Stewart looked outside the window, his arms crossed behind his back. He could see the entire city of London from his office, at the top floor of his World Tower.
It was a pleasant view, at least for him. He had always liked London and its historical grandeur more than the insignificant provincial Quahog. So when the time had come for him to select a world capital, he had chosen the ancient British metropolis over his hometown. The historical monuments, like the Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, had been preserved in perfect conditions, for Stewart's own pleasure. Everything else he didn't like had been razed to the ground and replaced by robot factories, laboratories, and labor camps.
Stewart sighed. He was bored.
Unfortunately, that wasn't a temporary condition. He had been bored for the past ten years. Ever since he had finally achieved his dream of world domination at the age of twenty-five, everything in his life had become dull. He missed the old challenges. Sometimes, he even missed Lois. You spend most of your life longing for the day you're going to kill your mother, and when the moment finally comes you realize that the wait and preparations were more entertaining than the act itself.
Wait. Dreams Those were the words that haunted him. When a man has achieved all his goals, what does he wait for? What does he dream? Does he spend the rest of his life waiting for death?
"Computer," Stewart said to the empty room.
The computer's synthetic voice promptly answered. "Yes sir?" It was the same voice Stewart had always imagined his teddy bear to have, when he was just a toddler. Who says evil dictators can't be sentimental?
"How many military units do I have at the moment?"
The computer's answer came quickly. "489,934 ultrabots, sir. I estimate this figure will double over the next three years. Do you require information about weapons, machineries, and vehicles as well?"
"No. Don't worry about it."
It was still not enough, Stewart thought desolately. He couldn't hope to conquer more technologically advanced dimensions with the army he had at his disposal. But one day, he would. That was the only thing that helped him get by. One day, the entire multiverse was going to be ruled by Stewart Gilligan Griffin.
"Any news?" Stewart asked in a weak voice. He could afford to show some of his feelings in front of the computer. After all, it was just a machine.
"Acts of vandalism in Mexico City. Someone wrote slurs on one of your statues."
"I want Mexico City nuked by noon," Stewart said in a disinterested tone. "Make sure the message is clear for all the world. I will not allow any sign of insubordination."
"Yes sir," the computer replied in its usual monotone voice. "On the subject of insubordination, Brian Griffin has tried to kill himself this morning."
"Again? What happened?"
"Same thing as usual."
Stewart knew what that meant. Every time Brian attempted to commit suicide, a future version of Stewart appeared and saved him. After that, the future Stewart immediately disappeared. A consequence of his timeline being erased.
"Teleport me to Brian's quarters," Stewart said irritably. "It's about time I teach that mutt a lesson."
"Yes sir. Teleportation commenced."
Stewart stood still and closed his eyes. He had learned at his own expenses that keeping them open during the teleportation process could result in severe nausea.
He counted to five and opened his eyes. He was in Brian's bedroom now. It was larger than the entire living room of the old Griffins' home. Not only that, but it was filled with all sorts of toys, items, and furniture Stewart had generously given to Brian over the course of the years.
But clearly, expecting a little gratitude from the stupid dog was too much to ask. It didn't matter that Stewart had always given Brian everything the dog asked him. Except for his freedom, of course. It didn't matter that Stewart had proven to Brian times and times again that trying to defy his will was futile. You can't teach an old dog new tricks.
"I have a theory about you, Brian," Stewart spoke.
Brian jerked at the sound of Stewart's voice. He tried to get up, but he was firmly handcuffed to the bed.
"Let me go, you son of a bitch," Brian growled, struggling in a useless attempt to free himself.
"You know," Stewart smirked, "that insult is really comical coming from you, Brian. You literally are the son of a bitch."
Brian cast him a hateful look.
"My theory," Stewart continued, "is that you enjoy pissing me off. You've always been a contrarian, Brian. You've always opposed power simply because it was power."
"Oh yeah, you read me like an open book, Stewie," Brian retorted sarcastically. "Clearly this has nothing to do with the fact that I'm held prisoner by the world's greatest psycho. Or that you enslaved the whole world population."
Stewart approached the bed where Brian was bound, unfazed by the dog's rant.
"No, clearly the only logical explanation for my behavior is that I'm a bitter old dog who just can't see how great and benevolent a world leader you are."
Stewart's gaze studied Brian's defenseless body. Brian could do nothing but let Stewart examine him.
"How long since your last shot?" Stewart asked.
Brian turned his head away from Stewart.
"Computer," Stewart addressed the ceiling. "How long since Brian's last shot?"
"122 hours, 23 minutes, 36 seconds," the computer promptly answered.
"That's five days, huh?" Stewart said. He touched Brian's white fur and lifted a tuft of hair slightly. Brian jerked at the touch, but didn't say anything. He kept his gaze away from Stewart.
"I can already see signs of aging. Give him a shot now, computer. Also, from now on, you'll be giving him shots every four days."
"Yes sir," the computer said.
"I don't want your damn shots, Stewie!" Brian growled.
"Yes. I know you've been acting pretty suicidal as of late."
A syringe was lowered from the ceiling by a robotic arm. It contained a pink liquid. The needle pierced Brian in the belly. Brian didn't struggle.
"It isn't suicide," Brian said, his voice much more placid now. Almost begging. Stewart wasn't sure if this change was due to the subject or because of the small amount of sedative in the shot. "I'm forty-three, Stewie. Forty-three! I should have died a long time ago."
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Stewart said irritably.
"Stewie, plea―"
"Shut up, Brian. Shut the fuck up!" Stewart walked away from the bed. Silence fell in the room.
Stewart spoke again, in a calmer tone: "When I was a baby, you always used to complain about how little time you had left to live. Do you remember, Brian?"
"I'm eight years-old," Stewart said in a deep baritone voice, his attempt at imitating Brian. "If I play my cards right I might have six more years to live."
"Well," Stewart used his normal voice again, "now you've got all the time you want. I can make you a fucking immortal, if I choose to. But you still aren't happy, are you Brian? You're such a whiner."
"Back then," Brian said angrily, "I could have made something good with the years I had left. But now, look at me!" Brian shook his wrists and the handcuffs gave a metal sound. "I'm a prisoner here! I can never leave, I can never talk to anybody but you. I can't even choose if I want to take your fucking medication or not!"
"Trust me, Brian. Anyone else would kill to live here. I reckon you'd rather work as a slave in the labor camps."
Brian opened his mouth to answer, but Stewart stopped him. "You don't know what you want! You never did. You're my dog, Brian, so I am choosing what's best for you. And this is it! This is what's best for you," Stewart eloquently pointed at the room they were in.
Brian stared at him in silence. There wasn't hate in his gaze this time. His look was unreadable.
"Can I at least get up?" he finally said, once again making the handcuffs clink. "Or are you here to punish me?"
Stewart stared at him blankly. Yes, that had been exactly Stewart's intention. He had wanted to discipline Brian for constantly disobeying him. This would have made Stewart feel better, or so he had thought.
But now that Brian was within his reach, punishing him was the last thing in Stewart's mind. Why would he go to such an extent to keep that body healthy and beautiful, only to hurt it?
"Computer, release him."
"Yes sir."
The handcuffs opened with a clang. Brian sat up and rubbed his wrists. "Thanks," he said.
Stewart lifted one eyebrow. He tried to detect any trace of sarcasm in Brian's voice, but he didn't find any.
Brian looked back at him. "What? Do I have to call you Master now?"
Stewart turned his back on him. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Computer," Stewart said. "Teleport me ba―"
"Stewie, wait!"
Stewart stopped, but didn't turn around. "What is it, Brian? I'm a very busy man, you know."
Stewart heard Brian hop out of the bed. "Why do you keep me here? Why do you care so much whether I live or die?"
Stewart sighed. It wasn't the first time Brian asked him that question. So he gave him the usual answer. "Call me nostalgic, if you will. We used to be friends and I have fond memories of those years."
"So I'm just like the Big Ben, aren't I?"
"Exactly. I like to take a look at you from time to time. That's all."
Stewart was about to ask the computer to teleport him back to his office, but before he could Brian's voice interrupted him again. "I don't believe you."
Stewart was so surprised that he stopped cold with his mouth half open. "What did you say?" he finally managed to speak, turning around to face Brian.
Stewart was stunned to find Brian so close to him. The days when he and Brian were about the same height were long gone, so Stewart had to look down on him.
"I believe," Brian continued, "that you keep me here because you want something from me."
Stewart laughed uncomfortably. "Ha! What can you possibly give me, Brian? I already have everything. I'm the supreme ruler of the world. I own―"
Stewart stopped when he felt Brian's furry paw touch his hand. He completely forgot what he was about to say. He looked down at Brian. The dog's intense look petrified him.
"Why don't you stay?" Brian said. His voice was soothing. It was obvious that he was making an effort to be seductive. "We could spend some quality time together."
Stewart could hardly breathe. He felt like the room was spinning around him. That kind of behavior was new and completely unexpected from Brian. Unconsciously, he found himself clinging to the dog's paw.
"Wha–" Stewart's voice was hoarse. "What?" he said derisively. "Are you gay now? Ew, gross."
Brian shrugged. "It's been so long since the last time I've had sex." A charming smirk. "I must be horny enough to be desperate."
Brian's hand pulled him down, gently. Stewart didn't resist. Stewart couldn't even think. He was brought back to life by the tickling sensation of Brian's fur on his lips.
Something coarse was pushing against Stewart's mouth. Something coarse and wet. Stewart opened his lips, just barely. Brian's tongue rushed inside and assaulted Stewart's.
Stewart enjoyed the struggle that was going on inside his mouth for a couple of seconds. Then, he pushed Brian away and the dog tumbled to the ground.
Stewart turned his back on him. "Computer!" he said, apprehensively. "Teleport me back to my office. At once!"
"Yes sir."
Stewart was so agitated that he forgot to close his eyes this time. His vision blurred. He saw everything inside the room stretch and bend. It looked like the walls were melting, and Brian's chewing toys were now gigantic monsters. Stewart saw a man that looked suspiciously like himself and a white dog merge together, in an indescribable mass of liquefied meat. The images were disturbing and Stewart shut his eyes.
The dizziness caught him nonetheless and forced him to his knees. He opened his eyes. At least now he was in his office, Stewart distractedly registered, before throwing up on the floor.