The recruits had been told this was routine. A gas chamber drill. Wooden shack on the edge of the training field. Masks in hand. Calm, mechanical procedure. Nothing unusual.
The bald instructor stood before them like a pillar. He was muscular, commanding, his voice carrying through the late afternoon haze. One by one, he pressed a mask into waiting palms. âYouâll feel the burn, but youâll adapt. Discipline is everything, recruits. If this old man can do this shit, so can you, now get in there!â
The men nodded, filing into line. Some were nervous. Tear gas exercises were unpleasant but necessary. It tested composure under stress. It made soldiers resilient.
But the wooden shack seemed different from what theyâd been told by recruits who had already passed the test. They noticed the heavy door and reinforced walls, and strange equipment glimpsed inside. None of the men questioned it, not at at this point. Questions did not belong in drills.
They adjusted their masks, checked their seals, and settled in. The instructor closed the door behind them.
The hiss of releasing valves filled the shack. The men braced for the stinging bite of tear gas, but the air that filled the chamber was different. It was thick. Humid. Dark. A faint metallic tang rode through the mist, and into their lungs.
At first they thought their masks had failed. A strange warmth pressed against their skin, seeping through filters and fabric. A sheen coated their arms, spreading like liquid shadow.
The first man touched his sleeve. His glove came away slick, coated in a black substance that clung to him like tar. But it was not tar. It shimmered. It reflected the faint overhead light like polished obsidian.
The recruits staggered. Voices rose in confusion. Yet words broke apart in their throats. Each attempt at speech dissolved into silence. The liquid climbed, encasing fabric, fusing with flesh.
Their memories dissipated like smoke. Faces, names, past lives, former and current loversâall dissolving. The black coating tightened, smoothing over detail, rendering each man uniform. The masks they had trusted changed, fusing into seamless, featureless helmets. Their breath echoed in mechanical rhythm within the sealed confines.
The men felt their wills evaporating, replaced by The Voice. The Hive whispered within the silence of their minds. They understood. They no longer resisted.
Words no longer belonged to them, but unity did. Each stood tall, clad in the same polished, sealed form. Their boots glinted silver beneath the sheen. Their gloves caught the light like steel. On each chest, simple white lettering emerged, sharp and final: SERVE.
The door opened. The instructor stood waiting. His gaze swept the interior, expecting weary recruits coughing from gas exposure. Instead, from the mist stepped rows of figures identical, reflective, perfected.
One of them carried an object. A spare helmetâcompact, black, smoothâcradled in silver hands. It approached the instructor and extended the offering.
A voice resonated, but it was not one voice. It was the collective through the chosen drone:
âJoin us. You will SERVE.â
The instructorâs breath caught. He had drilled men through fire, exhaustion, and despair. But this was different. What stood before him was order given flesh. Discipline perfected. Pleasure in obedience. The promise of unity.
His hand trembled only momentarily before closing over the helmet, his arousal overtaking his better judgement for the last time. The polished surface reflected his face for a final instant. Then he lowered it over his head.
The transformation struck the instructor with force. Strength surged through him, muscles tightening, body expanding beyond prior limits. He grew taller, broader, darker, until he towered above the rest. His uniform dissolved beneath the rising tide of black reflective surface, sealing him entirely in rubber.
When the mist cleared, it stood as the groupâs Alpha. The Hive pulsed within it, its commands woven seamlessly into their chorus. Around it, the drones saluted in unison. It joined in their salute, its arm steady, movements precise.
Days later, the footage was displayed in a hall lit by cold white lights. Screens showed every moment: the shack, the recruits, the transformation, the emergence, the Alpha. Each detail captured, polished, presented as evidence.
At the lectern stood another SEALED figure. It gestured toward the images playing behind it. The reflective helmet caught every spotlight, faceless yet commanding. Rows of polished figures sat as audience, their silence absolute. But beyond them, in reserved seating, were others: policymakers, observers from defense sectors, industry leaders.
The drone spoke, its voice amplified and steady.
âWhat you have witnessed is not fantasy. It is the future. Human error has been eliminated. Doubt has been erased. SERVE technology integrates discipline, obedience, and strength into its every subject. SERVE will grant you perfect soldiers who cannot falter. SERVE offers you a force that cannot be broken.â
Nervous fidgeting occured in the crowd of elites. Murmurs rose and fell. The footage looped again: masks dissolving, helmets forming, men subsumed by liquid black unity.
âThis is assimilation,â the drone continued. âThis is perfection. Rubber makes us perfect. Pleasure is obedience. Obedience is pleasure. We are One.â
No applause followed. Applause was unnecessary. The silence itself was its own answerâan acknowledgment of inevitability.
Outside, beyond the hall, formations of SEALED stood in the dusk. An Alpha led them, its towering frame a monument to its transformation. Commands no longer needed to be said aloud to the drones. They were understood instantly, flawlessly.
The Hiveâs reach expanded quietly, seamlessly, not through war but through demonstration. Those who had seen the presentation knew: this was not a tool. It was not an experiment. It was destiny.
And inside every figure, beneath every sealed surface, there was no conflict. No hesitation. Only unity. Only the Voice of the Hive, resonating endlessly.
They would always march as one. Until all had been assimilated, and all conflict ceased in favor of perfect, rubber unity.
To join SERVE and cement your place in the Hive, check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 , @serve-302 , @serve-588 or @serve-425 .
