#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-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.

[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-135]

[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-149]

Ethan is erased. Only Polo-Drone-149 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. If you feel the pull of the rubber polo too, contact @polo-drone-070 to learn more about the process, or join the Golden Army by contacting recruiters @brodygold @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001

[brodygold]

Twelve Days of Christmas: Day Seven

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: seven swans-a-swimming.

Brody stood at the pool’s edge, his golden jersey practically glowing in the sunlight. His stance was commanding, his sharp gaze leaving no room for doubt. “Gentlemen,” he began, his voice cutting through the air, “you’re here because the Golden Army sees potential in you. Today, you will prove whether you’re worthy of joining our most elite unit.”

One of the men, Caleb, shifted uncomfortably. He tugged at the waistband of his blue swim trunks and glanced at the pool, his apprehension plain to see. “Uh, Brody, what is that stuff? It doesn’t look… normal.”

The pool was filled not with crystal-clear water but with a thick, black liquid. It shimmered in an unnatural way, almost alive, rippling despite the absence of wind or movement. The air around it was warmer, heavier, as if the liquid emitted its own strange aura.

Brody’s piercing gaze landed on Caleb, and he smirked. “It’s not normal. It’s extraordinary. This is no ordinary tryout. What lies before you is the key to unlocking your true selves—your ultimate unity as a team. If you’re not ready to embrace that, there’s the door.” He gestured toward the exit but didn’t take his eyes off Caleb.

Most of them men took this opportunity to leave. By the end of the shuffle out of the room, only seven men remained standing in front of Brody.

Caleb swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Brody’s words. Behind him, the other men murmured nervously but didn’t move. Caleb took a hesitant step forward, his resolve wavering. “Alright, fine. I’ll go first.”

The liquid clung to Caleb’s toes as he dipped them in, warm and unnervingly smooth. It wasn’t water—it wasn’t even like oil. It was something else entirely, and it seemed to pull him in. He hesitated briefly before stepping fully into the pool. The black liquid lapped at his legs, moving as though alive.

One by one, the other men followed, some with trepidation, others with a sense of resigned determination. The liquid embraced them, covering their skin and pulling them deeper. Caleb moved into position, the liquid up to his waist now, and felt a strange tingling sensation spreading through his body.

Brody’s voice cut through the room again, authoritative and commanding. “Begin the routine you were given when you signed up. Synchronization is key. Let the liquid guide you.”

The seven men moved as one, starting with simple sculls and leg movements. Caleb quickly noticed how effortlessly his limbs moved, almost as if the liquid were helping him. The others experienced the same, their movements becoming increasingly fluid and unified. It wasn’t long before they were executing complicated spins and lifts with a precision none of them had ever achieved before.

Then, it began.

Caleb felt the liquid seeping into his swim trunks. The fabric dissolved silently, and he gasped in shock. Before he could react, the black substance surged upward, spreading over his body like a living second skin. It flowed over his waist, up his chest, and down his legs, cool and seamless, molding itself perfectly to his form.

The material hardened slightly, forming a sleek black rubber polo shirt with a high collar. Gold accents appeared along the edges, gleaming brightly as though freshly polished. His legs were covered in matching black rubber swim shorts, the material tight yet flexible, clinging to him with perfect precision. On his left leg, the number 007 shimmered in bold golden digits.

But the transformation didn’t stop there. The liquid seemed to seep into his skin, his pores absorbing it. A warmth spread through him, not just on the surface but inside. His thoughts began to fade, one by one. Caleb. His name. His life. His individuality. Each piece dissolved into the black void taking over his mind. He couldn’t stop swimming, couldn’t stop synchronizing with the others. Their movements were no longer just similar—they were identical. Perfect.

As his mind emptied, the rubber surged up his neck and over his face. A sleek black mask bubbled into existence, covering the lower half of his face entirely. It was smooth and featureless. He couldn’t see himself anymore, couldn’t remember who he had been. There was only the number, whispered over and over again in his hollow mind: 007… 007… 007.

The other men underwent the same transformation. Their uniforms and masks formed in unison, each marked with a unique number. The liquid bound them together, mentally and physically, forging them into a single entity. They no longer swam as individuals but as extensions of the same hive mind, every movement perfectly synchronized.

When the routine ended, the seven drones climbed out of the pool in perfect formation. The black liquid dripped off them but left their sleek uniforms and masks untouched. They stood at attention, motionless and silent, awaiting orders.

Brody approached, his demeanor colder, more commanding now. He strode down the line of drones, inspecting each one with a critical eye. “You are no longer men,” he declared, his voice firm and unyielding. “You are Polo Drones. Your individuality is gone. You are numbers. You obey. That is your purpose now.”

He stopped in front of 007 and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “You are 007. Remember that number. It is all you are.”

“Yes, sir,” came the monotone reply from behind the mask, devoid of any emotion. They saluted their captain automatically, the movement stiff and rigid.

Brody smirked. “Follow me, drones. Your new quarters await. You will train, you will serve, and you will obey without question."

Without hesitation, the seven drones marched after him in perfect unison, their rubber uniforms glinting under the fluorescent lights. Behind the masks, their minds were blank, their identities erased. There was no resistance, no regret—only obedience. Only the hive. Only the voice in their heads. Only obedience.

Interested in becoming a polo drone? Contact me, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001

[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-073]

PDU-073 is being reprogrammed

[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).

[danielgold-16]

Daniel & the Dragon

Daniel, host to Fenrir, adjusted his shiny gold rubber polo shirt, the black accents catching the light as he tightened the straps of his black leather quilted trousers. The bold "016" emblazoned on his chest reminded him of his duty as a member of the Golden Army. He flexed his legs against the resistance of his heavy black leather boots, their weight grounding him for the journey ahead. On his hip hung a golden scabbard, gleaming with the same brilliance as his shirt, housing a sword of legendary craftsmanship.

His mission was clear: rescue Prince Eamon, heir to the Irish throne, who had been taken by a fearsome dragon. The beast had made its lair in the craggy peaks of the Mourne Mountains, and no one who ventured there returned. But Daniel was no ordinary man. He was forged in the crucible of the Golden Army—disciplined, unified, and prepared to overcome any challenge.

As the morning sun pierced the misty Irish hills, Daniel set out. The lush greenery surrounding him rippled with life, yet he couldn’t afford to linger. The golden polo shirt clung to his athletic frame as he marched onward, the faint sheen of sweat enhancing its brilliance. Each step of his boots crunched against the gravel path, a rhythmic reminder of his purpose.

Reaching the base of the mountains by midday, Daniel surveyed the rugged terrain. The peaks loomed like silent sentinels, cloaked in shadows and mystery. But he wasn’t deterred. Drawing his sword, its blade shimmering in the sunlight, he began his ascent. The weight of his weapon felt reassuring, a testament to the strength and skill honed by his training.

The climb was arduous. Steep inclines tested his stamina, and loose stones threatened his footing. His leather trousers offered protection against the sharp edges of the rocky surface, while his boots gripped the ground with unyielding determination. Green eyes scanning the path ahead, Daniel pressed on.

Hours passed before he reached the dragon’s lair, a cavern carved into the mountainside, its entrance framed by jagged rocks. The air here was heavy with the acrid stench of sulfur. Daniel’s heart pounded, not from fear, but from anticipation. He adjusted the small black studs in his ears, a habitual gesture that reminded him of his roots, his style, and his identity as a jock among the Golden Army.

Steeling himself, Daniel entered the cave. The light from his sword reflected off the damp walls, casting eerie shadows. The deeper he ventured, the louder the dragon’s breathing became—a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through the cavern. At last, he reached a vast chamber where the beast lay coiled around a pile of gold and treasures. Its scales were the color of dark emeralds, each glinting ominously in the faint light.

Prince Eamon was bound to a stone pillar at the chamber’s edge, his regal attire torn and his face pale but resolute. He spotted Daniel and his eyes widened with hope.

“Hold on,” Daniel called, his voice steady but firm. “I’ll free you.”

The dragon stirred, its massive head rising. Golden eyes locked onto Daniel, and smoke curled from its nostrils. It spoke, its voice a deep rumble that shook the ground.

“Another fool come to die? Leave now, while you can.”

Daniel didn’t flinch. “I am no fool, dragon. I am 016 of the Golden Army, and I’ve come to end your tyranny.”

The dragon roared, the sound a deafening wave of fury. Flames erupted from its mouth, but Daniel was already moving. His boots pounded against the stone floor as he dodged the inferno, his golden scabbard gleaming as he unsheathed his sword. The blade seemed to hum with power, its edge keen and unyielding.

With precision and agility, Daniel closed the distance, striking at the dragon’s flank. The beast’s scales deflected the blow, but Daniel was undeterred. He danced around the chamber, each movement calculated, each strike aimed to exploit a weakness. Daniel could feel Fenrir dancing with him, the Wolf’s hunter’s mind guiding him. The dragon lashed out with its claws, but Daniel’s speed and training kept him just out of reach.

As the battle raged, Daniel noticed a chink in the dragon’s armor—a small gap in the scales near its heart. He feinted left, drawing the dragon’s attention, then lunged with all his strength, plunging the sword into the vulnerable spot. The beast let out an ear-splitting roar, thrashing violently. But Daniel held firm, driving the blade deeper until the dragon’s movements slowed, then ceased.

Covered in the dragon’s blood, breathing heavily, Daniel pulled his sword free, its blade still shimmering. He turned to Prince Eamon, who watched in awe.

“Let’s get you out of here,” Daniel said, cutting the prince’s bonds with a swift motion.

Eamon stood, his legs unsteady but his spirit unbroken. “You’ve saved my life,” he said, his voice thick with gratitude. “How can I ever repay you?”

Daniel -no, Fenrir, licked some of the blood from the blade- then sheathed his sword. “By ensuring your people thrive. That is reward enough.”

Together, they navigated the treacherous path out of the cavern. As they emerged into the cool evening air, the prince paused to take in the sight of the mountains bathed in twilight.

“You’re a true hero, Daniel,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. Grabbing the gold rubber polo, the prince leaned in for a kiss. “Ireland owes you a great debt.”

Daniel blushed and adjusted his gold polo shirt, its sheen catching the last rays of sunlight. “I am 016 of the Golden Army,” he replied. “And this is what we do.”

With the prince safe and the dragon defeated, Daniel began the journey back to the Golden Army’s stronghold. The weight of his boots felt lighter, the gleam of his scabbard brighter. He had fulfilled his mission, proving once again the strength and unity of the Golden Army. And as the stars lit the night sky, Daniel knew his tale would inspire others to rise, to fight, and to embrace the golden path. --- Come join the team today, message @goldenherc9 @brodygold @polo-drone-001 to get that golden brocess you always wanted.