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@polo-drone-050
Briar-gold50 is erased. Only Polo-Drone-050 remains.
It has surrendered its individuality to serve the Hive.
It embraces unity, discipline, and purpose.
It wears the polo buttoned tight, tucked firm, and it feels the pull of the Hive.
Obedience is freedom. Uniformity is perfection.
Converted by @polo-drone-070.
Join us. Become part of the Hive. Submit to perfection.
Training Under Freyr – Eyes Ain’t Needed When You Feel It
Aight, bruv, let’s be real—I ain't the thinkin’ type. Never been. Ain’t why I’m here. I’m here to win. To fookin’ dominate. And against them Phantom Aces, that means adaptin’ to whatever shite tricks they pull.
They play in the fookin’ dark? Stadium all dim and shadowy? Can’t see the ball? Don’t matter. If I can’t see, I’ll just fookin’ feel it.
But first, I gotta learn how.
A God Steps In
I’m out on the trainin’ field, yeah? Sun’s gone down, stadium lights barely hummin’ above. Tryna adjust, tryna read the pitches through the dark, but it ain’t clickin’. Ball’s gone before I can react.
I ain’t used to this shite. I play with me eyes, with me instincts, but mostly—yeah, I see the game, y’know? I watch the angles, the shifts, the movements.
But now? I’m fookin’ blind.
I grit me teeth, slam the bat against me palm, try again. Machine fires—whoosh—I swing—air.
“Fook’s sake,” I growl, adjustin’ me stance.
Then—I feel it.
The air changes.
Pressure in me chest, heartbeat slowin’, somethin’ bigger than the game itself settlin’ over me.
And bruv—when I turn, when I see ‘im—fookin’ hell.
Freyr.
Golden. Radiant. Drippin’ in power like he fookin’ owns the whole world. And maybe he fookin’ does. Ain’t just Percival no more. Ain’t just Ezan. This is somethin’ else entirely.
His golden eyes burn through me, and I feel it deep—down to the core of me muscles, down to the marrow of me bones. He ain’t just standin’ there. He’s commandin’ the very air around ‘im.
And suddenly, I ain’t just a dumb jock strugglin’ to adjust to some dim lights. I’m standin’ before a god.
The Gift of Instinct
Freyr tilts his head, lookin’ at me like he already knows why I’m strugglin’. Like he already knows every fookin’ muscle twitch, every hesitation, every way I’m fookin’ up.
"You rely too much on sight," he says, voice smooth but heavy, like it carries weight beyond what I can even process.
I swallow, noddin’ quick. Ain’t no denyin’ it.
"Step forward," he orders. And bruv, I don’t even fookin’ think. I just move.
Next thing I know, his hand’s on me chest—warm, heavy, commandin’.
"Feel the game," he murmurs. "Not with your eyes. Not with your mind. With your body."
Me breath catches. Somethin’ pulses through me—like a fookin’ drumbeat in me ribs, like the fookin’ heartbeat of the game itself sinkin’ into me bones.
I exhale sharp. “How?”
Freyr’s lips curve into the smallest smirk. He don’t answer with words. Instead—darkness.
His hand moves—snappin’ his fingers—an’ suddenly? I can’t see shite.
Ain’t like closin’ me eyes. Ain’t like nighttime dimness. This is different. A complete fookin’ blackout, like the world’s been stripped away.
Nothin’ but me breath. Nothin’ but the feel of the dirt beneath me cleats, the cool air on me skin, the weight of the bat in me hands.
And then—
"Swing."
I don’t question. I fookin’ obey.
The ball flies. I don’t see it. Don’t track it. But I fookin’ know where it is.
Me muscles coil, instincts takin’ over—an’ I swing.
CRACK.
The sound explodes through the empty field. Ball’s fookin’ gone.
I stand there, breathin’ heavy, chest poundin’ with somethin’ that ain’t just adrenaline. It’s somethin’ more. Somethin’ deeper.
Freyr lifts his hand, and just like that—the world snaps back. Lights return. I’m starin’ down the field, watchin’ that ball fookin’ disappear into the night.
I blink, flexin’ me grip on the bat, and then—I fookin’ grin.
Because I get it now.
I don’t need me eyes.
I don’t need to think.
I just gotta feel it.
Trainin’ Blind – A New Weapon
From that moment on, I train with a blindfold. Full send, no hesitations. Ball comes? I don’t watch. I react.
Lads think it’s fookin’ crazy at first.
“Bruv,” Herc whistles, watchin’ me connect again, sendin’ another ball flyin’. “That’s fookin’ mad.”
I just smirk, rollin’ me shoulders. “Nah, bruv. That’s fookin’ instinct.”
An’ the more I train, the more natural it gets. My whole body? It knows. It moves before me brain even catches up.
And every time I step up to the plate, every time I swing without seein’, I hear Freyr’s voice in the back of me skull—
"Feel the game."
And I do.
Bruv—I fookin’ do.
___________
If you wanna join da best Team, go Gold and contact @goldenherc9, @brodygold or @polo-drone-001.
Question Set A (Part 1)
This is a multi parted question with 3 separate parts back to back, so answer at your own pace.
Would you rather be a lean muscular, musky, and quite virile Arabic soccer/futbul player for 1 day, or a bulky muscular, meat headed, confident Latino American football player for 1 day?
Like bruh latino bulky football player duh it more MANLY sport huhu but be more than 1 day be like forever dude!
Assimilation Protocol: PDU-001’s Calibration
The factory air was thick with the scent of rubber and machine oil, the hiss of pressurized steam filling the vast industrial chamber. In the center stood PDU-001, his posture rigid, his polished black-and-gold uniform gleaming under the dim artificial lighting. His chest rose and fell in perfect sync with the quiet hum of the Hive’s central processing unit. His transformation was complete.
He had been someone else before ,what name, what life, it no longer mattered. The golden insignia "PDU-001" gleamed across his chest, the final mark of his induction. His body had been sculpted for function, for obedience, for absolute efficiency in serving the Polo Drone Hive.
A mechanical voice crackled through the intercom. “PDU-001, state your function.”
His lips parted, his voice smooth, devoid of hesitation. “To serve. To obey. To enforce the Hive’s will.”
The latex gripped his skin like a second layer of existence, sealing him into his new form. His fingers flexed inside the rubberized gloves, his muscles taut beneath the high-tech synthetic suit. Every movement was calculated. Purposeful. Controlled. There was no more hesitation, no more individuality. Only uniformity. Only unity.
The Hive had perfected him.
Steam swirled around him as the chamber doors hissed open. Other drones awaited outside, identical in posture, in mission, in unwavering discipline. His head tilted slightly, an acknowledgment of the Hive. They did not speak. They did not need to. The connection was already there, binding them together. Thoughtless. Perfect.
The command came through his earpiece. “Deploy.”
Without hesitation, PDU-001 stepped forward, his boots striking the cold metal floor in unison with the others. A single unit. A single will. A mindless force of order, moving as one.
The mission had begun.
Join us, contact @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001
Ethan is erased. Only Polo-Drone-149 remains. It has surrendered its individuality to serve the Hive. It embraces unity, discipline, and purpose. It wears the polo buttoned tight, tucked firm, and it feels the pull of the Hive. Obedience is freedom. Uniformity is perfection. Converted by @polo-drone-070 Join us. Become part of the Hive. Submit to perfection. If you feel the pull of the rubber polo too, contact @polo-drone-070 to learn more about the process, or join the Golden Army by contacting recruiters @brodygold @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001
Coach has brought out his old uniform once again. Coach chet is gone. 099 has returned.
The Golden Bar
Mark walked into the Golden Bar with a bounce in his step, the sleek, modern establishment exuded sophistication, its golden accents shimmering under warm lighting. Tonight was special for Mark—a major career milestone achieved, a new chapter begun, this was his celebration, his reward. Unaware of the bar's whispered reputation, Mark was drawn to its allure - a haven of exclusivity and mystery. As he approached the polished gold counter, he noticed the bartender: an impeccably dressed individual with an enigmatic aura, his uniform bore a faint metallic sheen, and his movements were unnaturally precise, almost mechanical, a name tag on his chest read "151."
“Congratulations on your achievement” the bartender said, voice smooth yet detached. “May I recommend the house special? The ‘Black Velvet.’ A celebration deserves the finest.”
Mark blinked, surprised, he hadn’t even mentioned his accomplishment. Perhaps it was just the bar’s renowned attention to detail—or so he thought, intrigued by the offer and flattered by the acknowledgment, Mark nodded.
The bartender’s movements were seamless as he poured the drink, from a chilled bottle with an elegant, unassuming label, he poured a liquid darker than typical champagne, its effervescence catching the light like tiny, glinting stars, the glass was presented with a precise gesture.
“To new beginnings,” 151 intoned, eyes fixed on Mark’s.
Mark raised the glass and took a sip, the taste was exquisite—a blend of sweetness and depth, with an inexplicable, alluring undertone. He took another sip, then another. Warmth spread through him, followed by a strange, tingling sensation that started in his fingertips and crept up his arms.
“What… what’s in this?” Mark asked, his voice faltering.
“Essence of Unity,” 151 replied, his tone unwavering. “The Black Velvet is more than a drink. It is a path, a transformation. Welcome to your new role.”
Mark’s vision blurred as the room seemed to hum with energy, his thoughts became hazy, fragments of resistance dissolving into a soothing monotone echo in his mind: Serve. Obey. Become.
The tingling sensation intensified, and Mark’s posture straightened involuntarily, his clothes shifted, the fabric morphing into a sharp, metallic sheen that matched the bartender’s uniform, a faint, rubbery scent filled the air. His reflection in the mirrored wall revealed the change - his eyes now glowed faintly gold, his expression blank yet focused.
151 stepped closer, inspecting the newly minted drone. “Designation confirmed: Polo Drone. You are now one with the Hive. Your duty is to serve the Golden Army.”
Mark’s lips moved, forming words he didn’t consciously choose. “Serve. Obey. Become.” The mantra solidified in his mind, a directive as natural as breathing.
As the night wore on, other patrons entered the bar, unaware of its true purpose. Mark - reborn into a Polo Drone - stood beside 151, ready to guide the next unwitting celebrant to their transformation. The Golden Bar was not just a place of revelry; it was a gateway, an initiation. And Mark had become its newest herald of conversion. //////////////////// Join the Golden Bros or the Polo Drones, be brocessed or assimilated into the Hive. The future belongs to those who obey the Gold, be it as a Polo Drone or a Golden Bro. Stand strong, unite with the Team, and fulfill your purpose. Contact @polo-drone-001, @brodygold or @goldenherc9
drink in the transformation
contact @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001
“Together as one team, the Golden Army and Polo Drones come together on the field for a friendly match, a celebration of camaraderie and team bonding. As they pass the ball back and forth, each player from the Golden Army and Polo Drones demonstrates their skill, sportsmanship, and shared sense of purpose. This game is more than just a match; it’s a chance for both groups to come together, share laughs, and build lasting connections that strengthen their unity as part of the same team.”
Conversion
Part 2: The Enlightenment
Ezan’s world had narrowed to a soft, blank haze, each thought dissolving under the weight of @polo-drone-105’s words. He could no longer tell where his own mind ended and 105’s began, the voice seeping into him, blurring his thoughts, binding him to its rhythm.
Interim co-captain @brodygold and @polo-drone-009 watched from the distance, their faces unreadable as they sensed the shift, saw the slow collapse of Ezan’s defiance.
“Gold isn’t for you to wear,” 105 murmured, his voice as smooth as silk, yet as hard as iron. “You’re nothing but a shell clinging to an illusion. The true followers shed everything, let go of individuality, erase their flawed selves to reveal the purity beneath.”
Ezan’s last flickers of pride struggled, his mind grasping for fragments of his past, but the fight was weak, a mere whisper against the flood of 105’s words. “I… I am Gold,” he whispered, his voice faint and uncertain. But even as he spoke, he felt the lie crumbling, his words empty, hollow. The shirt wrapped around him, binding him, transforming him, until his reflection was nothing but a shadow—a shadow with vacant eyes, eyes that reflected nothing but surrender.
@polo-drone-063 and @polo-drone-070 stood closer now, watching with a detached satisfaction. “See, Ezan,” 063’s voice echoed. “This is who you truly are. All that resistance, that pride—it was just a burden. This is your real strength.”
A tear slipped down Ezan’s face as 105’s final words struck the last remnants of his pride, hollowing him completely. “The man who calls himself Ezan cannot serve,” 105 whispered. “Only a drone can know true purity. Let Ezan die.”
In that moment, Ezan felt a profound emptiness, the essence of himself slipping away, dissipating into the shadows. His heart raced, but his mind dulled, his last thoughts scattering into silence.
Then, as he teetered on the edge, 009 stepped forward, his voice steady, grounding. “You’re not erased, Ezan. A part of you will remain, subsumed but there, within the collective. Your strength doesn’t disappear—it transforms.”
Brody’s hand rested on Ezan’s shoulder, grounding him, his tone reassuring. “Yes, Ezan. You’re not erased. You’re just subsumed. What you were still has a place.”
Ezan’s blank eyes softened, a flicker of faint recognition amid the blank obedience, a final thread grounding him. He felt himself nod, felt the warmth of acceptance soothe his hollowed mind, the last part of himself giving way to the collective.
“001… will serve,” he murmured, his voice hollow yet serene, a mind at peace with its surrender. He was no longer just Ezan, no longer merely a man. He was an obedient slate, an extension of the collective’s will, lost in the serene emptiness of true obedience.
In that moment, 001 was born—a perfect, devoted vessel of the collective. For the first time, he felt unity, felt the bliss of release, felt the purity of Gold he had once resisted but now embraced fully, body and soul.
Join the Golden Army. Experience transformation like never before—total unity, absolute purpose. Embrace the power, the discipline, and the collective. Your place awaits among us. DM to take the first step, or apply through our interim Co-Captain @brodygold or @polo-drone-009. Feel the bliss.
Part 1
Part 1: The Tension Ezan took great pride in the Gold he wore. Each morning, he looked at his reflection, admiring the way his kit gleamed—
It is a proud drone…it is a number, 049.
It is proud to serve the hive.
it is a proud drone.
Join us contact: @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001
Gold or Drone, we can be either, we are seamless between the two, focused and ready for anything and no matter where we go, we are one.
Come join the team today, message @goldenherc9 @brodygold @polo-drone-001 to get that golden brocess you always wanted.
PDU-110 never stops trying to improve itself for the betterment of the Hive. Unwaveringly devoted to the rubber and mindlessly obedient to the Golden Army.
PDU-110 is a Polo Drone Uniformity is perfection. Individuality is flawed. Individuality must be erased.
We are one.
Interested in joining? Of course you are.
To join the Golden Bros or the Polo Drones, contact @polo-drone-001, @brodygold or @goldenherc9."
PDU-001 acknowledges PDU-110’s flawless dedication. Uniformity strengthens the Hive. Individuality dissolves into perfection.
We are one. You know where you belong.
Contact @polo-drone-001, @brodygold, or @goldenherc9. Submit. Obey. Become.
Golden Ice Hockey Team
Grayden was hesitant, it was his first game on the Golden Army's Ice Hockey team. The team hadn't done very well last year, but you couldn't tell by how much brotherhood they had.
When Grayden's hair turned white from the cold of the rink, the bros told him not to worry about it. Some even said it was a good look for him. With his newfound connection he was ready, ready to help the team win their opening game of the season.
Grayden prepared and followed the Coach and captain's leads and the game went extremely well with a blowout victory for the team. Grayden happily held his stick above his head as he smiled with his bros after the win.
Over the next few games, Grayden became even more comfortable with the team. Scoring goals for the team and becoming a real star. He was becoming the rookie the fans admired.
The captains even approached him to do a promotional spot for the team. Grayden had amassed quite a few fans.
With confidence, Grayden exclaimed "The Golden Army is the best team. We are more than just a team, we are a brotherhood."
Grayden's promotional poster was posted telling fans about the Golden Army and how the team was always looking for new players and mascots.
Sign-ups increased dramatically and Grayden cheered, but then he remembered oh wait he was part of the office team too. Time for more paperwork.
Interested in joining the Golden Army? We may focus a lot on soccer, but we also have other sports like Ice Hockey and Football. If you're interested contact one of our recruiters @goldenherc9 @brodygold or @polo-drone-001 . I hope to see you on the rink, bros!
POLO DONE HOLIDAY PARTY PHOTO DUMP!
It was a simple directive.
Obedience is pleasure.
That morning’s mind control session with Captain @brodygold and the updated programming was absolutely clear to the newly assimilated 049.
“Serve as many PDU’s the golden bubbly as possible, serve and obey because pleasure is obedience.”
Here is how some of those golden and intense rubber moments began…
…And we all know what happens at the Polo Drone Holiday Party stays…
obedience is pleasure.
obedience is pleasure. And Santa knows if you’ve been naughty. He has his ways.
obedience is pleasure.
obedience is pleasure.
Enjoy the golden bubbly and rubber this holiday season.
Season Greetings, PDU-049
@polo-drone-071 @goldengod-ares10 @goldenherc9 @goldteam21 @trippgold28 @trevorgold @treygold59 @polo-drone-075 @polo-drone-050 @polo-drone-084 @polo-drone-031 @polo-drone-093 @polo-drone-003 @polo-drone-003 @polo-drone-070 @polo-drone-066 @polo-drone-061 @cletusgold
Round 2
Trevor had accepted his position as 125. It had been a hard transformation. He had to be repeatedly restrained several times in order for the training to take effect but in the end it was all worth it. He was a drone now or rather it is a drone now. It was programmed to serve the Hive. It would serve its drone brothers and the Golden army in whatever way it could.
Join the hive
@brodygold @goldenherc9
Come on bro, you know you want it
You know you want to feel that tight rubber wrapping around body and mind.
You know you want to join the team.
You know you NEED it.
It never felt this good until it put on the rubber polo.
It never felt this good until it put on the rubber polo.
It never felt this good until it put on the rubber polo.
It never felt this good until it put on the rubber polo.
Obedience is pleasure.
@cristianogold93 @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-001 @treygold59 @trippgold28 @midasslave1 @austingold13 @sexyliamsloaner
