Chapter Content
Kian Voss froze, his mind shifting into a high-alert tactical state. Throne's blood, why is there a Commissar camping the extraction point?
He scanned the warehouse. It was an industrial-scale logistics hub belonging to House Nightingale, filled with stacks of silver-grade shipping containers. Near the back of the hall, Kian saw something that turned his stomach: a row of nearly a hundred PDF regulars lying face-down in the dirt.
They weren't killed by the Pox-horde. They had been executed. Each one had a massive, charred hole in the back of the skull—the unmistakable signature of a close-range Bolt round.
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