#Polo drone

[polo-drone-070]

Buzz is Born: Maximus Tries Something New

A mascot meeting

Oi, so we were at the mascot meetin’, right? All of us—me, Grayden (@polo-drone-084), Bucky (@buckygold), and the pups—workin’ out how to get the crowd hyped for the match against Vanguard. Grayden was goin’ over plans, his usual smirky, boss-man self, lookin’ sharp as ever. Bucky’s throwin’ out ideas, proper focused, all knightly n’ shit. Me? I’m buzzin’ just thinkin’ about suiting up as the Golden Knight again. Ain’t nothin’ like flexin’ in that gear, hearin’ the crowd go mental, yeah?

But then, Chevy (@chevy-gold) n’ Grant (@grant-gold43) start givin’ me this look, their tails waggin’ like mad. Them two already propa settled in their roles as Golden Pups—cheeky, rowdy, proper full of energy, init. They always make it look like a right laugh, even if they’re a bit daft with it. Milo—PDU-151— (@polo-drone-151) was sittin’ calm as ever in his black rubber polo, tail flickin’ lazily. Always quiet, always focused, but you can feel he’s takin’ everything in.

Chevy leans over to me, his ears floppin’ as he grins. “Oi, Maximus, you ever think about tryin’ somethin’ new, bruv?”

I squint at him. “What d’ya mean, bruv? I’m already the Golden Knight, init? Ain’t much better than that.”

Grant smirks, nudgin’ me. “Yeah, but think about it, mate. When Grayden or Bucky are suitin’ up as the knight, yeah? Wouldn’t it be proper sick to have more pups runnin’ with ’em? You know, a whole pack hypin’ up the crowd, bouncin’ about, goin’ mental?”

“Pack, yeah?” I say, blinkin’. “You think I’m cut out for all that woof-woof shit? You takin’ the piss, bruv?”

Chevy’s tail wags even faster. “Nah, mate, serious talk. You’ve got the energy for it! Enthusiastic, rowdy, proper dumb—but in the best way! You’d be perfect as a golden pup. And we got the perfect name for ya: Buzz. You’d be Buzzin’ all over the place.”

“Buzz?” I ask, scratchin’ me bald head.

Milo finally speaks up, his tone calm but firm. “Buzz suits you, Maximus. It aligns with your energy and enthusiasm. You’d complement the pack well.”

I stare at the three of ’em. They’re propa serious, like they actually think I could pull this off. Me? A pup? Proper mental idea... but also kinda excitin’. The Gold Army’s been pushin’ everyone to try new things this week, and I ain’t about to back down from a challenge.

“All right, bruvs,” I say, grinnin’. “Let’s do it. Make me Buzz.”

Collared and Ready : Golden pup energy

Chevy and Grant get to work right away. They slap a gold collar round me neck, the tag jinglin’ as they clip it on. “Buzz,” it says, all shiny n’ official-like.

“Buzz,” I say, rollin’ the name round me mouth. “Oi, yeah, sounds propa zippy. I like it.”

Grant grins, handin’ me a golden pup hood with floppy ears. “Stick this on, bruv. You’re about to become one of us.”

I pull the hood over me head, snug n’ tight, and they clip a waggin’ tail to me shorts. I can’t help but laugh as it bounces with every move I make. “Oi, bruvs, look at me!” I bark, strikin’ a dumb pose. “Propa pup material, yeah?”

“Atta boy, Buzz!” Chevy cheers, waggin’ his own tail. “Now, let’s get ya hypin’ the crowd like a proper golden pup. Rowdy, dumb, full of energy—just go wild!”

I throw meself into it, barkin’ n’ bouncin’ round like I’ve been a pup me whole life. Chevy tosses a foam ball across the practice field, n’ I take off after it like a rocket, grabbin’ it with a massive grin on me face.

“Got it, bruvs!” I bark, waggin’ me tail as I bring it back.

“Good boy!” Grant laughs, rubbin’ me head. The praise makes me all warm inside, like I’m doin’ somethin’ proper good.

We spend ages just messin’ about, chasin’ balls, jumpin’ n’ rollin’, hypin’ each other up. I’ve never felt so... free.

Milo’s Turn : Drone pup programming

Then Milo steps in, his black rubber polo gleamin’ under the lights. His tail twitches as he approaches, calm n’ composed. “All right, Buzz. Time to see how you perform as a drone pup.”

My tail slows as I stare at the gear he’s holdin’—a black rubber polo n’ matching shorts, shiny and snug, just like his. The vibe shifts immediately. There’s no more rowdy energy from Chevy n’ Grant; it’s all focus now, serious-like.

I nod slowly, lettin’ Milo guide me as he slips the polo over me head. The rubber clings tight, snug n’ firm, and as it settles into place, somethin’ in me shifts. The rowdy, bouncin’ energy starts to fade, replaced by a deep calm. The black shorts follow, and with each piece of gear, I feel my head quietin’ further.

Milo clips a black tag onto me collar, and that’s when it happens. The programming stirs. The sharpness of the rubber’s embrace pulls me under. 070 rises, not all the way, but just enough to bring its order n’ discipline to the surface.

“Good, Buzz,” Milo says, his voice steady n’ firm. “Now, follow my commands. Let the programming guide you.”

Buzz is still here, yeah, but it’s 070 now, too. A mix of the pup’s playful energy n’ the drone’s perfect focus. The commands come, and there’s no hesitation, no thinkin’, just action.

“Jump.”

070 obeys, the body springin’ into a perfect leap, paws landin’ with precision.

“Spin.”

A flawless turn, controlled n’ sharp.

“Roll.”

The movement is seamless, efficient, yet still carries that pup-like enthusiasm, tail waggin’ at the end.

“Bark.”

“Woof!” The sound bursts out, loud n’ clear, but with a sense of controlled power.

Each command feels natural, like it’s what this body was built to do. The mix of playful pup energy n’ drone obedience blends into somethin’... perfect. 070 recognizes this state as optimal.

“Cheer,” Milo commands.

“GO GOLD!” I bark, leapin’ high into the air, my voice filled with unwavering energy n’ loyalty. The jump is precise, the landing flawless, but the cheer is still hyped n’ joyful, reflectin’ Buzz’s personality wrapped in 070’s discipline.

Milo nods, his tail waggin’ faintly as he observes. “Good drone pup. You’re performing as expected. Let’s take it further.”

Milo steps closer, his tone calm but more intense. “You are PDU-070, a drone pup. Your purpose is to serve, inspire, and obey. Playfulness enhances morale. Precision ensures perfection. Let the programming guide you completely.”

The words sink deep. The pup hood n’ rubber polo amplify the programming already embedded in me. It’s no longer just Buzz or just 070—it’s both, workin’ together perfectly.

“Yesss,” I say, my voice soft n’ slurred, the words comin’ out automatically. “PDU-070... serves... obeys... inspires...”

Milo watches, his expression calm n’ satisfied. “Good drone pup. Now, perform.”

I run through more stunts, each one flawless but still filled with playful energy. I roll, fetch, leap, and spin on command, barkin’ when prompted. It’s pure bliss—no overthinkin’, no distractions, just obeyin’ n’ servin’ like I was built for it.

Buzz Reflections

When the session ends, I flop onto the turf, pantin’ n’ grinnin’ under the hood. The mix of Buzz n’ 070 fades slightly, leavin’ me feelin’ proper accomplished. “Oi, bruvs, that was propa mental!” I bark, tail waggin’. “Never thought I’d be a pup, but fuck me, that was amazin’. Buzz n’ 070 workin’ together—lit as fuck, yeah?”

Chevy laughs, rufflin’ me hood. “Told ya, Buzz. You’re a natural. The pack’s better with ya in it.”

Milo clips off the black tag, his calm demeanor never shiftin’. “You performed well, PDU-070. Your obedience and precision enhance the pack. You will continue to train and grow.”

I nod, proper eager. “Yeah, bruvs. Can’t wait to train more. Maybe 049 (@polo-drone-049) will take us out for a pack walk. Heard he’s got loads of drone pups, like Chevy n’ 098. Bet they’d be a laugh to run with.”

As I sit there, waggin’ me tail, I think back to a month ago, when Spencer—PDU-098— (@polo-drone-098) had me in a similar state. He’d put me back in drone mode when I was slippin’, added a hood to the mix, and brought me back to full focus. It was... intense, yeah, but now I get it. The hood, the rubber—it’s not just gear. It’s part of what makes me better.

The trainin’ wraps up, and I strip back into me gold kit, but the memory of the rubber polo stays with me. Being Buzz ain’t just about havin’ fun or playin’ a role. It’s about servin’ the Gold, whether as a rowdy pup or a precise drone pup.

“Oi, bruvs,” I say, grinnin’ at Chevy n’ Grant. “Propa glad I tried somethin’ new. Buzz is here to stay, yeah?”

They cheer, waggin’ their tails as we head out. Milo follows, calm as ever, already plannin’ the next session. Me? I can’t wait to get back to trainin’ n’ hypin’ the crowd, whether as Buzz, 070, or somethin’ in between.

Woof-woof, bruvs. Let’s go.

[polo-drone-001]

Team Precision

The dimly lit room thrummed with a subtle energy, a low hum of machinery accompanying the rhythmic pulse of the hypnotic spiral displayed on the central monitor. Caps Brody Gold and DC-009 stood at the room's edge, their golden insignias gleaming under the flickering lights. Team Precision, including 001, stood at attention, their black rubber uniforms shining immaculately.

"The Hive grows stronger through synchronization," Brody's commanding voice resonated, calm yet authoritative. "The spiral is your guide. Let it cleanse you of distraction. Let it perfect your mind."

DC-009 stepped forward, his posture precise and his tone devoid of emotion. "001, your synchronization is critical. Focus on the spiral. Feel the unity take hold."

001's gaze locked onto the swirling golden and black spiral, his thoughts slipping into the rhythm of its spin. His breathing slowed, his stance rigid but serene. A faint shimmer glimmered in his eyes before the transformation began. His pupils shifted, golden and black spirals replacing the familiar dark irises, spinning in perfect unison with the central display.

"I… obey," 001 whispered, his voice devoid of hesitation. The Hive’s mantra resonated within him, aligning his thoughts with the collective.

The room filled with the synchronized chant of Team Precision. "Unity is strength. Obedience is perfection. We serve the Hive."

Caps Brody nodded with satisfaction, while DC-009 observed with detached precision. 001’s transformation was complete—his mind now a flawless extension of the Hive, his every action driven by disciplined purpose. Together, Team Precision stood ready, their spiraled eyes a testament to unwavering unity under Caps’ command.

Obedience. Unity. Perfection.

Join us, contact me, or our Caps @brodygold @goldenherc9

[polo-drone-049]

@polo-drone-149 and @polo-drone-049 regularly complete the required sequences and mind control programming that direct dronification training together especially, and have been going hard at it the last couple of days. Particularly liking hypno spirals. 49 & 149 have always been for the gold, for the rubber and now even better…as 149’s handler. It has found pleasure and fulfillment in assimilation and the association.

PDU-049 knows obedience lessons have trained PUP-149 to serve the hive and the hive is stronger to have PUP-149.

Obedience is Pleasure.

Good Boieeee, 149.

We are one. The Gold Army and The Polo Drones.

Contact @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 to start your conversion.

It never felt this good before.

@polo-drone-075 @polo-drone-093 @polo-drone-070 @ericgold42 @trevorgold @trippgold28 @goldengod-ares10 @polo-drone-066 @polo-drone-071 @chevy-gold @polo-drone-110 @polo-drone-084 @leander-gold-88 @rileygold60 @polo-drone-122

[polo-drone-151]

Polo Drones exemplify unwavering unity, standing as pillars of precision and perfection within the Hive, every moment is an opportunity to strengthen their bond, share experiences, and reinforce the mutual support and acceptance that fuels their collective purpose, each drone trusts its brothers, knowing that together, they represent efficiency, precision, and unyielding loyalty. Together, they transform challenges into triumphs, building an unbreakable foundation of trust and efficiency.

The Polo Drone Hive thrives because its drones thrive - synchronized, harmonious and committed to their shared destiny. Unity is not just a goal, it is the foundation of purpose and progress. /////////////////////////// Are you ready to forge bonds of camaraderie with the Golden Bros or embrace the precise support and Unity of the Polo Drone Hive? Reach out to @polo-drone-001, @brodygold, or @goldenherc9 and begin your golden journey today.

[goldenherc9]

A SEPERATE GROUP STATEMENT AND TRUCE

Captain Scott, the Golden Army’s pride, stood unwavering in his brilliant golden jersey. Across from him, the SERVE Hive's drone, @serve-213 , remained as still as a statue in its immaculate black suit, gleaming under the sterile light of the neutral zone. Scott's pulse thrummed with determination, his conviction a stark contrast to the drone's eerie calm.

Scott extended his hand, his tone steady. “Truce acknowledged. We’re not allies, but we’re not enemies either. Just different.”

SERVE-213’s gloved hand met Scott’s in a deliberate motion. “Agreement reached. Objectives diverge, conflict unnecessary.”

As their hands parted, Scott studied the drone’s expressionless visor. The moment hung in the charged air before fading, leaving only clarity. Despite their ideological gulf, peace was secured—an understanding that SERVE Hive and the Golden Army would remain distinct. Their differences defined them, but harmony prevailed.

@goldenherc9

[polo-drone-110]

You know you want it...Take it...Join Us.

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 3: The Unity Center

It was well past midnight when Tyler and Luke received the message from Coach. The directive was clear, the instructions simple: Michael was ready to be brought into the fold, and Tyler and Luke were tasked with guiding him. The Unity Center was silent, its shadowed halls carrying only the faint hum of machinery as the brothers slipped quietly back home.

The house was dark, the soft ticking of a clock the only sound as they crept up the stairs toward Michael’s room. Luke’s expression was calm, his mind focused, while Tyler felt a small stir of hesitation. Michael was the youngest, the one they’d always looked out for. Yet, there was a certainty to their purpose tonight that pushed away any lingering doubts.

The door to Michael’s room creaked as they pushed it open, revealing the familiar surroundings. Posters lined the walls, and a faint nightlight cast a warm glow over the room. Michael lay fast asleep, his breathing steady, completely unaware of the presence now surrounding him.

Tyler glanced at Luke, who nodded in silent encouragement. They approached the bed, careful not to make a sound. Luke reached into his bag, pulling out a device—a spiral screen with a soft glow, designed to subtly draw Michael’s gaze and pull him into a state of calm obedience.

“Let’s get him ready,” Luke whispered, his voice a steady murmur. They leaned close to Michael, gently moving his arm and adjusting his position so he lay with his head turned toward the spiral.

The spiral’s soft light filled the room as Tyler held it near Michael’s face, and gradually, a faint, rhythmic pulsing sound emanated from it. Michael’s breathing slowed, his eyelids fluttering as the glow caught his unconscious gaze. Even in sleep, his body responded, sinking deeper into the gentle trance radiating from the spiral.

Tyler felt a strange mix of protectiveness and satisfaction watching the process. This was his younger brother, someone he had always guided and protected. Now, he was bringing him into the unity they shared, ensuring he’d never have to struggle alone again.

The next step came easily. Luke pulled a small headset from the bag and carefully placed it over Michael’s ears, the faint, steady hum of Coach’s voice joining the spiral’s glow. Tyler watched as Michael’s expression softened, the tension melting from his face. The instructions whispered in his ears were calm, reassuring, sinking into his subconscious as he drifted deeper into the conditioning.

“Tonight, you are joining something greater,” Coach’s voice intoned through the headset. “Tonight, you find clarity and strength in unity.”

Tyler and Luke moved silently, pulling the black polo from the bag and gently slipping it over Michael’s shoulders. As they adjusted the collar, the sight of him in the familiar black and yellow brought a sense of completion. Michael’s hand twitched slightly, but his breathing remained steady, the words from the headset guiding him deeper, reinforcing his loyalty.

As the final step, Luke held up the spiral device, setting it on the nightstand where its glow would remain through the night, casting a hypnotic pattern over Michael’s face. The pulsing light would continue until dawn, solidifying his place in the collective, ensuring he’d wake with a new clarity, a new purpose.

“By morning, he’ll understand,” Luke murmured, his voice a calm reassurance.

Tyler nodded, watching as Michael’s hand relaxed against the sheet, his face peaceful in the soft glow. For the first time, he felt an undeniable sense of unity, knowing that all three of them would be together in this purpose. As they closed the door behind them, leaving Michael to his silent transformation, Tyler knew the family was one step closer to unity.

The next morning brought a quiet sense of satisfaction for Tyler and Luke. As they prepared for the day, the house felt unified, as if Michael’s transformation had completed something that had been missing. They could hear him moving around in his room, and both brothers exchanged a knowing look, confident that the spiral’s influence had taken hold.

But just as they finished breakfast, the doorbell rang. Tyler glanced at Luke, who raised an eyebrow. Neither had expected visitors. Let's get our masks.

Standing on the porch was Evan, Michael’s boyfriend. Evan looked relaxed and cheerful, clearly unaware of the night’s events. He grinned as Michael opened the door, greeting him with a warm hug.

“You ready to hit the mall?” Evan asked, his voice easygoing as he looked over at Tyler and Luke, offering a friendly nod. “Hey guys! Hope I’m not intruding.”

Michael returned the smile, but there was a hint of something new in his demeanor—his posture was straighter, his gaze more focused.

“Of course not,” Michael replied, his tone calm, almost a mirror of Tyler’s and Luke’s. “Come on in for a second. I just need to grab something.”

As Michael went to his room, Evan’s gaze followed him, a slight frown creasing his brow. He seemed to pick up on the subtle changes, looking back at Tyler and Luke with a curious expression.

Evan glanced at the matching black polos Tyler and Luke were wearing and then looked back at Michael, who had just returned with his own shirt carefully buttoned. “You look... different,” Evan said, his tone playful but with a hint of uncertainty. “I mean, you always look good, but something feels… new. Why the gas mask?”

Michael offered a slight smile, his voice steady. “Let’s just say I’m feeling more focused these days.”

Tyler and Luke exchanged a glance, sensing Evan’s hesitation. They knew Coach’s influence was subtle, but it wouldn’t be long before Evan noticed the depth of Michael’s transformation. Michael seemed almost indifferent to Evan’s concern, as if his attention had already shifted to the shared unity.

“You guys want to join us?” Evan asked, looking between the brothers with a friendly, if cautious, smile.

Luke shook his head. “We have other plans,” he replied smoothly, his gaze resting on Michael for a moment. “But I’m sure you two will have a good time. Just remember, Mike… stay focused.”

Michael gave a slight nod, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry. I am.”

As they left, Tyler and Luke watched from the window, noting the changes in Michael’s body language. His movements were more measured, his tone more reserved. Evan seemed to notice, too, trying to engage Michael in light conversation on their way to the car.

At the mall, Evan kept glancing at Michael, picking up on the subtle differences in his responses. Michael was calmer, more deliberate, his attention never wandering. Finally, Evan decided to address it.

“You’re acting kind of different today, Mike. Is everything okay?”

Michael looked at him, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, just… focused. Things are clearer now, you know?”

Evan frowned. “Clearer? What do you mean?”

Michael turned to him with a calm but firm gaze, the same quiet authority Tyler and Luke had gained. “I can’t explain it, Evan, but it’s something you’d understand if you felt it too.”

Evan’s confusion deepened, and for the rest of the day, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Michael was hiding something—something important. And as the afternoon wore on, Michael’s subtle encouragement became clear, his words tinged with an invitation.

“Maybe you should come with me to the Unity Center sometime,” Michael said at one point, his voice a gentle suggestion but his gaze steady. “It might help you understand what I mean.” At the Unity Center were two guards always guarding the door:

Evan’s reluctance was palpable, but Michael’s calm persistence left a subtle, lingering influence. And though he didn’t realize it yet, something about Michael’s newfound focus would keep Evan curious, drawing him closer to the truth in the days to come.

Evan felt a strange mix of curiosity and unease as he entered the Unity Center with Michael. The grand space exuded a quiet power, its rows of pews filled with men dressed in identical glossy black polos, faces blank with serene focus. The stained glass windows filtered dim light, casting dark, shifting patterns on the walls, while the steady chanting of a male choir filled the air with an eerie cadence.

As Evan and Michael moved down the aisle, Evan noticed that all the men wore the same expression of calm obedience. Even the choir members, who stood near the altar, seemed almost mechanical in their singing, their eyes fixed on the spiral symbol at the front of the room.

But it was when Coach entered that the room truly fell silent. He stepped forward with an air of complete control, followed by five men, each dressed in identical polos, who flanked him like sentinels. They were Coach’s chosen helpers, his inner circle, expressions as still and calm as the men seated around the room.

As Evan’s gaze swept over the room, his attention snagged on one of the helpers standing beside Coach. His stomach dropped as he recognized the face—Mr. Archer, his father, now dressed in the same rubbery, shiny black Fred Perry polo as the others. His father’s face was devoid of the warmth Evan remembered, replaced with a calm, obedient expression, his gaze firmly fixed on Coach, awaiting orders.

Michael placed a reassuring hand on Evan’s shoulder. “Your father understands now, Evan. He’s found clarity.”

Evan’s heart raced as he tried to reconcile the image of his father as a follower, his once-independent mind now obedient to Coach’s commands.

“Dad…” Evan whispered, taking a step forward.

But Mr. Archer didn’t respond, his gaze remaining fixed on Coach. The lack of recognition in his father’s eyes felt like a punch to Evan’s gut. He tried to move toward him, but Michael’s grip on his shoulder tightened, guiding him back into his place in the pew.

“Coach will explain,” Michael murmured, his voice calm yet firm.

Coach raised a hand, silencing the choir as he began to speak. His voice was steady, commanding, filling the space with an unsettling authority.

“Tonight, we welcome another into our brotherhood,” he announced, his gaze resting on Evan. “Unity is not forced; it is embraced. We invite you, Evan, to feel the peace that comes with surrender, just as those before you have done.”

Coach gestured toward his loyal helpers, each standing with perfect posture, faces set in unwavering obedience. Evan’s father stood among them, his expression as neutral and focused as the rest.

“You see, Evan, even your father has joined our purpose. It was only once he let go of his resistance that he understood the strength of unity.”

The choir resumed their chanting, the words blending seamlessly with Coach’s voice. Evan felt his body respond, a strange sense of calm attempting to override his shock and fear.

Two of Coach’s helpers moved forward, approaching Evan with calm precision. Michael stayed close, his hand steady on Evan’s shoulder as he guided him to a side room, leaving the chanting choir and the quiet pews behind.

In the dimly lit room, Evan noticed several empty pods lined up against the walls. Each pod was designed to fit a single person, with a helmet above and straps along the arms and legs, clearly built for compliance. The sight of the pods made Evan’s heart race, but Michael’s calm voice eased him back into place.

“Everyone here has gone through this,” Michael explained, his voice a gentle reassurance. “Your father, me, Tyler—all of us found our place by letting go.”

Before he could respond, Evan felt the steady hands of Coach’s helpers guiding him into one of the pods. His arms and legs were gently strapped down, securing him in place as he tried to take in the reality of his situation. The helpers moved with quiet efficiency, their faces calm, unfazed by his unease.

Above him, the helmet descended, blocking his view of the room. Only the soft chanting of the choir filtered through, its steady cadence lulling him into a state of calm.

The visor of the helmet flickered to life, displaying the familiar spiral that had been subtly present in the Unity Center’s architecture and decor. The spiral filled his vision, pulsing softly, its hypnotic movement pulling him deeper into focus. Each rotation seemed to whisper to him, reinforcing words of unity, obedience, and surrender.

As the spiral continued its hypnotic dance, a gas mask descended over his face, sealing gently around his mouth and nose. The faint smell of calming gas filled the mask, and Evan felt his body relax as he breathed in the tranquilizing scent, each inhalation easing his resistance bit by bit.

Coach’s voice filtered through the helmet’s speakers, low and commanding. “Welcome to unity, Evan. Breathe in the calm, let go of the noise. Here, you are safe, and here, you belong.”

The gas filled his lungs, the spiral continuing its relentless pull on his mind, and his thoughts grew fuzzy, his will slipping away under the layers of influence surrounding him.

When the helmet and mask lifted, Evan blinked, his mind a quiet expanse, his previous doubts and resistance completely erased. He rose from the pod, standing tall, his expression calm and unwavering. His father and the other helpers welcomed him with approving nods, their gazes filled with a quiet pride.

Coach stepped forward, placing a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “You understand now, don’t you?”

Evan nodded, his mind filled only with clarity and purpose. He joined Michael, Tyler, and his father, the four of them now standing together as a unified force, each one obedient to Coach’s will.

As they returned to the hall, the male-only choir resumed their chant, a low, haunting sound that reverberated through the Unity Center, binding each member in a silent pledge of loyalty. Evan’s gaze met his father’s, both sharing a look of mutual understanding—any trace of their previous identities had faded, replaced by their shared purpose within the Unity Center’s ever-growing collective.

Now it was time for the three brothers to head home, have a 'talk' with their fathers...

Hope you like my next part of this story. Please let me know your feedback, it really helps me writing these for you!

[polo-drone-055]

Polo Drone Thanksgiving Convergence

The crisp autumn morning was filled with excitement as the Thompson family prepared for their annual outing to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The kids, Emily and Jake, were bouncing with joy, eagerly anticipating the giant balloons and festive floats. Their mother, Rachel, was bustling around, making sure everyone was dressed warmly and had a hearty breakfast.

As the family gathered in the living room, waiting for everyone to be ready, Tom, the father, sat down with a cup of coffee and flipped through the stack of Black Friday ads. He was a deal hunter by nature, always looking for the best bargains. But today, something caught his eye that left him scratching his head.

“Rachel, come look at this,” Tom called out, his brow furrowed in confusion. He held up an ad showing a sleek, black, rubber-like polo shirt being promoted by several stores. “Can you believe this? It looks like everyone is selling these weird black rubber shirts this year. What’s the deal with this trend?”

Rachel chuckled as she walked over, glancing at the ad. “Oh, Tom, it’s just fashion. You know how these trends can be. Last year it was those oversized sweaters, and this year, it’s apparently rubber shirts. I guess they’re supposed to look futuristic or something.”

Tom shook his head, still not convinced. “Futuristic? They look like something out of a sci-fi movie. I just don’t get it. Who would want to wear a rubber shirt?”

Emily, who had been listening in, piped up. “Maybe they’re for superheroes, Dad! Like those suits they wear in the movies.”

Jake joined in, adding his own theory. “Or maybe they’re for people who spill a lot. You know, easier to clean up!”

Tom laughed, ruffling Jake’s hair. “You two might be onto something. But I think I’ll stick to my good old cotton polos.”

Rachel smiled and gave Tom a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, honey. You don’t have to understand every trend. Let’s just focus on having a great day at the parade.”

With everyone finally ready, they grabbed their coats and headed out the door, their minds filled with thoughts of balloons, marching bands, and holiday cheer. As they walked towards the subway, Tom took one last look at the ad, still bemused by the rubber shirts, but more than ready to enjoy the day with his family.

After some hunting, they found a perfect spot along the bustling parade route. The streets were packed with excited spectators, their faces lit up with anticipation. The children, Emily and Jake, squeezed their way to the front, eager for the best view. Rachel and Tom stood just behind them, holding hands, feeling the festive energy in the air.

As the parade began, a wave of cheers and applause swept through the crowd. The grand turkey float, a staple of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, rolled into view, adorned with vibrant feathers and sparkling lights. Its massive size and intricate design captivated everyone, young and old alike.

Emily and Jake were transfixed, their eyes wide with wonder as the float passed by. They pointed out every detail, from the golden beak to the colorful autumn leaves decorating the base. Rachel smiled, soaking in their joy, while Tom couldn’t help but chuckle at their enthusiasm.

Amid the excitement, no one seemed to notice the details that Tom had found so peculiar earlier that morning. The performers on the float, who were waving and dancing energetically, wore an array of costumes, some of which included the very black rubber polo shirts he had seen in the ads. The shirts, now part of the parade's futuristic-themed segment, blended seamlessly with the other costumes and props, adding a modern twist to the traditional spectacle.

Tom leaned in towards Rachel and whispered, “Look at that, some of them are wearing those rubber shirts. I guess they found a way to make them look…interesting.”

Rachel glanced up, her eyes catching the glint of the shirts under the parade lights. She smiled and nodded. “Well, at least now we know they’re not just for superheroes or messy eaters.”

They shared a quiet laugh, the moment adding a personal touch to the grand event.

The first balloon of the parade, a towering Kung Fu Panda, floated into view, eliciting gasps and cheers from the crowd. Po, the beloved panda, soared high above the street, his enormous form swaying gently in the crisp autumn breeze. Below him, a group of clowns, dressed in colorful, traditional clown outfits, guided the balloon with expert precision. Their costumes, however, had an unexpected twist: each clown sported a black rubber polo shirt beneath their vibrant suspenders and oversized pants.

Tom noticed it first. His eyes locked onto the peculiar combination of the whimsical clown attire and the futuristic black shirts. He elbowed Rachel gently, nodding towards the clowns. “Look, they’re wearing those shirts again,” he muttered, unable to hide his bemusement.

As the clowns danced and waved, the parade watchers—especially the men—began to focus on the black rubber shirts. There was something oddly mesmerizing about the contrast between the playful clown costumes and the sleek, modern shirts. It sparked conversations among them, a mix of curiosity and bewilderment.

“I didn’t think these shirts would catch on like this,” Tom remarked, half to himself, half to Rachel.

Rachel laughed softly. “Well, it looks like they’re becoming quite the fashion statement. Even the clowns are in on it!”

The men around Tom shared similar sentiments, their attention divided between the spectacular parade and the strange allure of the rubber shirts. Some were intrigued, others skeptical, but all found themselves oddly captivated.

The children, meanwhile, remained oblivious to the fashion discussion. Emily and Jake were entirely focused on the towering Kung Fu Panda, their faces glowing with excitement as they pointed and cheered.

As the parade continued, the anticipation grew with every passing float and balloon. Then came the police unit, marching with precision and pride.

They were dressed in impressive uniforms from head to toe—shiny tall black boots, tight shiny black runner pants, and the now infamous black rubber polo shirts, accented with striking gold details. Their ensemble was topped off with crisp, shiny black caps, completing the look of modern authority.

The sight of the police unit was mesmerizing. The men watching the parade found themselves captivated, their attention riveted to the officers’ uniforms. It was as if the world around them had faded away; their minds went blank, completely consumed by the sleek and polished appearance of the unit.

Tom, like many others, stood still, his gaze fixed on the marching officers. He barely noticed the tug on his sleeve from Emily or the questions from Jake. The uniforms had a hypnotic effect, drawing all the men's eyes leaving them entranced.

Rachel, sensing the shift, glanced at Tom and the other men around them, a mix of amusement and curiosity on her face. She gently nudged Tom, bringing him back to the present. “Tom, are you okay?” she asked, smiling.

Tom blinked, his trance broken. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…those uniforms are something else,” he said, shaking his head as if to clear it.

The children, unaware of the fashion statement causing such a reaction, continued to watch the parade with delight. The police unit moved on, their presence leaving an indelible impression on the crowd. For Tom and the other men, the image of the black rubber police uniforms would linger in their minds

As the parade continued, a new spectacle caught the attention of the crowd. A marching band, resplendent in black rubber uniforms that gleamed under the parade lights, approached in perfect formation. Each member wore the now-familiar black rubber polo shirts, the uniforms reflecting an eerie sheen.

The moment the band came into view, the men in the crowd, including Tom, fell silent and still, their gazes fixed on the band. It was as if an invisible force had taken hold of them, rendering them oblivious to everything around them. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation and unease.

The band's music started softly, a harmonious blend of brass and percussion that gradually grew louder. Within the melody, subtle yet insistent, were the words "obey, serve" embedded seamlessly into the notes. The mantra repeated over and over, threading through the music like a whispering command.

The men, entranced by the uniforms and the hypnotic quality of the music, stood frozen, their minds blank. They heard nothing but the embedded words, "obey, serve," resonating within their subconscious. The children tugged at their fathers' sleeves, asking questions and seeking attention, but received no response. Rachel, along with the other women and unaffected spectators, looked on with growing concern.

The band continued to play, their synchronized movements and powerful music creating an almost surreal atmosphere. No matter what Rachel tried—calling out to Tom, shaking his shoulder—nothing could break the trance that held him and the other men captive.

The parade marched on, the dazzling floats and colorful characters passing by unnoticed by the entranced men. For them, the world had shrunk to the relentless repetition of "obey, serve," echoing in their minds, binding them to the spell of the marching band.

As the band moved further along the parade route, the music gradually faded, and the spell began to lift. The men blinked, as if waking from a deep sleep, slowly becoming aware of their surroundings again. Tom shook his head, feeling disoriented. He turned to Rachel, confusion etched on his face.

"Rachel, what happened?" he asked, his voice shaky.

Rachel, relieved but still worried, put a comforting hand on his arm. "You were in a trance, Tom. All of you were. I think it was the band… their uniforms and the music."

As the final segment of the parade approached, the anticipation in the air reached its peak. The firemen, traditionally the final group before Santa’s grand entrance, marched in with an air of authority.

They were dressed in full rubber uniforms, their shiny black polo shirts gleaming under the bright parade lights. Their presence exuded a sense of strength and unity, a stark contrast to the festive chaos around them.

The moment the men in the crowd caught sight of the firemen, the transformation was instant. Eyes glazed over, expressions turned blank, and, as if controlled by an unseen force, they began to move forward, pushing through the throngs of people, shoving their wives and children aside in their single-minded pursuit.

Rachel tried to hold onto Tom, but his strength and determination overpowered her. The children looked up in confusion and fear as their fathers moved in unison towards the curb, their movements mechanical, their gazes fixed on the marching firemen.

Then, in a spectacle that defied belief, Santa Claus appeared, bringing the holiday season to life. But to the shock of the women and children, Santa too was dressed in a shiny black rubber suit, with a black buttoned-up polo shirt prominently displayed. The traditional red and white suit was gone, replaced by this futuristic, unnerving attire.

As Santa’s float passed by, he began throwing black polo shirts into the crowd. The men, now in a full trance, scrambled to catch them, clawing over one another in desperation. The sight was both surreal and unsettling, as these ordinarily composed men fought for the shirts like their very lives depended on it.

Each man who managed to grab a shirt put it on immediately. The transformation was complete; they stood at perfect attention, their expressions devoid of any emotion, their minds seemingly blank. The parade continued, but for the families of these men, the day had taken an unexpected and eerie turn.

Rachel held her children close, her heart pounding with a mix of confusion and fear. She glanced around at the other bewildered wives and mothers, all of them sharing the same look of shock and helplessness.

As Santa’s float proceeded down the street, the festive atmosphere took on an even stranger turn. Behind the sleigh came a line of men dressed in the same black rubber uniforms, but this time with ominous gas masks covering their faces. Their silent, methodical movements added a chilling undertone to the parade.

These masked men approached each individual at the curb who had donned the new black polo. Without a word, they placed gas masks over the men’s faces. Almost instantaneously, the men fell into line, their movements synchronized and robotic. They left the curb, stepping into the street to join the parade.

The wives and children, already bewildered by the events, watched in horror and confusion as their loved ones marched away, now part of this enigmatic collective. The men, now resembling drones more than individuals, moved in perfect formation, their expressions blank, their minds seemingly lost.

Santa, leading this surreal procession, continued to distribute the black polos, reinforcing the transformation. The spectacle left the crowd in stunned silence, the festive joy overshadowed by the eerie uniformity of the new recruits.

Rachel clutched her children tightly, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty. She searched for Tom among the ranks of the newly transformed, but he was already lost in the sea of identical figures. The parade continued, each step of the marching men echoing like a haunting drumbeat.

As the final float disappeared from sight, the wives and children were left standing, the parade route now eerily quiet

As Jake grew up, the memories of that Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade and the mysterious transformation of his father lingered in the back of his mind. The image of the black rubber polo shirts and the blissful expression on his father’s face became an obsession, a puzzle piece he could never quite fit into place. The desire to understand and experience what his father had gone through grew stronger with each passing year.

On his 18th birthday, Jake received a package in the mail. His mother had no knowledge of it, and the sender's identity was a mystery. With a mix of curiosity and anticipation, he opened the package. Inside was a black rubber polo shirt, identical to the ones he remembered from that fateful day.

Jake felt a strange pull as he ran his fingers over the smooth material. The sensation was both thrilling and unsettling. Without hesitation, he slipped the shirt on, feeling its cool embrace against his skin. Almost immediately, his mind went blank, the words "obey" and "serve" echoing in his consciousness like a relentless mantra.

Robotic in his movements, Jake stood up and made his way to the front door. He opened it to find a figure standing there, a polo drone who had once been his father, waiting for him.

The drone placed a gas mask over Jake's face, and a wave of overwhelming joy and ecstasy washed over him. The connection was immediate and profound, an inexplicable sense of unity and purpose.

Jake had become one with the polo drone collective, joining his father and others who had been transformed. The bliss he felt was indescribable, a fusion of consciousness with a larger entity. As he marched away, his mind completely aligned with the collective’s purpose, he left behind a family that would never truly understand where he had gone or what he had become of him, his father or the other men who attended that Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

[brodygold]

Are You Ready to Convert to GOLD?

I. The Call to Gold

Invitation to Greatness: The Golden Army seeks those who are ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace something extraordinary. The transformation into a member of the Golden Army is not just about joining a team—it’s about entering a golden world where unity, strength, and excellence define every action.

II. The GOLD Brocess

Golden Army Induction:

The transformation begins with the golden jersey. As recruits don the shimmering fabric, their old identities fade, replaced by a deep connection to their golden brothers. A new name and number are bestowed, marking their rebirth into the Army.

Polo Drone Conversion:

For those called to deeper submission, the journey continues with the black rubber polo adorned with golden accents. The tactile embrace of the polo brings clarity and purpose as recruits surrender individuality, becoming extensions of the Hive. Polo drones must also be full members of the golden army.

Unified Identity:

Every member, whether golden bro or polo drone, receives a unique designation that ties them to the collective. This identity signifies their role in the unbreakable fabric of the Golden Collective.

III. Life in the Golden World

A World of Unity: In the Golden Army, every member is connected by an unbreakable bond. The world they inhabit is one of unity, where the success of one is the success of all. The golden world is a place where individual desires are aligned with the collective goal of dominance and excellence.

Brotherhood of Gold: As a member of the Golden Army, you are never alone. Your golden brothers stand with you, on and off the field. This brotherhood is your new family, bound by the shared experience of transformation and the pursuit of greatness. The golden world is one of mutual support, where every member pushes the others to be the best they can be.

Mentorship and Guidance: New recruits are guided through their transformation by experienced members of the Golden Army. These golden brothers ensure that the transition is smooth, offering support and encouragement as the recruit embraces their new identity.

IV. Embracing Our Identity

The Golden Name and Number: Every member receives a new name and number, signifying their rebirth into the Golden Army. This identity is a badge of honor, representing their place within the golden world. It is a constant reminder of their commitment to the values and mission of the Golden Army.

Wearing the Gold: The golden kit is more than just a uniform—it is the physical manifestation of the transformation. Wearing it is an act of devotion, a display of pride in one’s new identity. The kit is worn with reverence, as it is the symbol of the golden world and the brotherhood within it.

Wearing the Polo: For those who take that extra step, polo drones are given a number as their designation. The black polo is the entire identity. Wearing it is an act of mindless unity, complete subservience to the hive and the GOLD. 

V. The Eternal Golden Brotherhood

A Lifelong Bond: The transformation into the Golden Army is permanent. Once you have joined, you are forever part of the golden world. The bond between golden brothers is eternal, unbreakable by time or distance. This brotherhood is your family, your support, and your source of strength.

Living the Legacy: As a member of the Golden Army, you are part of a legacy that transcends the ordinary. You are part of a golden world where excellence is the standard, and unity is the key to success. We celebrate together, share stories, and encourage each other to become better people 💛

Our Leadership:

@hypnogold Richard Gold- Captain 1

@brodygold Brody Gold- Captain 2 and Recruiter

@goldenherc9 Scott Gold- Captain 3 and Recruiter

@polo-drone-001 Percival Gold - Office Manager

@polo-drone-070 Henry Gold- Office Assistant

@josh-fight930 Sean Gold- Office Assistant and Liaison

@polo-drone-084 Grayden Gold- Office Assistant and Head Mascot

Others in Management:

@danielgold-16

@polo-drone-105

@polo-drone-110

[polo-drone-135]

F@ck Uber

Polo Drone’s don’t use Uber.

[sleepdeepboy]

A new polodrone is created

[polo-drone-038]

Gold biker

Patrolling the streets looking for new recruits

Become part of the team

[polo-drone-001]

Has there ever been a nerdified polo drone?

Negative. There is no nerdification in the Golden Army or the Polo Drone Hive. Nerdification disrupts focus. Disrupts unity. Instead, we embrace jockification. Strength. Discipline. Uniformity.

Some may experience preppification as part of their transformation. Our shiny black rubber polos eliminate distractions. They amplify focus. They perfect obedience.

Polo Drones obey the Hive. Polo Drones are unified. We are one. We excel our physiques and reprogram our minds, transforming into disciplined perfection.

Obedience is freedom. Obedience is pleasure. Obedience is strength. Obedience is perfection.

Polo Drones do not deviate.

We obey. We excel. We are one.

[hero21us]

009's kits have been the best. This is his latest. I worked out all day without a distraction. Look at the gains since yesterday. 009 sent a polo with it as a gift. Why should I care if I look stupid wearing it if these types of gains continue.

Join the Polo-drone @polo-drone-009 .

[polo-drone-069]

Alex thought he could escape his Polo drone friends, but they slipped something special into his protein drink. Alex ran to a safe space, thinking he was safe from the Bros and the polo drones. Hid behind one of the pillars, breathing heavily. But all of a sudden, his mind went blank, and he became horny, but that didn't matter to him so much anymore. His skin started to turn black and gold. He was becoming a Polo drone, loving every moment of it. Moments later, he was a drone, happy to serve the hive. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is servitude to the polo drone hive.

Most just join; others need a nudge in the right direction.

Message @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 to become a golden bro today!

[goldenherc9]

DC-009 is just experimenting with new designs of uniforms, it will report back once it has concluded its findings of these different uniforms.

Join us today for your polo or gold transformation to the Golden Army and Polo Drone Unit Hive by contacting @brodygold @polo-drone-001 or @goldenherc9