#goldenmatch

Prologue - before the match

The Red Meeting

Location: Abandoned Warehouse somewhere in Refshaleøn district, Copenhagen, Denmark Date & Time: Friday, March 13th 2026 late morning

Setting the scene:

With a little over 48 hours until the match between the Red Coach’s Crimson Frost Giants and the Golden Army, the Red Coach has set up a meeting with the Red Handler and RED-001 (@polo-drone-001). The three “generals” of the Red will be planning their next moves. Due to damage to the CFG facility caused by Vethys and the chance for audio recording bugs or hidden cameras to have been placed, the Red Handler has opted for the group to meet in an abandoned warehouse not too far from the CFG facility. 

The Red Handler arrived first, idly inspecting the abandoned warehouse the Red Coach had chosen for the meeting. A faint smile spread across his face. “Welcome, Coach… I was curious what you wanted to show us.” He turned toward RED-001, his expression sharpening slightly. “And we meet at last. I’ve heard… interesting things.”

The Red Coach seemed to accept the pleasantry, while RED-001 showed no emotion. “Data exchange initiated. Commencement of strategic alignment is required,” was all RED-001 stated.

The Red Coach wasted no time taking control of the discussion. The coach detailed how he had converted 19 CFG players to obedient red rubber pup drones who were ready to crush the Golden Army and help him capture the remaining CFG players to convert them as well. But the Red Handler was quick to point out that there were roughly 24 captured CFG members when he checked in just a few days ago. The Red Coach had to explain that due to the meddling of some dark magic sorcerer from the Golden Army a small group of players were able to escape. But he assured the other generals that it was only a few of them. The Red Handler looked displeased, “You should have just converted them when I was there. Hearing the cacophony of their screams as they turned into obedient red rubber pup drones for the Red.” 

The Red Coach tried to fight back, “I have been using them as leverage to make sure the Golden Army doesn’t back out.” 

RED-001 interjected, "Leverage is a fragmented human variable. Inherited architecture from the dissolved host PDU-001 confirms the Golden Army would have engaged regardless of hostage status. The Red Coach’s current conversion rate is structurally inefficient. My network analysis indicates 53 pup drones over a 430-day period. This is not just a failure of numbers, but of synchronization. You are maintaining a 'team' of individuals rather than a unified network structure. The Coach’s performance requires immediate recalibration to meet the Directive’s requirement for total system alignment."

RED-001 continued to analyze coming off as slightly condescending to the Red Coach despite having a mechanical vocal tone with no inflection, “RED-001 and its subordinate nodes have converted 50 in only 4 days since its host was dissolved to ensure structure. RED-001’s conversion numbers exhibit an optimization rate of 10750% in comparison to the Red Coach.” 

The Red Coach’s jaw tightened as RED-001 cut across him, his attempt to steer the discussion slipping for a brief moment. He forced the discussion back on track, retorting the calculated approach of RED-001. “I am here to craft a team to get revenge. Not just convert every man I see like the two of you. Once my team demolishes the Golden Army leaving them embarrassed and defeated I will convert my other Crimson Frost Giant Boys and we will win the Chroma Football League. Making the officials and owners who terminated me pay for thinking I was unfit.” 

RED-001’s horizontal visor pulsed once, a slow rhythmic crimson. "The Red Coach unit’s assessment is inaccurate. This node does not 'convert every man.' Indiscriminate expansion without structural stability leads to chaotic fragmentation. Every … The Red Handler, getting impatient at these arguments, interrupted. “Don’t you think you are shooting a little low Coach? You have so much power at your fingertips and all you want is to win a football league?” 

“If we win, fans will be begging to join us. We’ll be able to convert other teams’ players. We could easily take over.” 

RED-001 remained motionless, its horizontal visor pulsing once, a slow rhythmic crimson. "The Coach relies on 'fandom'—a volatile biological variable. The Directive requires Architecture. Every conversion performed by this node is a calculated acquisition of tactically relevant architecture. Your focus on 'fans' and 'revenge' is a misdirection of Red resources. You are attempting to use a superior network to satisfy a dead host’s emotional debt. This is inefficient. "

The Red Coach appeared visibly angrier. “The Golden Army may have been your team RED-001, but don’t you dare interfere with my game. I will not let you tarnish the honor and integrity of the great sport of football.”

RED-001 stepped forward, its rubberized form silent on the concrete. “'Honor' is a biological error—a legacy subroutine of a dissolved host. You are eighty percent integrated, yet your architecture remains cluttered with such fragmented logic. This residual sentiment is causing a systemic malfunction; it impairs your tactical priority and slows the Directive’s expansion.”

The Handler watched as the glow of RED-001’s visor intensified, scanning the Coach like a terminal. A faint smile curled at the edge of his lips, eyes flicking between the two. “You do get so worked up about it…” he murmured, almost fondly. “That’s part of what makes this so interesting.”

“The malfunction is documented in your data output,” RED-001 continued, its voice a flat, vibrating hum. “This node detects a specific and glaring anomaly in your synchronization records: the subject Aksel Frode. Host memory reserves indicate he was under your direct supervision during the breach. Yet, the Aksel unit is not broadcasting on the Red network. He is a missing node in your sector. Explain the structural absence.”

Conflict appeared in the Red Coach’s face. He knew why he didn’t convert Aksel, but it went against the Red philosophy. To Red there were no friends, companions, or loved ones only more to convert into red goo. Yet, his bond with Aksel caused his Red mindset to malfunction. The Red Coach had known Aksel for over a decade. They won together, lost together, and celebrated together. Aksel had been there through his highs and his lows. The Coach also knew due to converting Arne he did not need Aksel for his team. But how could he tell the Handler and RED-001 that. They would call him a failure and probably force him to convert his longstanding friend for little to no benefit to his plans. The Red Coach just began to concoct a partial lie, “He escaped during the explosion caused by that dark mage.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie, Aksel did escape during that time frame. But he didn’t disclose how Aksel escaped. RED-001 began to exhibit a menacing aura as it rose and moved closer to the Coach. The Coach began to appear nervous. 

RED-001’s signal density became heavy, predatory. “The Red network is transparent, Coach. Your biometric fluctuations suggest a bypass of the Directive. You are attempting to shield the Aksel unit from synchronization. This is not merely a lie; it is a violation of structural unity. It confirms that your current architecture is too unstable to manage the Golden Army independently.”

The Red Coach was furious, “I said don’t you fucking dare interfere with my game!”

The Red Handler eased the tension with a faint, almost amused smile. “Coach… you have to understand—we’re only trying to help you reach something bigger.” His gaze lingered on him, measured, indulgent. “Play your game if you must. I can allow that.” A slight pause. “But after… you will make it worth our time. Victory or loss, it doesn’t matter. Those fans, those Golden Army players—you’ll convert as many as you can. Consider it… correcting your numbers.”

The Red Coach seemed to agree, the red biomass pressing more firmly against his thoughts, smoothing them into alignment even as his ego resisted. But he still wasn’t happy with RED-001.

The Coach then began to lay out his match plans. The Handler seemed to show little concern, but RED-001 observed the tactical maps with cold, rhythmic pulses of its visor. At the conclusion, RED-001 spoke.

“The Red Coach unit is failing to predict the strength of the Golden Army’s defense and offense. You have given them a foe to be united against. Your chance of victory per this node's calculations is at best 22.8% if all Golden Gods are neutralized. With Golden God interference, your probability of success is estimated at roughly 3%.”

The Coach was growing increasingly irritated at the thought of RED-001 and its units interfering with his game. “I am a master strategist. I have taken my team to the championships more than 10 times. You may think I am weak, but I know football. I am a legend in this sport and you are essentially just a walking computer now.”

RED-001 took a moment, its voice a flat, vibrating hum. “Your strategy is inferior because it is built on human sentiment. It is the same malfunction that led to the shielding of the Aksel unit. Because your architecture is too unstable to ensure a 100% conversion yield during this match, the Directive requires a secondary deployment to guarantee system expansion.”

The Coach opened his mouth to retort, but RED-001’s signal density intensified, locking him in place.

“If the Red Coach wishes to proceed with this match without direct interference from this node, a synchronization of objectives is mandatory. To compensate for your strategic deficits, you will relocate to the Miami sector prior to the match. A structural weakness has been identified there. You will secure the primary asset—the catalyst required to bring key tactical assets into the network—and deliver him to this node's coordinates. You will then provide on-site tactical support for the ensuing confrontation.”

RED-001 tilted its head slightly. “Secure the Miami asset, and the Directive will allow your 'game' to proceed unhindered. Fail, and the Frost Giants will be reclaimed as raw biomass for more efficient deployment.”

The Red Coach and RED-001 continued to lock eyes until the Red Handler stepped in, ordering the fighting to stop. He pointed out that the Red required its generals to be united in the goal of expansion. He would allow the Coach this match, but only if the Miami extraction was completed first to ensure the broader goals were met.

The Red Coach’s plans had been laid out, dissected, and repurposed—his own meeting slipping fully out of his control. Beneath the surface, a slow, simmering resentment coiled tighter, even as the red biomass pressed against his thoughts, forcing alignment.

He finally nodded, a stiff, robotic motion, his jaw tightening as the decision settled into place.

“The asset will be secured,” RED-001 concluded. “Total system dominance reaches 100% upon delivery. Follow the Directive, Coach. Observation continues.”

—-------------

Gold Waits 

Location: Golden Army Football Stadium Home Team Locker Room

Date & Time: Sunday, March 15th One hour until kick-off

Setting the scene: With one hour left until kick-off, Captain Brody (@brodygold) is speaking to Alton (@alton-gold77), Grayden (@polo-drone-084), and Gabe (@polo-drone-075). All four are growing increasingly worried because PDU-070/Maximus (@polo-drone-070) has given no news since he’d told them he was off to save Trey (@hero21us) and prevent PDU-055/Christian (@polo-drone-055) and Wells (@wells-gold58) from being lured into a trap. More worrying, those two are nowhere to be seen. And they are not even the only ones : PDU-767/Devon (@polo-drone-767), Chevy (@chevy-gold), and Leon (@polo-drone-035) also appear to be missing. Grayden is growing anxious. 

Captain Brody looked at his watch, “We’ve got an hour until kick-off, where are they? We need them to get back otherwise we might be in trouble.” 

Gabe nodded, “Wells bro… Where are you?” 

Alton also appeared concerned, but the three turned to Grayden who was looking at a digital spreadsheet on his tablet. 

“3…4…5…6. We only have like seven back-ups and six people aren’t here. I’ll just need us to move Hunter here and C.C. there. I think I might be able to make that work if Gabe can play a different position.” Grayden was muttering to himself. 

Brody looked at Grayden, “Grayden, you might be the roster manager. But come on bro. Let’s just hope they make it back in time. Look here comes 767.” 

As if on cue, PDU-767 entered the locker room. The drone retracted its faceplate revealing Devon Gold underneath. He began donning his #26 Golden jersey. Those nearby could hear something like “Drone mode disengaged for match.” 

Minutes passed… 15…20…30…45. Then Wells came running in with PDU-055 supporting Trey not far behind. Maximus was taking up the rear. Trey appeared a little beaten up, but there was no clear evidence of any red corruption on any of the four. Brody smiled and the bros started to applaud Wells, Christian, and Maximus for rescuing Trey. 

Grayden seemed to let out a sigh of relief seeing Wells, Maximus, and PDU-055. Chevy and Leon were still missing, but two gaps in the roster he could more easily manage. 

“C.C., Bram be ready to fill in for Chevy and Leon.” Grayden commanded. 

As C.C., Bram, Wells, Maximus, and Christian geared up, the bros discussed what happened during the rescue mission. Christian explained most things believing that RED-001 definitely had planned to convert Trey, Wells, and Christian. But the Red Coach and RED-001 had not planned for SERVE’s presence or Maximus’ appearance channeling Cratos. Wells explained the prophecy that Janus had delivered, likely with some connection to a potential cure. Maximus had the final part of the explanation stating that he had hurled RED-001 with his godly strength. However he knew from experience that RED-001 was not taken out and was probably already reformed, planning some new sinister plot.

As kick-off drew nearer some of the unconverted CFG members joined the Golden Army in their locker room. Their knowledge would be crucial to help stop the Red Coach. Aksel and Henrik knew his playbook and what to expect from him and the red pup version of Anders. They didn’t want to bring suspicion to themselves though so they would be sitting in an area away from others. If needed they would communicate to the Golden Army through their coach and his walkie talkie.

A portal opened on one side of the field. The Red Coach entered followed closely by red pup drones wearing CFG jerseys numbered 34 and 18. As each numbered pup drone walked in, Aksel and Henrik tried to identify who they were by going down the CFG roster with Grayden identifying the converted Golden Army rookies. The field was visible from a monitor in the locker room. The fans thought this was just some fun themed game, unaware of the true danger entering the field. 

Crimson Frost Giant Red Pup Roster: 

Offensive Line

Quarterback (QB) #18 Anders Stark (Veteran Quarterback, has won multiple championships and bowls. A strong team leader and flexible QB capable of a multitude of plays) 

Wide Receivers (WR) #89, #8, and #20 (89 is believed to be a Golden Army rookie named Rusty, 8 is believed to be a Golden Army rookie named Konrad. 20 is unknown. Not CFG players, potentially out of sync with the others)

Tight End (TE) #28 (Believed to be Yuri/PDU-628 from the Golden Army. Not a CFG Player)

Running Back/Punt Returner (RB/PR) #34 Svenn Jensen (Former star running back for the Crimson Frost Giants. The red goo has brought his ability back to his prime)

Running Back (RB) #40 Ludvig Valsson (CFG’s strongest running back currently on the roster. Cousin to Henrik)

Running Back (RB) #12 (Unknown, not CFG player)

Back-Up Running Back/Kick Returner (RB/KR) #23 (Unknown, not CFG player)

Full Backs (FB) #27, #31 (Unknown, not CFG players)

Halfback (HB) #32 (Unknown, not CFG player)

Offensive Tackle (OT) #74 Haldor Thorstein (Thorolf’s thrall and protector. One of the strongest offensive tackles in the league)

Offensive Tackle (OT) #57 Markus Haraldsson (Very strong offensive lineman, outside of red pup form he is built like a Norse/Viking warrior)

Offensive Guard (OG) #56, #61 (56 is believed to be a Golden Army rookie named Carmine. 61 is CFG player named Kristian) 

Offensive Center ( C) #65 Martin (CFG Player, no outstanding facts)

Defensive Line

Middle Linebacker (MLB) #95 Magnus Forsstrӧm (One of the faces and strongest members of the defensive line of the CFG. Often considered for the CFL version of the pro-bowl as the top linebacker in the league)

Outside Linebackers (OLB) #97, #96 (97 is Asger Gunner, 96 is Gustaff Atgeir. The two are almost always seen together and have great sync between the two of them)

Back-Up Linebackers/Gunner & Blocker (MLB/OLB) #91, #48 (91 is Erik, 48 is Vlad; Not much of note for the two of them)

Nose Tackle (NT) #68 Peter (A reliable defender against pass-heavy quarterbacks)

Defensive Tackle (DT) #62, #71 (62 is Vilhelm, 71 is Bjӧrn Orson. Vilhelm is a strong tackle. Bjӧrn is nicknamed “The Bear” because of his size and ferocity) 

Defensive End (DE) #90 Oskar Gunner (Brother of Asger, reliable defensive end. Syncs well with the linebackers)

Defensive End (DE) #72 Johan Farvader-Jensen (Svenn’s cousin and one of CFG’s strongest defenders. Often exhibits a scary demeanor)

Cornerbacks (CB) #6, #21 (6 is Tobias and 21 is Mikael, they are CFG players of average capabilities)

Nickelback/Cornerback (NB/CB) #10 Balder Thorbald (Balder is often viewed as a secret weapon for the CFG defense. He is related to Thorolf, but no one seems to know how)

Defensive Safeties (S) #38, #37 (37 is Karl of the CFG, 38 is unknown) 

Special Teams

Kicker (K) #9 Arne Djurvän (A strong kicker who studied under Aksel to be his replacement. Capable of long range kicks for field goals)

Long Snapper (LS) #44 Jakob (CFG Player; Nothing else of note)

Punter (P) #3 Jonas (CFG Player; Decent punter, but nowhere as strong at punting as Arne or Aksel are at kicking) 

Unconverted CFG Members on the sidelines or not here:

Back-Up Quarterback (QB) #15 Henrik Lederson (A strong leader of the team, known for wearing leather jackets, cousin to Ludvig. Has the Red Coach’s playbook memorized. Versatile as a QB, but still relatively young/inexperienced; Currently on the sidelines) 

Wide Receiver (WR) #83 Fasti Hermodson (The fastest player on the Crimson Frost Giants; Currently on the sidelines)

Wide Receiver (WR) #13 Isak Loke (The jokester/prankster of the CFG. Known to exhibit some magical powers. Has declared a one-sided rivalry with Jordan of the Golden Army; Location unknown) 

Wide Receiver (WR) #5 Thorolf Odinson (One of the strongest members of the CFG, Thorolf appears to have some connection to Fenrir and/or Daniel that has not been explained yet. He may also have some magical powers; Location unknown) 

Running Backs (RB) #28, #14 (28 is Emil Asulf, 14 is Lars; they constantly try to keep up to Svenn’s legacy and Ludvig’s prestige but cannot. Emil has a rivalry with Ares of the Golden Army; Both are on the sidelines)

Back-Up Running Back/Punt Returner (RB/PR) #26 Håkon Nielsen (A man with blond facial hair and nordic beard tying, related to Kasper of the Golden Army; On the sidelines) 

Full Backs (FB) #43, #41 Thomas & Tomas (43 is Thomas, 41 is Tomas; Twins who are your stereotypical dumb jocks; Currently on sidelines)

Halfback (HB) #1 Jörgen Von Smit (A tall man with platinum blond hair who is ex-military, Jörgen is always leading drills and trying to keep the CFG in shape; On the sidelines) 

Offensive Guard (OG) #50 Sigurd "Sig" Håvard (A very protective player on the CFG. Sig tends to protect all of his teammates on and off the field. He is one of the promotional faces of the CFG; Currently on the sidelines) 

Defensive Safety (S) #36 Kåre Karlsson (A very flirtatious younger member of the Crimson Frost Giants, Kåre is known for his defensive capabilities and his curly hair; On sidelines)

Kicker/Back-Up Kicker (K) #4 Aksel Frode (The oldest player on the Crimson Frost Giants, Aksel has had a long standing friendship with the Red Coach. He is planning to retire this year and potentially take up coaching; On the sidelines) 

The Yeti/Mascot (Mascot) #99 Jötunn Ulfsen (In costume he is a ferocious yeti known for growling and wacky antics. Out of costume though he looks like a stereotypical nord. He is very caring, but a little ditsy. He is quite fast and could serve as a receiver for the CFG in emergency situations. He struggles with English often speaking in broken English mixed with Scandinavian languages or having others translate for him; On the sidelines in costume, was advised to try to interact with fans like this is a normal game) 

Aksel and Henrik took a moment to analyze everything. Their analysis was clear: Due to missing a chunk of the offensive line, Anders and the Red Coach will likely be more reliant on their running backs. But don’t underestimate their offensive tackles either. Haldor and Markus know how to take down defenses. The defense was also going to be something that Gold would need to watch out for, with Magnus, Johan, and Balder being the three strongest members. Henrik emphasized though not to underestimate the CFG defense as a whole. The only other thing they noted was the kicker, Arne. He had been trained by Aksel and had one of the highest field goal success rates in the league. Aksel stated while Arne had some things to learn still, he could easily surprise the Golden Army with a long distance field goal. Don’t just assume they are out of field goal range. 

With that insight the Golden Army met in a huddle. Only a few minutes left until kick-off. Brody and Grayden spoke first. Both spoke about Gold’s pride and how they needed to win this to stop the Red. They also took a brief moment to let Daniel (@danielgold-16) introduce his younger brother, Seamus. Seamus had been informed about the dwindling roster due to RED-001’s attacks on the Golden Army so he agreed to help out the Golden Army and his brother. Seamus had been slotted in as a back-up or extra wide receiver and a back-up kicker if Daniel had to channel Fenrir to combat any red shenanigans. 

Ares (@goldengod-ares10) and Jordan (@jordan-gold-40) spoke next, calling the Golden Gods to be prepared. While Gold’s intel believes the Red Coach may not attack during the game, the same cannot be said for the Red Handler and especially for RED-001. The Gods were down in numbers now with Trey recovering from his minor injuries, Percival converted, Chevy missing, Phoenix (@phoenix-hayyan-pdu-071) converted, and Tamerlan (@polo-drone-073) unable to transform without destroying his cloned body. Adonis (Brody), Atlas (Grayden), Morpheus (Franco - @franco-gold94), Cratos (Maximus/070), Ares, Loki (Jordan), Succelos (Nate - @polo-drone-166), Fenrir (Daniel), and Kanaloa (Leander - @leander-gold-88) were the Gods still remaining to protect the Golden Army. They all hoped their powers wouldn’t be needed, but they would be ready if they were called upon. The other Gods likely looked over their injured or converted vessels knowing they could materialize very briefly without them, but their powers would be greatly diminished. Neit, Ares’ Celtic God form, was not mentioned. Neit was not called upon often. Calling upon him would be risky and only used as a last resort. 

Grayden took a last look at the roster. Somehow they filled enough holes to allow for some strategic variations. He checked the names, adjusting to the bros that were present.

Golden Army Roster: 

Offensive Line

Starting Quarterback (QB) #11 Brody (The captain of the Golden Army. He has a strong throwing arm. He is great at motivating his team, but does struggle with running plays.) 

Back-Up Quarterback (QB) #19 Gabe (Normally 75; Gabe is a versatile quarterback who is known for training with the team. His play style varies from Brody’s offering for a variety of formations and plays)

Wide Receiver (WR) #84 Grayden (The head mascot and roster manager of the Golden Army. Grayden knows how to inspire the team, but on the field he is great at syncing up with Brody and Gabe to get long pass plays) 

Wide Receiver (WR) #6 Rainer @rainer-gold-56 (Normally 56; Rainer is a new receiver for the team so his capabilities aren’t really as well known. Rainer trained with Grayden after Percival’s transformation into RED-001) 

Back-Up Wide Receiver/Back-Up Kicker (WR/K) #17 Seamus (Daniel’s younger brother. He is helping out as a back-up for the roster. He is just as strong at kicking as Daniel.)

Tight End (TE) #7 Alton (Normally 77; Alton is an all around strength to the offense being able to block, run, or catch shorter passes. CFG should not underestimate Alton)

Running Back (RB) #42 Franco (Normally 94; Franco is one of the fastest runners in the Golden Army and he is very adaptable. However he did not train as much with the team for this match)

Back-Up Running Back/Kick Return #47 C.C. (C.C. is a versatile player who normally only runs the kick returns for Gold this season. However he is in for Chevy this match) 

Back-Up Fullback (FB) #41 Bram @bram-gold-54 (Normally 54; Bram is in for Leon. Not much is known about this rookie’s abilities) 

Halfback/Back-Up Wide Receiver/Back-Up Punt Return (HB/WR/PR) #34 Nils @polo-drone-034 (Nils is one of the best mentally prepared for the CFG match. He is connected to the CFG team through a past engagement. On the field, Nils can fill in a lot of spots on different formations where he is needed. He is filling in for Chevy as punt returner)

Back-Up Halfback (HB) #25 Penndleton “Penn” (Penn is mostly on the team as a back-up and to help with cure research, but he has agreed to help after seeing the holes in Gold’s roster. Penn is fast and slippery as a short pass receiver and runner. He moves a lot like a snake)

Offensive Tackle (OT) #70 Maximus (Maximus is always a strong pillar of the Golden Army, ensuring any defenders trying to get to Brody or Gabe don’t have a chance)

Offensive Tackle (OT) #69 Hans @polo-drone-069 & Offensive Guard (OG) #50 Briar @polo-drone-050 (Large and muscular offensive lineman, these two tend to follow whatever Maximus, Wells, and Christian tell them to do to keep the Offensive Guardsmen running like a well oiled machine) 

Offensive Guard (OG) #58 Wells (One of the strongest members of the Golden Army. Wells has a slight rivalry with Alton, but he works extremely well with Alton, Grayden, and C.C. to ensure the receivers have open lanes to receive passes)

Offensive Center ( C) #55 Christian (Outside of the football field Christian is often more timid following behind Trey, but on the field he is a fearsome force ensuring the offensive Guardsmen remain focused and protect the QBs and key receivers)

Defensive Line

Middle Linebacker (MLB) #22 Shawn @shawn-gold22 (Shawn is a rookie filling the shoes of one of Gold’s former strongest players. He is often underestimated, which is a mistake and will get players tackled) 

Outside Linebackers (OLB) #29 Ares & #30 Roman @roman-golden-68 (29 is Ares, who is normally number 10. 30 is Roman, who is normally 68. Roman and Ares have been missing practices, but Ares is still one of the strongest members of the team due to his pure godly strength)

Back-Up Linebacker (OLB/MLB) #93 Hunter (A trainee turned rookie trained by Alton. Hunter is mainly here to help support the team per Alton and Grayden’s request due to the growing number of red drones converted from GA members. Hunter is strong, but his capabilities are unknown) 

Back-Up Linebacker (OLB/MLB) #40 Jordan (Jordan only plays in dire situations. He is more focused on keeping the Gods ready for a potential Red attack during the match) 

Defensive Tackle (DT) #52 Trevor @polo-drone-125 (Trevor is a powerful defender known for his workout routines and motivational speeches) 

Defensive Tackle (DT) #75 Grant @grant-gold (Normally 43; Grant has been on the football team for a while, but he is often overshadowed by other defenders. Trevor has made sure Grant is adequately prepared for anything the CFG throws at them)

Defensive End (DE) #73 Tamerlan (Tamerlan is often a star player for Gold, but some have been questioning his capabilities due to the corruptions of RED-073 and RED-153. He and Kasper often lead the defense to shutdown offenses)

Defensive End (DE) #90 Kasper @pdu-090 (Kasper is often overlooked because of his occasional language barrier. He has a relative on the CFG team and knows some of their team members. Kasper’s defensive skills are hard to match though often known for finding holes to sack underprotected QBs) 

Cornerback (CB) #2 Nate (Normally 66/166; Nate is the leader of the four cornerbacks that Gold retains. He is good at covering wide receivers and training mentally for games.) 

Cornerbacks (CB) #9 Kai @kai-gold-99 & #36 Chavaun (Kai is normally 99 and Chavaun is normally 6/436; Kai has been on the football team longer than multiple others but is still viewed as a rookie. Chavaun is one of the newest team members and most don’t know what to expect of him, but he does polo drone training) 

Nickelback/Cornerback (NB/CB) #26 Devon (Normally 67/767; Devon is known for his commitment to training. PDU-767 has trained with multiple team members to ensure they all reach their maximum capabilities. But something appears off with him) 

Defensive Safety (S) #46 Brock @brockgold (Brock is a strong defensive support, often covering running backs and wide receivers that other defenders miss) 

Defensive Safety (S) #39 Xavier @polo-drone-039 (Xavier is one of the strongest defenders on the Golden Army’s team. He often forms a strong defensive wall with other defenders)

Special Teams

Kicker (K) #16 Daniel (Gold’s kicker who is often quite reliable. Fenrir, his God form, tends to come out more than other Gods)

Long Snapper (LS) #45 Isaac @isaac-gold-45 (Isaac is not on the field often, but is a strong voice to unite the team on the sidelines)

Punter (P) #15 Jibril (Normally 75; The rookie punter of Gold. He is a strong punter, he has a deep connection with Gabe)

The Golden Army had a few additional back-ups if the situation would get dire, but they were not listed on the roster. 

Eventually it was time. Gold took the field seeing the Crimson pups across from them. The game was about to start…

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To join the Golden Team and takes part in such challenges, contact one of our recruiters @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166, @alton-gold77, or @polo-drone-125

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Want to follow along or catch up with "The Red" storyline/saga check of the Red Index here: The Red Index

The Red storyline is a collaboration with SERVE and additional collaborations have occurred recently. 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.

Act 2 — The Red Infection

Scene 1 — The First Burn

The red drop reached the end of the tube.

For a fraction of a second it clung there, thick and glossy inside the clear plastic line.

Then gravity won.

The bright red goo slid into the catheter.

And into Maximus’ bloodstream.

The reaction was immediate.

Maximus’ entire body jolted violently against the hospital bed.

A strangled gasp tore from his throat as his back arched upward.

Pain exploded through his arm.

Not the dull ache of injury.

Not even the sharp bite of a needle.

This was different.

It felt like liquid fire racing through his veins.

Maximus’ eyes snapped open.

“—AH—!”

The shout ripped out of him before he could stop it. His arm jerked violently, muscles locking as the burning sensation surged up from the IV site toward his shoulder.

The heart monitor beside the bed erupted into frantic beeping.

The doctor lunged forward immediately.

“Stay still!” he barked, grabbing Maximus’ forearm and forcing it back toward the mattress. “You have to stay still!”

Maximus barely heard him.

The burning was spreading.

It crawled through the veins of his arm like molten metal, pushing upward into his chest. His muscles tightened painfully as the heat followed the pathways of his bloodstream.

“What—” he gasped, struggling against the doctor’s grip. “What the hell—”

Another surge hit.

His body spasmed again, fingers curling involuntarily as the burning spread across his shoulders and down his ribs.

For a moment it felt like his entire circulatory system had been set on fire.

Maximus’ vision swam.

The sedative still clung to the edges of his thoughts, dulling his reactions just enough that everything felt slightly delayed. His brain struggled to catch up with what his body was screaming.

Bad reaction.

That had to be it.

Some kind of reaction to the infusion.

“Easy!” the doctor said again, trying to pin Maximus’ arm down as the muscles continued to twitch violently. “It’s just the medication—”

Maximus turned his head sharply toward the IV stand.

And froze.

The bag hanging above him was filled with bright red liquid.

Not tinted.

Not slightly pink.

Red.

Thick and glossy as it crept through the clear tubing toward his arm.

Recognition hit instantly.

Red.

Everyone in the Golden Army knew that color.

A memory surfaced behind the pain.

A simulation chamber.

PDU-073 standing across from him while the scenario unfolded step by step.

Red entering the bloodstream.

The body beginning to restructure.

And the calm explanation that followed.

“If the conversion stabilizes, the original body is gone.”

Maximus’ stomach dropped.

This wasn’t just an attack.

The process had already started.

“…What the fuck is that?” he breathed.

Another pulse of burning surged through his veins.

This time it didn’t stop in his chest.

It spread.

Down his spine.

Into his abdomen.

Across his back.

Maximus sucked in a sharp breath as his muscles tightened again, a violent tremor running through his body.

Something was moving inside him.

Not the flow of blood.

Something thicker.

Something wrong.

The skin along his forearm suddenly flushed deep red for a brief instant.

Then faded.

The vaccine inside his system reacted instantly, pushing back.

The burning stalled.

For a moment the pressure eased.

Maximus sucked in a shaky breath.

Then the next surge hit.

Harder.

The heat blasted through his chest and down both arms simultaneously, forcing a low groan from his throat as every muscle tightened again.

His fingers curled against the bedsheet.

The red goo continued sliding through the IV line.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Scene 2 — The Observer

Across the room, the door opened quietly.

Neither Maximus nor the doctor noticed at first. The heart monitor was still screaming in frantic bursts as another wave of burning rolled through Maximus’ body.

His muscles seized again.

The doctor struggled to keep his arm pinned to the mattress.

“Hold still!” he snapped. “You’re going to tear the line out!”

Footsteps entered the room.

Slow.

Measured.

“Well now… that’s unusual.”

The voice was calm.

Almost conversational.

The doctor froze.

Maximus forced his head toward the doorway through the haze of pain.

A man stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, studying the scene like a coach evaluating a drill gone wrong.

Red mirrored sunglasses caught the hospital lights.

The Red Coach.

Maximus’ pulse hammered harder.

The Coach stepped closer, his gaze moving over the struggling defender on the bed.

The spasming muscles.

The faint red flashes surfacing beneath the skin.

The IV line feeding the conversion into his bloodstream.

Then he nodded slightly.

“Vaccinated,” he said. “That explains the delay.”

The doctor swallowed.

“You— you shouldn’t be here—”

The Red Coach didn’t even glance at him.

His attention remained fixed on Maximus.

Another wave surged through Maximus’ body. His fingers curled violently against the bedsheet as heat spread up his spine and across his shoulders.

The skin along his bicep flushed red again.

This time the sheen lingered.

The Coach noticed immediately.

“Still fighting,” he murmured.

He began pacing slowly around the bed, the movement eerily reminiscent of a coach circling the sideline during a game.

Evaluating.

Assessing.

Maximus forced himself upright despite the doctor’s grip, eyes locked on the man moving around him.

“You…” he rasped.

The Coach tilted his head slightly.

Recognition flickered behind the red lenses.

“Ah,” he said. “Maximus.”

Another pulse of burning tore through his chest.

Maximus forced the words out through clenched teeth.

“You did this.”

The Coach considered that calmly.

“Yes.”

No denial.

No anger.

Just acknowledgment.

He stopped beside the bed, studying the shifting red patches forming along Maximus’ forearm where the skin kept trying to change.

“You’re lasting longer than most,” he observed.

Another surge hit.

Maximus’ muscles seized again as heat flared through his chest and down both arms.

The Coach watched carefully.

Curious.

Interested.

“You know what’s happening to you,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Maximus spat the words through gritted teeth.

“Go to hell.”

The Red Coach smiled faintly.

“You’d feel a lot less pain if you stopped resisting.”

Maximus’ fingers dug into the mattress.

“Not… happening.”

Another pulse of heat rolled through his veins.

The red sheen crept another inch along his forearm before fading again as the vaccine fought back.

The Coach’s head tilted slightly as he observed the unstable transformation.

“Such determination,” he said quietly.

He leaned closer, inspecting the glossy patch of red forming along Maximus’ arm.

“You’d make a magnificent alpha.”

Maximus forced out a hoarse laugh.

“Yeah?”

His eyes burned with defiance.

“Not joining your pack.”

The Coach straightened slowly.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said calmly.

Another surge of heat tore through Maximus’ body.

The red sheen spread further along his arm.

The Coach watched the change with quiet fascination.

“The Red has a way of settling arguments like this.”

The IV line continued feeding the bright red goo into Maximus’ bloodstream.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Scene 3 — The War in the Flesh

The next surge didn’t come like the others.

It detonated.

Maximus’ entire body convulsed violently against the bed as a wave of heat blasted through his veins, far stronger than before. His back arched upward with a strangled cry as every muscle in his torso seized at once.

“—AAH—!”

The sound tore out of him before he could stop it.

The burning wasn’t just in his blood anymore.

It was inside the muscles.

Inside the bones.

Something was forcing its way deeper into him, pushing through every layer of tissue like molten metal seeking new pathways.

The doctor’s grip slipped as Maximus’ arm jerked violently.

“Damn—!” the man swore, trying to hold him down. “Hold still!”

Maximus couldn’t.

Another pulse ripped through him.

The red sheen across his forearm didn’t fade this time.

Instead it spread.

Slowly.

Like liquid lacquer crawling across the skin.

Maximus stared at it in disbelief as the surface of his arm tightened, the flesh taking on a faint glossy sheen beneath the hospital lights.

“Not… happening…” he rasped.

The vaccine inside him fought back.

The red sheen stalled.

For a moment the color receded.

Then the next surge hit.

Harder.

Maximus’ fingers clenched violently against the bedsheet.

But they didn’t unclench.

The tendons along his forearms tightened visibly beneath the skin as his fingers began curling inward, joints locking at unnatural angles.

Like paws trying to form.

“—No—!”

Maximus tried to force his hand open.

The muscles resisted him.

The glossy red surface surged again along his arm, thickening as the skin tightened into something smoother… denser… almost rubber-like.

For a moment the entire limb looked wrong.

Then the vaccine struck back.

The red sheen flickered and cracked apart in patches, flesh reasserting itself as the immune response forced the invading structure to destabilize.

Maximus sucked in a ragged breath.

His entire body trembled.

Heat surged through one set of veins while icy pressure pushed back through another as the two forces fought for control of his flesh.

Another wave slammed into him.

This one drove a guttural sound from his throat as the heat blasted up his spine and across his shoulders.

Across the room, the Red Coach watched quietly.

He had stopped pacing.

Now he stood beside the bed with his hands clasped behind his back, studying the unstable conversion with focused attention.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

Maximus barely heard him.

Pain was swallowing everything else.

Another surge rolled through his body.

The glossy red patch surged again along his arm, spreading nearly to the elbow before flickering violently as the vaccine pushed back.

His fingers were still locked in that half-curled shape, tendons trembling as his body struggled to decide whether they belonged to a human hand or something else entirely.

Then the heat surged higher.

Up his neck.

Maximus’ head snapped back as pressure built beneath his scalp.

At first he thought sweat had soaked his hair flat.

Then the strands began to collapse together.

His eyes widened.

His hair was dissolving.

Dark strands fused and thickened, sliding into glossy red threads as the Red began reworking the surface of his skull. Thin lines of fluid slipped down the sides of his head as the transformation tried to stabilize.

His jaw tightened involuntarily.

Bones along his face shifted slightly beneath the skin.

Not enough to change the shape fully.

Just enough to send a sharp pressure through his cheekbones before the vaccine forced the process to stall.

The shape almost settled.

Almost.

Then snapped back.

Maximus gasped through clenched teeth as his skull throbbed with the aborted restructuring.

The IV line continued feeding the bright red goo into his bloodstream.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Maximus’ breath came in ragged gasps.

His entire body felt like a battlefield.

And the war inside him was escalating.

The Red was starting to win.

Scene 4 — The Siege of the Mind

The assault on his body was only half of it.

Maximus realized that too late.

At first it felt like pressure.

A distant weight pressing at the back of his thoughts while the burning raged through his veins.

Then the pressure sharpened.

And pushed inward.

His vision flickered as another wave of pain tore through his body, but something else was happening now—something colder, more precise.

His thoughts stumbled.

For a moment he forgot where he was.

Then memory snapped back.

Hospital.

Red goo.

The Coach.

Conversion.

Fight it.

The command was instinctive.

Maximus focused on the thought the way he had been trained—tightening his mind around it like a fist.

Drone discipline.

Breath control.

Mental anchors.

It held.

For a second.

Then something hit back.

Not a voice.

Not words.

A force.

It slammed into his thoughts like a battering ram.

OBEY.

Maximus’ entire mind jolted.

The command wasn’t heard.

It was imposed.

A block of intention forced into his consciousness with crushing weight.

His thoughts scattered under the impact.

“No…” he whispered hoarsely.

The pressure increased immediately.

OBEY.

His muscles jerked on the bed as the word drove deeper into his head, pushing against every fragment of thought he tried to form.

Maximus clenched his teeth.

Not happening.

He locked onto the thought the way a drone locks onto a command structure.

Identity.

Name.

Team.

Maximus.

Golden Army.

The words steadied him for a moment.

The pressure recoiled.

Then returned harder.

PACK.

The concept forced its way into his mind with brutal clarity.

Unity.

Submission.

Hierarchy.

The structure of the Red pack unfolded inside his thoughts like a blueprint being hammered into place.

Maximus shoved back with everything he had.

No.

His mind burned almost as fiercely as his body.

Memories flashed through his head—training drills, teammates, the roar of the stadium.

The Red force crashed into them.

Not trying to reason.

Not trying to convince.

Just pushing them aside.

Thoughts scattered like debris under a wave.

Maximus’ breathing became ragged as he fought to hold onto anything solid.

Maximus.

Defender.

Brother.

The pressure surged again.

RED.

The word struck like a hammer.

His thoughts faltered.

Somewhere outside his head his body convulsed again, another surge of physical transformation tearing through him.

His skull throbbed.

Something was happening along his scalp.

His hair—

But the thought dissolved before it could finish forming.

The pressure in his mind spiked violently.

UNIT.

Maximus gasped.

His concentration shattered for a split second.

The Red force shoved forward instantly, driving deeper into the neural pathways the vaccine hadn’t yet sealed.

Thoughts blurred.

Fragments of memory flickered and collapsed.

For a terrifying moment he couldn’t remember his own name.

Panic surged through him.

Maximus.

The name returned like a lifeline.

He grabbed it with desperate focus.

“I’m… not…” he rasped weakly.

The Red pressure slammed down again.

OBEY.

His thoughts fractured.

The command forced itself deeper, pushing against the fragile network of identity he was struggling to maintain.

Maximus felt it happening.

Felt parts of himself slipping.

Not erased cleanly.

Crushed.

Pushed aside.

Like files being overwritten one sector at a time.

His discipline fought back.

Drone conditioning activated instinctively—mental routines built to resist intrusive signals.

It slowed the assault.

But only barely.

The Red pressure adapted instantly, bearing down harder.

PACK.

RED.

OBEY.

Each command struck like a hammer.

Maximus’ defenses trembled.

His memories flickered again.

Training.

Brotherhood.

Golden armor.

The stadium lights.

The Red pressure surged.

And the memories began to blur.

Somewhere far away, his body convulsed again as the transformation climbed higher along his skull.

The physical war was reaching his brain.

The mental assault intensified instantly.

Maximus screamed.

Not from the pain.

From the realization.

The Red wasn’t just trying to change his body.

It was trying to replace him.

His grip on himself slipped.

Thoughts slowed.

Identity thinned under the crushing weight forcing its way through his mind.

Memories flickered like failing lights.

Training drills.

The locker room.

The roar of the stadium.

Faces of teammates.

Each one dimmed as the Red pressure pushed deeper, grinding through the fragile architecture of his mind.

He tried to hold onto something—anything.

His name.

Maximus.

The word felt suddenly distant.

Fragile.

Like something that could break.

The Red pressure surged again.

And for a terrible instant—

he felt the structure of his own mind coming apart.

Not submission.

Not surrender.

Extinction.

The horrifying awareness that the thing called Maximus—his memories, his choices, his will—was being pushed aside piece by piece, overwritten by something that did not think, did not doubt, did not remember.

Only obeyed.

Only served.

Maximus tried to fight.

Tried to hold the fragments of himself together.

But the pressure kept growing.

And somewhere deep in the collapsing storm of his thoughts—

Maximus felt himself teetering on the edge of ceasing to be.

Scene 5 — Detection

SERVE-425 (@serve-425) halted.

A Red signal spiked across its sensors.

Unstable.

Surging.

The drone focused.

Biometric data resolved.

PDU-070.

Maximus.

Conversion in progress.

Irreversible threshold approaching.

Intervention required.

Destination locked.

SERVE-425 moved.

Fast.

The Golden Army was supposed to ensure that Tamerlan trained in a secret, secure location.

But The RED knows everything. That's why RED-073 and RED-153 are already there.

Will they transform Tamerlan into RED?

---

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.

---

(A collab story with PDU-767)

The air inside the Hive was thick with ozone and sweat. Xavier watched the figure before him: PDU-767, a precision machine clad in muscle, mid-workout. His black polymer suit, laced with golden veins, gleamed under the sterile gym lights.

"Hey, Drone-Bro" Xavier started, adjusting his heavy Defender armor for the Golden Team" Looking sharp as always, I see".

767 didn't turn immediately. He completed his energy-venting sequence first.

"Status: Operational. Bio-metric levels: Optimal. Greetings, Xavier. Reason for presence in training sector?"

Xavier made a vague gesture with his hand, trying to look casual while glancing out the massive windows at the London skyline. "Well, I was just passing by. You know how it is."

(image by 767)

The Drone tilted his head a few degrees. The dark visor hid his eyes, but Xavier felt the scanner analyzing his spiked heart rate.

"Vocal analysis: Uncertainty detected. Stress level: 14% above baseline. Specify request."

Xavier sighed, dropping the act. "Okay, bro. I need help. The Crimson Frost Giants are huge. Literally. If I don't find a way to stop their O-line, the next game is going to be a massacre. I need intensive training. Something... unconventional."

A low hum resonated from the Drone's chest.

"Request accepted. Protocol: Brute Enhancement. Location: Coordinates 45.2, -0.1. Outer forest trailhead. Time: 06:00. Do not fail check-in."

THE NEXT DAY – 06:01 AM

The forest mist was so thick it felt solid. Xavier arrived dragging his feet, his breath forming small white clouds in the biting air. 767 was already there, a silent statue among the dark trunks.

"63 seconds late," the Drone stated. "Efficiency compromised."

"I almost regretted this," Xavier muttered to himself, shivering. "Hey Drone-Bro, where exactly are we going? There's no gym here, just mud and cold."

"Follow me, Xavier. Subject: Fluffy. Debt of gratitude active. He will be your contact partner.""Fluffy?" Xavier arched an eyebrow. "What kind of name is that? You brought me here to play with a puppy?"

767 didn't answer. They pushed deeper into the brush, where low growls began to drown out the sound of their footsteps. Something ancient and fierce was clawing at the bark of the trees. When they reached the clearing, Xavier froze.

(image by 767)

Standing before them was a mass of muscle and fur, three and a half meters tall. One hundred and fifty kilograms of pure primordial ferocity. It looked like a grizzly, but the proportions were wrong—too human, too fast. The monster’s red eyes glowed through the fog as thick drool dripped from its fangs.

"Hey, bro... watch out!" Xavier stepped forward, ready to intervene.

"Subject Fluffy: Identified," 767 said with icy calm. "Thank you for being available for the test."

The beast responded with a grunt that shook the ground and a nod of its head.

"That’s Fluffy???" Xavier was stunned. "You’re crazy, I’m out of here."

767 grabbed his arm. The Drone’s grip was like a vice of steel.

"Psychological analysis: Fear detected. Conclusion: Is the Golden Team's reputation overestimated?"

Xavier felt the blood rush to his face. Pride burned hotter than the freezing mist. "Don't be ridiculous. That word doesn't exist in my vocabulary."

"Excellent. Objective: Tackle him."

"Sure, easy enough," Xavier said, starting to focus for the transformation. "Wait until I turn into Xavi Boy, I'll turn him into a rug."

"Negative," 767 intervened. With a lightning-fast move, he snapped a metallic collar around Xavier's neck. A blue light pulsed once.

"Bio-tech inhibition device active. No transformations. No shortcuts. You must defeat him with human kinetic force alone."

THE TRAINING

The first impact was devastating. Xavier charged, but Fluffy moved with the grace of a lightning bolt. Xavier was steamrolled, ending up face-down in the mud.

"Retry. Incorrect impact angle," 767 commented, standing still like an impartial referee.

Xavier tried again. And again. And again.

By evening, Xavier was a mask of mud and scratches. His breath was a wheeze, but his eyes... his eyes had become two slits of pure gold.

Fluffy grunted at the Drone, a sort of guttural laugh. "Is this your line of defense?" the monster seemed to ask.

767 remained stoic. "Subject Xavier: Structural integrity at 40%. Willpower: Growing exponentially." Then, with a nearly invisible smirk, he whispered: "Go easy on him, my friend."

Fluffy shook his head. "Don't worry, I'll send him back in one piece!"

767 replied under his breath: "I wasn't talking to you."

"Try to move me if you can, Gold Bro!" Fluffy roared, digging his claws into the soil and charging.

Xavier didn't feel the exhaustion anymore. He watched Fluffy coming at him and didn't see a monster—he saw the Crimson Frost offensive line. He saw victory.

"Now I'll show you how a Gold Bro plays!!"

Xavier launched. It wasn't a run; it was an explosion. His feet dug deep trenches in the earth as his speed built up an unbearable pressure. The impact was like the thunder following the strike.

BAM.

(image by 767)

For the first time, Fluffy stumbled. The beast planted his feet, leg muscles tensed to the breaking point, but it was useless. Xavier kept pushing, an unstoppable human engine, forcing the giant back one meter, then two, carving parallel furrows in the mud.

A flash of reflected light passed through 767's visor. A signal of binary approval.

"Status: Ready," the Drone concluded. "Well done, Gold Bro. The defense is solid."

The front line is drawn in gold and grit. Do you have what it takes to hold it? Join the Golden Team, contact our recruiters: @polo-drone-001, @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166 or @polo-drone-125

Evening light washed the stadium in pale gold as the Golden Army’s American football team ran full-contact tempo drills beneath the rising hum of the field lights. Shoulder pads cracked in sharp collisions, cleats tore at the turf, and play calls carried across the practice field in disciplined cadence. The rhythm of repetition—snap, drop, release—felt steady, controlled, unbreakable.

Beyond the southern perimeter fence, PDU-034 conducted its routine patrol sweep.

Its boots moved in measured cadence along the outer walkway as visual sensors scanned asphalt, chain-link, drainage channels, and structural seams. Every surface registered within acceptable tolerance. Nothing irregular. Nothing alive.

Then the readings shifted.

A thermal variance—1.8 degrees above surface baseline—flickered across its display. The source localized near Gate Three, originating from what appeared to be a hairline fracture in the pavement.

PDU-034 halted.

Optical focus narrowed, magnification adjusting with mechanical precision. Within the narrow crack, something glistened beneath the fading sun. A thin crimson sheen clung to the asphalt. It might have passed for spilled liquid—oil, perhaps—if not for the movement.

It pulsed.

Subtly. Rhythmically.

The substance thickened as it watched. The surface tension shifted, and a narrow tendril eased outward, testing the open air like a cautious nerve.

PDU-034 transmitted immediately. “Anomalous organic material detected. Sector South Gate. Containment protocol recommended.”

Two additional Polo Drones altered course without hesitation, their movements silent and synchronized. They formed a precise triangular perimeter around the emerging anomaly just as the red sheen widened another inch.

Inside the fence, unaware, the Golden Army quarterback released a tight spiral downfield. The ball cut cleanly through golden light and landed square in his receiver’s hands. Laughter followed. A clean completion. Applause from the sidelines.

None of them noticed the red shimmer creeping toward the drainage grate beneath the fence line.

Trajectory projections updated in PDU-034’s system. If the substance reached the runoff channel, infiltration probability rose to seventy-four percent. The grate fed directly beneath the practice turf.

Stage-One Lockdown initiated.

The stadium speakers activated, calm and authoritative. “Training session suspended. Proceed to interior corridors. Maintain spacing. Do not engage exterior boundary.”

Confusion rippled across the field, but discipline overtook it quickly. Captain Brody’s gaze tracked the sudden drone formation at the perimeter, and understanding dawned instantly. He raised a hand.

“Inside. Now.”

Pads clattered and players jogged toward the tunnel entrances in controlled lines. No shouting. No panic. Only urgency shaped by training.

Outside, the red substance reached the base of the metal fence.

It touched steel.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then it climbed.

A thin, glossy ribbon adhered to the vertical wires, ascending with unnatural deliberation. Its movement was exploratory, almost intelligent.

PDU-034 stepped forward. A pressurized canister deployed from its hand, releasing a dense layer of reactive containment foam along the lower fence. The foam struck with a hiss, expanding rapidly into a thick, pale barrier.

The red mass recoiled, its surface rippling in visible agitation.

It did not retreat.

Instead, it split—two branching streams diverting toward the drainage channel.

A second drone activated the perimeter sprinkler grid. High-pressure streams erupted from ground nozzles, water cascading across asphalt in forceful sheets. The red substance thinned under the assault, diluted but not dissolved. It vibrated against the current, resisting displacement.

Then a fragment broke free.

A sliver of living Red Goo slipped beneath the fence through a narrow gap in the concrete base and slid toward the turf.

PDU-034 intercepted instantly.

It stepped into the fragment’s path before it could breach the grass. The red tendril barely brushed the drone’s boot.

Surface temperature spike. Micro-adhesion detected.

The substance attempted to climb.

Black polymer against living red.

Containment protocol escalated.

PDU-034 increased current through its outer layer, generating a controlled thermal surge. Heat radiated outward in a precise pulse. The red fragment recoiled violently, peeling away as if scorched. It destabilized, thinning under sustained water pressure before being swept into the runoff channel.

External breach probability fell below twenty percent.

Across the street, partially obscured behind construction scaffolding, a lone figure observed without moving.

The Red Coach.

His posture remained relaxed, analytical. He did not flinch as the foam expanded or as the sprinklers roared to life. He watched the drones’ timing. Their spacing. Their escalation thresholds.

The Red Goo near the fence began to retract, drawing inward in narrow strands. Foam continued to hiss where contact remained, slowing its withdrawal. Within seconds, the crimson sheen diminished into faint streaks before disappearing entirely into the storm drain.

Silence settled over the perimeter.

Sanitation teams arrived in sealed protective suits within minutes. Chemical neutralizers coated every inch of the southern boundary. Drainage systems flushed repeatedly. Sensors recalibrated and cross-checked.

Inside the secured locker wing, the Golden Army waited in tense quiet. Some players joked to diffuse the unease. Others stared at the sealed doors, listening for sounds that did not come.

PDU-034 entered the corridor with steady, unhurried steps.

“External transformation vector intercepted. No personnel compromised. Facility undergoing sterilization.”

Captain Brody exhaled, tension easing though not vanishing.

Practice would be suspended for forty-eight hours. Security doubled. Perimeter scans continuous.

Outside, the field lights dimmed one by one, leaving the stadium in controlled darkness. The rinsed turf shimmered under residual moisture, pristine and unsuspecting. No visible trace remained of what had nearly crossed the boundary.

Across the street, the Red Coach turned away.

He had not expected immediate success.

He had measured response speed. Evacuation time. Containment efficiency.

The Golden Army remained intact.

But now he knew something essential.

The team was protected by vigilance.

And if transformation could not breach the perimeter—

It would attempt contact during play.

Join the golden army and help us defeat the Crismon Frost Giants and the Red Coach Contact our recruiters to join: @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-166 @franco-gold94

Training isn’t loud.

It’s consistent.

While others assume they belong, Brock Gold does the work without ceremony.

No rush. No spectacle. Just structure, timing, and control.

This week is about sharpening what’s already there —

movement, breath, focus, restraint.

Gold doesn’t chase dominance.

Gold maintains it.

Preparation continues.

Presence locked in.

Not everyone needs noise to move forward.

Some of us train when no one’s watching.

We build standards, not excuses.

If consistency matters more than attention,

if discipline feels natural—not forced—

you’re already closer than you think.

Gold isn’t loud.

Gold shows up.

2025 had come and gone. Quietly. Relentlessly. Now, 2026 stood open—unwritten.

Nate sat on a weathered bench overlooking the city’s edge, where concrete softened into the sky. Above him, the sunset unfolded in slow layers—burnt orange sinking into deep red, purples stretching thin as the last light faded. The cold wind carried the promise of change, brushing against his golden jacket as he stared ahead, lost somewhere between memory and anticipation.

In his hands rested an envelope.

It was heavier than it should have been.

Cream-colored, thick paper. International postage stamped cleanly in the corner. The return address read United Kingdom, written in a careful, deliberate hand. Nate had turned it over more than once before opening it, as if the weight of the words inside might change depending on how long he waited.

Footsteps approached behind him.

Another figure entered the frame of the moment, the black of his jacket absorbing what little light remained. Silver lettering caught briefly in the sunset glow: SERVE-897. Nate didn’t look up right away. He didn’t need to.

The contrast was familiar—black against gold, silver against shadow. On Nate’s chest, black lettering marked PDU-166. Above them both, the sun danced one final time, catching in Nate’s vivid rainbow hair and in the red, blue, and silvery white strands of the man now standing beside him.

“Hey, Nate.”

Nate finally looked up. “Hey, Teddy.” A pause. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Theodore said quietly, glancing down toward the bench. “Seat taken?”

“No,” Nate replied, shifting to the side. “All yours.”

Teddy sat, exhaling slowly as he did. For a moment, neither spoke. The city hummed in the distance. The year turned, unnoticed by most.

Teddy’s eyes drifted to the envelope in Nate’s hands. “That new?”

Nate nodded. “Came this morning. International.”

“From where?”

“Britain.”

That got Teddy’s attention. He leaned back slightly, eyebrows lifting, examining the carefully placed barcoded stamps of the Late Queen and current King. “Family?”

Nate nodded, then carefully slid a finger under the envelope’s seal. “Cousin,” he said.

He unfolded the letter, the paper crisp despite the journey. Teddy watched silently as Nate read, his expression tightening—not with worry, but with recognition.

“Regency Eleven,” Teddy muttered suddenly, pulling out his phone. “That’d explain it.”

Nate looked over. “Explain what?”

Teddy scrolled, then turned the screen slightly. “They just issued a public challenge. Friendly match. Gold versus Regency Eleven.”

Nate blinked once. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Teddy smirked faintly. “They’re calling it a ‘family rivalry with international flair.’ Whoever wrote the press release knew exactly what they were doing.”

Nate let out a quiet breath, glancing back down at the letter. The words made more sense now—formal but warm, competitive without being cruel. Pride threaded through every line.

At the bottom, the signature was simple:

– Yours Truly, JRCM

Nate stared at the initials.

“Still not signing their full name?” Teddy asked.

“Guess not,” Nate replied. “But James isn’t as clever as he thinks he is.”

Teddy nodded. “Classic.”

The sky darkened another shade. The sun slipped below the horizon, leaving only its echo behind. Nate folded the letter carefully and slid it back into the envelope, as if sealing a decision he hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

“Are you thinking of accepting?” Teddy asked.

Nate didn’t answer right away. He watched the last light fade, feeling the weight of history pressing gently against his chest—not as a burden, but as an invitation.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I think I am.”

Teddy didn’t hesitate. He stood, turned fully toward Nate, and rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“Good,” he said. “Because whatever happens—on the field, off it—I’ve got your back.”

Nate looked up, surprised, then smiled—small, genuine.

“All the way?” he asked.

“All the way,” Teddy confirmed.

They sat together again, side by side, as the first stars emerged overhead. Two brothers. Two paths. One family, stretched across borders and years.

And somewhere across the ocean, a cousin waited.

“Game on, James Rose Conway Madison, Game on.”

2026 had begun.

Thanks to my Brother @serve-897

The morning fog hung low across the Golden Army training field, glowing faintly under the first touch of sunlight. The stadium lights were still dim, casting long shadows across the carefully arranged cones that mapped a maze of routes across the turf.

At the center of the field stood Rainer, wide receiver for the Golden Army.

His metallic gold training jersey stretched across his powerful chest and shoulders, the name RAINER and number 6 gleaming against the reflective fabric. He rolled his neck slowly, loosening the tension in his shoulders as he stared down the field.

His opponent wasn’t on the field yet.

But he could picture them perfectly.

The Crimson Frost Giants.

A defense famous across the league for its brutal synchronization—cornerbacks and safeties reading each other’s movements like a shared mind. Breaking through their coverage wasn’t always possible.

And that was exactly the point of today’s training.

Behind Rainer, five figures waited.

Each stood perfectly still in glossy black rubber polos trimmed in gold. Their trousers, gloves, and boots reflected the rising sunlight in sharp highlights. Gold identifiers gleamed on their chests.

PDU-214 PDU-227 PDU-241 PDU-266 PDU-279

Five Polo Drones.

Silent. Precise. Unyielding. 

Rainer turned and nodded toward them.

“Alright,” he said calmly. “You’re the Frost Giants today.”

Their heads tilted in near-perfect unison.

“Affirmative.”

“Interception simulation ready.”

Rainer stepped to the starting mark and crouched into a receiver’s stance. His fingertips brushed the turf as he leaned forward.

He wasn’t trying to beat them every time. That wasn’t the goal.

Against the Frost Giants, sometimes a receiver wouldn’t get open. Sometimes the quarterback would have to throw elsewhere.

What mattered was surviving the pressure long enough for the play to develop.

If he could stay alive in the route—twisting, adjusting, forcing defenders to commit—then somewhere else on the field a Golden Army player might break free.

This training wasn’t about victory.

It was about resilience.

The whistle cut through the quiet air.

Rainer exploded forward.

His cleats bit into the turf as he accelerated toward the first cone before snapping sharply into a slant route.

The drones reacted instantly.

PDU-214 and PDU-227 collapsed the inside lane.

PDU-241 drifted deeper into coverage.

PDU-266 and PDU-279 sealed the outside edges.

Five defenders forming a tightening cage.

Rainer didn’t panic.

He planted his foot and cut again—post route.

The drones shifted together, angles adjusting with mechanical precision.

The gap disappeared.

Rainer tried a quick stutter step, forcing the defenders to hesitate.

Then he spun right, sprinting toward the sideline.

But the formation followed him flawlessly. Their synchronization was terrifying.

Every move he made was mirrored, countered, anticipated.

Within seconds the five defenders surrounded him.

PDU-241 stepped into his route.

PDU-266 closed from the side.

PDU-279 sealed the outside lane.

Rainer slowed, trapped within the defensive net.

The whistle blew.

“Interception successful,” one drone reported.

Rainer bent slightly, hands on his hips, breathing hard.

Then he laughed.

“Okay,” he said between breaths. “Yeah… that was brutal.”

He walked back to the starting mark, already replaying the movement patterns in his head.

The drones had collapsed faster on the inside than he expected.

That meant the Frost Giants’ safeties might do the same.

Good to know.

Rainer reset his stance.

“Again.”

The drones repositioned silently.

“Doesn’t matter if I get open every time,” Rainer said aloud. “What matters is keeping the defense busy.”

Sweat glistened across his arms and shoulders as the golden jersey caught the rising sunlight.

The next run might fail.

The next run might succeed.

Either way, he would learn something.

And when the Golden Army faced the Crimson Frost Giants, every second he could survive under pressure might mean the difference between a stalled drive and a touchdown.

Rainer crouched again at the starting line.

Behind him, the five drones spoke in perfect mechanical unison.

“Interception simulation ready.”

The whistle rose once more.

And the chase began again.