In the dark depths of the Underhive's sewage collectors, a handcar rushed along, clanking with metal. A powerful searchlight on its nose cut through the darkness, scattering the shadows.
Silhouettes appeared in the beam of light. A crowd had gathered on the tracks, blocking the passage. They held rusty iron in their hands and looked extremely unfriendly.
Li Qingyu squinted. Mutants. It seemed the freaks had decided to attack. Well, it was a fortunate coincidence.
Silence leaned into Li Qingyu's ear:
"I feel like these creatures have damaged the rails. They stood like a wall so we wouldn't notice the breakdown. They want to scare us, make us speed up and derail."
Li Qingyu grunted and commanded Little Knife:
"Brake fifty meters away from them. Weapons ready! Once we stop, open fire."
Seeing the approaching handcar, the crowd of creatures became agitated. They began to wave their junk weapons, make faces, and howl. The tunnel filled with wild howling.
Their goal was simple: stop the transport, kill everyone, and eat them. Several times they caught the maddening smell of alcohol and real food – the temptation was unbearable.
The plan was simple: dismantle the tracks, create a blockage, scare the victims, and force them to crash.
"Are they close? Should we hide?" one of the mutants, blinded by the searchlight, tugged at his neighbor.
He couldn't see anything either and didn't understand where the handcar was rushing.
"Listen to the sound! When it gets loud – jump! Until then, howl! Scare them! A-a-a!"
Li Qingyu rolled his eyes. It was awkward to watch these idiots howling at a light bulb. They had trouble with intelligence.
He raised his shotgun.
"Fire!"
His finger pulled the trigger. The automatic shotgun roared, and the tunnel filled with thunder: BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
Each shot unleashed a lead storm. The buckshot covered an area the size of several palms.
The others opened a rapid fire. Flashes illuminated the tunnel. The front ranks of mutants fell, screaming in pain.
Mutations hadn't made them stronger – on the contrary, many were frail and sickly. Blinded by the light, they turned into minced meat, not understanding where death was coming from.
Li Qingyu emptied the drum, changed it, worked the bolt, and fired again. BOOM-BOOM-BOOM!
In video games, shotguns are often weakened. But here it was reality. A large-caliber shotgun with imperial gunpowder was a terrible force. Buckshot kills even at two hundred meters, turning a person into a sieve.
The spread of shot was from two palms to the pelvis. No need to aim: just shoot in the direction of the crowd – and the cloud of lead will find its victims itself.
When the second magazine was empty, and Li Qingyu reached for his rifle, the mutants, leaving about forty corpses, fled with a screech.
The commander didn't chase immediately.
"Reload!"
He picked up the empty drums and began loading them with cartridges. The others followed suit. Only when the magazines were full did Li Qingyu command:
"Slow speed. Forward."
The handcar crawled slowly, grinding bodies, and stopped at the sabotage site.
The rails were missing in a section about a meter long. The ground was torn up, with two pits gaping. At full speed – a crash was guaranteed.
Li Qingyu got angry. If he had been carrying alcohol or grain, everything would have been lost. These creatures didn't deserve to live.
He turned to the psyker:
"Can you lift the handcar with telekinesis to get over the gap?"
Silence estimated the weight of the train – heavy, but possible for a short time. He nodded.
"Knife, move. Slowest speed," Li Qingyu ordered.
Little Knife wanted to object, but he looked at the commander and remained silent. He obediently moved the lever.
When the wheels approached the chasm, the driver flinched, but the handcar smoothly rose, crossed the void, and gently touched the rails. Little Knife looked back – had he imagined it?
"Full speed ahead! We're going to the lair. We must burn out this infection by the root!"
The handcar picked up speed.
Soon they caught up with the fugitives. The mutants ran poorly, limping and stumbling. Hearing the roar of the wheels behind them, they screamed in terror.
Li Qingyu settled comfortably in the cargo area. The shotgun sang its song of death again. With single shots, he methodically shot them in the back.
Each shot was a burst of buckshot, each burst a bloody cloud. Like in a shooting gallery, only the targets screamed.
Magazine empty – he threw it to Joel for reloading, took a new one. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The deeper the handcar went, the denser the carpet of corpses became.