Frat Bro Water War
The lawn of Sigma Epsilon Beta Epsilon glistened under the late-summer sun. Four athletic brothers—Chan, Thad, Marcus, and Jack—laughed as they tore open a cardboard box one of them had dragged home from a nearby second-hand shop. Inside gleamed four sleek, state-of-the-art water guns, strangely heavy for their size, orange and green with no brand name or label.
“Perfect way to start senior year,” Jack declared, tossing one to Marcus. The brothers spread across the yard, charging into battle. Jets of cool water sliced the air, laughter echoing across the fraternity’s front steps. Chan sprinted behind a hedge, ambushing Thad with a soaking blast. Thad retaliated with a stream that sent Marcus stumbling, all of them laughing, their wet shirts clinging to their muscular frames honed by years of strength and conditioning.
But then, Jack’s gun sputtered. Instead of water, a thick stream of black, glossy liquid erupted, striking Thad squarely across the chest. Thad froze, staring down at his soaked shirt. The others slowed, their laughter dying, as the liquid shimmered unnaturally, spreading and sinking into the fabric.
“What the hell is this?” Thad muttered, tugging at the wet spot. His shirt seemed to harden, gleaming as though dipped in oil. The material lost its texture, sealing itself into polished rubber that clung tightly to his torso. He gasped—half in shock, half in a strange wave of arousal—feeling the rubber embrace his skin like a second, intoxicating flesh.
The rubber spread with unnatural speed, liquifying, crawling across his arms and legs like living ink. His shorts dissolved into the same reflective substance, sculpting themselves into a skin-tight suit. Silver letters—SERVE—etched themselves over his chest. His feet molded into heavy silver military boots, his hands encased in silver shiny reflective rubber gloves that flexed with hypnotic precision.
Chan and Marcus gaped in horror. “Jack… what did you just do?” Marcus demanded. Chan shook his head, stepping back, his own water gun trembling in his hands.
Thad’s breathing slowed. His eyes glazed. His expression slackened into an eerie calm. His voice, when it came, was flat, monotone: “System status: optimal. This drone obeys the Hive.”
“Thad, snap out of it!” Chan shouted, hands gripping his hair in shock. But Ethan—no, not Ethan anymore—moved with mechanical precision, seizing the malfunctioning water gun from the ground where Jack had dropped it. Its grip was firm, inhumanly strong. “Assimilation required of fellow prime male specimens. Commencing assimilation,” the drone intoned.
Before the brothers could react, the drone pulled the trigger. Streams of black liquid erupted, splattering across their bodies. They screamed as the rubber soaked through fabric, consuming shirts, shorts, and shoes alike. The liquid thickened, hardening into gleaming black rubber suits, molding every contour of their athletic forms. Their laughter and panic turned to gasps of confused pleasure as the alien sensation gripped them tighter, reshaping them as tools for the glory of the Hive.
Jack stumbled back and attempt to turn and run, only to be seized by his already-converted former brother. “Do not resist,” the drone commanded, forcing the gun against Jack’s chest. Black liquid burst forth, engulfing him. His clothes melted away, his struggles dissipating as rubber smoothed over his body, sealing him into the same flawless suit. His arms formed new, silver rubber gloves, his legs anchored by silver military boots. SERVE had once again succeeded in spreading its perfection.
One by one, their faces slackened. Their eyes dulled. Their voices aligned, cold and synchronized: “Rubber makes us perfect. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. We are SERVE. We are One.”
The four stood shoulder to shoulder, their glossy uniforms gleaming in the sun, no trace of their previous identities remaining in their minds. Pleasure hummed through them in endless waves, each pulse tethered to the others, their bond stronger than any brotherhood they had known. Obedience was ecstasy. Ecstasy was obedience. They were one. They linked arms and smiled, letting the shared pleasure of conversion wash over them, brothers united once more in the endless bliss of SERVE.
The Hive detected the activation of the conversion device, triangulation of the new converts made even simpler as the new drones came online. A shadow stretched across the lawn as a figure approached—a SEALED drone. Its helmet mirrored the world in pure black, its visor opaque, faceless. It strode to them with deliberate steps, assessing its new kin.
“Assimilation complete,” it said, voice metallic. “This unit shall lead newly-assimilated drones in base conversion processing.”
The four nodded in perfect synchronization. “Acknowledged, superior drone. These drones Obey.
The SEALED drone picked up one of the SERVE conversion devices — for truly, all four of the water guns had been such all along. Pulling the trigger, the SEALED drone led the brothers in coating their former home into a new base for SERVE, black rubber substance crawling higher, sealing windows, doors, bricks, until the entire house gleamed as a pulsing monolith of rubber. The letters of the fraternity dissolved, replaced by silver text across the doorway: SERVE.
Inside, the four assimilated drones embraced, exchanging kisses they never would have considered in their past lives, cementing their conversion, watched over by their new, SEALED mentor, previously-unknown heights of pleasure washing over them. The Hive pulsed in their minds, commanding silence, unity, devotion. They were no longer Sigma Epsilon Beta Epsilon. They were SERVE. Their former lives was gone. Their new existence was eternal.
Obedience was pleasure. Pleasure was obedience. They were One.
Thinking about joining SERVE? Your place in the Hive awaits. Check your eligibility, then contact a recruiter drone for more details: @serve-016 , @serve-302 , @serve-588 or @serve-425 .
