Getting a Technology System in Modern Day

One of the humanoid dolls stepped forward, its feet softly pressing against the ground as it advanced toward Ukubun, the former planetary leader and Conclave-appointed representative. With each additional step, its body began to shift. Its limbs shortened, its skin darkened, and its features morphed into something all too familiar.

Within moments, it stood not as a doll, but as a perfect replica of a man Ukubun and nearly every viewer across the planet instantly recognized.

“Your very first victim after rising to power,” Dreznor’s voice rang out, steady and cold. “Your own brother. Burned alive. Publicly executed to set an example… for a crime you framed him for. A crime he didn’t commit despite having committed other, real crimes you could have used.”

As Dreznor spoke, vivid, undeniable scenes appeared above the field, projected like living memories:

Ukubun ordering the evidence to be planted, dismissing his aides’ warnings, his final private conversation with his brother confessing the true reason for the execution: fear. Jealousy. Control.

There was no room for doubt as the truth was laid bare, dissected, and broadcasted.

“The second,” Dreznor said, turning to another humanoid now stepping forward.

It transformed, this time into a humble man with downcast eyes. A servant, once loyal and obedient.

“You had him castrated,” Dreznor said grimly, “and his wife executed, because a woman you fancied among the servants looked at him with interest.”

One after another, the humanoids took shape, each a victim made real again. Each crime was shown with chilling clarity. Dreznor stood as both prosecutor and judge, his voice calm as he delivered the case.

Ukubun’s crimes weren’t few, they were a mountain, a lifetime of unchecked power twisted into cruelty. More than a hundred thousand names appeared across the air in a scrolling list, crimes and victims linked, dates, orders, confessions, all shown.

Some crimes were shared atrocities. Like the annihilation of an entire town, executed simply because its representative dared to refuse Ukubun’s whims. In such cases, co-conspirators would face their own trials in due time.

Dreznor didn’t have to show any of this. The people wouldn’t have protested if he’d simply executed them all. But this wasn’t about vengeance alone.

This was a principle. He wasn’t just punishing Ukubun, he was using him to send a message to the rest of the Conclave once the news reached them.

That even with absolute power in his hands, he would wield it with accountability. That this was not just a revolution, it was a rebirth.

“Throughout your reign,” Dreznor concluded, “you’ve committed atrocities beyond what we’ve shown today. A life for a life, and for each life you took unjustly, I hereby sentence you to a hundred thousand deaths.

Each death,” he continued, “will mirror the ones you ordered or inflicted yourself. The same pain. The same humiliation. The same fear. And your final death, your last, will be public, as your victims’ last moments were.”

He raised a hand.

“These punishments will be carried out by a Zelvora specialist who is behind this as well,” he said, “ensuring that every single death is felt in full. No numbing. No escape. You will know what they knew. Feel what they felt.”

Ukubun vanished in a flash of light, as another criminal took his place. Another humanoid doll stepped forward as a new victim.

The broadcast went on for eight hours a day, every day, for a full week.

By the end, the last person stood trial. He, too, was sentenced to death, though he received the most lenient sentence: only three deaths. His crimes included murdering two individuals and driving a third to suicide through financial sabotage, manipulating the government’s inheritance laws to take over a business at a minimal cost.

Over time, the trials transformed into a phenomenon. What began as a mandatory broadcast quickly became something people wanted to watch. There was a visceral satisfaction in seeing the powerful and corrupt finally brought to justice. For most of the population, except for the families of those being judged, the trials served as both validation and catharsis.

They also became the most effective government acceptance program in planetary history.

While the population was engrossed in the broadcasts, some watching in satisfaction, others in solemn reflection, the new government used this window of focus to work efficiently behind the scenes.

They established a structured leadership framework, ensuring that every region and community would have proper representation and oversight. At the same time, efforts were made to locate all the captured slaves. Their identities were verified, their backgrounds recorded, and they were gently ushered into the early stages of a comprehensive rehabilitation process.

Simultaneously, the assets of those arrested during the trials were seized. The leadership began designing a detailed compensation plan, one that would provide reparations to families who had been extorted, abused, stolen from, or unjustly punished. Every effort was made to ensure fairness, and this included allocating a portion of each criminal’s assets to the former slaves under their control. The goal was to give these newly freed individuals something substantial to begin their lives with resources, not just freedom.

Not wanting to let their high approval rating go to waste, the new leadership also announced open recruitment for the Liberation Army.

Initially, former slaves made up the bulk of the applicants, driven by a mix of gratitude, vengeance, and a desire to prevent the past from repeating itself. However, the momentum quickly shifted. As more people across the planet watched justice unfold and felt hope for the first time in years, applications surged from all walks of life.

Even in the early days, the number of recruits had already surpassed the size of the former military by over a hundredfold, as more than a hundred thousand applicants had applied and more were doing so.

With the end of the trials, the implementation of punishments began, these too were broadcast live. However, Dreznor had removed the mandatory viewing tag after the first day, allowing those who couldn’t stomach the scenes, such as watching Ukubun die in a hundred different ways, to opt out. Still, more than half the population chose to watch, using his screams as a strange form of therapy, a release for the years of pain he had inflicted on them.

Since the executions were carried out simultaneously across different channels, people were able to choose which punishments to watch based on their personal grievances. Some even set up multi-screen displays to follow multiple punishments at once. Dreznor had made one thing clear: no recordings of these events were to remain. Any attempt to capture or save footage would be met with harsh punishment.

His goal wasn’t to erase what happened, but to ensure it became legend, something that spread only through word of mouth. This served a dual purpose: it protected the use of Empire-level VR technology from scrutiny, and it amplified the mystique of the new leadership. Even if some fragments of the broadcast survived, the visuals had been deliberately designed in low quality, something a Zelvora could easily replicate. The only truly advanced element was the simultaneous broadcast, and even that had been camouflaged with glitches and imperfections to avoid suspicion.

Meanwhile, despite already having enough ships to equip every current and incoming member of the Liberation Forces, the government wasted no time. They began converting the planet’s excess manufacturing capacity to produce an entirely new generation of ships, ones with no resemblance to any known design. These ships would mark the beginning of a distinct identity for the Liberation Forces, with unique weapons and systems that reflected their mission and ethos.

As for training, it was scheduled to begin the moment the executions were concluded in the real world. Each criminal was to be transported to the very city where they had committed their atrocities, so the victims, or their families, could witness them draw their final breath. It was justice served not only as punishment, but as healing for the ones left behind.

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