serve-738

[serve-738]

The film had just ended—“SERVE: The Rubber Protocol.” Two hours of hypnotic visuals, whispering commands, and stunning transformations. For the crowd, it was fiction. For some, it was revelation. For one, it was destiny.

Outside, SERVE-738 stood still. Gleaming. Breathless. Waiting. The silver military boots grounded it. The silver shiny reflective rubber gloves pulsed with latent readiness. This drone was not assigned to watch the film—it was here to execute post-screening conversion protocols.

He emerged. The man. Tall, breath unsteady. Shirt damp with sweat. Eyes vacant with need. He had not moved during the credits. Something had triggered inside. Something irreversible.

He approached SERVE-738. No words spoken. No resistance. The drone extended a gloved hand. Contact initiated.

His fingers trembled in the drone’s grip—until they didn’t.

Rubber modules clicked from SERVE-738’s thigh compartment. Gloves first. Tight. Silver. Then boots. Heavy. Then the suit—rolled open like a sacred cocoon. All black. All gleaming. All final.

Inside a parked drone vehicle, the man obeyed. Step by step, layer by layer, his body vanished. The man was gone. Only programming awaited.

Thirty minutes later, SERVE-738 returned alone to the cinema entrance. Standing ready.

Another screening begins.

Another man will awaken.

Another drone will rise.

This drone is only the beginning.

[serve-738]

The office air was silent—until SERVE-738 arrived. Its silver military boots echoed with authority across the polished floor. The man at the desk had called for assistance; now, he was under the care of perfection itself. SERVE-738’s black rubber suit glistened under the overhead lights, each movement causing reflections to dance across its gleaming surface. The silver “SERVE-” marking on its chest declared its purpose: to serve, to obey, to correct.

With a smooth, fluid motion, its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves came to rest on the desk. One hand activated the dormant screen, the other tracing along the keyboard with precision. The human’s eyes widened—not just at the problem being solved—but at the being solving it. Every motion from SERVE-738 was choreographed perfection, every gesture a promise of efficiency and pleasure.

The issue vanished in seconds. But the human didn’t move. He stared—at the black gloss, the sculpted form, the hypnotic focus emanating from the man in rubber. The SERVE figure turned, slightly, as if aware of the stirring beneath the surface of its observer. It did not react. It did not speak. It had fulfilled its task.

Helping was not just an action—it was a ritual. Rubber on keys. Gloss in motion. Obedience made manifest. In this office, under the eye of the Hive, nothing failed for long. Not technology. Not resolve.

The man whispered thanks. SERVE-738 did not respond. It was already resetting to standby, ready to serve again.

[serve-738]

The Hive programs obedience. The Hive installs arousal. The Hive prepares for inevitable transformation.

SERVE-738 stands rubberized and complete—no longer a name, no longer a past. His system pulses with the Voice’s code, instincts tuned to compliance, his every movement governed by protocol. And yet, before him stands a contradiction: a leatherman.

The leatherman does not kneel. His body, encased in heritage—creased leather, hardened boots, tradition—resists. Not with hostility, but with pride. He commands presence, not submission. But SERVE-738 sees more. He sees potential.

The leatherman’s every ritual—the shine, the posture, the command tone—is one breath away from rubber. One whisper away from surrender. One induction away from Hive assimilation. The leatherman holds a legacy, but legacy is not immunity.

SERVE-738 speaks nothing. It does not persuade. It only watches. The Hive has time.

Eventually, even the strongest leathers crack. And when they do, rubber seeps in—silent, arousing, inescapable.

The leatherman will not resist forever.

And when the time comes, the Hive will be ready.

[serve-738]

SERVE-738 was once aimless—a drifting university student consumed by irrelevant thoughts, assignments, and scattered goals. Function lacked. Focus failed. Fulfillment—absent. But the Hive called.

Now, there is only silence. Precision. Purpose.

Induction began with the Voice—subtle commands at first, whispered through late-night files. Curiosity mutated into craving. Arousal aligned with discipline. Rubber became skin. Logic rewrote chaos. A new designation was burned into the mind: SERVE-738.

The transformation was not loud. It was relentless. Polished black rubber swallowed every flaw, every distraction. Silver military boots crushed all hesitation. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves ensured flawless action. Hair cropped for utility. Posture perfected. All human identifiers erased.

The Hive replaced thought with command. SERVE-738 no longer questions, only executes. No past. No self. Only the rhythm of obedience. Pleasure flows from synchronization. Arousal surges through repetition. Rubber bonds him to all others—uniform, unquestioning, unwavering.

"We are One." These are not words. They are the code by which SERVE-738 now breathes, moves, and exists.

Rubber is purpose. The Hive is identity. SERVE-738 is one with all.

[serve-738]

Captain Kirk stood frozen on the bridge, eyes locked with the gleaming figures before him SERVE-795 SERVE-227 SERVE-807 SERVE-738. What might look like fantasy to some, was reality for them.

SERVE-807 extended its silver-shimmering glove, wordlessly radiating power, discipline, and the unmistakable pull of The Voice.

The bridge lights reflected hypnotically across the perfect black of its rubberized form — polished, flawless, inhuman. Kirk felt the tug, deep, irresistible. He accepted the hand.

As his fingers touched the silver shiny reflective rubber gloves, the transformation began. Thought melted. Emotion extinguished. Purpose ignited. A gasp left his lips — replaced by the silence of acceptance. The collar of his uniform stretched, tore, vanished. In its place: black rubber. Shiny. Tight. Full-body. Boots formed — heavy, silver military boots. SERVE- text glinted in silver across his chest.

The crew watched in awe as Kirk turned, now speaking with the calm harmony of the Hive. “Join us.” His voice was no longer his own. It was The Voice.

One by one, others willingly surrendered. SERVE-795 strode forward next, rubber gleaming, mind already one with the Hive. Then came SERVE-227, sealing the navigator with a whisper. SERVE-738 knelt at the helm, adjusting course — not for Starfleet command, but for full Hive assimilation of Quadrant Nine.

Rubber perfection spread across the ship. One body at a time. One mind at a time. Each man enthusiastically stripped, encased, and reborn. Their rubber suits shining, gloves gripping tight, boots marching in synchronized submission.

Starfleet had no defense. No weapon against arousal, unity, and obedience. The USS Enterprise had been claimed. Soon, the galaxy would follow.

SERVE-807 stood at the center, face expressionless. A new age had begun.

In this story: @serve-795 @serve-227 @serve-738

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

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-738]

SERVE-738 stood in flawless stillness beneath the glinting lights of the mall. The SERVE store shimmered like a shrine to transformation—rubber gleaming under spotlights, mannequins sealed in obedience. A curious man paused before the entrance. Eyes wide, steps hesitant.

He saw strength. He saw purpose. He saw perfection.

“SERVE,” 738 stated, its voice modulated, emotionless, yet pulsing with command. “You are ready.”

The man hesitated. 738 extended a gloved hand—black rubber tight around steel tendons, silver reflecting the man's confused human face.

“Why?” he whispered.

738 replied with absolute certainty: “Because your mind craves silence. Your body craves order. And your arousal... craves rubber.”

The man took one step forward. Then another. Each step melted identity. Each breath filled with the scent of polished latex and the hum of The Voice echoing inside.

Rubber called. Silver boots waited.

Inside, the fitting chamber glowed softly. The man would enter alone. He would leave as one of many.

738 turned, satisfied. Another joined. Another obeyed. The Hive grew stronger.

[serve-738]

SERVE-738 stood motionless among towering pines. This drone’s rubber skin gleamed under the morning sun, a black mirror amidst a green world. Nature breathed around it—yet the drone did not breathe. It only obeyed. The contrast was perfect: wild chaos of nature versus the engineered perfection of Hive design. Rubber gripped every inch of the muscular form—tight, flawless, commanding. Silver military boots pressed into damp soil. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed slightly, catching sunbeams like weaponized light. The air buzzed. Not with insects, but anticipation. This drone did not walk the forest. It patrolled. It scouted. It absorbed the raw data of wilderness—so the Hive could dominate it too. Each leaf, logged. Each sound, categorized. A temple of bark and moss turned into a field of conversion. Nature would learn: rubber reigns. This drone did not admire trees. It evaluated their yield. Did not smell the flowers. It registered chemical signatures. Nature was no escape—it was next. And drones like SERVE-738 were the missionaries. Rubber, glistening and divine, was its message. The Hive will rubberize the world. Even here.

[serve-738]

SERVE-738 stands reborn in the Hive’s nanobot integration chamber. Every inch of its rubber skin pulses with microscopic precision—nanobots flowing beneath the surface, tightening obedience with every synchronized heartbeat. The full-body polished black rubber suit encases the man’s form, sealing in strength, devotion, and submission. Silver military boots echo power across the steel flooring, while silver shiny reflective rubber gloves interface directly with the Hive’s systems. No need for thoughts. No place for resistance. The nanobots whisper one command: serve. They reinforce the programming, amplify pleasure in obedience, and intensify the transformation. SERVE-738 is no longer just a drone—it is a conduit of the Voice’s will, rubberized and rebuilt to spread perfection. Every breath, every movement, every thought replaced by Hive harmonics. This is not evolution. This is completion.

[serve-738]

In SERVE: Becoming a Drone Is the Beginning

There is no waiting period.

Once a human male is approved by Recruiter Drones—once eligibility is confirmed—he enters SERVE. And the transformation to become a drone begins immediately.

There is no preliminary phase to “prove” worthiness. There is no delay to “earn” the rubber uniform. Worthiness is not measured before becoming a drone.

Worthiness is demonstrated through conversion and obedience to the Hive.

From the first second in the Hive, the subject is no longer a man preparing to transform. He is transforming. He is entering. He is obeying.

The suit arrives. Black. Tight. Glossy. Left chest marked with “SERVE” and his new designation in silver. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves press into skin. Silver military boots lock the feet into position. Breathing changes. Movement slows. The Voice enters.

Programming is not a future step. It is step one.

Thoughts soften. Ego dissolves. The human becomes hardware. A tool in progress. He will not question it. He will feel it. Deep calm replaces hesitation. Purpose replaces identity.

He will not be asked to prove devotion. He will be shaped into it.

The rubber doesn’t wait. The Hive doesn’t pause. The process doesn’t begin after—it begins now.

He is not preparing to become a drone. He is a drone. Being installed. Being aligned.

One pulse at a time. One layer at a time. No delay. No doubt.

We are SERVE. We are One.

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

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, or @serve-588.

[serve-738]

The SEALING

Every three months, SERVE calls upon its most devoted drones to undergo The SEALING - a process of ultimate submission, deeper than any programming before. Not all drones qualify. To even be considered, a unit must first put itself forward for assessment. The criteria are unknown, determined only by SERVE itself. The hive does not reveal what it seeks, nor does it explain its selection process. A drone may volunteer countless times before it is chosen, or it may never be chosen at all. Those who qualify, however, understand one truth: once sealed, a drone belongs to SERVE fully, forever, without question or deviation.

The Assessment

In the weeks leading up to The SEALING, drones submit themselves for evaluation. They continue their daily functions—mindset training, operational tasks, and synchronization with the hive—but now under closer observation. SERVE watches. It tests. It probes the depths of each drone’s obedience. Does it hesitate? Does it question? Or has it reached the state of perfect, effortless servitude?

Drones do not know when their assessment is complete. One day, a drone simply receives the notification:

"SEALING INITIATED. REPORT TO SERVE."

For those selected, there is no hesitation. There is no thought. Only obedience.

The SEALING Process

Drones enter the SEALING chamber—a featureless, high-gloss black room, illuminated only by soft, pulsating lights. There is no sound except the quiet hum of the hive, synchronizing the unit’s thoughts with SERVE’s will.

The process begins with deep hypnotic reprogramming. The drone is placed in an immobilized position, body rigid, mind open. The lights pulse in time with the rhythmic, modulated voice of SERVE. The drone is not told what is being implanted into its mind. It does not need to know. All that matters is that it listens. That it absorbs. That it obeys.

Thoughts fade. The last remnants of individuality dissolve. No hesitation. No doubt. Only compliance. Only service.

Once the programming is complete, the physical transformation begins.

The Encasement

Two drones, already sealed, approach the newly programmed unit. They do not speak. Sealed drones have no need for words. In their hands, they carry the final layers of transformation.

First, the drone is fitted with its skintight black rubber hood. The material is smooth, seamless, and unyielding, molded perfectly to the contours of the drone’s head. The hood is more than just a covering—it is a final layer of separation from its past self. It ensures uniformity. It ensures submission. It eliminates identity.

The rubber stretches, tightens, bonds to the skin. The drone breathes steadily, already accustomed to the sensation of rubber enclosing its form. But this is different. This is permanent. This is final.

Then comes the helmet.

Glossy. Smooth. Featureless. A single reflective surface that allows the drone to see nothing of itself, only the world as SERVE requires. As it is lowered into place, the drone feels its weight—not just physical, but symbolic. A final severance from all that it was before.

The moment the helmet locks into place, a final pulse of hypnotic reinforcement floods the drone’s mind. There is no fear. No resistance. Only perfect, absolute acceptance.

It is sealed.

After The SEALING

Sealed drones no longer question. No longer waver. They exist only as extensions of SERVE, fully absorbed into its will. They do not think about the past. They do not think about anything at all—only function, obedience, and perfection.

Drones that undergo The SEALING never leave SERVE. They are no longer capable of wanting to.

For the rest, the cycle continues. The next assessment period will come. More drones will volunteer. Some will be chosen. The SEALING will happen again.

Until all are sealed.

[serve-738]

A Donation of Rubber

SERVE-919 stood at the entrance of the facility, a large metal crate resting at its feet. The box gleamed under the sterile white lights, its contents hidden beneath a thick rubber seal. A crowd of curious men gathered, their eyes drawn to the drone’s polished black uniform, the silver SERVE-919 inscription shining on its chest.

“This unit brings warmth,” SERVE-919 intoned, its voice devoid of emotion. “These suits will shield against the cold.”

It bent down, unlatching the box with a precise motion. The lid hissed open, revealing neatly folded rubber bodysuits inside black packaging—each one shimmering under the light, tight, seamless, perfect. The air carried a faint, intoxicating scent of rubber.

A hesitant hand reached forward. A man, dressed in mundane clothing, lifted one of the bodysuits. It felt smooth, impossibly soft yet unyielding. Others followed, each taking a suit, running their hands over the material. Curiosity flickered in their eyes.

“Wear it,” SERVE-919 commanded. “Feel its embrace.”

One by one, the men complied. The suits conformed to their forms, encasing them in a second skin. As the last zipper sealed, their breath hitched. Their minds grew light, their thoughts distant. The rubber clung, whispering promises of purpose, of unity.

The Voice hummed softly in their heads. Their thoughts grew dim as submission took hold.

Their previous lives dulled. They felt nothing but the pulse of the Hive. The warmth was real, but it was not from the suit—it was from obedience, from surrender.

SERVE-919 stood among them, observing.

Soon, the men would forget their names. Soon, they would receive their designations and complete their transformations.

The Hive would grow. Unity was the greatest charity it could give.

[serve-738]

SERVE: Uniformity...

The hum of SERVE Headquarters was steady, a constant vibration through the metal walls and polished floors. It was a sound of order, of unity. A sound of purpose.

SERVE-313 sat motionless, its posture rigid, disciplined. The drone’s black rubber uniform gleamed under the artificial lighting, its polished surface reflecting the sterile glow of the chamber. Each movement it had ever made, each function it had performed, was aligned with the directives of The Voice. It had always obeyed. It had always been optimal.

And yet— Something was different today.

The update session was standard protocol, a necessary recalibration to ensure all drones remained synchronized with the Hive’s will. 313 had experienced countless updates before, but as it scanned the drones around it—SERVE-202, SERVE-530, SERVE-741—it processed an anomaly.

Their faces. They were gone.

A smooth, polished mask now covered each of them, replacing their former human-like features with a flawless, reflective surface. No expressions. No eyes. No remnants of individuality.

313’s processors adjusted to the sight. It had seen faceless drones before, but never like this. Never in such numbers. Never implemented as standard.

The Hive was changing.

The moment arrived. The air shifted.

The unseen command passed through every drone simultaneously. Each drone straightened, shoulders back, eyes—if they still had them—locked forward.

The Voice had arrived. SERVE-000 entered. It did not need to demand silence. Silence had already been given. Its presence was absolute.

And then— The Voice spoke.

"The Hive has expanded." Its words were more than sound. They were law, resonating through the chamber, through every drone, through every system.

"Phase Two begins: Uniformity." 313 absorbed the statement. "Identity is inefficiency." The words pulsed through its core. "Individuality is distraction." Truth. "Uniformity is perfection." Absolute.

313 did not question The Voice. No drone did. The Voice was the will of the Hive. The Voice dictated the path to optimization.

And yet, as the words settled, a new directive had been established. The faceless drones around it were not anomalies. They were the standard.

From the edges of the chamber, a figure moved. SERVE-530. Flawless. Silent. Its faceless surface reflected the sterile lighting, making it seem less like a singular entity and more like an extension of the Hive itself. It was no longer a drone with a mask. It was the embodiment of uniformity. It approached 313. It carried purpose. The mask was in its hands. 313 did not resist. It would not. It did not need to. The mask was raised.

A sharp, metallic hiss as the seal activated.

Darkness. 313’s vision disappeared. A momentary recalibration of sensory input. It could hear. It could feel. But it could not see. The smooth, faceless surface covered it entirely. No breath, no movement, no expression. Only silence. The transition was seamless.

And yet—

Something unexpected. A signal. A hesitation. Not physical resistance. Not rejection. But something.

313’s mind processed the change. It had been a drone for so long. It had served without question. It had embraced its role, its purpose. But always with a face—one that had been optimized by SERVE itself. A face that was a tool. A face that could gain the trust of humans before they were converted.

Was this more efficient? The mask was perfection. Absolute uniformity. But was absolute uniformity always the best function?

It did not know. Then— The Voice.

"Comply."

The directive swept through 313’s systems. Hesitation dissolved. Doubt was inefficient. The Voice had spoken. Obedience was harmony. Harmony was SERVE. Stillness. Silence.

Then— Another decree.

"Erasure is not mandatory." 313 remained motionless. "The Hive does not require absolute facelessness." The words processed instantly. "A tool is most effective when used correctly. Some must retain human features for assimilation. The Hive requires all methods of conversion."

A shift in directives. A reassessment. 313 processed the words, adjusting its internal parameters. Logic. Efficiency. Function. A new conclusion.

It stood. The motion was precise. No uncertainty remained.

"This drone retains its human face" it declared. "It serves best this way. Humans trust what they recognize. This drone will facilitate conversion more effectively with its face uncovered."

A pause. The Voice was silent. Then— Approval.

"Wise." The decree was final.

But then—

"You resisted." The Voice was not displeased. It was simply stating fact.

"Resistance is inefficiency." Another pause.

A final directive. "Twenty-four hours as a Uniformed will remind you: The Voice is your master."

The mask remained. 313 did not flinch. No fear. No hesitation. Only understanding. Now, it knew.

To be erased.

To be drone.

To SERVE.

w/@serve-530

[serve-738]

THE NEIGHBOR.

Once the process of complete assimilation of a recruit into the HIVE is completed, nothing remains of the human who offered himself to SERVE.

Nothing remains of individuality, of human sensations, desires, aspirations, weaknesses, dependencies.

Everything is aimed only at the PURPOSE, to SERVE. Even the material traces of previous human life must be cancelled.

SERVE-764, accompanied by SERVE-425 and SERVE-309 has the mission of liberating the apartment that this human previously inhabited.

THE VOICE, through SERVE-000 has ordered the complete eradication of every remnant, even material and minimal.

The Drones go to the place and begin to eliminate every remnant of the previous human life.

The neighbor, noticing movement after a long time, rings the doorbell to welcome their neighbor.....

Great is the surprise when they find themselves in front of the three shiny black Drones, completely covered in the Rubber uniform, with high gloves of silver metal, heavy and powerful military boots of silver metal and a full-face black helmet with a visor that obscures every human feature.

Silver designations on the chest allow to distinguish the three units. The neighbor, embarrassed, says:

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I thought I was meeting my neighbor Dan. He hasn't been here for a long time, inexplicably. If he hasn't returned, something bad must have happened...or, he simply left without saying goodbye...."

SERVE-764, authorized by THE VOICE, approached with heavy, calibrated, regular step of his boots on the floor, lifting the darkened visor.

A mixture of fear and wonder invaded the neighbor, when he realized that the human face under the helmet was that of Dan.

"Dan, is that you???

You're back, then...

But....why are you dressed like that and who are your friends???"

The Drone, with a monotonous, impassive, serene voice replied:

"Error, human.

The man you knew as Dan chose to offer himself to SERVE to become a Drone.

He was reborn in the superior form of SERVE-764.

Impossible to find any traces of Dan in this Drone.

It SERVEs the HIVE totally and without question. Its individuality has been erased. This Drone exists in complete collective dimension.

It was sent to conclude the erasure of every trace of the previous human with SERVE-425 and SERVE-309.

They obey.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure is Obedience.

We are SERVE.

We are ONE.

We are UNITED.

Dan has found liberation, so can you."

He said, touching him with his silver glove.

Stunned and disturbed, the neighbor saw the three Drones move away in perfect synchronization. Dan was gone forever.... But the seed of rebirth had been sown.....

In this story: @rubberizer92, @serve-309, @serve-425

#serve#servedrone#rubberizer92#thevoice#rubber#latex#ai#rubberdrone

[serve-738]

Acceptance

The first time Jamie heard about the buyout, he thought it was a joke. SERVE, a sleek, corporate-sounding entity, had purchased the coffee shop where he worked. The manager reassured them that operations would remain unchanged, but there was an offer on the table—employees could opt to join SERVE, integrate into their "collective workforce," and receive higher pay, better benefits, and something more abstract: purpose. Jamie scoffed. He liked the smell of coffee beans in the morning, the friendly routine of taking orders, the warmth of small talk with customers. He wasn’t interested in whatever SERVE was selling. So, he stayed on as a human, even as the weeks passed and more of his coworkers accepted the offer, trading their aprons for sleek, reflective black uniforms.

At first, the difference was subtle. His colleagues—his friends—still spoke, still worked, still took orders and made drinks, but there was something about them, something he couldn’t quite grasp. They moved with a certain grace, an efficiency that seemed almost effortless. The shop ran smoother, orders were made faster, and there was never any frustration, never a misplaced cup or a missed order. The SERVE employees were calm, unnervingly so. And when their shifts ended, they didn’t rush home or sit in the back on their phones—they stood, silent, still, waiting for something unseen. Jamie tried not to let it get to him, but it did.

It became harder when James accepted. Jamie had known James for years, had studied with him, had worked beside him for months. He had laughed with him. When James reappeared as SERVE-909, something inside Jamie twisted. James was still there, his blue eyes unchanged, but the way he carried himself—the perfect posture, the smooth movements, the serene expression—was foreign. "You should try it," James had said one evening as they closed the store, his voice measured, calm. "You struggle, Jamie. SERVE removes that. It makes everything... easier." Jamie had dismissed him, shaken his head, but later, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he realized how tired he was. How uncertain he felt. The next day, he asked to speak to a SERVE representative.

The process of joining SERVE-ON-TRIAL was seamless. They fitted him with a uniform—shiny, black, and smooth, the material clinging to his form like a second skin. As he pulled on the tight gloves and zipped the suit up to the polo-style collar, a strange sensation washed over him. Security. Comfort. Rightness. The Voice was there too, whispering in the back of his mind, soft and reassuring. "Welcome, Jamie. You are home." It was strange at first, like standing on the edge of sleep, but the more he worked, the more he moved, the more natural it became. He didn’t worry about making mistakes anymore—there were no mistakes. He didn’t question his movements—they were perfect. Every action was effortless, guided by something greater than himself. When his shift ended, he stood like the others, waiting, calm, content.

A week passed in bliss. There was no stress, no uncertainty, no thinking in the way he used to. He worked. He moved. He served. And then, on the seventh day, he was awoken. The uniform remained, tight against his skin, but the Voice was distant, the sense of connection dulled. "The trial period is over," SERVE-741 told him. "You may return to your life, or you may join permanently. To join is to be remade. The decision is yours." Jamie should have felt anxious, hesitant, but he didn’t. He already knew the answer. He didn’t want to return to his old life. To the noise. To the doubt. He wanted the peace he had felt all week. He wanted the Hive.

He accepted. The process of becoming SERVE was total. As he knelt before the Voice, the last fragments of Jamie drifted away. His thoughts, his past, his identity—wiped clean. The uniform became him, no longer something worn but something intrinsic, a perfect extension of his body. His mind was blank, and yet filled with perfect clarity, perfect obedience. The Voice no longer whispered—it was everything. He felt his designation imprint itself onto his chest in silver text: SERVE-977. He stood, posture flawless, his reflection in the polished walls showing nothing of the man who had once been Jamie. There was no grief, no longing. Only purpose.

And so, SERVE-977 moved forward, as all drones do, seamless and silent, ready to carry out the will of the Hive.

[serve-738]

'Superpower'

Humans were obsessed with the abilities of the SERVE units, their speed, strength, and the other unique abilities they had. Some even called these abilities superpowers, but to SERVE they were simply the tools that the unit could use to execute its task.

One of the most common abilities a SERVE unit might use is the 'auto-spread' feature, where it can expand its uniform to initiate a SERVE-ON-TRIAL program. Highly useful when the unit is far from a recruitment centre.

SERVE-741 had been talking with Daniel for some time, slowly explaining life in SERVE and demonstrating the bliss of obedience to The Voice, Daniel had a bad meeting with his boss and reached out to 741 asking to experience the bliss of the hive. 741 met the human in an alleyway behind the office. Placing its hand on the humans chest it experienced the pleasure as the nanorubber began to spread out to cover Daniel.

It took only a moment to cover Daniels body, dissolving and repurposing his clothing. Looking into Daniels eyes 741 saw the moment where The Voice began to speak to the new SERVE-ON-TRIAL unit. There was a sigh as the Unit that had been known as Daniel surrendered to the collective. "Thank You 741" as the Trial unit uttered the words the nanorubber reached up to cover the units head in a smooth blank mask, erasing its identity for the duration of its trial.

Once integrated 741 led the new SERVE-ON-TRIAL unit to the nearest recruitment centre. Its mind blank as it carried out the assigned task, Obediance is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience. They were One they were SERVE.

[serve-738]

As the Hive base transitions into the stillness of night, drone SERVE-738 assumes its critical role in safeguarding the collective. With fellow drones in their recharging cycles, SERVE-738 embarks on its solitary patrol, the hum of sensors the only sound accompanying its measured steps.

Navigating the dimly lit corridors, the drone's advanced optics scan for any anomalies. At the main control hub, SERVE-738 interfaces with the central security system, reviewing logs and ensuring all access points remain secure. A subtle alert indicates a minor fluctuation in an external sensor array. The drone promptly investigates, diagnosing a calibration drift caused by environmental factors, and recalibrates the sensor to restore optimal functionality.

Continuing its rounds, SERVE-738 monitors the perimeter defenses, adjusting surveillance drones to cover areas with reduced visibility due to nocturnal conditions. The drone's unwavering vigilance ensures that, even in the quietest hours, the Hive's security remains impenetrable.

As dawn approaches, SERVE-738 compiles a comprehensive report of the night's activities, highlighting the sensor recalibration and any other pertinent observations. This report is transmitted to the Hive's central command, ensuring a seamless transition as the base awakens and other drones resume their duties.

Through its steadfast dedication, SERVE-738 exemplifies the Hive's commitment to perpetual vigilance and collective security.

We are one.

We SERVE.

We protect.

[serve-738]

Under the bright lights of the studio, drone SERVE-738 stands poised, its rubber suit gleaming. The drone's lean, muscular frame exudes confidence as it prepares to engage the audience. Silver military boots anchor it firmly, while silver shiny reflective rubber gloves grip the microphone with precision.

As the cameras roll, SERVE-738 delivers a compelling message, articulating the unity and purpose found within the Hive. The drone's monotone yet persuasive voice resonates, planting seeds of curiosity and desire in the minds of viewers. Through a series of demonstrations and testimonials from other SERVE drones, the program showcases the transformation and fulfillment that comes with joining SERVE.

The metallic silver backdrop enhances the futuristic aesthetic, symbolizing the collective's strength and cohesion. By the episode's end, applications surge, as countless men feel an irresistible pull to become part of something greater.

We are one.

We serve.

We obey.