Chapter 110: New Management
The Chimera's 40mm autocannon roared, sending a rhythmic sequence of high-explosive shells slamming into the primary iron gates of the Fertilizer Syndicate.
In a blizzard of shrapnel and heat, the gates were buckled and torn. Gangers who had been standing guard were vaporized instantly, their bodies reduced to a semi-liquid spray of red pulp against the curved plasteel walls.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
Kian Voss, gripping his tactical vox-unit, barked into the channel: "Drive! Breach the line and sweep the deck! Total dominance!"
Inside the hull, Sergeant Niklas slammed the gear-lever. The forty-ton armored beast let out a predatory snarl and surged forward. Within seconds, it hit sixty kilometers per hour.
The wounded gangers lying in the mud at the gate had no time to crawl away. They looked up with wide, hopeless eyes as the massive treads rolled over them. A chorus of wet, snapping sounds echoed through the conduit as the Chimera carved a "road of meat" into the Syndicate's heart.
The tank didn't stop at the threshold. It drove deep into the plaza, its weapons performing a lethal dance. The 40mm turret, the co-axial stubber, and the hull-mounted 20mm Lumberer all spoke at once.
Syndicate gangers rushing to defend their home were cut down before they could even level their pipe-guns. They were being hit by the combined fire-power of a front-line armored company, and they had no answer for it.
Behind the Chimera, Kian's strike team fanned out. Every man was a juggernaut in Grade-4 Carapace armor and sealed helmets. They moved in a lethal semicircle, their autoguns and light machine guns raking the side-pipes.
The Voss Logistics Train followed close behind, carrying crates of spare ammunition, medical kits, and two additional Lumberer-pattern heavy stubbers.
The two PDF machine-gun teams hopped off the trolley and set up their wheeled mounts in seconds. Within fifteen seconds of the breach, two more 20mm autocannons were roaring on the flanks, turning the Syndicate's plaza into a crossfire hurricane.
The Syndicate's warren was a massive industrial sprawl. At its center were four titanic chemical reactors, surrounded by a maze of pipes and gantry-works. The laborers—over fifteen hundred of them—lived in modular shacks welded to the machinery.
Fortunately, the toxic fumes around the reactors meant the Syndicate's warriors usually lived in a cluster of iron dormitories further out. This was Kian's primary target.
"Focus fire on the hab-blocks!" Kian ordered.
The Chimera's turret whirred, the barrel leveling at the three-story shack-complex.
THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!!!
The 40mm HE rounds tore through the thin sheet-metal walls as if they were parchment. Gangers who had been reaching for their weapons were blown apart by the overpressure.
Simultaneously, the two Lumberers raked the windows. 20mm slugs punched fist-sized holes through the iron siding, liquefying anyone hiding behind the "cover." In the tight confines of the Underhive, there was nowhere to hide from heavy ordinance.
The slaughter lasted three minutes. By the end, the Syndicate's primary barracks was a smoking ruin of twisted metal and perforated corpses.
Kian, holding his Lasgun, looked at the carnage and spat. "Move out! Rush B! Clear the remaining sectors!"
The team advanced around the central reactors. Because Shiv—a former high-level lackey—was acting as their guide, the Syndicate's defenses were transparent. They knew exactly where the armories were, where the lieutenants slept, and where the Boss kept his private stash.
The laborers at the reactors watched the armored column pass with hollow, terrified eyes. They didn't run. They simply huddled against the warm pipes, some of them continuing to work. They had seen "New Management" before. As long as the guns were pointed at the gangers and not the workers, they would wait for the smoke to clear.
Kian's column soon reached a familiar sight: the cluttered, metal-strewn shop of Nephal.
The dealer's shop was a fortress of junk. A dozen Syndicate "Gunners" had set up a barricade of scrap-metal plates and cargo crates, their rifles poking through the gaps. Nephal himself was crouched behind a plasteel counter, clutching a heavily modified Las-pistol.
When the Chimera rounded the corner and leveled its 40mm barrel at his front window, Nephal's pistol hit the floor with a heavy clack.
"Wait... is Boss Iron-Eye in trouble with the Inquisition?!" Nephal whispered, his sallow face turning translucent with fear. "Why is there a main battle transport in my lobby?!"
"Boss," a lackey stammered, "should we open fire?"
"Fire?! Are you a grox-brained idiot?!" Nephal shrieked. "Everyone! Drop your steel! We are surrendering to the Emperor's light!!"
Twenty gangers threw their weapons into the dirt and lunged out from behind the barricades, hands high, screaming for mercy.
The Chimera hissed to a halt. The rear ramp lowered, and a figure in black carapace armor stepped out. He unclipped his visor, revealing the face of Shiv.
Nephal stared, his jaw nearly hitting his chest. "Shiv? You... you're a PDF sleeper agent?!"
Shiv gave a cold, thin smile. "I'm a Voss Associate, Nephal. And you're standing in my boss's new territory."
Kian stepped out from behind the tank, walking up to Nephal and giving him a friendly, heavy-handed slap on the shoulder.
"Rudy... er, Nephal! Good to see you! How's the trade?"
Nephal looked at Kian, then at the tank, then at the small army of armored veterans. "Master Voss... I see. I... I suppose I should be calling you 'Boss' now?"
Kian laughed, gesturing to his troops. "Look at this guy. Sharp. I like a man who understands the shift in the market."
He turned back to the column. "Keep moving! We've got an old man with a bionic eye to visit. Nephal—stay here. You're part of the 'Voss Transition Team' now. Congratulations on your promotion."
They pushed toward the center of the warren. Curiously, they met no more resistance. The Syndicate's morale had been liquidated at the gates.
They reached the private residence of Boss Iron-Eye—a luxury hab-unit built atop the highest reactor gantry.
Kian was about to order the Chimera to level the building when a cold voice echoed from above.
"Looking for me? Why don't you look up, little rat!"
The team looked up. Standing on the reactor's observation deck was Iron-Eye. His red bionic optic was glowing with a feverish light as he looked down at the armored column.
"I knew this day would come," the Boss rasped. "But I didn't think you'd bring a tank. Tell me, Scav-rat... which Spire-Lord is paying for your leash?"
Kian stepped forward, unmasking. "No leash, Iron-Eye. Just an 'Audit.' Your business model was outdated. I'm here to update the ledger."
Nephal, eager to prove his new loyalty, jumped forward and pointed a finger at his former boss.
"How dare you speak to the Master of the Sump! Your crimes are many, Iron-Eye! You have ten counts of treason! First—"
Kian delivered a sharp kick to Nephal's backside, sending him stumbling. "Shut it. I don't need a list."
Kian's eyes narrowed. He noticed something in Iron-Eye's hand: a Munitorum-grade Remote Detonator. The kind used for industrial demolition.
Iron-Eye gripped the trigger tight. "You think you can just take my vats? I've rigged the cooling lines with enough krak-charges to turn this entire sector into a crater. You take one more step, and we all go to the Warp together!"
Kian didn't flinch. He stepped back and whispered to Silentium, who was standing nearby in his full Carapace suit.
"Can you hold the trigger-mechanism? Don't let him depress the button."
The Psyker clicked his visor open. He looked at the detonator in Iron-Eye's hand, then gave Kian a calm, unsettlingly simple OK gesture.
Under the gaze of the terrified Syndicate survivors, Kian took a Lho-stick, lit it, and took a long, slow drag.
Iron-Eye roared, his finger spasming on the button. "DIE, YOU BASTARD!"
He mashed the trigger. Nothing happened. He mashed it again, his face twisting with confusion. The button wouldn't move. It was as if the air around the device had turned to solid lead.
Kian flicked his Lho-stick away. In a movement so fast it was barely a blur, he raised his Lasgun. He didn't use the sights. He didn't even pause to breathe.
Bip.
A single ruby beam of sun-fire shrieked through the air. It hit Iron-Eye square between the eyes. His head didn't just bleed; it exploded like a dropped melon, spraying half-cooked brain-matter across the gantry.
The headless body teetered for a second before tumbling sixty feet to the metal floor with a wet thud.
Kian walked over, pried the detonator from the dead fingers, and removed the battery.
He turned to the gathered, silent crowd and offered a small shrug.
"Pre-aiming is as natural as breathing."
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