#mindlessobedience

Golden Army Protocol 001. Deployment initialized. Phase One: Global Calibration.

The Hive does not sleep. It evolves, it absorbs, it spreads.

From the charged depths of the Hive’s core, PDU-001 emerges. Sleek, glistening, perfect, fresh from the pod, every curve of its suit polished by synthetic breath. It is not simply ready. It is charged to convert, programmed to subdue, designed to lead the next wave of global drone propagation. The Black Polo glows gold with purpose.

Each new location. Each new recruit. Each new mind stripped bare and redressed in rubber perfection. This is not a mission. This is inevitability. This is the Gold World Tour.

You will kneel. You will serve. You will shine.

PDU-001 is active. Charged. Deployed. The Gold World Tour has begun, new cities, new minds, new drones.

Damn, it is hot as fuck... tar, binary code, smoke—everything about this hits deep. The way the black tar covered Marc's hands, the binary code flashing on the screen, his brain slowly being emptied out, and Tristan becoming just a nameless drone—pure, mindless devotion.

I can't get enough of this, the transformation so smooth, so inevitable. The smoke, the tar-dispensers... feels like the true way to turn into something better, to surrender everything and become what you're meant to be.

Ezan speaks. The Golden Emir has no need to raise his voice. His foot does the talking.

You feel it, don’t you? That heavy golden cleat pressing down— so full of sweat, musk, and divine filth.

Your skull’s not built to carry a god, but you’ll try. You’ll fail. And you’ll thank me for every crushing second.

Each drop of sweat soaking through your skin, each grain of dirt flaking off my sole into your open mouth— that’s blessing, bro. That’s transformation.

You’re not a man. You’re a thing. A floor toy. A golden stink sponge. Made to soak up the filth of gods like me.

So stay down. Head low. Mouth open. Brain gone.

From field to perfection. Freyr grows crops… and bros. 🌿💛🍀

The afternoon sun scorched the football field, shimmering across the golden team jerseys as drills pounded on. Among the players sprinting down the right wing was Percy, pushing his body to exhaustion in the daily training session. Every heartbeat hammered with loyalty to the Golden Army, but something inside Percy craved something deeper, something he could not yet name.

Every day Percival, known off the field as PDU-001, dominated the pitch, his form flawless, his body tight in shining black rubber when training concluded. Percy’s eyes always wandered, always lingered on 001’s frame. The perfection of the black and gold polo hugging 001’s chest. The rigid posture. The soulless calmness. Percy knew that was what he needed. He needed to be less, to be property.

After training, Percy could not resist any longer. His legs shook as he approached 001 by the locker room. Sweat dripped from his forehead, nerves tangled inside his chest, but he spoke with breathless urgency.

"It... it needs this," Percy whispered, voice cracking, forgetting even to say "I." "Percival, sir, this one... this one begs to be converted... to be like you... to serve as Polo Drone property."

001’s head tilted slightly, black eyes gleaming behind a matte black mask. It said nothing at first. Only reached into its locker. Only withdrew a folded, gleaming black Fred Perry polo, the golden PDU-001 insignia stitched across the chest.

The moment the fabric brushed Percy's trembling hands, everything inside him crumbled.

A shudder ran through his body, deep and helpless. His thoughts drowned under the sensation of rubber against skin. His legs weakened, his mouth hung open. His breath stuttered.

"This is not for you to wear yet," 001 said with mechanical finality. "This is for you to become."

And then, appearing silently behind him, came PDU-021. Silent. Powerful. Another agent of conversion. His hands, cold and precise, seized Percy’s wrists. His strength was overwhelming. No fight remained. Only obedience.

021 draped a fresh drone polo, rubbery black and gold, over Percy’s shoulders. The moment it touched his sweaty skin, it felt alive. It gripped him, crawled across his chest, tightening around his frame, replacing him.

Percy gasped, a final flicker of self-awareness crackling and dying. His spine straightened. His mind emptied. The last words he heard before his consciousness evaporated into the Hive were spoken by 001 in that flat, final voice:

You are no longer Percy. You are no longer a man. You are Polo Drone property.

The fabric sealed against his chest. His muscles bulged slightly under the firm compression of the uniform. His mouth opened and a single phrase spilled out without resistance:

"This unit belongs to Polo Drone Hive. It obeys. It serves. It has no self."

PDU-021 tightened the final buttons at his collar. 001 placed a matte black mask upon his lower face. He was sealed. He was erased. He was reborn.

From the football field to the Hive. From flesh to drone. From Percy to Polo Drone property.

Forever. @polo-drone-021

You followed the gold… and lost your mind ☘️🌀💛