Warhammer Secret War (Warhammer 40,000)

[Adrassil]

Going clockwise: It's Marcel Torris, Attelus Kaltos, Elandria and Garrakson.

Another drawing from left to right it's Garrakson, Elandria and Attelus.

Chapter 1

Gunfire. Las and solid projectile alike ripped down the corridor, stray rounds punching holes through the wooden walls, showering us in pouts of exploding dust, which engulfed much of the hallway in a thick, white haze—forcing my colleagues and me into cover. Two of whom, Jarvus and Callague, never made it. A las round burned through the side of Jarvus' skull as the ex-guardsman desperately dived. Callague was dead before he could even move, the poor bastard almost cut apart by the intense fire.

Cursing, I blindly fired my autogun from the corner into the dust-obscured corridor. 'Spray and pray' is the technical term, and I wondered for the hundredth time why I had joined this line of work. No way in hell could I get a clean shot; my only hope was to pin the assailants.

With a quick-fire signal to Garrakson behind me, I slipped back, and the ex-guardsman took my position.

"Fire in the hole!" he sang out in his oddly melodic voice, and with a grunt, the middle-aged man hefted a tube charge down the hall.

The hefty clatter of falling debris preceded the explosion's deafening roar.

Without hesitation, Elandria and I slid into the corridor. Side by side, we sprinted through the dust and debris, firing our auto guns from the hip. Two unfortunate gangers buckled and collapsed under our withering fire—a pair of darkened figures stunned by the grenade's force.

At the last moment, we dropped our weapons and fell upon our enemies—Elandria drawing twin monomolecular enhanced blades from the sheaths on her back. I drew my mono-sword from its hip scabbard. Elandria let out a spine-chilling cackle, dodged a ganger's clumsy blow, and then countered with a deft slice, relieving him of his head.

Not in such humour, I parried a ganger's stabbing knife and kicked my boot's knife into his shin. The man's agonised scream became gurgling as I stabbed through his chest, and I kicked the convulsing idiot off my blade. Immediately, I was forced to duck the next Hammer's wild swing of the butt of his Lasgun. My blade arced into his left hip and through to his right shoulder. The man gurgled blood and then fell onto his back.

Beside me, Elandria finished the last ganger, disembowelling him with a quick slice of Setsukia, then decapitated him with Katrina.

She and I worked well together, but our combat styles could not have been more different. I was taught the way of the combat pragmatist: to do anything and everything to win, to fight with quick, brutal and practical techniques.

She fought like a gymnast, with acrobatic and fanciful techniques I initially found contemptuous. But I could not deny that she was skilled, very skilled.

She had yet to reveal what school of assassins she was taught in, but I could hazard a guess.

Elandria enjoyed killing. To such heights, it disturbed me, and her obsession with decapitating her victims was unnatural hence why she wielded twin blades: Setsukia, for blocking and wounding. Katrina, specifically to decapitate. She fought while amped on combat drugs, which I was taught to do too, but detested. If you relied on enhancements, what good would you be without them? I supposed that was why her fanciful style was so effective.

I do not enjoy killing; I do it because needs must be in a professional manner, and I take pride in my work. I am Attelus Xanthis Kaltos. I am a mercenary, and that is that.

Despite her ruthless, bloodthirsty nature, Elandria was an attractive young woman. At times, her beauty held me in awe—her skin was deathly pale, and her straight brunette hair was jaw-length. But I was wise enough to know a girl like her was only to be looked at, not chased. Being so indoctrinated by her cult, all she would ever know was the mindless urge to kill. It was quite depressing, really.

The four that fell to our blades were the last; another three had taken the brunt of the blast.

'Good work, you two', said Garrakson, his heavy boots crunching on the debris as he approached our backs.

Elandria and I turned to our colleague. Elandria was tense and shaking, and as she spun, she almost toppled over. Fortunately, Garrakson was smart enough to stand out of range of Elandria's blades; she was hugely unpredictable when in such a state.

I shrugged. "All in a day's work," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "We must be getting back before the local Magistratum arrive."

Garrakson grimaced slightly. "Or the damnable Arbites."

"C-cut the chit chat s-shall we?" said Elandria, her voice being painful and needy. "Our master will be wanting to hear of our exploits.' She was twitching madly now, another reason I kept off stimms; the withdrawal was intense.

"What?" said Garrakson. "Our exploits being that we lost even more good men chasing yet another dead end?"

I sighed; Garrakson's words rang true. I had been part of Taryst's army for half a year, and so far, this had to be the most horrible, thankless job I've ever had.

Taryst, a famous Rogue Trader, is well known throughout the Calixis sector as a master of trade and business. Who, for an unknown reason, was waging war against the gangs of this Hive world: Omnartus. So secret this struggle was any mercenary who joined had their mind blocked from psyker intrusion. That was over two thousand men and women. Emperor only knows how even he could afford it.

"What are we to do about Callague and Jarvus?" I said, starting down the corridor and past Garrakson, although I already knew the answer.

Garrakson sniffed, causing his scarred, square-jawed face to contort. "Do what we always do," he said, shaking his head. "Leave 'em; we don't have the time, kid."

"Just for a change, huh?" I sighed. "Poor bastards. I hope that the Magistratum treat them well."

"Why does it matter?" asked Elandria, despite a drug-induced withdrawal, approached her with such feline grace she seemed to float. "The dead are dead; it does not matter how well you treat them."

I sighed again. No matter how many times I explained it, she still didn't understand.

Garrakson sniffed again, but this time, he hawked up a wad of phlegm and unceremoniously spat to the floor. "Alright, kiddies, we split up," he said. "Elandria go south-west-"

"Yeah, yeah," I sneered. "We know the drill: I go southeast, and you go south, meet at the base at eighteen hundred, we know."

Garrakson shook his head with a bemused smile. "How long has it been now?"

"One hellish half of one hellish year," I answered, though I was not sure either.

"Hellish? Hellish?" said Garrakson. "Now that's the damned understatement of the damned century. Alright then, just move out now if you know the bloody drill, so frigging well."

And we did it, yet again.


I ran out of the building and into the polluted, darkened streets. My black flak jacket whipped and snapped in my wake.

I did not need to check my wrist chronometre's compass to know I ran southeast. Ever since I was a child, I had an innate sense of direction. With only my wits, I could find my way through the thickest bush on my homeworld, Elbyra.

As I silently moved, my thoughts wandered. Half a year ago, our squad numbered ten, but with the losses of Callague and Jarvus, we're now reduced to four.

The fourth was Torris, an ex-Arbitrator. He was wounded in our last incursion; the poor bastard lost an eye and then got knifed in the guts. His condition was still uncertain. I was not into praying, but I was tempted to do so for Torris.

It was quite depressing, really, seeing your colleagues killed off, one by one. Was it like this to serve in the Imperial Guard? Perhaps I should ask Garrakson one day if I ever remember to.

Better do it sooner rather than later; Garrakson may be the next. Or perhaps me.

I shook away the morbid thought. The morale of Taryst's army was at an all-time low. We may be mercenaries; throne gelt was a good incentive for us. But Taryst expected us to give up our lives without telling us why.

We were human as well if we had a cause, a meaning! It could make us fight all the harder.

My anger started to well, and my jaw clenched. What was the point of implanting us with psychic blocks if you don't give us any information to protect?

But I was no stranger to secrets and sabotage. Everyone has an ulterior motive. I had learnt my lesson of 'trust' from my dear old dad, my dear old frigging father.

I sighed. Too many memories suddenly flooded back. I shook it away; now was not the time for sentiment.

There was never any time for sentiment.

I turned a sharp corner, out of the alleyways and into the main streets.

We were meant to meet at the base at 1800 hours, but I intended to get there sooner. I felt I needed to speak with the employer, who was a mother figure to us and more of a mother than my own ever was. Her name was Glaitis. She saved me after my first futile assassination attempt. Glaitis taught me the way of the assassin in more detail than my father ever would. And she knew my father, my real father.

My brow furrowed, and I sped up my already fast pace.



She never looked up, and she never seemed to need to as I entered her office.

"Ah! Attelus Xanthis Kaltos. What is it that brings you to my humble abode, my apprentice?" said Glaitis. She was a tall, harshly beautiful woman, and I couldn't help my gaze gliding over her. Glaitis sat at her desk, long legs crossed. Her cold blue eyes studied a data slate intently.

My jaw clenched. I hated it when Glaitis used my last name, and she was well aware of it. It was part of her constant testing, which drove me nuts. It was to anger me so I could learn to control my anger- I almost always failed.

I swallowed the anger, and nervousness replaced it. A nervousness that overtook me when in Glaitis' presence.

"I-I am here to advise you of-."

The sharp snap of the data slate suddenly shutting interrupted me, and she fixed me with her piercing gaze.

"No stuttering, young one, unless it is an act! You are to be confident! Precise in your words and your demeanour, and stand up straight! Your posture is utterly horrendous!"

I did as told, holding back an annoyed sigh.

"Now, Young Attelus, you may start again."

"I am here to advise you that we have lost two more members of our squad."

"And who were they?" she said, her gaze falling to her data slate, uninterested.

"Callague and Javus."

"They are of Taryst's ilk," she stated.

I nodded, already knowing what she was about to say.

"If they are not part of our own organisation, I do not care, and you know this as well as I do. Come out with it, then. I know you, child. Tell me the actual reason you are here."

I let out a heavy sigh, hoping that it didn't sound too fake; right now, I was testing myself to see if I could hide the exact reason why I was here. "The men are losing morale-"

"I am well aware of the state of the morale, my apprentice," she interrupted. "You are just here to seek guidance for your own melancholy. Am I correct in my assumption?"

I hissed air through clenched teeth, hesitating my response. Damn it, outwitted yet again!

'Yes...'

She smiled a steady and starkly rare expression.

"At least you have learnt from my teachings the value of deception, young Attelus, but yet not the proper technique. As I told you when we first began your training, your father had taught you the basics of close-quarters combat, swordsmanship, and ranged weaponry. But he had neglected the more subtle arts of an assassin's trade."

My jaw set at the mention of my father.

"Do not do that!' she hissed. "That is one of your many tells, young one. You do when you are annoyed or angered. Remember, I have taught you time and time again: 'Give nothing to your enemies or your allies.' That proverb was handed down to me by my master, and now I hand it down to you. Do you understand what it means, child?"

"Yes." I barely said rather than sighed. I started regretting coming here.

"Good!" she sat back in her chair. "Now, tell me. What troubles you, young Attelus."

Her voice softened; she seemed legitimately interested. It had always taken me back to how she could change from a harsh, berating teacher to a tender, kind-hearted, motherly figure in the blink of an eye.

My heart skipped, and I suddenly found words hard to form. When she changed like that, it would always give me a strange tightness in my chest, and I had no idea why.

"I- I hate this!" I managed to blurt. "We have been here for six months, and we have nothing! Nothing! Just more corpses and questions! It's hard every frigging day is the same! A new lead we are sent to track down and- and! We are only to find a new dead end!"

"I know," she said softly. "I know it is hard."

"But you know what else?" I snarled. "I get the suspicion that frigger Taryst knows more than he lets on! That he could give us information that would allow us to do our jobs, but for some idiotic, selfish reason, he holds it back! I don't know why, but I have my ideas!"

Glaitis placed her elbow on her desk and cupped her jaw in her smooth, tender hand. A slight smile played over her full purple lips. "Really, young one?' she cooed. "And pray tell, what are these 'ideas'?"

I stiffened; I said more than I should have. But I did not stutter. I looked Glaitis straight in the eye and said, "That the information would damn him, that he is desperate to keep it secret so much, that if it were even slightly leaked out, his life would be jeopardised. That he could be branded as a heretic and a traitor." I sighed. "That's why."

My attention dropped to the carpet, and I waited for her response.

After what seemed an eternity, she finally said, "I have to say, my young one, I am impressed."

"What?" I said, looking back up. Of all the responses that were the last, I had guessed.

"Yes, that you would have at least a little tact to figure out makes me believe that. Finally, my lessons seem to be getting through to you. I, myself, had come to suspect Taryst for quite some time, but for you to figure it out all alone," she laughed.

I stood, seemingly frozen to the floor. Never had Glaitis complimented me like that before.

"Th-thanks?"

"That, young one. Is the true key to survival in our...line of work," she said. "The first rule, 'know your enemy'. It is a simple and obvious statement, but you have learnt its true meaning."

I winced with a curse, finally realising...

"You have it, child."

Her smile turned cruel.

"Everyone is your enemy."


I leaned on the dirty, smoggy alleyway wall and smoked a lho stick. My colleagues were yet to arrive, but I did not mind. I was early, allowing me time to do what I do best: think.

It was frigging typical of Glaitis to retract a compliment. After her words filtered through my numbed mind, pride started to well within me. My posture straightened, so straight, I stood taller than ever before, but then she said.

"But do not let it go to your head, young Attelus, Xanthis Kaltos. For though I am not sure when you began to suspect Taryst. In all likelihood, it would be far too late."

"What?" and I was back to being hunched again.

She stood and approached me from around her desk; I could not help my eyes running up her lithe, full-figured body.

Glaitis shook her head; she knew, she always frigging knew. "By now, Attelus, if you were alone, working out in the field, and it took you this long to suspect your employer? You would be dead; you did well, young one, in this endeavour, but next time..."

"Frig!" I snarled and sighed: "Try doing it a little quicker.".

"Indeed, and remember this piece of advice, young one and remember it well: 'Trust nothing, suspect everything.'"

I nodded wide-eyed.

"I will," was all I could manage.

"And Attelus, as much as I try to encourage you to try...think a little less. Do think on my words now," her face turned dark. "Think on them long and hard. Now leave. I have much work to do."

I took the Lho stick with my index finger and thumb.

"Trust nothing, suspect everything," I said. The irony was that Glaitis meant herself, too.

Is this what it meant to be an assassin? Being some paranoid, psychotic, schizophrenic, trusting no one, not even yourself?

I sighed out smoke; it reminded me of my father, how he would act when some slightly suspicious stranger walked past our home, and how he reacted when anyone but me came close. For the first time in a long time, I felt something other than anger at my father. I felt sorry for Serghar Kaltos.

Was he the product of this 'training'? No, I was beginning to think it was brainwashing. Was this why my father neglected to teach me the 'subtle arts?' He did not want me to be a lonesome monster like him?

I took the Lho stick and eyed it; I used to be a chain smoker. They helped me in my darker days. At Glaitis' instruction, I had quit (which seemed hypocritical as she encouraged the use of potentially deadly combat drugs). Still, since we came under Taryst's employ, I drifted back to the dirty habit, a coping mechanism indeed.

Was the life of an assassin what I truly wanted?

I tapped the ash off the Lho stick and put it back in my mouth.

I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

I inhaled the sweet smoke and took the dying smoke between my index finger and thumb. Exhaled and flicked the stub onto the rockcrete ground.

I kept leaning against the wall, not moving to step it out. Elandria did it as she emerged from the shadows.

"Lost in your little world once more, eh?" she said.

"Not lost enough to miss your clumsy approach."

I could not see her expression behind that cold, featureless mask, but I could hazard a guess.

Elandria was many things, but socially intelligent was not one of them.

She stood for a few seconds, trying to make a coherent comeback, and the best she came up with was, "Why is the son of Serghar Kaltos smoking Lho? Does he think himself too good for the rules?"

My jaw set. I tried to keep my father's identity a secret, but Glaitis had to go and tell Elandria. Perhaps it was yet another 'test', but what that bloody woman wanted to test was exactly a mystery; was it my patience? Or my combat skill when I lost my patience?

I sighed contemptuously, and that riled her up.

"What does that mean?"

"It means what it means," my tone insultingly melancholic.

"Yeah!" she snarled. "Well, let us see what it truly 'means' when I separate your head from your shoulders!"

And she reached for her blades.

I grinned, then, in a blink, slid into a combat stance and drew my sword.

Then Garrakson suddenly seemed to appear between us.

Elandria and I yelped in fright and leapt back.

"That's enough, kiddies," he said. "I think that we've had enough violence for today."

Then he turned to me. "And kid, if you want to sheath your blade in her, may I suggest using your 'other' blade instead."

I felt my face go hot.

"What?" demanded Elandria, her wide, beautiful green eyes switching back and forth between Garrakson and me. "What is this 'other blade' you speak of, Garrakson? Attelus Kaltos only wields one. Is-is it the knife in his boot?"

"Try a little higher, missy," said Garrakson, and I blushed even worse.

But she still didn't get it.

Garrackson sighed. "Alright, let's get moving, kiddies. We've got exploits to report."



My face still seemed on fire, and Elandria was still confused. We slipped south toward the 'back way.' The entrance is designated to us dirty dogs of war. We were not good enough for the public entry.

Elandria and I walked on Garrakson's flanks into the dirty, barely six-metre-wide alleyway. We were aware of the cameras watching us—thirteen of them perched about five metres up on the grim, grey walls. I reminded myself of them every time, just in case.

We came to the entrance, a well-hidden set of double doors. Garrakson tugged open the panel hiding the keypad and typed the access code.

Elandria and I kept watch, which was fine with me. My back was to the gorgeous assassin. In my immature embarrassment, I could barely at look her and counted myself lucky. Her indoctrination had given her a naiveté of such personal matters.

Actually, on second thought, I was not lucky at all. Luck had abandoned me long ago.

I hissed a curse. Then, I could not help but grin and shake my head.

Abruptly, I was brought into reality by the slight hissing of the opening doors, and we silently slipped in.

We walked into what was once a maintenance entrance, now a highly secure, fortified maintenance entrance.

If there was a literal embodiment of Taryst's paranoia, this was it. Mercenaries crawled throughout the ten-metre wide, hundred-metre-long walkway. At every three metres were waist-high rockcrete walls. It was on a sharp incline, so each wall overlooked the last and twelve small balconies jutted from the walls: ten metres overhead. A sniper crouched in each; their Long Las rifles tracked us as we walked.

I hated the place. I would always try to find some way to sneak or fight through without getting evaporated by billions of last, solid projectiles and high-velocity hot shot rounds, besides stealing a uniform or complete camouflage. I came up nil; it was as close to impregnable as I knew. It would take hundreds, perhaps thousands of Imperial Guardsmen to storm it, and their casualties would be horrendous, but it would work...eventually. That or an entire company of Space Marines, but even they would suffer: a high yield hotshot round punches through power armour with ease.

Elandria and I silently walked through the crowd of highly armed and armoured mercenaries. But Garrakson seemed to greet each frigger in frigging turn. He knew them by name and stopped for idiotic small talk with them. I was almost glad at Callague's and Jarvus' demise; the walk would have been even longer with them.

After twenty long minutes, we arrived at the end. Here, two servitors, both with autocannons for arms, stood constant vigil at the doors.

They slid open, and Colonel Barhurst walked out. The grizzled old bastard approached with a warm grin and outstretched arms. But he was contradicted by the ten grim, faceless Stormtroopers escorting him.

"Ahh! Garrakson, my good friend!" Barhurst exclaimed. He was well into his two hundred, but the use of extensive and expensive rejuvenate treatments kept him looking in his mid-thirties. Though a heavily scarred and beaten man in his mid-thirties. According to my research, he was one of Taryst's longest-serving allies. He abandoned his duties as a Colonel in the Tamarsk 30th to join the Rogue Trader; so wanted by the commissariat and Inquisition for dereliction of duty. But thanks to Taryst's goodwill and huge influence, he eluded justice so far.

I never liked Barhurst; the man was sycophancy incarnate. Taryst was the real commander. All Barhurst did was carry on the Rogue Trader's commands, and when asked to do anything himself, he would pass it on to others. He was charismatic and friendly, but it was an obvious facade. How Taryst couldn't see the incompetence of his second was quite beyond me.

"How goes the hunt?"

"Another dead end," said Garrakson; the contempt in our squad leader's voice was well hidden but not from me. "And we lost Callague and Jarvus."

Barhurst made an exaggerated frown; it was like an alien making a sick parody of human emotion. 'Sorry to hear that, my friend. Master Taryst is up in his grotto waiting for you."

Then Barhurst turned to Elandria and me, smiling smugly. "And you two know the drill."

I sighed, yes, I frigging know, do you need to remind me every single time? I thought, and my teeth clenched.

Hesitantly, I unstrapped my sheathed sword, placed it on the nearby table, and slipped off my wrist-mounted throwing knife compartments. I then took my autopistol from my shoulder holster, and lastly and most hesitantly, I took my right boot, which contained the hidden knife.

Elandria did it with even more aversion than I: letting go of her twin swords, her autopistol and her knife.

"Good!" said Barhurst. "You can head on up now."

And just to make sure, we had to file through a metal detector.

Every single damn day for six months, we went through this shit. Saying it was quite depressing was a frigging understatement.

I might have to start on Obscura just to get over this monotony.

I shook away the thought. I have seen the damage that the drug can do. I have been through the damage it could do, and I will never go through that again.

Never.


In silence, we rode the up elevator the three hundred stories of Taryst's tower. On a hive world like Omnartus, buildings of such excessive calibre were almost a given. I was from an Agri world, though it was not without great cities of its own. Varander, the capital of my home country, Velrosia, was a bustling, beautiful metropolis. Varander sat on the north coast of Lake Varander. A lake was so large it could be classed as a sea. I spent the majority of my teenage years living there.

I missed Varander. The last I had seen the city, it was reduced to rubble.

Then, there was Varanier, the capital of Elbyra's largest nation: Maranger. That was a fantastic city, harsh and sparse. It was a metropolis of granite and grit, an embodiment of its people.

Neither city was on terms with even the smallest of hives. Many packed ten times the population of Elbyra into an area the size of a Varanderian suburb.

Omnartus was dead. Millennia of intense colonisation, mining and pollution had destroyed its ecosystem. But when we rode this elevator, it would make my dreary days worth it. As we rose high enough to emerge from the pollution, I would glimpse the might of nature. That despite humanity's wanton destruction, here still held a beauty of its own. The sun dominated, and in the distance, the peaks of Omnartus' many mountains broke through to the clear air like icy white islands in a sea of black and brown. But despite everything, each mountaintop contained life: a one-in-a-million plant, it had the sheer power and audacity to survive in below-zero temperatures. That it thrived despite the odds was a testament.

Of course, I kept this romanticism private; no self-serving mercenary should be like this. Despite having seen so much death and grim darkness, I still held onto slight aspects of my sixteen-year-old self, the foolish, naive me, before being forced to find out how horrible it is to live in this galaxy. That was why I was having second thoughts; I was beginning to doubt whether I could handle the damage this life could cause, physical and mental.

No, the damage it will cause.

I sighed, attention stapled to the world outside, hoping like hell my back facing Elandria and Garrakson was enough to hide my emotions.

Then it happened what I dreaded most: the end of the journey.

"300th story; Master Taryst's living quarters," said the elevator's pre-programmed, monotone voice as the ascent abruptly stopped. "Restricted access, retinal scan required."

My jaw clenched, and I looked up, seeing the three cameras crowding the elevator with their damnable presence.

Surely Taryst was watching the feed? Surely, over the dozens of times we have been up here, the Rogue Trader could discern who the hell we were?

I could tell Garrakson shared my teeth-grinding frustration. The ex-guardsman stood and waited for about half a minute. Then, with a heavy sigh, he pushed his face into the scanner.

"Employee 568, identified as Jeurat Garrakson," said the computer. "Access granted."

The doors slid open, and we filed out.

We entered Taryst's lavish living quarters, with Elandria in the middle and Garrakson and me on her flanks. Red dominated Taryst's little world, a deep, bloody crimson.

The windowless corridor was five metres wide and about fifteen in length. At the end was a thick crimson and gold curtain. I had never been through those curtains. Taryst would always meet us out here. I knew Garrakson had, and I was sorely tempted to ask the ex-guardsman but could not pluck up the courage. Well, he and Glaitis.

Two straight-backed guards stood in front of the curtains. They were in golden, ostentatiously emblazoned carapace armour; they held equally fancy hellguns. I had never seen their faces nor talked to them, but I could not help but admire their discipline and stoicism.

Curiosity ate at me. What was beyond the curtains? It could be anything: a secret shrine dedicated to the Ruinous Powers? Or perhaps a den of sin and hedonism? (That could be a shrine to one god, but I would rather keep from uttering its name)

But I was not sure if I wanted to know. No, I wanted to see, but whether I should was an entirely different question.

I was finding Ignorance was very much bliss in this galaxy (which is ironically against Glaitis' teachings)

I sighed. It was far too late for that; I had long passed that event horizon. Short of having myself lobotomised, there was no going back.

Just like my dear old damnable dad.

"GREETINGS MY DEAR FRIENDS!" The deep voice abruptly boomed, and the boss himself flourished out of the curtains.

I winced, not in fright but contempt. Every time, Taryst would greet us this way. And every single time, it smacked of utterly forced, fake enthusiasm.

In all honesty, I had come to suspect Taryst of withholding secrets right from my first week of employment, and how could I bloody not? Even if I had told Glaitis then, it would have been too late in her lofty opinion.

"My friends!' he echoed as he approached us. "My friends!"

Taryst stood over two metres tall. Was big-boned and corded with muscle; he cut an intimidating figure.

His strong-jawed face was plain. His tanned skin was complemented by a finely maintained black moustache and goatee. His smile glaringly bright and like his greeting, fake.

During the months, I noticed Taryst had aged; now, there were bags under his eyes and wrinkles here and there. Being utterly paranoid all the time would do that.

I wouldn't trust him as far as I could frigging throw him.

"Attelus, Jeurat!" Taryst cried as he came close, his two guards in tow. He paused at Elandria and, with surprising dexterity, eclipsed her hand in his, then lightly kissed the back of it. "Mamzel Elandria, what news have you brought me today?"

My jaw set as I saw Elandria's pale skin blushing like mad.

Garrakson cleared his throat; he was the only one used to the Rogue Traders' over-the-top extroversion. "My lord, we have arrived at yet another dead end."

Almost violently, Taryst let go of Elandria's hand. He stood and turned on his heels; his back faced us. "And Callague, Javus?"

"I am not sure, sir."

Taryst spun on Garrakson. "And what does 'I am not sure' mean?"

Garrakson shrugged. "I don't know, sir, meaning that they are either still lying in the pools of blood we left them in or in a Magistratum mortuary either/or."

His dead tone shocked me so much that my jaw dropped.

Taryst grimaced slightly and, for a second, looked at his three hundred years.

"I-I am sorry to hear that."

Garrakson stayed stoic, kept his gaze locked to Taryst's.

Taryst flinched away. "And as well as no news on your target?"

"Zilch," answered Garrakson. There is no sign of this Brutis 'Bones' yet, sir; he is quite the enigma."

Now that is the frigging understatement of the millennia, I thought.

"Then what exactly happened?"

Garrakson sniffed. "They went immediately hostile, sir, ambushing us as we entered their base of operations, even with our cover. We managed to fight our way to their cogitator bank but found the memory all wiped. I haven't seen such ferocity since I fought in the guard, sir. From what I gathered if we captured and tried to interrogate one of the hammers, we would be wasting our time. They were like cultists, sir. This Brutis "bones" must be getting very influential in the local gangs if they will fight for him like that. The crazy bastards."

Taryst looked desperately at Elandria and me.

"And you two agree?"

Elandria nodded and blushed to the floor. My jaw set again, and I said simply, "Yes."

I could not bother with more detail; I just wanted to get away from Taryst.

Taryst grimaced disapprovingly.

"Alright, another dead end it is then!" he exclaimed with forced humour. "And quite literally, too!"

The only one laughing was Elandria, both Garrakson and I, not so amused.

"Okay, then. Thank you all for the update, and I apologise for Callague and Jarvus; they were good men." Then he turned away and began to return to his curtains. "Dismissed, all."

"Oh, and young Attelus," he said, suddenly stopping his tracks and making me halt in mine. "Come! I very much wish to speak to you!"

That was the last thing I wanted to hear.

 

[Adrassil]

I sighed while watching Taryst disappear between the curtains. I needed a drag of Lho almost as much as I did not want to follow that literal embodiment of psychotic paranoia.

I slipped out my ceramic box of Lho sticks from my flak jacket pocket, eyed the two guards, and slowly began to open them.

They just stood there silent, deathly still.

I carried on, my attention fixed on the guards, more interested in what they would do than in the smoking itself. I opened the case, tugged out one lho, put it in my mouth, and pulled out my igniter.

I hesitated halfway through the movement, expecting the guards to do something.

No, still motionless.

I shrugged and lit the Lho.

I inhaled the smoke and sighed it out, gladdened that my stupidity did not cause my torso to be bisected by laser fire and that perhaps paranoia had not entirely taken Taryst's mind...Yet.

I did not understand why Taryst had those two standing there. I had only seen such ostentatious bodyguards accompany planetary Governors or Lord Generals; perhaps he wanted to state that he deserved such charges as those great and mighty servants of the Imperium? Being a great and almighty Rogue Trader and all.

Well, actually, perhaps so. At least, unlike many Lord Generals and Lord Governors out there (especially the latter), Taryst had earned this power, this prestige. This was according to the research I had garnered, but I would not put it past Taryst to have that doctored.

I took another inhale and blew out the sweet smoke. Why do you want to talk to me, Taryst? So many reasons flew through my thoughts, each more obvious than the last and even more dodgy than the one before.

I pulled out the Lho between index finger and thumb, eyeing those still guards again, and found I envied them. Life for those two idiots seemed so simple; you stand and guard. Did they have to worry about political intrigue? No. Did they have to worry about their master's constant berating at even the slightest of mistakes? Somehow, I doubted it.

Alright, enough loitering, I thought, putting the Lho back between clenched teeth. Let's get this over and damn well done with.


I walked toward the curtains slowly, casually. Hands in the pockets of my flak jacket and the lit Lho hanging out the corner of my mouth.

I was almost there when a massive, golden-gloved paw was suddenly held right in my face, making me stop.

"Excuse me, sir," said the left side guard with forced politeness, the voice vox enhanced. "Would you be so kind as to dispose of the contraband?"

My brow furrowed heavily, and I sighed, annoyed but unsurprised. I took the Lho stick by thumb and index finger and handed it to the guard.

"And the container as well, sir?"

Barely containing a groan, I snapped it out of my pocket; the movement was so swift and smooth that the guard took a few seconds to notice it was right in his face.

And why don't you chop off my balls while you're at it, huh? I thought sorely.

"I-I thank you, sir. Now you may pass through, and you will have your Lhos returned when you leave."

I glared up at the much taller guard. I frigging well better, I thought as I passed through the curtains. Or you may be waking up a eunuch.

That is if you are not already a eunuch.



I emerged into the living quarters and quickly took in my surroundings. It was a much smaller area than I at first thought, ten metres in width, fifteen in length. The crimson-red walls were lined with gold. Placed nicely in the room's epicentre was a tasteful, beautiful white (with gold lining) marble water fountain with three wide, red couches around it. A small side table set at each armrest, all covered with expensive liquor bottles. The couches were arranged three metres from the fountain, but otherwise, the room was utterly and strangely empty.

The door at the opposite end of the room was most prominent. The adamantium door contrasted the rest of the decor; it was hard not to notice. It was quite interesting that Taryst did not even bother hiding it; perhaps it was a fake door, perhaps? Or perhaps I was looking into it a bit too much.

"My friend!" yelled Taryst as he leaned back on one of the couches. " Come! Take a seat. I have amasec of the highest quality and cigars! Relax, we have much to discuss!"

I didn't move an inch. "No. But I would castrate someone for a smoke of Lho."

"Sorry?" Taryst's eyes widened.

The corner of my mouth twitched, idiot!

"Hmm, sorry, do you have any Lho to smoke?" I rephrased it as smoothly as possible.

Taryst's look of shock disappeared. "Yes, young Attelus, come, sit. I have plenty."

I sighed and hunched in defeat, beginning to approach. I really didn't want to move an inch, but I saw little choice in the matter. Taryst's over-friendliness was getting on my nerves.

Taryst leaned over his couch, opened one of the draws on his table and took out a rather fanciful box.

"Here, take as many as you want, young Attelus," he said, sliding the box open and holding it out to me.

My jaw set. Why did he have to continually call me 'young Attelus'? Attelus would just do, I knew that I was young, I did not need to be constantly reminded by someone else besides Glaitis. She still called me 'child,' a rather dated title seen as though I was twenty-three frigging years old.

Keeping my annoyance again silent, I nodded thanks and drew out two, meanwhile pulling out the igniter.

I smiled, finding it funny that the guards outside would make me give up my lhos but forget my igniter, which could do more damage. I was skilled in that aspect; my father had taught me how to turn anything into a potentially lethal weapon, even lighters. He was an equally avid smoker of Lho as well.

"You still stand, young Attelus, come and sit."

"Thank you, sir, but I would rather stand," I said, trying for the soft yet forceful tone that Glaitis had taught me.

Taryst shrugged. "If you wish it rather."

I slid one of the Lhos into my mouth and lit it, drawing the smoke deep. "Yes, thanks, but now, might I ask why you called me here?"

"Ahh yes, my young friend," said Taryst as he suddenly got off his seat and moved to another table, opening a drawer. "I have been studying into your records, your curriculum vitae."

My eyes turned into suspicious slits. 'And how exactly did you get your hands on my "curriculum vitae"?'

"I had a young friend of yours look into it for me; you know, the one, the young friend under my employ, the young friend who you had secretly hired to look into my past for you."

I winced. "Vex-"

'Vex Carpompter' confirmed Taryst as he pulled out a data slate from the table's draw, "the ingenious young hacker. How very audacious of you, young Attelus, to try such a trick under my very nose. You would have gotten away with it as well, but for-."

My jaw set yet again. "Reasons you will not divulge?" I finished.

"Exactly!" he grinned. "You are smart, young Attelus, too smart for your own good, it seems, using the very person who inspects the system to check the information."

I was not sure what to do. Was Taryst going to kill me?

Vex even had almost unlimited access to the cogitator systems of Taryst's whole corporation. Actually, I had forgotten entirely about my under-the-table agreement with the infamous hacker. It had seemed like such a small request, and it seemed even smaller after the pathetic results.

"No young Attelus I am not going to kill you if that is what you are thinking," then his eyes turned into evil slits. "I was tempted to before, though. Very tempted."

My brow furrowed, I was beginning to dislike where the hell this was going. "You were tempted to until you saw into my files, right?"

"Answer me this, young Attelus," said Taryst. "Did you act on the volition of your teacher or your own?"

I hissed through my gritted teeth. I hesitated in my reply, seeing that my life may depend on my next sentence, so I chose my words very carefully and told the truth.

"No, Glaitis did not ask me to do it, not directly anyway. I was acting under her teachings."

"And does she know of your attempt at espionage?"

"Again, no, not that I know of anyway."

Taryst smiled and fiddled his data slate with a large thumb. "I see young Attelus; your answers confirm what your records state. I can see that you are nothing like your ally, young Elandria, she is a blunt instrument, she knows very little besides how to kill people in a very gory, all be it, very pretty fashion. You, on the other hand, are a far more subtle instrument of infiltration, espionage, and assassination in your very, very short career. You have done it all, have you not?"

All I have done very well, I shrugged, trying very hard to sound nonchalant and keep the welling pride from my tone. "Yes and no; I have been on many missions, but mostly the more menial stuff. I have done some infiltration, but most of what I know Glaitis has taught in the theoretical, not the practical."

"She doesn't believe you ready yet?"

"Yes," I answered, knowing I should not be divulging such information, but my instinct for self-preservation was overwhelming my instinct for keeping secrets. Also, Taryst probably knew this already. "I did not start my training of the 'finer arts' of the Assassin's trade until my employ into mamzel Glaitis' mercenaries."

"I see, how about a test young Attelus, the ultimate test to see if you are finally ready. I want to employ you."

I raised an eyebrow; this was something I actually saw coming. "Tch! You want me to spy on Glaitis, you?"

Taryst raised his eyebrow, too. "You seem surprised despite your forward guessing."

I'm surprised that you're so damn predictable, I wisely refrained from saying.

"Young Attelus, do you truly want the life of an assassin? One living always in the shadows? One of death and thanklessness? Or would you rather a life of meaning, a life of profit, a life of happiness? I can get you that, a way to escape, a way to get away."

I glared at Taryst. Was this a coincidence? Just as I was beginning to doubt, Taryst came to me with this request and gave me such an incentive.

I did not believe in coincidence.

Also, I could not help but remember my previous conversation with Glaitis: ' Trust nothing, suspect everything.'

Did she guess that Taryst would pull such a stunt? Or did she already know that he would?

If either were the truth, there would be no way in hell I could hope to keep it a secret.

Was it, again, potentially a coincidence?

I genuinely hoped that it was.

Taryst looked at me with an almost sympathetic expression. "I know what it was like to be your age, not to know who or what you are. It's hard, young Attelus, to take your time in making your decision, but I have to ask that you make up your mind before you leave. Though my indecisiveness was of a completely different subject, the struggle is the same."

I sighed. Could I betray Glaitis? The woman who had saved my life, who had taken me in, cared for me, and taught me everything she knew—potentially destroying six years of hard work and struggle?

It was for freedom, which I was not sure would be worth it; this was a harsh universe. I was beginning to believe that the term 'freedom' could only be used with irony, that it, ever being literal of use, was forever lost.

"No."

"Excuse me?" asked Taryst, seeming almost bemused.

"No, I can't do it, I-I just can't."

"Why?" carried on Taryst, beginning to sound forceful.

"I have my reasons," I said, sounding more timid than intended. I was not expecting such a change in Taryst. He seemed almost childish, almost sulky.

"No! I know why!" he snarled. "I have heard of how you act around her, like some little, pathetic, love-struck puppy! Can't you see that she is using you like some mindless pawn! Like a slave!"

"What?"

"You have two ears and are smart. Apparently, you know exactly what I said."

"You- you think I am in love with her?"

He just glared at me.

I scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous! She's three times my age! And Like a mother to me, that -that's disgusting."

He grinned. "To be honest, I don't blame you, young Attelus; I would be head over heels for her as well. If she was my type, of course, beautiful, intelligent, confident, deadly."

"Sh-shut up!" I meant to snarl but instead whined, and I felt my face flush.

He shook his head. "So, can't you see this is unhealthy? That it is all the more reason to do what I ask?"

I swallowed. "I can't. I just can't, Taryst. Do you know what you ask? What will be the consequences if I'm found?"

Taryst nodded. "I do. I researched your employer before I hired her services, and your death would be...Very painful indeed, but if you succeeded, the reward would be worth it!"

"How?"

"I would make you rich! And you could go back to your home planet and live an easy life of luxury and wealth. A life of freedom and meaning."

I gritted my teeth. 'Trust nothing, suspect everything' The meaning of that motto was double-jointed, to say the frigging least, Glaitis, I knew she meant herself as well; she could, in all truth, never be trusted, ever.

I knew why Taryst would ask me to spy on her. He was paranoid and psychotic, but from time to time, I could not help but suspect that Glaitis had some hidden agenda that was far, far bigger than me, bigger than even Taryst's corporation.

I could only guess how large that goal was. I was a pawn in that plan, yet every time, a strange, powerful feeling made me deny it—some foreign and strange feeling.

Was that feeling love?

"Take your time, young Attelus," said Taryst. It is a hard favour to ask, but I understand completely."

"No!" I stepped forward. "I have made up my mind!"

'And?'

And I answered without hesitation and with the truth. It felt good, to be honest, to be genuine for the first time in a damn long time.



I left Taryst's quarters, trying hard to mask my haste. On the way out, I had almost forgotten to retrieve my Lhos. Lucky for the guard, I didn't.

I caught the elevator and twitched in impatience the whole ride down, tapping the tip of my boot on the floor.

I had told Taryst, no.

The rogue trader had taken the answer in due course and did not try to convince me otherwise again. Perhaps he had known that he could not change my mind, or he didn't care. The look in his eyes almost exclaimed the former, seemingly accusing me of foolishness and cowardice.

Perhaps I was a coward and a fool. But I was not about to risk my life for what could easily be a lie. There was no guarantee that Taryst would keep his end of the bargain; the odds would not at all be in my favour.

Afterwards, I had tried to levy some information of Vex's fate from the Rogue Trader, but to no avail. Taryst was too smart to be coerced into slipping on his words.

As much as I hated to admit it, I liked the little nerd; I did not wish to see him dead over such a trivial matter.

Actually, why I was still alive was a wonder in itself. Taryst had more than enough reason for shooting me, just on the grounds of trying to infiltrate his systems and even more for flat-out refusing his request. Letting me live would make sense if I found Vex dead; it would send the message: "Do not cross me again, young Attelus, or this will be your fate."

It would indeed, I would not be crossing him ever again.

Despite myself, I could not help smiling my evil smile; the sentence went through my thoughts as a perfect recording of Taryst's voice, everything from tone to demeanour.

When the elevator reached my intended level, I slipped out the sliding double doors and ran down the corridor, heading to the northern side of the building that was where Vex's office was. Nimbly, I dodged and weaved my way through the many of Taryst's employees in the road.

It took me only five minutes to reach the cogitator workers section. I had earlier learned the layout of the lower floors (the ones I had access to anyway) and the quickest way to get here or there, just in case.

I fast-walked through the lines upon lines of cogitator banks, each with a thin, decrepit serf sitting, typing madly. The clicking sound turned into a crashing as thousands upon thousands of fingers pressed keys. The noise enveloped the entire two-hundred by three-hundred-metre cavern in its near-deafening cacophony.

I fought the need to cover my ears and started to approach the entrance to Vex's office.

I paused near the door. I was cool and calm, my face set in determination. If Vex were dead in there, it would make little difference. It was just another death, and one more did not matter in a galaxy this vast. It was not my fault; Vex had accepted the bribe; it was his fault for going through with it. If he were truly as smart as he claimed he was, he would have told me to shove it.

But maybe it was my fault; how old was Vex? Fourteen? And if so, perhaps it was his youthful ignorance that had made him take the job, and then it would indeed be my fault.

I sighed and reached for the door but again hesitated as I realised something that made my guts churn. I wasn't armed! Who was not to say that someone wasn't standing over poor Vex's corpse, a silenced gun trained at the doorway, waiting for me to enter? I glanced about. They would not need to silence the weapon; I doubted that even the roar of a bolter could be heard over that racket.

"Oh, this is depressing, really!" I exclaimed in frustration, so loud that even a few of the nearer serfs looked up from their work and glared at me in disapproval.

I grinned as an idea hit me.

"Hey, everybody! You know who is a damnable frig wipe!" I yelled even louder and with even more looks of anger. "Oh, come on! Can nobody can guess!"

"Shut up!" said one as he got off his stool.

"Shut up, huh?" I grinned at the man. "Huh! Shut up, really? He must be a really big frig-wipe if he beats Taryst!"

Now, that got more attention, which was exactly what I was looking for, so I stepped through the door and found it.

Vex stood alone, utterly unharmed, inspecting one of his many Cogitator units with an intense expression. His attention snapped to me as I intruded into space, and his eyes widened with surprise.

"Hey, Attelus, I didn't- Gak!"

Bang!

The "Gak!" was him getting cut off mid-sentence by me, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic and the "bang!", me slamming his back against the wall.

"Wh-what did I do?" he whined in his pitiful way, well as whiny and as pitiful as one could be when being suffocated. But Vex achieved it better than most would.

"You little bastard! You frigging little bastard!" I snarled, accompanied by another violent slam. "You told them!"

"I don't know what you are talking about," he gurgled back. "Told them what?"

My anger turned in on itself as I pulled him from the wall, spun him about and smashed him hard against the nearest Cogitator.

"Were you born an idiot, or did you lose the brain cells along the damn way!" I snarled. "Our agreement, remember? The one where I paid you one thousand throne gelts, and you would check the systems to look into Taryst's past, remember? Remember!"

Each 'remember' was accompanied by a violent shake, which threw around Vex's head like whiplash.

Vex could only gurgle back, his face almost turning blue.

I let off a little pressure, a little.

"I don't know!" he hoarsely managed, and then tears started to well in his eyes. "An agreement that I look into the system? I don't remember it, by the Emperor I swear! I swear!"

Then, the tears started to flow freely down his face. "I swear!"

It was then that the realisation hit me. Then guilt followed, and I let go of Vex's collar. Still crying, the young hacker slumped onto the floor and curled up in a fetal ball, whimpering pitifully.

I stumbled back; Vex's mind was messed with, and his memories of the incident were erased by some warp-touched freak! I should have realised it, damn it! Taryst had psykers place the blocks on our minds! Of course, he would have them for other uses!

And I had just strangled an innocent person who did not know why. Even if Vex had remembered our agreement, it would have been plucked from his memories without any knowledge.

I cursed; this was all my idiocy, my fault. I should have remembered that Taryst had psykers; how stupid was I to forget-

I cut myself short as my eyes widened in epiphany. But one reason why I had done it was because of the blocks! Vex had told me that they had done it to him as well! I was no expert on those warp-touched. Perhaps, with their knowledge of how they had placed, the block knew they could have bypassed it. That is, assuming Vex had even been blocked at all.

I looked down at the whimpering and shuddering form. My brow furrowed heavily. I started to feel a potent and almost intoxicating mix of contempt and rage begin to well at the pit of my gut. How pathetic! I felt the overpowering urge to kick the kid while he was down.

Teach him to toughen the hell up.

Don't make this any worse than it is if Glaitis finds out, I thought, forcing down the rage, the contempt.

Then I turned and stormed out the door, leaving the pathetic foetal form of Vex to writhe in its self-pity.

It would also explain how Taryst knew I was having second thoughts.

I was right. The damnable Rogue Trader had also left me a warning—and through Vex! It was even worse than if I had found him dead. I winced as the words echoed through my thoughts: " Do not cross me again, young Attelus, or that will be your fate."

But this time, the ominously similar-sounding voice of Taryst laughed.



I sighed. I stood in my shower, the high-pressure water crashing against my thin, pale, but solid body.

My usually rigorous daily training lasted five hours with a fifteen-minute break between each hour. It was disciplined and harsh, like my father had taught me. It seemed my daily regime was the only thing I kept consistently disciplined.

The schedule was: the first two hours were dedicated to swordsmanship, the next two to unarmed combat, and if I had the time, I went to Taryst's shooting range, spending the last hour practising firing drills. Both Garrakson and Torris would almost always be there so that I would go for the company as well.

That was before poor Torris got maimed, of course.

I winced as I remembered. Again, I forgot to visit my comrade in arms at the medicae! That would be, what, the fifth day in a row? I couldn't even recall that either.

Throne, my limbs ached! Today was certainly not the first, but hopefully, the last, where I would neglect my regime. I'm not saying I didn't train; I did, but I worked way too hard and had ignored stretching before. After I had retreated from my crime scene, I retrieved my weapons from security and went straight home to my hab block. Immediately, my sword was out, and I slashed the air in a blind and rusty rage. My years of training and discipline were thrown out the window. I barely lasted half an hour before I was gasping for breath and weak from exertion.

But my anger was all but spent.

I was an idiot, a complete and utter idiot! I had no excuse to beat up on Vex, even if he had willingly told me I should have seen his treachery coming and planned for it in advance. 'Trust nothing, suspect everything" Those words could not be more accurate now!

No, I had to lose myself in my anger. I've had that problem ever since I was a child; something would happen that would anger me, and I would hurt people badly.

'A blind rage', I heard it called once; I could not recall who had said it exactly.

It was as if something had taken over me. I would lose control, and all I would do was hurt the one who had done me wrong, no matter what.

My father taught me how to control that side of myself and curb it if it occurred, and I had learnt it well. But with Vex, I slipped into that abyss for the first time in a long time, going on six years now.

That I did remember and that I remembered well.

Poor Vex Carpompter, he did not deserve my wrath. All of my repressed anger from the last six months was almost taken out on the kid; he was lucky I didn't kill him.

No, I thought. I was lucky that I didn't kill him.

I shuddered at the thought, and the soothing feeling of the constant stream of hot water disappeared entirely as a horrible sensation of sickening guilt welled in my guts.

Taryst was right! Sudden rage overtook me, and I punched the tiled wall. Blood intermingled with water, and pain erupted through my hand.

I am a coward! A bully who takes out his anger on those weaker than him because he is too scared to take it out on those over him!

That is the very definition of cowardice.

Sighing, I turned off the faucet. I tried to ignore the agony of my left hand and my dullened, aching limbs. But I could not ignore that both were of my own volition and idiocy.

It was quite depressing, really.

I walked out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around my waist, my face foul.

I caught a glimpse of the form standing in my room, and that was all I needed to see. In the blink of an eye, I snatched up a nearby knife, about to let it fly.

But I stopped mid-movement and felt my face flush as I saw that the form was Elandria, who was also aiming an Auto pistol at me.

"Drop it," she said.

I immediately did as told.

"Now kick it over to me."

I looked at her with hooded eyes; I had bare feet damn it! But gingerly, I kicked the knife at her, which bounced and rolled over the carpet.

"Mistress Glaitis wishes to speak to you," she informed in her emotionless voice. Her mask was off, so I could see her just as emotionless, pale, attractive, heart-shaped face. The gun was still pointed at me.

My embarrassment disappeared as my eyes widened in fear. My palms were suddenly wet with sweat. I had guessed my teacher would want to talk to me, but I was unprepared for it.

"J-just let me get changed," I stammered as I scrambled to gather some clothes from the many that lay about, and I could not help but be embarrassed at the messy state of my living quarters.

"You have three minutes," she stated.

"Okay, but, uhm, can I, uhm, have some privacy, please?"

"No."

I sighed, and then the sudden and impatient twitch of the Auto pistol made me jump and search all the faster. She had me, hook, line and sinker, or for want of a better cliché, I was caught out in the cold. I never felt so exposed; that was why Elandria was an actual assassin, and I was not. Though she lacked my training in deception and espionage, she knew how to catch those at their most vulnerable, and she certainly had succeeded with me.

However, I could not help but wonder what would have happened if I had thrown the knife. I may have got her; she had not reacted to me until a full second after I had stopped the throw.

I would have let it fly without hesitation if it were anyone else besides her and Glaitis. Perhaps that was why Glaitis had sent Elandria; she knew I had a weakness for the fairer sex, a weakness that she could exploit, a weakness I needed to eliminate.

It took me two minutes to hurriedly slip on my clothes from the floor, smelling, day-old tunic. I had tried hard to hide as I put it on and had succeeded with admirable grace.

I nodded to Elandria and walked out the door, but she followed me down the apartment building's corridor.

"Where are you going?" I asked over my shoulder.

"With you."

My jaw set. "To escort me, right?"

'Yeah.'

Barely, I kept the fear from my face; if Glaitis was having Elandria guard me, the master assassin was meaning business.

I swallowed, really meaning business.

It took us twenty long minutes to arrive back at Glaitis' base of operations, and all the way, I had Elandria holding her auto pistol in my back. Every single step made me dread more and more whatever Glaitis had in store for me. I struggled to hide the fear even with my back to her. The stress of suspense was almost overwhelming as my heart thudded in my chest. I had never bothered to garner any information from Elandria, knowing it was futile. I doubted that Glaitis would have told her anything, and Elandria answered everything I tried to say with mindless monosyllables. It was not entirely out of character for her, but it was doing nothing to help my nerves.

We rode the elevator up to Glaitis' office. Taryst had given the master assassin the top floor of one of the Rogue Traders' many separate buildings surrounding his central tower. Naturally, she is the leader of a very professional and well-off company of mercenaries; she only got the best for her living quarters.

The elevator arrived, and the doors slid open. Immediately, I was prompted out with a shove of Elandria's pistol. My teeth on edge, I hesitantly complied, and we entered the foyer beyond. It was no more than six metres wide, a corridor. At each side and lining the stark white walls were long, black leather couches, and our boots echoed over the polished back marble tiles. The contrast between hers and Taryst's quarters could not have been much more apparent.

Glaitis never kept any guards, which showed her arrogance in her abilities—entirely justified arrogance. She has survived for this long, and I have also seen her skills firsthand, which are quite breathtaking. I gritted my teeth as Taryst's words echoed through my thoughts. I was not in love with Glaitis! And he was a fool forever thinking so.

A woman sat at the end of one of the couches, her smooth, long legs crossed together as she reclined back. Her high-boned, youthful, and attractive heart-shaped face was on the profile, and her large eyes studied a data slate intently. Her long, violet-coloured hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and relief washed over me as I saw who she was.

Castella Lethe didn't look up as Elandria, and I approached her, "tsk, tsk Attelus, what have you done now?" she sighed with a smile as she bounced her crossed leg.

Despite my anxiety, I could not help but grin. I liked Castella; she was always charismatic and friendly and had a fun, dry sense of humour I could appreciate. If any woman I would be accused of being in love with, I would rather her than Glaitis. She was also confirmed to be Glaitis' successor if the master ever fell, and I agreed. Castella was an excellent choice; she was extremely extroverted and confident and held almost everyone's respect in the company. Except for Elandria who seemed to despise Castella because I could not, or cared not enough to comprehend.

"Completed yet another assignment, I see," I said, trying to slow my advance, but Elandria was intent on not letting me.

Castella snorted. "Of course, Attelus, would I be here if I hadn't?"

I shrugged. "Goes, without doubt, Castella. I was actually making sure that you were not some fear-induced mirage."

"Wow, Attelus. If you are that scared, shall I say a little prayer for you?"

I frowned and furrowed my brow. "I was actually hoping for a more proactive form of help."

She shrugged, pouting her full lips. "What could be any more proactive than the divine intervention of the Emperor of Mankind himself? Ohh, wait, you don't believe in that thing, do you? Oh well, never mind, you're screwed then. Bye!"

Before I could make a coherent reply, I got shoved through the glass double doors, and I could not help but wonder. Why the hell was she just sitting out there?

 

[Adrassil]

As before, Glaitis sat at her desk, reclining her long, lithe form back in her leather chair, feet planted on her desk. She looked positively relaxed, but her piercing blue-eyed glare said otherwise, and I had to fight to keep myself from wincing under its intensity.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw her, and my heart sped. She was, she was-.

Then my jaw set. Taryst was right! Glaitis must know; she must've used it to manipulate me! Why had no one in the company ever mentioned it?

Glaitis would have ordered them not to, of course. My fear was replaced by giddying disgust, and I reconsidered my decision on Taryst's proposition.

"Mamzel Glaitis, here he is, as ordered," said Elandria behind me, her smooth, soft voice flowing like silk. But the pistol never relented in sticking in my back.

"I can see that, thank you, Elandria," said Glaitis. "Good work."

I glanced over my shoulder as the pistol finally let off. Glimpsing, the young assassin bowed slightly- likely she had never noticed Glaitis' sarcastic tone and turned to leave.

"Stay, Elandria," ordered Glaitis as she sat forward, leant her shoulder on her desk, and cupped her smooth jaw in the palm of her hand. I have a task for you, which I will tell you once I deal with him."

"As you order," said Elandria.

Then Glaitis turned her glare on me, and I met it, although it took all my willpower to keep from flinching.

"Why did you do it?" she asked bluntly, and despite myself, I flinched. I had expected her to fly straight into a rage-fuelled lecture, saying things like: 'You have disgraced our company!' Or 'your idiocy could have cost us our reputation!'

I hesitated. No matter how hard I tried, Glaitis always outwitted me, which was infuriating. In all my years under her tutelage, I could never predict what she would say or do.

"She asked you a question, worm! Hurry and answer!" I flinched at the sudden words that erupted behind me, and even Elandria started in surprise.

I clenched my teeth, recognising whom the voice belonged to and turned to see Darrance approaching. He was one of Glaitis' most senior employees and a right bastard, the epitome of arrogance and snide superiority. I knew nothing of where he came from, but I could hazard a guess, and my guess was this: he was some son of some member of the Imperial Hierarchy who had squandered and spoilt Darrance and thus created this monster. How and why Darrance became an assassin was beyond me; perhaps the governor got sick of his creation and threw him out into the cold.

Despite my dislike for the ponce, I could not deny his skill. Neither Elandria nor I had any idea he was in the room until he chose to reveal himself.

My jaw set as I turned back to Glaitis; this just emphasised how much I had to learn.

"Yes, young Attelus. I did indeed ask you a question," said Glaitis, an evil smirk curling her full lips. "Has a feline stolen your tongue, by chance?"

I could think of a no more fitting cliché at that moment.

"Hey, Darrance," I managed through clenched teeth, but I kept my attention fixated on Glaitis. "I see you have returned from your assignment as well, and so I assume it was a success, then?"

"I am not here to waste time tarrying words with a fool like you!" snarled Darrance. "Mamzel Glaitis asked you a question, and you will answer, or so Emperor helps me, I will-!"

"Darrance," interrupted Glaitis. Her eyes were attached to my own, and her voice was soft, but its warning was evident. But I could detect slight amusement in the words and her eyes. What did she find so entertaining? My audacity of taunting Darrance, who was three decades my senior and who could potentially beat me in a fight with his eyes closed and one arm tied behind his back? Or perhaps the sheer idiocy. Either way, I was making progress.

The senior assassin said no more.

"Now, child, please, would you finally decide to answer my question? Why, indeed, did you beat up on poor little Vor?"

"I believe it is pronounced Vax, mamzel," corrected Darrance timidly.

"Oh, yes. Sorry. Indeed it is. Why did you beat up poor little Vax?"

"Vex," I corrected gruffly.

"Sorry, young one?" she asked.

"Vex! His name is Vex," I said impatiently. She cared so much about the poor kid that she would forget his name.

No, I corrected it. Glaitis' memory was almost photographic. No way in hell she forgot, especially when she was only informed a few hours ago. She was testing me again.

I glanced sidelong at Elandria; my fellow squad member must have informed Glaitis of my meeting with Taryst and Glaitis. Glaitis must be testing to see if I had betrayed her.

"Hmm, indeed," said Glaitis as she sat back, tapping her perfect nose with an index finger. "I know you, young Attelus. To all but the most educated, you seem...chaotic, strange, random. But you really are not; there is some method to your madness, some surprisingly sane reasoning as to why. Funnily enough, nothing like your father, who was always as straight and narrow as anyone could get. That is a trait I can admire, one that would help you if you ever meet the requirement of making yourself a full-fledged assassin...That is if you live that long, of course, but for me, it makes you predictable."

I smiled. Now I knew the game, so I could play, but I decided I could not tell her. If I confirmed her of Taryst's proposition, it would take away any potential leeway I may have in the future, and so I followed one of her many teachings: " The best way to lie is to tell the truth."

After hissing out through clenched teeth, I said, "The little bastard told."

"Told? The little bastard told whom? And of what? Answer straight, young one! I begin to tire of your meandering!" Glaitis snapped, making everyone but me flinch in fright.

"I had made an agreement with Vex a few weeks ago. I paid him to search the systems for more detailed information about Taryst's past. Just in case, but I came up with nil for anything of any use. Taryst hides his tracks very, very well."

"And so you were stupid enough to be surprised when this young hacker betrayed you? So you strangled him right in his very office? Right, where dozens of witnesses could see you do it?"

"Pretty much," I said, trying hard to keep my cool and to keep any remorse from my voice. "I let my anger overcome me. I was idiotic, stupid and foolish. I make no excuses and am ready to face my punishment, mamzel."

"Punishment, young one?" sighed Glaitis, and she could not hide her rising ire in her voice. "Believe me, Attelus Xanthis Kaltos, you will face punishment. But for now, you escape it; we have far more important matters to attend to."

"What!" Darrance and Elandria exclaimed together incredulously, and I could not help but smile. This I had actually seen coming—both Darrance and Castella just suddenly being here, Glaitis earlier saying that she had a "task" for Elandria. I had gambled on this and had won, and I could not help but wonder if Glaitis knew this, and that was why she was so flustered—knowing the game, indeed.

"Quiet, both of you!" she roared. "I like this no more than you do! We have this task, and we are to act before Taryst can know, and we need all of us to do it!"

I grinned and asked, "And what is 'it' that we have mamzel Glaitis?"

Glaitis' eyes narrowed. "Information 'it' is, child. Information on the whereabouts of this 'Brutis Bones.' The man that Taryst seems so desperate to hunt down."



Elandria and I sat in silence in the back seat of the old Hesuitor 89. We watched as the hive outside drove by. It was midnight, but the hive's lighting conquered the darkness in a blazing haze of artificial day, and the hustle and bustle of traffic had not abated.

A hive city like Omnartus never slept. Imperial bureaucracy was everything. It was more important to the survival of mankind than the Magistratum, the Ecclesiarchy, the Adeptus Arbites, the Imperial Guard or even the Adeptus Astartes. Everything rode upon its ever-turning cogs. As long as Omnartus lived, millions upon millions of serfs would sit and type upon their cogitators every second of every day, monitoring countless upon countless lines of information.

It hurt my mind that more counted on them than those who fought for the Imperium, than those who gave their lives in the war. They say that they fight for their Emperor, but in all honesty, it is so this organised chaos can survive.
To say it was quite depressing is an understatement of the millennium and many more millennia to come.

I could only thank goodness that I wasn't one of them.

Besides the countless bureaucrats coming and going from their daily drudgery, Many were partygoers wishing to temporarily alleviate their boring lives with a foray into the nightlife. We were driving through Omnartus' night district and at its peak. I wore a high-quality silken suit with a white shirt, black blazer, and black pants. Castella had told me it was the latest in men's fashion, and yes, I had noticed many in similar attire along the way.

Elandria sat next to me and was stunning. Her black hair was tied back, revealing her beautiful high cheekbones. Somehow, her pouting in anger made her even more appealing. Also, she was wearing make-up—a first for her since I had met her six months ago.

I sighed, placed my elbows on my thighs, intertwined my fingers together, and began relaying Glaitis' plan for the umpteenth time.

After the master assassin's revelation, Castella burst into the room immediately, grinning almost from ear to ear.

"Ah yes indeed, information retrieved by yours truly, of course!" said Castella, with an exaggerated bow. "You can all thank me later if you like."

Initially, Castella's entrance took me back, but sudden revelation replaced this, and I turned to Glaitis.

"So I see that you have been doing your own extracurricular investigating while under Taryst's employ, master?" I said.

Glaitis grinned. "Why, of course, my young apprentice?" Then she looked at Castella. "And do not take all the credit for yourself. Do not forget that Hayden had as much of a hand in it as you did."

Castella hunched forward with an animated pout. "Pah! Details!" Then she grinned slyly. "And now I'm betting that you are wondering how I knew what you were saying, right?"

"No," said Elandria. "We can all see your earpiece quite clearly."

Castella grimaced with another extremely animated expression that made me smile.

"Pah! Details!" she repeated.

"All right, enough of your clowning," sighed Glaitis, but I could hear the amusement in the master assassin's voice. "Now we move on to business."

"We have located through much investigation the possible location of Brutis Bones," Glaitis said. "All evidence points toward a bar in the night district of the hive as his base of operations. It is highly popular with the locals; it is named "The Twilight Bar."

Castella let out a derivative snort, which made me smile all the more; I could not have agreed any more. "The more I hear that name, the cheesier it sounds," said Castella.

"Yes, I know," sighed Glaitis. "But the bar provides an almost perfect cover for the gang leader; it is high class, quite sophisticated and-."

"And so it wouldn't be believed by anyone looking because it would be too obvious", I cut in. "What do they call that? That's right, a refuge in audacity."

"Indeed, young one," said Glaitis. "Taryst, being the utter genius he is, had left that area for last in his investigation, as you and Elandria may know."

"Yes," said my squadmate, and to my surprise, I could detect an undercurrent of annoyance in the young woman's voice. Elandria did not like being left out of the loop. In all honesty, neither did, but I could hide it, and by then, I was used to it.

Glaitis could also tell Elandria's dislike, emphasised by the master assassin's patronising glare.

Glaitis moved on. "Thanks to Hayden Tresch's hacking ability. We were able to get a full layout of the plans for the bar." Glaitis pulled out a control wand, and with a flick of her wrist, the lights died, and a giant, sophisticated hologram sprang out from the middle of her desk.

"It is located on the far North-West end of the night district's main street, the Dawn of Ages Boulevard. As you can see, there are three entrances, the main being on the south-east of the Dawn of Ages Boulevard. One is placed on the northern side and the other on the south; all are guarded constantly and all are watched by surveillance cameras. The security is very tight indeed as befitting such a leader."

I shrugged. "But I'm guessing no tighter than any other club in the district, so they don't draw suspicion."

"Indeed, and it is no match for us at all," said Glaitis. "Here is my plan, Elandria. Both you and Attelus, both of you dressed satisfactorily for the occasion, will enter the bar via the front entrance, posing as legitimate patrons. As a dating couple, of course."

Beside me, Elandria stiffened in obvious distaste, which made me more upset than I cared to admit.

"But, mistress," I said. "If you send in Elandria and myself...with our activities, together with over the last six months, the odds of them knowing our faces would be higher than if you sent in Castella or anyone else."

Glaistis smiled. "Of course, and that is what I gamble upon. Viewing your entrance into the bar will spike up the suspicions of the ones running it. They will not turn you and Elandria away for fear of spiking your own suspicions. I believe that you two will be very, very closely monitored indeed."

My jaw set. "So we are the distraction, then?"

"We never miss a beat, then, do we, child?" she said. But that beat was about as subtle as an explosion. Yes, you and Elandria are the distraction once inside. I want you both to-."

"Start a bar brawl?"

Glaitis frowned. "Yes, child. Start a bar brawl, and we need a big one, indeed. One that will distract the vast majority of the moody hammers acting as bouncers, so both-."

"Darrance and Castella can slip in unnoticed and plant bugs in the bar? But why not just have us plant them? It would be easier."

"Actually, child. I was going to say that Darrance and Tresch do it. While what you say is true, what we are not sure of is the surveillance in the bar. It is well hidden. But what we do know is two elite assassins in syn-skin body gloves will move unseen, we just need you to distract the hammers for long enough to do it. Also, we don't want them just placed in the bar itself but in the back rooms, too. Otherwise, it would be just pointless, wouldn't it?"

I shrugged; it made sense. But why was Glaitis doing this? I knew Glaitis, and she would only move if this information were one hundred per cent confirmed. She never did anything halfway. I suspected she wanted to plant these bugs so she could find the reason why Taryst was so desperate to find Brutis Bones, but there had to be more.

I set my jaw.

"So, there is the plan," said Glaitis. Whether you take it or leave it is immaterial; we are doing it. I have transport ready for you both in the parks and suitable clothing. After, of course, you take a shower, Attelus! You smell like you haven't washed in days! Dismissed. And Castella, make sure that you go over the details with the lovely couple for me."

"As ordered, mamzel," said Castella with a bow, and I frowned in annoyance as we all turned for the door.

"Oh and, young one," called Glaitis at my back, making me freeze. "Do not for a second believe that you are off the proverbial hook. You will face your consequences one way or another, and you will keep that in mind, understood?"

I swallowed noisily, "y-yes mamzel."

"Oh, and young one, stop interrupting me mid-sentence. You are not doing yourself any favours."

"Y-yes, mamzel."

"Good, now leave before I make you leave."

I did as ordered and quite hurriedly indeed.

"We are here," growled a voice knocking me from my reverie. Darrance glared over the driver's seat at me as the car was coming to a stop. The senior assassin's face was foul.

I grinned. "Yes, thank you, good driver," I said in my best-up hive accent. "We must really be getting to the party. Chant us, dear?"

It was Elandria's turn to glare at me. "What are you doing?"

"Why getting into character, my dear."

"Well, if you call me 'dear' again, you will find yourself sorely lacking a head."

I grinned even wider. "Well, good luck with that endeavour, my dear. Since you lack the proper appliances to pull through with said threat."

Elandria started in remembrance. Both of us were unarmed so that we could go through the bar's detectors. Then she smiled. "I have not tried it with my bare hands yet, 'dear.' But then there is always a first time for everything. Isn't there?"

"Shut up, you two and get moving!" snarled Darrance. "I have yet to get into position, and I will not have this mission ruined by your unresolved sexual tension!"

I flinched in embarrassment and moved quickly. I opened the door of the old limousine, swiftly got out, walked around, and, like a gentleman of old, opened the door for my 'date.' All the while, I fought the urge to cover my eyes from the blaring lights.

Elandria clumsily climbed out. She was still unused to wearing Stilettos, and I frowned as I wondered if it was wise to send her instead of Castella. I offered her my hand, which she reluctantly took.

Gently pulling her out, I placed my arm over her shoulders, pulling her close and steadying her walk as we moved down the street. Almost immediately, the old Hesuitor violently drove off, leaving a cloud of exhaust in its wake.

"W-What are you doing?" she said, though only slightly struggling.

"Making sure that you don't fall on your face, my dear," I answered and then cried out theatrically and so loud that many a passing pedestrian looked my way in bemusement: "Oh Emperor forbid! That my lovely date would slip and break her nose on our very first engagement, I would never hear the end of it from Father! Oh, Emperor forbid!"

"Lovely?" she said wide-eyed, and we started to approach the bar.



When I saw the long line of potential patrons waiting for entrance into the Twilight bar, I barely stifled a curse. I hated waiting in lines; it was my anathema. Well, one on a long list with many more.

I sighed. Then Elandria, my arm still over her shoulders, glared at me.

"What's wrong now?" she growled.

"Nothing, nothing," I said lightly. "I am just so entranced by your-."

"Shut it!" she snarled. "Your 'character' is even more annoying than you are."

I smiled patiently. Elandria's constant grumpiness was beginning to get on my nerves. "May I ask you a question, my dear?"

"No," she pouted, "but I know you will, anyway."

I grinned. "Now that you have said that, I will. Have you ever done undercover operations like this? You have always sat out our earlier missions as reserved reinforcement."

"No."

I frowned. It was evident from the start that Elandria's skill set seemed more militaristic than that of the other assassins of our organisation. Seemingly, the cult that trained her neglected to teach the complexities of civilian infiltration in favour of the battlefield and stealth specialisation. Hence, she could barely place one foot in front of the other while wearing high heels or act like a high-class hive citizen for more than three seconds.

I sighed. "I guess that answers a few questions, yes. But could you, at least try, to be in character when we line up?"

"But I thought we were to make them suspect us as being undercover?"

My jaw set. Why was she so insistent on antagonising me so? Actually, I suspected she wasn't doing it on purpose at all.

"That is true, but it does not mean we can't be professional. We are gambling on them, knowing our faces, and even if they don't, the fight we start will hopefully suffice for the distraction, even without the extra attention. Perhaps acting convincingly may cement any suspicion of our position in Taryst's private investigatory force."

"Whatever," was her reply, causing my anger to rise. But before I could reply, we arrived at the end of the line. It was depressingly long. I did a quick headcount of the crowd of young, ostentatiously dressed, pretty people and found that approximately sixty locals in total waited for the huge hammer acting as the bouncer to let them in.

Inside the bar, the music blared, and the boom of the bass line tingled my teeth.

Despite being called a 'bar,' the Twilight Bar resembled a club first and foremost. Prior booking was a must to gain access, and thanks to Hayden Tresch's hacking expertise, we were on the list—under aliases, of course.

That made me wonder how long mamzel Glaitis had actually known about this club and its connection to Brutis Bones? Just judging by how long this line is alone, a booking needed to be made at least a week before guaranteeing entrance.

Perhaps Tresch had not hacked into the system at all? Perhaps they had made the booking legitimately? But if that was the case, why act now?

I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses. But the most obvious was, once again, that Glaitis was testing me, and whether it was a test of my abilities or if I betrayed her was another question entirely.

Or perhaps I just needed to get it through my thick head that the universe didn't revolve around me and my idiocy.

"Attelus Kaltos, stop it," Elandria's voice abruptly ended my revere. "Stop leaning on me."

With a start, I let off my weight, feeling my face flush in embarrassment. "S-sorry about that."

"Lost in your little world once more were we, dear?" she said with a contemptuous sneer that seemed to exclaim my idiocy and hypocrisy at once.

The corner of my mouth twitched. I needed to learn to keep myself from being lost in my thoughts. I shrugged.

"Oh, I do apologise, my dear. Oh, how my idiocy knows no bounds. Please forgive me! Please do!"

Elandria gritted her teeth and then turned away. I grinned, which made her shut up, and I took another comprehensive look across the crowd again.

I flinched midway through as I saw two young, gorgeous women eyeing me with enthusiastically flirtatious gazes through the crowd.

I felt my face turn bright red. Then, I tore my attention away toward the three surveillance cameras watching us from above. Castella had informed me of their positions during her in-depth briefing earlier, but I wanted to see for myself, just in case.

When I looked back, the two women looked at me luridly. I tried to avoid their eyes by looking down at my wrist, Chron. In all my research into Omnartus' culture, I could not recall reading about the local women being so obvious about their attraction despite the guy of interest having another woman already under his arm. Perhaps they had a sixth sense? Could they just tell by instinct that Elandria and I were not a real couple?

I looked sidelong at Elandria, who still had her attention away. My jaw set, or perhaps she was just making it so frigging obvious it wasn't funny.

I sighed and reached into my pocket for my lhos. It had been a while since my last smoke, and the cravings were getting to me.

I lit the Lho clenched in my teeth, using the activity to try averting my attention from the two women, who were still looking even now. The line then finally made a step forward, and I began to tap the tip of my shoe on the rockcrete sidewalk.

I am not a partyer; I am an assassin who kills people for a living. And being the dangerous job it is, and I would quite like to live past my twenties, I spend every waking hour training, making sure I have the necessary skills to live to see the next day.

The line was speeding up. Already, we had made another step. I glanced over my shoulder and, to no surprise, saw that five more had lined up behind us, and as I did this, I accidentally caught the eyes of another young woman.

I flinched, turned and sighed, hunching animatedly, and then Elandria looked at me.

"You're strange," she said.

I looked at her sidelong, exhaled smoke and slipped my ceramic Lho casing back into my pocket. I was used to Elandria's extreme lack of subtlety, but it took a long time to acclimate.

"Yeah, well. Tell me something I don't know."

"There are many things I do not understand, like how, after so long training in martial arts and weaponry, your posture could still be so terrible."

I immediately straightened. Elandria had a point. If I were to act as an upper-class hive citizen, I had to stand like an upper-class hive citizen who was stereotypically straight-backed and refined. Both traits I sorely lacked. Perhaps that was the real reason those two young women were looking at me so intently; they must have found my bad posture entertaining, so I inwardly cursed. That had to be it; no other reason could explain it.

"There, is that better?" I growled.

"Now you are just overdoing it."

I sighed and went back to being hunched again.

 

[Adrassil]

According to my wrist chron, the wait in the line lasted only fifteen minutes, but it felt like a whole frigging hour for me. Did I say I hated waiting in lines? I did? Good, so now it's doubly emphasised.

When we stood between slight steps, I tapped the tip of my shoe on the rockcrete and the whole way, I smoked Lho as my attention darted around like quicksilver. About halfway through the line, Elandria hissed at me, "Really, could you stand still for more than three seconds?"

I blew out smoke and replied simplistically, "No."

She kept quiet afterwards; perhaps Elandria was smarter than I gave her credit for. Perhaps she was aware it was an intended ironic echo of her catchphrase, and then I made a mental note that I should make use of her 'whatever' more often.

Once we had finally reached the end of the line, I whispered in Elandria's ear, "Let me do the talking."

"Whatever," she hissed back. "Just be careful not to knock out the Moody Hammer with one of your nervous twitches."

I pursed my lips; that wasn't a bad idea. I had yet to devise a decent plan for starting this brawl. Looking over the line alone, I decided this task would be easier said than done; sure, I could easily pick a fight with one patron, but initialising the needed chaos would be challenging. The majority of the patrons were upper-class dandies who I doubted had ever taken part in a full-on bar brawl in their pampered lives. If it was a lower hive bar, well enough said, really.

We approached the colossal Hammer standing at the door. Despite his low-browed, vat-grown, square-jawed appearance, many of his kind had his hooded, beady eyes gleaned a slight modicum of intelligence. He wore a suit dissimilar to mine, and he held a data slate in his vast, meaty paw. I quickly noted the large, black tattoo on his neck, which showed he belonged to the "Greasers", a local gang who was one of the first our intelligence had reported being reeled into Brutis Bone's little alliance. The holstered laspistol was barely hidden under his blazer, the microbead in his ear and not just that, but two more huge hammers stood inside the club's shadowy entrance.

The Hammer smiled a surprisingly welcoming, toothy smile and gave us both friendly nods. "Sir, Mamzel, may I ask that you state your names, please."

"Indeed," I said. I may have put on a hammy performance earlier for Elandria's sake, but as Glaitis taught me, the true art in undercover acting is subtlety. To not get carried away and not let stereotypes rule your mindset, but that is, of course, unless the role calls for it, "I am Autius Davian-Meggs, and this lovely young woman is Riculia Harviad."

As I said this, the Hammer scrolled down his data slate. "...Sir Autius Davian-Meggs and mamzel Riculia Harviad, you are indeed on the list. Welcome to the Twilight bar, and may you enjoy your time here."

"Thank you, and we will," I smirked slightly as Elandria and I entered the club. I was not surprised at the doorman's professionalism and politeness; it would be a given for a club this high up and well known, but the colleagues in the entranceway did not share the doorman's friendliness. I could feel them glare at us, suspicious and unyielding, with bulky arms folded in an 'intimidating' fashion.

I pretended to ignore them, assuming they wouldn't treat their regular customers in such a fashion, or else their 'bar' would have closed down a long time ago. The evidence so far pointed to this being increasingly a Brutis Bones operation.

This could also prove that our rival organisation knows our faces at least.

I glanced over my shoulder at the doorman and saw him talking intently, his index finger against the microbead in his ear.



We followed through the three-metre-wide corridor; the hologram planning had proven right; the hallway curled subtly to the northwest. The steel walls dulled down into a dark crimson, metallic sheen, and the walls trembled in time with the bass line. The way the building is a little advanced is that the main entrance's corridor splits the club in half, starting from the southeast and ending in the northern corner. According to the information gathered, the west side of the building was the private area for the VIPs and the east general club and bar.

"So? Do you have any kind of plan yet?" Elandria hissed right in my ear, her soft voice causing me to start slightly from my thoughts.

"Some semblance..." I said, twisting my pinkie finger in my ear.

"Which means nothing?"

"No, it means what it means: 'some semblance,' I'll think of something, I'm...Adaptable."

"Adaptable? Is that what you are calling it now?"

Before I could reply, my pocket vibrated, and swiftly, I reached in and slid the small listening device into my ear.

"We're in," I said, though I knew that they would already know.

"Good work," Castella's voice came from the tiny speaker. "Where are you now?"

"Still in the corridor, not yet through the second security station, the one with the metal detectors," I said. "I find this place very interesting. This is very...Pretentious, I can almost smell the pretentiousness in the air."

I heard Castella giggle on the other side. "What do you expect when it's called the Twilight Bar?"

"Well, I expected that the main corridor would be darker and be more of a reference to its namesake; perhaps the building itself hates what it's called so much, so somehow, through sheer force of will, rejected it."

Again, Castella laughed. "Alright, alright, you know the drill; you have four of these devices. Make sure you drop one in this corridor and another at the second station on your way to the other two. Keep with you and Elandria so we can communicate with you inside."

"Yes, we know, we know. Didn't you just say that I knew the drill yourself?"

"I did, but as you know, one can never be too careful, you know, just in case. Good luck, and may the god-Emperor's virtue be with you."

Then she cut the link.

I immediately halted, slipped off of Elandria, and pulled one of the listening devices out from my pocket. I removed the back adhesive and stuck it against the wall. The advanced little piece of tech immediately camouflaged itself in the wall's colour and texture, all but invisible to the naked eye.

"One down and just one to go," I said, standing back to full height and offering my arm back to Elandria. "May we move, my dear?"

Elandria begrudgingly took it and growled, "If you call me 'my dear' one more time-"

I sighed. "Yes, I know, I know I will be sorely lacking my head, I know."

We walked through the detectors without consequence; the listening devices were made from a rare and expensive Plasteek that was all but invisible to most scanners.

The two huge hammers posted at the checkpoint were just as affable as their colleague at the door. With the combination of my quick hands and Elandria's aid, I successfully placed the listening device at the checkpoint. When we entered the club itself, where dozens upon dozens of dancers jumped and leapt to the music, a massive orgy of activity that seemed to move like white caps on the sea, rising and falling, rising and falling, it was almost entirely dark. The only light source lasers beaming down onto the countless cavorters, projecting patterns, and numerous different patterns changing from flowers to even the Imperial Aquila. It was quite an amazing sight to behold.

Quickly I changed my tact, glancing over the crowd, my brow hooded in concentration and noticing three more gangers straddled through the people, each eyeing Elandria and me with distinct suspicion. I barely held back a sigh. I knew they were low-hive gangers; I knew that they were muscle, but they wouldn't know subtlety if hit over the head with 'A Guide to Infiltration and Espionage.' However, it is an utterly terrible and pretentious book that the author (whose name I cannot recall) he blatantly did not research, it would help these idiots' skills in that field by leaps and bounds. That wasn't saying much, of course.

Then it hit me, it frigging hit me, and the realisation caused me to sigh and place my face into the palm of my hand; if these gangers were this pathetic and it had taken this long for Taryst's 'elite' to find this place.

I didn't want to begin to think about it; it was depressing, just damned depressing.

But, actually, perhaps that was it. This 'bar's' security was so stupid and sloppy that it wouldn't stick out from the rest of its ilk, or was I just over-analysing it?

I didn't know, and I didn't care anymore.

"What the hell is wrong with you now?" demanded Elandria. Her raised voice was barely heard over the music, but I could listen to her well, her words enhanced by the bud in her ear.

"I hate my job," I groaned, my voice muffled into my hand.

"What?"

I dropped my arm back to my side and said instead. "These guys are complete idiots."

Elandria smirked. "Please, do tell me something I don't know," she said. I see three Hammers in the crowd, two armed with laspistols and one with a high-calibre auto pistol, all in torso holsters, right?"

"Hmmm, interesting," I said.

"What?"

I gestured with a lazy hand, a slight indistinct movement aimed toward the Hammer with the autopistol.

"See? His pupils are dilated, and even in this terrible light, it is obvious his skin is a shade lighter than his norm, that Hammer is scared, very scared."

"Scared of what?" asked Elandria, then a big, evil grin spread across her symmetrical face. "Scared of us?"

I shrugged. "Hmm, perhaps that seems logical. He may be a survivor, a survivor of one of our many skirmishes against Brutis Bones' organisation over the past months; he may even be the one whom they had learnt our identities from."

Elandria grimaced in utter disgust. "A survivor! We were thorough! We let none escape!"

"See! It is that exact attitude that would have allowed for his escape in the first place, but we can turn this toward our favour, though it also looks like we will have to reevaluate our plans."

"Why?"

"Because we will both die if we don't. If we make one wrong step, even try slightly to start a fight, he will shoot us; he's as twitchy as a frigging Obscura addict on withdrawal."

"Even shoot through a crowd of civilians?" she smirked.

I sniffed and glared at her sidelong. I knew she was ruthless, but I was hoping that there would be some line for Elandria.

"Perhaps, but that is one risk I am unable to take; at first, this was to be innocent fisticuffs against other club-goers, but if we are to do anything, we will have to take care of that Hammer first."

"Kill him?"

I grimaced. "If it comes to that but-"

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a cold shiver slid down my spine. The air temperature dropped dramatically, and the once enthusiastic crowd halted its partying as everyone shook in instinctive terror.

I had felt this before, and I knew what it was.

Elandria turned to me, her eyes white with animalistic fear. "Psyker!"

My earpiece suddenly came to life, and Castella's uncharacteristically urgent voice erupted over the mic.

"Attelus! Attelus! Cough if you copy, damn it!"

I quickly complied.

"Good! We have two new additions to the line outside, and-and the people they are just-just parting, letting them through, I!-I can't make out their faces but-but-!"

The line began to fizzle and crackle, warping Castella's words into indecipherable syllables, then entirely descended to static.

I felt my heart beating a thousand miles a minute and the fear! Oh, the fear! The adrenaline was pumping! But still, I shivered in the unnatural cold, and then I noticed Elandria, who looked at me in utter terror, whose lower lip shook, and her body wavered.

"Why-why, are you smiling?" she stammered.

"I'm smiling?" I asked, genuinely bemused. "Well, I guess I would now that everything is going according to plan, to my plan anyway."

I don't know if you thought I had forgotten about Taryst's little psyker cadre or if you had forgotten, but this, this I had seen coming, yes.



I knew I had to act; perhaps that time was short, so I moved. Dodging and weaving through the frozen club-goers within milliseconds, I reached the Hammer with the auto pistol; the ganger was never able to react to my advance as his glazed eyes stared dumbly to the ceiling, his mouth gaping open in severe shock.

I smashed my elbow straight into his solar plexus, which impacted in a sickening "crunch!" and the Hammer let out a feeble gasp for air, his torso bending in under the force. I gritted my teeth and followed on, punching him in the kidney, then the ribs; finished him by sliding to his flank and delivering a brutal, low side kick, snapping his knee inward and causing the Hammer to let out a strangled howl of utter agony. I now had his Auto pistol in hand (which unsurprisingly already had the safety off), and I fired one round into the ceiling, yelling out at the top of my lungs, "Down, everybody, down!"

Luckily, the crowd was not so frozen in fear that they could not acquiesce to my request, and with frightened yelps, they did as told, all except the two remaining bouncer Hammers, who were only now numbly reaching for their weapons.

I shot them both, one through the head and the other in his chest, the shots accompanied by even more screams of terror.

"Damn it, what the hell are you doing?" demanded Elandria as she retrieved one of the corpses' Las pistols and raised it to cover the entranceway.

"Improvising," I replied.

"Didn't-didn't you just say that 'everything is going according to plan'?"

"All according to one plan, yes."

"Then it isn't improvising, then is it?"

"Whatever," I sighed. I found the unconscious Hammer's three backup ammo clips and slipped them into my pockets.

"So what is it that you improvise now, oh you magnificent bastard you?"

I looked over my shoulder at her, shocked. Was that an actual joke? A backhanded compliment, perhaps? Or something else entirely?

"Cover the door for me, would you? I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Then what the hell will I do when that Psyker gets here then?"

"Pray too, that Emperor of yours!" that was my reply as I turned into the corridor leading to the VIP area, my confiscated autopistol raised and ready as I advanced.

I had not forgotten about Taryst's psykers. I had an idea in the back of my head that this little independent operation of Glaitis would have been tracked, but that also begs yet another question: why would Glaitis have played this move?

She must have known of Taryst's psychic allies and was aware that without taking the proper precautions, we would have been found out. I could hazard a myriad of guesses as to why, but now was not the time to do so.

As the corridor began to curve southward, I heard it; sudden and deafening gunfire reverberated within the passage. I gritted my teeth, risking a look and what I saw made my eyes widen in fear.

One Hammer had lost his mind; he fired his stub automatic limply and indiscriminately into the crowd of terrified, screaming VIPs, two of whom already lay dead.

The man was grinning mindlessly, foaming from the mouth, and his body moved loosely like a marionette. This was definitely a psyker's work, and this would have been nightmare fuel unleaded if I had not seen it many times before. Without breaking stride, I shot him; I shot him straight through the face; the back of what was once a Human's skull exploded out into a cone of gore, the thick, red matter coating anyone near, and the body dropped like a sack of spuds.

I left the corridor and out into a cacophony of cries as the VIPs all saw the small, skinny bastard who held a smoking autopistol walking right through their midst.

Are you really scared of me? Didn't I save all your hides? I thought Glaitis had once said that being a hero was overrated, and once again, she proved to be right, and I kicked the corpse as I walked through. "Shame about the face," I muttered.

I came to the door, which led to the 'restricted' area and studied the lock. It was one of your typical password-encoded things, and to the consequential cry of many an onlooker, I raised my pistol, turned away, covered my face with a forearm and blew out the lock with one deafening pull of the trigger.

I kicked the door open and was forced to throw myself back into cover mere milliseconds before the torrent of Las fire cut through the air. I had managed a glimpse of the lone Hammer, the lone Hammer with crazed eyes, who stood six metres down the corridor, who still kept spraying on full auto despite my absence, and whose insane screams of fear I could hear well over the rounds. He had no cover, nothing.

I only had to wait several seconds for the fire to stop and hear the familiar hiss of emptied Las weaponry, and then I stepped out.

"You idiot!" I roared and put two rounds through his torso. Of course, the psychic presence could explain his idiocy and the other's fear. I could see my breath steaming and the ice on the walls; I grinned. Thank you, Taryst. You are making this way too easy.

I kicked open the door at the end of the corridor and entered into what I remembered from the schematics a larger room and found it was a recreation room, which was already held and makeshift fortified by three more of Brutis' Bones mooks. I was almost caught unawares, unprepared for an organised defence, and immediately forced back into hiding as they opened fire. I had accounted for the psyker's presence to be more lasting, and at times like this, I would kill for a grenade or manstopper rounds; they would easily blow fist-size holes through the table which they had turned over. It looked like it wasn't going to be so easy after all.

I briefly leaned out and fired off my last three rounds, forcing the Hammers to duck behind their table. Ejecting the empty clip, slamming a fresh one home without hesitation, I leaned back out. Even now, I am not sure if it was skill or luck that the cause of me managed to scalp one of the Hammers as he rose from hiding, but either way, it shocked his comrades into submission long enough to allow me to sprint the distance and shoot them both through their faces at point-blank range.

I vaulted over the table and retrieved a laspistol from one of the corpses; after checking that the charge gauge was full, I moved on now with a big grin.



The shots reverberated in the confined corridors as I fired two point-blank rounds into the Hammer's chest, and my front kick followed on, colliding into the limp corpse and propelling the dead Hammer into the next of his colleagues in line. Both bodies fell to the floor in a mass of writhing limbs and screams. While lunging over the screaming Hammer and the corpse pinning him, I shot the next ganger as he was bringing his stubbrevolver to bear. Still, the fourth ganger in line was thinner and more nimble than the others as he slid past his collapsing ally and lunged into a hook punch intended on smashing in my head. In an inner-outer block that pushed the attack off course, I blocked the fist with a forearm, augmented his momentum, and caused his punch to connect straight into the rockcrete wall instead. His hand broke with a sickening crack, and the Hammer bellowed out in utter agony, a bellow which became abruptly cut short as I pistol-whipped him in the base of the skull, causing his forehead to follow after his fist in cracking against the hard surface.

He also wasn't much taller than I was, so hence an effective human shield, and just in time, I hooked my arm around the man's neck and turned the limp form to face the next aggressor as he opened fire. The human shield took three rounds from the Hammer's autopistol (I could only thank the Emperor that none of them wielded shotguns). Jarring the corpse with each and almost caused me to let go before I managed to shoot the hapless team killer over the shoulder of his murdered workmate.

The next Hammer, an older and horrifically scarred monster, attempted to follow my example as he roughly shoved his traitorous ally's corpse toward me to mask his advance. Still, I slid out of the way, pushing my back against the wall, and the two dead men collided with each other, falling to the floor in a heap. The large ganger was then on me and threw a deceptively fast hook that I barely managed to back peddle out of the way from. He was actually pretty good, much to my surprise, and my attempt at bringing my pistols to bear was interrupted by his follow-on, a right jab that I swayed under and then an uppercut I narrowly sidestepped. The next attack was a lunging back fist that sent me back-peddling even further and almost made me trip over the corpses that I had left in my wake.

The Hammer stopped his assault and glared at me balefully, one of his eyes milky white, the other a piercingly bright blue.

"Put those pistols away," he grunted as he cracked his knuckles. "I see you are a worthy opponent, so let us truly see who is the better fighter."

I sighed and complied, dropping my pistols to the floor with a clatter.

"Hmm, right," I said. "But first, just one question: are you, by chance, Brutis Bones?"

"No, I am-"

Before he could continue any further, I knelt, picked the pistols back up and shot him five times; the first exploded out his guts; the second blew a ragged hole in his chest. The third burst open his right bicep, the fourth hit him in the thigh, causing him to spin around so his back was facing me, and the last ripped out the base of his spine, and he fell straight to the floor, flat on his face. I knew it was overkill, but these 'Honour Before Reason' idiots were usually tough bastards, and that was the only way I could make sure he wasn't ever getting back up. Taryst wanted Brutis Bones alive, so I would have made an effort if it was him.

I sighed again and wondered how the hell such an idiot could have lived as a ganger. I casually lowered my laspistol and put a neat black hole through the forehead of the Hammer, who was still struggling to escape from under his dead ally.

I felt dirty. Sure, I could have eventually beaten the idiot if I had done the honourable thing and fought fair, but that would have wasted time, and time was one thing not on my side.

As I moved through that maze of cramped, brightly lit corridors, the closer I came to the area I guessed was Brutis Bones' quarters. More and more, a feeling of unease grew in the pit of my gut that almost the very air disturbed my very being, and with that feeling, it became more and more evident the lack of any psychic activity around me. Only one thing off the top of my head could explain this phenomenon: the presence of a blank. A person whose very existence nullifies the activities of the warp around them, dissipating all psychic abilities at a certain radius. It would explain Taryst's apparent need for an army to track down this enemy, even with the cadre of psykers at his beck and call. But there had to be more to it than that, even with the blank here making this place all but invisible; why hadn't Taryst just captured a lowly Hammer and had one of the psykers delve into their mind? Was Taryst so paranoid at having the activities of his psykers found by the local authorities so frigging overwhelming?

That also begs the question, how the hell could Taryst know my thoughts so well that he could tell my doubts about my job? Perhaps the answer lies in the "blocks" placed in my and all my fellow mercenaries' minds; perhaps they allow the psykers to read our thoughts without giving any hint? Was that even possible? I didn't know. But if it was true, it only confirms that Taryst didn't want anyone outside his organisation knowing of this hunt and the complicated precautions he was prepared to take to keep it that way.

Then 'paranoia' was a frigging understatement.

But this 'answer' was just fuel for many more questions: why did Glaitis allow her apprentice to be implanted with these things? Why would Glaitis have both Elandria and I along to this operation if Taryst could have his psykers read our minds? And I will not say that it was "because she didn't know" idiocy; she knows, she knows everything. I can say that with an amount of conviction that I hadn't felt in ages. Perhaps she wanted to have Taryst reveal his organisation by forcing his hand? But then why would she want Taryst to show himself in the first place? Could Garrakson know more than he lets on as well? He was our leader and longtime senior in Taryst's company?

But most importantly, what was the cause behind all this paranoia and why the hell was so much effort going into tracking down this low-life gang leader?

The answer to that I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses upon.

I reached the end of yet another corridor; stopping at the edge, I pushed my back against the wall and glanced around the corner.

Two Hammers stood guard at the doorway situated halfway down the next hall; both were bulky men, both held autoguns, and both glanced about with nervous expressions.

Without hesitation, I stepped out and vacated the nearest ganger's brains out the side of his skull with one autopistol round. The other turned to me in almost admiral discipline, attempting to bring up his autogun to fire.

He managed it halfway before my las shots killed him; one blew through his ribs, and the other blew out his neck.

I ran on, unloading and reloading my smoking pistols on the move, then pushed my back against the wall next to the already open entrance. I could not help but think that perhaps this was a little too easy, and you also may be wondering why I am doing this. Why, it is simple, and it is not what you may think if I bring in Brutis Bones, finally, Glaitis will see me worthy and promote me to full assassin-hood. Well, that would be a bonus, but no. I am and have never been a particularly ambitious person. I have no dreams of ascending Glaitis and taking her blood-soaked throne (the metaphorical one, of course, but at times, I have wondered). No, I just wanted to have this frigging job done, finished so we can move on to something else. I hated this crap and was frankly sick of it; that is why I am throwing myself blind into the Wolves Den, killing anything and everything in my way like a Hitman on heat. The poor Hammers who stood in my way were just the instruments for me to take my anger and aggression out on, almost like Vex was.

I physically winced at the thought and felt the guilt I had suppressed over the earlier hours boil back to the surface. I swallowed hard and forced it back down. I still had plenty more frustration to go around,

Now, with that finally explained, I took in a huge breath and slipped through the doorway. My pistols raised and covered the interior. The room I emerged into was large, at least eight metres in length and fifteen in width, a brightly lit rockcrete cave. Barren to an extreme, and there were twelve thick, square pillars, six along the diameters of the room. It was empty except for the one figure who stood in sight, right at the epi-centre. He had his back facing me, but I could see the heavy carapace armour he wore.

"Brutis Bones, I presume?" I said, covering him with my guns.

No answer; the man just stood deathly still and stayed silent.

"Hmm, right. I'm not going to bother to say for you to surrender. This place looks like it's been built specifically for a firefight, isn't a coincidence, is it?"

Again, he replied with silence.

Something inside me snapped. "Don't you give me the frigging silent treatment, you bastard! Do you have any idea the crap I have been through to find you!"

"I can't believe that so many of my guards were killed single-handedly by a kid," the man said abruptly. "A foolish kid playing at games far too large and complicated for him to even begin to comprehend."

I wasn't sure how to reply; what he had said hit quite close to home.

"And nope, sorry kid, I am not your Brutis Bones; he is in another castle, you could say."

I gritted my teeth, widened my eyes and tightened my hands on the grips of my pistols.

"How the hell do I know that you actually are him and not just lying?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice neutral; if this wasn't Brutis Bones, then Glaitis' intel must have been misled; no, I sincerely doubted that. If this were Brutis Bones, she would know, and if this man who talked to me now isn't him, then it would just reinforce that this is one of her feints used to force Taryst to show his hand.

The man shrugged. "You can choose to believe or not to believe, kid. Either way, it's the truth. Now, I may not be him, but that doesn't make me want to live any less."

Then he spun, as quick as lightning, and he held a stubb revolver raised and firing.

All I could do was lunge, diving behind the nearest pillar just in time. But I was not fast enough to dodge the one round which skimmed my left shoulder, the sharp pain erupted up my arm, and I yelped out as I hit the floor.

Getting into a crouch, I pushed my back against my pillar, cursing savagely. I had his back wholly covered, and yet the bastard still got the drop on me!

A few more shots rang through the vast room; then there was silence, the only sound the ringing clatter of empty shell casings falling to the floor.

"You really are him, aren't you?" I said.

"Maybe, maybe not," the man replied.

My reply was me suddenly leaning out slightly and wailing off four shots in his general direction.

"Well, either way, you're fighting me now, and either way, you are going to pay the consequences!" I said as I lunged out into the open, my guns blazing.

I ran, sprinting sideways and fired my pistols at my opponent, who ran with me. The bellowing, rudimentary, consistent and combined sounds of our weapons discharging over and over echoed throughout the interior with a horrible, deafening cacophony. They tore into the decor, which wrought in a new and far more interesting scenery of bullet holes in the rockcrete walls and pillars.

Making it to the next pillar and leaving the clatter of spent shell cases in my wake, I pushed myself up against my cover. I lent outlet off a few shots with my Laspistol, then I spun to the other side of the rockcrete cover and neatly caught my enemy off guard as he attempted the same manoeuvre. The man barely made it behind his colonnade as I opened fire. Then, without hesitation, I moved, running toward the other side in an attempt to bridge the gap while I wailed away with my pistols to keep the bastard pinned to prevent his reconciliation.

Without hindrance, I found the other side of the same colonnade that my opponent cowered behind, pushed myself against the pillar, then slid out, pistols raised and found the man had gone.

I snarled out a curse, turning just in time to catch him as he came around the other side of the pillar and desperately knocked his raised stubb revolver's aim off course. The round once meant to cave in my skull shot off, its fate only to create yet another smoking crater in the wall, and I followed on, kicking out viscously at the man's groin. The man sidestepped the attack with almost contemptuous ease and attempted to bring his gun to bear on me again. My inner-outer block smashed the shot aside, after which I opened up with my autopistol.

Despite the shot being point-blank, the man still managed almost to dive out of the way; instead of exploding his ribcage, the round impacted against his shoulder guard. Its kinetic force caused him to turn in mid-lunge, and he hit the floor clumsily, I could clearly hear him gasp out his lungs ejected air with the impact.

I didn't hesitate, shooting once! Twice! Both hit him as he rolled across the floor, but that was all I could muster before he made it behind the next pillar, and my pistols clicked empty.

Sliding around the first colonnade, I knelt and began reloading; I had six clips left, four for my autopistol and two for my las. Along the way of my massacre, I had pilfered them off the corpses of my many victims, and I could also hear my opponent following suit along with his pained gasps and grunts as he performed the task.

"You know," I said as I slammed home a fresh clip into my autopistol. "You would be dead if you weren't wearing that carapace."

"I know," he replied, and I could not help but be surprised by the sadness in his words. "You're good, kid. I'll give you that."

"I know," I echoed back.

"Perhaps even good enough to kill me," he went on, "and that I actually wouldn't mind; I have lived a long life, kid, killed a lot of people I really wouldn't mind. Going out with one final blaze of glory."

I grinned. "Well, if you're so keen to die, why don't you just step out and make this easy for me?"

The man sighed. "You and I know I can't do that; your boss, Taryst, wants me alive, doesn't he? There is more at stake here than one old man and his lowly life; my mission demands that I live amongst the populace of Omnartus to complete it, so I can't give up; I can't let you kill me or anyone else."

It was my turn to sigh, "And what the hell is it that is exactly at stake?"

"More than you could imagine."

Something in those words made sudden indescribable fear crawl up my spine, fear even more potent than the presence of the blank, fear even more potent than the psychic activity of earlier.

"W-what do you mean? Who the hell are you?" I managed.

"I'm nobody, no one. But I know who you are; you are what I said you were earlier, nothing but a kid, a kid caught up in games far too complex and adult for him. Just some poor, innocent kid who's been thrown into this mess and for what I am about to do, I am truly sorry."

I gritted my teeth; somehow, the fear was even more potent than before. My heart shuddered in my chest, and my hands began to shake uncontrollably.

"Sorry? W-what the hell are you sorry for?" I demanded.

"For this."

I heard a beep, the brief, pure sound of a button press. It was small and nondescript, but somehow, it held more weight than any of his words.

I flinched in fright as I heard a nearby small section of the wall slide open, revealing the darkened room beyond. What stepped out from its depths made my heart turn to ice.

"I am truly, truly sorry."

It stood at three metres tall, its enormous bulky body utterly corded with a musculature not at all possible for a normal human being. It was naked except for a torn old loincloth; its pink, swollen skin was covered all over with countless hideous scars; both its hands had been severed at the wrists surgically replaced with two huge, razor-sharp axes, and its teeth filed into ugly incisors.

The Arco Flagellant didn't make a sound, no roar from its smiling maw, as one would expect from such a monster, and that somehow made it even more terrifying. Silently and with grace belying its bulk, it turned its attention to me and lunged for the kill.

Despite my utter terror, I still managed to dive out of the way of the Arco Flagellant's charge. I landed and neatly rolled into a crouch and turned in time to see it practically eviscerate a frigging three-metre-thick solid rockcrete pillar with just one swipe of its huge axe. It then shoulder barged straight through, carrying on as though it was nothing. The wanton destruction showered the surroundings with chunks of rockcrete and an explosively ejected cloud of dust.

This was one enemy I couldn't defeat; this thing was so far out of my league that even if I were fully equipped with armour, everything, I would be nothing but a speck to it. Even less of a nothing than that damned pilaster it had just destroyed with nought but its forward momentum and its shoulder.

I crawled to my feet, a clumsy and hard action as my sweat-slicked hands almost slid out from under me twice. The task of getting up must have taken me no more than a few seconds but felt like a lifetime; any second, I expected the thing to bear down on me to deliver the killing blow, but it never came. Once up, I turned and ran. I ran like the coward I am.

My heartbeat was so fast my chest hurt, and my whole body shook so hard I was in utter agony. I sprinted as quickly as my aching legs could go, but still, I never felt it was nearly enough.

I made it out the door and turned right, the way I had come and barely a millisecond after the Arco Flagellant crashed the entranceway.

I never looked back; I didn't dare. I just ran and ran as my arms flailed about like curtains in the wind; my breaths came out as agonising rasps. Every step I made felt like a million more, and I never looked back, but I could feel its presence behind me, tailing me, descending on me like a predator about to pounce upon its prey. With every step I took, I expected to feel its axe cut through me.

Those corridors seemed to go on forever; these were the corridors which mere minutes ago I had slaughtered my way through, and I now ran for my life through them. Terrifyingly I almost tripped over many of the dead gangers I had killed. Yet, even in my fear-fueled state, I was able to see the irony that falling over one of them meant falling to my demise.

When I finally made it out of that maze, my body almost ejected itself out the door, out into the club beyond, and the relief that washed over me in reaching it here was completely and utterly unjustified.

But despite myself, I slid to a stop and turned to look back and found the monster wasn't there, that somehow, someway, I had lost that inhuman thing in the maze, as the corridor behind me was completely and utterly devoid of life.

Perhaps it wasn't as manoeuvrable as I was through those sharp turns, so it had lost its way? And I was too busy mindless in my flight ever to notice?

I glanced around and, to my complete horror, found that the partygoers hadn't moved an inch since my earlier exit; they all stood gaping and staring at me with terror-milked eyes.

Something deep down inside me said that the Arco Flagellant would never be lost. That it would hound me until I was dead, or it was, I knew soon, very soon, that it would come down that corridor and massacre anyone and anything in its path, these people included. I could leave them, run and run, leave them to be slaughtered, delaying it further so I could have a slighter semblance of a chance to escape.

And why not? They were nothing! The sons and daughters of haughty, arrogant, corrupt aristocrats and bureaucrats! Whatever the galaxy would never mourn them, they were nothing, just dozens of lives among trillions more.

But yet they were innocent, these people, these men and women, they had come here to dance to enjoy themselves. To forget their worries and find some slight joy in this Emperor-forsaken universe, millions of people die every day, whether killed by the numberless Xenos that ravage humanity on every front or those of our petty species, the insignificant members of humanity like myself. Perhaps I could conquer my cowardice and work for once to prevent even just a few of those millions of souls instead of being a contributor. If I died, and even if one of them survived, they would remember the small skinny bastard who gave his life to protect them, That my sacrifice would mean something to someone.

I was wrong; I was the nothing I had died inside almost a decade ago when war had ravaged my world, my country, my home. When war separated me from my mother and forced me into a world of ruthless scavenging, a life, toiling away for survival amongst the ruins among the rest of the beasts I-.

It was then that I noticed that despite everything, I had kept hold of my pistols.

I smiled, bowing my head, and felt the tears abruptly swell in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. This was the first time I had cried in a very long time, and boy, did it feel good. I thanked the Emperor that I had my answer, and seemingly almost on cue, I heard the repeating, quick-fire plodding sound of the Arco Flagellant's running at the end of the corridor.

I raised my pistols and cocked back the Hammer of my auto; perhaps this was the retribution for what I had done to Vex; perhaps this was my vindication for my selfish cowardice.

The smile never left my face even as the creature bared down upon me, and my shots hit ineffectually off of its thick hide.



A voice, womanly, low, soft, beautiful voice spoke in the impenetrable black. It was a familiar voice, one I felt I knew well but could not recall to whom it belonged. It came off somewhere distant, far, far out in the blackness.

Was this death? Was what the church of the Ecclesiarchy taught about death complete crap? Was death just this black void of nothingness?

I had never believed it. My mother was highly religious, but I never was; we were opposites. We were so similar in our personalities but different in our beliefs; we would clash countless times, verbal fights of stunning ferocity on both sides. Now I think back at it, it was a miracle that the Ministorum never found out about my Heretical words. That my mother loved me enough never to tell them.

I believed that the Emperor was never the god that people proclaimed him to be, but a great man whose wisdom and power were indeed God-like. But how could he ever have wanted this for us? All the suffering, all the death? The rampant poverty, the chaos, the mindless religious fanaticism in his name, the millions of planets dedicated to the hives of organised chaos and the meek, brainwashed bureaucrats who knew nothing but their small boxes and the Cogitators at their fingertips, our whole encompassing bureaucracy?

If this were indeed death, I wouldn't mind; I felt safe here, truly free, just floating in this black, in this nothingness, and that voice, that beautiful, beautiful, soft voice—oh, I could listen to that voice forever.

Slowly, though, the voice came closer, as if the person it belonged to silently walked toward me through the black.

I wasn't scared—never was I scared—and I could start making out the words that became more explicit as the voice came closer. What was it that it said? It sounded like a prayer of some kind. The prayer, like the voice, felt familiar, but I couldn't quite recall what it was.

Then it stopped, the voice gone, and my heart emptied at its absence. Was I supposed to spend the rest of eternity without its comforting words, without its company?

Wait, my heart? What?

"Attelus," whispered the voice in my ear. "Open your eyes."

Without hesitation, I did as told and found myself alive, lying in one of the many beds in Taryst's medicae facility and that the voice had belonged Castella. She sat at the end of my bed, her hands clasped in prayer against her forehead with her elbows on my duvet.

She was so beautiful, and to see her there filled me with such indescribable joy at being alive.

I tried to open my mouth to speak out to her through my dry, cracked lips, but all that I could manage was a pathetic rattle as though my body had forgotten how to talk.

She stopped praying and looked at me. Her eyes were red with tears, and it hurt me to see such beauty marred. But her smile, oh her smile, was a smile of indescribable happiness, one of great relief, a smile that showed the weight that had left her shoulders.

I tried to move my hand to beckon her closer, but my whole world became racked with pain at the effort, utter agony, which made me close my eyes and grunt out in response.

It took me until then to realise I was covered from head to toe in bandages and see the drip cord fed into my arm.

But she got the hint and leaned closer, nearing her ear toward my mouth so I could speak, and I said, "Stop praying; I'm trying to sleep."

Castella threw back her head and laughed aloud; it was a sweet sound, a beautiful sound from a kind person who seemed to utter nothing but sweet sounds.

She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye, and she sat back down on her chair.

"It's good to see that you are still yourself, Attelus," she said.

I tried to smile, but even that hurt.

"You have been out for a long, long time, my friend," she carried on.

"How...Long?" I fought to say.

Her eyes widened into a pained expression that told me I really didn't want to know.

"I...See."

Her perfect face suddenly curled up, and tears ran down her cheeks. The change in emotion was so fast that I didn't know how to react.

"Th-thank you," she squeaked.

I couldn't manage to ask what she was thankful for, but she still answered.

"Thank you for proving to me that you still are a good person. Ever since I had first met you, I knew you weren't like the rest of us, that you weren't evil, that you still cared for more than just yourself. Thank you for proving to me you still are human," she sniffed heavily and wiped away her tears with her forearm, "after-after what you did to Vex I began to doubt you, I had begun to believe that you had devolved into the monster, but I see now that doubt was unfounded. You stood alone, Attelus, against an impossible enemy; you willingly put yourself on the line for the good of others, you-you."

She couldn't continue her sentence as she tore back up again.

"And-and thank you that now I know no matter what happens, no matter how hard it is, you will still be that good, kind, compassionate person inside. I just regret that we couldn't have got there in time to save you earlier, and for that, I am sorry, Attelus, I am truly, truly sorry."

Even if I had been able to speak then, I couldn't have; I was taken aback at her emotional outburst, never in all my career that I would have ever suspected that Castella cared for me so much, never.

She was always a friend, the only person I could talk to with humour and trust, who saw me as a person and not some know-nothing apprentice.

But then I realised something; I couldn't recall at all what had happened in that club after the Arco Flagellant had charged me; how the hell had I survived? What exactly had happened? Had any of the club-goers escaped?

Castella sniffed again, and as if reading my mind, she said, "You did it, Attelus. You held off that monster for long enough that those people could escape; you went one-on-one with an Arco Flagellant long enough that Elandria, Hayden, Darrance, and I could stop it before it could cause any more damage. If you had died, Attelus, your sacrifice would not have been in vain, and I swear I'm telling you the truth; I know you aren't the most trusting person in this world, but believe me, on this, be proud, Attelus."

She sniffed again, but this time it had humour in it, "When we took you to Taryst's medicae facility, they said there was no way you would survive, that you would die within hours, but I knew you were stubborn, and you held on, you lived and-and most importantly, thank you, thank you for living, thank you."

Oh, how I dearly wished I could reach out and comfort her or even thank her, but everything was so hard, so, so hard, I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore; I blinked once, then twice, then I embraced the sweetness of sleep.

 

[Adrassil]

According to my wrist chron, the wait in the line lasted only fifteen minutes, but it felt like a whole frigging hour for me. Did I say I hated waiting in lines? I did? Good, so now it's doubly emphasised.

When we stood between slight steps, I tapped the tip of my shoe on the rockcrete and the whole way, I smoked Lho as my attention darted around like quicksilver. About halfway through the line, Elandria hissed at me, "Really, could you stand still for more than three seconds?"

I blew out smoke and replied simplistically, "No."

She kept quiet afterwards; perhaps Elandria was smarter than I gave her credit for. Perhaps she was aware it was an intended ironic echo of her catchphrase, and then I made a mental note that I should make use of her 'whatever' more often.

Once we had finally reached the end of the line, I whispered in Elandria's ear, "Let me do the talking."

"Whatever," she hissed back. "Just be careful not to knock out the Moody Hammer with one of your nervous twitches."

I pursed my lips; that wasn't a bad idea. I had yet to devise a decent plan for starting this brawl. Looking over the line alone, I decided this task would be easier said than done; sure, I could easily pick a fight with one patron, but initialising the needed chaos would be challenging. The majority of the patrons were upper-class dandies who I doubted had ever taken part in a full-on bar brawl in their pampered lives. If it was a lower hive bar, well enough said, really.

We approached the colossal Hammer standing at the door. Despite his low-browed, vat-grown, square-jawed appearance, many of his kind had his hooded, beady eyes gleaned a slight modicum of intelligence. He wore a suit dissimilar to mine, and he held a data slate in his vast, meaty paw. I quickly noted the large, black tattoo on his neck, which showed he belonged to the "Greasers", a local gang who was one of the first our intelligence had reported being reeled into Brutis Bone's little alliance. The holstered laspistol was barely hidden under his blazer, the microbead in his ear and not just that, but two more huge hammers stood inside the club's shadowy entrance.

The Hammer smiled a surprisingly welcoming, toothy smile and gave us both friendly nods. "Sir, Mamzel, may I ask that you state your names, please."

"Indeed," I said. I may have put on a hammy performance earlier for Elandria's sake, but as Glaitis taught me, the true art in undercover acting is subtlety. To not get carried away and not let stereotypes rule your mindset, but that is, of course, unless the role calls for it, "I am Autius Davian-Meggs, and this lovely young woman is Riculia Harviad."

As I said this, the Hammer scrolled down his data slate. "...Sir Autius Davian-Meggs and mamzel Riculia Harviad, you are indeed on the list. Welcome to the Twilight bar, and may you enjoy your time here."

"Thank you, and we will," I smirked slightly as Elandria and I entered the club. I was not surprised at the doorman's professionalism and politeness; it would be a given for a club this high up and well known, but the colleagues in the entranceway did not share the doorman's friendliness. I could feel them glare at us, suspicious and unyielding, with bulky arms folded in an 'intimidating' fashion.

I pretended to ignore them, assuming they wouldn't treat their regular customers in such a fashion, or else their 'bar' would have closed down a long time ago. The evidence so far pointed to this being increasingly a Brutis Bones operation.

This could also prove that our rival organisation knows our faces at least.

I glanced over my shoulder at the doorman and saw him talking intently, his index finger against the microbead in his ear.

We followed through the three-metre-wide corridor; the hologram planning had proven right; the hallway curled subtly to the northwest. The steel walls dulled down into a dark crimson, metallic sheen, and the walls trembled in time with the bass line. The way the building is a little advanced is that the main entrance's corridor splits the club in half, starting from the southeast and ending in the northern corner. According to the information gathered, the west side of the building was the private area for the VIPs and the east general club and bar.

"So? Do you have any kind of plan yet?" Elandria hissed right in my ear, her soft voice causing me to start slightly from my thoughts.

"Some semblance..." I said, twisting my pinkie finger in my ear.

"Which means nothing?"

"No, it means what it means: 'some semblance,' I'll think of something, I'm...Adaptable."

"Adaptable? Is that what you are calling it now?"

Before I could reply, my pocket vibrated, and swiftly, I reached in and slid the small listening device into my ear.

"We're in," I said, though I knew that they would already know.

"Good work," Castella's voice came from the tiny speaker. "Where are you now?"

"Still in the corridor, not yet through the second security station, the one with the metal detectors," I said. "I find this place very interesting. This is very...Pretentious, I can almost smell the pretentiousness in the air."

I heard Castella giggle on the other side. "What do you expect when it's called the Twilight Bar?"

"Well, I expected that the main corridor would be darker and be more of a reference to its namesake; perhaps the building itself hates what it's called so much, so somehow, through sheer force of will, rejected it."

Again, Castella laughed. "Alright, alright, you know the drill; you have four of these devices. Make sure you drop one in this corridor and another at the second station on your way to the other two. Keep with you and Elandria so we can communicate with you inside."

"Yes, we know, we know. Didn't you just say that I knew the drill yourself?"

"I did, but as you know, one can never be too careful, you know, just in case. Good luck, and may the god-Emperor's virtue be with you."

Then she cut the link.

I immediately halted, slipped off of Elandria, and pulled one of the listening devices out from my pocket. I removed the back adhesive and stuck it against the wall. The advanced little piece of tech immediately camouflaged itself in the wall's colour and texture, all but invisible to the naked eye.

"One down and just one to go," I said, standing back to full height and offering my arm back to Elandria. "May we move, my dear?"

Elandria begrudgingly took it and growled, "If you call me 'my dear' one more time-"

I sighed. "Yes, I know, I know I will be sorely lacking my head, I know."

We walked through the detectors without consequence; the listening devices were made from a rare and expensive Plasteek that was all but invisible to most scanners.

The two huge hammers posted at the checkpoint were just as affable as their colleague at the door. With the combination of my quick hands and Elandria's aid, I successfully placed the listening device at the checkpoint. When we entered the club itself, where dozens upon dozens of dancers jumped and leapt to the music, a massive orgy of activity that seemed to move like white caps on the sea, rising and falling, rising and falling, it was almost entirely dark. The only light source lasers beaming down onto the countless cavorters, projecting patterns, and numerous different patterns changing from flowers to even the Imperial Aquila. It was quite an amazing sight to behold.

Quickly I changed my tact, glancing over the crowd, my brow hooded in concentration and noticing three more gangers straddled through the people, each eyeing Elandria and me with distinct suspicion, and I barely held back a sigh. I knew they were low-hive gangers; I knew that they were muscle, but they wouldn't know subtlety if hit over the head with 'A Guide to Infiltration and Espionage.' However, it is an utterly terrible and pretentious book that the author (whose name I cannot recall) he blatantly did not research, it would help these idiots' skills in that field by leaps and bounds. That wasn't saying much, of course.

Then it hit me, it frigging hit me, and the realisation caused me to sigh and place my face into the palm of my hand; if these gangers were this pathetic and it has taken this long for Taryst's 'elite' to find this place.

I didn't want to begin to think about it; it was depressing, just damned depressing.

But, actually, perhaps that was it. This 'bar's' security was so stupid and sloppy that it wouldn't stick out from the rest of its ilk, or was I just over-analysing it?

I didn't know, and I didn't care anymore.

"What the hell is wrong with you now?" demanded Elandria. Her raised voice was barely heard over the music, but I could listen to her well, her words enhanced by the bud in her ear.

"I hate my job," I groaned, my voice muffled into my hand.

"What?"

I dropped my arm back to my side and said instead. "These guys are complete idiots."

Elandria smirked. "Please, do tell me something I don't know," she said. I see three Hammers in the crowd, two armed with laspistols and one with a high-calibre auto pistol, all in torso holsters, right?"

"Hmmm, interesting," I said.

"What?"

I gestured with a lazy hand, a slight indistinct movement aimed toward the Hammer with the autopistol.

"See? His pupils are dilated, and even in this terrible light, it is obvious his skin is a shade lighter than his norm, that Hammer is scared, very scared."

"Scared of what?" asked Elandria, then a big, evil grin spread across her symmetrical face. "Scared of us?"

I shrugged. "Hmm, perhaps that seems logical. He may be a survivor, a survivor of one of our many skirmishes against Brutis Bones' organisation over the past months; he may even be the one whom they had learnt our identities from."

Elandria grimaced in utter disgust. "A survivor! We were thorough! We let none escape!"

"See! It is that exact attitude that would have allowed for his escape in the first place, but we can turn this toward our favour, though it also looks like we will have to reevaluate our plans."

"Why?"

"Because we will both die if we don't. If we make one wrong step, even try slightly to start a fight, he will shoot us; he's as twitchy as a frigging Obscura addict on withdrawal."

"Even shoot through a crowd of civilians?" she smirked.

I sniffed and glared at her sidelong. I knew she was ruthless, but I was hoping that there would be some line for Elandria.

"Perhaps, but that is one risk I am unable to take; at first, this was to be innocent fisticuffs against other club-goers, but if we are to do anything, we will have to take care of that Hammer first."

"Kill him?"

I grimaced. "If it comes to that but-"

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and a cold shiver slid down my spine. The air temperature dropped dramatically, and the once enthusiastic crowd halted its partying as everyone shook in instinctive terror.

I had felt this before, and I knew what it was.

Elandria turned to me, her eyes white with animalistic fear. "Psyker!"

My earpiece suddenly came to life, and Castella's uncharacteristically urgent voice erupted over the mic.

"Attelus! Attelus! Cough if you copy, damn it!"

I quickly complied.

"Good! We have two new additions to the line outside, and-and the people they are just-just parting, letting them through, I!-I can't make out their faces but-but-!"

The line began to fizzle and crackle, warping Castella's words into indecipherable syllables, then entirely descended to static.

I felt my heart beating a thousand miles a minute and the fear! Oh, the fear! The adrenaline was pumping! But still, I shivered in the unnatural cold, and then I noticed Elandria, who looked at me in utter terror, whose lower lip shook, and her body wavered.

"Why-why, are you smiling?" she stammered.

"I'm smiling?" I asked, genuinely bemused. "Well, I guess I would now that everything is going according to plan, to my plan anyway."

I don't know if you thought I had forgotten about Taryst's little psyker cadre or if you had forgotten, but this, this I had seen coming, yes.



I knew I had to act; perhaps that time was short, so I moved. Dodging and weaving through the frozen club-goers within milliseconds, I reached the Hammer with the auto pistol; the ganger was never able to react to my advance as his glazed eyes stared dumbly to the ceiling, his mouth gaping open in severe shock.

I smashed my elbow straight into his solar plexus, which impacted in a sickening "crunch!" and the Hammer let out a feeble gasp for air, his torso bending in under the force. I gritted my teeth and followed on, punching him in the kidney, then the ribs, finished him by sliding to his flank and delivering a brutal, low side kick snapping his knee inward and causing the Hammer to let out a strangled howl of utter agony. I now had his Auto pistol in hand (which unsurprisingly already had the safety off), and I fired one round into the ceiling, yelling out at the top of my lungs, "Down, everybody, down!"

Luckily, the crowd was not so frozen in fear that they could not acquiesce to my request, and with frightened yelps, they did as told, all except the two remaining bouncer Hammers, who were only now numbly reaching for their weapons.

I shot them both, one through the head and the other in his chest, the shots accompanied by even more screams of terror.

"Damn it, what the hell are you doing?" demanded Elandria as she retrieved one of the corpses' Las pistols and raised it to cover the entranceway.

"Improvising," I replied.

"Didn't-didn't you just say that 'everything is going according to plan'?"

"All according to one plan, yes."

"Then it isn't improvising, then is it?"

"Whatever," I sighed. I found the unconscious Hammer's three backup ammo clips and slipped them into my pockets.

"So what is it that you improvise now, oh you magnificent bastard you?"

I looked over my shoulder at her, shocked. Was that an actual joke? A backhanded compliment, perhaps? Or something else entirely?

"Cover the door for me, would you? I have unfinished business to attend to."

"Then what the hell will I do when that Psyker gets here then?"

"Pray too that Emperor of yours!" that was my reply as I turned into the corridor leading to the VIP area, my confiscated autopistol raised and ready as I advanced.

I had not forgotten about Taryst's psykers. I had an idea in the back of my head that this little independent operation of Glaitis would have been tracked, but that also begs yet another question: why would Glaitis have played this move?

She must have known of Taryst's psychic allies and was aware that without taking the proper precautions, we would have been found out. I could hazard a myriad of guesses as to why, but now was not the time to do so.

As the corridor began to curve southward, I heard it; sudden and deafening gunfire reverberated within the passage. I gritted my teeth, risking a look and what I saw made my eyes widen in fear.

One Hammer had lost his mind; he fired his stub automatic limply and indiscriminately into the crowd of terrified, screaming VIPs, two of whom already lay dead.

The man was grinning mindlessly, foaming from the mouth, and his body moved loosely like a marionette. This was definitely a psyker's work, and this would have been nightmare fuel unleaded if I had not seen it many times before. Without breaking stride, I shot him, I shot him straight through the face, the back of what was once a Human's skull exploded out into a cone of gore, the thick, red matter coating anyone near and the body dropped like a sack of spuds.

I left the corridor and out into a cacophony of cries as the VIPs all saw the small, skinny bastard who held a smoking autopistol walking right through their midst.

Are you really scared of me? Didn't I save all your hides? I thought Glaitis had once said that being a hero was overrated, and once again, she proved to be right, and I kicked the corpse as I walked through. "Shame about the face," I muttered.

I came to the door, which led to the 'restricted' area and studied the lock. It was one of your typical password-encoded things, and to the consequential cry of many an onlooker, I raised my pistol, turned away, covered my face with a forearm and blew out the lock with one deafening pull of the trigger.

I kicked the door open and was forced to throw myself back into cover mere milliseconds before the torrent of Las fire cut through the air. I had managed a glimpse of the lone Hammer, the lone Hammer with crazed eyes, who stood six metres down the corridor, who still kept spraying on full auto despite my absence, and whose insane screams of fear I could hear well over the rounds. He had no cover, nothing.

I only had to wait several seconds for the fire to stop and hear the familiar hiss of emptied Las weaponry, and then I stepped out.

"You idiot!" I roared and put two rounds through his torso. Of course, the psychic presence could explain his idiocy and the other's fear. I could see my breath steaming and the ice on the walls; I grinned. Thank you, Taryst. You are making this way too easy.

I kicked open the door at the end of the corridor and entered into what I remembered from the schematics a larger room and found it was a recreation room, which was already held and makeshift fortified by three more of Brutis' Bones mooks. I was almost caught unawares, unprepared for an organised defence, and immediately forced back into hiding as they opened fire. I had accounted for the psyker's presence to be more lasting, and at times like this, I would kill for a grenade or manstopper rounds; they would easily blow fist-size holes through the table which they had turned over. It looked like it wasn't going to be so easy after all.

I briefly leaned out and fired off my last three rounds, forcing the Hammers to duck behind their table. Ejecting the empty clip, slamming a fresh one home without hesitation, I leaned back out. Even now, I am not sure if it was skill or luck that the cause of me managing to scalp one of the Hammers as he rose from hiding, but either way, it shocked his comrades into submission long enough to allow me to sprint the distance and shoot them both through their faces at point-blank range.

I vaulted over the table and retrieved a laspistol from one of the corpses; after checking that the charge gauge was full, I moved on now with a big grin.

The shots reverberated in the confined corridors as I fired two point-blank rounds into the Hammer's chest, and my front kick followed on, colliding into the limp corpse and propelling the dead Hammer into the next of his colleagues in line. Both bodies fell to the floor in a mass of writhing limbs and screams. While lunging over the screaming Hammer and the corpse pinning him, I shot the next ganger as he was bringing his stubbrevolver to bear. Still, the fourth ganger in line was thinner and more nimble than the others as he slid past his collapsing ally and lunged into a hook punch intended on smashing in my head. In an inner-outer block that pushed the attack off course, I blocked the fist with a forearm, augmented his momentum, and caused his punch to connect straight into the rockcrete wall instead. His hand broke with a sickening crack, and the Hammer bellowed out in utter agony, a bellow which became abruptly cut short as I pistol-whipped him in the base of the skull, causing his forehead to follow after his fist in cracking against the hard surface.

He also wasn't much taller than I was, so hence an effective human shield, and just in time, I hooked my arm around the man's neck and turned the limp form to face the next aggressor as he opened fire. The human shield took three rounds from the Hammer's autopistol (I could only thank the Emperor that none of them wielded shotguns). Jarring the corpse with each and almost caused me to let go before I managed to shoot the hapless team killer over the shoulder of his murdered workmate.

The next Hammer, an older and horrifically scarred monster, attempted to follow my example as he roughly shoved his traitorous ally's corpse toward me to mask his advance. Still, I slid out of the way, pushing my back against the wall, and the two dead men collided with each other, falling to the floor in a heap. The large ganger was then on me and threw a deceptively fast hook that I barely managed to back peddle out of the way from. He was actually pretty good, much to my surprise, and my attempt at bringing my pistols to bear was interrupted by his follow-on, a right jab that I swayed under and then an uppercut I narrowly sidestepped. The next attack was a lunging back fist that sent me back-peddling even further and almost made me trip over the corpses that I had left in my wake.

The Hammer stopped his assault and glared at me balefully, one of his eyes milky white, the other a piercingly bright blue.

"Put those pistols away," he grunted as he cracked his knuckles. "I see you are a worthy opponent, so let us truly see who is the better fighter."

I sighed and complied, dropping my pistols to the floor with a clatter.

"Hmm, right," I said. "But first, just one question: are you, by chance, Brutis Bones?"

"No, I am-"

Before he could continue any further, I knelt, picked the pistols back up and shot him five times; the first exploded out his guts; the second blew a ragged hole in his chest. The third burst open his right bicep, the fourth hit him in the thigh, causing him to spin around so his back was facing me, and the last ripped out the base of his spine, and he fell straight to the floor, flat on his face. I knew it was overkill, but these 'Honour Before Reason' idiots were usually tough bastards, and that was the only way I could make sure he wasn't ever getting back up. Taryst wanted Brutis Bones alive, so I would have made an effort if it was him.

I sighed again and wondered how the hell such an idiot could have lived as a ganger. I casually lowered my laspistol and put a neat black hole through the forehead of the Hammer, who was still struggling to escape from under his dead ally.

I felt dirty. Sure, I could have eventually beaten the idiot if I had done the honourable thing and fought fair, but that would have wasted time, and time was one thing not on my side.

As I moved through that maze of cramped, brightly lit corridors, the closer I came to the area I guessed was Brutis Bones' quarters. More and more, a feeling of unease grew in the pit of my gut that almost the very air disturbed my very being, and with that feeling, it became more and more evident the lack of any psychic activity around me. Only one thing off the top of my head could explain this phenomenon: the presence of a blank. A person whose very existence nullifies the activities of the warp around them, dissipating all psychic abilities at a certain radius. It would explain Taryst's apparent need for an army to track down this enemy, even with the cadre of psykers at his beck and call. But there had to be more to it than that, even with the blank here making this place all but invisible; why hadn't Taryst just captured a lowly Hammer and had one of the psykers delve into their mind? Was Taryst so paranoid at having the activities of his psykers found by the local authorities so frigging overwhelming?

That also begs the question, how the hell could Taryst know my thoughts so well that he could tell my doubts about my job? Perhaps the answer lies in the "blocks" placed in my and all my fellow mercenaries' minds; perhaps they allow the psykers to read our thoughts without giving any hint? Was that even possible? I didn't know. But if it was true, it only confirms that Taryst didn't want anyone outside his organisation knowing of this hunt and the complicated precautions he was prepared to take to keep it that way.

Then 'paranoia' was a frigging understatement.

But this 'answer' was just fuel for many more questions: why did Glaitis allow her apprentice to be implanted with these things? Why would Glaitis have both Elandria and I along to this operation if Taryst could have his psykers read our minds? And I will not say that it was "because she didn't know" idiocy; she knows, she knows everything. I can say that with an amount of conviction that I hadn't felt in ages. Perhaps she wanted to have Taryst reveal his organisation by forcing his hand? But then why would she want Taryst to show himself in the first place? Could Garrakson know more than he lets on as well? He was our leader and longtime senior in Taryst's company?

But most importantly, what was the cause behind all this paranoia and why the hell was so much effort going into tracking down this low-life gang leader?

The answer to that I could hazard a myriad amount of guesses upon.

I reached the end of yet another corridor; stopping at the edge, I pushed my back against the wall and glanced around the corner.

Two Hammers stood guard at the doorway situated halfway down the next hall; both were bulky men, both held autoguns, and both glanced about with nervous expressions.

Without hesitation, I stepped out and vacated the nearest ganger's brains out the side of his skull with one autopistol round. The other turned to me in almost admiral discipline, attempting to bring up his autogun to fire.

He managed it halfway before my las shots killed him; one blew through his ribs, and the other blew out his neck.

I ran on, unloading and reloading my smoking pistols on the move, then pushed my back against the wall next to the already open entrance. I could not help but think that perhaps this was a little too easy, and you also may be wondering why I am doing this. Why, it is simple, and it is not what you may think if I bring in Brutis Bones, finally, Glaitis will see me worthy and promote me to full assassin-hood. Well, that would be a bonus, but no. I am and have never been a particularly ambitious person. I have no dreams of ascending Glaitis and taking her blood-soaked throne (the metaphorical one, of course, but at times, I have wondered). No, I just wanted to have this frigging job done, finished so we can move on to something else. I hated this crap and was frankly sick of it; that is why I am throwing myself blind into the Wolves Den, killing anything and everything in my way like a Hitman on heat. The poor Hammers who stood in my way were just the instruments for me to take my anger and aggression out on, almost like Vex was.

I physically winced at the thought and felt the guilt I had suppressed over the earlier hours boil back to the surface. I swallowed hard and forced it back down. I still had plenty more frustration to go around,

Now, with that finally explained, I took in a huge breath and slipped through the doorway. My pistols raised and covered the interior. The room I emerged into was large, at least eight metres in length and fifteen in width, a brightly lit rockcrete cave. Barren to an extreme, and there were twelve thick, square pillars, six along the diameters of the room. It was empty except for the one figure who stood in sight, right at the epi-centre. He had his back facing me, but I could see the heavy carapace armour he wore.

"Brutis Bones, I presume?" I said, covering him with my guns.

No answer; the man just stood deathly still and stayed silent.

"Hmm, right. I'm not going to bother to say for you to surrender. This place looks like it's been built specifically for a firefight, isn't a coincidence, is it?"

Again, he replied with silence.

Something inside me snapped. "Don't you give me the frigging silent treatment, you bastard! Do you have any idea the crap I have been through to find you!"

"I can't believe that so many of my guards were killed single-handedly by a kid," the man said abruptly. "A foolish kid playing at games far too large and complicated for him to even begin to comprehend."

I wasn't sure how to reply; what he had said hit quite close to home.

"And nope, sorry kid, I am not your Brutis Bones; he is in another castle, you could say."

I gritted my teeth, widened my eyes and tightened my hands on the grips of my pistols.

"How the hell do I know that you actually are him and not just lying?" I asked, struggling to keep my voice neutral; if this wasn't Brutis Bones, then Glaitis' intel must have been misled; no, I sincerely doubted that. If this were Brutis Bones, she would know, and if this man who talked to me now isn't him, then it would just reinforce that this is one of her feints used to force Taryst to show his hand.

The man shrugged. "You can choose to believe or not to believe, kid. Either way, it's the truth. Now I may not be him, but that doesn't make me want to live any less."

Then he spun, as quick as lightning, and he held a stubb revolver raised and firing.

All I could do was lunge, diving behind the nearest pillar just in time. But I was not fast enough to dodge the one round which skimmed my left shoulder, the sharp pain erupted up my arm, and I yelped out as I hit the floor.

Getting into a crouch, I pushed my back against my pillar, cursing savagely. I had his back wholly covered, and yet the bastard still got the drop on me!

A few more shots rang through the vast room; then there was silence, the only sound the ringing clatter of empty shell casings falling to the floor.

"You really are him, aren't you?" I said.

"Maybe, maybe not," the man replied.

My reply was me suddenly leaning out slightly and wailing off four shots in his general direction.

"Well, either way, you're fighting me now, and either way, you are going to pay the consequences!" I said as I lunged out into the open, my guns blazing.

I ran, sprinting sideways and fired my pistols at my opponent, who ran with me. The bellowing, rudimentary, consistent and combined sounds of our weapons discharging over and over echoed throughout the interior with a horrible, deafening cacophony. They tore into the décor, which wrought in a new and far more interesting scenery of bullet holes in the rockcrete walls and pillars.

Making it to the next pillar and leaving the clatter of spent shell cases in my wake, I pushed myself up against my cover. I lent outlet off a few shots with my Laspistol, then I spun to the other side of the rockcrete cover and neatly caught my enemy off guard as he attempted the same manoeuvre. The man barely made it behind his colonnade as I opened fire. Then, without hesitation, I moved, running toward the other side in an attempt to bridge the gap while I wailed away with my pistols to keep the bastard pinned to prevent his reconciliation.

Without hindrance, I found the other side of the same colonnade that my opponent cowered behind, pushed myself against the pillar, then slid out, pistols raised and found the man had gone.

I snarled out a curse, turning just in time to catch him as he came around the other side of the pillar and desperately knocked his raised stubb revolver's aim off course. The round once meant to cave in my skull shot off, its fate only to create yet another smoking crater in the wall, and I followed on, kicking out viscously at the man's groin. The man sidestepped the attack with almost contemptuous ease and attempted to bring his gun to bear on me again. My inner-outer block smashed the shot aside, after which I opened up with my autopistol.

Despite the shot being point-blank, the man still managed almost to dive out of the way; instead of exploding his ribcage, the round impacted against his shoulder guard. Its kinetic force caused him to turn in mid-lunge, and he hit the floor clumsily, I could clearly hear him gasp out his lungs ejected air with the impact.

I didn't hesitate, shooting once! Twice! Both hit him as he rolled across the floor, but that was all I could muster before he made it behind the next pillar, and my pistols clicked empty.

Sliding around the first colonnade, I knelt and began reloading; I had six clips left, four for my autopistol and two for my las. Along the way of my massacre, I had pilfered them off the corpses of my many victims, and I could also hear my opponent following suit along with his pained gasps and grunts as he performed the task.

"You know," I said as I slammed home a fresh clip into my autopistol. "You would be dead if you weren't wearing that carapace."

"I know," he replied, and I could not help but be surprised by the sadness in his words. "You're good, kid. I'll give you that."

"I know," I echoed back.

"Perhaps even good enough to kill me," he went on, "and that I actually wouldn't mind; I have lived a long life, kid, killed a lot of people I really wouldn't mind. Going out with one final blaze of glory."

I grinned. "Well, if you're so keen to die, why don't you just step out and make this easy for me?"

The man sighed. "You and I know I can't do that; your boss, Taryst, wants me alive, doesn't he? There is more at stake here than one old man and his lowly life; my mission demands that I live amongst the populace of Omnartus to complete it, so I can't give up; I can't let you kill me or anyone else."

It was my turn to sigh, "And what the hell is it that is exactly at stake?"

"More than you could imagine."

Something in those words made sudden indescribable fear crawl up my spine, fear even more potent than the presence of the blank, fear even more potent than the psychic activity of earlier.

"W-what do you mean? Who the hell are you?" I managed.

"I'm nobody, no one. But I know who you are; you are what I said you were earlier, nothing but a kid, a kid caught up in games far too complex and adult for him. Just some poor, innocent kid who's been thrown into this mess and for what I am about to do, I am truly sorry."

I gritted my teeth; somehow, the fear was even more potent than before. My heart shuddered in my chest, and my hands began to shake uncontrollably.

"Sorry? W-what the hell are you sorry for?" I demanded.

"For this."

I heard a beep, the brief, pure sound of a button press. It was small and nondescript, but somehow, it held more weight than any of his words.

I flinched in fright as I heard a nearby small section of the wall slide open, revealing the darkened room beyond. What stepped out from its depths made my heart turn to ice.

"I am truly, truly sorry."

It stood at three metres tall, its enormous bulky body utterly corded with a musculature not at all possible for a normal human being. It was naked except for a torn old loincloth; its pink, swollen skin was covered all over with countless hideous scars; both its hands had been severed at the wrists surgically replaced with two huge, razor-sharp axes, and its teeth filed into ugly incisors.

The Arco Flagellant didn't make a sound, no roar from its smiling maw, as one would expect from such a monster, and that somehow made it even more terrifying. Silently and with grace belying its bulk, it turned its attention to me and lunged for the kill.



Despite my utter terror, I still managed to dive out of the way of the Arco Flagellant's charge. I landed and neatly rolled into a crouch and turned in time to see it practically eviscerate a frigging three-metre-thick solid rockcrete pillar with just one swipe of its huge axe. It then shoulder barged straight through, carrying on as though it was nothing. The wanton destruction showered the surroundings with chunks of rockcrete and an explosively ejected cloud of dust.

This was one enemy I couldn't defeat; this thing was so far out of my league that even if I were fully equipped with armour, everything, I would be nothing but a speck to it. Even less of a nothing than that damned pilaster it had just destroyed with nought but its forward momentum and its shoulder.

I crawled to my feet, a clumsy and hard action as my sweat-slicked hands almost slid out from under me twice. The task of getting up must have taken me no more than a few seconds but felt like a lifetime; any second, I expected the thing to bear down on me to deliver the killing blow, but it never came. Once up, I turned and ran. I ran like the coward I am.

My heartbeat was so fast my chest hurt, and my whole body shook so hard I was in utter agony. I sprinted as quickly as my aching legs could go, but still, I never felt it was nearly enough.

I made it out the door and turned right, the way I had come and barely a millisecond after the Arco Flagellant crashed the entranceway.

I never looked back; I didn't dare. I just ran and ran as my arms flailed about like curtains in the wind; my breaths came out as agonising rasps. Every step I made felt like a million more, and I never looked back, but I could feel its presence behind me, tailing me, descending on me like a predator about to pounce upon its prey. With every step I took, I expected to feel its axe cut through me.

Those corridors seemed to go on forever; these were the corridors which mere minutes ago I had slaughtered my way through, and I now ran for my life through them. Terrifyingly I almost tripped over many of the dead gangers I had killed. Yet, even in my fear-fueled state, I was able to see the irony that falling over one of them meant falling to my demise.

When I finally made it out of that maze, my body almost ejected itself out the door, out into the club beyond, and the relief that washed over me in reaching it here was completely and utterly unjustified.

But despite myself, I slid to a stop and turned to look back and found the monster wasn't there, that somehow, someway, I had lost that inhuman thing in the maze, as the corridor behind me was completely and utterly devoid of life.

Perhaps it wasn't as manoeuvrable as I was through those sharp turns, so it had lost its way? And I was too busy mindless in my flight ever to notice?

I glanced around and, to my complete horror, found that the partygoers hadn't moved an inch since my earlier exit; they all stood gaping and staring at me with terror-milked eyes.

Something deep down inside me said that the Arco Flagellant would never be lost. That it would hound me until I was dead, or it was, I knew soon, very soon, that it would come down that corridor and massacre anyone and anything in its path, these people included. I could leave them, run and run, leave them to be slaughtered, delaying it further so I could have a slighter semblance of a chance to escape.

And why not? They were nothing! The sons and daughters of haughty, arrogant, corrupt aristocrats and bureaucrats! Whatever the galaxy would never mourn them, they were nothing, just dozens of lives among trillions more.

But yet they were innocent, these people, these men and women, they had come here to dance to enjoy themselves. To forget their worries and find some slight joy in this Emperor-forsaken universe, millions of people die every day, whether killed by the numberless Xenos that ravage humanity on every front or those of our petty species, the insignificant members of humanity like myself. Perhaps I could conquer my cowardice and work for once to prevent even just a few of those millions of souls instead of being a contributor. If I died, and even if one of them survived, they would remember the small skinny bastard who gave his life to protect them, That my sacrifice would mean something to someone.

I was wrong; I was the nothing I had died inside almost a decade ago when war had ravaged my world, my country, my home. When war separated me from my mother and forced me into a world of ruthless scavenging, a life, toiling away for survival amongst the ruins among the rest of the beasts I-.

It was then that I noticed that despite everything, I had kept hold of my pistols.

I smiled, bowing my head, and felt the tears abruptly swell in my eyes and roll down my cheeks. This was the first time I had cried in a very long time, and boy, did it feel good. I thanked the Emperor that I had my answer, and seemingly almost on cue, I heard the repeating, quick-fire plodding sound of the Arco Flagellant's running at the end of the corridor.

I raised my pistols and cocked back the Hammer of my auto; perhaps this was the retribution for what I had done to Vex; perhaps this was my vindication for my selfish cowardice.

The smile never left my face even as the creature bared down upon me, and my shots hit ineffectually off of its thick hide.



A voice, womanly, low, soft, beautiful voice spoke in the impenetrable black. It was a familiar voice, one I felt I knew well but could not recall to whom it belonged. It came off somewhere distant, far, far out in the blackness.

Was this death? Was what the church of the Ecclesiarchy taught about death complete crap? Was death just this black void of nothingness?

I had never believed it. My mother was highly religious, but I never was; we were opposites. We were so similar in our personalities but different in our beliefs; we would clash countless times, verbal fights of stunning ferocity on both sides. Now I think back at it, it was a miracle that the Ministorum never found out about my Heretical words. That my mother loved me enough never to tell them.

I believed that the Emperor was never the god that people proclaimed him to be, but a great man whose wisdom and power were indeed God-like. But how could he ever have wanted this for us? All the suffering, all the death? The rampant poverty, the chaos, the mindless religious fanaticism in his name, the millions of planets dedicated to the hives of organised chaos and the meek, brainwashed bureaucrats who knew nothing but their small boxes and the Cogitators at their fingertips, our whole encompassing bureaucracy?

If this were indeed death, I wouldn't mind; I felt safe here, truly free, just floating in this black, in this nothingness, and that voice, that beautiful, beautiful, soft voice—oh, I could listen to that voice forever.

Slowly, though, the voice came closer, as if the person it belonged to silently walked toward me through the black.

I wasn't scared—never was I scared—and I could start making out the words that became more explicit as the voice came closer. What was it that it said? It sounded like a prayer of some kind. The prayer, like the voice, felt familiar, but I couldn't quite recall what it was.

Then it stopped, the voice gone, and my heart emptied at its absence. Was I supposed to spend the rest of eternity without its comforting words, without its company?

Wait, my heart? What?

"Attelus," whispered the voice in my ear. "Open your eyes."

Without hesitation, I did as told and found myself alive, lying in one of the many beds in Taryst's medicae facility and that the voice had belonged Castella. She sat at the end of my bed, her hands clasped in prayer against her forehead with her elbows on my duvet.

She was so beautiful, and to see her there filled me with such indescribable joy at being alive.

I tried to open my mouth to speak out to her through my dry, cracked lips, but all that I could manage was a pathetic rattle as though my body had forgotten how to talk.

She stopped praying and looked at me. Her eyes were red with tears, and it hurt me to see such beauty marred. But her smile, oh her smile, was a smile of indescribable happiness, one of great relief, a smile that showed the weight that had left her shoulders.

I tried to move my hand to beckon her closer, but my whole world became racked with pain at the effort, utter agony, which made me close my eyes and grunt out in response.

It took me until then to realise I was covered from head to toe in bandages and see the drip cord fed into my arm.

But she got the hint and leaned closer, nearing her ear toward my mouth so I could speak, and I said, "Stop praying; I'm trying to sleep."

Castella threw back her head and laughed aloud; it was a sweet sound, a beautiful sound from a kind person who seemed to utter nothing but sweet sounds.

She laughed so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye, and she sat back down on her chair.

"It's good to see that you are still yourself, Attelus," she said.

I tried to smile, but even that hurt.

"You have been out for a long, long time, my friend," she carried on.

"How...Long?" I fought to say.

Her eyes widened into a pained expression that told me I really didn't want to know.

"I...See."

Her perfect face suddenly curled up, and tears ran down her cheeks. The change in emotion was so fast that I didn't know how to react.

"Th-thank you," she squeaked.

I couldn't manage to ask what she was thankful for, but she still answered.

"Thank you for proving to me that you still are a good person. Ever since I had first met you, I knew you weren't like the rest of us, that you weren't evil, that you still cared for more than just yourself. Thank you for proving to me you still are human," she sniffed heavily and wiped away her tears with her forearm, "after-after what you did to Vex I began to doubt you, I had begun to believe that you had devolved into the monster, but I see now that doubt was unfounded. You stood alone, Attelus, against an impossible enemy; you willingly put yourself on the line for the good of others, you-you."

She couldn't continue her sentence as she tore back up again.

"And-and thank you that now I know no matter what happens, no matter how hard it is, you will still be that good, kind, compassionate person inside. I just regret that we couldn't have got there in time to save you earlier, and for that, I am sorry, Attelus, I am truly, truly sorry."

Even if I had been able to speak then, I couldn't have; I was taken aback at her emotional outburst, never in all my career that I would have ever suspected that Castella cared for me so much, never.

She was always a friend, the only person I could talk to with humour and trust, who saw me as a person and not some know-nothing apprentice.

But then I realised something; I couldn't recall at all what had happened in that club after the Arco Flagellant had charged me; how the hell had I survived? What exactly had happened? Had any of the club-goers escaped?

Castella sniffed again, and as if reading my mind, she said, "You did it, Attelus. You held off that monster for long enough that those people could escape; you went one-on-one with an Arco Flagellant long enough that Elandria, Hayden, Darrance, and I could stop it before it could cause any more damage. If you had died, Attelus, your sacrifice would not have been in vain, and I swear I'm telling you the truth; I know you aren't the most trusting person in this world, but believe me, on this, be proud, Attelus."

She sniffed again, but this time it had humour in it, "When we took you to Taryst's medicae facility, they said there was no way you would survive, that you would die within hours, but I knew you were stubborn, and you held on, you lived and-and most importantly, thank you, thank you for living, thank you."

Oh, how I dearly wished I could reach out and comfort her or even thank her, but everything was so hard, so, so hard, couldn't keep my eyes open anymore; I blinked, once then twice, then I embraced the sweetness of sleep.

 

[Adrassil]

For a long time afterwards, unrelenting agony swept through me from head to toe.

I could barely breathe, and my vision blurred as tears welled in my eyes, but otherwise, I stayed silent; never did I whine or complain, determined that I would not show such weakness just in case they bugged the room. I had already shown enough weakness as it was. I had moved far too much, and now dealing with the consequence was all I seemed to do lately, dealing with retribution in one way or form; perhaps it wasn't actually my actions at the Twilight Bar that why Glaitis was putting me through this hell? Perhaps it was for what I did to Vex?

But why would Elandria have said it was for what I did at the Twilight Bar? In all honesty, I could not imagine it was about the Vex incident; the term 'selflessness' was the very anathema of Glaitis' soul. Sure, you were expected to sacrifice yourself for the contract. Still, only after it was fulfilled, before that, you were supposed to resort to anything and everything to win, and we still had yet to hunt down Brutis Bones, and so, contract unfulfilled as simple as that.

I had faced down the Arco Flagellant without giving a single thought of what would happen if I somehow had survived. That wasn't just punishment; this was Glaitis' cruel attempt at teaching me a lesson that such kind actions would lead to nothing but pain and misery. Again, it was the brainwashing; she was trying to break my spirit, turn me into a monster like Darrance, like Elandria, like my father, like her.

She was putting so much effort into my indoctrination, which I still couldn't understand; why was I so damned special? As Elandria said, in the eyes of any assassin, excluding Castella, what I did in the Twilight Bar was idiotic, beyond idiotic; shouldn't that act be enough to make Glaitis believe me a liability not worth any more effort and leave me to die?

Was all this because of who my father was? Serghar frigging Kaltos, was it that she believed his immense skill and ability was hereditary, and perhaps it even was. Still, surely she could have taken an apprentice of a younger age, which would be far easier to brainwash and would be less likely to suffer any crisis of conscience. She took me in when I was eighteen, which is ridiculously old for any starting apprentice. Children, usually as young as five or at the oldest ten, were the typical age for assassin training; perhaps she believed my father had brainwashed me already? Or being forced to scavenge and murder among the ruins of Varander during the Chaos incursion destroyed any semblance of my humanity. Well, if she counted one of those she was wrong on either, I could not help feeling some pride.

As I had said earlier, I had always found it impossible to understand Glaitis, and just as I was beginning to believe I finally had her pegged, she pulled this stunt. It seemed trying to understand how the woman's mind worked was akin to understanding the infinite miasma, which was the warp. Like the immaterium, I suspected that it would drive one insane in the process.

I sighed, and that act brought back the pain; I was buried so deep in my thoughts that it had acted somewhat as anaesthesia. I grasped out for the alarm hanging from my fluid feeder with a lack of coordination I couldn't believe, and I felt more and more depressed with each missed grab; now it was beginning to sink in that my once swift, coordinated hands were lost, maybe even forever. I dared not even think how long it would take for me to earn back such skill if I ever could. I needed to summon someone, anyone, to my aid. I could not lie here with this pain any longer. But I could not help but wonder why no one had come to check on me after I had screamed at Elandria.

Finally, my bandaged fingers found the button, my thumb pressing down with all the strength I could muster. Perhaps I had pushed for a bit too long, but I wasn't in the condition to care.

I lay back in my bed, gasping for breath, my tear-blurred eyes gazing up at the eternally white tiled ceiling. I only had to wait a few seconds before my door opened, and someone stepped through. I was not sure who, as all I could make out was a white blur.

"Mr Kaltos!" cried the man, who I could only assume to be medicae Feuilt, as he ran to my bedside. "Oh, God-Emperor! I need help in here, now!" he roared, and I had no idea why there was so much urgency in his voice. I was just in pain; I was always in pain; what could be so bad? But I could not think on it any longer as suddenly darkness took me once more into its sweet embrace.





I dreamt again, though, unlike my last. I was aware it was a dream. The first portion was a sparring match of unarmed combat, non-contact, against a beautiful young woman with long brunette hair who I knew was Elandria.

I was winning quite convincingly, leading her attention with quick high hooks, jabs, and crosses, allowing my low and medium kicks to bypass her defences with ease.

She was smiling and laughing in utter, genuine joy that I would never see from the real Elandria; even though she was losing and my own heart sang with happiness, I felt alive. I felt free; it was intoxicating. I could do this forever, but as I knew this was a dream, I also felt horrible heartache, knowing that she would never be this way in the real world.

But at times, my sparring partner would briefly, inexplicably transform; sometimes, she was Glaitis; sometimes, she was Castella, and sometimes, an attractive blonde woman who I had never seen before. Always one of those four and with each switch, I would feel my emotion change, from Glaitis I would feel suspicion of such strength it made me sick to my stomach, with Castella came to a strange uncertainty my heart turned into ice and leapt it in my chest but not in a fearful way. It seemed to bring even more happiness than when it was Elandria. When it was a bizarre feeling that was alien to the blond woman and me, I felt fear, the great fear that made my attacks sluggish and my feet heavy, but also an extreme familiarity. Like I had known her for my entire life, but yet I had not, what I felt from her was the strangest of them all.

Then I dreamt that I was back on Elbyra, once more a scavenging orphan among the ruins of Varander. I was so heavy and ached all over, every footstep being a horribly fought battle against screaming limbs. I wanted to stop to sit and rest, but my body moved with a life of its own. My eyesight boarded with white, and I couldn't raise my attention; it was fixated inexplicably down to my feet and the rubble, which I walked over, and I felt my mouth move but could not hear any words from my lips.

I had dreams. No, I had nightmares many, many times when living in the ruins of Varander. Nightmares, which I could only suspect to be repressed memories of the horrid acts I committed in my desperate fight for survival, acts that I could never, ever admit to doing to anyone. But here I could remember them all, my mind sifting through them like a pict reel. My eyes burnt, and tears flowed freely down my face, and my sanity slowly degraded away.

I begged for the images to stop! I pleaded! I even prayed! But they would just keep coming over and over again, seemingly with more glee as though my mind did it to spite me, and still, my body kept walking over the debris, left foot, right foot, left foot, right and despite it being a dream, I could feel my bare feet meet the cold, hard rockcrete.

Then I fought. I began to fight against my body and my mind with every ounce of my will. It was like trying to stop a ship spinning out of control through the black nothingness of time and space, but I never halted. I resisted and resisted for what felt like hours, then days, ignoring the images which forever flipped through my mind's eye. But for every second I fought, I felt more pain until it transcended into unimaginable agony. My mind and my body seemed to scream to say that the suffering would stop if I just stopped resisting, but I kept fighting and fighting, never giving up, for I knew that if I didn't, I would be stuck in this hell forevermore.

Finally, my feet slowly, slowly, painfully came to a halt and immediately I collapsed, falling onto my face and gasping out for breath and agony. Then the images stopped, and my pain: forgotten, replaced with such joy that I got to my knees roaring out to the heavens; it was the first time seeing the sky, which was so crisp, so blue, so beautiful that it took my breath away and I wept.

I won! Although I was not sure what I had won precisely, then the sky disappeared, and everything faded into a shining eternal white.

The shining, eternal white turned slowly receded into the white-tiled ceiling of the medicae facility, and my sight cleared further, revealing the three faces looking down at me, each expression hidden behind medical masks. Still, I could make out the concern in their eyes; they were saying something, something I could not hear.

I wanted to laugh and smile to say that their fear was unwarranted and that I was fine, but I found myself unable to do anything. Then I felt my eyelids grow heavy, and I blinked once, then twice, and the third stayed shut. I slept, but this time, I did not dream; all I saw was the peaceful nothingness of black.

Never had I slept so soundly, never had I felt so at peace.

I also had a deep sense of satisfaction. I had earned this rest after going through that hell; I had more than made it.

But somewhere out in that thick black, I could hear voices barely audible at first. It was similar to Castella's prayer; the voices seemed to slowly approach, closer and closer, until I could listen to the conversation.

Two voices, one which I recognised instantly belonged to Glaitis, I could tell without a shadow of a doubt; her tone was haughty and deathly cold, even more so than usual and sent shivers up my spine.

"Did he pass your test?" demanded Glaitis.

"Yes," answered the other. The voice was distinctly female, as soft as silk, and echoed ominously. It was alien and monotone but held indescribable wisdom; just from that one word, I could tell the speaker held knowledge of the forbidden, so much so that it would drive anyone else insane. "He has remarkable willpower for an M-."

"Don't you dare call us that!" snarled Glaitis with such rage it made me flinch. "We are neither your pawns nor anyone else's!"

"Your position here seems to contradict your words, Glaitis human; you are but a pawn of fate as is everyone else. I am but fate's messenger. I exist to make sure all will run its intended course, for I am the only one with strength and tact enough to do so."

Glaitis let out a growl of frustration which was so out of character I wasn't sure what to think.

"You are just as arrogant as the rest of you're kind!" she roared.

"Do not pretend to be able to lecture me on arrogance, human," said the voice as though scolding a child. "You cannot imagine what I know, what I have seen, what I have done. You are but a mere child; you are like all your kind! Nothing! It isn't arrogance to state so; it is a fact, simple fact."

I listened in shock. I wasn't sure if this was real or just a dream. Perhaps these two talked at my bedside? I tried to force myself to be awake but found I was unable, as though my eyes were weighed shut.

"Y-you almost killed him," stammered Glaitis, and I had never heard her sound so weak and timid. "Your test almost lost you, your newest pawn."

"But that is all he is," said the voice, and I could almost feel the contemptuous sneer with the words. "A pawn to use as I please. It is all in the name of fate, and even if he dies, I still have you, do I not?"

"Y-yes," sighed Glaitis, utterly defeated. "Yes, you do."

What was this? Who or what was it that could speak to Glaitis with such influence and power? Had Glaitis made pacts with the ruinous powers? Why the hell did I hear all this?

But worst of all, I felt with sickening certainty that they were talking about me.

"It is good that you learn your place," said the extremely tall, thin form as it seemingly materialised out of the black. Its armour was esoteric, form-fitting, and utterly intimidating. From its alien-shaped helm, two small, glowing, lifeless red eyes seemed to stare straight at me, piercing into my very soul.

Glaitis had shown me picts and taught me of them, but I had never seen one with my own eyes, an Eldar!

"Now you see what your 'mentor' indeed is, Mon'Keigh; see how she is nought but my servant," it said. "You will follow in her footsteps as fate decrees, as I decree it to be."




With a cry, I awoke and sat bolt upright in my bed.

I was back in the real world, back in the medicae facility, back to the pain.

But yet, no agony swept through me like fire. I was okay.

I raised my hand to my face and flexed my fingers, expecting that the movement would cause the pain to shoot back, but again, nothing. Was I healed?

But how? Perhaps I was unconscious during the entire estimated month of recovery? Glaitis' voice had said that the Eldar's 'test' had almost killed me; perhaps that was the dreams, perhaps that was what caused me to fall into a coma?

With the thought of Glaitis, I closed my fist and clenched my teeth as sudden rage curdled within my slight form.

I needed to talk to my erstwhile mentor; I needed to know what I had heard was only a dream! But deep within me, I knew that it wasn't that what I had witnessed was true.

I was no Imperial zealot; my ideals did not adhere to the rampant xenophobia of the rest of the Imperium. But if the Inquisition were to ever find out about our mercenary force working in cohesion with the Eldar, there would be no escape; they would hunt us down without mercy and crush us underfoot.

How could Glaitis be capable of such idiocy! How!? What could drive her to become a servant of the Eldar, and why was I to 'follow in her footsteps'?

I needed to talk to her; I needed to hear the answer from her full lips, and I began to clamber out of bed, still half expecting the pain with the movement.

But then the door suddenly opened, and my jaw dropped as I saw who stepped through.

It was Glaitis.

"M-mamzel?" I stammered, completely unable to hide my bemusement, but it was then that the explanation why Glaitis had allied with the Eldar just suddenly became painfully clear.

Farsight, Glaitis craved control of her fate and that of everyone else. But I never imagined that she would go to such an extreme scope for that control, but it explains oh so much how she could be so far ahead of enemies, seemingly able to pull through with perfect, convoluted schemes and who was more skilled; at such power than the Eldar? Though in the ironies of ironies, she had no control now at all, the Eldar was her complete and utterly undisputed master.

She was just as much a slave as I was.

"Child, I see that you are finally awake; I came down to see your condition."

I stayed silent, feeling my jaw set ever so slightly, wondering why she had used such a weak lie.

She moved across the room to my nearby window and closed the shutters with an abrupt Clack!

"I am sure that you have questions-."

"What happened," I interrupted with such force in my voice that it took me by surprise. "I need to know what the hell happened in the Twilight bar!"

A look of terrified shock appeared on Glaitis' face but was gone as quickly as it came. An empty smile replaced it.

I took note of that expression; I could make a myriad of guesses as to its reasoning.

"I am not even sure if you will believe anything that I say about that young one," she said almost tenderly. "You did not believe Castella; why would you believe anything that I would say?"

My eyes widened; she did indeed have a point. Why would I believe her even if she told the truth? At times like this, I truly wished I could read minds.

"You have finally learned the truth, young Attelus: ' Trust nothing, suspect everything.' You may have known those words, but now you understand the true wisdom behind them. It is the only way to live in this world. You are almost an assassin; you are almost there."

I sighed. "If that is the only way to live, then...Really, what is the point of living?"

Glaitis threw back her head and abruptly burst out laughing, which caused me to flinch in fright.

"Ahhh, this is the consequence of taking an apprentice who is so old, so self-righteous, so stubborn. That is the one thing in this world which is in no short order of young one: "the point in living" to some their service to the Emperor is their point," and I could hear a slight undertone of bitterness at her mention of 'The Emperor.' "Some serve the ruinous powers; some serve for the good of humanity; your 'point' is to serve me."

"So that is it?" I cried. "The only point is to serve another? But they serve because they believe what they do is right! How can I serve you when I can't trust you?"

Her expression turned as hard as steel. "Because you know the consequences if you do not, you have seen the consequences if you do not a-"

"A fate worse than death," I finished, my eyes widening in fear.

"I saved you, Attelus Xanthis Kaltos, I took you in, I have given you purpose. Just remember that, and also do not be so naïve that only trust and belief are what drive them, just like you. They have a fear of consequence."

"Yes, yes, I know," I sighed. Exterminatus—the destruction of an entire planet—was the ultimate consequence, and that was the first that came to my mind, but I could not help but wonder with a glance at Glaitis.

What is your purpose? What is it that drives you?

Glaitis turned and began to walk to the door. "That is all I have to say, young one. I encourage you to think about my words and-"Then the realisation hit me.

"There are other purposes that I can think of for a living," I interrupted. Internally cursing I realised that I had never once wondered what exactly the relationship between my father and her was; all that she had said was she knew Serghar Kaltos on a 'personal level'. "How about...Revenge being one?"

That made her suddenly halt in her exit, her hand still lying on the doorknob.

I smiled. After that dream, I was finally unravelling this woman. I knew she was human, not some all-powerful, all-knowing being.

She was like every other human, flawed and idiotic.

"Yes, young one, that is another purpose indeed," her voice was halting as though barely keeping back anger. "After the medicae checks you out, you are to report to Hayden immediately for briefing; he is on the fifth floor of my tower, don't keep him waiting."

With those words, she closed the door, leaving me all alone.

So this was all about my father, and this confirmation brought in all new and very interesting revelations about why she had taken me in; perhaps she was using me as a hostage? Or as bait? It also explains why she was so eager to keep me alive, but why train me? Wouldn't it be easier to keep me in a cell or something?

Was it all just about Serghar Kaltos? Or was there more something more? Surely, not just revenge would have enough inertia to drive mamzel Glaitis into cooperation with Xenos?

I sighed and silently swore that I would answer these questions no matter the price.

 

[Adrassil]

I paused just outside the entrance of Glaitis' tower, my hands inside the pockets of my flak jacket, a smoking Lho stick hanging out the corner of my mouth. It was good to finally get out of bed, out of that hospital, away from the stench of disinfectant mixed with crap. It was nice to escape into the day, and as if to make it even more cliché, it was raining.

While looking up at the overcast sky, my thoughts wandered. According to good medicae Feuilt, I had barely been in a coma for two days. Still, Feuilt had said earlier that I had yet another month's rest before I could be at peak performance, and despite this, the medicae had given me a clean bill of health, much to his evident bemusement.

Even more interesting was that barely moments after Feuilt had answered my call for aide, my heart almost immediately stopped; the medical staff had worked for a good half an hour to try to revive me but to no avail. Then, just after they had given up, my heart seemed to start back up again mysteriously; my eyes opened, and then I fell into deep unconsciousness. That was the second time I had come close to dying, it seemed...Cheap.

So it seemed that was what Glaitis had mentioned in my dream, the Eldar's test having apparently 'almost killed me'. Perhaps my managing to stop that walk through the ruins of Elbyra was signifying my escape from death's door.

I shivered, once again recalling the images that I had seen and quickly forcing them from my mind.

That was a time of my life I would rather forget, but now that Xenos had dredged it up from the far recesses of my subconscious and, for what? Some test? What kind of sick creature would put someone through that?

I could still recall what the Eldar had said to Glaitis, its thoughts on humanity as a whole. For the first time, I actually felt sorry for my mentor; having to commune with such a creature would be beyond my comprehension. Then it said that it wanted me to follow in Glaitis' footsteps.

My wet, long brown hair was now in my eyes, and I was forced to brush it from my face. Never would I ever ally with the Eldar, and never would I willingly do something so idiotic after what it had put me through, after seeing first-hand its horrific arrogance and disregard for humanity.

I lowered my head and sighed out smoke, taking them almost all the way smoked Lho with thumb and forefinger, dropping it to the rockcrete, then stamping it out with the tip of my shoe.

"Time to get this over and damn well done with," I muttered while walking through the automatic sliding doors simultaneously, my hands instinctively slipping back into their respective pockets.



I rode the elevator up, spending the entire time impatiently tapping the tip of my shoe on the floor.

It was more due to the cravings, the consequence of over a month without a smoke, already I had burnt through six Lhos on my walk over here, but that didn't seem enough, frig it.

One thing that also caught my attention as I collected my belongings when leaving Taryst's tower was the distinct absence of Colonel Barhurst.

When I asked the colonel's second, Major Olinthre, he answered that Barhurst was sent away on recruitment duties. That it was a recurring thing that the great colonel would every six months annually leave for two more to search for new members for Taryst's private army.

When I pointed out that it seemed unorthodox for the colonel himself to act as the recruiter, Olinthre just shrugged and said, "Hey, it's always been that way, kid and hell, you won't hear me complaining about it."

I nodded my thanks and left; this proved to be yet another interesting development, yes. But why? Was it a mere coincidence that our little incursion against the Twilight Bar just happened to coincide with Barhurst's leave of absence? He wasn't at all a threat to us, and so I was unable to fathom the reasoning behind it, but I knew with every fibre of my being that it wasn't a coincidence; there was no such thing in this line of work.

After what seemed to be forever, the elevator finally found the fifth floor, and I stepped out of the double doors.

"You're late," said Hayden Tresch; he was a big man, standing well over two metres and built like an Astartes. Like Torris, he was once an Arbitrator. Still, unlike Torris, his demeanour was one which I could imagine an Arbitrator possessing: a no-nonsense professional attitude and a ruthless one at that.

How he had left the Arbites to become an assassin working under Glaitis, I had no idea, but I knew that he had been with Glaitis straight from the very start and was the oldest in our organisation.

From what I knew, he was at least a decade older than my erstwhile mentor. Ironically, for a person of such large stature, he was a sniper and the best I have ever seen. I could only assume that such a stony resolve would be a great contributor to that line of work, as quite a few snipers I have met and a few I have killed seem to adhere to this temperament.

He was also a very skilled hacker but was nothing compared to Vex.

I winced, just remembering that I had yet to see the kid to apologise.

I liked Hayden. I could not help but respect his hardline attitude, but he had a softer side that he let reign from time to time. He reminded me of Garrakson, a version of Garrakson that was a whole lot grimmer and harder anyway.

The other waiting in the hallway made me frown and furrow my brow; it was Darrance who sneered in contempt when he saw me, and sometimes, I could swear he looked more feminine than many actual women I knew.

"Why, it's good to see you too, Hayden," I said.

The ex-Abiter smiled ever so slightly, but Darrance sniffed loudly, and then his attention snapped straight at me, his face as hard as a stone.

"You've been smoking," he stated.

I sighed; Darrance must have been in love with Glaitis or something as he followed her every order to the letter and reinforced this with an almost fanatism, which is ironic as Tresch would allow for far more leeway, and he was an ex Arbitrator.

"The mistress has a strict policy against the smoking of Lho, for which everyone must adhere!"

Now it was Tresch's turn to sigh. "Give the kid a break, Darrance; after what he went through, I think he is entitled to it just this once, but Attelus, just make sure none of us actually catch you do it or else-"

"Or else you will have no choice but to bring it to Glaitis' knowledge," I finished. "Fair enough, and thank you for the leeway."

Although, in all likelihood, Glaitis knew well of my recently resurfaced habit.

In that instance, I could not help but wonder if anyone else working for Glaitis knew of her ally. I did indeed doubt it, but Hayden would. As I stated earlier, he was the longest-serving in our organisation. Also, how long precisely has she been allied with the Xenos, anyway?

I pushed away these thoughts; there would be time to dwell on them later.

"So Glaitis said for me to come here for briefing."

"That is 'mamzel' Glaitis to you, apprentice," said Darrance. "And yes, we are here to brief you. Let us get this farce over and done with, shall we? We have an interesting development from the Twilight Bar incident that the mistress thinks you may find interesting. However, I do not know what you could ever possibly attribute is beyond me."

My jaw set ever so slightly. "And what is this 'development' exactly?" I asked.

"That is exactly what it is, apprentice," said Darrance. "A development. No more, no less. You will see what it is soon enough."

"Wouldn't it be better to be briefed on what it is I am about to see before being shown it?" I pointed out.

Darrance raised his finger, about to argue, but was interrupted by Tresch as he chuckled.

"Yes, Glaitis mentioned that we are to 'brief' you, didn't she?" he said. "Let's just say we want it to be a surprise, okay?"

"Actually, she said that just you were just to brief me without Darrance."

Darrance sneered at the slight but did nothing more.

Tresch shook his head. "Alright enough, smart mouthing from you, kid; I'm not sure I can stop Darrance if he decides to try to slice you to ribbons; let's move on, kid."

We walked on through the thin, poorly lit corridors, Tresch in the middle, Darrance and me on his left and right flanks.

"Attelus, so how much of your one-man storm of the Twilight Bar do you remember exactly?" asked Tresch lightly.

"I remember most of it, except what happened after the Arco-flagellant charged me; everything after that is a complete blank."

"And so," said Darrance. "Then you remember that it was your own stupidity that led to your horrific injury, that mistress Glaitis' is your master, that she has far more experience and intelligence than you will ever have. Do not disobey her again, for she always knows what to do; she has never led us astray."

I sighed; as much as I hated to admit it, Darrance had a point, but he had no idea just how true his words were. It was then that I couldn't help but wonder; some people worshipped the Emperor, some people worshipped the Ruinous powers, some people worshipped money; I suspected that Darrance adored Glaitis if only he knew the truth, if he knew what I knew.

Finally, we reached the corridors' end; two guards stood on sentry at both ex-Imperial guard veterans, both under Glaitis employment. Our organisation may revolve around assassins, but we had a small contingent of just over five hundred mercenaries for basic sentry work.

Both the poor bastards looked bored out of their skulls, but if anything, Glaitis paid them well, and it was an easy job so that they wouldn't complain.

They nodded respectfully to Tresch; then, one opened the door for us.

We walked into a small room, the walls metallic and reinforced like a holding cell. Through a panel of single-sided glass, I could see a slightly larger room; Castella stood with her back to us as she stared intently into the other room.

She looked over her shoulder and treated us with a smile.

"Good to see you're up, Attelus," she said.

I nodded and smiled back, about to reply, but cut myself short as I saw what the other room contained. One man sat alone, tied up to a chair; he was haggard, old and beaten to a bloody pulp.

I approached the window, gaping in shock; the wounds were brutal and would scare him for life; the torture this poor man had been through I could not imagine.

"You don't recognise him?" asked Tresch as he stepped up beside me.

"No," I said softly. "Should I?"

"He was the one you fought in the Twilight bar," said Castella. "He was wearing a full-face helmet, so I don't blame you for not knowing."

I turned to her, my eyes wide with shock at the razor-sharp edge in her voice and almost immediately, her attention went straight to the floor.

"Even if he hadn't worn a helmet, I doubt that I could recognise him now. How? How did you capture him?"

"He attempted to escape through a secret passage in the bar," said Darrance. "Mistress Glaitis herself was waiting outside and accosted him there; she revealed that she knew of the exit from the schematics but chose to keep it a secret."

Well, I knew that there could be yet another reason why she knew, but I kept such thoughts to myself.

"It's obvious now that mamzel Glaitis wasn't intending at all for us to plant the bugs," I said. "That it was a ploy so she could capture this man."

But that wasn't just it. I was utterly sure, and I suspected it would, in some way or another, coincide with the absence of Barhurst.

"Good deduction, Attelus," said Castella. "We have made the same conclusion also."

I smiled, savouring the compliment.

"But one thing I don't understand is if the infiltration of this bar was extracurricular, away from Taryst's devices, why are we still under his employment?" I said. "Wouldn't he have been pissed that we went behind his back?"

Darrance shrugged. "Maybe the mistress had actually informed Master Taryst of it and told us otherwise; we are assassins; we are only told no more than what we need to know."

"Hmmm," was my only reply as I placed my finger and thumb onto my chin in thought. It was a valid point and one that I had considered, but somehow, I doubted it, and again, my thoughts reeled back to the coincidental pre-ordained absence of colonel Barhurst.

One thing that was also interesting as to why I was shown this I did not know if I still had the implant in my brain or not; perhaps the psyker which Glaitis had brought in to heal me also got rid of it; but surely his psykers would have noticed that? Perhaps it was still there, and this was because of a new, more open alliance between the two. Or it could be, as Darrance said, that Glaitis had actually informed Taryst of our espionage of the club, and they were in a more open alliance than they had insinuated right from the start?

"So you want me to talk to this man?" I asked, deciding not to reveal my thoughts to my colleagues, not yet anyway.

"Yes," said Tresch. "We've been talking to him over the past month but have yet to reveal any reliable information, and as you well know, we are sure he is a Throne agent of some form, so his mind will be blocked from any psychic intrusion. "

"We also never revealed anything on your condition to him," said Castella. "I bet that he will be shocked to see you up and about."

I could not help grinning at that.

"Alright, send me in," I said.



I stepped into the interrogation room, and as I closed the door, the man suddenly started spluttering into consciousness so abruptly that it made me flinch in fright.

His back was facing me, and he attempted to turn his head to try to see who had entered.

"What the hell is it now?" growled the man, his voice horrifically horse but whistled slightly due to a severely broken nose. "Is that teal haired bitch come back to beat on me again?"

I was approaching him as he said this, but the words causing me to stop in mid-stride; although I couldn't see the three assassins standing watch, I turned to face the one-way glass anyway my eyes wide jaw hung open, expressing the deep shock I felt.

Castella did all this? She was the one who had beaten this man so brutally?

That would have been something that I would expect from Darrance and even Tresch, but Castella?

Perhaps my disbelief in her claim of me saving all those people in the Twilight bar was inherently justified. Perhaps she wasn't at all who I thought she was; I have seen some gruesome things in my very short life, but what they did to this throne agent was hard for even me to stomach.

Tearing my attention back to the brutalised man, I felt something I would not have expected to feel.

I felt truly and utterly sorry for him; I had expected to be angry, to hate the person who had ruthlessly let loose the Arco Flagellant to slaughter me and to cover his escape, but in all honesty, I could understand it. He had a mission to complete, although one I did not know and if the stakes whereas high as he seemed to believe them to be, once again, it came down to the saying "anything and everything to win." He, too, was a professional like me, but there was one huge difference between us; he was doing a job which, in his view, was right and true. I am not, yet now here he was, trapped, beaten and unable to do what he needed to.

I could not help but wonder how he felt; it seemed that so much hung the balance for him. Was he not just defiant outwardly but actually genuinely? Or perhaps he was actually terrified and depressed? Scared that his capture would invariably lead to his mission to fail?

This I wondered because in all my life I had never known real conviction, I worked, and that was that, never did I ever believe in any 'cause' it was the job and only the job to get it done and move on, that this throne agent's world seemed so foreign it almost alien to me.

That was the way of the mercenary, and to be honest, to say that it was quite depressing really is an understatement of breathtaking scale.

"Who's there? Stop hiding whoever the hell you are!" the man yelled, struggling in his bonds.

Without any word, I moved into his field of vision, holding the water flask that Tresh had given me up to the man's face. He drank from the straw greedily, his eyes too black and swollen to make out who I was.

I was unsure what to say; never before had I actively taken part in any interrogation, a few I have witnessed, but that was all; taking away the flask, I finally said: "I survived, you know."

The man's attention snapped straight up at me as he obviously recognised my voice, but I couldn't make out any expression; then, he shook his head and spat blood out on the floor.

"Well, goody for you," he said bitterly.

I was not so sure if it was actually 'goody for me.'

"I'm sorry for what my colleague did to you," I said.

"Well, your sorry isn't going to affect anything, kid," replied the man. "I know that this is the how the world spins. I'm a professional; I know this is all part of the job."

Then he wheezed out what I could only guess to be a laugh. "Maybe next time, I should try to negotiate my contract."

"That would indeed be wise," I agreed, and I could not help but feel an edge of respect for the old man. "And in all honesty, I am not sure that we will ever wean any information from you; you seem to be a man of conviction that so much so that you would rather die than give us whatever we want."

"You're a smart kid," he said. "But your 'colleagues' don't seem to agree."

I looked sidelong at the one-way glass. "No, I guess they wouldn't."

"Or that, or they know it but choose to avoid the fact," said the man.

"Or that," I said. "But can I ask a question?"

The man's nose whistled as he attempted to sniff. "Kid, do I look like I can keep you from asking it? Although I still have the ability not to answer, I am not going to guarantee you will get one."

I paused, not sure how to word it at first.

"W-what is it like?" I could only stammer.

The man sighed. "What is what like, kid?"

"What is it like to, I don't know, to be a person of conviction? What is it like to be a person to believe in something so much that they would willingly die for it?"

What seemed to be incredulity crossed the man's beaten features, "that was the very last question I guessed that you would ask."

"Answer or don't answer," I said impatiently. "As you said, it is still your choice."

"It is," said the man. "And I will answer but on one condition."

"What is it?" I growled.

"Before you said that 'whatever we want' as if you didn't know what I was being interrogated for, is that true?"

I frowned, bemused. "Did I say that?" I shrugged. "Well, it is really 'whatever we want' as I don't know if you are actually Brutis Bones or not, I know that if you weren't, my colleagues would be interrogating you to find out where he is."

"And if I was Brutis Bones?" queried the man.

I smacked my lips, realising that I didn't actually know. "I could hazard a guess," I admitted hesitantly; or thousands, I thought sourly. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," said the man lightly. "And now I will answer your question, and the answer is, I really don't know."

"What?"

"Kid, in truth, I have always been this way. I have always believed that the God-Emperor knows what is best for humanity, that in my service to the Holy Inquisition, I can truly aid in that plan, to be this person of "conviction" as you call it is as natural to me as breathing. So asking me that is like me asking you what is it like to inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide."

"Well, that's," I trailed off, scratching my head, "well, that's anticlimactic; who the hell are you anyway?"

"No one of consequence."

"I must know."

"Get used to disappointment."

"Hmm, okay."

"Actually, I lie," said the man. "Because you are a strange one, I will give you information, information that I have so far kept hidden from your associates, and I only give it because you might already know it."

"What is it then?"

"Your boss Taryst holds someone captive, someone of great influence."

I would have asked 'Who?' but I did not want to give away; I didn't know.

The man smiled with gapped teeth, and those still in were cracked and loose.

"He holds in that tower of his my superior, my Inquisitor's Interrogator; he has kept her prisoner right from the beginning of this debacle."

I tried to keep my expression neutral and glanced at the reflective glass, then my microbead buzzed, and Tresch's voice came through.

"Attelus, get out here now."

I nodded and moved to leave; then the man asked, "Hey, where are you going, kid?"

"Thank you for the information, No One of Consequence," I said. "But now I have more pressing issues to attend to."

"You really didn't know, did you?" I heard the man say just before I closed the door.



I stepped into the observation room, my attention to the floor. I sighed and slipped my hands into their pockets.

"Is he actually Brutis Bones?" I asked.

"No," answered Tresch. "We don't believe he is."

"I thought as much," I sighed again. "And Tresch, sir, did you look at the schematics of the Twilight bar when you took them from the local database?"

"No, when mamzel Glaitis ordered me to get them, she also ordered that I could not look directly into the file."

"Hmm, right," I looked up and saw both Tresch and Darrance were there to greet me, but Castella was strangely absent.

"Uhm, where did Castella go?"

Both Darrance and Tresch briefly looked sidelong at one another; the glance seemed to be almost nervous.

"She left, apprentice," answered Darrance impatiently. "Are we now finished with your line of inquiry yet?"

I looked at them both, bewildered, wondering why they had such a strange reaction about Castella's absence. "N-no, w-what the hell are we to do with this new information?"

"Why, nothing, apprentice," said Darrance simply.

"What?" I snapped. "If what he says is true, we could-"

"Taryst is our employer," interrupted Darrance. "While I agree this information is valuable, and I have no doubt, this 'No One of Consequence' is telling the truth, you forget that we are still under Taryst's employ, which he holds and doesn't hold captive is his own business and what are we going to make of it? Go up to Taryst in his tower and demand that he confirms this accusation?"

"But!" I tried.

"I agree with Darrance, kid," said Tresch. "This information is something to lean on; we know it, and that is enough for now."

With a sigh and a frown, I said, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course, we are right, apprentice," said Darrance. "You seem to forget that we have been in this game a lot longer than you have."

Tapping my shoe against the floor, I finally asked the question I had been waiting to ask for a long time.

"Uhm, can you tell me what the hell exactly happened in the Twilight bar?"

Both Darrance and Tresch glanced at one another again, and then it was Tresch's turn to sigh.

"Sorry, kid," he said. 'But we're under strict orders not to tell you."

"Hmm, right," I said, finding myself utterly unsurprised, and I clenched my jaw.

The awkward silence must have lasted no more than ten seconds before Tresch finally broke it.

"You're dismissed, by the way, Attelus," he said. "Get back to you're hab unit, and we will contact you when we need you, is that understood?"

I nodded as that was all I could manage and turned to leave, but as I did, Tresch said at my back.

"By the way, good work on the interrogation, kid."

I stopped in my tracks, my back still facing away and felt a smile spread across my face. To be complemented by Tresch in such a way was something to be proud of.

"Th-thanks," I said, and I walked out the door.



I didn't go to my apartment, instead electing to go back to Taryst's tower. I still had that specific promise to keep, and I had every intention of seeing it through despite the nerves playing hell on my guts.

In all honesty, I understood why Tresch and Darrance would sit on this information, but neither of them seemed particularly surprised they could have known or didn't care; either one would not surprise me at all.

Sighing to myself, I turned off the main street into one of the many alleyways leading to Taryst's tower. Having decided to take the long route around, but something didn't feel right; ever since I left Glaitis' tower, I could not shake the feeling that I was being watched.

I paused to look over my shoulder, finding that, once again, no one was there; shrugging to myself, I turned to continue but immediately froze in my tracks as I saw the figure appear right at the other end of the alleyway.

I flicked my wrist, ejecting a throwing knife from its sleeve into my hand. Could this be one of Brutis Bones' mooks? So my paranoia was justified after all.

There was one way to find out, and I began to walk toward the person, he was in shadow, but I could make out that he stood at just under two metres tall and built like an Astartes could it be Tresch who had tracked me here to tell me off for now following his orders.

I made a few more metres when three more figures joined the original in blocking my path, and I glanced over my shoulder to see, to minimal surprise, four more were beginning to approach from the other entrance. I could see now that they were all wearing expensive black suits with no gang markings or anything at all.

But they had yet to draw a weapon on me, interesting.

Now the others at the end began to advance on me; they were all brimming with confidence, so sure of themselves well that wasn't entirely unjustified as there were eight of them.

I activated my microbead to call for backup, but my only reply was white noise.

Hissing a curse, I stopped; now they were close to all eight. They had me surrounded, and I had no way of getting any reinforcement, but in all honesty, I relished this a test of my abilities after my recovery.

I grinned. "So, you guys come here often?"

They didn't answer my quip, only kept on approaching all with stony expressions.

"Hmmm," I shrugged and, without hesitation, threw my knife straight into one of the nearest man's throat, and he fell to the floor gurgling, dying.

The rest didn't seem to notice as they stopped their dogged advance and drew their weapons one by one; all of them wielded axes, small woodchoppers that would be easy to conceal and potentially do a whole lot of harm, the smart bastards.

One attacked, and with a cry, he lunged, sweeping out his axe at my skull.

Despite my month-long recovery, my body never forgot what I went through; in the blink of an eye, my sword was drawn and blocking his attack. I glimpsed an expression of incredulity spread across his face.

Three more followed their mate before I could counter, swinging at me with their respective axes.

I parried a vertical swing, ducked under another, and I sidestepped the third.

With a laugh of delight and the blood singing in my veins, I ejected another throwing knife from my sleeve as another two came at me. One axe slashing down at me, the other following around horizontally; I parried them both with quick-fire movements with my sword.

One followed on with a front kick aimed at my chest, but I countered, slipping away from the attack and stabbing my knife straight into his thigh; the man screamed in agony, but before I could do anything more, the rest of his buddies were onto me.

I swayed under one swinging axe and smacked away another flurry of attacks, all from individual opponents.

One assailant came at me from behind, but I was running on instinct, so I sidestepped his attack barely, and I turned my hips, smashing my elbow into his face, which impacted with a hefty crunch as I shattered his nose.

I blocked a horizontal slash by bringing my blade over my elbow and knocked down another with an overhead sweep. After front-kicking the first attacker in the guts, I backpedalled from another three as they converged on my flank. I blocked the overhead slash of the first and countered by throwing my knee around into his solar plexus. The second I parried, but the third was already on me, so I was forced to knock away his before I could ever hope to counter. I repelled a fourth assailant's attack, then another, as he attempted to open an ugly wound in my torso. One tried for a low blow, swinging his axe in an arc aimed at ripping into my thigh.

Back peddling from that attack, he followed on by slashing at my skull, an attack which I ducked. I was just in time to turn to face another on my flank, barely managing to block his slashing axe.

Clenching my teeth, I countered by kicking him in the knee with my boot knife. The man howled out in pain, but I was not quick enough to stop another's front kick from colliding into my torso; the blow knocked the wind out of me and sent me stumbling back. I ignored the throbbing pain to recover just in time to duck under a sweeping axe and saw, much to my amusement, that the man had a messed up bloody nose.

With a roar, the man twice my size crouched down low and charged straight at me in an obvious attempt to spear-tackle me to the floor.

I sidestepped, and front kicked the blade at the tip of my boot into his torso; sidestepping another slash, I parried a follow-on swipe, then boxing swayed under a back fist and brought up my blade right into his wrist.

The next two flew straight at me. I parried the first, a vertical slash, then the second's overhead attack. The first followed, and too quickly for me to counter by punching me square in the face; his fist met my jaw with a crack! And sent burning waves of pain through my head; I was sent stumbling back, just recovering in time to duck another axe.

Clutching my face with my free left hand, I slashed out at my attackers; the attack stopped dead as one blocked it, but I slipped my sword from the hilt of his axe into a vertical slice at his comrade in line who back stepped out the way, now it was my turn for the offensive.

I slashed at the third, and he blocked, but with all the momentum I could muster, my attack caused his block to turn out, allowing me to bring around my elbow into the side of his skull and to make sure I roundhouse kicked my boot knife into his armpit as he collapsed.

I grinned at the four remaining attackers, raising my sword. I could feel my breaths coming out as ragged gasps. I didn't know if I could keep this up for much longer; my fitness was not what it once was.

Then, with a roar, they made to charge.

"Stop," the deep, commanding voice echoed through the alley, causing the four assailants to stop immediately, though standing with barely contained restraint, and as I turned to the speaker, my jaw dropped.

The leader was wearing light blue power armour covered from head to toe and a long brown cloak hanging from his shoulders.

And emblazoned on the power armour's chest was a gigantic, very unsubtle 'I.'

"S-so are you Brutis Bones?" I stammered.

"No," said the Inquisitor as he began to approach me, shaking his head. I bear no relation to your mark."

He pulled out his Rosette and held it out, although it was somewhat unneeded.

"I am Inquisitor Nonin Edracian, and I would very much like to talk to you, young Attelus Kaltos."

 

[Adrassil]

I grinned at the Inquisitor. "Really? An Inquisitor? Whatever would have given me a clue?"

Edracian laughed, and I blinked as I realised that the sound was in my mind, "I see that your eye is as sharp as your wit boy, I am sure that will really get you far in your line of work."

I frowned, finding myself unable to think of any good retort, I just shrugged and said, "So you wanted to talk, Nonin Edracian that is what you said?"

"Yes, yes, it was."

"Well was sending these axe-wielding psychopaths to kill me was that truly so necessary then?"

"Yes, yes, it was."

"Well, then why was it so damned necessary then?" I growled I should not have been so angry about this I was an apprentice assassin, working for a woman who has been in the business for a very long time. Someone sending people to kill me or to capture me to get to her was just a part of the job. I knew this, but I was tired and wasn't in the mood after all the crap I'd been through and now this development.

"It was a test; I wanted to witness for myself the capabilities of the son of Serghar Kaltos."

My jaw twitched, why was he was still insisting on speaking psychically?

"So," I sighed, "was I up to those capabilities?"

+No, you still have a long way to go.+

I shrugged while as cool as I could, simultaneously sheathing my sword, took out a Lho stick, placed it in my mouth and lit it.

"Well then now you have your answer, can I go free?"

+No, we still have much to yet discuss.+

I held the smoking Lho in between my forefinger and thumb, eyeing the well armoured Inquisitor.

"I did think as much, yes," I said then suddenly I spun, stabbing the lit Lho stick right into the eye of one of the men guarding my back, the poor bastard let out a blood-curdling scream of agony and turned away, clutching at his face. I followed on by front kicking the next enemy right in the chest, sending his limp form sprawling silently straight to the rockcrete ground.

I drew my autopistol from the chest holster hidden under my flak jacket blowing out the backs the skulls of the remaining two men. Turned back to Edracian then emptied the rest of the clip of the semi-automatic pistol into him. The gunfire echoed in the alleyway as the manstoppers ricocheted across his armour, I had no real hope of killing him even at such close range. Still, the kinetic force of the bullets sent him reeling with each round, one managed to hit the gap in the knee, and the Inquisitor fell into a kneel.

In the blink of an eye, I had my pistol reloaded and began to advance down the alleyway meanwhile laying down a withering hail of fire into Edracian's large form then I fell into a sprint, straight past the stunned Inquisitor.

I slid to a halt as I approached the turn at the end of the alleyway pushing my back against the wall while carefully peering around the corner. I wasn't surprised when two more men were advancing down the next street perhaps drawn by the fire, perhaps called here by the Inquisitor, both wielding high calibre auto guns and both immediately opening fire the second they saw me.

Forced back, into cover I glanced to Edracian who was now lying prone on the ground and slowly struggling to get onto his feet. I had very little time.

They had stopped their shooting, and I reached into one of the inside pockets of my flak jacket pulling out a mirror, one I kept on me, not for my rampant narcissism, but for moments like this when I needed to look around something during a firefight. Raising the mirror to reflect down the next alleyway, I caught a glimpse of the two men approaching quickly but cautiously their rifles raised and sweeping through every possible angle.

I glanced back to Edracian, and it was then I saw more figures appear right at the other entrance of the alleyway, three of them and all wielding auto guns. I cursed savagely but luckily for me they didn't open fire, perhaps afraid that they may hit their boss by accident, and the range was utterly terrible to try hit my small form anyway, as I crouched low in the shadows. Mooks like that could never make precise shots at 200 metres.

With a shaking hand and reaching again into my jacket, I tore out another autopistol clip. Then threw it with all my strength around the corner immediately I followed suit my auto pistol raised and firing.

The two attackers were caught off guard for barely half a second as the ammo I threw bounced and clattered at their feet, but that was all I needed. With three shots I killed them both, my first hit the left sideman in the shoulder, then blew a ragged hole in his chest as he opened his mouth to scream, the third was a clean headshot.

Both corpses were barely falling when I was up, sprinting down the street meanwhile re-holstering my pistol. I stopped quickly at the bodies, snatching up one of the auto rifles, a few extra clips of ammunition and the one I had tossed then carried on through the alleyway as fast as my feet could carry me.

There was a T junction not far ahead, as it came close I followed my training, pushing my back against the right-hand wall and sliding along cautiously, my rifle raised to cover the left side, which I knew led to a dead end.

Finding it devoid of any life I turned to cover my rifle the right quickly professionally switching around the alley, it too was clear.

Hearing a cry behind me, I glanced over my shoulder just in time to glimpse one of my many attackers emerging from around the last corner.

A mere millisecond before he opened fire I was into the cover of the turn-off. I had banked on them seeing the corpses of their comrades, for it to cause them to yell out and give themselves away, luckily for me my gambit had paid off. It seemed now that Edracian's henchmen had a camaraderie of sorts, perhaps I could use that once again to my advantage.

The enemy's full-auto fire quickly died, and as it did, I leaned out returning my withering hail which forced the man behind his corner.

After that quick burst, I did not wait to exchange more fire I was already moving on, sprinting almost recklessly. These back alleys were like a maze made of five-story high dull grey rockcrete walls. They were empty other than a few small piles of garbage strewn about it was as lifeless as the rest of Omnartus so they would afford no cover to cower behind other than all of the many twists and turns, but I knew the path well having used this route on a few occasions. I had to head south, for half a kilometre that was toward the relative safety of Taryst's base.

I had barely made it to the next turn before my pursuers were out in the open and shooting.

My desperate dive only just carried me into safety. In cover, again I tried my microbead and again got nothing but white noise. I cursed before I was able to use my microbead in this area but now. Edracian must be using a jammer, either that or his psychic abilities.

This Edracian, just how powerful was he anyway? What was he doing here? Why was he trying to capture me; why had he chosen to reveal himself now? Amongst all these questions I did have one thing I was sure of; that he was yet another player in this convoluted game a game that seemed to be growing ever more convoluted by the second.

I sighed and briefly leaned out, blasting back at my attackers on burst fire, forcing them again to cower around their cover.

This firefight was frigging awkward to say the very least; it would have been over a long time ago if I had a grenade.

Note to self, I thought, from now on carrying grenades on me when I can.

Luckily for me, the enemies seemed to have no grenades, or perhaps they did and chose not to use them.

As their gunfire paused once more I retaliated firing another blind flurry then once again was moving on, ejecting the almost empty clip and slamming fresh one home, I sprinted.

I realised then that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't catch the bastards off-guard they were too well trained, used their cover too well. The reason why I seemed so intent on killing my attackers is that Edracian could have more of his henchmen waiting for me further through the alleys, just waiting to catch me in a crossfire.

There was another four-way intersection ahead I knew well that if I wanted to go to Taryst's base that I would have to turn left but decided against it, as that is the way my enemies would expect. Skidding to a halt, I elected the right; instead, it led straight to the north back into the busy main streets; intending to try to lose myself among the crowds of potential pedestrians.

The alleyway was long and like all the others utterly empty, as I sprinted my heart leapt in my chest, expecting at any moment Edracian's men to shoot me in the back as I fled.

But I heard no shots ever echo through the alleys announcing my untimely death, and I managed to emerge out of the darkness out into the bright lights of the main streets.

It was five in the afternoon, and luckily for me, the street was bustling with activity. On my homeworld this street would have been classified as a highway, it was eight lanes and traffic roared past.

I had forgotten the streets name, but I knew that it was one of the main supply roads through this part of the hive. It was then I realised that I was still holding my stolen autorifle, and the pedestrians saw me run out, a few glimpsed the gun in my grasp, and they halted their walking raising their hands and began to back away with fearful expressions.

Ignoring them, I skidded into another turn making my way east along the sidewalk and cursed under my breath, trying my best to hide my weapon from people passing by while dodging and weaving through the crowd.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw no sign of my pursuers, but I was far from any safety yet, I needed to find a way to hide my gun so not to attract the attention of the local authorities. I winced, I could have just dropped it when running through those alleyways but it was too late for that now.

My sword was legal though, the local law allowed citizens to carry bladed weapons but only for self-defence and as long as one has a license for it. I have one, a fake one of course along with my fake local identification. Still, I could not risk magistratum involvement, just in case that Edracian had them under his thumb being an Inquisitor he had that power at his grasp.

But with those people seeing me earlier the odds that of one of them using their vox unit to call the Magistratum was very, very high.

Violently I cursed my idiocy it seemed to be one mistake after another, first walking straight into Edracian's ambush and now-

I didn't see the person walk into me, too lost in my self-berating and I turned to them, finding myself face to face with a woman an attractive woman with long black hair, deathly pale skin and dark, dead eyes.

One glance was all it took for me to know she was not anyone normal, and I attempted to break into a run.

But it was too late her hand was already right out in front of my nose and I flinched as she sprayed a brief pout of mist straight into my face.

"Ahh crap," I managed to gasp. My vision went dark, and the last thing I thought before completely losing consciousness was on the sheer irony of it all.



Suddenly I awoke spluttering back into consciousness as my body racked with violent coughs.

I curled forward but not far, the movement constrained by the rope which bound me. I saw that were the room I sat in was mostly enveloped in darkness only I was illuminated by a weak light which hung from the ceiling just above me.

"He is awake right on schedule my lord," a voice emerged from the darkness, a soft-spoken woman's voice which eerily reminded me of the Eldar from my dream.

+Yes,+ agreed another which I immediately recognised as Edracian's, once again the words echoing through my very thoughts.

"Your mastery of poison would be inconceivable ever to doubt, Miss Ellak," said the Inquisitor as he stepped into the light, he was still wearing his power armour his face still hidden behind that imposing mask.

+Hello, young Mr Kaltos.+

I was in mid-reply when interrupted by another flurry of coughs.

+What did you say?+ asked Edracian.

I laughed and replied, "I said, deja vu."

I could not see Edracian's face but could imagine him smile as he said, +yes, I assume that you would feel way, would you?+

My jaw twitched. "What the hell does that mean?"

Edracian's helmeted head shook in what could almost read as contempt. +I actually have a mole inside your organisation young man, and they have been in there for quite some time now, quite some time indeed.+

Glaring up at the Inquisitor I wasn't sure what to think, perhaps he was lying as an attempt to gain my respect before they interrogate me, or if he was telling the truth?

"Who is it then?" I asked bluntly, although I knew he'd never answer and hardly in the mood for my usual deadpan snark.

Edracian laughed. +Why just telling you Mr Kaltos would be inconceivable! Where would the fun be in that? You will just have to find out all on your own; I'm afraid.+

I sighed. "Alright, whatever, so are you going to ask any questions or not? I'd like to get this over and damn well done with."

The Inquisitor's helmet tilted slightly a movement which reminded me of many of the native birds back on Elbyra.

+Oh, no young Mr Kaltos you quite misinterpret, my true intentions behind this little kidnapping of yours. I have no need to interrogate you, why would I when I already have someone in your organisation feeding me information? No, you are here so you can perform for miss Ellak and I a little favour, wait! No! That is the incorrect term, Miss Ellak what the word for it is? It's a favour but one that no one could refuse? When they are forced to do it?+

"An order master," answered the woman from the darkness.

+That's right; an order, thank you miss Ellak.+

"The pleasure is all mine master."

Edracian's helmet turned back to me. +Miss Ellak here is from the Venenum temple of the officio assassinorum, how they practice the art of death I am sure Miss Glaitis has already informed you that hasn't she? Miss Ellak is also my most loyal servant. But all of my men are loyal to me though I bet miss Glaitis wishes she could say the same, am I right?+

"Yes," I growled my patience was wearing thin now concluding that Edracian was utterly insane. "Now, what the hell do you want me to do?"

+Oh!+ cried the Inquisitor's voice in my mind. +I apologise it seems I went a bit off track there did I not?+

With that, he suddenly spun on his heel, so his back was facing me, and he walked a few steps away.

+You have been to the top of Taryst's tower,+ that was a statement, not a question and his voice if you can call it that, suddenly changed into the epitome of seriousness which made me blink at the sudden change of tone. You have been in his quarters; you saw that big adamantium door of his.+

"Hmm yes, and let me guess. You want me to see what is behind it?"

Edracian suddenly turned back me so fast it caused me to flinch in fright.

+Of course!+ he yelled so loud in my mind that it made my ears ring.

I shrugged. "Well, I can tell you already, well assume really. That behind that door he is holding captive a member of your organisation an Interrogator-"

+That I know!+ Interrupted Edracian. +What I need you to do is find the exact condition of Taryst's captive, whether she is still alive or not.+

I nodded. "Hmm, okay."

The Inquisitor looked away, into the darkness and nodded to who I could only assume to be 'Miss Ellak'. To my minimal surprise, the woman who had ambushed me earlier stepped into the light hold in her hand a very, very large syringe.

I struggled in my bonds. "W-what is that for?"

+Insurance,+ answered Edracian, his attention still to the slowly approaching, Venenum assassin. +Insurance to make sure that you will follow through with your end of the bargain.+

He looked back at me. +You of all people should have guessed that.+

Then the needle stabbed straight into my forearm, miss Ellak finding a vein as easy as I would find my way through a forest and agony erupted up my arm.

The agony which made me scream out, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

+You have been injected with a special poison,+ said Edracian. +One which will kill you in a few hours if you do not receive the antidote.+

I sucked in air through clenched teeth, my body shaking uncontrollably.

"Really? 'A few hours?' Could you be a little more precise?"

Again I could almost feel Edracian smile. +Why that would be inconceivable young Mr Kaltos-+

"Yeah okay 'where would the fun be in that'," I interrupted. "I know, I know."

Edracian tilted his head again. +So once you complete your objective you are to meet a few of my men at an appointed rendezvous point, they will give you the antidote, but I will only give you the coordinates once I know you have accomplished the mission I have given you.+

"And how will you know that then?"

Edracian held out his hand, showing me what looked to be a small pict taker.

+With this of course young man, once you get through that door if you find the Interrogator's dead you are to take a picture of her, it is set up that once you do it will automatically send it straight back to our cogitator and if you try to fake the picture we will find out.+

I sighed as I felt a sudden surge of desperation. "B-But how the hell am I to do this! I will be found Taryst has psykers which can easily read my mind see my true intentions I won't even get near before being caught!"

Again that invisible smile. +You need not worry about Taryst's psyker young, Mr Kaltos, as she is very much unable to do anything now.+

I looked up at Edracian. "What?"

+Oh, she isn't dead, just hurt,+ said Edracian lightly. +Badly, not as bad as you were, of course. Your colleagues ambushed her and her bodyguard during your little one-man storm of the Twilight bar; they took advantage of the soulless being that was kept in that building as she lost her power and that made her easy prey, and that was why they took so long to rescue you. Because that Arco Flagellant was actually the blank.+

My eyes widened now it was making sense that is if Edracian is telling the truth, of course.

"But still how-"

+I don't care!+ Edracian's voice suddenly flared in anger. +How you do it is not what I care about only that you do!+

"Alright! Okay," I sighed, my mind desperately whirling through a myriad amount of potential plans. "So? I take a picture of her if I find her dead I understand that, but what do you want me to do if I find her alive?"

+If she is alive, why then kill her, of course, and then take the picture,+ said Edracian simply. +What the hell did you think I wanted you to do?+



I was blindfolded as we drove through the streets of Omnartus, my hands tied behind my back. The ride was smooth, and the seating was very, very comfortable what I could only deem to made of pure high-grade leather.

The Inquisitor, he didn't seem to do anything by halves, I'll give Edracian that.

+The picter will get through Taryst's security,+ said Edracian in my mind interrupting my thoughts. I had utterly no idea if he was sitting near or even if he was in the vehicle at all, "It is made from a special plasteek that is immune most detectors."

"Uh-huh," I replied, utterly disinterested having already guessed such a fact. "I have a more interesting subject that we could discuss."

+And what is that young Mr Kaltos?+

"You said that my colleagues had injured Taryst's psyker."

+Yes, yes, I did.+

I frowned. "Until you told me that, I was under the impression that perhaps Glaitis and Taryst were working with more cohesion than what was initially let on and that was how my organisation got away with the incident of the Twilight bar. That was why we are still under the rogue traders' employment, you seem to know everything, so can you tell me why we are still here? I am sure that Taryst would understand if his prized psyker was hurt and who did it."

Again, that strange smile. +A good question, young Mr Kaltos, an excellent question indeed but one that has very little to do with your mission sadly.+

My jaw set. "What do you mean it doesn't have anything to do with my mission? If something has happened to Taryst then if I am to get through him and then through that door, I'll need all the information I can get."

Then it hit me, and I smiled. "You don't actually know, do you?"

Or you are just choosing not to tell me, I thought.

+No I shall admit that I do not,+ sighed the Inquisitor's voice. +But it does not matter, in the end, I just need for you to take that picture, that is all.+

My jaw twitched, after I potentially murder this Interrogator, of course, I have killed a few throne agents in my career, but an Interrogator? The potential consequences for that could be quite dire indeed.

I could only hope that she was already dead.

"Do you have a plan yet?" asked Edracian.

No, I thought sullenly, "some semblance," I said instead.

+I am sure you will think of something.+

There was no mistaking the edge of threat in those words, and I barely held back a sigh, really Edracian did you need to threaten me even more? You held all the cards; you've got me right where you want me, so just leave me alone.

But why does he want this picture anyway? What exactly would he do with it?

"How long have I been away for?" I asked, deciding that attempting to asking those questions was utterly pointless.

+Half an hour,+ said Edracian. +You will have to decide on the excuse you will use for your absence.+

"Of course I will," I muttered, a little surprised at the short amount of time gone by since my kidnapping.

Then the vehicle came to an abrupt halt.

+This here is your stop, young Mr Kaltos,+ said Edracian.

"Why me?" I said abruptly.

+Excuse me?+ asked Edracian.

"Why did you spend time and resources to kidnap me instead of using your mole for this job?"

+Questions, questions it is always questions with you, isn't it? I do have my reasons for that young Mr Kaltos, reasons that you do not need to know.+

With those words, suddenly rough hands grabbed me by the arms and hauled me from my seat, I heard the familiar sound of an opening door then someone cut my bonds.

Suddenly I got shoved out the vehicle, barely turning my body in time to keep the tarmac from breaking my nose on impact.

I heard the deafening squeal of tyres as Edracian's transport abruptly drove away, and I pulled off my blindfold while slowly getting onto my feet.

They had dropped me in another alleyway one which I did not recognise it was \devoid of any life, but I could see quite clearly Taryst's tower looming over the surrounding six-story buildings. Quickly I calculated that I was less than half a mile away, at least during my walk I could try and come up with a plan of some description. At least I hope I can.



I paused at the turn toward the alleyway entrance into Taryst's tower and with a quivering right hand reached up to take the smoking Lho from my mouth.

I was scared, utterly terrified the only thing helping my nerves was the Lho, having smoked through my entire supply on my trip here. Edracian had thrown me straight into a situation that was unfair to say the very least, damn him!

But life isn't fair; I reminded myself quickly while signing out smoke and I could not help wonder what my father would have done if in this situation.

The answer was as clear as day, he would have slaughtered all of Edracian's mooks and killed the Inquisitor without even batting an eyelash, but for me that wasn't an option at all, lacking the skill and hard-earned experience of Serghar Kaltos.

Cursing under breath, I began to march toward the hidden door. During my walk over here I could only conjure up one plan; I would tell Taryst that I had reconsidered his proposal, that I would spy on Glaitis for him but only on the condition that he allows me to see what is behind his door.

Honestly, I doubted it would work, suspecting that Taryst had given me that option once and only once.

It was the only semi-realistic plan that I could think of, what else could I try? Go in there guns blazing? Try to use my considerable skill in stealth and guile to sneak in? None of those considerations could come close to ever succeeding and so, no way in hell.

Ignoring the cameras watching my approach I roughly tore open the hatch concealing the keypad and with clumsy, shaking fingers typed in the password.

I barely waited for it to open before moving on and starting up the hill, through the hive of activity at a quick pace my face a grim scowl of determination.

Many of Taryst's mercenaries actually nodded to me in respectful greeting as I made my way to the tower entrance and I tried my best to nod back convincingly; it was getting a whole lot harder to mask the fear I felt.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, I reached the peak of the service way, and I had to say I was a little out of breath.

There I found Major Olinthre standing at the security station, two of the elite Stormtroopers standing at his sides he was looking at me with a determined expression on the major's handsome face.

I liked Olinthre he was in many ways which I would want to be one day, laid back, charismatic, friendly and an utter womaniser. I wished that I could have half as much influence with women as he did.

Still, I could not comprehend why he wasn't the commander of Taryst's private army instead of that sycophant Barhurst, actually, yes, yes I can.

He saluted me with a sharp snap of his boots. "Attelus."

Taken off guard by his uncharacteristic formality, I managed a weak salute in return. "Major."

"I need to talk to you," he said in a tone which would brook no argument.

My heart turned to ice, did he know what I was planning?

"S-sure, okay," I managed.

His expression still hard, Major Olinthre nodded and turned on his heels, walking away with the two Stormtroopers following him.

"Follow me," he said over his shoulder, "and you can keep your weapons."

My eyes widened in exasperation, why could I keep my weapons?

Well, this said something, that he more than likely didn't know what I was here to do.

Allowing myself a slight sigh of relief, I followed.

Without a further word, we walked through the top checkpoint; the detector never went off as I went through it and I could not help but nervously eye both of the enormous Servitors standing guard.

I could not help sigh slightly with relief as we passed through the doors without me being reduced into bloody, smouldering chunks by autocannon fire.

It was when we were halfway through the large cargo bay, heading toward the elevators. That perhaps Major Olinthre was the spy who Edracian had bragged about?

It made sense; it certainly would explain why the major allowed me to carry my weapons inside.

But from the way, the Inquisitor said it I was under the interpretation that the spy was part of Glaitis' organisation, not Taryst's.

Could Olinthre be like me, a triple agent? Be working for Taryst while spying on the rogue trader for Glaitis while spying on her for Edracian?

Frowning, I eyed the captain my brow furrowing. Never could I claim to be the greatest judge of character but Olinthre always seemed a soldier first and foremost even after turning into a merc he still seemed to cling onto some semblance of his old honour.

I clenched my teeth glancing sidelong at a mercenary as he walked close by and I could not help briefly wonder what they thought of me just walking in here with my full armament.

No, Olinthre couldn't be the insider there must be something else behind it, perhaps he has found something and for some strange reason decided to trust me with it? But why me? I was the much very last person to trust with anything.

Two more Stormtroopers waited at one of the eight elevators, seemingly holding it for us.

I noted that as all six of us filled in that it wasn't the one lift which led up to Taryst's office and glancing up, I found that it was devoid of any overt surveillance.

One of the Stormtroopers keyed the destination level to where I could not quite see, and the elevator began its ascent.

My attention plastered on the growing numbers, nerves playing at the pit of my guts, and I said to Olinthre next to me. "Anything wrong?"

Olinthre's expression stayed neutral. "You will see," he only growled.

The elevator finally found its destination abruptly the Stormtroopers, and Olinthre filled out into the foyer beyond, but I stood still frozen to the floor.

Olinthre turned back to me, grim-faced, "you coming then damn it?"

"S-sorry," and jogged to catch up; it was the 31st floor, Vex's floor.



Unsurprisingly we silently headed northward making our way through the thin corridors in an exact echo of the route I had walked months before. The five Stormtroopers formed an escort formation around Olinthre, and many of Taryst's serfs walking the other way, and I was eager to make room for us.

My heart thudded in my chest, my fear threatening to overwhelm me.

I'm pathetic! I decided with a wordless snarl, I could fearlessly face down a dozen gangers as they attempted to murder me, but when forced to face up to some stupid kid who I had almost killed! But killing was in my nature it is what I get paid to do daily, why should I have to apologise? Why the hell should I have to feel guilty damn it!

So was this, is, was the major making me talk to Vex now? Was this because I had forgotten to stop in when I had promised to apologise?

But, why would he let me keep my weapons then?

Unless he wanted me to kill Vex, it didn't make much sense.

Again I came back to and with some relief that this was about something else, something more and Vex was just a part of it.

We came out from the corridors, into the cavernous cogitator room with the cacophony of constant clashing of keys causing me to cover my ears.

But still, I could not help smile, with all the hell that I have gone through, with all the death and destruction that their colleagues were put through still these serfs will sit and type, it reminded me of the ancient idiom, "the more things change, the more they still the same."

Not that much has changed at, all we are still chasing our tails searching for this Brutis Bones, which just further emphasises my point really and there it was, Vex's small box office that sat in the midst of it all.

Just outside Olinthre came to an abrupt halt and turned to his men yelling over the deafening sound.

"You two guard the door, make sure no one gets in not even if it Taryst, especially not Taryst," he turned to the remaining two. "You guys check the room make sure there aren't any hidden bugs! Make sure you are damn thorough, you got that?"

I stood shocked, my jaw open dumbly but the four Stormtroopers didn't hesitate they simultaneously saluted with 'yes sirs!' and moved swiftly to perform their appointed tasks.

Olinthre then turned to me his face distinctly lightening. "These are men I know I can trust Attelus; they are loyal to me, over Barhurst or even Taryst."

"But how can you tell?" I blurted out.

"What?"

"How can you tell that they are the men that you trust if you can't even see their faces? For all, you know they could easily be someone else."

The captain smiled and shrugged. "True, but I choose to have faith and believe that they are who they say they are."

My jaw set slightly at his mention of 'faith.' Faith was an utterly idiotic concept that didn't, ever, fit within the realms of reality.

The door into Vex's office opened, and one of the Stormtroopers stuck his head out, nodding to us the all-clear.

Olinthre nodded back. "Let's go."

We both began our approach, and it was then I realised that none of even the nearby serfs had ever noticed the presence of the six fully armed and armoured figures in their midst and I could not help but shake my head in contempt.

I walked into the room just after Olinthre, and one of the Stormtroopers abruptly closed the door behind us.

A few of the large cogitators had been pulled from the walls and moved about, and the room was almost a complete mess, most of it being snack junk food packaging and Vex stood among it his face contorted in anger.

"Frig it Olinthre!" he yelled with alarming force. "Your men didn't have to be so rough with my equipment! Do you have any idea how much this all costs!"

"I apologise," said Olinthre calmly as he ripped off his leather gloves. "I didn't want to do it, but you know who we are up against and the precautions we must go through to make sure we survive, and frig who taught you such dirty language?"

Vex stood simmering then he turned his back to us and began to work furiously on one of his cogitators.

"I see you have Attelus with you," said Vex quickly.

"Yes, I believe we can trust him."

I could not help but flinch the words cutting more in-depth than I cared to admit.

"Okie dokie if you think so, you're the one who's got the gun and the soldiers so I can't complain can I?"

Both Olinthre and I glanced at each other each of us assuming the question to be rhetorical.

I could not help but see that Vex had changed he seemed a whole lot tougher with the way he was talking to Olinthre, he used to be far more timid and shy.

Far, far more timid and shy, and I could not help think that my assault might have something to do with this new character development.

"But I'm guessing," carried on the young hacker quickly. "I'm guessing the reason you choose to trust him was because of what he did at the Twilight bar is that it?"

"Could be," replied Olinthre with a smile that seemed to suggest he was humouring the kid.

"Okie dokie then now are we tell him of our findings then?"

I stood there a little confused, why wasn't Vex mad at me? Why wasn't he demanding an apology? It was the very least that he deserved.

"Yes," said Olinthre turning to me, "what you said a few hours ago piked my interest, so I decided to hire Vex here and begin my own investigation."

"Yes that he did," confirmed Vex needlessly. "But be honest it was more than just that wasn't it?"

Olinthre sighed. "Yes, yes it was ever since you were forced into a coma few things have gone... "

"Awry?" I finished turning to Olinthre; it was the first word I uttered since walking in.

The major nodded. "Ever since that night the psyker under our employ, Karmen Kons, she has gone missing, just disappearing seemingly and Taryst refuses to explain why or to sanction any sort of search for her."

Olinthre looked nervous. "Also he granted permission for your master Mamzel Glaitis to call for that psyker to heal you. Even though he had a very strict edict right from very the start of this operation that Karmen Kons would be the only one to use any psychic abilities among us, my suspecting something wrong was there, but you made me act on it."

"As well as that we have received no word from Colonel Barhurst after he left for the recruitment drive," added in Vex.

Olinthre nodded. "That's right; usually we'd be getting very accurate and daily reports from the colonel, I always suspected he did it to make sure that we didn't forget about him but this time, nothing."

I listened intently to this information, but I could not shake a nagging feeling of familiarity at the name 'Karmen Kons' so that was the name of the faceless behind the scenes psyker, and it wasn't even a cadre as I had initially thought but just one woman apparently.

"How many people know of this information?" I asked, placing my chin between my thumb and forefinger.

Olinthre and vex glanced at each other. "As you know of the psychic ban, everyone," said the major. "Of Karmen Kons and her operations only me, Barhurst and Taryst and of her disappearance only me and Taryst. Barhurst's communications only come to Taryst and me; Vex only knows this because I told him earlier."

"You also must know the secret behind the psychic blocks then?" I asked.

At that question, Olinthre's face immediately turned white as chalk. "Y-yes," he sighed. "I knew that someone would find out; eventually, I don't know the technical crap, but I know they are designed to block out almost any intrusion but..."

"But-but what?" said Vex.

"But for one psyker they can be bypassed," explained Olinthre. "Only Karmen Kons can get through the block and not just that, but she finds it easier, it allows her to read thoughts without expelling as much energy as she would normally."

"How are they implanted into the mind?" I asked, barely holding back a triumphant smile, I was right! Finally right about something through all this convoluted crap!

"I don't know," Olinthre sighed. "All that I know is that she does it, somehow."

That also begs another question, how could have these blocks gone unnoticed by the Omnartus Verispex technicians of the local Adeptus Arbites when they had studied the dead bodies we left behind? How hadn't they been tracked back to Taryst and his private army? Not just that, but how was Edracian able to talk to me through my thoughts if my mind was blocked? Was mind talking a different thing than reading thoughts?

"As far I know," said Olinthre interrupting my train of thought. "The only minds inaccessible from Karmen Kons are mine, Taryst's and Barhurst's."

I nodded, briefly checking my wrist chron, it had been roughly three-quarters of an hour since I was dumped out of Edracian's vehicle, I still had some time, I hoped.

"Alright, I can see why your suspicion peeked," I said. "But why are you telling me this now? Is there something else? Something that Vex found perhaps?"

"It was indeed, first I have to inform you that I don't have complete access to Taryst's systems his own personal ones to be precise, so I attempted to hack into his database."

"Also," said in Olinthre. "The cameras in his elevator the feed can only be viewed by him."

"I don't know who had installed the security of Taryst's files, but it is good, very, very, very good maybe even the best I have ever seen. Maybe it was a priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus that would be the only explanation that I could think of, but I am me and me being me the genius that I am; I was able to access some of Taryst's database."

"Did you find the surveillance feeds?" I asked.

"No! No, no, no, no! That would take a long time, for anyone else it would take months but for me a week or two but I was able to gain access to the log of retinal scans, which are also only accessible to him for the people accessing his floor for the past few months."

"Hmm, right," I said.

A grin spread over Olinthre's face. "As far as we know," said the major. "Only once he has left his room, and that was to visit you briefly, Attelus, when you were in a coma."

Vex turned back to us. "I have also checked into the medicae logs and found that Taryst had in fact arrived at exactly the right time that would take for him to walk from the elevators to the medicae bay."

My jaw set slightly, wondering where the hell this was all this was going.

Next to Vex's cogitator, a printer suddenly began to print off something, the elevator log I could only presume, and the young hacker reached over and tore off the paper and handed it to me.

"Look at the local calendar the eighteenth day of the month of Estarius and the time of 2:53.56.24," he said.

I complied reeling hurriedly through the well organised and precise log and saw something which made my heart turn into ice, and my hands went clammy with sweat.

"It's-it's," I managed.

"Yes, yes it is," said Olinthre grimly.

There it was as clear as day the retinal scan wasn't actually recorded as belonging to Taryst.

It was Barhurst's.

 

[Simonbob]

I see that nobody's even slightly trustworthy to our lead.


Man. His life really sucks.