The Sonic Oscillation Terror Machine, as the name suggests, is a gadget that terrorizes through soundwaves. Usually quite useful in repelling insects for doraemon.
Its function lies in amplifying the lethality of noise to wipe out insects, and it typically requires a special audio cassette to operate. If no tape is available, then one must manually feed a sufficiently destructive sound into the microphone as ammunition.
As luck would have it, Doraemon happened to have a recording of Gian's singing—a cassette he had been forced to buy months ago when Gian, after one of his routine concerts, had strong-armed the entire group into purchasing it with their allowances. Unexpectedly, it was about to become incredibly useful.
"But before that," Doraemon muttered, "this is a must."
He pulled a pair of earplugs from his pocket and jammed them into his round, robotic ears. Then, with a deep breath and a grimace, he pressed the button—unleashing a voice capable of annihilating all life.
In that instant, the sound exploded outward.
It's difficult to describe what followed, but if one had to, it would be akin to the musical accompaniment of Shiva's apocalyptic dance in Hindu mythology—pure, unrelenting destruction embodied in sonic form.
The moment the gadget activated, the entire structure began to quake. Every single Genestealer, including their Patriarch, collapsed to the floor clutching their ears and howling in agony.
But their howls were powerless against the voice of oblivion. Not even a ripple disturbed the auditory maelstrom. All they could do was writhe and tremble alongside the building itself. Seconds later, one of the hybrids exploded under the sheer force of the sound. Then another. And another. Even the Patriarch could not escape.
Eventually, perhaps unable to endure the destructive resonance it had amplified, the Sonic Oscillation Terror Machine self-destructed—bringing the chaos to an abrupt and eerie silence.
"Phew… classic Gian," Doraemon wiped the sweat from his metallic brow, still shaken. He returned the earplugs to his pocket and then pulled out the Time Cloth, using it to revive the comrades who'd been unintentionally caught in the blast. "Sorry about that. I didn't mean to drag you all into it."
"…It's fine." Roy lay among the bodies, staring speechlessly as Doraemon gently draped the time-altering cloth over each fallen ally—restoring them to life one by one.
It was… absurd.
He couldn't help but cover his face, suddenly overcome by a strange existential dread. He felt like he no longer mattered. Even if Doraemon had come alone with just his gadgets, would the outcome really have been any different?
"Well, that should take care of those monsters, right?" Doraemon asked while stuffing the gadgets back into his pocket. "What's next for you?"
"I think I have an idea," Roy replied, wiping his face as he stood up with the help of Doraemon's tiny hand. "And you?"
"I still need to deal with the plague issue. If we don't resolve that soon, the consequences will be catastrophic." Doraemon answered solemnly. The visions of the future he had seen through his gadgets remained etched in his mind.
"Alright. We'll help you handle that too," Roy nodded. "As well as the heretics responsible for releasing the plague. But we'll need some time to reorganize our cult."
"Then it's settled. When you're ready, find me in the alley next to Israelle's home."
With a wave, Doraemon pulled out the Anywhere Door and vanished back into the Wallpaper House.
Roy smiled and waved back, not bothering to ask how Doraemon knew where Israelle lived. He was simply too tired. Sitting down, the others silently gathered around him in a quiet circle.
"Roy," Putana spoke up, "what now? Are we turning ourselves in to the Lex Imperialis?"
"Turn ourselves in? We can't even make it to the mid-hive now," someone scoffed. "I say we survive. And find a way to atone for our heresies in the name of the Emperor."
"Atonement?"
"Yeah. The lower hive is swarming with heretics. Slay them. Spill their blood, sever their heads—offer them to the Golden Throne! Ten, a hundred, a thousand—pile their skulls high as a tribute to our loyalty!"
"Think of your families. We don't have the right to decide their futures for them," Roy sighed. "There are many ways to prove your devotion. Don't be so extreme."
"And what do you propose?"
Roy nodded. He dipped a finger into a nearby puddle of blood and drew three concentric circles on the ground.
"First, no one else can know our true identities. Not even most of our own cult members," he said, pointing at the circles. "But someone must know. If not, it's only a matter of time before those fallen angels return, bringing their curses upon our descendants. So we'll divide our secrets into tiers. Different ranks will know different layers of truth."
Putana scratched his head in confusion. "Like what?"
"Those in the outermost ring—absolutely nothing. They'll continue worshiping… the God-Emperor, as always," Roy explained. "Our mutated kin must never be seen. Keep them hidden in factories, working in service to the Emperor. Only the trustworthy may interact with them. That's the middle circle."
"And among those trusted," Roy continued, "some may know the reason these xenos exist—and the truth about who we are."
"And the innermost?"
Roy's gaze darkened. "The angels who tempt us to fall—that secret lies in the very center. Those creatures could emerge again in our descendants, aiming to reclaim our minds. And it's our duty to eliminate them in silence, before anyone ever finds out."
---
Thus, through the solemn oath of a few surviving Genestealers, the fate of an entire world shifted.
And from this ripple, greater waves would form. In the Warp, time is meaningless. Past and future coexist. That means the outcome of a story is already known to the Chaos Gods the moment it begins. Only this time, the ripple was enormous.
From a single planet at its center, the Imperium of Man—and even the many civilizations of the galaxy—would be drawn into a vortex of destiny, one that not even the most powerful of reality-warping beings could foresee.
In the strange, surreal sea of souls, within the bizarre heavens of the unknowable, the will of the Changer of Ways stirred in joy.
And so, atop this hive world's spire, a new tale of conspiracy and betrayal quietly began.