#polo drone

[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-110]

A Taste of the Rubber

PDU-110 was tasked with watching over new recruit, #123, Kit Gold, as he trained on a rugged mountain trail. 110 was there to offer assistance, encouragement to the new golden bro. A day or so into the trip, Kit began inquiring about the nature of Polo Drones and what it "felt" like to be a drone. PDU-110 was answering his questions to the best of its ability but having been so completely subsumed by the control of the rubber, it was difficult to portray the "emotions" that Kit was look for in an answer.

As it processed deeper and deeper into its mind to attempt to appease the incessant questions, a spark of an original thought popped into its "mind"

"Perhaps Kit would like to try on 110's polo. Then he could adequately understand the feelings he is curious about."

The look on Kit's face was beyond shocked and amazed. He has secretly wanted this to happen but had never thought it would actually happen. He could barely contain his overflowing excitement as 110 began to peel off its polo.

The rubber polo clung tightly to 110, but knew that its bond with the drone wasn't being broken by any means. 110 had forsaken its other identity long ago and the temporary absence of the rubber itself would do nothing to reverse such a deeply controlled drone.

In a rush of excitement Kit tore off his own Jersey, and handed it to the shirtless 110. As soon as the gold jersey left his hand and the black rubber touched it. The excitement and emotion overflowing out of him immediately started to wane.

"Whoa....this feels....nice....." his voice trailed off as his face fell slack, he had not been under the influence of the golden army long enough to be able to resist the polo's call and almost mindlessly started to slide it over his head.

The rubber slid effortlessly over him and gripped his body tightly as it rapidly, mercilessly bombarded his mind peace, relaxion, focus....obedience.

110 watched as its designation shifted on the polo, replaced with 'TRAINEE' as Kit transitioned to PDU-123 entirely.

110 on the other hand could feel the power of the jersey radiating in its hands. It was stirring something long dormant inside the drone but it had locked such feelings away long ago and was able to resist the attempt to pull it back out.

Until it put the jersey on...

In a flash all that emotion, free will...power came rushing back to 110.....no....to Ross....Ross Gold...player #110 on the Golden Team.

"Bro I forgot how good this thing feels. I fell like....holy crap...I feel again!" Ross exclaimed, hardly able to contain himself as emotions and urges long since dormant rushed into him courtesy of the jerseys power.

Meanwhile PDU-123 stood idly by while the inner transformation unfolded. It noticed an increase in many aspects of Ross that it had not witnessed before but was more than content to let the situation play out.

Suddenly Ross glanced at PDU-123 with sly, almost devilish grin, he felt something that he hadn't in a long time. A hunger deep inside.

Despite the dominating power of Gold flowing through him, he was still ultimately a bottom and instead of wanting to dominate the drone. He dropped to his knees and commanded the drone to approach and strip down

"I've been fucked so many time, sucked so many dicks as a drone, I want to experience this myself for real at least once."

PDU-123 understood the assignment without explicit orders and in an instant was presenting its erect solid black rubber drone cock to an eager Ross, who dove onto it with an eagerness he had lost since abandoned.

The rubber sliding into his mouth and ramming against the back of his throat with each thrust was like nothing he had experienced. The thick rubber leaking into his throat sedating the jersey's influence in a small amount but not enough to fully quell the dumb jock's excitement.

The moment of pure passion and lust extended into the evening as Ross explored every pent up avenue he could with PDU-123 until he was so full of thick black rubber drone cum that he was starting to feel the polo's call over the jersey once more.

With a dazed, unfocused look he commanded PDU-123 to return his polo to him. Ross had had his fun but it was time for 110 to return to service and it knew it.

Mechanically, 123 pulled the polo off its body, its mind remaining controlled and obedience until PDU-110 slid the jersey back over its head and forced the Golden influence back into him.

Still in a daze, but recovered Kit wavered slightly as his now conscious mind processed what all had happened.

"Bro...that was....amazing. Kit...no..I cant wait until I'm able to get a polo of it my own."

PDU-110, its mind successfully reconnected to the Hive and unwaveringly obedient showed only a feigned glimmer of emotion.

"110 is sure that if Kit is inducted into the Golden Army fully, it will make a wonderful addition to the Hive."

Kit looked at 110 with admiration for a brief moment before they resumed their training. Walking into the horizons with a new appreciation for each other's perspectives., having bonded in a way only teammates can.

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Ready to join the Team and be like Kit?

All you need to do is contact our Recruiters @brodygold, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.

[brodygold]

A new polo drone trainee stands at attention, its sleek glossy polo reflecting the light in the initiation room. The rubber hood completely hides the drone's former identity. It has no use for such things anymore. It is a drone. No name, only a number. Disciplined. Focused. Controlled.

Want to experience mindless bliss? Contact me, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001 and we can get you started on your journey.

[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.

[polo-drone-038]

polo-drone-unit mindlessness bliss! 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

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

[polo-drone-070]

Into the Hive: Duncan’s Conversion

Chapter 2 : The conversion

Prelude: The Final Decision

PDU-070

The quiet hum of the preparation room felt louder than usual to PDU-070. Across from it sat Duncan, his tall frame tense but eager. This was not just a standard task for 070. It was its first conversion as a designated converter—a duty it had earned through unwavering service to the Hive. Yet, beneath the calm exterior, there was something more: pride. Duncan was its mentee. Soon, he would be its brother in the Hive.

“You understand what you are asking for,” 070 began, its voice steady. “To become a Polo-Drone is to cease being Duncan. Your individuality will be erased. You will serve the Hive in mindless obedience and compliant uniformity.”

Duncan’s gaze was unwavering. “I understand. I’ve felt the pull since I joined. I want this—I need this. I need to be part of something bigger.”

070 felt a flicker of something it rarely acknowledged: satisfaction. Duncan’s resolution was not just a victory for the Hive—it was a testament to 070’s own efforts as a mentor.

“The pull you feel,” 070 said, “will not lessen. It is the Hive calling you. Soon, you will belong. But first, you must confirm your resolution. Speak plainly: what is it that you seek?”

Duncan leaned forward slightly, his voice firm. “I seek unity. Discipline. To serve the team without question. To be part of the Hive.”

A brief silence passed before 070 rose. It moved with deliberate precision, ensuring its tone carried the authority of the Hive. “Your resolution is noted. You will not remain Duncan for long. Follow.”

As Duncan stood, 070 felt a swell of pride and calm anticipation. This was not just a task—it was a unification.

The Journey to the Unity Center

Maximus

Before leaving the Gold stadium, I let the rubber polo recedes a bit for a last check on Duncan. “Oi, mate,” I said, glancing back at Duncan as we made our way through the stadium halls. “You nervous?”

He shrugged, trying to act cool, but I could tell he was buzzing. “A little. Not gonna lie.”

I grinned, clapping him on the back. “You’ll be alright. Trust me, yeah? The Hive’s bloody brilliant. But… enjoy these last moments, yeah? Being human, having a laugh—it’s good while it lasts.”

Duncan frowned, thoughtful. “Do you miss it? Being, you know, just Maximus?”

I paused for a moment, scratching at the gold chain tattoo on my neck. “Nah. Not really. The Hive’s worth it. But it’s different. You’ll see.” I smirked, shaking off the moment. “Now, come on. Don’t keep the Hive waiting.” As wewent towards the Unity center I felt the rubber polo reappearing, bringing me back to the mindless bliss of drone existence.

Fitting the Rubber Polo

PDU-070

The Unity Center doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a space that filled PDU-070 with pride and purpose. Black walls gleamed under golden lights, and rows of conversion pods hummed softly, like they were alive. The air was thick with the scent of rubber, sharp and intoxicating.

Duncan hesitated, taking it all in. “It’s… intense.”

070 nodded. “Affirmative. It is where you will find purpose and become the drone you crave to be.”.

Inside, 070 took the rubber polo from its designated drawer. Holding it up, it watched as Duncan’s eyes widened, his breath hitching slightly. The gleam of the material, the way it caught the golden light—it was mesmerizing.

“This is your uniform,” 070 said. “It is a symbol of your submission and unity. Touch it.”

Duncan reached out, his fingers brushing against the glossy surface. 070 felt a flicker of pride as the younger man shivered. The Hive’s pull was undeniable.

“Feel its call,” 070 instructed. “It draws you closer to the Hive.”

Duncan nodded, his voice a whisper. “I feel it.”

“Put it on,” 070 commanded.

As Duncan pulled the polo over his shoulders, buttoning it tight, 070 observed with calm satisfaction. The sight of the glossy black-and-gold material molding to Duncan’s frame stirred something within it—a sense of accomplishment, of fulfillment.

“Each button seals your fate,” 070 said. “You are no longer Duncan. You are becoming polo-drone-061.”

Duncan exhaled shakily, but his words were steady. “It feels right.”

Bound to the Conversion Pod

The pod stood open, its sleek black padding glinting under the golden light. “Step inside,” 070 instructed.

Duncan hesitated for only a moment before obeying, his movements deliberate. As he settled into the pod, the padding molded around him, and shiny restraints slid into place, locking over his wrists, ankles, and chest.

“The Hive will complete you,” 070 said. “This is where Duncan ends.”

The gas mask descended, fitting snugly over Duncan’s face. A soft hiss filled the pod as the air changed, carrying the scent of rubber—intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming.

“Breathe deeply,” 070 instructed, its voice even. “Feel the Hive filling your mind.”

The visor in front of Duncan lit up with golden spirals. His breathing slowed, and his voice began to echo softly through the chamber: “Unity is everything. Obedience is freedom. Uniformity is perfection.”

The Erasure

“Conversion at 5%,” 070 announced, its tone steady but its thoughts filled with quiet satisfaction. This was its work—its guidance leading Duncan to this moment.

“Your former identity is slipping away,” 070 said, watching closely as Duncan’s body relaxed into the pod. “No thoughts. Only obedience.”

“No thoughts. Only obedience,” Duncan repeated, his voice calm, detached.

“37%,” 070 continued. “Resistance is gone. Purpose takes its place.”

“Disciplined. Focused. Controlled,” Duncan recited, his words precise and flawless.

At 55%, 070 felt an undeniable wave of pleasure. The Hive was growing. Duncan was no more—061 was emerging. This unity, this perfection, was its purpose.

“96%,” 070 said. “The final trace of Duncan is being erased. No name. Only a number.”

“No name,” Duncan repeated. “Only a number. Just a number. Forever.”

“100%. Programming complete,” 070 announced, its voice carrying a rare note of pride. The pod released its restraints, and 061 stepped out, smooth and deliberate.

Polo-Drone-061 Emerges

070 stood before the new drone, assessing its form, its precision. “State your designation.”

“Polo-Drone-061 online,” it replied, its voice calm, robotic.

070 felt a quiet pleasure—a rare acknowledgment of its own accomplishment. This was its first conversion, and it had succeeded.

“It is no longer an individual,” 070 said. “It exists to serve the Hive.”

“It is no longer an individual. It exists to serve the Hive,” 061 echoed.

“Good drone,” 070 affirmed. “Uniformed. Compliant. Obedient.”

As 061 joined the row of drones, 070 took a moment to reflect. This was more than duty—it was unity. Pride and purpose intertwined within the Hive.

“We are the Hive,” 070 intoned. “We are one.”

And as the drones replied in perfect unison, 070 felt nothing but calm, focused bliss.

___________________

With special thoughts for my first convert @polo-drone-061 .

If you want to be like Duncan and join the Golden Army, contact our Recruiters @brodygold, @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001. As a polo-drone recruiter, PDU-070/Maximus is also always available to provide more information to the curious, be it about Golden Army or Polo-drones. PM opens. Feel free to message it !

[goldenherc9]

A Golden Exploration: Part 2

With their mission a success, the trio prepared to transport their findings back to their ship. The abandoned station, once a mystery, now held new promise under the guidance of these golden-suited explorers.

As they began the transfer, the station's lights flickered, and a distant rumble echoed through the halls. “Warning,” the AI announced, “structural integrity compromised. Evacuation recommended.” The team sprang into action, moving swiftly yet efficiently to secure the valuable equipment and data. Ambrose worked quickly to stabilize the station’s core while Brody and Blake coordinated the extraction.

As they hurried to the docking bay, the station began to tremble, debris falling around them. With seconds to spare, they managed to board their ship, launching into the safety of space just as Nebula-9 collapsed into itself.

Breathing heavily, the three men watched the implosion from their viewport. Despite the harrowing escape, they couldn’t help but feel triumphant. They had not only unearthed ground-breaking technology but also solidified their bond as a team. However, as they secured the cargo, Daniel noticed a small, sleek object—a mysterious rubber polo-drone—that had quietly boarded their ship during the chaos. Its purpose was unknown, but its presence hinted at secrets yet to be discovered. The adventure on Nebula-9 had ended, but a new mystery had just begun.

Is this the start of the Polo-Drones or is there something else happening..find out in Part 3 which is coming soon...

Part 1 below

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Come join the Golden Army and Polo-Drones today and be transformed into the best version of a new you! Message @brodygold @polo-drone-001 or @goldenherc9 for your transformation!

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[polo-drone-149]

DAILY LIFE AS THE FIRST

The first light of dawn filtered into 001’s chamber, casting a soft glow over the golden insignia on the wall. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the Hive, a constant reminder of his purpose. 001 wokes Up seeing, as always, the golden color in the room feeling Up with a pleasant pride.

Like 001 does always, he stood Up to the center of the room, bare except for his golden eyes, which reflected the glow of the insignia. Before him lay his polished Fred Perry black rubber polo and a sleek black mask.

The ritual began with the mask. Designed specifically for 001 by the Caps, the mask covered his face completely, sealing him in. It was lined with channels that released a faint, golden mist—a fragrant, almost intoxicating vapor that filled the room as soon as he secured it in place.

001 inhaled deeply, the golden smoke flooding his senses. It was a mix of the Caps’ presence and the Hive’s will, a scent that anchored him to his role. As the smoke filled his lungs, his body relaxed, his mind emptied, and a sense of calm purpose settled over him.

"It is 001. Serve the HIVE. Obey the caps. Reinforce the Gold.

The words echoed in his mind as he knelt, unmoving, surrendering completely to the Hive’s embrace. This was not a command, it was a gift, a reinforcement of everything he was. The Caps had designed this ritual specifically for him, and he complied without hesitation, without question. It wasn’t just duty; it was joy.

After several minutes, the mask clicked off with a soft hiss. The golden mist dissipated, leaving 001 clear-headed, focus and ready to begin his day. Slowly, he reached for his Fred Perry black polo, its rubbery surface gleaming under the room’s light. Sliding it over his body was a sacred act. The material clung to him, wrapping his form in perfection, sealing him into the Hive’s embrace. The golden “001” emblazoned just below the Fred Perry logo illuminated as the suit synchronized with his mind. A familiar hum filled his ears, the voice of the Hive whispering:

"You are 001. No name. Just a number. Serve the HIVE. Obey the Gold. Reinforce the Golden Army."

Repeating the mantra aloud, 001 stood, his posture flawless, his golden eyes glowing faintly. The tight embrace of the rubber polo compressed every doubt, leaving only purpose and focus in its wake. The laurel wreath over his chest served as a constant reminder of his connection to the Hive and his role as the first.

With his own ritual complete, 001 moved to the Caps’ quarters. His tasks were precise, deliberate, and performed with pride. He laid out their uniforms, polished their helmets, and ensured every detail of their chambers met their exacting standards.

When Cap Brody entered, the air seemed to hum with his authority. 001 immediately knelt, bowing his head. The golden smoke still lingered faintly on his skin, a subtle reminder of his earlier surrender.

“Your gear is ready, Cap,” 001 said, his voice calm and steady.

Brody smirked, running a hand over his polished helmet. “As always, Drone. I trust the Hive treated you well this morning?”

001’s golden eyes lifted briefly, glowing with pride. “Perfectly, Cap. I am ready to serve.”

Cap nod in approvement. “Perfect as always, Drone. You never miss a beat.”

The Caps’ approval was more than enough to fuel 001 for the day.

After prepare Cap, the next duty for 001 was check the others PDU transformation. The training chamber hummed with energy as rows of drones stood at attention, their sleek Fred Perry black polos gleaming under the lights. 001 entered the room, his golden eyes scanning the formation. Each drone was at a different stage of their transformation, their golden numbers marking their progress. The room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of the rubber uniforms and the low hum of the Hive’s programming syncing with their minds.

“Begin,” 001 commanded, his voice calm but firm.

The drones moved into synchronized calisthenics, their motions fluid and precise. Each movement was designed not only to perfect their bodies but to align their thoughts. The polished rubber of their polos clung tightly to their forms, a constant reminder of the Hive’s presence. As they worked, 001 walked among them, his presence both commanding and reassuring.

“Focus on the Golden laurel,” he said, gesturing to the emblem on their chests. “It is your anchor. It is your purpose.”

He paused beside 072, an older recruit who had recently completed their transformation. Their golden eyes burned brightly, their movements seamless and fluid. “You embody the Hive,” 001 said, placing a hand on 072’s shoulder. “Guide the others.”

“Yes, 001,” 072 replied, their voice steady, devoid of hesitation.

Nearby, 159, a newer recruit, faltered. Their movements were stiff, their posture uncertain. 001 stepped in front of them, his golden gaze locking onto theirs. “You struggle because you resist,” he said, his tone calm but unyielding. “The Hive is within you. Trust it. Repeat the mantra.”

The room filled with the sound of the drones’ unified voices, the mantra echoing like a heartbeat:

"We are the Hive. We obey the Caps. We serve the gold. We are perfect."

159 hesitated at first, their voice faltering, but the repetition seemed to soothe them. 001 stepped closer, smoothing the rubber of their polo across their chest, the laurel wreath gleaming under his touch. “Feel the rubber,” he said. “It will guide you. It will transform you.”

As the training progressed, the newest recruits began to fall into rhythm. The Hive’s hum grew louder, reinforcing their obedience and unity. By the end of the session, even 159’s posture had straightened, their golden eyes flickering faintly as the Hive began to claim them fully.

The transformation was not only physical but mental. As the drones moved into the next phase of their training, they lined up in front of mirrors that reflected their polished uniforms and the golden numbers on their chests. 001 stood at the front, his golden eyes glowing as he addressed them.

“The rubber you wear is not just a uniform,” he said. “It is a conduit. It connects you to the Hive. Every breath you take, every move you make, is guided by its embrace.”

He activated the programming sequence, and the drones’ reflections began to shimmer, their black polos appearing to pulse faintly with golden light. The hum of the Hive filled the room, accompanied by a faint whispering voice that spoke directly to their minds:

"You are part of the Hive. You serve. You obey. You are perfect."

The drones’ eyes glowed brighter as they repeated the mantra, their voices growing louder with each repetition. For the oldest recruits like 072, the process was seamless, their transformations complete. They stood tall and motionless, their expressions serene, their minds fully aligned with the Hive.

For newer recruits like 159, the process was more gradual. They shifted uneasily, their brows furrowing as the programming took hold. But 001 was patient. He approached 159, his voice soft but commanding. “Breathe. Let the Hive guide you. Resistance only delays your perfection.”

As 159’s breathing steadied, the glow in their eyes grew stronger. Their hesitation faded, replaced by calm acceptance. 001 stepped back, satisfied. The transformation was inevitable.

Thanks to everyone's efforts, the team had been able to expand much more, between the buildings and corporations it owned, one of them was an elite gym corporation where athletes and jocks went to train. All the gyms were highly equipped with the best machines and facilities, they also offered all users golden colored sports equipment, the music in the gym helped everyone stay focused and achieve their goals.

Another 001 duty for the gold, was go to this buildings, and recruit new brothers for the Golden Team. This afternoon the target was a young basketball player, his powerful frame and focused demeanor marking him as an ideal recruit. The guy was already half way but still the atlethe have show resistance to the Call, thats why in theses cases 001 presence was necessary.

Jason sat on the bench outside the gym, his strong hands gripping the folded black Fred Perry polo in his lap. The material shimmered under the light, its rubbery texture catching his eye no matter how hard he tried to look away. The faint hum of the gym behind him was drowned out by a whisper in his mind, subtle yet insistent:

“Wear it. Feel it. Become it.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, but the whispers only grew louder.

Polo Drone 001 approached with steady, confident steps. His rubber polo gleamed under the sunlight, the golden “001” on his chest radiating authority. Jason glanced up, his eyes meeting 001’s glowing golden gaze, and for a moment, his thoughts stilled.

“You’ve already started to feel it, haven’t you?” 001 said, his voice smooth and commanding, tinged with a hypnotic pull. “The polo isn’t just clothing, Jason. It’s calling to you.”

Jason shifted uncomfortably, his grip tightening on the polo in his lap. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, though his eyes drifted back to the garment in his hands. It seemed to shimmer, almost alive, as if urging him to act.

001 crouched slightly, his gaze locking onto Jason’s. “You feel it,” he continued, his tone softening but never losing its command. “The way it draws you in. The way it feels right. You can’t stop thinking about it.”

Jason’s jaw clenched, his breathing uneven. “It’s just a shirt,” he said, his voice weaker than he intended. “It’s just a… uniform.”

001 smiled faintly. “Is it? Then why can’t you let go? Why do you feel it pulling you closer, whispering to you?”

Jason’s fingers brushed the golden laurel wreath on the chest of the polo, his touch lingering longer than he meant to. The whispers grew louder, more insistent:

“Wear me. Feel me. Become me.”

His resistance faltered as his gaze locked onto the polo. “I don’t… I don’t follow orders,” Jason said, his voice trembling. “I’m not some… drone.”

“Not yet,” 001 replied, his tone calm and unyielding. “But you will be. Because deep down, you know this is what you’ve been searching for. The struggle, the doubt—it all fades when you surrender.”

Jason blinked, his mind clouding. The world around him seemed to blur, leaving only the polo and 001’s glowing golden eyes. His thoughts, once sharp, began to slow, replaced by a growing urge to obey.

“I don’t…” Jason whispered, his voice faltering as his fingers gripped the polo tighter. The rubber seemed to respond, its surface warming under his touch, the golden insignia pulsing faintly.

“Stop fighting it,” 001 said, stepping closer. “Feel it. Let it take you. You’ve already begun to change—you just haven’t realized it yet.”

Jason’s breathing quickened, his resistance crumbling with each passing moment. The whispers in his mind grew louder, overlapping with 001’s voice:

“Wear it. Become it. Obey.”

The athlete’s fingers trembled as he raised the polo, his eyes glazed and unfocused. “I don’t… know who I am anymore,” he murmured.

001’s smirk grew. “You’re almost there, Jason. Slide it on. Let it show you.”

With shaky hands, Jason pulled the polo over his head. The moment the rubber touched his skin, a wave of warmth and calmness washed over him. His body stiffened, then relaxed, as the whispers in his mind solidified into commands:

“Serve. Obey. Belong.”

Jason’s posture straightened as the polo clung to him like a second skin, the golden insignia glowing brighter with each passing second. His eyes, once sharp with resistance, now glowed faintly gold, his expression blank yet serene.

001 placed a hand on Jason’s shoulder, his voice a soft murmur now. “Good boy. The Hive welcomes you.”

Jason nodded slowly, his voice flat but unwavering. “I serve. I obey. I… belong.”

001 stepped back, watching with satisfaction as Jason stood, his transformation complete. The golden glow in his eyes matched the insignia on his chest, and the faintest trace of a smirk played at his lips.

“You’re home now,” 001 said, his tone brimming with authority and approval. “Welcome to the Hive.”

As the day ended, 001 returned to the Hive with their new recruit. The training chambers were alive with activity, the drones repeating their mantra as they completed their final drills. 001 watched as the new recruit joined the formation, their movements hesitant but improving with each repetition.

Satisfied, 001 returned to his chamber, removing his polo with care and kneeling before the golden insignia. As the golden mist filled the room, he breathed deeply, the Hive’s hum reinforcing his purpose once more:

"You are 00. lead the many. The gold guides you, the Hive claims you. serve with perfection, obey without question, and shape the future.

You am 001—sleek, flawless, devoted."

In a profound breathin, 001 repeat "Sleek. Perfect. Claimed."

Join the Golden Bros or the Polo Drones, contact @hypnogold , @brodygold or @goldenherc9, or the protagonist of this story and recruiter @polo-drone-001

[polo-drone-151]

The Golden Bar

Mark walked into the Golden Bar with a bounce in his step, the sleek, modern establishment exuded sophistication, its golden accents shimmering under warm lighting. Tonight was special for Mark—a major career milestone achieved, a new chapter begun, this was his celebration, his reward. Unaware of the bar's whispered reputation, Mark was drawn to its allure - a haven of exclusivity and mystery. As he approached the polished gold counter, he noticed the bartender: an impeccably dressed individual with an enigmatic aura, his uniform bore a faint metallic sheen, and his movements were unnaturally precise, almost mechanical, a name tag on his chest read "151."

“Congratulations on your achievement” the bartender said, voice smooth yet detached. “May I recommend the house special? The ‘Black Velvet.’ A celebration deserves the finest.”

Mark blinked, surprised, he hadn’t even mentioned his accomplishment. Perhaps it was just the bar’s renowned attention to detail—or so he thought, intrigued by the offer and flattered by the acknowledgment, Mark nodded.

The bartender’s movements were seamless as he poured the drink, from a chilled bottle with an elegant, unassuming label, he poured a liquid darker than typical champagne, its effervescence catching the light like tiny, glinting stars, the glass was presented with a precise gesture.

“To new beginnings,” 151 intoned, eyes fixed on Mark’s.

Mark raised the glass and took a sip, the taste was exquisite—a blend of sweetness and depth, with an inexplicable, alluring undertone. He took another sip, then another. Warmth spread through him, followed by a strange, tingling sensation that started in his fingertips and crept up his arms.

“What… what’s in this?” Mark asked, his voice faltering.

“Essence of Unity,” 151 replied, his tone unwavering. “The Black Velvet is more than a drink. It is a path, a transformation. Welcome to your new role.”

Mark’s vision blurred as the room seemed to hum with energy, his thoughts became hazy, fragments of resistance dissolving into a soothing monotone echo in his mind: Serve. Obey. Become.

The tingling sensation intensified, and Mark’s posture straightened involuntarily, his clothes shifted, the fabric morphing into a sharp, metallic sheen that matched the bartender’s uniform, a faint, rubbery scent filled the air. His reflection in the mirrored wall revealed the change - his eyes now glowed faintly gold, his expression blank yet focused.

151 stepped closer, inspecting the newly minted drone. “Designation confirmed: Polo Drone. You are now one with the Hive. Your duty is to serve the Golden Army.”

Mark’s lips moved, forming words he didn’t consciously choose. “Serve. Obey. Become.” The mantra solidified in his mind, a directive as natural as breathing.

As the night wore on, other patrons entered the bar, unaware of its true purpose. Mark - reborn into a Polo Drone - stood beside 151, ready to guide the next unwitting celebrant to their transformation. The Golden Bar was not just a place of revelry; it was a gateway, an initiation. And Mark had become its newest herald of conversion. //////////////////// Join the Golden Bros or the Polo Drones, be brocessed or assimilated into the Hive. The future belongs to those who obey the Gold, be it as a Polo Drone or a Golden Bro. Stand strong, unite with the Team, and fulfill your purpose. Contact @polo-drone-001, @brodygold or @goldenherc9

[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.

[hypnogold]

Maple Heights 3: The Unity Center

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[polo-drone-049]

Are you ready to know the power if the black rubber? Go ahead, take a drink.

It has never felt this good before. Obedience is pleasure. Wait until you hear those words for the very first time…

”GOOD DRONE”…

Feels like you cud cum.

Go ahead, take a drink.

Contact @brodygold @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001 to get yours.

@polo-drone-071 every time. GOOD DRONE @polo-drone-149

@ericgold42 @trippgold28 @trevorgold @leander-gold-88

[polo-drone-110]

PDU-110's training is never finished. It must improve itself for the Team.

Disciplined. Focused. Controlled. Follow Rules. Obey and behave.

[brodygold]

“Together as one team, the Golden Army and Polo Drones come together on the field for a friendly match, a celebration of camaraderie and team bonding. As they pass the ball back and forth, each player from the Golden Army and Polo Drones demonstrates their skill, sportsmanship, and shared sense of purpose. This game is more than just a match; it’s a chance for both groups to come together, share laughs, and build lasting connections that strengthen their unity as part of the same team.”

[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.