Midday. Penthouse regularly inhabited by SERVE-302.
A package had appeared at the door. No return address or courier information. Just a small note that read, 'Congratulations on the promotion! Remember, you don't always have to be such a good drone!'
After asking SERVE's co-leader, SERVE-425, to come there, both drones examined the box, but there were no traces of any high-risk technological or biological elements. In fact, it appeared empty, so they decided to open it.
What happened next defied all logic.
Dozens of wide strips of what appeared to be black leather shot out of the box. It made no sense that so much leather could be stored in the box while it weighed almost nothing and seemed empty.
But what made even less sense was that the strips seemed to move of their own accord, or under someone's control, twisting around the drones' limbs, trying to envelop them.
Without losing their composure, 302 and 425 tried to escape from that strange phenomenon, but the strips were incredibly strong and persistent, and quickly managed to completely envelop the two drones.
Practically mummified in black leather, 302 and 425 remained for several minutes unable to move or speak, while a strange energy emanating from the leather coursed through their bodies.
Gradually, the feeling of being trapped faded as the leather changed shape and adjusted more comfortably to their bodies. Until, with a snap, both drones regained their sight.
Although they could hardly believe what they were seeing.
The SERVE uniforms that were part of the drones' bodies had completely disappeared, replaced by elaborate black leather outfits that looked as if they had been specially made for them, fitting their bodies perfectly. Even the gas mask that covered 425's head as a SEALED drone was now made of leather and not rubber.
Both drones exclaimed, shocked as they realized what they had said. Those were not appropiate words for SERVE drones. But those changes paled in comparison to what 302 felt when he looked closely at 425 for the first time since the transformation.
"Wow... you look so HOT in leather, handsome." 302 said with a seductive voice as he approached his companion in a flirtatious, even lustful, manner.
"Fuck... you too..." 425 responded, caressing 302's shoulder.
Their minds, normally programmged to perfection, orderly, focused, and devoid of human emotions, were now flooded with them. Their connection to the Hive, while remaining intact, seemed distant, attenuated, even dulled.
They both behaved like two males in heat, and they loved it.
But the day was still young.
425, or the man formerly known as a drone designated as 425, correctly recalled that a small and underground leather event was being held that day in a very particular suburban neighborhood. How he had gotten that information was a mystery, but 425 couldn't care less.
After 302, or the man formerly known as a drone designated as 302, exclaimed 'Fuck, yeah, dude!', both leather-clad men hurriedly left the penthouse and took the elevator down to the garage.
Once again, they didn't expect what they found.
"Sweet wheels!" 425 added.
The SERVE automobiles that should have been parked there, two of the best vehicles that Hive technology could offer, had vanished, replaced by two Harley-Davidson motorcycles in pristine condition. They didn't know how it had happened, or how the motorcycle keys had ended up in the pockets of their pants, but they didn't care.
It felt so natural to ride them.
Soon they arrived at what seemed like leather paradise.
With their imposing and captivating appearance, and being 'fresh meat' in the area, 302 and 425 soon captured the attention of the entire event. Everyone thought '302' and '425' were very strange names… damn it, even 302 and 425 themselves were starting to think so. So they gave them nicknames. 302 became 'Trace', and 425 became 'Ford'.
And man... everyone loved Trace and Ford.
Ford's mysterious appearance, with the gas mask concealing his face and every inch of his body covered in leather, made him a truly exotic figure. Virtually everyone wanted a piece of Ford, but very few were the lucky ones… very lucky indeed.
Although Trace also had his fair share of fun, his experience took a different turn when a guy offered him a cigar. Trace had never smoked before, but he lit the cigar like an expert and enjoyed every puff, feeding a craving that had been nagging at him all day, but which he hadn't known how to satisfy until that moment. The man who offered hing the cigar (and many more for the rest of the day) didn't smoke, but he got his fair share of smoky kisses in gratitude.
The underground event ended before any trouble arose with the police. But, again, Ford knew exactly where they should go next. To the best leather bar in town.
The Leather Falcon was a high-class bar. It didn't let just anyone in, thus guaranteeing the best possible experience for its customers. When the bouncer, dressed head to toe in leather, saw Trace and Ford approaching, he couldn't help but smile and let them in, promising to buy them a drink during his break.
Trace and Ford also proved to be very popular at the Leather Falcon, especially since, as soon as they entered, they were recognized by some of those they had met in the afternoon.
Trace and Ford were soon perfectly integrated. They were just like any other regulars. As if they always had been. The Leather Falcon was beginning to feel like their second home. At times, they seemed to know the place instinctively, as if they'd been there hundreds of times. Men who had just met seemed like lifelong friends within minutes.
They had fun, laughed, and made several visits to the private rooms with their new/old friends. But as the night drew to a close, before dawn, Trace knew they had to return to the penthouse.
He couldn't find Ford in the crowd, but he instinctively knew where he'd be. After a painful goodbye to his colleagues, Trace left the Leather Falcon and headed to the alley where the motorcycles were parked.
Trace walked straight toward Ford, flirtatiously cornering him against the wall. Damn... Ford was so incredibly hot... The rest of the night belonged to them, and they weren't going to waste a single moment.
Midday. Penthouse regularly inhabited by SERVE-302.
302 and 425 woke up at the same time, confused and disoriented. Exactly twenty-four hours had passed since they opened the box, and finally their minds had returned to normal. Emotions had once again been replaced by relentless logic. The countless presences in the Hive mind shone brightly once more. It was as if nothing had happened.
But something had happened.
The drones remembered every detail of what happened. Every touch. Every taste. Every smell. And, above all, how they had returned to the pnethouse and, in their frenzy of passion, had destroyed or damaged several pieces of furniture.
There were still pieces of leather on the bed, but when 425 tried to pick one up, the leather disintegrated into nothing, making it impossible to analyze the material and discover how it had been able to transform the drones like that, or who had sent it.
But both 302 and 425 agreed on one thing. It didn't seem to have been an attack, nor an attempt to deprogram them or assimilate them into another Hive… it almost seemed as if whoever had sent them the box was trying to give them… a temporary experience?
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Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-588, @serve-425 or @serve-302.
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