Soon To Be Anew (Part 2)
“Come!” it was all he was told. He felt exulting. For which reason he couldn’t say, exactly. And an hour later he was getting in the complex again, to leave no more. Not as the same person who entered there. And now, eight weeks or so after, there he was, on the final stages of his journey. He wasn’t sure it’d been really eight weeks. He lost all notion of time, kept always inside as he was. He did indeed have fairly regular intervals for activities and rest, but didn’t know if they followed along days and nights. The training was really extenuating, well above anything he did before, but it never occurred to him giving up, refusing to do anything he was told to, eating any meal or taking any substance he was given. His sphere of action shouldn’t go beyond 200m, from the small room where he was put to sleep in a spartan single bed, with a minuscule annex for bathroom. The workout room (the one for employees only) where he would spend most of his time awake. The meals room. The lab, where his development was carefully measured and evaluated. And the conditioning room, where he was put sometimes for short A/V sessions meant to enhance his techniques, improve his performance or correct his demeanor.
At first, he felt slightly embarassed being the odd one there. But the others never bothered him for that. They just treated him coldly, only when it was really necessary any direct contact. Otherwise, they mostly ignored him. He got used to that and accepted it as matter of fact. After all, he still wasn’t one of them. Anyway, as he noticed after a while, there wasn’t really a bonding going on among them. There, it was pretty much each one for himself. And, someday soon, he would, too, melt into that bunch of bodies, equally muscular and smooth, dressed alike, behaving likewise. He thought whether even he could distinguish himself from the others, then, but couldn’t know for sure, neither knew if he wanted to. It didn’t matter, anyway. His fate was already traced. It didn’t depend on him doing anything other than performing his duties to his best.
He recalled his name, just out of amusement. That, too, didn’t have any meaning, now. He could have been John, Charles or Henry, before. Now, that was useless. As of this moment, he was none. He’d never been called by name, again, after he’d gotten into the complex. By any name. He never would be, either, while he stayed in the company, whichever unit he’d been assigned to. Later on, at the right time, he would get a formal designation, like the others. That wouldn’t really be definitive, as he could get another one as he moved between units. It wouldn’t be very much used, anyway. They almost didn’t communicate, there. Only at a minimum, absolutely necessary level. Always in that low growl-like voice, mostly unintelligible. Always in short, dry sentences. This much he’d already learned to do. After many questions and comments left unanswered, he finally was taught to keep quiet most of the time. And, in the few times he’d needed to speak, he’d gotten surprised hearing his own voice sound the same way, low and rough. He would get even more astonished if he could see how his mental processes were turning up like that, slower and simpler, more and more spaced. There was no need for complex thoughts while he pumped his muscles lifting weights or fighting the machines in the gym. There was only one single idea, of doing always one more rep than before, lifting heavier weights each time. And the fantastic thrill of doing just that.
Those were the few occasions when he did get any acknowledgement from his pals. Generally as a slap on his head or back, a hit on his chest, a bump of shoulders, along with a twisted smirk and a growl-like praising that could be as much a “Well done!” as a “You got it!", one could never be sure, but the meaning was clear. He was doing fine! He was getting closer.
He was awakened from his musings by a strong slap on his head. Mechanically, he lifted his hand to the spot where he was hit and was awed to find a hard, smooth surface. Then, he runned both his hands all over his skull and face. Nothing! No sign of hair everywhere he touched.
For a brief moment, he feared looking at a mirror but, then, at the same time, he wanted to see what had been done to him. Anyway, with full mirrored walls everywhere, it would be impossible for him to avoid facing himself, sooner or later. It was alright, he thought. Better do it already. But when he tried to stand up, a hand pushed him down, making him fall on his knees. He raised his eyes, trying to understand what was happening, when a strong jet of freezing water hit him right on his head, almost knocking him down. He shouted out roughly from the shock. The jet ran down from his head to his trunk and limbs, without pause. While he was trying uselessly to protect his front, another jet hit his back and, soon, others came from both sides. The freezing water kept hitting him unrelentlessly, from everywhere. There was no way to go to escape the torture. He couldn’t even open his mouth to scream for them to stop that. He barely could breath. His lungs seemed to have frozen. He felt his muscles petrifying and the skin shrinking over them. He’d gotten used to no hot showers there, but it was never like that. It was absurdly painful. Excruciating.
At last, just as suddenly as it began, the shower ended, leaving him there, unable to move, shaken by spasms of cough and shivers. There was need of two pairs of hands to get him up and take him to a dry area, where two others came to him with towels, thick and rough, wich they started rubbing him with vigorously, head to feet. It took rather long for him to feel blood running in his veins again, life’s warmth getting back to his body slowly. After some time, he could already keep standing without help, but he would need to make a huge effort to take a single step. He felt exausted, with no will to move. Maybe for that reason, he didn’t show any reaction when one of them came to face him with a strange device. It looked like a tag gun, like the ones used in supermarkets, just bigger. The man didn’t hesitate a second. He pressed that device against his forehead and pulled the trigger. He heard a click and felt a blunt hit there, but no pain. He made a move to raise his hand but the man held it down and growled for him to keep still.
Another click, another hit, this time on his left pec, right above his nipple. He tried to look down but, again, the man kept him from doing that. Then, the man moved to his right side and pressed the device on his shoulder. One more click, another hit. Quickly, he moved to his back and repeated the procedure on his neck, right below his nape, then at the top of his butt and once more on his left calf. Completing the turn around him, he raised his left arm and pressed the device on the inside of his forearm, above the wrist. Finally, he got down on his knees in front of him and clicked two times, first on his right thigh, then on his left foot. It had been all really quick. He was still feeling the blow on his head when it was finished. It was an unnerving sensation, but not that much strange. It felt like a band aid, just more intense.
Then, he saw the man with the device moving away and another one coming to him with something like a hair dryer, that soon he turned on and started blowing hot air over all the spots where he’d been hit first. It took some two minutes each. He felt the skin on these spots warming up and something melting softly there, getting into his skin with a slight tingling. At each point done, the band aid sensation vanished off. After the last spot, on the left foot, was taken care of, this man, too, got away from him and a third one came with a washcloth, a bowl of water and a small towel. Following the same script, he scrubbed firmly each spot with the washcloth and immediately after dried it. After a little while, he finished his task and got away, too. It was time for a fourth man to come with a bottle with a yellowish liquid, wich he dropped in his hand and spread all over his body, including his face. It had a nice, sweet smell and the heat from the massage left him relaxed and happy. He felt good, calm and at ease, then. The worst had passed, finally.
When this fourth man had finished, he saw a fifth one come with something like a folded black and red piece of cloth and a pair of wrestler boots, identical to those they all were wearing, mid calf high, in black leather with red patches. The man put them down by his side and unfolded the piece of cloth. It was a skimpy black spandex singlet with large red stripes running down both sides, just like the ones they were wearing. It looked so small, he doubted it would fit him, but the man didn’t hesitate. He just knelt in front of him and growled for him to raise one foot, then the other, and then slowly got up, pulling up the outfit along. When it had reached his hips, he paused to adjust it to his body, smoothing it around, positioning his genitals, adjusting it over his buttcrack. The handling of his package and the fabric’s soft pressure on his skin got him slightly aroused, but the man facing him didn’t seem to notice or care. He stood up fully and brought the cloth up, till the middle of his trunk. Then, he got his arms, pushed them under the straps, wich he pulled over his shoulders. Just a few more adjustments were needed, but it was all rather quick. He loved the feeling of the tight outfit on his body. He thought he’d never want to wear anything else.
Finally, the man made him sit down on a bench and put the boots on for him, tightening the laces and tying them up firmly. The leather was soft and pliable, too, fitting his foot like a glove.
He thought he was ready, now, that there was nothing more to happen, but he was wrong. There was still a last detail.
So, when the fifth man got away, there came another two. One of them had a kind of stapler in his hand. The other one held something too, but it was too small for him to see what it was. The first one growled for him to keep seated, while he went to his right side, pushed his head to the left, positioned the stapler on his ear and pierced it. He felt a sharp pain in his earlobe, but the hand holding his head didn’t let him move away, and the other man got on with his task, cleaning the wound with a small piece of wet gauze and fixing a small round metal plate, some 2cm of diameter, on his ear. Right after, they moved to his left side and did the same in his left ear.
Still feeling some pain throbbing on his ears, and dazed by all he’d gone through, he tried imagining what would come next, but he didn’t have any need to worry. All of them came to him, got him up and took him to a mirrored wall, deeper in the room. Then, they got in a row alongside him, four by each side. It took him some time to focus his sight and see clearly the image from the mirror. It took him some more to understand what he was seeing.
First, he saw just a row of men, nearly identical in looks, all dressed and adorned the same way. As much as he tried, he didn’t get to catch any sensible difference among them. He didn’t get to fix their faces neither specific parts of their bodies, individually. Just as he looked from one to the next, the previous traces melted with the current ones. He’d tried that before, but never had the opportunity to see all of them at once, like now. It was quite unnerving.
He gave up, at last, but then he noticed there was one among them who stood out on just a single detail. His skin tone was clearly lighter than the others. It was the figure right in front of him. In a flash, he recognized that face. It was his own. Or, at least, very close to the one he used to see dayly on the mirror, some time ago. It was less clear, now. It was kind of blurred, somehow mixed with the others alongside him. He needed to struggle to keep it focused, but he was sure that was his face under the fog. He looked at the whole figure, amazed. That was his image, now, how he’d turned up after eight weeks. His heart started beating out of pace with the realization, lost between feelings of accomplishment and loss, joy and horror. He got closer to the mirror to see better what had been done to him. He looked at the big mass of muscles his body had turned out. Only then, with his skin totally smooth and slightly shining, he could really see how he’d grown up, expanded, enlarged. He could see clearly the thick veins throbbing under the skin, standing out over the muscles on his chest, arms and legs. Even on his hairless skull. He couldn’t resist running his hands over his head and body and got delighted there was no sign of his former pelt.