The moment Leon Drake finished speaking, a shrill screech echoed from somewhere behind the crowd.
It wasn’t human.
It sounded like countless insects scraping their mandibles across rusted steel, sending a chill down everyone’s spine.
The mutants who had frozen in shock at the sight of the steel fortress suddenly came back to life, as though someone had wound them up again.
Hundreds of them splashed through the mud, raising crude muskets while brandishing pickaxes and machetes as they surged forward once more.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Poorly made lead bullets slammed into the Command Center’s blast doors.
A few sparks danced across the armored surface before disappearing.
The doors didn’t even dent.
Leon ducked behind one of the massive support pillars, his expression grim.
These things knew no fear.
The SCV was powerful.
The Command Center was practically indestructible.
But without soldiers to defend it, the base was nothing more than a giant steel shell.
If several hundred cultists surrounded it, clogged the entrances, jammed the SCV’s treads, and forced their way inside…
He’d still end up dead.
No more saving resources.
Everything he had left needed to be spent.
“Ada.” [Online.] “Use the last hundred Minerals.” “And consume the emergency warp authorization.” “Warp in Marines.” [Confirmed.] [100 Minerals deducted.] [Remaining Minerals: 0] [Emergency Warp Authorization consumed.] [Deploying: Terran Marine x2] The polluted air above the scrapyard suddenly rippled.
Dust was swept aside by an invisible force.
Two brilliant blue columns of light descended from the sky, punching through the shattered ceiling before striking the ground three meters in front of Leon.
The teleportation beam was remarkably clean.
There were no whispers.
No Warp distortion.
Only crackling electricity…
And the sharp scent of industrial ozone.
The light faded.
Two figures clad in deep-blue powered armor stood side by side in the mud.
Their armor was thick and angular.
Massive shoulder plates made them look like walking bunkers.
Hydraulic pistons in their legs hissed softly as internal pressure stabilized.
Each Marine carried a bulky C-14 Gauss Rifle, a combat knife mounted beneath the barrel.
There were no purity seals.
No Imperial scriptures.
No Aquilas.
Nothing resembled Imperial craftsmanship.
These weren’t holy relics.
They were weapons manufactured on an assembly line.
Machines built solely for war.
The Marine on the left raised his helmet.
“Marine ready, sir.” “Who needs killing?” Leon pointed toward the charging cultists.
“Eliminate every last one.” “Roger.” Both Marines stepped forward simultaneously.
Their armored boots crushed broken scrap beneath them.
The C-14 Gauss Rifles came to their shoulders.
The front ranks were already within ten meters.
Twisted faces.
Raised machetes.
Extra mutant limbs clawing at the air.
The rifles fired.
Not with the thunderous roar of a bolter…
But with a rapid stream of razor-sharp electromagnetic cracks that blended into one continuous scream.
BRRRRT!
Twin streams of tracer fire tore across the battlefield.
The first dozen cultists didn’t even have time to scream.
Their bodies exploded apart.
Blood…
Acid…
Bone fragments…
Shredded clothing…
Everything erupted into the muddy ground.
Their makeshift armor and patched leather jackets might as well have been paper against eight-millimeter Gauss rounds.
The first rank disappeared.
The second stepped over the bodies…
Only to have their chests blown open.
The third tried to dive behind an abandoned transport…
The bullets ripped through both the vehicle and everyone hiding behind it.
The Marines never wasted ammunition.
Every subtle adjustment of their aim harvested another cluster of enemies.
Within seconds…
The assault collapsed.
The survivors finally stopped.
The Genestealer Cult had taught them not to fear death.
But fearlessness didn’t mean charging headlong into impossible firepower.
A lasgun might leave a wounded man enough strength to take another step.
These rifles were different.
Anything they touched simply ceased to exist.
Several mutants with writhing facial tendrils turned and fled.
The Marine on the right immediately lowered his rifle.
“Enemy retreating.” “Extending engagement.” He advanced with heavy mechanical strides.
Gauss rounds caught the fleeing cultists from behind.
The projectiles punched cleanly through one body…
Then another…
Then another.
Three corpses slammed into a rusted steel wall, pinned together by sheer kinetic force.
Less than two minutes later…
The firing stopped.
Silence settled over the scrapyard once again.
Only the scent of overheated metal and fresh blood lingered in the air.
Hundreds of cultists.
Not one remained standing.
Helena slowly loosened her grip on the armor-piercing grenade.
She didn’t bother picking it up again.
Her eyes remained fixed on the two Marines.
It was as though she had witnessed something that should never have existed.
Those weren’t bolters.
Bolter shells exploded after impact.
These weapons simply tore people apart through raw velocity alone.
And the armor…
She had seen it clearly.
It wasn’t Astartes power armor.
There was no Black Carapace interface.
No neural connection ports.
The men inside were ordinary humans.
Yet they moved effortlessly inside armor that thick…
Ran without hesitation…
Turned with impossible speed…
And controlled those devastating weapons without losing stability.
None of it fit Imperial doctrine.
None of it fit the teachings of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Her lips trembled.
She wanted to speak.
Instead, only another blood-soaked breath escaped.
In every Imperial legend she had memorized since childhood…
Only one explanation even came close.
STC.
A complete Standard Template Construct.
A relic of humanity’s Golden Age of Technology.
Leon never noticed the expression on her face.
He stepped out from behind the blast doors, carefully avoiding pools of blood as he approached the Marines.
“Commander.” “Area secured.” “No hostile life signs detected.” Leon was about to nod when Ada spoke again.
[Warning.] [Mineral reserves depleted.] [Vespene Gas reserves depleted.] [Marine ammunition reserves decreasing.] [Recommendation: Recover battlefield metal immediately.] Leon’s smile froze.
He was broke.
Building the Command Center…
Warping in two Marines…
His entire fortune had vanished.
He looked around at the battlefield.
Hundreds of corpses.
Not a single valuable weapon among them.
Broken knives.
Homemade firearms.
Nothing worth mentioning.
His beginner’s base was established.
He finally had soldiers.
And now…
His next job was stripping metal off dead bodies.
Leon removed the unlit cigar from his mouth and sighed.
Then his gaze shifted toward Helena.
The black carapace armor she wore looked valuable.
Her bolt pistol probably wasn’t cheap either.
That had to be worth a few Minerals.
Helena noticed him approaching and tried to sit up.
“Y…” Blood immediately filled her mouth.
Leon crouched beside her and picked up the bolt pistol.
It was absurdly heavy.
Heavy enough to crack walnuts.
Probably skulls too.
“How about we make a deal, ma’am?” He tucked the cigar back between his teeth and held up the weapon.
“This thing looks expensive.” “Mind if I buy it from you?” Helena simply stared.
Blood loss had already blurred her vision.
All she could see were two towering Marines standing behind Leon, their armored silhouettes blocking the cold white light spilling from the Command Center.
Her head tilted to one side.
She lost consciousness.
Leon scratched his cheek.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He tossed the bolt pistol toward the SCV.
“Big guy.” “Recycle the gate.” “And every pipe, broken weapon, armor plate, and scrap of metal you can find.” He pointed toward the half-melted steel gate.
“Don’t leave even a flake of rust behind.” The engineer lowered the cockpit canopy and waved confidently.
“Leave it to me, Commander.” “I’ll scrape this place clean down to the dirt if I have to.” The SCV rumbled into motion.
Its plasma torch burst to life, bathing the silent scrapyard in blue light once more.
Leon looked toward the broken sky overhead.
The crimson-purple clouds had grown even darker.
Something enormous seemed to writhe behind them.
The air reeked of decay and chemical runoff.
Even covering his nose wouldn’t help.
The real trouble hadn’t arrived yet.
If another swarm showed up…
Two Marines wouldn’t be enough.
“Ada.” “How much for a Medic?” [50 Minerals.] [50 Vespene Gas.] “Where am I supposed to get Vespene?” [Fifty meters ahead.] [Sewer access detected.] [High concentrations of Tyranid bio-organic matter and corrosive acid identified.] [SCV capable of extraction and refinement.] Leon stared into the darkness of the sewer entrance.
Green slime flowed from the Genestealer’s corpse into the drainage grates below.
“So…” “I’m going to refine bug juice for money.” The thought alone made his stomach turn.
Unfortunately…
He wasn’t in a position to be picky.
Leon kicked aside a blood-soaked chunk of flesh and walked toward the sewer.
Behind him, the SCV’s plasma cutter roared back to life.
The Marines stood guard with rifles raised, their muzzles aimed into the darkness leading deeper into the Underhive.
Somewhere within the shadows…
The scraping of countless chitinous limbs echoed ever closer.