The grand hall instantly fell dead silent; even the faint sound of breathing ceased completely.
Executed... by cannon fire?
That was the ultimate capital punishment, a horrifying extremity reserved exclusively by the Imperium for the absolute worst traitors and vile heretics! It involved strapping the condemned directly onto a macro-cannon shell, or shoving them straight into the massive firing chamber before discharging the planetary weapon. Not a single trace of bone or ash would remain; even their very souls would be violently shattered by the sheer concussive shockwave!
"This proposal..." Cogboy stroked his chin, the blue light of his cybernetic eye flashing rapidly as if he were running a series of complex tactical calculations. Then, he smiled, flashing an exceptionally radiant grin. "...is absolutely fantastic in my eyes."
He looked down at the one hundred and seventy deathly pale faces in the audience, announcing in a terrifyingly cheerful tone, "Then it is officially decided. Your sins are simply too heinous; a standard execution is vastly insufficient to properly punish your horrific atrocities. Therefore, by the supreme authority of the new Kent Hive Lord, Cage Lawrence, and the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary..." He paused, his voice suddenly dropping into a vicious, unyielding bark. "...Every single one of you absolute parasites is hereby sentenced to a public execution! At exactly noon, three days from now in the Central Plaza of the Mid-Hive. We will formally invite every single citizen of the Hive City to attend and witness your ends, serving as an absolute warning to all!"
"No... no... you can't... I am an Imperial official!"
Adela slumped deep into his chair, a fresh, significantly larger wet stain violently blooming across his crotch. His eyes lost entirely focus as he desperately muttered, "The Hysman Merchant Guild will never let you get away with this... The Cult Mechanicus... The Conmo Psyker Dynasty... The Atens Knight House..."
He suddenly snapped his head up, absolute, cornered madness erupting in his eyes. "Cage Lawrence! Do you honestly believe that slaughtering us will magically grant you control over the Kent Hive?! You are wrong! You are so completely, catastrophically wrong! The four great factions have dominated Aurelian IV for eighty years! Our roots have deeply penetrated every single bloody corner of every Hive City on this planet! You execute us today, and by tomorrow... no, by tonight, countless blades will thrust out from the shadows! The Underhive syndicates will violently riot! The Mid-Hive labor unions will launch a total strike! The other Hive Cities will immediately blockade all resource supply lines! You will violently transform this entire Hive into a literal hell! And you... all of you, will die far more horrifically than any of us!!!"
Cogboy and the others didn't even bother to respond to his hysterical threats, seemingly entirely unbothered.
The grand hall returned to a suffocating, deathly silence. Adela remained violently paralyzed in his seat, his eyes turning completely hollow, looking exactly like a pathetic invertebrate whose spine had just been brutally extracted.
"Alright then," Cogboy casually clapped his hands together, his voice returning to its usual, robotic calmness. "This assembly is officially concluded. I cordially invite all of you to rest in the subterranean dungeons of the Governor's Estate for the next three days. See you in the Central Plaza at noon."
The players instantly surged forward, working in heavily armed pairs to violently drag the paralyzed, sobbing officials out of the grand hall.
Right before Kannis was brutally dragged through the heavy oak doors, he thrashed wildly, screaming one final, desperate threat. "Cage! The Sector Munitorum Command... will never let you live this down!"
Cogboy didn't even turn his head. "Rest assured, the three esteemed Lord Inspectors will be returning to the City of the Holy Anthem perfectly safe and sound. After all..." He paused, an incredibly profound, terrifyingly dark smile curving his lips. "...the administrative work must continue."
Once the grand hall was completely purged of the parasitic officials, only the core leadership of Crimson Dawn remained.
"Adela's hysterical threats weren't completely empty," Blood Angels' Second Emperor said, his brow deeply furrowed as he carefully closed his ledger. "The four massive factions have operated on Aurelian IV for eighty years. They absolutely have deep-cover assets buried all throughout the Kent Hive. Over the next three days, Underhive gang riots, Mid-Hive union strikes, and heavy resource blockades from the neighboring cities... all of these are highly probable scenarios."
Paul didn't say a word. He strode over to the armaglass window, silently staring out at the storm-ravaged Hive City.
Deep within his dark golden pupils, invisible streams of data constantly cascaded. With his Wisdom trait fully unleashed, he could literally perceive the raw, emotional state of the entire metropolis—a chaotic, polluted undercurrent overflowing with pure hatred and bottomless greed.
"Three days," Paul suddenly spoke, his voice incredibly soft, yet it instantly commanded the absolute silence of everyone in the room. "We only have exactly three days. Within these three days, we must perfectly execute four distinct objectives."
He slowly turned around, his piercing gaze sweeping over the group. "First, we publicly execute these parasites. I want all ninety-eight million, seven hundred and forty thousand citizens to witness their brutal end, serving as absolute, undeniable proof of Crimson Dawn's ironclad resolve to reform this world. Second, we launch a total audit of the Hive's grain reserves. Every single ounce of supplies embezzled by the Hysman syndicate will be reclaimed. The absolute second the public execution concludes three days from now, we immediately initiate the first massive wave of disaster relief grain distribution. Third, the total reconstruction of the PDF. We will aggressively recruit fresh blood from the young, able-bodied populace of the Hive. We will personally teach them what it truly means to fight for a cause, forging a disciplined, heavily armed PDF regiment that belongs exclusively to us. And fourth..."
He paused, locking eyes with Cogboy. "...Establish an immediate vox-link with Captain Karon Santos. Inform him that the extended and enhanced variants of Crimson Dawn's premium cigarettes and alcohol have successfully completed their inaugural production run. Furthermore, subtly mention that we require a detachment of technical advisors to assist with the prometheum mining operations here in the Kent Hive."
Cogboy understood the tactical implications instantly.
Deepening the political bindings. Utilizing premium vices to heavily reinforce their personal relationship, trading highly lucrative mining concessions for advanced Legion technical support, and actively proving their strategic worth through incredibly efficient governance. Paul was violently chaining Crimson Dawn and the Iron Hands Legion together onto the exact same indestructible warship.
"Understood," Cogboy gave a heavy, firm nod.
Meanwhile, the localized regional chat channel had already completely exploded with frantic player activity.
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "Execution by cannon fire! Holy shit! Cannon execution!! That is so fucking Warhammer! I'm literally crying right now!"
[Execute War Criminal Old Man Huang]: "Tax Bro is an absolute legend! This proposal perfectly captures the pure essence of Khorne. Even though we don't worship the Blood God, the sheer ritualistic spectacle is absolutely maxed out!"
[God-Tier Mechanic]: "A public execution by cannon fire will generate a massive deterrent effect. The Hive's crime rate is projected to plummet by over seventy percent within the next month. However, it is also highly likely to trigger violent, desperate counterattacks from certain criminal syndicates."
[Execute War Criminal Yellow Weasel]: "Counterattacks? Bring it on! My lasgun has been thirsty for blood for days! It's the perfect opportunity to power-level the new recruits!"
[Slaanesh's Chosen Still Wasn't Chosen Today]: "Honestly, watching those corrupt Imperial elites literally piss their pants is infinitely more satisfying than pulling an ultra-rare in a gacha game... Is this what serving the people feels like? I absolutely love it."
[Iced Old Man Huang's Golden Radish]: "So, are we basically playing a Hive City Management Simulator with a bonus Anti-Corruption DLC right now? The content in this game is ridiculously packed."
Paul closed the chat channel and looked out the window.
The heavy rain had gradually lightened into a drizzle. On the distant horizon, a very faint sliver of morning light finally pierced through the thick, suffocating clouds. As the sun slowly rose, the rain came to a complete stop, leaving the cold morning air feeling exceptionally crisp and clear.
"Brothers," Paul said softly, his voice carrying an unyielding, ironclad resolve. "The revolution has officially begun. The ninety-eight million, seven hundred and forty thousand citizens of this Hive City will bear absolute witness... to true justice, to divine retribution, and to... Crimson Dawn."
–
Inside the Governor's Estate.
The storm had completely passed. Tax Bro and Schrödinger Bro walked shoulder-to-shoulder down one of the estate's grand corridors. Their heavy combat boots splashed softly against the puddles of accumulated rainwater, echoing with rhythmic splashes.
"Right, Schrödinger," Tax Bro suddenly remembered something, turning his head to look at his companion. "Didn't Paul say we were going to use the Avatar Reconstruction Service to completely replace those parasites and steal their identities? But if we're throwing a massive public execution by cannon fire with the entire Hive City watching, how the hell are we supposed to replace them? We can't exactly pull off a live magic trick in front of millions of people."
Schrödinger Bro chuckled, a profound, highly calculative smile curving his lips. "Tax Bro, you are an absolute beast on the battlefield, but when it comes to politics... you're still a bit green. The public execution is purely for the ultimate deterrent effect. We need all ninety-eight million Imperial citizens to unequivocally understand that their dawn has arrived, and the rotting parasites of the old era are finally facing their absolute reckoning. But... who strictly mandated that my execution list has to be completely authentic?"
Tax Bro's eyes widened drastically. "You mean...?!"
"Exactly," Schrödinger Bro nodded, his smile dripping with cunning strategy. "We will only officially publish a select portion of the names—specifically the ones with the absolute worst reputations among the populace. The ones who have generated the most visceral public outrage, like those sociopathic magistrates under Adela who treated human life like dirt, or the noble representatives running the human trafficking rings. When the citizens see those names on the execution roster, they will literally cheer in the streets. As for those three Munitorum officials from the City of the Holy Anthem... They won't appear on the public roster at all. Once the execution is over, we will release an official statement claiming that Inspector Kannis and his team had an urgent administrative emergency and departed for the City of the Holy Anthem two days prior. In reality, players will be wearing their exact faces, carrying flawless handover reports, and casually walking right back into the Munitorum headquarters completely undetected."
Tax Bro was completely dumbfounded. It took him several seconds to finally choke out a response. "But what about Adela? He's the former Hive Lord! Literally everyone in the Hive City recognizes his face!"
"That's simple," Schrödinger Bro said, holding up two fingers. "First, at the actual execution site, every single condemned prisoner will be heavily hooded. The masses will only see a line of unidentifiable bodies in prison garbs being dragged up to the artillery batteries. Second, once our reconstructed Adela returns to the Hysman Merchant Guild, he will quietly inform his inner circle that Crimson Dawn didn't want to completely burn bridges with the Guild. He will claim the so-called execution was purely a political theater to appease the masses, and that he was secretly spared in a backroom deal. This completely prevents the Hysman Merchant Guild from growing suspicious, while perfectly achieving the maximum deterrent effect among the populace. Two birds, one massive stone."
Tax Bro sucked in a sharp breath of cold air, staring at Schrödinger Bro as if he were looking at some highly dangerous, exotic bioweapon. "Schrödinger... you are an absolute fucking genius. No, you're a political demon."
Schrödinger Bro just shrugged, his tone as casual as if they were discussing what to have for dinner. "As for the Magos of the Cult Mechanicus... Paul and Cogboy should have a reliable method to handle them. The cybernetic augmentations of the Mechanicus are certainly a massive headache, but their brains are still fundamentally biological tissue. Combining Paul's terrifying psychic prowess with Cogboy's advanced mechanical expertise... completely brainwashing and controlling a few Tech-Priests shouldn't be too difficult."
Tax Bro violently scratched his head, his thick fingers messing up his short hair. "Whatever, whatever. I'm not going to overthink it; it's just giving me a massive headache. I'll just stick to the actual fighting! I'll leave all this twisted political scheming to you cultured intellectuals!"
Schrödinger Bro chuckled in amusement, heavily patting Tax Bro on the shoulder. "By the way, have you been furiously hoarding Imperial Coins lately? What's the matter, have you finally decided which gene-seed you want to implant?"
Tax Bro chuckled mischievously, a rare look of smug satisfaction appearing on his rugged face. "Pretty much! You want to take a guess?"
Schrödinger Bro gave him a deadpan side-eye. "Do I really even need to guess? With your exact personality—the absolute meathead among meatheads, straightforward to a fault—you're absolutely guaranteed to pick the most stubborn, hard-headed gene-seed available. Imperial Fists."
"..." Tax Bro's smug expression instantly froze solid. After a few seconds, he curled his lip in disappointment. "Boring. You guessed it immediately."
Schrödinger Bro turned and continued walking down the corridor, his voice echoing through the damp air. "If you personally love the Imperial Fists, then go ahead and choose them. But remember this: you cannot forcefully restrict the gene-seed choices of the other players in your Crimson Fists detachment. We are players. We are not the mindless vassals of any single Space Marine Legion. Crimson Dawn strictly requires tactical diversity. We need the unyielding defense of the Imperial Fists, the blinding speed of the White Scars, the ferocity of the Space Wolves, and maybe even... If some of us truly want to implant the gene-seed of the Thousand Sons or the World Eaters... as long as they can absolutely control their power and not fall to Chaos, it isn't entirely out of the question. Combining completely different gene-seeds and overlapping highly distinct combat styles might actually trigger a far more potent chemical reaction, granting us overwhelmingly superior combat effectiveness."
Tax Bro hurried to catch up, his voice booming gruffly. "I know, I know! Why the hell would I ever restrict them? Am I really that kind of guy? Everyone can choose whatever the hell they want..."
Before he could even finish his sentence.
BOOM!!!
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Word Count - 2500
Next Goal = 750 Powerstones.
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