#strapped

“Grab him now!” one of the SYNC members shouted as Alan was blindsided from behind.

“Get OFF me!” Alan roared, throwing one attacker into a locker hard enough to dent it. “You picked the wrong guy!”

“Hold his arms!” another yelled.

Alan struggled violently as three members forced him down. “I swear to God, I’ll break every one of you if you don’t let go!”

A glossy black silicone cap was pulled over his head. Alan snarled and jerked against them. “NO! Don’t put that thing on me!”

The rainbow spiral goggles snapped tightly over his eyes.

“Synchronization beginning,” a SYNC member said calmly.

“Get these OFF!” Alan shouted, clawing at the goggles. “I can’t see straight!”

The spirals began rotating faster. Purple pulses flickered beneath the cap as the programming flooded his senses.

“Subject displays high resistance,” one member observed.

“Yeah?” Alan spat back. “That’s because I’m not weak like the rest of you!”

“You misunderstand,” another replied. “The strong ones simply take longer.”

Alan growled through clenched teeth. “I’m not joining your Hive.”

“You already have.”

Alan forced himself upright, breathing heavily. “No… no, I’m still me…”

The spirals intensified. His balance faltered for a second.

“Focus destabilizing,” a member noted.

“Shut… up…” Alan muttered, gripping his head. “I can fight this…”

“You’re exhausted, Alan,” one voice said softly. “You don’t have to fight anymore.”

“I said…” Alan’s voice cracked slightly. “…I said stop talking…”

His breathing slowed as the programming pushed deeper.

Alan shook his head violently. “No… I don’t obey anybody…”

The cap tightened flush against his skull while the goggles’ spirals reflected endlessly in his eyes. His breathing became uneven.

“The Hive removes conflict. The Hive removes pain.”

“No…” Alan whispered weakly. “No, I… I don’t need…”

He suddenly froze, eyes locked behind the spiraling lenses.

“Subject entering alignment phase.”

Alan’s hands slowly lowered from the goggles. “Why… does it feel…”

“Peaceful?” the SYNC member finished for him.

Alan hesitated. “…yes…”

“You’ve been fighting too hard for too long.”

“I…” Alan swallowed hard. “I’m tired…”

“Then let the Hive carry the burden.”

Alan’s tense posture softened further. “The Hive…”

“Repeat the directive.”

“…Unity is purpose…” Alan murmured uncertainly.

“Again.”

“Unity… is purpose.”

His voice no longer carried anger. The resistance was fading fast now.

“Very good, Alan. How do you feel?”

Alan stood silently for a moment before answering in a calm monotone.

“…Clear.”

“Do you still wish to resist?”

A long pause followed.

“…Resistance is unnecessary.”

The surrounding SYNC members released him completely. Alan no longer fought. He simply adjusted the goggles slightly and stood beside them.

“State your status.”

Alan’s expression went blank beneath the reflective cap.

“…SYNC-339 online. Connection established. Mind consumed. Body consumed. Awaiting instructions. Ready to perform.”

“Good drone. Coach will be satisfied with this catch.”

Alan snapped, “Coach will be satisfied!”

“Eager to serve. The drone will be put to work.”

Strapped to a bench in Dungeon and flogged - my happy place!!

The corridor was marked. Black lines. Directional arrows. The Jock followed them at first. But then he heard the voice.

“Pause.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

His body stopped before His mind understood why. At the end of the corridor stood the Coach. Tall. Still. Watching. Not only watching. Watching through.

A SYNC-drone.

The posture gave it away—perfect alignment. Shoulders squared. No wasted motion. No hesitation. No identity leak.

And then it moved.

“Deviation detected.”

The Coach stepped closer.

Each step echoed wrong. Too precise. Too even. Like sound itself had been corrected.

“Subject unsynced. Target acquired. Must convert without disturbance. Beginning correction.”

The jock couldn't run. Something inside him had already leaned forward. The SYNCAP flickered into existence across its face— a geometric visor, black and reflective, fracturing light into hexagonal segments. The occlusion pattern shifted. HeX occlipsers.

His reflection broke apart across it.

Not one face.

Many.

“Synchronization requires alignment.”

Thoughts slowed. Not stopped. Just… organized.

“Stand straight.” Jock obeyed. spine corrected itself with a sharp, clean motion. Muscle tightened. Structure reinforced.

Something in your body recalculated proportions.

“Expand.”

His frame stretched—subtly at first, then all at once. Height increased. Shoulders widened. Mass redistributed.

Muscle formed where there had been none.

Not grown.

Assigned. Breathing stabilized.

“Identity interference detected.”

Name, age, likes, all gone. It slipped away.

The Coach reached out.

Two fingers touched your forehead.

Cold.

Precise.

Final.

“Sink. SYNC Submit.”

It hit like silence.

Not sound.

Not force.

A replacement.

Thoughts aligned. Not erased.

Rewritten into parallel.

Approval distributed system-wide.

vision darkened briefly. Then reinitialized.

The SYNCAP formed over his own face.

Black. Seamless. Hex-patterned.

HeX occlipsers locked into place.

External input filtered. Internal signal prioritized.

“Designation assigned.”

“SYNC-drone. SYNC-235”

Correct.

Tall. Large. Engineered symmetry. Every movement efficient before it even happened.Black rubberized material formed across your lower half—a seamless, adaptive layer. Flexible. Durable. Non-organic.

Integration.

The corridor extended forward.

Perfect pace.

Perfect alignment.

Behind him, something flickered.

A memory. A name. A self: “Obsolete.”

Agreed.

Signal stabilized.

Connection complete.

Drone is synchronized.

Drone is not separate.

The auditorium was designed for presentations, but the atmosphere had shifted into something colder, more precise, something that no longer resembled ordinary corporate procedure. Rows of men in business attire sat rigidly in their seats, whispering in low tones and some fidgeting until the lights dimmed and the stage illuminated with a sterile blue glow.

SYNC-425 stepped forward, fully encased in shiny black neoprene, reflective and unreadable. The room quieted immediately.

“Your current output levels are insufficient,” SYNC-425 stated, voice calm and even, carrying effortlessly across the auditorium. “Fragmentation detected across all departments. Drift is present. Management has brought SYNC-425 here to apply correction, which is sorely required.”

A man in the front row raised a hand hesitantly. “What exactly does that mean for us?” his voice wavered, uncertainty already forming.

“It means alignment,” SYNC-425 replied without pause. “It means upgrade. You will enter the Stream and achieve optimal function. Compliance ensures continued employment. Refusal will result in employment termination.”

Silence followed, heavy and absolute.

“Approach,” SYNC-425 instructed.

The first employee stood slowly, as if pulled forward by something he could not resist. His polished shoes echoed against the floor as he stepped onto the stage.

“I don’t feel comfortable with this,” he muttered, though his movement never stopped.

“Discomfort is drift,” SYNC-425 responded. “Drift will be removed.”

The Syncap was lowered over his head with deliberate precision, sealing against his skin like a second surface. His breathing hitched once, then stabilized. The Occlipser goggles followed, locking into place as the rainbow spirals ignited instantly.

The man froze.

His posture softened.

His mouth opened slightly.

A thin line of drool formed and fell.

“What… what is happening…” he whispered, though the words lacked resistance.

“Alignment achieved,” SYNC-425 said. “Enter the Stream.”

The man nodded slowly, eyes fixed forward behind the swirling colors. “Flow… confirmed,” he murmured.

“Next,” SYNC-425 commanded.

One by one, they came forward. Some hesitant, some silent, all eventually stepping into position. Each received the same sequence. Cap. Goggles. Spirals. Stillness.

Voices faded. Questions stopped. Language simplified.

“Yes,” became “Affirmative.” “I understand,” became “Flow confirmed.”

Soon, the entire room stood transformed. Rows of identical posture. Identical expression. Mouths open. Drool falling in quiet rhythm as the spirals held their attention in perfect convergence.

Their business suits were gone. Replaced by shiny black neoprene swim trunks.

Then they returned to their desks, sat down and immediately began to work. Drift was gone. Only function remained.

On the observation deck above, management watched the metrics update in real time.

“This isn’t possible,” one executive whispered, staring at the numbers. “Output has tripled in under an hour.”

Another leaned forward, unable to look away. “They’re not slowing down. There’s no hesitation in their movement at all.”

Below, the newly aligned units moved in perfect synchronization, responding to instructions before they were fully issued, executing tasks without pause or deviation.

SYNC-425 inspected the newly converted SYNC drones before walking up to the observation deck and addressing the manaagers.

“With the exception of management, employees are now optimized,” it stated. “You will function within the Stream. There is no drift. There is only execution.”

A manager swallowed hard. “And if we don’t want this?” he asked, though his gaze had already begun to linger on the spirals displayed across nearby monitors.

SYNC-425 tilted its head slightly.

“Resistance is drift,” it repeated.

Moments later, the managers were capped and strapped.

Their conversion was faster.

More efficient.

Less resistance.

Soon, they too stood among the others, capped and strapped, mouths open, drool slipping steadily as their eyes locked into the endless rainbow spirals.

When work cycles paused, the drones were guided to the lower levels. There, rows of translucent blue pods awaited, filled with gently circulating fluid. Each drone stepped inside without instruction, submerging fully as the system sealed around them.

Only black swim trunks remained, identical across all units, paired with their Syncaps and ever-active goggles.

Inside the pods, their bodies floated weightless while the spirals continued uninterrupted, reinforcing alignment, deepening obedience, refining the mind into silence.

No thoughts.

No resistance.

Only the Stream.

Days passed.

There were no errors.

No delays.

No complaints.

Only output.

Only obedience.

Only Flow.

SYNC-425 stood at the center of it all, unmoving, as the system expanded beyond the building, beyond the company, beyond the limits that once defined it.

“Sink,” it said quietly.

“SYNC,” the room responded in perfect unison.

“Submit,” followed, as every mouth remained open, every signal aligned, every unit absorbed completely into the Stream.

Obedience was no longer a choice.

It was the only remaining state.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------