Day 181, Year 988, 41st Millennium
Hive Orion
Lower Hive
As he stepped onto the main street once again, Eric immediately broke into a wide smile. He spotted a pharmacy and a weapon shop not far from where he stood. Both establishments looked like typical stores one might find in the Upper Hive, albeit in a much more dilapidated state. The area was bustling with various exchange shops—stalls that looked like machinery repair bays, food vendors, general goods stores, and a weapon shop situated directly opposite the pharmacy.
The street was heavily crowded. Many people were just passing through, while others had errands or business to attend to. A large number of them were factory workers with worn-out bodies and tattered clothes, patiently standing in a long queue stretching into the pharmacy. Most of those who walked back out did so with a smile and painkillers in hand.
Eric was slightly taken aback by the sight. He was used to seeing homeless people or addicts consuming these painkillers, but he had never imagined there would be so many people abusing them here. In his sector of the Lower Hive, no pharmacy ever had this many customers.
Furthermore, standing guard in front of both the pharmacy and the weapon shop were members of the Iron Fang gang—and they looked like the real deal. That was absolutely bad news for him.
But Eric quickly gathered his wits and tried to ignore them; they weren't his priority. What he needed to do was keep moving forward.
He stepped back into the shadows of the alley, carefully weighing his next move. Initially, he had planned to simply act like a real gang member and stroll past the bustling crowd without anyone noticing anything amiss.
But that wouldn't work on the real Iron Fang gang members. They might spot the inconsistencies and realize he was an impostor. If that happened, his plan to infiltrate their base and assassinate their leader would fail. He would have to come up with a new plan or find a different method of assassination—assuming he even survived the encounter.
Don't be so scared... Eric, if you have the guts to plan the assassination of a gang leader right in their own territory, why should you be afraid of walking into a crowded area disguised as one of them? Don't be a coward. Eric tried to console himself, finding reasons to bolster his courage and ease his mind for what he was about to do. He puffed out his chest, trying to project confidence and make himself look exactly like one of these tough gangers. He held the autogun in his hands in a relaxed posture, yet ready to fire at a moment's notice. He let out a long sigh before deciding to step out into the open and blend in with the crowd.
Everything was going smoothly. Eric walked with a confident stride, using an intimidating gaze to slowly and carefully scan his surroundings. It seemed the ordinary citizens were intimidated; they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, assuming he was a genuine Iron Fang member. Everyone in front of him quietly made way, letting him pass without issue.
Then came the most nerve-wracking part. He arrived right in front of the pharmacy, putting him squarely between it and the weapon shop. He was now standing right where the real Iron Fang members were keeping watch. Eric tried to ignore them, looking instead in the direction the pharmacy was facing. If he remembered correctly, heading down that path would lead him straight to the Iron Fang base.
Eric scanned the area and spotted an intersection on the main street with a few people walking by. As expected, the path straight down this street was the exact route to his target.
Even in such a dangerous and tense situation, Eric couldn't help but let a small smile slip. He had blended into the crowd and managed to pass right beneath the noses of the Iron Fang members without them noticing him in the slightest.
Eric sighed in relief. It seemed that, once again, he had managed to navigate through a highly dangerous situation unscathed.
His next step was to head toward the Iron Fang base. Once there, he would find a temporary hideout to observe and gather useful information for his mission: the entrances and exits of the base, the patrol shifts, and any terrain or environmental factors that could give him an advantage.
After that, he could return to his comfortable life in the Upper Hive. Eating good food, having cake... wearing clean clothes, sleeping in a soft bed, and doing paperwork.
But he knew full well that someday, perhaps in the near future, he might be called upon to undertake unpredictable, dangerous missions just like this one.
While Eric was pleasantly lost in thought, a voice made him stop dead in his tracks, his body instantly tensing with stress.
"Where do you think you're going, rookie? I don't recall seeing you assigned to this sector!"
A deep, raspy voice called out from behind him. The owner of the voice was a gang member pushing his way through the crowd toward Eric.
Eric slowly turned to face the speaker, feigning confidence to act like a tough, unyielding female ganger. His mind raced, making up various excuses, hoping he could walk away from this conversation without any bloodshed.
He locked eyes with the gang member, maintaining a fierce and defiant glare. He knew that showing weakness or hesitation would seem highly suspicious to these thugs. Projecting an aura of confident, rugged strength—while also knowing when to show begrudging respect to the gang hierarchy—would increase his chances of survival.
"I came from the slums near the old cathedral. During my patrol, I ran into some rival gangers. I managed to slit one of their throats, but the rest got away. I'm not sure what they were doing in our territory, and I couldn't take them all out alone. So, I'm heading to the base to report it," Eric retorted loudly and abruptly.
Internally, he wanted to facepalm. Even though he had altered his voice to sound harsh and loud, it still sounded weird... like a spoiled rich girl trying way too hard to sound tough.
"This isn't where you're supposed to be right now, rookie! It's not time to head back to base to restock ammo and collect your daily creds yet. Besides, if you really needed help, you should have come straight to us, not walked towards the base," the Iron Fang member pointed out.
The ganger had noticed the inconsistencies in this supposed new recruit. Even though they were a street gang, their system was surprisingly organized and complex. They had strict patrol routes and durations to maintain order and prevent rival gang incursions. Seeing a rookie wandering into his sector long before the patrol shift was over was completely abnormal.
Perhaps this is a spy.
Although Eric outwardly appeared confident and unfazed, inside, he felt an unprecedented level of tension. It seemed the gang member was already getting suspicious.
"Doing that is boring! And besides, I was alone out there, and there were six of them. I needed backup!" Eric explained in a short, sharp tone. His finger subtly slid toward the trigger guard, signaling that he was ready for a fight at any moment if the other guy raised his weapon.
"But you should have found the closest person to ask for help to deal with those scumbags!" the other man barked back. The situation seemed to be deteriorating by the second.
However, Eric suddenly saw a window of opportunity to survive this ordeal.
"But the closest people are you guys, aren't they?" Eric shot back, mentally kicking himself for almost forgetting that the Iron Fang members stationed right here were technically the closest reinforcements.
The result was exactly as expected. The Iron Fang member froze, falling silent for a moment. His eyes seemed to realize: Oh right, I am the closest person, and she should be asking me for help.
Seeing his opponent's reaction, Eric instantly felt a surge of confidence... thinking that he would soon be able to walk away from this tense situation.
But he was wrong.
"...Right... but let me ask you one question. Just to verify you're not a spy."
As the Iron Fang member spoke, Eric's tension spiked even higher. Sweat began to bead on his forehead, but his eyes and posture remained fierce and defiant.
"Was sollen die Schwachen bekommen? Che cosa devono ricevere les faibles? "
The Iron Fang member spoke in a tongue that was clearly not Low Gothic. An ordinary person who hadn't studied ancient languages would have absolutely no idea what the question meant.
But to Eric, it felt incredibly familiar. He recognized words from German, Italian, French, and English mashed together. It was as if someone had taken these ancient languages and combined them into an exclusive gang code.
Even though he recognized the languages, it took him a moment to recall the exact translation, as he hadn't used them in almost a year. Fortunately, he remembered enough to figure out the question and its answer.
However, his prolonged silence—and the subtle look of relief when he finally remembered—made him appear highly suspicious. The gang member reached for the grip of his autogun, ready to raise it and pull the trigger, deciding this new recruit was definitely a spy.
But just seconds after the Iron Fang member's fingers brushed his gun grip, right before moving to the trigger, Eric answered correctly, narrowly beating the clock.
"Den Tod. La mort. La morte." Eric answered confidently. As far as he remembered, the answer was "Death."
Upon hearing the correct response, the gang member visibly relaxed, his suspicion fading. Eric was ecstatic; he could get out of here sooner without any bloodshed.
"Hmm... guess you really are a gang member. But don't pull a stunt like this again. Anyway, where are the scumbags who invaded our turf?" the Iron Fang member asked, moving his finger to flick the safety back on his autogun.
Eric smiled and pointed back to the alley he had just emerged from.
"I heard some noise earlier, so I went to check and found them in there. But I'm not sure if they've run off yet," Eric replied, adopting a tone of heavy disdain when speaking about the rival gang.
"Can you give me the exact location of those scumbags, rookie?" the Iron Fang member pressed.
"I don't know exactly where. It was pitch black in there... you know how all dark alleys look the same. I almost got lost myself when they showed up," Eric answered with a perfectly crafted, vague excuse.
"Good luck, rookie," the Iron Fang member said as a final farewell before turning back to his crew. Fully armed, they marched into the alley.
Eric breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The fierce, confident demeanor from moments ago vanished instantly, leaving him looking incredibly exhausted. Once again, he had managed to survive a highly tense situation. He felt incredibly lucky that he could speak multiple languages and still remembered them.
"Das war knapp… Beim nächsten Mal mache ich so einen Mist nicht mehr…" Eric muttered softly to himself in German.
His voice was so low that anyone passing by would barely hear it, and even if they did, they wouldn't understand a word. Next time he had to choose between taking a longer detour through a high-risk area, or taking a shortcut through a different kind of dangerous territory... he would definitely choose a different method.
"Ich habe diese Sprache seit über vierzigtausend Jahren nicht mehr gehört…" (I haven't heard this language in over forty thousand years...) a familiar voice rang out.
Eric's eyes widened in instant shock. He recognized that voice perfectly the voice of someone he strongly disliked.
Turning toward the source of the sound, he saw Raul. The man, clad in a black cloak with his face covered, was staring at him with a thoroughly displeased look.
Raul. The bloodsucking merchant. The guy who had once run away from a Chaos Space Marine, leaving Eric behind to get harassed by it. The guy who got infected by the zombie virus and almost died a miserable death, only to be "saved" by Eric pulling the trigger of a plasma pistol to end his misery as requested. And somehow, he had come back from the dead to demand the money Eric had looted from his corpse at gunpoint. And he had stolen Eric's cake. Because of him, Eric had to eat liquid rations for a whole month.
"Muss ich dir schon wieder begegnen, du verdammtes Gör?!" Raul cursed.
Even though the person in front of him was wearing the heavy, concealing uniform of the Iron Fang gang, he knew it wasn't a real ganger. Even though the only exposed parts were the hands, a bit of the neck, and the upper face around the eyes and eyebrows—the moment Raul saw those eyebrows and striking blue eyes, he instantly knew exactly who the 'woman' standing in front of him was.