The Spider Queen

(Alpha Star System- Planet Cthelen)

(Hive City- Subsection Kappa Quadrant)

The Kappa Quadrant was known as the industrial heart of the Hive City with multiple factories, chemical plants, and other manufacturing buildings.

The air in the lower levels of the city was already quite dangerous but in the Kappa Quadrant it was far beyond what a normal human could endure.

Masks were mandatory when visiting this region of the city because the entire area was covered in a heavy fog of pollutants and toxic chemicals.

The genetically modified humans who worked in this section had been programmed with adaptions to handle spending prolonged periods of time in this toxic environment.

Still, one could see obvious traces of damage on their bodies.

Wounds, rashes, and chemical burns covered their skin and even the masks on their faces did little to stop the slow accumulation of micropollutants in their lungs.

The most common sounds other than the noises coming from the machinery were coughs, violent heaving, and vomiting.

The average life expectancy of the individuals living in this zone was around twenty-two years.

Due to the high mortality rate a birthing factory had been built along the edge of the district to ensure that there was a constant supply of fresh bodies.

Needless cruelty.

This would be a perfect environment for robotic androids, beings without organic matter that would not be affected by the toxic air and dangerous substances.

But the Imperial Family continued to employ these human workers … well 'employ' was a bit of a stretch considering that they were bred for servitude.

Inside one of these factories, a group of humanoid figures dressed in hazmat suits and protective clothing stood motionless on a balcony observing the scenery below.

They could see the genetically modified human performing simple packaging tasks with synchronised movements and a high efficiency.

"Are the preparations complete?" one of the figures quietly spoke. Their voice was clear with a hint of a sing-song accent.

"Of course… the succession ceremony is being handled by Thynn Forrows and a handpicked team of organisers," the man in the centre of the group replied slowly.

"I have not gotten a chance to see the full list, but I know that the organisers were carefully picked from a list of powerful noblemen, rich merchants and trained Imperial servants."

"And they are all being supervised by… him…"

The figure's voice trailed off and a tense moment of silence soon followed his words. Every single person in the group knew who he was referring to.

The Guardian of the Imperial Family.

The one with the power of a living God with a cultivation level so high that it would take the empire's full effort to destroy him.

That was the might of an Ascension Stage cultivator.

"I don't suppose we can grab a couple of these servants for ourselves," a lighthearted voice broke the tense atmosphere.

A figure at the back of the group with a significantly shorter stature than the rest attempted to make a joke.

"Unfortunately, Charles… only the Imperial Family is allowed to genetically program obedience into humans. Something about undermining their authority…" someone replied seriously.

"Yeah… I know… I was just… never mind…" Charles' voice got smaller as he took a few steps back and turned away from the group.

He looked over the railing of the balcony and saw two workers carrying a dead body across the factory floor.

The corpse belonged to a young woman no older than twenty and the sight of her made Charles sick to his stomach.

The entire left side of her face had been melted away until one could see bones, sinewy tissue, and veins.

Her remaining eye stared blankly upwards, and the rest of her body was covered in burn marks and heavy scars.

The two workers carrying her marched emotionlessly as if holding the corpse of their colleague was no more than a distraction until they returned to their scheduled work.

They carried her to the corner of the factory where a giant machine awaited with a maw that was opened wide.

The workers flung the corpse into the machine which then proceeded to grind up the body and mix in soil, nutrients, and other substances to turn it into fertiliser for the agricultural sector.

"Waste not… want not," one of the figures remarked as she walked up to Charles and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Imogen… don't you think this…this… is cruel," Charles stuttered slightly as he held his stomach and tried his best to hold down his vomit.

"I do… but it is not up to us to decide the fate of these… 'people'… you must keep in mind that they were bred to have no free will," Imogen tried to give the young boy some comfort.

"You can consider them as puppets or tools. They may look like us but at the end of the day they are nothing more than dolls."

"They don't feel emotions like you or me. All they have is a purpose… in a way they are truly blessed."

Charles looked at his companion in disbelief. Blessed? He would hardly call what was done to these people as a blessing.

"If you can't handle being inside here then you are free to go outside and wait until we have finished the inspection," a hoarse gravely voice came from the side.

Charles looked in the direction of the sound and saw Inspector Graner looking at him with an expression of disappointment behind the filtration helmet that covered his face.

He did not need to be told twice.

Charles quickly walked towards the back of the balcony towards the stairs that led to the street outside the factory.

"That boy is too soft-hearted," Inspector Graner shook his head as he spoke. He held out his arm and Imogen slowly interlaced her arm with his.

The pair walked away from the rest of the group and towards the ground floor of the factory. Inspector Garner's eyes narrowed as he saw one worker moving slower than the rest.

A fifteen-year-old boy with a body that was still in the process of growing. He repeated the same motions as the rest but there was a small spark in his eyes.

If the other children around his age lifted up twenty kilograms, then he would intentionally lift up half that amount.

"Looks like a defect," Inspector Graner softly whispered as he pointed a pen-shaped object at the boy and pressed the red button along its side.

A tracking dart no bigger than the tip of a needle shot out from an opening on the device and entered the boy's skin without him being any wiser.

"I haven't seen one of those in a long time," Imogen remarked casually as she glanced at the young teenager with an expression of interest on her face.

Inspector Graner let out a sigh as he walked away from the section.

It was very rare but occasionally you would find cases where the genetic programming was only partially effective.

These defective humans rarely possessed a level of self-determination necessary to actually rebel or attempt to escape, and most would simply perform their tasks with reduced effectiveness.

Because of these issues, inspectors were regularly dispatched to the various regions of the planet with the simple mission of tracking down any faulty workers and tagging them.

As for what happened to the tagged workers… well…

They would be scheduled for termination.