[Week Four: The situation aboard ship deteriorates subtly but unmistakably.]
[The vessel you're confined to is an armed cargo hauler—disguised as a civilian transport to provide cover for storm squad boarding operations.]
[Its weapons systems are minimal by warship standards: a laser cannon array for point defense and a single torpedo launcher. Adequate for deterring pirates, useless against real void combat.]
[This is not a strategically valuable asset, especially within an expedition fleet numbering hundreds of vessels.]
[Despite its insignificance, a strange contingent of Navigators forcibly seizes control of the bridge under Astartes escort.]
[The cargo hauler's captain—a grizzled void-born sailor nicknamed "Blackbeard"—and his crew are relieved of command by Luna Wolves battle-brothers and driven down to the lower decks.]
[The lower deck living conditions are significantly worse than the standard crew quarters where your storm squad is confined. Cramped. Poor ventilation. Minimal sanitation.]
[Despite this humiliating treatment, Captain Blackbeard maintains his composure. He tells his displaced crew that perhaps Warmaster Horus has his reasons. Strategic considerations beyond their understanding.]
[He urges everyone to remain patient and maintain discipline. He expresses absolute faith that the XVI Legion will provide satisfactory explanations once the dangerous xenos threat is neutralized.]
[You stand at the cabin doorway, listening to the captain's reassurances.]
[You disagree completely with his optimism.]
[You watch from the sidelines, convinced that everything is sliding toward an irreversible catastrophe. The signs are too obvious to ignore.]
[You begin infiltrating the ventilation ducts repeatedly, establishing contact with other storm squad members beyond your commander.]
[After persistent effort and covert assistance from a maintenance servitor stationed outside your quarters, you successfully reach all squad members.]
[You engage in careful, measured conversations, trying to make them understand what's happening without triggering panic or worse—betrayal to the Astartes.]
[Unfortunately, only five members of your ten-man squad—including the commander—agree with your "paranoid delusions."]
["An internal rebellion is brewing within the XVI Legion, the Luna Wolves themselves..." You speak carefully, choosing each word with extreme caution.]
["A rebellion? Involving Warmaster Horus? Come on, friend! He's the banner of the Great Crusade! The Warmaster of the entire Imperium! He's the Emperor's own son!" One dissenting squad member sneers openly at your suggestion.]
[You fall silent and cease all contact with that particular soldier. No point in arguing with someone who refuses to see.]
[Week Five: Conditions aboard the armed hauler worsen dramatically.]
[Prolonged confinement combined with reduced food rations creates unbearable pressure.]
[A large group of abhuman beastmen—stationed aboard as logistics personnel and manual laborers—can no longer tolerate their hunger.]
[They riot in the lower decks, their desperation overriding their survival instincts.]
[The uprising barely begins before the roar of bolters and the crack of laser fire draws everyone's attention.]
[Two Luna Wolves Astartes suppress approximately one hundred rioting beastmen in under three minutes.]
[The entire lower deck transforms into an abattoir. Flesh and blood coat every surface. Blood pools in the drainage channels, flowing like rivers between deck plates.]
[Perhaps it's your instigation finally taking root. Perhaps it's simple survival instinct triggered by watching the massacre.]
[Captain Blackbeard can no longer tolerate the Astartes' barbaric conduct. He refuses to permit them to continue acting with such impunity on his ship.]
[He leads a contingent of malnourished crew members in a desperate push toward the bridge, forcing his way past resistance to deliver an impassioned speech.]
["I have made contributions to the Great Crusade! I have shed blood for Warmaster Horus! I demand to see—" Captain Blackbeard's hoarse shout cuts off abruptly as an Astartes stationed on the bridge seizes him by the throat.]
[The Space Marine lifts Blackbeard effortlessly and hurls him bodily out of the bridge. The captain crashes heavily onto the plasteel corridor floor, bones cracking from impact.]
[You're hiding among the crew. You rush forward to help, but the pale-faced captain grabs your collar with surprising strength, pulling you close.]
["Tell your commander..." Blackbeard gasps, sweat pouring down his face. His whisper is urgent, desperate. "The armed hauler—no! The entire fleet's navigation coordinates are wrong!"]
[Week Six: Through carefully cultivated crew contacts, you discover the rotation schedule of the five Astartes stationed aboard the armed hauler.]
[You exploit the extremely brief overlap during shift change—when positions are being relieved but not yet fully secured—and successfully infiltrate the armory through maintenance access tunnels.]
[You steal four bolters and ten laspistols. The weapons are heavy, awkward for mortal frames not enhanced by power armor.]
[Time and weight constraints force you to abandon the combat armor stored nearby. You can't carry everything.]
[You return to the lower decks with your liberated weapons.]
[Captain Blackbeard and your storm squad commander wait for your arrival, already coordinating plans.]
[Since Blackbeard discovered the navigation coordinate anomaly, he's established a united front with your squad. The conspiracy is too large to ignore.]
[This expanded alliance numbers over one hundred loyalists.]
[However, against nearly a thousand crew members aboard the armed hauler, you remain a dangerous minority.]
[You distribute the bolters to your commander and the four other squad members who've joined your cause.]
[Their mission: assault the armory and eliminate the two Astartes stationed there. Kill them fast or die trying.]
[Your mission with Captain Blackbeard is even more perilous.]
[You must draw the attention of the two Astartes patrolling the lower decks and crew quarters. Create chaos. Buy time for your commander's desperate gambit.]
[Week Seven: A "riot" erupts in the armed cargo hauler's lower decks.]
[You incite crew members to seize the galley through inflammatory rhetoric, declaring they'll no longer tolerate the starvation rations being distributed.]
[Simultaneously, Captain Blackbeard leads his most loyal crew in a coordinated assault on engineering. They forcibly shut down the ship's main engines and begin manipulating the Gellar field controls—threatening to drop the void shields that protect against warp exposure.]
[The cascading crisis completely divides the Astartes' attention.]
[They attempt to restore order through intimidation, commanding the crew members to return to their quarters peacefully.]
[Then the distinctive crack-BOOM of bolter fire echoes from the armory's direction.]
[The Astartes' attempts at "peacekeeping" instantly transform into wholesale slaughter.]
[Unarmed crew members pose no threat whatsoever to Space Marines in full power armor. The massacre is less a battle than an execution. Bodies fall like wheat before a scythe.]
[You clutch a laspistol with white-knuckled grip, squeezing the trigger repeatedly in desperate attempts to damage the Astartes.]
[The roar of bolters and the spray of severed limbs constantly assault your senses. Blood mists the air. The screaming never stops.]
[The carnage hardens something inside you, transforms grief and horror into cold fury.]
["Why?! Why would the Luna Wolves—Warmaster Horus's own Legion—treat us like this?!" A crew member who knows nothing of the conspiracy shouts with trembling voice.]
[He straightens his back with final dignity and glares at the Astartes before him, whose ivory power armor is now painted crimson with crew blood.]
[The Space Marine's only answer is the bolter in his hands.]
[The weapon roars. The crew member explodes into fragments of meat and bone, scattered across the plasteel deck in a radius of gore.]
[One minute later, dozens of crew members lie dead or dying. The lower deck resembles a charnel house.]
[The two Astartes slowly turn their attention away from the broken bodies. Their bolters track toward you, standing alone among the corpses.]
[You take a deep breath. Hold it. Release it slowly, centering yourself.]
[You raise the laspistol in your hand, knowing it's utterly inadequate but refusing to die on your knees.]