Chapter Content
The mountain of decommissioned ordnance was moved to the Underhive in several heavy hauls. The crates were cracked open in the main plaza of the chemical manufactorum, spilling out hundreds of shattered, rusted, and blood-stained Imperial frames.
Kian Voss stood over the pile and summoned Little Joel and the two hundred militiamen.
"Strip them," Kian commanded. "I want every bolt, every spring, and every firing pin categorized. Cannibalize the best parts to create working rifles. If you can build a gun that clicks and bangs, it's yours to carry. If you can't, you stay on potato-peeling duty."
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