Chapter 23: The Harvest of the Sump-War
The battle between the two syndicates raged for three standard hours. By the end, the center of the vault was a charnel house of several thousand corpses.
The entry of the Chem-Sows had turned the tactical skirmish into a chaotic meat-grinder. To bring the beasts down, the Fertilizer Syndicate had expended nearly all its high-explosives and a significant portion of its manpower. Now, both leaders—Boss Iron-Eye and The Matriarch—had pulled their remaining "Elite" gunners back to their respective rear lines.
These gunmen were the lifeblood of a gang. You could find more "Meat" in the gutters within a week, but a trained gunner with a functional weapon was a rare asset. If they lost their elites, the bosses wouldn't just lose the battle; they'd lose their heads to the next ambitious lieutenant back home.
The stalemate had begun. Aside from the occasional crack of a stubber and the rhythmic moaning of the thousands of wounded, the vault went quiet.
This was Kian's favorite part of the game: The Post-Raid Cleanup.
Kian and Shiv had successfully baited and put down three more Chem-Sows. Kian stopped shooting and let the boy rest. Shiv was practically hyperventilating, his legs turned to jelly from the repeated "Death-Sprints."
"Stay here, Shiv. Guard the bag. I'm going to go collect our invoice," Kian said, swapping his AP mags for standard lead-core rounds.
He moved onto the battlefield like a ghost. He reached the three Sows he'd dropped and used a jagged iron pipe as a crowbar. With a sickening crunch, he pried the Frenzy-Spur Manifolds off their spines, along with the "Pig-Grit" masks. He opened the chemical ports and harvested every drop of Onslaught-Stimm.
[Loot Acquired: 3 Frenzy-Spur Manifolds, 14 vials of Onslaught-Stimm.]
But he wasn't done. His backpack was only half-full.
He prowled the outskirts of the fray, looting the dead Alchem-Hounds. He moved from body to body, stripping pouches. At one pile of corpses, a mangled Hound suddenly coughed up a spray of dark blood.
"I... I'm still breathing?" the junkie rasped, looking up with cloudy eyes.
Kian didn't even look him in the face. He drew his combat knife and drove it through the man's chin into his brain-stem. "Simple glitch. Fixed now."
He pulled a Tox-Stimm out of the dead man's pocket and moved on.
After an hour of scavenging, he had fifty vials of Tox-Stimm and several hundred scrips in loose change. He pushed deeper into the "Hot Zone," where the bodies were piled high.
There, behind a heap of masonry, he heard a wet, rhythmic groaning. He approached with his rifle leveled, clearing the corner.
It was a Fertilizer Syndicate veteran—a "Gunsling" who had been one of Iron-Eye's favorites. He was gut-shot; a Chem-Sow had taken a massive bite out of his midsection. His intestines were gone, and a pool of dark blood was spreading beneath him. He was a dead man walking, or rather, a dead man dying.
Beside him lay a magnificent weapon: a Custom Auto-Shotgun. It was a drum-fed beast chambered for 35mm shells, with a reinforced receiver and a shortened barrel.
Kian's eyes lit up. "The 'Bulldozer'..."
In the tight, claustrophobic corridors of the Underhive, this gun was the ultimate "Delete" button. He reached for the spare drum attached to the dying man's belt.
The veteran coughed, a bubble of blood popping on his lips. "I think... I'm checking out, kid."
Kian unclipped the ammo rig and checked the shotgun's Machine Spirit. "Yeah. You're missing your plumbing, friend. A Sow got you good. You've got maybe ten minutes of consciousness left."
The veteran winced, the pain finally cutting through his shock. "Don't leave me like this. It hurts... too much. I saw you looting those Tox-Stimms. Be a pal? Give me three."
Kian looked at the man, then at the high-value shotgun in his hand. He pulled out three vials of Tox-Stimm and injected them directly into the soldier's neck.
The massive dose of narcotics instantly severed the man's connection to his nervous system. His breathing slowed. His eyes glazed over as a chemical euphoria washed away the agony.
"In the next life..." the veteran whispered, his head lolling to the side. "I don't want to be human..."
"Next life?" Kian muttered, standing up and slinging the new shotgun over his shoulder. "You're heading for the Warp, buddy. Pray the Emperor catches you before the Daemons do. You're about to be a 'human-slinky' in a Great Unclean One's toybox."
Kian didn't linger. He had a full pack and the "Yellow Weight" warning was flashing on his HUD.
He returned to Shiv's hiding spot. "Move it, kid. The bosses are pulling out. The raid is over."
Shiv scrambled to his feet, still shaking but relieved to be leaving. He looked at Kian, then at the new, massive shotgun slung over his back. "You... you went into the center? And you're still alive?"
"Loot doesn't walk itself to the stash, Shiv." Kian checked the boy's tally slate. "Sixty-three junkies. Four pigs. Tell Nephal I'll be by in two days to collect the scrip and my fridge. If the credits aren't ready, I'll come looking for them."
Kian pulled 300 scrips from his pocket and stuffed them into Shiv's hand.
Shiv stared at the money. "What's this for?"
"Your cut," Kian said, already walking toward the extraction shadows. "You were the best piece of 'bait' I've ever used. Don't spend it all on Lho-sticks."
As Kian vanished into the dark, Shiv stood alone in the silence of the Killing Grounds, clutching the credits like they were a holy relic.
"Three hundred..." Shiv whispered. "I... I can actually buy a clean pair of boots."
[EXTRACTION SUCCESSFUL: MASTERFUL RATING]
Total Loot Value: 58,000 Agri-Scrips
New Gear: [The Bulldozer] Custom 35mm Auto-Shotgun
Consumables: 90x Tox-Stimm, 32x Onslaught-Stimm.
Kian Voss reappeared in the Sanctum, dropping his mountain of gear. He looked at the pile of medical precursors. "Alright, Machine Spirit. Let's see about building that Medicae Station."