Dark Heresy - Agents of the Inquisition

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.”

Who are you?

The assembled group looked around, eyeing each other askance. Which of them could each one trust? Which would bolt at the first opportunity? The Arbitrator and Tech-Priest seemed eager to accompany the agent and his squad, while the two women seemed to be looking for escape routes. The two Guardsmen had already fallen in with the storm squad, ingrained obedience to authority taking hold involuntarily. The agent, who had made no other introduction than the display of his Inquisitorial rosette, having had his injuries bandaged, led off, supported by two of the storm troopers. As the group wound their way through the lower hive avenue, all could feel thousands of eyes upon them. Unaccustomed to such visibility, the small pickpocket attempted to slip away unseen. The Arbitrator, however, firmly grasped her arm, whispering fiercely to her.

“Stand fast in your faith in the Emperor, and in his holy Inquisition. Else be executed as a traitor and seditionist. I suggest the former.”

The girl stared up at him, open-mouthed, before a rictus grin graced her face.

“When you put it thus, lawman, who could say no?”

The Arbitrator smiled back. “Who indeed? If we are to work together, we should at least know each others’ names. I am Lazerus Cole, Adeptus Arbites Trooper First Class.”

The girl was quiet for some time before finally responding. “Call me Ave’. That will do for now.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ave’. Ah, look, we are arrived.”

Looking ahead, the group was approaching a section house of the Adeptus Arbites, an imposing structure designed to hold some hundred or so Arbitrators and their assorted staff. Part barracks, part fortress, a sector house was the last place most Imperial citizens wanted to end up, as the Adeptus Arbites did not concern themselves for the most part with local crime. Rather, to be interviewed by the Arbites and their Judges was to be suspected of heresy, sedition, and crimes against the Imperium. Judges were not known for their leniency, instead preferring to execute a possible innocent rather than let a clever heretic go free. Rare was the prisoner who was freed from the detention cells of the Adeptus Arbites.

As the group passed inside, Ave’ noticed Lazerus frowning.

“What is wrong, lawman?” she hissed.

Lazerus’ brow wrinkled in thought. “I’m not sure, but something does not sit right here.”

“If you do not hear a hiss, leave the seal alone.”

The trooper quirked an interrogative eyebrow in her direction.

Ave’ grinned more naturally. “It is a saying from my people. It means do not borrow trouble.”

“Ah, I see. Hopefully you are right. Let’s meet the rest of our motley crew, shall we?”

The group proceeded to a suite of offices several floors up, obviously the chambers of a Proctor which the agent had commandeered. A medicae waited, tut-tutting over the agent’s wounds. Glancing over to the sniper, he brusquely ordered the Guardsman into the next room, to disrobe and await his ministrations. The agent dismissed his escort and followed, still supported by storm troopers and fussed over by the medicae. Over his shoulder, he called out to the five remaining individuals to make themselves at ease and get to know each other.

As they eyed each other once again, the sniper returned to the main room, wincing with each step, a bandage covering his right side just below the ribs. Looking about the room, he glowered.

“Nuthin’, it’s nuthin’. Jes a scratch. Ah’ve had wurs.”

Indeed he had. The Guardsman’s ruddy skin was a veritable patchwork quilt of scars, some nearly faded completely, others appearing relatively new.

Lazerus spoke up. “Well, our new superior has asked that we get to know each other. I also believe that, if we are to work together effectively, we should know at least each others’ names! I will begin, if no one else would care to.”

One by one, the former strangers introduced themselves, divulging what information they felt comfortable with, while sizing up the others.

Lazerus Cole, Adeptus Arbites, Trooper First Class. Tall and lanky, 188cm tall and 80 kilos with light brown skin, light brown hair, and grey eyes, a native of the hive world Malfi, cleaning his pump-action shotgun as he relates a brief tale. Based out of the Sector Precinct House on Scintilla, Lazerus was in Sibellus Hive on a brief assignment. Some trouble had ensued, and he had been ordered to remain in the hive and pursue some leads that he had uncovered. That assignment, it seemed, would have to wait.

Ishmael, adept of the Cult Mechanicus, devotee of the Machine God. Swathed in red robes, the only visible flesh is his hands, inlaid with delicate circuitry, and his face, vox-grille covering the area of his mouth. Grasping a long metal staff, adorned with icons of the Machine God and topped with the skull-and-cog symbol of the Adeptus Mechanicus, he seemed indifferent to his surroundings. He had been hired by a hive maintenance supervisor to anoint some ventilation gargoyles in the lower hive. Now, his task complete, he had fallen in with this group during the unfortunate incident in the Rusty Rivet.

Eli Lupus, the youngest member of the group and a freshly-minted Guardsman. Tall and muscular at 185 cm and 85 kilos, fair-skinned and dark-haired, with piercing light grey eyes, a native of the pleasure world Siren’s Den. He says little of his past, other than that he joined the Imperial Guard on his 18th birthday, was shipped to Scintilla for training, and has been killing time in Sibellus while awaiting assignment to an Imperial Guard regiment. He is outfitted in brand-new standard Guard issue, with lasgun, full flak armor, and all the standard accoutrements.

Ophelia, devotee of the Bveryn Kley death cult, assassin-in-training. Born on an orbital station, she has spent every waking moment learning the trade of death. Lithe and deadly, clad in a black bodystocking, she keeps her blue hair short to deny an enemy any grip, framing a pale face and space-black eyes. As she begins explaining that her novitiate training ended when she killed the master of her temple, the others look at each other skeptically. Finally, after a couple of minutes of obvious grox-dung, Eli speaks up.

“Next.”

Ave’, another child of space, is reticent to reveal more than her name. Short and scrawny, standing 165 cm and a slight 58 kilos, her short brown hair and pale skin melt into whatever crowd she finds herself in, her utterly unremarkable appearance is one of her greatest attributes. Every expression seems to say that she has seen the worst the universe has to offer, and she doesn’t care. She is dressed in the remnants of a shipboard skinsuit, little more than sleeves and leggings, covered by tattered canvas breeches and a homespun vest. She is well-armed, however, with scrounged shotgun and autopistol evident, and a long-bladed knife in a sheath at her side.

Finally, it is the wounded sniper’s turn. He is another large man, standing 178cm and weighing in at 90 kilos. Grudgingly, he reveals his name as Tauron Cortez, born on Valos Krin, a feral world in an outlying region of this sector. He says nothing of his past, instead referring to himself as a hunter and tracker. When Eli asks him what regiment he belonged to, referring to the sniper’s Guard-standard armor and other equipment, Cortez becomes visibly upset.

“Ah ain’t a part o’ no grox-dun’ reg’mint, snotty! Yer can go an’ flenk yerself iffen yer thinks otherways! Nun, yer hearin’ me? Nun!”

Eli and Lazerus share a look, both thinking the same thing. Deserter. However, if the Inquisition would use such a man, so be it.

Presently, the Inquisition agent emerges from the other room, bandaged and smelling of antiseptics, but smiling.

“Well, now that you all know each other, I should introduce myself. I am Miocanthus, acolyte of one of His Imperial Majesty’s Inquisitors. Which one is not important at this time. However, I have a test for you now. Pass, and you shall perhaps meet my master, and begin your true service to the Throne.”

The first mission

Miocanthus sat behind the desk, keying a holo terminal to life. A man’s face, pudgy and pockmarked, floated in the center of the room, accompanied by a running list of pertinent information and petty convictions. Lazerus recognized a standard Sibellus Hive criminal record header.

“This is Harris Glout. As you can see, up until now he has been a small-time player in the criminal underworld. Lately, however, Mr. Glout’s fortunes have turned. In the last few months, Harris’ name has come up more and more often in certain investigations. Most recently, information has been acquired that links Glout to the manufacture of a new drug. Now, normally, the Inquistion, and indeed the Adeptus Arbites, are content to leave the pursuit and prosecution of a minor drug king to the local authorities. In this case, though, the particular drug that Glout is manufacturing, known locally as P’rellian Passion, has been increasingly among the possessions of known and suspected pleasure cult members. We suspect warp influence in this drug’s manufacture and therefore it falls within our sphere of inquest.

“It has been decided that the time has come to move against Glout. He believes himself clever, disguising his laboratory as a transshipment warehouse. We have identified the operation, however. I will lead a strike force against the warehouse and destroy this vile menace to the good citizens of Sibellus Hive. You will not accompany me, as I have another mission for you.”

The holo image shifted, becoming a three-dimensional schematic of a small one-story building.

“Glout does not personally oversee the manufacture of his drug. Apparently, he doesn’t like to get his own hands too dirty. Instead, he maintains a secure office at a restaurant two levels below here, known as The Rat Pit. Charming, I know. I want you to take Glout down. Alive, if possible, as we would relish the opportunity to put another heretic to the question, but in no case must Glout escape the Emperor’s justice. If you cannot take him, at the very least you must keep him at the restaurant until I can bring my men and take over. Is that understood?”

Miocanthus looked around the room, staring hard into each individual’s eyes. Lazerus, the Arbitrator, nodded sharply, eyes focused on the holo of the building. Eli, the fresh-minted Guardsman, made a show of checking his weapons as he nodded his assent. Ave’ simply shrugged and nodded, seemingly indifferent to the briefing. Ophelia, the blue-haired assassin, had laid her laspistol in her lap and seemed to be whispering to it. She looked up and indicated her concurrence. Tauron, the burly hunter, wiped a vizzy-cloth over his long-las’ optics as he grunted affirmation. Ishmael, the robed Tech-Priest, predictably spoke up.

“We must discuss compensation. If you require my assistance in your endeavor, proper remuneration must be made.”

Miocanthus’ face hardened. “You are here to do the work of the Emperor and his Holy Inquisition. Such labor should be reward enough in itself! Yet, fear not, you shall all be suitably rewarded. I trust that you will accept that the Inquisition will suitably compensate you?”

Ishmael bobbed his head. “As you say, sir. I mean no disrespect, yet neither will I allow myself nor my sacred knowledge to be used without recompense. Of course, I will trust that proper payment will be received. And, given your guarantee, you may indeed count on my full cooperation in this endeavor.”

The Arbitrator and the two Guardsmen had gathered around the holo of the building, and were discussing options for entrance. There seemed to be three doors in the building: the main entrance and a smaller door on either side, opening into small alleys that flank the restaurant. As the men discussed possible personnel dispersions, Ophelia strolled up and spoke.

“I believe that a sudden storm action should suffice in this instance. Obviously, this is another cover operation, so anyone inside is fair game. I say that we weld shut one of these side doors. Then, I and those other two,” indicating Ave’ and Ishmael with a toss of her head, “and you, too, lawman, burst through the front door, laying down heavy fire. You other two come through the side door and take down anyone who tries to get out. Then, we identify this Harris character and collect our earnings.”

The three men stared at her, open-mouthed. Finally, Tauron gathered enough sense to ask her, “Wha’ kin’ o’ ‘ssassin did yer say yer wuz agin? Din’t yer say yer liked the shay-does an’ sneakin’?”

Ophelia gazed back blankly. “Sometimes I prefer the direct method. No subtlety seems to be called for here.”

Just as it appeared that the ex-Guardsman was about to explain, in painstaking detail, what he thought of the woman’s plan, Lazerus cleared his throat.

“Perhaps I might offer an alternative suggestion?” Turning to Miocanthus, he asked “Would we be able to draw microbeads from the blockhouse here?” Upon receiving an affirmative nod, he returned his attention to the group.

“In that case, this will be easier to coordinate. Ophelia, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we cannot be sure that the restaurant is not in fact operating as it appears. I will not be party to the wholesale slaughter of innocent Imperial citizens on the hope that the one we are after will be among the dead. In this case, I believe that subtlety and subterfuge is indeed called for, if not in exactly the way you are used to. I do like your idea of covering entrances, but I do not see the feasibility of sealing one entrance, when it apparently offers a wonderful sightline for our friend with the long-las.”

Tauron nodded, apparently satisfied at the nod to his abilities.

“All right then, here is the outline. Tauron and Ishmael, take the eastern side door. Ophelia and Eli, the western. Try not to draw too much attention to yourselves, but stay near. I will go inside and try to determine if Glout is there and, if so, where. My microbead will be open the whole while, so keep your ears on to gain an idea of the situation. If things go badly, I will give the ‘go’ phrase. In that case, come through the doors and take down any hostiles with maximum force. Also, if anyone attempts to bolt through the sides, stop them. Take prisoners if possible, but, as our patron has said, do not allow any of them to get away. The ‘go’ phrase is: ‘the walls are falling.’ Any questions?”

Ave’ spoke up. “Yeah, what am I to do, lawman?”

Lazerus grinned at her. “How’s your acting?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tauron and Ishmael, draped in shabby robes to cover their weapons and body armor, quickly darted out of the crowd moving down the cramped street, and moved down the alley on the eastern side of The Rat Pit. Surprisingly, there were no other humans down this particular alley, indicating a consistent patrol of some kind to keep people away. The two men flanked the door, Tauron covering the side nearest the road, while Ishmael examined the door’s lock.

“Most interesting” the Tech-Priest mused.

“Wassat?” responded the hunter, unwrapping and prepping his long-las, though not exposing it from its usual canvas covering.

“Normally, one would expect a simple tumbler lock in an area such as this. And indeed, there are indications that one previously graced this particular portal. But this, this is no tumbler lock.” The Tech-Priest indicated a small panel of rune-marked keys set just above the door’s handle. “Fortunately, whoever made the decision to change this lock did not feel like spending too much. The Veswerks 42a-7R2.11 digital keypad…” Ishmael’s mutterings tailed off into an incomprehensible murmur as he felt Tauron’s eyes on him.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Kin yer open it?”

“Of course I can open it, I was simply noting the…”

“Tha’s fine then. Do yer thing an’ keep yer trap shut, willya? I kin’t heer iff’n ennyone’s tryin’ to sneak up on us like.”

“Oh, of course.” The Tech-Priest produced a multi-tool and began prying at the face of the keypad, which soon popped off, exposing wires and circuits. “So crude, so simple…”

Soon enough, the door unlocked with a quiet *click*. Ishmael cracked open the door, inserting a splinter of wood between the lock and the striker plate to prevent it relocking, and replaced the facing on the keypad, keying his microbead.

“Hunter and Circuit in position, entry assured.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On the other side of the building, Eli and Ophelia headed toward the western alley. Entering the space, the two operatives passed a two corner-girls and a man, apparently haggling over the price of the services the man desired. Ophelia’s ear twitched as they passed, her enhanced hearing picking up the three apparent bystanders’ conversation.

“That’s two of ‘em, girls. Just like we were told. Get ready for trouble.”

As the duo continued down the alley toward the door, Ophelia whispered to Eli.

*those people we just passed, they know we’re here*

Eli looked back at her incredulously. “OF COURSE THEY KNOW WE’RE HERE! WE JUST WALKED RIGHT PAST THEM! WHAT DID YOU THINK, THEY WOULDN’T SEE US WALK! RIGHT! PAST! THEM!”

“I meant they knew we were coming, and they recognized us.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so? Well, let’s get into position and just keep an eye on them.”

Ophelia slipped her laspistol from its holster underneath her grubby overcloak and held it close to her left thigh. As the pair reached the door, they flanked it, similar to Ishmael and Tauron on the other side. Ophelia kept an eye on the trio at the mouth of the alley, while Eli examined the door.

“Uh-oh.”

Ophelia glanced to her left, asking a question of Eli.

“We’re humped. See for yourself.”

The assassin suppressed a sigh and turned to the door. Some people just shouldn’t be allowed near locks, she thought to herself. Then she saw the door. The blank door. The blank steel door.

There was no way in from this side. No handle. No lock. Nothing.

The assassin keyed her microbead. “Shadow and Gunner in position. Entry denied.”

She turned to Eli. “We’re humped.”

Eli was looking over her shoulder as a voice from behind her called out. “Get-a get-a ‘way from-a door, slags. Whatchoo doin’ here, anyways? Huh?”

Ophelia turned slowly, keeping her laspistol out of sight behind her. One of the corner-girls had advanced halfway from the mouth of the alley toward they pair, covering them with a stub revolver. The other corner-girl and their supposed john had taken partial cover behind the corners of the alley-mouth, also pointing stub revolvers at the operatives.

The assassin quickly slipped the safety off her laspistol. The last thing she wanted at this point was to set things off too early. Perhaps they could distract the guards, as they apparently were, and keep them occupied until the time came to take them out. She and Eli raised their hands, both in his case but the right only in hers, in a universally non-threatening gesture and began backing slowly down the alley.

“Whatchoos doin’ here, I sayed? Huh?”

Ophelia opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak Eli’s voice called out from behind her.

“We’re looking for Steve. Does Steve live around here?”

Ophelia looked over her shoulder at Eli. Steve? she mouthed. The young Guardsman shrugged.

“Sounded good to me.” His right hand slowly started moving to his waist, reaching inside his overcloak.

“Youse slags keep-a keep-a walkin’. Youse hears? Elsein youse bein’ dead-dead.”

Eli keyed his microbead. “Shadow and Gunner, displaced. Hostiles present, under cover.”

Taking down Harris

Mikel and Donne were bored. There was just no other way to describe it. After all, Glout used this restaurant as a cover for his business because it was a little hole-in-the-wall nothing. The only people who came here were low-lifes looking for a lukewarm meal, something to take their minds off of their meaningless lives, or both. Usually both. The front door opened on an infrequent basis, the occasional hiver or three entering and taking a table, spending their hard-earned scrapings for some reheated (and often recycled) synthcaf and the stew of the day (usually some form of reclaimed near-meat). As each patron entered, the two protection experts, as they liked to style themselves, would eye them for obvious weapons or other signs of someone likely to make trouble. They were paid, and paid well by low-hive standards, to keep trouble away, and they wanted to keep their jobs. Neither of them was a stranger to violence, as each one had delivered some fearful beatings in their time. That was the extent of Mikel’s experience, but Donne had frequently made reference to some problems that he had “retired” for a previous employer.

The door opened, allowing a brief burst of noise from the passing pedestrians along with a tall man in a battered storm coat. A pump-action shotgun carried over one shoulder drew a raised eyebrow from Mikel, but Donne shook his head. While long guns were uncommon, most patrons of The Rat Pit carried, and this guy didn’t have the look of a troublemaker. He looked around briefly, then took a seat at an unoccupied table, his back to the door. Obviously not a pro, then. Everyone knew you always put you back to a wall, preferably in a corner. Probably he had lucked into the gun, maybe it didn’t even work. Yeah, that was most likely. This guy had just found the gun, probably in a wreck or junk heap, and carried it to look serious, but he was just a low-hive scum poser. As they turned to scan the crowd again, they missed his left hand moving to his ear.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Hunter and Circuit in position, entry assured.”

Lazerus heard the affirmation through his microbead, and tapped his ear twice in acknowledgement. He spoke lowly, nearly subvocalizing.

“Badge in place. Two dozen friendlies, two thugs. Go for Void.”

Prior to the mission, each of the team members had been assigned a code name, something to instantly identify them to each other without using names. Tauron, the sniper, was Hunter, while the Tech-Priest Ishmael was Circuit. Lazerus, appropriately, was Badge, the young Guardsman Eli took Gunner, while the assassin Ophelia was known as Shadow. Ave’, the space-born pickpocket with utterly unremarkable features that allowed her to blend into any crowd, was Void.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The door to the restaurant opened again. A mousy-looking girl entered, right shoulder twitching spasmodically while her left hand scratched her right forearm compulsively. She looked around the room in spastic jerks, a wild look in her eyes. This was trouble. Mikel and Danne looked at each other for a moment, then Mikel rolled his eyes and stood up, heading toward the new arrival.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Shadow and Gunner, displaced. Hostiles present, under cover.”

Lazerus frowned as the next report came over his microbead. It wasn’t critical that all exits be perfectly covered, but it appeared that at least one part of the team had had their cover blown. From the sounds of things, Eli and Ophelia needed backup. He turned, as though to see the source of commotion that had just entered, and caught Ave’s eye. He motioned quickly to the approaching thug, and then outside, brushing his ear. She twitched, managing to hide a nod as a random muscle movement, then looked up as Mikel drew near.

“Can I’s help you, mizz? Youse lost?”

The girl jerked back as he reached for her arm, then managed a crooked smile. “I, uh, I, uh, I, uh, need something need something badIneedsomethingbadrightnowIneeditneeditnowrightnow…” Her words came faster and faster the more she talked, before Mikel stopped her talking with a raised hand.

“What’s makes youse think youse can get-get somethin’ here, huh?”

“I-a I-a heard this is the place for good stuff. Harris here, right? I heard Harris here, has good-good-good-g-g-g-good stuff.”

Mikel stepped close, right up to her, and whispered. “I don’t know what youse hear, but ain’t no Harris here. Now why’s don’ we step outside, like?”

He firmly grabbed the girl’s arm and steered her out the door. As he did so, Lazerus turned back away from the door, taking the opportunity to key his microbead.

“Void en route to Shadow and Gunner, one hostile in tow. Delay until go-word.”

He waited half a minute, then stood up and headed for the door leading to the kitchen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Youse slags keep-a keep-a walkin’. Youse hears? Elsein youse bein’ dead-dead.”

It was the third time the notional corner-girl had repeated the phrase, and Eli was fast becoming tired of it. Perhaps she had some near-parrot in her genes somewhere he thought, smothering a chuckle. More likely she had one up her skirt. He and Ophelia had backed down the alley about a dozen meters or so from the door they were meant to cover, well within firing range, but out of position to physically intercept anyone who came out and headed for the streets. Ophelia still held her laspistol in her left hand, kept behind her body. Apparently, the girl, or more likely the guy at the corner, finally noticed her hidden hand, and she called out.

“Hey, slag, whatchoos got-a got-a ‘hind there, huhs? Shows us yousa hands! Bot’ of ‘em!. Now!”

Ophelia looked over her shoulder at Eli, who shrugged, then turned back to face the girl, bringing her left hand up and pointing the laspistol at the surprised girl.

“Let’s not get crazy, here, okay? We’re here peacefully. Can’t we all just get along?”

Eli gaped at the assassin, openmouthed. “And you were complaining about Steve?”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mikel walked the girl outside, giving her a gentle shove as they reached the dingy sidewalk.

“Go on, now, get. And don’ come back.”

As he turned to walk back inside, the girl grabbed his arm and began speaking quickly. Mikel quickly lost track of the thread of the conversation, swept along blindly in her stream of blather.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Donne jumped up as the man with the shotgun walked toward the opening separating the dining area from the kitchens.

“Hey, there, fella, where’s youse goin’? Ain’t nutttin’ back there for youse.”

The man didn’t turn as he replied.

“Just gotta take a piss, don’t mind me.”

Donne pulled his stub automatic, the man stopping and slowly raising his hands at the sound of the hammer being cocked. The man began turning slowly, then a noise from the dining area caused Donne’s head to turn. Before he could look back, his ears registered the unmistakable noise of a shotgun’s action working. As his eyes returned to the other man, they were drawn inexorably to the gaping barrel of the shotgun held just under his nose, angled upward. Donne prided himself on being a tough man, but his left pant leg became warm and wet as he finally wrenched his gaze from the barrel to the man’s suddenly hard grey eyes.

“Drop the pistol, scum.” Donne quickly complied. “Now, down on the floor, face down, hands behind your head. I’ve got some questions for you, sonny. First, what’s your name?”

Right cheek pressed firmly to the floor, the thug stammered out his reply.

“D-d-d-d- Donne!”

“All right, Donne, where’s Harris?”

“Right behind you!” came a voice from that direction, along with the sound of guns cocking. Lazerus rose slowly, shotgun held in his left hand away from his body. As he stepped off of Donne and turned to face the doorway, the Arbitrator saw Harris Glout, instantly recognizable from the holo they had examined during the briefing, a woman in a business suit, and four more bodyguards. The one in the doorway held a crudely sawed-off double-barreled shotgun, friend to criminals everywhere, while the others held stub autos, as did Harris himself.

“Harris, nice place you’ve got here. I might call a contractor, though.”

Glout smirked. “Oh yeah, why’s that.”

Lazerus smiled back. “Can’t you tell? The walls are falling.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“The walls are falling.”

Ishmael and Tauron looked at each other. Then the Tech Priest kicked open the door, iron staff held at the ready, as Tauron sighted through his long-las, taking in the scene within.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“The walls are falling.”

The mousy girl’s chatter took on another note, and some words finally began to pierce the haze that had surrounded Mikel since she began talking.

“…said, isn’t that a cop over there?”

As Mikel turned to look in the direction that she was pointing, something registered in the back of his mind. The girl was pointing. Steadily. The junkie was pointing. The twitchy junkie was pointing. Her hand was steady. Her hand wasn’t shaking.

Her hand wasn’t shaking!

Mikel spun back to face her, grabbing for the stub auto in his belt.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“The walls are falling.”

Ophelia dropped to one knee, sighting on the corner-girl, as Eli drew his hand from inside his overcloak, holding an object the size of a medium-sized can. The young Guardsman brought his hands together, assuming a throwing stance.

“Hey, guys. CATCH!”

The object sailed over the corner-girl’s head, landing directly in the middle of the triangle formed by her and her two comrades. All three stared at it, trying to make sense of the round metal ball with a grip or handle of some kind coming out of the top. They were still staring when the grenade exploded. The man, stationed on the right side of the alley, screamed as his left arm was shredded, arterial blood painting the opposite alley wall like some demented impressionist. The second corner girl passed out briefly and collapsed as the grenade buried red-hot metal fragments deep in her right leg, shattering bone and lacerating flesh. The point girl nearly escaped unscathed. Indeed, at first glance, the grenade seemed to have no effect other than to blow her half a dozen meters toward the assassin and Guardsman, landing on her back limply. There was no blood on her front, but a small hole directly in the center of her forehead belied her peaceful appearance. A spreading pool of crimson framed her head like a gory halo.

Eli dropped the pin and unslung his lasrifle, grinning like a fool.

“I’ve got to get more of those.”

Ophelia’s shot silenced the man’s screams.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The explosion startled and distracted everyone inside The Rat Pit, causing them to flinch and involuntarily look toward the sound. Except Lazerus. As the thug in the doorway turned his head, the Arbitrator dropped into a crouch, bringing his own shotgun into line with the unsuspecting man’s center of mass. The thundergun spoke twice, and the man collapsed as all of the muscle supporting his torso vaporized, spraying those behind him with a fine red mist.

Lazerus stood back up as he racked the slide, voice nearly as loud as his weapon.

“ADEPTUS ARBITES! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS! NOW YOU WORTHLESS SCUM!”

Harris darted for the door as his muscle moved to intersect the Arbitrator. The door on the opposite side of the restaurant banged open at that time, and a long-las’ snap-CRACK sounded as Tauron put a las round through one of the thug’s throat. Donne somehow dredged up the intestinal fortitude to try and redeem himself, and scooped up his pistol from where he had dropped it. Firing wildly from his back, he had the satisfaction of seeing one round crease the side of the Arbitrator, who had his back turned to him. Grunting with the sudden pain, the lawman glanced back at Donne, the up at something behind the bouncer, grinning. Lazerus turned back to the remaining thug interposed between himself and Harris.

Donne was confused. He had just shot this guy in the back and fully expected the guy to turn on him with his big gauge, but the guy was ignoring him. Why would he do that, unless… At that moment, an iron staff stabbed down, pinning his thigh to the wooden floor, briefly, before being wrenched back out, the pain causing Donne to lose his grip on the stub auto. Ishmael pulled his staff back, aiming another swing at the downed thug’s head.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mikel cursed himself as he spun to face the mousy girl. How could he have been so stupid? Falling for such a basic ploy! He would show her. He’d show everyone that he was not someone to…

His thought process was cut off by the foot-long knife blade entering his stomach. His hand clawed the pistol from his belt, his finger jerking and firing a round into the sidewalk as the girl pulled the knife out and rammed it home again, piercing his liver. As Mikel slipped to the ground, blood pouring from his stomach, the girl reached down and picked up his pistol.

“Huh, I don’t have one of these. Well, at least I didn’t.”

She darted away to the left, following a blur that was the last thing Mikel saw.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harris and the woman, preceded by one of his two remaining bodyguards, burst out of the door into the alley. The bodyguard slipped on a spreading pool of liquid. As he stood back up, he brought his hand up to his face. It was red and sticky, and still warm. His glance quickly took in the situation, and he turned to face the two figures further down the alley. He screamed at Harris and the woman to head for the streets, to get away, as he fired at the woman with the laspistol, missing as his footing remained unsure.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lazerus advanced on the remaining bodyguard, who wavered between loyalty to his employer and loyalty to his life. Harris and some woman were getting away! He screamed to Tauron.

“Hunter, the other side! Harris is leaving!”

The bodyguard’s resolve hardened, but too late as the advancing Arbitrator splattered the wall with more human salsa as he headed toward the door, picking his way carefully through the bodies and gore.

Tauron, seeing that the restaurant seemed secure, kicked in his high gear. Raised on a world where only the fastest ate and avoided being eaten, the former Guardsman could sprint at need. He tore up the alley, around the front of the restaurant, where Ave’ was looting a dying man, past a gasping, crawling, bloody wreck of a corner-girl, and down the other alley, pulling up just in time to put the barrel of his long-las into Harris Glout’s eye socket.

“Going somewhere?”

The woman accompanying Glout kept running, looking over at her business associate and his captor, not seeing the girl coming around the corner at high speed, blood already dripping off her blade. Ave’ sprung into the air, gripping the knife with both hands above her head and plunging it down into and through the woman’s neck as she descended. Ave’ did not land standing upright, instead allowing her momentum and weight to act on the lever that her knife had become, the woman’s head coming off with a sickening schluuuurp-POP. The head, still bearing a look of surprise, described a perfect arc as it flew backwards, beyond Ophelia and Eli, who had just cut down the bodyguard in a hail of las fire. Lazerus stormed out of the door, putting his shotgun at the base of Glout’s skull, as Ave’ and Ophelia moved up to completely surround the criminal. Eli headed inside the restaurant at Lazerus’ head-jerk, helping Ishmael subdue the cowed and concussed Donne.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Where’s your office, Harris? I don’t believe you were working out of the kitchen, so where is it?”

Glout just glared at the Arbitrator. He, Donne, and the girl with the shredded leg were tied up, hands behind their backs, and set along the wall down the western alley.

“Okay, I guess we’ll just have to go find it ourselves.”

Ophelia and Ishmael entered the kitchen as the other four covered their prisoners, keeping an eye out for anyone expressing too much interest in the proceedings. Eventually, the assassin returned.

“We found it. An office and small laboratorium. Ishmael is checking the machinery for stolen tech. And for spare parts.”

Just then, the crowd in the street became agitated, as Miocanthus and his Inquisitorial guard muscled their way through. The acolyte smiled, seeing Glout’s sour expression. Well done, people. We took down his main manufactorum, and it looks like you caught the man himself. Well done. Let’s get this scum back to the blockhouse and turned over to the proper authorities. I’ll leave a guard force here to secure the scene. Let’s go.”

Bad part of town

As the rickety rail car slowed in an ear-piercing squeal of poorly-maintained brakes, the five occupants pulled themselves to their feet, shouldering packs and weapons. The car shuddered to a stop at a wide raised platform, devoid of life but for a single rag-shrouded figure. As the party exits the rail car, to a man grateful that the journey had finally ended without incident, the waiting figure darts quickly onto the car, flashing a pass at the door sensor. The doors closed once again, more jerking than sliding, the car emitting a mournful shriek as the tortured brakes released and its eternal journey continued. The four men and one woman stretched, relieving cramped muscles and restoring circulation to tingling extremities. Finally, each removed the earplugs that had protected their hearing up to this point, working their jaws to restore normal fluid levels to their inner ears.

“By the Throne I’m glad to be off of that, that, that DEATHTRAP!” exclaimed Ophelia.

“I don’t know,” Lazerus replied, “I’ve been on worse. You should see some of the rail cars on Malfi. At least this one had a solid floor.”

Ishmael watched the car pull off with a saddened look. “Yet another gift of the Machine God left to fall into decay. The local priesthood should be censured for failing so in their duty.”

“Tha loc’ls oughta be shot’s whatcha mean,” opined Tauron. “Mebbe drawn ‘n quart’rd.”

Eli looked vaguely troubled. “Does anyone know why Ave’ isn’t here? I thought she would be joining us, but I haven’t seen her since Miocanthus separated us to begin our initiations.”

Three negative replies quickly followed the young Guardsman’s question, but Lazerus remained silent.

“Lazerus? Do you know something?”

The Arbitrator stared into the younger man’s face. “Ave’ is otherwise occupied right now. I have faith that we will see her again, but not on this mission. Speaking of this mission, I’d like to make sure everyone remembers it.”

The group moved to a corner of the rail car platform, sitting in a circle on the filthy permacrete. The Arbitrator pointed to Eli. “Why are we here?”

Eli thought back, remembering the events of the past several weeks. First, after the capture of Harris Glaut and his tainted drug business, the party had been separated, housed in anonymous hab-blocks under false names. Daily indoctrination and training had followed, seemingly interminably, until he could no longer remember what day it was without referencing his wrist chrono. Day after day after day of lectures given in vast, empty auditoriums by lecture servitors, hypno-doctriation, and reams of codes and ciphers that were memorized and then erased. Finally, a note had been slipped under his door, giving a time and place, and signed “The Emperor Protects.”

At the appointed time, Eli had presented himself to a door servitor at a small door set into the side of an enormously imposing structure in the Administratum district. The building was covered in carvings of skulls, urns, and other symbols of death. A ten-meter high statue of a weeping saint crowned the edifice. As the servitor allowed the Guardsman to pass, he entered a room where he was met by the other four now seated on this platform with him. No sooner had greetings been exchanged, then another servitor had led the group through a thoroughly confusing labyrinth of corridors and chambers, until finally they had been deposited in a small room with dusty metal crates along one wall. The upper half of the wall opposite the door was one huge mirror, which had slowly cleared to transparency, revealing another chamber, this one of gleaming steel, beyond.

Within this other chamber stood a tall man, thin of face, wearing white medicae robes covered with a red leather coat. Two medicae servo-skulls hovered behind the man, while a frame held what was obviously some sort of body under a sheet. The man gestured for the Acolytes to approach the glass, then his voice had sounded from a grill in the ceiling. The man had introduced himself as Medicae-Interrogator Sand, Miocanthus’ superior in the retinue of their Inquisitor. Then Sand had begun the briefing.

“Eli? Why are we here?” Lazerus’ voice intruded on Eli’s memory.

“According to Sand…” began the young man, only to be cut off by the Arbitrator.

“Medicae-Interrogator Sand, you mean. The man has earned the right to his title.”

“Very well, Medicae-Interrogator Sand showed the corpse to us, identifying it as one Saul Arbest, resident of chamber 6/23 stack 7-17 in Coscarla, Hive Sibellus. This,” he indicated the area surrounding the platform with a wave of his hand, “is, I presume, Coscarla. And a lovely area it is, I am sure. At any rate. Saul had been found dead on a transit rail, apparently of an overdose of some kind. Further investigation revealed, however, that he had been…altered. I believe the phrase he used was ‘total system failure due to rejection of tissue graft’ or something like that. Heretical and forbidden implants had been inserted into his body, and had, in a nutshell, killed him. We are to find out why he had these implants, who put them in him, and how they got them. I think that about covers it.”

Lazerus nodded, satisfied, then turned to Ishmael. “And of the gear we were given?”

The Tech-Priest opened his pack and began identifying items, lifting each as it was referenced. “First, tokens to allow us free passage to and within Coscarla. Next, cognomen identifying us as agents of a mercantile firm and allowing us to carry arms for self-defense. Hand vox sets, short range, encrypted. Overcoats and chem lamps, apparently to allow us to blend in and to work at night. A data-slate containing our basic mission and some miscellaneous data on the area. It is capable of short-range audio and visual recording and playback. A bio-sample kit, in case we encounter any other…anomalous tissue. Finally, a money pouch for, as the Interrogator put it, ‘sundries and bribes’.”

Next the Arbitrator turned to Tauron. “What’s our course of action?”

“Fuhst, we go to th’ boy’s stack ‘n check it fer ennythin’ serspicious-like. Then we talk to his sistah, Lili.”

“Right. And after that?” Lazerus asked Ophelia.

The assassin thought for a moment then replied “We investigate. Quietly.”

“Right. In that case, let’s get to it.”

With that, the party left the rail car platform and entered Coscarla. The first impression that each acolyte received was one of hopeless depression. Taking in the buildings nearest the railhead, it was obvious that most were burned-out hulks, with the occasional intact building still showing signs of life. The alleys between buildings were choked with refuse, indeterminate shapes moving in the darkness. The few locals in sight moved quickly, heads down, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, as though trying to avoid someone’s attention. Lazerus frowned, some feeling tickling the back of his mind.

Consulting the data-slate, Ishmael pointed ahead. “Come, the hab-stack is this way.”

Ishmael led the way through the streets, the rest of the party separating and following from a distance, each within sight of at least two others. Several minutes later, they arrived at yet another anonymous blank-faced building, identified by the data-slate as Stack 7-17. The main entrance doors were open, the left-hand door hanging by one hinge and the right-hand door lying on the floor within. The lobby was obviously once cheerfully decorated, but everything of value has been either vandalized or stolen. Across the lobby, the doors to the hab lift stand open, a gaping entrance to a black void. Tauron looked over to Eli, the two Guardsmen bringing up the rear of the party.

“Ah guess we take th’ steers, huh?”

“I guess so. Six floors up. Great.”

The party quickly sorted out their order of advance, Ophelia silently stalking up the stairs ahead of the others, Ishmael sandwiched between Lazerus and Tauron, and Eli bringing up the rear. Upon reaching the landing for the sixth floor, the party entered the hallway cautiously, working their way to chamber 6/23. The chamber’s door stood ajar, the lock broken. Ophelia and Lazerus drew their weapons and entered, sweeping the interior. The chamber was a simple low-hab dwelling, approximately an 8x8 meter square with a water closet off to one side and a single window looking out over the main street in front of the hab stack. A noise behind the bed caught Ophelia’s ear and she leapt over the frame, grabbing the person hiding behind the bed, whose scream was quickly stifled when the assassin shoved the bedsheet in their mouth. Ophelia pulled the struggling figure out from behind the bed and shoved the, now apparent, woman to the middle of the room. She quickly scrambled back across the floor until her back was against the wall, looking at the assassin fearfully, spitting the sheet from her mouth. Lazerus quickly slung his shotgun and knelt down next to the woman.

“Shhh, quiet now. It’s all right. Calm down.” Mumering quietly to try to calm the panicked woman, Lazerus turned and glared daggers at the assassin, who simply shrugged in return. Lazerus nodded his head toward the door. Ophelia shrugged again, spun in place and walked out, only to be replaced by Tauron, poking his head in. Lazerus motioned the Feral Worlder to approach, all the while continuing to try and calm down the woman. As he returned his gaze to her, he noticed a couple of things about her. First, she looked positively haggard, as though she had not slept in weeks. Next, she was clutching an overcoat at least two sizes too big around her. Finally, she held a rucksack pressed against her chest. Eventually, the Arbitrator’s soothing words calmed the woman down, and she managed a weak smile.

Lazerus smiled back. “I apologize for the rude entrance. Our companion is occasionally less than patient in stressful situations. Can you tell us your name?”

“Lili Arbest,” the woman replied.

“Saul’s sister?” Tauron asked.

“Yes, do you know my brother? Is he all right? Who are you?”

The two men looked at each other, then the Guardsman nodded to Lazerus, who turned back to Lili. “Well, I would have said that we were friends of his, but I guess that won’t work now.” A wry grin crossed his face. “We’re actually looking for Saul. He’s not in any trouble, at least from us, but he may be in danger. Caught up in something too big for him, you know. Could you tell us where he may…Oh, I’m sorry. I’ve completely forgotten my manners. Allow me to introduce us. I am Ranald, and my friend here is Cort. Our impetuous ally in the hall is Leefe. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Lili.”

The Arbitrator’s pleasant manner, combined with the release of weeks of pent-up stress and sleepless nights led to the woman opening up quickly, divulging much of what she knew to the kind man. Unfortunately for the Acolytes, she knew little of use. After several minutes of talking, Lili mentioned that she was on her way out of Coscarla. When asked where she was going and why, Lili grew sad again.

“Saul’s gone. I’ve been holding out hope, but in my heart I know he’s gone. Dead or just gone, I don’t know, but I feel that I’ll never see my brother again. So, I’m going too. I’ve got a friend in the Porphyry district, a scrivener. Not much, sure, but better than waiting around here to be taken too.”

After a few more minutes of talk, Lazerus and Tauron felt that they had received as much useful information as they would be able to glean from the poor girl. Tauron headed out to the hall to get the others out of sight, while Lazerus took down the contact information for the friends’ hab, promising to contact Lili if they found any information about Saul. Finally, he escorted Lili to the front of the building, wishing her luck in her future. As she walked in the direction of the rail car platform, Tauron asked Ophelia to trail the girl discreetly to ensure that she made it onto the rail car safely. Ophelia smiled nastily and quickly moved off.

Things go bump in the night

Ophelia moved swiftly into the growing crowd outside the habstack, a small cruel smile flitting across her lips. She would make sure that Lili boarded the rail car safely, but she would some fun first. The assassin slipped through the thronging masses, pulling a tattered scarf over her hair and holding her overcoat tighter around her, becoming just another prole on her way home from another dreary day of toil and labor. As Ophelia wormed her way toward Lili, she noticed the frightened girl glance behind her, as though afraid of being followed. Perfect, she thought. Moving to the right, so as to be within Lili’s line of sight, she waited until the next time the girl looked back. As Lili’s gaze swept over her, Ophelia’s lips curled back in a cruel sneer, while one nimble, long-nailed finger drew slowly across her throat. Lili’s face drained of all color, becoming as white as a ghost. She turned and ran, pushing people out of her way as she raced as fast as she could toward the railhead and safety. Ophelia followed, falling behind as the growing crowd pushed against her.

Not wanting to draw attention, the assassin contented herself with keeping Lili in sight as she continued to follow the girl. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed several Enforcers wandering through the crowd. Even though the street was at this time packed near to bursting, each Enforcer was surrounded by a two-meter clearing, as though the people were afraid to pass too near. Oddly enough, although two or three of these men were close enough to notice the disruption that Lili caused as she passed, the only notice that they seemed to take was to glance at each other, shrug unconcernedly, and continue meandering aimlessly. Ophelia frowned slightly to herself. In her experience, such a disturbance should, at the least, have instigated at least a cursory investigation. Something was off here. She would have to remember to mention this to Lazerus. If anyone would know how a lawman should act, he would.

Finally, the railhead hove into view. Ophelia could see a car just pulling up to the platform where Lili waited with a few other pathetic figures. The assassin mingled at the edge of the crowd, waiting. As the girl boarded the car, she turned for one last look at the hive Division where she had lived her entire life, and from which her last family member disappeared. Ophelia could not resist one final torment. She darted across the platform, skidding to a halt in front of the rail car doors which were shuddering closed. The assassin looked Lili in the eye and hissed “I’ll be sure to give your best to your brother’s corpse, void-waste.” The look of horror on the girl’s face lifted Ophelia’s spirits to no end.

Meanwhile, the other acolytes had gathered in Saul’s chamber and were discussing the best way to proceed with the investigation. Ishmael had keyed the dataslate live with a scrolling map of the area, including icons marking buildings of particular interest. “It appears that, owing to the general decline in the area, there are few locations to visit. I have identified the following as possible investigatory avenues. First, there is the local Enforcer station. I believe that we could wrap this up quite quickly by simply ordering the locals, in the name of the Inquisition, to turn over all relevant records to us. A day or two, no more, and we should be have ample information to focus our investigation. What?”

This last question was directed toward the rest of the group in general, each of which was staring, openmouthed.

Tauron was the first to recover his wits. “Din't ye’ heer th' 'Terrrogator, tech-hed? We're s'posed t' be discreet. Ah thinks that rules out enny notions o' 'In the name o' the Inqueerzishun' nonsense.”

As the other Acolytes slowly nodded their assents, the Tech-Priest's face acquired a puzzled look, as though he truly didn't understand the others' objections on some fundamental level. He shrugged and returned to studying the dataslate.

Eli spoke up at this point. “I say that we should mingle with the locals, spread some scrip around, and try to pick up any bits of information that they should happen to let drop.”

“An excellent plan, Eli.” The Guardsman seemed to brighten a bit at the Arbitrator's praise. “In fact, I think we should try to get out among the locals as soon as possible. Why don't the three of us,” he continued, indicating himself, Eli and Tauron, “head out now. Ishmael, I think that you might just stick out a bit more than the rest of us, so why don't you wait here, secure this room for our use as a base of operations while we are here, and await Ophelia's return? I'm sure there is more to be gleaned from the gadgets that Interrogator Sand has gifted us with, and you are the one to mine their depths.”

The Tech-Priest seemed salved by Lazerus' words, and agreed to work on returning some sense of order to the hab chamber while he waited for Ophelia. The other three headed down the stairs and out into the marketplace of Coscarla.

As the three men neared the open-air stalls demarking the boundary of the marketplace, they split up, each heading toward a different corner. Eli made a beeline for a scrap metal dealer, Tauron headed for a stall that appeared to hold appliances in all manner of disrepair, and Lazerus angled toward a food peddler. The three men circulated for a couple of hours, coin was spent or given, and information gained in return. Eventually, they all heard the three clicks on their hand-held vox units that signalled time to regroup at Habstack 7-17.

Back in Saul Arbest's room, the group recounted what they had learned. Eli regaled the party with a tale heard from a worn-down woman, a tale of woe and misery that has been ongoing since the Tantalus Combine pulled out of Coscarla, taking most of the money and opportunity with it. Most of the other people, he said, had similar tales. Tauron's story was somewhat more useful. He gathered from talking to some reclaimators that there is a “black pit” toward the north end of the division that caved in during a fire a year or so back. The locals that he had spoken with seemed to feel that all the evil in the area flowed from the pit. Lazerus had more success yet, the years of gathering information from people who did not even know they possessed it standing him in good stead in this venture. The locals talked more openly with food in their bellies, and two topics kept coming up in his discreet questioning. The first nugget was that there were...things that came in the dark and seemed to be connected with the increasing number of citizens who have disappeared lately. The second avenue of investigation that was opened was that, apparently, the place to be for someone looking for illicit trade was the “Third Tantalus Worker's Union”, a bar and gathering place that had attempted to separate the workers from what little money they would manage to scrape together. Since the Combine's withdrawal from the area, the Worker's Union had suffered along with the rest of the area and was now the haunt of “Chord” Luntz, the local crime boss. Armed with this information, the Acolytes decided on their next course of action.

“Ah'd sure like t' take a look at this pit I heerd 'bout” opined Tauron. “Might jes' be there's sum tracks could be follered, iffen a man put his eyes on 'em.”

Eli spoke up next. “I am more interested in these stories of monsters in the dark. If they are indeed connected to the disappearance of local citizens, it could be that they might lead us to those responsible for Saul's modifications.”

“I also am intrigued by these snatchers,” Ophelia piped up. “Perhaps one with the proper skills could follow one of them to their lair. One such as myself, naturally.” The other Acolytes rolled their eyes as the Assassin struck a series of poses with her sword, her attempts at grace and intimidation appearing more uncomfortable than anything.

“Excellent ideas, all, but I am thinking about taking a different route. In my experience, no one knows more about what is truly happening in an area than the man who works the hardest at promoting that area's decay. I would like to speak with this Luntz, and I think I might just know how to do it.” The others listened to his plan, in the end agreeing that it was the best chance at gathering maximum information quickly and quietly.

“In that case,” said the Arbitrator, standing and looping his shotgun over his shoulder, “I'll be off. You guys be careful, you hear? We still don't know exactly what we're dealing with here, so keep a guard tonight. See you tomorrow at the marketplace.”

Lazerus headed out the door and down the stairs, as Eli and Tauron likewise rose and made to leave. Ishmael spoke as they reached the door. “Do not forget to be back before dark sets in. According to the local power grid, the lights dim in less than two hours, and will be turned off approximately one hour after that. From all accounts, it sounds like being caught outside after dark would be a bad thing indeed.”

The two Guardsmen smiled to each other. No bogeymen were going to scare a couple of combat veterans, even if the only combat that one of them had been exposed to consisted of what boiled down to a bar fight and a gang of punks.

Lazerus made his way to the Worker's Union, a building eerily reminiscent, albeit on a slightly larger scale, of the Rusty Rivet, the downhive bar where the Arbitrator's first exposure to the Inquisition had come. The thought made him grin, perhaps this was a good omen. As he pushed open the bullet-ridden steel door, Lazerus schooled his face into a sterner mien, as he instinctively felt that joviality was not a common emotion in this place. His gut feeling seemed to be right on, as his first impression was a stink of unwashed floors, unwashed dishes, and unwashed humanity. The few patrons that could be bothered to turn and gaze at the establishment's latest entrant did so more out of a desire to size him up for a working-over than for any human curiosity. Lazerus made his way up to the bar, pushed a passed-out drunk off of his stool to crumple in a heap on the floor, and took the recently vacated seat. The bartender grunted in mild amusement as he set a grubby glass in front of Lazerus and asked “What'll it be, then? Joiliq is it?”

“A double, and leave the bottle.” With that, the Arbitrator passed the barman a folded Imperial scrip note, a smaller piece of paper folded inside. The barman took the money, examined the scrap of paper before wadding it up and stuffing it in his pocket, and said “Might be a while, there, boyo. Busy man and all, don't you know?”

“I'll wait,” was the reply, and with that Lazerus turned on the stool to survey the bar, the untouched glass and bottle sitting on the bartop nearby. After nearly an hour, a tough-looking fellow with a crude prosthetic jaw approached.

“Boss'll see ya now. C'mon.”

Lazerus nodded his thanks to the barman and followed the hood, his hand slipping into his pocket and sliding comfortably into his brass knuckles. No one survives long on the streets of a hive by trusting blindly, especially when meeting any kind of crime boss, gang leader, or other low-life. As expected, the tough led Lazerus up some stairs in the back, down a hall, and toward a door guarded by another thug, this one looking like a mishap at a genetic lab. Misshapen features scrutinized the Arbitrator, and nodded toward the shotgun slung over Lazerus' shoulder. “Let's have the boom-stick, fella,” said the thug in a surprisingly normal voice. “Pat him down, Felekr.”

The thug with the iron jaw patted Lazerus down, taking his knife and nightstick in addition to the shotgun, leaving them all in a pile outside of the door. As hoped, he missed the knuckle-dusters that the Arbitrator managed to keep concealed in his left hand. “In you go, buddy. And your story better be good, the boss ain't in too good a mood lately.” With that, the misshapen thug opened the door behind him, which was obviously armored on the inside, and gestured the Arbitrator inside.

Upon entering, Lazerus took in as much of his surroundings as he could, noting the cheap furniture, poorly-disguised safe, and possible camera or murderhole locations before turning his attention to the man behind the improbably large desk. “Chord” Luntz, crime boss of Coscarla Division, was not much to behold, as was the case with most of his ilk. A beefy frame supported a piggy face, rolls of flesh hanging like jowls, and greasy black hair lay slicked back from a prominent forehead. Silver and iron rings decorated his sausage-like fingers, and numerous tin and copper “badges”, doubtless recounting kills he had made in his rise to the top, peppered his tunic, which he no doubt felt to be a work of finery. Lazerus, who had been born into a minor noble family in a hive not dissimilar to Sibellus, had to restrain himself from laughing in the man's face. Instead, he inclined his head slightly, not giving Luntz the satisfaction of making him wait. One tactic that worked to great effect was to put these kind of scum off their game by taking the lead.

“Luntz. My name is Ranald. Talk is you're the man to see about freelance employment in this area. Waddya think, you need another hand?”

Luntz's fleshy face reddened at the newcomer's audacity. Then a sly smile crept across his face as he considered the man in front of him, who was casually lighting a lho-stick and obviously awaiting an answer.

“I'll say one thing for ye, lad, ye either got a big ol' set of brass ones, or else ye ain't right in the head. I think I could use a lad like you, now that I think of it. Any special talents ye might have, then? And where do ye come from, anyway? Ye're not from around here, I can tell that right off.”

“Ranald” seemed to consider the question for a moment, squinting at Luntz through a haze of blue smoke. “I'm from uphive a bit, but the heat was getting a little too much, so I moved down here for a spell. As for talents, well, let's just say my specialty was making problems go away. Permanently.”

“I read ye just fine, son. I think ye'll do fine here. You don't mind if I start you off with something easy, so I can keep me eye on ye, do ye?”

“So long as I'm getting paid, I don't much care what you want done. I don't clean privies, though.”

Luntz laughed, a wet, phlegmy sound escaping his throat. “Ye'll do fine, all right, lad. Tell you what, how about we start you off as a bouncer downstairs here in the Union? Pay is 5 gelt a day, plus free drink and lodging. Ye'll have to share a room, of course, but Felekr here is out most of the time anyway. Deal?”

“Ranald” spat on his palm and held it out. “Deal.”

********************************

Eli and Tauron had made their way to the north end of the division, passing several abandoned and burned-out buildings along the way. A couple of dregs, likely narco-users and other degenerates, had approached the duo, but a couple of aggressive moves sent these scum running from the two professional soldiers. Now that they had reached the black pit, they saw why the locals had so named it. No other words could quite describe the sight before them, a huge dark crater marking the previous location of a hab-stack. All around the area, ash and debris created a field that by all rights should have been a tracker's dream, but despite the two men's best efforts, no clues could be found. Tauron, raised from birth to track game and foes, finally threw up his hands in disgust.

“Ain't nuthin' here but a waste o' our time. Ain't no evil here, ain't no monster neither. Less head back, boy, looks like the lights're goin' down ennyway.”

Eli looked up and saw that the older soldier was right, the dusk cycle had started. According to Ishmael, they now had somewhat less than an hour to make it back to the hab-stack before full dark and, according to the locals anyway, the monsters came out in the dark.

******************************

Lazerus ushered the last of the patrons out of the Worker's Union with a quarter hour left before dark fell for the night over Coscarla. He pulled the door to and righted some fallen chairs, and a table or two. The barman, Padraig, was picking up the last of the glasses and other serving vessels, so Lazerus told him he was going outside to get some air and a smoke before turning in for the night.

“All right, boyo, but don't go far. Ye'll be safe enough in the light over the front door, but don't leave the light. I mean it, don't leave the light.”

“Okay, okay, I'll stay in the light. Anyway, don't lock me out, will ya? I'll be back inside in a couple of minutes.”

The Arbitrator stepped outside, making sure the door was closed behind him. He lit a lho-stick and fished out his hand vox. Time to check in with the rest of the team. As he prepared to call in, he noticed how utterly dark the area actually was. He could see nothing more than 10 feet from the door of the Union, except for a splash of light way off in the southwest. He keyed the vox unit three times, short-long-long, and waited until he heard the answering long-short-long. So everyone was there and still safe. The pre-arranged emergency signal was six shorts. Lazerus removed the lho-stick and raised the vox to his mouth. “Badge to group. How's it hanging guys?”

Eli's voice came over the link, scratchy and tinny from the cheap-looking unit. “Everything's fine here, nothing to report. Black Hole is a bust. Get anything good?”

“Yeah, plenty of juicy to go around. See you in the morning. Sleep tight and don't let the body snatchers bite.” As he turned to go back inside, Lazerus swore he could see some movement in the dark, and what looked like a couple of red pinpricks staring back at him from the night. Time to head inside after all. He flicked the butt of the lho-stick toward the shadows and went inside the Union, locking the door behind him.

*********************************

“Yeah, you too. Night.” Eli put down his hand vox and turned to the others. “Sounds like we should try to get some rest tonight. I'll stand first watch if you want.”

The others quickly assented and moved to the makeshift sleeping pallets that they had arranged, except for Ophelia, who had claimed the bed for her own. The night passed quietly, each of the Acolytes taking a turn to stand watch, until the small hours of the morning. Ophelia was standing watch, and fuming at the interruption to her needed rest. Didn't the others understand that she required adequate rest to perform at her peak efficiency?

no, they don't understand no one understands they all want you to fail

Where had that thought come from? Ophelia looked out the window, shaking her head to clear it. Slight movement in the shadows caught her eye, and she immediately moved to wake the others.

let them sleep it will serve them right to be caught unawares you can carry the glory of the kill yourself do not wake them you want to kill the intruder yourself you want to feel its blood you want

“No!” Ophelia jumped at the sound of her own voice, her cry waking the two Guardsmen who sprang up immediately, weapons at the ready.

“What is it?” Eli whispered to her.

“I saw movement out the window, and hush! I hear something coming up the stairs. Sounds like...two bodies.”

“Okay, let's get ready, and wake up Ishmael, will you?”

Ophelia moved to the Tech-Priest as Eli and Tauron took up their prearranged positions, Eli in the corner of the room to the side of the door and Tauron behind the bed, which he quickly and quietly upended to form a rapid barricade in another corner. As she stood over the sleeping Tech-Priest the thought came unbidden to her mind.

it would be so easy just slit the throat and let the blood drain away the beautiful blood watch it run over your hands

The Assassin tossed her head violently, willing the voice to be silent, and shook Ishmael awake. “Intruders, take up your position.”

Ishmael nodded and moved to the water closet, drawing his laspistol as he did so. Ophelia looked to the others and saw that they were also preparing for ranged combat, Eli with his lasrifle aimed at the door and Tauron sighting through the sight on his long-las. Sighing at their foolishness, Ophelia likewise drew her laspistol, but also readied her sword. Close work was ahead, she could feel.

Soon enough, she heard two sets of footsteps, the slap of bare feet rather than the stomp of boots, stop outside the door to the chamber. All four Acolytes braced themselves, then a mighty crash knocked the already damaged door from it's hinges. A monstrous shape filled the doorway, before leaping into the room, followed by another grotesque. The only parts of them that were clearly seen were pinpricks of red light showing out from where their eyes should be.

All four Acolytes opened fire, Ishmael also unveiling a chem-light to give them some visibility, quickly dropping one of the monstrosities before the second leapt toward Eli, lashing out at him with powerful clubbing blows from a fist that seemed shod in metal. Eli dropped his lasrifle as useless against something this close and pulled his laspistol, a wild shot glancing off the thing's leg. Ophelia and Ishmael closed to surround the creature, standing just out of melee range and firing las rounds at the creature. The rounds seemed to have little effect though, as though it were wearing some form of armor that the Acolytes could not make out in the near dark. Even Tauron's long-las seemed to barely harm the creature, the pain causing the beast to roar in anger and redouble it's efforts to crush Eli, who it had pinned in the corner.

Finally, Tauron leapt over the bed he was sheltering behind, saying “Throne dammit, Ah'll have t' do this th' easy way affer all.” The grizzled Guardsman left behind his rifle, instead drawing out a meter-long machete, dulled against the light. He charged in just as the monster raised a fist to pummel Eli, his blade's monomolecular edge cleaving through muscle, flesh, sinew, bone, and iron to lop off the thing's arm midway between shoulder and elbow. The return stroke removed the creature's head and it dropped to the ground.

All stood silent for a minute, heavy breathing the only sounds to be heard, before Eli cleared his throat. “Thank you, Tauron. Throne knows he almost had me there. I owe you one.”

“Ain't nuthin' son. Don' nobody owe me nuthin'.”

“Well, I suppose I should try to get some samples from them while we have a chance to breathe, should I not?” The Tech-Priest was already kneeling over the creature that Tauron had cleaved, tut-tutting to himself. “Next time, try not to traumatize the head so much, will you? I don't know what I'll be able to find after the mess you've made of them.” Ishmael looked up at the others who were staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

Investigation techniques

Lazerus rose early, performing his morning ablutions and checking that his gear was as he had left it. Felekr still slept, snoring deeply and evenly. He should be out for quite a while, yet, the Arbitrator thought, considering what time the thug had finally stomped to bed. Lazerus had slept well, but lightly enough that his erstwhile roommate had wakened him on entering the room they shared, sometime in the small hours of the morning by his wrist chrono. As he descended the staircase to the main floor, he was surprised to see that Padraig was already present and behind the bar, wiping out a greasy glass with an equally filthy rag.

“Morning, boyo, sleep well did ye?”

“Well enough, Padraig, well enough. Thought I'd go out and see what the morning holds. That is, if it's all right with the boss.”

“Well, sonny, far as I'm concerned ye won't be missed until about 12. That's when the first crowd of troublemakers usually starts trickling in. I can cover for ye until then, but be ye back here by 12 or else there just might be the Warp's own to pay. Luntz can be a bit particular when it comes to the whereabouts of his employees, you see.”

“I do indeed, I do indeed. Have no fears, I'll be back in time to safeguard the Union and it's fine clientele.”

The barman chuckled and flicked his rag at the door. “Go on with yerself, then, and enjoy the light while you can. Likely ye'll be seeing little enough of it, should ye impress the boss.”

Lazerus exited the bar, pausing outside the door to light a lho-stick and take in the surroundings. With the return of the day cycle, the streets were busy with workers heading for whatever menial jobs remained in the area that they could secure. Two-man teams of armored Enforcers walked casually through the crowd, seemingly more concerned with whatever topics of conversation they were engrossed in than keeping an eye on the proles. True enough, the proles gave the Enforcers wide enough berths that they could have strode six abreast, a fact which caused Lazerus' brow to furl. While citizens of the Imperium should always be respectful of those who enforced the law, these people seemed to be outright terrified of these Enforcers. That would bear some looking in to, he thought. With that in mind, Lazerus keyed his hand vox live.

“Badge to group. Coming in.”

The Arbitrator headed down the thoroughfare toward Hab-Stack 7-17, not noticing that two of the Enforcers' casual patrol patterns had altered slightly to follow him.

As he entered Saul Arbest's former hab chamber, Lazerus was greeted first of all by a rancid stink.

“Throne, was is that foul stench?” Holding a hand to his face, Lazerus moved toward the group, who were clustered around the bed and seemed to be in the midst of an argument of some sort.

“I tell you, it's not my fault! There was precious little material undamaged by you Myrmidons to begin with, and medicae training is not among my currently loaded subroutines!”

“Myrmidons! How dare you, you metallic moron! There is plenty of 'material,' as you put it, to be gleaned, or at least there was plenty. Thanks to your fumbling butchery, naught remains but scraps fit only for a sausage-maker!”

“You take that back, you flesh-sack! How dare you denigrate my abilities with your wild talk! I didn't see you stepping up to take the samples required! No, nor you, you vacuous viper! For all your talk of death and knife work, I don't remember you offering to ply the scalpel! Nor even you, oh mighty hunter! You can hack them up well enough, but ask you for precision and suddenly the bumpkin returns! 'Oh no, suh, Ah cain't do that.' By the Omnissiah, no you can't! None of you made the least offer of assistance, yet you do not hesitate to point the finger when I, an Adept of Mars, fail to secure a viable sample of mutant tissue from these, these fleshy things! For the last time, I DON'T DO FLESH!”

“Who are you calling a vacuous viper, gear-head? I should have your tongue for that, if it even remains!”

“Now, jess hol' on a minnet there, missy. Iffen ennyone's gonna get a piece o' this one, it'll be me fuhst. Ye'll jess hafta curb that temper o' yers like a good li'l girl while the menfolk take care o' the bizness at hand!”

“I shall do no such thing!” see how they taunt you, no one takes you seriously Ophelia's hand strayed toward her sword. “I shall not 'curb my temper,' nor shall I find myself staring up the exhaust port of some man who thinks with his...”

“ENOUGH!”

The Arbitrator's voice cut through the Acolytes' arguments like a monoknife through soft butter. Though they had heard Lazerus' roar before, never had it been aimed at any of them, and the shock of it momentarily stunned them all to silence.

“I can see that something has obviously happened here, and that there is some dissension as to exactly what or who is to blame. Perhaps one of you, ONE of you, could calmly regale me with a tale.”

The other four looked at each other, then Eli started speaking just as Ophelia opened her mouth. Seeing Lazerus' attention focused on the young Guardsman, the Assassin stormed off to a corner of the room, seating herself on the floor with a huff. Eli recounted the happenings of the night, including Ophelia's warning of the others in time to prepare themselves and Tauron's skill with his machete. Apparently, after the Acolytes had dispatched their attackers, they had taken the time to examine them more closely. At this point, Ishmael took over the tale, pointing out the more obvious mutations that had been inflicted on the previously human forms. Writhing masses just under the skin, now still, metal bracings bolted to joints, massively enhanced musculature, fists encased in some form of crude augmetic glove, even subdermal armoring. Most obvious of all were the heads, which were encased in a mask of sorts, stitched directly to the scalp below, with only pinpricks of red light shining from the eye holes.

“As you can plainly see, this is exactly the sort of monstrosity that Interrogator Sand wanted samples from. Unfortunately, none of those present is more familiar with the interior workings of flesh-based systems beyond how best to dismantle them quickly. Thusly, it fell to me to attempt to retrieve viable samples. Despite my best efforts, and,” he continued, glaring at Ophelia who still sulked in the corner, apparently talking to herself, “despite some other, nameless, person's attempts to 'help,' not only was I unable to procure such a sample for the Interrogator, but I believe that I may have ruined the material beyond any others' reach. For that, I am sorry, but I will not bow my head to these inferior intellects that question my abilities.”

Lazerus, seeing Eli and Tauron preparing to launch back into tirades aimed at the Tech-Priest, quickly cut in. “Ishmael, my friend, you have done as well as can be expected given the circumstances. Indeed, none here can say any different, can they?” At this, he glanced at the other two, who traded a look then shook their heads minutely. “There, no feelings need be hurt. None of us are trained medicae, are we? No? Then all we can do is the best we are able. I am sure that Interrogator Sand will take that into consideration. Now, were you able to find anything of value?”

“Indeed, Lazerus, if you look here, you will notice a modified microbead, grafted to the aural and vocal systems...”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ophelia sat in the corner of the room, her anger at the Tech-Priest still boiling inside her.

i told you they will all turn against you no one understands but me no one wants to understand they all want you to fit into their little molds

“No, stop saying that. I won't listen to you.” Ophelia's voice came out in a hissing whisper.

why won't you listen to me you don't even know who i am

“I do too. You are some part of myself that I have kept pent up inside, trying to get out. My masters at the temple warned me about this.”

A throaty laugh, laden with malice, sounded through her head.

hahahahahahahahaha is that what you think foolish mortal how wrong you are how i will delight in showing you the true error of your ways

“Who are you then?” Ophelia's voice began to quaver with a hint of fear. “Who? Tell me, damn you, tell me who you are!”

Only silence greeted her, yet an undeniable sense of something mocking remained in the back of her mind.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The other Acolytes turned at Ophelia's shout, alarmed by her outburst. She quickly schooled her face to calm, but not before Lazerus noted an expression of what he could only name as fear.

“Is something wrong, Ophelia?”

“Yes, we don't know what these things are or where they come from. I, uh, I was just trying to figure out what they are, and became frustrated. I apologize if my outburst startled you.”

“Well, no harm done. Come, join us, we are planning our next move here.”

“Actually, if it's all right with you, I would rather remain behind. I, I am not feeling well. Perhaps a day of rest would do me some good.”

Lazerus frowned at this, but Eli spoke up before he could respond. “Do you think the enemies of the Imperium take a day off when they are tired?”

Sensing another battle brewing, Lazerus again interjected. “Do what you must, Ophelia. I would rather have you rest the day and be at peak efficiency tonight than needlessly waste your energy. I have a feeling that we will all need to be sharp by the time night falls.”

Eli seemed upset that the Arbitrator had allowed Ophelia's excuse to pass unchastened, but he grudgingly swallowed his argument and turned to leave.

“Eli, Tauron, and I will go to the Enforcer station and ask to speak to Warden Locan. He seems to be involved with things somehow, but I get the sense that he is a somewhat reluctant participant. That may be our best avenue of investigation right now. You stay and rest, Ishmael will remain behind also and continue examining these things. Tauron and Eli will return, but I have to return to the Union or else the local gang boss may become suspicious. We will plan our next moves based on what we learn this morning.”

“Very well, and may space enfold you gently.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The three men made their way through Coscarla, past the Worker's Union and the marketplace, where they purchased something claiming to be breakfast, finally arriving at the Enforcer station, a three-story high pillbox of rockrete. The Acolytes entered the building, finding one surly man seated at a desk inside. He looked the intruders over quickly and pointed out the door. “Go 'way.”

Lazerus and the Guardsmen shared a confused look. Surely they had misheard?

The man looked up from the dataslate he was perusing, an annoyed look on his face. “I said, Go 'Way. Now go. Unless you're looking to be locked up?”

Lazerus stepped forward. “No indeed, sir, we were merely hoping to be able to speak with Warden Locan. We have come into some information in which I believe he will be most interested.”

The Enforcer squinted as he scrutinized the men before him. He was silent for some long moments as he considered Lazerus' words, then finally he spoke again. “Wait here, I'll be back in a moment or two. I'll just go see if the good Warden is awake and feeling up for visitors, you see.” With that, he passed through an armored door set into the wall behind the desk. The Acolytes shifted uncomfortably, Lazerus whispering to his comrades.

“This is not right. Something about this whole set up smells funny. First the people fearing these Enforcers, now this. And since when does a Warden sleep in this late? I tell you, this whole precinct feels wrong.”

The two Guardsmen nodded, content to follow the Arbitrator's lead when it came to matters of law enforcement.

Finally, the man returned, along with two other Enforcers in full gear, autocarbines held at low ready. The first man motioned to Lazerus. “Come along with me, then, and I'll take you to Locan. You other two, stay here. My friends will keep you company.” Eli and Tauron shrugged and leaned against the walls in the reception area.

Lazerus followed the man, who did not deign to introduce himself, along a narrow corridor to a door that sat nearly in the center of the station. The ornamented nameplate on the door clearly marked this as the office of Warden Locan, commander of the Enforcers of Coscarla Division. The man rapped once on the door, perfunctorily, then pushed the door open and gestured Lazerus inside. “Visitor, Locan. Keep it short, would you?” The Enforcer's insolence toward a superior officer caused Lazerus' choler to rise, but also raised certain questions in his mind.

The Warden sat behind a cluttered desk, his disheveled appearance and haunted look immediately confirming the wrongness of the situation. He glanced fearfully at the Enforcer who had introduced Lazerus, nodded jerkily, and resumed his former posture of staring blankly at his desktop, arms hanging limply by his sides. The Enforcer smirked cockily at Lazerus, saying “Here you are, then. Go ahead and talk to him. I'm sure you'll find him quite the attentive audience!” With that, he moved down the hall back toward the reception area, laughing at some joke that the Arbitrator did not yet get.

Lazerus closed the door behind him and took a seat in front of Locan's desk. He sat quietly, watching Locan fidget in discomfort, waiting for the Warden to break the silence first. An old interrogation trick, but still an effective one. Finally, Locan heaved a great sigh, looked up, and in a flat, emotionless voice asked “So, what is it you wanted to see me about?”

Lazerus decided to come straight to the point, hoping to shock something out of the Warden. “I'm here about Saul Arbest's death.”

Locan reeled back from the Arbitrator as though slapped. “S-S-S-Saul? Ar-Ar-Arb-Arb-Arbest? What do you mean, death? What? Who? Who are you?”

“I told you already, I'm here about Saul Arbest's death. You can call me Ranald. I'm from uphive and, well, let's just say that they manner of poor Saul's death has caused some questions to be asked, and my colleagues and myself have been dispatched to find answers.”

Locan looked about wildly, eyes wide with fright as he scanned the corners of the room as though searching for assassins coming to kill him. He turned back to Lazerus and hissed through cleched teeth. “Are you mad? What in the name of the Emperor are you doing, coming in here talking like that? You're going to get us all killed – you, your friends, and me! I can't believe that I actually reported him missing, must have been out of my mind. Now please, leave and never come back. Get out of Coscarla now, and you might just live to see another day.”

“I don't think so, Warden. It seems to me that you are in some kind of trouble, but not nearly as much as what is coming. Believe me when I tell you that it would be best to cooperate with us. By the way, did you hear what had happened to poor Saul? I know his sister Lili reported him missing to you, she said you seemed upset at the news. Others around the Union and in the Division at large have noticed a change in your demeanor going back some time now, about the time that you started getting replacements among your Enforcers, no? Why don't you just tell me what's happening?”

“I-I-I-I can't! Don't you understand? They'll kill me! Or worse!”

“Who will kill you, Locan? And what could be worse than death?”

“I can't tell you, don't you see?” Locan buried his face in his hands on top of the desk.

“I'll tell you what I see and what I've seen, Warden. I've seen the body of a man, from all accounts a good man, mutilated and mutated, forbidden organs grafted onto his flesh, neural-control grafts attached to his spine and brain, a man who, it seems, was killed when he attempted to run. And right now I see the man who could have saved him, who could have stopped these disappearances years ago, snivelling like a schoolchild who has lost his ice-treat! Now speak, man, and things may end up better for you!”

Locan raised his face, eyes wet with tears yet unshed but gleaming with faint hope. “Does that mean, can you, I mean, what do you mean? Are you Arbites? Hive militia? PDF? What? How do you know these things? How can they go better for me? If I tell you all I know, can I go free?”

Lazerus' features hardened. “No, Locan, there can be no freedom for you. As for who I am, let's just say that I am familiar with the inside of an Arbites precinct and leave it at that. Now, though, the organization that I represent transcends all others. Were you to know, you would surely beg me for mercy. But, no, Locan, you will not go free. But if you tell me what I need to know, I can promise that your death will be swift and painless, which is more than you deserve for the suffering that you have allowed to be inflicted on the people that have been assigned to your care.”

Locan's cry of anguish nearly moved Lazerus to repent, but he steeled his heart as the Warden buried his face in his hands once again, his shoulders heaving as the older man wept unabashedly. “Just go then. Ju-Ju-Ju-Just go. Leave me. Get out of Coscarla and you'll probably live. I have nothing.”

Lazerus waited for several minutes, but Locan's sobs and repeated entreaties to leave were his only reward. Finally, frustrated, Lazerus rose from the chair and moved toward the door. “You disgust me, Locan. Be warned, though you are no doubt already aware, that you are in violation of Imperial statute 108.629 section zed subsection 12m – failure by a duly sworn law enforcement official leading directly to the bodily harm and/or death of one or more Imperial citizens placed under his care. Punishable by death.” Lazerus' voice softened to a near whisper. “The next time I see you, Warden Locan, judgement shall be passed.” The Arbitrator stormed out of the room, slamming the door to silence the broken man's wailing cries.

Lazerus strode angrily up the hall to the waiting area, ignoring the smug look on the Enforcers' faces as he gathered Eli and Tauron and exited the building. He stormed on for some minutes, the two Guardsmen having to jog to keep up, before Tauron finally stopped him.

“Din't go so well, Ah guess.”

“No, it didn't go well! That, that wretch is a disgrace to all Imperial servants everywhere, and deserves whatever punishment the Inquisition can devise for him! He knows much, perhaps everything, but is so damned scared that he won't say anything! Only that we should leave Coscarla if we want to live.”

“Well, we ain't-a doin' that, so wha's our next move?”

Lazerus glanced at his wrist chrono. “I have to return to the Union to keep up this pretense of working for Luntz. Maybe if I get in a little tighter with him I can learn more. Meanwhile, I've just remembered something that tickled my mind last night. After lights-out, the only light that could be seen was outside the Worker's Union. Except, I saw another light, down to the southwest. I've heard plenty of the patrons at the Union speak of the Alms House, and from their talk that seems to be the direction it lies in. Perhaps you two could check it out, see if there's anything suspicious there? Also, I've heard that there is still a functioning Templum nearby. See if the priest there knows anything useful. I'm off.”

With that, Lazerus moved quickly through the marketplace, heading for the Worker's Union and his afternoon shift. Eli and Tauron looked around, quickly seeing the Templum that Lazerus had spoken of off to the northeast. The two men looked at each other, Eli speaking up. “I'll take the Templum if you want the Alms House?”

“Soun's good t' me. Jess watch yer back.”

“You too.”

With that, the two men split up and headed for the designated buildings.

Subscribed - reading it later.

You sure got a lot of writing ahead of you.
Don't get discouraged like I did. I wish I
could of continued or someone take over
for me. There have been a lot of funny
stuff in the "Evil" campaign.

good job

Dead ends and new friends

Lazerus returned to the Worker's Union, quickly settling into his persona of a low-life gun for hire, maintaining some semblance of order among the Union's normally unruly patrons. A stern word or two usually sufficed to quell the troublemakers, but occasionally an especially inebriated citizen would not take the hint, or would be so full of joiliq that he felt up to the task of backing down the new guy. At those times Lazerus enforced his words with his fists, ably aided by his stout metal cudgel, previously a symbol of his rank in the Adeptus Arbites, now devoid of any identifying markings. It was after escorting just such a disturber of the peace that the Arbitrator noticed a newcomer at the bar. He did his best to blend in, but the cut of his clothing marked him out, as did the way he continued to follow Lazerus with his eyes. Lazerus wove his way through the crowd to the bar, hopping up on a stool next to the stranger with his back to the bar, facing the room. The newcomer looked about nervously, then whispered “Miocanthus sent me.”

Lazerus leapt off of the stool, hands clamping like vices about the stranger's neck and belt, and stormed through the Union. “WHAT KIND OF PERVERT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?! WE DON'T RUN THAT KIND OF BUSINESS HERE, SICKO! AND EVEN IF WE DID, YOU DEFINITELY GOT THE WRONG GUY!” With that, the Arbitrator and the gentleman he was escorting barged through the front door, turning into the alley.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tauron decided on an oblique approach to the Alms House. First, he spent some time blending into the crowds, such as they were, in the marketplace, getting a feel for the movement of the populace and keeping an eye on the railhead which was just in sight. After some time, the proper circumstances obtained that he was waiting for, as a sufficiently large group shuffled off to meet an arriving railcar, the passengers from which disembarked and promptly mingled with the first group, bunches of people splitting off in many directions but a significant number heading toward the Alms House. Tauron easily slotted himself into this party, convinced that the chaos of the merging crowds at the railhead ensured that he could not have been easily followed. Finally, as the civilians reached the Alms House, Tauron slipped away and darted around to the back of the building.

The rear of the Alms House was a nearly blank wall, three stories high and broken only by a single door which appeared locked. Tauron had no wish to draw attention to himself at this point by breaking in, especially during the day when countless numbers of Coscarla's downtrodden population were stopping by for a free meal. Instead, the feral worlder began examining the ground around the door, looking for telltale signs of recent movement. The ferrocrete sidewalk obviously gave tracks no purchase, but the dust and trash that had inevitably accumulated told a different story. Something had been through this way recently, perhaps as recently as the previous night cycle. More importantly, the tracks only indicated two subjects leaving, with no returning tracks. Intrestin', he thought.

Having satisfied his curiosity regarding the rear of the building, Tauron decided it was time to gather what intel he could about the rest of the Alms House, especially the front door and the comings and goings of those inside. To this end, he waited until he could slip back into another crowd leaving the House, breaking off from the group at the entrance to a hab-stack nearby. He quickly mounted the stairs inside, finding an abandoned chamber with a window facing the Alms House. Tauron made himself comfortable and settled in for an extended recon.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The voice had been silent for several hours, but it was back now with a vengeance.

did you think i had gone did you miss me i will never leave you never we will be together forever oh yes forever even unto the neverending nothingness of eternity i will be with you

Ophelia shook her head violently and sprang to her feet. She began pacing across the chamber as Ishmael continued poking at the bodies of the creatures from the night before.

do you think you can rid yourself of me you cannot you know we are the same you and i we both want the same thing you know it is true you know what we want you want it i can see it in your soul

Ophelia’s pacing grew more frantic, her hands clenching spastically at her sides, as beads of sweat stood out on her skin. Eventually, her apparent distress penetrated even Ishmael’s single-mindedness. He looked up at her, his brow wrinkling in thought.

“Are you all right, Ophelia? If so, could you please cease your current activities? I am trying to concentrate here, and you are distracting me quite discourteously.”

The Assassin tossed her head negatively and continued her pacing. “Stay out of it, gear-head. You just keep up your amateur butchery lessons and leave me be.”

you cannot suffer one such as him to insult you that way you must teach him a lesson in how to properly grovel at your feet he should count himself blessed merely to be in your presence teach him respect cut off a hand or a foot gouge out an eye eat his tongue

“SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Ophelia’s hands flew to her head, where she began pulling at her hair, tearing out two great handfuls. Ishmael scrambled backwards from his suddenly frantic teammate, grasping for his laspistol and staff, anything to be used as a weapon. The Assassin spun around, a haunted look in her eyes. “Where are you? WHERE ARE YOU? WHO ARE YOU? I’ll find you and I’ll kill you, do you hear? I’LL KILL YOU!”

ha ha ha ha ha you cannot kill me foolish one you know better but i will heartily enjoy feasting on your soul i can already taste the taint

“NOOOOOOO!!!!” Her howl of dismay shook the cheap windows in their panes and caused the Tech-Priest to press his hands over his ears in pain. Ophelia whirled to face Ishmael, her chest heaving as though she had run a marathon and a wild look in her eyes. “I think I should go take a walk, Ishmael. Perhaps some fresh air will calm me down. You don’t mind, do you?”

The Tech-Priest took one more look at her and replied. “I think that it would be an excellent idea if you took a walk. Please, by all means, don’t let me stop you. In fact, I insist. Go. Now. Please.”

Ophelia grabbed her rifle and practically flew out the door.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Eli approached the Tempelum openly, taking time to scrutinize the building. While obviously once possessing a grand façade, the Tempelum had fallen into a disgraceful state of disrepair. Windows had been boarded over, several plasteel beams had been used to prop up a sagging corner, and the Imperial Aquila above the entranceway had apparently lost its left-facing head. On closer inspection, however, the head had obviously been shot away, as more bullet holes pocked the surrounding area of the lintel. The young Guardsman shook his head sadly, made the sign of the Aquila, drew a deep breath, and entered the darkened Tempelum.

As he allowed his eyes time to adjust to the dim interior, Eli took in as much of the Tempelum as his senses could process. To the left, a bank of votive candles lay dark, a single lit candle shining feebly in the gloom. As Eli moved closer, he noticed that of the hundreds of candles on the altar, all save a dozen or less had already been burned down to stubs, the vast majority some time ago by the dust gathered on the melted wax. The Guardsman felt his ire rising at the apparent lack of devotion shown by the residents of Coscarla and even more at the local priest’s obvious failure in this most simple of tasks. If he had allowed the votive altar to fall into such disuse, how must he be failing in the rest of his duties? Eli whispered a prayer of forgiveness and guidance to the Emperor and lit a candle of his own, dropping a small coin in the collection box attached to the altar.

Looking around once again, Eli noticed more signs of neglect throughout the interior. Dust covered every surface, from the pews to the sacramental chalice to the curtains of the confessional booths. Every bit of exposed metal was covered with a patina of tarnish. More than half of the glowglobes had burned out and not been replaced, leaving vast stretches of the interior in darkness. Of those which remained, many flickered inconsistently while the remainder cast a feeble light revealing little beyond the clouds of dust slowly swirling in the stuffy air. The entire atmosphere was closer to that of an abandoned building than that of a place dedicated to the worship of the God-Emperor of Mankind. The silence was suddenly broken by a crashing noise and muffled cursing from behind the main altar.

The Guardsman darted up the aisle, his ingrained respect for the Imperial Cult and its trappings causing him to hesitate at the thought of trespassing behind the sacred altar, but a combination of curiosity and his righteous anger at the state of the Tempelum spurred him onward. As he rounded the altar, the sight before his eyes stopped Eli in his tracks. A portly elderly man, apparently an Imperial cleric by his robes, lay face down on the floor before him, posterior raised toward the sky. The effect was that of a man prostrating himself, ruined only by the fact that all icons that one would normally prostate before were in front of the altar and the combination of debris littering the ground and the bottle of amasec clutched in the man’s right hand. Eli strode forward and helped the old man to his unsteady feet, guiding him from behind the altar to a pew, which he dusted quickly before reverently assisting the cleric to sit.

“All you all right, Father? That appears to have been quite a nasty fall.”

“I, I, I *hic* Imfine, my son, jus’, jus’, fust jine.” The priest appeared to have difficulty holding the Guardsman in focus, but retained enough hand-eye coordination to take a long swig from the bottle he still held. A trickle of amasec ran down the cleric’s fleshy chins as his throat pulsed with each swallow. “Ah, body o’ me thass be’er. Now, me boy, wha’, who, wha’, huh? Who’reyou?”

“Well, Father, my name is Lupa. I am from uphive, and have been retained by some interested parties to investigate the recent rash of disappearances from amongst the citizenry of Coscarla District.”

Eli was silent for some moments following his response as the priest peered searchingly into the depths of the bottle, squinting first one eye then the other in an attempt to make out how much of the liquid remained. The old man eventually noticed that Eli had ceased to speak and turned toward him once more. “Oh, fine, that’s fine my son, juss fine. Can’ te-tell you how g-g-*hic*-good to hear you are. Never enough of you-your kind ‘round here, you know. Oh, it’s not empty after *hic* after all.” With that, the priest upended the bottle over his open mouth, a last gush of amasec splashing mostly over his fleshy face. As the cleric leaned ever farther backward in a misguided attempt to glean the last drops from the bottle, his bulk caused the pew to pass its center of gravity and tip over. The fall caused the priest to strike his head against the second-row pew and the bottle to roll away down the aisle. Eli leapt up in time to avoid being tipped over along with the old man, and glared sternly down at the priest with contempt in his eyes.

“It truly is no mystery that the good people of this Division have lost all hope with one such as you left to tend to their spiritual needs. I shall certainly complain to the Ministorum once this mission is over,” the young Guardsman muttered under his breath as he once again assisted the priest to a sitting position on the next pew back.

Once he had settled the red-faced puffing priest, Eli decided to try a different tack. “Tell me, Father, what do you know of Saul Arbest?” The cleric’s face instantly drained of all color and for a moment Eli was afraid that the old man would have a fit right then and there.
“I don’ know wha’ you’re talkin’ ‘bout, boy. Now lea-lea-*hic*-leave. Jus’ go and leave me here.” The cleric dropped his head to his hands and began weeping bitterly, the heaving sobs and wails broken by frequent hiccups.

Eli remained for nearly an hour, trying vainly to get any information whatsoever from the inconsolable priest. Despite his best efforts, however, the old cleric would reveal nothing more than that he was sorry for something and he deserved to stay there and rot. Finally, Eli could do nothing but agree, and he threw his hands up in frustration.

“Fine, Father, you stay here with your secrets and your shame! Just be aware that a reckoning will be called, and when it does you will have wished that you had cooperated in this matter. You also,” he continued in a deeper, colder tone, “will have wished that you had performed your sacred duties with rather more devotion.” With that, Eli stalked down the aisle toward the door. On his way out, his foot kicked the bottle of amasec that the priest had dropped. Picking it up, Eli examined the label and then threw it to smash behind the altar. “And drinking the sacramental amasec, Father? For shame, Father, for shame.” With that, the Guardsman turned his back on the weeping old man, whose cries had redoubled with the smash of the bottle, and stormed out of the Tempelum. As he slammed the doors behind him, a figure that he hadn’t noticed detached itself from the deeper shadow within which it had lain concealed. The man walked over to the sobbing priest and patted him gently on the back.

“There, there, Father, I’ve told you that you have nothing to blame yourself for. You did all you could to save Saul, and you’re helping to save me by not telling anyone where I am. Shhh, it’s all right, Father. Tell you what, I’ll get you some more amasec, wouldn’t that be nice?”

The priest regained enough control over himself to raise his red-shot eyes to the young man and nod, sniffing through a runny nose. The young man nodded back and headed toward the sacramental cupboard to fetch the despondent priest a fresh bottle.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lazerus released his new companion as they entered the alley. “Sorry about that, but you must know that such a breach of operational security could not occur in that place. For your own edification, I am currently operating under cover, posing as an uphive gun for hire working for the local crime boss. Now, I assume that the individual that you mentioned previously gave you the challenge and countersign to identify yourself to us. So, let’s try this again.”

The newcomer took a moment to orient himself after his abrupt handling, and Lazerus took the opportunity to size him up. The man was approximately 12 cm taller than the Arbitrator and gangling, with fair skin, grey eyes, and close-cropped white hair. He was dressed, under the Inquisition-issue downhive overcoat, in grey-green shipboard overalls which had been obviously torn and patched. The hilt of a sword protruded from over his left shoulder. The man settled the overcoat on his shoulders, took an unobtrusive breath, and spoke. “Right, sorry, let’s try again, shall we? Yes, well, hrm, I believe it was ‘You need to call a contractor’.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the walls are falling down.”

Lazerus smiled and clapped the man on his back. “Welcome, I’m Lazerus Cole, and you are…?”

“Voyd, Imperial Sanctioned Psyker. Very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. Is something wrong?” The Psyker’s question was in response to the expression that had settled on Lazerus’ face.

“No, I’m sure our superiors know what they’re doing. It’s just that no one mentioned that we might be joined by a head-job. Sorry, I mean psyker.” A wry grin found its way onto the Arbitrator’s countenance. “I must apologize. You see, I have had less than pleasant experiences with those who would traffic with the Warp. I’ll try not to hold it against you, but be aware, the first sign that something is off with you, and I’ll put you down without a second thought.”

The Psyker’s expression was that of someone who was used to others’ suspicions and accepted them as the norm. “Of course, sir. Would expect nothing less from you, sir.”

“One more thing, there’s no need to call me ‘sir’. Especially when we’re covert. Kind of makes us stand out, you know?”

“Of course, s…sorry, habit you know. Anyway, I expect you’ll be wanting word from our superiors. Well, to be honest, he didn’t have much to add. I have received what I am assured to be the same background brief as yourself and your team. Other than that, I am charged to remind you of your objectives, and the need to remain covert. My orders are to follow your lead and assist the team anyway I can.”

“Fine, then, shall we return inside? I’ve got some time before I can get free from here, but you’re welcome to hang around the bar and observe. I wouldn’t mind having someone watching my back.”

With that, the two men reentered the Union and made their way to the bar. Lazerus smiled broadly and called out to the barman. “Padraig! A drink here for my new friend. Turns out I misheard him, earlier. Simple mistake, really. Anyway, get him whatever he wants, on me. Oy! You there! Sorry, boys, I’m off again.” With that, he wound his way through the tables to where a tough-looking youth was threatening an older drunk.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ophelia ran blindly down the streets and alleys of Coscarla Division, trying desperately and futilely to escape the voice in her head.

run run run as fast as you may you can’t escape me i’m with you every day ha ha ha ha ha ha ha you know you want to kill kill kill kill you want the thrill and the screams and the pain and the beautiful beautiful blood the thrill of the kill you can’t wait you need to kill to kill to kill now right now turn in here go in this building right here do it go in

Ophelia could no longer resist; she entered the indicated hab-stack.

good good now up the stairs to the fourteenth floor up up up up you go now down the hall to the last door on the left now kick it open and kill those inside

Ophelia didn’t hesitate as she drew her sword and kicked down the door. The screams which greeted her lasted for some time before all grew silent once again. The laughter within her head continued for some time afterwards.