The black-market dealer Nepal sent someone to fetch the items Alex Emry had ordered. While waiting, Alex made small talk.
"Do you buy lasguns?"
Nepal was wiping down a shard of metal with a rag. When he heard "lasgun", he froze for a moment.
"You got your hands on a lasgun?"
Alex said nothing—he just looked at him.
Nepal hesitated, then shook his head.
"No. Lasguns are trouble. Most have user-recognition rites tied to their original issue unit. Anyone else tries to use them and things get… unreliable."
Alex thought to himself: So there really is some kind of lock.That meant the hard-earned lasgun might end up as nothing more than a wall decoration.
"No way to break it?" Alex asked.
"There is."
Nepal nodded.
"You can brute-force it with a decoder. But high-grade weapons often house a machine-spirit. Force it too hard and the spirit gets angry.You'll need sacred oils and incense to appease it—otherwise the power pack might detonate after a few shots."
"Where do I get those?" Alex asked.
"No idea about the decoder—probably only upper-hive nobles or Mechanicus intermediaries have access.As for the oils and incense, you'll need mid-hive identification. Donate to an Ecclesiarchy chapel, and a priest will give you what you're asking for."
Alex memorised every word.
Just then, Nepal's men returned with Alex's purchases.
Alex shouldered the heavy backpack, hoisted the plasma-cell battery—about the size of a car battery—onto his back, nodded to Nepal, and left.
Nepal watched him go. One of his underlings leaned in and whispered:
"Boss… should we—"
Nepal shot him a sharp look.
"Get lost. You've got no sense."
He was a black-market dealer—of course he robbed people when it made sense.But even black-on-black crime required judgement.
A customer who could regularly acquire military-pattern firearms was not someone you burned.
The Fertiliser Gang had been clashing repeatedly with the neighbouring Chemical Gang. The boss wanted thirty reliable guns within a month—a gang war was coming.
Someone like Alex, who dared to scavenge live surface battlefields, was exactly the kind of supplier Nepal depended on.
Nepal turned to his men.
"Tell the guards not to harass my customer.Anyone who ignores that order gets turned into fertiliser."
Alex walked back through the steel corridor, nodding to the two guards as he passed.
He wasn't afraid of gang betrayal anyway.
You dare rob me? I respawn.Then I hunt you.Respawn again, hunt you again.I'll bring guns back from the surface and wipe you out.
Fortunately, he'd traded with the Fertiliser Gang several times without incident. Nepal clearly understood how things worked.
Once inside the steel corridor, Alex switched on his flashlight. His heavy footsteps echoed through the tunnel.
The plasma-cell battery weighed over 30 kilograms, biting into his shoulder. The metal components in his pack added another 20+ kilograms.
Total load: 50 kg.
A yellow weight icon appeared in the lower-left of his vision.
Movement Speed: –30%
At least it wasn't red—otherwise he wouldn't be able to walk at all.
He jogged back to the hideout, opened the iron door, shut it behind him, and sealed out the chaos of the underhive.
Now it was time to improve his home.
First, he placed the plasma-cell battery in the corner.
Hideout EnergyLv 0 → Lv 1
Power Source: Plasma-Cell BatteryDurability: 54%
Just over half durability.
Typical black-market trash, Alex thought.
Still, Imperial battlefield-grade batteries were terrifyingly powerful.Stick one of these into a 3rd-millennium electric vehicle, and it could probably run 5,000 kilometres without stopping.
With power secured, Alex installed lighting.
He ran cables, wired the bulbs, and hammered nails into gaps in the plasteel walls to secure them.
When he flipped the switch—
Click.
The pitch-black room flooded with light.
LightingLv 0 → Lv 1
Alex grinned.
Finally—proper lighting.
Next, he turned to the workbench. He fed the remaining components into it, sparks flying as he assembled, wired, and powered it up.
WorkbenchLv 1 → Lv 2
The Level 2 workbench now includes an angle grinder, capable of efficiently removing weapon markings and swapping blades to cut metal.
With better tools, Alex got to work immediately.
He stripped the markings from the lasgun and the remaining three autoguns, then ground off the Imperial Aquila from a flak vest and combat helmet.
Total time: under ten minutes.
After finishing, Alex began physical training on the spot—push-ups, squats, shuttle runs.
His physical stats followed a PMC-style system, inherited from extraction raid mechanics:
Strength: 11
Endurance: 12
Stamina: 10
Resistances:
Hunger 10
Thirst 10
Disease 10
Radiation 10
Chemical Toxins 10
Warp Corruption 10
Psychic Influence 10
Proficiencies:
Firearms 10
Psychic Discipline 10
Throwables 10
Melee 10
Ground Vehicles 10
Atmospheric Aircraft 10
Voidcraft 10
Warships 10
Power Armour 10
After a solid session, Alex drained his stamina completely, panting heavily.
None of the three core physical stats moved.
Physical attributes were brutal to train—only long-term effort paid off.
He ate some biscuits and drank water to recover, then slept again until dusk.
Time for a night raid.
What weapons and armour should I bring?
…Wait, why bring any?
Knife run.
Loot-rat gameplay was a core part of extraction games.
Alex packed only a medium hiking pack, a combat knife, one canteen of water, and four packs of biscuits.
As he stepped outside, he instinctively checked his system contacts.
Two contact icons had exclamation marks—new missions available.
Accepting missions required speaking to the contact directly.Rudason's location was unknown, but Nepal was right here in Fertiliser Gang territory.
Alex turned right toward their base to pick up the mission first.
The same two guards stood watch at the corridor's end.
"Hey—oh, it's you. Go on in. Don't cause trouble."
They recognised him and waved him through.
As Alex walked toward Nepal's shop, he noticed large numbers of armed gang members gathering.
Something was coming.
Inside the shop, Nepal was digging through scrap, assembling firearms from mismatched parts.
He looked up and plastered on a fake smile.
"By the Emperor… who sent my good customer to me at such a crucial moment?"
Alex frowned.
"Crucial moment?"
Nepal sighed.
"We found a chemical reactor buried in a pile of underhive construction waste.We plan to secure the area and use it to produce fertiliser."
"But the Chemical Gang wants it too.So now it comes down to who hits harder."
He leaned forward.
"Bring me ten reliable guns.I'll pay market price, plus 5,000 fertiliser credits—and my friendship.What do you say?"
A system notification chimed in Alex's mind.
Ding! New Mission Acquired
Objective:Sell 10 autoguns or military-grade pistols to the black-market dealer.
Rewards:• 5,000 Fertiliser Credits• Black Market Reputation: Lv 0 → Lv 1