"I'm called Lain.Rus." Zhou Yun declared with a deadpan face.
The moment he uttered the name, all three present couldn't hold back.
"...You don't need to fool us with such a half-hearted fake name," Mong shook his head.
"It's fine if you don't want to reveal your real name," Markit said with a warm smile.
"...Do you have some obsession with Lain and Rus?" The winged figure in the white light chimed in.
A name combining two Primarchs of the Imperium—two that were rivals no less. Lion El'Jonson of the Dark Angels, and Leman Russ of the Space Wolves.
A name like Lain.Rus in 40K was as absurd as someone being called Jesus.Buddha or Aisin Gioro.Chongzhen.
"How is it fake? My parents chose it based on what they liked," Zhou Yun replied earnestly.
"...Your father admired Lion El'Jonson, and your mother admired Leman Russ?" Mong asked curiously.
"No, my dad liked cats, and my mom liked dogs." Zhou Yun grinned.
"Russ would probably laugh, but Lion definitely wouldn't let you go," the winged figure murmured faintly.
Mong and Markit exchanged a glance, and even though Zhou Yun couldn't see their faces under the hoods, he could feel their confusion.
"Now I really think you're on the same path as us," Mong said, turning to Zhou Yun. "Just for that line, you deserve to be burned at the stake for three days and nights."
"That over there is the PDF stronghold."
After winding through the maze-like streets of the ruined hive, Markit and Mong led the self-proclaimed "Lain.Rus" to the depths of the hive, to a pile of rubble.
Hiding behind a wide ruined building nearby, the three watched the scene ahead.
A mountain of rubble blocked the hive floor and ceiling like an insurmountable wall of sighs.
At the base of the rubble, the local gang had already set up a temporary base.
Small generators roared, powering the abandoned houses nearby and lighting up newly-installed bulbs.
The old Eighth District had once been part of the upper hive, home to middle-class hive residents—bureaucrats, factory managers, servants to the nobles. Their living conditions far surpassed the lower hive: more space, better buildings, wider streets.
Now there was no sneaking through its wide streets. The gang members had even built low walls out of debris between the buildings, clearly planning to defend it.
After all, the equipment behind the rubble in the PDF stronghold was something countless gangs salivated over.
Zhou Yun squinted slightly and noticed a small excavator already set up beside the rubble.
"They really got a small excavator in here?" Mong muttered.
"Looks like they've got a tech-savvy mechanic in their gang," Zhou Yun nodded.
He saw a few men dressed like hive workers fiddling with the excavator.
"What was your plan to get in?" Zhou Yun asked the hooded pair.
"My brother planned to corrode a tunnel through the pipes to reach the PDF stronghold from above," Mong said.
Zhou Yun twitched at the corner of his eye, glanced at the size of the rubble, and estimated the thickness between the pipes and the PDF stronghold.
"At that rate the Emperor himself could get up from the Golden Throne and you'd still be digging," Zhou Yun commented.
"I thought the same," Mong agreed wholeheartedly.
"You two, stop your little act," Markit said helplessly. "We need patience. Great patience."
"Well, I'll figure out my own way in. You two can keep digging," Zhou Yun shrugged.
"You have a way in?" Mong asked.
"Best if nobody dies," Markit added softly. "We don't want to attract too much attention."
Hearing that, Zhou Yun couldn't help but roll his eyes. His first time cooperating with cultists and they wanted no casualties... Very typical of Nurgle's followers.
"So… you got any cute little sorcery that'll give them diarrhea or something?" Zhou Yun asked, stroking his chin.
Mong and Markit exchanged a glance.
"My blood is toxic. If I add it to their water supply, they should get diarrhea... probably?" Mong said, not sounding confident.
"Diarrhea? Just diarrhea?" Zhou Yun blinked at him weirdly.
A Nurgle cultist's blood could only cause diarrhea?
Noticing Zhou Yun's odd stare, Mong stayed silent for a moment and then said, "It might also give some unlucky ones parasites or something."
Nurgle cultist blood… only causing diarrhea and parasites. Really now.
"It's fine. Mong's blood is pretty pathetic. It's never killed anyone," Markit said calmly. "If not for the corrosive property, it's harmless."
"Brother!" Mong grumbled.
Zhou Yun's lips twitched. Why did these two cultists seem so… weak? Markit was absurdly patient for a cultist, and Mong, despite being a Nurgle follower, had blood that just caused diarrhea and parasites.
No wonder there hadn't been any cultist uprisings on Asford. With this level of skill…
Zhou Yun looked at the two cultists with faint pity. Being cultists in the hive at their level couldn't have been easy.
"But look, they've got guards by the water source. How will you add Mong's blood?" Markit pointed.
Six or seven gang members were patrolling by the water.
"Ah, I have an idea!" Zhou Yun grinned and pointed a finger at the excavator by the rubble.
The mechanical hand on his hat raised its finger as well.
Whrrr—
The sound of grinding metal rose as the small excavator raised its mechanical arm.
The hive workers adjusting it jumped back, startled.
"What are you doing?!" one gang member barked.
"We didn't touch it!" the workers quickly explained.
Then, under their stunned eyes, the excavator slowly turned and faced the gang members.
"Is it the Machine Spirit?!" one worker cried, remembering a story he'd heard.
"The Machine Spirit is pleased!" another worker shouted.
Then the excavator's arm swung down hard, knocking one gang member unconscious.
The workers' faces instantly turned from excitement to fear.
"The Machine Spirit is displeased!"
(End of Chapter)
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