Day 164, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Hive Kathion
Lower Hive
Upon arriving at the lower Hive, Omega immediately headed straight for the command center located in the Lower Hive sector. He walked past officers and House Guards, many of whom were frantically running around to prepare for the impending conflict. Although it might have seemed minor to many—perhaps just a small-scale rebellion—in the eyes of House Korvax, any form of uprising or resistance, no matter how small, was extremely dangerous. It could spark a massive, uncontrollable insurrection and cause catastrophic damage.
Omega had received a brief report indicating that the rebel leaders possessed unknown plasma weapon technology. This was not something to be taken lightly; it was proof that someone was backing the rebellion. It was also evidence that the current situation was highly volatile and could not be ignored.
The rebels and anyone involved had to be entirely eradicated.
Before long, Omega arrived at the Lower Hive's communications hub, a massive room filled with various communication devices and electronic equipment. He ordered the stationed officers to synchronize the frequencies of all communication devices carried by every House Guard to a single, unified channel. Then, Omega grabbed a microphone connected to the comms system and immediately issued an absolute command.
"Establish a wide perimeter around Sector 2, Power Station Number 5. Hold your positions and observe the situation until I arrive. The rebels possess a form of plasma weaponry—do not underestimate them under any circumstances. And remember: no mercy for the rebels and heretics." Omega spoke in a cold, emotionless tone. Generally, the House Guards of the Korvax family automatically understood that a mission like this meant a massacre was imminent.
They were willing to eliminate 100 innocent people just to have a chance at killing a single rebel. To them, that was considered a justified and worthwhile action.
Once all matters in the communications room were settled, Omega headed straight for the armory. A Tech-Priest named Michael Winchester was blessing and soothing the machine spirit of a heavily modified Hellgun—a masterpiece of his own creation. This specific weapon was reserved exclusively for the Commander of the House Guard.
Omega accepted the weapon with reverence, praying that its machine spirit would not be angered during use. Proceeding to the vehicle bay, Omega saw a Chimera APC carrying a squad of House Guards speeding out, followed by a standard Leman Russ battle tank.
He quickly climbed onto the turret of the only remaining Leman Russ Punisher tank in the hangar. There, a familiar-looking tank driver was already stationed, waiting for him.
"Is everything fully prepped for combat?" Omega asked the tank crew, who seemed to possess a rather dark sense of humor. He disliked it quite a bit, finding it undisciplined and inappropriate, but he chose not to issue any punishments.
"All set, sir... We are rolling out for the mission now," the driver replied in a cheerful tone that sharply contrasted with the grim task they were about to perform.
"Good... Our targets are the rebels and saboteurs in the vicinity of Power Station Number 5. In the name of the Emperor, we shall crush them," Omega said, offering a brief word of encouragement as he put on a noise-canceling headset to communicate clearly and precisely with all the tank crews.
"Our Commander is acting weird today. He's usually much colder, not giving dry motivational speeches," one of the crew members, responsible for manning the front-mounted lascannon, joked. He was promptly smacked hard on the back of the head by another crewman, who told him to shut up.
"Knock it off. Don't cross the line like that, or you'll get us all in trouble."
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"We're going to win, right? Answer me, Liberator," a man who had joined the resistance—hoping to free himself and others from the influence of House Korvax—asked Galjax with uncertainty, noticing no further incursions from the House Guard forces.
They were currently holding their ground at a street corner. Initially, they had been elated and full of hope that they could finally throw off the yoke of House Korvax. They had easily overpowered the House Guards they had feared their entire lives, using the incredibly powerful weapons they had received just a few days prior, combined with guerrilla tactics. It gave him and many others genuine hope that they could be free and no longer forced into a lifetime of oppressive labor. However, many who had taken up arms had died gruesome deaths. They were merely workers who had never fought before; clashing directly with soldiers trained in weaponry and close-quarters combat was practically suicide. Yet, for every House Guard life they managed to take, they secured a cache of high-quality weapons and armor.
He secretly looked down on the workers who refused to take up arms, despite having a chance to win a sliver of freedom from the dictatorship. Yes, that was just a few hours ago.
But now, he felt something was terribly wrong.
The House Guards weren't trying to push in to clear every room in the slums or secure the streets from rebels like him. Instead, they had heavily and securely cordoned off the entire sector. Anyone who got too close was precisely eliminated by sniper fire from a distance. Even with their special weapons, the resistance lacked combat experience and even basic tactical understanding. It would be nearly impossible for them to hold off a full-scale assault by the House Guard.
"We just have to hold our ground and deal with this scum," Galjax said, his tone laced with annoyance rather than tension, sounding as if he already had a countermeasure prepared. Even if the enemy had tanks or heavily armored personnel carriers, it wasn't a problem; they had a plan ready.
"Alright, I'll trust you," the man said, raising the white rifle. Though it looked like a standard rifle, it was a plasma gun, and he had already killed five House Guards with it.
"What's the movement status right now?" He heard Galjax communicating via radio with other resistance groups scattered across the area. Their situations were much the same: paranoid and deeply confused.
"Right now? We need reinforcements... They're breaching!!! We don't have anti-armor weapons. Requesting backup— brrrrrrrttttt!!!!!!!!" Before the voice on the other end could finish, the deafening roar of a high-rate-of-fire autocannon echoed, and then everything went dead silent.
Galjax frowned before switching channels to contact the remaining surviving groups. He quickly ordered everyone to stay alert and brace for combat against armored vehicles and tanks. But it seemed the situation was only getting worse.
Flick!
Suddenly, all the artificial lights mounted on the ceiling went out simultaneously. Panic and fear began to set in among the rebels. While many of them possessed immensely powerful weapons, they weren't used to them. Now, many were left blind in the darkness, lacking thermal optics or even basic night vision equipment.
He was one of them. Feeling highly agitated, he tried to scan for threats through the scope of his rifle, which was permanently equipped with thermal and night vision modes.
"Don't panic! Stay calm! Keep your guard up; an attack could happen at any moment!" Galjax shouted, trying to keep the group from descending into absolute panic.
Hearing Galjax's words helped calm him slightly. Then, suddenly, he saw something emerge from an alleyway between the buildings.
Pew!!!
A bright flash illuminated the area. Omega, personally leading the House Guard assault team, had decided to pull the trigger on a rebel aiming a gun in his direction. The muzzle flash from his Hellgun gave away his position, temporarily lighting up the vicinity.
The laser beam from the Hellgun instantly killed the rebel. His head exploded like a watermelon, and the beam punched straight through, killing another rebel standing behind him.
His objective now was to completely eradicate these rebels. But upon noticing a man wielding a strange, distinctively multi-barreled rifle, he immediately deduced that this man had to be the rebel leader. He would not take him dead; the man held valuable information that Omega needed to extract by any means necessary.
Omega gave hand signals to the rest of the assault team before sprinting out into the open, simultaneously projecting a bright purple psychic shield. The rebels attempted to fire back with their plasma weapons. Several plasma bolts and energy projectiles struck the psychic barrier, but none could penetrate it. The trailing assault team immediately opened fire on the rebels, safely picking them off from a distance with their Hellguns from behind the psychic shield.
The area was soon ablaze with the brilliant lights of plasma bolts and laser beams exchanged between the House Guard assault team and the rebels.
Thanks to their experience as assault troops, the House Guards easily slaughtered a large number of the rebels. This was unsurprising; these rebels were just laborers handed incredibly powerful weapons. They had gained courage and arrogance, but their actual combat skills were worse than those of military cadets.
Suddenly, Omega noticed something. In a building down the street, through one of the windows, he saw a rebel aiming a bizarre, multi-barreled weapon directly at the back of his head. He couldn't instantly expand his psychic shield into a full dome to protect himself from all directions.
Making a split-second decision, Omega focused all his experience and concentration on maintaining the shape of the psychic shield protecting his advancing assault team. With one hand, he raised his Hellgun, took precise aim, and pulled the trigger, unleashing a burst of orange-white laser beams at the rebel.
The beams from the modified Hellgun easily pierced through the structure. The spot that had served as the rebel's cover was now riddled with holes, the surrounding metal glowing a fiery red from the intense heat of the melting process.
The rebel presence in the area was beginning to thin out, as nearly all of them had been killed. It sounded like good news, but that brief distraction had caused him to lose sight of the rebel leader. The man had escaped.
"What's the status of the other units?" Omega asked over the comms as he kept moving. As the Commander, he needed a comprehensive and detailed understanding of the battlefield to make the right decisions and choose the best course of action.
"Unit 5: Situation is stable, sir. Minimal casualties."
"Armored Unit 3: We lost two Chimeras and nearly thirty men to plasma explosives, sir."
"Assault Unit 2: We lost one Leman Russ tank to a plasma explosive, sir."
The casualties sustained in this operation were unacceptable. A mere rebellion in a small sector had cost the House Guard a significant number of troops, as well as armored vehicles and tanks. This proved that whoever was orchestrating this from the shadows was far more dangerous than he had anticipated. He had to capture that rebel leader.
"Keep pushing forward. Do not let anything leave this sector," he ordered all units.
It seemed this rebellion had the potential to spread and become as severe as the war from a year ago. Only this time, the enemy wasn't the abhorrent Genestealers, but rebels armed with advanced technology.
And perhaps, a rebellion waged by fellow humans was far more dangerous and risky than one started by those xenos hybrids.
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Day 171, Year 988, 41st Millennium
It had been seven days since his last combat training session, and it felt incredibly good. Eric felt much fresher and more energetic than before. He had an abundance of energy for both work and other activities. However, not seeing Colonel Drago or Vann made him feel uneasy, as if something suspicious was brewing.
Two days ago, he overheard some coworkers talking about a rebellion and sabotage at Power Station Number 5 in the Lower Hive. It had left the factories, equipment, and the people living there completely paralyzed due to a lack of electricity. This had incited the workers there to rebel.
...And it was subsequently crushed with extreme prejudice by Commander Omega.
This news made him slightly uncomfortable because he feared it might be a repeat of the events from about a year ago. Who knew? There might be mutants or terrorists aiming to spark another large-scale war. And if the situation escalated all the way to the upper levels, his comfortable life would vanish in the blink of an eye.
But worrying too much right now wasn't productive. Even though such an event was possible, the chances were slim. If he recalled correctly, the previously lawless Lower Hive areas were now fully controlled and managed by House Korvax. The problems and risks down there had decreased significantly. Therefore, the likelihood of a major war breaking out due to armed forces and reinforcements was highly improbable.
"Don't overthink it," Eric muttered, trying to comfort himself as he carefully pulled a bowl of stew out of the electric oven. He could feel the heat radiating from the bowl even through the thick cloths wrapped around his hands.
If I had known, I would have bought some heat-resistant oven mitts to make things easier, he complained internally. If he had just bought a pair of relatively inexpensive mitts, he wouldn't have to deal with this hassle. Everything would be much simpler.
Eric placed the bowl of stew gently on the table. He quickly pulled his hands away before walking over to grab a spoon from the cupboard and a piece of bread. He didn't know what possessed him to use an electric oven to make this stew, but he had managed it. And it looked quite decent, even if it seemed like a dish made by a trainee chef.
Many of the ingredients in this stew were bought from the nearby market and shops, all pre-packaged and ready-to-eat items. But out of boredom and a craving for stew, he had boiled everything together and seasoned it until it resembled one. However, when he took his first spoonful:
"This is terrible," Eric let out a soft curse.
The taste was awful, or perhaps he just didn't like this kind of flavor. The stew was quite bland and tasteless. Not exactly tasteless, but it only had one flavor: a mild saltiness mixed with the smell of the meat he had added. There was no aroma of vegetables or any appetizing scent at all. He didn't like this one bit.
In the end, he had to reluctantly throw the stew away and sit chewing on his bread, feeling frustrated. He had intended to cook his own meal this morning and enjoy it, but everything went wrong. Then again, he had never cooked a single meal before. Perhaps when he was still in the modern world, he had relied entirely too much on ready meals and restaurant food.
After dealing with his breakfast, Eric got dressed to prepare for work as usual. Opening his wardrobe, he found several gray coats inside. This time, he chose a different shade of gray than the day before and slipped it on quickly. He didn't know why he liked gray so much... but maybe he should try wearing a coat in a different color.
What would it look like if I wore a red coat with black pants? Eric wondered, trying to visualize it with a sense of curiosity. He felt bored of wearing the same color all the time. Or maybe he should change up his outerwear entirely.
Knock, knock.
A knock sounded at the door. No shout or greeting followed. Eric jumped slightly. He quickly adjusted his coat and rushed to open the door. Damn it, he hadn't even put on socks or shoes yet, and his hair wasn't combed or styled. ...But when he opened the door, he found Colonel Drago standing there in civilian clothes, clearly arriving at his apartment with a specific purpose.
"Hello, Colonel," Eric greeted in a soft, uncertain voice. He had no idea what was going to happen next. It could be something good, or something very bad.
"Good morning, Erica," the Colonel greeted back in a relaxed tone. His demeanor suggested he wasn't in a rush today, and perhaps it wasn't an urgent matter... hopefully.
"Um... what's your business here, Colonel? It's still early, and I have to go to work soon," Eric asked directly about the Colonel's intentions. He could be ordered to do anything today, and at least knowing what it was would make him feel more at ease... well, mostly.
"Finish getting dressed and come with me. I've already arranged your leave for today. There will be a slightly different kind of training," Colonel Drago said in a tone that was calm and relaxed, yet definitive.
But the phrase "slightly different kind of training" made him feel both relieved and annoyed simultaneously. He knew it was definitely combat training, which he disliked. It was predictable, and he could brace himself to minimize the pain. But the "slightly different" part was concerning.
"Yes, Colonel," Eric replied before closing the door and rushing to finish dressing. He quickly styled his hair, put on his socks and shoes, double-checked everything in the room, grabbed his wallet, and put it in his messenger bag. Everything was done within five minutes.
"I'm ready, Colonel." Eric, now fully dressed, stepped out of the room and carefully locked the door. He had tied his hair into a neat bun. He wore gray slacks and a matching gray coat over a white shirt, paired with black boots. He looked extremely tidy. If he were still a man, he would have looked incredibly handsome in this outfit, but...
What am I going to face now? Eric lamented internally. The truth was, he just wanted to go to his normal job and would have preferred to decline. But the problem was, he couldn't.
"Okay, good. Follow me then," Drago said with a satisfied tone, giving a slight nod.
He followed Colonel Drago through the streets of the Upper Hive, taking several trains and large elevators. The environment began to shift. The residential areas with simple architecture and surroundings transitioned into spaces with more Gothic or steampunk designs. It still felt modern and looked much better than the area where he lived. This environment was very beautiful, but... unfortunately, it was a bit too Gothic for his taste.
Moreover, the people living here and walking by wore noticeably better clothes. He felt the fashion style of the residents here resembled the British during the Victorian era. It wasn't exactly the same, but it had a mix of old European fashion. He didn't know how to describe it, but it looked strange yet perfectly coordinated.
And then, they arrived at their destination.
This isn't what I expected at all, Eric thought as Drago led him to the front of a building. It looked like an old clothing boutique in Germany, mixed with French decor and Gothic architecture. The sign in front clearly indicated it was a clothing store. He had expected a military camp, a secret facility, or at least a place more suited for combat training.
Drago stopping in front of this shop made him uneasy.
"Um... Colonel, are you sure we're in the right place?" Eric asked uncertainly. Seeing Drago staring at the sign and the door of the shop only increased his apprehension.
Who would do combat training in a clothing store? Or maybe there was a secret room hidden inside—who knew?
"Yes... this is it," Colonel Drago turned and replied in a flat voice.
"Hurry up, I don't have all day," Drago said with a weary tone, casually pushing the door open and stepping inside.
"Yes, Colonel," Eric clenched his fists slightly before following the Colonel inside.
Upon entering, Eric was met with a mix of surprise and excitement. It felt as though he had stepped into the most luxurious clothing store he had ever seen. The marble floor was polished to a mirror shine, the walls were painted a soft cream, and crystal chandeliers cast a warm yellow glow. Rows of evening gowns and various types of clothing lined the space. Altogether, the boutique looked incredibly opulent. The combination of decor and lighting made everything seem even more appealing, and he found himself wanting to try on a dress.
Drago stopped in front of a counter made of solid hardwood—a rich dark brown that was beautifully varnished—equipped with elegant, stylish accessories.
While Eric was enjoying looking around and visually exploring the boutique, a young woman walked out from the back with a striking and confident presence. She was a beautiful woman, wearing an elegant yet modern outfit that made her look as if she had stepped out of an expensive fashion magazine.
"Hello, Celeste. It's been a while," Colonel Drago greeted the woman. His tone and her demeanor indicated they had known each other for a long time.
"Hello to you too... How have things been lately? I hope Seraphina hasn't been giving you too hard of a time," Celeste joked, smiling slightly with amusement, as if she had just brought up something funny or embarrassing about Colonel Drago.
"Things are fine... And stop saying that about Seraphina. She wouldn't be pleased if she heard you," Colonel Drago replied, sounding as if he were trying to make excuses for someone. Eric guessed the woman was likely his wife, sister, or someone definitely connected to the Colonel.
"And who is this woman, and why did you bring her here?" Celeste asked Drago, crossing her arms. Her eyes scanned Eric from head to toe, as if analyzing and assessing the quality of a product or object.
"Vann wants you to evaluate her and give your opinion on what kind of clothes or hairstyle would maximize her operational efficiency," Drago answered, shrugging nonchalantly.
Celeste nodded, as if she understood what Drago and Vann needed without further explanation. Eric knew very well what kind of work he had to do for Vann—stealth and assassination. He knew that sometimes he might have to use his looks to approach a target and carry out a hit.
Feels like a bad omen or trouble is knocking at my door, Eric thought, pressing his lips tightly together. He began to feel increasingly uneasy. He knew what he was going to have to do today; he was probably going to be a mannequin.
"Alright, I'll take care of it," Celeste replied. Her smile sent a shiver down Eric's spine. It seemed the situation wasn't at its worst just yet.
"I'll be going then," Colonel Drago abruptly turned and walked out of the store, leaving Eric alone in the luxury boutique with Celeste. Eric watched the direction the Colonel had gone. The store environment, which had initially made him feel surprised, excited, and entertained, now made him feel indescribably suffocated.
"Why are you standing there wasting time? Hurry up and follow me," Celeste turned around and called for Eric to follow her. Eric looked back at her before sighing. Even though the situation was untrustworthy and uncomfortable, being afraid was useless. He had already been through worse.
Eric adjusted his coat slightly before following her down the aisle of the clothing store, looking rather unsure. He hoped nothing terrible would happen today.
In a short time, he followed Celeste to the deepest part of the store. She led him into a private fitting room, fully decorated with mirrors on all sides, before closing the door. The sound of the lock clicking and the surrounding mirrors immediately made him feel paranoid and pressured. Eric looked around the room, appearing very unconfident and extremely uncomfortable.
"Sit down," Celeste ordered, pointing to an upholstered chair in the middle of the room. Eric nodded and sat down, feeling awkward.
Celeste didn't waste any time. She didn't say another word but began walking slowly around Eric. She scrutinized his body and clothes from his hair down to the tips of his boots, as if scanning for flaws. Eric felt so pressured he could barely breathe. The atmosphere in the room, along with what was happening, made him feel like a rookie designer standing before a highly experienced, strict, and demanding judge.
After circling him two or three times, Celeste stopped. She let out a heavy sigh and delivered a critique that shattered his confidence.
"Your face and figure are decent... better than most people I know... but," she said, sounding as if she meant it as a compliment, though her posture showed frustration and displeasure with what was in front of her.
"Look at the way you dress! You haven't worn any makeup, have you? And you chose to wear just a coat and plain pants? Look at your hair! How can you just roughly tie it up like that? You need a better hairstyle. Your fashion sense is terrible," Celeste criticized, pointing at Eric's clothes and various features. The criticisms fired out faster than a heavy stubber.
Eric felt tense. His emotions were no longer just discomfort, paranoia, or unease. Now, he felt a massive loss of confidence.
He had intentionally dressed simply, sure, but he did take care of himself. He had tried to dress neatly and look his best. But at least he was only getting criticized. Surely, nothing worse could happen.
When Celeste had criticized to her satisfaction and fell silent, Eric let out a soft sigh before slowly relaxing his tense muscles. Next, he would probably get to try on some clothes.
But suddenly, Celeste produced a measuring tape from nowhere.
"Take off all your clothes," she said in a relaxed, casual tone, but it was an absolute command.
"Do I… really have to take everything off?" Eric asked in a quiet voice, hoping she was only joking.
"I need to take detailed measurements of your body and record your proportions for a bespoke outfit," Celeste replied, sounding irritated. She was clearly annoyed by the young woman in front of her who seemed reluctant to follow instructions. "So take all your clothes off."
Eric looked at Celeste with hesitation and discomfort. He pressed his lips together, took a deep breath, and forced himself to accept the situation and what he was about to do. Even though it made him uneasy, at least everyone else in the room—aside from him—was female. If he looked on the bright side, this wasn't the first time he'd had to undress and let someone examine him.
Slowly and shyly, Eric removed his clothes piece by piece and folded them into a neat pile in the corner of the room. Even though the room was at a normal temperature, he felt oddly cold standing naked with someone watching him. It made him very uncomfortable.
Fortunately, Celeste simply picked up a notebook and began jotting notes. She then took a measuring tape and, quickly and professionally, measured various parts of his body to collect reference data for tailoring. Her gaze carried no personal feeling — it was cold, clinical, professional. It reminded him of the times the Arbites had inspected him, though this was far less harsh.
Strangely, that helped him relax a little. Her impersonal, professional manner made him feel less exposed and less unsafe.
But seriously — does she need to be that precise? Eric grumbled inwardly when he saw Celeste measuring the circumference of his thighs. She even measured the distance between his nipples.
Just as it seemed she was finished, Celeste crossed her arms, frowned, and fixed him with an irritated look, as if she had found something displeasing.
"What's this?" she asked, pointing the end of the tape at the surgical scar on his abdomen. Her eyes swept over the faint bruises scattered across his upper arms, stomach, flanks, and even his chest — most of them from combat training, some from the fight with Lieutenant Gray.
"Your skin's fine, but… why are you covered in marks? These scars, these bruises all over. How much makeup will I need to hide these?" Celeste said with clear displeasure, as if she'd expected a flawless subject but found defects instead.
Not long after, she recorded the last notes in her book and put the tape away. Eric breathed a quiet sigh of relief and hastened to grab his clothes. He hadn't even put on a single piece of underwear when Celeste spoke again.
"Hold on… you're in a hurry," she said, sounding tired.
Eric froze and watched Celeste walk to one side of the room where a mirrored wall stood. She touched a hidden panel and the mirror slid open, revealing a massive concealed wardrobe behind it. Inside were countless outfits in a variety of styles and colors, with rows of design sketches neatly arranged.
He stood still, holding the underwear and his coat, staring at Celeste and the enormous wardrobe with suspicion and uncertainty. Summoning his courage, he asked in a small voice, "What do you want me to do next?"
Celeste offered a faint smile, as if amused by the young person before her. "I want to see what kind of image you project. I'd like to know which styles suit you best."
She spoke casually, as if discussing something ordinary. Eric furrowed his brow, feeling uneasy. He only wanted to get dressed and leave.
Well… it's only trying on clothes, not another round of measurements, he tried to convince himself, and he walked toward her.
Up close, the wardrobe made his eyes widen. There were far more clothes than he had expected — dresses, evening gowns, shirts, coats, jackets, and countless other styles.
This feels like a bad omen, he thought anxiously. He'd assumed trying on outfits would be preferable to being measured; now, faced with the sheer number of options, he wasn't so sure.
"All right," Celeste said, gesturing toward the garments. "You can choose first. Pick what you like and show me your sense of style… if you have any."
Eric felt a little relieved — at least he wasn't being forced into something specific. He took his time browsing the wardrobe. Although filled with luxurious pieces, he deliberately chose something modest, and he allowed himself a little curiosity.
Two hours later Eric stood in an outfit that surprisingly suited him: black slacks and a vivid red coat layered over a white shirt. The colors complemented each other perfectly. He felt proud that he'd been able to pick and style himself so well.
But when he met Celeste's eyes, her expression made it clear she was disappointed by what she saw.
"You don't even know how to dress, do you? Looks like I'll be working hard today. Fine — sit tight. I'll teach you," Celeste said in a tired, clipped voice.
Eric felt certain he'd have a tiring day ahead as well.