"You look," Yao En observed, glancing at the patched rain cloak draped over Chen Ye, "like one of those cage fighters I watched as a kid in the lower levels."
"Clothes make the man, brother." Chen Ye shook his head wryly. Fully armored, he'd attract too much attention here, so he'd stitched the rain cloak himself. On a clear day, he'd wear a black robe instead, sewn just as haphazardly.
The acid rain of the hive world did more than just corrode; it prompted Yao En's bio-processor to shut off his airways. Yet for Chen Ye, a superhuman warrior after nineteen surgical enhancements, the acid rain barely tingled at his fingertips.
"Come, let me buy you a drink," Chen Ye said, nodding toward a narrow alley. Yao En followed quietly.
As they navigated the lower hive's maze-like paths, they heard bickering, whispered deals, even the sounds of gang skirmishes. It stirred a sense of familiarity in Yao En; this was how things were in Talon's own lower levels once. Katoya had been especially ruthless back then, with bounty hunters, spies, and gangsters. Peace could only be found among the gene-thieves.
Suddenly, a gunshot—a common sound here—left a fresh hole in the wall beside them. Chen Ye cast a wary glance at the darkened alley where the bullet had come from. Just as they thought they'd stumbled into a gang clash, a young girl with a crude breathing filter for a mouthpiece ran toward them.
"Help me," she said in a flat, electronic voice. Her fear was evident despite the mechanical monotone—a byproduct of the low-quality parts grafted onto her face, with voice synthesis as an afterthought.
Two men emerged from the shadows, each wielding Agripina auto-rifles. They paused as the girl hid behind Chen Ye, then leveled their weapons at him.
"Mind your business," one sneered. "Go back to your cage fights."
Chen Ye looked at Yao En, resigned. "Do I really look like a fighter?"
Yao En shrugged.
Chen Ye sighed, turning back to the thugs, both wearing characteristic breathing filters, either as implants or crude masks. He stepped forward, eyeing the left one, who was about to speak another threat—until Chen Ye's fist shattered his face, smashing metal and bone alike, sending fragments against the wall in a bloody spray. As the second thug prepared to fire, he met a similar fate—this time, his head ruptured like a melon struck by a club.
Chen Ye dragged the remaining thug by the head, hauling him into the acid rain where his face began to blister. "Tell everyone you meet," he snarled, pressing him against the wall with a shard of metal, "to never follow your example."
Finally, Chen Ye turned to the girl, cowering beside a trash bin. Even by the brutal standards of the hive, she hadn't seen anyone like him.
"If you still have family, take them and go to District 100," he said, pressing a coin into her palm, closing her small fist around it. "Cling to your life as tightly as you can—don't let go until you find food or a weapon."
She nodded, glancing back as she hurried away.
Chen Ye glanced at Yao En. "Are you that eager for a drink?"
"Alcohol does nothing for me," Yao En replied, tapping his metal-plated skull.
Chen Ye nodded, retrieving the fallen auto-rifles and continued onward.
As they walked, every cry or shout had Chen Ye charging in, dealing swift justice to gangsters and thugs alike. When the rifles ran out of ammo, he'd take up new weapons from his fallen foes, his aim unerring, his skill honed over a century of battle.
Eventually, as quiet fell over the street and criminals retreated into the shadows, he discarded the weapons, resuming their path toward the bar.
"Ten minutes after we leave, innocents will die here again," Yao En said.
"As you say," Chen Ye replied calmly. "But even if I save just one, it means one more life preserved. I do what I can, within my reach."
Yao En nodded as Chen Ye continued.
"After a week here, I feel half-mad," he admitted. "Every soul's suffering feels as though it were my own; I despise every sin. I want nothing more than to don my armor, take up my bolt gun, and purge the hive of its wickedness."
"That girl," he continued, his voice quieter, "she reminded me of myself. If only an angel had come down then, slain those who harmed my family—perhaps I wouldn't have been so weakened, barely surviving the surgeries."
Listening to him, Yao En thought Chen Ye possessed a rare empathy. It had shown on Agripina as well—most Astartes cared little for mortal lives. But every soul mattered to the Weepers, a rarity even among the sons of Sanguinius.
Chen Ye halted, eyeing Yao En. "I heard you were once a hive-dweller yourself, from a place harsher than this lower city... yet you seem unmoved."
Yao En nodded. "Indeed."
Thinking the conversation ended, Chen Ye prepared to walk on. But Yao En spoke again, his words surprising him.
"I can't empathize with anyone outside the Soulless. Today's ordinary victims were yesterday's assailants—the same people who once beat me out of spite, who might've strangled my daughter just to hurt me."
For all he knew about hive life, Chen Ye realized Soulless endured a fate even darker. Instinctively, he thought to comfort Yao En. But Yao En only continued walking, his silence as unyielding as iron.