Back in the Sanctum, Kian Voss went through his post-raid ritual. He took a cold shower in his new wash-unit, scrubbed the industrial gri from his skin, and washed his clothes. He hung his grey-white worker's fatigues over the electric heater to dry, standing naked in the warm glow of the vault.
He noticed the fabric was fraying at the knees and seat. His boots were also nearing total structural failure. I need to find a tailor or a cobbler, he thought. If I die out there, I lose everything—I need a stockpile of civilian clothes just so I don't have to respawn as a naked ghost.
He placed a grooved iron plate over the heater and poured a bottle of Sanctified Oil onto it. He scooped out a portion of nutrient starch and began frying "pancakes."
As he ate the oil-crisped starch-cake, a new status icon flickered in his peripheral vision.
[STATUS: THE EMPEROR'S BENEDICTION]
Description: The light of the Master of Mankind shields your soul. Doubt and cowardice are burned away. The warp cannot touch your mind; the daemon cannot find purchase in your flesh.
Effects: ntal Clarity 5 | Corruption Level: 0.000%
Duration: 2 Hours.
The effect was instantaneous. A wave of profound peace washed over him. In the 41st Millennium, everyone carried a tiny seed of "Warp-Taint"—usually 0.001%, the byproduct of living in a galaxy full of nightmares. But with the "Holy Pancake" in his system, that taint was purged. He felt clean, his soul as bright as a solar flare.
He quickly fried the rest of his starch, consuming another bottle of oil to produce fifteen Sanctified Rations. He stored them in his clean ceramite vat and then slept a deep, dreamless sleep.
[INVENTORY AUDIT - KIAN VOSS]
Attributes: Strength 13 | Endurance 14 | ntal Clarity 12
Weaponry: [The Vindicatus] Battle Rifle, [The Bulldozer] Auto-Shotgun, Kantrael Lasgun, 2x Autoguns, 15mm Stub-Cannon.
Ammo: 340x 8.9mm Standard, 76x 8.9mm AP, 421x Autogun Slugs, 80x 35mm Shells.
Consumables: 78x Tox-Stimm, 24x Onslaught-Stimm, 2x Sanctified Oil, 15x Sanctified Rations.
Armor: Grade-3 PDF Flak Set.
Credits: 45,890 Agri-Scrips.
Kian dressed, holstered his sidearm, and headed back to the Fertilizer Syndicate.
The sector was unusually quiet. The bustling crowds were gone; many had died in the Sump-War, and others were hiding from the fallout. Kian reached Nephal's shop. The dealer looked as though he'd aged ten years overnight.
Kian dumped the three Frenzy-Spur Manifolds onto the counter. "Fridge. Now. And I believe I have a bounty to collect."
Nephal's hollow eyes twitched. He signaled his n to move the refrigerator to Kian's trolley and counted out 20,100 scrips—the paynt for 63 junkies and 4 Chem-Sows.
Kian pocketed the money, but as he turned to leave, Nephal called out.
"Wait, Voss. The war isn't over. Boss Iron-Eye is spending the entire treasury to hire fresh at. We're going back in a month. But the Alchem-Hounds breed faster than us. Their 'Mother' uses Tox-Stimms to lure in every addict in the Sump. We need to cut off their recruitnt."
"And how do we do that?" Kian asked.
Nephal pulled a heavy, 35kg rucksack from under the counter. It was bristling with industrial-grade detonators. "Take this to the heart of the Hound's warren. Find the largest concentration of new recruits and... disrupt the process. Ten thousand scrips if you blow them to the Warp."
Kian grinned. A suicide run. This was a classic "Naked Raid."
[MISSION ACCEPTED: RECRUITNT DRIVE-BY]
Objective: Detonate the Bomb-Pack in the Alchem-Hound Warren.
Reward: 10,000 Agri-Scrips | Nephal Rep: Rank 2.
Kian rushed back to his Sanctum and dropped all his gear—armor, guns, even his boots. He wrapped a single piece of rag around his waist for modesty and grabbed the bomb-pack.
He deployed through the Reactor Map, using the breach the Chem-Sow had made. It led directly into the Sump-Warren, the headquarters of the Alchem-Hounds.
The air here was a neon-green fog of chemical waste. Skeletal addicts wandered the corridors like zombies. In the center of the sector, a massive recruitnt drive was underway. Thousands of junkies were crowding around a central pulpit where Alchem-Gangers were handing out free "Welco Vials" of Tox-Stimm.
Kian, completely naked and carrying only the massive rucksack, sprinted into the crowd.
In the chaotic press of starving addicts, no one cared about a naked man. They were all pushing forward, desperate for their next hit. Kian wove through them like a mud-eel, heading for the very front.
He reached the long processing tables. A Chem-Ganger handed him a needle. "You're a big one, boy. Ready to serve the Mother? Take this and you'll feel like a god."
Kian knocked the needle aside. "I don't need your trash! I'm here for the King!"
The ganger blinked. "The King? Which King?"
Kian jumped onto the table, standing tall before the crowd of thousands. He looked at the detonator cord in his hand and realized he needed a punchline. He rembered a holovid parody from his old life—sothing about an absurd monarch in space.
"FOR THE SPACE KING!" Kian roared at the top of his lungs.
He yanked the cord.
Thirty-five kilograms of industrial high-explosive detonated. Kian Voss didn't feel a thing; he was vaporized before his brain could process the sound.
Eight hours later, Kian sat up on his cot in the Sanctum. He was naked, his skin tingling with the strange sensation of a fresh respawn.
He got dressed, grabbed a fresh Lho-stick, and strolled back to Nephal's shop.
Nephal nearly fell off his chair. His jaw dropped, eyes bulging as he stared at the man who should have been a fine red mist. "Voss? But... my scouts... they said the entire recruitnt hall was leveled. They said nothing survived!"
Kian leaned over the counter and held out his hand.
"Pay up. The Space King sends his regards."
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