30th Millennium
Future Ultramar Subsector, Macragge
Several Weeks Later
Pompeus, one of the largest cities on the planet, waited with eager anticipation for the next performance at the Orchestrozeum.
The city took immense pride in this titanic cultural monument, which, without a trace of false modesty, its citizens considered the finest in the entire world. Only the Orchestrozeum in the capital could rival it, standing within the wealthiest and most powerful city on the planet.
But, as the townspeople had sensibly concluded, if guests from the capital itself had come this time, accompanied by one of its consuls, then clearly their Orchestrozeum was the superior one.
"Oh yes, I've heard the new heroic play will be a masterpiece by Master Diogenes!"
"And the costumes! Such magnificent costumes! True works of art from the hands of Medici himself!"
"And Rominius is playing the lead role! Just imagine. What a noble man... The plebeians absolutely adore him. A man of rare virtue..."
Conversations like these, along with hundreds of similar variations, drifted through the ranks of the nobility. The patricians always adored these performances despite the fact that common plebeians were admitted as well.
Noble men and women alike eagerly awaited another epic from a genius playwright. The few who claimed otherwise had long since been forgotten by society, for fashion stood above all else, and anyone foolish enough to oppose its latest trends was mercilessly swept aside by the tide of high society.
Both classes gradually took their seats, though many quietly wondered why the Grand Box remained unoccupied by the local consuls.
Normally, they preferred to arrive early and begin sampling the first courses of food. The city, nestled beside vast fertile plains, encouraged indulgence of every kind. Unlike many neighboring worlds and star systems, Macragge had preserved much of humanity's ancient technology, including agricultural innovations that allowed abundance to flourish.
Minute after minute passed as row after row filled with spectators. Their excited conversations merged into a constant murmur that echoed throughout the immense Orchestrozeum. They waited only for the ceremonial trumpets that would silence the crowd and grant the herald permission to announce the performance, its title, and its actors.
Instead...
Darkness descended.
Not complete darkness.
There was still enough light for everyone to see.
Yet it was undeniably unlike anything normally associated with a theatrical performance.
The audience did not panic.
For weeks they had heard that this play would be incredible, magnificent, unforgettable, a spectacle witnessed only once in a century. The expectation of greatness had become so deeply rooted in their minds that, instead of concern, many merely shifted impatiently in their seats.
That was the audience.
Backstage, however, legionaries sprang into motion, desperately trying to determine what had caused the phenomenon. Their superiors had been informed of every detail of the performance, and nothing even remotely resembling such a dramatic alteration had ever been mentioned.
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Then, just as whispers began spreading through the crowd, a melodious male voice echoed throughout the entire Orchestrozeum.
It sounded less like ordinary speech than a hauntingly beautiful song.
"Justice has long been forgotten upon the earth, as though it was never meant for mortal men. They take from life all they can, never counting the cost, until at last their final day arrives..."
When the final line of the quatrain faded away, a single beam of brilliant light descended from above, illuminating a faceless dark figure standing at the center of the stage, which often served as an arena as well.
The figure slowly spread its arms and turned toward the section occupied exclusively by patricians and honored guests.
At that moment, faint suspicions began stirring within thousands upon thousands of minds, though none had yet taken coherent form.
The faceless figure performed several graceful dance steps before continuing in a far more mocking tone.
"And beneath the earth, all are silent and equal."
Red phantasmal flames erupted throughout the Orchestrozeum.
Moment by moment, the swirling colors twisted into recognizable forms.
The arena floor became covered in weathered stone and patches of wild grass.
Twisted, distorted trees clawed their way upward from the earth.
Beneath those trees...
Gravestones emerged like mushrooms after rain.
The same gravestones the city's nobility used to bury their dead.
Wealthy merchants could occasionally afford such burials as well.
Ordinary citizens relied upon cremation.
Then came the final touch.
It seemed as though a crimson moon had ignited above the audience, bathing everything in blood-red light and sending involuntary shivers through the crowd even as nearly half of them stared upward in awestruck wonder.
Most still believed it was merely part of the performance.
Meanwhile, the legionaries and the Orchestrozeum's chief of security were already drenched in sweat, silently wondering how they were ever going to explain this... sorcery afterward.
"Titles endure, and gold still rings in mortal hands. Here, truth is not measured by the weight of your purse, and honor does not bow before dishonor."
The figure continued its recital.
As the final words echoed through the arena, the faceless silhouette transformed into a vividly colored performer wearing a grotesque mask frozen in exaggerated indignation.
Then, amid cascading colors that resembled shattered stained glass, the cemetery dissolved into magnificent mansions and sprawling noble estates.
To the astonishment of both patricians and plebeians alike, the scenes revealed...
Their own relatives.
Family members who had supposedly been unable to attend today's performance for countless perfectly believable reasons.
There they were.
Eating.
Drinking.
Indulging every vice imaginable.
Completely unaware that tens of thousands of spectators were now watching them from above.
Realization struck.
Many patricians leapt to their feet, outrage already boiling within them.
None had the slightest intention of exposing the reality of their private lives before the plebeians.
They were not fools.
Why invite unrest?
Why encourage those endlessly irritating popular uprisings?
Before a single voice could rise in protest, however, the performer intervened once more.
Now fully solid, the figure looked utterly bizarre.
A cloak and flowing garments shimmered with vibrant yellow-green hues, while a sinister grin stretched across the theatrical mask.
Once again, its owner practically sang.
"Yet all roads lead to the just court of Sir Law. And by the will of Lady Justice, all shall walk them."
Instantly, the image of feasting patricians and pleasure-seeking plebeians dissolved into two immense roads stretching across the stage.
Where they crossed stood a towering stone marker.
Carved upon its surface was a single inscription.
The Consequences of Choice.
The bewildered figures wandering the transformed arena looked around in confusion, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Then, amid a blaze of brilliant white light, another colorful performer appeared.
This one was unmistakably female.
A sword rested in one hand.
A set of scales swung gently from the other.
Expressions of righteous fury flashed across her ever-changing mask as, with occasional painful jabs from the tip of her blade, she swiftly herded the patricians into two separate columns.
She moved with such flawless precision that not a single drop of blood stained the roads.
Above the heads of those forced onto the left-hand path appeared countless shifting visions.
Each one depicted the crimes, betrayals, and misdeeds committed by the individual walking beneath it.