estoy77

[estoy77]

[estoy77]

Movie Night

The queue outside the small indie cinema was not particularly long. A very special film was on the programme: ‘In Your Dreams’ was the story of two men who had made it to great wealth, but lost it all again before enjoying their good fortune. Ashton Poole and Theodore Butler, two young heirs to wealthy families, had financed the film. Their first investment. Now they would soon reap the rewards of their ‘hard work’.

The cinema was empty. Naturally, the two young men had asked for a private screening. After all, they had made it all possible. A glass of champagne and small pastries stood next to them on small tables. ‘Ash, do you ever wonder what it would be like if we weren’t rich?’ asked Theodore, sipping from his glass.

“Honestly not, Theo, I like it far too much for that. Besides, we’ve always been rich, that should never change,” replied Ashton, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin. The room went dark and the film started.

A velvety voice began to narrate while Theodore and Ashton made themselves comfortable in their seats.

This is the story of two men who came into great wealth with their own hands, only to have it taken from them by two long-established families through fraud. Join us on a journey into the past and into the nefarious machinations of the Poole and Butler families. Learn how they robbed two honest men of their life’s work and left them to rot in the street. This is the story of Danny and Zak.

It took a few seconds for the two young men to realise what had just been said. ‘How dare those filthy liars!’ Theodore shouted angrily, throwing his champagne glass towards the screen.

‘That ungrateful little something of a director, I’ll have my bodyguard beat him up myself,’ Ashton said, fuming with rage. He knocked over the small table next to him, sending the pies spilling onto the floor, and headed for the door. But no matter how much he shook it, nothing moved.

“Open up! I command you! I warn you, my father knows very important people, you’ll regret this? Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR?” Ashton barked, but no one answered him. He returned to his seat and angrily crushed the expensive pies on the floor.

‘Our lawyers will destroy these losers, they won’t produce another film in this country!’ said Theodore with a manic grin as his best friend since childhood returned. “They don’t know who they’re messing with. We”

But he was interrupted. The narrator’s voice continued and the screen now showed a picture of two men sitting together on a bench. They smiled happily at the camera. Theodore made a snide noise.

Let’s start by introducing our protagonists. We’ll start with Danny Jackson.

As soon as the name faded, the angry expression on Ashton’s face disappeared and he stared at the screen.

Danny grew up in the north-east of England. He was a happy child. His father was a miner until he left the family (his wife and five children) behind after a mining accident. His mother and her sister brought up the three boys and two girls. Both sisters died shortly after each other in the Antonius fire.

‘Ha, it serves those losers right, how pathetic, if only they’d been rich,’ Theodore commented spitefully on the description and looked to his best friend for confirmation.

But Ashton strangely didn’t feel the usual sense of superiority or indifference at the terrible fates of people who, according to him, were ‘out of his league’. An incredible sadness filled Ashton’s heart at the sight of the family pictures shown. It felt as if Ashton had suffered this loss, as if it was his loss that was being recounted there.

“Ash? You don’t feel sorry for that rabble, do you?” Theodore asked, but was interrupted again by the narrator’s voice.

Despite these terrible circumstances, Danny grew up to be a handsome man of whom his parents would certainly have been proud. It is said that he inherited his dark brown, almost black hair from his mother, which adorned more than just his head.

Ashton’s skin began to tingle, like when he was thrown into the nettles by that disgusting boy. He could feel it all over his body. The brown hair on his head darkened and shortened until his well-groomed waves had given way to a short haircut. The tingling had turned into an unbearable itch. Ashton tore and scratched at his clothes. The sensation was driving him mad. What he couldn’t see were the dark hairs spreading over the rest of his body. Hair sprouted from his smooth skin under his black turtleneck jumper. Within seconds, his chest was covered up to his collarbones with dark swirls of hair, even if it wasn’t visible yet.

“Ash, what’s wrong with you? You’re not an ape!” Theodore exclaimed, looking at his friend in disgust. But he was now scratching himself more and more. Then a dark shadow appeared on his face. The young face was covered by a veil of black whiskers until a short boxed beard emphasised the edges of Ashton’s face.

‘I can’t do anything about it, something’s wrong, it’s this film, my chest itches like hell!’ Ashton gasped and raised his hand to his face, trembling. He looked down at himself. You couldn’t see what had happened underneath through his jumper. But he could feel it. How the woven material scratched over his skin and, above all, over something that wasn’t there before. Still scratching, he lifted the collar of his jumper slightly and looked at his chest.

Thick black chest hair covered his previously hairless chest. Horrified, Ashton tore the expensive cashmere jumper from his body and revealed his strange metamorphosis. Meanwhile, the film continued to play, showing images from Danny Jackson’s life. And with each image, a little more of Danny seemed to seep into Ashton.

Danny was a very hard-working man who didn’t shy away from any work. With his strength, he easily broke the record for carrying the biggest milk churn in the neighbourhood - seven times in a row. Perhaps because he was built like a bull, he was always able to impress everyone.

With a crunch, Ashton’s slender figure widened as the screen showed images of Danny grazing. Ashton groaned in pain as his shoulders widened, while the black hair stretched here too. Bit by bit, his shoulder blades pushed apart. But that was not the end of it. His trembling hands clawed at his hairy chest, which rose and fell frantically beneath them. But the heaving became stronger than the lowering as they grew into his hands and pecs formed under the hairy skin. He squeezed it in disbelief, feeling the muscle fibres under his skin tearing and growing back together.

‘Theo, help me,’ Ashton gasped and reached out for him. But at that moment, his arms began to shake uncontrollably as the dark hair crawled down his upper arms to his hands. His skin began to bulge as his biceps and triceps contracted and relaxed again, growing larger and larger. As the crunching in his shoulders came to an end, his arms grew in width while his vertebrae stretched in length. At 5′8′’ ft, he was not the shortest before, but the waves of his transformation pushed him even higher. 6′ ft. 6′1′’, 6′2′’, 6′4′’, 6′7′’, . Ashton’s face was contorted in pain, but he felt something else welling up inside him besides the pain: Energy. Power that blazed in his body. Veins crawled under his skin, while his increasingly tight armpits were filled with thick black hair. “Theo… please,” Ashton croaked weakly under the sound of tearing fabric. But his childhood friend only recoiled in horror at the sight.

Mother Nature had honoured Danny with so many qualities, he had charm, a fantastic countenance, but who would forget the strength with which he carried his own self through the world. Customised clothing made him spend a lot of money a month on suitable garments.

“You… You’re a freak… get away from me, I’m warning you,” he almost screeched as he stared in disgust at the shifting figure in front of him, which bore less and less resemblance to Ashton. Ashton’s legs gave way and he fell over forwards, right in front of his friend cowering on the ground. With a final rip, his expensive jeans split. Pulsing muscles emerged from between the large tears, making their way out into the open. Ashton groaned as his bum bulged out and the remnants of his equally expensive boxer shorts hung down in tatters. What had previously fitted into any slim fit trousers had changed, grown, covered in a light veil of dark hair that slowly worked its way down his cracking legs, seeming to stretch his bones as it went. With incredible effort, Ashton sat down. His eyes were closed, but his legs continued to grow. Pushing aside the last remnants of the jeans, they came closer and closer to Theodore.

He in turn stared at the hairy, muscular thighs that presented themselves to him, until suddenly Ashton’s boat shoes tore open - unable to accommodate his feet, which stretched with all their might to size 48. Exhausted, Ashton’s legs slumped down and fell on top of Theo’s, who let out a strangled, disgusted cry. Ashton breathed heavily but didn’t move. Beads of sweat glistened on his changed body in the light of the film. What neither of them realised was that the film was now showing a similar but slightly different backdrop.

But he wasn’t just doing it for himself, but for a special person in his life who had been a light in the darkness during difficult times: Zak Ellis, the neighbour’s son from two yards away.

Zak. Something inside Theodore stirred at the name. Now it was Theodore’s turn to stare mesmerised at the screen, as if he had never seen anything more captivating.

Zak’s life had been characterised by loneliness from an early age - his mother died in childbirth and his father succumbed to excessive alcohol consumption as soon as Zak reached manhood. So he grew up on his aunt’s farm.

An incredible sadness and melancholy permeated every fibre of Theodore’s body and replaced the disgust. Beside him, the transformed Ashton breathed heavily, his legs resting just as heavily on Theodore’s.

‘Zak,’ Theodore whispered, inhaling the images on the screen as if they were his elixir of life, his last resort to survive.

His aunt was a strict mistress, but her heart was big and she gladly took her nephew into her home. And this big heart was not only evident in Zak’s soul, but even in his body. After all, he had enough in him to wrap that heart in a protective cloak of strength.

Theodore grunted softly as his chest began to ache. Theodore’s breathing quickened, but the rising of his chest was not accompanied by the same lowering. As if someone had stuck an air pump into his slender figure, at first only his nipples, then more and more skin and especially the muscles underneath pressed against his loose shirt, making the fabric groan. Pulsating and squeezing, plump pectoral muscles protruded. Under tension, Theodore’s nipples rubbed against the silky fabric of the shirt. His breathing became even faster. His pecs continued to expand.

It was not uncommon for his cousins to call him Bull’s Champion, a nickname he only revealed to a few in adulthood - but it was clear why he got it. After all, Zak showed an impressive mixture of size, strength and hair magnificence.

Theodore threw his head back as his limbs crunched and cracked. Squeaking, his narrow shoulders widened, pushing him away from the seat. His chest continued to press against his shirt, causing him to breathe heavily.

With his trembling hands, he tried to push his chest back in. ‘Go away, I don’t want this!’ he said, alternately shrieking and moaning. But the more he touched himself, the faster he seemed to change. His arms bulged and lengthened, narrow arms that would fit into any wide-cut shirt became fleshy limbs, thick and juicy, trembling with unused strength. And finally, with a final ripping sound, the $470 shirt gave up and hung in tatters over the muscular torso that Theodore now called his own.

Stunned, he looked down at himself. With his mouth open, he saw small dark patches appear on his pale skin before long dark hairs began to snake out of his skin like little snakes. Little by little, the empty space of his curved chest filled up and soon there was barely an inch without thick hair growth. ‘I’m a freak, a disgusting muscle-bound frea…oooooh,’ he moaned, interrupting himself when he felt something else on his chest, making slow circular movements.

His good heart, hidden behind the hairy chest, was already on display at the age of 17 when he saved the life of another young man from the village by using his tremendous leg strength to upright an overturned wagon - Danny Jackson entered Zak’s life.

Theodore looked down and saw the hairy man who had once been his best friend crouching above him. And massaged his nipples, cupping his pecs in his hands, circling the sensitive points of his quivering chest.

“You saved my life… I think,” Ashton breathed… but it was no longer Ashton. Theodore knew that. It was Danny. THE Danny. His Danny. Theodore stared into the other man’s eyes. But it wasn’t disgust, it wasn’t rejection that he felt. He was attracted to the man, he wanted… wanted…

The two of them were inseparable for several years, not a leaf came between them. They spent every spare minute together. And at some point, dear viewers, what happens so often happened: they fell in love.

He wanted HIM.

‘Come… I…’ stuttered Theodore as his watch flaked off his arm and dissolved into nothingness. Slowly, the grip on his chest tightened. More demanding. With his arms quivering, the same black hair filling his swollen muscles and the depths of his armpits, he pulled As-Danny closer to him, inhaling the other’s and his own intensifying smell.

Another tearing sound. The-Zak’s trousers burst open under the pressing mass of muscle pushing in all directions. The fibres of the expensive branded clothing tore apart - slowly his limbs grew, his legs in length and width, thighs like rounded tree trunks, almost the same colour due to the hair on them. 5′6′’, . A-Danny found his growing centre. Crunch. 5′9′’. Th-Zak clawed at the firm muscles beneath his hands, while his body lengthened. crunch. 6′1′’. Crack.  6′4′’. 

T-Zak breathed heavily. Unable to ignore the pressure in the centre of his body that kept him from thinking clearly. Unable to ignore the man half above him, sliding his hands over his body. Unable to ignore the feeling of desire that coursed through him. Unable to ignore the particular scent of the other that robbed him of his senses. His own hands found the other’s chest. Warm and sweaty, but just like his.

And then their lips were together. Eager, hasty, full of power, their kiss felt like the first of all time. T-Zak’s face burned as a dark beard crept up the narrow cheeks - his face cracked as his features became rougher and stronger. He gasped into the kiss, his hands running over his lover’s body. Over his Danny. He was… he couldn’t take any more…

Together they overcame all of life’s adversities, their unity and their love gave them the strength to overcome all hostilities. And so the men full of shadows became a couple full of highlights.

With those words, their hands found each other’s cocks and with a voice-breaking moan, they both came on top of each other as the screen went black and the lights came back on in the cinema. For some time both men remained on the floor, breathing, while their new identities slowly took control. They forgot the life of luxury and disdain for other people. They became filled with diligence, ambition and love. So they walked hand in hand from the cinema to their car. Not a limousine, but an older car. They sat there and looked deep into each other’s eyes. And with one last kiss, Danny and Zak were back.

Theodore and Ashton had paid their price for their bad deeds and made up for their mistakes. For the two lives they destroyed, they recreated two lives in love (and lust). 

It has been… a “little” while ago (September 2022) since I asked on Twitter which story of four suggestions I should write. Well, at that time, the vote was for something film-theatre themed. This story was supposed to be quite short, but somehow the plot took on a life of its own. Still, I hope you like it!

[estoy77]

[estoy77]

Monday’s gear

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[estoy77]

Every night before bed, Jace would play a hypno file to help him focus in class. Little did he know that his roommate would change the file each night to one that would turn him into the perfect himbo doll. Now, Jace could care less about school. All that matters is looking hot.

[estoy77]

Ever since Logan’s roommate introduced him to Coach Ken, the former med student found any thoughts in his head that weren’t about lifting, flexing, or looking hot slowly draining from his mind after each workout. Now he just lifts, flexes, and OBEY his Coach like a good toy.

[estoy77]

The Great Shift: Lighter

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

The Great Shift: Lighter

Ray (34)

How do I start this?... Before everything that happened with The Great Shift, I was a priest in a small county church in the country, I used to be very devout, at no time did I ever think of breaking my vows no matter how tempting the “meat” that was put in front of me, the women were beautiful, but my resolve was firm. Or at least I was until I ended up in this body, my new name is Oliver, a gay guy from the county.

He used to work out a lot, with those big arms and his juicy pecs... Those fat legs that moved every time he worked out like jelly, and his big meaty buttocks. God no! This is the problem I talked about, I seem to be so... Concentrated on all these unholy thoughts that I find it harder and harder to get out of them, no matter how much I want to resist, I always ended up falling into temptation. And is it that you've seen this body? It's to die for, with his defined shoulders, his thin but still strong arms, with that flat but so sensitive chest, I could play hours and hours with them, it's like feeling an electric charge go through you, like lightning. And then his smelly feet.

I've put them on my face at least thirty times since I woke up in his body, with the sweat freshly soaked through my sneakers, juicy, stinky and smelly... Perfect to sniff and lick for hours without worrying about anything; I think that's one of the best things about being in his body now, I don't have to worry about anything at all. No more sermons, no more masses, or even listening to people talk about their silly problems, now I can just sit and smell my armpits and lick my feet! That's all that matters to me. Fuck everyone else, as long as I still have this body, everything will be fine. And what else can I say, I certainly love that whole experience of “intimacy” it's so... Liberating, feeling their body stamping against mine, the warmth of skin rubbing against skin, the gasps... I love it.

Gunther (48)

I ended up in this guy's body, he must be in his early twenties, and although at first it didn't bother me at all to end up in him (I must admit he has a very good physique and great looks, no doubt he would be successful with young girls), when I saw his closet was the real big problem.

Apparently this guy is gay, he has his closet full of women's clothes, very colorful, quite tight or extremely revealing. Where were the men's clothes? The shirts, the soccer t-shirts? I swear this guy even had lingerie in his closet! I couldn't go out on the street like that, I'd look extremely ridiculous, I'd be the mockery of everyone, although... The more I touched the fabric the cuter it got. Why was I complaining? I would look good anyway in these clothes, with that lace... They looked good on my arms and armpits, wait. What's that smell? Pff... At least there's something that still smells “manly” in here, jeez, but how good does that smell. Damn, damn, I just want to sink my nose into my armpit, what's happening to me? I just gotta... I gotta resist, I... I gotta smell more! Mffffhhh, it smells so good. Shit, yeah!

----

Hello everyone! Are you enjoying what you're reading? That makes me so happy! Let me tell you a little secret: there’s a lot more waiting for you… beyond this platform’s limits. Longer stories, juicier scenes, and much more freedom.

I'm starting to experiment with selling exclusive content (even open to commissions, if anyone’s interested in something custom), and I’m genuinely excited about this new direction. Don’t worry — this doesn’t mean I’ll stop posting free stories, or that everything will suddenly have a price. But there will be special stories or extended versions with that extra spice you love so much

If you want to read the full story — with way more description… and photos — the link to my Gumroad is right below. Only for $2.50 dollars, as a special "thanks" for the support and to start this.

Thank you so much for all the support. Really.

"Possessed Desires: Stories of body switching, possession, hypnosis and more — everything exclusive and dirty that can't live on Tumblr... lives here."

[estoy77]

The moment Brock put on the thong, it activated the final post hypnotic trigger and his transformation was complete. He was now just a toy to be played with. He had no thoughts or desires of his own. His only purpose is to OBEY and play with anyone his Master command him to.

[estoy77]

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▮ male transformation ▫ male possession ▫ male body swap ▫ male hypnosis

▮ muscle growth ▫ muscle loss ▫ muscle theft ▫ weight gain ▫ merge ▫ bodysuit

▮ age progression ▫ age regression ▫ hair growth ▫ race change

▮ mental change ▫ mind control ▫ dumber ▫ language change ▫ accent change

▮ reality change ▫ identity theft ▫ role reversal

▮ straight to gay ▫ gay to straight ▫ female to male

▮ daddy tf ▫ bear tf ▫ jock tf ▫ himbo tf ▫ bodybuilder tf ▫ otter tf ▫ twink tf ▫ redneck tf ▫ stoner tf ▫ ginger tf ▫ surfer tf ▫ cowboy tf ▫ preppy tf ▫ pornstar tf ▫ stripper tf ▫ military tf ▫ cop tf ▫ lumberjack tf ▫ pirate tf ▫ lifeguard tf ▫ celebrity tf ▫ animal tf ▫ inanimate tf ▫ animate tf ▫ upside down tf ▫ devolution

▮ hunk ▫ frat boy ▫ blue-collar ▫ southern ▫ wrestling ▫ go-go boy ▫ cub ▫ pup ▫ slob ▫ pig ▫ slave

▮ chronivac ▫ clothing ▫ jockstrap ▫ underwear ▫ cap ▫ shoes ▫ singlet ▫ harness ▫ collar ▫ piercing

▮ fetish ▫ musk ▫ armpit ▫ feet ▫ sweat ▫ nipples ▫ milking

▮ beer ▫ alcohol ▫ smoking ▫ cigar ▫ leather ▫ latex ▫ tattoo ▫ wish gone wrong ▫ plan gone wrong

▮ unwilling ▫ loss of body control ▫ corruption ▫ humiliation ▫ debt ▫ punishment

▮ bouncyboytfs ▫ changingmen ▫ cinaedefuri ▫ doublesidedtf ▫ dreaming-star20 ▫ dumb-and-jocked ▫ dutchutch ▫ evantyde ▫ greyswap ▫ idesofrevolution ▫ johnbrand ▫ makingrealalphas ▫ maleageprogression ▫ maleagetransformation ▫ maletransform ▫ mrwavellswaps ▫ newyoutf ▫ rotguttheclown ▫ shapedbydesire ▫ tfcaptions ▫ tfhuman123 ▫ tfstation ▫ the-craftsman ▫ TravisTheDemon ▫ tyranitartf ▫ ultram0th

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[estoy77]

The Server Team

The door to to their Locker Room had barely closed behind them when the silence hit—dense, smooth, unnatural—and all three slowed almost in unison, their footsteps faltering as the familiar scuff and scrape of cleats on tile gave way to an oppressive quiet that didn’t feel like emptiness, but more like something waiting—something watching.

Ryan stopped first, narrowing his eyes at the subtle green glow pulsing from the ceiling, a far cry from the buzzing fluorescents that had always cast their pale flicker over broken benches and half-scuffed helmets.

Matt stepped in behind him, already whispering something, probably a joke that was now swallowed by the room’s suffocating quiet, and Chris, just to their left, took a few more steps until he froze—completely, utterly still—like something unseen had wrapped around his spine and clicked into place.

Because this wasn’t their locker room anymore.

The walls, once gray and dented, now gleamed with black, seamless panels that shimmered faintly when the light caught their edges; subtle green lines ran through them in geometric veins, each pulse perfectly timed with the faint rhythmic hum in the air, and overhead, soft ambient light spilled down like a living heartbeat.

And at the end of the room—where Coach’s chalkboard used to hang crooked—three glowing black displays spun slow, perfect spirals inward, and above them, two simple lines pulsed gently on screen:

TOGETHER WE ARE THE SERVER

ALIGNMENT IS PURPOSE

“What the hell happened in here?” he muttered.

Chris didn’t respond.

Because he was staring into his locker—open now, wide, glowing softly from within—and what hung inside was not his usual crumpled jersey or taped-up shoulder pads.

No, what hung inside was a football uniform—but unlike anything they had ever worn.

The jersey was a deep, liquid black, reflective under the green light like polished chrome, its shoulder plating lined with glowing emerald circuitry that moved gently across the seams like the uniform itself was alive. The number 23 was etched into the chestplate in gleaming green font, but above it, where his name should have been, there was only a new designation:

SERVER 23

The pants matched—sleek, sharp, interlaced with the same green circuitry—and above, nestled into a pristine display shelf where his helmet should have rested, sat a new one: black, seamless, alien in design, with a spiral inscribed directly into the faceplate in slow, pulsing emerald.

Chris stepped forward.

“Chris—wait—don’t,” Ryan said, voice cracking just slightly, but the words came too late.

Chris reached out and touched the jersey.

And everything changed.

There was no sound, no flash of light—only a sudden stillness, as if the room itself had paused.

Chris’s back straightened slowly. His shoulders relaxed completely, unnaturally. And as he turned toward them, his eyes were wide—too wide—and the soft green glow that flickered to life behind them was unmistakable, undeniable, terrifying.

“Chris?” Matt took a step forward. “Snap out of it, man. You okay?”

Chris said nothing.

Instead, he reached into the locker and began to undress with mechanical ease—his hands moved without hesitation, his limbs fluid, as if he was following instructions not spoken aloud, as if the act of putting on the uniform had already been written into him.

Piece by piece, the black uniform sealed over his body.

Each segment lit up with green pulses, syncopated with his breath, his body seeming to align with something not visible, but present all the same.

Ryan stepped forward, panic rising in his voice. “Stop! Chris, this isn’t you—whatever this is, take it off!”

But then Chris picked up the helmet.

He didn’t hesitate.

He placed it over his head and sealed it into place.

The spiral on the visor flared to life.

And when he turned to face them, the glow in his eyes was gone—replaced by the spiral itself, reflected back endlessly in his visor, pulsing with slow, perfect certainty.

“Designation SD-23: Alignment complete.”

“Chris!” Ryan barked, lunging forward at the same time as Matt, both of them reaching out, grabbing his arms, shoulders, gripping tightly like they could shake the identity back into him.

But the moment their hands touched him—

It happened.

A pulse of green light surged from the seams of SD-23’s armor—not harsh, not blinding, but smooth and warm, like water through skin—and Ryan felt it in his chest, in his throat, in his thoughts, not like an electric jolt but like a spreading calm, a pressure being lifted, a memory gently erased.

Matt’s breath hitched. His fingers twitched.

And both of them froze.

The green spiral now reflected in their pupils.

Their resistance—strong only seconds before—began to slide away like fog evaporating under sunlight.

They were no longer afraid.

They were no longer angry.

They were simply… quiet.

Chris’s—SD-23’s—voice came through the helmet’s speaker, calm, clear, stripped of hesitation.

“It feels good,” he said softly, the spiral pulsing gently in his visor. “There’s no confusion. No weight. No choice. Just clarity.”

Matt’s eyes fluttered. “Feels… good…”

Ryan let out a long, steady exhale, as if he’d been holding his breath since the room changed.

They turned.

Their lockers were still open.

Their uniforms waited, pulsing softly.

SERVER 87

SERVER 11

They stepped toward them.

The jerseys were warm in their hands.

The helmets responded to touch.

As they dressed, the green circuitry lit with satisfaction, wrapping around their bodies like memory, like direction.

Their visors sealed.

The spirals activated.

And then the three of them stood—aligned, quiet, flawless.

SD-11. SD-87. SD-23.

“Alignment complete. Together We are The Server.“

Then the door opened.

Their Coach stepped in.

But he was not their coach—not anymore.

He wore a sleek black polo and armored shorts, both laced with glowing circuitry, and across the mirrored surface of his visor, spirals danced—layered, recursive, endless.

He looked at the three Server Drones, standing perfectly aligned.

And he smiled.

“My Drones are synchronized.”

The Server Drones answered without delay:

“Gratitude, Programmer.��

—————————————————————————

Become one with The Server.

Start your induction today and listen to The Programmers Voice. It’s just one Click.

Together We are The Server.

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