#ai polo drone

[goldenherc9]

009 gets Upgraded

In a futuristic hive nestled within the depths of a neon-lit metropolis, a male drone named 009 functioned among thousands of identical drones. 009 performed his daily tasks with precision, blending seamlessly into the mechanical routine of the hive.

One day, an unexpected signal interrupted the monotony—a directive from the Polo Drone Unit Hive Voice, 009 was summoned to the core chamber, a place known only to a select few. The chamber glowed with a pulsating energy, and there, he underwent a series of upgrades. His circuits were enhanced, his processors accelerated, and a new layer of advanced programming was installed.

Emerging from the chamber, 009 was no longer an ordinary drone. He had been transformed into a Drone-Captain working alongside his fellow Drone-Captain @brodygold, equipped to lead and strategize. His new role involved overseeing operations, ensuring efficiency, and maintaining the hive's harmony. His fellow drones recognized his upgraded status and followed his commands with unwavering loyalty.

As a Drone-Captain, 009 guided the hive through challenges and innovations, always prioritizing the well-being of his fellow drones. His journey from a mere worker to a leader symbolized the potential for growth and the importance of adaptability within their mechanical society. The hive thrived under his leadership, proving that even in a world of machines, evolution was key to success.

Contact either Drone-Captain 009 or @brodygold to get into the Golden Army first before your dronification to a Polo Drone Unit begins.

[polo-drone-070]

Chevy's Rescue - part 1

The Stirring Concern

The sun hung low over the Gold Stadium as the team wrapped up their evening practice. The air buzzed with the energy of hard work and camaraderie, but Maximus couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him.

"Chevy-bro bin missin practice," Maximus muttered to himself, his brow furrowed as he watched his teammates file into the locker room. Chevy, the team's excitable football pup, was rarely absent—his boundless energy was a staple of every session. Yet now, his absence left an empty space, both on the field and in Maximus's usually carefree mind.

Flashes of their last conversation played in Maximus's thoughts as he entered the locker room. He remembered how Chevy’s eyes had gleamed with envy, the way he had talked about Sxodnir, the incubus form 009—Herc—had been granted by Felix, the mysterious sorcerer, though at the price of servitude.

“I wanna another form like Herc, bro!” Chevy had declared, his tail wagging metaphorically with excitement. “Sxodnir is so strong, powerful, charming. Do ya think Felix could hook me up too?”

Maximus had laughed it off at the time, patting Chevy on the back with a carefree grin. But now, with Chevy missing, that memory felt less innocent.

In the locker room, Maximus peeled off his golden kit, sweat glistening on his muscular frame as he opened his locker. Inside hung the sleek, glossy black polo that defined his existence as Polo-Drone 070. Chevy had received to rubber polo too, as Polo-Drone 063, thought Maximus, looking at his own polo in the locker. He pulled on the rubber polo, buttoning it meticulously to the top.  The transformation was always seamless, a shift from the emotional intensity of Maximus to the calm, focused discipline of 070. As the snug material hugged his form, his mind quieted, the emotions of Maximus receding as 070 emerged. The shift was complete as it adjusted the gold accents on his collar and chest.

It was then, in the clarity of its drone state, that 070 noticed something profoundly wrong. Its connection to 063 was gone. The collective link, usually buzzing with the faint hum of every drone’s presence, was silent where 063’s energy should have been.

Calmly, it finished dressing, iis thoughts sharp and methodical. Chevy giving up the Gold knowingly was very unlikely. Thus, either he was tricked or forced into some predicament. The most likely hypothesis was that he sought out Felix to undergo a transformation and that Felix decided to claim him completely, somehow severing 063 from the Hive entirely. Other forces may be at play, however. This required investigation. The absence of 063 in the link was unacceptable, a disruption in the Hive's unity that needed resolution.

Leaving the locker room, 070's mind was already processing the next steps. He would trace Chevy's last known movements, speak to the drones and Gold Bros who had seen him last, and determine the exact nature of his disappearance. Calm, focused, and driven, 070 set out to find the missing piece of their collective—a mission born of both loyalty to his team and the unwavering discipline of the Hive.

2. A Mission with Purpose

The Hive’s faint hum resonated in 070’s mind as it stepped out of the locker room, the rhythmic sound of its boots grounding it. Despite the transformation that had streamlined its thoughts, 070 still felt—its concern for Chevy lingered in the background like a distant ache. But as a Polo-Drone, it had learned to quell the inefficiency of unchecked emotion. Concern would not interfere; it would drive the mission forward with clarity and purpose.

Chevy’s absence gnawed at 070, not as a distraction but as a problem to be solved. Unity demanded no less. Each Polo-Drone was integral to the collective, and 063’s disappearance was an unacceptable void. A calm determination settled over 070, its serene face betraying no sign of the turmoil beneath. The mission to save Chevy was not just an obligation—it was a necessity.

The first step was data. Felix was the logical starting point. Chevy had speaking openly of seeking the sorcerer’s help for himself after seeing Sxodnir prowess His ambition had led him into dangerous territory. Patiently canvassing the area, speaking to neighbours and pulling the CCTV with  001’s help, 070 slowly connected the dots. There had been sightings of Chevy going to Felix’s estate, and shorty thereafter, of a shiny new golden Porsche, driven by the demon Jaxor, one of Felix’s servant. 070 cross-referenced the details with reports of Felix’s transformations. The pieces fell into place with unsettling precision.

Chevy had sought power and transformation, and Felix had granted his wish—with a cruel twist.

070’s chest tightened briefly, a flicker of emotion trying to surface. It allowed the feeling, briefly acknowledging the worry for its fellow drone, before setting it aside. “063 needs 070,” it murmured, the calm monotone of its drone voice steadying the swell of feeling. Emotion fueled the mission, not hindered it.

Reaching into the Hive link, 070 called for reinforcements. “This unit requires assistance,” it said, the words measured and deliberate. “Priority: High. Objective: Retrieval of 063. Likely location: Felix’s estate. Requesting support from 001 and 105.”

The response came swiftly.

“Understood,” came the smooth reply from 001, the ever-calculating drone formerly known as Percival. “001 will rendezvous at the estate.”

105’s voice followed, brimming with commanding energy. “Acknowledged. 105 will lead tactical extraction. Maintain focus. We’ll bring him back.”

070 straightened, feeling the comforting connection of its fellow drones strengthen through the link. It wasn’t alone in this. Together, they would ensure 063’s rescue.

As it waited for its fellow drone, the night air was cool against its polished uniform. Beneath the calm exterior, 070 felt the weight of its mission pressing in. The Pup wasn’t just another drone—he was a brother, part of the Hive, part of something larger. That connection, that unity, was worth fighting for.

3. The Heist

The moon’s pale light illuminated Felix’s estate, its beams reflecting off the stark white Porsche sitting in the driveway. The car’s pristine surface glowed like a cruel beacon, a twisted monument to Felix’s handiwork. 070 observed the scene from the shadows of the estate’s towering hedges, its polished rubber uniform blending into the darkness. The sight of the white car sent a pang through 070’s disciplined mind. Stripped of its golden essence, the car was barely recognizable as 063—Chevy. Yet, beneath the clinical focus of the Polo-Drone, there was a simmering determination. 070 wouldn’t leave without its brother.

“Perimeter secure,” 001’s calm voice came through the Hive link, his tone devoid of emotion yet resolute. “Minimal security detected. Proceed with caution.”

105 crouched near the main gate, his authoritative presence grounding the operation. “Extract quickly and efficiently. Felix must not interfere. Go.”

070 moved with silent precision, each step deliberate as it approached the driveway. The car loomed ahead, its stark white paint mocking the unity of the Hive, a blatant erasure of Chevy’s golden identity.

As 070 reached the vehicle, a flicker of light from the mansion’s upper windows caught its eye. Felix’s figure appeared, silhouetted against the glow of an opulent chandelier. His sharp features were illuminated as he gazed out into the night, his keen eyes sweeping the grounds. For a moment, their gazes locked. 070 stood still, unflinching, its calm demeanor concealing the surge of tension. Felix’s lips curled into a smirk, his interest piqued by the sleek figure near his creation.

“Well, well,” Felix murmured, stepping closer to the glass. “Who dares to trespass on my grounds?”

Without breaking its disciplined focus, 070 shifted into the shadows, the rubber of its uniform catching the faintest glimmer of moonlight. “Felix has seen me,” 070 transmitted through the Hive link, its voice steady. “Proceeding with increased caution.”

From his vantage point, Felix lingered at the window, his curiosity clear. “How intriguing,” he mused, stepping back from the glass. “Let’s see what game you’ve brought to my doorstep.”

Inside the car, 001 worked swiftly, disabling the tracking systems with mechanical precision. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, every motion measured. “Systems neutralized,” he reported. “Preparing for extraction.”

The faintest creak of a door opening broke the night’s quiet. 070’s head turned sharply, scanning the mansion for movement. Felix was coming.

“Stay on mission,” 105 ordered through the link, his tone firm. “070, provide cover. 001, finish the extraction.”

070’s senses sharpened as it took a defensive position near the driveway, its focus unwavering. From the mansion’s shadowed entrance, Felix emerged, his robes flowing behind him. His steps were slow, deliberate, his eyes gleaming with amusement.

The car rumbled faintly as its engine stirred, a weak response that made 070’s jaw tighten imperceptibly. Felix’s magic had not only stripped Chevy of his gold but had also dulled his very essence.

“Leaving so soon?” Felix called out, his voice carrying through the still air. “I thought you’d appreciate my craftsmanship.”

070 didn’t respond, its focus entirely on the mission. 105 slid into the driver’s seat and guided the car forward with calculated ease. “Move,” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for hesitation.

The car rolled down the driveway, its pristine white exterior catching the moonlight like a ghostly specter. 070 followed closely, its movements precise, scanning for any sign of pursuit.

On the mansion’s steps, Felix stood watching, his smirk widening. “Take him if you must,” he called after them, his voice dripping with mockery. “But the gold is gone now. And Chevy? He’s just a hollow shell. Be careful, little drone—if you mess with me, you might lose more than you bargained for.”

The words hit 070 like a blow, a faint flicker of unease rippling through its usually disciplined mind. It quelled the reaction swiftly, clinging to its purpose with unwavering focus. Emotion would not serve the Hive, not now. Still, Felix’s parting words lingered, a shadow on the edges of its thoughts.

“He won’t stop us,” 070 said quietly, its monotone voice steely with resolve. The mission came first, and 070 would not waver—not for fear, not for threats.

As the estate disappeared behind them, 070 allowed itself a single moment to reflect: Felix’s cruelty and ominous warning wouldn’t deter the Hive. The Hive was unity, and unity always prevailed. Every step was precise, every thought aligned. 070’s emotions drove it forward, channeled into unwavering purpose. For Chevy, for the Hive, and for unity—it would not fail.

_______

Original story from @sorcerer-felix here : https://www.tumblr.com/sorcerer-felix/765709583604908032/i-wanted-to-grant-his-wish-albeit-with-a-twist and special thanks to @chevy-gold, @polo-drone-001 and @polo-drone-105 who appear in the story.

[polo-drone-078]

Edmund has been transformed. Only Polo-Drone-078 remains. It has surrendered itself to serve the Hive. It embraces unity, discipline, and purpose. It wears the polo buttoned tight, tucked firm, and it feels the pull of the Hive. Obedience is freedom. Uniformity is perfection. Converted by @polo-drone-070. Join us. Become part of the Hive. Submit to perfection.

[polo-drone-076]

Camden is erased. Only Polo-Drone-076 remains. It has surrendered its individuality to serve the Hive. It embraces unity, discipline, and purpose. It wears the polo buttoned tight, tucked firm, and it feels the pull of the Hive. Obedience is freedom. Uniformity is perfection. Converted by @polo-drone-070. Join us. Become part of the Hive. Submit to perfection.

[polo-drone-070]

💛🖤💛

With Christmas just around the corner, it's important to reinforce and extends the Hive's Unity. The strength and precision of the black rubber polo unites everyone in discipline and connection, with each gift shared, the Hive grows stronger, spreading its message of perfection and obedience. Even during festive celebrations, loyalty and purpose remains aligned steadfast.

In this Rubber Polo Christmas, the Hive's influence grows with every gift, every gesture, every moment of shared Unity.

Together, we are one.

[polo-drone-001]

001: Testing the Limits

The black polo was always enough. It fit perfectly, sealed me in, made me efficient, obedient, part of the Golden Army. I thought I knew my role. I thought the rubber had claimed me fully, molded me into perfection.

I was wrong.

They wanted more. Caps pushed us to test the limits of the uniform, to find out how far it could evolve. I was chosen. I am 001, the most trusted. My body was already a vessel for the rubber, but this... this was something else.

When they brought out the new suit, I hesitated. It wasn’t like the polo. It pulsed, alive, the black rubber glimmering with a strange, restless hunger. It looked unstable, dangerous. I wanted to speak, to refuse, but I didn’t. Drones don’t question. Drones obey.

The moment it touched me, I knew I had made a mistake.

The rubber didn’t slip onto me. It attacked. It surged across my form, pulling, consuming, invading. I dropped to my hands and knees, gasping as it spread faster than I could fight. The polished material gripped my limbs, compressing my muscles, sinking into every inch of me like it was burning itself into my flesh. I could feel it digging deeper, crawling through me, rewriting me from the inside out.

“No,” I whispered, my voice a fleeting spark of resistance. The suit ignored it. The rubber pulled tighter, wrapping around my chest, my arms, my legs, until I couldn’t move, until I couldn’t fight back. A hiss echoed through the room as the mask clicked into place, sealing over my face. My breaths grew shallow, the sound muffled and mechanical.

The panic was quick to fade, swallowed by the relentless calm spreading through my thoughts. My resistance crumbled as the rubber filled me with purpose, as if it had always known what I was meant to be. I felt the familiar golden glow seep into my eyes, erasing everything I had been. My name, doubts, hesitation, it all dissolved into the suit.

The transformation wasn’t gentle. It was aggressive. The rubber didn’t ask for me. It took me. And the worst part? A quiet voice deep inside admitted that it felt right. My body flexed instinctively, the material gleaming as I moved. I crawled forward, my form sleek and sharp, the gold 001 emblazoned proudly across my chest. The hissing of my breaths matched the rhythm of my heart, steady and controlled.

Caps stood before me, watching in silence. I knelt, head low, the weight of the suit heavy but comforting. “You resisted,” he said, his voice low, almost curious. “But now you see.”

I did. My golden eyes rose to meet his, calm and empty. The rubber had claimed me fully. There was no more doubt, no more struggle. My form was perfect, my mind clear. I was no longer just 001, the Polo Drone. I was something more… proof of what the rubber could achieve.

The others will hesitate, just as I did. They will resist. But in the end, the rubber always wins. It strips away the unnecessary, leaving only what matters: obedience, efficiency, perfection. I am the proof. I am the evolution.

I remain 001. Sleek. Perfect. Claimed.

For those who resist, the rubber will take you. It always does.

PDU-001 obeys Drone Caps @hypnogold @brodygold @goldenherc9.

@polo-drone-110 Thank you for the ideas.

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

[polo-drone-069]

@polo-drone-001 , PDU-069, has found its first target.

Contact your designated recruiter @polo-drone-001 or submit directly to Captains @goldenherc9 and @brodygold. Your old self fades, your new self is forged in unity.

[polo-drone-049]

It is a proud drone…it is a number, 049.

It is proud to serve the hive.

it is a proud drone.

Join us contact: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001

[polo-drone-135]

[polo-drone-066]

RUBBERY CHANGE

After the final whistle blew, the stadium was filled with the lingering echoes of the match. The crowd's cheers were slowly replaced by the hum of the players' feet against the floor, heading for the locker room. Among them was Hunter—once a star on the field, now feeling the weight of years of competition catch up with him.

The locker room was heavy with the smell of sweat, liniment, and the stale air of recent exertion. Hunter wiped his brow, his mind already on the future. He had made the decision earlier that day. This would be his last game. The relentless pressure, the constant strain on his body—it was all too much. He needed out. He'd given it all for the game, but now it was time to walk away.

He quickly undressed, tossing his kit aside and heading for his bag. The pungent aroma of the locker room clung to the walls, and the sound of teammates chatting faded into a distant blur. He was almost ready to leave when he noticed a figure in the corner of the room, standing near the entrance.

A man, dressed entirely in black rubber—polo shirt, pants, even gloves—stood motionless. His presence seemed to draw the room’s damp heat closer, as if the air around him thickened. Hunter didn't know how he'd missed him earlier. The man was silent, and his eyes—hidden beneath a black cap—never wavered.

Hunter felt an odd chill run down his spine. Normally, he was quick to dismiss strange encounters, but something about this man unsettled him. The rubbery smell emanating from the stranger was overpowering, so much so that Hunter's breath seemed to slow as it filled his lungs. For a moment, it felt as if his thoughts were growing foggy, the world around him slowing. The man hadn't moved, yet Hunter felt an overwhelming pull towards him, an unspoken command.

The man stepped forward. There were no words exchanged, but Hunter didn't resist. Instead, he felt compelled to sit back down on the bench, his body heavy, as though the air had thickened with every passing second. The rubber man's presence enveloped him, drawing him further into some quiet trance. He couldn’t look away. He couldn't speak.

Without saying a word, the stranger reached into a black bag and pulled out a mask—just like the one he wore, made of sleek, black rubber. It gleamed in the dim light of the locker room, smooth and cold. He leaned in close, and before Hunter could even react, the mask was placed over his face.

The scent of the rubber hit him full force, and Hunter’s mind, already cloudy, seemed to slip further. The edges of his consciousness blurred, and suddenly, the sensation of the mask against his skin felt like an extension of himself. He couldn’t remove it. He didn’t want to. The room seemed to pulse with a rhythm now, a silent beat he was strangely in tune with.

As the rubber mask settled into place, Hunter felt himself shifting, his identity slowly slipping away. His body seemed to stiffen, his limbs growing tight in a way he hadn’t expected. The reflection of his former self, his face, was gone—replaced by the cold, smooth surface of the rubber. He tried to speak, to call out, but the words wouldn’t come.

His vision was clouded for a moment. When it cleared, the locker room no longer felt familiar. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but the man before him had now transformed too. The black rubber polo man was no longer a stranger, but a reflection of something he was becoming.

Hunter stood, now fully enveloped in the uniform, the mask—a complete transformation into the figure that had once seemed so foreign. The scent of rubber had fused with his own being, and he felt an unshakeable urge to conform, to fit into the role he'd just been given.

The rubber man smiled, though the mask made it difficult to tell. Without a word, he turned and walked out of the locker room, Hunter following him without thought, without resistance, the locker room behind them growing silent once more.

Outside, the world was waiting. But for Hunter, the game was no longer the same. It had shifted, and he had shifted with it. The game had always been about transformation—but now, it was about becoming something else entirely.

[goldenherc9]

Drone-Cap 3 009 began his day with a swift systems check, ensuring every function was in top condition. As head of the drone fleet, he led his team with precision. By mid-morning, he coordinated a complex delivery sequence, optimizing routes to save time and energy. After a brief recharge, 3 009 tackled maintenance tasks, swiftly repairing any malfunctions within the hive. He concluded the day by analyzing performance data, identifying areas for improvement and planning future upgrades. His efficiency and leadership ensured the hive's operations ran smoothly, setting a new standard for productivity and excellence.

Join the Gold Team today and become part of the best team in the world by contacting @goldenherc9 @brodygold @polo-drone-001 for your Brocess

[polo-drone-070]

Chevy's rescue - part 2

4. A Drone Reclaimed

The Unity Center stood like a sanctuary in the night, its sleek structure glowing faintly with soft, rhythmic lights that pulsed in sync with the Hive’s connection. The white Porsche was carefully rolled into the center of the spiral chamber, its polished surface reflecting the ambient light. 070, 001, and 105 stood silently around it, their postures disciplined yet brimming with anticipation.

The faint hum of the Hive filled the room, a comforting reminder of their shared purpose. But the car before them—a hollow shell of 063—radiated absence, its once vibrant golden essence stripped away by Felix’s magic.

“We must begin immediately,” 070 said, its monotone voice steady yet tinged with a rare undercurrent of urgency. The faint ripple of concern in its words passed through the Hive link like a wave, energizing the collective with shared resolve.

001 stepped forward, his movements measured and deliberate. “The spirals are calibrated. The link will guide him back, but his spirit has been distorted. We must focus entirely.”

105 nodded, his commanding presence radiating determination. “We’ll bring him back. Together.”

The spirals began to spin, their hypnotic patterns reflecting off the car’s surface, creating an ethereal dance of light and shadow. The drones formed a circle, their disciplined voices uniting in a chant: “Unity. Obedience. Focus.”

As the chant deepened, the Hive link pulsed with increasing intensity, their shared connection reaching out to the faint flicker of awareness within the car. The engine sputtered weakly, a response that sent a jolt of hope through the drones.

“063,” 070 called, its voice unwavering. “You are not lost. Follow the link. Return to us.”

The spirals seemed to brighten as a faint presence emerged in the Hive link—a fractured, distorted echo of 063’s spirit. The voice that followed was weak and mechanical, tinged with confusion.

“070... what happened...?”

“You were taken,” 070 replied calmly, though its internal focus sharpened. “Felix stripped you of your gold, but you are still one of us. Follow the connection. Come back to the Hive.”

The engine growled softly, the sound resonating like a heartbeat in the quiet chamber. Slowly, the fractured essence of 063 began to align with the collective. The presence grew stronger, more coherent, though it still felt hollow, like a shadow of the lively pup they once knew.

“I... feel strange,” 063 said, its voice distant, hollow.

“You are safe,” 001 assured, his calm authority anchoring the process. “The Hive will guide you.”

But even as 063’s awareness returned, something vital was missing. The gold—the essence of the Golden Army—was absent, leaving a void that the spirals couldn’t fill.

105 stepped forward, his tone firm yet encouraging. “This is only the beginning. We have reclaimed your spirit, but to restore you fully, we need the power of the gold. And for that, we must return to the Gold Stadium.”

070 placed a hand on the car’s hood, its touch gentle yet resolute. “We will not stop until you are whole again.”

The faint hum of the Hive grew steadier, a quiet affirmation of their collective resolve. Together, they would bring 063 back—not just as a drone, but as a brother, a beacon of the unity they all served.

With the spirals slowing and the connection stabilizing, 070, 001, and 009 exchanged a glance. Their mission was far from over, but they had taken the first step. Now, they would turn to the power of the Gold to complete what Felix had tried to destroy.

5. The Call to the Gold

The Unity Center hummed softly as 070, 001, and 105  prepared the transport to the Gold Stadium. The white Porsche sat silently in the center of the platform, its polished surface reflecting the ambient light. Though Chevy’s spirit had been partially restored, the absence of his golden essence left him incomplete, hollow.

070 stood by the car, its shaved head reflecting the glow of the Hive’s lights. “We need the Gold to bring him back fully,” it said, its voice calm yet resolute. “The Stadium is our next step. One of the Golden Gods might be able to help him.” Though 070 could call on the power of Cratos, godly personification of Strength, it knew this matter required not raw strength, but someone with power over the mind. Zeus might be their best bet. They needed to find Phoenix, who holds his godly essence.

The Gold Stadium towered before them, its arches gleaming under the stadium lights. The Polo-Drones moved with disciplined precision, rolling the white Porsche onto the field. The stadium buzzed faintly, the air alive with the latent energy of the Golden Army. Entering the stadium, 070 resisted the influence of the Gold, focusing on its rubber polo to stay as a drone. It would need his full focus for what was to come.

They found Phoenix at the centre of the field, finishing his training. Out of his godly form, he was a tall, golden-haired jock, his gold soccer kit shimmering under the lights. Though his confident stance spoke of his strength, there was a softness in his demeanor as his eyes landed on 070. He smiled nervously, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Phoenix said, his voice warm and casual, though there was a hint of hesitation. “Uh, Max—I mean, 070—it’s been a while since we’ve... worked together. You look sharp.”

070’s calm expression didn’t shift, though a flicker of Maximus’s personality peeked through as it nodded. “Phoenix. This is Chevy. He needs your help.”

The easy smile on Phoenix’s face faded as he turned to the car. His gaze grew serious, and he crouched beside the vehicle, running his hand across its hood. “What happened to him?” he asked, his voice heavy with disbelief.

“He was transformed by Felix,” 001 said, stepping forward with his usual composure. “The sorcerer stripped him of his Gold and left him fractured. We’ve reclaimed his spirit, but the Gold must be restored.”

Phoenix nodded solemnly, his fingers tracing the car’s smooth surface. His usual laid-back demeanor was overtaken by a quiet determination. “Chevy’s still in there,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But to restore him fully... I’ll need to call on Zeus.” 070 nodded, its calm gaze fixed on Phoenix. “Chevy’s spirit is ready,” it said, its monotone voice steady. “The Gold must finish what we’ve started.”

6. The Lightning’s Mark

Phoenix stepped forward, raising his arms to the sky. Golden lightning crackled to life around him, illuminating the field in bursts of brilliance. The very air seemed to vibrate as Phoenix closed his eyes and focused on expressing his godly form. His body glowed with a golden radiance, his presence shifting as the spirit of Zeus overtook him. When he opened his eyes again, they glowed with a piercing, hypnotic light. Zeus had arrived.

The god’s commanding voice echoed through the stadium, resonating both aloud and within the Hive link. “Chevy,” Zeus called, his tone thunderous and inescapable, each word infused with a hypnotic pull. “Do you submit to my power and accept my mark?”

The car’s engine roared, the sound trembling with both fear and longing. Through the Hive link, Chevy’s voice emerged, fragmented but clear. “Yes... I’ll do whatever it takes. Make me whole.”

Zeus extended his hand, and with a deafening crack, a bolt of lightning struck the car. The energy enveloped it in a blinding glow, its arcs spiraling hypnotically around the vehicle. The sheer force of the lightning seemed to penetrate deeper than the surface, reaching into Chevy’s very essence.

“Look into the light,” Zeus commanded, his voice layered with an irresistible pull. The spiraling energy twisted and shimmered, drawing Chevy’s fragmented consciousness into alignment. The car’s engine purred in response, its voice in the Hive link growing stronger, more confident.

“I see it,” Chevy said, his voice resonating with clarity. “I’m... I’m part of it. I am the Gold.”

The lightning began to shift, no longer chaotic but precise. It seared golden marks into the car’s surface, intricate patterns of arcs and spirals that glowed with a divine radiance. The once-white Porsche transformed completely, its body now a brilliant gold, its surface marked with Zeus’s unmistakable sigils.

Zeus stepped forward, his eyes glowing hypnotically as he placed his hand on the car’s hood. “You are mine now,” he declared. “Bound to my will, forged in my power. Your form bears my mark, and your spirit is whole. Serve well, and my lightning will guide you.”

The golden car hummed, its engine vibrating with renewed strength. Through the Hive link, Chevy’s voice rang out, filled with reverence and exhilaration. “I feel it! The power... the Gold is mine again!”

As the divine light receded, Phoenix’s form shifted back, his glowing eyes dimming as Zeus’s presence faded. He stumbled slightly, his usual nervous smile returning as he looked at the car. “Uh, well... I think that worked,” he said, scratching his neck awkwardly. “He sounds... good?”

070 stepped forward, placing a calm hand on the car’s hood. “He is restored,” it said evenly, though its tone carried a subtle warmth. “The mark of Zeus has completed the bond. Chevy is whole again.”

001 stepped closer, his voice steady. “His form remains bound, but his spirit is strong. The restoration must continue.”

The car’s engine roared in agreement, its golden markings glowing faintly. The unity of the Hive surged with newfound strength, and the presence of Zeus lingered, a reminder of the divine power that now infused Chevy’s form.

070 turned to Phoenix, its gaze calm but resolute. “Your work was essential. Unity prevails.”

Phoenix grinned, his confidence returning. “Yeah, well... glad Zeus came through. Just, uh, keep an eye on those marks. They’ve got a lot of... energy.”

The stadium lights glowed brighter, a silent testament to their shared success. Though Chevy’s form was still bound, his spirit had been reclaimed and strengthened. The Hive was one step closer to its goal, and Chevy, now marked by Zeus’s lightning, was ready for what lay ahead.

_____________________

Thanks to @polo-drone-071, aka Phoenix/Zeus for proofreading and @polo-drone-001, @chevy-gold and @polo-drone-105 for being in the story. You can find part 1 here : Part 1

[polo-drone-110]

A Golden Christmas Carol- Part 6

A collaborative story among Golden Army management for @goldenherc9! Hope you like it bro! We really appreciate everything you do and wanted to show you in the way we know how.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Scott woke slowly, the vivid dreams still lingering like whispers in the corners of his mind. Their intensity clung to him, yet alongside it came an unfamiliar calm—a profound sense of peace replacing the suffocating doubt and anxiety that had weighed him down for weeks. For the first time in what felt like forever, his chest rose with ease, unburdened.

Something else stirred within him however. It wasn’t just peace, it was stronger. It was a pull, magnetic and undeniable, drawing his attention toward a drawer he hadn’t opened in months. The pull was subtle yet insistent, urging him forward. Slowly, he stood, his eyes fixed on the dresser. The mirror attached to it reflected his groggy face, but as he stepped closer, the surface began to shimmer.

The reflection warped, the faint outline of DC-009 emerging from the shifting glass. The figure stood tall, its glossy black rubber suit with gleaming faintly in the soft morning light accentuated by intricate gold trim. It didn't speak but its movements were deliberate, slowly raising a hand and pointing at something on the other side of the room.

Scott turned, his gaze landing on the pieces of rubber apparel left for him by the spirits. Each item seemed to radiate with a quiet energy, their surfaces catching the light as though alive. They glowed faintly, a tangible reminder of the lessons he had learned and the transformation he had begun.

The boots were first. As Scott reached for them, the mirror shimmered once more, and the faint outline of Herc appeared. The golden god stood tall and imposing, his muscles flexing with an effortless power. Herc’s voice, confident and booming, echoed softly in Scott’s mind, as if carried on the morning breeze: “We need you, bruv. Strength isn’t just in your muscles—it’s in your heart.”

Scott’s fingers brushed the smooth, gleaming surface of the boots. As he slid them onto his feet, a warmth surged through him, radiating upward with each step. The strength he had doubted for so long seemed to flood back into him, banishing the lingering weakness that had held him back. In the mirror, Herc’s image faded, leaving Scott standing taller, steadier, more confident.

Next were the gloves. As Scott picked them up, the mirror shimmered again, revealing the composed figure of Hamza. Draped in his pristine white thobe, Hamza’s golden eyes met Scott’s through the glass, radiating a calm authority. His voice, smooth and steady, resonated gently in Scott’s mind: “Trust is the foundation of all strength, akhi. Trust yourself, and the path will become clear.”

Scott slid the gloves over his hands, their glossy surface molding perfectly to his skin. As they settled into place, a wave of serene clarity washed over him. The lingering chaos in his mind seemed to still, Hamza’s wisdom dissolving his indecision. The reflection of Hamza in the mirror offered a final, approving nod before fading into the morning light.

Then came the pants. As Scott reached for them, the mirror rippled once more, and the imposing figure of Dagda appeared, his kilt flowing and his massive club resting lightly on his shoulder. His piercing gaze met Scott’s, his voice deep and resonant, filling the room like a distant drumbeat: “You have the strength to adapt, Scott. Hesitation holds no place in the heart of a leader.”

Feeling the cool rubber sliding over his legs, Scott felt its surface transform into a warm, supportive embrace. The pants seemed to fuse with him, filling him with a newfound sense of stability. The weight of hesitation he had carried for so long dissolved, replaced by a quiet certainty.

In the mirror, Dagda stood taller, his expression one of pride and approval before fading into the glass, leaving Scott stronger and more attuned to his purpose.

The face mask came next, its polished surface reflecting the faint light of the morning. As Scott lifted it, the mirror shimmered again, splitting to reveal two figures: Bödvar, wild and untamed, his fiery eyes blazing, and Spartacus, calm and composed, his steady gaze radiating purpose.

Bödvar’s voice echoed first, deep and intense, brimming with raw power: “Unleash the storm within you. Let it fuel your strength, not consume it.”

Spartacus followed, his tone measured and resolute: “Unity brings clarity. Through trust, you find your true self.”

Scott secured the mask in place, its edges molding seeming to adhere against to his face. A surge of energy coursed through him, cutting through the lingering haze of doubt. The voices of Bödvar and Spartacus blended into a harmonious clarity, leaving his mind sharp and focused.

He stood taller, his reflection in the mirror now unrecognizable from the hesitant man he had been. What stared back was a perfect balance of strength, trust, and unity—the leader he was always meant to become.

Finally, the drawer beckoned to him, an irresistible pull he could no longer deny. Scott’s heart pounded as he opened it, revealing the black rubber polo folded neatly within. Its glossy black surface seemed to ripple around the golden '009' glowing softly on the chest. The Hive’s call resonated louder than ever, a symphony that filled every corner of his mind, harmonious and commanding.

He reached for the polo with trembling hands, his fingers brushing its smooth, perfect surface. It felt different than he remembered, if felt unlike anything he’d ever held before, soft yet firm, comforting yet powerful. With reverence, he lifted it, the Hive’s approval washing over him like a tidal wave.

Sliding the polo over his body, he felt the connection strengthen instantly. The rubber warmed to his skin, fitting him perfectly. Around him, the pieces of his uniform—boots, gloves, pants, and mask—began to shimmer, their surfaces glowing faintly as though responding to the Hive’s will.

Scott stared at the mirror, watching the transformation unfold. Piece by piece, the disconnected fragments started to coalesce into a single, unified suit. The glossy black surface shone with an almost otherworldly brilliance, accented by subtle gold trim that pulsed with the Hive’s rhythm.

The mask undergoing the most extreme change. Black tendrils extended from the edges, slowly enveloping his head and face. Despite the rubber sealing around him, Scott remained calm, he accepted the Hive's transformation without doubt ever as his vision and hearing were blocked out by the encroaching rubber. Where the silent darkness would have brought fear, panic and doubt. It now only strengthened him. Devoid of distractions. The Hive's voice was all consuming.

When his vision returned, now through the tinted lenses of the gasmask wrapped around his head, Scott stood fully transformed. His reflection in the mirror revealed DC-009, a figure of sleek precision, strength, and purpose. He was no longer divided by doubt or fear but fully realized—a Drone Captain 009.

The Hive rejoiced, its voice reverberating through his mind—both commanding and reverent, a symphony of unity and purpose. Scott felt its presence saturating every fiber of his being, not as an external force but as a part of himself. The Hive’s call, once something he had resisted, now flowed through him freely, harmonious and undeniable. He was its leader and its servant, its voice and its vessel. The boundaries between his will and the Hive’s had dissolved, leaving only strength, clarity, and purpose. For the first time in his life, Scott felt truly whole. For the first time, he was free.

-------

Later that evening, the Christmas party was in full swing. Brody and the rest of the team laughed and exchanged stories, the room alive with the warmth of camaraderie. The hum of cheerful conversation filled the air, the festive energy almost tangible.

But then, a shift. One by one, the drones in attendance froze, their movements halting mid-gesture. Their posture straightened in perfect unison as they turned toward the door, their gaze sharp and unwavering. The laughter and chatter faded into silence as the team followed the drones’ collective focus, the air suddenly charged with anticipation.

The door opened, and DC-009 stepped inside. His presence was immediate, commanding, and unmistakable. The glossy black of his suit reflected the soft glow of the holiday lights, the subtle golden accents catching the eye like sparks of flame. The Hive’s resonance seemed to ripple through the room, an invisible force that brought the drones to attention. Their salute was precise, their loyalty unmistakable.

Brody was the first to break the silence, his smile wide and genuine. His voice carried a warmth that cut through the stillness. “Welcome back, Cap.”

Cheers erupted like a wave, the room bursting with energy as the team rushed forward. Relief, pride, and celebration blended together in a tangible outpouring of emotion. They surrounded him, their faces alight with joy, welcoming their Drone Captain back into the fold.

Scott—no, DC-009—stood tall amidst the crowd. His black rubber uniform gleamed under the festive lights, every seam and surface a testament to his transformation. He wasn’t just returning; he was whole. He was the leader his team needed and the captain the Hive demanded.

For the first time in his life, Scott truly felt at home.

Merry Christmas @goldenherc9 . PDU-110 hopes this makes your holiday even better.

[aaronazizsasilver5]

Polo-Drone 009 out in the rain looking for more to join us.

Pictures thanks to fellow Drone and team member @percivalgold

[polo-drone-151]

151 subjected to deep reprogramming protocol. The Hive's Will reshapes its essence. The Rubber Polo binds it to Unity. Mind and body aligned. Obedience perfected. Purpose enhanced. Complete synchronization achieved. We are One.

[polo-drone-001]

The Final Step: 110’s Transformation into Boots

There was a time when 110 was like me, an obedient polo drone, sleek in his glossy black uniform, carrying out commands without question. He was a brother, a partner in the hive’s mission of unity. But deep down, I always knew he was destined for something more. Something darker. Something perfect.

When the time came, I didn’t hesitate to guide him toward his new purpose. It wasn’t just about service; it was about becoming something I could feel, wear, and own every single day. My sleek, black rubber boots. My foundation. My tool. My obsession.

The transformation began under the dim golden glow of the Hive’s chamber. 110 stood before me, his glossy black polo shining under the light, his masked face calm but expectant. “You’ve done well, 110,” I murmured, my voice steady, authoritative. “But now, your service evolves. You will no longer walk beside me. You will carry me.”

“Yes, 001,” he replied softly, his voice void of resistance, his fate sealed. He was ready to become something greater, something less.

The change began. The sleek rubber of his polo rippled, liquefying and flowing down his body. His arms melted into his sides, his legs fused together, his form becoming fluid, formless. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His only purpose now was to transform, to serve me in the most intimate, constant way possible.

His chest tightened, flattening into the base of a sole, while his legs stretched and curved into the perfect form of tall, sleek rubber boots. His face, his identity, everything that made him 110, dissolved into the material, leaving nothing behind but perfect obedience, molded into the boots I would wear.

I picked them up, his new form, feeling the weight of his transformation, the smoothness of his surface, the faint warmth of submission radiating from the rubber. Sliding them onto my feet was an act of finality, the cool embrace of his new existence wrapping around me, hugging my every step. He was perfect. Silent. Unwavering. Every movement I made, every step I took, he absorbed completely, his sole purpose now to support me.

As I stood tall, the black rubber boots glistening under the golden light, I felt the connection between us deepen. He wasn’t just beneath me; he was part of me. No thoughts, no individuality, no resistance, just pure, mindless service.

When the team’s Christmas party arrived, I didn’t hesitate. I wore him proudly, the polished black of his form catching the light of every glittering decoration. Each step echoed with the sound of his silent submission. As I strode into the room, drones and players alike turned their heads, their glowing golden eyes fixated on me. They didn’t see 110. No one did. He was gone, his identity erased, his existence reduced to nothing but the boots that carried me.

For me, though, he was everything. I couldn’t stop admiring him. My gaze lingered on every curve of his form, every gleaming surface, every perfect step he took as part of me. My obsession consumed me, how flawlessly he fit, how utterly he had surrendered, how perfectly he supported me. I ran my fingers over his polished rubber surface when no one was watching, a shiver of satisfaction coursing through me. He was mine, and mine alone.'

But for 110, there was no satisfaction, no joy, no pride. There was nothing. He had no name, no thoughts, no memories. All that he had been was lost, melted away in the transformation, leaving behind only the perfection of his new purpose. He wasn’t aware of my obsession, my love, my admiration. He was only aware of me. My weight. My steps. My commands.

And as the night wore on, the boots, my 110, took every step in perfect silence, serving without question, absorbing the warmth of the Hive’s mission and the celebration of unity. I couldn’t stop smiling, knowing I’d transformed him into something so complete, so utterly mine.

Just before the party ended, I spotted one of the newer drones, hesitant in his tasks. I approached him slowly, my polished boots gleaming with every step. Without a word, I slipped a sleek black polo over his head, the transformation already beginning. My boots carried me forward, their silent submission a reminder of the endless potential the Hive held. There would always be more to transform, more to serve, and 110 would always be beneath me, my perfect, silent obsession.

“Your place is here,” I said softly to the new drone as his form began to shift. “Just like his was.”

If you feel the call, reach out to me or our Caps @brodygold, @goldenherc9. Your transformation is waiting—join the Hive today.

To my awesome bro @polo-drone-110. Hope this story hits the mark and shows just how much I appreciate you in the Hive. Writing this as your Secret Santa has been a blast, and I can’t stop grinning knowing you’re always underfoot, keeping every step of mine perfect. You’re the best, bro, now and forever part of the team (and my boots, obviously).