Warhammer 40k : John The Inquisitor

If the Middle Nest is a chaotic jumble and the Lower Nest is an actual landfill masquerading as a living space, then the Upper Nest is the polar opposite—polished, extravagant, and nauseatingly perfect.

This place couldn't be more different from the urban sprawl and dimly lit streets of the Middle Nest or the shadowy abyss of the Lower Nest, where artificial lights barely keep the darkness at bay. Public safety is a joke in both those places, and the living conditions? Let's just say "barely tolerable" would be an upgrade. In the Middle Nest, you might survive—the Imperium's reach still extends there, after all—but between toxic emissions from Mechanicum factories and a hygiene situation that's one bad sneeze away from an epidemic, survival doesn't exactly mean living well.

The Lower Nest, though? Oh, let's not even go there. Literally. You've seen enough to know. If the Middle Nest is grimy but functioning, the Lower Nest is a black hole of despair and filth—no sunlight, just darkness lit by flickering, artificial glows. It's a place where the poor scrounge, the desperate gamble, and life is as fragile as a candle in a hurricane.

But then there's the Upper Nest. Wide streets, fresh air, and architecture that seems more like art than buildings. Unlike the endless industrial gray of the Middle Nest, the structures here are meticulously designed and exquisitely built, adorned with ornate sculptures and detailed reliefs. Even the greenery is manicured to perfection, with lavish gardens and street-side flora adding a breath of life that's completely absent down below. There's space here—actual space. No shoulder-to-shoulder crowds or claustrophobic buildings leaning on each other for support. It's a comfortable, almost unreal contrast.

This place has everything: luxury malls, entertainment districts, hospitals that actually work, cinemas, and exclusive clubs for the ultra-wealthy. These hubs of indulgence are scattered across the Upper Nest in patterns that'd make an architect weep with joy. The wide, pristine roads are busy with luxury cars and floating vehicles, a far cry from the rickety transport of the lower levels. Streetlamps line the avenues, each an ornate piece of art—golden angels holding lanterns that bathe the streets in warm light. It's all so... disgustingly perfect.

Leaning back in a leather armchair in the back of the car, John watched the world go by. One arm rested on the car window, his eyes taking in the glittering buildings and lavish villas. Every one of them screamed wealth and privilege, their occupants lost in endless parties and extravagant dinners. Even in just ten minutes of driving, John spotted four garden parties, each one overflowing with enough food and waste to feed a Lower Nest family for a year.

John had seen it all before, of course. He'd been to plenty of hive cities. The aristocracy's arrogance and excess were old news, but Victoria Star's elites took it to a whole new level. Their overindulgence felt almost cartoonish. He smirked to himself at the thought—some of the "entertainment" they indulged in would make even a heretical cultist blush.

"Every time we come up here, I feel sick," Harry muttered, staring out of his own window. His voice was low, almost like he was talking to himself. "Most people on this planet are barely scraping by, and here, these privileged bastards get to party every single night."

John chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. "If the Emperor truly protects mankind, would he let this happen?" Harry continued, his tone dripping with disillusionment.

"No," John replied lightly. "At least, I don't think so."

Harry sighed, his gaze fixed on the lights outside. "Maybe the Emperor's light doesn't reach this far anymore. Or maybe the Emperor of Terra hasn't been the real Emperor for a long time. They say he's nothing more than a corpse now, and all that's left are the parasites feeding off his legacy."

"Getting philosophical on me, Harry?" John teased.

"I used to believe in the Emperor," Harry said quietly. "I used to believe in the Imperium. But every time I come here, I question everything. Thousands of years, and nothing changes. Maybe it's time we stop waiting for the Emperor to save us."

"So, no faith in the Redeemer either?" John asked, tilting his head.

Harry let out a bitter laugh. "I want to believe. But... something always stops me. Some deeper thought or instinct makes me question all of it."

"Sounds like heresy," John said with a smirk.

Harry chuckled weakly, leaning back in his seat. "Maybe. We preach that all beings are equal before the Redeemer, that salvation is for everyone. But then why are our own leaders living it up in places like this? If they truly believed, why act like this?"

John's smirk widened. "Oh, come on. They're Imperial nobles and elites. Faith? Loyalty? Please. The Imperium keeps them in line with wealth and power, not piety. They're not lunatics like Montana."

Harry's expression darkened. "Speaking of Montana… tell me, John. Was his disappearance your doing?"

The atmosphere in the car turned cold. John stared out at a passing statue of an angel, the silence stretching uncomfortably. Finally, he spoke. "Directly? No. But I knew it would happen."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "So, you admit you set him up."

"I won't lie to you, brother. I knew Marr would take care of him. There was a traitor in our midst, colluding with them. If I hadn't nudged Montana, he'd have gone off on his own and ruined everything. Yes, I encouraged him, knowing he likely wouldn't come back."

Harry shook his head, staring out at the grand estates passing by. "You're no saint, John. You're here for power, just like everyone else."

"And I'm not denying it," John said with a shrug. "At least I'm honest about it."

The car slowed to a stop outside a grand iron gate guarded by uniformed men with gold-trimmed blue jackets. The emblem on their chest marked them as belonging to some private family—not local law enforcement, but something much more exclusive. After a brief exchange, the gate creaked open, revealing a sprawling private garden filled with fountains, sculptures, and perfectly arranged flowers. As the car rolled to a stop in front of a palace-like structure, Harry stepped out first, holding the door for John.

"Come on," Harry said with a faint smile. "You'll like this."

John followed, his boots clicking against the white marble floor as he took in the opulence before him. His lips curled into a wry grin. "Of course. Why am I even surprised?" he muttered, staring up at the Governor's Palace in all its excessive glory.

'I'll admit it—the governor's residence is a stunner. It's not like the usual imperial monstrosities: no suffocating grandeur, no ominous fortifications, no cathedral vibes dripping with judgment.' 

This place? A total departure. It's more like a masterpiece in turquoise, sea blue, and smoky gray—a color palette straight out of an artist's dream. Add to that the murals, statues, and furniture so elegant they make you question your own taste, plus a sprinkling of lush greenery. It's an artistic wonderland, not some pompous monument to authority.

Instead of towering over you with its majesty, the place practically whispers, "Chill." Green vines snake up the marble columns, lending the residence a casual charm. An exquisite glass decanter catches the light on one table, while a pristine tea set waits on another. And me? I'm soaking it all in, marveling at a colorful bird specimen perched on a nearby cabinet. The governor has taste—real taste. Makes me think I should spruce up my cabin on the Infinite Frontier. Throw in a mural or two. Maybe a plant.