‘Twelve times faster. Twelve times faster. Twelve times faster.’

That inner mantra continued to play in Zhu’s head as he headed toward the longhouse. He had slipped up when he had spoken to Kodos early, forgetting that a single Earth hour equated to twelve ingame ones. No doubt he’d end up making similar gaffs by the end of the day, but he was determined to nip this one in the bud.

The longhouse, or as most of Zhu’s associates called them—the noob room—was a communal lodge used to house guests, allies, and newly recruited players. It was quite frankly, somewhat of a dump, but there weren’t many other buildings that could accommodate hundreds of entities on such short notice.

Unbeknownst to Zhu, a heated discussion was already taking place outside the longhouse. The more fanatical synths and zealots were outraged at the idea of reducing what they considered a sacred site into a makeshift conference room. Some even accused Sarin of harboring seditious thoughts for even making that suggestion. The channelers, who were by and large, well-paid mercenaries rather than indoctrinated thralls, stayed out of argument. It took all their willpower to keep their contempt for the radicals from seeping into their eyes.

The heated exchange ended when Zhu arrived. He ducked his way through the longhouse’s main entrance, blissfully unaware of the quarrel that had just taken place.

Zhu scratched his jaw when the others filed in. He was used to speaking to groups of strangers, but no amount of public speaking could have prepared him for this. For once, his audience was looking to him for guidance instead of jokes, and half of them weren’t the slightest bit human.

He decided that the best course of action was to just plow through this meeting.

“Alright, let’s get started. I am sure you’re all confused and have a bunch of questions, but right now we have more important things to worry about, like surviving, so keep the chatter to a minimum and listen. If you have a question near the end of this little lecture, raise your hand and I’ll answer it. Probably. Maybe. I won’t if I don’t know the answer or if the question is really stupid.”

Somebody coughed.

“A lot has changed in the past few hours; a lot more than you have realized. Since the beginning, the coalition’s biggest concern has always been defending our turf from incursions. While I don’t doubt that there will still be times when we have to deal with some hostile neighbor, our chief enemy will no longer come in the form of raiders or invaders. No, the thing we have to worry most about is ourselves, or rather our stomachs.”

This statement ushered in some confused murmurs, but the assembly remembered their orders and silenced themselves without prompting.

“As I told Sarin, Dirge, and Aldrin earlier, the life you guys are used to isn’t normal. Animals, metals, and other valuable materials don’t just pop out of the ground on most other worlds and giant wars don’t happen every weekend. It’s possible that wherever we landed might operate on the same logic that Tannin did, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

His audience reacted as if a giant sapient hemorrhoid had just sprouted from his neck. He supposed from their perspective that his supposition did sound insane.

“For now, just assume that we're in the middle of an especially severe resource drought,” Zhu suggested, trying to articulate his point in terms they would understand. Back when Conquest was just a game, the servers would periodically experience a depleted spawn rate. Each moon had its own cycle, and these famines encouraged players to raid other territories to endure those lean times.

“Until we find out otherwise, our priority is to cut back on costs and find a steady source of energy. Any questions?”

A demonic-looking subjugator standing near the back raised his arm. “What is our recourse, lord Zhulong? If what you say is true, I don’t see how we’ll be able to cut down our expenditures enough to make up for our reduced harvests.”

“The solution is obvious,” a warmonger named Dargoth said. Like Zhu, the synth possessed a draconic appearance, but whereas Zhu’s avatar was primarily based on the lindwyrms of Norse mythology, Dargoth was a wingless and bipedal take on more contemporary renditions of dragons. “We cull the slaves to reduce our upkeep. Killing them would also provide us with more supplies.”

Zhu tsked and wagged his finger at Dargoth.

“What did I say about raising your hands?”

The synth bowed stiffly. “Apologies, count.”

“As for your suggestion, there is no need to resort to genocide. At least, not this quickly,” Zhu japed, though he couldn’t stop his rattle from twitching. “Instead of just trying to find food, we’ll just grow more of it. Good chance the crops we have should grow faster than the plants we’ll find here. Meat and heart stones are going to be trickier, though. Sarin, Aldrin, did you guys finish the inventory check I asked you to do?”

“It will take a few days to determine a precise figure, sire. However, we estimate that at our current consumption rate, we have eight months’ worth of heart stones and biofuel and about five months’ worth of edible plant matter. Our supply of meat is our biggest concern and will only last for two months at best.”

Dargoth raised his hand. “We would need to vastly increase the size of our farms to meet our nutritional needs. Such a significant expansion would compromise our defenses.”

“Did you forget the part where I told you we probably won’t be at war that often anymore? I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, but we live in a snowy wasteland now. Any army dumb enough to try besieging us here will die of frostbite or starvation. If we want to avoid dying in that same way, we gotta become self-sufficient. There’s no point in having the biggest, baddest, military base if there’s no one around to fight.”

Dargoth looked like he wanted to keep arguing his case, but bowed his head.

Sarin clapped, drawing all eyes toward her. “You argue your case well, creator. However, Dargoth raised several valid points. Creating additional farms will present many challenges. The most obvious being the number of climate regulators that would need to be activated to keep our crops alive. If we cannot rely on the local resources to sustain ourselves, as you suggest, we may starve before we can implement a sufficiently robust agricultural system. Culling the slaves would buy us precious time. I would also strongly suggest eradicating the hellvetii. They are duplicitous even under the best of times and will be the first to rebel if any food shortages arise.”

Many murmured their agreements. They were especially fond of her proposal to wipe out the troublesome hellvetii.

“Ah, yeah, those are issues, but let’s try being more efficient before we resort to murdering half the base. We can reduce heart stone and fuel consumption by turning off the regulators that won’t be used for farming, and keep ourselves warm the old-fashioned way. You know, like fires, blankets, thick clothes, that sort of thing.”

“What about the coldbloods?” an ophidian channeler asked nervously.

”Hmm. Yeah, blankets and clothes would be pretty useless for you guys,” Zhu admitted. Unlike endothermic animals such as mammals, ectothermic creatures could not generate their own body heat, and did not benefit from wearing insulating materials. This was often an advantage during a battle, as it enabled them to wear incredibly thick armor without fear of overheating, but that benefit was of no consolation now. “We can have the coldbloods hang out in the farming zones and a few other hot spots.”

“About half of our forces are ectotherms, count Zhulong,” Sarin pointed out. “They will have to cluster in a handful of areas.”

“Well, they’ll just have to suck it up. If there isn’t enough space, we’ll just have them cuddle up with a warm-blood or something. You know what, that’s actually a great idea. From now on, every coldblood will have an official cuddle buddy!” Zhu tried not to laugh when an image of a menacing ophidian hugging a penguin to its chest popped into his head.

“And if there aren’t enough fuzzy things to pass around, we’ll just build some old-fashioned forges. There may not be a lot of veggies out there, but there seems to be a decent amount of trees and if we run low on of wood, we can use tento pies.” Zhu tapped his skull. “See. That’s another reason we gotta keep the workforce around. The mercenaries sure as hell aren’t going to be willing to sculpt fuel out of dinosaur crap. Aldrin, I want you and the others to build some primitive forges or hearths ASAP. Figure out sensible places to put them. Building is your thing, not min—hey! Where are you heading off to?” That last shout was directed at a four-armed cyclopean abomination that had been heading for the door.

“But lord, you just said that we should start bui—”

Zhu pitched the bridge of his snout. “I didn’t literally mean right this fucking second. Get your dumbass back here. I am not done talking.”

“Sorry, lord!”

Zhu shook his head in exasperation.

“And here I thought I would be leading a crew of badasses,” he murmured to himself. “Crap. I lost my train of thought. Where was I?”

Goruza, always eager to assist, whispered, “You were talking about forges.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember that part. There was something else on my mind.”

“Uh, perhaps you were thinking about the coldbloods, lord? That’s why you brought up the forges in the first place.”

“Right, right,” Zhu nodded. “I changed my mind about turning off most of the regulators. A few weeks from now, I only want the farm’s regulators to be operating at the highest setting. The living areas will be set at fifty or sixty degrees. A bit uncomfortable, but the warmbloods and mesotherms will do just fine. The coldbloods will just have to stick near fires or huddle around the sailbacks. Any issues with that plan?”

The assembly shook their heads.

“What of the carnivores, sire?” Aldrin inquired. “We may have occasionally dabbled with agriculture during sieges, but we’ve never bred animals for the sole purpose of food.”

“Yeah, raising animals for food is a lot harder than growing plants. Think it takes like seven thousand pounds of animal feed to harvest a thousand-pound cow or something ridiculous like that. To be honest, I am not sure we can produce enough food for the meat eaters.”

Zhu snickered when many of the channelers exchanged frightened looks.

“At least, that’s what I would say if we didn’t have these guys!” Zhu plucked a thumb-sized cockroach and a pale shrimp from a bag hanging from his neck. “You guys might not be used to eating this kind of stuff, but that changes now. These crawlies are an efficient source of protein. They lay hundreds of eggs at a time, they’re adaptable, they don’t need much food or water, and best of all, they can live off of literal garbage. If we dig up a few more pits and ponds, we’ll be able to feed the carnivores.”

The assembly remained dutifully silent, but Zhu could tell that they were not thrilled by the prospect of eating such fare. “Hey, I am not a total monster. We’ll make sure the feeder roaches and shrimp are given a much less icky diet than the ones used to clean up sewage. Ninety percent sure the carnivores should be okay with a mostly insect-based diet, but just in case there are any malnutrition issues, we should also start building some traditional meat farms. We want to be breeding decently big herbivores that breed fast and don’t need to eat too much. Something like a tento. I’ll give a prize to anyone that figures out the most efficient answer. Right, that’s all I have to say about food for now. We also need to get familiar with our new surroundings. Has anyone given this area a quick look around?”

“I assigned Strychnine to lead a scouting mission several hours ago. They should return soon, creator.”

“Good, good. I want this whole area mapped up in the coming few weeks. We’ll see if this place has any worthwhile resources. If not, we’ll have to make a new base someplace else.” Zhu’s casual statement sparked an uproar.

“Lord Zhulong, we cannot make such a drastic decision without the approval of king Sovereign or the other monarchs!” Dargoth shouted. To Zhu’s moderate surprise, most of the synths agreed with the warmonger.

“If you haven’t noticed, Sovereign and the other leaders aren’t around.”

“And where are they, count Zhulong?” Dargoth demanded.

“No idea.”

“Do you suspect that they are dead, sire?” Aldrin inquired.

“No. They’re still alive. Probably. Maybe. I actually don’t have the slightest clue.”

“What happened, lord? What caused the other lords to disappear? Why are we here?” a warmonger named Zargon asked.

“It’s a complicated story,” Zhu said with a shrug. “To make things short, I got out by the skin of my teeth. The others that were with me didn’t make it. I don’t know exactly what happened to them, but I doubt we’ll ever see them again.”

“What about the other divisions?”

“Again, don’t know. I think the others succeeded, or else I wouldn’t be here, but I have no idea how many are left from each group. It could be one, it could be ten. Don’t expect there to be more than a handful of us left.”

“Reuniting with the others must be our immediate priority!” Dargoth declared. Half of the synths and zealots shouted their support for this idea; the rest berated him for speaking out of turn.

“We don’t have any clues where they are. The first thing we have to do is get settled. Then we can search for them,” Zhu responded.

“If we muster the wyverns, we should find them in a few days at most,” Dargoth shot back.

“Sure, if we were on Tannin, we could quickly find them, but we aren’t. We don’t know where we are. We don’t even know what we are on. Maybe we’re sitting on another island-sized moon or we might be on a planet tens of thousands of miles across. For all we know, they could have been transported somewhere on the other side of the universe. Finding them might be impossible, so we will not invest any manpower or time trying to locate them until we’re safe and secure.”

The previous arguments had been a peaceful affair compared to the pandemonium that Zhu’s latest declaration unleashed.

“Quiet!” Zhu roared, somehow making himself heard over the deafening din. “Whining doesn’t solve anything, so cut it out.” His voice returned to its usual volume once calm had been restored. “Yo, Dargoth.”

“Yes, count?”

“You got problems with me being in charge? Think you can do a better job than me?”

Dargoth avoided meeting Zhu’s gaze. “No, count.”

“Then it might be a good idea to stop howling out orders,” Zhu suggested in a pleasant tone. “Do it again and I might suspect that you're looking for a regime change.” He flashed the smaller pseudo dragon a predatory grin filled with serrated teeth and jagged tusks.

Dargoth went down on one knee. “I am your loyal servant, great count. Forgive my indiscretion.”

Zhu accepted the synth apology with a careless wave of his hand. “Well, that pretty much covers up our current agenda. Let’s reduce, reuse, and recycle our way out of this mess. Transmuters work on those forges I mentioned before. Don’t eat any heart stones. Limit yourselves to regular food if you need an energy boost, preferably bread or vegetables. Make stuff the old-fashioned way if you have to. Unless there is an emergency, the stones are off-limits. The rest of you, find something productive to do.”

Just as he was about to leave, Sarin raised her hand and said, “Count Zhulong, I’d like to forward a suggestion before you dismiss everyone.”

Zhu wasn’t enamored at the prospect of prolonging this meeting any longer, but nodded after a moment of deliberation.

“During these puzzling and trying times, we will require a clear chain of command. As you are the only lord that currently remains with us, I propose we coronate Zhulong.”

Goruza clapped his hands. He was one of the few to do so. The rest either looked unsure or were outright offended by the idea.

Zhulong laughed, easing some of the tension in the room. “Looks like your idea isn’t too hot, Sarin.”

“Count Zhulong, you are one of the founding members of the coalition and one of its most vital. I believe it is only just that you receive a rank worthy of your contributions.”

“Obviously the others don’t see it that way,” he said, glancing in Dargoth’s direction. The BLACK coalition never had any issues with renegade synths, but Dargoth was one of Garm’s and Zhu suspected he harbored some of his master’s dislike for him. “I am sure you’ve got something on your mind. Speak your piece.”

“Count Zhulong, with all due respect, the promotion of a devourer is a duty reserved for the kings and dukes, not us humble servants. We do not have the authority to coronate you.”

“And what if the kings and the dukes never show? Hell, what if I am the only one left? What am I supposed to do if I need to enact a plan or policy that normally requires royal approval, stick a thumb in my ass, and wait until we’ve all died of old age?”

“Until a devourer of a higher rank appears, we will defer to you as the highest authority, lord.”

“You’re dodging the question. If, hypothetically speaking, we find out all the others are gone, would you be willing to put a crown on my head, or would I still be stuck as a count till the end of time?”

Dargoth bit his lips as he desperately tried to formulate a respectful response.

“If we confirm that reuniting with the other lords is impossible, I would not object to making you king, count,” he eventually grounded.

“So, for you to accept me as a king, everyone else has to be out of the picture, eh? Does the idea of me being top dog really bother you that much?”

Dargoth shook his head. “No count. I am simply concerned that such a significant change may spark a conflict when we reunite with the others.”

“Afraid the power will go to my head? I doubt Sovereign and Sion would have any problems if I declared myself a temporary king. Not so sure about the other two, but we’d probably be able to hash it out peacefully. But whatever, you made your point,” Zhulong looked at Sarin. “Nice try, but it looks like I ain’t becoming king anytime soon.”

Zhu chuckled at his creations’ disappointed reactions. “Don’t look so glum chums, never really wanted to be a king anyway.” Those that were opposed to Sarin's objection breathed a sigh of relief.

The tension in the room immediately returned when Zhu said, “Still, it is somewhat depressing to see how many of you were against the idea. It also seems a tad unfair to have more duties piled on my shoulders without getting a promotion that usually comes with it. They say compromise is key in any fair negotiations. Instead of making me king, how about we just bump me up to a duke?” Zhu rubbed his hands and flicked his tongue rapidly. “No. Not just a duke. I deserve to be the dookiest of dukes. An archduke!”

“A sensible and reasonable suggestion, sire!” Aldrin shouted. “Seeing as Khiva and Caustic are no longer present, we will require someone to take their place. I am sure Sovereign and the other kings would not begrudge us for promoting you, given these extenuating circumstances.”

“Whaddya say Dargoth, does that sound fair to you?”

Dargoth looked as if Zhu just popped a rancid lemon in his mouth. “I-I do not have any objections, lord.”

“Hmm. What about the rest of you? Any complaints?” he swept his gaze across the room and was met with a unanimous shake of heads.

“Good. Then, from now on I am archduke Zhulong. Yay.”

Someone began clapping, but Zhu put a swift end to that. “Cut that out. I just gave you a lecture about the importance of limiting waste. Well, time is a resource and an important one at that, so unless anybody has anything to add or needs some further clarification, I’mma need you guys to skedaddle,”

When Zhu rose from his seat, a look of trepidation crossed his face. He called out to the others before they left, “Actually, wait. There is one last thing I want to address.” He took a breath. He then pinched his wrist to punish himself for forgetting that he no longer required oxygen. “So you know how we have a, uh, habit of carving people’s chests open while they are still alive?”

Zhu awkwardly tugged on his barbels when his audience blankly stared at him. “Well, hear me out, I think maybe we should consider….not doing that anymore. I think from now on we should wait until they are dead before we take out the stones.”

He tucked the tip of his tail beneath the rest of his lower body to keep it from rattling when the stares intensified.

“Or at least consider keeping that to a, uhhh, an appropriate minimum? Maybe?”

“Why would we do that, archduke?” Dagorth asked, acting as if Zhu had just asked him to slice off their own noses. Of course, Zhu realized that in a sense, he was essentially asking them to do just that. Heart stones always lost a great deal of value and energy if they were harvested from a dead body. When it was all just a game, he found Conquest’s over the top Aztec-style sacrifice mechanic to be somewhat amusing. Now, not so much.

Dargoth, sensing Zhu’s unease, pressed him further, “With all due respect, that idea goes against everything we just discussed. Would you care to explain your thought process to us?”

“Cause it’s a bit….unhygienic? Yeah. That’s why it’s a problem. Because of germs….And we might get sick.”

There was an awkward silence. Zhu clapped his hands to dispel it.

“Okay. I see your point. Well, then there’s no harm in thinking it over. I get it. You guys are taking a lot of things in right now. The Geneva convention wasn’t drafted in a single day. We might have to baby step our way to the finish line I envision, but that’s okay. You guys are all doing a great job. That includes you.” Zhu directed that last comment to the transmuter he had insulted earlier on. “Sorry for calling you a dumbass. Nerves and all that.”

He forced a grin when the cyclops happily accepted his apology.

“Okie dokie, time to get to work. This meeting is adjourned. Goodbye everyone!” Zhu blurted out at a rapid-fire pace.

The transmuters, practically oozing with purpose, were the first to leave. Many of them were already exchanging design plans with one another. Everyone else shuffled out of the room, uncertainty dogging their steps.

Sarin slithered beside Zhu when all the others left.

“If you don’t mind me asking, could we discuss your last proposal in greater detail?”

“I am pretty sure I told everyone to scram. Just because you’re one of my favorites doesn’t mean you get special treatment.”

Sarin graciously accepted this chastisement, but for some reason, Zhu felt compelled to retract it. “Well, no, that’s not true. I am sure there are plenty of times you will, just not right now.”

He grew flustered when there was no change to Sarin’s pleasant and professional demeanor.

“...What am I even rambling on about now? Just do me a favor and give me some space for a while.”

“Of course,” she said, her melodious voice the epitome of patient understanding. “If you require any assistance or simply desire to share your thoughts, please call upon me.”

Zhu let out a self-deprecating chuckle once Sarin had left. “Very dignified Zhu. Very dignified.” His annoyance grew when he noticed that Goruza and Kodos were still chaperoning him. “We're heading back to the ramparts. Keep the chatter to a minimum. I need to do some thinking.”

******

Zhu rested his head on a merlon and let out a sigh. He was in over his head. Of course, even in his enraged state, he had realized that accepting The Watcher’s proposal was a stupid, impulsive idea, but he never suspected that all of Parabellum would accompany him. Zhu realized the wilderness would have had its way with his soft doughy keister if he had arrived on his own, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about an army of hardened killers becoming privy to his true nature. He squeezed his rattle to keep it from shaking. The looks Dargoth had shot him near the end of the meeting chilled him.

If asking them to stop torturing people provoked such doubt, who knew how his minions would react if they found out their supposedly terrifying archduke was just a spoiled human?

He wondered if some NPCs were already in on that secret. The language barrier between players and NPCs had always been on the former’s end. For years, he had been awed by how well his digital minions understood his commands. How ironic that one of his favorite features had turned into his worst nightmare. He gulped when he recalled all the revealing banter he exchanged with other players while they were within Sarin’s presence.

His panicking mind latched onto one faint hope. Given the temporal distortion and various other discrepancies between Conquest and the real world, whatever recollections the NPC’s carried must have been radically different than his own experience. The question was exactly how significant those distortions were.

“Goruza, tell me if you’ve heard any of these words before, Americans, Asia, Chinese, Chinks, Russians, Ashers, Germans, Nazis, Australians?” Zhu asked Goruza.

“No, I am afraid I haven’t, lord.”

Zhu suppressed a sigh of relief. Conquest’s player base had been full of rabid nationalists and a minute didn’t go by without somebody referencing or disparaging another player’s nationality. Digital Goruza would have been constantly exposed to that language. His complete ignorance of those terms suggested that any conversation that would have exposed Zhu as a former had not been retained.

Or it might have just meant that Goruza had a shit memory.

“Hey, did you ever hear what I did to that traitor potator Bjorn?”

Goruza paled and nodded feebly.

“Remind me what I did to him.”

He did his best to stifle his laughter when Goruza launched into a stomach-churning tale of how Zhu inflicted unspeakable agonies on the treacherous Valhallan for weeks on end before devouring him whole. While it was true that he and Violator were tasked with brutalizing rebellious NPCs, those methods weren’t effective against players for obvious reasons.

No, if one wanted to demoralize another gamer, they had to get creative. Besides outright character deletion, the most effective way of keeping a player out of the fight was to cage them. Playing gaoler, however, was a challenging task. There were few ways of preventing a prisoner from repeatedly biting their tongues off. This forced guards to constantly force food into their captive’s stomachs to keep their character’s alive. Worse, the inability to mute the game made it easy for captives to goad their jailers into killing them.

Some players enjoyed the novelty of playing prison warden, but Zhu was among the few willing to make a career out of it. His thick skin rendered him impervious to verbal abuse, and his colorful imagination enabled him to draw an endless stream of entertainment from his captive’s suffering.

When they first captured Bjorn, he had been full of piss and vinegar. Zhu smiled when he recalled how quickly the defector’s defiance morphed into horrified revulsion when Zhu cracked open a novella and read their odious contents aloud. No matter how many times Bjorn logged back in, Zhu was always there, ready to continue narrating the tale detailing the forbidden love between a geriatric man and an alien abomination that reeked of marmalade.

It wasn’t until Zhu had eaten Bjorn that he learned players could permanently delete each other by consuming their internal parasites. Although that knowledge could have saved him many hours, he did not regret committing all that time. Bjorn’s disgusted rage had been priceless.

That memory was less amusing now that he realized his minions probably expected him to commit actual torture.

“Is there something troubling you, lord?” Goruza asked when a lapse of silence passed.

“Uh, yeah. You were at the meeting. Do you want me to relist all the problems we’ve got on our plate?”

Goruza's tail swished in embarrassment. “Is there anything I can do to help, lord?”

Zhu was about to inquire whether the garja could pull a year’s worth of rations out of his ass, but thought better of it.

“Well, what are you willing to do?” he asked after a beat.

“Anything, lord!”

“What about you Kodos? You as dedicated as he is?”

The ammut nodded. “I would give my life for you, lord.”

“Hmph. So you say but talk is cheap. Roll over!” Zhu suddenly shouted. He grinned when both of his guards immediately did as they were told.

“Spin in a circle.” They did so without comment.

“Hop on one foot.” Goruza did as he was bid. Kodos made a valiant attempt, but his quadrupedal body plan was unsuited for this task.

“Alright, enough of that. Let’s get to the real test. Goruza, punch Kodos in the face.”

Zhu snorted when Goruza slugged the other guard. When Zhu scanned the ammut’s face, he didn’t detect the slightest trace of resentment.

“Your turn.”

Kodos delivered a solid headbutt to Goruza’s gut. He also took the blow in stride.

“Both of you say that you have a tiny penis.”

“I have a tiny penis,” Kodos repeated obediently.

“My malehood is shorter than a polecat’s foreskin!” Goruza blurted loudly and proudly declared.

Zhu clutched his stomach, nearly helpless with laughter.

“Holy crap! You two knuckleheads would probably jump off a cliff I told you to!”

“Would you like us to do so?” Goruza asked.

“Do it! You wouldn’t have the bal—”

Zhu lunged forward when Goruza threw himself off the wall. He narrowly caught the garja by the base of his tail.

“Holy crap! You actually did it!”

Goruza blinked, obviously confused. “You told me to, lord.” Zhu waited to see if the garja’s nonchalant attitude would dissipate. When it didn’t, he hauled Goruza back up.

“It’s called a joke, you brown-nosing stooge.”

“Oh.” Goruza proceeded to let out a hysterical laugh.

Zhu flicked his forehead.

“What did I just say about the brown-nosing? Don’t force yourself to laugh whenever you think I am making a joke! Have some god damn self-respect. Geez, is that why your mouth is so damn big? Did it stretch out after years of fellating cocks?”

Goruza laughed again.

“Grow a fucking spine!” Zhu growled, slapping the garja after every syllable.

“But lord, I actually thought that one was funny!”

“Fine. My bad.” Zhu turned towards Kodos. “Are all you zealots as daffy as he is?”

“No, I don’t believe so, lord.”

“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t jump.”

“I assumed you were jesting, lord. If you genuinely want me to though, I shall.”

“Nah, that’s okay. I’m an asshole, not a supervillain.”

With a shake of his head, Zhu leaned against the ramparts and cradled his snout. Creaky laughter seeped between his fingers. Creepy as Goruza’s devotion was, it took a weight off his shoulder. If the other zealots and synths were half as loyal as he was perhaps Zhu would live to see another year.