The office affairs were being handled by the experienced Secretary Bernard, Henry Harvey, and the Lieutenant Commander, among others.
Horatio, on the other hand, led a portion of the people out to carry out orders and enforce the law impartially.
He had Harvey allocate a squad of Hellspawns to wait in plain clothes, led by Louise, planning for an initial covert deployment.
As the special commissioner for this law enforcement action, he openly wore his Naval Officer uniform, intending to close the net himself once the Hellspawns had the situation under control.
Three neat and upright rows of Navy Guard were particularly striking; this was the encirclement squadron he was responsible for leading.
These men and women were all elites selected from various battalions, their uniforms adorned with sashes and epaulets more than those of ordinary Naval Infantry, making them look more imposing and noble.
Wearing polished, gleaming carapace breastplates, they immediately gave off a reliable and solid sense of security.
It was no wonder the generals would have them serve as their guard.
The firearms issued were also of high quality; every gun was regularly maintained and cleaned by the Adeptus Mechanicus, and for this operation, every squad even had a two-person heavy weapon team for firepower.
They were responsible for setting up heavy weapons to blockade the streets when the officers led the seizure, to prevent any sudden incidents that might threaten the special commissioner's life.
"Report, sir, the Navy Guard has assembled!" a red-clad Sergeant in a meticulously tailored uniform saluted Horatio.
These red-clad Guards, whose uniforms resembled those of the British Royal Navy Marines, maintained strict military discipline.
Their good family backgrounds, rigorous selection process, ample logistical supply, and daily punctual drills imbued them with an aura of glory and pride.
They paid extreme attention to their military appearance, keeping themselves impeccably tidy, and their eyes, which always seemed to hold iron, visibly demonstrated their outstanding discipline.
This was quite different from the Voidsmen-at-Arms on Imperial Navy warships, who had the rough-and-tumble demeanor of Sailors.
Horatio learned from his training officer that they had an advantage over the Voidsmen-at-Arms, and it was this advantage that allowed them to surpass the Imperial Navy Sailors and earn the honor of serving as the general's guard.
None of these Soldiers, who grew up and were trained on the planet, were Void Children with physical mutations, so their resistance to the Warp was higher.
To facilitate replenishment, nearly half of the Voidsmen-at-Arms were directly promoted from the ship's Sailors.
Long-term void life had caused some physiological mutations in their bodies to varying degrees.
For warships that frequently needed to navigate the Warp, this was a potential risk of corruption and rebellion that had to be borne.
Therefore, each capital ship's bridge was assigned a company of Navy Guard, all selected from land-born individuals, unrelated by blood to the crew, and rotated for each voyage, cutting off any communication between the two sides from the source.
They were only responsible for ensuring the bridge remained under the control of the Imperial Navy; other matters on the warship were none of their concern.
Especially after the recent Sailor mutiny and the assassination of Lieutenant General Hood, the Imperial Navy had become exceptionally paranoid in recent days.
Whatever the reason, the Gothic Fleet would undoubtedly place more importance on and trust in these red-clad Guards for a long time to come.
"Guards, board now! We are going to pluck out those tongues that spread suspicion and slander."
Horatio was very satisfied with this spirited and vibrant team, and he delivered only a brief speech to the Soldiers.
"Yes, sir! Defend the glory of the Fleet!"
The Guard neatly divided into three columns and boarded the Avis Landing Craft.
The landing craft slowly took off, its pilot, belonging to the Naval Aviation Unit, skillfully operating the instruments. With the assistance of the thinker array, the engine's warm-up concluded precisely, refined promethium surged into the combustion chambers, and pale blue tail flames spewed from the jet nozzles, as the massive craft roared into the sky.
Although the Imperium of Man's official propaganda was rigid and dogmatic, with a strong atmosphere of ascetic and restrained religiosity, in the highly autonomous worlds, as a part of basic civilian needs, news and entertainment industries were still widely present within the Imperium, and their necessity and inevitability existed.
Those with means had access to information through television, radio, newspapers, and even the thinker array network.
Those with less means had entertainment venues like restaurants and bars, where people could chat and gossip, while also equipped with cathode ray tube televisions and radios.
And ordinary newspapers, costing two Yuan per copy, were the most common and inexpensive news source for Imperial citizens.
They were simple to print, used cheap materials, and required minimal equipment, space, and organization.
They were ubiquitous across the vast Hive City planets.
Those unregistered illegal printing presses often survived by printing hearsay and rumors.
And at a lower price, half or even a quarter of the cost of a regular newspaper, one could buy a copy with more stimulating content, enough to appeal to both the head and the loins, offering entertainment value and plenty of material for pub talk.
For these printing presses, they didn't need genuine news; they only needed to fabricate sensationalized "reasonable speculations" based on hot rumors, which was enough, saving them the interview costs associated with legitimate news agencies.
This further led to the extreme business model where printing presses themselves fostered 'rumor mongers.'
While it cannot be ruled out that there were indeed some truth-fighters who were dissatisfied with the Imperial planetary government's control over major media outlets and opposed the distortion of news, using these means to publish truths concealed by the planetary government.
However, most people who collaborated with these printing presses were outright rumor-mongers, conspirators, and critics.
They were responsible for twisting messages into controversial, eye-catching 'news'.
If there wasn't enough appealing news, they would fabricate news that could cause anxiety.
These individuals never cared about professional ethics or social impact, only about sales and profits.
These illegally disseminated publications would, to some extent, also become fodder for corruption, shaking the Imperium's foundations from another angle.
Now, they had seized upon a lucrative gimmick, profiting immensely from the bloodied reputation of Lieutenant General Hood.
But the Imperial Navy would not tolerate anyone running wild in their anchorage.
Moreover, this was the Gothic Sector, the homeport of the glorious Gothic Fleet! —
"Clear these areas out! Add a few more machines! Quick, quick."
A small Overseer imperiously shouted at the lean laborers nearby, his face, not much fuller than the laborers', flushed red with excitement from the extra bonuses promised by the boss recently.
The printing presses roared, churning out newspapers still stained with low-quality ink, flowing like a surging black and white stream.
The small Overseer picked up a newspaper with wet ink, which emitted a pungent and unpleasant chemical smell.
"Oh, so much big news, we're going to make a huge profit this time." Sales had surged, and the stingy boss's allowance had become slightly more generous. Feeling the recently issued overtime pay in his purse, he affectionately kissed the newspaper with his mouth and put it back in its place.
In an office behind the printing press.
"Thank you for providing these scoops; this news is incredibly valuable." A fat, big-eared middle-aged man, awkwardly dressed in attire deliberately mimicking the Upper Hive's trendy fashion, sat in a recliner, rubbing his greasy hands, grinning, a gold coin rolling in his palm, as he thanked the people providing information at the desk.
These individuals carried cameras and wore dark caps, looking like 'professional informants,' driven by greed and utterly devoid of ethics—paparazzi among paparazzi.
One of the paparazzi handed a list and some photos to the boss, saying:
"You can add these photos to the color edition; these are guaranteed to make your newspaper sell even better!"
The boss took the list and photos with his short, stubby fingers, scanning them one by one, his eyes instantly lighting up.
"Where did you get these good things?"
"Where I got them isn't important; what's important is that this will make us sell big."
The informant responsible for speaking also wore a common, mercenary expression, grinning slyly like a goblin.
Outside the factory building.
Louise led the Hellspawns, disguised as laborers, carrying boxes, attempting to infiltrate this illegal printing press hidden near the cargo area.
According to existing intelligence, this factory building was ostensibly a registered warehouse under a logistics transportation company, but in reality, it had long been converted into a hub for spreading rumors and scandals by unscrupulous, profit-driven merchants.
According to Horatio's plan, they were to catch these individuals red-handed, proving the cost-effectiveness, efficiency, and achievements of the newly established Special Operations Division to Lieutenant Commander Elphinstone, in order to gain more administrative and military convenience in the future.
To achieve this operational objective, the Hellspawns led by Louise would undertake the crucial vanguard infiltration mission.
Louise pulled the brim of her baseball cap further down, the large box she held against her chest effectively concealing her remarkable figure, which remained noticeable even when she wore a tactical sports bra.
The first two batches of Hellspawns had already infiltrated under her arrangements and instructions.
She followed with the last two team members, blending into the same flow of people.
"Oh, that's quite a shapely backside. When did we get such a shapely big butt around here?"
An Overseer passing by, his eyes lit up, reached out directly to pat Louise's buttocks.
Her icy, blade-like purple eyes beneath her cap brim stared intensely at his hand, then her body deftly dodged, causing the scoundrel to miss.
Louise's icy gaze and evasive movement annoyed the Overseer who had missed.
"Oh, you damn wage-earning tramp, you think you're tough now, do you?" he cursed through gritted teeth:
"Which line are you from, new female worker? Don't you damn know that how much you damn casual laborers get paid each week depends on my mood! A little slut acting like a saint."
He glared viciously and shoved the box in front of Louise, knocking it over.
Thud, the box rolled onto the ground, and the recycled paper inside spilled out with a rustle.
Immediately after.
Those large, ink-stained hands, with rough, bone-like skin, reached for Louise, intending to drag her into a nearby storage room to give her a 'harsh lesson.'