...
One hour later.
Grey arrived on the hive world ruled by Governor Ode. He was teleported directly onto one of the city's towering spires, and without pause, he began moving at incredible speed toward the Governor's estate.
The city blurred past below him, conveyor highways thrummed with traffic, and vox-speakers barked curfews from chimera-mounted enforcers patrolling like sharks through the streets.
Along the way, Grey had already formulated his strategy.
Break in, eliminate Ode, and only engage the Astartes guarding him if absolutely necessary.
The Astartes bore the bull-headed sigil of the Minotaurs Chapter, but Grey reasoned that, like the Lamenters of old, some Chapters retained a code of honor; they might merely be fulfilling a contract, not endorsing Ode's treachery.
By the time his thoughts reached this point, Grey had already arrived outside the Governor's fortified estate.
He initiated a comprehensive tactical scan.
Over a thousand personnel within. The ten Astartes he'd previously spotted were distributed throughout the estate, positioned at key ingress points to various structures, fully armed, motionless, utterly statuesque like sentinels carved from living brass and barely contained fury.
Governor Ode himself was located three levels underground, currently asleep. Vital signs indicated a stable but elevated heart rate, suggesting recent stress or stimulant use.
The bald man from the surveillance photo, presumably an aide, was nearby, currently reviewing documents.
Aside from the Astartes, the estate boasted formidable security assets: guards clad in servo-assisted carapace armor, sentry turrets connected to wetware-linked cogitator-heads, and an array of concealed weapons systems embedded in walls and compartments both inside and outside the buildings.
Grey decided infiltration was preferable.
He moved with surgical precision, avoiding every patrol with inhuman agility.
The ten Astartes stationed at key points remained hyper-vigilant. Grey's bio-processor had already analyzed and marked the scope of their enhanced vision.
No blind spots.
No terrain weakness. The estate had been designed like a killbox: overlapping fields of fire, blast-proof corridors, and reinforced doors with gene-locked access.
There was no choice.
He would have to risk a high-speed breach.
Grey activated bullet-time, an accelerated combat reflex protocol.
As Bullet-Time engaged, his spine released a cocktail of neurostimulants. His brain's bio-processor surged into overclock, processing the flood of sensory input. In his vision, the world slowed to a crawl.
Droplets of condensation hung motionless in the air as he passed through misted walkways; servo-skulls seemed frozen mid-patrol, unaware of the blur rocketing past them.
Moving at speeds even other Thunderborns would call reckless, Grey sprinted past the Astartes and vaulted into an open window with a silent roll, never breaking stride as he sprinted toward the underground vault where Ode lay hidden.
Meanwhile, one of the Minotaurs stationed at the front gate twitched, his instincts alerted.
In the way of veteran Space Marines, he locked eyes with his brother beside him: silent, mutual understanding passing between them.
One had glimpsed a shadow, a flicker of motion. Perhaps just a shadow, but their duty left no room for doubt.
The other knew his brother wouldn't react without cause. Given their current assignment and the fortified context, it had to be something.
"Cover this post!" he barked to a nearby patrol squad.
Then the two Astartes turned, bolters ready, and stormed into the manor's depths.
....
Thirty seconds later.
Grey sprinted through the corridor. His bio-processor projected a detailed 3D wireframe of the estate's interior. The path to the only entrance to the underground levels was highlighted in his HUD.
Along the way, the manor's defenses remained silent.
All nearby weapon systems were being scanned and hacked.
As he passed certain walls, sentry turrets emerged, servo-mounted stubbers controlled by wetware-linked skulls. But their barrels hung low, inactive.
Even the hidden detection nodes in the corridor ignored him, "watching" passively as he ran by.
Just as Grey neared the entrance to the underground sector, he halted.
Another scan pulse spread out.
Ten large, heavily-armored bio-signatures. Astartes, converging rapidly from all sides on his position.
The next instant, a volley of bolt shells burst from the right wall.
Grey instantly activated his gravity shield, intercepting and pulverizing the incoming projectiles before they reached him.
More volleys followed, fired from multiple angles, some from behind, some through hidden ports in the walls, even the ceiling.
Every round was intercepted. Yet the ten Astartes continued their assault, shooting from cover, moving in circular patterns to flank him.
They moved like one. Perfect spacing, perfectly timed volleys, each maneuver pre-coordinated like notes in a death hymn.
They were testing him.
Grey's tactical mind flashed back to his time consulting with Phoros, Chapter Master of the Lamenters, about the Minotaurs Chapter.
"If it were me," Phoros had said, "I'd probe first. See what gear you're packing, figure out your trump cards... Just remember: the longer the engagement, the worse it gets for you."
Realizing this, Grey immediately retaliated.
He raised his right hand and swept the rooms around him with in-built scatter-lasers.
His left hand lashed out, dragging a concealed Astartes down from the ceiling telekinetically.
The Astartes, yanked downward, noted there was no psionic chill, no sign of warp influence. Whatever force had dragged him wasn't psychic.
The Minotaur reacted swiftly, pulling a meltabomb from his belt.
Before he could arm it, Grey's left fist clenched, distorting the air as his telekinetic grip crushed the Astartes' helmet. The warrior fell unconscious without a word.
The meltabomb clattered harmlessly to the floor.
Seeing their brother fall, the remaining nine Astartes had seen enough.
They adapted their strategy instantly.
This time, no more indirect volleys.
Four Astartes surged forward in zigzag formation, rushing Grey head-on, forcing him to divide attention between ranged and close threats.
As Grey activated his shoulder-mounted plasma cannon, three grenades arced toward him from behind.
The cannon whirled and burst-fired, taking down two of the grenades. The third hit the floor and rolled toward him.
[EMP GRENADE] flashed in his HUD.
It went off.
A devastating electromagnetic pulse cascaded outward. All electronics on the first floor fried instantly. Grey, standing at the epicenter, took the full brunt.
But the Thunderborn-pattern power armor and his internal augmetics had been designed with such eventualities in mind. Every component was coated with EM-shielding.
His bio-processor flickered but recovered. The HUD dimmed, pixelated, then returned to normal. A status display showed armor integrity fluctuations, but they stabilized quickly.
Within seconds self-repair routines kicked in.
Had he been wearing standard power armor, he might already be dead.
"You're pushing it. Getting maimed over a worm like Ode isn't worth it!" Grey shouted toward the Astartes.
Their only reply was another wave of bolter fire and more EM grenades.
Grey's shoulder cannon spun again, intercepting several, but not all. Wave after wave of EMP pulses slammed into him.
Enough to weaken his gravity shield.
The nine Astartes noticed.
More explosive rounds flew at Grey. The four Astartes advanced in tandem, laying down suppressive fire while rotating their assault lines.
Two more Astartes burst through the wall behind Grey, combat blades drawn, attempting a brutal close-quarters pincer.
Grey whirled his shoulder cannon and blasted the legs of the four charging Astartes with a sweeping plasma burst, the sizzling beam shearing through armor like wax.
One attacker that stormed out of the wall was struck directly in the helm by his gauntlet fist, his armor crumpling under the force. The impact drove him into the floor, removing him from combat immediately.
The second attacker met the business end of Grey's scatter-laser, losing both arms in a spray of molten ceramite and gore, his body slamming into a column and collapsing in a smoldering heap.
Grey was done playing nice.
.....
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