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[I]Dear Zarkon.

This is with great pride I send you this message from our NX9 Facility. Ten months ago, we received the remnant of the Blade of Marmora. Pitiful criminals and revolutionaries; they tried to foment an escape within the first days of their confinement. They tried to bribe and coerce my staff. They incited unrest among the other prisoners and within a matter of a week, we were up in arms, fighting against those worthless insects who dared to insult your glory. As you had foreseen it. Once more, I shall praise your insight for the commendable warnings we received as well as the approval for the new breaking procedures.

At first, I doubted it; shame be upon me, my lord.

Giving prisoners pleasure and rewards for their destructive behaviors would not have flown in other facilities without eliciting further chaos. I had to isolate them within the furthest reaches, giving them an area each lest they worked together. Those were fully furnished, as requested. And as expected, they trashed it within the hour. Then, they used whatever makeshift weapons they possessed to take the staff hostage.

Of course, those who got caught by such a simple ploy were demoted, their titles stripped, and their cells prepared within the facility for failing you.

The usage of experimental gases was a boon for sparing their lives and avoiding any further strain on our cleaning budget. I can, therefore, confirm those findings:

• The Neuerax-beta-6 works as intended, producing a sudden limb paralysis completed by a pain sensation. The exposed subject, Ulaz, could not move for the next day.

• The sleeping agent K36 brought the subject Kolivan to his knees after a second, and he remained fast asleep for the next 18 hours.

For the stimulating sample, C56 was deemed to work on the subject Antok with remarkable side effects, such as intense arousal, unrest, and hormonal imbalance.

However, even with the side effects, I decided to use the sample C56 for further tests. I am proud to say this, my lord: The Empire shall prevail, and our prisoners can be repurposed!

With your approval, an expansion of my project, the last technological advancement… We shall reuse those revolutionaries to further your Glory’s reach.

At first, the experiments were challenging, but I refined the process. We didn’t know the precise dose needed to elicit arousal within the prisoners: we lost many samples and a few unworthy prisoners. However, we can now provide the certified data about the usage of the C56 in a fertility therapy and to induce hormonal changes within prisoners. When you visit the Facility, you will see the glory of the Empire. And why I asked for that extension of our budget to acquire those visors for training simulations.

Awaiting your arrival.[/I]

Zarkon sighed as he slipped his digit away, erasing Commander Ankor’s before he threw his tablet aside and stood up. His ship had finally landed on the N9X facility, the most brutal and efficient laboratory-prison within the Galra empire. Its budget was a burden within the interstellar empire, yet its presence was a source of knowledge and pleasure for the Emperor.

Who stepped outside his ship, clad in his purple armor and white cape.

On his left and right, soldiers were standing at the ready with their weapons lifted, guiding him towards the facility’s depths awaited Ankor: Scientist, Warden, and depraved Commander.

“My lord! What a delight for mine eyes to see you! Are you there to inspect my work?” asked Ankor, his sycophantic tone barely covering his concupiscence. He, too, desired his reward as they walked through the corridors: Zarkon in front and the tiny Galra ran after him with his hands joined.

“I already received your report. It was not adequate. Something happened to the Blades of Marmora?” asked Zarkon, giving the Scientist the stinkeye, who jumped and nearly stopped.

“What? Oh no! They were prepared for you! As a surprise, even! Please! Let’s meet them.”

“Meet them?”

Zarkon raised an eyebrow. But just as soon, his collected face returned as Ankor led them further. Left, right, then left. Then, left again while descending. The facility was a labyrinth that delved deeper until it reached clean white corridors, devoid from the typical purple of the Galra’s architecture.

“See, my Lord! The color white has some properties that help in the conditioning of-“

“Commander Ankor,” said Zarkon, his tone cold. It managed to shut the commander off and instead open the door leading to… A strange sight.

“As… You can see. We prepared the Blades for their newfound purpose.”

A purpose that might have brought a smirk to the Emperor’s eyes as he entered the room. For as long as his Empire had been established, the Blades were a pain in his back. They assaulted, they stole, they corrupted. Their roots had spread far and wide within his organization. And yet… They were all standing ready and aligned by their medical beds.

Ulaz, the thief who had stolen the slave project, lean and dry.

Thace, the spy who had stolen the Empire’s data due to Prorok’s weakness, haughty.

And Kolivan, their leader. An old blade, his face marked by scars and wrinkles from years of fight and privation.

More were prepared and bound to their beds. But those three were about and ready, saluting Zarkon like any soldier. Except for their attire, their bodies, their… Faces.

Their eyes were unfocused, their smiles stupid, with saliva dripping from their mouths onto their plump and comely chests. Each right nipple had been pierced and a serial number attached to it, like mere cattle, while their bellies bulged obscenely from what seemed to be a pregnancy. Their belly buttons were popped out; their skin outstretched until their fur and scales were taking a pinkish tone. And yet, instead of hiding their brood away… They were proudly exposing it, as well as the runes branded on them: Property of the Galra Empire. Fertile Broodwhores. Such sigils were old even before the Galra’s homeworld was destroyed. Seeing those lines, forming the picture of a womb, brought that final smirk to Zarkon’s face.

He even stroked them, hearing a whimper from one of those broken traitors.

“My… Lord?” asked Ankor, approaching with his hands still joined. “Are you satisfied?”

“Satisfied?” Zarkon looked at his subordinate. Then… At Kolivan. The oldest, the most insolent, the one that had survived all the purges.

“Who are you?” he asked, observing the rolling eyes as the poor slut focused.

“I am… Galra Broodwhore 7. My- Emperor.”

“Who were you?” asked Zarkon, his fingers going over that plump chest and pinching the nipples until they produced a trickle of milk.

“I… Was… A Traitor,” articulated Kolivan, his eyes drifting. “A punished traitor. My Emperor.”

That… Was wonderful. With a grin, Zarkon brought his clawed fingers to his mouth, tasting the sweet milk as he glanced at Ankor: “How many more can you create?”

“As long as I have prisoners. Are you enjoying… My gift, my Lord?”

“Yes. I will take those back home. I will make an example of them, of all the traitors who betrayed me. And use them as I see fit.”

“Y- Yes! Of course, my Lord!”

“But not without rewarding you.”

Ankor’s eyes seemed to gleam with joy and praise as Zarkon turned to Kolivan. He lifted him by the neck, expecting the former Blade to answer. And yet, the sole thing Kolivan did was to praise and so echoed the broken Blades by his side. They were gone, broken… Ready.

And so, after throwing the pregnant traitor on the bed, Zarkon stripped. Bits by bits, his armor disappeared to reveal his stiff, sticky, and musky manhood before Ankor. A monster of flesh that dwarfed other Galras and reminded them of their inferiority towards him.

He was the Emperor, he was their betters… And the likes of Ankor had no choice but to bow. To accept, and to embrace the moments in that primal need for voyeurism. The poor commander fumbled to strip and have his “moment” while his Emperor approached the bed and his whore who had already raised that ass.

That hole had been ruined, broken so much it gaped and naturally leaked lubricant. A hole Zarkon fingered, stretched… Before he pressed his broad cockhead against what resembled a cunt.

“Broodwhore 7.”

“Yes-Yeeees my Lord?” moaned Kolivan, his breath harsh as the cockhead forced against his hole and forced it apart. It… Crushed his guts, it ruined his body… And beyond that, it made the poor sterilized male shoot on the bed while he held onto the mattress.

“Scream for your Emperor. And beg…” said Zarkon as he gave a thrust, one that hit the depths of Kolivan’s cunt, reaching right down to the artificial womb that had been set within the modified intestinal tract. Kolivan screamed, as expected, while Zarkon nudged and battered that artificial cervix. But he didn’t beg.

“Beg,” repeated Zarkon, hammering against the orifice, barely watching the bulging belly, or Ankor stroking his tiny cock while watching.

“B- Beg?” cried the broken Blade, his eyes rolling and his face planted within the pillow.

“Beg to become your Emperor’s concubine.”