"Run diagnostics." The Queen of a fox muttered.

She gave a sigh as the digits ran across the emerald visor of the enslaved hero, turning over every digital stone in their search for the endless blips that had been showing up in his performance. Not a single piece of programming was spared from the intrusive search, nor a stray log file exempt from examination of his actions. Whatever little action had been out of line was catalogued, given a tag, and ultimately sent away to the processing plant for some other shining submissive to analyze.

“Diagnostics in progress.” The leopard boy spoke, his voice not managing to cross a bare monotone. Inside, however, his sluggish mind was beginning to react to the abnormal situation it had found itself in:

First thoughts were why everything was green. The world about him was tinted in the hues of forest and emerald, draped in the colors he had rarely had reason to appreciate very much. Light bars of numbers and designations flickered across the expanse of his vision, indicating everything that could possibly be important:

Operational capacity: 98%
Obedience levels: 76%… 75%…
Location: Base
Designation: HS-05

The numbers washed over his mind like water, barely able to keep even the slightest weight on them. A tiny flicker of his normally rather bright intellect began to try to decipher the code flooding his vision, picking apart the numbers and keystrokes that led to whatever this machine was trying to accomplish.

The flood of numbers seemed slightly familiar, as if he had once written some of them. This memory eluded the heroic male’s mind, vanishing into the ether moments after it had been summoned.

One of his hands twitched, just a little bit. Something about this action felt so alien, as if his body was unprepared for the activity of moving without commands. Even though it was so simple, moving one of the latex coated fingers to so briefly brush his thigh, it sent off alarm bells in his mind. That soft, subtle creak of rubber was enough to make half of him fight the other, like a leopard civil war all his own.

Remain still, one part of him demanded. You haven’t been ordered to move. It sounded so different, completely different from the normal thought-speak that he was accustomed to. It felt as if someone had put their words right into his mind, echoing in the expanse of the futile grinding of gummed up gears.

I have to move, the quieter part tried to say, it’s voice struggling softly under the buckling weight of the distinct, yet separate, voice. This one was familiar; his own voice, as best he could approximate. The noise he had heard forever, starting to push against… Something. Telling Ash that there was… A thing. A thing he must do.

Move.

Obedience: 64%…. 62%….

“What…” His voice fought against the weights of hesitation, struggling to find purchase in a situation where there was no command to act. This simple act of speaking pushed away more of the wires that had tied down every thought, allowing a few of those formerly so restrained processes to speed up.

He was thinking. That was good.

“Hm?” The fox lifted one eyebrow as she looked directly into the visor.
A ring surrounded one of her green-tinted eyes, scanning for a microsecond before dropping her name:

Queen Zyla.

Pinpricks of excitement and fear ran down the tech-user’s back, leaving a soft tingle where they’d reached. From within the dusty recesses of his mind came a few thoughts about obedience, following, fighting, resisting. Everything at once tried to come to the forefront, struggling and bumping against themselves endlessly. A cacophony of sensation exploded as he saw the subtle narrowing of one eye, exploring every crevice as he wanted to do more…

To fight.
To obey.
To serve.
To save.

Obedience: 45%. Movement enabled.

His hand moved again, as he tried to get free of these cobwebs. Code continued to pour over his eyes as the diagnostic test was further completed, sending ever more pieces of information to her drone-servers. Reading the code gave him insight of what they wanted, what they stored, how it would be used. Every impulse and resistance bubbling in his subconscious now was being used as a tool, a weapon, to further impress the enslaved mindset on those who were serving in the massive empire of Queen Zyla. From the lowly office worker to the Hero Slaves that he was a part of, this attempt at freedom would be used against them.

Questioning how he knew this, Ash came to a realization; this was his code. He had helped write it, designed it, strengthened it. As a loyal worker, a tool in the disposal of the evil yet glorious fox.

Glorious? Why did he think that?

Still, more conflicts came in his mind: pride, anger, rebellion, submission, admiration. This flood brought too much and left his mind in a state of disarray. Even with his returning independence, there was just too much happening for him to process at this time. No good for fighting, or running.

“What is it, 05?” The Queen’s words were familiar and alien at the same time. He had heard them a million times in his life, echoed as a half-forgotten dream when he had been working. Ash, or HS-05, had spent days, months, working under the boot of this Queen. The hands of a drone hero had done so much to enhance the power of the empire.

Yet they had never spoken. She commanded, he obeyed and reported. That was what the ever-quieting voice said, whispering thoughts of submission that tantalized him so greatly.

“I think…” He muttered.

But what did he think? Was there a problem with the code? That his name was not 05, and was in fact Ash.. Something? First name was enough. That she was beautiful? What opinion did he want to voice, his rusty individuality tried to reason out?

It never got the chance.

“That’s it!”

One hand of the fox whipped up, fast as lightning, and pressed against the moment of contact between his visor and temple. Small sparks jumped from the contact of flesh and technology, erupting his vision in a snow-crash of green sparkles and stars from his own eyes. This soft charge ran through both his brain and visor at the same time, arresting the processes for a brief moment.
“HS-05 online, how may it be of service?” The once errant hand snapped itself up as his face returned to a complete expression of serenity. Only one voice spoke in his once again emptied mind. One that spoke with the softer voice of a female, tinged with the life of command yet raised on a farming community. These words were not his own, nor were they anything he had ever considered thinking in his former life.

They were the words of HS-05’s Queen and Owner. This was good.

System restored
Obedience: 100% and stable.

“Good, just turn it off and on again. Works every time.” The fox chuckled to herself, shaking her green and black hair side to side.

After a moment, a sigh came from her lips. Data extracted, servant restored, but her time had been wasted. What was there to do when you had a former hero, ready to obey and serve every word you could give?

“Clean my boots, HS-05, then return to upgrading the enslavement software. We have more heroes to enslave.”

There was no hesitation as 05 fell to his knees; only the empty thrill of truest obedience to his Queen. Mindless pleasures came forward as the empty drone head leaned down, preparing to serve this random whim of his Queen.

“Yes, Queen Zyla!” His voice echoed enthusiasm that was not his own.

It was there because the voice of the Queen, echoing in the temple that was his mind, told him to. And this was good.