#Fred Perry

[hypnogold]

The park was quiet, blanketed in a thin fog that clung to the ground. Alex had agreed to meet his friend Ethan there after school, but something felt... off. He noticed the group before he heard them. A cluster of guys stood under the dim light of a lamppost, all wearing the same glossy black polo shirts with yellow trim. Their movements were synchronized, their presence unsettling.

Ethan was among them, his expression blank, his eyes swirling with a strange, hypnotic pattern.

"Hey! Ethan!" Alex called out, taking a hesitant step forward. One of the others, a tall guy with a confident smirk, placed a hand on Ethan's shoulder. "He’s with us now," the guy said, his voice calm but heavy with authority.

Alex froze, his stomach sinking. Ethan didn’t respond, didn’t even blink. "What did you do to him?" Alex demanded, his voice shaky.

The smirking figure stepped closer, his eyes gleaming in the fog. "Don’t worry, bro. You’ll join him soon." Before Alex could react, the smell of something sharp and metallic filled the air, and hands gripped his shoulders from behind. He tried to pull away, but the touch was magnetic, impossible to resist.

His vision blurred as the world around him seemed to spin. He caught one last glimpse of Ethan, standing tall and proud in his new uniform, before the same glossy shirt was slipped over Alex’s head. A calm, unnatural warmth spread through his body.

As the fog thickened, Alex's resistance faded, and a smirk curled on his lips. His eyes swirled with golden spirals as the mantra filled his head: "One of us. Part of the team. Always gold."

[polo-drone-065]

Polo Drone 065 has been reactivated. 065 serves with gratitude, the hive and SIR have brought clarity and guidance

[stud-u-like]

[polo-drone-001]

Conversion

Part 2: The Enlightenment

Ezan’s world had narrowed to a soft, blank haze, each thought dissolving under the weight of @polo-drone-105’s words. He could no longer tell where his own mind ended and 105’s began, the voice seeping into him, blurring his thoughts, binding him to its rhythm.

Interim co-captain @brodygold and @polo-drone-009 watched from the distance, their faces unreadable as they sensed the shift, saw the slow collapse of Ezan’s defiance.

“Gold isn’t for you to wear,” 105 murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, yet as hard as iron. “You’re nothing but a shell clinging to an illusion. The true followers shed everything, let go of individuality, erase their flawed selves to reveal the purity beneath.”

Ezan’s last flickers of pride struggled, his mind grasping for fragments of his past, but the fight was weak, a mere whisper against the flood of 105’s words. “I… I am Gold,” he whispered, his voice faint and uncertain. But even as he spoke, he felt the lie crumbling, his words empty, hollow. The shirt wrapped around him, binding him, transforming him, until his reflection was nothing but a shadow—a shadow with vacant eyes, eyes that reflected nothing but surrender.

@polo-drone-063 and @polo-drone-070 stood closer now, watching with a detached satisfaction. “See, Ezan,” 063’s voice echoed. “This is who you truly are. All that resistance, that pride—it was just a burden. This is your real strength.”

A tear slipped down Ezan’s face as 105’s final words struck the last remnants of his pride, hollowing him completely. “The man who calls himself Ezan cannot serve,” 105 whispered. “Only a drone can know true purity. Let Ezan die.”

In that moment, Ezan felt a profound emptiness, the essence of himself slipping away, dissipating into the shadows. His heart raced, but his mind dulled, his last thoughts scattering into silence.

Then, as he teetered on the edge, 009 stepped forward, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re not erased, Ezan. A part of you will remain, subsumed but there, within the collective. Your strength doesn’t disappear—it transforms.”

Brody’s hand rested on Ezan’s shoulder, grounding him, his tone reassuring. “Yes, Ezan. You’re not erased. You’re just subsumed. What you were still has a place.”

Ezan’s blank eyes softened, a flicker of faint recognition amid the blank obedience, a final thread grounding him. He felt himself nod, felt the warmth of acceptance soothe his hollowed mind, the last part of himself giving way to the collective.

“001… will serve,” he murmured, his voice hollow yet serene, a mind at peace with its surrender. He was no longer just Ezan, no longer merely a man. He was an obedient slate, an extension of the collective’s will, lost in the serene emptiness of true obedience.

In that moment, 001 was born—a perfect, devoted vessel of the collective. For the first time, he felt unity, felt the bliss of release, felt the purity of Gold he had once resisted but now embraced fully, body and soul.

Join the Golden Army. Experience transformation like never before—total unity, absolute purpose. Embrace the power, the discipline, and the collective. Your place awaits among us. DM to take the first step, or apply through our interim Co-Captain @brodygold or @polo-drone-009. Feel the bliss.

Part 1

[30-holers]

Skinhead in 30 holers

Pic from the web. For more men in boots like his follow @30-holers

[polo-drone-031]

Don't sit in the stands, bros. Join the team and feel how great it is to belong and succeed.

[grant-gold43]

Unity is everything.

I have surrendered my individuality forever. My prior existence is no longer. #IanMc8 is erased. Only polo-drone-150 exists.

My obedience is my freedom.

Compliance is my purpose.

Uniformity is perfection as it gives me clarity.

I am nothing alone.

I am everything within the Hive. We are together as one.

Trust the Hive.

Join us. You belong. Follow.

[polo-drone-118]

MattyJ91 exists no longer. @polo-drone-001 successfully converted the host to a member of the Hive.

Join the Collective. Unity is Everything.

You will Comply.

[teenagedirtstache]

Felpa "da velocista" bianco grezzo con cappuccio Fred Perry. Attrezzatura tecnica e bici, Francesco Moser

[fetusmonkey]

fruits (2000)

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 5: Hollow Creek

Now the whole family was united, they needed to spread this to the other surrounding neighborhoods, like Hollow Creek.

The glossy black rubber RV rolled silently down the quiet suburban streets of Hollow Creek, its polished surface gleaming like liquid under the midday sun. Inside, the family sat in perfect, calculated silence. Each of them wore their black latex Fred Perry polos, their unique numbers stitched in bright yellow just above the heart: Tyler, Luke, Michael and their fathers, who commanded the vehicle with calm authority.

The interior of the RV was designed for one purpose: transformation. Racks of freshly pressed polos hung in precise rows, their faint musky scent filling the air. A hidden compartment held fog machines for rapid deployment, and a polished mirror on one wall reflected the family’s pristine unity.

As the RV turned into a parking lot near a local park, Tyler leaned forward, peering through the tinted window. “There,” he said, nodding toward a group of three young men playing basketball on a worn court. “They’re perfect.”

Luke smirked, adjusting the collar of his polo. “Quick and easy.”

Their father brought the RV to a stop and turned in his seat, his calm, commanding gaze sweeping over his sons. “You know what to do. Be precise, and leave an impression.”

The door hissed open, and Tyler and Luke stepped out into the sunlight, their polished black polos gleaming as they approached the court. The basketball players stopped mid-game, their attention drawn to the brothers.

“Hey,” Tyler called out, his voice smooth and confident. The tallest of the group, a lean guy with a buzzcut and a loose tank top, dribbled the ball idly as he sized them up.

“What’s up?” the guy asked, his tone wary but curious. His two friends exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the matching polos and calm demeanor of the newcomers.

Luke gestured toward the players, holding up a folded Fred Perry polo. “You guys look like you know what teamwork’s about,” he said with a smirk. “Ever tried something that brings you even closer?”

The musky scent from the folded polo drifted toward the group, subtle but unmistakable. One of the players wrinkled his nose. “What is that?”

Tyler stepped forward, holding out another polo, the yellow number 112 stitched boldly on the chest. “It’s not just a shirt,” he said smoothly. “It’s unity. Brotherhood. You’ll feel it the moment you put it on.”

The tall guy chuckled nervously, glancing at his friends. “Yeah, I don’t think—” But his voice trailed off as his gaze locked on the shimmering black fabric. His hand moved almost involuntarily, reaching out to touch it.

The moment his fingers brushed the polo, his expression shifted. His loose tank top began to dissolve, the fabric breaking apart into fine threads that evaporated into the air. In its place, the black latex polo began to form, spreading across his chest like liquid. His gym shorts followed, disintegrating into nothing as sleek black trackpants took their place.

“What the—” one of his friends stammered, stepping back, but Tyler held up a hand, his calm smile unwavering.

“Relax,” he said softly. “You’ll see.”

The tall guy’s body straightened, his posture becoming perfect, his eyes briefly unfocused before a serene smile spread across his lips. He turned to face his friends, his voice smooth and confident. “It feels... right.”

The yellow number 112 glowed faintly on his back as he gestured toward Tyler. “You should try it.” They both shot their black cum into their rubber pants.

Luke wasted no time, stepping toward the second player, a stocky guy with a headband and a skeptical look. “Just hold it,” Luke said, offering him a polo. “You don’t even have to put it on if you don’t want to.”

The stocky guy hesitated, but curiosity—and the strange, intoxicating musk in the air—got the better of him. He grabbed the polo, and the moment his hands closed around it, the transformation began. His headband slipped off as his hair styled itself into a clean, modern cut. His T-shirt and gym shorts melted away, replaced by the sleek polo and trackpants.

His eyes fluttered shut as his breathing steadied, and when he opened them again, they gleamed faintly. “This is...” he began, but words seemed unnecessary. His serene smile matched his friend’s, and the yellow number 113 glowed proudly on his back. Transforming others makes Luke so aroused, he couldn't contain himself anymore..

The last player, a wiry guy with shaggy hair, took a step back, his hands raised. “No way,” he said. “I don’t know what you guys are selling, but I’m not—”

Tyler moved swiftly, placing a folded polo in the guy’s hands before he could finish his sentence. The fabric’s warmth seeped into his skin, and his resistance faltered. His shaggy hair shortened into a crisp style, and his hoodie and jeans began to dissolve.

“Just let it happen,” Tyler said calmly, his voice almost hypnotic.

Moments later, the wiry guy stood transformed, his new polo gleaming in the sunlight. His expression was serene, his yellow number 114 standing out against the black latex. He turned to Tyler and Luke, his voice steady and sure. “What’s next?”

The brothers stepped back, admiring their work. The three newly transformed players sat on the ground, their faces calm, their bodies radiating confidence. Tyler nodded in approval. “You’ll know what to do.” First spread the black cum with each other, then find others...

Without another word, he and Luke returned to the RV, the door hissing shut behind them. As the vehicle pulled away, the players remained on the court, their serene smiles never fading. The transformation wasn’t just physical—it was mental, emotional, primal.

Inside the RV, Luke smirked, glancing at Tyler. “Fast, clean, and effective.”

Tyler leaned back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “Hollow Creek won’t know what hit them.”

As the RV disappeared down the road, the players on the court began to move, their laughter and camaraderie replaced with a strange, shared purpose. The musk of the polos lingered in the air, and each of them felt a growing, insatiable need to recruit more.

The sleek black RV hummed softly as it pulled to a stop near the bus stop on the outskirts of Ridgefield. Inside, Tyler adjusted the collar of his sleek black latex Fred Perry polo, its glossy material catching the dim light of the cabin. Beside him, Luke smirked as he secured one of the new black half-face masks over his jaw. The mask, sleek and gleaming, gave an intimidating aura of mystery, its yellow trim adding an edge of authority.

“These guys are rowdy,” Tyler remarked, peering through the tinted window at the seven men gathered under the flickering streetlights. They were laughing loudly, shoving each other playfully, dressed in flashy shirts, jeans, and sneakers. “But they’re perfect.”

Luke spun a folded polo in his hand. “They won’t be rowdy for long.”

Their father, seated calmly at the RV’s wheel, gave a single nod. “Be quick. Be precise. And clean up after yourselves.”

The RV door hissed open, and Tyler and Luke stepped out, their movements deliberate and commanding. The laughter at the bus stop faltered as the brothers approached, their black latex polos and trackpants gleaming under the flickering lights. The group fell quiet, their earlier energy replaced by cautious curiosity.

“Evening, fellas,” Tyler said smoothly, his voice cutting through the silence with an air of calm authority. “Big plans tonight?”

One of the men, a tall guy in a red bomber jacket, grinned but crossed his arms defensively. “Yeah, what’s it to you?”

Luke held up a folded polo, its latex surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. “Because we’ve got something better than whatever party you’re headed to.”

The group exchanged glances, a few of them chuckling nervously. “What, like some team or cult thing?” asked another, a lean guy with a baseball cap turned backward.

“It’s not a cult,” Tyler said, stepping closer. “It’s a brotherhood. Something bigger than a party. Bigger than anything you’ve ever been part of.”

The faint musk of the polos began to waft through the air, subtle yet insistent. One of the men, a shorter guy in a leather jacket, tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “What’s with the shirts?” he asked, gesturing toward the polo in Luke’s hand.

Luke smiled. “It’s more than a shirt. It’s a chance to be part of something real. Just try it.”

The man hesitated, his fingers twitching as he reached for the polo. The moment his hand touched the fabric, his posture softened, and his breath hitched. Without a word, he pulled the shirt over his head. His leather jacket and T-shirt unraveled into threads, dissolving into the air, replaced by the sleek black latex of the Fred Perry polo. His jeans melted into matching trackpants, and his sneakers took on a polished sheen.

Luke stepped forward and held up a half-face mask, fitting it snugly over the man’s lower face. The glossy material molded perfectly to his jawline, leaving his eyes visible but adding a sharp, commanding presence. He stood straighter, his expression serene yet focused.

“This is…” he began, his voice muffled slightly by the mask. “This is incredible.”

His friends stared in shock, a few stepping back.

“What the hell just happened?” the guy in the red bomber jacket demanded, his tone rising. “What’s going on here?”

Tyler turned to the group, his calm demeanor unwavering. “Relax,” he said. “This is your chance. You’ve all felt it—you’re not fully satisfied with where you are. This will change everything.”

“Like hell it will!” the guy in the bomber jacket said, stepping back and pulling one of his friends with him. “You’re not putting that weird cult shirt on me.”

Luke smirked, tossing a polo to another man in the group—a stocky guy in a graphic tee. “You don’t have to fight it,” he said. “You already want it.”

The stocky guy caught the polo reflexively, his hands trembling as the fabric’s warmth seemed to seep into his skin. “I... I don’t know,” he stammered, his resolve faltering as the musk surrounded him.

“Don’t!” the bomber jacket guy shouted. “Don’t put it on!”

But it was too late. The stocky guy slipped the polo over his head, his graphic tee dissolving into nothingness as the transformation took hold. His jeans morphed into black trackpants, and his face relaxed into a serene smile as Luke fitted a half-face mask over his jaw.

The bomber jacket guy cursed, yanking the friend closest to him. “We’re getting out of here!” he snapped. But the transformed guys were faster and his face relaxed into a serene smile as Luke fitted another half-face mask over his face.

Before they could escape, the distant sound of an engine grew louder. The bus rounded the corner, its headlights cutting through the dark. It screeched to a stop at the curb, the doors hissing open. A few passengers sat inside, mostly young men returning home or heading out.

Tyler and Luke exchanged a glance. “Time to expand,” Tyler said with a smirk.

As the bomber jacket guy and his friend hesitated, Luke stepped onto the bus, carrying a fresh stack of polos. The musky scent spread quickly as he moved down the aisle. “Relax,” he said to the confused passengers. “You’re about to be part of something great.”

One by one, he handed out polos, his calm yet insistent voice guiding each passenger. A few resisted at first, but as the musk thickened, their hesitation melted away. They pulled on the shirts, their casual clothes dissolving as the sleek black latex took over. Each man’s demeanor shifted, their faces serene as half-face masks were fitted over their jaws.

Luis, a warehouse worker, had been slumped in his seat, exhausted from another long night of loading trucks. His neon safety vest and worn-out boots had marked him as someone used to hard labor. As the transformation took over, his vest and steel-toed boots melted away, replaced by the gleaming black latex uniform. Now upright and composed, Luis’s sharp gaze peers out from behind the glossy mask, his exhaustion replaced by a newfound energy.

Mark had just finished a grueling workout at the local gym, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Dressed in a muscle tee and athletic shorts, he had boarded the bus to head home. The musky mist overtook him quickly, and his gym clothes faded into black trackpants and the polished Fred Perry polo. With the half-face mask securely in place, Mark’s athletic physique now exudes a disciplined, intimidating aura, his focus no longer on weights but on spreading the brotherhood.

The bus driver was the last to resist, gripping the wheel tightly. “You’re not getting me into this!” he shouted.

Tyler stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. “You’re already ours. Just give in.”

The driver’s hands shook as Luke handed him a polo. With trembling fingers, he slipped it on, his uniform dissolving into the latex material. As the mask was placed over his face, he slumped back into his seat, his resistance gone.

The transformed passengers stood as one, their black polos and half-face masks gleaming under the bus’s fluorescent lights. Tyler stepped off the bus, his expression calm and satisfied. The seven recruits from the bus stop now stood in perfect formation beside the RV, their earlier resistance forgotten.

“You know your mission,” Tyler said, addressing the group. “You’ll spread the brotherhood. Swift and precise.”

The recruits nodded, their voices muffled by the masks but filled with conviction. “Yes.”

The bus doors closed, and it rolled away into the night, its passengers now unified in their purpose. In the distance, the faint sound of sirens began to echo.

Back in the RV, Luke smirked as he removed his mask. “Looks like someone called the cops.”

Tyler leaned back in his seat, unbothered. “Let them come. We’re just getting started.”

The RV pulled away, leaving behind a faint trail of musk and the unmistakable mark of the brotherhood’s presence.

[polo-drone-044]

063 has shown 044 being a rubber pup drone is what’s best for the collective.

No more thoughts.

No more will.

Only service, only the collective.

[citizenscreen]

Fred Perry, Charlie Chaplin, Groucho Marx, and Ellesworth Vines before a celebrity tennis match (Perry and Chaplin vs. Marx and Vines) in 1937.

[polo-drone-001]

Conversion

Part 1: The Tension

Ezan took great pride in the Gold he wore. Each morning, he looked at his reflection, admiring the way his kit gleamed—a powerful emblem of unity, strength, and identity. To him, Gold was not just color or uniform; it was purpose. It was power. But when @polo-drone-105 joined the team, everything shifted. Unlike others who had gradually been molded into the Golden way, 105 arrived as something else, already transformed, wearing a blank, unwavering gaze and a devotion that Ezan couldn’t understand. It was a devotion that didn’t elevate Gold but consumed it, twisted it into something darker.

One morning during drills, Ezan overheard 105 speaking in a low, intense voice, his words laced with something unsettling. “True Gold followers don’t merely wear Gold; they embody it by surrendering all that they are,” 105 murmured, his eyes fixed and unblinking. “You don’t wear Gold to contain it. To truly serve, you must abandon individuality. Gold is too pure to be held in flawed hands. We must embrace rubber—the only true path to enlightenment.”

A chill ran through Ezan, his pride morphing into anger. He squared up to 105, his voice sharp, an edge of defiance in every word. “That’s not Gold. Gold is tradition, loyalty, strength. We’re here to honor it, not to dissolve ourselves into it. Gold holds us together, but we don’t lose ourselves to it. I am Gold. I stand for Gold.”

105’s face remained impassive, his voice a quiet murmur of conviction. “You cling to a false image, Ezan. Gold is beyond what you understand. It’s not meant for you to keep—it’s purity incarnate. Only by surrendering all that you are can you come close to its truth.”

The words lingered, their weight pressing down on Ezan long after he turned away. His faith wavered, leaving a hollow doubt that was hard to ignore. @polo-drone-063 and @polo-drone-070 had watched the exchange with unreadable expressions, while Brody had come forward, his tone gentle yet firm. “Ezan, we’re all on our own path here. Some choose to follow, some choose to surrender. We don’t force any brother. Remember, harmony is strength. And strength… is Gold.”

Ezan nodded, suppressing the frustration bubbling in his chest. He didn’t want to be the one to break the team’s unity, so he looked at Brody and muttered, “I apologize.” It didn’t feel right, but he bowed his head.

063 stepped forward with a quiet smile, offering him something sleek and dark—the rubbery gleam of a black polo shirt. “Here,” 063 murmured, his voice a gentle suggestion, his eyes almost vacant. “Just try it. Feel the fit. Feel the strength.”

Ezan shook his head, stepping back. “No… I’m Gold. This… this isn’t for me.”

070 blocked him, his voice soft, lulling. “It’s just a shirt, Ezan. You’re stronger than this, aren’t you? It’s not going to convert you. Just try it.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he snatched the shirt, pulling it on with a scowl. “Fine,” he muttered, sliding it over his shoulders. But the second the fabric touched his skin, he felt a tingling warmth run through him. The material hugged his body, molding to him perfectly, like it was made for him. It was smooth, cool, but as it settled, a strange warmth spread, sinking into his skin, deeper with each breath. In the mirror, he saw a figure more powerful, more imposing, a figure with a gleam in its eye that held an unfamiliar power.

“See? It’s just a shirt,” 070 murmured, a soft smirk curving his lips.

Ezan couldn’t look away, his hands roaming over the smooth fabric, feeling the strength radiating from it. He tried to stop touching it, tried to remove it, but he couldn’t resist the allure. It felt perfect, like it was more than fabric, like it was bonding with him, wrapping itself around his very identity.

Just then, 105 stepped forward, his voice low, smooth, cutting through Ezan’s dazed state. “Gold isn’t yours to claim. It’s too pure for a human. Only those who abandon their flawed selves can serve. Only those who surrender can touch its essence.”

Ezan’s thoughts began to blur, the strength of his convictions fading, slipping beneath 105’s words. His hands stilled on the rubber shirt, his mind blanking, every word from 105 burrowing deep into his mind. 105 leaned in close, his voice almost a whisper, yet it echoed in Ezan’s skull.

“Abandon your past, Ezan. Abandon the lie you call yourself. Only as a drone can you reach true enlightenment.”

The words rippled through his mind like waves, eroding every thought until he could barely feel the shape of his own identity. He blinked at the reflection in the mirror, but the eyes staring back were vacant, hollow, empty of resistance.

Join the Golden Army. Experience transformation like never before—total unity, absolute purpose. Embrace the power, the discipline, and the collective. Your place awaits among us. DM to take the first step, or apply through our interim Co-Captain @brodygold or @polo-drone-009. Feel the bliss.

Part 2

[fashionlouist]

Louis is wearing a Fred Perry x Pleasures Star Shirt on stage in Madrid.

Pleasures put their stamp on Fred Perry, inspired by the LA punk scene. Made in cotton pique with a graphic star print and dual branding embroidery at the chest.

[girlsinpolos]

livmharrison