Datch's actions and words made Frank's pupils contract slightly.
Huh… this script isn't right! Normally, you should panic, protect the girl, threaten us, and then, before you, hit Lina—the girl who'd beg for help in tears. In the end, you look at the teary girl, feel pity, swear to love her forever, then trick her out of her money and abandon her.
Why do you act like you're her prince as soon as you show up!
Frank and his gang were momentarily speechless, not knowing how to proceed. After all, this job had been done countless times, but Frank was briefly stunned before quickly roaring furiously.
"If you admit it, pay her debt. You're responsible for all principal and interest. Otherwise, get your family ready to collect your corpse. Bring a bigger bag—it'll be hard to carry you out piece by piece."
Ha, your plan doesn't seem that great either. Is this the classic plot choice? Datch fiddled with his hat brim, looking like he knew everything.
Choice 1: Lose some money but avoid a fight.
Choice 2: Refuse to pay—trigger a combat event.
As the "Fourth Calamity," how could Datch just hand over money to evil? He grinned, raising a straight middle finger to the gang. "You dare ask me for money?"
"...!" Frank and his gang instantly showed angry faces, reaching for their holsters, ready to use force. But Datch was faster. In a flash of light, thunder crackled in his hand. He wasn't wearing power armor, but his Astartes body's extraordinary abilities were more than enough for these city thugs.
Frank and the other scavengers had undergone body modifications. Each was built like a mountain, muscles bulging. Judging by their size alone, they seemed even bigger and stronger than Astartes. But once the fighting started, it was clear their combat ability was a mere 3 out of 10.
Datch moved, wielding his warhammer and attacking the gang members. His form left blurred afterimages in the air. The arc of the warhammer swept out with a dull wind, the sound of air splitting sharp as a knife.
Bang! Crack!
The first thug's head split like a ripe melon. Red and white mixed, splattering on the wall in a radial pattern. Hmph! The hammerhead reversed, striking another's chest, shattering both armor and ribs, piercing the heart directly.
Zap! Zap! Some gang members pulled triggers, lasers and bullets grazing Datch's sides, leaving burn marks and bullet holes on the walls. But they were too slow, their aiming movements clear as slow motion to Datch. He dodged, rushed in, and swung the hammer down smoothly. With each blow came the sound of bones breaking and sudden, tragic screams.
The onlookers were seized with terror, fleeing like frightened mice. No one dared intervene in such a brawl, or even watch. In an instant, the supposedly invincible gangsters were turned into corpses, tragically so.
Frank, his chest half-smashed, desperately crawled away from the demon. Datch approached, picked up his warhammer, and smashed Frank's entire head to bits.
"Stop." After defeating the last enemy, Datch returned his warhammer to the game inventory. He turned and walked toward the short-haired girl NPC trembling on the ground.
Lina was frozen in terror, her face pale as paper, pupils dilated, body shaking uncontrollably.
"This AI is too realistic—even fear is vividly simulated," Datch thought, clicking the information bar.
[Lina, dancer at Wild Wolf Bar, in debt, involved with the scavenger gang.]
"So she's a dancer, huh." Datch stared, noting her body's curves even under simple clothes. "Tch, no matter how good the modeling is, there are still system limits."
He squatted down and asked, "Lina, can you share any information?"
Seeing Datch approach, Lina trembled, internally screaming, "Don't come near!" Frank's crew had told her there was a big shot in the hive, and if she cooperated, they could score. But who could have imagined—this man wasn't some troublesome big shot, but a killer.
The bio-enhanced gang bosses, Frank and Cavandee, were turned into rotten watermelons by a few hammer blows!
"Lina?" Datch called again, voice flat. "Anything you can tell me?"
"You... what do you want to know?" Lina's voice was tearful, her legs so weak she couldn't stand. She was so terrified she nearly lost control of her bladder.
"Scavenger gang," Datch spat. "Where are they from? Where's their HQ? Who's in charge?"
"I'll tell! I'll tell you everything I know, just don't kill me!" Lina almost screamed.
Datch was a bit puzzled by her reaction. Shouldn't she be grateful? Why was she still so scared? Whatever, just gather the intel.
Through Lina's stuttering, terrified account, Datch learned direct information about the scavenger gang. The Scavengers were a powerful gang rooted in the lower hives of Kobol, known for their brutality and control over casinos, bars, illegal underground fights, and narcotics. Rumor had it that a certain family was behind them, and part of their business had some kind of official sanction. Without protection, they wouldn't last long.
From Lina's explanation, the scavengers were just another hive gang: killing, seizing territory, smuggling, committing crimes, making girls like her dance and work the crowd. But digging deeper, Datch found something odd. Lately, the scavengers had been recruiting many homeless and unemployed, claiming to give them jobs and free medical care.
Datch instantly felt something was wrong. Are gangsters supposed to be nice?? That's black humor in both the Warhammer world and real life. Behind this, there's an 80% chance of Chaos, corruption, or Genestealer cults.
In this hopeless galaxy, most "uprisings" or "freedom movements" in the Imperium are either traitors or xenos. They love to shout lofty slogans—Genestealer cults often talk about "resisting power," "fighting oppression," "defending freedom," inciting people to rebel and attack planetary defenses. The endings of these rebellion stories are usually Warhammer endings.
The Imperium is dark, but at least treats you as a useful tool. You might even live thirty or forty years if you're lucky, until you wear out. If you join a Genestealer uprising and fail, your whole family will end up at the edge of a Tyranid digestion pool.
As for Chaos cultists, it's even more exaggerated. Some guy with a mustache will burst into a pub and give a passionate speech, starting with, "Comrades, the Imperium shouldn't be like this!" But the theme is always the same: how will Terra fall, and how will it happen?
After getting the information, Datch saw the minimap update automatically, lighting up an icon marked "Scavenger HQ."
"Thanks." He patted Lina's shoulder gently, making her tremble. "Take this—go home." Datch handed her some Throne Gelts, turned, and left quickly.
Lina, still paralyzed on the ground, was blank. This man didn't kill her, didn't ask for favors, even paid her debt. What kind of play was this?
…
Datch followed the minimap route, heading for the scavenger gang's HQ to find clues about who was sabotaging the Indomitus Crusade.
The lower hive streets were tangled and overlapping, twisting and turning like a giant maze formed over millennia of chaotic expansion. Fortunately, the minimap provided accurate navigation, and with Astartes-level stamina and speed, Datch reached his destination in minutes: an expansive abandoned warehouse.
The warehouse's exterior walls were crumbling, windows shattered, exuding a dangerous air. At that moment, ornate Orion gunships and two Valkyries flew in from afar, landing in the nearby clearing. The gunship's hatch opened, and well-equipped human soldiers filed out. An officer shouted for his men to act quickly, surround the warehouse, and seal the exits.
Soon, three tall, forbidden soldiers in golden power armor walked out of the gunship, followed by two silent nuns in black armor radiating a void-like aura, and a disaster-seer with a terrible face.
Datch raised an eyebrow in surprise. Unexpectedly, this ordinary gang business was also attracting the Imperium's top forces—Custodes and Silent Sisters.
Even more coincidentally, one of the three Custodians was the Dark Cell Warden, Heracleon.
Heracleon also spotted Datch, his eyes showing surprise beneath his golden helmet. He walked up to Datch and saluted. "Lord Nameless, are you here to investigate—specifically, the Crown of Thorns?"
"Crown of Thorns?" Datch was surprised—things were getting interesting. What kind of plot twist was this?
Heracleon explained, "The Crown of Thorns is one of the high-risk psychic relics stored in the Dark Cell. It houses an ancient, evil psychic entity. Whoever tries to wear the crown gradually has their mind corrupted, but they also gain twisted, powerful psychic abilities. Not long ago, during a riot in the Dark Cell, this item was lost by accident. We've been tracking its whereabouts and recently received a tip it fell into the hands of the scavenger gang. We're here to recover it."
Datch's expression showed he understood. Since he gave no reply, Heracleon said nothing more, turning to issue attack orders.
The three Custodians and two Silent Sisters broke through the front. The human soldiers helped block and intercept any escaping gang members. As the troops surged in, the air was torn by the roar of boltguns and energy weapons, mingled with short, tragic screams from inside. The resistance was crushed before the Custodes.
When Datch entered, traces of battle were everywhere. Many bodies lay on the ground—all gang members. The warehouse interior was darker and more spacious than it appeared, with a sunken floor forming passageways leading to a huge underground hall. In the middle stood a high dais filled with heretical technology, cables and pipes winding like living veins to a throne on top, which radiated an ominous psychic wave.
But the truly shocking sight was in front of the throne: thousands of men and women stood silently, eyes blank, faces numb, like soul-less puppets. They clustered together, forming a silent, eerie sea of people.
On the high throne sat a man wearing a twisted, thorny metal crown, arms spread wide, as if preaching evil, his eyes burning with inhuman psychic fire, absorbing something.
"Another madman consumed by power," Heracleon's voice was icy as he stared at the scavenger boss. "His mind is enslaved by the crown's will, and these innocent people are his feed and slaves. But now that the game's up," Heracleon gripped his power halberd, "it ends here."
Datch didn't join the subsequent purge. Three Custodians, two Silent Sisters, and the well-trained human auxiliaries soon slaughtered all remaining gangsters and the enthralled civilians. The scavenger boss, wearing the Crown of Thorns, was also defeated and forcibly contained.
After the Silent Sisters left, the disaster-seer used psychic power to probe the scavenger boss's memory, discovering an important clue: the enemy had picked up the Crown of Thorns at their door, with a small instruction manual beside it explaining how to use it.
At this moment, a glowing clue appeared in Datch's deduction space: [Behind the scenes, a mastermind is nurturing gangs—what are they plotting?] A huge, secretive force, like a hunting spider, had spun its web deep in Terra's hives. They carefully selected, covertly funded, and even sent forbidden items to foster gang development and create a source of chaos. This was not ordinary criminal expansion, but the start of a terrifying conspiracy.
The masterminds cared nothing for the victims or suffering of the hive dwellers—they saw their pain and death as inevitable losses in their scheme. "No ordinary traitors now—a strong hand is needed," Datch thought. Once the truth was revealed, all involved criminals must be judged and punished.
As the Custodes secured the scene and the Crown of Thorns, Datch, sensing the clues, turned to leave.
"Hoverbike," he called, summoning his bike and transforming into a streamer, following the minimap to the next clue point.
…
The next stop was a junction of sewage purification pipes in the lower hive. When Datch arrived, the conspiracy was coming to a head. A man in a crumpled, stained officer's uniform was tied to a rusty railing. A killer in a tight combat suit was torturing him for a confession.
"Where is it? Tell us and you'll die happy."
During the interrogation, the killer expertly flayed the man's skin and exposed his nerve bundles, his screams echoing through the subterranean space.
Watching this, Datch ate a frog candy, transformed into a frog, and croaked nearby. The killer, distracted, came closer out of curiosity. In the next instant, Datch shifted from frog to fully armed Astartes. Before the assassin could react, a ripper power claw pierced their chest, lifting them like a ragdoll, blood spraying as their life drained away.
Datch flicked the body aside, letting it crash into a pipe with an empty echo. He switched back to his detective suit, using a golden hammer to heal the wounded man. Once the man recovered, Datch habitually clicked his info bar.
[Apa Klein, Level 14 Examiner, Administratum. Reviews reports of abnormal activity. Came into contact with dark truths and was hunted.]
"Apa Klein," Datch squatted down, staring at him. "Tell me—why are you being targeted?"
Apa Klein still trembled, eyes rolling in fear, babbling incoherently.
"Uh... it's the Administratum, the system... I tried to report a problem with the investigation system! No, someone said it was 'wrong'!"
He swallowed hard, struggling to organize his words.
"My job... I review 'Abnormal Activity Reports' from the lower hives and sub-areas. Lately... in recent months, I noticed an abnormal spike in reports of suspicious clusters, disappearance patterns, and... sightings of non-human creatures! According to Terra Internal Security Regulation and Abnormal Activity Handling Procedures, such reports must be flagged as 'suspected xenos/heresy activity' and immediately reported for investigation! But... all these reports were marked 'insufficient information, archived' or 'local gang activity, low priority—forwarded to Law Department.' Not a single one was investigated!"
"At first, I thought it was a system glitch or bureaucratic delay, but... following internal audit procedures, I submitted a 'Process Exception Opinion.' The next day, my superiors hinted I should 'stop over-interpreting data and just do my job.' But I couldn't resist my curiosity. Using my authority, I traced the file flow and... discovered higher-level intervention was suppressing these exception reports!"
Apa Klein's face was terrified. "My private investigation was quickly discovered. First, my data access was suddenly revoked, then my residence was broken into. Realizing something was wrong, I hid here—but they still came, trying to kill and silence me."
With Apa Klein's story, a new clue surfaced in Datch's deduction space: [The Administratum is turning a blind eye to abnormal activity in the lower hives, suppressing and erasing those who know. Has the Genestealer cult corrupted high officials, or is there another secret?]