Origin Chapter Two: Bloodshed, Purification, and the Youth

Night descended as expected. The Imperial Guards had just fully withdrawn from the square, leaving the scene as silent as the depths of space, with not a sound to be heard...

No, there was sound—the rush and gurgle of blood from tens of thousands flowing into the sewers. Many of the drains were clogged with the mangled remains of the dead, blocking the grates. Blood unable to flow away pooled into dammed-up crimson puddles. Amid the chaos earlier, many streetlights had been destroyed or damaged and now flickered unsteadily, casting wavering shadows across the blood pools, creating a scene of unspeakable horror.

Suddenly, an urgent security alarm blared. A large contingent of personnel in protective and sanitation suits arrived, escorted by armored vehicles manned by heavily armed military police. The military police immediately sealed off every street leading to the square, and technicians set up high-powered jamming devices, blocking all signals—no reconnaissance device, no matter how powerful, could capture any image or sound from afar.

The roar of engines soon followed as hundreds of large-scale antimatter sanitation trucks entered the square, trailed by an equal number of fire engines. The sanitation trucks dispersed, sucking up the victims’ flesh and blood into their waste bins, where everything was incinerated in antimatter furnaces, leaving not even a trace to taint the air. The fire engines then washed the streets at maximum pressure. The sewer grates, now unblocked, could accept the runoff; the water tanks had been filled with gene-breaking and decomposing chemicals, so the residual blood and flesh dissolved rapidly into a cloudy, viscous liquid, like fresh pus, splashing into the drains. The small creatures and fish feasting within the sewers convulsed and screamed after their gluttonous feeding, collapsing or floating dead, their bodies quickly melting into the same pus-like fluid, flowing into the deeper, darker purification plants beneath the city…

The ground-level cleanup was brutally efficient; soon, scarcely a trace of blood or flesh remained. Next came the detail teams, each equipped with a portable incinerator—the handheld unit a suction head that sprayed a higher concentration of decomposition solution wherever it swept. Thousands of cleaners fanned out from the center of the square in four directions, each direction arranged in four lines. At the command, they advanced in a meticulous grid, ensuring every sign of death was erased…

Meanwhile, engineering corps robots were already repairing damaged structures, including nearby buildings and shell craters. Thanks to the planet’s unique metallic building materials, all exteriors could be quickly restored: the robots simply referenced the architectural blueprints, scanned the damage, and used lasers to patch everything at speed. The restoration proceeded smoothly under the machines’ relentless work.

Time slipped by. Gradually, the square returned to its original state. The final task was to replace every trash can and certain statues…

Near the Imperial Memorial, a trash can suddenly shook, then crashed to the ground, rolling in place. The noise startled nearby cleaners and military police, who rushed over and surrounded it. An officer stepped forward and kicked off the lid. As it clattered aside, a boy of about eighteen or nineteen crawled out, soaked in blood, his face frozen in terror as he glanced wildly around. Fear and cold made him tremble uncontrollably; his lips were blue and shaking. Everything he’d seen since yesterday had left him utterly petrified—he was completely at a loss.

The cleaners, too, were stunned by the sight, paralyzed where they stood.

The officer who’d kicked the lid off picked up his communicator, reported to his superiors, and requested instructions. Moments later, following orders, he had an older policeman cuff the boy. As they prepared to leave, the officer leaned in to the old policeman’s ear and whispered, then waved them on briskly.

The old policeman paused in disbelief and fear at what he’d just heard, but knew the matter was irreversible. Refusing orders would doom not just himself, but his family too. He almost shook his head in despair, but instantly caught himself—he could not afford to show pity or sympathy toward these dissenters now. The consequences would be even graver than disobeying orders.

The boy, terrified, was pushed along by the old policeman. Perhaps he already guessed his fate, which only intensified his fear. His gait grew more and more unnatural, but the old policeman paid no mind as they moved away from the group.

When they were some distance off, the old policeman couldn’t help but stop and asked, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you walking like that?”

The boy turned, trembling, tears streaming down his face. He sobbed, “Uncle, please let me go. I won’t do it again. My mom and dad are waiting for me to come home. I still have to go back to school. I… I… I soiled myself… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die…”

With a thud, he fell to his knees, his forehead banging against the ground, each sound sharp and clear as he pleaded, “Uncle, I was wrong, I was wrong! I swear I’ll change, I’ll never oppose the government again. I’ll be loyal to the Emperor all my life, I’m scared, I want my mom… Mom… Mom…”

The boy’s grief and terror grew, death looming in his mind. In the past hours, he’d witnessed nearly two hundred thousand people slaughtered. Though hiding in the trash can had saved him from the Guards’ fire, a night of cleanup operations had shattered him; terror, hunger, and exhaustion finally overcame him, and he’d fainted in the can, only to be discovered now.

The old policeman watched, tears streaking down his own face. He’d always admired the General; by chance he’d never been assigned to the General’s direct command, but during the wars against the Visai invaders, he’d served under him as an auxiliary—a period of his life he remembered as his proudest.

Recalling all this, the old policeman shut his eyes in pain. When he opened them again, they shone with a strange clarity; in that instant, it was clear he’d made a crucial decision.

He helped the boy to his feet, wiped away his tears, and unlocked his cuffs. The boy, surprised by the sudden change, stopped crying. Once the boy had steadied, the old policeman spoke slowly: “Son, it’s true—they ordered me to execute you and throw you into the antimatter furnace, so you’d vanish without a trace and your parents and friends would never find you.”

The boy’s eyes filled with fresh tears, but he made no sound. He realized the old policeman was sparing him, so he listened as the man continued: “I can’t do it. I want to let you go, but you must stay far from all this, never speak of what you’ve seen, or both our families will be destroyed. Can you promise me that?”

The boy wiped his tears and nodded vigorously.

Then the old policeman drew his police knife from his belt. The boy recoiled instinctively, but the old man said gently, “Don’t be afraid. Listen, I can let you go, but that officer wants proof—I have to bring him one of your ears. You’ll have to endure some pain.”

The boy, after a moment’s struggle, covered both his ears, then slowly lowered one hand, exposing an ear.

The old policeman glanced at the knife, then at the boy’s ear. He gripped it gently. “Bite your lip, close your eyes. I’m going to do it now…”

The boy clenched his teeth, shut his eyes tight, and let the old policeman proceed.

With practiced swiftness, the old policeman sliced off the ear—clean, quick, and merciless. Blood spurted from the wound—

Then came a heavy thud.

Before the boy could open his eyes, he felt blood streaming down, warm liquid and a soft, sticky substance sliding across his face. He opened his eyes, blinking away the blood, to find the old policeman gone. Not far away stood the officer and several armored soldiers. Looking down, the boy saw the old policeman sprawled on the ground, half his head blown open like a smashed melon, white brain matter oozing onto the pavement. His sleeve was also smeared with brain and blood. A wave of nausea overcame the boy, and he vomited on the dead man’s body. The world spun around him, and he could no longer stand.

The officer, as if toying with him, laughed heartily, waved his men away, and left without killing the boy. Several cleaners arrived, swiftly disposed of the policeman’s corpse, stripped the boy naked, and washed him with clean water. They used glue to seal his wound and tossed his severed ear into the incinerator. Handing him a large black trash bag to cover himself, they signaled for him to leave quickly—if he stayed, the officer would return and finish him off.

The boy summoned his last strength, staggering away, running into a narrow street beside the square. Using the wall for support, he stumbled a short way further before collapsing in front of a butcher’s shop.

Perhaps hearing the noise, the shop’s door eased open. Seeing it was only the boy, the butcher hurried out and carried him inside.

The officer’s moment of arrogance—intentional or not—would, years later, sow the seed for the Empire’s downfall, and mark the beginning of the end for its executioners and accomplices.

But that is another story.

The square was now completely cleansed. Every trace had been erased; with the cleaners’ cooperation, the place looked even more pristine and splendid than before. The cleanup crews withdrew at once.

In the distance, floating tourist buses from other provinces arrived at the reception area, filled with cheerful visitors. Tour guides waved their holographic signboards, leading guests through the registration process. The excited tourists gazed through the massive glass wall at the grand square outside, murmuring in awe, brimming with pride for their mighty Empire and its happy life, praising the bright future that lay ahead.

The Empire’s banner was about to be raised. The tourists urged their guides to hurry, eager to shed grateful tears at the very moment the flag slowly ascended.