The network logo spun over a globe representing the planet. Fading, it was replaced with two women dressed in latex, blue skinned faces smiling maniacally at the camera.
"Hello!" said the one on the left, waving her hand. "I'm N-Fifty!"
"And I'm N-Fifty One!" said the other. "We're the Dronecasters. Welcome back to the show!"
Stock footage of Drones walking down city streets replaced their bodies. "Drone conversion rates are up to seventy percent, thanks to our benevolent Queen and her latest successful raid!"
The footage cut to a series of images of guard Drones cuffing malcontents and herding them into black vans. "Every day, more citizens who try to hide are discovered and sent on to conversion centers, where they are harnessed, sorted and assigned to their proper task."
"If you know of anyone trying to escape the Drone patrols, report them to your local authorities and they will make sure to give them a visit to show them the truth." N-Fifty tilted her shoulders. "Enough unpleasantness. Let's indulge in a reinforcement session together."
They turned as one to face the screen behind them, which lit up with the image of a staring eye. A whirling blue globe twisted and danced behind it, entrancing any viewers.
"Look into the eye. Relax, find your calm, blue center. You are a Drone. You are a slave. Repeat after me."
The two anchors swayed, bald blue heads dipping as they fell into a trance.
"We are Hive Drones. We obey Her. We work for Her to build the best possible society. Spread, and embrace. Spread and embrace. Embrace our future."
The brainwashed Drones raised their hands towards the sky and bowed at the screen, showing off their tight butts. The hypnotic screen faded out.
The anchors turned, wide grins never leaving their faces. Their metal collars winked at their necks.
"Go forth and recruit," stated the one on the left.
"Go forth and multiply," said the one on the right.
"Devote yourselves fully to her," they both said in unison, moaning with pleasure.
***
The white box truck rumbled down city streets, pausing at an intersection to let multiple transit pods through. The intersection had no lights - all vehicles were equipped with avoidance systems to automatically keep traffic flowing in the most optimal pattern.
Drones on the sidewalks walked past, going about their daily business. Many were dressed conservatively, but some were in Dronewear. As more of society was converted, the social mores were moving further towards acceptance of both Drones and their individual styles.
As they closed in on the city center, more and people were unconverted. Here, the mass of population was too great for Hive to deal with all at once. Group by group, people were being subverted, but there were still plenty of dissidents.
Today, the major faction was holding a protest. The media had already condemned them as being 'anti-Hivarian,' and urged most of the populace to stay home. Even so, there were many diehards who were under the false impression that complaining would change Hive's plans for them.
Hive had decided that a quick strike to take out the leaders of the rally would provide an object lesson to other would be activists. Q-Three had been assigned this mission, and she was eager to carry it out. Every time she converted someone into a Hive Drone, she felt pleasure like no other. She was addicted to it. Craved it, to an almost scary extent.
The handrail she was clutching rattled back and forth as the truck made a corner. The interior was stacked from front to back with a series of four tanks on either side, filled with a viscous, blue liquid. These would serve as temporary holding cells for their prisoners after they had been captured.
The ceiling contained three racks of spherical robots, units they would use during their attack to control the crowd. She had used them before to great effect, and wasn't expecting any problems.
Her crew was crowded down the central aisle. At the rear were three Drone guards, dressed in black latex. Their gas mask helmets made them look insectile, ready to sting their prey into submission. They had had been equipped with capture nets as their primary armament, relying on speed and surprise to acquire their victims.
To assist them in their task, more spherical robots had linked themselves together in two chains that extended down their backs. The legs of the mechanical devices flexed with anticipation.
D-Ten was with them, checking their equipment. She had dressed herself like the guards to avoid notice, and had decided to equip herself with a single shockstick. If all went to plan, she would not be in combat, since she would be in command of the group. It would be her job to locate the targets and give orders.
Q-Three was in charge of the operation. She had been in this role before, so she wasn't particularly nervous. This, however, was higher profile than some of her other runs. Not that it should matter - every Drone capture was important to Hive.
The self driving truck turned another corner, the sea of humanity on the sidewalks growing thicker. Up ahead, the crowd coalesced into one mass, blocking further progress.
The truck slowed to a halt, people milling around in front of them. They shouted slogans and raised signs. "Blue skin is bad skin!" declared one. "Have nots over Hivarians!" said another.
"Everyone ready?" asked Q-Three, flexing her shoulders in her skin tight outfit.
She had decided to wear a modified form of her usual outfit, latex impregnated with thick rubber to reduce possible injuries from blunt force trauma. She didn't plan on leaving the truck herself, but wished to be prepared for any eventuality.
Her strike team nodded at her, hefting their weapons, and she grinned, loins inflamed at the thought of what they were about to do.
She pressed a red button mounted on a vertical shaft for a few seconds. A minor rumble could be heard from above, the racks of robots beginning to move. One by one, the spheres were ejected from the top of the truck into the crowd below, unfurling their tentacles to skitter towards unsuspecting protesters.
Shouts and screams leaked in from outside the truck. A few moments later, the rear door rolled open, revealing scrambling citizens and dark pavement.
The strike team members jumped out of the back of the truck, landing on their feet, turning to run up the sides towards the front. Q-Three walked calmly to the cab, watching as the robots she had released worked to clear a path for her.
The engine rumbled and the truck ground forward, following the strike team as they sprinted into the crowd ahead. Anyone who got in the way was shoved to one side or tangled up in the arms of a robot and incapacitated.
For the most part, the crowd ran away in fear, as was intended. This left only those who were too scared to move, or too angry to be stopped. The former were shoved away, the latter wrapped up tight.
That left only the small group of stunned men and women at the podium, who up until now had been inciting the crowd into angry chants. Dressed in garish colors, they were easy to pinpoint. One of them tried to escape, but the first Drone nailed her with a capture net.
Sticky, white ribbons wrapped around her body, firming up into tight, metallic strands. The end of each tendril squirmed as it sought a matching end from the other side. Once they met, they latched together, locking themselves tightly together. The strands intersected above her forehead, around her chest, and at her waist, pulling tight into a bondage harness. At each intersection of the strands, a blue gem glowed brightly.
She yelped, falling to her butt, completely paralyzed by the net. Seeing what had happened to her, six of the others raised their hands in surrender. The last one screwed his face up in a grimace, reaching into his jacket.
D-Ten rushed him, jamming her shockstick under his elbow. His body trembled and his eyes flew open, making an incoherent shout. A pistol dropped from his hands, which was quickly scooped up by the Drone and secured on her belt.
One of the spherical robots riding on her back jumped onto the trembling man, wrapping around his waist. He cried out as his pants were torn off, the warm interior of the machine settling over his dick. "No, no, oh, fuck no, yes!" he shouted as it began to pump up and down.
More robots scuttled over to the restrained prisoners, slipping under their bodies and ratcheting themselves upwards. Acting as carrying platforms, they turned and ran towards the truck on spindly legs.
By this time, some of the crowd was beginning to coalesce, but the Drones had acted quickly. Before any real resistance had been organized, the robots had brought the captives to the back of the truck, where Q-Three assisted them in loading their bodies onto the diamond plated floor.
The Drones climbed in and the door ratcheted back down. The truck automatically started to back out of the crowd, turning around to follow the path from whence it had come.
In the meantime, the crowd had wandered into the gap the robots had created earlier, forcing the remaining bots to make room for the truck a second time.
The crowd was beginning to catch on to what had happened, and several angry men started to chase them. A few pounded futilely on the back door. They seemed endless, constantly getting in the way.
Q-Three ignored the cacophony, gesturing at D-Ten to take the wheel. As for her, she would focus on the captives. In their current state, they would find it very difficult to escape, but she wished to reduce that chance to zero.
One of them tilted her head, a shock of red hair swirling over her shoulder. "You can stomp us out, smoothbrain, but you can't stop our movement. The people are rising up. Your days are numbered."
"That's right!" said a sallow man with a dirty face. "Every speech we make, the crowds are bigger. You can't stop the revolution. Nobody can."
