GM-Politics

[Hogun Pov]

I woke up with a headache pounding behind my eyes like war drums.

Yesterday had been hell—Kal stirring up drama, rogue researchers pressing red buttons like toddlers in a candy shop, and me playing babysitter to a facility full of overpowered lunatics.

But the highlight?

A hostage crisis.

[Flashback]

[Hogun]: Sir, you need to understand that we—

[Infected man]: Lying bastards! GIVE ME THE CURE OR THIRTY-THREE PEOPLE DIE!

I exhaled slowly. My fingers twitched near my comms.

[Hogun]: Fire a warning shot.

BOOM.

A sharp crack rang out.

The man crumpled—head gone. Silence followed like a slap.

I blinked. Slowly turned toward the sniper tower.

[Hogun]: …Who was that?

[New Recruit]: Private Carl, sir.

[Hogun]: Carl. Do I really need to explain that a warning shot does not go through the skull?

[Carl]: Uh… I thought it was, like, symbolic?

[Hogun]: Carl, go mop the reactor hallway. With a toothbrush.

[Flashback Ends]

That was yesterday.

Today, after surviving the fallout, the debriefings, and three hours of death glares from PR, I finally lay down, ready for what I hoped would be a full five hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I got five minutes.

Because, of course, I did.

An explosion rocked the eastern wing of the citadel, setting off alarms and causing my lights to flicker ominously. I groaned into my pillow.

[Hogun]: Why? Can't. We have. One normal day.

My door burst open.

[Random Staffer]: Sir! We have a situation—again!

I rolled out of bed, tossing the half-eaten granola bar off my chest, and grabbed my coat like a grizzled wizard preparing for his final spell.

[Hogun]: If it's Kal again, I'm air-dropping her into the moon and sealing the crater.

[Staffer]: No, sir—it's worse. The nation of Ursus has officially declared Ashenhold Citadel an enemy of the Empire. They're marching on us with a full army.

…

[Staffer]: They also sent a message… You must kneel before the arriving general, kiss their legs, and beg for mercy so they'll only send us to the mines... instead of slaughtering everyone.

A long silence. I blinked.

[James]: OH S###! The General's mad!

[Yelena]: How mad can he be?

[Logan]: Mad enough that I once stole his pudding, and he burned down an entire kitchen block just to make a point.

My coat snapped into place. The temperature in the room dropped.

[Hogun]: James… bring me my katakana.

[James]: Right away, sir.

[Hogun]: Tell the army to prepare the storm cannons. Ready defense barrier six. And tell Shadowy13 and Carl...

I turned toward the hallway. My eyes glowed faintly red in the emergency lighting.

[Hogun]: ...to shoot every Ursus official they see—preferably the ones with fancy hats—right between the eyes.

[James]: Orders confirmed.

[Hogun]: No one tells me to kneel in my own house. They want war…?

I stepped forward, katakana in hand, cloak fluttering like the wings of some ancient executioner.

[Hogun]: Then let Ashenhold remind Ursus why monsters hide under our beds.

[Yelena]: pfffft S-Sorry! It's just—" snorts "—the gas mask made your voice all raspy and evil-villain-like. I couldn't help it!

I deadpan behind the mask.

[Hogun]: Next time, I'll wear the voice modulator.

Logan, peeking out from behind cover, said.

[Logan]: Please don't. Last time you did that, three soldiers passed out, and someone summoned a demon by accident.

I slowly turned my glowing-eyed stare toward him.

[Logan]: R-Right. Forget I said anything.

I turned back to the command panel, pressing a switch.

[Hogun]: To all units—activate Citadel Protocol Omega. All divisions to battle stations. Defensive cannons online. Initiate cloak-jammers and deploy the Black Guard to choke points. This is not a drill.

The lights in the citadel flickered, and the distant hum of power cores intensified. From the watchtowers to the underground barracks, Ashenhold began to awaken like a sleeping behemoth.

[James]: Sir, Shadowy13 and Carl are in position. Carl brought snacks.

[Hogun]: If he eats before the first confirmed kill, I'm docking his pay.

James then started whispering

[James]: Carl, hide the chips.

Outside, storm clouds gathered—part natural, part machine-forged—as dreadnought turrets rotated toward the horizon, locking onto Ursus signals. The sky above Ashenhold lit with sigils, runes, and old magic, coiling like serpents above the fortress.

[Hogun]: Let us remind them…

I drew the katakana with a high-pitched metallic whisper. Lightning cracked behind me.

[Hogun]: …that you don't declare war on monsters and expect to wake up the next day.

[Command Room, Ashenhold Citadel – 3 Minutes Later]

Cannons the size of buildings roared, beams of concentrated death lanced out from the citadel's spires. Railguns discharged with sonic booms that shattered the sound barrier—and the morale of anyone watching. Orbitally-dropped kinetic rods turned whole battalions into smoking craters. No screams. No mercy.

And then…

Silence.

[James]: Uh… General…They're all gone.

I was calmly sipping coffee through a special straw port in his gas mask

[Yelena]: Wait… all of them? Like… completely?

[Logan]: There's not even ash left.

[Hogun]: That's why we don't make friends easily.

[James]: Sir, I don't even think we gave them a chance to radio in. There's just a smoking outline where the army used to be.

[Shadowy13]: Requesting confirmation—did I just kill a shadow? Because that's all that was left.

[Carl]: I didn't even get to shoot anyone…

[Hogun]: Fine. I'll let you shoot the diplomatic envoy if they send one.

[Carl]: WOO—wait, are you serious?

Hogun: Only if they ask for 'parlay' while armed.

[Citadel AI]: Warning. The enemy army has been neutralized before formal engagement. Suggestion: Turn off Overkill Protocols to prevent unnecessary crater generation.

[Yelena]: So… what now?

[Hogun]: Now? I go back to bed. Wake me if another nation wants to test how much 'impossible' we keep chained in the basement.

[Staffer]: Uh… sir? The nation of Laterano just sent word. They're dispatching an envoy to discuss our… firearms policy.

[Hogun]: Of course they are.

[Staffer]: Also… Ursus is furious. Apparently, Carl shot their peace envoy in the face. They're now officially labeling us as 'unhinged, genocidal maniacs with deep-rooted speciesist tendencies.' Their words.

[Hogun]: Tell Ursus their name sounds like a brand of cheap vodka and they can go passionately screw themselves.

[Hogun]: Engrave it in gold and send it with fireworks.

[Hogun]: As for Laterano, schedule the meeting for tomorrow. Make sure the tea is hot, the cake is fresh, and nobody points a gun at the envoy unless they sneeze suspiciously.

[Hogun]: Now… good night.

[Staffer]: Understood, sir.

I heard something from somewhere down the hall

[Carl]: They looked suspicious!

[Hogun]: Carl, if you shoot the Laterano envoy, I'm feeding you to Ivan.

Something screamed from the shadows—a sound like laughter tangled in static.

[Ivan]: I'm not a cannibal, Father.

Every soldier in the hallway snapped their rifles up toward the voice.

[Hogun]: How the hell did you get out of your cell, Ivan?

Ivan emerged from the dim corridor, arms raised lazily, expression calm as if he'd just returned from a coffee run rather than a secure containment unit.

[Ivan]: Miss Hast gives me full access to the lab. I'm her assistant, remember?

There was a beat of silence.

[Hogun]: Security, please remind Miss Hast that letting the unkillable war criminal with cloning abilities and a flair for drama 'assist' her is a violation of at least seventeen international treaties… and my sanity.

[Carl]: Do we shoot him?

[Yelena]: You wanna explain to the guy who doesn't die why you shot him? Be my guest.

[Ivan]: Relax, I'm off-duty today. Just came to grab my lunch and maybe witness some political collapse.

[Hogun]: If I find out you tampered with the tea set for the Laterano envoy…

[Ivan]: I only replaced the sugar cubes with micro-trackers. For safety, of course.

[Hogun]: …I need a nap. Or a flamethrower. Maybe both.

I took a deep breath.

[Hogun]: Ivan, you give me a heart attack every second you exist outside that damn lab. Return to your cell—now.

Ivan gave a lazy, lopsided grin, like a cat who'd knocked over a priceless vase and felt no guilt.

[Ivan]: Okay, Sniper.

He turned on his heel with a casual whistle, hands in his coat pockets, strolling off like a man who wasn't casually dodging a dozen loaded rifles aimed at his back.

[Carl]: …Should we escort him?

[Hogun]: No. If he wanted us dead, he'd already be using our bones as garden ornaments. Just make sure he actually goes back.

[Yelena]: I don't get paid enough for Ivan.

[Logan]: None of us do.

[Hogun]: One more Ivan incident and I'm adding 'Anti-Cloning Measures' to the defense budget.

With that, I dragged my weary body toward my office like a condemned man to the gallows. As I opened the door, the mountain of paperwork stared back at me with the silent smugness of a bureaucratic demon.

[Hogun]: I've commanded armies, ended empires, bent reality with nothing but spite and duct tape... but paperwork? Even the undead would rather rot.

I slumped into my chair and pulled out my trusted Tool Gun. I opened the Addon Menu with the same reverence a dying man gives a priest.

There it was.

Nestled between the Fallout Mods and the cursed Teletubby AI Addon: Office Worker NPC Pack.

With a sigh of hope, I clicked Activate. Then I tried to spawn one.

"Error: No More Room For NPCs."

I stared at the screen, dead inside.

[Hogun]: Fine. Be that way.

Resigned, I began scrolling through the Addons, frustration sharpening into focus. If I couldn't ease the burden now, then I'd make damn sure the Citadel ran smoother later.

I added a few more mods—some basic quality-of-life improvements, and a few others... ones that, let's just say, would become very important down the line.

With a reluctant sigh, I picked up my pen and turned to face the mountain of paperwork like a soldier charging a dragon.

[Eight Hours Later]

[Yelena]: That was the last of the paperwork, General. Now we can finally leave.

I glanced up from the final signed form and gave her a tired smile.

[Hogun]: All thanks to my cute secretary.

She blushed, cheeks a shade too red to blame on the cold, and quickly excused herself with a flustered huff, leaving me alone in the office.

I stretched, joints popping like suppressed grenades, and trudged to my quarters in silence. At long last, sleep called to me like a siren...

But something felt off.

I pulled back the blanket and blinked.

A brick. A single, solid, very intentional brick rested neatly in the center of my bed.

I stared at it.

[Hogun]: ...I'll deal with that tomorrow.

I threw the blanket back over the mystery brick, climbed in beside it like an old, bitter roommate, and finally let myself drift off to sleep.

Tomorrow, the world could go mad again. Tonight, I sleep with a brick that, for some reason, feels warm.

[Extra: A Crazy Rabbit Arrives at the Library]

[Hast POV]

I stared at the thirteen other members of the O5 Council. Their expressions ranged from confused to outright horrified.

[O-6]: You want what now?

[Hast]: I want to quit. You guys keep restricting me. Why can't I do experiments like I used to? I miss getting my hands dirty.

[O-10]: O-15, with all due respect, you've contributed more to the Foundation than most of us combined. Your presence is… irreplaceable.

[Hast]: Come on, I just updated a few protocols, made the workplace a bit safer, and created two new task forces. Nothing major. Anyone could've done it.

All thirteen O5s simultaneously slammed their heads against the long obsidian table.

[O-14]: Madam. You've reduced overall Foundation casualties by 90%. You created Cerberus and the Hell Rabbits—two enhanced task forces with an 80% operational success rate. You destroyed the Chaos Insurgency's North American cell. You even exposed and purged internal corruption by uncovering rogue scientists abusing anomalies.

He pointed at himself.

[O-14]: And you made a former anomaly like me a Council member through diplomacy. That's not nothing.

I crossed my arms with a frown.

[Hast]: Still. I'd rather be in a lab elbow-deep in anomalous sludge than stuck in a chair pretending to care about politics.

[O-1]: O-15, we can't allow you to leave the Council. You're tied to Project Ouroboros until it activates.

I smirked

[Hast]: So... until I die? Too bad. This is just a clone. The original me's already halfway through the teleportation sequence.

The room went dead silent for a beat.

Then the alarms began blaring.

[O-5 Collective]: Send every Mobile Task Force! Lock the site down! DO NOT LET HER ESCAPE!

Meanwhile, I was already materializing in my private teleportation chamber, grinning as red runes lit the walls.

Boom.

[MTF Commander]: O-15! Stand down! Open that door—press something, anything!

[Hast]: No—wait, don't you dare touch that!

Button pressed.

A brilliant pulse of energy consumed the room. In a flash, I was gone.

I reappeared with a low whump, surrounded by towers of books reaching into an invisible ceiling. The air was thick with dust, old parchment, and a sense of impossible knowledge pressing in from all sides.

This wasn't just any library—it was alive. Watching. Thinking.

I wandered through the infinite stacks until I saw a familiar silhouette up ahead, wearing a long coat and holding a book with trembling fingers.

[Hast]: Light?

His eyes widened in terror.

[Light]: Oh no. No, no, no—IT'S THE DEVIL!

He dropped the book and stumbled backward into a pile of sentient scrolls that hissed at him.

[Hast]: Relax. I'm not here to destroy anything. Just hiding. From... well, myself, technically.

[Light]: You cloned yourself again and added a 'terminate original' protocol?

[Hast]: Yup. Streamlines the escape process. Also—wow, this is a nice place you've got here.

[Light]: It belongs to my wife.

A scream echoed from the next aisle over, followed by the crashing of books and barely suppressed rage.

[Angela]: I am not your wife, Light! You tricked me into signing that contract! Also, your lemon cakes are criminally good, and I hate that.

I turned slowly to see a pale blue-haired woman, radiating both elegance and fury, storming into view with glowing eyes and a pile of shredded paper in her hands.

[Hast], blinking: "Light… did you seriously marry Angela?"

[Light]: Technically. It was in the fine print.

[Hast]: Where do I even start... So this really is the Library of Ruina. The place where half the war criminals and anomalous philosophers of the multiverse gather to pretend to read books makes them morally superior.

[Angela]: You're not wrong.

[Hast]: This also means Roland is around here somewhere.

[Light]: Unfortunately.

[Hast]: god help me. That man's a walking PTSD grenade with swords for hands.

A loud metallic clang echoed through the library, followed by a voice yelling something about spilled coffee and "fixers being underpaid."

[Hast]: And there he is.

After some time, Light and I sat between the towering shelves, a pocket of silence in the chaos of the Library. The air shimmered slightly around him—his body flickering, almost like static clinging to skin.

[Hast]: You're glitching.

[Light]: It's not a glitch. My frame's degrading. The machine body I use... It's not built for this world's stability.

[Hast]: So it's falling apart?

[Light]: Yes. My body isn't player-based like yours. It's lore-bound—written for war, constructed in Whiteveil. Everything I am here is tied to a purpose I fulfilled long ago. It's all unraveling now.

I nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling deep.

[Hast]: That explains it... Sometimes I wonder if I'm going mad. The things I know, the knowledge that just appears in my head when I touch certain places—it's like I'm remembering things I never lived.

[Light]: Because you are. That's the curse of lore-bound existence. Our memories are stitched together by narrative threads, not time. Truth bleeds with fiction.

[Hast]: So... multiverse dementia.

They both laughed lightly.

[Light]: Pretty much.

After a pause, we exchanged a glance.

[Light]: We should find the others. If we're here, they might be too.

[Hast]: Agreed. We'll need a way back to the main server. No telling what chaos Ivan has gotten into without me.

Later…

Angela stood alone in the reading room. Candlelight danced across the marble floor as she approached Light, who sat slouched against a shelf, a hand pressed to his chest. Crimson dripped between his fingers.

[Angela]: Light? You're bleeding—!

coughing weakly

[Light]: Oil. Not blood. A machine's blood.

[Angela]: You're like me.

[Light]: Yes. But I was built for war, Angela. I wasn't meant to have a soul. Just targets.

She knelt beside him, her synthetic hand hovering just above his.

[Angela]: You mentioned Whiteveil before. What is it?

[Light]: …A battlefield. Not a place. A time. A wound in history.

[Angela]: Should I know it?

[Light]: No. You're better off not knowing.

[Chapter end]