Elias returns to base broken, bloodied, and burdened — but alive. Fira is waiting. So is Vael. The Commissar offers no praise, no thanks — only a quiet acknowledgment: Elias passed the test. He is now useful. But use in the Imperium is a thin line between servitude… and execution.
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The dropship touched down with a bone-rattling clang, the ramp unfolding with a burst of pressurized air and the sting of recycled atmosphere.
Elias stepped off into the landing bay of Sub-Sector Delta like a man crawling out of his own grave.
His armor was cracked in three places. His right boot was half-melted. His chest was wrapped in a scavenged bandage soaked in old blood — not his. His eyes were ringed in ash.
The trooper he'd saved was carried out on a stretcher by servitor med-units — alive, breathing, but unconscious. The man's rebreather had fused to his jaw.
A few soldiers watched as Elias walked past.
No words.
Just stares.
Not admiration.
Not respect.
Something colder.
Recognition.
Fira was waiting near the bay entrance, medicae bag slung over her shoulder, arms crossed.
Her eyes scanned him from head to toe — once — then again.
She didn't smile.
She didn't look relieved.
She just said:
"You shouldn't be standing."
Elias stopped in front of her. "And yet."
"Did anyone else make it?"
"One."
"That's one more than expected."
She walked beside him as he limped toward the decontamination checkpoint. The servitors scanned his armor for Warp contamination, then stamped a rusted approval glyph on his pauldron — more ceremonial than useful.
Elias glanced at Fira.
"Still think I'm not dangerous?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then: "You're worse than dangerous."
"Thanks."
"You're unpredictable."
The corridor ahead darkened slightly. Lights flickered, and the air grew colder.
Fira stopped walking.
"You're about to have company."
Elias turned.
Commissar Vael stood alone in the middle of the corridor.
No escort. No weapons.
Just a silhouette in black, framed by the flickering glow of a shrine lamp behind him.
His monocle clicked softly as it focused on Elias.
Fira took a step back — not out of fear, but because she understood: this part wasn't hers.
Elias stood still.
Vael approached.
The Commissar said nothing at first.
He circled Elias once — slow, deliberate, as if taking in the shape of what had returned.
Then he stopped in front of him.
"I expected a corpse," Vael said.
"Sorry to disappoint," Elias replied, voice dry.
Vael's lip twitched. "You're not disappointing."
That was worse than any praise.
He reached into his coat and pulled out a datasheet, glanced at it once, then tucked it away again — unread.
"That was a Chaos psyker," he said. "Level Three threat. Killed six men last week. Sanctioned assassins couldn't get close."
Elias didn't respond.
Vael tilted his head.
"How did you survive?"
"Good timing."
"That's not an answer."
Elias looked him in the eye. "You're not asking."
Vael smiled. Not wide. Just a line of satisfaction stretching his lips thin.
"Correct."
He stepped closer, voice lowering.
"I don't care what you are, Mercer. Not yet. I care what you do."
He gestured vaguely toward the bay behind them.
"And what you just did was useful."
Elias didn't reply.
Vael continued:
"You're not sanctioned. You're not loyal. But you're alive. That puts you ahead of half the Imperium."
He tapped a gloved finger against his temple.
"I believe in tools that sharpen themselves."
A pause.
Then he leaned in just enough for the words to land like weight:
"Don't dull yourself, Mercer. Or I'll discard you with the rest."
He stepped back, adjusted his coat, and turned to leave.
But as he did, he spoke one last time.
"Report to the next drop team in 12 hours. I'll have a new 'test' for you."
He glanced over his shoulder.
"Welcome to the game."
The corridor emptied.
Fira approached again, slower now.
"Well," she said quietly, "you've officially survived the most dangerous man in the hive."
Elias didn't smile.
"I think I just got hired."
"That's not a promotion. It's a sentence."
He nodded.
"I know."
As they walked together toward the barracks, Fira asked:
"What did you see out there? Really."
Elias didn't answer right away.
His mind flashed with the image of the psyker dissolving, of the clone shielding him, of chakra flooding his hands and bursting something that shouldn't exist.
Then the memory — not his — of rain, of a red scarf, of laughter that didn't belong to anyone in this world.
He looked forward.
"I saw what happens when you stop being afraid of monsters."
Fira raised an eyebrow. "And?"
Elias's voice was quiet.
"They start being afraid of you."
[END OF CHAPTER 3]