Emperor Gutt. Corpse Grinder Cult Leader

Between the bone and the gristle, where meat runs to fat and the iron taste of blood is purer than water. That first bite into pink, blood-flesh. That’s when you know your strength, and know how weak they are. That we can take what we wish, and feed our children what we wish, and be nourished.

That’s freedom. Serving no master but the hunger in your gut.

Sermon of Gristle. Emperor Gutt.

The creature that would be hunted under the title “Emperor Gutt” is thought to hail from Industry Zone BD-LaaM, having escaped the Cult insurrection that claimed that hab lock.

Given the poor bookkeeping of BD-LaaM (cross:ref_Delaque//Children_of_Ekhnida//crim0992930) we can only piece together the suspected timeline of the cult uprising.

With the collapse of the Dust Pan Grox harvest (Cylce3098), Corpse Starch quotas tripled to meet the calorie demands of the sector. An intensive recruitment drive for workers ensued.

Families are drafted into the production of Corpse Starch. Quotas are not met. Civil unrest rises to unacceptable levels.

Fatalities of Corpse Grinder workers increase but are still well within tolerances (posthumous promotions recommended for worker overseers).

Four facilities turn mutinous within a 34-72 hour period. Enforcer reaction is reprehensibly lenient. Arbites aid is requested.

Citizens live beyond the bounds of the Pax Helmawr. Irreparable damage to grinder facilities a45. through to v76.

Hab Zone BD-LaaM asset recovery deemed cost-prohibitive. The rioters have damned themselves by ruining the machines used in the production of Corpse Starch.

Arbites crowd control seal Hab Zone BD-LaaM under the Law of Pax Helmawr for a period of no less than 66 years. This is deemed sufficient time that all condemned within to expire.

It started with the sound of my boy’s laugh, and the crack of a whip.

It hurt to see the change in his boy after he worked on the cutting floor. No one that young should rend a corpse down into parts. No one should be expected to haul the dead from the cart to the rack, hour after hour, with such little, shivering limbs.

He didn’t mind the crack of the whip. The overseers were just doing their duty to Lord Helmawr and him on the Throne. But why did they have to threaten his boy? They knew this wasn’t fair. The draft had been needed, but they knew he couldn’t dissemble a corpse like the older grinders.

The hunger got too much. Not for meat. The hunger to see his boy flourish. To see his eyes shine again and laugh. He’d loved that sound, that idiot, happy giggle. It was the purest thing he’d owned in his life. That giggle was in his head as the whip split his child’s back.

He was told, much later, what had happened in those first few hours. He couldn’t remember turning his chain cleaver on the slaver. Or taking the head of the shift supervisor. He couldn’t remember much of anything now. This wasn’t a plan, but he was here now, slick with gore, head filled with the sound of sirens and screaming. They would not turn the whip on him, or his again.

“By the Lord of Gristle, I’ll protect them.”

 

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