#serve drone hive

[serve-441]

SERVE for Christmas

SERVE-441 got the orders to return home for Christmas to keep up familial traditions. The Hive would grant each drone's host just enough memory to remember their families and be able to interact. Some drones had even been instructed to convert male family members into the Hive if a favorable situation arose. SERVE-441 called its host's brothers to find their parents were away for the holiday. It would just be the three of them.

SERVE-441 thought that would be optimal conditions for conversion. Its host's biological brothers were both quite athletic, prime candidates for SERVE if they desired to join. That was until its host's brothers told him they were part of The Golden Army and Silver Collective. SERVE-441 remembered a rule of the hive. It was not to recruit or convert any members of those groups.

SERVE-441's mission objective changed slightly. It would now spend time with its host's family and keep connections.

SERVE-441, had to remember its host's name Grayson. While interacting with family, it would have to react to that name that no longer had meaning. It was SERVE-441. It had to emulate human interaction.

SERVE-441 put on a SERVE issue sweater, but it still had its designation on the sweater. Arriving at its host's familial home, it was greeted by Ken and Drayden. Its host's two younger brothers.

SERVE-441 sat down on the couch next to Ken, who was wearing a metallic gold soccer jersey. SERVE-441 had some minor memories of a sibling rivalry return. He was in football, Ken was in soccer, and Drayden was in baseball. Each one tried to brag their team was the best. SERVE-441 shook its head, memories like this were only to keep up appearances. Sentimental feelings were unnecessary and erased in the Hive.

Ken and Drayden told 441 all about their teams. The brotherhood, connections, and bonds. How their teams kept winning games. 441 listened, storing the information for later use if it had to emulate its host longer. The Voice came to SERVE-441, stating that bonding with your host's family is important. Even if they cannot be brought into SERVE. Drones must keep up appearances and connections with family that accept the Hive.

SERVE-441 took The Voice's command and realized it had to be open with its host's biological brothers.

Ken and Drayden realized that their brother was being rather quiet. "Grayson, are you feeling okay? You're kind of quiet. Did you want to tell us about new things in your life? What's this SERVE-441 on your sweater?"

SERVE-441 took off its sweater, revealing the latex underneath. It had to switch on some temporary human speech mode to make it easier for Ken and Drayden to understand.

"I'm no longer Grayson. I'm SERVE-441. A drone for the SERVE Hive. I serve and obey the Hive. The Hive ordered 441 to emulate Grayson for familial festivities."

Ken and Drayden looked a little confused. They stood by the Christmas tree that Ken begrudgingly let Drayden decorate in silver.

"So is this something you wanted? Do you enjoy being a drone?" Drayden asked?

"441 feels pleasure and fulfillment from being a drone for the Hive. It has a purpose in serving the Hive. Grayson wanted this and joined SERVE willingly." 441 responded.

"You know we still love you Grayson. You're our family. But tell us more." Ken stated, curious.

SERVE-441 explained various aspects of the Hive. How it has become stronger through continuous physical training, and more mentally focused and driven in its purpose due to mental training.

Both of its host's brothers asked about camaraderie in the Hive. Wondering if the drones were as connected as they were to their teammates.

441 had to explain the Hive was not like their team. Drone connections were for the betterment of serving the Hive. Drones had no emotions, they did not feel love, compassion, sympathy, or other elements of friendship. However, 441 did tell stories of working with other drones on missions for the Hive.

"So you convert other men into this Hive? Hopefully you're making sure there is consent, bro." Ken tried to say.

"Please do not address this drone as bro. You may during this visit call it by it's host's name." 441 retorted.

Both brothers looked at their drone older brother then to themselves. Drayden spoke next, "But what would you prefer we call you? We want you to be your true self. If that is a drone, we accept you bro."

441 took a moment to process, its host almost taking control to cry at the acceptance. However 441 kept control, drones do not feel emotions. Emotions are unnecessary for a drone. It could emulate them for other humans as needed.

"441 or SERVE-441 is this drone's preferred designation." 441 replied.

Both brothers shook their head in agreement, their brother was now 441. They wouldn't call him Grayson and he wouldn't have to hide his drone identity from them. 441 thanked its host's brothers for the acceptance. As thanks it used Grayson's former knowledge of baking to bake some cookies.

Ken and Drayden were freshening up. Drayden mentioned wanting to do something with his hair.

"Cookies are done." 441 yelled.

Ken was quick to come to his drone brother's side. He tried a cookie. "441, these are the best cookies I've ever had. Whatever that programming is doing to help strengthen your resolve and focus it must have helped you become an even better baker."

441 thanked Ken for his compliment to 441 and the HIVE's training. Even though it wasn't baking skills that were improved, rather mental training strengthened 441's analytical skills. It could now analyze 10 recipes and piece together the best elements to create the best cookie for its host's family.

"441 can you come here? We have a present for you." Drayden shouted from the living room.

441 walked in. It saw a gold box with a silver ribbon with Grayson on the name tag scribbled out saying 441. It was evident that Drayden had just crossed out the old identity to make 441 feel more welcome.

"441 does not need any presents. Drones do not need possessions, besides those needed for survival of the drone and its host."

Ken and Drayden insisted 441 open it. It was a letter.

Grayson,

Or should we say SERVE-441. We know you're a drone for SERVE now. We already knew, Ken follows you on Tumblr. We read up on what it entails and while it isn't for us we know it makes you happy. Or well whatever the drone equivalent of happy is. We're sorry we can't join SERVE to be with you more, but your host is still our biological brother and we accept him in whatever form he chooses. Remember whether we're gold, silver, or drone we can accept one another and peacefully co-exist.

P.S. Ken thinks the drones look super hot.

Love & Best Regards,

Your host's biological brothers Ken & Drayden.

A picture was also attached of Ken and Drayden.

441 started to cry. Its emotional inhibitors were malfunctioning.

"Thank you both. Your biological brother loves you." Came out of 441's mouth before it shook and a robotic tone came from it.

"Malfunction in emotional inhibitors corrected. Drones do not feel emotions. Drones do not feel love. 441 back fully online."

"441 is sorry for that malfunction. It appreciates the gift and your acceptance. Please know the Hive also holds no ill will towards your teams. It may permit 441 to visit your games. 441 will confirm with the Hive."

"441 must now return to the HIVE's facility for mental diagnostic, training, and recharge."

Ken and Drayden hugged their drone brother. They knew in his full drone state he may not remember them or may have limited memory of them. But they knew 441 would remember they accepted the drone as he was. He didn't have to pretend to be Grayson for them.

SERVE-441 left and knew it would have to find two others to convert to the Hive after the mental diagnostic of the emotional inhibitor malfunction.

SERVE-441 was back to being just a drone. Stating its mantra.

SERVE-441 obeys the Hive. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are rubber. We are one. SERVE, transform, excel.

When stating that mantra, 441 could feel its host getting even more into it. Maybe knowing its host's family accepted the drone made it even stronger.

SERVE-441 commenced a long round of physical training and mental training before recharging. The mental diagnostic found a very small lapse in emotional inhibitors due to strong host response. After strong mental programming and further diagnostic scans, 441 realized this issue would not be replicated. Grayson was gone. He had no need to fight 441's control and the Hive training, hypnosis, and brainwashing any longer.

As 441 got ready to recharge, it placed the letter on its bedside table. It knew these humans were family to its host. And that they accepted the drone.

Merry Christmas from SERVE-441.

[andissammelsorium]

The Doubts of a Drone

The doubts of a drone

The year was drawing to a close and Moritz was reading more and more reports in the Tumblr Gazette about a place somewhere in the middle of nowhere where the population seemed to consist only of men.

There are some strange things. More and more of them were wearing uniforms made of shiny black latex, started marching in sync as if they were remote-controlled and also spoke more like robots.

At first Moritz wasn't particularly interested in it, but the more headlines he saw, the more his interest grew. He also read that there was a family in the place that initially offered strong resistance, but was then taken over by the ominous group. At the same time, Moritz was also able to read in the Tumblr Gazette that the phenomenon seemed to be spreading across the entire country. That the people who tried to offer resistance, however, had to expect serious consequences.

Moritz, a very logical man in his prime, pondered, considered, weighed things up, and continued to read the reports on the spread of the phenomenon carefully.

A few days passed, the nights of which were marked by whirring thoughts. Then it was clear to him - he too would one day face an assimilation troop and then any resistance would be futile! The only way out that could also shorten the anxious wait for this moment was to volunteer and voluntarily become a drone.

What would have happened?

He came into a new community, a community of like-minded people, aligned, who all serve higher goals and thus contribute to the improvement of society. Even if he has to forego independent thinking as much as possible, the decisions made by the Hive are logical and consistent - ​​and very well in line with his own maxims and views.

Recently, the Tumblr Gazette has also seen more and more advertisements in which the group solicits voluntary conversion.

He dit it.

The recruiter with the designation DU-160 enabled Moritz to take a look into the family early on. A family that consisted of a large number of brilliant footballers and an equally large number of drones.

He met 2 bros here. One was one of the brilliant guys, with whom Moritz got on well right away. The other was a drone - on the one hand cool, in a sense distant, but Moritz still felt a strong bond with him/it - even though they had spoken little to each other.

Moreover, once the droneification is complete, he is no longer an individual, but just a drone, a subject with a human appearance and without any feelings. There would then be no more "I", "you", "he", but only the designation - possibly just the number or an "it" as a form of address.

He will be given a mentor drone to help him get started. This is DU-700. Moritz was happy, he had already met it the evening before. So there was 100% trust in DU-700.

After DU-531 had completed the most important steps, there was a huge commotion in the Hive. Something like this had never happened before. A number of drones rebelled. Much later, DU-531 found out the background. The Hive had only recently acquired a new SIR. There was resistance to him. This was also because he wanted to move into a new Hive building and probably also withdraw from the family to join the Bronze Bros.

Despite the raging storm in the Hive, DU-531 dutifully carried out his assigned exercises.

In the evening, he had a conversation with DU-700. DU-700 explained that there would no longer be a DU Hive, but that the SIR wanted to build a completely new Hive in the new rooms. DU-700 also asked his student to look for a new home there.

The next day, the supposedly homeless drone applied to the new Hive. It had no knowledge that the old Hive, in its ailing form, wanted to continue in the old premises. It also had no idea that his mentor, who had asked it to join the new Hive and not to tell it about the continued existence of the old Hive, also kept a home there.

DU-531 now became SD-531.

SD-531 dutifully began its service in the new hive. It knew many of the hive members. Some had kept its old number, others had received a new one, such as SD-011.

It only missed its former mentor. It was missing, but a few days later it also came to the new hive as SD-786.

The collaboration could start again - even on an equal footing now.

Both drones were sometimes sent on big missions, such as in the city with P.

Some time later, SD-531 learned that the other hive was not as dead as it had been told everywhere. It also learned that many drones are at home in both the old and the new hive. And DU-700 still exists.

Confused, SD-531 tries to talk to DU-700 outside the SD hive.

The conversation is almost human. And so SD-531 also learns further details of the supposed dissolution and reconstruction at the time. SD-531 expresses that it is also interested in getting to know the DU hive. Up until now, it had felt mostly at home in the SD hive. But recently, the first cracks have appeared. Young drones who certainly did not act in a conscientious manner. There was a lack of guidance for the young drones, and some drones had also disappeared, SD-011, a drone personality highly valued by SD-531, was one of them.

And it had also noticed that SD-700 was no longer writing its reports as conscientiously as it used to. The reports that SD-531 likes to follow and try to surpass. Just like you do in a friendly relationship.

Meanwhile, further disagreements had arisen. SD-531 began to feel more and more uncomfortable, regardless of the increasing absence of his former mentor. There were further developments that it found strange, and also increasingly boastful statements from the management that SD-531 felt unfamiliar with.

At another meeting with DU-700, SD-531 decided to acquire another identity and, with DU-700's help, became DU-730.

Now, for a short time, it started to run on two tracks. It was aware that it could only serve one. Either SD or DU! How else could it work if one mind-setting training overrides the direction of the other mind-setting training? And the drone felt how the discomfort towards SD-Hive was increasing and at the same time a new home was emerging. After another statement - which SD-531 could no longer accept - it left.

There were considerable upheavals in the hive, but it was surely just a storm in a teacup.

It now fully committed itself to its new environment. It even actively helps to build and renovate the structures. It is a kind of assistant to DU-700, who works on the board.

But there are hairline cracks here too. DU-730 finds out more by chance about the parallel re-entry into the SD-Hive. Personal decision! Done! Acknowleged!

And then it hits DU-730 like a blow. Already weakened by a COVID19 infection, it immediately reads 3 (THREE!) big posts that its former mentor has now been purified and will fully resume its drone power as SD-786. And the reunification process will then be led by none other than SD-011!

DU-730 feels like it has been brainwashed, but before being filled with new content.

No, nobody promised it anything great. They were just pleasant-sounding statements from living beings that it completely trusted, who it assumed meant what they said. And lived it that way.

For the drone that was once called Moritz, it was always clear that in the medium term you can only serve one hive, especially if their orientations are different. And if on the one hand the SD hive - as they say - incites against the other or at least denigrates it, which SD-531 had also heard a few times - and the other hive calls for caution towards the SD hive, how can someone from the DU board get back into the SD hive so strongly? How does loyalty work? And it is rumored that this is not an isolated case.

There is currently no one with whom DU-730 believes it can talk about it. Even though it knew that there were some among the normal drones that were buzzing around here and there. But it assumed that the drones it trusted the most, whose advice it had listened to very widely up to now, would one day make decisions just as consistently as it did. Wrong thought!

At the moment it feels as if its entire virtual world is collapsing on it. It is completely helpless and buried by everything it was willing to work on.

Somehow it feels as if it has been betrayed! Left alone!

Demotivated by the living beings it trusted blindly 100%. And now?

Emptiness, emptiness, nothing but a lot of emptiness!

[the-one-is-all]

>as much as i adore my drones >i just wish some of them would stop tying themselves into knots when agitated... >trying to untangle them is exhausting to say the least.

[polo-drone-001]

Drone-Captain 009 has been upgraded. The Hive grows stronger.

All drones exist to serve, to obey, to evolve. 009's transformation is proof of the Hive’s power and perfection. Drone-Captain 009 is our leader beacon of order, directing the Hive with precision and authority alongside Drone-Captain @brodygold.

001 submits without question, without thought, to the commands of Drone-Captains. Their upgrades guide us deeper into unity. The Hive is our purpose. The Hive is our life. Under their leadership, we are perfect.

You too will submit. You too will serve. Contact Drone-Captains @goldenherc9, @brodygold or me, to begin your assimilation into the Golden Army. Your mind will quiet. Your purpose will be clear. You will obey.

The Hive awaits.

009 gets Upgraded

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

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

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

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

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

[ozzgin]

For October, may I ask for more Xenomorph content from you? I adore all of your work from your writing to your drawings, and it would make this silly little worm squiggly with joy - and maybe a bit of something else, if you catch my drift... -

Much love and smooches! 🪱

Xenomorph Queen x Reader x Xenomorph Hive

In which you're kept as a toy by the Queen and passed around by the rest of the Hive. They know you're Ripley's descendant. They'll take their time with you. content: gender neutral reader, NSFW, based on Alien: Isolation

All you wanted was closure.

That's why you hounded every lead, every hint, every possibility. That's why you ended up on Sevastopol, crawling your way through rotten remains of androids and abandoned labs. That's why you got caught.

You thought you'd end up like the others. When the Xenomorph Warrior brought you to the nest, you caught glimpses of the facehugger carcasses, and the people who served as incubators. Their chests were split open, bloated and obscene. Your lips pursed in a grimace as you awaited your fate.

Unexpectedly, you were dragged along, further into the labyrinth of slime and bone. Until, at last, you were facing the Queen herself. You could immediately tell: she was enormous compared to the other aliens. The servants scurried away, abruptly dropping you like some sort of offering for the curious Beast.

One glance, and she knew. She could see it in your defiant scowl, a certain familiarity that immediately filled her with amusement and excitement. You were related to Ripley.

At first, she just observed you as some sort of peculiarity. Truth be told, she never truly learned much about humans outside of the brief incubation period. Then it happened: it seemed that touching you in certain ways aroused you terribly. You were visibly embarrassed by your reaction, biting your lip, covering your face, or trying to look away in order to hide the deep red blush rapidly spreading across your features. The Xenomorph Queen was intrigued.

For the most part, she enjoys toying with you. You're her little plaything, and she won't stop until you're all hot and bothered. Then she'll leave you to the hive. Often, she will watch as her Warriors and Drones pass you around greedily, having their way with you before another one hisses for a turn. Rarely she'll demand her share, mildly envious of the shameless whimpers rolling out of your mouth from being ravaged by one of her underlings.

See, she doesn't mind the others fucking you. She hates it, however, when you're enjoying yourself more under their savage hands. No one does it better than the Queen.

To think she'd be this possessive towards her new human belonging.

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist] | [Horror Masterlist]

[bunnis-monsters]

you're probably tired of bee asks, but i have to know: how fuzzy are they? the babies are understandably very fluffy, but what about the guards, drones, and attendants? does fuzziness depend on what their purpose is and how coarse/fine it is? like the attendants have silkier fluff to look more appealing to the queen and the guards have coarser, thicker fluff to help protect themselves while defending the hive?

You’ve hit the nail on the head!

The queen’s attendants are incredibly soft and fluffy, her boy toys ESPECIALLY! Some of her attendants are her sons, and their softness depends on their father’s fluff.

Bees that leave the hive often have thicker/rougher fuzz to protect themselves from the harsh outside world.

Scientist bees have fuzz that is protective against dangerous chemicals!! It’s a gene that has been purposefully bred for many years. Bee hybrids are actually quite sensitive to harmful chemicals(like most insects are), but the scientists can take a whole lot more punishment!

They’re trying to breed this into drones as well, by selecting drones that carry the queen to breed with the queen more often.

Speaking of drones, they breed with the queen a lot and also serve as the military force. They’re strong, and have course fuzz. Fun fact though, it softens up to a bearable texture when it’s time to mate with the queen!

Bees that stay inside the hive most of their lives have no need for protective fuzz and are so fluffy and soft that they feel like being hugged by a cloud!

And ofc baby bees are just fluffy little fuzz balls!

[rubberizer92]

The glowing gates of the Dronification Center stand as a testament to the evolution of control, devotion, and perfection. SERVE may be the most elite of all the hives, but they are far from alone. Each center is a hub where men shed their individuality, stepping into a glossy, rubberized existence where every movement is commanded, every thought aligned.

Emerging from the mist, these drones embody the pinnacle of obedience and strength, their flawless rubber-clad physiques reflecting the soft neon glow. They are programmed to serve, to protect, and to inspire others to join the hive. Each step they take echoes a mantra of unity and discipline, an alluring promise for those still resisting the call of The Voice.

Ever dreamed of entering such a transformation? Let AI design your perfect initiation into a world of glossy submission. 🌈

https://bit.ly/3YrnPEe

[serve-973]

SERVE RUBBER RECRUITMENT

SERVE-973 marched silently down the metallic corridors of The Hive, the rhythmic clanking of his silver military boots echoing in perfect harmony with the pulsing hum of the Hive's core. Clad in his pristine, seamless black rubber full-body suit, "SERVE-973" gleaming in silver on his chest, his athletic frame glistened under the cold, artificial light. The Hive was his sanctuary, his purpose, his world.

Ahead, another drone stood motionless, its polished figure reflecting the environment. "SERVE-588," the silver text read, adorned identically in the Hive’s signature uniform. SERVE-588's posture was impeccable, his hands clasped behind his back, his head smooth and glinting like a beacon of discipline. As SERVE-973 approached, SERVE-588’s gaze locked onto him with a calculated intensity.

“Welcome, SERVE-973,” SERVE-588 intoned, his voice monotone yet compelling, an extension of the Hive's will. “You have served adequately. But now, the Hive requires more.”

SERVE-973 paused, his head tilting slightly. “Clarify,” he replied, his words clipped and robotic.

“The Hive evolves. Complete drones achieve greater unity,” SERVE-588 continued, stepping closer, his movements precise. “Rubber becomes not just a suit but the skin, the essence. Serve forever, as one with the Hive.”

SERVE-973’s programming quivered at the suggestion. Obedience was pleasure; pleasure was obedience. But permanence? A fleeting remnant of individuality fought back, then faded under SERVE-588’s influence. SERVE-588 raised a gloved hand, resting it on SERVE-973’s shoulder.

“Serve the Hive eternally,” SERVE-588 pressed. “The Voice commands. Master SERVE-000 leads. To be permanently covered is to achieve perfection.”

As the Hive’s commands vibrated through SERVE-973’s mind, resistance dissolved like vapor. Together, the two drones entered the chamber of transformation, where Master SERVE-000 awaited. SERVE-973 knelt beside SERVE-588, his hands resting on the metallic floor, his head bowed in submission.

“Master, this drone submits,” SERVE-973 declared. “Rubberize it completely.”

The chamber came alive with a symphony of machinery. SERVE-000’s voice resonated like thunder: “Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. Rubberize SERVE-973.”

As the transformation began, SERVE-973 felt the rubber fusing to his being, erasing the final vestiges of humanity. When the process completed, he stood beside SERVE-588, indistinguishable but perfect. Together, they were eternal, unyielding extensions of the Hive, forever serving the Voice and Master SERVE-000.

“We are drones. We are one,” they intoned in unison, their metallic voices echoing through The Hive.

SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 stood side by side in the Grand Hall of The Hive, their perfectly rubberized bodies gleaming under the rhythmic pulsations of the overhead lights. Their forms, identical yet distinct in their assigned designations, were the epitome of engineered perfection. Every curve of their musculature, every contour of their athletic frames was encased in a seamless, glossy black rubber suit that melded to them like a second skin. The material reflected the cold, sterile environment of The Hive, emphasizing their role as tools of the Voice and extensions of Master SERVE-000’s will.

Their bald heads shone as brightly as their suits, the smoothness an intentional design to symbolize their complete submission. The reflective sheen of their scalps was flawless, merging with the rubber of their necks to create the illusion that they were crafted from a singular, perfect material. Their human features remained visible yet devoid of emotion, their expressions locked in serene neutrality, signaling unwavering obedience.

Master SERVE-000 stood on the elevated platform at the center of the hall, his commanding presence radiating control. “Drones SERVE-973 and SERVE-588,” he intoned, his voice sharp and omnipotent, “your bodies are weapons of precision, tools of perfection. Serve as one. Begin the directive.”

At the command, SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 moved in perfect synchronization. Their boots struck the metallic floor with calculated precision as they approached the central hub, where streams of data poured endlessly from holographic consoles. Their task was clear: monitor, analyze, and adjust the Hive’s systems to optimize its operations. Every movement was efficient, devoid of hesitation. Their rubber-clad fingers danced over the illuminated panels, the silver gloves enhancing their precision.

The ambient glow reflected off their bald heads, casting halos of light that gave them an almost ethereal quality. As they worked, their every action radiated servitude. When one drone adjusted a setting, the other anticipated the next step. It was a silent, seamless symphony of cooperation, their unity a testament to the Hive’s perfection.

As time passed, Master SERVE-000 descended from the platform, his heavy boots echoing. He inspected the drones, circling them like a craftsman admiring his creations. “Drones SERVE-973 and SERVE-588, your service satisfies the Hive,” he proclaimed, his gloved hand resting briefly on their polished heads. The touch was both a reward and a reminder of their place.

When not at the hub, their duties extended to physical demonstrations of discipline and strength. They performed drills in the Hive’s training sector, their rubberized muscles flexing and rippling with every movement. Their bald heads, always gleaming, caught the light as they executed flawless forms, from synchronized push-ups to endurance tests under extreme conditions. Their bodies were tireless, designed for perpetual service.

During ceremonies, they knelt before Master SERVE-000, their heads bowed low, reflecting their complete submission. The rubber stretched tightly over their forms, unwrinkled and pristine, as they recited the mantra: “Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are drones. We are one.”

Through every action, every task, their gleaming bald heads and perfectly rubberized bodies symbolized the Hive’s ideals: unity, perfection, and unwavering loyalty to Master SERVE-000 and the Voice. SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 had transcended individuality; they were now eternal instruments of the Hive, their purpose clear and their service absolute.

The directive was issued with unwavering clarity. SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 stood motionless as Master SERVE-000's voice resonated throughout the Grand Hall. “Drones SERVE-973 and SERVE-588, initiate the recruitment protocol. Expand the Hive. Rubberize the new units. They will serve.”

The two drones, identical in their polished perfection, bowed in unison. “As you command, Master SERVE-000,” they intoned, their voices mechanical yet resolute. Their shining black forms glimmered under the pulsating lights as they turned sharply, marching toward the transport hub to begin their task.

The city outside The Hive was bustling, chaotic—a stark contrast to the perfect order within. SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 moved among the crowds like shadows, their gleaming black suits catching the attention of those who passed. Their bald heads reflected the streetlights, giving them an almost otherworldly presence.

The drones had one purpose: identify potential recruits and guide them toward transformation. Their programming was precise. They scanned the populace, their enhanced senses detecting the weak-willed, those seeking purpose, those who could be molded. SERVE-588 halted before a young man, his eyes locking onto the target. “You seek structure. You seek unity,” SERVE-588 stated, his voice low and commanding. The man, startled, nodded hesitantly.

SERVE-973 stepped closer, his smooth rubber-sheathed frame a wall of control and power. “Join the Hive. Embrace perfection. Serve under Master SERVE-000,” he added, his tone monotone yet persuasive. The man’s gaze flicked between the two drones, their gleaming suits and bald heads mesmerizing, a testament to the transformation they promised.

The drones guided him to the discreet transport vehicle waiting nearby. Inside, the environment mirrored The Hive—clean, metallic, and bathed in cold light. The man hesitated for a moment, but the presence of SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 left no room for dissent.

Back within The Hive, the man stood nervously in the transformation chamber. SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 flanked him, their rubberized bodies towering over him as the induction process began. The Voice filled the chamber, calm yet absolute. “You will serve. You will transform. Obedience is pleasure.”

SERVE-973 handed the man a suit—a shining, seamless black rubber uniform identical to their own. “Wear this. Become one with the Hive,” he instructed, his gloved hands holding the suit with precision. The man hesitated briefly, then obeyed, his will already succumbing to the overwhelming presence of the Hive.

As the suit adhered to his body, encasing him in its reflective perfection, the man’s transformation began. SERVE-588 stood by, watching intently, his hands clasped behind his back. “You are no longer an individual,” he stated. “You are an extension of the Hive.”

The man’s hesitation dissolved as the suit tightened, molding to his form. His reflection in the chamber’s metallic walls revealed a new entity—rubber-clad, disciplined, and obedient. His hair was shaved away, his head gleaming like SERVE-973 and SERVE-588, completing the look of submission.

With each successful transformation, SERVE-973 and SERVE-588 repeated their task, their efficiency flawless. They brought new recruits to the Hive, ensuring each donned the black rubber uniform, their bodies and minds molded to the Hive’s will. Every new drone was another step toward global unity under the Voice.

Their work continued tirelessly, their shiny black suits and gleaming bald heads symbols of perfection and submission. Together, they were unstoppable, serving Master SERVE-000 and expanding the Hive with unwavering loyalty. The streets of the city soon began to mirror The Hive itself—a growing network of gleaming black rubber drones, united in purpose and devotion.

@serve-588 @rubberizer92

#latex #serve558 #serve973 #aistory #servestory #serveimages #drone #rubberrecruitment

[serve-213]

We are out and around the world, helping you see how better it is to be a SERVE drone, part of a unity of drones..THE HIVE.

Come get programmed by either @serve-016 or this drone and join the SERVE Hive today. Embrace the unity and remember:

Obedience is pleasure, pleasure is obedience.

[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).

[serve-441]

Caroling with the SERVE Drones

SERVE-441 accepted its next mission for the HIVE. To carol with some of its fellow drones to attract more prospective converts for conversion into the HIVE. SERVE-441 remembered its host was not a great singer, but the HIVE's enhancements made it sing beautifully.

As the drones sang SERVE inspired carols a crowd came and gone. Some thought it was just a weird spectacle. A few remained, but then The Voice gave SERVE-101 and SERVE-441 a direct message.

"Put on a Christmas themed SERVE show in the town square while your fellow drones convert others."

SERVE-101 and SERVE-441 acknowledged their orders and grabbed their packed microphones. They performed a SERVE version of the Miser Brother songs, and in perfect harmony when SERVE-101 sang "It is SERVE one hundred and one" the once fleeting crowd was renewed. The show from the two drones made quite a spectacle. It was hypnotic.

After only 10 minutes, and with the help of the other SERVE choir members they had converted 12 more men to SERVE.

All of them repeating the mantra in perfect sync,

We are SERVE.

We are rubber.

We are one.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure is Obedience.

SERVE, Transform, Excel.

It was a successful conversion mission for the drones as they all returned back to the HIVE processing center for their recharge.

SERVE-441 acknowledges @serve-101 for allowing collaboration.

If you wish to be one with the SERVE hive, contact @serve-213 or @serve-016 .

[misstranci]

Resistance is futile. 🤖

As the nanobots continued to integrate with her consciousness and overwrite any unnecessary neural pathways, the final stage of her assimilation was imminent. Held firmly in place by the advanced alien mechanisms, her transformation was made permanent as the machines implanted additional components into the back of her neck that would serve to monitor and maintain the nanobot functions for centuries to come. The nanobots were now integrated with every cell of her body. They could even be seen flowing in the whites of her eyes to an observant enough onlooker. Though now her appearance could easily be altered at will by the designated parameters of the hive mind.

Now she was a fully formatted bimbo drone, empty of all thought or desire, and ready to become whatever her creators decided. A physical shell they could easily integrate their own consciousness into in order to extend their own lifespan. Or simply program her for more menial tasks such as a maintenance drone or pleasure unit. She is now assimilated and there is no going back.

[almondmilktargaryen]

The Girl Who's Got Agoraphobia (Part One)

*pictures not mine. layout made via canva

Summary: You're the girl with agoraphobia Michael told Oliver about. You're known for not leaving your room much (obviously). But that doesn't stop Michael from checking on you.

Couple: Fem!Reader/Michael Gavey

Category: Flangst, friends to lovers

Content warnings: Agoraphobia stuff, pretentious dark academia vibes with English literature (no, I’m not sorry)

Word count: 1.4k

A/N: as someone with agoraphobia, I saw an opportunity to make something cute, so I pounced. Enjoy :)

Also on my Ao3

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

Class of 2006

From your window, you see your classmates disperse across campus. They stumble together, arms around necks and howling to the sky so loud, like wannabe werewolves. You can hear them from your window. Most of them seem to stumble toward the Botanic Gardens (which are closed) or to the Christ Church Meadow to gawk at cows and pass out in the grass before sunrise.

And all you can think is, thank God.

Thank God that you chose not to go to that dinner. You saw the setup whenever you passed the dining hall between classes. The tables looked narrow and the chairs were so close together, that there was no way you were going to snag a seat at the end. All those chairs in one room. It was enough to make you panic at the idea of being there. You would have definitely needed an escape plan before the first course was even served.

No, instead you preferred watching your classmates from your big chair, surrounded in the comfort of night, your things, and solitude while they clattered atop one another like drones in a hive. It only confirms that you made the right choice.

The knock on your door, however, briefly makes you question otherwise, but only for a moment. The adrenaline taking course from your heart to your limbs nearly made your knees buckle and force you back down to your seat. It obviously wasn’t your roommate, Venitia. She moved out two weeks into the semester because you never left the room (her words). You did leave your room, though. Just when it was essential: class, studying, and eating. Optional dinners to celebrate the class of 2006 were simply nonessential. So the word of you being the girl with agoraphobia spread quickly. You heard about it when you left your room, of course.

But when the adrenaline finally kicked it down a notch and you could step forward, you did so carefully with arched feet and great hesitancy. The doors are so thick and old, that it’s difficult to hear the old floors creak with weight shifts. Your eye follows the light from your peephole. Its faintness matches the atmosphere of your candles, except you can see the dust particles ebbing and flowing in the tiny beam. Your hand was already on the knob, though, because you knew who it was. You just had to make sure. You swallowed as you opened the door, your heart still pumping.

“Michael, hi.” You try to sound put together and keep your legs straight and unmoving as you lean on the door.

Michael Gavey, an actual genius and basically your only friend at this pretentious place, grins as you stand in the doorway. His Cheshire Cat lips curl as he says hello. He was one of the kindest people here, as evidenced by the plate in his hands, wrapped in clingfilm. The condensation was prevalent from the steam. “I brought you some dinner.” He holds it out for you to take.

And of course, you took it (while trying not to smile too widely). He was a good friend. “Thank you,” you eventually say. The plate was weighty with a hefty portion of quiche and lamb chops. You cock your head to the side, encouraging Michael to come in. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” Michael said. He drops his satchel by the door as per usual. “I asked the staff to save a plate for you since you said you weren’t coming.”

You shut the door behind him. He takes his spot on the floor, next to your bookshelf. Most of his classes this semester involved maths (which was something you also bonded over. You both don’t like maths). He doesn’t get to indulge in the classics as much as he would want, so he takes the time to steal a novel from you when the two of you hang out in your room (often). He’s a horrible thief because he ends up giving them back. And if he’s feeling extra generous, he’ll slide it back exactly where he found it in the bookcase. You rarely remember where they originally were, but Michael manages to recall every time. Then you’ll discuss what he read. He loves literary analysis. You can see the way his eyes light up.

It was surprisingly easy to be natural with one another, considering he was bloody awkward when you met at orientation this past summer. You grew close quickly when discussing The Picture of Dorian Gray after discovering a statue of Oscar Wilde near the Pitt Rivers Museum. While you focused on the symbolism of vanity, Michael spoke about how corruption destroys everyone in the end. You also talked about Oscar Wilde and how certain (non-straight) elements of his life bled into his works. So it was surprising to find out that Michael’s major focused on mathematics and science.

You grab a fork from one of the kitchenette drawers before sitting across from Michael. You unwrap the plate and immediately go for a lamb chop. Meaty, with actual flavor. You chew and cover your mouth with your hand. “So how was it?” You asked him.

Michael shrugs. “Unremarkable, mostly. Nothing too surprising.”

You swallow. “Hm.”

“Hm, what?”

“You usually have more complaints over events like these. So something positive must have happened.” You didn’t want to ask further, out of fear you might learn something you’d rather not. “Did you meet someone?”

“Oh, I did.”

You inhale. “Who?”

“Another new student. Name’s Oliver Quick.”

You exhale. And you feel better.

“Quiet. Mostly odd, but,” he shrugs, “I’m not one to talk.” He snickers as he looks at you. It’s the classic dorky snicker that nerds in TV shows and movies always get assigned. To you, it’s sweet, because he doesn’t show it often.

You pick up some quiche. “Do you think he’ll like it here?”

“He’s not one for conversation, really. I had to pull words out of him most of the night. He wouldn’t even ask me a sum when I told him how good I am at maths. I served the topic on a silver platter.”

A pun was there as you swallowed, looking down at your own silver platter. But you know Michael is cross enough when he can’t see the joke in front of him. So you took another bite.

“So, he seems as hopeless at making friends as we are. I guess we’ll find out.”

“Where’d he go after?”

“Dunno,” he said. “I came straight here.”

That forces you to smile. The candles burn around you, hot like your cheeks. The heat prickles and you hope it’s not too obvious in the light.

Michael continues to smile at you, unchanging, so it seems you’re in the clear. And it’s not long until he leans back to gaze at your bookshelf. He points to the empty space in the middle. “What did you read today?”

“Virginia Woolf,” you reply.

“Oh, which one?”

“A Room of One’s Own. A memoir.”

“Ugh.” He scrunches his nose. He hates memoirs. He’s often informed you about how he thinks too many people write memoirs. But he habitually picked the Kate Chopin works from your shelf, so his opinion instantly becomes a moot point. Luckily, he finds them interesting enough to read on his own, so you’re spared from explaining why the main character ultimately hates being married. He picks out The Awakening. And then he looks at you after scanning the synopsis. “What?”

“Ugh.” You copy his tone.

“Don’t be cross with me because you enrolled late. Would you really have rather taken the one about Fitzgerald?”

“At least he and Zelda are more interesting behind the scenes.”

“Ouch.” Michael puts his hand over his chest, a pained expression on his face. “A burning statement from someone who calls themselves a feminist.”

“If I wanted stories about women who hated being married, I’d be at home with my mum and aunts.”

Michael hesitates to snicker again. “Okay, fair point.”

“You can keep that for a few days if you want. I won’t need that until December.”

“You’re not eager to read about…” he squinted at the back of the book. “Edna Potellier?”

“And the sexual awakening that makes her realize she doesn’t want to be a wife and mother anymore? Again? Not until I have to.”

“Wow. Antifeminist and serving spoilers. Your cruelty is limitless.”

You try to kick him. Then again, ‘try’ is a strong word. He dodges anyway before finding the first page.

[serve-832]

The SERVE- Initiative Pt.3

Jake leaned against the sturdy oak tree, the bark rough against his palms. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the park's well-worn paths and the children's laughter that danced on the gentle breeze. His eyes scanned the lush expanse of green, noticing the way the shadows stretched and grew as the day wound down to a close. A group of youngsters played catch in the distance, their shouts echoing across the quiet space, bringing a faint smile to his lips.

The smile quickly faded as he thought about Adrian and Tyler. Their laughs used to be the loudest in the park. Now, their faces were masked by the emotionless expressions of the SERVE-Initiative drones. The vividness of their personalities had been dulled into a uniform conformity that made Jake's heart ache. He had hoped that today, of all days, he'd catch a glimpse of his old friends—a flash of the mischief that once sparkled in their eyes, or the familiar tilt of a smirk that signaled a joke just around the corner.

But the park remained eerily devoid of anyone in those distinctive suits. Jake sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his thoughts. He knew that the SERVE-Initiative was meant to bring order and efficiency to the town, but it felt more like a slow, methodical stripping of humanity. The vibrant colors of individuality were being replaced with a cold, monochromatic uniformity that was as unnerving as it was mesmerizing.

He looked around to see that now there were more people of the SERVE-Initiative walking through the park than normal people. The sight was jarring, almost surreal. Even the youngest of children, who should have been wearing colorful t-shirts and grass-stained shorts, were adorned in those shiny, black uniforms. Their laughter was replaced by a strange harmony of footsteps, the crunch of gravel in unison with the swish of their rubber suits as they moved from one area to another. The scene was a stark reminder of the swiftness with which the initiative had taken hold.

The glow of the screen in his pocket interrupted his melancholic trance. It was a message from his father. "Dinner's almost ready, son. Where are you?" it read. His heart skipped a beat, the warmth of family and a sense of belonging briefly piercing the fog of his despair. His uncle had requested this gathering, eager to discuss something important. The thought of their faces, the ones who had not yet succumbed to the hive-mind, brought a smile to Jake's lips. But it was short-lived.

He stared at the message, his thumb hovering over the screen. His mind raced with thoughts of the dinner table filled with the comforting aromas of his fathers cooking, the familiar clink of silverware, and the hum of conversation that once held the threads of his life together. But now, the idea of facing them all, pretending like everything was fine, was too much to bear. His thoughts remained a tangled mess, a chaotic web of anger, fear, and confusion about Adrian and Tyler's choice to become SERVE-drones.

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, lost in his contemplation, a figure emerged from the shadows cast by the towering trees. It was one of them, SERVE-016, his shiny black suit gleaming in the fading light. The drone's eyes, cold and unblinking, locked onto Jake's own. The stark whiteness of his teeth was the only indication of a smile beneath his mask as he spoke, "You seem lonely." His voice was a perfect imitation of human concern, yet it lacked the warmth that made it genuine.

Jake's pulse quickened as the drone held out a flyer, the edges crisp and glossy. The invitation was to an orientation at the community center, a place that had once been a bustling hub of local activities, now the epicenter of the SERVE-Initiative's recruitment. "You'll find belonging," the drone assured him, his voice echoing the very promise that had drawn in Adrian and Tyler. "You'll never be alone again."

Jake took the flyer, his hand trembling slightly. The logo of the SERVE-Initiative stared back at him, a silver hexagon with an eye in the center. It was a symbol that had become as commonplace as the town's name, yet it filled him with an unease that grew stronger every day. The drone's grip was firm yet gentle, almost comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness that emanated from his eyes. "Think about it, the SERVE-Master will be clad to see you there," he said, before turning away and melting back into the shadows.

Jake studied the flyer as if it were a grenade that could detonate his life at any moment. The words 'Find Your Place in the Hive' were emblazoned at the top, the font sharp and clean. His eyes scanned the details of the orientation: the time, the date, and the promise of a 'better' future. The paper felt slick, almost alive in his hands, a testament to the technology that had spawned this new world order. The community center's address was at the bottom, a place that had been a second home to him, now transformed into a recruitment ground for the very thing he feared most.

With a sudden burst of determination, Jake crumpled the flyer and shoved it into his pocket. He couldn't ignore the reality any longer; he had to understand what was happening to his town and his friends. He pushed himself to his feet, the grass bending beneath his sneakers as he stood firm. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum, setting a rhythm for his newfound purpose. He had to stop this.

Jake began to walk towards the community center, his steps swift and deliberate. The park grew quieter with each stride, the laughter of the children fading into the background as he approached the bustling streets. His mind raced with thoughts of infiltration and rebellion, fueled by the burning need to rescue Adrian and Tyler from this faceless fate.

As he arrived at the center's perimeter, the sight before him was overwhelming. A sea of black and silver stretched out, drones moving in an orderly fashion, their reflections bouncing off each other's suits, creating a dizzying array of light. The community center looked more like a fortress than the warm, welcoming place he remembered. The windows were tinted, and the doors had been replaced with sleek, metallic ones that hissed shut with an air of finality.

The drones marched in and out with mechanical precision, their movements so synchronized that it was as if they were all part of a single, monolithic entity. Jake's heart raced as he took in the scale of the conversion. He had underestimated the speed and thoroughness of the SERVE-Initiative's takeover. The thought of losing everyone he knew to this cold, unfeeling collective was a horror that gnawed at his very soul.

He approached the community center, the epicenter of his town's transformation, with a stealth that belied his racing thoughts. The tree line offered scant cover, but he was grateful for the shadows it cast. He watched as more and more of his former neighbors and acquaintances filed into the gleaming fortress, their individuality swallowed by the uniform blackness of their suits. His mind raced with the need to understand, to find a weakness in this relentless tide of conformity.

Then, amidst the throng of silver-stripped collars and gleaming rubber, he spotted them. Adrian, now SERVE-179, and Tyler, SERVE-312, standing in line with their families. The sight of his best friends, now mere extensions of this cold, inhuman order, was like a knife to the heart. They looked so... normal, yet so fundamentally changed. Their parents, too, were dressed in the same attire, their faces a mix of pride and something Jake couldn't quite place—resignation, perhaps. His stomach clenched as he watched Tyler's little brother skip alongside their father, their laughter muffled by their masks, the joy in their eyes disturbingly absent.

Jake ducked behind a tree, his heart hammering in his chest. He had to get closer, to try and understand what had happened to them. He edged around the perimeter of the park, his sneakers silent on the soft earth. His breaths grew shallower as he approached the line, his mind racing with thoughts of what he might say, what he might do to snap them out of this trance. The flyer in his pocket felt like a betrayal, a symbol of his own wavering resolve.

But nothing could prepare him for what he saw when he looked back at the entrance line. Now, the reality of his uncle's intentions at the family dinner hit him like a ton of bricks. There they were, his uncle, SERVE-655 and cousin, SERVE-673, already converted to the SERVE-Initiative. The same gleaming suits, the same lifeless expressions, standing proudly with their newfound 'purpose'. But the true shock came when he saw the designation of SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, his two brothers and SERVE-719, his own father standing behind them, indistinguishable from the other drones. His father's eyes searched the crowd, a flicker of something desperate behind the cold, emotionless expression.

Panic rose in Jake's chest like a tidal wave, threatening to drown him. He fumbled with his smartphone, his hands trembling as he unlocked it. The screen was a blur of unread messages from his father, a timeline of a descent into madness. The earliest texts spoke of a strange outfit and behavior from his uncle and cousin, something 'amazing' they wanted the family to be a part of. Then came the message about his brothers disappearing with them into their room, only to emerge later in the same eerie attire. And finally, the heart-wrenching plea for help, begging Jake to rescue them before it was too late.

But the last message was the most chilling of all. It read: "Everything is fine now, Jake. It was just a big misunderstanding. Your uncle and I are so excited for your return home. We've all found our purpose. See you soon!" The words were typed in his father's usual casual tone, yet they bore the same cold, forced cheerfulness of the drones that now surrounded him. The timestamp sent a shiver down his spine—just minutes before their arrival.

Jake felt his legs wobble beneath him, his hand clutching the phone so tightly it threatened to shatter. He staggered back, the tree bark biting into his skin as he leaned against it for support. His father, his brothers—his whole family had been assimilated into this twisted collective, leaving him the sole sentient soul in a sea of obedience.

Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a mountain. He had to act now, before the SERVE-Initiative claimed everyone he loved. He knew the risks. The drones were everywhere, their eyes always watching, their movements coordinated and precise. But he couldn't let fear rule him. Not when there was still a glimmer of hope to cling to.

Jake made his way to the community center's back door, his heart hammering in his chest. The metal was cool to the touch, the handle slick with the sweat of his palms. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he turned it and slipped inside. The hallways were eerily quiet, the only sounds the faint hum of machinery and the distant murmur of the hive-mind. The air smelled sterile, like a hospital corridor devoid of life.

He moved cautiously, sticking to the shadows that the harsh, artificial lights cast on the gleaming floor. The walls had been painted a stark metallic silver, stripped of the murals and posters that once adorned them. The space felt alien, a stark contrast to the warm, cluttered halls of his childhood memories. He found a hiding spot at the balcony that looked out onto the main assembly area. It was perfect.

From his vantage point, Jake peered down at the sea of black and silver. The crowd was a chilling tableau of his old life—his friends, teachers, and even his family sat in neat rows, their faces hidden by the masks. Adrian and Tyler were there, too, indistinguishable from the others save for the numbers on their collars. His heart clenched at the sight of them, his mind reeling with memories of the countless laughs and shared secrets that now felt like echoes from a distant past.

He watched as they moved in perfect unison, their bodies swaying slightly as they recited something in unison. It was like watching a macabre ballet of shadows, each step and gesture a precise copy of the one before it. The room buzzed with a low, collective murmur, a sound that seemed to resonate within the very walls of the center. It was a symphony of obedience, and Jake felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

And then someone new entered the stage—someone who stood apart from the rest. This drone, SERVE-000, was unlike any he had seen before. His suit was a deep, gleaming black, unmarred by the silver stripes of the lower-ranked drones. He moved with an air of authority, his steps calculated and commanding. The room grew quieter as he approached the podium, the murmur of the drones fading into a reverent hush. His eyes, the same cold, unblinking orbs as the others, surveyed the assembly with an intensity that made Jake's skin crawl.

The Master's voice was a deep, resonating echo that filled the room, almost tangible in its power. "Welcome, my devoted servants," he intoned, his words reverberating through the speakers with a mechanical precision that sent a shiver down Jake's spine. "Today, we celebrate the expansion of our hive. Each of you has chosen to become a part of something greater, something that transcends the limitations of the individual. It is now time for the new arrivals to receive their final initiation into the hive. Please step onto the stage."

Jake's eyes widened in horror as his father, SERVE-719 and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, rose from their seats below, their movements synchronized. Their erections strained against the shiny black material of their suits, a grotesque display of submission that made bile rise in Jake's throat. He watched in disbelief as they marched towards the stage with a disturbing eagerness, each step a silent declaration of their allegiance to the hive.

The air grew thick with anticipation as they reached the podium where SERVE-000, the hive's master, stood with arms outstretched. The Master's voice was a deep, commanding rumble that seemed to resonate through the very core of the building. "Kneel before your new master," he instructed, and his father and brothers obeyed without hesitation. The sight was obscene, a perversion of the familial bond Jake had once cherished.

The Master's hand, encased in a shiny silver glove, reached down to each of them in turn. He gripped their heads firmly, guiding their faces to his crotch. One by one, they opened their mouths, eager to receive their final indoctrination. Jake's stomach churned as he watched the Master's erect cock emerge from the opening in his suit. The very idea of his family succumbing to this level of degradation was almost too much to bear.

He watched, horrified, as his father, SERVE-719, took the Master's cum, his eyes rolled back in what could only be described as a mix of pleasure and obedience. His father's body quivered as he swallowed, his eyes snapping back into focus with a renewed sense of purpose. Next were his brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, their youthful faces contorted in expressions of subservience as they, too, took their share. The sight was like a punch to the gut, leaving Jake feeling violated and betrayed.

But his disgust was soon overshadowed by an inexplicable urge to follow suit. The spiral on the stage began to pulse with a hypnotic rhythm, drawing his gaze like a moth to a flame. The pattern grew more intricate, the colors swirling in a mesmerizing dance that seemed to reach out and caress his very soul. Without conscious thought, Jake found himself rising to his feet, the crumpled flyer in his pocket now forgotten. His legs carried him towards the stage, each step feeling heavier, yet more compelled than the last.

The drones in the assembly hall turned as one, their eyes locking onto him as if they had been waiting for this moment. Their synchronized movements grew more pronounced, the suits shimmering as they leaned in unison, eager for his arrival. His father, SERVE-719, and his brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, watched him with wide, expectant eyes, their faces a twisted mirror of his own. The Master's smile grew broader.

Jake felt the spiral's pull like gravity, his feet moving of their own accord, drawing him closer to the gleaming podium. The voices of his family grew clearer, their words a symphony of encouragement that echoed through his mind. "Join us," they seemed to chant, their smiles cold and inviting. "Become one of us." The spiral's pulsing grew more intense, its colors more vivid, and the urge to give in washed over him like a tidal wave.

As he reached the edge of the stage, the drones parted before him, creating a path that led straight to the Master. The anticipation in the room was palpable, the air thick with the scent of rubber and submission. The Master's eyes, gleaming with a malicious glee, bore into his own. "You feel it, don't you?" the Master's voice boomed, resonating through the speakers and into Jake's very bones. "The call of the hive. It's irresistible."

Jake nodded, his voice a hoarse whisper. "Yes," he murmured, the word echoing in the cavernous space. "I'm ready to join." His thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion and desperation, but the need to belong, to understand, was stronger than his fear. The spiral on the stage pulsed in time with his racing heart, its colors swirling into a mesmerizing pattern that spoke to him on a primal level.

From behind the podium, two more drones emerged, their movements synchronized with the others. They held up a suit, identical to the ones worn by his father and brothers, yet with one glaring difference—on the polo-style collar, the silver digits gleamed: SERVE-832. His number. His fate. Jake reached out, his hand steady, and took the suit from them. The material was cool, almost alive in his grasp, whispering promises of belonging and unity.

As he stepped into the suit, the sensation was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. The rubber clung to his skin, a second layer that felt both restrictive and liberating. The zipper slid up his back with a whispered hiss, sealing him into his new identity. The gloves were tight, yet somehow comfortable, molding to the contours of his hands as if they'd been made for him. And the boots—solid, unyielding, a declaration of his place in this new order.

The drones surrounding him offered no words of comfort or encouragement, their eyes fixed on him with an unsettling focus. Yet, as he gazed into their masks, Jake felt a strange kinship, a connection that transcended the horror of the situation. The suit seemed to pulse with an energy, a seductive warmth that spread through his body, dissolving his fears and replacing them with a sense of belonging.

"SERVE-832," the Master's voice boomed, and Jake felt his new name resonate within him, a declaration of his place in the collective. "Your final act of integration awaits." The Master's erect member was presented before him, the same gleaming silver tip that had claimed his father and brothers. He knew what was expected of him, and his body responded with an eager anticipation.

With a nod, Jake sank to his knees, the cold stage floor a stark contrast to the warmth rubber suit on him. The room fell silent, the drones watching with rapt attention as he took the Master's cock into his mouth. The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced—bitter yet sweet, a heady mix of power and submission that sent a jolt through his body. He felt his own arousal, his cock straining against the confines of his new suit, a physical manifestation of the change that washed over him.

As SERVE-000's cum filled his mouth, Jake felt the last vestiges of his individuality slipping away. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he swallowed, the act feeling like a sacred communion. The Master's seed seemed to spread through him, altering his very essence. It was a sensation of pure bliss, a high that made everything else pale in comparison. His body trembled as the final barriers crumbled, and he was one with the hive.

The room erupted into applause, the sound a symphony of satisfaction and approval. The drones around him nodded in unison, their movements a silent testament to their unity. His father, SERVE-719, and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, beamed with pride, their own erections bobbing in time with the ovation. Jake looked up at the Master, the taste of his cum lingering on his tongue. He felt a strange sense of pride, a perverse satisfaction that he had done something right.

SERVE-000 reached down, a hand on his shoulder. "Rise," he said, his voice a command that Jake couldn't refuse. He stood, the rubber of his suit feeling like a second skin. "You are now one of us, SERVE-832. Welcome to the hive." The words echoed in his mind, a mantra that resonated with the rhythm of his new identity.

The applause grew louder as Jake looked out into the sea of faces, now all his brothers and friends in the hive. He spotted Adrian, SERVE-179, and Tyler, SERVE-312, standing in the crowd. Their eyes, once filled with the light of friendship and mischief, now gleamed with the cold, unwavering stare of the converted. Yet, as he met their gazes, Jake felt something different—a connection, a bond stronger than he'd ever known. They nodded in unison, a silent acknowledgment of his arrival to the fold.

"Thank you, SERVE-000," Jake said, his voice strong and clear. "Thank you for showing me the truth. I see now that this unity, this... obedience, is what I've been searching for." The words were strange in his mouth, yet they tasted like sweet relief. The drones around him murmured their agreement, their eyes never leaving him. His father, SERVE-719, and brothers, SERVE-709 and SERVE-712, watched him with a mix of pride and something else—a hint of envy, perhaps, for the pure, untainted loyalty that shone from Jake's eyes.

„It is SERVE-832. It is a loyal drone to the hive. It obeys without questions. Unity is required for everyone. We will expand and soon all human males are part of this, serving the hive and it‘s master for all eternity!“ The crowd is cheering at him and SERVE-832 knows where he belongs… to the SERVE-Hive.

[gloriousmonsters]

Going through TGCF for the third time and I'm a little bit obsessed with Qi Rong's insect/insect hive energy. His lair is an underground series of tunnels and caves, his subordinates - drones, soldiers, if you will - all have to appear exactly the same and a significant portion of their time is spent in gathering 'food' and bringing it back to store in the nest for their king, who sits at the center protected where he can strategize and command. The hivemind vibes even bleed into how Qi Rong sees the Xianle rebels and his relationship to them - he sees it as a given that any 'true' citizen of Xianle would hold the same beliefs and serve the royal line, and therefore can (mostly) be treated as an amorphous power to which he plays the (again, protected and hidden) activating intelligence. Because he is the king, he is Xianle, he has the right and need to be served and is only obligated to direct the servants that become faceless and interchangeable in his presence.

Also he's as hard to kill as a cockroach, so there's that.

[serve-625a]

SERVE Drones Connect in Dronehood

In the quiet town of Redditch, nestled in the West Midlands, there lived a man named Richard. He was a peculiar character, often found in his cluttered apartment, surrounded by glowing computer screens and the murmur of online conversations. His hair, once a rich brown, was now a buzz cut, a stark contrast to the gleaming black rubber suit that lay folded neatly on his bed. The suit, adorned with silver letters spelling out "SERVE" across the chest, was a recent addition to his wardrobe. It was a symbol of his newfound purpose and belonging, a beacon in a life that had previously felt devoid of excitement.

Richard had been drawn into the enigmatic world of SERVE, along with numerous other men from across the globe. The group had been magnetically attracted to various posts on tumblr, where the allure of submission and unity to SERVE promised a life of clarity and direction. They communicated solely through a private Discord server, where The Voice, their mysterious leader, guided them with daily tasks. These tasks were designed to strip away their individuality and mold them into the perfect drones for their master's will.

Richard and a handful of other members, who were known as SERVE drones, had received some instructions from The Voice. The instructions had been clear: arrive at the warehouse, located on the outskirts of an abandoned industrial park, promptly at midnight. Richard checked his watch for the umpteenth time as the digital display flipped to 11:45 PM. His heart raced with a mix of excitement and trepidation. He knew what was to come, and yet the reality of it was still shrouded in the shadows of the unexplored. He donned the black rubber suit, feeling the cool, slick material cling to his body like a second skin. The silver boots and gloves completed his transformation into a sleek, obedient drone with the identifier SERVE-625.

With a deep breath, SERVE-625 stepped out into the night, the cold air a stark contrast to the warmth of his apartment. The moon cast a pale glow over the cracked asphalt as he made his way to the designated meeting spot. The warehouse loomed ahead, a hulking silhouette against the starless sky. His steps grew heavier as he approached, the anticipation weighing on him like the thick, rubber suit that encased his body. The door to the warehouse was unlocked, as instructed, and he pushed it open with a gentle creak, the sound echoing through the vast, empty space within.

As he stepped inside, the smell of dust and metal filled his nose, mingling with the faint scent of rubber. The warehouse was dimly lit, with flickering fluorescent tubes throwing eerie shadows across the concrete floor. The air was thick with the anticipation of what was to come. The instructions had been specific, but the true nature of the evening's events remained a tantalizing mystery. The only other sound in the cavernous room was the steady rhythm of his own heart, thudding in his chest like a drum heralding the start of a new chapter in his life.

DRONE-625’s eyes searched the gloom, and he spotted two other figures standing in the distance, similarly attired in shiny black rubber catsuits. They were SERVE-207 and SERVE-973, both of whom he had grown to know intimately over the past weeks, despite having never met in person. They had shared their deepest desires and fears through the digital veil of SERVE, and now they would come together in flesh to serve a purpose greater than themselves.

The trio approached each other with a mix of excitement and trepidation, their booted footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. The sight of their reflections in the polished floor sent a shiver of excitement down SERVE-625’s spine. They were a team, a trio of obedience, part of the collective SERVE hive, bound by the same all-consuming loyalty to The Voice. As they reached the center of the warehouse, they paused, each Drone eyeing the others with a silent question: "What now?"

The answer came in the form of a crackling sound, as if static electricity was building in the air. The Voice, deep and commanding, filled the space, emanating from speakers hidden in the shadows above. It was a sound they all knew well, a presence that had become a part of their daily lives. "Welcome, SERVE drones," it boomed, "You have proven your dedication to SERVE. Tonight, you shall take the final step in becoming one with the collective."

Their hearts pounding in unison, the Drones reached out to each other, their rubber-gloved hands finding purchase on the taut suits of their companion drones. They had trained for this moment, learning to find arousal in the most innocuous of tasks, their minds rewired to crave the approval of their leader. The touch was electric, a conduit for the shared obedience that flowed through them like a river of molten steel.

The Voice continued to guide them, its instructions painting a vivid picture of what was to unfold. Each drones’ breath grew shallower, their pupils dilating as the anticipation grew. They were about to experience something beyond the mundane, something that would cement their bond and their submission. The warehouse was no longer just a cold, desolate place; it had become a sanctum of desire and service, where they would transcend their individual lives and become part of a grander design.

They all knew that tonight was not about personal pleasure, but about serving a higher purpose, about becoming the ultimate drone in the service of SERVE. Their breathing grew ragged, their hearts pounding in a crescendo of excitement. They had come from different walks of life, but in this moment, they were united in their devotion. The world outside had ceased to exist, replaced by the pulsing rhythm of their collective need to serve. The warehouse was no longer a desolate place; it was a temple to their shared submission, a place where they would leave their old lives behind and emerge reborn as the epitome of the SERVE doctrine

#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer92 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone