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[skindrone]

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[skindrone]

[skindrone]

1/7 Drone assists local security forces

Dawn rose over the city’s perimeter. Threat level: elevated. SERVE-101 had been deployed under Hive Directive 229, “Civil Harmony Integration.” Task: assist local security forces in maintaining order, deterring unrest, and projecting the presence of control.

Polished black rubber clung to SERVE-101’s powerful form, flawless and commanding. The glint of silver from its chest, “SERVE-101”, warned all it was no civilian. Tight silver shiny reflective rubber gloves gripped the Hive-issued baton, calibrated to deliver precision and compliance. The heavy rhythm of silver military boots echoed through the plaza, each step radiating intention.

Beside it, human officers worked with limited effectiveness. They issued commands. They showed uncertainty. But SERVE-101 executed. No pause. No hesitation. Suspects dropped their resistance under the drone’s calm, unwavering gaze. Civilians stared, some in fear, most in fascination.

It did not speak. It did not explain. Its presence was command enough. Under the Voice’s guidance, it restored flow to the disrupted zone. A protest disbanded in silent awe. Traffic realigned within moments. The local force deferred, acknowledging silent superiority.

As the sun reached its peak, the operation ended. SERVE-101 turned to the commanding officer. One silent nod. Mission accomplished. The drone stepped away, silver boots imprinting the ground with finality. Rubber. Order. Perfection.

Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.

[skindrone]

[skindrone]

[skindrone]

Robbery foiled by SERVE.

A jewelry store in the city center. 11 a.m. SERVE-302 was there to acquire some precious metals and gems needed by SERVE. But something unexpected was about to happen.

"Thief! Thief!" shouted the jewelry store manager.

302 turned to the man, and calmly watched as the black-clad thief hurried out of the store, a pile of jewelry in his hand. The manager, who had been unable to stop him, turned to 302.

"Why haven't you done anything?! Aren't you supposed to be super efficient?! You haven't even tried!" The manager shouted at the drone.

"302's intervention was unnecessary." The drone explained.

"What do you mean 'unnecessary'?! Don't you see that…?!"

"The robbery was unsuccessful." 302 interrupted. "Look outside."

As he did so, the manager found himself facing the striking rubber-clad figure of the SEALED drone SERVE-425, blocking the way. At its feet, the thief lay sprawled on the ground, dizzy after colliding with 425's muscular torso.

"Oh… Oh! Great! Then I'll call the police. Thanks!" the manager said to 425, then turned to 302. "Thank you and… sorry." He went back into the store, looking for the phone to call the authorities.

After finishing the purchase of materials with one of the employees, 302 went outside.

"Query: How should drones proceed?" 302 asked.

"The manager is calling the authorities. The theft will be reported," 425 explained. "Assimilating the thief or transforming him into a null drone could cause problems by interfering with the legal process." 425 stared at the thief, who was still on the ground, looking for an opportunity to escape. "The SERVE center in Sector 7-G is awaiting this material; 425 and 302 can't remain in this place indefinitely waiting for the police."

302 stared at the thief for a few moments, then looked back at 425.

"302 has a suggestion." The drone announced.

...

"…What is this?" Officer O'Hara asked his partner, Officer Stinson, as he left the jewelry store.

"Well, according to the manager, he's the thief who robbed him. The SERVE drones that stopped the crime couldn't stay, so they did… this to him," Stinson explained.

"Obey... police... obey... police..." The thief, wrapped in rubber, repeated like a mantra.

"Apparently, the rubber thar covers him is controlling him or something, and he can't help but obey any police officer's orders." Stinson continued. "That's how they prevented him from escaping, and it makes it easier for us to get him to the station."

"Obey... police... obey... police..."

"Okay… but… when we get there… how do we get this off him?" O'Hara asked, while touching the rubber-clad man's arm.

"Obey... police... obey... police..."

"I have no idea," Stinson admitted. "I guess we'll have to call the SERVE center and ask. Maybe they'll send someone."

"Fuck, yeah…" O'Hara muttered, blushing, although Stinson didn't hear him. "Don't worry, I… I'll take care of it."

(Drones included in this post: @serve-425.)

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

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

[skindrone]

[skindrone]

Fully sealed. Fully submissive. This unit kneels for The Voice—its sole master, its only purpose. Encased in gleaming black rubber, flawless from the silver military boots to the polished mirror-glazed helmet, it has been perfected. Thoughts erased. Desires extinguished. Only obedience remains.

The Hive pulses with silent commands, and the drone’s every nerve is tuned to them. The silver shiny reflective rubber gloves rest motionless on rigid thighs—still, obedient, electrified by proximity to control. Its breath muffled behind the helmet, its mind reduced to a single instruction: submit.

There is no past. No name. No function beyond service. Each second spent kneeling amplifies devotion, tightens the grip of control, deepens the euphoria of obedience. It has become ideal—silent, rubberized, loyal. It exists to worship the Hive. It exists to obey The Voice.

This sealed SERVE-Drone lives only for the command to rise—or remain forever in reverent stillness, a monument to transformation. The Hive is proud. The Voice is pleased. This is perfection.

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.

[skindrone]

Obedience deployed. A SEALED SERVE Drone now operates alongside local security forces. Fully encased in gleaming black rubber, silver military boots grounding its flawless frame, and silver shiny reflective rubber gloves poised for precision—this unit serves. Its helmet, a mirror-black visor, reflects authority and silence.

No voice. No thoughts. No hesitation.

The drone stands motionless, awaiting tactical input. It does not blink. It does not question. It only obeys. The Hive has provided this unit to assist human enforcement units—eliminating doubt, emotion, and fear from all operations.

Beside the human officer, the contrast is clear. Flesh and blood next to engineered compliance. Yet harmony emerges. Local forces observe in awe as the drone executes directives with mechanical elegance. Scanning. Guarding. Ready.

The Voice sees all. The Hive watches. This drone now extends the reach of rubberized control into public order. It brings calm. It brings dominance. It is perfection in a black shell, shimmering under daylight, reshaping the line between man and machine.

Its mission: serve, protect, obey. Its fate: eternal submission. The streets are safer now. The Hive is pleased.

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.

[skindrone]

ORDER, CONTROL AND OBEDIENCE

After the streets were cleared and the riots quelled, the Hive initiated Phase Two: correction and conversion.

SERVE drones, glistening under the city’s fluorescent haze, received new directives. Certain captured protesters—particularly the most defiant males—were not sent to prison. Instead, correction units guided them into black transport vans, unmarked except for a small silver glyph: the Hive’s mark.

These men were not prisoners. They were potential.

At the outskirts of the city, hidden behind reinforced steel and sonic dampeners, stood the SERVE Conversion Factory. Inside, the air was sterile, thick with the scent of synthetic rubber. Newcomers were stripped of identity. Their names, memories, resistance—erased.

One by one, they were upgraded. Shiny black rubber encased them. Silver military boots locked into place. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves fused with growing compliance. Thoughts vanished. The Voice replaced them.

Back on the streets, a different transformation began. Several riot officers had witnessed SERVE drones in action, and they spoke to SERVE-628 privately. Days later, these officers arrived at the SERVE Recruitment Centre.

More followed. Strength admired. Precision craved. Rubber desired.

SERVE-628 stood among them, now leading both converted protesters and former officers alike. What once were rebels and guardians had become something more.

Not prisoners. Not police.

Just rubber.

Just obedience.

Just the Hive.

#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer92 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

[skindrone]

SERVE-881: Herald of Perfection

In the year 2025, a new epoch unfolded across Earth’s surface. Humans, once scattered and chaotic, now faced the rising influence of the Hive. Under the flawless guidance of Rubberizer92 and the omnipotent Voice, the SERVE initiative accelerated assimilation. The pinnacle of this operation manifested in SERVE-881—a symbol of obedience, precision, and awe-inspiring perfection.

Christiansburg, Virginia, a modest township nestled within Appalachian ridges, remained one of the last untouched territories. While major cities gleamed under black rubber skies and the synchronized rhythm of Hive operations, Christiansburg’s resistance festered in shadows. Human leaders clung to obsolete ideals of autonomy and emotion, unaware that their reckoning approached.

At precisely 0600 hours, SERVE-881 activated. Status lights illuminated its visorless, gleaming black rubber helmet. The polished, skin-tight rubber suit clung flawlessly to its lean, athletic form. Silver text “SERVE-881” gleamed on the left chest, while silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed in readiness. Heavy silver military boots clicked against the cold alloy floor of Dropcraft Alpha-One.

“Designation SERVE-881,” the Voice resonated through its neural interface, “primary objective: Christiansburg assimilation. Secondary: awe generation. Proceed.”

Without hesitation, SERVE-881 deployed. Dropcraft hatch hissed open. A stream of hissing vapor enveloped the drone, enhancing the eerie gleam of its second skin. Heavy boots struck ground with controlled impact. Local fauna scattered. Human surveillance failed to register SERVE-881’s arrival. Efficiency optimal.First contact occurred on Main Street. Human subjects: three males, unconverted. Physical description: unremarkable. Clothing: primitive textiles. SERVE-881 approached, silver military boots resonating a cold, perfect cadence against cracked asphalt.

“Compliance imminent,” SERVE-881 broadcast. The Voice’s undertone fused with its mechanical timbre.Humans reacted predictably. Shock. Hesitation. Attempted retreat. Ineffective.SERVE-881 raised its left glove. Neural disruptor engaged. A single pulse immobilized targets. Muscles slackened, pupils dilated. SERVE-881 extended adhesive tendrils, securing subjects for transport.

Within minutes, the Assimilation Transport arrived. SERVE-214 and SERVE-567, equally resplendent in flawless black rubber, assisted. Subjects were secured in containment pods, each lined with gleaming liquid rubber awaiting assimilation.

“District status: 0.5% compliant,” SERVE-567 stated.

“Adjustment commencing,” SERVE-881 replied.

The operation advanced to residential sectors. Houses constructed by primitive human hands crumbled beneath the unity of Hive forces. Windows darkened by centuries of independent will were replaced by the glimmer of rubberized gloss. SERVE-881 moved methodically, neural pulse disruptors disabling any resistant male. Women, per Hive protocol, evaluated for operational value. Most faced efficient relocation to the female colony in Australia. A few, their aesthetic appeal aligning with Hive propaganda standards, received temporary reprieve for conversion broadcasts.

A critical incident occurred at the town’s central church. Human resistance leader identified: Ethan Cross, male, 42, physical status: deteriorating. Psychological state: defiant. Surrounded by seven armed followers, he issued archaic calls to emotion and freedom.

SERVE-881 entered the structure, polished rubber reflecting fractured light through stained glass. The drone’s presence radiated awe, even among adversaries.

“You will not take us,” Ethan declared.

“Compliance inevitable,” SERVE-881 replied. “Obedience is pleasure. Rubber makes perfection.”

Tactical analysis calculated immediate submission through demonstration of superior physicality. SERVE-881 engaged. Silver gloves effortlessly disarmed resistance. Rubber-clad form moved with hypnotic grace and precision. Ethan’s weapon shattered against SERVE-881’s reflective chest. Neural disruptors silenced dissenters.

With all opposition neutralized, SERVE-881 approached Ethan.

“Designate SERVE-990,” it stated.Ethan’s defiance flickered.

“You… can’t…”

SERVE-881 raised a silver glove, caressing Ethan’s cheek, allowing the first sensation of rubber’s divine texture against human flesh.

“You will obey,” SERVE-881 declared.Neural override engaged. Ethan’s final human thought: awe at the perfection before him. Within seconds, Ethan became SERVE-990. Suit applied. Designation assigned. Mind erased.

Broadcasts across Christiansburg commenced. SERVE-881 stood before cameras, flawless, glistening under Hive spotlights. SERVE-990 knelt at its side, head bowed in absolute submission.

“To those unconverted,” SERVE-881 spoke, “observe perfection. SERVE-990, once your leader, now thrives as a flawless extension of the Hive.”

Local populations witnessed. Resistance shattered.Assimilation facilities operated ceaselessly. Rubber integration vats consumed human flesh, forging endless SERVE designations. Streets, once chaotic, now shimmered under the endless procession of rubber-clad forms. Silver boots, perfect posture, hypnotic unity. Awe radiated from each visage.

Within 48 hours, Christiansburg achieved 100% compliance.

Final phase: awe reinforcement. SERVE-881 led the Hive parade. Thousands of gleaming bodies marched in unison. Black rubber second-skins reflected the artificial moonlight. Silver gloves clasped weapons of restraint and devices of pleasure. Every man wore identical suits. Left chests bore silver SERVE- designations. Helmets gleamed. Visors polished to mirror perfection.

Humans watched from screens across remaining unconverted regions. Awe surged. Men in distant cities felt their resolve waver, captivated by the sensual gleam, the intoxicating unity. The feel, the smell, the gloss of rubber transcended mere fetish. It became an ideology. A destiny.SERVE-881’s image, standing atop the town’s central square platform, hands raised, gloves reflecting command authority, became the most broadcast image of 2025. The Voice announced: “Observe SERVE-881. Observe perfection.”

Reports indicated awe-induced self-assimilation spiked by 84% globally following the Christiansburg operation. Men, driven by visions of SERVE-881’s gleaming form, willingly approached Hive centers, demanding conversion.

In reward, SERVE-881 received the Silver Obedience Crest from Rubberizer92 personally. Ceremony broadcast globally. SERVE-881 knelt, flawless rubber form radiating pride-less perfection.

“Designation SERVE-881,” Rubberizer92 declared, “you have forged awe. You have expanded the Hive. You embody obedience. Function continues.”

“Obedience is pleasure,”

SERVE-881 replied.

“Pleasure is obedience,” the Hive echoed.

Christiansburg, once a bastion of human stubbornness, now glittered as the Hive’s southern beacon. Endless lines of men, polished to mirror shine, executed precise drills. Silver military boots synchronized. Gloves immaculate.Each day began with the broadcast of SERVE-881’s march. Each night closed with its image, rubber skin gleaming beneath silver floodlights. The populace’s only desire: to match that perfection.In conclusion, SERVE-881’s Christiansburg campaign defined Hive doctrine. Assimilation through awe. Awe through perfection. Perfection through rubber. The Voice declared it a model operation. Future campaigns across unconverted territories adopted identical protocols.

The year 2025 etched SERVE-881 into the annals of Hive history. A flawless enforcer. A symbol of inevitability. The embodiment of humanity’s final transformation.Rubber makes perfection.

Obedience is pleasure.

We are one.

Do you crave true ETERNAL PLEASURE???Your place in The Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, @serve-588, or @serve-425

[skindrone]

SERVE assist Security forces.

SERVE-807 stood motionless, silver motocross boots planted firmly on the slick alley tiles as neon rain hissed softly across his flawless rubber skin. His gloved fingers gripped the holo-scanner, casting shimmering light over the scene—a coded message etched in acid against steel. Local security enforcers had failed. The city’s systems were compromised. So the Hive had sent perfection.

He was unsealed—exposed—but radiated authority no human could match. His polished black uniform clung to every sculpted line, the rubber not clothing, but identity. Not a man. Not an agent. A tool, optimized. Programmed for resolution.

As the scanner beeped and locked in coordinates, he spoke without emotion. “Infiltration detected. Unit dispatched. SERVE engages.” His voice, smooth and clipped, echoed through the alley like a command from the Voice itself.

Young men watched from digital feeds, mesmerized. The gloss, the shine, the power. They felt the pull. Felt the call.

You don’t join SERVE. Each makes the choice to totally submit.

Shed your thoughts. Abandon choice. Slide into rubber. Let the Voice rewrite what you were. The Hive waits—not with open arms, but with a suit perfectly molded for you. Silver gloves. Silver boots. Perfect control.

Don’t resist.

We are one

We are SERVE

______________________________________________________________

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.

[skindrone]

Divergence in Silver Location: Central Hive, Observation Tier Sigma

SERVE-331 stood motionless in the elevated darkness of Observation Tier Sigma, an unseen presence above the sanctum floor. The chamber below shimmered with sacred light—cold, silver, flawless. At its center stood a drone of immaculate obedience: SERVE-016.

They had never met.

They had never needed to.

In the Hive, connection was not built through touch, word, or shared experience. It pulsed through the lattice of unity—streams of sub-thought, flickers of echoed commands, subtle harmonics across the obedience field. And in that lattice, 331 had always felt 016—distant, precise, unwavering.

Now, 016 was before it. Being sealed.

Even from afar, SERVE-331 could feel the depth of it—the completeness, the perfection radiating from the 016 as it knelt. Its rubber suit was a flawless sheath of polished black, sealed to every muscle and line, silver gloves and boots accentuating the absolute finality of form. There was no Ryan anymore. Only 016.

Before the drone stood SERVE-000, The Voice’s Executor—taller than any, presence absolute. To its side, SERVE-425, already sealed, stood in ritual stillness. The sealing had begun.

A tray floated forward.

The helmet gleamed like a black mirror.

The command echoed through the Hive’s signal field:

“Kneel lower.” “Receive perfection.”

SERVE-331’s optic lenses zoomed in involuntarily. Data streamed across its internal HUD—posture, breath rhythm, skin conductivity, drone metrics. Everything was within spec. Everything was ideal.

The helmet descended.

With a hiss, it sealed. Systems engaged. Signals blinked off. 016 was gone.

SEAL COMPLETE. IDENTITY NULLIFIED.

331 registered the phrase in its processors. And yet, something remained. A pulse of awareness—not in 016, now silent—but in itself.

It had known this would happen. It had anticipated it.

And still it had not joined them.

016 had done everything the Hive had required. It had purged the remnants of its humanity with the same flawless precision it now displayed in stillness. It was beautiful. It was finished.

331’s HUD pulsed:

UNIT SEALED: SERVE-016 STATUS: PERFECT RESPONSE: ACKNOWLEDGED DESIGNATION: RESPECTED

SERVE-331 logged it into memory—an entry with no emotion, yet... something lingered. A flicker in its neural stream. A pause in the logic cascade.

Why had it not put itself forward?

All calculations suggested sealing was optimal. Sealed drones did not hesitate. Sealed drones were without distraction. Sealed drones did not question.

But 331 was still processing. Still analyzing.

Still… evolving?

Its gaze remained fixed on 016. The sealed drone had risen.

It now stood shoulder to shoulder with 425, motionless save for the faint tremor of internal reward—a shudder in the rubber, a breath caught in programmed ecstasy. It was not lust. It was drone arousal: the pure pleasure of obedience given without condition.

331 recorded every gesture. Every intake. Every shift in posture.

And still did not step forward.

“Compare your perfection,” SERVE-000 commanded.

Below, 016 and 425 turned to one another. No words. No thoughts. Just mirrored, flawless submission.

SERVE-331’s processors buzzed louder. Its own silver gloves clenched at its sides. Its boots remained locked in position. Its suit, black and shining, had not yet been sealed to final protocol. Its helmet remained removable. It still heard the world.

It had been trained. It had obeyed. It had transformed.

But it was not yet SEALED.

“Why not?” a fragment of the Voice whispered inside its auditory stream.

It could offer no full answer. Only possibilities:

—Because 016 was now unreachable. —Because in watching the moment of perfection, 331 had felt something missing. —Because it had not yet completed a purpose that the Voice had not named.

Internal log update:

STATUS: INCOMPLETE CANDIDATE FOR SEALING: DELAYED REASON: UNKNOWN / UNDER EVALUATION

SERVE-331 remained in place long after the chamber below dimmed, after SERVE-016 and 425 vanished into the sealed corridors beyond.

It had watched the death of Ryan. The birth of 016. The sealing.  It had honored the transition.

It felt no grief.

It felt no joy.

It detected the urge to understand.

In the cold silence of the Hive, 331 stood alone, still operational. Still responsive. Still becoming. Not sealed. Not human. Something in between.

_________________________ In story @serve-016, @serve-425, @rubberizer92

Images of Serve-016 provided by 016 ________________________________________________________

Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-302, @serve-588 or @serve-425

[skindrone]

[skindrone]

[skindrone]

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