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The Security Squad, part six


Hialmar

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PREFACE

This is the most discomforting chapter in the story.

The one who doesn't recognize satire, when he sees it, is blind.

I also want to thank Arpeejay for a discussion about bodyweight.

DISCLAIMER

The story takes place in a totalitarian society.

Unpleasant political slur of two opposite kinds will occur.

Likewise, sexist slur will take place.

Violent deaths will be mentioned.

If anything of this disturbs you, please be warned.

 

Part one is found here:

https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10522-the-security-squad-part-1/

Part five is found here:

https://muscle-growth.org/topic/10576-the-security-squad-part-5/

- - - 

”And why do you volunteer for this? You know, that in the past all members of the Security Squad were drafted.”

I watched you inquisitively. You seemed to feel uncomfortable before my imposing presence.

”I saw the advertisements. You know, the ones, like, BECOME THE PERFECT MAN: JOIN SECURITY SQUAD or LESS OF A MAN, THAN YOU WANT TO BE? JOIN SECURITY SQUAD, and I thought, that I could perhaps give it a chance.”

”I see. Yes, we have had a considerable influx of patriotic volunteers, since the advertisement campaign was launched.”

You squirmed. 

”I don’t feel very patriotic. Not patriotic enough.”

”Don’t worry soldier. You will be. You will be fine. Your squaddiefication will take place within a few days. It isn’t something dangerous.”

I was allowing my thoughts to wander back in time: How Brad and I, Bill and Sergeant Williams had been tested the days after our own squaddiefication a decade earlier. Bill and I managed to lift a 2250 pounds each. Brad managed to lift almost 1800 pounds. 

 

- - -

 

I was hanging out at The Patriot with you and Brad. On our way there, we had passed by the usual political posters: ”Is your wife a secret Terrie?” and ”The Security Squad protects YOU!”

The Patriot was officially a local ”member-restricted recreation association for members of Security Squad and their friends”. There wasn’t anything untrue about that description, but it didn’t describe the reality either.

The walls were painted in black. Flags and recruitment posters hang on the walls. Sixty percent of the Security Squad’s personnel never frequented The Patriot, which could be a surprise for those, who only knew the establishment from its official description. When you and I entered the building, we had been met by the mixed scents of cigar smoke, beer, male sweat, anti-perspirants, moth repellents and leather.

Brad and I towered over you, and I felt protective. You were so young. Comparatively small. Like I had been before my squaddiefication. Recently transferred to the non-enhanced segment of the Security Squad by the enlistment authority. Like Brad and me, you were dressed in the everyday wear of the Security Squad: Black t-shirt or tank top, black woolen army sweater, glossy cargo trousers of black leather (with a belt buckle carrying the crest of the Security Squad), heavy boots, patrol cap and a black bomber jacket. We could have frequented the place in civil attire, but we knew what the squad-fans wanted. Our arrival was met with approving cheers by the ”friends of the Security Squad”.

”Oh look, Chad! They brought a Squaddie-pup! He hasn’t been squaddiefied, yet!”

I whispered to you:

”I told you, that you would become popular. Handle it wisely. Don’t let anyone beg you into something you aren’t comfortable with. They are the fans. You are in command. Remember that.”

You nodded.

Brad towered over you protectively. At 7’6” and 450 lbs he was a living embodiment of what it meant to belong to the Security Squad. Some of the recruitment posters were actually based on him.

”When the Lord Protector signed the Immoral Entertainment Decree and the Indecent Behaviour Decree eighteen years ago, there was initially some hesitation and uncertainty over how they were supposed to be interpreted. Two talkshows on TV were closed down, since they were known of making fun of The Leader. There were some discussion coming from The Leader’s religious backers about closing bodybuilding competitions, beauty pageants and wrestling, but the nationalist backers of The Leader thought there could be a patriotic value in those competitions, so they were retained. I have heard, that some un-patriotic scum fled our country and now compete for other countries, which is a disgrace. Oh, thank you Eric.”

Eric, the bartender, had placed three pints of beer in front of us. He knew what we preferred. In several ways.

Several other Squaddies — both squaddified ones and non-enhanced ones — stood or sat in other corners of The Patriot, but the major share of the patrons were squad-fans. The squad-fans came in all shapes: Short and tall, thin, overweight and muscular, but they all preferred a decidedly masculine style. All kept their hair short (in different ways). It was in rather general use among squad-fans to sport flags and other patriotic patches on their jackets. The jackets came in several styles: Denim jackets, bomber jackets in synthetic fibres, leather jackets — especially biker style jackets. Some of the squad-fans rode motorbikes, and kept old-fashioned biker style alive.

”Since what was called ’propaganda promoting a gay lifestyle’ was forbidden, there was an abrupt end to Pride events, and gay pubs were closed. The Lord Protector decided to turn existing same-sex marriages into civil unions, but he resisted any suggestions to abolish civil unions. His military advisors adviced him to not re-instate the don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. Where you grew up, it was probably harsh to be fond of other lads, but, as you see, that is not the entire truth about our country. I’m happy to bring you here.”

”It is a relief after what I went through. This place feel unreal.”

You looked at some old Security Squad memorabilia, and some black and white reproductions of Tom of Finland art. The convsersations in the room were rather loud. Drunk laughs from one of the corners. 

One of the squad-fans approached us. He was a buzzcut bloke in his mid-30s, and dressed in jeans, boots and a squad-sweater replica.

”Permission to speak, Sergeant.”

”Permission granted, civilian.”

He gave the impression of usually cultivating a rather cocky demeanour in other surroundings, but, when speaking to us three, he behaved slightly shyly.

”Just exactly is squaddification? The results are, eh, very impressive.”

”Your first visit to The Patriot, mate? That squaddiefication exist isn’t a secret: It is obvious for everyone. But exactly how squaddiefication is done is classified information, I’m afraid.”

”Oh. Sorry for asking. I’m a great fan of Squads on Patriot Channel.”

Squads was a reality series about life in the Security Squad. I had watched episode one and two of the first season, but swiftly dropped the habit. The content was extremely edited, and didn’t give an accurate impression about everyday life in the Squad.

”I would guess, that you’re not alone on that account in this crowd. Have you had time to discuss with other fans here?”

”Some. It’s new to me, all of this.”

”Don’t worry, civilian. You are among friends here.”

More cheers. I looked in the direction of the entrance, in order to find out why.

”Hello Bill! How is the night going?”

”Awesome Joe. I have spent all night at Beer Burger Bar, and already shagged three squad-hags.”

I turned to you. 

”You see, my friend, Sergeant Tannen here, is into the vagina business.”

I turned to Bill again. His 600 lbs brawn to his 6’6” height couldn’t fail to attract most of the eyes in the room.

”Three? Really? Isn’t it time for you to settle down with kettle and lids, at your age?”

”I don’t disagree with your lifestyle, and you don’t disagree with mine. Isn’t that a deal?”

I turned to you again.

”Now you wonder, perhaps, what a confirmed straight guy like Bill is doing here…”

You nodded shyly, looking at Bill’s bull-god physique.

”But we have a saying in the Squad. Perhaps you haven’t heard it, yet. The difference between a straight Squaddie and a bi-curious Squaddie is three pints of beer.”

Bill roared of laughter. So did some of the squad-fans, who had overheard our conversation.

A massive leather-clad biker had approached us. For a non-squaddified man, he was certainly impressive, and a life dedicated to working out was required to carry his outfit the way he did. I was proud of you, when I noticed that your gaze didn’t flicker.

”Please Sergeant, may I speak to the Squaddie-pup?”, the biker asked me.

I acted the way he expected.

”Permission granted, civilian. Treat him well. Otherwise, I and Sergeant Smith here have to punish you.”

The biker shuddered, but perhaps not purely out of fear.

”When will you become squaddified, Sir”, he asked you.

”In two days. Why do you ask, civilian?”

”I would be honoured if you remembered me during and after your squaddification. Would you do that? My name is Chad.”

”Perhaps I will”, you answered, one part confident, one part acting.

”Do you allow me to make myself worthy of remembering? It would be an honour to make you happy, Sir.”

”I’m sure, that you know what to do, civilian. I’m a squaddie-pup. I am superior.” 

I could detect a small trace of insecurity in your voice. It would be erased in two days, I reflected. But the squad-fan didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. To be in the presence of me, Brad and you made his day. He began to unbutton your fly. You leaned backwards against the desk, your leather clad legs wide apart, and let the muscular biker become your willing slave. More drunk cheering from a corner.

It seemed to make Bill horny again, and he had definitely bucketed down more than three pints this evening. He had found a willing admirerer, too: A bodybuilder type dressed in army fashion, having  loop screws in his earlobes.

Absent-mindedly I noticed a short heap of flyers. ”The Security Squad needs YOU! Ever considered serving your country?” 

The The Patriot franchise had been a success as a recruitment ground for the Squad. I supposed that the level of success, in that regard, silenced any doubts some of The Leader’s advisors could have had in other respects, but what would they expect, when they removed all inhibations from a man?

 

- - - 

 

It was two days later. I stood between the Zythronic racks, wearing the helmet. Initially, the four of us, who were the original new breed of improved soldiers, used to take turns inside the growth chamber. Later, our group of expert Improvers had been expanded into twelve members. 

It was my turn, and I liked the job. The twelve of us Improvers reach some small improvements every time, even if the pace of change has slowed down very much. The initial transformation is always the most dramatic, and there is seldom much to add or change, but it felt good to be in the chamber again, exposed to the Zythronic Field, the Vril Power and the two other forms of radiation. This way, the twelve Improvers always were slightly bigger, slightly stronger, slightly faster, slightly better than the recently changed squaddies, and they treated us with respect. The respect we deserve.

I watched you: A Potential Domestic Terrorist. We used to say PDT, but the civilians shortened it into Domestic Terrorist, and were very grateful for our work on hunting you down, increasing the security for normal, decent people.

We had improved the processing routines, and moved the chairs into the growth chamber. You sat in your chair, and the arms of your chair ended with metallic knobs connected to the Zythronic Racks. You were dressed in your orange-coloured prison-dress, your legs fastened to the legs of the chair, and your wrists strapped to the arms of the chair.

”Are you going to execute me?”

”You are mistaken. This is not an electrical chair.”

”What is it then, you bloody Fascist?”

”Watch your mouth.”

”It’s not like you haven’t abused me. Physically. Verbally.”

”Verbal abuse is more common in the Police Force. We don’t have the habit of calling you Liberal scum, even if you are. As for physical abuse — some prisoners need to be disciplined, but not to the degree, that they would no longer recover. Our off-shore prisoner camps are a valuable asset to the Security Squad.”

”An asset?” 

You looked like you couldn’t believe what you heard.

”You believe in a cause. That is honourable, even if you are misguided. Men with principles, like yourself, would hold equally firm convictions, if they were patriots. Even defend their convictions, by taking up arms.”

”You may lock me in, but you are not able to change my mind.”

”Let us see about that.”

No reason to slow it down or hold back. The green infusion was now administerable by a rather quick injection, and all three biochemical formulas could be administered by the chair. Perhaps better to ease any pain away. Our purpose was not to torture you, but turn you into a weapon: Into one of us, so I let the Zythronic Field trickle through your palms into your body at a modest 8% level.

”Ummmm. What’s that? Ummmmmm. What’s happening?”

I didn’t answer.

I let the robotic arms of the chair administer the chemicals. Then the wet electrodes lowered themselves to each of your temples.

They always scream. Afraid of losing themselves, I suppose. It is true to a certain extent. Memories fade or disappear, but deep-seated personality traits do not die, nor do instincts and urges. I do not remember my own conditioning. It is just a black hole in my memory. When I ask other Squad-members about it, they tell me the same. We do not remember the conditioning. I guess you will forget this pain, as all the others have done. As we all have done. 

I warmed the radiation emittors under the floor up. Your chair was lit up from the floor, and bathed in a purple light. We had, by time, found, that doing it this way increased the conditioning.

”No, I…”

Your mind was surprisingly resilient. I increased the Zythronic Field to 10% and increased the radiation from below.

”No, uh… uh… nnnnnnn”

You struggled in the chair. I could notice the physical effects of the treatment, since you began to fill out your prison dress. 12.5% perhaps?

”Mmmmmmm, oh, um, mmmmmm”

Close now. After having done this multiple times, I had learned to guide this process carefully, and the helmet helped me to do it intuitively. The sound of your voice changed: The tone of fear turned into the tone of revelling. Look at that neck of yours! You liked this. I could see it on your face. And your hands were becoming larger. And covered with veins.

”Oh, uh, yes. Yes, I comply. Yes, I obey. Oh YES! Fucking YES! Sir! More! Give this patriot MORE!”

I was so happy to reward you with what you asked for. And this was just the Preparatory Phase. I was going to process you and the other two, later in the afternoon.

 

- - -

 

I looked through the list. 

The one who volunteered because the appeal to his vanity and insecurity. 

The pup who was sent here by the enlistment authority, and found a haven from his repressive upbringing. 

The one who was successfully re-programmed from terrorism to patriotism. 

The usual fare. As always, I was proud to squaddiefy you and the other two subjects.

There would be no use of destroying expensive uniforms, as had happened the first time. All three of you were dressed in elastic mini-shorts, and nothing else. The Preparatory Phase had had its effect on you. You all looked fit and vein-covered, and your eyes had that familiar dim gaze.

”Soldiers! This is the best day in your lives! You will grow into your country’s finest defenders: The defenders of Improved Democracy. Unlike the inefficient democracy of other nations, slowed down by debates and never-ending official reports, our Improved Democracy implement decisions immediately, because the Lord Protector is given that executive and legislative power. 

”Perhaps you watched telly a few days ago, the Prime Minister of Ruritania demanding: ”Mr. Lord Protector, tear down this wall!” But we know the truth: Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against terrorism. Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against unwanted foreign workers, who rob indigenous workers of their jobs. Our Anti-Terroristic Protective Wall protects us against killer clowns. We are the greatest country in the world, and you are the best of the best: You dedicate your lives to protect our liberty. I am proud of you, soldiers. Right now you are non-enhanced Squad members. Within a few hours, you will be full-grown Squaddies. Do you want to improve yourself for your country?”

”SIR! YES, SIR!”

”Then take your stations.”

You grabbed your Zythronic racks, like the other two. I knew how the different bio-chimcal formulas were pumping in your blood from the Preparatory Phase. They just needed some more encouragement. I concentrated on the Zythronic Power. It began to stream. You and the other two were silent for a few seconds, but then began to moan of pleasure. I increased the intensity. By the help of the helmet, I could sense the Zythronic Power, and I knew, that the moment I awakened the Vril Power, I would be able to sense your feelings, shape your phiscal forms according to my will and share the pleasure you felt. I increased the intensity further. 65%. You were ready for the Power of Vril. 

I awakened my own Vril Power, activated the cannons, and my mind reached deep into your own, and caused your slumbering Vril Power to awake. Awake. Surge. Erupt. Consume you. And the Vril cannons bombarding your responsive muscle tissue. A shimmer of gold and bronze surrounded us, letting the Muscle Beast out. Letting the Power Being out. We were all connected now. I could sense your feeling of strength, of power, of confidence, of abandon, of delight and pleasure…

Each of you reacted to the treatment in your own particular ways.

”So good. Fucking unreal. Like being Compton. Like being McCarver. Look at these! So unbelievable. Like being Agent Venom. Uhnnnn. Like being Bane. Can’t believe it. Uh, uh! Like fucking becoming The Hulk. Oh! Yes! The power! Can’t believe it! Uhnnn.”

”Oh, yes! Pump me full of it! Unit want more! This patriot can take more! Will crush all resistance. Will crush all threats. Demolish. Pulverize. Able to do that, now. The strenght! So much! Never too much! So free. Not responsible for anything. Just obeying orders. Keep it going!”

”Unbelievable… So good! Oh. Much! Couldn’t have dreamed… Nnnnn. Growing with my brothers… Defend. Protect. Uhnnnnn… No squad-fan any longer… No squaddie-pup any longer… Yes! YES! Squaddiefy me! SQUADDIEFY ME! Yes! Can’t believe it! This! And this! And the power! And the strength! And, uhnnnn… So hard. Uncrushable… Don’t hold back, Sergeant! Give me more! Want it… Crave it… MORE! YES! RAW, BRUTAL, NNNNNNNNNN! SQUADDIE POWER!”

I knew how intoxicating it was. At my mere thought, the room bathed in purple, and, at another one,  it was exposed to the relentless empowering influence of a blue shimmer.

After the Preparatory Phase you had all looked like contestants in Men’s Physique, but, now, your well-defined abs turned into six hemispheric cannonballs of steel. Your shoulders became like bowling balls. Your pecs became like basket balls of warm, uncrushable flesh. Your thighs swelled and bulged into pillars able to carry 1500 pounds or more. Your waists were narrower than your thighs. Your calves looked like rugby balls. Your necks grew in power, your jugular vein pulsing under the relentless pressure of the muscle-building and enhancing forces. 90% 92.5% 95%. The machine working at an efficiency of 97.5%.

I knew I had to concentrate on my conception of perfect masculinity, and the helmet would interpret my brainwaves into reality. Inside this chamber, my will was law. I held the all-powerful control of your bodies and minds. The feeling was more than exhilarating. I was able to form my brothers in arms into the fighting machines I wanted them to be, and they wanted to become. Perfect masculinity… Uhnnn. Felt good for the Improver, too. I wasn’t allowed to lose control now. Uhnnn. Despite it was tempting to just let the machine decide… Uhnnn. No, I was in charge. I am The Improver today, and I have to improve you. Yes! Join me, squaddies! Become… Oh! Yes! Become… specimens of perfect masculinity. Specimens of perfect virility. Like… Like Brad. Oh fuck!

The chamber convulsed in intangible flames of gold and bronze, blue and purple, when you all absorbed the highest power level, developed your personal physical optimum and reached perfection.

 

- - -

 

There were a handful of things to do by routine. Blood pressure. Blood samples. Urine samples. You were given some time for shower. You received uniforms in your new sizes, and you were, of course, a sight for gods to dream of.

Absent-mindedly, I was thinking about what the future had in reserve for you. As usual, the first kill had to happen shortly after squaddiefication. We didn’t want any inhibations to return. It would be inefficient for the needs of the country. I remembered my own first mission. We hd to suppress a potential terrorist threat. We stormed the building in the middle of the night. All domestic terrorists were sleeping. One of the women looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen her before. I only dimly remember her chestnut-coloured hair, her green eyes and a dimple in her chin, because she cried out: 

”Joe, it’s me. Why are you doing this?”

It was very strange. How did she know my name? I shot the Terrie bitch. The mission was a disappointment, since no weapons were found in the terrorist base. Soon our new squaddies would be sent on similar missions.

 

- - -

 

I returned home. Brad had been busy cooking. 

”Lot of paperwork, today?”, I asked.

”Yes. And you must have supervised a squaddiefication. I can see, that your traps are slightly larger than before”, he answered.

”They are?”

”I’m not blind, Joe. I can’t wait to lay my hands on those traps of your’s.”

We finished our chicken and rice rather quickly, and decided to eat our apple-and-ginger pie later. We finished in the oversized sofa. Brad gave my traps a massage.

The TV was on. The News reported that The Lord Protector had attended the inauguration of a statue of Berzelius Windrip. Then followed a re-run of the 2031 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. We had seen it before, and switched the TV off.

I reclined in the sofa, laying on my side. Brad’s back rested on my chest, and I let my right arm protect him. It felt strange, but it felt good. Brad was the most perfect man I knew, but I was heavier  than him. At 7 feet and 500 lbs, I was able to lift him and carry him, if I wanted to. I let my lips touch his gold-coloured buzzcut, and whispered:

”I am inspecting the test subject.”

I let my hand massage Brad’s right pec through the fabric of his sweater. He let out a whimpering sound, rose and removed his sweater and his shirt. He turned, and removed my shirt. We returned to the sofa, Brad’s back on my chest. I nibbled on his silky ear, and let my hand return to his right pec. With a playful voice, I whispered:

”As I said, I am inspecting the test subject.”

I returned to my everyday voice:

”Oh. And by the way. Two of todays new squaddies looked strangely similar to you, Brad.”

”They always do, Joe, when you are the Improver of the day. Unless you feel especially protective of them. Two, you say? I though there were three scheduled for today?”

”There was. Do you remember the squaddie-pup we brought to The Patriot two days ago? He’s the one. I felt protective of him. He reminded me of myself before.”

”Let me guess…”

”Don’t say it. Yes, he became massive like myself. He needed to put some flesh on the bones, don’t you think?”

Brad didn’t answer, but he pressed his naked back harder to my chest. It felt good. I knew what Brad liked, so I had kept my leather trousers and boots on, just as he had. I could feel the ravines and ridges of his back towards my powerfully brawny pecs. I let my hand slid to his abs, and continued to whisper:

”I am inspecting the test subject’s abdomen. A hard wall of bricks, nay: steel, is covering his lower torso.”

Brad shivered, and I could hear how his breathing became heavier. I swallowed.

”The test subject is still growing and transforming. He is turning into a monster! A hero-monster full of hard, masculine muscle. Bigger than anything I have seen. Bigger than anything I could imagine!”

I let my hand slide lower, and I could feel his rod throbbing inside the black leather. I fingered and pressed teasingly. He moaned.

I rose, my left knee still on the sofa behind Brad’s back, my right leg standing on the floor, his body between my powerful leather-clad thighs. 

”But there is a squaddie who is heavier than the test-subject.”

I gave his shoulder a friendly clench, before I removed my knee from the sofa, stood with my legs wide apart in front of him, and let him watch my presence. Then, I bent my knees, grabbed Brad, and held him: One arm under his leather-clad bum, another one behind his naked back. I let my lips nuzzle his buzzcut again.

”And that is Sergeant Wilson.”

Playfully, I used him as a barbell three or four times, and then returned to my ordinary way of carrying him. Brad moaned in his deep voice and shuddered in delight, when his behemothic partner carried his 450 lbs frame into our bedroom, the way as usual. I smiled. I loved to be a squaddie.

 

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Hmmmm, so the leader is a bit of a homophobe? ^^;

Gosh this world is not really that great to live in anymore. =( That leader is a dictator and everyone wants to have their old selves be stripped away to become fighting machines. But what & who exactly are they fighting? It seems like they aren't fighting terrorists but more like they are fighting against the regime of the leader. =/

And poor woman. =( killed by the person she asked to spy on the-now-called leader and all.

 

Really great story though. ^^ <3 Though i do still hope that one day oir original 3 squadmates will grow a LOT bigger before suddenly awaken from their mind control, remember who they were before and how theybwere used after the transformation and fight against everyone else. After having grown big enough to be rpg & nuclear bomb proof and all. >;P lol

 

Also: happy halloween. ^^

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I wanted to explore the dark potential of the super-soldier trope. When it is used in stories on this forum (even by me) and in popular culture it is often cheerfully optimistic (with some exceptions).

When The Lord Protector, news media - and the protagonists after brainwashing - use the words 'terrorist' and 'Terrie', they use it as some Americans used the word 'Communist' in the 1950s and as the word 'Fascist' was used in East Germany before 1989. It is stretched out to cover anyone who doesn't agree with The Lord Protestor (or is guessed to disagree with The Lord Protector), regardless of the accused persons real opinions. Another example of devaluation of words, in our time, is, when people use the word 'racist', when they actually mean 'xenophobe'.

In our time and reality, the word 'terrorist' is already on its way to become used in such a way, and it could only become worse in the society of The Lord Protector. I believe, that this story is best appreciated if the reader look for subtle hints and satire. There are hints all over the place. I suspect my British readers will spot them. The Englishmen I have met have been very good at hinting humour.

It was chilling for me to write Joe's recollection of his first mission, but I wanted to make clear, that the protagonists of the former chapters had become irredeemably brainwashed.

Is your conclusion that The Leader himself is a homophobe, or is there any other conclusion to be drawn from my description of his regime? It was interesting for me to imagine what would happen to (segments of) gay sub-culture in a society like The Lord Protector's, taking his ambiguous policy on the matter in account. Squad fandom would be one of the results.

Are you interested in history and literature? I have dropped easter eggs of several types in the chapters of this story. How many do you spot?

 

By time, I will return to write the concluding chapters of my OTHER super-soldier story, which is much more cheerful, at least compared to this one. The heroes of THAT story will cooperate to stop one of their unit who had a troubled childhood, has unsavoury values (South African Boer grandparents)  and has gone insane by the experiments on him. Then they will continue to their real mission: To fight space aliens. Entertaining heroic space opera.

Those who visit this community -- like you and me -- admire strength. We exercise, or wish to exercise, and admire those who achieve good results of their weight training. Most of the time that is just good and fun, but it is good to be aware of, that an appeal to this personality trait by politicians may potentially lead to a scary society. Better to be aware of, that this personality trait exist, have fun with it, and be on our guard if politicians try to manipulate us. We wouldn't like to see a Lord Protector in reality, would we? There has already existed so many of them -- in several forms -- in the past. 

 

Edited by Hialmar
added sentence about xenophobia
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