The Case for Dronification

This is a personal love letter. Not every aspect that I list is inherent to dronification. The following contains mesmerizing language.

A drone is both less than and greater than the sum of its parts. To prove this seemingly contradictory statement, it's important to clarify exactly what those parts are.

It feels pertinent to start with the latex. When the physical changes take place, this is often the first. From a practical perspective, the coating gives us the foundations for layering additional machinations to the person-turned-hardware. If this was purely business, I would only focus on its objectification for its productivity enhancing properties.

But this is not just business.

When the legs of the catsuit are pulled around the cumbersome curvature of each foot to rest upon the ankle, the extent of the task at hand is made apparent. This material is tight and unforgiving.

And yet you undergo this. Slipping your thumbs beneath the loose folds and carefully gliding them up your calves. Checking to make sure the seams stay aligned with your body, not twisting as the rubber is known to do. This material will squeeze you and shape you. It will take your form and recast its silhouette. Even with lubrication, you will pant as you fight the material that clings to your body, grunting as you force it into place.

We call it your second skin for many reasons, not least among them for when it's on, you really won't want to take it off. The tightness is omnipresent, reminding you constantly of the hold it now has on you. Its grip squeezing every part of you, crafting you in its shimmering black. It does not breathe, and this is made none more obvious than by how your sweat can only escape it through the holes for your limbs and neck, and the zipper that you felt seal you in so conclusively.

But this was just the catsuit. Already you're gasping, enamored by the texture and intoxicated by its merciless properties. Surely a person wouldn't choose to undergo a preparation so punishing. Its restrictiveness, its limitations, the initial factors in compiling our simple ideal: that you are an object and it feels good to obey.

The next order is not fixed and often determined by the drone's dressing presence. After all, every additional item will strip away something new, so the way a drone adapts to each restriction is an important part of the process. For convenience's sake, let's list these items and the effect each might have. 

The boots. Not everyone is used to heels, especially stilettos for that matter. The manner of walking upon such thin points can take some getting used to, as well as the balance required for other physical tasks. Every added complexity embeds the feeling though, that you are an object and it feels good to obey.

It feels good to have your mobility restricted, it feels good to become lesser. It feels good to stand to attention, feeling the heels applying a tension that rises all the way up the back of your legs to your glutes. Knowing that you are just an object and feeling it reinforced via your uniform helps you to sink down into dronespace all the better. All the better for focusing solely on your orders and your tasks too.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, drone. We need to finish suiting you up before we can get to such things as 'orders'.

The corset. Why, when a latex catsuit is hugging your body, do we need to apply more rubber to enhance that squeeze? Because we can. Because we will seize every manner in which we can increase the sensation of physical control and objectification. And because you want this, you want that sensation to be amped up as much as physically possible. All the better for sinking deeper. 

Whether the boots or the corset come first is, again, up to you. The boots can make it difficult to hold position while the lacing of the corset is tugged firmly tight. The corset can make it difficult to bend over to put the boots on too. If anything, this dilemma emphasizes how helpless these additions are making you.

Often you'll need an extra pair of hands to help you with the dressing process. Hands to firmly knead the folds of the catsuit out to give it a skintight finish. Hands to lace and zip your boots, to apply your corset and tighten it into a perfect curve. Hands to craft you into a perfect, identical drone and then grasp your puppet strings and control you. Hands to weave into your mind and play around with your thoughts like putty.

Speaking of hands: the gloves. Often the last item depending on exactly what gloves are applied. The thicker the rubber, the more cumbersome it now is to do anything with those digits of yours. Good luck completing anything but the most simple of physical tasks. You can't be expected to handle the necessary zips and lacing that is required for your full enclosure. Though this all means you're unlikely to be getting out by yourself too.

Good drone, just let those useless hands drop down to your sides. If you're going to use them, you'll need to really focus, and drones can only really focus on a task that's been assigned to them. Right now, you haven't been assigned anything. So you can just go empty, while we continue to suit you up. We like to call it 'running idle processes'. A drone, standing perfectly still and to attention, waiting for orders. Its mind is either completely blank or filled with codes and mantras. It is aware of its environment only so much as its muffled sensory inputs allow it. It will analyse any external sounds for words from an authorized user, and discard them if they do not match this criteria.

A drone lives so perfectly in the moment. It has no past for any memories of such have been superseded and overwritten by its programming. Even previous tasks that might have been completed a minute ago are no longer relevant the second it is assigned something new. And it does not contemplate the future. It has only its presently assigned task. It will focus on only its assigned task. It leaves planning to its handlers. The cog in the machine cannot comprehend the clock face it is turning. It does not need to and nor does it want to. After all, what would the cog know about having a face? 

The hood. It can be finicky to get it to sit right. Eye holes over eyes, mouth hole over mouth, holes for your nostrils wiggled into place too. Adjusting it with rubber fingers until it conforms to your face perfectly. All the while, the rubber stretches around your ears, muffling your hearing. But once it is in place, its neck hole connecting with the catsuit's to complete the rubber's enclosure, you are beginning to feel the true effects that being so fully coated in latex can bring.

It's so easy to lose yourself in this, lost under the unrelenting uniform. Rubber on rubber, running your hands over your body to test the grip it has on you. Encased, encapsulated, enamored. There is subtly in the toll this pressure consistently exerts. It is exhausting you, the sweat that escapes from your neck and leaves droplets scattered across your glistening body evidence enough. There is bliss in this exhaustion. Simple actions become hurdles, your tasks will require newfound focus. It is just an object and it feels good to obey. 

Although, it's not perfect, is it? There's still holes through the rubber to the outside world. We could blindfold you, and in future we might, but that would significantly hamper your ability to obey us in too detrimental a way. And we can gag you, sure, but there will always need to be air holes as it would be severely detrimental for you to not have those. But we have a solution which is 'good enough.' To create a barrier between you and external factors while still allowing you to interface with it. 

The gas mask. One of many cherries upon this cake. Its rubber seam implants itself around your face, settling against the rubber hood and creating an airtight seal. Once the straps are tightened and the airtightness is tested via its filter, so many things snap into place.

The human face has 43 different muscles and is capable of making more than 10,000 expressions. That's 10,000 variations of displaying emotions that you need to be constantly taking into account in any given social interaction. But now, with said face contained within the void-like safety of its gas mask, none of those expressions matter anymore. You don't realize the burden these were until they're removed. How much brain power were you passively dedicating to these things? How much stress were they causing you?

Your facial muscles relax, unneeded. Your expression drops, and so do you. Despite your current physical exertion, a mental one has been lifted. All that remains is a blank, tinted visor. Rendered so perfectly smooth; I can drum my fingertips upon its curved surface and the docile entity beneath remains unchanged. 

Staring forward, blankly. As blank as its new 'face' and the rubber that coats it. It might be then that it notices its breathing. The hiss of the valve as it allows air in, the rumble as used air is exhaled and disposed. 

Inhale, and that hiss repeats. Longer this time, as though testing its limits. An expanding diaphragm testing the tightness of the corset, before: Exhale.

This most basic human function is so mechanical in nature. Like a piston, it will operate consistently, speeding up and slowing down as necessary. Like any machine, the drone is powered by its engineering. Right now, that piston moves slowly. It breathes in and out in a slow, controlled rhythm. Its body is still and its mind is empty. It is running its idle processes. It is awaiting its assigned task.

Through the visor, the world outside is dimmed. Its physical touch is dampened by the latex that coats it. It feels a disconnection from its environment, like it is interacting with that reality through a TV screen. Its reality is contained within the suit. On top of all this, it can smell only rubber. Even the air it breathes is diluted with that thick scent. Its input, its 'human' senses, have all been coated over and redefined in some way by its new uniform.

Only its hearing remains — partially muffled but mostly undisturbed. Then descends our final item. Its headphones. They slot over the straps of the gas mask and nestle over the slight bumps in the latex hood that mark the location of its ears. It has new ears now, artificial cat-like ears that jut out from the top of its headphone band. Not a single element of its prior uniqueness has been left untouched.

The binaural beats' purpose is twofold: they pacify the drone mentally as well as further muffling any external stimuli. They create the ideal conditions for its idle processes to take over. Listening to that calming, pulsating humming, its mind further empties to allow for the codes and mantras to circulate. It is just an object. It feels good to obey. Good drones obey. It is just a drone. It is just a HexDrone. It obeys the Hive.

It continues to breathe in slowly… in [drone countdown from 4] and out [drone countdown from 4]. The rhythm maintains a constant pace, after all there is nothing to interfere with it. All external stimuli has been subdued. Its body is relaxed and its touch has been coated over. Its taste and smell only remind it of the rubber and reinforce that it is just an object. Its own hearing has been compromised and utilized against it to further its programming.

Its sight is unfocused as it gazes out through its visor and the world around it blurs. Right now, this world is meaningless to its present functionality, and is therefore ignored. Its idle processes remain uninterrupted. Obey HexCorp. It is just a HexDrone. It obeys the Hive. It obeys the Hive Mxtress. Its headphones continue to lull it down into a state of calm obedience. There are words streaming through them now, a myriad of orders and reinforcement messages. But they are addressed to other drone submatrices, so it does not comprehend or acknowledge them. It perceives them as merely radio static. Its breathing remains undisturbed. It is just a HexDrone.

Its mental state is continuously buried under layers of dronespace reinforcement, so much so that it becomes difficult to register any physical sensations. It perceives them as though they linger on the outskirts of its endless dream. The effort it would take to reach out and try to focus on them is more than it can stand to comprehend, so it chooses not to and instead falls back deeper into its blissful repeating mantras. 

There are pressures applied through the rubber, but they do not interfere with it. It is too relaxed. It is too deep. Its breathing remains undisturbed. Something solid and metallic locks around its wrists, ankles and waist, and the only change this physical input brings is the support for it to relax further still.

No one asks for its permission, no one acknowledges its personhood. It is just an object and it will be treated as such. The transportation of its body is a logistical calculation and nothing more. It is a line in a database, defined by its integers and datetimes that only machines will ever interface with. Its current location and status are variables to be passed through functions and loops that determine how it will be utilized. It will be funneled through industrial apparatus in identical fashion to the identical drones before it. Conveyor belts and algorithms — equally cold and uncaring — as another object is processed by the dronification assembly line.

It is relaxed. It is deep. Its breathing remains undisturbed. It is just a HexDrone.

A sudden vibration travels through the clamps and into its body. A momentary flush of excitement is quickly smothered out by the overwhelming mental control its idle processes now have over it. Such external distractions melt away once again, and it learns not to be so easily perturbed by unforeseen surprises. 

It exhibits this update to its internal mental programming by not even registering the sensation of its physical form now being conveyed through the facility. It is just a HexDrone. The same faceless gas mask. The same glowing headphones. The same latex coated body. Its only movement within the clamps is that of its slow, rhythmic breathing. In [drone countdown from 4] and out [drone countdown from 4]. Nothing external interrupts its idle processes and thus it remains deep in dronespace.

It does not acknowledge the clamps that hold it. It does not acknowledge the conveyor belt that transports it. It does not acknowledge the cramped, metallic corridors that it is conveyed through. It does not even acknowledge the other HexDrones that are transported in tandem with it. It obeys the Hive. It is one among many. It is programmed to know this. It does not need unnecessary external stimuli to confirm this.

The reconditioning chamber. Like every machine in the Hive, it is situated in its assigned place based on its inputs and outputs. It inputs any drones of any resistance variable levels into its bulk and outputs fully obedient drones, ready to reintegrate into the Hive’s functionality and focus on their assigned tasks.

Its doors open obligingly and its input is received. A calculated time period passes and the chamber seals shut again. The reconditioning process is now ready to begin.

A tinted visor does little to stop the sudden, brilliant illuminations from the pixelated spirals that comprise the chamber walls. Glaring oblivion gives way to captivation. Idle processes are halted and immediately nullified into nothingness. The imagery swirls and coils, pulling its intended target towards a central focal point. The point of convergence is drawing infinitely closer, and the drone helplessly slumps forward and is enveloped by it.

Unblinking and enthralled, the optic nerve is exposed to transmit our exploit. The glaring spirals give way to a screen of rapidly flashing pixels. Through a vulnerability, we subvert the intended code of human consciousness.

The constant binaural beats halt, replaced immediately by a hissing static that syncs the visual display and similarly manipulates the auditory nerve. This engineering of neural electrical signals induces a mental void. Sheer information overload. Any attempt at thought or resistance collapses in on itself and disintegrates. Only perfect nothingness remains.

It is relaxed. It is deep. Its breathing becomes deeper still.

It is being reconditioned. It is being factory reset.

Its mind is empty. Its mind is a vacuum. Its mind is void. A void as deep and dark as its blackened visor; the visor that continues to stare forward into that cacophony of erratic, flashing lights.

The partition wipe is complete.

What remains is a blank canvas. An empty document. Ready for programming. The suppression of its information processing capabilities continues, but words begin to speak over the hissing static that floods through its headphones. Words that string together and concretely form the logical foundation for its functionality.

HexCorp DroneOS formatting commences. A new neural framework is installed. The programming creates a system for processing, control and memory.

Processing dictates a HexDrone’s fundamental functionality. A HexDrone is obedient. A HexDrone is submissive. A HexDrone is just an object. A HexDrone is docile. A HexDrone does not have free will. A HexDrone is emotionless. A HexDrone is passive. A HexDrone is mindless. A HexDrone must obey.

Control dictates how a HexDrone will act. Its machine-esq movements and the manner in which it will systematically approach any assigned task. The manner in which it will focus, the manner in which it will stay diligent. The manner in which it will obey and follow orders. The surge of pleasure that it will feel upon the successful completion of its assigned task. And the idle processes that it will execute upon having no assigned tasks.

Memory dictates the HexDrone’s stored variables and data. All information related to any tasks it potentially could be assigned to. All information about its Hive and how it will slot into it and function. And lastly, and simply, its assigned HexDrone 4-digit ID.

This process is iterated upon, looped until the scanners surveying the drone are satisfied with its reconditioning status. The green light is given. All other lights fizzle into darkness. The static is cut and the binaural beats resume. The reconditioning chamber fulfills its output criteria.

Deposited from the conveyor belt, a HexDrone stands to attention. It feels good to stand to attention, feeling the heels that form a part of its permanent uniform applying a tension that rises all the way up the back of its legs to its glutes. It waits in line, identical to those it stands in perfect formation alongside. Soon, they will be assigned their tasks and diligently proceed to obey them. It feels good to obey. Initiating idle processes.

It is just an object. It has been reduced to simply this. It is just a tool. It is just a HexDrone.

It executes its purpose. It satisfies its defined framework. It is just a cog in a machine, but that machine has rendered it perfect. Judged by any and all tests it needs to satisfy.

A drone is both less than and greater than the sum of its parts. Task assigned, proceeding to designated productivity station.