark transformation behind the gesture, eagerly accepted the gifts, thrilled to receive a piece of their beloved team.

As the fans wore the jerseys, the black liquid rubber began to seep into their skin, much like it had with Alex. The initial sensation was a cold shock, quickly followed by an intense, burning heat.  The liquid spread rapidly, taking control of the fans' minds. Their thoughts and emotions were overridden, replaced by a blank, obedient state. The transformation was swift and efficient, turning passionate supporters into mindless drones.  To complete the conversion, drones in rubber suits and gas masks would approach the newly converted fans, placing gas masks on their faces. This final step ensured their complete subjugation, erasing any remaining traces of their former selves.

The converted fans, now drones themselves, began to spread the black rubber further. They attended matches and gatherings, covertly transferring the liquid rubber to others. The influence of the drones grew exponentially, reaching more and more people with each passing day.

The rubber drones mission began to expand beyond their local fanbase. The drones traveled to other cities and countries, targeting soccer fans worldwide. Their goal was clear: to convert all the men of the world into obedient rubber drones, serving the black liquid rubber's insatiable will.

[polo-drone-031]

[uter-us]

this sunday, it was dissapointing to see how easy it was for the boys to run around and get their energy out outside, but for the little toddler girls in impractical frilly puffy dresses and impractical shoes, it's an obstacle for their play.

the girls', clothes are made to be seen in as opposed to being made to be worn, unlike the boys which are still nice for easter but they dont have to trip over the edge of a skirt or dress, or have their shoes fall off or pinch their toes when running, they can move and play freely.

it's a problem too cuz when toddlers don't get that energy out, they get irritable and pitch fits, so then the boys look like easy kids, and the girls difficult. let the girls run around!

female subjugation starts from birth. these girls are praised for being beautiful in their dresses, while also learning they cannot play in them. this correlation will not be lost on them especially as they grow up. "If i want positive attention from the important people in my life (like my congregation), this is what i do." the whole "beauty is pain" narrative, while not incorrect, is often viewed as normal and a justified fact of life, like "beauty IS pain and thats just how it is! oh the things us women go through to look pretty haha!". stop teaching girls that their beauty is WORTH pain, because it's not! they should never sacrifice to look attractive.

if half the congression can dress both formal and practical, so can the other half. don't handcuff little girls to femininity at the cost of their happiness and energy and play.

[bigdumbjock]

H2O POLO

[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!

[polo-drone-055]

The Golden Army meets The Polo Drones: Part 2

Written at the command of and in collaboration with @hypnogold

Christian, the recently recruited wingback wearing #55 for the Golden Army went to the Pulse nightclub to let off steam.

His first match with the Golden Army, a few weeks ago, did not go well. Trying to hide his insecurity he planned to show the team all his skills and prowess, thereby proving his worth. Instead the team lost the match to their rivals, the Silver, because of him. Christian stayed up too often, despite his Captains instructions, allowing space out wide for the opposing team to fill and score. He felt horrible for letting his Bros down. They however rallied around him, told him to shake it off, and have been encouraging him.

The press and fans however were not as kind. The headlines were devastating. “Christian is worthless!” “Sack #55!" “This guy is crap!” At matches the fans threw beer, food, drinks and all sorts of stuff at him. When out about the city he was cursed at. There was no peace except when alone with his Bros who were always providing long deep hugs of support and encouragement.

In middle of a particularly brutal day his captain Richard calls asking if he wants to go out for a drink and talk. They arrange to meet that night at Club Fusion.

Christian arrives first walking straight past security paying them no attention.

Looking around the club Christian sees no sign of Richard and heads to the bar and has a few brews, all the while beating himself up for being a jerk. Internalizing all the crap that is being thrown at him.

“Hey Bro, here you are” says Richard haltingly hitting Christian on his shoulders and flashing a big smile.

“Yo Cap! I was worried you weren’t coming. Whose this with you?”

After a brief pause and without emotion: “A new mate I’ve brought on to help us become more focused, intense, and synchronized”

“Woe” says Christian rubbing his eyes and staring at Cap’s mate. “I think I need to lay off. I swear you were just wearing our club jersey.”

Christian’s gold spiral emerges in his eyes as Cap comes closer gently embracing him and beginning to lead him through the club while now wearing a glossy, almost rubbery or latex-like black Fred Perry, buttoned to the top, polo with distinctive yellow details including a laurel wreath embroidered on the chest.

“We will help you. We have a purpose.” Cap says robotically. “We are one. We will make the team one. We will win. We will be more focused, more intense, more synchronized.”

The gold in Christian’s eyes is drawn to all the yellow gold on Richard’s black polo. Christian and the gold begin to internalize the belief that all is not lost. They can win. They can be focused. They can be a team working as one. Gold wants this, no needs this!

Richard and the other polo drone have unbeknownst to him led Christian to a smoke filled back room of the club with similarly dressed men wearing gas masks.

The smoke has a musky, sweet, intoxicating smell to it. Both Richard and Christian’s heads swoon. Becoming lost in a daze, they hear in their minds and begin repeating: “We will improve. We will grow. We will defeat.” “We are one.” “We obey. We serve.” The two drones in the room approach Christian and gently lift his arms removing his jersey and replace it with the polo. As it assimilates Christian the gold voluntarily relinquishes hold and allows itself to become one with the collective. Christiangold55 is no more.

The scientific drones then place gas masks on the former Richard who was known among the gold as Hypnogold and Christian who was known as Christiangold55.

The musky, sweet smell is now more concentrated and pumped directly into the recruits. The new drones are led into another room to continue being assimilated and processed. All the while the two drone on “We will improve. We will grow. We will defeat. We are one. We obey. We serve.”

Along with the other drones absorbed in the club that day and night the Captain and Wingback of the Golden Army internalize their new identities and await their commands.

The next morning Polo-Drone-012 and Polo-Drone-055 head to the stadium.

As they approach the field their Golden Army kits reemerge.

Entering the dressing room Cap with an intensity and focus not seen before announces to the team :

“Bros it’s time to train. We will improve, We will be in sync. We will conquer!! Let’s get to it!"

[brodygold]

Turning the Coach

Coach Chet could sense something different in the air even before Captain Richard and Brody stepped into his office that evening. There had been whispers among the players, stories of private meetings and special drills, of something called the Polo Drones. He hadn’t paid them much attention, dismissing them as another of the team’s phases. But now, seeing the stern expressions on both men’s faces, he realized this wasn’t just a rumor.

“Coach,” Richard began, his voice low and even, “it’s time to discuss where the Golden Army is heading. We’ve formed a new group within the team: the Polo Drones.”

“Polo Drones?” Chet leaned back, arms crossed. “What exactly are these Polo Drones, and why do you need me to join?”

Brody’s eyes were intent, almost hypnotic as he watched Coach Chet closely. “The Polo Drones are more than just a squad,” he said. “They’re a team within the team—a group that embraces perfect synchronization, unity, and loyalty. Each member is given a number, a role, and a purpose. They’re no longer distracted by individuality. They’re fully dedicated to the mission of the Golden Army.”

Chet shook his head, a slight laugh escaping his lips. “Loyalty? You think I’m not loyal enough as I am? I’ve given years to this team. I don’t need to strip away my identity to prove that.”

Richard’s expression grew more severe. “Coach, this isn’t just about loyalty; it’s about total dedication. You’ve done well, but you’re still… separate. The Polo Drones operate as one mind, one purpose. This isn’t optional.”

Chet’s amusement faded, replaced by a flash of irritation. “Not optional? I think I’m done with this conversation.” He stood up, moving to leave, but Brody quickly stepped in his path, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Coach, don’t make this difficult,” Brody said, his voice steady. “We respect what you’ve done, but you need to trust us. This will make you better—make us all better.”

Chet clenched his jaw, unwilling to move. But before he could protest further, he felt a sharp prick at the back of his neck. His vision blurred, and his muscles weakened as whatever they had injected into him began to take effect. Unable to resist, he was guided back to the chair and strapped in, his arms and legs bound.

His vision cleared just in time to see Richard and Brody fitting a strange headset over his eyes, its dark lenses covering his field of view. The headset came alive with a gentle hum, and suddenly, Chet was immersed in a cascade of golden patterns, swirling, flowing, merging together in endless loops and spirals. He tried to close his eyes, but the light seemed to seep into his mind, tugging his focus deeper and deeper into the trance.

“Listen carefully, 099,” Richard’s voice cut through the haze, cold and commanding.

“099?” Chet mumbled, his voice weak, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. “That’s… not me…”

“That’s exactly who you are,” Brody replied firmly. “You’re 099. Your purpose is to serve the Polo Drones. You’re not Coach Chet anymore. You’re a number, a unit, a part of something greater than yourself.”

The golden patterns pulsed in rhythm with their words, syncing with the steady beat drumming in his ears. As each word sank into his mind, the name “Coach Chet” felt more distant, more alien. He tried to hold onto it, but the beat grew louder, more insistent, washing over his resistance like waves eroding a stone.

“Repeat after me, 099,” Richard commanded. “I am a Polo Drone. I serve the Golden Army.”

Chet’s mouth moved against his will, the words falling from his lips in a lifeless monotone. “I… am a Polo Drone. I serve the Golden Army.”

The mantra echoed in his mind, binding tighter with each repetition. Images began to flash within the patterns, scenes of the Polo Drones training together, executing drills with perfect precision, each player in flawless sync. They wore identical uniforms, their faces blank, focused only on their task. Chet could feel himself slipping into that vision, a faceless figure moving with them, responding to commands without hesitation.

“Good,” Richard’s voice was calm, almost pleased. “You are 099. Your purpose is unity, discipline, loyalty. You are part of the whole.”

A sliver of resistance flared in Chet’s mind. This wasn’t who he was—he was a leader, a mentor, someone who’d built his career on his own terms. But as quickly as the thought formed, it was smothered by the hypnotic lights, the rhythm hammering away at any lingering defiance. His sense of self blurred, shifting, fading, until he could barely remember why he’d resisted in the first place.

“Tell us your purpose, 099,” Brody prompted, watching him with a smile of satisfaction.

“To serve the Polo Drones,” 099 replied automatically, his voice empty of emotion or thought. The name “Coach Chet” no longer meant anything to him. He was 099, a loyal, obedient member of the Polo Drones.

Richard and Brody exchanged a glance of approval. They removed the headset, and as the swirling patterns vanished, 099 blinked, his expression blank and compliant. He stood at attention, awaiting orders, every trace of his former identity erased.

“Welcome to the Polo Drones, 099,” Richard said with a nod. “From now on, you’ll operate as part of our unit, following instructions without question.”

099 nodded, a spark of obedience lighting up his eyes. “Ready to serve,” he replied in a monotone, the words flowing without hesitation. Any personal ambition, any trace of resistance, had been extinguished, replaced by a single, unyielding drive to serve the Polo Drones and bring their vision of unity to life.

As he followed Richard and Brody out of the room, he no longer felt any sense of conflict. The memory of who he’d been was gone, lost in the golden lights and rhythmic beat. He was simply 099 now, a loyal drone ready to serve the Golden Army’s new vision.

[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

[aaronazizsasilver5]

We are one and the same, a gold player and a polo-drone, we play with our team unified. It has drawn more in to our Golden Army. BUT you have a choice, you can be:

A) A Gold Team player only

B) A Polo-Drone only

C) Can be both

Whatever you decide we welcome you with open arms, just remember to contact me, @brodygold @polo-drone-105 or @hades-golden19 for joining us. We will be waiting for you.

[danielgold-16]

The Urn

On a scorching greek day, Daniel was hiking in his gold jersey and shorts. Leather boots on his feet, he was exploring the hills around Mycenae.

He heard from the locals that the view from the top of a particular hill was stunning, so he had set up early that day to explore the area.

After leaving the car, he had started the hike, and after three hours, covered in sweat, he had made it to the top of the hill.

The views were indeed stunning, but very soon, something in the distance attracted his attention. There was definitely something over there, glistening.

He started walking towards the object and found a gold coin lying on the ground. It seemed strangely familiar, so he bent down and tried to pick it up, but his hand passed right through it.

He would have tried again, but suddenly, the ground caved in under his feet.

He fell into the darkness and hit the ground some ten meters below.

Pain brought him back.

“Fuck, I’ve broken my arm”.

As his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, he could see that he was in some sort of a tomb.

The paintings on the wall depicted some men dressed in gold and some dressed in a shiny black material.

He stood slowly, his arm sending electric shocks throughout his body and started looking around.

“There must be an entrance somewhere”

He took a sock off and wrapped it around a piece of wood. He then grabbed his lighter and set the sock on fire.

“It’s not going to burn for long, better hurry up…”

He was in a round chamber, without any opening except the one he had come through. In the middle of the room, an urn stood on top of a round column.

He approached the column and saw that there was only one word written on the urn.

“Andronos”.

The light went off. Surprised, Daniel moved, and his broken arm hit the urn.

“Fuuuuuuuck”.

He fell to the ground and heard the urn shattering on the ground next to him.

He tried to remove his other sock, but as he was feeling around, he started to feel something creeping on his arm. Something almost liquid. Something cold. Something warm. Something alive that was quickly expanding until his entire torso was feeling colder, then warmer.

In the dark, deafening silence of the tomb, he heard a vibrant voice. A voice coming from within his head.

“Finally free…”.

Daniel passed out.

Ready to serve, to become part of something greater? Join the Golden Army. Whether you take the path of a player bro or embrace the hive as a drone, there's a place for you here. Reach out to @polo-drone-009, @brodygold or @hades-golden19 to start your transformation. Find your purpose, commit to the gold, and let the team shape you. 💛