A dimly lit room in the imperial palace, a night like any other night. Commodus sits on his throne, draped in a lion skin cloak, a wooden club resting beside him. One of his advisors, Gaius, approaches with an important message.
“My lord, Emperor Commodus, I bring grave tidings. The empire, my lord, it falters. The economy has plunged. Grain shortages plague the provinces, and the trade routes are empty. The treasury runs low on coin, my lord. The people… they’ve begun to whisper against your rule.”
“Please forgive me, my lord, I’m just your humble servant, but I’ve been told they’re calling you a tyrant.”
The emperor’s gaze slowly turns to meet Gaius.
“What about the Senate, Gaius? What solution do they propose?”
“My lord… there are rumors that Senators are making plans to…” Gaius pauses, his hands shaking.
“SPEAK NOW!” Commodus yells.
“Replace you, my lord,” Gaius yelps as he coils back in fear.
“We need to act, my lord, before their plans take root—”
“THE SENATE CONSPIRES AGAINST ME?” Commodus’ voice echoes down the halls.
“They’re jealous of me, Gaius. They’ve never seen a man as great as I, the very reincarnation of Hercules.”
“I’m not just the emperor, I’m god’s gift to this kingdom.”
“But fear not, my loyal servant, I know what to do. I have the concept of a plan this time.”
“Rome is to be reborn, rebuilt, become what it was destined to be, and my hand is the one to do it.”
Gaius’ face tries to hide fear while showing the weakest of smiles, his stomach twisting as he prays the emperor might listen.
“Yes, my lord… I understand.”
“We will rename the empire to reflect my greatness, my power.”
“Yes, Gaius! The empire shall be called Colonia Commodiana—the Colony of Commodus! Rome is dead; it was a weak, mortal thing. Now it rises as my creation. The people? No longer Romans—they are Commodians, my children, blessed to live under my divine hand. The legions? The Commodian Legions. The Senate? The Commodian Senate, though they scarcely deserve the honor. Even the months—January becomes Commodus Invictus, February Commodus Herculeus—every day will sing my name! Nobody builds empires better than me.”
A deranged laughter escapes the emperor’s grinning mouth.
“I am the reincarnation of Hercules, Gaius! I have slain beasts, conquered foes, and now I usher in an age of gold. They will see it, or they will perish.”
“My lord…” Gaius interjects finally, his hands trembling, his voice breaking.
“Your vision is unparalleled. Truly, none could doubt your divinity.”
“But…”
The emperor’s face turns toward Gaius, like a lion ready to pounce on his prey.
“The Senate, my lord… You must see them at once, calm the waters…”
The emperor’s gaze softens as the last words escape his fearful servant, and for a moment, Gaius hopes he’s gotten through to him.
“You are right, Gaius, good thinking…” Commodus says, his voice quiet, almost kind.
Then his grin returns, wild and sharp.
“They shall all be put to death, a purge is needed. If we are to welcome the new empire, we need to destroy the rot of the old.”
“GO, Gaius, GO!”
“Give word of what we’ve spoken tonight… Give word that the Golden Era has begun.”
Afterword: I started writing this little dialogue this morning, and it might just be how it went down all those centuries ago.
Emperor Commodus, made famous by Joaquin Phoenix in Gladiator, was one of the worst emperors Rome ever had—though Nero might give him a run for it, photo finish style.
His crazy idea to rename everything to win over a crowd that hated him? Totally happened. Historians back up his narcissism too—his name had to be everywhere. Statues, coins, even the months screamed Commodus. He worked his brand before branding was a thing—sound familiar?
He might’ve been the first faux populist too, acting like he was just another guy. Romans loved the games, and he jumped in, racking up staged wins against animals and weaklings. Grain handouts, big shows—classic tricks to keep the mob cheering. But it was all fake.
His end? Well documented. Tyrants tend to fall the same way, then and now.
Anyway, I hope whoever reads these stories enjoys them as much as I do writing them. And if you’re wondering if they’re political statements… what’s your gut tell you?
MenO
