Warhammer: Empire Reboot

Problems started to appear in the fourth year.

With food reserves running low, Colvis-VII is not an agricultural world; its main outputs are refined promethium and low-grade ceramic steel.

China has always relied on external sources for food.

Moran ordered all available land around Hive to be converted into farmland, but the soil in Hive had been polluted by industry for thousands of years, resulting in pitifully low yields.

He also ordered the establishment of hydroponic farms in the bottom nest, using recycled wastewater to grow algae.

Not enough, far from enough.

A city with 50 billion people cannot survive on a few polluted farmlands and algae-infested water.

Moran made the most painful decision of his life: to implement rationing.

The top and middle nests maintain 40% of their food supply, while the bottom nests reduce it to 20%.

Two-tenths of the food rations mean chronic hunger, children stop growing, and the elderly and sick die one after another.

The bottom nest has rioted.

The inhabitants of the bottom nest from the nineteenth to the twenty-third level surged up at the same time.

Millions of people, empty-handed, with only hunger in their eyes.

The planetary defense forces used live ammunition to suppress the riots, resulting in 800,000 deaths.

Moran sat in the governor's office all night, with the casualty report in front of him, but didn't read a single word.

Since then, no more riots have occurred.

Because they no longer had the strength to revolt.

Hunger gave rise to the black market, and the black market gave rise to gangs.

Several of the largest gangs controlled the water supply and waste recycling channels of the bottom nest, using food and water as bargaining chips to build their own small kingdoms.

They infiltrated Moran’s administrative system, bribing mid-level officials, smuggling rations, and even beginning to establish “courts” and “tax offices” in the underbelly.

Moran knew about these things, but he was powerless to stop them.

The soldiers of the Planetary Defense Force are also starving, and the officers' loyalty is slowly eroding with ration cuts.

All he could do was maintain basic order in the upper and middle levels, ensuring that the core industries of the city—promethium refining and ceramic steel production—did not come to a standstill.

Although the products produced cannot be shipped out or sold, they are left to gather dust in the warehouse.

But as long as the production line is running, the workers will still have something to do and won't think about anything else.

This is Moran's bottom line.

By the eleventh year, even this bottom line was about to be breached.

The yield of hydroponic algae is declining.

The wastewater purification system is old; the filter cartridges and chemical reagents are exhausted and cannot be replenished.

Moran’s chief agricultural officer wrote a figure in a report last week: at the current rate of yield decline, in four months, the entire hive’s food production will not be able to cover the minimum survival line.

Four months.

Moran locked the report in a drawer and didn't tell anyone.

This must not get out. Once the gangs at the bottom of the nest know that their food supply will be completely cut off in four months, the remaining order will collapse within a day.

At that time, without Chaos's intervention, this planet will tear itself apart.

He sat at his desk with a cup of cold synthetic tea substitute in front of him.

The sky outside the window in the spire area is gray and gloomy.

Moran stared at the glass of iced tea, thinking for a long time.

Then the communicator rang.

He picked it up, expecting it to be another casualty report from a gang fight at the bottom of the nest or a pipeline leak in some mid-level area.

No.

The voice coming from the communicator made him freeze in his chair.

"Governor Moran of Planet Colvis-VII, this is the Third Recapture Squadron directly under the Dark Side Marker of the Empire. We have entered your system and are expected to arrive in low orbit around the planet in two hours. Please grant us orbital clearance and prepare to receive the Imperial envoy and the Marker's protection."

Moran took the communicator away from his ear and looked at the frequency band markings on the screen.

Imperial standard military frequency band. The encryption protocol is standard Imperial Navy protocol.

The identification code verification passed.

He picked up another communicator and connected to the track monitoring station.

"Dome, this is the Governor's Mansion. What's on your scanning array?"

The duty officer at the dome monitoring station said in a trembling voice, “Governor, three warships have appeared outside the orbit. Two are Sword-class frigates, and one, I’m not sure of the model, is painted with the Imperial double-headed eagle.”

Moran's hands began to tremble.

Eleven years have passed.

He put down the communicator and closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes a few seconds later, stood up, and straightened his already wrinkled governor's uniform.

"Notify Planetary Defense Force Headquarters to put the entire force on reception mode. Open orbital passage permissions."

"Tell all the broadcasting stations in the middle and lower levels that the Imperial messengers have arrived."

Two hours later, the descent began.

It wasn't the kind of arrival Moran had imagined.

He expected an imperial envoy in magnificent armor to arrive, accompanied by dozens of guards, to exchange documents with him in the governor's mansion hall, check accounts, and then leave behind a batch of supplies before departing.

Three hundred warriors dressed in dark iron-colored power armor arrived.

And 20,000 gray-clad soldiers.

Within twelve minutes of landing, three hundred combat suicide soldiers took control of all of the hive's transportation hubs, communication centers, power supply systems, and water supply points.

Then the foundation sequence begins to work.

Twenty thousand gray-clad men dispersed into every level of the hive.

Their efficiency left Moran's administrative officials speechless.

On the first day, they took over all the ration distribution stations and distributed the rations.

The inhabitants of the bottom nest lined up to receive sealed food blocks, labeled with the words: Spark-1 standard rations, directly supplied by the Dark Side of the Empire.

Moran picked up a piece of rations and examined it.

It contains 1.2 times the protein of standard Imperial military rations, is high in calories, and while the taste isn't great, it's definitely edible. It's not a synthetic food substitute; it's real protein.

He asked the squadron commander, "Where did this food come from? How much did you bring?"

The squadron commander was a combat suicide soldier who spoke briefly.

"Supplies are delivered via instant logistics; there is no concept of 'how much was brought.' We supply as much as your planet needs, until local production capacity returns to self-sufficiency."

Moran did not fully understand what "instant logistics delivery" meant.

But he saw the metal platform in the Chaodu Square that kept flashing a faint light, and every few seconds, tons of supplies would appear out of thin air on the platform: food, water purification equipment filters, medical supplies, and basic building materials.

The next day, the Foundation Sequence began to clean up the bottom nest, and the gangs were dismantled.

On the third day, the water source was restored.

On the fifth day, Moran was summoned for a meeting with the squadron commander.

"Your Excellency, you have done a good job these past eleven years."

Moran was slightly taken aback by the squadron commander's opening remarks; "Well done" was never the prelude to praise.

"You maintained basic order for eleven years despite food shortages, kept the Nest Uprising to a minimum of two, and ensured that the core industries of the Nest City did not come to a standstill. Your administrative ability ranks in the top ten percent of the Empire's dark side."

Moran waited for the second half of the sentence.

"According to the wartime command order of the Marker, Colvis-VII is hereby transferred to the direct administration of the Dark Side Marker of the Empire. The position of Planetary Governor will be taken over by the Chief Administrator of the Cornerstone Sequence. Your duties end today."

Moran sat in the chair, her mind a little dazed.

He has been on this planet for eleven years.

He was the one who cut rations, he was the one who suppressed riots, and he was also the one who ordered tiered food supplies, allowing the bottom nest to slowly starve to death.

He carries the lives of 50 billion people on his shoulders, walking on a knife's edge every day, and he doesn't even dare to take off his shoes to sleep.

Now that the Empire has sent someone, the first thing to do is replace him.

He did not utter any words of protest.

Because he saw what the cornerstone sequence did in those five days.

The distribution station was twenty times more efficient than his administrative team.

The gangs were wiped out eighty times faster than the defense forces.

Water source restoration, logistics operation, and the reconstruction of the bottom nest order—each item was so precise that it made his bureaucratic team look like a group of children who had just learned to walk.

He wasn't eliminated; he was simply not qualified.

"Where are my men?" Moran asked.

"Officials in the original administrative team without a record of corruption may voluntarily apply to be incorporated into the cornerstone administrative system as advisors. Those with a record of corruption will be transferred for trial."

The squadron commander glanced at him: "As for you personally, the Lord Sealholder acknowledges your eleven years of dedication. The Governor's Mansion's Pinnacle District will reserve a residence for you, with a ration three times the standard for a mid-level manager, valid for life."

Moran remained silent for a long time.

"The Lord in charge of the seal has a message for me to convey."

The squadron commander stood up: "You've held the planet from collapse for eleven years; that skill shouldn't be wasted behind a desk. Get some rest and recover. The Empire's dark side will have plenty of opportunities to use your manpower in the future."

Moran removed the governor's badge and placed it on the table before leaving the office where he had sat for eleven years.

As he passed through the middle layer of the nest, he saw the workers in the bottom nest lining up to receive their rations.

The line was long, with several gray-clad cornerstone assassins standing behind the distribution window, moving extremely fast and expressionless.