The sun rose over Eden's skyline, casting its golden rays on the glittering buildings and tree-lined streets. From the outside, Eden was a paradise. The perfect city. The utopia everyone dreamed of—endless prosperity, freedom, and a life of comfort that seemed almost magical. Yet, beneath this glossy surface, the gears of Eden's true power were turning, faster and harder than ever before.
The news channels, all owned and controlled by the Lantrun family, were the first to react. That morning, across the glowing screens in every home, on every street corner, and on every device, the same message was parroted. It started subtly, with the regular news anchors delivering the day's headlines. But soon, specialist after specialist was brought on to discuss the obliteration of the slaver cities.
One by one, they spoke with solemn expressions, their voices dripping with fabricated concern. "Eden had no choice," said one political analyst. "The Supreme Leader exhausted every diplomatic avenue. They refused to surrender their slaves. What other option did we have?" Another chimed in, "It was an act of liberation, not aggression. We freed thousands—millions—from the shackles of their oppressors."
As the hours rolled on, the message was hammered home. Eden was not the aggressor; Eden was the reluctant hero, forced into action by the evil of others. Eden did not want war, but when the time came, Eden struck decisively and with precision.
Soon, social media influencers—those with millions of followers, whose every word shaped the opinions of the young and impressionable—jumped on the bandwagon. Trend after trend began to flood the platforms: #FreedomIsEden, #JusticeInFire, #EdenTheSavior. Their followers, craving stimulation and eager to be part of the next big thing, latched onto these narratives. In one post, a fitness influencer posed with a slogan across her crop top: "For the Greater Good—Eden Saves."
Overnight, videos were produced showing interviews with supposed "survivors" from Slaver's Bay. These actors, their tears perfectly timed for the camera, described how Eden's intervention saved them from a lifetime of misery. "I was born in chains," one woman said, her voice trembling as the camera zoomed in on her face. "But Eden broke those chains. The Supreme Leader saved me."
Documentaries were churned out in record time. Slick, high-budget productions with dramatic music, showing Eden's military as benevolent warriors and Mark Lantrun as a divine savior. They flooded the streaming platforms, their titles all variations on the same theme: The Reluctant Hero, Eden's Moral Compass, Fires of Freedom. The citizens devoured them as they always did—eager to fill the gaps in their perfectly curated, endlessly entertaining lives.
But it was all fleeting. The citizens of Eden, conditioned for decades to care for nothing more than their own comfort, their own pleasure, their own shallow lives, cared only for a moment. For a brief day or two, the destruction of the slaver cities dominated their conversations. The young ones, with their bright smiles and endless energy, tweeted, posted, and discussed the "heroic" actions of Eden over cocktails at luxurious rooftop bars. The older ones, those who had seen the darker side of the world, nodded approvingly. They had always hated anything beyond Eden's borders.
But soon enough, it all began to fade. The next wave of entertainment arrived—new fashion trends, new scandals, new ways to escape into the glittering fantasy of Eden. Reality shows launched overnight, showing influencers living in lavish homes and driving sleek cars. Drama was manufactured—petty squabbles and rivalries—meant to keep the masses glued to their screens.
The people of Eden lapped it up, as they always did. They went back to their lives of comfort, luxury, and stimulation. They stopped talking about Slaver's Bay. Stopped caring. Why should they? Eden was perfect. The outside world was irrelevant. Their lives were safe, prosperous, and unchallenged.
In one crowded café, two young women, dressed in the latest fashion, sipped on overpriced lattes. One scrolled through her phone, reading the news of the nuclear strike. "Did you hear what happened in Slaver's Bay?" she asked.
The other woman shrugged, barely looking up from her own screen. "Yeah, I guess. But have you seen the new line of handbags at the Pavilion? I'm obsessed. I'm going shopping tomorrow."
The first woman's interest in the news faded instantly, her attention diverted to the more pressing matter of fashion. "Oh my God, we have to go together. I need a new bag for the gala next weekend."
And that was that. The conversation shifted. Slaver's Bay, and the millions of lives destroyed, became nothing more than background noise in the cacophony of Eden's shallow, pleasure-filled existence.
In a dark room at the top of the Tower of Order, two figures watched it all unfold on the screens before them. The Supreme Leader, Mark Lantrun, sat with a glass of champagne in hand, his face expressionless as he observed the news broadcasts and social media feeds. The High Inquisitor, Orin Lantrun, stood beside him, his arms folded as he watched the citizens return to their blissfully ignorant lives.
"They believe it," Orin said, his voice low and satisfied. "They always believe it."
Mark took a slow sip of his champagne, his cold eyes never leaving the screens. "Of course they do. Decades of work. Conditioning. Chemical and psychological manipulation. We've made them care only about Eden. They don't have the capacity to care about anything else."
Orin smiled, a cruel, calculating smile. "The older generation already hates anything not from Eden. They remember the horrors of the outside world. But the younger ones—those who've known nothing but perfection—needed a little push. They needed to be reminded that the world outside Eden is cruel, dangerous. They're soft, idealistic. But not anymore."
Mark raised his glass. "To the bright future of Eden."
Orin poured himself a glass of champagne, clinking his glass against Mark's. "To Eden. And to those too blind to see the truth."
Together, they drank, their faces bathed in the glow of the screens as the shallow, complacent citizens of Eden continued living their perfect, shallow lives, unaware of the invisible chains that bound them tighter than ever before.