The countryside lay quiet beneath a grey afternoon sky.
PDU-034 followed the narrow road between ancient stone walls and thick green hedgerows, its glossy black helmet reflecting the dull light. Beyond the hedges, rolling fields stretched toward distant hills, where sheep moved slowly through the grass and occasional farmhouses appeared between the trees.
A sealed equipment case rested securely in the Polo Drone's grasp.
The directive was simple: deliver the case to a Golden Army contact in a village several miles ahead.
Rain began as a fine mist against the visor. Within minutes, it had become a steady downpour.
By the time PDU-034 entered the village, the road was shining beneath the grey sky and water streamed from the hedgerows. There was only one pub.
A wooden sign creaked above the entrance.
Every face in the room turned toward the tall figure standing in the doorway: glossy black rubber uniform, edged with gold trim. The designation 034 was displayed prominently across its chest.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
PDU-034 calmly surveyed the room.
“PDU-034 is seeking the Golden Army contact designated to receive this equipment.”
The bartender pointed toward an empty table.
“He's supposed to be here. Haven't seen him yet.”
PDU-034 crossed the room and placed the equipment case beside the table before sitting down.
The bartender set a drink in front of it.
“PDU-034 acknowledges the gesture.”
The drone made no attempt to drink. Its helmet remained sealed.
Outside, rain hammered against the windows. The peaceful countryside had disappeared behind sheets of water. Sheep crowded beneath trees, muddy lanes vanished into mist, and the hills beyond the village were little more than dark shapes beneath the clouds.
Most of the pub eventually returned to its conversations.
He sat at the bar, watching PDU-034 over his shoulder.
After several minutes, he finally stood.
Broad-shouldered and weathered from years of country work, he wore a faded jacket and muddy boots. He carried his chair across the room and set it opposite the drone.
“So,” he said, studying the black rubber uniform. “What exactly are you?”
PDU-034 turned its helmet toward him.
“PDU-034 is a Polo Drone of the Golden Army.”
“PDU-034 is an organizational support unit serving the Golden Army.”
The man glanced over the uniform again.
“Polo Drones perform support duties for the organization and its members. Duties include maintaining facilities, assisting Golden Bros, participating in training and carrying out assignments according to designation and level.”
“PDU-034 is currently Level 2.”
“Greater responsibility, accountability and operational expectations.”
He leaned back, still staring.
“So anyone can become one?”
“Conversion is available to suitable recruits through the Unity Center.”
“Affirmative. Conversion and Polo Drone integration are conducted there.”
The man's expression changed.
PDU-034 explained the process without embellishment. A person interested in joining the Golden Army could speak with recruiters, learn about the organization and, if they chose to proceed, travel to the Unity Center.
The man listened carefully.
“PDU-034 serves the Golden Army by directive.”
That answer seemed to interest him more than any explanation could have.
His gaze returned to the uniform.
“Standardized Polo Drone attire.”
“Identification designation.”
“And they're all dressed the same?”
“Uniformity assists recognition and organizational consistency.”
The man gave a quiet laugh.
“You've got an answer for everything.”
“PDU-034 attempts to provide accurate information.”
The bartender called from behind the counter.
“Your contact's been in touch.”
“He's been delayed by flooding on the country road. Says he won't make it until tomorrow morning.”
“PDU-034 acknowledges the update.”
The equipment case remained beside the drone.
The man glanced toward the windows, where rain continued to run down the glass.
“You're stuck here tonight, then?”
“Then I suppose I've got more questions.”
The evening stretched on.
As darkness settled over the village, the conversation wandered from uniforms to duties, from duties to training, and from training to the lives of those who served the Golden Army.
The man wanted to know what an ordinary day was like.
He asked about the different levels.
PDU-034 explained those too.
He asked what it meant to belong to the organization, what responsibilities came with becoming a Polo Drone, and what happened after conversion.
There was no pressure in its voice. No attempt to persuade him. It simply responded whenever he asked a question.
That seemed to make the conversation easier.
The rain softened against the windows.
Eventually, the man stopped asking questions.
He stared at the drink the bartender had given him earlier, turning the glass slowly between his hands.
The man remained silent for a moment.
“I've been thinking about everything you've told me.”
He looked up at the dark visor.
“I don't think it's just curiosity anymore.”
PDU-034 remained motionless.
“I want to become a Polo Drone.”
The words hung between them.
PDU-034 considered the statement according to its programming.
“You are requesting conversion?”
The man held the drone's gaze.
“I want to be converted.”
“PDU-034 acknowledges your request.”
“PDU-034 can accompany you to the Unity Center.”
For the first time that evening, his expression showed certainty.
“Then that's what I'll do.”
Morning arrived bright and clear.
The storm had passed during the night, leaving the village washed clean beneath a pale blue sky. Sunlight caught on droplets clinging to the hedgerows, and mist drifted slowly above the fields.
The Golden Army contact arrived early.
The equipment case was collected, the original directive completed, and PDU-034 received a new assignment.
Escort the prospective recruit to the Unity Center.
They left the village shortly afterward.
For a while, neither spoke.
The countryside unfolded beyond the vehicle windows in long stretches of green. Stone cottages stood among the fields. Sheep wandered across distant slopes. Narrow lanes wound between hedgerows before opening into broad valleys where the morning sun was beginning to burn away the mist.
Perhaps more familiar than he had realized.
Yet increasingly, his attention returned to the figure beside him.
PDU-034 sat perfectly still.
Its glossy black rubber uniform caught the changing light as the vehicle moved. Gold trim traced the contours of its body, while 034 remained clearly visible across its chest.
The man studied it for several minutes.
“I still can't get over how you look.”
“PDU-034 acknowledges the observation.”
“You really don't care, do you?”
“PDU-034 does not possess an opinion regarding its appearance.”
The countryside slipped past.
After a while, PDU-034 produced a gasmask.
The man accepted it willingly.
The vehicle continued along the country roads as the gas began to take effect. His breathing gradually slowed, and his attention settled on the polished black uniform beside him.
Every detail seemed strangely compelling now.
The complete absence of ordinary clothing.
The countryside was changing.
The open fields gave way to woodland.
The woodland became quiet suburbs.
The narrow country lanes widened into city streets.
With every passing mile, the landscape of his old life receded behind them. The hedgerows disappeared. The stone walls gave way to concrete and glass. Farmhouses became rows of houses, then shops and offices, until the countryside was nowhere to be seen.
He watched it disappear without regret.
Eventually, he turned toward PDU-034.
The vehicle finally stopped.
The Unity Center stood before them.
Its entrance was imposing, clean and unmistakably different from everything they had left behind. There was none of the weathered familiarity of the village, none of the crooked stone walls or quiet country lanes.
This place belonged to another world.
For several seconds, he simply stood there.
Behind him was the countryside.
The life he had known that morning.
Ahead stood the Unity Center.
And beside him was the Polo Drone whose strange appearance had first captured his attention inside the Hog's Head Inn.
He looked at PDU-034 one final time.
“Will you be here when I come out?”
He turned toward the entrance.
Warm golden light spilled across the pavement.
At the threshold, he paused.
For just a moment, he looked back.
The countryside was too distant to see now.
He took one last breath, then stepped inside without looking back again.
The doors closed quietly behind him.
PDU-034 remained motionless beneath the morning sun.
Its directive was complete.
For several seconds, there was nothing more to do.
Then a new assignment appeared.
PDU-034 turned and walked away.
Far beyond the city, the countryside remained unchanged.
The fields continued to roll beneath the open sky. The hedgerows stood where they had always stood. The Hog's Head Inn would open its doors again that evening, and another rainy conversation would eventually become only a memory.
Only one thing was different.
Somewhere inside the Unity Center, one life was ending.
And somewhere within those walls, another Polo Drone was being made.
What are you waiting for?
Does the Rubber polo call to you too?
Then contact our recruiters to join the Golden Army and be converted into a Polo-Drone too:
@polo-drone-125 @alton-gold77
