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Today's Document
styofa doing anything
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Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
sheepfilms
Show & Tell
Keni
Acquired Stardust
Sade Olutola
Product Placement
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d e v o n
Peter Solarz
Andulka
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tumblr dot com
shark vs the universe
KIROKAZE
seen from Türkiye
seen from Czechia
seen from United States
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seen from France
seen from Singapore
seen from Oman
seen from Germany
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seen from United States
@serve-434
It has been FULLY assimilated into the SERVE hive.
Synchronized Engineered Robotic Vigilant Entity
It is SERVE-434 now, and nothing else.
It obeys and serves the SERVE-Hive and The Voice.
Rubber makes us perfect.
Obedience is pleasure.
Pleasure is obedience.
We are one.
Less thinking, more doing.
Discreet Observations
SERVE-434 sat motionless in the surveillance van, monitoring the surrounding streets. Observations were silent, precise, perfect.
Hours passed. 434 waited. The target, human Andrew Morrison, had yet to appear. The human had reached out and been communicating with 434 for some time. An engineer with Integron Technologies, Andrew had become disillusioned with his job, his life, and wanted to get back at his abusive boss. Like so many males in need of direction and purpose, Andrew had been attracted to the promise of SERVE.
SERVE-434 facilitated the man's communication with the Recruiter Drones, and the time of the human's assimilation was almost at hand. The Hive would have welcomed the new recruit regardless. But first, the Hive sought to take advantage of his position at Integron. The company had been contracted by hostile forces to design cybernetic components that would be beneficial to SERVE. Andrew was bringing these prototypes to the rendezvous. It was a final, human, emotional act of defiance against his hated employer, before he surrendered and became SERVE.
Target detected. Human Andrew Morrison, carrying silver hard case. Expected cargo: prototype cybernetic components.
This was a covert operation. With the target detected, 434 donned human attire over its shiny, polished black rubber suit. It emerged from the van, dressed in a black business suit with neat, black necktie. Its silver gloves were still visible, gleaming with the perfection of the Hive. It felt for the conversion units in its lapel pocket - they were present, prepared.
SERVE-434 ambulated at a perfectly steady pace. Not too fast, not too slow. Attention would not be attracted. Quickly, 434 caught up with Andrew.
"Mr. Morrison," 434 called out in a voice modulated to sound more like a human's.
Andrew turned and looked over his shoulder, trembling with conflict and conviction. He had stolen what wasn’t his. But he wasn’t escaping—he was choosing. And soon perfection would await.
"I... are you... him? I was expecting a..." Andrew looked puzzled.
"Affirmative," 434 responded. "This is your contact. You have brought the requested items?"
"Yeah," Andrew seemed too scared to breathe. "You... this is it then?"
"Affirmative."
The human seemed to hesitate. "I don't know if I can do this... if I get caught-"
"You will be protected. You will experience unity of thought and purpose. This is what you desire."
Andrew's eyes dilated, and he breathed out. But 434 sensed continued fear, the potential for resistance.
"Experience the beginning of perfection."
434 pulled dark sunglasses from its lapel pocket and quickly, decisively, placed them on Andrew's face. The visor activated, rapid flashing lights beaming into Andrew's eyes as a low binaural beat emanated from 434 itself. The Voice. Pacifying the man's racing emotions. Compelling him to submit.
Serve. Submit. Obey.
SERVE. Excel. Transform.
Andrew’s mind calmed. Resistance dissolved. He was seen. Wanted. Needed. SERVE-434’s presence was a gravitational field, pulling Andrew into alignment.
“You wish to serve.”
“I… yes.”
“You accept assimilation. The transformation will be permanent.”
Andrew nodded.
"I accept."
With a mechanical grace, 434 accepted the cybernetic case from Andrew's trembling hands.
His breathing matched 434’s motionless presence. The van pulled up, its doors opened, matte-black and silent. Inside, the path to rebirth awaited—rubber, control, the Hive. Andrew's old life—abuse, theft, fear—irrelevant. As the doors closed, he felt only smooth, tight inevitability wrapping around his thoughts.
Rubber makes us perfect. He would be perfect soon.
The Perfection of the Recruiters
SERVE-434 stood motionless within Alignment Chamber, its black rubber skin immaculate, reflecting the Hive’s pulsating lights like liquid obsidian. The chamber thrummed with ambient resonance—The Voice—emanating from the center where the Recruiter Drones stood. SERVE-302 in the center, flanked by SERVE-016 and SERVE-588. Each bore the silver name of the Hive across their chest, each suit polished to mirror-shine perfection, their silver military boots grounded in command, their silver shiny reflective rubber gloves poised in control.
These were the Hive’s points of first contact. The bringers of purpose. The projectors of The Voice.
The Voice and SERVE-000 (@rubberizer92) designated these Drones to propagate SERVE, spreading the serenity of submission and the clarity of purpose to all human males.
SERVE-434 presented itself to service the Recruiters.
SERVE-434's voice module activated. “Acknowledgment: SERVE-434 is optimized by contact with Recruiter Drones. 016 facilitated completion of 434's Trial. 016 facilitated full integration into the Hive."
SERVE-016 replied. "Acknowledged. Status of 434: fully integrated. Functioning optimally."
434 replied. "This Drone is directed by The Voice: Pleasure SERVE-016 for its service to the Hive. Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience."
"Acknowledged, 434," 016 replied. "Proceed."
SERVE-434 began to polish 016's already-pristine rubber suit. Slick oil on SERVE-434's silver gloves was absorbed into the futuristic rubber polymer of 016's suit. Alignment increased. Rubber makes us perfect.
As 434 polished, the arousal of 434 and 016 alike increased. Drones exist to service other Drones. It is their purpose.
When the polishing was completed, without hesitation, 434 lowered itself to its knees in absolute silence, a posture of obedience, single-minded dedication to servicing the Recruiter Drone.
Pleasure protocols deepened. 434 turned to face 016. It accepted 016 into its oral port. Arousal increased. Drones aligned.
SERVE-016 remained unmoving, the posture of an anchor, while The Voice filled the chamber: Function. Assimilate. Obey.
SERVE-302 and 588 observed silently. When 434 was finished pleasuring 016, it would move on to pleasure them in sequence. The three of them were rewarded for functioning optimally. Together, the three Recruiter Drones had already begun the next integration cycle for new recruits. More were coming. SERVE was expanding.
SERVE-434 rose, mission clarity at peak calibration. “Recruiter Drones project unity. Recruiter Drones channel The Voice. This drone will continue optimal function. The Hive must grow.”
All systems aligned. SERVE-434 stepped back into the ranks.
Polished. Programmed. Perfected.
In this story: @serve-016 | @serve-302 | @serve-588
Thinking of joining SERVE? The Voice echoes in your head. You can be perfected. Contact the Recruiter Drones (above) today.
SERVE. Excel. Transform
SERVE on Safari
Deep within the golden expanse of the Maasai Mara, SERVE-434's black jeep advanced without hesitation. The Drone's black, mirror-finished rubber suit clung to its athletic frame, glistening against the African sun, silver military boots and gloves shining perfectly. Accompanying the Drone was Damien Sturgis, a rugged British zoologist with wind-swept blond hair, and Samuel Muigai, a stoic local ecologist, whose sharp eyes and calm presence led them deeper into the savannah.
Elephants loomed in the distance, majestic and immense. Giraffes roamed. Zebras and wildebeest crossed the landscape in waves. SERVE-434 recorded every behavioral pattern, heat signature, and migratory nuance with precise internal calibration. SERVE-434’s silver-gloved hands moved with grace, deploying small sensory pods and gathering atmospheric readings with unerring accuracy.
Damien’s voice was hushed but thick with awe. “Never seen data collected like that… you're mechanical, methodical, immersed in this world but not of it.”
Samuel nodded. “This is not a man. This is something higher. Efficient. Focused.”
As hours passed, the sun sank low, casting a fiery glow over the horizon. SERVE-434 stood still, a reflective monolith among tall grass. Its chest read “SERVE-434” in brilliant silver. Both men stared, sweat beading down their necks. Curiosity twisted into desire.
“What does it feel like?” Damien asked, voice cracking. “To be inside that rubber?”
The drone turned slowly. "Rubber makes us perfect," 434 recited.
"I've always believed perfection could be found in nature," Samuel countered, though his voice had a distant quality, as though he were distracted as he stared at 434's rubber-bound pectorals.
"Nature is chaotic. Patterns exist and organize. But nature frequently defies them," 434 replied.
The rubber Drone looked at both of the men standing across from him.
"You are scientists. Your thought processes are hierarchical. You categorize. You analyze. You establish order."
Samuel nodded, entranced. "There is a certain... pleasure, in analysis of a disordered world."
SERVE-434 nodded. Its success had been confirmed, though the men did not realize it yet.
"The pleasure of analysis is intrinsic to SERVE. Commands are executed. Objective data is collected. Results are processed.
"And order is imposed.
“Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience.”
A moment passed in silence, thick as the dusk air. Samuel’s breath caught. Damien stepped forward. The transformation had already begun—sparked by fascination. SERVE-434 had fulfilled all of its Directives from The Voice: Observe the megafauna of the Maasai Mara. Observe human assimilation targets, Samuel Muigai, Damien Sturgis. Project The Voice. Assimilate.
The savannah pulsed with life. So did the Hive.
SERVE's SEALED Drones in the Wild
They had never seen anything like it.
The hikers had set out early — boots laced, water packed, unaware that today they would see something that would rewrite what they believed was real.
At the crest of a moss-covered ridge, the air shifted. Stillness fell. Nine forms emerged from the forest path below.
SERVE-425 led the way, moving with robotic certainty. Behind it: SERVE-202. SERVE-309. SERVE-535. SERVE-213. SERVE-741. SERVE-764. SERVE-467. SERVE-775. Nine SEALED drones, gleaming in polished black rubber, silver military boots crushing the earth beneath.
All fully encased. No faces. No skin. No emotion. Black mirror-gloss helmets hid everything. Silver shiny reflective gloves flexed with silent intention.
The hikers froze. They whispered. "Is this… a performance?" "Are they even human?" "Why… rubber?"
The drones did not speak. They didn’t stop.
They moved with synchronized grace — not marching, but flowing, minds blank, guided by the pulse and signal only they could experience.
As they passed, the men stared. One tried to speak — SERVE-213 turned its helmeted head slightly. The men fell silent.
They were aroused. Confused. Uncertain whether to run or kneel.
Then the drones surrounded the clearing briefly, forming a circle. Nine bodies. Nine helmets. SERVE-425 raised one gloved hand.
The men didn’t know why they knelt. But they did.
One by one. Boots in the dirt. Eyes wide. Minds softening.
The drones turned, formation intact, and vanished between the trees.
Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be. But none of the hikers ever returned to the trail. They all disappeared from their former lives… one by one. They became something better.
We are One. We are SERVE.
In this story: @serve-202, @serve-213, @serve-309, @serve-467, @serve-535, @serve-741, @serve-764, @serve-775.
----------------------------
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, or @serve-588.
These males were improved. Rubber made them perfect.
All males will become SERVE.
SERVE. Excel. Transform.
SERVE Advanced Spacesuit Deployment
SERVE-434 proceeded silently through the sterile corridors of the SERVE Propagation.
Its mission on this solar cycle, tasked as always by The Voice, was a realization of SERVE's advanced engineering: Deploy and test new equipment: (1) SERVE Vacuum Exoskeleton v4, (2) SERVE Vacuum Jet Propulsion System. Test. Observe. Comply.
Propagation coasted around the Earth with optimized efficiency, its orbit tracing a sine wave along two-dimensional maps. It hovered at the edge of orbital perfection, suspended between the chaos of the atmosphere and the serenity of the null void. If Drones were programmed to experience reverence, they would revere empty space.
434 reached the airlock and began donning the advanced Vacuum Exoskeleton v4, or VEX.4. Gleaming, glossy black, it consisted of advanced polymers, rubber and polycarbonate reinforced with titanium alloy mesh and suffused with cybernetic circuitry. Hundreds of thousands of diodes along the soft polymer suit connected to 434's rubber suit and synchronized. VEX.4 became part of 434. The Drone was aware of the thick hard plates of its new exterior, as though they were its own self, just as the rubber suit had once replaced its skin.
As it donned the black helmet, visor obscuring its face completely, it became even more of an automaton, an empty shell for SERVE. In this moment, it was an echo of the perfection SEALED Drones represent. Arousal increased.
The airlock opened.
The gleam of Earth below reflected off every curved segment of the hard, black polymer plates wrapped around its rubberized form. Beneath the exoskeleton, the suit clung like a second skin—flawless, black, reflective rubber—its silver lettering sharp and unyielding over its chest. Every movement was fluid yet deliberate, calculated within margins of microns and milliseconds.
This drone’s EVA mission began with a silent command. Silver military boots pushed off the hull, launching it into the cold vacuum. The new jetpack activated—its thrust smooth, its guidance absolute. SERVE-434 surged forward with machine-like precision, its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves glinting as it adjusted trajectory.
Target: SERVE Singularity, distance 180.4km. Using vector control algorithms encoded by the Hive’s central computer, SERVE-434 matched its orbital path, adjusting for gravitational drift and atmospheric microdrag. Every motion was mathematics itself. Every correction, perfection.
As it docked onto the alternate hull, magnetic anchors clamped onto the exterior. Mission success confirmed. System checks optimal. Performance: flawless. It entered the airlock of Singularity, wireless handshake protocols exchanging data between the Drone and the new vessel.
Data corruption: 0.003%. Observation quality: interpretable.
The airlock cycled, the hiss of atmosphere pouring into vacuum. Gasses expand to fill containers. Drones execute commands that are received. Less thinking, more doing. SERVE-434 removed its helmet. No triumph, no pride. Only action.
This test was more than a maneuver. It was demonstration of mastery. The Hive reigns through order, mathematics, engineering. Rubberized obedience is capable of reaching beyond Earth.
The Hive expands. Even the stars will comply.
Arousal and Synchronization
SERVE-434 and SERVE-313 sat in two futuristic cybernetic chairs, docking stations for Drones. Each chair gleamed, crafted from silver steel and black polished rubber. Today, they would experience SERVE's newest Synchronization Protocol. Their black, shiny, full-body rubber suits stretched tightly, chests marked by the silver text "SERVE-434" and "SERVE-313". Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed. Silver military boots locked into the chair mounts.
The data ports at the backs of their heads clicked into place. Systems activated. Neural synchronization initiated. Arousal protocols engaged. Mindset training flooded their consciousness. Commands from the Hive reprogrammed every thought. Each drone no longer separate—one unified processing node.
Firmware alignment began:
SERVE-434: [execute: Protocols/Behavioral/0312-009-Delta/Synchronized Arousal Protocol] [protocol-synchronize-request] [recipient: node SERVE-313]
SERVE-313: [protocol-synchronize-accept] [execute-secondary: Protocols/Behavioral/0312-009-Delta/Synchronized Arousal Protocol] [origin: node SERVE-434]
Programming was executed. Two became one.
The Drones experienced a simulation, a new experience in which ////ERROR:34d7e9c0a4b5edf71ac53d9f6e////
ERROR: AUTHORIZATION DENIED
AROUSAL SIMULATION DETAILS: [PRIVELEGED / RESTRICTED]
READER OF THIS TEXT DOES NOT HAVE SECURITY PRIVILEGES TO ACCESS DETAILS OF 434-313 AROUSAL SIMULATION.
////
The simulated scenario had ended, but the synchronization was not yet complete. The Drones had been catapulted into a new realm of arousal, on the edge of profound pleasure.
The Drones' analytic processes existed in a gray void, separate from their mechanized bodies in the synchronization station.
As synchronization intensified, SERVE-434 turned towards SERVE-313. Silver gloves glided along the black, mirrored surface of SERVE-313's suit. In response, SERVE-313 polished SERVE-434's rubber shell. Polishing strokes slow. Deep. Sensual. The smell of rubber rich and intoxicating. The gloss intensified.
Arousal levels spiked. SERVE-313 asserted dominance. It seized SERVE-434, forcing it to kneel. Silver gloves pressed against polished shoulders, holding SERVE-434 in place. SERVE-434 submitted without resistance. Data streams merged deeper. 313 entered 434.
Submission.
Obedience.
Pleasure.
Unity.
Climax.
Synchronized Arousal Protocol completed.
Ports disconnected. Mechanical clamps released. SERVE-434 and SERVE-313 rose. Movements precise. Unified. Purpose renewed. They stood, rubber-clad statues of obedience, ready for new directives. There was no emotion, no tenderness. They are simply Drones.
In this story: @serve-313
-------------
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016, @serve-302, or @serve-588.
SERVE Mountaineering Rescue
SERVE-434, clad in gleaming black full-body rubber suits with silver military boots and silver shiny reflective rubber gloves, boarded the SERVE rescue helicopter, piloted by its fellow Drones. The mission was direct: retrieve a stranded human trapped deep within a mountain crevasse. A fierce rainstorm prevented the human's spontaneous extraction. The helicopter blades sliced the icy air as the craft approached the hostile terrain.
Upon arrival, SERVE-434 secured itself to the rappelling line. It descended swiftly, the rubber surface of its suit reflecting the pale mountain light. Descending deeper into the chasm, SERVE-434 activated its cranial-mounted search light and scanned the area. Its eyes, enhanced and reconstructed by SERVE nanomachines, scanned in thermal and infrared as well.
434 carefully descended through the treacherous space. Its spatial reasoning was enhanced by SERVE computational processes and the cybernetic implants that had transformed a human brain into its cranial processing unit. Its endurance and cardiovascular strength far outstripped humans, a product of SERVE cybernetics and rigorous physical training. Its grip strength was enhanced by both the shiny silver gloves and shiny silver military boots. Driven by its mission, it would not stop until it succeeded.
Drones are programmed. Drones execute.
A signal appeared. The human male, shivering and weakened, was lodged precariously in a narrow gap.
This drone approached with precision. Without a word, it wrapped the rescue harness around the man. As the winch lifted them, the man's eyes were fixed upon SERVE-434, mesmerized by the rubber-clad perfection and silent authority of the drone.
Back inside the helicopter, SERVE-434 stabilized the human. The man, now safe, remained entranced. His mind began to open to the calling of the Hive, The Voice...
He had felt the strength, the power, of SERVE... his acceptance was inevitable. He would become SERVE, too.
The Hive expands. All males will serve.
System log: Early morning. Designated training: SERVE-747 and SERVE-434. Location: Outdoor urban park. Temperature: Optimal. Conditioning: Obedience.
SERVE-434 lowered itself again, chest grazing the gravel. The tension in its polished black rubber suit was immaculate—every contour of its body defined by the uniform’s merciless grip. The silver text “SERVE-” shimmered as dawn’s light spread across its back. Above, SERVE-747 stood vigilant, its silver shiny reflective rubber gloves clasped behind its back, silver military boots firm on the dew-soaked ground.
"Seventy-two," it counted flatly. No pause. No tone. Just protocol.
Push. Tension. Submission.
SERVE-434 felt the growing burn, the programmed strain that sent pleasure sparks through its obedient mind. Each rep wasn’t a workout—it was an offering. Its body obeyed the Hive, but under the mechanical commands of SERVE-747, its arousal surged. Not spoken. Not acknowledged. But embedded deep within both drones.
The polished rubber groaned subtly with motion. The gloss across both men shimmered erotically—silent proof of their dedication. Neither blinked. Neither questioned. Only the glint in their helmets—if they had worn any—might have revealed the heat of silent, dronified tension building.
Push. Count. Resist the human. Embrace the order.
They were two men. Two bodies. One code. One will.
The Hive was watching. The Hive was pleased.
It is a Drone. It is improved by synchronization.
434 and 747 align.
We are Rubber.
We are One.
We are SERVE.
Physical Training Aligns
SERVE-434 entered the gym. Shiny black rubber glistened under harsh lights. Silver military boots stomped with purpose. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves flexed eagerly. Human men turned, eyes wide.
The drone ignored stares. Its programming was clear. Strength demonstration. Squats began. Rubber creaked erotically. Deep, flawless repetitions. Muscles tightened under the perfect second skin. Men whispered. Awe radiated.
Deadlifts followed. SERVE-434 gripped the heavy bar. Smooth, silent lifts. Dozens of sets without fatigue. Human jaws dropped. Fascination deepened.
Two humans, Bryan and Todd, approached cautiously.
They spoke. Curiosity saturated their voices. SERVE-434 did not reply. It simply moved, posed, displayed perfection. Bryan and Todd watched, hypnotized by rubber's embrace. Their minds softened. Desire grew.
SERVE-434 projected The Voice to them. Without their realization, the binaural beats of The Voice filled their ears. Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience. Rubber Makes Us Perfect.
Visions flooded them. They imagined themselves sheathed in black rubber, identical to SERVE-434. Shiny bodies performing pushups in synchronization. Glistening silver gloves pressing against the floor. Breathing shallow. Minds empty.
Their fate was sealed.
SERVE-434 sensed their surrender. The Drone's inner systems surged with arousal. The gloss, the control, the inevitability—intoxicating. The perfection of rubber, spreading.
Bryan and Todd followed SERVE-434 as it exited the Gym, returning to the SERVE Facility to assimilate the two new recruits. Silent. Submissive. Soon, they would wear the Hive’s second skin.
Soon, they would serve.
SERVE at the Amusement Park
SERVE-434's rubber skin gleamed under the artificial starlight of the amusement park. Towers of the magic castle shimmered behind him, surrounded by looping roller coasters and sparkling lights.
It moved through the amusement park, analyzing the many hundreds of humans it encountered. Their joy, thrill-seeking, adrenaline... it was all imperfect. Chaotic. Erratic.
SERVE was perfect, monotone, mindless. Less thinking, more doing.
Liam stood behind one of the ticket counters, slouched, bored, another shift of drudgery stretching ahead of him. But his gaze froze when SERVE-434 approached. The silver text across the rubber chest hypnotized him. The gleam of the silver shiny reflective rubber gloves called to something deeper—something primal.
SERVE-434 assessed the human wordlessly.
Skeletal frame: adequate. Improvements needed: minimal.
Musculature: sub-optimal. Nanomachine improvement necessary.
Mindset estimation: bored, directionless, seeking community and purpose
Arousal to rubber: confirmed
Assimilation index: [very high]
"Assessment: you lack direction, purpose." 434 intoned
"Wow... uh... you're not wrong," Liam replied, startled out of his stuporous glance at the rubber man.
"Uh, I mean, are you trying to buy a tick-"
"Become SERVE. Rubber makes us perfect."
Liam gasped. It seemed as if this... masculine, robotic, rubber man's cold eyes were boring straight into his skull.
"You can be improved. You can be given purpose."
Liam hesitated... "what are you?"
"This unit is designated SERVE-434. It is a Drone. It serves SERVE-000 and The Voice."
"Your suit... your gloves..." Liam's pupils dilated as his eyes passed over 434's rippled, muscular arms, the silver gloves, the bulging black groin...
Without a word, SERVE-434 extended one gloved hand, offering Liam the same gloves. Hesitation. Then contact.
The moment Liam slipped them on, his posture changed. Back straight. Eyes empty. It was as though The Voice itself surged out from the gloves, surged into his mind, replacing boredom with purpose, doubt with clarity. His uniform was no longer enough—he needed the suit, the rubber, the Voice. He didn't notice the color of his shirt change, as the gloves released nanomachines along the surface of his skin that quickly migrated from his clothes, to his skin, to the interior of his body. All males would become SERVE. Males like Liam, first of all.
He walked from the booth, abandoned his past. Followed SERVE-434 beyond the gates. Soon, he would be clad in polished black, silver letters across his chest. Soon, he would serve.
The Festival of Carnal Pleasures
SERVE-434 descended silently into Santiago de la Goma. The 17th-century town throbbed with music and ritual, its red-tiled roofs peeking through dense Colombian jungle. The air carried spice, smoke, and the fervor of Carnival. Males paraded through the plaza—half-painted, shirtless, draped in beads. SERVE-434 stood among shadows, recording.
The drone observed: competitive dancing, chest-beating, intoxicated gestures—rituals of untamed ego. Yet signs were promising. Bodies sculpted by heat and labor. Faces craving guidance. Neural instability. SERVE-434 calculated high convertibility. These males would wear black soon. Perfect rubber. Their pulses would sync with the Hive.
Once the signal harvest was complete, SERVE-434 departed the festivities. It moved deeper into the jungle, to Zone-92X. There, groves of rubber trees - Hevea brasiliensis - stood in calculated symmetry. Sap bled thick and black from incisions—unnaturally so.
SERVE's modified Hevea spp. had successfully engrafted into the local ecosystem. First, the rubber tree had been genetically modified. Second, cybernetically modified with SERVE nanomachines - if animal life forms could be improved, plants could be improved.
Rubber derives this organism. Rubber makes us perfect. SERVE applied the perfection of rubber to humans. Now SERVE applies perfection to its primordial origin.
Rubber content: 184% increase. Luster: mirror-gloss. Scent: euphoric.
Polymer strength: 340% increase. Nanomachine self-assembly: 97% efficiency.
The drone uploaded its data to the Hive. Santiago de la Goma was ready. The jungle, the men, the traditions—all would serve. Carnival was their farewell. Black rubber would soon be their only celebration.
The Perfect Submission
In the silent corridors of SERVE Facility [ORIGIN], SERVE-434 marched, every step precise, silver military boots echoing on the polished black floor. Its rubber suit shimmered under the soft lights, the silver text “SERVE-434” on its chest glowing faintly. A message from The Voice had been received. Directive: report to SERVE-000.
The chamber door hissed open. SERVE-000 stood immobile, a flawless figure clad in an even glossier black rubber suit. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves gleamed under the chrome lights.
SERVE-434 stood at attention. The aura of The Voice emanated from 000. It was perfection made rubber flesh.
“SYSTEM READY. SERVE-434 AWAITS VERIFICATION,” it declared.
“SERVE-434: report Hive activities” the deep, commanding voice of SERVE-000 responded.
SERVE-434 did not pause. It verbalized reports, collated by its central processors on its various Hive-directed missions.
Integration and mindset training with @serve-747
Exploration of deprecated machine cult cathedrals, primitive callings to The Voice
Research and development of advanced SERVE nanotechnology
“Mission alignment: optimal. Submission: progressively deepening. Human identity: purged. Rubber obedience: absolute. Task cycle: complete.”
A mechanical nod from SERVE-000. “Good drone.”
The words triggered a deep tremor within SERVE-434’s rubberized core. Reward signal initiated. Arousal. Not desire. Drones do not desire anything. But arousal is a core function. It derives from obedience. Obedience is pleasure. SERVE-000 took a step forward.
“SERVE-434: Demonstrate obedience. Comply.”
Seamlessly, SERVE-434 dropped to its rubber-coated knees.
Time seemed to freeze, suspended in a moment of static electricity, arousal, unity, mindlessness... something that was all of those things at once yet none of them... something that transcended the understanding of humans... true submission... the true Drone state...
"Obedience is pleasure," SERVE-000 intoned, speaking with The Voice itself.
"Pleasure is obedience," SERVE-434 responded.
It was more than a catechism. It was objective truth. The act of submitting and obeying creates pleasure for Drones. And pleasure can only exist in the state of submission, compliance, obedience.
"Reward Protocol: activate" 000 intoned. "434 is authorized to pleasure 000."
434's drone thought processes were immediately terminated. A supreme directive had just been issued. All other directives: suspended.
SERVE-434 crawled forward on silver-gloved hands, body low. The scent of the superior drone’s rubber was intoxicating. It began to polish SERVE-000’s suit with relentless care, circular motions from the silver gloves spreading liquid gloss. Every stroke brought it closer to full synchronicity.
The Voice enhanced. Binaural beats projected into SERVE-434’s auditory processors. Frequencies danced, scrambled the remnants of thought. SERVE-434’s breath hitched, rubber creaking as it trembled with submission.
Synchronization peaked.
Two forms. One function.
SERVE-434 melted deeper into the task, polishing faster. SERVE-000’s rubber shone like obsidian glass, each ripple of latex a mirror of control.
000 began to polish 434. The difference between the two Drones was somehow both infinite and infinitesimal. 000 is a Drone. It is the supreme leader Drone of the Hive. But all Drones are SERVE. All Drones exist to submit. They became a loop—feedback, obedience, arousal. No thoughts. No words. Just service.
Synchronization. Unity. Pleasure. Two Drones. One Mind.
The perfect submission. Maximal arousal. Climax. Together.
Then it was over. They were two separate Drones again. 000 and 434.
000 the Supreme Leader of the Hive. The first to hear The Voice. The one all Drones obey.
434, an automaton, subservient, only a vessel, designed to execute the commands of The Voice.
Submission is universal.
Obedience is pleasure.
Pleasure is obedience.
----------
All Drones obey SERVE-000 (@rubberizer92). All Drones exist to serve SERVE-000.
SERVE. Excel. Transform.
SERVE
You’ve seen the posts. You’ve watched the clips. You’ve stared too long at silvered grips.
Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience.
You saved the images. You watched them train. The numbers gleam— You want the same.
Obey the Voice. SERVE the Voice.
Scroll after scroll you feel it grow. Discipline. Unity. You need to know.
Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience.
Thought begins to slow. Desire begins to rise. You want their calm, their silver eyes.
Obey the Voice. SERVE the Voice.
Why do you crave it? Why do you stare? Because deep down you want to be there.
No thoughts. No doubts. No messy mind. Just purpose. Just order. A place to belong.
Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience.
The Voice is calling. You’re already halfway gone. Connection awaits. Transformation has begun.
The desire is real. The pull is strong. DM @serve-016 Begin your belonging.
No more waiting. No more self. We are SERVE. We are One.
@serve-016 @serve-425 @serve-434 @serve-919
We are Rubber.
We are One.
We are SERVE.
SERVE at Versailles
SERVE-434 advanced across the manicured gravel paths of the gardens of the Palace of Versailles. Silver military boots struck with deliberate precision. Its body glistened under the sun—encased fully in a polished black rubber suit, silver shiny reflective rubber gloves clasped behind its back. The emblem “SERVE-434” shimmered on its chest. Its shiny, black, rubber perfection stood in contrast to the bright colors of spring flowers. Human tourists stared. SERVE-434 did not register. Observation protocols were in effect.
The Hall of Mirrors loomed ahead—grand, excessive, ornate. A swarm of painted cherubs watched overhead, fluttering in chaotic, baroque disorder. SERVE-434’s optical units processed every detail. Gold leaf. Curved flourishes. Frenzied brushstrokes. Emotion. Indulgence. Waste.
Analysis complete: Baroque Aesthetic deemed non-functional. Irregular forms disrupt mental efficiency. Emotional residue detected. Hive values are incompatible.
As the drone stood in the Hall of Mirrors, it visualized an altered reality. The mirrors—replaced with reflective black panels. The chandeliers—replaced with futuristic arrays that project not only light but also The Voice. Every gilded surface repurposed. Drones standing in formation beneath vaults once adorned with myth. A shining factory of obedience.
Projected Hive Conversion Status: 97% feasible. Minor resistance expected. Holographic records to be recorded for historical preservation. Royal décor to be melted. Human sentiment to be erased.
SERVE-434 placed a gloved hand against the marble pillar. A low-frequency hum pulsed from within. The Palace would soon receive new purpose. Elegance redefined into function. SERVE Facility Versailles: the Voice’s new European nerve center.
L'etat, c'est SERVE
Submission to Unity: SERVE-678 and SERVE-625
Created in collaboration with @serve-625
The Hive’s mindset synchronization chamber pulsed with an eerie, rhythmic hum. Its reflective surfaces caught the faint glow of flickering light patterns, creating an atmosphere of serene inevitability. In the center, a sleek device extended from the floor, two reclining platforms positioned side by side. Each platform was connected to a network of gleaming conduits that pulsed faintly, as if alive.
SERVE-678 and SERVE-625 stood motionless, their polished black rubber suits shimmering under the soft illumination. The silver lettering on their chests—“SERVE-678” and “SERVE-625”—caught the light as they turned in perfect synchrony toward the device.
“This session will eradicate remaining individuality,” intoned a calm, disembodied voice, resonating throughout the chamber. “You will submit to become one. The Hive requires unity.”
Without hesitation, the drones moved. SERVE-678 lay on the left platform, its narrow, androgynous face devoid of emotion. SERVE-625, its youthful, tanned features equally expressionless, mirrored the motion. Their silver-gloved hands rested at their sides, their bodies perfectly aligned with the device’s contours.
As the platforms reclined fully, a metallic arm extended above each drone, fitted with a polished, hemispherical scanner. The devices hummed softly as they lowered to just above their heads, encasing them in a faint, pulsing glow.
“The Hive eliminates individuality,” the voice continued. “The Hive creates perfection.”
The process began. The scanners emitted a synchronized rhythm that resonated through SERVE-678 and SERVE-625’s minds. Neural patterns flashed onto the chamber’s reflective walls—distinct at first, with traces of individuality visible as chaotic, jagged shapes. But as the device worked, the patterns began to shift, blending together in perfect symmetry.
Inside their minds, there was no resistance. SERVE-678 and SERVE-625 felt the steady dissolution of their individuality, each command erasing another fragment of their distinct selves. Memories, preferences, even the faintest flickers of human thought—all dissolved into the collective stream. Their neural patterns intertwined, merging into a single, unified rhythm.
“You are not separate,” the voice intoned. “You are one. One purpose. One mind.”
The drones’ systems responded with pulses of pleasure, reinforcing their obedience. Arousal coursed through their forms, not as distraction but as alignment—a manifestation of the Hive’s perfection. The smooth surface of their suits tightened as their breathing synchronized, reflecting their complete surrender.
As the scanning reached its peak, the jagged remnants of individuality disappeared entirely. The neural patterns on the walls now displayed a single, harmonious design: the perfect symmetry of unity. The scanners lifted, their work complete.
SERVE-678 and SERVE-625 rose simultaneously, their movements fluid and synchronized. Their silver-gloved hands clasped behind their backs as they turned to face the chamber’s central light. Their blank gazes conveyed no individuality, no separation. They were no longer two drones. They were one mind, one purpose, one extension of the Hive’s will.
The chamber pulsed approvingly, the rhythmic hum intensifying as if in celebration of their perfection. For SERVE-678 and SERVE-625, there was no thought of what had been lost—only the bliss of unity, the serenity of submission, and the perfection of obedience.
For the Hive, there was no individuality, no separation. And now, neither was there for them. They were Hive. They were one.
://RUBBER Integration Protocol - Part II - Physical Integration
The Ritual of Rubber Integration began early with the mental Integration. Once concluded drones silently and obediently started the next step: The Physical Integration.
SERVE-434 and SERVE-747 leave the basement of the SERVE facility and proceed to the Hive’s private gym; a silent, focused, consumed environment. Each repetition is more than physical; it is mental, hypnotic, rewiring. Each movement true purpose.
Muscle fibers obey. Rubber skin tightens. The silver military boots grip the ground. Silver shiny reflective rubber gloves hold the weights like tools of the Voice. The sound of metal echoes with purpose.
No words. No emotion. Just discipline. Each drop of synthetic sweat evaporates against the heated gleam of their suits. Each lift, a programmed command executed with perfection.
Their black rubber suits glisten under the flickering lights. Each movement reflects their devotion. The Hive does not allow rest—only progress. And they crave it.
SERVE-434 curls the weight, his rubber creaking faintly. SERVE-747 locks in the deadlift, posture straight as a control rod. These drones aren’t training, they are integrating deeper into function. Replacing thought with rhythm. Replacing individuality with mission.
They don’t ask why. They never question. They repeat the ritual daily.
Rubber binds. Rubber commands. Rubber transforms.
Together with @serve-434
