Auditions and Introductions

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at Harley. I’m not dressing up and playing a clown!”

Harley found herself getting annoyed. She was having a really hard time explaining exactly what she was thinking. Jes was large for an Escher. Her 1.7 meter frame was layered with thick muscles. In most of the other Houses one might take her as strong of body, but weak of mind. Not so, Jes and her sister Dea were technically savvy and knew how to do “stuff”. But for someone so smart, Jes sure was dense.

“You should have seen them Jes. The cameras couldn’t track ‘em! They were everywhere at once. ; Beautiful,” Harley said and let her voice trail off. ;

“Then what are you talking about?” The muscular Esher sighed as she put down the bolt assembly to the heavy stubber she was working on.

“We start with getting a bunch of lasses together who are open minded and are willing to learn things. I want our new gang to be able to slip into a downhive settlement looking like we’re just a bunch of entertainers, all the while we’re scoping them out and picking their pockets. You remember that traveling freak show when we were snot-nosed juvies?”

“Yea I remember. They got shut down by the Guilders right after that slag-bucket of a scavvy got lose and destroyed a small factory before the Enforcers took it out. But what does that have to do with what you’re talkin’ about?”

Harley shook her head, “yea, well, not like those freaks Jes. I’m saying like dancers and jugglers. I’m not talking about trying to be like some pretty little up-hiver who couldn’t smack a Van Saar in the face, I’m talking about deadly cats that can dance circles around their prey and strike from any angle.”

“Yea ok, I could buy that… but Dea and I ain’t exactly light of foot.”

“Yea, but you guys can contribute in other ways. My benefactor helped me do a little research on those… what did she call them… Eldar something-or-other. Anyway, some of them dress all in black, and wear masks like this.”

Harley pulled her hand out from behind her back and extended it towards her friend. In her hand she held a mask. Jes took it and was unable to conceal her grin. It was a boney death mask with accents to make it look more sinister.

“Quin says their heavies wear these and suits to go with it. We won’t have any fancy suits, but we can deck ourselves out in other ways. ”

Jes ran her olive colored fingers over the mask, feeling the contours and creases.; “So, Dea will have one too?”

“Yea, sort of a calling card for you both. How soon do you think we can round up some more girls?” Harley said.

“Come on”, Jes said, “I know a few who are itching to get downhive. I’m sure Tanna and Malina can get us a few more heads to fill in the gaps.

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

“Alright! Zip it!” Jes yelled above the din. Dea moved to the opposite side of the small shack that made up “The Swill Pool”. The “Pool” had once been a moisture condenser mounted on the roof of the dome somewhere far above. When it crashed to the floor during a hive quake it didn’t take long for the locals to strip it of all salvage, leaving a surprisingly intact shell, which in turn became a small building in the middle of the street. An odd location for a building to be sure, but in the “no man’s land” between Escher and Goliath territory in Hive City, nobody was going to move it.

The volume barley dimmed until a tall strapping woman walked through the front door. She wore black knee length boots and skin tight pants. The pants were half yellow, half red with each leg a different color. On her hips she wore a synth-leather belt and holster, the latter was strapped to her right thigh, the deep brown a sharp contrast to the bright yellow fabric below it. The holster was empty. On her torso she wore a bright blue sleeveless half-shirt revealing chiseled abs contoured biceps. Both of her arms were fully extended at a slight angle out to her sides. In her right hand she held a spotless bolt pistol. Her left hand grasped a lethal chainsword, currently idle. On each wrist she wore a wide fabric band in the colors of the opposite leg. Around her neck she wore a thick bright orange choker that matched the color of a trim plush mowhawk on the top of her head. The choker was studded with small spikes spaced a few centimeters apart. It was impossible to determine the woman’s facial features as they were concealed behind a full face mask in the shape of a wicked grin. The mask was painted all in white. A slightly pointed nose and bright red lips surrounding an exaggerated toothy smile. Over the left eye was a bright green diamond that extended both above and below. As all eyes turned to the newcomer the masked woman thumbed the throttle on the chainsword which immediately belched out a throaty roar. When the reverberation from the sword died down there was not a voice to be heard.

Harley looked over the assembled mob and nodded slightly. Not a bad assortment. All told four women had responded to Dea and Jes’ overtures of adventure and profit. Just as she was ready to speak, a second group of women entered from the far end led by Malina and followed up by Tanna. In between were just three juves, but that wouldn’t matter. The Underhive had ways of making you grow up quick, or it would cut your life short. One way or another they wouldn’t be underfoot for long. Harley nodded again, satisfied with the turn out. In all there were now eleven women ready and eager to strike out and seek their fortune in the Underhive.

Without a word both Tanna and Melina vaulted on top of separate tables. Each woman drew their sword and pistol. Slowly, and in wide arcs, they each began to gracefully swing their swords with the pistols in counter balance. As their routine continued the cadence got faster and tighter. All the while both women deftly danced and launched simulated attack strikes with sword, pistol, and feet. Just as the tempo began to seem unsustainable both dropped into a feline-like crouch with their outside leg fully extended to the side, their pistols full extended above their legs and their swords pointed down and to the outside behind their respective owner’s heads ready to strike. Right on cue both Dea and Jes spewed forth a cloud of flame from their mouths, which burned with a dull whoosh and caused the women to duck involuntarily.

“Now that we have your full attention,” Haley said as she slowly lifted the mask from her face having holstered her weapons during her ganger’s martial display. “I don’t know what lies my girls here have told you, but we’re obviously not aiming to be like all of the other House Escher gangs.” She paused for dramatic effect, and to assure that she still held their attention. “We will move from settlement to settlement entertaining those wretches. We will distract them from their miserable existences, all the while seeking opportunities to strike out in the interest of House Escher.”

Harley let her eyes wander from face to face and could see that she was making an impression. She nodded over to Jes who pulled out several crates out from under the bar. As the Heavy plopped the fully loaded containers one at a time on the table she threw open each lid. Inside the first were a seemingly random assortment of pistols, the second contained several swords, axes, and other melee weapons, the last one held brightly colored clothes. No two outfits were alike. Several of the Escher moved to start picking through the crates.

“Not so fast ladies,” Harley shouted. “There are some things you need to know first. First, you have to earn our calling card.” She looked directly at the three juves as she held her mask aloft for emphasis of what she was referring to. “And that includes the House Escher calling card,” this she said as she reached down with her free hand to lift out a sword from its crate. She then held that aloft for to make sure she had made her point to the juves. “But no matter what your role in our little Troupe, you are a part of the act.”

“Each of you will learn to both dance and how to perform acrobatic routines. You will learn to juggle, pick pockets, and any other act I can dream up. We will move from settlement to settlement to perform our little act and bring some cheer to the miserable existence of those wretches. All the while we will keep our eyes open for opportunities and strike out in the interests of our glorious House when the timing is right. If this is not your cup of wildsnake you may take your leave, and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

Haley let several moments pass as she looked into the eyes of each of the women. None made as much as a twitch.

“Very well then, welcome to the ‘Troupe of the Masque’.”

The Beginning of the Dance

Harley sat fixated on the vid-screen. The pictures were grainy and would fade from black and white to color, and then back again, but her imagination was captured. Lord Helmawr had dispatched a vid reporter to tell the glories of the famous Necromunda 8^th Regiment, the “Spiders”. The reporter had started her report listing the many honors and glories won on far flung battlefields when several blurs of light flashed onto the screen and men began dying.

The sounds of lasgun shots and small explosions began to drown out the reporter, who was now desperately trying to get out of the way. The blurs of light were everywhere. Then it happened.

For a fraction of a second one of the blurs stopped long enough for the lens of the camera to get a clear shot of one of the assailants. Harley rubbed her eyes because she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. When she dropped her hands again the figure was gone. Then the screen went black and cut back to a newsroom somewhere up in the Spire. Another reporter went on to extol how courageous their Regiment was and that they had driven off the demon spawned xenos, but her mind had drifted and she was in her own world.

For weeks after the image would replay in her mind. It would come to her in her dreams., when she was awake, and it didn't matter what she was doing. A lithe figure poised upon her (whatever it was, it was obviously female) left foot, the right was drawn up to the inside of the left leg. Both arms came across the torso. The left arm came across the stomach and clasped some kind of alien pistol, while the right was behind her head holding an elegant sword that shimmered. The clothing was flamboyant. The legs, arms, and torso alternated back and forth in pattern and color. The left leg was a solid dark blue throughout, while the right leg had a checkered pattern of red and yellow. Upon the torso the patterns switched sides, while the arms followed the pattern of the legs. Upon the dancer’s legs and hands, for that is what came to Harley’s mind when she thought of her ~ that she looked very much like a dancer, were matching knee length boots and gloves. They were brown and made of some sort of animal skin. But it was her face and hair that kept Harley’s rapt attention more than anything. Her hair was a vivid red and orange in the shape of a plush Mohawk, with the sides of her head shaved. Upon her face she wore a mask. The left side was all in white and had the image of a smiling alien face, while the right a deep black that seemed to be weeping and upon the cheek a glittering diamond colored tear.

Finally she knew that she could not resist it any more. She arranged to meet with her closest friends. Let the enemies of House Escher be warned. The “Troupe of the Masque” was going on tour.

Background piece - redeux

Due to changes in the Nomad-like character (for the complete story click HERE) i have adjusted the story so i am reposting it...

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

The common room was busier than normal at the Sludge Spill Inn tonight, especially considering the ash storm outside had been raging for the better part of three days. Rumors had been running rampant around Hive’s End about an impending PDF sweep. Old Vira had said she heard mention at the Nomad bazaar of one of old Helmawr’s shuttles being shot down out in the wastes and the old Lord was out to inflict some retribution on the ‘illegal’s’ who choose not to seek his protection within the Hives.

Shanty towns like Hive’s End are easy targets for Helmawr’s goons. It did not matter that all they wanted to do was etch out a living from the industrial wastes and that it was unlikely that such a town could produce much more than a heavy stubber or two, let alone something with as long a reach as a las cannon or missile launcher. Such toys were more likely found among the Imperial Fists Space Marines or one of the Nomad bands that make their living moving between the hives and out in the wastes.

“Old Vira has the locals stirred up pretty good,” the inn keeper said to himself. “I’ll have to remind myself to give her a round on the house later.” The man stood behind the bar with one of his heavily booted feet on a box under the bar, looking out over the bar room he liked what he saw. No less than a dozen customers sat around the room.

Most of the population around town was leery of the young bar keep, but he did not let that bother him. Unlike most of the denizens of Necromunda’s Ash Wastes he was not native to this inhospitable place.

Before the Enforcers had come calling he and his mates had created quite a little fiefdom in the Underhive of Hive Primus, and although he had not been the leader of the ‘Iron Skulls’, he had been a trusted and proven lieutenant. There had been many a time he had out drawn his opponents to get his shots off, blazing away with his twin semi-automatics. That was before the heavy hand of Lord Helmawr and his police force, the Enforcers, had declared him and his gang outlaws. He was the last of the Skulls now, and that was only because he had braved the wastes. As formidable as the reach of the Enforcers is, even they thought twice before venturing outside the protective walls of the hive. Once he had made it to Hive’s End he found that his skills with his pistols could be useful, and after the last raid by some Nomads had killed the previous owner of the Inn, Ramic was quicker still to move in and stake his claim. No one had challenged him. Not until today that is.

“We need to get Cootus and round up those good for nothing punks from ’round town an organize!”

“You’re crazy!” a second man shouted over the first. “You can’t fight the PDF. Y’all be kilt!”

“Who said anything about getting killed!?” Ramic shouted over the first two.


The overlapping murmur of conversations took a noticeable dip as several people turned to look at the Inn Keeper. Ramic deftly swung his 1.8 meter, 72 kilogram frame up and over the bar and landed with both feet firmly planted on the plasteel sheet floor.

Ramic did not like where this was heading. He had already gone toe to toe with Helmawr’s forces and he felt fortunate to still be alive to tell about it, but he was not about to allow these sickly shanty scum to incite baseless paranoia in his place, especially since it would most likely lead to damaged property and goods – his goods.

“Korval, best to keep such talk to yourself.” Ramic said as he turned his head from man to man in the room. The black bandanna on his head accented the crew cut hair and square jaw of the former Orlock ganger. To make sure he made his point Ramic pulled his respirator down so it hung around his neck, thus no longer distorting his words.

“If you want to drive everyone into a panic you can just mosey on down to the Vira’s Acid Bath House.”

“What t’chu ginna do ‘bout it Rammey?”

The room went quiet. Ramic shifted his weight, placing both feet shoulder width apart, then moving his hands slowly to his hips as he spread his vest apart to reveal his the pair stubbers within a set of quick draw holstered and worn high on his hips to allow quicker access.

“I will do what I have to Korval. Best to keep your hands right there on the table where I can see ‘em too.”

Korval seemed to weigh the inn keeper’s words carefully and stood as if to leave. As he turned to his right he slowly drew his hand up to his own holster. When his hand made contact with the pistol grip he snapped it out and spun to draw down on Ramic, but before Korval could complete his maneuver Ramic had cleared both of his pistols from the holsters and had snapped off three shots from each. All six shots impacted their target and Korval fell backwards, upended the table he had been sitting at on the way to the floor.

Ramic kept both pistols drawn at waist level as his eyes scanned the room for anyone else who might feel lucky. All eyes were on him when a sudden gush of wind brought in a fresh cloud of ash and debris through the front door from the wastes beyond. A few of the people within the Inn were caught by surprise and began coughing profusely. The end result was that everyone was now looking at the three new strangers who had just walked in. It was not the appearance of potential customers that confused the people already there, it was the fact that these wayfarers had ventured out in the midst of a pretty good ash storm.

The industrial wastelands of Necromunda were not to be traveled lightly in what might locally could be considered ‘good’ weather, but to move about in the middle of one the sudden storms that often spring up – usually lasting for several days – was to invite death to your door. It did not matter if you were going several kilometers, or across town. The chemical clouds and resins that make up the Ash Wastes were known to strip a man down to the bone if he were not properly protected, let alone being exposed for a prolonged journey. It was nearly impossible to predict what kinds of hazards were stirred up when Necromunda got her dander up, best to stay indoors, keep your head down and your respirator handy. But the three strangers that now showed up on Ramic’s doorstep had obviously come from some where outside the walls of the little Shanty town of Hive’s End, because he knew everyone in the small shanty town, and he had not seen these people before.

The man in front wore a heavy ankle length duster that flowed smoothly despite being made of a heavy fabric. His head was completely covered by a deep hood that was attached to the duster. His eyes were covered by a visor with a narrow single lens that went from temple to temple. His nose, mouth, and neck were covered by a single yellow scarf. Wrapped around his torso, underneath the jacket, was a royal blue tunic that draped to the length of the coat. Across his chest, underneath his left arm was a leather shoulder holster that held an as yet unidentified weapon, which matched another similar holster on his left hip. The grip of the weapon on his hip was pointed to the rear and was underneath the duster. Across the waist was a wide leather belt with an emerald colored gem buckle. On his right hip, slung slight low, hung a tubular pouch that contained something within. The boots he wore were also made of leather and came to just above his knees. Across his back was an ornate sword with a long grip. Over top of this he carried a small haversack that was full, and on the left side was strapped a long rifle wrapped in cloth similar to that of the duster. Those who have spent any amount of time outside the massive hives of Necromunda would recognize him as a Nomad Scout.

The second one through the door was adorned in a pair of heavy combat trousers that had apparently been salvaged as there were several holes revealing another layer of heavy fabric underneath in order to protect the wearer from the hostile elements. Upon the feet was a pair of mismatched combat boots. The head was wrapped in a similar fabric to what was underneath the pants, surrounding a pair of goggles and a dual filter respirator that covered the face. Atop the head was a Planetary Defense Cap. The torso was adorned in a waste length jacket with a heavy zipper up the front. It had a set of pockets on the arms as well as on the chest, which revealed that the wearer to be that of a woman. Upon her back was a pack similar to that of the nomad, and a shotgun with an improvised harness was slung from her right shoulder. The bandoleer of ammunition across her other shoulder and chest, along with the hodgepodge of clothing showed her to be a resident of some, as of yet unfamiliar, Shanty Town.

The last one to enter Ramic’s humble little Inn was not all that impressive to look at. He stood around one and three quarter meters tall, and he was not particularly big to look at either. The boots looked familiar but he could not place them. The heavy pants were similar to that of the woman’s, but above the waist he wore a threadbare shirt that was barely covering some kind of bodysuit. He was unarmed except for the heavy staff in his right hand. It was made of some kind of organic material that was interlaced with grains of metal – like the two materials had somehow grown and matured together. What was disconcerting was that he did not appear to be wearing any sort of respirator or eye protection, but this was not what gave Ramic pause. It was the sound of something he had not heard since he felt compelled to leave the hive. It was the sound that many a person who had gone against the rule of Lord Helmawr came to dread. From among the strangers wove a mechanical construct known as a Cyber Mastiff. He could not believe that he was seeing such a thing out in the wastes, and wondered why it was on his doorstep now, that was when he remembered where he had seen this man’s boots before – the Enforcers.

Slowly eyes moved between the three strangers and Ramic. No one was quite sure what to expect.

“Greetings friends. What may I get you?” Ramic offered without putting his pistols away just yet.

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

Notes:
The Inn keeper is (Ramic) and is the 3rd supporting character
Nomad is known as Luinon
The woman is known as Yeve
The last man is our ‘Hero’ Jakob

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

I am also almost done with another prelude piece that continues the story of Ian and his gang the Steel Spiders...

For notes - Charecter descriptions

I typed up a brief "story" to work out how i felt the characters are supposed to look for a different story line i am working on. I am planning on continuing the story line i have posted before, but this is to get my fingers warmed up to begin again.

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

The sudden gush of wind brought in a fresh supply of ash and grit, while stirring up the substantial amount of particles already in place. If it were not for the protective masks everyone was wearing not a soul could keep from coughing. Without exception, the entire room’s attention was drawn to the now slowly closing door of the small trading post. It was not the appearance of potential customers that confused the people already there, it was the fact that they had apparently ventured out in the midst of a pretty good ash storm.

The industrial wastelands of Necromunda were not to be traveled lightly in what might locally be considered ‘good’ weather, but to move about in the middle of the sudden storms that often spring up without warning – often lasting for several days – was to invite death to your door. It did not matter if you were going several kilometers, or across town. The chemical clouds and resins that make up the Ash Wastes were known to strip a man down to the bone if he were not properly protected, let alone exposing yourself for a sustained journey. It was nearly impossible to predict what kinds of hazards were stirred up when Necromunda got her dander up, best to stay indoors, keep your head down and your respirator properly in place. But the three strangers that now showed up on Ramic’s doorstep had obviously come from some where outside the walls of the little Shanty town of Hive’s End, because he knew every one in town and he had not seen these people before.

The man in front wore a heavy ankle length duster that flowed smoothly despite being made of a heavy leather-like fabric. His face was covered by a full face respirator and a deep hood from the coat. Barely poking out from beneath the hood was the unmistakable brim of a hat from Lord Helmawr’s planetary defense force, which matched the mid-shin length boots he was wearing. Strapped to the man’s back were both a stuffed medium sized pack, and a completely wrapped long rifle. Those who have spent any amount of time outside the massive hives of Necromunda recognized him as a Nomad Scout, and apparently a fairly well seasoned one by the way he carried himself.

The second one through the door was adorned in a pair of heavy combat trousers that had obviously been salvaged as there were several holes revealing another layer of heavy fabric beneath to protect the wearer from the hostile elements. Upon the feet was a pair of mismatched boots. The head was wrapped in a similar fabric to what was underneath the pants, surrounding a pair of goggles and a dual filter respirator that covered the face. The torso was adorned in a waste length jacket with a heavy zipper up the front. It had a set of pockets on the arms as well as on the chest, which revealed that the wearer to be that of a woman. Upon her back was a pack similar to that of the nomad, and a shotgun with an improvised harness was slung from her right shoulder. A bandoleer of ammunition went across her other shoulder and down across the chest, along with the hodgepodge of clothing showed her to be a resident of some, as of yet, unfamiliar shanty town.

Ramic felt ill at ease. If it came down to protecting his wares he doubted any of his current patrons would lift a finger to help him as the denizens of the Ash Wastes Shanty towns were well known for their lack of bravery, and even more for their lack of tolerance of outsiders. More likely they would take cover and pick over whatever was left. He peered down over his own single filter respirator, currently draped around his neck, at his own attire. He had barely modified his gang colors that he brought with him when he fled Hive: Primus. Although he now wore a heavy laborer’s jump suit underneath his rust colored Orlock vest and trousers, it was obvious to which house his allegiance had been to. His boots were standard house issue, as were his fatigue like pants. Although his face was now often protected by the respirator and goggles (usually planted firmly above the white and black bandana he always wore on his forehead), it was obvious where he was from, something that did not endear him to his new neighbors.

Before the Enforcers had come calling he and his mates had created quite a little fiefdom, and although he had not been the leader of the ‘Iron Skulls’, he had been a trusted and proven member. There had been many a time he had out drawn his opponents to get his shots off, blazing away with his twin semi-automatics. That was before the heavy hand of Lord Helmawr had declared him and his gang outlaws. He was the last of the Skulls now, and that was only because he had braved the wastes. Although the formidable reach of the Enforcers is vast, even they thought twice to venture outside the protective walls of the hive cities. Glancing from hip to hip he felt confident that he could hold his own if he was pressed to do so, despite the bulge from the right leg under the Nomad’s coat. That is until he caught sight of the last man to come through the door.

The last one to enter Ramic’s humble little store was not all that impressive to look at. He stood around one and three quarter meters tall, and he was not particularly big to look at either. The boots looked familiar but he could not place them. The heavy pants were similar to that of the woman’s, but above the waist he wore a threadbare shirt that was barely covering some kind of bodysuit. He was unarmed except for the heavy staff in his right hand. It was made of some kind of organic material that was interlaced with grains of metal – like the two materials had somehow grown and matured together. What was disconcerting was that he did not appear to be wearing any sort of respirator or eye protection, but that was not what gave him pause. It was the sound of something he had not heard since he felt compelled to leave the hive. It was the sound that many a person who had gone against the rule of Lord Helmawr came to dread. From among the strangers wove a mechanical construct known as a Cyber Mastiff. He could not believe that he was seeing such a thing out in the wastes, and wondered why it was on his doorstep now. He was not as sure that he could take that thing down, magnum loads or not.



Notes: Nomad is known as Jar’d
The woman is known as Yeve
The shop keep (Ramic) is the 3rd supporting character
The last man is our ‘Hero’ Jakob

A Second Chance

Somewhere in the fog between being awake and asleep Ian could hear someone calling his name. He just couldn’t figure out if it was a dream or not. The fatigue could be felt throughout his entire being and he desperately wanted to slip deeper into unconsciousness.

“Ian! Come on… get up! Dyrke wants to see us right now! Ian!”

Ian rolled over onto his back and then struggled to an upright position. When he opened his eyes he found it difficult to focus on the shadowy form at the foot of his bed. He put a hand down to steady himself as he rubbed his eyes in an effort to clear them up.

“Are you coming?”

Ian nodded and looked down to the other side of the bed. He started to reach out to wake Amber.

“Just you,” the figure said, now in a whisper.

Ian nodded again and then slipped his feet over the side of the bed. When his feet hit the cold plascrete floor it sent a jolt through his system that kick started the adrenaline. His mind was still a little foggy, but now his blood was flowing.

The Steel Spider’s medical bay was still dark. Ian guessed that it was about halfway through lights-out, the orchestrated sequence of lights to give Necromundan’s a sense of day and night. Fortunately he kept his Infra-goggles on the small table by the bed. It seemed like a waste to use precious battery power on something as frivolous as looking around his own room in the dark, but he would rather waste the batteries than wake Amber up.

As the goggles systems warmed up Ian looked around the bay. The six tables were all empty as the Spider’s were enjoying a peaceful season beneath the Bifrost. The workbench along the back of the room was undisturbed, and the half dozen partially finished projects littered it from one end to the other. He loved to tinker with gadgets but once Dyrke had found out that he was as good with humans as he was with gizmos, most of his time was spent fixing up the other Spiders. Still, he often found time to roam around the market place on the bridge span above. Always on the look out for that one piece he could use to complete his little projects. Right by the door, hanging on improvised pegs in the wall, hung Ian and Amber’s kit. Ian’s snatched up his woefully under equipped medic bag and lasgun and then took one last look over his shoulder. Amber sighed in her sleep and rolled over. Ian smiled to himself and headed straight for the gang’s briefing room. He was lucky. Most gangers rarely get to share a life with another.

Ian was the last to arrive. Sitting around the room were Renny, and Rogers.

“About time!” Rogers said as he walked in.

Ian knew from when he first joined the Spiders. He was a good guy to know. He was the quiet type around the bunk house, but was ferocious in combat. He was an oddity among the Van Saar because he favored close combat and carried a Bolt Pistol and a Power Sword. Renny had recently been elevated to a full fledged member of the gang and fancied himself as a gun slinger, carrying a las pistol on each hip. He was also good at ringing out a few extra credits on his rounds.

“What’s all this about Rog?” Ian asked as he sat down.

Before Rogers could answer, Dyrke walked in with a man in lockstep right behind him.

“What this is ‘all about’ is you doing as your told Ian,” Dyrke locked eyes with Ian as he strolled into the center of the room. It was more to make sure he had the group’s attention than anything else. Once he was satisfied that he had achieved just that he continued.

“This here is Gelder,” he said motioning toward the stranger with a wave of his arm. “I hired him from the Union Houses on my last trip uphive to report to the elders. He will be working with Boanerges in the shop.” Ian looked the man over, he carried a Plasma gun in a ‘Y’ sling across his shoulders, and a Bolt Pistol on his hip.

“While I was there I was given an assignment by Elder Korvan.” Ian had no idea who that was and looked around to see if there was an semblance of recognition from the others. “It would seem his son has decided he wanted a little adventure downhive here, and while he was sowing his oats, got himself captured by House Cawdor. This was confirmed by a ransom demand while I was there. It would seem that Elder Korvan would rather not pay this ransom, and would prefer to not publicaly engage in his son’s release. He has given us the privilege of accomplishing this task for him.”

Dyrke began to walk back and forth between the assembled gangers.

“That is why I’ve woken you all up in the middle of the night,” he said making eye contact with Ian once more. “I have placed Cacee in charge while we are away, and he is the only one who is to know where, and why. Any questions?”

Ian watched his leader for any hint of how long they were going to be gone, but he gave nothing away.

Dyrke looked around the room and saw that no one was willing to ask anything more. “Alright, we’re leaving right now.”

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

During their trip downhive Dyrke had filled the rest of his quintet in on their mission. Apparently the Elder’s son, Solby, had some kind of “spiritual revelation” and was on some kind of personal spiritual journey, for whatever reason that had led him to the underhive. It was not clear how, or why, he was now in the hands of the Cawdor, but they apparently were not pleased that he was passing through their territory.

What was known was that a Cawdor gang known as “The Harbingers” were now holding the Elder’s son, and that they had holed up after their last fight. Not just anywhere though. They had staked a claim in a recently discovered dome. Ian could not help but feel some sense of irony. It was the same dome he had implored Dyrke to strike out for not a fortnight ago.

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

The “Steel Spider’s” quietly approached the entrance to the Cawdor’s territory, a reinforced plas-steel door that served as a choke point. It was located smack dab in the middle of what had used to be an old industrial shipping hub. Old servo-lifts, and dismantled cargo carriers littered the landscape. Dyrke call his team close.

“There’s only one sentry, but the door looks to be locked tight. We’re going to have to blow it open. That’s your job Gelder,” Dyrke said. The new comer just nodded his acknowledgement. “Ian, you’re his cover man. Rogers, Renny, and I will move through to take out the sentry and secure the area. Once the door is blown we collapse on the doorway and move in to get this kid back. Any questions?”

Ian was not happy having to babysit the new guy, especially because he was so green. He had no idea what to expect of him, or how he would react once the shots began flying. As they came within sight of their goal the men broke up into their two groups.

As they approached Gelder wanted to stay on ground level but Ian shook his head sternly and pointed up to an overhanging gantry. It would provide a clear shot at the doorway, the sentry, and block of what appeared to be empty habs. Ian thought the latter looked as good as any for the Cawdor’s barracks.

Ian practically had to restrain the man. While Ian was trying to be cautious and ensure a clear shot, Gelder was anxious to get his shot on the door. Ian could hear the plasma chambers heating the stored plasma cells. The scent of charged ions was unmistakable. As Ian glanced over to try and point his partner to a better firing position the distinctive hiss of a plasma gun discharge filled the air.

“Crap!” Ian thought to himself and immediately sighted back on the sentry. The hooded man’s image leapt into view of his Infrared sight. One of his little gizmo’s created back on his work bench back under the Bifrost. Before Ian could squeeze of a shot with his las gun the sentry was banging a set of metal bars together. The alarm was raised and they were about to have some company.

“Zzzaaap!”

The las bolt knocked one of the metal pipes out of the Cawdor’s hands causing him to flinch and duck for cover. “Calm down Ian,” he said to himself. “Breath,” Ian said counting to three to himself.

“Zzzaap!”

“Son of a…,” Ian cursed himself out loud as his second shot sailed wide. It wasn’t even close. “You gonna take out that door Gelder? Or am I going to have to do it with this lasgun!

As Ian went to take another shot he saw the red led indicator blinking on the charging chamber.

“Piece of junk!” Ian cursed to no one in particular as he cycled the charging handle. “Gonna have to look at those connectors again.”

The smell of super heated plasma and the hiss of Gelder’s plasma gun filled the air again. “Take that!” Ian heard the heavy say.

Suddenly the area around the two men was peppered with incoming shots as the Cawdor responded to the attack in force. Gelder groaned as he was hit. Ian couldn’t tell how bad it was, but when the heavy collapsed to the floor he went right on over the ledge. Ian looked on in horror as the man fell three levels and landed with a solid thud.

“That’s not good,” Ian thought to himself.

There wasn’t time to worry about it. Several more shots began landing in and around him. To get more cover Ian went prone and began searching for targets. BY this time Dyrke and the others were among the closest of the new arrivals. But then he spots a juicy target.

Towards the back of the pack is man draped in deep blue robes and a full face hooded mask. If there had been flames or some other telling mark, Ian could have sworn it was a Redemptor. “Come to papa,” he thought to himself, and squeezed off another shot from his las gun. This one struck home and he saw the Cawdor leader drop to a knee grabbing his shoulder.

“Ping, ping, ping!”

“That was close.” Ian flinched as several large caliber rounds hit the railing to his left, chips of paint a metal flayed across his arm. It took a second but Ian found the source of his troubles, a bounty hunter. But before Ian could return fire the Cawdor were falling back to regroup.

“Come on! I’ve got the door open and we’re getting out of here!”

I know, I know...

... it has been what... nine months since my last short story? I am working on the next series... I just don't have a timeline of when they will be posted... soon... I hope

Opportunity Knocks

“Five, only five,” Sergeant Julius thought to himself. “Malcavoy had better come through with the others, and quick. It’s a good thing there’s not much going on down here… yet.”

“Where do you want to establish the Garrison Sergeant?”

Julius, he still hadn’t gotten used to the name, stirred himself from his thoughts. He knew exactly where he wanted to position every thing. He just didn’t have the man power to do it very quickly. He set down the pile of rebar he was moving into position for an outer wall and whipped the beading sweat from his face.

“Your standing in it Froster. I need you to demo that hab-block over there,” Julius replied pointing to a row of five old tenements, long abandoned. “We need to clear it for fire lanes. And this time, see if you can leave us some useful materials. We can’t be bringing down everything we need from above.”

Froster nodded and moved off to complete his assignment. Julius looked around. With nothing apparently living in the newly rediscovered dome they had their pick of locations. The Enforcer Sergeant had settled on a three hundred by two hundred meter island that was completely surrounded by a river of industrial waste run-off. The toxic river had surprisingly little fumes. Perhaps it was because there was an equal amount of breeze that also blew through the dome. The sole bridge connecting the small island to the rest of the dome was still intact, and it was apparent that this little island had once been a sort of central trading post for the outlying regions. It also just occurred to him that the viscous sludge flowing past was not acidic, the metallic piers that jutted out from the island and “mainland” still stood. If the liquids had been corrosive they would have long been eaten away he thought.

As it was, he and his five man patrol were busy clearing out an area to firmly establish their new Patrol base. With the bridge coming across at a narrow finger it was easy to determine where the first guard tower would be located. The second would enclose one of the piers on the river, while the third would face the rest of the island. In time the Enforcer’s precinct compound would be a reassuring presence to those who walked by. But that was still sometime in the future. Until the Guilders arrived with the first shipment of supplies, materials, and servitors, the work would be slow going. Even so, he needed to establish presence patrols.

“Kyle! Come here!”

The Enforcer picked up his shotgun he had leaning against a post where he had been digging, and scampered over.

Returning the man’s salute Julius informed him, “Grosse and I will be heading across the bridge. I need you, Hicks, and Froster to keep watch on the approach. No one is to cross until our return.”

“Understood,” was the only reply before the man went off to obey his orders.

“Malcavoy, you sure can pick good men,” Julius thought to himself.

“Grosse!”

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

Fifteen minutes after his conversation with Kyle Julius was ready to head out with Grosse and their assigned Cyber Mastiff, affectionately called ‘Logan’ – well, affectionately to at least Grosse that is. As they performed their final checks on their kit Froster could be heard calling out, “Fire in the hole!”

BAWHOOM!

The ground trembled under their boots as the demolition charges went off. Looking over to where the hab-block that he wanted removed used to be, all Julius could see was a rolling cloud of dust. Yup, things were moving along nicely.

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

It felt the ground beneath it rumble. It came from a different direction than the new opening.

Sniffing the air it could not detect anything. Nothing registered out of the norm. With a quick signal it sent others to investigate.

Perhaps the flesh things moved more quickly than it anticipated.

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

The hair on the back of Julius’ neck stood straight up at the same time he noticed the foot prints in the ash dust that covered the street before him. It was too quiet, and the air wasn’t moving.

Following the four sets of foot prints with his eyes the Enforcer Sergeant could tell they led to an old gambling den. For the first time the stench of death was close by, and not some faint, indistinguishable odor. This was close, and Julius was sure it was coming from the other end of these tracks.

Grosse sent ‘Logan’ forward. The synthetic dog moved forward sensing the air for any sign of trouble as it went, but it made it to the porch without incident. Once on the porch it caught the scent of a trail and signaled such back to Grosse. Logan also signaled which direction it seemed to go off in, and then went back to sniffing around the porch. After sniffing into the doorway and the broken front window it began to return to its handler.

Halfway back it halted, turned to face back the way it had just come, and the distinctive sound of its synthetic growl began to rumble in its throat. Both Grosse and Julius heard it and readied their weapons.

In the distant shadows both men could see something moving behind the gambling den, on both sides. Logan was constantly growling now, and Grosse had to call to the construct twice to get it to return to him.

Julius signaled them to move forward. He wanted to use the building as a means to narrow down the approaches. As they made the porch Julius had Grosse take the right corner, while he took the left.

“I have two coming my way,” Grosse called over his shoulder.

“Same here,” Julius replied. “Can you make them out?”

There was a slight pause, “not for sure, but they shuffle like plague zombies.”

‘Great,’ Julius thought to himself. ‘My own patrol, he said. Establish a new dome.’

The Enforcer Sergeant peered around his corner to try and get a better look for himself. ‘Maybe I should have thought twice.’ Sure enough, two man shaped things, shuffling steadily towards them.

“I only see the two, plus your two, we should be in good shape. We take shots and fall back as we go. As long as we stay out of arms reach we should be good.”

“Got it,” Grosse replied.

THWIPING!

“What the hell was that?!” Gross called back as he snapped his suppression shield to the front.

“What was what,” Julius called back.

“Something just ricocheted off my shield, almost like they shot something at me.”

‘That’s not right. Plague zombies aren’t supposed to do that,” Julius thought to himself.

THWIP, THWIP, THWIP!

around the corner the two zombie-like things were fairly close. Calling over his shoulder to his partner Julius wanted to know where they were at.

“These two have set up an overwatch position. Almost like they want to keep us from running away,” Grosse answered.

‘Not good. That is not good. Another example of what they’re not supposed to do. They are not supposed to display these kinds of tactics.’ Julius prepared himself. “You’re going to have to hold your side, return fire and keep those things occupied.”

“Ok, wait…” Grosse looked over his shoulder, “…what are you going to do?”

“Ahhhhh!” was the only reply as Julius took off at a full run charging the things on his side.

Glancing down at his Cyber Mastiff, “What are up waiting for?! Logan! Attack!” and the handler motioned for the dog to follow Julius. With a start the cyber mastiff was off to fulfill his handler’s command.

Using a pile of petrified scrap to cover his approach Julius managed to slam into the nearest thing with all his might, and it barely moved. As the Enforcer ready himself to let loose some shots with his bolt pistol Logan lunged from behind and clamped its jaws around the things throat. With a growl and a jerk of its head the Cyber Mastiff snapped the zombie’s neck and it lay still.

Immediately Julius shifted his aim and leveled his bolt pistol at the next zombie’s head. As he was squeezing the trigger he realized that it was cradling some kind of weapon. It looked like a heavy slug thrower, maybe even an ancient bolt gun.

BLAM!

He didn’t give it any more thought, he just pulled the trigger. The small explosive round detonated and the things head shattered.

He watched the thing fall and could not escape the fact that the things he knew about the plague, and what it did to its victims, did not seem to line up with what his mind was registering.

The sound of gun fire brought his mind back into the present. From the other side of the gambling den Julius could here Grosse was fully engaged in a gun battle with these… things. In an effort to flank the assailants he continued around to his left. Stopping at the back corner of the building he peeked around the corner.

Two zombie-like things were engaged in a firefight with Grosse on the far side of the building. He’d have to cover some open ground to get at them, but there was yet another pile of scrap to cover his approach. Logan’s computer brain was not programmed for patience, and it took off running.

‘At least its smart enough to use cover for the approach,’ Julius thought to himself has he sprinted for the cover.

Logan had slowed enough that Julius caught up at the scrap pile. “Looks like we can turn the tables on these things,” Julius said looking down at the Cyber Mastiff.

Logan looked back up and him and seemed to reply with a quiet synthetic ‘Woof’. Julius chuckled and shook his head slightly to himself.

“Come on boy, let’s get ‘em!”

The pair of Enforcers bolted from behind their cover charging head long at their enemies. This caused the pair of zombies to turn their attention to the new immediate threat.

The nearest one adjusted its fire to the new targets, but it missed completely. The second zombie stepped back to get a better angle at Julius and the dog. When it did so Grosse had a clear shot and he took it. Out of the corner of the charging Sergeant’s eye he saw the other zombie jerk sideways and collapse.

Before Julius could close into reach of his power maul Logan was launching into the air and knocking their combined target to the ground. The thing tried to fight off the powerful construct, but it was just too slow.

‘I’m going to have to remind Grosse to sterilize that thing before we let it just walk around the compound again,’ the Sergeant thought to himself.

CRACK!

Some sort of slug whistled close enough to force Julius to flinch. Turning towards the new threat he could see the last zombie had recovered enough to return fire once more. This one was close enough to assault right away, but before he could even flinch Logan was on top of the monster, rending it apart.

Before either Enforcer could move to help out the dog it had finished the target off. As they approached it looked up at its handler and simulated panting, and even wagged its synthetic tail.

“Come on, we best get back to the compound. If this is a sign of things to come around here, we are woefully under prepared,” Julius said glumly.

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

“Froster, Kyle, Hicks! Front and center!”

The three men picked up their respective weapons and ran to meet their patrol Sergeant. Each man was stripped down to their waist and the sweat was pouring off them. Looking around Julius noted some dramatic improvement to the perimeter. It was not a permanent solution, but it was good. As he turned back to address his men, a fourth, similarly clad Enforcer walked up.

“Sarge, this is Yake. He arrived while you two were out for your walk. He’s been assigned to our little corner of ‘heaven’,” Froster said. “Yake, this is Sergeant Julius.”

Julius recalled the man’s file, “Your our assigned sniper, are you not?”

“Check sir,” the man replied and produced a slightly modified Bolt Gun. The barrel was slightly longer than the standard issue weapon.

“Welcome to patrol sector One Charlie Seven Six Enforcer.” Julius motioned for Logan to bring something up. “You gentlemen need to get back in your battle rattle. It looks like we are going to have some company.”

Logan dropped the zombie body it had been dragging in the middle of the assembled Enforcers. To a man they each turned pale.

“And it gets better,” Julius said interrupting their thoughts. “They were using this,” he added, dropping the captured weapon on the corpse.

Froster turned to his Sergeant and said, “But I thought…”

“Exaclty,” Julius replied.

Opportunity Knocks

Ian was almost running. Chigger had passed along a juicy tidbit of information. Some Guilders who had been passing through yesterday had let slip that a new dome had been discovered, one that promised a “’treasure trove’ of archeotech that has not been seen in the underhive in many a century”. He wanted to make sure Dyrke heard about this, and quick.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, in his haste, Ian bowled Amber over. The pair ended up intertwined on the floor of the hallway.

“Um… are you ok?” Ian asked as he stood up, and then helped the woman to her feet.

“Yea, I’m good. Where you off to in such a hurry?”

“I need to see Dyrke. Is he down here?”

“Check the main room. I haven’t seen him all day.”

“Catch you later for dinner,” Ian said over his shoulder as he jogged off down the hall.

“Looking forward to it,” was her whispered reply.

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

“No.”

Ian’s mind was having a hard time wrapping around the words coming out of his leader’s mouth. He had grown to trust this man with his life, but it just didn’t make sense. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity. This kind of thing does not come knocking very often.

“But, Boss…”

“I said no Ian. We are in control of a vital resource for House Van Saar right here and we are not moving.”

Ian adjusted himself and waited further reprimand. When it didn’t come he allowed himself to exhale. Dyrke dismissed the young man with a wave of his hand. Turning back to his thoughts Dyrke realized that there would be other chances to contribute to this new find. It would just have to be from afar.

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

Fist dropped his half full duffle bag at his feet and looked around. The cramped room was piled high with boxes. Looking around he couldn’t see anyone.

“Anyone here”, he called out as he knocked on the small counter.

“We meet once more Enforcer, or should I say, ‘Sergeant’ Fist.”

Fist turned to meet the familiar voice. “Judge Malcavoy,” Fist said as he assumed a parade stance, “a pleasure to see you again.”

“Yes,” the judge motioned for his two Cyber Mastiff companions to sit and assume a guarded stance. The sound of the gyros was slightly unnerving, even for one who trains around the beasts regularly. Fist shifted in his stance slightly. “It would seem that you have continued to prove yourself, despite my first impressions of you Enforcer. You have proven me incorrect in my assessment. A rarity, I assure you.”

Fist was about to thank the Judge but was not allowed the opportunity. Producing a large envelope from somewhere within his commissar-like overcoat the Judge continued.

“I have taken steps to arrange for you and your Patrol’s equipment. Also, enclosed within this envelop you will find a dossier of each man I hand selected.”

Fist ripped open the envelope as Judge Malcavoy continued.

“Unfortunately time did not allow me to assemble all of the men before you are to depart. I will personally see to it that they arrive as quickly as possible. The ones who were readily available I have waiting outside.”

Fist reviewed the roster and each man’s specialty. ‘Heavy Stubber, good. Grenade Launcher’, Fist would have preferred a flamer but it would be fine, it would have to be apparently. ‘A sniper? Interesting. A Handler with Cyber Mastiff, excellent. A pair of assault trained Enforcers and a trio of standard shotgun Enforcers – they should form a good core. This is odd…’

“Sir, this is an excellent mix of men and equipment. But I wonder,” Fist hesitated a moment. He did not want to come across as questioning his superior’s decision. “Why a demolitions expert? In my experience…”

“Your experience is barely worth noting,” Judge Malcavoy interrupted. “Froster is an excellent man, and you will find that he will be able to get you through any obstacle. Any more questions?”

Fist hesitated. Even if he did he wouldn’t speak up now.

“Oh, and there is one more thing. You will no longer go by the name ‘Fist’. It is to crude and is not a proper reflection of one who represents Lord Helmawr.”

Fist looked up, slightly confused.

“Your name is now ‘Julius’. A more proper and appropriate name don’t you think?”

But before Fist could respond the judge turned on his heals and left. The Cyber Mastiffs turning inward followed on the heels of their master.

“Oh, and you won’t be carrying that barbaric shotgun anymore either,” he called over his disappearing shoulder. “I have left you a present there on the counter.”

Fist stood their dumbfounded. Was there nothing this man did not feel he could control? He started to wonder if he would ever enjoy any sort of free reign, even as a Sergeant. He began to loathe this unwanted mentor.

Turning to the counter was a rectangular military style container; the locking clasps were facing him. Not knowing what else to do he slowly opened up the box.

Inside, held with form fitting insulating foam, was a Power Maul, two power cells, a slightly decorated Bolt Pistol with ‘Julius’ and his new rank etched and stenciled into the side, and two full clips of ammunition.

“One can never overlook the generosity of others", Fist thought to himself. "Opportunity does not come knocking all that often.”

Dome Rush

“Corporal Fist, report to the Commandant’s Office immediately. Corporal Fist to the Commandant’s Office.”

Fist stared at the intercom for a moment. For the past one hundred and fifty days he had been pushed to his limits while training to become a Sergeant in Lord Helmawr’s Enforcers. For all that time he had managed to keep his nose clean and out of trouble. He could not imagine what he could have done to draw this kind of attention, so it was with great trepidation that he reported as ordered.

Fist’s knock on the Commandant’s office was answered promptly and he was called inside. The office was plush by the utilitarian standards of the Enforcers. Several bookcases were lined up along the back wall behind the desk that dominated the room. The desk itself was centered underneath a rare fiber-optic light that funneled sun light this far into the interior of the hive from the outside, a rarity that the stature of the office provided. The sharp contrast of light from what Fist was used to, almost distracted him enough to keep him from noticing the heavy set man standing off to the side of the room.

“Ah, Corporal Fist, please have a seat.” The Commandant said to Fist without standing. When Fist produced a salute he waved it off and again directed him to the chair.

Fist thought about refusing the offer, that he would prefer to stand, but then thought better of it. As he sat down, the man standing off to the left of his commanding officer shifted and started to say something, which was met by a hand held up. This silenced the stranger, at least for the moment.

“Corporal, I have been reviewing your records and I must say that I am happy with your progress. So much so, that I am recommending you for a new assignment, effective immediately.” The Commandant watched Fist for a moment before continuing.

“The gentleman to your right, my left, has brought a situation to the attention of Lord Helmawr himself, a situation that requires our immediate response. You have been assigned to a brand new precinct in the underhive. I know it is not an assignment worthy of your achievements at this academy, but it requires your unique leadership qualities. You will be leaving immediately, and with an understaffed patrol. Do you have any questions?”

Corporal Fist resisted the urge to clear his throat before replying. “Only one sir, will I still graduate with my class?”

The Commandant chuckled as he stood. “No son. You have achieved a good enough score to pass this course. Your record will show satisfactory completion of this school, you are effectively promoted to Sergeant as of this afternoon, and the only thing left is for you to report down to the supply Sergeant and draw your kit. Your newly assigned patrol will meet you there.”

Sergeant Fist stood and accepted his Commandant’s offered hand. “Thank you sir. I will enforce Lord Helmawr’s edicts with all effort.”

The two men shook hands, Fist offered one more salute, and then marched out of the office to begin the next chapter in his career.

Once the door shut behind the eager young man, the Guilder finally spoke up.

“I can’t have such a newly discovered dome to be entrusted to such an inexperienced whelp Colonel. This demands an ‘Iron hand’, a hand that wields the power of Lord Helmawr himself.”

“Bring it down a notch Guilder. This ‘inexperienced whelp’, as you refer to him, comes with the direct recommendation of Judge Malkavoy himself. You will not find a man more ready to accept this responsibility. At least not one that’s available at this time.”

“Very well Colonel. But be advised that you will be held responsible if he should fail in his mission.”

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

“How dare you lose face like that?!”

The proud Escher warrior actually cringed under her Matriarch’s rebuke.

“As a result of your failures we have lost a major route to our holdings within the underhive!” The elder was beginning to get red in the face, and Fushia was getting nervous.

“Your team is getting split up. We can no longer afford such visible mistakes at the Bifrost! We are taking five members of your gang and sending them on an errand for the greater House. As for you, you are being sent further down to manage our chemical salvage operations.”

Fushia stood up to defend her honor. Instead she felt two heavy hands land on her shoulders and pressed her back into her seat.

“You leave immediately, take her away.”

The gang leader was dragged snarling from the room. Once she was away the door to the elder Escher’s office was closed.

‘I just can’t tolerate incompetence such as that,’ thought the woman. ‘And now I can have a more… direct influence upon our efforts regarding this recent discovery… coup more of the profits.’

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

"Cross! Come ‘ere!”

The old gravelly voice caught the younger man’s attention. Turning around to look at his father, still dressed in his grease and soot encrusted factory overalls, he noticed that he was carrying a data slate. Not wanting to keep his father waiting he ran quickly across the small courtyard that lay behind their house.

“It would seem you and your fellow delinquents have been given a job.”

“We’re not delinquents pop,” Cross said as he finally got close to his father. “I just choose to run with a gang instead of working the factory.”

“What’s wrong with working in the factory? It’s honest work.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it… I just want to get out and see something other than the smelting pots here in Hive City.”

Taking the data slate from his father Cross read it.

Directive from the office of House Orlock. To the faithful members of Smelting Dome 6796. You are hereby directed to provide your House with one gang of faithful men. They are to report to the local mayor fully equipped to accompany House Orlock representatives down hive. This is to take place immediately.


Signed,


Mayor Dentz

“Are you sure you want to send me Pop?” Cross said as he looked back into the face of his father.

“There’s no one else I would consider, make me proud. And, don’t call me Pop.”

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

Lusion paced back and forth. He could feel the eyes of his men on his back as he crossed the small room, each trying to discern what was going through their leader’s mind.

‘There is just no way to verify this source,’ the Delaque leader thought to himself. Turning around he walked slowly back to the other side of the make shift room he and his boys had set up down in the tunnels that had become their refuge. ‘Not while we are holed up down here.’

This continued on for several more minutes before anyone dared to say a word.

“Come on boss, what is it?” Shade finally asked. “I mean you call us down here and all we’ve done is sit and watch you walk back and forth.”

Lusion turned and looked each of his four subordinates, all that was left of a once might gang.

“Gentlemen,” he said pausing for affect. “It has come to my attention that a new dome has been discovered, and not far from where we stand.”

The Delaque raised his hand to quiet the murmuring that had jumped up among their small group.

“It is not a large find, and travel to and from is difficult for now, but it has promise.”

The news encouraged Logan. ‘Finally, a new start,’ he thought to himself.

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

Caldius strode confidently to the makeshift platform. He had a mission, and he was going to show these people the way, even if it killed them.

“Fellow citizens of the Undying Emperor! A new day is emerging.” He allowed his voice to trail off. When he was confident that he indeed had his audience’s full attention he continued.

“Citizens, I am banding men together to reclaim once what was once lost for the Emperor.”

Again he allowed his voice to trail off before continuing.

“I have been given sponsorship from among those who seek to share with all of Necromunda, the news, and purge those who would oppose the undying Emperor.”

Slowly raising his hands Caldius scanned the crowd as he had seen others do, “House Cawdor calls you forth to follow me on this mission. All who seek to share what we know come with me!”

And with that Caldius turned and decended from his pulpit. From among the two score of people who Caldius had actually drew attention, a small handful of men moved to follow the hooded man. From the balcony across the street two men, hooded and robed in orange, moved.

“He has passion, I’ll give him that,” the shorter of the two men said to the other.

“Hmm,” the second man nodded in agreement. “But passion will only take him so far. Unless he can learn how to stir the masses, how to share his passion, it will only take him so far.” Then the pair turned to leave. “And if he can’t inspire vision, then he will be of limited use to us.”

-=-=-=0=-=-=-
Part 2

Gorit growled loud enough that several of his ‘bodyguards’ actually turned their heads to look at him. The Guilders had graciously provided him with, “three of the Hive’s finest” to look after him. “Humph”, he grumbled again. ‘These dregs couldn’t fight their way out of a saloon at closing time,” the Goliath thought to himself.

For the past ten hours the three men, and one woman, stumbled their way through the tunnels that their Leader, Gorit liked the sound of that, had brought them to. The air was stagnant and reeked of a wide variety of unidentifiable odors that, combined with the very low levels of light available, made them all very nervous.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the tunnel had widened enough to accommodate a small town. Well, what once had been a town. Old stores and drinking holes lined the street. Some of the windows were boarded up, others were missing completely. Debris and sediment from age old sewage lined the streets, and there was not a sound to be heard.

A slightly rotund man, with his long beard twisted into twin braids, stopped short and held up his hand. He turned his head around so quickly that the braids and tails from his bandana flew straight out. “D’you hear that?”

The rest of the group stopped short and for several moments they all stood perfectly still. Just as a lithe female of the group, a well armed bounty hunter type, turned to chastise the bearded scummer, some dust and dirt skittered off a building at the far end of the street.

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

The scent of flesh things threatened to overwhelm its self control. For so long it had waited and now they were almost in reach.

As the flesh things moved closer it signaled the others to prepare to attack. One of the others could not wait and moved too soon, alerting the flash things. Now the targets know that it is near. It signaled the attack.

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

Gorit growled loudly. There was no way he was going to back down now. Not when he was so close to staking his claim to this dome.

Krank, one of the scummers hired to watch his back by the Guilders who were sponsoring him, had rushed ahead to inspect the falling dirt. He entered an old gambling den and was out of sight for several minutes when a flurry of gunfire erupted from within. The strobe of the gunfire within, lit up several of the windows, but didn’t reveal anything. When the gunfire stopped the street was quiet once more. The three others remained where they were waiting for Krank to come back and report what he had seen, but when nothing more was seen or heard for several more minutes they grew restless.

“Hey Vype,” Gorit called over to his female bounty hunter. “Why don’t cha go check out what’s up with Krank?”

“Stuff it muscle brain!” she spit back, never taking her eyes off the building her friend had disappeared into.

“Alright then, we’ll all go.” Gorit said.

The remaining two hired guns stared at their employer for a minute, not sure if they were supposed to believe him or not.

“You heard me! Move it!” And to emphasis his point he leveled his brand new shotgun at their backs.

The three of them approached the old den warily, weapons at the ready. There was no further indication of any movement and the silence was tormenting them. Even as they entered the front room the silence was over powering.

Several tables and chairs lay strewn about the room, as well several mummified corpses, the remnants of yesteryear. Krank was no where to be seen.

“Krank!” Gorit called out. “Not funny man!”

Vype edged closer to the far doorway, and Gorit just panned his shotgun around. The bearded scummer, Gorit had never bother to learn his name, moved to far side of the room. As he approached what used to be the bar he had to step over several corpses, and he was careful not to disturb their slumber. When he reached his objective he leaned over to look over the bar.

Gorit’s heart leapt into his throat as the rotund little man let out a blood curdling scream that defied his size and gender. Spinning to face the new threat Gorit saw his hireling being pulled over the bar and out of sight.

On instinct he began pumping solid slug shells into and through the bar in an attempt to kill whatever it was.

Vype also turned to face the threat. From her vantage point she could see behind the bar. The sight that met her eyes caused the veteran to hesitate. When she finally began to bring up her boltgun to bear something shot out from the far room and struck her in the left temple. She never even let out a scream.

That was all it took. Gorit broke and ran back out into the street.

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

The flesh things responded just as it had anticipated. It was good to feed once more, but it needed more. With a simple gesture the others began to pursue the survivor. It was only a matter of time.

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

Hivequake

They should have seen it coming. A month back it had rained for six days straight. Not just a light drizzle from a factory flushing its storage tanks somewhere above, No this was a torrential downpour.

The effluent rain drenched everything, and everyone, as it cascaded down from the Hive City factories somewhere above, and continued on to the depths below the Bifrost. In its wake slime coated everything, even things not directly in its path. The simple accumulation of condensation from the increased humidity made sure of that. There was more.

For the past three days reports from the habs just below the Bifrost showed an increase in Ripper Jacks, giant rats, and even a few large spiders moving into the area. When Chigger started to blast away with his shotgun at a scurrying rodent, right in the middle of ‘Happy Hour’, Ian new something wasn’t right. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. Then, six hours ago, the streets had gotten eerily quiet. There was no movement other than the occasional human. That was until three minutes ago.

For the past three minutes the entire hive felt like it was going to collapse right on top of their heads. The Bifrost swayed violently, and the crash of dishes and bottles of Wildsnake in the drinking hall could be heard all the way down into the “Steel Spider’s” lair.

Ian managed to get himself up on his hands and knees, and not knowing what else to do he quickly crawled underneath his long workbench along the back wall of his sickbay/hab-room, if for no other reason than to have something over his head that would protect him from all the dust falling from the ceiling. Amber was already there, her eyes open wide.

When the hive finally decided to stop shaking the two lovers crawled out from under their shelter to asses the damage. Tables had overturned, a few medical supplies had been spilled, but for the most part their little corner of the hive was intact.

“Is everyone OK?” Dyrke called from down the hall.

Ian could hear a few acknowledgements coming from the other “Spiders”, to which he added his own. Looking around the room, it was a mess, but there was no permanent damage.

“What the hell happened,” Ian said out loud.

Amber stared at him for a moment before replying. “Haven’t you ever experienced a hive quake before?”

“No,” Ian said as he picked up an overturned table. “How often does that happen?”

Amber thought about her reply as she continued to pick up the debris. “Often enough that you should know what it is.”

The rest of the time the two cleaned up in silence.

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

Within the darkness it felt the rumbling and sensed the import of the omen. Slowly it began to move. It had to know for sure. For over a century its mind dealt with the never ending torment. Now there was a chance that it would be able to feed once again.

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

Gorit stood back up and shook the dust off of his muscle bound body. His Goliath gang, the ‘Iron Mandibles’, had been down kicking in some heads at their mine when the hive quake had struck. When Scar told him to sit tight he had complained, after all he could do with a little recreation too. But now he couldn’t see where the entrance to mine used to be. As he reached out to start digging a large hole off to his right caught his attention out of the corner of his eye.

“Funny, I thought that shaft was over this way,” Gorit thought to himself.

As Gorit entered into the tunnel a cool breeze met his face. It was almost as if the hive itself was letting out a deep breath after holding it in for too long. The air was stale and constant, with a slight haze of dust.

Working his way deeper into the tunnel he realized that this was not the mine shaft he was looking for, rather it was an old rail line tunnel. Although the tunnel was pinched and partially collapsed in many places, there was ample room to maneuver.

After working his way over, under, around, and through the maze for over an hour it finally opened up into a huge dome. There was enough light from far off sources that Gorit could tell – this was the find of his life!

He returned to the entrance as fast as he could and without continuing the search for his missing companions, Gorit made a bee-line for the nearest settlement that was not a Goliath stronghold. He wanted to keep the profits of his new claim to himself.

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

It reminded itself to be patient. The flesh thing had gotten away before it could claim its prize. But it had waited for so long, and the stench of the thing filled its nostrils. Its patience was not strong.

The omen was true. The way was open. It would gather the others. Once they were all together, then they could move on and feed once more.

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

The group of Guilders had met in a hurry, so certain protocols had been bypassed. If the news was true an important opportunity presented itself. This was one of those once-in-a-lifetime deals, and none of these men wanted to miss out on it.

“This is truly an important discovery,” said the largest of the five. “We must move on this information now!” The others quickly nodded their agreement. “The problem is always in the details. How do we get our respective feet in the door? Before these parasites infest everything that is.”

The men quieted down as they each ran through various scenarios in their minds. A few times one of the men would look up, the others would look towards him, and then he would go back to his own thoughts without saying a word. This went on for several minutes. Finally the first man spoke up.

“I think I have an idea. We shall each ‘leak’ tidbits of this information, and also encourage our various contacts to move on it. Allow them to through their resources into the breach, so to speak, and then as they have subdued the area we can move in and set up our respective shops. For a cut of the profits of course.”

“Of course,” several of the others agreed. “But what of this ‘Gorit’? a small Guilder from the back asked, causing the other four to look around and down at him.

“That’s simple,” the first Guilder responded. “We will send him back first, in order to stake his claim we’ll tell him – maybe even hire a few scum as ‘bodyguards’ for protection.” The others chuckled at that last statement. “Who knows, maybe that little problem will take care of itself. If not, we will make… further adjustments down the road.”

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

The scent of the living filled its nostrils once more. It was true. After waiting for so long, it would finally be able to satisfy the ravenous hunger that had filled it every moment for over a century.

Slaughter House

Logan let out a long breath. The moisture that escaped quickly steamed up and dispersed into the surrounding air. A slight shiver ran through his body as he tried to keep warm.

Oh he had passed the trials to become a full fledged member of the Couriers, but that did not mean his fellow Delaque were bound to treat him much differently. After three years of being a full member he had not moved beyond being considered anything more than a juve. He had been assigned to keep tabs on the gang’s stock yard holdings. In this case it was a small processing plant that kept tab on a herd of twenty sump cattle. It was considered to be a step up from working the mushroom fields, but Logan did not see it all that differently.

He still had shovel slop, he was still treated like dung by all his neighbors, and he was always left behind when the gang went out. He was given marginal respect by those at the slaughter house, he was a gang member after all, but it was in name only.

Logan paced up and down the meat locker. With the dome being so close to the outer wall the heating systems were marginal at best. It was a simple matter to simply shut of the air handlers all together to keep the air temperatures cooler than the surrounding area. The fungus that grew on the walls served to renew what little oxygen that was required, as well as the phosphorus light that cast an eerie red glow on the hanging carcasses. It was a good place to get alone and clear his head – despite the stench that permeated everything. And today he needed to get his thoughts together.

‘They’re never going to trust me,’ Logan thought to himself. ‘With the exception of Lusion none of them even talk to me.’ Logan had reached the end of the row and turned back around to head back the other way.

‘I think I need to strike out on my own,’ he pondered. ‘At least I would know where I really stood.’

A loud explosion shook the floor beneath him almost knocking him to his knees. Logan instinctively drew his semi-automatic and headed out onto the factory floor.

As Logan emerged from the meat locker he looked around. Several muscle-bound Goliaths were moving around, shooting factory workers indiscriminately.

“AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”

Logan spun on his heals. A Savage bald headed Goliath was charging down on him, a massive two handed hammer poised over his left shoulder, yelling at the top of his lungs.

Logan threw his arms up, one in a vain attempt to stop the swing of the bludgeon, the other to bring his pistol to bear. Without thought his finger was squeezing the trigger as fast as the muscles could twitch. Several of the rounds struck home but the man did not even flinch as the hammer began its arc.

The last thing Logan remembered before everything went black was the sensation of sailing through the air. Not the actual impact of the Goliath’s weapon that sent him flying, but the sensation of weightlessness.

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

At the edge of the fog that clouded his mind Logan could hear the roar of insesent gun fire. With each staccato his head threatened to explode in pain. Slowly the clouds cleared enough for him to look around.

His hands and feet were bound with some kind of cord, and he was draped across someone’s shoulder. As his mind cleared he realized that the pain was not restricted to his head, his entire torso throbbed in unison with the pulses coursing through his brain.

“Dem Delaques sure can’t take their lumps.”

The source of the voice came from some where beyond his view.

“Scar says his boys have crushed da so called Couriers in his sector too.”

Logan craned his head to try and see who it was that was talking, but all he could see was the muscle bound back of whoever carried him like a sack of feed.

“Hey Largo, looks like that whelp your carrying is stirring.”

Logan felt his bearer spin slightly, first one way, then the other, in an attempt to look at Logan. It only made Logan’s head and body ache more.

“Where ya trying to go runt?”

Logan felt the voice rumble through his host. He could only groan in reply. Both of the Goliath laughed at Logan’s obvious discomfort.

“This should make you more comfortable.”

Logan felt the man whose shoulders he was slung across, shift his weight and then lunge backwards, slamming Logan against a bulkhead.

‘Strange,’ he thought to himself. ‘That should have hurt.’ And then the blanket of darkness washed over him again.

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

“Scar says this runt ain’t worth nothin’ to the guilders.”

As Logan’s mind began to rouse him from unconsciousness it also let him know that he was in a lot of pain. This time he didn’t try to look at who ever was talking. Instead he used the pain in his body to perform a mental inventory of what was still there. It was then he realized that he could not feel his arms and he almost panicked, but a line of pain across his back made him realize it was just because they were draped around a pole, which in turn was being used to hold him in a semi-upright position.

“Yea, but look at ‘im. He ain’t gonna be much use to us in da mines either.” A second voice chimed from somewhere else in the room.

“Well, he’ll either bulk up real quick, or we ain’t gotta worry about him escapin’ no more.”

The two men erupted in laughter. Logan’s head just swam, almost like it was no longer attached to his body.

Just as the darkness threatened to envelop him once more the door to the room burst in and fell off of its hinges. Logan struggled to raise his head and see what was happening.

Two men, two Delaques he had never seen before, burst through the door. One held a shotgun braced against his hip, the other had a plasma rifle pulled up into his shoulder. Both men were sending shot after shot through the air, and Logan could hear the grunts of his captors as they were both hit several times.

Logan’s mind had not yet grasped what was happening and he stared almost through his rescuers as the one with the plasma gun shouldered his weapon and knelt down next to him, while the man with the shotgun spun around to cover the doorway.

The man now kneeling next to him was speaking, Logan knew this because he could see the man’s mouth moving, but it was as if his voice was from a far off distance and lagged a half second behind.

“Lusion sent us to get you. He’s right out side.”

With considerable effort Logan nodded in reply while the man cut the cords that held his arms in place. Once the cords snapped Logan fell to his knees, and almost toppled over onto his face.

As the blood rushed back into his arms they screamed in pain. ‘Yup, they’re still there,’ Logan said to himself. He was still too incoherent for his mind to engage his mouth to release the scream that was now running through his brain.

Reaching down with one arm Logan’s rescuer now supported him as he practically carried him out of the room, with the shotgun wielding rescuer leading the way.

Just as the men had said Lusion stood on the other side of the door with a bolt pistol held at arms length in each hand, one in either direction.

“We need to get out of here, NOW! Blowing the door like that has probably drawn some unwanted attention, and we are in no position to hold these muscle brains off for very long.”

Lusion had a concerned look in his face as he looked at Logan.

“Here’s your stubber kid,” Lusion said as he handed Logan his familiar semi-automatic pistol. It felt incredibly heavy in his hands. “I’ve got your heirloom waiting for you back at out new home.” And with a final pat on his shoulder Lusion yelled for them to go.

Half walking, half being dragged, Logan followed the two other men down a short hallway, and then out into a familiar looking courtyard. Unceremoniously Logan was dumped over a short wall of a fountain, and then followed by the other two.

“Alright, down you go,” the man with the shotgun said as he hefted off a small grate in the bottom of the fountain. Logan looked down and groaned. This was not going to be easy.

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

“They’re all gone Logan.”

Logan tried to wrap his mind around what Lusion was trying to tell him.

“The ‘Iron Mandibles’ wiped the ‘Couriers’ out, we are all that is left Logan.”

Logan looked around the room. Lusion had introduced them all to him.

Shade, the Plasma Gun wielder, was the sole remaining tech. Yaris sported a lasgun and didn't talk much. Bartol seemed to revere his Shotgun, which he kept immaculate. That left Lusion, who Logan had known forver, and himself.

Five men. Only five. Out of, how many? The Couriers had once been at least forty strong, and now this was all that was left.

“And we have been forced down here,” Logan finally replied.

“These tunnels have served us for a long time. Krav never kept any maps of them, and he was careful to not use them very often. We should be safe down here,” Lusion said as he walked over to a corner where the small pile of the gangs precious belongings were stacked. “I believe you are going to want this before we begin to rebuild.

Lusion pulled out a sheathed sword from the pile. Logan’s mind flashed back to when he first found it after his mother’s death. As Lusion handed him the heirloom Logan ran his hands over the scabbard, feeling the ancient kill markings his mother had marked on it. With one hand he pulled the blade free from its home to look on the blade. The ancient letters etched into the steel almost cried out to him. “Death comes swiftly,” Logan said quietly to himself.

“Yes it does,” Lusion said, interrupting his thoughts. “And that is exactly what the ‘Tunnel Rats’ are going to inflict upon her enemies.”

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