Zeke and the players behind him exchanged glances.
Late M30s.
The Great Crusade was nearing its thousandth year.
That meant...
"Is the Emperor still out there?" Zeke pressed. "What about Terra?"
"His, His Divine Majesty the Emperor is naturally still leading the Great Crusade..." Jeramie was a bit bewildered. "Terra... is the sacred homeworld, what about it?"
"What about Horus?" Tax Bro interjected.
"Horus?!"
"Lord Horus is naturally the Emperor's most capable right arm..." Jeramie grew even more confused. "Why... why are you asking these things?"
The players now understood.
Timeline confirmed: Late M30, the peak of the Great Crusade, the Horus Heresy hadn't started yet.
This was the tail end of the Golden Age, though for the lower classes of this Hive City, the Golden Age was no different from hell.
"Second question," Zeke continued. "Aurelian IV. Who is in charge now?"
"Who is the Planetary Governor? What are the local factions?"
Jeramie swallowed hard, enduring the pain as he began to explain:
"Aurelian... nominally falls under the jurisdiction of the Imperium's Eastern Fringe, but actual control rests in the hands of the Four Great Corporations."
"The Ximans Trade Consortium controls commerce and civilian affairs. The Aru Pharmaceutical Group is their claw..."
"The Atens Knight House controls the military and mining. The Conmo Psyker Dynasty controls education and high-level talent..."
"And there's a branch of the Mechanicus, the Order of the Omnissian Mind. They control technology."
"As for the Planetary Governor..." Jeramie offered a smile that was uglier than crying. "He's just a mascot for collecting taxes. Once the tithes are collected, he doesn't care about anything else. As long as there's no open rebellion, the Imperium couldn't care less about internal planetary affairs."
This intel closely matched the players' previous deductions.
"Third question." Zeke pushed the muzzle of his gun forward slightly. "Eighty years ago, what happened here?"
"Sector 7 fell. Have you heard this phrase?"
Jeramie's face instantly went deathly pale.
His pupils contracted, and his body began to tremble uncontrollably, as if he had just heard something extremely terrifying.
"H-how do you know... T-that is taboo..."
"Speak." Zeke's finger rested on the trigger.
"I'll speak! I'll speak!"
Jeramie broke down, speaking rapidly:
"Eighty years ago... The Imperial Primarch, Lord Ferrus Manus of the Iron Hands, personally led the Iron Hands Legion to Aurelian."
"The planetary rulers at the time were House Blaec. They worshipped some kind of... heretical deity and refused to join the Imperium."
"The Aral Family was the strongest Psyker dynasty under their command, controlling over half of the planet's psychic resources."
"The Primarch gave them an ultimatum: surrender, or be destroyed."
"House Blaec chose to resist... and then..."
Jeramie's voice dropped, carrying deep terror:
"It took the Iron Hands Legion only seven days to destroy the capital, Dawn City."
"The entire House Blaec bloodline was exterminated. The Psykers of the Aral Family were all arrested, supposedly sent to the Black Ships..."
"And Sector 7... that was Dawn City's 7th Administrative District. It collapsed entirely during the orbital bombardment and fell to the surface."
"Millions of people... gone in an instant."
"It was only after that the Consortium seized the opportunity to rise, dividing the power vacuum on Aurelian with various other factions."
After speaking, Jeramie slumped over as if entirely drained:
"These things... no one dares to mention them publicly anymore..."
"The Consortium and the Knight House destroyed all related records... Who exactly are you people..."
–
Zeke holstered his laspistol and stood up.
He looked at the players and spoke in the channel:
[Eternally Loyal to the Emperor]: "The timeline is confirmed."
"It's late M30. The Iron Hands Primarch came here eighty years ago, slaughtered the local powers, and then the Four Great Corporations took over."
[Fugitive Cogboy of the Mechanicus]: "Matches official Warhammer lore."
"The Iron Hands Legion was known for its cold efficiency during the Great Crusade. There are many records of them annihilating the ruling factions of non-compliant worlds."
[Schrödinger's Loyalist]: "So this shithole we're standing on was just purged by a Primarch eighty years ago? No wonder it's so oppressive..."
[Soul of Cadia]: "Wait, the Primarch of the Iron Hands... isn't that the guy who gets his head chopped off by Fulgrim later on Isstvan V?"
[T'au-Kun, You're Right, But the Bolter is Righter]: "Yeah, that's him."
"So he's still alive right now, and the Horus Heresy hasn't happened yet... Fuck, does that mean the Great Heresy is at most only a few decades away?"
A heavy weight settled in the players' hearts.
Knowing the timeline actually made them feel more despair.
Because this meant that in a few decades, Horus would ignite a rebellion that would sweep across the galaxy. Half the Primarchs would turn traitor, the Emperor would be confined to the Golden Throne, and humanity would enter its darkest ten thousand years.
And them? Five thousand players who had just made 300-something coins. What could they change?
"For now, we can't change the big picture," Zeke said calmly in the channel. "But we still have time to scale up."
He looked down at Jeramie. "Last three questions."
"First, aside from the main gate, what other exits from the refinery lead outside?"
Jeramie didn't dare hide anything, "The raw material transport corridor in the northwest corner, where your companions just went..."
"There's also a wastewater discharge pipe underground on the west side, but there's a filtration grate and a guard post there..."
"A-and there's an emergency maintenance tunnel under the central control room, but the entrance was caved in by an explosion..."
"Second, what is the situation in the other factory sectors? Where are the guards weakest? Where is the valuable stuff?"
"The East Sector is the raw material pre-processing plant, not many guards..."
"The South Sector is the finished goods warehouse and transport depot. More guards, but there's a lot of freshly refined Promethium rods and high-purity metals..."
"The North Sector is the employee living quarters, nothing of value..."
"Third," Zeke crouched down and looked into Jeramie's eyes. "Do you want to live?"
Jeramie nodded frantically.
"Good."
Zeke stood up and shot Tax Bro a look.
Tax Bro walked over, hauled Jeramie up by his collar, and shoved him toward the northwest corner. "Run with the worker groups. Whether you live or die is up to your luck."
Jeramie thanked them profusely and stumbled away.
Zeke watched his retreating back disappear behind the ruins, then suddenly raised his laspistol.
Aimed.
Pulled the trigger.
Tzzt!
A searing beam of light pierced through the back of Jeramie's head.
He pitched forward and hit the ground without even making a sound.
The players froze.
"Zeke, why did you..." Schrödinger Bro frowned.
Zeke holstered his gun, his voice cold:
"He's an overseer. Even if he's just an accountant, he is part of the system of oppression."
"Furthermore, he knows too much. Our anomalies, our ignorance of history, our thirst for intel."
"If we let him go and he makes it back to the Consortium, he'll sell us out completely."
He looked at the players:
"Remember, brothers, this is the Warhammer universe."
"Mercy to the enemy is cruelty to yourself."
"We save the workers because they are the oppressed."
"We kill the overseers because they are the oppressors."
"It's very simple, and very Warhammer."