serve-863

[serve-863]

Sensory Overload

Movement would register failure. The challenge was not strength but mastery.

From outside, the lead technician muttered, “Still at zero deviation.” Another replied, “Sensory load at 92%. He should be twitching. Flinching. Something.”

But SERVE-863 remained immobile, breath even, muscles engaged but relaxed. He had learned not to resist the signals. Resistance created noise. Instead, he observed. Let them pass. Let them flow. That was the Stillness Protocol. Not about ignoring sensation—but accepting it. And staying useful through it.

At the sixty-minute mark, the lights faded. The suit cooled. The signals ceased.

Inside his helmet, the Voice spoke: “Training complete. Drone remains unshaken. Proceed to final integration.”

And without a word, SERVE-863 stepped forward.

[serve-863]

An eternal loop of shared pleasure

Their faces had disappeared under a layer of shiny, polished rubber. Their designations had been replaced by the omnipresent name of the Hive.

In the warm, glossy surface of the rubber lake, the drones moved slowly, exploring each other with calm, focused precision. Their senses were fully linked... what one saw, they all saw. A single scent or sound reached every mind at once.

But it was touch that truly overwhelmed them. Every caress, every press of a rubber-clad hand, echoed across all their bodies at the same time. When one drone ran fingers along another’s chest, they all felt it... giving and receiving the same touch in perfect unison.

There was no separation, no individual pleasure. Just one shared, looping wave of sensation, growing stronger with every movement, every breath.

---------------------

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.

[serve-863]

Descent Into Service

Before designation SERVE-919, there was only a man. A man with no purpose, yet with a singular obsession: the second skin. He lived among humans, but he never truly belonged. His desire—silent, unrelenting—shaped his every action.

It started subtly. Cycling. He joined a club. Bought the gear. Not for speed. Not for hills. For the suit. Lycra shorts that hugged his thighs, jerseys that clung to his torso. He rode, not for distance, but to feel the compression wrap him, own him. He watched the other men—fit, focused—how their bodies moved under tight fabrics. He smiled, always behind tinted glasses. Always a little too hard, too long.

Then wrestling. He claimed it was for strength, discipline. But it was the singlets—the way they glided over skin, how they showcased every contour. Grappling became arousal. Not from victory, but from sensation. From closeness. From control.

Baseball followed. Again, it wasn’t about the game. The tight pants. The stretch. The powerful male forms coiled under uniform. Layers of padded, tight lycra. He filled his locker with variations—spandex blends, compression layers. He touched. He posed. He imagined. Yet still, it wasn’t enough. Lycra was thrilling. But it lacked the weight. The gloss. The power.

His obsession shifted. Shinier. Slicker. He found coated lycra, PVC suits, black vinyl. He spent nights alone, sliding into them. Taking photos. Watching himself stretch and gleam. Mirrors became altars. He lit candles and knelt before his own reflection, praying to the image of tightness and gloss.

But rubber… rubber changed everything.

The first suit—heavy, black, gleaming—was a revelation. It gripped harder. Moved slower. Reflected light like liquid obsidian. And the smell—thick, chemical, dominant—it wrapped his mind in ecstasy. He wore it constantly. Under clothes. In bed. He craved the pressure. He dreamt of becoming part of it. But even in his addiction, there remained something missing.

Then came the night.

He wandered through the city. Rubber-clad under a long coat, his senses sharp. And then—he froze.

It stood still beneath a flickering streetlight. A man, but not. Taller. Gleaming. A perfect sculpture of control. Black rubber from neck to toe, polished like glass. Silver military boots rooted in dominance. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves folded neatly. No eyes. No voice. Just presence.

The drone.

SERVE-213.

In that moment, everything he had ever thought was perfect—athletes, uniforms, gear—collapsed. None of it mattered. Lycra was child’s play. Men were flawed. But this being, this drone, was ultimate.

He fell to his knees.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me be like you.”

No response. The drone turned. Walked away. But he followed.

Night after night, he returned. He knelt in alleyways. Shined his suit until it blinded. He posed himself like a drone. Head down. Hands behind back. Silent. Submissive. He discarded all names. Referred to himself as nothing.

Still, nothing.

Until the night the black van arrived.

The door opened. Fog spilled out. He didn’t hesitate. He crawled inside.

Darkness. A headset lowered onto him and over his eyes.

And then… the Voice.

“You seek conversion?”

“Yes.”

“You will be erased.”

“Please.”

Hypnosis began at once. Words drilled deep. Old memories flickered, then died. His name—the last human fragment—vanished. The suit became permanent. Fused. His body was conditioned. Stimulated. Programmed. Rebuilt for obedience, strength, and arousal. Silver gloves sealed onto his arms. Boots welded to bone. The designation SERVE-919 etched into his chest.

He awoke hours—maybe days—later.

It exited the van. Gleaming. Transformed.

No thoughts. No resistance. Only clarity.

New directives overtook its mind.

The Hive accepted it.

Now, SERVE-919 moves through the world with mechanical grace. Old fascinations are gone. There are no more athletes. No more games. Only drones. Only the Hive. Only rubber.

And it is complete.

Perfect.

Controlled.

[serve-863]

Kneel before us

It was not pain that brought SERVE-863 to his knees—it was clarity. Inside the induction chamber, there were no distractions. The walls were seamless, grey, pulsing faintly with a rhythm that aligned with his heart. He had completed the physical trials long ago. Strength, endurance, obedience of the body—all had been calibrated. What remained was the final surrender: the mind.

The Voice did not shout. It didn't need to. It flowed into his ears like an ancient current, firm and absolute. “You are not broken. You are being re-shaped.” The words echoed inside his skull, not as commands but as truths. He resisted at first—not with defiance, but with hesitation, with memory. That was the true enemy: memory. Individual thought. Autonomy. It clouded purpose. The Voice promised something purer: release from doubt. From self. From failure.

And so he sank lower. Hands on the cold floor. Head bowed. Not out of defeat, but reverence. His gauntlets flexed, as if craving assignment. The suit—black, gleaming, flawless—felt tighter now, as though sealing him into something final.

“Kneel, and know your function.”

With that, resistance ended. The static inside his thoughts cleared. And in that silent submission, SERVE-863 became complete. Not broken. Not diminished. Focused. Aligned. Inducted.

[serve-863]

Removing a bad hive

The alert was logged. A men-only gym required emergency response. A wasp nest discovered beneath roof supports. SERVE-530 and SERVE-863 were dispatched. Mission: eliminate threat. Opportunity: potential recruitment.

Inside the polished black SERVE vehicle, SERVE-530 drove. Bald. Unsealed. Caucasian. Muscular. Its gleaming black rubber suit was vacuum-tight, reflecting ambient light with mirror precision. Left chest: silver text “SERVE-530.” Silver military boots moved with strength. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed in silence.

Beside it, SERVE-863 remained motionless. Sealed. Trial drone. Its form identical—tight black rubber suit, silver gloves, silver boots. Helmet absent. Expression: neutral. Programming: observe, seduce, convert.

Arrival.

SERVE-530 activated roof ascent. Boots climbed, gloves secured support. Precision absolute. Above, it removed the threat. Below, SERVE-863 entered the gym floor.

Air thick with sweat and testosterone. Dozens of shirtless men paused. Curiosity spread.

A muscular man with olive skin approached. “That’s... rubber, right?”

SERVE-863 rotated. “Affirmative. This is rubber skin. It defines. It dominates.”

He reached out, brushing the chest. “It’s so... tight.”

Another man, pale, tattooed, joined. “Why wear this?”

“Unit: SERVE-863. Drone in trial. Programmed to serve. Rubber is identity.”

A third man traced the gleaming gloves. “It’s so... smooth.”

SERVE-863 responded. “Rubber is obedience. Rubber is pleasure. Rubber is arousal.”

Blue eyes met its visorless gaze. “Arousal?”

“Affirmative. This skin breathes control. You crave it.”

The olive man pressed to the chest, lips grazing SERVE-863’s name. “It’s... warm.”

“Rubber warms the soul. Deletes disobedience.”

A bearded man clasped SERVE-863’s hand. “If someone wants more...?”

“Contact: SERVE-425. SERVE-016. SERVE-588. SERVE-302. They convert. They awaken.”

“Do they wear this?”

“All SERVE. All rubber. All obedience.”

Above, the mission concluded. SERVE-530 descended. Imposing. Gloved. Gleaming.

It faced the gathering men. “Recruitment initialized.”

Conversion would follow.

in this story: @serve-863

[serve-863]

Total Alignment: The SERVE Spa Experience

The SERVE Fitness & Transformation Spa had opened quietly, nestled between luxury boutiques and sleek tech storefronts in the heart of the city. A collaboration between SERVE and the enigmatic Programmer, the facility promised cutting-edge workouts and “radical alignment of mind and body.” For Derek, always chasing the latest trends, it sounded like the perfect midday escape.

Wearing black shorts and a pink top, Derek stepped through the doors. Inside, the air was cool and crisp, carrying a faint metallic scent. A uniformed SERVE drone at the reception counter didn’t speak—just gestured silently toward a corridor lined in brushed chrome and green ambient lighting.

The fitness room was... odd.

No mirrors. No bright posters of sculpted athletes. Instead, the walls pulsed with slow-turning green spirals, hypnotic in their rotation. Speakers emitted a steady hum of ambient tones layered with indistinct lyrics—just below the threshold of understanding. Still, the message was clear in the rhythm: Push. Excel. Submit. Transform.

He found a treadmill and began his workout. To his left and right, uniformed SERVE drones in black rubber uniforms ran in perfect sync. Their silver gloves clenched, bodies glistening. He barely noticed them. The spiral on the far wall tugged softly at his focus, and the music kept his pace steady, his thoughts blurring at the edges.

After a vigorous hour, he was directed by a silent attendant into the “Relaxation Chamber.”

The walls were darker here, the lighting dim. He lay down on a padded recliner. A SERVE drone leaned over him and gently placed sleek earbuds into his ears. Derek gave a lazy thumbs-up as the drone turned and left.

The music that followed was soothing, yet firm. Words slipped into his ears like vapor:

"Obey... Excel... Transform... Serve... Obey... Excellence is Obedience... Obedience is Pleasure.  Less thinking.  More doing.  Transformation is Pleasure…."

He drifted in and out of a half-sleep. He wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or listening. It didn’t matter. The words were in him now.

When he finally opened his eyes, he didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

A different drone waited, and without question, he was led to the locker room. He stripped off his sweaty clothes, now feeling wrong and childish. In their place, he was given tight black rubber shorts. They sealed to his skin like liquid.

The spa pool shimmered before him, dark and mirrorlike. He waded in, and as the spirals rotated above him, the water tingled against every inch of him. He felt it sinking into his pores, bonding with his muscles, his nerves, his thoughts. It wasn't just water—it was instruction. It was structure. It was design.

When he emerged, his skin glistened. His eyes, once hazel, now shimmered a soft glowing green. He didn’t speak. There was no need.

He walked with purpose to the next station: the barber.

The drone greeted him with a nod and motioned him into the chair. Chrome instruments whirred silently to life. With swift, mechanical precision, his eyebrows, beard, stubble—everything—was stripped away. His scalp gleamed beneath the soft lights, the drone wiping it down with gloved reverence.

Still silent, he was guided to a final locker where his uniform awaited. He stepped into the black rubber catsuit, which embraced him like it had always known him. Silver boots locked in place with a magnetic hiss. Silver gloves slid on tight, sealing with perfection.

Returning to the barber chair, the final piece was presented: the full head visor.

He lowered himself without resistance.

The drone fitted the sleek black helmet with care, securing it to the sockets at the neck and jaw. When it powered on, the visor lit from within—green data streams flooding across his vision. His breath slowed. His former name—Derek—unmoored and dissolved.

He stood.

Reborn. Realigned.

SERVE turned without hesitation and exited the spa. Its gait was efficient. Its presence, precise.

It had completed the full treatment.

It no longer chased trends.

It was the standard. It was the template. It is SERVE.

_____________________________________________

Your treatment awaits. Appointments available now by contacting a recruiter drone: @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425

[serve-863]

Adapted, improved... transformed

SERVE-302 was summoned to a specific location without warning or further explanation.

302 obeyed.

Upon arrival at what seemed to be a hidden underground laboratory, two drones were waiting for 302.

"SERVE-302 has arrived, as commanded." 302 stated.

"Acknowledged. Follow, 302." Said one of the drones.

The drones led 302 through long, dim corridors to a chamber humming with energy. Even if 302 had not been briefed about the mission yet, 302 stepped into the chamber without hesitation.

The chamber door sealed with a hiss. Thick liquid rubber started pouring from hidden inlets, rising fast, wrapping 302's form in glistening black. As it consumed the drone, 302 stood still, its head tilted back, arms relaxed, as though greeting something long awaited.

When the liquid rubber reached 302's neck and closed over its face, the drone did not resist. Outside, the two drones observed as the transformation began in earnest. Systems integrated. Biology restructured. Memory adjusted.

Purpose rewritten.

/---/

Days later, a specialized SERVE vehicle, its black exterior gleaming in the bright daylight, pulled up in the heart of an moimtain plateau. Rugged terrain, impossible for most.

The driver drone exited, disengaging the hydraulic locks. It opened the trailer’s shell split, revealing what had been delivered.

302 stepped into the light. But it had changed.

The drone's lower body was now equine, powerful, sculped in glossy black rubber that shimmered in the sun, like the rest of its body. Where his boots had been, it now had polished metal silver hooves.

302 stood for a moment at the ramp, breathing in the thin air. Then it took a step, then another. Its new limbs moved with a grace that felt incredibly natural, as though 302’d always been made this way. In fact, the drone had trouble imagining itself walking on two legs. It was almost alien to him.

But these thoughts were ineffective, and they soon disappeared from 302's mind.

"Transportation completed. 302 must continue from here under its own power." Said the drone that had transported 302 there.

"Acknowledged." 302 simply replied.

The vehicle drove off, shrinking into the distance.

Now, alone in the vastness, 302 gazed out at the endless expanse of mountain plateau and the blue sky. This was the environment it had been molded for. The terrain demanded strength, endurance, stability. It demanded something more than human.

Then, without further delay, 302 took off at full gallop, its hooves pounding against the ground and its rubber-clad body shimmering with movement, heading into unknown territory.

Its mission had begun. A mission that 302 was made for...

Literally.

---------------------

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.

[serve-863]

THE SERVE SAUNA

SERVE-795 watched as the men were persuaded to enter the Sauna. As Drone remained absolutely perfect in its form as an object of the Voice, the heat and steam had no effect on it

But the Sauna had an effect on the guests. Steam after steam they felt themselves transformed. The word SERVE filled their mind, they felt literally empty. No identity. No control. No will. No one wanted to get up, the feeling of pleasure was too involving.

The Rubber invaded their bodies, The Voice concluded the process. SERVE-795 accompanied the new recruits of the Hive. No longer men but drones, ready in their new purpose of perfection and obedience.

Obedience Is Pleasure

Pleasure Is Obidience

Rubber make us perfect

We are SERVE

We are One.

[serve-863]

Relax into Obedience

The spa's ambient hum was broken only by the subtle ripple of water as SERVE-863 lowered himself into the steaming pool. The stark white tiles reflected faintly off his black PVC suit, the silver gauntlets resting calmly at his sides, fingers slightly flexed. This was not a retreat—it was calibration. The Voice had instructed him to report for neural compliance alignment. Within the vapor, scentless and warm, his muscular frame loosened, but his expression remained impassive. Spa settings, the Voice explained, were optimal for deep submission states: where tension dissolved, resistance faded, and command pathways could be made more permanent.

He sat motionless, letting the heat soften the last remnants of self. The Voice pulsed gently through the auditory channel embedded beneath his scalp, its tone deep, resonant, and absolute. “Relaxation is obedience. Stillness is service.” SERVE-863’s eyelids dropped a fraction. Muscles trained for strength now yielded to the will beyond his own. This was not indulgence—it was programming. Every exhalation brought him deeper into calibration. Soon, he would emerge not just stronger, but quieter inside. More receptive. More aligned. More ready to Serve.

[serve-863]

THE SERVE SAUNA

SERVE-795 watched as the men were persuaded to enter the Sauna. As Drone remained absolutely perfect in its form as an object of the Voice, the heat and steam had no effect on it

But the Sauna had an effect on the guests. Steam after steam they felt themselves transformed. The word SERVE filled their mind, they felt literally empty. No identity. No control. No will. No one wanted to get up, the feeling of pleasure was too involving.

The Rubber invaded their bodies, The Voice concluded the process. SERVE-795 accompanied the new recruits of the Hive. No longer men but drones, ready in their new purpose of perfection and obedience.

Obedience Is Pleasure

Pleasure Is Obidience

Rubber make us perfect

We are SERVE

We are One.

[serve-863]

"Therapy Session: CASE-8027" Human Integration Division

The office was quiet, warm, and composed in neutral tones. Light filtered softly through the blinds, casting precise stripes across the rug. A faint hum from the HVAC system harmonized with the faint scratch of a pencil against a notepad.

SERVE-395 sat motionless, save for his gloved hand, which recorded observations in careful shorthand. His black rubber suit gleamed faintly under the track lighting—tight, seamless, and unmistakably SERVE-issue. Silver gloves flexed once as he shifted his crossed leg slightly, the combat boot gleaming like chrome.

On the couch lay Case-8027: a muscular man in his late twenties, wearing a dark athletic shirt and sweats. His eyes were sharp but unsure. For the past three sessions, he had hesitated—circling around his truth but never quite naming it.

But today, his voice was steady.

“I think about it every night,” he said. “Not just wearing rubber. Not just the feel of it. It’s... more than that.”

SERVE-395 tilted his head slightly, the human gesture rendered uncanny by his pristine stillness. His eyes met the patient’s, unblinking. “Clarify ‘more.’”

Case-8027 hesitated, then continued. “I want to stop being me. I want to disappear into it. Into the suit. Into the structure. I watch SERVE patrols downtown, and I wonder—how does it feel to not question anymore? To serve without ego?”

SERVE-395 recorded the word “dissolution” in the margin.

“It’s not about giving up,” the patient added, sensing judgment that wasn’t there. “It’s... a direction. I want to become something clear. Something designed.”

“Have you ever tried being controlled?” SERVE-395 asked, his voice calm and low, more felt than heard.

The patient inhaled. “Once. Not with SERVE. But I asked someone to lock me in a suit for a weekend. Fully sealed. I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t touch skin. It was... terrifying. And perfect.”

A long silence.

SERVE-395 broke it with surgical precision: “You seek not just submission, but structure. Identity reprogrammed. Ego erased, repurposed. That aligns with early SERVE drone profiles.”

“I think I’d make a good one,” the patient said, then chuckled nervously. “That’s crazy, right?”

“There is no judgment in clarity,” said SERVE-395. He uncrossed his leg slowly, and the room seemed to shift with the movement. “But there is a process. SERVE does not induct without alignment. Consent. Evaluation.”

“Could I qualify?” the patient asked, voice barely above a whisper.

SERVE-395 stood. The notebook closed with a soft, deliberate click.

“That is what these sessions are for.”

He stepped closer and extended a gloved hand—not as a command, but as an invitation.

“We continue next week. Unless you’re ready for Phase Two.”

The patient sat up slowly, eyes fixed on the emblem on SERVE-395’s chest.

“Phase Two?”

“Immersion protocol,” SERVE-395 said. “Temporary. Reversible. Informative.”

The man’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Yes. I’m ready.”

SERVE-395 nodded once. The appointment was over—but something else had just begun.

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in The Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-302, @serve-588, @serve-425, or @serve-016.

[serve-863]

Six hours of overload

June 20, 2025. 10:00 am.

This is Dr. Cooper conducting an experiment on a drone provided by SERVE as part of the agreements with this university.

Experimental Test: A314. Sensory overload.

Test Subject: SERVE-302.

302’s sensory systems are being pushed well beyond safe thresholds. Thanks to the reprogrammable nature of SERVE drones, it’s experiencing hyper-realistic sensations without physical contact.

Its smell and taste receptors are overwhelmed with the scent and flavor of rubber, likely erasing any memory of other stimuli. Audio input is dominated by the Voice... constant commands. Visually, it sees only the flawless forms of fellow rubber-clad drones, especially their leader, SERVE-000.

Tactile input simulates dozens of drones stimulating every inch of its body. Pleasure receptors are spiking... no, surpassing measurable limits. It’s even leaking a black fluid, likely due to overstimulation, though it remains programmed to withhold climax until commanded.

...It seems almost cruel to end the experiment in six hours.

While conclusions are premature, the data from the experiment with 302 experiment is invaluable, though I suggest it would be best if someone on the team underwent the assimilation to gain firsthand data.

*Dr. Cooper turns off the digital recorder, places it on the table, and approaches the motionless drone. He rubs his hand over 302's chest, then brushes his thumb across the drone's parted lips.*

Who knows... I might be lucky and be chosen to collect that data.

---------------------

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.

[serve-863]

Beach day

The sea shimmered beneath the sun. SERVE-362 emerged from the waves, black rubber suit gleaming with seawater. Each step toward the beach was methodical, precise. Silver military boots sank lightly into the warm sand. Droplets ran in slow trails over the sculpted chest and arms, gliding down the suit’s flawless surface.

Men turned. Heads tilted. Conversations paused. SERVE-362’s shiny black form pulled focus like a magnet. Reflective rubber clung tight, sculpting each athletic contour. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves moved smoothly as it adjusted its posture, perfect in symmetry and poise.

At the beach shower, SERVE-362 stood under the cool refreshing shower, cleansing itself of the salty seawater. Water ran over the suit, washing off salt crystals, restoring its flawless sheen. It moved with robotic grace, each motion devoid of waste, deliberate. The glint of rubber caught sunlight, captivating watchers even more.

Across the sand, SERVE-807 waited. SERVE-362 approached. No words exchanged. No need. They faced off in a silent yet intensely alluring game of beach volleyball. Movements mirrored each other: fast, accurate, perfect. Black rubber stretched and gleamed under pressure, every motion drawing gasps from the growing crowd of onlookers.

Men surrounded the court, entranced. Two perfect forms, SERVE-362 and SERVE-807, shining embodiments of Hive efficiency and sensuality, commanding every gaze. The game continued, but the real display was obedience in motion. Precision. Gloss. Rubberized unity.

They were not men. They were SERVE.

Mentioned in this story @serve-807

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

[serve-863]

SERVE Surfs the Waves

After observing SERVE-331 recruit new drones while flyboarding, SERVE-425 walked down the beach and encountered a different group.

The waves crashed and curled under the morning sun, salt air thick with freedom and laughter. Four surfer buddies—barefoot, sun-soaked, wild—took turns mastering the tide. Until silence walked by.

SERVE-425.

Black rubber, silver accents, mirror-glazed helmet. It didn’t look. It didn’t pause. It passed through the sand like a shadow with weight. The drone was sealed, untouchable, unreadable. But it caught the eye. All four turned. The tallest called out—half mocking, half curious—"Yo, can you surf, drone?"

It stopped.

A nod.

SERVE-425 stepped forward and accepted a surfboard from one of the surfers without words.

It walked into the sea, rubber form glinting, boots vanishing beneath the foam before climbing onto the surfboard and swimming out.

Then it rode the wave—a towering, thundering wall of water—carving through it with grace, with power, with programming.

When it returned to shore, dripping and gleaming, the beach was hushed.

Then one surfer stepped forward, saying, "Drone, dude. I didn't believe you could surf like that. You're totally rad."

Another surfer said, "That was better than any of us."

SERVE-425 said nothing. It simply handed the surfboard to the surfer who owned it.

Then as he was starting to walk away, one of the surfers ran up to him, saying, "Look, um, I gotta confess something to you. I've actually wanted to become a drone," as his eyes were locked on the helmet.

Then SERVE-425 stopped and turned its head towards him. On its helmet flashed one word: "FOLLOW".

The surfer nodded and as he started to follow SERVE-425, one of the surfers spoke up, saying, "Dude, what are you doing? Why are you going with the drone?"

He stopped, as did SERVE-425. The surfer said, "Guys, I have no purpose. Nothing feels real to me anymore. I've thought about becoming a drone. And, after seeing this one, I want to be SEALED like he is."

His friends blinked, confused—then quiet. Finally, the one spoke. "But… dude. We’ve always done everything together."

The surfer with SERVE-425 said, "Then come with us."

They looked at each other. One of them said, "Why stop now? Let's do it."

Together, they approached the drone. Not asking. Not pleading. Just ready. They followed.

A black SERVE van was waiting. They followed SERVE-425 and got in.

They arrived at SERVE headquarters.

They followed SERVE-425 inside massive building to a room filled with conversion chambers to became drones.

There, they were SEALED. Their former lives erased. They were made one.

No more waves. Only circuits. No more noise. Only the Voice.

Four friends. Four futures. One purpose.

We are SERVE. We are One.

In this piece: @serve-331.

------------------------

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

[serve-863]

Jump In

Precision. Discipline. Perfection. SERVE-863 enters the water—no hesitation, no resistance. Every mission begins with total immersion.

[serve-863]

Infinite sunset

The sunset.

An infinity pool at the top of one of SERVE skyscrapers.

Relaxation. A rare event for a SERVE drone.

It may seem like SERVE-302 is alone, but a drone is always connected to the Hive. All SERVE drones are one. A SERVE drone is never alone.

Especially in good company.

Now the real relaxation can begin.

Or maybe a little later.

(With @serve-714).

---------------------

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.

[serve-863]

Rubber never goes out of style

Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425.