180 day .Year 988 .M41st millennium
Hive Orion
Lower hive
The vibrations from the engine of the ancient, dilapidated truck—which felt like it could fall apart at any second—transferred through the chassis and the seat right into Eric's body. It forced him to constantly shift his weight and readjust his clothes in sheer annoyance and discomfort.
*No different from back home,* Eric thought to himself. His eyes stared out the truck's window, taking in the dreary, filthy industrial manufactorums and slums. This place was practically identical to the sector of the Lower Hive where he used to live. As he watched, he pondered what might happen in the near future.
*What am I even doing here?* Eric's anxiety grew. He had no idea why he had been brought here. Was he being sent on some kind of mission? Would he actually have to assassinate someone on Vann's orders, or infiltrate a den of gangers and criminals? The more he thought about it, the more stressed he became.
But when Eric stopped looking at the roadside and turned to the man sitting next to him, he frowned in confusion. Colonel Drago, sitting behind the wheel, looked completely relaxed and at ease. He leaned back against the worn seat, his posture and gaze as casual as if he were taking a leisurely drive down a familiar road, or having a picnic in his backyard... not navigating a perilous Lower Hive that was ready to kill the weak at a moment's notice—or even the strong, if they were careless.
*Screech!*
Suddenly, Colonel Drago slammed on the brakes. The old truck's braking system let out an ear-piercing squeal as it struggled to halt the vehicle. Inertia violently jerked a startled Eric forward, nearly smashing his head into the windshield. Thankfully, he was wearing his seatbelt.
Eric took a deep breath, glaring at Colonel Drago with a flare of anger.
*Why the hell did you brake so suddenly?!* Eric screamed in his mind, furious and annoyed. However, he didn't say a word out loud, deciding to let it go. Throwing a tantrum here would be absolutely pointless.
"Get out of the vehicle," Colonel Drago ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument.
Eric swallowed hard. Everything was becoming increasingly alarming. He didn't know why the Colonel was kicking him out; the entire situation felt sketchy and thoroughly unsafe. He hesitated for only a moment before deciding to obey. He slowly unbuckled his seatbelt, climbed out of the truck, and stepped onto the cold metal floor of the Lower Hive.
Once outside, his survival instincts and old habits immediately kicked in. Eric swept his gaze around with intense, cautious paranoia. The atmosphere of this Lower Hive street felt deeply familiar. The dull gray metal streets were covered in filth, soot, and dust... with a smattering of trash. The buildings on either side looked entirely devoid of life. The ceiling on this level was only about ten meters high—unlike the residential zones of his old Lower Hive, where the ceilings were closer to fifty meters high. Flanking the street were dismal structures that looked like solid walls punched with rectangular holes for doors, with pressure valves and various utility pipes jutting out intermittently. It was quite different from the dilapidated row houses of Zone Z in Hive Kathion.
*This is... not normal,* Eric thought, a mix of suspicion and unease settling in his gut. Usually, a Lower Hive sector packed with this much heavy industry would be swarming with people struggling to survive—gangers, vagrants, chem-addicts, and manufactorum thralls breaking their backs for a pittance of food and scrip. Yet, the area where he stood was practically deserted. It was completely unnatural.
Not that being alone scared him; he was well-accustomed to unpopulated areas. His old quarters in the Lower Hive had been situated far from the densely packed slums and factories. Still, it was highly unusual.
Before he could deduce a reason for his suspicions, Colonel Drago reached into his trench coat and pulled out a single pistol, along with a sealed letter. Leaning over from the driver's seat, the Colonel handed both items to Eric through the open door.
The pistol was pitch-black and fitted with a compact suppressor. It closely resembled a suppressed M1911, though the grip was forged from some unknown dark material rather than wood.
Eric took the gun and the letter hesitantly. His grip tightened slightly as he felt the weight of the black firearm and the envelope. It didn't take long for him to reach a rather alarming conclusion.
It was glaringly obvious. Today, he had traveled to a different Hive City. He was now in the Lower Hive. He had been handed a suppressed pistol and a sealed envelope. It was painfully clear that he was being ordered to assassinate someone on Vann's behalf. He didn't want this job at all... he just wanted to live a peaceful life as a painfully ordinary accounting clerk. He didn't want to kill anyone.
*You don't have a choice, Eric,* he told himself, a tinge of sadness washing over him. The reality was, even if he didn't want to kill, he had to. And maybe the person he was supposed to kill was genuinely evil. If that were the case, it might lessen the guilt.
*Is it going to be like last time?* Eric thought, feeling a mix of frustration and anxiety as he remembered waking up in that cramped room outside Hive Kathion. He recalled finding Vann's letter, being forced to trek thirty kilometers through a hostile environment, and surviving Orks and mutants. He was terrified that the mission details in this letter would be just as vague, making his job ten times harder. Perhaps asking the Colonel right now would be for the best.
"Good luck. The mission details are in the letter. I will pick you up here in three days. Don't die!" Colonel Drago said flatly, before slamming the door shut—leaving Eric zero chance to ask a single question.
In an instant, the old truck sped off, leaving Eric standing completely alone on the dimly lit, desolate street, clutching nothing but a letter and a weapon.
Eric stood frozen, utterly stunned by what had just happened. Shaking off his shock, he quickly ducked into the dark shadows of the nearest alleyway. He knew that staying out in the open was a terrible idea. Right now, he inhabited the body of an attractive, seemingly delicate, and defenseless young woman. Standing by the side of the road was tantamount to hanging a neon sign inviting all the gangers, chem-addicts, and underworld scum of the Lower Hive to come and prey on him.
Even though he was armed, and his marksmanship and reflexes had improved significantly—knowing that in a life-or-death situation, he could draw his weapon and land a lethal, precise shot in the blink of an eye—avoiding a fight altogether was still the best strategy. He didn't even know how much ammunition he had, and wasting precious bullets was the last thing he wanted.
Once he reached a dark corner of the alley that felt relatively secure, Eric leaned his back against the damp metal wall and let out an exhausted, frustrated sigh. He honestly had no idea how Vann had managed to survive long enough to become a General. Just the way he assigned missions and handled transport was incredibly sloppy and completely unprofessional.
*Dammit. What kind of mission is this even going to be?* Eric thought, frowning slightly. Despite his inner monologue, he couldn't stop himself from complaining out loud.
"This morning, I had to rush out before I could even finish breakfast. Then I had to sit on a mag-lev train for hours just to travel to another Hive City, only to be dumped on the side of the road to do a mission with the 'details in a letter'?" Eric muttered, gritting his teeth. "And they can't even debrief me properly; I have to read it myself. What kind of boss operates like this?"
He sighed softly and looked down at the pistol in his hand. He popped the magazine out to check his ammo... and immediately rolled his eyes in pure exasperation, looking up at the dark ceiling above.
"Perfect. Only seven rounds," Eric deadpanned. With practiced ease, he slammed the magazine back into the grip, making sure the safety was on before tucking it into his waistband. Then, he brought a hand to his temple as a sudden, horrifying realization hit him.
"Could I be any luckier today? ... I completely forgot my wallet. What the hell am I supposed to do if I need to buy something?" Eric groaned sarcastically, scratching his head before crossing his arms in deep irritation.
Eric knew he was in an incredibly bad, highly dangerous situation. The sheer absurdity of it all pissed him off immensely. But no matter how much he complained, he knew it wouldn't change a thing. He had to complete the mission and survive for three days until Colonel Drago returned for him. The only thing left to do now was open that damn letter and figure out exactly what his objective was.
Eric carefully tore open the envelope and pulled out the letter inside. His bright blue eyes scanned the text rapidly, meticulously analyzing every single word... And when he finished reading, he wanted nothing more than to crumple the paper, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it repeatedly.
> **Mission:** Assassinate the leader of the Iron Fang gang, who controls this sector. The target has ties to Lord Ritus Rist.
> **Signed:** Vann
Eric read it over several times. At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. But no, the text in the letter was really just that brief.
"That's it?! Who the hell is Lord Ritus Rist? What does the leader of the Iron Fangs even look like? What kind of ties do they have? You're really not going to tell me anything? Literally *nothing*?!" Eric burst out, his voice laced with desperate questions. He hurriedly flipped the paper over and scoured the inside of the envelope for any scrap of useful intel. But he found nothing but empty space.
Eric clutched his head in pure despair. Leaning against the grimy wall, he slowly slid down a few inches, mentally exhausted by the sheer ridiculousness of his predicament.
*Oh, brilliant... Now I have to assassinate a gang leader on their own turf, with absolutely zero intel.*
Looking down to survey his own condition, he felt a wave of pathetic pity for himself. Right now, he had one suppressed pistol with a grand total of seven bullets. He was wearing normal office attire beneath a gray trench coat, undergarments, and a pair of boots. At best, his clothing might protect him from the cold wind, some heat, mild fumes, or a glancing blow from a low-level thug's rusty knife. What he was wearing offered zero ballistic protection against bullets or a properly sharpened blade.
And the absolute worst part was that he had no money on him. Not a single Calf.
"No money. No intel. No armor. And a pathetic handful of bullets. I'm not a superhuman, you know!" Eric began to rant aloud, venting his immense stress. He ended it with a long, drawn-out sigh. He felt incredibly unlucky to be caught in a mess like this. He absolutely despised having bosses like this.
*CLANG!!!*
The sound of his boot violently kicking a metal trash can echoed loudly through the narrow, dark alleyway before fading into silence. Eric took a deep breath. He had just vented the last of his frustrations by kicking the metal bin with enough force to dent it.
But he quickly reminded himself that losing his mind or panicking in a lethal environment like this would only get him killed faster—or drop him into an even worse nightmare.
Once Eric calmed down, he started organizing his thoughts systematically. He needed to devise a plan for his next steps if he wanted to complete the mission and stay alive. The first thing he had to do was find a local... anyone who looked reasonably friendly enough not to immediately pull a knife, harass him, or yell for their buddies to gang up on him on sight. He needed someone he could interrogate for information.
Once he acquired that intel, he could move on to the next phase: planning an assault or an assassination as systematically, thoroughly, and cautiously as humanly possible. Because if he made even the slightest mistake, he would die—or face a fate far worse. Therefore, meticulous caution and absolute perfection were the only armor that could shield him from death and horror.
"Too bad... it's much easier said than done," Eric muttered to himself, emotionally drained. He reached up to scratch his head in distress. Letting out one final sigh, he adjusted his trench coat to ensure he was fully covered. He positioned his hand so he was ready to draw the pistol from his waistband and aim at a moment's notice. Then, he decided to head toward the exit of the alley. Standing still in this spot wasn't going to get him anywhere.
---
**Two hours later**
Eric stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall of a dark, secluded alley. He was analyzing the information he had managed to gather from quietly scouting the area and observing his surroundings over the past two hours. He glanced left and right periodically to ensure no one—and *nothing*—could sneak up on him before he noticed. In the Underhive, the most terrifying things often didn't make a sound when they moved.
His conclusion was that his current location was a sprawling slum surrounded by heavy manufactorums producing machine parts, artillery shells, and refined steel. Even standing far from the factories, he could still hear the constant roar of the machinery and smell the toxic smog. The locals looked just as emaciated, worn out, and worked to the bone as the people in his old Lower Hive. However, this sector seemed slightly more developed in certain aspects; it had consistent electricity and a higher density of industrial plants. Yet, despite that, violent crime and street-level chem dealing were still rampant and entirely out in the open.
And, naturally, this territory was controlled by the Iron Fang gang—assuming he correctly guessed that the insignias branded on the brutish men wearing crude scrap-armor and carrying heavy weapons belonged to them.
He honestly didn't even know what the Iron Fang's actual gang symbol looked like.
*What the hell do I do now?* Eric thought, his brow furrowed in deep frustration. His hands reached into his utterly empty coat and pants pockets. He let out a dark, bitter chuckle at his horrific luck today. This Hive used 'Calfs' just like Hive Kathion, and the value difference between the Upper and Lower Hives was night and day. The money he usually spent on a single meal up top could probably buy a high-quality firearm down here. Gathering intel would have been incredibly easy if he could just bribe someone for answers.
But right now, he didn't have a single Calf to his name.
Eric began brainstorming alternative methods to extract information. Extortion was immediately crossed off the list. He knew exactly what he looked like: a timid, delicate female clerk who had wandered down from the Upper Hive. In this environment, he looked like absolute prey. Even with a gun, if he walked up to someone and tried to threaten them, they would either laugh in his face or immediately try to drag him into a dark corner for nefarious purposes.
"What if I use charm to manipulate them?" Eric mumbled softly. His mind started imagining the tone and the lines he would have to use, recalling the lessons Celeste had taught him.
"Absolutely not happening," Eric stated firmly, his voice hardening. He scowled at his own degrading thought. There was no way in hell he was going to stoop to flirting or sweet-talking the filthy gangers or bottom-feeders of the Lower Hive. Just the thought of it gave him goosebumps and made his skin crawl.
But right then, a realization hit him. He stood perfectly still for a moment, the hesitation in his eyes instantly shifting into a cold, determined resolve.
He couldn't afford to be this paralyzed by fear. If he didn't take a risk, he was never going to get the intel he needed. Slowly, his hand slid down to grip the handle of his pistol.
*Click.*
The mechanical sound echoed faintly as his thumb quietly pushed the safety off. A dangerous new plan had just formed in his mind.
____________________________________________
*Step. Step. Step.*
Footsteps echoed through the silent corridors of the Korvax family manor. The opulent atmosphere of the hallway stood in stark contrast to Omega, who was just as silent as his surroundings.
Omega, clad in his usual formal uniform, wore a relatively relaxed and pleased expression—a sharp deviation from the cold persona he typically displayed both in public and in private.
Even though he could not predict the future, his mood today was exceptionally good... or at least it would have been, if not for the Warp demon constantly whispering in his ear, just like every other day.
*"Why do you serve that human? You have power. You could take everything you desire... conquer it all, and be the greatest."*
Yes, his mood was already unusually good today. But alas, it was just the voice of a lowly entity trying to tempt him, whispering its poison into his mind. Nevertheless, there was no denying that his systematic eradication of the rebel faction was proceeding smoothly.
He had reported all the intelligence—including Lord Ritus Rist's facilitation and backing of the rebels, along with numerous illegal enterprises and smuggling operations—to the Adeptus Arbites to secure their cooperation in the investigation. Now, he had obtained the official authority to hunt down and execute Lord Ritus in the name of punishing treason and heresy.
But he needed to inform his master of this development as well. He had to tell Lord Valen so his master was aware and could initiate negotiations with Lord Thalric, Lord Ritus's superior, to prevent rising tensions and misunderstandings between the two noble houses.
Suddenly, Omega spotted the one person who managed to make him feel the most conflicted, shaken, and irritated.
"Long time no see~ Have you finished dealing with those rebels yet?" a teasing voice called out from the end of the corridor. Istria Korvax appeared, dressed in elegant finery, walking slowly toward him with a smirk on her beautiful face.
*"Approach her,"* the demon's voice purred sweetly, attempting to distract him and manipulate him into doing its bidding.
Omega shook his head slightly before offering a polite greeting.
"Good afternoon, My Lady," Omega greeted in a respectful tone, forming the sign of the Aquila with his hands.
Istria stopped in front of him, standing tall and raising her chin in a haughty manner that most would find infuriating. To him, however, it wasn't anything particularly special. She tilted her head slightly and addressed him with an arrogant air.
"Good afternoon to you too... You know, I've been wanting to see you ever since I heard what you said at that assembly full of nobles and Hive rulers. You're the bravest person I've ever met. My cousin is damn lucky to have you." Istria praised him openly, acting as if she genuinely adored what he had done—even though his actions were simply what was necessary to maintain his master's power.
Still, he felt a bit strange... Compliments like this secretly made him smile just a little.
"Thank you for the compliment, My Lady," Omega replied humbly. He found himself feeling surprisingly comfortable talking to her—comfortable speaking with someone who didn't look at him as a mutant or fear him as a psyker. But as much as he wanted to continue the conversationas quickly as possible so he could go see his master. But before he could do so...
"Nice hat," Istria said playfully. Though her tone was light, her demeanor and the way she looked at him resembled a spoiled child. She reached out, snatched his green beret right off his head, and placed it on her own.
"Return my hat, My Lady," Omega requested calmly.
Istria merely gave him a challenging look and a smirk before replying.
"If you want it back, come and try." She stood there, chin raised, giving him an arrogant stare with her arms crossed, completely confident that he wouldn't dare lay a hand on her.
"Excuse me, My Lady." Omega let out a small sigh, gently pushed her aside with his hand, and continued walking down the corridor, completely ignoring the fact that Istria looked utterly shocked by what had just happened.
"Hey! Don't you want it back?" Istria shouted, waving the green beret around, trying to get Omega to turn around and pay attention to her.
Omega didn't even look back. He considered bickering with her right now to be utterly nonsensical and highly inappropriate. Furthermore, getting into a petty argument with a member of the Korvax family was simply not proper.
When he arrived at the office of Lord Valen Korvax, his master, Omega carefully pushed open the ornate wooden door and stepped inside.
Valen Korvax was currently dealing with paperwork, a sight Omega was well accustomed to. This time, however, the atmosphere was far more oppressive than usual. It seemed something terrible had happened to him.
"Omega, we need to talk," Valen said in a low, heavy voice. He placed his pen back into its case and looked up directly at Omega. Valen's two amber eyes locked onto Omega's single purple eye with a heavy gaze full of pressure, disappointment, and anger.
Omega felt his confidence waver under that stare. He would never feel this way if anyone other than his master looked at him like that. He desperately tried to think if he had done something wrong to displease his master, but he came up blank. He had followed every order to the letter and executed his duties flawlessly.
"Why didn't you inform me that Commander Oliver Kagemont intends to formally arrange a marriage with Istria Korvax, my cousin? You... we have a lot to talk about, Omega."