Pandora’s Box - Gift

Meanwhile, eight blocks away at a local GoodLife fitness facility, Brody begins his nightly routine. Sitting in his car with his nose deep, thumbing through a slightly tattered fitness journal he’s kept since he was sixteen.

With the dome light beaming a spotlight from overhead, he was flipping through pages until he found the one muscle group he was going to blast, and today he settled on his legs.

A retroactive thought crossed his mind with a phrase that still stands the test of time; when people would say, “I hate doing legs!” and he’d instantly respond as he always had “how could anyone hate leg day? it gives you such an adrenaline rush across your entire body.” It may be tough but every muscle in your physique gets its share of the workload.

Upon entering the doors, he saw Matt the facility manager giving him a welcoming smile and wave, almost reminiscent of Forest Gump waving to Captain Dan. Brody waved back then pulled his membership key card, to run it through the scanner. Stepped through the turnstile and proceeded down the open path towards the immediate left, passing the jungle of cardio equipment to his right.

As he ventured deeper into the heart of the gym, he recognized a few familiar faces hanging around the exercise machines and a handful he had seen only a few times before. Brody acknowledged them by giving them a head nod greeting. And to those he’s occasionally shared conversations with during his workouts, he saluted to them with a wave.

Rounding the corner to the main hall near the change rooms, he approached a partition that split the men from the women. Men’s was on the left and the women’s changing area was further down the hall and to the right.

The narrow entrance curled around a blind bend to a much larger lounging area. He entered the big space and noticed a band of gentlemen huddled close together, like a team ready to charge the pitch at a high school football game. These guys tried their best to look ambiguous, unfortunately doing a piss poor job. Brody felt an amusing smirk drift from his lips but his attempt to hide it paled in comparison to the men injecting themselves with what he presumed to be some kind of anabolic.

He tried his best not to make eye contact but failed in his effort. His glance had caught the attention of one of the juicers on the opposite end of the small crowd. Brody purposely wanted to avoid any further developments or possible incidents with them, so he intentionally walked past an extra set of lockers, two rows further than his normal location.

Brody whispered, “please don’t make them start anything stupid,” praying that trouble wasn’t going to find him tonight. An attitude he fostered through the years spending so much energy not to get involved or be engaged in an altercation.

And for a brief moment, all was quiet. He sat straddling the wooden bench before spinning around to face the adjacent set of lockers. However, the silence was short-lived. He heard some chatter along one aisle, it soon brewed into a bit of a rumbling ruckus.

And to his dismay that brief moment of silence was ruined along with the idea of not getting involved. It came and went as quickly as a fly’s discovery to a freshly squeezed turd.

Brody carried on as per usual ignoring his surroundings. He unzipped the athletic bag holding some of his belongings. Pulling them out, he started to store them into locker 341. When he finished placing the third piece into the locker, he sensed a small group accumulating near the end of each row.

He pretended not to notice the gang of brooding muscles staring menacingly at him from down both ends of the aisle. Brody kept his head low continuing to extract more items from his bag, but this time they made sure he’d notice.

The two separate packs of testosterone-jacked mates niftily and vigorously walked towards him. Brody laughed inwardly thinking how they roughly resembled the two rival gangs from Westside Story, meeting in the alley for a fight.

Unfortunately, this current scene went slightly different and without finger snapping. Instead, this gang preferred banging on the lockers, punching them hard enough to bend the metal leaving dents in a few, trying their best to strike fear in him.

Brody went on about his business, standing his ground, but anticipating what he already guessed would happen.

“Hey Asshole?” squawked one guy wearing an overly stretched white tank top. His muscles bulged from every part of the anatomy that was far from typical. His neck was thick, made thicker from the pulsing veins driving blood through them, like pistons of a finely tuned muscle car.

He defied what you’d consider normal in size; his shoulders extended beyond his wingspan and his arms hung pretty low, like a gorilla. He suddenly swung one of those sledgehammer-like arms and struck the locker closest to Brody with a tremendous blow, collapsing the door's smooth surface.

“You’ve got a problem?” he questioned Brody, searching to antagonize him further by speaking with an aggressive tone. Brody ignored his physical and verbal advance...”Hey dickhead, I’m talking to you!”

Smirking at his buddies as they chuckled lively “You deaf” raising his voice loudly. While in the background other gym members were heard scattering about, racing to gather their things in haste.

One man just grabbed what he could right out of the shower and bolted for the exit wearing only a towel around his waist. As other patrons thought it would be best to just leave their stuff behind.

Now Brody wasn’t necessarily big in stature by any stretch, but he was in perfect health, relatively lean, with rippling muscle, and quite wiry for someone of his height. He stood five feet ten inches with an unusually long reach; when last he measured was a whopping eighty-four. His leg mass equaled to the torso it held. Brody was a strong young man with Adonis-type looks and strength like Atlas.

When the scurrying of GoodLife members ceased, the gent in the white tight tank got his juice buddies to triangulate their stance, to take on Brody.

Brody took this moment to speak ...” Look guys, ... he said calmly, “I’m not looking for a fight” he continued ... “And I’m not interested in what you may have been doing; it’s none of my business and I won’t mention it to anyone...deal?”

He concluded with his right hand extended, offering a sign of peace and understanding. His offer was denied, so Brody returned to his bag and pulled out the last item. As he recoiled to a vertical position he turned to load the shirt into his locker and found himself standing face to face with the loudmouth in the white tank top.

They stood close enough that their noses almost touched. Rocking back and forth the guy tried to intimidate Brody by staring him down like a boxer in a title fight, only there was no ring, no announcers, no adoring fans crowding the arena seats, and no Don king to promote this one.

“You should’ve minded your business Bitch!” pointing a finger in Brody’s face as two of his henchmen unexpectedly grabbed Brody’s arms trying to spread and stretch him out. Brody stood motionless, they tugged and tugged at his wrists with everything they had. Brody didn’t budge.

“Come on guys” yelled the guy in the wife-beater shirt. “we’re doing the best we can Johnny”... replied his exhausted anabolic buddy.

Snarling more viciously, Johnny angrily called upon his other two friends and ordered them to join the fray “Don’t just stand there, get him!” As soon as they became united with the first two stooges trying to bring Brody down, they too soon realized that Brody was truly a freak of nature.

“Johnny!!” cried one of the thugs straining to maintain his balance as he was bent in the shape of an inverted C trying to get Brody to move... “Something ain’t right man” strenuously shaking as he spoke.

At that moment Johnny frustratedly leaped into the air and came down hard with a punch across Brody’s face, the shattering sound of broken bones snapping like twigs filled the room, but the screams of agony weren’t from the expected source.

Johnny yelped in pain like a hurt puppy; two of his companions rushed to his aid, but Johnny avoided their immediate attention. Pushing between them, he dumbly wanted to get at Brody again with everything he had. He angrily charged towards him with complete desperation and uncontrolled brute force.

Brody simultaneously rolled his wrists and swung his arms back, breaking free from the grip of Johnny’s other friends. He anticipated Johnny’s crazed lunge, collected his momentum over his shoulder, and flung him so powerfully into the set of lockers across from them.

The impact and force of Johnny’s body crashing into the first row of lockers was so devastating that it managed to uproot three more sections directly behind them. The powerful reaction of Brody’s motion sent Johnny and the metal storage units thirty feet from his last position.

Johnny’s friends reared up in shock, their facial expressions were occupied with a look of astonishment, soon followed by alarm, buzzing from what they just witnessed.

Glancing back at Brody, they hesitated for a second, thinking twice before charging towards the heap of metal and flesh to assist their pal, who now was lying dazed and confused from the ordeal.

“What the fuck just happened? ... Johnny asked, searching for clarity, wondering how he arrived thirty feet from where he last stood; he was completely confused.

Brody walked towards the group to assess the extent of Johnny’s condition. The guys immediately backed off, now suddenly humbled by the incident or mostly afraid they too would end up in a lump like their friend.

Brody gave him a once over, checking Johnny for any injuries that he may have sustained from the crash: judging by the way he appeared, he may have suffered a fractured right arm above the elbow and a hand to match; the same hand Johnny used in an attempt to knock Brody’s lights out, despite those damages he seemed alright.

Johnny staggered a bit trying to climb out from the pile with the help of his companions. He turned to stare at Brody, yelling, “what the fuck are you on man?” while his friends carried his semi-limp body away from the scene!

Brody had no reason to respond, instead, he gently put his lock on his locker, locked his belongings, and headed towards the exit, to the gym floor.

As he passed through the exit/entrance of the changeroom a group of members gathered just outside wondering if it was safe to go back inside to collect the rest of their things.

Brody saw Matt and explained the dilemma and told him that he’d help clean up after he was done his workout.

“I’m sorry bud” Matt apologized to Brody for their behaviour, “but I’m glad you handled it better than most” he smiled.

“No problem” responded Brody with a wave, as both of them went on their night.