Captured

The smoke of battle had yet to clear. Amid the cheers of victory, the Spartans found themselves surrounded by Imperial forces.

The Ultramarines trained their weapons on them, the clicks of Bolters being chambered clearly audible.

"Lay down your weapons and submit to inspection." A blue-armored warrior issued the command coldly, his gaze beneath the helmet wary and icy.

The Spartan Squad members instantly aimed their weapons at the allies who had fought beside them moments ago.

After a moment of silence, Carter raised a hand to signal his squad not to resist. They all understood the situation. Any sacrifice now would be pointless.

"Noble Squad, execute the non-resistance protocol."

The locking mechanisms of the MJOLNIR Armor disengaged. Six suits of powered armor were roughly stripped away by Imperial soldiers, while the Archmagos's servitors immediately stepped forward and clamped psychic-nullifying shackles around their wrists.

"Genetic sample collection commencing." A Tech-Priest extended a mechanical tendril, piercing Carter's arm and drawing blood.

"Warning: abnormal genetic sequence detected." The scanner on the mechanical tendril flashed red. "Purity... 99.9%. No mutations. No traces of corruption."

The mechanical eye of the Archmagos, Cawl Belisarius, abruptly contracted as streams of data raced wildly across his visual interface.

"This is impossible..." he murmured. "Humans... cannot possibly still possess genes like these."

Inquisitor Greyfax strode over, her gaze as sharp as a blade.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "Which traitor legion do you come from? Or are you heretical constructs?"

Carter did not answer. He merely stood there in silence.

"Not talking?" Greyfax sneered. "Fine. I have plenty of ways to make you speak."

She raised a hand in signal, and two Sisters of Battle stepped forward, their shock whips crackling.

"Enough."

A clear, cool voice interrupted the Inquisitor.

Saint Celestine slowly approached, her golden wings drawing in slightly. Her gaze fell upon the Spartans, carrying an indescribable complexity.

"Their souls... bear no taint," she said softly. "At the very least, they are not enemies."

Greyfax frowned. "Living Saint, you are being too merciful. Their armor technology does not belong to the Imperium, and their genes are highly abnormal. They must be thoroughly investigated!"

Celestine did not respond. She merely looked into the distance—Guilliman was walking toward them.

Temporary Interrogation Room

The Spartans were held in a crude cell. The walls were forged from heavy Adamantium, making escape impossible.

"The communications channel is still unresponsive," Jane said quietly. "The Hilling Empire... has not answered."

"We've been cut off." Emile clenched his fists. "It could be warp transit, or perhaps..."

"They abandoned us?" Jorge joked.

"Shut up." Carter cut him off. "Don't make jokes like that."

He lifted his head and looked toward the surveillance device in the corner of the cell.

"They're listening."

Footsteps sounded outside the door, the heavy tread of powered armor drawing nearer.

The Primarch had come.

The cell door opened, and the towering figure of Roboute Guilliman stepped into the room. His icy gaze swept over every Spartan.

"Now," he said, his voice low and authoritative, "tell me who you are."

Carter took a deep breath and slowly straightened.

"Noble Squad, Seventh Special Operations Unit of the Reach Defense Force, Hilling Empire."

"The Hilling Empire?" Guilliman narrowed his eyes slightly. "I have never heard of this power, and your language is remarkably similar to that of the Imperium of Man."

Carter remained silent.

"Your armor technology, your genetic purity... none of it belongs to this era," Guilliman continued. "Where do you come from? Or are you... heretical constructs?"

"We serve the Hilling Emperor," Carter replied. "That is all."

Guilliman stared at him as if trying to see through his soul.

"Very well." At last, the Primarch turned and left. "I will find the answers."

The cell door closed again, and the Spartans fell silent.

They were truly alone now.

Guilliman, Celestine, Inquisitor Greyfax, and the Archmagos Cawl Belisarius sat around a hololithic table, the surveillance feed frozen on the Spartans' cell.

"The Hilling Empire..." Guilliman repeated the unfamiliar name quietly, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop. "It has never appeared in any Imperial record."

The holographic display shifted, and analysis data on the MJOLNIR Armor appeared before them.

"Armor technology analysis complete." Cawl's mechanical voice was calm and unchanging. "Its materials are close to Imperial standards, but its manufacturing process is exceptionally precise. The efficiency of its energy core exceeds standard power armor by 37.8%."

Greyfax narrowed her eyes. "So their technology is not more advanced than ours?"

"No." Cawl's mechanical eye flickered. "Their technology is different. It leans more toward 'balanced optimization' than 'breakthrough innovation.'" He paused. "Simply put, their armor pushes existing technology to its limits in the most extravagant way possible."

"The cost?" Guilliman asked.

"The value of one such suit of armor would be enough to equip a Cadian company."

The room fell into brief silence.

"Then this 'Hilling Empire'..." Celestine spoke softly. "How vast is it, exactly?"

Cawl brought up new data. "Judging from their unit designation, 'Seventh Special Operations Unit of the Reach Defense Force,' if measured by Imperial organizational standards..."

The holographic display expanded, simulating a massive fleet.

"It spans at least several sectors, with military strength no less than that of a newly founded Chapter."

Greyfax sneered. "Or they are bluffing."

Guilliman did not respond. His gaze returned to the surveillance feed.

"What are they waiting for?" he suddenly asked.

In the image, the Spartans sat motionless, but Carter's fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee—some kind of code?

Cawl's mechanical tendrils trembled slightly.

He had concealed something.

The AI core of the MJOLNIR Armor was Abominable Intelligence.

Pure, highly autonomous machine thought, utterly against the doctrines of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

If this were revealed, the Spartans would immediately be branded heretics and executed on the spot.

But Cawl said nothing.

Deep within his streams of data, a deeper calculation was running...

Inside the cell

Carter's fingers tapped against his knee with precise rhythm.

Morse Code.

[Armor has activated the backup protocol]

Emile nodded slightly, responding with his knuckles tapping softly against the floor.

[Countdown until AI takeover?]

Carter: [3 hours]

The corner of Jorge's mouth lifted almost imperceptibly.

The AI of the MJOLNIR Armor had never truly gone offline.

It had merely been waiting for the right moment.