The gene template provided by Osiris was quickly loaded into the core cogitator of the Necromunda main data center.
This highly encrypted data packet, transmitted directly by the "Eternal Quest," contains complex matching parameters generated after comprehensive optimization based on the characteristics of a novel genetic seed.
The directive was not limited to the planetary governor's Office; the local branch of the Mechanicus and the Astra Militarum's dispatched agencies also simultaneously received joint authorization orders from Sigismund and Osiris, requiring all parties to fully cooperate with this selection process.
The screening scope covers the entire main hive and all its subordinate settlements within its radiation range.
The order was issued simultaneously through official announcements and the data network, and the wording was concise and solemn: The Imperial Fist Chapter is about to launch a new round of candidate selection procedures, which will adopt a brand-new evaluation standard. All eligible young men can register to participate in the preliminary genetic screening.
There was no grand propaganda campaign or fervent mobilization rallies, only the unique and unquestionable efficiency displayed by the empire's bureaucratic machine, driven by an iron will.
Multiple preliminary gene collection points were quickly set up within designated areas on each level of the hive.
Imperial civil servants in standard uniforms and apprentices of the Mechanicus's technical priests are responsible for operating simple yet precise gene sampling devices.
The entire process is quick and standardized—it only requires collecting a drop of blood or a small number of oral mucosal cells.
Each sample is immediately labeled with a unique identification code after collection, and then put into a dedicated pneumatic pipeline transport system to be transported to the main data center as quickly as possible, awaiting batch analysis.
The entire selection process adhered to an imperial-style ruthlessness and absoluteness.
Osiris set a gene matching threshold of 90%—an almost demanding standard. The goal was to precisely identify the very few special individuals who could generate the best biological resonance with the new gene seed from the vast population of hundreds of millions on this Hive City planet.
The selection process is like a merciless mirror, reflecting the survival landscape of this steel jungle at different levels.
The joint directive from the Imperial Fist and the Mechanicus has stirred up quite a few ripples in this hierarchical city.
In the upper level of the hive, exquisite crystal chandeliers hang from the arched ceiling, illuminating the spacious sampling hall.
The air was filled with the faint scent of disinfectant and the subtle aroma of high-end perfumes worn by the nobles.
Cesare Visconti stood on the smooth, mirror-like marble floor, wearing his finest deep blue velvet suit, the silver thread inlaid on the cuffs reflecting slightly under the light.
His father, Count Visconti the Elder, stood beside him, his sharp grey eyes scanning the other noble families around him as if assessing a rival.
"Head up, chest out, Cesare." The old count's voice was deep and steady. "Remember, you represent not only yourself, but also the Visconti family. To be chosen by the Imperial Fist is an unparalleled honor, and it will bring immeasurable influence to our family in the Senate."
Cesare nodded slightly, feeling that his palms were slightly damp.
He glanced at the group of young men from prominent families not far away. They were all dressed in fine clothes and had perfectly controlled their expressions, but their taut jawlines betrayed their inner tension.
"I understand, Father," he replied softly, his voice more steady than he had expected.
Deep down, he wasn't entirely without fear; he was somewhat apprehensive about the legendary, arduous process of Astartes transformation. However, a stronger desire overwhelmed this fear—a profound yearning for superhuman power, immortal achievements, and the consolidation of his family's authority.
When the cold sampling needle gently pierced his fingertip and squeezed out a drop of bright red blood, he didn't think of the pain, but rather of the shortcut to the pinnacle of power that this drop of blood might open.
A few days later, when a report with a matching accuracy of 92% was delivered to the Visconti family mansion via encrypted messenger, the old count's usually serious face showed a rare look of satisfaction.
He immediately summoned the family's captain of guards.
"From today onwards, double Cesare's guards," he ordered, then turned to the man standing beside him in a crisp former Imperial uniform. "Instructor von Kalck, please begin immediately on him physical and tactical pre-training to the highest standards. We need to ensure he is in perfect condition."
In the depths of the hive, news spread like mold through the damp, sunless alleyways.
There are no official announcements here, only secret whispers among gang members and vague information peddled by intelligence brokers.
The air was filled with the pungent smell of rust, rotting garbage, and substandard fuel.
Kax squatted beside a broken concrete pipe, polishing his well-maintained dagger, bearing family markings, by the light of a flickering fluorescent stone lamp.
His movements were fluid and precise, like a venomous snake before it hunts its prey.
"Have you heard, Kax?" A burly man with scars on his face, a minor gang leader, approached, his voice hoarse. "The big shots up there are looking for suitable sons to create 'angels.'" He chuckled, but there was no smile in his eyes. "They say that if you're chosen, you can leave this godforsaken place."
Kax raised his head, his eyes, which looked exceptionally bright in the dim light, remained completely still.
"Angels?" He scoffed, his tone carrying the sarcasm characteristic of the Underhive. "They're butchers who can kill even more aliens, aren't they?"
He sheathed his dagger, stood up, and patted his stained coarse cloth trousers.
Leave the hive. This thought pierced through the darkness he had been in like a beam of light.
He was tired of the endless fighting in the garbage dump for the next bite of synthetic food and gang territory, tired of constantly being on guard against being stabbed in the back.
Power, status, leaving this place... No matter how cruel the path of the "angel" may be, can it be worse than rotting silently like a rat here, or being torn to pieces by a slingshot in some shootout?
When the mobile sampling point—a metal box filled with pipes operated by a few expressionless technical priest apprentices—appeared in his usual area, Kax was one of the first to step forward.
The sampling process was simple and crude, far less sophisticated than that of the upper hives.
He wiped away the bit of sticky residue left by the wrist sensor when it touched his skin with his rough fingers, staring at the rudimentary data panel displaying the matching results.
The green characters flashing on the screen confirmed that he met the requirements.
At that moment, he felt no ecstasy, only a cold resolve.
He barely hesitated before turning and disappearing into the shadows behind him, beginning preparations to leave this steel hell that he both hated and knew so well.