Day 339, Year 987, 41st Millennium
Upper Hive
...Eric's footsteps echoed on the polished stone floor of the somewhat somber corridor, adorned with a mix of artwork and quirky collectibles, within the Planetary Defense Force (PDF) offices. The rhythm was hurried yet cautious.
Today, he was dressed in a light blue, well-tailored uniform. It had a vintage style, reminiscent of Napoleonic French military uniforms, but without the insignia and gold trim, making it simple, polite, and undeniably stylish. Eric glanced down at himself, feeling insecure. He wondered if the light blue suited his pale skin, white hair, and blue eyes. He hadn't even looked in a mirror yet.
But... at least it was better than his combat uniform. However, thinking about his battle attire, he immediately wanted to avoid it—the ill-fitting flak armor layered over it, making him incredibly uncomfortable. He decided not to dwell on it. "Just a little more..." he murmured to himself, a faint smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. He had heard that headquarters had summoned him for a reward, or something similar, in recognition of his bravery.
But to say he was truly brave wouldn't be entirely accurate. He was simply terrified. Running to the back might mean being shot and killed by his own side, while staying ahead offered a much better chance of survival.
However, his heart swelled with hope now. The thought of returning to a normal life with a better standard of living was palpable. He was currently in the Upper Hive, one of the layers of the Hive City, where the living conditions were far superior to the Lower Hive. The relatively clean streets alone showed how much better it was.
And here, there were more jobs and options than in the Lower Hive. He could fully utilize his abilities to find a suitable job that matched his skills. Of course, it had to be accounting or management, even though he was capable of more. It was pure paradise. Eric could barely contain his joy.
"Ouch..." Eric groaned softly. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his left abdomen, instantly wiping away his smile. He paused for a moment, bending down slightly. His slender hand, clad in a white glove, automatically reached to gently cup the area.
The horrifying memory of the infirmary a month ago replayed in his mind… the feeling of the anesthetic paralyzing him, rendering him immobile even his fingertips, yet still feeling the pain of every millimeter of the blade and chainsaw cutting into his skin… the icy touch of the machinery… and the emotionless eyes of that Tech-Priest.
It was one of the most agonizing moments of his life.
"Damn it, you bastard!" Eric cursed inwardly, seething with frustration and resentment. If he had a choice, he would never seek treatment from those Mechanics again. He thought these lunatics, who seemed to have stepped out of Cyberpunk 2077, weren't fit to be doctors at all. They were better suited to being mechanics than performing surgery or treating others.
He gently massaged the wound, taking a deep breath. To suppress the lingering pain and fear, he darted left and right warily, making sure no one had seen his earlier display of weakness. He didn't want to attract attention or be perceived as a crybaby.
It would look terrible if someone saw a woman who was supposed to be so brave suddenly acting so weak.
"Calm down, Eric... you have to stay calm," he reassured himself, trying to regain his composure. "Just walk in, sign the papers, and I'll be free... then I can roll around in my room to my heart's content."
He adjusted his collar, straightening his back to regain his confidence. Although the wound in his stomach ached slightly with every step, he didn't complain further. Surviving in the lower hive and making it to the upper hive was far worse. Back then, he had a broken upper right arm and internal bruising, yet he survived. Now, he was only recovering from surgery; why couldn't he endure that?
Eric took another deep breath before continuing towards the large door at the end of the hallway... the door that led to the location of the official or clerk who would present him with a reward or something similar.
Eric stopped in front of the large wooden door.
This door was made of real wood, not metal like the ones he had encountered before, and it might be the first wooden door he had ever seen since entering this dark future world.
Eric took another deep breath, calming himself before gently pushing the wooden door open. The door slowly swung open under Eric's push, creaking a sound that indicated its age and need for some maintenance.
Inside was a room decorated in a rather simple yet luxurious style. Crystal chandeliers hung above, and two or three cabinets leaned against the walls in the corners. Portraits of important figures and the Emperor adorned the walls. In the center of the room sat a large wooden desk.
Eric stepped forward and stopped in front of the thick wooden desk, where a middle-aged male clerk sat amidst a pile of documents. The man looked up at him briefly with an empty gaze. Before bending down to focus on the paper in his hand and beginning to read the information aloud in a flat, indifferent tone,
"Lieutenant Erica de la Cruz...is that right?" the clerk murmured in a rather nonchalant tone.
"Yes, sir," Eric replied loudly and clearly, but at the same time, he felt slightly surprised that he had been promoted from private to lieutenant. But that didn't matter; who wanted to be a soldier anyway when they could do other work that was more comfortable and suited to their abilities?
"Female, approximately 25 years old, pale skin, blue eyes, white hair, height 176 centimeters, weight 70 kilograms..." the clerk continued. Eric, standing straight in front of the wooden desk, trying to maintain a military demeanor, frowned slightly, looking down at his own body with a feeling of suspicion and thinking to himself:
_70 kilograms? Is the scale inaccurate? I don't seem to weigh that much, do I?_ He was secretly annoyed by the number that seemed a little too high in his opinion, but he didn't say anything.
"Previous history..." "Residing in the Lower Hive," the clerk said, his voice slightly strained, laced with the clear contempt of those from the Upper Hive who viewed those from the lower classes as mere trash, or to put it more politely, barbaric and uneducated.
"Conscripted into the PDF forces... Hmm... Note that you demonstrated extraordinary bravery in combat and contributed immensely to the strategic impact. The higher ups believe you deserve a reward." Having finished speaking, the clerk slid open a drawer and placed a metal identification card with a stamp and a few other documents on the table, along with a silver-grey metal key with a room number attached.
_No way!? I get a room as a reward?_ Eric thought, disbelief etched on his face.
"Congratulations. Your civilian status has been upgraded from the Lower Hive to the Upper Hive, and you are entitled to free accommodation in the residential area of the lower Upper Hive." Eric took the card and key, his face remaining expressionless as he tried to maintain a calm, composed, and dignified demeanor. Inwardly, however, he was overjoyed, practically jumping for joy. The exhaustion from the battle that ended about a year ago, the horrifying memories of fighting the space marines—the blue island with the skull symbol, bat wings, and grotesque tentacles—the green zombies, mutants, aliens on that floor, and the terrible experiences in the operating room—all seemed to be healed by this key.
_Finally_, he thought, clutching the key tightly. Deep down, he knew this empire, or whoever ruled it, held little mercy, judging by the living conditions of the people in the lower hive.
What he had received was like scraps of meat thrown to the dogs that worked diligently in this extreme totalitarian regime. And he didn't have the same strong faith in the "Emperor" as most others here. If anyone knew his innermost thoughts, he would have been branded a heretic and executed long ago. In truth, he didn't care what was happening outside or what was changing; as long as it didn't affect him, that was good enough. Now he was in the upper hive, and officially recognized... that was more than enough for him.
"Thank you, Ave Imperator," Eric replied briefly, his voice polite as usual. He gestured with his hands, making a two-headed eagle symbol. The clerk merely nodded slightly before continuing his work. Eric turned and walked away from the clerk's desk feeling much lighter. Although his abdominal wound still ached, the hope of starting a new life in a cleaner and safer place gave him the strength to continue. After leaving the PDF office with the key to his new room,
he quickly retrieved it and walked to the ammunition and weapons storage room, a considerable distance away. It was time for him to pick up the items he had left there a long time ago. He hoped they were still there.
_Hopefully_
When he arrived, he found a man sitting at the counter whom he recognized.
This man was the counter attendant he had bribed to allow him to store important items before going into battle. Eric approached, stopping about two meters in front of the counter, and began speaking first.
"Hello, do you remember me?" Eric greeted with a rather cheerful voice, even though he tried not to show his pain. The officer behind the counter looked up at him for a moment before replying in a rather weak voice:
"Ah, it's you...Erica de la Cruz, isn't it? The woman who bribed me and made me commit fraud for the first time in years." The officer spoke with a slight hint of humor, but it was very light, and Eric immediately understood what he was talking about. It meant the officer still remembered that Eric had entrusted something to him in exchange for a sum of money for safekeeping.
"You still remember me, huh...so you must remember what I entrusted to you when you last saw me," Eric asked in a calm voice with a slight smile, unaware that his smile looked very beautiful and charming. The officer tilted his head slightly at his smile, then chuckled softly before patting the table and saying:
"I recognize you... these must be yours, right? Luckily, I've kept them safe. But wait a minute," the officer paused before ducking under the counter and pulling out a bag. It was a medium-sized, gray, one-shoulder bag, slightly dusty. Eric tried to recall what he had put in it. As far as he could remember, there was money, two or three sets of clothes, a few personal items, and a chest wrap.
_I haven't washed the chest wrap before putting it in the bag,_ Eric thought to himself, a little worried because now, after a year, he would have to throw it away.
"Here's yours... take it quickly so I don't have to worry about it anymore." The officer handed the bag to Eric before urging him to leave. Eric accepted the bag, thanked him politely, and left the room and the PDF office.
Eric, slinging the bag over his shoulder, began reading the documents the clerk had given him. They were documents concerning his address.
Judging from his current location, and if he was correct, he'd need to take the elevator down for about 5 minutes, then the magnetic levitation train for another 20 minutes, and then walk for half an hour to the Upper Hive in Area 895.
In no time at all, he arrived at the train station, which was designed in a Gothic style, adorned with Mechanic symbols and skulls. Eric stepped onto the central transport station to use the giant magnetic levitation train that connected the different zones. Its appearance was strangely contradictory. It looked modern with its rather noisy propulsion technology, yet its shape was angular and full of ancient metal rivets, in the style of Mechanic engineering he had seen before.
"It's huge..." he murmured, gazing at the train's body, which resembled a moving fortress. Although amazed by its grandeur, as soon as he stepped inside, he let out a soft gasp.
"What's this musty smell...? It's like they haven't cleaned it at all." Eric muttered softly, trying to stand in the safest corner to avoid being jostled by other passengers. As the train pulled into the lower Upper Hive,
Eric disembarked and found an atmosphere drastically different from the hell he had left behind. While the crowds were still moderately dense, they were far more orderly. Massive skyscrapers were built on top of each other, their tops reaching the stone ceilings 50 meters high. The streetlights provided a steady illumination, and repairs to the war damage were being carried out rapidly.
Eric surveyed the area with a touch of suspicion, a familiar instinct. In his mind, it was quite crowded by the standards of a typical capital city he'd encountered in the 2000s. Although there was some pollution, it was far better than the Lower Hive. There were no homeless people or drug addicts sleeping on the streets.
(Writer's note: The ironic reason for this is that the homeless and drug addicts might have all been captured and imprisoned by the arbitrators.)
He walked along the sidewalk until he reached a relatively clean-looking residential building, despite having gotten lost quite a while on his way. But with the help of locals, he was able to reach the building, where Eric clutched the key tightly in his hand and climbed the spiral staircase step by step.
The exhaustion from climbing to the fifth floor made him sigh. He stood up to catch his breath and gently stroked the recently healed wound on his abdomen.
Finally, he stopped in front of a room numbered on the key and documents he possessed. Eric stood still for a moment, his heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. He wondered what his room would be like. Would it be in good condition? What furniture would be inside? How cramped would it be? At the same time, he glanced left and right with a touch of apprehension.
Click…
The metal doorknob unlocked before the door slowly opened. Eric stepped inside, his heart still racing, but then he froze, standing motionless in the doorway. His blue eyes widened slightly before his lips tightened into a straight line.
He silently examined the scene before him… A narrow, rectangular room, approximately 5x8 meters, with empty, dull gray concrete walls. There was no bed, no desk, not even a chair. Only a dim light flickered from a single bulb on the ceiling.
"It's alright..." Eric thought to himself, sighing wearily. He gazed at the empty room, thick with dust clinging to the corners, with a hint of weariness. But then he remembered the cramped rooms he'd lived in before—the one in the Lower Hive and the incredibly cramped, shared rooms in the refugee camp. This was clearly better than all those.
"Well... at least it's better than the rooms in the refugee camp and the Lower Hive," Eric reassured himself. He knew this room was significantly better than the ones before. At least it looked nicer and seemed much sturdier. Plus, there wasn't as much rust or dirt.
He began to explore the empty room, until his eyes landed on the bathroom... incredibly, it was fully equipped with a sink, toilet, and a shower that looked to be in good condition.
"At least... at least I have my own bathroom, without having to share with anyone outside," Eric murmured softly. The tension on his face eased slightly, but right now he needed to find a bed or something similar; otherwise, he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. But it wasn't that he couldn't sleep on the cold, flat floor like this. He just didn't want to sleep on the floor again. That short battle felt like hell to him. And he couldn't understand how he'd managed to sleep on such a rough, dusty, and dirty surface.
And how much money did he have now?
He hadn't counted it yet.
Thinking this, Eric picked up his bag and rummaged through it, finding the check he'd taken from Raoul. He counted it for a moment and found it was worth about 3 million Kalf, a considerable sum that could change his life and provide for emergencies. Buying furniture or decorating the room probably wouldn't significantly impact his finances.
Just as he was about to leave the room, he heard something. Eric understood that it was curfew time and that leaving the residence was forbidden under any circumstances, or there would be punishment.
Eric's face turned expressionless again. He was extremely annoyed at having to sleep on the cold floor, but he didn't dare risk it. He hadn't thought there would be a curfew in a place like this, but since there was, he didn't resist. He knew how severe the punishment would be, and he could endure just one night.
Eric nervously locked the door to his room, a habitual gesture. Luckily, there were spare clothes and a towel inside. He quickly showered and changed. He had nothing to do now, and rest was the best thing.
After changing, Eric turned off the light before slumping against the empty wall. The coldness of the metal or whatever material made the wall seeped through his clothes, making him shiver slightly. He hugged his knees, scanning the dark room, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.
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Vann sat behind an intricately carved wooden desk. His face, now cleansed of the shave, was handsome and dignified, befitting a high-ranking military officer. The blindfold covering one eye only added to his imposing and thought-provoking appearance.
His gaze was fixed on a blue holographic map displaying the structure of Hive City. Flashes of light reflected on his face as he analyzed strategic points to prevent a potential second rebellion.
The Geenstealer uprising had tragically claimed many lives in the lower hive. His ill-tempered older brother had even resorted to buying workers from neighboring hive cities to meet his delivery deadlines.
But his biggest headache was that his brother was making these workers work 15 hours a day—far exceeding the usual 12 hours. This was a very risky decision.
Vann knew that the harder these working-class citizens were to work without adequate compensation or benefits, the more dissatisfied and rebellious they would become. And the more discontent there is, the greater the risk of these citizens rebelling. He warned his wretched brother, but Valen wouldn't listen.
That guy only cares about taxes.
But he should care about himself too, Vann thought to himself. His successful application to use tax revenue to fund the war, and his ability to utilize tanks and armored vehicles originally intended for tax revenue, had undoubtedly angered many.
And when the war ended and those tanks and armored vehicles were reduced to less than 10% of the total, it further infuriated many. However, with the help and influence of Inquisitor Korvin Hale, he managed to survive, but he wasn't completely safe.
There were many nobles and rivals who sought to undermine him in every way, but he was prepared. He wouldn't be a passive victim.
He sighed softly before remembering that he had just received very good news that day, news confirming that his investment hadn't been in vain. The young woman had survived.
By the time he reached her... He thought she wouldn't survive. Erica was severely injured, to the point where her chances of survival were practically zero. But by a miracle, or some other means, he managed to save her just in time, even though he was hit by shrapnel in the eye, blinding him in one eye.
Furthermore, the medical expenses and surgery were quite expensive, even for someone like him. But Vann didn't regret using his own money to pay for almost all of her treatment.
For Vann, having a versatile assistant or subordinate—helping with management, sharing tasks, an assassin, even a spy—was already worthwhile. But deep down, he feared she wouldn't survive and that all his investment would be in vain. Fortunately, that wasn't the case.
Now, he's just waiting to see if she follows his plan and overcomes the obstacles. If she does, he'll accept her as his assistant and begin utilizing her for his missions.
For now, he has to wait and see the results.
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Atop the Spire, overlooking the entire Hive City, the hum of the small cogitator's ventilation fan competed with the rhythmic tapping of Valen Korvax's fingers. He sat stressed, his new, enormous desk made of solid black stone, before him a holographic map of the city dotted with red dots.
Damage warnings and demands for repairs and resources filled the air. While the situation was better than a year ago, it remained critical and a major headache.
"Lord Korvax..." a deep, resonant voice boomed from the doorway.
Valen didn't look up from the pile of documents reporting on the ammunition factory's production.
"Come in, Arch-Deacon Malachai. My time is as precious as promethium right now." A stout figure in the burgundy, gold-trimmed robes of the Ecclesiarchy entered, followed by a follower carrying a smoke-filled incense burner. Malachai smiled a (false) benevolent smile before gesturing for an entrance. "I come in the name of the Holy Emperor, Lord Valen... The Cathedral of Saint Drusus and other churches have suffered heavy damage from the attack. The domes have crumbled, the altars are stained with dust. The people need spiritual solace. Therefore, I request approval for an emergency budget of 50 million Kalf, and the right to disburse military-grade Plasteel and a large quantity of gold to restore the Cathedral that honors the Emperor to its former glory." Arch-Deacon Malachi spoke in a loud, inviting, and boastful tone. Valen immediately stopped signing documents. He looked up, his cold, gray eyes staring at the religious leader with an empty expression, as if observing a malfunctioning machine—a malfunction that was already repulsive.
"50 million Kalf... and military-grade Plasteel?" Valen repeated in a flat tone.
"Do you think we're in the midst of a celebratory festival, Arch-Deacon?" Valen retorted.
"This is a matter of faith!" Malachi began to harden.
"Faith is the strongest shield. Without the church, the people will despair." Valen slowly rose to his feet. The tall, imposing figure, now clad in a robe that was both luxurious and simple at the same time, looked formidable. He walked around the table to face the priest. He knew the truth: the majority of the people were desperate, and that faith was merely a deception. But faith wasn't that necessary.
"Faith doesn't power food and goods production machines. Faith doesn't filter the toxic sewers. And faith doesn't stop enemy bullets... It's people and energy that power food and goods production machines. It's water filters that make the toxic sewers drinkable. It's guns and walls that do that," Valen said in a decisive and emotionless tone, pointing to the holographic map.
"The metal smelting plant in Sector 4 is still under repair. The air purification system in the middle residential areas is about to fail. If I were to use some of the Plaster to build a beautiful dome for you... within a week, ammunition production will decrease by 40%, not to mention the armor and tank factories, and skilled workers in the middle residential areas will die of suffocation," Valen explained calmly.
"But the villagers in the Lower Hive... they have to work harder every day. They need light!" Malachi tried to argue. Valen merely chuckled. A mocking smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
"Those below need light? They only need synthetic food (Corpse-starch) and enough water to survive, along with a little money… I don't care about their hopes. I care about efficiency," he said indifferently.
"How dare you insult the Church!?" Malachi's face flushed with anger.
"Watch your words, Valen. The Korvax family may be powerful, but no one is greater than the Emperor's shadow!" Arch-Deacon Malachi said sternly. Hearing this, Valen rose from his chair and advanced towards the priest, forcing Malachi to recoil in fear at the menacing aura emanating from him.
"And in this Hive City, besides the leader of the Thalric family… I am the one who holds the pen to approve the budget on behalf of the Emperor," Valen said in a cold but clear voice. Although his words sounded somewhat heretical, they were the truth now.
"I refuse your request. The entire budget will be used to repair the public utilities and weapons factories for the stability of the city…" "And to ensure the stability of the chair you are sitting on,"
"Your Highness..." Arch-Deacon tried to speak.
"I will approve some tiles and stained glass... That's all," Valen cut him off cruelly.
"No gold, no stained glass, and if I hear you inciting the crowd to riot because of this... I will consider you an undermining of stability, and I will deal with you with the same disciplinary punishment I use on deserters. Or if you think you can use the Sisters of Battle forces you currently possess to threaten me, you are mistaken." Valen spoke in a menacing voice, his gaze fixed on Malachite. It was the gaze of a predator seeing through its prey. Some of the Sisters of Battle forces stationed in the church were quite powerful, but they were few in number and fought by faith, not by a highly efficient system. Therefore, he wasn't too worried, as his own private army was almost equally well-equipped, if slightly inferior in equipment, but definitely superior in coordination and efficiency, unless there were any technical errors.
"Do we understand each other, Archdeacon?" Valen repeated. Malachi could only grit his teeth. He knew Valen wasn't threatening him. He'd ordered the purging of an entire district for a small protest without hesitation, and he wouldn't hesitate to eliminate these obstacles either.
"Understood... Lord," Archdeacon said in a trembling voice before leaving the room.
Once the large door closed, silence returned to the office. Valen showed no sign of satisfaction or anger. He simply took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Then he immediately turned back to the holographic map.
"Assistant," he called calmly.
"Yes, sir," a voice from the loudspeaker replied.
"Cut the budget we allocate to the Church by another 10%... and reallocate that funds to veterans' welfare and repair the magnetic levitation system. Proceed immediately."
"Understood."
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Writer's Note: Okay, it seems things are starting to get tense, conflicting, and fighting again, after a year since the battle with the Geenstealer.