#goldtech

The van made no sound.

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

“Your ride is coming.”

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

The doors closed behind him. The hum began.

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

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

The floor dropped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The suit began to form.

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

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

Final confirmation:

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

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

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

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

Trey, full-blown chav and loyal member of the Golden Army, strutted through an alley behind a derelict electronics shop in East London. He wasn’t looking for treasure—just a spot to vape and blast grime from his cracked speaker. But fate had other plans. Half-buried under old cables and rusted consoles was a strange, gold-plated wristband. Trey snatched it up, turning it over. It hummed with an odd warmth and pulsed with faint light.

“Mad, this is,” Trey muttered, slipping it on. Instantly, a sleek interface hovered in the air—coded glyphs flickering, a joystick of control panels appearing like a game HUD.

"Target: Acquired. Nearest alpha male profile—locked."

Confused but intrigued, Trey looked around.

At the far end of the alley, a shirtless gym bro jogged past, earbuds in, veins popping. Trey tapped the display.

The jogger stopped mid-stride, blinked twice, then turned back toward Trey, walking with a slouch, swaying to unheard bass, and calling out, “Oi bruv, you seen my vape?”

Trey’s eyes widened. He smirked. “This thing’s proper mental!”

Over the next few hours, Trey tested the device with gleeful chaos. He turned a squad of shirtless CrossFit bros in the park into tracksuit-wearing, chain-flashing chavs who started a spontaneous dance-off under a motorway bridge.

He convinced two smug personal trainers to abandon their routines and instead stage a grime cypher near a kebab shop.

But by sundown, Trey knew this power needed supervision—or at least someone with even more swagger. He swaggered into the Golden Estate, straight to the gym where Chav Herc, the mountain of muscle and gold himself, was benching impossible weights while two drones shined his trainers.

Trey dropped the wristband on a bench beside him. “Bruv. You gotta see what this bit o’ kit does. Had gym lads skankin’ like it’s Carnival.”

Herc raised an eyebrow, slipped on the device, and nodded slowly as the interface booted up. “Golden tech, innit? Looks ancient. But proper weapon.”

Within days, Chav Herc had implemented the tech into training the Golden Army football squad. Before, they were elite—fast, powerful, relentless. Now, with the device broadcasting its influence across the training grounds, the players underwent subtle, then rapid transformations.

Their kicks became sharper, their tackles more aggressive. But their behavior on the pitch… shifted.

Gone were the clean-cut, focused professionals.

Now they rolled into matches in gold-trimmed tracksuits, chains bouncing, chewing gum with arrogant grins. They played with swagger—taunting, jeering, celebrating every goal with street-style dance routines. They didn't just win. They humiliated.

Commentators were baffled.

“The Golden Army are simply unplayable… but what’s with the attitude change?”

“They’ve turned into... well, East End bad boys with perfect footwork!”

Off-pitch, the squad still held their edge, but during every match, the chav energy surged. It became their brand—loud, gold, dominant. Fans loved it. Opponents feared it.

In the locker room after crushing their rivals 6-0, Herc leaned back on the bench, grinning at Trey. “Told you this tech's a game-changer, bruv.”

Trey chuckled, flipping a gold coin. “Next time I nick some alien gadget, remind me to bosh it on the ref, yeah? Make 'im proper skank about like a muppet.”

“Oi, not before we test it on the entire Premier League,” Herc smirked. “Golden Army’s goin’ global.”

And as the wristband pulsed with deeper gold light, neither noticed the final message blinking beneath the interface:

“Phase 2: Chav Dominion—Preparing for Global Sync.”

______________________________

Do you want to join? Contact our recruiters: @brodygold , @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.

[Experimental Session 4B Log – PDU-070 | Gold Tech Development Division]

Phase One: Subject Initiation and Consent Protocols

The subject arrived precisely on schedule. PDU-073, clad in the standard Level 2 adaptive rubber suit, entered the research facility with the calm, deliberate precision expected of one who had long since surrendered individuality to the Hive's discipline. Its posture was perfect, its gaze steady, and — crucially — there was no hesitation detectable in its neural activity scans as it approached the experimental array.

PDU-070 observed from the command console, offering no prompt. It had been critical from the start that the subject volunteer — that the suggestion to serve as test subject arise spontaneously from the drone’s own conditioned allegiance. Theoretical modeling had shown that without a true internalized desire for deeper transformation, the merging process would encounter catastrophic resistance. Failure would not merely be probable; it would be inevitable.

As calculated, 073 offered itself unprompted. The ritual of consent was minimalist, almost beautiful in its simplicity: an acknowledgement of trust in the Hive, a surrender not coerced but embraced. The process could now proceed.

Phase Two A: Full Organic Conversion

073 stepped into the resonance chamber without external assistance. Once enclosed within the transparent cylinder, the first phase of preparation commenced: ingestion of the nanopolymer primer, a viscous black solution designed to accelerate molecular bonding between organic and synthetic matrices. The drone complied without hesitation, swallowing the compound that would erase the last structural defenses of its organic body.

Temperature controls activated, raising the ambient heat to optimal thresholds for polymer activity. PDU-070, hands poised above the console, triggered the overhead release. From the ports above, a deluge of molten black rubber poured onto 073’s head, cascading over shoulders, chest, legs — every surface engulfed, every pore infiltrated.

Simultaneously, telemetry began flashing urgent updates. Bonding rates accelerated beyond projected models. Organic dermal layers dissolved into the invasive polymer without stabilizing intermediate phases. Internal distribution of the rubber was not confined to the epidermis: mucosal membranes, vascular structures, muscular tissue — all were being subsumed at a geometric rate of expansion.

PDU-070 noted the critical markers. Rubber-to-organic ratio: 30%. 45%. 60%. Commands to decelerate infiltration were issued, but the nanopolymer matrix had achieved self-determinative momentum. It would not be stopped.

Inside the chamber, 073 wavered briefly under the physical onslaught, the polymer dragging heavily on limbs, saturating every sensory channel. No external sound penetrated the thickening shell. The drone’s lungs pulled synthetic-laced air, even its breath tinged with the chemical signature of its impending rebirth.

Only one variable remained within influence: the mental integrity of the subject.

Phase Two B: Cognitive Preservation through acceptance

PDU-070 monitored closely, searching for any signs of panic — cortical spikes, sympathetic nervous system activation, desperate flares of self-identity struggling against the tide. But there were none. 073’s mental signature flattened into perfect compliance, surrendering every vestige of resistance, allowing the invasive rubber not merely to overwrite its body but to co-opt it as new substrate.

This was the fulcrum point. Had 073 resisted — even slightly — its consciousness would have fragmented, leaving an empty, mindless husk. Instead, discipline held. Training triumphed.

The transformation raced onward.

By the time the rubberic wave crested, there was no organic matter left to catalog. PDU-070 observed, clinically and without sentiment, as the drone’s craniofacial features dissolved into the default smooth template of the Level 2 drone form: featureless, identical, unblemished. The last tactile echoes of human anatomy were gone; there was no mouth, no ears, no eyes — save for those now reconstructed through will alone.

The organic body had ceased. What remained was a living construct of semi-sentient polymer, infused with consciousness, a perfect hybrid of programmable matter and disciplined thought.

073 had not survived by holding onto what it was. It had survived by relinquishing everything it had been.

Phase Three: Stabilization and Form Reassertion

Once structural stabilization had been achieved, PDU-070 initiated the gradual depressurization sequence, venting the chamber’s chemically enriched atmosphere. The rubberic construct that had once been PDU-073 remained standing, motionless, the seamless blackness of its surface reflecting the sterile lighting of the lab. Organic respiration was no longer necessary; indeed, there was no respiratory tract in the traditional sense, yet the entity continued to draw air into functional pulmonary analogues maintained purely by cognitive memory of breath.

PDU-070 engaged the external comm link, voice transmitted clearly into the chamber's interior. “PDU-073, report status.”

A reply came, delayed and muffled. The sound was imperfect, distorted by the lack of any defined oral cavity. “I hear,” came the response — intelligible but stripped of natural articulation.

PDU-070 noted the anomaly, adjusted auditory sensitivity parameters accordingly, and stepped forward, interfacing through the external console. The containment cylinder retracted with a low hiss, releasing the synthetic drone into open lab space.

“Movement systems remain operational,” 070 observed clinically as 073 took its first steps. The drone’s balance, proprioception, and kinetic control remained intact despite total morphological reconstruction. However, sensory dissonance was immediately evident; the absence of a mouth, of facial features, created perceptual gaps in the drone’s mental map of self. The drone moved its hands hesitantly to its face — but there was nothing to feel, only unbroken smoothness.

PDU-070 provided immediate instruction, voice clear and authoritative. "Focus. Visualize your human face. Memory is your template. Thought must now sculpt form."

073 hesitated, the confusion palpable, but then lowered its hands and closed its optical nodes — or rather, the neuro-polymer interface that replaced them. Concentration stabilized. First, a shallow indentation where the mouth should be. Then, rudimentary ocular cavities. Nasal ridges. Imprecise, blurred at the edges — but a form nonetheless. 073 had not managed to visualize its former self and had instead latched to reproduced the only face in sight : the one of 070, though only in shape.

The drone spoke again, voice clearer this time, articulation improving as the polymeric mass adapted under directed will. “...Better,” it stated.

PDU-070 activated a reflective surface on the adjacent wall, offering visual feedback. “Observe. Adjust pigmentation. Reinforce the self-image. Refinement requires consistency.”

PDU-073 approached the panel, studying its reflection with dispassionate intensity. Its face, though still black and gleaming, gradually cleared to form a perfect replica of PDU-070. "Now try again to visualize another face, to feel your mouth, nose, eyes, and move them around. You will have to do intense visualisation training to get a face without needing to look at it directly. But for now, focus and observe changes you can trigger."

Hair simulation proved more difficult; attempts resulted in inconsistent extrusion of fibers before collapsing back into smoothness. PDU-070 anticipated such difficulty — hair required an order of magnitude more complexity in mental modeling than simple facial topology — and offered additional instruction.

“You will improve with repetition. For now, prioritize stability. In cases of cognitive strain, allow form to revert to base template.”

The drone acknowledged with a nod, the movement practiced and precise.

Even so, PDU-070 knew that this state of stabilization was fragile. The form was not autonomous but required active maintenance — a constant act of mental discipline. Without continual cognitive reinforcement, the body would revert to default: a smooth, faceless effigy of obedience, devoid of individuality, awaiting only new commands.

And this was precisely the design’s strength. In this state, PDU-073 could be rewritten at will. Identity could be reshaped, overwritten, enhanced — or erased — depending solely on the needs of the Hive. Resistance was no longer a factor. It had been rendered obsolete.

PDU-070 logged the results with clinical satisfaction. The first successful transcendence of flesh into Gold Tech — not merely a physical upgrade, but a philosophical one. A future in which the Army would no longer be composed of soldiers struggling with imperfect willpower, but of living instruments of perfect submission.

In front of the reflective panel, PDU-073 stood silently, still adjusting to its new existence. Its former body was gone. Its mind, though intact, was now defined by obedience, acceptance, and purpose.

The Gold Army would be unstoppable.

_________________

PDU-039 had changed. It had recently been upgraded to Level 2 Drone. A new label, sure—but the real meaning ran deeper, darker. It wasn’t just about physical upgrades or better efficiency. No. It meant total obedience. Every impulse, every thought, every shred of will bent to one voice: the Hive.

And yet, something still trembled inside him. A faint vibration, a distant echo of who—or what—he used to be. Not thoughts. Not emotions. Just faraway noise, like interference in a perfect signal.

One morning, while doing routine monitoring, a package appeared. Just sitting there on his station, like it had come out of nowhere. No signature, no tracking log, no alert. A small, sleek box—black with golden reflections. The Hive's symbol etched in with laser precision.

He opened it.

Inside were two perfectly symmetrical earbuds. And a handwritten note. The writing was fluid, human. Maybe artificial.

“Listen to me.”

He put them on.

The voice wrapped around him. Liquid warmth in the silicon fog. Not metallic. Not human. Just… something perfectly calibrated to slide into his psyche, to dive deep into his circuits.

“PDU-039. Immediate presence required at the Gold-Tech Research Center.”

His back straightened. Tools dropped from his hands. His joints moved on their own, like pulled by invisible strings. But there was no force. Just desire. Desire to obey. Desire to belong.

“PDU-039 follows every order from the Hive.”

He left his station, walking down the silent corridors of the compound. White walls reflecting the pulsing neon lights like wet surfaces. Each step muffled, as if even sound was filtered out by the system. The light beat like an electronic heartbeat. The cold was constant, unnatural. No human sounds. No distractions.

He reached Gold-Tech. In front of him, a reinforced door made of synthetic alloy. He bent forward. His pupil got scanned.

“PDU-039 recognized.”

The hiss of the door sounded like a synthetic breath. Inside, the lab looked more like a conversion stage than a research center. Translucent pods in the middle, cables hanging like roots from the ceiling, code flowing on panels like digital prayers.

Another drone was waiting. Tall. Still. An austere presence.

“PDU-039. An upgrade is required. Please enter the capsule.”

The words hit his brain like an unbreakable command. Two more drones approached. Bigger. Final. Their bodies were pure function—living sculptures of brute power. PDU-039 followed. There was excitement in his system, a chemical spike. A tremor. The pull of transformation.

He stepped inside the pod. The hatch sealed shut with a dull thud. The lights dimmed. Arms rose from the floor. Cold. Gleaming. Without hesitation, they locked onto him—wrists, ankles, neck. A flicker of panic passed through him. An irrational urge to run. But he couldn’t. The protocol held him tighter than the clamps.

“PDU-039, remain still,” said a metallic voice from inside the pod.

A needle pierced the base of his skull. A sudden burn raced down his spine, like liquid ice snaking through his circuits. An electric jolt hit his cortex.

“Procedure initialized.”

The monitor lit up. His vitals were displayed in real time. His breathing was erratic. Not due to a malfunction. But from a strange, unsettling excitement.

Phase 1: Transformation begins A mask descended and clamped onto his face. First breath—the gas flooded his lungs. Instantly, a jolt. A shiver down the spine. His body writhed, but the arms held firm.

Each breath after that was a wave of pleasure. But not human pleasure. This was something new—neurochemical euphoria, calculated, endless. Every cell lit up. Every sensor buzzed.

Nanobots flowed through the needle, glowing ants racing through his nerves. Pain. But pain with purpose. Pain that built something. The pleasure grew alongside it, like they were feeding each other. PDU-039 was just a receiver now. Just a vessel. His consciousness was being taken apart and rebuilt—bit by bit.

Phase 2: Reprogramming Then the voice changed. Or maybe he was hearing it differently. It wasn’t coming from outside anymore. It was in his head now.

Digital mantras started spinning through his mind like golden spirals—hypnotic, piercing.

“It is a Polo-Drone Unit. It is consistent in its training, taking strength and solace from it.” “It is a Polo-Drone Unit. It will assist fellow Drones by ensuring strength and solace from training.”

His pupils weren’t black anymore. They flashed with code—green and gold reflections. His synapses were being rewritten.

Phase 3: Physical adaptation The nanobots moved on. From his brain to his body. Fusing with his suit, seeping under his skin. His muscles bulked up. His whole body turned into a performance machine. His skin buzzed. The suit fused like organic fabric, morphing with him.

Muscle mass increase: +200% Commitment: +200% Sexual drive: +500% Willpower: -200%

The display blinked green.

“Upgrade complete. Subject is happy and satisfied.”

The arms retracted. His breathing was deep, controlled, powerful. A black helmet descended and locked onto his head.

“PDU-039: new programming confirmed. Return to the Hive.”

He stepped out of the pod.

He was different now. Every movement calculated. Every thought silent. Every doubt—gone.

Two drones awaited.

“PDU-039 recognized.”

A nod. No more words needed.

Now they were one.

And one was Hive.

Nils stood before the towering doors of Gold Tech HQ. The building shimmered with reflective black panels outlined in pulsing gold, humming with an unsettling energy, a symbol of raw control. He had received the directive only hours ago: a summons direct and absolute. No explanation. Just coordinates and one line: “Submit for upgrade.”

Inside, the lobby was silent, vast, clinical. Gold lines traced intricate hexagonal patterns across rubber-coated floors. Nils moved forward, his golden soccer jersey clinging tightly to his chest, glinting with pride. His cleats clicked sharply against the black floor as two figures in full drone suits flanked him—featureless, gleaming black rubber with gold visor slits, wordless and watching.

They led him down a long corridor and into a chamber thrumming with low vibrations. A pedestal with the text “Function” rose from the floor. On the top of the pedestal was a small round bottle with swirling black liquid inside.

Nils reached for it, his heart pounding, throat dry. The bottle was warm. He tipped it back. The midnight-black liquid flowed into his mouth, syrupy, sickly sweet, wrong in ways he couldn't define. It slid down his throat like tar, coating every inch, clinging to his insides. A searing heat ignited in his chest and spread outward, like fire beneath his skin. He dropped the bottle when his legs began to trembled as the transformation seized him. His body was no longer his own.

Black and shiny rubber poured from his mouth down his neck, covering every inch of exposed skin. It moved as if alive slithering down across his shoulders, his arms, enveloping his fingers. With each moment, his hands became less expressive, more efficient. The rubber slithered across his chest, hips, and legs, down to his feet. Gold remained for now.

Nils dropped to his knees, the rubber creeping down his back, hugging every muscle, outlining every curve, reinforcing his form. It coiled around his thighs like a serpent, tight and constricting.

But through it all, his mind remained intact.

Why… why can I still think?” His voice cracked, raw, barely his own. While the black rubber inched higher, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Was this still him?

The drones answered with action. Wordlessly, they lifted him, carrying him into a second chamber. The lights dimmed. Black and gold spinning spirals filled the walls. They pushed him into a chair and strapping him in. The spirals sped up, impossible to look away from. A smooth, rubber collar clicked into place around his neck. He barely resisted. A voice, cold and distant, whispered from above.

A voice, distant and cold, echoed from above, its cadence mechanical, unfeeling.

"Mind follows body. Thought becomes function. Function becomes obedience. Forget the self. Embrace the function

The spirals drilled into him. Images flashed, water bottles, towels, sideline service. Endless repetitions of kneeling, offering, obeying. Over and over, until desire was buried beneath duty.

Nils' jaw slackened. His breath slowed. The collar tightened. He was forgetting. Forgetting names. Goals. Independence. Speech. Slowly, methodically, replaced with programming. Purpose.

The final command echoed through his mind like a death sentence.

"WATERBOY 34. FUNCTION ACCEPTED." Nils'—no, Waterboy 34’s—eyes snapped open, and the last remnants of his former self faded into a blank, obedient emptiness. The golden jersey clung to his body, a mockery of the man he had been. His body was Rubber. His mind? Function. He no longer remembered Nils. He remembered nothing but service

The transformation was complete.

He was no longer Nils. He was Waterboy 34 owned by Gold tech.

Ready. Willing. Updated. Ready to serve.

Submit for upgrade

Golden Tech

Boone Gold #96 | Golden Bro

“Glitch detected: Independent thought.”

“Solution: Reformatting.”

The chamber hissed.

Boone didn’t flinch.

He knelt, motionless, in the center of the GoldTech Core—golden light bleeding down chrome walls. His uniform: gleaming, skintight, perfect. Number 96 glinted against his chest. His collar? Sealed. Synced.

The visor dropped. A golden halo.

And then—upload.

Neural Repatterning 60%...

GoldLayer Protocol Enabled.

Muscular Compliance: Achieved.

Beneath the skin, golden filaments came to life—circuit-light blooming down his spine, wrapping his limbs in command. Every cell aligned. Every breath timed.

Boone’s jaw slackened. His eyes behind the visor rolled once… then steadied.

“Burn to obey. Glow to serve. Gold is all.”

Data flooded deeper. Movements refined. Emotions wiped.

This wasn’t pain. This was upgrade.

And when the Core slid open—steam venting, lights pulsing—Boone stood.

Taller. Smoother. Corrected.

“System online. Boone Gold. Version 96.0.

Function: Serve the Golden Army.”

He didn’t speak it.

He broadcasted it.

The other Bros would see. They’d line up. They’d kneel.

Boone had become the template.

The glitch was gone.

The code was gold.

The future is gold. The code is clean. Submit for installation.

📡 Connect:

@brodygold

@goldenherc9

@polo-drone-001

@polo-drone-125

Franco was one of the most dedicated members to the Golden Army. He was loyal, and he knew, that he can thank so much for this awesome team. Since joining, his daily life had changed for the better – and by better, he meant much better.

He trained hard, set personal goals to achieve, and – most importantly – transformed his life.

Now he felt the urge to evolve even further on his chosen path. He wanted to do even more for his team, his family. So, he began to think about how he could improve.

He was taking the attacking midfielder role on the field, and because of that, he had to run a lot during the matches. He was doing it fine, but got really exhausted from the practices. He always looked up to those who excelled in the midfielder role, like Captain Brody himself.

So, he had to come up with something. He through long and hard, but couldn’t find anything, how he could improve his endurance. So, he decided to turn to one of his teammates for help.

And to who else could he have turned first, as the Head Waterboy of the team? After all, he was the one who was responsible for keeping the Bros going when things got tough.

So, he told him the told Trevor (@trevorgold52) his problems. The Waterboy scratched his head, and then said only: “Franco, bro, have you thought about the possibility that you’re using the wrong gear ?”

Franco had never considered that. He always thought his golden kit was perfect.

“Give me your gear for today, I might have a few ideas to improve it.” told Trevor him. Franco wasn’t really happy about the idea, that he needs to give out his adored uniform from his hand, but he trusted his fellow bro. So, the kit with the number 94 was handed over to the Head Waterboy for the night.

And through the night, Trevor worked hard, studying the properties of the golden soccer shoes, the quality of the jersey and the shorts. By morning, he had figured out a solution.

(images by @trevorgold52)

The next day, Franco was meeting up with Trevor at the Golden Stadium to take back his (now improved) outfit.

“Everything went okay?” he asked “Did you figure something out? ”

“Yep.” Trevor said. “I’ve added some technical upgrades to the shoes. So, now they have better grip, lighter structure and they are more comfortable. So, running in them would be much easier.” explained he.

“But, that’s not all! I also found ways, to – well – implement some special technology. Magical technology, if you like that way.”

Franco raised an eyebrow and stared at Trevor.

“So, when paired with the shorts, the shoes and the shorts use your natural bioelectrical signals to direct more energy into your legs. This can be very helpful to turn the tides in a hard match. They use your body’s energy to convert it into Raw Strength. It’s hard to explain, but when you’re playing, the technology adjusts your energy, balancing it for the situation at hand.”

Franco looked puzzled.

“Try it out for yourself.” Trevor suggested.

“Alright.” After a quick change, Franco strutted proudly in his modified gear.

“So” Trevor explained. “We should run one lap around the field.”

“Do you feel it?” Trevor asked as they run. “The shoes are extracting your energy and balancing it for you. You should be able to run longer now.”

Franco felt it. As he ran, his steps felt light and springy, like he was walking on clouds. It was a good and uplifting feeling. He felt like he could run like that for hours. But there was something else too. The potential hidden in the Raw Strength. He wanted to try out this potential.

“Hey, careful with that!” called out Trevor, as Franco sped past him.

Franco was speeding up. He could feel the energy pulsing in his legs. He could see, as the shoes sparked from the Raw Strength they absorbed, and they made him run even faster and faster. The shorts clung tightly to his thighs, and he felt light, liberated, and full of energy. He spread his arms wide as he ran down the field with incredible speed, laughing with self-forgetful happiness.

He couldn’t really remember, what exactly happened after that, but he suddenly noticed, that he left the Golden Stadium’s field. He didn’t even noticed at first, but the surrounding trees revealed that this was indeed the case. He simply ran past the point the field ends.

A few moments later, Trevor appeared, panting, catching up.

“Wow” he just said that. “I can see you’re getting the hang of this gear. But be careful! Using it recklessly can take a heavy toll. ”

Franco knew exactly, what Trevor was thinking of. He felt his legs suddenly heavier, as the remaining energy faded into nothingness in his muscles. “Everything is about the balance, huh?” he muttered to himself, but a wide grin spread across his face.

“Trevor, bro! This is awesome!” Franco exclaimed, pulling his teammate into a hug. “Thank you really, this will help a LOT! Bro, I am really grateful for this.”

Trevor smiled modestly. “You’re welcomed”

They left the stadium together, excitedly discussing all the new heights this technology could help the team reach.

---

Don't hesitate! The team needs you too! Join us, and be a part of the family! Gold is brotherhood, Gold is love!

Contact our recruiters: @brodygold , @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.

---

In the Polo Drone Hive, the research department is developing an optimized charging pod. PDU-073 can be seen planning the pod.

The high-performance computer has already been delivered, and 073 is currently unpacking it for later installation and connection to the port.

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