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    Default [M] Kaleidoscope IC

    Rated M for being set in the 41st millennium.

    Chapter 1: The One Armed Man

    Theme Music

    Lawrence walked quickly through the wide halls of the Mooncalf. The ship was a far departure from the True Bane. In place of the rigid network of plasteel walls and ferrocrete bulkheads were broad, sweeping thoroughfares with gentle curved walls and nouveau light fixtures that filled the halls with a warm glow.

    From a side room came the Provost, Stavra. He was a beastly man covered head to toe in multi-layered black armor. Hardened plates, padded buffer layers, and a revolver strapped to one of his thighs that was big enough to beat an Ork to death with. With a smile like a grizzly bear he said "Interrogator? I like the hair cut." Van Der Mir ran a mechanical hand over his freshly trimmed scalp absentmindedly. "Wouldn't want anyone getting a hold of your head."

    Van Der Mir tried not to think about the kind of situation that would merit someone using his hair as a handle. "Who'd you round up for the boarding party?" He asked flatly.

    "Oh some real gems. That whole bit about the Xenos still stands, right?" Eric replied.

    "Yes. I'd rather not get nailed for trafficking Aliens."

    "Of course. I'm just bringing that Ranger we found and Juno.... whatever he is, sir."

    "I've spoken to Juno about his origins and goals, I don't want them to become a point of contention." Lawrence ordered.

    "They won't, sir. He.... it... seems capable enough." Eric replied.

    Lawrence nodded as they reached a door. "It better not become an issue." The curved door split across the middle, half sliding up into the ceiling and the bottom slipping down into the floor. The room beyond was a domed room, the roof of which was a network of broad windows and opened out onto the cosmos. Above them smaller craft could be seen flitting about like glistening insects. At the far side of the room was a raised dais with a curved table placed on it. McKenzie was already there with her dataslate jacked into a port on the wall. The rest of the room was occupied by rows of chairs that radiated out like ripples on a pond. McKenzie looked up and flicked the ash off her lho stick as Lawrence said "I thought you didn't smoke?"

    McKenzie replied "People can change a lot in ten days." as she ground out the lho on the surface of the table. "Who's running things?"

    Eric waved slightly and said "I'm shotgunning team one, Quasar's on standby."

    "What about two?" McKenzie asked.

    Lawrence took a seat beside her and replied "Haven't decided yet. We'll see how the briefing goes." The door opened again as Eileen walked in. She was already in her full gear although it had been repainted from deep red to pitch black. She took a seat near the front and gave a nod to Stavra. Lawrence raised his eyebrows and said "Eileen... how've you been?"

    She sighed and said "This is the longest I've spent with my parents in the last...oh... thirty years give or take. It's been great but duty calls."

    "Indeed it does." Lawrence repeated "Indeed it does." He looked down at the backs of nitrate coated hands and waited as the others began to arrive. Eileen was right. It had just been ten days since Teleostei but for some of them that was an eternity. Lawrence's first time commanding his own vessel... Lieutenant Kepler's first departure from a formal military body.... Brenner and Taymor's first time together in years....

    Lawrence knew that they had at least three days head start on Sidonis. Three days between them and Malfallax. Seventy two hours to make contact and secure the rest of Emerald's group in a station with seven million people on it. Lawrence just hoped he had the right people for the job.
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  2. #2
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    Four hours earlier

    A snarling, fanged visage, wreathed in a purple inferno. The Daemon. The King of Discordia, representing the power of the Warp, the insidious corruption. Malfallax.

    Ella Seren frowned in concentration, creasing the corners of her closed, blind eyes. She was in the specially-designed astropath suite aboard the Bliskiriner, whose pilot Jansen Savs had kindly granted her the private, warded room as somewhere to carry out her readings.

    Turning the qualifier card next to the Daemon revealed the four of Discordia, inverted. It represented hope of a way out from a situation of despair or hopelessness. Normally one of the few positive readings that could come out of the Discordia suit, it was somewhat less comforting to see it connected with the daemon Malfallax. The meaning was clear - Malfallax had suffered a setback, but as Van Der Mir had predicted, it had not given up yet.

    The second pair showed the Knight of Adeptio - the Warrior, the instrument of the Emperor, also inverted. Corruption of one of the Emperor’s soldiers? Perhaps this referred to one of the remaining contacts in Emerald’s “rainbow”. The corrupted Warrior was qualified with the Page of Discordia, the Harlequin.

    Ella’s heart began to beat faster as she looked down at the sinister alien with its half-and-half mask, which burned with a malevolent fire to her warp-sight. This was not the first time she had seen the card recently, and for it to now be responsible for the fall of one of the Emperor’s servants was worrying. Since Teleostei, she had begun to associate the card with the captured heretic, Arcolin DeRei. Her handler, Marcus Black, certainly supported the theory, but every time he spoke Arcolin’s name she saw a flare of red shoot through his psychic avatar. Clearly, he was not impartial on the matter. Ella knew that Arcolin was dangerous, but how cunning would he have to be to engineer corruption on the Mooncalf itself? She would have to tell Van Der Mir.

    The fifth card traditionally put the others into context, and she turned it with trembling fingers. A glowing vortex shone up at her from the plasticrystal face of the card. The Warp - the major arcane signifying change. So both Malfallax’s hope and the fate of the Warrior were subject to change in the near future; their fates were mutable and not yet written. She would have to be cautious in how she phrased her report to Van Der Mir.

    “Do you ever switch off?”

    Ella surfaced from her trance and looked up to see a familiar aura standing in the doorway.

    “Pot / kettle, black.” she smiled, making the other agent groan at the pun, “I’ve heard that you’re pretty notorious for working overtime yourself.”

    “Alright, point taken.” Marc Black acquiesced, “Still, we’re not due to arrive until later today. You could afford a little down-time.”

    “I took time off yesterday.” said Ella, grinning as she remembered the modest birthday party some of the others had insisted on organising for her. Jansen had even joked that organising a surprise party for an astropath was something of an achievement. She turned serious as she gathered up her cards, “Besides, I think I’ve found something that Van Der Mir should know.”

    “Well he’s not back on duty for another 4 hours.” Marc said, checking his wrist chron, “Want to get some lunch in the meantime?”

    “Is it mid-shift already?”

    “It is. And as your handler, responsible for your physical and spiritual purity, I’m recommending you get something to eat.”

    “Again, from what I hear from your sister she used to tell you off for the same thing.”

    “Aye, well, she’s where I get it from. Working for the inquisition lets you be a pushy bastard sometimes.”

    ***

    “I just realised I never asked you,” Marc asked as he dissected the piece of grox meat on his plate, “How does it feel to be heading back to Sol?”

    The mess hall was lively with all the Shift 2 workers making the most of their mid-shift break, and the familiar sounds of talking, laughter and cutlery clattering against plates filled the air. Marc and Ella had found a table near the centre, leaving space for Jansen and the others should they happen to turn up.

    “I don’t know.” Ella shrugged, brushing her hair across her forehead as she always seemed to do when she was nervous, “A bit weird, I suppose. I never thought I’d be back in the Segmentum Solar again, never mind the Sol system.”

    “You should feel lucky.” Marc said, “A lot of pilgrims pay their life savings to travel to Sol even once.”

    “Hmm.” said Ella. “At the risk of sounding blasphemous, Holy Terra isn’t all that the Ecclesiarchy flyers make it out to be. Then again, I never saw the Imperial palace, just the Scholastica Psykana complex on the other side of the northern hemisphere.”

    “Is that so?” replied Marc, cocking an eyebrow. He was a believer in the Emperor, but less quick to take offence than some. In any case, the astropath’s deeds spoke more of her faith than the slight impiety of her words.

    “Probably just as well we’re only going as far as Jupiter then.” he said, adding a small impiety of his own.

    Ella smiled. “More tanna?”

    Marc glanced down at his drained mug. Ella wasn’t looking at it, but then she didn’t use her eyes to see.

    “Aye, please.”

    Marc looked around the mess hall as the astropath got up and gingerly threaded her way through the crewmembers. As she passed the self-service counter, a man in a simple blue jumpsuit who had just collected his tray from the other side caught Marc’s eye. He had dark hair and wore a wry smile. That smile widened as he made eye contact with Marc across the hall. His right cheek was ravaged by burn scars that had partially immobilised the muscles beneath, making his smile distressingly asymmetrical.

    Frak. thought Marc, subconsciously balling his fist under the table.

    A few other people in the mess hall cast the man dark looks as he passed, but he stoically ignored them as he crossed the hall and then, very deliberately, sat down in the chair next to Marc. Even seated, he was tall - several inches taller than Marc, who was a not-inconsiderable 6’1.

    “Frak off, Arcolin.” Marc said wearily. “Or, better yet, try something. Then maybe someone on this ship will finally wake up and have you thrown out the airlock.”

    Arcolin’s smile only widened again, twisting the scarred side of his face even further out of alignment. “Now why would they do that? We’re all on the same side now, aren’t we?”

    Marc turned to look at the heretic, offering a grim smile of his own. “Not quite. I’m assuming you’re here because you want something?”

    Arcolin adopted a hurt expression. “Can’t two work colleagues just talk over lunch any more?”

    Marc used the few seconds it took to chew his current mouthful of grox to compose himself, then put down his fork. “Alright,” he said, “So talk. I’ve been wondering after what happened back on the Bane, what’s the deal with you and Alley?”

    “Captain Tarran?” Arcolin asked, blithely stabbing at his food with his knife, “Why do you ask?”

    “You seemed to have heard of her, that’s all.”

    Arcolin shrugged, “Come on Marc, you’re supposed to be a detective. Don’t tell me you didn’t make it your business to go through the file of one of the deadliest people on the ship too?”

    Marc let Arcolin talk, merely looking at him steadily. He had conducted his share of interviews and interrogations, and moreover he had been on the receiving end of Arcolin’s condescending rhetoric before. He recognised an attempt to evade a question.

    “Her achievements are very significant.” Arcolin went on when Marc said nothing, gesticulating with his cutlery as he did so, “Surviving a drop assault into a position prepared for twice as many attackers, taking out a rogue inquisitor in the heart of his own bastion…that’s the sort of thing you normally see Space Marines doing. She even nearly winged me in that little cross-building shootout near Taymor’s lab, so she must be good.”

    “There‘s plenty of dangerous people on this ship,” Marc pressed, tired of the game, “But I’ve not seen any of them get you to shut up at just the mention of their name.”

    “Well, let’s just say I like having all my limbs and organs in their normal, non-mangled configuration.”

    Marc raised an eyebrow, “I doubt Alley’s the only one aboard who wants to do that to you.”

    “Ah, but if she knew what I did…I don’t think even the orders of our good friend Van Der Mir could restrain her.”

    “She knows what you did.” Marc growled, thinking of Makita hive, and of the murders of his colleagues Frank Priest and Kadath Al-Omar.

    “Not this one.” Arcolin grinned.

    Marc sat back in his seat. “And?”

    Arcolin laughed coldly. Eventually he composed himself, and leaned in closer towards Marc.

    “I can only tell you this,” he whispered conspiratorially, “If you promise to keep it a secret.”

    Marc looked Arcolin in the eyes, and shrugged, “You’re going to tell me or you’re not, but you might as well get it over with either way.”

    The answer seemed to amuse Arcolin. “Alright Marc. You spend more time around ladies than I do - what would be a good way to say: ‘I was a part of the organization that murdered your family, every member of which you hunted down and murdered in spectacular ways, but please don't hunt me down and murder me’?”

    Marc blinked in surprise. He knew Alley’s history, at least as much as was in her file. The rogue trader who had created the Nebula Soldiers, and was ultimately responsible for the murders of Alley’s family during his attempted succession from the Imperium, had been known to be in contact with Chaotic forces. The inquisition troops that had later secured the world had never been able to discover exactly who those forces were.

    “You were on Marioch?” he asked.

    Arcolin just smiled his malicious smile. “Nice talking to you, Marc.”

    With that the heretic got up and left.

    ***

    Marc’s chiselled features bore a rather darker cast as he made his way down the shooting gallery, looking for an empty booth. He found one next to his sister Kelly, who was there already dressed in her old enforcer’s armour. She was holding one of the inquisition’s standard automags, one foot forward in a practiced Weaver stance. As Marc watched she fired a single shot down range, which flashed through the holographic target opposite before vaporising against the refractor-fielded back wall. The target temporarily flashed red, signifying a lethal hit. Kelly noticed Marc as he authenticated himself to the blank-faced servitor recessed into the booth wall, and pulled off one of her ear defenders.

    “Heya Marc,” she said, while her brother waited for the servitor to raise the hardwired blast shield over the window into the firing range.

    “Hey Kel,” Marc replied, slipping back into their old hiver’s dialect as he primed his old Triplex-Phall laspistol, “Getting in some practice?”

    Kelly smiled, adjusting the straps of her carapace vest which still bore the initials of the Makita Hive Enforcers. “Since we all went on the run I thought I’d be more use on the front line than in the lab, so I figured I’d better get back into old habits. Now what’s up with you?”

    “How do you mean?” Marc replied as he levelled his pistol at the man-shaped hologram that had just flickered into life down range.

    “You came in here with a face like a skelped arse.”

    Marc grunted mirthlessly as he sent a thread of red light lancing through the target. The crack of his laspistol was answered by a flash from the hologram. Red - lethal wound.

    “Just had a run-in with Arcolin in the mess hall.”

    “And?”

    Marc fired three more shots before replying. Two to the body, one to the head. Crack crack crack. Flash flash flash.

    “Nothing in particular. Just cannae understand why the man’s still breathing.”

    Kelly shrugged. “I assume Van Der Mir kens what he’s doing.”

    “He’s honouring his deals.” Marc said, “Which is all well and good, except Arcolin’s only gonnae do the same while it still suits him. It’s pure shan.”

    “Aye, maybe.” Kelly admitted, pushing her hair behind her ear, “But what can he do? It’s no like the guys from Carbon and Quasar dinnae ken he’s a heretic, so they’ll be keeping an eye on him.”

    “Safest option’s still putting a bullet in his head.” Marc shot back as he fired again, before turning away from the target in disgust. He was starting to imagine Arcolin’s mockingly grinning face superimposed on the featureless hologram.

    “True.” said Kelly, “I’d put it out of your mind the now, though. Arcolin’s no gonnae try anything while we’re still in transit, and you’ll only drive yourself insane.”

    “Hmm.” said Marc by way of agreement.

    “Why don’t you go see Kally? She‘s been asking after you.”

    Marc looked up, “She up and about again?”

    “Aye, Taymor discharged her this morning.”

    “How’s she doing?”

    Kelly twisted her mouth, “No great.”
    Last edited by Azazeal849; 08-28-2011 at 11:12 PM.
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  4. #4
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    It had been several decades since Delaz last experienced a full overhaul of his systems. During his repairs after his fight against Carmine, his entire external chassis had been rebuilt with more up to date cybernetics. His whole body, even with the Machinator Array, was lighter and he felt a bit more agile than he had before. He had not bothered to replace his weapons with anything that could be fitted to his hard points, however. After all, the place they were going was hardly one that warranted shoulder mounted gatling lasers.

    Instead, he had received assistance from the Auxilia in the form of Baldur, a Skitarii warrior and veteran Xeno-hunter. Baldur was devoted, there was no denying it, but Delaz had never been one to accept help when did not feel he needed it. But, he could not deny that Baldur could be useful. So, he had the Skitarii merge into the ranks of Task Force Carbon.

    Delaz rose from his meditative prayer, snuffing out the candles and incense. In the privacy of the room he had been given his robe was folded on the stiff bed situated against the wall, leaving Delaz’s broad form exposed for no eyes to see. Soon enough, he had dressed himself, pulling the hood of the robe up to let it shadow his face.

    He left the room for the corridors of the ship, heading off to find the one called Censor. Since he had captured the man, Delaz had taken it upon himself to keep tabs on Censor when he thought it was necessary. With the ship closing in upon their destination, he thought it best to check on him one more time.

    ***

    Baldur had found his way to the ship’s shooting range. Restlessness had plagued him for the past ten days. He had tried striking up conversation with other members of Task Force Carbon, but his social ability did not translate well to speaking to humans. With a light sigh, he stood at one of the booths and armed his side arm. He was aware of a conversation going on between two nearby booths, but he paid it no mind. The conversation was none of his business anyway.

    The pistol he used was fitted with hot-shot charge packs, giving the weapon more punch than the standard las-pistol. He raised his weapon with one hand, his internal sensors locking on the target that stood at maximum pistol range. He fired three times, all three shots scoring hits in the holographic target’s head. He paused for a moment, then pressed the trigger until the charge pack was depleted. Every shot scored a hit to the target’s head or a heart shot in the chest.

    Baldur lowered the weapon, absent-mindedly running a hand over the hilt of the combat blade at his side. The weapon was something definitely not standard issue by any means. It had been a standard blade once, but it had been remade since his first encounter with a Tyranid. The blade of the weapon had been replaced by a part of one of the Lictor’s scythe-like talons while the hilt had been carved from the monster’s chitinous hide. The scarlet duster coat he wore also had decorations on the shoulders, upper back, and upper arms taken from the carapaces of various smaller Tyranid species.

    He wondered why Secutor Delaz had not asked him to be a part of the Task Force Quasar. After all, from what he’d seen, those men were halfway to Skitarii themselves. But then again, he thought, maybe the Secutor through that might offend me.
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    Member ArchonDuPlex's Avatar
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    Ren crawled through the narrow shafts, the cramped spacings easy to get through for him as his mind wandered. Silently exiting through a hatch in the ceiling of a corridor, giving himself a quick dust down before instinctively brushing the activation rune on his cloak, blending him into the background as footsteps approached.

    The small two-man fighter he'd snuck aboard in was properly secured, the craft latched on and concealed amongst the few blind spots on the outer hull. There were a few shudders as these simple humans traversed the warp, and his first means of escape might have dislodged and been lost.

    As he quickly surveyed the corridor for the source of the footsteps, his cloak activated in vain as he spotted the culprit. He deactivated the cloak as he stood out into the corridor, acknowledging Juno in the silent manner they shared. Ren didn't know what Juno was, but he knew to never ask, and Juno would never ask where he when from time to time. It was only recently he'd noticed that as he returned from his craft world, Juno would always be nearby the hatch he entered through, as if waiting.

    Ren nodded to the Xenomorph and made his way to his makeshift quarters, resting shortly before changing from his ranger's uniform to the battered oversized flack jacket and guardsmen outfit he was given. The next step he made was to secure his items, mostly on his person, but leaving a listening rune behind just in case. the last step was his cloak, switching it to the dull grey default, hemmed with faded runes, and wrapping it around himself as if cold, Heading for the ship's mess for the bland sludge they served, labelling it as 'edible'.

    Taking what he could, and finding a seat out of the way he slowly ate, ravenous from his last meal a day or so ago, having spent it on duty or fixing his ship, eating after learning he was to go on some boarding mission, and knowing what sort of mission it was likely to be...

    all the crew assigned are either expendable or alien as myself...by kaine I know a suicide mission when I see it...


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  6. #6
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    Kally Sonder

    Just do it.
    Get it over with and just do it.
    Frakking do it! Coward! Scum! Just do it and save yourself. . .


    A chime from the door buzzer made Kally get up from her desk to hit the door control. She rested one arm on the doorframe as the metal screen slid into the wall, to reveal Marc in his familiar dark suit. She was in a simple cotton top and slacks, barefoot with her hair tied back.

    “Hey.” she said wearily.

    “Hey. How’s it going?”

    Kally took her arm off the doorframe, allowing Marc to enter. “How do you think?” she asked.

    “Well,” said Marc, “In the last two weeks you’ve had three old friends die, an old enemy come back from the dead, an old master first try to kill you then get possessed, and had to deal with that bastard Carmine’s dermaphage. So I’d say not the best.”

    “Always the detective.” Kally smiled tiredly. “I could do without the psych profiling, but yeah, close enough.”

    Marc made his way over to the swivel chair at the cabin’s work desk and sat down. The desk, like the rest of the room, was slightly cluttered, hiding its usual homely collection of chips and caff-cup rings. Kally’s room had never been exactly spotless, but it seemed to have got noticeably worse in the last ten days.

    “So,” he said, “What’s the story?”

    “Two jabs in the stomach every frakking day. And I can’t use my combat stimms or my insides might liquefy, so I’m frak all use as a combatant.”

    “You took down all those psykers in Makita without any fancy stimms.” Marc pointed out.

    Kally gave a humourless laugh and slumped back down on her bed, picking up a rubber ball from her bedside table and idly bouncing it off the ceiling one-handed.

    "Yeah, I suppose I did. But that was before everything went to frakking shit in my life."

    Marc looked over, surprised. Kally had let the ball drop, she was just staring at the ceiling. Marc noticed that her fists had balled, scrunching up the sheets. She was angry.

    "I mean, yeah, I was lucky to make it out of Makita, but sometimes, sometimes I just wish they hadn't found me in the rubble and I'd died with the rest of them. I thought I had a sweet deal with Sidonis, and all I had to do was my job. But I was struggling right from the start, I couldn't cut it, and then the whole thing on that shitheap water planet kicked off, and Franklin died, and Kadath died, and Darl got herself killed under my goddamn command. . ." Her voice broke, tears welling up in her eyes.
    "Oh yeah, and despite everything I've done to make it this far, now I'm going to die from the inside out, this black crap just chewing up my insides. . ."

    "Kally. . ." Marc begun, but Kally just kept talking, like it was draining from her and couldn't be stopped now it was in full flow.

    "And Arcolins back and hey that's peachy despite the fact he's a complete fucker out to kill us all and we have a daemon lord after our asses and even if we are going to survive this I'm still going to rot away alone like some discarded frakking whore in the gutter. . ."

    She was weeping freely, fists pushed into her eyes like she was trying to block the tears. She broke down into sobs as Marc stood. For a moment, some part of him compelled him to leave. That this was private, and that the Kally he knew would get through this, recover, come out stronger. Then he noticed the las pistol near the bed. Kally didn't have a single other weapon out in the room. It was charged and the safety was off.
    He crossed the room and pulled the woman into his arms. For a little while, their worlds shrunk down to two people, holding each other against the night. Kally's arms locked around Marc so tight that it seemed she was afraid to let go. That if she did, she would drown, or fall forever into a darkness of her own making.
    After a while, the sobbing stopped.

    "Tell me its going to be alright. That we'll get through this."
    Marc looked into her eyes.
    "I can't, because I don't know that for sure."
    "Then lie."
    He smiled, and she smiled too. Despite everything they had been through, she still had the no-shit smile he remembered from the meeting in Priests apartment years ago.
    "Its going to be ok. We'll beat this, and find you a cure, and everything will be as normal as it ever gets round here again. You'll see."

    "Thanks" She let go, wiped away her tears, and managed a strained laugh. "You're an awful liar."
    He smiled. "I do my best. Are you going to be ok?"
    She nodded. As he left, Marc scooped up the pistol and dropped it back into the armoury. Just to be sure.

    When she appeared at the meeting, there was no indication anything was wrong. Kally was Kally again.

    Zerlinda Ghast

    There was a chime, and Zerlinda looked up from the tertiary warp charge/phase transit coil segment she had been clearing of non-quantum particulate matter build-up on its phasic transfer points. It was a recurring problem on these shorter jumps, most likely due to a failed magnetic seal somewhere around the plasma manifold, probably one of the ten micrometer flow control ones. She had told Emerald it would require a week in dry dock and thorough testing to discover the leak and replace the component, and she had been promised that downtime. Not just for the leak, but for a small, but growing, list of problems that afflicted the spirit of the Mooncalf on a regular basis. She had been deep warp running too long, and things needed to be recalibrated, replaced and tended in an atmospheric dry dock. Little chance of that now, she mused.

    The chime again. She dropped the particle impeller and sighed. The ship rumbled around her.
    "I know old girl, I know. Me too."
    She patted the coil, stood, and dusted of her hands. She smoothly climbed out of the duct and regarded the technomat she had summoned nospherically on the first chime.
    "Get that done. Then check the mag seals. Thoroughly."
    "Yes mistress."
    She stalked over to a communication panel and angrily jabbed the receive button.
    "Yes, Lawrence?"
    There was a pause.
    "No one else calls you down there, do they?"
    "No they don't" She sighed. For an Interrogator, he was painfully slow on the uptake sometimes. Her tone remained level.
    "I need you on the bridge. Now."
    "As you wish, Interrogator." She jabbed the panel again, gathered her axe, and proceeded to the bridge. There was an elevator near the spine that would take her to the upper decks, and from there it would be a short walk. There where quicker, more efficient ways of getting to the bridge, but she didn't feel like using them. Let him wait a minute or two.

    There was a surprise as she crossed one of the corridor junctions. coming the other way was the secutor, Delaz. She made the sign of the cog and bowed.

    "Secutor. I have been summoned to the bridge, are you travelling there as well? If so, we could catch the same elevator for efficiencies sake"

    She stepped warily around Delaz. He was a brute, a monster augmented for battle. She was formidable in her own way, but no match for his raw damage output. She knew this because she had carefully monitored his repairs. no reason to give him any kind of complaint against her.
    Last edited by dakkagor; 08-31-2011 at 09:46 AM.

  7. #7
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    He had been demeaned, partially disassembled and analyzed, then stripped of his weapons and practically chained to Delaz. This would not be a problem if the Secutor knew the meaning of the word privacy, unfortunately he did not. Censor watched Delaz pass under the small arachnoid machine on the ceiling, heading for his quarters and no doubt wondering what trouble he was getting into now.

    [I swear, these imperials will be the death of me. Set that over there.] His words were in binary to a servitor that had brought a small box of otherwise useless spare parts to use in his machinations. Their signals were being monitored, he had become an extra security feature for the ship, still being able to know most of what went on was interesting enough though. The servitor set the box on a small shelf also full of boxes before skittering out of the room on four legs. He resumed working on the project in front of him, a replacement for his left lower leg aperture, which had been acting up recently, ever since those gearheads had taken it apart.

  8. #8
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    Gavin found himself slammed back into his consciousness again. He had lost track of how much time had passed. The noise in the background had been a sudden wrenching snap this time. In these moments his mind had been battered back and forth like it was attached to a child’s paddle ball. He had lost count of the number of times his psychic potential had been snuffed out and then reignited. In other moments the nose had been a series of purposeful clicks. Gavin had felt as if his mind and powers were being crushed within a mighty vice. He had lost any control over his own body functions.

    The primary instrument of choice in this symphony from hell was provided by a blank limiter apparatus being manually operated with deliberate intent. Gavin had found himself as the vocal lead, with his screams and moans, for as long as his throat and lungs had been able to manage it. He had only been rasping or attempting to retch up a meal that was no longer there for a while now. The limiter stopped clicking as the fingers that idly played with the toggle danced contemplatively off brass with muted thumps.

    With is eye that wasn’t mashed into the cold metal of the deck Gavin could see and hear those heavy black boots as they paced back and forth with resonant thumps. His grasping inhales of breath sounded ragged and awful in the confined space. If he had the spare breath Gavin would have given a prayer of thanks that boot tip hadn’t impacted into his side yet. Over the noise of labored breathing he heard the sole of a boot slide into something with an unwholesomely fluid squeak. There was a labored pause as the pacing stopped and was replaced by the noise of a boot rotating slightly in something unpleasant.

    The figure in black and red leather sighed expressively before speaking at last.

    “I know you have heard this before Jenkins, when we have these little conversations of ours, but for once you literally are the shit in my boot soles. In all honesty, with His Imperial Majesty as my witness, you have got to be the most disgusting animal that I have ever had the displeasure of encountering. I mean, look at you, wallowing in your own filth…” Gavin could hear the creaking of leather before he felt the boot dig into the back of his tattered rags and scrape back and forth. “You cannot read my mind, and I thank The Emperor on the Golden Throne for that, with your degenerate mutation…” The boot pulled off Gavin’s back and dug in under his shoulder before leveraging him over with hardly any effort. But, then again, without legs the human body did weight considerably less.

    Gavin was blinded by bright lighting until a broad black shadow blocked it out – specifically by planting that same boot across his throat. His head swam as Gavin had to fight even harder to draw down air as the pressure increased fractionally. “No need to speak up now, Jenkins.” The pale hued man above him wore a sardonic grin on his face and his callousness in his chilly blue eyes while he continued to speak. “I am well aware of both the irony and hypocrisy of that statement. You cannot read my mind so I feel a God Emperor of Mankind given obligation to tell you these things, not merely due to my generous nature, but because it is for your own personal wellbeing.”

    The blond haired man drew the Bolt Pistol from its drop holster with his left hand. He slammed home a new magazine produced from a waist pouch with his right with a hearty metallic thud. The noise made by the slide as it was pulled back was almost deafening in the cell. Gavin found himself staring down what seemed to be an impossibly deep dark tunnel as the weapon was pointed at his head. It was the only thing that Gavin saw while the condescending voice continued to lecture at him.

    “It will end for you like this one way or another, Bolt Magnet. Your death will occur this way because it is for your own good. This will be the last sight you ever see and the last sound you ever hear…” Gavin heard the trigger depress and his reality vanished into a flash of white light.


    Gavin’s eyes snapped open as he awoke with a strangled yelp. He clutched at his throat as if reaching for something that should be there but wasn’t. His skin was slick and the sheets he was wrapped up in were soaked through with sweat. With a few juddering gasps of breath Gavin managed to draw himself into some semblance of calm as he groped out blindly for the nightstand next to him. Gavin grasped his glasses and pulled them on before exhaling a sigh of relief as he realized he was alone. That relief was only fleeting as, with another flickering glance at the nightstand, Gavin realized that he truly was alone.

    There hadn’t been a queue of people forming to pull a room assignment with Gavin, and there hadn’t been much enthusiasm to have him bunk with Carbon, so he’d been directed to his own little room. The dimensions of the room were not too much larger than the confines of the cell in his nightmare, although there was a small bathroom connected to it. Gavin frowned as he felt the need to scratch his knee, and then a flare of pain from his temples, before he reached back over to the nightstand. His hand brushed over the whistle that usually resided around his neck and a neatly folded piece of parchment paper. It also ran over the sheath of Gavin’s combat knife before he found the open bottle of pills.

    Gavin popped two of them into his mouth and washed them down with a gulp of water from the half full glass next to the bottle. He pried himself out of the sheets and maneuvered himself towards the edge of the bed. His natural legs ended mid thigh, surgically rounded off and scarred, and were encrusted with the neural input nodes that connected his bionic legs to his brain. Gavin hiked up his shorts and braced himself against the nightstand while he went about the process of connecting the feeds. It took several minutes for the bionics to fully sync with Gavin’s neural system, and it allowed him some time to think about the past few days.

    They had been rough on Gavin as his small and understandable world had been taken away from him. More so than ever Gavin knew that he was a pawn in a larger game – except that this was a game he hadn’t even known he was a part of. The Lord Inquisitor who he had been spared death by had been something of a maverick, with an Astartes Chapter on hand, who was tangentially connected to splicing Xenos DNA into humans. Interrogator Van Der Mir was an Inquisitorial Agent who had been sent by higher echelon Inquisitors to solve this problem and others caused by Sidonis. Although the plan hadn’t worked out to Van Der Mir’s expectation and now that same Lord Inquisitor was now possessed by a terrible warp entity that has caused the Blood Angels, one of the legendary First Founding Astartes, to tear into themselves. Also this entity had a fixation on cloning the Emperor.

    Gavin winced slightly as the neural systems came back online. He rolled his ankles and scratched his knee out of sympathetic memory. The legs looked completely different to Gavin without the custom ablative armor that usually encapsulated them. With a look at the nightstand Gavin saw the only item he had left that carried any connection to his time with Carbon. It was the gag gift whistle that he’d been given after his first combat mission with Carbon. In that moment they’d embraced Gavin as one of their own; however separate from them he’d always be, and shown him any trust. Gavin winced as he thought about that trust. He paused as he looked at the knife, acknowledging that it was also from Carbon, which was sitting on that letter he’d written the other night.

    Running a hand across the stubble on his face Gavin kept looking at the knife. The Aquila hilt winked up at him in the light as Gavin pushed up off the bed slightly unsteady. Gavin thought back to the conversation he’d had with Interrogator Van Der Mir while he stared captivated at the Imperial symbol. Instead of the raging or weeping that he’d done earlier in the week Gavin merely just shook his head. He had not been sleeping well since then or since he’d learned the truth of their current mission. Gavin had exhausted his rage and tears earlier this week, and he wasn’t sure there was anything left in him anymore. He really didn’t even want to think anymore.

    Gavin reached out and curled his hand around the grip of the knife. He pulled it from the sheath and looked at the crisp luster and sharp edge to the weapon – Gavin had never used the weapon before. It was so much less complex then a mechanical object, like a Las pistol, and he could appreciate its simple elegance. Wavering slightly on his legs Gavin shook his head and made his way towards the bathroom. The knife was still clutched in his hand.

  9. #9
    Member Ixajin's Avatar
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    Ten Days earlier: True Bane Detention Cell

    Theme music

    “Will a man sell his soul
    When a man wants to know
    ..Memories are forever

    Will a man change his mind
    Hoping to find
    ..Lost reality

    All that you've been
    And all you've become
    ..All you've become

    Is all you can be, under the sun”

    Skip finished the tune he was singing softly and then sat on the floor with his back resting on the bars. Only a few weeks earlier he had ridden on a Stormlord in to the heart of a war, picking off enemies that were as clear as day in his mind. He had left the main push to ensure that they would not be betrayed from behind. He had done his job without fail, and for his efforts he had been shipped off to aid the Inquisition. While he had understood how rare the opportunity was, he had been upset at the notion of leaving his family and regiment behind. He knew that this was the only way short of dying that his commanding officer would be able to get rid of him without being executed by the regiment’s commissar.

    Thus he was introduced to Inquisitor Suffolk, and unimpressed he had been. A suicidal type, Suffolk had sent them on to a station with no intelligence. A death trap and he paid the ultimate price. In reality, they all should have died that day, but those with the real power had chosen to let them go. A sick joke no doubt, and Skip wasn’t laughing. They did manage to bring the Palatine back alive. Though much like himself today, her spirit had been broken. That alone should have sent warning signs to the rest of the team, yet no one seemed to notice. The magos they had been after was left behind, believed to be lost; either killed by those that had taken the station or killed by the Mechanicum warship that had been approaching as they fled. Only later would he find out the truth of the matter. In the end, a failed mission because the Inquisitor was naïve enough to believe that he could make a move with no real information on what was truly going on.

    Without so much as a chance to breathe the team was turned over to serve Inquisitor Lord Sidonis. This did not surprise Skip all that much. They were agents of the Inquisition and he knew that someone would find a use for them; funny how it turned out to be a fellow agent with a personal agenda that scooped them up first and sent them on another suicidal run with no intelligence to rely upon. Like before the team that was assembled found themselves neck deep in a fire fight that they had not been expecting. A pattern was now forming in Skips mind. Once they did find their target and made their way to be extracted their fate had been snatched from them yet again. The Inquisitor Lord had learned of the rogue mission and thrown them in the brig. Not at all how Skip had envisioned working for the Inquisition. And then they were split up once more, and he was left here to rot.

    Trust. There was none left. He didn’t know who to trust. Suffolk’s assistant Ryobi was also thrown in here with him, and she had been beaten. Now a shell of the woman as he had known her. She had yet to utter even a single word since he had been forced to join her. This treatment of a long standing agent of the Inquisition spoke louder than anything else. There were those that showed a glimmer of hope. Jensen had shown backbone when he was taken away, insisting that the others be left in peace and unharmed. Skip wasn’t sure why Jensen would be so concerned with the others but at least he tried to care. Then there was Darl. This was the second operation they had been on together, and her skills had impressed Skip. So much so, that after he had picked up the chain blade he went to her for help in how to properly wield the unruly weapon. When she agreed to give him lessons he had found himself looking forward to the opportunity to spend time with her and form a proper friendship. Even now the smile she flashed him when she was led out remained visible in his mind.

    Shortly thereafter, which seemed an eternity to Skip; two fully armored individuals entered the cell block. One he recognized as the man that had brought them back to the True Bane as prisoners, Lawrence, and one he did not recognize. Without preamble they opened the cells and ushered everyone out. In a hurried tone the stranger called out.

    “C’mon, let’s get the hell out of here.”

    Without waiting for a written invitation Skip scrambled to his feet, bolted over to Ryobi and helped her to her feet and followed behind them. He was not sure why he helped Ryobi, but it seemed wrong to just let her stay behind. They were quickly led back to the landing bay where the Bliskiriner was waiting for them. Once onboard they found their gear and strapped in for wild ride. The first stop on their trip involved picking up the team members that had been removed from the cell block just a short while earlier. Skip didn’t fail to notice the absence of Darl and the pained look on Kally’s face. He was unsure whether it was due to the wounds she had suffered or something else entirely and had no chance of asking as the Bliskiriner roared off once more.

    The second stop had them landing on freighter, much smaller than the True Bane. Here Lawrence finally explained what was going on and Skip simply stood there dumbfounded. Now in addition to seeing an Inquisitor killed due to overconfidence, he was to learn about another, a Lord at that, being over taken by an entity he couldn’t even fathom. On top of that when he approached Kally to ask about Darl she had simply turned away leaving Skip to wallow in uncertainty.

    In the eight days since they had left Teleostei Skip was still unsure how he felt knowing that Darl was not with them. He wasn’t sure at first if she was still onboard the True Bane or elsewhere until he overheard Arcolin tell another that Darl had perished. It had felt like his heart had skipped a beat when he heard that. Then he was being ushered off to be shown where his quarters would be. At least that was what they were calling it. To Skip it was nothing more than a closet with a toilet in it. In fact, the cell he was in not more than a few hours ago seemed bigger. It really didn’t matter to Skip though. He knew there was no place on this ship where he would find peace. He also knew he would spend little if any time in these quarters. He needed to think, and that meant getting back to what he was good at. Crawling through the dank and dark of whatever was around him.

    Skip waited about an hour before setting off. He grabbed his long-las and chain blade on the way out and went straight for the first vent that he came across. As he had expected and hoped he was able to lose himself in the tight confines of the ship’s inner workings. Soon he was as dirty as the pipes and wire conduits around him and he felt good for the first time in weeks. Eventually he found a junction: J34-S16, not far from his quarters where he started to spend most of his time when not crawling through the ship. He had seen the engineerium, and was quite sure that both Delaz and the ship’s chief enginseer, one Zerlinda Ghast, knew he had been there. So far neither had bothered to confront him. This was a blessing as far as Skip was concerned. Before getting assigned to the Inquisition Skip had the utmost respect for the Mechanicum. With the latest details he had been about current events, his respect had vanished. Worse still was his loss of faith.

    Two Days earlier: Mooncalf pipe junction J34-S16

    Theme music

    Faith. Not only was had his world been turned upside down and ripped asunder, but he had lost faith in those that were sworn to protect the Imperium. His mind could not grasp how an Inquisitor could be so easily killed. And worse, how an Inquisitor could be so easily fooled in to becoming a puppet for a power he could not even fathom. Then there were the agents themselves. He never would have guessed that those sworn to service of an Inquisitor would so boldly go against their allegiance. It left him confused and searching for direction.

    When he picked up the chain blade he was now holding during the chaos of combat he had felt a righteous fury emanate from within. He used the chain blade with no skill what so ever to cut down the enemies that stood before him. It had reminded him of the times when he saw the Priests wielding their eviscerators smiting their foes before him. It was with this chain blade that Skip hoped he would rekindle his faith, much as those same Priests had bellowed out the devotional hymns for all to hear on the battle field.
    However this desire escaped him. As he sat holding the chain blade all Skip could see was the smile Darl flashed him as she was led out of the detainment cell aboard the True Bane. And each time he saw that smile he started to cry. He wasn’t sure what it was about Darl that made him feel this way. He barely knew her, yet she had somehow touched him in a way that he didn’t understand. This troubled him. He knew he was going to need to let go if he was to be an asset to the mission they were all about to embark upon.

    Skip looked back down at the chain blade he held in his lap. He knew he was going to have to discard it. It would be a constant reminder of Darl and what could have been. That would just distract him and put him and the others in harm’s way. At that moment he knew what to do. He stood up and started to make his way to the outer hull of the ship. Earlier in his wanderings he had found a place where items could be lost forever. When he arrived there he pulled the chain blade off his back and looked at it one more time.

    “I am so sorry, but I must move on.” Skip dropped the chain blade down the dark hole. “Good bye Darl.” With tear in his eye Skip turned and scurried off in to the bowls of the ship once more.

    Over the course of the next twenty four hours Skip gave in to his training and his being. He had somewhere along his movements acquired dark colored rags large enough to become new robes that he had wrapped around him. The robes in turn had started to pick up the dirt and grime in the spaces he traveled in and he had all but disappeared in to the back ground of the Mooncalf. Then he found his way in to one of the armories. What he found interesting was the weapons that were not human in design. What drew his attention was the rifle in the corner that he knew he had seen before. He walked over and took hold of the rifle. The plasma coils were easy enough to identify. The rest of the rifle looked like an out dated human musket, and he knew he had seen one of these before. Examining the weapon some more Skip realized that it had been modified. While it was a xeno rifle, there was no doubt that it had been modified to use Imperial power cells. Then he saw the writing on the stock and his memory came to life. This was a Hrud Fusil. He had seen what these could do when used by someone that was trained to get the most out of them. This was not something he was going to leave behind. He had no idea how long his long-las would continue to function and he was going to be sure he had a reliable weapon with him on this mission. Looking around the armory some more, Skip found some rifle scabbards and decided that one for each of his weapons would be needed. This would allow him to keep both rifles with him and in easy reach. Putting each of his rifles in to a scabbard, Skip slung them across his back and walked out of the armory through the door and not the vent he came in through.

    Looking much like a Hrud might, Skip received more stares than he anticipated as he walked through the corridors of the Mooncalf. He didn’t really care; he was a Rattling and expected some stares. He figured the filthy make shift robes and the two rifles sticking up over his right shoulder didn’t help much. He knew the briefing was soon to begin and he walked the length of the ship to be in attendance. When he walked in he saw Van Der Mir and McKenzie in conversation. It had looked as though a couple of the others had arrived as well. Without saying a word Skip simply walked to one of the seats and sat down, waiting for the brief to begin.

  10. #10
    Sanity's Eclipse
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    Default Response to Dakkagor and X. Title use because I can.

    “Not at the present time, Engineer Zerlinda,” Delaz replied, making the sign of the cog in return. “I must make my routine check on Censor. I will then be able to report to the bridge if summoned.”

    He inclined his head to her and excused himself. He had not been given carte blanche orders to fully inspect Censor every time he checked on him, just to take a visual assessment and ask any questions he thought were needed. He stopped before Censor’s quarters and overrode the lock code with the security code he had been given. It only worked on Censor’s door and that was all Delaz needed to know about it.

    Delaz stepped into the doorway and took stock of the situation. Censor appeared to be performing personal maintenance on one of his leg apertures. Delaz reasoned that it must have been damaged during his multiple examinations. No immediate threats were detected and there were no foreign energy signals being emitted. None that he could detect, anyway.

    <Query> he canted in binary. It was the first time he engaged in open communication with Censor during the whole voyage. <Why did you not make a further effort to assist Dominic Carmine. The effort you put forth seemed somewhat…lacking for one of your extensive modification.>
    Last edited by Atrum Daemon; 08-31-2011 at 07:34 PM.
    Hit me up on discord: Mags#3126
    I'm just easier to get a hold of there. Just lemme know who you are

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