Ironbone’s scarred cheek twitched.
Even children in the Underhive knew the terror inspired by Purestrain Genestealers.
He knew this wasn’t an empty threat.
“What are you idiots standing around for?!” He spun around and kicked one of his men square in the backside.
“Get to the warehouse!” “Bring out every piece of scrap we can salvage!” The gang members scrambled toward the scrap fortress.
Moments later, several rusted handcarts rolled back out.
They were piled high with greasy gears, broken steel pipes, burned-out ventilation motors, and scorched armor plating.
Rubbing his remaining flesh-and-blood hand nervously, Ironbone took a cautious step forward.
One of the Marines raised his rifle.
The black muzzle of the C-14 Gauss Rifle stopped against Ironbone’s forehead.
His legs nearly gave out.
“My lord…” “We’re poor.” “This is everything we have.” After speaking, he signaled two scavengers behind him.
They carried over a wooden basket.
Inside were dozens of moldy green nutrient paste bricks and a pile of glowing mushrooms covered in fuzzy white mold.
The smell alone made Leon take half a step backward.
“My lord.” “This is our tribute.” Yet Ironbone’s eyes never left the Marine’s C-14 Gauss Rifle.
His throat bobbed.
“From today onward…” “The Gear Gang belongs to you.” “We know every tunnel, every black market, every gang territory, every maintenance shaft.” His voice dropped to a whisper.
“If…
if you would reward us with one of those rifles…” Leon glanced at the basket of rotten food.
Then at Ironbone.
Killing them would be easy.
Two Marines could wipe out the entire settlement in seconds.
But there was no point.
These people knew the Underhive.
They knew where to find salvage.
They knew which tunnels were safe…
And which ones led straight to death.
Guns could make people kneel.
But if you wanted them to work willingly…
You had to control the things they needed to survive.
Leon kicked the basket over.
Rotten mushrooms splattered across Ironbone’s clothes.
“You think this buys you bargaining rights?” Ironbone turned pale.
He didn’t dare wipe himself clean.
Leon looked toward the SCV.
“Big guy.” “Get to work.” “Process all this scrap.” The massive engineering vehicle rolled forward.
Its treads crushed the muddy ground before stopping in front of the metal pile.
Its mechanical claw grabbed a ruined electric motor.
The plasma cutter ignited.
Brilliant blue light flooded the street.
Gear Street fell completely silent.
Hundreds of scavengers hid behind scrap piles, barely daring to breathe.
They had seen machines kill before.
They had never seen one recycle garbage.
The intense plasma flame melted through the motor casing.
The softened metal was ripped apart piece by piece before disappearing into the SCV’s recycling chamber.
Sparks flew everywhere.
The sound of grinding metal echoed across the settlement.
Helena still hung from the mechanical arm.
The infection continued spreading through her body.
Her vision was fading.
Yet she never looked away from the yellow machine.
She had seen Tech-Priests before.
Those priests replaced half their bodies with machinery.
Repairing even a simple servo-skull required days of sacred prayers and blessed machine oils.
This machine…
Never prayed.
Never invoked a machine spirit.
It simply…
Cut.
Disassembled.
Smelted.
Reassembled.
As if centuries of Mechanicus doctrine meant absolutely nothing beneath its treads.
“What…” “…is he building?” Her voice was barely audible.
She couldn’t decide whether this was a lifesaving device…
Or some unimaginable heretical instrument.
Three minutes later…
The SCV powered down its plasma torch.
The sparks disappeared.
Standing in the muddy street was a silver-gray metal chamber nearly two meters tall.
Its exterior lacked the elaborate gothic carvings common throughout the Imperium.
Only clean white status lights…
And several glowing blue conduits pulsing beneath the surface.
[Temporary Water Purification Unit assembled.] Ada’s voice echoed inside Leon’s mind.
[Capable of processing low-grade industrial wastewater.] [Warning.] [Local water contamination exceeds safe human consumption standards by 470 times.] [Evaluation: Referring to this substance as “water” is not recommended.] Leon twitched.
“Then what do you call it?” [A mobile toxic chemical carrier.] “…Fine.” “You win.” Ironbone couldn’t hear Ada.
He only saw Leon staring confidently at the strange machine.
Leon pointed toward the filthy drainage ditch nearby.
“Big guy.” “Connect the pipes.” The SCV picked up several rusted drainage pipes.
One end disappeared into the polluted canal.
The other connected directly to the purification chamber.
Hummmmmm…
The machine came alive.
A deep mechanical vibration echoed from within.
The first stream of wastewater entered the filtration system.
Dark green.
Nearly black.
Covered with oily foam.
Seconds later…
A transparent outlet pipe on the opposite side released a single crystal-clear drop.
Then another.
Soon…
A steady stream poured into a silver container below.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
No one on Gear Street spoke.
These were people who regularly killed one another over half a cup of filtered water.
Every eye stared at the clear stream.
Ironbone’s bionic eye froze.
His lips trembled.
“…Water…” Not recycled sewage.
Not rust-flavored condensation.
Real…
Clear…
Pure water.
A small child peeked out from behind the crowd.
Just as he tried to step forward…
His mother hurriedly pulled him back.
Leon quietly observed everyone’s reactions.
Now he understood.
Guns inspired fear.
Water inspired obedience.
He picked up the silver container and handed it to Ironbone.
“Drink.” Ironbone stared at the cup.
His throat tightened.
He feared poison.
He feared refusing even more.
Finally…
He accepted it with both hands and took a careful sip.
His entire body froze.
Not because it was poisonous.
Because it was impossibly clean.
No metallic taste.
No acidity.
No rotten fungal odor.
Ironbone suddenly dropped to both knees.
Around him…
The scavengers knelt one after another.
“…A miracle…” Someone whispered.
“The Omnissiah has revealed Himself…” The half-augmented man in the filthy crimson robes slammed his forehead against the ground repeatedly until blood ran down his face.
Leon didn’t let them worship for long.
He placed the silver container beside the purification unit.
“If you want clean water…” “Work.” “If you want to stay alive…” “Follow my orders.” Ironbone immediately looked up.
“My lord!” “From this day forward, the Gear Gang belongs to you!” Leon pointed toward the remaining scrap pile.
“First.” “Keep bringing me scrap.” “Second.” “Map every sewer entrance, every gang territory, and every collapsed tunnel around Gear Street.” “Third.” He glanced toward the purification unit.
“Nobody touches this machine.” “I control the water.” Ironbone swallowed hard.
“Understood.” He immediately turned toward his stunned followers.
“Are you deaf?!” “The lord wants scrap!” “He wants maps!” “He wants workers!” “If anyone hides even one piece of metal…” “I’ll break both his legs myself!” Gear Street exploded into activity.
Some people rushed to gather salvage.
Others spread battered wooden boards across the ground and began sketching maps.
Many stood clutching pots and buckets, staring longingly at the purification unit.
Not one dared approach it without permission.
Leon checked the system display.
The latest batch of recycled scrap had increased his Mineral reserves.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Helena’s condition continued deteriorating.
The SCV carefully lowered her beside the entrance to the scrap fortress.
Black pus dripped steadily from the wound in her side.
The foul smell grew stronger every minute.
She forced herself to open her eyes.
Watching the people of Gear Street kneeling before the purification unit, she whispered, “They’ll begin worshipping you…” Leon stood over her.
“I don’t need worshippers.” “I need workers.” Helena’s lips moved slightly.
She wanted to argue.
The pain swallowed her words.
Leon crouched beside her.
“How much longer can you hold on?” She looked down at the dark purple veins crawling across her abdomen.
“According to Arbites regulations…” She struggled to breathe.
“…I should already have been executed.” Leon nodded.
“I didn’t ask about regulations.” “I asked how much time you have.” She remained silent for several seconds.
“…Not long.” “Then don’t die too quickly.” Leon stood and contacted Ada.
“Ada.” “How much longer?” [Target infection continuing to worsen.] [Estimated conscious survival time: 27 minutes.] [Total biological failure: optimistic projections not recommended.] Leon frowned.
“What are we still missing for the Medic?” [Resources remain insufficient.] [The Command Center logistics module can authorize a one-time Colonial Emergency Medical Support Protocol.] [Current materials and energy reserves remain below activation requirements.] Leon looked across the now-busy settlement.
Cart after cart of scrap metal continued arriving.
Maps slowly took shape across the wooden boards.
The purification unit continued producing fresh water.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
He exhaled slowly.
“Then we keep gathering.” “Meet the requirements before she dies.” [Recommendation: Increase local labor efficiency.] Leon glanced at the scavengers kneeling throughout the settlement.
“Isn’t that exactly what I’m doing?” [Efficiency remains below optimal levels.] [However, given their nutritional condition, they are already operating near biological limits.] Leon nearly laughed.
“You really don’t hold back.” [Statement of objective fact.] Ironbone hurried back carrying a filthy metal plate.
“My lord!” “We found an old sewer network map!” “East of here is the main wastewater channel.” “It leads directly to the abandoned treatment plant.” “No one goes there anymore.” “People always hear…
things…
beneath it.” Leon accepted the metal plate.
The map was crude.
But it showed the general layout.
When Helena heard the words treatment plant, her expression changed.
“That place…” She barely managed to speak before another mouthful of black blood spilled from her lips.
Leon looked at her.
“What’s there?” She struggled to breathe.
“The Arbites sealed that district years ago.” “There are old utility tunnels beneath it.” “And countless disappearances.” “If the Genestealer Cult is spreading…” “…there will be evidence there.” Leon lowered his eyes toward the map.
The treatment plant.
Old tunnels.
Missing people.
Potential Tyranid activity.
He needed resources.
Information.
And a way to save Helena.
Everything about the place screamed danger.
But if they didn’t go…
She wouldn’t survive much longer.
Leon tossed the map to one of the Marines.
“Prepare to move.” Ironbone blinked.
“My lord…” “Right now?” Leon looked at him.
“Would you rather wait until something crawls out of her stomach?” Ironbone immediately fell silent.
Leon pointed toward the purification unit.
“Keep collecting scrap.” “Water distribution continues.” “But if anyone touches that machine…” “I’ll cut off their hand.” Ironbone nodded frantically.
“Understood!” Leon turned toward Helena.
She could barely remain sitting upright.
But she was still breathing.
That was enough.
“Stay alive.” He said calmly.
“I haven’t gotten my investment back yet.” Helena looked at him.
Whether from pain…
Or sheer frustration…
The corner of her mouth twitched ever so slightly.
Leon turned away.
The SCV’s treads began rolling.
The two Marines raised their Gauss Rifles.
Behind them…
The steady sound of clean water continued echoing through Gear Street.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Ahead…
The tunnel leading toward the abandoned wastewater treatment plant stretched into endless darkness.
Cold.
Wet.
And waiting…
Like the open jaws of a monster.