Chapter 77: The Grox-Meat Goldmine
Kian Voss let out a long, ragged sigh. Fine. Food was food. Even if it wasn't a crate of Bolter shells, "Cluck-Thump" canned poultry was a premium asset. In a Hive City currently undergoing a total collapse of its food supply, real organic meat—not the synthetic grey sludge from the vats—wasn't just "food." It was a luxury label that could be traded for anything from information to heavy weaponry.
"Start hauling," Kian commanded, his eyes sweeping over the mountain of metal.
The container was gargantuan. It held nearly a thousand large iron shipping cases. If each case contained twenty tins, Kian was looking at twenty thousand individual units of high-grade protein.
The cargo-trolley couldn't handle it all in one trip. Kian sent Shiv back with the first load, ordering him to hitch every available car to the power-head and return immediately. The rest of the crew stayed behind to guard the "Vault," keeping their rifles leveled at the shadows to ward off any curious Sump-rats.
Kian used his combat knife to pry open one of the shipping cases. It was exactly as the label promised: twenty heavy, rectangular canisters, each weighing about 700 grams. There was no pull-ring; this was old-school industrial packaging. He used his blade to puncture the lid of one tin.
A thick layer of spicy red oil bubbled out of the breach, followed immediately by a scent so powerful it felt like a physical impact. It was the smell of roasted meat, heavy salts, and a complex blend of aromatic spices.
The crew was drawn to the scent like moths to a flare. They huddled around the open tin, their pupils dilating.
Inside the red oil were massive chunks of deboned Grox-fowl, some with the fatty skin still attached. It looked less like an Imperial ration and more like a high-end Spire delicacy—reminiscent of the legendary "Szechuan Hotpot" from the ancient Terran archives.
Gulp.
The sound of synchronized swallowing echoed through the metal container. Despite having just finished a feast in the brewery, the Joels and even the Silent One were salivating. Sansa's cooking was good, but she was a woman of the famine—she rationed spices as if they were holy relics. This tin was an explosion of grease and flavor that their Underhive-starved bodies craved.
Kian noticed a small plastic pouch tucked into the side of the shipping case. He tore it open, revealing a primitive heating kit: a solidified alcohol tab, a small matchbox, and a foldable metal stand.
He set up the stand, lit the alcohol tab, and placed the open tin on the flame.
Within minutes, the red oil began to simmer and pop. The aroma intensified, filling the container with a cloud of spicy, savory steam. Kian dipped his combat knife into the tin, speared a chunk of skin-on meat, and shoved it into his mouth.
The meat was tender, rich, and saturated with salt. The spices burned his tongue in the best way possible. "By the Throne," Kian whispered, "this is a legendary-tier drop."
He handed the knife to Little Joel, who speared a piece and nearly wept as he chewed. The boy passed the blade to Big Joel, who ate with a look of religious devotion. Finally, even the Silent One took a turn, his eyes glowing a faint purple as the sensory overload momentarily silenced the static in his head.
When the tin was nearly empty, Silentium simply picked it up and drank the remaining spicy broth, licking his lips with a rhythmic, satisfied smacking sound.
Kian wiped grease from his chin and looked at Big Joel. "You lived in the Mid-Hive your whole life. Before the exile, what was the price of meat? If I moved this through a black-market broker, what would a tin go for?"
Big Joel thought for a long time, his eyes focused on the empty canister.
"Master Voss... before the rebellion, you could barely find fresh meat on the open market. A kilogram of 'raw' Grox would cost eighty scrips. But that was then. Now? With the Hive running on synthetic starch? The price has likely quadrupled.
"As for this?" Big Joel gestured to the iron case. "This isn't just meat. It's processed, seasoned, and preserved. This is a Spire luxury. Even when the grain was flowing, a tin like this would be a precious gift."
Kian leaned back. "Give me a number, Joel."
"If I were the merchant," Big Joel whispered, "I wouldn't let a single tin go for less than 600 scrips. Maybe 900 in the high-density residential blocks. But you have a problem, Lord: a common worker only earns 2,000 a month. They can't afford a meal that costs a third of their salary. You'll find buyers among the merchants and the upper-tier foremen, but moving twenty thousand tins in the Mid-Hive will take years."
Kian smirked. He didn't care about the "speed" of the sale. He cared about the value.
At 600 scrips a tin, this single container was worth 14.4 Million Agri-Scrips.
He had opened a loot box and found a kingdom. He could use these tins as a universal currency—better than scrip, because you could eat it.
The cargo-trolley returned, Shiv having hitched all ten cars to the power-head. The crew went into a frenzy, stacking the cases until the trolley was a wall of military green.
It took two full round-trips to empty the container. Total haul: 1,200 cases. 24,000 tins. Millions of scrips in liquid assets.
When they finally returned to the brewery, the Water Guild Overseer, Reno, was still passed out on the table, snoring through his "Soul-Wash" hangover. His guards, however, were wide awake. They watched with bewildered expressions as Kian's men unloaded a mountain of Spire-grade shipping cases.
Kian walked over to the Guild guards and handed two full cases—forty tins—to each of them.
The guards froze. They were literate men; they could read the labels. They knew exactly what was inside those iron boxes.
"Master Voss... this... this is too much," one guard stammered. "We didn't do anything but move a few boxes."
Kian slapped the man's shoulder, his eyes hard and cold. "What are you being polite for? We're all brothers in the Sump, aren't we? Are you telling me you're too good for my gifts? Are you trying to insult me?"
The guards looked at each other, then at the "Cluck-Thump" logos, then back at Kian.
If you put it like that, what else is there to say?
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