Muscle Congregation and Power Plugs

The same night, a congregation took place in the remains of an abandoned factory.

A massive man packed with bulging muscles was there. He was wearing a tight pink singlet, his shoulder-length hair pulled into a tiny plait.

The most jaw-dropping about him was not his unusual sartorial choices, but the truck that he was lifting over his head. Arms raised, he did a squat, then got back up again.

Each ragged breath that left his lips was a great rush of air. The cement beneath his feet was beginning to sink from the weight.

The man kept going until he reached a hundred squats. He let out a roar and threw the truck through the air. It landed dozens of meters away, where it flipped multiple times before coming to a stop.

"Goddamnit! It's useless!" the man cried, punching the wall next to him with one large fist.

He created a gaping hole in the plaster.