“Attention all residents.
Under wartime control regulations, a curfew and blackout are now in effect.
All residents must remain in their homes, lock their doors and windows, and do not venture outside.
Do not light any lamps.
Do not trust the words of any strangers.
Repeating: Attention all residents…”
The armed police patrolled the main thoroughfares in police vehicles reinforced with welded steel plates.
Large loudspeakers mounted on the roofs blared the wartime control regulations on a loop.
The Underhive, which had briefly become a city that never slept with its recent improvements, was plunged back into pitch darkness, as if returning to its grim past.
Only a few roads, those under the complete control of the armed police and marked by fixed checkpoints, flickered with scattered lights.
Most of these roads led to the secret passages of the nobility.
Aside from the checkpoints, these routes were bustling with workers in bright yellow reflective coveralls.
Some drove heavy trucks, transporting massive blocks of ceramite to various access points.
Others operated construction machinery, hauling the blocks to the entrances of the passages to seal them off permanently.
In a few areas where the roads were too narrow for engineering vehicles, workers wearing sapper exoskeletons manually carried the ceramite blocks inside.
In the Carter District of the Underhive.
Liam, who had only recently reported for duty as a recorder at the Water Recycling and Purification Engineering Bureau, listened to the broadcasts echoing outside the pipes with a look of terror on his face.
He had only been working a real job for a few days; he hadn’t even decided whether to send his children to the orphanage yet, and now war had suddenly broken out.
How long would it last this time?
Would he even have a job to go back to when it was over?
As a recorder, he earned an extra 10 kg of starch per day as wages.
Combined with the food and water he had saved up before, he could survive for a while, but it wouldn’t last long.
He had been working for less than half a month and hadn’t actually collected much pay.
Not to mention the children under his care—every one of them was in a growing phase, and their appetites were bottomless.
“Brother Liam, I’m hungry,” one of the children called out.
Liam tore a small piece off a compressed starch block and fed it to the child.
While chewing the starch, the child asked, “Why can’t we go out and play tonight?
Can we go out tomorrow?”
With the improvement of security in the Underhive, these children—who once could only huddle in the darkness of abandoned pipes until their skin turned a sickly pale—had finally been able to go out for some fresh air.
Naturally, they had been overjoyed.
But after only two days of freedom, Brother Liam was suddenly forbidding them from leaving again, and their spirits had plummeted.
Liam sighed.
“Maybe.
Maybe tomorrow.
Go to sleep for now, there’s a good child.”
“Oh, okay,” the child replied, groping through the pitch-black passage to crawl back to the sleeping area.
Thanks to Liam’s hard work, the once-bare rest area was now padded with discarded clothing, ensuring the children wouldn’t wake up with aching bodies.
Hearing the repetitive blare of the broadcast outside, Liam sighed again.
He hoped the Angels would win.
Even though he had only tasted a normal life for a few days, he never wanted to go back to the way things were.
Liam’s thoughts mirrored those of most Underhive residents, which was precisely why the workers had responded so actively to the call.
Thanks to this cooperation, reports of success kept streaming into the command center established at the largest passage exit between the Mid-hive and Underhive.
Old John watched the holographic sand table.
The various passage exits marked on the map were being rapidly sealed by different teams.
No riots or disturbances had broken out in the Underhive.
Even the Ecarchy of Badab, which had previously been at odds with them, was now keeping its head down and behaving.
No noble remnants had attempted to flee through the tunnels yet.
*The brothers in the Mid-hive are doing a hell of a job,* Old John thought.
The overall blockade mission was largely complete; all that remained was to double-check for any missed gaps.
Unlike the calm of the Underhive, the Mid-hive was now a landscape of fire and thunder.
The Baker Machining Plant, Mid-hive.
As one of the core assets of the Baker family, most of the factory’s employees were fiercely loyal to the clan.
Consequently, when faced with the demands of the armed police, the plant did not surrender.
Instead, they sealed off the core factory area, attempting a desperate last stand.
The Colonel of the 3rd Regiment, 6th Special Operations Division, glared through his binoculars at the factory, which had blocked every entrance and exit.
He punched the cover of his fortification in frustration.
“Those bastards…
Not only did they design the outer factory area like a damn labyrinth to stop our first wave from reaching the core, but now they actually have the nerve to hold out?
They’re begging for death!”
“Keep the broadcast going,” the Colonel shouted to the armed police, then issued a new order.
“Demolition team, get ready.
Start your approach while they’re still talking.”
“Attention those inside the factory!
The Baker family has betrayed the God-Emperor and sided with heretics…”
The calls for surrender resumed.
Five members of the demolition team, carrying melta bombs and having swapped all unnecessary gear for extra ceramite ballistic plating, sprinted toward the factory buildings at high speed, powered by their exoskeleton servomotors.
Despite the complex layout of the factory roads, the demolition team covered over a kilometer in just two minutes.
They reached the perimeter wall of the core area and planted the melta bombs.
Receiving the “ready” signal from the demolition team, the Colonel punched his cover again, this time with excitement.
“Good job, demolition.
Order the whole regiment: prepare for the breach!”
A few minutes later, following the thunderous roar of the melta bombs, a massive hole was blasted through the thick ceramite wall.
The Colonel leaped up, leading the charge toward the breach.
“All units, assault!
Slaughter these bastards!”
*Bang!
Bang!
Bang!*
*Boom!*
A few automated turrets on the core area’s walls began to fire, attempting to halt the Special Operations Division’s advance.
However, the Chimera support vehicles had been waiting for this; their large-caliber autocannons immediately opened fire, obliterating the turrets.
Reaching the breach, the Colonel looked back and saw turret shells tearing into the charging ranks, sending several men sprawling to the ground, their fates unknown.
“Damn it!
Add that to their list of crimes!”
Raising his bolter, he charged through the breach into the core factory floor.
Some Baker family workers, armed with autoguns, tried to use the factory’s complex environment to engage the Special Ops in urban warfare.
But the bolts were equipped with attitude-control systems, and the diamond-tipped shrapnel released upon explosion was as lethal as an offensive grenade.
Faced with mini-grenades that could effectively curve around corners, the workers barely had time to fire a single shot before being riddled with holes.
The Special Ops soldiers didn’t even need to figure out how to bypass cover; the bolts and shrapnel found the enemies for them.
Untrained and unaugmented, the workers found it nearly impossible to hit the moving Special Ops personnel.
Even when they did, their low-velocity autogun rounds only left minor pits in the ceramite ballistic plates, failing to harm the soldiers inside the exoskeletons.
The soldiers of the Special Operations Division, who had reached [Training Level 3: Well-Trained] through the system’s drills, leveraged their equipment superiority to the fullest.
They struck hard and fast, rapidly shattering the fragile defensive lines organized by the workers.
Outnumbered, outgunned, out-trained, and completely demoralized, the Baker Machining Plant was fully secured in less than half an hour.