Andy took a walk around Blood-Fang's office. He found that besides the blood-stained desk and a pile of unidentified biological specimens, there was a massive iron cabinet.
The cabinet door was slightly ajar, revealing a few garments that looked exceptionally thick. Andy walked over and pulled one out. Judging by the style, it was a fully enclosed, heavy-duty industrial hazmat suit. Made of specialized lead-lined canvas and thick rubber, it felt heavy in his hands—at least twenty kilograms. It was a dull, aged ochre-yellow, with a black radiation warning symbol printed on the chest, followed by a line of faded small print:
[For Hazardous Waste Disposal Only]
Clearly, it was industrial safety gear used by chemical plant workers in the past when handling nuclear waste or highly corrosive acids. Though it was a bit ugly and stained with years of old grease, it was exactly what Andy needed now.
If he was going to deal with the Beak Doctors, the skin of an Iron Man alone wouldn't cut it. Moreover, running around the Underhive with an exposed metal skeleton was far too conspicuous. In this ignorant universe, those who didn't understand would treat you like a rogue servitor and hunt you down, while those who did would report you to the Inquisition as an Abominable Intelligence. Only by covering your non-existent flesh would these people perceive you as a "normal" human.
Without hesitation, Andy slipped into the oversized ochre hazmat suit.
Zip—
The sound of the zipper was muffled and sluggish. The suit was sized large, likely originally designed for a brute like an Ogryn, fitting Andy's 2.3-meter-tall engineering frame perfectly. The wide hem draped down to his ankles, concealing his scratched hydraulic legs. The long sleeves covered half his palms, leaving only his cold metal fingertips exposed. Andy pulled the massive hood up over his head.
Instantly, his entire head receded into shadow. The sharp, angular contours of his metallic face vanished, leaving only the two faint blue glows of his electronic eyes flickering in the darkness. He walked to a cracked mirror to check his reflection.
Now, he looked like a ghost emerging from the deep wasteland, or a mysterious traveler tightly wrapped to hide bodily mutations.
"Not bad."
This look was common in the Underhive; no one would give it a second glance.
Whirrr—
Andy activated his internal cooling fans. The suit wasn't breathable, and after only two minutes, his core temperature began to rise. The cooling airflow blew out from the collar, puffing the hood out.
Just then, the noisy roar of engines echoed from outside the factory. Through the grime-covered window, Andy saw the familiar half-track truck leading a dozen tattered smaller vehicles charging in. Gamma-9 had arrived. The fellow was indeed obedient, bringing every piece of equipment they had that could haul cargo.
Andy turned and walked out of the office, standing on the protruding iron-grate platform of the second floor. Below, Gamma-9 had just jumped down from the truck's passenger seat. He still clutched his autogun tightly, his lone eye scanning the carpet of corpses and smoking craters with wary suspicion. Although Andy had said on the vox that it was handled, the carnage still made Gamma-9's heart skip a beat—especially the vats full of acid, whose stench made him cough uncontrollably.
"Gamma-9."
Andy called out, and Gamma-9 snapped his head up. In that instant, he saw the figure on the platform.
The dim yellow chemical lights cast a glow from above onto the towering figure. The ochre robes swayed slightly in the wind, and beneath the wide hood lay a heart-stopping darkness, save for two points of blue light—symbols of wisdom and calm—looking down upon the masses.
Gamma-9's brain stalled for half a second. Then, a massive surge of current surged through his cybernetic systems. By the Omnissiah, what was he looking at?
Through his cognitive filters, this was clearly an Archmagos's robe, the kind that only existed in scriptural illustrations! In the tenets of the Cult Mechanicus, flesh was weak and meant to be discarded. The higher a Magos's rank, the less flesh remained and the more mechanical augmentations they possessed. To avoid scaring commoners with holy mechanical structures and to maintain an air of mystery, true Archmagi often wore these fully enclosed robes, hiding everything in the shadow of divinity.
This ochre-yellow was the color of the Martian surface—the sacred color of the Mechanicus's ancestral home! This heavy texture represented absolute isolation from external filth!
Gamma-9's legs went weak, nearly bringing him to his knees. But he quickly realized they were on a mission and kneeling would waste the Magos' time. He forced himself to stand straight and performed a perfectly standard Cog-and-Gear salute across his chest.
"Praise... Praise the Omnissiah!" Gamma-9's voice went shrill with excitement. "Magos! Your brilliance makes even this sub-sector pale in comparison!"
The guards and porters who had just jumped off the trucks were initially trembling at the sight of the dead. Now, seeing their boss's mysterious and unfathomable new look, their spines straightened instantly.
Look at that! That's what you call "prestige"! The boss they followed wasn't just some tough guy; he was a grand figure who wore robes and probably cast magic!
Standing above, Andy was somewhat speechless at their reaction. If nothing else, the oil-drinkers' ability to overthink things was top-tier, saving him a lot of breath for explanations.
"Alright, alright, enough talk." Andy raised a hand and pointed at the acid-filled vats below. "See those barrels? Pump the acid out and fill them all up. Move gently; if anyone spills this on themselves, don't expect me to have medicine to fix them. And those crates of saltpeter—load them all onto the trucks."
At Andy's command, the men below scrambled into motion. Though Underhive dwellers were uneducated, their reverence for hazardous materials was etched into their bones. They carefully operated manual pumps found in the factory, filling plastic barrels with the yellow-green acid.
Andy walked down the stairs. In a corner of the workshop sat several portable cryo-chests. They were originally cargo the Skinners prepared for the exchange with the Beak Doctors tonight, now intercepted by Andy.
Andy flipped open the lid of one chest. A puff of white cold air escaped. Inside were dozens of hearts and livers, neatly packed in transparent bags. Though frozen solid, the bright crimson color was still unsettling. Andy closed the lid without expression. He had no moral qualms about burying or destroying these things. Since the people were already dead, these organs were merely protein and biological tissue. Using them to trade for medicine and technology that could save more lives was the logically optimal solution.
"Load these chests onto my jeep." Andy pointed to the smoking jeep parked at the gate.
Gamma-9 blinked. He had assumed these disgusting things were meant to be destroyed. "Magos... these are?" he asked cautiously.
"Cargo," Andy replied without further explanation. "Load them."
Gamma-9 didn't dare ask more. He hurriedly called the porters to lift the cryo-chests into the jeep's back seat.
All the chemical raw materials were loaded. The leaf springs of the half-track truck were flattened, and the tires were bulging under the weight. This haul was enough for Andy to produce tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition or several hundred kilograms of high-energy explosives.
"Gamma-9." Andy sat in the jeep's driver's seat, his bulky yellow figure nearly filling the entire space. "Take the convoy back first. Hand these materials to Ball and have them start the purification immediately."
Gamma-9 nodded vigorously. "By your command, my Lord! And you...?"
"I'm going to see a friend." Andy started the engine, and the jeep let out a roar. "If I'm not back by tomorrow morning, take everyone and evacuate."
With that, Andy slammed the gas. The jeep kicked up a cloud of dust and plunged into the vast yellow toxic mist outside the factory.
In Gamma-9's eyes, he saw a lonely seeker of truth, stepping alone into the dark abyss to protect the people behind him. This tragic sense of heroism made Gamma-9's eyes well up again.
Meanwhile, inside the jeep, Andy was cursing.
"Damn it, why is this suit so hot!" "Is the vent clogged?!" "I definitely need to install more water-cooling later, or I'm going to fry my CPU sooner or later!"