Standard Terran Calendar,
Planet Armageddon, Main Continent, Invernas Hive
Marik Keel had already recorded his 58th birthday a month ago. In the Invernas Hive, he was already a veritable old man at his age.
The gravel in his body from the desert plains caused pain when he moved or moved, and it was not until these days that he recovered much better than before.
Years on the plains can take a heavy toll on a person, who has to deal with scrapes and ensuing infections, and then has to worry about blackening their lungs with dust that gets into their mouths and noses.
But no matter what, people who work hard outdoors for a long time will have their lungs fail due to exhaustion and infection, and they will spend the rest of their lives coughing up bloody phlegm.
Painful eyes were also a constant affliction - they were always watery and sometimes dry.
Even his hearing was not very sensitive, and only the Emperor knew what decades of wind and sand had done to his ear canals.
When his blood surged and his heartbeat quickened, everything in the world became blurry and silent, as if underwater.
But of all, his heart was the most damaged, and it kept fussing at him every time he walked a little longer.
All in all, he has every right to complain, but he rarely does.
Marik Gere was not a man who enjoyed reliving pain. Although he tried to explain life on the desert plains to those around him, it did not work. It was the same as when Marik's own father tried to explain it to him. The words are exactly the same, and then there are the long and short pains brought about in this life.
He was caught up in the replay of these memories as the city's sirens wailed discordantly.
"really--"
He exclaimed that the storm had started so early this year. The last time he heard from the radio, it was at least a few weeks away, maybe even a month.
Not long ago, there were rumors among the neighbors that the front line had suffered a defeat. Marek thought that was pure nonsense-those green-skinned bullshit was just like the cockroaches in the cracks of his furniture. Apart from being disgusting, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. The second effect.
They would simply be crushed to death like vermin, and Marek was confident enough.
The old man pulled himself up from the couch on which he lay, tasting the air through his teeth as his knees shook, feeling the needles in both knee joints regaining consciousness.
There's no doubt that getting older is a whiny thing.
A shadow passed through his window, and he looked up as his fist struck the board that served as the door.
"The Emperor's throne."
His knees protested against him again, but he had to get up and walk away anyway.
Guard Officer Barak Hughes is on the other side of the door, armed and ready. The worn guard laser rifle is no longer intact after thousands of years of operation, but as the watchman of South 21st Street, he has the right to carry the weapon on patrol. .
"Want to catch some sand rabbits?"
Marik almost laughed and gestured to the gun.
"It's too early to shoot the robbers, boy."
"Those alarms."
Barak was breathing heavily, and it was obvious that he had come running - passing through streets made of muddy alleys made of pre-built buildings.
"The storm is coming early."
The old man poked his head outside the door, only to see that the horizon was blocked by the ragged skyline of the hive city. People were driven out of their houses and mingled in the streets from all directions.
Barak shook his head.
"Come on, you deaf old guy, get to the underground shelter."
"never."
The old man is stubborn like most people in this city, and this place is not far from the military camp. There are many Chimeras there. These armors can resist the worst things in the sandstorm.
"Listen to me, this is not a sandstorm, the hive is being attacked."
After a while, Marik didn't know whether to laugh or lie back on the bed.
"…What's wrong?"
"This is not a joke. I heard that the defense chief has gone crazy, or...I don't know anything else. Please! Look at the sky, you old stone!"
Marek had seen something similar to the panic in Barak's eyes on the faces of those who served outside the high wall, the instinctive fear of animals lost on the plains, turning their bodies directionlessly at the beginning of a sandstorm, absolutely Powerlessness painted the man's face, making it ugly and sickly.
He looked towards the command tower far to the west, where a beam of orange light illuminated the evening sky behind the city.
"who?"
The old man asked in a low voice:
"Who would attack us? Who would even know we were here? Who would care?"
No one answered him.
Barak had already started running and joined the crowd. The old man saw him extending his cloth-covered hand to help a boy stand and then pushing him into the bustling line.
Marek Kiel waited a moment as he walked back to his house with his sore knees and arthritic hands. When he reappeared, he grabbed his rifle - which worked fine, thank God. .
He used it while serving as a volunteer watchman, and after retiring from detecting storms, he used it to shoot hive raiders.
Then he followed the edge of the crowd, moving toward the west as the crowd advanced eastward.
There was no point in scurrying and hiding if the hive was attacked; old Malik always knew how to do his duty.
He lowered his head and briefly checked his gun.
At this moment, he seemed to hear a roar.
Everyone in the crowd screamed, cowered, and held their heads as the giant beast roared above them. Their ears were deafened when they looked up at it.
Only Marik remained unchanged, his bloodshot eyes staring in awe.
Something darker than the gray sky spreads roars in the sky. These are not monsters at all, but aircraft, painted red and crude in appearance, gliding in dense formations from the spire of the hive.
The crowd was screaming again now, and emaciated parents hugged their even emaciated children and covered their eyes.
These fighter planes, which looked like a patchwork of junk, tilted over their heads, the flames of their propellers gushing out like strong winds blowing against their armor.
They relied on their own momentum to hover gracefully in the air, fighting against the howling wind. When they turned, their heads glanced at the crowd below, and the propellers burst out with another thunderous roar, shaking the surrounding buildings.
In the blink of an eye, a formation of fighter planes flew across the sky. There was no doubt that they were not human aircraft.
After Marik was stunned for a moment, he suddenly started running, the pain in his joints having been ignored for a long time.
"Ler me get through,"
As he spoke, he made his way through the separated crowds, the fugitives in the opposite direction being slightly encouraged by his actions.
Marek ran three streets before his knees gave up the fight.
When he couldn't hold on any longer, he held onto a wall, cursing the stinging pain in his joints and his heart, which pumped blood through his chest with rapid pace.
Marik hammered his chest, as if anger could soothe the fire that was growing inside him.
More clouds with orange light, more and more places where the city is on fire.
He caught his breath and forced his knees to obey him—and they trembled in response.
Marek Sr. staggered forward, successfully crossing two streets this time before pausing to catch his breath.
"I'm too old for this folly."
He coughed and leaned against a wall, ignoring some sort of scream and growl.
Marik didn't hear this. Even though the noise was only a few meters away from him, he still tried hard to catch his breath.
His blood pressure rose, and the pounding of his heart made his ears deaf.
He saw the streets clearing as people left, then looked back at him, seeming to be calling something -
