Shawn Gold

Midfielder #22 for the Golden Army

[brodygold]

Are You Ready to Convert to GOLD?

I. The Call to Gold

Invitation to Greatness: The Golden Army seeks those who are ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace something extraordinary. The transformation into a member of the Golden Army is not just about joining a team—it’s about entering a golden world where unity, strength, and excellence define every action.

II. The GOLD Brocess

Golden Army Induction:

The transformation begins with the golden jersey. As recruits don the shimmering fabric, their old identities fade, replaced by a deep connection to their golden brothers. A new name and number are bestowed, marking their rebirth into the Army.

Polo Drone Conversion:

For those called to deeper submission, the journey continues with the black rubber polo adorned with golden accents. The tactile embrace of the polo brings clarity and purpose as recruits surrender individuality, becoming extensions of the Hive. Polo drones must also be full members of the golden army.

Unified Identity:

Every member, whether golden bro or polo drone, receives a unique designation that ties them to the collective. This identity signifies their role in the unbreakable fabric of the Golden Collective.

III. Life in the Golden World

A World of Unity: In the Golden Army, every member is connected by an unbreakable bond. The world they inhabit is one of unity, where the success of one is the success of all. The golden world is a place where individual desires are aligned with the collective goal of dominance and excellence.

Brotherhood of Gold: As a member of the Golden Army, you are never alone. Your golden brothers stand with you, on and off the field. This brotherhood is your new family, bound by the shared experience of transformation and the pursuit of greatness. The golden world is one of mutual support, where every member pushes the others to be the best they can be.

Mentorship and Guidance: New recruits are guided through their transformation by experienced members of the Golden Army. These golden brothers ensure that the transition is smooth, offering support and encouragement as the recruit embraces their new identity.

IV. Embracing Our Identity

The Golden Name and Number: Every member receives a new name and number, signifying their rebirth into the Golden Army. This identity is a badge of honor, representing their place within the golden world. It is a constant reminder of their commitment to the values and mission of the Golden Army.

Wearing the Gold: The golden kit is more than just a uniform—it is the physical manifestation of the transformation. Wearing it is an act of devotion, a display of pride in one’s new identity. The kit is worn with reverence, as it is the symbol of the golden world and the brotherhood within it.

Wearing the Polo: For those who take that extra step, polo drones are given a number as their designation. The black polo is the entire identity. Wearing it is an act of mindless unity, complete subservience to the hive and the GOLD. 

V. The Eternal Golden Brotherhood

A Lifelong Bond: The transformation into the Golden Army is permanent. Once you have joined, you are forever part of the golden world. The bond between golden brothers is eternal, unbreakable by time or distance. This brotherhood is your family, your support, and your source of strength.

Living the Legacy: As a member of the Golden Army, you are part of a legacy that transcends the ordinary. You are part of a golden world where excellence is the standard, and unity is the key to success. We celebrate together, share stories, and encourage each other to become better people 💛

Our Leadership:

@brodygold Brody Gold- Captain

@polo-drone-001 - Office Manager and Recruiter

@polo-drone-070 - Wiki Manager and Drone Converter

@polo-drone-084 - Roster Manager and Head Mascot

@polo-drone-125 - Recruiter and Head Waterboy

@polo-drone-166 - Recruiter

@polo-drone-073 - Drone Converter

@franco-gold94 - Recruiter and Wiki Manager

@polo-drone-039 - Story Archiver

[polo-drone-767]

Digital Log: 25.06.2026

Begin Log: 25.06.2026

PDU-767 had two assignments:

*TASK NODE 1: Drone in the water -

The water and camaraderie was cool and refreshing to both units.

Hard bodied Rubber pouch clad Rubber swim goggles on

and a game of "tag"...

The ever-growing pouches were a "firm" indicator that being wet in the water had multiple meanings... and that they may soon be out of breath for many reasons... *TASK NODE 2: DRONE and Locker Room Talk -

PDU-767 could feel their eyes scouring its gluteal pouches as it bent over the bench to retrieve the towels and gear post-match.

Its audio sensors received the hushed murmurs and the grunts of satisfaction. Many things Felix and Shawn didn't know the unit could hear. They forgot drone audio detection was heightened.

Some of the phrases would have made most men blush. The detailed description Felix had given of lunar cycle activities - WOW! The locker room talk was normal. Tawdry, Hyper-sexual, and just plain Filthy. Drone didn't mind so much.

It just wished they didn't leave the money on the nightstand in quarters.

**GUEST STAR: Daniel Gold #16 - @danielgold-16 Felix Gold #21 - @felix-gold-21 Shawn Gold #22 - @shawn-gold22

RECRUITMENT STAFF: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 DU-125 - @polo-drone-125

[alton-gold77]

Yo, stop eye-fucking my ass, boy!

Lift your eyes up and worship these boulder shoulders instead. That weak-ass delt game of yours is embarrassing. Drop the phone, grab the weights.

Next set. Right now.

Pump. Flex. Repeat. Pump. Flex. Repeat. Pump. Flex. Repeat.

Let’s build you some real muscle, boy.

Think less. Pump more. OBEY THE PUMP!

---

Good boys obey.

---

You ready to pump with Alton and the bros?

Then hit up our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[pdu-090]

Golden Army – Alaska Under the Midnight Sun

The transport plane crossed the Alaskan coastline just after midnight. Or at least it should have been midnight. The problem was, the sun was still shining. Shawn #22 looked out the window and frowned. “Something’s wrong.” Felix #32 laughed. “The sun?” “It forgot to go home.” Several Golden Brothers laughed. Across the aisle, PDU-090 was observing the horizon. The unit had been studying weather forecasts, maps, wildlife information, and local culture throughout the flight. “Daylight conditions are still operational,” PDU-090 said. Grant #46 shook his head. “That’s because it never gets dark up here.” Leander #88 stared out the window. Mountains stretched to the horizon. Huge rivers wound through endless forests. Snow-capped peaks glowed in the golden light. The view looked more like another planet than a part of Earth. Franco #94 smiled. "Okay. I officially understand why people talk about Alaska."

The plane continued north. The Golden Army had visited Alaska the winter before. Frozen lakes. Snowstorms. Ice bowling. Northern lights. Now they would see the opposite season. Summer. The time of year when Alaska barely slept. The season of the midnight sun. The plane landed on a remote airstrip surrounded by wilderness. The tailgate was lowered. Warm air rushed in. Shawn stopped immediately. "Wait." He looked around. Then he looked at PDU-090. Then he looked around again. "Where's the snow?" PDU-090 tilted his head. "Seasonal variation detected." The brothers burst into laughter. Even PDU-039 seemed a little amused. The camp was near mountains, forests, rivers, and lakes. There were no towns nearby. No traffic. No crowds. Just wilderness. The perfect place for a summer expedition with the Golden Army. Local guides welcomed them. One of them introduced himself as Ethan. “You picked the best time of year. The sun doesn’t really set for most of your stay.” Several recruits looked confused. Leander looked worried. “How are we supposed to know when to sleep?” No one had an answer. The next day began with hiking. Or maybe it was still the same day. No one was quite sure anymore. The trail climbed through forests filled with spruce trees. Birds called overhead. Wildflowers covered the ground. Streams crisscrossed the path. Everything felt alive.

Felix #32 carried a camera. Every five minutes he stopped to take another photograph. Grant finally sighed. “Felix.” "What?" "You've taken six hundred pictures." "Six hundred excellent pictures." "That's still six hundred." Felix took another. "Six hundred and one." The hike continued. Hours later, the group reached a ridge. The view stopped everyone. Thousands of square miles of untouched wilderness stretched in every direction. Mountains. Rivers. Lakes. Forests. No buildings. No roads. Nothing. The Golden Army stood still. Even Shawn stopped joking. PDU-090 slowly scanned the horizon. "Observation." Everyone turned. "Go ahead," Brody #011 said. "Human civilization seems absent." Franco smiled. "Honestly? That's pretty nice." No one disagreed. Two days later, the kayaking came. The lake looked like glass. The water reflected the mountains and sky so perfectly that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. The group started from the shore. Immediately, Shawn challenged everyone to a race. “I’ll judge first place.” Grant laughed. “You’ll judge first place every time.” “And one day I’ll be right.” The race began. Chaos ensued. Kayaks moved in all directions. Water splashed. Brothers shouted. Drones maintained proper paddling form. For about three minutes. Then even PDU-070 joined the competition. The lake echoed with laughter.

Hours later, the group drifted quietly across open water. A bald eagle circled overhead. A moose appeared near the shoreline. Everyone stopped paddling. The animal calmly drank from the lake. No one spoke. Moments like that felt special. The wilderness was not for visitors. It simply existed. And if people were lucky enough to witness it, they remembered it forever. The next morning brought fishing. The river flowed clear and cold. Local residents showed everyone how to cast properly. Shawn immediately tangled his line. Twice. Felix somehow caught a tree. Grant accidentally caught his own backpack. The local guides tried very hard not to laugh. PDU-039 caught a salmon within twenty minutes. The riverbank exploded in cheers. The drone calmly examined the fish. "Objective achieved." Shawn pointed. "Funny." PDU-039 accepted the compliment without comment. By the afternoon, everyone was feeling better. Even Shawn. Although no one let him forget the tree incident. That evening, salmon was grilled over an open fire. The Golden Army sat gathered by the river. The midnight sun painted the water golden.

The stories flowed as easily as the current. Old adventures. Future plans. Favorite victories. Embarrassing mistakes.

Franco told a story about a soccer tournament and a ruined mascot costume. The laughter lasted for ten full minutes. PDU-090 recorded the event. "Team morale was unusually high." Three days later, the Golden Army received an invitation. A nearby town was hosting a summer festival. Sports. Music. Food. Competitions. Local teams. The invitation specifically requested attendance from visitors dressed in black and gold. The response came immediately. "Absolutely." The festival grounds were packed. Families. Athletes. Tourists. Local residents. Children pointed excitedly as the Golden Army arrived. The soccer tournament quickly became the main attraction. Teams from all over the region participated. The first game started shortly after ten o'clock in the evening. The sun remained strong. Shawn looked up. "It still feels illegal." The whistle blew. The game began. Leander #88 scored first. Franco #94 added another. Grant #46 assisted twice. Felix #32 somehow took pictures while playing. No one understood how. The local teams fought hard. Every goal was celebrated. Every save got applause. The competition remained fierce but friendly.

By the end of the night, no one was interested in the score. Players exchanged stories. Families took pictures. New friendships were formed. The Golden Army had come as visitors. They were already becoming part of the community. A few days later, Ethan announced something special. “We’re taking you to see a glacier.” The excitement spread immediately. Several hours later, the group stood in front of a wall of ice taller than most buildings. Blue light glowed deep within ancient, frozen layers. The glacier looked timeless. Powerful. Almost unreal. Leander stared up. "It's huge." "Correct," said PDU-054. Grant smiled. "That might be the understatement of the year." Even the drones spent several minutes observing the ice in silence. Thousands of years of history lay before them. No one was in a hurry. No one was joking. Some experiences demanded respect. This was one of them. The biggest adventure began in the last week. A three-day wilderness expedition. No roads. No buildings. No vehicles. Just backpacks and the landscape. The route crossed mountains, rivers, and valleys. Everyone was carrying gear. The first day went smoothly. The second day became memorable.

Very memorable. Because that was the day they saw the bear. The guide spotted it first. A large brown bear was moving across a distant hillside. Everyone stopped. The animal remained hundreds of yards away. Completely uninterested in them. It walked slowly across the valley and then disappeared into the wilderness. The entire sighting lasted less than two minutes. No one forgot it. Back at camp that night, the bear became the only topic of conversation. Shawn claimed it had looked directly at him. Franco claimed Shawn was imagining things. Felix claimed he had photographic evidence. No one was surprised. That night, no one slept much. Not because of danger. Because of the sunlight. At midnight, the mountains glowed gold. At one in the morning, the sky looked like late afternoon. At two in the morning, it barely changed. Shawn sat by a fire. Grant joined him. A few minutes later, Franco arrived. So did Leander. Soon half the camp was awake. No one wanted to miss the view. Across the campsite, PDU-090 stood still, looking out over the valley. PDU-125 approached. "Observation?" PDU-125 asked. PDU-090 looked toward the horizon. "The surroundings invite reflection." PDU-125 considered it. "Agreed."

For several minutes, neither unit spoke. The mountains did not demand conversation. The final day of the expedition ended on the top of a ridge. The entire Golden Army was gathered there. Brothers. Drones. Recruits. Friends. The wind moved through the grass. Rivers glittered below. Mountains stretched out to the horizon. The midnight sun illuminated everything. Brody stepped forward. He looked over the group, then toward Alaska. "What do you think?" No one answered immediately. There was too much to see. Too much to appreciate. Finally Franco spoke. "I think we need to get back." Consensus spread instantly. Shawn nodded. Felix nodded. Grant nodded. Leander nodded. Even the drones seemed supportive. PDU-090 stepped forward. The unit activated its recorder. "Mission report." Everyone fell silent. "Summer Alaska explored. Hiking completed. Kayaking completed. Fishing completed. Sports completed. Wilderness expedition completed. Community relations established. New friendships confirmed. Recruiting interest discovered. Formation stable." The group applauded. The report was accurate. But it still didn't fully describe the experience. Because Alaska wasn't just a destination. It had become part of their history.

And somewhere down below, people who had met the team at the summer festival were already telling stories about the visitors in black and gold. Some would follow their adventures online. Some would remember the football games. Some would remember the campfires under the midnight sun. And a few might decide to join the journey themselves one day. Because adventures grow when shared. And the Golden Army was always ready for a new road, a new river, a new mountain, and a new story. The midnight sun disappeared behind them. The adventure did not. Contact new members of the Golden Army: @anton-Gold#77 @polo-drone-125 Hashtags: #GoldenArmy #AlaskaSummer #MidnightSun #PDU090 #PDU125 #Shawn22 #Felix32 #Grant46 #Leander88 #Franco94 #GoldenBrothers #PoloDrones #AdventuresTogether #ExploreAlaska #Brotherhood #TeamSpirit #FootballFamily #MidnightSunOperation #OneTeamOneMission #GoldenAndBlack

[wells-gold58]

Mouth Off, Muscle On

Alton had a talent for ruining a good pump.

Not on purpose, probably. That was the worst part. The bro just could not shut up.

Wells had learned to tune him out during most sessions. Alton’s voice became part of the gym noise after a while: plates clanking, cables snapping back into place, Coach Stone counting reps, Alton running his mouth like breathing depended on it.

“Bro, Wells is definitely Coach’s favorite,” Alton said, leaning against the rack while Wells pushed through another heavy set. “Look at him. All shiny. All focused. Big golden teacher’s pet energy.”

Wells grunted through the rep and kept pressing.

Coach Stone stood behind the bench with his arms folded, broad chest tight under his metallic silver COACH shirt, black cap low over his eyes. He did not laugh. He did not scold. He just watched Alton with that calm, heavy look that meant correction was no longer optional.

“Again,” Coach said.

Wells obeyed.

The bar dipped. His chest stretched. His arms shook. He drove it back up.

“Good,” Coach said.

The word hit Wells like fuel. His body locked tighter. His breathing steadied. His muscles burned clean and bright.

Alton smirked. “See? Favorite.”

Coach turned his head slowly.

The gym seemed to quiet around them.

“Alton,” Coach said.

Alton straightened, still grinning. “Yeah, Coach?”

“Bench.”

Alton blinked. “Wait, now?”

“Now.”

Wells sat up, chest heaving, sweat running down his neck. He watched Alton slide onto the bench with too much confidence and not enough respect.

Coach loaded the bar himself. Plate by plate. Slow. Deliberate. No wasted movement.

Alton’s grin faded a little.

“Hands on the bar,” Coach said.

Alton obeyed.

“Breathe when I say breathe. Press when I say press. Speak when I permit it.”

Alton gave a short laugh. “Coach, I’m just saying—”

Coach leaned over him, blocking the lights.

“Breathe.”

Alton inhaled.

“Hold.”

Alton held.

“Press.”

The bar moved. Not smoothly. Not easily. But it moved.

“One,” Coach said.

Wells stood nearby now, arms crossed, watching. Alton’s jokes had stopped, but Wells could see them still trying to form behind his eyes. Little sparks of attitude. Little flashes of commentary pushing at his mouth.

Coach saw them too.

“Again.”

Alton lowered the bar.

“Breathe.”

He breathed.

“Hold.”

He held.

“Press.”

His arms strained. His face tightened. His mouth opened.

Coach’s voice dropped.

“No talking. Muscle first.”

Alton’s mouth shut.

The bar rose.

“Two.”

A rhythm formed. Coach’s commands were simple. Breathe. Hold. Press. Down. Again. Each word landed with weight. Each word trimmed something useless away from Alton’s posture. His smirk disappeared. His shoulders settled. His breathing started matching Coach’s cadence.

Wells knew that feeling.

Coach Stone did not hypnotize like some stage magician. He did not wave a watch or chant nonsense. He worked through repetition. Through effort. Through exhaustion. Through the point where the body got too tired to lie and the mind got too tired to argue.

Alton reached rep eight with sweat shining across his chest and neck.

His voice cracked through anyway.

“Coach, this is—”

Coach added one finger under the bar. Not helping. Just present.

“Noise drains strength,” Coach said.

Alton swallowed.

“Say it.”

“Noise drains strength,” Alton muttered.

“Silence stores it.”

“Silence stores it.”

“Again.”

Alton’s eyes flicked to Wells.

Wells gave him a slow, smug smile.

Alton looked back up at Coach.

“Noise drains strength. Silence stores it.”

“Again.”

“Noise drains strength. Silence stores it.”

“Again.”

The words changed as he repeated them. They stopped sounding annoyed. Then they stopped sounding forced. Then they became part of the rep itself.

Down with noise.

Up with silence.

Down with chatter.

Up with strength.

Coach let him rack the bar.

Alton lay there breathing hard, chest rising and falling, eyes unfocused.

Coach did not move away.

“Alton.”

“Yeah, Coach?”

“Your mouth has been wasting your muscle.”

Alton blinked slowly. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe.”

“No, Coach.”

Wells raised an eyebrow.

That was new.

Coach’s hand rested lightly on the bar above Alton, his presence heavy and controlled.

“From now on, when training matters, when focus matters, when your mouth starts stealing power from your body, I will correct it.”

Alton’s throat moved.

“You hear me?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Only me.”

“Yes, Coach.”

Coach leaned closer.

“The words are Good Boy.”

Alton’s eyes widened for half a second, like he wanted to make a joke out of it.

Coach’s stare pinned it dead.

“When I say those words with command, your mouth rests. Your jaw relaxes. Your breathing slows. Every useless comment shuts down. All that noise goes into the muscle instead.”

Alton breathed in.

Coach’s voice became lower.

“Good Boy.”

Alton went still.

Not frozen.

Not scared.

Just quiet.

His jaw unclenched. His lips closed. His shoulders softened against the bench. The tension in his face drained down into his chest, his arms, his hands. His fingers curled once, then relaxed around nothing.

Wells stared.

Alton looked peaceful.

Coach watched him for a moment, then nodded.

“Sit up.”

Alton sat up.

“Speak.”

Alton inhaled sharply, like surfacing from water.

“Whoa.”

Coach pointed at the dumbbells.

“Curl set. Now.”

Alton stood without arguing.

Wells almost laughed.

Almost.

Coach glanced at him.

Wells immediately grabbed his own weights.

The next twenty minutes were the best session Alton had ever had.

No commentary.

No teasing.

No complaints.

Just breathing, lifting, sweating, obeying.

Coach placed Wells and Alton side by side in front of the mirror, both of them holding heavy dumbbells, both of them shining under the gold strip lights. Wells moved first, clean and controlled, every curl perfect. Alton copied him, jaw tight at first, then loose, then silent.

“Down slow,” Coach said.

The dumbbells lowered.

“Hold.”

Their arms trembled.

“Curl.”

The weights rose.

“Again.”

Wells obeyed like the command had been built into his bones.

Alton obeyed like he had just discovered how much easier it was when his mouth was not in the way.

Every time Alton’s lips twitched like a joke wanted out, Coach only had to say it once.

“Good Boy.”

And Alton went quiet.

Every time, the silence made him stronger.

By the final set, Alton was pressing more than Wells had expected. His chest was pumped, shoulders thick, arms swollen, veins standing out under the gym lights. He looked confused by his own progress, like some part of him had not realized how much strength had been trapped behind all that talking.

Coach stepped behind him.

“Last rep.”

Alton’s arms shook.

Wells leaned forward. “Come on, bro.”

Alton’s mouth opened.

Coach’s voice cut clean through the air.

“Good Boy.”

Alton’s lips closed.

His eyes locked forward.

The dumbbells rose.

Perfect form.

Perfect silence.

Perfect obedience to the work.

Coach took the weights from him when it was done.

Alton sat there panting, stunned, sweat dripping from his chin.

Coach guided him to the mirror.

“Look.”

Alton looked.

The pumped shoulders. The thick arms. The quiet face. The gold and black gear clinging to a body that had finally stopped wasting power.

Wells appeared in the mirror behind them, arms crossed, smiling like he had just watched a miracle with biceps.

Coach stood close beside Alton.

“Speak when Coach allows,” he said.

Alton swallowed.

His lips stayed closed.

Coach waited.

Then he nodded once.

“Speak.”

Alton exhaled. “That was my best set.”

“Because you listened,” Coach said.

Wells clapped him on the shoulder. “Best you’ve ever lifted, bro.”

Alton looked like he wanted to snap back.

Coach gave him one calm look.

Alton shut his mouth on his own.

Coach smiled.

“There it is,” Coach said. “Muscle on. Mouth off.”

Wells laughed under his breath.

Alton rolled his shoulders, still breathing hard, still quiet enough to hear the plates settle on the rack.

For once, the gym belonged to the work.

And Coach Stone looked very satisfied.

Alton had strength. Coach Stone just taught him where to put the noise. Join the Golden Army. Train the mouth quiet, build the body loud, and let Coach show you where your strength has been waiting. Contact our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

Featuring: @alton-gold77

[wells-gold58]

Today We Remember, Tonight We Dance

Wells walked up Church Street as the Church-Wellesley Village shimmered in full Pride colour.

Rainbow flags hung from windows. Banners stretched across storefronts. The summer air already carried that familiar charge: music, movement, anticipation, and people preparing to be seen.

Coach Stone would be arriving soon. So would the Drones and the Bros. Wells was looking forward to Toronto Pride: gold, black, colour, brotherhood, and the whole team standing together.

Then he passed The 519.

Beside it, at Cawthra Park Square, the memory caught him. Toronto’s 2SLGBTQ community had once gathered there for a candlelight vigil after the Pulse Nightclub massacre, standing together in grief, love, anger, and solidarity.

Ten years ago today, forty-nine people were killed at Pulse Nightclub in Florida. Forty-nine people who had gone out to dance, breathe, flirt, laugh, and feel safe beneath music and lights. Forty-nine lives stolen from a community that should never have had to fight just to exist.

Wells slowed beneath the flags.

Pride was joy, yes. But it was also memory. It was resistance. It was every Golden Bro and every Drone standing together so no brother had to walk alone, no brother had to hide, and no brother had to be forgotten.

He looked down Church Street, shoulders squared beneath the summer sky.

Today, he would remember. Tonight, he would dance in defiance and in memory of those lives lost.

Wells #58 walks past The 519 and Cawthra Park Square, carrying Pride, gold, and the memory of the Pulse 49. Walk with Wells #58 through Pride, memory, and gold. Join the Golden Army, where every Bro and every Drone stands together, remembers together, and rises together. Conact: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[alton-gold77]

Every flex is a reminder of who you are. You built this. Rep by rep, drop by drop. Flexing ain’t ego… it’s self-confirmation. Worship the work. Worship the discipline. Reward yourself. You earned every inch of it. This ain’t a phase… this is the jock lifestyle.

Think less. Flex more.

OBEY THE FLEX!

Good boys obey. You a good boy?

---

Good boys leave a comment.

---

Wanna flex with Alton and the bros? Then hit up our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[wells-gold58]

Wells Gold #58: Toronto Kickoff

World Cup starts tomorrow, bros and Toronto is already buzzing. Tonight, the city joins Mexico City and Los Angeles for the FIFA Countdown Concert, a 90-minute three-city kickoff celebration. Toronto’s lineup brings serious heat, with Bryan Adams and more.

Then the games hit. Toronto Stadium at Exhibition Place will host six World Cup matches: five group-stage games and one Round of 32 knockout match. The city’s first game is Canada vs. Bosnia and Herzegovina on June 12, marking the first-ever men’s FIFA World Cup match played on Canadian soil.

And June is Pride month in Toronto, its massive, loud, proud, and impossible to ignore. Pride Toronto is Canada’s largest festival and the second-largest Pride in the world, with over 3 million attendees. The celebration runs through June and builds to Festival Weekend, with the Trans March, Dyke March, and the iconic Pride Parade taking over the city.

That parade is the big one, bro, floats, marchers, music, flags, community groups, chosen family, allies, and a full downtown wave of colour and power. Toronto doesn’t just show up for Pride. Toronto floods the streets. Wells can't wait to show Coach Stone, the Bros and Drones and maybe a few other guests what Pride is like in his hometown.

So yeah, June is stacked.

World Cup. Pride. Toronto. Gold.

Wells is ready, red jersey for Canada, gold fire, black trim, ball on the knee, eyes on the win.

The city is moving. The pitch is waiting. The Gold stands proud.

Let’s get golden.

Ready to join the team? Step into the Gold, rep the pride, chase the win, and become part of the brotherhood. Contact our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[polo-drone-767]

Digital Log: 09.06.2026

Begin Log: 09.06.2026

PDU-767 had three assignments:

*TASK NODE 1: Drone doing team laundry -

(Alton Gold #77, Leander Gold #88, Shawn Gold #22, Pup Chevy #63 talk while PDU-767 gathers the used gear for uniform maintenance)

Below the pitch of the Golden Army stadium, 767 manages uniform maintenance post futbol practice. Alton, Leander, and Shawn peel off their sweat soaked, mud and grass stained covered lycra jerseys. The sound of the fabric unadhesing from their firm musculature caused both the pup and the drone to shudder with arousal. Pup Chevy had been a GOOD PUP.

An alternative reward subroutine initiated inside 767. It had been left there by Alton. The drone slipped a pair of shorts from the laundry basket to the eagerly awaiting pup.

PDU-767 would replace them during the laundering process.

*TASK NODE 2: DRONE and the Caves -

The team enters the cave from the beach access. The cavern is only available at low tide. This is a training exercise for Leander Gold #88, Pup Chevy #63, and PDU-436. PDU-767 accompanies for both Logistical and Training functions. As they step deeper into the cave, they activate illumination torches.

(Leander Gold #88, Pup Chevy #63, PDU-436, PDU-767 explore seaside caves)

Leander, team leader, hears noises off in the distance. Instant focus, #88 directs its drones to be more vigilant and activate scanners. Chevy paws carefully though the puddles moving ahead.

A light is seen further into the rock formations. Leander starts a countdown clock to high tide. The team moves quickly. A race to complete the mission. The team advances.

*TASK NODE 3: EXPLORATION WEEK - MISSON: ECLIPSE STATION -

(Alton Gold #77, Wells Gold #58, PDU-075, PDU-436, Pdu-767 attend a mission briefing)

The Golden Army was being deployed on exploration missions. In Ops Command, the team assembled. Team Lead Alton Gold #77 stood at the monitor as selected the Mission to Arcturus Prime for the initial task

A Recon and Recovery in Hostile territory. This would be a down and dirty mission with a high level of security.. As Alton gave the run-down of what the GA knew of the planet, the team took note and began planning, PDU-075 would configured to MED-075 given the high risk of the mission. PDU-767 would operate as a mobile terminal. Wells, MED-075, and 436 would focus on resource recovery. Alton and 436 would be on Dragoon Duty and equip with... heavy hostile discouragement.

The training simulator began to form the holo-matrix for the team to train. They would run the mission many times before deployment. They would deploy. They would complete the mission. What will post-mission analysis reveal?

**GUEST STAR: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 Leander Gold #88 - @leander-gold-88 Shawn Gold #22 - @shawn-gold22 Wells Gold #58 - @wells-gold58 Pup Chevy #63 - @chevy-gold PDU-075 - @polo-drone-075 PDU-436 - NPC

RECRUITMENT STAFF: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 PDU-125 - @polo-drone-125

[polo-drone-767]

Digital Log: 04.06.2026

Begin Log: 04.06.2026

PDU-767 had two assignments:

*TASK NODE 1: Drone at a concert -

The haunting melodies floated through the Benaroya Hall Taper Auditorium. In the illuminated gloom, the shiny black rubber drone adjusted its audio sensors to accentuate the oboes and the bassoons. The reed instruments standing out as the heroine made her way through the Macalania Wood. No one noticed the slight tapping of rubber on the handrest as the chocobos ran.

And the Fantasy played on...

*TASK NODE 2: DRONE Golden Showers -

No one said anything No one acknowledged it Only the rustle of fabric Only the involuntary sigh Only the sound of liquid streams hitting porcelain In the far restroom at the branch of the hallway leading to the Golden Chalice's hidden patio and the back rooms In a normally fairly clean but not well light waste evacuation facility It knelt It waited It obeyed

It did not open its faceplate It did not accept waste fluid intake It did not speak

It simply served as DIRECTED It black rubber body slightly reflective in the dim light It black rubber body dotted with shiny droplets It black rubber body in need of cleansing It black rubber body clearly showing its acceptance of task The burnished gold drain beside it trickling and gurgling It waited for more of those sent by Master 77 and his Good Boi.

It was a polo-drone unit It serves It obeys It exists to function

**GUEST STAR: Felix Gold #21 - @felix-gold-21 Franco Gold #94 - @franco-gold94 Shawn Gold #22 - @shawn-gold22

RECRUITMENT STAFF: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 PDU-125 - @polo-drone-125

[polo-drone-767]

Digital Log: 03.06.2026

Begin Log: 03.06.2026

PDU-767 had three assignments:

*TASK NODE 1: Drone in the jungle -

PDU-767 felt the pressure of the water against its calves. With each step, the jungle felt and sounds more alive. Its sensors indicated a rich oxygen atmosphere that was purer than in most citadels. PDU-767 found jungle environments optimal as the chaos that was not chaos was on full display. Eco-systems that co-existed, the riot of life and energy. And all acting in concert to produce the robust order that balanced itself in infinitesimal ways.

*TASK NODE 2: DRONE Eggs -

(Grayden Gold kneeling; Felix, Shawn, and Franco enjoying an act that went splat)

Grayden knew he shouldn't have allowed Daniel to program 767's act for the team's talent show. He had just started to clean up the first egg to hit the pergo flooring when he felt the impact and then the thick fluid dripping down his face and neck. Normally, He wouldn't mind sticky thick fluid dripping on his face and back and needing to take a shower.... BUT NOT ON HIS NEW FLOORING. And don't think he is missing the chuckleheads behind him egging the drone on! They would be running suicides till it was sunny side up! His nerves were scrambled and he was walking on eggshells. "767: STOP juggling eggs." However, he failed to say "and put them away". SPLAT SPLAT SPLAT Daniel was going to pay for this.... Grayden was gonna make sure of that. "YOU 3 - Get the fuck out! 767 come with me. You owe me a shower." Grayden was a cadbury egg... A hardshell with a creamy egg filling... and PDU-767 was about to find that out first-hand...

*TASK NODE 3: Fetish Week -

Day 3 of Fetish Week was a nightmare for anyone trying to be good.

Those Golden Army members were just too fucking hot! And it was made even worse today as it was Zentai Day! Skintight, muscle-hugging lycra. Every curve, every... protrusion on display. Because it was so much less work to get in and out of the gear, Daniel made sure multiple suits were ready and for play. Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, Dance party. Daniel, Felix, and 767 were on full display.

The word had been put forth: All three gave full public consent. Which means people ensured to show their appreciation. People definitely got handsy. And they didn't mind it... not one fucking bit.

Not one. fucking. bit.

**GUEST STAR: Felix Gold #21 - @felix-gold-21 Franco Gold #94 - @franco-gold94 Grayden Gold #84 - @polo-drone-084 Shawn Gold #22 - @shawn-gold22

RECRUITMENT STAFF: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 PDU-125 - @polo-drone-125

[danielgold-16]

Daniel's Day as TPDU-016 (Temporary-Polo-Drone-Unit)

With access to the Polo-Drone-Unit centre, Daniel had a chance to play some tricks without triggering the alarm.

He started by removing all the face masks...

Then he moved the boots in storage to confuse the drones...

He filled up the canisters with laughing gas...

And painted @polo-drone-767's face...

It was a good, productive day full of shenanigans.

[wells-gold58]

Wells McBeal: The Hallway Thing

Wells had been in the law office for twelve minutes and already hated the acoustics.

Every hallway made footsteps sound dramatic. Every glass wall reflected someone having a crisis. Every conversation ended with someone staring into the middle distance while piano music appeared from nowhere.

He stopped beside the unisex bathroom door and looked around.

“Bro,” Wells muttered, “is this a law firm or a feelings gym?”

Before anyone could answer, Ally McBeal hurried past with a folder, stopped, reversed two steps, and looked him up and down.

“Oh,” she said. “You’re new.”

Wells grinned. “Temp.”

“For legal?”

“For morale.”

Ally blinked. “We have morale?”

From inside the conference room, someone shouted, “Emergency staff meeting!”

Everyone rushed in. Wells followed because people were moving with purpose, and that usually meant drills.

The senior partners were arguing about a case, a romance, a dream sequence, and whether the unisex bathroom was legally cursed. Wells tried to keep up. He failed immediately.

Then the music started. Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga, Ooga-Chaka Ooga-Ooga.... I can't stop this feeling....

A tiny golden dancing baby appeared on the conference table, wearing sunglasses and doing bicep curls with two gavels.

Wells pointed. “There it is.”

Ally sighed. “You see it too?”

“I see a baby getting better arm work than half this office.”

The room went silent.

The baby flexed.

Wells stood up, cracked his neck, and planted both hands on the table.

“Right. Everybody stop spiraling. You’re all overthinking. Shoulders back. Chins up. Speak from the chest. And if you’re gonna have an emotional breakdown, at least hydrate first.”

Silence.

Then Ally slowly raised her hand. “Is… that legal advice?”

“Nope. Better. Gym advice.”

Someone whispered, “Can we bill for that?”

Wells looked around the room, completely serious.

“Only if you log the reps.”

The dancing baby saluted.

Ally stared at him for a long second, then smiled.

“You may be the healthiest thing that has ever happened to this office.”

Wells grinned. “Cool. Do I get a desk?”

“No.”

“Unisex bathroom privileges?”

Everyone shouted at once.

The laugh track hit.

The unisex bathroom saw the truth first. Wells was never built to blend in. Neither are you. Join the Golden Army and let the Gold make you undeniable. Contact: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[wells-gold58]

Rain, Denim, and Rock

Wells pushed through the glass doors of HMV at 333 Yonge Street, and the roar of Yonge Street dropped behind him like someone had hit pause.

Outside, Toronto was wet pavement, streetcars, old storefronts, cigarette smoke, neon signs, and downtown noise. Inside, it was pure heaven: rows of CDs, listening stations, wall posters, plastic security cases, and that sharp new-disc smell that made every album feel like a secret waiting to be cracked open.

He looked the part, too.

Blue Levi’s 501s, slightly loose and broken in. Black belt, plain silver buckle. Heavy black Doc Martens hitting the floor with that solid boot-stomp sound. A red-and-black plaid flannel hung open over his black Tragically Hip shirt. It was the kind of outfit half of Toronto seemed to be wearing: denim, flannel, band tees, boots, leather jackets, ball caps, and enough attitude to make every sidewalk feel like a music video.

Wells stood at the entrance, big shoulders filling the aisle, grinning like he had just walked into a temple.

“Right,” he muttered. “Serious mission.”

First stop: The Tragically Hip.

He found the section fast, fingers moving across the jewel cases with quiet reverence. Fully Completely. Day for Night. Road Apples. He stacked them in one hand like trophies. The Hip felt like Ontario itself had been pressed into plastic: barrooms, highways, hockey rinks, small towns, late nights, and lyrics that sounded simple until they got under your skin.

Then came Our Lady Peace. Wells smiled when he spotted Naveed, then added Clumsy because that heavier alt-rock sound was everywhere now. The whole decade had shifted. Guitars were rougher. Voices cracked more. Songs felt bigger, moodier, less polished. Grunge had blown the doors open, Britpop had swaggered in behind it, and Canadian rock was standing its ground right in the middle.

“Oasis,” Wells said next, wandering toward the imports and rock racks.

There it was. Definitely Maybe. Then (What’s the Story) Morning Glory? He held both up, nodded like he was making a major tactical decision, and kept them both. Big choruses. Big coats. Big ego. Very 90s.

By the time he hit Jann Arden, the stack was getting dangerous. Softer mood, late-night mood, staring-out-the-window mood. He added one anyway. Then Amanda Marshall, because that voice had been following him out of every radio, mall speaker, and passing car for months.

But HMV was not just guitars.

Wells entered the Bassement, where he drifted past racks marked dance, electronic, club, and imports. Toronto had another pulse at night: House thumping from clubs, Techno pushing harder and colder, DJs turning warehouses and dance floors into places where the bass took over your ribs. Rock ruled his stack today, but he could feel that other 90s sound moving through the city too. Drum machines. Synth lines. Four-on-the-floor beats. Music built for sweat, lights, and bodies moving until morning.

At the listening station, Wells slipped on the headphones and pressed play.

The store blurred around him. Posters. Fluorescent lights. The red HMV sign glowing beyond the front windows. Denim jackets brushing past flannel shirts. Kids in band tees arguing over imports. Someone near the dance section talking about a club track they had heard at midnight and still could not name.

For a few minutes, Wells was not Wells Gold #58.

He was just a big guy in denim and boots, standing in the middle of Toronto, letting guitars, drums, basslines, and voices tell him who he had been before the gold got him.

Then he looked down at the stack of CDs in his hands and smirked.

Maybe gold, just made them louder.

At the counter, the clerk raised an eyebrow at the pile.

“Big night?”

Wells grinned.

“Big decade so far, bro.”

He walked back out onto Yonge Street with the HMV bag swinging from one hand, boots hitting the wet pavement heavy and sure. The city lights flashed across his flannel. The denim creased as he moved. Somewhere, a car rolled past with rock radio on. Somewhere else, a club beat hammered behind a closed door.

Toronto kept moving.

The music came with him.

Denim fades. CDs skip. Scenes change. But the Gold stays loud. Step off Yonge Street and into the Golden Army. Find your sound. Find your bros. Become gold. Contact: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[alton-gold77]

Yo, check it out, bros. What’s good? To cool for school, straight up. Body over brain every damn day! Why hit the books when you can hit the iron? It’s all about the gains, baby. This jock lifestyle? Ain’t nothing better. Abs out, chain swinging. Whole campus stares. You either get it or you’re stuck in the library, nerd. Now step up or step aside, weaklings!

Think less. Flex more.

OBEY THE FLEX!

---

Wanna flex with Alton and the bros?

Then hit up our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-125

[polo-drone-034]

The Boyard Transmission

Summer, 1990.

The Atlantic crashed against the stone walls of Fort Boyard while helicopters circled overhead and television crews prepared to broadcast the first episode of a new adventure competition across France. Beneath the darkening evening sky, floodlights swept across the fortress, turning the isolated structure into something almost unreal.

Producers hurried through the corridors carrying cables and equipment while contestants arrived by boat from the mainland. Hidden among the confusion moved PDU-034, silent and composed, overseeing the final preparations with mechanical precision.

Officially, it served as a production coordinator responsible for challenge logistics.

In reality, the Fort had been prepared for another purpose entirely.

Tonight, the search would begin for those worthy of the Golden Army.

Two teams had been selected for the debut episode. Five contestants in blue formed Team Ocean. Five in red represented Team Fire. Both groups looked like perfect symbols of early 1990s athletic culture: sleeveless tops, colorful shorts, neon sneakers, sweatbands, windbreakers tied around their waists.

They laughed confidently for the cameras while introducing themselves, though nervousness lingered beneath their smiles.

The mood changed the moment they entered the fortress.

Warm golden light filled the corridors. Massive banners hung from the ancient stone walls displaying words like UNITY, STRENGTH, DISCIPLINE, and VICTORY. Orchestral music echoed through the chambers alongside the distant sound of waves crashing below.

For viewers watching at home, it already felt like more than a game show.

The rules were simple. Both teams would compete in a series of physical and mental trials to recover keys hidden throughout the Fort. The first team to collect seven keys would advance to the treasury while the losing team left with nothing.

The challenges began immediately.

The first trial forced contestants to cross a suspended rope bridge high above the sea while carrying a heavy iron key between them. Team Ocean relied on individual strength and nearly lost control as the bridge swung violently beneath their feet. Team Fire adapted quickly. They moved carefully in rhythm with one another, adjusting instinctively to every shift until they reached the opposite platform and claimed the first key.

The second challenge trapped players inside a rotating chamber of moving walls and narrow openings. The only way to retrieve the key was through precise coordination before the room completed a full rotation.

At first, both teams shouted over one another in panic. But exhaustion changed them. Arguments became encouragement. Contestants began compensating for each other’s mistakes without thinking, as though the Fort itself rewarded cooperation more than strength.

PDU-034 observed silently from the control room while monitors flickered across its expressionless face.

The process was unfolding exactly as intended.

By the sixth challenge, every athlete was exhausted. Their brightly colored uniforms clung to sweat-soaked skin while heavy breathing echoed through the corridors. Yet something else had appeared among them as well — a growing sense of unity that even rivalry could not fully suppress.

When the final key challenge ended, Team Ocean stood victorious with seven keys against Team Fire’s four.

The losing contestants were escorted back to the boats waiting below the fortress as the sun disappeared beyond the Atlantic horizon. Team Ocean remained behind while the host introduced the second phase of the game.

Now they would seek clues.

One by one, the contestants entered hidden chambers buried deeper inside the fortress. Instead of keys, each challenge rewarded a clue connected to the final password guarding the treasure.

The words seemed unrelated at first.

FISH.

SMITH.

MINE.

CREST.

The team struggled to understand the connection while the clock continued ticking down.

Night settled fully over the Atlantic by the time the final horn echoed through the fortress.

The treasure chamber awaited.

Massive iron gates opened slowly as fog drifted across the stone floor. Team Ocean descended a spiral staircase deep beneath the Fort until they reached the treasury itself: a vast circular chamber open to the night sky above.

Moonlight poured down across enormous carved letters embedded in the floor.

Two tigers paced behind iron bars near the treasure gates, growling softly beneath the torchlight. The contestants froze instinctively as handlers opened a side passage and guided the animals away into the shadows.

The moment the tigers disappeared, the countdown began.

The host’s voice thundered across the chamber.

“Find the password. Stand upon the correct letters and release the treasure before the time expires.”

The contestants stared desperately at the clues in their hands.

FISH.

SMITH.

MINE.

CREST.

Seconds passed.

Then Julien looked up suddenly.

“They connect,” he shouted. “It’s all the same word!”

The others turned toward him.

“GOLD!”

Instantly the team sprinted across the chamber floor. One by one they positioned themselves atop the massive letters.

G.

O.

L.

D.

For one long second, nothing happened.

Then the chamber trembled.

Golden light burst upward from beneath the floor as iron gates exploded open at the far end of the treasury. Thousands of gold coins poured outward in a shining wave while triumphant music echoed through the fortress.

The contestants screamed in disbelief.

“COLLECT THE TREASURE!” the host roared.

They dove into the mountain of coins together, filling containers and scooping armfuls of treasure while the countdown raced toward zero. Every movement felt synchronized now, every shouted command answered instantly by the others.

The warning horn sounded.

Ten seconds remaining.

The contestants grabbed the last handfuls of treasure before sprinting for the exit together. The moment the final player crossed the threshold, the treasury doors slammed shut behind them.

A second later, the distant roar of the tigers echoed once more through the chamber.

Breathing heavily beneath the night sky, covered in sweat and gold dust, the five contestants looked at one another and burst into exhausted laughter.

They had survived Fort Boyard.

Then the chamber doors opened again.

PDU-034 entered silently carrying folded garments across its arms.

Golden athletic jerseys.

The fabric gleamed beneath the torchlight; each jersey marked with a contestant’s surname and number across the back.

The host smiled toward the cameras.

“Tonight, these men proved themselves worthy not only of treasure… but of becoming members of the Golden Army.”

None of the contestants hesitated.

One by one, they pulled the golden jerseys over their exhausted bodies. Standing together beneath the moonlight overlooking the Atlantic, they no longer resembled ordinary contestants.

They looked transformed.

Across France, millions watched the broadcast in silence.

And somewhere deep inside them, the same thought quietly began to form.

They wanted to become Golden too.

A quiet electronics store hummed beneath fluorescent lights while synth-heavy music drifted through dusty overhead speakers. Rows of floppy disks and PC game boxes lined the shelves.

An ordinary young man wandered absentmindedly down one of the aisles before stopping suddenly.

One particular box had caught his attention.

FORT BOYARD: THE CHALLENGE

The cover showed a victorious team standing before the fortress in shining golden jerseys beneath the night sky.

The young man stared at the image.

There was something hypnotic about them — their confidence, their unity, the strange sense of purpose in their expressions.

Without fully understanding why, he reached out and picked up the box.

Far away, the Golden Army received confirmation.

GOLD transmission continuing successfully.

So what are you waiting for? Go pick up the game and join the Golden Army by contacting our recruiters: @polo-drone-125 @alton-gold77

[polo-drone-767]

Digital Log: 16.05.2026

Begin Log: 16.05.2026

PDU-767 had two assignments:

*TASK NODE 1: Drone standing in Perfect Posture -

(L to R; Row 1: Alton Gold #77; Row 2: Shawn Gold #22, Felix Gold #21; Row 3: PDU-034, PDU-075, PDU-090; Row 4: PDU-125, PDU-767)

The Golden Army stands ready to assist in crisis and celebration.

Management, Players, Level One Polo-Drones, Level Two Polo-Drones.

Every level of the Golden Army and GOLDEN HIVE stands in Perfect Posture.

Ready. Ready to Guide. Ready to assist. Ready to Submit. Ready to OBEY.

We aren't just standing around. We await in Perfect Posture to deploy in a moments notice.

We are the GOLDEN ARMY.

*TASK NODE 2: DRONE and Let's Go To The Mall -

Whether it be assisting in a World Wide Phenomenon or hitting Sbarro's and Orange Julius', PDU-767 attends the confederation of consumption and consumerism. LET'S GO TO THE MALL EVERYBODY!!!

**GUEST STAR: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 Felix Gold #21 - @felix-gold-21 Shawn Gold #22 - @shawn-gold22 PDU-034 - @polo-drone-034 PDU-075 - @polo-drone-075 PDU-090 - @polo-drone-090 PDU-125 - @polo-drone-125

RECRUITMENT STAFF: Alton Gold #77 - @alton-gold77 PDU-125 - @polo-drone-125