N-A-A Chapter 91 Warehouse No. 19
Chapter 91 Warehouse No. 19
Chapter 91 Warehouse No. 19
As he spoke, Butcher Bill grabbed the communicator from the table, spitting as he spoke.
"I'm going to mobilize the guards to seal off all the exits. I'm going to tear up every single floor tile in this building, drag out all the four-armed monsters, and throw them into the steel furnace!"
For a warlord like Bill, who regarded the northern granaries as his private domain, being betrayed by his most trusted lieutenant was not only a matter of security, but also an insult to his personal authority.
His anger outweighed his reason.
Rowe pressed down on his wrist and advised, "Put down the communicator, calm down, Bill. Just as you feared, if you make a big show of it, they'll riot immediately."
"Once they realize they've been exposed, they'll sabotage the pressure valves, blow up the boiler, and poison the feed."
"At that point, your production capacity will be zero, and I won't be able to process my wheat. We'll both die."
Bill, panting heavily, spun his mechanical eyes twice before dejectedly releasing the communicator.
"So what brilliant idea do you have, advisor? Are you just going to let these insects continue to steal food from my territory?"
"Of course not."
Luo Wei released his grip, took out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket, and gently wiped away a bit of dust from his cuff.
"We're not arresting people, we're just taking stock."
"Inventory?" Bill was taken aback.
"According to the Imperial Wartime Asset Management Regulations, as a partner, I have the right to conduct a joint inspection of your fixed assets and inventory."
Luo Wei then pointed to the tank parked on the industrial elevator below the cave entrance, saying, "My tank is the best scanner."
Lo Wei walked to the broken French windows and looked down at the steel jungle spewing thick smoke below.
"Use Valken's name to spread the word that a major customer from the eastern grain depot has arrived and wants to inspect the production line."
"We got all the workers back to their posts, and the machines running at full capacity. We drove around, visiting each workshop one by one."
Then, Luo Wei's expression turned cold: "In this process, if any worker violates the operating procedures and accidentally falls into the machine, that's just common wear and tear in industrial production, isn't it?"
Bill grinned, revealing his metal jawline, and said, "Waste—ha, well said. Rowe, you're more of a butcher than I am."
Ten minutes later, a strange convoy drove into the core operating area of the northern grain depot.
Leading the pack was Lowe's modified Chimera 1.
Following closely behind was Bill's heavy armored command vehicle and a fully armed private guard.
The noise inside the workshop was deafening.
The large piston rose and fell in the steam, producing a piercing roar.
All the workers kept their heads down, numbly repeating the actions they were doing, and no one dared to look up at the patrol convoy.
This is the No. 7 rough processing workshop.
Rowe sat in the passenger seat of the chimera, the green waveform steadily pulsating on the screen of the oracle in his hand.
Suddenly, a sharp red peak appeared in the waveform.
At the same time, a slight vibration was felt in the car body.
This is a low growl emanating from the "Wall of Gluttony".
Only Loewe could sense the appetite that stemmed from biological instinct.
Luo Wei looked up and, through the bulletproof glass, fixed his gaze on an operator on the left side of the assembly line.
A hunched-over man was wielding a long hook, hooking large pieces of frozen meat onto a rack.
His movements were quite nimble, and he looked no different from the other laborers around him.
However, to Chimera 1's senses, the man exuded an alluring, fishy smell.
Luo Wei picked up the communicator and said, "On the left, the third workstation, worker number B-732. His protective suit is damaged, violating hygiene regulations."
On the other end of the communicator, Bill's captain of guard immediately understood.
Two guards wearing exoskeleton armor strode over.
The worker seemed to sense something; his body tensed, and several veins bulged on the back of his hand gripping the long hook.
However, he did not resist in the end.
Under the watchful eyes of a group of guards, any act of resistance would only result in being riddled with bullets.
He could only hope that this was just a routine violation.
"Take him away." The guard roughly grabbed him and dragged him toward the waste disposal area in the corner of the workshop.
The worker began to struggle, making incoherent shouts.
However, his voice was barely audible, like the buzzing of a mosquito, masked by the cacophony of industrial noise.
A few seconds later, a dull "click" sound came from the waste disposal port.
The red warning light flashed briefly before returning to normal.
The red peak on the bird divination device in Luo Wei's hand disappeared.
"The hygiene hazard has been eliminated." Luo Wei checked a box in his notebook, waved to the driver, and said, "Continue, to the next workshop."
The whole process was smooth, efficient, yet tedious.
There was no fierce gunfight or psionic outburst, nor did it cause panic among the surrounding workers.
To onlookers, this was just one instance of a stern foreman punishing workers who broke the rules.
This kind of thing happens every day in the northern granary.
Only Butcher Bill, huddled in the shadows of the back seat of the heavy command vehicle, was pale.
In just two hours, the red warning light on the bird divination device screen had flashed 127 times.
This is not just a cold number, but also his most valued asset.
Among those dragged away by the guards was the foreman of the third refining workshop.
Just last week, this guy received a bottle of cheap Amasec as a reward from Bill with a big smile because he had exceeded his production target.
There was an old technician in charge of maintaining the core boiler. Bill always thought he was a quiet, honest mute who would just stare at nuts and bolts, and the most reliable part in the workshop.
There were also several child laborers.
These children were dressed in oil-stained work clothes that were only half the size of adults, clutching black rags in their hands, their eyes filled with terror.
In the human resources ledger, children of this age should be the purest and most promising "fuel reserves".
If fed properly, they can become powerful machines capable of working continuously for eighteen hours after a few years, and are also high-quality wet parts for modifying machine servants.
However, at this moment, Loewe's chariot delivered a cruel verdict:
Non-recyclable heretical waste.
They didn't even get a proper cry before they were thrown into the rumbling chute and turned into worthless rubble.
The convoy proceeded to the edge of the residential area.
A red-light district made up of stacked abandoned shipping containers.
The bird's-eye view readings showed a wide-ranging, unsettling fluctuation here.
Chimera 1 stopped in front of a low-class brothel called "Gentle Paradise".
The compound eyes on the front of the car spun wildly, and its tentacles throbbed irritably in the air.
Clearly, this is the perfect breeding ground for the Genestealer cult to spread the "Holy Kiss".
Bill's heart nearly stopped beating.
If the infection spreads through this route, then most of the male laborers in the entire northern grain depot will likely be rendered unemployable.
This means his production capacity will instantly drop to zero.
However, the subsequent screening results made him feel fortunate.
The number of infected individuals targeted by the Chimera, including the prostitutes, was less than one hundred.
The reason is cruel and realistic:
The exploitation in the northern granary is too ruthless. The vast majority of low-level laborers can't even get enough to eat, let alone have any extra credit points to spend here.
Poverty became their natural vaccine against being parasitized by aliens and, consequently, against being wiped out.
The guards sealed off the entrances and exits.
Several flamethrowers probed inside and, amidst screams, completed the efficient "sanitation and disinfection."
Sweat streamed down Bill's back, soaking his expensive silk shirt and bringing a chill.
Of course he knew there were rats in the factory.
But he always thought they were just a few pests hiding in the gutter stealing oil and drinking it. As long as they didn't affect the overall situation and could work for him, he was too lazy to care about them.
Only then did he realize with horror that beneath the skin lay not the steel and loyalty he had imagined.
Instead, it was teeming with maggots that had long since hollowed out the marrow.
This is hardly a fortified factory.
This is clearly an alien nest incubating under an industrial guise.
If it weren't for Luo Wei's bizarre identification methods, he probably wouldn't even know how he died once these "rats" started acting together.
The convoy, like a silent comb, brushed through one workshop after another.
Chimera 1 has a good appetite.
Not only does it use its senses to guide the guards in apprehending people, but it also occasionally extends its tentacles from under the vehicle to snatch targets that are trying to escape or have strong psionic reactions, taking advantage of the gaps in the steam eruption to directly pull the targets under the vehicle for a "feast".
The convoy continued until it reached the deepest part of the grain depot, in front of a group of warehouses marked "long-term storage area".
The readings on the divination instrument suddenly became disordered.
It was as if there was a poor signal connection, resulting in a slight fluctuation.
"parking."
Lowe gave the order.
The convoy stopped in front of a rusty blast door.
The door was painted with a faded number: No. 19.
"What's in here?" Luo Wei asked through the communicator.
Bill hesitated before answering, "Finished goods storage warehouse number 19. It's been sealed off for at least three years, and nobody comes here normally."
"My car is telling me there's something inside." Lowe looked at the faint signal on the oracle. "Maybe it's a big rat that escaped the net and hid inside."
Bill immediately ordered, "Open it!"
Several guards stepped forward and laboriously turned the giant winch.
With a sharp whistling sound from the hydraulic rods, the heavy explosion-proof door slowly slid open to both sides.
The beams of light from several high-powered searchlights pierced the darkness that had lingered in the warehouse for many years.
When they saw the scene inside the warehouse, everyone was stunned.
Including Buck, who was always following behind Rowe, his hand on the explosive gun, his nerves on edge.
There were no hordes of monsters or complicated heretical altars before them.
Yes, there are boxes.
Piles of dark green metal supply crates, stretching as far as the eye can see.
They were stacked neatly, like silent obelisks, reaching all the way to the warehouse's dome, which was tens of meters high.
Each box was covered with a thick layer of dust.
Buck stared wide-eyed, his mouth slightly open, and a "clucking" sound came from his throat.
He strode forward and wiped the dust off a box with his gloves.
By the light, he could make out the white spray-painted lettering:
[Imperial Military Affairs Department Standard Rations (Grade A)]
[Contents: High-energy protein bars/concentrated starch blocks]
Net weight: 50KG
Production Date: M41.
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