Chapter 8: The Grand Sump-Lift
[DING! Recurring Mission Acknowledged: Honor the Fallen.]
Objective: Deliver uncounted PDF Dog Tags to Lieutenant Rudolphson.
Rudolphson might not have been a saint, but he was a man of his word—a rare trait in the 41st Millennium. He had enough influence to secure a Chimera for his company, and having a friend with armored support was a "buff" Kian couldn't ignore.
"I've tagged your biometric signature as a 'Non-Hostile Auxiliary' on the PDF Auspex net," Rudolphson grumbled before the transport's hatch hissed shut. "As long as you don't fire on Imperial troops or start sprouting tentacles, the boys in the Northern Sector will let you be. Use my name. It carries weight."
Kian tightened the straps of the seven rifles on his back. "I'll head deep into rebel territory for those tags, Lieutenant. Just make sure your 'boys' don't get trigger-happy. I'd hate to have to come back and haunt you."
With a wave, he vanished into the smog.
Ten minutes later, he reached the "Scav-Woods" near the Great Ventilator. There was a derelict farm nearby with a stack of weathered timber. Kian didn't hesitate. He loaded his pack with wood until his vision flashed a Red Weight Warning. He was moving at a crawl, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he refused to leave a single plank behind.
He reached the extraction point, counted down, and—blur—he was back in the Sanctum.
[Extraction Successful: Masterful Action]
Total Loot Value: 15,000 Agri-Scrips.
Kian collapsed onto his cot, his muscles screaming. He fell into a dreamless sleep before his head even hit the synthetic wool. When he woke, his stomach was a yawning void.
"Empty crates," he muttered, checking his food stash. "No crackers. No water. Great."
He pushed through the hunger. He had work to do. He spent the next few hours sawing, hammering, and praying. Using the timber and the golden statuette, he constructed a small, dignified alcove in the corner of the vault.
[DING! Imperial Shrine (Level 1) Completed.]
Your Sanctum is now under the Emperor's Protection. Chaos corruption cannot take root here. Passive Effect: Slow removal of 'Warp Taint' from the user.
Kian checked the Shrine's production menu. It had one crafting slot. By inputting a candle and a bottle of water (or oil), he could produce Holy Water (6 hours) or Sanctified Oil (12 hours).
"I don't have any candles. Or water. Right. Market trip it is."
He packed the ten rifles he'd collected into his massive hiking pack. The fifty-kilogram load was immense, but as he trudged toward the Fertilizer Syndicate's market, his Strength stat ticked up to 12.
Nephal was waiting for him. He whistled when Kian dumped the pile of "Black Guns" onto the counter—seven rebel autoguns and three PDF-issue rifles.
"By the Throne! My 'kind' customer truly is a bringer of luck," Nephal chuckled, sliding a thick stack of high-value Agri-Scrips across the table.
[MISSION COMPLETE: Arms Dealer]
Reward: 33,000 Agri-Scrips.
Reputation: Nephal [Level 1 - Associate].
Unlocked Trade Goods:
Weapons: Stub-pistols, Scav-rifles, Heavy Pipe-shotguns.
Armor: Canvas Padded Armor (Grade 2), Salvaged Flak Helmets (Grade 2).
Gear: Industrial Rebreathers, Smoke Grenades, Homemade Detonators.
Resources: Basic Tools, Building Materials.
Kian stuffed the credits into his pockets. "Got any more work?"
Nephal gestured for his men to move the guns. "Indeed. Your hardware has given us the edge we need, but the Alchem-Hounds are stubborn. My boss wants to bleed them dry before we commit to the main assault on the reactor."
The dealer leaned in. "If you're looking for fast credits, hunt the Hounds near the reactor zone. 300 Scrips for every kill. Bring me their shoulder-tattoos—they all get their favorite atomic symbols inked on their flesh—as proof of the deed."
Kian nodded. "I'll see if I can't collect a few 'elements' for you."
He left the Fertilizer Syndicate's territory and headed toward the "Neutral Zone."
Despite the Underhive being a lawless hellscape, billions of people lived here. They were the "uncounted"—laborers for gang-run factorums, scavengers, and dregs. This massive population centered around The Grand Sump-Lift.
The Sump-Lift was the only official artery connecting the Underhive to the Mid-Hive. It was a gargantuan industrial elevator used to transport waste and refined materials upward. In return, the Mid-Hive dumped its "trash" down the chutes. To an Underhiver, Mid-Hive trash was high-value treasure.
The Sump-Lift also served as a dumping ground for the "Dispossessed." Every day, hundreds of criminals or political failures from the upper levels were exiled downward. This constant influx of "fresh blood" kept the Underhive densely populated despite the horrific mortality rate.
To keep the peace, the Spire-Lords allowed certain official guilds to operate near the Lift. The Water Guild (Mercator Aqua) controlled the pumps, and the Ministorum Almoners distributed flavorless protein-starch to prevent total starvation. As long as the dregs didn't revolt, the Spire-Lords were happy to let them rot.
Kian joined a queue that stretched for blocks. He lowered his head, blending in with the hundreds of tired, grime-streaked laborers waiting for their daily ration of reclaimed water.
He had thirty thousand scrips in his pocket, but in the Underhive, showing wealth in a public line was an invitation to a knife in the ribs. He waited patiently, his hand hovering near the stub-pistol in his waistband, his eyes scanning the crowd for "targets."