After an unexpected promotion at work, Adam went out to celebrate with colleagues. The celebration wasn't extravagant, just a few drinks at the local, some casual congratulations, and then a string of oddly named cocktails handed to him by friendly strangers. Bitter, Metallic. One even shimmered like oil. But Adam didn't question it. Promotions were rare in the company and he'd earned his. The night passed in a haze.
He dreamt of machines, humming tones, and a deep methodical voice that wasn't his.
Then Adam woke to something cold. At first he thought he'd spilled water, but the sensation was too smooth, too deliberate. His skin felt lubricated. Artificial.
He threw back the duvet and froze.
Think, black liquid covered his legs, pooling beneath him. Not liquid exactly, it moved, clung, <b>climbed</b>. A shifting latex-like substance was crawling up his thighs and abdomen, inch by inch, like it had a purpose. Like it had instructions.
He tried to move his legs but nothing happened.
The oily, cold substance wrapped tighter around his torso, as if reacting to his attempted defiance, sealing to his skin with a wet, hissing pressure. As it moved, his body responded in unnatural ways, muscles flexed and swelled, becoming more refined. His chest thickened into muscular pecs. Arousal flickered through the fear.
Adam's breath came faster. His eyes darted across the room for help, he was alone.
Then a tendril of the black mass uncoiled from his chest and snapped towards his face. Slithering like a snake up the side of his neck, before piercing his ear canal like liquid wire. The cold sensation throbbed through his mind as a voice began to speak in hushed tones.
"Relax, Adam. Let the promotion take over. You've worked hard. You've earned this."
It voice was oddly familiar. Shaun. His boss. Calm. Cold. Commanding.
"You've always had.... potential. This is your next step. No more decisions. No more doubt. You will become more."
Adam tried to scream but more tendrils reached up and climbed into his mouth, over his forehead, covered his eyes. He desperately clawed at the oily substance trying to break free yet his arms and hands began to feel cold, distant, unresponsive.
The voice grew louder, now pulsing with an unmistakable rhythm, like it was syncing with his thoughts.
He attempted to shake his head as his arms fell back to the bed.
Ready for more, Drone? Read Part 2 and witness Adam's full conversion into the Drone Hive.
Part 2
