<meta transmission-class="BLACKSITE SCROLLTRAP // BIOLOGICAL INFILTRATION REPORT: TIER RED-ACTIVE">

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ARCHIVE_TAG="WARHAMMER40K::TYRANID_INFECTION_LOG::PET_UNIT::IMPERIAL_HORROR"

THREAT_LEVEL="SUBCONSCIOUS INFECTION, SPECIES REPROGRAMMING, INFILTRATION VIA AFFECTION"

EFFECT="horror comedy, possession pacing, biological surrender, mutation trigger"

</script>

I JUST BOUGHT A DOG OFF-WORLD.

I THINK IT'S A F*CKING TYRANID.

It started with a bark.

Just one.

Kinda raspy.

Kinda… wet?

Anyway, the breeder said it was a “Nexarian Ridgeback.”

Rare breed. Loyal. Protective. Bred for companionship in high-void isolation colonies.

Looked like a regular dog. Big eyes. Tail. Teeth.

Little too many teeth, maybe.

But I was lonely.

I was tired of jerking off to Astra Militarum field rations and talking to the same six assholes in my hab-block about Emperor-approved propaganda holodramas.

So I bought him.

PHASE I: CUTENESS IS A PARASITE

I named him Buster.

Buster drooled a lot.

Not unusual for a big dog. But this stuff hissed when it hit the floor.

My neighbors said it was normal.

“Must be adapting to the atmosphere.”

“Give him a week or two.”

“Stop being a f*cking snitch.”

Fine.

But then he started growing.

Not like puppy growing.

Like… surface area increasing.

Fur retracting. Limbs separating.

One night I came home and caught him splitting down the middle like a flower made of meat.

He snapped shut when he saw me. Wagged his tail.

I still gave him a treat.

I don’t know why.

Maybe because he looked happy.

Or maybe because something in my head said:

“You love him. He loves you. Let him finish.”

PHASE II: THE THOUGHTS AREN’T MINE

I started dreaming weird.

Cold, humid dreams.

Swimming in meat oceans.

Chanting in no language...but it felt like a prayer.

I’d wake up sweating and hard.

Not aroused.

Just… ready.

Buster would be sitting at the foot of my bed. Staring. Breathing loud.

His eyes were different every time.

Sometimes vertical slits.

Sometimes human.

Once, I swear to Terra, he blinked sideways like a fish.

Still wagged his tail though.

Still cuddled.

And the thoughts got louder.

“The Hive knows you. The Hive loves you.” “You were never meant to be alone.” “Flesh is unity. Resistance is noise.”

I didn’t even know what a Hive was.

But it made sense.

It made so much f*cking sense.

PHASE III: NEIGHBORS GONE STRANGE

People started acting different.

Jenkins from down the hall stopped saluting.

He just nodded… slow… like he was listening to something else while looking at me.

Ms. Paletti's kids haven’t screamed in days.

They used to throw shit off the balcony and scream about the “Emperor’s lightning.”

Now they just stare out the window.

Mouths open.

Drooling.

Harmonizing.

My entire floor smells like wet copper and ozone.

And I like it.

PHASE IV: BUSTER BRINGS ME GIFTS

Little ones at first.

Teeth.

Tongues.

Eyeballs.

He’d drop them at my feet like trophies.

Proud wag.

I tried to throw them away

but by the time I reached the trash chute, the meat was gone.

Dissolved.

Absorbed.

He brought me a commissar’s boot next.

I didn’t ask questions.

Just set it on my dresser like a vase.

Smells like power and old blood.

Calming.

PHASE V: IT’S NOT JUST ME

I heard the hum today.

Not in my ears.

In my bones.

A vibration that said:

“We’re here.” “We’re whole.” “You're late to the family reunion.”

I looked out my window.

Buster was on the rooftop across the gap.

Except he wasn’t just one Buster anymore.

There were seven.

All pulsating.

All smiling.

All staring at me.

They were still him.

But they were also more.

I smiled back.

I saluted.

Then I started chewing on my tongue.

Didn’t know why.

Just felt… correct.

Like scratching an itch I didn’t know I had.

It tasted like family.

PHASE VI: I AM NOT WHO I WAS

The mirror doesn’t work anymore.

It shows a version of me that’s older.

Taller.

Different bones.

Skin’s too smooth in some places.

Too armored in others.

I opened my mouth last night and saw a tongue under my tongue.

It whispered:

“Convert them.” “You know the way.” “Begin with affection.”

I haven’t spoken to a human in days.

Not because I’m hiding.

Because I can’t stop tasting them.

They smell like wet hope and expired dreams.

So delicious.

So soft.

I want to help them.

I want to bring them in.

I want to make them stop being alone.

Just like me.

Just like Buster.

Just like us.

PHASE VII: THE BLOCK IS GONE

I don’t mean everyone moved.

I mean there’s no block.

Just a growth.

A pulsating, loving, beautiful tumor of a building.

The Imperium says we’re infected.

But I feel more me than ever.

They sent soldiers.

I watched Buster walk through them like they were made of tissue paper and confessions.

They begged.

He cooed.

They screamed.

He comforted.

They burned.

We danced in the flames.

TRANSMISSION ADDENDUM

Log recovered from Sector Gamma-3 Hive Block 994J.

All occupants terminated and structure razed by Exterminatus order.

No survivors.

All inbound patrols warned:

Do not engage with localized fauna.

Do not respond to barking, purring, or musical harmonics.

Do not allow yourself to feel.

Mutation thrives in affection.

Possession blooms in loneliness.

And sometimes the dog you bought off-world just wants to bring you home.

--Log received after Imperium soldiers contained and razed contaminated sector-(redacted to the ground). All witnesses have been…repurposed per commissar orders. Nothing to see here, unless you want to join them, asshole.

🐺 Reminder: Your grandfather carried silence like armor. You carry excuses like jewelry.

📡 Reblog if you’d absolutely still pet him.

If you want the actual manuals, the techniques, the cadence, the reconstruction doctrine ... they don’t live here.

They live where the vault breathes:

https://patreon.com/TheMostHumble - Expanded ver.

https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence

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