VIII
DANCING IN THE DARK
"We deal death in the cover of darkness, of shadow. We revel in its power. We are a species of the night."
Teaching of the Imperius Policae Assassin-Cult

"So where have you been since you left Cadia?"
"Quiet." Lockwood hissed, scanning over the path with her flash-torch.
"Oh come on," Jacobi said "I somehow doubt we're going to run into a vicious monster that tracks its prey by the sound of their voice."
Lockwood stopped, and directed her flash-torch back at Jacobi's face; he shielded his one eye from it with his hand, while the augmetic left eye was, of course, unaffected. "No, but I don't think we want security to hear us wandering around with guns out." The Major whispered.
"Fair enough." Jacobi mumbled, and looked on ahead: His right eye was entirely useless in this situation, but the loss of his left eye had blessed him with a bionic replacement capable of viewing in different spectrums. The hall ahead was devoid of activity. It was depressing in its emptiness.
Then, as they made a turn, Jacobi spotted a man leaning against the wall ahead - from what Jacobi could see, he was wearing an identification armband, and was carrying a holstered pistol and a sheathed shock maul: Security. He quickly grabbed Lockwood's arm, and, struggling slightly with the strong woman, pulled her back.
"What the hell are you doing, Leebhr?" Zune said softly yet sharply, gutting the poor man with her elbow.
He gagged, and let go. "Sorry to startle you," he whispered, clutching his stomach "but there's a guy up ahead."
"How do you know that?"
He tapped on his bionic eye, which gave off a dim red glow in the darkness.
"... Oh." Lockwood coughed. "Put your gun away. Let's go talk to him. He's probably seen us already." She slipped her own autopistol into her back pocket, and stepped forward. Jacobi did the same with his hellpistol.
"Hello?" Lockwood called out.
There was no response.
She shone her flash-torch on him. "Hey, you deaf?"
The man did not move.
Lockwood walked up behind him. "Hey!" She said, shaking his shoulder.
He crumpled over: She realized he was dead.
"What in the name of Terra is this supposed to be?" She looked back in Jacobi's direction, keeping her flash-torch trained on the corpse. "Leebhr, did you see that?"
He nodded; upon realizing she could not see this, he said "Yes."
The Major kneeled beside the body, and turned it over. The front of the corpse was covered in fresh blood, which originated from a wound in the abdomen - he had been struck by a knife very recently, it appeared.
"Shit." Lockwood groaned. "There's a nut with a knife running around."
"Oh boy." Leebhr piped in, sarcastically. "Just what I need."
Lockwood shone her flashlight further down the hall, and as she came to a split in the path, she noticed a trail of blood leading from around the bend. Apparently that was the direction from which the body had come.
"I'm getting the feeling this was a trap..." The Major whispered, pulling out her autopistol.
Jacobi drew his weapon as well, but did not bother to respond; he was occupied watching for movement. After a few moments, he saw it: A person sticking their head out from behind cover, they were holding something...
A hellgun.
"Crap!" He yelled, and practically tackled Lockwood just as the gunman opened fire. The shot would have torn into Lockwood's neck, but succeeded only in grazing her shoulder. The two Kasrkin landed in front of a doorway, which slid open upon detecting their presence.
"That is not a knife!" Jacobi dared joke, firing back with his hellpistol as he backed into the room. He would not hit anything, but it would at least discourage their assailant from sticking their head out until they were in cover.
A trio of las rounds pelted the outcropping in the wall beside the doorframe just as Lockwood ducked in. "Where is Security when you really need them?" She grumbled as she rubbed the sore patch of burnt flesh left on her shoulder by the shot. With her pistol at the ready, she slowly leaned out the door, and then quickly ducked back before a burst of las could hit her.
Meanwhile, Jacobi looked around. They had entered a storage room, apparently. While Zune exchanged shots with their assailants, he took note of several urns of machine oil on one shelf. Another was loaded with crates labeled as "burn-boxes" while another was filled with liter-canisters of promethium.
"Shit, why would you leave something like this unlocked? This room's a bomb just waiting to go off." He commented, as though he were oblivious to the situation outside.
Lockwood looked back at him, then shined her flash-torch along the walls of the room.
She shined it on Jacobi, and then stared at his gun. "Hey, Leebhr, how well-charged is that pack?"

Rsamly caught sight of something from the corner of his eye - a person running down an intersecting hall nearby. He tapped Svyato beside him, and pointed off in the direction. Svyato nodded, and shouldered his gun as the two began to follow the path the runner had taken.
As they peaked around the corner, however, they saw nothing.
"Strange." Rsamly commented, his words partially muffled by his mask. "I know I saw something."
"Forget it. These halls are completely empty. Your goggles are zakking shit, man. We need to replace them."
"Hey, screw off, I know what I saw!" Rsamly snapped, as they turned and began walking back the way they had come. "Hey, where are we supposed to find that Raege guy's room, anyway?"
"It's a girl, Rsamly... the Captain went over that several times."
When she was sure they were gone, Lancaster ceased her focus on her power, and soon after, she became visible again. She let go of the hold she had on the still-lamp she had been hanging from, and dropped down. She had nearly burned herself from hanging onto it; it had not yet fully cooled down since the lights had gone out. She suspected that had been all which kept her from being caught: Those two appeared to have been wearing preysense masks, and she had not hidden her body heat.
She looked around with her augmetic eyes; sure there was no one around, she continued along.
Boss, these goons here are looking for you.

Climbing the stairwell to question the men in charge on the upper floors, Raege stopped, and looked back down the steps behind her, partially out of habit; she almost expected to see Lancaster there. Who, security?
Does security run around in carapace with hellguns?
Raege narrowed her eyes and frowned. What the fick is going on?
Then she began to hear something else. Wait, Quil, do you hear that from down there?
Hear what?
It sounds like... gunfire.

Hran, growing impatient with the waste of a gunfight, decided they needed to put an end to it. He waved his hand for Szir, standing close behind him, to see, and when he knew he had his attention, he pointed to the other side of the corridor. Szir nodded.
Hran opened fire to give his partner a chance to move, but wound up taking a bullet to the helmet; he reeled back, and then, unharmed in no small part due to the carapace he wore, began firing again.
Once Szir was on the other side, he trained his hellgun on the doorway; he had a much better vantage point, and could take anyone leaning out by surprise easily.
After a few moments, however, there was no activity from his opponents. He looked to Hran, who held up his hand: "Wait a bit more," he gestured.
Nearly a half-minute past, and Hran, growing worried that security might show up, decided it was time. "Head in," he commanded with a movement of his hand.
They slowly stepped toward the door, guns trained on it. As Szir drew closer to the entrance, he began seeing something strange: A heat source - faint, yet growing stronger and stronger from behind the door. He looked to Hran, uncertain, and then moved to investigate.
As he stepped to the entrance, Szir heard a clatter by his feet. He looked down to see an intense source of heat, which promptly exploded, spraying forth a wave of bright colors across his field of vision. He was sent backwards by the blast, burning promethium gel sprayed across his body. He cried for help as his body caught fire; with his friend struggling, Hran immediately and unthinkingly hurried to assist him, only for a shot to hit him in the unexposed back of his leg. He fell face-first, and before he could turn over and recover, a boot stomped down on the arm he held his hellgun with.
Lockwood smashed Hran's other hand down, pinning him. "Isn't it weird that they keep flammable lubricating oil next to fire starters?" She asked, taking a pin-torch out from its box, lighting it and then pocketing the container.
Hran grunted in response, struggling to break free.
Lockwood looked over at Szir. The fire had gotten under his armor plating, and was now feeding on his bodyglove. "And fuel, too." She added. "This place sure is hazardous, though I think your buddy already knows that."
Meanwhile, Jacobi came out, holding an urn of oil. He put it down gently and stepped over to Lockwood. Hran saw the two Kasrkin as clouds of body heat, lightly sprayed by the mist of Szir's pyre, until Jacobi tore away his mask with a few quick and powerful jerks; the assassin's face beneath was pale and grizzled, covered in geometric tribal tattoos.
"What do we do with this one?" Jacobi asked, loading a clip into his hellpistol; the last one had been used to make a firebomb.
"Take his gear." Lockwood commanded. Jacobi nodded, and began to strip away whatever pieces of equipment he could see on Hran. Lockwood watched, half-amazed as her partner removed a variety of munitions and rations, forced the hellgun's back capacitor out of its slot with a few tugs on the power cables, cut away the holster of a heavy autopistol, pulled out a terrifically sharp-looking combat knife, and then finally, a holo-wafer. Jacobi incautiously activated it, and was surprised to find the hologram bore the visage of Raege.
Confused, he looked to Lockwood; she frowned at this new development. She looked down at her captive.
"See your friend over there, burning to death?" She asked, pointing to Szir –he had ceased to move and was undoubtedly dead in the flames. "You are going to wind up like him in about five seconds if you don't tell me what I want to know. Who are you working for?"
Slowly, she inched the pin-torch closer and closer to Hran. His breathing grew heavier and more erratic with his nerves.
His face twisted into a deranged smile. "I'd rather burn." He growled.
Lockwood shrugged. "Suit yourself." She said, uncaringly, and dropped the pin-torch on the slick of oil which covered her would-be assassin. It quickly spread, and Lockwood stepped off of him to avoid the flames.
Unrestrained, Hran flailed about and attempted to put out the fire, but it was all across him. His agonized screams persisted until he finally expired in the heat.

The stairwell was dimly-lit by a series of low-power glow globes positioned along the walls on each landing; each cast a deep red light, signifying there was a power failure.
As the Commissar advanced upwards, she realized her plated boots were incredibly loud. She sat back down on a step, and took them off to avoid attracting attention. Hoping she would not encounter any broken glass, she continued up with her boots clutched in one hand.
She began to ponder over the situation. Paranoia left her with no doubt that the individuals Lancaster had mentioned were there to kill her. She had been harboring a bad feeling about this since the lights first went out; yet, instead of keeping Lancaster close, she had sent the psyker to go find and protect Boone while she made her inquiry.
She bowed her head as she came up another flight, worried about not just Boone, but all her soldiers.
She failed to hear the clatter of a shell being chambered.
"Stop right where you are."
Raege froze; she looked up to see a shotgun barrel staring her in the face.

As Lockwood studied the holo-wafer, Jacobi took the knife from the pile of things he had taken from Hran. "I've never seen this sort of knife before." He commented.
"It's a Lathe-forging." Lockwood said, staring at the holo-wafer. "They're very fine blades. Sharp as hell and can even sustain damage from a power weapon."
"Nice." Jacobi grunted. "This is some serious shit right here. Between the hellgun, this knife, and the armor, this is the kind of gear we'd get back in the Kasr defenses. Mercs, these be not."
"They were hunting for Raege." Lockwood announced. "Dammit, these guys were working for the frigging Knights."
"The Knights? What, some death cult you guys pissed off?" Jacobi asked, smirking. "They're pretty damn-connected to be pulling off stunts like this."
"You don't know?" Lockwood shook her head, disgusted with her friend's ignorance. "Trust me, you do not want to know…"
She shined her flash-torch down the hall, holding her autopistol parallel to it. "Take the guy's guns and let's go. We need to find Raege."
Jacobi gave the knife one last appreciative glance, and incautiously stuck it on his belt. He pocketed Hran's powerful Hecuter autopistol, as well as several clips of ammunition for it and a few charge packs for the hellgun, shouldered the hellgun itself, and then stepped up to Lockwood. "Ready." He said, and so they set out.

Raege held her hands up, still clutching her footwear. "At ease, soldier. Commissar Raege, I'm reporting up to the tower command to see what's going on."
"Ah! You're a Commissar! Yes, silly me. Strange though, your uniform is more fitting of a trainer than an actual field Commissar."
Raege raised an eyebrow. How did this guardsman know that? It was not classified information, but the average soldier either could not discern a difference or mistook it for another position's uniform entirely. His eyesight must have been superb, also, as Raege could not even make out his uniform markings from the short distance between them.
"My circumstances are rather hard to explain, but let's just say I didn't get a chance to get another outfit." She explained.
"Oh, I see! Yes, I do apologize, then." He stepped back, lowering his shotgun, and gestured up the next flight of stairs. "Come, I'll show you up to the control tower."
Taken aback by the guardsman's courtesy, Raege uneasily took a few more steps up, and then slowed, expecting the man to step in front and lead her up. When he did not, she simply continued along.
"What regiment did you say you belonged to?" The guardsman asked.
"I'm not really with one." Raege replied, not interested in talking.
"That's odd. I thought Commissars were assigned to regiments."
"Let's just say I'm waiting for mine to be formed."
After a bit of silence, she looked back at him to ensure he was still following; she was uneasy about him; he gave Raege a feeling that she knew meant trouble.
"You never identified yourself." She said. "What regiment do you belong to?"
"Ah, yes! Silly me. I apologize." The man adjusted his visor cap. "I'm Yarn Blaske, of the Kinog 47th... formerly, anyway."
"Formerly?"
"Yes, yes, well, you see, my regiment has been fading away after a string of misfortunes, and, well, they recently met their final demise here. I'm all that's left."
"What happened?"
"We were ambushed by Orks, you see..."
"How did you manage to survive?" She was growing even more suspicious of this young man.
"Ah, well, I'm not exactly all that remains. I was off elsewhere with my own squad, and we wound up returning without knowing what happened to the others. We found out later about their annihilation. I've been on security detail ever since, you see."
"I do see..." This only made Raege trust him less. "So, why did you act so hostile towards me?"
"Ah, well, you see," she twitched at his reuse of that phrase, "when the lights went out, some of the security teams downstairs failed to report in. Since we're understaffed right now, we were all informed to act as though this was a hostile infiltration. I was positioned on the stairs to watch for contact."
"So you left your post to walk me up. How very kind of you." Raege's last sentence had an added sting to it.
Blaske chuckled at this, seemingly oblivious to her sarcasm. "Yes, well, it is my duty, Mamzel."
"That's "Sir," soldier."
"Ah, yes! Silly me."
"You said you were understaffed? What did you mean?" She almost regretted asking, because she knew how he would start the sentence.
"Well, you see, headquarters has requested all available regiments, as well as spire security team to go out and hunt for Orks, so we're left with about thirty actual armed guards."
Raege looked back at him. "That's absurd. Thirty guards cannot possibly protect much of anything."
"Yes, I suppose. It's my feeling, however, that headquarters would arm and mobilize the guardsmen left here in the event that anything happens."
"There's only about a hundred guardsmen here, still." Raege pointed out; she was, of course, referring to her own unit, who had not received any orders since arriving.
Blaske shrugged. "But it's better than just thirty."
After several more flights of stairs, Raege was greeted by another man brandishing a shotgun towards her. "Identify yourself." He commanded.
"I'm Commissar Raege. I'm here to request information from Command."
"Wait here." The guard said, and stepped up another flight to the door at the landing, and then went in. A few seconds later, he came back out. "Alright, come with me, Commissar." He said, then pointed to Blaske. "You, stay here."
Blaske nodded, adding a smile that nearly made Raege sick. Leaving him behind, she followed the other guard in.

After a good while of havoc in the lounge, a pair of security guards came in. From the look of them, Angela assumed they had been climbing several flights of stairs.
"Alright! Everyone on their feet! We need to make an identification check!"
Angela nudged Zoya. "Why the fikk would they do something like that? There's only, what, eight of us in this room?"
"I don't know." Zoya whispered back. "Maybe they think one of us is a spy?"
"Spy for who? Aren't Orks the only problem on this rock?"
Zoya shrugged, an action visible to her friend in the moonlight.
Nevertheless, as the two guards began to repeat their instructions, the Krieger and the Vostroyan rose to their feet.
"Form a line, please, over by the lift entrance!" One of the guards called out.
As Angela stepped over, she and all others present witnessed a streak of light that was the signature of a las weapon. An instant later, one of the guards fell over, a gaping hole punched through his head.
"Hit the deck!" Angela shouted, leaping back into cover among the lounge seats.
The other guard, more competent than his partner, had responded to the attack by immediately turning and firing back in the direction with his shotgun as he ran to safety behind an aesthetic pillar. While his actions were formidable, another las round managed to burn through a portion of the pillar, blasting out his ankle. His shotgun was flung from his arms as he hit the ground, crying in horrific pain. The weapon fell, hit the floor with a clatter, and slid across until it reached Eva, who had ducked under a table.
Angela watched as a carapace-clad man stepped in, armed with what was certainly a hellgun. "Anyone and everyone in this room, get your asses off the floor now!" He barked, his voice distorted by the machinery which masked his face. When no one obeyed, he fired his weapon; his aim was such that it tore through one booth seat and killed a guardsman hiding there. "Is there a Commissar Raege in here? Answer me!"
The second guard was still screaming with the agony his wound inflicted. The assailant shot him again, silencing him.
"Where is Raege? If I am not told, I will kill you all!"
After ten seconds, the assailant was given no answer. He raised his hellgun and took aim. "I'm going to count to five. The young lady and her friend behind those seats there will be killed if I do not get an answer before I count to five. One…"
Angela looked to Yaroslava; he was talking about them.
"Two…"
Zoya looked uneasy, but Angela shook her head – they would remain defiant.
"Three…"
Slowly, quietly, Eva began to slip towards the shotgun. She noticed Gustav Meyers, a recent recruit, had been watching her. He seemed to see what she was doing.
"Four…"
"Alright! Alright!" Meyers shouted, and stood up, his hands held in the air for the gunman to see. "I can tell you where Raege is!"
"Then tell me." The assailant commanded. "Now."
"Okay, you see, Raege was here recently..." Gustav explained; it was complete nonsense, but at least it was distracting.
The gunman lowered his hellgun as he listened to Meyers, and Eva immediately acted on this. She wrapped her finger around the trigger of the weapon, hopped to her feet, and fired.
There was only a few meters between her and the gunman, and the shot smashed into the side of his head. He grunted, and before he could recover Eva pumped the handgrip and then fired another shell, stepping closer as she fired. A third shot sent the gunman to the ground. Eva then attempted to chamber another round, but when she pulled the trigger, the only reaction was the snap of the firing pin.
The gunman hopped to his feet; his helmet was pelted with holes, and part of his mask hung uselessly from his face. He fired his hellgun in Eva's direction as though he were blind. The beam tore through Eva's flak greatcoat, striking her in the abdomen. She cried out and crumpled over, clutching her stomach.
Angela rose to her feet, and screamed at the sight of her sister. She dove for the shotgun the first guard had dropped. The gunman pulled away his ruined helmet, and then dove into cover, overturning a table.
"My sister!" Angela shrieked to Yaroslava as she fired at the gunman's hiding spot. Yaroslava and Meyers hurried over to Eva's broken body, and dragged the moaning woman into hiding.
As Angela rushed towards the gunman, he poked his hellgun over the battered table and fired. The round struck Angela in the shoulder, and she fell back, dropping the shotgun.
The gunman, enraged, bleeding from a flesh wound inflicted by Eva's shotgun, and without his preysense mask, began to fire randomly into the guardsmen's positions. He pulled a frag grenade from his belt, tore the pin away, and threw it into the lounge. It detonated, scattering furniture and killing another guardsman. The gunman opened fire again, striking another recruit in the back.
As he stepped forward, a kick to the back of his legs brought him to his knees.
"Wha kind'a man goes singlin' out lasses?"
As he returned to his feet, Carlyle punched him across the face, sending him back to the floor. He rolled over, and pulled his knife out of its sheath as he leapt back up. With one hand still holding his hellgun, he attempted to stab at Carlyle, but she caught his arm, and with one swift action bent it entirely in the wrong direction. He dropped the knife, which she caught before it could land. He kicked her off, and then shot at her, but she had ducked out of his hellgun's path. With the same motion that took her out of the field of fire, she slid the long blade through the plates of his armor, disemboweling him. "A coward, tha's the kind! Say g'night ye yellow filth!"
He gagged, and fell over, firing off the remaining energy in his hellgun's capacitor.
Meanwhile, Angela, delirious in her worry, dropped to her knees beside her sister as Yaroslava began to treat her wounds as best as she could; the trauma had rendered Eva unconscious. "Eva, Eva!"
Yaroslava, applying an antiseptic to Eva's abdomen, looked back at Meyers. "Do you know of any medicae facilities in this spire?" She asked, frantic. "I think her liver has been hit! She needs professional treatment!"
"I'll go find one, don't you worry yourself Mamzel!" Gustav said, and hurried away.
"Carlyle! Escort him!" Angela screamed, and the Drookian complied. She faced Eva again, not caring for her own wounds.
"Eva," Angela whimpered, shaking her sister as Zoya did what she could to combat the injuries, "Eva, please! Please don't leave me!"