Tyrant's Trap

Below the glittering monuments and verdant gardens of Meridian's capitol, the spire is built upon layers of tunnels and passageways. Hidden from the surface splendour, these rockrete mazes stretch for miles, digging deep into the planet's crust, connecting the Spire levels, from the resplendent Upper city, to the scum of the Underhive. In the depths, violence and crime are the way of life.

The air was dank with, hot steam mixing with the ubiquitous stench of oil and sewage to create a vile soup that fills the cramped tunnels. The passage itself was filled with people, adding the odour of sweat and human waste to the already choking air. With the security curfews in place, the access routes to the secure Hab blocks were quickly turning into a logistics nightmare for the relief crews. Too many refugees, not enough room. The upper habs had already been filled, and as space was swallowed up, things became desperate. Desperate people did stupid things.

And all this, it watched, with unblinking eyes.

"Look, all I'm saying is that we need some sort of motto, a regimental creed," said Remer, ducking under a low hanging pipe. The ground was covered in a two inch layer of water, dripping off the steaming pipes. "I mean, the 8th Cadian, for example. 'Mess with the Best, Die like the Rest.' That's what we need, something that'll put the fear of Terra into the cults."

"What about 'Don't Fear the Remer'?" said Vornas. "If I have to listen to you any longer I'll find a new use for these pipes. A field tracheotomy."

"I didn't know you qualified for medic work, Bor," said Remer.

"I didn't," said the larger man, "so shut up."

"Calm down, you two, we're almost to the service elevator," came Kippler's voice from up ahead. Two months of Spire patrol sounded like a vacation on paper, but in reality meant crawling through tight, enclosed spaces doing the sort of work that was usually cut out for Arbites riot teams. The heat and constant hissing of steam from the service tunnel wasn't helping things.

Kippler and Alek were leading the way. They'd done this route a dozen times over the past weeks, but it was still a maze and easy to get lost. Kippler's sense of direction was the only thing keeping them from going in circles some days. They needed a change. More importantly, they needed a rest.

Merrick was still imprisoned, and while Hurst was awake again, his physiotherapy sessions had kept him from returning to the squad any time soon. So command fell to Corporal Soras Kippler. Dealing with Remer and Vornas from a position of authority had given him new respect for how well Hurst and Merrick managed the pair. The sooner the boss was back the better.

Finally reaching the service elevator, Kippler flipped the switched and leaned against the lift's cage. It would take him days to get all the sludge out of his armor. His long las he cleaned every day, regardless of location, but even it was starting to rust from the condensation. Somehow, that hurt Kippler more than a bullet wound ever would.

Alek wasn't well. Hardly a surprise, but Soras still felt the need to ask all the same. "Feeling all right Alek?"

He was clutching his hand, curled up in a fist. "Servos in my fingers are all shot from water damage," he muttered. "they keep shorting out and zapping my hand. Hurts, bad."

"I'll say, we'll need the quartermaster to look into that."

"Feh," laughed Alek bitterly. "He'll just say the same thing he always says. 'Sorry lad, I'm all out of fingers today, maybe come back tomorrow when I've got a new head for you so you can stop asking me the same frakking question every day!'"

Kippler chuckled quietly. The elevator opened up on level 225, still in the lower sections of Capitol Spire. At least they could see the sky from here, even if it was barely a slit between the overhangs and stretched awnings covering the narrow streets. People gave the guardsmen a wide berth, either out of respect or apprehension, it didn't matter to Kippler. They left them alone and didn't cause trouble, and he had no trouble with the civvies.

"What about this? 'Emperor's Devils'?" continued Remer, "Too dark? Why not 'Dare to be Better?'"

Vornas rolled his eyes. "Remer, allow me to reiterate my last point. Shut up." The big man's fist connected with Remer's jaw, knocking the trooper flat on his back. Without stopping to offer a hand, Vornas just kept walking, leaving Remer to nurse his jaw, and his pride.

Fifteen minutes, and the line had barely moved through the checkpoint. The people were becoming agitated. It could smell their emotions as sharply as the odours that afflicted the crowd. All it had to do was manipulate them, a subtle clicking noise here, a clatter of metal there, anything that would keep them on edge. It moved around the crowd's edges, darting from shadowy alcoves and across metal gantries. Eventually, it settled on an old balcony overlooking the service tunnel.

It made sure to leave subtle hints of its presence. Nothing overt, but enough to sew further fear and anxiety amongst the humans below. Fear was in its very nature, and the proper application of the emotion could lead to a cascade of terror that would allow the thing to move freely... and take it's next victim.

Continuing through the slums, Kippler kept a sharp eye open for any trouble. Getting jumped by hive gangers was the last thing he needed after their patrol. He just wanted to get back to the billet and sleep, but Soras knew he'd be damned if he let his guard down for a second. The crowd's aversion to them was becoming a problem. Their distance meant the Daredevils were still in the open, even down here.

"Come on, let's pick it up," he said. The checkpoint wasn't far ahead. A large line filled the passageway, but their passes would let them skip ahead. Still keeping an eye open, Kippler lead the four troopers onwards, cutting a path through the throng of people.

Vikel was shaking violently. The kalma was wearing off, he was going into withdrawal. With all these people around, he didn't know how long he could last. Vikel needed to get home, he needed another stim to keep him going. The claustrophobia was returning. Sweat was running down his neck, he gripped his left hand tightly to stop the shakes. He couldn't take much more of this.

Four offworlders, Guard, were pushing through the crowd, their leader's mask covering his face with a red visor glare. They were looking right at him, he knew it. They knew that he was on the stims. They were going to take him in. Vikel started to panic. His eyes darted from left to right, looking for a way out of the crowd. He had to get out of here, it couldn't end like this.

It noticed a heightened tension in the crowd. Isolating the source, the watcher lay poised to strike. Any second now.

Vikel couldn't stop his hand from shaking. His palms were sweating heavily, but his grip tightened around the autopistol's handle. The offworlder put his hand on Vikel's shoulder, pushing him aside. Vikel snapped. "No, not like this, not like this!"

The autopistol came flying out, shots going wild as Vikel desperately tried to run. The crowd panicked, people dropping from the shots, screaming and fleeing. The people surged towards the checkpoint, jamming into the tunnel to escape the madman. In seconds, the tunnel had turned into total chaos.

Now, now was the time to strike. It leapt from its perch, claws outstretched, into the prey below.

Kippler leapt backwards when the hive man pulled the gun and started shooting. People were falling from gunshot wounds, others were screaming, fleeing from the shooter or rushing the checkpoint. The PDF officers were trying to hold the wave of people back, but hundreds of rampaging bodies were pouring over the guard rails towards the service cars. The PDF troopers began firing, vainly trying to hold back the refugees.

Kippler swiftly brought his long las to his shoulder. The gunman's head disappeared in a puff of red vapour, disintegrated by the beam. "Head's down!" he shouted. Alek, Vornas and Remer dropped into a defensive position, their guns raised.

Before he could issue another order, something big landed in the middle of the crowd. An inhuman shriek droned out the terrified screams of its victims, torn to shreds by the beast's razor sharp claws. Those further away were snatched by whip like tendrils extending from its maw. The sharp harpoons pierced a crying woman's legs, and she clawed at the ground while the was dragged back towards the monster.

"Lictor!" shouted Remer. The Daredevils began firing at the skeletal Tyranid. The las shots were absorbed by the Lictor's carapace, and the grenadiers didn't want to risk firing off explosives in the crowd. The beast chased after the stream of people fleeing past the checkpoint. Between the PDF trooper's gunfire and the narrow access route, it would be a slaughter.

"Shit!" cursed Kippler. "Remer, flamer, now!" Remer nodded and set to assembling the handheld flamethrower from his kit webbing. If they could get close enough to the bug to torch it, they might force it off from the civilians.

The Lictor's claws and talons were ripping through the packed humans, feeder tendrils embedding into people's skulls repeatedly while the Tyranid fed. Like cattle herded into a slaughterhouse, they were being cut down in droves. Kippler fired more shots at the beast, trying to get its attention. He spotted something: a small, pink, fleshy patch between segments of the Lictor's bone white leg. Kippler aimed for the opening, and fired.

The shot went cleanly through the Lictor's hind leg, splattering green ichor across the ground, hissing steam as it splashed. The Tyranid shrieked, its head swiveling around to gaze at him with glowing yellow eyes. A feeder tendril shot out of its mouth. Kippler dived out of the way, the flesh hook barely missing his foot. The beast turned towards the guardsmen.

Remer finished attaching the pilot light to the flamer and hoisted the weapon up. The Lictor was limping, its right leg bleeding heavily. "Fry you son of a bitch!" he roared, dousing the monster with liquid promethium. The Lictor screeched, flailing in the burning pitch. The Tyranid collapsed to the ground, writhing in the flames. The Daredevils filled the Xeno with las fire until it stopped twitching.

As the smoke cleared, Kippler looked around in horror at the massacre. Dozens of people were dead, torn limb from limb by the Lictor's ambush. Countless more were wounded, mostly, Soras noted, from Lasgun shots fired by the PDF troopers. The troopers were found trampled to death, buried under the fleeing stampede.

Remer stood over the charred remains of the Lictor. "Where do you think it came from?" he wondered aloud.

"Probably left over from the invasion," said Vornas. "Who knows how long it's been down here? We're lucky we got it when we did."

"What's lucky about forty people being killed?" spat Kippler, picking up his long las. "Coming or not, I'm going home." He stormed off towards the service cars, not bothering to look if the other three were following. It wasn't his problem anymore. The PDF could clean up down here. Kippler and the Daredevil's had done their job.

He was silent on the ride back up to the upper level. When Alek came by later that evening to ask if he was coming down to the Bunker, he refused. He took his bath, and drank alone that night. Even when they did right, Soras always saw where they could have done more, but didn't. The Hive Fleet had been wiped out nearly three years ago, and it was still causing problems.

If the past could haunt them for that long, what hope was their against the cultists? If their job was never truly finished, what could they look forward to? Soras sat alone in his quarters, mulling over the futility of the past three years until he fell asleep. In his liquor addled dreams, he relived watching that monster tearing through the helpless people over and over, experiencing the horror in every agonizing moment.

Kippler doubted he would ever sleep well again after that day. And all there was to look forward to was the next dawn, and the next step nowhere.

Author's note: Just a one shot while I work on the next arc. I'd wanted to do something involving a Lictor during this story. Originally, City Slumber Midnight Thunder was supposed to deal with rooting out a Genestealer cult that had survived the invasion. However, I felt that it was too similar to the first story (delving into the tunnels to deal with a nest/cult), so I decided to cut it in favor of high speed road combat.

I came back to the idea of using the Lictor in this one shot to help push Kippler into the leadership role that he will be taking in the future. You may have already gotten a feel for Kippler from darkeldar's main Dawn of War 2 fic, but I do want to use these next few stories to really flesh out each of the Daredevils as individuals, not just as a group dynamic.

Stay tuned as things take a turn for the green in the next story: The Thundering 77s.