Monday afternoon inside the South Side Iron Gym, the air was thick with sweat and iron. Not a bad smell — it was the smell of real work.
"Last set, last three reps, Kevin! Quit sounding like a goddamn girl!" Shane barked beside the squat rack.
Kevin's face was beet-red, neck veins bulging, but he dropped under the bar and exploded back up under Shane's glare.
"Oh god, shit!"
He racked the weight and collapsed onto the floor, gasping.
Shane walked over, tossed him a water bottle, and gave him a quick once-over. A month of training had paid off. Kevin still carried some fat, but he was tighter, the bloat was gone, and his arms showed real lines even without a pump.
"Ten-minute break."
Shane grabbed his own bottle, took a long pull, then picked up his phone.
The second Facebook opened, notifications nearly crashed his old iPhone 4. He tapped the mentions and landed on the post calling him out for an offline showdown.
He scrolled the comments. Exactly what he expected — the debate was boiling.
[Windy City Webster]: @Shane-G finally shut the fuck up? Jack scared the piss out of you? Juice monkey online, limp-dick offline!
[Muscle Worshipper]: Told you this guy was all flash. Jack's gonna wreck him!
Mixed in were a few different voices.
[kd Sees the World]: Bought Shane's beginner course and followed it for two weeks. The mind-muscle connection is way clearer than half the hacks at the gym. Don't know if he's natural, but the program's got real value.
[Sweetheart Angel]: You salty dogs crying about what? Shane's daddy could crush you with those muscles!
Likes were pushing 4,000.
"Heat's about right," Shane thought. "No rush. Let it cook another day or two. The fall will be louder."
He closed Facebook and opened YouTube.
He'd dropped the second big video that morning — real teaching content plus a Kevin teaser.
"Kevin, come check yourself out."
Kevin perked up instantly and scrambled over on shaky legs.
He shoved his head in front of the screen. "Hurry up, let me see if I look like Schwarzenegger on camera!"
Shane hit play.
The video opened with Shane's signature explosive roar.
After the intro came new training cues and methods — this one was all teaching.
Near the end the music lightened up.
Shane's voiceover kicked in: "My first official client, Kevin. Before he started training here, his gut could hold two bags of flour."
The screen cut to a brutal close-up of pre-training Kevin — heavy belly, scale spinning wildly, awkward movements during basic drills. That gut jiggled like waves with every breath and turn. Brutal.
"Shit!" Kevin outside the phone slapped both hands over his face.
Quick cuts followed: Kevin dying on the treadmill, clumsy burpees, Shane yelling at him to keep his head up — ending with Kevin stepping back on the scale.
No exact numbers, just a shocked close-up of Kevin's face, then black screen.
Big text flashed: "How do you turn fat into armor? Follow me. Watch his evolution."
Video ended.
Kevin stared at the black screen for a few seconds. "Bro, that video's actually dope. Looks like a movie trailer, music slaps. But—"
He pointed at the screen, voice full of outrage.
"Why the hell did you give my gut so many close-ups? And in 4K? You trying to execute me publicly? Feels like the whole goddamn Chicago's staring at my stomach!"
"Whole world," Shane corrected, clapping him on the shoulder.
"That's called contrast, Kevin. The fatter they think you were, the more badass they'll think you are when you lean out."
"Fine," Kevin grumbled, but he couldn't stop himself from checking the comments anyway.
The video had only been up a few hours and already had plenty.
"This fatass is obviously an actor. That screaming during squats is way too over the top. Nobody sounds like they're getting murdered doing leg day."
"This ain't the South Side — feels like a reality show. No way he shot this solo."
"Wait— this fat guy looks familiar. Isn't that the owner of the Alibi Room near my place? The big dude who always fucks up the tab?"
Kevin's eyes went wide at the last one. "Fuck, somebody recognized me! Shane!"
Shane just smirked and pocketed the phone.
While Shane was training, Lip was leading Ian through a few blocks.
"Hurry up, Ian, stop dragging your feet."
"Where the hell are we going, Lip?"
Ian trailed behind with his backpack.
"Aren't we just going home? You said you had code to run."
"Special circumstances today."
Lip stopped, turned, and grabbed Ian by both shoulders. He looked him dead in the eye.
"Ian, I just think maybe you haven't met the right person yet. Or… you haven't tried the good stuff."
"Lips—" Ian started, but Lip cut him off.
"Shut up and follow me. I set something up with Mrs. Brenda. Brought her friend too. Two absolute dimes, Ian. Real ones. They like young guys. Guys like us — full of energy."
Lip had rushed this one, but he was the big brother. This was his way of "fixing" Ian.
They reached the familiar house.
Lip knocked.
The door opened fast. Brenda stood there in a silk robe, smiling the second she saw Lip. "Oh, my little lion, you're here."
Her eyes slid to Ian beside him and lit up.
"This the brother you told me about? Jesus, Lip, you weren't lying. He's… delicious."
From inside came another woman's laugh. Jasmine appeared, also in something skimpy, wine glass in hand, eyeing Ian like prime steak.
"Come on in, boys."
The door shut, sealing them off from the outside world.
"Don't be shy, kiddo."
Jasmine walked straight up to Ian and cupped his cheek.
"Heard you've got no experience? Don't worry, I'll teach you—"
She untied her robe with one hand. Silk slid off.
Across the room, Brenda was already tangled up with Lip.
Ian froze, completely lost.
He looked at the two extremely tempting bodies in front of him and felt nothing but panic.
"Lip—" he whispered, pleading.
Lip was busy with Brenda but shot him a look. "Go for it, don't just stand there!"
Right then—
BANG! BANG!! BANG!!!
Furious pounding on the door.
All four inside froze.
"Jasmine, open up! I know you're in there!" A rough male voice from outside, followed by heavy kicks.
Jasmine went white. "Oh God, it's my husband! How the hell did he find me?"
"You said he was out of town!" Brenda yanked her robe back on, panicking.
"He must've come back early or somebody tipped him off. Shit, he's gonna kill me!"
"Lip?" Ian looked terrified.
Lip's brain short-circuited.
This was a last-minute setup. Somebody must've spotted them.
"Hide! Quick!" Brenda pointed upstairs. "My bedroom, get in the closet! Don't make a sound!"
Lip grabbed his pants off the floor, yanked Ian by the arm, and bolted up the stairs.
They'd barely hit the landing when the front door exploded inward.
A big guy stormed in, wrench in hand, eyes bloodshot, scanning the living room. "Where are they? Those two pretty boys? I saw them walk in!"
He started smashing shit, roaring.
Ian and Lip hid in the closet, hearts hammering at the sound of destruction and screaming downstairs.
"What do we do? What the fuck do we do?" Ian whispered, sweating.
Lip peered through the crack. The guy was heading up the stairs, wrench raised.
"Fuck, we left the door open. He's blocking the way."
Lip glanced around the bedroom, spotted the window.
"Window!" he hissed. "We jump or he finds us and beats us to death!"
The guy stepped into the room, eyes locking on the only hiding spot — the closet.
"Come out, little rats."
He smirked, raising the wrench, stepping closer.
"Run!"
Lip shoved the closet door open, slammed into the guy, and dragged Ian toward the window.
Second floor.
Glass shattered. Two bodies tumbled out onto the lawn.
They scrambled up, ignoring the pain. Lip — in nothing but boxers, pants in hand — limped hard toward the end of the block.
"I'll find you! I'll fucking kill you! I'll kill your whole family!!"
The husband's roar chased them from the broken window.