N-A-A Chapter 67 Vicious Dog
Chapter 67 Vicious Dog
Chapter 67 Vicious Dog
It is 6:10 a.m.
The top floor of the administrative building of the Eastern Grain Depot in the Seventh Agricultural War Zone.
Luo Wei stood in front of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror.
He had just used industrial alcohol and a coarse bristle brush to remove the greasy feeling from his skin that seemed to come from deep underground.
However, the unique smell of tar and rotting fungi seemed to have seeped into his pores and lingered all night.
He changed into a brand-new dark gray clerk's uniform, his whole demeanor upright. He fastened the top button and then pinned a silver double-headed eagle badge to his collar.
This made him appear to be a meticulous, aloof, and efficient imperial bureaucrat.
He picked up the cheap, synthetic coffee from the table and walked to the window.
Looking down through the bulletproof glass at this massive granary city below.
The hazy dawn pierced through the year-round industrial acid fumes, casting its light on the intricate network of pipes and factory buildings. In the distance, a row of long-dormant heating boiler chimneys were billowing thick black smoke.
The "coal ash" is burning.
Lo Wei took a sip of the bitter coffee.
The accumulated corpse oil and fungi are now being transformed into pure heat energy, dispelling the city's chill.
He walked back to his desk and opened his black work notebook.
He crossed out the "fuel shortage" deficit.
Then, neat annotations were added at the end:
Heating system status: Stable.
[Fuel reserves: Approximately 15 tons of charcoal. Estimated to sustain heating and basic power supply in the core area for 45 days.]
[Risk Warning: Fuel combustion releases trace amounts of hallucinogenic gases and a distinctive stench of decay. Exhaust filters must be closely monitored to prevent triggering mass hysteria or respiratory allergies.]
Closing the notebook, Lo Wei glanced at the brass pocket watch.
Time is up.
As a manager, he not only has to calculate the accounts of materials, but also the accounts of people's hearts.
Underground B-2 area.
This place was originally an isolation warehouse used to store hazardous chemicals, but it has now been temporarily converted into a closed barracks.
More than a dozen death row inmates huddled in a corner.
Their heat-resistant suits were stripped off, revealing bodies covered in tattoos and scars.
The atmosphere was silent yet permeated with panic.
Last night's experience was too crazy.
They witnessed living mountains of flesh, chariots that devoured blood and flesh, and the ruthless methods of a young agricultural consultant, colder than any demon.
The mission is now complete.
-
According to the Empire's usual practice in dealing with death row inmates, their fate was usually only one of two things:
He would either be sent back to death row to await hanging.
They were either thrown directly into a fermentation tank to become fertilizer, thus keeping the secret.
"Will we die?"
A young death row inmate asked, trembling.
No one answered him.
Even the three thugs from the Ironclad Gang seemed to have their spines removed, their heads drooping and their eyes glazed over.
Just then, a dull hydraulic sound came from the heavy, airtight door.
The door slid open slowly.
All the death row inmates sprang up as if electrocuted, pressing themselves against the wall in terror.
Lo Wei walked in.
Old John followed behind him, pushing a stainless steel food cart.
Luo Wei's expression was too calm.
To the death row inmates, it was like the judge maintaining a last bit of patience before reading the verdict, just to get the proceedings through.
So they were terrified.
However, Lowe waved his hand.
Old John lifted the lid off the food cart.
On the dining car, a dozen or so military green tin cans were neatly stacked, their surfaces rusted and exuding a musty, metallic smell.
In addition, there were two boxes of unlabeled clear glass bottles.
The liquid inside was cloudy and yellowish, with murky foam on top.
The Adam's apples of the death row inmates all bobbed in unison.
"Military-grade Ant Cow canned food, 40% meat content."
Luo Wei picked up a can and weighed it in his hand.
"This stuff has been sterilized at high temperatures, but according to the logistics department's damage reporting records, there is a high probability that there are still dormant meat-boring worm eggs in this batch of canned food."
"Once ingested, there is a 0.3% chance that the worm eggs will hatch under the stimulation of stomach acid, then burrow through your intestines and turn you into its breeding ground."
He casually tossed the can of food at the young death row inmate.
The man caught it in a flurry of activity.
The cold, metallic feel made him feel as if he were holding a dud bomb that could explode at any moment.
Luo Wei kicked the two boxes of glass bottles next to his feet again.
The glass made a crisp sound when it struck.
"As for these two cases of liquor—if eating meat is like winning the lottery with a 0.3% chance, then drinking liquor is like playing with a revolver that only has six cylinders."
Lowe presented the death row inmates with cold, hard statistical probabilities.
"This is cheap, bootleg liquor salvaged from the black market; its composition is more interesting than the sewers."
"According to the tests, the blinding rate of this batch of goods is as high as 16%. That is to say, one out of every six bottles is a high concentration of methanol that has not been fully mixed."
"The other bottles contained ample amounts of heavy metals and sedatives. Drinking this stuff is like gambling with death: betting you'll either have one of those five-sixths of chronic liver rot" or one of those sixths of instant blindness."
"Meat or wine, guts rotting or the world turning dark. Choose one, and see if your luck is enough to overdraw twice."
After speaking, Luo Wei paused for a moment, his gaze turning cold as he swept over the thirteen people present.
He quickly pulled up a value assessment table in his mind and then gave a cruel conclusion: "Thirteen cans of Ant Cow food, plus these two boxes of rotten wine, are worth about three hundred Imperial coins on the black market."
"And the combined lives of all thirteen of you are only worth two hundred and sixty at the current slave labor purchase price."
"So, eat and drink," Luo Wei said calmly. "This is the only time in your lives you'll enjoy a premium dividend."
After a brief silence, there was a sound like a wild beast swallowing.
No one backed down because of the warnings about insect eggs and methanol.
On the contrary, Rowe's warning acted as a catalyst, igniting the flames of madness in their eyes.
For these creatures who have spent their entire lives eating only corpse starch and green soup, the chewy muscle fibers of the ant-cow are an unparalleled delicacy, even if mixed with arsenic.
They had only heard of these things, but had never actually tasted them.
The death row inmates no longer cared about dignity or fear; they pounced on the dining car like a pack of starving ghouls.
Someone used trembling fingers to pry open the pull ring, ignoring the sharp metal cutting their fingers, and directly used their dirty hands to grab dark red chunks of meat and stuff them into their mouths.
"Cough cough cough!"
Some people were choked by substandard industrial alcohol, their eyes watering and their esophagus feeling like it was being rolled on hot coals, yet they held their mouths tightly.
The veins on his neck bulged as he swallowed the deadly "poison" whole, not wasting a single drop.
Luo Wei stood aside, his hands behind his back, coldly watching the group of gamblers reveling on the edge of life and death.
In fact, he had already reviewed these people's files before this operation.
The young man who was licking the inside of the can was charged with "stealing public property." He stole a piece of copper pipe from the factory in order to get a new antibiotic for his sick sister.
The burly man, whose face was flushed from drinking, was accused of "disrupting production order." After being starving for three days and three nights, he knocked out the foreman who was withholding rations and stole half a bowl of moldy green soup.
In Loewe's previous life, these might have only been considered minor public order offenses, deserving of sympathy.
But in the cold and desperate world of Warhammer 40K, under the ironclad rule that tithes are above all else, they are unforgivable criminals, scum who waste the air, and whose only destiny is to become fertilizer.
Hunger is not an excuse here.
Survival itself is a kind of original sin.
Watching them revel in a few pieces of cheap beef and some rotten wine, Lowe felt no pity and remained as calm as ever.
This is a very primitive transaction.
After fear, provide extreme satisfaction.
This huge psychological gap is enough to completely destroy their already fragile personality defenses.
He transformed the survival instinct of this group, who would kill for half a bowl of green soup, into unwavering loyalty to him alone.
After all, in this world where human lives are burned like fuel, a dog owner who can give his dog a full meal is far more real than a high and mighty emperor.
After they had almost finished eating, Luo Wei spoke again: "During last night's operation, you saw things you shouldn't have seen."
Everyone stopped moving immediately.
The condemned prisoners stiffly raised their heads, the grease still on their lips, and fear resurfaced in their eyes.
"According to the confidentiality regulations, you should be disposed of. However, I don't like wasting assets. You did a fairly good job moving the charcoal."
"Therefore, the death penalty is suspended."
Luo Wei took a neatly folded document out of his pocket and threw it on the oil-stained floor.
"From today onwards, you are no longer death row inmates. You have been officially incorporated into the Special Waste Recycling Team."
""
"His official position was attached to the logistics department, but he was directly responsible to me."
"Your mission is to go where others dare not go, like the Ninth Grain Depot this time, and retrieve anything of value."
"It could be equipment belonging to the dead, it could be scrapped machines, or it could be related to the plague."
"As long as you can bring the goods back alive, you'll have meat to eat and wine to drink. Even if your intestines rupture and you drink yourself blind, at least you'll die a full-bodied death."
"If anyone can't control their mouth and utters even a single word about what they saw last night—"
Lo Wei didn't continue speaking, but simply tapped the badge on his chest lightly.
"I will definitely turn you into raw materials for the next batch of canned goods. Believe me, the taste will definitely not be as good as that of ant cows."
The death row inmates nodded vigorously.
Lowe delivered on his promise of wine and canned meat, and the death row inmates were now convinced that their young, new supervisor was a man of his word.
At the same time, they realized that this was a suicide squad, just like before, cannon fodder used to fill the gaps.
It's just a change of name, giving it a bit more freedom.
But looking at the empty cans in their hands, savoring the long-lost aroma of meat and the numbing sensation brought by alcohol, the fear in their eyes gradually faded, and the fanaticism unique to outlaws emerged.
It's better to die eating meat than to starve to death in prison like a maggot.
The young thug was the first to stand up.
He wiped the oil from the corner of his mouth and, with an almost pious gesture, gave Luo Wei an awkward and incongruous salute.
"I'm at your service, esteemed advisor."
From this moment on, they were no longer criminals of the empire, but rather Rowe's personal hounds.
Luo Wei nodded and turned to leave.
"Old John, give them new uniforms. Since they're my dogs, they shouldn't be dressed like beggars."
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