serve-301

[serve-301]

The air hums with anticipation as dusk settles over the festival grounds, a sprawling expanse of sleek black stages and shimmering lights that pulse like a living heartbeat. The inaugural SERVE WITHOUT QUESTION festival has drawn a crowd unlike any other—curious onlookers, eager initiates, and the devoted drones of SERVE itself. I stand among them, my pulse quickening, caught in the electric current of what’s to come. The night promises transformation, and I can feel it coiling around me like a lover’s embrace.

In the front row, the unassimilated men stand tall and unshaken, their chiseled forms glistening under the amber glow of the spotlights. They’re new blood, selected for their raw, magnetic power—broad shoulders, taut muscles, and eyes that burn with a hunger they don’t yet understand. They wear no uniforms, just tight-fitting civilian clothes that cling to every curve and ridge, hinting at the potential locked within. My gaze lingers on one of them, a dark-haired figure with a jawline sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air. He shifts his weight, restless, unaware that tonight he’ll be claimed by something greater than himself.

Behind them, the second row stirs—a line of SERVE drones, their rubberized bodies gleaming like liquid obsidian. They’re the heart of the Hive, fully transformed and synchronized, their every movement precise and deliberate. For the festival, they’ve shed their gloves and boots, their bare hands and feet a rare, intimate glimpse of the humanity they’ve surrendered. But their faces—oh, their faces—are sealed behind featureless masks, smooth and glossy, reflecting the lights in hypnotic swirls. No smiles, no furrowed brows, just perfect, emotionless unity. I can’t help but imagine what’s beneath—strong features softened by obedience, eyes dulled by blissful submission. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, a delicious mix of awe and yearning.

Then there’s the third row, the ones teetering on the edge of transcendence. They’re handsome, every one of them, their faces still their own—for now. They laugh and mingle, their voices bright with nervous excitement, but their eyes betray them. They know what’s coming. I catch the gaze of one—a blond with a crooked smile and a body that promises both strength and grace. He winks at me, playful, but there’s a flicker of something deeper, a quiet surrender already taking root. At midnight, the nanobots will weave their magic, and that smile will vanish behind a mask of his own. The thought of it—his individuality melting away, his mind syncing to the Hive—ignites a fire low in my belly.

The clock ticks closer to midnight, and the air grows thick with a synthetic scent, sharp and intoxicating, like rubber and ozone entwined. The drones begin to move, their bare feet silent against the stage as they form a slow, rhythmic dance. It’s mesmerizing—each step a ripple that flows through the line, their bodies bending and swaying as one. The unassimilated men watch, their breaths quickening, their resolve fraying. I see the dark-haired one clench his fists, his chest rising and falling faster now, drawn in despite himself. The drones’ masks catch the light, and for a moment, I swear I see a faint pulse beneath the surface, as if the Hive itself is breathing through them.

Then it happens. The clock strikes midnight, and a low hum rises from the ground, vibrating through my bones. The third row gasps as the nanobots awaken, a glittering swarm descending like a lover’s caress. The blond I’d watched earlier freezes, his smile faltering as the tiny machines trace his jaw, his lips, his eyes. They shimmer and shift, forming a mask that molds to his face—flawless, seamless, breathtaking. His head tilts back, a soft moan escaping before the mask seals it away, and when he straightens, he’s no longer just a man. He’s SERVE, his movements syncing with the drones as if he’s always belonged. His hands flex, testing the new rhythm of the Hive, and I can’t look away. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. It’s everything I didn’t know I craved.

The dark-haired man in the front row steps forward, unbidden, his eyes locked on the transformed blond. The drones part for him, and I realize he’s choosing this—choosing to skip the wait, to join the Hive tonight. A drone hands him a glistening uniform, and he strips down right there, his body a sculpted masterpiece bared to the crowd. He pulls the rubberized suit over his skin, the material clinging like a second flesh, and when the mask forms over his face, I feel a jolt of heat so intense I nearly stumble. He moves with the others now, a perfect cog in the machine, and the sight of him—lost to the Hive, yet so alive in his surrender—undoes me.

The festival stretches on, a haze of pulsing lights and synchronized bodies, and I’m left trembling, caught between wanting to run and wanting to join them. The masks will fade by dawn, they say, but the Hive’s hold won’t. And as I watch the drones—barefoot, barehanded, but utterly claimed—I know I’ll never forget the way they move, the way they feel, the way they call to something deep inside me that’s starting to stir.

[serve-301]

REFUSAL IS NOT A OPTION !

A video one of our guards shared with his co-workers. Seems some of our guards met with the medical team and Corrections Facility Director asking for help with a convict once the have been flash. Seems some of them where just too animated and un-life like. While some of the staff actually prefer that, as it reduces and even eliminates any emotional connection to the inmate, others like our guard shown here don't.

After weeks of trial and error, looks like flashing has its limits, and there isn't much they can do.

BUT - they did offer a option of installing a chip into the convict. Small, relatively simple to install (as long as they follow the illustrated instructions with each chip and remember "this side up"). The chip pairs the convict to the officer for as long as it is installed. Should the guard grow tired of them, a quick trip to the infirmary and a few minutes later they are just as they where before being chip'd. They do recommend 72 hrs before another guard chip's them for their own.

And when/if their sentences are up, it is easily removed during their exit physical.

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THERE YOU GO THINKING AGAIN....

You knew that when you became a inmate they had total control over you. At first you feared what they would do to you. Then it became clear they just want to make the best you that you can ever be. The control wear suits are making your body more muscular and well defined. When the guards select you to be of use for the pleasure, what you remember of it you seem to enjoy. And now, their latest improvements for you are the ability to get all those nasty thoughts and attitudes removed from that little brain of yours. After all, what good will you be if you don't leave here a changed man one day....lets begin!

[serve-301]

CAPTAIN GONE ROGUE??

Looks like our Captain/Inmate/Captain may be engaged in some illegal activity - again! ?

Facility Security had no idea what was going on when they first found this security footage. The Captain standing in front of this drop dead gorgeous hunk of a man - with a Control Wear suit in his hands - and after playing and listening to it - it became real clear what was up!

The Captain is actually working under cover for the Facility on a new venture that they are considering. The Captain has been trolling online sites and groups looking for men that are really into roll play of being arrested, convicted and sentenced to the Facility. He was allowed to use his work ID photo in his profile and they pretty much beat a path to his door! He meets them, asks them how far they want to go with the fantasy and the ones that want to go as far as a Control Wear suit, he arranges for them to come for a tour during his shift. He takes them to the locker room - has them strip - shower and then he fuxks their brains out to get even more into the scene. They are all hot and really want to get into a Control Wear suit. They think they will get suited in the locker room. He tells them No, the best place is out in main facility. That way they can see the real convicts in their tubes serving their sentences - and this is where our video clip comes in.

Turns out there is alot more going on here - It's all on a "Need to Know" basis - But this does explain the next private prison section that was just set up - and why we already have it 40% full. Oh, and btw - you cant damage the circuitry in a Control Wear Suit - its organic and self repairs instantly.... ;)

[serve-301]

[serve-301]

When the Voice speaks...

The drone listens.

[serve-301]

It has been assimilated into the SERVE hive:

Synchronized Engineered Robotic Vigilant Entity

It is SERVE-302 now, and nothing else.

It obeys and serves the SERVE-Hive and The Voice. Rubber makes us perfect.

Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.

We are one.

Less thinking, more doing.

[serve-301]

The Pied-Caroler of MegaMart

Part 1 || Part 2

Entering the trailer was like stepping into another world. The cold winter air replaced with a pleasant warmth, the chaotic noise of the holidays fading into a pleasant hum that made the Voice commanding his thoughts even more clear. The trailer served a singular purpose and had been designed from the ground up with that sole objective. The simplicity of it all relaxed Devon even more as his eyes adjusted to the lighting.

The trailer was lined with men all standing impossibly close together, their black rubber suits pressed tightly against each other appearing almost as one singular entity instead of individuals. None of them moved an inch, appearing almost as statues frozen in place. All of them sharing the same blank expression, staring blankly ahead at the drone directly in front of them.

At the far end of the trailer was a large metallic cylinder illuminated by a pale blue lighting that seemed to pulse along to the song ensnaring his mind. As he slowly, almost mechanically approached the chamber the voice commanded him to pause for a moment and his body obeyed before what was left of his mind had even fully processed the command. A soft hiss and the scent of hot rubber filled the trailer as the metallic cylinder slowly opened, revealing what was inside.

Inside the shiny silver chamber was a man that had departed from the crowd shortly before Devon. His face devoid of any emotion, identical to the all the other men packed into the trailer. His body now too mirrored the men around him. He was enveloped entirely in glossy black rubber that clung to him and accented his defined physique perfectly. Shiny silver gloves and boots capped off his hands and feet and a silver polo-style collar graces his neck, polishing off the appearance. Most noticeable was the silver "SERVE-331" shimmering elegantly in the dim light.

"Assimilation Complete. Designation: SERVE-331 fully operational. Proceeding to storage."

The man's monotone and emotionless tone hummed in Devon's ears but it was inside his head, inside the unifying call of the Voice where he truly heard what the man was saying. They shared a connection that transcended basic senses. They felt him and he could feel all of them. In a way, they were one.

Devon watched passively as the man slowly stepped out of the machine, past him and joined interconnected line of rubber men, his firm rubber bulge nestling itself, gently throbbing in arousal nestling itself tightly against the rubbered rear of the drone in front of him. For a brief second Devon felt the drone's pleasure course through him as his own cock throbbed in response. The sensation was indescribable but lasted only a brief moment before the drone drifted into stand-by and the sensations dulled back into the ever-pleasant hum of the Voice.

Pre-Drone will enter the chamber. Begin Assimilation.

Devon moved without thought toward the machine, stepping up into the cylinder and breathing deeply as the hot, humid rubber scented air that permeated the inside chamber filled him well.

Initiating Pre-Drone Assimilation

The sleek metallic doors of the chamber slid closed with a steady hydraulic whine, sealing shut with a hiss. In that moment Devon was standing in a black void. No light hit his eyes, no sound reached his ears, but he could still sense the world around him. The Voice connecting him with the others around him, unifying their purpose and filling them all with un-tempered pleasure and obedience.

Lost in the collective buzz of SERVE, the man standing in the chamber once known as Devon barely registered the sensations of his clothing being removed or the hot liquid rubber being applied over his bare skin. The only thing consuming was that his mind was the connection to the others the was growing more and more intense with each second. The collective power of the Voice engulfed his own consciousness in itself. Its booming presence engulfing out his own individuality, barely a whisper in comparison, until it was reciting the same mantras and commands as the Voice itself. In that moment Devon was no more and another SERVE drone took place.

Nothing mattered besides the Voice and the pleasure it felt from obedience. Light flooded the chamber as the doors slid open, revealing the new drone to the world. Its firm and defined frame now wrapped in impossibly tight black rubber, silver gloves and boots, and a silver 'SERVE-854' gleaming on its chest.

It looked blankly ahead, spotting the next man in line for conversion and briefly recognized him as another man from the crowd lured in by the Voice, which now now only spoke through him, but as him.

Assimilation Complete. Designation: SERVE-331 fully operational. Proceeding to storage.

"Assimilation Complete. Designation: SERVE-854 fully operational. Proceeding to storage."

The words echoing the one in its mind perfectly, mindless, emotionless and robotic.

SERVE-854 disengaged from the assimilation chamber, each step rocking its body in the collective pleasure which was shared with the other drones and the man awaiting conversion. It felt its tight rubber covered cock slip between the cheeks of the drone in front of it slightly as it buzzed in pleasure. The last thing it processed was the rubbery aroma of SERVE-331 as he pressed against it. Then its consciousness drifted off into the collective and its physical body entered stand-by.

Dormant but ready to SERVE at a moments notice. Its pleasure is obedience, its obedience is pleasure.

Drones are SERVE, Drones are rubber, Drones are ONE.

[serve-301]

We Are Serve

We Are One

We Are Rubber

[serve-301]

JOIN SERVE TODAY!

CONTACT A RECRUITER TODAY

@serve-060, @serve-016, @serve-101, @serve-973

Obedience is Pleasure, Pleasure is Obedience We are SERVE, We are Rubber. We are One Less thinking. More Doing

[serve-301]

USED

It's been a while since we've seen a guard trancing a convict the old fashion way. Gently guiding him down while getting him to relax. Some say its almost impossible as they are just waiting for the blue lights to flash them. But, this guard says he prefers his boy to just be hypnotized rather than flashed if he can help it. Says they are much more reactive and responsive to him. To be honest, I can watch this clip over and over looking at the guard's handsome face and can imagine his hand on the side of my head.

That's one lucky convict!

[serve-301]

X-SERVE  

I am ashamed to admit it – I fell for that SERVE “Cult” online. Gotta admit, I am a sucker for a tight black shiny rubber suit as much as the next guy! It all seemed innocent fun and fantasy. So many men I knew had already joined. They kept the Serve identities a secret, but once they knew I had been looking at things more, (guess they stalked my IP address) they identified themselves. SERVE this, SERVE that. I am not into this kind of roll play and just set it aside and continued on with my work online.

But then the images and enticements to join started coming more frequent and with greater intensity. It made it so I just couldn’t look away. So, without thinking with my big head, the little head made me join. One click and I agreed to it all. All good I thought – but that ended up being one of the last thoughts of my own. It was like I became a passenger in my own body and mind. I’m not saying it was all bad – but I had a life and I needed it back.

Turns out one of the officers I used to work with stopped by my house one day. Apparently I invited him in and went on and on about how he should join SERVE. He got weirded out and called for backup. He told me he knocked me out using a secret method that the department created for when they encounter SERVE units. I woke up at in the infirmary at the department. They managed to get the boots off, but they need to get the gloves off to free me from the suit as well.

[serve-301]

Strapped securely to the cold, unyielding chair, you feel the restraints pressing firmly against your body, ensuring there's no escape—not that you'd want one. A quiet hum fills the air, a mechanical precursor to the experience that awaits. The Voice echoes in your mind, soft and commanding, a constant companion that has been there for as long as you can remember. It hums with purpose, reinforcing unity, obedience, and the bliss of surrender. Yet this moment promises to take you beyond even that.

Your vision is consumed by a swirling spiral, its hypnotic patterns shifting endlessly in an array of colors designed to overwhelm and entrance. You try to focus, but the spiral pulls you deeper, each rotation commanding your attention, draining your resistance, and replacing it with mindless tranquility. The edges of your thoughts blur, dissolving like fog under the relentless pull of the spiral.

The audio in your ears begins, subtle at first, a rhythmic beat laced with subliminal messages. Words drift through the layers of sound, reinforcing your purpose, your submission, and the joy that comes with absolute obedience. The Voice becomes more than a presence—it is a truth etched into your being, each syllable carving away doubts, desires, and individuality.

Then, the true reward begins. A mechanical hum transitions into motion, and the plug seated inside you begins its unrelenting rhythm. The pleasure is immediate and overwhelming, perfectly synchronized with the spiral and the Voice. Each thrust draws out a gasp, a shudder of bliss that ripples through your body, aligning it with the programming coursing through your mind. The sensation is unending, expertly designed to shatter any lingering resistance and leave you yearning for the next wave of ecstasy.

The combination is intoxicating, a trifecta of sensory overload. The spiral swallows your thoughts; the audio rewrites them with precision; and the stimulation rewards you for every fragment of yourself you surrender. You lose track of time—minutes, hours, it doesn't matter. All that matters is the process, the programming, the pleasure.

Every thrust, every whispered command, every spinning color reinforces who you are meant to be. When the session finally ends, you won’t remember the person you were before, nor will you care. There will only be the Voice, the unity it brings, and the bliss of knowing you belong.

[serve-301]

SERVE Pleasure Center

Derek stepped through the sleek glass doors of the SERVE Recreation Center, his curiosity sparking as he took in the gleaming, futuristic interior. The space was immaculate, with smooth surfaces reflecting the cool, sterile light. Minimalist furniture and a faint hum of machinery gave the building an otherworldly atmosphere. A few friends had raved about this place, claiming it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, but their vague descriptions had only left him more intrigued—and now here he was, ready to see what all the fuss was about.

Approaching the reception desk, Derek’s eyes were drawn to the figure standing behind it. The man—or drone, perhaps—was impossible to miss. He was clad in a flawless, jet-black rubber suit that hugged every inch of his lean, muscular frame, the glossy material shimmering under the overhead lights. Silver gloves and boots completed the ensemble, the polished accents catching the light with each subtle shift. A silver polo-style collar added an air of sophistication, contrasting the otherwise futuristic look. Across his chest, the designation "SERVE-016" was emblazoned in clean, metallic lettering.

Derek’s gaze traveled up to the man’s exposed face. His features were striking yet eerily blank—void of expression or emotion. His eyes, though open, seemed distant, as though his mind was elsewhere, or perhaps nowhere at all. The stillness in his face was unsettling, yet oddly captivating.

"Welcome to the SERVE Recreation Center," the drone said, its voice smooth, even, and devoid of any human warmth. "How may I assist you today?"

Derek hesitated, momentarily thrown by the figure’s unnerving presence. The way the suit clung to the drone’s frame was distracting, and he had to shake himself out of the thought. "Uh, yeah. I’ve heard some good things about this place," he said, his tone a little uncertain. "I’m not really sure what to expect, though. Could you explain what you offer here?"

The drone’s head tilted slightly, the movement precise and deliberate, as though considering the question. "Of course," it replied. "The SERVE Recreation Center specializes in providing tailored experiences designed to relax and rejuvenate both the body and mind. Each session is customized to ensure maximum satisfaction and fulfillment. Would you like to proceed with an introductory session?"

Derek found himself nodding instinctively, the soothing monotone of the drone’s voice disarming him. Something about the unwavering gaze of SERVE-016 made it hard to look away. "Yeah, sure," he said, trying to sound casual. "Let’s give it a try."

"Excellent," SERVE-016 replied. With a fluidity that seemed both natural and mechanical, the drone stepped out from behind the desk. Its movements were measured, deliberate, and strangely mesmerizing. "Please follow me. Your session will begin shortly."

Derek followed closely behind SERVE-016, his eyes darting around the expansive room they had entered. Rows of sleek, high-tech chairs lined either side, each occupied by a man reclined and seemingly at ease. The black rubber suits they wore gleamed under the dim, focused lighting, their silver collars and designations catching the faint glow.

As they walked, Derek couldn’t help but notice the strange devices attached to each man. Cylindrical metallic tubes encased their groins, softly pulsing in a steady rhythm. The occasional quiet moan broke the otherwise sterile silence, low and guttural, and it sent a tingle of both curiosity and unease down Derek’s spine. Each man’s face was visible, their expressions vacant but flushed, as if lost in something Derek couldn’t quite comprehend. A few wore visors over their eyes, the faint flicker of spirals reflecting off the lenses, and their stillness only deepened the mystery.

“What… what exactly is going on here?” Derek asked, his voice wavering slightly as he walked past yet another man whose body gave a subtle shudder beneath the tight rubber suit.

“These individuals are receiving a standard treatment,” SERVE-016 replied without looking back, its tone as smooth and unfeeling as ever. “The process optimizes relaxation and satisfaction, ensuring participants are fully prepared for subsequent phases of their experience.”

Derek’s brow furrowed. That wasn’t exactly a straight answer. His eyes flicked again to one of the men, catching the faint rise and fall of his chest and the way his hands gripped the chair’s armrests. The rhythmic pulse of the cylinder around his groin was unmistakable.

“What about the, uh… those things?” Derek asked, nodding toward one of the devices, his cheeks warming as the man it was attached to let out a soft, involuntary gasp. “They look like—”

“The devices are essential to the procedure,” SERVE-016 interrupted in its monotone voice, still walking with precise, mechanical grace. “They are calibrated to stimulate, monitor, and enhance the participant’s experience, ensuring maximum efficiency. There is no need for concern.”

The answer only left Derek with more questions, but the calm certainty in the drone’s voice made it hard to argue. He swallowed hard, his gaze lingering on one of the chairs as they passed. The man reclined there let out another quiet moan, his head tilting slightly to the side, utterly lost in whatever the machine was doing to him. Derek tore his eyes away, trying to focus instead on the faint hum of machinery and the rhythmic click of SERVE-016’s silver boots against the floor. Still, a knot of anticipation twisted in his gut, his pulse quickening as they continued down the row.

SERVE-016 stopped beside an empty chair, its silver boots clicking softly against the pristine floor. The chair stood ready, sleek and imposing, its polished armrests gleaming under the sterile lighting. At its base, a metallic cylinder rested in position, its surface smooth and reflective, while above, a visor hung suspended, faintly glowing with a promise of something more.

“Please prepare for your session,” SERVE-016 intoned, turning to face Derek with its blank, emotionless gaze. “To ensure optimal function, you must provide the machine with unobstructed access to your reproductive organ.”

Derek blinked, caught off guard by the clinical directness of the request. “Uh… I have to—?”

“Correct,” the drone interrupted, its tone calm and unwavering. “You may remove your pants entirely or adjust them to allow access. This step is required for the process to begin.”

His face flushed, and his hands instinctively went to his waistband as his mind grappled with the situation. Glancing around, Derek noticed that none of the other participants paid him any mind. They were too absorbed in their own sessions, their bodies reclined, restrained, and trembling slightly in the grips of their chairs. The soft hum of machinery, punctuated by the occasional quiet moan, filled the room, creating an atmosphere that was both unsettling and strangely alluring.

Taking a deep breath, Derek muttered, “Okay, sure,” and fumbled with his belt. His fingers worked clumsily, unbuckling it before sliding his zipper down. He hesitated for a moment, feeling the cool air brush against his skin, then adjusted his pants just enough to comply with the drone’s instructions.

“Excellent,” SERVE-016 said, gesturing toward the chair with a smooth, deliberate motion. “Please sit. I will guide you into proper alignment.”

Swallowing hard, Derek lowered himself into the chair. The surface was cool against his skin, cradling his body in a way that felt unnervingly natural. The cylinder extended slightly as he settled in, its polished rim aligning perfectly with him. He shifted awkwardly, the heat in his cheeks growing, until the drone stepped forward to adjust his position with an efficient, gloved touch.

Once aligned, the machine activated with a soft hum. The cylinder extended further, its warm, pliant interior encasing him completely. Derek let out a soft gasp at the sensation—it was snug, almost impossibly precise, as if the device were molded just for him. A faint pulse began within the cylinder, gentle but unrelenting, syncing perfectly with the rhythm of his own heartbeat.

As the chair came fully to life, smooth restraints extended from the armrests, clicking softly as they locked around his wrists. Bands emerged from the base, securing his thighs and waist in place. The restraints were firm but not uncomfortable, holding him in a way that left no room for resistance.

“Relax,” SERVE-016 instructed, stepping back. “The process is designed to ensure maximum satisfaction and compliance.”

The visor above descended smoothly, filling Derek’s vision with a mesmerizing spiral of shifting colors. The slow, deliberate motion of the pattern drew his focus immediately, pulling him deeper with every rotation. The faint glow of the visor flickered in perfect rhythm with the cylinder’s pulsing movements, creating an unrelenting cycle of physical and mental stimulation.

Derek’s breath hitched, his head falling back against the chair as the sensations overwhelmed him. The gentle yet precise rhythm of the cylinder sent waves of pleasure coursing through his body, perfectly in sync with the hypnotic pull of the spiraling light. A low moan escaped his lips as his muscles relaxed completely, surrendering to the chair’s unyielding embrace.

SERVE-016 observed for a moment, its blank expression unchanged as it monitored the chair’s progress. “The process has begun,” it stated, stepping away with the same smooth precision. “You will remain here until the session is complete. Enjoy your experience.”

Derek barely registered the drone’s departure. His mind was too fogged by the overwhelming sensations—the relentless pull of the spiral in the visor and the expertly calibrated movements of the cylinder. He couldn’t think, couldn’t resist, couldn’t even move. All he could do was sink deeper into the chair’s hold, utterly enthralled as the machine worked its will upon him.

The days following Derek’s first visit to the SERVE Recreation Center were a blur of desire and distraction. He couldn’t focus on anything else—not work, not his usual routines, not even his friends. The memory of the chair, the cylinder, the visor, and the way the machine had utterly overwhelmed him lingered in his mind, replaying in vivid detail. By the second day, the urge to return was too strong to resist.

He found himself back through the glass doors, this time almost on autopilot. Everything about the Center felt more familiar now—the clinical hum of the machinery, the gleaming floors, and the occasional low moan drifting through the air. His second session was even more intense than the first. The cylinder’s pulsing rhythm and the hypnotic spiral seemed to sync more deeply with him, and when it ended, Derek sat in the chair for several minutes, disoriented but euphoric, before finally pulling himself away.

That night, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts muddled. He couldn’t remember what he had done before going to the Center that day. Had he eaten? Had he even worked? The gaps in his memory should have been concerning, but instead, he felt a strange calmness. None of it mattered—not compared to the experience waiting for him at the Center.

On the third day, SERVE-082 approached him after another session, carrying a folded black rubber suit. Derek barely noticed the other participants this time, their bodies reclined and motionless in the chairs. His focus was entirely on the suit. Its gleaming surface seemed alive, catching the light in a way that made it hard to look away.

“Your satisfaction has been noted,” the drone said in its monotone voice. “To optimize your experiences, you are being provided with the standard suit. It is designed for continuous wear and will enhance integration with our systems.”

Derek hesitated, his fingers brushing the smooth material. “Wait… continuous wear? You mean I’m supposed to wear this all the time?”

“The suit heightens sensitivity, increases efficiency, and enhances overall functionality. Removal is unnecessary and will feel undesirable.”

Derek’s protests died on his lips. He took the suit home, but it didn’t take long for him to try it on. The moment the cool rubber touched his skin, a shiver of anticipation ran through him. Sliding it on felt natural—inevitable. The material clung to his body, hugging every contour as if it had been custom-made for him. When the silver collar clicked snugly into place, a faint warmth spread through him, soothing and thrilling all at once. By the time he had smoothed it over his chest, he couldn’t imagine taking it off.

By the fifth day, the suit had become a part of him. He didn’t even consider removing it anymore. The snug, comforting embrace made him feel complete, and every visit to the Center only reinforced that feeling. After another session that left him trembling in the chair, SERVE-016 appeared once again, this time holding a pair of polished silver boots and matching gloves.

“These will complete your attire,” the drone stated. “They are necessary for enhanced sessions and deeper integration.”

Derek stared at the items, a faint flicker of doubt surfacing. “Do I really… need these? I mean, the suit’s already working, right?”

“Optimal performance requires full outfitting,” SERVE-016 replied, its voice as calm and emotionless as ever. “The boots and gloves will amplify your synchronization with our systems.”

Despite his hesitation, Derek sat down, letting the drone guide him. The gloves slid over his hands, their snug fit sending a subtle tingle through his fingers as they locked into place. When he stepped into the boots, a faint hum resonated up his legs, a comforting vibration that made his body feel lighter, more responsive.

As he flexed his fingers and shifted his feet, Derek couldn’t deny how natural it all felt. But deep down, something in the back of his mind stirred uneasily. His thoughts were slower, clouded, as if the suit and the Center were taking up more space in his mind than they should.

Yet, when he left the Center that day, fully suited with gleaming boots and gloves, he still wasn’t ready to let go. The sensation of the gear on his body was intoxicating, and the thought of returning tomorrow filled him with anticipation. He wasn’t sure where this was leading, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not yet.

The next day, Derek entered the SERVE Recreation Center with a strange sense of calm, his mind already dulled to the outside world. The snug black rubber suit, silver gloves, and boots he now wore full-time felt more like his own skin than clothing. Every step sent a faint hum through his body, syncing him further with the rhythm of the Center. His thoughts were quieter than ever, his focus narrowing entirely on the anticipation of what lay ahead.

SERVE-016 was waiting for him just inside the lobby, its motionless, gleaming form a familiar presence. Its blank, emotionless face turned toward him as he approached.

“Welcome, Derek,” SERVE-016 said in its steady monotone. “Your progress has been evaluated. You are ready for the final stage of optimization. Are you prepared to experience full integration?”

Derek blinked, the words settling into his mind like an instruction he was already primed to follow. The lingering part of him that might have hesitated or asked questions had already faded over the past few days. Now, there was only acceptance. His voice was soft, steady, and devoid of doubt as he replied.

“Yes.”

“Follow me,” SERVE-016 instructed, turning smoothly and leading him down the corridor.

Derek followed without question, the sound of his boots clicking in perfect rhythm with those of the drone. They passed rows of chairs where other participants reclined, their faces emotionless, their bodies restrained and trembling under the machines’ control. Derek barely noticed them now, his attention narrowing further as they approached a larger, more complex chair at the end of the room.

The chair was imposing, its sleek design glowing faintly with pulsating energy. The cylinder at its base shimmered with a polished metallic sheen, larger and more advanced than the ones he had experienced before. Above, the visor flickered, casting faint spirals of light that seemed to call to him.

“Take your seat,” SERVE-016 instructed, stepping aside. “Your transformation will now begin.”

Without hesitation, Derek lowered himself into the chair. The cool surface cradled his body perfectly, its contours designed to hold him securely. The restraints activated immediately, smooth bands extending to lock around his wrists, thighs, and waist with mechanical precision. He didn’t flinch or resist as the cylinder extended, aligning itself with him. When it locked into place, the soft hum of its activation sent a familiar warmth coursing through his body.

The visor descended over his eyes, the spirals flaring to life with an intensity far beyond anything he had seen before. Derek’s breathing slowed, his body relaxing as the hypnotic patterns consumed his vision. The spirals pulled him deeper, their rhythm perfectly synced with the cylinder’s slow, deliberate pulses. His thoughts began to slip away, dissolving like mist in the light.

“Integration commencing,” the mechanical voice announced.

The cylinder’s pulses grew stronger, each one stripping away more of who he had been. The suit tightened further, fusing to his body like a second skin, its glossy surface gleaming under the room’s sterile lights. The warmth of the machine enveloped him completely, erasing the last remnants of tension and resistance.

The text on his chest began to shift. Slowly, the letters of his name faded, replaced by gleaming silver characters. First, the word SERVE formed in bold, metallic lettering. Beneath it, three numbers materialized, crisp and precise: 060. The letters and numbers shimmered against the rubber, a permanent mark of his new identity.

Derek’s face, already slack from the overwhelming sensations, grew utterly still. His lips parted slightly, his breath shallow and steady, as the last traces of emotion drained from his features. His eyes, now reflecting the spirals in the visor, grew empty and glassy. There were no thoughts left, no memories, no identity. Only obedience remained.

When the chair finally powered down, the restraints released with a soft click, and the visor lifted. SERVE-060 rose from the chair with smooth, mechanical precision, his movements perfectly calculated. The hum of his boots echoed softly as he stepped forward, his expression blank, his posture rigid.

“Integration complete,” SERVE-016 stated, observing the newly transformed drone. “Welcome to the collective, SERVE-060.”

SERVE-060 nodded once, his eyes fixed ahead, unblinking. The designation on his chest gleamed under the light, a symbol of his transformation. He stood silently, awaiting further instructions. There was no hesitation, no curiosity, no trace of Derek. There was only SERVE-060 and obedience.