The voidships that snuck through the Gates of Elysian and into the solar system swarmed the shipping lanes of Uranus's orbital docks. Armed cargo vessels from various forge worlds and merchant groups bore a motley riot of sigils and flew bright banners. Warning lights along the ship hulls, blazing exhaust from the thrusters, and lamps flashing out of portholes lit up the port, adding even more color to the tens of thousands of navigational beacons and searchlights already there.
Vehicles of all types bustled about, transporting cargo. Giant robotic arms worked day and night, shifting heavy containers. Squads of soldiers marched past, headed either to makeshift lodgings or up to their assigned expeditionary ships according to depot arrangement.
Datch elbowed through the crowd toward the port's residential district. For efficient use of limited space, housing in portside districts was densely packed. The workers' families had lived here for generations, assigned to different residences depending on their social class. The deeper toward the outer edge, the harsher the environment and the thinner the air. Down here, residents tended to be dock workers, indentured laborers, illegals, or fugitives. Gangs of all sorts thrived, trafficking in contraband and crime; it was a messy, chaotic place.
Closer to the port's center, ventilation and lighting improved. Here, the residents were skilled workers, junior officers, or members of the guilds. Apartments were small but doors had sturdy locks, basic sanitation was present, and security was better. Datch's current target was a captain—not one of the highest-ranking officers, but an important man despite that.
The neighborhood was decent: none of the mold, rust, or untreated sewage smells that plagued the lower floors, and no peddlers or gunfights in the corridors. Datch made his way down a shared hallway to the target's door. Finding it closed, he gave it a strong kick—and the door crashed open.
Inside, the captain had already shot himself, likely dead for several hours.
"What's going on? All this noise, I can't sleep!"
"You think your family owns this whole building?"
A hard-faced man appeared from the next room, holding a prosthetic in one hand, scowling and muttering curses. Clearly, he wanted to intimidate Datch—impart some harsh lesson about the world and why you don't mess with tough guys like him. But at the sight of a fully armed squad of stormtroopers and Garen, the man's face instantly cleared, a gentle smile appeared, and he quietly shut his door.
"What's with the commotion?" a bewildered woman asked from the other room.
"They're just some thugs. I don't want to discuss it," the man said, struggling to look calm.
"Oh," the woman replied, and went right back to sleep.
Dressed in his detective suit, Datch began thoroughly examining highlights in the dead captain's room.
[Cluster of lizards, dead from starvation. Judging from the clean enclosure and rare, imported soil, the deceased was clearly fond of pets.]
[Diary in which he recorded feelings nearly every day—even on uneventful ones. However, all entries stopped a week ago.]
[...]
Collecting evidence, Datch then kicked in the door of the next apartment. The man sitting on the sofa smoking leapt up in shock—it was illegal even to complain here.
"What… what do you want?" he stammered.
Datch strolled over and opened the info bar above the man's head:
"Arms, a mid-level officer of the Port Food Guild, knows something about the deceased."
"Arms, know anything about the dead guy next door?" Datch cut right to the chase.
Arms almost blurted out, "And what's it to you?" But seeing the judge smirking at the door, and the armed stormtroopers, he swallowed his words. He'd never met the judges, but every trader and traveler warned of their severity. No one could keep a secret in their presence—the Judges would use any means, however cruel, to uncover the truth.
"He was always disciplined, got along well with others, loved raising exotic lizards. But lately, he'd changed. Barely reacted to greetings, like a different person…" Arms poured out everything he knew.
In Datch's deduction HUD, the clues lit up, linking together:
The deceased was likely hypnotized, personality altered. Hypnosis?
"Huh. Isn't hypnosis an Alpha Legion specialty?"
"Man, with a skill like that, you'd be unbeatable," Datch muttered, rubbing his chin.
The Alpha Legion was the 20th Space Marine Legion, created by the Emperor himself and infamous for secret operations, spycraft, and divide-and-conquer tactics. They could hypnotize humans—with only words or gestures, they could place people in trances and command their loyalty. The Legionnaires even used hypnotherapy themselves in clandestine operations. During the Horus Heresy, when their Primarch Alpharius infiltrated the solar system to cause problems, he reactivated deep cover spies on Terra using hypnosis. These sleepers lived as ordinary people with no memory of the Legion—until a word or gesture triggered them, turning them into highly trained agents or assassins, and causing massive headaches for Imperial loyalists.
Following orders, Datch reported the clue—hypnosis of the deceased—to Garen. Garen immediately ordered an investigation into where the man had gone a week ago. Quickly, they traced it to a merchant ship that had arrived in the system a week ago.
Thirty minutes later, all relevant information on the ship and its crew arrived in the deceased's room. The vessel mainly sold yak meat from nearby star systems into the solar system, and ferried supplies back on the return trip, playing the price difference for profit. Warp routes were stable, making it a low-risk, high-yield business.
Due to the Indomitus Crusade mobilization, port entry/exit times were longer. They couldn't load supplies until the next day at earliest—urgency was high.
An investigation of the ship and its crew's memories produced something unexpected:
While sailing through the void, the ship was suddenly seized by a group of Alpha Legion traitors, who detained the crew. Strangely, these heretics did not kill anyone—instead erasing their memories and allowing the voyage to the solar system to continue.
"They must have infiltrated using the merchant ship," Garen speculated. The crew's memories were wiped—they didn't even realize they'd been made accomplices to the enemy. The examiners saw nothing wrong and released the ship.
"These traitors really know how to keep secrets," Garen muttered. Any investigation would likely conclude suicide from guilt. And if anyone did notice the hypnosis, by the time they solved it—possibly dissecting the corpse—they'd have wasted so much time the traitors would already have vanished back to their star systems, requiring pursuit outside the solar system.
Too late—the traitors might have already finished their sabotage, escaped, or disappeared again. In such cases, all the Imperium could do was seal the file and move on.
But—within half a day, they discovered the Alpharius group was still in port! Garen's tech-priests accessed the security camera feeds across the docks and, after cross-checking footage, produced a portrait of one of the traitors. The moment he had it, Datch's minimap updated again, showing the position of the Alpha group.
Datch swapped his trench coat for his Hydra-painted Terminator armor. He mounted another bamboo copter on his head and soared off in pursuit of the Alpha traitors.
…
The port's loading area was crammed with cargo and countless warehouses. Some, like warehouse SN-7, had been abandoned after accidents or equipment failures—in this case, a chemical leak years ago. Normally, no one went there.
Now, however, five unwelcome guests had checked in—Alpha Legion warriors led by Ceuronis, once of the Chaos warband the Weavers.
In exchange for gene-seed and warships, the Weavers had chosen to aid Abaddon the Despoiler in conquering Imperial worlds. Primarch Guilliman had returned to Terra and launched the Indomitus Crusade, and Abaddon's forces sought to sabotage and delay the Crusade to buy time. This was the Alpha Legion's specialty, and thus Ceuronis's strike team was sent.
Their task: gather as much intelligence as possible on the Imperium, while sabotaging Imperial preparations for the Crusade. After arriving in the system, Ceuronis devised a detailed plan: to cripple the Imperium by disrupting the Blazing Embrace during its regular overhaul. But when the scheduled time passed and the ship's engines didn't explode, Ceuronis realized his operation had failed. He immediately ordered the Imperial captain under his sway to commit suicide, to cut the evidence trail.
He expected the clues to end at the captain's death—Imperial authorities would probably attribute it to guilt, wrap up the case, and move on. Even if, by chance, the investigation noticed the manipulation, it would take months to trace the plot back, giving Ceuronis ample time to finish his sabotage. He regretted losing such a well-placed asset, but now he had to start over, reorganizing intel, making new plans, and relying on a few other hypnotized pawns to keep gathering port intel.
Bang!! Suddenly, a hole burst open in the warehouse roof, the air filled with concrete chunks, iron shards, and swirling dust. Ceuronis and his comrades instantly ducked for cover, drawing their bolt pistols and preparing for combat.
Through the smoke, a giant clad in Terminator armor—with a toy helicopter propeller spinning atop his helmet—descended.
"What the hell is that?" Ceuronis stared, incredulous. How could a cheap spinning prop possibly support several tons of Terminator armor? His squad all shared the same baffled expression.
Scanning the warehouse quickly, Datch saw Ceuronis's team, fully armed and pointing explosive weapons at him. Datch raised both arms and shouted:
"For the glory of Hydra! For Alpharius!"
The slogan only deepened Ceuronis's confusion.
Wait… are you Alpha too?
Ceuronis stepped into view, leveling his gun. "Who are you?"
"I am Alpharius," Datch answered deadpan, sizing up the villain NPCs.
"I am the leader of Hydra."
"Who sent you? The Despoiler? Another legion?" Ceuronis frowned. Since the Horus Heresy, the Alpha Legion had fragmented into countless warbands spread across the galaxy; no one could keep track of all his brothers' activities.
"By the Emperor," Datch said, "I am Alpharius, leader of Hydra!"
"You're all traitors, every last one!" Ceuronis's face darkened, feeling mocked—clearly, this man wasn't really Alpha, just some joker trying to humiliate him.
"Open fire!" Ceuronis ordered.
Bolter rounds and molten shells thundered at Datch in a coordinated barrage that pinned him down behind a huge cargo container. Datch almost summoned Skarbrand and the Changeling—his daemonic allies—to break the stalemate, but held back. After all, this was Terra.
Instead, Datch opened a "Room of Requirement". Out burst the captive Dark Angels—Dark Angel member Mordachi and his company—who instantly charged out in a rage.
Spotting Datch, they nearly shot him on the spot.
But Datch calmly spoke:
"You want to expose the First Legion's secrets?"
Sergeant Nariel shouted to the hesitant Mordachi, "Kill him, and secrecy is preserved!"
"Go ahead. Kill me. But if you do, someone will pick up the tale of Chapter Three, Book Nine—of Caliban's betrayal, Luther's flight to Chaos, Cypher's plot to assassinate the Emperor, and how the Fallen slew their own to bury the truth. All your secrets will become public."
The threat stunned Mordachi and the Dark Angel. How did this stranger know so much? Even among their own ranks, only the Grand Masters knew everything.
"Let's focus on the enemy first," Datch said. "You wouldn't want to ruin the Primarch's reputation or be branded traitors, would you?"
"You will pay for this someday," spat Mordachi, restraining his fury only to fight the Alphas.
With the Dark Angel piling on, Ceuronis's squad was swiftly defeated—some killed outright, others badly wounded. Ceuronis resisted to the last, but was overwhelmed and battered to the ground. Mordachi, Nariel, and the other Dark Angel pummeled him mercilessly.
"Excellent, now I have my own Dark Angel," Datch chuckled to himself.
With Ceuronis completely subdued, Datch opened the Room of Requirement again.
"Alright, you can all go now."
Mordachi glared, radiating psychic force. "You can't confine us anymore!"
"If you want to leave, I won't stop you. But you must face the crime of raiding the palace and breaking the dark prison. If you leave, you'll be instantly arrested."
"When the time comes, Caliban's secrets will be revealed, and the First Legion will pay. Don't blame me."
The words silenced Mordachi. What they'd done was tantamount to high treason; an investigation would ensure Caliban's activities couldn't be hidden.
After weighing their options, Mordachi and his squad reluctantly returned to the Room of Requirement.
Datch tidied up and walked over to where Ceuronis lay.
"Who are you?" Ceuronis asked.
"I am Alpharius…" Datch set his helmet vox to replay that phrase, over and over.
"I am Alpharius."
"I am Alpharius."
"...…"
After a while—
"Argh! Will you please stop saying you're Alpharius?" Ceuronis shrieked.
Datch snickered at the broken Alpha and then tried something else:
"I am the head of Hydra—Omega."
"I am the head of Hydra—Omega."
"..."
Ceuronis buried his face in despair.
If I'm guilty, just bring me to trial—don't let this madman keep torturing me!
At that moment, Garen arrived. Ceuronis cried out like a drowning man:
"Hurry—just take me away!"
Garen, seeing the traitor's desperation, felt quite sorry for him. Datch finally relented, handing over the captives.
"Thank you, oh nameless one…" Garen smiled. Capturing an Alpha was a great success. The nameless lord wanted no acclaim, so Garen could only accept with silent tears.
But before Garen could finish his thanks, Datch had already turned and left.
NPCs with no quests are unworthy of the Player's respect!
With that, the mission to capture the Alpha traitors was complete.
[Congratulations on completing the quest and exposing the infiltrators hiding in the solar system.]
[Reward: 1500 XP, 1500 points, Fame +120, Primaris Spell Enhancement x1]
…