The Empty City

Explosive bolts blew the hatch off Draven's pod. He surged forward, his "Titan's Wrath" railgun rifle raised and ready. Power cell: 100%. His targeter swept the area, seeking heat signatures, seeking movement, seeking the rebellion.

"Voidborn! Weapons free!" he roared, his voice amplified by the suit's external speakers, designed to shatter windows and eardrums.

He stepped out of the crater, scanning the colony. He expected laser fire. He expected the screams of civilians fleeing. He expected barricades and flags of the Free Legion.

He found nothing.

The smoke from their landing swirled in the humid air, thick and cloying. The plaza was intact. The pristine white buildings of the Orion research facility towered around them, their lights humming softly. A fountain in the centre of the square was still running, water cascading over a statue of High Executor Valka.

But there were no people.

"Contact?" Draven barked, spinning to check his six.

"Negative," Vos reported. She was standing atop her smoking pod, her flamethrower swept wide. "I've got zero heat signatures. No bodies. No blood."

Thrace stepped out of his pod, tearing the hatch off with his cybernetic hand as if it were cardboard. He levelled his heavy cannon at the Governor's palace. "Where are they? A colony this size supports ten thousand workers."

"Specter?" Draven hailed the stealth operative.

Rael materialized out of thin air near the entrance to the administration tower, her optical camo fading. She was kneeling, examining the ground.

"Commander," her voice was tight. "You need to see this."

Draven moved to her position, his servos whining. He looked down at the pavement.

There was a meal tray dropped on the ground. A half-eaten nutrient bar. A datapad still displaying a maintenance log. It looked like whoever was holding it had simply vanished mid-step.

"There was no struggle," Rael said, looking up, her eyes hidden behind her tactical goggles. "No blast marks. No shell casings. They didn't fight back."

"Did they evacuate?" Thrace asked, joining them.

"The spaceport was empty," Draven said, looking up at the silent towers. "We scanned it on the way down. The transport ships are still docked."

He walked over to a cafe table where a cup of caf was sitting. He touched the side of the cup with his armoured finger.

"It's cold," he said. "But the mould hasn't set in yet. This happened... days ago."

"Commander," Vos called out. "I found a civic announcement terminal. It's playing a loop."

Draven signalled the squad to move up. They advanced in a wedge formation, weapons trained on the shadows, the silence of the city far more unnerving than gunfire.

The terminal was a holographic kiosk near the fountain. A recorded image of the Colony Administrator was flickering. He looked sweaty, pale, his eyes darting side to side.

"**...reporting a biological anomaly in Sector 4,"* the recording stammered. *"Terraforming protocols have failed. The flora is...* aggressive. We are attempting to contain, but the security teams aren't checking in. Requesting immediate**...**"*

The recording cut to static, then reset.

"...reporting a biological anomaly..."

"Terraforming accident?" Thrace scoffed. "Orion Command sent the Voidborn to weed a garden?"

"Command said it was a revolt," Draven said quietly. He looked around the plaza again. The architecture was standard Orion: brutal, efficient, grey. But now that the dust was settling, he noticed something else.

Creeping up the side of the Governor's tower, there was a vine. But it wasn't green. It was a sickly, purplish hue, pulsating with a slow, rhythmic beat. It looked less like a plant and more like a vein.

"Specter, check the atmospheric readings," Draven ordered.

Rael tapped her wrist computer. "Oxygen is high. Spore count is... off the charts. Commander, there are biological toxins in the air. If we crack our seals, we're dead in minutes."

"Jamming towers?" Draven asked.

"Active," Rael said. "But the signal isn't coming from the comms array. It's coming from below. Under the city."

Draven activated his long-range comms, trying to punch through the interference to the Indomitus. "Admiral Rylos, this is Draven. We are on the ground. The LZ is cold. Repeat, the LZ is cold. No sign of hostile forces. No sign of colonists."

The biological spores hung thick in the atmosphere, each microscopic particle a tiny scrambler disrupting the carrier wave. Combined with the ionization from the Hive's electromagnetic emissions, it was like shouting through a wall of wet wool.

Static hissed in his ear. Then, a broken voice cut through.

"**...Draven...* sensors picking up**...** massive movement**...** beneath you**...** get to high ground**...**"*