Chapter 93: The Scavenger's Audit
"What the hell do you think you're doing with that piece of hardware?"
Kian Voss narrowed his eyes, his gaze turning lethal as he looked at the rebel soldier trying to wrestle the machine gun from his grip.
The rebel met Kian's stare and flinched, but his fingers remained clamped tight around the barrel of the PDF Light Stubber.
"You've already got one!" the rebel snarled, his voice cracking with greed. "This one belongs to the Cause!"
Kian took a deep, controlled breath, suppressing the urge to simply liquidate the man where he stood.
"According to the pre-war contract I signed with your Elders," Kian rasped, "I assist in the defense, and the gear from the soldiers I kill belongs to me. This is my harvest."
The rebel was clearly just a low-level grunt, a "meat-stock" soldier who hadn't been privy to the high-level negotiations. To him, the battlefield was a buffet, and Kian was just another rat taking the choice cuts.
"How do I know you killed this Spire-dog?" the rebel challenged. "It was a chaotic mess out here. Everyone was firing. Who saw the killing blow?"
Kian was reaching his boiling point. He pointed a gloved finger at the PDF corpse in the dirt.
"Are you blind, you grox-brained peasant? Look at the exit wound! The armor and the man were punched through by a high-velocity 9.9mm slug. Do you think your rusted pipe-guns and black-powder scrap can do that?"
The soldier looked down. It was true. The PDF regular had been nearly bisected by the sniper round—a feat impossible for the rebel's primitive weaponry.
But the rebel looked at the sleek, matte-black finish of the Light Stubber and couldn't let go. This gun represented a life of power instead of a life of dirt. He yanked the weapon toward himself with a sudden, desperate strength.
"I don't care about your 'contracts'! I didn't sign anything! The gun is mine!"
Kian let out a sharp, jagged bark of laughter. So we're playing 'Arena Breakout' rules now? You want to open my loot-crate while the body is still warm?
"Fine," Kian whispered. "Have it."
Kian let go. The rebel stumbled back, a look of triumph crossing his face. He clutched the gun to his chest, ready to turn and run.
He didn't get two steps.
Kian's boot, backed by 23 Strength, connected with the rebel's solar plexus. The man was launched into the air, flying six meters backward before slamming into a wooden fence with a bone-shattering THUD. He hit the ground and immediately began dry-heaving, his eyes rolling back in his head as his diaphragm seized.
Kian stalked forward, mounted the gasping man, and began raining heavy, rhythmic punches into his face.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Don't. Talk. To. Me. About. Logic!" Kian roared between strikes. "You want to steal my loot? You want to break the contract? I'll beat the very soul out of your meat-suit!"
A crowd of rebels, drawn by the sound of the beating, began to circle them.
"Oi! Stop it! You're going to kill him!" one of them shouted, reaching out to pull Kian back.
Kian stood up, shaking the blood from his knuckles. He wasn't breathing hard; the stimms were still active. He picked up the second Light Stubber and spat a glob of red phlegm into the dirt.
"Dregs! If any of you touch my gear again, I'll turn your intestines into a necktie!"
If this were a game lobby, he'd be throwing grenades at his own teammates for "ninja-looting." He turned to head back to the truck, but his path was blocked by a dozen armed men.
At the front of the group was his old rival, Arum.
Arum was still a mess of yellow and purple bruises from Kian's previous "lesson." He had been waiting for a reason to strike back, and a "civilian" beating a "revolutionary comrade" was the perfect excuse. His twelve personal guards leveled their autoguns at Kian's chest.
"You think you can just come here and assault our brothers?" Arum hissed, his hand resting on his holster. "Give us an account of yourself, or you'll never leave this woods."
Kian let out a cold, cynical laugh. In a flash of motion, he hoisted both Light Stubbers, tucking the heavy stocks under his armpits and leveling the twin barrels directly at Arum's chest.
"An account? I'll give you a full audit, you rotting waste-chute!"
Kian's verbal assault was a masterpiece of 3k-era "toxic lobby" poetry. He spent the next thirty seconds meticulously insulting Arum's courage, his parentage, and the specific biological failures of his entire bloodline. He effectively declared himself the legal father of everyone in the squad.
The rebel guards turned a violent shade of crimson, their rifles trembling. If Silas hadn't been the one in charge, they would have turned Kian into a sieve.
"Go on then, you grox-leech!" Kian bellowed, his eyes fixed solely on Arum. "Tell them to pull the triggers! Your ten guards might kill me, but these two stubbers are pointed at you. I won't hit a single one of them—every bullet is going into your gut! You want to die for a 'comrade' you didn't even like? Order the strike!"
Arum stared down the twin muzzles of the 7.5kg machine guns. Cold sweat began to sting his eyes.
"You... you think we fear death?" Arum stammered.
"Silas fears death, but he charged a tank," Kian mocked. "You? You were hiding in the rear while your brothers were being turned into paste by the autocannon. You've got ten guards with pristine autoguns—your 'Family Retainers,' right? Everyone else bled today, but your squad doesn't have a scratch on their armor. You're a coward, Arum. A bottom-tier scavenger pretending to be a warlord!"
The surrounding rebels, those who had actually fought in the trenches, turned their heads toward Arum. Their expressions shifted from hostility toward Kian to a cold, suspicious glare directed at their own commander. Arum's "tactical preservation" of his elite squad was now laid bare.
Just as the tension reached the snapping point, a voice cut through the silence.
"Hold! Lower your steel!"
Parson, the Liaison, pushed through the crowd. He looked at Kian with a debt-heavy gaze, then turned to Arum.
"Master Voss is our guest. This victory wouldn't have been possible without his rifle and his warning. Do not be ungrateful."
He turned to the crowd, his voice booming with authority. "The contract was clear: the Scavenger keeps the gear of the men he drops. Every Cell Leader agreed to this. If you have a problem with the contract, take it up with Elder Silas!"
The guards hesitantly lowered their weapons, the authority of the 'Liaison' settling the dispute.
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you