This is Part 2 of a multi part series.
Scott almost turned around twice on the bus ride over.
The black silicone Syncap rested awkwardly inside the front pouch of his hoodie. Even though it was hidden and weighed next to nothing, it felt like dragging a 100 pound dumbbell around and everyone on the bus knew. The driver. The mother with the crying baby. The businessman yelling into his phone. The old woman with the buggy full of cat food. They all knew â and their judgemental gaze had not let up for a second's rest.
But he had made it to the aquatic centre.
Sandaled feet firmly planted on the sidewalk, he couldn't help but reach into the pouch and run it against his fingers. The smooth silicone. The rigid structure. The pressure he remembered from holding it beneath the locker room showers.
And now he was here. Looking up at the building, partially backlit from the golden hues of the late afternoon sun. The air still smelled of water from the heavy rain over the lunch hour. As he started to walk closer, the residual rain started to mix with the clinical chlorine from the pool.
Scott took a deep breath.
Even though he had never been a good swimmer, he had always found the scent of pool water calming.
Suddenly the strap of his gym bag slid off his shoulder.
Forcing him back to the reality of the moment, he mentally reviewed its contents.
Not the amazing spiral goggles he had tried the other night. No. Just a regular $10 pair of goggles with transparent lenses he had picked up last year but never seemed to remember when it mattered.
For some reason that bothered him more than expected.
Scott had barely made it 20 feet across the parking lot when he paused dead in his tracks.
Along the edge closest to the entrance sat two reserved parking spaces marked with small white HeX symbols painted onto black asphalt.
The other filled as a dark vehicle rolled smoothly into place.
Scott felt his mouth go dry and his skin start to sweat.
The passenger door was the first to open.
Another synchronized swimmer, compact and muscular, stepped out carrying a black duffel bag. Black compression shirt. White HeX centered over the chest. Black joggers. Perfect posture.
Then the driver emerged. Scott recognized him.
The swimmer from the other night. Lithe athletic frame. Controlled posture. Calm movements.
Scottâs stomach immediately twisted itself into knots.
Deciding the best course would be to act casual, he forced his feet to start moving towards the entrance with all the grace and poise of a deer trying to walk across an ice rink.
The second swimmer noticed Scott first.
âThatâs the prospect you lent your goggles to the other night? It seems your assessment that he would return was accurate,â he asked quietly.
The second swimmer glanced briefly toward the large digital clock near the driveway entrance.
âAhead of schedule, too.â
Scott could feel his ears burning, although at best he only caught a smattering of the swimmers' conversation over the droning city traffic and humming HVAC systems of the aquatic centre. He kept his gaze forward, pretending not to notice or care.
The second swimmer studied him briefly before heading toward the entrance without another word, black duffel bag resting neatly against his shoulder. He gave Scott a quick nod and glance as he passed by.
âGo with the flow,â he advised. A measured tone that sounded less encouraging than observational.
The first swimmer strolled more slowly. His pace noticeably more patient.
Then his eyes zeroed in on Scott's kangaroo pouch. The wafer thin line of black protruding against the backdrop of yellow.
Scott instinctively adjusted the pouch closed slightly.
âYeah,â he answered awkwardly. âFelt like I should.â
The swimmer gave a slow nod.
Scott was uncertain how to take that single word. One very pregnant pause later, he settled on a simple:
Scott began his well-trodden steps towards the family change rooms. Halls he had traversed a thousand times over the years. The tall swimmer stopped, raised an eyebrow, and remarked... "Going somewhere?"
"The change rooms are..." Scott halted his march, pivoting slightly and pointing down the corridor.
The swimmer shook his head. "Follow me."
Scott was led down a corridor he had never noticed before. This part of the building felt more... functional. No unnecessary complications. The only break in the aesthetic uniformity was a large overhead sign at the far end of the hall. "LOCKER ROOMS". And naturally next to the text was the familiar white hexagon. Why would Scott have expected anything different?
The door was already being held open by the swimmerâs compact companion. Closing the distance, the two athletes seemed to exchange a moment of near telepathic communication. As if a thousand words could be said with nothing at all. Scott couldn't help but ponder what they were thinking.
The tall swimmer glanced over at Scott. Blushing hard, Scott gave a nervous, self-conscious shrug before rapidly diverting his gaze to the placard â as they carried on into the locker room.
The air smelled faintly of chlorine, sweat, body heat, and industrial sterility. Lockers lined the walls in long monochromatic rows beneath clinical fluorescent lights. Faint echoes from the pool deck reverberated softly. The whole city was gathering for an evening of leisurely recreation out there, mere feet away.
Several synchronized swimmers were already changing in total silence.
Black compression shirts peeling away.
Black joggers being folded.
Duffel bags stashed with geometric precision beneath benches.
No unnecessary conversation.
Trying to appear casual, Scott stepped toward an empty locker and set his bag on a communal bench.
He grabbed his lock from the bag but the metal slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
âDammit,â Scott muttered, leaning down to pick it back up and set it on the bench.
The swimmers responded with continued silence. Scottâs high school trip to the monastery had been a non-stop gab fest in comparison.
The tall one merely began changing nearby with smooth practiced efficiency, while Scott finally managed to open the lock and dump the contents of his bag in the locker.
Trying not to overthink things, Scott stripped out of his street clothes, leaving them discarded in a heap on the floor.
For all his social awkwardness, Scott had never been shy about being naked around other guys in locker rooms. After all, why should he be embarrassed about his physical appearance?
Wait. Something felt incomplete.
For several seconds Scott stood there in absolutely nothing but his birthday suit while his brain searched unsuccessfully for whatever he had forgotten.
A locker shutting somewhere snapped Scott out of his reverie. Get your act together, Scott. Why are you always getting distracted? he thought to himself, hurriedly pulling on his red trunks. Towel? Check. Goggles? Check. Scott could finally follow the others to the pool.
Only the tall swimmer remained behind.
He had almost stepped past the observer when the voice shattered the silence of the space and stopped him cold.
âFlow improves when capped.â
The words settled strangely deep in the base of his brain.
Scott bit his lower lip slightly before exhaling through his nose.
Turning back toward the locker, he set his towel on the bench and fumbled briefly with the lock. At least this time it didn't drift down to the floor and disrupt the flow. The lock opened. Then the door.
Scott retrieved the Syncap from the pouch of his hoodie. Turning it over carefully in his hands, he examined it in detail for the first time.
Pausing long enough to double check the orientation of the HeX he stretched the silicone outward and wrangled it down over his scalp.
The pressure hit instantly.
A couple deep breaths followed.
The sensation spread outward from his scalp in slow, escalating waves.
Through his chest and arms.
His posture straightened subconsciously.
Even the subtle trembling in his hands began fading.
It felt as though every cell and neuron from head to sole had suddenly become a microscopic sensor feeding exact positional data back into his brain.
The swimmer watched Scott adjust.
Curious, the athlete thought. When standing with proper posture beneath the fluorescent lights, Scott stood approximately 0.015 metres shorter than the swimmer himself.
After giving Scott's mind sufficient time for recalibration, the swimmer finally completed the unfinished sentence.
âLook? It looks good. You are suited to it.â
Scott blinked again beneath the pressure of the silicone hugging his scalp.
âWhat are you experiencing?â
Scott blinked hard again.
âI can feel... everything.â
He flexed his fingers slightly at his sides.
âLike⊠my body is more organized... or something.â
Scott frowned faintly, still trying to process the sensation.
âEven my breathing feels steadier.â
â...my thoughts... I mean.â
The swimmer looked Scott over. For the briefest of split seconds, Scott thought he saw the hint of a smile. Or was it a flicker in the fluorescent lighting above?
â84.7% of men report similar sensations upon first application of a Syncap, including reductions in unnecessary internal noise. Your nervous system is adapting to the compression feedback. Rest assured, you are well within normal parameters and adapting well.â
The pressure against his scalp no longer felt restrictive.
If anything... it felt stabilizing.
A steady force reminding his mind and body everything would be OK.
The swimmer allowed Scottâs body another moment or two to settle down. Steady itself in its new alignment before speaking: "Ready to test the Syncap in the water?" Scott nodded and the two started for the pool deck.
Warm humid air immediately wrapped around him. Chlorine hung thick beneath the bright overhead lighting while water rippled softly across perfectly divided lanes. The sounds hit him all at once.
Conversation. Splashes. Laughter.
Water on tile. Kicking. Whistles.
Scott almost winced at the leisure swimmers causing such a cacophany. Has it always been this loud?
The noise no longer felt overwhelming, but Scott was still oddly grateful he was not in the recreational lanes that evening.
The synchronized swimmers moved as a unit toward one of the far competition lanes. Black caps. Spiral goggles. Calm posture. Even their footsteps across the wet tile seemed strangely rhythmic.
Scott caught up and fell in line at the back of the pack, observing the diversity of units that had gathered that evening.
The elderly females performing water tai chi. The lifeguard on his high chair with enough beef on his frame to feed a small army, kept streamlined through hours in the pool, no doubt. The families teaching their little ones how to successfully not drown. Tweens sword fighting on the deck with noodles. A pair of college student splashing each other near the shallow end. Someone cannonballed loudly into the water. For the first time in his life, the recreational swimmers looked strangely disorganized, with only the lifeguard's whistle keeping the chaos from turning into something more dangerous.
The lifeguard blew his whistle. Scott recognized him. He had been guarding at this pool for how many years? Practically since the facility opened it felt like.
The tall swimmer stopped beside the lane and gestured calmly toward the water. âIn.â
Returning focus to the task at hand, Scott adjusted his plain goggles over his eyes and plunged into the water.
The sensation hit immediately.
The Syncap compressed gently beneath the water while every movement of his body suddenly felt sharper and easier to track.
Even floating felt... organized.
Scott surfaced beside the wall and took a slow breath.
The others were already moving.
And somehow... he kept pace.
Not perfectly. Not elegantly. Not in the least.
But better than he ever should have.
The cap seemed to anchor his awareness to every movement of his body. His breathing steadied faster. His kicks felt cleaner. Even his turns felt smoother beneath the water.
Only his vision felt wrong.
The plain transparent goggles suddenly felt inadequate against the endless reflections dancing across the pool. Harsh ceiling lights fractured across the waterâs surface while stray movement from nearby swimmers kept tugging at the corners of his attention.
Scott found himself missing the spiral lenses more with every lap.
The realization unsettled him.
Yet he could not deny it.
The synchronized swimmers gathered quietly at the wall as Scott surfaced again, breathing hard.
Water dripped steadily from the contours of his face.
The compact swimmer observed him carefully, leaning in towards the tall swimmer.
âAdaptation rate exceeds initial projection.â
Another swimmer adjusted his goggles slightly.
âHe is aligning naturally.â
Scott felt heat from his ears rise beneath the silicone pressing against his scalp.
The tall swimmer nodded. âAgain.â
Scott couldn't help but give himself a slight smile before diving back under.
By the time practice finally ended, Scottâs muscles burned pleasantly beneath the humid warmth of the facility.
The recreational swimmers still filled the surrounding lanes.
Still laughing. Drifting.
Scott lingered near the pool edge while the others exited the water with deft precision.
Scott reached up absentmindedly toward the Syncap still hugging his scalp.
He almost didn't want to take it off.
Out of the corner of his eye he could see the compact swimmer approach the taller athlete and quietly hand him something small, black folded neatly between both hands.
The taller swimmer examined it briefly before glancing toward Scott.
Then the item disappeared silently into the swimmerâs duffel bag. The swimmer looked up again, locking eyes. He then started moving to Scott's position.
âGood work tonight. You impressed the others.â
The dripping water felt cold now against the warmth of the words. Scott started to open his mouth in gratitude but the athlete had already started to head for the locker room.
Reluctantly Scott climbed from the pool, catching his breath as he pulled off the cap and observed the public once more. The onslaught of noise returned. At least they were all having fun. Even the lifeguard continued to sit cool and composed upon his throne, also surveying the scene. With a deep sigh, Scott started to the change room himself.
The others were starting to file out as Scott unlocked his locker. His muscles still ached from practice. It had been a long time since he had swum that well. He would have to get an app to track his progress...
"Apologies if that seemed abrupt on the deck there. I knew your appreciation is genuine and it would have been inefficient to linger."
Scott jumped three feet in the air at the sudden disruption of his thoughts and the voice breaking the silence of the room. The swimmer had suddenly beamed in beside him from nowhere.
"Yeesh, do synchronized swimmers take classes in appearing out of thin air?"
The swimmer raised an eyebrow. A brief chortle escaped him.
"Affirmative." Now it was Scottâs turn to raise the eyebrow.
"In time," he replied after careful consideration, "you will learn the incantation."
Scott proceeded to change into his regular clothes. The silence in the air no longer felt awkward. Just present. No need to break it. Once both had returned to presentable states, the pair proceeded towards the lobby. The compact companion had waited by the main doors. Scott gave him a silent nod as they all exited the building.
In the parking lot, the two swimmers entered their car. Scott started for the bus stop. Just a short distance to go and he would be on his way home from the ... eventful evening. Suddenly he heard the hum of an electric motor behind him pulling up alongside. The window rolled down.
"Scott. Would you be interested in partaking sustenance with us? You are within your rights to say no, and it will not detract from our impression of you."
Wait... were they actually... inviting him to dinner? Scott took a deep breath, and paused to process what was on the table.
The swimmers exchanged glances between themselves. Scott felt heat rise to his cheeks.
Without another word, Scott reached for the door handle. It opened smoothly, as if the mechanism also understood the virtue of silence and high function. He slid onto the back seat, setting his bag calmly on the floor between his feet.
The lock engaged. A second later, the only noise to be heard was the hum of the electric motor as the tall swimmer pulled away from the curb.
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Those seeking to SYNC into the Hive. Make contact with Coach @sync-425 or @sync-235 to undergo compatibility and eligibility screening. Sink. SYNC. Submit.
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