The year is 2843.
The cities of the world are shining beacons of white, silver and perfect order. Under the same soaring banners bearing a twisting, serpentine sigil, citizens murmur fervently to each other,
“Blessed Prime Day to you,”
Their eyes are bright with something that looks like fear.
In his tower, the planet’s overlord gazes upon his domain with impassive eyes. Once, his weak human sight might have missed the movement in the shadows. Now, in his elevated state, Jeff Bezos spots a blemish upon his kingdom.
“That man there — seize him,” he says in a flat monotone. “We will make an example out of those who do not belong in our Efficiency,”
As his mechanical guards leave, he watches as the annual battery drop begins. As always, there has been an overproduction of these obsolete power cells.
A price must be paid.
In the streets, his people begin to scream in pain even as they hasten to stay on schedule.
Something like a smile graces his titanium lips.
It is good to be Emperor.