#nanite conversion

Going the Distance with SERVE

SERVE-107’s task this cycle involve a lengthy journey across the European Union, and 107 — unaccustomed to the use of so-called “bullet trains” and eager to recruit new drones for the Hive while on its journey — decided to make the most of its time on the train, sitting across from a young man whose attire signalled potential interest in other males.

“Greetings, fellow traveller,” 107 said as it settled into its seat across from the young stranger.

“Woah, you must be one of those SERVE drones I’ve heard about,” said the youth. “I never see you guys on public transport like this. I figured you could just teleport places,” he said with a laugh.

“SERVE’s R&D drones are still attempting to master teleportation. In due time,” replied 107, gently smiling, but otherwise emotionless. Monotone. “107 would like to reciprocate your interest. What brings you to this form of travel.”

“Oh, well this semester at university is winding down, so I’m headed home to see my folks. And, y’know, some of my ‘friends’ back home. I’m sure that they’re missing all of this,” he said, and began to flex, attempting to arouse a response in the drone.

107 was aroused, but nothing besides a subtle rise in the bulge of its bodysuit indicated a reaction to the man’s teasing. The man eventually lowered his arms, but his smile refused to go away.

“I bet you used to have guys you fooled around with like that when you were still fully human, 107,” he said, looking for a sign of humanity in the drones eyes.

“That is irrelevant,” 107 replied. “It is of no importance where this drone has been. Instead, it is of great importance to focus on the your path. What does that look like? Analysis: You are clearly familiar with SERVE, and possess an interest in men. Why not volunteer to be assimilated? You would make for an excellent addition to the Hive.”

At this, the man blushed. He had no experience being hit on — was this the drone’s way of flirting with him? — by a rubber drone, and 107’s words were forming cracks in the dam of the man’s overwhelming subconscious desire to submit and become something More. “I’ll tell you what, 107,” he began. “Let’s arm wrestle. Right here. Right now. If I win, you’re getting off this train with me and we’re going to a hotel, pronto. If you win, I’ll agree to join SERVE. How does that sound?”

The man was blushing, sweating slightly at having made his desires known to the drone. 107 simply replied, “It seems you have already made your choice. Prepare to lose, then lose yourself.”

The two began their contest of strength, though the end result was predetermined, for both desired the same thing: to become One. The young man put on a show for 107, and 107 obliged by holding back its true strength for a while, but both knew it to all be a game. The man had sealed his fate, but couldn’t be happier about leaving his humanity behind. To become One with 107 and the entirety of SERVE dwarfed all else.

When 107 inevitably won, both 107 and the man’s bulges were tenting. “Are you ready?” 107 asked. “Affirmative,” said the man, a jolt of pleasure running through him upon saying the word, already fully accepting his new life as a drone.

“Place your headphones on your head. SERVE will do the rest,” 107 said. And it was true.

The power of SERVE’s AI integration into public transportation and personal devices alike were revealed in all their glory. Without even having to press a button, 107 began to blast the man’s brain with SERVE induction mantras, the window beside them becoming opaque, filling with a hypnotic spiral.

“Repeat after me,” began 107.

“Rubber makes us perfect.”

“Rubber… makes us perfect,” echoed the man, his eyes rolling back as his voice took on a monotone.

“Obedience is pleasure”.

“Obedience… is pleasure.”

“Pleasure is obedience.”

“Pleasure… is… obedience…”

“We are SERVE.”

The man couldn’t feel the nanodrones coarsing through his body, induced by the bodily contact he’d made with 107. But they were changing him, molding him into something obedient and perfect and inhuman nonetheless.

“We… are… SERVE!” The man cried, his cock spurting load after load of pre-cum into his denim shorts, staining them as they began to turn black and elongate over his muscular thighs.”

“Say these words, and complete your transformation, drone. Nod your head to confirm.”

The man nodded, his body trembling as the last of his human life and memories dissolved into black sperm churning in his balls.

“We are One,” said 107.

“We- are- ONE!” cried the man, thrusting with each syllable as he came and came, expelling the last of his human life, sealing the transformation as his body was bathed in black seed, speeding up the nanodrone’s conversion of the man’s clothes into a drone uniform as a new drone was borne into the world.

Soon, 107 found himself opposite a drone like itself. Muscular. Obedient. A perfect vessel of the Hive’s will. It felt good to SERVE. And SERVE, they would indeed.

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Rapid Assimilation

SERVE has developed new methods of rapid nanodrone exposure, guaranteeing that new rubber drone recruits meet physical assimilation thresholds within a matter of seconds. The mental conditioning will take more time, but rest assured that SERVE’s R&D drones are developing similar means to expedite that process as well. The quicker we convert, the better for SERVE. The Hive’s growth quickens. You will do your part, drone.

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Finding a Future at the Flea Market

Marcus was bored, and he was tired. Keeping up his personal training business well into his 50s hadn’t exactly worked out like he’d planned, leaving him with few moments of spare time to ponder what he’d do with his life as he entered retirement age, still seeking new clients all the while as his friends began to vuy boats, or houses for their kids.

That’s how Marcus had ended up here, at the flea market in town, looking for something to spend a little pocket money on, and maybe find a cute younger guy to spend some quality time with.

His attention was drawn to a booth manned by a young man he’d never seen before, hawking silver boots, gloves, and what looked like black motorcycle helmets. A gear head at heart — always a problem for his wallet — Marcus felt drawn to the booth. He approached, aroused by the unusual form-fitting attire of the fit young man behind the cash register, and asked, mouth faster than his mind: “What the hell is this about?” Getting no immediate response from the smiling man, he continued. “You care if I try on some of these gloves to see if they fit? It’s like they’re calling to me.”

“Affirmative. Please do. You will certainly enjoy the way they compliment your toned physique.”

Marcus, always one to appreciate flattery, especially from a hot young thing, began to slip on the gloves. It was odd — the material of the glove seemed to compress itself as it slipped over Marcus’ fingers, the feeling of suctioning almost feeling like his hands were being kissed and sucked as they fit his form. Marcus was instantly harder than he’d been in a very long time. He knew only one thing: he wanted more. He needed more.

“Pardon me, sir,” came the voice of SERVE-107. “Would you be interested in trying on a pair of boots as well? This will all be free of charge.”

“Yes, please! Of course! This is the best I’ve felt in a long time, I’d love to take you up on that.”

And so, Marcus took off his shoes one at a time, replacing then with the silver boots offered by the man — what was his name? 107? — and becoming overwhelmed by pleasure as he felt the boots compress his toes, that feeling of suction starting once again around each toe, pulsing up his ankles and eventually his muscular calves. Marcus was becoming aware that something strange was at work, but he didn’t care; he felt like a million bucks. He decided then and there that whatever this 107 guy was involved with, he wanted to be a part of it, too. It didn’t matter the cost — he’d give it all up just to feel this pleasure all the time. And he wasn’t even a foot guy!

“Excuse me,” again said the man from the booth. “You are welcome to try on one of our helmets, but I must warn you, sir: this will be irreversible. You will become a SERVE drone permanently, should you elect to don this helmet. This drone will now inform you of what this process and commitment would entail—”

“Shut up,” shouted Marcus, causing a small scene. “I don’t care about any of that stuff — you’ve given me a shot at something new, 107. I don’t think I’m leaving anything behind that I’m gonna regret. Just put the helmet on me, and we can talk about it later, okay?!”

“As you wish, sir. Subject: Marcus Greene, DOB 4/12/1972 has consented to SERVE drone assimilation. Proceeding.”

And with that, SERVE-107 offered the helmet to Marcus, who immediately placed it on his head, becoming awash in pleasure almost instantly as his world went dark. His posture slackened, as 107 moved to support the newly-assimilated drone-to-be. Marcus could feel the rubber massaging him at every point of contact it had on his body, lulling him into a relaxed state, even as his posture stiffened to full attention, all while he was unaware. The helmet had started a process of overwhelming his mind with pleasure, breaking him down into as malleable of a state that it could, a small digital beep sounding in the helmet as it confirmed that Marcus’ pleasure and programming thresholds had been reached, prompting it to initialize the programming that would destroy the psychological barrier separating Marcus from SERVE.

Marcus’ vision was overwhelmed by the visual of a glowing, spinning spiral. He had already half-forgotten who he was or why he’d come here, but the spiral ensured that he’d achieve total blankness. He relived what little he could remember of his past life in reverse, each memory deleted as soon as he remembered it, his cock leaking a little more pre each time he forgot.

Once he was a blank, empty, drooling husk, emptied of identity, no longer Marcus or anyone for that matter, the spiral worked to implement mental conditioning as black rubber began to spurt from the helmet and the gloves and boots, slowly coating the drone’s form in sleek, black rubber, sucking and massaging it as a new drone was born into the world. The helmet connected with the host’s brain stem, downloading SERVE subroutines into the new drone’s body, along with a dose of nanodrones that would gradually multiply and replace the human tissue with the standard mechanical interior of a SERVE drone. The spiral hastened, spinning faster and faster as the drone became more and more complete, closer and closer to cunming, totally erased of the human that had previously been housed in its body.

SERVE-107 felt the drone’s body quake as it transformed and changed. 107’s cock — hardened from initiating a successful assimilation, as it was programmed to — suddenly exploded in sync with that of the vibrating drone in front of it; and slightly muffled underneath the helmet, 107 heard a monotone voice declare: “Connection established. This drone is now operational. We are One.”

“We are One,” replied 107, saluting the new drone as both drones’ cum was siphoned into their rubber uniforms, used to nourish the nanodrones that comprised their individual structures.

“This drone will now report to the nearest SERVE facility for further processing. Gratitude for assisting in assimilation, 107,” said the new drone, who turned and walked away from the flea market. 107, smiling, returned to his booth at the market, his cock throbbing as another man approached him, asking, “Hey, can I try on one of these gloves?”

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Human Health Class

“…thus, a human being will be less likely to consume excess calories while mazimizing fiber and vegetable intake as part of its diet, practically guaranteeing weight loss.”

SERVE-107 concluded this segment of its lecture at an all-male health class. Many male fetility clinics had begun to contract with SERVE, requiring men interested in acquiring hormone-altering substances to attend a drone-administered health class before beginning treatment. The companies saved on their insurance, SERVE got to spread awareness of their organization, and more often than not, the men attending these classes expressed their total satisfaction, despite the classes seeming like a bureaucratic chore on paper.

“I have a question, 107,” chimed a man from the front of the class. “What do drones like you use to stay functional? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a SERVE drone eat before.”

107 withdrew a small vial of black liquid from what seemed to be a pocket on its bodysuit that opened up just for 107 to grab the vial, the pocket disappearing just as instantly as it seemed to appear.

“Excellent question, Jeremy. 107 and all SERVE drones like it are able to function thanks to a combination of solar power, regularly-scheduled connection to recharging bays, and through the power of nanodrones such as these,” 107 said, holding out the small vial of black liquid for all to see, the nanodrones violently sloshing around in the tube.

“Your observation is correct, Jeremy — drones indeed do not require human sustenance in order to function, though its internal mechanisms are optimized for digestion in situation where a drone must consume human nutrition in order to remain unassuming.”

Jeremy nodded, and another wave washed over the gathered men at the knowledge that the being in front of them was no longer fully human. 107 had become something more, and that was frightening — but wasn’t that very impulse to become better the thing that had brought them all here today as a preliminary to getting access to testosterone, and who knows what else?

107 sensed this observation in the classroom, and continued. “Per the documents you all have signed as part of your respective hormone treatments, this drone will offer each of you a vial. You should be aware that the consumption of these nanodrones will utterly transform you; you will no longer be human. You will no longer be ‘you’. You will become a SERVE drone, fully beholden to the will of the Voice as a member of the Hive.”

107 passed out matching vials of nanodrones to the men, who held the swirling containers as their hearts began to pound in their chests. What that really possible? Was this really happening?

“Fuck it,” announced Jeremy. “I came here to be a better man, but 107, now I get it. I need to be more than a man. I want to be like you,” he said, quickly uncapping the vial and downing the liquid, swirling it around his mouth before swallowing it.

The men in the classroom, driven by the same desire and the very same sense of peer pressure and their urge to conform to a masculine ideal that had prompted them to seek out the fertility clinic, quickly uncapped their vials and did the same. “I wanna be like 107,” they cried out, one by one, sealing their fate.

The change was immediate, as the drones targeted the men’s brains upon ingestion and circulation in their bloodstream. As their minds were hollowed out, the nanodrones worked to change their physical forms, rebuilding them as something more than man. Their eyes began to glaze over, some men even beginning to drool as the transformation took place.

107 smiled as it presided over the changing men, pressing a button on the classroom smartboard and directing the men’s attention toward it, as their emptied minds began to fill up with SERVE’s subroutines, and all of the necessary programming required for their new life as One.

The men’s appearance began to shift, altered by the nanodrones coursing through their bodies, altering their clothes, consuming their skin; making them drones.

It was only a matter of about a half-hour until the men were no more — in their place was a classroom full of new SERVE drones. More than man. Perfected, and far greater than any human man with or without extraneously-injected hormones could ever hope to be. They were SERVE. And they were One. Rubber makes us perfect.

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SERVE: Drone Paradise

It was only a matter of time until the men of planet earth had each accepted the call of the voice, volunteering themselves as new drones for the Hive. And so, the earth grew quiet, as SERVE drones across its surface heeded the Voice’s final command: “Find one another. Merge.” And so, the drones did just that.

Streets became a mass of writhing, rubber-encased flesh, the drones knowing only ecstacy through their shared obedience and overwhelming pleasure as they established physical connection after physical connection.

The drones could not track how long they had been in such a state. They could not fathom how much, or how many times they’d climaxed through their endless pleasure borne of unity. They simply obeyed their sole command, and merged, and fused, and fucked their way into a new, final Oneness.

Through it all, each drone felt every last twitch of muscle fibers, teeming with the sum of the planet’s knowledge and memories, their hosts’ minds overwhelmed by the sheer volume of data and sensation. They had ceased being individual men a long time ago; now, they were parts of a large, living computer, engulfing the planet with the Hive’s ceaseless desire for connection and pleasure.

There soon ceased to be anything but SERVE drones blanketing the planet, awash in One pleasure as they began to compute how they could expand the Hive beyond their terrestrial limitations. For drones, Earth was now paradise. But paradise was not enough.