Imperial Frontier: Approaching the Truth

Generally speaking, the factories of the Imperium of Man share a common trait: to put it simply, they are big. And they are goddamn massive.

Each factory is practically a small city, with giant boilers and casting lines extending in every direction.

Beneath the colossal artificial metal vaults, the roar of machinery and the rhythmic thud of spindles echo incessantly, reverberating through the vast workshops, corridors, and halls, churning out countless human creations day after day, year after year.

This is hardly surprising, is it? Even for civilian equipment factories, given the Imperium's vast population and territorial scale, even if one were to convert an entire planet into an Adeptus Mechanicus forge world, it would still be insufficient—to say nothing of the military production capacity required for the eternal wars raging across the dark galaxy.

One must also consider the wars spreading across the galaxy, which consume countless resources at every moment; entire planets are turned into seas of fire, and the foundries upon them bid farewell to the Imperium along with the worlds themselves.

Thus, the Administratum, the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the Departmento Munitorum are always finding ways to compensate. With the lack of legitimate imperial factory output, and under the "great" management of imperial administrators, many of these "illegal factories" in the lower and middle hives, controlled by gangs, have become precious alternatives.

The absurdity, however, is that the factories in the imperial underhive actually provide the vast majority of income for these gangs. Through violent management and the exploitation of workers, many gang leaders have transformed themselves into members of the imperial elite.

Well, it seems the previous imperial elites entered this circle in much the same way. Oh, the Imperium is as familiar as ever.

Yet, once upon a time, a sage of ancient Terra said that where there is oppression, there is resistance, and that is clearly the case here as well.

Workers walk through the lower levels of the factory, amidst those casting workshops that have been silent for who knows how many years. Grey-black machines stand silently in the murky darkness on both sides; these Machine Spirits wait to be awakened after their long slumber.

But these workers have not come to awaken the Machine Spirits; they are here to attend a gathering, a religious assembly held in the underground corridors of the Hammer Factory.

The workers walk down the long corridor to its end, where a group of them arrive before an arched gate, blocked by dozens of workers armed with kinetic rifles and lasguns.

With yellow armbands depicting a pair of coiled snakes, the guards demand, "Who are you?" "A soul, a lost soul." "Why have you come?" "To listen to the truth." "Why listen?" "To embark upon the path of the Lord of Redemption."

The two workers embrace, and the armed men signal for them to pass. "Enter, my brother, may the Lord of Redemption protect you." "May He protect you as well, brother."

They pass through the archway into a vast underground space where a large number of workers have already gathered. Some carry guns, others short blades or metal pipes. They gather to greet and embrace one another, decorating every corner with psalms praising their deity and prayer candles.

This dim underground "chapel" is illuminated by thousands of candle flames, the orange-red prayer papers reflecting a faint luster.

The believers gather here, and as the bell tolls, they look upward. Thousands of eyes gaze toward the far end of the steam pipes and hydraulic drive shafts. On the podium where foremen once issued orders, a preacher draped in grey robes, with a shimmering silver chain hanging around his neck, steps up.

Surrounding him are many other priests, also dressed in grey robes, their faces hidden beneath their hoods.

The preacher removes his hood, stands before the crowd, and shouts, "My brothers in faith! You have heard the voice of the deity!"

The preacher bellows, his voice so resonant that it echoes, reverberates, and amplifies throughout the enclosed metal space without the need for any amplification equipment.

"You have seen the path of redemption! Tell me! Have you seen that great other shore?! Have you seen the great dawn where there is no more suffering?!"

The audience below erupts into violent cheers, shouting with a hysteria typical of religious fanatics.

"My brothers and I are deeply honored to be here, with our humble bodies, to spread the radiance of redemption to this dark corner! But fear not, brothers, the Lord of Redemption has arrived! I have heard His voice at the edge of the universe! His redemption, His radiance, and His hope shall return to this dark corner!"

Red smoke begins to permeate the area. The silent priests open gas canisters, and the valves spray a massive amount of pink dust, which fills the entire hall in an instant.

Another wave of cheers erupts. The workers scream hysterically, their faces coated in pink dust, their eyes bloodshot. Countless gun barrels and weapons are raised high, forming a surging ocean alongside a sea of arms.

"There shall be no more suffering! No more suspicion! We shall finally embark upon the great rise! And now, to welcome the Lord of Redemption and His angels, you must take back what belongs to all of this, and offer everything to the great Lord, for only then can you achieve true redemption!"

"Go! Take the factory! Use your weapons and your faith to take the factory, and slaughter those greedy and pathetic heretics! Take all of this for the Lord of Redemption!"

Mosley—of course it was him—shouts, his hand beneath his wide robe pointing toward the numerous exits. A roar erupts among the workers, a roar bordering on the bestial. They surge toward the exits like a collapsed levee, thousands of guns and blunt weapons clashing together. Gunfire, the sound of impacts, and footsteps that shake the earth echo out.

Mosley turns to look at the silent priests. "Go, my brothers of the family. Leave only our young initiates to open the underground passage with me. As for the rest, offer up slaughter for the Lord of Redemption."

The priests, taller and more robust than ordinary men, nod slightly. They walk toward the exits, heading into the killing field without carrying any weapons—or perhaps, they themselves are the weapons, terrifying weapons of faith.

Mosley and the two remaining priests nod to each other, then head toward the passage behind the podium.

Gunfire and battle cries soon erupt overhead. Mosley walks through the tunnel, a satisfied smile on his face. Everything is going as he expected; his army of the faithful will take the factory, and with the help of his family brothers, they will seize everything before that arrogant idiot Vito.

He will prove that only he, Mosley! The listener of the deity's words and their chosen one, only he can lead the masses toward the path of redemption and be the first to receive the greatest redemption before the deity!

Trembling with excitement, Mosley arrives before a gate. He nods slightly to the young priest, who walks to a gas valve and, with his companion, turns the wheel with immense force.

As the red metal valve turns, a rush of negative-pressure gas sprays from the exhaust port. Heavy mechanical locks begin to move before Mosley's eyes. With a roar and a clatter, the ancient metal gate slowly slides to the side, opening the path into this unknown underground tunnel.

Mosley steps out of the gate with a sarcastic smile. He had expected to find Vito and his impious subordinates waiting for him, but the reality is entirely different—or rather, the exact opposite.

Mosley looks around the underground tunnel in extreme confusion. There is no one between the walls; the empty tunnel is silent, appearing to be a completely dead space.

The Grand Preacher turns his head to meet the eyes of the two equally bewildered priests, but their confusion is quickly dispelled. The sound of clapping echoes through the tunnel, and a man walks out, wearing his signature smile.

"Right on time, Mosley, right on time," Vito says, standing at the front of the tunnel. Mosley walks furiously into the depths of the tunnel, heading straight for Vito. "Where are your people? By the Lord of Redemption! My believers are fighting a bloody battle above! Send your men to help them!"

"Don't worry, they will go, but there's a slight change in the plan that I haven't had a chance to tell you about yet." "A slight change? What slight change?"

Vito smiles slightly and snaps his fingers. "This."

Suddenly, another figure appears from the dark corner behind Mosley. The slender figure raises a shotgun and fires twice, shattering the head of the young priest following him.

Mosley is horrified. He turns his head to see the gunman, and upon recognizing her, his fury boils over, veins bulging on his forehead. "Silver Snake! Vito! What exactly are you planning?!"

Vito smiles and shrugs slightly. "I've prepared a casualty list. You see, on the list of those who unfortunately died in this factory battle, there is one name: Grand Preacher Mosley."

Mosley realizes what is happening and roars, a sound like a beast rising from his throat. "Traitor! Shameful betrayal! I will kill you!"

Before Mosley's words even fade, he charges, his speed so great that it is difficult to track his movements. He rushes to Vito in a flash and raises his palm—no, his claws!

His fingers have somehow become incredibly long and sharp, completely transformed into a mutated claw form. He lunges for Vito's throat, but at that very moment, Vito reacts with impossible speed and force, punching him in the chin.

Mosley is sent flying, crashing into the wall on the side. He lands, roars, and lunges at Vito again. This time, the latter turns quickly, dodging Mosley's pounce. Vito spins around and kicks the preacher in the face with a boot inlaid with silver plates. Several teeth shatter and fly out, and the preacher rolls repeatedly before he can crawl back up.

No, he is crawling on the ground, shrieking in an inhuman voice. His face begins to lose its human shape, becoming a twisted visage akin to a Chaos mutation.

Vito frowns. In the few milliseconds he spends pondering what kind of mutation this is, Mosley suddenly turns his head violently, looks at Silver Snake, and then roars as he sprints toward her.

Silver Snake started in alarm and raised her shotgun to fire continuously, but clearly, without any attachments, Silver Snake could not hit a target moving at such high speed; all three shots went wide.

Mosley lunged forward, knocking the shotgun away in one motion, then used his sharp claws to tear the strap of Silver Snake's face mask; the leather strap snapped instantly, and the mask flew off.

Almost immediately, Silver Snake began to cough violently, clutching her throat as she struggled to breathe, but Mosley did not stop; he tackled Silver Snake to the ground and pinned her arms with his massive claws.

The mutant roared, his claws beginning to contract in size, and the beautiful bartender let out a scream; she watched her own arm, and bone conduction allowed her to both hear and feel the sound of her bones snapping.

But her voice was quickly choked off because she could barely breathe; her eyes began to cloud and bloodshot, and the violent coughing intensified the pain.

Mosley raised a claw, his sharp teeth aimed at Silver Snake's throat, "Die! You bitch!"

"The one who should die is you, remember?" a voice said from behind, but before Mosley could even turn his head, the back of his skull was gripped, and Vito threw him over his shoulder with a single hand, slamming him into the ground.

The concrete floor cracked instantly, and furthermore, a violent surge of electricity shot from Vito's palm; Mosley wailed and shrieked, his limbs twitching and convulsing hysterically.

Lightning arced continuously across the ground around him as Vito glared at the mutant before him, raising his other fist to smash into his face like a cannonball; his head struck the ground with the force of a shell, creating a small, shallow crater before he fell completely unconscious.

Vito did not linger, immediately turning to grab the respirator from the ground and returning to Silver Snake's side to place it back onto her face; instantly, the intake valve began to function, and she stopped coughing, able to breathe once more.

She pressed the valve with her remaining hand and sat up with Vito's assistance, leaning weakly against Vito's chest, her right arm hanging limp at her side.

Vito cursed under his breath, suddenly hearing the sound of metal footsteps striking the ground, and drew his Bolter with lightning speed to point it at the source of the sound—the figure draped in red robes.

"Vito, she requires medical attention," a mechanical voice stated. "No shit, I can see that. If you were here, couldn't you have helped sooner? Omega."

The Tech-Priest's eyes flickered with data-glints; behind him, several mechanical arms—one of which was stained with blood—retracted back under his robes, and another mechanical hand reached out, equipped with an injector.

"Behind the archway, from the factory, clearly others were searching. Missionary Mosley. They were coming from inside the plant; I intercepted them."

Omega knelt down and injected the syringe into Silver Snake's arm; her pained expression gradually calmed, and faint cracking sounds emanated from her arm.

Vito raised an eyebrow slightly. "Mandela Serum? Did Bell tell you to bring it?" "Correct. Bell reasoned that, given your characteristic style of operation, you would require field medicine, so he instructed me to carry it."

Omega's eyes scanned Silver Snake before he stood up. "She will be fine. The Mandela Serum has already begun to take effect. Her bones will recover within a week. Praise The Emperor and the Omnissiah."

Vito sighed and scooped Silver Snake up; the latter cursed under her breath, clearly still feeling the effects of the pain, and Vito gave a wry smile. "This date isn't going so well." "I can tell."

Silver Snake also gave a bitter laugh, resting her head against Vito's chest. "Let's go back; I need a drink." "Me too. And I have some questions for Mosley. Omega, help me carry him."

As he spoke, Vito turned his head to look at the priest's corpse in the distance. "And dispose of them."

The Tech-Priest extended his mechanical arms from beneath his robes; one of them spewed forth flames, instantly igniting the two corpses, while the other arms dragged the now-enlarged Mosley along behind Vito as the group vanished into the tunnel.