Crisis Approaches

Inside the cockpit, two pilots were performing their night patrol with listless boredom.

"Sector Seven, no abnormalities."

The pilot was a man with half his face replaced by metal prosthetics, known as Razor. His mechanical left eye flickered with a faint red light, constantly scanning the terrain below. "Radiation levels normal, life signs... wait."

His voice cut off.

The red light of his mechanical eye began to flicker at an accelerating rate.

"Large-scale cluster of life signs detected... Coordinates, the former Seventh Pre-processing Workshop and surrounding mine area.

Quantity... calculating."

"What the hell?"

The co-pilot, Kid, a young man with only his right arm replaced by a mechanical prosthetic, leaned over to look at the screen. "A migration of mutated beasts?"

"Haven't heard of any beast tides lately."

"It's not beasts."

Razor's voice, emitted through a synthesizer, carried a metallic gravity. "The signal pattern... it's human."

"But the numbers are wrong."

The thermal imaging and biological signal scan on the screen gradually sharpened.

One could see dense clusters of life-sign dots scattered throughout the abandoned Seventh Workshop and the several square kilometers of mine pits surrounding it.

Some of these dots were gathered inside the workshop, while others were scattered across the pits, some moving, some stationary.

"This amount..."

Kid gasped. "At least thirty or forty people?"

"Wait, it's still increasing... five, six hundred? No, more..."

The scanner data continued to refresh.

It finally locked onto an unbelievable number.

"Preliminary estimate, four to five thousand people."

There was a rare hint of uncertainty in Razor's voice. "The signals are being interfered with by the mine terrain and scrap metal, so there might be a margin of error, but the order of magnitude is correct."

"Five thousand people?! In the Crimson Bright Wasteland?!"

Kid's voice rose in pitch. "That's impossible! The Seventh Workshop has been abandoned for ten years, and there isn't a single settlement within fifty kilometers!"

"Did these people just pop out of some space rift?!"

"I don't know."

Razor had already opened the communication channel, his tone grave. "But this isn't something we can handle."

"We must report this immediately, use the Chamber of Commerce emergency line."

"Understood."

The communication channel switched, and a more heavily encrypted frequency was activated.

"Chamber of Commerce Security Command Center, this is Alru Group Air Patrol 7."

"Detected a large-scale abnormal gathering of personnel in the Crimson Bright Wasteland, Seventh Pre-processing Workshop area. Estimated quantity four to five thousand, repeat, four to five thousand."

"Signal characteristics are human, behavioral patterns abnormal, distribution widespread."

"Requesting further instructions."

The channel was silent for a full ten seconds.

Then, a voice as calm as it was cold replied: "Received, 7."

"Maintain surveillance, do not alert them."

"Data has been uploaded to the Chamber of Commerce Security Council. By the way, are you sure your scanner hasn't been blessed by a heretical deity?"

Razor and Kid exchanged a look, both seeing a hint of dark humor in the other's eyes.

In Aurelian, suspecting that equipment had been influenced by heretical deities was a standard joke, though no one ever dared to actually laugh.

"The scanner just underwent a purification ritual at the Temple of the Machine Cult last week, sir."

Razor replied with a straight face. "Unless the God of All Machines is in a bad mood today."

"Very well."

"Continue surveillance, our people are on the way."

The communication cut off.

Razor adjusted their flight altitude, circling higher above the cloud layer to minimize the chance of being spotted.

"Kid, max out the optical zoom. I want to see what kind of people these are."

The high-precision camera pierced through the dim night, transmitting the image back to the cockpit screen.

The blurry footage gradually became clear.

Outside the abandoned workshop, the platform and the various sections of the mine were scattered with a vast number of figures.

They wore uniform, rough-spun work clothes; some held tools in their hands, some appeared to be resting, and others were busy hauling cargo.

The sheer number of them far exceeded any normal scavenger group or refugee camp.

"These people..."

Kid stared at the screen, his mechanical prosthetic fingers tapping unconsciously against the console, "They don't look like rioters or rebels."

"Too... quiet."

"And no visible weaponry."

"But five thousand people suddenly appearing under the Chamber's nose is, in itself, the greatest form of weaponry."

Razor said coldly, "Regardless of who they are or what they intend to do, they must be dealt with—in the name of the Chamber."

Both of them knew the weight of that statement.

On Aurelian IV, the four major factions fought openly and covertly, but the Simans Chamber of Commerce always held the fattest slice of the cake:

Pharmaceuticals, healthcare, retail, and every industry related to public livelihood.

This kept them looking polished and bright on the surface with secure seats in the parliament, while providing a perfect cover for their dirty dealings in the shadows—human trafficking, organ trade, illegal genetic experiments, and the manufacture of contraband drugs.

At least three high-ranking members of the Chamber served on the Aurelian Supreme Council, with one even holding the position of Vice Speaker.

This meant that whenever the Chamber wanted to do something, laws and rules often found a way to flexibly step aside.

And now, five thousand unidentified individuals appearing on the periphery of the Chamber's core industrial zone was no different than a slap to the Chamber's face.

"Which side do you think it is?"

Kid asked, "The Adons Knight Family trying to stir up trouble?"

"Are the Psykers testing some new trick?"

"Or have those oil-heads from the Mechanicus gone crazy again?"

"The Mechanicus doesn't have that much manpower to waste."

"The Knight Family prefers head-on collisions."

"Psykers..."

Razor paused, "They are better at manipulation from the shadows, not dragging out five thousand cannon fodder."

He shook his head: "No matter who it is, gathering personnel of this scale on the Chamber's territory... is a declaration of war."

"And what the Chamber is best at is turning those who declare war into raw materials."

The words were spoken nonchalantly, but both knew the implication.

The Alru Pharmaceutical Group was nominally an independent medical enterprise, but in reality, it was one of the sharpest claws of the Chamber.

Those human experiments, genetic sample collections, and organ supplies conducted in the dark all required a massive amount of raw materials.

And unidentified gatherers, in the Chamber's classification system, were usually labeled as "recyclable resources."

In the central district of Alru City, at the Alru headquarters building.

The architecture was a mix of Gothic spires and Baroque reliefs, with massive stained-glass windows depicting the epic heroism of the group's founder, Old Alu, as he pioneered Aurelian.

Of course, it was heavily embellished with artistic license.

On the ninth underground level sat the Simans Chamber of Commerce Security Council stationed at Alru Group.

This place was three times larger than the Alru Group's command center, with sixteen holographic screens hanging on the walls, displaying surveillance of all key areas in Alru City and its surroundings.

Twelve operators sat before the consoles, their uniforms embroidered with the Chamber's emblem: an intertwined golden scale and gear.

In the center of the room, three men in deep purple robes with silver-trimmed cloaks stood before the main screen.

They were the permanent directors of the Simans Chamber of Commerce Security Council at Alru Group, reporting directly to the highest level of the Chamber.

At this moment, the main screen displayed the real-time footage and data streams transmitted back by Shadow Crow 7, and the dense clusters of life-signal dots made even these well-informed directors frown.

"Four to five thousand people..."

The eldest director, a bald man with several surgical scars on his face, said in a low voice, "Appearing silently in the Crimson Bright Wasteland."

"Is the intelligence department eating slop?"

"We have already checked, Director."

A younger director beside him pulled up the data, "There have been no records of large-scale population movement in the past three months."

"No transport records, no supply lines, not even a single eyewitness report; these people just popped out of the rocks."

"Warp jump?"

Another director guessed; he was a thin, tall man whose right eye had been replaced by a complex mechanical ocular implant, "Or some kind of accident?"

"Or a large-scale summoning by some Psyker?"

"If it were a psychic summoning, the psychic monitoring arrays would have reacted."

The bald director shook his head, "But in the past 24 hours, the psionic readings in the Crimson Bright Wasteland region have been completely normal, save for slightly elevated background noise, though that could just be radiation from waste in the mines."

He paused, then made his judgment: "Regardless of how these people arrived, they are now on our turf."

"And the Chamber of Commerce does not permit any unauthorized forces to assemble in its backyard."

"Alru Group has already dispatched a rapid response force."

The young director reported, "Two battalions, 200 elites."

"But they reported that the number of targets far exceeds initial estimates and are requesting reinforcements."

"Give them reinforcements."

The bald director did not hesitate, "Dispatch the third and fourth battalions, and pull five squadrons from the Cleaner units."

"Tell the frontline commander: try to take them alive."