Chapter 22: The Lure
Taking out a Chem-Sow with a single AP round was a victory, but Kian's celebration was cut short by a logistical nightmare. The dead beast was deep in the "No-Man's Land"—a chaotic whirlpool of blades, bullets, and screaming junkies.
Recovering the Frenzy-Spur Manifold from there would be suicide. Those Onslaught-Stimms were high-tier crafting materials; he couldn't just let them rot. He needed to change his tactics. He needed the pigs to come to him.
Kian looked down at Shiv.
The boy was staring at Kian with a mixture of terror and fanatical awe. He had been tracking the tallies: sixty confirmed Alchem-Hounds, one Gristle-Hound, and now a Chem-Sow. In the eyes of a Syndicate lackey, Kian wasn't just a scavenger anymore; he was a Saint of the Trigger.
"Shiv," Kian said, his voice cold and rhythmic. "How fast can you run?"
The boy blinked, snapping out of his trance. "Uh... fast enough to dodge a debt-collector, sir."
"Good enough." Kian pointed a gloved finger toward the battlefield. "From this container to the edge of the melee is about 280 meters. There's a 150-meter stretch of open ground directly in front of us."
Shiv looked at the clearing, then back at Kian, his face turning pale. "Why are you telling me this, sir?"
Kian patted the boy's shoulder with a heavy, armored hand. "I want you to go down there and insult a Chem-Sow. Bait it into chasing you. Bring it into the open."
Shiv's knees began to shake like a leaf in a Hive-storm. He had seen what the Sows did to people. He'd seen the "Sump-Slurp"—where the beast pins a man down and bites into his soft midsection, slurping up the intestines like warm noodles while the victim is still screaming.
The thought of being "noodled" made Shiv's vision swim. "Can't... can't you just shoot them from here, Master Scavenger? You just one-tapped that last one!"
"That Sow was stationary, feasting on a corpse," Kian explained patiently. "The others are moving too fast, zig-zagging through the ruins. My AP slugs are precious. If I hit the iron plate on their back, it's a waste. If I hit the meat, they'll just keep coming. I need a clean headshot."
He leaned in closer. "If you run in a straight line toward me, the Sow will follow in a straight line. From my perspective, its head becomes a target that only grows larger and moves in a predictable path. It makes the ballistics simple. I won't miss."
Shiv stood frozen for a long minute. Kian was about to tell him to forget it and find another way when the boy suddenly straightened his back. His eyes flared with a desperate, gallows-bravery.
"I'll do it," Shiv whispered. "For the Syndicate. For the Scrip."
Kian didn't ask questions. He just nodded. "Straight line, Shiv. Don't look back. Just run."
Shiv scrambled down the side of the container and vanished into the shadows of the debris. Kian immediately went to work. He swapped his magazine for a fresh one filled with AP Hardcore Slugs. He dragged the heavy corpse of the Gristle-Hound to the edge of the roof, using the monster's shoulder as a stabilized rifle rest.
He peered through the optic. Steady breath. Clear mind.
Shiv reached the edge of the "No-Man's Land." He stayed low, moving through the piles of rusted ceramite. Ahead, a Chem-Sow was currently being hacked at by a dozen Syndicate gangers. Their crude blades were bouncing off its iron plating with rhythmic clangs.
The Sow let out a wet roar and swung its massive, steel-shod fist, pulping the head of a Syndicate enforcer. It knelt, reaching for the man's stomach to begin the "slurp."
Shiv took a deep breath, grabbed a jagged piece of plasteel rubble, and hurled it with all his might.
CLANG!
The scrap hit the Sow square in its "Pig-Grit" mask. The beast snapped its head up, its tiny, red eyes locking onto the small, shivering boy standing fifty meters away.
Shiv threw a second stone and screamed at the top of his lungs: "COME ON, YOU OVERGROWN GROX-SH*T! YOUR MOTHER WAS A SERVIT-OAR!"
"REEEEEEEEEE!"
The Chem-Sow didn't hesitate. It tore the body it was holding in half, tossed the pieces aside, and launched its mountain-sized frame at the boy.
Shiv turned and bolted. He ran like a man whose soul was being pursued by a Warp-daemon. Behind him, the ground shook with the rhythmic, heavy thuds of the Sow's charge.
"GOD-EMPEROR PROTECT ME!" Shiv wailed, his legs moving in a blur.
The Sow was closing the distance. It was a meat-tank, its mouth frothing with green stimm-waste, its massive hands reaching out to snatch the boy from the air.
Kian watched through the Vindicatus's scope.
Shiv entered the 150-meter clear zone. He was running a perfect straight line toward the container. The Sow was ten meters behind him, its massive "Pig-Grit" mask bobbing slightly in the center of Kian's crosshairs.
100 meters... 80 meters...
Kian exhaled. His finger tightened on the trigger.
CRACK!
The rifle kicked. The first AP slug shrieked through the air and slammed into the Sow's left "ear"—a jagged piece of iron. The beast didn't slow down.
CRACK!
The second shot found its mark. The heavy 8.9mm slug punched through the center of the mask, centered exactly between the beast's eyes.
THOOM.
The Chem-Sow's momentum was so great that even in death, it didn't stop. Its brain was turned to mist, but its body performed a final, spectacular somersault, sliding across the metal floor for fifteen meters before coming to a rest in a heap of iron and blubber.
Shiv didn't stop. He hit the base of the container and began frantically hammering on the metal with his fists. "LET ME UP! LET ME UP! I'M GOING TO DIE! I'M ALREADY DEAD!"
Kian racked the bolt, ejecting the hot brass. "Calm down, Shiv. You're alive. And you were very brave."
Shiv collapsed onto his knees, gasping for air, his face wet with tears. "I... I saw its teeth... it was so close... I could smell the rot..."
Kian didn't offer a hand. He just looked through the scope at the dead Sow lying conveniently close to their position.
"Recover your breath," Kian said tonelessly. "Then go out there and bait the second one. I still need two more for that fridge."