Solar Date: M41.995.128.5 — Post-Training, Deck 14-A Hygiene Module
Hans stripped off the soaked synth-fabric vest, the one Caldan had tossed at him before the drills. His shoulders ached like hell. Not the soreness of a sedentary life suddenly interrupted, but the bone-deep fatigue of repeated falls on rubberized alloy and the stinging slap of a practice blade against the ribs. Caldan had shown no mercy—only that half-approving grunt when he finally disarmed her in the third round, though by then he'd sweated half his body weight.
He stepped into the shower stall—modular, pressurized, with water reclaimed from the filtration tanks. The temperature dial whined faintly as he twisted it clockwise. Steam rose, not from the heat, but from the relief. His temples pulsed with each drop sliding down the back of his neck. The small mirror on the opposite bulkhead showed a 30-year-old face—tight, angular, with just a hint of the man who once wore linen suits in Turin and smoked cigarettes on Anna's balcony. He wondered if that version of himself still lived somewhere in the warp... like a ghost, preserved in a pocket of time.
Focus, he told himself.
He washed methodically. Left arm first. Scar from the las-training accident still healing. The soap—some sludge-synth compound approved by the Enginseers—smelled vaguely of iron filings and algae. No lavender here. This was the Imperium. One was lucky if the soap didn't corrode their skin off.
Solar Date: M41.995.128.9 — Officer's Quarters, Observation Deck B-5
Leah was already waiting when Hans arrived. She stood near the viewport, ceramite transparent to the faint blue radiance of the Dant star. That golden cascade of curls framed her full, heart-shaped face and tumbled down her back, glowing faintly in the filtered light. Her wide hips and proud bust were accentuated by a sheer, violet wrap—designed to suggest, to invite—but she wasn't performing now. She was watching the stars, lips parted just slightly, lost in something that might have been real thought.
She turned when she heard him. Her smirk came automatically, the kind that had been rehearsed since her earliest days on the Flesh Guild auction blocks beneath Hive Gallowsend. But her eyes told a different story—wary, alert, reading him for signs of power, cruelty, or amusement. In her world, that game meant survival.
"Lord Zimmerman," she said, voice warm but modulated, perfectly pitched to soothe and stir.
"Just Hans," he replied, motioning for her to sit. "No need to bring the titles to dinner."
She tilted her head slightly, that bright golden mane shifting over one shoulder. "If I drop 'Lord,' does that mean I can drop 'obedience,' too?"
He smiled faintly, pouring her a glass of pale wine—one of the finer Necromundan vintages he'd managed to acquire, aged in the lower hive catacombs where the air was thick with iron and rot. It wasn't meant to be sweet.
"No," he said. "But it does mean you can be yourself."
That caught her—not the words, but the tone. For a moment, she said nothing. Then she sat slowly, legs folding smoothly beneath her, her fingers running across the smooth glass surface of the table. There was no chair choreography here, no theatrical sway of hips. Just quiet calculation.
The meal began without ceremony. Roasted poultry from the hydroponics bay, thick root vegetables, mushroom-stuffed pastry shells, a cube of blue-veined cheese. She tasted the food like someone used to ration paste—appreciative, indulgent even, but watching his eyes between every bite. There was nothing meek about her, but neither was there full ease.
"I suppose you already read my file," she said after a moment, breaking the silence between courses.
"I read it," Hans said. "Born Hive Gallowsend. Sold at fourteen to the Guild of Flesh. Purchased in a batch of sixty-seven. Modified for aesthetic enhancement. Vocal and sensory training. Reassigned to pleasure cohort five. Reallocated to private stock for high-tier clientele."
Leah's smile turned razor-thin. "That's the polite version."
"I imagine the real one was uglier."
She didn't answer. She took another bite, chewed slowly, swallowed. Her eyes were locked on his.
"So what's this, then? New assignment? I get to be the captain's favorite if I behave?"
Hans leaned back, the flickering light from the overhead glow-globes catching the sharp lines of his jaw. "No assignments. No quotas. You're not a project, Leah."
She arched a brow. "What am I, then?"
He set down his glass. "A woman. A survivor. One who probably knows more about danger and control than most officers on this ship."
Her expression changed—subtly. The muscle at her jaw eased. Her gaze dipped—not submission, not shame. Just... reconsideration.
"I grew up on a different planet," Hans said, his voice quieter now. "A far place. No hives, no flesh guilds. My world had cities built on glass and metal, sky-towers that lit up at night, and streets where you could walk alone. My first kiss was behind a school building. I think we were twelve. She slapped me after and told me never to tell anyone."
Leah blinked, surprised. Then laughed—a real one this time, low and throaty. "You're making that up."
"I wish I was," Hans said with a grin. "Her name was Greta. She wore braces and smelled like soap."
Leah's shoulders relaxed. The wine was starting to work, or maybe it was just the absurdity of the moment—a pleasure-slave sharing a meal with a man who talked like he belonged in some fairy tale. A man who looked at her and didn't see just flesh.
He reached for her hand—not to claim, not to order. Just to offer contact. She hesitated, then let her fingers curl over his. Her skin was warm, dry, firm from conditioning. She was real.
"You're not a slave anymore," Hans said, holding her gaze.
She inhaled sharply, as though the words had pierced something.
"They all say that," she whispered.
"But I mean it," he said. "You can walk out that door whenever you want. Or stay. Not because I demand it—but because I hope you will."
For the first time, Leah looked at him not as a client or a master, but as something stranger. A man. A contradiction.
"I'll stay," she said quietly. "For tonight."
Hans didn't nod. He just kept holding her hand as the stars drifted slowly beyond the viewport, each one a silent witness to a conversation that, for both of them, had already gone further than expected.
