The woman's name was Israelle. Unlike the countless standardized labor drones populating the Hive, she was different. Her mother had once been a concubine to a noble of the Spire, and Israelle herself was—by all accounts—the illegitimate daughter of an aristocrat.
She didn't know who her real father was, but that didn't matter. The noble blood that flowed through her veins meant she didn't have to toil day and night like other Imperial citizens. Instead, she had the rare luxury of time—to think, to observe, and to question.
It was during one of those idle moments that she first heard rumors about terrifying aliens lurking among the stars, and about one species in particular—the blue-skinned T'au—said to be among the most dangerous of them all.
Curious, she once asked one of the old storytellers why the T'au were considered so dangerous. But instead of answering directly, the old man launched into a tirade, listing off traits that only deepened her confusion: their belief in universal equality, their kindness toward prisoners, their cooperation rather than domination. These were things Israelle had never heard before—things a child might mistake for goodness.
"Doesn't sound dangerous to me," she had said at the time.
The old man had gritted his teeth and growled, "Exactly. That's what makes them dangerous."
He had never seen a T'au himself, of course. His descriptions boiled down to blue skin and behaviors that set them apart from other xenos.
Now, Israelle stood clutching the collar of her threadbare dress, eyeing the strange blue creature before her with caution.
"T-T'au?" she asked hesitantly.
Doraemon waved his stubby arms, visibly confused. "What? No, I'm not one of those! I'm… well, anyway, I just want to help you, that's all."
Considering the last time he introduced himself as a robot had only led to panic, Doraemon decided against revealing the truth about his identity.
Besides, judging from how this world reacted to machines, he could more or less guess their attitude. Even his own world had once faced an invasion by the Robot Army, and if not for Riruru rewriting the programming of robot-kind in the past, humanity might well have been enslaved.
"Help?" Israelle echoed cautiously. "For the Greater Good?"
"I… don't know what that is," Doraemon replied, shaking his head. He pulled a vial of medicine from his Doctor Bag and held it up. "Anyway, I'd like you to help distribute this medicine to those in need. If I go out there myself, I might scare people."
"…Alright." Israelle nodded slowly. With the passage to the Mid-Hive sealed, gaining access to medicine from this strange blue being could mean survival.
"Thank you so much!" Doraemon beamed with relief. From his pocket, he pulled out a Duplicate Mirror. Placing the vial before the mirror, he duplicated it—1 became 2, 2 became 4, 4 became 8… before long, a small mountain of medicine filled the alleyway.
"I'm not sure if this'll be enough. If you run out, just come find me again, okay? I'm counting on you."
Doraemon's gratitude was genuine. No matter what world he found himself in, he couldn't ignore the suffering of others.
Israelle swallowed hard. She was beginning to suspect this blue creature might be insane.
It was helping humans—completely unknown humans, who might even be enemies—and it was thanking her?
You just saved my life! Shouldn't I be thanking you?
"N-no problem," she said awkwardly, mimicking his tone.
Having helped someone in need, Doraemon felt significantly less stressed about being stuck in an unfamiliar universe. He pulled out a Wallpaper House—a gadget that let you paste a full room onto any wall—and entered through the illustrated door. Inside, he retrieved his Spy Satellite, eager to check in on the man he'd encountered earlier.
"Let's see… Whoa! What is that?"
---
Roy walked through his neighborhood, smiling as he weaved between the playing children. Spotting one with purplish skin and deep forehead wrinkles stuck atop a ledge, he tiptoed to lift the child down, patting their head gently with a reminder to be careful.
This was the Underhive—where all light came from artificial lamps, and even those flickered like they hadn't been serviced in centuries.
Roy said nothing about it. He simply kept walking, calm and steady through the corridor of shifting light and shadow.
With each flicker of the lights, new figures appeared beside him—others like him, walking shoulder to shoulder, silent but in sync, all heading toward the same destination.
At first, they looked nearly human. But the farther they walked, the more… blessed among them began to emerge—those with obvious mutations, signs of what they believed were gifts from the God-Emperor. They advanced silently, reverently, like a spectral procession in the night.
At the end of the corridor, they arrived before their destination—the one they had come to see: their Patriarch, their Angel.
Towering over five meters tall, the being was encased in heavy, chitinous armor. Four muscular arms extended from its sides, radiating a terrifying, otherworldly beauty.
But the divine being did not speak. Instead, its will was conveyed by the Bishop standing at its right—staff in hand, voice like cold steel.
"The Hive reeks of plague," the bishop said, his tone laced with contempt. "This is no accident. It is betrayal. It is conspiracy. Someone dares poison the land blessed by the Emperor's grace. Should filth defile this planet, the armies of our Holy Lord will never descend upon it!"
The moment those words fell, the crowd—including Roy—erupted in fury.
"Damn the heretics!"
"War! We need war to defend the Emperor's glory!"
"For the God-Emperor!"
The bishop nodded slightly at their fervor. Then he turned to the figure beside the Patriarch—the Warmaster, the commander of their armed force, his body bristling with weapons: one pair of arms clutching a sword, the other gripping a pistol.
"We've investigated thoroughly," the Warmaster said. "Every infected soul consumed the same cheap starch bar. Without doubt, it's how those damned heretics are spreading their disease."
He drew his blade and held it high.
"Until the Emperor's armies come from the stars, we shall defend His honor with our lives!"