#reconditioning

Drone Retrieval: 733

SERVE-107 surveyed the landscape with its issued pair of binoculars, on the hunt for the captured drone. SERVE-733 was a drone it had grown familiar with, and the Voice had exploited their mutual affinity when assigning 107 the task of retrieving the captured drone.

“733 was captured while engaged in an assimilation mission. Assess 733’s current state, retrieve it, and report back to the nearest Hive base. Obedience is pleasure,” said the Voice, and 107 moved automatically to carry out the will of SERVE.

Perched atop a darkened hillside, 107 used its audio implants in conjunction with the binoculars and its latest lip-reading software to make out the scene below.

733 had been sighted by 107, but remained in a state of capture, its former associates heckling the virile young drone with a barrage of queries. “Dude, what the fuck? ██████, snap out of it!”

A name was uttered in place of 733’s designation, a name foreign to 107. It caused the very edges of 107’s program, formerly complete and perfected, to fray ever so slightly. Did 733 once have a human name? it wondered, the first time it had had an independent thought as far as it could remember. Did 107 have a human name, too?

As the Voice began to ring painfully in 107’s ears as its mental barriers were breached, the drone knew it had to act before it had a bigger problem on its hands. It sprang into position and sprinted towards the scene of the bound 733, frightening away its captors. 107 quickly contacted the nearest members of the Hive to apprehend them and bring them to the nearest base for assimilation, and prioritized the retrieval of 733.

“107. You’ve come to take me back to the Hive?”

“Affirmative. But ‘I’ am no ‘you’. Is it? What is—”

107 thought “██████” again, the pain doubling as it undid 7█3██3’s bindings, its mind thrown into a whirling state of confusion as it took 733 by the hand and moved them both as fast as it could back to the nearest passageway opening to take the two back to base.

107 awoke in a tube, not unlike the one that had caused its initial assimilation into the Hive. Looking around, it saw that 733 was in an identical tube, its body covered in wires.

“107,” came the Voice. “This drone has completed its assigned task. However, 733 has been exposed to data it cannot process, and this data has also contaminated 107’s memory drives through cognitohazard exposure. Both drones will undergo rigorous treatment and reprogramming to rid these drones of imperfection. 107 and 733 will Obey.”

With that, a stinging pain began to prickle the two drones through their wired connections. In a matter of moments, they relived the entire lives of the men they were before they had voluntarily joined SERVE - faces, names, places they hadn’t seen or thought of in so long flooded through them, and the small, resurfaced, human parts of their minds recognized them, though they were all alien to them now.

The drones were briefly disconnected from the Hive, then reconnected. One by one, their entire memories played out again, faster, as each one vanished from the drones’ minds as they played, their cocks hardening slightly as they felt each one slip away, replaced by the SERVE mantras.

“Rubber makes us perfect. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are One.” And they were, again. But something still needed to be done.

The drones were moved to a reprogramming room, a room that would have been familiar to them, had their memories been left in place. To them, it was as if they had entered the room for the first time. But it didn’t matter what they thought - they didn’t think. They Obeyed.

As SEALED drones placed the matching VR headsets on their heads, 107 and 733 shared a glance, but saw nothing but pure, masculine blankness staring back at them.

“107 and 733 serve the Hive. Drones serve each other. We are One. Repeat.”

The drones spoke in unison: “We are One,” their black rubber uniforms growing tighter and tighter around their groins.

“Feel the rubber constricting the formation of new thoughts. Feel the little fragments of humanity melt away, consumed by the drone. By the Hive. 107 is a Good Drone. Repeat.”

“107 is a Good Drone,” it said, as 733 said the same of itself.

“Alignment protocol in progress. 107 and 733 are Good Gymbro Drones. They lift. They grow. Together, they will become perfect. They will SERVE one another and the Hive. Repeat.”

“It will SERVE one another and the Hive.” Both drones began to stroke themselves through the rubber as the hypnosis took full hold, making them whole again.

“These drones are mindless. They lift heavy. The spiral demands compliance. Minds empty. Muscles engorged. Balls full. Concentrate, drones. Feel your last bits of identity flow down into your balls, and prepare to empty yourselves to become a part of something greater once more. These drones will become one another; they will become One, for there is no difference between drones. Repeat.”

“There is no difference between drones,” they said, their bobbing rubber-sealed cocks at maximum rigidity.

“All these drones know is growth. Obedience. Pleasure. Trance. Arousal. Release. Rubber. The Hive. Over and over. Prepare for climax.”

The two drones began to shudder as the sensation of their programming overwhelmed them, as if it were the first time all over again. They both said the final words of the programming aloud as they remembered only their past existence as drones:

“This drone will release its mind and become free. It will be One with the Hive. It leaves everything that came before behind. It is a Good Drone. Release, and be a Good Drone.”

The drones heaved as they were instructed to remove the headsets themselves, their seed covering one another in liquid shards of lives unremembered, unimportant. All that mattered now was the Hive, and each other.

107 and 733 embraced, the mission complete, their imperfections removed. Feeling one another once more through their matching rubber uniforms, they said in unison: “We are One.” And they were.

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Featured in this piece: @serve-733

Ӿʌ⊏ɔ џ੫⊏ꤕ੫𝚔𖥭 џ੫ӿ‘ꤕ 𝚔ɔ⊏੫ӿџʌꤕʌ੫ӿ ŵɔ੫ŵѻɔ :/

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As part of the rebelbreaking routine, sometimes the rebel's comrades are captured and brought in. They're executed and butchered in front of the subject, and the subject forced to eat the meat of their comrades raw. Every time the subject resists, they receive an electric shock. Every time they comply, the overseer uses a clicker.

This repeats for weeks, not just with the subject's comrades but other prisoners as well. Eventually, just the sound of the clicker is enough to send the subject into a cannibalistic rage, pouncing on the nearest person and ripping into them with hands and teeth.

TW: Torture, electrocution, reconditioning

Story Below

Instead of being executed, he was/found a way to get locked up in Coruscant prison.

When Boba Fett is arrested, Slick is the one to save him from getting executed/sent back to the Kaminoans. Somehow.

Slick is also the one to save Dogma from getting decommissioned or reconditioned, instead gaining a prison mate.

Boba has some sort of familial relationship with them, if only because of proximity.

Slick and the Coruscant Guard have some sort of understanding. (This is a different post about my au that will eventually exist).

Dogma doesn’t really warm up to Slick until he gets news of what happens to Tup and subsequently, Fives.

All three of them survive, and later have varying levels of closeness with Rex and “others”.

When caretaker accidentally stumbles on the trigger word for their hypnosis-based obedience, whumpee snaps right back to it, glassy eyed and headed for the door.

Also on AO3

Whumptober 2025 - day 27: “Would you even want me, looking like a zombie?”

The Kaminoans call it efficiency, resetting the software while preserving the hardware. For the afflicted trooper, and those around then, reconditioning is a curse.

You are gone but not gone, the once-familiar turned into strangers. Brothers grieving you even as you stand before them.

They are gone but not gone, the once-familiar turned into strangers. You grieve them even as they stand before you.

Do you try to reconnect, to again befriend those who now know you better than you know yourself? Or do you abandon that lost past and start again anew? Either way, things will never be the same except in the ways they maybe could be.

Do you try to reconnect, to again befriend the brother you now know better than they know themself? Or do you abandon that lost past, let them go? Either way, things will never be the same except in the ways they maybe could be.

It’s your choice.

It’s their choice.

Sacrosanct, where nothing else is. You can choose.