hotmtlnovel Chapter 88 Losses
Chapter 88 Losses
Chapter 88 Losses
The butcher moved closer, the strong stench of blood emanating from him. He said with a forced smile, "The air there reeks of rotten flesh and engine oil, and the ground is stained with indelible blood."
"In the past, many civilian staff members who came down from the spire to inspect the area would vomit their expensive lunches all over the floor within five minutes of entering, and some were so scared that they wet their pants."
Bill stared maliciously at Rowe's neat manager's uniform.
"If you feel unwell or are worried about getting your boots dirty, you can still refuse now. After all, farmers may not be used to seeing pigs being slaughtered."
This is the second attempt.
Bill bets that Lowe is a spineless coward who only talks the talk.
If Lowe refuses, then in the subsequent cooperation, Bill will have absolute psychological dominance and may even tamper with the processing.
Luo Wei raised his hand and gently straightened his collar.
He showed no anger at being offended, nor did he reveal any disgust at the bloodshed; his eyes remained as calm as when he arrived.
"Physical inventory of fixed assets is an integral part of the audit process."
Meeting Bill's imposing gaze, Lowe said calmly, "I need to verify whether your production line is as efficient as you boast, to ensure my raw materials are not wasted."
"As for the smell and the stench of blood, I've seen worse things at the Seventh Grain Depot. Lead the way, Supervisor Bill."
O
Bill paused for a moment, then burst into laughter.
"Good, you've got guts!"
He pushed open the door and roared at the guards outside, "Open the airtight door to Workshop 4! We're taking our guests to see what true industrial aesthetics are!"
No. 4 minced meat workshop.
-
There is no distinction between day and night here.
The high-pressure sodium lamps hanging from the dome cast a dim, unsettling light.
With each breath, the lungs are forced to filter out high concentrations of oil particles, rust dust, and the burnt smell of proteins.
To ordinary people, this is the stench of hell.
However, for Bill, the "Butcher" who manages the northern granary, this is the pheromone of money and power.
"Listen to this voice, Manager Lowe."
Bill walked ahead, his heavy hydraulic exoskeleton boots screeching as he stepped on the openwork steel grating.
He spread his arms wide, as if he were a vineyard owner showing off his wine cellar to his guests.
Although what flowed around was not red wine, but dark red waste liquid.
"The roar of pistons, the meshing of gears, and the crunching of bones being crushed—this is the most beautiful symphony in the entire Fertility II."
Luo Wei followed behind, expressionless, and adjusted the filter valve of his breathing mask.
His gaze did not linger on Bill's exaggerated gestures, but rather habitually swept over the surrounding production line.
In his view, everything here was labeled with an asset valuation.
On the left is a row of giant M36 meat grinder arrays.
Dozens of machine operators, whose pain receptors have been removed, are mechanically feeding partially thawed organic blocks into the feed inlet.
These organic blocks are mainly stock previously delivered from the Ninth Agricultural Theater.
On some of the organic blocks, there are still remnants of the chitinous carapaces of mutated creatures, and on others, you can even see the distinctive gray-green skin of the ghouls.
Machines are not picky eaters.
The enormous spiral blades spun with a roar, pulverizing all flesh, bones, viruses, and heretical beliefs into a uniform pale pink paste.
On the right is a high-temperature steam pipe.
Due to a lack of maintenance, the pipe connections hissed and emitted white steam, which occasionally scalded passing workers.
Lowe noticed that the disability rate among the workers here was alarmingly high.
Almost everyone has a prosthetic limb.
Some had rough iron hooks instead of hands, while others had rusty iron rods instead of calves.
Their eyes were empty and numb, like a group of flesh and blood parts that could only repeat the same actions.
Fixed asset depreciation rate: Extremely high.
Maintenance costs: extremely low.
[Safety Hazard: Lethal]
Lowe quickly jotted down notes in his mental ledger.
This is an extremely extensive and predatory business practice.
Bill didn't care about the loss of "parts" because in the past, the Ninth Agricultural War Zone would continuously send in new corpses and refugees to fill the gap.
However, now the upstream supply has been cut off.
If Bill continues this high-loss model, the northern granary will come to a standstill within three months due to labor shortages.
Rowe pointed out the problem directly, saying slowly, "Your losses are too great, Bill. The worker who was cleaning the feed inlet just now reacted 0.5 seconds slower than the standard."
"If it weren't for good luck, his arm would have been caught in it. Once the machine jams, the production loss from an hour of downtime would be enough to replace his robotic arm with a better one."
Bill stopped in his tracks.
He turned around, his mechanical prosthetic eye, flashing yellow light, focused on Rowe, and then let out a laugh.
"Ha! This is a common problem among you office clerks; you always like to scrutinize trivial accounts."
Bill casually grabbed a freshly pressed military ration biscuit from the assembly line next to him.
It was a semi-finished product, still steaming hot.
He didn't mind the heat and stuffed it directly into the feeding opening of the metal jaw, crushing it with a "crunch".
"Here, human life is the cheapest commodity. As long as the machines keep running and meat keeps being produced, the emperor will be satisfied and the governor will shut up."
He chewed and mumbled, "But since you mentioned attrition—Love, do you know what the most troublesome attrition for me lately is?"
Luo Wei's heart stirred slightly.
He noticed that Bill's tone had changed.
The nouveau riche's ostentatious display has vanished, replaced by the chilling presence of a butcher sharpening his knife.
"I'd like to hear the details," Lowe replied calmly.
Bill waved his hand, signaling to his adjutant behind him, a gaunt man known as "The Skinner" Valken, to open the airtight door leading to the administrative district.
Valken nodded silently.
The adjutant had a very low profile; he didn't speak the whole way and walked very quietly.
He was wearing a gray work uniform that was clearly a size too big, with the collar turned up high, covering half of his face and only revealing a pair of grayish-white eyes.
As Valken passed by Rowe, Rowe's right hand, which was in his trench coat pocket, gripped the modified oracles.
shock.
Violent tremors.
The bio-radar connected to "Chimera 1" downstairs is currently alarming frantically.
This frequency is like a hungry beast smelling blood that's right next to it.
Luo Wei's heart tightened.
He looked at Bill, who was walking ahead, and then at the silent adjutant, Valken.
Who is it?
Did the Wall of Gluttony have a craving for this fat man covered in grease, or for this thin, sinister adjutant?
The group returned to the "banquet hall" on the top floor of the administration building.
The roar of the workshop was cut off as the heavy, airtight soundproof door locked shut behind us.
Bill dragged his heavy steps to the desk and slumped into the chair.
He didn't rush to discuss the topic of "wear and tear" that he had just mentioned.
Instead, he slowly reached his hand towards a corner of the desk, an area covered in shadow.
Lowe remembered clearly that the thing that had made him uneasy in that previous glance was placed there.
Bill dragged a purple mineral statue into the glow of the lamp.
A snake, its head and tail joined together, is devouring itself.
"When I was at the bottom of the nest, I heard a very interesting saying."
Bill repeatedly rubbed the smooth, cold surface of the statue with his rough thumb.
The industrial grease on his fingers was applied to the pure purple ore, causing the lines of the sculpture to reflect a lustrous sheen under the light.
His eyes also became unfocused, as if revealing a kind of infatuation.
"They say that the emperor is great, but the emperor is too far away."
"And among the stars, there exists an older, more loving force."
"It promises evolution, it promises that everyone will become one, there will be no distinction between nobles and commoners, only pure fusion of flesh and blood."
Bill looked up, his mechanical eyes flashing, staring intently at Rowe, and said in a low voice, "As long as we accept the Holy Kiss," we can shed this decaying body and gain eternal rebirth—Rowe, what do you think of this theory?
This is a test.
They practically had the words "I am a heretic" written all over their faces.
Every word in these remarks precisely echoes the doctrines of the "Star Child" gene-stealer cult.
Buck, standing behind Rowe, broke out in a cold sweat.
His hand touched the handle of the explosive gun on his lower back, his muscles tense.
With just a glance from Luo Wei, he would draw his gun without hesitation.
At this distance, the odds of winning against Bill, who is heavily armored, are extremely slim.
However, Lo Wei remained calm.
He didn't even change his posture; he simply picked up the teacup in front of him and gently blew on the tea stems floating on top.
Luo Wei did this because of the "on-site audit" he had just conducted on the way to Workshop No. 4.
The Starchildren, a gene-stealing cult, has always cloaked itself in the guise of religion, but in essence, it is the vanguard of the Tyranids.
Their genes are etched with greed and the extreme exploitation of "biomass".
If Bill were a high-ranking member of a religious sect, a so-called "Witch King," "Master," or "Leader," then this meat grinder would never have been so crude and wasteful.
A true alien manager will squeeze every drop of blood and every gram of bone marrow down to the molecular level.
We will never allow those precious proteins to be discharged into the sewers with waste liquid.
They will not tolerate such low-level energy loss as steam pipe leakage.
In reality, Bill's factory was filled with human laziness, chaos, and extravagance.
In addition, Rowe noticed Bill's greasy, large hands.
His hand was casually playing with the purple "statue," and the oil from between his fingers even rubbed onto the surface of the statue.
For fervent religious believers, sacred objects are for worship, not for use as walnut bowls.
This blasphemous attitude toward the "sacred relic," coupled with the extravagance of "biomass," constitutes irrefutable evidence for Lowe's judgment:
The fat man in front of me is just a greedy human butcher, definitely not some shrewd and cunning high-ranking official.
Lowe put down his teacup and said loudly, "Director Bill, if you want to test my loyalty to the Emperor with such low-level heretical remarks, then you are wasting both of our time."
"I'm not interested in theology, nor in evolution. I'm only interested in one thing: balance sheets."