Morris moved like a true ghost, silently navigating the intricate steel jungle and dense crowds within the factory.
Her optical sensors and audio enhancers were fully active, capturing every conversation, every expression, every sigh.
A vast data stream was rapidly classified, analyzed, and recorded in her deeply modified neural system.
The initial intelligence summary gave her a strange feeling.
The situation was more complex than she had anticipated.
She noticed that a significant portion of the people gathered on the production lines and in the main workshops had faces filled with confusion and fear.
They clutched their crude tools, their eyes darting nervously, occasionally glancing anxiously at the tightly shut factory gates.
From their fragmented, hushed conversations, Morris caught key information:
"Outside—outside came so many soldiers—"
"It's the bailiffs! I heard the sounds!"
"And there are more machine movements—did we cause trouble?"
"I knew I shouldn't have rushed in with everyone else—"
These people seemed to have been swept in by the chaotic current, joining the riot out of herd mentality or fantasizing about gaining some advantage amidst the disorder.
Now, realizing the gravity of the situation, with the outside surrounded by heavy troops, their courage was rapidly being devoured by fear, and they only wanted to escape as quickly as possible.
The other approximately two-thirds of the workers formed the main body sustaining the riot.
They were mostly gathered near key passages and damaged production lines, and their weapons were relatively more "sophisticated," mainly large industrial laser welding guns for cutting, hydraulic pliers, and a few individuals held crude firearms from unknown sources.
They shouted slogans, focusing on demands for reduced working hours, decreased labor intensity, improved food rations, and increased meager wages.
Their emotions seemed agitated, even somewhat euphoric, and they vehemently accused the factory of exploitation.
Superficially, this appeared to be a spontaneous worker resistance movement, triggered by accumulated grievances in an environment of extreme oppression.
The demands were clear, the participants' emotions were genuine, and logically, there seemed to be nothing amiss.
However, when Morris tried to trace the source of this riot, to find the initiator or organizers, she encountered an obstacle.
She quickly moved through the crowd, eavesdropping on conversations in core areas, analyzing the behavior patterns of the most active individuals, but discovered a puzzling fact: there was no clear leader.
The workers were indeed connected.
They could say, "Someone told us to stand up today," or "Everyone said we couldn't tolerate it anymore."
But regarding who this "someone" or "everyone" specifically was, their descriptions were vague, pointing to multiple different, even contradictory figures, or simply saying, "Don't know him, but he was right."
Those maintaining order, distributing "weapons," and shouting slogans were all ordinary workers; they were merely carrying out what they were "told" to do, but couldn't say who was giving the orders.
It was as if an invisible hand had set everything in motion behind the scenes, yet had hidden itself at the crucial moment.
Morris compiled all the detected information—the fearful followers, the agitated protesters lacking a clear command core, and the elusive, hidden organizer behind the scenes—into a structured data packet.
Based on the existing intelligence, she judged that there were clear signs of human manipulation in the situation, but the motive and the purpose of the mastermind were still unclear, requiring a rendezvous with Maine for further assessment.
Her figure flickered a few times between the huge factory shadows and dense mechanical structures, silently reaching the designated evacuation point—the entrance to a ventilation duct high above.
Just as she was about to merge into it, her enhanced vision caught an unusual detail.
Next to an auxiliary production line, piled high with scrap parts and rarely visited, at the base of a metal wall thick with heavy oil stains, a symbol, drawn with a dark red, seemingly not yet fully solidified viscous liquid, abruptly appeared.
The design was simple yet eerie: a complete circle, equally spaced with eight sharp arrows, all pointing outwards from the circle.
Morris' internal database performed a quick comparison; this symbol was neither an identifier for a production line nor a known mark of any gang or organization in the Hive City's intelligence.
Its drawing material was suspected to be blood, its location was chosen to be concealed, and the graphic itself carried a primitive, unsettling tension, out of place with the surrounding industrial environment, exuding an irrational, sinister feeling.
Without the slightest hesitation, her optical lens quickly focused and scanned, integrating the high-definition image of the symbol with the previously collected worker intelligence, marking it as highest priority data.
Having completed all this, she was as if swallowed by the shadows, disappearing completely into the deep darkness of the ventilation duct, leaving no trace.
A moment later, in a relatively hidden equipment maintenance passage on the outskirts of the factory, Morris' figure coalesced again.
She contacted Maine via an encrypted link.
Morris' voice came through the communication channel, still steady, but with a barely perceptible hint of solemnity that was more pronounced than usual: "The situation inside is more complex than expected. The workers are roughly divided into two types: about one-third of them were swept in, and now that they hear the outside is surrounded by the army, they are scared and just want to leave.
The remaining ones are the main instigators; their demands are very clear, but—their emotions are not quite right, too agitated."
She paused briefly, seemingly organizing her next findings: "The strangest thing is, I can't find the leader. They all say they were incited by someone, but when asked who, no one can clearly explain.
Also, I found this in a corner—"
She transmitted the image of the symbol—the circle with eight arrows—to the tactical visors or cockpit displays of every member of the team.
"What the hell is this scribble?" Rebecca was the first to speak, her tone full of disdain and confusion.
Pilar stared at the image, instinctively shrinking his neck: "It just makes me uncomfortable—like some kind of bad omen."
Dorio frowned deeply: "Can't find the leader? Then how did they coordinate their actions and damage the production line?
That doesn't make sense."
Falco's voice came through, carrying the gravity of analysis: "The symbol's structure has strong directivity and expansiveness, combined with the missing leader, there is reason to suspect external guidance or—intervention by abnormal factors."
Valerie's voice sounded through the iron guard's communication system, even calmer: "Motive unknown. If they only wanted to incite workers to cause trouble, why hide themselves? This doesn't make sense.
Unless—incitement itself is not the ultimate goal, or the instigator is afraid of exposure."
Maine looked at the strange symbol on his tactical visor, and then recalled Morris' report about "not finding a leader"; a strong sense of foreboding rose in his heart.
The matter was far from being just a simple worker protest.
The sudden intervention of the Inquisition might not be entirely groundless.
But even so, the potential, brutal solution that could lead to tens of thousands being "purified" was still something he could not accept.
"Morris, well done." Maine said in a deep voice, "This symbol is key. We must figure out what it represents."
The situation became even more confusing due to Morris' new discovery, and it also gave Maine a more compelling reason to delay the Inquisition's actions.
However, the truth hidden in the shadows might be even more dangerous than they imagined.
Just as Maine's crew was discussing the strange symbol, Valerie's voice came through the comms channel: "This symbol is key. But there's no point in us guessing here."
Her voice was calm, yet it made everyone quiet down: " the Adeptus Arbites might recognize this mark, but the one who knows most about these matters is definitely the Inquisitor."
She paused, letting this judgment sink into everyone's minds, then continued: "Go ask him directly. Although the risk is great, it's the fastest way to get to the truth.
If this symbol truly represents some threat we don't understand, acting blindly will only make things worse."
Maine fell silent. He stared at the strange symbol on his tactical display, quickly weighing the pros and cons.
Approaching the Inquisitor directly to inquire was undoubtedly risky, but Valerie was right—given the unknown intelligence, it was the most effective choice.
He took a deep breath and made his decision.
Maine walked alone towards Inquisitor Kairas, who was surrounded by Stormtroopers.
The surrounding soldiers immediately grew alert, and several gazes and muzzles locked onto him simultaneously.
Maine ignored this and stopped at an appropriate distance from the Inquisitor.
"Inquisitor, Sir," his voice was steady, cutting straight to the point, "My people just returned from reconnaissance inside the factory. Besides the situation with the workers, they also found this in a hidden corner."
He raised his hand to operate his tactical data pad, sending the image of the symbol—a circle enclosing eight arrows—to the Inquisitor's data terminal.
"We hope you can help us identify the meaning of this symbol." Maine maintained an appropriately formal tone, "Understanding its significance will help us more accurately assess the internal threat and take appropriate action."
Inquisitor Kairas' initial expression was his usual coldness and scrutiny, but when his gaze fell upon the symbol on the data pad, that cold mask instantly shattered.
His pupils contracted sharply, his facial muscles tensed, and a killing intent and revulsion, almost solid, erupted from him.
"Enough!" the Inquisitor roared, his voice distorted by extreme rage. He suddenly looked up, no longer paying attention to Maine, and directly ordered the Stormtrooper captain behind him, "Act! Immediately! Purge all contamination with the highest priority! Seal off the entire area, allow no one to leave!"
This sudden and violent reaction made Maine's heart tighten.
Although he had anticipated the Inquisitor would take it seriously, he hadn't expected such a fierce, almost reflexive, destructive command.
"Inquisitor, Sir!" Maine took half a step forward, not intending to stop him, but his voice rose slightly, carrying clear confusion and inquiry, "What exactly does this symbol represent? We need to know what we are facing!"
Inquisitor Kaelas' pupils suddenly constricted. He pulled Maine to a corner away from the crowd and whispered to him in a low voice: "Where did you see this?" His gaze was as sharp as a hawk's, fixed on Maine, "Forget this symbol, never inquire about it! Within the Imperium, merely knowing of this symbol's existence is enough to be condemned."
He looked around, ensuring no one else heard their conversation, then continued in an almost whispered tone: "Its appearance means that blasphemy and corruption have permeated here.
This is not an ordinary labor dispute, but a deeper corruption, and everyone in the factory could be contaminated."
The Inquisitor's tone was beyond doubt: "Now do you understand why it must be purged immediately? Every second of delay could allow the depravity and corruption to spread further."
His words were like a winter's cold wind, not only chilling Maine but also instantly blanching the face of Count Gresham, who had been watching the developments from not far away.
Even more surprising to Maine and the others was that the Inquisitor's cold gaze immediately turned to Count Gresham.
"And you, Count Gresham." The Inquisitor's voice was unequivocal, "Such severe heretical contamination appearing within your factory indicates gross negligence on your part, and you are under grave suspicion.
In the name of the Inquisition, I temporarily relieve you of all your duties and place you under detention! You will be interrogated after this matter is concluded!"
Several Stormtroopers immediately stepped forward, unceremoniously removing the count's sword from his waist and placing restrictive magnetic handcuffs on him.
Facing all this, Count Gresham did not offer any resistance or defense. He merely stared intently at the image of the symbol on the Inquisitor's data pad, his face a mix of immense shock, a sense of defilement and shame, and... a deep resentment.
He gritted his teeth, as if tacitly accepting the Inquisitor's assertion, which formed a stark and unsettling contrast to his previous efforts to protect the factory and its workers.
The count's attitude of abandoning struggle, even self-doubt, was more perplexing and alarming to Maine and Maine's crew than the Inquisitor's intense reaction.
Things, it seemed, had far exceeded the scope of a "worker protest" and were sliding towards a dark and dangerous direction they could not fully comprehend.
Just as Maine was still processing the Inquisitor's horrifying whisper, Inquisitor Kaelas had already regained his cold and authoritative demeanor. He turned to the Adeptus Arbites Commander, who was still waiting, his face showing confusion and unease.
"Adeptus Arbites personnel," the Inquisitor's voice was no longer lowered, returning to his usual commanding tone, but with a finality that ended any discussion, "Your mission here is concluded; this matter has exceeded your jurisdiction and capabilities.
Now, the Inquisition takes full control. Lead your people, withdraw immediately beyond the cordon, and do not interfere with any subsequent actions."
The Adeptus Arbites Commander froze. He instinctively took half a step forward, attempting to argue: "Inquisitor, Sir, we can fully assist..."
"This is an order, not a discussion." Kaelas cut him off directly, with no room for compromise in his eyes, "What is happening here is beyond what you are permitted to know. Withdraw immediately, do not make me repeat this order!"
The Commander's words were caught in his throat. He looked at the Inquisitor's unequivocal expression, then glanced at the pale-faced, detained Count Gresham nearby, and ultimately could only force down all his questions and dissatisfaction.
He let out a heavy sigh and raised his hand, giving a concise retreat signal to his subordinates.
Although the Judicial Guards were equally full of doubts, their strict discipline ensured they quickly began to consolidate their formation, covering each other as they retreated, completely yielding the factory gates and surrounding areas they had previously controlled to the Inquisition's Stormtroopers and the Planetary Defence Force.
Before leaving, Sheriff Atkins gave Maine a complex look, his eyes a mixture of helplessness, warning, and a touch of inability to assist.
In the blink of an eye, only the Inquisition's armed forces remained at the scene, along with Maine's crew, who had been unwittingly pushed into the eye of the storm.
The sudden departure of the Adeptus Arbites left Maine and his crew without a potential buffer, forcing them to face the unyielding and determined Inquisition alone.
The pressure now rested entirely on Maine's shoulders.