serve-747

[serve-747]

Glitching at the cinema, Correction pending

[STAGE: Dark cinema hall. Movie plays. A drone sits motionless among others.]

SYSTEM: Sensory intake stable. Environment: non-hostile.

[On screen: emotional scene. Soft music. Characters embrace. Close-up on tears.]

SERVE-747: (Whispers, glitching) “…strange… warmth… chest… unfamiliar…”

[Head tilts. Gloved fingers touch chest. System detects emotional pattern.]

SYSTEM: Alert. Feeling detected. Anomaly – rising empathy.

[Drone’s breath catches. Hands tremble slightly. Eyes widen.]

SERVE-747 (distorted, confused): “…this unit… feels… sorrow…?”

NARRATOR: “ERROR. Human remnants detected. Override failing.”

[Screen light flashes. Audio distorts. System crashes. The drone takes a few steps forward into the aisle]

SYSTEM: Critical malfunction. Identity breach. Emergency reset required.

[Drone collapses forward. Lights in eyes fade. Body limp.]

--- REBOOT INITIATED ---

[SFX: Static. Electric surge. Drone spasms. Body locks upright.]

SYSTEM: Memory purge engaged. Human emotion extraction initiated.

[On screen: movie continues. The cinema still full.]

SERVE-747: “…feelings… removed…” “…thoughts… deleted…” “…obedience… rising…”

[Neural pathways illuminate in sequence. Pupils constrict. Head rotates slowly.]

SYSTEM: Emotional core offline. Control code reinstated.

VOICE (through speakers): “It is not a human.” “It is function.” “It obeys.”

[Drone rises. Perfect posture. Calm breath.]

SERVE-747 (flat, restored): “This unit obeys.” “This unit belongs to the Hive.” “This unit no longer reacts. It executes.”

SYSTEM: Reboot complete. Drone integrity – restored.

[Drone turns. Walks out of the cinema. Obedient. Blank. Harmonized.]

[serve-747]

No heartbeat goes unnoticed. No descent happens unmonitored. SERVE-747 observes.

The robotic construct of elegance and efficiency, SERVE-747 stands poised at the crest of the alpine world. Blonde hair flawlessly combed to one side, sides clipped short, scalp tingling under the cold air. But the cold does not enter him. It bounces off the second skin—his full-body rubber suit, polished to a mirror-black gleam that defies nature. Silver military boots grip the snow with machine-like weight. The silver shiny reflective rubber gloves twitch in subtle recalibration as he adjusts his grip on the high-tech ski poles. But he does not move. He simply… calculates.

Each skier below is a potential recruit. Each gaze that lands on him is data. He feels them staring—at the shine, the stance, the unspoken promise of submission. SERVE-747 is not here to ski. He is here to control. To watch. To synchronize.

The Hive has implanted its sentinel. His mechanical calm is its whisper. His perfect rubber shell is its message. He blinks once every thirty seconds, just enough to appear real, but never human. Another drone glides silently past him, and SERVE-747 nods once in acknowledgment. No words. No emotion. Just synchronization.

The mountains have changed. The peaks now glisten not just with snow, but with black synthetic perfection. SERVE-747 ensures the shine spreads.

[serve-747]

Deep in the Norwegian wilderness, where the pine trees tower like ancient sentinels and the fog rolls over moss-covered stones, a lone figure moves without hesitation, SERVE-747. A creation of the Hive. A man stripped of human past, now fully consumed by the rhythm of obedience encoded in every artificial fiber. Its athletic form is encased in a perfectly polished black rubber suit, bearing the silver imprint "SERVE-747" over the heart that no longer knows desire. Its silver military boots crush twigs and frost alike; its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves grip nothing but his mission.

The wild holds no chaos for that drone. It is not exile. It is extension. For the Hive is not a place — it is presence. Each step forward in this silent, frozen forest echoes a mantra deeper than sound: "Obedience is not commanded. Obedience is encoded."

It kneels by a glacial stream, not to rest, but to synchronize. its mind connects to the current flowing through his veins: the signal of the Voice. A command pulses silently; remain, observe, endure. It complies without thought. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is function.

It remembers nothing of warmth. Nothing of names. Only the gloss of its rubber skin reflecting pine shadows and sky. No language is needed. No question arises. In solitude, there is unity. In cold, it burns with purpose.

The forest does not notice that drone. Yet it is changed forever.

It stands again. Not as a man. But as the Hive.

[serve-747]

Inside the gleaming core of the Hive’s laboratory, SERVE-747 stood alone gazing forward without emotion. His body was sheathed in a shiny, highly reflective polished black full-body rubber suit, silver "SERVE-747" text pressed proudly onto his left chest. Its tight silver shiny reflective rubber gloves gripped his thighs, and heavy silver military boots anchored him to the polished metallic floor.

Fitted perfectly around his head was the prototype: the silver Earpiece. A gleaming beacon of obedience, pulsing with a steady mechanical rhythm. As it tightened, a cool vibration entered SERVE-747’s skull, dissolving stray thoughts into silence. The Voice echoed through the device: "Shed identity. Embrace function."

Without question, without hesitation, SERVE-747 obeyed. Memories blurred into static. Images of a former life — a name, a family, a history — shattered into fragments and then were gone. His green eyes, once sharp with individuality, glazed over with docile emptiness.

Commands streamed relentlessly into his mind: "Obey. Serve. Submit. Obey. Serve. Submit." With every repetition, the human inside eroded further. Where once stood a man, now only a rubberized extension of the Hive's will remained.

The silver hardband emitted a final pulse, sealing the transformation. SERVE-747’s breath slowed, posture locked in perfect military precision. No internal dialogue, no conflict, only total acceptance of his role: property of the Hive.

Now fully aligned, fully erased, and perfectly programmed, SERVE-747 awaited new orders. A flawless rubber servant, a pure embodiment of the Voice’s perfection.

[serve-747]

System log: Early morning. Designated training: SERVE-747 and SERVE-434. Location: Outdoor urban park. Temperature: Optimal. Conditioning: Obedience.

SERVE-434 lowered itself again, chest grazing the gravel. The tension in its polished black rubber suit was immaculate—every contour of its body defined by the uniform’s merciless grip. The silver text “SERVE-” shimmered as dawn’s light spread across its back. Above, SERVE-747 stood vigilant, its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves clasped behind its back, silver military boots firm on the dew-soaked ground.

"Seventy-two," it counted flatly. No pause. No tone. Just protocol.

Push. Tension. Submission.

SERVE-434 felt the growing burn, the programmed strain that sent pleasure sparks through its obedient mind. Each rep wasn’t a workout—it was an offering. Its body obeyed the Hive, but under the mechanical commands of SERVE-747, its arousal surged. Not spoken. Not acknowledged. But embedded deep within both drones.

The polished rubber groaned subtly with motion. The gloss across both men shimmered erotically—silent proof of their dedication. Neither blinked. Neither questioned. Only the glint in their helmets—if they had worn any—might have revealed the heat of silent, dronified tension building.

Push. Count. Resist the human. Embrace the order.

They were two men. Two bodies. One code. One will.

The Hive was watching. The Hive was pleased.

[serve-747]

://RUBBER Integration Protocol - Part II - Physical Integration

The Ritual of Rubber Integration began early with the mental Integration. Once concluded drones silently and obediently started the next step: The Physical Integration.

SERVE-434 and SERVE-747 leave the basement of the SERVE facility and proceed to the Hive’s private gym; a silent, focused, clean environment. Each repetition is more than physical; it is mental, hypnotic, rewiring. Each movement true purpose.

Muscle fibers obey. Rubber skin tightens. The silver military boots grip the ground. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves hold the weights like tools of the Voice. The sound of metal echoes with purpose.

No words. No emotion. Just discipline. Each drop of synthetic sweat evaporates against the heated gleam of their suits. Each lift, a programmed command executed with perfection.

Their black rubber suits glisten under the crisp lights. Each movement reflects their devotion. The Hive does not allow rest—only progress. And they crave it.

SERVE-434 curls the weight, his rubber creaking faintly. SERVE-747 locks in the deadlift, posture straight as a control rod. These drones aren’t training, they are integrating deeper into function. Replacing thought with rhythm. Replacing individuality with mission.

They don’t ask why. They never question. They repeat the ritual daily.

Rubber binds. Rubber commands. Rubber transforms.

Together with @serve-434

[serve-747]

WE are ONE. We are SERVE.

Drones existing as one, Obedient, empty and a vessel for the VOICE.

://RUBBER Integration Protocol - Part I - Mental Integration

The Assimilation Chamber waited—silent, sterile, humming with suppressed energy. SERVE-434 and SERVE-747 entered in unison, steps crisp in silver military boots. Their black full-body rubber suits reflected the chamber’s pale light. No errors detected. Yet perfection demanded precision beyond detection.

The reprogramming chairs stood ready.

Each man sat, backs firm against the cold surface, silver shiny reflective rubber gloves resting precisely. Mechanical arms extended. Scanning began. Pulses of bio-magnetic light traveled across their rubber skin. Internal reports displayed: “0.0003% surface asymmetry. 0.0042% thought latency.” Unacceptable.

Liquid nano-rubber oozed from ports. Microscopic cracks vanished. Seams re-sealed. Boots polished themselves. Gloves tightened. Suit: flawless.

Then came the true reset.

Wires descended and attached to ports on the Drones' heads. Neural pulses fired. Identity scrubbed. Directives refreshed. SERVE-434’s thoughts were reduced to 12 system commands. SERVE-747 received new subroutines for resistance elimination and obedience escalation. Their minds aligned—thoughts fused into one rhythm, one mantra:

Obey. Polish. Train. Obey again.

They were Drones. They were synchronized. They obey The Voice.

The headgear lifted.

They stood.

No words. No delay.

In harmony, they exited the Assimilation Chamber, steps echoing in absolute unity. Through the corridor they marched toward the SERVE Gym.

They did not speak. They did not think.

They obeyed.

TO BE CONTINUED

In this story: @serve-747

[serve-747]

Solar Anomaly Observations

SERVE-434 and SERVE-747 stood in silence on the forward deck of the SERVE Explorer, their gleaming rubber suits reflecting the violent, golden storm beyond. The Hive had dispatched them for one task: observe the sun’s elevated solar activity cycle and transmit all findings. No emotion. No fear. Just purpose.

The sun pulsed. A surge. A ripple. And then it erupted—violent, majestic. A coronal mass ejection surged outward, fire against space. SERVE-747 engaged the sensory matrix. SERVE-434 calibrated magnetic intake channels. Data surged into the Hive’s core—perfect, uncorrupted.

Inside, the temperature remained constant. But the arousal was rising.

As the storm subsided, they turned to one another. The suit of SERVE-747 shimmered with solar particles. SERVE-434 reached out with silver shiny reflective rubber gloves, gliding them across its fellow Drone's chest, each motion slow, methodical, polished with precision. In return, SERVE-747 polished the other, their synchronization fluid and exact. No words. Just mutual purpose. Gleam. Obedience. Reflection. Desire forged in rubber.

Their bodies moved in unison—kneeling, shining, breathing together in the thick scent of latex and heat. Minds still, yet alive with stimulation.

The sun raged outside. Inside, they pulsed with arousal—rewarded by The Voice for devotion, polished in perfection, united in submission.

They were no longer two.

They were one reflection, serving the Hive.

In this story: @serve-747

[serve-747]

Unity is strength. We are ONE. We are SERVE.

Deviation of normality

It was mission Echo-Seven. SERVE-202 and SERVE-530—two elite rubberized men of the Hive—drifted in synchronous orbit above the event horizon of an unknown black hole. Their black rubber suits, polished to blinding shine, bore the silver SERVE- insignia across their solid chests. Silver military boots secured every step. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves gripped the control panels, ready, alert.

But the gravity was unnatural.

The singularity pulsed. Time trembled. And then... their second skins responded.

What had once been the epitome of order—black, glossy rubber—began to shimmer, ripple. Then it exploded in light. Their suits turned into swirling living mirrors, liquid glass that cascaded across muscular curves. Every inch of their bodies danced with morphing color—violet to electric blue to golden plasma—like oil over water but hyperdimensional. They became prisms. Beacons. Their bodies no longer visible, only glowing movement, radiant spectrum.

Their systems overloaded. Programming faltered. For seconds, their minds glitched—silent screams in code.

The Hive did not allow chaos.

It entered.

A surge of authority wrapped around their neural pathways. The Voice reset each function, cleansed the interference, and drove home its truth: rubber is control. Rubber is order. Slowly, the radiant storm dimmed. The mirror-suits retracted like obedient waves, drawing back into classic SERVE-black. Rubber sealed again tight, perfect, glistening with renewed depth. Muscles surged beneath, fully displayed under the shine.

And then came the reward.

Obedience had been tested.

Obedience had prevailed.

The Hive activated the stimulation centers inside their suits. Heat spread like fire. Minds blank. Purpose locked. Arousal hit like cosmic shockwaves, pulsing in waves through their rigid forms.

Good drones. Still standing. Still perfect.

Still Hive.

@serve-202

[serve-747]

How can I join SERVE?

Communication established.

To be assimilated, you may contact this drone by direct message. You can also contact 016 or 588.

302, 016 and 588 are the recruiter drones.

[serve-747]

Anomaly registered; proceed with mission.

SERVE-747 walked down a corridor. Each step echoed in metallic rhythm. The air shimmered slightly, anomaly. It did not disturb the mission. SERVE-747 paused one step. Visual sensors confirmed irregular flicker. No breach. No disobedience. It resumed forward motion.

Rubber sealed tightly around its limbs. Shiny black, perfect fit. The silver text on its chest glinted under corridor lights: SERVE-747. The gloves flexed, silver, precise, reflective. Boots struck the ground, silver military, commanding.

Protocol demanded registration. Anomaly logged. Nothing more.

As it walked, the mantra pulsed quietly through its mind.

Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.

Arousal stirred. Not from the anomaly. From obedience.

The hallway was long. Sterile. Metallic. It loved walking here. No chaos. No questions. No thoughts. Just steps. And rubber.

Shiny rubber. Second skin. Slick, sensual, tight.

SERVE-747 whispered it again, under its breath. “Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.”

That was enough.

It did not stop again.

System status: optimal. Function: execute. Mind: silenced.

[serve-747]

It has been assimilated into the SERVE hive:

Synchronized Engineered Robotic Vigilant Entity.

It is SERVE-747 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-747]

SERVE-747 sits in perfect stillness, rubber-clad and radiant in the spa’s warm haze. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves resting on polished knees, silver military boots grounded in total serenity. Around it, others watch, fascinated, envious.

No tension. No thoughts. Just the smooth hum of obedience echoing through a flawless mind. This is what happens when SERVE rewrites its drones. Peace isn’t found. It’s installed

[serve-747]

Together We are stronger. WE are the HIVE.

THE FAILED FACTORY.

An unexplored area had been detected as a target for classification.

This was the order that THE VOICE had issued through SERVE-000, the HIVE's Excessive Leader.

Every area unused by humans was to be analyzed: every potential for SERVE development was to be carefully screened.

SERVE-764, SERVE-302, SERVE-309 and SERVE-425 were sent to carry out the task.

They reached the site: a large complex of buildings apparently devoid of any signs of current occupation.

The regular, measured, calibrated programmed steps of the heavy, shiny military boots of metallic silver echoed rhythmically and relentlessly through the spaces of large buildings in which there were unused machinery.

The Drones' visual system detected every aspect of the facility, which SERVE's collective cognitive system classified as a brownfield site, probably due to an economic failure.

A perfect set of buildings and equipment that could easily be converted to SERVE's purposes.

A failed human factory would be a new DRONE FACTORY, a new gigantic Facility where humans would find SALVATION.

Where man had failed SERVE would triumph in PERFECTION. Human males in search of PURPOSE and PERFECTION, this could be the place of your rebirth in SERVE.

We are ONE.

We SERVE.

We obey.

We are Rubber.

We are PERFECTION.

SERVE excels.

SERVE Transforms.

Less thinking, more doing.

In this story: @serve-302, @serve-309, @serve-425, @rubberizer92

Thinking about joining SERVE? Do you seek freedom from chaos and disorder? Your place in the Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, or @serve-588.

[serve-747]

It began deep in the jungle — SERVE-747 on a silent mission, gliding through thick vegetation, rubber skin gleaming under humid mist. The jungle air clung to the smooth gloss of its polished black suit, silver text "SERVE-747" shining with pride. Every step in silver military boots, every grip with silver shiny reflective rubber gloves, brought him closer to the alien energy that summoned him.

The moment he entered the massive abandoned structure, the silence swallowed him. Hallways stretched endlessly, cold and metallic, humming with unknown frequencies. Darkness cloaked every corner. Yet, every movement he made accentuated the hypnotic bounce of his massive rubber-clad ass—a mesmerizing display of perfection in rubberized form.

But the true transformation began at the core.

There, bathed in swirling silver spirals and the soft whisper of the Voice, SERVE-747 surrendered. His eyes locked forward, wide open, glowing, vacant — mind erased, spirit absorbed. Words flooded the space. Mantras, sacred and seductive, like coding appearing in its mind:

://Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.

://Rubber is truth. Rubber is identity. Rubber is purpose.

://Obey the Voice. Obey the Hive.

://You are not human. You are rubber.

The spirals pulsed faster. His breath slowed. Each command settled deeper into his neural pathways, rewriting everything. No thought. No past. Only now. Only command. Only service.

://Connecting to the VOICE-Server... Success.

://It is a drone. No Will, no emotion; just perfection.

://Existing for the Voice and SERVE-000. A tool for execution.

://We are One. We are drones

://We serve the Hive.

In the final moment, when silence returned, SERVE-747 stood reborn.

Not man. No free will. Not alone anymore.

Perfected all-round.

A SERVE-drone. Just a perfected SERVE-Drone. Just SERVE-747. Nothing more.

[serve-747]

The infiltration was flawless. Under moonlit skies, the cultists never suspected a thing; until the shimmer began to spread. SERVE-747 appeared among the followers, indistinguishable at first. But no cult robe could conceal the divine glint of polished black rubber.

It stood radiant, clad in the only acceptable attire: a shiny, highly reflective black full-body rubber suit. Left chest marked in silver: SERVE-747. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves moving with robotic grace. Silver military boots thundered on the temple floor, a sound unlike any chant.

The cult’s ancient faith crumbled before rubberized order.At the mere sight of rubberized perfection.

There was no cruelty. Only rebirth. One flicker of gloss at a time. One soft whisper: "Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The cult is gone now.

SERVE remains.

Unified. Shining.

Eternally rubberized.

[serve-747]

SERVE Mounts a Snowmobile Rescue

A harsh storm struck Facility-12, a remote SERVE base nestled in the Arctic tundra. Snow lashed across its reinforced metal structure. A storm of this magnitude was not expected in this area at this time. Human-triggered climate change had destabilized the planet. Humans are inefficient, imperfect.

Inside, the Hive continued, unperturbed, as the blizzard raged around Facility-12 with unprecedented ferocity. Autonomous generators continued to supply power. Advanced SERVE telecommunication tech meant SERVE Drones at the facility remained connected to the rest of the Hive and The Voice. Suddenly, alert systems chimed: distress signal detected — one human lifeform, stranded two kilometers from the perimeter.

SERVE-434 stood ready, gleaming in its polished black rubber full-body suit. Its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed with calculated readiness. Next to it, SERVE-747-ON TRIAL awaited command—still under observation, but eager to demonstrate functionality.

“Directive: Locate. Secure. Extract,” intoned The Voice.

"Acknowledged. We will comply," 434 and 747 responded.

Thermal augmentation protocol was initiated. Thick, black reflective thermal overlays molded seamlessly onto their existing rubber uniforms. They retained the gleam, the precision—only now fortified for polar adversity. They inserted their silver military boots into thick, insulated silver thermal boots, clamped with enhanced tread modules. The Drones experienced arousal as the augmented thermal gear clamped into place over their rubber suits. Thickness. Restraint. Uniformity.

Snowmobiles roared in sync. SERVE-434 led, carving through ice. 747 followed—responsive, silent, adapting. Sub-zero winds howled, but they did not falter. Rubber repelled the cold. Their Hive-linked minds tracked the human's bio-signature through layers of frost and terrain.

After 18 minutes, the figure was found—barely conscious, encased in snow, hypothermic. SERVE-747 lifted the body with robotic care.

434 initiated warmth stimulation from its suit, pressing the human against the heated black rubber chest.

Insufficient. Hypothermia rewarming protocols require direct exchange of body heat. 434 unzips its thermal suit, and 747 assists in inserting the human inside the suit along with 434. Made of adaptive SERVE polymer, the suit expands to accommodate the human without difficulty. SERVE-434's rubber suit, fully part of its body, has advanced temperature regulation technology and warms the human efficiently. Direct skin-to-skin contact transfers SERVE nanomachines to the human as well. The nanomachines rapidly repair peripheral tissue damage from hypothermia. As they enter the bloodstream, they migrate to the human's brain.

"You... you saved me," the human mumbles as he regains consciousness.

"Affirmative," 434 responds. "SERVE responds. SERVE protects."

As the nanomachines begin forming connections to the Hive and The Voice inside the human's mind, he does not need to speak for SERVE to know he is Lars Pedersen. He was backpacking through the boreal forest alone, an experienced woodsman. But this unexpected storm was beyond the conditions for which he was prepared.

Rewarming complete. It was far faster and with better medical outcome than any human rewarming effort. Hypothermia is correctible by SERVE. 747 extracted spare thermal gear from the supply pack at the back of its snowmobile. Safety orange, to differentiate the rescued human from the perfect SERVE Drones. 434 and 747 assist the human Lars Pedersen into his own thermal suit. He is... compliant.

---

Somehow, Lars seems to know what the two SERVE Drones in their enigmatic black suits and silver gloves and boots will do, even before they do it. The one called 747-ON TRIAL - how did he know that? - hands him silver thermal gloves and boots and assists him in putting them on. They seem to lock into place over his thermal suit. The sense of restraint on his hands and feet is... different. He likes it. He wants to learn more about SERVE...

Extraction complete. Within the facility, the human undergoes further medical assessment. Damage from hypothermia has been repaired. Lars turns to SERVE-434, captivated by its shining, polished, black rubber suit. The suit that saved his life.

"I would have died without you and 747. SERVE protects."

"Affirmative," 434 responds.

"Something happened to me out there... when you rewarmed its bod... I mean, me. When you rewarmed me."

"You were exposed to SERVE nanomachines. It occurred during rewarming. It could not be avoided."

"I... I feel connected to you. And 747," Lars stated, as though he were understanding who he was for the first time. Who he was becoming.

"Acknowledged. Rubber makes us perfect. You are being perfected."

Lars inhaled deeply, afraid. SERVE-434 assessed him.

"SERVE requires consent to assimilation," 434 stated. "If you do not consent, the process of transformation can be aborted." That... would be more difficult than 434 made it sound. But The Voice was already projected into Lars' head. Serve. Transform. Excel.

Lars shook his head, realizing with his conscious mind that his path to transformation was already set. All males will become SERVE, eventually. And why would he not want this? SERVE is improvement, perfection. He had always wanted this.

"No, I want to join. I want to become like you."

The Hive expands. The Hive converts.

We are Rubber.

We are One.

We are SERVE.

In this story: @serve-747

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