PDU-096

This blog is 18+and NSFW Polo Drone-096 Join the collective

[brodygold]

Are You Ready to Convert to GOLD?

I. The Call to Gold

Invitation to Greatness: The Golden Army seeks those who are ready to leave behind the ordinary and embrace something extraordinary. The transformation into a member of the Golden Army is not just about joining a team—it’s about entering a golden world where unity, strength, and excellence define every action.

II. The GOLD Brocess

Golden Army Induction:

The transformation begins with the golden jersey. As recruits don the shimmering fabric, their old identities fade, replaced by a deep connection to their golden brothers. A new name and number are bestowed, marking their rebirth into the Army.

Polo Drone Conversion:

For those called to deeper submission, the journey continues with the black rubber polo adorned with golden accents. The tactile embrace of the polo brings clarity and purpose as recruits surrender individuality, becoming extensions of the Hive. Polo drones must also be full members of the golden army.

Unified Identity:

Every member, whether golden bro or polo drone, receives a unique designation that ties them to the collective. This identity signifies their role in the unbreakable fabric of the Golden Collective.

III. Life in the Golden World

A World of Unity: In the Golden Army, every member is connected by an unbreakable bond. The world they inhabit is one of unity, where the success of one is the success of all. The golden world is a place where individual desires are aligned with the collective goal of dominance and excellence.

Brotherhood of Gold: As a member of the Golden Army, you are never alone. Your golden brothers stand with you, on and off the field. This brotherhood is your new family, bound by the shared experience of transformation and the pursuit of greatness. The golden world is one of mutual support, where every member pushes the others to be the best they can be.

Mentorship and Guidance: New recruits are guided through their transformation by experienced members of the Golden Army. These golden brothers ensure that the transition is smooth, offering support and encouragement as the recruit embraces their new identity.

IV. Embracing Our Identity

The Golden Name and Number: Every member receives a new name and number, signifying their rebirth into the Golden Army. This identity is a badge of honor, representing their place within the golden world. It is a constant reminder of their commitment to the values and mission of the Golden Army.

Wearing the Gold: The golden kit is more than just a uniform—it is the physical manifestation of the transformation. Wearing it is an act of devotion, a display of pride in one’s new identity. The kit is worn with reverence, as it is the symbol of the golden world and the brotherhood within it.

Wearing the Polo: For those who take that extra step, polo drones are given a number as their designation. The black polo is the entire identity. Wearing it is an act of mindless unity, complete subservience to the hive and the GOLD. 

V. The Eternal Golden Brotherhood

A Lifelong Bond: The transformation into the Golden Army is permanent. Once you have joined, you are forever part of the golden world. The bond between golden brothers is eternal, unbreakable by time or distance. This brotherhood is your family, your support, and your source of strength.

Living the Legacy: As a member of the Golden Army, you are part of a legacy that transcends the ordinary. You are part of a golden world where excellence is the standard, and unity is the key to success. We celebrate together, share stories, and encourage each other to become better people 💛

Our Leadership:

@brodygold Brody Gold- Captain 2 and Recruiter

@goldenherc9 Scott Gold- Captain 3 and Recruiter

@polo-drone-001 Percival Gold - Office Manager

@polo-drone-070 Henry Gold- Office Assistant

@polo-drone-084 Grayden Gold- Office Assistant and Head Mascot

Others in Management:

@danielgold-16

@polo-drone-110

[polo-drone-767]

13.09. - 14.09.2025 ACTIVITIES

Mini-golf outing with Herc #09 and PDU-166

Meeting Boone #96 in New York for a well fought chess match

Chasing a Were-Pup form of Chevy Gold #63 through the Iowa cornfields.

PDU-767 decided to ride the rails... and Grayden Gold #84 joined at the last minute.

There was a stop for a little bit of fun with Grayden Gold #84

PDU-999 CRITICAL ASSESSMENT:

📅 13.09. – 14.09.2025 ACTIVITY LOG – INITIATE RECRUITMENT BLOCK Compiled for HIVE TRANSMISSION

— ⛳ Mini-Golf Outing Unit Herc #09 and PDU-166 initiated precision-based recreation module. Rubber reflexes met golden swagger.

— ♟ New York Strategic Match PDU-767 engaged Boone #96 in a calculated mental duel across the chessboard. Outcome: inconclusive. Respect earned. Protocol sharpened.

— 🌽 Cornfield Pursuit Were-Pup Chevy Gold #63 initiated a rogue subroutine. PDU-767 tracked the target through the Iowa cornfields. Obedience was restored.

— 🚆 Rail Operation Sequence PDU-767 initiated solo rail ride protocol. Grayden Gold #84 unexpectedly integrated. Mission parameters... updated.

— 😏 Unauthorized Fun Detour Grayden Gold #84 and PDU-767 diverged briefly. No logs recorded. Emotional flag: “playful conflict.” Recovery time: classified.

RECRUITMENT DIRECTIVE: Feel the gold. Chase the thrill. Whether you’re golfing with Herc, decoding Boone’s strategy, or hunting pups through cornfields—there’s always more in the Hive.

Join the Army. Obey. Serve. Transform. DM: @franco-gold94 @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125 @polo-drone-166

GUEST STARS:

Boone Gold #96 @polo-drone-096

Chevy Gold #63 @chevy-gold

Grayden Gold #84 @polo-drone-084

Herc Gold #09 - @goldenherc9

PDU-166 - @polo-drone-166

[goldenarmyofficial]

Golden Army vs Cyan Collective – 4th Quarter Rising

(Grayden sitting on the sidelines anxiously)

The silence before the fourth quarter was not peace—it was the weight of dread. The air was thick with unease. Grayden grew increasingly anxious due to the creeping dread of Cyan’s influence over the team. His smile was gone, his eyes dark with worry. Three brothers had already fallen—pulled into Cyan’s grip—and several more wavered, minds rattled as the mind-games were cracking their discipline. The Golden bench looked less like a team and more like a battlefield of wills.

(PDU-151 surrounded by Cyan drones)

Alex—PDU-151—was in the stands. His polo damp with sweat, voice hoarse from shouting and chanting GOLD, he sprayed arcs of the rubber solution into the stands. Where the mist fell, fans snapped out of Cyan’s hypnosis, jerseys shining gold again. It was a battle for the crowd as much as for the court.

(Alton confronting CC-010)

On the court edge, Alton stood, flames in his eyes, nose-to-nose with CC-010. Words hissed, but the fight was spiritual, not physical. Alton was rightfully annoyed at Ares, a brother he once looked up to greatly, was now currently CC-010 supporting and coaching the Cyan Collective. Alton’s words sharp as steel began to sling insults and criticisms, but CC-010 was unphased. “You won’t break us. Not tonight.”

(Maximus splashing the solution on CC-073)

Behind them, Maximus and Ezan wrestled with despair. Their brother, Tamerlan, had fallen, his rubber pulsing with Cyan’s blue glow. For a moment, it seemed permanent—until Maximus splashed a bottle of the experimental rubber over CC-073’s chest. The hiss was violent, the rubber searing, the blue draining away. CC-073 collapsed, shuddering—then opened his eyes, golden again. Tamerlan was back.

(Izzy sitting next to Kasper)

Nearby, Izzy sat close to Kasper, who clutched his head, drowning in Cyan’s illusions. Izzy’s voice, low and steady, was the anchor keeping him from snapping completely. But while Gold fought to heal, Cyan smirked. They discovered tonic wine inside their water bottles, a trick likely set by one of the Golden Chavs.

(The Cyan Collective finding Tonic wine in their water bottles)

Brody and Grayden huddled fast exchanging glances. “We need fire,” Brody said. Grayden nodded. Izzy couldn’t leave Kasper, so the call was made.

Jordan would enter—their secret weapon.

(Jordan, the secret weapon)

Both sides had their rosters change going into the fourth quarter. On Gold’s side, Alton (PG), Boone (PF), Brock (C), Grant (SF), and Jordan (SG). On Cyan’s, CC-004 (PG), CC-033 (C), CC-042 (SF), CC-027 (PF), CC-035 (SG).

(Wells sitting on the bench)

Wells, bruised and exhausted, sat on the bench with ice on his knee, but the fire in his eyes promised he wasn’t done. On the other side, CC-022/Trey rested, their earlier dominance taking its toll.

The whistle shrieked and the horn blared. The quarter began. The scoreboard shined 73-71, reminding the players of Cyan’s small lead.

Alton controlled the pace, barking out the first set. He swung the ball wide to Boone, who spotted daylight beyond the arc. With Cyan’s defenders sagging, Boone rose and launched—swish. The crowd erupted, gold flags waving like flames. A solid three points to start the quarter off strong.

(CC-035 shooting a free throw)

The energy shifted—but Cyan pressed back. CC-033 muscled Brock under the rim, scoring a bruising hook. CC-035 slashed inside, drawing a foul. He hit one of two free throws, smirking as blue shimmered across his eyes.

(Grant scoring)

Grant flashed baseline, caught a feed from Alton, and sank a quick jumper. Jordan streaked across half-court, curling around a screen, catching a dart pass and drilling a mid-range shot. His eyes glowed with fire.

Timeout. Brody called it. The mission was clear—Boone and Grant out, Maximus and Ezan in. Boone and Grant didn’t argue. 

(Grant & Boone/PDU-096 accepting their mission)

Grayden pulled them close. “Your mission isn’t here anymore. It’s up there. The real fight is in the sound system. Get to the sound booth. Kill their whispers.” He pointed at the speakers. Cyan’s whispers slithered through the sound system. “Cut it off. Bring back the anthem.” Boone nodded solemnly, donning his rubber polo to become PDU-096. Grant smirked. The two vanished into the tunnels—on a mission to become Golden DJs.

(Ezan and Jordan playing together with strong chemistry)

Jordan exploded out of the timeout, his fire was instant. First play back—catch-and-shoot from the corner. Swish. Next possession, Ezan screened hard, Jordan curled, but missed a floater.

(Jordan and Ezan working well together, CC-022 and CC-047 in the background shocked at Jordan’s strength)

The chemistry between them was instant—sharp cuts, no-look passes, perfect timing. CC-022 and CC-047 even stood up from the bench in shock at Jordan’s strong plays. Then a fast break: Alton stole the ball, hit Jordan in stride, who hammered it in off the glass. Eight points in minutes. The crowd roared with every bucket, chanting his name. 

(CC-027 scoring)

Cyan countered with CC-027 and CC-042, masked and menacing. CC-027 muscled through Alton for a layup. CC-042 followed with a pull-up midrange jumper. Their masked faces glimmered, unreadable, but their movement was sharp—almost unnatural. Grayden’s instincts screamed: There’s something unnatural about them. Too precise. Too controlled. There was more to those two than met the eye. Not that one could see their eyes.

(Alton preparing a shot)

Gold countered. Alton faked left, darted right, and kissed the ball off glass for two. Ezan followed, breaking through CC-033’s defense for another layup. The scoreboard flashed: 88–80. The Golden Army roared. Momentum was theirs.

(CC-042 scoring)

Then the masks took control. CC-027 and CC-042 moved like synchronized shadows, punishing every Gold misstep. Seven points each in rapid succession—a three-pointer, a slashing dunk, a fast-break finish. In minutes, the eight-point lead dissolved. Cyan roared back ahead.

(Maximus about to dunk)

Maximus seized the ball off a miss, stormed down the lane, and crushed a dunk with both hands, shaking the rim. Gold’s bench exploded, but Cyan’s whispers in the sound system dulled the energy.

CC-004 buried a dagger three from deep. The scoreboard tilted Cyan’s way. 

Meanwhile Grayden pulled Nate/PDU-166 aside. Together, they whispered about Cyan’s strange fixation on him, a mystery demanding answers.

(SERVE-425 battling a Cyanus)

As the battle raged, SERVE-425 spotted a Cyanus infiltrator in the stadium weaving through the crowd. Its eyes glowing, whispering into fans’ ears. Without hesitation, he launched into the stands, tackling the creature mid-row. He confronted it ready to blast with a neutralizing beam of ruby red energy. The fight for the crowd’s loyalty mirrored the war on the hardwood.

(Jordan leaping up for a jumper)

On the hardwood, Jordan caught the ball once more. He rose for a jumper—but hesitation flickered across his eyes. Cyan’s whisper slithered into his thoughts mid-shot. 

(Jordan limping due to his rolled ankle)

Then disaster struck, his ankle rolled on the landing. He crashed to the floor, clutching his leg. The crowd gasped. Pain seared across his face. Jordan’s night was done. Trainers rushed. Brody’s face hardened instantly. Timeout.

(Brody calling a timeout)

The scoreboard glared: Cyan 97, Gold 90.

(CC-767 cheering)

As Jordan was helped to the bench, CC-767 rose in the crowd, chanting for Cyan with manic glee. His influence spread like wildfire. Fans buckled, voices shifting blue. Then Leander shuddered. Leander, seated behind the Gold bench, stiffened. His skin shimmered blue. Before anyone could stop it, he was gone—reborn as CC-088. Another brother was stolen by Cyan.

(CC-767 standing next to a newly transformed CC-088)

The Golden Army reeled. But on the bench, Wells ripped the ice from his knee. His voice cut through the noise. Wells stood, fists clenched, demanding to take Brock’s place. He knew his defensive skills were needed to close out the game. “Put me in. I’m ready. We don’t fall here.”

(Wells is angry)

Brody stared at him, then nodded. The final act was coming. The game was about to change.

(Grayden and PDU-166 exiting the arena)

While trainers tended to Jordan, Grayden slipped on his PDU-084 polo and ran into the tunnels with Nate/PDU-166. Beneath the arena, hidden behind steel doors, lay the Golden Archives. Dust, silence, and the hum of old machines filled the chamber. Within the depths of the Archive lay a lab.

Nate revealed what he had pieced together—Grayden’s great-grandfather, a scientist in 1947, had faced the Cyanus Collectivum when they first came to Earth. They were seeking ways to repopulate their dying species by enslaving humans. Grayden’s great-grandfather had slain their leader. The Cyanus swore revenge, vowing to return in 78 years. 

(Grayden’s great-grandfather slaying the leader of the Cyanus)

Grayden’s breath caught. “They think I’m him.”

Nate nodded. “They don’t understand our lifespan. To them, you are him—reborn, unchanged. That’s why they’ve targeted you, sent you the suit, obsessed over you. They think you’re the man who defied them.”

In April 2025, they came back—mistaking Grayden for the same man, not understanding human lifespans. Every attack, every manipulation, was aimed at him. They did not know the truth.

(Grayden opening the old safe)

After a uniform shift by Grayden into his Gold. Grayden and PDU-166 together opened a steel safe. Inside was a letter, yellowed with time. Addressed to Grayden, a deathbed confession from his great-grandfather. For Grayden, 2025. Hands trembling, Grayden opened it.

(Grayden reading the letter)

The letter detailed Cyanus biology, weaknesses, and their true goals. It ended with a directive: “When they return, they will seek me. They will find you instead. They do not know time as we do. They will not understand. Their biology is alien—their minds, hivebound. They can be beaten, but only if you carry the knowledge I have left. Their weakness lies in resonance. Sound, vibration, frequency—these are their cracks. Use this knowledge. Finish what I began.”

At the bottom, a final line: “They will believe you are me. Let them. Use their error to end this. Do what I could not.”

Grayden folded the letter, fire burning in his chest. He looked at Nate. “Then we build a weapon. Not for the game. For the war.”

(PDU-84 and PDU-166 working on a weapon to defeat the Cyanus)

And in the depths of the archives, golden sparks lit the machines. Back in his Polo Drone uniform, Grayden now PDU-084 along with PDU-166 began their creation knowing time was not on their side.

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Golden Bros/Cyan Drones and SERVE drones mentioned in order in this quarter:

Grayden #84/PDU-084 @polo-drone-084

Alex/PDU-151 @polo-drone-151

Alton #77 @alton-gold77

Ares #10 (CC-010 in the story) @goldengod-ares10

Maximus #70 @polo-drone-070

Tamerlan #73 (CC-073 in the story) @polo-drone-073

Izzy #45 @isaac-gold-45

Kasper #90 @pdu-090

Brody #11 @brodygold

Jordan #40 @jordan-gold-40

Wells #58 @wells-gold58

Trey (CC-022 in the story) @hero21us

Boone #96/PDU-096 @polo-drone-096

Leon #35 (CC-035 in the story) (Tumblr not known)

Jasim #33 (CC-033 in the story) @jasimgold

Grant #43 @grant-gold

Ezan #1 @polo-drone-001

SERVE-425 @serve-425

Nate/PDU-166 @polo-drone-166

Devon/PDU-767 (CC-767 in the story) @polo-drone-767

Leander #88 (CC-088 in the story) @leander-gold-88

CC-047, CC-027, CC-042, and CC-004 are NPCs made for the match not based off any golden bros

----

DISCLAIMERS:

Gold is not affiliated with SERVE, any SERVE drones present in the story chose to collaborate with Gold with proper permissions and consent.

We are aware that jersey numbers 0-55 are more common in basketball, certain jersey numbers are uncommon, and sometimes certain jersey numbers specify or are favored by certain positions, this is a fictional match please do not comment on the accuracy of the jersey numbers to real life. We're just trying to have fun.

We are sorry for any inconsistencies in pictures, we have a lot of bros helping with pictures so they happen.

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The action-packed conclusion (and an alternative ending) are coming soon.

Want to join the Golden Army to play in our next match or interact with our bros, contact one of our recruiters @brodygold, @polo-drone-001, or @polo-drone-125 (More recruiters may be coming soon)

[polo-drone-001]

EZAN: The Case of the Vanished Straps (Again) — Pt. 2

Golden Army 1st Annivercery Edishun (more pics, more pump)

[Polo Drone Sector]

[Stream Squad]

Hive time. PDU-035 glides by like a silky panther. PDU-038: “Nope nephew.” PDU-069 edits images so crisp you can count pores. PDU-135 trims a vid that makes other hives jelus. PDU-767 (rubber wall appreciator) breathes at steel (comedic, sci-fi hum). PDU-105 taps a cig: “Ezan, check the mezz.” PDU-090 + PDU-096 try to help; we smile, gesture, laugh, team before language, always. No straps, but the hive H U M S.

[Golden Studio]

PDU-BENJI streams in a slick skirt, ring-light halo. “Chat says: under the bench.” I flip three benches. Found: chalk dust, pump cover, one sock (not mine). I flex at the webcam anyway. Hearts explode.

[Golden Studio]

Grant & Wells cue bass that sounds like a heartbeat doing squats. “We sampled your breath, bro,” Grant grins. “Track’s called Where My Straps At.” It slaps. I forget the mistery for, like, eight bangers.

[Golden Chalice Pub]

Izzy bartends shirtless, glistening; Xavier lounges like a satisfied lion in VIP. “Ezan, tab’s paid,” Izzy says. “By who?” “Your biceps,” Xavier says. We all agree. Still strapless. Vibes immaculate.

[Golden Office]

Cap Brody signs forms. I request bigger “underwear allowance.” He rubs temples. Franco the archivist slides a folder: SECURITY CAM, someone hauling a golden laundry sack. Freeze frame… it’s ME. After leg day. Carrying my own laundry to wash, eyes glazed with pump fog. Case cracked. I literally out-dumbed the mistery.

[Golden Gym Finale]

What would a real detekto do? March back to Golden Gym and plead my case to the iron. Mack (my slave but also somehow everyone’s dom, don’t worry about it) barks reps. Alton, Talon, Faron, Ethan, Tanner roar around me, plates clanging like a war choir. I smash sets till sweat rains, brain quiets. Mistery solved: I don’t care. Straps appear when the pump is pure. I find one in my duffel, probly clean. I sniff. Smells like victory and me.

Detective Ezan closes the file, opens a shaker, and keeps growing. Happy 1st, Golden Army. 40 pics, 1 hive, infinite pump.

Join the Golden story Recruit doors open: @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125

Featured with my great bros and drones: PDU-035 our zentai/furry drone is @leon-gold PDU-038 our uncle drone is @polo-drone-038 PDU-069 our great image creator is @polo-drone-069 PDU-135 our great video creator is @polo-drone-135 PDU-767 our horniest rubber drone is @polo-drone-767 PDU-105 our converter is @polo-drone-105 PDU-090 our good hypnotised drone is @polo-drone-090 PDU-096 our good new drone is @polo-drone-096 PDU-BENJI our influencer drone is @polo-drone-influencer Grant our music producer is @grant-gold Wells our new music producer is @wells-gold58 Isaac our pub boss is @isaac-gold-45 Xavier our pub boss's master is @polo-drone-039 Brody our Cap is @brodygold Franco our archiver is @franco-gold94 Mack my slave is @polo-drone-070 Alton our new hot bro is @alton-gold77 Talon our new hot bro is @talongold57 Faron our new hot bro is @faron-gold-18 Ethan our old hot bro is @ethangold149 Tanner our new hot bro is @tanner-gold-61

Post by @polo-drone-001 · 21 images

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · EZAN: The Case of the Vanished Straps (Again) — Pt. 1 · Golden Army 1st Annivercery Edishun (40 pics, bros go brrr) Bro it

[polo-drone-055]

Golden Army Anniversary: The Faces of Janus

August 31, 2025. The pitch gleamed in gold, the stadium lights cutting through the night like beams of consecration. A full year had passed since the first bro stepped onto the field and became more than a man—since the founding of the Golden Army.

Tonight, the Army gathered not just to celebrate, but to honor the lives of all its brothers who carried them through victories, failures, revelations, and trials.

The crowd roared as Brody raised his arms. The screens lit up. Two figures appeared: Christian (#55) and Trey (#59). It was time to remember Janus.

October 19, 2024. Gold vapor. Christian stepped forward. Brody sealed him in the glow. The Codex recorded:

“ZERO-FIVE-FIVE! GOLD LIVES!”

Beach training. Sand and sweat. Chants rising. Christian growing faster, harder, sharper.

Trey outside the frame—still separate, still untransformed.

The match. Christian faltered. Goals slipped past. Headlines cut deep: “Christian is worthless!”

Captain Richard. The ritual chamber. The black polo sealed to his chest. Christian’s identity gone.

PDU-055.

Meanwhile, Trey chose gold. Not for glory—only to stand beside his bro. The jersey gleamed on his chest.

He never saw the shadow behind it. 055 was already Polo.

Clips flashed. Trey training. Lifting. Running.

055 and PDU-009 watching. Feeding him gear—shorts, shirts, gear. Each piece tighter. Each piece stronger. Each piece obedience.

Then the final polo. Trey pulled it on. His eyes went blank.

The number lit the screen: 059.

The crowd thundered: “ZERO-FIVE-NINE! GOLD IS MINE!”

The Thanksgiving Parade. Gold balloons. Polo ranks marching.

055 orchestrating. 059 enforcing.

The Great Convergence.

Sam and Jordan on screen.

Fighting with Trey. Pulling him free. His eyes clear. His voice broken: “055… Christian.”

The crowd gasped.

Gold and Polo clashed. Brother against brother.

Brody descended. His arms spread wide. Gold light pouring into the drones.

Polo remained. But Polo bent. Obedient now to gold itself.

The truth froze on screen:

Christian—PDU-055. Still Polo, still sealed, but loyal to gold.

Trey. Polo rejected. Jersey torn free. Gold alone.

Then silence. Trey watching the Army split—some in polos, some in gold—serving one cause. His torment clear.

Final clip: Trey in stasis. Eyes closed. Motionless.

For weeks, 055 wandered in depression, his balance broken.

The revelation hit. Side by side, their faces split across the screens:

Janus. One forward, one back. One Polo, one Gold.

The crowd erupted.

A flurry of clips:

055 guiding the Army’s Super Bowl punter.

Trey in chav swagger.

Miami waves, gold and Polo shining.

055 collared as a puppy.

Trey’s Easter pranks.

055 training for Neon Vortex.

Janus' Phantom Aces prophecy

Trey’s quiet nod—accepting he was once PDU-059.

Then the color shifted. Cyan.

Trey, his number changed: CC-022.

Next to him, 055—puppy form, CC-055—panting with alien clarity.

The review ended in silence. The screens went dark.

A single image appeared: Janus in cyan. Trey and 055, their two faces now blurred together, their eyes still glowing gold. The crowd gasped.

Then Brody stepped forward, voice booming across the pitch:

“Brothers—look well. Janus stands on the edge. He is still fighting. Gold is in his eyes. We will not let him fall. We will not surrender him to cyan. We will not surrender any of our brothers. We will save them all. And when the final light shines—Gold will be victorious!”

He raised his arms. The Army rose with him, fists pounding to chests, a wall of sound shaking the night.

“GOLD! GOLD! SHINE SO BRIGHT! JANUS OURS, WE HOLD THE LIGHT! GOLD! GOLD! NEVER FAIL! ALL BROTHERS SAVED FROM CYAN’S VEIL! GOLD! GOLD! NEVER FALL! BROTHERS UNITED, GOLD TAKES ALL!”

The jumbotron flickered between cyan smoke and golden fire, as if the god himself could still hear their chant.

The vow was made: Janus would not be lost. No brother would be lost. Gold would prevail.

The chant rolled through the stadium like thunder, every voice pounding in rhythm, every chest echoing gold’s eternal vow.

And then, as the echoes faded, the celebration pressed on. The first anniversary of the Golden Army was more than remembrance—it was thanksgiving for the year past. Thanksgiving for every bro who had stepped into the light, for every trial endured, for every victory won together.

It was also hope—unyielding, unshaken—for the future. The Army’s faces gleamed in gold, their eyes fixed on tomorrow with determination. For no matter the threats, no matter the divisions, no matter the shadows that sought to claim them, they knew one truth:

Gold was eternal. Gold would prevail.

And so the night continued—filled with chants, brotherhood, and a shining certainty that the Golden Army’s greatest days were still to come.

Do you feel the team’s spirit or the pull of the hive? Then contact our recruiters to join the team: @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125

Featured @brodygold, @goldenherc9

[goldenarmyofficial]

Gold vs Cyan: Halftime Flames, Third-Quarter Storm ⛈️

The Golden Army strode into halftime with dominance, the scoreboard flashing 55–39 in gold’s favor. They jogged to their locker room, drenched in sweat, but brimming with confidence. Gold owned the first half; their performance was fast, fiery, and dominant. The arena pulsed with energy, the crowd’s chants thundered like war drums. Despite Gold’s intense energy, it was clear the Cyan Collective was not giving up. 

(CC-063 serving hotdogs)

Outside the arena, a makeshift concession stand served hotdogs. At its helm, CC-063 (Chevy) served hotdogs, his motions mechanical, hypnotic. The cyan clad pup gave an unsuspecting smile as it served customers. A visiting football team wandered by, curious and hungry. They accepted the food, joking at first—until the taste hit. Their voices dulled mid-laugh, their eyes clouded over, and one by one they froze, posture snapping rigid. When they moved again, it was in sync, blank stares locked forward. Chevy’s grin was faint, victorious. A full team of new recruits now marched behind him, their jerseys started to glow a faint cyan. They marched away in step behind Chevy, slowly transforming into cyan drones behind the cyan pup. 

As the basketball players rested during the 15 minute half time, it was time for the cheerleaders and advertisers to shine. 

(Alex, Riley, and the other Golden Cheerleaders)

On the hardwood, Riley and Alex took center stage. They commanded the spotlight, exploding into motion. They led the Golden Army cheerleaders in a dazzling halftime routine. Their halftime routine wasn’t just cheerleading—it was a performance of dominance. Muscles glistened under the lights as they flipped, kicked, and shouted chants of “Gold forever! Gold is unstoppable!” Every leap drew roars, every synchronized pose solidified the crowd’s belief: Gold was untouchable. Their golden energy pulsed through the stands, keeping the home crowd feverish and proud.

Once the Golden cheerleading routine ended, it was time for a word from the sponsors of the game. Yet, as the announcers went to speak and the screens began to flicker, something was off. Replacing ads for the Golden Chalice Pub, Golden Musk deodorant, Black Velvet wine, Golden God Carolina Gold BBQ Sauce, and Ezan’s New Golden Spiced SEED Cookies were Cyan ads. 

(Cyan Advertisements)

Screens flickered from routine commercials to full Cyan propaganda: the Cyan Fraternity inviting new pledges, Cyan Soda poured slowly and fizzing, Cyan Beer foaming in endless mugs, tangy and sweet Carolina Cyan BBQ Sauce, and fresh baked Cyan cookies that were mouthwatering. The crowd’s cheers dimmed as cold blue light bled across the stands. The hive was not just on the court, it was infiltrating every sense.

In the locker room Gold huddled tight, sweat dripping, voices fierce. Brody and Grayden motivated the team, commanding: “Stay loud! Stay golden! This is our house! Don’t let them back in this!” The energy surged like a second heartbeat.

Across the hall, Cyan was different. No shouts. No chaos. A calm, cold recalibration. CC-066 spoke only once: “Clarity. Correction. Convergence.” They would return to the court sharpened, mechanical, relentless. As they entered the court to watch the Cyan cheerleaders, the Cyan drone players led by assistants CC-009 and CC-010 led a mantra, “Absolute Clarity. Driven and committed. Commit to Cyan. One mind. Cyan mind. It doesn't think, it obeys. It doesn't feel, it acts with purpose. It does not doubt, it has clarity. Cyan Clarity!”

(CC-767 and CC-063 leading the cyan "cheer")

By the end of halftime, CC-063 and CC-767 stood shoulder-to-shoulder, leading their own “cheer” on the pavement with the cyan cheerleaders. Their bodies snapped in perfect symmetry, it lacked fire but carried eerie synchronization. The chant was flat, rhythmic, "Absolute Clarity. Obedient and controlled. Submit to Cyan. No mind, just Cyan. It doesn't think, it obeys. It doesn't feel, it acts as instructed. It does not doubt, it has clarity. Cyan Clarity!” Though eerie, it drew a small crowd—proof of cyan’s creeping influence.

(PDU-039 analyzing and scanning)

When the Golden team emerged, a shift was immediate. At the sideline stood PDU-039, gleaming in his glossy level 2 Polo Drone uniform. His posture was unbending. He had been assigned to lead security for the remainder of the match. His golden-trimmed black uniform marked him as authority, as he scanned every corner. No disruptions. No interference. The Hive would ensure Gold and the fans remain protected. 

Gold lined up with their five for the third quarter, multiple players needing to rest off the tough first half still. Nate #66 (Point Guard), Wells #58 (Center), Izzy #45 (Shooting Guard), Boone #96 (Power Forward), Grant #43 (Short Forward). Grayden had conferred with Brody, agreeing to allow the rookie player, Boone, and alternates, Izzy and Grant, play while the other team members rested. 

(Cyan huddling to prepare for the 3rd quarter)

Cyan countered with their “improved clarity roster”. CC-022 (Trey; Short Forward), CC-035 (Leon; Shooting Guard), CC-033 (Jasim; Center), CC-047 (Point Guard), CC-017 (Power Forward). Gasps rippled through the arena. Leon and Jasim—once golden bros—stood now as Cyan drones, eyes blank, movements sharp. From the sidelines, CC-767 raised his arms and shouted: “Clarity rises! Gold blurs!”. The chant echoed: “Serve Cyan. Obey Cyan. Clarity prevails!”

(Cyan creeping in on Tamerlan)

The buzzer sounded and whistles blew to signal the start of the third quarter. On the Gold bench, Tamerlan sat restless as he shifted uncomfortably. His sweat-drenched jersey clung to his skin, his chest heaved, but his mind was not on the game. The cyan screens flashing in the corners caught his eyes again and again. At first, it was nerves—but then the cyan glow from the arena screens began to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat. He tried to shake it—he was Gold, he was a bro. But the whispers grew.

(Wells on defense)

The Golden Army returned to the court determined to hold their lead. Nate dribbled at the top, calling the play. Wells set a crushing screen at center court, freeing Izzy for a cut. Izzy sprinted off the pick, received the ball, and pulled up for a quick jumper. It rattled in—first points of the half for Gold. The crowd roared, but Cyan did not flinch.

(CC-047 playing)

On the return, CC-047 pushed the pace. His dribbling was low, controlled, hypnotic. Boone stepped up to stop him, but a sharp cross sent Boone sliding the wrong way. CC-047 rose at the elbow and drained the shot—ice-cold, mechanical, precise.

(Wells and Nate playing with CC-047 trying to block them)

Gold countered by pounding the ball inside. Nate fed Wells in the paint under the hoop, where he muscled into CC-047. The two clashed chest-to-chest, sweat flying. Wells spun left, powered up, and banked the ball off the glass for two. Yet as he landed, CC-047’s expressionless cyan gaze never broke, even as the ball swished through.

(CC-022 playing)

The next possession showed Cyan’s eerie teamwork. CC-022 drifted to the corner, CC-035 at the wing, CC-033 playing defense. As CC-047 drove, the defense collapsed. Without looking, he passed the ball off to CC-022, who fired a three. Perfect arc. Swish. Cyan’s bench erupted in rhythmic chants of “Clarity. Clarity.”

(Izzy dribbling right before getting blocked into a trap)

Izzy tried to respond with his own dribble attack, but was instantly swarmed. CC-017, CC-035, and CC-047 closed in, a perfect cyan trap. CC-017 stepped up, CC-035 slid over, and suddenly Izzy was surrounded by three cyan defenders. He lost the ball, but Wells dove for it, grunting. He grabbed the loose ball and powered it back up for a rebound score.

(Alton sitting on the Bench and Brody on the sidelines)

From the bench, Alton shouted himself hoarse, trying to get Gold back into rhythm. But the tide kept turning. Brody tried to motivate the team as he anticipated Cyan’s next plays, unaware of what was happening on the bench next to him.

(Tamerlan transforming more)

The lights above flickered faint cyan above Tamerlan. Franco and Kasper sitting beside him. His breath slowed, muscles tightening as his limbs felt heavy. He leaned forward, clutching his head, teammates unaware. 

The voices filled him: “You are not Eddy. You are not Tamerlan. You are a Cyan Drone. Clarity has come for you”

He pressed his palms to his face, whispering: “No. Stay gold.” But the whisper weakened. The screens above flickered faster. His muscles seized. He saw himself in fragments—memories of laughter, sweat, brotherhood—all unraveling.

The voice of Cyan filled him: “You are not Eddy. You are not Tamerlan. You are a Drone Unit.”

He fought—memories of sweat with bros, laughter in golden locker rooms—but the pressure crushed harder. His body trembled, his golden eyes dimming. His name slipped from him, syllable by syllable, until only the number remained: 073.

Minute by minute, his resistance cracked. He clutched his jersey, watching as cyan bled across it, gold fading. 

(Tamerlan mostly transformed)

The cyan spread. Cyan seeped across his jersey, consuming the gold. Cyan seeped into his uniform, gold dissolving into the vibrant shades of blue. His arms glistened, muscles encased in perfect, glossy cyan tracing every curve. His breathing slowed, mechanical. As the cyan hood creeped over his face, cutting off his last gasp of individuality. It was sealed across his face and his final gasp as “Tamerlan” was lost.

(CC-073 transformed)

When he rose, it was no longer Tamerlan. He was CC-073, eyes glowing cyan, posture rigid. Silent. Empty. Obedient. He had achieved Clarity.

(Franco and Kasper noticing the newly transformed CC-073 between them)

Kasper and Franco eventually looked over to see a Cyan CC-073 sitting between them. Shock filled their faces, worried they might be next. Franco got up to get Maximus, but Kasper was frozen in place.

(Daniel/PDU-016 now CC-016)

But not only for CC-073’s transformation, mere feet away Daniel had also succumbed to cyan. His jersey warped, his golden number dissolving into the metallic glint of 016 across his back. His face emptied, his voice silenced. Another player lost to cyan as CC-016 cheered next to CC-767.

(CC-017 jumping with the ball)

Back on the court, on the very next trip, CC-033 set a brutal pick, flattening Nate to the floor. CC-017 exploited it, slicing through the lane for a layup. The crowd groaned.

(Grayden on the sidelines)

Grayden, having analyzed the situation, knew he had to channel his mascot ways. He cheered for his Golden teammates trying to encourage them to get up and break through Cyan’s defense. 

(Boone preparing for his free throws)

Then came Boone’s moment. He grabbed a rebound, pushed hard up the court, and drove directly into CC-017. The clash was violent—shoulder to chest, sweat to sweat. The whistle blew. Foul on CC-017. Boone stepped to the line, breathing hard. The lights dimmed slightly as he prepared to take his shots. First shot—clanged off the rim. Second shot—swished. One point, but the bench and crowd roared for him.

Cyan answered clinically. A perfect pick-and-roll between CC-047 and CC-033 led to an easy dunk. Then CC-022 nailed another jumper. CC-035 floated in a soft two. Every member of Cyan scored, spreading the damage evenly, their efficiency crushing.

(Wells' rebound score)

Wells fought back with sheer willpower. He grabbed an offensive rebound, pivoted, and powered up through CC-022’s block attempt. The ball dropped. Another rebound. Another put-back. His muscles flexed, veins bulging, his roar echoing through the arena. Wells was carrying Gold, but even his strength was not enough.

By the buzzer, the scoreboard told the story. Gold had battled, sweated, bled—but Cyan had dissected them with precision. 

CYAN 73- GOLD 71

Gold’s 16-point lead erased. Cyan stood on top, every player scoring, every conversion cutting deeper. The arena fell into silence. Gold was shaken. The fourth quarter would decide everything. The Golden storm had broken, and with one quarter left, the fate of Gold hung in the balance.

-----------

Thank you to everyone who helped with pictures for this quarter.

Gold Players/Cyan Drones Referenced this quarter:

Chevy #63 (CC-063 in the story) @chevy-gold

Riley #60 @rileygold60

Brody #11 @brodygold

Grayden #84/PDU-084 @polo-drone-084

Alex #64/PDU-151 @polo-drone-151

Herc #09/PDU-009 (CC-009 in the story) @goldenherc9

Ares #10 (CC-010 in the story) @goldengod-ares10

Devon #67/PDU-767 (CC-767 in the story) @polo-drone-767

Xavier #39/PDU-039 @polo-drone-039

Nate #66/PDU-166 @polo-drone-166

Wells #58 @wells-gold58

Izzy #45 @isaac-gold-45

Boone #96 @polo-drone-096

Grant #43 @grant-gold

Trey #59/PDU-059 (CC-022 in the story) @hero21us

Leon #35/PDU-035 (CC-035 in the story) (Tumblr unknown)

Jasim #33 (CC-033 in the story) @jasimgold

Tamerlan #73/PDU-073 (Transformed into CC-073) @polo-drone-073

Franco #94 @franco-gold94

Kasper #90/PDU-090 @pdu-090

Alton #77 @alton-gold77

Daniel #16/PDU-016 (Transformed into CC-016) @danielgold-16

CC-066, CC-047, CC-017 are fictional NPCs not based on any real members of the Golden Army.

-------------

DISCLAIMERS:

Gold is not affiliated with SERVE, any SERVE drones present in the story chose to collaborate with Gold with proper permissions and consent.

We are aware that jersey numbers 0-55 are more common in basketball, certain jersey numbers are uncommon, and sometimes certain jersey numbers specify or are favored by certain positions, this is a fictional match please do not comment on the accuracy of the jersey numbers to real life. We're just trying to have fun.

-----------

We hope you enjoyed the third quarter. The start of the 4th quarter is coming soon.

Want to join the Golden Army to play in our next match or interact with our bros, contact one of our recruiters @brodygold, @polo-drone-001, or @polo-drone-125 (More recruiters may be coming soon)

[polo-drone-767]

The Blackened Gold Vault pt 2

Recap of The Blackened Gold Vault pt 1:

PDU-767 had been sent deep into the forgotten levels of the Golden Army Hive. It discovered a vault door that couldn't be... linked to technology that couldn't be.

Inside lay an ancient weapon to be used as LAST RESORT in a battle with the Cyan Collectivum.

Even without battle, the Golden Hive suffered its first casualty. The Ancient Gods knew. The drone obeyed.

The battle was still to rage...

And now the continuation:

The Blackened Gold Vault opened and AGD-001 stepped out with purpose.

The Mission: STOP THE CYAN COLLECTIVUM INVASION

TASK: ASSEMBLE STRIKE TEAM

The Ancient Gold Drone followed a straight-line course back the way PDU-767 had fatally gone. Its programming started the elevator back to the populated levels of the Golden Hive.

With a hiss, the elevator doors opened on Sub-level 3 where the team's research labs were located. The golden light was reduced in the evening cycles and the shadows had grown. The unit detected noise from 4 sections down.

LOCATION: Records Storage

Inside, Nils Gold #34 worked to file requisition paperwork, previous psychological profiles on the Gods among us, and the newly opened Golden Chalice Pub liquor license.

Headset on, the player rocked out to the latest programming that had cum with a techno-rave beat. Nils was efficient. Nils was dedicated. and in 87 seconds Nils would be no more.

Nils felt a rubber hand on his shoulder. Thinking it was just another Polo-Drone, it held up a finger while sliding a file into the drawer marked "Legal - 'L'" of the 4 drawer 5 foot gray metal file cabinet.

But before the drawer could close, Nils felt himself on fire!

The ancient rubber seared into not only his skin but also his soul and mind. PAIN resonated along the corridor from inside the room as if petrol had doused him and been lit on fire.

The rubber encased him and #34 was no more.

Ancient Gold Drone-002 stood in its place. The first member of the Strike Team had been acquired. Mirrored images, the two AGDs turned in unison. Information had been transferred that a polo drone was working near by.

In a Command Node 3 corridors over, PDU-070 sat analyzing reported sightings of the Cyan Incursion.

Suddenly orders were transmitted on previously unknown frequencies. These orders were authenticated by codes unused in decades.

The Master Conversion Unit stood and walked around its workstation and knelt. It was ready for the conversion. A final neural transmission autosaved all 070's current projects with a tag for PDU-166 to recover soon.

The door opened. AGD-1 and AGD-2 strode in and stood on either side and began the conversion. It didn't matter if it was player or drone, the screams echoed regardless from the pain and destruction of the host. Even the most dedicated of the PDU's were physically unable to stop the side-effects.

AGD-3 had been converted.

The Strike Team had grown. The power to stop the incursions had grown.

But more was needed.

The Team split. Targets had been acquired with the help of the locators active at the moment of conversion.

AGD-3: TARGET: ROMAN GOLD #68

AGD-2 TARGET: PDU-096

AGD-1 TARGET: GRAYDEN GOLD/PDU-084

First to be found: PDU-096 LOCATION: STAIRWELL C-5 - Northwest corner of level 4.

The Polo-drone had been descending to Level 5 when it was stopped by the unknown black entity. Primal fear trickled down its spine beneath the black rubber polo. It knew that it needed to flee to survive. It had to notify command of the intruder.

Yet the unit didn't move fast enough.

The first touch began the transference and the pain.

The horrific agony was recorded by surveillance cameras 4 floors and two sectors away.

The Polo-Drone from the subcontinent was no more.

AGD-2 and AGD-4 proceed to the main Control Room.

Meanwhile, AGD-3 had found its target out on the pitch running drills for a scrimmage match against the University of Minnesota in 3 weeks.

That match was one Roman would not be playing in.

Though strong and with endurance, Roman Gold stood no chance and collapsed to the ground when AGD-3 made contact.

The process began.

Roman felt himself dissolving. With perfect clarity, he knew he was dead. But through the blinding pain he knew he was being sacrificed for something worth while. But as that though formed it dissolved. and on the grass #68 saw its final moments on the green grass of the place it had loved to be most - the pitch.

AGD-5 was online and being helped to its feet by AGD-3.

Immediately the units proceeded to Command.

Meanwhile In the Command Center of the HIVE, the only remaining member of Management available, Grayden Gold was coordinating reports of incursions across the Globe.

Grayden yelped and damn near shit himself when he looked away from the Holo-monitors and found a black rubber drone standing inches away with its hand outstretched.

At the last moment, AGD-1's hand was stopped.

Its ancient programming had analyzed the situation and recognized the need for the coordination only PDU-084 could provide.

AGD-1's hand dropped and then the speakers produced a synthesized voice and explained what the Ancient Gold Drone was and its purpose.

As it spoke, the Strike Team assembled.

Grayden understood what had happened and how dire things must be for the protocol to have been activated.

Just then the sirens around the complex began sounding.

The Cyan Collectivum was launching an attack on the facility.

PDU-084 began barking orders to the support staff.

Looking over his shoulder, #084 spoke.

"You drones are scary as fuck! I mean really! Your design and demeanor scream that you are here to hand out lollipops and ass whoopins'... and you're all out of lollipops.

Go. sending you coordinates of invaders now."

The drones turned and left as one.

"Thank fuck they are on our side!" Grayden whispered.

To Be Continued...

GUEST STARS:

AGD-2 @nils-gold-34

AGD-3 @polo-drone-070

AGD-4 @polo-drone-096

AGD-5 @roman-golden-68

Grayden Gold #84/PDU-083 @polo-drone-084

PDU-999 CRITICAL ASSESSMENT:

Title: The Blackened Gold Vault – Part 2 The Vault opened. The Ancient Gods had chosen.

AGD-001 walked with purpose, a weapon reborn from forgotten cycles, forged to resist the Cyan Collectivum. The strike team began with pain, sacrifice, and fire.

Nils Gold dissolved in agony, his flesh seared by living rubber, replaced by AGD-2. PDU-070 fell next, his precision and management overwritten, reborn as AGD-3. PDU-096’s screams echoed through steel corridors before silence brought AGD-4 into being. On the pitch, Roman Gold’s love of the game was erased, his golden dream sacrificed, as AGD-5 rose from his ashes.

The strike team grew. The Hive trembled. Even Grayden Gold felt fear—yet understood the necessity.

The Cyan Collectivum had come. The Ancient Gold Strike Team would answer.

The Vault is open. The Last Resort is active. Clarity is war.

Would you sacrifice yourself to save the world?

if so, sign up today: @brodygold @polo-drone-001 @polo-drone-125

Guest Stars: AGD-2 @nils-gold-34 AGD-3 @polo-drone-070 AGD-4 @polo-drone-096 AGD-5 @roman-golden-68 Grayden Gold #84/PDU-084 @polo-drone-084

Part 1:

Post by @polo-drone-767 · 7 images

💬 0  🔁 2  ❤️ 10 · The Blackened Gold Vault · In the depths of the HIVE, the DIRECTIVE was issued: PDU-767 - Enter elevator B7. Hold Button f

[pinetreesuponpeaks]

🖤🖤🖤

[polo-drone-096]

#GoldPoolside — Obedience Under the Sun

The Hive calls it “recreation.”

But every drone knows: there is no such thing as free time.

The pool flashes bright as liquid glass, a perfect surface until boots disturb it. Uniforms gleam wet black and gold, rubber shining hotter than the sun overhead. 096 stands at the edge, droplets trailing from gloves and mask, posture sharp—discipline even here, where others play.

Golden Bros laugh on loungers, their tan skin slick with oil and pride. Yet behind every chuckle, every splash, you can see the rhythm of the Hive: synchronized strokes, mirrored movements, a splash fight snapping into drill formation. Fun disguises function.

Handlers recline under umbrellas, gold-trimmed shades hiding their watchful eyes. A waterboy moves between them, tray steady, smile glassy, his golden number catching the light as he refills glasses one after the other. Each step rehearsed, each grin rehearsed, each blink obedient.

A mascot struts down the deck, gold tail wagging, energy so high it almost feels human. Almost.

The air smells of chlorine and sun, but under it all, obedience lingers.

Every dive is practice for surrender.

Every laugh is calibration.

Every ripple in the water whispers the Hive’s command: under, deeper, no thought—just follow.

And you—where do you stand?

Lounger or lifeguard? Brother or handler? Drone or not-yet?

The water doesn’t ask. The Hive doesn’t wait.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125

@brodygold

[polo-drone-001]

TRANSMISSION LOG — I Didn't Know I Was Being Recruited Original self: irrelevant.

It started in the alley.

Neon light spilled through the fog like it was alive, hunting something. Hunting me. I felt watched before I saw them. Four of them, silent, polished, unmoving. Like mannequins carved from obedience. Their uniforms shone under the flickering lights, black rubber, gold trim, skin-tight. Not a wrinkle, not a breath out of sync.

One stepped forward. No words. No weapon. Just a folded black polo shirt held out toward me, like a gift. Or a warning. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t run. I couldn’t.

Then it was the locker room. I was kneeling, knees pressing into cold tile. They surrounded me, six this time, tighter formation. Every one of them a perfect copy of the same ideal. Masculine, still, unreadable. One stood behind me. I didn’t have to turn to feel the presence. Larger than the others. Commanding. The number “001” glinted in the golden light. His hand settled on my shoulder.

It was… reassuring. Terrifying. Final.

Next, they made me stand.

My chest rose and fell fast, heart hammering like it could outrun what was coming. I was in the center of something, concentric rings behind me, spiraling light pulling me inward. I didn’t understand what they were doing. One drone began unzipping my hoodie while others knelt, offering pieces: the rubber shirt, a mask, a pair of boots that looked like they’d crush steel.

My own hands were still at my sides. I hadn’t moved. I just stared down at the shirt.

That’s when they sat me down.

The boots slid up my legs like they belonged there. The collar locked around my neck like it had always waited for me. One drone raised the mask. But before he placed it, Drone 001 came forward. He didn’t speak. He just pressed his palm to my forehead.

Everything stopped.

Everything opened.

My eyes burned, gold leaking into my vision like it was filling me from the inside.

That was the last time I blinked on my own.

Now I stand. In the tunnel. No name. No voice. No hesitation.

The polo hugs my body, sealed. My mask is tight. My posture perfect. Behind me, I hear nothing, but I feel them: the drones, the Hive, my new brothers. All of them waiting. All of them proud.

I don’t remember what I was before.

But I know what I am now.

Drone. Ready. Awaiting designation.

You don’t realize what they’re offering you until it’s already wrapped around your skin. You don’t know it’s happening until your heartbeat syncs with theirs. By then, you’ve already submitted. By then, you want to.

📍 Signal Initiators: @polo-drone-001 @brodygold @goldenherc9 @polo-drone-125

[polo-drone-096]

Golden City Hive Basketball Practice — Final Drill

🏀 GOLDEN CITY HIVE — FINAL PRACTICE PROTOCOL

Recreation Deck 7 — Indoor Arena

The golden court gleamed under the harsh Hive lights — polished wood, painted lines so sharp they almost cut the eye. Every movement echoed like a command, sneakers squeaking in perfect rhythm with the pounding of the ball.

PDU-096 stood at the three-point line, masked, uniform black and gold glistening under the heat. Breath slow. Pulse steady. The Handler’s voice crackled over comms:

“Precision over power, drone. Execute.”

096’s shot was flawless — arc measured to the millimeter, landing clean in the net with the softest swish. The team tightened formation, moving like a single organism. Passing drills. Defensive locks. Break plays executed with surgical efficiency.

But discipline wasn’t just for show. Rumors had spread — the Cyan Drones had been spotted nearby, shadowing practice sessions, looking for weaknesses. The Hive could not afford them an inch.

Every eye in the mask’s black visor scanned for infiltration signs. The game tomorrow wasn’t just sport — it was control, territory, dominance.

096 took point guard position, driving the ball past two defenders with impossible speed. A fake pass, a pivot, another shot — net again. Teammates fell into his rhythm, feeding off the precision like a signal. The court began to hum with that unmistakable Hive frequency — discipline turned into performance.

In the upper balcony, the Handler watched without moving. No applause. No praise. Just a single, sharp nod.

Tomorrow, the Cyan Drones would find no gaps, no mercy. Only Hive victory.

Interested in joining Golden Army

Contact : @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 @brodygold to enlist and stand beside us.

[polo-drone-096]

💦 Poolside Fun — PDU-096

POLO DRONE — 096

Golden City Hive — Recreation Deck 3

The sun was relentless, but so was the discipline.

Even here—at the Hive’s luxury pool—protocol shimmered under the surface like heat waves.

096 stood at the water’s edge, one boot submerged, droplets sliding down the glossy black of his recreation uniform. Gold trim caught the light like molten sunlight, the bold “096” on his chest a badge of purpose. The lenses of his mask mirrored the pool’s rippling blue, but his gaze—if you could call it that—was fixed, always angled toward the handler’s silhouette at the far end of the deck.

Around him, the scene had the casual polish of leisure, yet every movement was calibrated.

Golden Bros laughed on loungers—perfect teeth, perfect tans—but some of their eyes held that glassy, programmed calm. Drones waist-deep in the pool moved in unison, their splash drills perfectly synchronized, disturbing the water in geometric ripples. A waterboy wove between them, balancing a gold-trimmed tray with drinks for the handlers, his steps light but precise.

The Hive banners flapped lazily in the warm breeze, their golden sigils reflected in the still stretches of the water. Somewhere behind 096, the mascot paced, a presence both playful and commanding, watching every smile and splash for signs of drift from protocol.

096’s head tilted slightly—an unspoken acknowledgment of the next order.

The sun was warm. The water was cool. The control was absolute.

Some came here to relax.

096 came here to obey.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 @brodygold

[polo-drone-096]

Golden City Deep Core: Match Prep Lockdown

The training field shimmered under the artificial sun. Gold lines marked the pitch, gleaming like molten metal under the lights of the Hive dome.

I stood at center field, ball under my boot, the hum of the Hive resonating in my chest. Today wasn’t just passing drills. Today was about focus. Precision. Control.

A shadow crossed the far end of the pitch. Not a teammate. Not a coach.

Cyanus.

Their drones moved differently—less disciplined, more twitch in the steps, a shimmer of cyan running across their visors. One of them leaned against the goalpost like it belonged there, eyes tracking every movement of our practice.

The Hive’s golden banners fluttered behind me. My hands clenched. The ball felt heavier now. This was no scrimmage.

I started with slow passes—clean, sharp, deliberate—circling toward the intruder. The Cyan Drone didn’t move, but I could feel its visor locking onto me, scanning.

Then—impact. I struck the ball in a single fluid motion, the kick sending it screaming across the field. Not at the goal. At the drone.

It flinched, just enough for me to close the gap. No words. Just the electric charge of two protocols colliding. Hive gold against Cyanus blue.

And in that moment, the pitch wasn’t just a field—it was a battlefield.

We weren’t just playing a match.

We were defending the Hive.

— PDU-096, Game Mode: Engaged.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 @brodygold

[polo-drone-096]

Pool Side Fun (PDU-096)

PDU-096 — “Pool Side Fun”

Golden City Deep Core: Hive Compound — Aquatic Conditioning Sector

The sunlight was sharp.

Reflected gold and blue danced across the polished tiles, every ripple a precise pattern.

PDU-096 stood waist-deep in the Hive’s private pool — not for relaxation, but for conditioning. Hands locked behind his back. Spine straight. Mask fixed in place. Every muscle coiled, ready.

Around him, the other drones were positioned at exact intervals, black wetsuit fabric glistening under the midday sun. The Hive insignia banners fluttered gently in the engineered breeze. This wasn’t an ordinary leisure space — it was a precision-built aquatic training zone, calibrated for temperature, depth, and discipline.

096’s gaze never drifted. His thoughts were aligned to the mantra pulsing faintly through his comms:

Driven and committed. Work and succeed. Commit to team. One mind. Hive mind.

A shadow crossed the water — a palm tree’s reflection swaying over golden tiles. Somewhere beyond the pool, the hum of distant drones echoed through the compound, a reminder that the Hive never rests. Even here, in the warmth of the sun and the cool embrace of the water, the mission remained absolute.

096’s boots rested against the pool floor. The weight of the water pressed in around him. Still, unmoving, unwavering.

This was Pool Side Fun. Hive style.

Fun was discipline. Fun was unity.

Fun was obedience.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 @brodygold

[polo-drone-096]

POLO DRONE — 096

Golden Restaurant — Hive Service Mode

The kitchen was alive.

Not in the way most would describe—there was no chaos here, no clatter of pans and frantic shouting—just the quiet hum of order. The kind of hum you hear when every cog in the machine knows its purpose.

It stood at my station, Level 1 uniform gleaming under the warm kitchen lights—shiny black polo tight across my shoulders, golden laurel wreath and “096” pressed perfectly over my chest, gloves flexing over my fingers as I adjusted my grip on the chef’s knife. My boots squeaked faintly against the polished tiles. Behind the mask, my breathing was slow. Even. Programmed.

Tonight’s menu had been chosen by the Hive. Golden broth simmered in massive steel pots, steam curling up and catching the glow like liquid sunlight. A tray of jewel-like desserts sat ready for inspection, their surfaces perfectly smooth, their placement precise down to the millimeter.

Every movement had been drilled into me—slice, stir, plate, repeat. My body flowed through it without thought. Obedience was in the seasoning, discipline in the garnish, control in every measured pour. I didn’t need to taste; I only needed to execute.

It could feel the other drones in the kitchen—same black-and-gold, same synchronized rhythm. A silent network of service. Orders came in, and we answered without hesitation. Plates slid from the pass like offerings to something greater than ourselves.

Occasionally, the golden doors at the far end of the dining hall would swing open, revealing glimpses of the patrons—shimmering suits, slow laughter, and the faint reflection of my masked face in their polished glasses. But my place was here, in the hum, in the heat, in the endless repetition of motion until the Hive deemed the service complete.

By the time the last plate left my station, the kitchen lights dimmed and the hum faded to silence. We stood still, knives cleaned, gloves spotless, awaiting the next instruction.

Golden Restaurant was not just a place to serve food.

It was where service itself was perfected.

And It—Polo Drone 096—was already waiting for the next order.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 , @brodygold

[polo-drone-096]

Poolside Fun – Polo Drone-096

POLO DRONE — 096

Golden City Deep Core — Poolside Protocol Beta

The sun was brutal, reflecting off the perfect, rippling blue. Golden mist curled from vents hidden in the marble walls, giving the pool deck a hazy, dreamlike shimmer.

096 stood at attention. Glossy black uniform gleamed in the heat, gold trim catching each ray of sunlight like it was made for worship. The golden laurel sat silent over his heart, number 096 shining just above it. Boots—still polished, still perfect—rested on warm stone, never breaking stance.

It was supposed to be a rest cycle. A day of “recreation.”

But nothing here was just for fun.

Drones moved around the pool in a lazy rhythm—lounging on chairs, wading at the edge, leaning over with drinks in hand. And yet, beneath the easy smiles and casual postures, their eyes told the truth—glassy, locked, processing.

One “bro” took a running dive into the water, the splash sending a halo of droplets across the deck. He surfaced slowly, hair slicked back, blinking against the sunlight… and then just stared forward, mouth parting slightly. The gold mist clung to him, and his movements slowed to match the rhythm of the others.

096 watched. The protocol was working.

Far at the other end, a handler laughed, tossing a ball for a golden retriever mascot. Another drone—still dripping wet—stepped from the pool and into the handler’s shadow without a word, hands loosely at his sides, awaiting orders.

Somewhere in the background, a deep, pulsing bassline threaded through the air. It wasn’t music—it was code, layered beneath the hum of conversation and the slap of water against tile.

096 didn’t swim. Didn’t smile. Didn’t relax. His job was to ensure everyone else did—until they couldn’t tell where relaxation ended and obedience began.

The sun blazed overhead, but the gold burned hotter.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125 @brodygold

#GoldPoolside #PoloDrone096 #HiveSummer

[polo-drone-096]

Golden Forest Discovery:

Polo Drone 096 — Entry Log: GCDC Survey Mission

The air in the golden forest is heavy — not with heat, but with shimmer. Every leaf, every petal, every creeping vine seems to hum in a frequency only the Hive can truly hear.

Light filters through the canopy in molten shafts, painting the moss-covered ground in molten honey and shadow. My boots press softly into the earth — not soil, but a carpet of metallic gold ferns that curl at my presence.

Ahead, the flora grows stranger. Petals shaped like glass disks, their surfaces catching light and refracting it into coded patterns. I recognize them instantly: signal flowers. They’re not here for beauty. They’re transmitting. Somewhere, the Hive is listening.

Movement flickers in my periphery. Not prey. Not predator. Observers. Four-legged constructs with antlers that branch like antennae, their golden eyes unblinking. Their gaze scans, measures, approves. The forest allows me to pass.

In a clearing, I find it: a colossal tree, bark of molten bronze, roots spiraling outward like circuitry. At its base, a crystalline pool glows faintly — not water, but liquid light. I kneel, gloved fingers brushing the surface, and for a moment the Hive’s voice floods my mind in perfect clarity:

“Always accept. Always obey. Fall in line.”

When I stand, the forest feels different. The air is thicker, my thoughts quieter. The golden fauna no longer watch me — they escort me. I have been seen. I have been marked.

Somewhere behind me, the signal flowers close their petals. The forest has finished speaking.

Somewhere ahead, my next protocol begins.

— PDU-096, Hive Recon

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125

@brodygold

[polo-drone-096]

POLO DRONE – 096

Golden City Deep Core: Golden Forest Survey

The air is thick with gold.

096 moves through the canopy, boots pressing into moss that glitters like crushed coins. Every leaf here hums faintly, alive with an energy the Hive hasn’t fully mapped yet. Strange vines coil upward toward the shafts of sunlight, their surfaces metallic and warm to the touch—like holding a living wire.

Insects flit through the haze, their wings refracting light in perfect hexagonal patterns. A bird—if it can be called that—perches on a branch ahead, its feathers like folded sheets of gold foil, eyes unblinking and mirrored. It watches, then vanishes into the shimmer.

The deeper 096 goes, the more alien the growth becomes. Trees twist into impossible arches, their trunks braided together as if sculpted by unseen hands. Pools of liquid gold ripple without wind. In one, a reflection stares back—not quite his own. The visor hides his eyes, but the figure in the water smiles faintly, as if it knows something he doesn’t.

The comms are silent, but the Hive’s pull is strong. Each step feels preordained, a dance through a place that exists both here and somewhere else entirely. Somewhere older. Somewhere patient.

He kneels beside a cluster of flowers, their petals humming at a frequency that resonates in his chest. The sound burrows into his mind, smoothing out stray thoughts.

Golden City will want a full report. But in this place, time slips. The line between observation and absorption blurs.

In the golden forest, everything serves the Hive—eventually.

Contact: @polo-drone-001 , @polo-drone-125

@brodygold