Across the vast reaches of Amarah Prime, a massive industrial zone—abandoned for centuries—was now being slowly reclaimed by a surging tide of human armor.
A leaden sky hung low, shrouding the entire region in a solemn atmosphere. The skeletal remains of colossal factories stood like silent behemoths, let out low wails as the wind whistled through them.
Rust-stained chimneys pierced the heavens, wordless testaments to a long-vanished industrial era. The air was thick with the scent of cooling metal and decaying dust.
A human armored column rumbled down the main thoroughfare. Treads crushed rubble and overgrown weeds with a heavy, rhythmic roar, though many of the combat vehicles had their engines silenced.
The lighter Chimera armored personnel carriers and towed artillery were being pulled quietly by Troy support vehicles, emitting only the dry hiss of tracks grinding against the earth. The heavier Basilisks and Leman Russ tanks were hauled by more powerful Atlas recovery tanks, their massive bulks silently leading the way.
Towering Sentinel walkers marched with heavy strides, their metal joints creaking. Laden with crates of heavy ammunition, they wove through the convoy like iron sheepdogs.
Faded markings on some of the hulls allowed one to vaguely identify this formidable armored force as belonging to the "Perditia Helldiver Legion."
This was an extremely rare sight. For most Helldivers, they defined themselves as expendable—and expendable assets were meant to be as cheap as possible. Armored power was anything but cheap.
Unless it was a free handout from the Departmento Munitorum, only the most self-assured ace crews or specialized armored units would spend their own funds to acquire a tank.
In other words, this force was comprised of either aces or professionals. Clearly, the Helldiver high command believed this location would be the key to the final victory, and had consequently mobilized a large number of veteran units here.
The commander in charge of this force, Joker, popped the top hatch of his Chimera with a metallic click. He poked his head out, his sharp gaze sweeping across the desolate and sprawling industrial ruins. After a cursory glance, he immediately rendered judgment: "Hmm... a fine place indeed."
As an abandoned industrial zone, it possessed a wealth of infrastructure that could be utilized immediately. Sturdy factory buildings could be converted into temporary fortifications with minor modifications, and the complex network of underground pipes could be expanded. This meant that future construction of underground spaces and tunnels would yield twice the results with half the effort.
Beyond that, the existing heavy-duty roads possessed a load-bearing capacity far exceeding standard surfaces—a luxury impossible to find elsewhere. Figuring out how to transport massive armored forces across rugged or soft terrain was usually the first major hurdle for the Helldivers.
Joker quickly issued his orders. The entire process had been planned in detail before departure. All he had to do was say: "Commence operations."
Upon receiving the command, the Helldivers dispersed without a moment's hesitation. They fanned out in an orderly fashion, quickly splitting into companies for reconnaissance.
Their mission was clear: locate and document the general state of the old industrial zone—the condition of the drainage and power systems, abandoned storage tanks or open-pit mines that could hold excavated earth, and large factory floors or foundries suitable for conversion into underground entrances.
Normally, such on-site scouting wouldn't be necessary for the Helldivers. However, since this area had been abandoned for hundreds of years, the nobles couldn't find the relevant blueprints on short notice. As for the Tech-Priest who built the place, only the Emperor knew his whereabouts. Thus, the Helldivers had to rely on themselves, piece by piece, to map out this forgotten realm.
One company soon arrived before a massive power plant. The Geiger counter on the Company Commander's chest began to emit rapid beeps, indicating abnormally high radiation levels. He spoke in a low voice: "A nuclear plant. And it looks like the reactor here is leaking a bit."
He turned to his soldiers, his voice echoing slightly in the empty space: "This plant is huge. We can't stay bunched up or we'll take too long—we won't be as fast as the others. Our company might not be professionals, but we're at least 'Pub Stars.' We can't fall too far behind. Disperse by squads and search."
The players in the company shouted their agreement, faces filled with eagerness as they marched boldly into the nuclear plant. The Commander himself led from the front with one squad, lasgun leveled as he cautiously stepped inside.
"Danzou, what's the plan?" one player asked casually, using the Commander's nickname.
"Follow the radiation," the Commander said, patting the Geiger counter at his waist. The device's ticking was becoming increasingly clear. "We're looking for the leaking reactor. We'll have to solve the radiation problem eventually."
The players followed the sound of the Geiger counter, venturing deeper into the plant. They assumed this was a simple "strolling" mission; their relaxed attitude was evident in how they addressed their leader.
Inside the dim factory floor, abandoned machinery stood like iron monsters. The air was filled with the smell of long-sealed decay, metal, and a faint, inexplicable stench of burning. Flashlight beams flickered in the dark, illuminating mottled walls and dust-covered floors.
But as they moved deeper, the Helldivers noticed something strange. The flashlight beams mounted beneath their lasguns illuminated a section of the thick dust on the floor, revealing a trail of clear, jarring footprints. The players instantly shifted into a combat stance, their bodies tensing and their weapons instinctively raised.
"Danzou, footprints," a player whispered, shining his light on the ground.
"Use rank during combat!" the Commander snapped. His casual demeanor had vanished, replaced by the alertness of an officer.
The Commander crouched down to examine the prints. He lightly brushed the dust at the edge of a track. Judging by the dust accumulation, the print was fresh—as if its owner had just departed.
He immediately ruled out his own people. The discrepancy was too great. These prints weren't even size 30; they clearly didn't belong to any Imperial Guard soldier. They didn't even look human.
"All units, attention," the Commander spoke into his vox-caster, his voice low and wary. "My unit has discovered unknown biological footprints. The owner is highly likely still inside the plant. Maintain high alert. Over."
After speaking, he signaled for the squad to move forward. The players abandoned their leisurely attitude. Every movement became cautious and slow as they searched, weapons ready, every footstep placed with extreme care.
Soon, they discovered a new anomaly. As the radiation index climbed, a type of black algae began to appear before them. It clung to the various abandoned metal structures like a living thing, thriving under the weak light of their torches, its surface shimmering with an unsettling glint and a slimy texture. It spread silently, like some form of awakened dark life.
This obvious mutation, combined with the earlier footprints, pushed the players' nerves to the breaking point. Their fingers tightened on the triggers of their weapons, ready to fire at a moment's notice.