The Overlord is nervous. The worst part of his job, he thinks to himself as he thumbs through his note cards, had always been delivering bad news. His polished shoes squeak as he makes his way down the empty hallway, almost drowned out by the march of the soldiers that surround him. Oh what he wouldn’t give to go back to the good old days, before the war was just an idea in someone’s head. Back then, he didn’t need half of an army to escort him from his quarters to the press room; he could wander the dark halls at his leisure, reviewing the old fashioned note cards that he had grown accustomed to. He didn’t use to dread the steps leading up to the stage.
He sighs, and one of his guards turns in alarm.
“Are you alright sir?” he asks quickly. “Shall I call a medic?” The Overlord waves him away with a chuckle as the procession comes to a halt. It amuses him that something as small as a tired sigh could cause alarm, but that does tend to happen when you belong to a species that only breathes as a last ditch attempt to escape death . Common breathing was for humans, for primitive species, and he, Overlord of the Wat Sharo United Assembly, was about as far from a being primitive as one could get. He waves a hand lazily, adjusting the collar on the dark blue robes that drape gracefully over his tall, lanky form without touching it; the fabric of which had been developed in a laboratory using nanotechnology in order to optimize comfort of the wearer. Far from primitive indeed.
His moment of humor doesn’t last long. The soft clatter of footsteps breaks him from his reverie.
“News, sir,” says a shaky voice behind him.
The Overlord turns slowly to face the voice. The figure before him was a young man in a similar set of robes in green; he couldn’t be more than 25 cycles old. One of his hands holds a thick tablet with IMPORTANT stamped on its red case in bold black letters. The other wipes sweat away from the young man’s wide orange eyes. The man’s name is embroidered onto the robe beneath the Wat Sharo United Assembly’s galaxy crest, Jenx-251. He nods towards the tablet, prompting the man to continue. The man swallows nervously before switching it on.
“This is a message from Main Command, sir, concerning the enemy advances on the front line,” he swipes his fingers across the screen and a black and white map appears. Jenx hurries to explain as the Overlord leans over to examine it, squinting down at it through the semi-darkness.
“The Chi’Reen have pushed our ships out of Kyna 1, giving them full control of the planet. This report from Main Command states that the commanders on the front lines believe that they can keep the enemy destroyers away from our inhabited planets, but we may have to sacrifice Kyna 2 for a strategic advantage.”
The Overlord straightens up, scratching a pointed ear. “What was on Kyna 1?”
“Three operational dark matter extractors, one under repair. We also lost one of our best greenhouses and a core mine sir.”
He turns slowly away from Jenx. The loss of those extractors would mean more energy shortages for all of the Assembly’s mechanical planets, which had no natural resources to draw on since his scientists had placed it in an orbit far from the sun. A planet of metal and chemicals, the five cycles spent building that world had gone to waste with a single military operation. It was a game of build and destroy. It always had been. It was only a matter of time until everything will be destroyed, and there will be nothing left to build. It is a fate that tiptoes closer with each black case marked IMPORTANT. At least only one greenhouse was lost in this attack. As for the mine…
“Did you say they captured a core mine?” He asks Jenx, his voice dangerously quiet.
“Y-yes sir.” Jenx tries to keep his voice steady. Although the Overlord was an outstanding leader, stories of his aggression and rage were all too common among his staff. No one wanted to be the one to bring him bad news.
Finally, the man turns slowly to face Jenx, who took a slight step backwards.
“There was a team of scientists running experiments inside of that mine.” He takes a step towards the Jenx, glaring down into his frightened face. His stone cold eyes pierce through the younger man, chilling him to the core. “What does the report say about them?”
Jenx tapped the tablet’s screen with long shaking fingers.
“The Chi’Reen have them sir. One of them has been killed, the other six have been declared prisoners of war.”
The Overlord lets his eyes fall shut as he bows his head, trying not to let the surrounding soldiers see the look of pure disappointment in his eyes. He nods slightly, as if anticipating the attack from the start, and raises his head.
“Thank you for telling me, Jenx. I’m sure that command has this situation well under control.“ He keeps his tone crisp and business like, extending a hand to take the important tablet from Jenx’s outstretched fingers. The tablet makes a graceful pirouette in the air before softly landing in the Overlord’s palm.
“They do, sir, they do indeed.” Jenx nods eagerly. “They found the informant that made the attack possible. He is being held in detainment block B as we speak.”
A member of the Overlord’s guard clears his throat loudly.
“Sir, the press conference is going to begin.”
The Overlord ignores him, eyes still focused intently on Jenx’s face.
“Take me to him.”
As he turns to follow Jenx to the cell, a pair of soldiers block his way. They do not falter under his stern glare, but fear can be seen in their eyes.
“Please sir,” the guard repeats, “your press conference-”
“They can’t start without me, can they?” The Overlord pushes his way through the convoy. “Take me to this traitor.”
The squeak of shoes can be heard clearly as he hurries to follow Jenx through the labyrinth of corridors that lead to detainment block B. The soldiers’ protests fade slowly to silence with each turn, lifting an invisible weight from his shoulders. Almost like the good old days. Almost.
The Overlord can tell when they reach the detainment sector before they even enter; solid steel bars line the walls, reinforcing checkpoints, laser access points, and every creature from the seven hells of security. He takes a moment to look around at the blank white walls and the many traps and cameras as Jenx unlocks each security checkpoint.
Finally, the last door swings open, revealing a single large domed room. A man sits hunched against the wall, his curved spine visible through his thin white skin, now turned black and blue from a patchwork of bruises. As the Overlord enters, he raises his head slowly, giving his guest a glimpse of his thin bruised and bloody face. He smiles, his white teeth stained with red.
“My lord,” he begins, voice scratchy and weak, “I am honored that you came to visit my humble abode.”
“Who are you?” hisses the Overlord through bared teeth, voice echoing in the empty room. “Or shall I say, who were you?”
The man attempts to raise a hand in mock salute, arm shaking with weakness and hunger. “Colonel Kiro Sutrem, sir, lead officer of the Kyna 1 and 2 expeditions.” He laughs, which quickly turn to coughs as he clutches as his chest. As he pulls at his jacket, a thick purple bruise spreading can be seen across his shoulder and up his neck. The prisoner continues to smile through the pain, though, grinning sinisterly up at the men towering over him. “You thought that I was outstanding in my field,” he taunts. “Do you remember pinning the Award of Courage on my uniform?”
The Overlord steps forward, crouching so that his gaze is level to that of the prisoner.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice is dangerously low, only loud enough for the man before him to hear. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?”
“Nothing you haven’t done before, I’m sure,” Kiro whispers, his thin black eyes narrowing, “I know how you treat them, all of them. I told the Chi’Reen everything, and now you are going to pay.”
“What did you tell them?” the Overlord growls, hands clenching into fists. “What are they planning?”
“Ahh, you see, that’s something I’m not allowed to say.” Kiro laughs, pressing a single finger against his lips. “What do they say again? Lost secrets lose starships? I’m afraid it’s too late for you, but if I keep my mouth shut, it won’t be for me.”
With a shout, The Overlord thrusts his hand towards the prisoner, causing the man to fly back against the wall without even being touched. Leaving all powers behind, he lunges forward, wrapping both hands around Kiro’s already bruised neck. He ignores the combined yells of the men before and behind him as he slams the prisoner to the floor. The crack of Kiro’s skull against the solid metal ground echoes around the domed room, blood splatters the white walls. Enraged, he tightens his grip as he leans over the prisoner, face inches above Kiro’s.
“Tell me. Or don’t. I’m perfectly fine with my eyes being the last ones you see before you die.”
Kiro smirks up into his superior’s face, a fresh coat of red blood staining his teeth.
“It’s not death I’m afraid of, your majesty,” he spits the final two words out as if they were poison in his mouth. “It’s the fact that our galaxy’s children are growing up in a world of pain, and it’s all your fault.”
The Overlord leans back, considering the prisoner’s words.
“You know, I think I can fix that.”
Kiro laughs disbelievingly, but the sound comes out as a garbled cough. “Yeah? How?”
“Your son - what’s his name? Carter? Cramer?” The Overlord smirks as he watches the smirk leave Kiro’s face. The prisoner bolts upright, eyes wide in terror.
“Leave Canton out of this, I beg you,” he whispers, tough demeanor wiped away. “This is my doing, not his,”
“I guess you should have thought of that before selling information to those pale bastards,” the Overlord hisses. “But don’t worry; Canton will get to grow up a long, long, long way away from me. Just like you asked.”
Kiro’s hands ball into shaking fists, eyes narrowing dangerously.
“Don’t you dare touch him.”
“Oh I won’t,” Kiro’s eyes widen as his leader laughs lightly. “I’ll let my scientists handle everything. They’ve been asking for test subjects for a while now, they’re going to be so pleased.”
Kiro lunges with a roar, grabbing the front of his suit in his bloody fists. The two men crash to the floor as the guards cry out in alarm. They point their guns weakly down at the whirlwind of fists and feet on the floor before them, unsure of what to do. Finally, the Overlord rips his jacket free from the prisoner’s clutches and pins Kiro to the ground. Tears cut paths through the blood on the injured man’s face, and the Overlord can feel the resistance fading as Kiro finally breaks down.
“Good thing you’re not human,” the Overlord taunts, “I would have broken your nose.”
Strong hands wrap around the man’s arms, pulling him off of the man bleeding beneath him. He barks at them to stop, to unhand him, to let him murder the traitor that wants to kill them all, but his pleas fall on deaf ears. He can only watch helplessly as the soldiers pull him from the room and into the hallway.
It is only after all of the doors are locked that the Overlord is allowed to get to his feet. As he wipes the blood from his hands and face, the guards around him back away to give him space. He can feel the fear and tension in the air, they are right to be afraid. The rebel in the cell behind him has no idea what is coming for him.
“Sir?” A soldier steps forward, holding out a thick stack of notecards. His speech. “Your press conference is about to begin.”
Nodding, the Overlord takes the cards and begins to make his way towards the press room.
“I don’t understand why you still bother with the cards, sir,” the soldier comments, falling into step behind his leader. “Your implant-”
The Overlord shakes his head, thumbing through the notecards absent-mindedly. At the door of the press room, he turns back to the soldier a final time.
“Sometimes old fashioned is just what we need.”
Through a gap in the curtain The Overlord can see the members of his own Planetary Council had taken their places in the front row, all of them looking as upset as he was, but for a different reason. They already know the bad news of tonight’s conference; in fact, they were the cause of it. He knows that their unhappy expressions were in anticipation of how the others in the room were sure to react to the news. There were twelve of them in total, one for each major territory in the Wat Sharo United Assembly, but somehow he had been gifted the task of telling the galaxy their bad news. He glances about the room, trying to calm the rage still pulsing inside of him from his fight when his gaze falls upon a stern looking woman sitting in the center of the front row. Her pristine smooth scalp is wrapped up in a ruby red wrap that matches the red robes that mark her as a councilwoman. As the elected head of the Planetary Council, she watches her companions, silent yet powerful, until she feels the Overlord’s gaze on the back of her neck. She turns sharply, her piercing eyes now cutting through her victim like a knife until fear causes him to duck behind the curtain. Build and destroy, build and destroy. After today, he may be the next victim to fall, leaving the woman and her stern eyes to build from his ashes.
As the crew works hurriedly to light the stage, spotlights dance across the polished riot shields that separate him from the crowd. Even with the extra security, however, the Overlord’s heart pounds in his chest as if to remind him of the fear that pulses through his veins. He of all people knew how quickly an audience could become a riot.
With the Planetary Council in their seats, there was no reason for him to stall any longer. The Overlord puts on his most winning smile and walks onto the stage.
Through the glare of the bright lights, he can’t see the audience, but he hears their voices stop abruptly as he steps into view. He tosses his note cards down on the podium and grips its wooden surface, letting the sharp edges cut into his palms. Well, he thinks to himself, better get this over with.
“Rethe opula, ladies, gentlemen, others,” he begins, his amplified voice echoed through the hall. “Good light. It is a pleasure to see you all here tonight.” Ah, he fights back a smirk as he lifts his eyes from his notecards, if only that were true. The lights dim slightly, and he is now able to see the people before him, it never failed to amuse him, watching his people. Their eyes flick back and forth, reading the text projected on their corneas by a clever bit of tech. Things used to be so much simpler.
“I am absolutely thrilled that I am able to announce to you that the members of ship flight 340alpha have all returned home safely. A tracking error led us to believe that the ship had gone down in an earlier battle when in reality they had pursued enemy ships back to their base. We are all very proud of the bravery shown by these great pilots, and all are welcome to attend their homecoming banquet tomorrow at 19:00 blocks.
“In addition to that spectacular news, I am also pleased to announce that we may soon see an end to the food shortages that we have been experiencing for the last half of a cycle. Thanks to new technology, all Wat Sharo military bases will be equipped with portable, sustainable compact greenhouses so that food deliveries will no longer be needed.
“Unfortunately, I must end this conference with sad news.” He pauses as a murmur runs across the room. A translucent image of a blue and green planet appears on the screen behind him, bathing the Overlord in blue light. He watches it for a moment, as it spins delicately on his axis, then he speaks.
“We are shutting down Project Genesis.”
There is a collective gasp, then everyone speaks at once, causing a roar of noise not unlike that of a launched rocket. People shout out questions to him, no single voices or any real words can be made out. The crowd swarms forward, eyes now focused on the Overlord as the polished riot shields push them away. The Overlord takes a nervous step back as his security agents go out into the crowd, trying to restore the peace. He glances down at his notecards, feigning calm as he looks over his pre-planned responses.
After what feels like an eternity, the room becomes quiet again. Reporters sit silently with their hands raised, with questions for The Overlord. He takes his time in choosing one of them. He points at a pretty female reporter with white eyes so bright that they almost disappear in the glow of her face.
She stands up, smoothing out the front of her jacket. “What factors led to the council’s decision to shut down of Project Genesis?”
“Well, to be quite honest, our research is complete,” The Overlord replies, his tone business-like, “ Yes, we do get lots of valuable resources out of it. This podium even,” he raps on its surface with his knuckles, “was made of wood harvested from the planet’s forests. But the fact of the matter is that the costs are starting to outweigh the benefits. We don’t need them anymore, everything we need to live a happy, prosperous life can be found right here in the colonies.” The words that he had practiced so many times before now taste bitter in his mouth.
“Another factor is that the species that we have created to populate is not acting as expected. We hoped to one day integrate these new beings into our own society, but there’s no species that can replace our very own Daix hard work. Our economy is in such a place that we do not require their help.” The lies fall from his lips easily, as if the words were his instead of his press manager’s.
The next reporter is twenty-ish cycle old man whose pale white body is still encased in a thick exoskeleton that marks him as a resident of the systen’s outer planets. The Overlord rolls his eyes as the man squints down at a tablet to read the question. The idiot must have forgotten to upload it to his eye display. What an amateur.
“When you say that you are shutting down the planet, does that mean that you are going to destroy it? And, if so, are you going to destroy the other planets in that experimental solar system that were failures?”
The leader nods. “We will do what is best for the galaxy,” he says vaguely. “You can be sure, though, that the removal of this project will not have any major effect on your everyday life.”
“On the topic of the other planets in the solar system, we are not completely sure about the fate of all eight of them. Or all seven of them; the people of Project Genesis like to believe that one of our failed planets is not a planet at all.” The Overlord smiles slightly as the audience laughs. “We are looking into every option. Rest assured, there is a team of scientists working it out as we speak.”
To him, the questions seem to keep going on and on. How long would the shutdown process take? What procedures were going to take place before project termination? Was this project just a cover up of another enemy attack on the Sharo colonies -- The Overlord sighs pointedly at this one -- but finally it comes to an end. The reporters turn away from him eagerly to face their partners’ camera implants and spread their own perspective on the news throughout the masses. He doesn’t need to stick around for that, the reports will all be up on hologram for him to watch in just a few blocks. In the meantime, all he wants to do is go back to his luxurious living quarters and curl up on his Project Genesis-made couch with a piping hot mug of hydrant four. As he walks back across the stage, he catches a bit of a reporter’s story that makes him groan.
“That’s right ladies and gentlemen, in a few short weeks, Earth will be destroyed.”