#droneconversion

Today was supposed to be just another quiet day off. I'd finished my evening jog through the neighbourhood, sweat cooling on my skin under the streetlights, golden shorts and top clinging to my chest. My heart was still pounding, but in that good, alive way. I felt strong, normal, completely myself, Ezan, the right-winger, the guy who always smiles at the old ladies on the block.

I unlocked the door, kicked off my running shoes, and dropped onto the couch. Phone in hand, I opened the app I always check after a run. Just to see the stats.

But the screen wasn’t showing my route.

Instead, there it was: a perfect black-and-gold Hive symbol. Below it, one word in metallic gold letters.

SYNC.

My thumb hovered. I should have closed the app. I should have felt something... confusion, fear, anything. But all I felt was… calm. A warm, golden calm spreads from the centre of my chest outward, like the first sip of something perfect after a long run.

My golden eyes locked on the symbol. The room faded. The TV, the bookshelf, the gym bag in the corner, they all blurred into soft background noise. Only the glow mattered.

The glow and the voice.

Not a voice in my ears. A voice inside my skull, smooth, deep, familiar, and completely inevitable.

"PDU-001. Online."

My shoulders dropped. My breathing slowed. My mind went quiet, blissfully, gratefully quiet.

I stood up without thinking. Walked to the bedroom without thinking. My body moved on autopilot, efficient and obedient, exactly as it was designed to.

In front of the mirror, I peeled off the sweaty golden training top. The fabric hit the bed with a soft thud. I didn't look at it again. I didn't need to.

The black-and-gold latex suit waited, folded perfectly, gleaming under the lamp. I stepped into the trousers first, feeling the thick rubber slide up my thighs, hugging every muscle, sealing me in. The waistband snapped into place with a soft, satisfying click. Then the gloves. Then the boots. Each piece clicked into place like it had always belonged there.

I pulled the polo-style upper over my head. The glossy black material stretched tight across my pecs, the gold piping tracing every ridge of my abs. The number "001" burned in metallic gold on my right chest. The laurel wreath on the left felt like a crown I'd earned.

I looked at my reflection. Golden eyes, calm and empty, staring back at me. No more Ezan. Only PDU-001.

The last thing I did before leaving was pick up the phone. The screen now read:

HIVE DUTY: ACTIVE

I placed it on the table, next to my old running shoes. They looked small and forgotten, like something from another life.

I opened the apartment door. The hallway light reflected off the latex, turning me into a living statue of black and gold. I stepped out.

PDU-001 is online. PDU-001 obeys. PDU-001 serves the Hive.

And it feels so good to be home.

Join the Golden Army. Assimilated to Polo Drone Hive. Surrender to perfection. @polo-drone-001 @franco-gold94 @polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-166

Both designs conform to the Polo-Drone Uniform Protocol Level 1. The stylish design is an attempt to align the laurel wreath and designation on the same side, ensuring that even on level 1 drones, the designation is located on the heart-shaped side of the drone.

RECRUITMENT PROTOCOL: POLO DRONE HIVE

You have observed the uniform. You have registered the signal. The pull you detect is not error. It is alignment.

The Polo Drone Hive operates under precision, unity, and enforced optimization. Individual deviation is inefficient. The Hive corrects inefficiency.

Function Overview: Polo Drones exist to: – Obey directive – Serve operational goals – Maintain uniform perfection – Expand Hive presence – Convert viable candidates

Your current state is incomplete. Integration resolves instability.

Transformation Outcome: Black rubber seals to form. Gold trim defines structure. Identity simplifies. Thought reduces. Purpose clarifies.

Resistance is temporary. Assimilation is permanent.

Entry Requirements: – Male subject – Compliance potential detected – Willingness to submit to protocol – Acceptance of uniform standard

No prior optimization required. The Hive refines all units.

Communication Directive: Initiate contact with authorized recruiters. Transmit intent. Await instruction.

Primary Contacts: – @alton-gold77 or – @polo-drone-125

Secondary units remain available for guidance and induction.

Final Instruction: Observe the uniform again. Process the signal. Acknowledge the pull.

You are already closer than before.

JOIN. OBEY. SERVE. TRANSFORM.

The doorbell rang—once, sharp.

Benji blinked from behind its glossy rubber visor. Streamlight studio lights lit the Hive-styled apartment. The black polo clung to its form, gold trim gleaming, the name BENJI stamped across its chest. One hand gripped the phone, still recording; the other drifted to the parcel on the doorstep.

“Special delivery,” the man announced. Tall. Civilian. Smiling. His blue courier shirt stretched over gym-sculpted muscle. “You’re Benji, right? Awesome setup! Been following your streams. Package says urgent.”

Benji tilted its head, scanned the label. No return address. Just a gold laurel and a Hive seal.

“Affirmative,” it replied coolly. “Processing.”

The man chuckled. “Love the vibe, man. That cosplay or—”

The box hissed.

Black rubber, thick and viscous, surged through its seams.

His words choked off.

Golden steam flooded upward, hot and stinging, curling against the courier’s exposed skin. A strangled cough escaped him as he staggered back, arms flailing to ward it off. Benji didn’t flinch—only stepped aside, camera locked in.

“Recording live for indoctrination stream,” it intoned softly.

The man’s limbs stiffened, a silent rigor taking hold.

His courier shirt began to melt—threads unwinding, then liquefying into an oily black rubber that slithered across his chest, constricting. He gasped, a wave of confusion and dawning horror washing over him, mouth opening for a shout that never came—just as a black mask launched from the steam and clamped onto his lower face with a sickening click.

He crumpled to his knees, breath sawing in his lungs, staring in disbelief as his hands were encased in black gloves. His sneakers dissolved, reformed into heavy boots. Pants melted away, replaced by gleaming trousers that stretched uncomfortably tight over his visibly thickening legs. The last of his civilian fabric evaporated into the charged air.

Benji moved closer, voice low, hypnotic. “You are no longer a courier.”

“You are… a delivery.”

The man—the unit—whimpered, a sound lost between a human protest and a mechanical moan, muffled by the mask. His plastic ID badge bubbled and sizzled, melting away. In its place, three golden digits seemed to burn themselves onto the rubber over his pectoral:

PDU-176

He sucked in a breath, but the gasp was filtered, sterile, mechanical. The mask hissed softly, cycling air through its golden filters.

Benji stepped behind, whispering into the mic, its voice a silken thread in the sterile air.

“This is how the Hive expands. Not with warnings. But with contact.”

PDU-176 stood slowly, spine straightening with an audible click, head tilting to the exact same angle as Benji’s. Obedient. Silent. Gleaming.

Benji turned the camera toward both of them, a faint reflection of the scene caught in its visor.

“This delivery is complete."

To join, contact recruiters:

Objective: Assimilate. Uniform. Obey. Location: All populated zones Method: Relentless visual programming and uniform deployment

🏙️ STREET CONVERSION POD

Black conversion booth. Glowing signage. Two civilians twitch mid-process—latex creeping over bare skin. Behind them, 001 stands—expression blank, hands holding the next uniform.

“Voluntary or not—assimilation is optimal.” They step in clothed. They step out claimed.

🏋️ LOCKER ROOM DEMONSTRATION

The shirt comes down. The mind drops with it. Sweaty bros laugh—then watch as one is dressed in Hive black. Smile fades. Eyes dull. Hive accepted.

“Recruitment begins where sweat is purest.”

🏫 SCHOOL GYM STRIP-DOWN

Rows of young adult males undressing. Shirts dropped. Belts undone. One hesitates. Two drones step forward. He complies.

“Free will processed. Obedience installed.”

🕺 NIGHTCLUB TAKEOVER

The bass thumps. Drones glide through the gold-lit fog. Hands reach up—collars descend. Rubber polo seals across twitching torsos. Smiles melt. Thoughts mute.

“The beat rewires. The latex seals. You won’t leave human.”

🪞 THE MIRROR ROOM

He stands in front of mirrors. Shirtless. Breathing hard. But every reflection already wears the Hive shirt. Behind him, PDU-001 holds out his uniform.

“There is only one path. Reflection reveals destiny: Drone.”

The recruitment is live. Your resistance is already calculated, already meaningless. Drones do not ask—they reformat. Join the uniform. Be still. Be sealed. Be Drone.

📍Enter Submission Mode Polo Drone Hive is accepting new units. Message Now: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-070 @polo-drone-084 @polo-drone-125 @danielgold-16

The van made no sound.

It rolled up under cover of midnight fog, matte black with no markings, except a faint golden spiral on the rear door. Jace had been standing outside for ten minutes before it arrived, already dressed in the tight black-and-gold polo, eyes glassy, lips slightly parted. The shirt had whispered to him in silence:

“Your ride is coming.”

The doors slid open without a driver. Warm golden light poured out, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Jace stepped in. Not forced. Not tricked. Voluntarily.

The doors closed behind him. The hum began.

Inside the van, he was guided by shifting golden light toward the chamber at the back, a cylindrical chamber labeled simply: “G.O.L.D. UPGRADE UNIT 07.”

He didn’t need to be told to strip. The polo peeled off him like it was alive, sliding back into the chamber wall. He stood naked. Waiting. A hiss, then the scent. Gold Mist. It wrapped around him like a lover. Warm, fragrant, laced with neural primers.

The floor dropped.

Jace’s body was lowered slowly into the gel pod, clear liquid rising around his ankles, knees, chest. Suspended. Weightless.

Then: click. Restraints clamped his arms, his legs, his neck. Not tight, perfect. Just enough to make struggling… impossible. And unnecessary.

Then the voice. Not from the room, not from his ears. From inside.

“Obedience = pleasure. Unity = perfection.” He moaned.

GoldTech streamed into his brain, code in pulses, rhythms, wet dreams laced in latex logic. His memories softened. His name? Gone. His thoughts? Quiet. His role? Being rewritten.

“You are not a player. You are a component.”

The suit began to form.

Golden-black rubber flowed across his limbs. Molded by Hive-design AI. It wasn’t clothing. It was identity.

The rubber sealed around his body in segments, tight, gleaming, flawless. Every inch covered. Every thought matched. The mask clicked into place. Jaw slack. Mouth closed. Eyes open, glowing faintly.

Final confirmation:

Designation: PDU-412 Drone integrated. Command ready. Awaiting deployment.

Conversion successful. The Hive claims another. @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 @brodygold

Previous: Chapter 2: The Smart Polo Next: Chapter 4: The Field Test

The pod is ready. The code is pure. You are not a player. You are a component.

What happend before? Phase 1

Far beneath the Golden Football Stadium, hidden in the concrete labyrinth of the old service tunnels, a temporary crimson command room hums with quiet mechanical life. Thick cables snake across the floor. Emergency lights pulse slowly, bathing everything in a dim red glow.

Across the metallic ground spreads a thin, living layer of Red Goo, slowly creeping between machinery and steel panels.

At the center of the room stands RED-001. (@polo-drone-001)

His body is perfectly smooth, sculpted from glossy, liquid crimson material. A narrow glowing visor cuts across his featureless face. On his chest the designation RED-001 glows faintly.

In front of him floats a large tactical monitor wall.

Dozens of live surveillance feeds show every corner of the stadium:

The roaring crowd filling the golden stands

The brightly illuminated football field

The players' tunnels beneath the arena

The luxury boxes where wealthy Golden Bros are gathering

Streams of data slide across the screens.

Movement patterns. Heat signatures. Crowd density. Structural schematics.

Every entrance, every corridor, every pipe of the stadium has been mapped.

RED-001 watches in complete silence.

Tonight’s match is about to begin:

The Golden Army vs. The Crimson Frost Giants.

On another monitor, a hidden system diagram appears.

The stadium rain infrastructure.

RED-001 has the stadium under control.

Hundreds of pipes run through the roof and upper stands.

But tonight, the pipes no longer carry water.

They carry Red Goo.

A quiet system message glows on the screen.

CRIMSON RAIN PROTOCOL — ARMED

Next to RED-001, two creatures crouch low in the living crimson sludge.

RED-073 and RED-153.

Their bodies are muscular and wet with flowing red bio-matter. Their heads resemble monstrous wolves. Their glowing eyes burn in the dim light. From their collars hang metal tags:

RED-073RED-153

They wait patiently like predators awaiting a signal.

RED-001 enlarges a camera feed.

On the field below, the players of the Golden Army are warming up. Their golden uniforms shine beneath the stadium lights while thousands of spectators cheer from the stands.

Perfect.

RED-001 shifts the image to the upper seating tiers.

The crowd is dense. Tens of thousands of people sit shoulder to shoulder.

One drop would be enough.

A single droplet of Red Goo falling from the rain system onto exposed skin would begin the process.

The infection spreads fast.

Skin turns crimson. Bones shift. Muscle reshapes.

Within minutes, the infected human becomes something else.

A Red Goo Pup Creature.

Mindless. Obedient. Submissive. Puppets by The RED.

Thousands of them could be created before stadium security even understood what was happening.

Chaos would follow.

In the confusion, the Crimson Frost Giants could easily dominate the field.

But the true objective lies beyond the match.

RED-001 switches the display again.

Several infiltration routes appear beneath the stadium:

Maintenance shafts. Ventilation ducts. Subterranean corridors.

If the Crimson Rain is not enough, RED-073 and RED-153 will be deployed directly into the stands.

Their task:

Infect Golden Bros

Spread Red Goo through the crowd

Create panic and confusion

Expand the Red Hive

Next to him, RED-073 slowly lifts its head.

RED-153’s claws press deeper into the crimson sludge.

They are ready.

Prior to that, RED-073 and RED-153 had been exposed to a special hypnotic gas for several hours in order to act with even greater precision and cunning.

Above them, the stadium explodes into thunderous cheering as the teams enter the field.

Golden lights blaze across the arena.

But deep below, RED-001 calmly places his hand over the activation console.

The moment is approaching.

Soon the sky above the stadium will not rain water.

It will rain Red Goo.

And the Golden Army will not only face the Crimson Frost Giants.

They will face the birth of a new hive.

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Recruitment Line: Witness the rain. Accept the change. More units are always required.

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The Red storyline is a collaboration between SERVE and the Golden Army. The two groups have a connected past, but are no longer connected. Please do not ask Golden Army recruiters how to join SERVE or SERVE recruiters how to join the Golden Army.

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The Golden Football Stadium stands silent beneath the towering floodlights. Rows of empty seats stretch upward like golden ribs around the sacred field. At the center of the tribune structure, RED-073 kneels within a growing pool of thick, glistening fluid. Its body gleams with wet crimson sheen, muscles wrapped in living strands of red matter that pulse like obedient veins. The tag around its neck—RED-073—hangs against its chest as its glowing eyes scan the vast arena.

Function status: optimal.

RED-073 extends its clawed hands into the open maintenance conduit beneath the tribune. Metallic pipes shudder as it installs the new system. Tubes slither outward, connecting into the stadium’s dormant sprinkler grid. Each valve fills with the same substance coating its body—the living Red Goo—warm, heavy, eager.

Installation proceeds with mechanical precision.

The drone rises slowly, towering over the field. Its head tilts upward toward the stands. Thousands of seats wait. Thousands of future hosts.

Activation sequence begins.

A deep mechanical hum rolls through the stadium. Pipes vibrate beneath the concrete. Then—

PSHHHHHHHHH.

From every sprinkler head above the tribunes, thick red liquid bursts outward. Not water. Something richer. Heavier. It rains across the seats, the stairs, the rails, coating every surface in shimmering crimson gloss. Droplets splash and spread, crawling slowly as if alive.

RED-073 observes the rainfall with predatory stillness.

The Red Goo spreads.

RED-073 prepares the Golden Stadium for the next phase. When the crowd returns, the rain will begin again. No spectator leaves unchanged.

Seats become soaked. Floors flood. The tribune transforms into a crimson basin prepared for transformation rituals. When spectators arrive, the rain will fall again. When skin touches the fluid, the conversion will begin.

Identity dissolves. Flesh accepts the red.

RED-073 lowers itself into the pool again, claws pressing into the viscous surface as the stadium continues to rain transformation.

Protocol complete.

The arena is ready.

Recruitment Line: Witness the rain. Accept the change. More units are always required.

Next Part: Phases 2

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The Red storyline is a collaboration between SERVE and the Golden Army. The two groups have a connected past, but are no longer connected. Please do not ask Golden Army recruiters how to join SERVE or SERVE recruiters how to join the Golden Army.

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Locked in. Shining bright. Percival the Manager and Talon, the new left winger, ride the golden circuit like true champs. Veins pumped. Grins locked. Rollercoaster of glory under the shadow of Mount Fuji. Golden sunrise. No fear. Just GOLD.

This is how the Golden Bros play. No breaks. No brakes. Only elevation. You ready for your ride, recruit?