[HOST INTEGRITY: 5%]
[LOCATION: LAST STOP FACTORY - CONTROL DECK]
[TIME: 9:00 AM]
Ren stared at the text message on his cracked phone screen.
The screen had a spider web crack running through the middle. Made the words look fractured.
**[FROM: ANONYMOUS]**
**[MESSAGE: They are coming. Recall order issued. 1 hour.]**
He didn't panic. Didn't curse. Didn't throw the phone.
He just wiped a speck of soot off the screen with his thumb and checked the time.
59 minutes, 12 seconds remaining.
Ren looked across the factory floor. Lu Wei was hunched over a pressure valve, humming some old mining song. The old bastard looked twenty years younger than he had in that Guild basement. Grease stains on his shirt. Smile on his weathered face.
Actually happy.
"Lu," Ren called out. His voice cut through the machine noise.
Lu Wei looked up, wrench still in his hand. "Yeah, Boss?"
"Pack your tools."
The humming stopped.
Lu Wei set the wrench down slowly. Like it was made of glass.
"What? Why? We just got the compression ratio to 98%. I was gonna try for—"
"Your owners are here," Ren said. "Recall order."
The wrench slipped from Lu Wei's fingers. Hit the metal grating with a sharp clang that echoed.
"No." Lu Wei's voice cracked. "No, they can't. I'm not—I mean, I work here now. I'm an engineer here. I'm not a fucking slave."
Ren walked over. His footsteps clanked on the metal stairs.
He placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. The touch wasn't comforting. It was final. Like a judge's gavel.
"To them, you're an asset. Assets get repossessed."
Lu Wei stared at him. Then he laughed—a bitter, broken sound.
"Forty years. Forty fucking years I've been fixing their shit. And I'm still just inventory."
---
The factory gates didn't just open.
They exploded inward.
The sound was like a car crash—metal screaming, bolts shearing, the whole frame buckling. Dust and rust flakes showered down.
Three massive shapes stepped through the twisted wreckage.
Smithing Guild Enforcers.
They weren't human. They were Golems—ten feet of tarnished bronze and hissing steam, powered by spirit-stones that burned in their chest cavities like hearts made of fire. Their faces were blank iron masks. Their arms were hydraulic pistons that wheezed with each movement.
Behind them walked a Guild Clerk. Thin. Pale. Looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
The lead Golem's chest-furnace flared. Steam vented from its shoulders with a sound like a dying kettle.
"Recall Warrant #9902!" the Clerk shouted over the factory noise. His voice cracked on the numbers. "Authorized by Overseer Stone! All Lu Clan personnel are to vacate the premises immediately!"
Red Dog roared.
Not a shout. A roar. Like a cave bear protecting its den.
The Ogre grabbed a heavy crowbar from a tool rack. Behind him, the Iron Fist Gang drew knives, pipes, whatever weapons they could find. Their faces were twisted with rage.
"Not in my house!" Red Dog bellowed, spittle flying. "I'll turn these tin cans into fucking scrap metal!"
The lead Golem's response was mechanical, inevitable.
A massive, spinning saw-blade extended from its wrist with a grinding mechanical whine. Sparks flew as the blade caught the overhead lights.
"Stand down."
Ren's voice cut through the noise like a scalpel.
Red Dog spun around, confusion and betrayal warring on his scarred face. "Boss? What the fuck? We can take these bastards!"
Ren walked down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other on his umbrella. He moved slowly. Deliberately.
"Read the contract, Red Dog. Clause 7. 'The lessor retains right of recall for emergency operations.' We fight them, we violate the lease terms. We violate the lease, the Administration seizes the factory as disputed property."
Red Dog's face went through several emotions. Rage. Confusion. Understanding. More rage.
"So we just... let them?"
Ren looked at the Clerk. The man was sweating despite the morning cold.
"Take them."
---
It was ugly.
Uglier than Ren had expected.
The Golems marched onto the production floor like they owned it. Which, technically, they did.
They didn't ask the engineers to leave politely. They didn't negotiate.
They grabbed them.
Engineers screamed as cold metal claws hoisted them into the air. Tools clattered to the floor. Half-finished repairs were abandoned. Wires hung loose, sparking.
Lu Wei tried to run.
The old man ducked behind a coolant tank, but two Golems cornered him. He kicked. He punched. He bit one of them—his teeth scraped harmlessly off bronze plating.
They dragged him backward, his boots scraping against the concrete, leaving black marks.
"You're killing us!" Lu Wei screamed at the Clerk. His voice was raw. "We were building something! Something that matters!"
The Clerk didn't even look at him. He was checking items off a list on his clipboard.
"Quota is quota, old man. Nothing personal."
Lu Wei craned his neck, looking desperately at Ren.
"Ren! The machine! It's not fucking automated yet!"
The Golems kept dragging him toward the exit. His feet left skid marks on the floor.
"The Soul-Stitch Array is unstable! It needs twenty engineers minimum to regulate the heat flow! If nobody's steering this thing, the core melts down in an hour!"
His voice was getting fainter as they dragged him away.
"You'll lose everything! The whole factory!"
"I know," Ren said quietly.
Lu Wei stared at him. The betrayal hit like a physical blow.
Then he was gone.
The Golems marched out in formation. The Clerk slapped a "PROPERTY REPOSSESSED BY GUILD ORDER" sticker on the twisted gate frame and hurried after them.
Silence fell over the factory.
Heavy silence. Dead silence.
Then—
*Rattle.*
The Metabolic Converter shuddered. The green status lights on the main console flickered yellow. The steady hum of the furnace began to pitch upward into a whine.
A warning whine.
**[CAUTION: CORE TEMPERATURE RISING]**
**[MANUAL REGULATION REQUIRED]**
**[ESTIMATED TIME TO CRITICAL: 47 MINUTES]**
Red Dog stared at the empty factory floor. At the abandoned tools. At the blinking warning lights.
"We're fucked," the Ogre muttered. His voice was flat. Defeated. "I can smash things, Boss. I can't do... engineering shit."
Ren looked at the machine. Heat shimmer was starting to rise from the copper pipes. The air tasted like hot metal.
"We need hands," Ren said.
"We can't hire anyone," Jian said. His voice was climbing toward panic. "Nether-Core blacklisted us across three sectors. No living engineer will step foot in here. We're radioactive."
Ren turned to look out the loading bay windows.
Pressed against the glass were thousands of faces.
Grey faces. Gaunt faces. Desperate faces.
The Grey Line addicts. Still waiting for the next batch. They'd been waiting for hours.
"We don't need living hands," Ren said softly.
He turned to Ye Lingshan.
She was standing near the furnace control panel. Her hand rested on her sword hilt—a nervous habit. She looked pale, but her eyes were steady.
"Miss Ye," Ren said. "The Ye Clan specializes in Funeral Rites. Correct?"
Lingshan nodded slowly. Warily. "We guide the dead to their rest. We do not... employ them."
"Can you bind a spirit to a physical object? Long-term binding?"
Lingshan looked at the machine. Understanding dawned in her eyes like a cold sunrise. Her face went white.
"The Paper Servant rite allows spirits to inhabit mannequins for simple tasks. But this..." She touched the hot copper piping. Jerked her hand back, hissing through her teeth.
"This is a furnace, Ren. It channels raw entropy. Spiritual fire. If you bind a ghost to this machinery, it will burn them. Constantly."
"They're already burning," Ren said. His voice was ice-cold.
He pointed out the window at the mob of desperate spirits.
"Starvation dissolves the soul. Piece by piece. It takes weeks. It's slow, agonizing erasure."
Ren looked at the overheating machine. At the warning lights.
"This is steady work. And steady food."
Lingshan looked at the mob outside. Looked at the machine. Looked at Ren.
She was a noble. A protector of ancient traditions.
But she was also the granddaughter of a warlord. She knew what survival cost.
She drew her sword.
Not to fight. To work.
She spun the blade, letting the tip scratch against the concrete floor in a slow circle.
The screech of metal on stone made everyone's teeth ache.
"I can modify the rite," she said. Her voice was hard. Professional. "I can anchor them to the control systems. But once they're bound... they cannot leave. Ever. They become part of the circuit."
Ren checked his watch.
42 minutes to meltdown.
"Open the doors."
---
Red Dog heaved the heavy bay doors open.
The sound hit them like a physical force.
"GREY LINE! GIVE US THE GREY!"
"WE'VE BEEN WAITING!"
"PLEASE! JUST ONE STICK!"
The mob surged forward, but Red Dog planted himself in the doorway like a mountain.
Ren stepped beside him.
He held up a bundle of Grey Line sticks. The crowd went silent. They could smell the static and ash from fifty feet away.
"I have job openings," Ren announced.
His voice wasn't loud, but in the sudden silence, it carried like a gunshot.
"Fifty positions. Factory operator class."
A sea of desperate hands shot up.
"ME! PICK ME!"
"I'LL WORK! I'LL DO ANYTHING!"
"I'VE GOT EXPERIENCE!"
"The pay," Ren continued, "is direct feed. You'll be hooked into the source. You'll inhale pure product. You will never be hungry again."
The crowd pressed forward. Salvation was within reach.
"But," Ren said.
The word cut through their desperation like a knife.
He pointed to the glowing, dangerous machine behind him.
"No breaks. No shifts. No time off. You become part of the machine. Permanent employment."
He looked at the starving faces. At the hollow eyes.
"Who wants the job?"
They didn't hesitate.
They didn't ask about safety protocols. They didn't ask about benefits packages. They didn't ask about worker's compensation.
They stampeded.
"ONLY FIFTY!" Red Dog roared, using his bulk to create a choke point, grabbing ghosts by their necks and shoving them into a line. "Rest of you fuckers wait outside!"
Fifty ghosts stood beside fifty manual control stations.
They looked terrified.
But they looked at the Grey Line in Ren's hand, and the terror evaporated. Replaced by hunger. By need.
By gratitude.
"Do it," Ren said.
Ye Lingshan moved.
She was poetry in motion. Deadly grace. She sliced her palm with her sword edge—one quick, efficient cut. Blood welled up. Bright red cultivator blood that seemed to glow in the factory light.
She splattered it onto the central rune of the machine.
Then she began to chant.
Old words. Ancient syllables .
"Dust to dust. Iron to bone. The contract is sealed. The flesh is stone."
The factory lights flickered.
Shadows twisted. Lengthened. Reached toward the machine like hungry fingers.
The fifty ghosts screamed.
Not in pain. In transition. In transformation.
The sound was like air being sucked out of a sealed room.
**SHHH-THUNK.**
The ghosts were pulled forward.
Their translucent hands merged with the copper control levers.
Their feet melted into the metal grating.
Their bodies stretched, becoming grey, misty extensions of the valves and pipes and gauges.
They gasped.
The machine fed them. Raw vapor pumped directly into their spectral veins. Pure product mainlined into their souls.
Their eyes rolled back. The hunger—the constant, gnawing spiritual hunger—vanished.
For the first time in months, they were full.
---
Silence.
Absolute, terrifying silence.
Living engineers grunt. They shift their weight. They wipe sweat. They curse under their breath.
The dead do not.
Fifty pairs of spectral hands moved in perfect unison.
*Click. Twist. Turn.*
They adjusted heat flow with impossible precision. They didn't need to read the gauges. They felt the temperature changes because they were part of the furnace now.
The angry whine of overheating machinery died away.
The machine settled into a low, smooth rhythm.
Like a heartbeat. Like breathing.
Lu Wei had struggled to maintain 98% efficiency with a full crew.
Ren watched the monitor.
**[EFFICIENCY: 104%]**
**[STABILITY: OPTIMAL]**
**[CORE TEMPERATURE: NOMINAL]**
Ye Lingshan sheathed her sword. Her hands were shaking. She wrapped a strip of cloth around her bleeding palm.
She stared at the row of fused workers.
"It's... stable," she whispered. She looked sick. "But they're not people anymore. They're machinery."
Ren walked down the line of operators.
He stopped next to Ghost-Worker 12.
The spirit didn't look at him. Its eyes were fixed on its valve. Its face was blank, blissful, empty.
It was fed. It was safe. It was owned.
Ren checked his mental ledger.
**[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION]**
**[TECHNOLOGY UPGRADE: SPECTRAL AUTOMATION ACQUIRED]**
**[LABOR COSTS: ELIMINATED]**
**[PRODUCTION EFFICIENCY: +200%]**
**[WARNING: ETHICAL INTEGRITY COMPROMISED]**
Ren dismissed the warning without reading it.
He looked at the empty workstation where Lu Wei used to stand. At the tools scattered on the floor.
"Nether-Core thought they crippled me," Ren said softly.
He tapped the metal housing of the machine. Ghost-Worker 12 twitched in response, like a nerve being stimulated.
"They just eliminated my overhead."
The machine hummed. The dead worked. The Grey Line flowed.
Outside, the mob pressed against the windows, watching their friends disappear into the machinery.
Waiting for their turn.
---
**[END CHAPTER 48]**