Chapter 2: Emergency Directive
Kian Voss was panicking. It wasn't the threat of death that terrified him—death was just a loading screen—it was the thought of losing that pristine autogun. If he died now, all this loot would remain in the mud, and he'd wake up in his Sanctum with nothing but his rags and a bitter taste in his mouth.
The rhythmic thud of PDF boots and the frantic splashing of rebel footsteps grew closer. Kian was like a rat in a cage. Then, his eyes fell on the artillery crater and the mountain of viscera within.
A desperate spark of inspiration struck. He scrambled into the pit and collapsed among the dead. He grabbed a severed arm from the "gentleman" to his left and draped it across his chest. From the "fellow" to his right, he scooped up a handful of spilled intestines and piled them over his stomach.
Finally, he smeared fresh, hot blood across his face, let his tongue lol out, and went limp. He became just another nameless casualty of the God-Emperor's eternal war.
He had barely "settled in" when the two squads collided at the trench's edge. There were no demands for surrender. No parley. Just the immediate, deafening roar of fire.
The PDF Sergeant led the charge. He carried a Kantrael-pattern Lasgun—a luxury for a mere PDF unit. A beam of concentrated light shrieked through the air, punching a hole the size of a fist through the lead rebel's chest. The insurgent's internal organs flash-boiled instantly, steam whistling out of the exit wound as he dropped.
The rest of the PDF squad opened up with standard-issue autoguns. The air filled with the scent of cordite and ozone. The rebels fired back with a chaotic medley of pipe guns, rusted shotguns, and makeshift stubbers. While their gear was inferior, their sheer numbers began to tell.
Fifteen minutes of screaming, wet thuds, and the rhythmic crack-crack-crack of solid-shot weaponry followed. Kian lay perfectly still, the weight of another man's guts pressing down on him.
A fragmentation grenade detonated nearby. Then, silence.
Kian waited five agonizing minutes. No groans. No retreating footsteps. Did they wipe each other out? He wondered, a predatory grin forming under his mask of gore.
He opened one eye. The trench was a charnel house. Grey-clad rebels and green-armored PDF soldiers lay tangled together in the mud.
"Time for the Scavenger's Serenade," Kian hissed, tossing the borrowed intestines aside. He ignored the rebel corpses—they were "white-tier" trash. He scrambled toward the fallen PDF regulars.
He snatched a helmet off a corpse. His Tactical Cogitator pinged:
[Item: PDF-Issue Flak Helmet]
Estimated Value: 500 Agri-Scrips
Protection Grade: 3 (Standard Fragmentation Resistance)
Deflection Chance: Medium
Durability: 30/30
Composition: Low-grade Ceramite-Plasteel alloy.
He stripped a chest piece from another body and buckled it on over his rags.
[Item: PDF Light Flak Plate]
Estimated Value: 1,500 Agri-Scrips
Protection Grade: 3
Durability: 45/50
Weight: 6.2kg
Then, he claimed a PDF-pattern Autogun.
[Item: Mark IV Cadian-Pattern Autogun (Local Manufacture)]
Estimated Value: 3,500 Agri-Scrips
Weight: 4.5kg
Effective Range: 600m
Firing Mode: Semi/Full-Auto (750 RPM)
Ammo: 8.9x55mm Hardcore Rounds
Lethality: High
The gun alone was worth a small fortune. Kian's greed spiked. He began stripping every PDF soldier he could find. One gun, two guns, three, four... Soon, he had four autoguns slung across his back and chest like a bizarre metal poncho. The 20kg of extra weight made his lungs burn, but he didn't care. In the "Extraction" mindset, weight was just a number; profit was eternal.
"What a glorious day for the Tithe," Kian hummed, pulling a fifth autogun from the cold grip of a soldier who'd been shot through the eye-lens.
Then he remembered: The Sergeant. Where is that 'flashlight'?
In the wider galaxy, Lasguns were mocked as "flashlights," but against unarmored humans, they were terrifying. One power cell held 200 shots, each capable of punching through 20mm of steel. It was a high-tier loot drop for a scavenger like him.
Kian prowled the trench, searching for the Sergeant. He had been in this world for three months and hadn't even touched a Lasgun yet. He wondered what its "Ammo Grade" was. Level 4? Level 5?
He rounded a corner and froze. A pair of fierce, bloodshot eyes met his.
"Gah! You're still breathing!"
Leaning against the trench wall, covered in soot and blood, was the PDF Sergeant. His Lasgun was leveled directly at Kian's chest.
"Wait! Don't shoot! I'm not a reb—"
CRACK-THROOM!
The Sergeant pulled the trigger. A searing beam of ruby light slammed into Kian's chest. Kian felt a wave of immense heat and a sudden jolt, his mind going blank as he prepared to respawn in the Sanctum.
But the darkness didn't come.
He blinked. He was still standing. He smelled something foul—burnt polymer and scorched metal. He looked down. The five autoguns he had strapped to his chest had acted as makeshift "spaced armor." The las-bolt had expended its energy melting through three of the scavenged rifles and the Flak plate he'd just put on.
"You son of a grot!" Kian roared.
He lunged forward, his boot slamming into the wounded Sergeant's chest. The Sergeant, already half-dead from blood loss, collapsed with a wheeze. Kian pinned the man's gun-hand to the mud and began rain blows upon him.
He unsheathed the Sergeant's own combat blade, pressing the cold steel against the veteran's throat. He didn't use the Lasgun to finish him—he didn't know if the weapon was Gene-locked to the Sergeant's biometric signature. Better to use the knife.
Just as Kian was about to execute the man and head for the extraction zone, his Tactical Cogitator flashed a violent, pulsing red.
[DING! EMERGENCY MISSION TRIGGERED]
Mission: Rescue Sergeant Rudolphson.
Context: Sergeant Rudolphson is a decorated veteran of the 496b Planetary Defense Force. His superiors promised him a promotion to Lieutenant and command of a full company if he secured Trench 2563. It seems the "Hero of the PDF" has met his match.
Objective: Escort Sergeant Rudolphson back to the PDF Frontlines.
Rewards:
Extraction Point Unlocked: [Rudolphson's Perimeter]. You may now extract through PDF-controlled territory without being shot on sight.
New Contact Unlocked: [Sergeant Rudolphson]. Access to the PDF Black Market. Buy/Sell military-grade hardware and receive high-risk Imperial bounties.
Reputation: +10 PDF Faction Standing.
Kian froze, the knife trembling millimeters from the Sergeant's jugular.
A Contact? An Extraction Point?
He looked at the unconscious, bleeding soldier, then at the pile of broken guns on his own chest.
"Well, Sergeant," Kian muttered, sheathing the knife. "It looks like it's your lucky day. Don't make me regret this, or I'm stripping the boots right off your corpse."