The hell gun scread.
The reinforced alloy barrel heated instantly, tal expanding from the sudden thermal stress. Inside the muzzle, scorching light blood like a miniature sun.
A lance of incandescent energy erupted from the weapon—coherent light hot enough to punch through tank armor like wet paper.
Kingpin's eyes widened mid-leap, his expression transforming in a fraction of a second.
Pure terror replaced cold confidence on that distorted face.
He crossed his massive arms instinctively, trying to shield himself from what was coming.
It made no difference.
The body that the Underground King had spent decades perfecting—tempered by iron discipline, reinforced with occult rituals—lasted less than a tenth of a second.
The hell gun's beam carved through him effortlessly.
The stench of burning at and vaporized blood filled the air imdiately. Kingpin—tall as a giant, weighing over a hundred sixty kilograms—simply ceased to exist from the chest up.
His entire upper torso disintegrated into charred fragnts and smoking viscera, scattered across expensive hardwood and Persian rugs.
Kingpin's lower half—legs, hips, and the grueso remains of his abdominal cavity—crashed to the floor directly in front of Nolan. Internal organs spilled across polished wood, still steaming.
Nolan exhaled forcefully behind his gas mask, the filters rasping with the motion.
He stared down at the exposed lumbar spine jutting from the bisected corpse. The hell gun in his hands continued humming, its cooling systems working overti to dissipate the heat.
A low chanical whine erged from the weapon's housing.
Nolan shook his head slightly, almost disappointed by how quickly it had ended. He reattached the hell gun to his battery pack with practiced efficiency.
Then he stepped carefully over the spreading pool of blood and viscera, boots squelching through the ss, and made his way to the chessboard.
He looked down at Bullseye Lester's corpse—skull crushed, face destroyed beyond recognition.
As he watched, sothing strange happened. With the host's death, so chanism had triggered. The Mindshackle Scarab reactivated, consuming Lester's body from within.
The flesh carbonized rapidly, turning black and brittle. The corpse began disintegrating, crumbling like ash.
"Necrons are so wasteful. Single-use mind control devices..."
Nolan frowned, watching the technological marvel destroy itself.
He'd hoped to recover the scarab intact. Mind control technology that advanced would be invaluable, even if he couldn't fully understand its chanisms.
But apparently the Necrons treated such wonders as disposable equipnt. Use once, let it self-destruct. Typical xenos arrogance.
Nolan sighed and ntally added it to his salvage wishlist. Maybe the simulator would grant him one eventually.
He turned his attention to more imdiate concerns and began systematically searching Kingpin's penthouse.
Ten minutes later, behind an expensive oil painting of so incomprehensible modern art piece, Nolan found what he was looking for.
A hidden safe, heavy-duty construction, completely embedded in the wall.
Nolan glanced at the reinforced tal door. Then he looked down at the chainsword hanging from his belt, still crusted with dried blood and tissue.
He shook his head and pulled out his phone instead, tapping the screen several tis.
Then he simply stood beside the painting, apparently admiring the artwork while he waited.
Click, click, click.
The elevator in the penthouse suddenly whirred to life, chanical sounds increasing in volu as it ascended.
A bell chid. The doors slid open.
UR-025 erged, optical sensors pulsing with pale blue light, tal arms swinging as it rushed forward at sprinting speed. It skidded to a halt behind Nolan and leaned forward respectfully.
"Omnissiah, your loyal servant has arrived. Do you require assistance?"
"What's the situation downstairs?" Nolan asked without turning around, still apparently studying the painting.
"Since you eliminated most of Kingpin's forces personally, Madam Gao's advance is proceeding smoothly. So pockets of resistance remain, but they won't hold out much longer."
UR-025 chanical voice carried satisfaction, as if proud of its master's accomplishnts.
"Good. Open this for ." Nolan nodded toward the safe.
"A trivial matter. As you wish."
UR-025 straightened and turned its attention to the heavy safe. The blue lights in its optical sensors flickered and pulsed—scanning the internal structure, mapping the locking chanisms, analyzing weak points.
Nolan finally turned away from the painting, curious to see how the AI would demonstrate its lock-picking capabilities.
He expected UR-025 to brute-force the combination through exhaustive password attempts. Or perhaps hijack the electronic components via wireless connection.
Instead, UR-025 simply stepped forward.
Its ten tal fingers plunged into the thick tal door like it was cardboard, punching through reinforced steel with casual ease.
Then it yanked.
The entire tal door tore free from its housing with a screech of tortured tal. Bolts snapped. Concrete crumbled. UR-025 held the door up like a trophy.
That's... technically a solution.
But how was this any different from Nolan just cutting it open with his chainsword?
Nolan's eyelids twitched behind his mask. He fell into pointed silence.
UR-025 seed to notice his unspoken criticism. Still holding the door, it spoke in a slightly embarrassed tone.
"My lord, the safe's internal chanisms are entirely chanical. Since there's no self-destruct device, this thod was actually the simplest and safest approach."
"I see. When in doubt, use overwhelming force." Nolan's tone was perfectly neutral.
He stepped forward and examined the safe's contents.
No massive stacks of cash. No jewelry or obvious valuables that most criminals would hoard.
Instead, the safe contained neatly organized stacks of docunts—files sorted with ticulous care.
Nolan picked up one stack and flipped through it. The docunts detailed the organizational structure of New York's criminal underworld. Nas, positions, connections. Bank account numbers, offshore holdings, money laundering networks. Compromising evidence on key personnel.
The data was incredibly comprehensive. Detailed beyond anything law enforcent could have compiled.
If Nolan wanted, he could seize control of most major gangs in the city imdiately. All the leverage, all the contacts, all the financial pressure points—right here in his hands.
From this mont forward, Nolan could beco the uncrowned king of New York's underground.
He had absolutely no intention of doing so.
Nolan turned and tossed the docunts to UR-025 without ceremony.
If he hadn't accidentally gained control of Madam Gao through the Mindshackle Scarab, and if he didn't currently need muscle to handle certain matters, he would simply burn it all.
When facing the Tyranid swarm, you don't negotiate with the hive fleet. You don't try to control it. You exterminate it completely, burn the biomass, and sterilize the planet.
Sa principle here.
UR-025 caught the docunts and scanned them quickly. "I will handle this matter appropriately. Rest assured, my lord."
Nolan waved dismissively and continued searching for anything actually useful.
Several minutes later, buried between stacks of blackmail material and organizational charts, Nolan discovered several bearer bonds worth over twenty million dollars total.
Completely untraceable. Anyone could walk into a bank and exchange them for cash, no questions asked.
Nolan adhered to the principle that one should never return from a hunt empty-handed. He stuffed the bonds into his coat pocket without hesitation.
"Gather all the docunts. Prepare to withdraw." Nolan turned toward UR-025.
Before he finished speaking, UR-025 suddenly raised one finger and pointed toward the safe's interior.
"My lord, I believe there's sothing else you haven't noticed yet."
Nolan frowned and stepped aside, giving UR-025 room to work.
The AI moved forward quickly. A tal fingertip extended toward the top interior surface of the safe and sliced through the tal like butter, revealing a hidden compartnt.
A black hard drive—one inch thick, palm-sized, made of so exotic material—fell into UR-025's waiting hand.
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