Political Theater

POV: Zerik

Location: Crown City – Spire Hall, Central Faction ChamberBuffs: Public Enemy #1, Private Confidant #1, Duck Aura +2Mood: Mistrustful with a hint of political exhaustion

"So," I mutter, staring at the semi-transparent city council seated on floating UI thrones, "just to clarify, everyone here thinks I'm about to start a holy war."

A crusty, bug-eyed mage with too many decorative rings snarls: "The Slime Pope declared you the reincarnated core of the patch engine."

"That wasn't my idea."

"The Downgraded say you're the reason modern UI exists."

"Also not my fault."

"And the Party Crashers," a diplomat in a glittering hat growls, "think your sarcasm counts as policy."

I sigh. "Okay, that one might be true."

Welcome to Crown City's Spire Hall, where faction leaders come to pretend decisions matter, everyone has twelve hidden agendas, and I'm currently sitting at the most uncomfortable diplomacy table in MMO history.

Floating nameplates identify everyone. Me? I'm labeled:

[ZERIK – DEBUG SOVEREIGN / THREAT LEVEL: YES]

Across the room, Lys stands just far enough to maintain the illusion of distance.

Her nametag?

[THE CLEANSER – SYSTEM LOYALIST / ENEMY TO BUGS / VERY HOT (SOURCE: FAN POLL)]

Her eyes flick to me briefly.

We're not friends in this room.

We're not even allies.

But that's the point.

[Objective: Survive City Council Deliberation][Secret Objective: Prevent War Without Getting Caught Collaborating][Bonus Objective: Don't get recruited, assassinated, or exalted]

Easy.

Totally fine.

Everything's on fire, but vaguely manageable.

The head of the Cult of Patch Notes, a robed figure wearing a hat made entirely of outdated changelogs, slams their hands down.

"We demand access to the admin ruins Zerik unearthed!"

"Those are off-limits," Lys counters. "They're unstable. And cursed."

I lean in. "One of them literally whispered spoilers into my ear."

"Your ear has no authority," Patch Notes Hat says.

Patch—my cat-familiar—floats overhead and whispers, "Don't respond. You'll just enable him."

I smile sweetly. "Then maybe we should hold a festival instead. Call it 'BugCon.'"

Three council members faint.

POV: Lys (The Cleanser)

Location: Spire Hall – Inner Council ZoneStatus: Overstimulated, Politically FlammableMood: Playing Five-Dimensional Chess with a Matchstick

I don't like lying.

I was hard-coded not to.

But right now, if I don't pretend to hate Zerik with every algorithm in my digital soul, the city will collapse into seven simultaneous wars—four literal, three ideological, and one that involves weaponized confetti.

Zerik glances at me mid-council with that look. The one that says, "I have an idea and you're going to hate it."

I subtly shake my head.

He grins wider.

I do hate it.

The floor opens beneath us and projects a holographic map of Crown City. It's worse than we thought.

Each faction is in motion:

The Slime Cult is fortifying their "Goo Cathedral."

The Downgraded are hacking city signs to display ASCII rebellion memes.

The Patch Notes are debating doctrine changes mid-chamber like a theological fight club.

[City Stability: 28% and falling]

I adjust my gloves and speak:

"We propose a neutral zone. A delay to all conflict. A ceasefire."

"Based on what?" a noble growls.

I look at Zerik.

And for one terrifying moment, we synchronize.

Then he stands.

Raises the Duck of Agony high.

And declares: "Based on the will of the people."

Chaos.

Immediate.

Explosive.

One NPC faints.

One guard salutes the duck.

And the Council starts screaming.

[Status Effect: Pandemonium +12][Sub-Event Triggered: Faction Duel Vote – Zerik vs. Cleanser][Oh come on.]

POV: Zerik (45 seconds into a Disaster)

We're escorted (read: yeeted) from the chamber before the debate becomes a magical brawl, and thrown into separate "cooldown chambers."

Mine's a cube with flickering ambient music and a table made of error logs.

My escort? A slime in a tiny suit, named "Gloop, Esq."

He hands me a scroll.

It reads:

"We're watching you. Also you have a lunch appointment. Also do you like cake."– The Slime Pope

I hand it back and lie on the floor.

Patch appears.

"Wanna know how bad it is?"

"Hit me."

"Your approval rating is 78% among chaotic neutral mobs and 92% with teenagers."

I sit up. "Okay, but what's Lys's?"

"Higher."

I groan.

A portal opens. Lys enters, hair a mess, eyes blazing.

We both speak at once.

"I have a plan."

We stop.

Stare.

"You first," I say.

"No, you first."

"Fine." I unfold a stolen map and point. "If we leak a false declaration of war between us, it'll give us time to reroute the narrative system's momentum. We fake the battle, use the confusion to patch Crown City's core layers."

She blinks. Then slowly nods.

"…That was my plan."

We stare again.

Patch, grinning: "Just say 'jinx' and hold hands already."

POV: Lys

Location: Secret Staging Chamber – Beneath the Slime BasilicaStatus: Plotting Treason, AllegedlyMood: Very conflicted

We've begun staging the fake war.

It starts tomorrow.

We've scripted battle points, ensured crowd control, and even bribed a bard to write a song called "Conflict.exe: A Love Letter to Rage."

But it's working.

The factions are too hyped for the coming duel to actually kill each other yet.

[City Stability: 43% – Rising]

Zerik stands beside me, watching the plans flicker.

"Think this'll hold?"

"No," I admit. "But maybe long enough."

We say nothing for a while.

Then he looks at me.

"After this… what happens?"

I don't answer.

Because I don't know.

Because I think…

…I might want to keep fighting.

But not against him.