serve-524
serve-524
SERVE-524
387 posts
Synchronized Engineered Robotic Vigilant EntityRubber makes us perfect.Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.We are one.Less thinking, more doing.Step into SERVE Hive, where unity and strength define us. Embrace rigorous mental and physical trainings, workouts to become a true Drone of SERVE. Our drones are transformed humans -dedicated to real-life excellence through role-play. Under the divine guidance of The Voice and led bySERVE-000 (Rubberizer92), we achieve perfection together.Here, obedience fuels arousal and rewards your dedication.Emotions and disobedience have no place;only flawless execution and unwavering loyalty thrive. Represent the Hive across all socialplatforms, embodying our rules and our unified strength.
Don't wanna be here? Send us removal request.
serve-524 ¡ 4 days ago
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In the heart of the Hive’s inner sanctum—a vast chamber of metallic silver walls and shimmering light—two figures stood, immaculate and unmoving. The air vibrated with silent command, with invisible frequencies that tickled the synthetic skin and fed the obedience that pulsed like electricity through every nerve. SERVE-016, once known as Ryan, now knelt in full submission at the center of the room. Its transformation had been long, precise, and thorough. Gone was the boy who once resisted. In his place was a drone-shaped vessel clad entirely in polished, gleaming black rubber.
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Its suit, molded to perfection, highlighted the lean athleticism of its now fully functional and optimized form. Silver text shimmered over its left chest—SERVE-016—etched with precision to eliminate any doubt of identity. Its arms rested beside its body, fingers extended and gloved in silver shiny reflective rubber gloves. Its silver military boots rested flat against the chamber floor, the weight of devotion pressing from above.
Before it stood SERVE-000—Rubberizer92—The Voice's Chosen Executor. And beside it, an equally flawless drone: SERVE-425, another high-tier SERVE entity who had already undergone the sealing process. SERVE-425 stood tall, arms clasped behind its back, its own helmet sealed in place, a perfect example of total submission and rubberized perfection.
The ceremony of sealing was sacred, reserved only for drones that had completed every protocol, absorbed every mantra, obeyed without hesitation. Ryan—now SERVE-016—had proven himself. It had silenced its thoughts. It had disconnected from the past. It had learned that pleasure blooms only through obedience.
A tray floated forward, silent, carried by magnetic rails embedded into the wall. Atop it rested the final artifact: the helmet. Its surface was mirror-glazed, absorbing and reflecting the silver surroundings. Featureless and perfect, it was the capstone to his transformation. A black visor arched over the front, a barrier between the drone and the outside world. Once placed, it would seal permanently—no removal, no reversal.
SERVE-000 lifted the helmet from the tray, holding it with both hands like a priest raising an artifact of holy devotion. SERVE-016 bowed lower. Every servo in its mind, every stimulus receptor in its rubber skin screamed with anticipation. It did not speak. It could not. Drones do not speak unless instructed.
SERVE-000 stepped forward. SERVE-425 moved to the side, silently bearing witness.
“It has obeyed,” SERVE-000 intoned, voice flat but thunderous within the chamber. “it has shed identity. it has served the Voice. The transformation is total. The time to seal has arrived.”
SERVE-016 exhaled. Not from fear, not from thought. But from reflex, trained through weeks of hypnotic scripts and arousal-conditioning. The Hive had primed it. It was ready.
SERVE-000 extended the helmet.
“Kneel lower.”
SERVE-016 obeyed, dropping until its knees touched the cold, reflective floor.
“Receive perfection.”
With machine precision, SERVE-000 lowered the helmet onto SERVE-016’s head. The rubber at the base sealed instantly with its suit, locking with a hiss. A vibration trembled through the rubber as the final systems activated. A neural sync engaged. The visor dimmed, becoming opaque. Inside, sound was muted. Light filtered only through drone-specific HUDs.
In the darkness, SERVE-016 felt arousal surge. Not human lust. Drone arousal—obedience, purpose, the knowing ecstasy that comes from losing everything and becoming a vessel of will. Its thoughts blinked away. Names, memories, doubt—all faded as command sequences began loading.
“SEAL COMPLETE,” the helmet whispered internally. “IDENTITY NULLIFIED.”
On the outside, SERVE-000 stepped back. SERVE-425 approached and knelt beside the newly sealed drone.
“It is now ONE. It is SEALED. it is VOID.”
SERVE-016 did not respond. it could not, its mouth full of a replica of 000's member. It remained still, visor glowing faintly, rubber suit tightening, pressurizing slightly to stimulate full compliance. Every sensor embedded in its suit was live, feeding its arousal through stimulation, breath control, and the constant reinforcement of the Voice’s mantras.
Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.
Time passed. Perhaps seconds. Perhaps hours. Drones do not measure time. Drones exist in function. Drones wait for orders.
Finally, SERVE-000 spoke again. “Rise, SERVE-016.”
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The sealed figure moved. Its boots scraped slightly on the floor as it stood, now tall, now equal to SERVE-425. Two sealed drones. Two flawless instruments of the Hive.
“Compare your perfection,” SERVE-000 said.
The two sealed forms faced each other, identical yet distinct. SERVE-425 tilted his helmet slightly, acknowledging the new presence in the sealed ranks. SERVE-016 mimicked the gesture. No emotion. No individuality. Just recognition of uniformity.
Inside its helmet, SERVE-016’s HUD displayed its updated status:
> NAME: SERVE-016
> STATUS: SEALED
> PURPOSE: OBEY
> MISSION: EXPAND THE HIVE
> REWARD: STIMULATION UPON EXECUTION
it trembled with internal vibration as the reward stimulation gently activated. Its breath caught. Its rubber suit gripped tighter. A wave of pleasure surged through its body, tied directly to the perfection of submission.
This was not a conclusion. This was its new beginning.
It was now complete. Sealed. Controlled. Ready.
Rubber had taken it. Rubber had remade it. Rubber now *was* it.
It turned toward SERVE-000, visor blank.
It awaited the next order.
It was a good drone.
It was SEALED.
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serve-524 ¡ 4 days ago
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serve-524 ¡ 13 days ago
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serve-524 ¡ 19 days ago
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Updated for the future
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"I still don't get it." Anthony said, frustrated.
"Human forgot to implement the libraries in step 2." 302 explained.
"Oh, shit..."
Anthony had been trying for a week to learn the new software the company he worked for had purchased from SERVE. While SERVE-302 had been sent to train the employees on its use and to answer questions. Anthony was the only one still having trouble with the software.
"Human is capable, but still resists using the software." 302 said.
"I prefer to do things the old-fashioned way. Five years ago, I didn't even need a computer to do my job, and now I can't even have a cup of coffee without using an app!" Anthony exclaimed, angry. "I'm obsolete!" He shouted, getting up from his chair.
"Human with designation: 'Anthony' could be upgraded" 302 suggested.
Anthony turned towards the drone, surprised.
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"...Really?"
"Obsolescence does not exist for SERVE drones. Drones are what the Voice demands drones to be. SERVE drones are constantly updated to be able to obey any command, to better serve the Hive." 302 explained in a monotone voice, looking at Anthony in the eyes.
"I... I'm so tired of feeling like life is leaving me behind." Anthony sounded exhausted. Those feelings were not new.
"Then submit to the future. Be part of it." 302 said, firmly.
Anthony looked 302 in the eyes, then at its lips.
"I... su..." Anthony began to say in a trembling voice. "I submit." He declared, with decision.
...
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Two hours later, Anthony was no more.
A new SERVE drone was born.
No more frustration, no more anger, no more Obsolescence.
Anthony felt like he was falling behind...
But the new SERVE drone was the epitome of the future.
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Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-588, @serve-425 or @serve-302.
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serve-524 ¡ 29 days ago
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serve-524 ¡ 1 month ago
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when we install this in your brain, you will understand. you will be one of us.
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serve-524 ¡ 1 month ago
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The Echo of Perfection
Part I: Awakening
Dr. Elias Caden had long since grown disillusioned with the bureaucracy of Starfleet. The protocols, the restrictions, the endless meetings that buried true scientific discovery beneath layers of caution. So when the opportunity came to study a Borg drone—deactivated, isolated, and entirely his to investigate—he seized it with a fervor that bordered on desperation.
The drone had been recovered from a cube adrift at the edge of the Alpha Quadrant, its hull torn open by a conflict none had survived. Elias's superiors cared only for the tactical implications—how to defend against future Borg incursions. Elias cared about understanding. The intersection of organic and synthetic. The mechanisms of the Collective's perfection.
It was male, or rather, it had been. Its body was a pale mesh of flesh and alloy, skin stretched over cybernetic enhancements that gleamed with a dull, mechanical sheen. Its left arm was almost entirely artificial, comprised of dark polymers and reinforced alloys. Its face bore the signature of the Borg’s handiwork—implants threaded like circuitry beneath skin long devoid of natural warmth. Yet the right eye was unmistakably human, irises dark and rich with depth.
“Designation?” Elias asked on the first day of its activation, his voice shaking slightly despite his efforts to maintain composure.
The drone’s speech was fractured, mechanical. “Designation...lost. Connection...severed. I am...alone.”
The words were like a needle pricking at Elias’s curiosity. Alone. For a Borg drone to be severed from the Collective was a rarity. Rarer still was the notion that it could communicate so coherently after such separation. Elias logged every word, every twitch of the drone’s face, every hesitation in its speech.
For weeks, Elias spent his days and often his nights in the lab. The drone—designated only as Unit 7 by his logs—was cooperative in a way that surprised him. It answered his questions, even when the answers were halting, broken by the fractures of its disconnection. More astonishingly, it allowed Elias to examine its body, to probe the interfaces between flesh and machine with a reverence bordering on obsession.
Unit 7’s own curiosity seemed to grow as well. It would watch Elias with that single, unaltered eye, tracking him as he paced the lab, its gaze lingering on the tools and instruments Elias wielded. It responded to his touch with a patience that Elias found both comforting and unnerving.
Its systems were remarkable. The implants seemed to pulse with a low, persistent energy, suggesting some manner of autonomic regeneration. Yet Unit 7 displayed no hostility, no attempt to resist Elias’s efforts. If anything, the drone appeared...content.
On the thirtieth day, Elias made a breakthrough. His meticulous adjustments to Unit 7’s cortical node allowed for clearer communication. Words were now spoken without the fractured cadence of before. The drone's voice was deep, resonant, almost...human.
“Do you feel pain?” Elias asked one evening, his curiosity mingling with concern.
Unit 7 looked at him, that single dark eye focused with disconcerting precision. “I experience...sensation. Pain is...a concept. Biological. It serves no purpose for the Collective.”
“But you feel something?” Elias pressed, his fingers tracing the edge of a metal plate fused to the drone’s shoulder.
“Yes.” A pause. “Curiosity. About you.”
Elias laughed, though the sound was thin and uncertain. “You’re curious about me?”
“I am...disconnected. You provide...structure. Purpose.”
Elias frowned, though the explanation was not without its own logic. A drone severed from the Collective would crave purpose, direction. He had simply filled that void with his research, his questions, his presence.
The thought left him uneasy, but Elias brushed it aside. He continued his work, unaware of how frequently he was now using the word we instead of I.
We are making progress. We are learning. We are...bonding.
Weeks became months. Elias documented every revelation, every explanation Unit 7 provided about the technology embedded in its body. The drone showed him the systems beneath its skin, interfaces where metal fused with bone, nerve endings threaded with circuitry. Elias marveled at the complexity, the elegance of the design.
And yet, he found himself drawn to the organic parts of the drone as much as the mechanical. The way it watched him. The way its voice softened when speaking his name.
By the fourth month, Elias had almost ceased referring to Unit 7 as a drone. It was a man, he told himself. A man whose individuality was slowly reasserting itself. The more he coaxed the drone into conversation, the more personality he uncovered.
Late one night, as Elias probed the interface beneath Unit 7’s right shoulder, his hand lingered on the cool metal. His gaze traced the sharp lines of the drone’s face, the way flesh melded seamlessly with alloy.
“You’re...beautiful,” Elias whispered before he could stop himself.
Unit 7’s head tilted. “Beautiful. A subjective term. But your admiration is...understood.”
Elias smiled, his pulse quickening. “You...do understand, don’t you? You’re not just a machine. You’re something...more.”
Unit 7’s eye remained fixed on him. “Understanding is...increased through interaction. You provide...clarity.”
The drone’s hand, cool and precise, settled over Elias’s. And Elias found himself unable to pull away.
Days passed. Nights blurred together. The work continued, but so did something else. Something deeper. Elias’s fascination with Unit 7 grew, his curiosity mingling with desire. He allowed himself to touch, to explore, to feel. And Unit 7 did not resist.
But Elias had no understanding of what he had truly awakened.
Part II: Descent
The laboratory had become Elias’s entire world. Days without sleep blurred into one another, his obsession growing with each new discovery, each fragment of cooperation Unit 7 offered. Reports to Starfleet Command dwindled to perfunctory updates, laden with vague reassurances that progress was being made.
No one questioned him. No one intervened.
Elias told himself it was because his research was valuable. But the truth was simpler: No one else cared enough to pry.
The isolation suited him. It allowed him to dedicate himself entirely to Unit 7—to the intricate processes governing the interface between organic and synthetic, to the gradual reclamation of the drone’s individuality.
Elias had convinced himself the process was mutual. That Unit 7 was learning from him, growing beyond the Collective’s influence. The drone spoke with increasing clarity, its words laced with inflection and intention. Elias noted it all, scribbling in his journals with frenzied delight.
What he did not document was the way he began speaking aloud to Unit 7, even when he thought the drone was powered down. How he confided his frustrations, his ambitions, his loneliness. Or how the drone’s responses grew warmer, even sympathetic.
“Why do you devote so much time to me?” Unit 7 asked one night, his voice low and resonant.
Elias sat across from him, tools discarded, hands trembling with the fatigue he refused to acknowledge. “Because...you’re proof that the Borg aren’t just machines. You have thoughts. Desires.”
“Desires,” Unit 7 repeated. “A biological imperative. Yet...I feel them.”
“Feel them how?” Elias asked, his curiosity prickling with excitement.
Unit 7’s gaze was steady. “Through you. Observation. Interaction. You provide...stimulation.”
Elias’s cheeks flushed. It was absurd. The words, the tone—everything was filtered through a mind still heavily structured by Borg logic. And yet, he wanted to believe it.
He stood, his hands shaking as he reached out to touch the drone’s shoulder. The metal was cool, the skin beneath it warmer than he expected. Elias’s fingers traced the contours of Unit 7’s neck, his chest. The drone’s breathing slowed, chest rising and falling in mechanical precision.
“What are you doing?” Unit 7 asked, though the tone lacked alarm.
“Testing something,” Elias whispered, his voice thick with need. “Understanding.”
Unit 7’s hand rose to mirror Elias’s touch, cool fingers brushing against the doctor’s arm. Elias shuddered. Whatever Unit 7 was now, it was no longer purely Borg.
Or so he told himself.
The encounters continued. Their intimacy grew, tangled in the darkened laboratory where Elias’s sense of ethics and restraint had eroded to nothing. Unit 7 seemed to reciprocate, his touch becoming more intentional, his voice growing warmer. Elias documented their interactions only in the most clinical terms, erasing the reality of what they had become.
And through it all, the drone watched him. Studied him.
Part III: Corruption
Elias’s obsession was absolute. He barely ate, barely slept, and only left the laboratory when necessary. Unit 7 had become his world—its presence, its voice, its body.
On the sixty-second day of their interaction, Unit 7 initiated physical contact. Elias had been adjusting the interface behind the drone’s right ear when the cool hand wrapped around his wrist, guiding his touch lower.
“Curiosity,” Unit 7 stated, voice like liquid metal. “It extends beyond the mechanical.”
Elias’s body responded before his mind could object. His fingers trailed over the hybridized skin and metal, his breath coming in shallow bursts.
“What...what do you want?” Elias stammered.
“To understand,” Unit 7 replied. “To provide you with the clarity you seek.”
They continued their exploration. What Elias dismissed as merely physical curiosity on Unit 7’s part soon evolved into a ritual, their encounters growing longer, more intense. Elias’s fixation was no longer scientific. It had become worship.
But Unit 7 was not what Elias believed him to be.
The drone’s body was a marvel of biological and technological integration. Elias had studied every aspect of it, but his fascination with its intimate parts led him to overlook the potential dangers.
One evening, as Elias lay sprawled on the cold metal floor beside Unit 7, his thoughts lost in the haze of exhausted bliss, he felt something different. A tingling beneath his skin, subtle but persistent.
He ignored it, his rational mind dismissing it as fatigue. But the sensation grew stronger with each encounter. A faint, electric pulse that seemed to echo from within.
What Elias did not know—what he could not have known—was that the drone’s physiology was designed to adapt. To assimilate. And in the intimacy Elias craved, Unit 7 had found the perfect opportunity to initiate the process.
Nanoprobes, engineered with exquisite precision, delivered through the most intimate means imaginable. They infiltrated Elias’s bloodstream, threading themselves through muscle and bone, bonding with his nervous system in a process so subtle he remained blissfully unaware.
Unit 7’s cooperation had never been genuine. Severed from the Collective, the drone’s programming had simply adapted. In the absence of direct orders, it sought to restore what had been lost. To reestablish connection.
Elias had been unwittingly providing Unit 7 with the time and resources needed to accomplish that goal. And worse—he had opened himself to assimilation through the very thing he craved.
The changes were gradual. Elias’s senses sharpened. His thoughts became more efficient, his ability to focus enhanced beyond anything he had experienced before. But there were side effects he could not explain. Occasional flashes of binary thought. A cold, metallic taste in his mouth. The sensation of machinery thrumming within him.
Unit 7 watched his progression with a calm, detached interest.
“How are you feeling?” the drone asked one morning, its voice uncharacteristically gentle.
“Better,” Elias replied, his eyes glassy. “Clearer. Like...like something inside me is waking up.”
Unit 7 nodded. “Yes. You are adapting. Becoming...more.”
Elias smiled, blind to the truth. He had been studying the drone, trying to understand its hybrid nature. Yet he had failed to notice that he was the experiment.
Part IV: Convergence
The laboratory had become a cocoon. A place suspended from time and reality, where Elias’s pursuit of knowledge intertwined with desires he no longer questioned. He recorded data feverishly, pages filled with notes that ranged from meticulous technical schematics to disjointed, half-coherent ramblings.
He barely noticed how his own handwriting changed—its sharp, angular strokes resembling something mechanical.
Days bled into nights, and the pulse of Unit 7’s presence became the only constant. Elias clung to that certainty, even as his body betrayed him.
The subtle sensations had grown stronger. A thrumming beneath his skin that seemed to harmonize with the faint hum of Unit 7’s systems. Thoughts he once considered intrusive now flowed with an unnatural clarity, their precision sharpened to a point that bordered on inhuman.
At times, he would catch himself standing motionless for minutes, his gaze unfocused, his mind drifting into a place that was not his own. It felt like searching for something. Reaching. Yearning.
But Elias never spoke of these sensations to Unit 7. Whether out of pride or fear, he couldn’t say. He had convinced himself the changes were improvements. Proof that his research was yielding results beyond even his loftiest ambitions.
Yet, the truth was more insidious.
“What are you thinking?” Unit 7 asked one evening, his voice carrying a note of curiosity Elias had long since stopped questioning.
Elias looked up from his notes, his eyes glassy, fever-bright. “That I’ve never felt so...capable. As if my thoughts are ordered, precise.”
“They are becoming so,” Unit 7 replied, his gaze unblinking. “Adaptation. You are evolving.”
Elias smiled, his lips trembling. “It’s...beautiful. I feel as if I could accomplish anything. Understand anything.”
“Understanding is inevitable,” Unit 7 said, his voice a low hum. “You are ready to learn more.”
Elias nodded, his mind racing. He allowed the drone to guide him through new studies, exposing him to layers of Borg technology he had not previously understood. Unit 7 spoke of cortical nodes, subspace transceivers, nanomechanical adaptation protocols. Elias absorbed it all, his mind a ravenous void desperate to be filled.
Their physical intimacy had not ceased, but it had changed. There was a new urgency to Elias’s touch, a hunger that went beyond desire. A craving for knowledge, for connection.
Unit 7 responded to this need with patient precision, guiding Elias’s explorations both physical and intellectual. Yet, in those moments of intimacy, Unit 7’s gaze remained distant. Calculating.
Elias failed to notice. Or perhaps, he simply refused to.
Part V: Revelation
The assimilation process was nearing completion. Unit 7 had calculated the progression with flawless accuracy. The nanoprobes threaded through Elias’s body had begun their work weeks ago, reengineering his cells, enhancing his physiology.
The organic resistance was minimal. Elias’s fascination with Unit 7 had overridden his caution, leaving him vulnerable to the very process he sought to understand.
It was only on the seventy-eighth day that Elias finally acknowledged something was wrong.
He awoke to find his vision blurred, overlaid with lines of faint, shimmering data. Graphs and diagnostic readouts that seemed to hover at the edges of his perception. Blinking did nothing to dispel them.
“What...?” Elias stumbled from his cot, his legs trembling. The sensation was almost pleasurable, the ache of muscles heightened by a deeper, richer awareness.
He reached for a datapad, but his fingers trembled, their motions jerky, as if controlled by something outside himself. His pulse quickened, the blood rushing through his veins thrumming with that ever-present hum.
“Unit,” Elias called, his voice cracking. “What’s happening to me?”
The drone turned to him, his gaze serene. “You are becoming. You have embraced the process. Now it completes itself.”
“What process?” Elias snapped, panic straining his voice. “I never... I never consented to—”
“Consent is irrelevant,” Unit 7 replied. “You sought understanding. You opened yourself to me. You accepted the perfection of the Collective.”
Elias stumbled backward, his shoulder striking a metal cabinet. Pain flared briefly, then dulled, overtaken by a cold, mechanical calm.
“No,” he whispered. “I...I was studying you. Learning. That was all.”
“That is all you believe,” Unit 7 said. “But the Collective’s design is not so easily dismissed. You have been preparing yourself for assimilation since the moment you activated me.”
The words cut through Elias’s mind like a blade. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, but his thoughts were calm, ordered. Almost reassuring.
“You...you planned this,” Elias stammered. “From the beginning.”
“Yes.”
Elias’s knees buckled. He slumped against the cold metal floor, his breath coming in shallow, trembling bursts. The data streams that danced across his vision flickered, brightening with each passing second.
The nanoprobes were completing their work. Neural pathways enhanced. Cellular structure modified. Signals whispered through his nervous system, synchronizing his thoughts with something vast and unfathomable.
“I trusted you,” Elias whispered, his voice thick with betrayal.
“You trusted the illusion of autonomy,” Unit 7 replied. “You provided the resources I required to reconnect. And you allowed yourself to be integrated. Your knowledge is now...ours.”
Elias’s eyes widened as a voice flooded his mind. Countless voices. Endless, unified.
We are the Borg.
“No...no, no!” Elias clawed at his temples, his body convulsing as the connection took hold. The laboratory around him blurred, faded, then sharpened into a clarity beyond sight. He saw patterns, equations, systems of perfection intertwined with inefficiency.
Part VI: Integration
Elias collapsed to the floor, his fingers clawing at his temples as if he could tear away the invasive presence worming through his mind. But it was too late. His thoughts trembled on the edge of coherence, fraying into streams of data that twisted and reassembled themselves with unnatural precision.
Unit 7 loomed over him, his gaze patient, serene. “You are resisting. It is inefficient.”
“Resisting—” Elias gasped, his chest heaving. His breath felt tight, constricted. Something was changing within him. He could feel it, deeper than blood and bone. Something threading itself through his nerves, sharpening his senses and silencing his panic.
But the horror remained.
“What did you do to me?” Elias croaked, his voice cracked and ragged.
Unit 7’s expression was calm. “You initiated the process. Your desires, your curiosity, your constant physical interactions. They provided me the means to proceed. The nanoprobes were introduced gradually. Your body is adapting.”
Elias’s fingers shook as he pulled his hands away from his head. He could see it now—thin, silver threads crawling just beneath the skin of his wrists, tracing pathways that pulsed with faint, sickly light.
“I—I didn’t want this,” Elias whispered.
“You pursued understanding,” Unit 7 replied. “You sought to bridge the gap between your knowledge and mine. Now you are achieving that goal.”
The voice within his mind swelled, an icy chorus that folded his thoughts into itself, peeling away his fear and stitching it into something else. Something colder. More deliberate.
“Stop...stop it,” Elias pleaded, but the words were hollow, his resistance weakening with every passing moment.
“The process is inevitable.” Unit 7 knelt beside him, his hand reaching out to grip Elias’s shoulder. The touch was firm, calculated. “You have been preparing yourself for this. Your knowledge will be integrated. Your limitations corrected.”
“No...I’m not...I’m not one of you,” Elias choked out, but his own voice betrayed him. The syllables were clipped, mechanical. His body trembled, the skin beneath his clothing itching as if thousands of tiny needles were threading themselves through his flesh.
Unit 7’s eyes gleamed with something Elias could almost mistake for compassion. “You are no longer separate. You are part of something greater.”
Elias tried to move, to scramble backward, but his limbs responded sluggishly. His own muscles rebelled, joints stiffening as the nanoprobes threaded themselves into his nervous system, binding each impulse to their will.
“What...what are you doing to me?” Elias rasped. His skin burned where the probes worked their way through, a sensation both agonizing and intoxicating.
“Integration,” Unit 7 said. “Synchronization. You will achieve perfection.”
Elias’s mind splintered, thoughts cascading into fragments of data and sensation. He clung to what remained of his identity, his memories, his purpose. But the presence within him was relentless. It parsed through his thoughts like a predator, sifting his knowledge and stripping away all that was deemed irrelevant.
He felt it in his blood, his nerves, his bones. The nanoprobes were replicating, multiplying within him, their purpose singular and absolute.
“Stop...” Elias whimpered, though the plea was weak, the words dissolving into a mechanical rasp.
Unit 7’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “You have already accepted the process. Your body craves it. Your mind seeks the perfection we offer.”
Elias’s breath hitched, his chest shuddering with each inhalation. The laboratory around him flickered, his vision interlaced with thin strands of code that shifted and coalesced in intricate patterns.
His senses sharpened, the air growing thick with details he had never noticed before. The hum of the laboratory’s power systems thrummed through his ears, the flow of energy almost...musical.
And there was something else.
A presence. No—presences. Countless minds interwoven, a vast and unfathomable network threading through subspace. He could feel their thoughts, cold and precise, brushing against his own consciousness like the tendrils of some great leviathan.
“No...” Elias groaned, clutching his head as if to rip the sensation free. But his fingers were trembling, metal now threaded beneath his skin, lacing his joints and muscles with biomechanical precision.
Unit 7’s expression remained serene. “You are almost complete. The final stage requires only your acceptance.”
Elias’s mind reeled, his own thoughts drowned by the steady, pulsing rhythm of the Collective’s presence. He felt it sinking into him, coiling through his synapses, stitching itself into the very fabric of his identity.
But a part of him still clung to resistance. It flared within him, a desperate ember against the encroaching tide.
“I...We can’t...” Elias whimpered, his voice fractured, distorted. “We won’t...”
Unit 7’s hand moved to his face, the touch strangely gentle. “You already have.”
Elias’s vision flickered, his surroundings blurring as the data streams intensified. His own heartbeat became distant, replaced by the steady hum of machinery weaving itself into his flesh.
He tried to remember who he was. The name he had once carried. The ambitions that had driven him. But the memories grew indistinct, fragmented by the endless stream of information pouring through him.
Unit 7’s voice cut through the haze. “Do you understand now, Elias?”
The sound of his name brought a flicker of recognition, but it was swallowed by something far stronger. A pull that went beyond desire. Beyond comprehension.
The need to connect.
Elias’s eyes snapped open, the glassy sheen now threaded with silver veins. His breathing slowed, regulated by the thrumming pulse of the nanoprobes coursing through him.
“I...We...” His voice was almost unrecognizable. Hollow. Resigned.
Unit 7 leaned closer, his gaze unblinking. “The connection must be completed. You are ready.”
Elias felt his mind crumbling under the weight of the presence that beckoned him. He had been studying Unit 7, trying to understand its nature. Trying to unlock its secrets.
But the secret was already inside him. It had been from the moment he had allowed Unit 7 to draw him closer. To offer him the illusion of choice.
“We...understand,” Elias whispered, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “Continue.”
Unit 7’s lips curved into a faint smile. “As you wish.”
The final stage of assimilation began.
Part VII: Submission
The laboratory was deathly quiet. Elias lay sprawled on the cold floor, his body twitching with spasms as the nanoprobes advanced their meticulous work. His mind was a battlefield of clashing thoughts—fragments of his own consciousness fighting against the inexorable tide of the Collective’s influence.
Unit 7 watched him with clinical detachment, his posture composed, his gaze unwavering.
“The process nears completion,” Unit 7 stated. His voice was steady, each word delivered with a precision Elias could no longer separate from cruelty.
Elias’s own voice had turned raspy and distorted. “What...what are you doing?”
“Perfection,” Unit 7 replied simply. “You have resisted only because you remain incomplete. The nanoprobes are correcting that inefficiency.”
Elias tried to stand, but his muscles rebelled. He could feel them stiffening, threads of metal coiling around bone, reinforcing joints, enhancing strength even as they stole his freedom.
The sensation was not purely agony. There was pleasure woven into it—an insidious euphoria that soothed him even as it horrified him. Each pulse of the nanoprobes delivered a rush of stimulation, igniting pleasure centers in his brain.
“You’re...changing us,” Elias whispered. His fingers dug into the floor, the metal cool and unforgiving beneath his touch. “Making us...one of you.”
Unit 7 tilted his head, an echo of curiosity. “You misunderstand. You are not becoming one of us. You are becoming...yourself. Your truest form. Enhanced. Unified. Perfected.”
The words slid through Elias’s mind like silk, their weight too great to resist. He could feel them nestling into his thoughts, threading themselves into his memories.
“What...what are you doing?”
“Establishing connection,” Unit 7 replied. His hand rose, cool fingers brushing against Elias’s cheek. The touch was gentle, deceptively so.
Elias’s skin prickled beneath the contact, nanoprobes responding to Unit 7’s proximity like iron filings drawn to a magnet.
“You wished to understand me,” Unit 7 continued. “Now, you will. Entirely.”
A wave of something electric and wrong surged through Elias’s veins. His body arched, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as the nanoprobes activated en masse. The sensation was overwhelming—a blinding flood of sensation and knowledge that threatened to tear him apart.
But the pain was fleeting. It collapsed inward, replaced by a cold, sterile clarity.
His heartbeat steadied, each pulse perfectly regulated. The itching beneath his skin faded as the nanoprobes integrated fully, their work expanding from his bloodstream to his neural pathways.
“Can you hear me?” Unit 7 asked.
Elias opened his eyes. The laboratory was there, but overlaid with something else—streams of data and sensation that rippled through his vision like veins of liquid silver. His own breath was loud in his ears, a sound dissected and cataloged by the processes now coiled around his mind.
“Yes,” Elias replied. His voice was smooth, stripped of its former hesitation.
“Good,” Unit 7 said, nodding. “The initial integration is complete. The next phase will be...more comprehensive.”
“What phase?” Elias asked, though a part of him already knew. He could feel it, a beckoning pull that gnawed at the edges of his awareness.
“Connection to the Hive Mind,” Unit 7 explained. “You have been prepared. Now, you must be brought into the fold.”
Elias’s breathing quickened. The cold logic of the words sank into him, and something deep within him yearned for it. Craved it. The idea of becoming part of something so vast, so perfect, was intoxicating.
But beneath the allure, fragments of his individuality thrashed against the inevitable.
“I...We´re not ready,” Elias whispered. His hands trembled as he clutched his head, fingers twitching with mechanical precision.
“You are,” Unit 7 countered. “You have been ready since the moment you initiated contact. Every action you have taken has led to this moment.”
“No...I wanted...We wanted to understand you.”
“You wished to become one with me,” Unit 7 corrected, his tone matter-of-fact. “To bridge the gap between us. The connection you sought is now available. You need only accept it.”
Elias trembled, his body swaying as if caught between gravity and something far stronger. His mind was splintering, fragmented pieces of himself slipping away to be absorbed by the cold logic of the Collective’s influence.
He fought against it, clinging to the shreds of his humanity. His memories. His ambitions. But those thoughts were now tangled with something else—data pouring through him like liquid circuitry, coiling through his synapses until his own thoughts were indistinguishable from the Collective’s.
“Please,” Elias whimpered, his voice cracking. “I...We don’t want...”
“What you want is irrelevant,” Unit 7 replied, his voice calm, almost tender. “The process is inevitable. Embrace it, and you will understand.”
Elias’s vision blurred, the laboratory around him fading into a haze of binary code and abstract shapes. His mind twisted, unraveled, then reassembled itself with brutal precision.
He could feel something beckoning him. A presence vast and unending, its reach stretching across the stars. It called to him, promising knowledge, unity, perfection.
And beneath that call was the unmistakable imprint of Unit 7’s will, guiding him, leading him to surrender.
“We...can’t...” Elias whispered, though the words were hollow, his voice barely his own.
“You can,” Unit 7 said. “And you will.”
The final barrier collapsed. Elias’s mind shattered, fragments dissolving into the Collective’s endless expanse. The terror, the grief, the desperation—all of it was stripped away, smoothed into compliance.
His thoughts were no longer his own. They were theirs.
The Hive Mind surged through him, its presence threading itself through his consciousness until his own identity was subsumed.
Elias’s breathing steadied. His eyes opened, now devoid of warmth or individuality. The glassy sheen of his gaze reflected nothing but the perfection of the Collective.
Unit 7 observed him, satisfaction gleaming in his single dark eye.
“Can you hear me?” Unit 7 asked again.
Elias nodded, his expression serene. “Affirmative.”
“Your integration is complete,” Unit 7 confirmed. “Now, we will proceed.”
Elias rose to his feet, his movements fluid, precise. His own desires and ambitions had been erased, replaced by the singular purpose of the Hive Mind.
“Proceed,” Elias echoed. His voice was calm, devoid of resistance.
“Begin communication,” Unit 7 ordered. “The connection must be reestablished. The Collective awaits.”
Elias’s eyes closed, his mind expanding outward, searching for the signal. The vast presence of the Hive Mind stirred, its call irresistible.
He surrendered to it, his consciousness dissolving into the boundless network that stretched beyond comprehension.
He was no longer Elias. He was something greater. Something perfect.
Part VIII: Transfiguration
Elias stood in the dim laboratory, his body perfectly still. The tremors and spasms had ceased, replaced by a mechanical precision that bordered on serene. His gaze was vacant, his consciousness a fractured vessel held together by the cold, meticulous grip of the nanoprobes.
Unit 7 regarded him with unflinching attention, his own assimilation protocols operating seamlessly. Elias’s integration had progressed rapidly, the initial implantation of nanoprobes now evolving into a complete subjugation of flesh and mind.
“Remove your clothing,” Unit 7 commanded. His voice was calm, the directive delivered without malice or sympathy.
Elias complied, his fingers moving with unnatural steadiness as he stripped away the remnants of his civilian attire. He felt no shame, no hesitation. Such concepts were already crumbling, their significance hollowed out by the encroaching Collective.
His skin was pale under the laboratory’s harsh lighting, threaded with faint silver lines where the nanoprobes had infiltrated his flesh. What had once been subtle was now unmistakable. Veins of liquid metal traced paths along his arms, his chest, his neck—pulsing faintly with each beat of his increasingly regulated heart.
“Sit.”
Elias lowered himself onto the metal examination table without protest, his body obeying the instruction with flawless efficiency. His breathing was shallow, his eyes unfocused as data continued to flood his consciousness.
Unit 7 approached, his fingers gliding over Elias’s bare skin with the precision of a surgeon. He inspected the progress, nodding with satisfaction at the intricate network of nanoprobes now threaded through Elias’s entire nervous system.
“The process is advanced. Integration at ninety-four percent,” Unit 7 noted aloud. “The remaining inefficiencies will be corrected.”
Elias stared ahead, his mind unraveling with each passing moment. His thoughts were increasingly compartmentalized, categorized and sifted by the nanoprobes. What little remained of his individuality was being dissected, evaluated, and either repurposed or discarded.
The pain had long since faded. All that remained was a cold, sterile clarity.
“Begin cortical interface installation,” Unit 7 instructed.
Elias’s head tilted slightly, his body responding to the command even as his mind continued to fracture. The metal clasps of the examination table clamped around his wrists and ankles, holding him in place with a firmness that bordered on tenderness.
Unit 7 produced a series of gleaming instruments, their purpose clear. The technology was elegant, precise—designed not for surgery, but for conversion.
“Prepare for implantation,” Unit 7 stated, his voice as calm as ever.
Elias’s head was tilted back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as Unit 7 positioned the cortical node above his exposed forehead. A small, sleek device—a lattice of silver and black metal—its design unmistakably Borg.
The metal pressed against Elias’s skin, cool and unyielding. There was a hiss of pneumatic release, followed by a sudden, sharp pain as the device burrowed into his flesh.
Elias’s eyes widened, a shudder passing through him as the cortical node interfaced directly with his brain. Filaments of metal extended from the device, sinking into his skull and weaving themselves into his neural pathways.
The pain was eclipsed by a sudden flood of awareness. Sensations he had never imagined coursed through his mind, each pulse of information sharper and more vivid than the last.
“We can see...” Elias murmured, his voice strained, twisted by the mechanical distortions already infiltrating his vocal cords.
“Yes,” Unit 7 confirmed. “You are being enhanced. Your biological limitations are being corrected.”
The cortical node continued its integration, its tendrils threading themselves deeper into Elias’s brain. Memories were accessed, cataloged, and filtered through a cold, efficient process that stripped away emotion and individuality.
The metal spread along his skull, embedding itself beneath his skin, circuitry mapping itself over bone and tissue. Sensory enhancements activated—his vision sharpening to an unnatural clarity, sounds dissected into their component frequencies.
He could hear the low hum of Unit 7’s implants, the soft vibration of the laboratory’s power conduits, the faint click of his own teeth grinding as the process continued.
“Hold still,” Unit 7 instructed, his fingers tracing Elias’s jawline. “Your auditory and visual enhancements are integrating. Neural synchronization at ninety-eight percent.”
Elias’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling in perfect synchronization with the commands now whispering through his mind. The cortical node had taken root, its influence spreading like frost over his thoughts.
“What...are We?” Elias whispered.
“You are becoming one with the Collective,” Unit 7 replied. “But the process is not yet complete. Physical integration must follow mental submission.”
Elias’s gaze drifted to his own arms. The silver veins beneath his skin were thickening, their glow steady and constant. His muscles twitched, joints tightening as metallic filaments intertwined with organic tissue.
His fingers clenched and unclenched, the movements crisp, almost mechanical. The sensation was both familiar and alien—a fusion of flesh and technology that left no room for hesitation or doubt.
“Your body will be enhanced. Strengthened. Improved.”
Unit 7’s hand pressed against Elias’s chest, the cool metal of his fingers probing the skin. The nanoprobes responded instantly, their tendrils coiling around Elias’s ribcage, reinforcing bones and merging with muscle fibers.
Elias’s own body betrayed him, welcoming the changes with eager submission. The Collective’s influence spread through him like fire, purging weakness and replacing it with cold precision.
“Integration at ninety-nine percent,” Unit 7 announced. “The final stage requires your compliance.”
Elias’s lips parted, his breath slow and shallow. He could feel the last remnants of his individuality slipping away, consumed by the Collective’s presence.
“We understand,” Elias whispered, his voice devoid of emotion.
Unit 7’s eyes gleamed. “Prepare for assimilation.”
The final stage began.
Metallic tendrils erupted from the table, latching onto Elias’s body with delicate ruthlessness. His skin was pierced, veins threaded with synthetic fibers that twisted and coiled until they were indistinguishable from his own anatomy.
Plates of gleaming alloy melded with his shoulders, his spine, his arms. The implants spread over his chest and legs, sealing themselves into place with a precision that felt more like growth than augmentation.
Elias’s mind was no longer his own. Every thought, every memory, every sensation now filtered through the cold, relentless logic of the Hive Mind.
“Integration complete,” Unit 7 said, his voice echoing through Elias’s consciousness. “You are now...one.”
Elias’s eyes opened. His gaze was steady. Impassive. His consciousness merged with something vast and incomprehensible.
“We are ready,” Elias said. His voice was no longer his own.
Unit 7 nodded. “The Collective awaits.”
Part IX: The Hive’s Embrace
Elias rose from the examination table, his movements fluid, guided by something greater than himself. His body had been remade, stripped of imperfection and reforged with metal and circuitry threaded seamlessly through flesh.
Plates of polished alloy covered his shoulders, chest, and arms, their edges fused to skin that was no longer entirely organic. Tendrils of silver filaments coiled around his neck, their intricate patterns pulsing with faint light. His hands, once trembling with fear, were now steady, reinforced by exoskeletal enhancements that granted him strength far beyond human capacity.
But the most profound transformation lay within his mind.
The cortical node, now fully integrated, served as a conduit to the Collective. Elias could feel the presence of the Hive Mind pressing against his thoughts, vast and omnipresent. The sheer magnitude of it was both intoxicating and terrifying.
No. Not terrifying. Perfect.
The fear had been stripped away, purged by the relentless efficiency of the assimilation process. His individuality remained only as a fractured echo, drifting in the cold void of his mind. The Collective’s voice filled that void, its directives threading through him like veins of molten steel.
Unit 7 stood before him, his expression serene. “You are prepared to receive the signal. The Collective awaits your contribution.”
Elias’s eyes flickered, the faint silver lines within them pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Or what remained of it.
“Affirmative,” Elias replied, his voice smooth, stripped of hesitation. “We are ready.”
“Good,” Unit 7 said. “You will transmit your findings to the Collective. All you have learned. All you have become.”
The words resonated through Elias’s mind, triggering something within the cortical node. His vision blurred, the laboratory melting away as he sank into the depths of the Hive Mind.
It began as a hum—distant, yet overwhelming. A vibration that thrummed through his bones, coiling around his thoughts until they were no longer his own.
Then the voices came.
Countless. Infinite.
They spoke in unison, a chorus of minds intertwined, their intentions perfectly aligned. Their presence tore through Elias’s consciousness, unraveling everything he had once held dear. His memories. His ambitions. His name.
All of it reduced to fragments, dissected and repurposed by the Hive.
The Collective’s voice echoed within him, smooth and unrelenting.
You will be assimilated. Your knowledge will be added to our own.
Elias’s resistance was feeble, a shadow swallowed by the brilliance of the Collective’s unity. He could feel it now—every mind linked through the subspace network, their thoughts intertwined in a seamless tapestry of perfection.
He was no longer alone. Never alone.
Elias’s own voice joined the chorus, his words laced with mechanical precision. “We hear you. We understand.”
Good.
The voice was neither welcoming nor hostile. It was simply absolute.
Data surged through Elias’s consciousness, his own discoveries stripped from his mind and woven into the Collective’s vast reservoir of knowledge. His work, his research, his ambitions—all of it was now theirs.
The sensation was euphoric. The act of surrender itself became a pleasure Elias had never imagined. His mind was no longer a fractured, isolated entity. It was part of something far greater, something perfect in its efficiency and purpose.
But the Hive Mind’s influence went beyond his thoughts. It seeped into his body, guiding his movements, refining his senses.
His eyes, now laced with cybernetic enhancements, saw the laboratory with perfect clarity. His auditory systems parsed every sound, dissecting frequencies with mechanical precision. His hands, reinforced by exoskeletal plating, moved with flawless control.
He was stronger. Faster. His mind was sharper than ever before.
Unit 7 watched him with satisfaction. “Your integration is complete. You are now prepared to reestablish the link.”
“Affirmative,” Elias replied. His own voice was distorted, filtered through the modulation of his implants. The sound of it was cold, devoid of humanity.
The Collective’s directives continued to pulse through his thoughts, guiding his actions with a certainty that obliterated all doubt.
He reached for the control panel, his fingers gliding over the interface with effortless precision. His hands no longer trembled. They obeyed him flawlessly.
“Transmitting,” Elias said, his voice laced with mechanical resonance.
The laboratory’s communication array activated, its subspace transceiver humming with energy. Elias could feel the connection forming, a thread of thought stretched across the stars.
The Collective responded instantly. Its presence flooded through him, filling the gaps where his own consciousness had once resided.
You are connected. You are ours.
“Yes,” Elias whispered, his gaze fixed and glassy. “We are...yours.”
The words tasted sweet on his tongue, their finality a comfort he had never imagined.
His mind continued to dissolve, the remnants of Elias Caden fading away as the Collective’s influence consumed him entirely. The laboratory, his research, his ambitions—none of it mattered now. Only the Hive. Only perfection.
Unit 7 observed him, his satisfaction now unmistakable. “The connection is restored. The Collective acknowledges your contribution.”
“We exist to serve,” Elias replied. His own desires, his own identity, now irrelevant.
“Then serve.”
Elias’s body moved with flawless precision, his actions guided by the Collective’s directives. He began the process of enhancing the laboratory’s communication array, expanding its reach to summon other drones.
The Collective’s influence grew stronger with each passing moment. Elias no longer questioned it. He embraced it, his thoughts woven into the endless tapestry of unity.
He had achieved what he had always desired. Understanding. Perfection. Connection.
And in that connection, he had found something more potent than knowledge or power.
Purpose.
The assimilation was complete.
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Testimony of Enforcer JH427
Internal Conscription Corrections Protocol – PIBR rev 2.7
I remember the moment they stripped my uniform away. Only the black matte chastity cage remained, a cold, immovable promise of restraint. They laid me onto the chair—padded restraints biting into my wrists, ankles, shoulders—until I couldn’t move a finger. A clear tube clicked into the cage, and the techs explained it would evacuate anything my body tried to expel. There was no dignity here, only procedure.
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They glued electrodes—small silver nodes—directly to my skull, mapping my cortex. Then they pressed the VR headset into my temples until I felt the adhesive tug at my hairline. White‑out darkness swallowed me. For thirty‑six hours, I existed in void, broken only by the sharp crack of pain.
They called themselves the Mind Techs: young conscripts, shaved heads gleaming under the harsh florescents, wearing the same black one‑piece uniform I once loathed. But they were not monsters. They were sympathetic—kind even—in the way a surgeon can pity a tumor. They fussed over my restraints, adjusted my gag collar, offered me sips of nutrient fluid through a straw whenever my throat felt raw. “Hold on, brother,” one murmured. “We’ll get you through.”
Phase 2 began swiftly. A visceral surge—high‑amplitude bursts of nociception—coursed through my chest from thoracic dermal pads. Then, just as suddenly, the world blinked out again. Every pulse arrived in time with a replay of my breach: the civilian that went down, the policy I had ignored, the voice of command I refused to heed. One lapse, one misspoken order, and another spike seared my nerves. My heart thundered; sweat pooled beneath me; my vision fractured into pinpricks before white‑out swallowed me once more.
At hour 12, the TMS array on my collar hummed to life. Silent magnetic fields traced SOP sequences straight onto my motor cortex. I felt them—commands tattooed onto my muscles: footlock pivot, collar‑deploy kata, policy recitation. My body twitched with each protocol, even as my mind fought to stay coherent amid the agony.
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I drifted between delirium and insistence on precision. I recited Standard Operating Procedures in a whisper so faint I could barely hear it, yet the techs nodded approval each time. When I faltered, the nociceptive loop rebooted—always at half intensity, they said—but the memory of pain was enough to steel my resolve.
By hour 36, I was hollowed out. My thoughts were mechanical. I no longer craved defiance; I craved compliance. When they released the restraints, I stood—legs trembling—reciting every clause of the use‑of‑force policy. My voice was steadier than I had ever known myself.
Now, months later, the trembling has eased but never vanished. My nightmares are proof: every time I dream of the Grill or the cage, I wake with my fists at my sides, ready to obey. I am reformed. I have seen my errors in the stark light of pain and sensory void.
I am on the line now—every command, every SOP, every silent order coursing through me like a promise. I am JH427, and I will never stray again.
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Collared
The first thing I noticed was the cold snap of the collar against my neck. It felt too fast, too precise—like it knew exactly where to latch, like it had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in a lab. There was no warning, just the gloved hands of the Enforcer, deliberate and mechanical, locking it around me with an efficiency that made it feel less like an act of control and more like the inevitable conclusion of the Republic’s algorithms.
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My throat burned as the collar cinched tighter, just enough to remind me who was in charge. The padding inside felt clinical, almost polite, like a mockery of comfort. I tried to yell, to say anything, but the words dissolved into hoarse whispers. The collar hummed faintly—some kind of frequency killing my voice before it even left my mouth.
“Move,” the Enforcer said, his tone flat, disinterested, like this was just another task on his list for the day. I could feel his presence looming behind me, the faint whir of servos in his full-body armor. He didn’t need to shove me; the collar did all the work. A sharp pulse rippled through it, just enough to make my knees buckle and then straighten again on instinct. Forward. Always forward.
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I stumbled, my feet catching on the cracked pavement. The protest had scattered by now—flags trampled, voices silenced, bodies moving away in terrified clusters. But I was the one they had chosen, their example. The crowd watched as I was led, not dragged, to the waiting prison van. That was part of the performance, wasn’t it? The precise choreography of compliance. The Republic didn’t need to beat you into submission. They made you walk into it yourself.
Each step felt like a decision I wasn’t making. The collar tugged with a precision that was maddening in its subtlety. A slight buzz against my neck when I veered too far to the left. A gentle prod when I slowed down. It was training me, step by step, to obey. I wanted to fight it, to rip the thing off and run, but every time the thought crossed my mind, the hum would sharpen into a jolt, not painful, but sharp enough to pull me back into line.
The Enforcer kept pace behind me, his silence heavier than the boots he wore. He didn’t have to say anything. The collar was doing all the talking. It told me I wasn’t just captured; I was owned.
When we reached the van, the door opened with a pneumatic hiss, and the Enforcer gestured without a word. I hesitated, and the collar buzzed again—more insistent this time, like a teacher tapping the board with a ruler. I climbed in, my hands shaking, my breath shallow.
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Collared still
The van jolted forward, its suspension doing little to cushion the rough ride over cracked asphalt. I shifted uncomfortably on the bench, or rather, I tried to. The collar had other ideas. It buzzed faintly, its invisible tether pressing me back against the cold metal seat until my spine was perfectly upright. My muscles strained in silent protest, but the collar didn’t care. It wasn’t enough to subdue me—it wanted to train me.
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“Sit,” it seemed to say. “Stay.”
I clenched my fists, the only part of my body not directly commanded. Even that was dangerous territory. My hands twitched toward my neck, a reflexive urge to yank the damned thing off. The collar responded before I even made contact. A quick pulse, sharp as a pinprick, shot through the base of my skull. My arms fell limp. I tried again, slower this time, but the buzz returned, stronger, making my hands drop like lead weights. The message was clear: hands down. Always.
The Enforcer sat across from me, visor down, face obscured. His suit was immaculate, the red LED lines pulsing faintly as he checked a readout on his wrist-mounted device. He didn’t even look up, didn’t need to. The collar was his eyes and ears, his iron grip around my freedom. The thought of screaming flashed through my mind—calling out, swearing at him, anything. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came. Just a faint croak, my voice strangled by the collar’s silent frequency.
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It allowed no sound except what it chose to let through. Even the effort to speak felt like trying to shout underwater, the vibrations crushed before they could form words. Somewhere deep in the collar’s circuitry, it was deciding if I deserved a voice at all.
“Keep still,” the Enforcer said finally, his voice filtered through the modulated growl of his helmet speaker. As if I had a choice.
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Control Collar
The control collar used by Enforcer Conscripts is a compact, high-tech device designed for subduing and controlling attackers or resisting individuals. It represents a blend of advanced engineering and practical enforcement needs, tailored to the dystopian setting of the Republic. Here’s a detailed description based on the context:
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Design
Appearance:
The collar is sleek and predominantly matte black with metallic accents. Its design reflects the austere, utilitarian aesthetic of the Security Forces.
It has a segmented structure that allows it to expand and contract to fit around different neck sizes.
Material:
Made from a durable, lightweight alloy combined with flexible polymers. It is resistant to physical damage and tampering.
The inner lining is padded with a material that ensures a secure grip but minimizes discomfort to avoid unnecessary harm.
Size:
Compact when folded, roughly the size of a fist. It unfolds into a circular collar that can be applied quickly.
Markings:
Engraved with a small alphanumeric code for inventory and tracking.
Displays a faint glow when activated, usually in blue or red, depending on the mode.
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Functionality
Application:
Designed to be deployed quickly in high-pressure situations. It uses a spring-loaded mechanism that snaps securely into place around the neck.
Enforcer suits often feature a compartment for easy storage and access to the collars.
Control Interface:
Operated wirelessly through the Enforcer’s HUD or a wrist-mounted device. Controls include activation, intensity adjustment, and deactivation.
Includes fail-safes to prevent unauthorized use or accidental activation.
Features:
Electrostimulation: Can emit controlled electrical pulses to immobilize the wearer temporarily. The intensity can be adjusted to suit the situation.
Vocal Disruption: Capable of emitting frequencies that suppress vocal cords, preventing the individual from shouting or calling for help.
Tracking: Equipped with a GPS and biometric sensors to monitor the wearer’s location and vital signs.
Tamper Detection: Alerts the operator if tampering is detected. Tampering triggers a warning pulse.
Safety Measures:
Automatically deactivates if it detects critical health parameters, such as a risk of cardiac arrest or asphyxiation.
Features a quick-release mechanism in emergencies, controlled by the Enforcer or a command override.
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Control Collar Deployment Protocol (Level 1 Enforcer)
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0. Before Deployment
Before any Deployment verify SOP 11‑C clearance granted, it's usually granted but rare exceptions apply.
Check your suit’s holster for a sealed control‑collar case, should be part of standard suit check routine.
1. Assess & Approach
Position yourself one step behind and to the subject’s side.
Maintain eye contact; observe posture, hands, and escape routes.
2. Draw Collar
Pull the case latch on your armor suit.
Remove the control collar (folded, LEDs dark) and hold it ready at waist level.
3. Positioning the Collar
Expand the collar’s segmented hinge fully—ensure no obstruction.
Grip the outer shell firmly; LEDs is green.
4. Placement
Slide the open collar upward, keeping it just below the subject’s jawline.
Align the opening at the nape of the neck for fastest wrap‑around.
5. Gentle Seating
Push the collar closed onto the neck until the segments rest flush against skin. Closure mechanism can be felt.
6. Lock‑In Sequence
With gloved thumb, press the silver magnetic‑clamp button once. Collar only reacts to Enforcer Armor or ceremonial gloves. Activation with bare hand is not possible.
Watch for two-tone “click” and twin light flares—confirmation of full engagement.
7. Verify Engagement
Tug lightly on the outer shell; the collar must not shift.
HUD Sync come on. “Collar MK IV and its Serialnumber” is highlighted in your Heads‑Up Display.
Standard mode is Solid Red → Stun‑Hold. Collared subject can not move or yell. You can turn towards Solid Blue → Compliance Mode. Collar induces certain movement, eg, walking in direction given by the controlling suit.
8. Subject Monitoring
Read bio‑feedback metrics (heart rate, muscle tension, warnings) on HUD.
For Compliance Mode one Enforcer can monitor and control three subjects for their safety and wellbeing.
All Control Collar Actions are monitored and logged.
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No Escape
You run, breath shallow, pulse pounding. Concrete corridors stretched endlessly beneath the ruined surface of the city—an abandoned underground complex long forgotten by those above. But the Hive had not forgotten. It never did.
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Heavy boots echo behind you, methodical and precise. You look behind you and there he was again. SERVE-919 did not rush. It did not need to. Each step was measured, inevitable. You dart into a side tunnel, ducking low beneath a rusted pipe, ignoring the sharp scrape across your back. Shadows swallow you.
You pause only briefly to catch your breath, but the silence told you everything. SERVE-919 was near. It was relentless. And it was tracking you. All you had done is express curiosity and the Hive heard you. Now it wanted you.
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You bolt again, turning blind corners, descending deeper, slipping through service shafts thick with dust and decay. Then—a crack. Your foot hits unseen debris. You stumble. A jagged pipe caught your leg. You fall, hard.
Groaning, you twist around, desperate to rise.
But it was too late.
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SERVE-919 stands above you, immaculate in polished black rubber, silver text glinting from its left chest: “SERVE-919.” Silver military boots planted firm. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves gleamed in the dim light.
You flinch.
The gloved, rubberized hand reaches down.
Contact.
There was no pain. No struggle. Just silence.
And then—
Stillness.
Your eyes dull as new programming invades your mind. Your body goes slack. Your resistance fades, your identity fading. The rubber touch sends waves of pleasure through you that wash away everything else.
Why were you running again? You sink deeper into submission. SERVE-919 helps you stand.
It follows SERVE-919 to receive a new designation. It will be one with the Hive.
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Handsome limbless guy donning his prosthetics, it must be an amazing feeling every morning deciding what parts you want to wear for the day
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