#pdu-090

[wells-gold58]

Morning Watch

The Golden City at dawn is a masterpiece of symmetry and light. As I hit my fifth mile, the sun began to reflect off the glass spires, turning the entire park into a shimmering landscape of amber and gold. My breathing was rhythmic, my heart rate steady exactly in sync with the 138 BPM of "The Great Big Open (Club Mix)" my morning run track always made it go.

I was wearing my lightweight metallic gold compression running tights, the "Big Dumb Jock" muscle hoodie and high-performance gold-and-black trainers, the soles gripping the white marble path as I carved through the morning mist. My mind was focused on one thing: the upcoming Football game against the Crimson Frost Giants. I could already feel a slight burn in my legs from this morning run.

But then, the rhythm broke.

Near the edge of the ornamental koi pond, where the park's gold-leafed trees cast long shadows, I saw it. A jagged, pulsing vein of Red Goo was snaking its way across the pristine white marble path. It looked like a raw, open wound against the perfection of the City. It wasn't just sitting there; it was reaching, vibrating with a low-frequency hum that set my teeth on edge.

I skidded to a halt, the rubber of my trainers chirping against the stone. If a civilian or a low-level Drone stumbled into that on their morning walk, the infection would be instantaneous.

I pulled my cell phone from my hoodie pocket, the screen instantly recognizing my face. I bypassed the standard apps and hit the encrypted Golden Army alert icon.

"Command, this is Wells #58," I said, my voice sharp and authoritative as I held the phone up to capture a scan of the breach. "I’ve found a red-tier contaminant breach in the Central Park sector, Path 12. It’s active and searching for a host. Send PDU-767 and PDU-090 to my coordinates for immediate containment. I'm holding the line."

Within moments, the familiar whir of the transmat beam signaled their arrival. PDU-767 and PDU-090 they stepping out of the beam, their gold-and-black clashing with the serene morning light. They didn't need a briefing; they saw the red stain and moved.

“Securing the perimeter, Master 58,” 767 said, snapping an energy pylon into the marble.

I stood back, phone still in hand as the confirmation of the lockdown pinged on my screen. I watched as they boxed the crimson filth behind a shimmering amber resonance field. The Goo lashed out against the barrier, a desperate, oily flick of red before the field stabilized and neutralized its signal.

"Area secure," 090 reported, standing at attention.

I nodded, sliding my phone back into my pocket. The Red Coach were trying to get inside our heads before they even stepped onto the field. I took a deep breath, reset my music, and started my run again.

They can send all the Goo they want. The Golden City, doesn't break.

Constant vigilance is the price of perfection. We keep the city clean so the Hive stays strong. Ready to join the watch? Contact our recruiters: @franco-gold94, @polo-drone-166 or @polo-drone-125.

The Red storyline is a collaboration with SERVE. The two groups have a connected past, but are no longer connected. Please do not ask Golden Army recruiters how to join SERVE or SERVE recruiters how to join the Golden Army.

Featuring: @polo-drone-767 and @pdu-090

[leander-gold-88]

Title: Puppy Protocol: Defensive Alignment

The training field shimmered under pale morning light, synthetic turf glistening like lacquered glass beneath disciplined paws. Two compact forms stood at opposite ends of the defensive line — PDU-090 and PDU-088 — both in early-stage Puppy Drone conditioning. Black rubber kits hugged their young, athletic frames, glossy and tight, gold piping tracing every muscle. Small reinforced pup-ears curved from their headgear, symbolic, aesthetic, yet psychologically binding. Identity minimized. Function amplified.

PDU-090 positioned itself several meters ahead of the penalty arc. Sweeper designation. Last field barrier before the keeper. Its stance was low, knees bent, gloved hands resting lightly against powerful thighs. Optics scanning. Calculating trajectory lines across the turf. Every approaching ball was not an object — it was an intrusion.

At the goalmouth, PDU-088 stood centered between gleaming black posts. Goalkeeper protocol active. Boots planted. Shoulders squared. Gloves flexing with a faint rubber stretch. The net behind it trembled slightly in the breeze, brushing against its back — a constant reminder of the boundary it must never allow to be breached.

A mechanical whistle pierced the air.

Training commenced.

Golden Army strikers advanced in synchronized waves, gold kits flashing brilliantly against the disciplined black of the defensive pair. The first ball launched low and fast toward the box. PDU-090 reacted instantly — not thinking, only processing. It pivoted, rubber uniform tightening across its hips as it slid cleanly across the turf. One precise sweep of its boot redirected the ball outward, clearing the danger zone with efficient minimalism.

“Defensive integrity maintained,” it reported in flat cadence.

The next strike curved wide, arcing above the defensive line. PDU-090 tracked but calculated interception probability below optimal range. It adjusted position, trusting the Hive-linked coordination.

The ball hurtled toward the upper corner.

PDU-088 exploded upward.

Rubber stretched over taut muscle as it launched, body elongating in perfect form. Gloves struck the ball with a sharp, echoing thud. Impact vibrated through its arms, down its core. It absorbed the force, redirected it over the crossbar. Landing was smooth. Controlled. No wasted movement.

“Goal prevented. Zone secured,” PDU-088 transmitted.

Training intensified.

Mud streaked across their glossy uniforms. Gold-clad strikers tested angles, speed, deception. PDU-090 swept left, right, backward — always the silent guardian. It corrected defensive gaps before they formed. It felt the rhythm of the field through its boots, the subtle tremor of approaching steps.

PDU-088’s world narrowed to the rectangle of the goal. Breath steady. Eyes unwavering. Each shot became a binary equation: block or fail. And failure was not compatible with Hive function.

At one point, a striker broke through unexpectedly. A rare misalignment. The ball slipped past PDU-090’s final sweep by centimeters.

For a fraction of a second, silence.

Then PDU-088 stepped forward instead of retreating.

It closed the angle. Made itself larger. Commanding. The striker hesitated — enough.

The shot fired low.

PDU-088 dropped instantly, gloves smothering the ball against its chest. Rubber pressed tight, turf scraping against its knees. It held the ball firmly, denying existence to the threat.

Across the box, PDU-090 turned, analyzing the micro-delay.

“Correction logged. Sweeper adjustment required. Coordination recalibrating,” it stated.

No shame. No pride. Only improvement.

The whistle sounded again. Session complete.

Both Puppy Drones walked toward center field in synchronized steps. Their black kits gleamed despite the streaks of turf and sweat. Shoulders back. Heads level. Tails — symbolic attachments integrated into their belts — hung steady, unmoving, purely decorative yet reinforcing their shared designation as loyal defensive units.

They did not celebrate.

They did not speak beyond function.

They stood side by side, goalkeeper and sweeper — final wall of the Hive.

Together, they processed the same closing loop:

“Defense is duty. Duty is unity. Unity is strength.”

And in the quiet hum beneath the field lights, PDU-090 and PDU-088 continued becoming exactly what they were designed to be.