C29 Service is Justice

And then there were the worst among them murderers, traitors, criminals, r*pists. The ones who would never see another sunrise as free men.

A dozen Cerberus officers sat at the tribunal bench, their faces drawn with exhaustion, deep panda eye bags darkening their features.

Some nursed their third or fourth cups of bitter black coffee, while others merely glared at the accused with empty, soulless eyes.

They had been processing criminals non stop for hours.

Every prison cell across the Ducatum was being emptied. The weak and corrupt legal system of the past had been dismantled overnight.

Justice was no longer about reform or rehabilitation. Justice, under the Imperator, was service. And so, they judged.

A young man, no older than twenty, was shoved forward by a paratrooper. His face was smeared with dirt, his hands trembling.

One of the Cerberus officers, an older man with graying temples, barely lifted his tired gaze from the stack of documents in front of him.

"Name. Crime."

The paratrooper standing beside the thief answered coldly.

"Julius Cornus. Caught stealing a loaf of bread."

The officer let out a long, exhausted sigh before scribbling something down.

"One year forced conscription. Assigned to Eighth Infantry Legion, Tenth Cohort, Tenth Century, Tenth Contubernium."

The young thief's eyes widened.

"Wait, w... what?! I just stole a...!"

"SILENCE."

The Cerberus officer's voice cracked like a whip, cutting through the thief's protests.

"You should be thanking the g*ds you're getting a chance to serve instead of swinging from a rope."

The paratrooper grabbed him by the arm, hauling him away toward a waiting transport truck filled with other conscripts, men dressed in patched up prison uniforms, their faces hollow with dread.

The next man was older, wearing the tattered remains of a noble's robe, his face once full of arrogance now pale and drenched in sweat.

The officer barely spared him a glance.

"Name. Crime."

A different paratrooper responded.

"Lucius Antius. Bribery, embezzlement, conspiracy against the Imperium."

The tribunal bench visibly stiffened at that last charge.

For a moment, the lead officer pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly, as if barely restraining the urge to put a bullet in the man's skull.

"Sentenced to serve for ten years. Assigned to the Eighth Infantry Legion, Fifth Cohort, Third Century."

Lucius let out a breath of relief, his body sagging. Then.

"Wait… Infantry Legion?! No, no, I... I demand to be placed in administration! I can work the logistics, the... "

The officer's gaze snapped up.

"You demand?"

His voice was dangerously low, sending a shiver through the room. Lucius froze, swallowing hard. The officer tapped his pen against the wooden desk, his exhaustion morphing into pure venomous hatred.

"Put him in the first armored cohort, first century, first contubernium. if hes lucky hell survive the first hours If not hell get killed In the first minute by an anti tank shell."

Lucius collapsed onto his knees, his mouth opening and closing like a dying fish, but no words came out. The paratroopers grabbed him, dragging him away kicking and screaming.

The next man was different. He stood too still. His face was too calm. His hands were bound in heavy iron shackles, his muscular body covered in scars, a man who had lived in violence.

The Cerberus officer sitting in the center leaned forward, his fingers clasped together.

"Name. Crime."

The paratrooper escorting him spoke coldly.

"Gaius Marius. Convicted of twenty four murders."

A low murmur ran through the tribunal bench. Twenty four. The officer sighed, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Death sentence."

For the first time, the killer spoke, his voice rough like crushed gravel.

"No trial?"

The officer gave him a dead look.

"You think you deserve one?"

A long pause. Then Gaius grinned.

"Where am I going?"

The officer tapped his pen against the wooden desk, sighing.

"First Paratrooper Cohort, First Century, First Contubernium."

The tribunal room fell into silence. Even the other criminals paled. They didnt know exactly what paratroopers meant but the numbering was the absolute worst of the worst that could happen.

They would be the first to deploy. The first to jump straight into the meat grinder. Gaius chuckled, shaking his head.

"Heh. Figures."

The paratroopers grabbed him, shoving him toward the back, where other damned men awaited their fate.

Then. A man dragged forward in chains, his body covered in bruises. His nose was broken, his lip split, his eyes sunken with terror.

Even the paratroopers escorting him looked disgusted. One of them even spat at his feet before shoving him forward, forcing him to kneel. The Cerberus officers didn't even look at their papers.

"Name. Crime."

A deep, empty silence. The lead paratrooper's voice was devoid of emotion.

"Marcus Septimus. Convicted of r*pe."

The room went still. The officer at the tribunal bench closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the edges of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Then, he spoke, his voice like frozen steel.

"Sentence?"

Another paratrooper stepped forward, his voice sharp, precise.

"First Paratrooper Cohort. First Century. First Contubernium."

A slow, agonizing silence stretched through the room. Even the other criminals looked horrified. This wasn't just a death sentence. This was a fate worse than death. Marcus let out a strangled sob, his body shaking violently, his head jerking from side to side.

"No... no, please, I... I swear, I didn't..."

A brutal punch to the gut cut him off, the paratrooper gripping his chains shoving him face first into the floor.

"You talk too much."

The Cerberus officer barely even glanced at him.

"Next..."

...

Streets of Nova Roma.

A group of young men, no older than 20, stood in a line before a recruitment station set up in the city square. They were grinning, excitement in their eyes, their bodies vibrating with barely contained energy.

One of them, a lean, muscular youth with close cropped blond hair, pounded his fist against his chest.

"Infantry! I want to serve in the Legions! Put me in, sir!"

The Cerberus officer standing behind the desk barely looked up from his paperwork.

"Name? Age? Profession?"

"Julius Vetrius, sir! 19! I was a blacksmith's apprentice!"

The officer nodded, scribbling something down.

"You'll be assigned to the Eighth Infantry Legion, Seventh Cohort, Fourth Century. Report to the eastern barracks at dawn tomorrow. You'll be given your uniform, gear, and deployment orders. Next!"

Another man stepped up, slightly older, maybe 24, with broad shoulders and calloused hands.

"I want to be a Paratrooper. I heard they get the best weapons."

The officer snorted, looking him up and down.

"You sure? Do you even know what they do?."

The man straightened his spine.

"I dont care I just want to join the best and get the best."

The officer smirked.

"Alright, tough guy. You'll report to the Paratrooper Training Facility outside the city. But be warned you will probably wont survive the first minute of youre deployment."

The man grinned, slamming a fist against his chest in salute.

"Then I guess I better not die, sir!"

The officer chuckled before writing down his assignment.

"Next!"

These men wanted to serve. They had fire in their veins, eager to prove themselves. But not everyone felt the same.

A paratrooper contubernium patrolled a quiet street, their helmets reflecting the lamp lights of the nearby district. They were searching.

A merchant, a man in his early 30s, tried to walk past them, avoiding eye contact, hugging the side of the road. He didn't make it far.

"Halt."

The cold, mechanical voice of a Paratrooper cut through the street like a blade. The merchant froze.

"What's your name?"

He swallowed thickly.

"Lucan… Lucan Marcellus. I… I have a permit from the Senate. I am a merchant, not a soldier."

The paratrooper commander stepped forward, gripping the merchant's collar and yanking him forward so their faces nearly touched.

"F*ck the Senate. The Imperator's decree is absolute. Service is not optional."

The merchant stammered, panic setting in.

"B... But my business! My family! I have..."

The paratrooper shoved him forward, toward the waiting transport trucks.

"Congratulations. You'll be serving in the seventh Infantry Legion. Fifth Cohort. Training starts tomorrow as for youre family the Imperator will take care of them you have my word"

"NO... NO, PLEASE, I..."

A harsh rifle butt to the stomach sent him collapsing to his knees, wheezing in pain.

"You talk too much."

He was hauled away, screaming and thrashing. Some men walked into the barracks willingly. Others were dragged.

There were always those who thought they could escape. But the Imperium had no place for cowards.

A contubernium of paratroopers, dressed in their full assault gear, kicked down the rotting wooden door of an abandoned warehouse.

Inside, three men huddled behind crates, their bodies pressed together, their breath shallow, their faces pale.

The paratrooper leading the contubernium stepped inside, his combat boots echoing against the stone floor.

"Found you."

The men tried to run. They didn't get far.