Kian Voss navigated the transit pipes for a few minutes before reaching the deploynt threshold. Currently, his Tactical Cogitator allowed him to choose between three primary "Raids": The Northern Trenches, The Chemical Reactor, and the Killing Grounds.
Equipped with his Grade-3 Flak set, the new Long-pattern Sniper Rifle, a hundred rounds of heavy ammunition, and a standard assortnt of dical kits and stimms, Kian was ready. His primary goal was to grind his Sniper Proficiency; his secondary goal was to scavenge enough "trash" to refill his depleted bank account. Nephal's bounty on Alchem-Hounds was still active, and the Killing Grounds were the best place to find them.
He selected the Killing Grounds—the gargantuan strategic warehouse where the Syndicate war had stalled.
[DEPLOYING OPERATIVE]
Location: Sector S-65 Strategic Vault
Arrival: 10... 9... 8...
The world blurred, and Kian materialized in a vast space where visibility was choked by industrial haze and shadows. This sector was the size of dozens of football stadiums, filled with skeletal gothic pillars that rose like the legs of titans. Once a vital supply hub for the Hive, it was now a hollowed-out graveyard of shipping containers and rusted machinery—the perfect arena for gang warfare.
Kian checked his bearings. He was on the periphery of the vault, near a cluster of modular hab-units welded to the far walls. These had likely been the living quarters for the warehouse laborers.
Before moving, Kian reached into his tactical rig. He cracked an Adrenal-Strength Stim and an Endurance Bolster.
The chemical cocktails hit his system like a thunderbolt. He felt the synthetic hormones surge through his blood, his muscles twitching with "Grox-strength." He then ate a Sanctified Ration, engaging the [Emperor's Benediction] buff.
[CURRENT ATTRIBUTES]
Strength: 19
Endurance: 20
ntal Clarity: 25
Status: Transhuman State (Approx. 200% human peak).
With his perception heightened, the oppressive darkness felt less heavy. He could see movent in the shadows that a normal man would have missed. Kian sprinted toward the hab-units.
The lower levels were a waste of ti. They had been ransacked by "Sump-rats" for centuries. He kicked in five doors and found nothing but dust and the occasional rusted bolt.
"The dregs have licked the bones clean down here," Kian muttered.
He stepped back and looked up. The hab-units weren't just on the floor; they were stacked like honeycombs up the side of the sixty-ter-tall vault walls. They were connected by a network of rusted iron catwalks and stairs. However, the stairs leading to the highest tier—the top ten percent of the wall—had buckled and fallen away long ago.
The top-tier rooms were isolated, hanging in the dark like abandoned bird nests.
Kian's eyes narrowed. The windows on those top rooms were still intact. No broken glass, no graffiti. They were a "Dead Zone"—inaccessible to the average scavenger.
He began his climb. He sprinted up the iron stairs, his heart pumping with stimm-fueled power. By the ti the stairs ended, he was fifty ters above the floor. The tal groaned under his weight, the ancient rivets screaming in protest.
He reached the edge of the broken landing. His target—a cluster of pristine hab-units—sat on a platform five ters away and three ters higher. Between him and the prize was a sixty-ter drop into the lightless sump of the vault floor.
One slip, and he'd be testing the respawn tir.
Kian checked his stats. Strength 19. Endurance 20.
"Physics is just a suggestion," Kian whispered.
He backed up to the very end of his landing, giving himself eight ters of runway. He took a deep breath, held it, and exploded forward.
Clang-clang-clang-clang!
The tal stairs shook violently under his boots. He reached the edge and launched himself into the void. For a split second, he was airborne, a lone silhouette against the dim green glow-globes of the vault.
He crossed the five-ter gap with room to spare, his hands slamming into the edge of the upper platform. His fingers, strengthened by the stimms, dug into the rusted plasteel like talons. He perford a smooth, powerful pull-up and rolled onto the platform.
He stood up and exhaled, looking back at the drop. "Masterful traversal."
He turned to the first door. It was locked with a high-grade chanical bolt. Unlike the lower rooms, this place slled of "Ti"—that still, dusty scent of a place that hasn't seen a living soul in a century.
He forced the door open. Inside, everything was perfectly preserved. This wasn't a laborer's hovel; it was a Factorotum's Quarters—the office of a mid-level Administratum overseer.
Kian tore through the desk drawers and lockers. In a reinforced tal lockbox beneath the bed, he found it.
It was a heavy, 12-inch device encased in hardened, rubberized plastic. A Logistics Data-Tablet.
Kian's heart rate spiked. High-end electronics were the "Gold Bar" of the 41st Millennium. He checked the System's overlay.
[Item: Personal Administratum Terminal]
Estimated Value: 120,000 Agri-Scrips.
Description: A rare and valuable cogitator used by middle-managent to track logistics, store non-classified files, and manage personnel.
Status: Encrypted.
System Note: Base value is 120k. If the encryption is broken and the data is recovered, the value may increase significantly depending on the contents.
Kian's jaw dropped. 120,000. This was his first "Red Tier" drop—a single item worth more than his entire current net worth.
He carefully tucked the data-tablet into the center of his backpack, padding it with spare rags. The System's prompt was clear: this place belonged to soone with authority.
There might be even more high-value relics inside!
☆☆☆
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