Chapter 2: Planting Doubts
Radiz returned to his bunk and surveyed his surroundings. Every detail was exactly as he remembered—a prison of perpetual sameness that had become both comfort and torment.
Repeated deaths had made him somewhat numb to the small tragedies that surrounded him. The intimate knowledge of his comrades' private griefs, their small hopes, their inevitable fates—all of it had become background noise.
Anger and impatience had proven to be useless poisons in the past hundred-plus cycles. They had made him rash, desperate, prone to mistakes that only accelerated his path to destruction.
No, emotion was a luxury he could no longer afford. The only weapon he possessed now was information.
But how?
The 'Pride of Cadia' housed thousands of souls across multiple decks. Officers numbered in the hundreds, each with legitimate access to sensitive areas.
He was just a grunt—Stormtrooper 734—barely trusted with a lasgun, let alone access to the command levels where the real decisions were made. The ship's hierarchy was as rigid as its adamantine hull, and he occupied one of its lowest rungs.
Should he just run to the bridge and make his report? Present himself to a Captain or with his impossible knowledge?
"General, I've foreseen the future. In twelve hours, our ship will explode, and a Naval Officer among us is a traitor working for Chaos!"
Even an idiot could imagine the outcome.
So no, he couldn't approach this directly. Brute force had failed him in a dozen different variations across the loops. He needed subtlety. He needed evidence, or at least an opportunity that would allow him to access such evidence.
Most importantly, he needed someone's trust. Someone with authority who might listen to him, if only he could plant the right seeds of doubt.
Radiz's gaze drifted to the small private alcove in the corner of the barracks—Squad Leader Barick's quarters.
A strict and rigid man, but at heart, a righteous soldier. In previous cycles, Barick always charged first when the Chaos Space Marines broke through the defenses, and then died first.
He was very brave, and also… foolish.
But his bravery stemmed from his loyalty to the Emperor and Cadia.
If Radiz could make him believe, even partially, even for a moment...
But how could he make a veteran sergeant believe in the impossible without any concrete proof?
Empty warnings would be dismissed as battle fatigue or worse. He needed something demonstrable, something that would mark him as different, as possessing knowledge he shouldn't have.
Radiz's mind raced through the accumulated memories of 108 loops, sifting through the mundane details that most would overlook.
There—he had it. A perfect opportunity to demonstrate his unusual "insight."
Every morning at 07:30 sharp, the mess hall served breakfast: a paste-like substance made from reconstituted synthetic proteins, algae cultures, and vitamin supplements.
Due to the ship's tight supply situation—they were three weeks out from the nearest resupply depot—the most palatable variety, enhanced with artificial bacon flavoring, was always in limited supply.
The cook responsible for food distribution was a grizzled former miner named Otto Kellrich. He'd served twenty-five years in the Astra Militarum before taking a support position aboard the 'Pride of Cadia'.
Like many longtime military men, he'd developed his own informal networks and loyalties. He routinely set aside the best portions for logistics personnel he was friendly with—men who could procure extra rations or look the other way when regulations were bent.
This practice inevitably led to disputes with regular crew members who resented the favoritism.
Today specifically, Radiz knew, the kitchen staff had prepared even less of the bacon-flavored paste than usual due to power fluctuations in Food Prep Station Delta-7—a minor failure from the ship's aging distribution grid.
Otto's hoarding would be discovered at 07:35:22 by a trooper named Joseph, a tall, short tempered man from the demolished fortress-world of Vigilatus Prime.
When he discovered the hidden portions, he would immediately confront Otto, their argument escalating until Joseph dumped an entire serving tray of breakfast paste over the cook's head.
It was a trivial incident—so small that it would have zero impact on the ship's ultimate fate. But for Radiz, it represented something invaluable: an opportunity to demonstrate knowledge in a way that wouldn't trigger any suspicion.
"734! What are you staring at like a lobotomized servitor? Tidy up your bunk and prepare for morning briefing!"
Barick's voice cracked across the dormitory like a whip, instantly waking up everyone.
"Yes, sir!" Radiz snapped to attention, his response automatic after years of conditioning.
Barick walked up to him, scrutinized him from head to toe, and frowned slightly.
"Didn't sleep well last night? You look terrible."
"Had a nightmare, sir," Radiz replied, his tone calm.
"A nightmare?" Barick snorted, "In this Emperor-forsaken void, just drawing breath for another day is the best dream you can hope for. Don't bring the ghosts of dead battlefields into your sleep, soldier—that way lies madness. Go wash the death off your face and rejoin the living."
With that characteristically blunt advice, Barick turned away to roust a still-sleeping soldier with a swift kick to his ass.
Following the established routine, Radiz quickly straightened his bunk to regulation standards and joined the flow of soldiers making their way to the mess hall.
The corridors of the 'Pride of Cadia' thrummed with activity as the ship's crew began their day shift.
The mess hall was bustling with noise, and the air was filled with the mixed scent of synthetic food and sweat.
Radiz collected his assigned portion of breakfast paste—the standard grey variety, devoid of flavoring enhancements—and found an isolated corner seat with a clear line of sight to both the serving stations and the chronometer display.
He didn't eat, instead quietly watched the timer on the wall.
07:33:00.
Around him, the normal rhythm of mess hall life continued. Conversations about duty rosters, complaints about the recycled air's metallic taste, quiet prayers to the Emperor for another day of survival in the void. None of them knew that in less than five hours, they would all be dead.
07:34:15.
He spotted Joseph collecting an empty tray from the cleaning station, his distinctive limp and perpetual scowl making him easy to track through the crowd. The man's face already wore the expression of someone spoiling for a fight.
07:35:20.
"Otto! Did you fucking hide the bacon-flavored stuff again, you greedy bastard?"
Joseph's roar rang out precisely on time, instantly drawing attention from every nearby table.
Conversations died as heads turned toward the commotion, the universal human instinct to witness drama overriding everything else.
Otto Kellrich, the grizzled cook, looked up from his serving station with the weary expression of a man who'd endured this confrontation countless times before. His scarred hands—marked by decades of kitchen work and military service—gripped his ladle like a weapon.
"What nonsense are you spouting now, Joseph? This is everything we prepared today—the flavoring supplements are gone, finished, used up!"
"Bullshit!" Joseph's voice rose another octave, his face flushing red like a tomato. "I just saw you slip a double portion to that fat logistics bastard Herren! Don't try to lie to me!"
"You saw wrong, you half-blind fool! My job is to feed the crew, not to play favorites!"
The argument escalated exactly as Radiz remembered. Other diners began to take sides, voices rising in support of either the cook's authority or the trooper's sense of justice.
Radiz stood up, holding his tray, and unhurriedly walked towards the center of the dispute. His squad members looked at him strangely.
"Radiz, what are you doing?" a young soldier named Luca asked.
Radiz didn't respond. Instead, he walked directly toward the center of the dispute, arriving just as Joseph's anger reached its boiling point.
The man's knuckles were white where they gripped his metal tray, his muscles tensing for the violent gesture that would earn him three days in the ship's detention cells.
Just as Joseph raised his tray high, preparing to dump its contents over Otto's head , Radiz stepped forward and firmly pressed down on the man's wrist.
"Don't be impulsive, Joseph," Radiz said. "It's not worth spending three days in the brig for a portion of breakfast paste."
"You..." Joseph stared at Radiz, confusion replacing rage in his bloodshot eyes. "How did you..."
Without waiting for the question to be completed, Radiz released Joseph's wrist and slid his own untouched breakfast paste across the serving counter.
"Take mine," he said simply. "Now calm down."
With that single act completed, Radiz turned and walked away, offering no further explanation.
The entire mess hall seemed to hold its breath for a long moment. Hundreds of eyes tracked the strange soldier who had defused a potential volatile situation.
How did he know Joseph would act?
How did he know that acting would lead to being confined to the brig?
Although this was common knowledge, his saying it at that moment made it seem particularly different.
Squad Leader Barick observed the entire exchange from across the mess hall, his weathered features creased in an expression of surprise and growing suspicion.
He had been moving to intercede himself—his squad leader instincts recognizing the signs of impending violence—but Radiz's actions had been faster, smoother, and disturbingly... rehearsed.
It was as if the young soldier had known exactly what was going to happen before it occurred.
Radiz returned to his corner table, acutely aware of the dozens of gazes following his movement. He could feel their curiosity, confusion, and suspicion.
The seed had been planted—a small anomaly in the day's routine that marked him as somehow different.
His teammate Luca leaned over immediately. "Radiz, what in the Emperor's name was that about? How did you know he was going to attack Otto? It was like you could see the future or something."
Radiz met his gaze steadily, offering only a slight shrug. "Lucky guess. Joseph's always had anger problems—anyone could see he was about to explode."
"Lucky guess?" Luca's expression remained skeptical. "That was the most accurate 'guess' I've ever witnessed. You moved like you'd seen it all before."
Radiz offered no further explanation, instead turning his attention back to his empty tray.
He had achieved what he needed—the introduction of an element of mystery into his otherwise unremarkable existence. Now he had to be patient, to let curiosity and doubt work their slow alchemy on those around him.
The morning progressed according to its familiar schedule. After the meal period ended, Squad Leader Barick called his unit to attention for the standard daily briefing. They gathered in a small conference room adjacent to their barracks..
Barick ran through the day's assignments: equipment maintenance schedules, patrol rotations, training exercises designed to maintain combat readiness during the long transit between systems.
His presentation was professional and thorough, but Radiz noticed the way his squad leader's eyes kept drifting back to him.
"Dismissed," Barick concluded after covering the essential points. "Report to your assigned duties. Trooper 734—remain behind."
The other soldiers filed out, their conversation already turning to the morning's mess hall incident. Radiz remained at attention as the room emptied, leaving him alone with his squad leader.
"734," Barick said once the door sealed behind the last departing soldier.
"Sir." Radiz's response was professional.
"Explain what happened in the mess hall this morning."
The question was direct. Barick's grey eyes searched Radiz's face for any sign of deception.
"Reporting, sir," Radiz replied. "I observed a potentially volatile situation developing and chose to intervene before it could result in disciplinary action against a fellow soldier."
It was a perfect answer—militarily sound, morally justifiable, and completely bloodless in its failure to address the real question being asked.
Barick's frown deepened. He stepped closer, his veteran's instincts clearly indicating that something was amiss. "You observed a situation developing. You seemed remarkably certain that Joseph would resort to violence."
"His temper is well-known throughout the company, sir. Given the circumstances and his evident frustration, escalation seemed likely."
The silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken suspicions.
Radiz maintained his disciplined posture while internally calculating his next move. He needed to plant seeds of doubt without appearing overtly suspicious—a delicate balance that required precise timing and careful word choice.
"Sir," Radiz said, allowing a note of uncertainty to creep into his voice. "My nightmare last night... it felt remarkably real."
Barick's expression shifted slightly.
"I dreamt the ship was under attack," Radiz continued, "There was fire everywhere, screams echoing through the corridors, the stench of burning flesh and ruptured plasma conduits. Dead bodies floating in zero gravity where the hull had been breached."
Barick's weathered features softened marginally. He had seen enough psychological casualties to recognize the symptoms of trauma-induced nightmares. Every battle leaves deep scars on every survivor's psyche.
"Radiz," his voice took on a more compassionate tone, "I know what you all went through. But that's in the past. Now we're on the Pride of Cadia, we're safe."
"No, sir." Radiz interrupted him, his tone a little more urgent. "In the dream, the attack came from within. I saw... I witnessed catastrophic failures in the power core section. Explosions that shouldn't have been possible with proper maintenance and security protocols."
He couldn't be more specific—direct accusations without evidence would only mark him as delusional or potentially corrupted. Instead, he offered vague hints that might plant seeds of doubt.
Barick's face darkened, his momentary sympathy evaporating in the face of what sounded like dangerous speculation.
"Enough, 734!" He snapped.
"The power core section is the most heavily guarded and monitored area on this entire vessel. It's jointly protected by Naval security and Adeptus Mechanicus tech-priests. There's no way anything could go wrong!"
His eyes bored into Radiz's with the intensity of a prosecutor examining a suspected heretic. "I'm ordering you to cease this line of speculation immediately. If you spread such morale-damaging theories among the crew, if you so much as hint at internal sabotage or systemic failures, I will personally escort you to the Commissar for evaluation. Do I make myself absolutely clear?"
"But sir..."
"Execute order!" The command was uncompromising.
"Yes, sir." Radiz lowered his head in apparent defeat, while internally noting that his words had achieved their intended effect.
Sure enough, as Barick turned toward the exit, Radiz observed him discretely activate his personal communicator and input what appeared to be a security query code. The squad leader was clearly checking something—possibly maintenance schedules or security reports related to the power core section.
The seed of doubt had been planted. Barick might have officially dismissed Radiz's concerns, but his unconscious actions suggested that some part of his military-trained mind was taking the warning seriously enough to investigate.
Now he had to gradually expand the impact through the butterfly effect, delaying the time of this assault.
But this small victory was nowhere near sufficient.
Radiz took a deep breath as a bolder, more dangerous plan crystallized in his mind. If words and subtle manipulation wouldn't suffice, he needed direct evidence. He needed to witness the sabotage himself, to gather proof that couldn't be dismissed.
Since verbal warnings were proving useless, he would have to see with his own eyes.
He was going to infiltrate the power core's maintenance section.
He would discover what secrets that heavily guarded section contained. He would identify the traitor before the man could complete his mission. He would gather the evidence needed to convince others that the threat was real and imminent.
Even if the price was yet another death in the eternal cycle of imprisonment, the intelligence gained would be worth the sacrifice.
After all, he had nothing but time.