Chapter 174: The Logic of the Death-Flag
The heavy blast doors of the Central Control Hub cycled open, revealing a downward transit lift. Kian and his squad stepped inside, the metal floor vibrating as the machine began its descent.
The lift's internal vox-speaker crackled with Reno's voice.
"Listen up, warriors. The scanner-data is grim. The infestation in the lower decks is thick enough to choke a filtration pump. The lift will reach the first transit-bay in twenty standard seconds. Expect roughly a hundred Poxwalkers. Sanitize the deck."
Kian adjusted his bird-mask, his hand tightening on the grip of his Heavy-Barrel Lasgun. Around him, fifteen men leveled their rifles at the doors, their breathing heavy through their filters.
CLANK.
The lift hit the floor. The doors hissed open.
In the flickering emergency lights of the bay, a hundred distorted, grey-green shapes turned their heads in unison. Their vacant, milky eyes locked onto the squad.
Kian didn't give them a chance to giggle.
BIP-BIP-BIP-BIP!
The squad unleashed a rolling volley of ruby light. In the tight confines of the disembarkation bay, the Lasguns were devastating. Kian worked the trigger with mechanical precision, his Ballistics Proficiency (161) turning every pulse into a headshot. Within twenty seconds, the bay was silent, filled with the scent of ozone and scorched meat.
Reno's voice returned over the vox.
"Excellent work, Voss. Now, move toward the Northern Bulkhead. You need to clear fifty connected transit-chambers to reach the Primary Well. I'll cycle the locks as you approach."
Kian looked at the security camera in the corner. "What's behind door number two, Reno?"
"One hundred and fifty hostiles. High density."
Kian turned to his squad. "You heard the admin. Stack up. One row kneeling, one row standing. We do this by the book."
The Voss Guard was starting to find its rhythm. They moved to the door, fanning out into a disciplined firing posture. Kian gave a signal to the camera.
Hiss-THUD.
The door slid open. Ruby light flooded the next hallway. Purge. Advance. Seal. Repeat.
They cleared eight rooms in rapid succession. The environmental suits held back the airborne virus, and the Sanctified Purity Seals pinned to their armor kept the mental "static" of Nurgle's laughter at bay. To the trained Voss Guard, the Poxwalkers were just "trash-mobs" to be liquidated.
As they finished the ninth room, Egghead approached Kian, checking his rifle's readout.
"Boss, I'm on my last high-capacity cell. The boys are running low, too. We've been spamming sun-fire for an hour."
Kian checked his own charge. They were at 40% capacity. Before he could vox for a supply drop, Reno intervened.
"Tactical pause, Voss. The next chamber is a Power Distribution Node. It's clear of hostiles and has high-output charging ports. Get in there and appease your batteries."
The bulkhead opened, revealing a sterile room huming with electrical current. The squad filed in, and the doors sealed behind them.
The men immediately began swapping cells, plugging their backpack units into the Imperial wall-sockets. With the immediate pressure gone, the soldiers found spots on the floor to sit and rest.
Kian lit a sacred incense candle and unclipped his bird-mask.
Ash looked at him, nervous. "Boss, is it safe to breathe in here?"
"The air-scrubbers in this node are Mechanicus-grade, and the Emperor's resonance is holding the line," Kian said, taking a long swig of Sanctified Spirits before tossing the flask to the squad. "One sip each. Keep your souls clean."
As the "Soul-Wash" took effect, the soldiers' nerves finally relaxed. They began to chat—the idle talk of men who thought the worst was behind them.
"Once this purge is over," Private One said, leaning against a capacitor, "I'm going back to the Sump to see my old mother. I'm gonna buy her a hab-unit with a real window."
Kian's hand stopped mid-reach for his Lho-sticks.
"Yeah?" Private Two added, grinning. "I've got a girl waiting for me in the Mid-Hive. She promised to marry me the moment I get my bonus. I'm gonna be a family man, boys!"
Clink. Kian's lighter dropped to the floor.
"Me?" Private Three chimed in. "My service term ends this cycle. I'm turning in my rifle and walking away from this throne-rotted war for good!"
"I've been studying for my Literacy-Permit," Private Four said proudly. "Passed the exams last week. I'm gonna be a teacher in the new Syndicate school!"
"My son turns five tomorrow," Private Five whispered, looking at a small wooden toy in his hand. "I've missed every birthday so far. Not this time. I'm bringing him a real Grox-steak for his gift."
Kian was starting to tremble. No... stop. Please stop.
Then, the final blow. Egghead crawled over, a wide, nostalgic smile on his face. He pulled a small locket from under his flak-plate and popped it open, showing Kian a grainy pict-capture of a toddler.
"Look at her, Boss. That's my little girl. Two years old today. Cute, isn't she?"
Kian didn't look at the photo. He looked at the ceiling, his face twisted in a mask of pure, narrative horror. He didn't care about the kid; he cared about the Script.
So many flags... families, birthdays, retirements, weddings...
"Throne's blood!" Kian shrieked, grabbing Ash by the collar and shaking him violently. "QUICK! HARRY! LOGAN! ANYONE! Wish for something impossible! Counter-troll the Warp!! If we don't 'De-buff' this narrative gravity right now, we're all going to be red paste in the next hallway!! WISH FOR SOMETHING!!"
Ash, terrified by Kian's sudden "Psychotic Break," could only stammer out the first thing that came to his mind.
"I... I wish... I wish for World Peace!!"
The room went silent. In the 41st Millennium, "World Peace" was the most impossible, heretical, and statistically improbable wish in existence.
Kian let out a long, shaky breath. "Good. Great. That should balance the 'Death-Flags' for at least ten minutes."
Drip-beep.
The charging stations chimed. The Las-packs were full.
The soldiers donned their masks and stood up, the atmosphere turning cold and professional once more.
Reno's voice crackled through the speaker, sounding concerned. "Voss, heads up. The next chamber only has twenty heat-sigs... but one of them is massive.
"It's a Pox-Amalgam. Several corpses fused into a singular biological siege-engine. It's blocking the door to the secondary well. It looks... hungry."
Kian checked the selector switch on his Heavy Las-rifle, clicking it to Overload. He looked at Ash. "You really want peace, buddy?"
Ash nodded grimly.
Kian kicked the door-release.
"THEN LET'S GO KILL THE COMPETITION! CHARGE!!"
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