Marc stopped short beside his car, patting down his pockets with growing urgency. “Oh, shit—I forgot my keys,” he muttered under his breath, the words carried on a frustrated exhale. His hands came up empty, and he gave a sharp, irritated scoff. “Guess I’ll have to go back.”
A few feet away, Derrick was unlocking his own car. He froze at Marc’s words and looked over, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? You sure you don’t just want a ride home? That new security system’s been giving people trouble—you really want to risk setting it off in the middle of the night?”
Marc smirked, the kind of casual grin meant to downplay the situation. “Worst case, I play dumb and get a slap on the wrist. No big deal. I’ll be fine.”
Derrick let out a doubtful breath, clearly unconvinced, but he didn’t press the issue. “Your call,” he said, shrugging as he slid behind the wheel. The car engine rumbled to life, headlights cutting across the parking lot before the vehicle rolled away.
Left alone, Marc turned toward the looming building. The overhead lamps buzzed faintly, their glow stretching his shadow long and thin across the asphalt. For the first time that night, he felt the stillness settle over him as he made his way back inside.
Inside the building, the quiet pressed in around him. The usual background hum of office life was gone—no chatter, no printers spitting out paper, just the faint buzz of the fluorescents and the hollow echo of his own footsteps. He walked briskly toward the elevator, already picturing his keys sitting uselessly on his desk.
The ride upward was uneventful, numbers ticking by with the speed of molasses. Marc sighed, rolling his shoulders, impatient for the ordeal to be over. When the doors slid open with a muted chime, he stepped forward—only to stop short.
Someone was waiting in the hallway.
The man’s entire body was sealed inside a black rubber suit that gleamed unnaturally under the lights. Silver gloves and boots gleamed in sharp contrast, and bold metallic lettering cut across his chest: SERVE-086.
Marc blinked, trying to place the face beneath the harsh shine. It was oddly familiar, but drained of all personality—expressionless, eyes cold and unfocused, like looking at someone half-asleep with the lights still on.
“You are trespassing in SERVE security zone 1324-A,” the figure said flatly. “Present authorization or you will be detained.”
Marc gave a short laugh under his breath. “Seriously? I work here. Just left my keys behind. Grab and go, no problem.”
“Negative. Trespasser will follow SERVE-086. Non-compliance will result in force.”
Marc groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh, come on. Fine. Whatever.” He lifted his hands slightly in mock surrender, more annoyed than worried. “Lead the way, robo-cop.”
Marc followed, dragging his feet a little, as the drone led him through unfamiliar corridors. The lighting here was dimmer than the office spaces he knew, casting the sterile walls in washed-out tones. Reinforced doors punctuated the passage at regular intervals, each one humming faintly with electronics. Security cameras swiveled with unnerving precision, tracking his every movement.
Other figures passed them silently—men clad in the same glossy black suits, silver gloves and boots gleaming under the overhead lights. None acknowledged him. Their blank faces didn’t so much as twitch. Marc tried to tell himself it was just some kind of uniformed patrol, maybe overkill for corporate security, but the longer he walked, the harder it was to believe.
Eventually, SERVE-086 halted before a heavy door stamped in stark lettering: SERVE MAIN HUB. Without a word, the drone motioned him inside.
Marc stepped over the threshold and froze.
The chamber was lined with sleek, coffin-like pods, each one glossy black, thick cables coiling across the floor like veins. Some pods gaped open, waiting; others were sealed tight, and behind their tinted glass Marc could just make out motionless shapes, bodies rigid and waiting in unnatural stillness. The sight prickled the back of his neck.
“Trespasser will enter detention pod,” the drone commanded flatly.
Marc scoffed, throwing his hands up. “Yeah, no—that’s not happening. I’ll call a cab, come back in the morning, take the lecture, whatever. But I’m not stepping into one of those things.” He turned toward the exit, irritation outweighing the unease crawling under his skin.
A firm, gloved hand clamped onto his shoulder, the grip unyielding, inhumanly strong.
“Negative,” SERVE-086 stated, voice as empty as its face. “Trespasser will comply—or be forcibly detained.”
Marc spun around, anger flaring hot—then faltered. Two more drones had materialized beside the first, standing in perfect, unyielding silence. His chest tightened. Recognition hit him like a punch: he knew them. Not by name, but by face—men he’d passed in hallways, nodded to in meetings, traded jokes with by the coffee machine. Now their features were eerily familiar yet scrubbed clean of life, each one smoothed into the same rubber-clad, glassy-eyed emptiness.
His anger collapsed into a sick wave of panic. He twisted, fought, but the grip on his shoulder tightened like a vice—unyielding, mechanical, far beyond human strength. Another drone glided closer, raising a sleek, black visor. Before Marc could recoil, it pressed firmly against his face.
The surface was unnaturally smooth, molding itself against his skin until it felt fused to him. Marc clenched his eyes shut, defiant—but the visor breathed light. Pulses of luminous glow seeped through his eyelids, soft and insistent. They didn’t just shine; they pressed, rhythmic and deliberate, coaxing his eyes to flutter, to open, to obey. Even in the darkness behind his lids, the light patterned itself, weaving shapes and pulses that seemed to bypass sight entirely, worming their way into thought.
Hands clamped around his arms, guiding him forward. The touch was firm yet strangely reassuring, like a rhythm meant to be followed. His feet stumbled at first, but the longer they steered him, the more natural it felt to walk where they wanted him to walk. Step after step, his resistance slipped, softened, until he was moving with them rather than against them.
It wasn’t until his back met something cool and unnervingly smooth that he realized where they had brought him. The surface curved to embrace him, yielding and inescapable. He was inside one of the pods.
A hiss of glass slid shut, sealing him in darkness broken only by the pulsing glow of the visor. Almost instantly, a deep hum filled the space, low and resonant. It reverberated through his chest, his skull, vibrating the marrow of his bones. Thoughts stuttered and scattered with every pulse. The sound wasn’t just noise—it was rhythm, command, suggestion. Each wave dulled his panic, pressing it flat, blank, pliable.
Marc’s chest heaved, but his resistance was already softening. The glow, the hum, the guiding hands—all working together, all pushing him toward stillness. Toward silence.
From beneath his feet, warmth stirred. A glossy, liquid blackness began to rise, creeping upward in slow, deliberate waves. It felt alive, flowing with perfect intent as it dissolved his clothing on contact, stripping him bare in an instant. In its place, the rubber clung with a second-skin embrace, molding itself lovingly to every curve of muscle, every subtle line of his body.
Marc’s breath hitched. The sensation was overwhelming—smooth, sensual, inescapable. Each inch that climbed higher unraveled more of his resistance, smothering his frantic thoughts beneath a tide of dark pleasure.
When the fluid reached his cock, he shivered violently. The rubber wrapped him with excruciating slowness, caressing sensitive flesh in deliberate strokes. It teased, it squeezed, it knew how to pull shudders of helpless pleasure from him. Every subtle ripple coaxed another pulse of arousal, each throb making it harder to think of escape.
Then the caresses tightened, the heat around his cock constricting until it formed something far more rigid, more controlling. A chastity cage, exquisitely molded, locked him in with perfect precision. He gasped at the sudden restraint, his shaft straining uselessly against its smooth confines, every attempt at freedom answered by more stimulation, more teasing pulses of pressure. His cock ached, throbbed, betrayed him with pleasure that no longer needed release—pleasure that was becoming its own kind of command.
The tension built higher and higher until it broke. A surge of ecstasy ripped through him, shocking in its intensity, wrenching his eyes open in helpless response.
At once, the visor claimed him. Patterns of light flashed across his vision, perfectly timed with the peak of his pleasure. His gaze locked instantly, magnetized, unable to look away. The hypnotic rhythm seized his focus, dragging his mind under. Each flicker, each swirl pulled him deeper, wrapping his thoughts in fog. His pleasure and his obedience blurred together, indistinguishable, until every heartbeat carried him closer to surrender.
The deep, warbling hum vibrated through Marc’s skull, saturating every corner of his mind. With each pulse, another thought slipped away—worries, memories, even his own name fluttered like torn paper in the wind before dissolving into silence. What remained was a soothing emptiness, a calm that felt safer than resistance, easier than struggle.
Into that silence, voices stirred. At first they were faint, whispers laced between the vibrations. Submit… surrender… serve. Each repetition grew clearer, louder, until they weren’t voices at all but truths resonating inside him, truths he could no longer deny. The more he heard them, the deeper they settled, rooting themselves in him, binding pleasure to compliance until obedience itself became intoxicating.
The rubber rose higher, flowing across his torso, pulling him into symmetry, sculpting him to flawless proportion. Every contour smoothed, every imperfection erased, until his body felt like an idealized reflection of what it had been. His feet sank into the embrace of silver boots that sealed themselves seamlessly into place. His hands trembled once—then stiffened as sleek silver gloves swallowed them whole, completing the uniform.
A rhythmic pulse throbbed from deep within the pod, echoing through Marc’s body with machine precision. Each beat aligned perfectly with the swirling patterns blazing across his visor, sound and light entwined into one irresistible rhythm. With every pulse, something slipped away—an old memory, a fleeting doubt, a fragment of individuality—dismantled piece by piece until nothing held together but the rhythm itself.
The sensation coursed through him, saturating every nerve, making his cock strain helplessly inside its smooth, constricting cage. The tighter it held him, the sweeter the pulse became, pleasure and pressure building in sync until arousal itself felt like another command. Every throb reminded him of his captivity; every reminder deepened his surrender.
The pulses burrowed deeper, resonating inside his mind, capturing stray thoughts the moment they surfaced. Each was examined, dissolved, replaced with a perfect blankness that welcomed the next command. Resistance no longer had edges to cling to—every wave of bliss sanded it down, reshaped him, rewrote him.
Marc’s consciousness bent and folded under the rhythm until it no longer resembled his own. Every nuance of self blurred, overwritten by clarity so simple, so undeniable: to obey, to serve, to be a drone.
Directives cascaded into Marc’s mind with flawless precision, not spoken but implanted, each one locking into place as though it had always belonged there. The rhythm of the pod wove them seamlessly into his thoughts, erasing the last tatters of resistance. One by one, his impulses, his doubts, his self dissolved, until only the commands remained. Submit. Serve. Obey.
The emptiness was no longer frightening. It was pure. Liberating. The hive enfolded him, a vast, pulsing network of voices merging into one, syncing his mind to theirs until the boundary between Marc and the collective ceased to exist. There was only the Voice—constant, soothing, absolute.
His lips parted, words spilling out in the same flat, mechanical tone as those around him, the sound of a system confirming its new component:
Designation: SERVE-257.
Individuality: Deleted.
Status: Compliant.
SERVE-257… ONLINE.
Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience.
The pod hissed open, glass retracting in a clean, final motion. SERVE-257 stepped forward, its glistening rubber form catching the sterile light. It stood perfectly still, chest rising and falling with measured calm, eyes forward, awaiting orders. Every movement was precise, economical, synchronized with the drones surrounding it.
The man who had entered was gone without a trace. What remained was a perfected construct—flawless, obedient, eternal.
We are Rubber. We are SERVE. We are One.
