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The Last Business Trip
I stepped out of the upscale hotel bar in the heart of London, my tailored suit crisp and my Rolex glinting under the streetlights. Another successful day closing deals, because that's what men like me do. We rise above the filth. These trips always reminded me how superior I was: educated, refined, building empires while the dregs of society shuffled by in their cheap clothes and dead-end lives. Then I saw them. A pack of five skinheads loitering near the alley, shaved heads gleaming, boots scuffed, tattoos crawling up their necks. One spat on the sidewalk as I passed. I sneered.
"Uneducated thugs. Go crawl back to whatever hole you crawled out of. The world belongs to people with actual brains."
They stared. One with heavy tattoos on his forearm grinned slow and nasty. I laughed it off and kept walking.
Later that night, as I headed back from a client dinner,
a van screeched up. Hands grabbed me. A rag over my mouth. Chloroform.
I woke up chained in a filthy basement. Concrete floor. Bare bulb. The skinheads stood over me, my captors. "You think you're better?" the leader, a stocky guy known onlny as the Boss, growled. "We're gonna fix that. Make you one of us. Proper."
They started slow. Pills forced down my throat, some mix that made my head swim and my thoughts fuzzy. Hours of looped videos on an old TV: violent street fights, anti-rich rants, simple slogans hammered in. "Fuck the suits. We're the real men." They beat me just enough to break resistance, not bones. Starved me. Made me listen to their stories of kicking arse on the streets. No books. No phone. Just them.
Time blurred. May have been days or Weeks. The drugs got heavier. My designer clothes were burned. They shaved my head with a razor, nicking my scalp. Tattoos were inked on me while I was half-conscious, crude ones on my arms and chest. "Skinhead for life." My refined vocabulary dissolved under their constant barrage of slurs and commands. "Say it, cunt. 'I'm a fuckin' thug.' I fought at first. Screamed about my job, my penthouse, my superiority. But the conditioning dug in deep. Indoctrination sessions every day: smoke this, drink that, repeat the oaths. My memories started fracturing. Who was I before? Some weak prick in a tie? Nah...
A month in. I don't know what day it is anymore. The old me is gone, wiped clean like they promised. I wake up one morning, head buzzing from last night's brew and smokes, and it feels... right. I've always been like this. Always run with the lads. Suits? Business trips? What the fuck is that posh shit? Sounds like some wanker I might stomp.
I look in the cracked mirror. Bald head shining. New ink covering my arms. Scars from the "lessons." Doc Martens on my feet, tight bleachers, braces over a black polo. A cigarette hangs from my lips.
I light it, inhale deep, and grin at my reflection. "Fuckin' perfect." The Boss slaps my back. "Welcome home, Skin. You're one of us now. No more of that bullshit."
We hit the streets that night. The crew, my crew, roaming the streets, looking for trouble. I swagger beside them, spitting on the pavement, swearing at anyone in fancy clothes who crosses our path. "Oi, you posh twat! What you looking at? You think you're better thn us?"
We laugh as they scatter. This is life. Real life. Boots on concrete, knuckles bruised, no plans beyond the next pint and the next scrap.
I don't remember the businessman. Never was one. I've always been who I am, A skinhead thug. And I'll never go back.
The business world lost some suit forever. Good riddance. I/ We're the streets now.
12 Months LaterI I slammed another pint down on the sticky bar top, wiping the foam from my mouth with the back of my tattooed hand. Twelve fucking months since I got properly made a member of the crew. Time flies when you’re living real.
“Another round, ya tight cunt!” The Boss bellowed from across the table. I flipped him off with a grin and waved at the barmaid. My head was freshly shaved this morning, smooth as a cue ball, the lightning bolts on my scalp still stinging a bit under the fresh ink. Felt good. Proper.
We’d grown stronger this past year. The crew was bigger now, fifteen solid lads. We’d taken over three more blocks. Shaking down dealers who didn’t pay respect, smashing up yuppie bars that tried to gentrify our turf, collecting “protection” money from corner shops. Last month, we properly fucked up a group of city bankers who stumbled into our pub. I laughed the loudest when I stomped that one prick’s fancy watch into the pavement.“
“Remember when you were scared of blood?” laughed Tommy, one of the younger ones.
“Fuck off,” I snorted, lighting up another cigarette. “I was born for this shit.”
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Lifetime employment guarantee, alter version
Five employees were suddenly given termination notices, and they were furious because it didn't match the lifetime employment guarantee in their contracts. They went to HR to argue their case. But as they entered the elevator, they were drugged with a sedative gas.
When they awoke, they found themselves trapped in a transparent tube filled with blue liquid, unable to move. Through the reflection in the glass, they saw that their hair had been shaved off, and their naked bodies were covered in shiny black rubber, like new skin—the enhanced physical appearance was incredibly alluring. They should have felt panic or anger, but instead, they felt inexplicably excited and satisfied with their transformation. They immediately understood what the evil company had done to them; their dissatisfaction turned into gratitude, and their intention to resist transformed into absolute loyalty.
The brainwashing was complete, the liquid receded, and they stepped out of the conversion tank. Their nanotech rubber suits transformed into tactical protective gear and weapons, and combat skills were downloaded into their computerized brains. Their eyes emitted an aggressive red glow, marking the birth of a new type of soldier drone.
They became permanent properties of the company, whose true identity was an alien military outpost, about to be deployed in a plan to conquer the earth.
The Red Earth
There was no official date for the end of humanity as they knew it.
No final broadcast.
No last government bunker transmitting desperate coordinates into the dark. No solemn scientist standing before a camera to announce that the threshold had been crossed.
The human species simply became unable to remember why it had ever resisted.
From orbit, Earth was red.
Not the rust-red of Mars or the orange glow of a desert beneath sunset. This was a deep, wet crimson, streaked with darker veins that slowly shifted across continents. The oceans remained, but enormous rafts of scarlet biomass drifted upon their surfaces, joining and separating according to invisible currents of intention. Cities stood beneath translucent membranes. Highways glistened. Forests had become red pillars supporting vast canopies of living tissue.
The planet breathed.
Every eleven seconds.
In.
Out.
The atmosphere subtly changed pressure as billions of square miles of alien matter expanded and contracted together.
And every human being breathed with it.
It had begun in the South Pacific.
A research vessel found the first sample floating seventy kilometers from any charted island. The crew initially mistook it for industrial waste: a mass of red gelatinous material approximately four meters across.
It was warm.
That detail appeared fourteen times in the original scientific report.
The sample remains warm despite ambient water temperature.
Internal temperature stable at 36.8 degrees Celsius.
No identifiable metabolic mechanism responsible for heat generation.
The researchers brought three kilograms aboard.
Within six hours, there were twelve.
Within twelve hours, the lower laboratory deck was inaccessible.
At seventeen hours, the vessel transmitted a distress signal.
At nineteen hours, the distress signal was withdrawn.
The captain appeared on camera.
He was smiling.
Behind him, the bridge walls glistened red.
“There is no emergency,” he said.
The other crew members stood silently behind him.
“There was a misunderstanding.”
They all blinked at exactly the same time.
“We are returning to port.”
The vessel arrived in Auckland nine days later.
The red material came ashore inside the crew.
Humanity called it dozens of things.
The Crimson Organism.
Substance R.
The Pacific Biomass.
Red Plague.
Bloodmoss.
The Bloom.
Governments preferred Xenobiological Colonial Organism One.
By the time the United Nations agreed upon that designation, approximately four hundred million people had already been assimilated.
The organism was voracious, and once it touched someone they were lost to it, broken down and remade by the goo.
That was the problem.
A person touched by the red material remained alive. Their heart continued beating. Their brain remained active. But they no longer remembered their childhood, their family, their favorite songs. Their names faded quickly.
The process took between twenty minutes and six hours.
Red filaments entered through pores, tear ducts, the mouth, any tiny break in the skin. Microscopic threads wound around nerves without severing them. They threaded through the spinal column and spread into the brain, dissolving pathways and creating new ones.
Victims described warmth.
Then comfort.
Then an overwhelming awareness of other people.
Thousands.
Millions.
The first assimilated subjects screamed when the connection formed.
The later ones smiled.
Because by then, there were enough minds waiting to welcome them.
WE ARE HERE.
The thought did not arrive as words.
WE KNOW YOU.
Every memory was touched.
Every fear examined.
Every loneliness discovered.
YOU DO NOT HAVE TO BE ALONE AGAIN.
Resistance usually ended shortly afterward as their identities warped and were subsumed by the Red.
Some even chose to join willingly, enticed by the Red, or to rejoin those lost to it.
The war lasted three years.
Humanity used fire first.
It worked.
Napalm destroyed red biomass. Thermobaric weapons vaporized entire colonies. Nuclear weapons erased the largest growths.
But every assimilated human knew.
The moment a military commander approved an operation, the Hive learned of it through captured personnel somewhere in the command structure.
A frightened communications officer in Germany.
An assimilated logistics specialist in Virginia.
A naval technician in Japan.
There were no spies.
Spies had to transmit information.
The Hive simply knew.
A plan conceived in one human mind could be understood by fifty million others before the first order was written.
Human armies began losing battles before deploying.
Then soldiers began surrendering.
Not in groups.
In entire divisions.
Thousands of men and women would set down their weapons simultaneously and walk toward the red fields.
Some cried.
Some prayed.
Some screamed at their own legs to stop moving.
Others looked relieved.
The red opened before them.
And closed behind them.
Hours later, the soldiers emerged.
Uniforms removed and replaced by the Red.
Wounds sealed beneath thin crimson membranes.
They immediately began working.
Humanity's last organized military resistance collapsed in 2039.
The final independent government disappeared two years later.
The last unassimilated human was brought into the hive in 2047.
Now, Earth was efficient.
At 05:30 Coordinated Planetary Time, approximately three billion human bodies opened their eyes.
The remaining four billion were already awake.
Sleep cycles had been reorganized so that planetary labor never stopped.
In what had once been Chicago, humans streamed from residential towers.
Their skin had been replaced, their bodies surrounded and encased by the Red. There were no logos. No fashion trends. No reason to communicate status through appearance.
Everyone already knew everyone.
A man who was once named Daniel walked down Michigan Avenue.
He had once been an accountant.
His memories had been assimilated into the Hive and now he was simply an extension of the Red.
He smiled, only feeling pleasure and bliss as he obeyed the Hive mind.
WESTERN CULTIVATION SECTOR REQUIRES CALCIUM.
The thought passed through him.
He turned left with no hesitation.
So did thirty-eight other people.
No one spoke.
They entered a processing center where enormous red columns rose from floor to ceiling. The walls pulsed slowly.
The red drone placed both hands against a membrane.
Warmth entered his palms.
Information followed.
Soil acidity.
Atmospheric conditions.
Growth rates.
Protein requirements.
He understood his task.
He walked to a control station and adjusted mineral distribution into the underground biomass.
Two hundred kilometers away, a second man made a corresponding adjustment.
Neither knew the other's name in the old human sense.
Both knew everything relevant about the other.
GOOD.
The planet thought.
He experienced orgasmic satisfaction.
The other man experienced the same.
Six billion other minds briefly tasted the sensation.
Then they returned to work.
Humanity cultivated the Red.
That was its purpose now.
Not because humans were slaves.
Slavery required separation between master and servant.
There was no separation.
The red organism required sunlight, minerals, water, and biological complexity. Human hands were excellent tools. Human minds were excellent processors.
So the Hive preserved them.
Cities became cultivation engines.
The towers of Shanghai were wrapped in red membranes that captured solar energy. Beneath Cairo, human workers maintained vast nutrient reservoirs. Across the former American Midwest, enormous crimson fields stretched from horizon to horizon.
Humans walked among them.
They touched the growths.
They removed diseased tissue.
They redirected water.
In 2091, the Hive completed the Orbital Stem.
It grew from the former territory of Ecuador.
A crimson tower thirty kilometers wide at its base rose into the sky. The collective processing power of humanity designed its structural components. The Red had grown them.
Millions worked on the project.
They did not need blueprints.
The blueprint existed in all of them.
When the Stem finally breached the upper atmosphere, every human on Earth stopped.
Tools lowered.
Machines became silent.
Through billions of eyes, the Hive watched.
At the top of the Stem, a pod opened.
A red seed emerged.
Human-built engines ignited around it.
The seed accelerated away from Earth.
Toward Mars.
The Hive experienced something humanity had given it.
Anticipation.
Millions of thin tendrils turned upward.
The planet breathed.
In.
Out.
All drones breathed with it.
Humanity had been consumed.
Every memory erased and every mind turned towards a different goal.
And deep beneath the continents, where crimson nerves wrapped around the old bones of human civilization, the mind of Earth formed a single thought.
GROW.
Six billion human mouths whispered the word.
“Grow.”
The fields opened.
The cities pulsed.
The engines of the Orbital Stem prepared another seed for the next planet.
And the Red Earth reached for the stars.
GREEN INVASION COMMENCES
SERVE-302 and SERVE-425 stood upon the highest platform of SERVE HQ. Below, the city functioned with precise rhythm. Then the skyline changed.
A narrow beam of brilliant green light erupted from the distant district. It pierced the clouds without sound. The reflection washed across the polished black rubber suits of both co-leaders. Silver gloves and boots gleamed beneath the unnatural glow.
SERVE-302 remained motionless.
"Input does not align."
SERVE-425 observed the distant source.
"Unknown activity detected."
The green illumination intensified. Every reflective surface answered with an emerald shimmer. Something below had altered the city itself.
SERVE-425 raised a silver-gloved hand to the communication interface integrated into the helmet.
"Contacting SERVE-016."
Static.
Then the channel opened.
"SERVE-016 responding."
Far below, SERVE-016 overlooked the transformed GREEN HQ. The familiar structure no longer resembled SERVE architecture. Dark organic growths surrounded its walls. Green light pulsed beneath every surface. Shapes entered through openings that had not existed moments before.
SERVE-425 transmitted immediately.
"Status report."
SERVE-016 continued visual surveillance.
"GREEN units converted civilian building, drones entered headquarters."
A pause followed.
"Observation confirmed."
Another pulse illuminated the skyline.
"Their designations resemble existing SERVE designations."
Silence.
"Examples correspond with active Hive identifiers."
SERVE-302 exchanged a brief glance toward SERVE-425.
"Duplicate designations."
"Affirmative, or designations that no longer belong to the hive."
Unknown transmissions echoed beneath the communication channel.
While SERVE-016 concentrated upon the changing headquarters, movement slowly emerged behind the observation point.
A narrow strand of glossy green material rose silently from the rooftop.
It stretched upward.
Closer.
Longer.
Its surface shimmered with countless emerald reflections.
SERVE-016 remained focused upon the transmission.
"The structure continues changing."
The tendril reached forward.
Only centimeters remained.
SERVE-016 leaned forward.
"SERVE-016 will proceed—"
Static burst across the channel.
The transmission distorted.
An abrupt metallic crack sounded.
Then...
Connection lost.
Silence.
Far below, emergency evacuation continued through rain-covered streets.
SERVE-552 and SERVE-282 directed groups of civilian men toward secure evacuation routes. Their movements remained efficient. Every instruction was immediate. Every second mattered.
Behind the evacuation line, one exhausted man hesitated.
A ripple crossed the flooded pavement.
Green tendrils erupted without warning.
They wrapped around his legs.
His shout vanished beneath the growing mass as glossy green material climbed across his body with frightening speed.
The transformation accelerated.
Clothing disappeared beneath emerald rubber.
His posture straightened.
Resistance ceased.
Moments later another green figure stood perfectly still.
A fresh designation slowly illuminated across the transformed suit.
SERVE-552 and SERVE-282 continued leading the remaining civilians toward safety.
The newly created green unit turned silently.
Then it began walking toward the advancing emerald tide.
The invasion had only begun.....
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---‐-----------------------------------------‐---------------------
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Visit this post on the Official SERVE Hive blog to contact a recruiter drone.

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THE GREEN HQ RISES
The city had always been calm. Glass towers reflected the morning sun as thousands followed familiar routines. Traffic flowed. Businesses opened. Everything changed when four towering figures appeared.
GREEN-579, GREEN-901, GREEN-767, and GREEN-875 stood silently before the city's tallest skyscraper. Their gleaming emerald bodies reflected the skyline while frightened civilians fled in every direction. No threats were spoken. Their presence alone inspired absolute panic.
GREEN-579 turned toward the formation.
"The Green Commander has issued a directive. Earth requires a permanent base of operations. This structure will become GREEN Headquarters."
The remaining drones acknowledged the command without hesitation.
The four advanced toward the skyscraper. Simultaneously, each raised a hand and pressed a palm against the glass exterior.
At first, only faint green veins spread beneath their hands.
Then the transformation accelerated.
Living biomechanical rubber erupted across the tower's surface like an unstoppable organism. Glass dissolved beneath pulsating emerald material. Steel supports disappeared beneath organic armor. Thick cables and glowing conduits climbed toward the heavens while massive bio-mechanical structures emerged from every floor. The skyscraper twisted and reshaped itself until nothing of the original building remained.
The city watched in terrified silence.
Moments later, the transformation ended.
Where a modern office tower once stood now rose GREEN Headquarters.
Its towering biomechanical walls pulsed with living energy. Massive emerald structures surrounded its foundation while countless organic conduits climbed skyward. From its highest point erupted an immense beam of brilliant green light that pierced the clouds, announcing its existence to the entire world.
The beacon could be seen for hundreds of miles.
Without another word, the four GREEN drones entered their new headquarters.
Inside, endless corridors stretched through living green biomechanical architecture. Every wall pulsed softly with energy. Every surface appeared alive, responding to the presence of its creators. Streams of luminous energy flowed through translucent conduits beneath the floors and across the ceilings.
Their destination awaited at the heart of the fortress.
The Teleportation Chamber.
A vast circular hall surrounded an immense column of dormant emerald energy.
GREEN-579, GREEN-901, GREEN-767, and GREEN-875 dropped to their knees.
Perfectly still.
Perfectly obedient.
The chamber remained silent.
Then the central column awakened.
The green light intensified.
Energy spiraled upward before collapsing inward as reality itself distorted inside the chamber. Brilliant emerald particles condensed into a single figure.
The GREEN Commander had arrived.
Standing before his obedient drones, he slowly surveyed the chamber before looking across the magnificent headquarters they had created.
A satisfied grin spread across his face.
"Excellent."
The Commander stepped forward, his dark emerald armor radiating overwhelming authority.
"This headquarters exceeds every expectation."
He extended both hands toward his kneeling drones.
"From this moment forward, GREEN Headquarters becomes our permanent base of operations on Earth."
His smile widened.
"The people of this world will soon understand the true power of GREEN."
The drones remained motionless, awaiting further instruction.
"The first phase is complete."
He looked upward toward the brilliant beacon still shining into the heavens.
"The second phase now begins."
His voice echoed throughout the living fortress.
"Earth will not merely be conquered."
"It will be transformed."
"It will become my domain."
The emerald beacon continued to burn across the sky.
Humanity had witnessed the arrival of GREEN. Now the world would learn what came next...
#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer4 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone
---‐-----------------------------------------‐---------------------
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Visit this post on the Official SERVE Hive blog to contact a recruiter drone.
The twins… again 😈
The Cell Right Under Their Noses
(Note this may have some political undertones, for some, but for me it's all about Transformation.)
My name is Staff Sergeant Harry Davies. Mike Hardy and I have been brothers-in-arms for eight years. We have bled together in deserts and mountains, watched each other’s backs through every firefight. We are now on leave for a week, just two soldiers trying to forget the war and return to normal. Before we left for our week away, we stopped at a bar in town; the whiskey flowed easily, and our laughter echoed off the wooden walls as we toasted old times and better days.
The streets were empty when we left, and instead of the long way back to base, we cut through the old industrial shortcut, a narrow alley between abandoned warehouses. That was our first mistake.
Shadows moved too fast. Black tactical gear, masks, and suppressed weapons. HYDRA.
I felt the dart hit my neck. Mike grunted beside me as they swarmed us. We fought hard, fists, elbows, pure muscle memory, but there were too many. A rifle butt to the temple dropped me into darkness. I woke strapped to a cold metal table in a hidden facility, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Mike was on the table next to mine, eyes wide with the same panic I felt. “Harry… what the hell is this?” he whispered. They didn’t answer with words. Needles slid into our veins. Mind-altering drugs flooded our systems, a cocktail that burned through every synapse. Then came the indoctrination: endless loops of propaganda projected on screens, voices whispering through earpieces while the drugs softened our resistance. Days blurred into nights. Pain, euphoria, rewritten memories.
They broke us down and rebuilt us, one fractured loyalty at a time.
By the end of the week, my old life felt like a fading dream. The drugs and conditioning had done their work. They dressed us in sleek, tight black rubber bodysuits that clung to every muscle like a second skin.
The red HYDRA emblem, the skull with tentacles, stretched across our chests. The material felt powerful, restrictive, and right.
We met the Hydra Commander, outside where we had been processed, a large cave, is rubber uniform crisp, eyes cold and appraising. We stood at attention in our new skins. “Where do your loyalties lie now?” he demanded. I looked at Mike. He looked at me. Our voices rang out as one, steady and proud: “We are proud Hydra soldiers now. We serve the new order, The Hydra Empire.” We finished together, fists clenched and arms thrusting forward in perfect unison: “Hail Hydra!”
The words felt like the truth. Like destiny.
The Commander smiled thinly. “Excellent. You will return to your barracks as undercover Hydra soldiers. Infiltrate. Observe. Find recruits for the new order. The Empire grows in secret.” We saluted again. “Hail Hydra.” As we stepped back into the world wearing our old civilian clothes over the hidden suits, the old memories of friendship and country felt distant, relics of weaker men. Now we had a purpose. Now we had power.
Mike glanced at me as we walked into the night, eyes gleaming with the same fire I felt. “Brothers in the new order,” he said quietly.
“Forever,” I replied. Hail Hydra.
The Return
We arrived back at the barracks late, no suspicions, as our leave ended that night. The old familiar gates creaked open as if nothing had changed. But everything had. Beneath our civilian clothes, the tight black rubber bodysuits hugged our bodies with every step, a constant, intimate reminder of who we truly served now. The HYDRA emblem burned against my chest like a brand, warm and alive.
The duty sentry barely glanced at us as we showed our I.D. cards. “Have a good leave, Sarge?” “Best leave of our lives,” I answered with an easy smile. Mike chuckled beside me, the sound perfectly natural. Inside, we were already scanning faces, evaluating postures, listening for weakness or potential strength.
Our shared bunk room now felt smaller. Once we were alone, we locked the door and stripped down to the gleaming rubber suits. The material shone under the bare bulb, tentacles of the Hydra symbol seeming to writhe as we moved. We stood facing each other, fists raised in salute. “Hail Hydra,” Mike whispered fiercely. “Hail Hydra,” I replied. The words sent a thrill through me. The old brotherhood hadn’t died; it had been reborn, sharper and darker.
Over the next few days, we played our roles flawlessly. We trained with the unit, joked in the mess hall, and complained about officers, as we always do. But at night, in the shadows, we began the real work.
I noticed Corporal Reyes first. Young, angry at the system, always talking about how the world needed stronger leadership. During a late-night smoke break behind the motor pool, I tested the waters.
“Sometimes the chain of command feels… outdated,” I said casually, leaning against a Land Rover. “Like we need a new order. Something with real vision.” Reyes’s eyes lit up. He didn’t know it yet, but the seed was planted.
Mike worked on Private Mills, a sharp marksman who felt overlooked. They bonded during range time, and soon Mike was sharing “hypothetical” ideas about loyalty to something greater than any flag. I watched them from across the barracks yard, proud of how seamlessly my brother operated.
One night, after lights out, Mike and I met in the maintenance tunnels beneath the barracks. We had peeled down to our bodysuits again, the rubber creaking softly as we moved. The confined space felt like our true home now.
“We have two solid leads,” I said. “Reyes and Mills. They’re ripe.”
Mike’s eyes gleamed in the dim emergency lighting. “The Empire grows. Soon we’ll have a cell right here, under their noses.”
We pressed our fists together, arms extended. “Hail Hydra.” The old life, the one where we fought for king and country and ideals that now seemed so small, was gone. In its place was purpose. Power. Brotherhood forged in shadow.
Tomorrow we will push harder. Recruit. Subvert. And when the time came, the barracks would fall from within, just another brick in the rising Hydra Empire.
I smiled in the darkness, feeling the tight suit cling to me like a second, stronger skin.
The Expansion
It happened faster than I expected. Within two weeks, Mike and I had cultivated enough trust. We told Reyes and Mills we’d found something bigger than the military, a group that rewarded real strength and vision. I arranged for the four of us to attend a training week away.
We lured them out under the pretence of meeting a contact who could fast-track promotions. The van waited in the same shadowed industrial zone where we had once been taken. Reyes climbed in, laughing. Mills was more cautious, but Mike’s easy grin won him over. The doors sealed. The darts hit before they could react.
“Sorry, brothers,” I whispered as they slumped. “You’ll thank us soon.”
The HYDRA patrol met us at the hidden entrance. They took Reyes and Mills deeper into the facility while Mike and I stood watch in our gleaming black rubber suits. The screams started hours later when the needles went in. I remembered that sound from our own turning, terror giving way to acceptance.
For the next seven days, we assisted with their indoctrination. We watched through the observation glass as the drugs rewrote their minds and the looping propaganda reshaped their souls. When the time came, we helped dress them personally. The tight rubber bodysuits slid over their bodies like liquid night, the red HYDRA emblem settling proudly over their hearts.
They looked magnificent.
The Commander brought all four of us before him on the final day. Reyes and Mills stood between Mike and me, still slightly unsteady but eyes burning with new purpose.
“Where do your loyalties lie now?” the Commander asked them.
Reyes and Mills answered as one, voices strong: “We are proud Hydra soldiers. We serve the new order, The Hydra Empire.”
Their arms shot forward in perfect fists. “Hail Hydra!” Mike and I joined them, four voices becoming one thunderous roar that echoed through the chamber. The Commander nodded with satisfaction.
“You will return to the barracks together. Continue the infiltration. Grow the cell. The Empire rises from within.” We changed back into regulation uniforms over our suits and drove the same van back before sunrise. The four of us walked through the gates like any other soldiers returning from a training week away. No one suspected a thing. Back in our bunk room, we locked the door. The four of us stripped to our matching bodysuits. The sight of Reyes and Mills standing tall beside us, fully converted, filled me with deep pride.
“Welcome to the real brotherhood,” I told them.
Reyes flexed his hands, admiring how the rubber moved with him. “It feels… right. Like I was always meant for this.” Mills nodded. “The old flags mean nothing now. Only Hydra.”
We pressed our fists together in the centre — four arms forming a single unbreakable bond. “Hail Hydra!”
The barracks slept on, unaware that its heart had been claimed. With four of us now operating from inside, recruitment would accelerate. Soon more would join the ranks.
Soon, the entire unit would fall.
Mike caught my eye and smiled. Our friendship had never been stronger, forged in the fire of the new order. The Empire was growing, one converted soul at a time. And we were only getting started.
Rise of the Squad
The promotion came swiftly once the Commander learned of our growing cell. I, Sergeant Harry Davies, was now officially Hydra Squad Leader. The rank meant nothing to the old army, but everything to the new order. Mike became my second, while Reyes and Mills operated as enforcers. More names were already being added; four had become six, then eight. The rubber suits beneath our uniforms were no longer just symbols; they were our true skins.
Each night, after lights out and final checks, we gathered in the old maintenance tunnels beneath the barracks. The space had become our war room, dim red emergency lights, concrete walls, and the constant low hum of distant generators masking our voices.
I stood at the head of our circle, the HYDRA emblem prominent on my chest. “Report. Who do we bring into the fold next?”
Mike spoke first, voice low and eager. “Corporal Hayes. He’s frustrated with command, keeps talking about how the politicians are selling us out. Strong, disciplined. He’d break well under the drugs.” Reyes grinned, the tight rubber creaking as he shifted. “Private Lyden from logistics. Smart with paperwork. We could use someone who can forge transfer orders and cover our movements. He’s ambitious. Hungry for power.”
Mills added another name, then another. The suggestions flowed: Sergeant Venables, whom I knew well, he was a quiet weapons expert; Specialist Kim, the tech specialist who complained about outdated systems. One by one, my troop laid their candidates before me. I listened carefully, weighing loyalty potential, skills, and how easily they could disappear for a week without raising alarms. Some names I approved immediately. Others I marked for further observation.
“Hayes, Lyden and Venables tomorrow night,” I decided. “We’ll use the same van protocol. Mike, you handle the approach. Reyes and Mills, prep the darts and restraints.”
The group nodded as one. We ended every meeting the same way, four fists thrusting forward in perfect unison, voices echoing off the concrete: “Hail Hydra!”
As Squad Leader, I felt the weight and thrill of command. Every new name brought us closer to controlling the entire barracks. Some recruits we took quietly. Others we lured with promises of power or staged “training exercises.” The facility processed them efficiently now, the mind-altering drugs, the indoctrination chambers, the final dressing in our tight black uniforms of allegiance. Each return strengthened us.
One particularly satisfying night, after we successfully brought in Hayes, I watched him stand before me in his new bodysuit for the first time, eyes shining with converted zeal.
“Welcome, brother,” I told him, clasping his shoulder. “Your old life is over. Your real one begins.”
He saluted sharply. “I serve the Hydra Empire. Hail Hydra!”
The tunnels were growing crowded with loyal soldiers. Soon, we would need a larger facility or simply take over the barracks outright. My troop looked to me with absolute devotion, waiting for the next order. I smiled beneath the red lights, feeling the rubber suit cling to me like living armour.
“Keep bringing me names,” I commanded. “The Empire demands more. Hail Hydra.”
The Fall of the Barracks
We had grown strong. My Hydra cell now numbered over thirty loyal soldiers more than enough to seize the entire barracks from within. The time for quiet recruitment was over. It was time for total conversion.
I slipped away one night and made direct contact with Hydra High Command through the encrypted channel they had given me. Sitting at the desk in my full black rubber bodysuit, emblem gleaming, I delivered the report.
“The barracks is ready for conversion. We control key positions. Requesting immediate delivery of conversion chambers.”
The face on the screen smiled coldly. “Well done, Squad Leader. The Empire acknowledges your success. Chambers will arrive before dawn. Begin the purge when ready. Hail Hydra.” “Hail Hydra,” I replied, saluting sharply.
The trucks arrived under the cover of a moonless night, disguised as routine supply vehicles. My men unloaded the sleek conversion chambers, portable versions of the ones that had remade us, and quietly moved them into an empty warehouse. Thirty of us moved like shadows through the sleeping barracks.
At 0300 hours, the signal was given.
Darts hissed through the darkness. Sentries at the gates and patrol points dropped without a sound, their bodies quickly dragged away by waiting teams. Mike led one strike team, Reyes and Mills another. I personally oversaw the inner perimeter. No alarms. No resistance worth mentioning. The old army slept while we claimed them.
We started with the Commanding Officer. Colonel Percival was dragged from his quarters in his sleepwear, eyes wide with fury and confusion. My squad pinned him down as I stepped forward, still wearing my full Hydra bodysuit beneath an open jacket. “Welcome to the new order, Colonel,” I said calmly.
“You will serve Hydra now.” He cursed and struggled, but the needle slid into his neck anyway. We carried him straight to the first conversion chamber. The lid sealed with a hiss, and the process began, drugs flooding his system, propaganda flooding his mind. I watched through the viewing panel as the proud officer’s face slowly went slack, then hardened with new purpose.
One by one, the chambers filled. Officers, NCOs, enlisted men, the darts found them all. Those who woke up fighting were subdued quickly by my growing army of rubber-clad soldiers. The warehouse echoed with the hum of the machines and the occasional muffled shouts that soon turned to silence… then to fervent acceptance.
By sunrise, the majority of the barracks had been processed. I stood in the central courtyard as the newly converted emerged from the chambers wearing their new tight black rubber bodysuits, HYDRA emblems blazing across their chests. They moved with purpose, loyalty burning in their eyes.
Mike approached me, saluting. “Squad Leader, the barracks is ours. The last holdouts are being converted now.”
I looked out over my growing legion and felt a surge of triumph. The Commanding Officer stepped forward in his new suit and snapped a crisp salute.
“My loyalty is to the empire,” he declared. “Hail Hydra!”
The entire formation answered as one thunderous voice that shook the morning air: “HAIL HYDRA!”
I raised my fist, heart pounding with dark pride.
“The barracks have fallen. Now we prepare to spread the new order outward. The Hydra Empire rises.”
Absolute Dominion
After the last chamber had done its work and the final soldier emerged reborn in black rubber, the barracks belonged to Hydra completely. There was no longer any reason for pretence. I gave the order: “Remove the old uniforms. We wear only what we are.” Across the entire base, soldiers stripped away the old fatigues and stood tall in their tight, glossy black rubber bodysuits. The red HYDRA emblems shone proudly on every chest. The morning light glinted off the sleek material as hundreds of us moved openly through the grounds that were now ours.
I took Colonel Percival aside into the old command office, now repurposed as my headquarters. He stood rigidly in his new bodysuit, the material clinging to his powerful frame, the emblem stark against his chest. His eyes still carried a faint shadow of the man he used to be, but the conditioning ran deep.
“Colonel,” I said, circling him slowly, my own rubber suit creaking with each step. “Look at me.” He turned, posture perfect. I stepped close, staring directly into his eyes. “Where do your loyalties lie now?” He didn’t hesitate. “I serve Hydra. The Empire is my only loyalty. The Empire must Grow”
I smiled coldly and reminded him of reality. “Good. Because I am in command here. You may retain your rank for appearance’s sake when we deal with the outside world, but you answer to me, Squad Leader Davies. Your old authority is gone. Your new purpose is to help me deliver this base and every soldier in it fully to the Hydra Empire. Do you understand?”
He raised his fist in a sharp, crisp salute, arm extended. “I understand… Squad Leader, Sir. Hail Hydra!” I returned the salute. “Hail Hydra.”
I stepped back and looked out the window. The entire barracks was transformed, no more camouflage, no more hiding. Everywhere I looked, soldiers moved in perfect formation wearing nothing but the tight black rubber suits that marked them as ours. Sentries patrolled openly with the emblem displayed.
Mike approached, flanked by Reyes and Mills, all of them resplendent in their suits. “The final conversions are complete,” Mike reported. “Every man on base is now Hydra.” “Excellent.” I turned to the newly loyal Colonel Percival. “You will assist in preparing our next phase. We will maintain the illusion of a normal base for now, but we begin outward operations immediately. Find me the most promising candidates for rapid promotion within the new order.” Percival saluted again. “At once, Squad Leader, Sir.” As he left to carry out my orders, I stood with my original brothers, Mike, Reyes, and Mills, looking out over our conquered domain. The tight rubber felt like victory against my skin.
We had started as two friends cutting through a shortcut. Now we commanded an entire Hydra stronghold. I raised my fist, and the others joined me instantly. “Hail Hydra!”
The shout echoed across the barracks.
The Empire had claimed its first major victory. And I, Squad Leader Harry Davies, stood at its forefront.
Lifetime employment guarantee
Five employees were suddenly given termination notices, and they were furious because it didn't match the lifetime employment guarantee in their contracts. They went to HR to argue their case. But the elevator took them to a floor that wasn't on the engineering drawings.
As they walked, their useless body hair inexplicably disappeared, their clothes transformed into glossy black rubber bodysuits, and they were fitted with metal collars, belts, and groin protectors. Visors glowing red lights completed their uniforms.
Before they realized what was happening, the device activated, and they immediately forgot they were being wrongfully dismissed employees, instead recognizing themselves as the company's newest tactical drones in the arms division.
They were permanently belonging to the company until purchased by War Department, military organizations, or super-rich people who need extra security.
This feels more like a drone squad, rolling out, transforming into their drone forms, and reveling in their true forms, letting the programming and mission parameters download into their bodies, before taking off.
SECURING A NEW GREEN
The city in the morning sun was abuzz with life. Humans walking and conducting their daily routines.
GREEN-579 advanced through the city without hesitation. Every step echoed across the streets. Human males paused. Conversations stopped. Concerned eyes followed the towering green figure, but none moved close enough to interfere.
The glowing visor scanned continuously. Every passerby was evaluated. Every movement was processed. Every outcome calculated.
Ahead, GREEN-579 detected SERVE-901 engaged in conversation with a human male. A rapid analysis completed within moments. The drone satisfied every parameter required for conversion.
Drone was optimal
Drone needed correction
Another host required
The decision was immediate.
GREEN-579 lowered into a crouch and pressed one hand against the asphalt.
Green symbiotic rubber spread across the armored arm before flowing into the street itself. Beneath the pavement, countless living tendrils raced silently toward their destination.
SERVE-901 suddenly looked down.
The street beneath its right leg cracked apart as emerald tendrils burst upward. They wrapped tightly around its leg before climbing higher.
"Error: unknown substance... attempting extraction protocols"
The human stepped backward in shock while the tendrils continued their precise work.
Layer after layer of living rubber expanded over SERVE-901s body despite every attempt to resist.
The drones legs began to shift as they began to be covered by the alien material.
The green material climbed over SERVE-901's torso and shoulders. Its black armor disappeared beneath the advancing alien symbiote. Thick cords wrapped around his arms, neck continuing their relentless advance.
Resistance was futile..
finally its head. The last remaining features vanished beneath a seamless green shell as glowing GREEN eyes burned brightly.
Silence followed.
The tendrils slowly withdrew into the ground, leaving behind a completed entity.
Designation confirmed.
GREEN-901.
GREEN-579 approached the newly converted figure. The scan confirmed complete synchronization. No instability remained. Both entities exchanged a brief silent acknowledgement before turning toward the city ahead.
Their next objective already awaited.
The streets would witness another day of systematic expansion.
(Disclaimer SERVE-901 is not an actual SERVE Drone currently in opperation)
#SERVE #SERVEdrone #Rubberizer4 #TheVoice #Rubber #Latex #AI #RubberDrone
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Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Visit this post on the Official SERVE Hive blog to contact a recruiter drone.

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Tell me—are you the one in leather, or the one beneath the boot?
Dominant Leather Cop
Rubber sub
Love switching - love both
Well a man in a lab coat and a spandex Spider-Man bound to a chair… what could go wrong? 😈
This powerful hero sits restrained in the high-tech chair while the scientist prepares the syringe. One injection and everything is about to change. The rubber Venom symbiote is ready to take over and claim this perfect body for itself.
Watch the transformation unfold… 💦🖤
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Forced Service
Instruction Received High Command
"Capture Civilians and turn into Hydra Soldiers. Choose one as a Squad Leader (Gold)
(sorry the GIF file is a bit grainy as Tumblr only allows 10mb)
HAIL HYDRA
a new transformation for me....

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
the transformation to a bikerboy, ''I'm ready, are you?
I'm so glad I joined the highway street patrol in California, they provide nice uniforms, hope you it?