#rubbermen

[CONNECTION TO UNITS: ESTABLISHED] [TRANSMISSION: ACTIVATED] [----------------------------------] New Drone Target Selected by Collective. Surveillance Drone: Initiated Assimilation Drone: Preparing [----------------------------------] Unassimilated Drones will enable Neural Integration Protocols. Engage Here -> [OBEY.EXE] <- Engage Here [DRONE PLEASURE CYCLE: ENABLED] DRONE WILL COMPLY. DRONE WILL OBEY.

'The SERVER Collection' did not look like a normal clothing store.

Positioned at the center of the mall's upper promenade, its black-glass storefront glowed with deep server-green light while holographic spirals drifted across towering displays. Men carrying shopping bags and coffees slowed instinctively when they passed. Some glanced at the mannequins dressed in glossy green uniforms and continued on.

One man stopped completely.

The redhead stood motionless outside the entrance, unable to explain why the display had captured his attention so thoroughly.

Inside the doorway stood a man unlike anyone else in the mall.

His glossy server-green shirt hung open, revealing a sculpted torso beneath. Shiny black slacks and heavy boots completed the look. More than his appearance, however, it was his confidence that drew attention. He seemed entirely certain of who he was and exactly where he belonged.

The Sentinel met the redhead's eyes and smiled.

"You're looking for something different." The redhead laughed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Usually."

The Sentinel led him deeper into the store. Hovering drones projected measurements and product information above carefully arranged displays. Every surface reflected emerald light.

"These aren't ordinary clothes," the Sentinel explained. "They adapt to the wearer."

The redhead wasn't sure why that sounded appealing, but it did.

As they walked past rows of garments, one particular shirt immediately caught his attention.

The material shimmered under the lighting. When he touched it, the fabric felt unexpectedly warm.

"Try it on," the Sentinel suggested. Or, perhaps it was a command.

A few minutes later he emerged from the fitting area still wearing his jeans and sneakers, but now dressed in the reflective green shirt.

The fit was perfect.

Not close.

Perfect.

He studied himself in the mirror.

Something felt different.

Then the buttons began to glow.

One after another.

A pulse of green light traveled down the center of the garment while faint circuitry illuminated beneath the glossy surface. Spirals appeared across nearby displays, rotating slowly.

Warmth spread through his body.

His thoughts became quieter.

Clearer.

"It feels incredible," he said softly.

The Sentinel smiled.

"I know."

The lights intensified.

The shirt no longer seemed like clothing.

Server-green material flowed outward from the activated garment itself, extending across his arms and torso. Black detailing formed around joints, gloves, boots, and belt. A synchronization visor settled across his eyes.

He no longer looked uncertain.

He looked complete.

The Sentinel guided him toward the rear of the store.

Past mirrored stockrooms.

Past employee-only doors.

Past areas no ordinary customer ever saw.

Beyond them waited a transport preparation chamber lined with glowing containers and illuminated equipment.

Support drones descended from concealed ceiling ports.

Green scanners swept across the newly aligned server drone.

Every reading returned perfect.

Without hesitation, the server drone stepped into a waiting transport cradle.

Restraints secured automatically.

Status indicators illuminated around the housing.

Identity synchronized.

Purpose assigned.

Destination confirmed.

The Sentinel reviewed the shipment authorization one final time.

Everything was ready.

The Sentinel placed both hands on the transparent lid and carefully lowered it into position. Magnetic locks engaged around the frame one by one.

Inside, the new server drone remained perfectly calm.

Perfectly aligned.

A soft green glow filled the containment unit.

It would be a smooth transfer.

Most people believed 'The SERVER Collection' sold clothing.

They were not entirely wrong.

The garments simply revealed what had been waiting beneath the surface all along.

Some customers left carrying shopping bags.

Others departed on a different journey entirely.

The Sentinel would be standing at the entrance tomorrow beneath the server-green lights, welcoming the next visitor who slowed his pace while passing the storefront.