Zhou Yun finally crawled out of bed at midday.
He rubbed at his dark circles, splashed his face with reclaimed water from the pipe, and tried to wake himself up. The gang fight last night had raged on until the early hours, the shouts, gunfire and dying screams never letting up. By the end, all that was left were the low, pitiful moans of the dying.
Massaging his temples, Zhou Yun stood behind the door and peered out through the little window slit at the street.
Corpses. The whole street was strewn with corpses — some belonging to the local gang, some to the Hōjō-gumi (Ark Gang), and even some unlucky residents who hadn't made it home in time.
He squinted.
A group of people dressed in linen robes with stylized rocket insignias inked on their faces were methodically collecting the corpses, like a swarm of diligent worker bees.
"Hōjō-gumi?"
Zhou Yun frowned. So these were Hōjō-gumi members, and they were cleaning up after the battle? How very civic-minded of them.
So the Hōjō-gumi won last night?
Even after Zhou Yun had supplied the locals with 300 PDF-issue auto-rifles, they still collapsed overnight? That was some next-level incompetence.
Pulling his Chōnōryoku Bōshi (Superpower Hat) from his pocket, he placed it on his head and focused his eyes on the Hōjō-gumi outside.
Human. They were all human.
Relieved, Zhou Yun removed his hat, pushed open the door, and stepped into the street.
The Hōjō-gumi members barely glanced at him, treating him as just another faceless figure in the crowd.
Despite the previous night's carnage, the hive's streets were still as crowded as ever. Busy workers bustled down narrow alleys, stepping over the remains of the dead as if nothing had happened. Some corpses were already half-embedded in the muddy ground from a morning of trampling.
Gang bloodbaths were nothing new. The workers didn't even bat an eye. If you were alive, you had to clock in. If you died… well, that didn't necessarily mean you were done working either. In this galaxy, only the Emperor and overtime were eternal.
Not far away, Zhou Yun spotted a severed head lying on the ground, its back of the skull facing him. A grisly bullet wound had torn through its neck. The flesh was grey and tight with age, and he could just make out the tattoo of the local gang on its ruined cheek.
He shoved through the press of people, knelt, and yanked the head up. One eye was hanging loose from its socket, exposing white bone beneath the shredded skin.
Zhou Yun clicked his tongue, equal parts regretful and unsurprised. "Figures it's not that old fox Ragu."
After a moment he muttered, "But still better looking than Ragu."
Then he tossed the head into one of the Hōjō-gumi's body bags, keeping it out of the way of passersby.
The Hōjō-gumi member gave him a polite bow of thanks, which made Zhou Yun's eye twitch. The more virtuous these Hōjō-gumi seemed, the more convinced he was they were actually part of some Gene-Stealer Cult.
Something about the air on this street felt strange too, like an intangible fog was drifting through.
"There are residual reineru (psychic) energies here," murmured the white-winged figure in the light at the corner of his vision.
"Reineru…"
Zhou Yun frowned even deeper. No wonder the locals collapsed overnight — the Hōjō-gumi had a reinerusha (psyker) on their side. More and more suspicious.
Shaking his head, he headed westward through the crush, passing under a gate of scrap iron and arriving at the three-way square dominated by the towering statue of Saint Gilliam.
Many residents knelt at its base, murmuring prayers.
Zhou Yun simply shook his head, then followed the direction of the saint's spear. There, Old One-Eye's bar was open for business.
The bar was noisy inside. A half-drunk worker was standing on a table, loudly recounting last night's events.
"The Hōjō-gumi's kyōshu (preacher) led her people and smashed through to the local boss's doorstep by midnight," the worker proclaimed. "But nobody expected our boys to whip out three hundred Agripinaa-pattern rifles!"
He noticed the skeptical faces around him and insisted, "I swear I saw it with my own eyes — three hundred Agripinaa Mark III rifles! I used to see the PDF use them back in the day."
"After a few volleys, the Hōjō-gumi were dropping like flies, couldn't take that last stronghold. But then…"
The worker lowered his voice dramatically. "The kyōshu walked out. Alone. Unarmed. She recited the Seikenroku (Book of Holy Words), and our guys just froze. Then she raised her hands and commanded: 'Drop your weapons!' and they all dropped their rifles, just like that."
"She declared it was the God-Emperor's punishment on the faithless, that she was His blessed, sent to deliver Asfōdo's masses from the demons among the stars…"
Zhou Yun ignored him and took a seat at the bar. Old One-Eye handed him a foaming crimson drink.
"Find that notebook?" the old man asked.
Zhou Yun took a sip and shook his head. "Not that easy. I didn't even set foot inside the Corpse Guild."
That was true enough.
Old One-Eye sighed. "Well, if you can't, nobody can. Guess that job's a wash."
Then he leaned in close, lowered his voice, and whispered: "But you caught it, right? That kyōshu of theirs… she's an ihō reinerusha (illegal psyker)."
(End of Chapter)
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