Leon Drake stopped at the sewer grate.
Viscous green slime trickled through the rusted iron bars, dripping into the darkness below.
The tunnel was pitch-black.
Nothing could be seen.
Only the harsh scraping of chitin against concrete echoed through the depths.
Once.
Then again.
The sound grated against his nerves.
Behind him, the scrapyard had become a construction site.
The SCV was hard at work.
The burly engineer had set his sights on an abandoned tracked transport.
The power drill slammed into its chassis.
Sparks exploded in every direction.
Rusted rivets were torn apart one after another.
The plasma cutting torch followed immediately behind, slicing several-hundred-kilogram armor plates into manageable chunks before feeding them into the recycler mounted on the SCV’s back.
A flash of blue light.
The scrap metal vanished.
Only a small pile of black slag remained.
[Scrap metal processing complete.] [Minerals +5.] [Current total: 15.] Leon grimaced.
An entire transport…
Only five Minerals.
“StarCraft Commander…” He muttered under his breath.
“More like Underhive Scrap Collector.” The engineer’s voice crackled over the comms.
“Commander, the metal here is full of impurities.” “Refining efficiency is terrible.” Leon bit down on his unlit cigar.
“Stop complaining.” “If it can be cut apart, recycle it.” “I don’t care if it’s nothing but rust.” “Roger that.” The SCV spun on its treads and rolled toward another pile of twisted steel beams.
One of the Marines approached, crushing shattered bones beneath his armored boots.
“Commander.” “The native female’s life signs continue to deteriorate.” Leon turned around.
Helena was still lying in the mud, drifting in and out of consciousness.
She looked even worse than before.
Her Arbites carapace armor had absorbed much of the damage…
But the wound in her side had begun to rot.
The flesh around it had turned gray.
Thick black pus seeped through gaps in the armor, dripping into the muddy ground.
The smell was nauseating.
This wasn’t an ordinary injury.
It was Tyranid contamination.
Leon silently weighed his options.
Save her?
His resources were already stretched to the breaking point.
He didn’t even know when he’d be able to afford a Medic.
Leave her?
He knew absolutely nothing about this world.
No maps.
No safe routes.
No idea where Imperial forces were stationed.
Helena wasn’t simply a wounded Arbitrator anymore.
She was a map.
“Ada.” “Scan her.” [Scan complete.] [Target infected by xeno biological fluids.] [Genetic contamination progressing.] [Estimated time until death: 30 minutes.] [Warning.] [Parasitic emergence possible following death.] Leon’s expression darkened.
Parasitic emergence.
That was far worse than death.
If something burst out of her corpse…
His newly established base would become another battlefield.
“Medic cost?” [Medic deployment requires:] 50 Minerals.
50 Vespene Gas.
[Current reserves:] Minerals: 15 Vespene Gas: 0 Leon closed his eyes.
Minerals.
Gas.
Time.
This system wasn’t giving him a single free break.
Helena groaned in pain and forced her eyes open.
The first thing she saw…
Was the Terran Command Center.
Cold white floodlights illuminated the scrapyard.
The towering fortress had no cathedral spires.
No holy icons.
No Imperial Aquilas.
Only reinforced armor…
Rotating radar dishes…
And machines working tirelessly.
She slowly turned her head.
The yellow SCV had grabbed an armor plate bearing a damaged Imperial Aquila.
“Heretic…” Her voice scraped like sandpaper.
“That belongs to the Departmento Munitorum…” Before she could finish…
The SCV crushed the plate beneath one massive tread.
The plasma torch flashed.
The Aquila split neatly in two before disappearing into the recycler.
Helena felt blood rise into her throat.
On Kalas Prime…
Defacing the Imperial Aquila was punishable by death.
Yet these people dismantled it without the slightest hesitation.
Leon walked over.
“You’re awake.” “Then stop moving.” “Your wound’s still leaking.” “I’d rather you didn’t stain my front yard.” Helena looked up at him.
There were no purity seals on his clothing.
No Imperial insignia.
No rank badges.
Behind him stood two Marines clad in blue powered armor.
Behind them…
Towered a steel fortress built from scrap in less than an hour.
“…Who are you?” Her hand instinctively reached toward her holster.
She grabbed nothing but empty air.
Leon glanced downward.
“Looking for your pistol?” “I recycled it.” Helena froze.
“That was an Arbites-issued weapon.” “You destroyed a sacred relic?” Leon pointed toward her abdomen.
“You’re about to become a Tyranid nursery.” “And you’re still worried about a pistol?” She lowered her gaze.
The black pus had spread farther.
The skin around the wound had gone numb.
Dark purple veins crept steadily toward her chest.
Imperial law was absolute.
Anyone infected by Genestealers had only one fate.
Purification.
Which meant execution.
She had personally carried out countless such sentences.
Now…
She had become the condemned.
She should have demanded that he kill her.
Instead…
Her eyes drifted back toward the impossible fortress.
Toward the machines that functioned perfectly without sacred oils…
Without incense…
Without prayers to calm Machine Spirits.
A thought she never imagined possible entered her mind.
If…
This truly was lost STC technology…
If she could survive long enough to report it…
Her life would be worth infinitely more than her death.
For the good of the Imperium.
That was the excuse she gave herself.
“…Can you cure me?” Her voice had grown much quieter.
Leon answered immediately.
“I can.” “But afterward…” “You’ll tell me everything.” “The military situation.” “The terrain.” “Every entrance to the Underhive.” “Every Arbites outpost.” “I need a guide.” Helena clenched her teeth.
Revealing military intelligence to an unknown armed force was treason.
One of the Marines raised his rifle.
Click.
The muzzle of the C-14 Gauss Rifle settled between her eyes.
“Commander.” “The target is delaying.” “Recommendation.” “Terminate.” “Conserve resources.” Leon gently pushed the rifle aside.
“Easy.” “Bullets cost money too.” He looked back at Helena.
“If you want to live…” “Then nod.” Her breathing became ragged.
After several long seconds…
She finally nodded.
“I’ll guide you…” “…if you truly save me.” Leon didn’t waste another word.
The deal was made.
Now he needed resources.
“Ada.” “How many Minerals are we short?” [35 Minerals required.] Leon immediately switched to the engineering channel.
“Big guy.” “Tear down that wall.” “Heavy cutting.” “As fast as possible.” The SCV roared to life.
It slammed into a rusted metal barrier, knocking it flat before racing over the wreckage.
Its mechanical arms worked nonstop.
Sorting.
Cutting.
Recycling.
Numbers flashed across Leon’s HUD.
+19 +26 +35 +50 [Mineral requirement satisfied.] Leon turned toward the sewer.
“Now we get the gas.” The SCV rolled toward the sewer grate.
Both Marines followed, rifles raised as they watched the darkness beyond.
The stench hit them immediately.
A pool of green acid had collected near the entrance.
It had leaked from the Purestrain Genestealer’s corpse.
A hatch beneath the SCV opened.
A compact extraction device fitted with blue work lights descended into the corrosive liquid.
Several slender probes extended into the sludge.
[Crude Biomatter Extraction Pump deployed.] [Extracting xeno biological fluids.] [High-energy biomass detected.] [Warning.] [Contamination unstable.] [Unable to convert directly into deployable Vespene Gas.] [Current product:] Unstable Biomass Concentrate.
[Additional high-energy catalytic source required for refinement.] Green liquid surged through transparent tubes.
Leon stared at it.
His stomach rolled again.
Extracting bug fluids…
Then refining them into gas.
It sounded disgusting.
On the other hand…
It paid well.
Maybe the Underhive wasn’t entirely terrible.
Everything here…
Scrap.
Monsters.
Corpses.
Could eventually become resources.
One of the Marines suddenly spoke.
“Commander.” “Armor life-support warning.” “Water filtration module approaching depletion.” Leon frowned.
Water.
This place barely had breathable air.
Clean drinking water was even rarer.
The sewer system carried nothing but toxic industrial runoff.
Drink that…
And growing an extra limb would probably be the least of your worries.
“Hold out a little longer.” “We’ll solve it once the Medic is deployed.” The extraction progress crawled forward.
20/50 37/50 50/50 [Unstable Biomass Concentrate extraction complete.] [Resource currently incompatible with Medic deployment.] Leon stared at the system panel.
His face darkened.
“So…” “It looks like money.” “But I can’t actually spend it.” [Correct.] [Assessment:] Typical emotional response observed in bankrupt individuals.
Leon was about to issue another order…
When the scraping sounds deep inside the sewer abruptly stopped.
Silence.
An unnatural silence.
Ripples spread slowly across the black water.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
Heavy military boots struck the concrete floor.
One pair.
Then another.
Then dozens more.
It wasn’t a single person.
It was an entire squad.
Every step perfectly synchronized.
Disciplined.
Professional.
Both Marines turned instantly.
Their helmet visors flashed crimson.
Targeting systems locked onto the darkness.
“Commander.” “High-threat contacts approaching.” Both Gauss Rifles snapped into firing position.
Leon fixed his gaze on the sewer entrance.
Deep within the darkness…
The marching footsteps drew steadily closer.