Day 37, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Eric slowly opened his eyes as dim light filtered through the pipe, striking his face. The atmosphere inside the pipe remained dark, damp, and musty, but now he could see the heavy rust coating the interior walls. Through the opening, he could see the dust storm and strong winds still raging outside, whipping sand against the metal surface. Visibility was terrible; he could barely see anything beyond 20 meters from the pipe's entrance.
He shivered slightly, feeling the lingering chill from the night. Fortunately, the layers of clothing he wore, combined with the gray coat, had trapped enough body heat to keep him from freezing, though they hadn't exactly kept him warm.
The sharp pain in his ankles and feet, along with the ache in his calves, had dulled into a deep, throbbing soreness. The blisters from the boots had improved slightly, leaving only a stinging sensation whenever he moved his feet. All he could do was grit his teeth and try to ignore the pain.
Eric carefully shifted to sit against the pipe wall. With trembling hands, he took out the unfinished pouch of liquid rations and his canteen. He followed the familiar routine with practiced ease, opening the small port on his gas mask and inserting the straw to suck down the nausea-inducing nutrient sludge without letting his personal feelings interrupt the process.
Once finished, he quickly drank some water through the straw to wash away the viscous taste and quench the thirst that had plagued him all night. His eyes, behind the mask's lenses, scanned the curtain of dust outside with paranoia. There was no way to know if anything was lurking nearby, but that wasn't enough reason to hide here forever. He had to take the risk and keep moving to survive.
He checked his supplies and his physical condition—his current female form felt fragile but functional—one last time before preparing to leave. Eric crawled out of the metal tube as slowly as possible. He scanned the area through lenses that were starting to fog up slightly. His heart beat a little faster; stress and suspicion accompanied every step. Every move was a gamble because he knew this world outside the Hive City was no place for a normal human.
_I already ran into that green Ork yesterday..._ Eric thought, biting his lip.
Although he didn't know the official name for them in this universe, based on his memories from his old world and various media, he had no doubt they were "Orcs." Vann's warning about mutants and monsters only made him more anxious. In addition to the greenskins, he had to worry about mutants and mutated beasts.
He wasn't sure how the mutants outside the Hive City differed from those inside—what they looked like, how they behaved, or if there were different varieties. If he encountered the kind of mutants he had seen before, he might be able to handle it, but the uncertainty was terrifying.
Suddenly, a strange thought popped into his head.
_I wonder if there are female Orks like in Warcraft?_
Eric felt weirdly perverted for even thinking about it. In most fantasy media from his old life, if there were male Orcs, there had to be females. He imagined the female Orcs from *Warcraft*—humanoid, green-skinned, muscular, with tusks, and a fierce kind of beauty. But after seeing the neckless, heavy-jawed, red-eyed Ork yesterday, he shuddered. He didn't want to imagine what a female of *that* species would look like.
Better not to think about it.
The situation was critical. He was unarmed, save for his two hands. Even the small kitchen knife he had thrown at Brugg yesterday was gone. He scanned the surrounding piles of trash and scrap metal, hoping to find something—anything—to use as a weapon. But there was nothing.
"Damn it... this sucks," he sighed, his voice muffled and weary inside the mask.
He looked left and right again, desperate for protection. If danger appeared, his only option would be to run. And the worst-case scenario kept playing in his mind: not being fast enough to outrun a mutant or beast and becoming their gruesome prey.
Eric decided to move on, heading in the direction of Hive Kathion. If his calculations were correct, he was halfway there. The Hive City looked much larger now, a steel giant looming amidst the dull yellow dust. But as he got closer, visibility worsened. The dust and smoke thickened, obscuring everything just a few meters ahead. It was suffocating.
From this distance, he could clearly see the Hive City spewing massive amounts of toxic smoke from its colossal stacks and the tiny spires scattered across its surface.
Eric knew immediately that part of this toxic environment was man-made. The Hive was packed with countless manufacturums on every level. He had once wondered where all the pollution and industrial waste went. Now he knew. And if he remembered his history correctly, this Hive City might be over 10,000 years old. It was a miracle—or a curse—that it was still standing. He assumed this pollution was why the planet had become such an uninhabitable wasteland.
Eric shook off the depressing thoughts. No matter how much pollution the Hive spewed, it wouldn't kill him immediately. And if he made it back, he swore he would never come out here again.
He treaded carefully, trying to walk as silently as possible. He imagined eyes watching him from beneath the trash piles or within the thick smog. Eric pulled the gray coat tighter around his slender frame, trying to make himself small and invisible in this land of death.
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One hour passed, and Eric had dragged himself through another 5 kilometers of trash and toxic dust. It was good progress, but it confirmed his fears: the world outside the Hive City wasn't just home to Brugg. Throughout his journey, he spotted Orks in the distance periodically. Fortunately, none of them noticed him.
Eric began to use the poor visibility to his advantage. He moved through the shadows of scrap heaps and debris, using every trick he could think of to survive. He threw rocks and metal scraps in opposite directions to create distractions when he couldn't detour around the Orks, luring them away so he could slip past safely.
Now, another Ork blocked his path.
Eric crouched low, blending into the environment as best he could behind a slab of metal and trash. He peeked out slightly. He couldn't detour this time, and retreating wasn't an option—he didn't know if the previous Orks were still nearby.
Suddenly, he spotted an old oil drum about 20 meters away. He picked up a nearby rock, turned to his left, and threw it with all his might.
**CLANG!!**
The sound of the rock hitting the hollow metal drum echoed loudly. The Ork snapped its head toward the noise and walked over to investigate.
"Wot was dat? Or is it humies sneakin' round 'ere again?" the Ork grunted suspiciously.
_Go over there, you green freak..._ Eric thought, watching the Ork investigate the noise.
This was something most feral mutants didn't have—curiosity. Most mutants and beasts he had encountered were just bloodthirsty and instinctual. These Orks were violent, yes, but their stupidity made them easier to trick than a relentless predator.
Once Eric was sure the Ork was distracted, he seized the moment. He slipped out from his cover and hurried forward, stepping carefully so the Ork—or anything else—wouldn't sense his presence. Once clear, he resumed his normal pace and put distance between himself and the danger.
After walking for a while, he finally found an area that seemed safe enough to catch his breath. It was the wreckage of what looked like a large, downed aircraft, so old that it was caked in rust. Eric crawled under a broken wing to hide, leaning his back against the corroded fuselage.
He gasped for air, fogging up his mask lenses. With shaking hands, he pulled out his canteen and clumsily inserted the straw into the mask's port.
He was so thirsty he wanted to drink it all in one go, but he had to remind himself to ration the water and food until he reached Hive Kathion. Otherwise, he would starve. He took only small sips to moisten his dry throat and sucked down a few mouthfuls of nutrient paste to stave off hunger and regain some energy.
_Tastes like garbage as always... or maybe it's delicious right now. I'd kill to eat three bags of this stuff per meal when I get back,_he thought sarcastically, trying to relax his aching legs.
Hunger gnawed at him, but he couldn't afford to eat more. Strangely, the vile paste was starting to taste good to him; he wouldn't hesitate to finish it all if he could.
Eric slowed his breathing, trying to find a rhythm, forcing himself to relax and recover his strength for the journey ahead... or maybe steal a 30-minute nap.
But then, just as he was about to close his eyes, a sound shattered the silence.
**BANG!!!**
A gunshot. Loud and distinct.
Eric froze, paralyzed by paranoia and fear. The source of the sound was much closer than he expected.
The gunshot, ringing out amidst the silence of the wastes, made his heart pound violently against his ribs. He paused, his mind racing in chaos.
He had a choice: sneak away quietly as far as possible without being detected, or go investigate to see what was happening.
He hoped the gunshot came from a human—perhaps a soldier on patrol in the area. If so, he might find help.
Eric bit his lip gently under the gas mask. His face showed uncertainty, but the desperate hope for rescue outweighed the fear. He chose to stand up and leave his cover, walking carefully toward the source of the sound, even though inside, he was terrified out of his mind.
_If they really are humans... will they actually help me?_Eric thought, hunching his shoulders slightly.
He began to worry about his safety from a different perspective. His current body—female and objectively beautiful—was something he had felt insecure and fearful about ever since arriving here, especially in a lawless wasteland like this.
People could be even more terrifying and untrustworthy than green-skinned Orks or mindless mutants. And the source of the gunfire might not even be regular humans; no normal human could survive or live in such a harsh, toxic environment, which only deepened his anxiety.
With his experience fighting Genestealers in the Hive City during the war a year ago, he knew just how cunning and dangerous mutants could be, particularly their guerrilla tactics and ambush strikes. He could only hope that the mutants out here in the wastes were different from the horrors lurking inside the Hive.
As Eric tried to tread as lightly as possible, flashes of muzzle fire suddenly lit up the gloom ahead, accompanied by roaring and the distinct clang of metal clashing. The noise grew louder with every step. The poor visibility meant he could only see blurred silhouettes locked in fierce combat not far away.
Realizing he was getting too close to the kill zone—and risking getting hit by stray fire or being discovered—Eric quickly dropped low, belly almost touching the ground. He slowly and patiently crawled behind a large piece of concrete debris jutting out from the scrap, the only cover he could find.
He tried to control his ragged breathing, keeping it as silent as possible while peeking through a crack in the rubble to assess the situation. Who—or what—was fighting? And could he turn this chaos to his advantage?
"WAAAGGHHHH!!!"
The roar echoed through the thick dust storm, a sound so loud Eric felt it vibrate in his bones. He risked leaning out just a fraction more to get a better look, trying to remain calm.
The scene was blurred by the swirling dust, but the massive green shapes brawling with a group of human-like figures were terrifyingly distinct. The wet sound of flesh being chopped, the crunch of bones shattering, roars of battle lust, and manic laughter mixed with the staccato of gunfire and the ringing of blades.
Eric ducked lower, his heart hammering against his ribs, threatening to burst out of his chest. Every second the battle raged was a second of bloody brutality.
And then... everything went silent.
The only sound that remained was the whistling of the wind carrying the dust. The sudden silence following such bloody chaos sent a chill down Eric's spine. No more shouting, no more gunshots. Just an oppressive stillness.
In that second, an idea flashed through his mind. It was dangerous, but his current situation was desperate. He had no weapons other than his bare hands, which couldn't protect him or kill anything. But maybe... maybe he could scavenge weapons from the dead.
_If it's over... maybe there are weapons? Or if I'm lucky, some leftover supplies,_he thought, biting his lip beneath his gas mask. A mix of courage and a little greed outweighed his instinct to flee. He chose to risk it.
He knew that if he could get a gun, or at least a knife sturdier than a kitchen blade, his confidence in making it to Hive Kathion would skyrocket. But he had to remind himself that Orks or other creatures might still be lingering. He couldn't be reckless.
_Calm down, Eric... don't move yet,_ he told himself, pulling his gray coat tighter.
He lay completely still, trying to make himself as small as possible beside the concrete slab. His eyes bored through the dust curtain toward the silent battlefield. His empty palms were slick with sweat. He waited patiently, ensuring the area was truly clear of danger.
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About an hour passed. Eric, who had nearly drifted off, snapped back to reality and took a deep breath to gather his courage. He stepped out from his cover with the lightest footsteps possible. Every step was calculated. His eyes scanned continuously through the lenses of his gas mask.
Approaching the skirmish site, he found bodies scattered across the toxic, trash-strewn earth. There were the massive green corpses of Orks and several human bodies (or things that looked human). The scene was gruesome.
He could easily analyze the causes of death. Most of the Orks had died from small arms fire—likely solid-projectile rifles.
The "humans," however, had met a messier end. Most had been killed by massive bladed weapons, leaving their corpses in a state that was hard to look at. Some were cleaved in two, likely by a single strike. Others had been blown apart by large-caliber rounds.
Eric walked up to an Ork corpse. He stared at the weapon still clutched in its stiff, dead hand. It was a massive gun, and judging by the width of the barrel, it was the weapon responsible for the gaping wounds on the humans.
ภIs this... actually a gun?_he exclaimed internally, stunned by the sheer absurdity of it.
The Ork weapon was too bizarre for his brain to process. It looked like scrap metal and plumbing pipes welded together in a slapdash fashion. The barrel was comically large, and the mechanism looked like it would fall apart at any moment. He could barely believe this piece of junk could actually fire the massive shells scattered on the ground.
_This is insane!! Why is the trigger behind the grip?!_Eric almost swore out loud. The ergonomics made no sense. The gun became more ridiculous the longer he looked at it.
Eric shook his head to regain his focus, looking away from the nonsensical weapon to examine the human bodies nearby. They were dressed in rough, tattered clothes and wore armor made from rusted scrap metal. They looked like they had walked straight out of a Mad Maxmovie.
As he searched their bodies, a chill ran down his spine. Their appearance... while humanoid, their faces and bodies were unnaturally twisted. Some had proportions too strange to be baseline humans. Their skin was coarse and leathery. They weren't aliens, but they weren't quite human either. It looked like they had mutated to evolve with the harsh environment.
_Mutants..._Eric recalled Vann's letter immediately. The man hadn't been lying or threatening him.
However, these weren't the same breed of mutants he had fought in the Hive City—the bald, three-armed hybrids that worshipped aliens. These were just wretches of the wastes. Eric felt a pang of pity for them.
He stood up and quickly scanned the area, hoping to find something useful before anything circled back. He prayed he could just get to the Hive City quickly.
In his misfortune, there was a sliver of luck. Eric spotted a handle wrapped in old leather and rusted chains lying next to a mutant corpse. He picked it up carefully. It was a short sword, crudely forged. The blade was chipped, but it was heavy and sturdy—far better than his old kitchen knife.
Not far away, another mutant lay half-buried in the dust, dead hands still gripping a rifle. This gun also looked like a craft project made of scrap, not much different from the Ork weaponry, but at least the trigger was in the right place.
Eric crouched by the body and pried the gun free. It was old and stained with tar and oil. It had no magazine—a single-shot bolt-action rifle. He searched the mutant's body for ammo and felt a surge of relief when he found about 20 loose rounds.
_Thank the Emperor..._he thought, stuffing everything into his backpack. He didn't know why he thought that. Maybe he just needed something to believe in right now, and the Emperor that most of the Imperium worshipped seemed like the best option.
A small sense of security began to form now that he had both melee and ranged weapons. He wasn't sure if he could shoot straight, but just holding it boosted his confidence.
He moved on immediately. Staying here was inviting death.
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The weather worsened. The wind picked up, whipping toxic dust and dry sand into a small sandstorm. Visibility shrank to a few hazy meters.
Under his gas mask, sweat beaded on Eric's forehead. His breathing grew heavier. He struggled to keep his balance against the wind buffeting his body. Yellow dust coated his gray coat, his hands, his pants, and his hair until he blended in with the garbage around him. He pushed on toward where he remembered Hive Kathion to be, even though the spires were lost in the smog.
"The closer I get to the Hive, the stronger the wind gets, huh?" he muttered sarcastically, tightening his backpack straps.
The trek through the storm was grueling. The pain in his legs and ankles, which had subsided in the morning, returned with a vengeance, reminding him of this body's limits. Eric gritted his teeth and adjusted the strap of the bolt-action rifle. Despite the blurring dust, his eyes remained sharp and observant. He checked the mechanism of the rifle in his hands—crude, but the bolt felt solid enough to trust his life with.
Suddenly, a hulking green silhouette appeared in the dust ahead. Eric froze.
Even with the poor visibility, he knew that shape wasn't a pile of trash.
He dropped low, pressing himself against the dry earth, paranoid. In the Ork's hand was the partially eaten body of a mutant—a nauseating sight. It confirmed that they ate anything. He thought back to "Brugg" and felt incredibly lucky he hadn't become lunch yesterday.
Eric controlled his breathing. In this visibility, trying to detour blindly might lead him right into a pack of them. Based on the wind and the shadows, going straight—but carefully—was the best option to avoid a prolonged engagement.
He knew this female body was at a disadvantage in brute strength and durability. But he had a gun, and skill with a firearm didn't depend on physical might.
Eric slowly shouldered the rifle. The iron sights were crooked and rough, but he used his instincts to calculate the distance through the dust. His nervousness vanished, replaced by cold, sharp decision-making and clear killing intent.
He held his breath and moved his index finger to the trigger. The moment he felt the cold metal, he squeezed.
BANG!
The gunshot echoed loudly. The recoil of the scrap rifle kicked hard against Eric's slender shoulder, rocking him back. But the result was undeniable. At this range, the bullet cut through the dust and struck precisely between the Ork's eyes.
The massive green body collapsed instantly without letting out a single cry.
Eric stood stunned for a moment, panting inside his mask. Relief washed over him. Deep down, he had been terrified the scrap gun would explode in his face or misfire. But seeing that he could kill an Ork with it gave him a surge of confidence. Perhaps it was the blessing of the Emperor, or maybe the "Machine Spirit" the Mechanicus believed in was real and had guided the bullet.
"...Praise the Omnissiah..." he murmured to himself, looking at the rifle.
He pulled the bolt back, ejecting the spent casing, and loaded a new round. He jogged carefully to the Ork's corpse, eyes darting around the storm. The gunshot might attract "uninvited guests."
Eric crouched beside the body and began looting with practiced efficiency. Doing this reminded him of his first day as a PDF soldier in his old life, scavenging from the dead. It was a bad memory, but useful.
His hand brushed against a strange object—an old meat can wrapped in wires and scrap metal. It looked dangerous and unstable, a homemade explosive. A **Stikkbomb**. He pocketed it without hesitation.
Aside from useless trash, he noticed a small pouch at the Ork's waist. Inside was a dried hunk of meat from some unknown creature. It was a haunch, red-skinned and rough, with three black-clawed toes.
It didn't look appetizing, but it was food. He feared poison or disease, but with his rations nearly gone, he couldn't afford to be picky. Who turns down a big piece of meat?
_At least it's probably edible... better than starving,_he grumbled internally, securing his pack.
He left the area immediately, pushing his tired body forward through the howling storm, hoping his luck would hold until he reached safety.
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After walking for another long stretch until exhaustion set in, Eric decided to find shelter. He found a crevice beneath thick layers of scrap metal, a small hollow that would hide the light and smoke from any prying eyes.
He gathered dry trash, his eyes showing reluctance as he looked at the plastic and synthetic scraps he would have to use for fuel. He knew burning this was toxic, but in this world... death by starvation or hypothermia was a more immediate threat than cancer.
He used two rocks to strike a spark. After ten minutes of effort, he got a fire going. Orange-green flames flickered, releasing acrid, black smoke. He held his breath as best he could while his slender, now rough and red hands held the "Squig leg" over the fire.
_God... I'm grilling meat over burning plastic. And I have to eat this_he complained silently, grimacing under his mask. He cracked the mask open just enough to eat. The smell of burning chemicals overpowered the scent of roasting meat.
The red skin of the meat was now covered in soot. Eric sighed. He stared at his first "real" meal in a month. Even if it was mystery meat cooked over toxic waste.
He took the first bite.
It was awful. Tough, rubbery, and tasting distinctly of burnt plastic and soot. But he chewed slowly, forcing himself to ignore the taste, focusing on the warmth spreading in his stomach.
_Tastes like sh*t... but whatever. At least I'm chewing something solid,_ he consoled himself, curling closer to the dying fire.
He didn't let the fire burn long. He kicked dirt over it to extinguish the light. The darkness returned, but it was safer this way.
He adjusted his mask, sipping water through the tube to wash the smoky taste from his throat. He placed the bolt-action rifle on his lap and began counting his rounds to plan his usage.
_Nineteen rounds..._he exhaled. Enough to feel a little safer.
He sat silently, calculating his remaining supplies. Water and food were critically low, but if he didn't get lost, he should make it. His body screamed for rest; his legs trembled, and his eyelids were heavy.
Though the sun hadn't fully set, Eric decided to sleep. He lay down on the cold, hard ground, using his backpack as a pillow, hugging the rifle to his chest like a teddy bear.
_My condition right now is exactly like my first day in the Lower Hive..._