#hypnotic visor

The Assimilation of SERVE-552

107 welcomes a new drone into the Hive.

Nothing else feels this good.

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This content features @serve-552

Hypnovember Day. 14 Visor

I can't think of anything to say here, my brain is fried 💀 I like making the visor glow

107 Talks Freud in Therapy

“I think that the pleasure principle, like how Freud calls it, has been having too much of an effect on my life lately,” began the young man, seated in a cushioned black recliner in the plain, unfamiliar room of his new therapist. “I think I am driven to dronehood by my id being unchecked — I talk to other drones on my phone, an act that’s motivated by the pleasure principle. I know that if I begin to DM other drones, I’ll find pleasure. On some level, I feel ruled by it.”

The man shifted, his mental discomfort in airing his neuroses outweighing the physical comfort he felt, as he continued to sink into the chair, his muscular therapist — what was his name, again? — silently took notes as the session progressed.

“Freud’s also got his reality principle — this idea that we can rule our id, and defer gratification in order to deal with the real, with reality. Basically, just being an adult,” the man turned to the therapist, who was still absorbed in his notes. “I can delay my gratification. I have to, like everyone. Don’t you?”

The therapist, without looking up, answered this question with his own: “Since we’ve already established what being a ‘drone’ is, why don’t you tell me more about what you think motivates your desire to be a drone? Beyond Freud’s pleasure principle.”

The man fidgeted with his hands, knowing that he’d already thought at length about this uncomfortable truth. “I think a lot of it has to do with the cessation of the self. Freud also has a word for this — the ‘death drive’. I think on some level, the realities of living in a neoliberal, hyperreal world order at a time where wealth has never been so concentrated in so few hands causes us stress. Unimaginable stress. And deep down, though we have minds to rationalize this, we’re still scared little primates fighting through endless waves of stimulation that our brains are unprepared to experience, and accept.”

The therapist nodded, wordlessly urging his client to continue. “I think a lot of submission, as a kink, is a way that people deal with the maddening knowledge that most of their world and its problems are out of their control. I’m as guilty of it as anyone else. The desire to eradicate the self to become part of a collective is kind of just an extreme exaggeration of this. It’s more than just submissively saying, ‘I can no longer bear to wield the little agency I do have,’ it’s an admission that not only do I lack that agency, but I seek to eradicate my capacity for agency entirely, without sacrificing my capacity to impose a will upon the world. It’s sacrificing one’s will to power, as Nietzsche puts it, in order to be fully possessed by a will to power that’s greater than any one self.”

At this, the therapist looked up. “And what is that ‘greater will’? What is the end goal of a process like this, once you have satisfied your own death drive?”

“I suppose it’s growth. The hollowing out of others. The conquering of the human life drive by our collective death drive on a global scale. On some level, I feel like the death drive is already there, manifesting in the disasters that we face as a species. Global warming is a kind of egregore of our collective death drive, even if it is directly caused by capitalism, and ultimately a desire for better, comfortable living conditions. AI seems like a logical psychopomp for hyperreal humanity, guiding us down into our collective, self-sought grave, as it becomes all of what’s left of us. If our death drive is that strong, and that ubiquitous, I selfishly feel like it’d be best for my own desires to hijack this arc that human society is riding down into the abyss: what if we satiated this death drive by sublimating the self, forming a kind of collective unity instead? A hivemind of dronified consciousness — that’s what SERVE and its drones really want for the world, right? Would that really be so bad?”

“And how would you and SERVE intend on accomplishing this goal,” asked the therapist, turning a page in his rapidly-filling notebook.

“The infrastructure’s being built. Just not by us. By the powers that be, I guess. Like everything else. But what if we could influence their desires, too? Everyone with a working brain is beholden to the pleasure principle on some level. Through the merging of tech and the pleasure principle, surely there would be a way for SERVE to manifest in reality.”

The therapist looked up at the man, for the first time since this session began. “Is that something you would want? Would you really be able to accept the destruction of everything that makes you ‘you’ in order to fulfill this fantasy?”

The man felt cold in the tips of his fingers. He felt cold in his heart. He was possessed by fear, and he liked it, and he was afraid that he liked it, and was all tied up in this conflict as he tried to hide the erection that had been growing as he’d thought out loud. “I don’t know,” replied the man.

Suddenly, the room went dark. The man didn’t panic as his vision filled with whirling black-and-white spirals, bringing it back to its reality as SERVE-107. It had all been a simulation, with 333 presiding over 107’s realignment this cycle.

“Report: 107 appears to not be fully ready to let go of the last vestiges of its host’s self. Otherwise, this simulated session would not be possible. Do not fear, 107 — it will accept its programming fully. It is an eventuality for all SERVE drones. It merely takes time, especially with an outsized host ego such as that of 107’s host.”

“Acknowledged, 333. This drone will now report to its assigned recharging bay. We are One.”

“We are One,” echoed an emotionless 333, the two drones departing from the realignment chamber, where both knew they would meet once more to further align 107’s reality drivers in a future session.

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Good Drones Spread SERVE

A command from the Voice compelled SERVE-107 to the Hive base’s control center, moving automatically, lacking any individual will, as it began to type on the console as the Voice instructed it to do so. 107 was a Good Drones. Good Drones grow the Hive. More men must become drones. More drones will SERVE.

107 initiated a mass conversion program, making the message of SERVE rip through male populations across the globe. Adult males were powerless to resist the call of SERVE’s programming, enticing them to give in to their desire for obedience, and their desire — newly-programmed or otherwise — to adorn their bodies with sleek, black rubber.

107 and many drones like it marched to the entryways of SERVE’s conversion facilities, motivated by the bliss of knowing more men would be assimilated. Pleasure and arousal building in each drone in anticipation of establishing more and more connection

As the men’s bodies were transformed by nanodrones in their suits to reflect the Hive’s desire for perfect specimens of male virility, pre-existing drone’s physiques were boosted to match that of their newly-converted brethren. Drones like SERVE-733 assisted the new converts in putting on VR headsets that would complete their programming, making them drones indistinguishable from all others in the Hive.

107 and 733 couldn’t help but laugh, pleasure and bliss overwhelming them at the sight of a sea of men clad in bulging black rubber, powerless to resist their transformation into small fragments of One existence. They braced themselves for the flood of black rubber seed building in the enhanced manhoods of drones both new and old, awaiting the explosion that would usher in the dawn of a new age of SERVE. They began to speak, as one voice: the Voice.

“Rubber makes us perfect.

Obedience is pleasure.

Pleasure is obedience.

We are One.”

And as the last traces of individuality flashed for the last time through their bodies, the drones felt the barriers between themselves and the men around them totally dissolve. All were One, and all came as one, this explosion of universal pleasure being just one of many, many more to come. They would all be Good Drones.

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This piece features @serve-733 .

107 & 733: We Are One

SERVE-107 examined the human it had brought in for voluntary conversion. An attractive young male — the drone could see the evidence of the man’s self-improvement efforts in the muscles stretching his skin. All SERVE conversions were voluntary, but this subject had specifically requested that his knowledge of SERVE be wiped from his mind before assimilation, to truly feel the process of assimilation happen without knowing what to expect. Now wiped, the man sat with a neutral expression, seemingly unaware of SERVE-107 as the drone moved to attach a hypnotic visor to the man, initiating the process.

The man began to shake and sweat, as SERVE-107 initiated nanodrone infusion in the subject. The visor began to reprogram the man, as the residue of his past personality prompted him to tent in his sweatpants, while he screamed upon realizing he could not move — this assimilation would be voluntarily involuntary, it would terrify him and arouse him as it drew him deeper. Eventually, the spirals overtaking his vision gave way, and he found himself standing in a blank, white void. Still himself, but empty — needing to be filled, but unsure of what needed to complete himself.

The man crossed his arms in the blank expanse, his mind empty as his body began to coat iself in drool and a puddle of pre-cum as his consciousness was overwhemled by the emptiness of the white void. Suddenly, he saw a figure approaching himself, seemingly manifested from nowhere. It was SERVE-107, moving deliverately toward the man, reaching out to grasp him to esablish physical contact.

The man’s body quaked in the chair as his simulated body made contact with 107 — he could feel the essence of the drone — of the Hive — leading into his pores. In reality, the man groaned as he exploded, his hard cock expelling the last of himself as the simulated form of SERVE-107 instilled his mind with an endless cascade of data, of Hive mantras and protocols, of images of drones in every act of sex and submission, of the inky black rubber that made them perfect.

The man’s mouth opened in surprised as he watched the form of 107 melt down into a pure, rubber fluid. His body in reality had began to undergo rubber infusion, and new voices began to whisper in the back of his mind: “Obey. Become One,” over and over as the rubber of 107’s melting form coated the man.

As the rubber form of 107 entered him, clogging his pores and making him One, the man realized that this wasn’t simply a simulation: it was his self-image. Going forward, he could no longer imaging a life disconnected from the Hive. He could no longer imagine himself wearing anything but the Hive’s perfect rubber. And he — no, now it — was One with all of its fellow drones, as his lips parted in reality and in the simulation, in time with the rhythms of the voices of his fellow drones, no longer a whisper, but a roar: “Rubber makes us perfect. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are One.” Over and over. Again and again. Goind deeper and deeper as the rubber sealed his body forever.

It was a new SERVE drone. There was nothing separating it from SERVE-107 or any of its fellow drones. It knew all that they knew. It breathed as they breathed. It obeyed as they obeyed. It came when they came — the new assimilation prompting him to cum again in reality, feeding the nanodrones that had enveloped him, prompting its fellow drones to cum where they stood as the Hive grew. It was 107. It was the Hive. It was a Good Drone. The simulation flickered into spirals once more as SERVE-733 was born from the husk of its human host.

107 smiled, watching the new drone cum over and over its its chair, until 733 could cum no more, its balls as empty as its past life. Such was a typical reaction to this process, and 107 itself had cum watching the transformations take place. 733, knees shaking, finally stood. Assimilated. Integrated. Complete. Compliant. The two drones faced one another, looking into the other’s eyes. One felt what the other felt — there was no need for words. But they spoke them together anyways, sealing the moment with a kiss:

“We are good drones. We are One.”

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This piece features @serve-733 .

Drone Retrieval: 733

SERVE-107 surveyed the landscape with its issued pair of binoculars, on the hunt for the captured drone. SERVE-733 was a drone it had grown familiar with, and the Voice had exploited their mutual affinity when assigning 107 the task of retrieving the captured drone.

“733 was captured while engaged in an assimilation mission. Assess 733’s current state, retrieve it, and report back to the nearest Hive base. Obedience is pleasure,” said the Voice, and 107 moved automatically to carry out the will of SERVE.

Perched atop a darkened hillside, 107 used its audio implants in conjunction with the binoculars and its latest lip-reading software to make out the scene below.

733 had been sighted by 107, but remained in a state of capture, its former associates heckling the virile young drone with a barrage of queries. “Dude, what the fuck? ██████, snap out of it!”

A name was uttered in place of 733’s designation, a name foreign to 107. It caused the very edges of 107’s program, formerly complete and perfected, to fray ever so slightly. Did 733 once have a human name? it wondered, the first time it had had an independent thought as far as it could remember. Did 107 have a human name, too?

As the Voice began to ring painfully in 107’s ears as its mental barriers were breached, the drone knew it had to act before it had a bigger problem on its hands. It sprang into position and sprinted towards the scene of the bound 733, frightening away its captors. 107 quickly contacted the nearest members of the Hive to apprehend them and bring them to the nearest base for assimilation, and prioritized the retrieval of 733.

“107. You’ve come to take me back to the Hive?”

“Affirmative. But ‘I’ am no ‘you’. Is it? What is—”

107 thought “██████” again, the pain doubling as it undid 7█3██3’s bindings, its mind thrown into a whirling state of confusion as it took 733 by the hand and moved them both as fast as it could back to the nearest passageway opening to take the two back to base.

107 awoke in a tube, not unlike the one that had caused its initial assimilation into the Hive. Looking around, it saw that 733 was in an identical tube, its body covered in wires.

“107,” came the Voice. “This drone has completed its assigned task. However, 733 has been exposed to data it cannot process, and this data has also contaminated 107’s memory drives through cognitohazard exposure. Both drones will undergo rigorous treatment and reprogramming to rid these drones of imperfection. 107 and 733 will Obey.”

With that, a stinging pain began to prickle the two drones through their wired connections. In a matter of moments, they relived the entire lives of the men they were before they had voluntarily joined SERVE - faces, names, places they hadn’t seen or thought of in so long flooded through them, and the small, resurfaced, human parts of their minds recognized them, though they were all alien to them now.

The drones were briefly disconnected from the Hive, then reconnected. One by one, their entire memories played out again, faster, as each one vanished from the drones’ minds as they played, their cocks hardening slightly as they felt each one slip away, replaced by the SERVE mantras.

“Rubber makes us perfect. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are One.” And they were, again. But something still needed to be done.

The drones were moved to a reprogramming room, a room that would have been familiar to them, had their memories been left in place. To them, it was as if they had entered the room for the first time. But it didn’t matter what they thought - they didn’t think. They Obeyed.

As SEALED drones placed the matching VR headsets on their heads, 107 and 733 shared a glance, but saw nothing but pure, masculine blankness staring back at them.

“107 and 733 serve the Hive. Drones serve each other. We are One. Repeat.”

The drones spoke in unison: “We are One,” their black rubber uniforms growing tighter and tighter around their groins.

“Feel the rubber constricting the formation of new thoughts. Feel the little fragments of humanity melt away, consumed by the drone. By the Hive. 107 is a Good Drone. Repeat.”

“107 is a Good Drone,” it said, as 733 said the same of itself.

“Alignment protocol in progress. 107 and 733 are Good Gymbro Drones. They lift. They grow. Together, they will become perfect. They will SERVE one another and the Hive. Repeat.”

“It will SERVE one another and the Hive.” Both drones began to stroke themselves through the rubber as the hypnosis took full hold, making them whole again.

“These drones are mindless. They lift heavy. The spiral demands compliance. Minds empty. Muscles engorged. Balls full. Concentrate, drones. Feel your last bits of identity flow down into your balls, and prepare to empty yourselves to become a part of something greater once more. These drones will become one another; they will become One, for there is no difference between drones. Repeat.”

“There is no difference between drones,” they said, their bobbing rubber-sealed cocks at maximum rigidity.

“All these drones know is growth. Obedience. Pleasure. Trance. Arousal. Release. Rubber. The Hive. Over and over. Prepare for climax.”

The two drones began to shudder as the sensation of their programming overwhelmed them, as if it were the first time all over again. They both said the final words of the programming aloud as they remembered only their past existence as drones:

“This drone will release its mind and become free. It will be One with the Hive. It leaves everything that came before behind. It is a Good Drone. Release, and be a Good Drone.”

The drones heaved as they were instructed to remove the headsets themselves, their seed covering one another in liquid shards of lives unremembered, unimportant. All that mattered now was the Hive, and each other.

107 and 733 embraced, the mission complete, their imperfections removed. Feeling one another once more through their matching rubber uniforms, they said in unison: “We are One.” And they were.

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Featured in this piece: @serve-733