The first of the armored trains rolled from the St. Petersburg Foundry, a beast of coal, iron, and vengeance.
They called it The Leviathan.
Plated in reinforced steel, armed with dual-mounted cannons, and lined with gun slits for sharpshooters, it was a fortress on wheels. Alongside it ran supply convoys and new Cipher Corps squads, their black uniforms stitched with the insignia of a burning gear.
The mission was simple: Retake the Trans-Arctic Rail.
At dawn, The Leviathan steamed out, shrieking across the frozen landscape, trailing black smoke that scarred the sky.
[Unit Deployment: Leviathan-Class Armored Train] [Cipher Corps Operations: ACTIVE]
Major Ivan Rostov, commander of the Leviathan, reviewed the orders:
Secure towns along the route.
Eliminate rebel cells.
Restore rail communications.
Simple on paper. Murderous in practice.
The first town, Kolyma Station, lay abandoned—buildings charred, rails ripped up. As the Leviathan approached, scouts noticed something odd: too quiet. No rebel banners. No barricades.
Instinct screamed. Rostov ordered the train halted.
Too late.
A thunderous explosion tore through the tracks ahead. Hidden charges, buried beneath snow and ice.
The Leviathan shuddered but held. Lesser trains would have been shattered. Cipher squads poured out, fanning across the fields.
Rebels rose from hidden trenches, rifles cracking.
[Battle Event: Ambush at Kolyma Station] [Leviathan Integrity: 87%]
Cipher agents fought with ruthless precision, using newly issued revolvers and chemical grenades—gifts from Mikhail's forbidden laboratories.
Within an hour, the ambush was crushed.
Prisoners were few. Executions were many.
Major Rostov found a bloodied rebel leader pinned against a tree, coughing blood.
"Why resist the future?" Rostov asked.
The rebel only smiled, teeth red.
"Because your steel will rust... and we will still be here."
He died with that smile.
Rostov ordered the corpses hung along the rail as a warning.
[Morale Impact: Empire +5% | Rebels -10%]
The Leviathan resumed its grim march.
Back in St. Petersburg, Mikhail watched through transmitted field reports, his expression unreadable.
Victory had come.
But the cost was rising.
Factories now demanded more labor. The treasury bled from military expenses. Public anxiety whispered that the Tsar's new empire was built not on faith—but on fear.
[System Notification: Empire Stability – Tenuous]
In the night, Mikhail sat alone in his study, reviewing the damage.
He penned a note for the next Council session:
"We require more than steel and fire. We require unity of spirit. Create a Ministry of Truth. Forge the Imperial Myth."
For even an empire of gears needed something greater to bind it together.
A dream.