Zarkov, Chapter 10

We spent a month in a holding transit aboard the Leaping Angel, a free trader that our masters in the Inquisition had paid to retain.  We stayed busy for the most part, each in our own way.  For myself, I’d spent the downtime salvaging Barick’s gear, and creating an arms locker for the team: a portable plastcard bin with extra weapons and gear for the times in which we’d need more firepower, or for that matter for those interesting times when we might come back without the gear we’d taken. 

I also purchased a few needed upgrades in the swelter decks, spending a few nights among the crew in areas often avoided by senior crew on a ship. But the most fun had by far was the time spent with the shuttle pilots, discovering that I had a natural aptitude for flight.

In our merc company, you stuck to your job description and didn’t wander.  In this new job as an acolyte for the Throne, I’m encouraged to widen my skill set.  So it was that I spent a good half of each day logging stick hours in various landers, shuttles, and simulators to achieve my flight rating.  It didn’t hurt that I also ended up hanging out late nights in the pilots’ lounge, downing ales and amasec with the “taxi drivers”. 

The rest of the team remained busy as well.  Pretty Sila continued to research our quarry, poring through the ship’s library constantly.  Pious Venus spent a good deal of time in the shipboard Templum, meditating upon Him on Earth.  Ignace, ever diligent, filled his hours in the Enginarium with the other tech-priests and enginseers; he’s happiest with his hands in a machine.

On day 34 of what I decided to call our exile, we were summoned to the bridge.  I have to admit to standing like a slack-jawed yokel for a moment upon arrival.  The bridge was immaculate, decorated in brass and gold and more than a few precious gems.  The crew all wore formal uniforms.

A young naval rating escorted us to the Captain’s command cathedra to answer his summons.  My first thought, upon seeing the Captain, was less than charitable.  For that matter, so were my second and third.  The best word to describe him would be corpulent; he likely massed every bit as much as an empty Chimera APC.  He was not only unnaturally huge, but was also wired at every limb and all about his cranium directly into the ship.  I doubt he’d moved under his own power in a century or so, and two servitors tended him, one even now cleaning and applying some unguent or another to his elephantine left leg.  If he’d had a blowhole, Ahab would have hunted him.

He spoke in a wheezing voice, as if the air had to labor to pass through him.  “It has been our pleasure to serve the mighty Inquisition.  Do tell your masters so when you see them.”

It was a timely statement; Ignace pointed out the viewport to call our attention to a massive Black Ship hanging in space above the jewel that was Scintilla.  We all stared for a moment before the Lord Captain spoke again.

“A shuttle has been prepared to take you across to His Righteous Mercy.  Commend me to your master; it has been long since I have looked upon him.”  He waved one hand then, negligently, to dismiss us. 

We gathered our gear and hustled to the shuttle bay, where I went ahead and strapped into the pilot’s seat to ferry us across.  We arrived with very little fanfare, a steward meeting us at the shuttle bay and escorting us to the Inquisitor’s private chambers.

***

The Inquisitor’s office was impressive, but not overstated.  Bits of antiquities were displayed, and a sidebar offered a selection of high-end boozes.  Wood and leather were present in abundance, lovingly crafted.  The bookshelf itself, never mind the tomes it held, was worth well more than a year’s pay from my merc days.   

There was only one thing out of place in the office:  a man standing in a black armorskin, a laspistol belted to his hip.  He looked like he had about 10 years on me, and I’m no spring chicken.  But his eyes…I knew at one glance that this was a man who could pull the trigger and sleep even more soundly for it.  We exchanged nods, one warrior to another.

I poured myself an amasec from the sideboard, and was rewarded with the very smooth, smoky flavor of a fine vintage indeed.  I poured a decent amount into the empty flask on my hip, saving some for later.  Sometimes a little sip is all you need to make a bad day better. 

A massive oak door stood at the other end of the room, and we heard a strong baritone voice from the other side of it.  “Enter!” it said.

We entered the private sanctum of our master, Inquisitor Jonas.  Tapestries were hung around the room, depicting battles and purges, some featuring the long white hair and beard of the man who sat before us.  Though aged, he looked as tough as the bulkheads, and as formidable as the whole ship in which we stood.

“Welcome, my acolytes.  I am pleased to have you here.”  Despite his tough-as-nails look, his voice and tone reminded me of a kindly grandfather.  “You’ve done quite well thus far, and I have another investigation for you to run.”

Without waiting for comment, he launched into his briefing.  Evidently an attempt had been made on the Governor of Hive Sibellus’s life, and the only bit of evidence, a witness statement, sounded damned familiar.  And damned disturbing…”a thing with red eyes, that wouldn’t stop when you shot it”. 

I felt the beginnings of a headache coming on.  It wasn’t a pure link to the altered hive dregs we’d just dealt with, but it was enough to leave my throat a little raw thinking about it.  I looked around at the team, and saw answering expressions of horror in all but the man in black.  Well, he hadn’t seen the damn things yet, and didn’t know better.  Jonas continued.

“This man will be joining your team.  Atellus Sigismund. You will find him somewhat expert with long arms.”  A sniper, then, I thought.  I looked at him again, now understanding the flint in his eyes. 

“You will use the next two days to make ready, and then you will visit the Magistratum in Tarsus hive to meet with the witness.  I am given to understand this young man was in an unlikely position due to his…talents.  I want you to evaluate him and annex him to the team if you deem it appropriate,” he said.

“I have found in my career that some who run afoul of the law may still serve.  So it may be with this one.”  Sila’s face seemed to darken at that, which didn’t surprise me.  The Administratum likes everything and everyone in their little columns, in tidy order. 

“Go with the Emperor’s Grace, my acolytes.  Dismissed,” he finished.  We filed out of his office and made ready with our preparations.  We had access to a decent pile of throne gelt, some good cover IDs, and run of most of the ship, and we put that access to good use.

When the time finally came for wheels-up, we met in the forward hangar of the ship.  Once there, we saw one very beautiful craft sitting away from the Aquila landers and other various small shuttles.  A gun-cutter squatted under the loading lights, brand new by the look of her, with a chin-mounted autocannon, some serious armor, and engines that looked like they were ready to scream.

Imagine my surprise when another young naval rating handed me they key-codes and transmitter to control her.  I grinned like a juve ready for his first formal dance.  We loaded in, and I started pre-flight. 

The cutter flew like a dream, transiting from space to atmospheric with a smoothness that belied the difficulty of reentry.  There was no doubt about it, I was in love.  I handled my new lover adroitly through to touchdown. 

Scintilla isn’t a dirty world like most hive worlds.  There are only five hives distributed on its face, as it’s relatively young compared to many settled planets in the Imperium.  Landing at Sibellus, though, is every bit as gritty as any other hive in the whole realm of mankind. 

Our first stop upon arrival was the Magistratum Precinct House, a massive slab of durasteel and ‘crete as unforgiving as a commissar.  After a long wait in the outer lobbies, we were brought before a desk sergeant who immediately greeted us with the thousand-yard stare common to law enforcement everywhere.  For just a moment, I truly missed Barrick. 

“We’ve an appointment to see one of your prisoners”, Sila said.  The sergeant eyeballed her like a hungry man looks at a grox steak before answering.  She gets that a lot.

“Yeah, they’re bringing him around to an interrogation room now.  You want me to accompany you?”

“We’ve got this,” Atellus said, his face a stone mask.  Atellus is kind of frightening to most people.  They just naturally know not to frak with him.

“Oh…okay then,” the sergeant stammered, and directed us to the room down the hall.  A guard let us into the room, where a tattooed young man, about 19, sat.  His hair was long, dirty and wild with inattention.  He wore leathers and furs, and had that particular look of a feral-worlder, eyes darting around the room like a caged beast. 

“Tell us your story,” I said, without preamble.  As he started, I pulled up a chair.

“I saw what happened.  These scutwhuppers think I lie, and you will too.  But I say the truth.”  He raised his chin, then, defiant.  He seemed to calm as he spoke, his eyes steady on me.

“The man and his escorts were attacked, bold.  Barehanded, bold.  The foe were wrapped in rags, and took many shots.  They would not stop, even when shot.  I shot the hell out of one, thinking to help. They had red eyes.  They killed the men, but I escaped.  Now they are holding me, say I’m scum.”  He stopped abruptly, and stared at me. 

“What’s your name, son?” I asked.

“Roth Khan.”  He spoke with pride, as if the name were a badge.  I’ve known a couple of tribesmen in my time; maybe it was. 

We asked several questions of him then, each of us coming at it from different angles.  Through the whole conversation, Atellus remained nearly silent, whistling softly through his teeth.

He told us that his encounter with the red-eyed dregs took place in Manufactory District 7-J, in the night cycle.  We learned little else, save that the young man had been a gun for hire and was fairly decent at getting into places he didn’t belong.  He made no secret of the fact: like everything else he’d said, it was just a part of his tale.

Once there were no more questions, we stepped into the hall to confer.  Sila’s expression was distasteful, but still she broached the topic.

“So, do we bring him along?”

“I think we do,” I replied.  “He seems straightforward, I think any holes we’d sprout would be in our fronts.”

“I concur,” Atellus added.  We all looked at him, but those were the only words he had to contribute.  Venus agreed, as did Ignace, so I poked my head back into the room.

“Roth Khan,” I began, “how would you like to spend your life in service to the Emperor?”

His eyes widened slightly, and he glanced around the room once.  “Do I have a choice?”

“There are always choices.  Some are better than others.  You come with us, you’re going to face those red eyes again.”

“Good,” he said.  “I must face them to master the fear they made in me.”

“Alright, don’t wander off.”  I couldn’t resist the joke.  Back in the hallway, I told the team he was for it, and we went back to the desk sergeant’s office. 

“Well, he’s a smelly bugger, isn’t he?” the sergeant asked, as we entered.  Sila answered him.

“We’re going to need you to remand him to our custody,” she said.

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he replied “Well, we can get that accomplished.  I’ll just need you to fill out some forms, and within ten days your request should be approved.”

I shook my head once.  He noticed, but stuck with it.

“You’re just going to have to wait.” He began to rummage in his desk files.  “Now here is the first requisite form, number 67743-T, which will grant you an audience with the custody clerks…” 

As he droned on, I looked at Sila, raising one eyebrow.  She nodded yes, and so I pulled out the Rosette, the symbol of our Inquisitor that allowed us to act with his authority when needed.  I coughed once.

“…then, of course, number 7338 beta, which…” and his eyes locked on the symbol.  He blanched a few shades lighter.  “Ah, I see.  Well, in certain special cases I can file the expedited forms.”

I cut him off.  “No forms.  No records.  We are not here openly, and you never saw us.”

He stared at us blankly, and Atellus winked at him.  “Yes.  Yes of course.” 

What followed was likely a record time for fastest prisoner release without the assistance of a high window.  We walked out the door with Roth Khan in tow, and went midhive to seek out our lodgings. 

The hostel we ended up booking was called the Eagle’s Wing, and we purchased a suite of rooms.  I liked the name, and it made me feel good about the coming mission.  Life's funny like that. 

Zarkov, Chapter 9

We moved cautiously but quickly back down the hall. I walked point with Ignace just to my left, Barrick bringing up the rear. We approached the grand stair, weapons ready. As we neared it, we could hear the lift whirring, and I hustled to the banister. They say the Emperor has a sense of humor, and I think “they” are right on the money.

Just as I hit the rail, I heard the soft “ding” of the door chime on the lift, just below me. I could hear the doors as they slid open, and footsteps just beneath me. Then they came into view, a man in green robes wearing the trappings of a director surrounded by four of the rag-wrapped creations. Without hesitation, I ripped a grenade from my harness and dropped it straight down, rolling back from the rail. “Five contacts, four red-eyes and head honcho,” I spoke into the vox.

Ignace took a fire position to my left, Barrick at the head of the stairs. Sila took cover at the wall, and Venus moved just next to her. I peeked over the banister to see my handiwork, and it appeared the dreg-mummies had taken the brunt of the damage. The director ran for cover at the welcome desk, while 3 of the altered hive-dregs headed for the stairs in a rush. The fourth was slowed by a torn leg, thanks to my grenade. It left a bloody trail across the tile as it hobbled after its companions.

The techpriest worked methodically, taking careful aim, firing the single-shot from his lascarbine, reloading a new hotshot. He put some very large holes in the dreg-mummies. Sila even managed some good shots. Barrick and I just kept a steady rate of fire, though the lawboy did have to dive for cover as the director rattled off some fairly accurate autopistol fire.

I heard Venus say “Pain” under her breath, and then one of the rag-wrapped sods started twitching, unable to move further. Our shots converged on it quickly, and I voxed “Again.” We had a working strategy, and we thinned them out in short order. The director proved a harder nut to crack, staying behind the desk as he did. We exchanged ineffective fire for maybe three minutes before Barrick said “Frak this,” and stood.

Before I could stop him, he was running down the stairs at full speed. We attempted to give him cover, but the director was cagey, and slid out at floor level to unleash a long burst of shots into the Arbite’s charge. He went down like a dropped sack of tubers. He looked bad off, dropping in that way I’d come to associate with death on a few too many battlefields.

Sila yelled out “Barrick!” and rattled off all the shots in her revolver in rapid succession, chewing up one end of the welcome desk. I moved to my right, eager to get down the stairs to check on him, but not so eager that I’d share his plight. I waited for my shot. The director rose from the behind the desk, autopistol up, pointed directly at me.

Before I could take the shot, I heard the distinctive crack-whine of the cogboy’s hotshot, and saw the bloom of red mist from behind the director’s head. He crumpled to the ground, a goodly portion of his head no longer in his possession. I ran down the stairs, Sila close on my heels. I reached down and felt Barrick’s neck, and heaved a sigh of relief as I felt a pulse. I couldn’t see any blood, and Sila had already pulled out her medikit and was unbuckling his chest armor. I moved on down the stairs to make certain the opposition was truly down. A feel of the director’s neck revealed a different story than Barrick’s, and I collected the autopistol and a couple of spare mags off the corpse, as well as a key on a chain around his neck.

When I got back to Barrick, Sila and Venus were both working on him. He’d come around, but was still quite groggy. The adept looked up from her work with the medikit.

“It looks like he’s got several broken ribs, and likely some internal bruising. But he should be OK,” she said. For his part, Barrick mostly groaned, until she used the injector to load him up on a stimm and painkiller cocktail. Seconds later, his eyes were wide open.

“Alright, let me get up dammit,” he said.

“You ever hear of cover?” I asked him facetiously.

“Laugh it up asshole,” he replied. I offered him a hand and helped him to his feet as we grinned like fools. He reached for his chest armor, but it was in terrible shape. He tossed it on the stairs and made the sign of the Aquila over his chest. “The Emperor protects. And Sila fixes what he can’t, I guess.”

She smiled her thanks at his compliment, and loaded her emptied revolver. I handed the autopistol and its ammo to Barrick. “Here’s a souvenir to go with those ribs,” I said.

With that, we headed for the lift, waiting to take us to the top level of the building. Ignace used the director’s key to select the third level, and the doors closed with a gentle groan.

We exited the lift to a silent reception area. A sign warned us that only those with an appointment could continue past the door from this tiny room. We decided we’d make our own appointment, and Ignace made short work of the lock with his multi-tool.

The 3^rd level of the building appeared to have been a medicae facility, but one that had been run by a butcher’s guild. Bloodstains decorated the walls and floors in random patterns, though a few of the blotches made my eyes hurt to look at. Venus made the sign of the Aquila, and began praying to Him on Earth, and we all mirrored the Holy symbol with our hands for a moment before we continued.

Looking about, we saw that some of the medicae tables held corpses, all face down and flayed open. Each had one of the white organs wrapped within their tissues, though it was obvious that these were all failed implantations.

Passing one of the tables, Venus gasped suddenly, a sound of horror escaping her. We rushed over, to find that one of the poor bastards was still clinging to life, though just barely. He kept trying to scream, but in eerie silence. Only the hiss of rushing air into the respirator device made any sound, his vocal chords long ruined by the strain of his cries. He had suffered horribly, and made no response to us as we tried to communicate with him. Barrick looked to me, and I nodded my head once, and closed my eyes. One shot rang out in the room, and then the silent screaming came to an end, the Emperor’s Mercy given with finality.

We walked on in silence, passing perhaps 20 tortured, dead souls. At the end of the room, a very solid wall stood, more at home in an Imperial bunker than an Alms house. One massive amourplas door punctuated the wall, and the hair stood on the back of my neck. I motioned to Ignace, and he made ready to open the portal, as Barrick and I took fire positions just to each side of the massive door.

Ignace gave the door a mighty tug, and as it opened, an entirely new hell greeted us. Barrick and I stepped through quickly, and I took the room in at a glance. It was obviously an operating theatre, and in fact one of the occupants of the room was performing a surgery.

She was tall, and I could see more metal than flesh on her as she was bristling with augmetics. Her entire face was a metallic mask, and several mechadendrites moved over her shoulders functioning as extra arms wielding numerous surgical implements. The screams of her subject assailed our ears. There were several massive glass tanks in the room, and one held a massive version of the white organs we’d seen, easily 3 meters in length.

What kept my attention, however, was the vat grown monstrosity that was the twin of the one we’d dealt with downstairs. Especially given that it was charging us with its chain-ripper whirring.

It hadn’t made four steps before falling mid stride onto its face, writhing in agony. I knew that Venus had done something to what there was of its mind, and I moved the front sight of my lasgun over to the augmetics-laden churgeon, firing rapidly. Those few shots revealed to me that her augmetics covered her center of mass, and was pretty damned tough. She didn’t so much as flinch, even when Barrick added his shotgun to the volley.

With a clicking hiss, the mechadendrites on her back detached, revealing themselves to be a sort of metallic spider of many limbs which began to scuttle toward us. I’d seen more than enough, and chucked a grenade in her direction. I was a bit too enthusiastic in my toss, and it rolled between the twitching monstrosity and the big vat of goo, detonating moments later. The glass vat shattered, the organ perforated in dozens of places, and the monster with the chain-ripper ceased its twitching. I kept shooting just as if I’d meant for it to happen that way. It was probably the luckiest miss I’ve ever had, or the worst. Jury’s still out.

Ignace took a shot at the spider-thing, but his lasbolt seemed to bounce off the polished metal. I immediately dropped my lasgun and pulled my revolver, as it slashed a scalpel the size of my forearm at Barrick, which the lawboy barely avoided. One shot from the big caliber handgun slagged the thing, tearing into its casing in a shower of sparks.

In all this time, the metal-clad churgeon had been weathering a storm of fire from the rest of the team. She ran to the far corner of the room, ducking behind the ruined specimen tank, and dove into a large shaft in the floor. I cursed, and moved to advance. Barrick sprinted after her, stopping at the lip of what turned out to be a shaft straight down to the kitchen…where her failed experiments were turned into menu items.

He jumped down into the shaft, intent on climbing after her. From my vantage across the room, I could see some of the ichor from the specimen tank had pooled there, and a flash of panic clenched my gut in an icy fist. There was no scream. There was no shout of denial. There was only a screech of metal as he lost his grip and a sickening thump from the shaft across the room.

I don’t recall making my way to the edge of that shaft, don’t remember holstering the pistol or recovering my lasgun. I only remember making the Aquila as I looked on the broken body of a man of the Adeptus Arbites who would not give up, who died in the line of duty. A man who I trusted would stand at the Golden Throne moments hence and be judged worthy, if hasty.

There would be no catching the Churgeon, and we all knew it. We’d succeeded in uncovering the truth, but we still felt failure wrapping around us like a shadow. We stood there, gazing down, listening as Venus prayed.

“The Emperor is our guiding light, a beacon of hope for humanity in a galaxy of darkness. As we serve Him, He is our greatest servant. As we pray to Him, His thoughts are only for us. And in the dark when the shadows threaten, the Emperor is with us, in spirit and in fact.”

One week later, the reports were finally finished, the evidence all collected. Our investigation had come to a close in the Coscarla, and our masters of the Holy Inquisition would pick up the pieces and discover the truth, the heresy which we’d exposed to the light.

We stood around one single lit candle, placed atop a ruined chestplate of Arbites armor. We each had a drink in our hands.

Sila stood in her robes of the Adminstratum, her blonde hair reflecting the candlelight. Venus clutched her pendant, the psy-focus of her trade. Ignace seemed immobile, a statue in the red robes of the Mechanicus. Me, I just clutched my amasec in one hand, thoughts of justice echoing in my mind. In the other I had our orders, an astropathic dispatch to embark on a system freighter to “maintain readiness”.

We drank one final toast to Barrick Zadin, Adeptus Arbite. The amasec was smooth, if a bit harsh on tongue. Venus, most pious of us all, reached out one hand and extinguished the candle.

Zarkov, Chapter 8

The next day greeted us with soreness and discomfort, and most of us returned to the hostel to get something approaching rest. Ignace decided to stay with the corpse for a while longer; he was still taking samples and doing analysis. The rest of us had no desire to impede or even witness his work.

All paths lead to Terra, they say, and we were convinced by all the clues we’d unearthed that the Alms House was something more than a place to receive a meal. Something was very wrong there, and we would have to find out just what it was. Such was our mandate, and our duty.

Ignace re-joined us at lunchtime, and a short strategy session ensued. We decided to visit the Alms House that night and take a good long look around. We spent the remainder of the day preparing ourselves, as Sila and Ignace searched Imperial Records for all entries relating to Coscarla’s Alms House. Finally, the night cycle approached, and after a nearly lethargic day, we moved out with a quickness.

Sila and Ignace had used their skills to good measure, and we had a printout of the building’s floor plan. We decided to enter through the refectory rather than the front or rear…if challenged we could just ask for a handout, like so many before us. We intended to go as quietly as possible. Funny how things turn out.

I was loaded for bear, wearing my full turnout. My harness was strapped over my flak armour, sword at one hip and laspistol at the other. The lasgun and shotgun rested in their customary spots on the magclamps on my back, and I still had the revolver at the small of my back. I’d even brought along a couple of frag grenades, just in case…I’ve found in my lifetime that it’s never a good thing to wish you’d brought your grenades along to the party. All that gear makes for a heavy load, but I’d grown accustomed to it on too many battlefields to count.

The rest of the team were as loaded as they ever got; Barrick with his combat shotgun, Ignace with his hotshot-loaded lascarbine. Sila clutched her revolver, and Venus appeared to be unarmed…but was likely the most potent of us all with her mindcraft. We seemed a motley crew indeed, three in robes and two in combat armor. We walked with purpose, ready to do the Emperor’s work.

Entry was simple, as Venus defeated the simple lock with a mere thought. We spread out, not really knowing what we sought beyond “proof of heresy.” That is a fairly wide swathe of possibilities, but if it was easy they wouldn’t need us.

Only minutes into our search, Ignace raised one hand, fingers splayed. We rushed to him, and he pointed to an odd device in the food service line.

“What the frak is it?” Barrick asked in hushed tones.

Ignace answered him quietly. “It appears to be a rudimentary bio-auspex. See here where it couples to this cogitator?”

Barrick gave him a blank stare. Ignace punched a few buttons on the cogitator array, and the Arbite nodded in sudden understanding.

“It further appears that it is programmed to track identification and biostatus of anyone receiving food from this establishment. To what end I cannot say.”

I held up a closed fist and all conversation ceased. I had heard something from the kitchen door, and I held my hand out, palm down, to let the team know to stay put and stay quiet. The door had a circular window in it, and I crept slowly over to peer through it.

It was a typical kitchen, all stainless steel and ceramics. A man in the green robes of the Alms House was working, bent over a large vat, and I nearly turned away. Then I noticed a glint of metal through a sleeve, and my head whipped back around. He had an autopistol in a shoulder rig, and I’d caught a glimpse of it through the gap of his robe. I pointed at Barrick and motioned him over, and he joined me quickly and silently.

He took a look through the window, then nodded to me. I mouthed a silent countdown from three, and we burst through the door together, leveling our weapons at the poor bastard.

Startled, his eyes flew wide open, and his hands went up over his head. He was a scruffy man, his filth and demeanor at odds with his pristine robes.

“Good evening.” I said it conversationally. “Let’s keep those hands up, and we’re going to answer a few questions.”

His answer came in a rush, as he grabbed the barrel of my lasgun with one hand, the other going for the pistol. He wasn’t quick enough by half, and Barrick spoon-fed him a blast from his shotgun. It was loud as hell, and I winced, sure that our stealth was blown.

I reached down and plucked a microbead out of the corpse’s ear, hearing a voice asking for a status report through it. I graveled my voice and rubbed a finger over the mic to simulate static as I replied.

“Sorry boss, that was an accident,” I said into the mic.

“I thought I heard gunfire?”

“Just the one shot, sir. It was a damn big rat. I missed.”

“Don’t let it happen again, Furnik.”

“Yes sir.” I heaved a sigh of relief, the stress of having to lie my ass off draining away from me. Then I smacked Barrick in the back of the head. Hard. An old sergeant of mine used to call that slap a “training aid.”

Barrick whispered to me “Did you want me to let him shoot you?”

“You’ve never heard of a buttstroke with your weapon?” I replied.

“Good point,” he conceded.

The others had filtered in, weapons drawn, and we continued our search in the kitchen. Moments later, Venus said simply “Here.” We gathered in one of the cold storage lockers, and she showed us some large barrels with numbers on the side. The numbers matched some of those we’d just seen in the cogitator, and my stomach flipped once. Sila covered her mouth with her hand.

The tech priest opened one of the containers, and quickly confirmed that it was filled with meat. “Human remains,” he said. Some of the team looked a little green, but nobody lost their dinner.

“Close it.” I said. “That’s enough…somebody goes down tonight.” I handed Ignace the microbead I’d collected. “Here, monitor this. It’s their comm freq.”

“Excellent,” the tech priest replied. He performed a quick ritual of attunement, and adjusted his own vox to monitor both our channel and theirs. I trusted him not to broadcast on the wrong one.

We made quick work of sweeping the rest of the first floor, finding nothing of interest. Our sweep took us past the main entrance with its lift and grand stair, through more storage areas and a conference room, and to the back staircase. We wasted no time heading up to the second floor, Barrick and I taking point.

We opened the door to a long hallway, with several doors along its length. We filed out of the stairway and into the gloomy passage, its sickly yellow sodium lights fighting to dispel the darkness. A general sense of creepiness hung in the air, and I looked to Venus to see if there was any warpcraft about. She shook her head gently, her blue eyes darting from door to door.

As a team, we moved from door to door, slowly and quietly clearing each room in turn. Minutes crept by, closing in on an hour. I felt an anxiety building; we’d been a long time with no contact. There’s a feeling in the air when a fight is about to happen, intangible but intense. That feeling was stirring now, and I reminded the team to stay alert.

The very next room we entered was the director’s office, and we gave it a bit more attention in our search for clues. Ignace noticed that one of the desk drawers was locked, and pried it open with his multitool. I heard him say “Interesting,” drawing the word out to leave it hanging among us in the room. We all looked at him, and he held up a small book from the drawer. On its face was the symbol of the Logicians, the heretical cult that had been crushed once before. Sila spoke first.

“That about cinches it then. Definitely heretics.” She spat the word, her righteous hatred dripping from it.

Suddenly, Ignace held his hand up, fist clenched. We all fell silent instantly. He tapped his ear, letting us know he was listening to vox. Then he said the words that changed our method for the night.

“We are discovered. There is a man just outside the door, reporting our presence.”

“We are go for active,” I replied, letting the team know we were now in a shoot-first-ask-later mode.

Barrick and I rushed the door; I took care of the opening part while he handled the pointing a shotgun through it part. Our target was in full flight, running hellbent for leather down the hallway. Ignace rolled through the doorway just before I stepped out into the gloomy passage, and we all sent rounds downrange. The green-robed runner staggered once, but made it to the end of the hallway, opening a steel door. Our next volley caught him just as the door slid open, and he crumpled to the floor.

From within that room, we heard a mighty crash and breaking glass, and a green fog issued from the door. I kept a sight picture on the doorway, assuming that all that commotion was a bad sign. Some days, I hate it when I’m right.

My eyes flew wide open as a huge humanoid thing charged through the doorway. It was a mass of vat-grown muscle, its right hand replaced by a meter-long chainripper. A low growl issued out of a mouth full of pointed teeth, and it showed no signs of slowing down as the chainripper revved up.

I fired as fast as my trigger finger would allow, trying to maintain fire discipline. I heard the booming of Barrick’s shotgun next to me, saw blood spatter and paint rip from the hallway walls. I heard the sharp crack-whine of Ignace’s lascarbine, watched a hole open in the thing’s chest. It seemed not to notice, closing the distance to us with preternatural speed. I felt the pressure of fear in my chest, but forced myself to stand firm and keep shooting. It still seemed not to notice, and it raised the chainripper high over its head.

Finally, Barrick caught the charging thing in the eye, and it crumpled a mere 3 meters from us, the chainripper digging a hole in the wall before sputtering out. Its torso heaved one final breath, and it fell silent. I released the breath I’d been holding, and felt the euphoria of certain death avoided flood through me.

I looked at Ignace, still on one knee beside me. “Rolling?” I asked.

“It seemed the most appropriate strategic procedure,” he replied. All I could do was laugh.

We cleared the rest of the hallway without incident, including the room that had recently held our rather enthusiastic attacker. Its containment vat had been shattered, and nutrient slime coated the floor, thick and green.

“Nothing else here,” Barrick said.

Sila, being careful to stay out of the slime-coated room, added “There’s a third floor.”

“Then we go up,” I said.

Ignace tilted his head to the side for a moment, and I knew he was visualizing the floor plan in his augmented mind. “The only entry point for that level is the lift. It is our only option.”

“No other options?” I asked. I was met with a chorus of silence. “That’s about what I thought. Let’s get this done.” We had no idea our night was about to get much, much more interesting.

Zarkov, Chapter 7

It was late afternoon, and we’d regrouped together at the hostel. Barrick had provided a plate of sandwiches we were tearing into, though I honestly didn’t want to know what was in them. Some things are better left unknown, especially downhive.

Venus was first to speak, once we got down to business. “Lili was fearful when we found her. We managed to put her at ease, but it took some doing.”

“She was most irrational,” Ignace added.

Venus continued, running a hand through her dark hair. “She told us she hadn’t noticed Saul’s disappearance at first, evidently he liked the bottle and wouldn’t come home sometimes. When she did notice, she became frantic. She’s got the same story we’ve been hearing since we arrived; disappearances in the dead of night.”

“We used our cover, and bought her a ticket out of here,” Sila chimed in. She looked at the floor. “We told her we knew Saul was dead. She deserved to know.”

Barrick and I nodded our agreement as Venus went on. “Something is very wrong here, that much is obvious. Lili, however, didn’t have a lot to add to our knowledge.”

“Well, I might know where Saul was last seen,” Barrick said. We all looked at him expectantly. “I was asking around, and I met a guy taking shelter in the Templum. Evard Zed. Saul’s best friend.” He was now grinning like the felid that ate the canary.

“Do tell,” Sila said.

“To make a long day a short story, Evard last saw him going into the Alms House. No other useful info.” He sat at the table, lighting a lho stick and taking a long drag.

“Well,” I said, “that’s quite interesting. I met with Luntz, local narco-runner. He wanted to hire us to take out a woman who crossed him. Guess where she keeps shop?”

“Alms House,” Barrick and Venus said in unison.

“Prize to the pair,” I said. Barrick stood within the smoke cloud he’d created, grabbed his combat shotgun, and started for the door.

“Where are you headed, lawboy?” I said.

“I’m going to recon the Alms house while it’s dark.”

“Not a bad idea,” Ignace said, looking thoughtful.

I nodded agreement. “Well, do me a favor and keep your vox bead on. Night cycle gets rough here, you know.”

“I will,” he said, and left the room. The rest of us attacked the sandwiches like pack-hounds.

***

An hour later, the vox went off, Barick’s voice driving into my ear.

“Frak! Contact, two contacts! Red eyes!”

I ran to my room, harnessing up and grabbing my weapons from the makeshift rack in the closet.

“Where are you?” I asked into the bead. Off the bead, I yelled into the hallway “Saddle up, Barrick’s in deep!” and was rewarded by a flurry of activity from the others. I headed down the stairs as Barrick updated us on his position, and I could hear his shotgun hammering over the voxcast.

It took us only a couple of minutes to reach the young Arbite, and we found him hard pressed by two of the rag-wrapped things. He was furiously backpedaling and using his shotgun like a club, parrying their grasping arms.

“Down!” I yelled, and we opened up on them as Barrick dropped to the ground and rolled toward us. The tech-priest’s hot shots seemed to be doing the most damage, but his rate of fire left a lot to be desired, since they’re a single shot mag. Venus was able to distract them with her peculiar abilities, and Barrick reloaded once he was clear.

For my part, I just kept pulling the trigger, my lasgun on semi-auto. I stuck to a disciplined fire drill: front sight, slow squeeze, reacquire, repeat. I’d done it so many times over a lifetime of merc work that it was reflexive, like breathing.

The damn things soaked up a lot of damage, but finally both fell to our combined fire. We stood over them, taking a breather. That’s when I heard more scraping in the darkness. I looked at Venus, and she closed her eyes, brow furrowed in concentration. Then she held up 7 fingers. I cursed, and grabbed one of the rag-wrapped things.

“Let’s go” I said, and put thought to action. I hoisted the corpse into a fireman’s carry and we moved out, all of us with weapons at the ready.

“They are ahead of us, Zarkov,” Venus said. “Closing like a trap. We won’t reach the hostel without more of these things.”

We were near the Union Hall, and Barrick pointed it out. “We can hole up there, get a good defensive position.”

“Best idea you’ve had all day” I said.

We hit the back door like a wave, Sila pounding on it in a frenzy. The same ganger answered as before, and I brushed him aside as we poured in. Barrick slammed the door shut behind us, as the ganger gaped like a landed fish.

I dropped the corpse like a sack of tubers, and Ignace set to work immediately unwrapping the rags that hid it from our view. Under all the cloth, he found a hive dreg, just a man, with cheap bionic eyes. “Night vision modified,” Ignace said, pointing to the augmetics. That accounted for the red glow.

Barrick leaned in closely. “What do you want to bet we find one of those organ things in there?” he asked. There were no takers.

I kept watch at the door, and could see no figures approaching through the viewslit. I looked at Venus, the question on my face. “None” she said. “They have either dispersed or moved toward the hostel, I’d guess.”

Just then, Luntz blew into the room like a stormfront. “The frak is going on in here?” Then he saw the body on the floor, and his face went pale. “What the…you can’t…you can’t have that here!”

“Luntz” I said. “Man up. We needed a spot, we got cut off.” He looked at me with murder in his eyes. “It’ll be fine.”

“The bloody sump it’ll be fine. You trying to get me killed?”

Ignace stood from his macabre work. “Good sir. You will note that this is no monster, but merely a man. It is nothing to fear.”

“Who the frak is afraid?” Luntz replied, his voice rising an octave. I decided not to answer his question, and shook my head slightly so that Ignace wouldn’t either. He’s a little soft on the concept of rhetorical questions.

“We’re going to need to borrow this room for the night, Luntz”, I said.

He gave me a long look, looked down at the body on the floor, and seemed to make a decision.

“Yeah, yeah that’ll be fine. I can send my boys through here, let them see the boogeyman’s face. Maybe they’ll quit pissing themselves at night.”

He turned on his heel and strode from the room, his dignity restored. We found ourselves alone.

“So”, Venus started, “Alms House?”

“Alms House,” I replied. All the clues pointed to that place as the source of Coscarla’s cancer.

Ignace waved the auspex over the body, and it chimed with a cheery tone, indicating the presence of the modified organ. “I do believe that would be the place to visit. May I suggest we go in the morning, and I will retrieve a sample of the organ from this poor soul?”

We all agreed, and settled in to get some rest. Sila grumbled about not having her bed, but none of us wanted to head to the hostel in the night’s darkness. A grim reminder of what awaited us outside lay on the floor, slowly revealing secrets under the tech-priest’s knife.

Zarkov Chapter 6

After a too-long shower and a too-short sleep, we rose to face the day. Of course, day in the Coscarla is only slightly less dark, a perpetual gloom hangs around like a fog.

We tossed Draylock’s office for clues, finding precious little. There was a note with a scrawled reference to Lili Arbest, Saul’s sister, so we made plans to visit with her for information. Sadly, none of us had remembered that we had planned that very thing back in the Interrogator’s briefing room. I felt like a FNG for a moment, but I let it pass and put my mind back on the mission, as we all met back in room 3, which Sila and Venus were using.

“We would be best served dividing our labors”, Ignace began.

“Second”, Barick said.

“I’ll head back to the Union Hall, see if I can drag up more info”, I said.

“Barick, perhaps you could check around for some other leads in the stacks?” Sila suggested.

“I’m on it”, he replied.

“We will talk with Lili”, Venus added, including Sila and Ignace with a glance.

“Alright then, let’s hit it. Vox if there’s trouble. We’ll meet back here.” I said. I shrugged on the heavy overcoat and headed out into the gloom of the Coscarla, making my way to the Union Hall.

As I walked, I got that itchy feeling between my shoulder blades. The feeling has served me well through the years, and I stopped dead. I scanned the street, looking around me with an eye to detail. I saw nothing. Still, when I resumed my walk, I did so warily.

I made my way to the Union Hall and into the bar at a brisk pace. Many of the same faces were here, professional drinkers racing their livers to the grave. I sat on the same barstool, and the tender brought over the same ale I’d ordered before. A good memory can be an asset for a bartender.

“You must be a tough one”, he said. I raised one eyebrow, a bit taken aback but waiting for him to continue. “Heard what you did to ol’ Draylock’s boys. Heard it from Luntz, actually. He wants to meet you.”

“Man’s quick”, I said.

“He keeps his ears open, that one. And always willing to pay for muscle.”

“Man’s smart”, I said. When I get a good theme, I stick with it.

“He keeps an office of sorts here”, the bartender continued. “It’s the door around back, doesn’t connect to the rest of the building. Knock five then three.” I couldn’t suppress a snort and a grin. “I know”, he said, “Luntz likes his pictdramas.”

“Tell him I’ll roll around later today” I replied. Then I finished my ale and I left.

I had a few hours to burn. I didn’t want to go straight to Luntz, as I didn’t want us to seem like a gang of overeager simps. I strolled the market for a while, taking in the sights and sounds. I’ve visited livelier intensive care wards.

I had some time to think about things. I knew that the Coscarla was dying, and would be another faceless underhive in maybe two decades. I knew that somebody had altered Saul Arbest, and not for the better. I knew that we’d seen a strange creature, human in shape, that we couldn’t find. I knew that I didn’t know near enough. I’d have to rely on the whole team to put it all together.

I decided that enough time had passed, and made my way back to the Union Hall to speak with Luntz. I made my way to the back door, and tapped the code out on it, shaking my head the while.

When the door opened, I was met by a one-two punch of odor and ugly. The stubjack that manned the door looked like he’d gone ten rounds with an ork and lost, and he smelled like said ork’s armpit.

“Whaddyer want?” he said, and I suffered the affront of his halitosis.

“I’m here for Luntz. He’s expecting me. I’m with the crew that aced Draylock’s half-wits.”

He took a step back, letting me enter. “Hey boss!” he yelled, “Got’s a visitor!” Hell, he talked like an ork, too.

The man I assumed was Luntz came into the room like a rolling fog. He looked like he’d been augmented with some vat-grown muscle, as his arms were about as big around as my thighs. The plug of a lho-stick protruded from his lips, unlit, and a stubble clung to his jaw and the top of his head. He was wearing old fatigues, likely surplus or lifted from a shipment.

“I’m Luntz. Thanks for showin’.” He stuck a massive hand out, and I shook it.

“Thanks for the invite.” I lifted my chin a bit. “It’s your place, your show. What can I do for you?”

“Direct.” He nodded his approval. “I like that.” His voice issued out of him like a bass drum dragged over gravel.

I answered with a slight grin, and said nothing.

“You seem a capable crew. I heard what you did to Draylock’s boys, and they were some hard bastards, through and through. I do things here that could use a capable crew.” He looked at me expectantly. He wanted me to ask. So I did.

“What kind of things?”

“I keep things running here. Try to hold off the dark a bit. Yeah, we move narco goods, but people here need ‘em to get by, yeah?” This was a pitch he’d practiced. “Sometimes a bit of muscle’s just the trick. You’re more than a bit of muscle, and I like that.”

“Sounds worth talking about,” I replied, just to keep him going.

“Well, here’s the thing. I want to find out what all you’re good at. You up for a test?”

I shrugged. “Sure.”

He looked me over, and I watched him decide to buy in. “Alright. Got a job needs doing. You’ll find me generous if it gets done. There’s a queen bitch over at the Alms House I want dropped like a habit. Keeps herself to herself, but went sour on some trade with me. You take her down, you pass.”

“You want this pro bono?” I let a bit of an edge creep into my voice.

“No, man, nothin’ like that. You drop her, it’s worth a cool five hundred.” That was real money to the Coscarla. I let myself look impressed.

“All right, I’ll check with the team.”

“Do that. While you’re at it, you come across a friend of mine named Saul, you let me know. Went missing a bit ago.” I kept my face still, even though I recognized the name.

He turned and left, quite unlike a man holding court in the backrooms of a bar. There was nothing left for me to say, so I said it. I left, heading back to the hostel. I wasn’t sure if it would be worth our time to run an errand for a narc-runner. It was certainly distasteful. But sometimes you crawl through a bit of muck to reach an objective.

Zarkov Chapter 5

I made my way out of the building, nodding once to the portly hostel keeper on my way through the lobby. He looked me up and down in a way that made me wonder if he grappled same-sex. I dismissed the thought as I strode out into the dim light of the Coscarla.

I turned onto the main avenue, knowing that I’d have to pass through the market to get to the Union Hall. There is a press in a hive city, a constant hum of humanity going about its business that can put the uninitiated ill at ease. Here, in the Coscarla Segment, that press was absent. In its place was a hollowness.

Though I could see hundreds of people going about their lives, the dim light and loneliness of the place seemed to paint the scene as a giant lie, as if these people were only the shadows of a dying Segment. In truth, they were.

My walk took me past burned out habstacks and abandoned dwellings; those who could afford to relocate had already done so. None were left here but the destitute and the very stubborn.

The market was heavy with desperation. Vendors hawked ragged clothes, unidentifiable meats, substandard guns and ammo, and nutrient slime likely vat-harvested somewhere downhive. There was nothing untouched by the soot of the Coscarla; once-bright canopies, now blackened, lay slumped over tables like carrion birds spreading their wings over a carcass. I weaved my way through the lines of stalls quickly, approximating the hurried gait of the locals.

I finally made it to the Union Hall, a gathering place for the workers of the Coscarla who still had jobs. This was the available recreation for most, and as in more downtrodden places than I cared to count, the bar was the most popular destination within it.

The Union bar was dim, a large room with game tables and a massive slab of plascrete forming the actual bar. A steel mirror hung behind the bar, surrounded by bottles of liquor. About half the bottles were commercial, about half were homebrewed. I resolved to avoid the homebrew, as you never really know what local ingredients are present, nor which of those will be toxic or blinding.

The bartender was a short plug of a man with too few teeth and too little hair. He asked what I was drinking, and I pointed to a commercial ale and ducked my head like any other dreg would after a hard shift. I was largely ignored, hunched over on my stool as I was, which was fine by me. I used the mirror to scan the room every so often, taking in the same crowd I’d seen in a thousand other bars…the faces changed, but the crowd never did.

I’d been on the barstool for about ten minutes when two faces I knew entered the bar, Venus and Barick walking in and taking a place at a table. They leaned in and talked to each other, and the lone waitress stopped and got a drink order from them. I watched Barick in the mirror as he looked around the room, a slow scan that took in the whole room and all those in it.

Barick stood then, walking to another table occupied by the prettiest girl in the room. She was about a five, but her chest was an eight. I saw Barick motion the waitress over, and he bought her a drink. Great, I thought with no small amount of sarcasm, I get to watch a master interrogator at work.

Their conversation was too quiet for me to hear over the bar noise, and I kept my attention moving around the room thanks to the big mirror. So I noticed when one of the workers threw down his darts and started a beeline for Barick’s table. A few of his buddies tagged along with him, and in moments they’d made a semicircle around the table.

The boyfriend must have been a heavy laborer, as his forearms were massive. He spit his words out from behind a long bush of a beard.

“Exactly what the frak do ya think yer doing, tourist?”

“Just having a drink, friend”, Barick replied. I barely managed not to wince, as I twisted slightly on the barstool for a quick intervention if needed.

“I’m not yer friend, and that’s my woman. You lookin’ to eat some teeth?” The workers were leaning in now, eager for a fight.

“She’s a fine lady, and I apologize. I should have known she’d belong to somebody”, Barick said, a salesman’s smile stamped on his face. “Let me buy you guys a drink.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Venus twisting her pendant, which I’d learned meant some interesting things would be following soon. That necklace is her psy-focus, she’d told me, a tool some psykers use to “tune in” before using their unique gifts. The workers started to back off a bit, a free drink a fitting apology to those who hadn’t been affronted in the first place. The boyfriend, however, wasn’t ready to let it go.

“Don’t buy me shit, boy. Stand up and get yer due”, the burly worker said. It looked like the balloon was going to go up, and I started to slide off my stool. Then I saw Venus go stiff, the burly boyfriend similarly rigid for a moment. She’d done something, but I didn’t know what.

Suddenly, the worker staggered into his friends, eyes wide, muttering the Supplication of the Emperor’s Grace over and over. I slid back onto my stool, unnoticed, as Barick addressed the workers.

“What’s wrong with your friend?” he asked. They all looked bewildered, and helped him into a chair. He continued to pray.

Barick looked to me, and I made a discrete “get lost” gesture. He nodded once, already breaking eye contact. “Well, I hope he’s OK boys. You all have a good night, and enjoy that drink on me.” He laid some money on the waitress’ tray and made his way out the door. Venus stayed, looking very interested in her drink. So much for the master interrogator.

I decided to see if I could have any better luck, and even though it’s a cliché on more than ten thousand worlds, I waved the bartender over to pump him for information.

I slurred my speech slightly, and endured the barman’s halitosis for ten minutes of boring conversation. I learned that Saul, the deceased, used to frequent this bar, and that the numbers of patrons were dwindling. I learned that people tended to stay off the streets at night; there were rumors of attacks at night, but the barman thought people were just leaving the Coscarla. The only real nugget of information the bartender dropped was that there was a decent drug trade going on, and that if I was really looking for a good time I should get in touch with a ganger named Luntz.

I slid off the stool, eager to head back to the hostel. Venus saw me rise and headed out the door before me, maintaining the illusion that we weren’t together. She joined me on the opposite side of the market, and we walked back together, sharing a bit of a laugh at Barick’s expense.

Venus and I walked into room 3 arm-in-arm, both smiling. Everyone was there, and I greeted Barick teasingly. “Hey, there’s Loverboy!” He glared at me, but he knew I was just taking the frak.

“Well did you do any better?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes” I replied.

“Well what did you find out?” he asked. I told them.

Likewise, Sila and Ignace had used their time well. They’d found a mountain of information about the region, the crime rates, and more. There seemed to be a string of missing person reports, none solved by the local enforcers. Sila had also found reference in a buried report to a heretical group called the Logicians, but the report was sketchy at best. Still, it was the only local reference to any true heresy, so we put it in the list of possible clues, of which we had few.

As the hour was late, I bid everyone a good night, and turned in. We all knew it would be a full day tomorrow, and we were right. Doubly so, since our day actually started late that night.

I woke from sleep like surfacing after a dive, my every sense telling me something was wrong. As my eyes snapped open, I realized I wasn’t alone in the room. In the dim light, I could see two figures, the nearest holding a knife. I came out of the bed like I was fired from a bow, my fingers closing on the laspistol under my pillow. I leveled the business end at the intruders.

“Now let’s all just be very still”, I said, and rubbed sleep out of my eyes with my off hand. I bit back a yawn and glared at the two scummers.

I could hear the sounds of scuffling throughout the other rooms around us. Just then, my mirror wobbled and shattered, and I hoped that meant that Venus had just done something with her powers. The knife wielder still looked confident, but the other scum had pissed himself when the mirror went crazy.

“Lay down and put your hands behind your head.” Pissboy did. Knifeboy didn’t. He lunged at me, and I shot him in the face, and told the other to stay put. He whimpered, but complied, and I hurriedly donned my belt, holstering the pistol.

“Report!” I yelled into the hallway. A chorus of “Clear” answered me, along with the sound of pounding feet. I leaned into the hall to see Draylock, the hostelkeeper, making for the stairs. “Runner!” I yelled, and I ran after him. He had a good lead, but I had a feeling I’d done more running in my lifetime than he had.

I trailed him by maybe 15 meters as I exited the building, and I kicked into a slightly higher gear. I was stricken by the darkness, the night cycle here was punctuated by very few light sources, and some of those were merely promethium torches.

I had gained a meter or two on Draylock, and I could see him beginning to tire, heaving for breath. It would only be a matter of time. I was shocked, and nearly fell, when he was tackled from the side by a large, rag-wrapped thing with red eyes. It moved silently, making no sounds. What I could see of its flesh was sickly green, and though it looked human I instinctively knew that it wasn’t anymore, if it ever had been.

By reflex I stopped and drew my laspistol, the front sight coming to rest on the thing just as it twisted Draylock’s head 180 degrees with a sickening snap. The trigger pull came just as naturally, and a hole appeared in its torso. It seemed not to notice, and I took an involuntary step backwards as its red eyes locked on to me like two targeting lasers.

I squeezed the trigger again, and I was dimly aware of the sound of pounding feet behind me. I heard Barick curse, and knew he had seen the thing. We fired at it again, and it fled, ripping up a sewer cover and diving into the muck below. It had ignored our shots, making no sound at all. It had hefted the cover as if it were a box lid. I was more than a little worried about whatever it was, but we had to follow it.

Barick, Ignace, Venus, and I climbed down into the sewers, Ignace using the modified auspex to try to track the thing down. We spent an hour slogging through muck better left untouched, and came no closer to finding it. We decided our time would be better spent taking a long shower and cleaning our gear, so we climbed back up out of the drainage system, and returned to the hostel.

Sila had questioned the scum I’d caught, and was told that Draylock would invite the gang in to rob guests from time to time for a cut of the take. He’d picked the wrong guests this time, and paid for it with his life. I felt no pity whatsoever, though I was still disturbed by the zombie thing we’d seen. I had no idea how disturbing things could get.