Eyes of the Emperor
The filth.
It was crusting around his palace like gunk on his shoe. Accumulating at the margins and the nooks with an alacrity that sickened the stomach. Accumulating until it would have to be wiped off, but of course, it would always come back. Filth had to be burned away. Governor Zarmuk drew on his intercom bead, shuffling in his throne.
"Captain… Will you please turn on the flamers at Epsilon Gate… No, now is good." The bead crackled shut. Zarmuk's attention turned back to the pict-feed, his face illuminated in the pale glow of the screen. There was a moment's hesitation, then a burst of feedback from the speakers, his cheeks suddenly awash with light. He watched the flames die out from his cushion.
Fat fingers rolled on the pict-dial and the images wheeled before him. Zarmuk scrolled idly through the different angles of his palace grounds, watching his men assume their stations. He had noted the hesitation in the captain's voice earlier––just enough to betray him. An execution would have to wait though. There was a vehicle approaching Zeta Gate, half-track, unmarked.
He had expected as much. In fact, Governor Zarmuk had wondered why it had taken them this long. It was one thing to defy the Imperium, but to actively tamper with the genome laboratories… of course, when it had been discovered he was using xenos tech to amplify his workforce, the deacons whipped up a frenzy in the local populace. Now the workers clamoured at his gates, too dumb with religious fervour to see that humanity was doomed if it did not adapt in this new age.
The Imperium could be so blind to its failures. Only people like Zarmuk, who saw the truth, would thrive.
He watched as one of his sentries aimed a slug-rocket at the half-track speeding towards the compound. The projectile left the guard tower in a trail of smoke, striking the vehicle even as it careened through the iron gates. It burst open, an explosion of twisting flame and steel, but a darting, black shape managed to escape the bay doors, a pistol bucking in its hand. Red mist burst from the guard's heads in pixellated clouds.
Zarmuk zoomed in on the dark figure. A skull, unblinking, with wires for hair and red eyes devoid of any emotion, a stylised 'I' stamped on its forehead. A single Eversor? He was almost insulted.
"Captain… have a squadron set up autocannons in the main hall. I want it full of lead as soon as it steps foot on my carpet, you understand?"
He should have felt fear, but felt only pity really. Such a mindless thing, following not out of will or devotion but sheer lack of cognitive dissonance. It was no better than the cattle he had purged outside his palace. He dialled on the intercom for a servitor to bring him a drink, and quickly flicked the cameras back to the main gates. The workforce had been summarily vaporised. No matter––once the Officio had been dealt with, he'd create a new workforce, someplace where his experiments would be more appreciated.
The assassin had cleared the atrium by the time Zarmuk had returned, a trail of mangled bodies in its wake. The marble columns in his main hall were being splintered under a hail of shells, its lithe black form weaving in and out of the fire paths like a wraith. The autocannons fell silent. The intercom bead fizzed.
"Yes, Captain… I am watching. No, you do not need more men, it is perfectly safe. Just keep the throne-room secure, or I'll give you something real to fear."
Now this was exciting. The drinks tray rolled in on rattling wheels behind him, but he was too invested to notice, shifting the pict-feed to the next room. A cordon of his guard, armed to the teeth with lasguns and heavy flamers, had created a killing zone by the stairway. The Officio's pet would perish here. Despite himself, Zarmuk could feel his thick palms begin to moisten. He wiped them on his cushions.
A buzzing again on his terminal, irritating him. No voice this time though, just a strangled cry. The governor swiped on the dial, and his eyes met a horrid scene. But how? The assassin had bypassed the stairway and already made it to the top level… It must have scaled the walls. His palace guard were desperately trying to contain the threat, but a serpentine blade on the assassin's wrist slithered out, and suddenly, limbs and heads were sent spinning away across the polished floor. Zarmuk focused the lens on one of the severed heads. It seemed he would not have to plan the captain's execution after all.
He leaned forward to the screen. The assassin was at his throne doors! Great globs of molten steel hissed and spat at its feet as it used some kind of melta-blade to cut through the locking mechanism. Zarmuk held his breath as suddenly the doors were thrown open, the room before it laid bare…
And so too, the pile of explosives wired to an empty throne. Zarmuk clicked a button, and his pict-feed went black.
Shifting in the cushions of his ship's command seat, the governor allowed himself a chuckle. He had evacuated the planet weeks ago, as soon as he had seen the Officio requisition logs, and now he had turned their 'solution' into a million motes of hot ash, along with any evidence of his experiments.
"Now, where is that drink?" He wondered aloud.
A tray clattered to the floor, and Zarmuk felt something shift in the room, as if a veil had been dropped. A voice as fluid as poison slipped in his ear.
"You really thought the Officio would send just one assassin? You are blind, Governor Zarmuk. Only through the Emperor's eyes may you see."
Something cold and circular pressed against the back of his skull.
"Here, let me open them for you."