Entry Log – Dr. Henry Wu, Warp-Coded Journal Segment 9A
Date: M31.001
The Warp is not chaos. Not to me.
To most, it is madness — a shifting storm of daemons, fire, temptation, and fear. But to a scientist? To a geneticist whose hands have molded DNA and carved new life from the bones of extinction?
The Warp is potential.
When I first stepped onto the corrupted soil of the Ork-infested death world designated Kroggar-II, I was accompanied only by two dozen bound daemons and a loyal host of warp-spliced servitors. They were expendable. I needed only a sample. The green tide was endless. Their stupidity, likewise.
Yet their biology… exquisite.
Massive regenerative potential. Unnatural physical development triggered by unconscious belief. Entire species sustained by shared mythos. Primitive? Yes. But with the correct manipulations?
Perfection.
From afar, Joker had once whispered that "Orks are comedy incarnate."
But to me, they were data points. The missing link between warp resonance and biological inheritance.
Third-Person Viewpoint
Smoke coiled above the dense fungal forests of Kroggar-II. Amidst the gnarled trunks and fleshy vines, Orks brawled for sport, warbands clashing in brutal territorial disputes. Unaware. Unprepared.
They didn't notice the sky split open.
With a crackling shriek, a portal vomited tendrils of Warp-light onto the surface. From its maw descended glistening constructs — pods of alchemical steel and daemonic bone. When they struck the earth, they hissed, split, and released mechanical drones that spread like locusts.
Then came the man.
Clad in a crimson lab coat reinforced with ceramite. His expression was blank, analytical, amused. Dr. Henry Wu, the alchemist of flesh, stepped into the domain of the Orks with a datapad in one hand and a needle-lance in the other.
"Subject analysis commencing," he muttered. "Direct confrontation required. Prepare live captures."
Three daemons slithered from his side — chitinous creatures bound in sigils of Tzeentch and Nurgle. They glowed with purpose. One opened its jaws and screamed — not in rage, but calculation. The trees ignited with warp-fire.
"Good," Wu said, not flinching. "Let's attract attention."
And attention they received.
An Ork mob, bloated and belching spores, charged from the west. Axes raised, mouths frothing.
Wu didn't run.
He pressed a button.
Explosions ripped through the mob's center as warp-mines activated. Chunks of green flesh soared. When the smoke cleared, six Orks remained — limbless, broken, but alive.
Wu approached one of the writhing creatures, scanning its vitals.
"You will be beautiful," he whispered. "Eventually."
Dr. Wu's Perspective
Fusion has always been the dream. I did not come to this galaxy to merely observe. Observation is for historians. I am a sculptor of life.
Their spores resist standard genetic rewriting. My first attempts to hybridize Ork DNA with human marrow were failures. The tissue rejected fusion. It fought me. Much like they do.
But I remembered Joker's laughter. How it bends reality. How chaos is not disorder — but a deeper order that mocks understanding.
So I changed my methods.
Warp-based transfusion. Daemonic catalysts.
Results: Promising.
Subject 27 fused with captured Cadian guardsman. Product survived 18 minutes before self-implosion.
Subject 29 (affectionately named "GorGor Wu") still alive. Exhibits increased cognition. Uses simple tools. Screams "FIGHT DA PAIN" every thirty seconds.
Progress.
Third-Person: The Chamber Below
Deep beneath the surface, Wu's lab stretched like a cancer through the rock. Flesh and steel pulsed in unison. Chains held hybrids in rows — abominations of green muscle and pale human eyes.
They were not just soldiers.
They were prototypes.
On the central slab, a new creature twitched. Its mouth was too wide. Its DNA bore signatures from Ork, human, and something far older — a sliver of daemon-craft grafted into its neural spine.
Wu smiled.
"Yes… we're getting closer."
He moved through chambers of biomass and screaming evolution. Incubators lined with bone-growth tanks were already producing hybrid embryos — a mockery of Imperial purity. From the veins of Chaos, a new strain of warbeast was being born.
Daemons assisted the rituals. One whispered prophecies from Tzeentch, another moaned in orgasmic pleasure, an echo of Slaanesh's curiosity. Even a hint of Nurgle's bloated vitality coursed through the gestation pools.
"Unification of opposites," Wu murmured. "Contradictions harmonized through flesh."
He paused by the cage of GorGor Wu.
"Boss," the creature said.
Wu nodded. "Soon you'll have siblings."
Warp Echoes
Above in the Immaterium, Joker watched the progress with sick delight. He whispered nonsense into Wu's dreams. He laughed when hybrid 34 bit off a servitor's face. He applauded when one of the daemon midwives exploded due to genetic contamination.
And the Gods watched too.
Tzeentch coiled with intrigue.
Slaanesh licked its lips.
Even Khorne snarled… amused.
But Nurgle? Nurgle waited.
Wu was building something that defied classification. Not daemons. Not mortals. Not Orks. Not men.
Chaos.
True, glorious chaos.