"It is our solemn duty to wage war on those who would harm us or our allies and protect those who cannot or will not protect themselves - whether they welcome us or not." - IPC General Steven Anderson

ITS Dominion Hangar Bay, Hangar 1

Corporal Charles Davidson was calibrating the various augmentations with which his nanite-infused body had been equipped. He and the rest of the Punitive Corps had been doing nothing but training drills after training drills ever since they boarded the Dominion, whose admiral was very invested in establishing diplomatic relations with a new elven alien race for some reason. He sighed, thanking whoever designed the Punitive Corps for not letting them feel certain emotions, like boredom, otherwise, he might just go mad from the monotony of it all. Turning his attention back to his augmentations, the first one he tested was his armor, as all Punitive Corps members can absorb their armor and weapons into their bodies when not in use.

He focused his mind on manifesting his armor, and within half a second, the Bastille exoarmor fully covered his body, his cape hanging off his back. Said armor was the pinnacle of imperial combat armor, forged from the same neutronium that composes ship and tank armor, and capable of deflecting the pressure of projectiles and laser wavelengths along the surface. It had saved his life many times over, and so long as his nanites didn't dissociate, the armor wouldn't break. The next thing he tested, but didn't need to, was his healing factor. All Punitive Corps members had a healing factor that bordered on the supernatural and could not feel pain as every pain receptor in their body had been removed during the infusion process. Davidson took out his sword and sliced his arm, feeling nothing but a dull cutting sensation and seeing the wound healing as it was being made.

The final augment the corporal tested was the H.A.W.K. implant, which allows a Punitive Corps member to move at speeds imperceptible to the baseline human eye, becoming merely a blur in their vision. As soon as he activated the implant, the world around him seemed to move in slow motion as his perception and reflex rate skyrocketed. As he jumped from a crate to the roof of the shuttle to an observation deck and finally to the other side of the eight-hundred-meter-wide hangar bay, the poor technicians and security personnel watching only saw a blur of motion, only seeing Davidson when he paused to reposition himself. Although the H.A.W.K. implant could allow him to tactically reposition himself, it only lasts a minute before needing five seconds to recharge. The perception benefits remain so long as the implant is active, however.

I serve the state, and the state shall serve me, he thought over and over again in his mind as he inspected his weapons. No gods above knowledge, no faith above rationality, he recited in his head.

He was knocked out of his thoughts by someone touching his shoulder, to which he turned around and saw his fellow Punitive Corps member, Amy Zhou, standing behind him.

"Why are you in full armor?" She asked, her tone cold as ever.

Charles managed a thin smile behind his helmet, the action foreign to him. He knew that Amy's emotional coldness was a side effect of all Punitive Corps members due to their nanite infusion.

"Just calibrating my equipment in case we enter combat," he said with equal coldness, his voice slightly robotic because of his helmet's filter. "What have you been doing?"

Amy shrugged. "Nothing much, mostly being a security consultant for the various guards on board."

"Why do you bother with the baseliners? They're nothing compared to us."

Amy glared at him. "We all started as a baseliner at some point, don't be so dismissive towards them."

Charles scoffed. "We've transcended them in every way. It's our right to be dismissive towards lesser beings."

"Arrogance is not a good look for you."

"It's not arrogance, it's the truth."

Amy sighed. This was a common sentiment amongst the Punitive Corps, as their infusion makes them surpass normal humans in every conceivable way. Some, like herself, managed to quell such notions and try their best to fit in with baseline humans despite not feeling certain emotions and coming off as cold and uncaring, while others, like Charles, pride themselves on being superior to normal humans and seek to bring it up whenever they can. The Corps indeed surpass a normal human in every way, and they indeed survive wounds that would kill a baseline human outright, but at the end of the day, the soldiers of the 'Corps are still human, if not boosted by technology.

"Why do we have to take orders from the admiral instead of the general?" Charles asked. "Quite frankly, it's insulting."

"Why is the sky blue?" Amy shot back. "Just do it, Charles."

An alarm sounded a few minutes later, and Punitive Corps members swarmed the hanger bay, all rushing to their Falcon dropships as a message broadcasted.

"ATTENTION. ALL SOLDIERS REPORT TO YOUR DROPSHIPS. IMMEDIATE LAUNCH."

Amy manifested her armor as the member ran off before following Charles to their dropship. As they boarded, they saw that their dropship only had three seats left.

"So, are we the first to respond?" Amy asked as she and Charles sat.

"No," their squad leader replied. "The craftworld is scrambling their defenders, but our ships can't fire upon them due to their proximity to the craftworld. The Phantom Reavers are also deploying as we speak and are dropping on target now."

"We're sending baseline humans into battle?" A Punitive Corps member asked in disbelief. "They'll get slaughtered!"

Baseline human soldiers were weak; their thoughts could diverge, they cared about minuscule things like mental health, they had morale to contend with, and despite the Phantom Reavers having more advanced training than the average Planetary Guard member, they were noticeably outclassed by the Punitive Corps. Coupled with the fact that they acted as the police force for the Corps, they were unpopular with the nanite-infused soldiers, to say the least.

"That's the point. It's to buy us time so that we can drop," the squad leader said as Admiral Williams, clad in the same Bastille armor as the rest of the Punitive Corps, boarded the dropship and sat next to the squad leader.

"All set," he said. "Pilot, launch."

The sounds of the engines firing filled the cabin, but none of the Punitive Corps members could hear it due to their helmets filtering out excess sound. From the cockpit, the lone pilot could see numerous other dropships departing from their hangers, all of them carrying Punitive Corps soldiers and all of them headed for the craftworld. Victor could only hope that they weren't too late and that casualties were still at acceptable levels.

Craftworld Asheria, residential district

Fire. Smoke. Sirens. Sweet agony. Those were the first things that greeted Arzedera as she dropped from her transport onto the home of their weak-spirited kin. All around her were flaming buildings, along with her fellow Wyches and raiders dragging their 'pure-hearted' cousins to their transports, kicking and screaming as they went. She was about to join in the fun when not one, not two, but five mon'keigh came running around the corner, shouting in their primitive language, and carrying their primitive weapons. She could only laugh to herself as she thought about their 'cousins' being so desperate as to be in cahoots with the mon'keigh, the very idea was almost comical.

She sliced the closest mon'keigh in half while the others fired at her, their bullets seemingly curving toward her, but they couldn't keep up with her as she danced around her attackers. One of them even tried to throw a blade at her but it only bounced off the wall of a building pathetically. Not even six seconds later, two more mon'keigh were lying dead on the ground while the survivors were writhing on the ground in pain, but they refused to scream or make any other noise in apparent defiance. Not even giving them the honor of her presence, she left and ran down the street for more victims to steal.

As she dragged a yelling Craftworlder into a waiting transport, she spotted a Guardian cutting down a Kabalite and turned to face them, a smile creeping across her lips.

"Really 'cousin,' is your craftworld so desperate and pathetic that they would employ the mon'keigh?" Arzedera tutted as she stabbed a charging mon'keigh soldier through the head. "To be completely frank with you, I don't approve."

"We don't need your approval, whore," the Guardian spat, emphasizing the insult.

The two then charged at each other at speeds imperceptible to the humans that were being slaughtered en masse by the rest of the raiders in the background. Each swing from the Wych and the Guardian was mechanically perfect, their blades bouncing off each other, their moves a mere blur. Despite being evenly matched in their skills, none of them could land a decent hit on each other, the majority of them being glancing blows against each other. Amid their battle, neither of them noticed ships breaching the craftworld's dome and landing nearby. Still, the Guardian was distracted just enough for Arzedera to gain the upper hand and slash the Guardian across the torso. It wasn't a grievous wound, but even the smallest cut from one of the Wych's weapons could cause unbearable agony, which the unfortunate Guardian was in as they convulsed on the ground.

Before she could do anything else, however, a black-and-red blur ran up and punched her in the side of her face, sending the Wych into a nearby wall. Arzedera got to her feet just in time to receive a punch to her gut and barely dodged a fist to her head, which impacted the wall hard enough to leave a crater. She flipped back, barely dodging another fist to her abdomen, and took a look at her attacker. It was a mon'keigh, that much was certain, and it was as tall as a space marine, but nowhere near as wide. Before it could make a step towards her, a Kabalite jumped onto the mon'keigh and plunged a knife into a gap in its armor. To both the Wych's and kabalite's surprise, it didn't collapse in pain as was expected but merely grunted as if the blade poking out of its armor was a mere inconvenience. It then grabbed the Kabalite and threw them against a wraithbone pillar so hard that they split in half.

The mon'keigh then proceeded to pull out the blade embedded in its shoulder, look at it inquisitively, then casually toss it to the side. As it gripped the sword attached to its hip, Arzedera expected it to move like all the other mon'keigh she had taken down in the past; slow, predictable, and clumsy. It was only when it moved at the same speed as her towards her that she barely managed to dodge its sword swing and parry another before receiving another punch to the side of her head, sending her sprawling across the ground.

Getting up and balancing herself, the Wych squinted at the mon'keigh, her obsidian black eyes full of rage and malice. The mon'keigh meanwhile took a casual pose as if to taunt her. This primitive, this creature, this mon'keigh was not only besting her in combat but also humiliating her at the fundamental level. In a fit of anger, Arzedera charged at the mon'keigh, who dodged her blows, with the blows that struck only inflicting cosmetic damage. It punched her in the gut again, then tossed her a couple of meters away.

"You... fight well..." She panted out as she got up. "For... a mon'keigh..."

"Or maybe you're just that bad of a fighter," it replied, voice slightly robotic on account of its helmet. With that, Arzedera flew into a blind rage, charging at the mon'keigh with all of her remaining strength, landing hit after hit on its armor, yet making nothing more than a scratch. The mon'keigh meanwhile also tried to hit her, but with both moving at an equal speed, it too had difficulties scoring a hit. Eventually, per the laws of probability, the mon'keigh managed to slice her torso and leg, crippling her. The last thing she saw was being picked up and tossed at two kabalites at high velocity.

Charles looked on at the carnage he had caused. His opponent as well as two of her compatriots were lying dead on the ground, with the remains of some Phantom Reavers scattered about the place. He had to give it to these baseliners, they were great opponents, he even had to overclock his H.A.W.K. implant to keep up with her. Even now, he could still feel the heat from the implant on the back of his neck. A groan snapped his attention to the source, his nanite-enhanced hearing picking up the most minor of sounds and identifying the origin, and saw an Aeldari lying on the ground, his opponent's opponent who they bested before he came in and rescued her.

"You're lucky I arrived when I did ma'am," he said while approaching. "For baseliners, your kind fight well enough."

"I... I... I had her, mon'keigh," the Aeldari got out, evidently trying to save face in front of him on account of her injuries.

"Yeah, it sure seems like it. Swallow your pride for a minute and allow us to help you," Charles said as two Punitive Corps medics dropped from their dropship beside the wounded Aeldari and took her into the ship, which she was too wounded and weak to resist. As it flew back to the Dominion, he saw more Phantom Reavers getting slaughtered by the invaders. Sighing and activating his H.A.W.K. implant, he rushed over and assisted.

22 meters above the residential district

Victor and the rest of the soldiers in the dropship were both anxious to reach the ground, although for different purposes. He was more concerned with the population's safety and the integrity of the craftworld itself while the Punitive Corps soldiers were eager to fight these new adversaries, with little regarding their actual safety. It's said that only four things go through the head of a Punitive Corps soldier; war, war, war, and loyalty. After their infusions, their mindset and personality are rebuilt from the ground up to eliminate any signs of perceived weakness, with the centers in the brain responsible for fear, sadness, and disgust, along with their pain receptors being removed by said nanites. For wartime, this is preferable as matters such as morale, injuries, mental health, and fear are non-issues and do not need to be taken into account when planning battles.

Outside the viewport, he could see more Falcons breach the membrane-like dome of the craftworld and land at various locations, with some coming up beside them.

"Hey admiral," the General's voice said through his earpiece. "Still regret having my troops on your ship?"

Victor didn't respond, not wanting to give them the satisfaction.

"Pilot!" He yelled. "When do we drop?"

"Thirty seconds!" They yelled back.

The admiral and the rest of the soldiers then stood and attached their harnesses before the floor dropped from below them, the buildings and destruction of the craftworld racing below them. Around twenty seconds later, Victor and the rest of the soldiers dropped, with Victor specifically dropping on an incubus that Farseer Caennyl was fighting and crushing them, causing the stunned Farseer to stumble back a little. As gunfire from the Punitive Corps soldiers sounded, Victor turned to Caennyl.

"We meet yet again Farseer," he said. "Although I had hoped it would've been under... different circumstances." A missile flew above the two of them, striking a Drukari transport as it tried to get away.

"Likewise," Caennyl said as the Falcon provided covering fire, the sound of the autocannons firing nearly drowning out his words. "I've seen other humans attempt to fight off our dark kin, and-" A missile roared overhead and impacted a group of guardians and Drukhari, obliterating the latter and scattering the former.

"-And they're getting slaughtered. Typical," the admiral said. "They were meant as distractions to buy us time to land."

Caennyl looked at the human in bewilderment, not believing that he could be so calm about seeing both his troops getting slaughtered and the rampant destruction surrounding them.

"他妈的基线! (Fucking Baseliner!)" One of the armored humans yelled out as they got tackled by a Hellion.

"Do you not care about-" his words were cut off by the scream-like noises of the Banshee fighters routing the Drukhari ones and the sound of a missile striking a Reaver, barely missing a group of guardians. "Do you not care about your losses?" The Farseer said after a while. "Are you not worried that your missiles and troops might kill our people?"

"I physically cannot feel sympathy, Farseer," Victor said as a Wych lept at him but got tackled out of the air by a Punitive Corps soldier. "It's a long story that is best told some other time. As for your forces, I suggest you tell them to get out of our way," he said as a Banshee shot down a Razorwing, the craft crashing somewhere in the distance. "My forces can handle themselves, but there's no guarantee that your people won't get in the crossfire."

"Wait a minute, your fleet is in orbit! You could've prevented all of this!"

"We were too close to your craftworld! Or would you have preferred us to kill half your population with a stray volley?"

"I prefer to lose none of our people, human!" The Farseer said as he cut down a kabalite with his singing spear.

"Look, I'll make sure that your losses are within acceptable margins, and we'll save who we can, but no promises!" Victor said as another Falcon carrying Punitive Corps soldiers dropped its cargo. He and Caennyl also saw four Punitive Corps soldiers jump onto a fleeing transport, throwing its occupants off and forcing it to crash hard. "For now, let's just focus on getting these bastards off of your lawn."

"'Off of our...' What are you talking about, human?"

"It's an old human saying that means getting someone off of your territory."

"In that case, let us indeed."

As the two ran to join a group of Punitive Corps soldiers and Aeldari guardians, Victor noticed something.

"Hey, where's your companion who couldn't stand looking at me?" He asked.

"Fueriel? He was wounded while fighting off our dark kin," Caennyl replied bitterly. "I saw him getting dragged into one of your dropships, which flew off."

"Well, if our people do indeed have him, he'll be under the care of the best medical practitioners and technology in the known galaxy."

If the situation wasn't so serious, the Farseer would've burst out laughing at the human's comment, settling instead for a scoff.

ITS Absolution bridge

Julie was at the bridge's holographic console, directing the response and coordinating with the troops on the craftworld. It was humorously akin to a strategy game, to the point that she would press on an area that indicated enemy concentrations or fleeing transports, and at least ten Punitive Corps soldiers would respond before the order was fully displayed on their helmet HUDs. There were difficulties, however, as their opponents proved to be much more of a challenge than originally thought, with multiple squads reporting injuries. All of them were non-fatal, only the destruction of the heart or brain or decapitation could do that, and pain was a foreign sensation to them, but it was enough to hamper their combat abilities until they were healed. Reports also indicated that their opponent's weapons possessed an unknown toxic agent which, as usual, couldn't harm them, but made the area numb temporarily, further decreasing their combat effectiveness. Although those soldiers in particular were fresh from the various academies and their "rebirth," so it could also be that.

A Hesukari officer entered, pulling her from her thoughts. She turned around and looked them over. They were of average height for a non-augmented individual, being about half a head shorter than her, and their pointed ears were slightly shorter than hers as well. She took comfort in the fact that Hesukari was the majority of her crew on board the Absolution since even though she adored humans and liked their company, she always felt like she could relate to her kind that much better.

"We've successfully routed the enemy, ma'am," they said. "They seem to be retreating as fast as possible, they're taking what captives they can and bugging out."

"And our casualties?" Julie asked.

"Total deaths... six hundred and twenty, all of whom are Phantom Reavers."

The admiral laughed. None of the admirals and generals liked the 'Reavers, as they were essentially the police force for the entirety of nanite-augmented individuals. Hell, they were considered a secret police force by the rest of the Technocracy, using any means necessary to achieve their goals, and even venturing into other empires when needed.

"Looks like the meat served their purpose," she said, still laughing. "What are our adversaries doing now?"

"They're attempting to escape to extra-dimensional space, ma'am, but can't due to the subspace snare on the Dominion. Shall we charge the perdition beam ma'am?"

"No, prepare boarding teams. We're taking them and their captives alive."

"Aye, ma'am," the officer said before walking out. Julie then headed to the holographic table in the center of the bridge and tapped a few buttons and the holographic image of a captain of a cruiser appeared.

"Captain," she began. "Have your ordinance officers load special gaseous munitions and have them fired on the ships."

"Aye, ma'am," the captain replied. She then saw said cruiser approaching the fleet of six ships and launching their missiles at them and smiled to herself. She, like every other person on the Titan and every other Admiral in the Technocracy, was a scientist at heart, and what was a scientist without test subjects?

Obsidian Wail bridge

Ezgrath was tearing his hair out. Not only had his raid not taken as many captives as was expected, but they were repelled by mere mon'keigh. Mon'keigh! Such simpleton creatures shouldn't have been so much as mere vermin that couldn't harm anything, yet somehow they caused the loss of half the raiding party! The very thought would have been laughable if it wasn't so infuriating. On top of that, they couldn't even enter the webway due to the mon'keigh ships doing... something to their ships. In a rage, he tore off a face that was still alive from the wall which acted as a speaker of sorts, while the rest of the crew wisely stood back as far as they could. All of his previous failures pale in comparison to this, even if he could get back to the dark city, he would never be allowed to lead or even join another raid again, provided someone doesn't take him out first.

To add more insult to injury, a mon'keigh ship that was blacker than his own was approaching to finish the job. He looked on as the ship launched missiles that were heading towards all six ships and waited for the inevitable explosions and decompression that would follow. Instead, he heard a series of rhythmic thumps impacting his ship, gradually growing louder. The impacts continued to rise in volume until a two-foot metal rod breached the side of the bridge, causing everyone present to jump back. A couple of tense seconds later, the metal split and fell off, revealing an internal core with blue lights running along the center of it.

Before anyone could react, the core started to spin and gradually increased in speed before releasing a light blue gas into the bridge. The unfortunate Drukhari who was closest was the first to be affected, as they stumbled back a few steps before collapsing onto the ground unconscious. One by one, every single being present on the bridge succumbed to the effects of the gas, the light blue chemical clinging to the ground like a dense mist.

"We're coming up on the target now," the pilot of a Falcon said.

"Copy that," a member of the Imperial Punitive Boarding Division replied. "Get us as close as you can to it, then maintain a holding pattern."

"Copy."

The twelve-man squad had been dispatched from the Absolution not half an hour ago, yet were not cleared to approach the target until ten more minutes had passed, further adding to their impatience. They weren't the typical Punitive Corps squad, as their armor was more bulky, sacrificing maneuverability for even more protection, as well as in-built oxygen supplies and repulser packs for maneuverability in zero-g environments. While they would usually be armed with quad-barreled XM-599 rifles, the admiral insisted on taking whatever survivors were present alive, much to their annoyance.

"Do you think the gas did its job?" A soldier spoke to break the silence.

"Absolutely," another soldier replied. "The stuff's strong enough to knock one of us out."

"And if it didn't?"

"That's why we have these," yet another soldier said while holding up a tranquilizer rifle. "Stuff's strong enough to incapacitate an elephant."

A few more seconds later, their dropship reached their target.

"Get ready to drop," the pilot said. Every soldier present activated their air supply as the gravity turned off and the bottom doors opened, exposing the soldiers to the void of space. They pushed off of the ship as they drifted slowly toward their target, the spiky ship that sat not far from them. After a few moments, they reached an airlock that they could use to gain access.

"Hey," a soldier said. "Breach this."

Another soldier took out what at first glance looked like a standard breaching charge on the center of the airlock door, and pulled two handles to the left and right-hand side that activated it. A flashing light appeared that rapidly increased in frequency, before glowing green and the charge started to transmute the door into one that the soldiers could operate. A couple of minutes later, the door had been completely transmuted, the charge had dissolved, and the squad could enter the ship. As all twelve members entered the airlock and it began to cycle, each soldier activated their helmet's night vision while getting their rifles ready.

"Don't turn off your oxygen," a squad member said as they panned the ground. "There's still gas present. One whiff, and you're unconscious."

The squad then proceeded to move akin to a gestalt entity as they wandered the halls, their tranquilizer rifles at the ready. The ship itself was midnight dark, with vats containing unknown substances and creatures being the only dim illumination source. Through their night vision, the squad saw that the walls were plastered with the skin that came from the faces of humans and other alien species, all of whom were still alive and moving.

"Fuck..." a squad member said, voice laced with disbelief. They then took out their sword in a reverse grip and stabbed the closest one, putting it out of its misery.

"Stay focused," another squad member said. "Don't let anything distract you from the mission."

"I know, it's just that... fuck..."

"We do worse things. Remember that time when we brought the last pair of predators on a world where they tormented our colonists to sentience, only to kill its mate in front of it and extend its lifespan indefinitely so that its only thought was watching its mate die in front of it?"

"Oh, I know. It's just that seeing this in person... it's kind of exciting in a sick sense."

"Shut up, you two," came the annoyed voice of their leader. They could hear the eye roll in his voice. The squad continued to move throughout the ship in a slow, methodical manner, ignoring the living faces and the odd living furniture lying about. They then came across the first signs of the crew; figures in black, spiky armor coupled with scantily clad female warriors whose clothing had more blades than actual fabric, all of whom were lying on the ground or slumped over their terminals unconscious. A squad member approached the nearest one, pulled their head back, and placed their blade under a random figure's nose. Condensation appeared.

"Yup, still alive," the squad member said. "Unfortunately." It was hard not to agree with their sentiment, considering the sights they saw on the ship that would make a baseline human mad.

"There's a door that leads to a lower level," another squad member said. "I'll check if their captives are still alive down there."

"Are you sure?"

"I'll be fine," the squad member said as he proceeded down the steps. It got even darker as he went, causing their night vision to fade slightly. As he descended, he saw more of the ship's crew unconscious on the steps, weapons scattered about. The further he went, the dimmer his night vision became, and he ended up resorting to his shoulder-mounted flashlight. After a few more moments, he finally reached where he presumed the captives would be held, and lo and behold, there they were. All of whom were residents of Asheria, and all of whom were unconscious due to the gas. It was probably for the best, based on the wounds they had sustained.

"I found the captives," the squad member said. "Passed out, but alive. They do need medical assistance, I'm providing first aid now."

"Good, I'm sending three more guys down there to assist," the squad leader replied. "ITS Huli (Fox,) come in."

"Huli here," the reply from a coordinator on the cruiser said. "Report."

"Target secured, captives confirmed alive, although many need medical attention. Requesting for tow line deployment for transference to the Dominion."

"Acknowledged, deploying tow lines."

The squad leader then picked out eight members.

"You eight, go assist the cruiser with attaching the tow lines. The rest of us will document everything."

The selected members nodded, then turned to leave.

ITS Dominion hangar bay 3, 3 hours later

The transfer itself went smoothly enough since the Dominion had a dedicated hangar bay for retrieving and storing derelict ships for analysis and study. As the squad left the ship, they saw numerous normal Punitive Corps soldiers carrying the captives and crew to their respective locations; the captives to the medical bays, the crew to the brig. They also saw numerous scientists taking their tools to the ship to determine its composition and construction method. By now, most of the crew had woken up, and the squad heard them screaming insults at the Punitive Corps soldiers who were carrying them, kicking and hitting with their restrained legs and wrists, promising torture to all present. It was genuinely kind of hilarious to witness.

The squad then noticed one of them holding a weird rifle of some kind.

"You like it?" The member asked. "Found it off of one of the poor sods in there," he nudged his head towards the ship. The rifle itself resembled a human sniper, with a large blade attached to the end of the barrel.

"I assume you have no idea how it works?" Asked another member disapprovingly.

"Oh, fuck off, how hard can it be? Here, I'll show you."

The member holding the alien rifle turned to a normal human engineer.

"Hey, baseliner!" The engineer turned to face them. "Does this hurt?"

The member aimed the rifle at the engineer before pulling the trigger. The sound of a crystal shattering was heard before the rifle's projectile grazed the engineer's arm, causing them to immediately collapse and scream in agony as they convulsed in pain, even though the round had only grazed them.

"Holy shit, I'm keeping this," the squad member got out before getting punched in the head. The member then recovered and saw Admiral Williams looking at him with disgust, his fellow squadmates bearing the same expression. "Admiral, sir. Forgive me, I was, uh, testing our latest finds."

The admiral looked at the still convulsing engineer who had his eyes rolled into his head while foaming at the mouth. Medics then rushed out and carried them to a medical bay.

"Did you really need to test it?" He said, annoyed.

"Of course, how was I supposed to know what would happen?" Every member of his squad looked away and groaned.

"That's the job of our scientists, soldier."

The squad member sighed, akin to a child who had their toy taken away. "Understood, sir."

"Now take it to the science wing, and if I hear of any more incidents like this, I will have you court-martialed. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Now get out of my sight."

Victor looked on at the leaving boarding squad tiredly. He sighed as he watched as Punitive Corps soldiers carried the crew to the brig where they would be kept for the foreseeable future. Part of him wished to invite the defenders of Asheria on board so that they could exact their form of justice, but the rest of him knew a far more fitting punishment. It was a surprise to read the report, a project that had been discontinued and buried when the Interstellar Solar Technocracy was the pan-Earth Imperial Asiatic Technocracy, now dug up, its designs, notes, and reports sent to his holo terminal for him to review. A grin crept across his face as he saw the last of their prisoners get unloaded from their ship.

"Sir," the voice of the Head Researcher stationed on board the Dominion said, shaking him from his thoughts. "The last of our prisoners have been unloaded and await your judgment. Shall we execute them? Send them off for vivisection?"

"No," Victor replied, voice stern. "You may send a fifth off for study. The rest are going to Project: A.P.E.X."

"A.P.E.X.? Didn't that get shut down-" the Head Researcher began before being interrupted by Victor clasping his hand over the researcher's mouth.

"Do NOT mention A.P.E.X. to ANYONE outside of your inner circle, myself, of the Imperator himself. It was buried, forgotten even, but we dug it up two centuries ago. No one else besides the Imperator and the Imperial Science Department knows of it, and it is in your best interest to keep it that way."

The researcher nodded nervously, to which Victor released his grip.

"Good. Have your scientists received the designs yet?"

"We... We have sir."

"I assume then you are prepared to execute the project at my order?"

The researcher nodded.

"Then go and prepare for the said order," Victor said as the researcher saluted and walked off.

Information Data Logs

H.A.W.K. Implant: The Hyperactive Adaptive Warfare Kinetics implant is the most basic one that is installed into the majority of Punitive Corps soldiers, and the first one a soldier installs when they finish their nanite infusion process. Installed in the base of the neck, the implant works by overclocking the occipital lobe, increasing perception by speeding up signal processing in the primary visual cortex and sending it faster, increasing the production rate of adrenaline by stimulating the hypothalamus with nanites, and increasing muscle twitch speed by overclocking the basal ganglia, sensorimotor cortex, and the cerebellum. All of this turns the Punitive Corps into a rapid blur on the battlefield. The implant was developed during the Human-Thelaxian War, where the Thelaxians fielded troops that utilized teleportation technology to zip around the battlefield, flanking the Punitive Corps who although their nanite-enhanced eyes allowed them to perceive much better than a standard human, still fell victim to the Thelaxian attacks. When the Technocracy perfected the H.A.W.K. implant, however, it was all over as the Thelaxians were devastated through a combination of H.A.W.K. implanted Punitive Corps soldiers and the bombardment of their homeworld. The Punitive Corps can even overcharge the implant to boost its capabilities even further, although this runs the risk of permanent brain damage as the boosted effects can damage the brain faster than their nanites can heal said damage. The implant is one of the only reasons why the Punitive Corps are so effective against the Aeldari, and by extension, the Drukhari.

Baseliner: An umbrella term covering all non-nanite-enhanced, organic individuals, a Baseliner can either refer to a human or an alien individual. The term has its origins in the official classification of living beings by the Technocracy but has been primarily adopted by the Punitive Corps. While the vast majority of Punitive Corps soldiers often think of non-nanite-enhanced individuals as their equals and have no qualms about interacting with them, some consider non-nanite-enhanced individuals as being inferior to them and not worth their effort to converse with, disregarding any genetic modifications, commonly finding the mere thought extremely annoying. Based on this, "baseliner" can range from a neutral descriptor to a derogatory slur when used by them, akin to how the Aeldari call humans "mon'keigh."

RA-833 "Retiarius" Snare: Named after the ancient Roman net-wielding gladiator, the Retiarius is the offensive module installed on the Patriarch-class Titans of the Technocracy. The snare works by projecting interference within the surrounding system that wreaks havoc on an opponent's FTL drive, causing hyperdrive users to be unable to leave through any hyperlane besides the one they entered through and jump drive users not being able to leave at all. It is especially effective against ships that utilize sub-dimensional travel, like Aeldari warships, having stopped a Drukhari raiding fleet from escaping to the webway after they were repelled from Craftworld Asheria. Due to power constraints, only Titan-class ships can field them.

PX-623 "Faust" Perdition Beam Cannon: The second most powerful energy beam weapon outside of the world cracker, the perdition beam is the primary offensive component of the Technocracy's Titan-class ships, being the very reason for their inception, and leading people to joke that Titans are nothing more than a gun with a ship attached to it. Possessing more recorded energy than a supernova, the cannon works by first activating a containment field looped between the two prongs of the ship, before charging the main cannon itself, a process which takes around two minutes. Next, multiple AI targeting systems individually lock on to the poor target, ensuring that the percentage of missing is reduced as much as possible. Finally, the cannon fires, obliterating the target and barely leaving any scrap metal. Naturally, one would expect the use of this weapon to be highly restricted and limited, but the deployment of this weapon lies solely on the shoulders of the commanding admirals of the fleet.

DA-633 "Sprayer" Self-Propelled Gaseous Munition: Originally developed to dispense pesticides and herbicides on agriworlds from orbit or missile launchers across the Technocracy, the inventor was approached by the Imperial Armed Forces for a militarized version. The inventor agreed, and handed the Technocracy their blueprints, receiving a hefty sum in return. The design has remained surprisingly unchanged, the only difference being the typical pesticides and herbicides were replaced by Synth-X nerve gas or a sedative agent. Many empires forbid the use of such weaponry, but there's a reason why there's no galactic war crime tribunal.

Imperial Punitive Boarding Division: While it is more than convenient to simply blow a ship out of the void and research the wreckage, sometimes it's better to take the ship intact, either due to important data that may be present on board or to simply understand the enemy's ship design better than merely sifting through the wreckage, or a dedicated sabotage crew would be more effective than a barrage of missiles or gauss rounds. This poses a new problem in the form of the crew, however, as it is doubtful that they would take too kindly to invaders taking command. The Imperial Punitive Boarding Division is one of the smallest divisions of the Punitive Corps, but it still has a respectable three million members. All members wear slightly bulkier armor compared to other branches due to additional systems to assist in zero-g combat, open space infantry combat, shipborne sabotage missions, and other actions. The very existence of this division goes to show that the Technocracy is truly capable of adapting to all environments, and nowhere is safe from its wrath.

Project A.P.E.X.: During the late 2060s, well within the War for Societal Unification, the then Asiatic Sovergrin Technocracy needed to boost its ground forces to better combat the forces of the Coalition of Democratic Nations. While the Technocracy's air, naval, and ground forces were holding their own well enough, the ground forces were only successful due to missile bombardment. Enter the Augmented Personal Enhancement eXperiment project. Commissioned by Imperator Yang II himself, the goal of Project A.P.E.X. was to enhance the average human with a suit of exo-armor connected via a neural link to the recipient's brain to allow for enhanced movement and coordination, and for enhanced speed and strength. The project was initially a success, the subjects dubbed the "A.P.E.X. predators" were merged with the Technocratic Armed Forces and improved their combat effectiveness substantially. However, after the war, the issues with the subjects became more glaring. For example, while the neural link allowed for improved coordination, any more strain on the link resulted in total brain death, and trying to improve it resulted in mental degradation into an animalistic state. This, along with other issues and the discovery and implementation of nanites, resulted in the project being discontinued in the year 2155, with the facility sealed, all members executed, and the A.P.E.X. predators being eliminated by the fledgling Punitive Corps. Officially, this is where A.P.E.X.'s story ends, but in year 2███, the facility was dug up and its files retrieved for ██████ and ██████ by the order of Imperator Yang XIV.