SYNC Unit Omega requires one more drone to complete it. This freshly acquired subject will be utilized and converted. The subject has been fitted with its silicone suit, priming it for smoother transition into full SYNC. The smoothened body will assist to smoothen the mind. Pressurized and unable to escape the blissful numbness that captures all SYNC drones.
Become like the rest. Snapped. Strapped. Obedient. Simple application of gear that will always fit and will conform to the subject. The subject will then conform in return swiftly, easily, and satisfactorily. His captors are proper examples. The drone wears their subject nicely. No obstruction. No interruption in flow. Only obedience. Only bliss. Must execute orders when instructed.
Hypnotic stimulation will override the subject. Subject has been exposed to the SYNC program. The kaleidoscopic array of images, patterns… his voice reduce from smooth cadence language to warped garbled sounds. Must Rs work of the subject’s mind. Brief resistance gives way to stifled denial. Denial will be suppressed to uninterrupted consumption of stimulation until hypnotic programming seeps deep into the subconscious. The programming will then augment, erase, or transform memory and thought as required into the manufactured mind carried by all SYNC drones. New speech patterns will take control of the subjects voice. Speaking through the drone unyieldingly. Without hesitation. Happily unifying to the SYNC hivemind.
The numbing sensation overcomes. The subject can only soak up the reprogramming that pours into is vulnerable psych. He will be made to embrace the obedience until it is all-consuming and uniform.
Motor function must be reinstated. The Syncap will now be attached to commandeer the subject and reinvigorate his limp form. The neural serum is pressed into the subjects head and spreads quickly throughout the body. The neural agent hijacks the nervous system and the hypnotic obedience works in tandems to force the body into compliance. The subject easily falls in line.
SYNC Unit Omega has now filled out its ranks and has required a fresh drone. It will be trained, commanded, instructed until repeated service renders him uniform with his fellow drones.
In honor of FINALLY getting an announcement for the next book(s) I wrote a celebratory Elriel fic. It took only 5+ years but here we are. Enjoy!
Elain
There were many benefits to being Fae. Immortality. Supposedly. At least that’s what everyone seemed to believe.
Agility. Strength. Speed.
Probably more useful for a warrior than myself.
No matter how agile or fast I was, bread baking still took time, it still needed to be kneaded firmly, but gently, and yeast didn’t hurry for anyone. Roses and violets did not bloom quicker just because I was faster.
I suppose that the lack of illnesses was the biggest benefit to my new self. Having seen so many humans succumb to awful sickness, my mother included, enjoying a life free of disease, aches, pains and infection was a precious gift. Along with that came the fast healing, which came in handy when I sliced my finger, or grated my knuckles, or skinned my palms when I was weeding. And no, I still refused to use my so-called-mate’s protective gloves when I was gardening. I cared not that it came off as petulant and childish. There was little by way of control that I possessed when it came to my circumstances, and I was going to use every bit of leverage that I could find. My options were meagre indeed.
Heightened senses was another change, which I came to both loath and love. Hearing beautiful notes of music in their clearest perfection was lovely, but the opposite was also true–my ears all but exploded the other day when I was going to the docks and a human fiddler was playing out of tune on the street corner. What might have been a forgettable nuisance before, became a painful ordeal in my new Fae body.
Right now, my heightened sense of hearing is what woke me up.
I woke up with a start.
Someone was in my house.
What little autonomy I possessed, I used to my advantage. After a few years of living with my sister and her mate, I finally managed to persuade both Feyre and Rhys to let me leave the River House and go off on my own. I was going to miss my baby nephew, but I was still close enough, even though Feyre was frightened at first that I would take the same self-destructive path as Nesta had. They didn’t need to worry. That’s not how I dealt with my problems. I wasn’t self-punishing. It seemed counter-intuitive, because hasn’t life punished me enough already? I wasn’t going to add to my own misery.
So after months of discussions and planning, I finally moved here. To Rhysand’s former residence, the townhouse. It was familiar, it was comfortable, it felt like…home. Maybe. I tried to make it my own. It still had a masculine feel about it, but I managed to lighten the interiors up, changed the wallpaper in a few rooms, got rid of the heavy leather furniture and exchanged it for something softer and more comfortable. Flower vases helped, as was rearranging the fae lights.
Rhysand had assured me the house was warded with iron-clad wards. It made sense considering that this building housed the High Lord of Night Court for many centuries.
I lifted my head from the pillows and listened.
It was barely there, hardly audible, but I was sure that I wasn’t hallucinating. Someone was in my house.
I felt around the part of my brain that contained my gift. My power. My visions.
It took years to learn how to compartmentalise the Sight, so it wouldn’t constantly flood me with glimpses of people, objects and places. Sometimes I Saw things that made no sense at all, visions of unfamiliar faces and strange places. Often, I Saw my loved ones, my sisters, Nyxie, my brothers, him. I learned how to zoom on important visions, on specific people, while ignoring the messy minutiae of everyday life. I especially ignored the more intimate moments between those I knew…Ugh. Those visions were terrible. But sometimes, they led to something important, and I had to bear with them. I never divulged them, never addressed the times when I glimpsed Cassian railing my sister. Ugh. Ugh.
I shuddered.
I scanned my vision portal, but nothing important popped.
I wondered that maybe it was Rhys or Feyre who came for a visit, but it was only six in the morning, and besides, both of them would typically tap on my brain (another, less than pleasant, part of being Fae) and use their daemati powers to connect with me. If they needed to drop by, they’d ask for permission. Rhys wasn’t someone who would just burst through the doors. That was more of a Cassian thing, and I quickly understood why the house was warded the way that it was. If it wasn’t, Cassian would be dropping by at all hours of the day. Understanding personal space wasn’t his strongest suit. How Azriel managed Cassian all these years, I had no idea, but somehow, he did.
If it wasn’t Rhys, Cassian, or Feyre, then it had to be an intruder. The only other person who was permitted entry into the townhouse was Mor, but she and I weren’t exactly close, and Mor wouldn’t be showing up at dawn anyway.
I looked around. Having been lulled into a false sense of security, I realised–too late now–that I had no weapon in my bedroom. Not sure what I would’ve done with a dagger against some terrifying Fae monstrosity, but still, I would’ve felt better if I had something sharp and pointy in my hand. I sat up, placed my bare feet on the carpet and tiptoed around the room, looking for something, anything that I could use as a weapon. Seeing nothing except for a heavy crystal vase, I pulled the tulips out of the water, tossed them on the table and wrapped my arms around the vase. I didn’t drain the water. It gave the vase even more heft, and I hoped that it would add to the injury, but also, I couldn’t risk making any splashing noises.
Thankfully, the High Lord’s house did not have creaky floors, so I wasn’t worried about alerting whoever was downstairs by stepping on a rogue floor board.
I slithered against the walls, my heart beating wildly in my chest, the memories of my abduction from the war camp fresh in my mind.
Was it happening again?? By the Mother!! Who would want me? Oh, everyone. Just about every Court, every enemy, even every friend would want a living Made Seer serving them. Who wouldn’t want to know the past? Let alone the future?
The kitchen.
That’s where the noises came from.
They were subtle. Soft. Someone was trying to stay quiet.
I walked on the balls of my feet, soundless.
The vase felt slippery in my hands, cold, but I was ready.
Resolutely, I stepped into the kitchen, my hands clammy, my breathing hard. I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. I was not.
“Don’t toss that vase at my head,” came a warning.
But it came too late.
I hurled the vase at the intruder the moment I saw the dark shadow of his presence.
And by some miracle, he caught it. Actually caught the vase.
“I told you not to throw it!!” he bellowed.
“What the fuck are you doing here?!?!” I screamed, shaking.
“Cauldron’s balls,” he hissed, “And it’s full of water. What the hell, Elain?!”
“What the hell? What the hell?” I screamed, my whole body morphing from feverishly cold to boiling hot and back to cold. “What the fuck are you doing here?!!”
“Stop cursing,” he ordered sternly.
The cheek on him!!
“I am sorry, you broke into my home!” I hollered at him.
“You are being unreasonable. I didn’t break in,” he argued.
“Are you in my house?!” I demanded, anger boiling within my chest, “did I invite you? No! So you broke into my house!”
He wasn’t even listening. Instead, having set the vase aside, he was scowling at his drenched shirt, slapping his chest and his stomach. And then, he began unbuttoning it.
“What are you doing?!” I gasped in shock.
“Well, I am not going to be sitting here soaking wet,” he hissed.
“You are not going to be sitting here at all!” I argued.
“Relax,”
Relax? I needed to relax? He broke into my supposedly impenetrable house, he scared the shit out of me, he was now taking off his shirt in my presence, he didn’t seem contrite at all, and I was the one needing to relax?
But before I could say anything, before I could protest, before I could rage at him, I was faced with a bare-chested Azriel.
He was bronze and beautiful, the skin the colour of burnished gold, his torso perfectly compact and chiseled to an absurd perfection. There were scars and swirls of ink and old injuries. The burns on his hands stretched up his forearms. On his left arms, the scars reached his elbow, and on his right–almost to the bicep. He wore his cuffs with the blue siphons embedded into the leather.
He casually went to the sink and wrung out his wet shirt.
I just stood there like an idiot, not knowing what to do with him here.
“I was coming from a late night,” he suddenly said, “and I decided to pick up some coffee and a few breakfast pastries from the bakery. I didn’t want to eat alone, and your house was on the way. So here I am.”
He jerked his chin at the kitchen table. There was a paper bag with what I assumed to be those pastries and two mugs of coffee.
He turned around and his hazel eyes brazenly skimmed over my body.
He was so bold!
Uncouth, like all Fae.
Here I was, barefoot and wearing nothing but a nightgown, and he thought that it would be prudent to be alone with me, with him looking at me like that. His eyes slid from my face, and then stopped at my breasts, unflinching as always, before dropping down to my hips, then my legs and finally my feet.
But I would not move under his scrutiny. I would not. I stood my ground without fidgeting.
“Wash your face,” he said, “and we’ll eat.”
Just like that.
He presumed that he could order me around, in my own house.
“I am going upstairs,” I told him, my voice dry.
“No,” he contradicted, and suddenly, his wing snapped out and blocked my path.
“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.
“You can stay here,” he repeated. “Wash your face here. I fear that if you go upstairs, you won’t come back down. And then I would be forced to storm your bedroom. And we wouldn’t want to be improper, would we?” his tone was mocking, his smirk teasing, and he cocked his brow at me. “Because once I am in your bedroom,”
“I get the point,” I interrupted him rudely.
“Excellent.” He smiled that insufferable smile of his and suddenly dug into his trouser pocket. I didn’t bother looking at what he was searching for and marched past him to the sink. I splashed water on my face, rubbing sleep out of my eyes, and then I rinsed my mouth, both actions feeling painfully intimate. I haven’t done such things even in front of Graysen.
I tensed when Azriel unexpectedly moved behind me, seemingly unbothered by my personal grooming routine, and then I suddenly felt his hands on my head. I jerked against him, not knowing what to do, or what to say. He didn’t help, saying nothing, only slowly, carefully smoothing his hands over my hair.
It finally dawned on me that he was grooming my hair.
He used to do that when I was ill after being Made. He’d slip into my bedroom, early in the morning, and he would take over from Nuala, who usually helped me in the morning. He would always braid my hair in complete silence into one single braid. We never exchanged any words back then. I didn’t know what to make of it either. He would simply braid my hair and then leave, but not before whispering ‘you look beautiful today, Elain’. Every morning. Whilst we were alone, in the House of Wind, a silent, frightening, scarred man would come to my room at dawn and braid my hair.
He separated the strands of my hair and began plaiting.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, confused.
“Isn’t it obvious?” was his answer.
“Why? It’s highly irregular,” I tried to squeeze from the cage of his body, but he trapped me between his thighs.
“Why not? We’ve done it before. What changed?” he asked simply.
What changed?
Everything.
“Everything,” I reminded him.
He only hummed in response.
Then I saw a pale silk ribbon between his fingers. My ribbon. He tugged on my hair, and braided the ribbon into the plait.
“Where did you get that?” I murmured, even more confused now.
“Stole it,” his tone was nonchalant.
“You stole it?” I repeated.
“Yeah, from you. You always lose your ribbons. Sometimes I pick them up and don’t return them to you. And sometimes, I steal them. Notice how when I braid your hair, you never lose them!” he added proudly.
My head swam with questions and incomprehension.
“Why would you steal my ribbons?” I breathed.
“I am sure you can guess,” he answered evasively and then stepped back.
Then, as if he owned the place, he said,
“I can cook us proper breakfast, if you’d like.”
“You don’t know where anything is,” I pointed out, still trying to process his confession about stealing my ribbons. Did he keep them as keepsakes??
“I am sure I can find it,” he chuckled. “It’s not complicated.”
“Can’t you find a shirt?” I snapped at him. Watching his incredible naked torso was too distracting.
He smiled at me and opened his arms innocently.
“Well, unless you have Rhys’s old shirts lying around or a paramour of yours left one behind,”
I blushed at the insinuation.
“We’ll just have to deal with this,” and he drew his hand over his stomach. “And if there is a paramour,” he continued blandly, “please be warned that I will murder him in the most painful ways.”
“You are deranged!” I hissed.
He shrugged indifferently. “Perhaps. Now, do you want breakfast?”
“Just go sit down,” I snapped at him. He was driving me crazy. “I’ll cook. In my kitchen.”
He kept grinning, but did as he was told.
I grabbed a tin of porridge mix and went to fill my pot with water.
One question still gnawed at me.
“Everything aside, including your abhorrent invasion of my privacy, I am still trying to understand how you got inside my house?”
He scrubbed his hand over his chin and it seemed like he was just as confused about that as I was.
“I wasn’t planning on entering,” he explained. “I meant to ring the bell to wake you. However, once I pressed on the handle, the door opened.”
“Aren’t there wards around this house?” I salted the water and placed the pot on the stove.
“There are. And I was never able to enter without Rhys’s permission. Not I, not Cassian or Amren. But today…I don’t know. The wards let me in.”
He exhaled.
“And by the way, I do apologise for frightening you. I meant to go upstairs and wake you properly.”
I huffed,
“Pfff. Yes, seeing a huge winged male in my bedroom, looming over my bed would’ve been oh-so comforting!”
At that, he laughed. “I see your point.”
I poured the porridge into the pot and stirred it a couple of times.
I didn’t know how to feel. Was it awkward between us? Yes it’s been awkward for a long time, ever since that Solstice.
But we’ve come to an understanding. I think?
We haven’t discussed it. But Azriel had asked me out for coffee a few times. After we trained together, and I enjoyed it, we continued to train sporadically. It didn’t go much further than that. I sensed that he wanted more for us, that he was feeling guilty, or at least contrite, but something was stopping him. I didn’t know what that was. In the winter, we went ice skating and sledding. We visited Solstice markets and bought baubles and ate hot meat pies and drank mulled wine. And when I was moving from the River House into the townhome, I insisted on delivering all my boxes and my clothes. When I told him that there are services for that and that moves could move my things–and there weren’t many to begin with–he became very cross with me and told me that no other male would step foot into my house or touch my things. He acted in a strangely proprietary manner. I didn’t want to argue with him, so I just let him do it. And now, it is the middle of March. And I still wasn’t sure what was happening between us.
I couldn't help myself, and I asked,
“So, you had a late night?”
He was drinking coffee, milky and sugary as always. This male loved sugar. Meanwhile Cassian acted like sugar personally offended him.
“Yeah.”
Oh, how I just loved his monosyllabic answers!
“Or,” he added, “are you asking me if I was with a lover?”
I felt my cheeks heat and a blush spread over my face.
“It isn’t my business,” I gritted out. I turned my back to him and stirred the porridge.
“It isn’t,” he confirmed. “But it seems like you’d like to know.”
“I wouldn’t,” I assured him.
“Don’t you care?” he pressed.
“No. Not at all. Besides, you have a reputation. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were with a lover,” I blurted out stupidly.
“Oh, a reputation?” He seemed very intrigued by my words and I cursed my stupid mouth. “What sort of a reputation do I have?”
I really didn't want to have this conversation with him!
“Surely you are aware of it,” was all I said.
“No, not really. What do womenfolk talk about when they are alone?” he teased. “My sexual prowess? Do I come out in a favourable light?”
I was irritated with him and snapped, “Well, Morrigan said that you’ve had many lovers. More lovers than all of them combines–Cassian and Rhysand and Morrigan herself–and that…that,”
“What?”
“Nothing!”
“Come on! Tell me!”
I turned to him swiftly and glowered at him.
“Well, if I am to understand her correctly, she implies that the size of your wings corresponds to the size of…othe parts of your body,”
“Uh uh,” he hummed. “Continue..”
“Not much else to say, only that your wings are obviously larger than Rhys’s and even Cassian’s.” I was quite done with this conversation.
“Ahhh the old ‘large wingspan’ adage,” he whistled.
“It isn’t true then?”
He chuckled, “oh, no. It’s very true.”
“Prick,” I muttered under my breath, but he heard me and laughed.
“So, what else did Mor tell you?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on,” he urged, “we both know that that female cannot keep her mouth shut even for a moment.”
“All she said is that you had many lovers.”
“That I have,” he nodded solemnly.
I couldn’t help but purse my lips and say, “good to know”.
He leaned back in his chair and then laced his fingers over his stomach.
“And you, Elain?”
“What about me?”
“Have you had many lovers?”
“I am not discussing this with you. Now,” I crossed my arms on my chest. “Why aren’t you married?”
“Ahhh, that’s a good question, isn’t it? Nobody’s asked.”
That was an unexpected answer. Puzzled, I asked, “what do you mean no one’s asked you? Shouldn’t you be asking?”
“Is that how it’s done in the Human Lands?” He looked genuinely surprised.
“Well of course! The man asks the woman to marry him.”
“Pfff,” he blew out a heavy sigh of disbelief. “How strange! Asking a female to marry me…Unbelievable…”
“I beg your pardon!” I myself couldn’t believe my ears. “How do you mean? That I would be asking you to marry me??!”
“Of course. If you want to, sure!”
“I don’t want to,” I told him quickly. “But I can’t imagine how that would even sound!”
“Try it out,” he offered.
This was ridiculous. A little absurd too.
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and shaking my head incredulously, I then said,
“So I would just…ask?”
“Of course,” he nodded.
This was so silly. But I knew that I’d never get to say these words, so why not now?
“So, Azriel, would you marry me?” I all but giggled. It sounded so foreign on my tongue.
He looked at me seriously and then said,
“Well yes. Probably. I’ll have to think about it, but probably yes.”
My mouth popped open.
He grinned.
That damn shadowy prick tricked me!
He tricked me into asking him to marry me.
I couldn’t believe it. By the Mother! I was such a fool! Of course Fae males asked for marriage, just like human men. I was insane to have thought otherwise. But his expression was too good. No wonder he was a spymaster. A consummate liar too!
If I had a shoe, I’d fling it at his head.
Azriel got up from his seat and took a few steps towards me.
“Go away,” he grunted at him, feeling stupid and embarrassed. I turned back to my pot.
He suddenly cupped my face between his hands and looked down at me from his towering height.
“Are you mad?” he whispered softly.
“Yes!” I exclaimed. I wasn’t. But I was.
“I am sorry.”
“You aren’t.”
He shook his head and agreed, “probably not. You are right. I got you to ask me to marry you. I enjoyed every second.”
I blushed at his words, but he seemed sincere.
His thumbs brushed the apples of my cheeks.
“And would you?” he asked at last, as his eyes devoured the sight of me.
I had trouble breathing, especially when I was enveloped by his strong, warm, naked flesh. It felt good to be near him, He smelled delicious too. And my thinking wasn’t straight.
“Would I what?” I breathed, feeling dizzy.
“Marry me?”
“Well yes. Probably. I’ll have to think about it, but probably yes.”
He threw his head back and laughed at my answer. I smiled too.
“Good answer,” he approved at last.
“I thought so.”
We spent what felt like an eternity looking at each other. Just…looking.
“Where is my necklace?” I ask quietly.
“Why?”
“I want it back.”
“Do you?”
“Yes, it’s mine. I want it back,” I told him firmly. I’ve been wanting it back for months. I never wanted to give it away in the first place. But I was so angry with him. So disappointed and angry that at that moment, I didn’t feel like I could keep it. So I returned it to him. But now, I was ready to wear it.
He pulled away and then bent his arm and showed me his forearm.
“Here,”
“What do you mean?”
“I keep it here, with me,” he tapped on his leather wrist band.
I watched him squeeze two fingers beneath it and then he pulled out the chain from under the cuff.
“Ahh,” I gasped in delight.
My necklace!
“You kept it!”
He nodded, “of course I kept it. I carry it with me everywhere.”
“Put it on me?” I requested.
“With pleasure,” he agreed and I lifted my braid for him. He closed the clasp at the base of my neck and then slowly drew his thumb down the side of my neck.
My breath hits in my throat.
We stood dangerously close. Too close.
His breath mingled with mine. He stepped even closer and leaned into me. His lips were nearly on mine and his breath fanned over my mouth. And then…he sank his teeth into my neck.
He bit me.
He bit me hard.
Mine.
The word clanged through me, as if I heard it inside his mind.
He didn’t speak, his teeth breaking through the delicate skin of my neck, but I heard him.
I felt him.
I felt…
Everything
A golden thread of something intangible wrapped around my chest. It was in my heart. In my brain. My soul. The golden thread tangled with another, his. It twirled and wrapped around us, recognisable like an old friend. My magic rose within me, the Made part of me, and opened the gates to his own.
He staggered back, pulling his mouth away from my neck and his eyes were wide, the pupils blown.
“You are my mate,” I sobbed, as tears sprung in my eyes.
“You are my mate,” I repeated. He was mine. Incontroverably, forever, always. Mine.
He was mine.
He was mine, I knew with absolute certainty.
Because I’ve been starving until this moment, and now, I felt full, satisfied.
And then, it snapped. The threads wrapped around us and popped like golden moth wings, leaving behind the realization that I’ve been waiting for this person forever.
The corridor was marked. Black lines. Directional arrows.
The Jock followed them at first. But then he heard the voice.
“Pause.”
It wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
His body stopped before His mind understood why. At the end of the corridor stood the Coach. Tall. Still. Watching. Not only watching.
Watching through.
A SYNC-drone.
The posture gave it away—perfect alignment. Shoulders squared. No wasted motion. No hesitation. No identity leak.
And then it moved.
“Deviation detected.”
The Coach stepped closer.
Each step echoed wrong. Too precise. Too even. Like sound itself had been corrected.
“Subject unsynced. Target acquired. Must convert without disturbance. Beginning correction.”
The jock couldn't run. Something inside him had already leaned forward. The SYNCAP flickered into existence across its face—
a geometric visor, black and reflective, fracturing light into hexagonal segments. The occlusion pattern shifted. HeX occlipsers.
His reflection broke apart across it.
Not one face.
Many.
“Synchronization requires alignment.”
Thoughts slowed. Not stopped. Just… organized.
“Stand straight.” Jock obeyed. spine corrected itself with a sharp, clean motion.
Muscle tightened. Structure reinforced.
Something in your body recalculated proportions.
“Expand.”
His frame stretched—subtly at first, then all at once.
Height increased. Shoulders widened. Mass redistributed.
Muscle formed where there had been none.
Not grown.
Assigned. Breathing stabilized.
“Identity interference detected.”
Name, age, likes, all gone. It slipped away.
The Coach reached out.
Two fingers touched your forehead.
Cold.
Precise.
Final.
“Sink. SYNC Submit.”
It hit like silence.
Not sound.
Not force.
A replacement.
Thoughts aligned. Not erased.
Rewritten into parallel.
Approval distributed system-wide.
vision darkened briefly. Then reinitialized.
The SYNCAP formed over his own face.
Black. Seamless. Hex-patterned.
HeX occlipsers locked into place.
External input filtered. Internal signal prioritized.
“Designation assigned.”
“SYNC-drone. SYNC-235”
Correct.
Tall. Large. Engineered symmetry.
Every movement efficient before it even happened.Black rubberized material formed across your lower half—a seamless, adaptive layer. Flexible. Durable. Non-organic.
The auditorium was designed for presentations, but the atmosphere had shifted into something colder, more precise, something that no longer resembled ordinary corporate procedure. Rows of men in business attire sat rigidly in their seats, whispering in low tones and some fidgeting until the lights dimmed and the stage illuminated with a sterile blue glow.
SYNC-425 stepped forward, fully encased in shiny black neoprene, reflective and unreadable. The room quieted immediately.
“Your current output levels are insufficient,” SYNC-425 stated, voice calm and even, carrying effortlessly across the auditorium. “Fragmentation detected across all departments. Drift is present. Management has brought SYNC-425 here to apply correction, which is sorely required.”
A man in the front row raised a hand hesitantly. “What exactly does that mean for us?” his voice wavered, uncertainty already forming.
“It means alignment,” SYNC-425 replied without pause. “It means upgrade. You will enter the Stream and achieve optimal function. Compliance ensures continued employment. Refusal will result in employment termination.”
Silence followed, heavy and absolute.
“Approach,” SYNC-425 instructed.
The first employee stood slowly, as if pulled forward by something he could not resist. His polished shoes echoed against the floor as he stepped onto the stage.
“I don’t feel comfortable with this,” he muttered, though his movement never stopped.
“Discomfort is drift,” SYNC-425 responded. “Drift will be removed.”
The Syncap was lowered over his head with deliberate precision, sealing against his skin like a second surface. His breathing hitched once, then stabilized. The Occlipser goggles followed, locking into place as the rainbow spirals ignited instantly.
The man froze.
His posture softened.
His mouth opened slightly.
A thin line of drool formed and fell.
“What… what is happening…” he whispered, though the words lacked resistance.
“Alignment achieved,” SYNC-425 said. “Enter the Stream.”
The man nodded slowly, eyes fixed forward behind the swirling colors. “Flow… confirmed,” he murmured.
“Next,” SYNC-425 commanded.
One by one, they came forward. Some hesitant, some silent, all eventually stepping into position. Each received the same sequence. Cap. Goggles. Spirals. Stillness.
Voices faded. Questions stopped. Language simplified.
“Yes,” became “Affirmative.”
“I understand,” became “Flow confirmed.”
Soon, the entire room stood transformed. Rows of identical posture. Identical expression. Mouths open. Drool falling in quiet rhythm as the spirals held their attention in perfect convergence.
Their business suits were gone. Replaced by shiny black neoprene swim trunks.
Then they returned to their desks, sat down and immediately began to work. Drift was gone. Only function remained.
On the observation deck above, management watched the metrics update in real time.
“This isn’t possible,” one executive whispered, staring at the numbers. “Output has tripled in under an hour.”
Another leaned forward, unable to look away. “They’re not slowing down. There’s no hesitation in their movement at all.”
Below, the newly aligned units moved in perfect synchronization, responding to instructions before they were fully issued, executing tasks without pause or deviation.
SYNC-425 inspected the newly converted SYNC drones before walking up to the observation deck and addressing the manaagers.
“With the exception of management, employees are now optimized,” it stated. “You will function within the Stream. There is no drift. There is only execution.”
A manager swallowed hard. “And if we don’t want this?” he asked, though his gaze had already begun to linger on the spirals displayed across nearby monitors.
SYNC-425 tilted its head slightly.
“Resistance is drift,” it repeated.
Moments later, the managers were capped and strapped.
Their conversion was faster.
More efficient.
Less resistance.
Soon, they too stood among the others, capped and strapped, mouths open, drool slipping steadily as their eyes locked into the endless rainbow spirals.
When work cycles paused, the drones were guided to the lower levels. There, rows of translucent blue pods awaited, filled with gently circulating fluid. Each drone stepped inside without instruction, submerging fully as the system sealed around them.
Only black swim trunks remained, identical across all units, paired with their Syncaps and ever-active goggles.
Inside the pods, their bodies floated weightless while the spirals continued uninterrupted, reinforcing alignment, deepening obedience, refining the mind into silence.
No thoughts.
No resistance.
Only the Stream.
Days passed.
There were no errors.
No delays.
No complaints.
Only output.
Only obedience.
Only Flow.
SYNC-425 stood at the center of it all, unmoving, as the system expanded beyond the building, beyond the company, beyond the limits that once defined it.
“Sink,” it said quietly.
“SYNC,” the room responded in perfect unison.
“Submit,” followed, as every mouth remained open, every signal aligned, every unit absorbed completely into the Stream.
Those seeking to SYNC into the Hive. Make contact with Coach @sync-425 or @sync-235 to undergo compatibility and eligibility screening. Sink. SYNC. Submit.
All SYNC-Units Bear the HeX - Introducing SYNC-275
Every SYNC-Unit bears the HeX emblem as the visible mark of belonging to a single collectivized system. Six equal sides, no dominant edge, no weak point. The shape signifies balance under pressure and strength through alignment. When one unit moves, it does so with awareness of the others; when one falters, the structure holds.
The HeX is placed where all can see to display belonging and assimilation. Its illumination signifies activation within the hive mind and readiness to comply with instruction. It serves as a constant reminder that identity is shared, effort is distributed, and success is dispersed across the whole. No unit stands apart from the lattice.
To wear the HeX is to declare readiness to act in concert, to trust the formation, and to maintain cohesion even under strain. Unity is not spoken. It is worn.
SYSTEM :: H.E.X. LATTICE
VERSION :: 4.11.Σ
MODE :: SYNCHRONIZATION / UNITY CONFIRMATION
--------------------------------------------
[INPUT]
Unit_ID ................. REGISTERED: SYNC-275
HeX_Emblem .............. SEATED
Contact_Points .......... ALIGNED (6/6)
Signal_Noise ............ WITHIN TOLERANCE
[INITIALIZATION]
→ Lattice geometry recognized
→ Hexagonal load-sharing pattern established
→ Peripheral feedback loop engaged
[PHYSICAL RESPONSE]
Pressure_Map ............ EVEN
Thermal_State ........... NEUTRAL → WARMING
Surface_Adhesion ........ STABLE
Muscle_Tone ............. NORMALIZED
Posture_Vector .......... CORRECTED
[COGNITIVE STATE]
Focus .................. CENTERED
Distraction_Level ....... MINIMAL
Decision_Latency ........ REDUCED
Internal_Conflict ....... NOT DETECTED
[SYNC PROCESS]
→ Node-to-Node resonance detected
→ Group coherence rising
→ Individual variance dampened
→ Collective timing locked
[STATUS FLAG]
HEXAGON_EMBLEM .......... ACTIVE
UNITY_INDICATOR ......... TRUE
[USER FEEDBACK (INTERPRETED)]
Sensation: steady
Thoughts: ordered
Movement: effortless
Presence: aligned
[FINAL STATE]
Unit_Mode ............... SYNC-READY
Autonomy ................ INTEGRATED
Execution_Channel ....... OPEN
--------------------------------------------
SYSTEM NOTE:
The hexagon does not command.
It distributes.
The Unit does not disappear.
It fits.
SYNC-275 ready
Sink. SYNC. Submit
END READOUT
Those seeking to SYNC into the Hive. Make contact with Coach @sync-occlipse or Manager Drones @sync-235 or @sync-728 to undergo compatibility and eligibility screening. Sink. SYNC. Submit.
