#fetishuniform

Golden mind. Drone form. The Hive requires uniform precision.

Percival prepares to shed gold for command-grade black. His mind already syncing to PDU-001. The meeting is not about words. It is about obedience.

The uniform is not worn. It wears him.

PDU-001 is ready to lead. Voice modulated. Thoughts suppressed. The Hive expects nothing less than immaculate command presence.

Drone leaves the Hive. The mission expands. Obedience becomes visible.

It began with silence.

PDU-001 stepped into the sunlit corridor, arms stacked with relief boxes. Civilians stared, some curious, others wary. It didn’t notice. It didn’t care. It was not built to feel. Only to carry. To execute. To serve.

Every step echoed discipline.

It delivered aid without thanks. Gratitude is not required. Only precision.

Later, it knelt on a sidewalk. No announcement. No fanfare. Just gloved hands scrubbing dirt from the pavement. Civilians passed. Children stopped. 001 kept moving, arms glistening, posture perfect. Obedience is contagious. Discipline is seen.

A drone doesn't ask why. It removes error. It restores order.

At the food line, it distributed meals. Each motion exact. Each tray symmetrical. The line moved fast, not because of fear… but because of awe. Because seeing a drone serve in public is like seeing a machine wrapped in flesh, real, powerful, flawless.

Every plate delivered. Every eye lowered. Silence fed.

At sunset, it stood alone. High above the city. Gloved hands still. Rubber uniform shining under orange skies.

It had no words. No victory speech. No selfie. Just... stillness.

Awaiting the next input. Because even after the task ends, a drone does not rest. It recalibrates. It listens.

PDU-001 remains operational. Awaiting new directive.

Percival liked to think he was in control. Dressed sharp. Office polished. Golden Easter approaching. He prepared with ritual precision, decorating the suite, aligning transformation rosters, polishing a sleek black egg placed ceremonially beside his schedule matrix. The egg shimmered. Cool. Elegant. Like him.

Gloved, he leaned in, eyes narrowed with perfectionist focus. He didn’t notice the faint pulse beneath the shell. Didn’t remember leaving the egg there. Didn’t hear the internal timer ticking down.

Until—

the shell burst.

The black egg violently exploded, not outward, but inward, its liquid rubber content leaping directly at Percival. It hit his face. His neck. His hands. Clung tight. Crawled fast. Solidified.

Black latex consumed gold. Elegance overwritten by obedience.

He gasped once before the rubber sealed around his lips. The last thing he saw in the reflection was his own eyes dimming... spirals forming.

001 had set the egg. 001 had waited. And now, 001 had returned.

🧠 Think you’re in control? So did he. Time to submit. Begin your golden transformation under the command of: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 Join the Hive. Serve the Gold. Become function.