Stas - Fitcasting -

"Five minutes to live broadcast," the automated system announced.

The warehouse floor was cold, but Stas didn’t mind. He preferred the bite of the concrete through his thin athletic socks. It kept him grounded. At 5:30 AM, the massive space in Brooklyn’s Navy Yard was silent save for the hum of the industrial heater and the heavy, rhythmic thud of his own heart. Stas - FitCasting

"Don't you dare stop," Stas growled, his voice raw. He wasn't talking to the users anymore. He was talking to his own body. "Five minutes to live broadcast," the automated system

He reached up. The bands were now incredibly stiff, requiring his entire body weight to move. He threw himself into the first pull. His muscles locked for a fraction of a second before the resistance gave way. It kept him grounded

His vision blurred at the edges, the orange glow of the virtual lava field blending with the dark spots dancing in his eyes. His breath was a violent, rhythmic tearing sound in his ears. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

Stas was a trainer by trade, but his life had been consumed by a new phenomenon: FitCasting.