Protocol 18-7AX (Involuntary Relocation)
Location: The Architect’s Sanctum (Lysander’s Office).
Time: The Golden Era.
Subject: Administrative Restructuring / Euphemisms.
The office smelled of old parchment and very strong tea.
Lysander sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled. He looked at the two titans standing before him like naughty children sent to the principal’s office.
Aman took up most of the room. His head brushed the chandelier.
Xara was sitting on top of a filing cabinet, swinging her legs.
Torian sat in the corner on a beanbag chair, peeling an orange.
"State the nature of this... interruption," Lysander sighed, adjusting his glasses. "I was calculating the wind-shear coefficient for the Western Wall."
"We have a proposal," Xara announced, hopping down from the cabinet. She landed with a heavy thud that made Lysander’s inkwell jump.
"A new operational standard. We call it Protocol 18-7AX."
Aman nodded solemnly. "It is a structural necessity, Brother. The current guidelines for dealing with... obstacles... are inefficient."
Lysander picked up his quill. "Go on. I am listening. But if this involves blowing up another mountain, the answer is no."
"No explosions," Xara promised. "This is about personnel management. Specifically, the removal of inept or undesirable actors from the grand stage."
"We wish to institute a streamlined process for the Involuntary Relocation of Souls," Aman rumbled.
Torian paused, a segment of orange halfway to his mouth.
"The what?" Torian asked.
"Involuntary Relocation," Xara repeated, making a sweeping gesture with her hand. "You know. Moving them. From the 'Alive' column to the 'Not Alive' column."
Torian chewed thoughtfully. "So... murder. You want a permit for murder."
"No!" Aman and Xara shouted in unison.
"Torian, please," Aman said, looking hurt. "Murder is chaotic. Murder is a crime of passion. Protocol 18-7AX is a geological necessity. When the soil is weak, you remove it to find the bedrock. We are simply... excavating the weak soil."
"Ideally with a hammer," Xara added. "Or Tamu Kifo. The method of relocation is flexible."
Torian looked at Lysander. "They want to kill people who are bad at their jobs."
"Inept!" Xara corrected. "Incompetent! People who walk slow in the hallways! Warlords who don't know which end of the spear goes stick! It's a mercy, really. We're sending them to a place where their stupidity can't hurt anyone."
'...THE NEXT PLANE NEEDS FOOLS TOO,' Kivuli’s voice rumbled through the room.
Lysander rubbed his temples. "Let me clarify. You want a standing order that allows you to execute individuals you deem inept without filing the standard Form 44-B Request for Lethal Force?"
"The paperwork slows down the process," Aman explained. "By the time I fill out the form, the idiot has already made a mistake. If I simply... relocate his soul immediately... the mistake is corrected before it manifests."
"It's about efficiency, Lysander!" Xara slammed her hands on his desk. "Do you know how long it took that courier to find the Northern Gate yesterday? Twenty minutes! He was looking at a map! I could have relocated him to the void in less than three seconds. Think of the time saved!"
"You want to kill a courier for being lost?" Torian asked, horrifyingly fascinated.
"Relocate!" Xara hissed. "Stop using the M-word! It sounds so messy."
"And the mess is the point," Aman interjected. "Currently, if Xara relocates someone, you scold us for the cleanup. Under Protocol 18-7AX, the relocation would be pre-authorized. Therefore, the mess is not an infraction. It is... operating overhead."
Lysander stared at them. He looked at the massive man who thought crushing people was excavation. He looked at Xara who thought assassination was time management.
"I have questions regarding the criteria," Lysander said calmly. "Who defines undesirable? Is it based on treason? Malice?"
"Vibe," Xara said instantly.
"Structural density," Aman said at the same time.
Lysander closed his eyes.
"So," Lysander summarized. "If someone has a bad vibe or looks soft, you wish to enact an Involuntary Relocation of their Soul."
"Yes," Aman said. "It keeps the Authority strong. We cull the cracks before they spread."
"And it's fun," Xara muttered.
Torian threw an orange peel at Xara. It bounced off her shoulder.
"You guys are insane. You can't just relocate the guy who makes my sandwiches just because he forgot the mayo."
"He forgot the mayo twice, Torian," Xara glared. "That is a pattern of failure. Protocol 18-7AX would solve it."
"He makes good bread!" Torian argued. "Lysander, tell them this is crazy."
Lysander opened his ledger. He dipped his quill in the ink. The scratching sound filled the silence.
"Torian is correct regarding the morality," Lysander said without looking up. "It is barbaric."
Xara slumped. Aman looked down at his feet.
"However," Lysander continued, his voice flat. "The cost of correcting errors made by incompetent staff has risen by 14% this quarter. The ink budget alone for rewriting botched reports is astronomical."
He wrote something down.
"I am approving Protocol 18-7AX."
"What?!" Torian choked on a seed.
"YES!" Xara pumped her fist.
"Stability is achieved," Aman nodded gravely.
"With conditions," Lysander held up a finger. "Subsection One: No relocations within the Citadel limits. I will not have blood on the carpets. I just had them cleaned."
"Subsection Two: You must file a Post-Relocation Manifest listing the name, rank, and specific stupidity of the relocated actor."
"Subsection Three: If you relocate the sandwich maker, Torian is allowed to stab you."
"Fair," Xara agreed.
"Accepted," Aman bowed.
"I hate this family," Torian sighed, sinking deeper into his beanbag. "I'm going to go warn the kitchen staff to be... extremely competent today."
"Good idea," Lysander murmured, turning a page. "Tell them the Protocol is live. It might improve the soup."