Home for the Holiday - part 2

“Excuse me fellas – but someone just ran through the yard out back.”

The two body guards ran through the front doors and down the hall on their way to their rear of the house. Once Ian heard the back door open he stepped out from the side room where he was hiding, gave his mother a nod of thanks, and then out the door into the crowded street beyond.

Once he was clear of the house he took a moment to scan up and down the steet. In the direction of Ian’s intended exit the crowd of revelers was parting to allow a gang of armed men to pass. His father was closer than he had expected, and he was a heartbeat too late in reacting. The bounty hunter that had once aided Ian’s preparations to escape was now pointing in his direction and barking orders to the others. With no time for pretenses Ian took off running in the opposite direction.

Even though the street was packed it was far easier for Ian to wade through the masses than it was for his pursuers. That was until they started shooting their weapons into the air and demanding everyone to get out of their way. His advantage was fading fast.

Without thinking Ian darted into the nearest alley to try and work his way around his pursuers and get back to the center of the dome. Bad move, the alley was a dead end with only a pole ladder leading to the roof top. Without hesitation Ian darted up the three stories to the roof top. When he reached the top he took a moment to determine how close his pursuers were. Seeing them run into the far end of the alley he drew his laspistol and shot at the ladder’s supports. His tormentors thought he was shooting at them and all but the bounty hunter dove for cover and began to shoot back. It was now Ian’s turn to duck for cover. His las bolts had only managed to weaken the pole and not cause its failure, but he could no longer afford to linger and scampered away.

Reaching the far end of the row of hab units he looked back and saw only one pursuer coming over the far edge where the ladder was. Looking over the edge he saw a small service walkway leading across to the other row of habs. It was not much more than a pair of pipes bound together and barely wide enough to get a sure footing on. Not much else to it, he dropped over the edge and darted for the next row of habs two and a half floors up from the ground. As Ian reached the halfway point the air around him erupted with las and led slugs.

“What in Helmawr’s rump are you doing?!?”

Ian’s father’s gang had reached the street ahead of him and had set up a hasty ambush. Before any of the rounds could strike home his father smacked one of the men shooting at Ian with his power maul. It caused the man to fall to the ground unconscious immediately, and the rest of the men stopped shooting. Not wanting to wait any longer Ian leapt to catch the next roof line and hauled himself up and over the top. But instead of taking off immediately he hid and waited until his rooftop pursuer reached his side of the walkway.

It was a woman dressed in the familiar bodyglove of house Van Saar. Using his hands as a brace Ian kicked out with his right foot catching her square in the jaw just as she cleared the top of the wall. The blow caught her totally off guard and she tumbled back out of sight. Without waiting to appreciate the results Ian was off and running again.

The sound of music came to him from somewhere ahead. The Guilder’s holiday party! With any luck, and if the Emperor was with him, he could lose himself in the crowd and make good his escape.

Instead of heading all the way to the far end of this hab block Ian pulled up long enough to look back the way he had come. His rooftop pursuer was nowhere in sight so he slackened his pace to a walk. Just maybe… he waited for another moment and went to the edge of the rooftop that lined the street. Lifting his head slowly to peer over and down into the street below Ian glanced in both directions. His father’s posse was no where to be seen. But how would he get down again?

Fortune was smiling upon him. One of the habs owners had left some surplus wiring coiled up, perhaps for some project left undone. Ian quickly scooped up the abandoned wire and secured it to a venting pipe. Without further thought he dropped it over the edge of the building and scaled down to the street level.

Although his arrival caused a few heads to turn no one questioned him further than a furtive glance. Another look up and down the street revealed that his pursuers had thus far not noticed his descent. The carnival was in his original direction of flight, and although his instincts told him to double back, he continued on towards the holiday celebration.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Ian had managed to slip smoothly into the crowd, within eyesight of his pursuers. This time his appearance allowed him a certain amount of anonymity. He was just another reveler. Wanting to put some distance between him and his father he quickly stepped towards the bright red tent strewn in the middle of a common area.

Once inside Ian allowed himself to relax a little, the thin sheeting on the sides of the tent giving him a sense of concealment. The crowd was not as thick as he had hoped, but they moved in and around several cages of mutants and animals. Slowing down so as to not draw attention he moved along with the crowd. The cages that lined the pathway each held a different spectacle.

One cage held what appeared to be a dejected little girl, but instead of a human shaped head there was one that resembled a lizard with horns. In the next cage there stood a defiant man with four arms. Across the way a quadruped animal with a coal black fur coat that was pacing back and forth. The look in its eyes gave the impression that it would tear apart anything on the other side of the bars, if only it could get out.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

Ian spun around. Entering the tent behind him was an Enforcer patrol.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Enforcer Sergeant repeated. “This display is not sanctioned by the ruling house of Necromunda! Please leave by the nearest exits and return to your homes! If you choose not to leave than we will take action.”

There was a noticeable rise in the tension level of the crowd. Ian could see several patrons reaching for their pistols, checking them, and then looking around for the nearest exit.

“Gotta love the Enforcers,” Ian thought to himself. The dispersing crowd grew denser as it flowed out from under the awning giving him more concealment. Looking around as he was being swept along Ian caught sight of his mother. He could swear that their eyes met, but he could not be sure.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“Let me see it,” was the only thing Katan said when Ian stepped through the doorway of the abandoned substation.

Ian handed over the recovered power cell. He also produced his backpack that carried his change of clothes and his recovered tools.

Home for the Holiday

You have got to be kidding.”

“I never joke ‘little rat’.” Ian looked up over the piece of paper in his hands at Katan, his ‘handler’ for this test. The man was stoic. “This is your test. You do not have to perform the task. Simply say so and we will part ways.”

By that the Van Saar meant that if Ian should choose not to go on this little ‘errand’ he would no longer be considered for membership into the gang. Looking back down he reread the letter to make sure he was reading it right.

‘Your 3rd test is to retrieve the power cell for your las pistol, the one that you left behind in your hurry to flee your family’s business.’ Ian shook his head… how could Dyrke know about that?

As if to answer the unspoken question Katan said, “You don’t think Dyrke recruits just any street rat without checking him out do you.” Ian’s head drooped. “He ensures those within the team don’t become… a distraction later on.” Ian raised his head to protest but was cut off. “You’ve got spirit ‘little rat’, but you haven’t passed the tests yet.”

Ian’s thoughts were flying now. How was he going to get all the way back to his father’s house, or lab, undetected, let alone get back in?

“Come on. We have some ground to cover.” With that Katan led Ian back to hive city.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Ian emerged from the lift to a circus – literally. People filled the streets. There were several dressed in bright colors dancing and performing acrobatic tricks, several ash waste animals on display, and the street vendors were out in droves. Ian reached out and grabbed a passing bystander’s sleeve.

“What’s going on?”

“You just up from the sump?” The man asked, obviously eyeing Ian’s torn and dirty jumpsuit.

“Never mind that, what’s going on here?”

“Well, since you’re obviously not from around here… Guilder Gribly has announced a holiday. He wants to show off his wealth apparently. Hey, it’s his money. All I know is that I got half a shift off to come see this freak show that he’s brought up from the sump.”

Ian let the guy go and just peered over the crowd. “What a spectacle,” he thought to himself. “But, this could work in my favor…”

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

His destination was not hard to find. He could have found it if all the lights in the dome had failed. For the last five years he had walked to and from the place where he had been born on his way to work. Before that it was the local apprentice shops. It was a nice place by hive standards – luxurious even compared to the worker habs. It was nestled into the middle of a street off the main path, three stories high and a private exterior area sectioned off for their private use behind it. Even hear the festivities filled the street.

In front of his childhood home stood a pair of bodyguards fully decked out in mesh armor, plasma pistols and obvious bionic implants. Just the air of confidence kept the crowd on the street at a respectful distance. Not that he expected to just walk right in the front door, but it was good to know what the status was around the old place. Of course that meant it would be slightly more difficult getting to his prize.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The row of houses had been built over top of an old factory dome. In a few places derelict air vents continued to allow air to move between the two areas. Underneath Ian’s home was one such vent. In his father’s quest for security Ian had been sent down there to close it off and thus prevent exactly what he was doing now. Sneaking into the house undetected. When his father sent him down here all those years ago he saw an opportunity. Instead of sealing the vent off he fashioned a door instead.

The vent had gotten pretty nasty since he last used it. Soot and dust layered the surfaces all around him and it rubbed off coating his jumpsuit. When it mixed with the sweat freely rolling off his face and hands (his bodysuit recycling the rest for later use) made for a tacky mess. Fortunately his old hand and foot holds were still in place. The grill in the back wall of the upstairs hallway was still there as well. Before he pushed the screen aside he stopped to listen. Silence was all that met his ears. That was as it should be as both his parents worked, and the two servants were not scheduled to work until the 2nd shift. Glancing at the chronometer on his wrist he had a little over an hour.

Easing the grill onto the floor Ian squirmed his way onto the hallway floor. Once in side he easily made his way to his room. The door was wide open, but a quick visual inventory of the room told him that everything was still as it should be.

Racing around the room he grabbed a small duffle bag and filled it with a couple sets of clothes and some of his old tools (both medical and mechanical). He also grabbed what he had returned home for… the power cell he had set aside for his piece meal laspistol. As he turned to leave he caught his reflection in a mirror on the back of his door. What a mess. His jumpsuit was tattered and filthy; the bandage along his ribcage was saturated with blood; and his hair stuck to his head at odd angles. He almost mistook his reflection for another person. Rubbing his finger across his cheek moved the filth around but did little to clean it off. Sighing to himself he pulled open the door back and stepped into the hallway. Instead of an empty passageway his mother now blocked the only escape route.

“Well, look what the rats dragged in.”

Ian was speechless. What could he say?

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say something?”

“I… I need to get going mother,” he finally managed to stammer.

“Not like that you’re not. First you are going to get cleaned up, and I am going to take a look at that… that bandage.”

“Mother you have to know by now. I’ve deserted my post at the lab. I want to see the hive for myself, not through what the house vid-reporters think we should see. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I was young once too. You don’t think I worked for your father all my life do you?”

Ian was confused. All his life his mother was the epitome of elegance. She always seemed to know the right thing to say, the right thing to do. She had been the face of his father’s business and hostess to countless business functions. More then once he had heard whispers of his mother being a distant descendant of the house founders. Now she seemed to insinuate that she had once lived a different life, one not so… sheltered?

“You see I once ran with the gangs,” his mother said, pulling her sleeve up to reveal a tattoo. A tattoo in the shape of an animal’s paw, claws extended, “’The Cats’ if memory serves, but that was a long, long time ago.”

Amber flashed to Ian’s mind but was gone just as quick. “I really must be going. They’re waiting for me.”

“Which gang did you join?” his mother asked stepping to prevent Ian from going around her. “You needn’t worry about me telling your father, just promise me you’ll return once you have spent this urge.”

“Team Delta.”

“The teams? Good, good. She seemed to be lost in thought for a while. I will delay your father and his minions how ever I can, but you are on your own.”

“Thank you mother.”

“Just let me look to that wound first, and then I you will be on your way.”

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“Man does this feel good.”

Ian just let the water run across his face and then down his back. After his mother had pulled the bandage and scolded him for not taking better care of himself she insisted that he shower before leaving once again. The Van Saar are known to be as clean as they are technical. He could almost feel the fatigue wash away with the filth of the trials of the past few days. As he tried to prolong the experience the door to the outside room flew open interrupting his meditation.

“Time to go Ian,” his mother said as she tossed his now repaired jumpsuit over the curtain. “Your father and his gang are on their way here to eat.”

Several choice words flew through Ian’s mind, none of them he wanted to repeat aloud in front of his mom.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Descent

“So where are we going again?” Ian asked as he practically ran to keep up with the Van Saar ganger.

“Not that you really need to know but I’m taking you to the old ruins we have. A while back Nimo, a former member of the team, fell down an abandoned mine shaft while he was out scavenging. Since then things have been pretty busy and we just haven’t had the time to go recover an item from him.”

A thousand questions raced through Ian’s mind all at once. How did the guy fall down this mine shaft in the first place? How did they know he did? If they did know why hadn’t they gone and rescued, or at least made sure, the guy was really there? And why are they sending me instead of one of their own to recover… whatever it is he is expected to recover? Was this guy really dead? Or had he just run off to some other dome to seek his fortune?

His thoughts distracted him enough that he failed to notice the loose I-beam. When it shifted Ian lost his footing causing him to fall to his knee and the resulting jar renewed the pain in his left side. Cacee, the ganger who was leading him on this ‘test’, had given him barely enough time to bandage it up. Nor the time to stitch it up, or any antiseptic, but it would do for now. It had to.

“You mind keeping up? Dyrke has you on a very tight schedule, and I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Not if you really want to run with the team.”

Ian said nothing, just picked himself off and jogged to catch up again. As he came within ten meters Cacee moved on leading the way once more. The path opened up into what had once been a small settlement. There were pools of various chemicals, some solidified – others emitting noxious fumes, dotting the landscape. Several of the buildings had collapsed, but it was obvious that none of them were currently occupied, at least not by ‘normal’ folks.

Cacee led Ian through what had once been the town square and into a severely dilapidated building. In the center of the room was a hole ten to fifteen meters across. “That’s it there,” the ganger said pointing to the hole.

“How do you know he fell, and how do you know he didn’t just run off?” Ian asked.

The Van Saar stopped mid-stride and turned. “You didn’t know the guy so I’ll let that slide. But we know he went down here because his rope is still attached, and his lasgun was found at the lip of the hole. He would never have gone down there without it. He either fell, or was pushed.”

Ian walked over to the edge of the hole. It was pretty impressive. At least five stories deep, probably more and it swallowed up the beam from his torch as he panned it around.

“Alright, down you go.” Cacee said as he knelt down next to the rope that was secured to some rebar protruding from the concrete floor. “I’ll watch your back from up here. Make sure you have a way back.”

Ian stood silently as Cacee fastened on a small web strap seat and connector. Once the ganger was happy that it wouldn’t just let Ian tumble out he connected another rope. “There’s actually plenty of hand holds. The rope is just to make sure we can pull your body back up if something should happen.”

“Thanks,” was all Ian could bring himself to say as he began his descent. The darkness that enveloped him was deep and it swallowed up the light as if it fed on the energy. Five levels, six, seven, as he neared what would have been the eighth floor the sound of something tapping against the ferocrette came up to meet him. Without further thought Ian jumped the final meter to the floor and drew his laspistol.

His torch cut through the inky blackness as he panned it back and forth trying to determine the cause of the sound. The light; however, would be swallowed up just as soon as he moved the light to look elsewhere making it hard to see. As Ian scanned a long tunnel he thought he saw some movement on the edge of his torch light, but it was impossible to be sure from here. Preparing to move down the tunnel he tripped sending the torch sliding into a nearby wall – the laspistol he managed to hold on to.

Cursing himself silently he remained still, listening for anymore movement. The beam of light from his torch ended up pointing right back at him. Looking away from the light to keep as much of his night vision as possible he glanced at his feet. He had tripped over a skeleton. “I think I just found Nimo,” he said to himself. The skeleton had been picked clean and its jump suit and kit was spread over a wide area.

As Ian stood back up the tapping returned and his heart skipped a beat. Dead bodies and noises in the dark are nothing new to anyone who has grown up in the hives, but this was different. He was by himself, and he suddenly felt very isolated. Crossing the ground quickly he picked up the torch and peered into the darkness once more. He had come through a hole in the ceiling of some long abandoned warehouse, adjacent to a wall. Scanning the immediate area around him it looked as if he was in the well of what used to be a freight elevator, and what was left of Nimo had been scattered all over. There were no bags, no salvageable kit, nothing that appeared to be of any value.

Glancing back up the hole he had descended through he could no longer see Cacee, just the rope disappearing over the edge above. As Ian’s eyes came back down to level there was more movement, this time the tapping sound came with it. Spinning to face where he had heard the sound the light fell fully upon the dark grey hide of a large spider. Two of its furry legs were extended towards Ian as if trying to reach out and touch him, meanwhile the fangs of the beast worked in a scissor like fashion. Ian’s blood froze in his veins. His mind raced with thoughts and actions but his body refused to respond to any of it.

The spider crouched low and then charged in. That was all that Ian needed to convince his arms to react. As he thrust his right hand forward, squeezing off several shots from his laspistol, his left hand drew his knife. There was no time to run anyway. The las bolts struck home around the creature’s mouth causing it to hesitate. Without though Ian hurled himself in for the kill with his knife held over his head. But before he could plunge his knife in one of the spider’s legs batted him aside. Ian felt the hair of its legs against his neck and face as he was tossed aside.

The spider did not follow up immediately though. It seemed to weigh the options in the beam of the discarded torch. Ian did not hesitate however. Leveling his laspistol he took careful aim at the spider’s left eye and took a deep breath.

“Here’s looking at you,” Ian said and let fly his shot. It struck home causing the spider to spasmodically dance throughout the area, one of its legs kicking the torch and knocking it out. Ian began shooting round after round in the vicinity of where he had last seen the spider. Bright blue bolts of light briefly lighting up the room until he no longer heard anything moving.

Glancing down to where his hands should be Ian flipped the laspistol handgrip up. The charge indicator showed that he had used a considerable amount of the power up in his panic. His eyes slowly adjusted and he could now see a faint grey shaft of light from where he had come from. Inching his way closer he groped around until he found his discarded torch. Flipping the switch it came back to life. As he did the beam fell upon the grey spider once more. This time it lay upon its back, legs curled above.

The thing’s body was a meter long, and the legs two. Inching closer Ian shot one of the legs – just to be sure. It didn’t move. Sighing to himself Ian looked back up the hole once more.

“It’s going to be quite a load hauling that carcass back up there.” With that in mind he set to work.

-=-=-=o=-=-=-

“You know kid, you could have just skinned it down there. It would have been a lot easier.”

Ian sort of looked through the Van Saar ganger for a moment. “Yea, but this way I know you’d believe me.”

“It’ll do kid. I am giving you a go on this one. Best of luck with Katan though. He’s not known for his sense of humor.”

Soup Sandwich

Ian slid down from the small tunnel into the muck that had filled the small dome. For centuries seepage of chemicals and industrial runoff from unknown sources above found its way here. “What an interesting sensation,” he thought to himself. The bodysuit that fit him like a glove changed colors slightly indication that the chemical soup was indeed toxic. “Wonderful. I probably only have fifteen to twenty minutes before the suit becomes saturated.” Holding his las pistol above his head to keep it out of the mess he found himself in, Ian waded off to his left.

“Your first task,” Ian reviewed his briefing in his head, “is simple. You are to recon a small dome and retrieve a small package. Once this is done return to your entry point to turn it over to my team and provide a report of what you saw.”

“What can there possible be to see in here?” He thought to himself. All around him lay construction materials in various stages of decay. There were several small buildings leaning over on failed support beams and a stack of barrels protruding out of the mire. To his right was a single walkway leading to a drilling platform in the center. The walkway to, from, and immediately around the platform was the only continuous areas free of the liquid now coming to his waist.

The men, who he hoped would soon be his ‘family’, had dropped him off at the sewage pipe that helped feed the soup he now found himself in. Without instruction he had decided it best to stay away from the walkways as those were bound to be patrolled, and opted instead to use a circular approach to the center. This way he could get a feel for the layout of the area and get a better view for his report.

‘Plunk!’ Something hit the surface of the mire on the far sound and the sound echoed off of the distant walls. Ian peered through the darkness but could see nothing other than the ripples on the liquid. Now pointing his weapon into the shadows he continued along. His heartbeat quickened enough that he could now feel his temples throbbing to the rhythm. As he approached the far side of the dome he searched in vain for the cause of his earlier fear, but could not find anything.

‘Plunk!’ This time it came from behind him and to his right. Ian spun around aiming his pistol into the darkness. There was nothing except a new ripple upon the surface.

“Hey!” A form appeared up on the walkway and called out. “Who’s down there?!?”

Ian cringed as he realized his actions had caused a noticeable splash. The figure up on the walkway stepped away for a moment, but quickly returned with a handheld torch. With no other place to hide Ian slipped into the shadows of a stack of barrels.

‘Plunk!’ This one was much closer. It was the guy up on the walkway, throwing debris into the mire. ‘Plunk!’ The man above tossed another object into the soup. This time close enough to splash him. Each time the beam of light from the torch searched the shadows around the impact point.

Ian fought to control his breathing. Although it seemed like the man was alone, he was between Ian and his exit point. After the man on the platform threw a few more stones into the muck he seemed to lose interest. Letting out a long quiet breath he moved out from under the barrels and began to search for way up on the platform. Whatever Dyrke wanted was up there, sentry or no sentry.

As he slipped through the muck Ian noticed a sizable drainage tube. Instead of depositing more fluids into the mix, this one was positioned in a way that drew excess fluids off the top as it filled up, and it was large enough for people to get in and out single file. From here he could not tell how far it went, or where it went to. Turning back to face the drilling platform he noticed that it was also not visible from above. “This might be of interest,” he thought to himself.

From here Ian stuck to the wall. There were plenty of large pieces of junk sticking up out of the toxic soup to hide behind. Every few minutes the man on the platform came to a random edge and scanned the area below. And each time Ian stopped in place, not wanting his movement to give him away.

Finally he found a ladder up and out. Waiting for the man to perform one of his inspections Ian double checked his las pistol to ensure the barrel remained clean and the power cell was still charged. As the man walked away once again Ian slowly lifted himself up the ladder.

The top of ladder was midway across the walkway between the dome wall and the drill platform. Looking both ways Ian didn’t see any more people and he breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed the Emperor was smiling upon him and he hoisted himself up and over. As he stood up the drill in the center of the room began to bore into the dome floor below causing a roar of noise to fill up the room. The walkway vibrated unnervingly below his feet causing him to look down. When he did the sentry returned and began to shoot at him. Rounds whipped by and impacted around his feet..

Looking back up towards the drill he saw the man now crouching behind a console shooting at him. The jig was up and there was nowhere for him to hide. There was nothing else to do but charge headlong into the ambush.

“AHHHH!!!!!!!” Ian’s screams were drowned out by the massive drill picking up speed. He squeezed the trigger on his las pistol sending bolt after bolt of ionized atoms into the console the man was hiding behind. Ian’s shots drew closer and closer to home and the man stopped shooting back as he sought cover. The last five meters Ian hurled himself through the air and over the console, headlong into his attacker. As the two men crashed into a heap they slid into a small pile of boxes. Ian felt a sharp pain in his ribs. Regaining his feet he looked down. There was now a long gash across his ribs and he was now bleeding profusely. Even with a quick glance he could tell that his ribs had saved him from a much more severe wound, and that it would take several stitches to close it back up.

Setting his face with a grim determination Ian reversed the hold on his knife and renewed the assault. His victim had been dazed and barely lifted his arms up in defense as Ian’s knife found its target. The man never said another word as he slumped to the ground.

Without moving his hands Ian looked around the platform. What would Dyrke possibly be interested in? Then he looked back down the walkway towards the dome wall. It disappeared into a small tunnel that was lit on to the edge of his line of sight. There was no movement. “Good,” was all he said to himself. Only then did he look back down at the man underneath him.

It was another juve, but not from house Van Saar. The kid was dressed in the traditional vest and bandana of house Orlock. A stub pistol lay beside his limp right hand. “Why would the Orlocks entrust this place to a juve?” Ian asked himself. Withdrawing his knife, and without thought, he checked the kid for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Standing above him Ian leveled his pistol at his victim’s head. It would be such a simple thing to ensure the kid never reported back to his gang. His hand began to shake. Dropping his head and hand Ian sighed. “Let the hive swallow him if that is his fate.”

He stepped over the juve. As he lifted his eyes back up to look around the drill platform again his gaze fell upon a small satchel. Kneeling beside it Ian threw open the flap. Inside were several notebooks, and two data slates. Refastening the flap Ian stood to leave and he noticed another person. Waiting at the sewage drain he had entered from stood one of Dyrke’s men, waving him over. He quickly crossed back through the mire and into the small tunnel.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” the man asked.

“Just this,” Ian said as he handed over the satchel. “Oh, and there is another drainage tunnel on the far side.

“Good work kid. You get a go on your first task. The name’s Rogers by the way.”

“Nice to finally be called something other than ‘little rat’.”

“Well, I wouldn’t get too used to that,” Rogers said. “You still have to face the other three tests before anyone on the team even will consider calling you anything else.” Without waiting for more he turned to lead Ian back the way they had come.

Ian glanced down at his wound and winced. “Any chance to get this taken care of,” he called up to his escort.

“If you want you can drop out now. Otherwise,” Rogers said as he turned back around, “you’re just going to have to wait until this is all over.” Shaking his head Ian declined the offer. “Good. Besides, if my premonitions about you are correct. You’re going to eat these tests up.”

“Just great,” Ian thought to himself, “nothing like being given a soup sandwich to eat.” The pair left the hum of the drill behind them and headed back from whence they came.

Awakening

The sound of an air handler drew him slowly out of slumber. The first few minutes Ian just laid there trying to remember where he was. He remembered that he had not returned to his own apartment for fear of being tracked down by his family, and not being a member of any gang yet there was nowhere else for him to belong, so where was he?

He could tell that he was in some kind of bed, and that the blanket that now covered him was not threadbare. There was also a light on somewhere in the room... Was that perfume he smelled? That’s when Ian remembered the Escher from last night. What was her name again? …Amber.

Just then Ian felt the bed move, like a weight being shifted. When his eyes shot open Amber was propped above him on all fours, her face only a few centimeters above his. She peered into his eyes as if looking for something.

Time stood still for a few moments. Ian’s brain flooded with thoughts, but none of his muscles responded to his immediate commands.

“Uh… what happened,” Ian finally stammered.

“It was pretty funny really. We came back here, chatted for a while; you climbed into bed and passed out.” Amber said as she sat up and leaned against the wall. She had a huge smirk on her face. “You slept like you didn’t have a care in the world… or that you were even aware that you were in a woman’s bedroom…odd behavior for a man.” She seemed to contemplate the last point.

Ian blushed as he realized where he was. “I… that is… I meant no offense…. I mean…”

“It’s alright,” Amber laughed. “The other Cats are always telling me that all men want to do is…”

“Oh!... Well, um… that is…” Ian’s face was beginning to turn red and sweat started forming on his brow. Sitting up he continued to be at a loss for words. “I find you very attractive… and given the opportunity I’d…”

“You’d what?” Amber asked leaning towards Ian once more.

BAM, BAM, BAM! Both Ian and Amber jumped with a start as a woman with green hair barged through the door.

“Amber! Stop playing with your new toy and get your ass moving!” And with that she was gone, leaving the door ajar.

“I’d better get going. The girls are going on the prowl today. If I do well I might earn my colors.” Amber leapt off the bed and cleared half the room. Spinning around she snatched up her pistol and sword holsters from a chair and faced Ian. “See you around the bridge Ian… There’s nothing here for you to steal so… just pull the door shut when you leave,” and then Amber darted out the door.

Ian stared at the doorway for sometime not knowing what to think. “I fell asleep! What was I thinking?” he said to himself with a grin. After a few minutes he threw the blanket aside and stood to leave. His holster remained at his side… with the las pistol. A quick check showed that the power cell still had its full charge. “Best to get on with it then,” and then Ian stepped through the door pulling it shut behind him.

Ian walked down the stairs into the main room. For a long time he just stood there trying to figure out where to go. Before he could figure it out the man from his first foray into the proving grounds stepped up behind him.

“Dyrke is waiting for you little rat.”

Ian spun around, “I…”

“Shut up Rat bile. You’re only going to get one shot at this, and Dyrke is not one to like surprises. Especially the stunt you pulled yesterday. Fortunately for you the kid’s going to make it, albeit in a lesser capacity… Move it.”

Ian followed a few paces behind until they reached their destination somewhere within the Bifrost’s lower levels. “Wait here little rat.”

“Um, wait. What’s your name?” Ian called out to his escort’s back.

“You don’t need to worry about that little rat. Not until you pass the ‘Q’ course.” And with that the man left the room.

Dyrke didn’t keep him waiting long. “I’ve been told that you have made yourself at home here at the Bifrost little rat.”

Ian cringed at what was becoming his nickname.

“On to business,” Dyrke said. “This will be slightly different than the normal rotation as we are short on time and initiates.” Ian shifted. Dyrke continued, “there will be four phases that you will be going through. They are back to back with no breaks in between. The only pause you will have will be for direction from one of my team. Do you have any questions?”

“So, do you mean when I pass these tests, I’ll be…?”

“IF you pass them,” Dyrke interrupted. “The overview is this. Phase one will be a reconnaissance type of mission. You will have to move in and around a particular target and then retrieve one item of ‘interest’. From there you will do what we refer to as a deep insertion, “there were chuckles from the others who had since come into the room. Dyrke peered over Ian’s shoulder and silenced the room once more. “Once you complete this test you will be making a trip to the sump, and if you survive this far you will have to make a journey that your wildest imaginations can not come up with.”

Ian shifted his weight and looked around the room. Maybe… this was not such a bright idea after all. All he’d wanted to do was get out of Hive City, have a little adventure. When it was all said and done maybe even return home to a nice job. Now… he was not sure if would survive these tests. Why had he even gotten out of that nice bed?

“Alright little rat, time to die.”

To Be Determined

Ian walked the streets of Hive City with no destination in mind. He couldn’t go back to his apartment since the bounty hunter would take his father there first, and he could not head to Team Delta’s house as he was not a member of that gang yet. That would be determined in the days ahead.

Searching through his pockets he pulled out the last of his stashed credits. Five credits were all he had to his name, that and his las pistol and knife. The last was a gift from his mother upon his ascension to manhood. He thumbed the pommel absent mindedly as he stood outside the “Bifrost”. It was a Van Saar drinking hole set upon a bridge across a cavernous gorge nearly a hundred stories deep. A hive quake from before anyone currently alive could remember had ripped open the gorge causing a ‘natural’ division between areas of the hive and being on the fringe of hive city made it a low priority to reoccupy or repair. As a result the owners of the Bifrost made a handsome sum of credits to those wishing to pass beyond. There were other bridges to be sure, but none as wide as to allow the transportation of anything more than what one could carry on their back.

Just standing outside the door Ian hesitated to go in. He was new to the area, he had never really participated in such revelries before, and he was obviously green. As he juggled those thoughts he was knocked to the floor as a trio of gangers barreled their way past him.

“Watch where you’re going runt,” mumbled one of the men, not even turning his head to address the juve now sprawled out in the gutter.

Ian stood up and dusted himself off. ‘Well, if I am ever going to get used to living out here on my own I had better get used to going into such places,’ he thought to himself, and headed straight through the swinging doors.

The din was mind numbing. Countless conversations all vying to be heard over the others, some kind of music blaring from a band on stage in another room, over the bar were several monitors of hive sporting events – one had the picture of a fighting pit with several pit slaves engaged in a fight to their deaths, another several large rats navigating a maze, and the last had a game of slaughter ball. Ian had to step back into the shadows to avoid from being bowled over once again as patrons came at went at their leisure.

Ian blended in well enough. Not too tall, not so small as to get lost, and his envirosuit looked like any other. Most of the patrons had some form of weapon either strapped to their back or slung over their shoulder. Very few were as inadequately armed as he was. Looking around he decided to head to where the music was blaring from out of the back room.

As he crossed the smoke filled room he noticed several other sizable rooms. All of them filled with denizens of other houses, where this mix-match came together was in the hall in the back. There was no other place like it in hive city. At least not that Ian had heard of. The close proximity to hive city, and the bridge being a jump off point to places beyond, brought several of the houses together. Realizing that their mutual support of this resource was in each of their best interest, even if the Bifrost was Van Saar owned and operated. Each house had a piece of the pie and saw to it that none of the others tried to take more than their fair share.

Once in the back room the music was loud enough that Ian felt the vibrations in his teeth. On stage was a pair of Van Saar, one Escher, and an Orlock. The Orlock was playing a percussion instrument that had some form of fabric stretched across several steel drums of varying size. The Escher appeared to be the vocal ‘talent’ of the group as she was screaming into some form of microphone, but she was being hopelessly overpowered by the sound of the others. The pair of Van Saar appeared to be playing synths with keyboards. All four of them were pounding out a rhythm that had the whole room gyrating and pounding to the beat.

As Ian’s eyes adjusted to the flashing lights he caught site of an Escher making eye contact with him. Not knowing what to think Ian looked back over his shoulder into the common room, but with no one following behind him he looked back. The woman winked at him and went back to her conversation. Ian felt his face flush and ducked into the crowd.

Finding a small table with no one sitting at it Ian sat down where he could just enjoy the music for a time. Out of nowhere a waiter shows up from among the crowd. The man’s face was slightly disfigured and a Van Saar model bionic eye stared down at him with a cool blue light.

“What’ll it be?” The man asked.

Now knowing what to say Ian replied, “Um, water?”

The waiter burst out laughing so loud as to be heard over the music by several nearby. “Let’s see your credits!”

Fishing in his pocket he pulled out all that he had.

“You couldn’t buy a cup of water with ten times that amount! Here ya go – a nice glass of second best for the young lad!” With that the waiter placed a glass of some murky liquid heavily down on the table spilling most of its contents, and scrapped every last credit into his hand and disappeared before Ian could protest the loss.

Lifting up the cup to his nose Ian sniffed at the contents. The odor curled the hairs in his nose and caused him to twitch involuntarily.

“It’s better if you just down it,” came a voice from the crowd.

Ian looked up. It was the Escher from before. She wore black leather pants with a holstered auto pistol along her right leg. Across her shoulders was a plain looking sword, cutting across an orange shirt that left her mid drift exposed. Her red hair was pulled back to a pony tail. Her eyes locked once more on Ian’s.

“People actually drink this?” he asked.

“Only if you want to forget something, or gain some instant courage,” she replied. “You’re not from around here are you?”

Ian thought quickly, but had nothing better to reply. “No. You?”

She ignored the question. “So what brings you to the edge of the underhive, Mr. …?”

“Ian, just call me Ian. Let’s just say I am getting away from something. What about you, Ms … ?”

“Amber, my friends call me Amber. And so, what are you doing here? Are you with one of the local gangs?”

“That is as of yet, to be determined. I apparently have to prove myself before being fully embraced as a member. What about you?”

“I run with the ‘Black Cats’. I’m not a full fledged member yet. I have a few … initiations of my own to complete. What do you say we get out of here so we can talk a little easier?”

Ian hesitated, visions of being ambushed a left in some sewer drain flashed through his mind. “I think… I think I’m fine right here.”

“Suit yourself,” Amber said as she got up to leave. “But I have a small room right here in the Bifrost if you should change your mind.”

“And if I should follow you?” Ian stammered. “What will you do to me?”

“That, is as yet … to be determined,” she grinned back at him as she slowly walked through the crowd back towards the front room.

Ian gulped down the glass of second best and stood to follow the Escher. Fortunately for him the waiter had spilled most of it and his head swirled for only a moment. Leaving the glass behind Ian faded into the crowd in pursuit of his host.

Proving Grounds

This is the humble, and oft rambling, tale of Ian Hauk. He is of not so humble beginnings (by Hive City standards) and his life is of little importance to those who do not know him. It is merely a tale of just one man among the billions of Hive: Primus.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Once the door had shut behind him Ian took a minute to try and figure out what he needed to do next. Where he was going was not in question as the tunnel he was now in led down hill for some distance. How he was going to join up with any gang, let alone one from “Force Delta”, was still unknown.

With no other path available to him Ian followed the tunnel. The light level was very low making his progress slow. As he neared the end the tunnel the area was lit up with the flashes and sounds of a firefight just beyond his field of view. Ian’s heart was in his throat now. For a moment his fear gave him pause, but then his determination won over. As he checked that his pistol was powered up he inched closer to the end of the tunnel. A bald headed man dressed in a trench coat and another man dresses up in a Van Saar envirosuit were wrestling on the floor. Ian witnessed the Delaque land a viscous blow to the other man’s head causing him to stop struggling. The Delaque stood up, adjusted the dark goggles that covered his eyes, and leveled a stub pistol at the prone man’s head. “And so this struggle ends…”

“AAhhhhhh!” Without a thought Ian was launching himself from his concealed position full bore towards the Delaque assailant with his pistol leveled at his back.

The Delaque’s finger twitched on the trigger causing the pistol in his hand to bark as he wheeled around to face his new adversary. But he was a heart beat too soon. Ian’s squeezed the trigger on his las pistol once, twice, three times and more. One of them found its mark slamming into the head of the Delaque sending him sprawling. Once his opponent went down Ian wasn’t sure what to do. Walking up to him he noticed he was just another juve too. Ian kicked him once in the ribs to see if there was any reaction, but he just laid there. Satisfied that he would not be jumped from behind Ian bent over the Van Saar juve to see what condition he was in.

A savage gash across the left side of his head left his ear tattered and torn. Blood was pouring freely from the wound. ‘Typical of head wounds,’ Ian thought to himself – remembering the medical training from his father’s bionics lab.

“W-w-who are you?” the juve asked weakly

“Ian, Ian Hauk. Who are you?”

“Your n-not supposed to be here.”

“It’s alright. I’m a late addition to the trials.”

“N-no, I know all of the juves in this cycle. Y-your not…” and with that the Van Saar fell unconscious.

Going over to the downed Delaque Ian used his knife and cut several strips of cloth from the man’s trench coat. As he moved back to the Van Saar juve sounds of another fire fight not too far away broke the silence once more. Ian did the best he could to fashion a bandage to stop the bleeding, but he could not linger.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Ian had found himself in some form of hab structure. The rooms and hallways were a maze. Some walls had been blown through creating additional walkways between hab units. It was a mess compared to Van Saar hab standards, but that didn’t matter since it had become obvious that this hab building no longer housed anyone.

After several minutes he was unable to locate the other gun fight so he had tried to find his way back to the wounded Van Saar juve. But he had gotten turned around and was now lost. The rooms all looked alike and one demolition hole looked like all the others. Then he sensed it… someone was following him. Not wanting to tip his hand Ian turned into the next doorway and once he was confident of being out of sight he took off at a run. Counting doorways he ducked behind the fifth door on his right. Once around the door he slowly lowered himself to the floor and peered around the door jam to watch the way he had come.

His flight had not gone unnoticed as he had hoped as his pursuer was into the hallway before Ian could ready his pistol without being noticed. The man coming up the hallway stood ram rod straight and in his grip was a shotgun. Ian struggled to control his breathing as he fought to keep from passing out. The man cocked the weapon forcefully ejecting some spent cartridge to the floor.

As the casing chimed and bounced off the floor the man called out, “I know you’re in here tunnel rat. You’re not supposed to be here either.” And the hallway fell silent.

Ian was still struggling to maintain his breathing. He knew for sure that his gasping for breath, or the pounding of his heartbeat, was going to betray his position.

“I also know you helped that kid back there. This is a closed session. You best come out before I start blowing holes in the remaining walls. Sooner or later I’ll connect with something other than ferocrete.” The man yelled, pausing between each sentence to allow it to sink in.

Ian sat there quietly. How could he know if the man was being straight with him? Looking around the room there were no other exits. ‘Good job Ian. Way to back yourself into a corner.’

“How do I know you won’t just blow me away?” Ian called back.

“You don’t, but I can tell you that your bandaging of the kid back there has not gone unnoticed.”

Ian let that sink in for a moment. He stood up and stepped into the hallway. As he did so that man with the shotgun also stepped out. He was dressed in a blue, grey, and black pixeled bodysuit and a jet black goatee adorned his face. Van Saar. Ian breathed a sigh of relief. He let the las pistol turn over and dangle from his middle finger.

“Best come with me. Dyrke is going to want a word with you.” The man said taking the pistol from Ian.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

“You were not sanctioned to be here. How did you come to be here juve!”

Ian straightened his back and looked the man in his eyes. “I have earned a right to these trials…”

“You mean bribed your way in,” another man said from the back of the room.

“How I came to be here is not what matters, what matters is…”

“He’s not been cleared by the Union house!” said another.

“I can take whatever trials you can send my way. Besides, I can be of use to you.”

Chuckles erupted form around the room. The man now known to Ian as Dyrke raised his hand and silenced those around them.

“Maybe little rat. You may have saved Gaston’s ear at that. But you still have not proved your worth to the teams.”

Dyrke walked a circle around Ian and then said, “I can get the proper papers signed…” Ian’s heart began to beat faster, “but, you still need to earn a spit on the teams.” The team leader let that statement sink in. “First I want to see how handy you can be. Take him back to the kid and see if he really does have… skills.”

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Ian was escorted to where the other Van Saar juve had been taken. His wound had seeped through the bandages and he was now coming to.

“You again,” was all that the kid could muster.

Ian unwrapped the bandage and winced when he saw the damage. As he went to offer the kid some pain medicine the kid refused. “I don’t need any.” Was all he said.

“You might not think so in a minute.”

But the kid never said anything more. Ian cut away the dead tissue and repaired what he could. The bionics lab was so much more sterile and had an abundance of tools. All he had to work with here was a knife, some antiseptic, and a crude needle and thread. He was still quite pleased with himself when he was through. He was unable to save the ear, and the sutures created a good fifteen centimeter scar line, but it was the best he could do. The worst that the kid would have is a pretty pronounced scar, but at least he will still have his hearing.

“Not bad ‘rat’,” the voice of Dyrke sounded behind him.

Ian turned around to see the smiling face of the Van Saar lieutenant. But the man’s face turned somber. Your skills would indeed be useful, but you still have not earned the right to join the teams. We need to see you in action. Your trial begins tomorrow.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

The Life and Times of Ian Hauk

This is the humble, and oft rambling, tale of Ian Hauk. He is of not so humble beginnings (by Hive City standards) and his life is of little importance to those who do not know him. It is merely a tale of just one man among the billions of Hive: Primus.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Despite the air filtration system keeping the lab supplied with plenty of germ free cool 10 degree Celsius air, Ian Vant considered it stuffy. His parents sought to protect him from the often violent nature that was the reality of Hive City by apprenticing him to the labs. Even better, guide and prepare him to take over the family business when it was time. The more Ian thought about what his future would unfold to be, the more oppressive the controlled atmosphere became. It was time to execute his plan to redirect his fate.

Even through the insulated walls he could hear the gongs signaling the shift change. He was going to miss those sounds. Not as abrasive or obnoxious as the whistles and bellows of the uncouth Orlocks or barbaric Goliaths – at least that what he’d been told. Checking his watch Ian knew it would be another seven hours before he would be missed by his parents – a luxury most juves in hive city did not share. As Ian hung up his lab coat in his locker he pulled out a small set of lenses from the pocket – the last components he needed to complete the las pistol he had been building with salvaged (stolen) parts from around the lab.

“Are you heading to the clubs Mr. Vant?” asked the security guard.

Ian glanced back over his shoulder before stopping to turn around. “No Garse, thought I’d hit the gambling dens tonight.” And with that he left his father’s workshops.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

The streets along the Van Saar gambling district were packed. It seemed that every pleasure girl and hustler knew when the factory workers received their allotments, and they were looking to get as much of it as possible. Ignoring the cat calls and sales pitches Ian ducked into his favorite hall, “The Bifrost”.

But instead of hitting his usual tables he just kept walking right out the back door. Before he stepped out into the alley he peered into the gloom, nothing. “This is it,” he thought to himself. As the door slipped shut behind him he was not sure of which direction to go when he was startled by a voice.

“Just where do you think you are going little man?”

Ian whirled around pulling his knife free of his sheath.

“If I was after your purse, or your hide, little man you’d be a pile of recyc where you are standing.” Stepping from the shadows was a man a full two meters tall, dressed in a trench coat that came within centimeters of the alley floor. It fully encompassed his stature, and Ian knew that it also concealed several weapons. “You’re late.”

“I had to finish my shift Carston,” Ian said as he slid his knife back into its sheath. “Have all the arrangements been made?”

“Well, that depends. Do you have the final installment of my money?”

“Two hundred credits, right where I said I would leave it for you.”

The man just nodded. “Right this way then Mr. Vant.”

Despite Ian going over and over the plans in his head he was still having a hard time keeping track of their progress. Alleys, tunnels, and walkways twisted and turned in never ending circles until they finally reached their destination. “Your new safe house Mr. Vant, “the bounty hunter said lifting his arm inviting Ian in. “You should be quite comfortable until you get on your own two feet.”

Looking around the two room hab it had all the luxuries that he had made great pains to outline for the man. A small kitchen and an air handler that would be the envy of the block. “Perfect. Thanks. Remember, when my father hires you to come looking for me, you’ve never heard of this place. Right?”

“Never heard of what place?” He said as he closed the door leaving Ian to his thoughts. “The money had best be where you left it little man," the bounty hunter said threough the door, "else my memory is going to go a whole lot clearer.”

“No worries about that,” Ian thought to himself. “It’s there,” he called back through the door. Why cheat the man. Besides, he needed all the head start he could get. He knew that once his father had hired the mercenary his measly five hundred credits would not be nearly enough to buy his freedom. But that would not be for at least three more shift cycles – when he would fail to report for his assigned work schedule. Only then would his father really take notice of his absence.

Completely happy with how his plans were unfolding Ian moved around the hab pulling out several small packages then proceeded to dump them on a small table. As he inventoried the pile his grin faded. The power cell was missing.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Hesitating before the Union house Ian took a deep breath. The missing power cell was a minor set back, but not enough to derail his plan. His father would not check the Union houses for at least a week. After all why would a man of privilege stoop to serve in the gangs? Even so the handful of credits paid to the pleasure house to teach him the skills to change his appearance were well spent. Altering his complexion and hair color just enough that the descriptions would not match.

As he entered into the Union house he spied his contact off to the side of throngs of gangs and potential recruits and headed straight for him. “Is everything set?”

The Union security guard looked over Ian’s shoulder as he answered. “We’re all set ‘Hauk’. The best I can do is get you into a ‘Juve trial run’ this afternoon. Do you have the rest of my money?”

Ian sifted through the leg pockets of his body suit and fished out a small money bag. “This is the last of it, fifty credits.”

“We talked about a hundred Hauk,” the guards voice began to rise.

“Look, it’s going to have to be enough. It’s all I’ve got left. And I’m gonna need your spare power cell for you las as well.”

The guard fidgeted as if he was going to back out of the deal. That would not be good because it really was the last of his money, he still needed the power cell, and he would not be able to return to his apartment. He was past the point of no return now.

Finally after a long uncomfortable pause the guard looked him in the eyes. “Alright, but if I see your face again I’m gonna run you in myself. Meet me at the back stairs in ten minutes.”

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Arriving at the stairwell the guard was there waiting for him. “The only reason I decided to proceed with this is that the only gang giving tryouts today are from “Force Delta” – and if you can make it with them, I might be able to call in a favor later.”

Now it was Ian’s turn to fidget. “Alright, do you have that power cell?”

"Force Delta" was known for their grueling juve tryouts that lasted for days. And it was not just the tryouts. Although they were never fully acknowledged by the house elders, it was commonly believed that they took on the more difficult missions below ‘The Wall’.

“Here you go. It has a full charge so it should last. Right this way my friend.” And with that the guard led Ian down the back stairwell to a door that had no lights near it. “Once this door closes you are committed. The tryouts have already begun, and once the door shuts I will not be around to let you back through. The guard hesitated a moment to see if Ian would back out and when he didn’t he pushed the door open. “Good luck to ya.”

Ian looked at the man in the eyes and stepped through the door, which immediately shut behind him. “No going back now,” he thought to himself.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

Promotion

“What is this,” Fist asked hefting the heavy dataslate to read it.

“Your promotion orders. You’re moving on Sergeant Fist.”

Fist looked up at his patrol sergeant, then back down to the dataslate to see if it was some kind of joke. It looked real enough.

“But Sarge, I don’t get it. I haven't done anything spectacular. I’ve only just arrived last quarter.”

“You’re a natural leader Fist. I saw it immediately when I arrived here. The men looked to you after the death of your previous patrol sergeant. And don’t think that the arrest of that Delaque didn’t go unnoticed by those who sit all comfortable above ‘the wall’ neither.”

Fist sat there for a minute trying to absorb it all. He’d grown to think of the men of precinct 254A1 has his new gang, those who he could trust and those who could trust him. Boengeles especially, the patrol’s heavy stubber man. The poor man had suffered a horrible scar during the raid on the Delaque stronghold out in the wastes. The result was a genuine sense of fear by the commoners around the precinct house. When ever he was on patrol people would divert their eyes and move to the other side of the street, or duck quickly into a nearby doorway. He was more like a brother than a fellow enforcer.

“You don’t have much time. A Guilder caravan is leaving for the wall in two shift cycles.”

“Thanks Sarge. You think it’d be alright if I take a couple of guys down to ‘Purges’ for a few pints to celebrate?”

“I thought you’d want to. I gave Boanerges and couple of the others off this cycle. But if you miss the caravan you’re gonna have to hoof it solo all the way to the wall to make it for the next training cycle. And you better believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to be late for that.”

-=-=-=-=o=-=-=-=-

“Barkeep! Another round of snake for my boys here!” Fist shouted to apparently no one. When the four Enforcers had walked in the regulars slowly found other places they needed to be and the tavern owner seemed to always have something to do in the backroom. As a matter of fact the only denizens that seemed interested in what the Enforcers were up to were the local ladies of pleasure, bet even they kept a respectful distance.

“Ah, let’s blow this joint” Boanerges said standing up, swaying slightly to his left. Fist shrugged is shoulders and thought ‘why not’. The rest of the black clad Enforcers stood and headed for the door. As Fist reached the door he tossed a handful of ‘guilders’ on the bar.

The streets were mostly empty as the day cycle had long since ended so it was easy to find ‘Gavin’s’ place – the local gambling den. It was a place open twenty four imperial hours a day with the games and the entertainment running without stop. The place was packed but as the Enforcers moved to the back of the bar area the sea of people parted and then reformed behind them. As the four men set down the designated bar maid was promptly on there to take their order. Once she returned with their drinks the other two left to see to their fortunes at the various gaming tables, leaving Fist and Boanerges to their on-going conversation.

“So are you gonna take it?” Asked the bulky Enforcer.

Fist stared into his mug which was holding something so murky he didn’t dare contemplate what went into it. “I don’t know Bo, not entirely sure I have a choice.”

The two men sat starting into their mugs. “As soon as they give me a squad I’ll put in a request to get you pulled over.”

The big Enforcer just grunted, but as he opened his mouth to speak the crashing of a table overturning interrupted further conversation. “Looks like it’s time we were on our way…”

Along the wall closest to the exit one of their fellow Enforcers was in a lively discussion with another patron of the gambling hall.

“You boys walk the streets all high and mighty. You ain’t so tough. So far from your house, and with out your fancy armor.” The crowd slowly pulled back from the pair.

“Look, you’re just not that good of a bones player. Let me make amends for taking your money. Here, let me buy you another drink. Barkeep!...”

The other man was obviously drunk and it was fueling his bravado. Squaring up his shoulders he pulled up a pant leg revealing a concealed stubber.

“Look friend, you don’t want that kind of trouble. Why don’t we…”

With a speed that defied his condition the drunk was dropping to one knee and drawing his pistol. As his arm came level a loud crack broke the silence as the small explosive projectile impacted squarely on his forehead. The arm continued its upward motion, but the now lifeless finger convulsed upon the trigger launching its lethal payload. An unsuspecting woman standing behind the enforcer cried out.

The opposing Enforcer didn’t look behind him but slowly rotated keeping his now smoldering Bolt pistol in front of him. The other three Enforcers now had their pistols drawn.

“Come on Fenrer. We best get you home before you cause any more trouble and cost me more guilders.”

-=-=-=-=o=-=-=-=-

Shortly before lights up the shadowed figure slung a combat shotgun across his back and reached down to pick up his heavy bag. With nothing more than a soft shuffle of his boots he made his way down the long barracks hall, stopping briefly before the last door. Setting the bag down he pulled a small envelop from his jacket and slid it under the door. He then paused a moment, then turned and reached for the handle.

“Your caravan doesn’t leave for another cycle. You gonna just up and leave like that?”

Fist turned back to face the man at the other end of the hall. “Yea Sarge. I, um, made arrangements with another caravan. They leave at lights up.”

“Well, you best get going then.”

Without another word Fist slipped out into the compound and the shadows beyond.

-=-=-=-=o=-=-=-=-

The rusty gate shuddered under an impact that threatened to break the hinges. Moaning and painful grunts from within the large sewer grew louder. “Make way you scabs! Make way for Pustful or its into the pot with you!”

From the deep shadows came a tall figure. With a autogun propped over his shoulder held in his right hand and his left holding a heavy looking scepter he came to the fore. “I know you lads have the strength. Stop playing around and let’s get on with it. Beyond lies meat, fresh meat.”

The two large scab and puss covered mutants grunted their agreement and in unison threw their massive bulks once more upon the grate causing the rusty hinges to shatter. The gate now swung using the locking mechanism as an awkward hinge.

“Let’s go boys! It’s fresh meat tonight!”

Rescue Mission

This is yet another 'fresh' story thread... What can I say... I was watching the movie Aliens the other day and I threw together a gang for fun... and then the story plot line just came to mind... who knows. Maybe this will be yet another story line. :)

==============

Smoke billowed forth from several ruined crates and make shift wagons. The dead and untended wounded where sprawled throughout the wreckage, all the while a score and two large muscle bound men moved about picking through the carnage seeing what could be scavenged. Among it all stood one who was a full head taller, his Mohawk hair cut dyed in a garish green and looked as if it flowed from his eye brows right up and over and down his spine. He surveyed the scene with an appreciation of the devastation that only years of growing up in the fighting pits could glean.

“Tig! Where are you, you sump rat!”

“Right here boss!”

The Goliath leader turned to face his second in time to see him dragging a massive chain linking four survivors by their necks.

“I think you’re going to like this batch, boss. One in particular shows promise.”

Gorthump sized up the men. He was about to berate his subordinate for bothering him with such pitiful examples of weakness when his eyes fell upon the last in line, a small metal pendant hanging by a chain around his neck.

“What is this Tig? A Guilder?”

“Better boss. This here’s the son of a Guilder.”

“Ya did good Tig, real good.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The echo of the gun shot waned as the body of the messenger slumped to floor, the foot twitching one more time as it continued to receive uncontrolled nerve impulses.

The body guard slowly lowered the gun as the Guilder spat on the corpse. “Let that be a lesson to you. Never preface your message with ‘please don’t shoot the messenger”, the obviously obese man said with contempt.

“Thank you Rieson”, he said turning to the man now holstering his stub gun, his guilders badge swaying as he shifted his weight to turn. “Activate my contract with that house down in Hive City. The day I pay ransom to some gutter scum from below the wall will be the day I lose my seat with the Guild.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ghoulman walked into the barracks bay allotted for his two teams liked he belonged. Few looked up, the rest just ignored the Lieutenant. What did he know about running these special operations? He was hardly older than a juvie. Even his lone stubber in its underarm holster looked like it hadn’t even been taken out to be oiled. His face showed no signs of any facial hair and his eyes still shone brightly, not hardened by years of seeing what life was really like this close to the Underhive.

“Alright, listen up!” the kid called out. “We’ve got an op in just six hours and we’re up for rotation.”

The struggle to decide if the kid should just be ignored or if they responded – if they could conceal their contempt for their assigned officer.

“I want weapons issued and equipment prepped in three hours. Personal gear for this op is not authorized so I do not want to see any in the briefing room.”

“What’s the op”, an obviously older man from the rear of the room called out.

“You will learn that in the briefing. Now you have your orders. Suit up.” With that the kid turned on his heals and walked out.

“Why is it we get to baby sit some elder’s kid when Devon here paid his dues? “

“Shut up Suez. We’ve all got to tag along on this trip and we don’t need your mouth running the whole time.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The fifteen men climbed the spiral stair case leading up to an ancient cargo container stacked in some long forgotten age. To a man they carried their assigned weapons and kit. While they waited they all checked the chem counters on their body suits. House Van Saar took pride in their appearance and equipment. And teams such as this were highly lucrative. Essentially teams of mercenaries usually hired by the guild to escort caravans through out hive city, or even down into the Underhive. Teams such as Ghoulman’s Ghosts (officially designated as Team Yang) were given the luxury of the latest body suits, and an extra heavy weapons team. Despite the team being led by a raw Lieutenant – and thus their new name – they had been bumped to the top of the rotational order.

“Finally,” the kid as he was now actively being called addressed the gang. “Quiet down.” A few of the more veteran members veiled their displeasure in continued coughing, but despite this the kid continued on. “Alright, we are next on the rotation and will be moving down hive. Our mission is to either rescue the son of a guilder from a local band from House Goliath known as the “Band of Iron”, or bring back his body and the heads of his captors.”

The murmuring picked up some, but with no direct questions Ghoulman continued on. “The kid,” this caused more than a few chuckles from those assembled. Looking around trying to discern the humor the Lieutenant continued. “As I was saying, the kid was taken prisoner by the Band of Iron about two day cycles ago. A note has been delivered with a ransom demand, however Guilder Truvail has decided it is not in his best interest to pay it. Rather he wishes to send a message to such vermin that he is not to be so annoyed again. We will be hitting the Goliaths during the night cycle after next. Guilder Truvail was explicit in his instructions. There is to be one survivor, and only one. This is for the lucky mutant to share the tail of his retribution.”

Ghoulman scanned the assembled men for any form of reaction but by this point they were all business. “Alright then. We move out in twenty minutes.”

No questions about their route of march, no inspections of equipment. More than one man thought they had gotten over on their new leader. Little did they know that these discretions were to bite them in their ass before it was all over.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Beta section sound off damn it!” Ghoulman was remarkably calm for his first actual combat. The raid had kicked off without a single hitch to the surprise of more than most of his team. But in the last fifteen minutes things had began to get a little thick. Alpha section had reported two men down, and Beta was reporting a loss of four. Still the perimeter was holding against the Goliaths counter attacks, and the brutes guarding the pens where they kept their prisoners had just been taken down.

“Sir, we’ve freed three prisoners. One Esher female,” the rest of the communication became garbled as the woman loudly protested the reference. “Excuse me sir. One woman and two men, one is the guilder’s son.”

“Very good, escort them to pit here on the main level. Alpha, how’s the perimeter holding up?”

“Sir, we have great fields of fire and the Goliaths have pulled back for now.”

“Very well.” Ghoulman smiled. This was going almost too well. He might be able to pull a bonus out of this one.

Tix opened up a small hatch in the corner and escorted the three to his Lieutenant. “Good work Tix, I need your men positioned for an assault to clear a way through. The Goliaths have apparently spent their energies attempting to regain their little sty here. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Tix shifted his weight. He seemed poised to broach some sort of forbidden subject and then shook his head and motioned for his team to get into position.

“What is it Tix? We don’t have all cycle here.”

Tix signaled for his section to move out without him and returned. “Well sir. We didn’t want to leave our wounded behind. I doubt these monsters will treat them much better than these here” he said nodding his head in the direction of the freed prisoners.

Ghoulman thought it over. He could hardly spare the fire power and obvious impact on his team’s mobility… but if he ordered them left behind he might never gain the trust if his men. “Very well. Have those that are helping the wounded hand off their ammunition.”

As his section moved on Ghoulman turned to the captives, “can you all fight?” The two men had been worked over. The guilder’s son just shook his head, while the other man clutched a mangled hand.

“Pathetic,” the woman said shaking her head. Reaching down to pick up an autogun from an obviously dead Van Saar she looked the kid in the eye. “Let’s just get out of here.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Ghoulman peered through the dim light across the dunes. This was where the guilder had arranged to pick up his son, but nothing was moving. It had been a full three shift cycles since he received confirmation of the exchange site but there had been no sign of the guilder’s retinue – until now. The din of the approaching caravan wafted across the wasteland even before the glow of their lanterns could be seen.

“We wait until they reach the middle of the dome,” the young lieutenant whispered to no one in particular.

Once the guilder was in place Ghoulman left his two heavies and their assistants in position and brought his team out into the open. Once the two parties were only ten meters apart he brought them to a halt.

“Guilder Truvail! I believe we have something of yours here,” Ghoulman called out.

“He had best be in good condition Van Saar!,” came the reply.

With that Ghoulman stepped out with his prize beside him. A pair of Van Saar turned bounty hunters stepped form the far crowd. Between them they carried a small chest with one hand, their free one resting upon the hilts of nicely crafted pistols of some sort. The ‘Kid’ let his eyes rest on those pistols for a half second and when he returned to the bounty hunters faces smiles greeted him.

“Alright th…” CRACK! Just as Ghoulman released his hold on the package the sonic boom of a large bore rifle resonated off the walls and ceiling of the dome. The warriors from both parties instinctively flinched and sought out cover. The sound of las weapons charging and slug weapons cocking quickly drowned out further echoes and made further isolation of the sniper’s location.

The guilder’s son fell face down where he once stood. He head bouncing once as neither of his hands moved to break his fall.

“What the hell just happened?!?” Ghoulman called into his comm.-link. “Don’t know for sure L.T. but the shot came from the 2 o’clock position. About thirty meters behind the guilder’s caravan.”

“Liam!” Cried the rotund guilder. “What have you done to my son you butchers!”

Ghoulman stood up and pointed in the direction his team had indicated and drew his pistol. As he looked back to call his team forward the bounty hunters let loose a pair of hurried shots. Fortunately for the Van Saar ‘Kid’ both sailed wide, but the effect caused him to hit the dirt once more.

“What the fek! What do you think you’re doing!”

“You bastards won’t get away with betraying me like this!”

And the incoming fire grew in intensity. The two heavy stubbers left behind began to bark in response.

“Stop shooting you idiots! You want to get us outlawed!?!”

Then the incoming fire inched closer and closer to the now prone Van Saar team leader.

“Uh, sir. I don’t think they want to negotiate. They obviously believe we’re responsible…”

“Fek!” was all the ‘Kid’ could muster. He tried repeatedly to convince the guilder and his band that they were innocent but once the scummer bounded over the dune lip and tried to take his head off Ghoulman realized that he had best salvage the situation and get his team out of the area. By some miracle he managed to get clear of the dune wastes without further loss. But when he tried to return home his team was met at the edge of hive city.

It was made clear that the little ‘misunderstanding’ with Guilder Truvail had forced the house guild masters to rescind their mercenary charter. What’s more, they were considered outlaws. Only the intervention of the house leaders prevented them from being charged with killing a guilder – technically the kid was not a guilder and thus they were sparred permanent banishment. But it was unlikely they would ever be allowed to set foot back in hive city.

And thus Ghoulman and his band of Van Saar, Ghoulman's Ghosts begin their crusade to clear their names.

Head Hunt

a second chapter to the 'Enforcer' charecter...

-=-=-=-

“It’s time to move out! This is getting to be a bad habit Enforcer Fist – having to wake you up whenever something needs to be done.”

Fist peered through the fogginess of his sleep deprived mind and eyes. Sergeant Taylor stood at the foot of his bed just inside the doorway of his room, he was in full kit. “I’m up sarge,” he said as his feet met the cold tiled floor.

“We’ve got a lead on some Goliath troublemakers and I want to move before they catch wind of our intentions. Be in the briefing room in 10 minutes,” and with that Sergeant Taylor headed on down the hall banging on a couple more barracks doors as he went. Fist glanced over at his chronometer. 0343 – still pre day-cycle, ugh.

-=-=-=-

Once outside of the compound the dome light levels still had not been brightened to signal the start of the day-cycle and Fist could barely make out the outlines of his fellow patrol members. Silver was the easiest to ID as he carried the Heavy Stubber for the group, but Corporal Giant was harder. Unless he turned to face you it was virtually impossible to make out the slight blue glow emitted from his suppression shield, but differentiating between Sergeant Taylor and Alpha was another matter. Both were equipped identically with bolt pistols holstered. But K9.0 was another matter. Anyone who’s heard the gyros of a kill-dog revving up for an attack cannot help but know what is near – even in near perfect darkness.

“Fist, on me,” called out Sergeant Taylor. “Once we enter the Goliath compound you’re to stay close to me and Corporal Giant here.”

“We must move swiftly Sergeant.” At first Fist thought the almost inaudible whisper came from the Corporal, but when he had turned his head to peer into the darkness as well, he pulled his shotgun up and to the ready. Sergeant Taylor put his hand gently, but firmly, on top of the shotgun and pushed it down. “We must go now,” the whisper called out again.
“Alright lead on, but know that any treachery will be dealt with swift retribution,” the Sergeant replied in a whisper. There was no visible reaction from the vague outline of the down-hiver, and they moved on into the inky darkness.

-=-=-=-

The glow-lights slowly had begun to illuminate as they closed in on their target. Just short of a small tunnel through a pile of debris Sergeant Taylor called the patrol to a halt. Without a word he indicated that Alpha and his kill-dog were to patrol the area and prevent the patrol from being ambushed from behind. The rest were signaled to follow him through the tunnel.

It was only about fifty meters to the far side. It opened up into a cluttered dome that had obviously seen a partial collapse. The roof was only ten to twenty meters above their head, and many structures that had once soared up into the air, now lay ruined on their side making it very difficult to traverse very far without having to climb over, under, or around some sort of barricade. Before they were aware of it they were practically on top of Ripper. Only forty meters away, but behind several stacks of crates, he was alone.

Sergeant Taylor signaled Silver to take the left flank with his Heavy Stubber. Fist was to follow him and Corporal Giant underneath a lone remaining walkway connecting to the building their target was in. The trio had made it halfway towards their prey from the tunnel when it became apparent that their arrival had been anticipated.

“I wondered when Lord Helmawr’s lackeys would arrive. You are just in time for our morning target practice,” and with that Ripper whistled out and ducked behind some crates. Immediately a Goliath heavy stepped from the far shadows and let loose with a flurry of rounds from his heavy stubber, Thud, thud, thud Silver dropped with several impacts across his Carapace armor. Although he was stirring there was a lot of blood coming from a nasty wound to the left side of his face. Sergeant Taylor paid him no mind and pushed Fist and Corporal Giant forward. “We are here to get that scumbag,” was all the sergeant said as he motioned in Ripper’s direction.

The trio moved forward using an overhead gantry as a shield from the enemy Heavy Stubber, but the side effect was that it also blocked their view of Ripper’s perch. “Come on now. Helmawr’s finest, hiding like sump spiders! What will the boys back at the precinct house say,” came a taunt from the shadows above. Sergeant Taylor halted the group and as he looked up into the darkness above autogun fire thudded into the crates on their right causing all of them to flinch. The incoming fire caused Corporal Giant to pivot and place his shield between himself and the new threat. Fist moved back into a pile of barrels and discarded industrial debris for more protection and Sergeant Taylor began to return fire with his Bolt Pistol. “Fist, keep moving and deliver our message!”

Thwip, thwip, thud, thwang! The Goliath Heavy found his range and angle once more. For now Fist was being ignored as all of the incoming fire was directed at the Sergeant and the Corporal keeping them pinned in place. Fist had to crawl under and through the debris he found himself in and as he cleared the other side he could clearly make out the form of the Massive Goliath standing boldly on a walkway just short of the dome ceiling. His form bathed in light in time with the staccato of his heavy stubber. Thwing, twang, thud, thud, *grunt* Fist heard one of his companions groan under at least one impact from the machine gun zeroing in on their position.

Without waiting to discern the effect it had on his fellow Enforcer Fist switched the selector switch on his combat shot gun to slug and took time to ensure he was aiming center mass of the Goliath currently raining death on his companions. BOOM! was the report from his shotgun. It was not clear if his round had found its mark, but the effect was the immediate silencing of the enemy’s weapon. Pwoom! a bolter round impacted against a barrel adjacent to Fist’s face. Fortunately the round penetrated the drum and exploded on the interior causing the lid to blow a good fifteen meters in the air.

Without hesitation Fist pivoted to his right and took aim in the general direction his peripheral vision had caught a flash. Switching the selector to ‘special’, BOOM! he let fly a round specializing on hunting out entrenched foes.

“Hungh!,” came the reply from the shadows above. Fist was about to mount the ladder leading up to the concealed perch when the Goliath Heavy Stubber began to bark again, this time directed towards him. Thwang, thupp, thupp, thwip

Sergeant Taylor called him back.

“Nice work Fist. You get to keep your job for another day. Let’s pull back and check on Silver.” And then he addressed the shadows, “What’s the matter Ripper! Got nothing left to say?!?” But only silence greeted them.

“Aaaaaagh!” came a cry from the right and as a youthful looking Goliath came into the shadowy light. Sergeant Taylor calmly leveled his bolt pistol and squeezed off several rounds, Crack, Crack! finding their mark neatly in his chest knocking him back off his feet. The message was clear and he didn’t get back up.
The rest of the Goliaths kept their distance and could not put effectual fire on the Enforcers line of retreat. Silver was still moving around and groaning on the floor, but clutching his heavy stubber. Now that he was closer Fist could see that there was severe damage to the heavy’s face. It looked to him that most of the flash, and probably some bone was missing from his left cheek bone on down to his jaw line. The medics would have to piece together and replace most of the side of his face, but other than that it looked like he would live.

Introductions

Josam took a moment amid the teaming shanty market and closed his eyes. He allowed his other senses to take in the sensations of being out from under the hive again. The heat from the hive factories created an ever present breeze coming off the wastes, and today it was almost refreshing. The breeze and the sensation of empty space all around brought a calmness he could almost taste.

As he opened his eyes he realized that Urartu and the rest of his fellow nomads didn’t bother to wait for him. They had moved across the market and were negotiating with a local weapons dealer who had several firearms on display. Of particular interest to the group was a heavy machine gun.

“Your prices are insane!” Urartu spewed, his voicing carrying over the crowed. No one cared. Such outbursts were common place on market days. “Come on. This piece of Goliath slag can’t be worth more than 80 credits.”

“I can see that you have an eye for quality my friend,” the obviously over weight guilder said, his breathing labored beneath his respirator. “Now here is a fine specimen. Quality such as only House Van Saar can produce. This little toy can sustain 600 rounds per minute, ammunition is contained in interchangeable magazines containing 200 rounds each, no need to maintain those clumsy ammunition belts – ideal for the conditions you and your fellows deal with here in the wastes. The barrel is air cooled and of the highest quality, an integral bipod for a stable firing platform, and a mount for any number of optical sights – for a slightly higher fee of course. I will even throw in this harness for ease of movement.”

Josam could see that the guilder was pushing as hard as he might to get Urartu to bite. Ishik whispered something in the leader’s ear, and the negotiations began in earnest.

“Hello again my sniper friend.” Josam turned and saw the slim guilder who sold him his visor not three day cycles ago. “I trust your little… endeavor was profitable.”

“We were moderately successful, yes. And have you passed along my message to your ‘friends’, that they have recruited themselves a sniper?”

“Of course, of course, come along and we can meet them now if you wish.”

Josam looked back towards Urartu, “in a minute. I’ll meet you at your stall in fifteen minutes.” Glancing back to the guilder to make eye contact, he moved to meet up with his compatriots.

“Now who is offering up pieces of slag in trade?” The guilder said looking over Ishik’s lasgun. “Twelve credits, not a pinch more.”

“Done,“ Urartu replied reaching down and picking up the Van Saar heavy stubber. Ishik reached under his trench coat and produced the group’s money pouch. “Shuvah, pick up that ammo crate.”

“Hey Boss, I need to see a man about some archeo. Can you spare me for a time?”

Urartu turned and looked Josam in the eyes. Glancing down at his chest Urartu thought for a moment. “Very well, we’ll be around till the next shift cycle. If you you’re not back by then, we’ll be at the old stompin’ grounds.”

“I’ll meet you there then.” And with that Josam turned to leave. As the other Nomads moved off Urartu called after him.

“Forgot something, wait up,” He called after him. “You’re not getting any ideas of leaving the ‘Soldiers’, are you?”

Josam turned around. “No boss. I just want to take care of some personal business. When I was half dead out there, you took me in, I’m not going to strike out on my own, at least not without telling you first. I’ll see you in a day cycle or two.”

“Keep your head down and your eyes open Josam.”

Without turning to look back Josam replied, “will do boss.”

The rest of the way to the guilder’s stall Josam focused his thoughts on the next few hours. Since Urartu took him in the nomads had been his constant companions. Even though that was the reason he had set out from Sulfur Falls, it felt good to be among the shanties again. Even so, the nomads had given him a sense of purpose, a part of a family. When Urartu had entrusted him to be his clan’s sniper he had swelled with pride. In a sense Urartu was saying that he trusted him to watch his new family’s back, and he had never let them down. So what was he doing now?

‘Those who follow me are my brothers and sister.’

Josam slowed his pace and looked around. There was no one near him. No one was even looking in his direction. ‘But Urartu has been like a father to me,’ Josam replied to himself.

‘Once you have entered into my family I will never forsake you.’

‘Who… or what, are you?’

‘I am the one who knows you better than you know yourself.’

Josam grunted to himself. ‘I can’t believe I am having a conversation with myself.’


As he approached the guilder’s small tent he paused, looked around as if to see if anyone else had heard the conversation, shook his head and stepped inside.

“Sniper, this is Dirke of house Van Saar,” the Guilder said as Josam’s visor quickly adjusted to the new light levels within the tent. The man that the guilder had introduced him to stood a hand taller then him, carried a bolt pistol upon his left hip and a hefty war hammer hanging from his right. He was obviously a hive dweller as he sported a thick patch of hair on his chin and around his mouth. Instead of a respirator he wore a set of nose plugs connected to a canister on his back. Ignoring the man’s extended hand Josam met his eyes and nodded a greeting.

“The name’s Josam. I am from house Catallus,” Josam paused for this to sink in, and the man slowly lowered his hand never disengaging his eyes. “The guilder here…”

“Since we are introducing one another, I am Guilder Zendo,” the slim man interrupted.

“Zendo here tells me you are searching for the services of a sniper.”

“Indeed I am. My team has been sent to hunt down and eliminate, by any means necessary, a certain Delaque spy that goes by the name of Urai. He has been known to haunt the fringes of the hive alongside the exterior walls. As such it is difficult to approach his gang’s known haunts, and we have been tasked for stealth. Zendo here tells me you are known for your ability to reach out and touch people with that long rifle of yours.”

Josam glanced at the guilder who allowed a brief grin crease his face. “He’s too kind, but I can indeed take care of this issue for you. Zendo tells me my pay is to be some tech.”

“Has he?” It was now Dirke’s turn to glance at the guilder. Well, we can meet that; however, I first want to see you in action. If your skills match your reputation, then we can work out the specifics.”

There was something that struck Josam wrong about that last sentence. Too much left to interpretation. And not from his point of view either. “Well, you won’t be disappointed.” Josam re-engaged the man’s eyes. ‘And you best not cross me, lest my crosshairs seek you out.’

The Hunted

Josam had never witnessed anyone dry heaving without making a sound, but there was Ishik double over on his hands and knees. When the latest round of spasms subsided and the “Ghost Soldiers” specialists could breath again Josam crouched down next to him.

“You think you can make the raid?” He asked ensuring not to lose his balance so close to the sick man.

“Sure… sure, I ca…” and he doubled over again with spasms threatening to bring his toes up through his nostrils.

Josam stood up, rifle cradled in his arms. “We’re too close, and we can’t wait any longer. Ishik, you stay here amongst the shadows and keep low. We won’t be long.”

Ishik nodded his head feebly and managed to get back into a seated position where he then placed his stub pistol in his lap.

Josam signaled for the others to move out. Without another look back the nomads prepared themselves for the task at hand. As he walked away he silently admired the fact that Ishik, despite his obvious discomfort, was able to keep quiet and ensure the nomads kept the initiative.

Without another word between them An-Nur took Shuvah the juve with him. The plan was for the pair to make their way across the ruined industrial zone and free their leader, Urartu. He had made it easy for them to track him through the twisted tunnels and alleyways that his captors had dragged him so the tall gantry where their new found enemy had put him was easy to pick out. It was Josam’s job to cover their advance and take out any guards that noticed them.

As Josam settled into his hide he adjusted his scope out of habit. The ranges that he would be engaging his targets here within the hive were much shorter than he was used to out amongst the wastes of Necromunda. Scanning his surroundings his visor picked up the heat signatures of only three sentries, one of whom was practically right on top of Urartu. There was no way for him to signal the other two so he alternated his attention primarily on the other two.

An-Nur and Shuvah were half way across the floor of the dome when they stopped their slow advance. One of the guards was looking their way so Josam sighted in on the man. After a few breaths he turned and walked away and the nomads resumed their advance. Once the sentry had turned away the pair focused on something at their knee level briefly, then with some exaggerated movements continued on their way.

Without any more close calls An-Nur and Shuvah managed to get to the floor just below the last guard between them and their intended target. Shuvah did not wait for An-Nur to signal the assault and launched himself up the ladder and assailed the lone defender before An-Nur could follow.

The juve’s blows failed to land upon his intended victim. Instead the man began shouting at the top of his lungs that he was being attacked. An-Nur was upon him, and unlike Shuvah’s failed assault, he landed two hits, but failed to dispatch their opponent.

Josam wasted no time in focusing on the next nearest guard who was already taking aim in the direction of the combatants. ‘Relax, breath, squeeze’… the Long Rifle jumped as it launched its lethal projectile. The cross hairs settle right back on their target. The round impacted upon the arm just below his left shoulder and the man was down in obvious pain. ‘Frak, that should have been a kill shot,’ Josam thought to himself. Still, the hooded man was no longer a part of the equation that was playing out in the dome in front of him.

As Josam shifted his aim towards the one unengaged sentry he looked to see how things were progressing for An-Nur and the kid. The two men were working well together and the kid was obviously distracting their opponent and before Josam shifted his attention further An-Nur managed to impale the man’s leg with the double bladed knife in his left hand and quickly followed up with a one handed butt stroke of his Assault Rifle in his right. The cowl on the man’s head spun ninety degree throwing blood and spittle wide as he collapsed in a heap.

‘Well done,’ Josam thought to himself.

The sniper’s next target seemed to heed the alert of his last shot. As Josam sighted in on the lone remaining sentry his quarry had managed to get a tangle of pipes and conduits between himself and the sniper. ‘Patience’, he told himself.

Just then several of the sentry’s hooded companions, stirred by the alarm, began to approach from the left. With no clear line of sight to his intended target Josam shifted his position to gain a better angle at the reinforcements.

“Sniper! Atop the lifting platform!” The now concealed foe warned his companions.

One of the men stopped dead in his tracks to try and locate Josam’s hiding place. ‘Perfect’, he said as he smiled to himself. The report of his rifle almost startled him. When the scope returned to where his target should have been Josam saw him disappear off the edge of his line of site. Using the scope to track his new target he noticed a stain of blood on the man’s cowl. The round had apparently had done nothing more than graze him. ‘That should make him a tad more cautious.’

An-Nur, Shuvah, and the now freed Urartu had managed to get down to a gantry that spanned the distance of the factory floor. Although exposed it was the most direct route to make their escape. An-Nur stopped every so often to take aim at targets below.

“Move it!” Josam now shouted. ‘No need for silence now, they are aware of my location by now’, he thought to himself. “Get off that killzone!”

Shuvah and Urartu were moving at full tilt, all the while las-rounds and slug shells danced in the air around them. An-Nur either did not hear his call, or was ignoring him. He shouted something down at the approaching men and loosed another salvo from his rifle. Josam could see a smile appear on his face as he looked over the barrel of his weapon. Seemingly satisfied with the result of his last shot he took off at a run to follow his fellow nomads.

Josam sighted back in on their pursuers and let fly another shot in haste. Although wide it still had the desired result of causing them to think twice about stepping out into the open.

The three nomads were halfway across the gantry now. Seeing that their captive was about to make good his escape the remaining hooded men became emboldened and were stepping from their cover to get better shots as they fled.

‘Relax, breath, squeeze…’ Josam’s shot caught his target in full stride. As he settled the scope back on his new target he could tell he had hit him as he was now sprawled out on the factory floor. But it had not been a solid hit. Before he even stopped sliding he was up and running again, picking up his shotgun as he went.

Only twenty more meters and they could all just disappear back into the shadows and Emperor willing… ‘who do you call on in time of need!?’ That voice again. This time it totally un-nerved him.

“Who…, or wha.. what, are you?” he spoke out loud, looking around. Nothing, the voice did not speak out again.

“A little help here!” An-Nur called out.

Josam turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Several more men had darted out from their cover in pursuit. ‘Just shoot the closest one’, he thought to himself. They were close enough that the targets were now filling his x10 powered scope, their infrared signature well defined.

Josam’s last shot noticeably creased the shoulder of his latest victim causing him to drop to his knees and cease his pursuit. Seeing that his three compatriots had cleared the gantry and were beyond the reach of their pursuers Josam spun around and dropped down the nearest ladder to make good his escape.


An-Nur came up fuming. “You need to get your head out of your…”

“I had them where I wanted them. I can’t shoot them when they are cowering behind cover”, Josam interrupted.

“I don’t like being the bait just so you can put another notch on the stock of your long rifle Josam! Next time just keep ‘em pinned!”

Josam hesitated, trying to think of something to say. Instead he just nodded, “agreed, my apologies.”

‘It’s probably not a good idea to tell them I’m hearing voices in my head’, Josam said to himself.

With the distance gained from getting the high ground in their escape the “Ghost Soldiers” made good their escape, stopping only long enough to pick up Ishik on their way back out into the wastes.