The line in front of the bar was about to reach Horatio and Inquisitor Ravenor's group.
It was impossible to carry out such a mission without weapons.
However, they chose not to force their way in to avoid alerting the target and allowing them to escape in the chaos.
Now, as they approached the security gate, if they were discovered here, everything would be for naught.
Horatio glanced at the Inquisitor, and the moment their eyes met knowingly, the Inquisitor curved his lips into a smile, then continued to feign drunkenness.
His undercover agent supported the proud, utterly intoxicated 'little foreman' beside him.
The Inquisitor and his agents jostled and clustered together, passing through the security gate without triggering any alarms.
It wasn't that they didn't carry weapons, but that the xenos weapons they carried were not made of metal at all.
The crude and simple detection devices in the hands of these gang members simply couldn't identify the advanced xenos weapons of the Inquisition agents.
Inquisitor Ravenor turned his eyes, glanced back at Horatio, then raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'We're done, it's your turn, lads.'
Horatio extended his iron hand, placed it on Louise's shoulder, and massaged her shoulder.
He and Louise pretended to be a biker couple, walking arm-in-arm.
Both of them carried the acrid smell of low-quality engine oil mixed with miscellaneous metals, characteristic of bikers, which was very pungent and perfectly fit the image of a Hive City biker.
Their exaggerated punk-style studded leather jackets were old and worn, making one wonder if they had been passed down from their grandparents' generation.
"Hmph, two chicks raised by biker bitches, stealing adult clothes," a gunman with sharp fangs and unholy marks piercing his head and face slurred mockingly.
"Hahahahaha!"
Horatio and Louise ignored the taunts, swaying and walking arm-in-arm through the security gate.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The detector shrieked as it scanned Horatio's body.
"Hmm? Go check. If you bring a gun in here, I'll flatten your face," the Cultist guard threatened.
Two people scanned Horatio's body with metal detectors and patted his pockets.
Finally, they determined that the beeping sound was due to his iron hand.
A guard raised Horatio's iron arm and shook it at the leader.
"Lost an arm playing with bikes," the burly man sneered dismissively.
He pursed his lips, motioning for them to enter with an annoyed expression.
Horatio, of course, carried weapons, and two of them.
One was a Navy Blast Pistol that had transformed into liquid metal and been absorbed into his iron hand, and the other was an anti-detection combat dagger with a full-polymer hilt and a monomolecular blade.
Louise also carried such daggers, one in her boot and one under her right forearm. The latter only required a forceful downward flick of her hand for the hilt to slide into her grasp, ready to plunge into an enemy's vital points.
Inside, the lighting was chaotic and dim, and the sounds were piercingly loud and noisy. The entire bar was like a chaotic dance of demons, dazzling and unsettling.
The sign above the bar was made of crudely stitched leather, with the twisted words 'Wrath of the Outcast Warriors' written in blood.
From the size, texture, and color of the leather, and the black iron rings that bound the hide together, Horatio had reason to believe it was human back skin.
The drinks at the bar were all strong spirits unique to the Lower Hive, stored in industrial fermentation tanks with hydraulic devices, suspended behind and above the bartenders.
The tanks were crudely painted with crude evil devils and grinning skulls in poor quality paint, their hollow eyes staring eerily.
These dirty, old industrial fermentation tanks contained various 'delicacies' unique to the Lower Hive.
There was wild snake wine, made by soaking Lower Hive wild pythons, with a bitter taste of snake gall; stomach-rotting wine, secretly brewed by factory foremen with industrial fusel alcohol; and'Second Best,' made from various food scraps and waste, which could blind you if you drank too much...
A bar run by Cultist would naturally not be normal.
The people here had a cult-like way of drinking: they would cut their hands with a knife, then squeeze their blood into the wine to taste it.
It was said that under the blessing of demonic power, the bitterness and burning sensation in the wine would transform into a strange energy, making one incredibly excited.
"What can I get for everyone! Today, we also have freshly slaughtered large cuts of meat, from the green-skinned dogs and black-skinned dogs of the Imperial Army!
Thanks to the true god Khorne for giving us food. These oppressors surely never imagined that one day they would be used as bar snacks by the 'trash' they spoke of!"
"I want some! I want some! Give me the oppressor's meat!!!"
A tall, muscular man chef brought out a large iron platter from the back kitchen, filled with a mountain of dismembered limbs that had developed a Maillard reaction from roasting.
A strong, roasted aroma permeated the bar. This unusually enticing scent made Horatio involuntarily swallow his saliva.
He immediately became alert, finding this strange physiological reaction of his to be incredible, as if some power was inducing him to eat a piece of fresh meat from his own kind.
Louise saw severed human hands in the meat mountain, with a classic brass wedding ring from the Middle Hive still on a ring finger, and other things too taboo to be described.
"Ugh…" She immediately turned around and leaned against Horatio, feigning an intimate posture.
Louise forcibly suppressed her dry heaves, only making a very small sound.
She knew very well that truly desperate Lower Hive people, as long as they saw meat, no matter what kind of meat, would be ravenously hungry and would never react like her.
So she had to maintain her disguise and not let anyone see through it.
She feigned her actions, and in the eyes of the armed 'overseers' in the venue, this biker punk girl seemed to be so excited about devouring the 'oppressor's' flesh that she couldn't help but be intimately affectionate with her partner, grateful that he had brought her here to savor the 'delicacy.'
Horatio rubbed her back, going along with her disguise, and alleviating her physical discomfort.
To be honest, if he hadn't kept his stomach empty as a precaution before coming, and had also taken the powerful sedative Sister Arabella gave him, he probably would have vomited too.
Now, under the effects of the medicine and the disgust for the enemy, his face was not only expressionless but even chilling, appearing utterly composed in this chaotic bar.
To outsiders, the expression on his face, the emotions he displayed, flowed as naturally as the surrounding people's disgust for Imperial Army Soldiers.
"Give me this piece! That head! That head!"
These outcasts, who lived their entire lives in the sunless Lower Hive, were abnormally excited, their pale, wrinkled bodies surging forward towards the bar, picking out the meatiest parts.
The tall, muscular chef with an iron triangle on his head directly scooped up chunks of meat with a plate and tossed them to these hungry people.
Inquisitor Ravenor coldly watched all of this, raising the liquor bottle to his lips and downing the cheap alcohol.
The recording probe on his collar documented all these blasphemous acts.
This provided ample evidence for the necessary extreme force that would soon be used.
Horatio and the Inquisitor were waiting, waiting for Yoyo's signal.
The Half-cat person girl, dressed in a worn cloak, huddled in a corner, gnawing on her own dry rations.
She looked like a pathetic abhuman vagrant scavenging for scraps to fill her stomach.
Her slit pupils pierced through the dim light, scanning the venue carefully and vigilantly.
The target had not yet appeared.
That was the manager of this bar, an important figure of the Howling Teeth Gang.
To manage the Howling Teeth Gang's many underground businesses, this person would irregularly expose his whereabouts, making him the easiest point of entry.
The Inquisitor was confident he could extract the whereabouts of the cult behind him from this fellow's mouth.
He hoped the target would appear soon.
Otherwise, staying here too long without buying anything would quickly attract the attention of the 'overseers' in the venue.
He certainly didn't want another bottle of that stomach-burning'Second Best,' or to eat human flesh in front of the recording probe.
"Boss, boss," Yoyo darted over, pretending to pick up trash at Horatio's feet, and called out to him softly.
Her cat ears twitched, like two detection radars.
She frantically winked at Horatio.
Horatio followed her vertical pupils, looking towards a man by the counter with a long, stiff Mohawk Head like a broom, and half a skull as a mask on his face.
"I think the target has appeared," Horatio sent the coded message to the other Inquisition agents.