Credit to @bodriversblog for this incredible image.
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I watch from the other side of the table. He’s been staring at that screen for hours. I can’t help but smile as he shifts slightly and rolls his arm to expose his new tattoo. All that time at the gym and the supplements he’d been using were really paying off. His pectorals tensed and pushed the sleeves of his tank top forward, giving a view of the crevice forming between the two growing slabs of muscle. I was so proud of him when he came out with the cap on this morning.
My little beta tester was becoming quite the alpha. I’d decided to call the program Deduction. The game itself was simple enough, designed with a premise to focus on deductive reasoning. The longer he played, the more challenging the deductions would become. With every correct answer, he would progress. With every wrong answer, he would face subliminal suggestions and reinforcement. I still remember the first time he blanked after getting the wrong answer.
“Maybe you should go to the gym, instead.”
The insult had been included as part of that subtle push, a sort of mocking from the antagonist in the game. What I hadn’t expected was for him to actually respond at that moment.
“Where are you going?” I’d asked him mildly.
“I’m going to....” He frowned. “I’m going to....”
The way his gaze just ... glassed over, that sensation of watching it come to pass. It was ... incredible.
“That level was too hard. I should go to the gym, instead.”
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It got easier and easier to trance him over time. His sense of competition, that need to prove he was better than a machine or game, drove him to keep playing.
I tweaked the insults and subliminals with each “new iteration.” And he attacked it with the same zeal he’d come to develop toward his breakfasts.
“Not ... even ... close.”
“Perhaps you should apply yourself in ... other fields.”
“I’d hoped for brains, not brawn.”
“Do I have to spell it out for you?”
“Are you slow in the head?”
“Leave the thinking to the smart ones, you lumbering brute.”
“Honestly, Chief, such sloppy work. Perhaps it’s time to trim the fat....
More insults, a “demotion” cutscene involving a hypnotic pattern in the background as the chief spoke the dialogue and the text scrolled by. All tools to help push my beta tester deeper and deeper.
And all the while, he kept growing. Muscle and tone replaced flab and fat. In a very real way, I was putting him through a mental version of the detraining principle, a rule in the fitness world that essentially states if you don’t use it, you lose it. If you don’t continue to train those muscles and parts of your body that have improved, then you will lose the benefits you gained. It’s also known as the reversibility principle.
“I think it’s time for a different sort of uniform. Don’t you?”
I still remember when he almost smashed my computer. I had to get in his way to calm him down. “Bro, stop!”
“He’s a computer generated character! You want to smash something, go change and smash some weights, instead!”
He grumbled, but he followed my advice. I’ve hardly seen him out of his “bro” gear since.
“Congratulations. You finally solved something. I suppose it’s time to get hard.”
I nearly spat my drink when I saw him flex his biceps and retort, “I already am.”
Then came the suggestion I’d been waiting for. He was chewing on his oatmeal as part of that morning’s breakfast, looking thoughtful with his brow scrunched. He swallowed, then said, “Hey, bro?”
I shuddered at the low pitch he’d developed recently. I admit I was surprised, since he usually didn’t interact with me much during his breakfasts anymore. “Yeah?”
“You think maybe you could, uh ... include something else in the game?”
I was intrigued. “Like what?”
“You know how there are all these interactive parts to video games now, right?” He gulped another bite of his oatmeal, then belched without shame. “Why not make something like that for parts of the game? You know, like when breaking into a room or doing something that needs heavy lifting, maybe something for when you have to run? Something that’s ... idunno, active?”
“Yeah, like ... you know, to let me move. It’s always solving combinations or following equations or something like that. It’s too slow. There’s just not enough action in it. It’s....”
He sighed. “Bro, it’s boring. I feel ... idunno, sort of numb up here when I play.” He knocked the side of his head, and I barely suppressed the urge to smile.
“And do you have any suggestions?”
He blushed. “Idunno. Maybe, ... maybe a gym?”
“I can try something like that,” I admitted. “But I don’t have that kind of equipment to synch to my computer. Any levels or portions I design for a gym setting would have to focus on something else, perhaps on hand-eye coordination. Tapping the right key at the right place, that sort of thing.”
“If you could, that’d be great. It’ll make things more, uh ... uhhhhhhh....”
“Diverse?” I suggested. This time, I did smile.
“Yeah, that.” He gobbled down the rest of the bowl and chucked it into the sink, filled it and the pot he’d prepped the meal in with water, then raced toward the door. “Thanks for listening, bro. Gotta get to the gym, bye!”
He was still embarrassed, and I found that especially cute.
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His laughter permeated the room after he’d been playing the new level mechanics for the last half hour. Well, at least on this particular session of the new level. It was deep and low, just the way I like it.
“Fuck, bro. How long’ve I been spelling swears and curses?”
This time, I allowed myself to smile. It was perceived as a joke, after all, juvenile humor. And I knew to act accordingly. “You’ve been spelling more than that, but I’d say you’ve been doing that for ... well, ever since you started testing the level, so I guess about a couple of weeks now?”
“Damn, bro. That’s just ... fuck, damn....”
He looked at me. I looked at him. And we both broke down into a fit of laughter.
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A few days later, he swore again.
“Bro, this ... this game’s like a fuckin’ drug, man. How long’ve I been playing?”
I glanced at the stopwatch by my table. “Four hours.”
“Fuck,” he breathed. “This game is--”
“--Ready to lose again, my little henchman?”
His body became rigid. His chest heaved, lifting his shirt over the toned abs he’d been developing. He rose, and I took note of the growth he’d experienced in his legs and glutes as he turned and strode back to the computer again.
Eat, workout, shower, computer, eat, computer, workout, shower, eat, computer, and repeat.
And all the while, he kept growing. The bigger he got, the more relaxed he became. I watched a former valedictorian descend into the depths of the mental doldrums, and he was perfectly content to stay there and focus on his need to improve.
And I was only too glad to help him redirect that need toward his body.
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I helped him change his major just last week. Exercise sciences are far better suited to how his mind runs now. And he seems content with that. He’s still determined to beat the game, though.
“A ... B ... C ... D-uhhhhhhhhhhhh....”
The latest deduction was more of a pattern. He has to list the alphabet. By now, he’s been conditioned to be triggered every time he reaches the letter D. His eyes become hooded. His breathing slows. His face goes slack. And I get to enjoy watching every second of it.
“A ... B ... C ... D-uhhhhhhhhhhhh....”
The timer goes off. The laughter filters through the speakers. His chest shakes with it as he shifts easily from his sustained pause to follow that track with his husky, “Huhuhuh....” Then he blinks slowly at the instruction.
He clicks the button. The system cues up the level again. The process repeats a few times, and I just enjoy watching him fall again and again. I snap a picture. He’s too focused on the screen to care, tapping one meaty finger over each key and shoving it in time to the screen’s prompts.
“A ... B ... C ... D-uhhhhhhhhmb....”
“What was that?” I ask. A smile curls as my lips part to bare my teeth. I’ve been waiting for this moment.
He turns to me, looking away from the screen for the first time since he started this morning. He blinks slowly, as if he doesn’t quite recognize me or where he is. And then he speaks in that slow, dull tone that I’ve come to love hearing. “I am A Big Cocky Dumb Jock bro.”
“I’m a Big Cocky Dumb Jock bro.”
“Whose Big Cocky Dumb Jock bro are you?”
This time, I let the sneer come. “Good jock boy.”
The trigger was sent, and he reacted instinctively. Laughter burst from his chest like the retort of a cannon. “Huhuhuhuhuhuhuhuh.......”
