The Fist of Iron, bridge.
Ferrus Manus watched the live feed streaming across the holographic projector.
Cogboy stood beside the Orion dropship, his head tilted back as he conversed with Sergius.
Despite the massive height difference, the cyborg showed absolutely zero fear. Instead, a fanatical undertone bled into his voice as he enthusiastically explained technical details.
"His understanding of mechanics runs deep," Karon evaluated from the side. "Though some of his terminology is non-standard, the core principles are perfectly sound."
"And that heavily modified prosthetic limb of his... the level of integration is incredibly high. It's not something a mere amateur could throw together."
"Relics of civilization?" Ferrus pulled up the historical archives of Aurelian IV.
"During the reign of Blaec House, this planet did experience a period of technological prosperity. The Blaec House funded a massive amount of scientific research projects. Some even delved into forbidden territory, such as House Alar's psychic research. The orbital bombardment eighty years ago wiped out most of the surface facilities, but it's entirely possible that some underground labs or data vaults survived the purge."
"It's highly probable." The Primarch made his final judgment. "If it's exactly as he claims—that they scavenged technology from the ruins and used it to build a survival settlement—then the value of this faction goes far beyond being just an unidentified armed group."
He looked at Karon. "Prepare for an audience. I'm going to interrogate him myself."
"Father, this could be a trap."
"If it were a trap, they would have made their move the day I arrived. They wouldn't have waited until the battle ended to expose the coordinates of their stronghold."
Ferrus closed the fingers of his living metal left hand, streams of data converging instantly at his fingertips.
"Furthermore... did you notice?" He pulled up a topographic scan of their defensive walls, heavily magnifying a specific sector.
"Their architectural layout, the division of functional zones, even the width of their roads—everything is strictly designed around the principle of maximum efficiency."
"This wasn't built haphazardly. There's a comprehensive master blueprint behind it all."
"More importantly, over twenty thousand people surviving in an irradiated wasteland for three years. Zero records of rebellion. Zero massive disease outbreaks. A food self-sufficiency rate sitting comfortably over eighty percent."
The Primarch's gray eyes narrowed slightly. "Their management level is a hundred times better than that idiot Harrington's."
"They seem to be quite gifted in this area."
–
One hour later.
The Orion dropship glided smoothly into the hangar bay of the Fist of Iron.
When Cogboy stepped off the transport, his legs felt like absolute jelly. It wasn't fear; it was pure, unadulterated excitement.
Before his eyes stretched a massive expanse larger than five football fields. Above him was a thirty-meter-high vaulted ceiling. Parked neatly along both sides were Thunderhawk gunships, Stormraven gunships, and various models of Astartes drop pods.
Tech-priests of the Mechanicus led servitors in routine equipment maintenance. Squads of Astartes marched past in tight formation, the heavy thud of their power armor echoing rhythmically against the metal decking.
"This way." Sergius led the path, passing through three heavy airlock blast doors before entering a wide, sprawling corridor.
The walls were cold alloy, illuminated by stark white fluorescent tubes. There was absolutely zero decoration. The only visuals were Legion insignias and various technical specification charts etched directly into the heavy plating. It was purely functional design at its finest.
Cogboy's mechanical eye scanned frantically, data cascading down his vision like a waterfall.
He greedily analyzed the layout of the power conduits, calculated the stress distribution of the structural support nodes, and mapped the airflow models of the environmental control systems.
"We've arrived." Sergius stopped in front of a towering, ten-meter-tall alloy bulkhead.
The immense doors slid apart silently.
The very second Cogboy stepped inside, he physically felt the oppressive weight of a supreme will.
It was like walking directly into the shadow of a colossal mountain. The mountain didn't move, but you inherently knew just how crushingly heavy it was.
Ferrus Manus stood before the primary command console, his broad back facing the entrance.
A towering frame well over three meters tall, clad in the Medusan Carapace, bearing hands of silver-gray living metal.
He didn't bother turning around, but Cogboy knew the Primarch was watching him through the hundreds of visual sensors scattered across the bridge.
"Cage Lawrence." Ferrus's voice echoed from every direction, as if the entire starship itself was speaking. "Your base sanctuary is... quite interesting."
Cogboy took a deep, steadying breath, strictly sticking to the script they had meticulously rehearsed. "Lord Primarch, the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary was simply an act of desperation by struggling survivors. We never intended to oppose the Imperium. On the contrary... we have always hoped to finally earn the Imperium's recognition."
"Recognition?" The Primarch finally turned around.
His gray pupils were like two freezing gemstones. His heavy gaze landed squarely on Cogboy's mechanical prosthetic.
"Modifying the human body with non-standard technology. Establishing an armed stronghold without Imperial authorization. Harboring and training a massive number of psykers... According to Imperial Law, every single one of these actions is enough to warrant a swift visit from the Adeptus Arbites."
Cogboy's heart skipped a terrifying beat. But he ruthlessly forced himself to stay perfectly calm. "My Lord, we did it merely to survive. The four major factions controlled everything. The workers in the Underhive toiled for eighteen hours a day, only earning enough cheap nutrient paste to barely stave off starvation. Rebels were thrown alive into the plasma reactors. Runners were hunted down and slaughtered for sport."
He lifted his head, his mechanical eye staring directly at the towering Primarch. It was an incredibly risky, brazen move, but he desperately needed to demonstrate pure candor.
"We chose a third option: leave, head out into the deadly wastelands, and build a place of our own."
"A place where hard work translates to food and warmth. Where genuine effort earns respect. Where children can actually learn to read, and the elderly can live out their final years in peace."
"We taught our people solidarity and mutual aid in strict accordance with the Imperial Truth. We studied mechanical knowledge straight from standard technical manuals, and we drilled our self-defense forces using approved militia field protocols."
"Everything we've done was for the hope that one day... we could live openly in the light of the Imperium, rather than scurrying in the dark underground like rats."
The entire bridge descended into a heavy silence.
Only the tactical data streams on the main console continued to refresh without a sound.
Ferrus observed the cyborg. He carefully watched the light in his eyes—a volatile, potent mixture of fanatical devotion and genuine idealism.
He had seen that exact same light before. He saw it in the eyes of certain Tech-priests, in the eyes of those rare individuals who truly believed in the overarching creed of "bettering humanity through technology."
"How many active warriors do you have?"
"Five thousand capable of holding a gun."
"Equipment status?"
"Jury-rigged lasguns, heavily modified vehicles, and a handful of salvaged heavy weapons. Zero tanks. Zero mechs. Zero air support."
"Food reserves?"
"Enough to feed over twenty thousand people for exactly four months."
"Source of technology?"
"Civilizational ruins, and... self-study."
Ferrus took a single, earth-shaking step forward. His massive frame cast an imposing shadow entirely over Cogboy.
"If everything you say is true."
"I will grant you a rare opportunity." The Primarch's voice was completely steady, yet every single word struck like a heavy forging hammer against steel. "An opportunity to serve the Imperium."
"Use your technology, your managerial expertise, and assist the Legion in restoring the post-war order of Aurelian IV."
"In exchange, the Crimson Dawn Sanctuary will be granted official legal status. You may retain your armaments, and you may continue to develop and expand within designated sectors."
Cogboy's heart hammered wildly in his chest like an overloaded engine. He fought tooth and nail to keep his expression completely neutral. "My Lord, what exactly is required of us?"