"Bleeeghhh—"
Scarlet liquor, half-digested protein cubes, and meat skewers spewed out of Zhou Yun's throat, pooling in a foul-smelling mess on the muddy ground.
Only after the freight train behind him rattled away on the dilapidated tracks did a hint of color return to his pale face.
Last night, Old One-Eye had thanked him for accepting the job by treating him to a frothy crimson drink.
Zhou Yun then kept his own word and bought a round for the hive workers at the bar, and in the process, he got forced to drink quite a bit himself.
The stuff Old One-Eye brewed in some dark sewer or cellar had God-knows-what impurities and toxic blends. After a few extra cups, Zhou Yun felt like Angron, Fluffy Second Brother, and the Emperor were all wrestling naked in his skull. The pain left him dizzy and reeling, forcing him to crash in the bar's back room.
In the morning, still not fully awake, he was stuffed into a rickety freight car by Old One-Eye's arrangement.
The train was meant for hauling goods between hive zones, running on nearly unmaintained rails, rocking dangerously all the way. Buildings crowded the tracks, sometimes brushing against the train, with laundry even hanging over the rails.
Several times, Zhou Yun was sure this train was going to drag an entire apartment block to the Emperor's throne.
"Bleeeghhh—"
After a few more retches, only dry heaving remained, his throat raw and his stomach empty.
"I could offer you a far more efficient mode of transportation."
The winged figure in the white light flapped gently.
"I can help you soar through the skies."
"There is no sky in the hive—and you can do that?" Zhou Yun looked at him warily.
"A touch of my psychic power into your body, and wings shall sprout—"
He flapped his own pristine wings gently.
"Stop. That sounds like some warp-born corruption."
Zhou Yun waved frantically to cut him off. He didn't want to end up as some bird-man.
If wings suddenly grew out of his back, no one would call him a saint or angel. He'd be tagged a mutant.
Even in the underhive—the human sewer—people still counted themselves lucky not to live in the subhive.
At least they had a proper human skull. Not mutated. Not twisted.
The subhive below the underhive was the realm of mutants, heretics, monsters, and madmen.
By comparison, the underhive was a paradise.
"Must you stand in the middle of the path with your puke?"
A deep voice snapped Zhou Yun out of his thoughts.
Two heavy-hooded figures stood before him.
Zhou Yun blinked and realized he and his vomit were blocking the narrow alley.
"Mongu, have you forgotten the angel's teachings? Patience. As we serve our god with patience."
The taller hooded man chided his companion.
Then he looked at Zhou Yun.
Zhou Yun stepped aside.
The tall man gave a polite nod, and the two walked past.
Was it just his imagination, or did Zhou Yun catch a faint, rotten-sweet scent—like spoiled fruit?
He thought he heard a deep insect-like drone. Saw, just barely, little black gnats flitting through the air.
White light flared at the edge of his vision. Pristine wings flapped once.
The illusions vanished.
"Not illusions," said the winged figure softly.
Much of Zhou Yun's nausea faded instantly.
He glanced toward where the two had gone but only shook his head.
Curiosity wasn't a virtue in this world. He wasn't interested in judging others' purity.
Besides, the two had shown him no malice.
To his knowledge, Ashford hadn't suffered any major heretical outbreaks before the swarm came.
So as long as they weren't Genestealers, Zhou Yun didn't even care to look twice.
He made his way through the maze-like streets, following Lag's map toward the entrance of Sector Eight.
Soon, he saw it.
Hard to miss.
A collapsed building had smashed through the hive's artificial floor and fallen into a deep chasm.
According to Old One-Eye, a scavenger had been collecting trash and found a soda can stuck between two walls.
He pulled it out, not noticing the sign next to it: "This can is holding up the entire building. Do not remove."
And so the building collapsed.
Tore through the hive flooring.
Exposed the long-buried Sector Eight.
Zhou Yun could only mutter: Hive city standard procedures. He was used to it.
Most hive structures were like spaghetti code written by vocational school grads—held together by some bug.
If it wasn't collapsing, don't touch it. You never knew if that one soda can was the only thing holding the whole block together.
A few steps further and he saw the pit had been cordoned off, probably by local gang members.
He shook his head. No need to rush.
His head was still throbbing, and his throat churned. Better to rest a bit first.
He knocked on the door of a nearby shack.
"Damn it, another one? I don't house weirdos overnight."
Clattering came from within, followed by a thick-faced hive worker peering through the crack.
Zhou Yun said nothing, just reached into his pocket.
"I'm telling you, kid, I don't—"
Zhou Yun shoved a pack of lho-sticks through the door crack. The man froze.
Then forced a wide, awkward grin.
"Sir! Please, come right in!"
(End of Chapter)
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