Chapter 145: The Bountiful Riot
Kian Voss tossed his cards onto the dirt and scrambled over to the sandbag line, peering down the long stretch of the transit junction.
His squad of twenty men had barricaded a major four-way intersection. To their flanks were five-story residential hab-blocks, their reinforced shutters slammed shut and bolted. Ahead lay a massive plaza, wide enough for six heavy cargo-haulers to drive abreast.
Usually, this sector hummed with the sound of distant industry. Now, it was filled with the rhythmic, wet shuffling of feet.
A crowd was pouring into the intersection from the opposite side. At a glance, there were hundreds of them—a sea of grey-clothed civilians, shoulder to shoulder, slowly choking the plaza.
Kian spat on the floor. He shouldered his autogun, grabbed a loudhailer from a nearby crate, and keyed the vox.
"Listen up, you malcontent dregs!" Kian's voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls. "I don't care about your grievances, your supply shortages, or your political petitions. By the decree of the Sector Governor, Martial Law is in effect! Return to your rat-holes and wait for the all-clear, or I'll have my boots personally audit your collective backsides!!"
The crowd didn't stop. They didn't shout. They didn't throw stones.
A woman detached herself from the front line. She wore a tattered white dress and carried a cluster of green leaves in one hand and a rusted iron bell in the other. She wore a faint, dreamy smile that didn't match the hollow, dark circles under her eyes.
"Oh, brave warrior of the Throne," she called out, her voice unnervingly melodic. "We have no enmity in our hearts. We only wish to share the joy of the Harvest. Have you not heard the word of the Lord of Bounty? He who makes the grain swell and the cattle fertile? He who takes the pain away?"
Kian felt a cold spike of adrenaline. The Lord of Bounty. It was a classic Nurgle mask.
He didn't hesitate. He grabbed his long-range vox and keyed Rudolphson's channel. "Rudy! Throne's blood, we've got a full-blown cult infestation in Sector D-115! They're preaching the 'Bounty'! Requesting immediate authorization to open fire!"
The vox crackled with a storm of static and the sound of distant screaming. Rudolphson's voice came through, sounding like a man drowning in paperwork and fire. "Negative, Voss! High Command hasn't authorized lethal force against 'unarmed civilians' yet! If we massacre a thousand taxpayers without a signed order, we're the ones going to the penal legions!"
"Rudy, they aren't 'civilians'! They're biological time-bombs! If they reach the line, we're finished!"
"Hold the line without bullets!" Rudolphson roared back. "Use your suppression gear! Just... don't start a civil war until I get a signature from the Colonel!"
The vox cut out. Kian cursed, looking at the approaching mob. They were fifty meters out, their smiles fixed and glassy.
Kian could sense it—the same "vibe" he'd felt in Equine Reach. These people hadn't mutated yet, but their minds were already rotted. The "Lord of Bounty" was the Plaguefather's local alias. To these people, the Hive's famine was a lie; they believed they were walking into a garden.
Kian hissed through his teeth. He saw an opportunity. If he couldn't use his rifle, he'd use his muscles. It was time to grind his Melee Proficiency.
He reached into his rig and pulled out a Mega-Strength Injector and a Mega-Endurance Bolster. He slammed them into his thigh one after the other. Finally, he pulled a tin of Sanctified Purgation Salve and smeared a thick glob across his forehead.
[COGITATOR STATUS: APEX HUMAN]
Strength: 30
Endurance: 30
Mental Clarity: 40
Status: [Emperor's Benediction] — Warp-Immunity active.
Kian felt like a hydraulic press in human skin. He grabbed a steel-core heavy rubber baton from the rack and vaulted over the sandbags.
"Sergeant! What are you doing?!" Egghead shouted, his hand on the trigger of a light machine gun.
"Guarding the perimeter," Kian grunted. "Stay behind the bags. If a single one of these freaks touches the wall, you report me to the Major. Otherwise, stay back and watch how we handled riots in the 3k era."
Kian strode toward the mob, his heavy boots ringing on the plasteel.
The woman with the bell stopped, opening her arms wide as Kian approached. "Brave soldier, let me tell you of the Grandfather's love. Let me show you the beauty of the—"
Kian didn't wait for the pitch. He swung the steel-core baton in a horizontal arc.
CRACK.
The impact didn't just bruise. With 30 Strength, the baton hit like a power-maul. The woman's skull buckled inward, her jaw shattering as her head was snapped 180 degrees by the force. Her eyes didn't even have time to blink before her brain-stem was severed.
She hit the floor like a sack of wet laundry, her "Bounty" ending in the dirt.
Kian wiped a streak of greyish fluid from his baton and looked at the stunned crowd.
"Anyone else feeling 'joyful'?" Kian whispered, his voice cold and lethal. "Step up. I've got enough 'Blessings' for all of you."
The crowd stared. For a moment, the psychic veil shimmered. The shock of the brutal violence snapped a dozen civilians out of their trance. They looked at the dead woman, then at their own grimy hands, and began to scream in genuine terror, realizeing where they were.
But for the majority, the rot was too deep.
A hulking laborer, his skin already taking on a sickly yellow hue, stepped forward. He looked at Kian with a look of pained disappointment. "Why such anger, brother? She only wanted you to join the Family. You are lost in the darkness of the Spire. We only—"
Kian lunged. He drove the end of the baton into the man's solar plexus, then followed up with a vertical strike to the temple.
CRUNCH.
The man's jaw was driven into his throat. He collapsed, twitching in a pool of dark, stagnant blood.
Kian rolled his neck, his eyes locking onto the next group of shouters.
"You lot want to talk about 'Family'?" Kian snarled, pointing the baton at them. "I'll send you to meet your ancestors right now!
I'm the Auditor of the Sump, and your souls are officially in arrears!"
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