The air was thick on this level, thought the cloaked man. Then again, when had he ever been to a hive that smelled good? In any case, this was no time to reflect on the atmosphere, not when he was being pursued. His retinue had remained behind to buy him some time, but the sounds of gunfire had ceased some time and two levels ago, and he could sense his foes were in pursuit once again. He had voxed for backup, but they would not arrive for some minutes yet, and he needed to find a public place to await them. Up ahead, a garishly lit façade signified a lower-hive bar. Never the safest place, at least there was the possibility of help there. The wound in his side throbbed, and he headed toward the light.
Approaching the building, the man took note of some of the more esoteric details of his chosen destination. The exterior seemed to have been constantly repaired and replaced, most likely with castoffs from manufactorums, or stolen supplies from the everpresent construction sites that defined a growing hive. Currently, a kind of corrugated metal was bolted in overlapping style, causing the walls to appear almost scaled. Gang graffiti decorated all available surfaces of the building, sometimes multiple signs overlapping, and several obvious bullet holes denoted where someone had taken offence to some of the unlicensed artistry. The name of the bar, the Rusty Rivet, had been creatively altered by some enterprising soul, so that the man was now headed toward the front door of the Dusty Privet. This was good for a chuckle, causing the wound in his side to spasm and a trickle of blood to leak from his mouth. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the man pushed open the door and entered the well-lighted interior.
Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, the cloaked man took a look around the interior of the Dusty Privet. To the immediate left of the door, sitting alone at a table in a corner granting a view of the entire interior of the building, sat a man clad in Guard-issue jungle-pattern flak armor, a mug of beer in front of him, a canvas-shrouded shape on the floor next to him. At the bar itself, a dozen patrons sipped from various drinks. Various hivers, Imperial citizens all, were joined by a red-robed techpriest, a lithe woman in clinging bodysuit, and another man in Guard flak armor bearing the emblems of a new recruit from Scintilla awaiting assignment. A couple of dozen other hivers were scattered about at various tables throughout the bar, waitresses working their way through the crowd. Another female also wended through the tables, and the cloaked man smiled as he noticed her relieving one particularly intoxicated patron of his excess coin. In the northwestern corner of the bar a small fire crackled in a closed fireplace, a bored-looking girl dancing in front, her movements and the fire behind her causing flickering shadows to dance sinuously on the wall. In fact, the shadows were more enticing than the actual dancer. A man in a flak jacket leaned against the back wall, the imposing barrel of a pump-action shotgun protruding from over one shoulder and a look of vague disapproval on his face. The cloaked man recognized the outline of a badge under a flap on the front of his vest, and began moving through the bar toward him. The pickpocket gave him the once-over, her eyes widening as they lingered briefly in the area of his left shoulder. Could she have seen what was under his cloak? Perhaps.
Just as the cloaked man reached the back wall, the door to the bar opened again, five men entering, covered in gang signs. One man, cloaked and cowled, made brief peremptory hand gestures, and three of the men with him peeled off, one taking up position to the right of the door and the other two spreading out throughout the crowd. The leader, as he obviously was, and one heavy moved toward the fireplace, eyes locked on the first cloaked man. As they reached the dancer, the heavy picking her up and moving her bodily to the bar behind them, the cloaked man stepped up to the man leaning on the back wall, who finally noticed him. The cloaked man dropped something into the other man’s pocket, displaying the icon under his cloak and whispering “Keep this safe.”
The gang leader pointed to the cloaked man and said “This man is a heretic, and must be purged! Bring him with us!”
The man with the shotgun stepped forward at this, opening the flap on front of his vest, displaying a badge for all to see. “If this man is truly a heretic as you claim, this is rightly a matter for the Adeptus Arbites. I’ll take it from here.”
Jeers erupted from the crowd at the presence of an Imperial Arbitrator in their midst, who scowled back at them briefly and then returned his attention to the gangers confronting him. The pickpocket used the distraction to relieve yet another patron of some unneeded coin, as the Guardsman at the bar looked up from his drink to evaluate the situation.
The gang leader and his cronies drew weapons, mainly stub pistols, but one with a shotgun, as the leader smiled at the Arbitrator. “This is none of your concern, lawman, but if you insist on interfering with my business I will be more than happy to accommodate you! This man is coming with us, whether you like it or not.” The guardsman in the corner began slowly reaching for his canvas-covered bundle.
The Arbitrator calmly replied “Threatening an Arbitrator with violence is a violation of Imperial statue 349.687 section gamma subsection 4b. Punishable by death. Summary execution authorized.”
The gang leader laughed. “Take them!”
The heavy accompanying the leader fired his pistol at the Arbitrator, missing from point-blank range and blowing a small hole in the back wall. The lithe woman at the bar turned, drew a laspistol from a holster at her side, and fired at the leader, dropping him with a shot to the back, scanning the crowd for another target. The guardsmen at the back drew the canvas from the floor, raising his weapon and sighting on the ganger flanking the door. The techpriest at the bar, hearing gunfire, drew a laspistol and scanned the crowd for the source of the commotion, while the guardsman at the bar fumbled for his lasrifle, the bulky weapon becoming tangled on his barstool. The cloaked man fired a shot at the heavy in front of him, grazing his leg. Dozens of patrons screamed and dove for cover, exposing the gang members and other participants in the gunfight to unobstructed fire, while the pickpocket plied her trade once again. The Arbitrator’s shotgun appeared in his hands as though by magic. The massive gun roared, splattering the heavy’s entrails across the wall as the weapon’s shot blasted through him at less than two meters’ range.
Two more gang members came in from behind the bar, blasting wildly with stub pistols, while the other gangers moved throughout the bar, angling for shots on those patrons returning fire. The shotgun-armed ganger moved next to the woman who shot the leader. For some reason, although standing back-to-back with her, he fired at the cloaked man, hitting him in the leg and causing him to fall to the ground. The lithe woman, equally oblivious, turned and fired at one of the new arrivals, her laspistol boring a hole through his chest. The Guardsman at the bar moved to the gang leader. Seeing plenty of blood, he assumed the leader was dead and snapped off a shot toward one of the gangers in the main room. The leader, not quite dead after all, fired straight up at the Guardsman standing over him, missing as his hand could not hold the gun steady. The Guardsman did not compound his mistake, and ended the leader with a las round to the head.
Another ganger moved toward the back of the bar, firing at the Arbitrator and missing. The cloaked man spoke to the Arbitrator “We have to get out of here. Go through the back room.” Suddenly, everyone ducked involuntarily as the distinctive snap-CRACK of a long las sounded through the room. The Guardsman in the corner had set up his rifle on the table top and put a shot through the guts of the ganger flanking the door, who fell, firing back and hitting the sniper. The second long las round finished the twitching ganger once and for all. The pickpocket, finally getting her blood up, vaulted over the bar with a knife, causing the remaining newly-arrived ganger to flee. She caught him in the kitchen, and emerged some time later with her knife covered in blood.
The Arbitrator grabbed the cloaked man’s collar and began dragging him toward the back door, firing his shotgun one-handed and eviscerating another gang member. Only one ganger remained, armed with a shotgun, and four weapons spoke simultaneously, vaporizing the lowlife. Seeing no more immediate threats, the Arbitrator ceased dragging the cloaked man, instead covering the bar with his shotgun and calling the nearest Guardsman to see to the wounded stranger. The disparate half dozen who participated began gathering weapons and ammo from the dead, before congregating around the stranger, who smiled up at them.
“My retinue was killed by this gang, and I will need to replace them. My backup will be here soon and you will accompany us to a secure location where medical attention will be available for those who are wounded and we may talk of your future in the service of the Emperor.”
The techpriest spoke up, “My services are not to be commanded by some random individual. The priesthood of the Machine God are not servitors, to be used by all and sundry. I demand recompense.”
The cloaked man smiled as a squad of soldiers burst in through the door, their uniforms a red and grey with specific insignia on their shoulders. To reinforce this, the man opened his cloak, displaying the rosette in the shape of a Gothic ‘I’, a symbol known to all gathered.
“You will be compensated. You will all be compensated. However, I do not ask for your assistance. You are all now agents of His Imperial Majesty’s Inqusition.”
Approaching the building, the man took note of some of the more esoteric details of his chosen destination. The exterior seemed to have been constantly repaired and replaced, most likely with castoffs from manufactorums, or stolen supplies from the everpresent construction sites that defined a growing hive. Currently, a kind of corrugated metal was bolted in overlapping style, causing the walls to appear almost scaled. Gang graffiti decorated all available surfaces of the building, sometimes multiple signs overlapping, and several obvious bullet holes denoted where someone had taken offence to some of the unlicensed artistry. The name of the bar, the Rusty Rivet, had been creatively altered by some enterprising soul, so that the man was now headed toward the front door of the Dusty Privet. This was good for a chuckle, causing the wound in his side to spasm and a trickle of blood to leak from his mouth. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, the man pushed open the door and entered the well-lighted interior.
Taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, the cloaked man took a look around the interior of the Dusty Privet. To the immediate left of the door, sitting alone at a table in a corner granting a view of the entire interior of the building, sat a man clad in Guard-issue jungle-pattern flak armor, a mug of beer in front of him, a canvas-shrouded shape on the floor next to him. At the bar itself, a dozen patrons sipped from various drinks. Various hivers, Imperial citizens all, were joined by a red-robed techpriest, a lithe woman in clinging bodysuit, and another man in Guard flak armor bearing the emblems of a new recruit from Scintilla awaiting assignment. A couple of dozen other hivers were scattered about at various tables throughout the bar, waitresses working their way through the crowd. Another female also wended through the tables, and the cloaked man smiled as he noticed her relieving one particularly intoxicated patron of his excess coin. In the northwestern corner of the bar a small fire crackled in a closed fireplace, a bored-looking girl dancing in front, her movements and the fire behind her causing flickering shadows to dance sinuously on the wall. In fact, the shadows were more enticing than the actual dancer. A man in a flak jacket leaned against the back wall, the imposing barrel of a pump-action shotgun protruding from over one shoulder and a look of vague disapproval on his face. The cloaked man recognized the outline of a badge under a flap on the front of his vest, and began moving through the bar toward him. The pickpocket gave him the once-over, her eyes widening as they lingered briefly in the area of his left shoulder. Could she have seen what was under his cloak? Perhaps.
Just as the cloaked man reached the back wall, the door to the bar opened again, five men entering, covered in gang signs. One man, cloaked and cowled, made brief peremptory hand gestures, and three of the men with him peeled off, one taking up position to the right of the door and the other two spreading out throughout the crowd. The leader, as he obviously was, and one heavy moved toward the fireplace, eyes locked on the first cloaked man. As they reached the dancer, the heavy picking her up and moving her bodily to the bar behind them, the cloaked man stepped up to the man leaning on the back wall, who finally noticed him. The cloaked man dropped something into the other man’s pocket, displaying the icon under his cloak and whispering “Keep this safe.”
The gang leader pointed to the cloaked man and said “This man is a heretic, and must be purged! Bring him with us!”
The man with the shotgun stepped forward at this, opening the flap on front of his vest, displaying a badge for all to see. “If this man is truly a heretic as you claim, this is rightly a matter for the Adeptus Arbites. I’ll take it from here.”
Jeers erupted from the crowd at the presence of an Imperial Arbitrator in their midst, who scowled back at them briefly and then returned his attention to the gangers confronting him. The pickpocket used the distraction to relieve yet another patron of some unneeded coin, as the Guardsman at the bar looked up from his drink to evaluate the situation.
The gang leader and his cronies drew weapons, mainly stub pistols, but one with a shotgun, as the leader smiled at the Arbitrator. “This is none of your concern, lawman, but if you insist on interfering with my business I will be more than happy to accommodate you! This man is coming with us, whether you like it or not.” The guardsman in the corner began slowly reaching for his canvas-covered bundle.
The Arbitrator calmly replied “Threatening an Arbitrator with violence is a violation of Imperial statue 349.687 section gamma subsection 4b. Punishable by death. Summary execution authorized.”
The gang leader laughed. “Take them!”
The heavy accompanying the leader fired his pistol at the Arbitrator, missing from point-blank range and blowing a small hole in the back wall. The lithe woman at the bar turned, drew a laspistol from a holster at her side, and fired at the leader, dropping him with a shot to the back, scanning the crowd for another target. The guardsmen at the back drew the canvas from the floor, raising his weapon and sighting on the ganger flanking the door. The techpriest at the bar, hearing gunfire, drew a laspistol and scanned the crowd for the source of the commotion, while the guardsman at the bar fumbled for his lasrifle, the bulky weapon becoming tangled on his barstool. The cloaked man fired a shot at the heavy in front of him, grazing his leg. Dozens of patrons screamed and dove for cover, exposing the gang members and other participants in the gunfight to unobstructed fire, while the pickpocket plied her trade once again. The Arbitrator’s shotgun appeared in his hands as though by magic. The massive gun roared, splattering the heavy’s entrails across the wall as the weapon’s shot blasted through him at less than two meters’ range.
Two more gang members came in from behind the bar, blasting wildly with stub pistols, while the other gangers moved throughout the bar, angling for shots on those patrons returning fire. The shotgun-armed ganger moved next to the woman who shot the leader. For some reason, although standing back-to-back with her, he fired at the cloaked man, hitting him in the leg and causing him to fall to the ground. The lithe woman, equally oblivious, turned and fired at one of the new arrivals, her laspistol boring a hole through his chest. The Guardsman at the bar moved to the gang leader. Seeing plenty of blood, he assumed the leader was dead and snapped off a shot toward one of the gangers in the main room. The leader, not quite dead after all, fired straight up at the Guardsman standing over him, missing as his hand could not hold the gun steady. The Guardsman did not compound his mistake, and ended the leader with a las round to the head.
Another ganger moved toward the back of the bar, firing at the Arbitrator and missing. The cloaked man spoke to the Arbitrator “We have to get out of here. Go through the back room.” Suddenly, everyone ducked involuntarily as the distinctive snap-CRACK of a long las sounded through the room. The Guardsman in the corner had set up his rifle on the table top and put a shot through the guts of the ganger flanking the door, who fell, firing back and hitting the sniper. The second long las round finished the twitching ganger once and for all. The pickpocket, finally getting her blood up, vaulted over the bar with a knife, causing the remaining newly-arrived ganger to flee. She caught him in the kitchen, and emerged some time later with her knife covered in blood.
The Arbitrator grabbed the cloaked man’s collar and began dragging him toward the back door, firing his shotgun one-handed and eviscerating another gang member. Only one ganger remained, armed with a shotgun, and four weapons spoke simultaneously, vaporizing the lowlife. Seeing no more immediate threats, the Arbitrator ceased dragging the cloaked man, instead covering the bar with his shotgun and calling the nearest Guardsman to see to the wounded stranger. The disparate half dozen who participated began gathering weapons and ammo from the dead, before congregating around the stranger, who smiled up at them.
“My retinue was killed by this gang, and I will need to replace them. My backup will be here soon and you will accompany us to a secure location where medical attention will be available for those who are wounded and we may talk of your future in the service of the Emperor.”
The techpriest spoke up, “My services are not to be commanded by some random individual. The priesthood of the Machine God are not servitors, to be used by all and sundry. I demand recompense.”
The cloaked man smiled as a squad of soldiers burst in through the door, their uniforms a red and grey with specific insignia on their shoulders. To reinforce this, the man opened his cloak, displaying the rosette in the shape of a Gothic ‘I’, a symbol known to all gathered.
“You will be compensated. You will all be compensated. However, I do not ask for your assistance. You are all now agents of His Imperial Majesty’s Inqusition.”
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