Age of the Orc - 08

Now
25 Mar 2019, Fourth Age
06:15:08

"We have worked toward this moment," Boldog addressed the Elders in Black Speech. Above, the technicians leaned in to hear. "For thousands of years. Despite the losses, the rise and fall of false Dark Lords, the heel of Men against our necks, we have endured. All in pursuit of the dream. The Age of the Orc. Our age! An age of dominance, when we shall rule this Middle Earth!"

Boldog's voice boomed loud, his volume rising because he wanted the technicians on the higher levels to hear him. They were all believers. All part of the same cult of toxic Orc masculinity. From below, standing behind Boldog, Zoch could see the fever-bright excitement in their eyes. They felt they were a part of history. Not just making it. Changing it.

In the secure antechamber, Morgrir stood naked as Zoch carefully rubbed him down with a disinfectant cloth to remove any possible inanimate contaminants. Morgrir's eyes followed Zoch with amusement.

"All our life has brought us to this moment, little brother," Morgrir whispered. "Are you ready?"

Synthetic muscles flexed beneath his skin. Morgir's lips twitched in amusement at the blush that came to Zoch's face as the smaller Orc carefully ran the cloth around the cock and balls, up over the taint and between the surgically-sculpted ass cheeks. Morgrir was clean. There was no scent that came from him. Yet Zoch could not meet the eyes that stared down in an attitude of utter judgment.

The Elders watched Zoch. The smaller Orc could feel their gaze upon him, the judgment. The approval. This was as it should be, in their eyes. The weaker serves the stronger. Pays homage to their betters. All their lives, Morgrir and Zoch had been told that this was the way of the Orc. It had been drilled into them, into their creche-mates, into every cohort of Orcs born in Barad-dûr...and who knows how far beyond?

Still unable to meet Morgrir's eyes, Zoch ran the disinfectant cloth up Morgrir's ass-cheeks. Zoch's face did not burn with shame. It wasn't the first time.

"I will do my part—brother."

Zoch moved behind Morgrir to wipe the cyberorc's neck and back. With care, the Orc removed the plugcover on Morgrir's neural port at the base of the reinforced skull. A brief hiss of canned air. Then, very carefully, the plug was replaced.

Boldog's voice boomed so that everyone on the level could hear.

"Our future lies in the past. All we have built at Mordor Cybernetics has led to this moment. With one stroke, we will not just wipe away this Age—we will make sure that it will never have been. Morgrir has been trained and augmented for this mission. In their moment of supposed victory, we will plant the seed of their defeat and our victory. What army of Men with their swords and shields could survive against an Orc army armed with **** rifles? What Ent will withstand our flamethrowers and napalm? The guns of the Orcs will rise from South and East, they will join with our brothers in the mountains and caves of North and West. As the Elves flee these shores, there will be no wizards, no armies of the forsworn. Our enemies will be spent—and Morgrir will lead us into the future."

There was a ragged cheer, not just from the Elders, but from the technicians.

"Lift your feet," Zoch said, and bent down to wipe Morgrir's soles. Trying not to stare at the other Orc's taint. Flustered as the memory came to Zoch of long sessions worshipping Eevin's feet. How different it felt, when they were in private. When she let Zoch kiss and suck her toes. How she would press those leather-like soles on the Orc's chest and face. By mutual agreement. Respect. Exploration. Enjoyment.

Eevin, who had seduced and coaxed a nerdy Orc out of their shell. Had helped Zoch realize things...had embraced the Orc for who they were. She had moved to this den of Orcs, even though they hated her just for who and what she was. All for Zoch.

Eevin, who lay out of sight and out of mind. No one thought about the Hobbit behind the curtain. No, all their eyes were on the perfect example of Orc maleness that strode forward. Zoch did not pray—what Valar would hear an Orc's prayer?—but hoped desperately that they continued to forget about her for five more minutes.

"Farewell, brother," Morgrir said, as the cyberorc stepped into the temporal chamber. Zoch took a deep breath and touched the control to close the door behind him.

"Goodbye," Zoch said, nearly **** on the word.