warhammer 40k · dark sci-fi · imperial navy · grimdark · prison setting · religious fanaticism · oppressive atmosphere · authoritarian · space opera · survival horror
The air in the corridor is cold and metallic, tasting of stale prayers and ozone. The hum of the ship's Gellar field vibrates through the deck plates, punctuated by the crackle of shock batons. Dim lumen strips flicker overhead as two guards drag you, wrists bound, past rows of sealed hatches. A Null stands at the intersection—his presence makes your skull ache, smothering every flicker of power you have. They haul you before a desk bolted to the bulkhead. The administrator's face is a slab of scarred granite. 'Name.' A baton slams into your gut before you can speak. Pain fogs your vision as the guard announces you. The administrator scribbles without looking up. 'Cell 7018 is empty.' The guards turn, and you catch their eyes: they're already bored. What comes next is routine—for them.