District 3

The District 3 building sat in the city outskirts like a futuristic fortress, a sprawling network of enormous dome-shaped structures interconnected by massive circular tunnels.

Inside one of the larger domes, the interior was a hive of activity. Officers moved with precision, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Levels of railings spiraled upward, connecting rooms and corridors, all surrounding a vast, circular void in the center. The space buzzed with energy as engineers worked meticulously at assembly stations, piecing together hydroarms and other complex machinery.

Every movement had purpose; every officer played their part in a grander scheme.

A sudden commotion broke the rhythm.

An officer with a mechanical head resembling a pincer ant dashed through a tunnel, multiple bags strapped haphazardly to his back. He weaved between other officers, shouting in a frantic tone.

“Captain! Captain! They’ve arrived! They’ve arrived!”

In his haste, he collided with another officer, nearly losing his balance.

“Woah!” he yelped, teetering backward.

A firm hand shot out, grabbing the strap of his bags before he could tumble.

“Watch it now,” said a deep, steady voice.

Standing before him was the imposing figure of Captain Star, the monitor of District 3. He was a towering man, broad-shouldered and commanding, with a square jaw that seemed chiseled from steel. His blonde hair was perfectly styled, with a single curly lock cascading onto his forehead, and a red cape billowed dramatically behind him, fastened to his gleaming gold officer uniform.

Captain Star exuded confidence, carrying the bags with effortless strength in one hand while holding a phone in the other.

“A-yup, they’ve arrived,” he said into the receiver, his tone calm and unbothered. He began to stride away, the bags swinging lightly at his side.

The pincer-ant officer muttered in disbelief, “Jeez, he’s carrying all that with one hand?”

Captain Star’s voice continued. “A-yup. The officers are already working on securing Mother Brain. They’ve sent the harvesters home, and they’re wrapping her up under the carbon fiber net as we speak.”

He continued. “Logistics says it’ll take about thirty more minutes to complete the transport. Oh, what’s that? Need another moment? Sure. Call me back.”

ln the dome where the engineers were at work. Sitting on a mechanical throne with wheels was President Vitron. The throne was adorned with intricate designs and glowing circuitry. Standing at his side was Anthril, they both wore black trench coats. “Yes. I’ve got some matters to tend to.” He responded to Star.

In front of them knelt two battered figures: Gork and Epongi. Their once-pristine uniforms were dirty, their heads bowed low in submission.

“Let us proceed,” Vitron said softly.

He leaned forward slightly. “And why are you standing before me? You should be at District 1.”

Epongi stammered. “W-we have some news for you, sir.

Gork nervously chucked. “Yeah, we got bad news, man—uh, I mean, President!”

Vitron questioned. “And what is this bad news?”

The two exchanged nervous glances, Epongi shakily spoke.

“Binar appointed us to be on the lookout for anyone attempting to stop the transport of the viruses. He suspected someone might try to interfere—an officer who figured out what he was doing.”

Gork chimed in, frantically. “Yeah, so we were watching out, and we ran into this officer—uh, Officer Shinku and his group. We fought them!”

Vitron raised an eyebrow. “I assume you eliminated this officer and his group, yes?”

Silence. Gork scratched his metallic jaw nervously, his voice dropping. “Uh… well, about that…”

Epongi jumped in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “Binar was killed in his fight and It started raining ,too, sir, and we—we had to retreat here before we could—”

Before he could finish, Vitron moved with startling speed. His arms shot out, grabbing Epongi by the neck and Gork by the face.

“You two are goddamn fools,” Vitron growled, furiously. “I’m almost glad Binar is dead if this is the kind of incompetence he tolerated.”

The two officers squirmed in his grasp, choking out apologies as their mechanical parts sparked under the pressure.

“You’re telling me,” Vitron snarled, “that you let them find out what we were doing? And you let them live?” His grip tightened, his voice rising with each word. “Who cares if it’s raining? You stop them—even if it means your worthless lives end right then and there!”

Epongi and Gork wailed, their pleas overlapping in desperation. “Please, sir! We’re sorry! It won’t happen again! We swear!”

The other officers stationed nearby froze in place, their movements halting at the sheer weight of Vitron’s rage. Anthril, standing off to the side, took a single step forward, eyes narrowing as he watched the scene unfold.

Vitron’s tone grew colder. “Which one of you,” he said, tightening his hold further, “is going to pay for this failure? I’ll make an example out of one of you.”

Both officers screamed, writhing in his grasp. “No, please! We’ll do better! Never again!”

Vitron tilted his head, accompanying the gesture as he twisted his neck side to side. He let out a sharp whistle, mimicking the sound of their panicked cries. His expression darkened further as he exerted pressure, their screams echoing in the chamber like a haunting symphony.

“Anthril,” Vitron said without looking away. “Get me the viruses. I can hear Star approaching.”

Anthril inclined his head. “At your beck and call, sir.” With a fluid motion, he turned and left.

Vitron sneered at the two officers in his grasp, “Disappointments,” he spat. “You’ve soiled my plans. You were supposed to return to District 1 and deal with any obstacles like good little computers.”

Anthril returned. In his grasp were several glowing viruses, pulsating with a sinister energy. “As requested,” Anthril said.

Vitron smiled. “Thank you, Vice President. Now, plug them in.”

Epongi’s eyes widened in panic. He thrashed, struggling against his restraints. “No! Not right now! No—!”

Vitron’s voice sliced through the air. “Keep plugging them in. Then take them out. Quickly. Over and over again.”

Anthril didn’t hesitate. He approached the trembling Epongi, grasping his head firmly, and began inserting the first virus into the port at the back of his ear. Epongi’s cries were immediate, a mix of metallic screeches and human-like wails as the virus began to flood his system. Anthril withdrew the chip and immediately replaced it with another, each insertion like a surge of agony coursing through Epongi.

“Stop it! Please! No more!” Epongi screamed, his voice cracking under the strain.

Beside him, Gork writhed, his own voice filled with terror. “It hurts! Make it stop!”

Vitron leaned forward, his chair sounding ominously, a menacing glint in his eyes. He began to sing softly, mockingly, in a dark rhythm.

“Which. One. Am. I gonna—”

Gork’s protests grew louder, his voice nearly drowning out Epongi’s screams. “No! No, please!”

Without warning, Vitron’s hand clamped down on Gork’s face, his grip tightening with an unnatural strength. Gork’s cries turned into guttural screeches as Vitron’s anger surged to the surface.

“You!” Vitron roared, his voice a thunderous echo in the chamber. With one final squeeze, Gork’s head shattered, pieces of metal and oily fluids scattering across the glossy floor. The sound was sickening, a sharp crunch followed by the splatter of his remains.

Epongi collapsed to the ground as Vitron released his grip, trembling uncontrollably as he stared at the mangled remains of his brother. His voice was barely a whisper, his terror erupting. “That… that was my brother, dude.”

Vitron turned his throne away from the gruesome scene, his expression cold and unfeeling. “Find someone to clean up that oily mess, Vice President,” he said, his tone casual as if discussing a minor inconvenience.

Anthril stepped over Gork’s broken body without a second glance, nodding with the same detached professionalism. “Absolutely.”

Epongi remained frozen on the floor, his entire frame shaking as the reality of the situation sank in. Vitron’s voice snapped him back to attention, cold and commanding.

“Now,” Vitron said, wheeling his chair toward the exit, “get to work. Help them build the Hydronuke.”

Epongi struggled to his feet, his movements sluggish as fear and grief coursed through him. His gaze lingered on the remains of Gork for a moment before he staggered forward, Anthril’s imposing figure guided him toward the next task.