Day 168, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Hive Kathion
Lower Hive
Power Substation No. 5
The Lower Hive within the territory of House Korvax was under absolute control. This sector was choked with numerous industrial manufactorums that had been rebuilt and repaired following the war and the initial devastation wrought by the Genestealers. In the early post-war period, these facilities could only be described as hell-forges. Survivors and purchased slaves alike were subjected to grueling 20-hour workdays to meet Valen's demands, churning out weapons and tanks to fulfill his quotas and secure his own position.
Such draconian measures inevitably sparked widespread discontent. Many laborers and Lower Hive denizens harbored thoughts of resistance or outright rebellion. However, they were consistently and ruthlessly eradicated—leaving no survivors—by the House Guard commanded by Omega, who maintained a brutal stability and order in the sector.
But when Valen struck a pact with a Magos Juris to install automated and highly efficient production systems, the workers' shifts were reduced back to a more standard 12 hours. The uprisings dwindled. Even though a 12-hour shift was still backbreaking, the workers were now under protection, no longer fearing death at the hands of underhive gangers or mutants.
While countless factories in the Lower Hive tirelessly produced weapons, armored vehicles, tanks, and other goods to pay the Imperial tithe, one fundamental machine kept the manufactorums and a large portion of the Hive City running.
It was the power distribution system, driven by massive plasma reactors. These generators produced colossal amounts of electricity by using plasma energy to boil water, utilizing the resulting steam pressure to turn turbines attached to massive generators. Even though it was an ancient plasma reactor and its operational systems seemed archaic, it remained highly effective.
The electricity generated was distributed to various power substations before being routed throughout the different sectors of the Hive City.
And today, everything seemed perfectly normal.
The factories hummed continuously until the end of the shift. The workers toiled diligently in exchange for their meager wages and corpse-starch rations, while the House Guard conducted their regular patrols to maintain order. It was a mundane, repetitive day.
But today, it seemed a bit of chaos was about to unfold.
The area surrounding Power Substation No. 5 was uninhabited... at least by any sane citizen who understood the dangers. The substation comprised a myriad of colossal machines whose names were known to no one except the Adeptus Mechanicus, who had constructed them using Standard Template Constructs, or STCs.
The facility was heavily guarded by the House Guard and heavily augmented Combat Servitors equipped with heavy weaponry by the Adeptus Mechanicus. They possessed formidable defensive capabilities and terrifying firepower. With their personal armaments and mounted turret defenses, breaching the substation or causing sabotage was nearly impossible without exceptional shielding or overwhelming numbers.
Yet, this power station—the beating heart of the nearby factories—was currently the target of a lone man hiding in the narrow gaps between the towering structures. The man had painstakingly infiltrated the sector. Given the stringent security and constant surveillance, sneaking in armed was a monumental task, but he had managed it through sheer stealth and evasion.
He was Galjax, a man who refused to let a tyrant like Valen Korvax oppress the people here any longer. Armed with advanced technology and accompanied by loyal, driven comrades, he intended to liberate the denizens of this sector.
Though his forces paled in comparison to Valen Korvax's House Guard, they had recently acquired high-grade wargear from a faction of blue-skinned, noseless mutants—aliens who were surprisingly generous and driven by a strange ideology. Furthermore, they had several powerful conspirators backing them, including Lord Ritus Rist. Galjax truly couldn't understand why none of them agreed that now was the perfect opportunity to commit their full forces and initiate the grand plan.
Galjax cared nothing for falling under the colonization of these blue xenos who preached about the "Greater Good," nor did he care about waiting for their foolish "right time." The oppressed people of this Hive needed freedom now. Once he liberated this sector, the other Hive Cities on the planet would be next.
His plan to bring freedom to the masses was simple yet highly risky. He and his cells would incite chaos, stir up rebellion, and cause enough unrest until House Korvax deemed holding the territory useless and withdrew their forces completely. Then, he would establish a new regime—a democracy that granted full liberty, befitting the human dignity everyone inherently possessed.
Even though this plan would not yield immediate results and carried a massive risk of his forces being wiped out by the enemy, how could a grand revolution succeed if its leaders and architects were cowards?
He unslung the rifle from his back and aimed. This weapon was a gift from those blue mutants. It resembled a standard rifle but featured a sleek, rounded, and blocky white casing. If he wasn't mistaken, it was a plasma-based weapon, housing a detestable artificial intelligence within.
Galjax looked at his target through the advanced scope, which immediately fed him comprehensive data: distance, angle, and the exact trajectory needed for a flawless hit. The machine spirit inside had calculated everything; all he had to do was pull the trigger.
Pew!
The muzzle flared with a brilliant blue flash. A sphere of blue-white energy struck the target with pinpoint accuracy. The House Guardsman, wearing the best carapace armor money could buy and forming part of a highly feared militant force, crumpled instantly.
A gaping hole had been burned through the left side of his chest. His bronze-colored armor was slagged, and his arm had been entirely severed from his torso. The armor, which easily deflected small arms fire, was utterly useless against the alien weapon in Galjax's hands.
"All other units, breach the substation and blow it to hell before those lapdogs know what hit them," Galjax spoke into his vox-caster, signaling the other teams.
"Copy that." Hearing the confirmation, he pocketed the vox and calmly aimed down his sights to provide covering fire for his comrades.
It seemed their first mission was off to a very good start.
.
.
.
"What is your opinion on increasing patrol units to better control those sectors?" Omega asked Commander Oliver, who was assisting him in strategizing and reviewing various matters. Even though their first meeting the day before yesterday hadn't gone particularly well, talking to Oliver today made Omega feel far better than dealing with the usual pompous nobles and rigid military officers. Oliver was knowledgeable about tactics and warfare, and he considered every detail meticulously.
Just send your men north, a daemonic whisper echoed in his mind.
Trust me, and victory shall be yours.
"It might indeed expand our surveillance perimeter... but I believe it would be quite wasteful and time-consuming," Commander Oliver opined. "Would it be possible to install high-powered auspex scanners on our aircraft or ground patrol vehicles? We could detect enemies while reducing the number of actual patrols, or cover much more ground in the same amount of time."
Omega considered the suggestion. Theoretically, it was sound. However, the ensuing logistical issues were concerning. High-powered scanners were effective, but they required constant maintenance and the blessing of the Omnissiah. Mounting them on ground vehicles meant they could malfunction or break down due to exposure to the harsh environment outside the Hive City. But installing them on aircraft... that was an intriguing idea.
Why don't you offer prayers and sacrifices to the God of Knowledge to seek those answers? Another daemonic voice chimed in, attempting to corrupt him once more.
"Your proposal is highly intriguing... However, installing high-powered scanners on ground patrol vehicles poses significant logistical and operational risks. But mounting them on aircraft is certainly an option worth exploring," Omega replied, ignoring the voices.
Commander Oliver chuckled softly before snapping his fingers, gesturing for a servant to bring them some fine amasec.
Invite him to a party... indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, another seductive voice whispered.
"Your analytical skills are sharp, Commander Omega. And thank you for the compliment; a man of my caliber certainly deserves it," Oliver smiled broadly, in high spirits. He took a glass from the servant and handed it to Omega.
"I hope you enjoy it... it has a rather unique and meticulous flavor profile."
"Thank you for your hospitality." Omega accepted the drink. He took a sip and found the taste to be excellent, quite refined indeed.
"But let me ask you, Commander... aren't you worried that what we're discussing right now might reach the ears of a certain Cogboy? If someone overhears us, we could both end up in a lot of trouble," Omega joked, trying to lighten the mood and make himself appear more approachable.
"Why should you be afraid? There's literally a Cogboy in the room with us right now, isn't there?" Commander Oliver joked back, pointing a finger at a Tech-Priest who was busy monitoring a cogitator screen nearby. Omega offered a small smile, even though his pale, scarred face made the expression look somewhat eerie.
"I completely forgot myself... my apologies," Omega said, feigning a hint of embarrassment.
Truth be told, he hated putting on a facade. But it was a necessary evil to make his work run smoother.
Ring. Ring.
A secure vox-phone chimed. Omega placed his glass on the table and hurried to answer it. But before picking up the receiver, he turned back.
"Excuse me, Commander Oliver. I have some urgent matters to attend to." He then answered the call. Glancing at the rune-display, he saw the transmission was originating from the House Guard command center in the Lower Hive.
"Speak," Omega demanded, his voice instantly reverting to the cold, emotionless tone he used with everyone except Lord Valen and Commander Oliver. He hoped the officers at the command center had a suitably urgent reason to contact him.
"There is active sabotage, sir. We suspect there are terrorists attempting to incite a rebellion and stir up resistance among the workforce," the voice on the other end reported the alarming situation.
Omega took a deep breath before hanging up. He forced his expression to remain as neutral as possible before turning back to Commander Oliver to formally conclude their meeting.
"I have some urgent business to attend to, Commander Oliver. It would be excellent if we could converse and meet more often; I quite like a man of your intellect. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a rebellion to crush."
With that, he swiftly strode out of the room.
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Hive kathion
Upper hive
Two days had passed. Eric was living his life normally, entirely free from the agonizing four-hour post-work training sessions. He no longer had to sneak home through the shadows, avoiding the Arbites at every turn. Although a faint bruise still lingered on his cheek—a souvenir from Lieutenant Grey's solid punch—none of his coworkers dared to ask about it or mention it to his face. There were only hushed whispers behind his back, which he happily ignored.
"And... I win," Eric declared, turning his cards face-up on the desk. It was obvious that he held the superior hand.
Sitting opposite him was Carl. Normally, Eric had absolutely no time for such trivialities at the office. But today, he had finished his accounting work much earlier than usual and decided to invite an available friend for a quick game of cards to kill time and stave off boredom. Lyra had declined his invitation as she was busy repairing a holographic projector, but thankfully, Carl—one of his very few friends—had accepted.
"Are you cheating? ...I've lost three rounds in a row," Carl, a tall, lanky maintenance worker, frowned slightly. His tone was laced with frustration as he laid his cards on the table, clearly showing a hand much weaker than Eric's.
"I didn't cheat at all... It's all about luck and skill. Now, the loser has to pay up," Eric smiled, speaking with a proud, boastful tone. He was genuinely enjoying the thrill of beating his friend. Truthfully, he hadn't planned on playing cards; he had just brought the deck to fiddle with out of boredom. But once they started playing, he found it incredibly fun. Not that he was addicted to it—it wasn't like his guilty pleasure of reading mature adult novels.
"Fine... Next time, you'll be paying me. Next round, I'm betting five chips. Are you in?" Carl challenged. He reached into his trouser pockets, pulled out a handful of wrapped candies, and tossed them over to Eric.
Eric expertly caught the candies—which they were using as betting chips—and slipped them into his heavy grey coat pocket. The reason they agreed to use candy was simple: they both viewed the card game merely as a stress-reliever and didn't want to turn it into serious gambling. Eric took a moment to count out five of his own candies, placing them neatly in the center of the table alongside Carl's.
"I'll match your bet... Don't go taking your words back now," Eric said playfully, raising an eyebrow. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, picked up a spare candy, unwrapped the plastic, and popped it into his mouth. The sweet and sour burst of synthetic fruit flavor was something he absolutely loved... Even if it wasn't real fruit, it was a good enough substitute.
"I won't take it back, Erica... And this time, I'm going to win~" Carl smiled confidently, shooting Eric a challenging glare. At this point, neither of them was willing to back down easily, especially with a massive pot of ten 'chips' on the line.
Carl was the dealer this time. He gathered the deck, shuffled the cards expertly, and placed them on the table, drawing the first hand for himself. Eric watched his opponent calmly, studying Carl's posture and the way he held his cards. Eric was perceptive enough to guess what kind of hand his friend had drawn just from his body language.
When it was his turn, Eric quickly picked up his five cards and inspected them. The hand was actually quite fantastic. Of course, the game they were playing wasn't a standard card game; it was a modified version with streamlined rules, requiring fewer cards, and featuring somewhat different symbols.
The two took turns drawing and discarding from the center pile for a while, keeping a close eye on one another to deduce who had the upper hand. By now, Eric was absolutely certain his cards vastly outclassed whatever Carl was holding.
Brimming with confidence, Eric laid all five of his cards face up on the table, flashing a wide smile full of pride and impending triumph.
"And once again, I win," Eric stated boldly, looking at Carl, who seemed stunned by the revealed cards. Eric crossed his arms proudly. This would be another victory, another five chips added to his stash, and another loss for his friend. In reality, winning or losing didn't matter much—the important thing was that he got to relax and de-stress... but winning definitely felt good.
"Are you sure about that...? Erica, I think you're being a bit too overconfident," Carl said, his voice a sudden mix of slyness and absolute certainty.
Eric's smile slowly faded upon hearing that. It was impossible. Every card he had drawn made for a remarkably high-scoring hand. The odds of his opponent holding a better combination were astronomically low. Carl chuckled softly as he watched Eric's confident grin vanish.
"Let's see who the real winner is this time," Carl beamed, slapping his five cards down onto the table.
When Eric saw the faces of the cards, his eyes widened in shock. The score was undeniably higher than his. It was a rare, nearly impossible combination to draw.
"How did you do that...?" Eric blurted out in disbelief. The hand his friend had managed to draw had such an abysmally low probability that Eric had never even seen it happen before.
"You lost... And I'm just better than you," Carl gloated, sweeping the pile of ten chips over to his side of the table. He did a little celebratory gesture, looking like a child who had just won a video game for the first time. It was incredibly annoying to watch.
"This is just one of the few times you've won... don't get ahead of yourself," Eric huffed. He stood up from his chair, walked over to his own desk, and reached into a bottom drawer, pulling out a hidden treasure. It was a small slice of cake he had secretly bought to eat during work hours. Let's see what Carl would dare to bet against this.
"So, what are you going to bet this time?" Eric challenged, slamming the cake down onto the table.
But something was wrong. Carl suddenly went dead silent. His playful demeanor vanished, and his eyes were fixed on something over Eric's shoulder, looking as if he had just seen a ghost.
"What is it, Carl?" Eric asked, uncertainty creeping into his voice. This scenario felt horribly familiar—exactly like the time he had been chatting with Magda, only to realize an Arbites enforcer was standing right behind him. It was a terrifying experience he didn't want to repeat.
"Ahem!"
A stern clearing of a throat echoed from behind him. Eric whipped around, only to be met with a terrifying sight. The Head of the Accounting Department was standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe, glaring at Eric and Carl with deep displeasure.
"I believe this is working hours. This office is neither an entertainment parlor nor a mess hall," the Department Head barked, his sharp gaze falling on the playing cards and the cake sitting on the desk.
Eric's face went entirely pale with panic. He frantically swept the cards and the cake under the desk, desperately trying to formulate an excuse.
"Um... well, you see, I've already finished my assigned workload for the day, sir," Eric explained, using the most logical defense he could think of. He prayed he wouldn't get chewed out as badly as the time he misplaced a single decimal point during his first week on the job.
"Even if your work is complete, you should not be engaging in such activities. It is highly inappropriate. Do not let me catch you doing this again." With that final warning, the Department Head turned and shut the door sharply.
Eric and Carl let out synchronized sighs of immense relief. It seemed they were luckier than expected today. At least Eric hadn't been yelled at as harshly as during the decimal point incident. Eric carefully put the cake back into his drawer; the game was clearly over for today.
He slipped his hands into his coat pockets, his fingers brushing against the candy chips he had won earlier. He eagerly started to count them in his pocket, intending to brag to his friend again. But before he could even pull them out, Carl was already heading for the door.
"I need to get going, Erica... My department head will probably get suspicious if I disappear for too long," Carl said, quickly slipping out of the room and closing the door behind him.
Eric stopped counting his chips and gave a small shrug. ...Perhaps he should use this remaining free time to double-check the accounting ledgers he had already finished. It would kill time and give him the confidence that he wouldn't be scolded for any actual mistakes.
He pulled a stack of completed paperwork towards him and began meticulously verifying the numbers over and over. After flipping through several dozen pages, it seemed his work was flawless. But when he reached page 79, his eyes narrowed. He had placed a decimal point in the wrong position.
"Damn it," Eric muttered softly. He pulled open his desk drawer, grabbed a fresh sheet of paper, fed it into the typewriter, and diligently began retyping the page to correct his mistake.
__________________________________
"What is it, Digler?" Lord Ritus Rist asked, sitting comfortably in his private office high up in the Hive Spire, smoothly handling his paperwork. At this moment, everything was going perfectly. No one had discovered his corruption, his smuggling operations were running flawlessly without Arbites interference, and his grand, long-term plans were progressing exactly as intended.
Today was a good day... and he would have had enough free time to visit his wife, had his assistant, Digler, not interrupted him with news. Whenever Digler showed up like this, it had to be important. If it wasn't, Ritus had every right to punish the assistant severely.
"U-um... Sir, there has been an act of sabotage and incitement among the laborers in the Lower Hive, within House Korvax's territory," Digler reported, his voice trembling with fear as he waited to see if his master would be satisfied with the intel or if he should brace for punishment.
"And why should I care about that? It's probably just some rabble or ordinary rebels," Lord Ritus Rist spat, growing visibly irritated. He stood up from his luxurious desk, gripping his ornamental walking cane, and marched over to his trembling assistant.
"Reports indicate that... the leader and instigator of the chaos is Galjax, my Lord," Digler stammered.
Lord Ritus Rist froze mid-step. The joy and satisfaction he had felt all day evaporated in an instant, replaced by a crashing wave of stress and panic.
"Get out of my office! Now!" he roared.
Digler scrambled out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him, slamming the heavy door shut behind him. Ritus rushed to his desk, yanking open a secure drawer to retrieve a covert vox-communicator. The situation was far worse than he could have ever imagined. If that idealistic fool was captured, there was a high probability the interrogation would link back to him. His entire grand scheme would be exposed.
"Por'el! We have a massive problem! Did you order that imbecile to attack or sabotage that sector?!" Lord Ritus shouted into the communicator, his voice laced with panic and sheer fury. He demanded an explanation from the alien on the other end. In the plans they had agreed upon, today's events were absolutely not supposed to happen.
"What did you say?!" Por'el's voice crackled back through the receiver, sounding utterly utterly bewildered by the accusation. It was clear this was not part of their meticulously crafted strategy.
"That idiot Galjax took a splinter cell and initiated a terrorist attack in House Korvax's factory sector! He's bringing ruin upon us all! If that mutant freak Omega turns his full attention to this, everything is going to become infinitely more complicated!"
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Author's Note: Of all the people to mess with, he chose to mess with Omega... The poor, ordinary citizens in that area are definitely screwed.