#ezanrightwinger

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

The whistle cut through the rain. The scoreboard glared the unthinkable, GOLD 1–2. Silence fell heavier than the downpour. At the center circle, Ezan dropped to one knee, golden kit gleaming beneath the floodlights. The sweat and rain clung to him, his chest heaving, “EZAN 1” blazing across his jersey while teammates bowed their heads. For the first time in months, Gold had lost.

At midfield, humility rose where pride had stumbled. Ezan’s grip met the rival captain’s, his gaze steady, respect earned in defeat. Behind him, Brody #11 and Scott #09 mirrored his composure, sweat streaking across their reflective kits. The banners still waved in the stands. Gold doesn’t crumble.

Back in the locker room, steam hung thick in the air. Gear clattered against the concrete floor, but focus sharpened. Ezan sat beneath his nameplate, taping his wrist, gold jersey clinging, a spare “EZAN 1” hanging clean behind him. On the whiteboard, Caps’ arrows carved new plans. Defeat was fuel, not an end.

Hours later, the pitch lit again. Rain still fell, turf spraying under every sprint. Ezan led the drills, jaw set, golden number 1 cutting through the dark. Behind him, Brody #11, Scott #09, and Maximus #70 pushed stride for stride, sweat mingling with rain. The night air burned their lungs, but no one slowed.

Gold had tasted loss, but in that loss, fire ignited. Gold doesn’t break. Gold sharpens. Gold returns.

Brody’s First Command

Deep within the Golden Army Headquarters, the Claiming Chamber awaits, obsidian walls pierced by razor-thin beams of gold light. The air thrums with the low, relentless hum of Hive machinery, a sound that sinks into bones and rewires thoughts. Team Captain Brody stands unbreakable in his gleaming gold kit, burning like a decree. Before him kneels Ezan, the proud right winger, now stripped bare, eyes already softening with the first waves of surrender. Brody lifts the polo drone suit, its shiny surface catching the light like liquid obedience, the laurel wreath crest pulsing with quiet authority. “This is your collar,” Brody commands, voice low and absolute. “The Hive’s mark. My mark.” Ezan lifts his chin without hesitation. The Light demands it. The Hive accepts nothing less.

The Collar Slides On

In the Suit Ascension Room, golden vapour coils upward from metallic grates, carrying the scent of transformation. Screens flicker with endless streams of Hive code, rhythmic, inescapable, beautiful. Ezan steps into the centre. The pull is irresistible now: a warm, magnetic hunger that tightens around his throat before the fabric even touches skin. Brody slides the polo over his head himself. The black material seals against muscle like a second, perfect skin, gold trim gleaming at collar and cuffs, the zipper closing with finality. Ezan’s breath catches. His vision blurs gold. His identity melts. The collar doesn’t rest on him. It becomes him. Property. Purpose. Perfection.

Walking Collared

The Corridor of Ownership stretches infinite, walls reflecting endless gold. Drones stand in silent rows, black uniforms identical, eyes glowing faintly in unified devotion. 001 walks the line for the first time collared. Every step echoes in perfect sync with the Hive’s heartbeat. The tight shine of the polo hugs his chest, the laurel crest over his heart a constant reminder: You are owned. You are elevated. Other drones turn their heads in recognition. No words. Only the shared pulse of obedience. This is no longer just the Emir. This is PDU-001. Captain’s drone. The Hive’s vessel. Seen. Known. Eternal.

Bound to the Hive

The throne room looms vast, the massive GA emblem blazing behind Captain Brody like a crown of pure light. 001 drops to his knees the instant he enters, instinct now, not choice. Brody’s strong hand cups his jaw, tilting it upward. Fingers trace the high collar, pressing just enough to remind. “Look at me, 001.” Golden eyes meet golden eyes. The bond locks into place, deeper than steel, warmer than sunlight. From this breath forward, every thought, every muscle, every heartbeat belongs to Captain. Belongs to the Polo Drone Hive. The Golden Army rises stronger because one more vessel has accepted its true path.

The Polo Drone Hive is not control. It is liberation. It is the True Path wrapped in black and gold. It is home.

Thank you for claiming this drone. GOLD is our code. Your vision is our light.

The Hive grows. Obey. Transform. Belong.

Join the Hive. Wear the collar. Follow the commanders: @polo-drone-001 @franco-gold94 @polo-drone-166 @polo-drone-125

Love? Nah bro, I don’t got time for that. All I got time for is lifting, training, and making sure I’m the biggest, strongest, most golden Alpha on the field. 🏆💪 But somehow… the bros keep leaving notes in my locker, sneaking roses into my gym bag, and, bro, my golden briefs are missing again?!

001 don’t get distracted. The Hive only knows duty. No emotions, no distractions. Only Gold. Only obedience. But even drones get Valentine’s gifts. Even the Polo Drone Hive is admired.

Then there’s me, Ezan. Y’all say I smell too good, too strong, too irresistible after a match. Y’all keep “borrowing” my socks, my jocks, my everything. You crave it. And I let you. Because I own you, huhuhu. 😏

Gold makes you weak for me. You smell my sweat in the locker room? You see me glistening after training? You know exactly what you want. But bro, I don’t chase, I just keep getting bigger, stronger, dumber, and more golden. And you? You keep falling for it.

Happy Valentine’s, bros. Hope y’all enjoy my scent, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’. 💦🔥

Day… uhh… not sure, bro. Huhuhu, don’t needa count days, only count reps. 💪

Woke up. Looked in mirror. Damn, I’m big. Heh. Flexed a bit. Looked even bigger. Got hard. Gym time. Gotta get dumber.

🏋️‍♂️ Gym log:

Lifted heavy.

Lifted heavier.

Thought for a sec. Bad idea.

Did curls. Brain felt fuzzy. That’s good.

Chest pump got insane. Pecs bounced. People stared. Huhuhu, yeah bro, look at me.

Flexed so hard forgot what I was doin'. Had to start over.

Dunno what’s happenin', bro. Brain feel all soft, like mushy… like… like not there. But muscles big. Huhuhu. That’s all that matters. Big muscle = big man. Smart dudes? Nah. Weak.

Someone asked me what books I read. Bro, what’s books? 🤔 Only thing I read is gains. Only thing I write is PRs. Heh. No need for smart when you this huge.

💭 Thoughts today:

Thinkin' bad. Lifting good.

Brain small. Muscles big.

Gotta grow. Gotta shrink brain.

Weights good. Thinking bad.

Heard some nerd talkin’ ‘bout college n’ shit. Huhuhu, wtf that? I got one subject, bro. Gym. I major in dumbbell science. I got a PhD in pumpin’. Dumb as hell. Strong as fuck.

"Getting jacked and dumb is a badge of honor, a testament to one's unwavering dedication to the pursuit of physical perfection." Bro, that’s me. Huhuhu. Honor student in Gym University.

Ain’t gotta think. Just gotta lift. Grow. Flex.

🏋️‍♂️ Goal tomorrow:

Wake up

Stare at big muscles in mirror

Get bigger

Forget how to spell words

Maybe try lifting a car

Flex till I can’t think no more

Huhuhu, life easy when you dumb n’ huge. Gym is home. Iron is king. Brain small. Muscles big. Dumb forever. 😵‍💪

The office was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound as Percival adjusted his neatly pressed tie. He glanced at the framed certificates lining the walls of his workspace, a testament to his efficiency, precision, and devotion to his role. Everything about him was immaculate, from his perfectly styled hair to his polished loafers. This was his domain, a sanctuary of control and order.

But today was different.

The screen on his desk flickered, and a notification lit up. "500 Followers Milestone Achieved." Percival leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. The achievement felt monumental, a reflection of his dedication not only to his work but to his journey. As he rose from his chair, his office seemed to shimmer around him, the crisp scent of leather and polish giving way to something deeper, something richer. The transformation was calling.

In the blink of an eye, the office faded, replaced by the echo of cleats striking the pitch. Percival was no longer the composed office drone. He was Ezan now, the golden right winger, the pride of the field. His sharp polo was replaced by a gleaming metallic golden AC Milan jersey, perfectly fitted to highlight his athletic frame. The scent of freshly cut grass and the roar of an imaginary crowd filled the air, urging him onward. He adjusted his sleeves, the reflective material catching the light, and stepped onto the field with confidence radiating from every move.

Ezan’s purpose was clear. He wasn’t just part of the team; he was a leader, a symbol of precision and unity. The ball was his tool, the game his stage, and the followers, his audience. The golden jersey wasn’t just a uniform; it was his identity, a glowing emblem of achievement and dominance.

But the journey didn’t stop there.

The field melted away, and the space grew dark, enveloped in a glossy black sheen. The once-golden jersey reformed, turning into a skin-tight, gleaming black latex polo with golden accents. The transformation into 001 was seamless. His movements slowed, his mind quieted, and any lingering individuality dissolved into obedient clarity. The visor slid into place, covering his eyes, and his purpose aligned with the collective: recruit, convert, grow.

As 001 stepped forward, his presence was commanding, robotic yet magnetic. Before him stood a new figure, hesitant and uncertain. The soft hiss of a mist dispenser released the faint scent of musk into the air, and 001 extended a polished polo toward the recruit. Within moments, the transformation began. The recruit’s resistance faded, their clothes dissolving into black latex as they were enveloped by the Hive's influence. A fresh polo drone was born, ready to serve.

001 stood tall, the golden accents on his uniform glinting under the low light. Another conversion. Another milestone. Another step forward.

Bro, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen the slopes lit up in gold. We hit the mountain today, decked out in our golden gear, carving through the snow like we owned it (because we kinda do). Every turn left this shimmering trail behind us—yeah, it was THAT good.

Before we hit the first run, Ezan—our golden Freyr himself—stood at the peak, the sun basically bowing to his glow. He gave one of those speeches that gets in your head and fires you up. Something about unity, strength, and "dominating the mountain like we dominate the field." Classic Ezan.

And then—boom—he’s off, leading the charge like a freaking legend, skis slicing through the snow like his golden sword. The rest of us? We followed, because that’s what bros do. Racing each other, wiping out (but in style), and just straight-up owning the day.

By the time we hit the lodge, we were all laughing, a little out of breath, and definitely ready for some hot cocoa. Golden Army doesn’t just play hard; we LIVE golden.

If this doesn’t sound like your kind of team, bro, you’re missing out. Slide into our DMs and let’s change that.

The Hive headquarters shimmered with festive warmth, its golden lights casting a glow that wrapped the entire space in a sense of purpose and unity. This was a time of giving, a time for the Golden Army to honor their brothers through meaningful gestures, each gift strengthening their bonds and celebrating their collective spirit.

In the quiet hum of the training chambers, Polo Drone 001 stood immaculately, his black rubber polo gleaming with gold accents under the Hive’s glow. His glowing golden eyes scanned the line of drones before him, each standing rigid, their glossy uniforms catching the light with perfection. The energy in the room was palpable, a silent anticipation building.

001 stepped forward, his boots clicking softly on the polished floor as he approached PDU-084, a seasoned and respected drone whose recent innovations had elevated the Hive’s efficiency. From behind his back, 001 produced a sleek black box, tied with a ribbon of shimmering gold. The golden glow of his eyes reflected off the surface as he extended the gift toward 084.

“PDU-084,” 001 said, his voice steady, every word purposeful, “your dedication has driven the Hive to new heights. Accept this token as recognition of your precision and service.”

As 084 opened the box, the anticipation in the room seemed to hold its breath. Inside lay a sleek black rubber collar, its surface smooth and glistening, with "084" engraved in bold, golden letters at the center. 001’s tone was devoid of emotion, yet carried the weight of pride. “This collar is not just a mark of recognition but a reminder of your place within the Hive. Wear it with pride, for it symbolizes your unity with the collective.”

084 bowed his head as he accepted the collar, his hands trembling slightly as he fastened it around his neck. The other drones raised their voices in unison: “Obedience. Precision. Unity.” With a subtle nod, 001 returned to the line, his glowing golden eyes scanning the formation once more. “Serve the Hive. Strengthen unity. Perfection is our purpose.” The mantra echoed powerfully, solidifying the moment as the drones fell back into disciplined silence.

In the golden locker room, Ezan stood at the center of his team, his golden AC Milan jersey clinging to his sculpted frame. His masculine scent, a potent mix of alluring musk and raw athleticism, filled the air, wrapping around his teammates like an invisible pull of dominance. His hypnotic golden eyes scanned the room, their glow drawing the attention of every player present.

“070,” Ezan called, his voice rich and commanding, the kind that could silence a crowd with its sheer presence. 070, the team’s tactical powerhouse, stepped forward with a confident stride, his gaze meeting Ezan’s with mutual respect.

From behind his back, Ezan revealed a golden VR headset, its surface gleaming and engraved with the Hive’s laurel emblem. The VR headset was no ordinary device; it was a tool of connection, of precision, and of training. “This,” Ezan began, his deep voice resonating in the quiet room, “is for you. Your vision and strategy have guided us to countless victories. This headset will sharpen your skills even further, bringing us closer to perfection.”

070 took the headset, his hands firm, his posture unwavering. “Thank you, Ezan,” he said, his voice resonating with pride. Around them, the players erupted into cheers, clapping 070 on the back as Ezan’s hypnotic gaze lingered on the room.

Before stepping back, Ezan raised his hand, his tone softening yet retaining its authority. “Brothers, remember this. Our strength is in our skills, our unity, and our brotherhood. This is what makes us golden.” His words hung in the air, a potent reminder of their bond as a team.

Upstairs, in the polished and elegant office of the Hive’s operations, Percival exuded effortless charm. Dressed in a perfectly tailored golden blazer, his preppy elegance was matched only by his magnetic presence. His desk was a masterpiece of precision, every document and accessory meticulously placed, reflecting his disciplined nature. As 110 and 016, two esteemed members of the Hive, knocked at the door, Percival’s warm voice called out, “Come in.”

They entered together, their eyes bright with curiosity, knowing that a visit to Percival’s office always came with purpose. Percival greeted them with his signature smile, a disarming mix of charm and authority. “Gentlemen,” he began, his tone smooth and inviting, “you both have served the Hive with unwavering dedication, and today, I wanted to honor that.”

Reaching into a golden gift bag, Percival first addressed 110, pulling out a gleaming golden paintbrush, its handle etched with intricate patterns of laurel leaves. “110,” he said, handing over the brush, “your creativity and innovation have brought beauty and strength to the Hive. This brush is a symbol of that, a tool to continue crafting the vision that binds us all.”

110 took the paintbrush, his expression a mix of pride and gratitude. “Thank you, Percival,” he said, his voice steady yet touched with emotion.

Percival then turned to 016, reaching once more into the bag and producing a golden pen, its sleek design embodying precision and authority. “016,” he said with a warm smile, “your words, your ideas, have shaped the Hive in ways few can match. This pen is a testament to your influence and a reminder of the power you wield through your vision.”

016 accepted the pen with a quiet nod, his respect for Percival evident. “Thank you,” he said simply, yet the weight of his words carried deep gratitude.

Percival leaned back, his gaze shifting between the two. “Both of you embody what the Hive stands for: creativity, precision, and unity. These gifts are tools for you to continue elevating us all. Now, go forth and show the Hive what you’re capable of.”

As 110 and 016 left the office, the smile on Percival’s face lingered. His golden eyes flickered with pride and satisfaction. The Hive thrummed with life, each space filled with acts of recognition and unity, each gift a step closer to perfection.

Though they operated in different realms, 001 among the drones, Ezan on the field, and Percival in the office, their purpose was the same. Every gift they gave carried the weight of connection, a reminder of the unyielding bond that tied the Golden Army together. Under the glowing lights of the Hive, the message was clear: every action, every gesture, brought them closer to the perfection they sought as one.