The subterranean war-room of Planet One Hundred was submerged in the blinding glare of active magma conduits.
Streams of liquid fire poured down the jagged basalt walls, hissing as they fell into deep coolant trenches. Heat waves distorted the air, carrying the bitter sulfurous stench of molten iron and burnt oil.
Chairman Sovereign Harkon stood before an enormous tactical hololithic table. His six horns curled with dark, oily smoke, and his battle-gauntlets were dug deep into the smoldering stone.
On the main display screen, ninety-eight planetary icons that had once burned blood-red were now shining with serene, radiant gold.
Only two icons remained red: Planet Ninety-Nine and Planet One Hundred.
Beside Harkon, six demonic cartel advisors were huddled together in terror, clutching their financial data tablets.
“Chairman, our commercial credit rating has collapsed to absolute zero,” one advisor trembled, his pointed ears drooping. “The Interstellar Banking Syndicate has locked our treasury access. Our bonds are worthless scrap.”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
