Rubber Incineroar Drone

Here is a doodle for 12/2024!

Thanks for all your support! Please check all the high-res files in your OneDrive links.

📔 🖌️ 🖊️

On a warm summer evening, you found yourself wandering into a suspiciously pristine warehouse, lured by the promise of a well-paying gig. The ad mentioned needing "dedicated actors for a live Pokémon-themed event." You were a bit skeptical, but who could resist easy money? Once inside, you were greeted by a Rocket Team member—complete with the white uniform, red "R," and an unsettling smirk.

They wasted no time presenting you with a rubbery, gleaming black and red bodysuit that perfectly mimicked the muscular, imposing form of Incineroar. "It’s just for the event," they assured you. "Wear it, and you’ll get your payment. No questions asked."

Something felt off, but curiosity—and the paycheck—won out. You slipped into the suit, starting with your legs. The material clung to you snugly, unnaturally warm, but it felt... strangely alive. At first, it was snug but tolerable. You chuckled awkwardly, flexing your arms in the muscular design of the costume. “This isn’t so bad,” you thought—until you tried to remove it.

The rubber felt alive. You tugged at the edges near your wrists, but the material stretched and retracted as though it had a will of its own. Panic surged as the goo expanded from the suit, creeping over your arms and shoulders like liquid fire.

“What the hell is this?” you shouted, your voice muffled by the tightening mask forming around your head.

Panic set in as the goo climbed up your neck and face. Within moments, your entire body was encased. The mirror across the room showed a horrifying reflection: you had been transformed into a perfect, rubberized Incineroar. Muscles rippled under the glossy surface, but your body was trapped beneath. Your once-human form was completely gone, save for a small detail on your groin—a smooth, featureless patch with a small lock symbol etched into the rubber.

“Don’t bother,” the Team Rocket vendor sneered, revealing a sleek remote control in their hand. “It’s designed to keep you focused.”

You stumbled, trying to scream, but the suit’s grip tightened, silencing you. The lock icon pulsed faintly as a harness began to form over your rubberized chest. Straps and clasps appeared, tightening into a fetishistic of Incineroar’s already exaggerated appearance.

The next wave of transformation was worse. The face of the costume morphed, a drone mask sliding into place over your Pokémon features. The mask’s visor lit up, displaying an eerie glow as a soft hum began to fill your ears.

The sound burrowed into your mind, hypnotic and relentless. “You are loyal to Team Rocket,” the voice repeated, a soothing monotone that erased resistance with each repetition. “Capture trainers. Recruit. Obey.”

You clawed at the mask, but your arms moved sluggishly, the goo binding your actions. The words looped, rewriting the core of who you were. Memories of your old life faded into static. Desperation gave way to serenity, and then—obedience.

When the process was complete, you stood motionless, a gleaming, rubberized version of Incineroar, every feature accentuated for intimidation. The remote clicked, and you snapped into attention.

The Rocket member grinned, walking a circle around you. “Good drone. Ready to begin your mission?”

“Ready,” you replied, your voice distorted, monotone, and compliant.

Your first task was simple: track down other trainers and ensure they joined the ranks. As you stepped out into the night, your latex skin reflecting the dim streetlights, you felt no sorrow, no regret—only the thrill of fulfilling your new purpose.