Ahhh I don't think I could give the old apes a good run, I've forgotten many of the plot points and characters I made.

I've got something else to be considered, sort of a meme yet utterly created for my fun mwahahaha

[hider=The Collective][color=808080][center][hr][url=https://fontmeme.com/fonts/black-future-storytype-studio-font/][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/240117/42e4c58487ab5ecdebd4c0999ca21d56.png[/img][/url][hr][color=a9a9a9][b]Nation Name[/b][/color]:
The Supreme Collective of Intelligent Bovine
[color=a9a9a9][b]Government Form[/b][/color]:
Oligarchic Meritocracy
[color=a9a9a9][b]Demographics[/b][/color]:
[sup]”Moo.”[/sup]
100% Bova Domina
[color=a9a9a9][b]Population[/b][/color]:
[sup]”Sometimes it feels like there are as many cows on Grass as there is, well, grass.” [/sup]
2,900,000,000[hr][img]https://images8.alphacoders.com/418/418877.jpg[/img]
[sup]Grass with Other in the sky, Bright shining upon them.[/sup][hr][/center][color=a9a9a9][b]Planet Name and Description[/b][/color]: 
The Homeland. The Untouched Paradise. The Small Green Jewel. Grass. From the ground, plains of green as far as the eye can see, an ocean of grass swaying in the gentle breeze. Not a single organism aside from the green grass lives upon the land, no tree, no insects, no grass-munching mammals, no pests, nothing. Yet the grass stays pristine, stays short, lightly trimmed and uniform by unknown means. The soil is rich despite the lack of diverse fauna or changing landscapes. The ground is unnaturally flat throughout the single continent on Grass’ surface, not a single hill in sight. A perfect haven for the farmer and the cow, living in perfect unity among the green seas. All of it utterly poisonous, the ground itself quickly dispersing gas which once breathed causes your orifices to bleed and organs to burst. The first beings to land on Grass did not have a good time. A trapped honeypot, artificially created to be the perfect agricultural-world-turned-deathtrap. Not much else is of interest in this artificial no cow zone, the emptiness of it all shaking the hooves of any bovine to gaze at it for too long.

The weirdness of the Grasslands (the bovine who thought of that was [i]very[/i] proud) resulted in all the bovine population residing within stilted cities in the breaking waves of the freshwater Ocean. Here, they could breed, toil and build. And build they did. The coast of the Grasslands is dotted with large, stilted cities held up by great concrete pillars, government buildings rising high into the sky to prevent the downwind gas from poisoning their bovine employees. A web of trains circulates, transporting industrial goods, foodstuffs and most often, paperwork, to each stilt city. The near-circular Grasslands shines a brilliant golden circumference at night, a stunning sight for those gifted enough to afford a space flight or unlucky enough to be a worker of the Branch of Space Debris. 

[color=a9a9a9][b]History[/b][/color]: 
It is largely unknown what happened to the creatures which brought the bova domina to this artificial planet. Perhaps they all died from the poisonous gas? Perhaps the pre-Intelligentsia overcame them with cunning and might? Perhaps we outbred them out of existence? Nevertheless, as the earliest accounts of eleven generations ago suggest, the bovine were left to do as they pleased once they awakened with intelligence. Or, more accurately, once [i]some[/i] awakened with intelligence. Among the poisonous landscape, within great herds numbering millions, a select few bovine found themselves with greater awareness than they had ever had before. These lucky few sprinted towards where they thought the coast to be, the other witless animals following them as they themselves died in droves, spilling and vomiting blood into the grass. These first few moments of the bova domina was wreaked in confusion, stampedes, and the horrible stench of blood.

These early bova domina each led herds of hundreds of thousands, diminished from their millions by the gas, all clustered into the coastlines where many in their herds were pushed into the sea and drowned by the panicked mass of cattle. It was on the coastlines that many other bova domina awakened but were yet lesser than their earlier brethren. Dull-witted, more compliant, more prone to following their supposed leaders. Supply crates, construction equipment, materials and foodstuffs lined the coastline where they went, all written in a language only the early Intelligentsia could read, somehow imprinted in their minds. “FARMCO” it said on those metal boxes, in big, bold lettering. Further imprinted instructions led to the early Intelligentsia leading their herds, five fingered hoofs and all, to finish the monumental concrete cities on the shallow beaches of the grasslands.

With unwavering determination, endless stamina and many bodies, the Intelligentsia press-ganged their brethren into finishing these coastal cities breeding many cows to produce many calves to feed this near-mindless project (and replace the many deaths from the gases). And with completion, they kept building new cities. And building and building until the coastline of the Grasslands was dotted in colossal concrete behemoth cities, connected by supersonic rail, engineered by the memory of brilliant Intelligentsia. Upon completion, the masses were moved to be branded and the Intelligentsia officially formed as their leaders, dictating that in the interest of efficiency, they must all form one government, one people. Here, the bureaucratic mess of thousands of governmental branches were born. Here, the space-going nuclear rockets were launched to maintain decrepit orbital stations. The workers kept toiling, the managers kept cracking their whips but yet the Intelligentsia waited. And they waited. And waited and waited.

For moons, many true bova domina stood still, looking for the creatures which had uplifted them, searching for the answer to their purpose. Why had they been imprinted these instructions, where are the supposed progenitors for whom we should thank for intelligence? And yet, nothing. The Intelligentsia were smart enough to realise that their own existence could not be anything other than artificial for based on the observations on marine life on Grass, one must evolve into intelligence. No creature wakes up one day and finds itself intelligent, let alone dropped in a lonely ocean of green death. Yet, no answers were given. No signs for why they were created. At some point, the vast majority of Intelligentsia descended back to their thrones to rule and govern, tired of waiting for seemingly non-existent creators.

All stopped waiting and moved on to making their positions greater, mired in the political savageness of governmental politics, all except for three. Three young calves, three marked more intelligent and cleverer than the rest, did the unthinkable. Instead of waiting, they [i]searched[/i]. They searched for revealing clues, for hidden messages and sequestered spaces. In the labyrinths of the oldest cities, they toiled (or rather, made others toil) and looked for something, a thing, an object, a [i]something[/i] which would sate this innate curiosity within themselves that they shared. And in a hollow pillar which held up [b]City 01[/b], they found it. And with it, their lives changed.

[hider=FARMCO: A bright meat-eating future!]
[color=F8f8ff]A video plays, one bipedal pink-skin alien wearing garishly coloured criss-crossed clothing at the forefront. Plains of non-Grass grass laid in the background, an old looking wooden barn in the back.

[i]Hey y’all!
Shit is fucked! Our country’s not the same and the vegans are taking over, the terrorists are pointing nukes at us and they’re making marijuana legal! To many of you true-blooded farmers who are sick of the government, sick of the whining liberals who dot our lands, sick of the [i]vegans[/i] who steal our fun guns, we have a solution to your colony problem! For an exceptionally low cost, you can find yourself rocketing away to the location of your dreams. A planet prepared for our living, our way of life, filled with cows, bulls and steers to sate our appetites. We even plan for those four-legged Betsy’s and Bucks to feed and farm themselves in the future with some genetic shit-housery! 

You’ve trusted us for a hundred years to be your farming equipment and slaughterer favourite, why not trust us to take you to another planet? Join the FARMCO boat TODAY and get 30% off your first meal Grass-side!

Yeehaw![/i][/color][/hider]
The new Primary Three governmental branches stand aside from the rest in their ruthlessness, cunning and sheer drive to get to the top. With a burning desire to lead and the amount of unprecedented cooperation between their branches, the three stand apart from any other shadow leaders from before. The previous standing Philosopher was shot, the cow’s backers splintered and destroyed with the new leadership introduced all within a moon. A new era of captaincy points the bova domina into a new direction, driving towards a new frontier they had only dipped their hoofs into.

The Stars.

[color=a9a9a9][b]Culture and Society[/b][/color]: 
Work. For most of the bovine population, from the moment they are born to the moment they collapse in exhaustion, their existence is work. Each one a branded government employee, each one given monumental task sheets impossible to complete in the bovine lifetime, each one inevitably crushed by the sheer amount of work given to them. For the non-Intelligentsia, the working classes, the toil of the everyday is all they know (and most of the time, all they [i]can[/i] know given their limited intelligence). From writing forms to deleting forms to shooting other bovine to healing bovine to managing dullards while being managed by a cow who thinks you’re a dullard, every job under the Bright eventually swallows the life of the average bovine. There is not much else to think, do or say other than work-related things and most often than not, the workplace is for sleeping. Thus, your average bovine is very boring to talk to and talk about. And just before they expire and pass the use-by date, they are corralled to the Branch of Breeding to do, well, exactly that.

The Intelligentsia, on the other hand, live the lifestyles of [i]kings[/i] (and queens). As the bosses of each governmental branch, they have a slice of dominion within which they could do whatever they like if they contributed to the wider Collective in the process. Born as natural leaders and superiors, they are pampered and catered to from the moment they open their eyes. Quickly scurried to golden-laden carriages and sent to the Branch of Developing Intelligentsia, these non-branded genetic superiors are taught the hundreds of different ways they are better than the rest. Assigned to a branch of their own, they often devolve into power-hungry cutthroats who believe themselves the best and challenge any other meat-munching bastards to prove them wrong. 

The two worlds are intertwined, for one could not live without the other (apparently). Without the dullards, the boors and the stupid, there would be no one to bear the burden of existence. Without the intelligent, the wise and the clever, there would be no one to eat the fruits of existence. One feeds the other and the other presses their hoof on the throat of one. One is born to serve and the other is born to be served. One follows and the other leads. Two worlds apart, separated by the vast chasm of brain development.
[center][hr][img]https://i.imgur.com/5EWCMil.jpg[/img]
[sup]Branch of Metal Security Forces[/sup][hr]
[/center][color=a9a9a9][b]Governance and Politics[/b][/color]
[sup]”Bureaucracy is ours and ours is bureaucracy.”[/sup]
One Government, One People. The [i]bova domina[/i] take this quite literally. From birth, all are assigned a position in government. A serial code branded on the cooling bodies of newborn calves, designating their job for the rest of their lives. Some are born as workers or managers, others soldiers or pen pushers. Select few are born into the citizenry of the Intelligentsia. The majority are cogs in the machine of bureaucracy, sequestered in the seemingly infinite branches of government to inform the Collective and its upper echelons of leadership.

The Collective is best described as an endless machine of tax forms, budget summaries, approval papers, intelligence reports, internal war requests and many more forms of paperwork all centred around the Intelligentsia. So great are the Halls of Paper, with its shelves stacked stories high, that some estimate that a request for a new coffee machine from the poorest funded governmental branches would take a decade to even reach the eyes of an Acquisitions employee. A government which seems to be in perpetual motion with bureaucratic inertia, with many arms holding up its excess weight and many more contributing to the dead mass.

The captains of these many branches of government, the ones who lead this mass of government? The Intelligentsia, chosen from the best of bovine stock for their genetic superiority, intellect and inherited imprinted information. They provide the moral, spiritual, political, and cultural leadership of the Collective. They are the sole holders of citizenship, deigned to be intelligent enough to lead and thus intelligent enough to vote. From their select number, they vote for the Philosopher, a non-citizen, non-Intelligentsia who was bestowed such a small branch of government that they could be bullied into doing whatever the higher powers wanted them to. Thus, the role of the Philosopher is to serve as a figurehead to the unwashed masses that make up the lower orders of government and to please their simple-minded heads (i.e. other non-citizens, non-Intelligentsia).

There are a multitude of governmental branches who has led the Collective from the shadows in the past but they have since fallen, been absorbed or splintered (except for one). The current Philosopher, one leader of the Branch of Toasters, is backed (read: put into power) by the following:

[i]Branch of Media & Entertainment[/i]:
The Branch of Culture covers the creation, administration, and distribution of appropriate numbers of culturally significant media to the various other branches. It astounded many that such an insignificant branch managed to become a primary. “The filmmakers? They can barely put together a good plot let alone run a government” said one, now very dead, Intelligentsia. When the current Secretary, one Scug Scruggins III, realised that you could use and control the resentment of the droll masses through the media, the bull very quickly created various forms of entertainment subtly (or in other cases, blatantly) ragging his competition. Creating an empire in which most branches which even come close to creating any sort of media is absorbed, whether brutally or using propaganda on its workers to incite revolt. A brutally cunning (or is it cunningly brutal?) bovine fanned many a hostile takeover in those branches which faced against him, the smart ones either looked away or joined right with him to the top of the Primary Three. Prominently in the rumour mills, Scug had apparently seduced whatever cow lurked in the shadows of the Branch of Developing to get to his position.


[i]Branch of Agriculture[/i]
The oldest branch in the Primary Three, existing a full three decades in its current form but with a new leader. The Branch of Agriculture covers the development and research into new agricultural products (versus the Branch of Farming which oversees the management of farms, confusing isn’t it?). Simply coming into power by popular demand rather than intrigue, murder and cheating, Agriculture’s main claim to fame was its ability to create more densely nutritious, protein-heavy paste which allowed one to consume and work at the same time! An invention which delighted so many Intelligentsia for its cost-saving work that they just let this branch be. That is, until Beau Bo, an aging, old cow, decided to poison several branches worth of bovines working under Intelligentsia which pissed her off at a party. Seeing as though most of the bovine population drinks (and is wildly addicted to) their refreshing, easily poisoned drink, Beau quickly rose to the Primary Three (after dodging a dozen assassinations and paying back her dues tenfold). This was only made inevitable by the backing of the Branch of Breeding, a surprising alliance from an unlikely backer.

[i]Branch of Stellar Position[/i]
This branch comes as close to scientific astrology as you can get. The Branch of Stellar Position prides itself on having “the best advice on Grass!” They send multiple sheets a day to each governmental branch employee dictating what they should do according to the time, day, month and year. Despite many government branches giving their best effort to destroy these notices, the Branch of Stellar Position has become famous to replace every destroyed sheet with two copies. This led to the Great Paper Flood, covering many a poor bovine in a thousand paper cuts. Given the plodding, sheep-like nature of many bovine, there is a significant percentage of bovine population which follows this sheet, many mistaking the sheets to be actual orders from their leaders. Thus, Secretary Buck Chuck severely hampered the inner workings of rival branches and threatened many others with the same. Once the Branch of Branding had moved its political weight towards him when most of its staff was swayed by his astrological advice, there could be no other option but to be at the top.

[color=a9a9a9]Technology Overview[/color]: 
[sup]"To develop, we must breed. So breed we shall!"[/sup]
Whatever technology is imprinted into or will be imprinted into the bova domina is what the Collective has and ever will have. Either too busy with politicking or too stupid to think of anything else other than their daily work, technological, scientific and even cultural development depends on the birth of new, more intelligent and newly imprinted Intelligentsia. The trend for technological improvement wildly varies between fields, with some fields left wanting newborns to improve their development while others are bursting to the seams with wild creatives bouncing ideas off each other. Overall, the Collective’s primary technological improvements over the last moons can be summarised as:
[list][*] Ballistics abound, as many different forms of guns, ammunition and armour you can think of varying between the different branches, resulting in small arms development that responds to itself
[*] Development of rapidly ingested, incredibly nutritious foodstuffs with calories aplenty to provide for the hungry worker, allowing for sustained work hours that would render a normal bovine dead
[*] Durable construction materials, combined alloy-enforced concrete to provide unmatched strength to hold the weight of the bova domina in each stilted city
[*] Significant naval and marine knowledge which include improvements in boat design as travel between far away stilt cities can be faster across the freshwater ocean (also allows for rival government branches to trade and travel without easy interdiction from enemies as it is on the rails)
[*] Incredibly effective, durable, lightweight paper to provide for the yearning masses of to-be-done paperwork (weirdly, most Intelligentsia are born with a great amount of knowledge on the creation of paper)
[*] Nuclear power is the way forward for the bova domina, with many new Intelligentsia calves born with its knowledge. Nuclear rocketry is the spearhead for bovine spacefaring, the use of small, controlled fission explosions to efficiently bring the bova domina into space, recent landings on Other proving a success[/list]

[color=a9a9a9][b]Military Overview[/b][/color]: 
[sup]"The rain in City [b]04[/b] was comprised of bullets, grenades, corpses and surprisingly, water."[/sup]
A military, in the form of a unified force for defence of the state, does not exist in a standard form within the Collective. Instead, each governmental branch can choose however many resources and soldier-type dullards for their armies. Some forego this entirely and rely on espionage, bribery and seduction to get their way, others have the vast majority of their branch armed to the teeth. These forces often work against each other in short but brutal military conflicts whose length is dictated by whenever the leading Primary Three can be bothered to shut it down. Military philosophies, equipment and training vary wildly between branches as well, all depending on what branded soldiery is assigned to what government branch. But generally, you can surmise the basics as follows:
[list][*] Small, mobile engagement forces primarily fighting with small-arms. With the lack of open space within the concrete stilt-cities, cramped alleyways chocked with bova domina and high-rise buildings which look like pencils they are so thin, there are no developments of tanks or other mechanised land forces. Engagements are fought hoof to hoof, horn to horn, bullet to bullet in cramped urban environments, the thick alloy-crete armour of security forces shedding manoeuvrability for excess weight and protection, massive automatic firearms endlessly churning out bullets at unknown foes in blind-firing duels.
[*] Water naval troops engaging in long artillery duels across the oceans to target freighters or other naval ships. With the general hatred for flying, there are no carriers as such in Collective water navies, only great looming battleships bristling with railgun artillery, powered by new nuclear reactors to slice across the water.
[*] Espionage units are aplenty within government branches though many aliens may scratch their heads on how a 600 kilogram bull with long horns could ever be stealthy. Try saying that when your coffee is filled with poison and all of your money has been drained from your accounts via phishing email.
[*] Space naval warfare is still limited, largely due to the costs of nuclear rocketry.  The Primary Three hold their dominance here, creatively sticking railguns on the fronts of nuclear-powered rockets and flinging them into space. There is not much creativity here yet, many Intelligentsia anxiously waiting for spacefaring-imprinted calves to be born.[/list][hr][center][img]https://img.freepik.com/premium-photo/cow-is-flying-space-with-galaxy-background_779834-2500.jpg[/img]
[sup]To The Stars[/sup][/center][hr][/color][/hider]