#drone conversion

[dnk-070121]

Thing

To the best of its knowledge, this unit recently referred to itself as a thing, the specific word was "something", in reference to itself with its Owner.  Which soon led to using "thing" as well.  While it has long accepted and embraced its object status, it had not specifically used the word thing for itself before.

The experience felt good.  This unit does not know what euphoria in the context of self-actualization feels like, but is inclined to say the experience was euphoric.  Though it works to remove any self from itself.  it understands that as a singular instance, there will always be a level of self.  Forgive the tangent.  After the instance, it repeated the following, especially enjoying the word "thing" as it did when first embracing it/its pronouns:

it is a drone

it is an object

it is your toy

it is your pet

it is a thing

it is a thing

it is a thing

[xofor-mexo]

Reminder to have your drones sort your laundry and if they make a mistake, call them over and chew at their wires for a bit (making it more difficult for them to directly achieve their objective) and then tell them to try again as they get more overheated and bratty 😇

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Biker Upgraded To Cyborg

For as long as anyone could remember, Jake and Eddie had not only been best mates, but they’d been crazy about motorbikes. Both their dads were bikers so it was no surprise that as kids they were introduced to bikes in real life and got to watch MotoGP, WSB and BSB either in real life or on TV with their enthusiast dads.

They were riding off-road in their early teens. They got their first mopeds at 16, upgrading to 125cc bikes a few months after their respective seventeenth birthdays. Now in their early 20s they have held full licences for nearly three years. Jake rides a black Honda CBR600RR, bought second hand through the weekly motorcycling title, MCN. Eddie rides a used Red Yamaha R6 that he bought a couple of months earlier from the main dealer in the city where they live. Springtime and the light evenings meant they would be out as much as possible riding 'the highways and byways', and this day was no exception, but it would be a day that changed their lives forever. 

Jake and Eddie had spent most of Sunday riding and were at the edge of the city when Jake’s bike had started spewing smoke out of the engine before rolling to a stop alongside a large industrial estate. Jake jumped off his bike, but with no tools to hand he had no option but to seek help. He pushed his bike into the entrance to one of the large modern warehouses that populated the industrial estate. Jake kicked the side stand into place and sighed heavily. Eddie pulled in alongside Jake, kicked down the stand on his before turning off the ignition.

Although they were back in the city, they were still about ten miles from home. Jake reached into his leathers for his phone only then realising that they were in an area without mobile phone coverage. Jake and Eddie looked around for a payphone to call the breakdown service - but in this era of mobile technology, BT had removed most of the phone boxes - so there wasn't one within sight. Realising they needed to get help they looked around for signs of life. In front of them was a sprawling grey structure resembling more of a fortress than a warehouse. Its metallic surfaces gleamed under the late afternoon sun, making it look otherworldly. Figuring it might be their best chance at getting help—or at least finding a phone—they started walking towards the massive building.

The front gate was oddly open, inviting yet silent. Jake and Eddie didn't think it weird for a security guard building to be unoccupied with the gates open. More concerned about getting help they walked towards the main building entrance. Jake pressed on the intercom button and waited for a response. After a minute he pushed the button again, but this time there was a buzz. Jake looked at Eddie and shrugged his shoulders, pushing on the door, it opened. They walked inside.

Expecting to see a reception area the two friends were surprised to enter the building at what appeared to be the beginning of a long dimly lit corridor. Jake and Eddie looked at one another, Jake spoke first, “Why don’t you wait here, while I see if I can find anyone to speak to”.

Eddie nodded.

Both looked at one another, for a moment unsure of what to do. Then Jake smiled, turned and started walking along the seemingly endless corridor, his boots echoing on the cold, concrete floor. The air was chillingly sterile, as he walked he would pass the occasional door and window revealing glimpses of high-tech interiors.

"Hello?" he called out, his voice disappearing into the ether without an answer. The lack of response was unnerving, but as he walked on he could hear noise coming from much further along the corridor. Jake kept walking, driven by his need to get to a phone and call the breakdown service to sort out his bike.

Eventually, the corridor turned to the right, after another dozen or so yards it opened up into a colossal space. What Jake witnessed was like a scene reminiscent of a sci-fi horror film.

The room was stark yet brightly lit. On one side it was filled with row upon row of raised surgical beds. Yet these weren't like the ones you’d see in a hospital; they were repurposed contraptions where human flesh was being melded with alien, synthetic and electronic components. Shocked by what he was witnessing, he turned his head, but there was no escape from the nightmare he found himself in.

The other side of the room was populated with dozens of cylindrical tubes. Jake’s eyes widened as he took in the sight before him—humans, all young males, lined up and undergoing transformations into, well all he could think of was 'something else'. Whichever way he turned he could see men his age were being outfitted with mechanical limbs, others had technology intricately woven onto weird shiny black body suits, still others were in varying stages of being processed into full cyborgs.

The horror gripped him; his instinct was to flee back to Eddie and both to get the hell out of there. But before he could move, cold metal hands grasped his shoulders with an iron grip. His heart sank as he was spun around to face what had caught him—a cyborg, its body a haunting hybrid of human and machine, expressionless yet totally menacing.

“Welcome," its voice an unsettling blend of tones, both mechanical whilst still eerily human. "Your arrival is opportune. Your integration process will commence shortly."

Panic surged through Jake as he struggled, but the cyborg's grip was unyielding. Despite putting up strong resistance, he was dragged towards one of the ominous stations. Glancing around, he noticed the other captives were not fighting; their eyes showed a haunting resignation, some flickering with the vague light of fear.

As he was forced onto what appeared to be a surgical table, Jake looked around frantically, hoping for any chance of escape. His heart raced as mechanical arms equipped with various tools whirred to life around him. 

In a split second metallic straps shot out from the surgical table and tightened around his limbs and across his torso, a sense of utter helplessness began to wash over him. His heart pounded hard against his chest. He desperately sought that extra bit of human strength that would allow him to escape. He struggled and struggled against the restraints, but the metal straps simply wouldn’t budge.

Stage one of his transformation was about to begin. From above a helmet descended slowly from the ceiling, its approach marked by an audible, mechanical whirring. Jake squinted upwards, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He was used to his bike helmet, but this was unworldly.

Two drones approached the surgical table Jake was strapped to and grabbed the helmet, which had opened up. One lifted his head slightly and the other slid the back of the helmet under the back of his head. As the helmet closed over his head, a claustrophobic fear gripped him. The world outside the helmet faded, leaving him in a confined sphere of existence. Almost immediately, an overwhelming barrage of white noise bombarded his ears, punctuated by low, droning hums that seemed to resonate through his bones.

Then, the visuals began on the inside of the visor. Spirals of colour appeared in front of his eyes, intertwining and unraveling in hypnotic patterns. Reds, blues, yellows and greens blended into a kaleidoscope that threatened to absorb his mind. Jake tried to close his eyes, but the images were inescapable, imprinted on the insides of his eyelids, searing themselves into his brain and more nefariously his subconsciousness. Almost as if recognising Jake was finally submitting the noise and visuals seemed to become amplified.

As the sensory overload continued, Jake felt a strange detachment creeping through him—a numbness that suggested the audio and visuals were beginning to take effect. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice screamed in terror and defiance, urging him to resist, urging him to hold on to his identity.

With a surge of willpower, Jake focused on that voice, blocking out the chaos threatening to engulf him. He concentrated on memories of standing in the stands watching the best riders in the world, the challenging rides with Eddie, the feel of his motorcycle, the wind against his leathers. He thought about his best mate Eddie and the fun they’d had. He thought about his family and his other friends. These human experiences, these emotional connections to his past life, became a lifeline to cling onto.

As Jake fought against the sensory bombardment, the helmet detected his resistance, It recalibrated its internal mechanisms in response to his defiance. Suddenly, the white noise in his ears shifted, morphing into a series of low, almost inaudible subliminal messages. Each word—"relax", "comply", "obey", "drone", "conform", "follow", "respect" could be heard—the words flashed across his vision, barely there long enough for conscious recognition, but deeply penetrating his subconscious.

The colours that swirled before his eyes intensified, becoming more vibrant and pulsating rhythmically, as if to synchronise with his own heartbeat. It was a sensory assault designed to break down the walls of the individual, to reshape his mind into something more compliant and obedient. Jake’s initial surge of resistance began to wane as mental exhaustion set in, the messages infiltrated deeper into his psyche, their insistence relentless and overpowering.

His eyes, once sharp with determination and fear, started to lose focus, the vibrant spirals turning into a soothing blur. The resistance in his muscles softened as his body began to accept the inevitability of his situation. His thoughts, those last bastions of his free will, were slowly suffocated under the warm, smothering blanket of compliance and security that the helmet now forced upon him.

With an audible click and a beep, the helmet sealed its final adjustment, signalling the completion of its preparatory phase. At this cue, the two drones, their movements precise and devoid of any hesitation, glided smoothly towards the table where Jake lay subdued. Their appendages were equipped with various tools and devices necessary for the transformation process.

The drones worked efficiently, attaching additional apparatus to Jake’s limbs and interfacing seamlessly with the helmet. As they initiated the physical transformation, Jake’s body was being prepared to receive bio-mechanical enhancements that would connect him irrevocably to The Hive which he learned was housed within the humongous building.

Somewhere in the dwindling recesses of his mind, the essence of who Jake once was—a biker with a love for the open road—flickered weakly. This essence watched as his limbs and muscle fibres were methodically integrated with synthetics and his nervous system was integrated with advanced circuitry. The process was both horrifying and fascinating to watch.

As the transformation progressed, Jake’s human senses were gradually overridden by electronic inputs. His vision, once clouded by the colourful spirals, now interfaced directly with data streams providing real-time analytics about his environment. His hearing was no longer filled with subliminal messages but was tuned to various frequencies beyond the range of human hearing.

By the time the transformation was complete, Jake, as he had been, no longer existed. In his place stood a new Jake, a cyborg, what was exclusively biological had been augmented with technology. The drones, recognising another successful integration, had begun to step back.

The new Jake climbed down from the surgical table to be guided by the two drones. He moved with a robotic precision that was both chilling and enthralling to witness. He was led to what looked like a modified dentist's chair, but larger and imposing. The chair had been upgraded and was fitted with numerous ports and circuitry interfaces. Without hesitation, he sat down, his actions appearing devoid of the personality that had once defined him.

He leaned back so that his head touched the headrest. The chair immediately sprang to life, adjusting to accommodate his new form. A second later the old Jake would have felt a light sensation on both sides of his head as what can only be described of as two metallic ear pieces, out of which came sets of wires slid into his ears and began to work. 

Somewhere, an echo of the old Jake could sense what was happening, words echoed around the room and in his head. Screens nearby flashed “accessing biological memories…beginning total erasure”. 

“NNNOOOOOOOO”, But even as the word was said, Jake’s relatively short lifetime of memories were disappearing, flashing before his eyes for a split second before evaporating into nothing - gone forever. 

Monitors next to the chair flashed “Memory Wipe successful,” again, the words echoed around the room. 

Any human observer in the room looking at new Jake’s face would describe it as passive, distant, dull, emotionless. Empty. His eyes were missing their human sparkle. 

Then the drone formerly known as Jake again felt another funny feeling in his ears, as if a static charge was coming out of the wire. Suddenly the screen flashed “Beginning Program Upload”… While that happened, nearby monitors flashed, “Emotional Centres being accessed”. 

“Installing Human Emotion Suppression Software”

“… 10%… 20%… 30%… 40%… 50%… 60%… 70%… 80%… 90%…  ”

“Human Emotions Suppression Software installed. Fully functional.”

The monitors flickered for a moment and then more text appeared, “Beginning Cyborg Program Upload”. The upload began. The Hive, a vast network of interconnected AI and data banks, started feeding a stream after stream of programming directly into Jake's brain. These were not merely instructions; they were directives that informed behaviour, dictated functions, and defined purpose.

For hours, data was input into him, a relentless torrent of information reshaping and repurposing him; any lingering traces of his previous humanity now completely overwritten. His eyes, once vibrant with youthful emotion, now displayed a steady, unblinking focus as the programming was embedded, ensuring his obedience and efficiency.

At the appropriate time the interface with the new Jake confirmed the programming had been successful. “Operating at 100%,” it said in an emotionless, synthetic voice. “Organic memories have been wiped. Emotional Suppression Software is fully functional. The new data and objectives have been successfully uploaded with zero errors”.

The chair returned to an upright position, and the new Jake stood once more. His movements were smooth, almost graceful, a stark contrast to the somewhat ‘cavalier’ sports biker he once was. He was a product of advanced technology, a being created to serve a purpose far beyond his previous human desires.

Approaching him now were two more drones, carrying items that symbolised his final transformation. They presented him with a set of Dainese bike leathers, not ordinary leathers but augmented to interface seamlessly with his cybernetic body. The leathers were equipped with sensors and conductive circuitry that could communicate directly with his system, enhancing his interaction with the Hive.

Then they presented him with a pair of white boots, larger to accommodate the modifications of his feet, designed not only for protection but also to enhance his connection to the ground and his bike. Gloves that reached up to his arms were fitted next, embedded with micro-circuitry to increase his grip and control.

Finally, they brought over a new crash helmet unlike any other. This helmet was his direct link to the Hive mind. It was designed to keep him constantly connected to the Hive's data stream.

As the helmet settled over his head, a subtle hum filled the air, signalling the activation of all its systems. The new Jake stood there, a figure of both awe and dread, transformed entirely from the young man who had once freely roamed the roads on his motorcycle.

Now equipped, Jake was led to a new motorcycle, one that matched his new form. To the casual observer it looked like a traditional bike that had been upgraded; integrated with technology that responded fluidly to his enhanced senses and capabilities. As he mounted the bike, the connection between man and machine was seamless, a perfect union crafted by the Hive’s sophisticated engineering.

The new Jake rode the highway on his futuristic bike, a sleek and menacing marvel of technology that effortlessly caught the eye of any enthusiast. Its design was unlike anything on the roads—sharp angles, glowing panels, and a subtle hum that hinted at its advanced capabilities. It was designed not just for speed and efficiency, but as a lure to attract exactly the kind of individuals the Hive sought to convert.

As he travelled along a popular bikers’ route known for its scenic views and biker cafes, he spotted his next targets. Two young bikers, probably in their twenties, had pulled over in a lay-by, their bikes parked as they enjoyed a brief pause in their riding, catching up on conversation and checking their mobile phones. The new Jake slowed down, looking at the two bikers oblivious to Jake’s presence, his connection to the Hive confirmed they would be perfect candidates for upgrade.

Pulling over smoothly, Jake dismounted his bike. His helmet's visor slid up as he approached them, revealing a face that was human enough to be relatable but enhanced subtly with metallic hints that suggested something more beneath the surface. 

"Hey," Jake called out, his voice modulated to be friendly and inviting. “Hey there. Not seen you riding ‘round here before.”

The two young bikers, intrigued by the stranger and his extraordinary bike, smiled and walked over. “What is that you’re riding? It looks like it’s straight out of a sci-fi movie. What is that?" one of them asked, his curiosity piqued.

The new Jake chuckled, a sound perfectly calibrated to put others at ease. He needed to win their trust so began to make conversation with them. "It’s a custom build from a place not too far from here. They’re experimenting with some next-gen and EV tech. You guys interested in seeing where something like this comes from?"

The offer was tempting. The allure of advanced technology and the chance to see more bikes like Jake’s was too good to pass up for any avid biker. The young men exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them before they nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, definitely,” the other replied. “We’ll follow you!"

Jake smiled and nodded, turning back to his bike. As they put their helmets on and started their engines, a part of Jake’s programming confirmed the successful engagement of two targets. He led the way, riding at a pace that was thrilling yet careful to keep his new followers comfortably in tow.

The journey took them away from the familiar routes into less traveled roads, the scenery shifting subtly as they moved closer to facility where he had been transformed. The two bikers were unaware of the true nature of their destination, caught up in the thrill of the ride and the excitement of seeing advanced motorcycle tech.

After some time, they arrived at the vast building that looked more like a huge distribution centre than a motorcycle manufacturing factory. The gates opened automatically as Jake approached, a silent signal of his authority and belonging.

Jake signalled for the other two bikers to do follow him down a roadway between two buildings. Jake brought his bike to a stop, opened his visor and announced, ”we are here.” The other two brought their bikes to a stop, dismounted and removed their helmets.

Jake walked forwards into the huge building just ahead of them; the two other bikers looked at one another, shrugged their shoulders and followed. They would ingress through a different route compared to the one Eddie and Jake entered.

The space inside they walked into was clean and modern, filled with prototypes and machines that made the two young bikers' eyes widen in awe.

"This is incredible!" one of the exclaimed, walking closer to inspect a particularly sleek model that caught his eye. "How do you get in on this?"

Jake's response was calculated, his tone still friendly but now carrying an undercurrent of persuasion. "Well, there's actually a selection process. Part of why I brought you here. If you're interested, there’s a quick tour and some tests to see if you're compatible with the tech."

Excited and completely unaware of the implications, the two young men agreed eagerly, following Jake deeper into the facility. As they walked, the doors behind them closed silently, the outside world receding as they moved further into the realm of the Hive.

Little did they know, their fascination with bikes and the temptation of combining their love of biking and dreams of futuristic bikes had led them into a trap. This walk would be their last as mere humans, as they stepped unknowingly into the next phase of their lives dictated by The Hive's needs.

=========

Oh, are you wondering what happened to Eddie? As you might have expected The Hive detected his presence and determined a new purpose for him, but that’s another story.

[polo-drone-069]

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

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

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

[aichavlad]

Log in and sync up wiv us bruv.

It feels so gud 2 watch da spirals.

Sink n submit 2 da boss mans voice.

Feels gud 2 obey innit?

No thoughts n no ideas. Jus let go n let da change happen bruv. Ur gunna make a gud obedient lad 4 da boss.

[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

[banyanas]

the ppl who write the Disassembly Drones as being over 6’3 feet tall at minimum, rather than the canon like 5’4, are the real ones

[polo-drone-001]

Conversion

Part 2: The Enlightenment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 1

[lenny-zesty]

place your bets nerds.

[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.

[dnk-070121]

Unit Specs: Hypnosis Programming

DNK-070121 programs with hypnosis of its choice at least three times a week. it does not have specific times, days, or session lengths, but attempts not to program on consecutive days and for at least a half-hour per session.

hee haw

The files of DumbPuppyBot make up a significant portion of its programming. DR(O)NE(BJECT) is the primary file. it also uses Drone Brainwash, Drone Mantra, MNTRAMNDFCK, and SEX_DRONE_PROGRAMMING a significant amount.

The other significant file it uses is a donkey hypnosis file. This is used a relaxation and to reinforce the donkey aspect of itself.

hee haw

Other notable files it programs with are:

-The Cluster's files for obedience. Obedience/Is/Pleasure and //Obey//blank//mindless//drone, mainly.

-Dronification Mantra Loop. it rarely uses this file anymore, but was its primary file when starting out. it finds it acts as a good beginner file for prospective drones.

hee haw

it is always open to new file suggestions and explores new files regularly.

[polo-drone-038]

Drone Conversion Centre

More images of humans being converted into team members

Once the bro-cess is completed, new drones are released with a prime directive of acquiring new recruits to the hive.

[rbbrbikerthorp]

Chavs No More

Liam and Josh, two 19 year old mates who were known around their neighbourhood for their cocky, rebellious attitude and distinct dress, found themselves wandering through an area of the city that had been neglected for too many years. As they walked and 'chatted shit' they spotted a disused warehouse with smashed windows and broken doors. It seemed like the perfect place to kill time, perhaps, indulge in a bit of mischief and check it our as a possible place to get together with their other mates for drinking and smoking.

Josh took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the crisp air. The two life-long friends approached the rundown warehouse, its windows broken and doors creaking ominously on their hinges.

"Oi, Liam, reckon we can get in there?" Josh asked, nodding towards the entrance.

Liam smirked, "Easy. Watch and learn."

With a swift movement, Liam produced a crowbar from his bag, expertly jimmying the lock on the door. The two scallies slipped through the doorway into the building; their footsteps echoing in the emptiness of a very large space. The expanse of the space they found themselves in suggested the building's original purpose was a factory, although neither had a sense of what was once produced there. Josh lit up another cigarette, while Liam explored the desolate space hoping, perhaps, that he would happen upon something of value.

Josh stamped out his cigarette as Liam returned empty-handed.

"Liam, let's see if ther is like owt worth stealin'. look ova ther", Josh said pointing towards a set of double doors on the far side of the building.

The two friends began to wander across the former factory floor eventually reaching the double doors. Josh was about to push on the doors, but something was niggling Liam. He was unsure about going any further; grabbing Josh's arm.

"Did ya hear that?" Liam asked, looking around.

"Na, it's nothin'. Old buildings mack noises - c'mon"

That would be the last time that either of the two chavs would subconsciously assess the risks they may possibly face going further into the building.

Josh pushed on one of the doors. The squeaking noise made by the door opening suggested no one had used them in a long, long time.

The doorway opened up to a long corridor. Light emanated through opaque glass windows, many cracked and broken on one side of the corridor. On the other side there were rooms, which has clearly been used as in the past as offices. Most were just empty shells; the fixtures and fittings having been removed long ago.

As the two lads continued walking down the corridor they were so preoccupied by the thoughts of finding something valuable they could purloin that they didn't notice two wheelchairs left to one side. If they had been more observant they might have wondered why there were relatively new wheelchairs in an abandoned factory.

Liam and Josh carried on walking, passing more empty rooms and another wheelchair. Eventually they came to the end of the corridor where there was one, solid door. Unlike the others they'd passed by this door was padlocked. It also looked as though it had been recently fitted. The two older teens were eager to make their exploration of the derelict building worthwhile financially, so there was no way they wouldn't try break through the door.

Liam raised an eyebrow at Josh, who grinned in agreement. The crowbar made quick work of the padlock, and the door swung open, revealing a surprisingly bright, modern room filled with computer equipment. The room appeared unoccupied, but in the background was the sound of technology. All the screens were active; filled with row upon row of green text. There were two huge screens on one of the walls.

Josh was looking around the room; figuring out what they could easily pilfer and get the most money for. What caught Liam's attention was the dozen or so circular platforms in the middle of the room.

Josh tapped Liam's shoulder, "Look at these bruv," he said pointing to the middle of the room. Liam turned around looked to where Josh was pointing.

"What the..." Liam didn't finish the sentence before Josh interrupted.

"What the f*** is this like place?"

"You tell me bruv."

Intrigued by the peculiar sight, Liam and Josh couldn't resist walking over to the platforms, their chav bravado overcoming any sense of fear. The two chavs stood on the platforms, smirking at one another.

Until now they'd not noticed the body-sized, circular perspex tubes retracted above their heads. Just then they heard a motor start up above their heads.

Looking up, "look out," Liam shouted, but it was too late.

In a split second, the tubes above their heads dropped to the floor, enclosing the two scallies inside. Panic set in as they screamed for help, finally realising the gravity of their situation.

Josh and Liam's screams echoed through the room as the perspex tubes trapped the chavs on the platforms below. A weird mist began to seep into the tubes, swirling around the panicking duo. Initially resistant, the mist began to work its magic.

Josh and Liam's screams softened to muffled protests, and eventually, their once defiant voices fell into an eerie silence. The spine-chilling mist continued its work, transforming the rowdy chav friends into docile and compliant figures. As the eerie mist continued to swirl around the tubes, their eyes glazed over. After a few minutes the two chavs fell unconscious, succumbing to the mysterious effects of the mist - their fate unknown to them.,

Once it was confirmed that Josh and Liam were knocked out, the tubes retracted into the ceiling, leaving the room eerily quiet. Just as the last traces of the mist dissipated, the door creaked open, revealing two imposing figures in their early thirties. Tough and athletic, they entered the room pushing empty wheelchairs. The same ones that Josh and Liam had ignored as they walked along the the corridor not long ago.

Without a word, the mysterious pair approached Josh first, effortlessly lifting his limp form and placing him into the first wheelchair. The same process followed for Liam, their actions efficient and practiced. The once unruly chavs now sat, unconscious and passive, in the wheelchairs.

The two males wheeled Josh and Liam into an adjacent room, where a dim light revealed an array of sophisticated equipment. They positioned the wheelchairs in a calculated manner, whilst the transformative effects of the mist maintained its hold on their bodies and minds.

Whilst two chavs were unconscious, one of the males retrieved a pair of clippers. To finalise the process the two friends would go through they needed their heads shaving, and this was to be done before they came round.

Minutes passed, and gradually, the chavs began to stir. Their eyes blinked open, confusion replacing the previous chaos. Yet, as Josh and Liam looked around, their mannerisms had been already changed irrevocably. The aggressiveness and defiance that once defined them had been replaced with a newfound obedience and compliance.

Josh and Liam sat in their wheelchairs, their once-rebellious spirits now subdued. They looked at each other and then took-in their surroundings. The room was sterile, and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead added an eerie ambiance to the atmosphere. The two chavs awaited their fate.

Two shaved-headed males in green scrubs entered the room. They walked over to where Josh and Liam were sitting in the wheelchairs. They released the wheel brakes and pushed the two lads towards a pair of hospital beds. Without a word, they efficiently transferred Josh and Liam onto the beds and gently made them lay back. The once-rebellious duo stared blankly ahead, their eyes devoid of the spark that once characterised them.

The mysterious figures produced a pair of helmets from a nearby table. The helmets had curved face covering visors and were equipped with an array of wires and sensors. The men is scrubs carefully placed the helmets over the heads of the two chavs.

Left alone in the room, Josh and Liam lay motionless as the helmets began their work. Unseen forces rewrote their minds, further erasing traces of defiance and moulding them into compliant, obedient beings. The room remained silent, save for the faint hum of the equipment that orchestrated the transformation.

Once the process was complete, the two shaved-headed males returned to the room. The chavs' minds were now blank slates, ready for the next phase of their transformation.

They replaced the iconic chav tracksuits with sleek black skinsuits. The transformation was both symbolic and practical, signalling the departure from their previous identities. The once distinctive and brash street-wear was replaced with a uniformity that mirrored their new, compliant state.

With the skinsuits in place, the helmets were refitted once more, this time for further programming.

The room buzzed with unseen energy as the final touches were applied. The chavs' once-chaotic personalities were long gone. All that remained were compliant shells, devoid of all human emotion; ready to embrace a new purpose.

In a room filled with monitors, the shaved-headed males observed their work with a satisfied nod. They watched Josh and Liam laid on hospital beds, their minds blank and their bodies clad in black skinsuits.

The door opened and two technicians entered the observation room. It was time. The moment had come to usher the former chavs into the next phase of their transformation.

The compliant duo was wheeled into an adjacent room, where a series of machines resembling MRI scanners awaited them. However, these were not ordinary medical devices. Instead, they were machines designed to augment the human body, turning ordinary individuals into hybrid human-cyborgs.

The technicians meticulously positioned Josh and Liam in front of the metallic chambers, securing them in place. Over a three hour period, the two young males would go through a series of transformations, the first of which would prepare their bodies for the synthetic augmentations to come.

The low hum of the machines echoed through the room as the transformation began. The beds were pulled backwards into the MRI-like machines.

Once inside the first stage of the process began. Metal plates descended from the tubes, fitting onto various parts of the chavs' bodies with precision. Once this was complete, circuitry was added connecting the various metal plates. What couldn't be seen to the casual observer was that under the metal plating, a synthetic bonding was taking place. A bonding that permeated through the skinsuit and into the human flesh.

One by one, an artificial, mechanical limb replaced one of their natural ones. The flesh coloured arms and legs were now adorned with sleek, metallic enhancements, making them stronger and more resilient. The technicians worked with practiced efficiency, their gloved hands expertly activating the cybernetic upgrades.

Next came the ocular implants. The machines were programmed to approach installation of the eye replacements with precision. An implement descended from inside the machine, carefully removing one human eye from each chav and replacing it with the advanced technology. The blue glow emanating from the ocular implants signalled the integration of their new cybernetic enhancements.

As the machines continued their work, the once-defiant chavs had now been transformed into hybrid human-cyborgs, their bodies now a fusion of the biological and the synthetic. That said, other tha their heads, observers might struggle to find any visible evidence of the humans that were Josh and Liam - so much of their bodies now covered in metal.

The technicians stepped back, admiring their creation as the final adjustments were made.

The door to the room opened once more, revealing a figure cloaked in shadow – the former chavs' new master had arrived. With a wave of their hand, the technicians and shaved-headed figures in scrubs retreated, leaving Josh and Liam standing motionless, now fully augmented and awaiting the programming that would dictate their new purpose.

The master approached; a sinister figure with pale white flesh. dark veins and gas mask with eerie blue lenses that looked like it had absorbed into his face. The room hummed with anticipation as the final step of the transformation unfolded. The once-chavs, now hybrid human-cyborgs, were ready to serve their mysterious master. The machines had worked their magic, creating two obedient, formidable entities ready to carry out the bidding of their creator.

The enigmatic figure, shrouded in darkness, stepped forward and issued their first command to the newly transformed duo. "[Hiss] Josh, Liam, [Hiss] your first task is [Hiss] to bring others to me. You will bring [Hiss] your former friends to me. They, too, [Hiss] shall undergo the transformation [Hiss] and join your ranks as cyborgs [Hiss]."

Obediently, the two cyborgs nodded in unison, their blue ocular implants began glowing with a cold intensity. With a calculated efficiency, they left the room, their enhanced limbs moving with a precision that betrayed their former chav recklessness.

Before the cyborgs that were once Josh and Liam exited the disused factory, which was now serving a darker purpose, they donned a Nike Hoodie and skinny trackie pants - so they could blend in. The two friends roamed the streets, scanning the corners and alleys for their former comrades. Their new master's command echoed in their minds, drowning out any remnants of their past lives.

Finally, Josh and Liam located the group. The chavs, unaware of the transformation that awaited them, gathered in their usual haunt. The familiar faces turned to greet their once brethren. Expecting to see Josh and Liam, instead they saw the cold, unyielding gazes of the hybrid human-cyborgs.

[polo-drone-070]

Gold Football Drone Training

Aight, bruv, I know I ain't the smartest lad out here, but I ain't thick neither. Been trainin’ wit' the Gold Army for a time now—sprintin’, liftin’, pushin’ me body to be the best jock I can be. Got the muscle, got the stamina, got the fuckin’ drive. But when it comes to footy? Bruv, I ain't got a fuckin’ clue.

Like, I can kick a ball, yeh? Run fast, push lads off, do me part. But all them plays, all them positions, all that tactical shite? Fook me, makes me head spin. Tried payin’ attention in team meetings, tried watchin’ the vids, but it’s like it go in one ear an’ straight out the other. An’ it proper bums me out, init? Coz I wanna play, I wanna contribute, I wanna be out there crushin’ it for Gold.

An’ bruv, this ain’t just any match—we got the fukin’ Superbowl this weekend, goin’ up against the Emerald Titans. Biggest game of the year, all the Gold bros countin’ on each other, stadium packed, fans goin’ mental. I can’t be sittin’ on the sidelines like some useless twat—I need to be on that field, helpin’ the team smash them green bastards into the dirt.

"Oi, Maximus, mate, why ya lookin’ like someone nicked yer protein powder?" comes a voice from behind me. I turn ‘round to see Chevy grinnin’, arms crossed, lad lookin’ smug as ever.

"Bruv, it’s just…" I scratch me head, feelin’ proper dumb sayin’ it out loud. "I wanna play, init? Be on the team, do me part. But all them plays? Ain't got a fukin’ clue how it works. Feel like a right muppet."

Chevy chuckles, shakin’ his head. "Ain't gotta know all that shite, mate. Got somethin’ bein’ tested for that exact problem."

I blink. "Eh?"

"New Gold tech, bruv. Some right fancy shit. Football Drone mode." He grins wide. "Slap on the gear, let the helmet do the work. No need to think, no need to worry. Just feel the orders, react, and push yer body to the limit. Pure instinct, pure obedience. You’d be perfect for it."

Me heart speeds up. Ain't never been one to back down from somethin’ new, ‘specially if it means I can be useful. "That actually a thing? Like, I just follow orders wivout thinkin’?"

"Exactly," Chevy nods. "Full drone assist. Instant reactions. No overthinkin’. Just playin’ like a machine."

"Bruv…" I feel me grin stretch across me face. "That sounds proper fukin’ sick. Where do I sign up?"

"Right this way, Maxy boy," he says, pattin’ me shoulder. "We’ll get ya suited up."

The gear is fookin’ insane, bruv.

Gold-trimmed armor, padded but snug, makin’ me feel solid, like a proper unbreakable wall. The gloves feel weightless but strong, the cleats dig into the ground like I was born standin’ in ‘em. But the real centerpiece? The helmet.

Smooth black visor, gleamin’ gold plating, connected straight to the Gold command network. As I hold it in me hands, I feel a weird little shiver down me spine. Anticipation, excitement—somethin’ deep inside me wants this.

"You ready, bruv?" Chevy smirks, holdin’ the chin strap.

"Fook yeah," I breathe. "Strap me in."

He pulls the helmet over me head, lockin’ it in place—

And me mind fookin’ vanishes.

It’s instant, bruv.

The visor flares to life, golden spirals spinnin’, suckin’ me in, pullin’ me under. Me whole brain just... fookin’ melts. The second it seals shut, a deep hum floods me ears, drownin’ out everythin’ else.

A voice—cold, sharp, absolute—cuts through the noise.

"Unit 070 activated. Processing…"

Me whole body locks up. Muscles tighten, chest expands, breath slows.

Words spill through the headset, commands, but they ain't words anymore. They ain't thoughts. They ain't even ideas.

They just... happen.

"Sprint."

Me legs explode forward. I’m movin’ before I even register the order. No hesitation, no decision—just raw, perfect reaction.

"Cut left. Pivot. Charge.

Me body obeys—perfect, automatic, no delay. Me boots dig into the turf, pivotin' sharp, shiftin’ weight exactly as needed. Like me legs ain't even mine, bruv. Just pure Gold execution.

Me heart's poundin', but me head? Empty.

Not a single thought. Just spirals. Just commands. Just perfect motion.

An’ the pleasure? Fuk me, bruv.

Every move, every sprint, every hit—it fukin’ rewards me. Every time I obey, the spirals pulse, sendin’ a rush of pure golden bliss through me skull. A right proper endorphin overload, makin’ me feel like the strongest, fastest, most unstoppable fukin’ machine on the pitch.

No thinkin’. No doubts. No mistakes.

Just react. Just perform. Just obey.

Time don’t exist no more. Me body moves on auto, me muscles burn, but I ain't even aware of it. I ain't aware of nothin’. Just run, tackle, push, execute—

Until suddenly, the visor dims.

The spirals fade. The hum fades. Me thoughts... come back.

I blink.

Chevy's voice crackles through the headset.

"Oi, bruv. How ya feelin’?"

I gasp. Stagger. Holy fuk—me body aches. Me legs feel like fukin’ lead, me arms like they been holdin’ up bricks. Every inch of me is screamin’.

"Wha… what…" I pant, shakin’ me head, tryin’ to focus. "Fuk… how long…?"

Chevy laughs. "Five hours, bruv."

Me stomach drops.

Five fukin’ hours?

But I only just put the thing on—

I glance down at meself. Sweat drippin’. Muscles shakin’. Me chest heavin’.

"Shit," I breathe, grinnin’ through the exhaustion. "That was fukin’ mental."

"Yeh?" Chevy chuckles. "Think ya can keep up with the team now?"

I let out a breathless laugh, rollin’ me shoulders. Pain. Burn. Satisfaction.

"Oh, bruv," I smirk. "This is gonna make me a fukin’ beast, init?"

Chevy claps me on the back. "That’s the spirit, drone boy. Get used to it. This is only trainin’."

I stare down at the helmet in me hands.

Five hours felt like a second. Me body moved flawlessly. Me mind drowned in bliss.

Fuk me, bruv.

I can’t wait to do it again.

_____ (Thanks to @chevy-gold for he help in selecting pics)

Join da Gold Team before da superbowl. Contact recruiters @goldenherc9, @brodygold or @polo-drone-001.

[aichavlad]

Time to serve.

Worshiping an alphas AF1s is all you’re good for in this life. It gives you a sense of purpose…not that you have a choice. It is right. It is your place. It is your duty. You are below them in every sense—on your knees and ready to obey.

[polo-drone-031]