A/N: Second half.

I bet you can all tell where this is going.


Seven – Responsibility, Part II

The hall lights dimmed, and the band played one last trumpolin fanfare before going quiet. The Precursor aristocrats flocked from the model of Earth and banquet tables to seat themselves in front of the stage, where behind the podium drifted a giant eyeball colored an unusual shade of gray.

"WEL-WELCOME," the eyeball boomed into the sudden silence. "I THANK, WE THANK YOU, WE THANK YOU, YOU ALL FOR ARRIVING HERE AND, FOR ATTENDING OUR PROJECT PRESENTATION AND FOR, AH, FOR – TO BEGIN."

Overlord waited.

It was sure the screen behind it was blank – Bishop must have messed up somehow, all it'd asked the Precursor to do was to flip slides, this was the end of all their work – Overlord desperately wanted to glance behind itself and check the screen, but doing so would betray the insecurity it felt, and that would not do. Instead it scanned the crowd anxiously, searching for some sign in the faces of its audience that would indicate all was well.

The assembled Precursors were smiling and nodding and stroking their chins, and Overlord felt a surge of hope. Bishop had done it. They were all right. Say what you would about that Precursor, but when it really mattered it got things done.

Turning back to its notes, Overlord cleared its throat. All the while the audience watched the screen raptly, with the occasional chuckle.

This was one of the finest banquet halls in the city, and the presentation mechanics were much more intelligent than anyone gave them credit for. KHANSAMA AND THE PLANET OF HORRORS, scrolled the title of the next episode. Cameras watched Bishop, spread-eagled in the command chair, asleep and drooling.

The next scene came up, a shot of the Planet of Horrors from space, and the computer system paused the show. If the viewer was asleep, the computer would simply pause whatever they were doing until they woke back up. That was basic courtesy and common sense.

All of the computer's built-in failsafes were intended to make life easier for normal, rational people. The computer's programmers had never met Bishop or Overlord, however, and that was where the problems began.

Now the computer received input from other cameras in its system that the lights in the main banquet hall had dimmed – evidently, someone must be making a presentation, and that someone required slides. The computer's automatic systems beamed the image of the planet onto the screen behind the podium, then paused as it checked every audience member's face to make sure they weren't asleep. They were all attentive, as they should be.

As Overlord cleared its throat, the computer unpaused The Adventures of Khansama: Khansama and the Planet of Horrors.

Unheard by Overlord with its noise-cancelling chip, but audible to everyone else in the room, the narrator's voice boomed out as the camera zoomed in on the planet.

"This is a planet where your worst fears stalk the ground, where poison shoots from every crack and da-a-aark things stir in caves. A planet of ho-oo-orrors."

"RIGHT THEN," began Overlord, drowning out the narrator. "I AM, AH, I'M SURE YOU ARE ALL MORE OR LESS FAMILIAR WITH THE GUIDELINES, AH, THE OUTLINES OF OUR PLAN."

On the screen, the camera zoomed in on the planet's continents, which formed the shape of a giant leering skull.

"THIS – THIS IS, AH, EARTH, ONE OF OUR NEWEST CAMPAIGNS UNDER THE WSD." Overlord gestured behind itself with a cilia, at where it thought a map of the Earth would be. "SO FAR WE HAVE SENT THR – AH, FOUR, SCOUTS THROUGH THE PORTAL WE HAVE OPENED, AND DISCOVERED AN INDIGENOUS POPULATION OF, ER," – Overlord glanced at its notes – "HOOMINS."

An image of a fanged, capering red-eyed monster came up on the screen. The crowd gasped.

"YES. NOW, AH, NOW, AS SOME OF YOU, ER, SOME OF YOU MAY KNOW, WE HAVE ATTEMPTED TO COLONIZE THIS PLANET BEFORE, BUT THE, AH, CARBON DIOXIDE IN, THE CARBON DIOXIDE CONCENTRATION IN THE ATMOSPHERE WAS TOO LOW TO SUPPORT US."

A hapless spacefarer landed on the planet's surface, crawled a few feet, and dissolved into a pile of slush. A few members of the audience chuckled nervously.

"HOWEVER, RECENT, AH, RECENT ANALYSIS SHOWS THAT THE PLANET'S INHABITANTS HAVE ACTUALLY, ER, THEY HAVE ACTUALLY RAISED THE CONCENTRATION ALL ON THEIR OWN."

One of the cackling red-eyed monsters gathered up the spacefarer's remains and threw them in a pot, to which they added a variety of lopped-off tentacles and rocks. Billows of green and orange steam wafted out of the pot and obscured the scene.

Overlord, looking out over the audience, realized many of them looked quite queasy. Was it the image of the hoomins that had disturbed them? They were ugly, of course, but Overlord saw the creatures as little more than a bundle of pink goo. There wasn't anything particularly unsettling about them.

"I, AH..." When in Zorblax, do as the Zorblaxians do. It wouldn't hurt to sympathize a little with the crowd, especially when they were asking them for large sums of money. "I FULLY SHARE YOUR DISGUST OF THESE HOOMIN CREATURES, AND I CONDEMN THE ABOMINATION THEY HAVE MADE OF THEIR WORLD. BUT, AH –" Most of the audience was staring at Overlord with something akin to admiration, and the great eye suddenly felt confident in their presentation, confident in their entire invasion plan. "BUT, MY FELLOW PRECURSORS, WE INTEND TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS. WE WILL NOT STAND IDLE WHILE THIS WORLD – THAT WE CAN USE, AND TURN INTO A PARADISE – FALLS INTO RUIN!"

A cheer rose from the crowd, and on the screen behind Overlord, Khansama the Intergalactic Ninja Cook – who coincidentally looked rather like a Kaiju – rose from behind a rock.

"IF THE HOOMINS ONLY SEEK TO DESTROY THEIR WORLD, WE WILL TAKE IT!" Khansama leapt upon a red-eyed monster and effortlessly disentegrated it with a laser pistol. "WE WILL TAKE IT, AND SAVE IT, AND MAKE IT A HOME TO THE PROUD RACE OF PRECURSORS!"

Another cheer as Khansama grappled with a band of monsters, punched them all into submission, and freed a band of prisoners tied to stakes.

"AND IF YOU FUND OUR PROJECT TODAY, HELP US TO GROW OUR ARMY TO TAKE THIS WORLD, YOUR NAMES WILL BE CARVED ON ITS HILLS IN – what would be a worthy material? – "OSMIRIDIUM-TUNGSTEN-UNUNHEXIUM. AND THOUSANDS OF YEARS FROM NOW – PERHAPS MILLIONS – TOMORROW'S CHILDREN'S CHILDREN WILL REMEMBER YOU AS THE ONES WHO FREED EARTH FROM THE HOOMINS!"

The crowd cheered and cheered, and the lights came up and the presentation stopped, and legions of old rich Precursors swarmed Overlord to give it money. Elation filled the great eye – they'd done it, the funding they were getting was beyond anything it'd ever dreamed of, it imagined all the things they could build with this – new Kaiju, maybe even some Cat.-4s or even 5s, a new breeding station, improvements for the portal –

Surrounded by microphones and monocles and extended checkbooks, Overlord closed its eye and sent a brief telepathic message to Bishop:

YOU DID GOOD, KID. YOU DID GOOD.

And in the presentation control room, woken suddenly by Overlord's message, Bishop lurched upright.

"What the ▢ ▢ ▢ just happened -"

A/N: Overlord! Bishop! Did something actually work out in your favor? You did good.

I have no idea when the next chapter'll be up, as it's not quite written yet. Whenever I can.