"John!" Detective Franklin shouted. The Arbiter turned, his face grim. Franklin made for him and looked over his armored shoulder. "Wadda we got?"
"Triple homicide. It's pretty gruesome." John sighed. The two began to walk. Franklin looked out on the building and cringed. "Yeah, the last kill was a runner," the Arbiter said, understanding. Blood stained the wall, along with the encrusted remains and innards of a man's head. The body lay just below, slumped against the wall like it had been cornered. A hole had pierced straight through his head.
"Witnesses?" Franklin asked, examining the unique architecture of the Hab-lock. Arbites and detectives covered every inch of the ground.
"Just one," John began, "Old chap, saw the second murder. Says the man looked like he wore armor. He described the weapon; sounded to me like an Arbite-type shotgun."
"Arbite type?"
"Probably stolen." the Arbiter said. Franklin nodded, jotting down notes. "Come on, I'll take you inside."
One Hour Earlier
The moist, damp morning air flowed into his nose, refreshing him. The sun had not risen. It was the perfect time. He strolled forward casually. His face was blank, almost serene. It was as though he was oblivious to what he was about to do. It was as though he thought nothing of murder.
His hand knocked hard on the door. Someone called out from inside, and he heard rushing footsteps. The door opened quickly and a man looked out.
"Ah, can I help you officer?" he said happily. The murderer simply smiled and looked on. "Sir?"
"Yes, I will need to search your residence quickly." He said. The man opened his mouth. "No, no, it will be brief! Can I have a name?" He always wanted to know the names of the beasts he killed.
"Crinnhold, Johann Crinnhold." the man replied. Yes, that was the one. He remembered. The Emperor's holy voice still rang in his head. Yes, it was returning.
Johann smiled and turned, leading the way inside. The murderer followed. It was hilarious, how simple the treacherous Johann was. He was leading his own murderer into his house. They made their way up the stairs. He had to resist. He had to be sure before he killed.
"Let me introduce you to my family." Johann cried happily. "I do not wish to impede, but they are all here." There they stood, a wife, four children.
Kill them all, my servant…
"Ah, four strong children. They are very pretty." he said. Johann gave him an odd look.
"Three. Three children." the man said. The killer opened his mouth, but, as he looked back, the fourth was gone.
"Of course…" he said. "Don't worry. I think I have seen enough." All was silent. He smiled. "Before I kill you, why don't you tell me your names?"
"So the first death was here?" Franklin asked, looking at the bloodstained carpet, marked off by police paint. The body lay there, mutilated.
"Yeah, he was killed by a gun shot. Shotgun, just like the old man identified." John mourned. Franklin moved forward and looked at the body. He touched it, moving his fingers across the dead corpse slowly.
"He let the murderer in." Franklin muttered.
"What? How do you know?" John asked anxiously.
"Oh, sorry. It was nothing, just intuition." the Detective said as he stood. "Killed where he stood. No struggle."
The family was frozen. He laughed at their petty fear. "You sicken me, fools." he spat. Quickly, the murder circled around them. "Now, who to kill first?" But he had already made his choice: take out the head. With a crack and a bang, the father fell. Blood exploded from his chest, splattering the ground around him.
The children squealed. "Run, loves, run!" their mother shouted. He was upon them to quickly. One dropped in fear, simply put rigid by his furious charge. He discharged a second round into the child's back. His head throbbed in pain as he felt the woman's fist connect with his skull. Throwing out his hands, he grabbed her and threw her side.
The children scurried after her, dashing into the next room. He followed, breathing heavily. The three figures backed against the bedroom wall. He lunged for them. Two dodged to the said, leaving one. His shotgun impacted with the boy's small face. Blood shot into the open closet behind the child, and he looked away. No, he had shown it: weakness; pity.
Kill them…
"There was a struggle, after the father died I mean." Franklin whispered, more to himself than to John. "Yes, then they moved through here…" he continued. He made his way across the busy hall and into the bedroom beyond. His feet moved carefully over the loose floorboards.
Something caught his eye, a glint. It was blood; just a tiny drop. His head shot up. His hand reached out and grasped the closet door handle before him. He swung it open, preparing himself for what he might find; just clothes.
Franklin sighed and turned away. Something was not right. He looked back. "You…" Leaning in, he felt the fabric over completely. Dry, dry, dry…wet. He gasped.
"Hey, Arbiter, where did you say the second death occurred?" Franklin roared. John rushed in.
"Near the father, twelve paces left, and two feet from the stairs." the Arbiter recited quickly.
"One kid?"
"That's right."
"I don't think so."
"Detective, the Adeptus Arbites have scoured every inch of this place. There is nothing left." John yelled exasperatedly. "There were only…" The house shook. John shot backwards. Franklin simply laughed, pointing his shot gun at the floorboards below.
"Just me, Arbiter." the Detective said humorously.
"What in His realm do you think you're doing?" the Arbiter bellowed. Franklin pointed down. Two bodies lay there, motionless, lifeless. They were both children.
"Do more research next time." Franklin mocked as he made his way out. This was becoming more interesting.
He blasted forth again, grabbing for the final child. He simply threw her body, limp in fear and pain, against the wall. Ignoring the crack, he careened after the fleeing mother. The two moved down the stairs at astounding speed, but the woman could not stay ahead. With a wheeze and a cough she stumbled out the door.
He threw her against the wall and pulled the trigger thoughtlessly.
Good…
It was done.