This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.
The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/OGGruntComm on 2025-11-04 16:15:38+00:00.
Young eyes opened to a fresh blue sky. The warmth of the orange sun cascaded across the trees, reaching as far as the child could see. A small, careless smile crept over the edges of her mouth. Her small hand slowly rose in a vain attempt to touch the soft, bulbous clouds above before being suddenly taken by a scaly, inhuman grip.
“Unit 05-01-0001. Stand by for med-check for special-order release,” a gruff voice said over a mechanical speaker.
The smile quickly faded to a neutral expression. Her eyes broke away from Earth’s beautiful features and back to the rear, open hangar bay of the Thraxi slaver ship.
She lifted her arms and spread her legs as a small device, held by one of the Thraxian soldiers, slowly scanned the outline of her body.
“Chastity?” the Thraxian asked while scanning.
“Intact,” she said coldly.
“Last neural inspection?” The scanner beeped.
“Yesterday,” she responded, a small tear forming at the corner of her right eye.
“I don’t detect any current or previous injuries. She is in prime health. Special-order request approved. Cleared for release.” The Thraxian pulled the scanner away from her body. A separate Thraxian soldier walked up and pushed her back toward the hangar.
The young girl turned to face a massive crowd of silent humans. Her eyes darted through the crowd before settling on a teary-eyed woman, a man holding her tight against his chest, and a uniformed man, stoically looking back at her.
The child’s mouth started to open but stopped when she noticed the uniformed man lightly shake his head. She closed her mouth, and with a simple nod from the man, she looked forward toward her new life.
—30 Years Later—
“T’rish, report to the Royal Operations Room immediately,” a tired voice said over the intercom system.
A woman quickly looked up and down the halls, then glanced back down to a young boy sitting propped against a gold-plated wall. His left eye had been injured, and she had just placed a warm, moist cloth on it.
“Just hold it there. Fifteen-Fifty-One will be here shortly. Don’t let the guards see you sitting, okay? Up, up…” T’rish gently slid her arms under the boy’s armpits and lifted him to his feet.
“Just one time, T’rish. I won’t hurt him too much. I just wan—” The boy’s pleading stopped abruptly.
“T’RISH!” a separate, more boisterous voice yelled from the speakers this time.
T’rish padded away. She saw a young woman turn the corner and make her way to T’rish and the boy. With a nod, she started down the hallways toward the source of the voice.
The woman walked down the large, empty hallways of a majestic palace, its walls lined with gold and other exotic metals found across the vast Thraxian Empire. Doors opened to large rooms with differing uses—kitchens, dining rooms, projection rooms, 3D rooms, rooms for the Emperor’s coats, rooms for the Emperor’s pets, etc.
It was a vast and mind-boggling maze of excess wealth, but over the 30 years, it might as well have been a 5-by-5-foot cell.
T’rish finally approached a set of blast doors with the seal of the Royal Family embedded at the center. Rows of Thraxian Royal Guardsmen reached from one end of the hall all the way to the door.
“T’rish, you’re late. Sometimes I feel you forget your place here,” one of the honor guards said while pressing a few keys into a nearby datapad.
“Korth was being used for sparring practice by your instructor again, L’ulish,” T’rish said in a frustrated tone.
“I had to clean up the mess.” T’rish began fixing her hair and prepping herself for the Emperor’s presence.
“Excuses… Maybe I’ll also pay him a visit. You know… for taking up so much of your time,” the honor guard said coldly. He punched in the last segment; the doors whistled as the pressure within its many sections equalized the two rooms. Several clunks were heard as metal met heavy metal before the seal of the Royal Family split open to reveal another vast and beautiful room.
T’rish looked over at the tall honor guard. His thick, overly eccentric armor was more useful in a trophy case than for any practical use.
“I feel I should inform you that damaging Thraxi Special-Order Property is akin to striking the Royal Seal,” T’rish said, then quickly walked through the doors to settle herself.
The honor guard tensed his scaled fingers around the plasma pistol’s grip and huffed before the doors closed behind her.
She entered a large, dark room. The walls were littered with screens, text, and visual data as several royal staff walked around a central platform that held two figures. Ahead of them, two holograms of Thraxians in uniform flickered.
As she approached, she recognized two from Thraxi High Command—one the Home Fleet Admiral and one a Subjugation Fleet Vice Admiral.
“To confirm your orders, Emperor, you are requesting that we leave without being relieved by the 9th Subjugation Fleet? This would violate the procedure established by the late Emperor.”
One of the figures stepped up to speak. It was one of the Thraxi Empire’s closest advisors—Royal Advisor Alexander Martin.
“The Emperor believes it to be a redundant procedure. The Subjugation Fleets are better suited to assist with the conflict against the Solarians. You will only be gone for several cycles during refit. The stations can maintain peak operational efficiency for far longer than that.”
“We want to hear it from the Emperor, not from his pet monkey,” the Subjugation Vice Admiral said.
“This ‘pet monkey’ advised both me and my predecessor for nearly sixty cycles. Any more disrespect to him will be treated as such to myself, Vice Admiral,” said the center figure.
The center figure was the figurehead of the Thraxi Empire itself—the young Emperor. He had held the throne for nearly ten years. In Thraxian years, he was about forty-five. In human years, he would be around twenty-five. His skin was much different from the rest of the Thraxians. His scales were smoother and tighter to his skin than usual. His face was rounder and set farther back than the Thraxian snout. His fingers were softer along the edges and thinner. Without proper inspection, some could mistake him for a malnourished female.
“I apologize to the Emperor,” the Vice Admiral said.
“The order is final. The 9th Subjugation Fleet will hold its post. The Home Fleet will continue its refit operations,” the Emperor said. The two holograms shimmered out together with a single button press.
“Thank you, Emperor. With the additional funds and saved resources, I believe we will be able to break the Solarians’ spirit in about five cycles,” the advisor said, before turning his attention to T’rish.
“She is here, Emperor,” the advisor said with a subtle nod to T’rish.
The young Emperor turned around, a smile forming on his face the moment he recognized her.
“T’Rish! Come, come!” The Emperor gestured to himself and toward a larger screen.
T’Rish slowly approached the Emperor, her eyes wandering toward the screen as an excuse not to look directly at him. “What can I do for you?” she asked.
“Oh, just watch…” the Emperor said, swiping up on a small datapad. A live video suddenly appeared on the screen. The scene was of a towering pole with an X on top. Around it was flat ground that stretched about fifty yards in every direction. An audience of what looked to be thousands of the galaxy’s wealthiest sat several meters above the ground floor.
It was an arena.
“What is t—” T’Rish suddenly noticed the man upon the X. He had been crucified there, and by the state he was in, it must have been for a very long time.
“His blood has almost reached the ground. I thought you would want to see the main event! I know how much humans love conflict. I read it during the many studies you put me through!” the Emperor said emphatically.
“Why is he there?” she asked, her eyes locked on the man placed on the X.
“Believe it or not, the humans sent him. They said it was an offering of a dissenting Old-Era veteran. They wanted me to publicly show his execution. They believed it would send a proper message to the ‘right person,’” the Emperor said. He slouched a bit into his chair while closely watching a distinct red line slowly descend from the man’s bloodied feet down the pole.
“Yes…the right person. In case that person ever felt they needed a reminder of what their purpose is,” the advisor said. His left hand rested on her right shoulder.
“The purpose is to serve us,” the Emperor hammered in.
“Right…” A tear broke from her right eye, the speed at which it dragged across her sunken face matching the pace of the red outline.
Her mind was dragged back to a moment when she was much, much younger. The man on the X stood in front of her. His arms were behind his back. The same stoic look was on his face.
“You have been given a difficult mission, Laura. What your people are asking from you requires a terrible price, and you weren’t even given a choice. My job is to make sure you are prepared—that you are ready for when the time comes. Whenever the time comes,” the stoic man said, before an old Terran soldier walked out from behind him.
“Ready?” he asked.
The young T’rish—Laura—slowly lifted herself from the floor, spitting blood from her mouth. Her forehead was slashed, while the skin on her arms and chest was purple from intense bruising.
A soldier similar to the one who had revealed himself lay unconscious beside her.
“I’m… ready,” she responded, raisi…
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