Iacton has no time to ponder how effective the guards here must be. He can only grab for the knob and try to force it open.
Precinct #77
It takes almost all of your self-control to answer Leprade without acting on your own anger.
Although you accept and are cognizant of the fact that the man in front of you will always exceed your abilities in matters of pure intellect, conversely he has never come to understand that you don't fall all that far behind him. Leprade has always underrated you in that regard, whether that is a blind spot of his ego, or superior intelligence, you cannot say. But it is a character flaw that you have no compunctions about exploiting.
You learned long ago that sometimes people will tell you a whole lot more than they intended when they underestimate you. The trick is keeping them believing you are who they think you are.
You can tell from just his mannerisms that he feels threatened in a way far beyond just the proposition of you returning to active duty and interfering in his investigations. No, your gut tells you there is something far more serious at stake for Leprade.
His abrupt shift in relenting to your request also tells you that he has something up his sleeve, a card unplayed in this little game. Two years ago or more, you would have dismissed this as overspeculation on your part, but the fine rigors of Ordos training has refined your paranoia to a razor sharp edge.
Leprade would not have responded to the Ductside crime scene unless there was something at stake personally for him. First, it is out of his jurisdiction, secondly, you have seen him dismiss countless other gang shootings out of hand, his sense of entitlement considering those particular crimes beneath his expertise. He was always a fan of handing them off to the junior investigators. You doubt this much has changed.
You warily accept his offer, outwardly showing none of your suspicions.
A troubling sense that you may not be safe even in your old precinct house enters the back of your mind.
Precinct #77
"Crystal, Intelligencer," says Johnnie with a smile on his face.
Johnnie answers, and Leprade smiles slightly, his outward expression betraying nothing other than the fact that he is satisfied with the outcome.
At precisely that moment, his desk vox squawks loudly, jarring everyone out of the sometimes tense conversation. An excited voice begins chattering quickly about something, but it is hard to make out everything being said.
Iacton has no time to ponder how effective the guards here must be. He can only grab for the knob and try to force it open.
My shoulder aches as it smashes into the unyielding door. Hearing the crack I wonder if its my bone or the wood that made that sound. I put those thoughts behind me as the hissing of the creatures surrounding us moves closer. "Again Sigmunt ONE, TWO, THREE!" If the door doesn't give this time. I doubt we will have another chance. For that brief moment matching Aebena's gaze. I wish I just took a minute to tell her that I still loved her. The two things one can be certain of in life; Death, and Regret.
Strength check again door (1d100=40)
Perception
Precinct #77
Perception1d100
Leprade quickly lowers the governor switch for the volume on the crackling vox, for some semblance of privacy but snatches of the emitted voice are still loud enough for you to hear. Prestin Scollo, Lepdrade's aide that originally ushered you into his office, sounds nervous, speaking in an urgent voice occasionally overlaid by static.
<'skrshhhhhh...manner of disturbance at the Gear Box...skrshhhhhh...seems like a pair of our watchers inside had one of them cornered in the john...skrshhhhhh...now he says all hell is breaking loose inside...skrshhhhhh...what are your orders...skrshhhhhh'>
Leprade flicks a glance up at Rico for a fleeting moment before quickly recomposing his surprise and irritation at the ill-timed interruption.
"Call into control. Send a full contingent of uniforms down. Call in the Tac team as well. If there is violence in the Gear Box I have a feeling we're going to need them. I'm on my way, Leprade out."
Intelligencer Leprade stands quickly from his desk, donning his flakweave stormcoat from where it hangs behind his door, and gestures for Albrek and Rico to step out of his office ahead of him.
"Looks like duty calls. It can't be anything good if the Gear Box is in an uproar. It's rare, but brawls or fisticuffs have been known to happen from time to time even with Dunkan Danico's little door check armistice."
Leprade closes the door behind him.
"One of the aides can bring you down to records. See Barrett there, he'll be able to access the case files for you. With any luck, I'll return shortly and we can continue our discussion."
The Gear Box
My shoulder aches as it smashes into the unyielding door. Hearing the crack I wonder if its my bone or the wood that made that sound. I put those thoughts behind me as the hissing of the creatures surrounding us moves closer. "Again Sigmunt ONE, TWO, THREE!" If the door doesn't give this time. I doubt we will have another chance. For that brief moment matching Aebena's gaze. I wish I just took a minute to tell her that I still loved her. The two things one can be certain of in life; Death, and Regret.
Strength check again door (1d100=40)
For Savalos, panic has set in. Hearing a stone-cold killer who has never shown fear of anything scream in such pure, terrified agony unsettles a man like few things can. Fortunately in his desperation to escape the restroom, Sigmunt keeps his head enough to again charge the door with Savalos, gritting his teeth and hissing with pain with each painful stride on his savaged leg.
The pair simultaneously collide with the door again and hear another loud crack of sharply yielding wood. Despite a deeply concave, splintered dent inflicted on the middle of the door and the appearance of a thin seam at the top that has buckled away from the lintel frame, the door does not open.
Savalos, nearly spent from the exertions almost stops his push until he realizes that the door is being pulled from some force on the other side. The reassuring sounds of wood popping and splitting continue with each ounce of effort, recommitting the two Wolves and giving them hope, even as their feet slip and slide out from under them from the slick of putridity.
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
As the fit passes, Ishmael turns from the window and makes his way over to where you stand, somewhat shakily, near the wash-basin. He gives you an appraising look up and down, the sardonic sneer leaving his face momentarily, replaced with a look that suggest genuine concern.
"Uriah, is everything alright? You look unwell."
The Gear Box
The oafish gangers step back as the wash of foul odor seeps from the straining seam that has appeared at the very top of the splintering restroom door, finally realizing that something is terribly amiss. You redouble your efforts, seized with the paranoid notion that the fools will now pull you away from the door to prevent your opening of it.
Iacton pulls with all of his might, bracing one and then both legs against the wall to provide impetus and leverage to his efforts. He doubts he ever could have freed the door had not someone on the other side been pushing with every bit of their strength as well. The door finally shatters on the inner edge by the handle, a shower of jagged splinters ripping away from the frame, many digging deeply into the flesh of your upper arms. Freed from whatever supernatural binding that held it, half of the door flies open, slamming against the far wall, Savalos and the man who followed him into the room tumbling out upon the other half which has broken away and fallen to the floor with a resounding crunch.
As you roll nimbly to your feet from prone, you notice the two are sucking in air, as if they had been suffocating inside. A foul, cloudy, green-brown miasma of feces smelling vapor billows out from the room, making you gag. Rivers of bile-like filth run through the now open archway dribbling bits of unspeakable putrescence behind. A querulous, hungry sound, like some daemon-child curious as to what lay beyond the threshold of its creche echoes from inside. Just beyond the doorway, partially cloaked by the poisonous-smelling mist, you see four lumpy, rotten-looking shapes begin to waddle in your direction from within. When you see their maniacal little yellow eyes staring off in different directions from each other and the impossibly wide, gaping rictus grin of their needle-filled jaws, your mind skips a beat. The pungent smell of urine comes from two places at once, overpowering from within the restroom and much closer, from the nearly two meter tall ganger that has pissed himself beside you.
For Rook
Johnnie switches off his bead hoping that his friends heard that.
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
As the fit passes, Ishmael turns from the window and makes his way over to where you stand, somewhat shakily, near the wash-basin. He gives you an appraising look up and down, the sardonic sneer leaving his face momentarily, replaced with a look that suggest genuine concern.
"Uriah, is everything alright? You look unwell."
"Thank you for asking, the power here, granted to them by the Emperor, has shaken me in its glory. I need to sit down and meditate on it."
I will try to walk to the seats. If I am too shaky, I will ask Ishmael to help. I will talk in private to the others about the vision.
Iacton gasps when he catches sight of the Warp-spawned abominations in the restroom, only to nearly retch when he takes in a lung-full of the putrid air inside. He then slams the door shut and leans against it, whispering a prayer to the Emperor in his native tongue.
Feeling the door finally give way I tumble into the Gearbox proper gasping for fresh air while it lasts. Checking to see if Sigmunt made it out with me. I look to Iacton with a grim determination. "Evacuate everyone. NOW!"
I look for anything I can use as a weapon.
"Albrek, go fetch the others. They should be here to see the records."
The Gear Box
Iacton gags and slams the half of the door still remaining on the hinges. He recoils in fear from the vile creature that now trundles out, curious as to what this wide new world of sights and sounds might be beyond the restroom door. Scenting the air with three, asymmetrical puncture-wound like nostrils below its beady yellow eyes, the horror turns toward the petrified ganger with the mouth jewelry, who is sobbing uncontrollably and hacking up bile.
It pauses, scents the stink of the man's voided urine, and leaps at him, opening the voracious maw that seems to make up much of its body.
The creature snaps its jaws around the ganger's kneecap with a sickening crunch of bone and clings there. The strange keening it makes coupled with the ganger's screams of pain sounds for all the world like an improvised duet in hell. Seeing this, Sigmunt scampers back on all fours from where he fell, moving still further across the broken remains of the door away from the restroom.
Five more pairs of tiny yellow eyes peer out from the foul, vaporous cloud of filth.
When Savalos yells his warning, those closest to the scene of the commotion see everything and immediately begin to flee into the denser portions of the crowd. A group of the Gear Box's bouncers push against this tide of fleeing bodies along with many other patrons that were unable to see what had transpired at first. In their curiosity these rubbernecking customers move unknowingly toward the scene of the carnage.
The Gear Box
You are not sure, but you think your microbead has gone active.
The Gear Box
Precinct #77
"Albrek, go fetch the others. They should be here to see the records."
Albrek watches Intelligencer Leprade enter the lift before turning to speak to Johnnie.
"Are you sure, Rico? I'm getting the impression your old friend there doesn't care for you too much. I get the hunch Lestrade doesn't have your best interests at heart, either. I wouldn't want to leave you to fend for yourself here, especially if he has friends. Although, with his personality I'd say they're few and far between, but, you never know..."
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
"Thank you for asking, the power here, granted to them by the Emperor, has shaken me in its glory. I need to sit down and meditate on it."I will try to walk to the seats. If I am too shaky, I will ask Ishmael to help. I will talk in private to the others about the vision.
You stagger slightly as you make your way to the ring of chairs, and Ishmael catches you by the shoulder. Relenting somewhat, you allow yourself to take his support, although on some level it galls you to do so. When you are halfway to Ivaanov, the cleric whispers into your ear, in a reticent, almost hopeful rasp.
"Do you see them, too? The visions? Do you see the fires?"
"Albrek, go fetch the others. They should be here to see the records."
Albrek watches Intelligencer Leprade enter the lift before turning to speak to Johnnie.
"Are you sure, Rico? I'm getting the impression your old friend there doesn't care for you too much, I wouldn't want to leave you to fend for yourself here, especially if he has friends. Although, with his personality I'd say they're few and far between, but, you never know..."
"I took down the eviscerator. I'm sure I can handle the anything Leprade has up his sleeve."
"But the others need to be here and not where they are. You understand?"
"I took down the Eviscerator. I'm sure I can handle the anything Leprade has up his sleeve."
"But the others need to be here and not where they are. You understand?"
"Understood, I'll take Stroinigli and try to get them back here as soon as possible. Do me a favor though, Rico...be careful."
"Understood, I'll take Stroinigli and try to get them back here as soon as possible. Do me a favor though, Rico...be careful."
"I took down the Eviscerator. I'm sure I can handle the anything Leprade has up his sleeve."
"But the others need to be here and not where they are. You understand?"
"I never took you for the sentimental type, Albrek. But I will be careful."
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
You stagger slightly as you make your way to the ring of chairs, and Ishmael catches you by the shoulder. Relenting somewhat, you allow yourself to take his support, although on some level it galls you to do so. When you are halfway to Ivaanov, the cleric whispers into your ear, in a reticent, almost hopeful rasp."Do you see them, too? The visions? Do you see the fires?"
"I am a voidborn psyker, I have seen visions all my life. There are reasons I and people like me are chosen to serve."
I say this softly, with a rasp in my vox.
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
You stagger slightly as you make your way to the ring of chairs, and Ishmael catches you by the shoulder. Relenting somewhat, you allow yourself to take his support, although on some level it galls you to do so. When you are halfway to Ivaanov, the cleric whispers into your ear, in a reticent, almost hopeful rasp.
"Do you see them, too? The visions? Do you see the fires?"
"I am a voidborn psyker, I have visions most of my life. There is a reason those like me are chosen to serve."
I say this softly, my voice with a rasp in my vox.
The Gear Box
You are not sure, but you think your microbead has gone active.
I watch with mixed relief as some people start to leave the area. As others try to move closer to get a better look. I know people need to get out of here. I look to Sigmun, then Iacton. Finally I level my eyes on one of the security. At the top of my lungs I yell.
"FIRE" Throne forgive me. I'd rather a few people get trampled than have the knowledge of this nightmare spread throughout the Underhive. My home...
I will worry about those who decided to stay later. I quickly pull myself off the floor and look for anything that I can use as a weapon. Giving myself some distance from the bellowing cloud from the restroom.
If anyone falls down in front of me. I will help them up so they don't get trampled.
The Gear Box
Somehow, amongst the nervous murmuring from the crowd of patrons, the screaming coming from the wounded ganger, and the pointed shouts for order from the approaching Gear Box bouncers, Savalos is barely able to make out a static-filled voice over his microbead.
It sounds like Johnnie:
<I understand Intelligencer that your duty to keep the peace demands that you keep it even in a place like the Gearbox. But don't you think that a tac team might be an overkill?>
Two years of Ordos training makes the intent of the unannounced tranmission from Rico immediately clear.
It is a warning.
Even with everything going to hell around him, Savalos realizes circumstances could very soon become far, far worse.
I watch with mixed relief as some people start to leave the area. As others try to move closer to get a better look. I know people need to get out of here. I look to Sigmun, then Iacton. Finally I level my eyes on one of the security. At the top of my lungs I yell.
"FIRE" Throne forgive me. I'd rather a few people get trampled than have the knowledge of this nightmare spread throughout the Underhive. My home...
I will worry about those who decided to stay later. I quickly pull myself off the floor and look for anything that I can use as a weapon. Giving myself some distance from the bellowing cloud from the restroom.
If anyone falls down in front of me. I will help them up so they don't get trampled.
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
"I am a voidborn psyker, I have visions most of my life. There is a reason those like me are chosen to serve."
I say this softly, my voice with a rasp in my vox.
Ishmael, his manner the most subdued you have ever seen him, quietly escorts you to the chairs, and then takes his own seat. He lets the silence of the room serve as a buffer before posing his next question, allowing you to regain some semblance of normalcy. It is intentional, and this coupled with assisting you a few minutes ago is perhaps the kindest gesture the cleric has ever made on your behalf.
Just the same, his query is laden with an ominous foreboding when he asks it.
"What will we do if the Master sends no answer?"
Precinct #77
Toombs, a sour-looking uniformed arbitrator designated by Leprade, escorts Albrek and Rico to the civilian lobby of Precinct #77 where the guardsman parts company with Rico and his new shadow for the Gear Box. Apparently, Leprade does not intend for Johnnie to have the run of his old stomping grounds unescorted, because immediately after Albrek is on his way, Toombs asks,
"Where to now, Investigator?"
As I hear the message break through the static of the micro bead. A new sense of urgency spreads over me. "Iacton Tac Team inbound." I look for whoever of the Gearbox's Security seems to be in charge, and head that way. I need to make allies quick or we will all wind up dead.
I keep the piece of wood in my hand, but I do not hold it aggressively. Last thing I need is a beat down because of miscommunication. If I can I will try to keep track of how far the little monsters have gotten.
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
Ishmael, his manner the most subdued you have ever seen him, quietly escorts you to the chairs, and then takes his own seat. He lets the silence of the room serve as a buffer before posing his next question, allowing you to regain some semblance of normalcy. It is intentional, and this coupled with assisting you a few minutes ago is perhaps the kindest gesture the cleric has ever made on your behalf.
Just the same, his query is laden with an ominous foreboding when he asks it.
"What will we do if the Master sends no answer?"
I speak softly.
"We will so what we must. First we find High Arbitor Krade, then we find out who is involved and deal with them as we must. We do not know the extent of the corruption, but what I just saw, and the holovid we saw, this world is in danger of needing to be cleansed. I prayer to the Emperor that it does not come to that, but I know that each of us will do what is necessary."
Precinct #77
Toombs, a sour-looking uniformed arbitrator designated by Leprade, escorts Albrek and Rico to the civilian lobby of Precinct #77 where the guardsman parts company with Rico and his new shadow for the Gear Box. Apparently, Leprade does not intend for Johnnie to have the run of his old stomping grounds unescorted, because immediately after Albrek is on his way, Toombs asks,
"Where to now, Investigator?"
"The Evidence Vault, if you please, Toombs."
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
"We do not know the extent of the corruption, but what I just saw, and the holovid we saw, this world is in danger of needing to be cleansed. I pray to the Emperor that it does not come to that, but I know that each of us will do what is necessary."
Ishmael looks blankly off into the middle distance of the narthex chamber, whispering under his breath.
"Cleansed...cleansed with fire...yes, pray it does not come to that..."
The Gear Box
You vaguely recall an ancient Terran proverb about not falsely crying fire in a crowded theater, or perhaps it was something about not crying wolf. Either way, you can't remember for certain, and it is probably a dilemma better discussed by philosophers. You suppose that since this isn't a theater, no one could fault you anyway, Plus, you obviously have the wolf bit covered.
Your shouts carry surprisingly well in the vast, echoing space of the Gear Box. Upon hearing them, many of the curious bystanders that had been making their way back toward the restroom to see what the commotion was about suddenly turn tail and flee for the doors.
Even better, many of those fleeing take up the cry on their own, encouraging others to do so.
As you stumble toward the advancing bouncers, makeshift door-plank spear in hand, albeit as non-threateningly as you can carry it, you allow yourself to feel the first glimmer of hope that you might get out of this predicament alive. As you note the guard's slowing their advance, you watch their faces go from grim, almost anticipatory expectations of busting a few heads to outright terror when they see what is spilling out of the restroom behind you and the others.
As if matters couldn't get worse, you notice through the haze of lho-smoke and flailing arms of the panicked crowd that much of the mob fleeing through the lone entrance has suddenly parted ranks, as if something intimidating has managed to force its way into the establishment pushing aside the fleeing patrons.
The Arbites tactical team couldn't be here already, could they?
This concern is fleeting, however. At that very moment, Sigmunt yells for you to watch your back, staggering into you on his wounded leg as squealing, snapping horrors scuttle in from behind.
The Gear Box
The unharmed Yellobouros ganger rushes to his cohort's aid, kicking at the tiny horror with the vice-like grip on his friend. Tears run down the overwhelmed Yelloback's face as he tentatively raises his spurred black boots to force it off with his heel. Confusion and abject terror seem to be getting equal billing on his painfully conflicted face.
Seeing the thug enter their field of view, the remaining monsters in the doorway scamper ahead, wet, pus-filled eyes widening in glee, jagged teeth snapping open and closed in their vile maws.
Sigmunt regains his balance against Savalos. The hitman then grabs the leg of one of the smaller overturned tables and snaps it off in a quick motion, arming himself with a makeshift club.
Precinct #77
"The Evidence Vault, if you please, Toombs."
Toombs, his eyes concealed behind the visor of his green and gold arbitrator's helmet smirks somehwat petulantly and waves his hand toward the central lift, prepared to follow you to the elevator.
"After you, Investigator."
Iacton backs away from the Warp-spawn, fear in his eyes. However, that is soon replaced by determination as he grabs a large piece of wood. "Suffer not the Warp."
Precinct #77
"The Evidence Vault, if you please, Toombs."
Toombs, his eyes concealed behind the visor of his green and gold arbitrator's helmet smirks somehwat petulantly and waves his hand toward the central lift, prepared to follow you to the elevator.
"After you, Investigator."
The Gear Box
Regardless of their former interaction, Iacton finds it impossible to stand idly by and watch a fellow human being suffer under the teeth of these hideous warpspawn.
Hefting a sharp spar of wood, he turns the pointed end toward the doorway and charges, aiming for the creature locked on to the Yellobouros ganger's leg. The makeshift spear's point impales the beast's tumescent, rounded body with an awful, wet, popping noise, like engorged boil finally being lanced. A stream of black ichor and filth jets out of the wound when Iacton draws his hands back, and the tiny horror makes a deflated squealing cry that sounds disturbingly child-like.
It's jaws loosened, it drops from the ganger's leg and hits the floor with a juicy plop, puny arms and legs twitching before the entirety begins to melt away in a hiss of fecal-smelling steam, like a splattered melon disintegrating in time lapse pict-footage.
The profound look of grateful thanks on the wounded thug's meaty face is completely genuine when he turns to you.
It lasts barely a second.
Three more of the waddling beasts swarm up his body from behind, gnashing and tearing, their spindly little arms clutching for purchase on his fatigue pants.
The first creature bites down on his shin with a sickening crunch of teeth snapping into bone, eliciting a shriek from the man. Another of the beasts scuttles almost crab-like up the body of the first, tiny malformed hands pulling itself up by creases in the ganger's clothing, ripping away the gold gelt coins stitched into his vest. Its maw slams shut on the thug's arm when he tries frantically to bat it away.
The third and final creature leaps through the air, bounding on stumpy, rubbery looking legs that stretch frog-like from beneath it when it enters the air. It collides with the Yelloback at about chest height, but the second beast, already clinging to his arm, in a terrifying display of circus-like coordination and malefic intelligence, grasps the thirds tiny hand and swings it up into the man's face where is bites down with a snap of its jaws on his lip, tiny fingers gouging greedily at his eyes.
He screams as the monsters shred his flesh, blood spurting in a high arc from his open mouth, the yellow-white of his teeth visible in a horrid, forced grin of agony.
The Gear Box
Precinct #77
You don't like Toombs' put-upon smirk at all. His tone is on the surface deferential, but carries an undertone of contempt.
Most worrisome, the snap on the black, patent-leather flap covering his handcannon is undone.
It is obvious to you the man bears watching.
The short elevator ride to the Evidence Vaults is altogether silent, the stoic Toombs standing to your side as impassive as ornamental statuary, his hard, jutting jaw and blank expression completing the illusion.
When the doors open again, you step out into a smooth-walled, rockcrete tunnel that ends after a short distance at a heavy duralloy door framed with thick granite stonework. The small, head-height metallic protuberance of an ocular auspex access reader sits to the right of the door.
Engraved in faded High Gothic letters above in the lintel are these words:
'Ignoring the absence of evidence is the basis of true faith in the God Emperor. Ignoring the presence of evidence of a crime against his works is the path to faithlessness.'
I take a look back and grimace at whats happening to the Yelloback. Then I look down at Sigmunts ankle. "Thats a bad way to go. Got to get you out of here or you will wind up like him."
I will help carry Sigmunt toward one of the two of Gear Box Security that seem to be keeping there wits about them. Making a gesture that I need to talk with them now.
Astropathic Choir of Orcut VII
Almost another hour passes, bringing you perilously close to your rendezvous deadline. Upon recovering somewhat from your vision, you pass the time in quiet conversation with Ivaanov about your present circumstances in the investigation into the disappearance of High Arbiter Krade. Just when you believe that no response from your Master will be forthcoming, an astropathic herald arrives garbed in long, flowing robes decorated in a green and gold checkered pattern. He moves silently, ghostlike, appearing to float over the smooth stone floor. He stops just before the circle of chairs. Somewhere, seemingly far off, as if baffled by intervening sound-proofing, you hear the mournful singing of the Astropathic Choir.
The herald, his blank eyes hidden beneath the hood of his attire, bows slightly and speaks in a well-modulated voice devoid of any accent or unnecessary inflection.
"The answer to your message arrives even as we speak, carried aloft by the song of the stars themselves in resonance with the Holy Emperor's guiding voice. When it is complete it will be decrypted by the Choir's cogitators and forwarded to the dataslate that you see before you on the pedestal. At that time you may apply your personal cipher to complete the decryption. Do you require any further assistance at this time?"
"No, thank you. May the Holy Emperor watch over us and protect us."
When we get the answer, using the Benedum cipher, I will decode the message from our Master.