Part 2: Operation Volantis

+++5.195.986.M41+++
+++Phlegethon, Subsector Ossibus, Sector Askellon, Segmentus Obscurus+++
+++Hive Styx - level Omega-65+++

'Great Akira. Just great... Just when you thought everything was running smoothly, this happens. And this time you're not the only one who is in danger.'

Lars observed his situation. He was sitting in what was, going by the smell, most certainly a pool of shit, his right arm hanging limp at his side and bleeding from a wound in his abdomen. However, not five feet away, lay the corpse of his assailant. No gun wounds. No, it was blind luck that made sure the hiver was laying there - face down in the filth - and not Lars himself. Looking up, Lars saw the pipe they tumbled out from, 10 feet higher.

Grunting, he tried to get up, but his feet lost their grip in the slush and with a curse he slid back down. Touching his belly, he tried to estimate the damage. Only a vague smear of blood stuck to his fingers, but it sure did hurt. The hiver, who had served as his guide through the maze of the pipes and tubes of the underhive of hive Styx, had turned on him just as he had tried to climb out of the pipe. It were only his trained reflexes that had allowed Lars to escape the worst of the knifing, turning away and catching part of the stab with his abs, avoiding any real damage to his intestines. The man had cursed and reached back to try again, but Lars hadn't given him the opportunity, swinging from the ledge. He had thrown his feet around the hiver's middle, hoping to knock the man over. Unfortunately, the man was surefooted and withstood his improvised attack with ease. He didn't, however, manage to withstand gravity. Lars held on with his legs, but fell back, down the shaft, pulling the hiver with him. Lars had landed on his right arm, breaking the bones, but his assailant had crashed head first in the undeep pool, breaking his neck in the process. Unfortunately, Lars' voxcaster was broken as well. And on first sight, it wasn't something he would be able to fix in an instant. He had to warn Willis though. If his guide had turned on him, his subordinate was definitely in danger. And he'd let the Warp freeze over before he'd let him down. The man had saved his life twice already. He would be damned if he didn't repay the service.

Lars looked for a handheld with his left hand, not thinking about whatever the wet and mushy substance he encountered, was. He got hold of some kind of iron ring and managed to pull himself up. The wound in his abdomen sent a searing pain through his body and Lars gasped. Trying to exhale calmly, he gathered his wits. He needed to get back to base. But base would be a deathtrap by now. They had established a field HQ in the building of Mokan Uriatu, a shady trader, but one that was connected and could get them to find what they were looking for. However, since his guide had been a member of Uriatu's personal guard, it was pretty clear that their HQ would be compromised.

Cursing, the arbite approached the dead guide. He definitely needed an edge on the cheating Uriatu. Luckily he found just that: A security keycard which would grant him access to Uriatu's personal quarters.

'That fragger is gonna pay, Akira.'

"What in fething name are you doing there, scoundrel! Raise your hands over your head!" a voice called out. It was definitely a man, and he definitely meant business.

'Oh frak.'

Lars turned around, slowly, keeping his left hand above his head. His right hand still hung uselessly at his side. "Why are you only lifting one fething arm, you fething bastard? Think you'll surprise me?" Lars halted his movement.

'What is it with their frakking dialect around here.'

Freakish accent or not, Lars suspected the other man had a gun. And without his carapace armour, even a man with a puny laslock would be able to kill him. "Look mister," Lars began, "Since you aren't shooting me on sight, I presume you have some decency left in you. Perhaps even some respect for the Law. My right arm is broken, so I can't give you the pleasure of lifting it." Lars heard a click, probably a safety being released. "It's not really the moment to joke around, my fething friend." the other man replied, but he still gave Lars the chance to explain himself. "Then allow me to introduce myself. Regulator Akira, Adeptus Arbites. At your service, my good man." The other man remained silent for a few seconds, thinking over Lars' response. "Turn around!"

Lars completed his movement and looked at the figure standing a bit further away in the open sewer. To his surprise he saw an elderly man. Long white frayed hair on his head, a dirty white beard covering his face from ear to ear. Lars' attention was immediately drawn to the lasgun the man was carrying. It was an older model, but still quite popular among the guard units that trained on this ball of caustic water that Phlegethon was. Lars could see that the gun had been cared for. The charge pack had seen better days, but the barrel had been replaced some time ago. "Now you know who I am, you might want to share your own name with me." Lars said. The other man scowled. "I know jack-feth about you, fether. Anyone might call himself a fething arbite."

'Argh. This infuriating accent. Just say frak when you mean frak, fragger.'

Clearly the man was nervous. And rightly so. Threatening a member of the Adeptus Arbites, wouldn't fall well with any of them. However, Lars realized that he was undercover and that on sight he could in no way be distinguished from yet another ganger in the underbelly of this city. "Look, I have some ID on me. Just take a look at this." Slowly, Lars brought his hand to his jacket. It always was risky to bring an ID to an undercover mission, but it really was worth it if you ran in with the enforcers, or worse, a fellow arbite - although chances on that were slim in this sector. If Lars himself would pick up an anonymous but armed scumbag, he would put him or her behind bars perhaps even faster, and once in the system as a prisoner, it could take years before you got the chance to explain yourself. If you weren't just shipped out to a penal colony for that matter. When Horrigan had told him this, Lars had swallowed. On his home world, the Mechanicus had their ways, and the prospect of becoming a servitor was far from alluring, but at least they were efficient in it. You were brought for some kind of jury quite fast. Lars had seen enough of his fellow workers join the band of nobrainers on short notice.

After a lot of rummaging through his pockets, he finally arrived at the hidden pouch and with grand movements and wide gestures he offered up the identicard to the stranger. Hesitantly, the man took a few steps in his direction, only momentarily releasing the lasgun with one hand to accept the little card with the golden aquila and the I-shaped symbol of the Arbites. "Sure looks real enough, fether... But I can't read, so what is it to me." he said after glancing over it.

'Frakking bastard. Enough is...'

Lars crouched, making himself ready to jump the elderly man, but when he did, the pain in his abdomen doubled and he nearly collapsed again. "Well, whoever you are, you seem to be in need of some help." Lars coughed and took the outstretched arm of the stranger. "Patrice Garrant, or Doc as they call me down here. You can call me that too, A-Kee-ra". The man said, peering at the identicard and apparently being literate enough to at least distinguish his name. "Now follow me home, Akira. You'll need to come there, before you go anywhere else."