Commissar Forschner walked for some time. Walking through the slums during the day, he discovered many things that he didn't see during the evening. The slum of this world was similar to the outskirts of a hive, only less dangerous. Many lived in houses with more than adequate space, and there were no signs of murderous mutants or toxins.

"Slothful citizens living in such idleness," he commented, "Yet they live in peace. These dwellers should be put to work."

He stood before the gates of the Stolen Goods Warehouse, this time, before sundown. He kicked the door three times. An aged, dark-skinned man the size of an small Ogyrn burst open the door; the smell of alcohol permeated from the warehouse. The commissar raised his sleeve to guard his nose.

"Shut the hell up!" the giant man shouted, cringing his thick white eyebrows, "You mean to break down my door when you don't even know the password?"

"I have come to request a specific item. Something only your kind of people would be able to acquire," the commissar told him.

The old man cringed his face. "Who the hell are you?" he asked the man in the black coat with a funny cap.

"Do you always inquire for your client's identity? And I thought this was your expertise," the commissar remarked.

"Whatever, come inside," he said with a slur. The giant old man checked his surroundings and let him in.

Inside the place was more rundown than the commissar had realized under the moonlight. The tables and chairs were falling apart, broken glass and trash littered the place, and the smell of alcohol was intoxicating. The commissar stared at the old man who now sat behind the counter, drinking while facing him. After a thorough observation, the commissar noticed that the old man was not human but more abhuman or mutant. He was big but slouched, with white fur growing from his chest down to his naval. He was tattooed with red markings and full of battle scars.

"Looks like you've seen your share of battles," the commissar complemented, "I can respect that."

The old man glugged down his beverage and set it down with a slam. He looked more intoxicated than before.

"So, whater you looking fer?" the old man slurred.

"An insignia," the commissar answered, "It is an item of grave importance."

"Righ' now, I dun have any item that you speak of," he sounded more incoherent as he spoke, "But you can wai outsigh fer Felt t'get ere. She's bringin something like that."

"I shall wait," the commissar declared, getting up from the wobbling chair, "And you should stop drinking, or this business will become impossible!" He walked out and sat by the porch.

A little while later, the nimble blonde girl from before walked up to the commissar. She was a mere child. She looked curiously at the stranger in eccentric black attire.

"About time that you arrive," he said, dusting himself off, "I have grown tired of waiting for you. The lack of discipline seems to be a common issue with this populace."

"Do you know me?" she asked, creeped by the stranger.

"Heard of you, Felt," he answered, "You have something that I require, an insignia."

Felt smiled, "So that's what it is. Come inside then. I'll hear you out."

She walked up to the door and knocked three times. The old man gave a riddle.

"For a rat..."

"Poison."

"For a whale..."

The commissar yelled in vexation, "Enough with this madness! Open the door. I do not have the time nor patience to deal with your foolishness."

The old man opened the door with a cringe on his face, growing even uglier. He then turned to Felt and greeted her with a smile. They both entered the warehouse. The old man set up a table in the middle of the warehouse for the negotiation to take place. The commissar sat down, placing his officer's cap on the side of the table. Felt sat at the opposite end of the table, and the old man sat on the side.

"So," Felt started, "How much do you offer?"

"The merchandise first," the commissar demanded.

Felt drew a small item from her top, an emblem with a gem in the center. The commissar confirmed the merchandise and nodded. Despite everything he said, the commissar had no currency of this world. The commissar carried loads of golden Aquila pendants, but offering them would be nothing less than heresy. He drew his bolt pistol and laid it down on the table.

"Mr. Rom," Felt quietly asked the giant, "Do you know what that is?"

The giant shook his head. They both inspected the item with great curiosity.

After trying to rack their heads to figure out what it was, Felt asked, "What is that?"

"This," the commissar said raising his pistol, "is what you call a bolt pistol. One of the finest weaponry that the Imperium has to offer."

"A weapon?" the giant asked, "How do you use it?"

"That is a secret," said the commissar, "I do not want you to discover that just yet."

"Well if you can't show us," Felt interrupted, "How can we put a value to it?"

The commissar laughed. "It is not the bolt pistol that I offer," he said, "As an officer of the Golden Throne, it irks me to work for a price, especially for an abhuman and a mere child, but I offer my service as your personal guard for the remainder of this day for that emblem."

Rom and Felt looked at him with disbelief.

"Look, if you don't have anything to offer, we don't have much to say to you," said Felt, crossing her arms. "Besides, Mr. Rom is the best fighter there is. I don't have to worry a thing!"

The commissar looked at Rom then turned back to Felt. He made a smirk, and Rom made an angry face.

"Whatever," Felt ignored him, "There's someone else who's willing to buy this insignia, and she is offering 10 Holy Silver Coins. You can leave now."

"My offer stands until morning," the commissar affirmed.

Just then, three knocks came from the door. They all turned towards the door.

"Did you tell them the password?" Rom asked Felt.

"I forgot. Well, it's probably for me anyway. I'll go check."

Felt got up and walked towards the door.

"Prepare yourself for a fight, abhuman," the commissar told Rom, who looked curiously at the man in black.

"I was right! It was for me," Felt exclaimed. She was followed by a woman in a black dress. The commissar recognized who she was and made a smile of satisfaction. Felt stared at him with eyes of disgust.

"I know the older fellow, but who might this be?" the woman in black dress asked.

"He is..." Felt wondered.

"Commissar Viktor Forschner," he introduced himself, "I am their acquaintance."

"I see," she said, "I am Elsa Granhiert."

"So did you bring the money for the insignia?" Felt asked excitedly.

"Yes, my client even sent some extra coins to sweeten the deal in case we had a rival," Elsa replied, handing Felt a bag of coins.

"Well, in your case, the rival is broke and have nothing to offer," mocked Felt. She counted the coins.

"It makes sense for your client to send more coins. After all, you will be taking them back once they are both dead," the commissar commented.

There was a moment of silence. Elsa's eyes grew grim. She made a murderous glare at the commissar, sitting at a chair with his feet on the table.

"What do you mean by that?" Elsa inquired.

"I meant exactly as I said, assassin."

Elsa sighed in disappointment. Felt's eyes widened when she saw Elsa's blade.

"So, you knew," she said, licking her lip, "How did you know?"

"I give no answers to heretics who find pleasure in torture and murder," replied Forschner, unsheathing his cutlass.

"Interesting," Elsa made a sadistic smile, "I wonder what color your bowels are."

Forschner quickly fired two rounds from his bolt pistol, destroying a table and shattering the door. Elsa barely evaded the shots. The destructive nature of the unknown weapon startled Elsa, but she made her charge towards the man in black coat. This time, the commissar aimed to parry her with his cutlass. Elsa's blade severed in two as it made contact with the power cutlass. She instantly backed off, sensing danger. Upon discovery of her broken blade, she drew another one.

Her second blade was not something the commissar accounted for. He has gauged her speed and decided that disarming her would bring victory like last time, but the commissar was now at a disadvantage once more.

Just then, Rom came at Elsa with a large club. He swung like a brute, destroying all the furniture that stood in his way. Elsa swifts dodged all his strikes with ease. The commissar took his chance to fire another round. The round missed the assassin but hit the wooden wall, shattering to pieces. Shrapnel flew out, inflicting minor injuries on both Elsa and Rom. Using the chaos to the advantage, Felt sprung out, dashing faster than wind. Elsa evaded Felt's attack by a hair. To her surprise, however, she did not see Forschner charge at her with his power cutlass until he was in melee range. She reacted by slashing at his gut, once again failing to penetrate the carapace armour. The power cutlass cut her like butter. She fell to the ground in the pool of her own blood.

The commissar walked up to Felt and put his hand out to her.

"The insignia," he said, "I believe you owe me."

Felt's eyes grew with fear, looking past the commissar. Forschner turned around, only to realize that Elsa was no longer on the floor. He swiveled his hand and found her standing beside him. She lunged forward with her blade in hand, striking his face before he had time to react. However, the refractor field kicked in, effectively halting her strike. The commissar reacted by slashing at the assassin, who flipped away and evaded his attack.

Badly wounded, Elsa dashed towards the exit. The commissar shot at her two more times, but all failed to wound her.

"I swear, I will open you up and draw your guts next time," she told the commissar as she fled.

"Cowardice! Get back here!" Forschner screamed, lowering his bolt pistol.

"Are you a magic user?" asked Felt with look of awe.

The commissar turned to her with an annoyed look. He shook his head, walking over to the fallen table to retrieve his headgear.

"Well, I guess you did save us," Felt sighed with a disappointed look, "So just for this once, I'll let to take that insignia."

Felt held out the insignia in her hand. The commissar looked at her with surprise, for he was prepared to fight for it.

"I'll be taking it, then. May the Emperor guide you, citizen," he thanked her.

"Don't call me citizen. You can call me Felt like you did before."

"I call you what I see fit, impudent child," Forschner snapped and walked out the exit, leaving the upset child behind.

Rom frowned and said to him, "Couldn't you just indulge her?"

Forschner turned. "No, your indulgence is the reason why this youth lacks discipline," he said, leaving the warehouse.

"What does it take for a young man to become like that?" Rom lamented, clicking his tongue.