!!!!
Witnessing this scene, several Kellion crew members couldn't help but step back, yet forced themselves to halt their retreat.
The feeling was like facing a group of "living" steel barriers—any rash movement would be instantly torn apart.
Kendra's heartbeat thundered like drums, her gaze flickering, lips pressed tight, face pale to near transparency.
Compared to others, her fear seemed mixed with something else, as if some concern weighed deep in her heart.
Just then, an Astartes sergeant with bright red plumes atop his helmet stepped forward.
Thud, thud!
Each step was steady and powerful, like hammers striking steel, the heavy boot soles' collision with deck echoing nearby, every sound carrying soul-shaking weight.
The sergeant walked before the group, looking down at Hammond, Isaac, Kendra and others.
His deep, resonant voice rolled like thunder:
"Everyone, please follow me."
The voice brooked no argument, carrying invisible command authority.
Kellion crew members exchanged glances—no one dared say half a word.
"..."
Hammond nodded, taking the first step to follow.
The others followed closely, surrounded by Imperial Martial warriors, slowly walking toward the hangar depths, each step seeming to tread on hearts—heavy, oppressive.
They understood this unknown encounter had only just begun.
After an unknown time, in an interrogation room.
The room's construction was simple and bright, four walls cast from cold, hard silver-white alloy with almost no excess decoration.
Overhead light strips evenly emitted soft white radiance, illuminating every detail, even making fine dust particles in air difficult to hide.
Tables and chairs were metal standard fixtures bolted to deck plating, lines straight, surfaces reflecting cold light.
The entire space was silent, only the slight humming of air circulation systems reminding that this place wasn't illusory, but truly existed within some Imperial Martial Legion vessel.
Alissa Vincent sat quietly in her chair.
She had already changed into clean, neat white training clothes—fabric appeared ordinary yet bore strict military regulation traces, even creases processed perfectly straight.
Obviously, after being taken by Tychus Findlay's heavy auxiliary forces, she had undergone comprehensive examination and cleaning by biotechnical personnel.
That jacket mixed with bloodstains and tar had long been stripped away, and now she appeared particularly "disciplined," artificially severed from all past chaos and wreckage connections to the Ishimura.
Her expression was calm, yet not entirely fearless.
Alissa's eyes still retained some deeply buried shadows, gaze occasionally wandering, as if memories still flickered with bloody, chaotic fragments from the Ishimura.
As an engineering vessel's security chief, her psychological quality far exceeded ordinary survivors—she wouldn't completely lose composure from changing environments or being surrounded by armored soldiers, but deep inside, that lingering oppressive fear still existed.
Especially when she thought of Imperial Martial Astartes wearing heavy armor with physiques far exceeding normal humans, that question "Are these still human?" would unconsciously surface.
She sat there, waiting...
—Whoosh—!
The sound of metal blast doors opening pierced the silence, cold and heavy, as if announcing new "scrutiny" was about to arrive.
The person entering was Tychus Findlay.
At this moment, he no longer wore his signature CMC power armor, instead donning dark officer's uniform.
Without heavy armor's wrapping, his figure still appeared burly and oppressive—broad shoulders and steel-like physique making the entire room seem several sizes smaller.
Tychus didn't speak immediately, but walked directly to another chair before the table, sitting down.
His movements were crisp, carrying soldiers' characteristic rhythm, his gaze sweeping over Alissa from top to bottom, from expression to minute details, seemingly wanting to analyze her completely.
Air grew so quiet one could hear light's faint electrical current.
Finally, Tychus spoke, voice deep:
"Alissa Vincent, Ishimura security chief—you understand clearly why we brought you here."
Alissa's eyes flashed momentary hesitation before responding steadily: "I can guess some, but the 'Human Empire' you speak of remains a strange existence to me."
Her voice didn't tremble, but mixed inquiry with wariness—obviously, she both wanted to understand her situation yet had to maintain restraint and vigilance.
Tychus's gaze never moved, his eyes seeming weighted, capable of compelling truth.
He nodded slightly, continuing to ask: "What exactly happened aboard the Ishimura? Why did the entire vessel lose contact, and why did we find only a few survivors?"
The instant these words fell, Alissa's breathing obviously hitched.
She instinctively clenched her hands, knuckles whitening, pain and struggle surfacing in her eyes.
The Ishimura's carnage—she was a witness, bloodstains, corpses, monsters' howls still occupying her mind's depths.
Those scenes weren't casually describable, much less easily released experiences.
After momentary silence, she spoke quietly: "We received special missions from corporate higher-ups, trespassing into Shield-7, which Earth Federation listed as a restricted zone. Ostensibly executing routine planetary mining missions, actually recovering... recovering so-called Markers.
Initially everything was relatively normal, except for small-scale bloody incidents erupting in colonies, until those things appeared."
Her tone gradually deepened, as if even speaking was torture.
Eyes flickered with undissipated fear, also carrying some restraint.
She understood these Imperial Martial Legion soldiers would never be deceived by false words, also knowing that to preserve herself and survivors, she must state the Ishimura's truth.
Tychus didn't interrupt, quietly staring at her, expression cold, even somewhat indifferent, but those eyes silently compelling her to continue.
Alissa breathed lightly, continuing: "Colonists discovered something that didn't belong to us... some ancient relic, or rather, some object buried within the planet's interior. From then on, nothing was normal anymore."
Speaking here, she raised her eyes, directly meeting Tychus's gaze, tone equally heavy with undisguised caution:
"You ask me what exactly it was? I don't know, but I can confirm that thing changed everyone. It revived the dead, drove the living mad. It—
Made the Ishimura into hell."
The room's atmosphere suddenly grew heavy with her description—even mere narration could make one imagine bloody, desperate scenes aboard the Ishimura.
Tychus's brow furrowed imperceptibly.
His palm lightly tapped the table surface, rhythm slow and powerful, as if contemplating, also as if judging the truth of Alissa's words.
Silence continued momentarily before Tychus slowly nodded.
That was a meaningful gesture, carrying both recognition and caution.
In fact, intelligence departments had already submitted the Ishimura's general situation to him—content almost perfectly matched Alissa's description.
Precisely because of this, his nod wasn't simple comfort, but more like confirmation, indicating Alissa hadn't deliberately concealed or fabricated.
In this brief relaxation, Alissa seemed to gather courage, about to inquire:
"The Human Empire you speak of, what exactly is—"
However, her question hadn't emerged before being coldly interrupted by Tychus:
"After I get the answers I want, you'll also get the responses you desire."
His voice was steady, carrying undeniable pressure, like a pressed anvil, nailing her words back into her throat.
As his words fell, he raised his hand, calling up holographic projection on the table surface—
Light screens suddenly unfolded, cold blue-white radiance flickering in the interrogation room, illuminating both faces even more clearly.
Appearing on the projection was playing footage.
In the image, a dark-skinned man was restrained in a fixed chair, layers of tightly bound restraint clothing making him look more like a prisoner.
His eyes were bloodshot with constricted pupils, body struggling madly, seemingly ready to break metal restraints at any moment.
His mouth continuously emitted screams, hoarse: "It wants our corpses! No! No! You don't understand! It's watching us!"
Sharp howls accompanied holographic projection audio, repeatedly echoing in the interrogation room.
That frenzied despair was chilling.
The next scene showed another restrained individual.
A portly yet robust middle-aged man with waxy yellow skin but strangely calm eyes.
He also wore restraint clothing, but his body was covered with some old ornaments, like remnant traces of some "traditional dress."
The middle-aged man didn't struggle, instead murmuring quietly like prayer: "We shall ultimately merge... must evolve... Lord, forgive my sins..."
His voice was deep yet carried near-devout stubbornness—that tranquility was more spine-chilling than madness.
!!!
Seeing these two people, Alissa's expression suddenly changed, entire body leaning forward, eyes fixed on the projection.
Her voice was low and urgent: "What are you... doing to them?!"
Tychus's expression showed no fluctuation—he only counter-questioned, tone carrying interrogator's coldness:
"We're doing nothing. We're only observing. We want to know why they differ from other survivors—
Why some are mad as beasts while others seem controlled by some belief. Why such mental abnormalities appear? This is what we must understand."
His words were direct as cold iron, carrying no emotion, yet sufficient to make Alissa's heart tighten.
She fell silent momentarily, eyes slightly wavering, as if struggling to recall fragments that still made her heart palpitate.
Finally, she spoke quietly: "Perhaps it's those things, those... corpses."
Her tone trembled with unspeakable fear, yet striving to maintain calm.
"Those moving corpses—they attack people, not just tearing or killing, but more like... some infection.
Or rather, assimilation.
Anyone contacted or harmed by them often quickly exhibited... similar symptoms.
Some would lose reason, becoming violent and mad, others fell into strange tranquility, as if souls were replaced by something else. I don't know the specific mechanism—I can only guess."
Speaking to the end, she frowned deeply, face pale.
Even as security chief, witness memories remained difficult to bear.
Tychus remained silent momentarily, then nodded again.
That gesture was identical to before—obviously, Alissa's answer completely matched intelligence department data.
The interrogation room's lighting remained bright yet seemed pressed breathless by this silence, projection screams and prayers constantly echoing, interweaving with Alissa's words, filling air with inescapable gloom.
Tychus finally withdrew his gaze, palm lightly touching the control panel before him. The projection immediately extinguished, room returning to quiet.
Then he spoke quietly, tone steady but like cold, hard judgment: "The information you provided is valuable, and the answer you want—now, I'll tell you."
Speaking thus, he raised his hand to operate. Holographic screen relit, cold-toned light instantly dyeing the entire interrogation room blue again.
Appearing on screen were no longer Ishimura's carnage, but frame after frame of magnificent, solemn images—
In boundless star seas, massive fleet groups spanned like tides;
Magnificent starports one after another resembled floating continents;
Countless worlds encircled by gleaming energy shields, like fortresses under sacred light.
Next, the majestic outline of the Imperial Palace slowly appeared, its massive scale almost indescribable in words, like divine kingdoms' projection in the mortal world.
Alissa stared at the screen—her heart, already heavily impacted by Ishimura events, was again shocked by this magnificence.
She had already guessed the weight of the so-called "Empire" from Tychus's words, but when this massive order spanning universal territories truly appeared before her eyes, it still made her breathe rapidly, pupils suddenly contracting.
Even with mental preparation, the facts before her still far exceeded imagination.
Meanwhile, inside the vessel.
Whoosh—!
Heavy alloy bulkhead doors automatically opened, isolation area's glaring warning lights flashing continuously, casting intermittent red spots.
Those two survivors in restraint clothing remained fixed in isolation compartments—one convulsing all over, pupils cloudy, throat emitting tearing screams:
"They want our corpses! No! Don't—!"
Hoarse and exhausted, seemingly about to be swallowed by madness.
The other portly middle-aged man was relatively calm, face bearing traces of fanatical sanctity, repeatedly murmuring prayer-like:
"We shall ultimately merge... Lord, forgive my sins... this is redemption..."
Outside thick bulkheads, two Imperial Martial Astartes guards stood statue-still, breath steady, like immovable barriers.
The .75cal bolters in their hands could completely annihilate aberrants in isolation compartments at any time.
At this time, "thud, thud" footsteps came from corridor's end—deep and powerful, accompanied by metal and armor friction sounds, rhythm firm and composed.
That sound approached from distance, gradually becoming clear. Soon, two tall, majestic figures appeared in sight.
They were two War Maidens clad in ancient Greek-style power armor.
Armor lines were elegant yet full of power, metal surfaces carved with exquisite Greek runes, as if—or rather, actually—demigod beings walking from ancient myths.
Their faces were cold yet beautiful, golden cloaks swaying slightly in dim lighting, bringing transcendent, sacred aura.
When their footsteps approached the isolation area, originally noisy murmurs and howls seemed suppressed by some invisible pressure, suddenly weakening.
Astartes before blast doors nodded slightly to them, and these two maidens also inclined their heads slightly. Then they directed their gaze straight toward the madness within those isolation compartments.
______
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