The System: Series 1: Level 2: Sweat Blood

This BBC podcast is supported by ads outside the UK. Hello, it's Ray Winston. I'm here to tell you about my podcast on BBC Radio 4, history's toughest heroes. I've got stories about the pioneers, the rebels, the outcasts who define tough. And that was the first time anybody ever ran a car up that fast with no tires on. It almost feels like your eyeballs are going to come out of your head.

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We evolved to do things. To hunt, to fight, to protect. This is our genetic. destiny. We did not evolve to talk about our feelings. Emotional intelligence was no help against a viking's axe. Empathy did not protect you from a marauding buffalo. Willingness to be vulnerable did not defeat the Nazis. The world is at a tipping point. Power and wealth are in the hands of an ever-shrinking group of people. And we're going to need to put that right.

The system, level two, sweat blood. Present day. A young man half walks, half runs along a path through a field. Hood up, head down. Avoiding the eyes of every dog walker, farm worker and rambler he passes. The rush of traffic on a nearby motorway guides him east. 50 miles away. A young woman sits in her teenage bedroom. A wall of photos behind her. Her own smiling face repeated over and over. In front of her is a box containing some pieces of paper, a photograph and a gun.

So what the hell do I do now? Last night, my brother went missing. He says there are bad people after him. Bad people planning something terrible. And the only person who can stop it is a man called Bo Leach. The police say Jake's disturbed and violent and needs to be taken off the streets as soon as possible. Is he being framed? Or has he lost it? Maya!

What are you doing in there? I'm reading about endogenous growth theory. Can you come down? I'd like to have a chat. Sure. I made a salad. Okay. It's got pomegranate seeds in it. Yummy! I'll be down in a minute. Your mother's worried about you, Maya. Not him, you'll notice. He can never admit to something as unmanly as a worry. Shouldn't she be worried about Jake?

If we're looking at problem children, the one on the run from the police would be the priority. Look, we've done all we can for Jake, yeah? He's responsible for himself now. We need to focus on you. We need to get... Project Maya, back on track. Project Maya. Like I'm one of his property developments. He's looking for a return on his investment. They can't have two kids go off the rails or it starts to look like it might be their fault.

This is what I think, but I don't say it. Instead, I say... Okay, Daddy. I'll be down in a minute. All right, Princess. Jake left behind a list of names and numbers. code names like shark and coyote so I bought a pay-as-you-go phone a burner phone like a drug dealer like a spy and I worked my way through them But no one answered. And now they've all been cut off. They're still cut off. No matter how many times I call, nothing.

I dropped the burner in the bin. Time for a 360 evaluation of Project Maya over an Ottolenghi salad. Except I forgot to turn it off. Or maybe my subconscious wasn't ready to give up. Hello? Hello? Hello, hello, hello? You wanted to know about the system? Yeah, yes, that's right. Why? I'm making a podcast. About what? How? Hard it is to be a young man in Britain today. Huh. Can you meet me? Meet you? Yeah. It's one thing making phone calls, pretending to be a journalist from the safety of my bed.

But an actual meeting? Is that wise? Yeah, I can meet you. Two years earlier. Jake. I'm sitting in a unit on an industrial estate with five other guys. All in our 20s. I've only known him for a few weeks. You know who mostly gets murdered? Men. Globally, 80% of homicide victims are male. You know who mostly murders them? Men.

96% of murderers are male. People worry about their daughters. They should really be worrying about their sons. We're all staring at this guy on the TV. Early 30s, black t-shirt over tan biceps. Tattoos, sweat back hair, perfect white teeth. Bo Leach, the founder and architect of the system. But they like to keep us weak, broken, empty, so they can sell us stuff to fill our gaping holes.

I peer around at the other guys, Bo Leech we are not. We have these code names like Top Gun call signs but we're not exactly living up to them. Shark is a pale Irish lad who looks like he's barely out of school and works as a hospital cleaner. Buzzard is a Somali dude in Varifocals who delivers takeaways on his bike. Weevil is a nondescript white man who works in a call centre. And Coyote is a chubby South Asian guy who works in one of those fix-your-broken-screen phone shops.

And there's me, Dingo, another below-average white guy in a cardo warehouse gimp. And finally there's Griffin, the leader of our unit. Griffin, like Bo Leach, is ripped and slick. The real life example of what we're aiming for. I don't know why he gets to be a mythical creature. Maybe we all do if we reach our target weights. His real name is Alex. We used to play World of Warcraft together in year 7. Now he earns a fortune in fintech.

So, welcome to level two. Are you ready to sweat some blood? Are you hearing me? And suddenly I'm in my very own training montage. No junk food, no alcohol, no smoking, no PlayStation, no social media, essential screen time only. Definitely no porn. Just a lot of chicken breast. And reps, reps, reps, reps, reps, reps, and more reps.

That's it. Good job. Couldn't have done that 12 weeks ago. Yeah. Sitting in a circle of grey plastic chairs, those same five men, each now holding himself with a little bit more confidence. I just feel so much stronger, not just physically, but in my mind too. This is the other thing we do. Talk. Because it's not just about physical health. We need to be mentally strong too.

And to achieve that, we have to share our dirty secrets. Our shame. Not so that we can wallow in self-pity and victimhood, but so that we can be better men. Apart from Alex, I still don't know any of their real names. But I know the dark places they've been in. The incel forums, the English Defence League, some light Islamism. And this guy, Coyote.

Recovering conspiracy theorist, agrophobe, 27-year-old virgin. And I could see that she was looking at me differently. It was like she actually noticed me for the first time ever. I wasn't just wallpaper. You stopped apologising for your existence. Yeah, and I almost felt like I could ask her out for a drink. Yeah, yeah, yeah, great to have the impulse, but we're not there yet. Oh. Okay, then go. Yeah, so, um...

I'm feeling pretty good, eating well, sleeping well, and I've gained coming up to three kilos, all in muscles. And I've been promoted. Nice. Congratulations.

Kind of. They're putting me on the management training programs. I'm moving out of the warehouse, baby. Nice one. As men, we are always sniffing around for the alpha. Now, you don't have to be the alpha. But you sure as hell do not want to be the underdog. Okay then, now. Let's put those bodies you've been building into use. Alright, let's step up. Dingle, coyote. We stand opposite each other.

It's like the beginning of an MMA fight no one wants to see. And now, go. What? Go, attack him. How? However you want. No, I don't, I don't, I'm not, I don't fight. Doesn't matter, go on, try something. I didn't, I didn't think this was about that. What? Like, I don't know. Fight club. What are you afraid of? I'm not afraid. I just don't want to fight. I don't like fighting. I like watching it in films, but I don't like doing it. It's not optional, I'm afraid. Yeah, come on, man. I don't mind.

You're going to need to know how to fight. You need to know you can. It doesn't mean you have to, but you need to know that you can. Otherwise, you'll be afraid. You won't be able to lose that sense of inferiority. Do you see? You need to be in control of your fear. You need to be in control of yourself. Otherwise you'll be overwhelmed. You don't want to be overwhelmed again, do you? No. Okay, good. Now, go. Come on, man. I reach out a hand towards his shoulder and give him a half-eyed shove.

He shoves me back. I shove him back harder. He matches it. I stumble back a few steps and then something happens. Adrenaline, cortisol, whatever it is, a different part of my brain takes over. I barrel into him. And then we're going at it, rolling around on the floor like boys in a playground. Fights are not about domination. They're about not being humiliated. They're not about achieving glory. They're about avoiding shame.

And this basic instinct is what has led me to be kneeling on this guy's neck. This guy who I like. Who's my friend. But by this point I can barely remember who I am. I just know that I can't be humiliated. And then I'm being prized off. Jesus, man. What are you doing, you psycho? I'm sorry. I need to go. You don't walk away.

You don't walk away from training. If you walk away, you don't just come back in. You pay a penny. Hi, this is Maya. I can't take a call right now, so please leave a message. Hi, it's me. Hope all's going well at Oxford and they're all complete twats. Just calling to say hi, so hi. Give me a ring when you have a chance. Okay, bye. A week goes by.

I've ignored Alex's calls. I'm home, I'm breaking rules, slipping back into my old ways. I'm eating pizzas, I'm drinking cider. I've pulled out my PlayStation, which I was supposed to throw away but didn't from under the bed. It's like slipping on an old pair of tracky bombs, ripped and stained, but so damn comfy. It's Jake. My name's Jake. Who cares?

I'm okay, you know. You didn't hurt me. Did Alex Taylor call me? Who? Griffin. We went to school together. You stopped telling me this stuff. Did he tell you to call me? No. Yes. I knew it. What does it matter? It's not real. We don't really know each other. I've said stuff to you guys, yeah? That I've never said to anyone else. Not allowed anyway. Haven't you?

What do you want? I'm sorry. I'm sorry I called you a psycho. I was a psycho. That's what fighting does to people. Yeah, but if you're resisting something, then it's even more important to push through. reading this from a script. Did he write this down for you? Well, man, out of everyone, I really feel like you're the one I might be friends with in real life, if I had any friends.

He didn't tell me to say that. Go on, man. Just don't chuck it all away. Come back, please. I've got to go, man. Well, just think about it. I mean, what else are you going to do all weekend? I've got big plans. Huge plans. Oh yeah? Let me guess, yeah? A couple of pizzas, some cider, 10 hours of GEA and what? A couple of weeks maybe? Piss off. I knew what your life was like before.

I know you. Yeah, well, at least I want a virgin. It's not for much longer, bro. In your dreams, coyote. You know coyotes eat garbage. Yeah, well, dingo's still babies, innit? Screw you, man. Yeah, screw you too. Hi, this is Maya. I can't take a call right now, so please leave a message. Right then, let's do this. Let's cause some death and destruction.

I wake up 14 hours later on the floor in front of the TV. The PlayStation's still on. A plate covered in fag butts, meat-free stains on my T-shirt and a thumping white lightning headache. Jake! Jack, you there? Jerome. My mum's husband. I can't do stepdad. What do you want? I want to talk to you. Can I come in? Just a second. What do I do about this mess? Clear it up or own my lifestyle choices. Screw it. At least I'm not as out of shape as I was. In t-shirt and pants I open the door.

Forgetting that he's six foot four and does ultra marathons for fun. Hi buddy. Buddy. He's been calling me that since I was five. And it makes me want to be his buddy now about as much as it did back then. Hide your own. Big night? No, I just stayed up all night drinking cider and playing PlayStation. Does that mean I'll go to hell? God doesn't have a problem with PlayStation. Doesn't he? It's the Xbox he can't stand.

And the same crap jokes. You're looking well, buddy. Have you been working out? What do you want? I wanted to talk. Good mum sent you. Look. We've all been worried about you the last few months. What, since you decided to commemorate my dad's death with a lovely big party? Jake, I know you're in pain. No, you don't. I haven't come to argue with you. And why are you here, then?

Do you want to buy some weed? Because I've only got a few splits worth right now. I came here to see if you're okay. Well, I am, so you can go now, yeah? And ask you to leave us alone. What? Maya said she had 15 missed calls from you yesterday. It wasn't that many. And we've been getting calls from an unknown number. On the landline, your mother's mobile, at all hours of the day and night.

We pick up and then they just hang up. Why would I do that? I don't know, buddy. You tell me. But it needs to stop. You're upsetting your mother. If she thinks it's me, why doesn't she call me? Why doesn't she come round herself? She can't fix you. The only one that can fix you is you.

I don't remember that bit in the Bible. Great line though. You should get her tattooed on your nectar home. We've tried to help you time and time again. And you've always thrown it back in our faces. She's not going to have her life ruined again. How am I ruining her life? I don't even see her. She's scared of you turning into your father. What? He had a darkness in him. And we see it in you too. What are you talking about darkness?

You think I've been possessed by the devil? Is that it? You know what I'm talking about. Yeah, look. My dad had mental health problems. Except people didn't have mental health problems back then. They were just mental. He was a violent man. Yeah, to himself! he was violent to himself not just to himself you didn't even know him your father did some bad things yeah but it doesn't mean you have to what is that look in his eyes contempt pity

You need to make the right choices, buddy. I throw myself at him. But all the blind rage, everything that got me kneeling on Coyote's neck gets me nowhere. Jerome is half a foot taller and twice as strong. He twists me round. Overpowers me like I'm still that skinny little five-year-old, but I don't give up. I'm biting, I'm scratching, doing anything I can, but it's futile. He has me on the floor with my hands behind my back. He leans down. You can feel his breath in my ear.

You fought like a bitch boy. Now stay away from my family.

I want to come back in. Please, I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I promise. Okay. Thank you. But you'll have to pay a penalty. Okay. What kind of penalty? That's for your brothers to decide. I'm standing before these five guys again. All these former losers. Every day standing a little taller. We need to know that you trust us. I do trust you. 100%. Good. Then close your eyes. What? Close your eyes. Okay. I do it. A blindfold is tied tightly around my eyes. A bag is shoved over my head.

My hands are cable tied together and then I'm led away into the boot of a car where my feet are tied together. The boot slams shut and the car drives off. And drives. And drives. I really hope I get a six pack out of all this. Then I'm pulled out, dragged into a building, upstairs and into a room. Shoved onto a mattress. The cable ties are cut at my ankles and wrists. The blindfold is pulled off. The door slams shut. It's pitch black. I'm in a tiny room. No windows. No food. Just a mattress.

and a bucket and here i stay for who knows how long hours days but i don't get scared i don't lose it i don't spiral i just wait And I think about all the times I've been let down. Ignored. Disrespected. By strangers, kids from school, teachers, colleagues. But especially by my family. My mum, her husband, my sister. half-sister. I go over them, over and over and over. And I promise myself never to let that happen again. Till finally the door opens.

One two. Again. One two. One two three. Again. Good. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

Present day. I'm in a park. I'm not carrying a rolled up copy of The Times and wearing a red carnation, but I might as well be. I'm looking for a man sitting on a particular bench. Here he is. An Asian guy. Tall, man spreading. Cat pulled down over his eyes, idly looking at his phone. He doesn't even look up when I sit down. I get my phone out too, pretend to be looking at it.

Are you... I can't believe I have to say this. Coyote? Yeah. Is that your real name? No. You really making a podcast? No time for bants. What happened to Jake Dean? He got mixed up in something he shouldn't have. Yeah, I got that, but what? If I told you, then you'd be getting mixed up in it too. And you're too clever for that, aren't you, Maya? That's not my name. Huh? So you're not Maya Jasmine Prince, Jake Dean's sister, 20 years old.

a second year student of politics philosophy and economics at the new college oxford i've actually been suspended Then you better colour code your ring binders and knuckle down if you want to score yourself a job at Goldman Sachs. I want to know what happened to my brother. It's too late for him. So go back to your nice, big, safe, detached house with a double garage and the razor-wide security fence before something bad happens. I turn to face him. I look right into his eyes. Like what?

You don't want to know. I should leave. I should get up and leave. But something stops me. No. Go on. What are you going to do exactly? If you're trying to scare me, paint a picture. Are you going to stab me? Have you got a gun? People are starting to look over. He gets up from the bench. So what are you going to do? Are you going to shoot me in the face? Are you going to beat me up with your bare fist? He starts to walk away. I notice he's limping.

I don't stop. I go after him. What is it? Huh? What are you gonna do exactly? I hold my phone in his face. Take a picture. Oi. What exactly is the... Now people are really staring. I stop following. He ducks off the path, lopes off between some trees and disappears. Well... I found out precisely nothing about Jake, what happened to him or his current location. But I have learned something. The out crazy and the crazy guy thing actually seems to work. Always wanted to try that.

Ten minutes later, the adrenaline has drained away and I'm wondering if I just made a massive mistake. Suddenly, he's in front of me. I told you to leave me alone. I'm not going to hurt you. No, yeah, you followed me. Look, please, don't. Start shouting again. And for some reason, I don't. The limp. His eyes. The look in his eyes. Fear. Okay? I am going to talk to you.

So it looks like I'm threatening you. Because that's what they told me to do and they will be watching. Who? They're everywhere. Someone would have followed you the second night you left your house. Who? It could be anyone, any young man you see. I look around. There are young men everywhere.

As I scan the street, they all seem to be looking at me. They're trying to see if you can lead them to Jake, so you need to stay in the house. What did he do? I don't know. I don't know anything. I've just been told to scare you away, so look. Scared. I shouldn't be saying any of this to you. Okay, okay, okay. I liked your brother. He was a really good guy and said he wasn't. Please, you must be able to tell me something about what happened.

Do you know where I can find Bo Leach? No. What about Judgment Day? I can't tell you anything. Why? Who do you think did this to my leg? There must be something. Try Grace. She might know something. Grace? His fiancée. fiance, Jake was engaged. And if anyone finds out, Jake told you, not me, okay? I have to go. Wait, Grace, Grace what? Grace what? I don't know her surname. She worked with him. Look scared again, please.

And now there seem to be strange young men everywhere. Two dudes smoking a doorway. A guy in a high-vis emptying a bin. And then, across the street, another man. Familiar. Pale skin. Dead eyes. I stop walking. And he stops too. And he's just... staring right at me. Then I remember. It's the guy I saw breaking down the door of Jake's flat.

I turn and start to move. He moves too, staring back at me, not even trying to hide it, looking right into my eyes. I keep walking, and so does he. I duck into a shop. When I come out, he's on the other side of the street, sitting at a bus stop. I zigzag, half running through the streets, and all the time, he just keeps following me, 20, 30 metres away. I go into a cafe.

Order a coffee. He doesn't come in, but sits over the road on a bench. Every time I glance over, his eyes meet mine. Cold and level. I get out my phone. Order an Uber. When it pulls up outside, I run across the pavement and jump in. Can you just go please now? And he just sits on the bench, watching. As the car pulls away, I wind down the window and give him the finger. He doesn't move a muscle, just keeps on staring at me with the faintest hint of a smile.

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And that was the first time that anybody ever ran a car up that fast with no tires on. It almost feels like your eyeballs are going to come out of your head. Tough enough for you? Subscribe to history's toughest heroes wherever. you get your podcast. When it's time to scale your business, it's time for Shopify. Get everything you need to grow the way you want. Like, all the way.

Stack more sales with the best converting checkout on the planet. Track your cha-chings from every channel right in one spot. And turn real-time reporting into big-time opportunities. Take your business to a whole new level. Switch to Shopify. Start your free trial today.