-Moon Tear Station
The artificial night cycle settled over Moon Tear Station with a low hum and the soft glow of lumens dimming in sequence. Outside the great armorglass panels of the habitation zones, the void shimmered with distant stars and the ghostly shimmer of the galaxy.
A place of constant warfare and suffering, yet jewels in their eyes.
Nadia adjusted her jacket as she stepped out of the Intelligence department's office, the day's briefing still echoing in the back of her mind. Data feeds, asset reports, and predictive analysis had filled the past twelve hours. Endless dossiers of enemies, allies, and all the lies between. She exhaled, feeling the ache in her shoulders and the burn in her eyes.
A familiar voice called out, pulling her from her thoughts.
"Oi, Nadia! You coming or what?"
Andre ,one of the bureau's field agents, waved a hand from the junction archway ahead.
He stood with the usual group: Kira, a sharp-tongued analyst from Secondary Archive Control; Loran, a systems intercept officer; and Mira, a vox-comm decryptor with a taste for old Terran novels.
"Yeah, yeah, hold up," Nadia called back, jogging to catch up.
"Figured we'd hang out before I got shipped unto the galaxy," Andre grinned. "Table for five. Dinning House Jorren's place."
At the mention of Jorren's, a few of them groaned appreciatively. The food wasn't cheap, but it was good. Better still, the owner had an understanding with intelligence department's personnel. The owner afterall is a retired member.
They made their way using the station's tube train, past rows of gene-clone workers ending their shifts, vox-choruses piping calming music into the air.
The perpetual scent of recycled air, freshener, and metal was a constant companion.
The Dinning House's entrance was modest steel and ceramite walls, a faded cloth banner hanging over the door with old Terran script that read Sustinere et Pavitare.
A relic from pre-Unity Terra, or so rumor claimed.
"Welcome, guests." A waiter in crisp, undecorated attire greeted them at the threshold. Her smiles trained but genuine.
"Table for five," Andre confirmed with a raised hand.
"Right this way," the waiter nodded and led them through narrow halls into a private booth room.
It was a quiet enclave with a single viewport showing the distant shine of the galaxy. The hum of privacy field generators activated as the door sealed behind them.
They slumped into seats, passing around the paper-thin menu datasheets.
"I need meat," Loran muttered. "Real or vat-grown, I don't care."
"Same," Mira grinned. "Got a craving for that old Terran lamb dish."
"I'll take anything that isn't nutrient paste," Nadia smirked, ordering grilled Terran-style fish with saffron rice. The others made their selections—variations of steak, stews, and earthen breads.
As the drinks arrived, amber ales and dark liquors from industrial synth-vats—the conversation began as it always did.
Talk of mundane things.
Andre complaining about an old cogitator in their section refusing to update its lexicon bank.
Kira recounting a minor scandal in one of the station's secondary habitation zone, where a quartermaster had been caught hoarding chocolate.
Loran swearing that he'd seen a ghost in the maintenance levels near Hab Section 42-C.
The laughter felt good stress relieve for Nadia.
But like any gathering of intelligence staff, the talk slowly shifted. As the meal came, rich with spices and old flavors meant to mimic Terra's lost culinary traditions, the conversation edged toward work.
Andre leaned in, voice lowering.
"You all see the after-action reports yet?"
"From Blackstone?" Kira asked, raising a brow.
He nodded. "Full data packet came through Command Level zeta ten hours ago."
Nadia glanced at the others, eyes glinting briefly. In their line of work, clearances were treated with utmost respect.
'Everyone here has that clearance.' Nadia muses before resume her relax expression.
"Haven't read it yet, I was busy. What's the tally?" Loran asked.
"Two-thirds ground forces KIA. Remaining evac'd or assumed lost. Void fleet took losses with the first steel cordon losing thirty-four percent losses before reversing the tide. Command figures confirm AI adapted within seventy-two minutes of first contact with Abaddon's fleet."
"Did they get the Vengeful Spirit?" Mira asked.
Andre shook his head. "No. That bastard pulled an tricky maneuver dubbed warp shadow feints. Basically the bastard ran away."
"Didn't the ships AI analyst it?" Kira frowned.
"They did, and still the maneuver still works," Nadia added quietly.
They all fell silent a moment.
"And the Damned?" Mira ventured, lowering her voice.
Andre's smirk was thin. "Confirmed. Helmet cam footage. Ground feed relays. AI sensor logs picked them up. Legion of the Damned. And others."
"Others?" Nadia asked sharply.
"human sized legionaire," Andre said. "void-armored soldiers and even our shinobi operatives in burning warp fire makes appearance."
Nadia makes an ah expression understanding what Andre is talking about.
"Didn't see that coming," Loran muttered.
"War council has dub those the damned auxilia or just auxilia mirroring the space marine legion of old." Nadia explains.
They chewed through the rest of their food in thoughtful quiet.
When the bill came, they split it without complaint. Credits meant little to intelligence agents on Moon Tear Station. It was loyalty and silence that mattered.
The others peeled off, offering casual goodbyes. She nodded, murmuring her own, and made her way toward her assigned habitation unit.
As she stepped into the passageway, Nadia caught sight of something in front of her.
Amidst the the crowd, A family of three. Exiting a tube train station.
A gene-clone father, mother, and their child. The boy couldn't have been more than six. Laughing as the father swung him onto his shoulders. Simple, content.
Nadia's throat tightened. She too wants her own family.
Her apartment was a standard 8x8 meter quarters. Functional. Clean. A single viewport to the stars.
She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off her boots. The silence pressed in around her. Even after years here, she never entirely got used to it.
Sleep eluded her.
Instead, she powered up her data-slate. The hololith shimmered to life.
Classified files. Enemy asset logs. Warp incursion projections. A new report from the Dark Mechanicum front near Jotan Reach. Warnings of increased Thousand Sons activity.
But her gaze kept flicking back to a single line on her slate's corner:
"Entities Identified: Legion of the Damned — activity log updated."
She tapped it open.
Images. Burned black-iron figures wreathed in ghostly fire. Operators cloaked in glitching warpfire armor. A giant being without a head leading them.
Nadia exhaled, set her jaw, and keyed in her access code.