Hey everyone!

Summer is finally here, and you would think that this would give me more time to write. Apparently not. Just as a warning, not all chapters are going to be funny in this fan fiction. Most of them will be, but the overall story is supposed to be a bit grim. Think of it as more of a series story with too much humor for its own good. Enjoy!

Accius looked out of the glass window, down to the streets below. The window was massive, about fifty feet across and twenty five feet tall. Glass was expensive, even among the nobles, and he knew that this was a symbol of his status. His father always told him that they were the descendants of one of the greatest merchants in the history of mankind, and that they deserved their lofty position. Accius agreed. He was by far intellectually superior to anyone else above level 70. The family owned a lasgun factory, too, making him monetarily superior to most people on Gaea.

A servant appeared behind him, quietly and quickly. He had a receding hairline and a walrus mustache. He would have appeared comical if not for his drooping face and sad, brown eyes.

"Master," he began in a slow voice. "Your father requests you."

Accius's tone was bitter. "Tell him I'll be there in a moment."

Father. As if. All he ever did was run that lasgun factory and make money. One time, he promised he would be there for his violin recital, but he showed up thirty minutes late. When Accius asked why, he simply said, "The family business is above everything else." All he had to do was apologize, but he seemed to be incapable of that. As he turned towards the door, he began to grow a little excited. After all, his father was finally going to show him around the factory, the family business. The thing that had allowed him to live this privileged life in the first place. And someday, it would be his. He would become the most powerful man on Gaea, and perhaps the Ford family could finally obtain the ultimate prize: the planetary governorship. Everyone would finally have to take orders from him, and he believed that it is the way it should be.

He stepped out of his room into the magnificent dining room. Victorian columns spiraled up into an elegant painting on the top, depicting some Space Marine chapter slaying filthy xenos. Accius didn't really care about either, but he still found it disturbing. The fact that somewhere in the galaxy, someone could be more powerful than him. That was the most frightening thing. He finally made it into the other end of the bare dining hall and into his personal garage. Turning on the light, he could make out all fifty of his hovercraft. The question was, which one to choose? Should he go for outright elegance, or a more Spartan look? He finally settled on something in between. A sleek bubble cockpit painted a matte black, with two small TX-51 boosters on the back. Not the fanciest of his collection, but he wanted to have a subtle, sharp appearance when meeting his father. After all, he hadn't seen him in almost two years.

"Are you ready, master?"

"Yes, Bruce. Proceed."

The ship shot off into the sky. The view was incredible. Buildings as high as the eye could see, and some that even touched the edges of the atmosphere. Thousands upon thousands of hovercraft flew by at ridiculous speed, but Accius was only looking at the factory (The Mechanicus called it a manufactorum, but Accius knew what it really was). A massive cube about half as tall as the other buildings, but just as wide. And to think that one million workers were in there right now, making billions of lasguns that were always in high demand by the Imperial Guard.

The hovercraft landed on a dock in the northeast corner of the factories roof, a stairway folding out from the cabin to the ground. Accius's father was waiting for him on the ground, and his very face made him tense up. The air around him seemed 50 degrees colder, turning the uncomfortably warm, stuffy day into a frozen tundra.

"You're late," he said.

"Yes, father." What else could he say? Accius sometimes imagined replying with a sarcastic retort, but he never wanted to test his father. It seemed like he was more machine than man.

"Come." Accius's father turned around and began walking along a red carpeted path towards a stairway that led into the factory. Accius followed at a brisk pace, fighting his curiosity that made him want to run. But he knew that in his father's eyes, he was a grown man. It didn't matter that he was 10 years old; it was time to learn how to run a factory.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. It was like the putrid, unbreathable odor of the city condensed into one place. Accius wanted to gag but noticed that his father did not even react. Of course. It was also incredibly loud. The incessant sound of metal grinding and screeching against metal combined with the cries of the workers below. He almost considered turning around and leaving to give his ears some time to rest, but he noticed that his father was giving him one of his emotionless, cold stares.

"Does this place bother you?" he asked, no sympathy in his voice.

Accius uncertainly shook his head.

"If you cannot handle what you are about to witness, then you should leave this family, and I will find someone man enough to do so."

That hurt. So much, in fact, that Accius, with a feeling of hatred and pain, took three brisk, deliberate steps toward a guardrail at the edge of the walkway and looked down. He was stunned at the sight. Thousands and thousands of workers were operating a variety of machines. Soot covered most of their faces, and they were all drenched in sweat. Some had more than 4 limbs; others had had deformed hands, thanks to mutations. A few children were running around, carrying water to the adults working the machinery. Accius noticed one young boy a level below him, eyes barely open as he mindlessly ran across the walkway. He was so exhausted that he tripped over himself and skidded towards the edge of the walkway. Accius could only watch as the boy slipped off the walkway, falling for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn't look anymore, so he turned and walked to his father, trying as hard as he could to ignore the boy's screaming echoing throughout the factory.

"This factory produces 3.526114856 billion lasguns every year," his father began, ignoring the lingering echoes of the boy's screams as he began to walk along the walkway. "We employ exactly 1.5 million workers: men, women, children. 95 percent of the workers are mutants." Accius was right behind him, his 10 year old legs struggling to keep up with his father's brisk pace. Meanwhile, his mind was wondering how in the world his father could know so much about this factory down to the last individual lasgun.

As if he could read his mind, his father continued. "A factory owner must know every detail about his workplace. One forgotten fact, and profits could plummet."

"And what profit is that?"

Accius's father stopped and smiled. Accius was bewildered. He had never seen his father smile before, but it was only for this factory. Once again, he felt like punching someone and running away at the same time.

"This factory nets 10.4 billion solidi every year, making us the most profitable private enterprise in the solar system! We supply entire armies with our weaponry across the galaxy, and we net so much money because we have such low production costs!"

"I don't understand, father. We employ millions of people, and we have low production costs? I believed that planetary law stated that each person must be paid one food ration card per 12 hours."

"That is the beauty of my system, boy. We pay them one food ration card per week, increasing efficiency and dividing our costs by 7. It's the perfect way to make money."

"But planetary law..."

"Shut up boy!" Accius's father struck him with the back of his hand, knocking him to the ground. "The government does not care, for without me, many of their armies would be unable to fight, and the Imperium is just as guilty as I am in this wretch's suffering. Here, in this factory, I am the law. I decide who lives well and who doesn't. I control everything here!"

This was the time. If Accius wanted to say something, he had to do it now. But he couldn't. I'm a coward, he thought. No! Today is the day I say something! Just tell him that you don't like his idea. Just one act of rebellion! Accius opened his mouth, but he was interrupted by loud shouting below. His father stiffened, affected by an emotion that Accius had never seen on his father's face: fear.

"What is it?"

His father slowly turned toward the guardrail and looked down. "It's a riot."

Over the guardrail, Accius saw a massive mob of at least a million people of scowling men, women, and even children. Armed with wrenches, bars of adamantium, or their bare hands, they tore up machinery and were chanting something, but he couldn't make out the words. Accius saw them grab a lasgun charging station and toss it over the side. The sound it made when it hit the ground was drowned out by the incomprehensible chants.

"Do you think they'll reason with us, father?"

"These creatures obviously want higher wages! How dare they! No, boy. I shall never reason with the likes of the mob." Accius's father ran to a voxphone station by the wall and activated it. "Security, get them back to work!"

For five seconds, the line remained static. Accius heard screams suddenly erupt from the other end of the line. But what was strange was that he thought he could make out those same screams from right below him. He once again looked down and saw the mob holding the guardsmen above their heads. They had taken the guards' lasguns and were waving them in the air like trophies. Great. Now they're better armed than us. The guards were flailing with their arms in legs, crying, begging, pleading that the mob let them go. They were ignored. One guard managed to wriggle his way out of their grip, but he was immediately grabbed by the mob and thrown on the ground. The mob converged on the guard as if they were Tyranids, and the thought that a mob of humans and those creatures had those similar characteristics was chilling. Even more so, he could now hear what the mob was chanting. "Death to the owners! Death to the owners! Avenge the child! Avenge the child!" With that, the mob threw the rest of the guards over the side. Accius stood there, transfixed by the horrific scene before him, unable to move until his father grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward the door.
"We need to leave, now!" The stairs were 5 feet away, and Accius's father was walking so quickly that he swore he was running. However, it wasn't fast enough. A lasbolt struck his father in the leg. Crying out in pain, he grabbed his leg and cried out in agony, tumbling down the stairs. Accius was frozen, uncertain of what to do. He could run to his father, or leave him to die. It was so tempting to let fate finally have its way; the poor may be below them both, and mutants need to be kept in their place, but he was a cruel man to everyone. He decided on leaving when a massive hand grabbed him by the collar and threw him beside his father. They were now surrounded by a crowd of furious workers, bent on killing them both. One of the men steeped forward and kicked his father in the jaw. He doubled over, now clutching his mouth and his right leg. The man picked up his father by his collar, and for a few moments they stared directly into each other's eyes. Then the man spoke.

"Do you know what we're gonna do to you?" Accius's father shook his head very slowly, terror covering every inch of his face. The man walked toward the guardrail and held his father so he was leaning head first over the edge. "A young boy just fell off because he was too tired and too hungry to concentrate on staying upright. He was five years old!" He looked at his father for another moment. "But even with all of this, you still can't show an ounce of sympathy. That's why we're going to make you suffer the same fate as that boy." His eyes bulged. "And after we're done watching you fall a hundred stories to your death, we're going to kill your son."

"And that somehow will right this wrong? You are mutants! Outcasts! I took you wretched creatures in because no one else would employ you. You are all less than human!"

The man grinned. "Aren't we now?" And he threw Accius's father over the edge.

"No! Father, I..." Before he could finish, Accius was kicked in the back of the head and knocked on his face. The mob began to trample him, all trying to run to the guardrail to watch his father fall to his death. They stepped on his arms and legs, bruising him everywhere. He heard a crack and immediately felt a searing pain in his right arm. It's broken. But Accius was too shocked to scream. With his face full of tears, he tried to let himself slip into unconsciousness so he would have to face his inevitable death.

Will Accius survive the wrath of the mob? What plans does Alexander have in store? Will I ever stop asking you rhetorical questions? Hopefully one of these will be answered next time!

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