Day 183. Year 988.41st millennium
Opel III
Hive Orion
Lower Hive
Eric supported the injured Omega, who barely had the strength to walk, for a short distance before his own body nearly buckled under the man's weight. He was forced to crouch slowly, gently propping Omega against a cold metal wall.
He twisted and rolled his right shoulder, which throbbed with pain from the brutal recoil of the anti-materiel rifle. His immediate objective was to find a room containing medical supplies, stimms, or anything that could stabilize Omega. Once the man was functional, Eric intended to extract them both from this base immediately, regardless of whether the other man was willing or not.
"You're heavy as hell," Eric muttered. He scanned their surroundings, raising his slung lasgun into a ready position. He searched for any door that might lead to an apothecary or a storage unit, but every bulkhead in the corridor looked identical. He decided he would have to scout the rooms one by one, even if it meant risking leaving Omega alone. Time was against them; surviving gang members could be regrouping and heading their way at any moment.
He began a swift, cautious sweep of the nearby rooms. In several of them, he found only piles of corpses, their bodies riddled with the telltale burn marks of hot-shot lasguns and hellpistols.
Eric wasn't an expert in forensics, but he had seen enough wounds on both humans and mutants to recognize the work of high-powered laser weaponry. Laser wounds were horrific; instead of clean entry holes, the flesh often exploded outward as if hit by explosive rounds. The damage was even more catastrophic when inflicted by a hot-shot lasgun.
It was likely the work of a House Guard unit. Perhaps they had been deployed here for their own mission or to assassinate a high-value target, just as he had.
As he searched through room after room, he found nothing but empty crates or filthy, rotting living quarters. In some of the bunks, he even found illicit narcotics stashed under the mattresses.
"Stop wasting time," Omega's voice rasped out. Eric hurried back to him. Omega was still slumped against the wall, though he seemed to have regained a small amount of mobility.
Eric felt a surge of irritation. He was risking his life to help, and Omega thought he was "wasting time"? He hadn't liked the man much to begin with, and his patience was rapidly thinning.
"My supplies... in my gear. The tactical pouch on my left side... there are stimms and adrenaline," Omega managed to say with great effort. His voice was faint and hoarse. Eric's brow furrowed even deeper in frustration.
_Why didn't you say that from the start?_Eric complained silently. He knelt beside Omega and searched the left tactical pouch, finding one injector of combat stimms and one of adrenaline.
Without a moment's hesitation, Eric drove the injectors into Omega's thigh. He had been trained in the use of such battlefield medicine and knew that speed was essential. Within moments, the deathly pallor left Omega's face, and he seemed more alert. He wasn't fit for a firefight, but he was at least capable of a hasty retreat.
"Are you one of Vann Korvax's subordinates?" Omega asked hoarsely, gritting his teeth as he tried to push himself up. He failed, and Eric had to step in to haul him to his feet.
"I am," Eric replied, keeping his voice low. "I was tasked with assassinating Cronos, the leader of the Iron Fangs. The mission is accomplished." He told the truth but omitted the more aggravating details—like how Vann had given him almost zero intel and nothing but a single pistol with seven measly rounds, forcing him to scrounge for his own gear.
Omega's next words, however, left Eric feeling confused and increasingly paranoid.
"What? You mean... Vann Korvax sent you to assist me?" Omega asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. He scanned the floor for a usable weapon, his expression shifting from skepticism to slight disappointment. Eric felt his heart sink. Something was very wrong.
"No. My mission was strictly the assassination of Cronos. I'm finished, and I'm authorized to extract... I only stopped because I couldn't just leave you there," Eric answered. He was starting to regret his decision. If he had known this would get complicated, he would have raided the armory and vanished through the secret tunnels the moment Cronos was dead.
"Your master assigned you to kill a petty gang leader? I should have known better than to trust him," Omega said flatly. Despite his disappointment, he reached down to retrieve a discarded autogun from the floor.
Eric's mind raced as he processed this information. Fear and suspicion gnawed at him. He was here for a hit, while Omega and his team had been sent here on a separate mission in coordination with Vann Korvax. Vann had promised Omega reinforcements, but the only "help" he had sent was Eric—on a completely different mission.
It was a classic Vann Korvax double-cross.
"That bastard!" Eric cursed under his breath. He knew his employer was cunning and manipulative, but he couldn't understand why Vann would make an already dangerous situation this convoluted.
"We move. We have one more objective before extraction—the mission I agreed upon with your master. Lord Ritus Rist is hiding here, and he must die," Omega stated coldly. He racked the slide of his autogun and began walking down the corridor without even asking if Eric was willing to follow.
"No... that isn't my mission. I'm pulling out," Eric said firmly. He turned back toward the armory, intending to take the secret stairs. There was no way he was going to risk his life for an objective he wasn't paid for.
"You aren't going anywhere," Omega said, his voice dropping to a chilling, low tone. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Eric tried to keep walking, but suddenly, an invisible force hoisted him off the ground.
The unseen pressure clamped around his throat like a vice.
Gasp!
"Urgh... ack..." Eric's hands flew to his throat, clawing desperately at the invisible grip. His legs kicked uselessly in the air. He felt the same overwhelming terror he had experienced a year ago when facing a Chaos Space Marine. The sensation of being slowly strangled by nothingness was suffocating.
As Eric struggled, Omega leaned heavily against the wall, his face straining from the effort of using his psychic powers. He issued a grim ultimatum that Eric couldn't refuse.
"Help me finish the mission, or die here," Omega offered tonelessly. It wasn't a request; it was an execution held in stasis.
Eric, gasping for air and seeing spots in his vision, tried to signal his agreement. He didn't want to die in a dark corridor. If helping Omega meant a chance at survival, he would take it. He cursed his luck; he had finished his job and tried to do a good deed, only for the man he saved to become his captor.
"A...agreed..." Eric managed to wheeze out. His vision was darkening, and his limbs were beginning to go limp from the lack of oxygen.
The moment the words left his lips, Omega released the psychic grip. Eric slammed hard onto the metal floor.
" Cough! Hack!" Eric inhaled sharply, propping himself up on his hands and knees. He gasped for air, his lungs burning as he tried to stabilize his breathing.
"Pick up your weapon and move," Omega said, his voice as emotionless as ever. He turned and walked away without offering a hand, showing none of the gentleness Eric had shown him.
_Both of them... one-eyed bastards with the same terrible personality,_ Eric cursed both Omega and Vann in his mind. Once he could breathe normally again, despite the bruising on his neck, he snatched his lasgun off the floor and hurried to catch up with Omega, not daring to risk running the other way.
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Waste Areas, 100 Kilometers South of Hive Kathion
The underground complex was a chaotic hive of activity, buzzing with rowdy energy. Scrap-metal Ork fortifications stood everywhere. Along the corridors, Boyz and Nobs stomped past one another, busy with their own errands and preparing for the glorious, long-awaited Waaagh!
Most of them felt a lingering frustration with Warboss Grukusta's orders. He had strictly forbidden them from leaving the base unnecessarily, fearing the "humies" might track them back to their stronghold and ruin his plans before the right time.
The cavern was packed with war machines cobbled together from salvaged junk: Gun Trukks, Battle Wagons, Warbikes, Warbuggies, and Killa Kans. Towering over everything else was the masterpiece of Big Mek Maknik—a massive Gargant that loomed like a metal god over the entire camp.
At a stall fashioned from jagged scrap metal, two Boyz stood staring at a Chain Choppa hanging behind the counter, where a Mekboy waited.
"Mek! I want dat Chain Choppa!" one Ork Boy bellowed, pointing a thick finger at the weapon.
The Mekboy slapped the scrap-metal counter and grunted, "Dat's fifteen teef. You got da shiny bits to pay for it?"
The Boy peered into his tattered squig-hide pouch, only to find he had a mere twelve teef. He turned to the Boy standing next to him and delivered a brutal series of punches to the other Ork's face. The victim collapsed to the ground, unconscious, his face battered and swollen, with several teeth scattered across the floor.
The first Boy leaned down, swept the fresh teeth into his pouch, and turned back to the Mek.
"Now I got fifteen teef. Give me dat Chain Choppa!"