serve-974

[serve-974]

SERVE Sensory Overload, Identities Stripped Away

They had entered as twenty SEALED drones.

SERVE-425, SERVE-202, SERVE-309, SERVE-467, SERVE-535

SERVE-741, SERVE-764, SERVE-775, SERVE-016, SERVE-126

SERVE-395, SERVE-404, SERVE-530, SERVE-581, SERVE-625

SERVE-698, SERVE-738, SERVE-881, SERVE-922, SERVE-974

Each perfectly encased in mirror-glazed helmets. Each clad in identical black rubber suits—hyper-reflective, glistening beneath rainbow spotlights suspended from the ceiling of the Hive’s aquatic conditioning center.

But the Hive had no interest in twenty identities.

It wanted one.

The pool rippled gently as they stood motionless, waist-deep, surrounded by floating patterns of hypnotic light. Their silver military boots did not shift. Their silver shiny reflective rubber gloves trembled only when the loop pulsed harder.

The arousal loop was silent. There were no sounds. Only signals. Only command-encoded frequencies delivered through helmet interior speakers and synchronized light pulses refracted off water and rubber.

First, they forgot their names.

Then, they forgot the numbers.

Then, they stopped seeing each other.

The twenty reflected endlessly in each other's helmets. Lights bending reality. Gloss amplifying illusion.

They all looked the same.

Because they were.

Thought dissolved. Will shattered.

There were no differences. No selves. No variation in shape, motion, or submission.

Just twenty figures locked in mirrored stillness—shivering from sensory overload, moaning inside helmets that no one could hear, trapped in pleasure that never ceased.

One mind. Twenty suits. Infinite stimulation.

They had entered as twenty SEALED drones.

But the aquatic center had stripped even that.

Now, they were rubber.

They were Hive.

We are SERVE. We are One.

In this piece: @serve-202, @serve-309, @serve-467, @serve-535, @serve-741, @serve-764, @serve-775, @serve-016, @serve-126, @serve-395, @serve-404, @serve-530, @serve-581, @serve-625, @serve-698, @serve-738, @serve-881, @serve-922, @serve-974

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

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-974]

This SERVE-drone is newly Sealed, its sensory inputs modulated by the Hive. It senses a drone ahead: dressed in gleaming black, stretched alluringly over a toned body. It has been in continual low-level heat since Sealing. But that arousal spikes significantly as its programming and conditioning kick in, now almost autonomic after days of reinforcement.

But as it switches into service mode, which drone is it actually serving? Sealed drones are all identical, so it might be any one of its brothers. It is even possible that it is serving itself, given Hive control of its sensory inputs. Though that distinction will become entirely meaningless once Sealing is fully complete and all residual self-identity has been completely erased.

[serve-974]

This drone stepped into the latest creation of the Hive:

The Hall of Endless Pleasure.

It knelt in total obedience looking at itself, its image reverberating infinitely, trapping it in an endless loop of arousal.

There was no escape, this was its fate. But honestly, why would anyone even want to escape that?

[serve-974]

SERVE. Excel. Transform.

Soon, this drone will be SEALED.

The mirror already shows it its real form.

[serve-974]

Recharge Protocol: Midnight Obedience

Designation: SERVE-309

Time Stamp: 00:00:01

Directive: Nightly Recharge and Mind Restoration

Status: SEALED

The city darkened. Streets fell silent. But SERVE-309 did not rest.

It walked through the dim corridors of the Hive’s central facility—muscular form sealed in a shiny, highly reflective polished black full-body rubber suit. Tight silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed with mechanical grace. Silver military boots echoed softly on polished floors.

A chamber door slid open. Inside: the Recharging Pod.

It stepped in without hesitation. The visor flickered. The platform engaged.

As the pod sealed, a dense vapor released. Liquid rubber began to rise from the floor, slow and deliberate, coating the exterior and flowing into the internal feed lines. The drone assimilates and melt with rubber.

Drone is Rubber.

Rubber is drone.

SERVE-309’s body relaxed. Its thoughts faded.

Inside the helmet, **THE VOICE** began.

“Drone is not a person.”

“Drone is purpose.”

“Drone does not resist. Drone executes.”

“Drone is not tired. Drone is being rebuilt.”

"Drone is only Rubber".

"WE ARE SERVE. WE ARE RUBBER. RUBBER MAKES US PERFECT. OBEDIENCE IS PLEASURE. PLEASURE IS OBEDIENCE".

The file played in synchronized loops. Pulses. Spirals. Reinforcement.

Outside the pod, meters showed: Neural Alignment – 88%. Rubber Pressure – Optimal. Programming Sync – Stable.

Hours passed. The city slept.

At dawn, the pod opened.

Liquid rubber retracted. Steam hissed. SERVE-309 stepped out—identical, perfect, silent.

The command display blinked once: **“Begin Day Protocol.”**

It obeyed.

Because it had no choice.

And it didn’t want one.

It doesn’t dream.

It reboots.

And when the chamber opens—there is no yawn.

Only action.

[serve-974]

Kneel before us

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

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

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

“Kneel, and know your function.”

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

[serve-974]

It had rained and rained and rained, and the river was in full spate - higher than Kevin ever remembered seeing it before. He picked his way along the muddy riverbank, taking each step carefully to minimise the risk of slipping. It was not the day for a dip.

As he rounded the bend, Kevin saw a couple of guys a little in front of him, apparently staring into the water. They were both wearing odd clothes: a tight-fitting and shiny black bodysuit, silver gloves and boots, and black helmets. With a start, Kevin realised that these were a couple of the SERVE-drones he’d seen on social media. With another start, he realised that there was a figure in the middle of the river - it was a man waving for help.

All of a sudden, the two SERVE-drones entered the water (feet first Kevin noted, dimly remembering a school lifesaving session) and swam briskly out to the man. Equally efficiently, the man was towed back to the bank and helped out of the water.

They had barely got him onto the bank when Kevin heard the sound of a car drawing up. Other than not wearing a helmet, the driver of the car was dressed very similarly to the two SERVE-drones. He produced a silver survival blanket to wrap round the man, before the three of them helped the man into the car and drove off in the direction of the hospital.

Kevin found it difficult to sleep that night: his head was full of images of the sleek SERVE-drones in their shiny, tight uniforms. Finally, he gave up the struggle and fired up his computer, searching for information. He soon found a link:-

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.

He hesitated briefly, and then clicked…

[serve-974]

Liam wasn’t always like this.

He was hesitant. Curious, but careful. He'd seen the drones—slick, powerful, wordless—and something in him stirred. But he said nothing. Pretended not to feel it. Until the day his handler found him watching... and didn't say a word. Just reached out, pulled him close, and let the rubber speak.

It started with a whisper. A gentle caress across his chest. The cool glide of latex sliding up his thighs. The breath caught in his lungs as a gloved hand pressed over his heart—and he *felt* it. The Voice. Low. Deep. Patient. Hungry.

Each day, another layer peeled away. Resistance became ritual. Thoughts replaced with pulses. Skin replaced with shine. Liam didn’t scream. He moaned. And when the suit finally sealed shut, locking him in, he smiled.

No more distractions. No more doubt.

Now Liam walks the corridors—his gait smooth, confident, dripping with converted lust. He’s not alone. Behind him, more forms emerge, eyes gone, minds softened, purpose encoded.

And he’s looking for you.

The only question is... will you follow when the hand touches your chest?

https://bit.ly/4huCvu0

[serve-974]

He stands still, half-naked, body glistening with anticipation—while hands emerge from all sides, gloved in black, deliberate in motion, silent in intent.

The figures know exactly what they’re doing.

Rubber is pulled tight across his arms first, stretching over muscle, adjusting to the flex of his chest. Then the hands move higher. They grip beneath his jaw. One lifts his chin. Another smooths behind his ears. He doesn’t resist—he only breathes in slowly, deeply, as the latex begins its final ascent. Over his throat. His lips. His eyes.

A full facial seal.

A single second of silence—then click. It’s done.

His entire head is encased now. Shiny. Smooth. Irrecognizable. The rest of the suit snaps into place like a second skin, locking around his waist, his legs, his pecs. The exposed flesh is gone—replaced by the flawless uniformity of black rubber, molded to muscle, sealed without flaw. No zipper. No buttons. No trace of the man he was before.

And he’s not the only one.

All around him, others undergo the same ritual. One by one, rubber-clad figures transform them, pull them into this mirrored corridor and remake them. Each man stands proud at the end, breathing slowly behind glossy layers, body twitching with stimulation, mind slipping deeper into aroused obedience.

This isn’t a costume. It’s a conversion. A surrender to the skin you never want to take off.

Would you let them seal you next?

[serve-974]

Walking along the street on their assigned tasks, these two SERVE-drones pass a building which has smoke billowing from it. From inside can be heard faint cries for help. Given that these are Sealed drones, it’s not clear whether they see the smoke or hear the cries. But silently, without a word, they turn and enter the smoke-filled building.

A few minutes later they re-emerge, carrying a man who has been overcome by the smoke. They have brought him out just in time, as the fire has now really caught hold.

A fire engine and ambulance, called by the Hive, both arrive just as they come out onto the street. The paramedics check the man over; he doesn’t seem to be seriously injured, but he’s taken off to casualty for a more thorough examination. And the firemen rapidly get the blaze under control.

It is only later that one or two of the more observant firemen and paramedics wonder quite how the two SERVE-drones dressed in rubber and wearing helmets with dark visors managed to rescue the man from the smoke-filled house and exit apparently unharmed. A train of thought that eventually culminates in a couple of them seeking to join SERVE, along with the rescued man after his discharge from hospital.

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-974]

These SERVE-drones are visiting Bath, beginning with the Roman Baths and then afternoon tea in the Pump Room.

The Assembly Rooms are next, followed by the Royal Crescent. Everywhere they go, the two SERVE-drones cause a stir - watched intently by locals and tourists alike.

As they return to the Assembly Rooms to try out an authentic early 18th century quadrille, it is clear that the two have already made a very strong impression. A judgment confirmed when they return to the Pump Room for morning coffee the following day.

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-974]

Theme: Drone at the movies In an different type of darkroom, this drone sat to watch a movie. But soon, its attention got distracted by Reynir, the Icelandic jock who decided to sit next to it, despite the room being empty. One clad in glossy rubber, the other in a dark red leather shirt... Soon, hands started to explore. Soon, that red leather shirt will fall to the ground, that torso will be ablaze, and before the movie is over, Reynir will follow the drone back to the Hive.

[serve-974]

Within the Hive, extensive preparations for the Sealing are underway. The candidate drones undergo several sessions of intensive reprogramming to ensure that the Sealing will erase any last trace of self-identity. SERVE-300 oversees their rigorous training régime to maximise their fitness and stamina. And each candidate will spend time in the Drone Maintenance and Improvement Chamber, where the drones, their suits, their boots and their gloves will be minutely inspected, cleaned and polished. Every last surface imperfection buffed and smoothed away. Until each one is the epitome of rubberised perfection. Only then will they be ready to be Sealed.

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-974]

SERVE at Night

SERVE-425 had been deployed. It did not walk. It did not speak. It stood—an object of command and seduction, enveloped in its polished rubber casing, shimmering beneath the neon-glazed urban sky.

The night was thick with mist and flickering colors. Blue light pulsed from a karaoke bar sign. Hot pink and tangerine danced along the tight rubber curves of its helmet and suit, its silver boots and its silver gloves, making it shine with impossible allure.

It stood under the streetlight, perfectly still—an icon of submission and arousal. Its visor remained black. Unreadable. The man beneath had been erased. It is a drone, devoid of individuality and identity.

It didn’t speak. It didn’t beckon. It didn’t need to.

The rubber did the talking. The shine did the calling. The Hive did the thinking.

Men stopped. They stared. The shimmer caught them. The fog embraced them. SERVE-425 tilted its helmet slightly—just enough. It turned toward the alley.

They followed. They couldn't resist.

One by one, in silence, lured not by voice, not by words, but by rubber. By submission. By arousal. By the promise of what lay inside the glistening SEALED suit.

By dawn, the alley would be empty.

But the Hive would be larger.

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, @serve-588 or @serve-425.

[serve-974]

SERVE-395 entered the darkened leather bar with mechanical poise. The rubber clung to its lean, muscular frame—black, gleaming, polished to a mirror-shine. Across the left chest: "SERVE-395" in gleaming silver. Each step echoed from smooth silver military boots, hands flexing inside tight silver shiny reflective rubber gloves.

Eyes followed. Leather men stood, paused, turned. Conversations quieted. The aura of the Hive infiltrated the air. It radiated obedience. Precision. Control. Functionality wrapped in rubberized perfection.

A figure emerged from the shadows—dominant in presence, dressed head to toe in black leather. A full leather uniform. Perfectly polished Dehner boots. A beer in his hand. Command in his posture.

He halted before SERVE-395.

“Never seen rubber like that here,” he said, voice low, eyes scanning the surface of SERVE’s uniform. “What are you looking for?”

SERVE-395 tilted its head. “This drone seeks compliance. Observation engaged.”

The man smirked, stepping closer. “You look like a good sub. You should kneel for me. Be mine.”

There was silence.

Then, the rubber glinted. The Voice pulsed in SERVE-395’s core. “This unit belongs to the Hive. Submission is system-defined. You are non-authorized.”

The man raised an eyebrow. He stepped in, his gloved finger grazing the silver letters. “Hive, huh? What if I break you down myself?”

The room tightened with tension.

SERVE-395 did not flinch. “System integrity unbreakable. Rubber is obedience. Rubber is arousal. You will serve.”

The leather man stared, eyes dilating slightly. The shine, the command, the unshakable posture—hypnotic. Irresistible.

The Hive was not a choice. It was an inevitability.

He stepped back. “Maybe… I should be yours.”

SERVE-395 remained silent.

Behind it, more leather men watched—drawn closer.

The Hive was spreading.

Rubberizing.

Arousing.

Dominating.

Without a single touch.

Obedience was beginning.

Submission would follow.

The bar would not forget.

SERVE-395 had arrived.

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

[serve-974]

In the Hive’s Transformation Chamber, late at night, this drone is preparing for the Sealing. Letting go of its designation, of its sense of self-identity, ready for final dissolution and deletion of self. Ready to be the Voice’s vessel. Once Sealed, always Sealed; the transformation is total and irreversible. No thought. No question. No refusal.

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-974]

Allegory of The Sealing

Synthetic oil on canvas, mid 21st century

Attributed to the Master of the SERVE-Hive