Raynor put down the data-slate, his fingertips icy cold.
This was hardly a battle. It was a ritualistic "disinfection" carried out with extreme, unyielding firepower.
Was it efficiency? Perhaps.
But it was the unrestrained, even obsessive pursuit of destructive power that sent chills down his spine. He could almost hear the continuous roar of heavy bolters and the shrill scream of melta-beams tearing through the air.
Compared to these steel giants, the Tyranid's efficient, shrewd hunting methods seemed almost "primitive."
"If we ever have to fight that... how do we win?"
The thought popped up uncontrollably, carrying a chilling absurdity. He was on the side of the Imperium—at least on the surface. But deep down, he wondered how long he could keep his and Sarah's secret hidden from these "Angels."
Raynor was under tremendous pressure.
Cassius's squad was terrifyingly efficient. In just a few local cycles, the three "high-probability infection zones" they identified had been purged. While the upper echelons of the Hive City breathed a sigh of relief, Raynor—through Sarah's subtle intuition—knew the situation was far more complex.
The deeper Tyranid nodes had been disturbed. Their activity patterns showed unpredictable changes, revealing an unusual restlessness. Raynor and Sarah both knew this chaos stemmed from Sarah's existence as an "independent node," which interfered with the coordination of the local Hive Mind. Usually, when a Hive senses an escalating threat, it adjusts its strategy. But Sarah was a "disharmony" that the local will couldn't account for.
This anomaly did not escape Cassius's observation. The Sergeant's logic was as cold and hard as his power armor. An anomaly meant a variable, and a variable meant a potential threat or an intelligence loophole. He began screening the local records in reverse.
Then, Raynor received the "invitation."
Two Sons of Medusa warriors appeared at his office door without warning. They didn't speak; they simply made a "follow" gesture. It was a posture that left no room for refusal.
Raynor's heart clenched, but his face quickly adjusted to an expression of surprise, honor, and a perfectly balanced sense of apprehension. He straightened his Inspector's uniform, which offered some small psychological comfort.
Following behind the two steel giants, he felt the gazes of his colleagues. There was awe, curiosity, and a subtle, almost imperceptible pity. An "invitation" from an Angel was a coin toss between glory and execution.
The temporary interrogation room was set up in an empty supplies warehouse in Zone 5. The space was cavernous, with only a few high-powered lamps casting a stark, blinding white light. The air smelled of dust and sacred promethium.
In the center of the warehouse stood a lone metal chair. Cassius stood before it, the Iron Halo behind him distorting the light, adding an inhuman pressure to his towering figure. Two other Space Marines stood like gatekeepers at the entrance, sealing the room.
"Sit," Cassius commanded. The voice through the vox-grille was flat and even.
Raynor sat. The metal chair was freezing. He forced himself to relax his shoulders, though his spine remained straight. He raised his head, fixing his gaze on Cassius's white helmet while avoiding direct eye contact with the dark red visors. Those lenses were rumored to analyze micro-expressions, body temperature, and pulse in real-time.
Cassius did not speak immediately. He simply stood there as a scanner beam, almost invisible to the naked eye, moved slowly across Raynor's body. From head to toe. Over and over.
Time stretched. Raynor could hear the blood rushing in his ears. Cold sweat began to seep from his back, the damp lining of his uniform clinging to his skin. He had to keep it under control. His breathing. His heart rate. The slightest twitch of a muscle. He submerged a part of his consciousness into the System, using its cold presence to anchor his mind.
Finally, Cassius spoke. The questions came like hammer blows, based on trivial records Raynor had almost forgotten.
"Tax Officer Jim Raynor. Records show you applied for access to the old pipeline maintenance files for sections B-7 to B-12 on Standard Calendar M41.998.11.03. Reason: To investigate tax evasion by a registered company."
Cassius paused for a fraction of a second. "The records show no registered business activity has existed in that area for fifteen years. Explain."
Raynor's mind raced. That was shortly after he had bound Sarah; he had been scouting the sewer structure. He took a breath, his voice steady.
"His Angels are all-seeing," Raynor began. "At the time, we received an anonymous tip that a gang was using abandoned pipelines to process undeclared rare metal waste. I reviewed the files to assess the route's potential for smuggling.
While no large-scale processing site was found, we did find traces of recent human activity, which I transferred to the Adeptus Arbites patrol team as per protocol."
Half-true, half-false. He had handed over a few trivial "traces" to satisfy the paperwork.
The red light in Cassius's lenses flickered as he compared data. He didn't respond to the explanation. Instead, he moved to the next point.
"Three standard days after you accessed those files, a large-scale engagement occurred at an abandoned water treatment plant outside your jurisdiction. Subsequent investigation revealed mutant remains and signs of battle. You had checked the plant's records the day before the incident. Your follow-up report mentioned nothing. Reason."
Raynor felt a chill. This was the night he led Sarah against the Shark-Tooth Gang.
"Reporting to you, sir," Raynor's voice carried a measured hint of shame. "I was not in the area during the event. The Adeptus Arbites classified it as an 'internal mutant conflict.' Since my investigation focused on tax violations and I lacked conclusive evidence regarding the explosion, I did not include it in my regular revenue report to avoid overstepping my authority. It was a procedural oversight, born of a desire to respect the jurisdiction of the Enforcers."
He shifted the blame to bureaucratic etiquette—the most common shield in the Imperium. It also suggested that Cassius lacked hard proof of Raynor's presence. Raynor silently thanked his past self for feeding the witnesses to Sarah.
"Your personal spending history for the past six months," Cassius shifted abruptly. "You purchased medical supplies, anti-radiation drugs, and high-spec military batteries far beyond the normal requirements for your salary grade. Use."
Raynor's throat went dry. Most of that went to Sarah's recovery.
"My Lord, the lower levels are toxic. Long-term patrols lead to chronic infections and ulcers. I required significant medication." Raynor explained the health costs first—a common reality for Hive workers.
"As for the batteries... security in the lower zones is non-existent. To improve my survivability, I upgraded my standard kit at my own expense and purchased spares. I also used a portion of my credits to subsidize my team's gear to maintain combat effectiveness."
It sounded like a story of a dedicated, competent official willing to pay for his own protection. Cassius fell silent again. The scanner beam focused on Raynor's chest, directly over his heart.
Raynor felt like his pulse was being viewed under a microscope. Three seconds felt like three centuries. Just as Raynor felt he might break, Cassius spoke again.
But this question made Raynor's blood freeze instantly.