Creak—
The small submarine came to a halt amidst a flurry of bubbles. It had arrived at a natural shallow beach in the underground river, where the surrounding rock walls were coated in thick, dark-green industrial sediment.
Andy pushed open the hatch, and a gust of hot air—a mix of strong acid and rot—instantly flooded the cabin.
"This is far enough."
Andy glanced back at the pilot. The mutant's hands had long since fused with the control levers, and he was currently staring blankly ahead with dull, clouded eyes.
"Go back and tell Sisyphus and Gamma-9 that unless I contact them personally, they are not to send anyone looking for me."
After speaking, Andy jumped directly onto the silty bank. The pilot didn't respond, merely making a gurgling sound in his throat before submerging the submarine. With a surge of bubbles, the rusted iron shell vanished into the murky, acidic waters.
Andy activated the STC tactical scanning interface. Red radar ripples expanded across his retina.
He was now less than five hundred meters directly beneath the Helios factory. The radiation index was skyrocketing; it was the high-energy particle stream released by the "Molecular Matter Reconstructor." Even through dozens of meters of rock and concrete foundation, that purple energy caused a stinging sensation in Andy's sensors.
But what unsettled Andy more was the feedback on his thermal imaging radar.
When he was above ground, he had only detected one faint but stable red signal. But now, that red dot was surrounded by a dense cluster of thermal signatures. There were more than fifty of them. Furthermore, these signals were extremely unstable.
In the few seconds Andy watched the display, several red dots suddenly vanished. They didn't fade out as they cooled; they disappeared instantly, dropping to zero. It was as if the heat sources had evaporated into thin air. Immediately after, new red dots emerged from the nearby river channel to fill the vacancies.
"What the hell is going on?"
Andy frowned. This signal pattern didn't match any conventional biological activity—unless something was lining up to commit suicide, and doing so with clinical efficiency.
Andy activated his stealth mode, turning off all active light sources and relying solely on passive sensors. He crept along the massive sewage pipe toward the source of the light.
The further he went, the less moss there was on the pipe walls, replaced instead by a translucent purple crystalline growth. Like mold, the crystals clung to the walls, emitting a faint, eerie purple glow in the darkness.
Finally, Andy reached the end of the pipe. Ahead was a massive subterranean cavern, originally intended as a settling pond for the factory's cooling water. Now, it was brilliantly lit by that uncanny purple radiance.
Andy hid behind a thick concrete pillar, peeking out with half his head. The next second, even as an Iron Man, his logic core suffered a jolt.
At the center of the cavern, directly beneath the massive alloy valve that connected to the factory foundation above, stood a monster.
It was three meters tall, its body covered in deep purple chitinous armor. Four powerful arms hung naturally, each hand tipped with three half-meter-long scythe-like claws. Its head was streamlined, extending backward, bald and smooth. Its eyes were tiny and concealed, and it possessed a maw full of fangs and nostrils designed to sense pheromones.
A Purestrain Genestealer.
This wasn't something those hybrid, purple-skinned baldies could compare to. This was the Tyranid race's purest killing machine, a master of infiltration, and an apex predator capable of tearing through Terminator armor with its bare hands. It stood there like a statue of a purple death god.
Surrounding it was a swarm of purple-skinned hybrids. These miners, possessing a mix of human and Tyranid DNA, were currently in a state of absolute frenzy. Wielding crude tools—crowbars, pickaxes, or even their bare hands—they were frantically digging at the alloy valve above their heads.
The valve itself had been hacked apart by the Purestrain Genestealer, exposing the dense, sharp crystals behind it. Clearly, this led to the core of the "Molecular Matter Reconstructor."
However, the intensity of the purple light leaking from the valve gaps was lethal. Andy watched as a hybrid swinging a pickaxe suddenly froze mid-motion. His skin turned transparent instantly; his blood and muscles completed a crystalline phase transition in a fraction of a second.
Crack.
A crisp sound echoed. The hybrid, still in the pose of swinging his pickaxe, turned into a purple crystal statue. His internal biological heat vanished instantly—explaining why the red dots on the radar were dropping to zero.
But it didn't end there. The moment the worker turned into crystal, the Purestrain Genestealer, which had been standing motionless, lashed out with one arm. Without hesitation or mercy:
Smash!
The crystallized worker was shattered by a single claw, turning into a pile of purple dust on the ground. The Purestrain Genestealer let out a low, hissing growl. The surface of the underground river below broke with a splash. Two new hybrids emerged from the water, dripping wet, their eyes shining with fanatical fervor. They immediately rushed forward, stepping over the powder of their comrade, picked up the pickaxe, and resumed the work.
The cycle repeated. They were using their lives to fill that radiation pit, attempting to burrow a path to the Black Box through this "ant-gnawing-at-a-bone" method.
Andy watched this, feeling bewildered. This was very "un-Tyranid."
It was common knowledge that the Tyranids were cosmic locusts whose sole purpose was to consume biomass. To the Hive Mind, all organic matter was a precious resource. They ate humans, animals, plants—they'd even suck the atmosphere dry before moving on. But they were never interested in metal or machinery.
Yet the "Molecular Matter Reconstructor"—the Black Box—was a creation of purely inorganic matter. Furthermore, it was currently out of control, turning any approaching biological entity into inedible silicate crystals. To the Tyranids, this thing was not only devoid of nutrition but was a massive threat.
By normal Tyranid logic, they should be staying far away from it or finding a way to blow it up. But here was this Purestrain Genestealer, commanding its subordinates to "die." It was expending precious biomass to gain a path to the inorganic.
Why? What was the goal? Was there something inside that machine attracting them? Or was the Black Box more than just an industrial machine—was it emitting some signal capable of interfering with the Hive Mind?
Andy couldn't figure it out. He only knew that the behavior of these bugs was extremely abnormal. And abnormality usually meant massive trouble.
Andy's hand slowly reached for his waist, where twenty specialized "Chainsaw Blast Orbs" were hanging. Regardless of what these bugs were planning, since they stood in the way of him getting his equipment, he had to clear them out.
Strike first to gain the upper hand!
Andy calculated the distance. Fifty meters. For a Purestrain Genestealer, that distance was about a one-second sprint. He had to take the big one down immediately or at least restrict its movement.
Just as Andy locked onto his target and prepared to hurl the first blast orb, the Purestrain Genestealer, which had been facing away from him, suddenly stopped its commanding gestures. Its bald, wrinkled head snapped around one hundred and eighty degrees.
Genestealers possessed powerful psionic senses; they could perceive the slightest disturbances in their environment, even a hostile gaze.
"Hiss—!!!"
A piercing shriek echoed through the entire cavern. The hybrids at work instantly dropped their tools and spun around, dozens of dead-fish eyes locking onto the pillar where Andy was hiding.
Exposed!
Andy didn't waste any breath. He leaped out from behind the pillar, his right arm's hydraulics opening to full capacity.
Whish—!!!
A Chainsaw Blast Orb transformed into a streak of black lightning, hurtling straight toward the Purestrain Genestealer's face.
"Heads up! Here's a New Year's gift!"