#goldenspringbreak

Spring break meant freedom, or at least that was what the recruits believed. For six young men drawn from the extended network of the Golden Army, the invitation had sounded simple enough: a spring break retreat, a hiking trip, a chance to bond before the next phase of training. two days. One destination. The Sine Mente Lagoon. They had been told the guides would meet them at the edge of the forest, and when they arrived, they saw them immediately.

Two identical figures stood waiting at the trailhead. Their black rubber polos gleamed faintly in the sunlight, the material reflecting the filtered light beneath the trees while gold numbering caught the light whenever either figure shifted.

PDU-034 and PDU-767 stood perfectly still with their hands clasped behind their backs, reflective sunglasses hiding their eyes. Their posture was so precise it almost seemed sculpted. For a moment the recruits simply stared before PDU-034 spoke. “Welcome, recruits.” Its voice was calm, even, controlled. “Spring Break Unity Retreat begins now.” Beside it, PDU-767 tilted its head slightly, studying the group as though scanning them. “Objective: physical challenge, bonding, and initiation.” One of the recruits laughed and nudged the friend beside him. “Bro, this is way more intense than the email made it sound.” Neither drone reacted. PDU-034 simply turned toward the forest trail and gestured. “Follow.”

The forest thickened quickly once they began walking, the trail winding upward through rugged terrain between rocks and dense clusters of trees. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in scattered beams that flashed across the dark uniforms of their guides. The recruits joked, shoved each other playfully, and stopped often to take photos. It still felt like a normal trip; the kind people would post about afterward. But the drones moved differently. PDU-034 led with unwavering focus while PDU-767 remained behind the group, maintaining a steady pace that ensured no one fell too far back. Their rubber uniforms whispered softly with every step, and when sunlight struck the surface just right the black material gleamed like oil.

After a while one recruit finally asked what everyone had been wondering. “Doesn’t that get hot?” PDU-034 turned slightly, the gold numbers on its chest catching the light. “Comfort is irrelevant. Purpose is optimal.” The group laughed, but something about the answer lingered in their minds. As the trail grew steeper the joking faded and the climb demanded more effort. The drones never seemed to tire. When one recruit slipped while climbing a rocky ridge, PDU767 moved instantly, catching him before he could fall. “Stability restored.” The recruit froze for a moment as their hands touched; the rubber glove was warm, unexpectedly warm. “Thanks… bro,” he muttered. “Assistance complete,” PDU-767 replied, releasing him immediately. As they continued walking, the recruit found himself glancing back at the drone’s uniform—the smooth rubber, the flawless fit, the gold number 767 stretching across its chest.

By mid-afternoon the forest suddenly opened into a hidden clearing surrounded by dark cliffs. At its center lay the lagoon. Its surface shimmered beneath the sun, black and glossy like liquid onyx. The water looked thick—almost viscous—and its stillness gave it a strangely inviting presence. The recruits slowed as they approached the edge, their earlier laughter fading into uncertain silence. PDU-034 stepped forward and addressed them with the same calm authority as before. “Enter the lagoon.”

The recruits hesitated with their toes touching the strange black surface. Some laughed nervously while others simply stared down at the liquid as if trying to understand it. PDU-034’s voice carried across the clearing. “Step in. Observe. Synchronize.”

Finally, one recruit shrugged. “Guess I’ll go first.” He waded forward, and the liquid clung immediately. It was thick—heavier than water—and wrapped around his legs with steady pressure. His shorts darkened first as the substance spread across the fabric, tightening and smoothing around his thighs before climbing higher along his torso. His shirt darkened next, compressing around his chest as it transformed into glossy black rubber. Sleeves sealed over his arms like gentle pressure bands while a structured collar formed around his neck. Gold numbering appeared slowly across his chest: 485. He flexed instinctively and felt the material adjust perfectly around his muscles. Each breath created faint suction as the liquid continued sealing every surface, bringing a flood of sensations—warm pressure, tactile restriction, the faint scent of rubber, and the soft hissing of the coating settling into place.

The next two recruits entered more cautiously. Their casual clothes darkened almost immediately, stretching and fusing to their bodies as the lagoon reshaped them. The liquid crawled across their arms and shoulders, smoothing itself into identical black polos while their shorts compressed into sleek rubber trousers. Even their sneakers vanished beneath the coating as the substance reshaped them into streamlined boots. Gold numbers formed across their chests: 486 and 487.

The remaining recruits exchanged uneasy glances, but the first three were already moving differently now. Their posture had straightened, their movements slower and more deliberate, as if the lagoon anticipated every action before it occurred. One recruit swallowed nervously before stepping forward. The surface enveloped his ankles, then his calves, climbing slowly upward while the liquid tightened around him with hypnotic precision. The sensation was firm yet strangely comforting as it molded itself perfectly to his body, pulling his shoulders back and straightening his spine. His breathing slowed as his thoughts softened under the steady influence of the drones’ presence. Soon five new Polo Drones stood within the lagoon, their gazes calm and their movements subtly synchronized.

Only one recruit remained at the water’s edge. He shook his head and stepped backward. “I’m not doing this… I can’t… no!” His voice echoed across the clearing. PDU-034 and PDU.767 moved immediately, their motions perfectly coordinated. Without hesitation, PDU-034 seized one arm while PDU-767 grasped the other. They lifted him effortlessly and threw him into the lagoon. The black liquid surged upward to meet him, swallowing him instantly. His scream broke into gasps as the substance wrapped around his body, clinging to his clothes and spreading rapidly across the fabric. His shirt darkened and tightened across his chest before merging into the same smooth black rubber polo while his shorts compressed into fitted rubber trousers. Boots formed over his feet as the material tightened around his muscles, applying steady pressure that pulled his posture upright. His shoulders squared. His spine straightened. He tried to resist, but the sensations overwhelmed him—warmth, pressure, and the scent of rubber filling his senses while calm focus replaced panic. Defiance faded beneath growing clarity. Purpose. Obedience. Synchronization.

Gold numbers formed slowly across his chest: 490. His heartbeat slowed as every movement of his body aligned with the others. When he finally stepped from the lagoon, the uniform gleamed in the fading sunlight. He looked at PDU-034, then at PDU-767, then at the others, and whispered quietly, almost reverently, “Purpose… clear.”

As the sun dipped behind the cliffs, long shadows stretched across the lagoon. The surface of the water shimmered black and still while PDU-034 and PDU-767 stood watches at the edge.

Then the water began to move. From the dark liquid, shapes slowly rose. sleeping pods, smooth shells of reflective black rubber opening like mechanical cocoons around each drone. The structures wrapped gently around their bodies and sealed them inside with steady warmth and pressure while the lagoon itself seemed to breathe around them.

“Recharge and assimilation complete,” PDU-767 murmured.

A moment later PDU-034 added, “Morning Walk back begins after full rest.”

Inside the pods the warmth deepened as the lagoon sealed around them, completing the cycle of unity, obedience, and transformation. Outside, beneath the quiet night sky, the black water rippled softly, waiting for the next wave of spring break recruits.

Do you want to experience your own Sprin Break conversion?

Don’t hesitate to contact our recruiters:

@polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-166 @franco-gold94 @alton-gold77

Spring break was supposed to be simple—sun, drinks, maybe a bit of flexing by the pool, nothing too serious. But this is the Golden Army, and even when we call it a break, it never really is. They called it the Golden Spring Bootcamp—spring break, yeah, but done our way. Training, bonding, pushing each other… and still partying like proper bros. Brody, Grayden, and Trevor had set the tone from the start: we’d enjoy ourselves, no doubt, but we’d grow too. Percival had his own duties to handle and told me to come ahead without him, said he’d join when he could. So I showed up ready—not to organise, not to lead—but to be part of it, to train with my bros, and make the most of it.

🌅 Sunrise Session

I’m out on the beach early, barefoot in the sand, sun just coming up and already warming my skin. Air’s thick, salty, sticks to you in that good way that makes your body feel awake before you even move. Couple bros behind me still half asleep, stretching, yawning, dragging their feet like they forgot where they are, and I can’t help grinning as I call back at them to wake the fuck up because we didn’t come all this way to do nothing.

Trevor’s already there, bouncing around like he’s powered by pure hype, clapping shoulders, handing out water, shouting encouragement before we’ve even started. Grayden’s nearby with his clipboard, trying to line everyone up into something resembling a plan, muttering about rotations and timing while Nate quietly sets everything up—towels, bottles, gear—making sure it all just works without anyone noticing. And then Brody steps forward, calm as ever, just a few words, easy smile, telling us we train hard, look after each other, and enjoy it. Simple. Enough. Everyone feels it.

We start with sprints, and the sand makes it brutal straight away, legs burning, lungs working, no room to coast. Xavier’s right next to me, passes me an earbud mid-run like it’s nothing, music kicking in hard, bass hitting deep, and we don’t even talk much after that—just push, faster, harder, matching each other step for step, shoulders brushing, neither of us backing off. That’s what Bootcamp’s about. No thinking. Just going.

💪 Push Them Harder

When I slow and turn back, I spot Tamerlan a bit behind, breathing heavier, but still locked in. He’s not looking around, not trying to show anything off, just doing what he’s told, serious about it like always. I walk up, grab his shoulder, firm, grounding him, and adjust his posture—tilt his chin up, straighten his back, press a hand briefly against his chest. “Yeah—there. That’s better, Tammy boy.” He nods straight away, focused, takes it in properly.

I take a step back, look him over, then smirk slightly. “Don’t hide it though, yeah? You’ve got it—show it a bit.” He hesitates at that, just for a second, not used to it, so I tap his side lightly. “Go on. Chest up. Let it show.” He adjusts again, a bit awkward, but better—more open, more visible. Still solid, still disciplined, just… starting to own it.

“Good,” I say, giving his shoulder a squeeze before sending him off again. “Now move.”

Leander’s already circling back in, full energy, chest out, grin on his face like he knows exactly what he’s doing. He passes close on purpose, showing off without even trying to hide it. I catch him by the back of the neck as he goes by, stop him just for a second. “Oi—yeah, I see you.” He leans into it straight away, eager.

I tilt my head, looking him over. “Now make it useful.”

That lands. I nudge him forward again. “Put it into the work.”

He takes off again, still expressive, still showing off—but tighter now, more controlled, like the energy’s actually going somewhere instead of spilling everywhere.

Trevor’s still shouting praise at everyone, calling them strong, calling them gold, and you can feel it lifting the whole group. Gabe’s right in the middle of it, already giving everything, eager as anything, and when I nod at him and tell him he’s doing good, he lights up and pushes even harder. Sharif’s nearby too, trying to prove himself, and when I run alongside him and tell him to stop thinking and just go, he does. That’s all it takes sometimes.

I glance between Tamerlan and Leander again—one building himself piece by piece, learning to show it, the other burning with energy, learning to hold it—and yeah… both exactly where they should be.

🔥 Heat and Contact

We move into drills after that—weights, resistance, wrestling in the sand—and it turns properly physical. Bodies colliding, sweat everywhere, hands grabbing, pushing, holding, the kind of messy, loud training that just feels right. I’m back with Xavier, syncing reps without needing to say much, just the rhythm of it, push and hold, again and again until it burns right.

Then I spot Tamerlan again, down on his knees, breathing hard, and I walk over, stand in front of him, tell him to get up. He hesitates—just a second—but I don’t move, don’t change tone, just tell him again, and he gets up. Good. I grab his wrists, set his stance, make him hold it, tell him not to drop. He says he won’t, but I make him say it properly, and he does, and he holds longer than before, shaking but steady.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I mutter, giving him a quick nod. “Hold it. Let them see it.”

And he does—still shaking, still working—but not hiding anymore either.

Leander moves in again not long after, already trying to turn it into a show, pressing close, flexing as he works. I let him for a second, watching, then tap his side sharply. “Stay in it.” He adjusts straight away, grin still there, but his form tightens, reps cleaner, energy controlled instead of spilling out.

Better.

🌊 Gold Chaos

By the time we hit the water, everyone’s wrecked and buzzing at the same time. We run in together, shouting, crashing through waves, grabbing each other, dragging each other under, laughing like idiots. Trevor’s still yelling about hydration while Nate hands out bottles like it’s a mission, and Grayden’s trying to keep some kind of order in the background but it’s already gone—and honestly that’s half the point.

Back at the house later, it’s all noise and movement—pool, music, drinks, bodies everywhere. I’m right in the middle of it, arm around Xavier, Gabe nearby, Trevor hyping someone flexing on a table. Leander’s draped half over me, still warm, still restless, showing off like he always does—but there’s more control in it now, less scattered, like he actually knows where to put that energy.

And Tamerlan—Tammy boy—he’s not hiding off to the side anymore. Still quieter, yeah, still solid—but when he moves, when he stands, there’s more to it. Chest up, shoulders set, letting himself be seen just a bit more. Not forced. Earned.

I grin at that, give him a quick nod when he catches my eye. “Yeah. That’s it.”

I look around at all of them—strong, loud, shining—and I can’t help it.

This is it. This is what Golden Spring Bootcamp is about.

👑 When He Arrives

Evening settles in, sky turning gold, everything slowing just a bit but not really stopping. We’re outside, still talking, still laughing, bodies loose but present, and then something shifts—not loud, not dramatic, just enough that I feel it before I even see it. My posture straightens slightly on its own, instinct more than thought, and I turn.

Percival’s there.

It hits clean. Not tension, not nerves—just focus snapping into place. I step forward without hesitation, movements tighter, sharper now, everything a bit more deliberate.

“Master.”

My voice comes out lower, steadier. Still me—just refined, dialed in.

I glance back at the others for a second, taking them in as they are now—sweaty, loud, a bit scattered but strong as fuck—then back to him, a grin pulling at my face again, easy but proud.

“You made it.”

I gesture behind me, open, casual, but there’s weight to it. “They’ve been going all day. Training, pushing… bonding. Proper Gold shit.”

A small pause, eyes flicking over them again, measuring without overthinking it.

“They’re good,” I say, then add, quieter but firmer, “Got better.”

Tamerlan’s standing solid, not hiding anymore. Leander’s glowing, energy sharp instead of messy. Gabe alert and ready. The rest of the bros holding that same energy—earned, not forced.

I meet his gaze again, chest full, not just for him but for all of it—for the work, the heat, the noise, the way it all came together.

“Come see.”

And yeah. We did proper fuckin’ good.

__________

Cast (by order of appearance)

Maximus (@polo-drone-070), Brody (@brodygold), Grayden (@polo-drone-084)

Trevor (@polo-drone-125), Nate (@polo-drone-166), Xavier (@polo-drone-039)

Tamerlan (@polo-drone-073), Leander (@leander-gold-88), Gabe (@polo-drone-075)

Sharif (@shawn-gold22), Percival (@polo-drone-001).

_________

🟡 You felt that, didn’t you.

That pull. That energy.

That’s what we’re building.

If you’re ready to be part of it — come find us.

The air smelled of salt, sunscreen, and sweat-soaked ambition. Spring break had turned the coast into a living training ground—bodies everywhere, movement, energy. But away from the loud beach bars, where the light hit harder and the shadows cut deeper, something else was taking place. Something more deliberate.

Maximus (@polo-Drone-070) stood still, his gaze locked onto Tamerlan. No smile, no hesitation—only control. His presence felt like an invisible weight pressing down on Tamerlan’s shoulders. Heavy. Guiding.

“You’re here to be shaped,” he said calmly.

Tamerlan nodded. At first, it had just been motivation—train harder, look better, get stronger. But under Maximus, it became something sharper. Narrower. Focused. Each day began early, before the sun fully rose. Sand clung to sweat-drenched skin, muscles burned, repetitions blurred into rhythm.

Thinking became less important.

The body took over.

Maximus corrected every movement. A grip on the arm. Pressure on the shoulder. Precise. Mechanical. Perfect.

“Less thinking. More execution.”

With every session, Tamerlan changed. His gaze grew emptier, yet more intense. Fixed. His body tensed automatically, even at rest. Muscles grew, defined themselves, responded faster than thought.

Nutrition. Train. Repeat.

Nothing more was needed.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and bathed everything in gold, Tamerlan stood before a mirror. Sweat shimmered across his skin, every muscle sharply defined. Strong. Shaped.

But not complete.

His eyes shifted to Maximus—smooth, flawless, uncompromising.

Then back to his own reflection.

Hair… unnecessary. Imperfect. Disruptive.

The thought didn’t feel like a decision. More like a realization that had always been there.

Perfection is clean. Reduced. Controlled.

Without a word, he picked up the clippers.

The hum was steady. Calming.

Lock by lock fell away. With every pass, his expression softened. Emptied. Focused. When the last trace was gone, he lifted his head.

Smooth. Precise. Unified.

Maximus stepped behind him. Studied the result. Slowly nodded.

“Now it truly begins.”

Tamerlan didn’t respond.

He didn’t need to.

His body tightened automatically, muscles hard as steel beneath golden skin. His gaze—still, clear, ready.

No more doubt.

Only function.

Train. Grow. Present.

A trophy boy.

Shaped.

Spring break had changed the energy around the Golden Army.

Louder. Warmer. Closer.

Brock noticed it immediately.

It wasn’t just the sun or the break from routine. It was something else. Something harder to explain.

The way the bros moved together.

The way conversations overlapped, laughter carrying across the field. The way no one stayed on the outside for long.

It pulled.

Brock leaned back against the railing, arms resting loosely, watching. Observing like he always did.

He didn’t rush into things.

But he felt it.

That quiet pressure in the back of his mind.

Not a command.

Not a voice.

Just… a pull.

Be closer.

Be part of it.

One of the bros called out to him. Another tossed a ball in his direction, not even asking—just expecting.

Like he already belonged there.

Brock caught it cleanly.

For a second, he just held it.

Then he exhaled.

And stepped forward.

The noise didn’t feel overwhelming anymore.

The movement didn’t feel chaotic.

It felt… right.

Natural.

Like he’d always been part of it.

Like he was supposed to be.

The Golden Army wasn’t just something you joined.

It was something you felt.

And once you did—

You didn’t stand outside it for long.

You don’t have to force it.

You’ll feel it.

The pull.

The energy.

The way everything just starts to click when you’re surrounded by the right bros.

If you’re already feeling that…

You’re closer than you think.

Step in.

Stay gold.

(A Spring Break collaboration with @shawn-gold22) Spring break had brought the Golden Army bros to the coast, and the beach was alive with sunlight, music, and the steady rhythm of waves rolling onto the shore. Rainer and Shawn had claimed a patch of warm sand earlier that morning, dropping their bags beside a pair of loungers before stretching out under the warm sky.

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

Even relaxed, they looked like they belonged on a poster for the team—two powerful athletes in gleaming gold shorts, broad shoulders catching the sunlight, muscles still tight from constant training. Rainer’s sharp features and confident stance gave him the look of a natural competitor, while Shawn’s easy grin and relaxed confidence made it obvious he thrived around other bros.

They had joined the Golden Army only days apart, and ever since then their friendship had been fueled by a constant, friendly rivalry. They trained together, pushed each other in workouts, and never missed an opportunity to flex a little harder or run a little faster just to see who’d win.

They were tossing a volleyball casually between them when two guys jogging down the beach slowed to a stop nearby.

“Hey!” one of them called. “You guys want to run a quick match? We’re looking for two more.”

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

Rainer caught the ball easily and glanced at Shawn. Shawn raised an eyebrow.

“Beach volleyball?” Shawn said. “Yeah, we’re in.”

The four of them set up a makeshift court in the sand, using a rope line someone had left behind. The strangers introduced themselves quickly—Tyler and Mark—both clearly experienced players.

“First to twenty-one?” Tyler suggested.

“Works for us,” Rainer replied confidently.

Shawn grinned. “Try to keep up.”

The match started fast. Tyler and Mark were good—really good—but Rainer and Shawn held their own.

Rainer dove for the first save, twisting in the air to bump the ball back into play with a smooth, athletic motion. Shawn sprinted forward and leapt, hammering the ball down with a clean spike that sent sand spraying everywhere.

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

“Nice hit!” Rainer laughed, jogging over to bump fists.

But that was when it started.

The next rally, Rainer decided to push it.

Instead of the easy set, he sprinted sideways and launched himself into a spinning save that had absolutely no reason to look that dramatic.

Shawn raised an eyebrow.

“Oh we’re doing that now, huh?”

Rainer only grinned.

Now Shawn had to respond.

The next serve came flying over the net, and Shawn didn’t just return it—he sprinted backward, leapt into the air, and slammed an over-the-shoulder spike that looked more like a highlight reel than a beach game.

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

“Bro!” Rainer laughed. “Showoff.”

“You started it!”

Soon the rallies turned into pure acrobatics.

Shawn attempted a jumping save that ended with him tumbling sideways in the sand.

Rainer answered with an exaggerated spinning spike that nearly knocked him off balance.

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

They were both laughing, both pushing harder and harder—less focused on winning and more focused on impressing each other.

Meanwhile, the other team quietly racked up points.

Mark leaned toward Tyler during one pause. “I don’t think they realize we’re winning.”

Tyler shrugged. “Honestly, I’m just enjoying the show.”

While Rainer attempted a spinning mid-air save and Shawn tried to follow it up with an unnecessarily flashy jumping spike, the ball slipped past them and dropped into the sand.

Game point.

A final serve came sailing over the net.

Rainer lunged dramatically.

Shawn dove even harder.

(Image by @shawn-gold22 and @rainer-gold-56)

They collided.

The ball landed untouched behind them.

Silence… then laughter erupted across the beach.

Rainer rolled onto his back, breathing hard, sand stuck to his arms.

“Okay,” he admitted between laughs. “Maybe we got a little carried away.”

Shawn sat up, brushing sand from his golden shorts.

“A little?”

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

Tyler and Mark were laughing too, offering hands to pull them up.

“That was the most entertaining volleyball match we’ve ever played,” Mark said.

“Seriously,” Tyler added. “You guys might’ve lost, but that was impressive.”

Rainer clapped Shawn on the shoulder.

“Rematch sometime?”

Shawn grinned.

“Next time we actually focus on winning.”

They grabbed their water bottles and walked back toward their spot on the beach, still laughing.

The sun was lower now, the ocean glowing gold in the evening light.

Shawn stretched his arms over his head.

“Not bad for a day off.”

Rainer nodded, a smirk playing across his lips.

“Yeah. Even if you did cost us the match.”

Shawn shoved him lightly.

“In your dreams, bro.”

They kept walking down the beach, their friendly rivalry stronger than ever—and the bond between Golden Army brothers just a little bit deeper than before.

(Image by @shawn-gold22)

Nobody really knows who started it. One minute, it’s just another heated Spring Break sunset — music blasting, drinks flowing, bodies moving — next minute some dude yells:

“YO — ALIEN ABDUCTION CHALLENGE!!”

And just like that… chaos.

Masks come out. Guys hyping each other up. Laughter, shouting, phones already recording.

And then someone says it:

“…yo… get HIM.”

All eyes lock on Alton. Standing there in gold, calm as ever, that smirk already forming like he knew this was coming.

They circle him. Energy rising.

Hands reach in — rough, yet not forced — just pure party madness.

“WE GOT HIM! WE GOT HIM!”

Alton doesn’t resist. Nah. He lets it happen. They throw the mask on him. Alien style. Crowd erupts.

Now it’s a full show. They drag him through the bar like he’s the main event — guys hyping, shouting, laughing like they just captured something legendary.

But Alton? Walking steady. Relaxed. Like a king letting his people carry the crown. Next thing — BOOM. He’s up on the table. Center stage. Whole place locked in. A funnel gets handed up. The challenge is on.

“CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

Alton grabs it. No hesitation. No doubt. Head back. Body tight.

The entire bar goes insane. Drinks flying, neon lights flashing, sweat dripping — this ain’t a game anymore… this is a moment.

And he owns it.

Seconds later he’s done. Clean. Controlled. Untouchable. He rips the alien mask off.

That face. That smirk. That presence.

And the place? Explodes.

“YOOOOOO!!!”

Phones up. Guys losing their minds. Energy at max. Alton stands tall on that table. One hand raises the mask like a trophy. Other arm? Flexed. Bicep full, tight, dominant. Chest open. Sweat shining under neon lights. He scans the crowd like he owns every second of it. And the crowd gives it back. Not forced. Not fake. Just pure hype.

Guys crouching, pointing, shouting, laughing —

“KING!!” “KING OF SPRING BREAK!!” “THAT’S HIM!!”

And right there, in the middle of Alien’s Landing… no questions left.

No debate. No competition.

Don’t mess with the King of Spring Break.

---

Wanna go wild with Alton and the bros?

Miami Beach pulsed with life. Music blasted from hotel balconies, neon lights reflected off the ocean waves, and crowds of spring breakers filled the sand. Christian, also known as Polo-Drone-055, strolled down Ocean Drive, his sunglasses hiding sharp, calculating eyes. Though on spring break, he was always ready to help those in need—and expand the Golden Army.

Near a beachfront bar, two men shoved their way through a group of tourists, laughing crudely as they knocked over drinks. One—tall, muscular, and wearing a top that read No Rules, No Masters—snatched a beer bottle from an unsuspecting patron and smashed it against a table. His equally drunk and emboldened friend howled with laughter.

Christian sighed. He had once caused chaos like this. Before Order. Before Gold. He stepped forward.

"Enough," he said calmly, his voice precise.

The men turned. "Who the hell are you?" the leader scoffed.

Christian removed his sunglasses. "A servant of perfection," he replied. "And you will be, too."

The transformation was swift. His casual spring break attire shimmered, morphing into the sleek black rubber of the Polo Drones. A black mask covered his face, and his eyes gleamed gold.

Polo-Drone-055 activated.

The two men sneered, but their bravado faltered. Something in the air shifted—an undeniable presence, a command beyond words. Polo-Drone-055 stepped forward, extending a gloved hand.

"Surrender. Obedience is pleasure."

The leader lunged, but Polo-Drone-055 anticipated the attack. Stepping aside while simultaneously grabbing him, it twisted him around by the shoulder and, in one smooth motion, covered his face, allowing its finger to eject liquid gold into him. The leader’s body stiffened as the transformation overtook him. His eyes instantly turned gold as the reprogramming commenced. A defiant sneer melted into serene submission.

The second man stumbled backward, eyes wide.

"W-What’s happening to him?"

"The future," Polo-Drone-055 intoned.

The newly formed Polo Drone—designation pending—stood upright, his skin gleaming, his former identity erased.

"Awaiting directive," he declared in monotone perfection.

The second man bolted, but the new Polo Drone moved faster, programmed efficiency guiding his steps. He intercepted the escape, a gloved hand pressing against the fleeing man’s shoulder. Liquid rubber spread instantly. The struggling ceased.

"Processing…" The second man’s voice flattened, his gaze turning vacant as the transformation completed. "Designation requested."

Polo-Drone-055 observed his work. The two drones now stood at attention—blank, obedient. The world had given them disorder. Now, they had Order.

"Report to the conversion hub to complete assimilation," Polo-Drone-055 commanded. "You will spread the Gold. You will obey."

The bar owner, having witnessed the restoration of order, approached with a drink as a token of gratitude. Polo-Drone-055 accepted it. As he reclined on a lounge chair, his uniform shimmered, shifting back to casual attire. The mask vanished, revealing Christian once more.

Spring break continued. And so did the Gold.