Day 9, Continued
Inquisitor Catherine Ellen strode through the laboratory's entrance, her thick boots clomping heavily against the metal floor, the soft whir of her power armor barely audible over the clanking. While she normally would only wear her armor in expectation of combat, recent developments had revealed to her that such an expectation should be constant on Monstrum. While no attempts had been made yet, she knew well the court of the Planetary Governor, Selvik Monstrum, whose family the planet had been named after, would like nothing more than to see her suffer an unfortunate accident.
Many things had gone wrong for Catherine Ellen in the past few months. She'd come to Monstrum originally to raise an army to deal with a certain threat which required a large force of guardsman. In that, she had succeeded, but the fleet intended to transport them to their destination had never arrived before the Warp Storm had descended. The ship she herself had arrived on had departed shortly before that as well, leaving her stranded upon the planet's surface until the storm lifted.
And yet, that was only the start of the frustrations. While initially Selvik's court had been welcoming and gracious of her, showing her proper respect and fear, they had been slowly becoming more and more bold. Not in front of her, never in front of her, but they were not so skilled in subterfuge that she could not determine what was going on.
A revolt was in the brewing. Perhaps it was because of her presence and her demand for twenty regiments of guardsman taken from the local PDF or perhaps it was something that had been boiling under the surface for much longer. Purilla, the psyker Ellen kept on her retinue, had claimed that the stench of the Warp was rank upon this world, but Ellen had not failed to notice her subordinate's beliefs had only emerged after the Warp Storm had descended. While a Chaotic presence was not impossible, there was also the possibility that the 'stench' Purilla smelled was merely the Immaterial forces crashing around the system.
Even that suspicion alone would have normally been enough for Ellen to focus entirely on dismantling the revolt before it could even begin, preferably through a cleanse of the noble families and hive cities involved, but there was an even greater problem at hand. Said problem was the reason she had come to the laboratory of her personal tech-priest, Genetor Vidriov. Or, rather, the empty office space that the red robed man had taken over as his laboratory.
"Report, Vidriov."
"Inquisitor," The Tech-Priest said, rising from his work. Said work was the dissected remains of a creature that looked like a tall, human male. However, the internal organs that were on full display revealed it's more sinister nature. "The presence of the fourth generation of the Genestealer reproductive cycle indicates an advanced infiltration."
Genetor Vidriov was tall, nearing two meters in total. Despite his long-standing within the Mechanicus, he was only around fifty percent augmented by machine, instead preferring genetic enhancements, something not uncommon among Magos Biologis. While nowhere on the level of a being like an Astartes, the Genetor was still many times stronger than a regular human and his flesh-parts had been kept in prime shape for several centuries longer than Ellen had been alive, much less a full Inquisitor.
"I gathered that," Ellen replied, somewhat curtly. "What I want to know is why this world hasn't already fallen into revolt. There is little doubt they know of our own awareness of them, so if they are so far along, why wait?"
"The innerworkings of the minds of xenos are difficult to comprehend at the best of times," Vidriov said needlessly. "However, I theorize that their spread is not so all-encompassing as previously feared."
"Elaborate."
"Consider this specimen," Vidriov said, gesturing to the corpse with a mechadendrite. "It was discovered within hive city Enyo, attempting to subvert a hive gang. Such tactics are commonly conducted by drones in the early stages of infiltration, not more advanced specimens that should be used for missions of greater importance.
"It is possible that the Genestealer infiltration of Monstrum is advanced but localized. The string of protests and riots documented to have occurred across the southern hives led to the implementation of martial law in 981.M41 for several decade, ending only after our arrival."
The Planetary Governor had claimed that news of her presence had calmed the rioters, but she knew otherwise. The governor had been afraid she'd be displeased by the riots and tried to keep her from learning it by ending the declaration of martial law. It hadn't worked of course, though the riots had stopped after the news of the conscription of twenty regiments of Imperial Guardsman had spread.
"I theorize that the Genestealers were unable to spread effectively between hive cities. While the reproductive cycle is advanced enough that a full-scale revolt should occur now or very soon, they lack the actual numbers to succeed. Our awareness of them is not a significant enough threat for them to act openly."
"Why? As far as they know, we have twenty guard regiments and most of the planet's defense forces to call upon."
"Genestealers, abominable though they are, possess great intelligence," Vidriov said, again needlessly. "It is possible they are counting on the political instability of Monstrum to prevent any unified Imperial response."
"Mm," Ellen murmured, stroking her chin in thought. "The issue is, they're likely right. The southern nobles aren't openly opposed to me or the governor, but I can tell they're plotting something."
"A purge of malefactors may be conducive," Vidriov suggested and Ellen gave him a small smile.
"Were it so easy," She said, shaking her head. "Keep me updated."
"Of course," Vidriov toned. Just as she turned to leave, however, the Tech-Priest continued. "Inquisitor."
"Yes?"
"There is another matter which I suspect will be of interest to you."
Ellen turned back, arching an eyebrow at the Genetor. "And that would be?"
One of the thin mechadendrites of the Genetor flicked around to retrieve something from the table, bringing it up for Ellen to see. It was a small vial of some cloud-like, yellowish substance.
"What am I looking at?" Ellen asked, taking a closer look at the vial. The clouds seemed to move and swirl in the vial, despite there being no wind to move the particles contained within.
"A sample of anomalous airborne spores found within several of hive city Malum's lower levels." Vidriov stated. "This sample was taken from the highest concentration of the organisms discovered by survey teams I deployed approximately forty-five hours ago. It took up roughly three percent of the air's particles. Its origins are unknown."
"Some kind of virus weapon?" Ellen asked, suddenly very concerned, and Vidriov's mechadendrites whirred again as it returned the vial to a rack of several similar samples.
"Experimentation is ongoing," Vidriov stated, and Ellen's eyes narrowed at that.
"What kind of experimentation?" Ellen demanded and Vidriov held his hands up in a placating gesture that was quite human for a Priest of Mars.
"Isolated exposure to subjects under extreme quarantine procedures," Vidriov answered, and Ellen's ire calmed. If he was being careful, then it should be fine. "Observance of locals revealed no surface level effects of exposure."
"Surface level," Ellen repeated and Vidriov nodded.
"Initial experimentation yielded more noticeable results in isolated subjects, who could be observed more closely," the Genetor said. "Within twenty-four hours of inhaling a sample, the organism had begun to spread throughout the bloodstream, with notable areas of build-up along the nervous system and within the lungs."
"A mind virus." It was a statement, not a question, but Vidriov nodded anyways. Ellen had a grim look on her face. Best case scenario, the virus wasn't too harmful, but the young Inquisitor had found there were very rarely any 'best case' scenarios. At worst, it was some kind of mind control, either Chaotic or Xenos in origins.
"That is a possibility. However, an important discovery was that the health of exposed subjects improved dramatically," Vidriov continued. "All other diseases and toxins within the subjects were eradicated by the organism."
"What?" Ellen said, more out of surprise than anything else, but Vidriov was not done.
"I administered a sample of almost every type of biological weapon I currently have access to," Vidriov stated. "Each was similarly eradicated before it could harm the subject."
"Complete immunity?" Ellen was shocked. Such a thing was more than extraordinary, it should have been outright impossible. "How can that be?"
"I possess several theories," Vidriov said and Ellen noted a slight inflection in the tone of the priest's void modulator, something that only happened when he was truly excited. It also told her that of those 'several' theories, there was one he believed absolutely to be true.
"Do tell."
"While this could be of Genestealer origin, the biomass utilized within the spores are not of Tyranid make," Vidriov said, only somewhat allaying the worst of Ellen's fears. "I theorize that this organism is not of Xenos origin."
"You think humanity made this?" Ellen said, unsure of whether she should be offended.
"I believe this is the result of a form of Archaeotech," Vidriov announced, a near fanatical tint to his modulator. "Legends speak of an STC called the Panacea, a device capable of curing all biological illnesses."
"And you believe these… spores to be this Panacea?" Ellen questioned, skeptical.
"Perhaps or a similar form of that lost technology," Vidriov said. "If my theory is correct, this could be the greatest discovery in the history of the Mechanicus! The benefits for the Imperium would be limitless."
"Or disastrous if you are wrong," Ellen countered. "This was discovered in Malum, yes?"
"Correct."
"Then have the hive city placed under quarantine," Ellen commanded. It was a drastic action, but a mind plague spreading, especially in the southern cities, was too great of a risk. At the very least, if she played her cards well, the southern nobles would become too upset. "Do we have a method of filtering out these spores?"
"Breathing filtration units are proven effective," Vidriov replied. "However, should the density of the spores continue to grow in the air, it is possible that fully sealed equipment will be required."
"Have survey teams monitor the spore levels," Ellen said. "And make sure to have similar teams investigate the air levels in all the hive cities connected to Malum via the transit. If even one of them is infected, we need to know as soon as possible."
"As you command, Inquisitor," Vidriov said, before adding, "At the very least, this 'infection' does not appear dangerous."
The-thing-that-was-not-Crick leapt to the side as her stubber fired, the crack of the ballistics shattering the silence of the Underhive. Its mouth split apart in a way that should have broken Crick's jaw and a trio of the red-tipped stalks she'd seen before emerged. However, there was no time to think about the implications of that, because the monster was coming for her.
Letting out a roar that shook the air, Hoog rushed forwards, club swinging horizontally in an effort to catch the changed mutant in its chest, if not smash it outright. With the nimbleness and strength of a giant spider, the thing leapt up, higher than any man should have been able to, latching onto the ceiling of the corridor and seemingly hanging there for a moment, vacant eyes staring down at them.
Grease brought the flamer upwards and Lysilla felt a rush of heat as the ceiling was bathed in promethium fire. The sudden shift in light was almost enough to blind her, like she was staring into a reactor core, but she pushed through the pain and continued to fire her stubber into the flames at where she believed Crick had been.
A dark shape, wreathed in flames, let out a horrifying scream as it fell from the ceiling like falling debris, claws outstretched for Grease. However, Hoog was there in a matter of moments, the Ogryn's great club ripping through the air to slam into the abomination with enough force that an audible crack echoed up and down the corridors. The creature was flung like a ragdoll into the rockrecte wall, where it struck with a wet crunch, its charred and cracked skin still smoldering. It laid there, unmoving, and Lysilla breathed out a sigh of relief.
The fires of the flamer died, Lysilla glad the weapon wasn't using militarum-grade promethium, which could burn for minutes even underwater. The smoke was already beginning to fill the corridor, which was seeming less and less expansive by the minute.
"Get… Out…" Lysilla said between pants, the rush of adrenaline starting to wear off. "Need to… breathe… clearly…"
Hoog was the first out of the smoke, his long strides carrying him forward much faster than the others, but he was also choking and panting much harder than she was. Only Grease seemed unaffected by the smoke and she envied him his mask. She would need to get one of those for next time.
They stood in the clearer part of the corridor for a little while, just catching their breath, but she saw Grease staring back towards the lingering smoke, flamer still held ready.
"Its… dead, Grease," Lysilla said, after managing to regulate her breath a bit more.
"What wuz it?" Hoog asked, genuinely sounding disturbed. "Looked like Crick."
"Dunno," Lysilla replied. "But the Boss will want to know about it. Did you see those stalks in its mouth? Saw those on something else earlier, some kind of meat vine."
Grease turned, glancing at her, seemingly in confusion. It was the last mistake he would make.
A tendril, covered in swiftly peeling charred skin and sharp protrusions of bone, whipped out of the smoke at high speed. In less than a second, it had reached Grease and wrapped around his neck, the sharpened bones digging past his mask to find purchase in the flesh beneath. Lysilla's eyes widened, but she could do nothing before the tendril tugged and, like the revving of a chainsword, the bones cut through meat and arteries in an instant.
Grease collapsed, spasming as a waterfall of blood poured down him, the flamer dropping from his hands and clattering to the floor. Emerging from the smoke behind him, its tendril slowly retracting, the monster crawled forwards. Its blackened skin was cracked and broke off in pieces, what had once been Crick's eyes had popped from the heat and cauterized, its mouth had been sealed shut by melted flesh that had cooled. Yet, it endured.
And it was furious.
A sound like a scream came from it, but it was warped by the damage done to it and muffled by its lack of a mouth, yet that only served to make it even more horrible to hear.
Lysilla brought her stubber up once more and fired, her first shot going wide, but her second striking true, slicing through the tendril that had killed Grease. The limb sloughed off, as though attached by nothing more than slime, twitching as it fell, yet the thing seemed uncaring of the loss.
Hoog rushed forwards, club raised up in preparation to bring it down and truly smash the monster. The thing just stood there, waiting for it, its single clawed hand flexing.
The moment Hoog's club arced downwards, the thing moved, far more swiftly than Crick had ever been, narrowly dodging to the side and leaping at Hoog, its arm and legs latching onto the Ogryn in something almost like an embrace. Lysilla watched in horror as the thing's mouth seemed to strain against its own melted flesh until the skin finally gave, the sound of its sealed lips ripping apart something she knew she would carry to her death. The maw of the monster opened wide to reveal the trio of stalks and a row of razor-sharp teeth which it brought down in a vicious bite around Hoog's shoulder.
The Ogryn let out a pained roar as the fangs of the abomination sank deeper, tearing through skin and muscle. The monster seemed to be almost retching even as it bit deeper. This time, however, it was the creature that had made the mistake.
Hoog grabbed the thing by one of its legs and tore it from its embrace, taking a chunk of his own flesh with it in its maw. Still holding onto the limb, Hoog brought the monster back over its head in an arc like his club, slamming the creature into the floor with as much force as its adrenaline-fueled, abhuman muscles could muster, splattering gory meat everywhere as bones were shattered and internal organs ruptured.
Hoog wasn't done though, as it brought the creature back up and slammed it down, against the floors, the walls, again and again, roaring the entire time, shoulder still bleeding profusely and leaking a viscous, yellow liquid as well. By the time the Ogryn was done, the only thing left in his massive hands was the crushed, lower half of one of the creature's legs. Everything else was a red and yellow paste that coated everything, the stench overpowering even the smell of smoke.
Hoog panted heavily, not looking even slightly pained from his wound, staring down at the crumpled leg. The Ogryn snorted derisively and dropped the limb, before raising one massive, booted foot and slamming it down again and again onto the final piece of Crick.
Once even that final remnant was unrecognizable, Hoog stopped, his breathing starting to slow and a look of pain appearing on his face.
"Hoog need stim," The Ogryn said, turning towards Lysilla, who was watching him with wide eyes. She had never seen that level of violence from the Ogryn, not in all her years working alongside him.
His voice shook her from her thoughts and she quickly got out one of the precious few vials of stims. There were few times she would be willing to use such a rare resource, usually only in situations of true need.
She wasn't sure if Hoog needed a stim, but he definitely wanted one and Lysilla wasn't brave enough to deny an Ogryn coming down from the adrenaline of combat.
Lysilla brought the stim up and injected it into the Ogryn, whose meaty fingers were too large to properly use the syringe. Hoog seemed uneasy around the needle, but a look of great relief crossed his brutish features as the stimulant began to work its way through him, letting out a relaxed sigh.
"Hoog feel better," The Ogryn said, though his shoulder was still bleeding profusely.
"Let me patch you up, big guy," Lysilla said, though there wasn't too much she could actually do. She cleaned the wound as best she could, wiping away the strange liquid, which she took care not to touch with her own skin. They didn't have any bandages large enough to properly wrap such a large wound, so she tore away the lower half of Grease's shirt, which was less covered in blood than its upper part, and wrapped that around the shoulder and under the arm of the Ogryn. It was just barely long enough to reach and she tied it fast with actual bandages. It wasn't the cleanest of coverings, but it was what they had, the grey cloth quickly turning a near black as it soaked up the blood of the Ogryn.
Lysilla noted, almost distantly, that her hands were shaking as she worked on the Ogryn. The feeling was familiar, but its intensity was worse than she'd ever known. She tried to steady her breathing, but gave up after a short time, just trying to focus on the task at hand. All the while, she eyed the meaty residue of what had once been Crick, as though uncertain if it was really dead.
"Let's get out of here," Lysilla said, swiftly rising the moment she was finished with the patchwork. Hoog grunted in agreement and stood.
They walked in silence, eyes on the shadows, for around thirty minutes, trying to move quietly. Hoog was surprisingly silent at first, but as time went on he began to pant, every breath sounding more labored than the last.
"Hoog feel… tired," the Ogryn finally said. Lysilla frowned, wondering if Crick-, if that thing had some kind of venom in its fangs. While Crick himself never had, who knew what changes had happened below the skin in addition to those above it. She'd done the best she could for the Ogryn and hadn't seen anything unusual about his wound, but perhaps the Ogryn had simply exerted himself more than usual? She would get Hoog as much help as she could manage to scrape together once they got back.
"Uurgh," Hoog groaned, alarming Lysilla with just how slurred his voice sounded. She turned and looked closer at the Ogryn's face and was shocked by just how pale and an almost sickly yellow it was. He looked almost diseased. She hadn't been watching him during their journey, not noticing his worsening state.
"Hoog?" Lysilla said, but the Ogryn just stumbled toward the wall, slumping against it with enough force to send vibrations through the rockcrete and ceramite. "Hoog, talk to me, buddy."
"Huuruu," Hoog murmured. His face was slump, his eyes drooping as though he were about to fall asleep. She would have thought him just exhausted were it not for his skin's change. "Tyyy-duh… suuuaaayyy… sluueep…"
"What?" Lysilla asked, reaching out to tap the giant on the shoulder. Her hand froze, inches away from the mutant, when she realized what had happened.
Lysilla yelped in terror, her hands scrambling for her stubber, but it was too late. The massive hand of what had once been Hoog snapped out with far more speed and dexterity than any ogryn should have possessed and wrapped around her arms and waist, holding her tight.
Lysilla froze as she was picked up off the ground like a doll, her legs dangling under her, her torso and arms held in an iron grip that, while not crushing, was still unbreakable. The ogryn's body rose to his feet, none of the weariness from before showing, his eyes open and alert, yet possessing none of the dumb warmth of Hoog, only the same vacant stare that Crick's had been like.
"Hoog, please!" Lysilla begged, not knowing if anything of the Ogryn was even left. Any moment, she expected to feel the hand tighten and crush her, bones and organs exploding like Crick had.
Hoog's head tilted, almost as if he understood her words and a spark of hope was lit in her. That died when she heard the thing speak. It was Hoog's voice, but it was not the Ogryn who spoke.
"Hoog's indisposed for the moment," The thing said, and it was a strange horror on top of everything else to hear such a deep and sluggish voice speak so eloquently. "I think he deserves the rest, don't you?"
Lysilla wanted to scream, but she choked on the sound. The Ogryn just stared at her with an incomprehensible look on Hoog's face, before turning and walking away with her in hand.
Walking back towards where they had come from.
"No, no, no!" Lysilla shouted, tears streaming down her eyes. Her legs lashed out and kicked at the mutant, her arms struggled to open even a small gap in the behemoth's grasp, but it was all useless. She strained her hand and tried to bring her hip up so she could reach her stubber, but the thing that wasn't Hoog merely clicked its tongue or tried to anyways, the result sounding more like a wet squelch. Ogryn tongues were not meant for some things.
"Now, now, no need for that," The thing said, its other hand reaching around and, with more delicacy than an Ogryn had any right to possess, plucked her stubber out of its holster, stuffing it down one of the massive pockets of Hoog's pants. "Sorry about the other two, I didn't have any spiders or pods around. I'd have kept them alive if I could. Well… that was the intent, before you burned me."
The anger in the Ogryn's voice was accompanied by a slight tightening of his grip, crushing the air from Lysilla's lungs. It lasted only a moment before it relented.
Lysilla bowed her head, whispering words of supplication in between quiet sobs, praying for the first time in seven years. She asked, begged the God-Emperor to save her, to intervene and destroy whatever monster this was. She promised she would go and join the Guard like she'd been expected to, live her life in utter devotion, if He would just save her from this monster.
But no one answered.
"Here we are," Hoog said after a short walk. Lysilla looked up, blinking away her tears, but she couldn't see anything. The lamp packs were off and the darkness reigned here. She could barely see the hand still holding her in its iron grip and heard almost nothing. Even the changed Ogryn's heavy breathing was subdued.
Then, she heard the scurrying, the taptaptap of small, thin legs rapidly hitting rockrete, coming closer and closer. She tried to keep praying, but her sobs made her choke on the words.
She screamed as she felt something leap up onto her leg and begin crawling upwards, something with many limbs. She flailed and kicked, but it was nimble and she could not dislodge it. The feeling of it disappeared when it reached Hoog's hand, but she knew it would return soon.
She screamed and screamed and screamed, until her screaming was silenced as something tore out her throat.
Lysilla jerked awake, panting and caked in sweat, her face pale as death, her hand immediately going to the stubber resting in its holster.
Grease glanced up at her, grunting a wordless question. He was working on the flamer, performing maintenance. Farther away, Hoog was lying on the floor, massive chest slowly rising and falling in the even breaths of sleep.
"I-! I-!" Lysilla stuttered in confusion and fear, her eyes wild and going everywhere. "W-what was-"
Grease just grunted again, shaking his head as if annoyed.
It was just a nightmare. The realization hit her like a blast of warm air and she slumped against the wall, trying to get her breathing under control even as she began to laugh.
Everything had just been a dream. Hoog and Grease were alive, and Crick was probably skulking about somewhere, but what had really happened?
The memories flooded back into her. They'd gone to investigate weird reports about the expanding wasps. Turned out, two new wasp hives had moved into the area in addition to the old one. It was unusual, sure, but nothing bad. A simple thing to take care of or just ignore.
Nothing like her dream had been, like… Like what?
The dream's contents were already fading from her memory, and she shook her head, chuckling a little at the childishness of a bad dream getting her so worked up. It was a good thing Crick hadn't seen her or he'd be mocking her the rest of the trip back.
"Wake Hoog, would you?" She said to Grease, who just nodded. "I'll find Crick. We should get moving again soon."
Lysilla stood and stretched, wondering if she had slept strangely. Her neck was oddly sore, but she just rolled her head a few times and the strange feeling went away.
"The Boss will be pleased, huh?" She said with a wry grin to Grease, who grunted affirmatively. "I don't know what he's so worried about. There's never anything new in the Underhive."
