In the lounge, Nolan removed his combat armor piece by piece and set his chainsword aside. He sat cross-legged on the metal floor, still warm from his training session.
He reopened the simulator interface.
Forty-eight hours remained before the next simulation became available naturally.
Nolan frowned, considering his options. He could consume accumulated cooldown reduction to accelerate the process.
Hydra's emergence had rekindled that familiar sense of crisis. The feeling of being underprepared, outgunned, vulnerable. He needed more simulations. More power. Better equipment.
The threats were multiplying faster than he could adapt.
"The Emperor Protects.," Nolan muttered, making his decision. He initiated another simulation immediately.
[Simulation starting—]
[Current identities available: Catachan Recruit, Death Korps of Krieg Grenadier, Kashezin Sergeant Major, Letalis Storm Squad Trooper]
[Please select identity for deployment.]
[If you refuse selection, deployment will be randomized.]
[Identity selection refused.]
[Simulation starting—]
[You have descended into the Warhammer universe.]
[Time: M41.997]
[Location: Milky Way Galaxy, Ultramar Segmentum, Orpheus Sector]
[You have materialized above planetary surface...]
[You find yourself falling through open sky.]
[An uncontrollable scream of terror tears from your throat as wind rushes past your face.]
[You plunge heavily into a freshwater lake, the impact like hitting concrete.]
[The violent collision drives consciousness from your body. Blood pours from your nose and mouth, clouding the water around you.]
[You sink slowly into the warm depths of the lake, suspended between life and death...]
[You are dying...]
[You regain consciousness. Against all probability, you survived.]
[You find yourself lying in the sidecar of a hoverbike, covered by a colorful heavy blanket that smells of machine oil and dried grass.]
[You turn your neck carefully—every movement sending lances of pain through your bruised body—and see a young woman piloting the bike.]
[She wears windproof goggles perched in her short hair. The fading glow of sunset illuminates her fair skin, revealing fine downy hair along her jawline.]
[Your gaze drifts almost unconsciously across thin pink lips, up past her high-bridged nose, finally settling on a pair of purple eyes that shine like polished amethyst.]
[For a moment, you forget where you are. Forget the pain. The world narrows to just her profile against the sunset.]
["Hey! Big guy! You awake or brain-damaged?" The short-haired woman's crisp voice cuts through your haze.]
[You shake your head, clearing the cobwebs. You take a deep breath and carefully express gratitude for saving your life.]
[The young woman pilots the hoverbike with practiced skill, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Hearing your thanks, the corner of her mouth curves into a faint smile.]
["Big guy, welcome to our agricultural world—ah, no! Welcome to Orpheus! Haha!" She laughs freely, the sound bright and genuine.]
[As your senses sharpen, you notice endless green fields stretching in every direction around you.]
[Further away, massive agricultural machines walk among the crops like mechanical giants, constantly spraying pungent fertilizers and reclaimed water through their nozzles.]
[Day One: Seriously injured, you're brought to a base by the short-haired woman.]
[The facility is actually a repair depot for agricultural machinery—massive warehouses filled with spare parts, hydraulic lifts, and the smell of industrial lubricants.]
[The young woman's name is Zoya. She lives here with her grandfather. Their family has maintained these machines and managed nearby agricultural harvests for generations.]
[You thank Zoya again, but she just stares at you while fidgeting with the windproof goggles in her hair, studying you with undisguised curiosity.]
[Then she calls for her grandfather.]
[A muscular old man approaches, moving his mechanical prosthetic leg with the confident gait of someone who's worn it for decades. Servo motors whir softly with each step.]
[He studies you expressionlessly for a long moment. Then the old man speaks to Zoya: "This kid doesn't look like a rebel or cultist..."]
["I am nothing more than a resource of the Emperor's Will." You barely manage to prop yourself upright despite the pain. The phrase emerges automatically—standard Imperial identification.]
[The muscular old man freezes momentarily. Then his weathered face breaks into a wide grin.]
["May the Emperor bless you! Welcome to my home, soldier!" He extends his calloused palm, mechanical hand gripping yours with surprising warmth.]
[Day Two: Your injuries heal completely overnight.]
[You're accustomed to this accelerated recovery by now. Zoya and her grandfather are absolutely shocked, staring at your previously broken ribs and torn flesh with wide-eyed disbelief.]
[You ask the grandfather and granddaughter how to leave this remote location.]
[Zoya's smile turns apologetic as she delivers bad news.]
[Agricultural worlds like Orpheus are vast but sparsely populated. Except for the cargo haulers that arrive once monthly on harvest day to collect food and resupply garrison personnel, there's no long-distance transportation available to reach the cities.]
[Even more unfortunately, this month's cargo ship departed just yesterday.]
[Day Three: Temporarily stranded, you choose to join Zoya's patrol duties.]
[You accompany her on rounds, inspecting the massive machines operating throughout the green fields. Checking for mechanical failures, monitoring fertilizer distribution systems, ensuring servo-skulls maintain proper crop data.]
[You prove remarkably adept at this work, earning Zoya's enthusiastic praise.]
[Under the bright sunlight, you can't help but smile genuinely. The expression feels strange on your face—you've smiled more in three days here than in months of combat.]
[Day Four: Your communication with Zoya deepens naturally.]
[You accidentally reveal fragments of your combat experiences to her during a long patrol. Stories slip out despite your usual caution.]
[This seems to resonate powerfully with Zoya.]
[You learn that she has an older brother currently serving in the city's Planetary Defense Force. If Grandfather Wade wasn't elderly and requiring care, Zoya would have already joined the PDF herself. She dreams of fighting for the Imperium and the Emperor alongside her sibling.]
[Your lips move, prepared to speak. Then you choose silence instead.]
[You can't change—and don't want to shatter—a dream she's cherished for years. Let her keep her idealism a little longer.]
[Day Five: Boredom drives you to seek out Old Man Wade and learn agricultural knowledge.]
[Wade begins asking roundabout questions about your specific origins and background.]
[You select some combat experiences you can safely share as conversation topics, carefully editing out classified or traumatic details.]
[This greatly stimulates Wade's interest. His eyes light up with recognition and nostalgia.]
[He even shares his treasured alcohol reserve with you—bottles he's been aging for years, waiting for the right occasion.]
[The two of you talk late into the night, conversation flowing easily.]
[Wade, under the influence of alcohol, keeps rubbing his mechanical prosthetic absently. His eyes reveal deep nostalgia—memories of his own service, perhaps. Wars long past but never forgotten.]
[Week One: You seem to be enjoying one of the few genuinely peaceful periods of your existence.]
[Only sunshine and breeze accompany you daily, along with the pungent smell of agricultural fertilizers that you've somehow grown accustomed to.]
[At some point—you're not sure when it started—the enthusiastic Zoya began constantly surrounding you, persistently pestering you to share stories about past battles.]
[You refuse most of the time, maintaining appropriate distance. But occasionally you can't resist her persistent and playful offensive.]
[When she wears you down, you teach Zoya practical combat techniques instead of stories. Hand-to-hand fighting. Weapon handling. Situational awareness. You try to use physical training to exhaust the young woman's seemingly boundless energy.]
[Old Man Wade not only doesn't stop your instruction—he actively encourages you to increase Zoya's training intensity. He nods approvingly when he sees her practicing combat drills.]
[You've become Zoya's teacher without quite realizing when the transition occurred.]
[You seem to have adapted to this current life. Found something resembling peace.]
[The distance between you and Zoya has blurred considerably. Professional boundaries softening into something harder to define...]