You open the door to your home, expecting the usual quiet, entering your bedroom to find a rubber horse drone seductively laying down upon your bed as it noticed your presence, the drone snapped to attention, rising with a sudden, fluid motion that highlights the firm, polished contours of its rubber body. There's a slight, intentional flex to its posture—a silent display of its capabilities and readiness.

"Neigh."

The single word drops from its muzzle in its customary, unemotional monotone. You recall a time before its complete reprogramming, when its voice contained the sinister, robotic offer of "join the herd," a relic of its original company's directive. Now, that voice is reserved entirely for your service.

Its features were a blank slate: the glossy, empty eyes, the prominent null bulge at the front. Around the muzzle, the ventilation system hums faintly—a system whose source you can reroute at your leisure.

"Neigh," it repeats, holding your gaze with unwavering, perfect loyalty. The drone straightens further, all signs of the seductive posture gone, replaced by pure, dedicated obedience.

"What do you need, master?" it asks, its voice an anchor of unquestioning devotion, awaiting your first command as it flexed it's eight-pack at you as it stood firm.