Chapter 5: The Broker's Errand
Kian stood in the cluttered shop as Nephal's lackeys gathered his supplies. He leaned over the counter, lowering his voice.
"Do you deal in Las-weapons? Specifically, the Kantrael-pattern?"
Nephal stopped polishing a rusted gear and looked up, his eyes narrowing. "You actually secured a piece of Imperial sun-fire?"
Kian didn't answer. He just held the dealer's gaze.
Nephal sighed and shook his head. "I can't move them, boy. Every PDF Lasgun is Gene-locked. The biometric seal is hard-coded into the weapon's trigger-cogitator. Unless you're that dead Sergeant, the gun is just an expensive club."
Kian frowned. He'd suspected as much. "There has to be a way to crack it."
"There is," Nephal admitted. "But it's not simple. You need a Logic-Daemon Decrypter to brute-force the biometrics. And even then, you're dealing with a military-grade Machine Spirit. You try to crack its shell without the proper rituals, and the spirit will get spiteful. You'll need Sanctified Oils and Sacred Incense to appease it, otherwise, that power cell will detonate in your hands after three shots."
"Where do I get a decrypter?"
"Upper-Spire tech. You won't find it down here. As for the oils and incense, you'll need a Mid-Hive Identification Cog. Get one of those, find a Cathedral, and make a massive donation to the Ecclesiarchy. The Priests will give you what you need to 'bless' your stolen goods."
Kian burned the information into his memory. Moments later, the lackeys arrived with his haul. Kian shouldered his backpack—now bulging with metal components—and hoisted the heavy Promethium Battery, which was the size of a Leman Russ's engine block. With a sharp nod to Nephal, he departed.
As Kian vanished into the darkness of the tunnels, a scrawny gang-enforcer leaned toward Nephal. "Boss, he's carrying a fortune. Should we...?"
Nephal backhanded the man across the face. "Idiot. Have some vision. A man who can walk onto a live battlefield and come back with PDF hardware isn't a victim—he's a golden goose. The Fertilizer Syndicate is in a border war with the Alchem-Hounds over that salvaged reactor. I need thirty reliable guns by the end of the month, and that 'Scav-rat' is the only one delivering."
He turned back to the lackey. "Tell the 'Dogs' at the gate: Voss is a V.I.P. Anyone who touches him gets turned into vat-sludge."
The trek back was brutal. Kian was hauling fifty kilograms of gear. In his vision, a Yellow Weight Icon pulsed—a 30% movement speed penalty.
He reached the Sanctum, sealed the blast door, and let the heavy battery drop. Thud.
Time to upgrade.
He dragged the Promethium Battery to the corner.
[POWER GRID UPGRADE: LVL 0
→\to→ LVL 1]
Energy Source: Promethium Cell (Durability: 54%).
The hum of the battery filled the room. Next, he ran the copper wiring across the ceiling, hammering plasteel bolts into the seams of the walls to hold them. He screwed in the glow-globes and flipped the master logic-switch.
Click.
The Sanctum flooded with light.
[ILLUMINATION UPGRADE: LVL 0
→\to→ LVL 1]
"Finally," Kian breathed. "No more living like a Morlock."
He turned his attention to his workbench. He integrated the electric motor and the angle grinder, connecting them to his new power grid.
[MACHINIST'S STATION UPGRADE: LVL 1
→\to→ LVL 2]
The upgrade was a game-changer. Using the powered angle grinder, Kian "sanitized" the remaining three autoguns, the Lasgun, and the Flak armor in under ten minutes. Sparks flew through the vault as the Imperial Aquilas were ground into anonymous metal scars.
With his chores done, Kian began his physical regimen: push-ups, squats, and sprints across the 500-meter floor. His "PMC System" tracked his progress with cold efficiency:
[CORE ATTRIBUTES]
Strength: 11 | Endurance: 12 | Stamina: 10
Resistances: Hunger (10), Thirst (10), Toxin (10), Radiation (10), Warp/Psyker (10).
[PROFICIENCIES]
Ballistics: 10 | Melee: 10 | Explosives: 10
Vehicles: Ground (10), Atmospheric (10), Void-Ship (10), Power Armor (10).
Physical training in the "Extraction" system was a slow grind. Despite pushing himself to total exhaustion, his top-tier stats didn't budge. He needed more "Raid Time."
He ate a ration pack, drank his fill, and slept. When he woke, the Hive's artificial night cycle was beginning.
"Time for a Night Raid," Kian muttered.
He looked at his pile of cleaned PDF weapons. His "Hoarder" instincts kicked in. I can't take these out. What if I die? I'll lose the Lasgun!
He decided on a "Rat Run." He equipped only a medium hiking pack, a combat knife, a canteen, and four crackers. He was going in "naked."
Before leaving, he checked his Tactical Cogitator. An exclamation mark was pulsing over Nephal's contact icon. A mission.
He detoured back to the Fertilizer Syndicate's market. The area was buzzing. Gangers were checking their scrap-rifles and loading into industrial elevators.
Nephal was at his counter, assembling a crude pipe-gun. He looked up and gave Kian a shark-like grin. "Ah, just in time! The Emperor provides!"
"What's the crisis?" Kian asked.
"My Syndicate found a functional Chemical Reaction Furnace in the ruins of Sector G-9," Nephal explained. "It's a gold mine for fertilizer production. But the Alchem-Hounds want it too. It's going to be a bloodbath."
Nephal leaned forward. "I need hardware, Voss. Reliable stuff. Bring me 10 Autoguns or Military-grade Pistols. I'll pay the standard rate, plus a 5,000 Scrip bonus and a permanent discount in my shop. Do we have a contract?"
[DING! NEW MISSION: ARMS DEALER]
Objective: Deliver 10 Autoguns or Pistols to Nephal.
Rewards: 5,000 Agri-Scrips | Nephal Reputation: LVL 1 (Associate).
"Ten guns?" Kian smirked, thinking of the PDF trenches littered with corpses. "Consider it done. Keep the credits warm for me."