"Cough—cough—cough!" Martin gasped as he came to a halt. He had been running and fighting nonstop for three days straight, and now he had reached the middle hive. Corpses lay scattered everywhere, though most were in such a terrible state they looked like they'd never even had a chance to begin with. The hive city now looked exactly like the post-apocalyptic films he'd once watched. The streets were eerily empty, choked with bodies and wrecked vehicles, while cultists of all kinds roamed freely, looting and fighting one another.
"Wait for me, my lord! I swear… my legs need oiling!" A40AT shouted, scrambling to catch up, his mechanical frame already beginning to show signs of strain.
Why in the Emperor's name are you still carrying the sergeant's body? She's been dead for two days now, Martin thought wearily as he stared at the fallen woman's form. Gently, as respectfully as he could, he lowered her to the ground. Judging by the way her body lay, her death had come from a snapped spine.
"Why didn't you say so sooner?!" Martin snapped at A40AT, furious. It wasn't that he minded the sergeant's death—dying was an ever-present fact of life, and he'd long since grown used to it. But dragging a corpse for two whole days?!
Still, he was grateful they'd survived so far; those daemons were painfully slow and pathetically weak.
"I'm doing well just keeping up with you while we cut through hordes of daemons!" A40AT retorted sharply. By the Omnissiah, he thought, my sacred mechanical limbs are barely holding together as it is.
"Put that aside for now. We have to keep this child alive. We need shelter," Martin said, pointing toward a boarded-up medicae shop. "That's where we're heading."
Day 1, Year 1, 42nd Millennium
After days of clinging to survival in the hive city—each one worse than the last, hunted relentlessly by daemons and cultists alike—Martin, A40AT, and the unconscious Molly finally saw a glimmer of hope.
A40AT had been carefully mapping out every possible way off-world, for the massive warp storm unleashed by Cadia's fall still raged across the system. They'd debated plans well past midnight, when word came: a rogue trader vessel had been forced off course and entered the planet's orbit.
Martin and A40AT worked together to repair a derelict atmospheric shuttle nearby. As soon as it was flight-ready, the three of them blasted off, heading straight for the rogue trader's ship.
Acid rain hissed as it ate away at sludge dripping from overhead conduits, long after the sun had dipped below the smogline. Deep in the lower-middle spires of the hive city, little Molly sat curled around her stuffed grox doll in her father's cramped quarters. Her skin was pale and drawn, and she waited anxiously for him to return from his shift. She felt safe, warm, whenever he was near.
Molly had never had a friend. Every time she tried to approach other children to play, they would run screaming from her. Adults too, for that matter—though she had never understood why everyone seemed so afraid of her.
Knock knock! Who's there? A familiar voice called out. She scrambled to her feet and threw open the door, beaming up at the plain-faced middle-aged man standing on the threshold.
"Oh, my little star—look what I brought home for you today!" Her father pulled a package of cured meat from his tattered satchel and held it up.
"Yay! Grox!" she cried out in delight.
He chuckled softly, brushing a hand over her hair before stepping into the tiny kitchen, cluttered with rusted pipes and worn-out tools.
"Let's make grox stew, shall I? I'll teach you how to get the meat just tender enough," he said, setting a dented pan on top of a small fuel burner and pouring in a splash of oil.
Molly climbed onto a stool beside him, grabbed a wooden spoon, and stirred slowly as the rich, savory scent of cooking meat began to fill the room.
"I love that smell… it makes me feel… not so alone."
Her father looked down at her, a sad little smile tugging at his lips. "Me too, little one. Me too."
Once the meat was done, he divided it into two small chipped plates. Molly ate slowly, and for the first time all day, a faint, genuine glow lit up her pale face.
"Papa… can I have another bowl?"
"I'm sorry, my love… but we don't have enough credits for more."
"Okay," she whispered, climbing down from the stool to wash her plate in the rusted basin, where water dripped sluggishly from the tap.
Suddenly, a high-pitched siren wailed through the air, and flashing red light strobed through the barred window.
"They're here…" her father breathed, jumping to his feet.
Heavy blows thudded against the door. "Abites Unit! Open up, in the name of the law!"
He pulled her into a tight embrace. "You have to stay safe. Hide in this closet, and everything will be all right," he promised softly, opening the door of the old, dust-caked wardrobe and gently pushing her inside before closing it shut.
Huddled in the dark, Molly squeezed her grox doll as tight as her small hands could, as the sharp crack of gunfire rang out from the other side of the wall.
Heavy footsteps drew closer, stopping right outside her hiding place. The wardrobe doors were wrenched open, revealing two terrifying men grinning down at her with cruel, hungry eyes.
But what made her blood run cold was what lay on the floor behind them: her father's lifeless body, surrounded by spreading pools of blood. His eyes were still open, staring straight ahead—right at her.
As if… as if he'd looked at her one last time.
Molly trembled, unable to breathe, her own heartbeat thundering loud enough to drown out every other sound. Tears spilled down her pale cheeks.
"Lord Iaxantus will be very pleased," one of the men said.
The last thing she ever saw was the heavy butt of a rifle swinging down toward her.