I read through the report in front of me, a frown on my face. With the help of the others, we've spread deeper into Tertium and managed to rescue more and more people. But they've also noticed something—something deeply disturbing.
The PDF has started killing people in the underhive. They even used a tank to destroy part of it.
That's why the number of refugees grows by the day. At first, it was only fifty. Now, after ten days, we've rescued two hundred and seventy people. Most of them are malnourished people. The Sanctuary's population has passed a thousand.
Because of the increase in population, I can't leave the base. I have to manage the expansion and upgrades of the base myself. The others help, which speeds things up, but with the constant influx of refugees, there's always more to build and organize. It takes almost all my time.
At least there's a reward for it.
|Congratulations! Your safe zone has reached 1000 population! You receive 2 Silver Tickets.|
I press the roll button and wait a few seconds.
[Cottonmouth]
|Trash Familiar|
A smart cottonmouth snake companion, there is not much else about it. They are at the peak of what a cottonmouth snake could be and are smarter than average, but that's about it.
I blink. Huh? This is my first trash-grade reward since I received the Chaos Gacha. Does that mean my luck is good? Or is it not good because I received this from a Silver Ticket? Or maybe it's just because I rarely get lower-level tickets. Still, getting a trash reward from a Silver Ticket is a shame.
I shake my head and use the second ticket.
[Tinker - Drones]
|Rare Ability|
Allows you to build technological constructs or contraptions related to drones, be it surveillance drones, turret drones, building drones, etc.
I blink again at my new power. I now have six ability slots, and I decide to slot in all my Tinker abilities. As I do, a rush of knowledge floods my mind. Four Tinker abilities merging together, sparking dozens of new ideas.
Almost without thinking, I reach for the pile of scraps beside me. Using [Assembly] power, I start creating. First up: better surveillance drones. Each one carries a scanner directly linked to the base's computer network, mapping the area in real time and providing a live feed to our operators.
The drones run on solar energy and can operate on a full battery for sixty hours. I decided to make four of them—two to handle active scouting and mapping, two as backups.
When that's done, I turn to base defense. I design turret drones—heavy weapons meant to stop vehicles. Using the knowledge I gained from disassembling a lasgun, I create a larger version. It's more powerful, using the same energy principles but firing at a slightly lower rate than a regular lasgun.
It's not quite a Heavy Lasgun, but it's close—more like a Long-Las with a lasgun's fire rate. Stronger, faster, deadlier, but requires more energy to fire.
The other downside? Size. It's bulky and heavy, which makes it slow and limits flight altitude. Slow and bulkier, in exchange for massive firepower.
In practice, it's more of a stationary sentry than a mobile turret. It can move, but it's better as a defensive emplacement. It can be used as a mounted turret that is manned by humans or an automated sentry.
Still, that doesn't mean I won't make a mobile version. I design smaller patrol drones next—compact, quick, meant to scout areas outside surveillance range. They're armed with four laspistols, short-range but high in burst firepower. They have lighter armor, but they can fly at high speed and have high maneuverability.
Now I just need more materials to mass-produce them, and we will have an army of drones to fuck shit up.
== Line Break ==
|3rd POV|
"Fire! Kill them all!"
A man roars as he fires into the soldiers protecting a makeshift fort in the middle of a massive tunnel. This is the last line of defence the PDF creates to hold the line. Behind him, a horde of humans—or what used to be humans—charges forward. Their bodies are covered in boils and oozing pus. The infected. Nurgle's blessed humans.
The defenders hold the line, lasguns flashing, but the infected don't care. The beams sear and wound, but they keep coming. Even the shots that should blow off limbs now take two hits to blow off the limb.
"Hahahaha! Can you feel it?! Can you feel his blessing?!"
A massive figure strides through the chaos, laughing. His plasteel armor glistens with filth, and he grips a man's severed head in one hand and holds a Nurgle's Blessed stubber in another. Lasfire splashes against his body, wounds sealing instantly under Nurgle's rot-gifted regeneration. Grinning wide, he steps closer to the barricade.
His body weeps pus that evaporates into a thick green gas drifting toward the defenders.
The captain on the line watches in horror as his soldiers collapse one by one. The gas kills them within seconds—and then reanimates them. The dead rise again, groaning, clawing, attacking their former comrades. They open their mouths and start to bite their former comrades. Their infected body is filled with Nurgle's Blessing, which makes their bite stronger than before, enabling them to tear flesh.
"By the Throne…"
He mutters and fires his hellpistol, blasting apart the infected lunging toward him. He draws his chainsword and cleaves another fallen soldier, now turned infected.
"Watch out for that gas! Masks on!"
He shouts and pulls his own mask into place. Then he grabs his vox unit.
"This is Captain Taro of the Squad 1152-B! We need reinforcements! Out of seven hundred soldiers, only two hundred remain! We can't hold more than fifteen minutes! Requesting backup or permission to retreat!"
Static. Then a reply crackles through.
"This is General Gerrald von Vindure. You do not have permission to retreat, Captain. Fight to the last man. The Emperor commands it! It is your duty to hold the line! The heretics are attacking the main road to the Spire—we cannot spare soldiers. Perform your duty, Captain."
Taro grits his teeth and shoots another heretic through the skull. He knows he has two choices: die here or flee and face execution later. Either way, the Imperium will see him dead.
Five more minutes of fighting. Then he makes his choice.
He's about to order the retreat when a new voice cuts through the vox.
"This is Kael, leader of the Sanctuary. We're sending reinforcements. Don't shoot us. We're coming from the west. Two minutes until arrival. Hold the line."
He doesn't know who the Sanctuary is—but any help is better than none. He takes his vox unit and says.
"Roger. We will hold the line."
He looks at the remaining soldiers and roars.
"You heard that, men?! Reinforcements are coming! Hold the line and we'll live through this! Fight!"
"Yes, sir!"
The soldiers rally. They grit their teeth and fight harder—firing, stabbing, slashing at the relentless infected. Hope burns again.
And then hope arrives.
From the western tunnel, a swarm of drones bursts into the open—fifty small ones firing lasers from four rotating barrels, twelve larger ones bringing heavier firepower. An army of two hundred soldiers follows close behind, guns blazing. Lasguns, stubbers, even grenade launchers roar in unison.
The man leading them raises his hand—and unleashes a torrent of white fire.
It sweeps across the battlefield, washing over both friend and foe. Taro braces for pain, but the flames don't harm him—instead, the infected scream. The fire consumes them completely, devouring both flesh and the sickly green gas around them. The miasma writhes against it, but the flames eat it away, purifying the air.
For the first time since the battle began, the infected scream in pain.
Taro stares in awe as the man walks closer through the cleansing fire, smiling—a confident, reassuring smile.
"My name is Kael," he says. "We're here to help."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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