Backstory

The Bureaucrat Elite does not walk onto the battlefield so much as it arrives. It arrives with a full legal team — paralegals in the wings, an advocate at the front, and a paralegal whose entire job is to carry the advocate’s briefcase, which is empty but very heavy. The farm’s defenders have learned to recognise the sound of it coming: the rustle of paperwork, the tap of claws on stone, and the distant weeping of unpaid interns.

It can rewrite your castle layout mid-wave. Not destroy it — rewrite it. Walls move. Towers swap. The defence line you spent the whole wave building suddenly has a different floor plan, filed, stamped and legally binding. The Elite does not fight with weapons. It fights with jurisdiction, and jurisdiction always wins.

The interns handle the tears. The interns handle everything, actually — the filing, the revisions, the emotional toll — and the interns are not paid. When the Elite finally falls, the paperwork outlives it by decades, and somewhere in the archives there is a motion, never withdrawn, to relocate your entire defence line to the sea. The interns drafted it. The interns will never finish it.