[You opened your slightly sore eyes wide and stared at Chunkus in front of you, remaining silent for a long time.]
[An Inquisitor, clad in force-feedback power armor, whose tall frame had clearly undergone both genetic and mechanical modifications.]
[Plus his loyal, though not particularly bright, Ogryn deputy.]
[At most, add one combat squad composed entirely of Ogryns.]
[And this is the force being sent to investigate the heretical behavior of an Astartes Chapter, potentially traveling directly to their planetary fortress.]
[You couldn't help but raise your cold metal hand and place it against your forehead, which had begun heating up with rising frustration. The metal provided minimal cooling relief.]
["Hmm..." Chunkus, sitting before you on the floor, mindlessly mimicked your gesture. One massive hand struggled to prop up his fat chin, his mismatched eyes watching you with simple devotion.]
[You felt no fear. Fear served no purpose in this situation.]
[You simply struggled with the fundamental question: how to successfully complete this investigation mission without dying in the process.]
[Because proving an Astartes Chapter's heretical behavior, or alternatively attempting to prove their innocence, would represent an extremely difficult and potentially suicidal undertaking either way.]
[Your brow furrowed unconsciously, the skin pulling tight with concentration.]
[You suddenly drove your power armor forward, the servos whirring as you exited your private cabin with decisive strides.]
["Wait for me, boss!" Chunkus called out, his voice carrying genuine distress at being left behind.]
[The Ogryn, who had been sitting comfortably on the ground, clumsily hauled himself upright. His massive, muscular body swayed slightly as he found his balance. He wriggled his unusually large posterior, adjusting the carapace armor that creaked with the movement, then followed slowly behind you with heavy, thumping footfalls.]
[Perhaps you could find a way to minimize the inevitable damage by taking a stroll through the ship first, getting a feel for available resources and potential allies.]
[During the first month aboard, the Cobra-class destroyer repeatedly entered and exited warp space routes, the transitions marked by nauseating shifts in reality that left even your augmented stomach queasy. The ship stopped at multiple planets within the Imperium's territory to replenish consumed supplies, taking on fresh water, rations, and promethium.]
[Meanwhile, two unfamiliar Inquisitors boarded the Cobra-class destroyer during one of these resupply stops. One served the Ordo Malleus, hunting daemonic threats. The other belonged to the Ordo Xenos, dedicated to purging alien corruption.]
[They recognized you almost instantly. Your reputation as an elite Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus preceded you, particularly your distinctive nickname: "Steelhead."]
[With the friendly intention of avoiding unnecessary conflicts or political entanglements, you initiated separate conversations with both individuals.]
[The Inquisitors, upon learning of your impending investigation into an Astartes Chapter for potential heresy, offered surprisingly tactful warnings. Their voices carried careful neutrality, but their eyes held genuine concern.]
[They reminded you that serving the Emperor and the Imperium represented an inherent and vital duty for every Inquisitor.]
[However, they noted, the cold universe remained perpetually rife with unexpected accidents and complications.]
[For example, ships frequently deviated from their planned courses due to warp storms, causing them to arrive at target planets years later than scheduled. These things simply happened, unpredictable and unavoidable.]
[Or perhaps you might unexpectedly discover other leads related to genuine wanted heretics, requiring immediate attention and necessarily delaying your current assignment.]
[Their words opened something like a door to a new world of possibilities in your mind. Creative approaches you hadn't previously considered suddenly seemed viable.]
[You expressed sincere gratitude for their many inventive suggestions, filing each one away for potential future use.]
[After the two Inquisitors had departed to their own business, you stood watching Chunkus devour a towering pile of food. His jaws worked mechanically, shoving meat and bread into his mouth without pause. You shook your head with a wry smile, amusement mixing with resignation.]
["The Imperium these days," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else, "it's fucking tough."]
[You never seriously considered abandoning the mission entirely. That option simply didn't exist, not for someone of your rank and obligations.]
[After a moment's additional thought, you rose from your seat and made your way to the bridge of the Cobra-class destroyer. You needed to speak with the captain commanding the vessel.]
[By virtue of your Inquisitorial authority, which trumped virtually all other Imperial jurisdiction, you gained the privilege of requisitioning weapons and equipment from the ship's armory at will.]
[You led Chunkus, along with his Ogryn combat squad, down to the armory levels. The squad consisted of five Bullgryn serving as close-quarters specialists, one Ogryn gunner carrying a ripper gun, and one particularly massive specimen designated as their heavy assault element.]
[You proceeded to arm the Ogryn combat squad before you to the absolute teeth.]
[Carapace armor upgrades, reinforced plates, additional ammunition pouches, grenades of various types. You held nothing back, requisitioning everything that might improve their survival odds by even the smallest margin.]
[If it weren't for the Ogryns' extremely low intelligence making them utterly incapable of operating complex machinery like vehicles, you might have even considered commandeering a mothballed Chimera armored personnel carrier.]
[You stood silently in the armory, staring with neutral expression at a neatly stacked box of thermobaric bombs. The weapons gleamed dully under the overhead lighting, their destructive potential almost palpable.]
[You released a slow sigh, the sound barely audible over the armory's ventilation systems.]
[These things before you might at least allow you to die with some dignity, taking enemies with you in final defiance.]
[As time crawled forward, the Cobra-class destroyer finally arrived at the planetary system housing the Seekers of Truth Chapter's fortress monastery.]
[The destination proved to be an industrial planet dotted with several medium-sized hive cities. Smoke stacks rose like blackened fingers from manufactorums, their output staining the atmosphere with pollution.]
[The planet symbolized the glorious past of the Seekers of Truth Chapter, evidence of their previous strength and influence. But now this Astartes Chapter, whose number of battle-brothers struggled to increase, showed unmistakable signs of irreversible decline.]
[In the cold void of space, the Cobra-class destroyer assumed a holding pattern in orbit above the industrial planet. The vessel hung like a patient predator, waiting.]
[The astropaths aboard ship made contact with their counterparts serving the Seekers of Truth Chapter planetside. Psychic communion crackled across the void, minds touching across impossible distances.]
[As an Inquisitor, you received formal permission to bring armed forces down to the industrial planet's surface.]
[Accompanied by the deep, rumbling roar of engines from a Thunderhawk gunship, you propelled your newly inspected and meticulously adjusted power armor forward. Your expression remained carefully blank as you led the fully armed Ogryn squad on their journey to the Chapter's fortress monastery.]
[Shortly afterward, your party arrived at one of the planet's upper hive levels, guided by navigation beacons transmitted from below.]
[Your arrival drew immediate attention from the planet's governor, who came personally to welcome you with considerable ceremony.]
[You studied the middle-aged man before you, noting how his forehead glistened with sweat despite the climate control that should have kept him comfortable. Your eyes stung slightly from the perpetually dry local atmosphere, the air carrying traces of industrial particulates.]
["Greetings, Governor," you said, your tone measured and calm. "While I appreciate that you've come to welcome me personally, I must ask: where are the representatives of the Seekers of Truth Chapter? Surely it seems unusual that we haven't encountered a single Astartes."]
[The middle-aged governor wiped repeatedly at the sweat coating his face, his hand trembling slightly. He attempted a smile, though it looked strained and unconvincing.]
["Honorable Inquisitor, we hope you can understand the situation. Your arrival represents something quite painful for the angels stationed here. The Seekers of Truth Chapter has fought faithfully for the Inquisition and the Emperor for many centuries. Yet now they find themselves branded as potential heretics simply for refusing summons a few times. Surely you can see how this might seem somewhat... unfair?"]
[His words carried a hidden edge, a barb wrapped in diplomatic language.]
[You allowed a smile to spread across your features, cold and entirely devoid of warmth.]
["That's precisely why I, an Inquisitor, came here in person, Governor. Otherwise, what you'd be facing wouldn't be me standing here alone with my modest retinue. Instead, you'd be looking at an entire suppression force with full military authorization."]
[You let that sink in for a moment before continuing.]
["And whether the angels are engaging in heretical behavior or not... well, that determination falls entirely within my purview. Wouldn't you agree, Your Excellency?"]
[The governor's expression gradually stiffened, color draining from his already pale features. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously.]
[Your silver metal skull covering gleamed brilliantly in the scorching sunlight beating down on the hive's upper levels, the reflection almost painful to look at directly.]
["Your Excellency," you continued, your voice taking on a tone of false generosity, "I'll give you three hours... no, let's make it six hours of local time to think things over carefully. That should provide adequate time for the Astartes of the Seekers of Truth Chapter to consider their position as well."]
[You paused deliberately, letting silence stretch for several heartbeats.]
["And of course, I need time to think things over myself."]
[You patted your cold metal hands first against the bolt pistol hanging at your waist, then touched the flamethrower secured to your power pack's mounting point. The weapons made solid, reassuring sounds under your touch.]
[With an infuriatingly faint smile playing across your features, you spoke slowly and clearly to the governor, whose face had turned an unhealthy shade of red.]