The confines of the Iron Maiden were to be dreaded even by the bravest of men; that is why it was known as the Mother of the Bellarium.
Even with all the safety methods, even with the redesigned drug, even with the Commander and the Sergeant putting their hearts and souls into this machine, as well as the drug recipe that took so much effort to produce, there was always this shadow of worry and expectations.
As he stepped in and got strapped, there was no backing out. Actually, he needed to do this more than the others; that's why he spoke to Elena about this behind Biscuit's back.
Funny! He heard all sorts of drama about married life from Dusty, and now he's committing the taboo by not discussing big decisions like these with his partner in life.
He had been stuck as a private auxiliary for too long, and he had taken the Auxiliary Trial before. He needed it to be more than that—maybe to rise to corporal one day and undergo grunt training. He wanted this for the betterment of the family he found himself building, and he took it upon himself to do better, to be better.
As he was injected, nothing happened at first. It took a while for him to feel the dizziness that Patch spoke about. He adjusted himself twice and took in a deep breath before feeling a tingling sensation at his fingertips. One side of his head started feeling heavier, and the more he tried thinking, he found his thoughts more difficult to organize.
Then he heard a buzzing sound followed by a crisp ringing that grew thinner, as if trying to form into a sharp blade and pierce the central part of his brain.
The goggles before his eyes suddenly brightened up, causing him to quiver, but the cage that held him forced him still, and he felt an electrical sensation running through his body.
After what felt like an hour in his state of lucid awareness, he started drifting deeper into an altered state of consciousness, and the world around him started to feel like he was being immersed in thick, heavy liquid. After that had passed, he felt as if he had gone through that liquid like a single droplet passing through a filter, and felt a strange sensation around him.
The smell of dust!
The faint light of an exhausted lamp.
Creaking floor, poorly installed!
Wooden interior and…
BOOM!
… artillery bombardment that shook the earth around him!
He looked around closely, and a sense of familiarity struck him. This was a battlefield, a trench base to be exact, an underground bunker where soldiers hid from bombardment.
It was empty, as if it were newly dug, save for a table in the center, which had nothing and looked totally unremarkable.
The only problem was that he was alone, and he had nothing on him. But the moment he thought of his orders or any task he was supposed to do, a voice came from behind him.
"Private! Why are you standing here? We need your help up there!"
He turned, his heart almost jumped out of his chest, as the figure standing behind him all this time was a Justiciar.
Black coat, black arched cap, a golden Solarium medal under his collar, and a deathly stare, staring deep into his soul. His face was old and white like a ghost, likely in his seventies, but if looks could kill, the lone good eye of that Justiciar should have taken his life already. As for the other eye, it was covered with a bionic implant, glowing menacingly like the crystal muzzle of a blazer.
"Orders, Justiciar!" Hammerhead immediately saluted, right fist ahead, showing utmost compliance towards the Justiciar, a man who would have blown his brains out in a moment's notice if he was suspected of desertion.
The grim-faced commissar approached Hammerhead with a menacing stare. Hammerhead swallowed hard, almost shaken from the unnerving face of death staring viciously at him.
"Private, pick up your blazer from the table." The Justiciar said and beckoned Hammerhead to move.
"SIR!" Hammerhead banged his chest and felt pain reverberating through him.
He turned to the table, fully aware that it was empty, but if a Justiciar was telling him to pick a Blazer from it, he would pick a blazer from it even if he was going to pretend to.
But as if magic were real in this world, Hammerhead found not only one blazer, but three of them: a standard-issue semi-auto blazer, a smaller full-automatic blazer, and a longer overcharging blazer.
He didn't think and picked the semi-auto blazer as it was the one he usually used.
"Now go!" The Justiciar spoke, and pulled out his Blazer that had probably killed more Men-at-Arms than xenos or heretics, "For Sol Imperius! For the Solarium!"
"YES, SIR!"
Hammerhead's legs started moving, and he rushed towards the doorway, running in the dark trenches he found himself in. But as soon as he felt lost, the Justiciar appeared behind him.
"Sol Imperius lights the way!" The old Justiciar spoke and aimed his Blazer up, squeezing the trigger, with a powerful blast, causing half his blazer's charge to deplete.
A red glowing ball of light started rising in the air, and the world was lit in a red hue.
"HAAAAAAA!"
Hammerhead turned and felt a presence rushing through the array of trenches ahead of him.
"HERETICS! SEND THEIR SOULS TO THE FIRES OF HELL, PRIVATE!"
The Justiciar shouted with zeal, but rather than rushing ahead, he took cover as his blazer was clearly overheated, meaning that whatever came through that trench, Hammerhead had to fight it alone.
The odds were not bad; the trench was tight enough, filled with covering positions, and he didn't need to rush out since this position was more advantageous for defense, so he immediately took cover ahead of the Justiciar and braced for the coming onslaught.
With a war cry, one mad figure rushed through the trench with an axe raised, wearing a pointy red hood, and a red brand pulsating on his bare chest.
A Cultist!
"Filthy Satanists!"
Hammerhead knew the Brand of Hell the moment he saw it, and without an ounce of hesitation, he fired his Blazer with a thundering recoil, hitting the cultist right in the center of the brand.
The cultist slowed down, fell to his knees, and shouted something that was muffled by the sound of incoming Blazers.
Two more cultists appeared, red hoods and all, the same aesthetics as before, but these ones were using corrupted blazers, firing demonic charges.
Hammerhead took cover and changed his stance, lying down to emerge from a different place from his cover and immediately peeked with his blazer, taking two quick shots at where he assumed the cultists were coming from. This must have pushed the two cultists behind cover, so he kept shooting as he stood up again and switched cover before they could emerge.
The two cultists moved up again at the same time, covering for each other. However, Hammerhead positioned himself behind an advantageous angle so that only one of the cultists would have a line of sight at him, and vice versa, of course.
The moment the cultist got out of cover, Hammerhead fired his Blazer thrice, hit twice, and retreated at once. The other cultist tried to charge him beyond cover, but Hammerhead immediately charged at a critical angle, bashing the cultist's weapon and aiming his Blazer from point-blank range.
BZZZ-CRACK!
The last of the three cultists fell, but Hammerhead knew there had to be more. If those demon worshipers had breached the trench with no defenders to be seen along the area he scoured, they must be coming in hordes.
"Good job, Private."
The Justiciar, however, got out of cover, walked to Hammerhead without taking any cover. His steps were weird and arrhythmic, unlike normal footsteps, so Hammerhead took a glance at the Justiciar's legs to see that one of them was a peg leg, made from a rifle stock.
The Justiciar reached Hammerhead and signaled him to follow, which Hammerhead did while making sure his corners were covered.
"Sir?"
"There is useful gear here, Private. Since you did all the work, I'll let you pick one."
The Justiciar stood by a small table that Hammerhead could swear wasn't there right before he turned, and on it were three pieces of gear: a bayonet, a blazer cell, and an optical sight.
"Just one, Justiciar?" Hammerhead asked, as he could really use all of those useful items.
"Just one, Private." The Justiciar grimaced menacingly as his words carried a hint of a bloody threat.
"Yes, sir." Hammerhead replied and reached out for the blazer cell immediately, but he paused and went for the bayonet instead.
The Justiciar grunted and took the other two items, slapping the optical sight onto his pistol and the blazer cell on his belt. He then aimed his pistol up and shot another flare into the air.
"MOVE AHEAD! GO GO GO!"
Hammerhead was urged to move once again by the grim-faced Justiciar, pushed forward through the bloody trenches to face more cultists, demons, and abyssal horrors.
Upon every stop, the Justiciar would find three items lying around, allowing Hammerhead to choose one, then hoard the other two for himself.
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The carnage unfolded on the hologram, Hammerhead fighting through trenches like a one-man army, going through different scenarios, using different tactics, picking up weapons, and bracing for bombardment when it was aimed at his position.
Adam watched every action with analytical judgment, perceiving how the simulation operated, often changing the view to get a better grasp of the fight. Elena and Biscuits stood silently the whole time, one trying to discern the performance of Hammerhead while the other was watching with worry.
As for Kave and Buzz…
"GO, HAMMERHEAD! GET THEM, BRO!"
"OH! WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT!"
"YEAH! HE MADE IT!"
The two turned it into a cheering troupe for Hammerhead, minus the jerseys and the beer. But right at Hammerhead's 7th round in the Roguelike run of the Iron Maiden, he was cornered by the enemies he was facing in a dead-end trench branch, and was blasted with a bomb.
The Iron Maiden shook, probably from the immersion feedback that went through Hammerhead's body, making everyone turn to it at the same time. Biscuits ran towards the Iron Maiden, stopping before touching anything, as she knew better than to abruptly eject Hammerhead from the simulation.
Adam, on the Iron Maiden's terminal, nodded to her, indicating that it was safe to open. She immediately unlocked the doors of the Maiden, removed the cage, let the binds loose, and waited as Adam lowered the cage from the terminal.
Hammerhead's appearance looked as if he had been through a trench battle without the blood and dirt that came with it. There were burn marks on his body from where the cage was holding him, since it simulated the physical trauma inside the simulation through electric shocks, something that was both brilliant and horrifying at the same time.
Everyone helped Hammerhead get down as he was put on the ground, lying down. Patch used a medical flashlight to check on his eyes, nostrils, throat, and ears before asking the others to help move him upstairs.
He was mostly conscious, but the drug and the virtual dream he was subjected to induced too much strain on his brain, causing him to need a full hour of recovery and one precious mug of instant coffee just to get him up.
Hammerhead then recounted his experience inside the Iron Maiden, and he was unsettled by the fact that he died from a bomb as a trauma from a past life started to echo in the reinforced part of his head.
"It's alright, you have done exceptionally well." Adam patted his shoulder, "And I think you exceeded the standards of an auxiliary man."
"That's… good." Hammerhead said and looked at Elena, waiting for her to say something.
She looked away, dreading moments like trying to say something nice without it sounding sexual, so she just followed Adam's lead.
"You have done well." She said, looking past Hammerhead through the window, trying not to make eye contact with him.
Both Hammerhead and Biscuits, who were sitting beside him, looked up at Elena, eyes wide from the compliment they just heard, but as she sensed their gazes, she stared at them viciously, causing them to avert their eyes.
Well, not that hopeless! Adam saw the exchange and let out a chuckle. He then turned to the notes he took from Hammerhead's feedback on the simulation and decided to do some tweaks later.
But before that, he had something more important to do. Miniature Summoning was on schedule this afternoon since Elena had no drilling.
Adam dragged her along to his workbench, holding a miniature in each hand, and showed her what he had in store. The first was for a mechanic like herself, which put a smile on her face, but the moment she saw a Fanatic on his other hand, her face turned sour, as to be expected.
After some persuasion, she followed Adam outside the base, dragging her steps, while Adam was walking very excited for a man who was just about to meet an Urdic Fanatic.
But even as the summoning was fated to go well, thanks to Adam's influence over his summons, none of them expected that their days of peace in this isolated base were soon to be over.
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