Dr Stein Ren strolled merrily down the rows of pods. The lab was his happy place and he revelled in being able to spend all of his time experimenting to his heart’s content.


    The Ren family had overseen the creation and scientific modification of mobs for the Battle Royale game for eons. His brother, Jo Ren, had become quite influential in the past few decades and thanks to his efforts lifting the house up even further, Stein had been given access to more funding than he knew what to do with.


    He stopped for a moment to check over the work on the fiend pods. Floating peacefully in a viscous, green gelatine, the monster stared blankly out at the doctor.


    “Sir,” one of his aides said, saluting as he approached. She was a pretty young thing. A sabbca, one of the most beautiful species in the cosmos.


    With the face of a hooded cobra, mixed with the proportions of female human, her forked tongue was enough to make anyone weak at the knees. Thankfully, Stein was only interested in one mistress and her name was science.


    Catching his reflection in the glass pod, he noted that his eyes had begun to wrinkle and red lines stretched out across his haggard skin. It reached almost as far as his jet-black tentacles, but thankfully stopped before properly encroaching on them.


    How long had it been since he’d slept? He’d been working nonstop since the decade leading to the new series of Battle Royale. Mob production was a tiresome job. That would mean that he had been awake since approximately the year 2010 on the Earthen solar calendar. Was that really all it had been? He must have been getting old, in his youth he once stayed awake for twice that and barely even noticed.


    His species were known for their aversion to sleep. With so much to do and so many things riding on the diligent application of their craft, there was simply no time to indulge in such primal urges. They had evolved beyond such primal urges. He shook his head laboriously at his own reflection and then noticed that the sabbca was still stood to attention with her tail across her chest in a salute.


    “At ease,” he said lazily. Honestly, he appreciated the formality and diligence offered by the military wing of his aides, but still, did they really need him to tell them that it was alright to move? It was a bit pathetic. “Report,” he said in system standard, the language imprinted on all indoctrinated system species from birth. A universal language, though he preferred the original language of the Jellyfish Collective personally, it was far more poetic. All workers had to use this rudimentary form of speech, though some, like his brother, refused to use it and forcibly imprinted their thoughts on people. Inside the game and on the game shows everyone had to speak the native language.


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    It was an old rule designed to keep some of the host planet’s culture alive. The ISPC had insisted on it. Not that it made any real sense. As soon as the game was over, the winner and any other survivors would be forced into using system standard anyway. That was how it always was. The whole thing was farcical in Stein’s opinion.


    “Sir,” the sabbca said, “a new request has come in from your brother. He has asked that you begin work on subject 14-C59 immediately.”


    “Really?” He smiled, “this will be quite the interesting project indeed. I’d seen the recent events surrounding that particular contestant but I thought dear Jo Ren was going to have him terminated for cheating?”


    “The council are still discussing that matter, sir,” the sabbca replied. “However, your brother has decided to begin the project early as a backup in case the issue is dismissed by the other members.”


    “Diligent as always,” Stein said with a half-smile as he turned away from the floating monster and began marching down the next row of pods.


    He turned a few times, keeping to a steady speed befitting of the one in charge of the entire science division. It was a difficult job, but he loved it all the same. He’d been involved with the division for fifteen seasons now, but this was the first one he had been in command of. He planned to make a big splash this season to truly solidify his role and prowess and prove that he was just as capable as his father, may he rest eternally in the mother’s embrace.


    “These humans are tenacious, sir,” the sabbca continued as they walked. “We had projected that there would only be a few hundred thousand of them left at the end of the first round, but there are still a couple of million. It’s quite impressive.”


    “A true testament to their species survival instincts,” Dr Stein replied absently. “Sadly, the council won’t see it that way. They refuse to see new races for their potential, it doesn’t fit their world view. They want to believe that new races are below them, and naturally that means that the blame will lie solely with me and this division. They’ll say that we didn’t create good enough mobs. Poppycock.”


    “I’m sure your family won’t agree with the council’s decision if that is what they choose to believe, sir.”


    “My family will do what is best for the collective as they always have. If that means ousting me then they will do it in a heartbeat and I would be appalled if they didn’t,” Stein replied sharply. “So for all our sakes, we’d better make this new project count.”


    “Sir!”


    They continued in silence for a short while, walking past rows and rows of pods. These were all unused. Subjects primed for creation. Turning one last time, Stein stopped in front of pod 14-C59. Unassuming in the grand scheme of the lab, a pod just like any other.


    He smiled as he wiped off the thin layer of soot which had obscured the metallic plaque below the glass pod. It said: 14-C59 – “Anne Greaves, spouse of contestant John Doe.”