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He looked at his friend, no, not friend, that wasn't right designation. Its name was Six of Twelve Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 04. Six of Twelve was now standing with perfect Borg posture. She would make an excellent drone.
The voices echoed in his mind. "STATE YOUR PRIMARY FUNCTION." As a group their mantra was unwavering. Mouths unmoving, they chanted, "TO SERVE THE COLLECTIVE."
New orders pierced his mind. "ASSIMILATION CHAMBERS AT CAPACITY. 49 INDIVIDUALS STILL REQUIRE PRIMARY ASSIMILATION. TWO OF TWELVE AND SIX OF TWELVE, ASSIST IN PRIMARY ASSIMILATION EFFORTS." The hallway had been emptied of the other Romulans. They were on the sphere undergoing transformation.
The walls were now slick and gloomy with spreading creep. The Borg had prioritized their remote assimilation so the work would proceed more efficiently. The group pivoted ninety-degrees and began marching. The other drones flanked him as they moved in formation. He could sense Six and One following closely.
Ocular lasers scanned for new targets. He would follow their light. The pumping of thigh servos whirred as they searched for survivors. A pair of assimilation tubules had formed deep within his knuckles. A trio of Romulans crawled out of a vent. They were bruised and distressed. Red dots locked on to the figures that stood up to flee. His eyes opened wide and his directives were clear, "ASSIMILATE."
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