Ministry of Disturbance

In a glittering metropolis of sky‑ways and rust‑polished robots, Emperor Paul XXII drifts through ritual after ritual, his mornings punctuated by a forgotten symphony and the hum of servomechanisms. He muses on the thin line between flesh and circuitry, treating the obedient robot at his table as a trusted aide while feeling the world push people into mechanical obedience. The Empire’s history looms over him like a fading hymn—once a crusade against Neobarbarians, now a backdrop for endless paperwork and ceremonial parades. Yet the emperor finds himself more haunted by the bureaucracy that shapes his reign than by any external threat.

When the elevator doors slide open, a band of hill‑born Thoran mercenaries, their helmets glinting with imperial insignia, lines up to escort him. Their loyalty is fierce, their demeanor almost animal, and they obey without question. Paul’s casual nod to their captain sets a routine in motion, but the very act of stepping into his study hints at a deeper entanglement with the Ministry of Disturbance—a department where the ordinary becomes absurd and the ordinary job is anything but ordinary. The stage is set for a subtle rebellion against the inertia of power.