They all turned to examine the wall. The bullet holes were fresh, but not from any standard weapon. "Semi-solid rounds," Tony said, eyes narrowing. "Not explosives."
Johnson tilted his head, scanning the corridor. "Looks like a firefight. People were running and shooting, probably trying to defend themselves. Could've been the station's guards trying to fight off intruders." He paused, his voice turning dark. "If so, those guards were willing to die with their enemies."
Robert's voice crackled in the comms again. "You might want to see this." His tone was sharper now, tinged with something colder.
The team moved swiftly, following Robert's voice to the next section of the station. When they rounded the corner, they came to a halt in front of a massive hole in the bulkhead. The entire wall of the station had been torn open, exposing the black vacuum of space beyond.
John knelt, running his fingers across the torn edges of the metal. The debris was scattered, and as he examined his fingers, he could see a fine layer of dust, a telltale sign of a violent explosion.
"The rockets were fired in haste," John muttered, rubbing the powder between his fingers. "They didn't think things through. The damage here wasn't from people being sucked into space. It was from the explosions. A lot of people probably died from the blasts before they even had a chance to be dragged out into the void."
"But where are the bodies?" Johnson asked, his voice rising with confusion. "Did the invaders take them? Or did they intentionally leave them behind?"
"Doesn't make sense," Robert said, patting the bulkhead with his gloved hand. "Who does that? The Dark Eldar? They're sick, sure, but they like to live prey, not haul off dead bodies."
"Yeah," Tony added, scanning the area with his helmet lights. "And we'd see traces of their weaponry if it was them. Their fancy tech leaves signatures everywhere."
John stood and looked around, his mind churning. "It's not the Eldar," he said, finally looking at Johnson. "But I agree, I'm not sure what kind of enemy would cause this much destruction and not leave a trace."
Johnson frowned. "Then what's the purpose of all this? Why would someone go to this much trouble?"
"I don't know," John replied, his eyes narrowing. "But I think we'll find the answers in the command tower." He turned, starting to walk toward the darkened corridor ahead. "Let's move."
It didn't take long to reach the command tower. The design of the station was standardized across the Imperium, and despite the chaos, the layout was predictable. Every space station, no matter how unique on the outside, followed a template inside. The team was used to this. The halls, the corridors, the stairways—they all felt familiar. But this one felt off. Silent. Empty.
They entered the command tower, and immediately, the sense of abandonment hit them harder. The station's once-proud Imperial Golden Eagle still hung from the dome above, but its shine was long gone, obscured by dust and neglect. The giant glass walls in front were cracked in places, the edges blurred with grime. And like every other part of the station, the conflict had left its mark here too.
John walked to the station commander's chair. It was a simple thing—leather, worn with use—but now, it was marred with bullet holes. Dried blood stains soaked the backrest, and shards of glass littered the floor around it.
He didn't need to look hard to know what had happened. The desk had been destroyed. Equipment lay in ruins, each divination machine and control panel smashed with crude force. Someone had come here with the sole intent of wiping everything clean.
"Randy, see if there's anything left in the data banks," John ordered, his voice calm but filled with intent. "These fools probably didn't know how to operate this stuff, but maybe something's salvageable."
Without hesitation, Randy moved to a terminal, his multifunctional tool arm slicing into the panel with ease. Moments later, he pulled out a black hard drive, shaking his head in mild disbelief. "They really thought they could destroy the data by smashing everything up. Idiots. Every heretic is the same."
"Better hope the Mechanicus doesn't find out," Robert quipped, grinning behind his helmet.
Randy plugged the hard drive into his helmet's interface and began reading the data aloud. "Looks like a month ago, the station detected some kind of disturbance—unpredictable star changes. A few constellations vanished, others were no longer visible. The crew thought it was a subspace storm, so they reported it to the station commander."
John raised an eyebrow. "What else?"
Randy continued, pausing before answering. "The station commander agreed, and during a window of opportunity a few days later, he sent a warning through the Astropath to Victoria Prime. But then, the record ends."
John frowned, walking over to the damaged console. "So the invaders destroyed the records before the warning could go out."
Tony nodded. "Which means they didn't just want to attack the station. They were trying to stop the message from reaching anyone."
Randy spoke up again. "There's more. The shuttle left after the fighting. It seems to have gone right after the chaos started."
Johnson stepped forward, his voice low. "So, the traitors took control of the station, massacred the crew, and then escaped on a shuttle."
"But why take the bodies?" Tony asked, still puzzled.
John shook his head. "For now, that question doesn't matter. We don't have the answers, and we won't get them here."
Robert was already impatient, his hands tightening on his weapon. "How do we find them?"
Randy fell silent for a moment, his fingers tapping against his console. Then, his voice cut through the tension. "The shuttle's fuel reserves are low. Most of it was siphoned off by an Imperial Navy ship passing through. With what's left, it could only reach the nearest Imperial planet—Owen-4, an agricultural world."
John nodded, his mind already racing ahead. He moved to the large glass windows, staring out at the stars. The cold emptiness of space stretched on, endless and dark. He activated his communicator, his voice steady. "Bryan, we've found something. Set course for Owen-4. And remember, keep our presence here under wraps." He turned back to the shattered chair, the bloodstains still fresh on the leather. "Don't let anyone find us."
***
The golden wheat fields stretched endlessly across the planet, a vast ocean of amber that covered the entire world. From space, it looked like a stunning work of art. Gold, green, and crimson earth blended together in perfect harmony. The colors weren't the result of factory runoff like on the Forge Worlds, but the natural life force of the planet, providing the food and resources that sustained the entire galaxy.
This was an agricultural world, one of the most crucial planets in the human Imperium. Why? Simple. People get hungry, and if they don't eat, they die. That's all there is to it.