Kent Hive, the Governor/Hive Lord's Estate, 3:00 AM.
A freezing midnight rain drifted through the pitch-black sky. Fine as mist, the rain lashed relentlessly against the marble exterior of the sprawling palatial estate with a continuous, whispering rustle.
Inside the master suite on the third floor, a heavy fire roared violently in the hearth, hungrily consuming the stacked firewood.
Cogboy slouched deep in an armchair next to the fire, the joint connections of his cybernetic arm radiating a faint, residual heat. He was still wearing the dark gray formal suit from earlier, but his collar was now completely unbuttoned.
The heavy oak desk before him was buried under chaotic mounds of the Hive's administrative files—mineral output manifests, PDF deployment rosters... and three thoroughly crushed, empty packs of Cigarettes.
Tax Bro sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, methodically using a whetstone to sharpen the firing pin of his heavily modified combat shotgun.
Schrödinger Bro stood silently by the armaglass window, his back to the room. His gaze pierced through the freezing rain, locking onto the sporadic, flickering lights deep within the suffocating darkness of the Hive City. He held a lit cigarette loosely in his right hand, while his left gripped a crumpled manifest. Seventeen distinct names on the list had been violently circled in blood-red ink.
Blood Angels' Second Emperor sat behind the desk, meticulously writing something into a thick, leather-bound ledger. The sharp scratch of his pen against the parchment was the only sound in the room. Occasionally, he would pause, looking up at the roaring fire, the dancing flames reflecting brightly in his eyes.
"The PDF deployment roster officially lists sixty-two thousand active personnel. Even after deducting the forty-five thousand men deployed to the frontline meat grinder, we should theoretically have seventeen thousand left. In reality, the total number of soldiers we can actually muster right now is less than three thousand." Cogboy finally broke the heavy silence. "And the armory inventory is even more absurd. On paper, we supposedly have a stockpile of sixty thousand lasguns. We did a hard count. There are only three thousand functional weapons left. The rest are either rusted scrap metal, or..." He paused heavily. "...or they never actually existed in the first place. The embezzlement... they've literally embezzled themselves into absolute insanity."
Tax Bro didn't even look up, continuing to rhythmically grind his firing pin. "These parasites really will steal anything that isn't bolted down."
"It's not just embezzlement," Schrödinger Bro said as he turned around, the red-circled manifest in his hand glowing darkly in the firelight. "I personally audited the logistical supply records for the past fifteen years. Exactly seventeen senior armory quartermasters died in highly 'accidental' circumstances. Every single one of their replacements was a die-hard loyalist hand-picked by Adela."
"Causes of death?" Blood Angels' Second Emperor asked, pausing his pen.
"Mining accidents, caught in Underhive gang crossfire, sudden fatal illnesses... you name it, they died from it." Schrödinger Bro sneered coldly. "But the miraculous coincidence is that within exactly one week of each quartermaster's death, their corresponding armory warehouse suffered a massive electrical fire due to 'aging wiring.' Every single physical inventory record was completely reduced to ash."
The room plunged back into a suffocating silence.
The firewood in the hearth snapped and crackled violently, spitting out a flurry of bright embers.
Cogboy rubbed his throbbing temples. "Kannis and the Munitorum bureaucrats are scheduled to return to the City of the Holy Anthem by noon tomorrow." He looked at the others. "According to our original operational plan, once they are gone, we will formally summon every single senior Hive official for an administrative assembly and purge them one by one."
"Adela is not just going to sit there and wait for the executioner's axe," Schrödinger Bro said flatly.
"I know," Cogboy replied as he dug the final half-empty pack of cigarettes from his inner pocket, pulling out a stick and lighting it. He took a massive drag, letting the smoke cycle deeply through his lungs before slowly exhaling. "Which is exactly why we must strike first, and strike fast. Before Adela even has time to formulate a cohesive counterattack, we brutally seize complete control of the PDF. Then, we lock down every single department head and subject them to extreme interrogation."
"And what exactly is our standard for interrogation?" Blood Angels' Second Emperor asked. "Are we judging them according to Imperial Law? Or by Crimson Dawn's rules?"
"By the undeniable facts." Cogboy flicked his ash. "Whoever embezzled funds, whoever orchestrated murders, whoever conspired with the Underhive gangs to oppress the citizens... If they deserve the firing squad, we shoot them. If they deserve a cell, we lock them away."
"And what happens if our interrogations reveal that over half the administration is guilty of capital offenses?" Tax Bro finally looked up, flashing a terrifyingly bright grin. "Do we slaughter them all?"
"..." Cogboy fell completely silent.
That was exactly the agonizing dilemma giving him a migraine. The Kent Hive was a colossal metropolis of ninety million people, supported by an unimaginably massive, thoroughly rotten administrative bureaucracy. If they truly applied Crimson Dawn's strict moral standards to the investigation, the total number of officials from top to bottom who were actually fit to serve would likely be less than thirty percent.
But if they executed seventy percent of the Hive's government overnight, the entire Hive City would instantly paralyze into absolute anarchy.
"Which is precisely why I said—" Tax Bro violently racked the slide of his shotgun. The heavy metallic clack-clack of a live shell chambering echoed deafeningly in the quiet room. "—we publicly slaughter the loudest, most arrogant ones first. The rest will have the absolute fear of God put into them, and they will naturally fall perfectly in line."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor sighed heavily, closing his thick ledger. "Honestly, what we need right now isn't a better operational plan. What we need is..." He paused, his gaze drifting out into the pitch-black, freezing rain. "...someone who can actually hold the line and terrify them into submission."
The exact second the words left his mouth, a hyper-faint metallic clink echoed from the heavy stone balcony outside.
The sound was practically imperceptible, nearly entirely masked by the howling rain.
But all four players inside the room instantly froze.
Tax Bro's hand instantly clamped down over his shotgun grip.
Schrödinger Bro's thumb instinctively flicked the safety off his laspistol.
Blood Angels' Second Emperor snapped his ledger shut and slowly rose to his feet.
Cogboy violently crushed his cigarette. His cybernetic right eye whirred, instantly cycling into thermal-infrared scanning mode.
On his retinal HUD, just outside the heavy armaglass balcony doors, a towering thermal silhouette stood completely motionless. The heat signature radiating along the edges of the silhouette was perfectly, impossibly uniform—a distinct thermal profile exclusively generated by the advanced environmental control systems of high-tier power armor.
The heavy armaglass doors were slowly pushed open.
Freezing rain instantly slashed through the gap, immediately blooming into dark, wet stains across the outrageously expensive, hand-woven carpet.
A colossal figure clad in dark gray power armor stepped into the room. The blazing sun insignia of Crimson Dawn was deeply etched into the center of the heavy ceramite chestplate.
The helmet's visor hissed upward with a pneumatic seal, revealing Paul's face.
Rainwater ran in steady streams off the curved ceramite of his enormous pauldrons, splashing heavily onto the carpet with rhythmic thuds. The power armor's flawless environmental sealing ensured not a single drop penetrated the undersuit.
"Brothers," Paul's voice reverberated through the power armor's external vox-casters, carrying a deep, intensely magnetic resonance. "What is our tactical situation?"
Tax Bro broke into a massive grin and released his white-knuckled grip on the shotgun.
Schrödinger Bro's thumb slipped off the safety, and he let out a long, quiet exhale.
Blood Angels' Second Emperor sat back down, casually reopening his thick ledger.
Cogboy stood up. The heavy hydraulic servos in his cybernetic arm hissed loudly as he released the built-up combat tension.
Although Cogboy was currently the nominal Supreme Commander of the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary, handling all diplomatic negotiations and high-level administrative decisions, every single player fundamentally understood the truth: Paul was the true, absolute guardian deity of Crimson Dawn.
An active Astartes-tier physiological baseline, a Champion possessing five terrifying core traits, a Storm-tier Psyker, and possessing an absolute, limitless respawn authority... Stacking all these insane factors together made him an entirely unprecedented, god-like existence among the player base.
But far more importantly... he was the only player who could never, ever log out.
The other players could die, respawn, and still return to their normal lives in the real world. But Paul was fundamentally different. His identity as a Champion completely bound his destiny to this grimdark universe. He couldn't go back, and he didn't need to.
This universe was his eternal battlefield.
"Sit," Cogboy said, dragging a heavy oak armchair over and placing it directly beside the roaring fire.
Paul walked over and sat down.
"Brief me."
Even while sitting, his towering three-meter frame dwarfed everyone else in the room. The sheer, unfathomable weight of the dense ceramite armor caused the solid wood chair legs to groan agonizingly, and that was with Paul actively utilizing his physical mastery to minimize his gravitational footprint.
"The situation is incredibly grim," Cogboy summarized with absolute brutal efficiency. "The PDF rosters are functionally fake, the armories have been thoroughly stripped and embezzled, the entire administrative bureaucracy is rotting from the inside out, and Adela and his cronies are absolutely guaranteed to launch a violent counterattack."
"Our original plan was to wait until tomorrow after Kannis and the other two officials from the City of the Holy Anthem left. Then, we would convene a meeting of all the senior Hive officials, arrest them one by one, and sentence them on the spot," Cogboy said, looking directly at Paul. "What do you think?"
Paul remained silent for a few seconds. The fire in the hearth danced wildly within his dark golden pupils. When he finally spoke, his voice was as calm as if they were discussing what to eat for dinner. "The plan is feasible, but it isn't ruthless enough."
"How so?" Cogboy asked.
"Your chosen timing is flawed. Waiting for the officials from the City of the Holy Anthem to leave seems safe, but it actually gives Adela a massive buffer period." Paul's armored fingertips rhythmically tapped against the armrest, the heavy metal clacking dully against the solid wood. "It's a pitch-black, stormy night—the perfect weather for murder and arson. Communications across the various Hive sectors are already severely degraded. The PDF garrisons are leaderless, the administrative officials are isolated in their own homes, and even the Underhive gangs are cowering in their dens." He paused, lifting his gaze to meet Cogboy's. "This is our heaven-sent opportunity."
The room instantly fell dead silent. The only sounds were the howling rain, the crackling of the fire, and the rhythmic tapping of Paul's fingertips.
"You mean..." Schrödinger Bro asked tentatively.
"The moment dawn breaks, we immediately convene the new Hive Lord's inaugural general assembly." Paul's voice dropped to a freezing temperature. "While the rain is still pouring, we dispatch our forces right now to completely lock down every single exit in the Hive. From the absolute top to the absolute bottom—all senior officials, PDF commanders, Mechanicus representatives, and upper-spire elites... We formally invite every single one of them to attend."
"All of them?" Cogboy frowned deeply. "Including Adela?"
"Especially Adela," Paul replied.
"But Kannis and his people are still—"
"Invite them too," Paul cut him off, his tone brokering absolutely no argument. "When they visited the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary, I scanned them using my Wisdom trait. Kannis Brown has been in office for twenty-three years. The total funds he has embezzled convert to at least eighty million Imperial Coins. His deputy, Mason, smuggled and sold restricted military supplies, directly causing three fully equipped PDF regiments from the City of the Holy Anthem to be entirely wiped out during a mutant suppression campaign due to severe equipment shortages. Todd is even more depraved. He has actively colluded with major human traffickers across multiple Hive Cities, personally facilitating the disappearance of over twenty thousand innocent civilians in just five years." With every sentence he spoke, the temperature in the room seemed to violently plummet. "According to Imperial Law, the crimes these men have committed are enough to have them executed ten times over. But according to Crimson Dawn's standards... Skinning them alive by a thousand cuts would still be far too merciful."
Tax Bro's eyes lit up. "So we kill them?"
"We kill every single one of them. If we do not execute these absolute degenerates, we will never be able to appease the sheer fury of the citizens," Paul confirmed.
"But they are officials dispatched directly from the City of the Holy Anthem. If we kill them, won't that—"
"It won't." Paul interrupted yet again. This time, he looked directly at the group, a chilling, highly calculative light flashing violently within his dark golden eyes. "Let me ask you a very simple question. What is infinitely more secure: bribing a corrupt official, or physically replacing that official with one of our own?"
His words dragged the room into a profound silence. Schrödinger Bro was the first to fully process the horrifying implication. "You're saying... we replace them?"
"Exactly." Paul stood up, the colossal servos of his power armor letting out a deep, thrumming hum. He strode over to the window, staring out at the storm-ravaged Hive City. "Do not forget exactly how Deep Sea and his covert ops team successfully infiltrated Aru City. According to his latest intelligence report, he has already successfully breached their upper spires. The other infiltration squads are also making rapid progress. Therefore, we will execute the exact same strategy here. Our people will assume their identities and return to the City of the Holy Anthem in their place."
A collective, sharp intake of cold air echoed through the room.
"But what about their memories...?" Blood Angels' Second Emperor asked hesitantly.
"Their memories... are not a difficult problem to solve." Paul turned around, the violent flames of the hearth casting long, terrifying shadows across his face. "My Wisdom trait allows me to deeply read their fragmented memories and extract crucial information. Combine that with a few aggressive interrogation techniques beforehand to extract their detailed personal profiles, and it will be more than enough to flawlessly handle casual daily interactions."
Tax Bro licked his lips, his eyes practically vibrating with absolute excitement. "That's incredibly ruthless. I love it."
Schrödinger Bro rapidly calculated the sheer logistical feasibility in his head. His deeply furrowed brow slowly smoothed out. "The calculated success rate... is easily above eighty percent. The absolute prerequisite, however, is that our initial lockdown operation cannot suffer a single flaw."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor was already furiously scribbling down operational key points in his ledger. "We will need at least fifty players to actively participate in the infiltration replacement plan. We must strictly prioritize players who possess real-world acting experience or high-tier veterans of espionage games. The primary targets slated for complete Avatar Reconstruction and replacement include the three Munitorum officials from the City of the Holy Anthem and key members of their guard detail, the former Hive Lord, the Security Prefect, the Finance Minister, the three Imperial Arbitrators permanently stationed in the Kent Hive, and a select handful of nobles who own crucial industrial assets within the Hive."
Cogboy looked directly up at Paul, a heavy knot forming in his stomach. "But we only have a thousand men. We have to completely lock down every single exit to the entire Hive City, violently suppress the PDF garrisons, and ensure absolutely nothing goes wrong during the general assembly..."
"A thousand men are a thousand men." Paul's voice was an absolute fortress of unshakeable confidence. "We strike absolutely first, seizing the total initiative directly into our own hands. With me on the field, I am more than equivalent to a hundred thousand men. Tax Bro, you will immediately deploy eight hundred men, divided into four distinct combat detachments. Detachment One will violently lock down the primary Hive exits. Detachment Two will aggressively seize control of the PDF garrisons. Remember this explicitly: if those PDF bastards are foolish enough to resist, you have total authorization to open fire. Do not even consider casualty rates. This operation has a zero percent tolerance for failure. Detachment Three will heavily quarantine the outer perimeter of the Mechanicus enclave; absolutely no one from their order is allowed to leave. Detachment Four will remain on standby as a highly mobile rapid-response reserve."
Tax Bro shot to his feet, his spine snapping straight. "Understood!"
"As for the remaining two hundred men," Paul continued, looking directly at Cogboy, "break off exactly thirty of them. The second dawn breaks at six o'clock, they will personally deliver the invitations to every single senior official to attend the assembly. Their tone must be impeccably polite, but their attitude absolutely uncompromising. Inform them that this is the new Hive Lord's inaugural general assembly, and any official who fails to attend will be violently charged with extreme dereliction of duty. The remaining one hundred and seventy men will heavily fortify the assembly hall. The primary grand hall of the Governor's Estate is large enough to comfortably accommodate two hundred people. Every single entrance and exit will be heavily guarded by our absolute best." He paused, a chilling, terrifyingly cold smile slowly curving his lips. "I am going to personally transform that grand hall into the supreme Inquisition Tribunal for the entire Kent Hive. And I will be the absolute Inquisitor who violently judges every single one of their horrific sins. I will teach them the true meaning of the phrase: Inquisition, Open Up."
The battle plan was flawlessly set.
Tax Bro immediately stormed out of the room to rally the players. Eight hundred heavily augmented players launching a perfectly synchronized, highly aggressive assault at this exact hour was more than enough to violently seize every critical logistical node before Adela even had a chance to react.
Schrödinger Bro rapidly drafted the official notification hit-list. There were one hundred and seventy-three names in total. The targets included the former Hive Lord Adela Hysman, the seven primary senior magistrates, five Mechanicus Magos, the three Munitorum officials from the City of the Holy Anthem, three Imperial Arbitrators, over a hundred mid-to-high-level administrative officials, and twenty-one upper-spire aristocrats and merchant guild representatives.
Blood Angels' Second Emperor meticulously prepared his administrative paperwork, which was, in reality, a hyper-detailed, undeniable manifesto of their horrific crimes. Cross-referencing the massive logistical archives they had secretly compiled over the past few days, he had already fully formalized the comprehensive capital charges against the seventeen most critical targets.
Cogboy silently sat to the side, meticulously recalibrating the combat parameters of his two cybernetic arms and mechanical leg.
Paul stood absolutely motionless before the armaglass window. The freezing storm outside continued to escalate in absolute violence. The distant, flickering lights of the Hive City blurred into hazy, dying halos against the sheer wall of relentless rain.
He slowly closed his eyes. His Wisdom trait expanded outwards in absolute, deafening silence. Faint, invisible ripples of dark golden psychic energy violently cascaded outwards with him at the absolute epicenter. The psychic wave effortlessly phased through the heavy ceramite walls, pierced straight through the torrential rain, and completely blanketed the entire Governor's Estate before rapidly expanding infinitely outwards into the sprawling Hive...
Through the psychic network, he instantly witnessed the players mobilizing. Tax Bro was already aggressively rallying his forces in the subterranean motor pool. Eight hundred heavily armed players stood in perfectly silent, terrifyingly disciplined combat formations. The faint, high-pitched hum of eight hundred lasguns simultaneously charging their power packs merged into a single, utterly deafening mechanical roar.