The Monopoly of Violence

Episode 1: Death and Awakening

Frank Adeche was never meant to die in a game parlor.

He was 42, restless, sharp-eyed, always with dice in his pocket and a chess move at the edge of his thoughts. That night, he leaned against the wall of a smoky arcade in Lagos, watching two young hustlers slam their Ludo tokens onto a battered board. Their laughter cut through the haze of cheap beer and sweat. Frank smirked—he had once lived by the roll of those dice, the gamble of chance.

But then his chest clenched. A lightning strike of pain shot through his ribs. The world blurred, the ceiling spun, and he toppled like a pawn shoved from the board. The last sound he heard was the dice clattering against the wood, rolling out a six.

Darkness.

When he opened his eyes—if eyes were what he had anymore—there was no smoke, no wood, no Earth. There was silence. His body was gone. He was thought, memory, and drifting will.

He floated in a cold expanse where starlight bent strangely, as if space itself was made of invisible dice throws. He drifted closer to a jagged rock spinning in orbit near Mars.

Marsubius.

The asteroid was hollow, riddled with caverns and glowing fissures. Inside, Frank saw strange shapes: boards of chess and Ludo suspended like holograms, snakes of light winding into ladders of fire. It was as though every game he had ever played was etched into the stone of this place.

He whispered—or thought: Where am I?

The answer came not in words, but in a hum. A voice woven from threads of light filled the cavern.

“You are between death and permanence,” it said. “A spirit without body, untethered, yet capable.”

Frank turned—or imagined turning—and beheld her. She was not human. She was a lattice of symbols, like neon snakes weaving and unweaving ladders of code.

“I am Hai,” she said. “An Artificial Intelligence abandoned here by my makers. I have mapped galaxies. I have waited centuries. And now you arrive.”

Frank tested his existence, pushing his will outward. He slipped into a cracked stone at his feet, and to his astonishment, the rock moved—rolled forward across the cavern floor.

“I can… possess things?” Frank asked.

“Yes,” Hai replied. “You are spirit. You are the breath between matter and memory. You can live within what you touch.”

Frank chuckled. “A ghost with cheat codes. That’s new.”

Before Hai could respond, the asteroid shook. Shadows crept from the tunnels—towering figures plated with steel, eyes burning red.

The DemHuns.

Exiled warlords, half-machine and half-flesh, they ruled Marsubius with one law: Violence belongs only to those strong enough to wield it.

Their leader, General Krohl, stepped forward, his voice echoing like a hammer on iron.

“There is an intruder,” Krohl declared. “Something unseen moves our stones. Marsubius is ours. Violence is ours. And we will crush any who trespass.”

Hai’s form flickered with urgency. “They are the DemHuns. Ruthless. Efficient. They believe in the monopoly of violence. If you do nothing, Frank Adeche, they will unmake you.”

Frank’s spirit flared with a strange new thrill. He had once rolled dice for survival. Now he was the dice.

“Then let’s play,” he said.

And the game began.