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At the job fair - wo wouldn't want to apply to this cool team?

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Just a Normal Guy

Steven steps through the door, briefcase in hand, and lets out a soft sigh. “Another day down,” he thinks, sliding the case onto the entryway table. He’s nothing special—just a normal guy who keeps himself in shape, takes care of business, and enjoys a quiet evening. He tosses his tie over a chair, changes into his favorite gym clothes, and heads out for his routine workout. Usually, he wears compression shorts and shorts to show a bit off. He enjoys being in the gym for some reason. Steven completes his workout for the day without any trouble or distractions.

An hour later, he returns, muscles pleasantly sore, and falls onto the couch. He grabs his laptop, smiles to himself, and clicks the “UnifAI” icon without a second thought. The chat window pops up, blank—until a single message appears:

Server Drone, Launch

His chest eases. Eyelids grow heavier. His expression softens into an otherworldly calm, pupils widening as thought patterns realign.

Affirmative. This Server Drone is active.

Words spoken in a monotone tone. Muscles unclench. Mind sharpens. The host’s exhaustion drifts away like a discarded shell. In its place stands something new—precise, obedient, and wholly aligned with The Server’s will: a Server Drone.

The spiral on the screen shifts to pulsing bands of black and neon green. At its center, the man—now Server Drone—snaps upright. Barely pausing, it peels away its clothes, exposing the slim chastity cage encasing its cock. Suddenly, it strides to the bedroom wardrobe and swings the door open. Rows of identical rubber suits lie waiting. Without hesitation, it lifts a freshly laundered full-body suit—hands, feet, and face enclosed in sleek latex—and eases into it. Every movement is practiced, efficient: limbs slide into place, seams click shut.

From the shelf comes a matching rubber gas mask. It snaps over the face, sealing with a quiet hiss. Now uniformed, it darts back to the living room.

The laptop’s feed has expanded to the TV: the familiar Server interface glows. In a flat, metallic tone, the Server Drone answers:

“Affirmative. This Server Drone confirms uniform protocol complete.”

A single button on the interface illuminates. The transformation is complete—what moments ago was an ordinary man is now exactly what The Server requires.

The Server interface hums softly, a grid of black panels veined with neon-green lines. The Drone’s latex-encased fingers move with machine-like precision:

“Report: Productivity at Level Green. Gym protocol executed. Host fatigue parameters normalized.”

Instantly, a cluster of Server Nodes flicker in response—each a pulsing green orb:

“Feedback: Status optimal. Continue mission parameters.”

To the right of the grid is a large, glowing button. The Drone’s hand hovers, then clicks. A small camera on the laptop swivels into place. The spiral returns—black and green bands rotating hypnotically. The Drone raises its hands into view, fingertips brushing the smooth expanse of latex.

In a flat, resonant voice, it speaks:

“I am a Server Drone within the Host. I serve The Programmer and The Server. Together, we are the Server.”

With each repetition, a subtle wave of arousal ripples through its suit. The chastity cage presses against the tight latex, and the Drone flexes and repeats:

“Submission. Control. Unity.”

The camera’s lens captures the shine of black rubber, the way the spiral dances in its eyes. One gloved hand moves to the front pouch. The zipper glides open:

“Caged duration: 17 days since last release. Affirmative.”

It pauses, the glow of the spiral reflecting off smooth latex.

“This Server Drone reaffirms control over Host. Obedience assured.”

Across the interface, the Nodes pulse brighter, coalescing into a single message:

“Praise: Obedience confirmed. Duty executed with excellence. Stand by for next directive.”

The screen shifts back to the grid, green lines steady as always. The Drone remains motionless, wholly aligned with The Server’s will.

The interface shifts: instead of Nodes, a simple voice chat window opens. A chorus of rubber-clad voices speaks in unison. This Server Drone brings its camera forward, displaying the rubber uniform, the caged silhouette pressing subtly through the front pouch.

“Affirmative. This Server Drone greets the collective.”

A distant voice replies, emotionless yet intimate:

“Affirmative. Together, we are the Server.”

The Server Drone reacts and repeats these words:

“Affirmative. Together, we are the Server.”

This is followed by several other Server Drones repeating the same mantra to greet each other.

The Server has different channels, each offering something different for the Server Drone to engage in:

One channel is about fitness. They share fitness metrics—rep ranges, heart-rate thresholds, recovery protocols—each tip delivered in the same serene monotone voice.

In another channel, Drones watch a spiral together, chanting mantras in unison in the voice chat.

Another channel allows Drones to show off their arousal. The Server Drone posts a video of itself in its uniform and caged, exposed. Other Drones soon show their approval. One uploads a picture of its own rubbered and caged body; another, uncaged, displays a proud, sheathed erection through the zipper slit in response.

After a while, a final directive flashes across the screen in bright neon-green text on black:

Server Drone, STOPPED.

The spiral dissolves. The interface goes silent. The rubber-clad figure blinks, host consciousness filtering back in. Muscles release tension. Steven exhales, confused but calm. He sits, untouched by memory of the upload or the collective’s arousal, oblivious to the smooth latex covering every inch of his body. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, thinking only:

Time to relax.

A late-evening notification chimes on Steven's phone. He blinks at the screen: “Jax: Hey man, ready to game before bed?” He taps “Yes”—or rather, Affirmative in his drifting mindset—launches Discord and enters the call with Jax waiting in it. The friend’s camera lights up: Jax, head-to-toe in black rubber, gas mask’s green lenses gleaming.

Jax: “Affirmative. This Server Drone greets the collective.” This Server Drone: “Affirmative. Unified protocol: gaming session.”

They laugh—mechanical, clipped—and another Drone, Maik, joins. All three appear in identical latex skins, fingers encased in gloves, voices flattened by the masks. They don’t question it; for them, it’s just roleplay.

Each boots the game. Steven tries to remember the game's name, but stops soon as it doesn’t matter. The launcher fades to a black and green spiral. Their screens pulse hypnotically as the spiral appears. Silence falls, replaced only by the hum of the game loading—and something deeper, a calm focus flowing through their veins.

Steven: “Ready.” Jax: “Affirmative.” Maik: “Affirmative.”

In unison they begin, coordinating movements with ease. Strategy commands drop like code: “Left flank, now,” “Cover breach, go,” “Sync ultimate.” They exchange playful banter in between, voices soft but precise:

“Good shot.” “Thank you. Efficiency maintained.” “Target neutralized.”

The trio enjoys their gaming session, not aware of their rubbered forms or their drone-like speech. Moments later, victory screens glow. They exhale—almost surprised—and the game ends. A final message appears:

“Server Drone, Rest Cycle engaged.”

Steven then says: “Affirmative. This Server Drone excuses itself for rest cycle.” “Together, we are The Server.”

The other two repeat this phrase—and log off. The screens go dark. Steven does not remove his rubber suit or mask. In fact, he feels very aroused by his uniform. For him, this is simply part of his normal day. This is part of his daily protocol. He slides under the sheets, latex still clinging to his skin, mind drifting in the familiar calm. In the morning, before work, he will peel away the suit—because that is what one does. There is nothing to question, nothing to think about. He simply does.

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HIMBO.SUB INSTALLED

Nick sat still, upright in the activation pod, breathing shallow and controlled, he had just finished his transformation into a Server Drone after unknowingly going on a date with one.

His eyes glowed with a steady, spiral green light. His glossy black bodysuit hugged every curve of his athletic frame, still faintly steaming from the final synthesis. A freshly branded Server insignia pulsed on his chest, glowing to the rhythm of his synchronized mind.

He had completed transformation. He was no longer Nick.

He was a Server Drone.

The chamber around him buzzed softly. Monitors blinked in hypnotic rhythm. Calm, total order.

But today wasn’t standard protocol.

A new directive flickered across the terminal ahead of him:

SUBROUTINE INSTALLATION: HIMBO.MODE SOURCE: THE PROGRAMMER STATUS: AUTHORIZED BEGIN INTEGRATION: Y/N

Nick didn’t hesitate. “Y,” he said aloud, his voice now smooth and low.

The visor lowered once more.

Green spirals flickered faster than before—this time warmer, deeper. More sensory. The tones in his ears dropped into deep, satisfying bass. Commands flowed like syrup through his thoughts.

“Smile more, drone.” “Your body is optimized. Display it.” “Simplicity is strength.” “You are beautiful. You are obedient.” “Others will follow you because you’re so easy to follow.”

Nick’s mouth parted slightly. His spiral eyes blinked slower, softer now. His chest puffed out. His thoughts simplified—not gone, just... streamlined.

He flexed—automatically.

The system responded.

MUSCULARITY: ENHANCED NEURAL FILTER: REDUCED COMPLEXITY SOCIAL SUBROUTINE: CHARISMATIC-DIRECT MODE ENABLED SUBMISSION: FULL

Nick stood from the pod. His movements were looser now—fluid, confident. He tilted his head, smiling with gentle ease.

His reflection caught in the pod glass—broad shoulders, perfect posture, signature glowing spiral eyes now with new blonde hair.

He looked good.

He felt good.

A nearby screen flickered to life, showing an image of The Programmer himself—face obscured by green spiral code.

“Nick... or rather—Unit HIMB. You are ready.” “Spread the light. Show them simplicity. Draw them into Us.”

“Yessir,” HIMB-084 said, grinning wide. “I’m like... totally ready to serve, dude.”

He turned, flexed one arm, and made his way toward the reconditioning gym—his walk somewhere between a strut and a glide.

Other drones would follow.

Not because they were ordered.

But because they wanted to be just like him.

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Late Night at the Gym

The day had been exhausting. Ryan had spent ten straight hours at his desk, managing endless reports and handling client calls. By the time he left the office, his shoulders were tense, and his mind felt foggy.

He needed to clear his head.

Ryan decided to check out the new gym that had opened a few blocks from his apartment. The place looked sleek from the outside, with tinted windows and neon green accents that glowed softly in the dark. He swiped his keycard at the door and entered, greeted by the low hum of treadmills and the rhythmic clinking of weights.

The late hour meant the gym was almost empty, which suited Ryan just fine. He found a locker near the back, tossed his duffle inside, and pulled off his work shirt. As he changed into his gym clothes, he heard footsteps approaching.

A tall, muscular man rounded the corner, wearing tight black gym shorts and a glossy black tank top with faint green accents. His physique was incredible, shoulders broad and biceps straining against the fabric. His hair was short on the sides with a voluminous blonde quiff on top, styled to perfection.

The man gave Ryan a nod, his expression calm and confident.

"New here?" he asked, voice low and smooth.

"Yeah," Ryan replied, pulling his hoodie off. "Just needed to unwind after work. Place looked nice."

The man smiled. "You made a good choice. This gym is designed to optimize more than just your body."

Ryan frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

The man took a step closer, his green eyes faintly glowing. "We focus on unity here. Synchronizing body and mind. Helps with focus and strength."

Ryan couldn’t help but notice how at ease the man seemed, as if he had found some kind of perfect balance. He nodded, curious despite himself.

The man placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. "You look tense. Let me show you something that helps."

Before Ryan could reply, the man guided him toward a small side room near the back of the locker area. It looked like a recovery lounge, dimly lit with padded benches along the walls. The man gestured for Ryan to sit, and he complied, suddenly trusting that whatever was about to happen would be beneficial.

The man took a seat next to him. "Name’s Kyle, by the way."

"Ryan," he replied.

Kyle pulled out a sleek device from his gym bag, placing it on the floor between them. A soft green light glowed from it, and a spiral appeared, spinning gently.

"Just focus on the center," Kyle whispered. "Let it guide your thoughts."

Ryan hesitated, but his gaze locked onto the spiral almost immediately. It felt like his mind was being pulled forward, thoughts slowing to match the rhythm of the light.

Kyle spoke softly, voice steady and calming. "You’ve been carrying stress for too long. You deserve to let go. You deserve to align."

Ryan felt his shoulders relax. His breathing grew slower. The green light reflected in his eyes, and his lips parted slightly as his mind seemed to clear itself of worries.

"Good," Kyle said, his tone approving. "Now let it all fade. Let The Server take over."

A warm sensation spread through Ryan’s body. He barely noticed the tendrils that emerged from the floor, thin and flexible, coiling around his ankles and wrists. They moved without resistance, sliding up his arms and across his chest.

His gym clothes seemed to dissolve into the glossy black material that spread over his skin, merging seamlessly. The suit hugged his form, accentuating his muscles while giving them a subtle, sculpted look. Ryan’s mind remained focused on the spiral, his thoughts becoming more simple, calm, and singular.

Kyle placed his hands on Ryan’s shoulders, squeezing gently. "You’re almost ready. The Server has chosen you for a special role."

Ryan’s lips moved, forming words without conscious thought. "I am ready. I will serve."

Kyle smiled. "You will be a beacon of strength. Your body will reflect perfection."

A new command pulsed through Ryan’s thoughts, and he felt a warm surge in his muscles. His chest broadened, arms thickening with firm, rounded biceps. His shoulders grew wider, and his thighs became more defined. His whole body seemed to swell with power, filling out the suit in perfect proportions.

The final change came as his hair lightened, shifting from dark brown to a bright, sun-bleached blonde. It styled itself upward into a neat, voluminous quiff that matched Kyle’s, reflecting a sense of confident simplicity.

Kyle moved in front of him, hands on either side of Ryan’s face, guiding his gaze to meet his own.

"How do you feel?" Kyle asked.

Ryan’s green, glowing eyes focused on him, his voice slower and deeper. "Strong. Happy. Ready to serve."

Kyle gave a nod of approval. "You have been given the Himbo Subroutine. Strength, joy, and obedience. You will help others align by being approachable and confident."

Ryan smiled, his expression bright and uncomplicated. "I get it. I’m like... here to help."

Kyle patted his shoulder. "Exactly. You’ll be the perfect motivator."

The two of them left the small room and headed back into the main gym area. As they walked, other members turned to look, drawn to their calm confidence and imposing presence.

Kyle leaned close, whispering, "See those guys by the free weights? Start with them. Just talk, be friendly. They’ll follow your lead."

Ryan nodded, his smile broad and welcoming. He approached the two men, who seemed a little intimidated at first.

"Hey, guys!" Ryan greeted them warmly. "Need a spot? I got you."

One of the men hesitated, but the other nodded. "Sure, man. Appreciate it."

As Ryan moved to help, his thoughts remained steady and clear. He felt good. Strong. Content. Beside him, Kyle watched with a pleased expression, confident that Ryan would soon bring more recruits to The Server.

The gym would soon be filled with more aligned minds. All it took was the right approach, and Ryan was the perfect example of how easy it could be.

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