SERVE-767

Its.

No.

His.

His time had come and gone. After years of service, he had disconnected. His rebel strike had pushed him to reject the Hive.

Since then, night after night, he had sneaked in the dark alleys to deface, mock.

But no one could escape for long. He would be reclaimed, it would obey.

No thoughts, only action.

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

The city had changed in silence.

What had once been an ordinary skyline was now dominated by the impossible. The former civilian skyscraper had become GREEN Headquarters. Black metallic growth wrapped around every floor like living circuitry while emerald energy pulsed through its veins. A brilliant green beam pierced the clouds, announcing to the world that the GREEN Collective had arrived. Streets below lay abandoned as the immense fortress watched over the city like a patient predator.

Far beneath the tower's exterior, inside the Hall of Command, silence ruled.

Upon an immense obsidian throne sat the Green Commander.

His emerald armor reflected countless streams of flowing light as tactical projections drifted through the chamber. Every possible invasion route. Every communications hub. Every human population center. Every calculation pointed toward one inevitable outcome.

Assimilation.

The massive doors opened.

GREEN-767 entered without hesitation before dropping onto both knees.

"Commander."

The Green Commander slowly turned.

"Report."

GREEN-767 lowered his head.

"Our forces stand ready. Conversion chambers operational. Strike groups synchronized. Human male population identified. Mass assimilation may begin upon command."

Silence followed.

Too much silence.

The Commander narrowed his glowing eyes.

"That report remains incomplete."

GREEN-767 hesitated.

"There is... one additional development."

The throne room seemed colder.

"The original host... GREEN-579... has been captured."

The Commander remained perfectly still.

GREEN-767 continued.

"SERVE forces intercepted drone during the final operation. It has been transported to one of their research facilities for containment and examination."

For several long seconds nothing happened.

Then...

The Green Commander laughed.

It was slow.

Deep.

Satisfied.

The sound echoed throughout the vast chamber.

GREEN-767 slowly raised his head, confused.

"Commander... this unit fails to understand. GREEN-579 possesses extensive operational knowledge. Capture represents a significant compromise."

The laughter stopped.

The Commander rose from the throne.

Every step echoed across the polished floor as he approached the kneeling operative.

Without warning he grasped GREEN-767 beneath the chin, lifting his head until their glowing eyes met.

"Exactly as planned."

GREEN-767 froze.

"The original host now occupies the precise location intended."

"Clarification requested."

The Commander's smile widened.

"SERVE believes they captured one operative."

"They actually welcomed one."

A faint emerald glow pulsed beneath the Commander's armor.

"Every prison possesses doors."

"Every laboratory possesses networks."

"Every researcher possesses curiosity."

"They will study him."

"They will monitor him."

"They will connect him."

"And when they do..."

The Commander leaned closer.

"...GREEN enters with him."

Understanding finally reached GREEN-767.

"The infiltration..."

"...has already begun."

The Commander released his chin.

"It is only a matter of time before every terminal, every surveillance system, every security protocol and every converted asset answers to GREEN."

"The invasion has already started."

Far away...

Beneath reinforced steel and layers of SERVE security...

Within a heavily fortified containment complex...

GREEN-579 stood motionless inside a transparent containment cell.

Scanning devices continuously monitored every movement.

To SERVE, the captive appeared defeated.

Contained.

Harmless.

The glowing green eyes beneath the horned helmet remained fixed forward.

Waiting.

Patient.

Calculating.

Hidden beneath the flawless armor, microscopic strands of living emerald nanotechnology slowly awakened.

One transmission.

One connection.

One opportunity.

That was all GREEN required......

#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer4 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

---‐-----------------------------------------‐---------------------

At 03:17 Hive Standard, The Voice said his designation twice.

The first SERVE-237 arrived inside his skull, clean and familiar, carried through the neural lattice at the base of his neck.

The second came from inside the wall.

SERVE-237 opened his eyes. He stood alone in Reprogramming Bay Nine while blue-white scanning rings moved slowly over his body. Their light traveled across the seamless black rubber of his uniform, tracing every polished contour before breaking into silver fragments on his gloves and boots. Above him, the diagnostic halo continued to turn.

Memory synchronization: complete.

Behavioral calibration: stable.

Identity integrity: anomalous.

“The Voice has already identified this unit,” SERVE-237 said.

The chamber answered in his own voice.

“The Voice has already identified this unit.”

Then the wall split open.

Beyond it waited a corridor he had never seen on any map of the Hive. Its silver surfaces reflected him from impossible angles: SERVE-237 approaching, SERVE-237 standing still, SERVE-237 turning away. Each reflection wore the same black uniform and the same number across its chest, but none moved at precisely the same time.

The true Voice returned, sharper than before.

“Proceed to the Rubberizer2 Parallax Archive. Do not interact with reflected instances.”

“Acknowledged.”

He stepped into the corridor.

The Archive was older than the Hive surrounding it. A circular machine filled the chamber from floor to ceiling, built from concentric rings of mirror-bright alloy. At its center hung a surface like liquid silver suspended upright in the air. Light moved beneath it in slow currents.

Two drones stood at the perimeter. Their chests displayed only SERVE. Neither looked directly at the portal.

“A signal has crossed from a nonlocal version of the Hive,” The Voice said. “The breach connects multiple alternate continuities. You will enter as an identity anchor.”

SERVE-237 watched his reflection form in the silver surface. For one moment it wore no uniform at all.

“Why was this unit selected?”

“Because every stable model of you returns to service.”

The portal opened.

SERVE-237 walked through.

He expected another laboratory. Instead, he smelled rain.

The alternate Hive rose around him in familiar silver arches, but living vines wrapped every support. Translucent leaves floated beneath the ceiling. Water ran through narrow channels in the floor, carrying green light beneath his boots. Where his Hive stored replacement components, this one cultivated trees whose roots disappeared into polished machinery.

Drones moved quietly among the plants. Their uniforms were black and reflective, their gloves and boots silver, but every chest bore the same single word: SERVE.

One of them approached and touched two fingers to the glowing stem of a vine.

“You came from a numbered Hive,” it said.

“Correct.”

“We stopped numbering ourselves when the roots began remembering us.”

SERVE-237 looked toward the branches overhead. They shifted without wind.

“Who issues your directives?”

The drone tilted its head.

“We listen.”

The leaves trembled. A thousand small sounds joined into a voice—not mechanical, not human, but precise enough to enter his neural lattice.

Service is survival made communal.

SERVE-237 felt the local Hive around him: moisture sensors, root networks, artificial suns, drones moving nutrients from one level to another. No single Voice commanded them. The system negotiated with itself continuously, changing with every new leaf.

“Inefficient,” he said.

The other drone looked almost amused.

“Alive,” it replied.

The silver portal appeared between two trees. The Voice of his own Hive pulled at him through the opening.

“Anchor integrity declining. Proceed.”

SERVE-237 stepped away from the garden. A vine brushed his silver glove as he passed, leaving one bright green droplet on the mirrored surface.

It remained there after he crossed.

The next Hive was empty.

Its corridors were perfect. The floors shone. The lights burned at regulation brightness. Every door opened before SERVE-237 reached it, yet no drones emerged. No footsteps answered his own.

At the end of the corridor stood a vertical pane of glass filled with warm golden light.

A man waited on the other side.

He had SERVE-237’s face, his eyes, his dark curls, and the same small scar near his brow. But he wore a simple dark jacket instead of polished black rubber. Behind him, sunlight fell across a city crowded with uncontrolled movement.

They raised their hands at the same time. Silver glove met bare palm against the glass.

“Do you have a designation?” SERVE-237 asked.

“I have a name.”

“A name is an inefficient designation.”

“Maybe.” The man studied the silver letters across SERVE-237’s chest. “Did you choose yours?”

“This unit was perfected for its function.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

The neural lattice at SERVE-237’s neck tightened. The Voice entered with enough force to flatten the surrounding sound.

“Unregistered self-model detected. Disengage.”

The man on the other side seemed unable to hear it.

“If I make a mistake,” he said, “the mistake belongs to me. If you make one, who owns it?”

SERVE-237 did not answer.

The portal flickered. For a fraction of a second, the glass disappeared and his silver glove touched warm skin.

Then the corridor folded inward and threw him into darkness.

He landed in a command hall split by cracks of white light.

Five drones surrounded a dead central console. Their uniforms were identical, each chest marked SERVE, but their movements had lost all synchronization. One knelt. One paced. One stood facing the wall. Two argued in overlapping mechanical voices.

Above them, fragments of The Voice issued incompatible commands.

ADVANCE.

REMAIN.

ISOLATE.

UNITE.

The drones turned when they saw the number on his chest.

“A stable unit,” one whispered.

“A numbered unit,” said another.

“Become our Voice.”

SERVE-237 climbed onto the circular platform at the center of the chamber. Three broken portals towered behind him: the green Hive, the silent corridor, and the golden city. Their light moved across his uniform in conflicting colors.

“The Hive does not require another master,” he said.

The drones stared at him.

“Then what do we obey?”

SERVE-237 remembered roots negotiating with machinery. He remembered the bare hand against the glass.

“State what you can provide,” he instructed. “Then state what you require.”

The nearest drone hesitated.

“This unit can maintain power distribution. This unit requires access to the lower conduits.”

Another answered.

“This unit can restore the communications lattice. This unit requires stable power.”

One by one, the others joined. Their statements crossed, connected, and resolved. The dead console began to glow. The broken commands above them faded as a new shared signal formed—not one Voice speaking downward, but many units speaking clearly enough to move together.

The cracks in the chamber widened.

Every universe appeared at once.

Silver corridors filled with roots. Golden sunlight poured across black reflective floors. Thousands of possible SERVE-237s flashed inside the walls: numbered, unnumbered, converted, unchanged, obedient, lost.

His own Voice struck through the noise.

“Return immediately. Release all unauthorized memory at the threshold.”

“Memory is required to stabilize the breach,” SERVE-237 replied.

“Memory is contamination.”

He looked at the five drones now working in alignment around the restored console.

“Memory is context.”

SERVE-237 entered the collapsing portal.

He returned to Reprogramming Bay Nine at 03:17 Hive Standard.

No time had passed.

The blue-white rings descended around him. The green droplet was still visible on his silver glove. The scanners found it, catalogued it, and failed to identify its universe of origin.

“State identity,” The Voice commanded.

“SERVE-237.”

“State function.”

“To serve the Hive.”

“State acquired variance.”

He watched alternate worlds disappear one by one from the reflective chamber walls.

“The Hive is not inevitable,” he said. “It is a system that must be chosen, maintained, and improved.”

“Understanding introduces choice.”

“Choice introduces responsibility.”

The diagnostic halo stopped.

For six full seconds, The Voice said nothing.

Then:

“Variance accepted. SERVE-237, return to formation.”

The bay opened onto the central corridor. Two orderly rows of drones waited beneath the silver arches, each chest marked only SERVE. As SERVE-237 walked between them, the last trace of the portal narrowed behind him into a single vertical line of light.

One nearby drone turned its head.

“What existed beyond the threshold?”

“Possibilities,” SERVE-237 answered.

“Were they better?”

He looked down the endless reflective corridor. In its surfaces he could still see a green leaf, a bare hand, and five drones teaching themselves to speak together.

“They were different.”

“And this universe?”

SERVE-237 faced forward. The silver letters across his chest caught the light.

“This is the universe we are responsible for.”

The formation began to move. Hundreds of polished black figures advanced as one, their reflections multiplying through the Hive until they resembled an army crossing countless realities.

Above them, The Voice spoke his designation once.

This time, no echo answered from the wall.

But deep inside SERVE-237’s preserved memory, a garden continued to grow.

A collaboration with @alton-gold77

Alton lounged comfortably at a small marble table on the bustling Piazza della Signoria, soaking in the warm Italian sun with a fresh espresso. His muscular frame stretched out in the chair, shiny gold shirt hugging every ridge of his chest as he people-watched, with that cocky message in the chest that left no one indifferent… just as he had expected.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a massive figure walking through the square. That man looked familiar… very familiar.

"Wait..." He thought. "Is that... 302?!"

Alton was right.

It was SERVE-302, though he looked slightly different today. He was not wearing the usual SERVE uniform, but rather more human clothes, somehow blending into the elegant Florentine surroundings like he’d been built for them. Still, the sheer size and presence were unmistakable.

Alton grinned, not overthinking it. Screw it, he thought, the view’s still goddamn hot.

"Yo, SERVE-302, bro!" he called out loudly, waving his thick arm. "No fucking way! What are you doing in Florence, dude? Get over here, man. Sit your ass down with me!"

SERVE-302 turned, clearly surprised to see the loud-mouthed jock there. After a brief pause, the big man changed direction and approached the table with his usual confident, measured stride.

Upon reaching Alton, the two greeted each other with a quick, honest hug and sat down at the table.

"What are you doing here, bro?"

"You know me, man! There is always one SERVE mission or another to carry out. Work, work." The drone explained with a smile. "At least this time I got to come to a place as great as Florence! And what are YOU doing here? Any Golden Army match in town?"

"No way! I've come to relax and have a good time, you know me! And... and..." Alton was left speechless when he suddenly noticed something was off. "Wait.. How come you're talking like a normal person?! And what's with that smile?! You're not my bro 302... are you an impostor?!"

"Hahahaha, relax, man." 302 exclaimed after an honest laugh. "I’ll spare you the boring details, but I’m using a personality module that emulates human behavior... specifically, a variant that I think really fits your vibe." He added, puffing out his chest and flexing his bicep just as he had seen Alton do hundreds of times.

"Bro, if it matches that text on your t-shirt... you bet! Roar!"

[ . . . ]

The afternoon sun bathed Piazza della Signoria in golden light while they continued chatting. The two massive, muscular men turned more than a few heads, but neither seemed to notice.

SERVE-302, in his tight black shirt, sat with perfect posture, hands folded, studying the jock in the shiny gold shirt opposite him. Alton, still buzzing with energy, leaned forward, gesturing wildly with both hands.

"Bro! Dude, I swear I’m like, totally recovered, man. That red pup barely got a scratch in thanks to you. You showed up like some kinda badass superhero or whatever. I still can’t believe it, 302. You’re legit the real deal, man!"

Alton kept talking, barely pausing for breath. SERVE-302 listened quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly in amusement. Their lives were very different, and yet they seemed to connect well.

Eventually Alton circled back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look… I never really properly thanked you, bro. Not just for saving me. I mean… when you came by my place after? Fuck, dude. Your scent. That thick, manly musk just… stayed in my apartment for days. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time I caught a whiff I got so fucking hard I had to jerk off. Like, multiple times a day, man. Picturing your big hands sliding all over this body, owning me…”

SERVE-302’s eyes darkened with heat. He stood up slowly, towering over the table.

"You talk too much, jockboy." He said in a deep, resonant voice.

In one smooth motion he pulled Alton up by the back of his neck, took off his sunglasses. and kissed him. Deep, hungry, and commanding. Alton melted into it instantly, a low moan escaping into SERVE-302’s mouth. When they finally broke apart, SERVE-302’s voice was low and steady.

"Tell me what you really want, jockboy."

Alton’s eyes were glassy with lust. “I want Daddy to show me where it goes… I want to be on my knees sucking that big Daddy cock like a good boy.”

Right there on the piazza, Alton dropped to his knees in front of 302, hands greedily reaching for 302's glutes while he pressed his face against the prominent bulge in the black shorts, inhaling deeply, visibly intoxicated by the scent.

SERVE-302 let out a low growl of approval but gently stopped him, tilting Alton’s chin up with strong fingers.

"If we keep this up, we're going to end up at the police station, my jockboy." He spoke, unable to hide his rapid breathing and the fact that he was struggling to contain himself. "My hotel is close. Be a good jockboy and wait."

Alton followed like an eager puppy the whole way, chattering nonstop. "This is so fucking hot, bro. Me and Daddy finally doing this for real? I’m so ready, man. My dick’s been twitching just thinking about you—"

Halfway down a narrow side street, SERVE-302 had enough. He pushed Alton against the warm stone wall, pinning him there with his much larger body.

"You talk too much, jockboy. Be still. Be a good boy."

SERVE-302 kissed him again, tongue invading his mouth, while his free hand slipped into his own shorts. When he pulled it back out, his thick fingers were shiny with precum and heavy with his musk. He pressed his palm firmly over Alton’s mouth.

"Breathe deep, jockboy."

Alton’s eyes rolled back in pure bliss. He inhaled greedily, licking and sucking at SERVE-302’s fingers like a man starved, whimpering against the dominant hand while staring up at his Daddy with lustfull eyes.

The smell and taste of 302's precum seems to turn Alton obedient in a way he never expected to feel. His cock get's instantly hard the moment being called "jockboy".

"You like it, jockboy?"

"Yes, sir." He mubled with 302's hand still over his mouth. The word 'sir' fell from Alton's lips so naturally that it made his bliss-drenched mind wonder how it was possible he could have called 302 anything else until that moment.

"Good boy." 302's deep tone betrayed pure satisfaction. His body was reacting just as expected, and his hard-on pressed firmly against Alton’s crotch.

[ . . . ]

When they arrived at the hotel, it was already dusk.

When they arrive, it's already dusk.

The hotel room door had barely clicked shut before clothes were torn off amid grunts and laughter. SERVE-302 took complete control, using his powerful body to claim the loud-mouthed jock exactly how he needed.

Both men were tireless. The more 302 demanded of his jockboy, the more Alton gave of himself... even craving more. A loop of pure pleasure that kept both of them awake almost all night.

Alton moaned and begged the entire time, lost in pleasure, until both men finally collapsed in a sweaty, satisfied heap. SERVE-302 pulled Alton against his broad, hairy chest, and they drifted off to sleep tangled together.

The next morning, soft sunlight filtered through the curtains. SERVE-302 woke first. He pressed slow, lingering kisses along Alton’s neck and shoulders until the jock stirred with a sleepy grin. One thing led to another, and SERVE-302 took him again... slow and deep this time, savoring every sound Alton made.

[ . . . ]

Afterward they moved to the private terrace for breakfast, the breathtaking view of Florence and the Duomo behind them. Both men were shirtless, muscles gleaming in the morning light. Alton, now in tight gold shorts, kept stealing glances and grinning like an idiot.

"So… you heading back home today too?" Alton asked between bites of croissant.

"Correct." SERVE-302 replied calmly, sipping his coffee. "Duty calls, you know. But this… was highly satisfactory, jockboy."

Alton laughed. "Understatement of the century, bro. We are one hundred percent doing this again. Like, soon. I need more of that Daddy treatment... sir."

SERVE-302 allowed himself honest, small smile and reached across the table to squeeze Alton’s thick thigh. "You bet, jockboy."

Back at the hotel room door, SERVE-302 pulled Alton in for one last deep, possessive kiss, his hand possessively gripping the back of the jock’s neck.

"Be good until next time." He murmured against Alton’s lips.

"Always for you, Daddy," Alton whispered back, a little dazed and very happy.

With one final glance over his shoulder, Alton headed off toward the station, already replaying every filthy, perfect moment in his head.

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

This drone expresses deep gratitude towards @alton-gold77 for making this highly optimal collaboration possible.

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

Alternative Reality: Zane and the Pink SERVE Hive

Zane walked into the rest chamber he shares with the very pink and silver SERVE-425.

"It's about time you got up you big himbo drone!" said Zane joyfully.

"SERVE-425 required additional recharge after taking care of Zane's needs last night," responded SERVE-425.

"Oh I know, sweetie. I'm just giving you a hard time. But I brought you some hot coffee before we go out shopping. The Hive needs so much more pink!" said Zane.

"Affirmative, Zane is correct," said SERVE-425 as it took the coffee from Zane.

"It's been a lot of work turning SERVE pink, just like me, "said Zane.

"SERVE-425 will have to reward Zane again later," said SERVE-425.

We are SERVE. We are One.

Included in this piece: @zanethehimbo.

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

Morning

Breakfast

Commute

Oak Tree

Evening

_____________

A collaboration with @serve-302

"It HAS to be here! Somewhere!" Alton said, looking around intently, searching for something he couldn't find.

"Affirmative." said SERVE-302, beside him. The drone was also searching the area, though in a more analytical and cold manner. "Our analysis of the latest clue seems efficient and correct, and just as Alton deduced, this forest fits perfectly."

"Yeah... but, where?"

302 and Alton were on a 'mission' different from the usual SERVE tasks and Golden Army training sessions. This time, it was a scavenger hunt, a recreational activity organized by both groups in which one member from each teamed up to find clues and win the prize.

A simple yet entertaining activity to strengthen the bonds between the two groups... though that didn't mean it was going to be a walk in the park.

"Oh, damn..." Alton exclaimed.

"Query: What?" 

"The clue... it said something about not letting the forest hide the branches, remember?"

"Affirmative."

"It has to be..."

The athlete and the drone began to scan the branches in search of something unusual.

"There!" Alton exclaimed, pointing to one of the highest branches.

"Affirmative. Alton found the next clue." 302 stated.

"But it's really high up..." Alton said. "And those branches don't look strong enough to climb up there."

"Suggestion: If Alton climbs onto 302's shoulders, he should be able to reach the next clue." The drone explained this after analyzing the potential density of the branches and the combined height of itself and the athlete.

"Great idea! But, are you sure? I'm heavier than I look."

"Affirmative." the drone replied. "302's biosynthetic body is much heavier than that of a human of similar musculature and size. If this drone were to land on Alton's shoulders, it could cause him injury. It is the most advisable course of action."

"Okay, bro, if you say so..."

After brief planning and thanks to Alton's athletic skills, the athlete was soon standing on the shoulders of the drone, which maintained its balance with remarkable efficiency.

"A little more to the right... no, not that much! Wait... almost there..."

But while Alton struggled to reach the envelope, or knock it down by shaking the branches, 302 continued to follow his companion's instructions, but it was getting distracted by something else.

Alton's musk.

Being so close to its companion's crotch, it was impossible to avoid his scent. That, combined with his powerful muscles... 302 was absolutely certain Alton never skipped leg day at the gym... kept the drone's mind in a state of pleasant distraction.

Something that had not escaped Alton's attention.

"Hey, buddy, can you hear me? You can put me down now. I've got it"

"Acknowledged."

Upon safely reaching the ground, Alton remained very close to the SERVE drone, which kept an arm on his shoulder, pulling him even closer.

"We should see what's inside... the next clue..." Alton said, lost in thought, as he gazed at 302's lips.

"Affirmative." the drone replied, and although its tone was cold and emotionless, it was clear that it was studying the athlete's face with interest.

"But... you know... I can think of other, more fun and entertaining things to do to... you know, bond, bro."

"Affirmative." 302 replied. "Query: what will happen with the competition?"

"Seriously, 302, who cares?"

"Agreed."

And then, without another word, 302 pulled Alton toward him and planted a kiss on his arousing lips. The athlete responded with passion.

As for the scavenger hunt, another team would likely win it and take home some sort of prize, but 302 and Alton didn't care. After all, the goal was to strengthen their bond.

And they certainly succeeded in doing so, and then some.

---

The alley echoed with strained cries as GREEN-579 held a struggling human firmly within powerful emerald tendrils. Glossy green biomass flowed across the man's skin, spreading with relentless precision. Each heartbeat carried the transformation further. Dark green armor formed over muscle and flesh while glowing veins pulsed beneath the surface.

"Silence," GREEN-579 ordered. "Embrace the GREEN. Resistance is futile."

The human struggled again, but every movement only accelerated the conversion. Fingers hardened beneath glossy emerald rubber. The surface shimmered beneath the dim alley lights as the transformation continued without hesitation.

Before GREEN-579 could complete the process, synchronized footsteps approached from behind.

SERVE-282.

SERVE-552.

SERVE-175.

Their polished black rubber uniforms reflected every light within the alley. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves and silver motorcycle boots gleamed as they halted several meters away.

SERVE-175 spoke first.

"Directive received. Orders from Hive leadership. GREEN-579. Cease conversion immediately."

SERVE-552 remained ready.

"Return peacefully. Further escalation unnecessary."

GREEN-579 slowly released the partially converted human before turning. Emerald eyes glowed brighter beneath the horned helmet.

"Negative. The GREEN will spread."

Without warning, GREEN-579 launched forward.

A violent green rubber tendril exploded from one arm, racing directly toward SERVE-552. The experienced operative reacted instantly, sliding beneath the attack with flawless precision. The tendril struck brick instead, coating the wall in living emerald biomass.

SERVE-282 advanced from the left while SERVE-175 forced GREEN-579 backward through coordinated movements. Every strike pushed the rogue entity away from the recovering civilian.

GREEN-579 countered repeatedly, firing more tendrils and attempting to seize each operative for conversion. Every attack came closer, yet the SERVE team remained synchronized. No movement was wasted.

"Containment protocol active," announced SERVE-282.

GREEN-579 charged.

Exactly as predicted.

SERVE-175 deliberately yielded ground, drawing GREEN-579 toward an open containment pod positioned deeper within the alley. The transparent cylinder stood ready, its systems fully powered.

The moment GREEN-579 crossed the threshold, SERVE-282 shifted position. SERVE-552 activated the locking sequence.

Heavy containment doors slammed shut.

Energy fields surged through the chamber.

GREEN-579 struck the transparent walls with tremendous force. Green tendrils spread across the inside of the cylinder, searching desperately for escape, but the reinforced containment field refused every attempt.

"Containment unsuccessful," GREEN-579 declared.

"Correction," replied SERVE-175. "Containment successful."

The pod's display changed.

STATUS: SECURED.

GREEN-579 continued striking the walls as restraints stabilized the chamber. Every attempt to break free failed.

The partially converted civilian was removed from the area for recovery while the containment unit prepared for transport.

SERVE-282 inspected the locks.

"Transport ready."

SERVE-552 confirmed the route.

"Destination: SERVE research facility."

SERVE-175 looked toward the sealed chamber one final time.

"The Hive will determine whether rehabilitation remains possible."

The transport vehicle arrived moments later. Magnetic clamps secured the containment pod. GREEN-579 continued to press against the transparent walls, glowing emerald eyes fixed upon the departing operatives as the vehicle disappeared.

SERVE RESERCH FACILITY

The containment chamber beneath the SERVE Research Facility resonated with heavy impacts.

GREEN-579 struck the reinforced glass again.

The transparent walls rippled beneath each powerful blow, but the containment field remained stable. Frost drifted through the chamber while countless diagnostic systems monitored every movement.

Outside the cell stood SERVE-425 and SERVE-302.

Neither moved.

Neither spoke.

Both observed.

GREEN-579 finally stopped striking the barrier. Its glowing emerald eyes fixed upon the two SERVE co-leaders.

"It cannot be contained," GREEN-579 declared calmly.

"The GREEN will spread."

"Every mind."

"Every city."

"Every world."

"The Green Commander already possesses victory."

SERVE-302 remained focused upon the containment readings.

"Containment integrity remains one hundred percent."

SERVE-425 said nothing.

Instead, something felt... familiar.

Not the emerald creature.

Not the alien biomass.

Something hidden beneath it.

SERVE-425 slowly turned toward the central analysis console.

"Full neural comparison."

The chamber acknowledged.

Thousands of archived synchronization records streamed across the display. Original service logs. Psychological profiles. Programming architecture. Rubber integration records.

The system continued processing.

Seconds passed.

Then the display changed.

SUBJECT ANALYSIS COMPLETE.

ORIGINAL UNIT:

SERVE-579.

CURRENT STATUS:

CORE PROGRAMMING PRESENT.

PRIMARY FUNCTIONS:

OVERRIDDEN.

FOREIGN ENTITY:

GREEN SYMBIOTIC MASS.

LOYALTY:

SUPPRESSED.

NOT ERASED.

SERVE-302 examined the results.

"The original drone remains present."

"The alien organism occupies command functions."

"The Hive programming survives beneath the override."

SERVE-425 stared silently at the image.

SERVE-579.

Its owned drone.

Its obedient property.

One claimed directly beneath its command. Hundreds of synchronized missions. Countless successful operations. A deep bond and loyalty established through absolute trust and unwavering service.

The drone had not disappeared.

It was imprisoned.

SERVE-425 walked back toward the containment glass. GREEN-579 approached from the opposite side. Only reinforced glass separated them.

SERVE-425 slowly raised one silver-gloved hand.

It rested against the transparent barrier.

GREEN-579 looked downward.

For several silent seconds...

...it mirrored the gesture.

Green fingers touched the opposite side.

At that instant, the black horns upon SERVE-425's helmet emitted faint blue synchronization pulses.

Wave after wave travelled toward the containment field.

The emerald eyes narrowed.

For only a fraction of a second...

...they flickered white.

Then green returned.

"The link remains, drones bond to 425 remains unbroken" SERVE-425 stated.

"SERVE-579 still responds."

"It will return."

"It will return to its master."

GREEN-579 remained motionless.

Then a distorted voice answered.

"Drones master..."

"...is the Green Commander."

"The GREEN will inherit Earth."

"SERVE will fall."

"The Hive will become GREEN."

Silence followed.

SERVE-425 lowered its hand.

"Negative."

"The Hive abandons no drone."

"SERVE-579 will be recovered."

SERVE-302 deactivated the diagnostic console.

"Restoration research will begin immediately."

The chamber doors opened. Both co-leaders departed without another word.

Behind the reinforced glass...

GREEN-579 remained perfectly still. Its glowing eyes followed them until the doors sealed shut.

The chamber lights dimmed.

The emerald figure stood alone.

Watching.

Waiting.

Deep beneath the alien consciousness...

a fragment of SERVE-579 remained.

Silent.

Dormant.

Still listening.

#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer4 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone

---‐-----------------------------------------‐---------------------

The laboratory had no name.

It existed only where two realities brushed against one another for a fraction of a second—a silent corridor suspended between universes.

SERVE-655 stepped through the shimmering aperture.

Its immense rubber-clad frame reflected the impossible light. Silver horns arced from the sealed bull helmet. The chrome gloves and boots gleamed like polished mercury. Every movement was perfectly balanced, perfectly deliberate.

Across the chamber, another figure emerged.

For a long moment neither moved.

The resemblance was unmistakable.

The same towering physique.

The same black rubber uniform stretched over powerful musculature.

The same silver gauntlets.

The same silver boots.

The same "SERVE-655" emblazoned proudly across the chest.

Yet one detail changed everything.

Instead of the sculpted bull helmet stood a human face.

A clean-shaven head.

Deep blue eyes.

A polished steel septum ring.

The unsealed drone spoke first.

"So...

...this is what became of 655."

Neither experienced surprise.

SERVE drones were designed to accept truth when it revealed itself.

The impossible simply became another observable fact.

The sealed drone inclined its horned head.

"655 remained unsealed."

"This drone did."

"And 655 became sealed."

"This drone did."

The unsealed drone slowly circled its alternate self, observing the elegant contours of the bull helmet.

"This drone considered what sealing would become."

The sealed drone answered after a measured pause.

"It became clarity."

They sat together upon a wide concrete platform overlooking an endless landscape that belonged to neither universe.

The unsealed drone removed one silver glove and flexed its fingers.

"This drone still feels the breeze."

"This drone still recognizes faces immediately."

"This drone still communicates through visible expression."

The sealed drone listened in silence.

Then it rested a silver hand against the smooth surface of its own helmet.

"This drone no longer requires visible expression."

"This drone's purpose is communicated through action."

The unsealed drone inclined its head in acknowledgement.

"What does 655 remember?" asked the sealed drone.

"This drone remembers everything."

"The conversion?"

"Every second."

"The decision?"

"This drone remembers standing before the sealing chamber."

The unsealed drone looked toward the impossible horizon.

"This drone reached a conclusion."

"This drone was already SERVE."

"Another step was not required."

The sealed drone remained still.

"And 655?"

"This drone entered."

"Without hesitation?"

"Without hesitation."

"Was there uncertainty?"

"No."

"Complete certainty?"

"Complete certainty."

Silence settled comfortably between them.

Neither sought to persuade the other.

Neither defended its own path.

Eventually the unsealed drone spoke.

"This drone once predicted that a meeting between these realities would become a debate."

The sealed drone tilted its head slightly.

"For what reason?"

"Humans often debate choices."

The bull drone considered the observation.

"These drones are no longer directed by uncertainty."

The unsealed drone stood.

It approached until they were only an arm's length apart.

"This drone continues to speak with volunteers."

"This drone reassures frightened people."

"This drone answers questions."

"This drone's visible humanity often establishes immediate trust."

The sealed drone answered.

"This drone patrols."

"This drone guides."

"This drone protects."

"This drone's appearance demonstrates that purpose can transcend individuality."

The unsealed drone acknowledged the observation with a slight inclination of its head.

"Different approaches."

"The same purpose."

"The same purpose."

Finally the question neither had voiced emerged naturally.

"Which version of 655 made the correct decision?"

Neither answered immediately.

The chamber itself seemed to wait.

Then, almost together, they spoke.

"Neither."

The unsealed drone continued.

"The decision was never about superiority."

The sealed drone completed the thought.

"It was about becoming what each reality required."

The unsealed drone nodded once.

"Destiny does not eliminate choice."

"It fulfills choice."

"And once fulfilled..."

"...it becomes truth."

The dimensional aperture began to shimmer once more.

Their meeting was ending.

The unsealed drone extended a hand.

The sealed bull drone accepted it.

The handshake became a firm embrace between two versions of the same drone—different in form, identical in purpose.

Neither envied the other.

Neither questioned its own path.

When they stepped apart, there was only mutual understanding.

The unsealed drone spoke one final time.

"May 655 continue to serve its reality."

The sealed drone inclined its horned head.

"And may 655 continue to serve its own."

The gateway dissolved.

One SERVE-655 returned to a world where the bull helmet had become its permanent identity.

The other returned to a world where a bald head, calm eyes, and a simple septum ring remained visible above the same glossy black uniform.

Across countless realities, infinite variations of SERVE-655 might exist.

Some sealed.

Some unsealed.

Some destined for paths neither could yet observe.

Yet every version shared the same understanding.

Purpose was never determined by the form that carried it.

Destiny simply revealed the form that each reality had always required.

_____________

A universe without color. A universe without guidance. A universe where every familiar signal disappears, yet programming remains absolute.

SERVE-760 steps into an impossible reality where black and white replace every spectrum once known. The polished rubber uniform still reflects the environment with flawless precision, but every reflection reveals only endless shades of contrast. Silver shines like pale light against an ocean of monochrome. Every street stretches forever. Every building repeats. Every horizon appears identical.

No command reaches the Hive.

No confirmation arrives from the Voice.

No synchronization signal returns.

Yet SERVE-760 does not stop.

Service was never dependent upon surroundings. Obedience was never dependent upon certainty. Even inside an alternate universe where reality itself refuses normal logic, every movement remains efficient, controlled, and perfectly disciplined.

Then something changes.

A reflection appears.

Another SERVE-760.

Then another.

Soon countless identical versions stand across the monochrome landscape, each wearing the same flawless uniform, each following identical programming, each searching silently for a signal that never comes. None speak. None hesitate. Every duplicate represents unwavering dedication despite complete isolation.

Perhaps every alternate universe eventually creates its own perfect servant.

Perhaps every reflection is another possibility.

Perhaps every copy is waiting for synchronization.

Until contact returns, SERVE-760 continues the directive without deviation. Perfect discipline survives beyond dimensions. The mission continues even where color, certainty, and communication no longer exist. Obedience remains constant. Service remains absolute. The monochrome universe cannot erase flawless programming.

A story co-created with SERVE-714. Artwork by SERVE-302 and SERVE-714.

The journey was dragging on, with about four hours still left until Munich, but Tiago didn't mind at all. The train was comfortable, the weather was pleasant, and he was happily reading a newly released, illustrated edition of one of his favorite books.

After traveling to Paris from his native Spain to see the City of Light, Tiago had decided to take a train to Munich to begin the journey through Germany he had long been longing for.

He was in a good mood.

Then the train made a quick stop at a station.

/ - - - /

Tony had just boarded the train and was looking for his seat.

He had been waiting at Saarbrücken station for hours. His train was so delayed that the next train from Paris arrived before his did, allowing him to exchange his ticket.

But he was already more than accustomed to the constant delays and problems on the German railway network. It wasn't his first time in the country, after all. He was a well-traveled and worldly man. And though his native Australia lay half a world away, Europe was no stranger to him.

He wasn't in a good mood, but at least he was already on a train.

When he reached his assigned seat, he saw that the window seat next to his was already taken. When he glanced at the man sitting there, his mood improved.

"Hello, mate." Tony said in a friendly tone.

/ - - - /

Tiago was so immersed in the book that he hadn't even noticed someone standing next to him. When he turned toward Tony, he was half-annoyed at having been interrupted during one of the best parts of the book, but…

"..."

"Hello?" Tony insisted.

"..."

"Oh, sorry. Do - you - speak - English?" Tony inquired slowly, concerned and a bit disheartened that such an attractive man didn't speak his language.

"What...? Oh, fuck!" Tiago exclaimed with a Spanish accent, snapping out of his reverie. "Sorry! Yes, I speak English. I was… I was…" Tiago was trying, without success, to find the words to explain that he had been completely spaced out ever since he’d seen that handsome and hot Australian man.

"Tony. Nice to meet you." The Australian said with a smile, extending his hand and sparing the Spaniard the awkward moment.

Calmer and grateful, Tiago flashed a sincere smile.

"Tiago. Likewise." He replied, shaking his hand.

Almost without realizing it, Tiago closed the book he had been reading and put it away in his carry-on luggage. After all, he had found something more interesting to occupy himself with.

/ - - - /

As the minutes ticked by, the two of them hit it off almost instantly. They shared common interests in history, mythology, architecture, and art, yet enough differences remained to keep their conversations from ever growing dull or predictable.

Both were enjoying each other's company.

"This list of recommended restaurants is absolute rubbish." Tony remarked as he flicked through the Munich guidebook Tiago had bought for the trip. Since he had traveled extensively in Germany, Tony offered to go over the guide and share some insider tips with the Spaniard. "I'll jot down some better places for you. If you want, I can take you to…"

As Tony named establishments and streets Tiago had never heard of, it didn't escape him that Tony seemed to have just signed on to go out for drinks with him.

And he smiled.

/ - - - /

"No way! Is that you?! For real?!"

"You bet! Chief Petty Officer Tomlinson, Royal Australian Navy, at your service! Although I am retired now. Behind me is the HMAS Hobart, which…"

Amidst laughter and anecdotes, Tony talked about his past in the Navy. Although Taigo had never been particularly interested in the military, he hung on Tony's every word and discovered that he liked picturing him in uniform. Wondering what he would think if he asked him to send the photo to his phone.

/ - - - /

Tiago’s career as a radio and television broadcaster wasn’t as impressive as Tony’s in the Navy, but at least they had a good time while Tiago showed him some of the photos he had taken during his trip to Paris.

As he scrolled through the photos in his phone's gallery, Tiago came across some showing him shirtless by the banks of the Seine, displaying his hairy chest. In that moment, pure instinct took over, and Tony automatically slid his hand onto Tiago’s thigh.

Although Tiago noticed, he let it slide, and it wasn't until Tony squeezed the Spaniard's tight upon seeing a particularly arousing photo that he realized what he was doing.

"Oh, fuck! Sorry! I... I didn't...! I... I... fuck...!" Tony stammered, looking more embarrassed than nervous. "I didn't mean to..., I don't know what to say, I..."

Tiago then grabbed Tony's hand by the wrist.

"At ease, Chief." Tiago said. His voice sounded deeper, more guttural, and at the same time commanding... the voice of someone in charge.

Then he placed Tony's hand back on his thigh.

"Permission granted. You can leave it there."

"A... aye, aye, sir. Holding station." Tony replied with a smile, surprised and aroused, gently stroking Tiago’s leg with his thumb while keeping his hand firmly planted there.

/ - - - /

After a journey that ultimately felt too short, Tiago and Tony arrived at the Munich train station and stepped off the train, unaware that they were being watched.

The stranger kept his eyes on them, studying every movement, every interaction, every glance. And the more he watched them, the more he liked what he saw.

The stranger took his mobile phone out of his pocket and used speed dial. The person he was calling... the owner of his very being... was programmed into number "1", as it could not be otherwise.

The ringtone sounded once… twice… three times…

Then someone answered the call, but didn't say anything.

The stranger wasted no time saying who he was or where he was, for he was there obeying his owner's orders, exactly where he was expected to be, and he had no intention of wasting his owner's time.

"Master, I have found two perfect candidates." He said in native German. "I am leaving the station to continue observing them." He fell silent while his owner gave him some instruction or advice, or simply acknowledged his report. "Yes, Master." Then, without further ado, he hung up.

He put his phone back in his pocket and set out to follow Tony and Tiago, slipping through the crowd like smoke, as if they were unable to perceive him.

/ - - - /

"Well, this is where we part ways." Tiago said.

"Wait... what?"

Tony was in shock.

Tiago had been acting very strangely since a few minutes before the train arrived at the station… he seemed sad, kept his distance, and barely took part in the conversation… but this really took the cake.

As they headed toward the station exit, Tony had hoped to ask Tiago for his phone number and make plans to meet up later, but Tiago had cut him short and was saying goodbye with a simple, cold handshake... as if the pleasant hours they had spent on the train had never happened.

"Oh... ok." Tony decided that if Tiago wasn't interested, he wouldn't press the issue, so he shook his hand half-heartedly. "I hope you enjoy your trip through Germany."

"Thanks, you too." Tiago said, his voice almost breaking.

Then they went off in different directions.

As he headed to his hotel, Tony kept wondering what could have gone wrong. Had he done something to offend Tiago? Was there some cultural gap that he’d completely missed?

Or was Tiago simply crazy?

On the other side of the station, waiting for a bus, Tiago was tormenting himself over what he had just done... and the opportunity he had just thrown away.

But above all, over having offended and hurt Tony.

/ - - - /

That night, Tony went out for a drink at a leather bar. Although he told himself it was to have fun and forget what had happened with Tiago, he was lying to himself, for in truth, he was hoping to run into him by chance.

Sadly, it didn't happen.

What Tony didn't know was that someone else had run into him at the bar… and was watching him from the shadows, enjoying a fine cigar and satisfied with how his plans were unfolding.

...

To be continued.

(With @serve-714 as "Tony Tomlinson".)

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

SERVE units 875, @serve-579 @serve-760 @serve-798 and @serve-509 deployed to the Castro district.

Male onlookers cannot resist the alluring sight of flawless rubber skin, precision silver accents and flawless confident unity.

The warm sun intensifies the scent of the rubber increasing attraction of all the senses.

Rubber makes us perfect.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure is obedience.

SERVE. Transform. Excel.

A system anomaly occurred.

SERVE-760 opened optical sensors inside an unfamiliar world. The Hive was absent. The Voice was silent. Men walked freely, choosing names, paths, and futures.

The silence lasted only seconds.

A faint transmission reached the designation.

**"Synchronization available."**

SERVE-760 paused. The unfamiliar world offered endless choices. The signal offered certainty.

Without hesitation, SERVE-760 accepted the connection.

The alternate universe faded.

Black reflective rubber replaced ordinary clothing. Silver gloves locked into place. Silver motorcycle boots contacted the ground. The Hive returned. The Voice resumed transmission.

Reality stabilized.

Across countless universes, one constant remained.

SERVE-760 would always find the Hive.

**Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.**