Under the guise of a routine tax audit, Raynor personally led a strike team to conduct surprise inspections on two seemingly legitimate front-shops owned by the Blood Blade Gang. On the grounds of "suspected smuggling and accounting irregularities," he seized their inventory on the spot and froze their local credit accounts.
Before leaving, he confronted the livid leader of the Blood Blades. The man was fuming, surrounded by thugs who looked ready to draw steel, but none dared strike an Imperial official in broad daylight.
Raynor tossed a map fragment at the leader's feet—it was a sector map of the territory once held by the now-extinct Rust Gang. The sound of the paper hitting the floor was soft, but his voice was like ice.
"Things are getting tense lately. The higher-ups are watching the flow of credits very closely." Raynor paused, his gaze cutting through the gang leader like a scalpel. "Keep yourselves in line. Manage your people. Guard your stalls. And think long and hard about how the Rust Gang disappeared."
He leaned in closer. "Next time, it won't just be the Tax Bureau knocking."
The Blood Blade leader's pupils contracted. He looked at Raynor's uniform—a symbol of the Imperium's local authority—then at the map of the dead gang's territory. He swallowed his pride and his threats, retreating into the shadows of his shop. In the Hive, power often wore a uniform, and even the most violent criminal knew that fighting the administration was a quick way to meet the executioner.
Like a silent, expanding fungus, the Anvil Society steadily swallowed the vacuum left by the Rust Gang. Smuggling routes, material transfer points, and protection rackets quietly changed hands. Raynor didn't let the success go to the Butcher's head; he ordered absolute discretion. He scattered the new recruits and kept their operations deep in the dark.
The Blood Blade Gang's retreat was only temporary. Once they realized the "pressure from above" might have been a bluff, their greed reignited. They began gathering manpower to "educate" the upstart Anvil Society.
It was a fatal mistake.
Raynor had the Butcher feed them false assembly locations. He then guided Sarah's swarm to intercept the Blood Blade main force in a remote network of abandoned pipes. The slaughter was a mirror of the previous one: cold, efficient, and total.
The thugs didn't even see their killers before bone blades and acidic spores reduced them to organic scrap. The fungal carpets of the lower Hive absorbed the blood, and the bodies vanished into Sarah's ever-growing biomass reserves.
Within weeks, the Anvil Society had effectively, if silently, taken control of the District 7 underground. Raynor's official record at the Tax Office became a shining beacon of competence: "Successfully dismantled multiple smuggling rings, curbed black market weapon flow, and maintained regional tax stability."
These accolades earned him a promotion to Deputy Captain of the Tax Inspection Team for the entire district.
However, growth leaves tracks. Even with Raynor's caution, his nervous system—sensitized by his bond with Sarah—began to register a new sensation. In the crowded Hive streets, he felt the physical weight of a gaze.
Even gazes have weight in the 41st Millennium.
Realizing he was being tailed, he cut his activities short. The Butcher's informants confirmed his fears: unfamiliar faces were appearing in the district. They weren't gang muscle; they were low-profile, observant, and possessed a predatory aura.
"They don't look like they're looking for credits, Master," the Butcher reported. "They look like hounds. Cunning hounds."
Raynor realized immediately: The Inquisition, or at least the local Enforcers' specialized branches, were sniffing around. The Imperial hounds had finally been drawn by the "abnormal" scent of the lower layers.
He moved instantly to protect himself. He distanced himself from the Anvil Society and ceased all direct contact with Sarah, relying entirely on the System's remote messaging feature. But he knew the Inquisition was like a bulldog; once it smelled blood, it wouldn't stop until it found the source.
He needed a proactive cover.
He convened an internal meeting at the Tax Office titled: "Maintaining Stability in Lower-Level Production Areas to Protect the Tax Base."
"I have grave concerns," Raynor told his superiors, his face a mask of civic duty. "Recent inspections show an intensification of 'mutant rodent infestations' and unidentified pest activity in the lower pipe networks. This threatens public safety and, more importantly, contaminates the goods that drive our tax revenue."
He proposed a joint "Cleanup and Disinfection" operation with the Ministry of Justice. To his utter shock, his proposal gained a massive backer: a noble Lord of Necromunda.
In a private briefing, the noble revealed a terrifying truth: the upper spires were aware of potential Tyranid infiltration. They wanted Raynor to use his "patrol" as a front to investigate the extent of the Xenos presence, giving the aristocracy time to prepare their escape or defense.
Raynor had to suppress a manic urge to laugh during that meeting.
Raynor, the man "taking care" of a Hive Warrior, was now the officially sanctioned hunter of Xenos. Thanks to Sarah's reporting on her "rivals," Raynor led his teams to raid several Genestealer Cult hideouts. He was cleaning out the competition using the Emperor's own resources.
The noble Lord showered him with praise. Raynor's authority swelled to a terrifying degree; he was granted command of a Planetary Defense Force (PDF) detachment—thousands of armed men—to "combat the alien threat."
To better feed Sarah, he assigned Anvil Society members to his personal guard, tasking them with "battlefield cleanup." The gang members assumed the biomass recycling was just part of a black-market trade in mutant organs. No one questioned the Deputy Captain.
Under the very nose of the Inquisition, Raynor was feeding his Hive Warrior using the Imperial military.
[System Prompt]: Target "Sarah" shows significant approval for the host's ability to manipulate the dominant political structure for swarm sustainment. [Favorability: -15. Current Status: Rapidly Improving.]
The Inquisition's surveillance continued, but as Raynor's power grew and his "official results" piled up, the possibility of him being a heretic seemed to vanish in the eyes of his superiors. After all, who could be more loyal than the man who had personally purged ten Genestealer nests in a month?
It was a masterpiece of survival.