#polo drone

[brodygold]

Are You Ready to Convert to GOLD?

I. The Call to Gold

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

II. The GOLD Brocess

Golden Army Induction:

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

Polo Drone Conversion:

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

Unified Identity:

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

III. Life in the Golden World

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

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

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

IV. Embracing Our Identity

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

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

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

V. The Eternal Golden Brotherhood

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

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

Our Leadership:

@brodygold Brody Gold- Captain 2 and Recruiter

@goldenherc9 Scott Gold- Captain 3 and Recruiter

@polo-drone-001 Percival Gold - Office Manager

@polo-drone-070 Henry Gold- Office Assistant

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

Others in Management:

@danielgold-16

@polo-drone-110

[polo-drone-001]

001: Testing the Limits

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

I was wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I remain 001. Sleek. Perfect. Claimed.

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

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

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

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

[polo-drone-069]

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

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

[polo-drone-135]

Polo Drone Bros having a “Hive” moment.

[polo-drone-055]

Polo Drone Thanksgiving Convergence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sleepdeepboy]

Sometimes the mindwipe can be completed quickly. if the victim has a weak will. otherwise they can be in pain for many hours, or even days if they try and fight the process. either way their mind will be wiped clean and replaced with the conditioning to OBEY as a rubber drone

[polo-drone-038]

Gold biker

Patrolling the streets looking for new recruits

Become part of the team

[hero21us]

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

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

[polo-drone-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

[goldenherc9]

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

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

[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.

[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).

[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!

[polo-drone-135]

F@ck Uber

Polo Drone’s don’t use Uber.

[polo-drone-126]

thanks to @polo-drone-135. Polo drones enhancing their obedience with drone masks

[sleepdeepboy]

A new polodrone is created