seen from China
seen from Yemen
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seen from Canada
seen from India
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from China
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Video by @alton-gold77 from original image by @shawn-gold22
Just because it’s spring break doesn’t mean the pump stops.
“Still keeping up?” asked Shawn.
“Try and stop me bro,” Alton replied.
The Golden Army works hard and plays harder. Think you’ve got what it takes to keep up? Contact one of our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-125, @polo-drone-166
Shanghai Convergence
(Collaboration story of @alton-gold77, @polo-drone-075, @polo-drone-767, @rainer-gold-56) **** West Coast Operation Base hummed like a living engine. Steel, glass, discipline. Screens glowed in the dim command hall, and in the center of it stood PDU-767. His black rubber uniform fit like a second skin. High-gloss. Seamless. Gold lines tracing strength and structure. The helmet gave him that cold, surgical edge. He wasn’t just a Drone. He was Level-2 Drone Status. Tactical. Detached. Precise.
The main wall screen flickered. Captain Brody appeared. “767,” Brody said, voice steady. “We’ve got a situation developing in Shanghai.”
PDU-767 didn’t blink. “Acknowledged, Captain.”
“You will suspend Level-2 Drone Protocol and transition to Golden Bro identity. Devon 67. Full human integration.”
A slight pause. That wasn’t a small order. Drone Status meant clarity. It meant distance from emotion. Efficiency. Golden Bro form meant something else. Brotherhood. Presence. Influence.
PDU-767 gave a short nod. “Affirmative. Mission parameters?”
“You’ll assemble a three-man unit. Handpicked. Bros who embody the code. You travel immediately via GATS network. Upon arrival, you will receive full briefing from PDU-001. The mission includes cultural integration, support operations for ongoing Lunar New Year preparations… and a special construction task.”
PDU-767’s jaw tightened subtly. “Clarify ‘special.’”
Brody’s eyes narrowed with controlled intensity. “A roulette table. Black and gold. Casino designation: The Temple of the Jade Lion. Details to follow on-site. You are not to question deeper layers until 001 clears you.”
PDU-767 absorbed that. Roulette table. Casino. Lunar New Year. Shanghai. And PDU-001 personally involved. “Acknowledged and affirmative, Captain.”
“One more thing,” Brody added. “Obedience is not weakness. It is power under control. Execute.”
The screen went dark. PDU-767 sent three summons. No explanations. They arrived within fifteen minutes.
Rainer entered first: disciplined posture, calm eyes. A thinker with iron beneath the surface.
Gabe followed: broad-shouldered, golden compression top stretching across his chest, quiet power radiating from him.
Then Alton stepped in last; tall, dominant presence, Ivy League cut sharp as ever, blue eyes carrying that steady fire. Even in silence, he commanded space.
PDU-767 faced them.
“Departure in ninety.”
No one asked why.
No one hesitated.
Alton crossed his arms. “Destination?”
“Shanghai.”
A slow grin touched Gabe’s mouth. “International op. I’m in.”
Rainer nodded once. “Orders?”
“We operate as Golden Bros. Cultural integration. Support ongoing Lunar New Year preparations. Construction detail at a casino called The Temple of the Jade Lion. Further intel on arrival.”
Alton stepped closer, chin slightly lifted. “You trust this?”
Devon met his gaze evenly. “I trust the chain.”
That was enough.
Gabe rolled his shoulders once. “Then let’s move.”
No speeches. No dramatics. Just alignment. Within the hour, the GATS network took them to Shanghai. Inside the cabin, the four sat across from each other. Not talking much. Just syncing. Alton leaned back, eyes half-closed but alert. Gabe reviewed logistics on a tablet. Rainer studied cultural notes on Shanghai traditions. PDU-767 sat forward, hands clasped, feeling a shift inside him.
Shanghai hit them like controlled electricity. Neon lights. River reflections. Towering glass structures cutting into the night sky. But beneath the modern pulse, there was history. Depth. Ritual.
A black convoy met them at the terminal. No wasted movement. No unnecessary words. They were transported directly to a high-rise operations suite overlooking the Huangpu River. Inside waited PDU-001. He stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back. Presence like a blade wrapped in rubber. “You made good time,” PDU-001 said without turning.
PDU-767 stepped forward. “Unit assembled.”
PDU-001 finally faced them, scanning each Bro in silence. Measuring. Alton didn’t flinch. Gabe stood grounded. Rainer’s posture was impeccable.
“Welcome to Shanghai,” PDU-001 said. “The Golden Army presence here is expanding. Lunar New Year is ongoing. Our brothers in this region are preparing a large-scale cultural celebration. We support them. We integrate. We honor tradition.”
Rainer spoke first. “We learn the culture. We represent correctly.”
PDU-001 nodded slightly. “Exactly.”
He tapped a control panel. A holographic image of a casino appeared guarded by jade lions.
“The Temple of the Jade Lion.”
Alton raised one eyebrow. “That’s our construction site?”
“Yes,” PDU-001 replied calmly. “Inside this casino, you will assemble a custom roulette table. Black and gold. Built to specification.”
Gabe frowned faintly. “We’re builders now?”
PDU-001’s eyes sharpened. “You are instruments. The table is not symbolic decoration. It serves a function.”
PDU-767 held steady. “Function classified?”
“For now.”
The room went quiet.
PDU-001 stepped closer.
“The game played at that table will not be ordinary roulette. It will carry… consequence. But that is not your concern at this stage.”
Alton’s jaw flexed slightly, but he said nothing. Obedience. Core value.
PDU-001 continued, “You will first report to our local brothers. Assist them with Lunar New Year preparations. Learn customs. Build rapport. Show strength without arrogance. Discipline without domination.”
Rainer inclined his head. “Understood.”
Gabe cracked his knuckles once, calm. “We move when?”
PDU-001 checked the time. “Now. Your first rendezvous point is the Yu Garden.”
The name settled into the room. Historic. Cultural. Significant. PDU-767 felt the shift again, giving room to Devon. He knew this wasn’t just muscle work. This was influence. Presence. Strategy wrapped in ceremony.
Alton glanced at him. “You good leading this?”
Devon answered without hesitation. “We move as one.”
Gabe stepped toward the door. “Then let’s represent.”
Rainer adjusted his jacket subtly. “Respect first. Strength second.”
PDU-001 watched them with measured approval. “Remember,” he said quietly, “you are not here to dominate. You are here to align.”
Devon gave one final nod.
The four Golden Bros exited the operations suite, stepping into the Shanghai night. Neon light reflected off black fabric. Gold accents caught city glow. Below them, traffic flowed like veins of light. Ahead of them waited the Yu Garden. Ancient walls, curved rooftops, lanterns swaying gently in winter air. And somewhere beyond that… The Temple of the Jade Lion.
Devon felt the quiet weight of something bigger than construction. Bigger than celebration. But obedience meant forward motion. No hesitation. He turned to his brothers.
“Let’s go.”
And together, the four Golden Bros moved toward the rendezvous point, unaware of the true game waiting to be set in motion.
The winter air of Shanghai shimmered with anticipation as Rainer, Gabe, Alton, and Devon stepped through the ornate entrance of Yu Garden. Curved eaves arched like protective wings overhead, red lanterns swayed in disciplined rows, and the scent of incense and sugared hawthorn lingered in the narrow pathways. Their gold kits caught the morning light—polished, radiant, unmistakable. Names and numbers gleamed across their chests and backs as they moved in unified stride, boots clicking against ancient stone. They had come not merely as visitors, but as emissaries of cohesion.
Awaiting them beneath the zigzag bridge were four Chinese Golden Bros—Liwei, Jian, Minghao, and Yufei. Each stood tall, equally sculpted, equally resplendent in shimmering gold. Their kits reflected the crimson lantern glow, creating an interplay of fire and metal. The meeting was silent at first. Eyes locked. Postures squared. Then, in synchronized motion, eight hands clasped forearms in greeting—firm, deliberate, affirming brotherhood beyond language.
They began their tour through Yu Garden’s labyrinthine courtyards. Ornamental ponds mirrored the sky; koi fish glided beneath rippling reflections of gold-clad forms leaning over carved railings. Rainer listened as Liwei explained the symbolism of the dragon motifs carved into the stone—strength, protection, fortune. Gabe traced the edge of a weathered pavilion column while Jian described how families gather here during Lunar New Year to pray for prosperity. Alton and Minghao exchanged steady nods as they observed calligraphy scrolls fluttering in shopfronts, each brushstroke deliberate, disciplined. Devon and Yufei paused at a tea house window, watching steam coil upward like a ritual offering.
The Bros removed their cleats before entering the teahouse. Inside, porcelain cups were arranged with geometric precision. Minghao demonstrated the Gongfu tea style—measured pouring, controlled breathing, steady wrists. The Golden Bros mirrored him exactly. Steam rose around their faces, softening sharp jawlines, but their posture remained erect. They lifted cups simultaneously. Sip. Hold. Lower. The ritual became synchronization. Cultural immersion transformed into shared rhythm.
Outside, the streets of Shanghai pulsed with preparation for the coming Lantern Festival. Stalls displayed intricate paper lanterns shaped like horses, dragons, and golden spheres. Children practiced lion dance steps under watchful elders. The eight Bros joined a local craftsman who instructed them in lantern construction. Gold-clad fingers folded red paper with meticulous care. Glue pressed. Frames secured. When complete, eight lanterns stood in a line—uniform, luminous, awaiting ignition.
Night descended fully when they returned to Yu Garden for the pre-festival illumination ceremony. Lanterns ignited one by one, saturating the air with red-gold brilliance. The eight Bros stepped into formation along the zigzag bridge. Each held his crafted lantern at chest height. Flames flickered behind translucent paper, casting molten reflections across sculpted physiques and polished kits.
A drumbeat sounded in the distance. Lion dancers emerged—vibrant, kinetic, powerful. The Bros observed first, then were beckoned forward. Under guidance, Rainer and Liwei lifted the lion head; Gabe and Jian controlled the tail. Movement required trust. Steps had to synchronize perfectly. Forward. Dip. Rise. Snap. Alton, Devon, Minghao, and Yufei followed, rotating positions until all had felt the weight and rhythm of the tradition. Applause echoed around them, but their focus remained internal—alignment achieved through cooperation.
When fireworks began to crack overhead, eight golden figures stood shoulder to shoulder. Sparks scattered across the sky like molten confetti. In that radiance, cultural lines dissolved. There was only discipline. Only unity. Only the shared vow to carry the Golden standard wherever they stood.
They concluded the evening by placing their lanterns along the pond’s edge. Reflections multiplied—eight forms becoming sixteen, then infinite in rippling water. The Lantern Festival was days away, yet its promise already burned steady within them. Rapport had been built not through noise, but through ritual, repetition, and mutual respect.
Shanghai’s night air cooled, but the gold did not dim.
It intensified.
The following dawn arrived without spectacle.
No fireworks. No drums. Only fog rolling low across the Huangpu River, muting the skyline into silhouettes of steel and memory.
Devon stood alone at the glass wall of the operations suite. The gold kit rested precisely against his frame, immaculate despite the previous night’s celebration. Behind him, Rainer reviewed notes with disciplined focus. Gabe calibrated construction schematics on the central table. Alton adjusted his cuffs, posture sharp as ever, gaze already fixed on the next objective.
The cultural immersion phase was complete.
Rapport established. Trust measured. Presence affirmed.
The door slid open without sound.
PDU-001 entered.
Silence followed him like a second uniform.
“The alignment phase is satisfactory,” he stated evenly. “Local cohesion metrics have increased. Influence has been secured.”
Devon turned. “Proceed to construction?”
PDU-001 studied him for half a second longer than required. Assessing. Measuring the balance between Drone precision and Golden presence.
“Yes.”
The Temple of the Jade Lion rose from the Bund like something carved from intention itself. Twin jade statues flanked the entrance, their stone eyes fixed forward in eternal vigilance. Black marble steps reflected the morning haze. Gold inlays traced geometric patterns across the façade—subtle. Controlled. Powerful.
Inside, the casino floor was still closed to the public. Velvet ropes. Silent dealers. Surveillance domes rotating with mechanical patience.
At the center of the main chamber stood an empty circular platform.
Their platform.
Crates awaited them. Matte black. Reinforced. Unmarked except for a single gold insignia burned into each lid.
Gabe pried the first one open. Inside lay precision-cut ebony panels, lacquered to mirror sheen. Rainer unwrapped gold-plated wheel components, each engraved with microscopic detailing. Alton lifted the central spindle—heavy, balanced, engineered for flawless rotation.
Devon stepped onto the platform.
“Formation build,” he instructed calmly.
No wasted motion followed.
Panels locked together with satisfying mechanical clicks. Bolts tightened in synchronized rhythm. The wheel housing descended into place. Gold trim aligned along the rim like a crown being set upon a monarch.
Their movements were silent choreography.
Measured breathing. Controlled strength. No chatter.
The table took form beneath their hands—black as void, gold as authority. It did not look decorative.
It looked consequential.
When the final segment clicked into place, the roulette wheel rested complete at the center. Numbers alternated red and black beneath polished glass, but the zero space gleamed in metallic gold.
Different.
Intentional.
PDU-001 approached the finished structure.
“Step back.”
They did.
He pressed his palm against the table’s edge. A subtle hum activated beneath the surface. The wheel illuminated faintly from within, gold circuitry flickering under lacquered wood like veins awakening.
Alton’s jaw tightened slightly.
“This isn’t standard.”
“No,” PDU-001 agreed. “It is not.”
He circled the table slowly.
“This table will host invitation-only participants. Each spin will correspond to operational assignments. Expansion. Recruitment. Resource allocation. The outcomes will shape the Golden Army’s growth across East Asia.”
Rainer absorbed the implications first. “Strategic randomization.”
“Controlled probability,” PDU-001 corrected.
Gabe folded his arms. “So it’s not gambling.”
“It is calibration.”
Devon stepped closer to the table, studying the gold zero.
“And the consequence?”
PDU-001’s eyes met his.
“Commitment.”
The word settled heavily but cleanly.
There would be no money exchanged here. No chips stacked for greed. Only decisions. Roles assigned. Paths altered.
A ceremonial mechanism disguised as chance.
PDU-001 extended a small black case toward Devon.
“Level-2 protocol may now resume internally. Devon 67 remains active externally. Dual-state capability confirmed.” Devon accepted the case. The subtle shift returned—clarity sharpening behind his steady Golden exterior. Not one identity replacing the other.
Integration.
Outside, Shanghai continued its rhythmic pulse. Lanterns still hung across narrow streets. Families prepared for the final days of celebration. Firecracker debris dotted alleyways like remnants of controlled chaos.
Inside the Temple of the Jade Lion, something quieter—and far more enduring—had been installed.
PDU-001 gave a single nod of approval.
“You have built more than a table,” he said. “You have constructed a pivot point.”
The four Bros stood shoulder to shoulder before it.
Not dominating.
Not hesitating.
Aligned.
Devon rested his hand lightly on the polished edge. The surface reflected eight faint images—four Golden forms overlaid with four colder silhouettes beneath.
Strength and precision.
Brotherhood and protocol.
Outside, a lion dance troupe passed the casino entrance, drums echoing faintly through marble walls.
The world celebrated fortune.
Inside, fortune had been engineered.
Devon looked at his unit.
“Mission phase complete,” he said evenly. “Awaiting next directive.”
No one questioned.
No one faltered.
Above them, surveillance lenses rotated silently. Below them, circuitry pulsed in disciplined gold.
And somewhere beyond immediate vision, the first invitation to spin the wheel had already been sent.
The game was not chance.
It was design.
And the Golden Army had just set it in motion. ****
Spin is not chance. It is calibration. Expansion begins with a single engineered outcome.
The wheel turns. Commitment locks in. The Golden Army advances.
Recruitment inquiries: @polo-drone-001 @franco-gold94 @polo-drone-166 @polo-drone-125 Mentions: @brodygold, @polo-drone-001
Gold and Steel: The Fluffy Protocol
(A collab story with PDU-767)
The air inside the Hive was thick with ozone and sweat. Xavier watched the figure before him: PDU-767, a precision machine clad in muscle, mid-workout. His black polymer suit, laced with golden veins, gleamed under the sterile gym lights.
"Hey, Drone-Bro" Xavier started, adjusting his heavy Defender armor for the Golden Team" Looking sharp as always, I see".
767 didn't turn immediately. He completed his energy-venting sequence first.
"Status: Operational. Bio-metric levels: Optimal. Greetings, Xavier. Reason for presence in training sector?"
Xavier made a vague gesture with his hand, trying to look casual while glancing out the massive windows at the London skyline. "Well, I was just passing by. You know how it is."
(image by 767)
The Drone tilted his head a few degrees. The dark visor hid his eyes, but Xavier felt the scanner analyzing his spiked heart rate.
"Vocal analysis: Uncertainty detected. Stress level: 14% above baseline. Specify request."
Xavier sighed, dropping the act. "Okay, bro. I need help. The Crimson Frost Giants are huge. Literally. If I don't find a way to stop their O-line, the next game is going to be a massacre. I need intensive training. Something... unconventional."
A low hum resonated from the Drone's chest.
"Request accepted. Protocol: Brute Enhancement. Location: Coordinates 45.2, -0.1. Outer forest trailhead. Time: 06:00. Do not fail check-in."
THE NEXT DAY – 06:01 AM
The forest mist was so thick it felt solid. Xavier arrived dragging his feet, his breath forming small white clouds in the biting air. 767 was already there, a silent statue among the dark trunks.
"63 seconds late," the Drone stated. "Efficiency compromised."
"I almost regretted this," Xavier muttered to himself, shivering. "Hey Drone-Bro, where exactly are we going? There's no gym here, just mud and cold."
"Follow me, Xavier. Subject: Fluffy. Debt of gratitude active. He will be your contact partner.""Fluffy?" Xavier arched an eyebrow. "What kind of name is that? You brought me here to play with a puppy?"
767 didn't answer. They pushed deeper into the brush, where low growls began to drown out the sound of their footsteps. Something ancient and fierce was clawing at the bark of the trees. When they reached the clearing, Xavier froze.
(image by 767)
Standing before them was a mass of muscle and fur, three and a half meters tall. One hundred and fifty kilograms of pure primordial ferocity. It looked like a grizzly, but the proportions were wrong—too human, too fast. The monster’s red eyes glowed through the fog as thick drool dripped from its fangs.
"Hey, bro... watch out!" Xavier stepped forward, ready to intervene.
"Subject Fluffy: Identified," 767 said with icy calm. "Thank you for being available for the test."
The beast responded with a grunt that shook the ground and a nod of its head.
"That’s Fluffy???" Xavier was stunned. "You’re crazy, I’m out of here."
767 grabbed his arm. The Drone’s grip was like a vice of steel.
"Psychological analysis: Fear detected. Conclusion: Is the Golden Team's reputation overestimated?"
Xavier felt the blood rush to his face. Pride burned hotter than the freezing mist. "Don't be ridiculous. That word doesn't exist in my vocabulary."
"Excellent. Objective: Tackle him."
"Sure, easy enough," Xavier said, starting to focus for the transformation. "Wait until I turn into Xavi Boy, I'll turn him into a rug."
"Negative," 767 intervened. With a lightning-fast move, he snapped a metallic collar around Xavier's neck. A blue light pulsed once.
"Bio-tech inhibition device active. No transformations. No shortcuts. You must defeat him with human kinetic force alone."
THE TRAINING
The first impact was devastating. Xavier charged, but Fluffy moved with the grace of a lightning bolt. Xavier was steamrolled, ending up face-down in the mud.
"Retry. Incorrect impact angle," 767 commented, standing still like an impartial referee.
Xavier tried again. And again. And again.
By evening, Xavier was a mask of mud and scratches. His breath was a wheeze, but his eyes... his eyes had become two slits of pure gold.
Fluffy grunted at the Drone, a sort of guttural laugh. "Is this your line of defense?" the monster seemed to ask.
767 remained stoic. "Subject Xavier: Structural integrity at 40%. Willpower: Growing exponentially." Then, with a nearly invisible smirk, he whispered: "Go easy on him, my friend."
Fluffy shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll send him back in one piece!"
767 replied under his breath: "I wasn't talking to you."
"Try to move me if you can, Gold Bro!" Fluffy roared, digging his claws into the soil and charging.
Xavier didn't feel the exhaustion anymore. He watched Fluffy coming at him and didn't see a monster—he saw the Crimson Frost offensive line. He saw victory.
"Now I'll show you how a Gold Bro plays!!"
Xavier launched. It wasn't a run; it was an explosion. His feet dug deep trenches in the earth as his speed built up an unbearable pressure. The impact was like the thunder following the strike.
BAM.
(image by 767)
For the first time, Fluffy stumbled. The beast planted his feet, leg muscles tensed to the breaking point, but it was useless. Xavier kept pushing, an unstoppable human engine, forcing the giant back one meter, then two, carving parallel furrows in the mud.
A flash of reflected light passed through 767's visor. A signal of binary approval.
"Status: Ready," the Drone concluded. "Well done, Gold Bro. The defense is solid."
The front line is drawn in gold and grit. Do you have what it takes to hold it? Join the Golden Team, contact our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166 or @polo-drone-125
Thanks to @polo-drone-767 for its support and pics.
Sublevel Resonance
Deep beneath the city, the subway station functioned like a living circuit. Steel tracks carried vibration through concrete arteries while fluorescent lights trembled overhead in tired mechanical rhythm. Hundreds of men occupied the platform—suits pressed flat, athletic jackets stretched over gym-built frames, work uniforms creased from long shifts, headphones sealing private worlds inside skulls.
Each followed his own trajectory.
Separate routines. Separate destinations. Separate identities.
They did not know they were about to synchronize.
Miles away, inside a controlled studio washed in gold white light, PDU-075 stood before a wall of monitors. Its black rubber polo reflected the sterile glow in restrained highlights, gold trim contouring a torso shaped by engineered discipline. The designation 075 rested across its chest in precise lettering.
Its hands moved across the mixing console with deliberate economy.
The song was not entertainment.
It was architecture.
Sub-bass frequencies were tuned to resonate within the male thoracic cavity, measured not for sound but for penetration. Harmonics were layered to slip past conscious filtration. Beneath the audible melody, whispers threaded through the mix—phrases stretched, reversed, filtered until they dissolved at the surface yet remained intact beneath cognition.
Seek the uniform. Follow the shine. Become aligned.
PDU-075 initiated transmission.
The signal moved.
On the platform, PDU-034 stood near a concrete pillar as Wells completed installation. Unlike the restless commuters around them, 034 did not shift weight or check a device. Its black rubber polo fit like a second surface—no excess, no wrinkle—gold trim tracing clean geometry along shoulders and chest. The marking 034 caught fractured fluorescent light and held it without distortion.
Beside that contained darkness, Wells radiated.
His metallic gold athletic jersey gathered every flicker from above and returned it amplified. Matching pants and socks extended the effect so that even a small movement fractured light across tile and steel. Where 034 absorbed, Wells reflected. Shadow and radiance. Control and promise.
Without flourish, Wells knelt at a maintenance panel concealed behind a subway map display. His arms flexed as he secured a compact speaker module behind the grille, tightening screws until the casing sat flush with the wall. At the same moment, PDU-034 withdrew a slim transmitter from within its lining and calibrated the frequency with minimal motion. A second device locked magnetically into the steel above the lighting framework.
No wasted gestures. No exchanged words.
Installation completed, Wells rose. A single nod passed between them.
The channel opened.
The first bass wave traveled through the station floor.
Most men did not consciously register it. They adjusted a foot. Cleared a throat. Shifted weight.
The second wave synchronized with the distant rumble of an approaching train and lingered just long enough to settle beneath the ribs.
Jamie Whitaker felt it as pressure behind the sternum.
He frowned slightly, though he did not know why. His day had been predictable. Controlled. Meetings concluded on time. Messages answered. The navy overcoat he wore fit as it always had.
The third pulse arrived.
His breath adjusted to it before he noticed the change.
Around him, subtle corrections rippled outward. A man removed his headphones, gaze unfocused. Another straightened his spine as if responding to an unheard instruction. A third lowered his phone mid-scroll, thumb hovering in stillness.
Jamie’s attention sharpened.
The platform looked different now. Not chaotic, exactly—just misaligned. Patterns clashed without purpose. Jackets hung unevenly. Colors competed. His own coat suddenly felt soft at the shoulders, undefined at the waist.
Imprecise.
The irritation surprised him. He had never cared about other men’s clothing before.
Seek the uniform.
The phrase did not sound like language. It felt like recognition.
Across the platform, his eyes found them.
Black restraint. Golden luminance.
PDU-034 stood motionless, absorbing light into disciplined gloss. Beside it, Wells shimmered in metallic gold, every surface deliberate and coherent. The contrast struck Jamie with unexpected force—not as spectacle, but as solution.
Follow the shine.
His fingers tightened in the fabric of his coat. He became acutely aware of his posture—the slight forward curve of his shoulders, the slackness in his stance. He corrected it instinctively. Chest lifted. Spine aligned.
Around him, other men were doing the same.
Conversations thinned, then dissolved. Not silence—concentration. Attention redirected inward as if each man were consulting a newly installed blueprint.
Become aligned.
The bass deepened, no longer heard but inhabited.
Jamie’s thoughts began to narrow. Not erased—refined. He pictured himself contained within clean lines, shoulders defined, silhouette sharpened into intention. The image felt less like imagination and more like memory.
A train thundered into the station. Wind rushed through the platform, coats snapping, papers lifting.
Doors opened.
Few boarded.
Most remained where they stood, facing the same direction without instruction.
Near a structural column partially obscured by signage, several black duffel bags rested in neat formation.
Jamie noticed them and felt no curiosity—only inevitability.
He stepped forward.
Three other men did the same, movements unhurried and unconflicted. No one spoke. No one hesitated.
Jamie crouched and unzipped the nearest bag. Inside lay a glossy black rubber polo with measured gold trim. The surface caught the station lights and returned them in controlled sheen. Structured collar. Clean lines. A space across the chest awaiting designation.
He lifted it.
The material was cool against his fingertips. Exact.
For a brief moment, a memory surfaced—his boyfriend laughing that morning in the kitchen, sunlight on ceramic tile. It flickered.
Then it felt distant. Unstructured. Soft at the edges.
The polo in his hands felt precise.
Around him, other men unfolded identical garments. Some held them against their torsos, assessing proportion. Others studied their reflections in the train windows, comparing current silhouette to projected form.
The melody softened but did not recede.
It embedded.
Jamie removed his overcoat and folded it carefully, placing it aside with unexpected calm. When he held the black polo against his chest, his reflection in the window seemed to resolve. Shoulders squared. Waist defined. Excess removed.
He did not smile.
He aligned.
(Video provided by @wells-gold58)
Across the platform, PDU-034 observed without movement. Wells stood beside it, gold surface luminous under fluorescent glare—promise beside discipline.
The majority of the men now faced the exit stairs.
Not hurried.
Coordinated.
Jamie folded the polo with deliberate care and held it against his torso as he stepped toward the stairwell. His heartbeat matched the residual pulse still resonating through bone.
The departing train left nearly empty.
What remained moved as a unified flow, ascending in measured cadence—black gloss carried in steady hands.
Miles away, PDU-075 watched biometric data stabilize across its monitors.
Heart rates synchronized. Cortical variance reduced. Search impulses converging.
Signal success rate: high. Recruitment probability: elevated. Hive expansion: imminent.
PDU-075 powered down the active channel.
Transmission complete.
(Song provided by @polo-drone-075 )
Do you feel the Lure of the music and wish to join the Polo-Drone Hive? Contact our recruiters to join the Golden Army: @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-166 @franco-gold94
A special thanks to @polo-drone-075 for the song And @wells-gold58 for the video
True Colors (THE RAINBOW WAKING IN YOUR EYES). - True Colors Shine follow up
The runway lights went down, but the noise didn’t. After the SHINE finale, Wells didn’t let the moment fade into backstage chatter he converted it into a release. No waiting. No “soon.” Just a clean, deliberate drop: the song that carried the night, released as a standalone single, paired with a music video built to replay the feeling frame-by-frame.
Wells issued a statement with the release of the single. “Alberta Clipper and C.C. thank you for giving everything to this record and this video. You didn’t just perform it, you built it: every take, every beat, every moment of pressure turned into power. Watching you take that monochrome world and break it open into light was unreal. I’m proud of the work we made together, and I’m even prouder of you both. Congratulations on the win—you earned it. SHINE was always yours.”
Let you True Colors Shine! Contact our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @polo-drone-166, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-125
Thank you to: @polo-drone-084
True Colors Shine
Collab with @wells-gold58 for the Together We Win prompt
*Author’s note: Grayden looks a little different here. Just assume he let his hair return closer to his natural color for a few days.
(Grayden wandering around the stadium looking for his bros)
Grayden wandered the stadium looking for his fellow bros. Most were either on Polo Drone training or Football practice, but he knew one bro was not at either. Wells had been resting after a local performance to help promote the Golden Army. Some had noticed Wells had seemed a little dodgy these past few days and Grayden was going to get to the bottom of it.
(Grayden knocking on Wells’ dressing room door)
Grayden approached Wells’ dressing room. After winning Golden Artist of the Year, the Golden Army remodeled a former office space and storage closet into the dressing room for Wells. Grayden knocked. No answer. He knocked again and he heard Wells inside, “Who’s there?”.
Grayden responded, “Wells, bro. It’s Grayden. Can I come in? I wanted to check in on you.”
Wells paused then responded, “Sure come on in Grayden.”
Grayden was caught by surprise as he entered seeing one wall of the dressing room full of make-up containers, brushes, and accessories. Grayden knew about Alberta Clipper, Wells’ drag persona, but didn’t expect Wells to be in full drag today. Alberta looked ready to take her heels off and relax.
(Grayden speaking to Alberta)
“Grayden, what brings you here?” Alberta asked, trying to remove some oversized eyelashes.
“Some bros said you’ve been a little dodgy these past few days. Is something wrong?” Grayden questioned.
(Alberta shows the poster for the Shine event to Grayden)
Alberta took a deep breath before responding by holding up a poster. The poster was advertising the Shine contest. A contest being held by the Golden Forge nightclub and casino. But then Grayden read lower, drag parent-child competition. Cash prize $10,000 along with golden crowns and scepters. Featuring musical performance competition and special guest judges; SuPeter, Queen S. Zenith, and Rachelle.
“So you want to win this contest?” Grayden inquired. Alberta had moved on to using a make-up removing wipe to remove some eye shadow.
“Yes, but there’s one issue. It’s only three weeks away and I don’t have any drag children. I’ve been dodgy because I’ve been trying to think about who to ask and then second guessing. Alton owes me a favor, but I just can’t imagine him agreeing to this. Plus we both know he has trouble dancing. Gabe is busy with his album and football practice. 767 is off on a polo drone excursion. If I asked Daniel, I think Fenrir would destroy the dress. Trey is away with 055 right now. I’m running out of ideas for who to ask.” Alberta responded.
Grayden took a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m not sure I could do it myself, but I have an idea. There is someone very open to learning about new things on the team. I think he might be a good fit for this. Plus between your vocal and lip-syncing training and my dancing and choreo training we might just be able to win this.”
“But who do you have in mind?” Alberta asked, rubbing off the last of her facial make-up.
“Get changed and meet me on the football field in 20 minutes when practice is ending. I think I know just the person.”
Grayden left. He was off to assist with the end of football practice. He wanted to help ensure Gabe and Brody had planned proper passes to Ezan, Rainer, Chevy, Franco, and himself. But he had a secondary goal now, to speak to C.C. C.C. was a back-up running back and the kick returner for the Golden Army. Wells and C.C. had gotten to know each other a little bit in the last few games from Wells guarding C.C. during kick returns and occasional times when C.C. was in for Chevy or Franco.
(C.C. practicing)
Time passed quickly as the team ran routes, practiced drills, sprints, and more. Grayden took a moment as others were leaving to pull C.C. aside. Then Wells came running in. The two looked at C.C. with a fire in their eyes. “C.C., we need your help bro. Wells is doing a drag race competition in 3 weeks and he needs a partner.” Grayden said, not considering his words to the alien man.
C.C. looked at his golden bros, “I’m honored. I have knowledge of multiple Earth sports. I don’t know how to drive a drag racing car though.”
(Grayden and Wells speaking to C.C.)
Wells took a moment, “Oh sweet innocent alien bro, that’s not what we meant.” Wells pulled out a fan and clicked it. “It is a drag race competition for drag queens. I need a drag daughter to be able to compete. Grayden believes you would be a good fit. I’m running out of options to turn to. Grayden said you are also a quick study.”
C.C. takes a moment to consider before agreeing. He always enjoyed new experiences and thought this would be a good learning experience. Wells and Grayden told him to meet them at the mascot practice stage tomorrow at 10am where training would begin.
(Alberta and Grayden giving C.C. tips and pointers)
Grayden and Wells were surprised to see C.C. arrive with a strut in his step. He soon admitted that he had binged some episodes of Drag Race and various drag performances to have more knowledge for the contest. Grayden and Wells spent the next two weeks helping C.C. shape a drag persona, apply make-up, walk in heels, tuck, lip-sync, dance, and perform.
With only one week left, Wells was nervous. Could his new drag daughter help him win the prize. The next few days they practiced their routine. Alberta was growing increasingly proud of her new drag daughter, Cyan Ida. The contest rules stated two important parts. That only the top five from the runway rounds would advance to the musical performance round. And that the drag child had to have a solo that lasted at least a minute without any support from their drag parent in the musical performance. Grayden watched from the sidelines as Alberta set-up their practice performance.
(Practice performance)
They took the small practice stage as Grayden watched. “You better crown us now. ‘Cuz we own the gold. And we’re never backing down. Let’s Go.”
Alberta moved to the side as Cyan started with a powerful, “We’ve been hiding in the grey”
Cyan delivered a strong solo before Alberta joined in.
The two went through the performance with Grayden cheering them on throughout. Before they closed with “True Colors. Beautiful.”
Grayden gave them a standing ovation, applauding them and their efforts. “You two are going to bring home the crowns. I know it.”
The three focused on practice for the next few days. Grayden pointed out small improvements to the choreography and helped ensure that Alberta and Cyan were in perfect sync.
Finally the night came. The contest was being judged in three parts; Drag parent runway, drag child runway, and finally musical performance (Whether live or lip-sync). The scores would be tallied up to determine the winner. Grayden wishes his girls luck as he joined the Golden Army bros in the audience.
(Patricia Rio out of drag next to Katrina Rio)
Backstage, Alberta and Cyan were getting ready when Alberta paused. There she was Katrina Rio, the hurricane herself. The Louisiana queen was wearing a designer navy blue dress adorned with peacock feathers. She was an award winning queen, why would she be at such a small competition? Next to her was a shy looking skinny, nerdy-looking boy with ginger hair. Alberta had heard about Katrina’s new drag child, Patricia Rio.
A video had gone viral of Katrina scolding Patricia for being behind on lip-syncs, choreo steps, and such. Some had even put the famous vine sound over it, “Patricia!!! Get it together sweetie. We have a show this weekend” and “Patricia!!! You’re a little late on that count sweetie.” But then at the end you could see Katrina hyping up Patricia, we’re the hurricanes and what do we do? Patricia responded confidently, “We serve it to these bitches.”
(The judging panel)
Soon the competition was ready to start. SuPeter was at the judging panel with the mic. “Welcome to Shine, presented by the Golden Forge Nightclub and Casino. Tonight I’m joined by my lovely co-judges Queen S. Zenith and Rachelle. We have three parts to the competition tonight; the drag parent runway, drag child runway, and musical or lip-sync performance.”
“Up first, the drag parents.”
The competition came and went as some strong outfits really stunned the stage. Some were wacky, some elegant, some that made Rachelle cringe.
But then it was Katrina’s time. She came out in a stunning black gown with a high collar. It was clearly well designed as she walked the runway with a confidence no one had seen from the other competitors. Unfortunately for Alberta she had to follow that.
(Alberta owning the runway in her golden gown)
Alberta came strutting down the runway in her custom made golden gown. It was giving vibes of high fashion with some drag elements mixed in. Grayden and the Golden Army were all cheering from the crowd. The round ended shortly afterwards. Alberta felt confident they were in the upper half with her runway at least.
SuPeter came to the mic again, the next category I mean part is… the drag child runway.”
(Cyan Ida getting ready for the runway)
Cyan heard the announcement as she was preparing. She still had to change into her dress. Next to her she saw a drag queen who looks kind of like an Alyssa Edwards knock-off and then Patricia Rio in her red wig. Cyan took a deep breath, she knew however this went she wanted to do her best for Alberta and the team.
Each of the others came and went. Patricia stunned the judges with a deep purple dress as she twirled at the end of the runway. Cyan watched and had to reaffirm what Alberta told her, “Be that bitch. Own that runway.”
(Cyan walking the runway like a model)
Cyan walked with confidence, but she could see a small annoyance from Rachelle on the judging panel. As she turned she just kept up a modelesque walk trying not to let nerves get to her.
(The judging panel deliberating)
The queens were told to wait as the judges deliberated the first two rounds. Then they were called out to hear what the judges had to say. Despite SuPeter and Queen S. Zenith going easy and sticking mostly to positives, Rachelle dug into almost every queen pointing out flaws and imperfections. Some drag children even ran off in tears.
“You look like you came straight from Wicked, at the local junior high.”
“Burn that dress. It’s fucking ugly.”
“If this is all you’ve got. Go home.”
“You better grab a life vest, because you’re drowning in this competition.”
“I am Vegas, what are you? Some trashy New Jersey bus terminal.”
When it finally came to Alberta and Cyan, Alberta was praised for her high fashion look that was giving “Golden Goddess” vibes as SuPeter said. They weren’t quite as nice with Cyan though. While the other judges praised her make-up and strong walk, Rachelle was quick to point out that the dress looked like something “Off the rack”.
The judges deliberated more before announcing the top 5 groups.
SuPeter rose and spoke clearly, “Advancing to the final round are: Katrina Rio and Patricia Rio, Valentina Naranja and Voxla Toxla, Antonia Caledonia and Harmonia Caledonia, Alicia Beyond and Tessa Beyond. The final spot goes to…”
(Alberta holding Cyan’s hand tight as SuPeter announces the results of the runway rounds)
Alberta held Cyan’s hand tight and whispered, “No matter what, I’m proud of you.”
SuPeter paused for another moment then finished, “Alberta Clipper and Cyan Ida. Congratulations to the top 5. Go prepare your musical or lip-sync performances.”
(Alberta and Cyan getting ready together)
Alberta and Cyan prepared. Changing into their performance outfits and preparing their make-up. Alberta kept reminding Cyan that they had this. If anyone could put on a showstopping performance it would be them. This cleared some of Cyan’s nerves as she was nervous to disappoint Alberta.
(Patricia Rio and Katrina Rio about to perform “Rain on Me”)
They were the last ones to perform so they could watch. Katrina and Patricia tried to perform “Rain on Me” by Lady Gaga and Ariana Grande. Katrina was delivering, but it was clear that Patricia’s lip-sync wasn’t all there. Patricia missed a few steps and Katrina was annoyed as she kept going. In the end they finished strong, but it was clear that Katrina was going to give Patricia a scolding afterwards. The audience thought both did a great job giving them a long round of applause.
Valentina let her daughter, Voxla, lead a performance of “Video Killed The Radio Star” by the Buggles. The judges looked a little confused as Valentina didn’t do much and Voxla was overperforming the number.
(Antonia and Harmonia Caledonia performing “Work From Home”)
Antonia and Harmonia shocked everyone with a stunning lip-sync performance of “Work From Home” by Fifth Harmony. Their dancing was precise and the performance had a sexual energy to it without being explicit. Alberta knew they would be a hard act to top.
Alicia and Tessa performed a lip-sync to “Tell It to My Heart” by Taylor Dane. There was a lot of pointing to the crowd, kicks, and arm motions. Alicia even ended the performance in a split. But to the trained eye it was clear that Tessa didn’t know all of her words.
Then it was time…
“Performing an original song titled True Colors, it’s Alberta Clipper and her drag daughter, Cyan Ida.”
(Alberta and Cyan delivering their opener before the performance)
They both started, “You better crown us now. ‘Cuz we own the gold. And we’re never backing down. Let’s Go.”
(Cyan Ida taking the lead with her solo)
Alberta stepped to the side to let Cyan shine, “We’ve been hiding in the grey… Letting all the magic fade away… not today!”
Per the contest rules, Alberta had to let Cyan Ida have her solo. So she let her sing parts that were originally hers or both of them. Cyan was working the stage, really making it her own.
(“They tried to tell us we were out of season! They tried to box us in without a reason!”)
“Caught in a heavy, quiet kind of slumber! They tried to tell us we were out of season! They tried to box us in without a reason!”
As the tempo increased, it reached a minute. “A million different shades of me and you!”
(Alberta and Cyan performing together)
As the chorus began, Alberta joined in and the two worked in perfect sync to hit Grayden’s choreography for them. They could see Grayden and the Golden Army cheering them on in the crowd.
“These are my true colors…shining in the light!
We are the stars that decorate the night!
We’re tearing down the shadows and the lies!
I see the rainbow waking in your eyes!”
“Paint the sky! Yeah, let it fly!”
“We are the true colors, baby, you and I!”
(Cyan whipping her hair)
In verse 2, as Alberta sings “Step to the center, baby, take the stage.” Cyan whips her hair in the middle of the stage. The audience, judges, and especially the Golden bros are loving the performance.
The second chorus hits and it resonates even stronger.
“These are my true colors…shining in the light!
We are the stars that decorate the night!
We’re tearing down the shadows and the lies!
I see the rainbow waking in your eyes!”
“We are the true colors, baby, you and I!”
The energy continues as the two are dancing and owning the stage. Finally the end hits as the orchestral strings began to fade the echo of “true colors” and “beautiful”.
(SuPeter giving a standing ovation)
SuPeter stood up giving a standing ovation. He then sat back down and said “The judges and I will now deliberate everything and let you know queens.”
In deliberations, Rachelle was tearing into every imperfection. Queen S. Zenith tried to speak about positives. SuPeter tried to hide the obviousness that it was between three pairs; Katrina & Patricia, Antonia & Harmonia, and Alberta & Cyan.
In the backroom the pairs were hyping each other up. Some of the queens also changed outfits to more comfortable gowns and dresses.
After what felt like an hour the queens were called back out. SuPeter rose to speak. She was quick to tell Valentina and Voxla to sashay away pointing out Valentina’s lack of presence in the lip-sync. Then Alicia and Tessa were sent out citing that they watched the tapes and Tessa clearly didn’t know her words.
(Katrina and Patricia receiving critiques)
Katrina was praised for her excellent lip-syncing, but Queen S. Zenith pointed out that Patricia missed a few words and a few steps.
SuPeter gave Alberta and Cyan a multitude of praise for not only doing an original song, but performing it live. “The energy you brought to this arena was top notch. I think you two are true contenders to win this thing.”
Rachelle was surprisingly kind in her critique of Antonia and Harmonia. “If you want to work from home, it better be my home. Because that performance was hotter than the Vegas sun.”
SuPeter began to speak again, “My top 3 pairs. The winner of Shine, the $10,000 cash prize, and the golden crowns and scepters are…”
(SuPeter announcing the winner)
The pause is long and dramatic.
“They showed their true colors…Alberta Clipper and her drag daughter, Cyan Ida.”
(Alberta and Cyan win)
Alberta was in pure shock, about ready to cry. Confetti rained down upon the two of them. As the crowns were placed on their heads, Alberta took a moment to speak. “Thank you to Grayden for helping us achieve this. Together we win. We are Gold.”
(Alberta giving her speech)
(Alberta and Cyan strutting down the runway)
The show ended with Alberta and Cyan strutting down the runway with their crowns. The two were happy to bring home the victory for the Golden Army. Grayden ran up to the stage to hug both of them. It was a group victory and it proved together they could face adversity and win. And tomorrow they’d be back to football practice even more in sync and ready.
(Grayden with Alberta and Cyan on the stage, hugging them)
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Grayden's Author's Note:
Thank you again to @wells-gold58 for this amazing collab. Most of the pictures were done by Wells. Most of the writing was done by me. This was honestly one of the most enjoyable stories I've done in the Golden Army and I hope everyone enjoyed it.
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Do you want to win together win the Golden Army and the bros? Contact one of our recruiters @polo-drone-166 @franco-gold94 @polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-001
We All Fall Down
A collaboration with @alton-gold77
Although the sun was shining, there was still a bitter chill in the spring air as Alton stood outside the Golden Training ground - not that he'd ever let such a thing bother him. Punctuality, on the other hand - or, more accurately, the lack of it - now, that was something that was much more likely to get under his skin. He checked the chunky, expensive silver watch on his wrist. 20 seconds remaining. At that moment, Shawn came sprinting into view; a flurry of flying limbs, his hair blown backwards, skidding to a half right in front of Alton.
Image by @alton-gold77
"Sorry," he wheezed. "I - ah - late, am I? Stupid alarm - didn't go off."
"Almost late," Alton replied. "I'll overlook it. This time."
He pulled the front door open and ushered Shawn through into the climate-controlled interior, where the younger man instantly burst out into a heavy sweat.
"Thank you for doing this," said Shawn, attempting to dab his brow with the inside of his forearm to little avail. "I really appreciate it."
"No problem, bro," said Alton. "This is brotherhood in action, we look out for each other."
The two of them walked through into the changing room of the players' gym, and Alton leaned up against a bank of lockers, his golden tank top straining with the sheer intensity of his musculature. He looked at Shawn expectantly.
"So what it is," Shawn began. "I mean, I've noticed that we have a lot of big guys on the team. Big guys. And I'm more - well, compact. Which can be good, But I think the team's goign to need more strength with everything that's coming up, and I'm interested in being the best that I can be. So I thought I'd come to you, as my mentor, and as an absolute unit as a human being..."
"...to ask how to get bigger," Alton finished for him. "We can do that. But it's not going to be easy. I hold myself to high standards, and I'm going to expect you to keep up." He cast a critical eye in Shawn's direction. "Can you do that?"
"Absolutely. 100%. 120%, in fact."
"Good, that's what I like to see. Let's get started right away."
Image by @alton-gold77
They moved through the connecting door into the gym, and Alton let out a grunt of frustration; the place was mess. Whoever had been in here last had broken the cardinal gym rule and not put their appartus back when they'd finished with it - a no-no even at a cheap chain gym, but a grave sin in one used by elite athletes.
"We're gonna have to clean up in here before we do anything else," he growled. "Can't work out clean in a room that's a mess."
Alton and Shawn got to work returning barbells to racks, re-hanging exercise mats in the correct place, gathering towels and ropes and other workout essentials back into their rightful place. As Alton dragged a bench back into its correct spot, he heard Shawn calling out.
"Alton, bro? Do you know where this goes?"
Image by @alton-gold77
He turned to see his teammate holding up an old-fashioned looking wooden box with ornate patterns inscribed all over it. It couldn't have looked more out of place in this high-tech fitness suit if it were an abacus.
"I've never seen it before," said Alton. He moved in for a closer look, but there were no obviously identifying marks on the box; no clues as to who owned it or where to return it.
Shawn shrugged. "Look inside, maybe?"
Image by @alton-gold77
Holding the box between them, Alton and Shawn lifted the lid and the whole room was suddenly filled with a blinding, brilliant light. For a couple of seconds both men were aware of their entire bodies aching sharply, and then suddenly there was no sensation at all.
It was Shawn who opened his eyes first, and right away he felt that something was wrong. He couldn't tell where he was, but it definitely wasn't the gym. His eye level seemed lower than usual. He was aware of his body again, but his limbs were weirdly rigid, his joints noticeably immobile. There was a strange, sterile sheen across his vision that distorted everything, as though his entire body was sealed in transparent plastic.
Hold on. His entire body was sealed in transparent plastic.
Shawn attempted to get a better look at his surroundings, only to realise that he couldn't really move his head, which was definitely a problem. He couldn't move his arms or legs either, which was potentially an even bigger problem. He could, just about, move his eyues, and when he rolled them to the left, he realised to his relief that Alton was there right next to him.
Except something was clearly very wrong with Alton. His face looked expressionless. His stubble seemed painted on. His famous muscular torso seemed unusually flat. His entire body seemed like it had been moulded out of plastic in a factory. And then there were his clothes; he'd never seen Alton so covered up before. A formal golden military jacket with epaulettes, a black peaked cap, starchy black trousers and long black boots. And he was holding a rifle.
Oh shit, Alton was a toy soldier.
And if Alton was a toy soldier, then...
Shawn looked down at himself for the first time.
Fuck. He was a toy soldier too.
As Shawn stood there - and he realised now he wasn't 'stood' so much as suspended inside plastic casing - wondering what the hell they were going to do, he heart a faint stirring beside him and realised Alton was finally waking up.
"Alton," Shawn hissed frantically, relieved to discover that at least his vocal cords still worked. "Hey, Alton!"
"Oh God, my head," Alton murmured. "Why does everything feel like I just got tackled by a freight train?"
"I don't know how to explain this," Shawn whispered. "In fact, you know what? Maybe it's easier if you just look down."
"What are you talking about?" Alton replied, but he looked down anyway. There was a moment of stunned silence. "What the fuck--"
"Yeah, we're toy soldiers. No, I don't know why. I realised about 10 seconds ago, and now you know as much as I do."
"We gotta get out of here," Alton asserted.
"How?" Shawn replied. "Can't you feel it? There's plastic all around us."
There was a pause. Shawn heard a snarling sound, followed by a sharp crack and a splitting noise.
"Did... did you just bite the plastic?" Shawn asked.
"You got any better ideas?" Alton retorted. "I made a hole, at least. You do the same, and we keep going, that way we'll make a big enough hole that the structural integrity of this whole thing gives way. Then we get out."
In fairness to Alton, Shawn didn't have any better ideas, so he leaned as far forward as he could and bit into the plastic. Alton carried on doing the same. After a few moments, they'd broken off enough that their faces were free.
Image by @alton-gold77
"OK, now we're getting somewhere," said Alton, starting to shift his torso back and forth. "Come on, start pushing at it. It'll break, I know it will."
Since Alton had gotten them this far, Shawn did as his mentor suggested, and started angling his little plastic body in ways that the casing clearly wasn't designed for. Sure enough, there was soon a huge crack in the casing across Alton's torso, and with one final contortion it gave way. With his chest and arms now freed, Alton made quick work of releasing his legs, and then moved over to help Shawn escape his own plastic prison. With the sharts of the casing lying around their feet, they stepped out of the box and onto a smooth wooden surface.
Image by @alton-gold77
"So, I gotta ask," said Shawn. "I know I'm still a relatively new recruit to this team and there's a lot I've not learned yet, so... do we turn into toy soldiers often?"
"Nope. First time."
"OK. OK, I'm not panicking. So I'm guessing you don't know how it happened, or how to change us back?"
Alton took a deep breath. "I don't know, but I can guess. Thing is, when you're known for being the best, you make a lot of enemies. That's always been the Golden Army's problem - a lot of rivals out there who can't beat us on the field, so they look at other ways to take us down. Dirty tricks. Sometimes... supernatural. Seems to me there was a curse on that box, and someone left it there hoping we'd be dumb enough to open it."
"Seems like they made a solid bet," Shawn observed drily. "God, this sucks. The whole point of today was meant to be about me getting bigger, and now I'm six goddamn inches tall."
"You think that's the worst part?" Alton glared at him. "Bro, I am pretty sure we are smooth all the way down right now."
Shawn took a moment to register what his teammate was saying. "Oh, fuck. We have got to undo this."
"Let's take stock," Alton said. "What do we know?"
For the first time since emergig from the plastic, the two of them took a proper look at their surroundings. There was a bed in the corner with brightly-coloured sheets on, depicting some cartoon characters that neither Alton nor Shawn were familiar with. Next to the bed, a chest of drawers in a soft pastel blue, and on the floor, a fluffy beige carpet strewn with building blocks, crayons, toy trains and the occasional show.
"Think it's pretty obvious we're in some kid's bedroom," said Alton.
"Sure," said Shawn. "But where do we go from here?"
Alton cast a look upwards. "That seems like a good start."
Shawn followed Alton's glance and realised what his mentor was looking at. Just above from the bookcase they were standing on, a little higher up, was a window. "If we can get up there, maybe we can get a better idea where we are," said Alton. "C'mon, give me a boost, soldier."
"Sure - wait, did you just call me 'soldier'?" Shawn queried.
"Did I?" Alton seemed nonplussed. "I don't know. You gonna help me, or what?"
With a slightly weary sigh, Shawn headed to the edge of the bookcase and got down on one knee, pushing the tips of his little plastic hands tigether to form a kind of step. "You think you can make it from here?"
"I got this, bro," Alton assured him, putting one foot on top of Shawn's outstretched hands. "Okay, here we go. OOP!"
Shawn pushed with all the strength he could fin, watching as his teammate shot into the air and vaulted onto the window ledge. Fortunately, the transformation into a toy soldier hadn't dented Alton's natural athleticism and he landed neatly with both feet.
Image by @alton-gold77
"What can you see?" Shawn asked.
Alton pressed his tiny face against the window. "Seems like just a back yard, bro. I'm not tall enough to see over the fence. But there's a tree and a sandbox and a - no way."
"What? What?"
"The box! The damn box! It's down there!" Alton looked down at Shawn. "That box is in the back yard, and I'm willing to bet that if we can get to it, we can find a way to change b-- WHOA!"
Alton was cut off mid-setence by a chubby hand grabbing him around the midriff as a small blond child seized him triumphantly, whirling him around the air and cackling. Shawn hazarded a guess that he and Alton, in their current form, were the property of this kid, whoever he was - a guess that seemed validated when the kid reached out with his other hand and grabbed Shawn too.
With another scream of delight, the kid turned and ran out of the room, carrying Shawn and Alton in each wildly swinging hand. Shawn felt like he was on a plane, experiencing the kind of turbulence that makes you start repenting your sins and wishing you'd spent more time with your loved ones. If it weren't for the fact he was pretty sure he didn't actually have a digestive system right now, he would probably be projectile vomiting.
Image by @alton-gold77
"Altoooooon," Shawn called out as he swung in the air, "You okaaaaayyyyyy, broooooo?"
"Thiiiiiiiiiink sooooooooo," came the reply.
The kid thundered down teh stairs and made an abrupt u-turn at the bottom, running through the hallway and out the back door. Suddenly Shawn felt the kid's grip on his torso releasing and his little plastic body began arcing through the air. Instinctively he tried to lift his arms up to shield himself from impact, and then he remembered he was a toy soldier who had been pretty much designed for the explicit purpose of being yeeted around by excitable toddlers - which was the last thing that crossed his mind before he landed head-first in the sand box.
Image by @alton-gold77
Shawn felt the sensation of something pulling at his feet. Since his head was buried in the sand, he couldn't see what was pulling at him, but he really hoped it was Alton, because the alternative was that the kid was picking him up only to throw him around again - or worse, maybe the family had a dog that had mistaken him for a chew toy.
With a sudden, urgent yank, Shawn's head popped back out of the sand and to his great relief, he saw Alton there, still clutching the boot that Shawn was pretty sure was actually glued to his foot.
"Thanks, bro," he said.
"Bro? Is that how you address your superior officer?"
Image by @alton-gold77
Shawn chuckled for a second, then he realised that Alton wasn't laughing. He looked serious.
"...Alton?"
"That's Sergeant Gold to you, private."
"What?"
Alton's face suddenly relaxed again. "Shawn? You OK, bro?"
"You were talking like a soldier, bro. It was pretty weird."
"Shit," Alton said. "I don't remember that. Which makes me think... something's happening to us. Like, if we don't find a way to reverse this soon, we might start to think that we really are soldiers."
"And if that happens," Shawn supplied. "We'll probably forget that we ever weren't. And we can kiss goodbye to any chance of changing back into our real bodies. Forever."
Alton nodded. "We need to get to that box. Now."
"Well, it's literally just across the yard. How hard can it be?"
WOOF.
Oh no.
Image by @alton-gold77
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
Turns out the family did have a dog, it had just woken up, and it was smack bang in the middle of the yard between them and the box.
"OK bro, this isn't going to be easy," Alton admitted. "I can think of one thing worse than a long life as a mindless toy soldier, and that's a pretty short life as the chew toy of Fido over there. But we can do this. We're Golden Army. We stick together, we've got each other's backs, and we never leave a bro behind."
Shawn saluted. "Sir! Yes, sir!"
Whoa. That was weird. He didn't know where that had come from. He sure as hell didn't like it. "I mean," he chuckled. "I'm with you, bro. I've got you, and you got me."
Alton put a hand on his shoulder. "Unsettling, isn't it? We gotta get this done, and fast, because I don't know how much time we have. So here's my plan: we stick to the perimeter. We hide in the long grass, and if that thing gets anywhere near us, we confuse it by splitting up, and then come back together the first chance we get."
"Uh huh. And... what if it does get us though, bro?"
"I don't know about you, bro, but I'm gonna make sure that pup gets the worst case of indigestion it's ever had," muttered Alton.
Image by @alton-gold77
Keeping a close eye on their canine adversary, the tiny soldiers hopped down from the sandbox and made their way stealthily to the edge of the yard, where long grass and weeds provided some element of cover. Alton cleared the path ahead while Shawn kept lookout, and slowly but surely they made progress. The box in the distance drew nearer, and Shawn allowed himself to believe that they might actually be able to get out of this terrible situation without getting chewed into thousands of tiny plastic pieces.
And then --
"Alton! Code red! CODE RED!" Shawn hissed. The dog had stirred and was looking right at them. It seemed to have picked up a scent, and was now making its way right to where they were standing.
"Keep still," Alton said quietly. "Keep very, very still."
The two of them froze on the spot as the dog - probably not that large to a human but a huge, slobbering threat to two plastic toys - loomed right over where they were standing and lowered its nose.
Image by @alton-gold77
The dog looked right at Alton and growled lightly. A pool of dribble landed right next to Alton's booted foot, and the dog opened its mouth.
"Alton!" Shawn whispered, his voice rising in panic.
"Bro, this isn't looking good," Alton said solemnly. "I'm gonna let him take me, and I want you to save yourself."
"No! No way, bro - I'm not leaving you behind."
"You might not have a choice."
The dog's maw grew closer and closer to Alton, and Shawn looked around for something, anything that might get them both out alive. Then he spotted something that might just save them: they were in a small patch of daisies, so he quickly lunged at the stem of the nearest one, reached into the head of the flower to grab a handful of pollen and threw it at the dog's nose. The dog recoiled, surprised and sneezing.
"RUUUUNNNNNN!!!" hollered Shawn, and Alton didn't need telling twice. Their bodies may have changed, but at heart they were still professional athletes, and all of their training kicked in when it mattered. They sprinted swiftly across the yard, focused solely on their goal of making it to the box as a steam - no man left behind.
Image by @alton-gold77
Alton touched the box first, with Shawn following seconds behind. The two of them pressed their backs up against it as they regained their breath.
"So what now," wheezed Shawn.
"We climb up. We climb in. We hope that this is the answer," said Alton.
"It looks pretty high from down here," Shawn said, craning his neck."
"I'm just gonna think of it like the climbing wall in the GA Gym. Look for handholds and footholds. Just focus on the next move until I'm at the top."
"Works for me," Shawn said. "Want a boost?"
He held his hands out, interlocked once again for Alton to step onto.
"Thanks, bro." Alton smiled, launching himself upwards and determinedly scaling his way to the top of the box.
Image by @alton-gold77
Shawn followed closely behind, keeping a close eye on Alton's movements and mimicking his path, keeping close behind but stopping occasionally to look over his shoulder just to make no further threats emerged.
Eventually the two of them stood at the top of the open box, the same pure light as before glowing from inside it. Shawn looked down into the box, and then over at Alton.
"Are you sure about this?" he asked.
"Not even slightly," Alton admitted. "For all I know, we're about to make things ten times worse and get turned into Barbie's Malibu Dream House. But I guess the alternative is staying here, and slowly losing our minds to whatever soldier brainwashing is happening to us."
Shawn stared straight ahead. "Sir, yes sir!"
Alton let that hang in the air for a moment. "Bro. Not funny."
"Sorry, I couldn't resist," Shawn grinned. "So, we jump in together, right?"
"Seems as good a plan as any. On three?"
Shawn reached out to Alton. "Take my hand?"
Alton snorted. "A little cheesy, bro. But sure."
They took each other's hands and counted out loud together.
"One. Two. THREE!"
Image by @alton-gold77
They launched themselves into the box and once again everything went extremely white, then extremely dark.
Shawn woke up first again. His vision was blurry at first, but then he realised that was because he was lying supine on the floor, staring straight up at fluorescent lighting. He grunted, and pulled himself into a seated position. He recognised his surroundings: the GA Gym. Oh, thank god. He caught sight of himself in the mirror: golden workout gear, floppy boyband hair, flesh rather than plastic, definitely human-sized. He was so happy he nearly screamed.
To his right, Alton was regaining consciousness too and pulling himself up off the floor - until the burly defender was nearly knocked down flat again by all 5'11" and 170lbs of Shawn just hurling himself at him, wrapping his arms around this clearly flesh-and-blood Alton with glee, relief and gratitude.
Image by @alton-gold77
"You gonna let me get up, rookie?" Alton murmured with a grin.
"In a sec." Shawn's voice was muffled, his face still buried in Alton's neck. A moment later, he released his grip on Alton and helped the taller man to his feet.
"You did it," Shawn said admiringly.
"We did it," Alton corrected. "I wasn't there by myself."
"God, it feels so good to be back to normal," said Shawn.
"Yep - wait, hold on."
Image by @alton-gold77
Alton grabbed the waistband of his workout pants, pulling it outwards and gazing down at his lower half before letting the elastic ping back into place. His grin grew even winder. "Yep, completely back to normal. So, you still wanna go through that workout, bro? Get yourself bigger?"
Shawn considered this. "You know what? I'm good. I think maybe smaller can still be pretty powerful, in its own way."
"And maybe us big guys need to remember to look out for the little guy more often," Alton conceded.
"Hey, where'd the box go?" Shawn asked, looking around.
Alton grunted. "Back to whatever hell dimension it came from, I hope. We should probably go speak to Captain Brody though, let him know what happened. Get the word out to the whole team so nobody else has to go through what we just did."
"You wanna get coffee on the way?" Shawn asked.
Alton grinned. "Make mine a tall."
Image by @alton-gold77
The Golden Army never leaves a bro behind - big or small. Want to become part of the team? Contact one of our recruiters: @alton-gold77, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-125, @polo-drone-166
Win Some, Lose Some
A collaboration with @polo-drone-075
Shawn stuck his head around the door. “Hey, bro. I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing. Are you holding up OK?”
Gabe looked at him through heavy eyes and gave a thin smile. “I’m doing OK.”
Shawn was far from the smartest player in the Golden Army, but when it came to reading people, he was surprisingly intuitive.
“Nice try,” he said, sitting down next to Gabe. “I know I’m still pretty new here, bro, and I can’t pretend I know everything that went down between you and Mikhail. But I know he’s not around any more, and I know that you haven’t been yourself since he left.”
“Is it that obvious?” Gabe asked.
“Maybe a little,” Shawn smiled. “I’ve seen you throwing yourself into your training, and into your music, and you’ve been doing incredible work. But I’m wondering if… you’re forgetting to have fun as well.” He stood up. “C’mon, get changed. I’m taking you out. No arguments.”
“An arcade?” Gabe shouted, barely able to hear himself over the din of the machines.
“Is it too much?” Shawn asked, suddenly worried that his brilliant plan might not actually be brilliant at all.
Gabe’s face relaxed into a smile. “No, it’s perfect. Mindless fun is just what I needed. Thank you. Where are we going first?”
“Air hockey?”
“Air hockey!”
They raced over to the table, installing themselves on opposing sides. Instantly, they slipped into a ferocious rhythm as their athleticism and competitiveness emerged, both playing for fun but definitely playing to win. Gabe took the first game, then Shawn, then Gabe again.
“Best of five?” Shawn asked, a little breathless.
“If you really want to lose to me again, sure bro.”
“Oh, it is on, brother.”
Shawn struck the puck to commence the fourth battle and Gabe returned it expertly, only for Shawn to parry right back. The rally went on and on, with both players seemingly having an instinctive read on what the other was thinking. Even though their hands were starting to cramp, they continued, matching each other on every level — until Shawn made a tiny misjudgement that allowed Gabe to sink the puck for the third time.
“Crap!” Shawn cried out, before recovering. “Well-played, bro. Good game. What next?”
“How about something less insanely competitive?” Gabe suggested, nodding at the claw-grabber machine.
Shawn’s eyes lit up as he spotted a giant stuffed bear nestled in the rear-right corner of the machine’s perspex cage. “Gabriel Gold, I am going to win you that bear,” he announced.
The machine begged to differ: Shawn failed on his first attempt. And the second. Also the third, the fourth, the fifth. The sixth attempt yielded the prize of a small plastic car that had been sitting between the bear’s legs, which Shawn tossed aside dismissively. The seventh attempt? Failure, again.
“You know I don’t actually need you to win me the bear, right?” Gabe pointed out.
“Bro! I’m concentrating!”
Whether by skill or — more likely — luck, Shawn succeeded in grabbing the bear on his fifteenth attempt and, after wrestling it out from the machine’s drop box and giving it a celebratory hug of triumph, he deposited it into the arms of a slightly nonplussed Gabe.
“For you,” he said.
“Uh, thanks?” Gabe replied. “You know what? That was actually pretty impressive to watch. You definitely suck less at that than you do at air hockey.”
“Oh, more trash talk?” Shawn grinned, showing off his dimples. “Anyone would think you’re starting to feel better. OK, final round. Your choice. What’s it gonna be?”
Gabe took a look around the room. “It’s gotta be Dance Dance Revolution.”
“Another great choice.”
They headed over to the dance machine in the corner of the room and took their positions on the two sets of controls. As the musical intro played, Shawn leaned over and held out a hand. “May the best man win.”
Gabe shook it. “Oh don’t worry, I’m gonna.”
The two of them began dancing nimbly on the pads beneath their feet. As Golden Army teammates, coached to excel together, they were used to being perfectly in sync; at first it looked like they were following expertly-honed choreography, matching each other move for move. Their approaches were slightly different, Shawn’s wiry athleticism versus Gabe’s natural rhythm, but both routes got them to the same destination. As the tempo increased, however, Gabe’s natural musicality won out; Shawn started to fall behind, missing steps here and there, hitting the pads a fraction of a second too late. By the end of the track, Gabe was the clear winner by 800 points.
Pushing his hair out of his face, Shawn turned to his rival. “Bro, I thought I’d be mad about losing, but it is an honour to lose to someone as awesome at this as you are.”
“Thanks man! You really gave me a run for my money.” Gabe’s voice dropped a little lower. “Seriously, Shawn, thank you. I’ve had so much fun, and I do feel a little more like myself again.”
“Then that feels like a victory for me too,” Shawn grinned. “Now, important question: what are you going to name the bear? I think Shawn’s a great name. Just saying.”
Gabe studied the bear thoughtfully. “I don’t think he’s a Shawn, sorry.”
Shawn shrugged. “Worth a try. Although if you decide to name him something tragic, I reserve the right to veto it.”
“That seems fair, you almost bankrupted yourself to win it.”
“Almost? Bro, that machine saw me and starting rubbing its greedy little claws together.”
They stepped back out into the cool night air, the noise of the arcade fading behind them as the door swung shut. The parking lot was quiet, bathed in amber light from the street lamps. Gabe shifted the oversized bear in his arms, its plush head lolling against his shoulder. They walked side by side toward the car. For a moment, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn’t heavy though; it felt earned.
Gabe glanced down at the bear again. “I think I’m gonna call him Misha.”
Shawn’s steps faltered slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.
“It’s… not what you think,” Gabe added quickly. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know. It’s just…”
He exhaled slowly. “I don’t want to pretend that none of it mattered. Or that he didn’t. But I also don’t want it to be this thing that drags me under every time I think about it.”
Shawn nodded, his expression softening. He nodded at the bear. “So he’s like a reminder. Not a weight.”
“Yeah,” Gabe said. “Something I can carry without it crushing me.”
They reached the car. Shawn leaned against the door instead of unlocking it right away. “You know, bro? For what it’s worth, you don’t have to power through everything alone. You’re allowed to miss people. You’re allowed to be wrecked for a while. Just… don’t disappear on us.”
Gabe looked at him, eyes clearer than they had been in weeks. “I won’t.”
“Good. Because I need you at full power. Who else is going to destroy me at air hockey and still have enough energy to talk trash about it?”
Gabe smirked. “It takes special skill, I guess.”
“And next time, we’re not just playing against each other. We’re teaming up. Doubles mode. Whatever it is, we win it together.”
Gabe considered that, something warm settling in his chest. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “We do.”
“Golden Army doesn’t do solo victories,” Shawn added, bumping his shoulder. “One of us wins, we all win.”
He finally unlocked the car, and they climbed in. Gabe rested the bear — Misha — in the back seat, buckling it in with exaggerated seriousness.
“Safety first,” he said.
“Respect,” Shawn replied solemnly.
They drove back towards the Golden Army stadium, city lights streaking past the windows, a comfortable silence between them. Gabe felt something unfamiliar but welcome settling in his chest. Not total peace, not yet. But a crack in the heaviness. A reminder that joy wasn’t disloyal. That laughter didn’t erase what had been. It just made room for what could still be.
As they pulled up, Shawn switched off the engine and glanced over. “You good?”
Gabe nodded. “Yeah, I think I am.”
“Then mission accomplished. Same time next week? I demand a rematch.”
“You’re on,” Gabe said, opening the door. “And as the loser, you’re buying the tokens.”
Shawn groaned dramatically as they stepped out into the training grounds, their laughter echoing. Two teammates, still competitive, still ridiculous, but steady. It didn’t feel like one of them had won.
It felt like they both had.
Ready to win together with your bros in the Golden Army? Contact our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166 or @polo-drone-125.
