The system notification arrived with a tardiness that was practically insulting.
[Initial crisis resolved! Current status of bound target "Unnamed" is as follows:]
Condition: Severely injured (abnormal crystallization and wound deterioration), Starving, Weak connection to Hive Mind.
Affection Level: -55 (Hatred).
Prompt: Please establish effective communication as soon as possible~
"Communication?" Raynor whispered to the empty air. "How do you communicate with that? Kill it with kindness? Influencing others with 'Love'?"
He mentally scrolled through countless tropes from the visual novels of his past life. None of them seemed particularly applicable to a three-meter-tall killing machine currently fantasizing about his decapitation.
Just as the Hive Warrior's bone blade looked ready to taste blood, heavy footsteps echoed in the distance. These weren't the light, skittering sounds of mutants, but the rhythmic, metallic thud of armored soles striking the floor.
Then came the barking—the sharp, electronically synthesized snarl of a cyber-mastiff.
"Movement ahead! Might be more mutants! Stay alert!" a human voice barked.
The Adeptus Arbites patrol.
The Hive Warrior's movements froze. Her compound eyes blinked rapidly, processing the new data. An Arbites patrol meant armed humans, heavy weaponry, and a high risk of exposure. In her current state—severely injured, starving, and disconnected—taking on a squad of enforcers was tactically unsound.
She gave Raynor one last look. It was a gaze so complex it was hard to decipher: murderous intent, confusion, resentment, and the sheer humiliation of being forcibly bound to a "lesser" creature.
Then, she turned. With a powerful thrust of her four hind limbs, she transformed into a dark purple blur, vanishing into the shadows of the deep piping at an astonishing speed. Before she disappeared, Raynor caught a faint, resentful hiss—half-sigh, half-curse.
The footsteps grew louder. Raynor collapsed against the rusted iron gate, panting heavily. As the adrenaline ebbed, a violent tremor took hold of his muscles. The mutant blood on his face began to coagulate, its stench mixing with the sewer's rot until his stomach churned.
But he had survived.
In his field of vision, that garish system interface flickered back to life. Its pink-and-purple color scheme and sparkling heart effects felt slightly more grounded now that he wasn't about to die.
[Inventory]: Ten empty slots.
[Status]: Two avatars displayed.
Left: Himself. HP: 78/100 (Minor injuries, fatigue, mental depletion).
Right: A silhouette of the ferocious Hive Warrior, labeled "Untitled."
Target HP: 32/100 (Severe injury, hunger, pain, unstable connection).
[Dialogue]: Locked (Grayed out).
[Task]: Flashing [First Interaction (0/1)].
[Special XXX Activity]: A grayed-out heart icon with a note: "Affection level insufficient."
Raynor stared at the "Special Activity" button for a long beat, then hissed a curse. "Is this really what I think it is? Who in their right mind...?"
How could anyone "interact" with a Tyranid warrior?! System, you absolute bastard...
"You in there! Hands up! Come out slowly!" The shout from the enforcer snapped him back to reality.
Raynor struggled to his feet, quickly plunging his dagger into the skull of a fallen mutant to ensure the kill. He raised his hands and walked out of the dead end.
Three enforcers in black carapace armor and sealed helmets pointed shotguns at him. A mechanical hunting dog crouched beside them, its red optical lens scanning his vitals.
"Identity," the lead officer demanded coldly.
"Jim Raynor, Tax Inspector for District 7," Raynor said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I was ambushed by mutants."
The officer looked at the carnage—the mutant remains, the bloodstains on Raynor's face, and his tattered uniform. His expression was hidden, but his tone softened. "You killed these?"
"The Emperor's favor," Raynor mumbled, carefully omitting any mention of the Hive Warrior.
The enforcers crouched to examine the bodies. "Genestealer hybrids. Third or fourth generation. You're telling me a tax officer took down two of these?"
"I have basic defense training," Raynor lied quickly. "And they seemed to be fighting each other. I just finished off the one that was already wounded."
The officer glanced at the dagger still embedded in the mutant's skull. The story was barely plausible, but in the Hive, strange things happened every day.
"This sector isn't safe. Don't be out alone after shift," the officer said, standing up. "Do you need an escort back to your hab-block?"
"No need, thank you. My apartment is nearby," Raynor replied. He didn't want the Arbites anywhere near his home; who knew what the System might trigger next?
The official nodded, signaling him to move on. The cyber-mastiff barked twice more as he walked away.
Raynor dragged his exhausted body back through the labyrinthine corridors. Safely inside his cramped, grimy room, he locked the door and collapsed onto the hard mattress. He stared at the flashing interface in the dim light, and a strange calm finally settled over him.
The "Hammer" spirit was burning.
"Tyranid Warrior. Affection: -55. Need to raise that to unlock dialogue and... that damn so called activity," he muttered. A twisted smile tugged at his lips—a look somewhere between a nervous breakdown and genuine excitement. "This plot is insane, but..."
He opened the [Status] page of his partner. Below the portrait, a line of small text caught his eye:
"Due to an unknown crystallization wound causing an abnormal gene sequence, the unit's Hive Mind synchronization has dropped to 14.7%. Unit exhibiting preliminary tendencies toward independent action."
Only 14.7% synchronization. That meant she had nearly broken free of the Hive Mind. She was becoming an individual.
That was an opportunity. It was the best news he'd had since arriving in this nightmare universe.
If he could treat that crystallized wound, would her affection rise? If it rose, would she stop trying to eat him? How was she even surviving in this Hive?
The task [Initial Interaction] continued to flash. The reward was the [Dialogue] function. Without it, he couldn't negotiate. But how do you give a "gift" to a bug? Tyranids needed biomass.
Where do I get biomass? Kill someone? No, the risk was too high and the morality too heavy for now.
Raynor recalled his lore: Tyranids devoured organic matter, but they could also adapt to process certain inorganic materials. The lower Hive was full of industrial waste, mutant fungi, and strange chemicals. It was worth a gamble.
He opened his [Inventory]. Laser pistol (one and a half magazines), dagger, a few ration pills, a bag of credits, and a spare uniform. That took up five slots. Five remained for "gifts."
He looked toward the ventilation shaft, then back at the menacing silhouette on his screen.
"Sarah," Raynor said suddenly. "I'll call you Sarah."
A name was better than "Untitled." The profile picture didn't react; the favorability stayed at -55.
Raynor lay back, staring at the low ceiling. Fatigue hit him like a kinetic slug, but his mind remained hyper-alert.
"Tomorrow, I'll clock in at the tax office to keep up appearances. Then... I go hunting for a gift."
He had to find her. The system would guide him. He just had to survive the meeting.
As sleep finally began to pull at him, his last thought was of the "Special Activity" button glowing with its faint, ambiguous pink light in the corner of his vision.
"Once that favorability is high enough... I'm going to see exactly what kind of 'activity' a Hive Warrior is capable of."