So I wanted to have this up Thursday evening, and messed up. I apologize for that.

A word of warning: my normal Lore checker, Spiritual_Liege, did not get the chance to look at this before I posted due to COVID Vaccine reactions, of which I'm experiencing as well.

in any case, on with the story!

I awoke the next day (at least I think it was the next day) feeling...odd.

It wasn't a lack of energy, no, more like something within me that I had been pushing on had finally relaxed.

In any case, it could wait until after food.

Dragging myself out of bed (and avoiding tripping up on my new appendages...getting used to the fluffy bastards was going to be a CHORE) I headed to the kitchenette and its small store of foodstuffs.

It wasn't anything major, just the local meat equivalents, some kind of edible fungus, and the various processed foods of the Imperium, all selected for their shelf life and portability.

In my case, I would be able to subsist off of them just fine.

Breakfast achieved, I then took stock of my situation with a clearer head than the panic-fueled fugue state brought on by my sudden onset Acute Oripathy.

First off, I had a large chunk of knowledge sitting in my head waiting to be utilized, based on various techniques and skills of Operators from across the world of Terra, who had been my teachers in the arts (and Arts, in two very notable cases). Unpacking all of that and figuring out what I could do was going to be a priority.

Second, my new and improved ability to wield Arts (the capital was important) in general. Normally this wouldn't be a big deal, but with the way that I had cured myself of oripathy actually made the situation worse in a way: I was now a massive conduit for the energies that Originium could channel, on a level that was closer to the high end of what some of the greatest arts users (and some of the most radically infected) could push for.

Actually, that might be a BAD thing. Going to need to do bloodwork later.

The third problem was related to the first: outside of my basic Caster and Medic training, plus a few practicals, I had no real clue on how to actually USE Arts..at least not the mid-level stuff that was the basis for a bunch of combat styles. All I had available was the basics.

This was a major issue, as having a weapon that you couldn't use in your arsenal was the same as not having it at all...and with what was going to be coming my way, I needed all the help I could get. Gotta find a place where I can train myself up without scrutiny, somewhere.

Probably a place in the underhive, but that has its own dangers.

Moving to the bigger issues currently making agitated motions behind me, I needed a way to deal with my new tails. Just leaving them as-is would have worked in nearly any other world.

Here? In this galaxy, at this time? Not only no, but HELL no.

What little I remembered of how the Imperial Creed was fashioned pretty much marked me as a devil for even DARING to have the mutations in the first place, let alone trying to LIKE them. The only thing worse in their eyes was being an outright servant of chaos.

So that demanded a set of options on dealing with them. The first, and most direct, was to simply remove the problem outright. As in slicing them off.

This, by all means, should have been the go-to answer. It harms nothing, I remove the threat of being called a mutant and hunted down and killed like so much vermin. It was, logically, the correct choice.

And yet...It FELT wrong.

For some undefinable reason I did not want to go down that route, despite the sheer ease that it would provide, and I felt a sudden urge to explore my internal reasoning for this.

So what was it that was making me think that just chopping them off was a bad idea?

I moved again to the mirror that I had kludged together, re-examining myself with the benefit of a clearer head.

My new tails were, as I'd noted previously, both long and fluffy, the color the same black that adorned my own head, with the tips fading into a rather pleasing shade of grayish white. I shifted again, ever so slightly, and noted as they moved with me, keeping my newfound center of balance perfectly centered even with me trying to push it off kilter.

IMy eyes drifted upwards to my new ears, of the standard sharp-tipped canine variety, and sharing the same color as my hair. Something within me said fox. I considered it, and had to agree; the total package gave off the air of a fox, indeed.

And yet it did not answer my question. Why was I hesitating to do what needed to be done?

On a whim, I began moving through one of the old martial arts katas I'd learned during my tenure as an airman in my "old" world. The motions came to me as easy as day, and yet they were off, ever so slightly.

With a frown, I considered the problem, and then made a minor adjustment as I went through them again. Now, the motions of the kata flowed almost like water itself, my tails having properly been accounted for. The extra weight was a minor issue for some things...but as I moved into a blazing roundhouse kick, I noticed equally well that it had advantages too.

On an odd hunch, I went back through the kata one last time, this time opting to attempt to fully integrate my tails into the kata proper. To my pleasant surprise, I was actually capable of controlling my tails on an almost prehensile level, which made integrating them into the kata a breeze...and the sudden rush of having two completely extra limbs with which to attack was a joy to execute.

The thought came unbidden to me, as I finished the kata and assumed a resting position.

They're MY tails.

And that was the crux of it, right there. They were mine, not only my possession but a literal part of me. A part that I Instinctively had no desire to part with, no matter how unexpected their arrival or unwelcome their complications. It was still me. I could, no, would be a master of myself regardless of anything anyone else had to say on the matter.

To even entertain removing a piece of myself just because those around me would detest it, would hate me for it, would even kill me for it…

Well, wasn't I already all too familiar with that particular thought process?

This was something I had dealt with every day, being a pariah just because of something that you could not control…

One day it was the color of my skin. The next was my gender, after that, my sexual orientation.

Hadn't I been judged by everyone before just for trying to live? For daring to eke out a living in a world determined to hate me because I didn't shrivel up and just DIE?

And here I was, now contemplating maiming myself just so I could FIT. Just so I could stay hidden a little longer, without fear...and mere hours after I single-handedly cured an incurable disease while infected by it at the worst level and stage...while it was actively KILLING me.

No.

I would not give in to the fear, the sheer despair that chokes this place just because. Yes, it's new, and different, but it's still ME.

And to reject even a piece of myself is to reject all that it could be capable of.

My hands. My feet. My eyes….

My ears. My tails.

My Blood. My sweat. My tears.

My Forge.

MY WILL.

I took a deep, shuddering breath as the sheer POWER inherent in that last thought resonated with my entire being, seeming to reinforce something within me even as I found myself once more.

I guess I'm not entirely immune to the grim darkness after all, then. Definitely worth knowing.

That still left a question without an answer, though. If I wasn't going to mutilate myself to remove the offending (to others) appendages, then what was my play?

My remaining options were nowhere near as good. Attempts to hide the features would face the standard increased scrutiny that was a mainstay of the setting, and any discovery by someone who I did not trust IMPLICITLY was nothing short of a disaster. At best, I was going to get shipped out to die in the name of the Emperor.

At worst? I would be granted His Mercy. On the spot.

Both were fates that needed to be avoided at all costs, but offered no real solutions to the problems on my plate.

So what the hell did I do, then?

A quote came to mind, then.

"At some point, everything's gonna go south on you... everything's going to go south and you're going to say, this is it. This is how I end. Now you can either accept that, or you can get to work. That's all it is. You just begin. You do the math. You solve one problem... and you solve the next one... and then the next. And If you solve enough problems, you get to come home."

That was it.

That's all there was to it, in a nutshell. I either got to work, here, now, or I gave up and died.

That. Fucking. Simple.

So then. Grim Darkness?

Meet Determined Airman.

And learn the most important part of the Airman's Creed.

I WILL NOT FAIL.

Now then, it should be noted that while I am indeed a stubborn bastard, I am not by any means stupid.

I knew full well that there would be scrutiny on my person for any number of reasons, and any of my watchers gleaning knowledge of my new additions would have added a very valuable piece of information to their hoard, possibly one that could be used to destroy me. It was an event that must be guarded against above all else.

That being said, Hiding things is actually far, far easier than most people think, even in this totalitarian hellhole. As the saying goes, the old ways always work best, and I would be putting that to use here.

For my ears, any form of head covering would do, although one of my recent ability acquisitions saddled me with a frankly quite silly, if adorably cute, hat, and had filled me with a strange affection for the thing to boot. Granted, this was not the same silly as the normal Gensokyo hat rule went, but it was still a little on the edge of being so, while still fitting my own personal aesthetic.

It was a not-quite doo-rag crossed with a watch cap-style beanie, complete with a fold-out bill to make it more of a proper cap. The adornments where what really made the thing work: the mix of wrenches and Mettools that I'd seen earlier were in full attendance, but there was also a sigil of sorts emblazoned on the front: an S-Swirl, formed out f a pair of twin fox tails, that was also vaguely shaped as a sort of lightning bolt. It distinctly reminded me of Samus Aran's logo mixed with that of Miles Prower.

I liked it, really.

The hat was also very conveniently large enough to completely hide my ears quite comfortably without being obvious about it at all, which was a major plus.

Matching my current Blue/Green color schema was overkill, really, but it was appreciated all the same.

Those tails would appear at first glance to need a bit more work...until one realized that even with all of the massive fluffiness of the things they still wrapped quite neatly around my waist even with the extra overlap caused by the length. Add in a belt of some sort, maybe a sash-like object, and bam!. Instant camouflage. It was by no means perfect, but it would definitely work for now...and rigging it up was braindead simple,not even taking a full minute for the setup thanks to some really convenient loose materials hanging around.

Major obstacles solved, it was time to address the other elephant in the room.

My new breadth of knowledge and abilities needed..flexing, so to speak.

First off was to take stock of what I had available to me.

A quick check of the Workshop access hallway revealed a new set of lockers for gear, and I quickly went and took inventory...only to laugh as it would seem that fate indeed had a sense of humor.

Inside was not only an originium staff designed to act as a focus for Arts abilities, but a full set of combat gear that looked on the surface to be along the lines of some damned good urban fashion, complete with a very nice hooded jacket that I would be taking now. What had me laughing was that there was a near-exact replica of the very belt that I had just thrown together on a mere whim not even a minute ago.

It was a good laugh, though.

In other news, just a quick examination revealed that there were special tricks needed from forging weapons to make them more receptive to Arts usage (or Originium usage in general) without more skill on my part, so I got to remake some gear to fit the mould.

This was good, as it let me test out some of my OTHER toys.

The ability that I labeled "Enemy Tech Progression" (or was that already it's name? Weird moment there) was actually kind of bonkers once you really looked at it. It allowed for me to, with a little bit of effort, completely understand everything about the particular workings of a given item, almost down to the bare tech needed to make it work...no wait, it DID go down to the bare tech with them. And then let me gain even further understanding as I worked with the tech to upgrade and modify even faster.

And that part was just for regular tech. If I somehow managed to outright subvert a piece of technology? It yielded everything to me, directly to my brain.

This was going to be awesome wherever I ran across the Tau. Markerlight Drones here I come!

In this situation, what it allowed me to do is analyze and break down everything that went into originium and Arts-effect equipment. Using that new knowledge, I could then either make or modify a set of gear that would allow me to better channel arts in combat.

There was one complication, though. The technology of Terra had never even once factored in the advent of gunpowder; even the firearms used there (and those were extremely rare) were strictly arts-based. Making better ones out of future tech may in fact be beyond my capabilities.

At least the ones for my current self-imposed time limit, that is. I wanted to get some practice in today, not tomorrow.

With a sigh of annoyance I allow the firearm project to lapse for now, instead focusing on making a good sword. It was basic, really: Blade, guard, handle. Or at least that is what I thought of it.

See, that excellent craftsman ability I had makes anything I make to be, and I quote, "Top Quality'. Combine that with the fact that one of my areas of specialty from that ability's adds was literally the highly broad category of "weaponsmithing" and I had all but ensured free reign.

Meaning that the end result wasn't just a pointy stick for me to stab people with, but a GOOD pointy stick for me to stab people with-a plain and clearly unadorned, but very much still master-quality Longsword.

I then chucked both my new sword and the staff provided to me into the oddity that was the Weapons Recombination Template. Supposedly it bound two weapons together, allowing for them to undergo a form of shifting process to switch between one and the other as needed.

And I definitely needed that kind of tactical flexibility in my arsenal, so I ran with it.

The results were very much not immediately visible. I held the new weapon, currently in staff form, trying to find anything new with the weapon currently in my hands...and then I notice the small, almost imperceptible toggle switch on the blade's handle. A push at first does nothing, but then I decide to give it a minor tap with the intent of changing its form.

And voila. Once a staff, the now sword rests easily in my hands, ready for me to unleash it's fury at any moment.

I definitely approve.

Returning the sword to it's staff form, I break down the available gear and begin loading up.

Time for me to find a place to train.

As it turned out, there were a few places that were available for people to test themselves...for a reasonable risk, of course. The Goliath-run colliseums were quite active, the bloodsport keeping the masses of Goliath drunk on perceived power.

There were also some more..private areas where people could go, and just take on the insanely deadly wildlife of the Necromunda hive.

First and foremost, though, was to practice for myself. Get myself back in the groove, and start working on ways to integrate the disparate styles of combat into a complete whole even as I advanced my understanding of them all. It wouldn't be easy, as with many things, but it would be-dare I say-fun.

It took only a day or three to actually find a place where I could train a bit in peace.

The location was what I believed to be an old ironworks or similar-that was a veritable no-man's land as far as the normal gang politics went-down near the barrier to the underhive, now relegated to being a scrapyard for whatever reason. There were cold, dead machines looming all over the place, and it had an air of...not so much mystery or danger so much as unease.

This place had been abandoned for a reason, after all.

In any case, I set myself up in one of the adjacent warehouses for the place (yes, they still exist, even in the 41st millennium). I'd taken a bit of time to set up a minor shooting course, mostly consisting of some quickly marked targets for me to hit as needed than anything like old cans or similar. It was crude, but then again this world was crude, so I couldn't really complain much.

I had been using it for just over a week now, pushing all of the rust off of my basic skills and getting ready to train the conscript recruits once the House had some ready to go. So far, it was working well.

Today, however, was going to be a bit different. For one , I was intentionally setting up for a low-light shooting exercise. The Second?

It was time for me to test out some of my other tricks.

I stopped for a moment after completing my setup for the day and took a deep breath. With any luck, this was going to be a productive set of exercises.

I started off rather simply, as was my routine by now. Calibration, and zeroing of my ranged weapons, the Eagle and my recently acquired and refurbished Laspistol. The Eagle, as was standard for most Alliance tech, was still in good condition and needed little in the way of maintenance (which I confirmed with some test shots). The laspistol, though, was a slightly different matter.

I didn't know the exact "pattern" or mark of this old thing, but it had been through hell. Looked like the internals were starting to give out, including some of the focusing lenses in the barrel; hell, even the charge pack was on its last legs, and that was saying a lot as those were basically meant to last nearly forever..

The (admittedly brief) refurbishment I'd dome on the pistol was not really set to correct all of these problems, mostly due to lack of parts. It did, however, clearly define that the weapon would operate at full capacity for at least another 1000 shots before needing critical maintenance, which was more than enough time for me to gather the needed materials to give it the rebuild that it desperately needed. It would work just fine for my purposes.

The first "unusual" test was of arts-assisted shooting techniques, the basics of which had come with the Sniper class operator training. Focusing on one of the targets, I took careful aim with the eagle, and slowly, gently began to spin up a simple art, guided by my instinct and training.

And suddenly the targets were so clear to me, even in this gloom…

Time seemed to move like molasses as I lined up the shot, hands remaining steady, with no wobble from either breathing or heartbeats. Aim confirmed, I squeezed the trigger just so, and…

*BLAM*

The target, an old storage barrel that I had fashioned a crude bullseye on, now had a hole punched clean through it where the canter mark should have been.

Not sure how to rate the penetration feat, as it was unclear just how durable the barrel was supposed to be, but that particular ability would help immensely for sniping...assuming I ever had to take up the art again. I was unsure if I would ever be able to engage a target from outside of "normal" ranges from now on. Something to chew on.

Another plus out of this was that apparently my new ears had the ability to ignore overly-loud noises if needed without sacrificing actual aural detection acuity. The literal "wolf ears, so to speak. (nevermind that they were fox ears, both were canines.) A quick bit of focus revealed it to be a passive use of arts, which I found cool as all hell. Seemed there was a lot more here to discover in the pile that was originium than I thought.

Next test was to be of one of the basic Vanguard techniques, that was focused primarily on movement-

A distinct scraping noise made itself known to my ever-so-sensitive ears. Not much echoing, so my guess is coming from the area around the old iron works itself, so maybe south-ish?

Dammit, I needed to orient myself properly later on. This shit is getting old.

The scraping noise grew closer, and eventually revealed itself to be none other than Harry, likely keeping an eye on my goings as a failsafe.

I gave him an absent wave as I continued to perform my firing tests and simple arts usage.

"Interesting place to set up a firing range, friend."

I snorted lightly at the flippant comment. He could have guessed damned well why I would have picked a spot like this for a live-fire range.

"Yeah, well I didn't wanna shoot anyone by accident and piss people off, y'know? It tends to create issues."

Harry gave a short nod in agreement. " That it does." He paused for a brief moment, likely to gather his thoughts. "Shaking the rust off, then?"

"Something like that," I replied. "At least need to be solid enough to run our potential recruits into the ground to train them properly. Otherwise, what's the point?"

Harry gave another nod, this one with more mirth. "Well, you're right about that, really. Would ya mind a partner for your shooting-"

There was another sound, this time of scuffing feet.

Both of us froze at the noise, and quickly moved as silently as possible into cover, in order to wait out our new arrivals.

Further scraping occurred, and then manifested themselves as footsteps. Several pairs, all heavy tread...or at least someone with a significant load.

"Fucking took you long enough." I mumbled under my breath. And for good reason: this was likely to be the group that thought they were stealthily following me around earlier while I was location scouting. I'd been wondering when they'd make a move for some time.

Sounds of movement continued, and began to spread around the area proper. My more sensitive ears picked up the sounds of raspy breathing and what might have been a respirator.

That was...odd. Really odd. The scrub rabblerousers that had been following me all day so far were jokes. That this new group was applying even the basics of common sense told me that this might get really interesting.

I moved closer to Harry as the movement noises continued closer. "...sounds like a lot more than usual, and from the directions, ones with common sense. I say we cut a retreat instead of getting surrounded."

Harry gave me a curt nod. Honestly, I feel sorry for the guy, constantly getting pulled into the shitstorm surrounding my existence. I was going to have to do something for him eventually, if only to show some appreciation.

We slowly began moving from our cover to one of the exits that seemed to not have noise coming from it, taking care to remain behind cover if at all possible. Looked like our egress was an old set of windows with the glass blown out of it, set next to a heavy door that had seen far better days. From all indications, the coast was mostly clear to our exit.

It wasn't until we got within about 30 meters of the windows that I heard it. The soft sound of breaths, heavy with anticipation.

Ambush.

I immediately stopped Harry with a quick hand motion, and turned to him and gave him a grim look, then shook my head slowly. The grimace that appeared on his face was actually quite a sight to see, all things told, but did nothing to solve our problem of being surrounded by unknowns.

We were going to need an assault plan, and to choose where to make the move towards.

"But Why?" I can hear people saying, a hypothetical audience to my new snafu of a situation looking in with curiosity. " Why would you run straight into the jaws?"

Simple reason, really, and one that had been taught since the days of yore, all the way back in M2...and my old home. Whenever you get ambushed, never let it play out, never hunker down.

You Assault the Ambush, always, and attempt to break a hole in the setup by giving the shooters something else to worry about while cutting off fire from any potential flanks due to friendly fire concerns. Of course, that last part only worked on groups that were averse to friendly fire…

More movement, and slowly the silhouettes of our would-be attackers(?) came into view.

It was a group of about six, moving slowly but steadily in a slow sweep pattern, while keeping any and all lanes of fire available. The warehouse would be cleared within the next five minutes, tops, if they maintained the current formation. Dress code varied: there were an assortment of vests, some pants, shirts, etc. I was willing to tentatively state them as house Orlock, but something seemed...off. Especially for the supposed midday hours that we were in.

I don't know what it was that caught my attention about them, be it the movement, the dress code, their smell, hell, I wasn't sure if even the equipment was supposed to be standard or something, especially since it looked like at least one of them (a freaking HUGE wall of muscle of a man) had some good stuff in the form of a belt-fed Heavy Bolter, along with some kind of crude armor setup as well. Couldn't tell from here, but it looked like simple metal plate armor.

His buddy was set up similarly, except he had a different type of belt-fed weapon, something that my eyes, mechanicus trained as they were, identified as a heavily modified...rivet gun? What the hell?

No, Green. Do not fall into that trap of assuming that the weapon is worthless. It can still very much kill you.

The third to come into view was a slightly more armored fellow, the plates being a closer fit than the others, and a wicked-looking axe contraption set in his hand, accompanied by a similarly improvised shield. I was assuming he was their close-range specialist.

Number four was female, looked like a standard ranged combat kit...wait, was that a fucking STORM BOLTER?! What the fuck?! Who are these guys, anyways?

The shock of seeing the REALLY heavy weapons coming out was...considerable. I almost missed the fifth person moving forward, another melee type it seemed, and female to boot. Judging by the power sword and old Voss-pattern hellpistol (notable because it was set up to use standard laspacks), this one was the leader.

My guess then is number six is a sharpshooter of some type, or whatever passes for it around here. I quickly do a scan of the potential vantage points from my current position, and find the thankfully few available ones all unoccupied. As number six was still in the deep shadow, I couldn't get a read on his gear...and unless they'd managed to find NVGs of some kind, they were under the same conditions as the rest of us.

It was only then that I realized that the area I was looking into would be deeply shrouded in shadows for "normal" human eyes. Another passive arts use? Or something more? I'd have to check later on to be safe.

I tapped Harry on the shoulder, and began giving him the abbreviated breakdown of our opposition, complete with the better than average weaponry brought to play. Whoever they were, they were NOT fucking around.

And attacking that forward group was suicide by almost any metric, with all of the heavy firepower present there...which left the back exit that we were headed to, and the ambush situation that was waiting to develop outside once we started to make out escape.

Hadn't been in a pickle like this in a long time, really. Felt...not good, but rather exciting.

Hum. I would likely have to break out my bag of tricks to deal with these fucktards and not get killed. And I still didn't have a positive ID on two of our potential aggressors.

I did another scan of the area as I considered the options available to us. Honestly, they didn't look good. Every second we waited was one step closer that the sweep team got to our position, and as long as those heavies were in play there was no way in hell we could break the line and get clear without dying horribly. Grenades might work, but anything big enough to actually be worth using (and wasn't part of my omnitool tricks) was banned on pain of Arbites: breaking out the Krak grenades would help no one, even assuming that we had any.

And then there was Harry, who was effectively blind right now as we waited in the shadows. I would have to guide him around a bit to get him into position before we were made.

Once again, the best bet was to take our damned lumps and head for the window exit, which HAD to be worse than it looked; I knew a herding tactic when I saw it. Best bet was probably to go for the door and not the window, make them think twice while we make our move, and hopefully get to some decent cover before we get shredded by those bolters.

Wait a minute.

Idea.

I motioned Harry to follow me as I moved us around the edge of the sweep group instead of towards the exit like they wanted, and had him line up carefully on the Rivet gun. Once I was certain of his aim, I moved away slightly and got ready myself. We were only going to get one shot at this.

As the sweepers finally moved into the openly lit areas (and I still had no ID on the potential sharpshooter) I made a quick series of raps upon the ground, which was Harry's cue to fire.

The shot from his Autopistol soared true, and little-miss Storm Bolter was now missing her head.

I wasted no time, and PUSHED myself into the odd trance state of the enhanced shooting. Time seemed to slow around me, as I lined up a shot on the heavy bolter guy's head. Even now, he was moving to bring his weapon to bear on the area where the shots had come from ,and would be able to open fire on us within moments.

Unfortunately for him, he never got the chance as the Eagle sang out, removing his head as well.

Now for the tricky part.

I held my focus as tightly as I could, and tapped into the completely untested movement technique of the Vanguard class, which acted as a general purpose speed boost. The difference was night and day, even with my accelerated time making me still move as if in molasses. My aim "quickly" found the head of Mr Rivets, and with a practiced squeeze of the trigger, a third person dropped.

My trance broke with a jolt, all of the noise of our action finally catching up with me. Ahead of us, our would-be assailants are scrambling to find some cover to operate out of, and are surprisingly doing a very good job of not panicking.

Which was strike three in my book.

There was no way in HELL a gang was that good, and that well equipped. Someone or something was making a pretty big play, and I was without info on who-

Noise from behind reminded me that we still had THAT issue to deal with. And because I'd tunnel visioned on the heavy weapons (which was understandable, as the biggest threat) I'd missed the fact that we were not in a more or less standard box ambush unless we made haste, NOW, to get lost.

Of course, we were made now, so there was no point in keeping silent.

"Break to the left! Get clear as fast as possible!" I shouted at Harry, already moving to a usable piece of cover in the form of some old storage containers, though storage for what I was unclear.

Harry, unsurprisingly, was already moving. 'Left Side! Cover me!"

And ask and you shall receive.

Drawing the old laspistol, I quickly aimed downrange to our remaining pair of nasties, the melee type hunkered down behind his surprisingly durable shield, and the Prospective leader taking potshots at us with that damned Hot-shot from behind an old piece of equipment.

Of course, this was the cue for the rear guys (yes, plural, much to my dismay) to finally get their game faces on and get were armed with Necromunda pattern Lasguns, but more concerning was the goddamned Lascannon that they were lugging around.

Just where the fuck were they getting all of the heavy iron from?

Didn't matter. What mattered was not dying.

So far our sudden movement was unchecked, save for some sporadic suppressive fire from the hotshot as we leapfrogged towards the other warehouse entrance, prepared to make a quick getaway. From there, we should be able to blend in with the surrounding neighborhoods and fade out, leaving these...people...in the dust.

And they still felt wrong for some reason…

Harry suddenly stopped, focused very intently on something or another that I couldn't notice. What the hell had gotten his attention, anyway-*OOF*

And then almost immediately tackled me to the ground in a mad dash.

The lasbolt going through where my head once was was more than reason enough for the gesture.

Quickly, I rolled out of the pile that we'd ended up in and found our last member, who was, in fact, a sharpshooter, and probably had a form of light amplification as well, if not full-on NVG. They were currently set up in a small alcove that wasn't visible from our position near the back windows, but had a near-perfect sightline on anyone trying to backtrack to the front

Gad DAMN these fuckers were good…

Putting out some harassment fire towards our newly discovered sniper bitch, I got moving to my next set of cover, in the form of some large (and thankfully empty) munitions crates. Hopefully I could get there before-

The Lascannon fired, demolishing the crates with almost contemptuous ease long before I could get there.

It also took out the crates behind it. And the pallets.

And the WALLS.

We had an exit.

Time to think fast.

"Harry, Down! Cover your ears!"

Harry quickly hit the deck, as I tossed out one of my modified grenades, this time in the form of that old classic, the Flashbang.

I immediately covered my own ears after I threw it, and opened my mouth slightly while screwing shut my eyes-

The ensuing *whump* of the flashbang going off and blinding everyone was one of the most joyous sounds to behold. Quickly taking advantage, I grabbed a slightly dazed Harry and ran like hell for the now open wall exit, and together we made our way outside.

It was at this point that something attempted to get my attention.

I wasn't sure just what it was, but it seemed to be trying to help, so I pushed it to the back of my mind and let it do whatever while I kept moving. We needed to get clear of this deathtrap as soon as possible, preferably back in a well-defended area somewhere. Time to closest defensible safehouse was around ten minutes if we hustled, and we could likely make it there (and lose our tagalongs) in around twenty if we did it right.

"Harry, we gotta move. Come on man, let's go."

Harry, fortunately, had actually seen some shit, and Flashbangs, while not very common in the Imperium, had some analogs that he had apparently ran into. He quickly blinked his eyes clear, and followed me out of the area as we hauled ass. Fortunately there was plenty of cover, both visual and aural for us to be able to face into the background noise before we made it to a more well-traveled area.

Unfortunately, if what I was hearing was correct, we had something trying to follow us...and moving fast as all fuck, too. It was running in an almost parallel track with our planned escape route, no less, and closing in.

From what I guessed of it's movement based on the noise, it would be upon us in mere moments, whatever it was. No real time to prep anything special.

Instead, I set up a cryo grenade from my omnitool, and got ready.

It tried to attack us as we were passing by an old storefront of some kind. Literally just burst out of the damned walls, no less, and was headed straight for us.

Or rather, straight for where we would have been if I hadn't noticed it closing in. The grenade I'd set in the area immediately activated it's homing mode, and rushed it down.

The resulting semi-popsicle was quite amazing to look at as I shot it-or it would have been, if it wasn't some kind of deformed monster still vaguely in a human-ish shape. I had no clue whatsoever what the hell that thing was supposed to be. And honestly, it scared me, even though I didn't show it..

Our escape went rather unremarked past that point.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What in the absolute HELL was that thing?"

Harry, even for all of his knowledge, shrugged. "I have no clue either. Some kind of mutant, I think. You did 'em a favor, really."

We sat in one of the Van Saar affiliate safehouses. I think the gang running the area called themselves the Neuromancers or something. Didn't really matter at the moment.

"How about that freaking kill team that came at us, then? I haven't seen that much heavy iron in a good, long time."

And that WAS a concern, too. I'd assumed" (and Van Saar Briefs and more or less confirmed) that the heavier weapons were generally restricted to the Astra Militarum and up. Sure, maybe a bolter or two, even a heavy bolter could pop up in the wild.

A freaking heavy bolter, a STORM bolter, and a LASCANNON? Plus a power sword as well?

Somebody was VERY well equipped. This needed to be investigated. As well as why they wanted me dead so much.

"So, when do we start looking into this shit, anyway?" Because I definitely wanted answers to who the fuck was trying to kill me.

Harry's reply was blunt. "More like when do I Start looking into this shit. You don't have the contacts, and being in public seems to be drawing fire for you. I would not recommend it."

Well shit. He actually had a point. Guess I was hunkering down for a bit longer, then.

It wasn't much longer before we managed to get back to our respective abodes, and I sat down in my workshop with a frown.

Something had been assisting me during that fight, and hadn't actively tried to get my attention until the mutant thing was nearly on top of us. I got the distinct feeling that I was safer than I thought I was, though I had no idea why just yet.

Doing a quick review of things from a calmer perspective, I noticed that I had managed to get a new set of skills just before the start of the shootout, and had dismissed it as unimportant due to the threat. Whatever it was had a rider attached to it in the form of a...device of some sort, that had almost immediately bonded with me and attempted to keep me safe, even though I had no conscious idea of it;'s presence until now. A mental command had whatever it was separate from me, so that I could examine it more carefully.

I now held in my hand a white ball no larger than a golf ball, and completely unadorned with anything whatsoever. And yet it seemed to be so much more.

A quick perusal of my "backlog" showed that there was a related knowledge packet that had not forced its way into my brain in order to keep me focused on staying alive. I quickly released the hold on the knowledge-

And started laughing.

And laughing. And laughing harder.

Oh, I knew EXACTLY what that little ball was.

Or should I say, that Core.

And unlike the people who used them normally, I knew damn near EVERYTHING about them.

On a lark, I decided to run the whole interface through one of my abilities, namely Enemy tech progression.

And I laughed even Harder.

I know people were going to wonder what the hell was going on in here in a bit, but it was legitimately too funny. It really was.

I thought I knew everything about that enigmatic little piece of tech.

And then it had, as soon as I turned the gaze of E.T.P. upon it, WILLINGLY yielded all of its secrets...and then some.

I never had to subvert it, after all, as it was already mine to begin with.

Even better, it came with a full complement of preinstalled useful goodies.

And I would need to figure out a way to leverage this without calling down everything and it's grandmother to come after me, as well. Not that I couldn't take most of them with me, though.

After all, Valkyrie Cores were just that much Bullshit.

My apologies for the delayed chapter, I wanted to have this up Thursday evening.

On the fuzzy bits: yes, I've decided to keep them. Before everyone goes nuts and tries to scream my ear off about it, Yes, I am aware of the consequences, Yes, I know of how the Imperium will react.

It doesn't matter.

As I was writing this, That assertion just...FLOWED out as if it was always there to begin with, even though I was pushing for a more..pragmatic outcome. Satori himself basically vetoed me as author, and thus his fuzzy bits get to stay with him. This does present a bit of a writing challenge for me, though, considering that anyone who discovers this (and is not a chaos worshipper) will likely be trying to kill him on the spot.

It's something I'll have to work with.

Only one perk this chapter...and oh BOY is it a doozy.

-Valkyrie Core Knowledge (Battle Action Harem Highschool Side Character Quest) (500CP)

Valkyrie Core Knowledge (500CP)

You understand the science behind Valkyrie Core technology. You'll be able to replicate aspects of its technology such as the ability to store and modify objects in a pocket dimension or the manifesting of Impeller fields, or the insane processing power of the Core itself. With time and a little work you'll be able to make new cores.

Valkyrie Core & Frame (0CP)

All origins possess a Valkyrie Frame with the accompanying core. A Valkyrie Core is capable of storing, integrating, and improving technology and equipment. Its only limitations are storage capacity and complexity both of which grow with hours synced. Your initial storage and complexity is based on your origin with more experienced origins having more. The term Valkyrie Frame usually refers to a core that has integrated a suit of enhanced power armor that has been equipped with thrusters, weapons, and other equipment. Technology foreign to this universe is harder to integrate and upgrade. Post jump this limitation disappears.