Fiction by JockBoy
I never thought I would answer a letter like that. The envelope was plain, sealed with a black insignia. I turned it in my hands, feeling its weight pressing down, tightening an unseen band around my chest. Fear or craving—I couldn’t tell which—compelled me to open it.
The Discipline Training Institute was no gym, no boot camp. It was a crucible—a furnace—to strip men bare, to burn off their pride and forge obedience in scarred muscle and shattered will. Its creed was clear: absolute obedience. Relentless effort. No excuses.
At first, I couldn’t see why Collins—the friend who knew my every laugh and bruise—had pushed so hard. But now I saw: he had walked its fires. The letter he sent, a desperate lifeline, never reached me. Instead, his will found me here.
Continue reading Discipline Training Institute – Part 3: The Transformation
