Damien II

*Here’s some more to the Bloodhound novel that’s slowly grinding along. I haven’t had much time to write recently, because Real Life keeps getting in the way and stealing my energy/time/inspiration. But here’s a little bit of progress!*

Vid-pict log *SEF435-39r

Location: Hive Sefus Main Spire. Upper-Lower Level 23

1857.83 M41

[Image rolls, distorted for 3.6 seconds, then stabilises. Vid-pict shows a grainy, greyscale image of a lower hive corridor. Internal chrono shows it to be 22:24 local time]

Four figures enter image from screen right. The lead figure is clad in combat fatigues and light flak armour, and carries what appears to be a MKIII Guard issue las-rifle in his hands, panning the weapon from side to side as he moves his head. Ident classified Guard-DIS-Beta.

Second figure is wearing what seems to be Arbites patrol armour including helmet, stripped of insignia, and carries a modified Arbites Suppressor riot shotgun. No ident available.

Third and fourth figure remain outside of the poorly maintained vid-pict’s focus. Seemingly at the command of one of the out of focus figures, the lead figure opens fire on the vid-pict, destroying it.

[static for 12.6 seconds. Feed ends]

Smashed and melted fragments of plastic rained to the rust-stained decking from the destroyed vid-pict, joined moments later by fragments of a similar unit mounted further along the long, broad corridor. The crack of Carell’s precision las-shots was quickly swallowed by the background noise that permeated the lower levels of hive Sefus. Steam and other gases leaked slowly from poorly sealed pipes, run-down air scrubbers and other mechanical devices rattled and clanked in the walls and ceilings, and below it all sending constant micro tremors through every surface on the levels below the special buffering was the rumbling of the hives colossal generators. Ancient things, buried at the centre of the lower levels, they growled on day and night. They were the best maintained part of this area of the hive. Even the Lord Governor, miles above in his sprawling residence knew that if they died, hive Sefus died.

All that Damian knew was that they were getting on his nerves. The constant micro tremors made it feel as if there was a low level current buzzing through his feet, and he was beginning to get a headache. He peered down the length of the corridor, wishing there were more or brighter lights down here, whilst at the same time feeling comfortable in the lower light. Caged yellowing lumen strips were spaced along the ceiling every few metres, but from what he could see about one in three was dark, leaving large pools of shadow around areas of the pipe covered walls. Down here there was no need to hide the pipes, cabling and air scrubbers behind pleasant panelling. Down here the walls were mostly made up of the various lifelines of the upper levels. It made Damien uncomfortable – anyone could be lurking in those shadows. His fingerless leather gloves creaked as he shifted his grip on his shotgun.

“I don’t think we need worry about an ambush” the Inquisitors mechanized voice croaked from behind him, and Damian realised the bastard had been skimming his surface thoughts. He made an effort to submerge his thoughts behind his crude mental barriers as Bericken continued “my contacts seemed very certain that we were perfectly safe in dealing with this Gang”

“If it’s so safe, then why are we here?” asked Damien gruffly.

“Nothing is certain Jado. No sense in taking risks” replied Bericken

“And all dogs need exercising” purred the fourth member of their party. Clad head to toe in red leather armour so dark as to be almost black, the only flesh visible was around her eyes, mouth, and through half a dozen or so gaps in the leather. The skin that showed through those gaps was always cut, always bleeding. The armour was form-fitting, and showed the shape of a stunning body, but Damien didn’t risk admiring. The woman was a member of a Death Cult, sworn to kill and die for the glory of the Emperor. A slim power sword hung on her back, and two long-bladed weapons hung one at either hip. She was a fanatic with a taste for blood, and a lust for death. Her name was Bella.

“Woof woof” snarled Carell, glancing back at the leather-clad killer “Dogs bite, bitc-“

-Enough!-

The psy instruction slammed into their heads, and Carrell quickly resumed his visual scanning of the corridor ahead of them. Damien bit back a curse as the words burst into his head, not bothering with the courtesy of passing through his ears. He hated psy-talk like that. It made him feel dirty, like he needed to shower his brain or something. It was the first time Berrick had communicated with him that way, and he didn’t like it. The party moved along the corridor in silence, the sounds of their feet on the metal grate flooring buried beneath the sounds of the lower hive.

Minutes passed, and side corridors opened beside them. Carell and Damien checked them both before waving the other two forward. They both looked the image of relaxation; Berrick strolled, a silver-worked black metal cane clasped in one gloved hand, the bolt pistol at his hip almost hidden in the billow of his robes. Bella swayed alongside him atop spike-heeled boots, seemingly having no trouble at all with the grating and her impractical footwear.

Those boots struck a solid plate that rang with a different tone to the others, as he covered the opening of a side corridor, and waved Berricken and Bella past. Damien frowned, staring at the plate as he stepped over it. This whole level was battered, but the scratches and scuffing here seemed recent. His eyes followed the plate as it ran across the width of the corridor, then met the wall, which was clear plating as wide as his hand…

“Stop!” he called spinning to face the others “This is –“

A hiss of gas and the squeal of hydraulics cut him off as the emergency fire shutter flew up from its concealed compartment beneath the floor. Reaching the ceiling there was the thump of mag-locks closing, and the corridor behind was sealed off. Damien span on his heel and darted forward, dropping into a crouch ahead of Berricken. To his right Carell had done likewise. There was a whisper of steel on leather, and Bella had both of her long-bladed daggers drawn. She stepped languorously in front of Berricken, blades raised in a high stance.

“Lower your weapons!” the shout came from somewhere ahead, though there was no-one to be seen.

“Show yourself!” replied Berricken. He alone still seemed sanguine with the situation. He stood leaning lightly on his cane, his hood leaving his face in deep shadow. He could be fouling himself in fear, and we’d never know.

“Stop pointin’ those weapons at us, or you’ll die down here” came the voice again. Damien couldn’t help but see the truth of the situation. They were penned in, against Throne knows how many enemies, all of whom could be armed to the teeth, with no cover and no backup.

-Lower your weapons- Carrell cursed but lowered his rifle, and rose to his feet. Damien did likewise but without the swearing. –You too Bella-

With a grimace and a glance at Berricken she nodded and sheathed the shining steel blades.