Want Me to Start?

Montana growled, his glare fixed on John, who stood brushing off his collar as though nothing had happened. John's gaze met Montana's, his expression thoughtful but laced with an undeniable glint of mischief. He turned away, addressing the gathered crowd with an outstretched hand.

"Brothers and sisters," John began, his voice calm and commanding, "the Lower Nest Order needs a leader—one who truly understands our struggles, one who's fought beside us and knows the nest inside and out." He gestured toward Harry with a broad smile. "Brother Montana's faith is admirable, but his time away has left a gap. I propose Brother Harry, a man who's stood shoulder-to-shoulder with us, take on this vital role. Who stands with me?"

Murmurs rippled through the room before hands began to rise, one after another, until nearly everyone stood in agreement. Harry inclined his head, humbled but resolute.

"Thank you, my brothers and sisters," Harry said, stepping forward. "And Brother John, your contributions to our cause—especially the Battle of the Factory—are beyond measure. It would be my honor to welcome you to the General Assembly of the Lower Nest Religion. Together, we will defend, build, and spread our faith."

John embraced Harry warmly as the crowd erupted in cheers. Montana, however, stood seething on the sidelines, his muttering lost beneath the din. John caught his eye briefly, offering a sly smile—the kind a predator gives when its prey steps unknowingly into a trap.

The golden glow of wine reflected in John's glass as he swirled the liquid, watching it with amused detachment. "What's this? A fine vintage served without a price tag?" he teased.

Silver Snake leaned on the bar, pouring herself a glass. "Don't flatter yourself. I treat all my old customers well."

She cast a glance over his shoulder, her sharp eyes taking in the armed men seated at nearby tables. Unlike the usual rough-and-tumble crowd, these enforcers were decked out in armor and gleaming implants, a cut above the average street thug.

"Looks like you've climbed the ladder, John," she said, her tone calm but edged with curiosity. "You know the rules here. No gunfights, no assassinations. I don't break traditions."

"Neither do I," John replied smoothly. "But outside this bar? That's another story. It's a long trek from the Lower Nest Monastery to here, especially with all the… excitement lately."

Silver Snake smirked knowingly. "You mean after you blew up two of Hammer Boss' freight trains, hijacked a truckload of weapons, and took over his underground station?"

"Exactly," John said with a grin.

She shook her head, sipping her wine. "You've started an underground war, you know."

John shrugged, leaning back casually. "My dear, that war started long before me. I'm just making it more… interesting." He raised his glass in a mock toast, his grin widening. "Besides, haven't I brought you a tidy profit? I share intel on the Pious Society; you sell it to the Hammer Gang, and vice versa. Everybody wins."

"Except me," Silver Snake said with a sigh. "Your little escapades have driven up prices. The syndicates have jacked up their rates, and I haven't been able to get decent wine for weeks."

She glanced toward the door, where two hulking Ogryns stood guard, their muscular forms dwarfing the doorway. Inside, the bar was now eerily quiet, populated only by John's bodyguards. The once-lively establishment had become a fortress for the Pious Society.

"How long have you been their leader?"

"Two, maybe three months," John answered with a casual wave. "Why?"

"For someone so new, you're throwing around a lot of weight," she said, gesturing to the empty bar. "This is still a small-time joint, John." He chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Fair point. Next time, I'll tone it down. But think of it as free advertising. The new boss of the Pious Society doing business here? That'll turn some heads."

"Or bring Mal Hammer and his thugs crashing through my door," she retorted, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Exactly! A prime opportunity for negotiation," John said with a wink. "Now, let's talk business." He whistled, signaling Marshall to approach. The rugged enforcer, clad in a battered Astra Militarum breastplate, strode over and nodded at John's unspoken command. Moments later, the bar emptied, leaving only John and Silver Snake.

"Word is, the Hammers got their hands on something valuable," John said, his tone shifting to one of intrigue.

Silver Snake perched herself on the bar, her eyes narrowing. "Depends on what you're offering in return."

John's grin returned. "A tip about a shipment of scarlet pigment. Quietly coming through the underground canal docks. No guards, no fuss."

Silver Snake's laughter was low and melodic. "You've been busy. Using that pigment to stir up trouble in Hammer territory? Clever."

"Highly effective too," John said. "But Montana's been calling me reckless. Fortunately, my successes outweigh my losses… for now."

Silver Snake shook her head, her silver-gray bangs falling over her eyes as she laughed again. "You're a madman, John. But you do make things interesting."

__________

The flashing multi-functional reconnaissance telescope, a gadget bristling with advanced data charts and distance displays, worked like a charm, each component seamlessly cooperating to project the telescope's view right in front of the user's eyes. It was a marvel of Imperial engineering—the Astra Militarum, Law Enforcement Corps, and Planetary Defense Forces swore by it. Artillery teams loved it the most; its ability to calculate distances and firing angles using an infrared capture unit was a game-changer, saving them from the tedious guesswork.

Sadly, John couldn't use any of those fancy features. First, he didn't own a cannon. Second, he was stuck in the lower hive, with a crust so thick above his head that even the Emperor himself would struggle to pierce it. He sighed, lowering the telescope, the green glow from its display reflecting in his pupils.

Beneath the hive's towering structures lay an underground labyrinth of canals. Rivers flowed through this subterranean world, repurposed by the Mechanicus into sprawling waterways flanked by reinforced canals. Over time, the hive's surface had become barely livable, making the underground a bustling hub of transport. The canals, paired with continent-spanning heavy-haul train networks, carried raw materials, finished goods, and everything in between across the planet. Thousands of years had turned hive worlds into layered machines of forgotten infrastructure, factories, and relics even the Mechanicus struggled to recall.

Of course, in the Imperium's grand inefficiency, these forgotten places had become playgrounds for the underworld. Today, John found himself in one such shadowy nook, perched next to a cargo crate on a dingy dock. Marshall, his companion, lay prone nearby, his laser rifle aimed at their target—a barge docked along the canal.

"Looks like the shipment's right on schedule," John mused, setting the telescope aside.

Marshall glanced at him briefly, then refocused on his scope. "Silver Snake's intel is solid as ever. What do you think of her?"

"Marshall, don't tell me you're interested in her?" John teased, smirking.

Marshall didn't reply, except to rest his finger on the trigger. "Want me to start?"