As one of the few Adeptus Mechanicus players who followed this Helldiver Legion from Perditia, Morl Levin had just received orders to go to the quartermaster to receive new equipment for their legion. As he walked, he was complaining to a friend on his player panel about the monotony of logistics work.
However, when he rounded the last massive dock support and saw the scene before him, all his complaints froze in his throat. He subconsciously blurted out a swear word from his homeland: "What the hell…"
Before him, on the huge tarmac, carapace armor and various models of lasguns, packed in standard military containers, were piled into veritable small mountains. And between these "mountain ranges" was a forest of steel—rows of brand-new leman russ tanks, Chimera Armored Personnel Carriers, Basilisk self-propelled artillery, and various other models of mechanized equipment and heavy weapon platforms, neatly arranged, their lines stretching as far as the eye could see. The air was filled with a mixture of new paint, sacred oil, and unburnt fuel, an aroma that would intoxicate any Adeptus Mechanicus worshipper.
A tired, dark-eyed Astra Militarum official hurried over, thrusting a data-slate into Morl's hand with an impatient tone: "Representative of the Perditia Third Suicide Legion? Quick, sign here to confirm."
Morl took the heavy data-slate, his eyes quickly scanning the manifest. His hands even began to tremble slightly; he could hardly believe his eyes: "This… all the equipment on this list… is all to be loaded onto our transport and supply ships?"
"Yes!" The Astra Militarum official's tone was almost a reprimand. "You all hurry up and sign for it, count it, and get it loaded! Your stuff is already seriously affecting subsequent transport scheduling!"
Even after Morl mechanically signed the document and watched the massive transport aircraft and crane claws begin to systematically move this steel flood away, he hadn't fully recovered.
"How the hell is there so much equipment…" he muttered to himself, his mind in a daze. "Just these leman russ tanks, a rough estimate is definitely over a thousand… We've been upgraded on the spot to a mechanized armored regiment."
Just then, a blurry image flashed through Morl's mind. He seemed to suddenly remember something, and his expression changed slightly.
"Wait… didn't the commander just get off the plane with an old man in a fancy robe? I saw that old man looking all cheerful and solicitous, overly enthusiastic towards the commander… Could it be…?"
"Holy crap!"
Just as Morl's thoughts were about to connect into a complete line of inquiry, an equally shocked voice interrupted him. Morl turned to see another player, an executive committee member, staring dumbfounded at the spectacular transport scene before them: "Why is there so much equipment? What's going on? Did we rob a Forge World?"
"Ahem," Morl immediately coughed twice, furtively glancing around to confirm no NPCs were paying attention to them, then leaned in and whispered, "I have a theory, just a theory, don't go spreading it around…"
The executive committee member immediately became interested, mimicking him and leaning in, lowering his voice: "Tell me, tell me, I'm the most tight-lipped, I definitely won't spread it!"
…Ghostface hummed a tune, walking with light steps into the legion's temporary meeting room. The joy brought by immense wealth and power made him feel as if he was floating on clouds.
However, the moment he pushed open the door, his light humming stopped abruptly.
The meeting room was eerily silent.
This was too abnormal. Usually, even before a meeting started, it would be as noisy as a marketplace.
But today, these guys were all sitting upright, eyes fixed on their noses, as if performing a solemn silent prayer. The usual atmosphere of hustle and bustle was replaced by an eerie and heavy silence.
"Hmm?" Ghostface's helmet-filtered voice carried a hint of confusion, but he was in a good mood and didn't think much of it. He strode to the head of the table, sat down heavily, and the metal chair groaned.
"Gentlemen, have you all seen the new equipment?" He surveyed everyone smugly, his voice full of a show-offish tone, expecting a wave of deserved praise and exclamations.
"We have."
The executive committee member closest to him looked up, exchanged a quick glance with the others, then praised him with an incredibly sincere, even slightly awestruck tone: "That's all thanks to you, Commander. Without you, where would our Helldivers Legion be today?"
"Yes, yes, it's all your credit." The others immediately came to their senses, echoing him in unison, their synchronized posture as if specially rehearsed.
"No, no, you all deserve some credit too." Ghostface magnanimously waved his hand. In his opinion, he was speaking the truth. After all, if he had to deal with the nobles of the Perditia Upper Hive and the Mid-Hive gangs alone, it would take forever.
Who would have thought his humble words would stir up a hornet's nest.
"No, no, no!" Everyone present, including the usual troublemakers who loved to argue, scrambled to shake their heads in denial, their faces showing an almost panicked expression. "We have no credit at all! It's all thanks to you, Commander! You turned the tide, you… uh… sacrificed and dedicated yourself, and that's how we got all this!"
"Hmm?"
Ghostface finally sensed something was wrong. He slowly scanned everyone present: "What do you mean by this?"
"Uh, nothing, nothing at all, Commander," a player quickly said, his eyes darting around. "What were you about to say? Please continue, we're all listening."
"No, there definitely is!" Ghostface slammed the table, declaring, "Jason, Michael, close the door for me! If you don't tell me what's going on today, not a single one of you is leaving this room!"
As the heavy metal door clanged shut, the atmosphere in the meeting room instantly dropped to freezing point. The players hung their heads, looking like frostbitten eggplants. Finally, under Ghostface's oppressive gaze, one player couldn't take it anymore. He tremblingly raised his hand and cautiously said:
"Commander, I heard—just heard, I definitely didn't spread it—that you… you have some… special relationship with a certain Cardinal Archbishop of the Ecclesiarchy. That's why he was so pleased and, with a wave of his hand, allocated so much equipment to us…"
Before the red-faced Ghostface could react, another player interjected, attempting to "correct" the statement: "That's not right, is it? The version I heard wasn't like that! I heard it was with a high-ranking Battle Sister of the Adepta Sororitas!"
"No, no!" A third person immediately retorted. "Surely the version I heard about the female rogue trader is the most reasonable? They say she's richer than a nation!"
"Didn't they say it was an Inquisitor's daughter?"
"The version I heard was with a Repentia! The kind that only wears rags and carries a giant sword!"
"You're all wrong!" a voice boomed over everyone else. "The version I heard is that the Commander hooked up with a machine spirit of a Titan! She demanded that the Adeptus Mechanicus must give the Commander special treatment, and the oil-boys had no choice but to agree…"
"Enough! All of you, shut up!"
Ghostface roared, and the entire meeting room instantly fell silent, leaving only the hum of the ventilation system.
With these guys' clamoring, his burning anger actually deflated, leaving only endless frustration: "Damn it, who the hell is spreading rumors about me…?"
"Could it be that guy Morl?" Ghostface inexplicably suspected the correct target. "After all, Englishmen are all gay, it's normal for them to project… Damn it, I said I should have brought Chinese Adeptus Mechanicus players back then, but Archer and the others all said they wanted to continue staying in Perditia to do research…"
Ghostface pondered for a while but couldn't figure it out, so he simply stopped thinking about it.
"Alright," he waved his hand, "After this, inform everyone to prepare telescopes and such. The fleet is about to enter the Hylander Sector, and there's a high probability of a space naval battle. Those who aren't prepared aren't allowed on the bridge! Dismissed!"
At these words, the players' expressions instantly changed. Their eyes lit up in unison, gleaming with excitement. At this moment, all rumors were thrown to the back of their minds.
"Holy crap! Is it finally time for a fleet battle?!"
"After playing for so long, I can finally witness massive battleships and giant cannons bombarding each other firsthand!"
"Good, good, good! To see such a sight, even if I die, it's worth it!"
The players cheered, excitedly rushing out of the meeting room, all beginning to prepare for this long-awaited feast of the stars.