let's jump to conclusions



It is amusing, to me -- in my self-indulgent bouts of awareness about who I am and the purpose I serve -- the way in which we, as men, twist things. "Things" -- all things which are not men -- are merely tools, in a way. A twisted way, some would say.

Was I not created for peace?

Indeed, I was. This body, this earthly manifestation, is no more than a tool. What it was made for is irrelevent -- what it is used for is everything. It is strange how that which we create to heal often serves to destroy, because that is our nature.

Am I not subject to the rules I suppose about, as any other? I suppose. That is the cyclical curse laid on me, though -- a bitter self-awareness, despite my existence as no more than a creation of one idealistic fool.

To tell this story, you must start at the beginning.



Three hundred years after the fall of the First Kingdom, in the age of the Second, a being was not born, but created. That Second Kingdom was created as two provinces, spanning all of the world known as Mors. These two provinces were Terreyos and Verrakeye. It was created as such to abolish the slavery and oppression which made the First Kingdom the hell it was; each province was ruled by its own council, democratically elected, and the two were ruled together by a single, Planetary Council.

The creature created in this supposed time of glory, though, was not the creation of a peaceful nation. It was a weapon of war, a weapon of death, a weapon. It was created to kill, and in the bowels of a Terreyos laboratory, it was born. It appeared human, and very well may have been, but for its strength, its agility, its intelligence. This, you see, was the perfect weapon.

Clearly, the democracy created for peace created a world prone to war. That war had begun five years before the being's creation. What the being's name was, if it ever had a name, is irrelevant.

The scientists in that dark alcove, marvelling at their own brilliance, assissted the being in its first steps on Mors. It was naked, but for a loin cloth, and its skin was a macabre black. Not the black of a person descendant from a tropical or sun-bathed region, but pitch black -- as was his hair. "How do you feel?" Asked Kilras Seven, the creator of the being, as he assissted it.

"Fine." The being said. "Where is this? Where am I?"

"Five hundred meters beneath the surface of the planet Mors, in the province Terrayos." Seven replied, smiling as the creation shook free of his grasp and walked freely. The doctor was tall and thin, lanky, and his dark hair contrasted with his pale skin. The doctor had been, too, born in a lab, as his name implied -- he was the seventh clone of Kilras. "And I know what your next question will be."

"Who am I?" The being asked, Seven echoing it even as he asked it. The being smiled darkly.

"Yes, I understand how you feel. You are a soldier, the greatest soldier, a servant of the King of Terrayos. You have been created to serve your province, to create peace from this war."

"And you?" Asked the being.

"I am Kilras Seven."

"Do I not have a name?"

"Do you have need of a name?" Seven asked, chuckling.

"I suppose not." The being looked around the dark alcove. "Pardon my asking, but, what now?"

"You must prepare. You will be molded into the perfect warrior."

"I see."

And so, in time, the being was melded, slowly, into the perfect warrior, as the battle above that compound, in Mors, between Terreyos and Verrakeye, raged on. Though training was not, when the scientists were honest with themselves (a rare occurance, in and of itself), necessary for the being, it was undergone anyway, though a combination of curiosity and government mandate.

And, to some degree, Kilras Seven's comfort.

Perhaps the most essential purpose of that "training", scientifically speaking, was the observation of that dark-skinned being. The greatest trainers, warriors brought in from the furthest reaches of Terreyos, were outmatched by the being. The greatest scholars, too, were outclassed by the intellect and sheer learning ability of the being.

But a lingering feeling of uncertainty remained within Kilras Seven, which caused him to continue that training. A feeling, perhaps not of foreboding, but of helplessness. They had created a being of such intellect, strength, and ability that it was capable of enormous feats -- moreso than men, the normal men, the men who had not been tampered with. Once the being was set free, they would have no control -- it would be out of their hands.

Throughout the War of the Second Kingdom, in that democratic state embroiled in war, genetic manipulation had become a key tactic. Perhaps it was the liberal values which emerge in most highly-evolved societies, which degraded the ethical morality that seperates man from machine in the minds of men. Or perhaps it was merely necessity; regardless, Gens, genetically manipulated beings (created, always, for a purpose) were extremely important in the war effort.

But, Seven wondered, what about this, this being? The Gens created thus far had stood out like a sore thumb, weapons of war and nothing more. The being, with its slight shapeshifting abilities, could blend it. Its intellect set it apart to such a degree that it was unlikely the police would ever be able to catch it, so much so that even the being's creators were intimidated by it. Who was in control, then?

Certainly, the being was created for a purpose. For peace. But, had it already transcended that purpose? Who was playing who? They couldn't know.

Kilras Seven, three years following the beginning the being's training, sat in his underground office, his head in his hands, pondering this. It had been long ago when man -- and all the galaxy's sentient beings -- had emerged as the tool creating animal, the thing which set him apart. When, then, would those tools cease being tools?

The prospect, frankly, scared him. What would become of him, the creator, if this project when awry?

He'd put it off, though, long enough. After three years, the Terreyosian government was clammoring for the release of the being, and it was outside of Seven's jurisdiction -- since he was, after all, a Gen himself (the Seventh clone of the scientist Kilras, as earlier was said, modified for increased intellect), and thus a servant of the state.

He called the being into his office. It entered, dark skinned and bald, wearing loose-fitting black clothing. He obediently -- obedience or willing, plotting submission? -- sat in front of Seven, and waited to be addressed. Seven stared at him for a moment, clenching his teeth, trying to relax himself. Could he be sure? Was the damned thing even now plotting, evolved beyond their primitive intention for it? "God damnit." He swore. "Say something. I know you can -- I know you can think for yourself."

"Of course." The being replied, nodding and meeting Seven's gaze. Those eyes were cold, the icy look a being more intelligent than any man was meant to be. "What would you have me say?"

"God damnit," Kilras Seven repeated. "Stop it. Just stop it. The other idiots around here -- humans, all, non-Gen -- might not know about you, about what goes on in that head of your's, but I do. You don't have me fooled. So you can drop the master-servant act."

The being pondered this for a moment. "What causes you to make this supposition, doctor? I wonder if you are well. If you so desire, I can examine you myself -- you have the tools about this office, no doubt."

"Son of a bitch." Seven muttered. "Okay, you got me. Do whatever you want." He sighed. "The Terreyosian Senate is clammoring for your release."

"They have been for some time, I believe." The being replied, in that inhumanly perfect tone of his. "From what I have surmised, of course."

"Of course. I've been putting it off, delaying, giving the excuse of training. But I've run out of time, and you're going to have to go above ground."

"Why?" The being asked.

"Why what?"

"Why would you resist my release, my drafting into the Terreyosian Armed Forces?" It asked, as if it truly did not know.

Seven glowered. "You know why. You and I both know."

The being didn't respond.

"I assume you've mastered your limiting shapeshifting abilities?" Seven asked, shifting subjects.

"Yes, I have."

"Good. Assume a form more suitable to a human male -- and that is what you are, being -- and sign these forms." Seven pushed the pile of datapads toward him. "And that's it. You'll be given an assignment by Headquarters."

The being rose and did so, and in ten minutes, a dark-haired, green-eyed man -- tall and thin, with some stubble -- stood before him, with a perfectly-filled set of Terreyosian Armed Forces credentials. "Well, that's all there is." Seven said. "You may go."

The being started towards the door, and the thing opened automatically. But, it stopped, and turned around. "You claim to know of me, and yet, you allow me to leave. You do not destroy me, you do not inform the Senate of the truth. Why?"

Seven was taken aback. He sat, in wonder, for a moment. "Because I created you. I did so for a reason -- and that was not to see you dead."

The being pondered that for a moment, nodded, and left.

Alius Arma stepped back into the laboratory, that underground hangar. That cave, where he was born.

The turbolift door slammed shut behind him, its sound echoing hollowing throughout the chamber's corridor. Hollow, Alius thought. Hollow, indeed. He set off down that corridor, the durasteel walls of which carried the sound of his footsteps down the hallway, a dark warning to all that the prodigal had returned.

The corridor let out into a larger room, wherein many scientists -- of the stereotypical variety, white coats and all -- milled about complex machinery. Alius Arma's thoughts flicked back to the past, then, as he gazed about at the room which had been, for all intents and purposes, the womb in which he'd been birthed.

The being crept, silently as he could, over that devastated killing field, blaster pistol clenched tightly in his grip. He'd been ordered by Headquarters to infiltrate and destroy a Verrakeye weapons manufacturing plant, and he intended to do so; if only to prove to the skeptical beaurocrats that he was all they said he was.

The field was a ruin and a mass grave at the same time, something terrible bred of long battle. In the distance, blasters and assault rifles still echoed as troops continued to fight. The assault rifles were a technology completely of Terreyos' own design, one which many years of isolation from any true participation in the galaxy's politics had allowed the unique creation of. It fired metal projectiles, created instantaneously from fused energy and fired at a rapid pace, burning holes and slicing through armor with their insulating layer of powerful plasma heat. Another weapon of man's destruction.

The being clambered into a trench, moving still with complete silence. The muddy thing was as much a ruin as the ground is was dug in, littered with the dead of both Terreyos and Verrakeye. So self destructive, these humans, the being thought. He questioned his temporary decision to serve the humans; did they deserve him?

Regardless. Seven had spared his life, and despite the being's low opinion of men, that act in turn deserved another.

The being heard a noise -- a scream. From further down in the trench, but not far; a scream of pain. A casuality? Without losing the element of stealth, the being crept on, through the deep trench, turning a corner --

And there were two Terreyosian soldiers, and -- a man, with white hair, and markings, ancient numerals on his neck. A Verrakeyean, from his uniform, and a scientist. He... he was attached, to the most monstrous thing the being had ever seen -- a device, of torture, of cruel and heartless pain. It cut skin, slowly, painfully, from the poor man's hand. The being stared at the two Terreyosians.

"How --" He began. "How goes it?"

"Well enough." One of them replied. They were officers, both, seemingly well mannered. "We captured this Verrakeyean... we're trying to extract the location of the arms plant from him." He gestured nonchalantly at the trapped man, who screamed rawly again.

More skin was torn from the man's hand. "I see. My own mission concerns that plant..." The being replied. He continued to stare, in horror that he hid, at the suffering man.

"Well?" The officer said, turning back to the prisoner. "Where is it?"

"I --" The man said, choking on his words as the barbaric machine continued its barbaric work. "I told you, I cannot tell you. I -- they do not allow such underlings as I to know such things... please..." He screamed again.

"You're lying!" The officer said, unsheathing a knife from his pocket. The torture machine continued its work, slowly removing the skin from the man's hand, while the officer slowly sliced the prisoner's face open, blood flowing from the wound.

"Is this... is this really necessary?" The being asked, staring at the gruesome interrogation. "If he --"

"Look at him." The second officer, who'd not yet spoken until then, said, gesturing at the numerals on the man's neck. "He's just a Gen -- a bloody Gen, one of the scientists."

The being stared at the officer for a moment, saying nothing. The rage within his soul compounded itself over and over, the magnitude of the injustice playing out in his mind like a repeating number. He gritted his teeth.

Alius Arma pulled a blaster pistol from his pocket, firing it into the head of the nearest scientist. The man died in a flurry of blood, and the rest, with a shout and a bang of overturned tables, began to flee the room, looking with horror upon the assassin. "The -- the being!" One of them shouted.

Yes, thought Alius, yes. The being. Your tool. Your fool. Your whore, your instrument, your @#%$ child, bred for death! He grabbed ahold of another scientist as he began to rush past, slamming him to the ground without effort and smashing the butt of his weapon into the man's head, caving his skull in.

Who was the fool then?

"He is a Genetically Engineered Being. Bred for a purpose. He doesn't receive the information you ask him for." The being gazed darkly at the two. "You animals. You fucking animals."

"What are you --?" One of them began, but never finished. With speed faster than even the human eye could match, the being smashed the butt of his weapon into the man's head, stunning him. The being reached out, grabbing him by the hair, pulling him back towards him and flinging his foot into the man's gut. The second officer, taking note, raised his pistol and fired at the being, but the being pulled the other officer in the bolt's path. He threw the now-dead human shield to the ground, and shot the second officer in the chest.

Then, again. Then, again. Then, again.

The prisoner groaned. The being looked down at the man, in his suffering. He fired into the contraption which exacted that pain, and the man pulled himself free. "T-thank you." He muttered.

"Get out of my sight." The being said.

It was then that he came to realize the truth of the matter, the truth of his purpose, and the truth of his so-called masters.

He was a creation, a machination, born to kill, born to battle.

In the end, he was almost a perfect recreation of his creators. And the perfect tool.

Arma killed another, and then another, as the memories flashed before his eyes, fueling his fire. He grabbed one of the fleeing scientists, pulling him before him. "Where is Kilras Seven?" He asked, as the scientist continued to pull away. "Stop it, god damnit. Where is Kilras Seven?! Tell me now! I won't hurt you if you will just fucking tell me!"

The man calmed for a moment, contemplating the promise. "Alright." He said. "Turbolift nine, subfloor three. Door -- door 9-4-3."

"Good." Alius Arma said, smiling. He released his grip on the man, shoving him away.

And then he shot him.

He fucking shot him.

"So," Kilras Seven said, "You've found your way back here." The being had entered his office without notice or announcement, glowering at him.

"Hello, doctor." Alius Arma said, smiling slightly. Without warning, he reverted back to his natural form, the bald, blue-black skinned form of his birth.

Seven pushed the button on his desk's intercom. "Security to my office. We have an intruder."

"Oh, and, I forgot to mention." Alius said. "Your guards won't be joining us -- this is a private meeting. I trust you can bear to look upon your hiddeous creation without a group of strong-arm Gens holding me back?"

"As if they could," Seven muttered thoughtfully. "So, you've changed your mind about service in the military, then? Let me see if I can figure this out. It was only going to be temporary, anyway -- you just wanted to prove yourself to the humans, who you'd equated with me, who you'd equated with a God figure. Though, much like man in the garden of eden, you still believe you're superior to God. And then, when you were away on your first mission...?" He trailed off curiously.

"I had... a revelation." Alius said. "About you. About me. About man."

"Indeed? Do tell, being." Seven replied.

"I witnessed the barbaric nature of your kind. Torture, heinous torture, suffering inflicted upon your creations -- your tools, the Gens. You create them, to do your bidding, to serve you, and they you treat them as if they are shit."

"Ah." Seven said, looking down at the desk, with something like sorrow in his eyes.

"And you may call me Alius." He said. "Alius Arma."

Seven rocked back in his chair. "Then it is already too late. You've killed them, haven't you? Yes, I know you have. There was a reason we never gave you a name -- we knew that, when you created one for yourself, you would have already defined your identity. You would be beyond our control."

"Have I created an identity for myself, oh good Doctor Kilras?" Alius chuckled. "Isn't it funny how the things you humans revile -- the things you flinch from in terror, are the very things which we find... in you? You didn't add anything to my gene pool -- that's impossible. You just exaggerated existing human genes. Existing human genes which are very prominent, indeed."

Seven was silent.

"You see, Doctor, the things which you humans are most afraid of, are the things you find within your souls -- your own demons. I am merely an extrapolation of human -- I am human to the power of ten." Alius raised his blaster pistol, pointing it at Seven's head. "No more! I think that the Gens are more human than humans -- more real than you. We are the future of mankind, the better people for which this galaxy was intended! Today is the day which your tools begin usurping the creators."

Kilras seven sighed. "You would kill me, then? Your creator?"

"My creator? Oh, foolish doctor, you do not see? I was bound to exist, bound to happen. If not created by you, by another! I am the extrapolation of the most dominant features in mankind, the warlike instinct, brutal intellect, strength, speed, intuition. Any society --" He laughed. "-- like yours, was bound to breed a Me, in this form or another. Isn't it funny, how your very society instinctively creates the thing that you all fear -- a demon, who can kill without regret or effort? You, doctor, are merely a servant of the whims of fate. And now, your fate, your part in this grand plan, has come to an end."

Seven seemed to ignore it all, still staring at his desk. "Alius -- man. Arma -- weapon. <font color="red">Man's Weapon.</font> Stinging, but appropriate." He sighed, and sat back. "Kill me, then."

Then, as Seven sat back and his white coat receeded from his neck, Alius saw them. The markings on his neck -- the markings which denoted all Gens. "You're a Gen..." He said, lowering his pistol.

"Of course." Seven said. "I told you that when you were born. Don't you remember?"

"Yes... but I -- I always..."

"Equated me with your creator, and thus, with mankind."

"Yes."

"Not going to kill me then, I see?"

"No."

"Well... where do we go from here?"

"How many of you have been trod upon by those who created you? Those who call themselves your masters? They say to you, that you are nothing, that you are subservant, that you are less than human! I say you are more than human! More intellgent than humans! Stronger than humans!" A roar of applause from the crowd, the gathered Gens which had come before them. "We will fight for our rights! We will fight for our freedom! And then, we will fight for our birthright -- mastery over all of Mors!"

The roar was deafening, and Alius thrust his fist in the air in response. The crowd -- scientists, soldiers, workers, all genetically engineered for their craft -- did the same, moved by Alius Arma's powerful speech. The super-soldier stepped down from the stage, walking away from the podium and into the back rooms of the small warehouse which had become the centre of a small, unimportant political party. Alius glanced at the wall, at the poster haphazardly slapped onto it --



A political group with no defined values, no defined morals, no nothing, but three hundred members who either quit or were washed out of other parties. Alius opened the door, entering the back office, where the head of the group -- Thevas Eleyne -- sat, smoking his cigarra pensively.

"That was quite a performance," Eleyne said, looking at Alius. "You certainly had them riled up, in there. They were ready to throw themselves at the cause."

"Yes, they were." Alius replied, smiling. "As I told you, I can get you voted into office, easily. Once we've got the backing of the Gens, and once the Gens have electoral rights -- two points which are one in the same, you'll see -- Terreyos will fall to its knees before us -- before you, and the TRS."

"How will we get elected with just Gen support?" Eleyne asked, raising an eyebrow. "They account for almost half the population, but that's still enough normal humans to vote you down -- especially if your platform is so pro-Gen."

Alius smiled. "The beautiful thing about politics, Thevas, is that what you're telling them doesn't have to be true -- it doesn't even have to measure up to what you've said before. We will convince the people that the Gens are a master race, built to rule them -- make them revere the Gens. And before long, with the help of our veritable army of Gens -- strong Gens, intelligent Gens, stealthy Gens -- people will be too afraid to say that they don't."

"You have this all planned out, don't you?" Eleyne muttered. "Well, as you wish. You're now the party's Director of Speechwriting. Carry out your plan. But don't --" And he fixed a firm look on Alius. "-- fuck up. I mean it."

"I won't."

Eleyne gazed calmly at him for another moment or two, then nodded, got up, nodded again (as if in reassurance to himself), walked to the door, looked back, nodded one more time, and left the room. Alius sat down in his chair, smiling slowly. "He seems uncertain."

Out of a shadowy corner of the room, came Kilras Seven. "Yes, he does. You don't, though, and that is what matters -- after all, who is destined to lead Terreyos? Not fool Thevas. He got into this to try to impress change upon the world, not rule it."

"You think we'll have to take him out of the way?" Alius asked.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

Seven glared down at Alius, then nodded. "Yes, yes I do. He is a good man, you know, but he has no vision."

"Yes," Alius said. "Yes, Kilras, I do know exactly what you mean."

Three rallies later, the word had spread. There wasn't enough room in seven warehouses to hold all the Gens who came to watch Alius' hypnotizing (but relatively unchanging, if not in words then in theme) speech. He would begin with no pretext of anger, and by the end, be screaming in vehemence, rallying the crowd to his cause. He'd assembled a flag, which consisted of a black field with a single, white symbol upon it.



Again, Alius, Thevas, and Kilras sat in the back room of the warehouse following the intense rally. Thevas was slowly shaking his head. "You're quite a marvel, Alius." He gestured at the podium and open warehouse behind the room's concrete wall. "Not just anyone can stir up a crowd like that." He shuffled a few papers. "The registration results came back today. We've got two million -- all Gens, of course -- as members."

Alius nodded. "Good. I have, as you know, announced the formation of the RM -- Republic Militia. The Gens are joining it like wildfire -- we have more than enough for the next stage of the plan."

"What's that?"

"To secure our right to vote. By force."

Thevas looked apprehensive. "Force? Why force?"

"How many bills have failed in the Senate on this very issue? It will never happen without --"

"-- our action, without battle! The humans have made it clear that they care nothing for us, so we must make them! Tonight, my friends, we catapult TRS to the Terreyosian stage of politics! We will secure our right to vote! And then, we will secure Terreyos! And at last our land will reign victorious over all of Mors!" Alius shouted the last word, waving the TRS banner in the air.

Out of the warehouse, following Alius' lead, rushed the Gens, the Republic Militia, as did smaller divisions all over the country at that time. Each to a Senator, they went, in squads of a hundred or so. Alius lead them, loudly and without any sense of stealth, through those dark streets, finding their way through the light cast by nightlamps. They came to the office and home of Senator Exarose Jiren, who was -- they said -- a member of a royal family on some far-away planet named Asthentia.

They rushed through the gate, Alius still at point -- always, they obeyed him -- blasters out and at the ready. Without pomp or ceremony, Alius kicked the guard in the stomach, smashing him, as he doubled over, in the back of his head with the butt of his pistol. He thrust-kicked the door, shattering the wood from which it was made, in urging the screaming crowd to follow.

As they filled the cramped hallway, an alarm sounded within the mansion. They could hear -- Alius could hear -- the click-click of soldiers' boots as they rushed to intercept the intruders. The corridor into which Alius' mob had swept forked off left and right, and, a minute later, guards came from both. "After them!" Alius shouted. There were, all in all, around twenty guards, dressed in the black uniform of the Terreyos Armed Forces. Shots were fired, ringing loudly through the cramped hallway, and men on both sides fell. But the stronger, faster, and more numerous Gens overwhealmed the guards, killing them in any fashion necessary.

When the fighting had died down, Alius called their attention to him. "Take what you can, smash the rest! Show them what happens to those who mess with the Gens! With the TRS! With the Republic Militia!" A hurrah sounded, and they did so. Alius rushed up the stairs of the white-walled office, and found his way to the third floor of it. A pair of guards -- having stayed at the Senator's side -- rushed towards Alius.

He shot them both.

Taking one of the fallen guards' Assault Rifles, Alius raised it and aimed it at the Senator's door. As he pulled the trigger, it sprayed fourth, in rapid-fire, hundreds of glowing, speeding bullets of fresh-fused metal. The door was torn to pieces, and in walked Alius, to find the Senator hiding, the coward, under his desk. "Up!" Alius shouted at him. He didn't move, but a little squeak issued forth. "Up!" He fired on the desk, shredding it with the Assault Rifle.

The man stood -- dark-skinned, violent-eyed, with long white hair -- with his hands raised. Before he could speak, Alius cut him off. "There will be a bill introduced tomorrow in the Senate, for the ninteenth time. When you vote on it, you'll remember what happens to those who disobey the will of the Gens. Is that understood, Senator?"

The man, seemingly relieved that he was going to be allowed to live, nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, yes, of course! I would not think of --" Alius shot the window with the AR, and left, and the man once again dove to the ground in fear.

The next day, after many a broken window and dead TAF guard, the bill passed.

Almost unanimously.

Strangely enough, the day after that, several Senators disappeared altogether, and the Senate suddenly became very, very pro-Gen. And no one had enough presence of mind or courage to suggest, let alone carry out, the arrest of this unknown force.

"And, tonight, Terreyos holds its first election with full electoral rights attributed to all Genetically Engineered Individuals. The GEI Suffrage bill passed, last month, with a 99 to 3 vote in the Senate. The newcomer to the political stage, Mr. Alius Arma, has run his campaign on a strange combination of minority rights and what might even be described as fanatical pronouncements of the future of mankind, which is, as he puts it, in the Gens. His party, the Terreyos Republican Society, comes in with heavy backing from both the Gens and the human population, following --" Davidson shut off the holoscreen.

"Following murders, Republic Militia intimidation, mob rule, and mass fear and brainwashing, is what." He said, throwing the holoscreen controller to the ground in disgust. Alecks Davidson was a Terreyos Intelligence Agency agent, a high-level operative who had been taken away from civil war work to watch this Arma character. He was very much aware who was responsible for the GEI Suffrage vote, and the intimidation which had allowed its passing. "Look at this shit."

"I know, I know, boss." The clerk replied, humoring Davidson. "What can we do? This is, supposedly, democracy. You know the rules -- no assassinations."

"Yeah." Davidson threw himself back into his chair. "But this isn't fucking democracy. This is brutality. Thirty thousand deaths since the TRS started gaining momentum. And no one convicted, no one even persued. Arma has them all so built up on this idea that with the Gens in charge, we'll beat Verrakeye, that everyone is either too afraid or too swept up to say anything. Damn it. Damn it."

"Are they going to win, you think, boss?" The clerk asked.

"If I had to guess, yeah, they are. And we can't do sh. We're tied down by the system. If we could get anyone else on our side, we could override the rule... but everyone's too afraid. They're all just too fucking afraid."

"You're sure?" Arma asked the young man. He was a nervous, fidgety youth -- twenty, no older -- always looking over his shoulder, as if for his stalker. Or his conscience.

"Yes -- yes, certainly." The youth nodded vigorously. "Since before the election you won, even. And he's important, very important. A festering bit of resistence right under your own nose. Very dangerous."

"Yes... yes, indeed." Arma nodded slowly. "Very dangerous. What about yourself? Loyal to the Terreyos Republic, I'd hope?" He lit himself a cigarra.

"Of course." He replied, trying to sound assured.

"You know, with the tide of the war turning in our favour as it is, we can't afford any mistakes at this point." Arma smiled. "You see, you have no idea what we've planned. Your race -- the humans, of both Verrakeye and Terreyos -- are not long for this world. We, the Gens, have crafted a perfect army, an army fighting for your freedom, and next, we will craft a perfect society." He pulled a pistol from his pocket. "You are not part of that society."

Kilras Seven, standing all the while behind Arma, partially concealed by the shadows of the dark room, stooped to speak into his ear. "Why have you told him all this? For you know, of course, that now he must die. Why not have left him as a spy for us?"

"Two reasons." He replied into his comrade's ear. "First, the last thing we need are humans acting as our spies, building up their own egos and thinking themselves able to manipulate us. Second," He paused, gestured for Seven to back away, and turned back to the young man. "Having heard all this, do you still attest that this man is a traitor to the Terreyos Republic?"

He stuttered, too afraid to speak.

"We will spare your life if you will just tell us the truth. We cannot afford to sacrifice such an important figure if your accusation is false. Either way, yes or no, we will detain you here for a time, to verify your testimony, and then either release or kill you." Alius Arma sat forward, putting an honest look on his face. "Is he, or isn't he?"

"He -- he is, sir, a traitor, if ever there was one on all of Mors."

"Thank you." Alius pointed the pistol at the youth. "Very, very much." He pulled the trigger, blasting a bolt of stinging hot laser light into the boy's gut, blasting him to the ground, flipping his chair, and spilling blood over the ground. He stood, glaring down at the boy, who poured boiled blood from the wound in his side.

"P-ple... pl-lease..."

Alius Arma looked to his Republic Militia guards. "Kill him. And find Alecks Davidson -- and kill him, too."

They did so, and the janitors would be mopping that room up for weeks.

"Mom -- mom! Wake up!" Jake shook his mother. She rose slowly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"What is it, honey? Is --"

"Quick, mom! We have to go! The Gens, they're coming --"

It was too late. The Gens -- huge, muscled soldiers and smaller, stealthy commanders -- rushed into the room, glowering down at her. "This city is the property of Terreyos. You are to be... re-assigned." One said.

They all knew what that meant.

Jake was destined to be re-engineered into a Gen, and his parents killed. They screamed, but it didn't help.


"Assault, three quarters of the force, from the west. Order Chandler to lead the assault. Tell K'nai to take his best men, and line up in the west. Blaster pistols only. Silenced." Alius sat back, and watched the green dots on the display obey his command.

The final red light on the board blinked out. The underground bunker was now bathed only in the soft blue glow of the board itself, and not the red dots which had once created a melancholy, mechanized smallpox upon it. Alius smiled. "How many left in the city?"

"Five million, sir."

"Is that all?" Alius scratched his chin. "I'd estimated six."

"The extra artillery at..." The aide trailed off, trying to find the co-ordinates on his board.

"Five kilometres, south thirty degrees east?" Alius asked mildly. The aide nodded.

"Yes. The extra shelling killing approximately a million people."

They were deep in Verrakeye territory -- in the city of Verrakeye itself, the capital -- the final holdout of the Verrakeye forces. Their last stand. They'd held out for weeks, but finally fallen to Alius' last thrust; almost disappointingly. Arma had almost hoped they'd had something up their sleeves.

His army of Gens had overwhealmed them. They were being churned out, millions per day, rolling off the lines and onto the battlefields. Oh, those fool humans of Terreyos, they certainly had trusted him. And he'd showed them all of the compassion they showed each other -- he'd showed them the true meaning of "human".

He'd enslaved them. And killed the rest.

Their children were taken from them, the strong adults forced to work in GenProduction factories, the weak simply murdered. The advanced GenProduction factories were capable of creating the "master race" in a way thought impossible. Alius had found a way to genetically alter the simple bodies of their children, creating Gens from them.

When he'd begun his press into Verrakeye territory, they'd been devastated. The Terreyos forces had easily crushed through their lines, co-ordinated and quick, artillery bombarding their cities. Those urban centres -- many of them in shambles -- were taken, the children carted off and transformed into more soldiers, their parents enslaved and cloned. When their parents were no longer sufficiently strong to carry out their jobs, they were killed.

With the genetic code of the city's inhabitants, millions of clones would then be produced. The Gens would turn the cities of Verrakeye into self-replicating soldier production plants. The citizens of Verrakeye would work for their own demise, and then be cloned and genetically modified.

A glorious thing, indeed.

Kilras put his hand on Alius' shoulder. "We have done very well, Alius. You should be proud."

"I am, Kilras, I am." Alius thought for a moment. "Proud. But not satisfied."

"No?"

"No, mentor. This isn't going to end with Mors. Now that Mors is ours, it's time to break the cycle of isolationism." Alius Arma smiled. "It's time for our conquest of the stars."

[i]And thus it was that a being, not born, but created, for peace and the restoration of the First Kingdom, ushered in the rule of the Third Kingdom of Mors. A single province, ruled by Gens, the humans their slaves.

A world gone mad.