Head Outfitter, greasuh thug, team silver for life

Hamza Gold had been feeling out of sorts lately.. Despite the Yuletide season and the cheerful attitude of those around him he couldn't help but feel depressed like his life was missing something crucial. he still participated in practices and scrimmages with his teammates in the Golden Army but even is Captain noticed something was wrong and despite everyone doing their best to try and cheer him up nothing seemed to work. it was one day after one of these scrimmages that you decided to go to a local bar and try to drink away his troubles.. "Tough day?" Said a random guy sitting a few seats down from him at the bar.

"More like a tough year honestly.. I wish I could feel proud of myself for my accomplishments but I just... can't seem to care." he responded dejectedly. "It's not that I don't want to feel good about it, and it's not like I haven't done plenty to be proud of, I just look around me and everyone on the team is either slowly being turned into some mindless black polo shirt wearing drone who think of themselves is nothing but a number in a crowd, or just a soccer player slave for their coach. When I joined the GA, I thought it was more of a brotherhood, people working to bring out the best in each other and win like a team, ya know? But now? It's like the team is just a cover for some kind of sick cult.. I love my golden brothers and my captain, but I just feel so uneasy being part of something that thinks eating someone's identity to bend them to the erotic desires of its Captain is... not me..." Hamza said as he took another several chugs of his beer setting down the empty glass on the counter before demanding another before finishing that one off too.

"Hey I know that feeling all too well, I just got out of a rather toxic relationship myself recently and to be bent over and have your identity rewritten down to it's very foundation doesn't exactly feel good. because once you realize just how toxic the relationship is shared the question who you are in relation to that.. started question if the person that your captain made you is the person you really want to be or what he thinks is the right path for you. You're lost and don't know which way is up you don't know who you are or where you want to be or why you even started to follow the captain in the first place am I right?

Hamza lifted his head and looked at the stranger getting the first real look at the guy giving him the first real truthful conversation he's had in months, rather than the endless "support" and platitudes promise teammates. Did he really want to be Gold or was that just another suggestion planted into his head by Captain Gold...

Etched on the handsome man's face was a look of genuine concern like this complete stranger actually cared about him. But why should he, Hamza wondered, he didn't even know the guy, so why does he care so much?

"You're probably wondering why I care so much? How could I care about a complete stranger I've never met before? Fact is, I used to be like you a while back, until a very wise man gave me a piece of advice that I'll never forget and never be able to repay him for." the guy said setting down his drink and extending a handshake to him. "I'm Roxas, Roxas Silver, I'm judging by your kid you must be Hamza gold. what if I told you that I am part of a similar group to your own?"

Another group.... like mine? What do you mean? Hamza asked as the curious man in soccer got to his feet and gestured for him to follow as he headed for the men's room in the back of the bar, weaving his way through the crowded sports bar. He has trouble keeping up with Roxas but eventually made out through the throng into the strangely silent bathroom. He put his ear to the door and despite the rowdiness of the crowd outside you couldn't hear a single sound through the doorway. As if that wasn't weird enough he turned around and looked through the now empty bathroom for a sign of the man that led him there, to no avail.

"Roxas, are you here? Hello?"

Hamza Gold leaned against the cool tiles of the sports bar bathroom, staring blankly at his reflection in the smudged mirror. The golden soccer jersey he wore—a remnant of his childhood dreams—felt heavier than ever. Just a few years ago, he was celebrated on the field, dribbling past defenders with ease and scoring goals that left the crowd in awe. Now, life had dealt him a hand of disappointment, burying him beneath layers of self-doubt and depression. With a deep breath, he splashed water on his face as laughter and cheers from the main bar seeped in through the door. A local match was on, drawing in a lively crowd that seemed to thrive on the excitement he had lost. The intense camaraderie among the players often made him feel like an outsider, as if the team was more of a cult than a group of friends. They shared secrets, rituals, and insider jokes that Hamza struggled to understand, deepening his sense of isolation. Every time he stepped onto the field, the pressure to perform overshadowed his love for the game. He battled not only the expectations of his teammates but also his own inner critic, which whispered relentless messages of inadequacy. During practice, he would watch as the other players seemed to effortlessly execute complex plays, while he felt as if he were lagging behind. Moments of success were fleeting, overshadowed by the voice in his head that questioned his worth and ability. Despite their outward support, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong, fueling his anxiety and spiraling him deeper into despair. He splashed some more water on his face and pulled himself out of this funk as he searched the bathroom again. Strangely, though he looked in every stall, there was nobody but him there, and yet, in the last stall there was a familiar silver soccer jersey hung up on the back of the door. "Wait this is the jersey Roxas was wearing, but why is it here and where did he go? There's no windows for him to crawl out of, its almost like he just.... disappeared..."

The golden bar is alive with a quiet hum of purpose, a sanctuary for the Hive’s elite. ✨ Standing under the gilded glow is a Polo Drone, its chiseled form clad in the unmistakable black and gold rubber uniform. 🖤 Every detail of his outfit gleams under the soft light, from the perfectly polished Fred Perry crest on his chest to the taut shine of his fitted trousers. His masked face hides his expression, but the way he carries himself—confident, controlled—leaves no doubt about his authority within the Hive.

This is no ordinary bar. It is a nexus of transformation, where the obedient gather to reaffirm their dedication and where newcomers are quietly evaluated for their potential. 🌀 The atmosphere is thick with the scent of rubber and the faint metallic tang of power, a cocktail that intoxicates the senses. Drones exchange whispered words, their voices low and hypnotic, as if speaking aloud the Hive’s unspoken commands. Each movement is deliberate, each interaction a carefully choreographed dance of submission and authority.

The Drone at the bar rests one gloved hand on the sleek surface, his posture radiating both strength and allure. He glances to the side, his visor catching the golden light, as if sensing the eyes that can’t help but linger on him. He knows the effect he has. The bar itself, with its mirrored surfaces and glowing accents, feels like an altar, and he stands before it as a priest of rubberized perfection.

Here, loyalty is solidified, and curiosity is ignited. Strangers drawn by the golden promise often find themselves unable to leave, their fascination turning to desire, and desire into devotion. The Hive’s pull is inescapable, and this bar is its glittering heart. Will you approach the Drone and surrender to the Hive’s allure, or will you linger in the shadows, drawn but unready to submit? 🖤

Just give in It feels so much better when you stop resisting

Stop thinking

Just do it

Just admit that you want to obey

That you want to serve

That you want to surrender

That you are a mindless Obedient Submissive Toy

Who craves someone to control

RECRUITMENT DRIVE

The Hive moves as one. 🖤 The streets shimmer under the neon glow, but it’s the three Polo Drones who dominate the night. Drones 001, 015, and 016 stride with unmatched precision, their glossy black Fred Perry rubber uniforms reflecting the city lights like polished obsidian. 💪 Their golden laurels catch the light, a testament to their loyalty and submission, while their faces remain hidden behind sleek black masks, intensifying their aura of mystery and control.

Every step they take is deliberate, synchronized, as if driven by an unseen force. The Hive’s influence radiates from them, their powerful physiques encased in perfection, their presence both commanding and hypnotic. ⚡ You can almost hear the faint creak of their uniforms as they move, their gloved hands at the ready, their eyes shielded yet all-seeing. They are enforcers of focus, guardians of the Hive’s mission, and living embodiments of dedication.

The city belongs to them tonight. Every glance they draw, every head they turn, adds to the Hive’s reach. Their purpose is clear: to recruit, to inspire, to convert. As they pass, you feel the pull—a deep yearning to fall in line, to match their strength, their unity, their perfection. Could you resist their call, or would you surrender to the golden laurel’s promise of transformation? 🌀

The Hive never stops expanding, and its Drones are always watching. Perhaps tonight is your night to join them. ✨

The fire crackles softly, casting a warm glow over the cabin, but the true heat comes from them. 🔥 Draped in glossy black latex, their bodies shine as if molded from obsidian. 🖤 The thick, plush rug beneath them matches the warmth of their laughter—a rare intimacy in a world of perfection. Kneeling together, their muscles ripple under the tight embrace of their second skin, every curve highlighted by the flickering flames. ✨

Their hands rest on one another’s shoulders, fingers gliding over smooth latex, sharing a bond that feels almost electric. ⚡ Their smiles, genuine and unguarded, break the room’s silence, an antidote to the night’s chill. You imagine the scent of leather and the creak of rubber as they shift, their perfectly sculpted bodies pressing closer. They’re untouchable yet inviting, gods of strength wrapped in vulnerability.

The fire’s glow dances off their suits, reflecting passion, connection, and the seductive allure of their shared world. You can almost feel the warmth of their skin through the latex, almost hear the whispered secrets that pass between them. 🫦 Would you dare to join their circle, to feel that same heat against your own body? Or would you watch from afar, consumed by desire?

One spark of imagination is all it takes to bring this world to life. Make it yours today. 🔗

"Wanna earn a pack of Reds again, lad?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. The get to work. But remember lad, no teeth this time."

Hey! Stop scrolling for a second.

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Mindless.

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