Deep within the shadows of New Earth Island Airport, the air was thick with the stench of rotting garbage and years of accumulated oil.
Adjacent to the labyrinthine network of massive sewage pipes, a Mutants community known as 'Rust Scar' struggled to survive.
The terrifying aftermath of the purge operation led personally by Great Sister Katarina a few weeks prior still clung to everyone's memory like cold rust.
Old Cripple—an old man who could only drag his right leg due to severe ossification of the joint—was the community's recognized coordinator.
Currently, he watched as several young men awkwardly patched a section of ventilation duct lining, torn by stray bullets, using scavenged scrap metal sheets.
The air still seemed to carry the scent of charred flesh, a deep-seated imprint left by Chainsword tearing through flesh, bolter rounds pulverizing torsos, and especially the destructive high heat of promethium flames.
That storm-like purge swept through several neighboring settlements, targeting 'heretics' and'severely mutated individuals.'
The 'Rust Scar' community narrowly escaped because of its deeper location, timely warning, and Old Cripple's decisive order to seal all secondary passages.
But the seeds of fear were deeply sown; the Imperial security forces' regular 'cleanup days' were already terrifying enough, and the arrival of the Adepta Sororitas represented an absolute, unquestionable destructive force from the highest will of the Imperium.
The community grew even more silent; any slight disturbance could cause a panicked commotion, and distrust and vigilance towards Imperial power reached their peak.
It was in this oppressive atmosphere that the Imperium's reach extended once more, but in a completely different manner.
Several teams of low-ranking officials, dressed in the coarse uniforms of Airport guards and holding crude data-slates, appeared nervously near the pipe connections at the main entrance of the 'Rust Scar' community, heavily escorted by armed soldiers.
The soldiers' muzzles were lowered, but their fingers were tightly gripping their trigger guards, and their eyes scanned every dark corner and shadow behind the garbage heaps in the depths of the pipes, the air thick with tension.
An official who looked like a minor leader, pale-faced, tried to straighten his back and raised a buzzing, distorted megaphone, shouting into the deep pipes: "By order of the Acting Governor, the esteemed Great Sister Katarina, and Inquisitor Alex! Announcing to all Imperial citizens in this area!"
His voice was somewhat strained due to nervousness, echoing in the empty pipes.
"The Imperium will implement new management policies for the Mutants settlements in this area! Listen carefully!" He swallowed, reading from the data-slate: "One: Basic medicine to inhibit mutation deterioration will be distributed once a month at designated reception points! To be claimed upon registration!
Two: Members with limb mutations within the Imperial standard for mild mutations will be recruited! Those deemed qualified after screening can engage in designated Airport work such as centralized garbage disposal and primary pipe maintenance! In exchange for fixed food rations!
Three: All settlements must relocate within the specified timeframe to the D-7 abandoned maintenance bay area designated by the Imperium! To be subject to unified management! Repeating, relocate to D-7 area!"
Having finished, the official seemed to have exhausted his courage; he quickly lowered the megaphone, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, and anxiously looked at the heavily armed guard captain beside him.
Deep within the pipes, there was a deathly silence, broken only by the dripping sound of garbage dripping putrid water.
Countless eyes watched them from the darkness, filled with suspicion, fear, and deep hostility.
After a long while, a hunched figure, dragging a stiff leg, slowly shuffled out from behind a pile of twisted metal scrap.
It was Old Cripple.
His cloudy eyes swept over the soldiers' cold muzzles and the officials' uneasy faces, finally resting on the minor leader who had made the announcement, and he spoke hoarsely: "Medicine? Work? Move?"
He uttered each word slowly, heavy with suspicion.
"Imperial lords…when have they ever cared about our lives? Last time, those in black Power Armor…just finished burning people. Now, what new tricks do they want to play? Gather us all together, so it's easier to burn us cleaner next time?" His words caused a suppressed commotion and low murmurs of agreement deep within the pipes.
The official's face grew even paler; he looked at the guard captain for help.
The captain, a grim-faced veteran, stepped forward, his gun muzzle slightly raised, his voice devoid of any inflection: "Orders are orders! This is not a discussion. Medicine and work are the Inquisitor's grace.
Relocation is a mandatory requirement. D-7 area is safer than here, and easier to manage.
You have three days to prepare. In three days, we will return. Those who have not relocated by then…"
He did not finish, but the cold pause and the hand gripping the gun grip were more potent than any threat.
The Imperial personnel left, leaving behind a deathly silence and deeper chaos.
The community erupted.
"Medicine? It must be poison! They want to slowly kill us!" screamed a woman whose arm was covered in scales.
"Go to D-7? That's a trap! Once we go, we'll be locked up to die!" A young man waved his extra, deformed arm.
"Work? Rations? Really? Old Cripple…my child is crying from hunger, his mutation isn't severe, just an extra pinky…" A gaunt mother holding a baby looked at Old Cripple, a faint glimmer of hope in her eyes.
Old Cripple remained silent, his cloudy gaze sweeping over faces distorted by fear, despair, or hunger.
He recalled the roar of the hot jets, the children who starved to death, and also the guard captain's emotionless ultimatum.
"The Imperium…has never changed," he finally said hoarsely, his voice filled with weariness, "but now…besides fire, they seem to have something else in their hands…a little…bait to survive.
Going to D-7 is entering a cage. Not going…next time they come, it probably won't just be talk."
He looked at the mother holding the baby and the child beside her with only a six-fingered mutation: "At least…for the child…try? Maybe…we can live."
In the command center of the Port Authority Building, Alex was looking through a large observation window at the transport ships shuttling on the landing pad below.
Great Sister Katarina stood a step behind him, her Power Armor meticulously polished to a spotless shine, a stark contrast to the bustling noise of the port outside the window.
She handed him a data-slate.
"Inquisitor, a preliminary execution report on the Mutants management pilot program." Her voice remained rigid, with a barely perceptible hint of reluctance: "The first relocation order has been issued to the target settlement 'Rust Scar'; the reaction is intense, as expected.
Some members have expressed willingness to relocate and register for work, mainly mild Mutants and their families.
Medicine reception points have been established and begun registration, and D-7 area surveillance cameras and guard posts are deployed."
Alex took the data-slate, quickly scanning the numbers on it: number of people intending to relocate, first batch of work registration lists, medicine distribution schedule, guard patrol routes.
Below the report, Katarina added a sentence: "Preliminary order has been established, designated area monitoring is effective, the bottom-level labor gap has been partially filled, and no large-scale conflicts or open defiance have occurred."
Alex put down the data-slate, his gaze still directed out the window, but his focus seemed to penetrate the steel deck, landing on the dark, damp D-7 area underground.
He could imagine the scene there: frightened Mutants crowding into abandoned maintenance bays under the cold gaze of Imperial soldiers, like livestock herded into a pen; mothers clutching their children, warily watching the guards; some still suspicious of the Imperium agonizingly weighing every step…
And in the deeper shadows, those souls twisted by despair and pain might be more susceptible to the whispers of Chaos due to the Imperium's direct intervention and tightening control over the community.
Chaos was expected, and growing pains were inevitable.
"Maintain order, control mutation, provide labor, suppress Chaos…" Alex softly repeated his four goals: "Great Sister Katarina, the report shows preliminary progress on the first three points, which is very good! Continue to strictly enforce the policy."
He turned, his gaze sharply fixed on the Great Sister.
"Strengthen guard patrols in the D-7 area, especially at night. Medicine distribution must be on time, and not a single grain of work pay can be shorted. Record the performance and stability of every registered worker." He emphasized: "Most importantly, your Battle Sisterss and guards must closely observe the community internally.
Any signs of inciting hatred or spreading heretical doctrines, even if it's just a rumor, report it to me secretly immediately. I need to know the undercurrents, not wait for them to erupt."
"Understood, Inquisitor." Katarina nodded; although she might internally prefer to purge all threats with fire, she understood the practical significance of Alex's plan.
The lights of New Earth Island Airport flickered outside the large observation window, illuminating the bustling port but unable to light up the fear and struggle in the underground D-7 maintenance bay.
There, a Mutants community was being forced from a precarious existence in the shadows to a difficult survival under the Imperium's cold management framework.
And the outcome of this cruel experiment, conducted in the shadow of the Imperium, not only concerned the survival of every mutated life in the 'Rust Scar' community but also carried Alex's hope of solving the massive labor shortage and potential unrest in the Rostov Sub-Sector.
In this Star District, which had just experienced the ravages of war and was awaiting reconstruction, any solution that could bring a glimmer of stability and labor force was worth his cautious progress on this thorny path.
------------------------
I've posted 70+ chapters in advance on Patreon.
Webnovel updates will still be daily, as usual.
It might not seem tempting right nobut who knows what the future holds?
[email protected]/TripleCrown
"And If you're enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!"