The Most Familiar Job

After putting on his coat, gloves, and wrapping his scarf tightly, Karyl glanced down to check his attire. Once he was sure everything was in order, he reached out and opened the door to his room, then stepped out.

The polished gray stone bricks and his boots collided, producing a deliberately dull echo.

A window at the end of the corridor was still open, and two idle men were smoking there, their cigarettes and pipes glowing red, casting plumes of smoke that rose slowly in the dim light.

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

The red wallpaper in the stairwell was covered with some ordinary landscape paintings, but only one painting was worth mentioning. It was an oil painting depicting miners with blurred faces moving forward in the dark in the mine. It was dark in front of them, but the light of torches and Lantern shone behind them.

He went down to the first floor, passed through a small hall, and left the "Best of the Best" hotel through the back door. It was already night, but the city was quiet, with few colorful neon lights.

The streetlights shone persistently, but there were few people on the streets. The biting cold wind discouraged people from venturing out to relax on such a night. Besides, the social atmosphere in Banjo-1 seemed rather conservative; most people wouldn't choose to frequent those "entertainment venues."

"So old-fashioned," Karyl thought.

By this time, he was already standing on a street corner outside the hotel, hands in his pockets, idly gazing at the night.

The few pedestrians were unaware that the tall man was counting down the seconds, exhaling what appeared to be warm white steam. They were also unaware that an unseen network was at work, transmitting every rustle and movement in the entire city to this man.

Two minutes later, Karyl left and stepped into the vast darkness.

He knew where he was going, always had; almost nothing could confuse him while doing this job. After all, the essence of the matter could be summed up in one word—killing.

He might not have much say in leading troops into battle or repairing damaged Servitor, but what about when it comes to killing?

Ironically, this is the only thing he possesses that can be called "talent."

Thinking of this, Karyl's lower face, hidden in his scarf and coat collar, twitched slightly; he almost burst out laughing.

Unfortunately, no.

In the wind, he walked toward a small alley. Two guards on patrol saw him, but did not come over to question him. They simply stood under the streetlights and watched this man, already in darkness, step into an even deeper darkness.

Throughout their lives, until their death, they would never associate this person with the series of horrific events that were about to unfold.

They will never know.

Unless they are like Karyl, able to detect a faint sound coming from underground thousands of meters away, and then dissect that sound like scraping away the remaining flesh and nerves from a bone to obtain a gleaming, flawless white thigh bone.

Karyl gently lifted the thigh bone into his hand.

His face was no longer gentle; instead, it held a complete indifference.

The next second, darkness enveloped him, and countless voices whispered to him from within, conveying countless ugly secrets and a series of faces flashing by, some smug, some terrified, some drenched in sweat, and some utterly calm.

"He betrayed his wife!" a shrill voice cried out.

Then there's another one: she stole her father's pipe and sold it!

Then there were many others: that man made a living by stealing! This man broke his promise, throwing his father, whom he swore to support, out of his home and leaving him to freeze to death in the street! And this one, a robber! Murder, rape, desecration of corpses.

The messages of the night passed by him one after another, bringing accusations, some minor and some serious. Karyl accepted them all and then told the voices: Go do what you ought to do, give a just Judgment.

So they left satisfied, and he left the darkness, appearing silently inside a dimly lit mine.

The air was thick with the smell of dust and the lingering chemical odor of explosives. Karyl sniffed gently, his eyes gleaming in the darkness like glass beads.

He detected an extremely faint, almost imperceptible, bloody odor that had clearly been masked. And it was human blood.

Has anyone died here?

He posed this question, and the Perceptual Network eagerly pieced together all the subtle, almost imperceptible evidence, then provided him with the answer.

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

Several?

He looked around, his fingers twitching nervously as he tapped his palms.

Eleven. Killed by explosion, crushing, or suffocation.

Is that all?

No, not only that, there was one different person. He didn't die from explosives, stones, or lack of air; he died from an attack by some creature that burst out of the darkness and ripped him open.

The thing was roughly humanoid, but very strong, with fingers as sharp and hard as the claws of a large carnivore. It used its fingers to tear apart the man's abdomen, then ripped off his head and pulled out his spine, creating a horrific scene.

They also managed to seize the explosives.

Karyl turned and walked into a dark passageway without making a sound.

He was walking, and the tiny dust particles that occasionally trembled on the ground but were imperceptible to the naked eye were the best proof of it, but there was no sound of footsteps, not even the sound of clothes rubbing together or breathing. Only silence remained.

And so he ventured deeper into the area, and the surrounding environment subtly changed.

Cables of unknown origin were laid haphazardly across the floor and walls, even covering the overhead rocks. A pervasive heat emanated from the edges of these cables, slightly raising the temperature.

Karyl ignored this; he simply continued on his way and finally saw some kind of light.

The light of a Lantern.

Old-fashioned miner's lamps, igniters, and weak electromagnetic coils all worked together inside the thick glass, providing ample light to this small cave at the end of the passageway.

It sat atop a clean, worn crate, illuminating a heavy door made of pale gray metal. The door was thick and heavy; while it couldn't withstand light gun fire, ordinary Autogun and explosives would certainly not cause it sufficient damage.

Karyl quietly approached the door, his sensory network transmitting the faint breathing of the two beings behind it to his ears with remarkable precision.

Then he reached out his hand.

The steel melted silently, the wet and sticky sound fleeting. Karyl clenched his fingers, grasped two differently shaped but equally rough vertebrae, and lifted them upwards, using the weight of the corpses to open the valve.

He released his grip, pushed open the door, went inside, and glanced down at the two corpses whose brainstem he had pierced through the back of their heads.

They wore well-fitting armor made of synthetic rubber and two pieces of steel. Two guns were strapped to their shoulders, unlike the crudely made guns of most of the Hive City in the hive, making one exclaim in surprise that these could actually fire.

No, these are not such weapons, but rather products of design and mechanization on an assembly line; the Imperial Aquila gleams on its gun body.

Was it stolen, robbed, or provided by someone?

That didn't matter anymore; what mattered was the appearance of the two corpses. Their purplish, wrinkled skin, protruding foreheads, and amber eyes that seemed to bulge out of their sockets already revealed their identities to him.

He walked past the two corpses, shook his wet hands, and after passing through two more doors, he saw a network of interconnected cave systems. Countless "people" were going in and out of it.

Everyone carried a gun, and their faces radiated a vitality that would never be seen on the faces of ordinary citizens of the Imperium. It was an expression that only those who were full of confidence in their lives possessed.

They worked diligently, moving or assembling weapons and distributing supplies. Everyone addressed each other as brothers or sisters, and there was no violence or foul language. Even when their work was interrupted, they maintained absolute patience and kindness.

Such a beautiful scene, enough to make any local governor or lord beam with pride at their successful rule, failed to bring even a hint of joy to Karyl's face.

He still wore that most common expression—a blank face—but if Jago Sevatarion and others who knew him well were here, they would certainly be able to discern something from the subtle details.

Karyl stepped out of the darkness and then extinguished their lamps and lights.

--

Haide took out his money—two common coins—and bought himself breakfast, just a grilled fish cake. It wasn't much, but it was enough for someone whose appetite had been declining year by year.

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

His employer offered him seventy universal coins a day, which was no small sum, and he himself was somewhat surprised and uncertain.

But the tall, thin man told him, "I'm someone who really enjoys traveling around on foot, so part of this money is for your health maintenance. Please accept it."

Having said all that, what reason did Haide have to object? Under the lure of money, even his employer's unusual keen observation seemed insignificant.

Yes, he was indeed a veteran, and instead of seeking a living in an institution arranged by the Imperium, he was almost homeless, but what did it matter?

Everyone has their own ambitions. He did not go against the Emperor or his own conscience, so who can criticize him?

After finishing the fish cake, Haide licked the grease off his fingers, then put on his gloves and left the warm exterior of the shop.

He spent some time squeezing through the crowd and began forcing his aching legs to walk, his knees almost rebelling against it.

They screamed at him in agony from within his bones and flesh: Old man! You still think this is twenty years ago? The war is over, you no longer need to run or walk fast! Slow down!

But no. Haide said no.

He had promised the gentleman that he would arrive at the "Best of the Best" hotel at exactly eight o'clock in the morning. This was a promise he made, and he didn't like to break his word, both morally and logically.

Putting aside his own stubbornness, let's just talk about the terrible impact his lateness would have—which boss would want to continue working with someone who's late on their first day of work?

The old sailor walked panting in the cold wind, having given himself forty minutes, and arrived at the hotel in just twenty-seven minutes.

However, it was only when he took out the old pocket watch from his pocket to check the time that Haide realized this.

However, arriving early brought him joy, as if this simple little thing was some kind of important event in his life that proved his worth.

However, this joy did not last long, because his employer's voice rang out from behind him just a minute later.

"Mr. Haide, you arrived even earlier than me."

The old sailor turned around, only to have a roasted meat patty shoved into his hand. The sizzling, oily meat, spicy seasoning, and meaty aroma wafted up, instantly transporting his stomach, which had barely managed to eat a fish cake, back to its youthful days.

Swallowing hard, Haide gave an awkward smile, looking at the pancake in front of him, unsure of what to do.

His employer, however, mumbled, "Eat up, tour guide. We have a lot to see today. I don't like seeing people hungry. I know what hunger feels like. No one should work on an empty stomach."

The old sailor finally couldn't resist the temptation of the patties, took a big bite, and ate breakfast with his employer in the cold wind.

People passing by were used to it; most of them were eating as they walked, just like them, and eating very quickly—they had to eat fast to keep their food warm from getting too cold. Besides, they needed to get to work.

Haide took several bites, when suddenly a question came to mind amidst the delicious taste of the meat and the artificial seasonings.

"Mr. Karyl?"

"What's up?"

"Isn't your clothing a bit thin?" the old sailor asked, looking at him questioningly. "Where's your overcoat from yesterday?"

"Oh, I went out drinking late at night and got it dirty."

Wearing only a thin jacket, Karyl smiled slightly and answered. His scarf, gloves, and coat were all gone, but his hat was still there, though it seemed to have changed somewhat.

Haide 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 usually use.

"Then you'll have to buy yourself some clothes."

Karyl smiled in agreement, his ears trembling slightly in the cold wind.

He was still listening.