Fabius's frown deepened even further.
His diagnostic device swept back and forth over [Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates] three times.
Every single pass returned data that perfectly matched the geneseed records of the Iron Hands Legion.
"This isn't right..."
He muttered to himself, his hands beginning to wander over the naked physique.
His fingertips traced the bulging pectorals, trailed down the tight abdomen, grazed the calloused palms, and finally settled on a surgical scar over the left breast.
[Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]'s pupils constricted slightly.
That touch made Flatbread Bro's skin crawl.
What the hell is this old creep feeling up?
Why are his hands so damn cold?
Is this motherfucker copping a feel?
A violent shudder of revulsion shot straight up from his tailbone to the top of his skull.
Fuck.
He locked his eyes onto the sinister-looking Apothecary in front of him.
He stared into those obsessive eyes that looked as if they were studying a piece of art.
If it weren't for the hundreds of Emperor's Children Astartes surrounding them, and Fulgrim quietly watching from just a few yards away...
He really would have just grabbed a thunder hammer and smashed this old bastard's head right into his chest cavity.
"Do not move."
Fabius's voice was ice-cold, carrying an authoritative, commanding weight.
His fingers continued to probe the body, as if searching for some hidden flaw.
Then, he got serious.
The automated Narthecium equipment mounted on his back let out a low hum. Four mechanical arms unfurled like living creatures.
The end of each arm was equipped with a different tool...
Micro-drills, a scalpel, tissue separators, and a bone marrow extraction needle that gleamed with a chilling light.
[Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]'s eyelids twitched.
In the [Crimson Dawn Regional Chat], he was already spamming the feed:
[Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]: "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!! What is this old bastard about to do??"
[Selling Cola at the Terra Palace Gates]: "Hold steady, Flatbread Bro! That's Fabius Bile's Narthecium, it's specifically used for live field dissections!"
[Dragon Bro Never Yields]: "WTF, is he going to vivisect an Astartes right here??"
[Shinnosuke Eating Lemons]: "Are apothecaries in the Warhammer universe all this terrifying??"
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "I don't know about other apothecaries, but this old creep Fabius Bile... heh."
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "This is the madman who dared to clone a Primarch. Later on, even the Chaos Warmaster Abaddon has to give him some respect."
[Abaddon Shines My Shoes]: "Flatbread Bro, hang in there! For Crimson Dawn! For the glory of the Iron Hands!"
[Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]: "Hang in my ass!! These are real fucking knives!!"
But no matter how much he cursed in the chat, in reality, he lay perfectly still on the platform.
Fabius's brow furrowed into deep, heavy lines.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong.
His scanners clearly showed that there were no signs of mechanical augmentation inside these warriors, yet what his fingers were feeling...
Those raised metallic outlines beneath the skin, those mechanical nodes fused seamlessly with flesh and blood.
Those were the standard augmentation scars unique to the Iron Hands Legion.
Why hadn't the scanners picked them up just now?
Fabius's finger swiped lightly across his control panel.
The first cut fell.
The scalpel sliced through the skin. Blood welled up instantly, followed by the subcutaneous tissue, fascia, and muscle fibers.
[Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates] feigned a violent shudder, gritted his teeth, and didn't make a sound.
The game's 70% pain reduction was still in effect, dulling what would normally be blackout-inducing agony into something tolerable.
But the sheer sensation of being sliced open... was way too realistic.
So realistic it made him want to cuss someone out.
--
In the [Wings of Freedom Regional Chat], the Chaos players were watching in stunned disbelief:
[Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan]: "Holy shit, what is Fabius doing??"
[I Just Like Sleeping In]: "I think I get it. The old freak wants to dissect him to verify if they actually have cybernetics or not."
[Number One Handsome of the Soul Hall]: "Heh heh heh... if he cuts him open and doesn't find any metal, Crimson Dawn is in for a massive world of hurt."
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing]: "Look at that Iron Hand's face. Damn, that actually hurts."
[Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan]: "Duh, you'd hurt too if you were being vivisected."
--
[Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] stood in the crowd, his face still maintaining that expression of impassioned loyalty.
But inside, his heart was practically beating out of his chest.
Holy shit, the scan actually didn't find anything wrong?
How the hell did these Crimson Dawn guys pull that off?
Whatever, a deep-tissue dissection will definitely expose them.
And when it does...
The corners of his mouth tilted up slightly, but he immediately forced the smirk down.
However, a second later, Fabius's movements came to a dead halt.
The blade of the scalpel had hit an obstruction.
It wasn't bone. It was metal.
Inside [Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]'s chest cavity, nestled squarely between his ribs, sat an alloy plate gleaming with a cold light.
Engraved on the alloy plate was a Medusa Forge serial number, along with a small line of text:
"Witnessed by the Machine God, Steel is Eternal."
Fabius's eyes blew wide open.
"Impossible..."
For the first time, his voice wavered.
He manipulated the mechanical arms to dig deeper.
The chest cavity was pried open, and the sight inside made the surrounding Emperor's Children Astartes collectively suck in a breath of cold air...
Two hearts were encased in precise mechanical pumps, a metal filtration mesh sat between three lungs to assist with breathing, and every single joint of the spine had been heavily reinforced with machinery.
Even the unique geneseed specific to the Iron Hands Legion rested perfectly intact inside a mechanical protective shell.
--
In the [Light of the Emperor Regional Chat], the Loyalist players were losing their minds:
[Worthy of Sanguinius's Blood]: "WTF?? It's fucking real??"
[I Eat Tomatoes]: "That [Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]... he's actually an Iron Hands Astartes??"
[For the Regent Yellow Guilliman]: "No way, right?? They have red IDs over their heads!!"
[Sanguinius Is My Husband]: "Is Crimson Dawn really so OP now that they can do 1:1 Astartes cybernetic surgeries on players??"
[Loyal Battle Sister of the Imperium]: "Isn't the real point being missed here?? The point is a player is literally being vivisected right now!!"
[Worthy of Sanguinius's Blood]: "True, this scene is way too gory. I can barely watch."
--
But Fabius didn't stop.
He had descended into some kind of manic trance.
He frantically carved into [Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]'s bodily tissues, desperate to find even the slightest flaw.
Quite a few of the surrounding Emperor's Children Astartes instinctively looked away.
It wasn't that they hadn't seen gore before.
But that was on the battlefield, hacking and slashing at enemies.
Right now, the man lying on that table was a warrior from their closest allied Legion.
The Iron Hands, the Tenth Legion, the sons of Ferrus Manus.
They had come to provide support.
And instead, they were being pinned to a table, their skin sliced apart like cheap meat, muscles peeled back to expose the bloody, pulsating organs beneath.
Saul Tarvitz's fists cracked audibly as he clenched them.
Vespasian's normally serene face was tightly furrowed in a deep scowl.
Even Eidolon, the Fleet Lord Commander famous for his cruelty, was squinting, lost in his own thoughts.
As for Lucius...
Lucius had gone completely pale.
Standing at the front of the crowd, looking at the mangled, bloody Iron Hands warrior on the platform, an indescribable feeling welled up in his throat.
If these people were fakes, it was easily justifiable.
But if they were real...
If they were real, there was absolutely no coming back from what happened today.
Fabius didn't stop cutting.
Fine beads of sweat broke out across his forehead, but a fire of pure paranoia burned in his gloomy eyes.
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
That mortal's psychic senses clearly detected no mechanical augments inside them. So why, when dissected...
His scalpel dug further down.
The fascia below the sternum was peeled away, revealing a metallic scaffold wrapped beneath the muscle.
It was the standard Iron Hands ribcage reinforcement. Twelve alloy struts fused flawlessly with the native bone.
Every single one bore a Medusa Forge serial number.
Fabius's eyes bulged.
His lips parted slightly as a near-whisper escaped his mouth:
"Impossible..."
[Selling Flatbreads at the Terra Palace Gates]'s body had been reduced to a mangled, bloody... sieve.
The expressions on the faces of the surrounding Emperor's Children Astartes grew increasingly grim.
They looked at the still-trembling body on the platform, the blood continuously pooling out, the mechanical organs forcibly exposed to the open air...
A deep chill crawled up their spines.
This loyal warrior, who had come to support them on the orders of his Primarch, was lying on a table being vivisected alive by their Legion's Chief Apothecary.
All because of a mortal's report.
All because their Legion's commanders couldn't give Lucius some basic respect.