Chapter 456: Screening the Suitable Candidates
The genetic template provided by Ryo was rapidly loaded into the core cogitator array of the Necromunda main data center.
This highly encrypted data package, transmitted directly from the Eternal Seeker, contained complex matching parameters generated after comprehensive optimization based on the characteristics of the new gene-seed.
The scope of the issued directive was not limited to the Planetary Governor's palace. The local branch of the Adeptus Mechanicus and the resident offices of the Departmento Munitorum synchronously received a joint authorization order from Sigismund and Ryo, demanding all parties fully cooperate with this screening work.
The screening scope covered the entire primary hive city and all its affiliated settlement sectors within its radiation range.
The command was issued simultaneously via official proclamations and data networks, written in a concise and solemn style: The Imperial Fists Chapter was about to initiate a new round of candidate selection procedures, utilizing an entirely new evaluation standard this time; all eligible youth could sign up to participate in the preliminary genetic screening.
There was no grand promotional buildup, nor any fanatical mobilization rallies. There was only the Imperial bureaucratic machine, driven by an iron will, exhibiting its characteristic, unquestionable high efficiency.
Within the designated zones of various hive layers, multiple preliminary genetic sampling points were rapidly established.
Imperial civil servants in standard uniforms and apprentices of the Adeptus Mechanicus Tech-Priests were responsible for operating the simple yet precise genetic sampling devices.
The entire process was rapid and programmatic—requiring only the collection of a single drop of blood or a small sample of oral mucosal cells.
After collection, every sample was immediately labeled with a unique identification code and subsequently dropped into a dedicated pneumatic tube transport system, flowing at maximum speed to the main hive data center to await batch analysis.
The entire screening process upheld an Imperial-style coldness and absoluteness.
The genetic matching threshold set by Ryo was as high as ninety percent—a near-stringent standard whose purpose was to precisely locate, from the massive population of hundreds of millions on this hive world, those extremely rare individuals capable of producing the optimal biological resonance with the new gene-seed.
The View from the Spire
The screening process was like an unyielding mirror, reflecting the survival landscapes at different tiers of the hive city's steel jungle.
The joint directive from the Imperial Fists and the Adeptus Mechanicus stirred vastly different ripples across this rigidly stratified metropolis.
In the upper hive, exquisite crystal chandeliers hung from the arched ceilings, illuminating the spacious sampling hall as bright as day. The air was thick with the light scent of disinfectants mixed with the subtle aroma of high-grade incenses worn by the nobility.
Alvaro stood on the mirror-smooth marble floor, dressed in his finest dark blue velvet dress coat, the silver threads embroidered on his cuffs reflecting slightly under the lights.
His father stood right by his side, his sharp grey eyes scanning the surrounding youth from other prominent noble families, as if evaluating rivals.
"Head up, chest out, Alvaro," the old Count's voice was low and steady. "Remember, you represent not only yourself but the family lineage. To be chosen by the Imperial Fists is a supreme honor; it will bring immeasurable influence to our family in the Senate."
Alvaro nodded slightly, feeling his palms grow somewhat damp.
He glanced at the young men from other illustrious houses not far away. They were all magnificently dressed, their expressions perfectly controlled, but their tight jawlines betrayed their internal nervousness.
"I understand, Father," he replied in a low voice, his tone steadier than he had expected.
Deep down, he was not entirely without fear; he held some dread toward the legendarily grueling Astartes transformation process. Yet, a far stronger desire overrode this trace of fear—a profound longing to transcend mortal limitations, achieve immortal glory, and consolidate his family's hold on power.
When the cold sampling needle gently pricked his fingertip, squeezing out a drop of bright crimson blood, he thought not of the pain, but of the shortcut to the apex of power that this drop of blood might unlock.
A few days later, when the report indicating a matching rate as high as ninety-two percent was delivered to his family's estate via an encrypted messenger, a rare look of satisfaction appeared on his father's usually stern face.
The old Count immediately summoned his captain of the guard.
"From today onward, double Alvaro's personal security detail," he commanded, before turning to a man standing to the side dressed in a crisp military uniform. "Instructor, please begin immediately, utilizing the most rigorous standards to conduct physical and tactical pre-training for him. We need to ensure absolutely nothing goes wrong."
The View from the Underhive
In the underhive, the news spread like fungus through the damp, sunless alleys.
There were no official proclamations here, only stealthy whispers among gang members and vague information peddled by info-brokers. The air was a pungent mix of corrosion, rotting garbage, and low-grade fuel.
Reid squatted beside a section of fractured concrete pipe. By the light of a flickering glowstone lantern, he wiped down his well-maintained short blade, which bore his family marks. His movements were fluid and precise, like a venomous serpent before striking.
"Have you heard, Reid?" A scarred brute—a minor gang boss—leaned in, his voice raspy. "The big shots up top are looking for suitable brats to forge 'Angels'." He sneered, but there was no mirth in his eyes. "They say as long as you get picked, you can leave this hellhole."
Reid looked up, no emotion fluctuating within his eyes, which appeared exceptionally bright in the dimness.
"Angels?" He snorted, his tone carrying the sarcasm characteristic of the underhive. "More like butchers meant to slaughter more xenos."
He sheathed his short blade, stood up, and patted his stained canvas trousers.
Leave the underhive. This thought was like a blinding light, piercing through the darkness he had always inhabited.
He was weary of endlessly fighting in garbage heaps for the next bite of synthetic food and gang territory; he was tired of constantly watching for a blade thrust from behind.
Power, status, leaving this place... No matter how brutal that path of an "Angel" might be, could it truly be worse than rotting away silently like a rat here, or being blown into shredded meat by a boltgun during some turf war?
When the mobile sampling point—a metallic box bristling with conduits and operated by a few expressionless Adeptus Mechanicus apprentices—appeared in his usual territory, Reid was among the first batch of people to step forward.
The sampling process was simple and crude, lacking any of the refinement of the upper hive.
He wiped away a trace of fluid left on his skin where the wrist sensor had made contact, staring at the crude data slate displaying the matching result.
The green characters flashing on the screen confirmed that he met the requirements.
At that moment, there was no wild ecstasy in his heart, only a cold resolve.
With virtually no hesitation, he turned and melted back into the shadows behind him, beginning his preparations to leave this iron hell that he both hated and knew so well.
(End of Chapter)