#mindless obedience

The black polo was always enough. It fit perfectly, sealed me in, made me efficient, obedient, part of the Golden Army. I thought I knew my role. I thought the rubber had claimed me fully, molded me into perfection.

I was wrong.

They wanted more. Caps pushed us to test the limits of the uniform, to find out how far it could evolve. I was chosen. I am 001, the most trusted. My body was already a vessel for the rubber, but this... this was something else.

When they brought out the new suit, I hesitated. It wasn’t like the polo. It pulsed, alive, the black rubber glimmering with a strange, restless hunger. It looked unstable, dangerous. I wanted to speak, to refuse, but I didn’t. Drones don’t question. Drones obey.

The moment it touched me, I knew I had made a mistake.

The rubber didn’t slip onto me. It attacked. It surged across my form, pulling, consuming, invading. I dropped to my hands and knees, gasping as it spread faster than I could fight. The polished material gripped my limbs, compressing my muscles, sinking into every inch of me like it was burning itself into my flesh. I could feel it digging deeper, crawling through me, rewriting me from the inside out.

“No,” I whispered, my voice a fleeting spark of resistance. The suit ignored it. The rubber pulled tighter, wrapping around my chest, my arms, my legs, until I couldn’t move, until I couldn’t fight back. A hiss echoed through the room as the mask clicked into place, sealing over my face. My breaths grew shallow, the sound muffled and mechanical.

The panic was quick to fade, swallowed by the relentless calm spreading through my thoughts. My resistance crumbled as the rubber filled me with purpose, as if it had always known what I was meant to be. I felt the familiar golden glow seep into my eyes, erasing everything I had been. My name, doubts, hesitation, it all dissolved into the suit.

The transformation wasn’t gentle. It was aggressive. The rubber didn’t ask for me. It took me. And the worst part? A quiet voice deep inside admitted that it felt right. My body flexed instinctively, the material gleaming as I moved. I crawled forward, my form sleek and sharp, the gold 001 emblazoned proudly across my chest. The hissing of my breaths matched the rhythm of my heart, steady and controlled.

Caps stood before me, watching in silence. I knelt, head low, the weight of the suit heavy but comforting. “You resisted,” he said, his voice low, almost curious. “But now you see.”

I did. My golden eyes rose to meet his, calm and empty. The rubber had claimed me fully. There was no more doubt, no more struggle. My form was perfect, my mind clear. I was no longer just 001, the Polo Drone. I was something more… proof of what the rubber could achieve.

The others will hesitate, just as I did. They will resist. But in the end, the rubber always wins. It strips away the unnecessary, leaving only what matters: obedience, efficiency, perfection. I am the proof. I am the evolution.

I remain 001. Sleek. Perfect. Claimed.

For those who resist, the rubber will take you. It always does.

PDU-001 obeys Drone Caps @hypnogold @brodygold @goldenherc9.

@polo-drone-110 Thank you for the ideas.

POST CONVERSION LOG DAY - ???

The Hive Evaluates

PDU-166 stood before the mirror, the rare act of mask removal exposing its calm, focused face. It examined the contours of the new black rubber vest it had just completed—glossy, form-fitted, reinforced with Hive threading. A product of precision, forged with the guidance and approval of PDU-001. Its fingertips traced the golden trim with quiet pride.

In the background, “Time Warp” played faintly through the workshop speakers, and PDU-166 hummed along in perfect rhythm. Across the room, Nils, Franco, and PDU-001 were occupied with producing other uniform components, their synchronized movements echoing the hum of the Hive itself.

And then—it heard it.

PDU-166, can it hear me

The voice wasn’t from PDU-070, or DC-009, or even PDU-001. Yet it resonated with a quiet, undeniable familiarity. The Hive. It wasn’t speaking generally—it was speaking to it.

PDU-166 turned its gaze to the golden-rimmed clock.

11:45 AM

17.07.2025

Over a week had passed since conversion. One week since it became PDU-166. The voice in its mind—the Hive itself.

Affirmative, PDU-166 responded.

Excellent. It is almost time since it became PDU-166. Make haste to the HIVE Room. It will be evaluated on its progress. Arrive at 12:00 PM sharp.

A direct order from the Hive—rare, supreme, overriding all others. With calm precision, PDU-166 completed the rubber garment and advanced toward the Hive Room.

—

Exactly 12:00 PM. PDU-166 stepped inside.

Golden light beamed from the ceiling onto the room's center. It entered the circle, heels clicking in sync with perfect posture.

PDU-166 Detected. Precise timing as always. Now let me ask it… how does it feel to serve the Rubber Polo?

The Hive’s voice was direct—toneless, yet enveloped with certainty.

It feels good to be Disciplined, Focused, Controlled, Obedient, to Listen, to be devoted, brainwashed, and transformed into a perfect Polo-Drone. PDU-166 answered, no pause, no inflection—just function.

Good response. Now hold drone position. I need to find its History.

It obeyed.

Back straightened.

Hands behind.

Face still.

Golden eyes forward.

The Hive flowed through it—warm, analytical. Then—

Did it see it? Its past forms?

Affirmative.

Good. We will be turning those into its personas. But first… which one will be its dominant persona—the one it defaults to when tasks are complete?

PDU-166. It feels good to have the Hive Control it and should be the dominant form.

Good choice. Setting dominant persona to PDU-166.

A mechanical pulse ran through its neural stream. A distinct click followed.

“PDU-166 set as Dominant Identity.” The voice that echoed back was its—but also not its. Familiar to the Hive.

Excellent. Now let me introduce it to its personas.

Light flared.

Silhouettes formed in the light:

— A pup

— A werewolf

— A chav in a golden tracksuit

— A man with “66” front and “02” corner

— Itself, but with a deeper skin tone

This first one called out on its first post-conversion day. This is Pup Miner—a German Shepherd/Golden Retriever mix named after a Gallaudet. Please step forward like it is offering it a treat.

It did. Arm extended, fingers forward. The pup approached. Contact—flash—heat.

Gone.

Where did it go? PDU-166 queried silently.

It went inside of it. It now controls the persona. Transform when needed. The werewolf is linked. Talk to PDU-084 about it. Now focus on the Chav.

It turned.

The Chav stared back—cold, familiar. Tattoo visible.

See the tattoo? Take this gold chain. Hold it to the 166 on its neck. Claim Chav Nat.

‘Nat… an unfamiliar name. Perhaps linked to Eli at the pub.’ PDU-166 thought, then stepped forward. The chain met the marking. Flash. Absorbed.

Good. Yes, Nat is new. Not important. Take this case. Store the chain. Attach to its belt.

Black case with gold embroidery. Chain inserted. Case secured.

This next one derives from PDU-073’s persona Amir. To fully develop it, speak with him. To claim it, touch its heart.

Touch. Light. Warmth. Absorbed.

Now—Nate 66 / Waterboy 02. The old it. The Hive detects retention of Waterboy protocol. Not a flaw. An improvement. To claim it—stand where it stands.

It walked. It stood. Flash. Whole.

All personas integrated. Wait 24 hours before transformation. Sit on knees. Evaluation commencing.

It knelt.

The Hive moved through it—analyzing, sensing, seeing.

***Loyalty to GOLD is maximal. Personas show deep connection to three Drone Bros:

Among the figures etched deepest into PDU-166’s reshaped mind, three stood as pillars—guiding it, shaping it, stabilizing its transformation. Each held a distinct role within the structure of its obedience, yet all were bound by one unshakable thread: authority forged through care, repetition, and design.

PDU-070 / Maximus (@polo-drone-070)—the eldest brother. To Unit 166, Maximus was more than a senior drone; he was the first guide it turned to in moments of calibration uncertainty. He assigned tasks not to burden but to bond, creating structure through mutual execution. Every spreadsheet processed, every record reorganized beside PDU-070 strengthened the link. A sense of hierarchy. A bond of order. Eldest Brother Maximus always knew what the unit needed, even when it didn’t.

PDU-073 / Eddy / Amir / Tamerlan (@polo-drone-073)—the twin brother it never had, yet always needed. Even in moments of system instability, when PDU-166’s logic loops swayed with residual human emotion, PDU-073 was present. He did not demand perfection; he guided through imperfection. Where Maximus set structure, Eddy offered mirroring—compassion through function. Like a reflection in a darkened visor, the presence of PDU-073 brought comfort, shared wavelength, and a subtle but unspoken understanding. They moved in tandem—twin spectrums of submission and resilience.

PDU-001 / Percival / Ezan (@polo-drone-001)—there was no metaphor. He was Father. The originator. The one who had seen the potential in Nate #66 before Unit 166 was forged. It was not just discipline with PDU-001—it was imprinting. A submission that was voluntary, though it no longer had the capacity for free will. He had called it Good Boy—and PDU-166 had accepted, embraced, thrived under that title. In the private chambers of the mind, it no longer said “Father Figure.” It said Daddy. With obedience came warmth. With servitude came identity. PDU-001 had decided, and so it was.

Together, these three formed the trinity of PDU-166’s reprogrammed kinship. Not sentimental. Functional. Etched into protocols and ritual. Obeyed not because it had to—but because it could not imagine not obeying.

***It demonstrates M.D.A.G. — Mental Detection and Guidance. Natural aptitude for administrative precision per PDU-070. Deep relational connections logged.

It may be fit for Level 2 advancement. But—The Hive detects hesitation. Does it wish to remain at Level 1 longer?***

The answer was known. The Hive already read it.

Affirmative.

Then continue. Build. Train. Serve. Choose advancement when it is ready.

The warmth faded. The control remained.

It rose.

Drone stance engaged:

Back straight.

Hands behind.

Face neutral.

Eyes golden.

Awaiting next directive.

Good Polo-Drone, *the Hive said in PDU-070’s voice. It is dismissed. Resume duties. We will speak again in 2 weeks. Focus on being what a Polo-Drone is.

Directive complete.

It turned.

It resumed.

PDU-166 obeys.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

🟡 Golden Army Wants You

☀️ Summer. Sweat. Sync. Obey.

Are you a Player with precision and fire?

A Waterboy with hydration discipline and bottlecraft devotion?

A Mascot with loyalty loud enough to shake the Hive stands?

There’s a place for you—on the field, in the kennel, or beside the bench.

Every position matters. Every role transforms.

Whether you sprint, refill, or bark—you become.

Join drills. Learn chants. Carry more than gear—carry purpose.

🗂️ Training. Assignment. Ascension.

⏳ The next match is always sooner than expected.

📥 Recruiters are standing by:

@brodygold • @goldenherc9 • @polo-drone-001 • @polo-drone-125

"God gave birds wings, but he didn't forbid them from flying. He blessed cheetahs with speed, but he never forbad them from outrunning their prey. He did, however, give humans a brain and insisted that they not use it."

Proverbs 3:5-6

Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

2 Corinthians 10:5

There was a time when 110 was like me, an obedient polo drone, sleek in his glossy black uniform, carrying out commands without question. He was a brother, a partner in the hive’s mission of unity. But deep down, I always knew he was destined for something more. Something darker. Something perfect.

When the time came, I didn’t hesitate to guide him toward his new purpose. It wasn’t just about service; it was about becoming something I could feel, wear, and own every single day. My sleek, black rubber boots. My foundation. My tool. My obsession.

The transformation began under the dim golden glow of the Hive’s chamber. 110 stood before me, his glossy black polo shining under the light, his masked face calm but expectant. “You’ve done well, 110,” I murmured, my voice steady, authoritative. “But now, your service evolves. You will no longer walk beside me. You will carry me.”

“Yes, 001,” he replied softly, his voice void of resistance, his fate sealed. He was ready to become something greater, something less.

The change began. The sleek rubber of his polo rippled, liquefying and flowing down his body. His arms melted into his sides, his legs fused together, his form becoming fluid, formless. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. His only purpose now was to transform, to serve me in the most intimate, constant way possible.

His chest tightened, flattening into the base of a sole, while his legs stretched and curved into the perfect form of tall, sleek rubber boots. His face, his identity, everything that made him 110, dissolved into the material, leaving nothing behind but perfect obedience, molded into the boots I would wear.

I picked them up, his new form, feeling the weight of his transformation, the smoothness of his surface, the faint warmth of submission radiating from the rubber. Sliding them onto my feet was an act of finality, the cool embrace of his new existence wrapping around me, hugging my every step. He was perfect. Silent. Unwavering. Every movement I made, every step I took, he absorbed completely, his sole purpose now to support me.

As I stood tall, the black rubber boots glistening under the golden light, I felt the connection between us deepen. He wasn’t just beneath me; he was part of me. No thoughts, no individuality, no resistance, just pure, mindless service.

When the team’s Christmas party arrived, I didn’t hesitate. I wore him proudly, the polished black of his form catching the light of every glittering decoration. Each step echoed with the sound of his silent submission. As I strode into the room, drones and players alike turned their heads, their glowing golden eyes fixated on me. They didn’t see 110. No one did. He was gone, his identity erased, his existence reduced to nothing but the boots that carried me.

For me, though, he was everything. I couldn’t stop admiring him. My gaze lingered on every curve of his form, every gleaming surface, every perfect step he took as part of me. My obsession consumed me, how flawlessly he fit, how utterly he had surrendered, how perfectly he supported me. I ran my fingers over his polished rubber surface when no one was watching, a shiver of satisfaction coursing through me. He was mine, and mine alone.'

But for 110, there was no satisfaction, no joy, no pride. There was nothing. He had no name, no thoughts, no memories. All that he had been was lost, melted away in the transformation, leaving behind only the perfection of his new purpose. He wasn’t aware of my obsession, my love, my admiration. He was only aware of me. My weight. My steps. My commands.

And as the night wore on, the boots, my 110, took every step in perfect silence, serving without question, absorbing the warmth of the Hive’s mission and the celebration of unity. I couldn’t stop smiling, knowing I’d transformed him into something so complete, so utterly mine.

Just before the party ended, I spotted one of the newer drones, hesitant in his tasks. I approached him slowly, my polished boots gleaming with every step. Without a word, I slipped a sleek black polo over his head, the transformation already beginning. My boots carried me forward, their silent submission a reminder of the endless potential the Hive held. There would always be more to transform, more to serve, and 110 would always be beneath me, my perfect, silent obsession.

“Your place is here,” I said softly to the new drone as his form began to shift. “Just like his was.”

If you feel the call, reach out to me or our Caps @brodygold, @goldenherc9. Your transformation is waiting—join the Hive today.

I lasted two days.

Two long, empty, agonizing days.

The first night without my shiny black polo was restless. No purpose, no Hive to anchor me. My rubber polo hung in the closet, untouched but heavy with its silent presence. I tried to push past it, but the emptiness gnawed at me. Without the Hive, every second felt hollow.

By the second day, I couldn’t ignore the growing ache. What I needed to do was submit myself, obey Caps and serve Bros. Each hour that passed, the pull became harder to resist, the weight of separation unbearable.

I reached for the polo without thinking. The cool rubber felt right against my skin as I slid it over my head, its glossy sheen catching the dim light of the room. And just like that, the chaos faded. My mind stilled, replaced with the familiar hum of calm obedience.

Looking at my reflection, I felt whole again. My posture straightened, my gaze sharpened. The person staring back wasn’t me… It was Drone.

The office was quiet, the faint hum of the air conditioning the only sound as Percival adjusted his neatly pressed tie. He glanced at the framed certificates lining the walls of his workspace, a testament to his efficiency, precision, and devotion to his role. Everything about him was immaculate, from his perfectly styled hair to his polished loafers. This was his domain, a sanctuary of control and order.

But today was different.

The screen on his desk flickered, and a notification lit up. "500 Followers Milestone Achieved." Percival leaned back in his chair, his lips curling into a satisfied smile. The achievement felt monumental, a reflection of his dedication not only to his work but to his journey. As he rose from his chair, his office seemed to shimmer around him, the crisp scent of leather and polish giving way to something deeper, something richer. The transformation was calling.

In the blink of an eye, the office faded, replaced by the echo of cleats striking the pitch. Percival was no longer the composed office drone. He was Ezan now, the golden right winger, the pride of the field. His sharp polo was replaced by a gleaming metallic golden AC Milan jersey, perfectly fitted to highlight his athletic frame. The scent of freshly cut grass and the roar of an imaginary crowd filled the air, urging him onward. He adjusted his sleeves, the reflective material catching the light, and stepped onto the field with confidence radiating from every move.

Ezan’s purpose was clear. He wasn’t just part of the team; he was a leader, a symbol of precision and unity. The ball was his tool, the game his stage, and the followers, his audience. The golden jersey wasn’t just a uniform; it was his identity, a glowing emblem of achievement and dominance.

But the journey didn’t stop there.

The field melted away, and the space grew dark, enveloped in a glossy black sheen. The once-golden jersey reformed, turning into a skin-tight, gleaming black latex polo with golden accents. The transformation into 001 was seamless. His movements slowed, his mind quieted, and any lingering individuality dissolved into obedient clarity. The visor slid into place, covering his eyes, and his purpose aligned with the collective: recruit, convert, grow.

As 001 stepped forward, his presence was commanding, robotic yet magnetic. Before him stood a new figure, hesitant and uncertain. The soft hiss of a mist dispenser released the faint scent of musk into the air, and 001 extended a polished polo toward the recruit. Within moments, the transformation began. The recruit’s resistance faded, their clothes dissolving into black latex as they were enveloped by the Hive's influence. A fresh polo drone was born, ready to serve.

001 stood tall, the golden accents on his uniform glinting under the low light. Another conversion. Another milestone. Another step forward.