Unrivaled pt. 2 (Patreon)

The wheels of justice spins fast when greased with money. It wasn’t many days until Trevor arrived, freshly hosed down and suited in bright orange, to his cell in the medical service inmates block at Greene Prison. He was welcomed by his cellmate Steven, who explained that they were the envy of every other inmate in the prison. “Good food, good atmosphere and absolutely no violence”. He looked Trevor sternly in the eyes as he said the last part. Everyone were keen on keeping their medical service and avoid resentencing to a longer prison time. They were only 14 inmates in the block, and after the presentation round Trevor was oddly happy about where he was. Well, prison, but the best kind of prison he thought.

Next morning, during breakfast, one of the guards told Trevor that he had been picked up for a long term study at Phoenix Medical. The entire table went silent.

- What?
- Dude!
- WHAT?!
- Not even 24 fucking hours and you get Phoenix! That place is legendary. Everyone wants there. None of that test-for-side-effects-bullshit. They improve people. They make tech for movie stars and athletes. Not even 24 fucking hours….

The facility was located in the industrial area outside a small town three hours from the prison. Although shackled and in the locked backseat of a police car repurposed for low risk inmate transfers, Trevor was feeling pretty good almost the entire trip. Taking the final turn on the wide roads between small factories and office buildings he could see the facility. It was an ugly six story concrete office building that probably dated back to the 70s. The bottom floor was double height and wider than the rest of the building and windowless. It probably had housed a production line for something way back. Around the complex were parking lots and a tall, sturdy fence. Right next to the gate was a big sign “Phoenix Medical - A Hamlin Group Company”. It was like a gut punch to Trevor. Kyle’s family owned this place. They owned him for the next one and a half year.

Trevor was taken in through an entrance by the old loading docks. The inside looked much better than the outside suggested. Fresh paint, modern design, LED-lamps, high tech security. He was handed over to two Phoenix guards and Mr. Thompson, site trial manager. The core mission for Phoenix Medical, he explained, was to commercialize high end cosmetic procedures. This facility in particular focused on “whole body” procedures, like fat loss, muscle development and athletic conditioning. Several gold medalists of the Red Bull Olympix used their procedures.

He left and Trevor was taken to the arrival processing room by the guards, where he stripped and showered. A doctor then had him photographed and 3D-scanned, performed a whole host of tests and had a bunch of samples taken. The doctor pressed something that looked like a big stapler to his chest, to the top of the sternum, and pressed a button. It sounded like a staple gun too, and Trevor jumped by the sharp but short pain. He could see a small mark of an incision glued shut. Finally the doctor made a series of injections in his left and right arm, and gave him two pills to swallow.

He was given clothes - trunks, socks, compression shirt, shorts and sneakers - and once dressed led through several locked doors deeper into the facility. The shoes were weird. Although they fit perfectly, they had some sort of slightly uncomfortable soles in them. He arrived at a stripped down office room inside the more secure parts of the facility. Sitting behind the desk was Mr. Thompson again. He didn’t offer a seat.

He explained, as if Trevor didn’t already knew, that Trevor was their test subject for at least the next year. The facility didn’t have a lot of guards or security, but since almost all inmates preferred this to any alternative he shouldn’t count on any help to escape. Quite the opposite. And if he did escape it would be up to Phoenix Medicals discretion whether or not to continue, extend the time by up to two years, or resentence him to prison time. The tracker chip behind his rib cage would ensure that he would be found. One of the injections would make him fall into coma within a week should he not get his daily counter agent, and he would be given a monthly booster shot.

Further, Mr. Thompson explained, Trevor was a criminal given this privilege and opportunity to serve society. As such he was required to fully comply with all instructions, or punitive procedures would be administered.

- You have been selected to be part of a study in muscle growth. One of the injections you received during your entry processing have already started the process we want to study. You will be given pre-sized portions of food, and you are required to fully consume them. You will be given a schedule, and you are required to strictly follow it. You will be given exercises and targets, and you are required to strictly complete them. Do you understand?
- Yes. What do you mean with “muscle growth”. I already have quite a lot of strength from my dancing.
- Oh, that is nothing. We are going to push ahead as far as we can in the time we have.

He flipped through some of the documents on the table, until he found a small note.

- I have a message from Kyle Hamlin himself here. “Make the fucker swole AF so he'll dance like a pregnant hippo.”

Trevor had barely started the shouting when the guard’s taser collapsed him on the floor. He was dragged to a procedure room down the hallway and secured to a table.

- Those are the kind of outbursts that we can’t have. You need to understand that the procedure we are about to perform is because of your own actions.

Trevor didn’t say anything. A doctor clipped a blood monitor on one of his fingers. He then inserted two needles into his arm, that connected through plastic tubes to a machine that looked like a dialysis machine. He pressed a few buttons and Trevor could see blood leaving the body in one tube, and after about 10 seconds he could see it returning in the other tube.

Then nothing happened. The machine was humming and the clock was ticking away. After perhaps five minutes Trevor started to feel warm and clammy. After a few more minutes he could feel his heart starting to race. Faster and faster. He was quickly soaking in sweat. His body was on fire. He could feel the pulse beating in every limb. It kept going like crazy for perhaps 15-20 minutes until it started to dial down again. When the doctor finally removed the needles and released him from the table he felt like he had had the most intense dance practice ever. He was soaked in sweat, skin was flush red and his blood vessels had popped like never before.

He was taken to his room, told to be in bed before 8, and then had the door shut and locked on him. For the first time in two days he was alone in a room. He just stood still a minute and looked at his new home, a sparse room with a made bed, a table, a stool, a toilet and a sink. On the wall was a flat screen TV, a mirror and a digital clock. 17:22 it said.

He removed the damp shirt and looked into the mirror. He was still flush from the procedure and the blood vessels all over his body made him look like the underside of kale. He sunk down on the stool by the table, his emotions in a whirlwind. He felt despair. He felt violated. Not just whatever they had just done to him. Not just having a tracker chip injected. Not just having stuff pulsing around in his bloodstream that did things to him he didn’t know. The worst was knowing he was the unrestricted recipient of the whims of a spoiled, vindictive teenage brat.

Standing on the table was a tray with a large plastic bottle with a yellow-tinted white fluid and a sealed plastic container with something that looked like oat porridge. Dinner. He realized that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast and dug in. The “milk” tasted like some chalky protein drink and the tub contents was basically porridge with tuna fish and chili flakes mixed in.

Maybe it was the hunger, but it all tasted alright to him, and quickly finished all of it. He wanted to see what was on the TV, but he had no sooner finished the dinner when he begun to feel sleepy. He suspected the food was drugged, but then he had had an eventful day. He got naked and went to sleep right away.

Read the continuation.