"You're beyond saving. Goodbye."
Adam stood up abruptly.
Grot stared at him in confusion.
A moment ago, Adam had been talking about helping him.
Now, he was walking away without hesitation, like a decision had crystallized in his mind, beyond question or empathy.
"If it was just a matter of controlling your emotions, I could help you learn discipline," Adam said, his voice quiet but resolute. "But if it's a genetic issue, then there's nothing I can do. I can't say for certain that your genes are flawed. It's not a definitive conclusion. But unless you or I can come up with a better explanation…"
Adam laid it out clearly, each word precise, clinical in tone, as if detaching himself from the weight of his own words.
Then, without another word, he turned and left, his boots echoing like hammerblows down the corridor's steel floor.
The so-called plan to rehabilitate a former Thunderborn? A chosen one?
To hell with all of it.
Adam realized that, as a mere mortal, his perception was too limited. He couldn't see the true reasons behind certain decisions. Otherwise, he never would have wasted his time here, trying to save a man who was beyond salvation.
A flicker of guilt passed through him, but he buried it beneath the weight of logic.
Grot felt like he'd just been dumped.
He stood up, watching Adam walk away without looking back.
But instead of cursing him, Grot simply said:
"I hope you make it through crew training… and get to pilot that warship."
He just kept walking.
"Son of a—" Grot muttered under his breath, then turned and left as well.
In the following days, Grot continued his routine.
During the day, he worked in the factory, repairing logistical "servitors" and listening to his coworkers discuss the latest war updates.
In the evening, Grot acquired his nutrient-dense synth-food and visited his younger sister, Maya, sharing a meal with her.
But one night, as they ate dinner, Maya suddenly stared at him and asked a question.
"Why do you seem so… out of it lately?"
"Huh?" Grot blinked, spoon halfway to his mouth.
"Tell me, what does this food taste like?" she asked.
Then, after a long pause, he shook his head.
He hadn't even noticed the taste.
Synth-food looked like real meat and vegetables, but it was just nutrient matter pressed into edible form.
Better than rations from drones, but only just.
Maya's expression darkened.
"Just as I thought," she murmured.
She changed the topic, trying to bring some life back into the conversation.
"How's the war going?"
"Still fighting in the Upper Hive's sewer systems. Some units have moved to the Spire, they bombarded the entire district to rubble first. Should be over soon," Grot replied, his voice flat.
"So, that means 'Lord Commander' is about to become 'Governor,' huh?" Maya smiled. "From a grunt soldier to the ruler of a world. A legend in the making."
As a survivor of the original 44th Regiment, Grot knew that Qin Mo wasn't even a soldier to begin with. He had been a prisoner in the Underhive's deepest pits.
With his power he could have escaped the Underhive anytime.
But instead, he stayed behind, rescuing people, organizing defenses, leading the counterattack.
Tyrone Hive was simply one of his rightful spoils.
Maya, seeing her brother actually interested in a topic, continued.
"I heard the Governor is planning to build multiple cities in the Lower Hive. The servitors have already begun construction."
"When did this happen?" Grot was genuinely surprised.
Building cities in the Lower Hive was far more difficult than in the Underhive.
The sheer population density meant the "servitors" had to demolish existing structures before they could even begin.
Millions of displaced citizens, ruined infrastructure, unstable terrain, it was a logistical nightmare.
"I thought you'd already heard," Maya said, handing him a data slate with the official announcement.
Maya was right, construction had already begun. Residents in the affected areas were being temporarily relocated to New Kato.
More importantly, Qin Mo hadn't been focused solely on war.
He had plans, many of them.
City-building was just one part of a much larger vision.
The announcement even mentioned Talon II.
Apparently, faith in the so-called Lord of Wisdom had completely replaced the worship of the Emperor.
This industrial world had openly turned traitor.
A system-wide war was inevitable.
Grot put the data slate down.
"This war will be over soon."
"Yeah," Maya nodded. "Talon II won't be able to stop our counterattack."
"Everything is getting better."
He just stared down at his food.
Everything was getting better.
For everyone… except him.
Adam's words echoed in his mind.
Whether or not Adam was right, the fact remained: one day, Grot might become a lunatic, just like his brother.
And now Maya had noticed something was wrong.
This city conducted routine psychological evaluations through the logistical drones.
Every time, his results were getting worse.
Increased aggression. Diminished emotional response. Anomalous neural feedback in stress tests.
If this continued, it was only a matter of time before he lost control completely, just like his brother.
One day, he might find himself screaming some nonsense about the Champion of Blood, or some other madness.
Then, he would slaughter everyone around him.
When that day came, the Thunderborn his brothers in arms would put him down.
Grot stared at his hands.
They looked normal. Rough. Calloused. Human.
But he knew better. Monsters didn't always have claws.
If that was his fate, wouldn't it be better to die in battle instead?
At least then, his ashes would be enshrined in the orbital shipyard, alongside the honored dead.
A clean end. A controlled detonation.
Then, he made his decision.
"I want to rejoin the military."
"But… you're not a Thunderborn anymore."
"I know," Grot said. "I'll ask the Governor to let me enlist in the regular army. Just as a normal infantryman."
Maya's expression hardened.
"And if you die?" she demanded.
"Out of the entire 44th Regiment, less than twenty of us survived. Thirteen more are missing, buried in tunnels, for all we know. I made it through that. You really think I'd die on Talon II?"
There was no bravado in it. Only resolve.
Maya looked like she wanted to argue, but Grot was already standing up to leave.
That night, after returning to his quarters, Grot sat at his desk.
He began writing a formal request to enlist as a frontline soldier.
Each word burned with purpose, like a silent confession etched in ink.
A final act of control, in a life slowly spiraling beyond it.
When he next met Grey, he would ask him to deliver it to the new Governor personally.