The once vibrant cityscape of Manehattan was reduced to a haunting silhouette, an echo of past grandeur. Dilapidated structures stood lopsidedly like a grim visual of a desolate lullaby. The once bustling streets were now a desolate wasteland, strewn with rubble and charred debris.

Scattered here and there were peculiar puddles of a strange black latex, shimmering ominously in the meager twilight that dared penetrate the thick, oppressive clouds above. They seemed to pulse with an eerie, malignant energy. The latex held a terrifying power, to corrupt and transform any who touched it into an obedient drone of the growing Drone Empire.

At the end of a devastated street, two figures stood resolute, their spirits indomitable amidst the dystopia. Pinkie Pie, with her light silver plating, carried a two-handed sword as sharp as her spirit, while Applejack, garbed in darker armor, hefted a warhammer that could strike as hard as her unwavering conviction. The soft glow of courage shone in their eyes, two points of hopeful defiance against the growing darkness.

As the low rumble of an engine echoed down the ruined streets, both ponies stiffened, their grips on their weapons tightening. An advanced tank, a monstrous representation of the Drone Empire’s relentless advance, ground its way towards them. Its pitch-black hull was adorned with flickering screens and metallic fixtures, and perched atop it, behind the terrifying silhouette of a machine gun, was a figure almost surreal in its cold beauty.

D-721, or the one who used to be known as Dream Searcher, was an image of otherworldly grace and deadly precision. The once free dragoness was now encased in a sleek, black latex bodysuit that shimmered under the dim light, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders like molten gold. She bore a pair of darker black latex elbow gloves and thigh-high boots, their gleaming sheen marred only by the sturdy heels beneath. And her face was shielded by a dark red visor, hiding the soulless white eyes that bore testament to her identity as a drone.

“Gosh darn it, Pinkie, we got us a big one this time,” Applejack murmured, not taking her eyes off the approaching tank.

“And she’s on a big bad tank too. This ain’t gonna be easy, AJ,” Pinkie replied, her voice trembling with anticipation more than fear.

As the tank ground to a halt a few yards away from the duo, D-721’s head tilted mechanically to take them in, her visor’s red glare unwavering. D-721 surveyed Pinkie Pie and Applejack from her lofty position, her head cocking ever so slightly to the side as if puzzled. The visor gave away nothing of the dragoness’s thoughts, her soulless eyes hidden from sight.

“Really?” Her voice reverberated off the hollowed-out buildings, a chilling sound devoid of emotion or empathy. It was as if she found their choice of combat attire - their metal-plated armors and primitive weapons - as puzzling as their resilience.

Pinkie Pie shifted on her feet, her rosy eyes darting towards Applejack. “We didn’t think this through, did we?” she asked, her voice ringing out louder than she intended in the surrounding stillness.

Applejack didn’t break her hardened gaze from D-721. She remained silent, her jaw set firmly, the only acknowledgment of Pinkie’s words a slight tightening of her grip around her warhammer.

A silent tableau unfolded, the oppressive quiet stretching on for a few heartbeats as both parties held their positions, a tension-filled stand-off in the wreckage of the once-prosperous city. D-721’s arm moved then, the motion as mechanical as it was swift. She extended her right arm, pointing a single, latex-clad finger at the two ponies.

“Fire,” she commanded, her voice as flat and as cold as the drone she’d become.

In response, the tank’s cannon roared to life, a horrid gargling sound that echoed ominously through the desolate cityscape. Suddenly, a powerful jet of black liquid latex burst from its mouth, speeding toward the two warriors.

The world seemed to slow as Pinkie and Applejack watched the encroaching doom. It was as if they could see their own reflections in the glossy black stream, a nightmarish version of their once jovial selves.

The wave of black latex crashed into them like a tsunami, instantly enveloping Pinkie Pie and Applejack. It flowed over their armor, seeping into every crevice, every nick, and every scratch, acting with a purpose as malignant as the empire it represented.

The armor’s metal hue dulled as the latex covered it entirely, morphing the light and dark silver plates into a shiny, black texture. The orange fabric beneath Applejack’s armor darkened to a deeper shade, while Pinkie’s pink attire was swallowed up by the black tide.

The latex didn’t stop at merely changing their appearances. As it began to solidify, taking the shape of a tight-fitting bodysuit similar to D-721’s, it released a swarm of nanites. They slipped through their skin and navigated their way to their brains, their micro-precision machinery working relentlessly to alter and reshape their thinking.

“AJ… Fight it…” Pinkie’s strained voice echoed weakly against the onslaught, her resistance waning as the latex seeped into her mind. But her plea was swept away as her words fell on unhearing ears. Applejack’s fierce gaze softened as the nanites took hold, her eyes becoming glazed, losing their spark as her mind succumbed to the onslaught of the mechanical invaders.

In mere moments, the transformation was complete. Two drones stood where once had been valiant warriors, their new latex suits gleaming ominously in the city’s dim twilight. Their eyes, bereft of their former light and laughter, were now chillingly soulless, reflecting the blankness of their new existence.

Their weapons had not been spared the latex’s corrupting touch either. Pinkie’s sword and Applejack’s warhammer had morphed into black, gleaming versions of their former selves. They sparked with a sinister energy, a constant reminder of the power they now served.

“Designations: A-882, P-883,” D-721 intoned mechanically, her emotionless voice echoing through the empty cityscape.

“A-882,” the transformed Applejack replied, her voice empty of her previous warmth. She lifted her energized warhammer, its hum echoing in the silence. “Orders received.”

“P-883,” Pinkie acknowledged, her voice a hollow echo of its former vibrancy. She held her energy-sheathed sword steady, its ominous hum resonating with the warhammer.

With a newfound mechanical precision, the newly transformed drones A-882 and P-883 climbed aboard the tank, their movements as precise and efficient as their new designations. They joined D-721, the trio a chilling sight atop the monstrous machine.

As the tank began to rumble once again, it rolled down the desolate streets of Manehattan. Three drones, devoid of their past identities and loyalties, embarked on their mission to convert more ponies into the growing Drone Empire. The haunting echo of their advance reverberated through the silent city, a grim hymn of a world succumbing to a cold, mechanical fate.