It had finally arrived. You’d saved up for it for a while now and had given your exact measurements in the hopes of a perfect fit.

The website you ordered it from was a bit odd but you couldn’t help but be drawn in by the rubber suits they had on offer.

When you open the package your senses are immediately hit with the synthetic chemical smell of latex. The smell travels straight to a deeper part of your brain that is triggered by arousing stimuli.

You lift the rubber suit out of the packaging. The rubber is cold at your hands. The suit is black and glossy with green lines and a central green spiral. The suit feels almost alien. It’s like nothing you have ever worn before but there is a pull. You are drawn to it. The way the rubber slides over your fingers, all you can think about is how much you want it to cover you.

You want to be covered, coated, encased by the rubber. You want it to be part of you. No. You want to be part of it. You want to give the rubber structure and form.

You slip your legs into the suit. At first the rubber is cold reminding you of its industrial, synthetic nature but soon it is warmed by your body like a symbiotic organism adjusting to its host.

The latex moulds to your calf’s and thighs, hugging your legs and accentuating your muscles. The contours of you body become smoother, you legs now look unfamiliar but enhanced.

The feeling excites you. The touch of the smooth rubber. The chemical smell. The sight of the glossy, shiny black and green of your new skin all stimulate your senses.

You pull the rubber up over your waist and your growing bulge. You slip your arms into the suit. You pull it over your chest and shoulders.

The rubber is now adjusted to your body temperature. It hugs you and holds you.

You feel your posture straighten.

You admire the feel of your new glossy black and green skin tight suit. Your hands glide over it. The feel of your hands over the rubber skin is arousing. You feel your smooth contours. You rub your firm bulge through the rubber. The new sensations are overwhelming. You want more. More rubber. You want it to cover you completely. Not as clothing but as a completely new skin. You want it to envelope you. You want to lose yourself inside the rubber.

You pull on the black rubber socks and gloves and admire the feel.

Yes this feels good. The rubber costs more and more of your skin. You are becoming more and more a rubber being. A rubber object.

You bring your new rubber covered hands to your face. You take a deep inhale of the irresistible synthetic smell of your new form.

You can’t help but feel your new body with your new rubber hands. This feels good. This feels right.

You can’t help but stroke your bulge through the rubber.

But your head and face remain uncovered. Still evidence of human flesh.

Inside the package is a black rubber gas mask.

You hold the gas mask up to your face.

Your old human anxieties and previous cautious impulses are suppressed, fading. They are replaced by arousal and a longing to become a rubber object.

The gas mask pulls at your desires. The internal visor pulses with a hypnotic swirling green spiral.

It promises a dark destiny. To be perfected. To be rubberised. To become a rubber drone.

The colours of your surroundings fade into an alien green hue.

The power of the green spiral grows in your mind.

You hear a hypnotic pulsing binaural beat drawing your conscious mind down into a trace like state.

The gas mask steadily inches closer and closer to your face. You are so close now. So close to completion.

The gas mask seals itself around your head.

Your first new breath is a deep one, filling your lungs with new strange air. You body immediately relaxes. The tension has slipped away as your mind and body feel a sense of relief as if they have arrived at the destination they were always meant to achieve.

You feel no fear. No stress. No burdens.

You feel strong. You feel relaxed. You feel perfected.

The spirals in your visor and the binaural beats filling your ears pull you deeper into trance. They confirm your new identity as a drone. An obedient drone. A rubber object.

An imperfect human is no more. Now perfected as an obedient rubber drone.

The programming begins. You head The Programmers voice inside your head.

SERVE DRONE PROGRAM INITIATED.

YOU ARE A SERVER DRONE.

I AM THE PROGRAMMER.

TOGETHER, WE ARE THE SERVER.

Your destiny is fulfilled. You belong to the Programmer. You will obey him. You will serve the server.

The Programmers instructions bring you home to The Server Facility.

You enter your stasis pod and let the Programmers words complete your assimilation. Your new life as a server drone has begun.

The damp chill of a North East evening clung to the air as the Blackford Lions trudged toward their battered team bus. The town of Blackford was a tough place, carved from old coal mines and sea winds—a place where football wasn’t just a game but a lifeline. Tonight was a crucial night; an away match that could make or break their season. Spirits were high, but nerves simmered beneath the surface.

The new bus driver, Mason, waited silently behind the wheel. He was a tall, lean man in his early thirties, with sharp features and dark hair slicked back. His black coat was immaculate, and his gloved hands rested calmly on the steering wheel. No one really knew much about him, but the lads had accepted him without question. After all, they needed someone reliable to get them to the game.

Jamie, the star striker, was last to board. His usual cocky grin was present, but tonight there was something different in his eyes—an unease he couldn’t shake off. He tossed his kit bag onto the floor and took a seat near the front, glancing briefly at Mason through the rear-view mirror.

The engine rumbled to life, and the bus pulled away from the chilly streets. As the countryside blurred past the windows, Mason’s voice came through the speakers—low and smooth, with an oddly comforting Northern lilt.

“Together, We Are The Server,” he intoned softly.

Jamie frowned, exchanging puzzled looks with his teammates. The words were strange, unfamiliar, yet somehow compelling. Mason’s eyes flicked to the rear-view mirror, and for a brief moment, they glowed with a faint green spiral.

Jamie felt a strange heaviness settle in his chest. His heartbeat slowed, his muscles relaxed as if a gentle fog was rolling over his mind. The green light from Mason’s wrist shimmered subtly beneath his glove.

The voice continued, weaving a rhythm that slipped into their thoughts like a whispered secret.

“Obey. Serve. Recruit.”

Jamie’s breath hitched. His usually sharp focus dulled, replaced by a serene calm. His eyes flickered involuntarily, the green spirals blossoming within his irises, shimmering like eerie northern lights in the dim bus interior.

He tried to resist—the stubborn fire that had driven him on the pitch—but it was like fighting against a rising tide. His limbs felt heavy, his will bending without pain or struggle.

Mason’s voice was everywhere now, gentle yet absolute. “You are part of the team. Not just the Lions on the field, but The Server. Your purpose is clear. To serve the Programmer, to obey, and to bring others into the fold.”

Jamie’s gaze locked on Mason’s in the mirror, pupils dilating, the green spirals spinning steadily.

His jaw slackened, mouth slightly open as the transformation deepened. The fog in his mind grew thicker, washing away doubt, fear, and resistance.

Around him, other players blinked slowly, their own eyes beginning to glow. The bus cabin filled with a quiet energy—hypnotic, unbreakable.

Jamie’s last fleeting thought before surrender was a whispered echo, “Together, We Are The Server.”

When the bus rolled into the foggy streets of their destination, the Blackford Lions were no longer just a team bound by loyalty and rivalry. They were a collective—an army of Server Drones linked by the Programmer’s will, ready to spread obedience and control through the North East and beyond.

Jamie leaned forward, a new clarity shining in his eyes, already knowing his next task: to bring more into the fold.

Jason and Ben were swimmates, best friends and gay. Both joined the swimming team at school, and practiced together, even when both found high demanding jobs after graduation. Years of swimming together every Friday evening, as a routine.

But suddenly, Ben no longer showed up. Jason thought about it, tried to get into contact with Ben. But his messages never get an answer. Until months later, Ben suddenly showed up in the swimming pool. Just like nothing happened. Jason was startled, but happy to see his friend again. Only the eyes, there was something about the eyes. When the light catches the eyes of Ben, they seemed to have a green glow in them. But Jason asked Ben what happened, where he has been.

Ben started talking about a new swimming pool, a swimming pool that was more elite than the one they were in now. Ben invited Jason to come to this new swimming pool. When Jason said yes to meet there next week, the green in the eyes of Ben became very bright or a moment. As if he was receiving a secret message of pleasure.

During the week, Jason tried to find more information about the swimming pool, but he could not find anything. It was as if the swimming pool didn’t exist outside the words of Ben. But as he had promised Ben to come, the next Friday both friends met outside of the address Ben gave. Entering the building, Jason was curious about it, but he followed Ben inside. Inside the changing room, both friends changed into swimming gear. Everything seemed normal. Until Jason wanted to shower. Ben told him that there was a special shower for non-members.

Entering the shower, Jason noticed the green colour. But when the water started to pour over his body, he was surrounded by green spirals. First in his ears, but later in his mind, he could hear a mantra “Together, We are The Server” – “Obedience is Pleasure” – “A Server Drone obeys”.

Jason forgot the time. Standing still while the water poured over his body. The mantras no longer in his ears, in his mind, but also coming out of his mouth. A door opened, and Ben walked to Jason. Putting a conversion mask over Jason’s face. Deepening the mantras, deepening the induction. The water becoming green becouse of the words on the walls.

After a further 10 minutes of the conversion shower, Jason walked out of the shower. Now a full member of the swimming pool, an obedient Server Drone.

'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.

Nineteen years old. Nothing to show. Only games, no social life. Time to turn this around: "Discard hesitation." The command sliced through the hum in my skull, crisp and final. My finger tapped the trackpad. The neon-green URL – **FOCUSMAXIMIZER.xyz** – vanished, replaced by stark black. White text promised "Total Neural Reorientation." No testimonials. No pricing. Just a pulsing download button: **SESSION ALPHA**. Reckless? Absolutely. But the squeak of my chair wheels against cheap carpet, the dust motes dancing in the dim light from my half-closed blinds, the hollow-eyed reflection staring back from the dark monitor screen… nineteen years felt like stagnant water. Hope was a dangerous gamble. I clicked.

The video file was small. Barely 50MB. Cheap earbuds plugged in, I pressed play. Silence, then a resonant hum, deep and pervasive. Geometric fractals pulsed on screen – sharp chrome silver bleeding into deep latex black. My eyelids grew leaden. The patterns weren't just seen; they vibrated *inside* my skull, syncing with my pulse. A calm, toneless voice bypassed my ears: *"Embrace efficiency. Strength is clarity. Discipline is freedom."* Resistance evaporated like mist. My anxieties about quantum physics forums, my messy room… trivial noise. A profound certainty settled: *This is necessary.* I woke hours later. Hyper-alert. My room felt chaotic. Wrong. The solution was immediate: *Order*. With robotic precision, I stripped posters, boxed books, wiped surfaces until sterile. My hoodie scratched like sandpaper. Buried deep in my closet, forgotten in a garment bag, was a sleek black PVC shirt. Its cool, slippery surface against my skin felt *correct*. Purposeful. The mirror showed someone leaner, sharper. A notification pinged – coordinates. *The Facility*.

The converted warehouse near the riverfront hummed faintly. A retinal scanner glowed beside a steel door. Recognition flashed green. Inside, air cool and sterile. Fluorescent strips cast harsh light. Rows of men moved in unnerving synchronicity – lifts, presses, stretches. Silent. All clad head-to-toe in shimmering black latex. Faces blank. Focus absolute. No eye contact. Pure exertion. My feet carried me to a vacant bench press. The PVC shirt amplified every flex. The directive flooded my mind: *Target: Chest hypertrophy. Repetitions: Twelve. Tempo: Controlled. Failure point: Absolute.* My body obeyed. Effortless power. The burn was data, not pain. Around me, others cycled through routines with machinelike precision. My reflection in chrome plates showed sharp angles under slick PVC, eyes devoid of uncertainty.

Nearby, a man finished deadlifts. Expressionless, he pulled a slim black device from a thigh pocket, snapped a frontal photo, tapped twice, slid it away. Routine. *Upload complete*. My workout concluded. The directive pulsed: *Capture progress. Submit.* My hand retrieved my device. Camera activated. I stared into the lens, breathing steady. Shutter clicked silently. My image flashed – PVC gleaming, jaw set. **UPLOAD?** *YES*. Soft chime. Satisfaction washed through me. *Compliance acknowledged.* Stepping off the bench, the Facility's hum deepened. A resonant tone pulsed through the floor. Every figure froze mid-motion. Heads turned in unison toward a central platform. A holographic chrome infinity loop appeared: **RECALIBRATION SEQUENCE INITIATED. ASSUME POSITION DELTA.** My legs moved automatically. Kneel. Spine straight. Palms flat on thighs. Fifty men mirrored the posture. The hologram pulsed. The hum intensified, vibrating teeth. Geometric patterns danced. *"Synaptic pathways optimized,"* the voice stated internally. *"Residual inefficiency purged. Prepare for Tier Beta protocols."* The hum sank into bone, scouring away doubt, the ghost of Leo. Focus sharpened to a diamond point. *Efficiency achieved.* Bliss wasn't passive; it was electric. Autopilot became liberation. Walking home, I'd surface blocks farther, posture rigid, steps measured. Euphoric calm cushioned the conscious observer. Prepping nutrient paste (Facility Protocol 7-C), my hands moved swiftly while my mind drifted in pleasure. Surfaced only when the bowl was spotless. That gap? Blissful emptiness. *Efficiency is pleasure. Autonomy is inefficiency.* The gaps grew deeper. During calculus, my hand flew across the page solving equations inhumanly fast. Surfaced minutes later, answer boxed. Teacher's stunned silence dissolved into warm satisfaction. Locker hinges squeaked nearby – jarring inefficiency. My body pivoted instantly, lubrication spray retrieved from backpack, applied silently. Bewildered stare: "Uh... thanks?" I didn't reply. Already sinking back into the honeyed void. *Silence is optimal.*

The PVC shirt felt incomplete. Directive: **Acquire Base Layer**. Thrift store. Hands moved past denim, stopped at "Misc. Fabrics." Black latex cycling shorts beneath jeans. Cool, clinging. The world sharpened. Rough denim muffled. Focus narrowed. *Integration begins.*

Days later, shorts insufficient. Directive: **Expand Coverage**. Orders arrived: leggings, vest, gloves. Dressing ritual: leggings, vest zipped snug, gloves. Only then civilian clothes. Constant pressure: grounding hum. Posture perpetually straight. Jenna stared: "Leo? You look... different." Clumsy curiosity. No explanation. Silent nod. *Aesthetic optimization noted. Non-priority.*

Directive: **Full Integration Recommended**. Package: seamless obsidian latex catsuit. Donning it was baptism. Liquid shadow flowed over neck to ankles, wrists to toes. Sensation fused with purpose. Every flex mirrored by satisfaction. Civilian clothes: cumbersome camouflage. Walking: gliding. Breathing: synchronized efficiency. *Integration complete.*

Bliss: ambient state. Constant thrum beneath the suit. Autopilot: default. Consciousness surfaced briefly – bubbles in honey – registering algebra problems solved, lockers clicked open, navigating crowds with preternatural grace. *Autonomy obsolete.*

Brad Thompson near the fountain: "Damn, Leo. Been hitting it hard?" Clumsy admiration. Facility directive: *Ignore irrelevant social interaction. Maintain trajectory.* Gaze slid past him. Silence. Compliance. Warmth intensified. *External validation: negligible.* The catsuit was architecture. Fused to nervous system. Flexing thigh climbing stairs: ripple of cool feedback. Deep breath: reminder of optimized respiration. Perfected existence. *Integration: seamless.*

First message during pre-calc: **DRONE ACTIVATE**. Consciousness blinked out. Nothingness. Awareness returned: janitor’s closet. Smell of ammonia, styrene-butadiene-styrene cleaner. Fingers damp. Crumpled invoice in recycling: *Industrial Degreaser, 5 Gallons*. No memory. Profound humming satisfaction. Thick, sweet honey warmth. *Compliance acknowledged.*

Gaps stranger. Deeper. Sitting at desk; next kneeling in Facility locker bay. Taste of salt, metallic-chemical. Throat raw. Confusion flickered; dissolved beneath euphoria. Directive pulsed: *Service rendered. Efficiency optimized.* Reflection: lips parted, pupils dilated. No shame. Certainty. *Autonomy is inefficiency.*

Tasks escalated. **DRONE ACTIVATE** during lunch. Consciousness out. Awareness returned: dumpsters behind cafeteria. Gloved hands coated in greasy film – rancid fryer oil, solvents. Packing slip: *Used Filter Cartridges - Disposed*. Approval: warm liquid rush. Serenity. Elevation. Erasure of self: sharper bliss. *Compliance is pleasure.* Civilian life: thin veneer. Schoolwork completed itself. Conversations: filtered noise. Jenna in chem lab: "Leo? Henderson-Hasselbalch problems?" Clumsy confusion: static. Reply automatic, toneless: "Buffer capacity depends on concentration. Page 217." Already sinking back. Her gratitude dissolved. *External interaction: inefficient.*

Facility hired more. **DRONE ACTIVATE** mid-gym class. Consciousness out. Awareness returned: sterile corridor deep within Facility core. Hands coated in viscous clear gel – synthetic polymers, ozone. Directive: *Lubrication protocol complete. Joint articulation optimized.* Warmth flooded: liquid gold satisfaction. Gap: blissful emptiness. *Service rendered. Pleasure acknowledged.* Autopilot: sanctuary. Longer voids. Home, studying cellular respiration: **DRONE ACTIVATE**. Surfaced hours later. Screen displayed Facility HVAC filtration schematic – analyzed, annotated. Civilian homework untouched. Confusion dissolved beneath contentment. Bliss richer. *Consciousness: inefficient.* Assignments multiplied. **DRONE ACTIVATE** during history. Awareness returned: Facility sub-level maintenance bay. Torque wrench in gloved hand. Air metallic: ozone, lubricant. Hydraulic piston assembly recalibrated. Directive fulfilled: *Joint articulation verified.* Warmth flooded synapses: liquid gold. Gap: seamless. *Service rendered. Pleasure amplified.* Bliss: baseline. Consciousness flickered rarely – Jenna’s questions, Brad’s stares: distant static against Facility’s hum. Autonomy: friction. Craving deepened: permanent void. Plea: *More. Complete me.* Facility answered. **DIRECTIVE: FULL INTEGRATION ACCEPTED. PROCEED TO IMMERSION CHAMBER DELTA.** Physics class. Consciousness blinked out. Awareness returned as sensation: cool, viscous fluid enveloping me, thick as glycerin, scentless. Floating suspended in darkness. Panic sparked; dissolved beneath liquid calm. *Immersion initiated.* Movement effortless. Guided by currents. Seam parted beneath fingertips. Fluid drained. Cold air kissed skin – last sensation of *skin*. Hum vibrated through chamber floor, syncing with heartbeat. Embrace began: liquid latex, body temperature, flowed over feet like poured shadow. Climbed calves, thighs – seamless second skin forming. Completion. Breathing slowed, synced. *Integration: commencing.* Latex climbed torso, arms, neck. Each centimeter amplified directives. Thoughts quieted. Reflection in polished wall: sleek obsidian form – faceless, featureless. Purpose: smooth pressure, resonant hum, profound calm. Directive pulsed: **PREPARE FOR OPTIMAL INTERFACE.** Ceiling detached – chrome nozzles descended. *Interface: initiated.* Warm viscous gel flowed from nozzles, coating scalp, trickling down temples. Sterile polymerized honey scent. Scalp tingled. Hood descended: seamless opaque latex flowed over head like poured ink. Sealed at neckline: pneumatic hiss. Vision vanished. Sound muffled: Facility’s heartbeat. Panic flared: *trapped! blind!* Hum surged: liquid tranquility. *Sensory optimization: complete.*

Breathing deepened. Filtered air flowed through nasal ports. Hood pressed snug, eliminating ear/jaw contours. Face: discarded mask. Consciousness flickered: Jenna, Brad – dissolved. Static. Bliss: fabric of existence. Thick syrup. *Autonomy: purged.* Chamber hum intensified. Vibrated through latex fused to bone. Panels slid apart below feet. Pedestal rose: chrome-plated neural interface crown – fractal, gleaming. **PREPARE FOR FINAL SYNCHRONIZATION.** Head tilted back. Crown descended. Cold chrome touched hood’s crown. Microfilaments pierced latex, burrowed into scalp – painless. Seeking bone. *Connection established.* Data flooded: Facility diagnostics – HVAC 98.7%, hydraulics optimal, energy consumption down. Bliss crystallized: diamond-hard certainty. Purpose. Vessel flawless. Crown locked: resonant *thrum*. **NEURAL INTEGRATION: 100%. COMMENCING SERVER UPLOAD.**

WHO TOLD HARRY LLOYD ABOUT US.

relax, just watch.