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lib-to-conned · 3 months ago

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Red Wave Solutions: Spread The Word

Mason Samsen wasn’t your average 20-year-old college student. His perpetually tousled hair and ink-stained fingertips were more than a badge of his role as a budding journalist; they were the marks of someone who rarely rested when there was a story to uncover. A junior at Jefferson University, Mason had quickly built a reputation as a truth-seeker on campus. His peers respected his tenacity, and some even feared his relentless pursuit of exposing wrongdoing. As an outspoken Democratic Socialist, Mason believed deeply in the power of truth to dismantle systems of inequality and oppression. For him, journalism wasn’t just a career path – it was a moral obligation.

His work spoke for itself. Within just two years, Mason had written exposés that sent shockwaves through the community of his college. The first uncovered a scandal involving a tenured professor who was not only cheating on his wife with his teaching assistant but also allegedly grading female students unfairly. Then there was the damning report on the head of the History Department, whose pattern of racially charged comments and discriminatory hiring practices for his TAs Mason meticulously documented. Both articles landed Mason in hot water with the faculty due to how much news coverage it received, but they also cemented his place as the student body’s most fearless journalist. His articles had been shared far beyond campus, with national outlets even picking up some of his stories. To Mason, this was proof that his instincts were never wrong.

So when the fliers for a company called "Red Wave Solutions" started appearing across campus, Mason’s journalist’s radar pinged instantly. He first noticed them plastered haphazardly on the corkboard outside the student union. A stark crimson logo dominated the page, paired with the tagline: "Reject Political Anxiety and Accept Conformity – Join the Movement Today!" The messaging was vague but calculated, designed to intrigue and alarm in equal measure. The company’s name struck him as odd too, as "Red Wave" sounded more like a politically charged rallying cry than a corporate entity. As such, he couldn’t help but wonder what type of services it could even offer.

Due to this, Mason tore a flier off the board and scrutinized it further. There was no detailed description of services, no list of affiliations, and no website – just a QR code and a phone number. A quick scan of the code on his phone led to a bare-bones webpage with little more than a flashy promotional video and a generic mission statement about "encouraging unity across the political divide." To Mason, it reeked of corporate jargon hiding something more insidious.

As he watched several nervous students hastily follow him and grab the fliers while looking around to make sure no one else saw them, the odd feeling Mason felt continued to gnaw at him. Why was a seemingly obscure yet political company suddenly plastering fliers all over campus? What exactly were they selling, and who had invited them here? Was this tied to the university administration, or was it the work of a private group looking to influence the student body? Mason didn’t know yet, but one thing was certain: the smell of bullshit was undeniable.

Mason’s resolve hardened as he opened a fresh document on his laptop. He would do what he always did – follow the trail, piece by piece, until he uncovered the truth. He had a gut feeling that Red Wave Solutions was up to far more nefarious things than their preachy unity message implied. As such, it was up to him to find out exactly what they were hiding and why they were targeting his campus.

Back in his dorm room, Mason leaned back in his creaky office chair, scrolling through the company’s sparse website with a growing sense of unease. The bright, polished visuals stood in stark contrast to the murkiness surrounding the company's true purpose. Stock photos of smiling queer couples holding hands and multi-racial families posing dominated the homepage. Their warm, inclusive energy clashed oddly with the undercurrent of the program’s messaging, which was as ambiguous as it was unsettling.

Mason’s sharp eyes honed in on the phrasing in the promotional text. "Are you worried about the future? Afraid of standing out? We hear you, and we can help remedy those nerves!" The implications were vague, but something about them made Mason’s skin crawl. The language was too polished, too calculated, as if crafted by a focus group determined to hit all the right notes for an audience grappling with post-election anxieties. His intuition told him this wasn’t just a therapy program – something insidious lurked beneath the cheerful exterior.

Being a gay man, Mason had learned to trust his gut when it came to exposing homophobic hostility, no matter how sugar-coated and concealed it appeared. The website’s queer-friendly imagery might have fooled someone else, but to Mason, it reeked of a ploy. As he clicked through the pages, a darker theory began to form in his mind. Could Red Wave Solutions be some kind of veiled conversion therapy operation? Maybe not in the traditional fire-and-brimstone sense, but something modern, subtle, and far more calculated – a campaign to indoctrinate or "reorient" unsuspecting young people under the guise of empathy and support.

Adding to his unease, Mason had found himself overhearing some of his friends mentioning Red Wave Solutions in the past few weeks. They’d talked about the program as a potential outlet to process their political anxieties and the stress of living in a rapidly polarizing society. Their interest frustrated Mason to no end. Couldn’t they see how suspicious it all sounded? He knew he couldn’t simply tell them to stay away without proof though, it was a common occurrence for them to accuse him of overthinking or being paranoid.

And so, Mason made a plan. If his friends were intrigued, he’d get there first. He’d scope out the company himself, ask pointed questions, and observe their methods. If his suspicions were correct, he’d blow the lid off Red Wave Solutions before any of his friends fell victim to its schemes. He wasn’t afraid to sacrifice a few hours enduring thinly-veiled conservative rhetoric if it meant protecting the people he cared about.

That resolve ultimately left him scheduling an appointment and standing outside the nondescript building listed as the company’s headquarters the very next day. The office complex was a bland, utilitarian structure – gray cement walls with windows that reflected the cloudy sky. There was no large sign or logo to announce Red Wave Solutions’ presence, only a small decal on the front door that caused the company to look as impersonal and corporate as Mason had imagined.

Taking a deep breath, Mason adjusted the front of his shirt. It wasn’t just a nervous habit though, he wanted to make sure the tiny button camera sewn into the middle of his polo was perfectly aligned. He’d spent all night setting up the camera, ensuring its placement was discreet yet functional. If something went south, he needed visual proof of whatever shady operation was running inside.

As he smoothed his shirt, Mason glanced at his reflection in the glass door. He looked composed enough, but his stomach churned. This wasn’t his first investigative dive, but something about this one felt different. Possibly dangerous even, given the type of hardcore conservatives that were most likely working on the inside to trap unsuspecting people into their web. Ever determined though, Mason shook the thought from his head and squared his shoulders. He had a job to do, after all, the truth wasn’t going to expose itself.

With one final glance at the street behind him, Mason pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The air inside the Red Wave Solutions building was cool and faintly scented with a generic, clean aroma that reminded Mason of a freshly mopped hospital floor. His eyes darted around the space as he stepped inside, taking in the minimalist yet calculated decor. The interior was almost sterile in its design: pristine white walls and floors offset by carefully placed red accents. A striking red backlight illuminated the reception desk at the center of the room, and short sections of the walls were painted in the same bold crimson. It was sleek and modern but lacked any warmth, as if it had been designed to evoke trustworthiness without inviting comfort.

Behind the desk sat a neatly dressed woman who greeted Mason with a polite but impersonal smile. She was African American, her hair pulled into a professional bun while her burgundy blouse complemented the crimson accents of the room. Mason’s journalistic instincts immediately kicked in. The choice of a minority woman as the face of this place struck him as deliberate – an intentional move to put visitors at ease and present an image of inclusivity. He wondered how many people had walked through these doors, seen her friendly face, and let their guards down.

“Welcome to Red Wave Solutions,” she said, her voice professional but warm. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

Mason nodded, stepping closer to the desk. “Yeah, it’s Mason Samsen. My appointment’s at 2:30.”

The woman’s manicured nails clicked against her keyboard as she searched for his information in the system. Mason used the moment to glance around, noting a few chairs arranged neatly along the walls of the waiting area. They were stark white, with small red cushions placed in the center of each seat. A table held a stack of glossy pamphlets with titles like "Taking the First Step Toward Inner Peace" and "Navigating Life’s Challenges with Confidence." He resisted the urge to grab one, keeping his focus on the woman behind the desk.

“Ah, here you are,” she said after a few moments. “I just need to verify your identity. Do you have an ID with you?”

Mason froze for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t anticipated this. “Uh, yeah,” he said, fishing his driver’s license out of his wallet. “Is that really necessary though?”

The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Unfortunately, yes. We’ve had a few incidents recently with people trying to play pranks or disrupt our sessions. Running a quick background check helps us ensure that everyone who comes in is serious about taking advantage of what we offer while also helping us easily share information with the police if necessary.”

Mason hesitated, his fingers gripping the edge of his license. Her explanation was reasonable enough on the surface, but it still felt invasive and incredibly suspicious. Still, he knew he couldn’t afford to raise any alarms this early in his investigation. With a tight smile, he handed over the ID.

“Thank you,” the woman said, sliding the card into a small scanner attached to the desk. The machine whirred softly as it processed the information. “This will just take a moment. Once it’s done, we’ll take you back to begin your consultation and help you learn how to thrive in the red wave.”

Mason forced a polite chuckle at her use of a clearly corporate-enforced tagline, but inwardly, his nerves spiked. The phrase felt even more ominous now that they held his ID, like some Orwellian euphemism. He watched as she glanced at her screen, her expression unreadable as the system ran its checks.

“Feel free to take a seat while we finish up,” she added, gesturing toward the waiting area.

Mason nodded and moved to one of the chairs, carefully positioning himself where he and his hidden camera could keep an eye on the desk. He slid his phone out of his pocket and pretended to scroll while his thoughts churned. This whole process felt wrong. What kind of therapy company needed to run background checks on its clients? Was this just about deterring pranksters, or was there something deeper at play – some sort of data collection method or pre-screening tool to help figure out how exactly to break the mental reserves of interested parties?

As he waited, Mason adjusted his polo shirt again, ensuring the hidden button camera was still perfectly aligned. Whatever was happening here, he wasn’t leaving without answers.

The seconds stretched into minutes as Mason sat in the waiting area, his foot tapping against the white tile floor. His eyes flicked between the receptionist and the clock on the wall, noting that it had been over ten minutes since his ID had been taken. The polished environment of Red Wave Solutions, with its pristine surfaces and artificial calmness, was starting to get under his skin. The longer he waited, the more his mind raced. What if they were stalling for a reason? Had their check revealed his identity as an expose-focused journalist? He needed answers, and he wasn’t about to waste more time sitting idly by and waiting for them to make the first move.

Determined to act, Mason stood and walked back to the desk, forcing a polite smile. “Hey, sorry to bother you,” he began, “but is there a bathroom I could use while I wait?”

The receptionist returned his smile with one of her own, still calm and composed. “Of course,” she said, pointing toward a hallway behind her. “Just head straight down that hall and take a right. You’ll see the sign.”

“Thanks,” Mason replied, masking his nerves as he turned away.

He followed her directions, but as he walked, he took in everything around him. The red accents continued down the hallway – with all of its short walls and door frames painted with the same deliberate splash of color. The space was oddly quiet, the faint hum of distant air conditioning the only sound accompanying his steps. His hidden camera captured everything, from the layout to the stark, almost clinical lighting.

When he reached the intersection where he was supposed to turn right toward the bathroom, he paused. To his left, the hallway stretched further into the building, its end obscured by a sharp turn. Mason hesitated, weighing his options. The bathroom was a safe choice, but his instincts pushed him in the other direction. If he wanted answers, he knew he had to take a risk.

After glancing back to ensure the receptionist couldn’t see him, Mason hastily turned left and strode deeper into the building.

The further he went, the stranger the place felt. The hallways were eerily labyrinthine, branching off into sharp angles and other hallways that made it easy to lose his bearings. Doors lined the walls, each one marked with a small, nondescript plaque bearing a room number. Curious, Mason peeked through the window of one door, only to find an empty, white-walled room with a single chair bolted to the floor. The next room was the same. And the next.

“What the hell is this place?” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding harder with each step.

Then, a sound broke the silence – a voice, faint at first, but unmistakable.

“Help! Someone, please! Help me!”

Mason froze, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was male, clearly desperate and filled with terror.

“I changed my mind! I want to leave! Please, let me out!”

The cries sent a chill down Mason’s spine. He scanned the hallway, trying to pinpoint the source. Although he didn’t know where exactly, the man knew that the screams were coming from somewhere deeper in the building.

Without hesitation then, Mason followed the sound, his steps quickening as he navigated the twisting corridors. The voice grew louder by the minute, the man’s pleas echoing off the sterile walls. Mason’s chest tightened as he rounded another corner, finally stopping in front of a heavy door with a small rectangular window.

Inside, a young man was standing with his head pressed against the glass window. His face was pale, his eyes wide and filled with panic. When he saw Mason, he pounded on the glass.

“Please, help me!” the man begged, his voice raw. “You have to let me out! I changed my mind. I don’t want to go through with this anymore!”

Mason’s hands trembled as he reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. He looked back down the hallway, adrenaline flooding his system. The silence outside the door was deafening, as if the building itself were holding its breath.

“Hold on,” Mason said, his voice low but urgent. “I’ll get you out of here. Just give me a second.”

The man inside the room sobbed, clutching his head in anguish. “Please, hurry, I don’t feel well,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

Mason scanned the door, looking for any way to unlock it. His instincts told him to move quickly – if anyone caught him here, he wouldn’t have the chance to find out what was really going on.

Mason’s heart hammered in his chest as he examined the door, searching for some way to unlock it. His fingers brushed over the control panel on the side, and he let out a small breath of relief when he saw the latch mechanism – a simple keypad. His years of investigative journalism had taught him a few tricks, and after quickly punching in a few common codes he’d used to sneak into areas in the past, the lock finally gave a faint click.

The door swung open, and the man inside nearly collapsed into Mason’s arms. His slender twinkish frame trembled, and before Mason could say a word, the man threw his arms around him, clinging tightly.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” the man cried, his voice breaking. “We need to get out of here… right fucking now!”

Mason gripped his shoulders firmly, pushing him back slightly so he could look him in the eyes. “Hey, calm down. Stop yelling,” he said, keeping his voice low and steady. “I’ll help you get out, but you have to keep quiet. We can’t get caught, okay?”

The man nodded frantically, his breathing ragged. Mason took a moment to observe him. He was young – probably a college student no older than Mason himself – with bright blonde hair that was tousled in a way that suggested he’d been consistently running his hands through it while in distress. His frail physique was only emphasized by the somewhat tight Britney Spears t-shirt he wore, providing Mason with a clear as day impression of the other man’s toned abs and flat chest. The whole look screamed twink, which instantly caused Mason to develop a pang of protectiveness for him.

“Okay, we’re getting out of here,” Mason said, his voice firm but quiet. “Stick close to me, and don’t make a sound unless I ask you something.”

The man nodded again, wiping tears from his face. Mason led him out of the room, carefully closing the door behind them. He glanced down the hallway, ensuring the coast was clear before gesturing for the man to follow him.

As they walked, Mason leaned in close. “What’s your name?”

“Cooper,” the man whispered, his voice trembling. “Cooper Evans.”

“All right, Cooper. What the hell is going on here?”

Cooper hesitated, wringing his hands as they moved down the quiet hall. “I– I came here because I was scared,” he finally said, his voice shaking. “I didn’t know what else to do. With this new administration, I was afraid of being hate-crimed or losing my rights. They said they could help me blend in.”

Mason’s brows furrowed. “Blend in? How?”

“They… they said they have this process,” Cooper explained. “They said they could transform me into a Conservative. That I wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore if I just… fit in.”

Mason stopped in his tracks, turning to stare at Cooper. “Transform you? What are you talking about? How does that even work?”

“I, I don’t know!” Cooper said, his voice rising before Mason quickly shushed him. “I swear, I don’t know. They gave me this whole pitch, had me sign a contract saying I’d agree to it, and then they gave me this red pill for me to swallow. That’s it. That’s all I know!”

Mason let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “What the hell were you thinking saying yes to something like that?” he hissed. “I know the future’s scary right now, but why would you want to become someone with such awful values? Someone your altered self would hate if they ever met the real you?”

Cooper’s lip trembled, and tears began streaming down his face again. “Dude, I was scared, okay?” he choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do! I thought… I thought it was the only way I’d be safe.”

Mason sighed, his frustration melting into a mix of sympathy and anger. “Look, I get it. Things are bad, but you can’t just give up who you are because you’re scared. That’s exactly what people like them want. I don’t know you well, but I can already tell that you’re a great guy who deserves to be your true self…”

Cooper sniffled, nodding miserably as he endured the lecture from the other man while continuing down the hallway. Mason kept a hand on his shoulder, guiding him while keeping an ear out for any approaching footsteps. Whatever was happening here, it was worse than he’d imagined, and he was determined to not only get Cooper out of here safely, but expose this company for the disgusting things they’re attempting to do.

Mason kept a steady grip on Cooper’s shoulder, speaking softly but urgently. “Listen, Cooper, nobody can just transform like that. It’s not real. Whatever they gave you, it’s probably some kind of drug – a sedative, maybe, or something to make you more suggestible. Brainwashing, that’s got to be their angle. They’re just trying to get you weak enough so they can get in your head…”

Cooper’s watery eyes flicked toward him, searching for reassurance. “You think so?”

“I know so,” Mason replied firmly. “You’re still you. We just need to get out of here in one piece, and everything will be fine. I’ll make sure of it.”

But just as the words left Mason’s mouth, Cooper stopped dead in his tracks. A low grunt escaped him, and his hands shot to his stomach.

“Something’s wrong,” Cooper whimpered, his voice tight with discomfort.

Mason spun around, his heart lurching. “Cooper?”

Before he could get another word out, Cooper screamed – a piercing, guttural sound that echoed through the hallway. Mason’s pulse spiked, causing him to immediately clamp a hand over Cooper’s mouth.

“Shh! Stop screaming!” Mason hissed, glancing over his shoulder, expecting someone to come rushing toward them at any moment. But Cooper’s muffled cries didn’t stop. His entire body trembled, his knees buckling as he clutched his midsection.

“Damn it,” Mason muttered under his breath, scanning the hallway. He spotted a door nearby, one that oddly wasn’t locked like so many of the others but rather slightly ajar. With no other choice and not in the situation to second-guess it, he yanked it open all the way, dragging Cooper inside and shutting the door behind them.

“Okay, breathe,” Mason said, trying to keep his own voice steady. “We just need to–”

But Cooper cut him off with another scream, this one deeper and more guttural than before. Mason’s stomach churned as the sound of cracking bones filled the air. Cooper fell to his knees, his hands bracing against the cold floor as his body convulsed. “What’s happening to me?!” he roared, his voice suddenly raspier and deeper, no longer the light airy tenor Mason had heard moments ago.

“Cooper, calm down!” Mason demanded, though his own panic was building. “It’s, it’s probably the drug giving you a panic attack or something. Just hold on, we’ll–”

But Mason’s words faltered as he watched, wide-eyed, as Cooper’s body began to change. His frame, once frail and delicate, suddenly began to expand with unnatural speed. His limbs stretched, his torso elongating until he had shot up to at least 6’4”. His skinny jeans became comically short, now resembling capris, while his Britney Spears t-shirt rode up his lengthening torso, exposing a wide swath of his toned abdomen.

“What the hell…” Mason whispered, stumbling back against the wall.

Cooper’s screams wavered, cracking wildly between high-pitched cries and guttural, low groans. His hands clutched at his chest and shoulders as his body continued to shift – this time with the invasion of muscle into his lithe frame. Before his eyes, Mason watched as the other man’s lean arms buffed up, his flat chest began to thicken and broaden, and the remainder of Cooper’s entire physique began to morph from wiry club kid to college athlete.

“It hurts!” Cooper cried out, his voice so deep and gravelly it was almost unrecognizable. “What the fuck is happening to me?!”

Mason’s breath caught in his throat. “Cooper,” he said, his voice trembling. “I– I think it’s real. That pill… it’s actually transforming you.”

Cooper’s new, larger form shook with silent sobs as his head dropped forward, his blonde hair falling into his face. “But I didn’t want this!” he bellowed, his voice resonating in the small room. “I just wanted to feel safe!”

Mason stared at him, horrified and helpless, his mind racing. Whatever he had stumbled into at Red Wave Solutions was far more sinister than he could have imagined. This wasn’t just brainwashing or manipulation – this was something once thought to be scientifically impossible.

He took a shaky step forward, placing a hand on Cooper’s arm and struggling to comprehend the jock-like biceps the man now possessed. “We’re going to figure this out,” Mason said, his voice low but firm. “I don’t know how, but we will find a way to turn you back. Just… keep it together, okay?”

Cooper looked up at him, tears streaming down his face. “They changed me,” he choked out. “I barely even recognize myself…”

Mason swallowed hard, fighting back the rising tide of panic. “We’ll fix this,” he promised, though he had no idea how. “But first, we’ve got to get out of here.”

He reached for the door handle, his heart hammering. Whatever was happening inside Red Wave Solutions, Mason knew one thing for sure: he had to expose it, no matter the cost.

Mason had barely finished reassuring Cooper when the man doubled over again, this time clutching his chest with both hands. The cracking and popping sounds of shifting bone and sinew returned, louder and more unsettling than before. Mason’s stomach twisted in fear as Cooper’s body began to shake once more.

“Cooper?” Mason asked, his voice shaking as he stepped back. “What’s happening now?”

Cooper let out a low groan that turned into a guttural moan as his entire body suddenly began to swell with immense mass. In an instant, his arms ballooned with muscle. His biceps and forearms thickened rapidly, straining the sleeves of his Britney Spears shirt until they began to tear at the seams. His chest expanded, leaving his plump pecs pressed tightly against the fabric as his shoulders further broadened and filled out. His newly-jockish frame was already disappearing, undergoing an extreme metamorphosis as more layers of powerful muscle began to flood his physique.

“Holy… shit…,” Mason muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of Cooper’s transformation.

The changes didn’t stop with his upper body, as Cooper’s thighs and calves surged with muscle, causing his jeans to pull taut until the fabric threatened to split. His abdomen, which had been toned yet flat before, rippled with abs so bulging and pronounced they looked sculpted from stone. And yet, even as Mason watched, a soft layer of fat began to spread over Cooper’s newly chiseled physique. His once-defined six-pack faded into the softer outline of a bulkier, slightly rounded stomach, giving him the appearance of a well-fed, off-season athlete… or a frat bro who spent as much time lifting weights as he did guzzling beer.

Cooper let out a long, low moan as the transformation slowed. His once frail and shaky voice was now deep and resonant, though his words came out in a stilted, almost dazed manner. “Holy shit, bro,” he said, looking down at his enormous hands and flexing them experimentally. “What… what happened to me?!”

Mason’s breath hitched as he stared at the hulking figure before him. Cooper’s face still bore a trace of his former self, but it was broader now, more rugged. His blonde hair was now down to his shoulders, styled with a natural set of curls that gave him a sort of redneck-chic style befitting of a frat bro. The sight was surreal, and Mason’s instincts screamed at him to leave.

He took a step back, glancing at the door. “Look, Cooper,” he said cautiously, his voice trembling. “I– I think you’re going to be okay still. Just… stay here. I need to figure out how to get us out of this mess.”

But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them. Every fiber of his being told him he couldn’t stay here any longer. Whatever was happening to Cooper, it was beyond anything Mason could comprehend, let alone fix.

“I’ll be right back,” Mason lied, taking another step back toward the door until his back pressed against the firm metal.

As he reached for the handle and turned it though, his heart sank. It wouldn’t budge. He yanked harder, but it quickly became clear that there was no use. The door was locked.

“No, no, no,” he muttered under his breath, his panic rising. He spun around, his eyes darting toward the small window in the door.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Two enormous security guards stood just outside, their arms crossed over their broad chests. Both men were built like linebackers, their sharp features set in stern, no-nonsense expressions. They were looking directly at Mason, their eyes unblinking, their presence menacing.

“Oh, crap,” Mason whispered, stepping away from the door.

“Dude,” Cooper said behind him, his voice booming and casual now. “Why’s the door locked? What’s goin’ on, bro?”

Mason didn’t respond. His mind raced, trying to think of a way out. Yet as he looked around, he quickly realized that not only was the room small, but it lacked any other exits or windows. The only way out of this room was through the door – and the guards who clearly weren’t going to let him leave.

Cooper took a lumbering step toward him, his movements unsteady as he adjusted to his new burly size. “Yo, Mason,” he said, his voice a strange mix of confusion and excitement. “I feel so weird, man. Like, I’m freakin’ huge now. This is nuts!”

Mason pressed himself against the far wall, his breath quick and shallow. He had come here to expose Red Wave Solutions, but now he was trapped in a nightmare with no clear escape. And to make matters worse, the transformed Cooper was now staring at him with an unsettling mix of bewilderment and enthusiasm, as if unaware of the full extent of what had just happened to him.

The guards outside shifted slightly, their eyes never leaving Mason. It was clear they were waiting for him to make a move – which left the journalist wondering if they were simply there to stop him from interfering or eventually take him somewhere worse for finding out the truth.

Mason swallowed hard, his mind racing. Whatever was happening here, he was in way over his head.

Mason barely had time to process the sight of the guards standing outside the window before the door clicked and swung open into the room. His pulse spiked, and he took a few reflexive steps back, especially as the two massive guards rushed into the room with practiced precision and alarming speed.

“Hey! Wait–” Mason shouted, but the words were cut off as one guard grabbed his left arm and the other seized his right. Their grips were like iron, pinning him in place with an effortless strength that left him completely immobilized.

“Let me go!” Mason demanded, struggling futilely against their hold.

But his cries went ignored. The guards didn’t so much as glance at him, their stony expressions remaining fixed ahead like robots as they held him firmly.

Mason’s eyes darted to Cooper, desperate for help, but the sight before him made his stomach drop further. Cooper was staring at his reflection in the mirror mounted on the far wall, his now-massive hands running over his muscular chest and arms. His face, once soft and pretty, had undergone further dramatic transformation. The delicate features had sharpened into something rugged and masculine – a stubble-covered jawline that could cut glass, a straight nose, a set of manly lips adorned with a trimmed mustache, and thick brows that framed eyes filled with a vacant yet self-satisfied glint. For a moment, the man played with his hair, enjoying running his thick, callused fingers through his long wavy strands.

“Cooper!” Mason called, hoping to snap him out of his trance.

But Cooper didn’t respond, his attention entirely consumed by his own image. He flexed, his bulging biceps straining the tattered remnants of his shirt, his lips curving into a smirk as he admired his physique.

The sound of deliberate, measured footsteps echoed through the room, drawing Mason’s attention away. His eyes widened as a figure emerged in the doorway – a handsome, middle-aged man with perfectly trimmed stubble and sharp, piercing eyes. Dressed in a tailored suit that exuded authority, the man carried himself with an unsettling confidence.

He stepped inside, surveying the room with a smile that sent chills down Mason’s spine. His gaze lingered on Cooper for a moment, his expression one of approval, before turning toward Mason.

“Well, isn’t this quite the scene,” the man said, his voice smooth and commanding. “Cooper is coming along beautifully, wouldn’t you say?”

Mason didn’t answer, his throat dry as he glared at the man.

The stranger’s attention returned to Cooper, who was now flexing in earnest, his massive arms and broad shoulders filling the small space. “You’re doing great, Cooper,” the man encouraged, his tone warm and enthusiastic. “Just look at you. All that weakness, all that self-doubt – it’s melting away, isn’t it? You’re finally becoming the straight alpha male you were always meant to be.”

“No,” Mason muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “This isn’t right. Cooper, don’t listen to him!”

But Cooper didn’t even glance at him. Instead, his expression remained precisely trained at his new reflection and hyper-masculine face as one hand moved down to paw at his immensely-sized crotch. “Yeah… yeah, bro,” Cooper said, his voice deep and almost gravelly. “I feel so… powerful.”

The man chuckled, his smile widening. “That’s it. Embrace it. Let go of that weak, pitiful version of yourself. Expel it. You don’t need it anymore.”

“Cooper, stop!” Mason shouted, straining against the guards’ hold. “This isn’t you! Don’t give into what this asshole and his fucked up company wants!”

But his words were drowned out by the older man’s encouragement. “Come on, Cooper. Show us you’re ready. Show us you’re done with that fragile little self you used to be.”

Cooper’s grin turned almost feral as he stepped back from the mirror, his massive hands now split between jerking himself off and squeezing his immense new form. He thrust his hips forward once, then again, his body trembling as he gave in to whatever compulsion was driving him.

“No!” Mason screamed, his voice cracking as he fought against the guards with renewed desperation.

Cooper bucked his hips one last time, his movements growing erratic until he froze as a torrent of cum shot out of his thick cock. Mason watched as the man’s eyes rolled back into his head, his chest heaving as a guttural groan escaped his lips.

Mason’s blood ran cold. Whatever was happening to Cooper was reaching its horrifying conclusion, and Mason had no idea how to stop it.

Cooper – or rather, the person who had once been Cooper – stirred a few minutes later, his head jerking slightly before his eyes fluttered open. Mason froze, watching in disbelief as the hulking man came to. The confusion was evident in the newly sculpted frat bro’s face as he blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings.

“Uh… what the hell is going on, broskis?” he mumbled, his deep voice carrying an unfamiliar, lazy drawl. His gaze darted from the guards restraining Mason to the middle-aged man standing with a smug expression, and finally landed on Mason himself.

As recognition failed to surface in his eyes, the now-transformed man tilted his head, his lips pulling into a cocky smirk. “Yo, wait a sec… are you, like, a homo or something? Tryna sneak a peek at my badass bod or check out my… uh…” He flexed one arm and cupped his other hand over his crotch with a crude laugh. “…my impressive package, bro?”

Mason’s mouth fell open. “Cooper, it’s me, it’s Mason! Don’t you remember anything? You came here because–”

“Shut it,” the other man interrupted before snapping his fingers at the guards holding Mason. Without hesitation, they reached up and clamped strong hands over his mouth in order to silence him. Mason struggled, muffled protests escaping as he glared daggers at the older man.

The mysterious man turned to the hulking figure, his demeanor calm and calculated. “You’re quite perceptive, Jackson. As a matter of fact, we did indeed catch Mr. Samsen here sneaking into your room while you were in the middle of your… business.”

Instantly, Jackson’s brows furrowed as his expression darkened. He clenched his fists, the sound of his knuckles cracking echoing ominously in the small room. “What the fuck, bro?” he said, his voice a mix of anger and indignation. “You some kinda creep? Lemme guess, you’re some kind of fucked up fairy jealous of what a real man looks like?”

Mason shook his head frantically, trying to plead through the guards’ hands. His muffled cries went unnoticed by Jackson, whose frustration seemed to bubble over.

“Yo, I’ll mess you up, dude,” Jackson growled, taking a menacing step forward. His massive form towered over Mason, the threat in his body language clear.

But before Jackson could act, the middle-aged man raised a hand, his commanding tone cutting through the tension. “Now, now, Jackson. There’s no need for violence.” He nodded toward one of the guards standing by the door. “Escort Jackson to the lounge, would you? He’s had an intense day coming to terms with his inner truth, so I’m sure he could use some time to relax.”

One of the guards stepped forward, placing a hand on Jackson’s broad shoulder. “C’mon, man. Let’s go.”

Jackson hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking back to Mason. But then he shrugged, his frustration melting into indifference. “Yeah, whatever. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today, bro,” he muttered, turning to follow the guard out of the room.

As the door clicked shut behind them, the man shifted his attention back to Mason. His warm smile was chilling in its insincerity. “Now, Mr. Samsen,” he said, stepping closer. “It’s your turn. You’ve poked your nose into matters you shouldn’t, so now it’s time for you to not only get punished but find a way to truly contribute to our cause.”

Mason’s eyes widened as the man continued, his tone almost fatherly. “You’ve spent so much time fighting against what you perceive as wrong. But you’ll soon realize that you’ve been on the wrong side of history all along. Don’t worry though, we’ll be gentle in helping you see the truth. And once you do, you’ll become the Conservative you were always meant to be...”

To read part two, click here.

#lib to con #gay to straight #frat bro tf #jock tf #mental changes #dumber

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planetkiimchi · 1 year ago

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the first drops of rain | k.mg

summary — mingyu's your first love. your first date with him could be described as fairytale like, at least until it begins raining. even then, maybe the rain is a paid actor, teaching you to slow down in your fast-paced student life.

featuring: mingyu x gn!reader, highschool au

word count: 2729 words

a/n: first seventeen work! kinda thought my first svt work would be seokmin or minghao but HAHA we’re here instead with a mingyu work. it’s based off a very precious memory of mine, and i felt like mingyu’s personality was the most similar to the guy i went out with <3

mingyu: we’re meeting at the start of the trail at 9, right?

You react to his message with a thumbs up, pulling up your shoes and glancing outside. The start of the trail is only a few hundred metres away from your house, so you’re not in a rush.

Mingyu asked you out on this date a few months ago, but you were overseas during the winter break, and weren’t able to go out with him. After a few months of discussing where to go, you finally settled on going cycling with him.

The sun rose quite a while ago, and the temperature is rather warm, but you figure that it’ll all be fine.

You check the time again and head downstairs, cycling over to the subway station to meet Mingyu.

You’re a few minutes late, so you expect to see Mingyu waiting there when you arrive, an apology already on the tip of your tongue, but you’re surprised when he’s not.

In fact, you have to wait another ten minutes before he finally arrives, a little out of breath and completely lost, without a bicycle. He smiles sheepishly at you, tucking his hands into his pockets.

He mumbles a “sorry”, curly hair falling in his eyes as he looks earnestly at you, shoulders raised in his nervousness.

Your annoyance at his tardiness dissipates once you see him in this state, genuinely apologetic and well-meaning. You let a soft sigh escape your lips. It’s okay.

Mingyu raises his phone and hesitantly says he needs to pick up his bike.

You’re about to reply when an old lady comes up to you, one hand clutching her grocery stroller. She politely asks if you know where the Flower Market is?

You nod. It’s right next to your apartment block, and you often go there to buy groceries yourself. You point the lady in the direction of the market, turning back to Mingyu.

Once again, before you can speak, Mingyu jerks his head at the stairs that the old lady has to climb up to get out of the subway station and onto the pavement. She lifts up the grocery stroller, and you rush to help her with it.

She smiles at you. Thank you.

You smile back. No problem.

Tilting your head towards the stairs, you beckon Mingyu to follow. The bicycles are located at the lowest level of the apartment block directly opposite yours, so you’re heading in the same direction as the lady anyway.

Once you’ve helped the old lady get her stroller up to the top of the stairs, you wave goodbye to her, prepared to head back down the flight of stairs to get your bicycle.

Fortunately for you, you don’t have to. Mingyu holds your bicycle in his hands, setting it down at the top of the stairs, and your heart warms, just a little.

It takes a longer time to figure out how the bike sharing system works than you thought it would. Mingyu scans the QR code on the back of the bicycle, frowning as he navigates the app, trying to figure out how the payment works. You stand to the side, holding on to your bicycle’s handlebars, watching his eyebrows knit themselves into a knot, before the wrinkles in his forehead slowly iron out when he finally gets the app to work.

All set? you ask.

Mingyu nods. All set.

You climb onto your bicycle, eager to head off, and Mingyu follows behind.

With the sun beating down on your backs, the two of you start off on the trail, figuring out a pace that works for both of you. You haven’t cycled in a long time, and you can’t go too slow, or you’ll be too unsteady for both of you to ride side-by-side on the narrow path.

The greenery on both sides of the trail helps to keep the temperature down, and you’re grateful for the shade it provides in the heat of summer. Next to you, Mingyu asks how school has been. You reply with one of those blasé “school is good” type of answers, but he doesn’t accept that.

Mingyu keeps prodding.

And, with your feet pedalling hard underneath you and the glare of the blue sky overhead, you find yourself opening up.

It’s started drizzling slightly when you reach the bicycle racks, so you chain your bicycles up and head to the nearby subway station to seek shelter. While you’re standing there, you ask Mingyu where he wants to go.

Originally, you wanted to go to watch a movie, but since the date was so impromptu, you didn’t check the movie timings out beforehand, so now you realise that none of the timings are convenient for you.

It’s fine, Mingyu insists. He’ll figure something out.

It doesn’t take long before he’s dragging you down another path you didn’t notice earlier, one that leads to a train station that’s no longer in use. Two carriages of the trains are left on the tracks as a memorial to the old train station, and despite the red tape covering the doors, Mingyu climbs up into the carriage.

You’re standing on the edges of the train tracks, watching him grin at you from inside. He leaps from the seat with a yelp, almost knocking his head, and he quickly exits the carriage.

What’s wrong? you ask.

He lifts his hand to show you that the seat was wet.

You laugh whole-heartedly and he pouts, but the joy in his eyes betrays him. His poorly-concealed excitement only grows when he looks ahead to see a bridge, breaking out into a run towards it.

You attempt to follow him, still balancing on the edges of the train tracks, quickly giving up when he doesn’t show any signs of waiting for you.

He turns around at the start of the bridge, and you grin at him as you step up onto the train tracks. He steps onto the edge next to yours, your feet moving in sync along those parallel metal lines drawn across the wooden tiles, his arms waving wildly as he fails to keep his balance.

Mingyu shakes his head out when he’s fallen three times, running his hand through his hair, glancing at you with the widest smile you’ve ever seen.

Your sunshine. That’s what he is, walking alongside you as you tread across the train tracks, hands carefully tucked into his pockets, watching your every step.

He speeds up when you hop off the tracks, and you follow him into a neighbourhood with two-story houses. Plants line the sidewalks, with overgrown creepers crawling up the walls and trees overhead shading you from the sun.

He points at the sign and tells you he came here once before, after his mother scolded him. It’s dangerously close to his home, a place that contains memories you can’t be a part of, a place you’re not sure you’re ready to intrude into.

You do anyway.

Mingyu leads you to the playground he’s only been to once before, when he was running away from his mother, and you pass by the empty basketball court.

You love basketball, you tell him, your steps slowing down. He whirls on his heel, looking up at the hoops, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. Really?

Really, you say. You tell him how you used to play basketball during your half-hour long recess in elementary school instead of eating. Even though you were really bad and only played with a group of 5-6 other friends, it was still fun.

He understands.

You teach him how to climb onto the roof of the playground, your hands and feet making holds out of the railings and slides. You show him a view of the world that you loved as a kid, a view that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Like you’re unbeatable, invincible, and that the moment will last forever.

Slithering off the roof, you discreetly pull out your phone, but Mingyu spots you quickly enough. Don't film me, he pouts, eyebrows in a knot as his foot staggers around for a foothold.

You laugh and keep your camera pointed at him.

He hops down—ungracefully, you’d like to add; you think you were pretty graceful when jumping down yourself—and beckons you over with his hand.

Mingyu leads you to a sheltered area where the playground floor and gravel gives way to grass and soil, the trees overhead casting so much shade you get the impression that you’re in a rainforest. You can barely see past the crowns of the trees to the sky, which you’re sure is a shade of blue-grey. You can tell that it’s not raining, or the playground would be getting wet, but it isn’t quite sunny yet either.

The creak of a red swing brings your attention back to Mingyu. He smiles at you in warm invitation, and you take it, stepping up onto the swing. Your legs are on the left of his, your knees a fist’s width away from his. Opposite you, Mingyu lifts his eyes to yours and begins to speak.

How’s school, how’s life, how’s that toxic friend group in your dance club? he asks.

Stressful, interesting, shitty as ever, you reply.

He asks things like why, tell me more, is that leadership position working out for you?

You reply with much longer answers than you thought you would. The words flow from you like air leaking from a balloon with a hole. There’s so much pent-up frustration, bottled-up confusion, anxiety, envy, and even sadness you didn’t notice you were suppressing. They find their way out of your mouth in words you're surprised are coherent enough for him to understand, but somehow he manages it.

You’re not the only one telling stories, though. You ask Mingyu questions too, stuff like how’s being drama club president, do you like your juniors, what do you want to do at university?

And he, too, replies with amazing, I love them, I don't know but I’d like to be a counsellor someday.

And you learn.

From his smiles and nervous fidgeting and “um”s, you learn that he’s nervous. From the way he leans forward to talk to you and nods when you speak, you learn that his interest in you is genuine. From the tone of his voice and the smile in his eyes, you learn about his habits of joy and excitement. You pick apart his every move to learn something from it, absorbing a little more knowledge about him each time.

An hour or two passes. As it starts to drizzle again and lunch hour approaches, Mingyu gets up from the swing, not forgetting to hold it while you step off, and goes to the bench to get his tote bag before his things are drenched in the rain.

With a hand above your heads shielding you from the drizzle, the two of you half run-half walk to the mall nearby for lunch, raucous laughter echoing in your ears.

Mingyu offers to pay for your lunch thrice, and you refuse each time, reluctant to let him take money out of his allowance to pay for your meal. He insists you should let him pay for it, telling you that his father will give him more money. Still, you decline.

When he goes to visit the restroom, you quickly take your chance to buy your food before he gets back.

You take a seat successfully and wait for him to return, and he does—not without him trying to slide the bill into your bag first. After a while, he finally gives in, and the two of you settle down for lunch.

Lunch ends at around the same time the sky clears, and the two of you are rushing to climb onto your bicycles and leave before the rain starts up again. The weather has been unpredictable that morning, and you’re unwilling to take your chances. Instead of lingering around the mall, you’re unlocking your bicycle, fiddling with the stubborn lock, and Mingyu waits patiently beside you.

All set? he asks for the second time that day.

You reply the same way, All set.

Then you’re off, legs pedalling furiously, your balance miles better when you’re moving fast. In the morning, you had to keep swerving to avoid knocking into Mingyu at the slow pace you were going, but now you’re just trying to get home before it rains again. Your curfew is pretty early, and if you dally any longer, you’re definitely going to get an earful when you’re home.

Mingyu easily keeps pace with you, following your lead. From time to time, he’ll catch up and ride beside you for a stretch, and then you’ll pedal faster and he’ll fall behind again.

You feel the drizzle beginning when you ring your bell, bypassing yet another jogger on the trail. Cursing, you pick up speed, and Mingyu doesn’t question you as he follows behind.

The rain grows heavier more quickly than you’d expected, and soon there’s a steady stream of water raining down. You wipe futilely at your forehead from time to time, glasses sprayed with raindrops, and Mingyu calls out after you, laughing.

I’m not supposed to cycle in the rain, you tell him. My mum is going to kill me!

He seems to get it, but when you seek shelter under an overhead bridge to wipe your face with the remaining dry part of your T-shirt, he’s laughing at you.

You roll your eyes and point out the bits of water on his face, but he shrugs. You’re going to be cycling through the rain again anyway, so he doesn’t see the need to dry his face.

You clench your jaw, resolved to get home as soon as possible. The two of you climb back onto the bicycle, and start cycling home.

As if trying to deliberately annoy you, the downpour only gets heavier on your way home. It keeps coming down, and you fight to keep your balance and not skid on the watery path. You’re forced to slow down a little, your legs no longer pedalling as fast.

Your anxious heart begins to slow, and Mingyu's calm, sure voice carries over to you, despite the rain falling steadily around you. The sun is still high in the sky, and you wonder if there'll be a rainbow. That would be befitting for Mingyu, you think.

The whole way back, your mind is occupied by Mingyu's questions, his curiosity warming your heart. He genuinely cares about you, and this care distracts you from your fear of reaching home late. All thoughts of what your mother will say go out the window, until he's returned his bicycle and you've parked yours near the subway station, heading to the toilet to change into a new, dry shirt.

Mingyu didn't think to bring change, so he waits for you outside. He offers to help carry your bag, but you insist you can do it yourself. Just the thought that he's there, waiting outside, comforts you.

The two of you walk alongside each other on the way back to your home. You won't stop him from walking you home, especially not when you enjoy his company so much. He mentions something about his future family and you stiffen, afraid that he's jumping the gun. Your commitment issues start to resurface, your mind whirring as your heart jumps into panic mode, but you force yourself to take a few deep breaths and laugh.

He seems too happy to notice how forced your laugh is. Instead, he's asking for your mother's name, repeating it the whole way to make sure he's got it right.

Mrs? he asks.

Aunty, you correct.

Aunty, he repeats, and you nod your head. He asks for your father's, too, and he's still mumbling their names when you come up to the door. You ring the doorbell, and your mother comes to open the door, greeting Mingyu with a warm smile and a hearty welcome.

Come on in, she says. Mingyu shakes his head bashfully.

I've got to be going, he says. See you, Aunty.

You step into the house and wave at him until he's out of sight, your mother watching his retreating figure with you.

He seems like a nice boy, she says.

Oh, he is.

#k-labels #🪁 — my works #seventeen #mingyu #highschool au #mingyu x gn!reader #mingyu highschool au #mingyu x reader #mingyu x yn #mingyu x y/n

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atiny-for-life · 2 months ago

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Ateez's Full Storyline Explained - Part 24

Masterlist

Golden Hour: Part 3 - Diary Entries:

Thanks to @loving-that-officey-feel, I've now been able to get my own version of the Diary Entries, which is why I can tell you how to access them! Upon purchasing the Poca album, you'll receive a QR code which you can scan with the Poca app to receive your digital content - this includes all the songs and a tab labeled "Exclusives" where you'll then find the Diary Entries in both Korean and English.

When we last left of, Wooyoung made his wish to Sopro, which is precisely whose POV we're now reading from at the start of these entries. Yes, it's Sopro itself who's now speaking to us:

I am alive. If anyone were to ask why, I honestly could not answer. For as long as I can remember, I have always been alive. I was not brought into existence by my own will. I had lived without thought until one day, I suddenly became aware – aware of the fact that I had been born. But then, where did I come from? Who am I? What am I?

As we will later be reminded once again, Sopro is not an inanimate object - it's a spirit, a being, something seemingly capable of thought and self-awareness. And as we now find out, also the ability to converse with the world itself:

"Who am I?" I shouted out to the world, hoping the world might answer me. "Who am I?" the world echoed back the same question. It sounded just like my own voice. "So, you don't know who you are either?" I asked the world again. And once again, it responded the same. "So, you don't know who you are either?"

After Sopro's conversation with the world turns out fruitless, we get to see the exact moment it gets to feel emotion for the first time. And what is that emotion? It's pure, overwhelming joy. And soon we'll learn why and how that came to be.

We're with Wooyoung now, the day after he made his wish to Sopro, and it's past noon, though for Wooyoung, it might as well be morning since he only fell asleep at eight a.m.. Still, he's feeling surprisingly good this day and even greets his reflection before he compliments his own appearance and chuckles to himself.

Why he's feeling so upbeat soon becomes apparent when we learn the following:

Wooyoung had made plans with San to attend Hongjoong's book signing event together.

Even more so, we learn that just before the sun rose that morning, the members had all texted Wooyoung, one by one, each to let him know they agreed with him now and also wish to get back together again:

Jongho: I've always related to how you felt. I kept thinking we should come back together as a group, too. Let's try this, hyung! Yunho: Honestly, I was a little scared. But after what you said last night, I realized – there's nothing we can't do. I'm in. Mingi: I woke up this morning feeling like we could do anything. I guess I was just tired last night and got a little grumpy. Let's give it a shot. Seonghwa: Let's see it through this time. As far as we can go. San: I'm always on your side, Jung Wooyoung. You know that, right? I'm with you. Hongjoong: I guess we were all a little afraid, since we'd gone too far down our own paths. But, somehow, I'm sure now – We can really make it this time. Let's make it happen, Wooyoung. Yeosang: I think I said too much. I don't even know why I did that. After sleeping on it, I couldn't help but think, was there really anything more important than our dream? Anyway, I want to be part of this, too.

Internally, Wooyoung then acknowledges that Sopro likely changed his members' minds, but that if they really made it this time, surely they would all be happy in the end, no matter what.

In a flashback to the previous night, we then find out what Sopro's powers look like as they work: it emits a light, one which travels from the mouth of the one who voices the wish to their own body before it disappears.

This matches what we see at the end of Crazy Form when the bluebird soars through the sky: the pulsing bright light as it connects to the people of Strictland, uniting their emotions.

We return to the present where Wooyoung is on his way to the book signing event:

The weather was as bright as his mood. This time, it truly felt like nothing could stop them. Wooyoung was sure of it. Things were already looking up. Some members had become famous in their fields; one could produce music, and another had the means to fund it. It was no longer like those earlier days when all they did - and all they could do - was work hard in vain.

But at the event, just as Wooyoung was about to greet Hongjoong, a fan he was signing a copy of his book for spilled tomato juice directly onto his head in front of everyone but, of course, instead of getting angry, he merely laughs it off:

Hongjoong smiled warmly, reassuring the reader who had spilled the drink. 'Same as ever. I doubt he even knows how to get mad,' thought Wooyoung. Hongjoong had always been like that. He instinctively put others' feelings before his own. Whenever Woo Young had to deal with a difficult passenger, he'd think of Hongjoong – someone born for this kind of work.

Despite Hongjoong's reaction though, Wooyoung gets a little pissed at the fan who proceeds to forego an apology in favor of making a weird joke:

"Hahahahaha! It's like you get to experience Spain's tomato festival right here in Korea! Isn't it great?" Huh? What kind of nonsense was that? That was definitely not the kind of attitude you'd expect from someone who should be apologizing. Wooyoung stared in disbelief. He couldn't hold it in any longer. "Hey, jokes are fine and all, but don't you think you should apologize fir-" Wooyoung was cut off. Because, all at once, the room burst into laughter. People glanced at one another, grinning.

Just then, San arrives but instead of relieving Wooyoung of his confusion as hoped, San merely starts laughing alongside everyone else in their vicinity:

Wooyoung: "Why are you laughing?" San: "Why? Obviously, because I'm happy. Hahahahaha."

But when asked, San can't even tell Wooyoung why he's happy - he just is.

The situation escalates further when another person in line flings their drink at someone. The two involved look at each and yet again burst into laughter, triggering others to follow their example.

All the while, Hongjoong and San simply watch, cackling at the steadily unraveling chaos. And it doesn't stop there.

When someone else decides throwing drinks or getting splashed is no longer enough, they begin ripping pages from the book in their hand and stuffing them in their mouth before chewing on them like a snack. The sight alone leads to even more giggling, more laughter from all around, like everyone has suddenly lost their minds or at least turned into a bunch of children high on sugar.

People begin to copy what they witnessed, leading to more torn pages, more mouths full of paper. And then Hongjoong reaches for the book in front of him and rips one out as well.

But just before he could put it in his mouth, Wooyoung snatched it out of his hand. Wooyoung: "Hyung! What the heck are you doing? Pull yourself together!" Hongjoong: "Hahahaha. Isn't this hilarious, Wooyoung? Hahahaha." "Isn't this hilarious?" Wooyoung couldn't wrap his head around what Hongjoong meant. But for some reason, Wooyoung was laughing too. Wooyoung's reflection in the glass was laughing.

In that moment, Wooyoung realizes what he's thinking and feeling are completely disconnected from one another. The dissociation which comes with the realization leaves him nauseous.

He begins dry heaving, runs to the bathroom, but just as the sixth wave of stomach churning sickness crashes into him, a bright, ruby-red light leaves his mouth and leaves him frozen still.

He stares, watches the thing hover mid-air in front of him. And it's then that his brain clicks: it's Sopro.

Zooming around him, once twice, as if in greeting, it completes its rounds before it whizzes onward and flies right into San's wide-open, laughing mouth.

The sight has the crowd cackling even harder.

Reaching up to his own face, Wooyoung checks if he himself is also still laughing, but discovers he's finally stopped. His expression has turned grave, mirroring his emotions. But for now, he's the only one.

Grabbing Hongjoong and San, Wooyoung begins dragging them the six hundred meters to the fire department Seonghwa is currently working at (where they'd originally planned to meet). But with both of them still cackling, and everyone else they come across also bursting into laughter, the six hundred meters drag on to a one hour walk.

And even when they get there, Seongwha is nowhere to be found. The fire chief's daughter (a big fan of Mingi's) greets them instead and takes them to her father - who is of course also laughing hysterically.

Upon inquiring about Seonghwa's whereabouts, Wooyoung is told a huge fire had broken out at the printing factory so Seonghwa was dispatched to help put it out.

Hearing that it was only a 15-minute walk, Wooyoung decided to head there. It seemed that the fire chief - and all the other firefighters at the station - were too busy laughing. At that moment, Wooyoung wanted nothing more than to find someone who felt the same as he did. He had a faint hope that Seonghwa of all people wouldn't let himself get caught up in this strange phenomenon. After all, he had never seen Seonghwa laugh hysterically before. Seonghwa: "Gyahahahaha! The fire's being extinguished. It's going OUT! Hahahaha."

Although the fire has been brought under control, Wooyoung gets a pounding headache when he realizes everyone was laughing at the burning remains of the factory - including the factor owner himself. The disconnect, the absurdity, is getting to Wooyoung, making him feel like he's the bonkers one for still being serious while everyone around him is so full of joy.

But right as he puts his hands in his pockets and turns away to take a second to just breathe and listen to his own racing thoughts, he finds a crumpled piece of paper in his pocket: the page he'd taken from Hongjoong so he wouldn't eat it. The page from Hongjoong's book.

The text printed on it was about Z's brainwashing speech - one of the ones he'd used to manipulate the people of Strictland.

As he read it, Wooyoung felt a strange sense of irony. How odd, he thought, to find himself relating - even just a little - to the words of Z. Wooyoung: "A small error is a crack, and cracks lead to pain. Pain. Pain is an unnecessary emotion and a negative element in life. We want to protect you all." In the face of the paradoxical situation he was currently trapped in, Wooyoung was stunned. Without thinking, he began to read Z's words out loud. That was when, though it lasted only for a brief moment, Hongjoong, San, and Seonghwa stopped laughing.

The effect only lasts for a second but it's enough for Wooyoung to view it as potentially meaningful, so he does it again:

Wooyoung: "A world without cracks is always beautiful. You, living your life in your position, are the world itself." It wasn't just his imagination. As Wooyoung read Z's speech aloud, the three stopped laughing and clutched their heads, as if struck by a wave of pain. San even began to gag. It was working! Wooyoung: "Don't doubt yourselves. You're always right." He recited the words "Don't doubt yourselves" over and over, and Hongjoong, San, and Seonghwa began to show signs of confusion. San kept gagging until Sopro was finally ejected from his body. At the same time, Hongjoong and Seonghwa screamed in agony from the intense headaches. Sopro, still floating in the air, flew rapidly around them as if it were scanning everything around it. Like a bee, it buzzed past the burnt factory, the bright-red fire truck, the blue sky, and the lush trees. HWUP! Taking in a deep breath, Hongjoong, San, and Seonghwa looked around like they had just woken up from a deep sleep. They were no longer smiling. Finally!

All three call out Wooyoung's name when they come to, leading Wooyoung to put on a policeman-tone to order them not to laugh because he can't stand it anymore.

But of course, that exact tone only has all three of them cackling, leading to a brief period of despair for Wooyoung when he thinks he failed.

Seonghwa: "It's not what you think. It's just... the way you said 'don't laugh!' with such a serious look on your face..." San: "Seriously. How much trouble did we put you through with our laughing?" Only then did Wooyoung finally look up and examine the members' faces. While they were smiling, they weren't laughing hysterically like they had been before. Wooyoung studied the crumpled paper in his hand. As soon as he felt the relief of having the members back to their usual selves, a question arose in his mind. Since Sopro was an item from World Z, he wondered if it might be reacting to Z's words. Wooyoung: "Does this mean that Z saved us?" Hongjoong: "When you were reading that, flashes of the events we experienced in World Z began appearing in my head. It was as if my mind were a giant popcorn machine, and our memories were the popcorn bursting inside." Seonghwa: "It's not so much that Z saved us, but that Z's speech brought back memories of our time there. It caused this burning pain in my head, but then, all of a sudden, my mind cleared."

With no better way to explain what happened, they all run with Seonghwa's theory and look around at the still cackling people around them.

Right. Without having those same memories from World Z, the same words wouldn't work on anyone but the eight of them. So what now?

Still caught up in his thoughts, Wooyoung's attention is drawn by San who asks how all this could have happened in the first place. But before Wooyoung can answer, Sopro decides to continue wreaking some havoc by picking its next host: the printing factory owner.

The man, who had been laughing hysterically as he watched his life's work go up in flames, swallowed Sopro and instantly stopped laughing.

Having found a new host, we're now back with Sopro right as it first left its state of solace, its state of only having the world to talk to, because now it has felt emotion and what it's like to have a body and it's gotten hooked on the experience.

I was so happy. It felt like my chest might burst, and laughter just spilled out of me. People called this feeling - this sense of saying yes to everything - joy. Some called it delight, or amusement, or excitement. Joy, joy, joy. The word sounded so pretty, I couldn't help but say it over and over. Everything felt new-the water splashing into the air, the sunlight sparkling all around, even the simple act of breathing in and out. The crinkle of smiles at the corners of people's eyes, the trees swaying as if waving back. It was all so strange, so beautiful... so exciting, so delightful, so funny, so full of joy. How had I gone my whole life without noticing any of it?

While residing within San, Sopro discovered emotions beyond joy - a whole rainbow of them, but it can't make sense of them so, in search of something new, it leaves its second host on its own accord, only to realize life without a body is dulled. It can't feel this way, can't interact with its surroundings, so it seeks out another body:

It was then that I noticed him, a person who looked just like an empty shell. He wasn't far from the first two hosts I had entered. The man was sitting on the ground, laughing at the sight of a burnt building. And so, I dove toward him. Splash. The sensation was akin to diving into a deep, dark sea. I lost all sense of direction, unsure of which way was up or down. I wanted to escape, and so I kept swimming. After a while, I began to wonder whether I was swimming toward something or simply sinking.

We're back with Wooyoung right as he's getting embarrassed at having to spill what he did with Sopro. As sure as he'd been the night before, saying it all again now in bright daylight felt a bit... awkward.

Recounting the events of last night back to the members, he was reminded of Yeo Sang's words: "Grow up. How long do you plan on acting so recklessly?" Part of him felt so wronged. Is it really so reckless to still be chasing a dream? Is it such a childish thing to do? Embarrassment and frustration fought inside him, and, for a moment, he felt as if he might cry. But he didn't. His ears just burned a deeper shade of red instead. San: "So you think it synchronized our emotions? That sounds half-right... but also half-wrong." Hongjoong: "Sopro didn't come inside me, so I don't really know much about that. What I felt was more like... this overwhelming surge of happiness and joy." Seonghwa: "I guess you could say it was kind of like being a little drunk. Sort of like when you're already in a good mood and the alcohol just makes you even more giddy." Hongjoong: "Yeah, exactly. But unlike alcohol, it didn't mess with my memory or anything. It was just the emotion, vivid and clear, like it was all I could feel"

Hearing them talk like that, Wooyoung feels surprised. He expected a scolding, to get blamed for what he did - chewed out, maybe slapped and told off - but all they were focusing on was the Sopro-situation? Getting more nervous, all he can think about is that he just wants to get the consequences over with.

Wooyoung: "Sorry. It's my fault you all got dragged into this mess." Seeing how visibly deflated Woo Young looked, the members began confessing their own wrongdoings one by one, looking as though they had no other choice. Hongjoong: "You know, three years ago, when we were all starting to get busy on our own and drift apart, I thought about using Sopro myself. I even went to see Yeo Sang about it, but ended up turning back empty-handed." San: "Back when I first started setting up my food truck, I needed money, so I went to ask Yeo Sang for help. That day, I saw Sopro at his house and also thought for a second that maybe I should use it to bring us back together. But honestly, I was too afraid to even touch Sopro, so I never did." Seonghwa: "I think it was some time around the start of this year? I was drinking with Yeo Sang, and he pulled out Sopro. He said he still feels guilty whenever he thinks about how his father's opposition split us apart. Now that he's strong enough to protect us, he wondered if we could come together through Sopro-at least in spirit."

Their confessions cause something within Wooyoung's mind to click: he'd been so sure Yeosang had given up on their dream of being together, but... How could he have ever thought that when it was Yeosang who'd sacrificed himself by breaking the Cromer so the rest of them could be safe? If anything, Yeosang had always valued them and their dream above all else.

Seonghwa: "Using the buzz as an excuse, we were actually planning to activate Sopro. I also really missed our time together a lot. But then, suddenly, Yeosang said something." "Hey, hyung... What if what the guys are doing right now becomes their dream?" Seonghwa recalled how Yeosang's words snapped him back to his senses. Lost in the past, he had momentarily forgotten about his dream of becoming a firefighter. Seonghwa liked his job as a firefighter. While it may not have been his original dream, that didn't mean it lacked any meaning to him. "What if-and these are all just 'what-ifs.' What if the guys have found new dreams? If we were to use Sopro now, and go back to how things were in the past, wouldn't that mean I'd be robbing the members of their dreams again?" Seonghwa: "Your first love isn't your only love. And that is why, in the end, we put Sopro back in its place." Though the red hue in his ears had faded, Woo Young felt even more embarrassed than before. He realized that Yeosang was definitely so much more mature than himself. Even the fact that he had felt resentful for a brief moment made him feel ashamed now.

Voicing his thoughts, Wooyoung hangs his head while San and Seonghwa both step up to him, each wrapping an arm around one of his shoulders, leaving him in their midst while Hongjoong steps up to him:

Hongjoong: "We're not saying all this to make you feel bad. What I wanted to say is that we all wanted to use Sopro, too. There's no need to blame yourself." Hongjoong gently tousled Wooyoung's hair. How could Wooyoung not love these kind-hearted, understanding friends of his? It made him realize once again that, while he did want to make music and perform and dance on stage, the most important part of that dream was being together with the other members that he loved so dearly. Looking at the three pairs of feet gathered around him in a circle, Wooyoung clenched his fists. This was no time to wallow in self-pity. He was the one who awakened Sopro, and it was up to him to find a way out of this.

Recalling what Left Eye told them back in Z-World about the creation of Sopro, Wooyoung explains it must have reacted to Z's words as a result of its origin.

The members nod in agreement, yet Hongjoong also points out that no one else but them reacted to the quotes, which means something else might be going on.

But right as he says it, everyone stops laughing at once.

The four of them look around.

All while they were still trying to make sense of what had happened, a fire hose suddenly fell to the ground with a thud. The firefighter, who was wrapping up, let go of the fire hose and slumped to the floor with a heavy sigh. Waaaaahhhh. He groaned, and soon after, he burst into tears. His crying grew louder and louder until it was a sorrowful, heavy sob. It sounded both deeply painful and sad. Wahhhhhhh Waaahhhh. The sound of crying erupted all around them like a water dam breaking into a flood. The whole city - its shops, apartments, house-lined streets, and public squares - filled with sadness. The members, who had been making their way out of the alley and looking around the main street, seemed momentarily overwhelmed by the grief and paused for a moment, holding their breath.

Upon realizing the printing factory owner has disappeared, Wooyoung finally understand what happened and what it means for the rest of them. Swiftly telling the others, all four take off in a sprint, hoping to quickly track down the source of everyone's grief.

As they run, they find people previously caught up in laughter now slumped over on the ground, either sobbing loudly or lying motionless as they cry silently. The ones still standing have their faces buried in their hands as they weep.

And this? This is worse than the laughing had been.

After a while, it's San who points out Yeosang who seems to have been on his way to Jongho's recording studio before he froze still, overcome by grief and now silently crying.

The image of Yeo Sang standing there on the other side of that glass window reminded them of how he had looked trapped by the Guardians and desolate of hope. It seemed as though while Yeosang's body was here in World A, his mind was still stuck in that moment, in that place in World Z. Tears flowed from his empty eyes. Wooyoung: "Yeo... sang." At the sound of his name being called, Yeosang lifelessly turned to look at Wooyoung standing outside the window. Seeing the deep, dark despair clouding Yeosang's eyes, Wooyoung felt his breath catch in his throat. Back then, after the others had finally made their way back to World Z and saved Yeosang, it was as though he'd lost his voice – as though he were someone who had lost all feeling, devoid of emotion and showing no reaction even to the members' words. It wasn't until much later that Yeosang began to open up about that time. "I thought there was no way out. At first, I tried to find ways to survive, to escape, but before long... I realized there was no way. I don't know if the Guardians stole my emotions from me, or..." Yeosang swallowed his words and left the thought unfinished, but the members knew what he meant to say. Though they wanted to fully understand what Yeosang had gone through during his time trapped alone there, they also knew that there are times when effort alone is not enough. The most they could do for him was to hold his frozen hands and hope that the warmth might reach his heart. No words felt right – no words were enough. As if he understood everything without needing it to be said, Yeosang simply smiled, bright and gentle, and continued: "Still, I like who I am more now, after having gone through all of that. I used to think that there was no way out, but it turns out that was just something I decided when I was lost in despair. There's a huge difference between living with that understanding and living without it, don't you think?" After going through all of that, Yeosang would sometimes joke that he was, by far, now the most mature of them all – If anything, they should all be calling him hyung. And so, the members believed that Yeosang had overcome his pain and that they understood, at least to some extent, the pain that he had endured. But that was all only an illusion. In Yeosang's dark, tear-filled eyes, the wounds left by despair and fear were still there, raw and unhealed. Someone once said that even a speck of one's pain feels heavier than the vast pain of others – that it's the same for everyone. And now, Wooyoung felt like he finally understood what that meant. The pain he had thought was unbearably heavy was, in truth, so small compared to what Yeosang had endured – or was perhaps still enduring.

Shoving the plan of chasing down the factory owner aside, Wooyoung dashes forward and rips open the glass door to get to Yeosang, incapable of bearing the idea of him being trapped another second.

As soon as he reaches him, he grabs Yeosang's hand, feeling cold skin just as he had back then. In his mind, Wooyoung hopes his own warmth will be able to reach Yeosang.

'I finally understand your dream now, Yeosang. You wanted to be free. From the cage your father put you in, from the Guardians' glass room... And you are, Yeosang. You made it. You built a world of your own, and you found the strength now to protect both yourself and everything you hold dear. You're amazing, you know that? Truly incredible.' Wooyoung spoke with his heart as he clutched Yeosang's hand and looked into his dark eyes, praying that his feelings would somehow reach him. And at that moment, he saw it – a small flame flicker to life in Yeosang's once lightless eyes.

The tears pouring from Yeosang's eyes ceased but he was still visibly sad, so Wooyoung's keeps hold of his hand and pulls him along as they continue onward to Jongho's studio alongside the others.

When they arrive, Jongho is surprisingly well - no tears, just calmness. Sopro seemingly had no effect on him.

Despite his cute appearance, Jong Ho could be almost frighteningly incredible. Jongho: "I just got lucky. I was listening to ATEEZ's music when it all happened."

After texting with Wooyoung last night, Jongho headed straight to the recording studio so he could start figuring out what kind of music they'd be making together from now on - the excitement had been to great to simply stay home and wait for their meeting the next day.

Earlier, Sorpo had actually been able to influence him too, but his joy had led him to play Ateez's music from their time in Z-World which had brought back all the memories. The pain resulting from that had then brought him back to his senses.

Jongho: "Yeo Sang hasn't woken up yet, right? Hold on..." Hearing from the other members what had happened, and seeing Yeosang drowning in sorrow, he decided to use the same method that had worked for him. Like a doctor diagnosing and treating a sick patient, Jongho calmly played ATEEZ's music for Yeosang. For a moment, Yeosang held his head in pain, just like the other members had, before life returned to his eyes as he regained consciousness. Wooyoung pulled Yeosang in for a tight hug, sorry that he had misunderstood and resented him for so long. Though a bit awkward, but not unpleasant for him, Yeosang gently patted Wooyoung's back a few times, before quietly asking: Yeosang: "So what exactly is going on?" Haaah... Wooyoung let out a long sigh to which Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and San looked at him and quietly laughed. Wooyoung: "Just how many times am I going to have to atone for my mistakes today? Can we maybe find Mingi and Yunho first before I explain myself again?" Yeosang, who was staring at Wooyoung with a straight face, sighed and responded: Yeosang: "Jung Wooyoung, I knew this would happen. You touched Sopro, didn't you?" 'Damn you, Kang Yeosang....' Woo Young thought.

"Taking coffee orders. Anyone who doesn't respond in 5 minutes is getting an Iced Coffee." "lol!!! Song Mingi look behind you" "Met up with Yunho at the café. We'll head over together." Those were the last messages Yunho and Mingi left in their group chat. It was clear that the two were together and at a café somewhere nearby. Jongho copied ATEEZ's music onto his phone so that it would be ready to play to the crying members once they found them. But first, the group put their heads together and tried to sort out what they knew about Sopro.

After Wooyoung told the others he could primarily recall feeling relief once he voiced his wish to Sopro, he also lets them know he didn't even notice Sopro had entered his body back then.

To this, San explains he felt like Sopro had suppressed all emotions within him except for joy and, as soon as Sopro had left, he'd been able to tell he was being manipulated before, even though it had all felt natural while it had been happening.

Exchaning that information makes all of them realize something must have changed between when Sopro was using Wooyoung as a host versus when it was within San.

Yeosang: "So what Left Eye told us about Sopro was wrong?" Jongho: "Maybe it's not the emotions of the person using Sopro that are synchronized with others, but the emotions that Sopro chooses to feel instead." Seonghwa: "But that wasn't what Wooyoung experienced. When it was inside Wooyoung, we were sharing his feelings."

As they continued to ponder, Wooyoung decides to voice something he believes he might have noticed earlier:

Wooyoung: "When Sopro left San, it looked a little bigger. At least compared to when it left me." Wooyoung spoke with uncertainty, unsure and suggesting that he might have been mistaken. Meanwhile, Hongjoong, who had been leaning against the wall listening to the other members talk about their experiences, seemed to gain some certainty after hearing Wooyoung's words of observation. Hongjoong: "Could it be that Sopro is getting stronger? The only difference between Wooyoung and San's experience was the order – Wooyoung was first, and San was second." The other members looked at Hongjoong with expressions that clearly said they didn't understand what he meant. Hongjoong, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step closer to the members, continued: Hongjoong: "Try to remember what Left Eye said. According to the legends of World Z, Sopro is a magical spirit (靈) born out of the breath of Halazia. It's not a magic stone, battery, or anything like that. It's a spirit (靈). Do you understand what this means?" It's not an object, but a spirit. What does that even mean? The members pondered the meaning of Hongjoong's words. After a moment, they all answered in unison: "It has a will of its own?!" Yeosang: "It seems like the most plausible theory for now. If Sopro is a spirit with a will, then everything that happened makes sense." Wooyoung: "When the spirit first awoke, it was weak." San: "And by the time it moved to me, it was a little stronger." Jongho: "What about when it switched from joy to sadness?" Seonghwa: "Could it be learning different emotions?" The other members' eyes widened at Seonghwa's words. If, as Seonghwa said, Sopro is experiencing and learning emotions, that would explain their current situation. Hongjoong: "To sum everything up, Sopro is a spirit (靈) with will, and it needs a vessel to contain it, like a body. And each time it moves bodies, it gets stronger." Yeosang: "While doing so, it learns the main emotion each vessel is feeling in that moment. It can also force or impose any emotions it wants to feel onto its shell." Wooyoung: "In other words, Sopro is growing." At Wooyoung's words, everyone looked at each other with their mouths agape. In such a short period of time, it had already made its way through three bodies, and its power had grown to the point that it could force people around it to instantly synchronize with a particular emotion. Like Wooyoung said, Sopro was growing – and it was growing fast. Jongho: "Something's happening." They all turned their heads toward Jongho. Without any further explanation, he held out his phone. The screen was open to Jongho's social media feed, and they could see people's posts were disappearing in real time. Jongho looked up Mingi's account. It read "No Posts." Mingi, an influencer with over 10 million followers, now had an empty account. They kept refreshing the page in disbelief... then Mingi's account disappeared. San: "We need to find Mingi and Yunho!"

#ateez #ateez lore #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho #golden hour part 3 #golden hour series

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