"This Helios Group... their recent movements in the Underhive seem a bit excessive, don't they?"
Andy didn't ask directly. Instead, he brought up the poisoning of the Rust Brotherhood's farm as an opening gambit. "I heard a fungal farm was wiped out by military-grade herbicide a while back. Would that happen to be a Helios product?"
The muscles on Sisyphron's face, which had been maintained in a professional smirk, twitched visibly.
"Hmph, that's just standard procedure for them." Sisyphron slammed the teapot onto the table, dropping his facade. "They've been on a mad land-grab lately for some 'Tenth Generation Fully Enclosed Processing Plant' project. Any piece of real estate they set their sights on—whether it's occupied by gangs, refugees, or tech-drifters like the Rust Brotherhood—gets wiped clean. Poisoning is considered a 'civilized' method; at least it leaves the corpses intact. Sometimes they just send down security forces that have undergone lobotomies to kill everyone on sight, bleaching the land before laying the foundations."
Andy tapped his fingers lightly on the desk.
It all clicked. The tragedy of the Rust Brotherhood wasn't an accident; it was a negligible cost in the expansion of mega-capital. In this desperate Warhammer universe, human life was the cheapest of consumables. To a giant like Helios, poisoning a few thousand Underhivers to save on relocation costs or to meet a deadline didn't even require a second thought—it wasn't even worth mentioning on a financial report.
"But I have a question," Andy raised his doubt. "Helios produces high-end pharmaceuticals. Their primary clients are in the Spire, or even on other planets. Why run down to a radiation-soaked, polluted dump like the Underhive to build factories? The environment isn't suitable for precision production, unless..."
Andy paused, his blue electronic eyes locking onto Sisyphron. "Unless they're after something specific down here."
"You're right." Sisyphron walked to the window, looking out at the murky green acid, his voice laced with bitterness. "It's not the land they're after, nor the raw materials. It's the people. Or more accurately, labor that is cheap, durable, and requires zero pension or health insurance."
At this, Sisyphron slammed the desk again, spitting out a name through gritted teeth. "The Ascension Mining Alliance."
That name again. When Gamma-9 had mentioned these people, his tone was filled with admiration for "diligent workers." But now, as Sisyphron spoke of them, his voice was thick with the venom of someone whose business had been stolen.
"Those damn baldies," Sisyphron cursed. "You know them, right? Always going on about the 'Four-Armed Emperor.' They used to just dig in the deep pits and come to us for stimulants and such. But in recent years, they established a labor dispatch department and started supplying workers to Helios factories on a massive scale."
Andy's heart skipped a beat. The Genestealer Cult is starting to funnel its population into the upper echelons of society? That's a classic precursor to total infiltration.
"Are the Helios executives high on their own supply?" Andy asked tentatively. "They dare use Underhivers? They aren't afraid of bringing pathogens inside? Or worker riots?"
"Ha! Riots?" Sisyphron looked as if he'd heard the funniest interstellar joke in the galaxy. "Those baldies are the most perfect workers in the world! They don't smoke, they don't drink, they don't fight—they don't even seem to sleep. They can work twenty hours straight and spend the remaining four praying. Most importantly, they are incredibly resistant to radiation and corrosion. Some Helios production lines have radiation levels so high a normal worker in a hazmat suit would be ruined in a month. But those baldies? They go in shirtless for a year and come out fit enough to produce a litter of children. And they don't want wages!"
Sisyphron's eyes were red with envy. "They only ask for some industrial waste or the lowest-standard starch blocks. So now, Helios has outsourced all security and production for their new Underhive plants to them. Even my business is being squeezed because those baldies never get sick and never buy medicine!"
Listening to Sisyphron's complaint, Andy realized how dire the situation was. Human greed was indeed the ultimate vulnerability. To Sisyphron and the Helios executives, the "Genestealers" were the perfect beasts of burden—divine tools for cost reduction and efficiency. But to Andy, this was humanity digging its own grave.
Genestealers didn't get sick because, as vanguards of the Tyranid Hive Fleets, their genetic structure had evolved over eons for extreme adaptability. They didn't care about wages because their goal wasn't money; it was occupying key positions, securing resources, and breeding—sending their hybrid offspring into upper-tier factories, into places that produced medicine, weapons, and even planetary defense systems.
Once that "Day of Great Ascension" arrived, these "diligent workers" would instantly turn into bloodthirsty butchers. They would cut the power, shut down the air defense grids, and guide the Hive Fleet to descend. And now, for the sake of profit, the Helios Group was personally welcoming the seeds of destruction into their home.
"So, these new Helios plants in the Underhive... they're entirely staffed by those 'baldies'?" Andy confirmed.
"Entirely," Sisyphron said irritably. "Not even a rat could sneak in. It's closed-loop management. They claim to be producing some 'Advanced Composite Life Factors,' but I bet it's just another biochemical breeding ground."
Andy nodded, asking no more. He had enough intelligence; further questioning might arouse Sisyphron's suspicion. The situation was far grimmer than he had imagined. Originally, Andy thought he just needed to build his farm, fight some gangs, and climb the tech tree. Now it was clear things were not that simple—the greatest enemy had already begun its move. That new Helios factory was a ticking time bomb.
"Alright, business talk is over." Andy stood up, copying the data from the holographic map into his storage. "I'll send someone to scout that secret passage later. As for our cooperation, I'll have someone deliver the first batch of equipment blueprints and models tomorrow."
Andy didn't give Sisyphron a chance to regret. He sent the preliminary agreement regarding antibiotic production directly to Sisyphron's terminal. Sisyphron glanced at it; though the seventy-percent profit split still stung, the thought of escaping Helios's control made him sign promptly.
Carrying the lead box with the primitive strains and his heavy stubber, Andy squeezed back into the battered submarine. As the vessel ascended, the oppressive acidic green began to fade. Sitting in the cramped cabin, Andy began planning his next production phase.
His previous plan was to slowly develop civilian infrastructure and solve basic needs like food and clothing. But now, facing two behemoths like the Helios Group and the Genestealer Cult, slow development was no longer an option. He had to ignite the military tech tree. He needed heavy firepower first.
Nitric acid, sulfuric acid, saltpeter, starch—he had the raw materials now. In Andy's STC database, a row of greyed-out icons was beginning to glow.
[High-Explosive Fragmentation Grenade (Mark-V)]
[XPG-200 Man-Portable Rocket Launcher (Improved Version)]
[Double-Base Propellant]
[Standard Bolter Shells] ...
These items, previously uncraftable due to the lack of chemical raw materials, were now within reach. The path was clear.