There is a brief moment of utter, stunned silence after Albrek yells his warning that the figure is in fact Rico. Fortunately, the recognition is shared by everyone in the poorly lit industrial ruin, a testament to the training and keen senses of all involved. Although this does not lessen the bizarre impact of the unexpected reunion, the outre events you have all experienced thus far on Oremor allow you to recover quickly. When Iacton asks his question about what Johnnie learned at the precinct-house it seems to break the spell.
When Savalos looks upward to Kalaziel, you all find yourselves staring in the enigmatic cherubim's direction almost involuntarily. Rico's gaze lingers the longest based on her last words to him. He comes out of his reverie with Savalos' words and a terrible realization settles over him. He barely glances at the imposing looking man in the machinist's leathers toward the rear of building as the others thank him for his aid, scarcely notices the unfamiliar wounded man holding an autopistol on the unconscious ganger in Yellobouros colors; his only thoughts are focused on getting to the Mercy as soon as humanly possible. Johnnie sprints for the idling ground car, his movement punctuated by the susurrus of the servitor's wings as she takes flight again.
The rest of you follow suit.
Speaking to no one, and yet everyone in the room. "The Commissar who walked out of the head had the number 7 chit sickle on him...He was waiting for us."
Albrek pulls himself into the unmarked Arbites cruiser's back seat, slamming the door behind him. Only then does he seem to process what it is that Savalos just said.
"Wait, Thul, what did you just say? The commissar, the one who...who...those things from the Gear Box...did you just say there was a number seven on his chitsickle tattoo?"
As the groundcar accelerates to dangerous speeds down the abandoned industrial thruway, Albrek's face goes deathly pale, clearly visible in the rear-view through the caged partition between the front and back seats.
"Aye I said seven." I enjoy the fast paced ride to the Mercy. "You know its kinda nice to ride in the front of one of these things for a change. Say Johnnie did you check to see if this car was bugged before nabbing it?"
Albrek exhales slowly, deliberately.
"I was drafted into the 7th Oremor Penal Legion when I was just sixteen from the prisoner population. Their claustrum on Unduz II was home for me for four years before I was mustered out and transferred with some other specialists to Mara. The Master recruited me from the survivors... after..."
He meets Savalos' eyes in the rear-view mirror.
"I may know this man."
Johnnie swerves over the curb, crashing through a pile of stacked plasti-core pallets on the pedestrian walkway at the corner as he makes a sharp turn on to Torn Angel Lane. A pair of formerly oblivious indigens double-time it across the street to avoid the onrushing groundcar.
"I may know this man."
"Who? The commissar? The Prisoner? Elaborate."
"I would give you a description of him Brek, but I don't think it would do you any good. He was bloated, and had stuff growing on him. He looked more akin to a rotten fruit than a man. Throne knows what he was hiding under his overcoat."
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
Uriah pauses as he grips the edge of the door leading into the ransacked hospice. He hesitates, ear cocked to the side. Ishmael seems to have heard it too. The cleric turns slowly and looks toward the rockcrete roadway. The piercing squeal of tires can be heard from somewhere down the street. It is followed by the throaty roar of a powerful engine being pushed to its limits. This ominous sound is getting closer.
Albrek grips the rear of the front seat as the cruiser makes another abrupt turn, the rear end side-swiping dangerously into the other lane. An eight-wheel truck carrying rusted pipe in its cargo area traveling in the other direction honks its horn with a loud blatt as it swerves out of the way, narrowly missing a collision.
"The 6th and 7th legions shared the responsibility for the cultivation of Unduz II. I knew many of the enlisted men and officers as we often assisted one another in the harvests. I may have known this commissar, though Sav's description of him suggests otherwise. Still, only those mustered into the penal legions receive the tattoo."
"Good." Iacton seems to relax slightly before turning back to Albrek. "How long ago did you leave for deployment?"
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
Uriah pauses as he grips the edge of the door leading into the ransacked hospice. He hesitates, ear cocked to the side. Ishmael seems to have heard it too. The cleric turns slowly and looks toward the rockcrete roadway. The piercing squeal of tires can be heard from somewhere down the street. It is followed by the throaty roar of a powerful engine being pushed to its limits. This ominous sound is getting closer.
I signal to Ishmael to keep going and follow covering him. We need to find out what happened here before we do anything else.
"Aye I said seven." I enjoy the fast paced ride to the Mercy. "You know its kinda nice to ride in the front of one of these things for a change. Say Johnnie did you check to see if this car was bugged before nabbing it?"
"As only a criminal will think of that, then the answer is no."
"Aye I said seven." I enjoy the fast paced ride to the Mercy. "You know its kinda nice to ride in the front of one of these things for a change. Say Johnnie did you check to see if this car was bugged before nabbing it?""As only a criminal will think of that, then the answer is no."
"Criminal? Its called common sense." I just shake my head. Saddened by how much Johnnie has forgotton.
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
Just as Uriah signals to Ishmael, there is another peal of shrieking tires on rockcrete, and a dark colored groundcar fishtails into view at the far end of Torn Angel Lane. The vehicle accelerates out of the skid, rights itself, and continues down the middle of the narrow, two-lane street, screaming to halt with a shriek of brakes directly in front of the hospice. It leaves twin trails that stink of scorched rubber, black as spilled ink in its wake.
As the door opens, Ishmael steps to the center of colonnade porch of St. Trobriund's and levels his revolver. As usual, he trusts to the God Emperor's beneficent hand to protect him rather than cover, prepared to gun down the occupants as they emerge.
At that very moment, the cherubim, Kalaziel, alights on the roof of the vehicle, staring blankly toward the building. Ishmael pauses but for a second, but in that time, the remaining doors on the unmarked Arbites cruiser open, and your companions emerge, Johnnie running for the stairs.
"How fortuitous."
Staring at the feathered servitor, Ishmael casts a sidelong glance to the tech priest and mutters.
"I have an inkling that fate or fortune has nothing to do with these coincidences."
"What is done is done. No time for regrets."
Seeing Ishmael level his firearm at the vehicle. "Looks like Ishmael is happy to see us as usual."
Over the micorbead. "Ishmael can you lower your sidearm? There are enough uniforms scouring the area. We don't want to draw there attention here." Granted the firearm would draw less attention than Johnnie's driving skills. "So have you guys checked on Sunshine and Druuther yet?"
On microbead "Not yet, but Ishmael and I smell blood, and I smell smell burning."
"Then we have no time to lose." Assuming nothing stops him, Iacton slowly walks into the hospice, attempting to retain what little stealth they still have.
"I wouldn't be sneaking so much if I was you. Druuther has an autocannon..." I get out of the ride, and head toward the Mercys doors with my duct sweeper at the ready.
I look at the damage on the first floor. Among the wreckage do I see any blood stains or signs of exploding residue like the things from the Gear Box?
"I wouldn't be sneaking so much if I was you. Druuther has an autocannon..." I get out of the ride, and head toward the Mercy's doors with my duct sweeper at the ready.
I look at the damage on the first floor. Among the wreckage do I see any blood stains or signs of exploding residue like the things from the Gear Box?
"I doubt he is in any condition to use it." Iacton draws his knife, realizing that the element of stealth is now completely lost.
Unsheathing his knife, Iacton gently pulls open the lefthand portion of the double door, narrowing his eyes to peer into the gloom beyond, allowing them time to adjust to the dim interior. The smell of blood and something foully burnt assails his nostrils, making his head flinch backward reflexively.
The foyer of the hospice is strewn with paperwork and shattered stained glass from the broken window above the door. An overturned roll-top desk, riddled with high caliber projectile holes partially blocks the path to the stairs on your right, two overturned molded-plas chairs lay directly in your path just beyond the threshold. A corridor with a number of close doors continues to the left of the stairwell, which ascends to second floor, hard by the left wall.
The smell of blood doesn't bother me. Had my share of it when I was holding down Sunshine. Might even be her blood I am smelling. I hope the burning smell is the robes I asked Emrit to torch. I take a flanking position to Iacton, keeping a wary eye on Johnnie's behavior, and the hallway.
Over the microbead in a low voice. "I left Sunshine and Druuther upstairs."
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
Pushing into the foyer, three abreast, Iacton, Savalos, and Johnnie scan the room and the narrow hallway leading deeper into the hospice for any signs of a threat. The coppery tang of blood in the air seems to be because a great deal of it was spilled here; spatter covers the dusty stone floor in places, large, still-wet splashes can be seen on both the walls by the entry and along the stairwell's ascent. Hundreds of holes pierce these same walls, obviously caused by some high capacity firearm, and a veritable cascade of spent brass litters the steps leading to the second floor.
Iacton moves deftly forward to the foot of the steep stairwell, holding his position patiently as Savalos tries to keep the increasingly agitated Rico calm, doing his best to keep the ex-arbitrator from rushing headlong upstairs into the unknown. Uriah and Albrek follow close behind, taking in the carnage, while Ishmael and Ivaanov enter cautiously, the cleric keeping his eyes out toward the street from whence you came.
It is obvious to everyone that the burnt stench is emanating from somewhere upstairs. The former hospital is deathly silent.
Albrek whispers over his microbead:
"There is no question, many died here."
I say softly on the microbead: "Clear this floor. I do not want anyone behind us when we go up. Rico, you will not do anyone any good rushing ahead, except get yourself killed. Your life is not yours to sacrifice needlessly."
Albrek whispers over his microbead:
"There is no question, many died here."
On the microbead: "I know."
Looking at the staircase more closely. Does it look like whoever assault the hospice appear to have pushed past the first floor? And does it look like autocannon rounds is what caused most of the damage down here?
Over the microbead. "So can I shout up top, and see if any friendlies are still up there. I am sure whoever is up there heard the engine of Rico's ride as easily as you all did, and are aware we are here."
"Go ahead, but stay on this floor until we clear it. Albrek, Rico, clear the floor. Ishmael and I will cover you. Savalos, Iacton, and Ivaanov, make sure we do not have any unwelcome guests from the outside."
I raise my voice. "Hey Emrit, Druuther, you guys up there?" I take an angle to watch the stairs, and give myself some cover.
"Go ahead, but stay on this floor until we clear it. Albrek, Rico, clear the floor. Ishmael and I will cover you. Savalos, Iacton, and Ivaanov, make sure we do not have any unwelcome guests from the outside."
Iacton exchanges his knife for his laspistol and moves to the door.
Their footfalls echoed by crunching glass, Albrek and Rico move into the narrow corridor to the left of the stairs. One takes a firing position while the other turns the knobs, swapping roles as they move efficiently from one door to the next, until all four are open. The rooms on the lower floor are of varying sizes, but all appear to have been converted from former patient wards into improvised lodging for the Mercy's resident indigens. Each contains some rough looking plas-pallet furniture, musty smelling surplus Guard cots, and either an adjoining washroom or makeshift pantry with hotplate. The rooms smell strongly of rank sweat and hopelessness. Although they look lived in recently, they are otherwise deserted.
Satisfied that the rooms are unoccupied, Albrek and Rico return to the foyer, where Iacton and Ivaanov stand to either side of the entry doors, monitoring activity on Torn Angel Lane. Ishmael and Uriah are positioned at the foot of the stairs, vigilantly watching the landing above. When the ex-arbitrator and former guardsman return, Savalos yells his question toward the top of the stairs, using the baroque and weathered looking seraphim-shaped balusters at the bottom of the steps for cover.
No answer is forthcoming from above.
Disappointed that I don't get a response from above. Worry settles in my gut. I seriously hope they are still alive. I would hate to have lost Sunshine after everything we've been through. Though I have seen crueler fates happen in the down below.
"So who wants to scamper up first?"
I hope Druuther, and Emrit are still breathing. I would hate to loose my old friend after chewing him out over Maia. Wouldn't that be a B*. Throne don't I have enough regrets?
"I'll go." Iacton once again takes out his knife and heads up the stairs, not caring how much noise the casings are making as he kicks them out of the way.
"Alright Iacton." I move to where I can cover his climb up the stairwell.
In a louder voice. " Emrit, you best be answering. Not a good time for games. "
We will continue covering each other. "Everyone keep covering each other. Albrek and Rico, join Ivaanov, Ishmael and I will cover Iacton and Savalos."
Saint Trobriund's House of Worldly Mercy
Iacton moves up the stairwell slowly, nudging aside the spent shell casings with the toe of his boot for better footing, trying to listen beyond their chime-like ringing as they fall from the risers and strike each other from his passage. He draws his knife from its sheath, holstering the las as he climbs, keeping his eyes fixed upon the gaps in the balusters on the landing above for movement.
Savalos creeps along behind him, moving in his wake, carefully treading upon the clear spaces Krade's aide has made on the risers, his shotgun covering the approach from the hall above. Countless bullet holes perforate the nearby walls, their cavities bleeding stone-dust and plaster shaken out of them from the vibrations of your footfalls on the steps. Blood is everywhere, covering the splintered banister and steps, clotted masses smeared on the wall, even a nearly full palm-print halfway up the flight, sliding away in a smear.
With Ishmael just ahead of him, Uriah climbs up last, shadowing the Redemptionist preacher, a sick feeling of dread beginning to manifest itself in his mind. He thinks of the regicide board in Krade's office, not relishing the role of pawns he and his are playing so far in this game; their hidden adversaries always a step ahead.
When Iacton reaches the top of the stairs, he realizes the carnage on the floor below only presaged the destruction above. Looking along the wide landing to the corridor beyond, he wonders if a bomb went off. Hundreds more shell casings cover the floor here, tacky spatters and pools of blood abound, and whole portions of the hallway wall have been blasted away to reveal the crumbling masonry behind the yellowing plaster or fist-sized gaps punching through into the rooms beyond. A huge figure is slumped awkwardly against the wall at the far end of the hallway, shattered fragments of his reinforced gold and green arbitrator's armor littering the floor around his feet. The great autocannon rests across his sizable shins, a pair of the huge drum-fed clips discarded at his feet. Many of the doors in the corridor stand ajar, a few almost wrenched off of their hinges.
Although it is hard to say exactly what felled the imposing ogryn, it appears that poor Druuther went down fighting.
No one answers Savalos' second call.
I scan the carnage. My eyes resting on Druuther. Real shame, I liked him. I then look over toward the room where Sunshine was operated on, and further down the hall toward Emrits office. This was no gang hit. They needed the Mercy for money, and stitching up there own. An Ogryn with an autocannon would have easily chased them off. Not to mention gangers would have taken the autocannon.
"Professionals did this."
Iacton glances around the room, not wishing to be surprised by whoever killed the ogryn.
Looking around the corridor, Iacton slows his breathing, which also has the welcome consequence of limiting the horrible burnt smell, far stronger on the second floor, from entering his nostrils for a time. In a practiced meditative technique, he closes his eyes briefly blocking for a moment both sight and scent, concentrating on listening. When he does, the faint sound of a tremulous, terrified whimpering can be heard coming from behind a door to his immediate left.
Savalos seems to hear it as well, for the acolyte approaches draws nearer to where Iacton crouches on the landing. The assassin can't help but admire the ganger's stealth; despite the scattered debris on the floor, he doesn't make a sound.
"Do you hear that?" Iacton moves to the door and, if Savolos is ready, opens it.
Looking around the corridor, Iacton slows his breathing, which also has the welcome consequence of limiting the horrible burnt smell, far stronger on the second floor, from entering his nostrils for a time. In a practiced meditative technique, he closes his eyes, briefly blocking for a moment both sight and scent, concentrating on listening. When he does, the faint sound of a tremulous, terrified whimpering can be heard coming from behind a door to his immediate left.
Savalos seems to hear it as well, for the acolyte approaches draws nearer to where Iacton crouches on the landing. The assassin can't help but admire the ganger's stealth; despite the scattered debris on the floor, he doesn't make a sound.
I signel to Iacton that I hear one person behind the door, and that I think its blockaded. I signal back to Uriah, and Ishmael that there is a postive contact. Does the whimpering of the man sound like the crazy bugger that I met earlier here today.
I continue to move toward the room where I last saw Sunshine fearing the worst. I also take a long look down the hall toward Emrits office. What does the damage look like to the two rooms from my angle?
Over the microbead. "Cover our exit. This was a professional hit. Eyes will be watching for us."
Finally reaching the landing, Ishmael points his enameled revolver down the corridor, over the heads of the others, taking in the destruction wrought from Druuther's last stand. Looking back to Uriah behind him, he curses under his breath, whispering to the psyker.
"The ogryn is dead. My instincts tell me the brute took many with him, but if so, where are their remains?"
Glancing over Uriah's shoulder at something, the cleric continues:
"Rico is coming."
Looking back himself, Uriah sees Juan Rico mounting the stairs, leaving Ivaanov and Albrek to guard the entrance below. Over the arbitrator's shoulder Uriah can see Albrek shaking his head sadly. You know the reason. All of you understand what the violence in the hospice might portend for Quincus. Johnnie's face looks ashen, his jaw trembles slightly with either rage or burgeoning grief, you cannot be certain which.
Perhaps it is both.