Chapter 38: The Fortress of Reclamation
POV: Leon
We wandered through the thoroughfares of the camp—no, the settlement—once nothing more than rubble and makeshift shelters. Now, menials and servitors moved with purpose, some in haste, others steady and focused, each fulfilling their designated duties. Around us, the ruined hab-blocks of the past had begun to resemble proper structures, cleaned and reinforced, bearing signs of actual stability.
"When did this start happening?" I asked Varn as we traversed the avenue side-by-side. The rhythmic clink of his augmetic leg echoed against the ferrocrete. "Last I remember, this entire section was a ruin, and we were barely managing with canvas tents."
He walked with a casual confidence now, the burdens of the past lighter on his shoulders.
"From what Boss Jacobs told me," Varn began, casting a glance at a pair of children playing with a ball stitched from rags and wire, "it started right after we left to purge the bandit cells. While we were out there, he decided to begin fortifying the camp and giving the people something to actually live for."
He smiled gently at the children as they waved. I returned the gesture, memories of their once-hollow eyes flashing in contrast to their current joy.
'Yes,' I thought. 'This is what childhood should look like. Free of fear. Free of war.'
Varn continued. "Since then, the people have found purpose. They've taken up labor, and as the cycles passed, Boss Jacobs finally loosened his grip on every decision. He's even managed to begin forming a proto-Guard force. Not full Astra Militarum, mind you, but something competent. He's been instructing promising candidates to take up command roles."
That surprised me. The Jacobs I knew—ever vigilant, never trusting, always burdened—had finally begun to share the weight. I allowed myself a small smile at that thought.
'Good. He's finally letting them in. Finally giving himself room to breathe.'
"How many personnel do we have in this... proto-militia?" I asked as we took a sharp turn past a newly installed lamppost.
"Don't expect a full regiment yet," Varn said, smirking. "The force only started forming after the Gun Rats raid. That, and our first real encounter with the warp-spawned daemon. I'd say we've got around seventy to a hundred trained fighters. Nothing spectacular yet. But considering our current population has risen past seven hundred, it'll grow in time."
I nodded slowly, taking it in as we continued onward. A moment later, we passed into an unfamiliar sector. The air grew thick with industrial fumes, the sound of hammers and machinery pounding against metal, and a vile stench clawed at my nostrils.
"Emperor's breath," I muttered, recoiling. "What is this?"
Varn coughed but grinned. "That, my friend, is the Manufactorum. It's the camp's production sector—food, clothing, munitions, stubbers, flak plating, even nutrient bars. And yes, that smell? It's from the biomass processors converting organic waste and corpses into rations."
I blinked, trying to comprehend. "Wait—Jacobs built all this? Last I checked, he couldn't even coordinate a scav run without losing his mind over the details."
Varn chuckled and gave my shoulder a light jab. "You've been asleep too long, old friend. We weren't the only expedition group roaming the ruins. Jole and his crew stumbled on an abandoned manufactorum during a raid—captives included. Among them was Zachariah, a former Upper Hive logistics overseer. Jacobs, smart enough to admit his own weakness, made him his logistics officer. Been running this sector for months now."
"Huh," I said, nodding. "That explains it."
"Now then," Varn continued, motioning forward, "let's proceed to the Militarum District. We've split the settlement into three operational sectors—Residential, Manufactorum, and Militarum. The entire camp's shaped into a defensive rectangle, bordered by reinforced barriers."
We exited the production avenue, pushing past a crowd of workers drenched in grime and sweat, their faces caked in soot—but their eyes held no despair. Only hope.
I couldn't help but smile. They were survivors, like us. And for once, they didn't look like they were just waiting to die.
Finally, we reached the Militarum Sector.
The training grounds lay before us—barracks in active construction, drilling yards echoing with barked commands, and a massive wall being raised behind it all. Leman pattern transports and makeshift turrets dotted the area, overseen by officers clad in scavenged but cleaned flak armor.
Varn gestured grandly. "And here's the kicker. That wall? It's going to make this place a fortress-world in miniature. Imposing. Unbreachable. But..."
He paused suddenly. His tone shifted. He glanced at me with a knowing smile but chose not to finish the thought.
Instead, he resumed his pace, heading toward the primary barracks. "Anyway, we're almost done with the tour. Just the barracks and training yards left. After that, I'll take you to Lord Jacobs. He's been waiting to speak with you ever since you stirred from stasis."
I watched him, wondering why he stopped mid-thought. But I didn't press. I trusted him. I trusted them all.
And so, I followed.
Toward the future they were building.
Toward the fortress they were forging.
Toward whatever lay beyond.