Editing Republican Commando (section)

===(21) Under the Knife===

<div class="mw-collapsible-content">(Temur was unavailable this episode)

The Blade has enabled emergency warp jump, its target Catalyst Station. The mission updates flow across cogitators linked to the Sector Holomap.

-The 44th Orvanian Planetary Assault Legion has been dispatched to Nebraskus after all contact with the world was lost. 
-Rose has been found unconscious within one of the Observation bays. She has been moved to Brynjol's medicae deck. 
-Festivities have begun on Xaviol. They are expected to last three weeks.
-Doggfather has a most curious fever. His body cannot seem to control its temperature. Numerous Tempestus Scions aboard Catalyst have caught colds.

The Commandos consider their options. They can safely put off the celebrations on Xaviol, but there is much debate between Nebraskus and Cataclysm. While Cyril votes for Nebraskus, he is swiftly outvoted by Cortain and Brynjol, who wish to acquire some Divination for Dummies books for Rose, as well as save Lord Inquisitor Calvin Doggfather from himself. Reluctantly, Cyril acquiesces, and the Commandos are on their way to Catalyst Station.

Brynjol, however, wheels to face Cyril across the bridge.
"What the bloody hell were you thinking, Cyril?" he asks.
Cyril turns to face the Space Wolf, tears and blood running down his face. "About?"
"That! The damned eye!" Brynjol sweeps a hand behind him, "We don't have the capacity to fight that thing! And delaying evacuation for a rusted old boltgun... what madness has taken you?"
"We had yet to land a solid arc-charged hit!" Cyril insists, "I thought it would work!"
"Listen to me, Cyril. You've fought things like daemons before. When has proportional response EVER worked against them?" Brynjol presses, "We're going to need to skew our thinking to beat this thing. Conventional arms are not the key here."
"Every. Damned. Time. Bigger monster? Bigger gun," Cyril throws his hands up, "This thing is not a daemon, and seems to follow different rules!"

Brynjol and Cyril cease their arguing, deeming Rose's condition is worth reviewing first. Cortain, however, has beaten them to the punch, arriving at the medicae deck first. Rose is connected to ancient Medicae machines. She is breathing, which is good. The serfs bow as he enters.

"I presume this development was recent," he notes, reviewing the Serfs' notes.
"We found her like this, my lord," Chief Serfguy explains, "When that entity shined its baneful light, she was...convulsing. We brought her here as soon as we noticed."

Cortain considers his conspiracy theories again. He didn't seem utterly screwed against the Mhara Gal, but then again, perhaps the Hellstar wasn't quite as close to put her in peril. He then wonders if the something it seemed to be looking for is actually Rose...

"Cyril, we need to go to the Medicae deck," Brynjol insists, as the two make their way to the deck, "I am not declaring you fit for service without a neuro workup, and something has happened to Rose."
He laughs briefly.
"We can do them both at the same time, and you won't have to miss more than an hour of hair-combing!"
"Fuck you," Cyril snarls bluntly.
"Cyril, I will knock your arse all over this ship, with or without that fancy new blade!" Brynjol reminds him.
"I am heading for the medbay you vicious fool!" Cyril cries, as Brynjol follows at a slightly more sedate pace, tattered cloak trailing after him.

Arriving at the medicae deck, Cortain and the Serfs standing over Rose, Brynjol notes she is currently stable.
"This just happened, Cortain explains, "The Hellstar certainly triggered it. She is stable for now."
"And how would you know?" Brynjol asks. Cortain holds his tongue, not wishing to anger the Blade's only medic in concern of losing organs during surgeries.
"Maybe because he's a TECHMARINE?" Cyril quips, "And she is connected to MACHINES?"
"Cyril, I love you as only a brother Astartes can do," Brynjol sighs, "But I swear to the Allfather I will slap the taste right out of your mouth if you keep on with that petty tone."

Brynjol takes a moment to verify that she is, in fact, stable. However, as he attends to Rose, she suddenly twitches, a great sphere of psychic energy blasting out of her. He curses in Wurgen, falling back a pace before rallying. Though Brynjol successfully resists the power,  Cortain and Cyril find their vision clouding, as fog begins to set in...

05:42, 13 June 2016 (UTC)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0qzurHFfsk

Cortain and Cyril find themselves floating in that dull fog once more. This time, surrounding them are dark shadowy figures, merely standing there.

"Not again," Cortain sighs.
"So it seems," Cyril agrees.

Brynjol, in the materium, attaches Cyril and Cortain to various telemetric devices - making sure to secure Cyril quite firmly - before returning to attend to Rose once he is sure they aren't in danger of warpstuff.

Off in the distance, the two Commandos can see a titanic bipedal form in the fog. It is impossible to make out detail, but it merely stands there.

"But that seems...almost familiar..." Cortain observes.

Cortain and Cyril perform a weapon check, and all they have is their relics. The featureless shadows merely stare. They do not appear with weapons, and they are the size of normal humans. 

Cyril grips his Photonic Blade, unlit, for comfort. "They are unresponsive. I suggest we check the big one... but if it is hostile, and these anthromorphs join it, engaging them now might be wiser."
"Quite," Cortain moves to Cyril's back, drawing the Gladius Invictus.

A great blasting sound echoes through the fog, a cross between a mechanical warhorn and a beast's roar. The force of the sound pushes the two back slightly. 

... ... ... CA ... LL ... ... ... US ... ...

Cyril suddenly snaps his head around, trying to pinpoint the sound.
"Call you....what?" Cortain asks.

... ... ... AU ... GUR ... US ... ... ...
 
The shadowed figures bow, in unison.

"Augur?  Okay..." Cortain says, not quite understanding. Before he can trigger his augur arrays, however, the fog begins to dissipate...
05:42, 13 June 2016 (UTC)

Cortain and Cyril begin to stir, waking up. As does Rose.

"Ah..." Rose stirs, "I..."
Brynjol runs the usual scans on all of them for unusual neurological activity, brain tumours, eyes suddenly folding out of their skulls, etc. He finds nothing out of the ordinary.

"Did I need to be strapped in?" Cortain asks, tugging at the restraints.
"This is an equal rights medicae ward," Brynjol points out.
"Why ARE we restrained, Brynjol?" Cyril asks calmly.
"I felt that blast of psychic force, and you both fell unconscious," Brynjol explains, "I wasn't going to take the chance of you waking up with... passengers."
He gradually releases the restraints as the tests finish.

Rose suddenly begins to panic, "Oh! The Hellstar! It's approaching the asteroid belt!"
"That already happened, Rose," Brynjol points out.
"He is right, Rose. It ate the place," Cyril adds, "We evacuated those we could and shot it in the eye, with no effect."
She looks around, "Ah...I'm...I'm sorry. I felt its stare. I tried to...to gain its attention."
"To... gain its attention?" Brynjol stops, "Rose... why would you endanger us all in such a fashion?"
"Indeed," Cortain concurs, "Why would you do that terrible thing?"
"If its eye was on me," she states, "It...wouldn't be on you."
The Commandos stop, in sudden understanding.

Cyril sighs again. "That was very brave of you, Rose, but I suggest not repeating it. It might well be able to END you with a thought. We can at least endure for a short while."
"Cyril is right," Brynjol nods, "More than anything, the Astartes are built to endure."
"I...tried to interfere as long as I could, until you were safe,"  Rose sighs, "I...could feel its stare. It's...searching for something. But then I found myself surrounded by fog..."
"PROCEED." Cortain demands, his interest piqued.
"I don't know what...Its eye, it focused on me for the briefest of moments," and then I felt...rejection, as its eye turned. I know not what it searches for, but I was not it. I was...nothing to it...I was...alone..."
"Thank you, Rose. You may well have preserved us all. Had the Hellstar arrived any sooner, it might have caught us," Cyrilbows, "Remember, you are not alone. The Emperor is with us, always."

Cortain scraps that theory about what the Eye's looking for, before heading down to the Armory. To celebrate his ascension to Consul Forge Lord, he requisitioned a suit of Artificer Armor. Arriving in the Armorium, Cortain notes there are numerous pieces of armor strewn about in utter ruin. Thexus, however stands by a new set of armor, painted black as per Deathwatch standard.

"CONSUL, YOUR MANTLE IS READY. I HAVE REPAIRED IT WITH PIECES OF LESSER ARMOR MARKS. ALL FUNCTIONS SHOULD BE NOMINAL."
"Much appreciated," Cortain begins the process of donning it.
Thexus's mechadendrites swirl, "HELOTS, ASSIST HIM."

"BEAR WITNESS TO MY ASCENSION!" Cortain yells. Numerous squats rush forward to assist in armor donning rites.Old armor is removed, as the Mantle of Ultramar reverently replaces it, albeit with some squattish hymns instead of normal prayers.
"CONSUL, ARMOR SYSTEMS SHOULD BE NOMINAL FOR NOW. BEAR WITNESS - THERE WERE ONCE SEVEN OF THESE VOID-PLATES, THOUGH THIS IS THE ONLY ONE I KNOW OF NOW. THOUGH THEY ARE NOMINALLY AWARDED BY THE HAND OF THE PRIMARCH ALONE, I AM SURE THERE WOULD BE NO QUESTION TO YOUR WORTH."
Cortain's mind is flooding with binharic hymns supplicating and familiarizing himself with the ancient machine spirit.
"May none find me wanting," he affirms. Each squat signs the Aquila, upon completion of the Armor Donning Rites.

As the rites come to an end, the Everything's Okay alarm blares, as the Blade leaves the Warp. Catalyst Station, the double donut, floats in the distance, above the jeweled world of Cataclysm. Cyril patiently awaits the end of Cortain's ceremony, chanting along with the Squats, then approaches Thexus. 

"Honoured Paragon of Metal... Some time ago, I decided that I would walk the path of the Centurion," Cyril explains, "I am now convinced that the magnitude of the threat we face will allow no further delay."
"REMEMBER, CONSUL, CENTURIONS WERE WAR LEADERS OF THE CRUSADE FORCES. EACH OF YOU HAVE SELECTED A DIFFERENT CONSULSHIP."
"I intend to become a Delegatus," Cyril explains, "There is no time to train at the moment, though. We deploy shortly."
"THE CONSULSHIP OF THE DELEGATUS CANNOT BE EASILY TAUGHT, CONSUL. ONE MUST EARN THE RESPECT OF THEIR EXCERTUS FORCES ON THEIR OWN MERIT. YOU WILL LEARN AS YOU EXERCISE THE DUTIES OF OFFICE."
"I understand, Thexus. We will speak further on this another time."

Everyone boards a prepared Aquila, and a number of Battle Automata and Cyril's Yeti are herded into a large lander.  Both are launched out of the bay, towards the landing bays of Catalyst Station. The verdant green deep-valleys of Cataclysm shine, as the Urist Brothers guide the two landers into the bays. The doors open, and a Tempestus scion contingent stands ready to greet the Commandos.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pbj6_9ha1Xk
"Welcome, honored Commandos," the Scion bows, "With you here, we can begin this meRFGYIKHGVJJLHCFOU." 
The scion sneezes in his helmet.
"...It is as we were told, then," Cyril sighs.
"Aren't you bloody glad I brought my big bag of knives and herbs?" Brynjol rhetorically asks a bit too excitedly.
"The Lord Inquisitor is somewhat ill," another scion steps up, "But he is ready to lead the meeting."
"Take us to him, then," Cyril demands.

The scion nods, leading the Commandos through the hallways, that familiar haze swirling around their ankles. While Brynjol notes the dingy and dank smell all about, the Commandos are led to a large auditorius, where Inquisitors bearing the marks of Malleus and Xenos stand by. Even Inquisitor Shady of the Chronos is there, looking pleasant as always. Their vision catches a wave, and they can see the Sororitas from a few episodes ago.

"Ah! Commandos!" Charlotte waves, "You made it!"
"'ello," Brynjol nods.
"We're glad you're here!" Red says. 
"Now the meeting can truly begin!" Black adds.
"Those...have their fire protocols updated, right?" White asks nervously as she sees the battle automata.

"Yes, Cortain updated their combatant indexes," Cyril explains, "How long have you been waiting?"
"We arrived a few weeks back," Charlotte explains, "But the meeting was put on hold until we received confirmation that you would be arriving."
"As you were the ones who killed the Magma Corer..." Black starts.
"Your opinions would be of most merit!" Red concludes.
"So, it made sense to wait," White nods.
Brynjol shifts around on the chair, trying to get comfortable. Chairs are not designed for jump packs.
"What, precisely, is the meeting about?" Cyril finally asks, "It is a pleasure to see you again, but if you will forgive my saying so, Sororitas are hardly known as Tyranid specialists."
"In case we are declared support assets," Charlotte explains, "Our order dispatched us as representatives. It's been kind of slow so far. And everyone's been getting sick. At least we have numerous doctors aboard now!"
"Let me take a look at him!" Brynjol boasts, "Maybe he will benefit from a hearty dose of Fenrisian medicine."
"He'll be here momentarily," Charlotte nods, pointing to the doors.

Soon enough, Lord Inquisitor Doggfather steps through the doors. He looks kind of woozy.
"Aite, looks like we got Xenos, Malleus, and...Chronos here," the Lord Inquisitor begins, "And the Republican Commandos. Looks like everyone important's here."
The Sororitas look a bit put-off.
"Aite, so this here Conclave is now in session," the Lord Inquisitor continues, "Topic of concern, the recovered MagmFYCGVJHVFKJGC *cough* *cough* Magma Corer samples."
"Ey, Commandos," Shady interrupts, kicking up his boots, "You killed the thing, what did you find about it?"
"It was pretty big," Brynjol states.
"Riveting," Shady sighs.
"Huge, tough, huge, clad in impenetrable stone, and vulnerable from the inside, but only in specific places defended by smaller bioforms," Cyril clarifies, "Also, huge. You have reviewed the pict-captures?"
"It reminded me of a hrosshvalur, only hot," Brynjol adds.
"Hey I don't say stuff about YOUR mothers," Dre points. Brynjol rolls his eyes.

"Is it true samples were recovered?" Charlotte asks, echoing the concerns of her compatriots, and attempting to drive the meeting to a more productive path.
"There were," Cortain affirms, "You have reviewed the pict-captures of them, have you not?"
"Fo'sho. Thanks to the Commandos, we learned a whole lot of *cough* *cough* shit from them," the Lord Inquisitor continues, "Not only did they provide a new form of tactica, but we started lookin' deep at the samples."
"And your findings?" Cyril leans forward, eager to learn new ways to smite the hated Devourer.
"Da, Comrades..." a large Magos marches in, flanked by a cowled up kroot, "Very interesting samples. Ve have learned much of zeir vaunted flame biomorphs...among ozher zings."
Brynjol squints. "Is that a kroot?"
"Endeeed, Commandos..." the Kroot hisses, laughing slightly as Cyril palms his Serpenta, "My warmest regahrds. I...am Dr. Angkor Thrax. This is Boris, the Genetor. We hahv wooorked together for a veeery laung tiiiime..."
"Please, share what you have learned," Cyril mutters icily.

"For one, ve have noted zat, naturally, zey are HIGHTLY resistant to heat weaponry of all kinds," the magos, clearly a genetor, explains, "Zis naturally makes zem weak to low-temperature and impact hits."
Cyril bounces up and down slightly in excitement.
"Glory be," Cortain states, considering they have excellent weapons for such a case.
"Zhough ve have had only veeks to review ze samples," Boris continues, "Ve also noted zat zis strain is very...adaptable and virulent. Far more zan most ve have seen. Can you confirm zis, Commandos?"
"Adaptable and virulent? I suppose so," Cyril muses on the Tyranids of his home, "I never knew Mi-Go to produce the bizarre things we found belowground."
"Fitting, considering the constant need for heat," Cortain nods, "Most likely, they would have needed to sustain considerable amounts of radiation, even compared to the typical Hive Fleet."
"Ahhh, true...then that settles theengs," the Kroot whispers, bowing, "I haf seen thees set of samples change very, very rapeedly. Your meessing pieeces are proving vehry useful."
"Now, onto tacti..." the Lord Inquisitor starts, but then he collapses, coughing. Rather worringly, he coughs up a jet of flame.

"That doesn't look too healthy," Brynjol states, calmly walking over in no great rush, slowly bringing out his apothecarion tools carefully. 
 "Oh dear..." Charlotte says, as everyone in the room readies weapons.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhSl07XsfmI

The Scions ready their weapons, unsure of what to do.
"It looks as though Nidhoggr is responsible for the outbreak after all," Cyril facepalms.
"I suppose that this is the...cold?" Cortain states. 
"Ironic, is it not?" Cyril nods.
"Did someone feed him a sample?" Cortain asks, regretting that he has to even ask in the first place.
"Nein, comrade..." Boris explains, "He has been very insistent on supervising zings as ve vorked. He may have lacked ze...proper protection zat Thrax and I use."

Brynjol commands a station quarantine, as he begins basic first aid.  The first thing he checks is his temperature. Lord Inquisitor Doggfather is literally burning up, a terrible fever having overtaken him. Brynjol applies the balms to bring the temperature down, but it merely seems to be slowing things down.

"So...who's next in line for Lord Inquisitor?" Shady quips.
"Dre, maybe?" Cyril chuckles a bit.

The Commandos deem an ice bath would be an ideal stopgap measure, and have Boris and Thrax lead them to a suitable location. Arriving at a part of the station dedicated to medicae and dissections, there are containers and tools around. The scions part, to allow you full access. One sneezes.

"Bloody hell, this is going to get out of hand REALLY quick," Brynjol frowns, as he moves the Lord Inquisitor under a set of ancient Diagnostors, "Anyone with symptoms is to report to medicae decks for quarantine. Failure to comply will result in being fed to the yeti."
The battle sisters clutch each other at that last bit.
"The Lord Inquisitor's enthusiasm may have doomed many loyal personnel," Cyril sighs, "I pray you can fix it."
"I'm no Apothecary Haus," Brynjol admits, "But I will try."

Brynjol directs any medicae servitors in the room to begin taking various samples and running as many cultures as posthumanly possible as he lays the Inquisitor out on a table and begins a more thorough examination to discover the extent of the systems the pathogen is attacking. With 2 degrees of success on his Diagnosis, he notes first and foremost a fair number of bacterium-like entities in his blood, all displaying incredibly high internal temperature.

"This is damned bizarre. No pathogen should be able to maintain a temperature that high."

What stops him cold is that he can detect something, slightly larger, moving about in the heart.

"Oh hjolda, what is THAT?" he yells.

Zooming in with all the tools available to him, Brynjol can see the area around the heart has been terribly altered. Some parts have hardened into superheated scab, almost like...chitin. The temperature is highest in the heart. Lacerations and damage begins appearing fast.

"Microbes," Cortain offers, "Perhaps Tyrannic Spores from the samples."
"Spores? If zat is ze case, he vill not last..." the Genetor notes, "Comrades...I have idea. You are familiar vith Prosanguine augmentics, jah?"
"I have Autosanguine Implants," Cortain nods, "Works similarly enough."
"I have no idea how the cardiac tissue is even holding together," Brynjol says, "If you have an idea, Genetor, tell me now, because he's almost certainly going to need a new heart even if this works."
"Very goot," Boris explains, "I note you all have at least basic MIUs, jah? If zis vorks..."
"You should bee able to save your Lord Inqueeseetor," Thrax states.
"Quite," Cortain states flatly, hoping for the opposite, "What is the plan?"
"Is of simple, Comrade," he says, taking out a black syringe, "Ve vill inject ze Inquisitor vith zese Prosanguine Augmentics. Ve vill connect your MIUs to zem, so you may control zem directly. It should prove...most efficient."
"Are you proposing that we pilot nanotechnological probes into the Inquisitor's body?" Cyril asks, dumbfounded.
"I think I saw a holotape of this once," Brynjol muses.
"...You ARE proposing that we pilot nanotechnological probes into the Inquisitor's body," Cryil sighs, "Just checking."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwie2RexrPM

"Indeed, Comrade," Boris nods, "It has never been done before, maybe never again."
"Are you ready, Commahndos?" Thrax asks, "Weeth thees you can target the soource of the eenfection. I believe that eef you are skeeled enough. Do you...agree?"
"Aye. Why bloody not," Brynjol shrugs, "This day was already strange."
"We can and will do it," Cyril grudgingly affirms, "Doggfather is not dying just yet, comrade Boris."
"Anything is worth doing at least once," Cortain adds. 

"Very vell, Comrades, I vill prep you," Boris states, "Be aware, however, zat should your augmentic suffer critical feedback, such zings may be...fatal."
"Critical Feedback like...?" Cortain asks.
"Damage ze augmentic suffers, Comrade," Boris explains.
"We will avoid taking damage, then," Cyril explains, "It is a policy that has served us well in the past."
"When you ahr ready, Commandos, have a seeat," Thrax states, "I shall connehct the augmenteec cables to your MIUs, and you weell assume direct control of an augmenteec."

The Commandos all sit around the Lord Inquisitor. Dr. Thrax connects the ancient augmentic cables to their MIUs, and their vision goes black for the briefest of moments. Boris injects the Prosanguine Augmentics into the Basilic Vein, the closest he could get, and the Commandos' vision recovers. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYIfOeAXEAs

The Prosanguine Augmentics look very, very strange, but they seem to handle with a thought easily enough. Cyril shifts around experimentally, trying to get a feel for his chassis. Each Commando controls a separate Prosanguine Augmentic. As if by divine convenience, each is armored and structured similarly to the Commando piloting it. Each contains medical systems that correspond to original weapons and wargear. For example, Brynjol's has enhanced motive systems that function identical to his jump pack, and Cortain's is armed with systems similar to a volkite caliver. Brynjol spends some time happily kicking a leukocyte to death before remembering where he is, and plotting a path.

"Well...this is something," Cortain wonders aloud.
"Right," Brynjol nods, "To the heart. We need to follow the median cubital to the shoulder and then just kick our way through blood vessels til we find the heart."
"We can do that," Cyril nods, "Lead on."

Brynjol heads onwards through the herb-polluted tunnels of Doggfather's circulatory systems. From their current position in the Basilic Vein, the Commandos follow the Median Cubital as Brynjol suggests, and come up to the linkage to the Cephalic Vein. They note ambient temperatures are rising, as well as cell death as they reach the Cephalic Vein, the ruins of dead cells all about.

"The pathogen is causing necrosis of the blood vessels," Brynjol mutters, "This isn't going to end well for the Inquisitor."

Augmentic autoauspexes pick up a high-pitched shriek, however, as down the vein rush numerous glowing, clawed, single-cell organisms.

Brynjol immediately charges forward at the Tyranid Macrophages, spinning his surgical tools in a flurry of dead cell matter. Cyril moves into position, unloading his storm bolte...ah, storm MEDICAE PACKET PROJECTOR into the horde, scything through it, as Cortain fires his volkite...cutting laser, incinerating macrophages with deflagrating fire. The Macrophage Horde, however, continues to nick at Brynjol, damaging his augmentic and degrading its armor with corrosive magma. Now angry, Brynjol becomes the blender, cutting through macrophages as Cyril moves up to finish the horde off with wee little explosive packets of medicine, the last few macrophages popping amongst the floating dead cells.

"At least everything works nominally," Cortain notes.

In the darkness that autoauspexes compensate for, the Commandos see only the floating dead cells. There are mainly red blood cells. Brynjol orders the Commandos to fall in, engaging Squad Mode. Passing by the ruined cells, numerous gashes and lacerations in the vein evident, the Subclavian vein lays ahead.

"If we follow this path, we should be able to get to the superior vena cava," Brynjol declares, "Leads straight to the heart."

Cortain takes a moment to auspex the area, and beyond the extreme heat, he notes trace amounts of acid in each gash and laceration.

"Follow the cuts," he advises, "Acid seems to seep from them, and that means more of those things."

Chugging along into the Subclavian vein, the area begins to be covered in a thick, chitinous covering. The Commandos can see messed up growths sticking out, some ensnaring passing cells by, kind of like anemones. Evil tyranid anemones. Cyril takes a moment to blast a growth away, the giblets dissipating, leaving only a searing pool of acid in its wake. A cell is released, floating down the darkness to do cell things.

"This degree of necrosis, tissue damage and whatever that growth in his heart is combines to form a worrying picture," Brynjol admits, "We're probably going to have to sort out this infection and then replace the heart, possibly even a good portion of his circulatory system."

Continuing through the Subclavian vein, the Commandos can begin to hear the *pump* *pump* of the heart. It seems somewhat strained. Keeping their augmentics in close quarters for squad mode, the Commandos reach the Superior Vena Cava. To their great concern, the entire area seems infested. A large anemone-like growth bubbles menacingly, as another horde of Macrophages and a many-tentacled multi-cell organism rushes at the Commandos.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v66p1JS2QXs

The Toxiphage ahead reminds the Commandos of a venomthrope, but on the micro scale. The toxic cloud it is producing is very similar. The Micro-Sporocyst brandishes its magma cannons menacingly, while more Macrophages begin to advance. Brynjol immediately charges the Toxiphage, heavily wounding it, while Cortain helps to thin out the Macrophage horde. The Toxiphage's lash tentacles heavily corrode Brynjol's augmentic armor with corrosive magma. Cyril opens up into the Macrophage Horde, ruining its day, while Brynjol finishes off the Toxiphage. Deprived of synapse, the Macrophage horde scatters. Cyril takes heavy damage from a magma cannon shot, but the Commandos focus fire through the Micro-Sporocyst's bombardment and excise the tumorous growth.

With his advanced medicae knowledge, Brynjol knows the heart is near, and the source of the plague affecting Catalyst station. A beastly screech echoes down the vena cava as the Commandos advance as one. Finally reaching the Right Atrium of the heart, they move carefully in squad mode as the tricuspid valve sucks them into the Right Ventricle of the heart. The Ventricle is huge compared to the veins of before. Taking up formation, eyes open, something finally moves by, lightning fast, swimming amongst the oxegenating blood. A serpentine, winged Tyranid floats past. What is most interesting, is how its body shifts and alters. Organic swords grow and recede as the Virotyrant screeches its challenge. 

And the Commandos are all too happy to answer.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oq-wsxbhiSk

The Commandos decide that, with a micro-scale hive tyrant ahead of them, their best bet is Squad Mode. Brynjol is first, holding his action and calling Fire for Effect, allowing Cortain and Cyril to eat the creature's dodges. Cyril is next, and then calls Furious Charge, launching Brynjol like a big wulfen bomb, allowing him to strike six times in four seconds, inflicting inordinate amounts of damage against the Virotyrant. Cyril follows up with a full auto salvo. The Commandos were banking everything on their singular alpha strike.

But the Virotyrant was tougher than that.

The Virotyrant shifts its form, its tail and wings lengthening. Magma cannons retreat as Viral bone swords replace them. It strikes at Brynjol, before blasting away incredibly fast. It flies by Cortain, striking him with corrosive magmatic toxic viral swords, felling him in one hit and forcing him to burn fate to manmode through the pain. Cyril is luckier, taking two hits but his shield holding. Cortain, quite annoyed, fires at the creature, searing it with volkite medical beams.  The Virotyrant brings its four swords in, charging its psychic energy, before letting loose a psychically-infused energy wave, pushing the Commandos back and draining some of their Cohesion.

Now the Commandos are beyond furious. Discovering a section in Rites of Battle that states that, once paid for, a Squad Mode can be used for free repeatedly, Brynjol fires himself forward once more in Furious Charge. As his strangely-crozius-shaped medicae scalpels dig into the Virotyrant, Brynjol himself howling with unbelievable fury, it screeches before falling back, glowing brighter than a supernova. The Commandos' vision goes white, and they find themselves back on Catalyst Station. The Genetor is disengaging the connectors, while Thrax is tending to the somewhat loopy Cortain.

"Well, that was bracing," Cyril notes, "Doggfather had better have been worth it. Cortain, are you well?"
"Barely," Cortain mutters as he sees Brynjol roll over to him, medicae tools in hand and a feral grin on his face.
"Relax!" Brynjol says, "You did the Long Watch proud."
"Da, very gut, comrades," Boris states, "Ve are detecting zero Tyranid presence inside ze Lord Inquisitor."
"Ahh, een addeetion, he had a small seeizure as you deesengaged," Thrax adds, "The coughing and the sneezing around here has also...subsided. Perhaps you destroyed the seenapse creature?"
"I see. Some of the smaller forms escaped us," Cyril notes, "They might be able to grow into fiercer pests if left unchecked. Automated prosanguine implants should be sufficient for that."
"Ve zink he will be fine vith some rest, da?" Boris states, "You leave him to us. Ve vill ensure he...recovers."
Cortain is still trying to comprehend just how that one hit totaled him, "Good. The sooner he is dealt with, the sooner I am done."

"Very well. So he will be unable to tell us of the researcher's findings," Cyril pauses, "Though it sounds as though you were the actual chiefs of the experimentation?"
"Da, comrade," Boris states, "Ve vere called in to collate and study ze samples. Alzhough, it seems ze meeting is over at zis point. No doubt ze Doggfazzer vill be most grateful ven he avakens soon."
"We...ah...we wish you the best of luck," Charlotte stammers, the Sororitas' eyes never leaving the yeti and battle automata staring at them. The meeting and info is collated and released between the Inquisitors for now, as Cyril and Cortain work to control the Yeti and Battle Automata, while Brynjol completes final medicae tests. With the death of the synapse Virotyrant, the sickness affecting the station is ended.

Cyril drops the Maniple off at the Blade, before returning with Notomok the yeti to chat idly with the sisters, until Brynjol finishes waxing medical.

"Well, one good thing came out of this," Brynjol points out, "Doggfather owes us a big favour now."
"Perhaps. What more do you think he can do for us, though?" Cyril asks, noting that not only did they already provide a full armory and battleship, but political favors would be useless in such a blunt, intrigue-less sector.
"I have a terrible feeling that this favour will be prostitutes and that horrid smoke..." Cortain sighs.
"...what is a 'prostitute,' brother Techmarine?" Cyril asks, "Sisters, does that word mean anything to you?"
The Sororitas turn turbo-red. 
"That's not...that's not a proper thing to discuss!" they yell indignantly. The Inquisitors are laughing, as is Brynjol, while Inquisitor Shady rolls on the floor, struggling to catch his breath.
"I do not want to know, do I?" Cyril finally sighs.
"It's to do with things mortals do, Cyril," Brynjol composes himself, remembering some times back at the Hearth.

After ordering a set of Babby's First Divination books for Rose, the Commandos reboard their Aquila, beginning the trip back to the Blade. But one last vox catches them.

"Comrades, one zing you should know about Dr. Thrax, he is also a shaper of his race," Boris explains, "He has...foreseen zat he vill be of use some time in ze future. He has no doubt already boarded your vessel, and vill most likely keep low until his visions guide him."
Felleye_Brynjol begins to slam his head against the pilot's console
"Happy hunting, Republican Commandos," Boris concludes, "Boris ou- KKKKRRRRRZZZZTTTT"
"MORE - FETHING - XENOS - COLLABORATION!" Brynjol yells in rage, his face destroying the transport's vox systems.
"Wait, how did he even sneak in without anyone else knowing?" Cortain wonders.

As the Aquila lander reaches the Blade's landing bay, opening its bays for disembarking, all the Commandos can think of is getting away from this station.
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