Chapter 141: The Logistics of Ammunition
Kian Voss marched his private army directly into the heart of the Alchem-Hounds' primary warren.
Like the Fertilizer Syndicate, the Hounds' headquarters was built around four massive reactors, but the layout was different. It was divided into an Inner Sanctum and an Outer Ring.
The Inner Sanctum was walled off with jagged sheets of scrap-plasteel, housing the reactors, the refinement labs, and the private hab-blocks of the gang's elite. The Outer Ring was a nightmare. It was a sprawling wasteland of rusted pipes and chemical fog where thousands of Chem-Wraiths wandered like zombies. These addicts lived only to inhale the "Green Nectar"—toxic industrial exhaust that vented directly into the air.
Kian observed the scene with a disgusted eye. The green gas wasn't just waste; it was a byproduct of the reactors that acted as a potent, aerosolized narcotic. The Hounds had intentionally left the exhaust pipes cracked, creating a permanent "drug-cloud" that kept the local population enslaved and docile.
As the Voss Guard rolled in—armored, armed, and looking like a professional kill-team—the Hounds' survivors immediately folded. They had seen the Matriarch lashed to the front of the Chimera; they knew the "Old Management" had been liquidated.
A skeletal, twitching man in a stained yellow robe stumbled forward to greet them.
"Great... hehehe... Lord... hehehe... Welcome to the Mother's house! Hehehe! How can I... hehehe... serve the new Master? Hehehehe!!"
The man couldn't stop giggling. His nervous system was clearly fried by a decade of huffing reactor fumes.
Kian delivered a sharp, heavy-handed slap that sent the man spinning three times before he hit the deck.
"Can you act with a modicum of Imperial dignity?" Kian barked through his vox. "Can you be 'Sunny'? This manic cackling makes me feel like you're plotting some petty, small-scale villainy. You're ruining the morale of our 'warm, Syndicate family'!"
The slap nearly dismantled the supervisor's jaw. He scrambled back to his knees, kowtowing frantically.
"Lord! Master! Forgive me! It is the fumes! Once you breathe the 'Gift,' the joy never leaves your lungs!"
Kian delivered a second "Corrective Blow."
"Look at this sector! The air quality is a violation of every regulation in the Lex Industrial! Look at that breach in the exhaust manifold—do you have no shame? You're dumping high-grade pollutants directly into the Hive!
"The Voss Syndicate is a community-focused organization. We care about the health of the collective! We protect the environment! You lot are truly the lowest tier of 'Dispossessed' scum for letting the air get this filthy!"
The supervisor stared at Kian in total confusion. The environment? In the Sump? He looked at the mangled Tox-Mother tied to the tank behind Kian. This man was talking like a high-born Spire-Saint while he paraded a human nugget on his armor.
Kian delivered a third slap to clear the man's confusion.
"Stop staring and listen to the New Directives! Direct Action One: Send a team of thralls to seal that exhaust breach immediately. We are 'Green Warriors' now. We protect the oxygen!"
The supervisor turned pale. "But Lord... if we seal the pipes, the Wraiths in the Outer Ring... they won't get their dose. Without the gas, they'll go into 'Frenzy-Withdrawal.' They'll tear the walls down!"
Kian slapped him one more time, nearly taking the man's head off.
"Are you questioning the Boss's 'Go-Green' initiative? Are you standing on the ship of the Old World? Are you a Techno-Heresy Obstructionist?!"
The supervisor didn't wait for a fourth slap. He scrambled to gather a team of welders. Using scrap-plate and arc-torches, they climbed the scaffolding and sealed the leaking manifolds.
The "Green Nectar" stopped flowing. The fog in the Outer Ring began to dissipate, sucked away by the Hive's primary ventilation systems.
Withdrawal hit the three thousand junkies within minutes. Without their chemical leash, their Docile-state shattered. They let out a collective, blood-curdling shriek and charged the Inner Sanctum, their clawed hands scratching at the iron walls.
Kian didn't even look back. He signaled his firing line.
The Voss Guard fanned out, rifles leveled. Kian raised his Lasgun and clicked the safety to 'Full-Auto.'
"Sanitize the Sector," Kian commanded. "PURGE!!"
The conduit erupted in a storm of lead and ruby light. The thousand-plus junkies were cut down in a display of industrial-scale pest control. Within ten minutes, the Outer Ring was a silent graveyard.
Kian shouldered his rifle and beckoned the terrified supervisor. "How many workers do we have left? And do they huff the fumes too?"
"1,700 laborers, Lord," the man stammered, his knees knocking. "The Mother kept them all 'Blessed' by the gas to ensure obedience."
"Useless," Kian sighed. "They're contaminated assets. We'll cycle them out for fresh blood from my other factory. Now, tell me... what is the primary alchemical product of this facility?"
The supervisor bowed low. "We produce Granulated Stabilizers, Lord. The chemical agents used to temper High-Velocity Propellants."
Kian's breathing hitched. Stabilizers.
In the 41st Millennium, gunpowder wasn't just a powder; it was a compound of high-energy granules. Stabilizers were the "Secret Sauce" that prevented ammunition from exploding in the barrel and allowed for higher muzzle velocities.
Stabilizers were the hardest part of the Munitions Tech-Tree. He already had the Plastique (Explosives) from the Fertilizer factory. Now, he had the Stabilizers.
Kian's fingers twitched with "Gamer-Greed."
If he could establish a brass-smelter, he wouldn't just be a moonshiner. He would have a full-scale, end-to-end Ammunition Factory. He could achieve total "Ammo-Freedom" and become the primary armorer for the entire Northern Sector.
"I need more territory," Kian whispered, his mind already mapping out the neighboring gang-warrens. "I need the whole Sump to be 'Voss-Pattern'."
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