Crime in the Underhive

[Kel'sab Melnath]

A boot stomps into a puddle of stagnant runoff. Hurried, desperate wheezes form a chaotic backing to the steady rhythm of a a lowly criminal's desperate flight.

A screech, a flash, a face in the blackness of a dead hallway; concealed save for its eyes sparking with uneven witch lights.

If he can make it to the stash then he's safe. A Guard issue autocannon, fully loaded, ready for a demo for some "big cheeses" tomorrow. A sprint, a quick aim, a squeeze of the trigger and this nightmare is over.

He can see his breath. Snakes of rime crackle their way across the walls and floor; life its self is dying in the passage behind him, leaving nothing but the frozen void of endless oblivion.

A flash, screams, pain, bodies scattered around the hall and an ankle deep ocean of blood. Another heartbeat, its all gone. The veil is shearing in half; are the piles of corpses the illusion, or were they there all along, the nightmare hidden from his eyes by nefarious warp craft? He can't afford to think about what's real: At best, he's going to die. If he pushes hard enough maybe, just maybe, he can find salvation.

*SLAM* door is smashed closed and with a screaming, terrified grunt it's followed by a *CLANG*. The door is barred. Where is he? What is this? Windows, color, light, statues. A chapel? A chapel! May the Emperor save him. Cracked stained glass windows to either side of the door, a long ago desecrated statue still bearing His visage. Now where to go? Maybe there's a door, if he can just get his bearings, maybe he can-

A bang, a light. The door shakes. A crackle of pink-purple light shears the door-bar in half like a melta-torch. For a moment there is quiet. Why isn't he relieved?

The doors are flung open and an accursed figure fills the criminal's eyes and mind. A mockery of human flesh, twisted like a painting splashed with turpentine. The stained glass shatters; depictions of the holy God-Emperor screaming as they break. The falling glass catches the light for just a moment, a single frame; glinting wings of multi-colored debris seem to sprout from the monster's back as if it were the mockery of a holy saint. 

There is nowhere to run.

A wet, phlegmy inhale is a prelude to mad zealotry: "YOU DARE!" shouts Kel'sab. Levitated for a single instant before the fickle whims of the Warp make him splat onto the floor. Coughing, retching, a snort and a spit. "You... you HERETIC! You believe you can flee? You believe there is a darkness that will hide you from HIS LIGHT!" A hand is thrust towards the lowly criminal.

*THWP* a crude autopistol drawn. *BAM, BAM, BAM* three frenetic shots. Two whizz past the ears of the monster, but a third strikes it firm in the chest. It doesn't stop?! Blood oozing from the mutant's chest, it just keeps coming.

"You. Will. Show. Him. EVERYTHING!" Kel'sab's shriek carries past mere sound. The world shakes, the veil trembles and fractures. First the air blasts out from between the mutant and the criminal, before it turns to blood. A tidal wave of otherworldly blood splatters the wall to the left and right. Wide eyed, the criminal doesn't know what to do! Not that it would matter, he doesn't have any time left.

A gnarled hand snaps onto the side of his face, digging its jagged nails into his scalp and ripping away bits and pieces of hair and skin. "YOU WILL BEAR YOUR SOUL TO HIM!"

The world is gone, there is nothing except what's inside. Joy, childhood, love; the first barriers to shield a soul from hardship. Pulped liked the front line before an opening fire. Kel'sab's Mind Probe digs into the victim's thoughts not like the precise scalpel of the Sanctioned, but like the feral, bloodthirsty claws of a predator digging to its prey's heart.

Defiance, self, the rules of Regicide. Screaming, tearing, a momentary awareness of the world. Spectral figures emerge from the edges of the criminal's vision. Everyone he has ever known, ever loved, and ever killed, crawling and begging him not to give in. They shatter like the windows of the chapel.

"DO NOT RESIST! GIVE YOURSELF TO HIS EYES! ONLY... Only through his judgement.. can you be ABSOLVED!" There is a loud metallic sound. The mutant let go of its staff. This is the criminal's moment! Every ounce of resistance he had left is brought to bear. A twitching hand feels and fumbles; it finds a grip. In two breaths, the criminal draws Kel'sab's own laspistol from his belt, presses it under the mutant's ribcage, and pulls the trigger. *CRACK* the laspistol discharges and an angry red beam erupts from Kel'sab's spine. He does not stop.

The criminal's hand spasms, the pistol drops. Fingers shake and shudder as the criminal tries to hold them back. He fails. Pure spite and reactionary hatred fills his nerves and muscles. Joints shred, bones splinter and every finger bends as far back as protesting muscles allow

Every blasphemy, every quiet thought, every private ambition and momentary heresy is laid bare. What's left of him? Everything is burned, only the sins remain. The brutal burning light coming from the mutant is destroying everything except the worst of him. The absolute depth of blackness in his heart is all that is left to see and Kel'sab Melnath devours each and every sin like a fine cut of steak.

Eyes rolled back, blood leaking from his nose.

Deeper, peeling away the flak and the resistance.

The criminal's teeth clench so hard that there's a quiet *SNAP* and a fragment of tooth fires out across the room.

"MORE, MORE! YOU WOULD DARE TO OPPOSE HIM!?"

The last bastion falls. There is nothing left inside of the criminal. A husk falls to the floor; blood leaking from ears and nose, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth. In time, he will recover. Hours pass, maybe days? Shattered bone and burned flesh will mend. Identity will stitch its self back together. Even so, he will never be the same.

Kel'sab hangs limp, eyes drifting up toward the ceiling but looking at nothing in particular. The mind of another is not fast to process; what has he ripped out of the criminal's brain, and who finds him as he ponders it?

[Jara Hellhammer]

Stomp, stomp.

Heavy footfalls rang out around the hive as the hulking figure of the Terminator marched through the area. Behind him follows a Kriegsman and a Tech Priest as their investigation has led them to the hive.

As they moved through the place, Jara's eyes scanned the environment cautiously. The hives had always brought a mixture of conflicting emotions to the Salamander's core. He pitied those that had to live here and yet really disliked just how terrible the conditions were. The smell was usually unpleasant to say the least too.

On top of that, he was now working with a Tech Priest that was seemingly observing his every action. He disliked his work being interfered with, especially by those that were more machine than man. Hellhammer wanted to do things his way regardless of what anyone else thought.

The Terminator's thoughts were cut short as his eyes met the grisly scene before him. He looks over the battered criminal before glancing at the Psyker with some caution... It's clear that he was responsible for what had occurred and that made things... interesting. The scent that the Salamander had followed to this point was very strong here and it seemingly stemmed from the mutant before him. 

"Ah... Bringing about the Emperor's Wrath on a heretic? He would be most pleased..."

The Terminator then stood as one would on the posters of Space Marines throughout Imperium space, the very same pose he struck on HIS poster.

[Tetradymite]

The travels throughout the Hive were as expected. Graciously greeted over the Comms, a stammer as our unexpected landing location was approved and guided into landing. The satisfying sound of our shuttle coming to land, and the ignominious death in the vacuum of space drifting back into the past. 

Tetradymite handled all the basic administrative side of landing, and maintaining as covert an entry as possible to the lower hives. His companions would be as rumours, myths and even the ghost stories told to poorly behaved juveniles. Aside from the lack of any kind of subtlety accompanying a Terminator would bring, it did bring safety, and most importantly compliance. 

Inquisitorial Protocol advised that operatives should find a point of weakness, somewhere or one to put pressure on. That would yield the first answers on the state of the lower hive. Any local movers and shakers, persons of note, could be wrung from even the filthiest of gutter snipes. They uttered the "Prayer of the Lost Draw Screwdriver" in hopes of finding a lead from the scant data harvested from the few Ecclisiastical reports of the under hive.


There was a local preacher who'd mentioned a some itinerant and lost speaker of the Lectitio Divinitatus that would attract the few truly faithful of the lower hives. It was a simple enough matter to track the approximate location, even to travel via lifts, conveyers and suchlike, but the specifics would require a proper search. Tetradymite was about to start configuring their servo-skulls into a wide sweep pattern, examining the Nooesphere for any signs of the usual accompaniments of wandering preachers, when they noticed Brother Hara had stopped. It seems they had found the first lead in this dank and decaying under hive.

[Kel'sab Melnath]

Seconds tick by after the Astartes introduces himself. Can the mutant hear, is it alive?

Kel'sab suddenly comes back to himself, eyes darting around the room. His first response is not words, but a moist, gurgling growl. The clumsy man snatches up his make-shift staff and whirls around.

Light floods the room as lightning sparks from Kel'sab's eyes; he would not be caught unaware by this criminal's disgusting, heretical associ-

Sparks of electricity sputter out in his eyes and for the second time, his staff clangs to the ground. *THUNK* the mutant falls to his knees and looks up with wide eyes at the Angel before him.

"My- No I- Wha- It can't-.." The blood pumping adrenaline of the moment is a distant memory now. He is longer an inhuman warp-predator stalking the underhive, but a weak and withered man with an autogun wound and a still smoking through-and-through from his own laspistol.

"My lord!" From knees, to prostration, Kel'sab's nose nearly buries in the filth to lay himself before the space marine. "You hono- *a wet slurp and hacking cough* honor me! I have harvested this DEGENERATE'S heretical thoughts.. it will survive if you have further need of it."

[Jara Hellhammer]

The Terminator looks down at the now prostrated mutant with a glance that suggests that he's accustomed to having those of lower rank and class bow before him. He never knew quite how to take the gesture, least of all when it came from a creature like the one before him.

The first thing to come out of his mouth is a chuckle upon the bold proclamations coming from the Psyker.

"You've done well. I'm sure that the heretic's thoughts could prove useful to the Emperor's goals." 

The Salamander then gestures to the Tech Priest, both to indicate his presence and to suggest that he may take the heretic's brain. 

"We're here on an official investigation. We've come to perform a service to the Emperor... It may well involve heretics." 

He pauses for a moment to let the sentence linger. 

"We've followed a lead here to the hive. Perhaps you could aid us?"

[Tetradymite]

In response to the spluttering and gutteral Low Gothic an unfamiliar voice rings out in the lower spires. 

"Presenting the Honored Veteran of the First Company, Battle Brother of the Long Watch Jara Hellhammer, Tectotum Cognistigon Tetradymite Factotum Grade LXXVIII of the Adeptus Mechanicus, Savant Grade XIX of the Inquisition" and Watchmaster Krost Cabur of The Deathkorps of Kreig." 

Sounds forth from a pristine, nay recently polished, Vox-servo heralding the arrival of those already more than obvious to the rag bound wretch in front of them. 

A back-mounted scanner flickered green laser lights over the drips of blood on the floor. Sweeping over the incumbent form, and then to maddened figure. 

"Observation - Live subject has sustained close range las based organic tissue damage, 73.232% likelihood of subject expiration." 
The Tech-Priest pauses turning their inorganic gaze toward the self-named collector of Heretical memories. 

[Kel'sab Melnath]

One eye cracks open and Kel'sab wretches as he hefts up to a knee and then his feet.

"You honor me- *a rough phlemy inhale* -with your request, my Lords."

Nails scratch on stone as he blindly paws around for his staff. Once retrieved, the broken body of the psyker clearly relies on it to stay upright.

"Pa- pay my wounds no concern my Lord Tetra- *he stops and has to swallow the word* Tetradie-.. My Lord Savant! I have sustained much worse in His service! I will mend it in time.."

Eyes screw shut and the psyker musters enough biomantic might to temporarily ignore the pain and stand something close to upright. Randomly developed muscles, gnarled hands, a warped spine and uneven limbs allow him only partial success. Between the bullet wound and the severe lasgun blast, even Kel'sab isn't sure if he can actually put himself back together, but he will not show weakness, and therefore incompetence, before such glorious figures.

Oddly, despite the massive halo of blood encircling the mutant and his victim, neither are too visibly injured. While unmoving, the heretic still breaths and shows only some deep nail scratches on his scalp. Most of the gore in the scene has come as a consequence of warpcraft and would match none of those here in the old cathedral.

"If you seek heresy in the darkness, then Kel'sab Melnath, Chosen of the Emperor, will aid you unto death.. What do you hunt, my Lords?"

[Jara Hellhammer]

The Terminator does a small salute upon being introduced by the Tech Priest. It's definitely a gesture that had become almost automatic throughout his many years of loyal service to both the Salamanders and the Deathwatch. 

He then silently observes the Priest's scans and nods in response to the findings.

"That was about the same as my estimations." 

Hearing the voice of the Psyker, he turned to face the mutant with a practiced swiftness befitting that of a Marine. 

"We're investigating the disappearance and disarray of certain artillery. Supplies have gone missing and the culprit is sure to be a heretic. Our lead brought us here, so there is a chance to find them or at least get one step closer." 

He looked to the Tech Priest briefly before continuing. It was a glance that indicated the wounds of the mutant might need to be tended to, but that he could prove useful to their mission.

"If you wish to serve the will of the Emperor, then you can aid us track down this heretic and be there to enact punishment befitting of this heresy."

[Tetradymite]

One of the many mechanical arms attached to the bulk of the Tech-Priest points a nozzle directly to the accused heretic laying on the floor.

Keeping their head turned to Kel'sab

"Notice - Service in this will lead to your termination. 
Order - Accept preventative medicae care."

A servo skull and another Mechadendrite loom towards the prostrate mutant. Their tools moving toward the obvious wound, one working on either side, injecting, knitting and stitching the las hole with practiced ease. The medical tools leaving uncharacteristically clean patches of skin on the filth covered underhiver. 

"Additional - Artillery shells missing in the Milli-scale. Would require transports of the non-civilian nature. Large volume, on specific timings. Data has suggested in line with fourteen to thirty one day period." 

Tetradymite paused, as if thoughtful on what they were planning to say next. Instead the nozzle on their Mechadendrite ignited sending short, efficient pulses of Promethium at the accused heretic. In swift order Tetradymite purged the filth from the hive sending their soul onto their next life. 

"Request - Additional data on this issue pussient to our investigation."

After a slight pause, the Tech-Priest seems to go through a number of the pouches concealed under their robes. Finally they pull out a small package, familiar to all those serving in the Guard., Lho sticks. With a glance at Brother Jara, they turn back to the underhiver. 

"Gesture - Interpersonal bonding"

With a shake they knock a Lho stick out of the pack, offering them forward to Kel'sab, coupled with moving the lit pilot flame towards them.

[Kel'sab Melnath]

Kel'sab white-knuckles his staff as the assorted medical probes do their work. A thick gurgle and snort roils in the back of his throat as he recovers from the experience and he opens his eyes.

"You have my thanks, my Lord... *hacking* ..I am in your debt. I apologize *heavy inhale* for the distraction."

The psyker motions his staff toward the burning corpse of the heretical criminal.

"I am not well versed in the munitions of this world. But this one! It knew of an.. an autocannon?"

One eye pops wide at the offer of the Lho stick. With a gnarled hand, he reaches out and clutches the stick completely improperly.

"Yet further in your debt. You have my gratitude!" Clearly never having lit such a stick before, Kel'sab practically dips his whole hand into the pilot light. The stick is jammed into the far left corner of his warped mouth, as the right half has decayed far past having lips.

*HACK, HACK* "I a- I am not familiar with this weapon, but it is large. It is a foreign addition to the UNDERHIVE! Your artillery is... larger? Perhaps a villain that steals one weapon, steals another? This heretic's master had plans to show this 'cannon' to someone they thought important."