Day 185.Year 988. 41st millennium
Opel III
A Mag-Lev train bound for Hive Kathion
Fortunately, the extraction went much smoother than anticipated. There were no ambushes or unforeseen complications. The remaining gang members were likely far too occupied with their burning, assaulted base. Even though the surviving attackers had already fully withdrawn, the Iron Fangs were still reeling from the chaos.
Colonel Drago met them at the designated rendezvous point exactly on time. This time, he hadn't brought that battered old truck, which was a welcome relief. Furthermore, the Colonel seemed genuinely relieved and pleased that they had survived and completed the objective. Even though Eric had to explain the situation regarding Omega and the surviving personnel, the Colonel already seemed to know the details, allowing everything to proceed without a hitch.
Still, Eric couldn't help but feel a lingering spark of resentment. Colonel Drago had clearly known all along that Omega was planning to infiltrate the Iron Fang stronghold, and he knew that the true objective wasn't merely decapitating the gang's leadership, but capturing the hidden aristocrat inside. Yet, the Colonel hadn't uttered a single word of warning to him.
Now, Eric faced the prospect of spending several agonizing hours inside the cargo hold of a massive mag-lev train bound for Hive Kathion. The atmosphere inside the hold, which was usually dim and somewhat uncomfortable, had grown suffocatingly tense—almost to the point where it was hard to breathe.
That stifling tension didn't stem from sitting next to the Colonel, who was currently dozing off, nor did it come from the bound, gagged, and blindfolded noble slumped nearby. It wasn't even the dread of having to endure more tedious conversation with Beryon Le Bon until they reached their destination.
No, what made Eric feel entirely unsafe was Omega, who sat directly across from him, an autogun resting casually across his lap. Omega appeared to be sleeping, but his physical frame was tightly strung, twitching with micro-tremors. His breathing was heavier and faster than normal baseline sleep.
It looked exactly like someone caught in the throes of a violent nightmare... or someone suffering from severe narcotic withdrawal.
Furthermore, upon Omega's exposed neck, just beneath the jawline where his clothing didn't cover, Eric spotted the distinct, clustered pinpricks of needle scars. It strongly suggested that Omega had a history of heavy chemical usage.
The realization left Eric deeply unsettled, especially since the others in the hold didn't look surprised at all, treating the sight as if it were entirely mundane.
Eric knew a fraction of what psykers were capable of. The man sitting across from him was undeniably a powerful, unsanctioned rogue psyker. He couldn't shake the creeping paranoia and dread that Omega inspired.
Whether it was a blessing or a curse, Le Bon chose that moment to break the silence, attempting to strike up a conversation to get to know him better during the transit. Beryon was blatantly trying to court him, completely ignoring the vast disparity in their social standings. Even though Eric had already clearly introduced himself—stating his name, his occupation, and his modest background—Beryon didn't seem to care in the slightest.
At the same time, Eric internally cursed himself for blabbing about his true identity and civilian workplace to someone who absolutely shouldn't have that information. But there was nothing to be done about it now; the past could not be rewritten.
"My Lady Erica," Beryon began, his voice smooth as silk as he gazed at Eric with eyes that held an underlying aristocratic arrogance masked by simulated tenderness. "I imagine a beautiful woman such as yourself must despise violence. For someone who spends most of her days dealing with parchment and ledgers, being forced to risk your life in such a manner must be entirely vexing."
Eric subtly gritted his teeth, letting out a quiet sigh. Beryon wasn't entirely wrong; he absolutely loathed being dragged into assassination contracts in the Lower Hive. However, right now, he was just incredibly uncomfortable and increasingly annoyed by Beryon's persistence.
"Thank you for your concern," Eric replied in a hushed tone, fighting to maintain his composure so his irritation wouldn't slip through his facade.
He had received some rudimentary training in high-born etiquette and deportment from Celeste, learning how to interact with the nobility of the Spires. The results were passable, but actually putting it into practice with someone who was technically a Spire noble like Le Bon proved far more exhausting than he had anticipated. It required an immense amount of willpower to maintain a polite, indifferent mask and conceal his disdain according to the protocols he had memorized.
He dreaded to think how unbearable and mind-numbing it would be if he had to deal with someone even more difficult than Le Bon in the future.
"Perhaps... you might honor me by accepting an invitation to dine with me? I am certain you would find the dishes prepared by my family's personal estate chefs to your liking. And to ensure it is of no inconvenience to you, I shall personally escort you, My Lady."
"You are very kind... but I must decline," Eric refused politely, infusing his tone with a practiced touch of regret and humility, though he couldn't entirely mask the underlying discomfort. "I am quite occupied with my duties lately, and our social standings are simply too far apart."
"Think nothing of it, My Lady. Social standing is of no consequence to me," Beryon pressed on, flashing a smile he clearly believed to be irresistible. "For a woman possessing such charm and intellect as yourself, such matters are trivialities."
"Thank you again, but I am afraid it is truly inconvenient," Eric interrupted, his voice turning cold and entirely definitive. He turned his face away, pointedly looking toward the dark corner of the car—a universal signal that the conversation was officially over.
Faced with such an absolute rejection and the sudden, chilling atmosphere radiating from the young woman, Beryon finally desisted, though a look of disappointment crossed his features.
With the dialogue cut short, the cargo hold plunged back into a heavy, awkward silence. Eric felt a wave of relief wash over him now that he didn't have to entertain Beryon anymore. However, his brow soon furrowed with irritation when he noticed that Colonel Drago—who was supposed to be asleep—was quietly chuckling, thoroughly amused by Eric's social predicament.
Amids the darkness, exhaustion, and silence, it didn't take long for fatigue to catch up with him. Eric eventually leaned his head against the Colonel's shoulder, shifting slightly to find a comfortable angle before drifting off to sleep.
Hours bled away before the mag-lev train finally screeched to a halt. Eric stirred from his slumber, groggy and disoriented, as the Colonel shook him awake.
"We've arrived at Hive Kathion. Wake up, Erica," the Colonel's voice rumbled.
"Yes... Colonel..." Eric mumbled, rubbing his eyes to clear his blurred vision.
As he braced himself to stand, a strange sensation washed over him. He distinctly remembered that Colonel Drago wore only a standard fabric greatcoat and tunic. Yet, as he slept, his head had clearly been resting against a hard, metallic shoulder guard.
When his vision finally focused, he saw Colonel Drago standing a few paces away, hoisting the unconscious form of Lord Ritus onto his shoulder. Meanwhile, Omega was already standing by the exit, staring down at him with an expressionless, critical, and thoroughly unsettling gaze.
*Wait... if the Colonel is standing over there, then whose shoulder was I sleeping on?* Eric thought, a sudden spike of panic and confusion jolting him awake.
He slowly turned his head to look at the seat beside him. Sitting right there was Beryon Le Bon, wearing a smug, thoroughly delighted grin.
Eric's heart skipped a beat in shock, but he forced himself to remain silent. The realization made him feel utterly violated; his personal space had been completely compromised, and the aristocratic bastard looked absolutely thrilled about it.
Initially, he had just been startled, but seeing Le Bon's undisguised satisfaction made Eric ball his hands into tight fists, fighting the overwhelming urge to punch the man dead in the face.
Taking a slow, deep breath to steady his racing emotions, Eric forced himself to calm down. He quickly marched after Colonel Drago and Omega as they stepped out of the mag-lev cargo carriage. The instantly recognizable atmosphere of the Lower Hive transit hub of Hive Kathion greeted them. Laborers and heavy industrial machinery were scattered across the platforms, loading and unloading massive crates from the various freight trains. It was a scene of pure, unadulterated chaos, yet it was the exact brand of daily monotony common to anyone living in the depths.
Despite the grime, Eric felt a genuine surge of relief to be back on the familiar soil of Hive Kathion, even if it was just the Lower Hive. He followed Colonel Drago and the extraction team with an eager stride toward the massive industrial cargo elevators that bridged the gap between the Lower and Upper Hives. His steps were visibly lighter than usual.
Finally, his stint of surviving in the squalor of the Lower Hive was over. He could return to his predictable life as an accountant. Tonight, he promised himself, he would find a decent tavern, buy a high-quality vintage, and celebrate the miracle of his own survival.
Glancing down at his soiled garments—and catching a faint whiff of his own body odor—he couldn't deny the grim reality that a long, thorough shower and hair wash were his absolute priorities the moment he unlocked his hab-unit.
Yet, a familiar anxiety began to creep back into his mind regarding his employment. He had been absent from work for three consecutive days. Even though he had forged a leave-of-absence permit, his supervisor was bound to give him an earful. Furthermore, he needed to concoct a plausible lie for his friends to explain his sudden three-day disappearance. The others would be easy enough to fool, but not Livia. Knowing her, she had undoubtedly stopped by his hab-unit while he was gone.
*Doesn't matter. I'll figure out an explanation for her later, he reasoned.
When the massive lift finally ground to a halt at the threshold of the Upper Hive, Colonel Drago and Omega stepped aside to a secluded alcove, murmuring to one another in hushed tones. Eric couldn't make out the words, and he decided it was best for his own longevity not to pry into whatever the Colonel and a rogue psyker were discussing.
Once their brief conference concluded, Omega split from the group, dragging the unconscious Lord Ritus along with him. Eric fell into step beside the Colonel, walking through the cleaner corridors of the Upper Hive toward a different mag-lev station that would take him directly to his residential sector.
Along the way, Eric noticed several citizens giving him sideways glances filled with confusion or outright disgust. The sudden scrutiny made him deeply uncomfortable. His clothes were standard Upper Hive civilian attire, but he realized he currently looked incredibly disheveled and covered in lower-hive soot.
Breaking the silence, the Colonel looked down at him, offering a rare word of approval.
"Not bad for your first assignment. The Master will undoubtedly be pleased," the Colonel said casually, whistling a faint tune as they walked.
"Thank you for the compliment, Colonel," Eric replied, doing his best to keep his voice level, though he couldn't stop a small, genuine smile from breaking through his guarded expression.
It was a strange, unfamiliar sensation—the feeling of receiving genuine validation. He hadn't felt anything like it in a very long time. Yet, the dark irony wasn't lost on him: he was being praised for doing something he utterly detested.
"Haha! If this were a decade ago, we'd be holding a grand gala right now to welcome a new asset and celebrate a successful hit," the Colonel continued, glancing down at the young woman walking beside him. He easily caught the underlying tension hidden behind her quiet demeanor and forced smile.
"It feels suffocating, doesn't it? I understand," the Colonel sighed, extending his left arm to drape it warmly over Eric's shoulders in a gesture of paternal comfort. Eric stiffened slightly, caught off guard by the sudden physical contact, but he didn't pull away. Though he hadn't known the old soldier for long, he knew intuitively that Drago meant no harm.
Seeing Eric remain quiet and tense, the Colonel spoke again, his voice dropping to a more serious register.
"You are fortunate to have caught the Master's eye, Erica. Even if you despise this work, there are times in this galaxy where choice is a luxury we cannot afford. Regardless of how you feel about the blood on your hands, remember this: utilize this opportunity to its absolute fullest. It is your only ticket to elevating your status and securing your existence. The future is long, Erica." Colonel Drago let his hand drop back to his side, swinging his arm casually as they maintained their pace.
Eric weighed the Colonel's words carefully as they walked. The old man was right about almost everything.
He shuddered to think what his fate would have been if he hadn't crossed paths with Vann back then.
He was undeniably lucky. Vann had saved his life, granted him Upper Hive citizenship, and secured him a stable job. But Eric wasn't blind; he knew it was all a calculated investment to mold him into a loyal subordinate and an assassin to be deployed at a moment's notice.
Given his current circumstances, the opportunity to rise above his station was real, just as Drago had said, even if the odds were slim. But true freedom? Short of desertion, he had no idea how to sever his ties with Vann.
*Perhaps the Colonel is just trying to instill a sense of debt and loyalty to Vann,* Eric thought skeptically.
"Thank you, Colonel. But I still dislike Lord Vann," Eric stated plainly, voicing his true thoughts. Instead of flaring up in anger at the disrespect toward his superior, the Colonel merely let out a soft chuckle, as if he had expected nothing less.
"That's perfectly fine, I get it. Considering what he puts an innocent-looking thing like you through, I can't blame you. To be honest, when I first started out, I absolutely loathed being ordered around by some spoiled brat discarded from the Spires," Colonel Drago reminisced, a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled his early days under Vann's employ. He had hated the reality of being a feared, imposing gang captain forced to bow and scrape to an overweight Spire exile. It had been an utterly pathetic sight back then. Frankly, it had been humiliating.
"Well, let's go see him. The Master requested your presence immediately upon arrival."
"Huh?!" Eric gasped, his newfound sense of relief instantly shattering into pure dread.