"Nothing biting on your end?"

 

"I'll be biting you if you ask that one more time."

 

"Glad to see you haven't lost nearly as much fire as your change in names would suggest. Why do you get all the badass names while I'm stuck with one that sounds like my dear daddy was blackout drunk when it popped into his head and he slurred it out?"

 

You both laugh, this date going just as you had expected it to. More a hangout between friends than anything overtly romantic, which is honestly what both of you may have needed. If Rurona had never been forced out of town when you were both too young, could you have been even closer than this? She's certainly easy to talk to on equal terms, which is surprisingly rare even amongst your own chosen company. They say opposites attract, but you and Rona are like two peas in a pod and have no issue considering the other a suitable match in some faraway timeline where the cards fell differently.

 

"Getting bored yet?" Rona shakes her line as if that would help entice the fish to bite, resting her cheek against her hand.

 

"Heh, a little bit. No free meal from the generous chefs across the street, it would seem I'll just have to treat you to dinner the old fashioned way." You flash the cash, trying your best to look suave to save face from the abject failure of a fishing venture this has been. neither of you are at all surprised by the lack of success but that doesn't mean you're not secretly disappointed either.

 

"Twist my arm! Alright, well fuck seafood, I want a steak bigger than my stomach can even fit."

 

"W-we're on a budget, remember." You see the sparkle in Rona's eyes slowly fade, just how much meat does she need to satiate her?

 

"Okay… well I'd like a moderate cut of beef, preferably with a side of chips thicker than my fingers. How's that?" She throws you a thumbs up but you sense that she's patting herself on the back over the compromise. As if her initial expectations were even remotely in the realm of reason.

 

"I can work with that, thanks for being so considerate." You sigh, offering the girl your arm to trek back up the bank and return your rental gear in a walk of shame.

 

"Consider this." Rona takes your arm and plants a kiss against your cheek, leaving a trace of gloss you regret wiping so quickly. "Thanks for going fishing with me, Ember, that's ticked off a pretty major item from my bucket list. Not the number one slot, don't want to inflate your ego too much now."

 

"Ah, Rona I… I… woah, I don't feel so good…"

 

The bard is thrown back by an arm as strong as industrial piston, landing in a clatter of fishing equipment and rolling down the artificial grass. Her dress stays mostly intact but the bucket hat is regrettably lost in the waters below.

 

"Em!" She screams from all the way down there. When did your date get so far away? Why's she being so loud, what's the problem? It's a little hard to focus when your vision and hearing are so blurry and fuzzy they threaten your ability to think. Coherent thought, at least, is becoming a difficult task. Ah, that's right, a stinging sensation in your shoulder where it meets your neck.

 

You must have been bitten by some sort of insect, that's why you feel so woozy and warm where it broke the skin. In the next moment, or perhaps several moments after you're losing track, you stagger and find yourself supported by an arm that you could never hope to break free from.

 

Hehe, why would you want to break free? It's being nice, stopping you from falling over with all that stuff you dropped when your arms went all loose. As the woozy warmth overtakes you, head so dizzy you could surely never stay standing without this nice gentleman's help, your head droops to one side. In the corner of your vision you lazily spy the source of that warmth which is spreading throughout your body in waves. Each wave makes you looser, dizzier, happier.

 

It's not a bug bite after all! It's a… oh fuck it's a needle, you suddenly realise you should be panicking but find that subsides with the next wave. Washed away by the headrush that makes you feel like floating away into docile dreaming once again.

 

Several more figures surround you, all as tall as the guard which has you in its arm. They tower over you, shading you from those imposing searchlights and making you feel so comfortable and safe. That isn't right, is it?

 

Vacantly, you think you can hear shouting. A protest taking place from outside the Valediction's circle, but one with only a single member. Your eyes are hard to keep open and your vision is spinning, but you notice that the protest comes to a sudden end once one of the guards flashes your date with a light so bright it could contest those giant ones in the sky.

 

Is this how your date was supposed to go? Oh well, you hardly care anymore, every time they administer that drug your body decides to give in even more.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

Your mind hasn't the fight to go against your body, you're a doer not a thinker!

 

"SUBMIT."

 

The droning voice repeats and repeats, sparking wires placed into your ears that seem to stimulate your spinning mind and make your eyes stare ahead with an uncanny dull to them. Another injection makes your body theirs completely, the circle of guards dragging you through the streets as you obediently match their pace. Those little threads tickle your ears and you giggle, causing them to spark again until you forget how to do that. Another emotion lost, making you stare ahead blankly for a few seconds until remembering to think again.

 

Think about what?

 

"SUBMIT."

 

Oh, right. You mouth the word without really thinking, which seems to earn you another injection from a second mechanical finger. This one doesn't make you feel dizzy and lethargic like the last, instead it sends waves of pleasure crashing through your obedient body in reward.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"Submit." You eagerly reply, awaiting another shot of white hot pleasure in the back of your neck. When it comes, you're surprised you have the strength to still walk. In reality, the guards have been carrying you for the last few minutes already. The process repeats as you make your way through the city, droning voice commanding you to repeat what it says. The words submit cease when it is satisfied with your submission, switching to other words, each coming with it's own reward and the sparks imprinting them deep within your vulnerable mind. Every time they singe your brain you feel your eyes cross before returning to their dull stare.

 

 

"Conform."

 

Pleasure.

 

Sparks.

 

 

"Obey."

 

Pleasure.

 

Sparks.

 

 

"Empty."

 

Pleasure.

 

Sparks.

 

 

"Drone."

 

Drones do not need pleasure.

 

Drones do not need pleasure.

 

Drones submit.

 

Drones conform.

 

Drones obey.

 

Drones are empty.

 

You are a drone.

 

After an indeterminate period of walking, a length of time this drone does not require knowledge of, you are placed down onto your feet and stand up straight to await further instruction. The needles slowly exit your neck and a soothing spray is administered to that flush, broken skin. Next, the wires slip free from your ears and you are left solitary at last.

 

In the northernmost part of the northern district, you stare blankly ahead as a human in dark shades approaches you. The Valediction guardsmen disperse but you fail to even notice.

 

"They're getting eerily efficient… state your name, drone." The human orders you and so you comply.

 

"Ember." Your voice sounds so inhuman, which only makes sense. Even without that injection to reward you, the sensation of feeling good for complying persists.

 

"Ah, you're a special one. I'll have to tag you… ah fuck me, why am I explaining this to a fucking drone?" The woman walks around you and presses a black device to your neck. At first you think it could be another injection but then remember it isn't your place to think. The woman squeezes the trigger and chips you, but this drone barely feels a thing.

 

"All set, your programming is just temporary given the short initialisation process, so I'm ordering you to report to the re-education centre in the north tower just ahead of us. It'll be a few weeks at most of making this permanent, which is to say, making you more productive for us. You want to be a useful drone for the Mayerford Mining Company, don't you, drone? Forget that name you just told me, you'll be assigned a serial code soon enough.

 

Again, it's like those wires never left, stimulating your brain with new conditioning to better suit your given purpose. "I want to be a useful drone." you state blankly to the human before you, the chip in your neck seeming to resonate with hers, letting you know she's a Mayerford operative. Someone to which drones submit and obey without need for thought.

 

"Good girl, then get going. Someone paid a pretty fucking penny to get you off the streets, guess you've got enemies who don't wanna waste a good worker with an inch of lead. We usually do the paying, after all. Lucky girl, now report to the education centre. Go."

 

"This drone obeys."

 

"Yeah yeah, atta girl."

Following your orders to the letter you enter the drone education centre and report to the front desk, the woman sitting behind it standing up with a creak of latex as she leans over to read your tag with the device in her hand.

 

You find yourself in an impossible state of calm, a part of you screaming to fight against the temporary programming but that voice so muffled and distant. You try to remember that girl who had been protesting your acquisition, who was she again? It hardly matters… nothing this drone needs to know.

 

The receptionist presses a few buttons at her desk and in no time at all another woman in just as much sleek black latex is escorting you through the facility with a placid smile. Dark shades obscure her dull eyes, this drone a finished product, a reflection of what you are soon to become.

 

The room you are taken to is more a padded cell, two beds lining each side and walls as blank as your current thoughts. The drone sits you down on your bed and puts you to sleep with a sedative, soon you will be able to sleep from a single spoken command.

 

 

 

"Mmmgh? Wh-wuh? Where am I?" Your eyes flicker open groggily as multiple chemicals still mix within, suddenly coming face to face with another girl who appears to be kneeling by your bed.

 

"Good morning!" The girl beams, her plaited brown hair draped down one side and cheeks burning with unfettered joy. "I'm #13006, you're the new girl. Oh you probably already know that but I remember being so slow in the mind when first waking up."

 

You sit up and begin to panic, this cellmate of yours is wearing a white jumpsuit which appears shiny as polished flooring and smooth to the touch, it leaves little to the imagination regarding the shape of her body. In the next instance you realise you're wearing the same thing, a serial number written over your left breast.

 

"#13103…"

 

"Mhm, that's your name. Well sort of, we don't really have names. I remember getting really worked up over that until the compliance training started."

 

Your hands ball into fists and you jump out of bed, pacing throughout the room. You've enough experience to not bother trying the door. "That's NOT my fucking name! I'm… I'm…"

 

"The name is the first thing to go, don't be alarmed. If you get too fiery they'll administer sedatives to calm you down, they're nice like that." The brunette smiles and you're terrified by how genuine it is.

 

"Who the fuck is they?" You're trying to remember the events that led you here but your memory is failing you, only sensations remain. A need to submit and obey and… ah, you should stop trying to remember.

 

"Our operators and instructors, they work in tandem to build us into long lasting, efficient drones." The girl's words make you shudder, a fragment of memory slipping back into conscious.

"Th-that's right… they made me think I was… a… drone." Your eyes lose focus and you stare ahead blankly before snapping yourself out of it. "Fuck!"

 

"If you don't calm down you'll be sedated, it isn't so bad though. Eventually they teach us to remain calm all the time anyway. I only have one emotion left, they're making me experience so much uninhibited joy until I burn out on it." The girl beams and you groan, dropping back onto your bed and hoping that girl you were with before is okay. Something about fishing, your memory is thick as sludge.

 

"Why am I in my right mind at all then? I vaguely remember losing my mind in some manner, so why are we even talking about all this?" You sound so defeated already, which is perfect for re-education.

 

The girl perks up, her bodysuit creaking as she leans closer. "Oh that's something I can answer! The purpose of this facility is to make us permanent drones for the Mayerford Mining Company, they achieve this through fractionation. Basically we get our minds back only to be trained back into drones by the end of the day. This happens every day, you were asleep when I got back last night but I would not have been the chatty catty I am this morning let me assure you. I probably shouldn't want to be programmed into an obedient, robotic slave, I remember fighting it for so long. But in the end they make you want it, honestly the more you fight it the worse off you are." The girl giggles, but you notice a flat tone befitting of a drone in that artificial laugh. "I think they stagger us, put newcomers in a room with somebody far along to break us quicker. Our operators really care, see? They don't want to give us false hope."

 

"They're doing it to break us!" You can't take much more of this, the girl is completely indoctrinated. She's right though, you can't help but see her as an example of your future self. This isn't your first rodeo after all.

 

#13006 nods with that same plastic smile. "Can't argue with that, I don't think they're mutually exclusive. What were you doing before this? I was told that I was on the streets shooting myself up with all sorts of harmful substances, now the only injections I take are helping to build me into somebody productive. I don't think they'd take healthy, functioning people."

 

Oh, she's already to far gone to argue with. Every point you could make against this place she will take as an excuse to sing their praises, you suppose on some level she needs to convince herself that her conversion is for the best if she's not able to fight it in the first place. Better to surrender gleefully than suffer fruitlessly.

 

You know it will only be a matter of time before you start thinking the same way, every time you think differently there's a buzz of static in the back of your head attempting to correct course.

A loud buzzer fills the silence and your cell door swings open, multiple 'students' in varying levels of progress spill out into the corridor and head to their instructor's training room.

 

"Don't try and run, they'll make an example of you." #13006's words make you gulp, not wanting to find out what they mean you wait for her to leave the room and then follow meekly.

 

A hand slips around your wrist from behind and you turn to face a woman dressed far more normally than anybody else you've laid eyes on. The woman is several feet taller than you with a black bob of hair and narrow glasses, frames as red as her gently curved lips. You almost didn't notice her clasping the handcuffs around your wrists, lost in those raven eyes.

 

"I was expecting more fight, it seems your roommate has been sufficient in her task. I wrote the script more or less." The older woman chuckles, turning to #13006. "Run along now I'll be in the training room soon, standby until then would you?" Your roommate nods with her smile a permanent fixture on that well programmed face.

 

You stare at the woman who holds your future in her hands, her tight pencil skirt and black jacket housing form fitting blouse. She looks like a teacher, that's for sure.

"My name is Miss Faust, but you may only call me 'Instructor.' Do you understand, #13103?"

 

Instructor Faust peers down at you with eyes so dark you swear your own face is reflected back at you. You blink and try your best to glare, leaving her question unanswered. The woman seems pleased despite this, rolling up your sleeve and applying a patch to your arm which sticks to it tightly after her hand returns.

 

"Wh-what is that?" Ah, your voice is doing a poor job at masking your panic.

 

"Slow release sedative, it'll keep you at a relative level of calm throughout the day. It should open you up a little too, your body will confuse the steady drug for natural process and begin to imitate it by itself after a week. Until then, just be careful. If you peel that off I'll have to resort to more indelicate methods of making you amicable."

 

The way she talks so matter-of-factly has your hairs on end, what good does glaring in meek resistance do in the face of such a calculating machine. She's probably broken hundreds of drones, you know that you're not going to be an exception, your will has never been ironclad to begin with.

 

"Come now drone, we have your first day of re-education to get on with. What do you call me, #13103?"

 

Shit, this patch works fast. Slow release your ass… Even now as the two of you travel through the corridor together as instructor and subject, you find your will to resist being absorbed wholesale. "I.. Instructor."

 

"Again."

 

Your mind is spinning once again, just saying it, just submitting like this is bringing back memories of the day before.

 

"I-Instructor…"

 

"Again for me, dear."

 

"Instructor."

 

Faust snaps her fingers and your mind seems to interpret the command instantly.

 

"Instructor."

 

"There's a good drone, you won't take long at all."

As you take your seat in the training room alongside your fellow supposed reprobates, your skin-tight latex suit feels cool against the seat. Instructor Faust comes and rolls your sleeve back down over that patch and uncuffs your hands now she's sure you'll behave. It really is pathetic how much fight you have already lost.

 

Instead of cuffed together, your arms are placed into bracelets chained to the desk, each with a display listing off data you cannot pretend to parse. Helmets descend from the ceiling once you are all secured via harness to your seats. Is this all really necessary?

 

You wriggle in your seat as the helmet slips over your head and a visor falls before your eyes. Naturally your first instinct is to close them, but wires spark into your ears in a strangely nostalgic fashion from the headset and you find yourself forgetting how to close your eyes. They stare ahead into the tinted glass before you, looking over at Miss Faust who seems satisfied by how things are proceeding. After having so many resistant drones over the years there must be a failsafe for everything, this fact alone does more to break your will than any other trick or performance possibly could. More potent even, than the drugs they're sure to pump you with.

 

After all, if your number is 13103 does that seriously imply what you think it does?

 

The probes in your ears also act as earphones, you realise this when a voice comes through repeating the same word over and over in droning cadence.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

The word is familiar to you, you feel pricks across your wrists and realise the bracelets just injected you with something. Ah, here comes the dizzy. Your vision begins to blur but then the screen kicks on, drawing in that spinning lack of focus and making it centre in on those collapsing circles. Ah, the dizzy begins to disappear as your eyes just zone in on those circles. So easy to focus now, even when a second dose of that drug sends more waves of lethargy coursing through your body. Now you understand the need for the harness, your body slumping to one side and a line of drool rolling over that smooth latex covering your breasts.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

How are you supposed to fight this? You giggle at your own stupidity, those sparks once again removing the act from your skillset. This drone does not need the ability to giggle, after all.

Slowly, you open your mouth to repeat the word alongside the rest of class. #13006 sits at the front just as slumped, already onto another word!

 

"Ssssubmiiit." You slur, being rewarded with that pleasurable hit of aphrodisiac and curling your toes in thigh-high boots that blend in so perfectly with the rest of your outfit. A curious detail you have yet to pick up on is that a drone's progress is measured by the height of the heel on their boot, an interesting touch for a mining company to implement but as you have witnessed drones are not only made to mine. Several work in this facility, for example. You wonder where you will end up.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"Ssubmmmit!" The pleasure makes you giddy and then the sparks wipe the slate clean, over and over you reach ecstasy and bliss only for it to be removed The process is likely to repeat until you feel nothing but the word being imprinted into your mind so forcefully. Submit.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"Submittt."

 

Faust steps behind you with the clack of cherry heels, she leans over and inspects your progress. You're far too distracted to even notice her, all you need to think about is uhh….

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"Submit."

 

That's right, you just need to submit. What does that mean, though? How do you submit. Maybe you don't need to know, maybe just following along is enough? Your instructor unzips the back of your suit and dries your back with a hand towel, it seems you've been overheating for a while after your first time on such strong substances. If you could register her presence you would surely thank the woman for being so thoughtful. Maybe #13006 really was right when she called the instructors nice!

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"Submit."

 

You sound similar to the voice in your ears now, you think that must mean you're doing well! This must mean you're submitting after all, what a relief. The sparks come and the relief and pleasure disappear again, leaving you staring so blankly at those cascading circles that capture you so easily. Completely unguarded, you watch the display on your visor close enough to make out the word submit so subtly flashing when the voice isn't saying anything.

 

"That's what we call a subliminal, drone #13103." Faust smiles, she must be giving you extra attention because you're the only first timer in her training session this morning. Still, how did she know what you were thinking? "No need to focus on it, no need to focus at all, just do whatever feels natural."

 

"Submit?"

 

Instructor laughs, pressing a button on your headset to administer a manual reward shot. You're so grateful for the additional pleasure, not to mention proud of yourself for impressing her. This is so easy.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"Submit."

 

More pleasure courses through you, enjoying it as deeply as you can before those sparks come to take it away again. This time you feel even more empty than before, the more it takes away the less it leaves behind.

 

Faust walks away as your eyes begin to cross, the vitals on your bracelets reading out your levels and administering a stabiliser to stop you from slipping into a near catatonic state. This stabiliser is the opposite of those sedatives they've been giving you, instead a stimulant that feels like a sharp hit of caffeine.

 

Now you're so focused that you can think a little more clearly.

 

"SUBMIT."

 

"A-ah, submmmit…"

The training session lasts all day, it seems that your days in this facility will mostly be spent in this seat surrendering more and more of your thoughts until nothing remains but an obedient corporate drone ready to serve her operator.

 

Right now that thought does not even remotely cause concern, the only thought in your head is SUBMIT.

 

It was only that single word for hours straight, drilling into your psyche as the headset and bracelets robbed you of any sensation that could possibly distract from the command. Was it a command? A concept? A core tenet of your life as a drone serving your Mayerford masters? It isn't your place to know these things, only submit.

 

The headset retracts back into the ceiling. The bracelets unlock and sink into desk. You stare at your wrists, those tiny puncture holes that supplied you with all manner of sensations. Lethargy, dizziness, pleasure and focus. All in service of making you submit.

 

Instructor approaches and applies a cream to your wrists that only strings for an instant before it instead soothes. "Well done today, drone. Most first timers put up far more of a fight, all that wasted resistance gets in the way of training. You're different, a natural. Took to it so well you may be onto the next word tomorrow." Faust kisses your hot forehead, the hair matted against it. You feel so special.

 

If your mind was not so blank you would consider that her words may simply be a falsehood designed to make you give into their conditioning even faster, pushing constant efficiency as any decent instructor should, but those thoughts have been silenced by wires so small they tickled on their way in and out.

 

On command, you and your fellow drones rise to your feet and are led to the shower room. You find yourself joined by several other classes, their faces just as blank as yours as the warm water jets over you all. Being naked feels strange, you almost feel wrong without your bodysuit. This is just the first day? You're going to be here for weeks, maybe you really are a natural.

 

"#13006, #13103, hurry it up your operator is here to collect you."

 

Your heart races, you're going to meet the person you need to submit for. Alongside your roommate you dry off and slip back into your comfortable outfit, stepping out of the changing room and laying eyes on the person who claims ownership over you.

 

"Finally, my newbie. I'm your new operator, I'll be checking in each night to make sure you're progressing as intended and to smooth out any ah… kinks."

 

The woman does not tell you her name but you read it off her blazer. Irina Mayerford, your new owner. The woman wears her mint green hair in a ponytail with straight bangs nearly cutting over those inviting eyes. Unlike the instructor's deep abyssal gaze, Irina's eyes are a warming amber. Like a hearth you could enjoy their glow for hours.

 

The operator wears a silky emerald green blazer cropped high on her torso, her tan stomach seems to stare back at you before your eyes reach those tight white leggings. They appear to be as smooth and shiny as your own, but hers patterned with hexagons as wide as your dull eyes.

 

"Come now, let's get you back to your room. There should be four but we've had to be careful recently."

 

Without even considering disobeying the operator, you submit and follow her back to the room you woke up in this morning. That morning which feels both so recent and yet so distant.

"Kneel, drones." Irina states plainly as she inspects her long nails painted a pretty shade of pale pink.

 

Once again, you submit. #13006 kneels beside you with a completely blank expression replacing the smile which had been plastered over it when you were last this close. Her face must mirror your own, but her progress trumps yours. It makes you want to work hard, reach her level.

 

Instructor unzips the front of her pants and reveals the distinct lack of underwear beneath. "Watch closely, newbie, this is how drones can help their operator destress outside of working hours. A good drone never clocks out, isn't that right?"

 

"Yes ma'am, this drone is always ready to serve."

 

Ah, your roommate sounds like a complete stranger to the girl you spoke with earlier, this is what she must mean by returning your minds come morning.

 

"Good girl, eat." Irina snaps her fingers and drone #13006 crawls closer, closing her lips around the woman's waiting wetness and servicing it like a good drone, arms folded behind her back.

 

Watching this makes you want to masturbate, your instincts not yet fully trained away. Still, you need to study hard and learn everything you can even if training has ended for the day…

 

After all, a good drone never clocks out.

"Nnnngh… Owww…" You clutch your head, rising out of bed with your bodysuit hanging by your waist, bare chest exposed to that overly bright light flickering on. Seems you're awoken on a schedule here too, which does not surprise you in the slightest. Rolling over in bed, you find yourself once again face to face with a very happy roommate. Cellmate, you mean…

 

"Ah! You'll feel a bit crappy the first few mornings I'm afraid, but eventually your body adjusts to the chemicals and it all works out in the end." Is that so? Do you want your body to be so accepting of these drugs that are slowly converting you into willing slave? Less than even that, an obedient machine.

 

"I-I'm fine, really. Is this my life now? Full days of training until I do everything I'm told with my mind switched off? You're really okay with this?"

 

The brunette sighs. "It's not so bad really, you'll get it soon enough. Being a drone might be a good thing, you haven't even considered that have you?"

 

"What? O-of course not, you only think any of that because they've brainwashed you. Please tell me you still understand that…"

 

#13006 nods, still smiling. "Oh I know, but think about it this way. We're brainwashed to always feel fulfilled, to constantly be useful and productive. Free will is more chaotic isn't it? You don't always feel good, sometimes you can feel terrible! Given the option, I can't say I'd be leaping at the opportunity to live with all those complex, messy emotions any more."

 

"That's really sad…" You frown while you still can.

 

"Is it? I forgot how to be sad over a week ago now. Instructor told me I'm almost ready to kiss goodbye to joy."

 

The loud buzzer sounds and you both stand up straight, heading towards the opening door and falling in line. Your eyes meet Faust's and remember the interaction you had been too blank to register at the time. She kissed you like a gentle mother, it makes you want to be good for her even now while you try your best to scowl.

 

"#13103, come here." The woman snaps and you submit, standing at attention before the towering instructor. "Good, you're just pretending to have free will with that funny face. That's all I need to know, off to your desk. I trust you remember where it is yes?"

 

"Yes, instructor…" That little piece of technology in your neck tells you to listen to any with its sister chip implanted. Resistance is still possible, but you're beginning to forget how that works when the word submit takes up so much of your current brainpower.

 

Taking your seat and placing your wrists into the bracelets which clasp shut automatically, you quietly wait for the headset to take you for another ride.

 

Today's word is…

 

"OBEY."

"Mmmmgh… good morning, ugh I've been on obey for the last few days, what's next? Am I doing something wrong?" You groan, sleepily complaining to your understanding roommate. "Instructor didn't even give me praise yesterday and operator still won't let me… ah fuck, I'm slipping aren't I? I shouldn't want to eat her out, that's probably a trap. Uh, somehow… What do you think?"

 

#13006 pulls your back against her chest as you lay in her lap, the less expressive girl brushing your hair idly. She no longer wears much of a smile. "I… think? No, no I shouldn't… You should trust in the program, thinking too much is only going to slow it down. Thinking is harmful to us drones, you'll understand in time."

 

"R-right… I think it's working, you're just a drone and even what you just said I feel such strong compulsion to obey. I'm desperate to obey, fuck, someone needs to tell me if I'm doing it right or I'll--"

The morning alarm sounds and you both wordlessly exit the room, heading in neat line to the training room.

 

At long last you're onto a new word.

 

"EMPTY."

 

You're so happy to have progressed that you forget the concept of fighting this conditioning process entirely. #13006 did warn you that this is the lengthiest one, having been on it herself for over a week. This is where those emotions are knocked down like pins in an alley. Fortunately, you're told that impatience is the first to go.

"I'm so lightheaded… they take the negative feelings first on purpose, don't they? Fuck, I actually feel grateful for that… I'm going to start spouting their sales pitch next like you were on my first day. Already a week ago…" You sit in bed with a dopey grin on your face, starting to feel like you belong in this fucked up facility.

 

Drone #13006 barely pays attention to you anymore, which is only natural given you don't possess an operator chip. You don't blame her for ignoring you, in fact you're proud of her for being so obedient. Ah, Ember, you're slipping again. It's so hard to hold onto any semblance of individual thought that isn't just repeating a Mayerford talking point or part of your conditioning.

 

The next morning, your sister drone is gone. You will probably never see her again and even if you do, the two of you will not recognise one another in the slightest. This you know, just as you know how naïve and immature you must have sounded in your first few days here. In hindsight, everything she said made complete sense, you were just too stubborn to consider a different perspective.

 

If another girl comes in with the same level of ignorance and a dangerous desire to keep thinking for herself, you'll make sure to borrow your roommate's wisdom and help set her straight. You'll try and show her that being turned into a drone isn't necessarily a bad thing, she's just choosing to only see it as such. Only then, will you be able to convince yourself of the truth.

 

Only then will you reach the last word…

 

"DRONE."

 

That night after another long day of 'empty', you watch a drone escorting in another, the latter just needs to expand her mind a little. She's pretty, blonde like a girl you think used to know. Right now she's still under the sway of the temporary dronification and sits so obediently atop her new bed. Her breast tag reads '#13112', your new project.

"Ahh! Wh-where am I? What's going on? Somebody… p-please…" The girl in the other bed jolts awake early, the sedative dosage must have been on the lighter end. No matter, you've resolved to help her along as part of your duty. In reality, the subliminals you stopped paying any attention to have been guiding you to this decision from the very start. Drones do not choose their own tasks, after all.

 

"Shhhh, you're okay. Try to calm down if you can or they'll come in and sedate you." You smile so easily, over a week of conditioning keeping you well behaved and disturbingly calm. The girl still panics, you pull her into your arms and pet her hair softly. "You're safe, honey. This place only seems scary at first, but you actually need to be here. You see… you were wasting your life away on the outside."

 

"I-I wasn't… I… oh, I don't really remember it's all hazy. Wait, I-I-I can't remember my name!" She pushes against you violently and so you slowly let her go, softly gesturing to that serial code over left breast.

 

"You're #13112, they wrote it there for you so you wouldn't forget…" A placid smile overtakes you as the word empty yet floods your thoughts like a buffer. "See, isn't that nice of them?"

Instructor's hand falls atop your head in the training room and your eyes roll up, mind going completely blank for her as an example to show the first timer. #13112 seems to understand the fate in store for her now more than ever, chewing her lip nervously as she is guided to her desk like a little lamb.

 

Those fingers twist in your hair and you find yourself buckling in pleasure, their greatest tool for breaking you even if this drone will eventually be forced to give it up, just as #13006 chose to part with her joy in the end.

 

That's right, you have to choose. The hand finally leaves your mess of hair and tidies it up. A unform bob atop your head to match the other drones, you don't think you'll miss the long hair. You don't think much at all anymore.

 

As you take your seat, you find yourself bombarded with multiple words this session.

 

"SUMBIT."

 

"Submit."

 

"CONFORM."

 

"Conform."

 

"OBEY."

 

"Obey."

 

"EMPTY."

 

"Empty."

 

"EMPTY."

 

"Empty."

 

"EMPTY."

 

"Empty."

 

Over and over they drone and you do the same on autopilot. You want to be a good drone for the Mayerford Mining Company, every other desire has been emptied out of your head. It's all you want anymore. Your body begs for it too, that final straggling emotion of uninhibited excitement, oozing lust that pools between your legs even now. Overdosing heavenly bliss that is sure to give you enough pleasure to last a lifetime. So when you've finally had your fill you can give it up without any regrets. Without anything but a need to be controlled by your operator until time to be decommissioned.

 

Almost a week of saccharine delight in the training room, demonstrating duties to your roommate with operator's sweet folds and comforting #13112 as she slowly succumbs to your rational discussion. You're not able to feel anything but arousal now, so those morning talks are often accompanied by kissing the fellow drone awake from heel to neck.

 

Sitting down at your desk and submitting to further training, you're no longer concerned with how long this reprogramming will take. That requires thought and feeling you no longer possess.

 

Instructor administers several manual shots and your bloodstream welcomes them as familiar friend, blank eyes falling into the visor's rhythm and those earphones finally speaking the word you have been secretly awaiting since day one.

 

"DRONE."

 

"Drone."

 

The moment you speak the word, those sparks in your eyes take away the excitement in an instant and replace it with a well earned nothing.

 

You are a drone. In heart, body and mind.

 

"DRONE."

 

"Drone."

 

You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a drone. You are a dro--

 

How many hours just passed by in an instant? It isn't this drone's place to know. #13103 stands at attention before its operator as the woman inspects her finished product with a look of satisfaction.

 

"Good work as always, Fausty. I'll take this one off your hands, let me know when business is running as usual again... I'm not going to keep showing my face when you can't even fill the beds."

 

The instructor shrugs. "Go complain to someone in charge then, oh my apologies, that would be your family wouldn't it? I just make the drones dear, procurement isn't a part of my duties."

 

"Yeah yeah, point taken. Still, I'll be sending a representative as operator in future until we can get a full house. Come, drone."

 

Only when it is referred to does drone #13103 listen to the women in front of them, having tuned out the private conversation taking place before it like good drones always should. If it is not pertinent to their work, the drone's mind does not need to process the information at all.

 

Irina Mayerford leads her new drone into her private transport and has the thing between her legs before the driver can even start the ignition. #13103 knows how the operator likes it, fortunately, so the drone's tongue does its duty to a satisfying degree of quality. Where drones in training are clad from neck to toe in tight white, the finished drone wears black latex as dark and glossy as the shades over its eyes.

 

"Driver #12896, take me home, I've checked out of my lodgings already." The woman likes memorising her drone's serial codes, simply a hobby of hers, ranking their effectiveness in the field to create graphs of how well Faust is training them. The second her old rival's results begin to decline, Irina is sure to be on her way to relay the good news. A pettiness born from comparing herself to the tower of a woman since she was but a spoilt child.

 

"Alright #13103, you're going to be serving as my personal maidservant for the foreseeable future. Lucky you got to avoid the impartial selection process as most find themselves in the quarry slowly killing their backs. Someone paid a small fortune to ensure I take you home instead, a generous donation to the Mayerford estate."

 

Irina is simply speaking aloud, trying to make sense of this strange character behind the scenes. Perhaps this was an effort to hide the drone in front of her, more specifically the girl she used to be, from plain sight. If so their mysterious benefactor is woefully misguided. Not only do Mayerford not give back what is now theirs, there would simply be nothing to return. Drones have been 'liberated' in the past by activists but there has never been a single successful instance of deprogramming a finished product.

 

#13103 is nothing but a tool now, one that Irina plans on decorating with a few frills and feather duster.