Day 183, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Hive Orion
Lower Hive
Eric swallowed a mouthful of Corpse Starch while staring at the entrance of the Iron Fang gang's base through a grimy window. He glanced back and forth between the heavily fortified gate and the notebook in his hand, trying to verify if the intel he had bought from Raul was actually practical. It seemed that at least some of it was accurate.
According to the notebook, this was Entrance 1B, one of the few access points into the Iron Fang's headquarters, and it was supposedly only "moderately guarded." He reread this section about three times, looking up each time to stare at Entrance 1B. The gate was fortified with heavy stubber emplacements and swarming with gangers. To make matters worse, every single one of them was equipped with better weapons and flak armour than the average street thug.
"Moderate security? Are you kidding me?" Eric closed the notebook and let out a soft sigh.
Normally, for an infiltration and stealth mission, heavy security wouldn't be an issue. He would remain safe as long as no ganger realized he was an imposter in their ranks. However, after observing their screening process at the gate, a knot of hesitation and fear formed in his stomach. Their coded passphrases—a bizarre, elongated amalgamation of German, English, French, and Spanish—were incredibly complex. At one point, he even saw a guard recite a convoluted, lengthy sentence just to verify an identity.
His hesitation wasn't born out of complete ignorance. He could speak those languages and understand the codes. But it would take him a moment to mentally translate the challenge and formulate the proper coded response. That slight delay would undoubtedly arouse suspicion.
Therefore, he only had two viable options to get inside: sneak through a poorly guarded secondary entrance (or try to talk his way past a drunk ganger, if such a person even existed on duty), or use the secret route detailed in the notebook.
Eric looked down at the unconscious body of the unfortunate man who happened to be the owner of this room. The building was located right next to Entrance 1B, making it the perfect vantage point for observation.
Eric felt a twinge of pity for the poor bastard whose sheer bad luck placed him here at the wrong time. So, Eric had knocked him out with a swift punch, tied him up, and dragged him to the other side of the room. He made sure to bind the man's hands and feet securely, gagging him as well, just in case the unlucky resident woke up and started screaming.
Eric picked up a canteen and took a drink, trying to ignore the overwhelming taste of chlorine and recycling chemicals. With his free hand, he opened the notebook again. His eyes scanned through the various sections until he found something intriguing—something that would be highly beneficial for infiltrating the base.
Turning to the final page, he found a meticulously hand-drawn, highly detailed schematic of the Iron Fang headquarters. The map highlighted the layout of the base and even specified the average number of guards stationed at each choke point.
Eric frowned at the sheer level of detail. It was almost too accurate. He had no idea how Raul had acquired such precise intel. Maybe the guy had casually walked in and mapped every single corner himself.
The notebook even pinpointed the exact location of the bedroom belonging to Kronos, the Iron Fang's boss.
Suddenly, his eyes caught something on the map that piqued his interest. It was an emergency escape route, marked as a staircase hidden in the deepest, darkest part of a specific alleyway. This staircase supposedly led straight into the deepest levels of the gang's base.
Eric began to weigh the risks. If he tried to bluff his way past the guards at the front gate, he risked being caught due to his slow response to the passphrases. If he took the suicidal route—gunning down every ganger at the gate and storming the base to assassinate the boss directly—well, only a madman would attempt that. His final option was to find that hidden staircase, infiltrate the base quietly, sneak into Kronos's quarters, execute the target, and extract himself to wait for Colonel Drago to take him back to the Upper Hive.
Naturally, he chose the last option.
Decision made, Eric tucked the notebook into his pack, pulled up his lower face mask, and secured his helmet. Just like that, he looked exactly like an ordinary Iron Fang ganger. He checked the bindings on the unfortunate room owner one last time before slipping out quickly, ensuring the man wouldn't raise the alarm when he regained consciousness.
Eric hugged the shadows and blind spots, waiting for the patrolling gangers to look the other way before silently darting from cover to cover without drawing attention. His current objective was an alleyway marked '7008', where the hidden staircase was supposed to be located.
At times, he boldly played the part, walking right past genuine gangers without saying a word, not even attempting to hide. Thanks to his seamless disguise, no one batted an eye. Eventually, he reached his destination.
But of course, there was a ganger standing guard right at the mouth of the alley. Why was his luck always this rotten?
Eric observed the guard from a blind spot, completely unseen, as he formulated a solution. He could use his silenced pistol, but that would waste his precious, limited ammunition. Furthermore, even if he dropped the guard, another ganger might stumble upon the corpse and trigger an alarm, making the assassination mission infinitely harder.
While pondering his next move, Eric spotted a large metal bolt on the ground. A simple solution presented itself. He picked up the heavy piece of scrap and looked toward his left.
With all his might, Eric hurled the bolt in the opposite direction to distract the guard.
Clang! The sound of heavy metal striking the deck echoed through the area. The ganger guarding the alley immediately snapped his head toward the noise.
"Not this again... I'm gonna kill you filthy scavengers," the ganger muttered irritably, stomping toward the source of the sound with full intent to murder whoever or whatever had made it.
Eric seized the moment, slipping silently into the alleyway. The guard remained completely oblivious that someone had just bypassed his post.
After walking for a distance, the atmosphere in the alley grew dim and dead silent, save for the low, constant hum of ventilation fans and distant machinery. It had the standard, terrifying ambiance of any Lower Hive alleyway... just without the mutant scavengers or whatever horrors usually lurked in the dark.
However, the alley was a labyrinth. Eric felt like he was on the verge of getting lost and had no choice but to keep exploring blindly until he found the stairs. He knew he might hit a dead end and have to backtrack to try another fork.
Suddenly, Eric noticed something: a ventilation unit fitted with a dim lumen-globe that looked like it was about to burn out at any second.
Eric was so relieved he almost cheered out loud, but he managed to bite his tongue. He didn't have to wander blindly anymore. He checked his surroundings to ensure nothing was following him, then pulled out the notebook and opened the map again.
Although the faint light was barely enough to read the schematic, through sheer effort, he managed to estimate his current position—even if it wasn't perfectly accurate.
Okay, he was somewhere right before a three-way junction. The correct path was the middle one. From there, he needed to take a left, then a right, and that should lead him straight to the stairs.
It felt a little too easy, but Eric didn't let his guard down. He stowed the map and pressed on immediately, his hands gripping his submachine gun tightly. His eyes and ears remained on high alert for any enemies or horrors that might spring from the shadows.
After navigating the junction and the winding paths, Eric finally found the staircase—the one that would take him to the deepest depths of the Iron Fang's territory. But...
"You have got to be kidding me," Eric muttered, exasperation and disbelief washing over him. The staircase he had to climb looked to be over a hundred meters high, and its structural integrity was laughably poor. Entire steps were missing.
Still, it was the safest route available—certainly safer than walking right up to the gangers and trying to bluff them. The only catch was the very real risk of falling to a gruesome death.
After a moment of hesitation, Eric sighed, slung the autogun over his shoulder, and began the long climb.
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Mag-lev Cargo Train B43
Carriage 13
Inside what appeared to be an ordinary, empty cargo carriage, heavily armed Korvax House Guards were checking their weapons, preparing for the impending massacre. They had been ordered to raid the compound and eliminate Lord Ritus Rist, who was implicated in inciting a rebellion within House Korvax's territory.
Leading this operation was Commander Omega.
Every soldier inside the carriage was currently inspecting their firearms. Some used microfiber cloths to meticulously clean the lenses of their scopes or the optics of their hot-shot lasguns. Others applied sacred unguents, reciting the very same litanies used by the Adeptus Mechanicus to soothe and appease the stubborn Machine Spirits within their wargear.
Some checked their respirator filters and the internal systems of their helmets. However, one thing united them all: beneath their disciplined routines, there was a palpable sense of underlying fear. They weren't afraid of the upcoming battle. Thanks to their rigorous training and the generous stipends their families received, they were ready to lay down their lives to execute whatever orders Lord Valen issued.
The Korvax House Guard possessed no mercy and showed no hesitation. If ordered to purge an entire sector, they would do so without flinching. They would feel no remorse gunning down children or pregnant women. But they were still human. They still felt fear.
And right now, they were terrified of their Commander, who was sitting completely still.
Omega sat motionless at the rear of the carriage in full uniform. Though he wore less armor than his subordinates, his signature green beret and single red optic implant made him look far more intimidating than any of the heavily armored men under his command.
The aura radiating from Omega made everyone else feel deeply uncomfortable, sending shivers down their spines. The ambient temperature around him seemed to drop noticeably.
No one dared to approach or touch their Commander. They feared dying without warning—a deep-seated terror of his uncontrollable psychic potential.
But what none of them knew was that their Commander was currently trapped in a state of severe psychological distress.
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Not again, Omega muttered internally as a vision overtook him, dragging him back into the horrific memories of his past. He was back there again. His homeworld. Cadia.
He perceived the world through the eyes of his teenage self. He saw the violent purple skies, the brutalist architecture designed solely to act as an impregnable fortress, and the few dilapidated slums where he used to live. It wasn't the absolute worst existence imaginable, but he had loathed every second of it.
As he watched his younger self observing the White Shields training from afar, looking up at the elite Kasrkin with wide-eyed admiration, a crushing wave of shame and self-deprecation crashed over him. He knew that wallowing in self-pity and degrading himself was entirely pointless.
But deep down, he had desperately wanted to be a White Shield, to be an Imperial Guardsman. Not the junkie kid he was back then. And certainly not the House Guard Commander he was now. He was a disgrace.
Omega endured it, trying his best to ignore the intrusive memories. He pushed them aside, knowing that the vision would soon pass and he would be violently yanked back to reality.
Worthless.
Failure.
Mutant.
Witch.
Abomination.
Heretic.
Disgrace.
Hazard.
Freak.
Monster.
Trash.
Omega fought to ignore the voices screaming in his head. They were just the whispers of daemons, trying to distract and provoke him. Suddenly, an immense surge of pain ripped through him—not physical agony, but a tearing sensation within his very soul.
When he opened his eyes, he was met with the tense, paranoid stares of his subordinates. Omega realized he was drenched in cold sweat, despite the freezing temperature surrounding him. He let out a slow exhale, reached into a tactical pouch, and pulled out a map to review.
He planned to divide his forces into several squads and order them to lock down the perimeter. The objective was the execution of Lord Ritus Rist, who was currently hiding out in the Iron Fang base.
It would likely turn into a bloodbath, but he didn't care. As long as the mission was accomplished, the lives of some filthy gangers and a handful of innocent civilians were an acceptable price to pay.
Omega stored the map and picked up his modified hot-shot lasgun, meticulously cleaning it with practiced care. However, his hands trembled slightly. Certain muscles twitched with annoying persistence.
It seemed his withdrawal symptoms were returning.
Omega frowned, forcing himself to ignore the lingering side effects of his heavy substance abuse from years ago, focusing entirely on preparing his gear for the upcoming mission.
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"Finally," Eric murmured in relief as he lay flat on his back against the solid floor. After spending nearly thirty agonizing minutes climbing the dilapidated, hundred-meter-tall staircase, he had miraculously succeeded without falling to his death. Though physically unharmed, he was panting heavily, utterly exhausted to the point where he couldn't even jog, let alone run.
But as he lay there gasping for air, Eric turned his head to the left and was struck by a shocking, profoundly irritating realization. The platform he was lying on was nothing more than an empty, square room. There was nothing here except the staircase he had just climbed, and... another identical staircase right next to it.
"Seriously?! Who the hell designed this architecture?!" Eric groaned in frustration from his spot on the floor. But amidst his complaining, a heavy wave of drowsiness washed over him.
Eric knew well that he hadn't slept properly for the past two days, kept awake by paranoia and the harsh environment of the Lower Hive. Yet, it seemed there was a silver lining to this wretched situation: the empty room contained absolutely nothing but himself. It was secure, isolated, and surprisingly perfect for a quick rest.
"Well, I guess it's not all bad," Eric muttered. He took off his helmet and unslung his pack, deciding to use this precious, uninterrupted time to finally get some sleep.
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Author's Note: During his teenage years (around 14-15), Omega heavily abused narcotics to drown out the constant voices of daemons whispering in his mind. Although he has been clean for years, the lingering side effects still haunt him.