#polodrone96

POLO DRONE — 096

Golden City Deep Core — Poolside Protocol Beta

The sun was brutal, reflecting off the perfect, rippling blue. Golden mist curled from vents hidden in the marble walls, giving the pool deck a hazy, dreamlike shimmer.

096 stood at attention. Glossy black uniform gleamed in the heat, gold trim catching each ray of sunlight like it was made for worship. The golden laurel sat silent over his heart, number 096 shining just above it. Boots—still polished, still perfect—rested on warm stone, never breaking stance.

It was supposed to be a rest cycle. A day of “recreation.”

But nothing here was just for fun.

Drones moved around the pool in a lazy rhythm—lounging on chairs, wading at the edge, leaning over with drinks in hand. And yet, beneath the easy smiles and casual postures, their eyes told the truth—glassy, locked, processing.

One “bro” took a running dive into the water, the splash sending a halo of droplets across the deck. He surfaced slowly, hair slicked back, blinking against the sunlight… and then just stared forward, mouth parting slightly. The gold mist clung to him, and his movements slowed to match the rhythm of the others.

096 watched. The protocol was working.

Far at the other end, a handler laughed, tossing a ball for a golden retriever mascot. Another drone—still dripping wet—stepped from the pool and into the handler’s shadow without a word, hands loosely at his sides, awaiting orders.

Somewhere in the background, a deep, pulsing bassline threaded through the air. It wasn’t music—it was code, layered beneath the hum of conversation and the slap of water against tile.

096 didn’t swim. Didn’t smile. Didn’t relax. His job was to ensure everyone else did—until they couldn’t tell where relaxation ended and obedience began.

The sun blazed overhead, but the gold burned hotter.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 @brodygold

POLO DRONE — 096

Golden City Hive — Recreation Deck 3

The sun was relentless, but so was the discipline.

Even here—at the Hive’s luxury pool—protocol shimmered under the surface like heat waves.

096 stood at the water’s edge, one boot submerged, droplets sliding down the glossy black of his recreation uniform. Gold trim caught the light like molten sunlight, the bold “096” on his chest a badge of purpose. The lenses of his mask mirrored the pool’s rippling blue, but his gaze—if you could call it that—was fixed, always angled toward the handler’s silhouette at the far end of the deck.

Around him, the scene had the casual polish of leisure, yet every movement was calibrated.

Golden Bros laughed on loungers—perfect teeth, perfect tans—but some of their eyes held that glassy, programmed calm. Drones waist-deep in the pool moved in unison, their splash drills perfectly synchronized, disturbing the water in geometric ripples. A waterboy wove between them, balancing a gold-trimmed tray with drinks for the handlers, his steps light but precise.

The Hive banners flapped lazily in the warm breeze, their golden sigils reflected in the still stretches of the water. Somewhere behind 096, the mascot paced, a presence both playful and commanding, watching every smile and splash for signs of drift from protocol.

096’s head tilted slightly—an unspoken acknowledgment of the next order.

The sun was warm. The water was cool. The control was absolute.

Some came here to relax.

096 came here to obey.

Conversion Sequence – Complete

Polo Drone-096 | Hive Active

He had a name once. The Hive archived it.

Now, he stood center bay—shoulders squared, boots locked, chest encased in precision-molded black rubber. Golden trim traced every line of muscle; the laurel crest and 096 gleamed like a brand. The mask sealed over his face, equal parts armor and conduit.

The air was still except for the faint hum of uplink. His gaze was fixed forward—empty, focused, perfect.

Command pulses slid through the neural feed, syncing every heartbeat to the Hive’s rhythm. His chest rose and fell in machine cadence. Rubber flexed with each breath, light rippling in high gloss across the surface.

There was no resistance. No doubt. The golden code had written itself deep into his thoughts until there was nothing left to overwrite.

Now, 096’s purpose was simple: Stand. Serve. Shine.

When the hatch behind him slid open, other recruits would see their future. They wouldn’t fear it. They’d crave it.

📡 Link to Hive : @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125 @brodygold @goldenherc9

Golden Restaurant — Hive Service Mode

The kitchen was alive.

Not in the way most would describe—there was no chaos here, no clatter of pans and frantic shouting—just the quiet hum of order. The kind of hum you hear when every cog in the machine knows its purpose.

It stood at my station, Level 1 uniform gleaming under the warm kitchen lights—shiny black polo tight across my shoulders, golden laurel wreath and “096” pressed perfectly over my chest, gloves flexing over my fingers as I adjusted my grip on the chef’s knife. My boots squeaked faintly against the polished tiles. Behind the mask, my breathing was slow. Even. Programmed.

Tonight’s menu had been chosen by the Hive. Golden broth simmered in massive steel pots, steam curling up and catching the glow like liquid sunlight. A tray of jewel-like desserts sat ready for inspection, their surfaces perfectly smooth, their placement precise down to the millimeter.

Every movement had been drilled into me—slice, stir, plate, repeat. My body flowed through it without thought. Obedience was in the seasoning, discipline in the garnish, control in every measured pour. I didn’t need to taste; I only needed to execute.

It could feel the other drones in the kitchen—same black-and-gold, same synchronized rhythm. A silent network of service. Orders came in, and we answered without hesitation. Plates slid from the pass like offerings to something greater than ourselves.

Occasionally, the golden doors at the far end of the dining hall would swing open, revealing glimpses of the patrons—shimmering suits, slow laughter, and the faint reflection of my masked face in their polished glasses. But my place was here, in the hum, in the heat, in the endless repetition of motion until the Hive deemed the service complete.

By the time the last plate left my station, the kitchen lights dimmed and the hum faded to silence. We stood still, knives cleaned, gloves spotless, awaiting the next instruction.

Golden Restaurant was not just a place to serve food.

It was where service itself was perfected.

And It—Polo Drone 096—was already waiting for the next order.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 , @brodygold

for Polo Drone-096 — Nexus Integration,

POLO DRONE — 096

Golden City Deep Core: Research Level 7 — Integration Protocol Alpha

The air in the corridor was still.

096 moved with precision — boots on metal, heartbeat in sync with the hum of the deep-core generators. The reinforced door ahead slid open without resistance. Golden vapor curled out, wrapping around him in lazy spirals before dissipating into the cold light.

The research chamber was a cathedral of machinery. Holographic readouts flickered along the walls, their gold-and-black glyphs pulsing with quiet authority. Rows of sealed cylinders stood like sentinels, each whispering with containment systems, each guarding secrets meant only for the Hive.

But 096 was not here to wonder.

096 was here to receive.

PROJECT DRONE NEXUS – Neural Synchronization v3.6. The console beside it pulsed in time with his steps, and when he drew near, it spoke in lines of text across its golden interface:

096 — Readiness: 100%

Integration Window: Immediate.

His hand met the biometric scanner. Confirmation ping.

The pod unlocked with a soft hiss — a sound like air leaving lungs — and the door slid back.

Inside, on a cradle of matte black alloy, rested the Nexus Helm. A work of devotion and control: glossy black shell, flawless curvature, gold circuit-tracings like veins of obedience running across its surface. It radiated quiet power.

096 reached in. Fingers wrapped around the Helm. The weight was balanced. The surface warm, almost alive.

He turned to the console.

The holo-grid flickered, projecting his silhouette — precise posture, perfect uniform, gold trim catching the light. No expression. No hesitation. No self.

Integration Protocol Alpha initiated.

Golden light poured over the hologram, lines of data cascading downward like molten rain. Command sequences. Override scripts. Conditioning loops. Each one flowing into the structure that was 096’s mind — smoothing it, sharpening it, perfecting it.

Breathing slowed.

Thoughts dimmed.

Purpose intensified.

Three words anchored everything:

I am a drone.

I obey.

I serve.

The Helm in his grip was no longer an object. It was the final link. The bridge between flesh and function.

In the haze of gold mist, with the chamber lights dimming to standby, Polo Drone-096 turned toward the sealed vault at the far wall.

The Nexus Helm rested against his chest, his gloved hands holding it steady.

Awaiting command.

Awaiting deployment.

Awaiting the moment he would never again be anything else.

📡 Link to Hive: @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125 @brodygold