Elias is brought into an interrogation chamber beneath Sub-Sector Delta. Commissar Hendryk Vael arrives not to torture — but to understand. Cold, precise, and surgical, Vael probes Elias's past and pierces his lies with terrifying ease. This isn't about guilt. It's about classification. What is Elias Mercer?
------
The door sealed behind Elias with a pneumatic hiss, smooth and absolute. There was no click of a lock, no thud of a bolt. Just a finality that vibrated down to the bones.
The room was almost too perfect.
Steel walls. Flat grey. No light fixtures, but still illuminated — faint, diffuse, like the room glowed faintly on its own. A single chair. A single table.
No windows. No vents.
Elias sat.
The room was cold, but he wasn't shivering. Not yet.
The System had been silent since the Chaos ambush. Like it, too, was watching.
Ten minutes passed.
Or maybe thirty.
Elias had learned already: time didn't matter here. This wasn't about comfort. This was conditioning.
He heard the footsteps long before the door opened.
Measured. Leather soles. Unhurried.
When the door hissed open again, it wasn't dramatic. It didn't need to be.
The man who stepped through commanded silence.
He wore a black coat lined in red, trimmed in a ceremonial officer's cut that looked almost untouched by war. A single purity seal hung from his collar. His gloves were pressed tight. His hat cast a shadow over half his face, and what could be seen was clean-shaven, pale, and unnervingly smooth — like it had been corrected more than aged.
Over his right eye sat a mono-lens — black glass fitted into an augmetic socket. It clicked faintly as it focused.
He didn't carry a weapon.
He didn't need to.
"Elias Mercer," he said, as though reading from a list of defects. "Age… unknown. Service record: none. Identification: falsified. Command history: nonexistent. Witness report: inconsistent."
He sat across from Elias and folded his gloves in his lap.
"I find you very interesting."
Elias didn't respond.
The Commissar waited three full seconds, then tilted his head — like a man testing wind currents before firing.
"Let's begin with what you are not."
Another pause. Then a raised brow.
"You are not a Guardsman. Your hands are too smooth. Your speech too precise. Your reactions too refined. You are not a ganger — you don't have the look. Not desperate. Not territorial."
He leaned forward slightly.
"And you are not PDF. You move like someone trained by professionals, but not Imperial professionals. Your stance has too much autonomy. Not enough indoctrination."
He smiled.
It was terrifying.
"Which leaves me two options, Mr. Mercer. Either you are a sleeper — a trained agent of a foreign faction..."
Another pause.
"...or you are something else."
Elias met his gaze. "What does else mean?"
Vael tilted his head slightly.
"It means the category hasn't been created yet."
For a moment, silence.
Then the Commissar reached into his coat and pulled out a thin datasheet.
"Let's talk about what the guardsmen reported," he said. "Three copies of yourself appearing in a confined space. Moving faster than recorded human baseline. One cultist killed with a single palm strike that shattered the rib cage."
He placed the datasheet down in front of Elias without sliding it toward him.
"Not psychic. No warp signature. No sanctioned mutation."
Vael folded his hands.
"So what are you, Mr. Mercer?"
Elias took a slow breath.
"Alive."
The Commissar's lip twitched. Not quite amusement. Not quite disdain.
"Temporarily."
He stood and began to circle the room, walking behind Elias like a predator sniffing for weak flesh.
"I don't believe in coincidence. The Emperor teaches us that faith and vigilance reveal patterns. You, Mr. Mercer, appeared in a critical hive sector during a Chaos breach. You demonstrated non-Imperial, non-warp powers against a cult cell during a civilian encounter. You've gathered attention — without trying."
He stopped behind Elias.
"You know what attention does to anomalies?"
Elias said nothing.
Vael leaned closer.
"It gets them classified."
He moved to the front again and sat.
His tone changed.
Not softer — but quieter. More intimate.
"I'm going to tell you something dangerous," he said. "Something most guardsmen never hear."
He placed his gloved hand on the datasheet.
"There are two kinds of heretics in this galaxy. The first are willing. The second are useful."
He tapped the sheet once.
"I don't know which one you are yet."
Elias finally spoke.
"You're not asking me questions. You're giving me time to lie."
Vael raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to lie?"
"I haven't decided yet."
Vael smiled again.
This one was worse.
The door hissed open behind them.
A voice called in: "Medicae Vorn, requesting entry."
Vael's smile faded instantly.
He turned his head, annoyed.
"Denied."
"Request overridden by medical protocol," Fira said evenly. "Subject is under my trauma watch. You'll have to kill me if you want him longer."
A pause.
Elias waited.
The door hissed.
Fira stepped in, medicae pad in one hand, her other hand visibly empty.
Vael didn't speak for several seconds. Just watched her like a cat watching a clever mouse try to hide in plain sight.
"Medicae," he said calmly, "you are inserting yourself into a very specific type of problem."
"I'm performing battlefield triage. If you'd like me to explain the consequences of delayed neurochemical trauma, I'll draw diagrams."
Vael's face didn't change.
But something shifted in the room.
A pressure.
He stood.
"Dismissed," he said.
Elias blinked. "Me?"
Vael shook his head.
"To her."
Fira didn't move.
"I'll escort the patient out."
Vael took a step forward — no aggression, no sound. Just presence.
And in that single step, Elias understood something visceral:
This man didn't use fear.
He was fear.
Refined. Measured. Justified by doctrine.
But to his surprise… Fira didn't move either.
They stood like that for three seconds too long.
Then the Commissar smiled again — faint, satisfied.
"Very well," he said. "Take your patient."
Fira nodded once. "Thank you, Commissar."
She turned to Elias. "Let's go."
Elias didn't argue.
As they passed through the door, Vael called out, voice like a scalpel:
"One more thing, Mercer."
Elias turned.
Vael's monocle clicked, focusing in.
"I'm assigning you to forward patrol. Cult incursion zone. Unsecured. No vox. No backup."
A pause.
"Consider it… a test."
Elias stared.
Then nodded once.
"Can't wait."
[END OF PART 1]