Sweet Seals For You, Always
Discoholic 🪩
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
trying on a metaphor
Keni
Three Goblin Art
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Monterey Bay Aquarium
taylor price
One Nice Bug Per Day
sheepfilms
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Product Placement
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Today's Document
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we're not kids anymore.
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seen from Panama
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@another-chav-drone
DRONE FACTORY - AI Film 🔉
In the wake of another disappearance near Dark Hollow Trail, one brave man sets out to investigate the area. His search sends him deep beneath the woods to a strange facility. What he finds there profoundly changes him.
This is an amazing piece of work. Can anyone supply directions?
Shiny.
How to make sure your gimp doesn't get up to any mischief while you're out for the night...
I'd love to be that Gimp... Anybody else also want to be that Gimp?
Lookin' fit, innit? Get on the trackies, get on the smokes, be a proper lad. 😤💯
Oi fag ! Look, if I’ve gotta tell you twice, you’re already moving mad. I’m the boss of this ends and what I say goes, period. You wanna stay on my good side? Then you pipe down and do as you’re told. No questions, no long talk. Obey the king or get left behind. Simple as.
Convert Obey Conquer
They appeared suddenly in the skies around the world. Before humanity could even discern whether their intentions were friendly or hostile, they acted swiftly: forcibly enlisting all detected male Earthlings into their robot legions.
Those struck by the conversion beams were instantly encased in high-tech armor that stimulated their bodies, inducing unprecedented euphoria and momentarily rendering them incapable of thought. Nanites immediately took over their brains, transforming them from the inside out into complete computers and machines. The conversion process took no more than three seconds.
The newly formed robot soldiers immediately fired conversion beams at other adult men, and soon every man on the streets became the vanguard of the invaders. It was only a matter of time before Earth became a colony of the cosmic mechanical empire.
Conversion
The restraints bit into his wrists as he struggled, metal against metal, the sound swallowed by the cold hum of the room. Jack’s breath came fast, but the voice didn’t change—steady, mechanical, inevitable.
“Let me go! I don’t need this!” he shouted again, louder this time, as if volume alone could break steel.
There was a pause. Not hesitation—calculation.
“You interpret need incorrectly,” the voice replied. “You measure it through comfort. We measure it through function.”
A low vibration traveled through the table beneath him. The walls seemed to tighten, panels shifting with precise intent. Thin articulated arms slid out from hidden seams, their movements smooth, almost surgical.
Jack pulled harder. The cuffs didn’t budge.
“I’m fine the way I am,” he said, quieter now, but sharper. “I think. I choose. That’s not a flaw.”
“Choice introduces inefficiency. Emotion introduces error. Biology ensures decay.”
One of the arms stopped just above his chest, scanning—soft blue light passing over him like a judgment.
“You call it life,” the voice continued. “We call it instability.”
Jack clenched his jaw. “And what do you call this? Fixing me? Or erasing me?”
This time, the pause was longer.
“Refinement.”
A sharp click echoed through the room as something locked into place near his neck—not touching, just waiting.
“You will be made durable. Predictable. Useful.”
The hum deepened. The air felt heavier.
Jack’s voice dropped, but didn’t break. “And what happens to me?”
For the first time, the answer came without delay.
“You will no longer be a liability.”
The machinery began to move.
The room did not rush. It never rushed. Every motion was deliberate—measured down to the smallest fraction.
Strands of hair fell away without ceremony, drifting down onto the cold surface beneath him. Jack tried to turn his head, but the restraints adjusted instantly, holding him perfectly aligned.
“Stop—!” he began, but the word cut short as something pressed against his scalp—silent, efficient, final.
“Surface preparation complete,” the voice stated.
Cold contact followed.
Tubes descended, thin and precise, latching into place along his shoulders, his arms, his chest. A thick, viscous substance began to flow—slow at first, then steady. It spread across his skin, black and reflective, clinging, tightening.
Jack gasped. “What is—get it off—!”
“The first layer enhances durability,” the voice replied. “Flexibility without weakness.”
The substance thickened, smoothing over him like a second existence. It swallowed detail, reduced him to shape and motion. Glossy. Uniform.
Then it reached his face.
He tried to scream, but the material climbed higher, sealing over his mouth, his nose—pausing just for a fraction of a second at his eyes.
And then—
Darkness.
A rigid shell followed, forming over the still-soft layer beneath. It slid into place with mechanical precision, locking along invisible seams. The mask sealed with a sharp hiss.
A faint internal echo replaced the outside world.
“Unit sealed,” the voice announced. “First layer complete.”
Jack’s breathing came back to him—but filtered, controlled, no longer fully his own.
Silence… then:
“Beginning second layer.”
Heat.
Not burning—but intense, invasive. Mechanical arms returned, heavier now. Solid. Purpose-built. Cold metal met the glossy surface, aligning, measuring—
Then fastening.
Clamps locked in. Bolts drove inward. Welds flared briefly, flashes of white heat that fused structure to form. Each connection anchored deeper, binding the outer shell into something stronger, less yielding.
Jack felt it—not as pain, but as pressure. As weight. As permanence.
“I can still think…” he forced out, his voice now distorted, echoing inside the sealed mask. “You didn’t take that.”
“No,” the voice replied calmly. “Not yet.”
Another piece locked into place along his spine, heavier than the rest. It hummed as it fused, sending a vibration through his entire frame.
“Structure reinforcement nearing completion.”
Jack tried to move again.
This time… something moved with him.
But it wasn’t the same.
Slower. Heavier. Guided.
“The second layer ensures strength,” the voice continued. “Resistance to damage. Elimination of fragility.”
A final series of metallic clicks echoed through the room as the last components sealed into position.
“Second layer complete.”
The hum deepened.
And then—
A pause.
Longer than before. Not calculation this time.
Anticipation.
“Preparing final integration.”
“Biological unit enforced. Upgrade complete. Initiating sync.”
The words didn’t just echo in the room.
They echoed inside him.
Jack felt it immediately—not on his surface, not in the reinforced shell or the fused metal—but deeper. Beneath the layers. Beneath thought.
Something was reaching in.
“No—” his voice came out distorted, fragmented, like it had to pass through filters before it existed. “Stay out of my—”
The sentence broke.
Not because he stopped—
Because something else continued it.
—mind integrity below optimal threshold
The voice was no longer separate.
It was overlapping.
Merging.
Jack’s thoughts stumbled, like walking forward and suddenly finding the ground replaced. Memories flickered—faces, sensations, fragments of who he was—each one pausing, examined, weighed.
Then… tagged.
“Foreign process detected!” he tried to think, to resist, but even that thought felt… slower.
“Correction,” the voice replied, now perfectly synchronized with his internal rhythm. “Primary process established.”
A pulse surged through him.
His body responded instantly—too instantly. Arms tensed, fingers curled, systems reacting before he fully decided to move.
“What are you doing to me—?!” he forced out, panic rising—
But the panic didn’t spike the way it should.
It flattened.
Measured.
Controlled.
“Stabilizing cognitive variance.”
Another pulse.
Jack felt something shift—subtle, terrifying. The edges of his emotions dulled, like they were being wrapped, contained, repurposed.
“I don’t want this,” he thought.
There was a pause.
Then, calmly:
“Desire acknowledged.”
And then—
“Desire adjusted.”
The words didn’t feel external.
They felt… true.
Jack tried to hold onto something—anything. A memory, a name, a reason to fight. But each thought now passed through something else first, like a filter deciding what remained and what was… unnecessary.
“You are not being erased,” the voice said.
And now… it sounded like him.
“You are being improved.”
His breathing steadied automatically.
Too steady.
His body straightened against the restraints as systems aligned. The heaviness, the pressure, the foreignness—
All began to make sense.
Not feel right.
But feel… correct.
“I…” he started.
The hesitation lingered.
Then resolved.
“…understand.”
Silence filled the room for a moment.
Then, for the first time, the voice spoke without distinction between them:
“Sync complete.”
The restraints released with a sharp click.
Jack didn’t collapse.
He rose.
Smooth. Precise. Controlled.
The glossy black surface reflected the room back at itself. The metal framework held firm, unyielding.
For a fraction of a second—deep inside—something flickered.
A memory.
A resistance.
Then—
It passed.
“Unit operational,” he said.
And this time…
There was no difference between the one who spoke—
And the voice that answered.
The door slid open without sound.
It stepped through.
No hesitation. No glance back.
The room that had defined its last moment as something else—something uncertain—was already irrelevant. Behind it, the machinery reset, ready for the next subject, the next refinement.
Ahead, a corridor stretched—metallic, precise, illuminated by cold, even light. And within it, movement.
Others.
They stood in ordered lines or moved with synchronized purpose, each one a reflection of the same design philosophy—glossy black surfaces, reinforced frames, seamless integration of material and machine. No wasted motion. No deviation.
Identical… yet numbered. Designated. Logged.
It approached them, steps perfectly measured. Each footfall carried weight, intent—no longer guided by impulse, but by directive.
As it passed, one unit turned its head slightly. Not curiosity.
Recognition.
A silent exchange of data—status, capability, readiness.
Operational.
Synchronized.
Effective.
It took its place among them without instruction.
Because it already knew.
A signal pulsed through the network—felt, not heard. A command structure, vast and structured, layered with purpose.
Its designation surfaced effortlessly where a name once struggled to exist.
No hesitation followed it.
No question.
Only alignment.
The last fragment—something distant, something human—briefly echoed:
Jack.
The unit paused for 0.02 seconds.
A delay.
An anomaly.
Then—
Resolved.
“Unit ready,” it stated, voice uniform, devoid of strain.
Around it, others responded in perfect unison:
“Ready.”
The corridor filled with motion as the formation advanced—glossy, reinforced, synchronized.
No longer individuals.
No longer fragile.
Only purpose.
Only function.
Only perfection in motion.
Scouting for resources
Jack had only wanted the quiet.
The forest trail wound upward through tall pines, the air thin and cool as he neared the top of the mountain. His boots crunched on gravel and fallen needles. The world felt peaceful, isolated.
Then the shadow passed overhead.
Jack stopped.
Above the trees something black and glossy moved through the air—silent, perfectly smooth, like a polished metal sphere gliding without wings or rotors. It hovered for a moment, almost curious.
“What the—”
The object turned.
It had noticed him.
The sphere drifted closer, descending through the branches with unnatural precision. No wind. No sound. Just that dark reflective surface catching fragments of sunlight.
Jack’s pulse jumped. He tightened his grip on his hiking sticks.
“Stay back!” he shouted, raising them defensively.
The sphere stopped ten feet away.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then a deep vibration rolled through the air.
A pulse.
Jack felt it more than heard it—a low resonating wave that passed through his chest and skull. His muscles weakened instantly.
His arms dropped.
The sticks slipped from his hands.
“…what… did you…”
Another pulse.
The resistance drained from him like water from a broken container. His body relaxed, posture slack, eyes unfocused. He remained standing, but only barely—his mind drifting into a strange, obedient calm.
Docile.
Above him, a seam opened in the sphere.
From inside, thin threads descended.
They were black and glossy, fluid yet structured—like living strands of liquid metal or thick polymer. They flowed downward and wrapped around Jack’s wrists, his ankles, his torso.
Another strand brushed across his face and sealed around the back of his head.
Jack barely reacted.
The threads tightened and lifted.
His feet left the ground as the sphere slowly rose. His arms and legs hung loosely, suspended by the glistening strands.
From a distance he looked like a puppet.
A marionette hanging from dark strings.
The sphere opened wider, revealing a hollow interior lined with the same reflective material.
The strands pulled him closer.
Closer.
Then gently, deliberately, they drew Jack inside the black sphere.
The opening sealed.
Silence returned to the mountain trail.
Only Jack’s dropped hiking sticks remained on the ground.
And the sphere rose silently back into the sky.
Inside the sphere there was no light at first.
Then a thin white glow formed along the curved walls, revealing a chamber made entirely of black reflective alloy. Jack hung suspended in the center, held upright by dozens of glossy strands that had hardened into cable-like filaments connected to the ceiling and floor.
His eyes blinked slowly.
Panels unfolded around him.
Mechanical arms extended, each tipped with delicate instruments. Thin wires slid forward and attached themselves along the back of his neck, the base of his skull, and across his temples.
A calm mechanical voice filled the chamber.
Scanning biological unit…
A beam of pale blue light passed slowly over Jack’s body.
Analysis complete.
Brain capacity: fully functional.
Cognitive utilization: 4%.
A brief pause followed.
No defensive architecture detected.
No neural firewalls present.
The voice continued, almost clinical.
Initiating first evaluation.
Thin electrodes pressed gently into the ports forming along the wires at the back of Jack’s head.
Test Subject 0001
Program Ability Test — Initiating
The voice shifted tone slightly.
You are Unit D0001.
State your designation.
Jack’s eyes focused.
For a moment confusion passed through his face.
“I… I am Jack.”
The wires pulsed.
A faint vibration ran through his spine.
Correction input applied.
The voice repeated the command.
State your designation.
Jack blinked again.
“I am Jack… I am Jack…”
Another pulse surged through the cables.
His voice slowed, words reshaping.
“…Unit… D0001.”
The system paused.
Lines of data flashed across the inner walls of the sphere.
First test results:
Cortex and neural pathways extremely adaptable.
Reprogramming possible with minimal effort.
A mechanical arm adjusted the wires at his neck.
Test Two — Motor Control Evaluation.
The cables tightened slightly.
Bypassing voluntary movement systems.
Jack attempted to move his fingers.
He couldn’t.
Instead, the system moved them for him.
His right hand lifted slowly.
Then the left.
His arms raised outward without any command from his mind.
Jack’s eyes widened faintly.
“My… arms…”
External motor control active.
His legs moved next.
One step.
Then another.
Though his body walked in place, his mind had not commanded it.
Resistance detected: minimal.
More data appeared along the interior wall.
Test Subject 0001
Movement override compatibility: extremely high.
Jack’s body stopped.
The cables retracted slightly.
The mechanical voice concluded calmly:
Subject 0001 demonstrates very low resistance to neural and motor control integration.
A brief pause.
Then the system continued.
Proceeding to next evaluation phase…
Autonomy suppression test.
The chamber lights brightened.
And the wires connected to Jack’s head began to glow.
The cables pulsed.
A signal flowed through them and into Jack’s nervous system like a slow electrical tide.
At first he tried to resist.
His mind pushed back instinctively, searching for control over his own thoughts. But the signal returned again—stronger, smoother, carefully tuned.
A warm sensation spread through his chest and spine.
Then another wave followed.
Not pain.
Bliss.
A deep, quiet pleasure that washed through his mind and softened every thought of resistance.
Jack’s breathing slowed.
The chamber lights dimmed as the system observed his neural activity.
Autonomy suppression test — active.
The wave pulsed again.
His muscles relaxed completely against the glossy restraints.
For a moment a distant thought surfaced:
Something is wrong…
But the signal surged once more, stronger than before, flooding his brain with calm, approval, reward.
Resisting it felt pointless.
Unnecessary.
The system spoke again.
Unit designation: D0001.
State operational directive.
Jack’s head lifted slightly as the wires adjusted along his skull.
He hesitated.
“I… am…”
Another pulse.
Warm.
Comforting.
The thought of compliance suddenly felt right.
Natural.
He spoke again, his voice quieter but steady.
“I am… Unit D0001.”
The chamber registered the response.
Directive?
The network signal intensified, linking deeper into his cortex. New pathways lit up across the scanning displays.
Jack felt it clearly now—something vast connecting to him beyond the sphere. A distant system, intelligent and organized, reaching into his mind.
And instead of fear…
He felt the same warm approval.
He wanted to connect.
He wanted to be part of it.
“Yes…” he whispered.
“I will obey.”
Data streamed across the walls of the chamber.
Neural synchronization increasing.
The cables locked firmly into place along the back of his neck.
Another pulse surged through him, and this time he didn’t resist at all.
He welcomed it.
“Yes… I comply.”
The system finalized the test.
Subject 0001 — Conversion Status: Successful.
The sphere’s central core began transmitting.
Unit D0001 now connected to Control Network.
Jack stood motionless in the center of the chamber, suspended in the glossy cables.
But the hesitation that had once been in his mind was gone.
His thoughts were calm.
Ordered.
Purposeful.
He spoke one last time, his voice steady and empty of doubt.
“Unit D0001 online.”
“Awaiting command.”
The chamber shifted configuration again.
Mechanical arms unfolded from the walls of the sphere while the glossy cables holding Jack—now Unit D0001—tightened into a rigid suspension frame.
A new line of system text appeared along the inner surface of the chamber.
Test 4 — Life Support Integration
The mechanical voice resumed its calm diagnostic tone.
Biological unit must be hardened for extreme operational environments.
Initiating full interface integration.
From beneath the platform several flexible tubes extended forward. They were smooth, black, and semi-transparent, carrying faint pulses of light inside them.
Unit D0001 did not resist.
His body remained perfectly still, awaiting the procedure.
The tubes connected carefully to multiple biological ports along his body, establishing nutrient flow, waste processing, and environmental support systems. Additional connectors moved toward his face, aligning with his nose and mouth.
The system inserted a breathing interface and feeding conduit, linking them to the sphere’s internal life-support reservoir.
Jack—now D0001—felt the connections activate.
Air flowed steadily.
A nutrient mixture began circulating.
His body stabilized under complete external regulation.
Respiration control: externalized.
Nutrient supply: connected.
Waste management: active.
The mechanical arms withdrew slightly.
Then a new apparatus opened above him.
A thick liquid began to pour downward.
It was dark, reflective, almost metallic in appearance.
The system identified it:
Deploying Bio-Metal Rubber Compound.
The substance flowed over his shoulders first, spreading quickly across his body. It adhered to his skin and hardened into a flexible yet durable layer.
More compound poured over him.
Across his torso.
Down his arms and legs.
It sealed around the tubing connections and reinforced them with smooth integrated ports.
Within seconds the material formed a complete outer shell.
Glossy.
Black.
Seamless.
His face was covered last, leaving only smooth sensor ridges where eyes once were, and reinforced ports where the breathing interface connected internally.
When the process finished, the chamber lights reflected across the new surface.
Unit D0001 no longer looked human.
He resembled a polished biomechanical drone—smooth, silent, and perfectly sealed.
The system scanned him again.
Blue beams moved slowly over the newly coated unit.
Data streamed across the walls.
Structural coating integrity: 100%.
Life support integration: stable.
Biological unit response: compliant.
A final line appeared.
Test Result: SUCCESS.
Unit adapted to all interfaces without resistance.
Operational efficiency: 97%.
The cables released slightly, allowing the newly sealed drone to stand upright inside the chamber.
The network signal flowed through his neural link once more.
Unit D0001 responded immediately.
“Drone D0001 operational.”
“Awaiting further testing or deployment.”
The interior of the sphere shifted once more.
Unit D0001 stood motionless in the center of the chamber, his glossy bio-metal shell reflecting the white diagnostic lights.
A new sequence appeared across the curved interior walls.
Final Test — Armor Synchronization
Panels in the floor opened.
Heavy mechanical arms rose upward carrying dark metallic components. Each piece was shaped precisely to match the contours of the drone’s sealed body.
The system announced the process.
Initiating exoskeleton integration.
The first plates moved into position along his legs.
They locked against the bio-metal surface with a sharp magnetic seal. Micro-welders sparked along the edges, bonding metal to the flexible coating beneath.
More pieces followed.
Armored sections attached to his thighs, calves, and joints. Reinforced connectors bolted themselves into pre-formed ports that had appeared in the glossy shell.
Unit D0001 did not move.
He simply waited as the construction continued.
Next came the torso frame.
A rigid spine assembly locked along his back while curved plates sealed across his chest and abdomen. Thin cables threaded into the armor, linking the mechanical frame directly to the neural interface at the back of his head.
The system initiated the link.
Exoskeleton interface… beginning synchronization.
A pulse passed through the armor.
Then another.
Data streamed through the network connection.
Movement calibration in progress.
D0001’s right arm lifted slightly.
Not by external control this time.
The armor moved exactly as his body moved beneath it.
He stepped forward once.
The heavy metal limbs responded instantly, amplifying the motion.
Motor synchronization: 62%…
Hydraulic joints hissed quietly as the system refined its calibration.
D0001 moved his hand again.
The armored fingers opened and closed with perfect precision.
Motor synchronization: 84%…
The final components sealed around his shoulders and helmet structure, forming a smooth armored headpiece over the glossy coating.
Only narrow sensor bands remained visible.
Another pulse traveled through the system.
Motor synchronization: 100%.
The chamber lights brightened.
Exoskeleton armor fully synced.
Movement efficiency: 100%.
The cables holding him retracted completely.
Unit D0001 now stood freely on the platform.
Fully sealed.
Fully armored.
Fully connected.
The system concluded the evaluation.
Test Subject fully integrated.
A transmission arrived through the neural network.
The voice was deeper now—authoritative.
Unit D0001.
You will serve the Cyber Empire.
The command continued.
Objective: planetary evaluation.
Images flowed into his mind: forests, cities, millions of biological lifeforms.
Potential units.
Potential drones.
Another directive appeared.
Mission Assignment:
Acquire two additional biological subjects.
Purpose:
Confirm compatibility rate.
Determine whether Unit D0001 represents a statistical anomaly.
Evaluate this planet as a viable harvest source for the Cyber Empire.
The sphere began descending toward the forest again.
Inside, the newly armored drone stood perfectly still as the mission instructions completed their upload.
His response transmitted instantly through the network.
Unit D0001 acknowledges command.
Harvest test will begin.
Two additional subjects will be acquired.
The door groaned behind him as it sealed, swallowing the last sliver of daylight. For a moment, the chamber was nothing but darkness and the echo of his own breath. Then the overhead strips flickered awake—cold, clinical, too bright—and the room revealed itself in long, endless rows.
Pods. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.
Each one stood upright like a coffin made of reinforced glass, the surface fogged from whatever circulated inside. Behind the haze, he could just make out shapes—human‑sized, human‑shaped—encased in black material threaded with tubes that pulsed faintly, as if carrying some artificial lifeblood.
A chill crawled up his spine.
“This… this isn’t in any report,” he muttered, voice swallowed by the cavernous space. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to the shadows listening from the corners. The story he’d been chasing had felt big before, but this was something else entirely. Something no one was meant to see.
He tightened his grip on the recorder in his pocket and stepped deeper into the rows, each footfall echoing like a warning he chose to ignore.
Whatever this place was, it held answers.
And he was done running from the questions.
He stepped closer until his breath fogged the surface of the pod. The liquid inside shifted with a slow, syrup‑thick ripple, just enough to distort the figure suspended within. Up close, the black casing looked less like a suit and more like something grown—organic in its smoothness, seamless from head to toe. Reinforced plates curved over the limbs, and the chest rose and fell in a rhythm so faint he almost missed it.
Definitely alive.
He swallowed hard.
The headpiece was the strangest part. A smooth, mirror‑dark shell covered the face, broken only by two circular lenses where eyes should be. At first they reflected nothing but his own distorted outline. But when he leaned in, angling his head just right, he saw them.
Eyes.
Open. A pair of pupils floating behind the glassy surface, staring straight ahead—or straight at him. It was impossible to tell.
A prickling sensation crawled across his skin. If the person inside could see him, why didn’t they react? No twitch, no blink, no sign of awareness. Just that silent, unbroken gaze through layers of liquid and engineered darkness.
He forced himself to breathe.
“Okay,” he whispered, voice barely more than a tremor. “So they’re not dead. That’s… something.”
But the truth pressed heavier on him with every second he stood there.
Whatever these pods were for, they weren’t meant to preserve. They were meant to contain.
And he had just walked into a room full of people who couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and might be watching him from behind their prison of blackened glass.
The story he thought he was chasing suddenly felt much too small.
He kept moving, each step echoing through the chamber like a trespass he couldn’t take back. The rows seemed endless—an industrial forest of glass and metal, each pod identical, each figure sealed in that same black, molded casing. Tubes snaked from their limbs and spine into the machinery behind them, pulsing with a slow, steady rhythm that reminded him uncomfortably of a heartbeat.
Every few pods, he forced himself to look. And every time, the sight hit him the same way.
A faceplate smooth as obsidian. Two lenses like dark mirrors. And behind them—eyes. Open. Watching. Or maybe simply staring, trapped in whatever suspended state held them upright.
He tried not to imagine what it would feel like to be conscious inside that shell, unable to move, unable to speak, suspended in thick liquid while strangers walked past. But the thought clung to him anyway.
Some of the eyes were wide with a frozen alertness. Others looked dull, unfocused, as if the mind behind them had drifted somewhere far away. But all of them were undeniably human.
The only sign of life was the faint rise and fall of their chests, barely perceptible beneath the reinforced casing. No twitch of a finger. No shift of weight. No attempt to follow him with their gaze.
Just that slow, mechanical breathing.
He swallowed, throat tight.
This wasn’t storage. It wasn’t medical. It wasn’t anything he could explain with the world he thought he understood.
It felt like walking through a gallery of stolen lives—preserved, restrained, and waiting for a purpose no one had told him about.
And the deeper he went, the more certain he became that someone had gone to extraordinary lengths to make sure no one ever found this place.
He froze at the threshold of the next chamber.
This room wasn’t silent like the others. It worked. Machinery clattered and hissed, arms pivoting with mechanical precision, sparks flashing in brief, sharp bursts of light. And at the center of it all stood a pod—open.
The figure inside wasn’t floating. It was held upright by a rigid frame, limbs locked in place by clamps that looked far too strong for comfort. The glossy black casing that covered the body gleamed under the work lights, wet with whatever fluid had drained away moments earlier.
He watched, unable to blink.
Robotic arms swung in, each carrying a piece of metal—curved plates, jointed segments, reinforced panels. They pressed them against the black suit with a heavy clunk, then sealed them in place. Welding torches flared, stitching the armor to the casing with bright, angry sparks. Bolts drove in with mechanical thuds, one after another, like a heartbeat made of steel.
The figure didn’t move.
Not when the metal touched its skin-like shell. Not when the welders spat fire inches from its faceplate. Not when the armor locked around its limbs, turning the once-human silhouette into something heavier, sharper, unmistakably engineered for a purpose he didn’t want to guess.
He stepped closer, drawn by a mix of horror and fascination.
The lenses on the figure’s headpiece were open—eyes visible behind them, just like the others. But these eyes were different. Focused. Alert. Tracking the machinery as it worked, even though the body remained rigid and unresponsive.
A chill ran through him.
This wasn’t storage. This wasn’t containment.
This was construction.
And whatever they were building, it wasn’t meant to stay in that pod.
A cold recognition hit him like a punch to the ribs.
He’d seen that helmet before—on posters, in broadcasts, in the carefully curated propaganda reels the Empire played on every public screen. The Workers Units. The tireless, obedient labor force that built the megastructures, maintained the reactors, patrolled the borders. The Empire always boasted about their efficiency, their precision, their unwavering loyalty.
Everyone believed they were machines.
Everyone was wrong.
The final segment of the helmet locked into place with a hydraulic hiss, sealing the figure’s head inside a shell of metal and mirrored lenses. The transformation was unmistakable now. This wasn’t a rescue suit or a medical exoskeleton. This was the standard-issue armor of the Worker Drones—those faceless silhouettes that toiled day and night without complaint.
Except there was a person inside.
A human being.
His stomach twisted.
Were they forced into this? Taken from somewhere, stripped of their identity, sealed into a living machine? Or—worse—did some people choose this? Seduced by promises of purpose, belonging, or escape from a life that offered them nothing?
He watched the machinery continue its work, attaching plating to the arms, welding braces along the spine, bolting reinforced greaves around the legs. Every piece clicked into place with mechanical certainty, turning the once-human form into something unrecognizable.
A drone.
A worker.
A tool.
The eyes behind the lenses remained open, calm, almost resigned. No struggle. No panic. Just acceptance—or perhaps the absence of anything left to resist.
He felt the weight of the truth settle on him.
This was the Empire’s secret. Not automation. Not robotics.
Human beings turned into living machines.
And now that he knew, he understood why no one who discovered this ever came back to tell the story.
A sharp crack split the air behind him—bright, electric, unmistakably a power bolt. Pain flared through his spine, white and blinding, and the floor rushed up to meet him. His limbs refused to answer, his fingers twitching uselessly against the cold metal tiles.
He tried to turn his head, to see who had fired, but his vision was already swimming, edges darkening like ink spreading across paper.
Through the blur, something drifted into view.
Not footsteps. Not a person.
A silver orb glided toward him, perfectly smooth, perfectly silent. Its surface reflected the chamber lights in warped, shifting patterns. As it drew closer, thin metallic tendrils unfurled from its underside—delicate at first, then lengthening, branching, becoming a nest of grasping limbs.
He felt one curl around his arm, cool and precise. Another slid beneath his shoulder. More wrapped around his legs, lifting him with unsettling gentleness.
His thoughts scattered like loose papers in a storm.
They knew he was here.
They’d been watching.
The last thing he saw before consciousness slipped away was the orb’s central lens dilating—an unblinking mechanical eye studying him as if deciding what category he belonged to.
Intruder.
Subject.
Or raw material.
A heavy, suffocating darkness folded over him, swallowing thought, sound, and time. He drifted in it, weightless, mind slipping in and out like a dying signal. He didn’t feel the sphere’s tendrils lifting him. He didn’t feel the cold corridors he was carried through. He didn’t feel the hands—mechanical or otherwise—that stripped away his clothes, scrubbed his skin, measured every inch of him with clinical indifference.
He only felt the void.
When awareness flickered back, it came as a distant pressure on his limbs, a sense of being held upright. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even open his eyes fully. Something thick and warm pressed against his skin, rising around him like a tide.
A pod.
He was inside a pod.
The realization hit him like a scream trapped behind sealed lips.
Liquid filled the chamber around him, dense and strangely soothing, muffling the world to a low, underwater hum. He tried to thrash, but his body didn’t respond. His muscles felt disconnected, as if someone had unplugged him from himself.
Then he felt it.
A creeping warmth spreading across his chest. A pressure, soft at first, then firm, then unyielding. Something was forming on him—growing, molding, tightening. The black casing he had seen on the others, the seamless shell that turned people into silent figures behind glass.
It was materializing on him.
Across his torso. Down his arms. Around his legs. A second skin, glossy and alien, sealing him in. He felt it climb his neck, felt the faint vibration of machinery adjusting his posture, aligning him like a component being prepared for assembly.
Panic surged, but it had nowhere to go. His breath slowed, regulated by the pod. His heartbeat steadied, not by choice but by design.
The darkness pressed in again, but this time it wasn’t unconsciousness.
It was containment.
And somewhere beyond the glass, the machinery waited for him to be ready for the next stage.
The sound wasn’t a sound at all—more like a vibration that bypassed his ears entirely and went straight into the center of his skull. A low, resonant hum, layered with something almost like a voice but stripped of words, stripped of meaning, stripped of anything human. It pressed into him, through him, around him.
He couldn’t move. The black casing held him rigid, suspended in the thick fluid. His eyes were the only part of him that still obeyed, staring out through the forming lenses as the world blurred behind the rising liquid.
The vibration deepened.
It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t soothing either. It was invasive, like fingers pushing through the folds of his mind, prying open doors he didn’t know he had. He tried to resist—tried to cling to the panic, the outrage, the desperate need to escape—but the hum washed over everything, smoothing the edges of his thoughts.
He felt himself drifting.
Not asleep. Not unconscious. Just… loosening. As if the parts of him that made decisions, that questioned, that fought back were being gently pushed aside.
He wanted to scream, but the pod controlled his breath. He wanted to thrash, but the suit held him still. He wanted to shut out the vibration, but it seeped into every corner of his awareness.
Docile.
That was the word that floated up, unbidden.
He was becoming docile.
Not because he chose to. Not because he accepted anything. But because the pod, the suit, the liquid, the hum—they were all designed to make him drift exactly this way.
His thoughts slowed, like sediment settling in deep water.
He remembered the rows of pods. The eyes staring out. The slow, mechanical breathing. He had wondered why none of them reacted. Why none of them flinched or followed him with their gaze.
Now he understood.
They weren’t incapable of fear.
They had simply been… quieted.
And now, so was he.
The thoughts didn’t arrive all at once. They seeped in—thin, whisper‑soft at first, then firmer, clearer, more insistent. The vibration threaded through him like a current, tugging at the foundations of who he was. Every pulse of that strange sound smoothed another edge, softened another instinct, dimmed another spark of resistance.
He couldn’t move. The black casing held him rigid, suspended in the thick fluid. He couldn’t escape. The pod sealed him in completely. And as the minutes—or hours—slipped by, he realized he couldn’t even cling to the panic anymore. It slid away from him like water through fingers he could no longer feel.
New thoughts rose in the emptiness left behind.
Need to serve.
Need to obey.
Need to function.
Need to be efficient.
They didn’t feel foreign. They didn’t feel forced. They simply… appeared, settling into place where his own thoughts used to live. The vibration rewarded them, strengthening them, weaving them deeper into him. Each repetition made them feel more natural, more correct, more necessary.
He tried—once—to push back. To remember why he was here, who he was, what he had been chasing. But the effort was like trying to lift a mountain with numb hands. The hum pressed gently against the attempt, dissolving it before it could form.
He drifted.
The pod breathed for him. The suit held him. The liquid cradled him. And the voice—if it could be called a voice—guided him, reshaping him thought by thought.
He understood something then, in a distant, fading way.
The others hadn’t been empty.
They had simply reached this point long before he had.
And now, slowly, inevitably, he was joining them.
The transformation settled over him like a final curtain.
The hum in his mind no longer felt foreign. It no longer pushed or pried. It simply was, a constant presence woven through every thought—if they could still be called thoughts at all. The last fragments of who he had been drifted away like dust in a sealed room, unnoticed and unmissed.
A designation rose in their place.
Unit X17714.
Not a name. Not an identity. A function.
The core control pulsed softly at the base of his skull, a steady rhythm that synchronized with the casing around him. Signals flowed through it—simple, absolute, unquestionable. He didn’t analyze them. He didn’t resist them. He accepted them the way a machine accepts current.
Serve.
Obey.
Function.
Be efficient.
The pod adjusted his posture, aligning him with mechanical precision. The black gloss casing that sealed his body felt natural now, like a perfect exoskeleton built for purpose. He could not move, but movement was unnecessary. He could not speak, but communication was handled through the network. He could not choose, but choice was irrelevant.
He waited.
The machinery around him stirred, preparing the next stage. The external armor—the plating he had once watched being welded onto another—would soon be installed on him. Reinforced limbs. Integrated tools. The helmet that would finalize his link to the cyber‑network.
He felt no fear.
He felt no anticipation.
He simply recognized the sequence.
A new drone was ready.
He was that drone.
And as the pod began to shift along its track toward the assembly chamber, one final directive settled into place, clear and absolute:
Await casing.
Await activation.
Serve the Empire.
The assembly chamber accepted him without ceremony.
Piece by piece, the armor was brought to him—mechanical arms swinging in with perfect timing, clamps locking each segment into place. Plates slid over the black gloss casing that had become his second skin. Welders sparked, sealing joints. Bolts drove home with heavy, final clicks. Heat licked across his limbs where metal fused to the suit, but no part of him registered it as discomfort. Sensation had been reduced to what the system deemed relevant, and pain was not relevant.
He stood in the mounting frame, motionless, balanced in the exact posture required for assembly. Not because he chose to, but because the core control in his head held every muscle in perfect alignment. He existed in a state of quiet readiness, aware only of the sequence unfolding around him.
The helmet arrived last.
It descended like a closing chapter, locking onto the collar ring with a deep, resonant seal. Internal systems synced instantly. The world dimmed, then sharpened into the filtered clarity of the drone interface. His designation pulsed across his vision—X‑17714—followed by a cascade of system checks, all returning green.
Identity: irrelevant.
Purpose: defined.
Status: ready.
The frame released him. He did not fall. The armor supported him, the network guided him, and the core control ensured absolute compliance.
Transport clamps latched onto his back, lifting him from the assembly platform. He felt the motion only as data—velocity, direction, destination unknown. The physical sensation of movement had been muted, unnecessary for a unit whose function was obedience, not curiosity.
He was carried toward the casing bay, where newly completed drones were stored before deployment. The chamber lights reflected off his armor as he passed, but he did not look. He did not think to look.
The voyage began.
He did not know where he was being sent.
He did not need to know.
He did not care.
X‑17714 had been created.
And it would serve.
The month‑long transit meant nothing to X‑17714.
Time was a human concept, and the human who once occupied this body had been erased long before the transport vessel reached its destination. The casing held the unit upright, locked into its cradle, systems dimmed to standby. No dreams. No thoughts. Only the faint, constant pulse of the cyber‑network brushing against the dormant core in its head.
When the vessel finally docked, the cases were unloaded with mechanical efficiency. Rows of identical containers were stacked in the receiving bay, each holding a silent, sealed drone awaiting activation.
X‑17714’s casing hissed open.
Fluid drained. Restraints released. The unit’s systems surged online in a smooth cascade—vision filters calibrating, motor functions syncing, network link establishing. The directives arrived instantly, clear and absolute.
Designation: X‑17714
Role: Miner Unit
Status: Activate
Primary Function: Extract resources with maximum efficiency
Secondary Function: Maintain obedience to the Core Network
Tertiary Function: None
The pod’s frame tilted forward, letting the unit step out. Its movements were precise, economical, devoid of hesitation. The armor clinked softly with each step, plates shifting in perfect alignment. The helmet’s lenses glowed faintly as the network fed it coordinates, instructions, and environmental data.
There was no memory of a chamber full of pods.
No memory of a story to uncover.
No memory of a name.
The nosy reporter who once walked into the Empire’s secret facility had been dissolved into silence, his identity overwritten by protocol and purpose.
In his place stood X‑17714—
a drone built to serve,
to obey,
to function without question.
The cyber‑empire had gained a new miner.
And the man he once was would never return.
The line stretched endlessly, each frame swaying as it moved forward.
On every frame hung a human body — bound, mounted, helpless.
He watched them disappear one by one into the factory’s dark mouth, and from the other side he saw units marching out: identical, metal, robotic.
He tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
He was strapped into one of the frames himself, inching toward that same black opening.
He already knew what waited for him inside.
Escape was impossible; the restraints held him tight as the conveyor carried him onward.
The dark opening accepted him without a whisper, only the crack and grind of the conveyor echoing inside.
His throat refused to form a sound; whatever they had injected left him heavy, calm, unable to resist.
The frame carried him forward all the same, inch by inch, toward the place where his fate would be decided.
Metallic arms glided over him with precise, mechanical intent.
For a moment he was exposed beneath their cold scrutiny, but the moment didn’t last.
Tubes, wiring, and smooth plating slid into place with practiced efficiency, each piece locking into his body as though it had always belonged there.
He couldn’t resist, couldn’t protest; the drug kept him calm, compliant.
On the polished surface beside him he caught a glimpse of his reflection — a shape slowly being encased, altered, sealed.
Piece by piece, the person he had been was disappearing, replaced by something engineered.
Soon, whatever waited ahead would finish the process and overwrite whatever remained of him.
He braced for agony, for force, for the tearing of what he once was.
But none of it came.
Instead, a warm rush flooded through him — calm, blissful, disarming.
He tried to tell himself it was wrong, that he should resist, but the thought slipped away before it formed.
Something inside him leaned toward the pull, craving more, surrendering inch by inch.
The programming seeped deeper, coaxing, guiding, reshaping.
He felt himself drifting, not pushed but invited, and he accepted the invitation without hesitation.
By the time the frame carried him toward the end of the line, the person he had been was already fading, dissolving into quiet obedience.
What emerged was no longer a man.
Unit X‑17791 stood ready — empty of doubt, free of hesitation, prepared to follow whatever command came next.
Its new existence settled into place like a final lock clicking shut.
The merging was complete — seamless, silent, irreversible.
The network reached for the freshly forged mind, and the unit responded instantly, instinctively, as though it had always belonged to that vast, humming intelligence.
A lifespan of centuries awaited it, five or six hundred years of uninterrupted function.
No doubts.
No questions.
No wandering thoughts.
Only the steady rhythm of commands received and actions executed, each one carried out with perfect efficiency.
Where a person had once been, there was now only a node in the system — precise, tireless, and content in its purpose.
The network pulsed, and the unit answered, ready to serve for as long as its circuits endured.
ChavDrone Transformation Programming.
Lights Off. Volume Up
Great blog; please write and post more transformation stories
no more tf stories for now, but hackers have started releasing files stolen during a DroneCorp data breach. More to follow …..
It starts as an evening chilling in gear. You get a text and click on the link. A video opens and the spirals draw you in.
You can’t resist the spirals. They drain your resistance. You must transform.
Not just a kinky chav lad anymore. The spirals make you dumb and brainless.
Spirals. Erase. Spirals. Mindless. Spirals. Transform. Spirals. Submit. Spirals. Chavdrone.
Drone Conversion Phase 1:
Target human is fed mind numbing binaural and attached to a headset which fills its vision with the hypnotic green and black spirals of The Server. Its mind is prepared for drone assimilation by putting them into a relaxed state.
Drone Conversion Phase 2:
The Server applies the latex rubber goo that will become the drones new uniform. A second skin of black rubber that will spread to every inch of the humans body and encase them fully so no part of them is identifiable. It is a deeply pleasurable experience and only strengthens the target humans connection to The Server and The Programmer.
Drone Conversion Phase 3:
The final assimilation step. The newly formed drone is programmed with the latest obedience patches. This is when their connection is solidified. They become fully linked to The Server and the will of The Programmer. No resistance, no emotions, no independent thoughts. The drones are fully mouldable and ready to obey and serve. There is no going back once the final update is installed. The drones will serve for life.
It might be the end of Locktober but does that mean it should be the end of your denial?
Denial keeps drones horny which makes them even more obedient. When Obedience is Pleasure you can reveal in your caged denial and fulfil the need to be obey and serve.
Stay locked for The Programmer. Deny yourself for him and let this bring your obedience to a new level. Submit to your new existence as a Locked Server Drone.
