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A thin arm stretched out towards his old face, offering a smeared glass containing alcohol.
"Not now," the man in the chair said to his slave.
Monitors blinked alarmingly around him. He typed furiously, checking every camera on the surface that still worked, examining the only remaining satellite feed that he still had access to.
He stood up and stretched. "Do you think we should evacuate?"
His slave looked back at him with a worried expression, poking the glass with its claws.
"Murther wouldn't, would he?" he asked, noticing his slave slowly shaking its head.
The dusty room was silent, no longer under attack by the annoying alarm sounds.
"Alright," the man said. "One last time. You know what to do. Prepare for chaos."
The slave bowed and left the room.

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