Zack was fine.
At least for the moment.
"Fuck, the bastard broke my nose," he cursed, glaring at the officer.
The officer had definitely broken his nose. Nevertheless, the veteran forced himself to hold back his rage.
He was afraid the crew member would drag him off for some heretical ritual.
He didn't want to end up like that.
Surprisingly, the former veteran soldier had gotten the wrong idea.
The sailor not only took him to the bathroom to clean himself, but also provided him with clean black clothes.
Even more surprising, he was treated and his handcuffs were removed.
"What the hell is going on?" he tried to gather information, but his torturer remained silent.
Finally, the sailor led him into a brightly lit cabin that looked remarkably like a decent maintenance room.
It was clear that torture was not on the agenda, nor were any strange heretical rituals.
"T-this smell… meat?" he stammered, sniffing the air around the dish on the table.
Zack leaned in for a closer look and discovered a piece of bread, a bottle of alcohol, and a fragrant roasted steak.
The aroma of fat reached his nostrils, reminding him that there was something better than his daily protein meal.
He looked at the sailor beside him, and the man gestured for him to sit in front of the hot meal.
This rare food was clearly a dish intended for him, courtesy of the man who had summoned him.
Without the slightest hesitation, Zack mustered his courage and took a bite of the meat.
At the first mouthful, the juice and fat of the meat spread through his mouth.
He no longer cared whether it was human flesh or any other disgusting absurdity — the taste was real.
Unlike corpse starch, Zack did not eat timidly and even enjoyed the alcohol for the first time in decades.
At that precise moment, the automatic door opened and heavy footsteps sounded behind the former soldier.
A black silhouette about 2.40 meters tall walked around the table and stood in front of him.
A voice distorted by the helmet escaped from the Iron Warrior's vox-grille:
"Is it good?"
The question was simple.
But it created unease in the room, coming from a Space Marine slightly above average height.
"Damn, even the dogs of Terra aren't bothered when they eat," he thought.
However, Zack restrained himself from swearing at the Astartes.
He nodded slowly toward the iron giant, fearing that a delayed response would anger the Space Marine.
"Don't worry about where the meat comes from. It's from an animal of Ancient Terra called a boar. Unfortunately, this species is extinct on several worlds. However, the colonists of old brought this creature to this planet, and it has been preserved," Atreus declared in a nonchalant tone.
Zack did not interrupt and simply nodded.
The man's reaction drew a look of satisfaction from Atreus, though the Astartes' helmet prevented him from noticing it.
Atreus changed the subject:
"Captain Zack, do you know why I had you brought here?"
"Sir… I-I mean my lord… I cannot guess your intentions," he replied, stuttering under the pressure of the transhuman.
He had nothing special about him, except that he had once been a soldier.
"Captain Zack… you are a former commander of the second battalion of the fourth infantry regiment of the Imperial Army, now renamed the Astra Militarum," he said, slowly circling Zack.
The act itself resembled that of a beast studying its prey.
"Indeed, your words match my identity in the Departmento Munitorum archives," Zack acknowledged after regaining his composure.
It was clear the man had studied his file thoroughly.
Zack already felt disadvantaged in this conversation, especially since he did not understand the Space Marine's goal.
Atreus continued in an indifferent tone:
"Captain Zack, your military record carries an indelible stain: you surrendered to traitors of the Imperium. Yet the orders on this matter are clear."
Two words: death.
The Imperium of Man had survived the worst moments of its history thanks to the indomitable spirit of humanity.
How many men had sacrificed their lives for the Emperor's plan, even though they themselves had dreams and aspirations?
The Imperium had endured for millennia without the Emperor's direct assistance, thanks to the notion of sacrifice deeply rooted in the human race of this merciless universe.
A man like Zack clearly no longer had a place in such an order.
He had been taken prisoner without dragging more enemies down with him.
A disgrace.
"Why is he telling me this? Doesn't he know I'm already ashamed enough of doing nothing that day?" he thought, remembering his comrade screaming "For the Emperor!" before being crushed to death by Atreus.
"However…" Atreus's voice drew Zack's attention.
"I will temporarily overlook this incident, which I would call shameful. You may even continue eating, provided it does not prevent you from listening to what I am about to say," he said, signaling for more food to be brought.
Nevertheless, Zack no longer dared to touch the table. As far as he knew, the Iron Warriors were not known for their good humor, much like their Primarch.
"Captain Zack, you are the highest-ranking officer aboard, apart from my precious crew members. Therefore, you are useful and represent an advantage. You attended the military academy and participated in real combat. Despite your dishonorable defeat, you at least gained experience," Atreus continued before reaching the critical point.
"I will give you two options: either you train recruits in a manner similar to your own and then command them in battle; or you eat this juicy steak and return to the lower deck. Of course, I don't need to draw you a picture of your fate in the second option," he finished.
Atreus literally left him no escape other than death and oblivion.
Zack was naturally afraid of returning to the lower deck: it was precisely because he clung to life that he had survived this long.
"Do I really have a choice?" he thought inwardly.
He had already betrayed his Emperor by surrendering to traitors.
There was no turning back.
Zack let out a resigned sigh.
A reaction that drew a smile from Atreus, because both individuals knew it: the former soldier had just bent the knee before his new master.
Having made his decision, Zack tried to recall what he had learned at the military academy and spoke:
"My lord, what about the troops' equipment and supplies, as well as the numbers and level of the enemy?" he asked in a professional tone.
Zack was no longer a slave of the lower deck, but a true traitor to the Imperium.
"Very good, it seems you've gotten into the rhythm," Atreus said approvingly.
Atreus reached behind his belt, pulled out a data-slate, and handed it to him.
"You will have approximately 30,000 recruits, and more can be enlisted later in the 'pacified' zones. However, please note that they are not true novices: these people have received primitive military training, most wear bronze and iron armor, and use bows, wooden shields, and spears. The enemy is at the same level. I order you to place this planet under the total authority of the governor within one Terran year."
Atreus described the situation in an indifferent tone, even though he was asking a former soldier to pacify any possible rebellion on an entire planet.
Upon hearing the order, Zack thought of one essential element: "He didn't mention the punishment for failure."
Of course, it was more likely that it was unnecessary to mention it, since a Traitor Space Marine did not need a real reason to kill a mortal like him.
"I will provide a small quantity of anti-aircraft armor, automatic cannons, lasguns, and frag grenades, as well as an Aquila Lander for air support. There will be no armored vehicles or artillery. More precise information is on the technical sheet," he added, observing Zack's grave face grow even darker.
While waiting for Zack to finish reading the information on the data-slate, Atreus remembered an essential point as a "good" boss:
"Any questions?"
"None, my lord," Zack replied, looking at the unreasonable man.
In reality, Zack faced numerous logistical problems on multiple levels.
For example: insufficient troop training, lack of experienced officers, a glaring shortage of weapons and ammunition, and low-ranking soldiers who did not even speak High Gothic.
He was certain it would take him two to three months to train the troops and teach them the basics of High Gothic.
However, Zack did not dare voice his opinion.
After all, no soldier could hold the Departmento Munitorum responsible for delays in equipment and useful human reinforcements.
Everyone in the Imperial Army was busy at the time, because complaining to a bureaucrat would change nothing.
If a defeat occurred, Terra would simply hold them responsible for the fiasco.
That was how bad logistics were in this world.
"Very well, I wish you a good meal," he said, pushing the rest of the now-cold steak toward him.
The Astartes did not turn back and left the cabin.
Zack had the impression he had sold his soul for a big, juicy piece of meat.
"Anyway, it's worth it," he thought as he devoured the dish handed to him by the crew member.
"At worst, this steak would be my last meal," he consoled himself.
***
Author's note: it seems this fanfiction isn't very popular. I'm going to wait until chapter 30 before deciding whether this story is worth my time.