Agent047
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931 - 932
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 01:08:38 +0000 UTC931 - A Potential Solution I
A heavy, expectant silence filled the holographic conference. The military liaison, his projected image a stoic mask, was the first to break it. He had felt Kumakar’s burning gaze on him for what felt like an eternity and knew that the silence could not hold. To let it stretch further was to invite a reaction he had no desire to witness. He bit the bullet.
“A month, Your Excellency. That is the earliest we and the other stretched forces can guarantee mobilization if we are to keep it secret from the empire's invasive eyes,” the liaison repeated, his voice a carefully measured monotone. He knew the others were deliberately leaving him to answer, as the topic fell squarely within his military domain.
Kumakar’s expression did not change, but a dangerous stillness settled over his hologram. “A month is a luxury we do not have, Commander. The Empire’s sanctions are a blade already at our throat.”
“Does that mean if we were to act openly, without concern for the Empire’s sensitive eyes, it would be faster?” Kumakar pressed, his question a baited trap.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” the liaison conceded, “but the gain would be marginal—a week, perhaps less. And the cost would be catastrophic.” He chose his next words with the precision of a man disarming a bomb. “To do so would require another emergency Conclave meeting to change our entire strategic posture. The top fifty would never agree. They would see it as a reckless escalation. Furthermore, to justify such a move, we would have to explain what changed our mind. If the Empire is not behind these attacks, we would be handing them a reason to see us as unstable and untrustworthy. And if they are behind them,” he paused, letting the weight of the implication settle, “then we would be confirming that we have removed them from our list of suspicion, inviting them to act with even greater boldness.”
The commander had laid out the logic flawlessly, a tightrope walk of diplomacy and military reality. He had made the point without assigning blame for the political corner they were now backed into.
“They are behind this,” Kumakar declared, his voice flat and final, dismissing the commander’s careful reasoning with a single, unshakeable conviction. “We will proceed with that fact in mind.”
A quiet, unified chorus of “Yes, Your Excellency,” echoed from the holograms as a collective, internal sigh of relief was breathed. The immediate danger had passed.
Kumakar’s gaze shifted, his focus landing on the hologram of his chief economic minister, a man named Kaelen who now looked as though he was about to be physically ill. “And you, Minister. How do you propose we keep the economy from collapsing while we wait for our military to remember its purpose?”
Kaelen’s image flickered for a moment. He closed his eyes, not in preparation, but in a silent prayer. His position was largely a ceremonial one, a convenient scapegoat for when his leader’s ambitions clashed with economic reality. He had little real power, a fact that had become painfully clear since the arrival of VR and cheap mana stones had centralized true authority in a way he could never have imagined. He was a man on death row, uncertain of his execution date.
He opened his eyes, his voice surprisingly steady. “Your Excellency, a direct prevention of the downturn is… unlikely. Our economy had already begun the painful shift toward a new model of interstellar integration. To reverse course will take time and will be very damaging.” He spoke quickly, a torrent of words designed to build a fortress of logic before Kumakar’s temper could breach the walls.
“However, our only viable strategy is not to fight the economic reality, but to control the narrative surrounding it.”
He saw a flicker of interest in Kumakar’s eyes and pressed his advantage.
“First, we continue fanning and redirecting the public’s anger. We use the Empire’s own communication channels to continue painting them as the villain, the architects of this hardship. The economic pain becomes a shared sacrifice, a patriotic burden in the face of an external aggressor. This will buy the military the time it needs.
“Then,” he continued, his pace quickening, “once the operation against the invaders begins, we reveal their existence to the public. The invaders become the new focus of their anger. We will frame them as agents of the Empire, their stooges. This reframes our entire position. We are no longer the aggressors provoking the Empire; we are the noble defenders fighting a proxy war on behalf of our citizens. It makes us look strategic, not cowardly. It will unify the populace, and that unity, Your Excellency, will be the foundation of our economic recovery.”
He finished, his chest tight, realizing he had forgotten to breathe. He was shaking subtly, waiting for the outburst, the dismissal, the punishment.
Instead, he was met with a sound he had not expected.
“Hahahah… HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Kumakar’s hologram threw its head back and laughed, a booming, genuine sound that was more terrifying than any shout. He clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and final.
“I like this suggestion,” Kumakar said, a wide, cruel smile spreading across his face. “I like it a lot.” He saw the path forward now, a way to salvage his plans, to regain the initiative, to turn this disaster into a weapon. He did not say this, of course. That was something only he needed to know.
His expression hardened once more, the brief moment of levity gone. “Since you now have a plan of action, I expect all of you to implement your parts perfectly. You should be ready to put your lives and the lives of your willed children on the line. That is the price for failure. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Excellency!” The answer was a unified chorus, this time filled with a desperate, sharp-edged enthusiasm. They were still in the grasp of a maniac, but now they had a path. They had a chance to act, to fight, to survive.
Before they could raise their heads, Kumakar’s hologram vanished.
For a moment, there was only the silence of the empty stateroom. Then, the other holograms flickered out one by one as the meeting ended. But the work was just beginning. In their own private channels, a new, frantic round of discussion erupted. Bonded by the shared, mortal terror of their leader’s threat, they began to plan. They would do their best because they knew, with absolute certainty, that Kumakar would keep his promise.
932 - A Potential Solution II
The wreckage of his rage lay strewn about the stateroom, a testament to a fury that had burned itself out, leaving only a cold, calculating silence in its wake. Kumakar sat amidst the chaos, his physical surroundings irrelevant. His mind was a different landscape entirely, one where the seeds of a new plan, planted during the tense holographic conference, were already beginning to sprout.
The suggestion from his economic minister had been a desperate gambit, but a brilliant one. It offered a path through the immediate crisis, a way to weaponize the public’s fear and redirect their anger. While his subordinates would handle the delicate task of managing the narrative within their own civilization, Kumakar’s focus was already elsewhere. He was thinking about the Empire. He was thinking about retaliation. He was thinking about how to salvage the part of his original plan that had failed so spectacularly: dragging the Terran Empire into a conflict it could not win.
For over an hour, he remained motionless, a predator in thought, fleshing out the new strategy, refining every detail until it was a sharp, viable weapon. Finally, he stirred.
“Rumaksa!”
His aide entered instantly, his arrival so swift it was as if he had been waiting just outside the door. “Your Excellency.”
“Have this mess cleaned,” Kumakar commanded, rising from his chair. He strode toward the door, his boots crunching over shattered crystal without a hint of concern. “I want it restored to its original condition by the time I return.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” Rumaksa bowed low as his master passed, then straightened as the door slid shut. He surveyed the ruined chamber, his expression grim. He pulled a small device from his pocket. “You have ten minutes,” he said into it, his voice clipped and urgent. “Reassemble the room.” He didn’t know when Kumakar would be back, and he wasn’t willing to risk his master returning to anything less than perfection.
Moments later, the room began to repair itself. Bent wall panels straightened, the floor smoothed over, and the very air seemed to hum as nanites went to work. A team of silent attendants entered with hovering carts, replacing every broken object with a perfect replica, their movements a silent, efficient ballet of restoration.
***
While his stateroom was being reborn, Kumakar walked the silent, grand corridors of his personal ship, his mouth moving minutely, his thoughts a low, private murmur.
“I can’t use him,” he muttered to himself, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “He’s already fulfilled his contract.” He was thinking of the man, the asset with the terrifying ability to control minds, the one who had orchestrated the pirate attacks. He had been a powerful tool, but a temporary one. “I should have held his leverage for longer, made him part of this new plan.” But he knew it was a fool’s thought. The agreement with that man was ancient, inherited through three generations of leaders. The warnings from his predecessors had been clear: honor the contract to the letter, and never, ever attempt to push beyond its terms. To do so would be to invite a nightmare into his own house, a ghost that could turn his most trusted allies against him without him ever knowing.
He stopped, his decision made. “It may be crude,” he whispered to the empty corridor, “but I have no choice if I want to act quickly and not miss this window of opportunity.”
He removed a device from his pocket, similar to the one Rumaksa used, but this one shimmered with a constantly shifting, iridescent light. He tapped a sequence of commands into its surface, then brought it to his lips.
“I have a mission for you,” he said, his voice calm, devoid of emotion. “It requires absolute secrecy. Upon its completion, you will eliminate all who participated. Including yourself.”
A voice, filled with a chilling, unwavering reverence, responded from the device. “Your Excellency. What are the requirements? What do you wish for us to do?” The voice held no fear, no hesitation at the death sentence just delivered.
“I need you to gather individuals,” Kumakar began, his voice dropping lower as he detailed the horrific plan. “Between ten and fifteen slaves from every species on your planet. Do the same for the non-slave populations. Once you have them, you will…”
He continued, laying out the plan in meticulous, brutal detail. He answered every question and clarified every step. He felt no need for caution; the man on the other end was one of his Willed Servants. These were individuals born for a single purpose: to serve the leader of their civilization without question, without hesitation, without a hint of betrayal. The very concept was alien to them, a part of their being that had been overwritten by the metaphysical power of their parents’ willed sacrifice. It was a cruel system, one that preyed on the poor and the patriotic, offering compensation in exchange for a child’s soul. But it was effective. It gave him absolute loyalty and removed any worry of betrayal happening within his ranks of servants.
However, despite their unwavering loyalty, they were treated as expendable since they were unable to question any command, they followed orders that led to frequent deaths and a tragically short life expectancy. Yet this sacrifice served dual purposes: grieving parents, now freed from loss, were permitted to bring forth new willed children and embrace renewed joy using the payment of their sacrificed child; meanwhile, the civilization’s government reaped every possible benefit from their obedient service.
“I will have everything prepared within two weeks, Your Excellency,” the Willed Servant replied, his voice still filled with that same unnerving reverence. “Then, I will await your order to proceed.”
Kumakar pinched the device, severing the connection. He slipped it back into his pocket and turned, walking back toward his now-pristine stateroom. He took his seat and resumed his work, his expression no different than it had been before the destructive rampage. It was, after all, a usual occurrence for him.
Comments
jordan payet
Not me, i hate mind control type so much 😭 it’s always a pain to fight against, enemies become cockroaches , and you have to be suspicious of even your allies…
Sol_Invictus(Hail the Terran Empire)
TYFTC!!
Billiam
I’d be very excited for this mind control guy to be explored more later - kinda reminds me of the mule from the foundation books
