After finishing the reading, Kannis handed the heavy parchment to Cogboy. "Hive Lord Cage, please sign."
Cogboy took the pen—a refined steel auto-quill meticulously etched with the Imperial Aquila—and signed Cage Lawrence at the very bottom of the document.
Adela watched the entire scene unfold. Beneath the table, his hands clenched so tightly that his nails dug deeply into his own flesh.
Twenty-five years.
He had spent twenty-five years meticulously managing this Hive. He had embezzled unimaginable wealth and cultivated countless loyal cronies. He had fully expected to retire in absolute peace, perhaps even passing the throne directly to his son.
Now, it was all completely ruined.
And all because of a single Warp contamination incident—but that wasn't even his fault! It was Aru City that had screwed everything up!
But the Primarch did not care about any of that.
Confiscating sixty percent of his total assets, violently stripping him of his administrative authority, and forcing an eviction deadline... This was a deliberate move to uproot him entirely.
"Lord Adela," Kannis looked directly at him, his tone completely flat. "We expect your full cooperation regarding the administrative handover."
"...Understood." Adela lowered his head, his voice painfully dry.
Behind him, the senior magistrates discreetly exchanged glances. Some secretly breathed a sigh of relief. They were finally getting a new master. Perhaps with this hyper-greedy Hive Lord gone, they could skim even more off the top for themselves?
Others, however, were deeply anxious. A new official always brings sweeping fires of reform. Would those flames burn them to ashes?
The local nobles, for the most part, simply gloated in silence. The Hysman family had ruthlessly monopolized the Hive for two and a half decades, hoarding astronomical profits and leaving the rest of them to fight over the meager scraps. They had been deeply dissatisfied for a very long time.
Only the Tech-priest of the Mechanicus, Arkhan Land, remained entirely expressionless.
The cogwheel insignia on his chest rotated faintly under the chandelier's light. His single mechanical eye swept over Cogboy, locking onto the heavy cybernetic prosthetic of his right arm. A microscopic, almost imperceptible flash of blue light scanned the limb.
The banquet continued, but the atmosphere had fundamentally shifted.
Adela felt like he was sitting on a bed of nails. After forcing himself to drink a few more obligatory toasts, he excused himself citing poor health and departed early.
The exact second he left, the magistrates and nobles instantly swarmed Cogboy. They aggressively offered toasts, desperately pledged their undying loyalty, and eagerly handed over their calling cards.
Cogboy refused absolutely no one. He drank their wine and accepted their flattery, but every single word he spoke left a massive margin of tactical ambiguity.
"Governing a Hive City is a monumental task. I will heavily rely on the full support of everyone here."
And countless other hollow, entirely perfunctory pleasantries followed...
The banquet dragged on deep into the night.
Kannis and his two subordinates got completely smashed and had to be physically carried back to their guest quarters by the estate guards.
Cogboy, however, remained entirely lucid. Feigning slight intoxication, he was escorted by his fellow players back to their temporarily assigned living quarters.
The moment the heavy door clicked shut, the drunken flush vanished from his face entirely.
"So, what's the verdict?" Tax Bro, Schrödinger Bro, and Blood Angels' Second Emperor were already waiting inside the room.
"Respectful on the surface, entirely treacherous underneath," Cogboy said as he sat down, hardwiring his mechanical prosthetic directly into the tabletop data-slate to rapidly input the intelligence he had just gathered. "Adela is deeply unwilling to let this go. He will absolutely pull some dirty tricks. Among the magistrates, the officials in charge of civil affairs and education seem relatively pragmatic. We can observe them. The finance minister and the security prefect are Adela's die-hard loyalists. They absolutely must be replaced. The local nobles are just weeds swaying in the wind. They will follow whoever holds the biggest stick. And that Tech-priest from the Mechanicus... I can't read him at all. He actively scanned my prosthetic arm. He was likely evaluating my technological tier."
Schrödinger Bro nodded slowly. "That is entirely normal. The Order of the Omnissian Mind is a highly specialized branch of the Mechanicus. Whenever they see non-standard cybernetic modifications, their immediate reaction is intense vigilance. They are terrified you might threaten their absolute technological monopoly."
"What about the PDF?" Cogboy asked.
"Complete garbage," Tax Bro flashed a disgusted grimace. "I personally went down to inspect their garrison. The three thousand or so troopers left behind have absolute trash for equipment and negative morale. Most of them can't even march in a basic straight line. How the hell can they even call themselves an army?"
Blood Angels' Second Emperor looked highly thoughtful. "But this is also a massive opportunity. If we can completely rebuild the PDF from the ground up and heavily indoctrinate them with Crimson Dawn's core ideology, this military force will be absolutely, fanatically loyal to us."
"The prerequisite for that is actual equipment," Cogboy said, pulling out a comprehensive inventory ledger of the Hive's central grain silos. The civil affairs magistrate had secretly slipped it to him during the banquet as a subtle pledge of allegiance. "Food reserves... are only enough to feed the ninety million citizens of this Hive for exactly two months."
"That little?" Tax Bro asked.
"Adela absolutely must have smuggled a massive bulk of the strategic reserves directly to the Hysman Merchant Guild before we arrived." Cogboy sneered coldly. "But that doesn't matter. We have the mines. Starting tomorrow, we organize the able-bodied youth of the Underhive and send them straight into the mines. We violently restart full production first."
He looked out the thick armaglass window.
The Kent Hive was not remotely quiet at night. Faint, echoing gunshots and muffled explosions drifted up from the suffocating depths—the unmistakable sounds of Underhive gangs warring for territory, or perhaps mutated beasts aggressively raiding the lower hab-blocks.
This Hive City was exactly like a terminally ill giant. It was still barely breathing on the surface, but its insides were completely riddled with rotting holes.
"Brothers," Cogboy said softly. "Over the next half month, we must accomplish three primary objectives. First, we completely stabilize the situation. We force Adela and his cronies out, but we don't push them too hard or too fast. Second, we aggressively restore production. The mines absolutely cannot stop. They are our fundamental lifeline, and they are our strict quota for the Legion. Third..." He paused, a chilling light flashing in his eyes. "...We thoroughly map out the entire underworld. We figure out exactly who is useful, who needs to be thoroughly purged, and which factions absolutely must be eradicated. Like those vicious Underhive gangs. Or... whatever petty little schemes the Mechanicus and the remnants of the other three major factions are secretly brewing."
Tax Bro violently cracked his knuckles. "It's about damn time! This entire Hive is a toxic cesspool. Just looking at it makes my trigger finger itch!"
Schrödinger Bro remained significantly calmer. "But we must be incredibly mindful of our methods. We are now officially appointed Hive Lords of the Imperium. We have to follow the established rules—at least on the surface."
"Rules?" Cogboy laughed. It was the distinct, entirely lawless laugh of an absolutely unhinged gamer. "In the Warhammer universe, the absolute golden rule is that whoever has the biggest fist makes the laws. We have the full backing of the Iron Hands Legion. We have an army of five thousand heavily augmented players. We have Paul, a literal Astartes-tier Champion. And very soon, we will have our very own indoctrinated PDF guard. As long as we don't cross the ultimate red lines—like openly rebelling against the Imperium or actively conspiring with Chaos—the Primarch couldn't care less how we govern this Hive."
He stood up and walked directly over to the window.
Outside, the flickering lights of the Kent Hive spread infinitely into the dark night, looking exactly like a desperately struggling sea of stars.
In the far distance, a crimson moon was slowly cresting over the horizon.
It was one of Aurelian IV's twin moons, its color as deeply terrifying as a literal blood moon.
"Starting today."
Cogboy enunciated every single syllable: "We are claiming the Kent Hive."
At the exact same time, deep within the upper spires, inside a hidden sanctum.
Adela Hysman sat completely shrouded in the shadows. Five figures stood before him.
Security Prefect Kroger, forty years old, bearing a vicious scar across his face; he was a ruthless enforcer Adela had personally elevated from the filth of the Underhive. Finance Minister Jeremy, fifty-one years old, a remarkably opulent and obese man. Alongside them stood two other administrative magistrates and the supreme Commander of the PDF.
The Tech-priest of the Mechanicus, Arkhan Land, stood silently, the cogwheel insignia on his chest rotating with a faint, eerie hum.
And finally, a heavily cloaked figure whose face was entirely obscured. His voice was hoarse and grating. "That new Hive Lord... will not be easy to deal with."
"I know," Adela ground his teeth. "But he can forget about taking what is mine so easily."
"What do you plan to do?" the cloaked figure asked.
"Stall," Adela sneered coldly. "A formal handover? Fine. But the Hive's ledgers are a chaotic mess, the warehouse inventories are completely untracked, and the PDF rosters are fundamentally broken... all of this requires a significant amount of time to properly sort out."
"Stall until when?"
"Stall until the Primarch physically leaves Aurelian IV." A ruthless light flashed in Adela's eyes. "The Iron Hands cannot garrison here forever. The absolute second they depart, which of those fat bureaucrats in the Departmento Munitorum is actually going to care about a Hive City on some frontier fringe world? When that time comes...."
He didn't finish the sentence, but his implication was crystal clear.
Arkhan Land's single mechanical eye flickered. "The Cult Mechanicus will not involve itself in this petty political squabble."
"I do not need your involvement." Adela shifted his gaze toward the cloaked figure. "You handle the Underhive. I want to make sure this new Hive Lord intimately understands that the waters of the Kent Hive... run incredibly deep."
The cloaked figure chuckled darkly. "And the price?"
"The usual. Food and weaponry," Adela replied.
"Deal." The cloaked figure melted seamlessly back into the shadows.
The PDF Commander spoke up nervously. "Governor, what should we..."
"Go directly to the PDF garrisons and secure the loyalty of the officers," Adela ordered. "Tell them that as long as they stand with me, the future rewards will be immense."
"Yes, my Lord." The PDF Commander bowed and departed.
Adela shot Kroger a meaningful look. The scarred enforcer understood instantly, ushering the remaining two magistrates out of the room.
Only Adela and Arkhan Land remained in the hidden sanctum.
"Magos," Adela looked at the one-eyed priest. "Are you truly not going to aid me?"
"The Cult Mechanicus serves only the Machine God," Arkhan Land's voice was entirely synthesized and devoid of emotion. "However, if you can conclusively prove that this new Hive Lord's technology... is blasphemous to the Omnissiah, the Order may intervene."
With those parting words, he turned and marched out, the faint hum of rotating servos echoing through the hidden room.
Adela sat alone in the darkness, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of his chair.
One tap. Two taps. Three taps.
Then, he let out a chilling, venomous laugh. "Cage Lawrence... Crimson Dawn... Let's see who has the last laugh."
–
At the absolute zenith of the Hive City, on an observation deck.
Cogboy stood leaning against the heavy railing, a cigarette pinched between his fingers.
Behind him, Tax Bro, Schrödinger Bro, and Blood Angel stood in comfortable silence.
"Tell me..." Cogboy suddenly broke the silence. "We've been grinding and bleeding in this Warhammer universe for so long. What exactly are we doing all this for?"
Tax Bro let out a genuine laugh. "For the absolute thrill of it! Not just the simple thrill of a good firefight, but the profound satisfaction of violently fighting for an ideal. That fiery passion we all had when we were young slowly died out after getting mercilessly beaten down by real-world society. But now, in this alien universe, we actually have the chance to reignite that burning passion and fight for something real."
He pumped his fist enthusiastically. "Watching the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary grow stronger every single day, seeing the genuine smiles on the faces of the Imperial citizens... how is that not the ultimate rush?! I know my username literally translates to paying taxes to the Emperor, but after surviving everything we've been through... I honestly just want to say: Emperor, it's time you paid taxes to your own damn citizens."
Tax Bro's expression softened slightly with pride. "We have tangibly altered the destinies of so many people. We made sure they can actually afford to eat, and we revolutionized how they think. And they genuinely, sincerely thank us for it. Compared to the suffocating apathy of modern society where no one gives a shit about anyone else... this feeling is absolutely intoxicating."
Schrödinger Bro chimed in smoothly. "We are fighting to carve out a sliver of dawn in the suffocating darkness. We aren't doing this to inflate our own egos. We are doing this because our fundamental conscience demands it. Since we're here anyway, we might as well do something to make this absolute shithole of a universe... just a little bit better."
Cogboy took a deep drag of his cigarette, exhaling a thick plume of pale blue smoke.
The smoke drifted away into the howling night wind, blending seamlessly into the toxic smog choking the upper Hive.
"You are both absolutely right," he said. "But I think, above all else, the most important thing is..."
He paused, staring out toward the horizon where the blood-red moon was steadily rising. "We have to decisively prove that humanity doesn't just have to live on its knees, groveling in the dirt, or being burned as literal fuel... We can actually live standing on our own two feet. Standing up, living with absolute dignity. They inherently possess the fundamental right to choose their own destinies. That is the exact path Crimson Dawn must walk."
He took another drag, his eyes hardening with unshakeable resolve. "And that is precisely why we had to conquer this Hive City. Why, during the dying light of the Imperium's peak era, under the watchful gaze of the Chaos Gods, and right under the nose of a Primarch... we resolutely chose to enter the grand game."
He crushed the cigarette butt and flicked it over the railing. The dying embers flared briefly in the dark before being swallowed by the abyss below.
"Paul should be arriving soon. Let's go." Cogboy turned and strode purposefully toward the stairwell. "Tomorrow, the real work begins. The very first step in Crimson Dawn's grand reformation of this Hive City is utterly purging these parasites. This Hive is about to undergo a violent, sweeping revolution. Some will sink into eternal damnation to pay for their horrific sins, while others will finally witness the dawn and be reborn. Every single person will be held strictly accountable for their actions, and every single person will earn the fair, righteous compensation they bleed for. Crimson Dawn will forge this new reality... All glory belongs to the hard-working citizens of the Imperium."