"We need to get out of here, and soon, sir. Whatever they've attempted to bind to this… Thingdidn't work by the looks of it." I tell Murdok, no longer worried about letting the fear in my voice come out, as my mind began to rack itself thinking about how I could've possibly missed this happening.
"These are dark, dark powers, sir. To hide their foul work like this, even with the Empyrean in a frenzy like it is, this should've been a beacon of filth in the warp. But even now, these chains seem to be holding it back."
Running my hands along the chain left me feeling…lesser. Vulnerable, yet safe, as I could no longer hear the call of the Empyrean, but all the weaker for it.
"Without these chains that bind it so, not even our rebreather could save us, my tricks even less so. A swift death is all that I could offer before we'd succumb to the rot." I finish my assessment and look to the Intelligencer, all but pleading for us to get out of this, now truly damned, room.
"I will mark it for destruction and retrieval." His visor never leaves the cursed caricature of a man as he begins to scan the idol with a handheld auspex. The screen now portrays the mass of flesh before the auspex beeps, and he pockets it again.
"There are too many of these…poxwalkers you called them?" He looks back for confirmation, and with a nod, he continues, "There are too many of them here, plenty of which I recognize; this Thing cannot be made up of our men."
Murdok begins to look around the cafeteria once more before settling on the kitchen itself.
"There." He states before rising and beginning to walk towards the kitchen… and the damn freezer.
Fuck. Game face on.
I quickly fall into step with him, already preparing and reciting any possible answer to the pointed questions that he'll no doubt ask.
Talking aloud, Murdok begins to voice his thoughts, "There's nowhere that cursed Thing could've been brought into the precinct without tripping our sensors. Hells! Someone would've smelt the damned thing!" he exclaims in anger.
With a pound of his gauntleted fist, the door to the kitchen swings open, startling the surrounding 'Vics, with the two Enforcers already moving to flank the Intelligencer at the noise, before I hold up a hand, waving them off to return to their watch.
With untrusting looks between the two, Allicent steps forward, leaving Manny to oversee the men.
A witness to my inevitable execution. Yay.
As Allicent joined us, I took a step back, making sure there was enough space to throw up the various tables and kitchenware to form a shield between us.
Slowly, I gathered my strength as Murdok took the final step, and with a hiss of escaping air, the freezer slid open.
A silence filled the air as Murdok stood stock still, overlooking the now dead trooper, clad in flak armor and a pistol hanging loosely in his grip.
"Wytch!" My heart froze, my powers leaping to my call as the kitchenware lightly lifted off the floor in preparation. "Aliicent! Get in here!"
With a trembling step, I entered the room before Allicent, the woman unwilling to let me out of her sight.
Murdok gestured to Allicent, "Door." And with another hiss and clank, my possible shield was left behind in the other room.
"Wytch. Who is this man?" Murdok asked, his glowing red visor staring into my very soul.
I stepped forward, still tense and eyes frantically moving to and fro in the freezer, looking for a way to escape my would-be executioners.
"I don't know, sir, my apologies." I reach forward, wanting to pull the dog tags I knew would he behind the vest.
What is this? Some humiliation ritual before killing me? Does he want me to know the man I left to die? Who was this man, damnit!?
"Don't touch him." Came the calm voice of Murdok.
With that order, I drew my hand away before slowly rising and stepping away.
"Allicent, who is this man?"
Hm?
"Sorry, sir. I don't think I've seen him before…" she leans in to take a closer look, "he a new guy? Don't think me 'n Manny've ever been on the same shift as this poor bastard." She drawled, lifting her baton to prod at the body before Murdok swiped it away with a scowl.
With that motion, Allicent and I stop and look to the man, confusion plain on our faces.
"As an Intelligencer, I am privy to know nearly all personnel who walk through our fortress gates, including my fellow Arbite." He then uses the baton to lift the trooper's helmet, "But I don't recognize him either, and Investigator Mulroy would've had me on desk duty until I was gray as him if I ever missed a spot check."
Oh, thank god. I didn't just leave an Enforcer to die... I left a GODDAMN HERETIC TO DIE INSTEAD! Fuuuuuuuck.
He then turns to Allicent, "Go get our newest Enforcers and help them wheel in Mulroy. I need to speak with him." Swiftly saluting, she turns away before meekly reaching out to Murdok.
"My weapon, sir?" she says, pointing at the baton still in Murdok's hands as he continued to prod at the body.
"Ah, here you go then." And with a nod, she leaves the freezer and the two of us to stare at yet another mystery.
With her exit, silence returns to the room. As Murdok examined the unknown trooper, I caught my breath and recomposed myself with what I thought to be a sure execution via bolter.
"How could he have slipped past security? The men stationed on watch are as stubborn as a grox on a good day, how many frakkin' forms did I…" Murdok mumbled to himself, obviously perplexed at whoever had let this man in, issued him arms and armor, and then had the gall to die before we could interrogate him.
All the while, he continued his search of the body, stripping him of his flak and stub pistol before scanning him with his auspex, making sure to get a good scan of his face before dropping the body.
Fuck, maybe I should've said something…
With a spit of protest, Murdok stood, waving a hand behind him to follow, and headed towards the back of the freezer, where another, larger, upward-sliding door was propped open.
As we approached the door, we immediately noticed the trail of puss and other bodily fluids marking a path from a resupply vehicle to the door, with morekneeling Enforcers and precinct personnel.
A cursory check left us without any further clues, the bodies bewitched and drained after doing their master's bidding.
With no one to interrogate, Murdok moved to the truck itself, a large cargo vehicle not unlike the diesel-powered haulers used back on Earth. With a quick inspection, he noted the license plate, lack of a driver, and gestured for me to follow him back inside once more.
Murdok, at this point, was fuming, angry over his lack of competent aids and unable to properly search for a lead due to vox communication being down and nowhere near a functioning cogitator to skim the, no doubt, vast reports and intelligence stored within the blessed precinct fortress.
Waving me to join him, Murdok sets down his large shield, pulls a lho stick from his chest rig, and, with a flick of his wrist, produces a small box of matchsticks. "Want one, wytch?"
"So, this is your vice, Murdok?" I ask, before reaching over and taking one for myself.
"Aye, nasty habit it is. Picked it up in the Schola, if you can believe it. My Drill Abbot damn near broke my wrist when he caught me with a lho stick in hand!" he jokes, taking a deep drag before looking my way.
"This here," he lifts his lho stick, "is an extension of trust, wytch. I'm trusting you to watch our backs while we're here. Afterwards, we'll see about making you an Adept for your service, might even swing a promotion in there for myself," he grins, the cig hanging from his mouth.
"An Adept? Guess I'll have to make sure you make it then, don't I?"
"Looks like it, wytch."
Another long drag, I ask, "Were there any other pyskers before me? You said my designation was A-007. Does that mean there were six others before me?"
Murdok looks to me before nodding, "Mm—none quite as strong as you were, and none nearly as old," he jokes, "...not anywhere near stable either, all of them ranting and raving."
He sighs. "Guess we should have listened to them, all spoke of the Great Enemy. None lived longer than that, I suppose. Best not to keep their ilk out and about. But I can't help but wonder if they were warnings…"
"Best not to think about it, sir. Did what had to be done in the moment, I'm sure. But that also means that whoever's done this wasn't anyone you or the other Arbites knew of." I state, before flicking off the ends of the 'cig.
"Maybe, maybe not. Investigator Mulroy kept things close to his chest at the best of times, said it helped keep op-sec, like it matters now," he grumbles before crushing the last of his vice under his boot heel, stretching as he stops leaning on the doorframe.
"Last thing before he head in, sir." Murdok turns to me, his visor still raised, and eyebrow cocked, "You alright, boy?" I awkwardly ask, placing my hand on his back, and with barely a flinch, he looks me in the eyes.
"Don't you worry about me, wytch. The Schola made damn sure that I'm used to losing comrades." He states before walking back inside the building.
With that said, I finish off the last dregs of my still-smoking sorta-cigarette, now emboldened with a new resolve to ensure that all of us make it out of this freshly made hellscape.
X
Walking back into the cafeteria, I lock onto our Deputies, Ryse and Barley, standing beside the Enforcer duo, shifting their weight from foot to foot as they just stood there.
Manny, I notice, is giving Mulroy an examination, a small penlight in hand as he opens the Investigator's mouth and checks his vitals before administering another stim shot at the base of his neck. While Murdok was going over the weaponry and armor that were just policed, his face buried in his data slate as he wandered off ahead, most likely to check on the hallway ahead.
Allicent, on the other hand, was currently disciplining a few of the 'Vics who thought themselves faster than the Enforcer's watchful eye.
With various bits of ammunition falling from their pockets as they took their beatings, of which I can rightly assume they tried to make off with one of the confiscated stubbers.
Fools.
"—an excellent shot, I might add! Why, I might just take you into my family's service once my aunt arrives!" The Prick's voice was audible, even in the throng of grunts, curses, and general clamor of the 'Vics' cleanup duty, his whiny voice cutting through damn near anything.
Even with how crowded the room was, the men studiously avoided the idol; seeing it out of the corner of their eye would leave them shivering, reciting prayers for the Emperor and his strength, and making the sign of the aquila.
It seemed that when faced with the Dark Powers, even the least devout ganger was left seeking the benevolence and protection the Emperor provided for his faithful.
As I looked back at the Prick, he was espousing his own deeds and how he would be elevated in his house for what he had done today.
Girlie, meanwhile, looked on at the boy, far more interested in the finery he was draped in rather than his words.
The two are around the same age, after all, what age, you may ask? Younger than I'd like to have around in this hellhole, and while I doubt she'd ever be someone of importance, maybe she'd be a lover? An attendant? If she took his side, she'd go far at least, no doubt about that.
Rooting for ya, kid.
If his House puts in the effort to even retrieve the idiot, that is.
Standing behind the two, Suckup stood at his post, like the good guard dog that he was; he kept an eye out for any approaching 'Vics, baring his teeth in a rictus grin, warding off those he thought would take his place.
A hacking cough and spluttering of air caught my attention as I saw that Mulroy had regained a bit more color in his face, less like death had warmed over, but not tomato red as he had been beforehand.
"Ah. Investigator Mulroy, sir. How're the lungs?" I ask, briefly checking him over once more, and upon seeing no immediate sign that he's about to succumb to the rot, I give Manny a thumbs-up, taking a step back before he regains his wits and hits me with that damn club of his again.
"Where-where's Murdok? Where's your officer, Enforcer!?" he shouts as he notices that Murdok is nowhere in sight.
"Emperor-above old man, Murdok's down the way, I'll go get 'im," Ryse grumbles, before handing off the cart-bound Investigator to his partner.
Barley, now looking queasy at the thought of being near an angry Arbites, looks to the rest of us, pleading with his eyes for someone to relieve him of his duty.
I sigh before taking pity on the man, "Barley, go check the kitchen and see if anything's still edible. Do. Not. Touch. Anything that's already been opened, no matter how good it may look. Got it?" I reiterate, making sure the man doesn't get himself or anyone else sick with tainted foodstuffs.
"You don't look like you're gonna drown on land anymore, sir. Don't think it's wise we keep using stims on you tho'," I tell the man, "I've seen what overdosing does on the wretches down below, Murdok would kill us if we let you get to that point." I attempt to joke with the man, only resulting in Mulroy reaching his grasping hands towards my neck, still angrily questioning where his apprentice is.
"Where is he, freak! Where's Murdok, damnit?!" he shouts once more, reaching into his various pouches, patting down his empty holster, and trying to sit himself up.
God, I can't watch this anymore, any longer, and I'll start to feel bad for the man.
The once strong and imposing Investigator had been reduced to a wreck, his lungs still working overtime to keep the man up and about. His carapace, which he wore with pride, was now nearly crushing him beneath its weight.
He really needs to see a damn medic; there's only so much work that we can do here, and I doubt any of us aside from Murdok can even access whatever serves as an autodoc here.
Pointing at the two Enforcers, I motioned for them to take care of him, passing the buck as fervently as Barley did. Before either could object, I heel-turn and briskly walk towards the kitchens.
As I walk towards the kitchen once more, I reach out into the warp to keep an eye on the 'Vics, allies of convenience they may be, but with the death of a few of them, I notice a few of the men sending longing glances towards the doors and half-aborted motions stopped with a glare from an Enforcer.
Thankfully, none of them seems to have worked up the courage to make a break for it, and that makes me calm down a bit since none of us has got the ammo to waste on culling our forces just yet.
Whatever loose ammunition we collected from the poxwalkers either didn't match our current weaponry or were too gunked up to be of any use, leaving us with fancy paperweights and foul-smelling armor.
Reaching the kitchen, I take a second to take it all in again, this time a little more closely.
In the storage near the back, I can see Barley unloading boxes of cold rations, tin cans, and containers of water, all of which he began to store on a pallet, and shoving whatever choice bits into a bag slung over his shoulder.
Along the walls and tables, I see loose utensils, pans, and other smaller pieces of metal that I had begun to lift when I thought I was walking to my death.
Would've thought Arbites and their staff would've gotten better food than this tho'.
Kicking away the loose plastics and cutlery, I can't help but notice that for such a vaunted position in the Imperium, their lives mustn't have been that much better. Sure, this is leagues better than whatever I saw in the underhives, but it also wasn't any better than what I would've seen in a cheap gas station back on Earth.
But, after so long living off of scavenged meals and handouts, it smelled damn near divine.
As I loomed over the warmers, I could still feel the heat emanating from the food —grox chunks, it looked like. The tough, chewy, and all-too-mouthwatering meat left me salivating. Along with the familiar smell of boiled tubers, I was seconds away from crying in relief and joy over the sight.
But as I reach for the still-warm food, a hand reaches out to grab at my forearm.
"Girlie?"
Guess the rest of the 'Vics will be in here soon, gotta make a plate quick.
"Ah, I see. Want some too, do ya? Grab a plate and I'll dish out some for you." Trying to shoo her away before I try my best to shove at least two pounds of tubers and grox chunks down my gullet before anyone else notices there's food to be had. "Might wanna grab another plate for the Prick too if you want to get in the boy's good graces," I tell her.
Another tug at my wrist, and before I can tell her off, she points at another, unnoticed man who had the same idea as me, just quicker on the uptake, as he ate mouthful after mouthful of whatever was stored on his end of the kitchen. Tubers, it looks like.
"Yeah? He's not doing wrong now, is he? Just go grab a plate and—"
Another tug, and I'm just about to push the girl away as my mouth continues to water. Before she again points at the man, who's now managed to down the entire tub of food.
Well, now that's concerning, man'll probably pop long before the denizens of the warp get to him.
Walking over, I shout, "Hey! Leave some for the rest of us, you karker! What're you thinking, eating all this…" My voice trails off as I see the bottom of the tub, teeming and squirming with maggots the size of my thumb, before snapping my head back to the man.
From the inside of his mouth, I can see them, writhing and wriggling, making their way deeper and deeper down into his throat as he continues to grab handful after handful of the creatures, all vanishing down into his mouth.
"Oh, fuck this."