Skylar stood opposite the road from the imposing office block in the city's industrial district, eyes fixated to the business card their close friend had given them over a week ago in their hand. Matching the stylized simulacrum of the Unic symbol for ‘join’ or ‘unity’ to the one emblazoned across the blacked out windows, Skylar knew this was the place. Pretty apt, they had thought, considering the name of the company; “Unity Industries.”

Ever since Melanie had dropped the bombshell she was under their employ, Skylar had done their research into what unity was all about. On the surface they seemed as benevolent as any other drone manufacturer and provider that had popped up in recent years, providing units specialised in all manner of services and duties. Ranging from domestic caretaking, like Melanie said she was assigned to, to manufacturing technologies to aid various industrial sectors, to even offering security details to private contractors that didn’t want to worry about their bodyguards selling them out for a better bonus. And, of course, the whole weird fuck-bot market they held a corner of.

But beneath all that, beyond all the corporate approved imaging, lied the rumours. Speculation of why the rate of temporary units submitting to permanent conversion was so high. Hushed digital whispers of that distinctive logo being seen in the vicinity of various world and industry leaders when no drones were spotted. Hell, there was one woman a few months ago posting about how two units had kidnapped her neighbour from their apartment complex in the middle of the night. That lasted for a week, before going silent herself until suddenly popping up back on the forums, her tune completely changed, saying it was a whole misunderstanding and singing the praises of Unity.

Something’s up with this company, Skylar thought to theirself as they started to cautiously cross the road to the front door, I can’t let myself get sucked in to it, but I need to see if there’s anything I can uncover.

Stepping up on the curb again they took a closer look at the professional and corporate signage posted to the sleek, corporate facade. Besides the obfuscated sliding glass doors was a plaque, reading “Unity Industries; Building the communities of tomorrow,” followed by the street address. As the doors slid open with nary a hiss Skylar looked passed them, admiring the professionally casual outfit they had picked out for today and adjusting any imperfections that had cropped up from the long walk from the nearest bus stop. Once the neat white shirt was brushed and tucked appropriately into their comfy black slacks, Skylar let out a final brave sighand crossed the threshold to the surgically clean lobby.

It was uncanny, judging by how redacted the outside looked Skylar had assumed the inside would be as dark and devoid of life, not brilliantly white and lined with tasteful topiary along the walls, punctuating the larger than life posters and advertisements of various Unity industries products. At the far end, situated between two more sliding doors, with accompanying drones standing guard besides them, sat a wide and impressive welcome desk, with a solitary young man sat low behind a row of monitors.

Skylar stalked slowly up to the desk, not knowing whether to be intimidated by the presentation around them or impressed.

“Welcome,” the young man said, rising from behind the desk, his formal and professional suit draped in company colours coming into view, clasping his hands politely in front of himself as he met Skylar’s nervous gaze, “to Unity Industries, East coast branch. How may I help you?”

The man’s voice hit all the hallmarks of a warm, welcoming presence, but lacked one key feature: the emotional depth of a human.

“Y-you… you’re a drone, aren’t you?” Skylar stammered out.

“Why yes, I am. DMC-603 at your service.” The man, no, drone replied, all too human like for Skylar’s expectations.

“But, where’s your… everything? I thought all drones were all, y’know, gimpy in latex with big helmets? And no personality, how come you can say I and stuff?”

DMC-603 let out a soft chuckle, the genuineness unclear to Skylar. “That is one of the most common questions I get asked, and the answer is pretty simple: because I need to for my job. Here at Unity Industries we try matching the unit to a role that best suits them, and as I, or my host rather, used to work as a hotel concierge it was decided to use me in a public facing role. As humans are skittery creatures, as well as you might know, to avoid an uncanny feeling the Hivemind saw best to let me access some functions of individuality to create a more welcoming atmosphere.”

That… makes way too much sense.

“But, enough about me, how may I be of assistance to you Ma’am? Do you have an appointment with one of the executives?”

“N-no I don’t, I was recommended by a friend that’s… ‘employed’ here to ask about like an open day or something. Melanie Johnson?”

“Ah yes, TDMC-492 did report that it had suggested to a friend that they should drop on by for a tour. It’s nice to see that you took it up on that.” A small, inhumanly polite smile formed on the unit’s face, an attempt to build rapport and comfort Skylar a little more. DMC-603 reached into a drawer under the desk and produced a minor stack of papers and a pen before handing them all to Skylar. “If you would please take a seat to the side and fill these out, I will send for an RCT unit to come down and show you around our humble little Hive.”

Skylar retrieved the pen and papers with caution, taking care not to make contact with DMC-603’s hands. Who knew what sort of sci-fi super chemicals these things could secrete through contact.

Okay stop that. Sure there were some horror stories online from my research, but if this place was that sinister I’m sure they’d have snatched me up by now. 603 does seem… alright.

DMC-603 politely bowed its head as Skylar stepped away from the desk towards to the solitary waiting couch, placing itself into its seat and returned to whatever business it was conducting.

Skylar positioned theirself so they could keep an eye on the other pair of occupants in the room, the SEC units. The steel blue LEDs embedded in the trim of their heavy, sleek, *equipped* uniforms. An array of tools and methods to gently and handily subdue any rowdy yuppie executive causing a scene on their way out.

Skylar knew their time here will be under their close and thorough observation from their posts.

Whether I see them or not.

Skylar shifted their seated position, kicking their legs up a little as they puffed up their wavering chin to feel brave in their cold presence.

They settled into their seat a little more as they clicked the pen and turned their attention to the papers sitting on their lap.

The majority of it was standard release form jargon, warning of standard industrial risks and absolving the company of blame if an accident were to happen.

Well at least it isn’t asking me to sign my life away yet.

The final page was a details form, spaces for their legal name, address, contact info and so on. Further down the page were larger boxes and a few interesting questions, such as “What is the designation, if any, of the unit that referred you to us today?”

Well, that would be Melanie, right? Wait, what was it that the desk bot referred to her as again? TDMC-492? I better put that down.

Next was a field asking about dietary requirements and allergies, seemed like this tour would take a while and that snacks and refreshments would be provided if the opportunity arises. Skylar just wrote ‘N/A’ and moved on.

“Please list any interests, qualifications or other relevant information that would aid us in placing you with the right department,” was the next section, followed by an empty box larger than what preceded it. Skylar did find it peculiar it mentioned placing with ‘the right department’ at this stage, but shrugged it off as placeholder text used for a multiple of company documents. Either way, they began listing off what they thought might be relevant.

• Studying engineering and robotics at Arkham state university
• Won state robotics championship at age 13
• Worked a few summers at my father’s garage fixing bikes
• Has the entire boxset of ‘Robot Wars’ (original and revival series, my favourite house robot was Matilda by a long shot)
• Won best dance at the Red Bull soapbox derby 2022 (had the worst time though)

There, that’s probably enough for now.

All that was left was to sign their name at the very bottom, and as the pen lifted from the page, as if timed ever so perfectly, one of the two doors leading deeper into the facility slid open with a hiss. Stepping through the newly opened passageway was a new drone, visor tinted red, clipboard with even more paper in hand. It was surreal watching the unit move so… mechanically, especially compared to DMC-603’s facsimile of natural expression.

“Mx.Phillips?” The drone asked as it stopped in front of Skylar. “This unit is RCT-717, it has been assigned to guide you around this facility and answer any questions you may have. Please submit your liability waver and intake form with DMC-603 as you follow this one through the checkpoint.”

It was uncanny. Skylar knew that a part of the conversion process to become a drone included the suppression of emotion, to some level at least, but the way this unit spoke to her, so flat, so cold, so… robotically. It sent a shiver down their spine.

None the less, they had come this far and the ink was already drying, so rose from their spot on the waiting couch and followed RCT-717 trepidatiously, dropping the forms back on top of the reception desk’s counter top.

“Thank you,” DMC-603 cheerfully perked up from it’s lowered position, “and do enjoy your stay with the Hive.”