The official unofficial shrine to

DARTHMERDER

Dark Lord of the Shit. Regional Manager, Sector 12.
He chose the name himself. Nobody has ever had the heart.

4languagesin which it means that

0planets destroyedbudget pending

11printers destroyedthis quarter alone

0people brave enoughto sit him down and explain

A note on the name

Merder

/ˈmɜːdə/ · noun, proper

The self-chosen title of the Dark Lord of Sector 12.
In Italian, French, Romanian and one dialect of Outer Rim Basic: excrement. Or the adjective. Both work.

Etymology: he wanted something that sounded like murder. He got close. He got very close.

He picked it himself, at nineteen, in a bedroom, out loud, several times, in front of a mirror.

The Emperor knew. The Emperor said nothing, because the Emperor found it funny and the Emperor does not get many of those. The admirals knew. The Shittroopers absolutely knew — you can hear it in the salute.

Four decades on, Lord Merder has choked eleven men for insubordination and not one of them, not one, used their last breath to tell him. That is either fear or kindness. In this galaxy it is generally both.

He is the Dark Lord of the Shit.
He is, specifically, the crap one.

Who is Darth Merder?

Nobody is entirely sure. He appeared in Sector 12 nineteen years ago holding a clipboard, and everyone was too frightened to ask which department he was from. He has since been promoted four times.

The Brown Side

He can crush a man's windpipe from across a room. He mostly uses this to close doors he is too far away to reach. It is, and he would hate this word, a bit rubbish.

The Voice

Deep. Cavernous. Slightly nasal on Mondays. Says his own name at the start of every call, and every call has a small silence after it.

The Cape

Dry-cleaned monthly. Has been caught in the same lift door eleven times. He refuses to discuss it.

The Signature

Signs off every transmission — Lord Merder, in full, in bold. He thinks it lands. It lands.

The Merder Files

Surveillance stills recovered from the Sector 12 archive. Some of these were taken by his mother.

A black-armoured figure presenting pie charts to bored office workers — **Q3 Fear Projections**Terror was up 4%. It later turned out to be a rounding error. Two analysts have not been seen since.

Black helmet in a studio portrait with a small yellow rubber duck on top — **“Sir. There is a duck.”**“There is no duck.” There was, in fact, a duck.

Armoured figure in a floral apron at a suburban barbecue — **Sausage duty**He burns everything. On purpose, he says. Nobody has ever verified this.

Armoured figure waiting in line at a government office — **Ticket B-114**Renewing his speeder licence. He has been in this queue since the Clone Wars.

Armoured figure running on a treadmill in a neon gym — **Cardio, 06:40**The cape adds forty minutes to the changing room. He has considered leggings. He will not be discussing it.

Armoured figure singing karaoke on a small bar stage — **Friday, The Rusty Sarlacc**He does *My Way*. Every week. Nobody in this galaxy has ever successfully said no.

Black helmet resting on a cluttered office desk — **Desk 12-B**The plant died of natural causes. The investigation is ongoing.

A dark space station silhouetted against a red giant star — **The Merder Star**47% complete. The contractors stopped answering his calls in year three.

Crimes against the galaxy

Compiled by the Imperial Ethics Committee, who are also frightened of him.

Named himselfUnprompted. Unassisted. Without once saying it aloud to another living being first.
Microwaved fish in the Merder Star break roomClassified by the Senate as a war crime. Upheld on appeal.
Parked the TIE fighter across two baysOne of which was reserved. There is a note. He has not read the note.
The third-floor lavatory, stardate 4118The Empire has sealed the deck. The Empire will not be taking questions on this.
Hit reply-all to 40,000 ShittroopersThen hit reply-all again to apologise for the reply-all.
Called the Emperor “boss” in front of the boardSilence lasted nine seconds. Survivors describe it as “longer.”
Writes “per my last transmission”He knows. He knows exactly what he is doing.
Force-choked the office printerIt was jammed. In fairness to Lord Merder, it is always jammed.
Books meetings that could have been a hologramRecurring. Weekly. No agenda. Ever.

What the galaxy says

“He is a competent employee.”
The Emperor — reference form, signed under visible duress

“On my homeworld that word is what you scrape off a boot. I have never mentioned it. I have a family.”
Admiral Vasq, Imperial Second Fleet

“He approved my expenses in eleven minutes. I would die for him. I probably will.”
TK-421, Shittrooper, currently off-post

“Patient presents with unresolved anger, restricted airways, and one point four million unread messages.”
2-1B, therapy droid, session 402

“Two stars. The canteen is fine but a large man in a helmet stared at my soup the entire time.”
Anonymous review, Merder Star Mess Hall

“I have never met him and I intend to keep it that way.”
L. Skyworker, freelance pilot

“He's honestly lovely once you get past the choking. And the name. Mostly the name.”
Deborah, Sector 12 reception

Choose your blade

The colour of this entire website is a lightsaber. Pick one. There are no consequences, which is itself a moral failure. One of these he built himself, in the dark, from a kit, and it is the one you are thinking of.

Join the Merder side

Not the dark side. The other one. The brown one. We have biscuits — they are the cheap ones, and there is never a full packet, and this, precisely this, is what the Merder side is.