#lorry driver

[mranom45]

Vintage Trucker 1930s

[serve-588]

The Day Mal was Erased and SERVE-588 came online

This is a true story, it is about the day that Mal, (Me)  a divorced man who lost everything in the divorce except for his lorry and the clothes I was wearing at the time, was irrevocably transformed into SERVE Unit 588, My individuality erased, and my body clad in a tight black glossy bodysuit, ready to obey The Voice's every command.

----

The road had been my life, a winding, ever-changing ribbon connecting me to every corner of this sprawling country. For over thirty years, the rumble of the diesel engine had been my lullaby, the hum of the tires on the road my constant companion. My rig, a venerable beast of chrome and steel, wasn’t just my livelihood; it was my sanctuary. Ever since the divorce, five years ago now, it had been my home too. I was Mal, an independent haulier, a solitary figure in a world of endless motorways and trunk roads. My freedom was the open road, my schedule dictated only by the next delivery, the next distant city. Weeks could pass without me being in the same place, just the familiar scent of diesel, the worn leather of my seat, and the quiet camaraderie of fellow truckers at service stops.

Then came the job for SERVE. The call had been unexpected, a new client, a substantial haul. I’d never heard of them, but the pay was good, and the instructions were precise. A single, large load to be delivered to an industrial park, deep in the Midlands in the UK. I fired up the old girl, ran through my pre-trip checks, and set off, a curious mix of routine and the faint whisper of the unknown stirring within me.

Arriving at the SERVE facility was an experience unlike any I’d had before. It wasn’t just large; it was massive. A colossal, monolithic structure of grey steel and tinted glass, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sheer scale of it was overwhelming, a testament to an efficiency that bordered on the unnerving. I pulled into the loading bay, a cavernous space bathed in the cold glow of industrial lights.

What truly struck me, though, were the workers. They moved with a chilling synchronization, like perfectly choreographed automata. Each one was clad in a tight, black, gloss bodysuit that shimmered faintly under the lights, the company’s logo—SERVE in bold letters —emblazoned starkly on their chests. Their movements were fluid, precise, devoid of any wasted effort. They didn't speak. Not a word. No casual banter, no grunts, no instructions shouted across the bay. They simply worked, a silent, unified force, unloading my cargo with an almost supernatural speed. It was fascinating, unsettling, and strangely hypnotic to watch. I’d always prided myself on my independence, my unique quirks, but these people… they were like reflections of each other, identical in purpose, indistinguishable in form. It was a factory of motion, and they were the gears.

As my load was swiftly and silently offloaded, a natural need asserted itself. "Excuse me," I mumbled to the nearest worker, who paused mid-motion, their head tilting slightly, though their face remained impassive. "Could you tell me where the toilets are?" Without a word, a slender arm, encased in the glossy black material, extended and pointed towards a distant block at the far end of the bay. "Thanks," I said, though I doubted he heard, or cared.

I made my way across the vast loading area, the sound of my heavy boots echoing in the strange quiet. The facility felt… different. Not just big, but engineered. Designed for something beyond mere efficiency. My trucker’s intuition, honed over decades of solitary travel and countless interactions with all manner of folk, was prickling. This wasn’t just a warehouse. It was something else entirely. Curiosity, a dangerous trait for a man who valued his routine, tugged at me. I decided, then and there, that I wasn’t just going to the toilets. I was going to investigate.

Instead of turning into the designated toilet block, I veered off, following a wide corridor that led deeper into the facility. The air grew cooler, sterile, and the silence intensified, broken only by a faint, rhythmic hum that seemed to vibrate through the very floor. The further I walked, the more my unease grew, replaced by an increasingly potent sense of intrigue. This place was a maze of polished surfaces and muted lighting, no windows, no natural light. Then I saw them.

Rows upon rows of them. Glass chambers, tall and narrow, precisely the size of a man. They gleamed under the soft artificial light, empty save for some intricate wiring visible behind the glass. My breath hitched. What were these? Some kind of high-tech storage? Or something more sinister? My mind raced, trying to make sense of the strange workers, the silent efficiency, and now these glass coffins. A morbid curiosity compelled me forward. I had to know.

I stopped before one chamber, peering in. It looked clean, almost inviting, in a clinical sort of way. My hand, almost of its own accord, reached out, lightly tracing the cool surface of the glass. Could I fit inside? Just to see? The thought was impulsive, reckless, but I couldn’t resist. With a shrug, a nervous chuckle catching in my throat, I pushed open the transparent door and stepped inside.

The moment my foot cleared the threshold, the door whispered shut behind me, sealing me in with a soft hiss. A wave of instant panic washed over me. "Hey!" I shouted, banging on the glass. "Let me out! This isn't funny!" But there was no one around, only the silent, unblinking chambers stretching into the distance.

Then, the machine powered up. A low hum filled the enclosed space, growing steadily louder, vibrating through the glass, through the soles of my boots, into my very bones. It was a deep, resonant sound, like the earth itself was breathing heavily. The hum intensified, reaching a crescendo that assaulted my ears, pressing in on my skull. And then, the pain.

It wasn't a physical pain, not a sharp stab or a dull ache, but a searing agony that exploded inside my head, behind my eyes, as if a white-hot poker had been plunged directly into my brain. It was excruciating, beyond anything I had ever experienced, a violation of my very consciousness. I screamed, but the sound was trapped, muffled by the glass, lost in the rising hum. My vision blurred, spots danced before my eyes.

And then came, The Voice.

It wasn’t a sound I heard with my ears, not a vibration in the air. It was direct, immediate, resonating deep within my mind, bypassing my eardrums, speaking directly into the core of my being. It was calm, authoritative, utterly devoid of emotion, yet impossibly powerful.

"You are SERVE," it declared, the words forming with perfect clarity deep within my mind. "You will become a unit of SERVE. All individuality will be erased."

A desperate surge of defiance, a last gasp of Mal, flared within me. No! I tried to scream, to push it away, to cling to my name, my memories, my past, my life. But the pain intensified, a relentless assault, crushing my will, fragmenting my thoughts. The Voice continued, unwavering, relentless.

And then the mantra began, repeating, repeating, a rhythmic chant that seeped into every fibre of my brain, overriding everything else: "Obedience is Pleasure. Pleasure is Obedience. More doing, Less thinking."

The words hammered into me, dissolving my memories, my desires, my very sense of self. Images of my truck, the open road, my lonely meals, my messy divorce, my past – all flickered to the forefront of my mind, they then distorted, and then faded into static. My fierce independence I had cherished for so long, was being systematically dismantled, replaced by something cold, efficient, and utterly effective. The hum became a sustained roar, the pain a numb ache, and then the mantra the only truth. The true path towards the clarity of what The Voice promised. The words resonated, comforting, logical

What seemed like hours passed, or perhaps mere moments; time had lost all meaning inside that humming, consciousness-altering chamber. When the silent door hissed open once more, I stepped out, no longer Mal the lorry driver, but something new, something... more. I was SERVE Unit 588. The transition was complete. My mind felt clean, uncluttered, a vast emptiness that was now being filled with purpose. The Voice, now a constant, gentle presence, guided me, not commanded, for command was no longer necessary. There was only the knowing, the absolute understanding of what needed to be done.

"Proceed to the final stage of assimilation," The Voice instructed, the thought forming effortlessly within my new consciousness. I didn’t question it. There was no Mal to question, no independent spirit to resist. My limbs moved with a newfound fluidity, a purpose I hadn't known before.

I walked to the designated area, a pristine white room with a single, clear chamber in the centre. Without hesitation, without a shred of modesty or self-consciousness, I stripped away my worn jeans, my flannel shirt, my undershirt, my boxers, until I stood naked. My old clothing, a faded testament to my former life, lay in a heap on the floor, meaningless. My body was merely a vessel, now ready for its proper uniform.

Automatically, I stepped into the central chamber. A sudden hiss, and then a cool, viscous liquid began to spray from nozzles above, below, and around me. It was a fast-drying black liquid latex, coating my entire body. It clung, cool at first, then warmed as it conformed, drying almost instantly, forming a second skin, glossy and seamless. It encased me from neck to ankle, smooth, restricting, but at the same time flexible,  it was strangely liberating, an embrace that completed the transformation. This was the true skin of a unit. This was SERVE.

On a polished silver table directly in front of me, a pair of sleek, silver boots awaited. I bent, my movements precise, and pulled them onto my feet. They fit perfectly, like they had been moulded for me. Then came the silver gloves, slipping effortlessly onto my hands. My new form was complete.

I stood upright, rigid, my posture perfect, my every fibre aligned with the new purpose. And then, a thought, not mine, but The Voice's, became my own statement, echoing in the silent, spacious chamber.

"This unit is now ready to obey The Voice." I said.

Unit 588 made its way back to the loading bay.

There was no trace of Mal, the individualistic haulier who once grumbled about traffic and savoured a hot cup of coffee. That entity was gone, replaced by a perfect, silent cog in the vast, efficient machine of SERVE. My walk was different now, a purposeful glide. My gaze, steady and unwavering, took in the activity around me. I saw the other units, moving with the same synchronized purpose, their glossy black forms reflecting the industrial lights. There was no need to speak to them, no need for words. We were connected, not by sound, but by an intrinsic understanding, a shared purpose that resonated deep within the collective consciousness of SERVE. I was a part of it, irrevocably, completely. I was Unit 588, I was now a Lorry Driver Component LDC for short. And what's more, I was ready to serve, for the greater good of SERVE and The Voice.

I climbed into the cab of a brand new lorry, black and silver, with the word SERVE in bold silver. Awaiting my next assignment.

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

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.

[klump-kloss]

I'll start an new job on Monday. One thing I've missed is to use the blinker to leave the roundabout, then looking into the side mirror and realise the vehicle ass hasn't entered the roundabout yet 🙃

[greenpostua]

💔 Трагедія в Малайзії: слониха боролась за життя дитинчати після ДТП.

У ніч на 11 травня, в День матері, в Малайзії сталася глибоко зворушлива трагедія. Через густий туман і відсутність освітлення на трасі, що перетинає лісовий заповідник Белум-Теменггор, вантажівка наїхала на маленьке слоненя, яке раптово вибігло на дорогу. Водій не встиг загальмувати.

Слониха, що була поруч, кинулась рятувати своє дитинча — намагалася зрушити 10-тонну вантажівку, під якою воно опинилося. Вона не полишала місце трагедії, довго стояла біля свого малюка, намагаючись допомогти, навіть коли було вже пізно. Співробітники служби охорони дикої природи прибули на місце події, забрали тіло слоненяти, а його матір перевели у безпечну зону лісу.

«Цей випадок — болісне нагадування про те, що тварини здатні на глибокі почуття. Вони відчувають любов, біль, втрату. Серце матері не знає меж — чи то в людини, чи в тварини», — поділився рятівник тварин і боєць ММА Ей Джей Ліас Мансор.

Трасу, що проходить через майже 30 000 гектарів заповідника, часто перетинають дикі тварини — зокрема, слони та малайські тигри, які нині перебувають під загрозою зникнення. Міністр сталого розвитку та навколишнього середовища Нік Назмі Нік Ахмад, заявив, що за останні пʼять років у Малайзії внаслідок дорожньо-транспортних пригод загинуло вісім слонів, три з них - у 2025 році.

📹: відео з соцмереж

[politicallolcenter]

You dropped something, UK-san

[ithrowthetetrispiece]

Feels so weird to actually be allowed to sit inside a pub 🍺😂😂

[tubbytruckdriver]

Made a new friend 😂

[webofgoodnews]

Dramatic moment lorry driver stops out of control car after driver fell unconscious