40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 617 3. The most familiar job

After putting on his coat, gloves, and wrapping his scarf layer by layer, Khalil looked down to check his clothes. After confirming that everything was normal, he reached out, opened the door of his room, and walked out.

The polished grey bricks and his boots clashed with each other, making a deliberately dull sound.

A window at the end of the corridor was still open, and two idle men were smoking there. The red light of their cigarettes and pipes flashed, illuminating clouds of rising smoke in the dim light.

They noticed Khalil's arrival, and one of them took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, held it in his hand, and made an invitation gesture to him. Khalil politely declined them and then went straight downstairs.

There were some ordinary landscape paintings hanging on the red wallpaper in the stairwell. Only one painting was worth mentioning. It was an oil painting, showing blurred miners moving forward in the dark in the mine. There was darkness in front of them, but the light of torches and lanterns was shining behind them.

He went down to the first floor, passed through a small hall, and left the Best of the Best Hotel from the back door. It was already night, but there were no colorful neon lights in the city, and it seemed very quiet.

The street lights were still on, but there were not many people on the street. The biting cold wind made it hard for people to go out and relax on such a night. Besides, the social atmosphere in Banjo-1 seemed to be quite conservative, and most people would not choose to hang out in those "entertainment places".
Very old-fashioned, Khalil thought.

At this time, he was already standing on a street corner outside the hotel, with his hands in his pockets, staring idly into the night.

The few pedestrians didn't know that the tall man was counting the seconds and exhaling white mist that looked like hot air. They also didn't know that there was an invisible network operating, transmitting all the slightest movement in the city to this man.

Two minutes later, Khalil left here and walked into the dark night.

He knew where he was going, as always, and when doing this job, almost nothing could make him confused. After all, the essence of this matter can be summed up in one word - killing.

He might not have much say in leading troops into battle or repairing damaged servitors, but what about killing?

Ironically, this was the only thing he possessed that could be called a 'talent'.

Thinking of this, Khalil's lower face, hidden in his scarf and coat collar, twitched slightly, and he almost laughed.

Unfortunately not.

In the wind, he walked towards an alley. Two patrolling guards saw him, but did not come over to question him. They just stood under the street light and watched this man, who was already in darkness, walk into a deeper darkness.

Throughout their lives, until their death, they would never connect this man with the horrors that were about to happen.
They will never know.

Unless they were like Khalil, who could capture a faint sound coming from underground thousands of meters away, and then break down that sound, just like using a knife to scrape off the remaining flesh and nerves on the bone to obtain a shiny, flawless thigh bone.

Khalil gently lifted the thigh bone in his hand.

His face was no longer gentle, replaced by complete indifference.

The next second, darkness enveloped him, and countless voices whispered to him, countless ugly secrets and faces flashed by one after another, some comfortable, some frightened, some sweating, some calm.
He betrayed his wife! a shrill voice shouted.

And then another: She stole his father's pipe and sold it!

Then there were the others: the man who stole for a living! The man who broke his promise and threw the father he swore to support out of the house, leaving him to freeze to death on the street! And this one, a robber! Murder, rape, and desecration of corpses.
The messages of the night passed by his ears one after another, bringing one accusation after another, some light and some heavy. Khalil accepted them all and then told these voices: Do what you should do, a fair trial.

So they left contentedly, and he left the darkness, appearing silently inside a dim mine.

The air smelled of dust, very thick, and the lingering chemical smell of explosives. Khalil sniffed softly, his eyes gleaming like glass beads in the darkness for some reason.

He caught a very faint, very light smell of blood that had obviously been processed and covered up. Moreover, it was human blood.

Has anyone died here?

He raised this question, and the perception network eagerly integrated all the subtle and imperceptible evidence together to get the answer for him.

Yes, people had died here, and not just one.

several?

He looked this way and that, his fingers twitching nervously, tapping his palms.

Eleven. Killed by explosion, crushed or suffocated.

That's it?
No, more than that, there was one man who was different. He had not died from dynamite or stone or lack of air, he had died from a sudden attack by some creature that had come out of the darkness and ripped him apart.

The thing was humanoid, but very strong, with fingers as sharp and hard as the claws of a large carnivore. It used its fingers to tear the man's abdomen apart, then tore off his head and spine, creating terror.
And grabbed the explosives.

Khalil turned and walked into a dark corridor without making any sound.

He was walking, and the dust on the ground that occasionally trembled but could not be detected by the naked eye was the best proof. However, there was no sound of footsteps, even the friction between clothes and the sound of breathing disappeared, leaving only silence.

In this way, he walked deeper and the surrounding environment changed quietly.

Some cables that came from nowhere were laid out in a rather crude manner on the ground and walls, even the rocks above. The diffuse heat spread out from the edges of these cables, raising the temperature slightly.

Khalil ignored this, he just kept moving forward and finally saw some light.

The light of a lantern.

An old-fashioned miner's lamp, an igniter, and a feeble electromagnetic coil all working together inside the heavy glass provided ample light for the small cave at the end of the corridor.

It was placed on a clean and worn crate, illuminating a heavy door made of light gray metal. The door was thick and heavy. Although it could not withstand the shooting of a laser gun, ordinary automatic guns and explosives would definitely not cause enough damage to it. Khalil walked quietly to the door, and the perception network transmitted the slight breathing of the two creatures behind the door to his ears.

Then he held out his hand.

The steel melted quietly, with a fleeting wet and sticky sound. Khalil clenched his fingers, grasped two vertebrae of different shapes but equally rough, lifted them up, and used the weight of the corpse to open the valve.

He loosened his hand, pushed open the door, walked inside, and looked down at the two bodies whose brain stems he had pierced through the back of the head and destroyed.

They wore fitted armor made of synthetic rubber and two pieces of steel. Two guns were hung on their shoulders by straps. They were not as crudely made as most of the guns on the bottom floor of the hive. People were surprised that they could actually shoot normally.
No, they were not such weapons, but rather the product of an assembly line of design and mechanization, with the Imperial Skyhawk gleaming on the gun's body.

Was it stolen or looted? Or was it provided by someone?
It didn't matter anymore. What mattered was the appearance of the two bodies. The purple and wrinkled skin, the protruding forehead and the amber eyes that almost fell out of their sockets had already revealed their identities to him.

He walked past the two bodies, shook off his wet hands, and after passing through two doors, he saw a cave system with many connections. Countless "people" were going in and out.

Everyone carried a gun, and everyone's face was filled with a kind of vitality that would never appear on the face of a normal resident of the empire. That was an expression that only people who were confident in their lives could have.

They worked hard, carrying or assembling weapons and distributing supplies. Everyone called each other brothers or sisters, without violence or foul language, and remained absolutely patient and kind even when their work was interrupted.

Such a wonderful scene was enough to make every local governor or lord smile and sigh for his meritorious service in governing his people, but it failed to bring any joy to Khalil's face.

He still had the most common expression - expressionless. But if people who were familiar with him, such as Yago Sevitarion, were here, they would definitely be able to see something from the details.

Khalil walked out of the darkness and extinguished their lamps and lights.
-
Hayid took out money - two universal coins - and bought himself a breakfast, which was just a grilled fish cake. It wasn't very rich, but for a man like him whose appetite was declining year by year, it was enough to barely cope with it.

The old sailor wrapped his coat tightly, stood outside the steaming shop, munching on his fish cake, with his right hand in his pocket, touching the salary he earned yesterday.

His employer offered him seventy universal coins a day, which was not a small amount of money, and he himself was a little doubtful.

But the tall and thin man told him: "I like to travel around slowly on foot, so part of this money is for your health care. Please accept it."

What reason did Haid have to object? Under the temptation of money, even his employer's unusual observation skills seemed insignificant.
Yes, he was indeed a veteran, and instead of working in an institution arranged by the empire to make a living, he was almost homeless on the streets. But what did that matter?

Everyone has their own aspirations. He has not violated the emperor or his own conscience, so who can say anything about him?

Haid finished his fish cake, licked the grease off his fingers, put on gloves, and left the warm outside of the shop.

He took a moment to push his way through the crowd and began to force his aching legs to walk, his knees almost rebelling against it.

They screamed at him in pain in their bones and flesh: Old man! You thought this was twenty years ago? The war is over, and you don't have to run or walk fast anymore! Slow down!

But no. Hayid said no.

He promised the gentleman that he would arrive downstairs of the "Best of the Best" hotel at 8 o'clock in the morning. This was his promise, and he didn't like to break his promise, both emotionally and logically.

Not to mention his own stubbornness, let's just talk about the bad influence it would have if he was late - which boss would want to continue working with someone who is late on his first day at work?
The old sailor walked breathlessly in the cold wind. He reserved forty minutes for himself and arrived at the downstairs of the inn in only twenty-seven minutes.

However, when he took out the old pocket watch from his pocket and looked at the time, Haid realized this.

Yet, he felt glad to be early, as if such a simple thing, which should have been so, was something important enough to prove his own life.
However, this joy did not last long, because his employer's voice sounded from behind him just one minute later.

"Mr. Haid, you arrived earlier than me."

The old sailor turned around and was stuffed with a piece of grilled meat pie in his hand. The smell of sizzling oil and spicy seasoning mixed with the aroma of meat filled his nose, making his stomach, which had barely managed to eat a portion of fish pie, suddenly return to his youth.
Swallowing his saliva, Haid smiled awkwardly, looking at the cake in front of him, not knowing what to do.

But his employer said in a slurred voice: "Eat, guide, we have a lot to go today. I don't like to see others hungry. I know how it feels to be hungry. No one should work on an empty stomach."

Finally the old sailor could not resist the temptation of the grilled meat pie, took a big bite, and ate breakfast with his employer standing in the cold wind.

People passing by are not surprised by this. Most people, like them, eat while walking and eat very quickly. If they don't want the cold to take away the temperature of the food, they have to eat quickly. Besides, they need to go to work.

Haid took a few bites and suddenly thought of a question while tasting the delicious meat and synthetic seasoning.

"Mr. Carrier?"

"what's up?"

"Isn't your clothes a little thin?" The old sailor looked at him suspiciously. "Where is the coat you wore yesterday?"

"Ah, I went out drinking in the middle of the night and got dirty."

Khalil, who was only wearing a light jacket, smiled and replied. His scarf, gloves and coat were all gone, but his hat was still there, but it seemed to have changed a little.

Haid wasn't sure what the reason was, but he could see the white mist coming out of his employer's mouth and nose, so he quickly finished the meat pie and spoke in a tone he didn't often use.

"Then you must buy yourself some clothes."

Khalil agreed with a smile, his ears twitching slightly in the cold wind.

He is still listening.

(End of this chapter)