The Sphere's heat and humidity had inundated the environmental presets of the fading Romulan vessel. The stifling Borg air permeated the ship. It was mineral and disturbingly sweet in aroma. Two of Twelve found his decreasingly organic body acclimating to the new climate. His hypothalamus answered neurotransmitters from the machines that swam inside him, altering his thermoregulation. Both him and his former crewmate marched proudly with the shadowy cybernetic saviors. The formation of five created an intimidating wall. A sharp 90-degree turn of mechanized hips had them turn the corner. Glistening lubricated joints drummed a comforting rhythm.
It was an inevitable tempo that surrounded them, stroked them, welcomed them. He had dreaded it, wanting to avoid it along with the wave of assimilation that had taken him. He remembered the captain crashing against it. Struggle being dragged into an ocean of lumbering drones. Their calm expressions an unsettling sight as they violently seized them for conversion. The chaos and shouting being replaced by the assured cadence of the Collective. He remembered closing his eyes in terror. The whirring limbs approaching him. The sharp clicking sounds of manipulators and claws pressing down. The intense slinking of two injection tubules that filled him with an expanding pressure. The friction of his body against the firm armor. The overwhelming feeling as the voices of the Collective entered his mind. The detached touch of the creatures investigating his body. Exposing and releasing him in alien and inorganic way. Drones conditioning him into an obedient extension of themselves. Subjugating biologic impulses into complete acceptance.
What startled him was the realization that he was looking forward to it. A twinge of guilt hit his stomach. He shouldn't have given in this quickly. It was wrong to be excited. He was failing the Romulan Star Empire and those back at home. He was becoming their enemy. His hands were now pale versions of themselves with webbed growths and two dark recesses inside his knuckles. He rationalized that he hadn't chosen to be assimilated. The Borg didn't offer choice. It wasn't his fault. He had no say in the robotic movements of his muscles. They danced along the broad shoulders of the others. They had forced themselves upon him in the hallway. It would have been illogical to resist. He was going to be made into one of them whether he liked it or not.
The snug compression of their torsos had aroused him. Being forced to hold still for them. A carnal desire to press against another being satisfied. He remembered how the ridged plates of protection and systems bended with latex like material that replaced skin. Admiration for the design was due. The drones were encircled by a living circuit. Sparks of electricity and signal nibbling their being. He wanted to become the same. His form between theirs completing the connection. The libidinous logic of Borg joining one another. He tried to suppress his abashment over being aroused by it. He was only interested in women, right? That was what society had taught him. His Romulan training had failed him. He remembered their propaganda during his training. "The Black Mold must be eradicated." Posters and academy assemblies speaking against them. He remembered the lessons. "The Borg are inanimate objects. A self-replicating virus devoid of everything we hold dear." There was more to it than that. He had to believe that there was more to them.
He didn't understand why the tubing around them had rippled when he had climaxed. Why had they fondled him at all? It defied the cutthroat efficiency. The Borg took what they wanted without hesitation. His input wasn't required. Something was driving his motor functions. Could it be Seven of Twelve or was it the greater consciousness? Perhaps it was a programmable artificial intelligence piloting him. He was a passenger in his own body that was unrecognizable. His exposed skin was now grayer, sharply contrasting with the black growths and structures that continued to unfurl around him. A 3 by 6 centimeter rectangle had emerged above his pubic region. It was horizontal and identical structures started to encircle his hips. The base of his penis tingled. The belt like structure looked like dotted lines of implants had been drawn around him. Stretch receptors fired by the top of his gluteal muscles. By his tailbone an anchoring connection would be made by his spine. A disconcerting movement of filaments started to tighten. By the lateral ends microsutures fused the plates together. His soft tissue contracted. Even though he couldn't control his arms or legs he still had some control over his head and eyes. He looked down at the black and metallic ring complete. The heaviness was intoxicating. His flesh was no longer visible underneath it. By his left breast another pair of implants consolidated into one. Once they were finished with him, he wouldn't have to look at himself. Would he even be himself?
He wanted to understand what they were forcing upon him. Becoming a drone meant dying. That was what had been taught. Perhaps their sexual domination of him was a distraction. An analgesia to facilitate his metamorphosis. A deterrent to fighting. A prelude to him being fully erased. Even if assimilation was pleasurable, he shouldn't let it cloud his judgement. Maybe there was a way out. If he was just strong enough, he could find a way to save his consciousness. He didn't want to stop existing. He would not be tricked by their perversion. He contemplated rebellion. He was not Two of Twelve his name was, what was his name? He panicked. It was on the tip of his tongue but failed to form. The most sacred thing about him was gone. The belt around him started to connect to vertical plates that travelled down his buttock and pleasurably gripped him. No, I'm me. I'm myself. The Collective echoed as if in response to his doubts. "STRENGTH IS IRRELEVANT. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. WE WISH TO IMPROVE OURSELVES." The belt around his hips contracted again as if he were being caressed by Seven of Twelve. The assault on his senses was not an attack. "WE CAN OVERCOME YOUR FEAR. WE WON'T LET YOU DIE." He didn't understand. He had only ever been an individual. How would he live on? Perhaps they weren't the enemy. Once he was Borg he would be improved. He wouldn't have to feel this way. He wanted to stop feeling. Their conviction was enviable. Remorse had no place among drones. The shattering of his existence was a necessary sacrifice. His head raised again and looked forward, taking in the drones around him. Like his name he was starting to forget his arguments against assimilation. His apprehension was fading. He was becoming Borg.
A routine command from the Collective initiated a roll call. "STATE YOUR DESIGNATION." He felt the presence of another drone aboard that he had never met. Its voice was monotone and sexless. "ONE OF TWELVE, TERTIARY ADJUNCT OF UNIMATRIX 04." Without consciously starting his voice responded in kind. "TWO OF TWELVE, TERTIARY ADJUNCT OF UNIMATRIX 04." A burst of endorphins rewarded him as the series continued. "THREE OF TWELVE, TERTIARY ADJUNCT OF UNIMATRIX 04." He felt closer to them. They were one unit. The species of origin was irrelevant. They were Borg. Unified in every possible way. Each drone being tailored into a resolute consistency. Every assimilation augmenting their strengths and muting their weaknesses. Ending in a cohesive member of the Hive. Their distinctiveness would be shared. He grew elated as he heard the voice of his former friend among them. "SIX OF TWELVE, TERTIARY ADJUNCT OF UNIMATRIX 04." He was looking forward to her adding to their perfection. In his past life she had raised him up. She encouraged and inspired him to be more confident even when he hadn't believed in himself. She was worthy of assimilation. The drones continued to finishing the sequence. "TWELVE OF TWELVE, TERTIARY ADJUNCT OF UNIMATRIX 04." An even larger presence than theirs boomed. "WHAT IS YOUR PRIMARY FUNCTION." The dozen voices chanted together. "TO SERVE THE COLLECTIVE." It felt so good to say.
He reflected on the oath he took as a member of the Star Empire. To uphold the ideals of Romulus and expand their influence. He was breaking those vows by joining in their chorus. He made the excuse that it wasn't him. Those weren't his words, were they? They were controlling his body. If he attacked the Empire, he had plausible deniability. If he assimilated someone it was because he was a slave. Just because he was starting to understand the wisdom of the Hive mind didn't mean he was an accessory to their atrocities. He remembered the historical reports of pictures of colonies that had been uprooted and erased from existence. The chilling realization that something far more sinister than the Federation was against them. Their secrets and technology being absorbed by an enigmatic cube that appeared as an undifferentiated cancer. He was just a casualty in their preordained victory. He wouldn't have to feel humiliation or accusations of dishonor in helping them. Once the Empire was assimilated, they would only answer to the greater consciousness. His allegiance and promises made were null and void. His physical form reinforcing that his existence as he knew it was over.
Both he and Six of Twelve resonated with the movement of the drones. Their bleached bodies contrasted with the leathery armor of their assimilators. Two's background as an engineer led to him predicting where exoplating would be fused to his body. Islands of metallic and dark implants ached for exoplating to connect them. His gaze drifted between the drones, admiring the irregular logic of the technology binding them. Dense plates of shielding ran over and under the onyx microconnectors that tightly traveled around their curves. The neck was the transition point where the armor terminated into the dusky epidermal layer. Dark fluid swirled in veins across their faces, heavy with implants connected both inside and out. He felt a 1.3-centimeter port form posteriorly from his left ear. It was circular and hard. He sensed it was where a cerebral fluid shunt would go. The hair on top of his head was matted and greasy. It was beginning to lose its volume. The outline of his skull becoming more apparent. The pressure inside his mind was growing as more devices formed.
"ALTER COURSE TO INTERCEPT." He understood that additional drones were coming to cut off the escape of the organics that required assimilation. Gradually he sensed his movements were not isolated. Every fiber of his being was coordinated in parallel to the others. He was orbiting the gravity of his fellow drones. Each step calculated as part of the formation. Consensus was obtained in real time, wordless and absolute. He noted Six of Twelve stride was synchronized to the rhythm of the Collective as he was. If she was fighting them, it was not apparent. The feminine yet corrupted form walked as a drone, hands at the sides, shoulders and hips already appearing mechanical. She was a stunning site to behold. Her head was level with perfect posture matching that of her assimilator.
There was no shame in their nude forms ready to receive. Their exposed sexes would soon be made Borg. A superior composite of flesh and metal joining them to the greater whole. That's where they would find each other. He felt the pounding beat of his lust. The anticipation of an irreversible fate. The interconnected way every drone was the same. Side by side extensions of one organism, armor and exposed white organic material assimilated from among the stars. Each individual lifeform had been repurposed into a projection of the Hive mind. He felt himself more aware that he was a projection of his Unimatrix, his Subcollective. Every command a warm touch that pressed inside his body. Together they were controlling him as though he were the finger of a hand to be manipulated. That hand was reaching out to those Romulans in need. Sweat shone on the forehead of one of them that looked upon them with horrified curiosity. The profane nakedness of their bodies required modification. He wanted there to be no doubt in their identity. He wanted them to stop suffering. The chief of engineering dragged the stunned individual and continued to flee. Why were they running? They have nothing to fear.
There was no escaping the assimilation party. The voices of the Hive mind echoed his directive again, "ASSIMILATE." With each utterance the mantra grew more rewarding to repeat. He continued to justify his betrayal of his crewmembers by stating it was the will of the Collective. It didn't matter if he was taking delight in being steered by them. There was nothing to be embarrassed about. He was Borg. Doubt entered him as he acknowledged that it was becoming harder to distinguish his words and thoughts from the voices inside him. He shrugged it off. He would no longer have to explain himself once they were all assimilated. He would eliminate their discordance and his own. They would be crewmembers once more. He felt his libido grow. Thirst and desire at the thought of penetrating them. Virginal assimilation tubules engorging and sensitive inside his right fist. The former engineer found his pleasure throbbing as he hurtled towards his future. He wanted to be pressed against his fellow drones again. That euphoric flood of oxytocin as skin and exoplating collide. Blank facial expression hiding a transcendent orgasm as he acknowledged his existence as a drone. He wanted to obey. He wanted to serve. He wanted there to be no question about what he was. Flesh and mind and purpose thrusting together in perfect bliss. Nanoprobes and transplanted hardware filling him again and again. He had accepted them and now needed to spread them. These feeble organic individuals were weak and lost. They would be added to the Collective and improve it. He anticipated their anatomy rubbing against his own. Their dissent falling into pleasurable compliance.
The walls and faces of his Romulan existence were uninviting and hostile. He had never been accepted by them. They were distressed and required reformatting. He locked eyes with the chief engineer that had been his direct supervisor. She scowled at his direction. She had dried blood by her eyebrow from an escape attempt. She was less imposing to him now even though she was physically taller. He remembered how she had belittled his size on orientation day. The voices of the crew laughing at him was still fresh. Anger fumed through him. He was pathetic for not standing up for himself. "17 INDIVIDUALS STILL REQUIRE PRIMARY ASSIMILATION." The voices refocused his being. He was Two of Twelve Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 04. His former crewmembers ran into the outer door to the Brig that slammed shut and locked. A forcefield raised to further protect the entrance. Their efforts would prove irrelevant. Victory was certain and would be absolute. There would be no survivors. Assimilation was mandatory and preferable.
Two of Twelve stood in front of the door with drones Six, Seven, and Three. The incomplete individuals had barricaded themselves inside. The Ship's computer was under Borg control. He felt a command sent to open the door to no avail. The terminal to the right of the gate flashed "Access Denied." The red clawed emblem that had covered his terminal before their arrival was disappointingly absent. They would not be deterred. They were superior. Without being fully aware of what he was doing he initiated his first communication. "WE ARE BORG. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE." A chorus of drones echoed his toneless dictation. He felt the neural link surge stronger. He was not just a receiver. He was a member of the Collective. His voice was becoming harder to distinguish from the Hive. Then again, why was that cause for concern? It was more comfortable. Together as drones they were searching for answers. He should concentrate on the task at hand. Memories flickered quickly in his mind. Crewmember social hour, his first kiss, returning home, the smell of fresh bread. Good and painful recollections shared neurons with the intellectually stimulating work he had dedicated himself to. The scattered flashes became less random. Hours of study in front of a terminal. Him electrocuting his hand as he learned wiring. Ship schematics that zoomed into the area that was before them. He accepted that he was being inventoried as the Cortical network prioritized the topography of his relevant information on Romulan systems. He started to actively repel the memories that were irrelevant. He felt warm reassurance from the Collective as he did this. It was wordless, imbuing him with pride at increased efficiency. Three lifted his manipulator, unfolding a circular saw that started to spin in a high pitch. He would cut around the barrier for however long it took. Before he made contact the arm and blade stopped abruptly. Six of Twelve communicated a less brutish means of entry.
"BRIG SECURITY LOCK ISOLATED FROM CENTRAL SHIP COMPUTER. ATTEMPT BIOMETRIC SCANNING TO ACCESS." Six of Twelve's voice was mirrored as they repeated her words. He found himself joining in the repetition. Her thoughts were their thoughts. Her vocal patterns were less distinctive and more monotone. They were melding with the others. A vision materialized. Flashes of a feminine hand punching in an alpha-numeric code. The unsettling realization came to him that he was remembering someone else's life. Six was sharing her advantages and the Collective was pleased. She was no longer firing her disruptor at them. She was no longer struggling or fearful. She was a drone. "WE ARE BORG." His muscles clenched as pleasure flooded him to say it with her. She was relenting. The division of self was fading. They would be one with the Collective. He felt as memory access protocols formed an image in his mind. This was more efficient than verbal or written communication. A faint reflection as a woman's eye opening and being scanned. Six of Twelve had clearance. She was sharing her knowledge to serve the Collective. She walked to the terminal and to access the retinal scanner. A rippling aura of light sounded as the force field halted her advance. The computer display was completely protected. Six pressed her cheek against the field testing it. He noticed her hair appeared oily and flat. It clumped, dark bunches of hair twisting against her veined forehead.
He noted that below the console was a utility access panel that was not be protected. They kneeled and with arms at four corners lifted the panel and discarded it. Wires and isolinear chips were exposed below the computer. With his hands he worked quickly to depower the shield emitters over the terminal. Six received his instructions on how to reorder the plugs. He was fully aware of the location and actions of her arms. He could feel the subtle influence of the drones as his fingers more in a more abrupt and harsh manner of the drones. Every part of his group was participating. Together the work proceeded more efficiently. Three and Seven were scanning the field, ocular lasers intersecting. Deciphering the harmonic frequencies that would pierce it. A spark shone as the field flickered away from the console but not the gate. The pair stood again and Six of Twelve leaned forward. Her left eye met the circular scanner that flickered. The monitor again flashed "Access Denied." Even the ship was starting to not recognize them as Romulan officers. "OCULAR IMPLANT FORMATION INTERFERING. ATTEMPT CONTRALATERAL RETINAL SCAN." He noticed that his left eye was fuller, a structure was forming behind his globe and around his optic nerve. He realized Six of Twelve was undergoing the same process. She leaned again at a 45-degree angle to meet the retinal scanner with her right eye. He admired her breasts that hung exposed. They were moderate in size but had stopped undulating, appearing denser and more spherical than before. They were closer to her chest as if already encased in armor. He realized their tissue was shifting to accommodate a bodysuit. He reflected on his own biology and found that his scrotum was now tighter with his testicles elevated. The deep throbbing inside him continued. Six of Twelve's organic eye was registered to the Security team's override command. The terminal flashed white as the door opened, "Access Granted." Without blinking Six straightened her back. The Borg were using their distinctiveness to betray their own crew. Once they had served their purpose they would be fully reformatted as drones.
The door was open but the force field remained. Behind it Four Romulans worked to reclose door. One was just behind the arch and fiddled with the switch. Drone Three and Seven stood side by side, their shield emitters glowing around them and passed through the curtain of energy. It rippled from their outline. The others backed away speechless from the entrance. The young man didn't have time to react as Three grabbed his jaw and plunged assimilation tubules into his throat. The manipulator clamped forcibly distorting his flesh as nanoprobes flooded into him. He was frightened and bewildered as the drone focused on him. Two organic pupils dilating at the knowledge that it was over. Three pushed him away from the terminal as Seven deactivated the shield from the other side. Rapid key presses from her humanoid appendage quickly brought down the barrier. Now Two of Twelve and Six of Twelve could enter. The bright line of a disruptor fire glowed harmlessly against Seven's dorsal shielding. Seven turned 180 degrees and raised her manipulator arm pointing at them. Shoulder to shoulder they advanced. "3 INDIVIDUALS STILL REQUIRE PRIMARY ASSIMILATION."
One of the Romulans, an athletic male, bolted for the door. In spite of her small frame Six of Twelve met his advance and lowered her center of gravity. They clashed directly and with surprising strength halted his momentum. Arms were grappled around each other as Six began to overpower him. He fell backwards with her as arms pressed against his shoulders. He was inert as her pelvis dug into his. His arms flailed as she leaned down. Her outline covered the ceiling light above him as he stared at the once familiar coworker. He shoved his palm into her face to try and push her back. Her head moved in a serpentine fashion around it. He grabbed for her hair to leverage his grip. A wet mess shed from her scalp and entered his grasp. He reached again and felt his hand glide against her dome, revealing her bald reality. His heart sank at the startling revelation. He looked into her frigid gaze that showed the abyss of the Collective. Knuckles presented to his neck and with two fangs she began to cease his resistance. Her gray and black speckled body shone as a passionate lover's would riding him. The combination of sharp pain and erogenous friction began to fuel his erection. He put his hands upon her and with gentle pressure uncovered her scalp till there was nothing left to remove. Her head was distinctly more Borg with the subtraction. A slick and damp repeating pattern of biology being dominated. Her secretions stained the outside of his pants as he grinded against her. Even her pubic hair detached as they interfaced. She exhibited no signs of emotion as she watched him turn. In her former life Six of Twelve had restrained many people. Her life as a tactical drone would come naturally. She reveled in her growing power.
Further into the room Seven advanced on the ship's pilot pointing his disrupter. He tried a different modulation and fired. The same warping glow splashed against it. The curtain of green energy parted around her broad shoulders. Seven's advance continued unperturbed. He had failed. As a last resort he placed the disruptor to his temple. He would not lose. Seven stopped just in front of him, ocular implant blinking. Her arm still extended but standing in wait. Unimatrix 04 calculated that this would be more effective in preventing his self-deactivation. Tears in his eyes he choked. He couldn't do it. Lowering his weapon Seven drew closer. He screamed as the creature closed in.
Two of Twelve approached the chief engineer that was cornered. She swung a metal rod straight at him. His arm raised slowly and partially blocked the attack. His coordination was delayed by the Collective controlling him. He was still observing his body work as a drone. "ASSUME PRIMARY CONTROL. WE ARE BORG." She took another swing and this time his response was quicker. He struck her forearm and twisted her wrist. Wrestling the weapon from her he cast it aside. He remembered her smacking him on the back of the head for not formatting a report to her specifications. She tried to pull away from him with a look of hatred. He was always the butt of some cruel joke of hers at meetings. He approached her until her back was against the wall. He could hear the laughter of the crew as she picked on him. She was no longer laughing as he held her. Emotions started to fester inside him. She closed her eyes at what was about to transpire. He pressed against her and lifted her neck. His fist was clenched and started to shake in anger. He didn't want her in the Collective with him. "IRRELEVANT, WE ARE BORG. ASSIMILATE."
He realized he needed to let go of his resentment. He looked at Six of Twelve. Her vacant scalp reflecting the ceiling light. She was a distant memory from the vibrant Security officer he had friended. She had given herself completely to them. The Borg brought order to her chaos. She shared their mission in protecting others. Assimilation and acquiring new technologies would improve the security of her fellow drones. The Borg desired him to cast aside his negative emotions. They would accept him and never strike out or mock him. He saw as Three and Seven held their newest conscripts. He turned back to the chief engineer that was now both terrified and confused. Her pulse bounded quickly in her neck as two red dots hovered over her large vein. The optical laser from Three and Seven encouraged him. "COMPLY. FEEL THE CONNECTION."
He suddenly could feel his fellow drones guiding him. His primary control receded as he reconnected with the others. He could feel them holding the Romulans as nanoprobes reshaped them. He felt the motion of their bodies connected via the Hive mind. It was as if he had the muscle memory shared from the other drones. They were showing him how to best infuse his nanoprobes into her. A drone aligned with the will of the Collective was more efficient. He understood now. He would join in their flow. He felt as Two of Twelve that the Twelve of them functioned as one. They would all assimilate her together. There was never any individual thought or action, just perpetual cooperation. He was a drone connected to countless others. "WE ARE BORG. ASSIMILATE." The injection tubules lashed out and punctured where they had highlighted. He felt the skin bend before giving in to the pressure. He could feel warmth from them. A satisfying pop was felt as he inserted into her blood vessel. His own pulse was visible from the tubules filling her with perfection. The drones throbbed with him as he watched his superior officer succumb. His tubules fully drained he retracted them. The voiceless terror in her eyes would pass. The patch of flesh was more rigid and engorged from his payload that ran down her face. A large web of dark veins was now holding her from within. She moaned, mouth agape, experiencing the embrace of the Collective. Her neck rocked back as her throat croaked inarticulate rapture. Try as she might she was being aroused at his chest meeting hers. She started to come towards him. He supported her as her body convulsed. She would make an obedient drone. She would add to their circuit. He commanded her to stand erect. Head level, arms at the side, she was ready to receive instructions. He adjusted her and placed his hand over her shoulder. Her temporary designation would be subject 04-73.
"PRIMARY ASSIMILATION COMPLETE. ZERO INDIVIDUALS REMAIN. REPORT TO ASSIMILATION CHAMBER 020 FOR SECONDARY ASSIMILATION." The nightmare of his Romulan existence would finally be over. They would return to the Sphere. Flashes of a surgical table inside a Borg interior showed his destination. It was time.