(Execution Livestream Continuation, Across the Universe)
Across the Righteous Faction’s countless worlds, stations, and orbital habitats, the mood shifted in a way no analyst had predicted, as the execution livestream stopped feeling distant and symbolic to the Commoner’s and instead became uncomfortably personal.
At first, many citizens watched the scene at the Fourth Ring with confusion rather than fear, brows furrowed as they tried to understand why the dignitaries were being held back, as surely there had to be a reason, some unseen protocol, some higher logic that justified what they were seeing.
"They’re Military Men," someone muttered in a crowded habitation dome, as he crossed his arms defensively while keeping his eyes glued to the screen. "They’re just following orders. They probably don’t have a choice here."
A few nodded at that, grateful for an explanation that allowed the universe to remain orderly.
But the longer the cameras lingered on the panicking guests, the stronger the discomfort became.
"Wait... isn’t that Darren Fletcher?" a woman suddenly asked, leaning closer to the display as the image zoomed in on a man screaming and pounding uselessly against Monarchs holding shields.
"The famous adventurer? The one who cleared the Akmi Ruins by himself?"
Her voice wavered slightly.
"He saved three frontier colonies during the Rift Surge," another person added quietly, recognition dawning in his eyes as discomfort crept into his tone. "They gave him a medal of valor on this very channel."
On another world, in a bustling market square, a hush spread as a familiar face appeared on the broadcast, her finely tailored robes now disheveled as she begged for passage.
"Isn’t that Professor Liora Vance?" a young man whispered, as he instinctively lowered his voice. "The scientist who developed the atmospheric stabilizers? My homeworld uses her tech."
"She’s practically a national treasure," someone else said, swallowing hard. "Why isn’t anyone helping her?"
The justifications began to fracture.
Some still tried to defend the Monarchs, voices tight with forced logic, insisting that the Fourth Ring had to remain sealed, that protecting the Gods and Demi-Gods took priority, that sacrifices were inevitable in war.
"That’s how formations work," a commentator argued on a local network panel, as he wiped sweat from his brow. "If the core falls, Soron escapes and the Evil Cult continues their reign of terror. This is necessary."
Yet even as the words left their mouths, doubt crept in.
Because the people on the screen were no longer faceless elites or abstract titles.
They had names.
Histories.
Faces that citizens across the universe recognized.
And with that realization, a deeply disturbing question began to take root in the minds of tens of billions.... that if people this important were being left to fend for themselves by the Righteous Faction, then what chance would Commoners like themselves ever have of being protected when the times truly grew difficult?
In apartments, families fell silent as parents felt a rising discomfort grow within their chests.
"If they won’t save them..." a man murmured softly, his voice trailing off as he stared at the screen. "Why would they ever bother with trying to save us?"
No one answered him.
On public transports, conversations died mid-sentence as commuters stood frozen, watching civilians scream, plead, and finally collapse in despair as Monarchs stood unmoving before them, their formation absolute and uncaring.
This was not the righteous image people had grown up believing in.
This was not the promise of protection they had been taught to trust.
As the livestream continued, the discomfort grew heavier, pressing down on viewers everywhere, as the question surfaced again and again in different words but with the same meaning.
When the time comes...
Who is worth saving?
And who will be told to stand still and accept their fate?
By the time the feed cut away, many citizens did not cheer, did not argue, and did not speak at all.
They simply turned off their screens in silence, unsettled by the thought that the war had already reached them, not through invasion or destruction, but through doubt that could no longer be pushed aside.
"Man this is some bullshit! Why won’t they fucking move?"
A man finally exploded in a crowded residential atrium, his voice raw as he slammed his fist against the railing beneath the screen.
"They’re standing there like statues while people are begging in front of them. What kind of sick joke is this?"
He shouted, as several others snapped out of their stunned silence at once, anger spreading faster than fear ever had.
"Those aren’t nobodies!" another voice cut in furiously. "That’s Darren Fletcher on the screen. Darren fucking Fletcher. If he gets told to kneel and wait for death, what exactly are the rest of us supposed to expect?"
She said, as her hands shook while she pointed at the display, the image of Monarchs standing unmoved burning itself into her mind.
"This is exactly why the Cult calls them liars," a man muttered nearby, the words slipping out low and venomous before he could stop himself. "All that talk about justice and protection, and the moment it’s inconvenient, they refuse to move a muscle."
He said, as heads slowly turned toward him, not in outrage, but in grim recognition.
"Don’t you dare defend them now," someone snapped when another tried to speak up. "Don’t you fucking dare say ’orders’ again.
A real man would protect the weak.
Hiding behind orders is a sign of weakness."
Across plazas and transit hubs, voices rose in overlapping bursts, outrage finally finding release as citizens stopped whispering and started shouting, the livestream acting less like a broadcast and more like an accusation being hurled directly at them.
"So tell me," a woman demanded aloud, her voice sharp and shaking, "when things go bad here, when it’s our turn to panic, do we get a shield... or do we get told to stand still too?"
She asked, as no one answered her.
Because no one could.
The realization spread fast and ugly, not as fear anymore, but as anger sharpened into something dangerous, as people began to wonder whether or not the ’Universal Government’ was actually working for their safety and betterment or not?
As by the time the feed shifted away, the damage became irreversible.
As although, the Righteous Faction had not lost territory in that moment.
What they did lose was something much more important, as they started to lose the benefit of the doubt amongst the Commoners, as generations of propaganda began to unravel in real time.