Terra, Lion's Gate Spaceport.
A silver-gray transport ship sat quietly in civilian berth D-91. The vessel was completely unremarkable, blending into the thousands of ships coming and going like a single drop of water in the ocean.
Ten silver figures stood in a neat formation right by the boarding ramp. They were all wearing the exact same pattern of power armor. It wasn't the incredibly bulky ceramite plate of the Astartes, but a highly crafted, masterwork model designed to be lighter and perfectly contoured to an ordinary human frame. The armor plates gleamed with a cold, hard metallic sheen under the spaceport's floodlights, the twin-headed Imperial Aquila on their chests shining brightly.
Vance stood at the very front of the formation. The silver power armor fit his body flawlessly. A power sword hung from his left hip, with a bolter secured on his right. Over a month of grueling training had completely transformed his posture. His back was as straight as a pine tree, and his gaze was as sharp as a hawk's.
Behind him stood nine native Imperial soldiers, also clad in silver power armor, waiting in dead silence. These men and women hailed from all sorts of different worlds across the Imperium, bearing different skin tones and accents. But they all shared the exact same fire in their eyes. It was the fierce pride of being personally chosen by the Emperor, matched with a solemn, unyielding dedication to the mission ahead.
And behind them, twenty men and women in black uniforms were craning their necks, looking around the spaceport like eager tourists.
[Regional Channel (Light of the Imperium)]
[Love Me Some Grox Meat]: "Holy shit!"
[Love Me Some Grox Meat]: "Vance is so freaking badass!!"
[Love Me Some Grox Meat]: "As expected of the top dog sent by the Imperial faction of the Emperor's Children!!"
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "We're seriously riding his coattails now!"
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "We were just screwing around in the mid-hive factories of the Eternal City, totally regretting coming to Terra!"
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "Who knew Vance would hit the big time so fast!"
[Dedicate My Heart to the Emperor]: "Bro, did you seriously meet Valdor?"
[Dedicate My Heart to the Emperor]: "How was it?"
[Dedicate My Heart to the Emperor]: "Is the First Captain-General of the Custodes as badass as he sounds?"
Vance stared at the chat feed, the twitch at the corner of his mouth growing worse.
What the hell was he supposed to say?
That on his very first day on Terra, he was personally apprehended by Valdor? That he was then inexplicably dragged off to meet the Emperor? Inexplicably forced through Adeptus Custodes boot camp? Inexplicably pumped full of genetic enhancement serums? And finally, inexplicably handed a suicide mission to dig up evidence of an Archmagos of the Mechanicus embezzling resources?
He kept his reply in the chat completely casual:
[Vance]: "I met him."
[Vance]: "Captain-General Valdor is about three and a half meters tall, wields the Apollonian Spear, and his combat power is absolutely insane."
He paused. His mind flashed back to those agonizing weeks in the Custodes training camp where Valdor practically beat him to death on a daily basis. He remembered the unreadable, emotionless golden faceplate staring down at him every single time the tip of the Apollonian Spear was pressed against his throat. He remembered the very last day of training, when Valdor actually broke character just to say, Not bad.
"As for the Emperor..." Vance took a deep breath, his fingers slowly typing out the next line.
[Vance]: "I can only say... he is absolute perfection."
[Vance]: "There are no other words to describe it."
The channel went dead silent for a full second.
Then, it completely blew up.
[Love Me Some Grox Meat]: "HOLY SHIT!!"
[Love Me Some Grox Meat]: "Vance, you actually met the Emperor?!"
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "I am so incredibly jealous, bro!!"
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "I wanna meet the Emperor too!!"
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "I want power armor too!!"
[Dedicate My Heart to the Emperor]: "When you saw him, what did the old man say?"
[Dedicate My Heart to the Emperor]: "Did he pat you on the head?"
[Dedicate My Heart to the Emperor]: "Did he give you a compliment?"
[Sanguinius's Little Vampire]: "Is the Emperor hot?! Is he even hotter than Sanguinius?!"
[Hey Kid Need a Job Room and Board Included]: "Did the Emperor bless you?! Did he transfer some crazy psychic powers to you?!"
Vance looked at the flood of pure, unadulterated jealousy in the channel and couldn't help but laugh out loud.
He fired back in the chat:
[Vance]: "If you guys want power armor and an audience with the Emperor..."
[Vance]: "Then you better bust your asses on this op."
[Vance]: "The mission is to head to the Voss Forge World and dig up proof of corruption against an Archmagos."
[Vance]: "These nine native Imperial soldiers can't be treated as cannon fodder, which means you guys are the primary task force this time around."
The channel went dead silent again.
[Love Me Some Grox Meat]: "Yikes..."
[Never Yield to the Blade]: "This mission... feels a little too lore-accurate for Warhammer."
[I Wanna Marry the Emperor's Bride]: "It's a freaking Archmagos!"
[I Wanna Marry the Emperor's Bride]: "He has a Skitarii legion and an entire Forge World under his command."
[I Wanna Marry the Emperor's Bride]: "He has his own damn fleet!"
[I Wanna Marry the Emperor's Bride]: "And thirty of us are supposed to investigate him?"
[Hey Kid Need a Job Room and Board Included]: "I'm reporting this! This difficulty spike is bullshit!"
Vance didn't bother replying. He simply closed the chat, turned around, and walked into the transport ship's cabin. The twenty players trailed right behind him, still chattering away like a flock of birds.
The transport's cabin wasn't huge. A few rows of basic metal seats were bolted right into the bulkheads, and through the portholes, you could see the breathtaking steel architecture of the Lion's Gate. Vance walked over to a window seat and strapped himself in.
The nine native Imperial operatives, also decked out in silver power armor, had already taken their seats. They sat ramrod straight, their eyes locked dead ahead. It was a stark contrast to the bunch of players who were still rubbernecking at everything in sight.
Vance swept his gaze over them. Nine people, five men and four women, ranging in age from their early twenties to late thirties. Every single one of them was a genetically enhanced super-soldier straight out of the Custodes training camps, boasting strength and speed far beyond any normal human. They were the heavy hitters for this mission.
But the actual primary force...
Vance glanced over at the mob of players who were still excitedly debating their odds, the corner of his mouth ticking up into a smirk.
The Imperial operative sitting next to Vance suddenly leaned over. He was a guy who looked to be in his thirties, sporting rugged features and a clean, high-and-tight haircut. His silver power armor featured a single golden stripe that the others lacked, marking him as the squad's second-in-command. His name was Victor, hands-down the most lethal fighter of the nine, rumored to hail from some brutal frontier world.
"Captain Stellan." Victor kept his voice extremely low. He shot a dubious look at the players, who were currently waving their arms around and acting out scenarios, his brow furrowing. "Are you absolutely certain these people can coordinate with us to pull off this mission?"
He paused, a heavy thread of unconcealed doubt bleeding into his tone.
"They've been whispering and giggling this entire time, making so many exaggerated faces they look like they're pantomiming. I've analyzed their posture and eye movement—they haven't had a single day of formal military training. Why do I get the feeling they're... totally unreliable?"
The other eight squad members didn't say a word, but their eyes were firmly locked on Vance too.
Vance turned to look at Victor, his eyes totally serene and reassuring.
"Just ignore them," Vance said softly, though his voice carried absolute certainty. "Relax. When the time comes for them to be reliable, they'll pull their weight."
He paused, then added, "Besides, they're the main investigative force for this op. You guys just need to focus on playing to your strengths."
The moment he said that, all nine Imperial operatives totally froze.
The second-in-command's frown deepened. He looked back over at the players. Right at this moment, they were huddled together, loudly arguing over completely incomprehensible garbage like "gacha pulls," "RNG gods," and "trash drop rates."
He looked back at Vance, utter bewilderment written all over his face.
"They... are the main force?" he asked, practically choking on his own disbelief.
The other eight operatives traded blank looks. They were all rigorously trained, heavily enhanced supersoldiers. They had crawled through mud and blood in the boot camps for countless days and nights just to earn the right to deploy on this mission. And now their captain was telling them that this mob of undisciplined, bizarre-acting lunatics were the heavy hitters?
If the drill instructors hadn't drilled it into their heads right before deployment that Stellan was the commanding officer and they had to follow his orders unconditionally... If their deep-seated loyalty to the Emperor wasn't so absolute... they seriously would have stood up right then and there and demanded to know exactly what the hell their captain was smoking.
But since the instructors said to obey Stellan, they'd obey Stellan. Anyway... unyielding loyalty to the Imperium and absolute obedience to orders was a soldier's sacred duty.
Vance didn't bother trying to explain it. He just smiled and turned his attention back to the porthole.