This is Sfaíra. Here, the Greek nation is always in a primitive state of development. Meanwhile, the Great Powers grow, breed, and build new technology all around them.

In this day and age, though, most of them haven't done so in a while. About 400 years ago, in fact, humanity on Sfaíra almost became extinct. Legend has it that if not for Bregna, a certain city of the future, it would've.

Here, the oceans host many islands. Some are farther away from their neighbors than others. Here, the Aegean Sea is the largest ocean in the world.

Alone on an island, the city of Bregna stands. A wall surrounds it. From the tops of that, a high-tech dome surrounds the rest. The dome keeps the city climate-controlled...and protects it from natural disasters.

Within the dome, a dirigible flies, with many very long silken streamers to spare...and trailing, like a jellyfish's tentacles. This is the Relical.

This is a city-state of the future. Here, factory smoke is so spread out, and so thin it's indistinguishable from the fresh air. Nanites are proliferated...and very regulated.

There are many paradise gardens, where waterfalls fall, pools fill, and many dark green plants grow, leaf out, and blossom. More intimate gardens grow herbs, and other useful plants.

Uphill, there's a hemicycle, where all in Bregna is regulated. They call it the Congress of Science. In here, the technocracy meets in confidence, to discuss issues that often plague the city-state.

In the coast of this island, there are coves. The coves are dammed. Most of them generate tidal power. Most of them do more than that.

All alone, a bottle of fish testosterone sits. From above, a robotic arm drops. With three claws, it clasps the bottle's lid, spins around very fast, and raises itself. With the lid in its grasp, it leaves.

Another robotic arm shows up. This one's got more claws...and they're shorter and thinner. Together, they grasp a red gel from the bottle.

Nearby, there are many tanks full of bubbling water. They're arranged symmetrically.

The robotic arm moves over each tank...and stops, just over one. In a flash, it releases the gel. It falls into the tank, and splashes down.

The gel submerges a bit. From out of nowhere, a male cod swims, and gulps the gel down. He stops and treads water with his fins, allowing it to go down.

In his eyes, his pupils duplicate... Soon, his entire body duplicates...into three of himself. From here, three become nine. And nine become twenty-seven. And twenty-seven become eight-one.

Beholding it all from below, Oren Goodchild smiles, and surveys the experiment. He's the premier's brother.

The cod is a mutant, and can self-replicate. He's made a school of himself...all because of the inspiration of a single gel of fish testosterone...

And...it happens. A loud boom rocks the facility, as the walls of the tank shatter, and let all the water out.

Behind Oren, a corporate blonde, wearing all-white, screams. She whines, as the seawater soaks her shoes. She yelps again, as the eighty-one cod spill out near her feet.

The noise dies, as the last of the water...and fish...flow from the now-useless tank. All over the floor, the fish don't even flop. They're all doll-dead. They should be fresh enough to cook for a while, though...

Oren smiles...seemingly indifferent of the inhumanity-or, incodity, rather-of the way he's just killed this cod. "I admit, I wasn't fully expecting that," he says. "The glass-shattering, I mean. That'll certainly take a budgetary compromise to replace."

"I'll say," Ms. Frost insists. "Don't you think that's a rather inhumane way to kill cod? Why not just slip poison into the tank...or better yet, drain it with them still inside?"

Oren chuckles. "As much as I'd prefer it, we have to kill the cod while they're still duplicated. If they're killed slowly, they'll get weaker as they die. And if they do, their duplicates will re-merge. With that said, we might as well just kill one cod, and eat it for ourselves...and leave the rest of the world with empty plates to work with at dinnertime. And I'm sure we can both agree that it's already bad enough that there are cod in Sfaíra that can't self-replicate."

"Couldn't you just...arrange it to where once the cods self-replicate, the duplicates soon become too developed to merge?"

Oren smiles, and holds up his finger. "Now that you mention it, I could. It would save me the trouble of having to replace the tanks every time I do this. Plus, if the cod's duplicates are fully-developed, they'll have their own free will. As it is, the main cod mind-controls all of his duplicates. But if he doesn't have any control over the school, and if the others don't either, then if they're all developed, they'll be weaker, and hence more vulnerable, than if one of them did control all the others. Thank you, Ms. Frost. As usual, your input is never cheap."

Ms. Frost sighs. "As much as I often admire your work, Mr. Goodchild..."

"Please! Call me Oren." All around Oren's feet, skanky maids hastily clean up the mess. One of them starts piling all of the dead codfish into a bin.

Ms. Frost nods. "Your brother seems to think that you're slipping. I mean let's face it; this isn't the first time the Congress has accused you of overstepping nature."

"You're either with the cause or against it, Ms. Frost. And to me, the cause is helping the world evolve into a utopia, and leaving all of its defects so far behind, it's as if they never mattered. And they don't have to matter. All we've got to do is keep our noses to the grindstone, and make sure that nothing but superiority comes out of the breeding pool." He shrugs. "I'm being mostly figurative, of course. Pardon me if I mix my metaphors. But then, I was kind of hoping that because there's no such thing as a stupid MC, I wouldn't have to speak all-literally for you to understand me."

"I understand that you care about making progress. I'm just...not so sure if one man's bliss is EVERY man's bliss."

Oren chuckles. "We've also got women and children to satisfy too, in case you sometimes forget. Anyway, I got shit to do. Thank you for coming by, Ms. Frost."

At that, she scoffs. "For a man who hates speaking all-literally," she mutters, "he sure seems to hate people who don't." With that, she turns, snatches up her white Gucci purse, snatches her white fur coat, and leaves.

Yes, it seems that even in an idyllic city-state, there are glitches. And for Oren Goodchild, it just isn't enough that the Congress of Science has found a way to make Bregna's residents immortal...and needing death-and-rebirth every several decades, via re-cloning...