After several days of data collation, a formalized list complete with hab-block coordinates was uploaded to the strategic logic-core of the Guardian-class vessel.
The transport craft that the local PDF had first glimpsed only days prior once again descended toward the landing zones of the Hive Spire's inner rings. From the massive chassis of these craft marched rows of silver machines, their presence radiating a cold, solemn aura of absolute finality.
The Automated Sentry-Troopers moved in perfect, synchronized files, passing through the security bulkheads of the spaceport and marching down the central arteries connecting the planetary defense garrisons to the industrial sectors. Their rhythmic pace was that of an army on the march, yet they moved with an eerie lack of metallic clamor—dampened acoustics were an efficiency optimized for sudden transit and urban engagement.
Though the Sentry-Troopers utilized no vehicles, their ground speed was formidable. Within tens of minutes, they had transitioned from the landing fields into the hive proper. Upon reaching their designated sectors, these striking metallic entities dispersed into the cityscape, vanishing into the labyrinthine shadows as if they had never existed.
The deployment of these mechanical units to seize unsanctioned psykers naturally drew the scrutiny of the local Adeptus Arbites and the Inquisition. However, for mere mortals, keeping pace with machines that possessed the kinetic celerity of the Adeptus Astartes proved a daunting task. Ultimately, the Imperial agents chose to station themselves at the projected destinations, intent on witnessing the capabilities of these mysterious newcomers.
Given the staggering scale of a Hive City, housing millions, if not billions of souls, finding a specific individual within the teeming masses of humanity took time, even with precise coordinates. Twenty thousand Sentry-Troopers were but a drop in the ocean of a spire's population.
While the Sentry-Troopers appeared sleeker and taller than standard servitors, and notably lacked any organic components or necrotic flesh-grafting, the common Imperial citizenry showed little curiosity toward the "iron-clads." At most, a weary laborer might mutter a passing thought.
"Hah, look at that. I wonder which high-and-mighty Magos dreamt those up."
Every Hive World hosted a presence of the Adeptus Mechanicus. While not a daily sight, encountering a Tech-Priest followed by a retinue of clanking servitors was a mundane reality for the Emperor's subjects. In the industrial zones, such sights were the very pulse of existence. These new machines simply looked a bit more eccentric, and notably lacked the familiar red-robed priests chanting binharic canticles and swinging censers of sacred oils.
According to the data-slates, the Sentry-Troopers began their operations in the Underhive, working their way upward toward the Spire-peaks. The list provided by the Inquisition possessed distinct demographic markers.
Compared to the dregs of the Underhive, the "Mid Hive" actually held the highest density of targets. In the lowest strata, many lacked even basic identification data; despite the Inquisition's purges, many who clung to the dark corners of the hive remained invisible to the censors. Combined with a tragically short life expectancy, the chaos of the Underhive was something even the local Ordo Hereticus struggled to fully map. Even on Holy Terra, sins remain shrouded in the deepest sub-levels of the throneworld's hives.
There are, of course, exceptions where order prevails, such as the Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar. Under the stewardship of the Ultramarines, even the Underhives of their domains maintained a semblance of discipline. Elsewhere, however, the pattern was immutable.
The Underhive was total anarchy; the Lower Hive was general disorder; the Mid Hive saw occasional strife; the Upperhive knew no unrest. As for the Spire-tip where the Planetary Governor resided? Chaos was unthinkable. The private armies of the noble houses knew better than to bring their feuds to the high peaks, to do so was a direct insult to the Governor's authority, and no one desired a visit from the Chastener-teams of the Arbites.
While the Adeptus Arbites served the Lex Imperialis and did not technically answer to a Planetary Governor, their duty was the suppression of disorder. They were men who required food, sleep, and resources; crushing a riot at the Governor's request usually yielded "extra-procedural" rewards and bolstered their records. It was a trifecta of benefits, provided no one crossed the line into heresy or secession. If a Governor did turn traitor, the burden of proof fell to the Inquisition, whose eye was the most dreaded of all.
As the mechanical entities entered the Underhive, a different kind of disorder began to spread. Reports began to bombard the local Inquisition offices.
The Iron Men were not merely extracting psykers; they were "sanitizing" the hive. And where the Iron Men sanitized, they left an abundance of evidence. Local Inquisitors and their warbands were forced into grueling, over-capacity operations. Daily reports flooded in of twisted, mangled corpses discovered in hidden shrines or occult dens.
The deaths were horrific, marked by brutal, clinical violence. Upon investigation, the Inquisitors realized these bodies belonged to various heretical cults. It wasn't just cultists, however; the machines were also liquidating hive gangs whose activities bordered on the Warp-tainted or the excessively disruptive. Within a standard Terran fortnight, a palpable dread gripped the hive from its roots to its canopy.
Even Roboute Guilliman had not anticipated that the Iron Men would interpret his protocols as a mandate for "social stabilization." In Axion's logic, the removal of all latent threats was the only acceptable state of readiness.
In the process of scouring the hive, the Inquisition, the Arbites, and even elements of the Adeptus Mechanicus witnessed the terrifying efficiency of these machines. They would arrive at a zone, identify the target, and inform them with a flat, synthesized tone: "You have become the currency of the Imperium's debt. Follow us."
Before the target could even process the words, a silver metallic collar would be snapped around their neck. These devices appeared more efficient than the massive null-matrices found on Black Ships, doubling as inescapable shackles. If a target attempted to resist or channel their gift, the collar engaged instantly.
No matter how the psykers shrieked or raged, the warp remained deaf to them. The collars would pulse with a faint, ghostly luminescence, continuously siphoning their leaking psychic energy and condensing it into tiny, glowing Psychic Crystals set into the outer rim of the device. This further dampened their aether-signature.
If a psyker complied and departed with the Iron Men, their family, if they had any would soon receive a supplemental Imperial stipend delivered by the Inquisition. This was Guilliman's solitary gesture of mercy to the kin of the taken. Whether those credits ever actually reached their destination in the labyrinth of Imperial bureaucracy was another matter entirely.
Because these were individual suppression units, the Psychic Crystal compression arrays were miniaturized within the collars, requiring only a negligible amount of energy to maintain a self-sustaining cycle of high-efficiency energy extraction.
Of course, for a human psyker, this process was far more agonizing than it had been for the Aeldari aboard the Titan's Spear. The difference between a gradual drain of essence and instantaneous paralysis was profound. Most human psykers were frail compared to the Eldar, their power of a lower, cruder quality. Many "illegal" psykers only found their collars' adaptive thresholds stabilized after suffering a near-fatal initial surge of extraction.
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