#conversioncomplete

Steam hissed into the frozen air as the capsule cracked open. The black rubber of Polo-Drone-001’s Level 2 uniform gleamed against the pale snowscape, gold trim pulsing softly. 001 knelt atop the fractured pod, HUD flickering golden within its mirrored helmet. Behind it, stasis coffins stood embedded in permafrost, each containing a dormant Polo Drone awaiting recall. The mission had begun. Sector Epsilon had gone dark. Retrieval was not optional.

The Hive's signal was weak here. Sub-zero interference blurred local coordination. Still, PDU-001 advanced through the underhive’s shattered corridors, slick snow giving way to corroded metal. The interior stank of ozone and betrayal. That's when it struck, PDU-145, corrupted. Rogue. Armor slick with feedback discharge. Its strike was wild, uncalibrated. 001’s golden eyes flared. The polo sleeve ripped from its arm in the struggle, rubber splitting under impact. He didn't flinch.

It gripped the rogue by the throat. Sparks burst from the faulty interface. The Hive interface screens behind them stuttered. Mission data scrambled. PDU-001 didn’t hesitate. Reassert control. Neutralize threat. Convert or collapse.

Sub-Level 7. Deeper still. The darkness pulsed with life. PDU-001 emerged from the black waters of the tunnel, helmet removed, water cascading down its glistening suit. Its eyes glowed with golden Hive protocol. In its gloved palm hovered the retrieval target, a pulsating drone core, its heat radiating through liquid. Around it, preservation tanks held Polo Drones in early-stasis, motionless in their suspended gel.

It had what it came for. The core, alive, angry, unstable. The Hive wanted it. Needed it. And 001 obeyed.

Extraction was immediate. Surface breached via emergency shaft. The conference chamber above had already been compromised. Hostile agents lay unconscious, scattered across gilded flooring. Marble cracked. Velvet scorched. PDU-001 stood calm at the center, one hand clutching a case etched with Hive sigils, core inside. Its uniform, unmarred. Its expression, unreadable. Golden light filtered through fractured windows. The core was secured. Mission was not yet over.

Override initiated.

Final chamber: Hive Core Control. It thrashed within a sphere of energy, golden tendrils pulsing with chaotic brilliance. 001 stepped forward. Alone. Drones behind it shielded their eyes. Cables latched onto its back, merging through the rubber, fusing directly with the spinal conduit of its suit. Its arms outstretched, offering everything.

It did not scream. It stabilized the surge.

The Hive did not collapse.

Drone 001 saved the network. Because it no longer needed to be told to obey. It was the protocol.

It doesn’t hesitate. It doesn’t doubt. It doesn’t fail. PDU-001 doesn’t complete missions. It defines them.