Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 816 "Fumigation and Disinfection" and "Quarantine"
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"I'll stay here a little longer."

When Honsor summoned the mech guards to neatly stack Warren and the other flesh-tearers' stretchers into the troop carriers, and told the trembling mortals to stay within the port quarantine zone he had designated and not wander off, he said this to Ramizan.

"You should take these flesh-tearing people back first."

When asked why, Hong Su blinked. “The quarantine and disinfection procedures for ships entering port are necessary, my lord. Also, allow me to remind you that these flesh-tearers are likely either bloodthirsty or possessing dark fury, my anesthetic…”

He glanced at the medical oracle on his wrist with feigned seriousness, "There are probably about 100 minutes left on the effective time. If you hurry, it will be just enough to get them to the Ironblood."

Then he was pleased to see the commander's expression change drastically after understanding certain words. He quickly closed the rhino's hatch, jumped into the vehicle, and asked the driver to take them to the shuttle dock as fast as possible.

What a pity, he thought.

As the rhinoceros departed, the heavy bulletproof armored door of the quarantine area slammed shut.

This cunning gene stealer didn't follow him when he went to check the navigator's secret room and let the group of mortal survivors leave the hangar.

If it catches up, things will be much simpler and faster.

However, since it didn't catch up, it deserved to suffer the consequences.

Hong Suo narrowed his eyes.

It's okay. When there are no witnesses or civilians at the scene, some methods can be used.

Honsor glanced with satisfaction at the list of weapons displayed on his power armor, weapons he had the authority to access from the armory that clearly came from the much older 30K Great Crusade era and would have caused even the most resilient Astartes to suffer from serious illnesses.

Well, doing things like radiation and chemical treatments might indeed be very inhumane.

But since they're gene stealers, they can't be considered human.

If quarantine personnel are fumigating, disinfecting, and disinfecting pests on inbound ships, can they also regulate whether the pests have rights?
Ideally, we could also collect some experimental data along the way.

So he filled in the reason again and pressed the application button.

After a long time of seeing the list of these weapons, I finally saw its entry color turn green with "permitted for use".

The war blacksmith and potion master happily pressed the "confirm" button.

Come on! Let me see how long this gene-stealing bug can endure this highly radioactive chemical environment before being blasted out.

Immediately, the emptied ship was pushed into the outer space of the port by the port's robotic arm and controlled by a force field shield that was invisible to the naked eye, in order to prevent any possibility of radiation leakage or any gene stealers smuggling in from the vacuum.

Hongsuo wasn't worried about his own survival. His only problem in healing the wounded in the Orc army was that his power armor was mainly focused on defense and survival, so he often regrettably couldn't use the ingenious and superb medical methods of "I just need to kill all the enemies first and then I can heal all my brothers in battle".

Standing before the mechs sent by the armory, armed with devastating weapons capable of wiping out an entire continent's population, he wondered with amusement whether this cunning little devil would choose to charge at him directly when it realized the apocalypse was coming.
Of course, before the "disinfection" began, there was one more very important thing he had to do.

He walked along the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the deep deck passageway.

He continued until he found a door with a double helix symbol, then broke it open and walked in with the kind of smile that pleased Tzeentch and made Nurgle nod in approval.

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"What do you think will happen to us?"

As they watched the ship, a symbol of death and bloodshed, being pushed far away in the port's quarantine area, the tension among the surviving crew of the Baryonyx noticeably decreased. They began to gather in small groups, forming vague clusters, according to their job duties or original status.

Having temporarily escaped the immediate threat of death, people immediately began to look at each other warily and whisper among themselves.

The new quarantine port in the port of Wandering Harbor was set up specifically for this or even more serious situation. The isolation facilities are excellent and sturdy, and even have a unique sense of artistic design while being both practical and ingenious.

The highest-ranking officers and supervisors immediately recognized the unusual cleanliness, quietness, and almost sweet-smelling air of the port.

They pointed out that the air and noise levels here were comparable to any Imperial Garden planet—but on their star map it was a border port, or even a makeshift military port!
Some of the technical officers and senior naval officers looked seriously at the impressive organization, discipline, and wealth displayed by the facilities surrounding them, with their thick concrete and terracotta armored walls, numerous new-model gun emplacements, and automated anti-aircraft firepower—a truly unusual sight in such a remote maintenance port.

Even the towering, brand-new walls of the quarantine zone, which resemble city walls, are not occupied by humans, but by extremely expensive and rare combat robots of unprecedented models, whose weapons also appear to be extraordinary.

However, after the technical director personally confirmed with his prosthetic eye that the robots' paint scheme and design were within the range that would appear normal to humans—meaning there were no extra spikes, fleshy limbs, or human decorations, and each had a golden Imperial Eagle on its breastplate—the officers' anxiety subsided somewhat.

This discovery then spread among the population, and people's thoughts naturally shifted from the immediate death to the future—clearly, after the nightmarish months of voyage, there were not many mortals left who wanted to continue serving the Flesh-Tearers warband.

“I don’t know,” Elsa replied to her companion—the same healer who had just bravely stood up to answer the apothecary master—“but anything is better than being drained of blood and dying meaninglessly on that ship. At least my feet are on solid ground now. It’s better to die on land than in the void. I was born there, but that doesn’t mean I want to die there.”

“Oh, come on, this is just a void port,” her companion replied. “It’s not exactly land!”

Elsa was somewhat annoyed and embarrassed, but she still replied, "Anyway, there's gravity and fresh air here, which is better than being crammed together and dying there, being stuffed into the recovery unit and the bottom deck..."

She shivered and stopped talking.

“That’s true.” Her companion’s face also turned pale, and she murmured her agreement. “Anything is better than that situation… If I could have a drink of clean water and a bite of white bread right now, I would do anything.”

"Then I think you might want to start preparing."

"what?"

Elsa pointed to a group of combat robots that were filing in from several gates in the distance.

These robots, each as tall as one and a half adults, were unarmed. The leader carried nothing, but each of the robots behind carried two large containers, one marked with a symbol for pure water. However, in Elsa's opinion, these massive, all-metal behemoths, which might weigh several tons, didn't need weapons to deal with their group. Simply raising their arms or ramming them would be enough to cause casualties in this inescapable place.

She shuddered at the possibilities she had envisioned, and once again resented herself for always thinking more than others as a medical assistant. Knowledge is a curse, she thought, and perhaps so was the realization that she could think in this terrifying void.

"Who is your current superior?"

The lead combat robot spoke. Instead of a metal block with just a few circular mechanical lenses, its head was shaped like a helmet, with a deformed skull mask covering its face, giving the illusion that it had facial features and eyes.

Elsa was so frightened she almost jumped up.

This wasn't the mechanical, rigid voice of the servants she was familiar with, which was mixed with obvious metallic and pipe sounds and sounded like a human but wasn't quite human. This robot's voice was very... very deep and loud, and the subtle details of the syllables vividly imitated the vocal cords of a very dignified warrior. If you turned around, you would definitely think that a human was speaking.

It asked the same question again.

This time, Elsa recognized it. Although it sounded like a person, it repeated its tone and pauses exactly the same as the first time—a living person could never do that. It was a machine, only more sophisticated and expensive.

This gave her a strange sense of security, and her muscles relaxed again.

Clearly, others think so too.

Because after she saw this, their captain, whose head was wrapped in blood-stained, dirty bandages, stepped out from the crowd—he had been nearly slammed to death on the bridge by the neck by the master they served—followed by the navigator who was leaning on a cane and whose entire body and head were wrapped in a heavy robe.

This was the first time Elsa had ever seen a legendary navigator, and he didn't seem particularly like a witch.

The three of them then began to talk.

Elsa watched in amazement as the war machine skillfully conversed with humans and patiently corrected their words.

To any question posed by the captain and his companions, his face, clad in a skull mask, turned towards the speaker and answered fluently, completely unlike the clumsy and rigid machine servants. That unsettling feeling, as if he were a human being, began to envelop her again.

“Alright, I think I’ve made myself clear enough,” the combat robot said. “No matter how high your rank is—here, there are countless people with higher ranks than you, understand, Captain? So you’ll have to obediently accept the newly promulgated ‘Roaming Port Customs Management Regulations’ and ‘Roaming Port Immigration Management Regulations’ for you. And you, Miss, I know you’re a navigator on an Astartes warship, but you should know that we don’t really need navigators here, and besides, I’m sure you can see that. Why don’t you take another look?”

The machine even shrugged and pointed to the sky—Elsa noticed that it was pointing in the direction of the port's central urban area—where a beautiful, multicolored light shone, illuminating the ships coming and going far above and below. She had previously thought it was an ionizing light phenomenon caused by some kind of high-energy charged particle stream from a star colliding with an artificial atmosphere.

Then the navigator stared in that direction for a long time.

Just when Elsa thought something might have happened to her, the navigator finally moved. Then, as if realizing something, she trembled all over. She pulled the captain aside and whispered something to him, and the captain quickly became agitated as well.

"What...really...impossible...then we must...find a way out...please..."

She pricked up her ears, but the navigator's voice was barely audible. The captain discussed the matter with her for a while, then walked over and solemnly unfastened the ceremonial saber from his waist, handing it to the combat robot in front of him.

"A wise choice, Captain," the machine said in a deep voice reminiscent of a seasoned veteran. "Then line up. I've brought drinking water and simple food. — Line up to get yours! One serving per person! After you've taken yours, go to the other side and eat! Everyone gets some! Everyone gets some! No pushing! No shoving!"

Elsa listened in disbelief. Everyone has this?

She and her female companion quickly went to find a place in line. To be honest, the crowd was chaotic, with everyone craning their necks to see what was going on. Clearly, they still didn't believe that "everyone has it."

There had been several disputes over the distance to the robots carrying boxes, the order of the queue, and cutting in line—but the moment the combat robots' servo motors started moving, the urge to fight was immediately suppressed—perhaps because the aiming spotlights fired from the robots' eyes were very accurate.

In short, after about ten minutes, the crowd finally managed to form three sparse columns and stand in front of the six mechs.

So the strange combat robot kept its promise. At its command, its companions opened their boxes—the aroma of food assaulted the hungry people who could only survive on the meager rations of unspeakable sustenance.

Elsa found herself frantically swallowing the sudden surge of saliva, her hands clenched tightly, when she received food and water—good heavens, the water even came in a covered container! Such rich and generous people—just opening the food packaging and starting to gulp it down, several choking until their eyes rolled back but refusing to spit it out.

What exactly is it? As the team rapidly shortened under the maintenance of the combat robots, Elsa also walked up to the food container.

The aroma grew stronger, but she could only identify the taste of a certain grain; she had no idea what the others were.

"Hold on tight so you don't drop it."

This is the voice of a more refined middle-aged man.

She was startled, looked up, and met the gaze of a robot skull mask.

How strange—she thought, why do I see different feelings in the robot's mask?

Then a bottle of water was shoved into my hand by a metal hand, followed by a package of warm—hot food! The food was hot!

Her eyes widened, and she realized why the other person had reminded her—that she had bandages on her hands.

He then quickly walked blushingly to a spot not far from the robot and carefully unwrapped the food, which was covered in oil paper.

She stared at the two golden-yellow grain flakes on either side, which looked like thickened starch pancakes. They were very soft and delicate. The melted stuff in the middle must be butter. She had eaten artificial butter a few times, but never one of such high quality. Before she started to swallow it like the people around her, she tried to guess what the golden-yellow stuff in the middle, which smelled of fat, was—but she was wrong.

But it tastes delicious.

She took a big bite, then thought vaguely.

The aromas of wheat, semi-melted cheese, fried deep-sea fish, and sesame, cheese, and sauerkraut sauce swept away all her random thoughts and inability to think.

Indeed, whoever decided to give them this, thank you so much!
She had never been so devout.

Even if I die right now, I will have no regrets.

The multicolored light became even more vibrant and dazzling.

(End of this chapter)