Due to a greenskin Ork infestation on a neighbouring Forge World, the Departmento Munitorum demanded emergency support from Agri-World 496-B. In response, the Planetary Governor ordered a drastic increase in tithes and taxation.
The world's tax burden had already been severe. Most citizens struggled to survive, many going hungry. With the new levies imposed, nearly half the farming population rose up in open rebellion.
At first, the rebels overran numerous farms, converting agricultural machinery into crude weapons and launching attacks against the PDF. After seizing several PDF garrisons and capturing large quantities of arms, the rebels rapidly expanded and soon began an assault on the hive city itself.
Millions of insurgents charged across the agricultural plains outside the hive, only to be shattered by the PDF's outer defensive lines. Both sides clashed violently across the fields. Over several years of brutal fighting, the land was reduced to a wasteland of shell craters and trenches.
It became clear to both factions that neither could decisively defeat the other. The war dragged into a long stalemate—an environment that allowed battlefield scavengers to survive in the margins.
Eighty kilometres north of the hive, more than a dozen rebel soldiers were resting in a trench when a single large-calibre artillery shell fell from the sky, killing them instantly.
A rebel-modified automatic rifle spun through the air and landed in a nearby field, catching the attention of Alex Emry, who had been crawling through the crops for quite some time.
"This automatic rifle looks to be in good condition. It's firing Grade-II ammunition… I could sell this to a black-market contact for at least 1,500 ration credits."
He muttered to himself and began crawling toward the weapon.
Alex Emry originated from the early M3 era (Third Millennium). While playing Escape from Tarkov at home, he had been instantly killed by an AI scav shouting "CYKA!" from 200 metres away with a crude slug round.
Furious, Alex uninstalled the game and switched to Arena Breakout, heading to the Northridge Hotel—only to be killed ten matches in a row by fully-kitted enemies wielding HK416s.
Enraged once again, he quit that game as well and moved on to Delta Force, only to encounter the infamous global server prison-sharing shutdown and extraction-limit incident.
In a fit of frustration, he shut down his computer and started scrolling on his phone—where he saw a meme of a feminised God-Emperor. The image read:
"Whoever sees this willingly serves the Emperor in Warhammer 40,000."
And just like that, Alex was gone—thrown into the grim darkness of the far future, stranded on this Imperial agri-world.
Life for humanity in Warhammer 40,000 was hellish—there was no need to elaborate. Fortunately, Alex's loot-and-extraction system came with him.
The system digitised Alex Emry's physical attributes. He could gain experience, increase stats, and possess a personal hideout located in an absolutely secure pocket space beneath the hive city.
Most importantly—
He could resurrect infinitely.
No matter how he died, Alex would revive in his hideout at peak condition. The only cost was that all carried equipment would be lost.
Free from fear of death, Alex began living exactly as he would in a loot-extraction game: daily battlefield runs, scavenging valuable items, returning to the underhive to sell them to gang and black-market contacts, and upgrading his hideout.
Back in the present—
Armed only with a combat knife, Alex Emry finally reached the rifle and lifted it to inspect it.
It was a boxy automatic weapon crudely assembled from scavenged parts by the rebels. Its ergonomics were terrible, and it was extremely heavy—around 7 kilograms.
He checked the barrel.
Rifling.
Alex's eyes lit up. Rifled weapons fetched higher prices.
He opened the magazine—20 rounds. The ammunition was clearly hand-loaded by the rebels, approximately 9×65mm, an enormous calibre by human standards. Ordinary soldiers could barely control such weapons.
But there was no helping it.
In the galaxy of Warhammer 40,000, monsters were everywhere. Standard M3-era calibres like 5.56mm or 7.62mm simply couldn't keep up.
After confirming the weapon hadn't been damaged by the explosion, Alex opened the loot system interface in his mind.
Item: Rebel-Manufactured Automatic RifleEstimated Value: ~2,000 Fertiliser TokensWeight: 7.2 kg
Vertical Recoil Control: 54
Horizontal Recoil Control: 42
Ergonomics: 41
Weapon Stability: 42
Accuracy: 50
Hip-Fire Stability: 61
Effective Range: 500 m
Muzzle Velocity: 950 m/s
Fire Mode: Full-Auto
Rate of Fire: 550 RPM
Calibre: 9×65mm
Damage Rating: Medium
Alex Emry was extremely satisfied.
On an agri-world like this, a lower-hive farmer spent around 150 fertiliser tokens per month. This single rifle was worth an entire year of survival.
He slung the weapon across his back and lay prone in the field for ten minutes, ensuring no one approached. Only then did Alex carefully drop into the rebel trench and move toward the shell impact site.
The dozen rebels had been completely obliterated. Body parts were scattered everywhere.
Alex spat, suppressing the stench, and began looting.
Recovered items:
1 automatic-rifle magazine (20 rounds)
60 rounds of 9×65mm ammunition
1 knife
1 axe
1 wrench
4 packs of biscuits
1 full canteen
Total value: 120 fertiliser tokens
He stuffed everything into his synthetic-leather backpack and scanned the trench.
The PDF had originally dug the trench before being overrun by rebels. If the PDF launched a counterattack, the position could change hands again at any time.
Alex existed precisely in the gaps—when both sides were resting.
After further searching, there was nothing of value left. His pack was worth about 2,300 tokens, most of it from the rifle.
"Damn it… this stuff tastes awful."
He spat again. Mostly junk. Mostly food. No rare items.
Just as Alex prepared to extract, he heard footsteps.
His heart tightened. He grabbed the rifle.
The sound came from the hive's direction.
He peeked out—then instantly ducked back down.
"Shit! PDF squad!"
A Planetary Defence Force patrol—ten soldiers in flak armour and helmets, armed with standard-issue autoguns. The squad leader carried a laspistol and frag grenades.
Alex turned and ran the other way.
He wasn't a rebel—but being caught in a rebel trench meant no explanations. The PDF would shoot first.
He tried to exit from the opposite side—
And saw more than fifty rebels advancing.
"Damn it… I'm surrounded."