Bodybuilder Diesel Martinez The New World of SwapTech chapter 4 by deleted_user

Diesel Martinez loved three things: lifting heavy, tanning hard, and looking good doing both.

He was up at 5:00 a.m. sharp every day, mixing a protein shake in the blender before his feet even hit the floor. He drank it shirtless, flexing abs in the mirror, watching the veins in his biceps pop while the sunrise broke through the window of his Venice Beach apartment. It was all part of the morning routine: gym, breakfast, beach. Repeat.

Diesel was 26, proudly single, and so shredded he looked like a Greek statue melted slightly under a heat lamp. His tan was flawless, his chest waxed smooth, and his smile bleached to Hollywood levels of glare. He wore tank tops year-round, usually paired with tight shorts that barely met gym dress code, and never skipped leg day—not because he believed in balance, but because girls noticed glutes too.

His social media was pure thirst trap. Selfies at Gold's Gym. Boomerangs of protein pancakes. TikToks of his pump-up routines. Every post tagged with #DieselLife, and always flooded with flame emojis.

Diesel lived for the likes.

His best friends were his gym crew: Big Tone, Lenny V, and Rico Suavé (real name Eric, but no one called him that). Together they trained, posed, competed, and hit the boardwalk looking for girls. Girls were a constant.

"You see those twins last night?" Lenny V asked, curling 40s.

Diesel smirked. "I didn't just see 'em."

He winked. Everyone high-fived. Bro code maintained.

He wasn't deep. Didn't read books. Didn't vote. Thought Swaptyx was just some nerdy app for virtual makeup or whatever. He had no idea what the company even did, despite being barely twelve miles from their Palo Alto HQ. He didn't care.

"As long as they don’t mess with the gym, I’m good," he said once, laughing, when some nerd in a bar tried explaining AI consciousness to him. "Miss me with that Matrix sh*t."

On the morning of May 12, Diesel was doing incline bench presses, shirt off, earbuds in, Drake blasting. His pump was peaking. Chest on swole. He racked the bar, sat up, and admired the vascular roadmap across his pecs. His buddy Rico tossed him a towel.

"Bro, you look like a damn action figure."

"I am the action," Diesel grinned.

They planned to hit the beach after. Get smoothies, maybe flirt with tourists. Diesel had on his shortest shorts and his most obnoxious sunglasses. He was invincible.

At exactly 9:07 a.m., just as he reached for his shake—

It hit.

A pulse, like the air sucking inward.

His hand trembled. His chest seized. And then—