Prisoner 444

Hive World Terra Prime.

At the lowest level of the largest and oldest hive complex in the entire hive world, the Underhive, a war was raging.

Before the sole passage from the Underhive to the lower levels, the planetary defense forces had established a position. Soldiers of the 44th Infantry Regiment and their regimental commander, Burl, were stationed there.

"Scum, the army ahead of us is fighting the Cult of Evolution, and you're slacking off!"

"Hurry up and build supply points and fortifications, or I'll show you the sting of the whip!"

"Quick, quick, quick! We don't have much time to waste!"

Amidst Commander Burl's angry roars, the soldiers of the regiment sat in trenches dug from the metal ground, either eating or lying down to rest.

No soldier would disobey an officer's command, but Burl wasn't reprimanding soldiers; he was scolding another group of people.

It wasn't combat engineers busy at the position, but prisoners.

These prisoners were ragged and exhausted, laboring numbly under the furious shouts, pouring concrete for fortifications or carrying boxes.

Qin Mo was one of these prisoners.

His shirt had been worn into strips of cloth during the labor, and others could see the black markings on his upper body.

These black markings looked very strange. They were like tattoos on his flesh, but they appeared to be made of metal.

A collar was around Qin Mo's neck, with a tag labeled "Prisoner 444".

Unlike other prisoners, the collar on Qin Mo's neck was a psionic suppression collar, indicating he was an untrained psyker.

"We..."

"Master."

As Burl continued to roar, an old man holding a staff walked up to him and respectfully performed the Aquila salute.

"Kalon," Burl said, tilting his chin dismissively at his Psionic Servant. "You old fool always likes to interrupt me, and this time you'd better have a good reason."

At this moment, Qin Mo looked up at Burl and Kalon.

A psyker servant was quite rare.

The connection between the two was clearly deep. Kalon had interrupted Burl countless times on the position, yet Burl, despite his dissatisfaction, had never punished Kalon.

"They are very tired," Kalon said, his eyes sunken so deep that his pupils were invisible, looking at the prisoners. "We still need them as cannon fodder, so I suggest letting them rest for a while."

Burl raised an eyebrow, stared at Kalon for a few seconds, then turned his gaze towards Qin Mo.

No one could lie to Kalon. When he said these prisoners were very tired, he must have sensed it with his psychic abilities.

After a moment's thought, Burl slowly nodded in agreement.

Only then were the prisoners allowed a brief rest.

Immediately, a squad of logistics soldiers walked over and, with reluctant expressions, distributed food and water.

"Prisoner 444, your food."

Qin Mo received his rations and looked down, realizing it was the unique ration of Hive Terra, more advanced than starch.

There was no preferential treatment when it came to eating. Prisoners and soldiers ate and drank the same things, but this wasn't because Burl treated prisoners equally; it was simply because differential treatment was impossible.

When Qin Mo opened the ration box, he saw a square, white "candle" inside.

It looked like a candle.

And when Qin Mo scooped a spoonful of the "candle" into his mouth, he found that its texture and taste were worse than eating actual wax.

The candle-like solid food, once in the mouth, gave off a foul smell of rotten protein. Upon contact with saliva, it quickly turned to powder and stuck to the throat.

At this moment, one had to suppress the instinct to cough. A sudden inhale before coughing could draw the powder into the trachea.

After forcing himself to eat the food despite the discomfort, Qin Mo casually tossed the food container aside. He took out a somewhat tattered diary from his trouser pocket and carefully flipped through it.

It recorded everything that had happened since he transmigrated to the Warhammer Universe.

And the joys and sorrows he experienced in his original world before transmigrating to the Warhammer Universe... Qin Mo was afraid of forgetting these memories, as they provided a sliver of psychological comfort in his dark and hopeless life, preventing him from collapsing.

The contents of the diary were plain, just a mundane record.

The general format was: I, Qin Mo, used to do this and that; who my family and friends were; what happened in my childhood; what games I liked, what music I listened to.

These were the lives of ordinary people in the Terra 3K Era.

It was this plain and ordinary record that allowed Qin Mo, while in the filthy trenches, to display a genuine smile.

Qin Mo was so engrossed that he didn't even notice Burl and Kalon approaching him.

"..." After walking up and stopping in front of Qin Mo, Burl glanced sideways at his Psionic Servant.

Kalon also looked at Burl in silence.

An unspoken understanding existed between them; a single glance conveyed their thoughts.

Burl put his hands behind his back and lowered his head to look at his waist.

A chainsword hung there.

Burl swayed his body from side to side, and the chainsword swung with his movements, hitting Qin Mo's head.

"Hahaha," Burl laughed, enjoying the startle. When Qin Mo looked up at him, Burl saw hatred and rage in those deep black pupils.

The moment their eyes met, Burl even hallucinated, feeling as if he wasn't looking at a prisoner, but some ancient, terrifying entity among the stars.

"Psionics are all like this. Haha..." Burl forced a smile and then looked at Kalon.

Kalon raised his hand, and the notebook in Qin Mo's hand floated to him, allowing him to flip through it.

"What does it say? Is it some kind of hallucination unique to you psionics?" Burl asked.

"..." Kalon was silent for a moment, then shook his head, "I can't understand it."

Kalon saw that the writing in the notebook wasn't Gothic, but another language. The structure of this script was strange; it would be a miracle if anyone could understand it.

However, this script didn't seem... mad.

It was different from the bizarre, distorted writings that were carved everywhere by those who had just awakened their psionic powers and were subsequently corrupted.

At the very least, it could be preliminarily determined that although Qin Mo was an untrained psionic, he was still sane.

"Prisoner 444," Kalon returned the notebook to Qin Mo. "What were you arrested for?"

"I was arrested because a noble hunting in the Underhive took me as prey, and I turned him into charcoal," Qin Mo replied.

Kalon fell silent, his hollow eyes staring at Qin Mo as he used his psionic abilities to probe the psionic's mind.

Burl, waiting for a moment on the side, impatiently asked, "Is he telling the truth?"

"I don't know," Kalon shook his head. "I can't get into his head."

"Who cares? We need people right now anyway," Burl said eagerly.

Seeing them question him for reasons he didn't understand, Qin Mo had no idea what they wanted.

Kalon then provided the answer: "We need your combat ability. I have the key to the psionic suppression collar on your neck, and I will open it when necessary."