The Personnel Archives.
Schrödinger Bro's battlefield was located on the second floor of the central headquarters.
The space had originally been a large conference room, but it had since been heavily retrofitted into a dedicated records repository.
Thirty heavy steel filing cabinets lined the walls. Every single drawer was meticulously labeled by category.
Basic Resident Information. Skill Registries. Medical Histories. Contribution Point Ledgers.
"We operate on a strict registry management system."
Schrödinger Bro pulled open one of the cabinets and extracted a thick stack of heavy ledgers. "Every single person who enters this base must be thoroughly documented. That includes their full name, age, previous settlement of origin, and any specialized skills."
"Firstly, it drastically streamlines labor distribution. Secondly... in the event that someone goes missing or is kidnapped by slavers, we actually have a paper trail to follow."
The commanding Iron Hands Astartes silently flipped through the heavy binders.
The handwriting was exceptionally neat. The information was incredibly detailed. Even menial skills like 'proficient in potato cultivation' or 'knows how to patch plumbing' were dutifully logged.
Even more remarkably, every single entry was stamped with a registration date and the direct signature of the processing clerk, creating a flawless, highly traceable chain of accountability.
"What about the psykers?"
The warrior asked the critical question.
Schrödinger Bro's expression didn't change in the slightest. He calmly retrieved a highly specialized registry from a separate cabinet.
"The base currently houses five hundred and thirty-seven individuals with latent psychic potential. Twenty-seven of them have reached the Official tier. Every single one is meticulously documented."
He flipped the heavy registry open, exposing the detailed list of names. The warrior behind him took the book, the auspex probe on his vambrace sweeping across the pages once more.
The pages were bound from coarse, locally manufactured paper. The ink was a simple mixture of mineral pigments and animal fat. There was absolutely zero residual Warp taint.
"Training methods for the psykers?"
"Primarily deep meditation and rudimentary control exercises."
Schrödinger Bro had this specific alibi prepared for days. "We managed to unearth some pre-civilization introductory psychic manuals from the ruins. The texts heavily prioritize absolute stability over raw destructive power."
"After all... an out-of-control psyker is vastly more terrifying than a horde of demons. We understand that reality perfectly."
The warrior remained silent as he flipped through the entire registry, randomly pulling a few resident files to cross-reference.
"Verification passed."
He logged the final entry into his data-slate. "Personnel management system: Comprehensive."
"Psyker regulation: Compliant with foundational safety protocols."
–
Infrastructure.
Blood Angels' Second Emperor led the final three warriors through absolutely every corner of the sprawling base.
From the two thousand acres of flourishing potato fields in the eastern sector, to the massive residential zone in the north—the dormitories housing twenty-seven thousand people were undeniably spartan, yet spotlessly clean and orderly. Finally, they arrived at the massive training grounds in the southern sector.
Five thousand members of the Aurelian Youth Corps were aggressively running formation drills, their unified chants shaking the very heavens.
"Labor earns survival! Struggle earns dignity!"
"For the Crimson Dawn! For a better tomorrow!"
The Astartes watched the sea of residents. They were dressed in uniform gray overalls, their faces flushed with healthy color. They then looked at the impeccably maintained lasguns in the hands of the militia. The same unspoken question lingered in the minds of every warrior present:
Is this truly a survivor sanctuary built from scratch just within three years?
"Where is your water purification system?" the lead warrior asked.
"Right this way."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor led them behind the central headquarters, where three massive, heavy-duty water purification plants towered over the yard.
Each unit stood over five meters tall. Their external housings were heavily modified from salvaged shipping containers, but the complex array of internal piping was routed with immaculate precision.
"The primary water source is the heavily irradiated river running through the Crimson Wasteland. We process it through a three-stage filtration cycle. First stage: heavy sediment separation. Second stage: activated carbon absorption. Third stage: concentrated ultraviolet sterilization."
"Daily output is exactly fifty metric tons of purified water, more than enough to sustain the basic needs of fifty thousand people."
Blood Angels' Second Emperor slapped the heavy steel casing of one of the machines, letting it ring out with a solid, metallic clang.
"We had to figure all of this out through sheer trial and error. The schematics we salvaged from the ruins were heavily fragmented. We had to modify the design dozens of times before we finally got it right."
The warrior's auspex scanners indicated that the system's overall efficiency was approximately fifteen percent lower than standard-issue Imperial patterns. However, considering this was entirely jury-rigged from scrap, it was nothing short of a mechanical miracle.
Most importantly, the entire base was completely devoid of any signs of Warp contamination.
There were no hidden sacrificial altars. No twisted, blasphemous runes etched into the walls. The ambient psychic background radiation in the air was actually lower than what they had recorded back in Aru City.
"Infrastructure verification passed."
The warrior logged his final assessment.
"Survival sustainment systems: Comprehensive."
"Zero trace of contamination."
–
At 10:20 AM, the three inspection teams converged in front of the central headquarters.
After reviewing the consolidated briefing, Karon turned his piercing gray eyes toward Cogboy. "The data?"
"Waiting in the sixth-floor conference room. It is fully prepared."
The entourage marched up the stairs.
It was the exact same conference room from last night's frantic planning session, but today, three massive stacks of documents sat neatly perfectly aligned on the center table.
Each stack was half a meter high. The pages were rough, locally sourced paper, bound together tightly with coarse hemp rope. The deliberate weathering made them look exactly like ancient texts excavated from a buried ruin.
But what truly caught Karon's attention was the massive pile of items stacked on the other end of the table.
Fifty red-and-white hard-pack cartons, printed with characters he didn't recognize.
Thirty heavy wooden crates. The lids were cleanly branded with the word "Vodka"—a localized Gothic translation the players had carefully applied.
And fifty sleek, metallic cylinders. The casings were meticulously etched with the Fist of Iron insignia, featuring a highly intricate pressure-release mechanism at the top.
"What is this..." Karon's brow furrowed slightly.
"Just a small token of our appreciation." Cogboy stepped up to the table. He respectfully picked up the topmost stack of technical data with both hands and offered it directly to Karon. "Captain, this is the entirety of the relic data we have successfully compiled. It includes the radiation purification schematics, the soil ameliorant formulas, and the high-yield irrigation system blueprints... everything is right here."
Karon accepted the heavy stack and casually flipped through several pages.
It was undeniably authentic technical data. Complex diagrams, mathematical formulas, and raw telemetry were all present.
But exactly as Cogboy had promised, it was wildly disjointed. Critical components were glaringly absent. It looked exactly like shattered fragments violently torn from a vastly larger, highly complex technological codex.
"I will have the Tech-priests thoroughly evaluate the true value of this data."
Karon passed the heavy stack to the warrior standing behind him, his gaze inevitably returning to the pile of gifts.
"And these are?"
Cogboy smiled.
He picked up a carton of cigarettes, expertly tearing off the plastic seal and pulling out a single stick.
He then picked up one of the metallic ignition devices. It was his personal masterpiece, rushed overnight. The casing was polished from scrap aluminum, housing a micro-plasma ignition module. Pressing the trigger released a stable arc of bright blue lightning.
Click.
The plasma arc instantly ignited the tip of the cigarette.
Pale blue smoke began to curl lazily into the air.
The smoke instantly diffused through the room, carrying a bizarrely rich, mellow aroma. It was a pack of cigarettes redeemed directly from the System Shop.
The nicotine levels had been painstakingly adjusted to perfectly accommodate the augmented physiology of humanity in the Warhammer universe.
He walked up to Karon and respectfully offered the lit cigarette.
"This is a completely new hybrid strain we cultivated by splicing a local tobacco variant with a unique plant species we discovered."
"The taste is... quite exquisite. Would you care to try it?"
Karon's Adam's apple bobbed slightly.
The deeply ingrained instincts of a chain-smoker had been violently awakened.
He took the cigarette but didn't smoke it immediately. Instead, he meticulously inspected the craftsmanship. It was incredibly refined. The filter was made of an advanced cellulose material, and the tobacco was golden, uniform, and tightly packed.
He finally raised it to his lips and took a deep, dragging hit.
The exact second the smoke hit his throat, Karon's eyes widened fractionally.
It lacked the harsh, abrasive burn of standard lho-sticks. Instead, it delivered a dense, incredibly rich, and velvety smooth sensation with a profoundly satisfying hint of sweetness.
The smoke rolled deep into his enhanced lungs. When he finally exhaled, not even the heavy respiratory filters of his power armor could entirely mask the rich aroma.
Hiss.
Karon took another drag—this one significantly harder.
The entire cigarette burned down at a visible rate, fine white ash fluttering gently to the floor.
He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation for five full seconds before slowly exhaling the thick plume of smoke.
And then, the notoriously stoic, utterly humorless Captain of the Iron Hands Fourth Company let the corner of his mouth twitch upward into a distinct, unmistakable curve.
"Not bad."
He clapped Cogboy on the shoulder. He restrained his strength admirably, but the impact still made Cogboy's mechanical prosthetic groan in protest.
"Good smoke."
Cogboy tanked the crushing pressure on his shoulder, his smile completely unwavering. "I'm glad it suits your tastes, Captain."
He stepped aside, gesturing toward the massive pile of gifts on the table. "These are provisions we have prepared specifically for the Legion."
"Fifty cartons of tobacco, thirty crates of spirits, and fifty custom-built ignition modules."
"We manufactured the igniters ourselves. The insignias were etched to match the heraldry on your pauldron. It might not be perfectly standard, but it is a genuine token of our deepest respect."
Karon stepped up to the table and picked up one of the igniters.
The metallic casing was cold to the touch. The etched lines of the iron fist were sharp and aggressive.
He pressed the release button on the top. A bright blue plasma arc snapped to life with a sharp crack, burning steadily and continuously.
"Very thoughtful."
Karon pocketed the igniter, the harshness in his eyes softening marginally as he looked back at Cogboy.
"I will accept the data. As for the provisions... I will forward them to the Legion's logistics department."
Cogboy immediately waved his hand toward the door. The players who had been waiting anxiously outside filed in instantly. Working in perfectly synchronized pairs, they began hauling the heavy crates and cartons out of the room.
Within five minutes, every single item had been neatly loaded into the cargo bay of the Orion dropship.
Karon stood beside the transport. He looked down at Cogboy and suddenly spoke. "Your base. It is exceptionally well-managed."
"Desperation is a wonderful teacher." Cogboy offered a bitter, self-deprecating smile. "If we didn't manage it properly, all twenty thousand of these people would have starved to death."
Karon remained silent for several seconds.
He suddenly recalled the Primarch's exact words on the bridge: The Imperium is infested with far too many parasites. How can we possibly revitalize the Imperium if we are constantly forced to work alongside leeches and worms...
Perhaps these people, surviving entirely on their own out in this blasted wasteland, were the true foundational bedrock of the Imperium.
"The Tech-priests will evaluate the true worth of your data."
Karon delivered his final piece of advice. "If it proves useful, the Primarch will honor his promise."