zayed-gold87

[zayed-gold87]

[zayed-gold87]

Shukran Emir, the birth of Elias

Life was going perfectly for Elijah. After his dorm mate got him invested in the golden army he seemed perfect. Every day he was dressed in his bright gold jersey, pulled together by a dapper button up and tie underneath, as well as a nice pair of khakis. Still the stellar student and preppy man as always, he had a new passion for fitness and sports, always being turned into games when they happened. He was always put together and after his semester abroad concluded, he decided to get a flat and stay in London as his home. All was going well for the lad.

Elijah was a bit of a brat, typucal of an honor student with a family of money. He often dismissed the needs of others and closed himself off to his team. His beauty and proper upkeep made him attractive to all on the team, but many couldn't help but feel he could be better. Often the subject of hazing and teasing from his teammates, Elijah could only ponder what would be coming for him next. As he walked the streets of London, constantly tuned into his game, he felt at peace, never minding the men who would stop and stare or harass his preppy attitude.

Suddenly when walking, Elijah got an urge. His eyes became fixated on a suspicious dark alley. Something inside of him was telling him to visit. The alley was typically the host of a few destinations of interest, a thrift store, an international market, and a delicious Moroccan restaurant him and the lads occasionally stopped at before games. As he entered the alley, he would be surprised by the hands of a stranger.

Before he could tell what happened, Elijah found his arm pinned behind his back. A strong cologne could be sensed from the man, overtaking Elijah's senses. He didn't feel fear, he didn't feel much of anything, just... Susceptibility. Slowly he felt a presence lean to his side. The man had a thick accent, likely from some random Arabian country. He strokes Elijah Ms Pail smooth arms before murmuring.

"you've done so good for the team boy. Too bad you're not perfect... Yet" the face of the man rubbed against Elijah's cheek, the course stubble working his way into his skin. "Just breathe Akhi, I'm only here to help. You like the smell of this cologne? The feeling of my skin? I knew you would." Elijah Blacked out the next moments. As the hands of the stranger moved about Elijah's body, helping him relax, he couldn't help but be peaceful, he felt something inside him change.

"good boy, you'll be perfect," The man kisses Elijah's cheek before giving him a nice slap on his khaki behind. "I'll be by later akhi, be ready for me."

The interaction was soon over and Elijah turned around to nothing. If it wasn't for the man's smell lingering on him he would be convinced he was day dreaming. He finished up his business and returned to his flat.

Elijah got ready for bed as he always did, in his shiny gold silk pajama set and watching his local football team. After the game, and enjoying a healthy amount of bourbon, the boy made his way to his mirror to finish his nightly routine... When he got a shock.

Staring at his reflection, Elijah was shocked by his dirty blonde pin-straight hair now becoming curled and darker. He has curls and waves, a new fade, and his hair growing wilder. The boy tried a mixture of clays and gels to tame the hair but nothing worked. Then he got a thought,

"the argan oil!" The boy remembered one of his brothers brought him Moroccan argan oil hair products though he never needed them, his hair was perfect and didn't take much maintenance. After applying a liberal amount of the oils, the smell lingering on his scalp, his hair began to calm.

"what is happening?" The boy thought

The next surprise would come while washing his face. The boys face, typically smooth after many sessions of laser hair removal, became rugged and stubbly. He looked up at the mirror to find a thick black shadow growing on his chin. He could never grow facial hair let alone anything as perfect as this. What could possibly be happening. It was at this time he got a knock at the door.

As Elijah opens the door he sees before him a large Algerian man, he recognized him from the team.

"E-ezan?" Elijah muttered. He and Ezan were never in the same circles, though it was known that Ezan was always one of Elijah's earliest crushes from the team. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I said I'd be by earlier Akhi, don't you remember?" Ezan says entering the apartment. He takes note of Elijah's pj's, "men shouldn't wear silk akhi. Don't worry I'll fix it. Great how your hair is coming along isn't it? The beard is also growing in, with time of course young akhi." Ezan chuckles.

"That was you?!" Elijah inquired "I have no clue what is happening. And lay off my choices." Ezan laughs, first heading to the kitchen to pour out the rest of Elijah's bourbon before staring back at him.

"Akhi, no more drinking, you're letting down the team." Ezan stood assertively. Elijah didn't drink very much, what could Ezan possibly be on about? Never the less, Elijah couldn't help but listen. Something about the way Ezan's jersey fit him, the way his cologne filled the room, and the hypnotic spiral of his eyes pulled him in. "Do you understand Akhi?"

"yes Emir," the words flew out of Elijahs mouth. He doesn't know where he even learned that word, he had no knowledge of Arabic but he knew it was the right response. He just kept staring.

"Good Akhi, it will all be done soon, just keep staring." Ezan pulled Elijah into his arms, undressing him from his silk PJ set. While he was getting undressed and seemingly with every touch of Ezan's hands, Elijahs pale skin became a dark olive. His hair continued to grow falling onto his eyes, leading to Ezan pushing it back and holding it with a hairband. The stubble continued to grow filling out Elijah's face. Memories for Elijah began to change too. He didn't study abroad in London, his family immigrated from Jordan. Ezan recruited him for the team at a meeting after masjid. They did everything together.

"There seems to be a mix up Akhi, you had on the wrong jersey this morning," Ezan cooed while playing with Elijah's chest. "It's alright though, I brought a new one. I'll always take care of you." Elijah remained entranced by Ezan. Placed in his hand was a new golden jersey. Still number 20, but now with the name إلياس written on it, as well as the English version, Elias.

"Shukran Emir! I don't know how it got mixed up!" Elijah, now Elias said throwing the jersey over his new curly mop of hair. Ezan retreated to the closet, bringing out Adidas track pants and slides for Elias, as well as an easy to remove pair of slides.

"Here akhi, put these on, we have a bit of shopping to do for you. Don't worry about your closet. I will handle it later." Elias could only nod to his emir's commands, obedient and respectful, as he has been taught to live his life. After getting changed he appeared differently. No longer the American teen Londoner brat he was, but now a respectful, disciplined Arab man.

"Now before we go by your new thobe I must say," Ezan starts, "This will be your schedule

Mondays and Tuesdays: You are Elijah, the good preppy boy

Wednesday and Thursdays: You are Eli, the London chav

And On the weekends: You are Elias, the proper Arab man.

Is this clear akhi?"

"Yes Emir, Shukran" Elias said nodding to his commands. Ezan was always the perfect Emir to him, making sure he remained disciplined and proper. He would always love and cherish his emir. With that, Elias and Ezan were off for their nightly trips around London, beginning of course at the masjid. The same line becoming as prominent as Elias's own name when speaking:

Shukran Emir

If you want to join the golden army and transform your life for the better, contact our recruiters @polo-drone-001 and @goldenherc9 as well as our captain @brodygold

[zayed-gold87]

Come join the golden team.

Contact captain @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001 to sign up.

[zayed-gold87]

Keep getting bigger bro. No thoughts, just reps. Join the golden team, message @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001

A Herculean Transformation

Hercules, a 26-year-old British man with a flair for the flashy, strutted into the gym wearing his signature outfit: shiny gold Nike tracksuit pants. He loved the way the fabric gleamed under the fluorescent lights, announcing his arrival like a king in his court. In one hand, he carried a blender bottle filled with his secret weapon: a protein shake he'd bought online from a questionable website that promised "unimaginable gains."

As he sipped the concoction, a strange sensation surged through his body. His muscles started to bulge, veins popped out like overinflated balloons, and his skin darkened to a rich bronze hue. He looked into the mirror and gasped—or at least tried to, because his jawline now resembled a cement block. Hercules had transformed into a hulking, dumb version of himself, now resembling an Algerian Arabic bodybuilder with an IQ seemingly traded for biceps. His old self had been erased and he has become Hamza.

The gym-goers stopped and stared as he attempted a deadlift, accidentally ripping the barbell in half. "Strong! Me so strong! Look at me!" he shouted, his British accent completely obliterated by an inexplicable, booming Algerian drawl.

"Bro, you okay?" asked a concerned bystander.

Hercules now Hamza—or whatever he had become—grinned widely. "Okay? Me best! Me lift heavy, look shiny! Like golden banana!" He flexed his muscles so hard that his gold tracksuit pants shredded at the seams, revealing thighs the size of tree trunks.

By the end of the session, Hamza was sitting on a bench, staring at a protein bar wrapper like it was a complex mathematical equation. "Dis... go in mouth, make strong, yes?" he asked, scratching his head.

As the gym staff nervously approached, Hamza pointed to the shake bottle. "More shake! Me want to be biggest... and maybe learn math later."

Hamza joins his brothers @zayed-gold87 and @polo-drone-001 for more golden arabic workouts and to keep growing like the golden brothers they have become together.

Huhu come join da Gold brahs and become a better u like me did huhu message @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001 2day bruuuuhs

[zayed-gold87]

Zayed adjusted his golden gym kit in the locker room, the gleam of the fabric catching the fluorescent lights. At 23, he was the pride of his fitness team—an athlete with a lean, defined physique that turned heads. His light leg hair stood out against his smooth, tanned skin, and his freshly shaved face gave him an air of youthful ambition. Today, he was determined to push harder, lift heavier, and carve himself into an even greater version of his already-impressive self.

The Shake

His teammates were already at work in the weightlifting section, their grunts and laughter echoing through the gym. Zayed grabbed a shaker bottle from the counter, its milky contents swirling with a hint of frothy foam. It was a new blend the trainer had suggested—a secret recipe designed to optimize growth and performance.

“Just try it, Zayed,” his coach had said with a wink. “You’ll see results in no time.”

The shake was cool and sweet, with a faint, almost metallic aftertaste that Zayed shrugged off. He downed it quickly and wiped his lips, tossing the bottle aside as he headed toward the bench press.

The First Signs

The workout began like any other. Zayed loaded the barbell, his toned arms flexing as he pressed the heavy weights with ease. By the second set, something strange began to happen. His muscles tingled, a sensation that was both exhilarating and unfamiliar.

“Bro, you’re looking pumped already,” one of his teammates joked, slapping Zayed on the back.

Zayed laughed, but his focus was already narrowing. The weights called to him, their challenge irresistible. Each rep felt easier, his strength surging with every movement. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror—his biceps were fuller, veins more prominent. He grinned, a hint of pride swelling in his chest.

But then the tingling spread.

By the time he hit the squat rack, his thighs bulged unnaturally, the golden gym shorts clinging tightly to his expanding quads. His teammates stared, their jaws slack as Zayed’s body seemed to defy logic, growing with each set.

The Fog

The changes weren’t just physical. As Zayed moved to the dumbbells, a strange fog crept into his mind. Thoughts felt slower, simpler. Words he once used effortlessly now seemed distant, as though they no longer mattered.

“Big,” he muttered, flexing his arms in the mirror, his voice deeper than he remembered.

“What was that?” one of his teammates asked.

Zayed didn’t answer. He couldn’t find the words. The mirror reflected a growing stranger—a massive, chiseled version of himself. His shoulders stretched the seams of his golden kit, the fabric straining to contain his unnaturally broad chest. The veins on his arms pulsed with each curl, his biceps now the size of grapefruits.

“More… lift,” Zayed grunted, his vocabulary shrinking to match his expanding physique.

The Obsession

Hours passed, and Zayed didn’t stop. He tore through exercises with a single-minded determination, his body transforming into a grotesquely perfect machine. His traps rose like mountains, his calves bulged like carved stone, and his golden gym kit barely clung to his impossibly toned frame.

The fog deepened. His teammates’ voices became background noise, their attempts to reason with him ignored. All that mattered were the weights.

“Zayed, maybe you should stop for a bit,” someone called out, but the words bounced off him like a distant echo.

“Lift,” Zayed growled, his hands gripping the barbell with an almost primal need.

The Final Transformation

By the end of the day, Zayed was unrecognizable. His once bright, sharp eyes now glinted with a dull, vacant focus. His clean-shaven jaw was square and jutting, his neck thick with muscle. Every inch of him was swollen, unnaturally sculpted, a statue of raw power.

He stood in the mirror, flexing, admiring the results he could no longer fully comprehend. His mind was a haze, his thoughts consumed by a single desire: more.

“Lift… big… muscle,” Zayed muttered, the words slow and heavy.

He didn’t leave the gym that night. Or the next. The shake’s formula had worked perfectly, leaving Zayed a hulking, brainless giant, living only to lift. His life as an ambitious young athlete faded into a haze of protein shakes, barbells, and the unending pursuit of size.

He belonged to the gym now. It was his sanctuary, his prison, and his sole purpose.

Join the Golden Army today! Reach out to @goldenherc9 , or @polo-drone-001

[zayed-gold87]

The Headset: Part 1

Knock, knock.

Danny got up from his desk, slightly puzzled because he wasn't expecting any guests or deliveries. He lazily made his way to the door mumbling about the inconvenience as he swung the door open. Nothing.

He stepped out to look around but couldn't see anyone in the vicinity, almost not noticing the small brown package that had been left at his door as he swung back round to go back inside.

He picked up it up before heading back to his room, ripping the top open and sliding out the contents. A sleek VR headset stumbled onto his desk. He checked the package but it was addressed to him, maybe he had ordered it when drunk after a night out he thought to himself.

He looked it over realising it had already powered on and was ready for use. "What harm could it do?" he said in his head as he started to slide it over his head and eyes beginning to adjust it to a snug fit.

He ran through some start up sequence, mostly asking for some simple details, a warning popped up as well which was swiftly ignored. A small white dot appeared which he was instructed to focus on while additional calibration took place before the system restarted. Danny looked at the time realising he was going to be late as he chucked it to the side.

The next day rolled around and Danny had almost forgotten about it before almost knocking it off as he was rising from bed sleepily. He had no plans today, so he strapped on the headset again, intrigued as to what was on it.

Once tightly fit the headset booted up, with a welcome screen for him, displaying his full name. Puzzled, he thought back to yesterday. "I didn't put my full name in it only asked for a nickn..." he was thinking out loud before a spiral appeared.

Whatever calibration the headset has done yesterday it had worked, the spiral forced Danny almost immediately under, his mind going blank as he could barely control his body. His tongue fell out his mouth as he panted from pleasure, subject to various conditioning.

The headset powered down as Danny took it off, placing it on his desk. He looked at his clock, it has been almost three hours. He tried turning it on again but all he got was a recharging notice before it powered down again. Strangely, he couldn't actually remember what he had played, though he wanted to play again, frustration hitting him as he had to wait.

It wasn't until the next day, scrolling through his feed aimlessly did he see the headset light up again. Danny almost fell out his chair as he scrambled to it, putting it on again excited to play, the spiral appearing once again.

It was more intense this time, the pleasure indescribable as he sat there in his chair helpless, not that he would remember. He could never recall the details but the need to play was steadily growing, a desperate, lustful need.

He could barely contain himself when he saw it light up again the next day as repeated the process. Another session down, though it took a while for Danny to come back round this time, the out of battery headset still strapped to his head, he pulled his tongue back in. "Must have been concentrating" he thought to himself. Unable to question why he couldn't remember what he had been doing, he just knew he needed to play every day.

This was his new routine now, rushing back home after completing whatever he needed to do for the day, eagerly awaiting for the screen of the headset to flash on. He had begun to skip out on seeing his family and friends, they weren't as important as the game, he needed to play the game.

Whoever had sent the headset had now doomed Danny to a routine of brainwashing, triggers and conditioning he would never be aware of planted in his mind.

[zayed-gold87]

We stand up for each other

If someone from the Golden Army needs help, we will be there as quickly as possible. Talking can also help.

If you are also looking for a virtual family whose members are actually there for each other, come and join us. Contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001.”

[zayed-gold87]

What a team, and what a victory.

Versus the Vanguard

Written by @polo-drone-070, pics done by me

The golden glow of the stadium bathed the field in brilliance as fans roared their support for the Gold Team. Flags waved, chants echoed, and mascots Milo @polo-drone-151 and Chevy @chevy-gold led the charge, joined by golden knight Grayden @polo-drone-084 who rallied the crowd with grand gestures. Behind the scenes, Milo, in his PDU-151 mode, ensured every preparation was perfect, alongside PDU-049 @polo-drone-049 and PDU-069 @polo-drone-069, whose precise coordination kept the players pumped and ready.

On the other side, Vanguard stood, their players poised and formidable. Known for their precision and elite mentality, they exuded confidence but carried the weight of their fragmented team dynamics.

The whistle blew, and the match began at a blistering pace. Vanguard’s discipline was on full display as Steele (#8) commanded the midfield, threading passes that tested Gold’s defense. But Zayed (#87) @zayed-gold87, unyielding as sweeper, quickly set the tone, intercepting Steele’s early attempts and rallying his team with calm efficiency.

In the 15th minute, Zayed anticipated a pass from Steele and launched a counterattack. Eddy (#73) @eddygold relayed the ball to Daniel (#16) @danielgold-16, whose quick decision-making split the defense with a through ball to Herc (#9) @goldenherc9. Herc surged forward and fired the opening goal past Reyes (#1), Vanguard’s keeper. 1-0, Gold.

Vanguard retaliated with a moment of individual brilliance. Vance (#10), their star forward, dazzled the crowd by weaving through Gold’s defense. His technical dribbles left two defenders in his wake before unleashing a low shot that left Brody (#11) with no chance. 1-1.

The second half began with relentless pressure from Vanguard. Steele and Drayton (#11) attempted to break Gold’s defensive rhythm, but Zayed and Henry (#70) @polo-drone-070 formed an impenetrable backline. In midfield, Eddy and Ambrose (#49) continued to control the game’s tempo, outmaneuvering Vanguard’s calculated plays.

In the 50th minute, Zayed cleared a dangerous cross from Drayton, sparking a counterattack. Herc received the ball and breezed past Lang (#4), Vanguard’s central defender, before slotting it neatly past Reyes. 2-1, Gold.

Vanguard refused to relent. Vance orchestrated another dangerous attack, slipping through two defenders. This time, however, Henry read the play perfectly, executing a clean, game-saving tackle that drew cheers from the crowd.

Minutes later, Vanguard equalized with a lightning-fast play. Steele launched a pinpoint pass to Drayton, who dribbled past Xavier (#39) @polo-drone-039 and made a perfect cross met by Crane (#19), the substitute. His header soared past Brody. 2-2.

Closing Moments: The Final Push

The match hung in the balance until the 75th minute when Ambrose intercepted a pass from Lang and delivered it to Ross (#79). Ross surged down the left flank, outpacing the defense and curling a shot into the top corner. The stadium erupted as the scoreboard flashed. 3-2, Gold.

Ezan (#1) nearly added another with a powerful shot from the edge of the box. Reyes, however, made an extraordinary save, leaping to tip the ball just over the bar, earning admiration even from Gold’s fans.

Gold sealed their victory in the 85th minute. Eddy intercepted a sloppy clearance from Crane and passed to Zayed, who charged forward with unexpected speed. His low cross met Daniel on the edge of the box, and Daniel’s thunderous strike rattled the net. 4-2, Gold.

Post-Match: Celebration of Unity

As the final whistle blew, the Gold Team erupted in celebration. Zayed and Eddy were hoisted onto their teammates’ shoulders, hailed as the match’s architects. Herc and Ross exchanged victorious grins, their contributions decisive in securing the win.

The Vanguard players, despite their individual brilliance, walked off solemnly. Their fragmented focus had been no match for Gold’s cohesion and teamwork. The scoreboard told the story: Gold Team 4, Vanguard 2.

In the stands, Milo and Chevy led the victory parade, with Grayden raising a golden shield to the cheers of the crowd. The night was a triumph not just of skill, but of unity—proving once again that the Gold Team’s strength lay in their bond, a force greater than the sum of their parts.

[zayed-gold87]

Don't move!

[zayed-gold87]

Young Polo Drones

“Ready to join the Team? All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001.”

[zayed-gold87]

A Clash of Hurling Titans: Cork vs. Galway

The stage was set at Páirc Uí Chaoimh, Cork’s legendary hurling fortress, where the passion of sport and the unity of teams converged under the Irish sun. The crowd roared, a sea of red and white Cork fans blending with maroon-clad Galway supporters. This was more than just a game; it was tradition, rivalry, and pride personified. Among the warriors in Cork’s lineup stood PDU-016 and PDU-110, each embodying athleticism and discipline.

PDU-016, a striking figure with light brown hair meticulously styled in a preppy cut, sported a shiny gold rubber polo shirt with black accents and the number “016” emblazoned on the right of his chest. His green eyes scanned the field with calculated precision. His heavy black leather boots and quilted trousers signaled strength and resilience, unyielding under pressure.

Beside him, PDU-110, an American-born powerhouse with sandy blonde hair styled in a sharp undercut, was equally striking. His black rubber polo shirt with gold accents bore the number “110” in bold. With his heavy boots and black sports shorts, he was ready to face any challenge Galway threw their way.

The Game Begins

From the first whistle, the intensity was palpable. Galway struck first, sending a ball sailing over the bar to cheers from their contingent. But Cork answered immediately, with 016 catching a high ball midfield, his powerful swing sending the sliotar streaking through the air to score Cork’s first point. The crowd erupted, their voices a wall of sound driving the team forward.

Galway, however, was relentless. Their forwards danced around Cork's defenders, probing for weaknesses. It was in moments like these that 110's strength shone. A Galway attacker, poised to strike, was met by 110’s perfectly timed block, the sliotar ricocheting harmlessly away. With a quick flick of his hurl, 110 sent the ball into Cork’s forward line, where it was skillfully converted into another point.

The first half ended with Cork holding a narrow lead: 0-08 to 0-06.

Second-Half Dominance

Cork returned with renewed determination. 016 took charge of the midfield, his presence undeniable. Galway’s defenders faltered under his relentless onslaught. A critical moment came when 016 launched a long-range strike that sailed past Galway’s keeper into the back of the net. The stadium exploded as Cork surged ahead.

110, embodying precision and power, orchestrated Cork’s defensive wall. Galway’s star forward found no opening, his every move shadowed and stymied by 110’s unwavering presence. The American's heavy boots seemed to root him to the ground, a wall Galway could not breach.

Another goal came late in the game, the result of seamless teamwork between the Cork duo. 016’s expertly placed pass found 110, who, in an uncharacteristic but effective offensive maneuver, struck a low ball that rippled the Galway net. The scoreboard reflected Cork’s dominance: 2-12 to 0-09.

The Victory Celebration

The final whistle blew, sealing Cork’s triumph. Players embraced as the crowd cheered, the joy of victory coursing through the stadium. But the moment belonged to 016 and 110, the golden and black figures standing tall as the architects of Cork’s success.

As the team celebrated, 016 approached 110, holding a gleaming steel chain collar. With a practiced motion, he placed it around 110's neck and secured it with a lock. The symbolic act solidified not just their partnership on the field but their unity and discipline as drones of the hive.

The crowd roared anew, celebrating not just a game but the harmony and precision that defined the Cork team. In the light of victory, PDU-016 and PDU-110 stood as shining examples of dedication and excellence, a testament to the Hive’s vision of unity through discipline.

[zayed-gold87]

My mum has got this new boyfriend, and has invited me to spend the weekend with him and his son to get to know them but his son Ryan is kind of a dumb smelly jock and i am the complete opposite. Is there some way where we can get along?

Hypnotized by the Musk

I never wanted to be here. Spending the weekend at my mum’s new boyfriend's place was bad enough, but now I was stuck “bonding” with his son, Ryan. From the moment I stepped inside their house, I knew I wasn’t going to fit in. The air was heavy, almost suffocating, clinging with the thick, pungent stench of sweat and body odor.

Ryan was sprawled out on the couch when we arrived, wearing a damp, faded black tracksuit with the zipper pulled halfway down his chest. His body was built—broad shoulders, chiseled muscles bulging under his shirt, veins visible along his thick forearms. His dark hair was buzzed short, and a shadow of stubble clung to his strong jawline. Even from across the room, I could see the sheen of sweat glistening on his tanned skin, and I could smell him—musk, heat, something primal. It clung to the room like a living thing, and I instantly felt the urge to gag. The cocky smirk that spread across his lips as I approached told me he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having.

“Sup, Josh,” Ryan drawled, his eyes sliding lazily over me, sizing me up like I was some weak little creature in his territory. “You ever hit the gym, or you too busy with those books?”

I glared at him, already feeling defensive. “No.”

He chuckled, his broad chest rising and falling as he leaned back into the couch, arms draped casually along the backrest, his body exuding this casual dominance. His smell got stronger the closer I got. Sweat had darkened the armpits of his shirt, and I could see the dampness along the collar, sticking to his thick neck. The smell was choking, but worse than the smell was how confident he was in it, as if his sweat was some kind of weapon he knew I couldn’t fight.

"Figures,” Ryan muttered under his breath. “We’ll see if we can toughen you up this weekend."

Later that night, after dinner, Ryan suggested we hang out in his room. I didn’t want to, but what choice did I have? Mum was trying to get us to bond, and avoiding him wasn’t going to help. So I followed him up the stairs, already regretting it. His room was worse. It was small, cramped, and filthy. The air was even thicker here, saturated with sweat, old gym socks, and something sour that I couldn’t place. It made my head spin.

Clothes were everywhere—sweaty, crumpled gym shirts and track pants tossed haphazardly across the floor. His dirty trainers were kicked under the bed, and the heat in the room only amplified the stench. Ryan didn’t seem to notice; this was his space, and he was comfortable in it.

As soon as I stepped inside, I felt like I was trapped. The musk hit me again, stronger than before, wrapping itself around me like a fog, so thick I could almost taste the salt on the air.

Ryan flopped down on his bed, legs spread wide, his gaze fixed on me. His eyes gleamed with something I didn’t like. Then, without warning, he tossed a balled-up shirt at me. “Here,” he said casually. “Put that on. Might help you relax.”

I caught the shirt reflexively, feeling its dampness immediately. It was old, stained with dried sweat under the arms, and still warm. The smell hit me like a punch to the gut—stronger than anything I’d ever smelled before. It was soaked in him, like it had absorbed every drop of his sweat over countless gym sessions. My first instinct was to throw it back at him, but Ryan leaned forward, his voice softer, more coaxing.

“Go on. Smell it.”

I hesitated, feeling my heart thud harder in my chest. I shouldn’t have even considered it. The thought of pressing this filthy, sweat-soaked shirt to my nose made my stomach churn—but something in the way Ryan spoke made my muscles freeze. His voice was low, commanding, and without thinking, I brought the shirt up to my face.

The moment the scent hit me, my body jerked. The smell was overwhelming—thick, musky, the raw scent of a man who had spent hours working out, soaking his clothes in his own stink. It should have been disgusting, but instead, something stirred deep inside me.

I inhaled again, slower this time. The air burned my nostrils, thick and hot, but with it came a strange warmth that started low in my belly. The smell invaded my senses, creeping into my mind like a fog. I felt lightheaded, almost dizzy, but I couldn’t pull the shirt away. I needed more.

"That’s it," Ryan murmured, his voice sounding like it was coming from somewhere far away. “You feel that, don’t you? Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My whole body felt sluggish, heavy, like my muscles were melting under the heat of his musk. But there was something else, too. My skin tingled, and I felt a strange tightness in my chest—something spreading through my veins, buzzing with every breath I took. My dick twitched in my pants, a sudden jolt of heat shooting down to my groin. I gasped softly, horrified by my body’s reaction.

But Ryan noticed. “Oh yeah,” he said, standing up now, moving toward me. His hand gripped my shoulder, firm and steady, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “You’re getting into it now, aren’t you?”

I tried to shake my head, tried to deny it, but another deep breath of his musk filled my lungs and my knees almost buckled. My thoughts were slipping away, dissolving into the heat, into the need. My cock throbbed painfully in my jeans, and I could feel wetness gathering at the tip, leaking into my boxers.

"You're leaking," Ryan whispered, his mouth close to my ear. "You like this more than you thought."

My heart pounded. Shame burned in my cheeks, but at the same time, a sick thrill pulsed through me. I wanted to stop, to run, but I couldn’t move. I was trapped in the heat of his body, in the overwhelming musk that was making my cock harder with every breath. The smell of him—it wasn’t just disgusting anymore—it was intoxicating. I needed it. My brain felt foggy, like the scent had wormed its way inside, making it harder to think, harder to fight.

I shifted, trying to relieve some of the pressure between my legs, but Ryan’s hand slid down to my chest, pressing me back against the wall. “Uh-uh,” he murmured, his grip firm. “No touching yourself. You don’t get to cum. Not yet.”

I whimpered, hating how much I needed relief. My body was burning with it. My dick was pulsing, so sensitive it hurt, but I couldn’t stop myself from breathing in more of his musk. Every inhale sent another shockwave of pleasure through me, making my head spin.

Ryan stepped even closer, his chest almost touching mine now. The heat of his body radiated off him like a furnace, his scent so thick I could barely stand it. But instead of pushing him away, my hand gripped the sweat-soaked shirt tighter, pulling it closer to my face.

“You like that smell now, don’t you?” Ryan’s voice was thick with satisfaction. “You want to be like me. A dumb, sweaty jock.”

I groaned, my body trembling under the weight of his words. I did want it. I wanted to stop thinking. Stop worrying. I wanted to be like him—big, dumb, and soaked in sweat. The more I thought about it, the more my cock leaked, the wet spot growing larger as pre dripped down my leg.

Ryan grabbed the shirt from my hands and held it up, pushing it toward me. “Put it on,” he commanded, his voice a low growl.

Without thinking, I obeyed. I pulled the shirt over my head, the damp fabric clinging to my skin. The second it touched me, I felt a surge of heat—pleasure coursing through my body. The musk was all around me now, seeping into my skin, filling my lungs. It felt like the shirt was becoming me, fusing with my body.

“Look at you,” Ryan muttered, stepping back to admire me. “You smell like me now. You’re becoming me.”

I stood there, my mind blank, my body thrumming with heat and need. Every inch of me tingled with pleasure, my dick rock-hard and leaking, but I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t need to think. I didn’t need to fight. All I needed was to breathe.

And as I stood there in Ryan’s room, drenched in his sweat and musk, I realized that I didn’t just want to smell like him.

I want to be him.

[zayed-gold87]

Additional training enhancement complete, under the watchful eye of PDU 073.

Ready to join the Team? All you need to do is contact our recruiters: @brodygold , @goldenherc9 , or @polo-drone-001

Get focused, Zayed!

This story was created in collaboration between

@polo-drone-073 (text) and @zayed-gold87 (images) @polo-drone-070, thank you for checking the content of the preliminary note

Preliminary note for readers who are not so familiar with the Golden Amy, consisting of the Golden Team, also called Gold Bros, and the Polo Drones, or PDUs (Polo Drone Units). As a rule, people join the Golden Team – in other words, they become Gold Bros. For the Gold Bros who want to choose a disciplined, focused path, there is the option of being converted into a PDU and thus following the maxims of the Hive. The drones support the Golden Team in several ways. However, all Gold Bros who become PDUs in this way retain their gold status and can temporarily switch back to their old ego on special occasions. In their old ego, however, the knowledge or what they learned in drone life is also available to them. So that they are basically an optimized form of this old ego. The switch takes place symbolically and practically by exchanging the uniform for sportswear and vice versa. There was also a time when people could join the PDUs directly without any detours. In this case, they were typically given numbers beyond 100, although it is not the case of all PDU-1XX units. These pure drones do not have gold status and are therefore not bound to a Gold Persona, but the Gold Influence can still allow their former human side to come out if it is needed somehow.

------

After the first training session, a young, athletic Arab with light hair approached Eddy. Eddy immediately noticed his very muscular legs.

„Hi, I'm Zayed, Cap Herc recruited me from another team to help the Golden Team win. Here I play as a sweeper.”

Eddy now understood why the 23-year-old had such strong legs. A sweeper had to be flexible and ready to intervene in defense.

“Not to boast,” Zayed continued, “but I'm good—very good, or Cap Herc wouldn’t have brought me here. Still, I have weaknesses. Sometimes I’m too imprecise, and it affects my game. The guys told me you’re a PDU with Gold Status, and I’ve learned you’ve got plenty of experience—both as a player and with drone training. I’d like your help.”

Eddy was honored. He had always enjoyed mentoring younger players. The PDU’s role also involved supporting the Golden Team. He considered Zayed’s request, thinking beyond physical training. The PDUs had specialized rooms, typically used for drone conversion, but they could also facilitate hypnosis to enhance focus and discipline. Eddy promised Zayed he would arrange something.

After training and a shower, Eddy returned to his drone form and consulted PDU-070, responsible for managing treatment and hypnosis rooms. Together, they scheduled a session for Zayed.

The next morning, at 6:00 AM, Zayed met PDU-073 outside the Polo Drone Conversion Complex. The building’s design reflected the team’s colors, gold and black, giving it a sleek, professional look.

Despite trusting the PDU, Zayed felt uneasy. He understood this was a form of hypnosis to enhance his focus but couldn’t help worrying.

What if something went wrong?

What if the programming went too far?

Would he end up a drone?

Still, his drive to improve won out. He followed PDU-073 into a small, minimalist room with rotating spiral disks on two walls and a chair in the center.

“Sit and focus on the disks and my words,” PDU-073 instructed in its monotone voice.

Zayed complied.

The disks began to spin, accompanied by a low, pulsing tone. A calm male voice spoke:

„Get ready – take slow deep breaths – in ……… out ……… in ……… out ...relaxing your mind a body – it is good to relax – imagine yourself standing at one end of a vast athletic field on the other side are your goals – your ultimate goals – you begin to walk across the field – moving towards your goals – as you walk you feel the transformation – thoughts and body changing – training transforming – every choice in your life is to achieve. Your goals – always in a training mindset – always ready to play – keep walking across the field – you realize that you are wearing your shiny golden jersey” further words followed, and of course there were the words „disciplined, focused, controlled” among them.

The session lasted an hour. When it ended, Zayed, still dazed, was led to another room by PDU-073. This room featured modern equipment and a high-tech chair in the center.

“Sit down,” PDU-073 instructed. “The straps are for your safety. This method is stronger.”

Zayed hesitated but complied. The PDU’s monotone voice explained: “We will scan the brain regions controlling behavior and optimize weak points. This will reinforce discipline, focus, and self-control—crucial for assessing your actions and improving performance.”

Reassured, Zayed relaxed. The procedure began with a faint whirring noise as the PDU worked systematically. Two hours later, the process was complete. Zayed emerged from the trance, unstrapped, and energized.

“How do you feel?” asked PDU-073.

“Great,” Zayed replied, smiling. “Let’s keep going—I’m ready for more.”

“Acknowledged,” PDU-073 said. “Now, we proceed to physical training.”

In the gym, Zayed displayed remarkable focus and discipline, executing each exercise flawlessly. PDU-073, acting as his trainer, rarely needed to correct him. After another two hours, Zayed was drenched in sweat but visibly proud.

„You see what you can achieve when you have your sights set on the goal properly - disciplined, focused, controlled.” Zayed looked at him. His happy eyes looked at him questioningly. „No. Now it's lunchtime and then we'll have training together with the bros. „

Eddy was back in the afternoon. „Well bro, did you get through the procedures well. The ones you had to endure in our 'torture chambers'?” „It's not that bad!” was Zayed's short answer. „I feel really motivated to do something. Let's get started.”

Compared to the previous day, Zayed’s performance on the field had significantly improved. Even Eddy struggled to match him. At the end of training, Eddy patted Zayed on the shoulder with a paternal smile.

“You did great today. Well done,” Eddy said. “Keep meeting 073 each morning, and you’ll be at 100% for the game. It’s great that you took this step.”

Hey, don't you dream of being part of such a great team? It can become a reality for you. Just apply to our recruiters: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, or @polo-drone-001.

[zayed-gold87]

Welcome to the team bro

It's feeling great to announce it made the Golden Army as a defender with #80.

I'd like to thank @brodygold, @goldenherc9 and @polo-drone-001 to recruit and let me be part of this great team!

[zayed-gold87]

The Golden Team: A Bond Forged in Dedication

The setting sun cast its golden glow across the soccer field, a perfect reflection of our team’s identity: The Golden Team. This wasn’t just another training session. Tomorrow, we would face Team Vanguard, a squad as sharp as its name implied. Our captain, Brody, stood in the middle of the field, his voice rising above the sounds of practice.

“We don’t just play. We inspire,” he declared, his voice brimming with confidence. “We’re not just a team. We’re a family.”

I stood near the defensive line, scanning the field as always. As the team’s sweeper, my role was to read the game and turn defence into attack, something I took immense pride in. Ahead of me, Herc, our star striker, thundered through the training cones, practicing his powerful and precise shots. Beside him, Maximus and Ezan worked together, perfecting their quick passes to break through any defence.

Further back, Grayden ran agility drills, his speed a weapon that could tip the scales in any match. Our goalkeeper practiced relentlessly, leaping to deflect incoming shots with incredible focus.

Watching over it all were the Polo Drones. Once players themselves, they now dedicated their lives to making us better. Their uniform rubber polo shirts glinted faintly in the warm light. They moved with a strange synchronicity, wordlessly setting up cones, retrieving balls, and even stepping in for one-on-one challenges when needed. Their minds seemed singularly focused on one thing: our success.

“Zayed, step up!” Brody’s voice pulled me back to the moment. A ball arced toward me. With a sharp step, I intercepted it, pivoting cleanly and sending it forward with a long, precise pass to Herc.

“Nice work, Zayed!” Herc called out, a grin spreading across his face as he received the ball and fired it into the net.

As training progressed, Brody gathered us into a huddle. The Polo Drones silently moved to the sidelines, their job for now complete. Brody’s eyes swept over us, his presence commanding.

“Tomorrow isn’t just about skill,” he began, his voice low but powerful. “It’s about unity. Every move we make, we make together. Remember, the strength of The Golden Team isn’t just in our individual talent—it’s in how we lift each other up.”

We all nodded, a wave of determination washing over us. Brody clapped my shoulder. “Zayed, you’re the link between our defence and attack. I need you sharp tomorrow.”

“You can count on me, Captain,” I replied, the weight of the moment filling me with purpose.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the field basked in an amber glow. The Polo Drones resumed their silent tasks, preparing for tomorrow’s game. I stayed behind a little longer, practicing my positioning and passing.

Tomorrow, we wouldn’t just face Team Vanguard. We would prove the power of dedication, friendship, and unity. Whatever the outcome, The Golden Team would stand together as one.

Want to join the golden team? Contact @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 or @brodygold

[zayed-gold87]

From the Golden Army and the Polo-Drone-Unit Hive, we wish all of you a wonderful new year and hope you have a golden/polo time of a year!

@hypnogold @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @danielgold-16 @polo-drone-110 @polo-drone-070 @polo-drone-073 @goldengod-ares10 @goldenherc9 etc

[zayed-gold87]

Night Club Conversion

The bar pulsed with energy, a lively haven for laughter and camaraderie, but for Percival and PDU-076, it was the perfect hunting ground. Percival, the ever-charismatic manager of the Golden Army, had agreed to spend an evening with his loyal teammate after work. With his sharp style and effortless charm, Percival fit seamlessly into the social scene. For most of the night, he was simply "Percival," as his teammates called him, friendly, sharp-witted, and undeniably magnetic.

However, once the workday had ended, the shift was inevitable. 001 stirred beneath the surface, watching, waiting. By the time they arrived at the bar, Percival’s friendly demeanor began to shift, his control slipping as 001 took over. In the dim light of his office earlier, Percival had found himself drawn to the polished black polo hanging neatly in his closet. His movements had become automatic as he slipped it on. By the time he arrived at the bar, 001 was fully in control, the polished manager now an extension of the Polo Drone Hive’s will.

The target that evening was clear: the bartender.

He was impossible to ignore, his rugged features framed by dark stubble and a natural charisma that drew patrons like moths to a flame. His tight black shirt and athletic build made him stand out even more. He moved with a practiced ease behind the bar, crafting drinks with confidence and a knowing grin that seemed to charm everyone who approached.

Percival, with 001’s cold precision guiding him, leaned in toward 076. “He is ideal,” 001 murmured, his voice low but commanding. “His influence here is significant. With him, the Hive’s reach will grow.”

076 nodded, already falling into his role. Together, they approached the bar, their steps calculated and deliberate. Percival led the conversation, his usual charm now sharpened with the hypnotic undertone of 001’s influence.

“Busy night?” Percival asked, flashing an easy smile.

The bartender grinned back. “Always is,” he replied, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the bar. “You two look like you’re having a good time.”

Percival chuckled, his golden gaze locking onto the bartender’s with unnerving intensity. “We are now. You’re good at what you do, you know that? Must take a lot of focus and discipline.”

The bartender’s smile wavered slightly, but he nodded. “It’s part of the job,” he said, glancing briefly at the other patrons. “You have to know how to handle people.”

“Discipline and focus,” Percival echoed, his tone almost hypnotic. “Qualities we value deeply. You’d fit right in.”

The bartender frowned slightly, sensing something unusual in Percival’s words. But before he could respond, 076 added softly, “We’d love to show you something. After your shift. Something that might change your life.”

The bartender hesitated, but something in their presence—something he couldn’t quite put his finger on—drew him in. He nodded slowly. “Alright. You’ve got my attention.”

The bar had emptied out, leaving only the three of them in the quiet storeroom. The bartender leaned casually against the counter, his usual confidence dimmed by the weight of the moment. “So, what’s this about?” he asked, his tone steady but curious.

Percival stepped closer, pulling a sleek black polo shirt from behind his back. Its glossy surface shimmered faintly in the dim light, the golden accents catching his eye. “This,” Percival said, his voice smooth and inviting, “is for you. Put it on, and you’ll understand.”

The bartender frowned, his instincts telling him to refuse. But as his gaze locked onto Percival’s glowing golden eyes, his resistance melted away. The words swirled in his head like a command he couldn’t escape. “Just try it,” Percival added, his voice low and compelling. “You’ll feel the difference.”

Almost against his will, the bartender took the shirt. The fabric felt impossibly smooth against his fingers, its weight heavier than it should have been. He hesitated for a moment longer before slipping it over his head.

The transformation was immediate.

As the polo settled onto his body, a surge of warmth flooded through him, spreading from his chest to his limbs. His thoughts blurred, his confidence replaced by a serene calm he couldn’t explain. The shirt clung to him like a second skin, its sleek surface molding perfectly to his muscular frame. The golden laurel emblem glinted on his chest, just below the glowing number “495” that etched itself into the fabric.

“What’s… happening?” he murmured, his voice softer now, tinged with confusion.

“You are becoming who you were meant to be,” 076 said from behind him, his voice steady and assured. “You are part of the Hive now.”

The bartender’s rugged features began to soften, his expression blank as his old identity faded away. His memories, his name, his very sense of self—all of it dissolved, replaced by an overwhelming sense of unity and purpose. His golden eyes glowed faintly as he straightened his posture, his voice calm and monotone. “I understand. I serve the Hive.”

001 stepped back, a satisfied gleam in his golden gaze. “Good. You will continue your role here. You will remain the bartender. But now, you will serve a higher purpose.”

076 added with a faint smirk, “You will lure them. Trap them. Turn them. Handsome. Young. Strong. Every night, you will bring one back to the Hive.”

PDU-495 nodded, his voice devoid of emotion. “Lure. Trap. Turn. I understand.”

The next night, the bar seemed unchanged, its lively hum returning as patrons filed in. But for those who looked closely, the bartender’s magnetic charm carried an unsettling edge. His golden eyes seemed to pierce through the crowd, his smile calm yet calculated. He moved with perfect precision, pouring drinks and engaging with his targets effortlessly.

One by one, the young, handsome customers found themselves drawn to him, captivated by his charm and charisma. And as each night ended, another would disappear into the storeroom, never to be seen again.

“Lure. Trap. Turn.” 495 executed his purpose flawlessly, the Hive’s influence expanding with every passing night. And through it all, Percival, now fully 001, watched from the shadows, his mission complete. The perfection of the Hive was inevitable.

Join the ranks of the Golden Army and embrace your purpose within the Polo Drone Hive. Here, individuality dissolves into unity, strength becomes collective, and perfection is our destiny. Lure, trap, and transform, your journey begins now. Serve the Hive. Live the vision. Become one. Contact @brodygold @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-076 Thank you for the first three images.