Chapter 7: The Usual Suspects (SGT Tully's POV) Part Three: Yellow

As we rumble toward Trebor's territory, the atmosphere grows oppressive. The air thickens with the stench of decay and chemical residue. Shadows deepen, stretching like grasping fingers along the dilapidated structures.

We pass clusters of his followers—emaciated figures draped in tattered yellow robes; faces hidden behind crude masks painted with skulls. They stop and stare as we pass, unmoving, like specters.

"Emperor's mercy," Valeria whispers, her gaze sweeping over them.

"Don't expect any here," I reply grimly.

Trebor's stronghold looms ahead: the corpse processing plant. Once an industrial marvel, now a twisted monument to his deranged reign. Massive chimneys spew acrid smoke into the cavernous heights above, and the constant grind of unseen machinery reverberates through the ground.

We disembark, and immediately, a cadre of his fanatics surrounds us. Their eyes gleam with a fervor that borders on lunacy.

"State your purpose," one demands, voice muffled behind his skull mask.

"Sergeant Tully of the Adeptus Arbites," I declare. "Here at the invitation of Trebor."

They exchange glances before parting to form a path. "The prophet awaits you within," the leader says, a hint of reverence in his tone.

"Charming reception," Briggs murmurs.

"Stay alert," I warn. "And keep your weapons holstered unless I say otherwise."

We proceed into the facility, the air growing warmer and fouler with each step. The walls are adorned with grotesque murals—depictions of flames, eyes, and cryptic symbols. Chanting echoes from unseen chambers, a discordant hymn that sets my teeth on edge.

"Welcome, friends!" Trebor's voice rings out as we enter a vast chamber. He's perched atop a makeshift throne fashioned from scrap metal and bones, draped in a tattered yellow cloak. His eyes blaze with unnatural light, and a manic grin splits his face.

"Trebor," I acknowledge tersely. "We've come to discuss recent events."

He claps his hands, and the chanting ceases. "Ah, the diligent Sergeant Tully, ever the mediator. And you've brought the girl!" His gaze locks onto Valeria. "The harbinger arrives at last at last at long last!"

Valeria stiffens. "I am Sister Valeria of the Order Hospitaller, here to offer assistance and—"

He throws back his head and laughs, a grating sound that echoes unsettlingly. "Assistance! Oh, the irony!"

"Trebor," I interject firmly, "we're here at your request, I assume you've suffered attacks? Let me guess, your gangers found unresponsive but alive, weapons missing, occurring near quadrant D?"

His expression shifts abruptly to fury. "Alive? Quadrant D? Attacks? No, Sergeant, declarations of war! Gnarl and Lutefisk have united against me, the fools!"

"There's no evidence they've banded together," I counter. "Both have also been attacked. Gnarl expressed losing twelve power nodes worth of his men, seven of which border your territory and quadrant D, the other five Lutefisk's territory and quadrant D. Lutefisk claims the loss of two pumping stations, or at least the men defending them, also adjacent to quadrant D. Our investigation—"

"Lies!" he spits. "Did you see these so-called attacks? Did you witness their dead men walking? Their survivors?"

I pause. "No, but their fear seemed genuine."

"Of course it did!" he sneers. "A ploy to deceive you, to blind you to their treachery!"

Valeria steps forward despite my warning glance. "Trebor, please. Tell us what happened."

He eyes her warily, then leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Two of my blessed trains, carrying the sustenance of the masses, ambushed deep within my own domain. My faithful slaughtered—nowhere near quadrant D," he spits.

"Any survivors?" I ask.

Trebor shakes his head. "None. A massacre, painted in red and blue—the signatures of those treacherous dogs! Attacks carried out simultaneously! Clear declarations of war!"

"Convenient that they left their marks all over these attack sites," I muse. "You're certain it wasn't a third party?"

He narrows his eyes. "Doubt me if you wish, Sergeant, but the signs are clear. You yourself brought the Harbinger with you, how is it that you are blind to the coming darkness?"

Valeria tilts her head. "Trebor, you mentioned 'dead men walking' when speaking of their attacks. What did you mean?"

He chuckles darkly. "I have eyes in their camps, I see, I hear, I know what they tell you, what stories they spread. They spin tales of men left alive but hollowed out—spirits drained; minds broken. Fantasies to garner your sympathy. Delusions to deafen you to the drums of war."

"Or truths they fear to face," she suggests gently.

He scowls. "Do not presume to know the minds of madmen, girl."

"Pot calling the kettle black," Briggs mutters under his breath.

Trebor's gaze snaps to him. "Ah, the jester speaks! Careful, lest your tongue lead you to ruin."

"That's enough," I interject. "We're here to prevent bloodshed, Trebor. An all-out war serves no one."

He rises from his throne, arms outstretched. "War is upon us whether you accept it or not! The flames of retribution are kindled, and I shall not be consumed quietly!"

"Your men are gearing up," I observe. "But think—if Gnarl and Lutefisk are truly conspiring, why alert us to the attacks? Why feign fear?"

"To stall," he hisses. "To keep you occupied while they prepare to strike me down!"

"Or perhaps there's another threat," Valeria proposes. "Something that endangers all of you."

He scoffs. "The harbinger speaks of unity? The herald of doom speaks of threats? How quaint."

She takes a step closer. "You called me 'harbinger' just now, and earlier. Why?"

His eyes gleam with feverish intensity. "Because you are the herald of doom! The masked angel of prophecy!"

I can see where this is headed. "Sister, perhaps we should—"

She holds up a hand. "What prophecy, Trebor? Please, tell me."

He grins wickedly. "The sky will blacken, the stars shall fall. The masked one appears and comes for us all." He leans forward, voice dropping to a raspy whisper. "You wear the mask, Sister. You bring the end."

"Cryptic nonsense," I snap.

"Do not mock me!" Trebor leaps from his throne and lands with the sound of chains on iron. "I have seen the rising tide these past few months. The whispers grow louder, the lurker in the black stirs, his seed festers. The Emperor responds in kind, the sacred lady whose heart is broken will wake once more and blood blood blood will flow up from the underhive to consume the wretches above! And you," he points to Valeria, "you are but a piece on the board but not insignificant, named, Harbinger, Herald, she who stands at the left hand of the Holy Lady, standing in mercy while slaughter flies in her right!"

"Enough of this." I step forward but a plated fist catches my chest and holds me back.

Valeria is undeterred. "When is this supposed to happen?"

He laughs again. "It unfolds even now! The eye opens, the abyss yawns wide. You cannot stop what is destined!"

"Sergeant," Bee interjects softly, "the individual displays signs of acute psychosis but exhibits no biological indicators of deceit."

"Great," I mutter. "He's crazy but believes every word."

Trebor begins pacing erratically. "You feel it, don't you? The tremors beneath your feet, the whispers in the void. The harbinger's arrival marks the beginning of the end of Sigma, of the Hive, of the stars in half the sky!"

"Trebor," I try to regain control of the conversation, "if there's a threat, we need to work together."

He whirls on me, eyes wild. "There is no 'together'! Only the faithful and the damned!"

"Your men will die needlessly," I warn. "War will bring this whole sector down. Is that what you want?"

He pauses, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. "Sacrifices must be made. I must serve the sacred lady, the masked girl, the sister who isn't a sister, her herald, yes, when the time comes," he turns once more to face Valeria's visor, "I will follow you!"

Valeria seems to freeze for a moment as Trebor unexpectedly bows down and kisses one of her ceramite boots.

"But not yet! No! Not yet!" He rises and walks back to his throne, suddenly seeming much calmer than before, "the sky is whole, the stars still shine, now is not, is not yet the time."

I take a deep, calming breath as Valeria's arm drops back to her side.

"Oh-kay," I begin, speaking as though to a child, "so if the time isn't now, and you're so certain that you have a role to play in some future prophecy—"

"Do not mock me, Tully. Or do you think I wish to be this way, to see what I see, to know madness and folly, to toil with these poor wretches, to play games with blind fools like you and Gnarl and Lutefisk while watching the end draw nigh?"

Damn, for a moment that almost sounded sane.

"I think," I say carefully, "that if you want to be around to see those prophecies of yours come to pass, going to war with Gnarl and Lutefisk is not in the cards."

"Unbeliever," he huffs, wrapping himself suddenly in his robe and, for the first time since I've seen him, looking very small and vulnerable.

"Well, I've got my own prophecy," I decide, determined to get through to him. "And that prophecy says, if you start a war, and the infrastructure down here suffers, then holy fire the likes of which your mad eyes have never imagined will descend from the upper hive and will consume everything down here, including me. I," I emphasize the word, "would like to prevent that from happening."

For a long moment nothing is said, and I work hard to slow my breathing. Think, Tully, deduct, investigate. I need to think twice as rationally in a place like this or lose my head. The damned hospitaller is already playing into Trebor's fantasies. We need to get out of here, the walls feel like they're closing in, the chemical air is suffocating.

"We need to see the attack sites." I say finally.

"I will accompany you." Trebor rolls off the throne and takes several steps on all fours before rising on feet. I get the distinct impression he's talking to the Sister, not me, "I will show you, everything."

"Fine," I say, moving in front of him and grabbing his arms. I Force them behind his back and cuff him. I don't know why. It's a crazy move, but everything seems to be slipping out of my control. "Don't give me reason to have you shot."

His followers tense but Trebor shows no sign of concern, he doesn't even seem to notice the cuffs. "It's alright," he says, his voice raised, "I go with the harbinger, I shall return."

I push him forward as Briggs and Diaz stare at me in shock, "move," I slap Diaz on the shoulder guard, "back to the Chimera, before our luck runs out."

We reach the second attack site after a grueling halting drive then another long trek through the labyrinthine depths of Trebor's territory. The air grows thicker here, heavy with the metallic scent of blood and the cloying stench of decay. Our boots crunch over scattered debris and the occasional discarded shell casing, though notably fewer than I'd expect from a firefight.

The train looms ahead, an ungainly beast of rusted metal and makeshift repairs. Its once-grey surface is now slathered in vivid red paint, dripping like fresh wounds. Bodies lie strewn about—Trebor's followers, their yellow robes stained dark.

Valeria moves ahead, her armor gleaming even in the dim light filtering through cracked overhead lamps. She kneels beside one of the fallen, her gauntleted fingers gentle as she examines him.

"Same as the first site," she reports, her voice tight, telling me only things I can already see for myself. "No defensive wounds. Blunt force trauma, some stab wounds. They died where they stood."

I survey the scene, unease gnawing at me. "No signs they even tried to fight back," I mutter.

Trebor stands nearby, his eyes alight with a mix of fury and vindication. "You see now?" he exclaims, gesturing wildly at the carnage. "Proof! Gnarl and Lutefisk conspire against me. First blue paint, now red. They mock me even as they strike."

"Or someone's trying to make it look that way," I counter.

He rounds on me, snarling. "Doubt all you like, Sergeant. The evidence is before you!"

Diaz steps forward, her gaze sweeping over the empty train cars. "Sir, the starch is gone," she notes. "Nearly two tons of wafers missing if the car was full."

"Emperor's teeth," Briggs whistles softly. "That's a lot of food."

"Exactly," Trebor snaps. "They aim to remove their reliance on me, to strip me of my only deterrence."

Diaz continues, "Moving that much cargo would've taken significant manpower and time. Coordinated effort, maybe even vehicles. It's not something that could be done quickly or quietly."

I nod slowly. "Good observation. If Gnarl and Lutefisk have the starch, they could feed their forces for months."

"Enough to wage war without worrying about supply lines," Diaz adds.

"But how did they penetrate this deep into your territory?" I press, fixing Trebor with a hard stare. "Your men are fanatical, your checkpoints numerous."

He bristles. "Are you questioning my security?"

"I'm questioning the plausibility," I retort. "An operation of this scale shouldn't have gone unnoticed."

Diaz interjects, "With respect, Sergeant, the checkpoints focus on main roads and thoroughfares. In a sector this vast, there are countless ways to navigate unseen. Old tunnels, maintenance shafts, collapsed structures—it's very possible they found a route."

"Possible," I concede, though doubt still lingers. "But it doesn't match the pattern of the other attacks. Gnarl and Lutefisk reported no casualties, only their men left alive but incapacitated. Weapons taken, but infrastructure untouched."

Briggs scratches his chin. "Maybe they lied. Could be covering their tracks."

"Or setting the stage," I muse. "If they eliminate Trebor, they'd eventually turn on each other."

Valeria rises from examining another body, her expression troubled. "These men... they didn't even draw their weapons. There's no sign they tried to defend themselves."

"Could fear have immobilized them?" Diaz suggests.

"Unlikely," I shake my head. "Trebor's followers are zealots. They'd charge an Ork horde without hesitation."

Trebor's gaze snaps to me, a sly smile curving his lips. "Perhaps they saw something that shook even their faith."

I narrow my eyes. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs theatrically. "The harbinger speaks. Shadows lengthen. Who can say what grips men's hearts in their final moments?"

"Enough with the riddles," I snap. "If you know something, spit it out."

He laughs softly. "I only know what the Emperor reveals."

I suppress the urge to throttle him. Turning to Valeria, I ask, "Anything else?"

"I'd have to run a more detailed chemical analysis, but the samples I took from the first site show levels of adrenaline consistent with hard labor, but not combat. Either they died without realizing they were in danger, or they didn't react to the danger in an automated biological way." She stands, "of course, there are a significant number of other things in their blood I can't readily identify, some of which may account for such an occurrence," but she doesn't believe it. She's telling me because she has the information, not because she thinks it changes the equation.

"Alright," Briggs says, stablight on his shotgun sweeping left and right. "What now boss."

I hear the actual statement in his tone, not his words. He's scared, he wants to leave. They all do. Well, all perhaps with the exception of the Sister, she's impossible to read under all that armor and probably as fanatical as Trebor's gangers, God Emperor help us...

"There's only one clue to follow," I say with a sigh, "the food. Wherever the food went, so did the attackers. We're not spreading out or splitting into teams, we're all going together, looking for—"

"I believe I can be of assistance in this endeavor," Bee chimes in.

"Yes?"

"I have detected corpse starch traces throughout the general area, the chemical signature is unique to the surrounding detritus."

"You can track where it went?"

"That is a distinct possibility," Bee replies, "please standby."

Bee hovers silently for a moment, optics flickering as if contemplating. "I have isolated the trail," it announces. Without waiting for a response, Bee glides away from the train wreck, leading us deeper into the maze of debris and shadows.

"Stay close," I order, gesturing for the squad to tighten up. Trebor follows obediently, cuffs clinking softly with each step. His eyes dart around, a mixture of curiosity and something else—anticipation, perhaps.

We move only a few dozen meters before Bee halts in front of a rusted hatch set into the ground. It's so encrusted with grime and corrosion that it blends seamlessly with the surrounding debris.

"This maintenance access point aligns with trace elements of the missing corpse starch," Bee reports.

Trebor lets out a low chuckle. "These hatches honeycomb the area," he says. "Built for maintenance servitors to tend the train systems, back when the Omnissiah's touch was fresh. They're all sealed now, machine spirits long dormant, power cables severed, inoperable."

"Are they now?" I muse.

Bee extends a data-tendril toward the hatch's control panel—a relic of cracked buttons and faded glyphs. "The machine spirit is indeed in a state of dormancy," he confirms. "However, I can attempt a reinitialization using my own auxiliary power."

Valeria steps forward. "Proceed, Bee."

The servo-skull emits a faint hum, a soft glow emanating from his data-tendrils as they interface with the ancient mechanism. For a tense moment, nothing happens. Then, with a groan of protest, the hatch shudders. Rust flakes cascade as internal gears grind back to life. The seal breaks with a hiss, and the hatch slowly swings open, revealing a dark shaft descending into the depths.

"After you," I gesture sarcastically to Trebor.

He grins. "Lead the way, Sergeant. This is your crusade too now."

I motion for Diaz and Briggs to follow me in. "Lamps on full. Watch your footing."

One by one, we descend the corroded ladder, boots slipping on rungs slick with centuries of neglect. The air grows colder, tinged with the damp scent of mold and stagnant water. After about two dozen meters, we reach the bottom—a wide tunnel stretching into darkness in both directions, partially collapsed in places but navigable.

"Where does this tunnel lead?" I ask aloud.

Bee hovers toward a wall-mounted terminal, its surface coated in grime. "I may be able to access schematics from this maintenance console," he suggests.

Valeria moves beside him, her hand wraps around to the back of the console and produces a set of severed and corroded cables. "Do you require additional power?"

"Affirmative," Bee replies. "The console's machine spirit requires a significant energy influx to awaken."

Without hesitation, Valeria extends a gauntlet, removing a coupling from her armor. Bee extends a tendril, linking itself, Valeria's power armor, and the console. The powerplant on Valeria's back whines as cooling fans kick into high gear. A soft glow envelops the terminal as the combined energies surge through it. The ancient runes flicker to life, screens displaying fragmented lines of code.

"Most data is corrupted," Bee reports. "However, partial schematics may be retrievable."

"Let's see what we've got," I say, stepping closer. The screen displays a convoluted map of tunnels and passages, lines intersecting like a tangled web.

"This main tunnel runs in two primary directions," Bee explains and a section of the map highlights. "To the east, it proceeds beneath Trebor's territory, extending under the corpse starch processing plant and then further out to the last station on the line, stopping adjacent to quadrant D."

"Of course it does," I mutter.

"And to the west?" Valeria prompts.

"The western route branches extensively," Bee continues and a number of lines light up. "It connects to a network of sub-tunnels beneath Quadrants A, B, and C—including regions containing substations beneath territory controlled by Gnarl and Lutefisk."

Briggs whistles softly. "So, this is how someone could move around unseen."

"Convenient," Diaz remarks. "Perfect for transporting large quantities without drawing attention, hiding troop movements, frack, even deploying gas."

I stare at the flickering map, the pieces clicking into place. An old maintenance network, forgotten by most, yet perfectly positioned to bypass surface checkpoints.

"Bee," I ask, already dreading the answer, "can you determine which direction the corpse starch traces lead?"

His optics pulse as he analyzes. "Trace elements indicate movement east, toward Quadrant D."

A heavy silence settles over the group. Even Trebor seems momentarily subdued.

"Quadrant D," Valeria repeats softly.

"Emperor damn it," I curse under my breath. The last place I wanted to go, and of course that's where the trail leads.

Trebor's eyes gleam in the dim light. "The abyss calls, Sergeant. Will you answer?"

I ignore him, turning to the squad. "Alright, listen up. We regroup topside, report back to the precinct, and—"

Valeria interrupts gently. "We can't turn back now. This is the lead we've been searching for; the trail is fresh, how long will it stay that way?"

I glare at her. "We're not equipped for a foray into the Black. You don't understand what—"

"I understand the risks as well as anyone since no one has ever gone in and come back to tell us about them," she insists. "But we have an opportunity to stop whatever's behind these attacks and prevent a war."

"She's right, Sarge," Briggs chimes in reluctantly. "If we back out now, the gangs will tear each other apart long before we can make it back here with reinforcements. Right now we've got Trebor cuffed, God Emperor I never thought I'd say it, but as long as he's with us… his zealots won't start a crusade."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a migraine forming. "Fine. But we proceed with extreme caution."

Diaz checks her weapon. "Weapons hot?"

"Negative," I snap. "We don't know what's down there. Last thing we need is one of you to get trigger happy and startle something, disturb something, or wake something up."

"Something?" she echoes nervously.

"Could be scavvies, mutants, rogue servitors," I list off. "Or worse."

"Lovely," she mutters.

Valeria steps forward, her posture resolute. "I'll take point."

"Like hell you will," I retort. "This is my patrol. I lead."

She meets my gaze. "An effective and admirable quality, Sergeant, one of very few I credit you with, but I have the armor and equipment to best withstand potential threats. And," She hesitates. Frack… here it is… "As of this moment, I outrank you, Enforcer."

I want to argue, but she's not wrong. Her power armor is better suited for taking hits than our patched-up gear. She's also a sister and technically the rules don't make mention of the rank of visiting not-quite sister students… she might be right. She's also within her bounds to carve up anyone who disagrees, though she doesn't seem the homicidal fanatic type. You never know…

"Fine," I concede. "But stay within sight. No heroics."

"Understood."

Bee hovers between us. "I will maintain heightened augur protocols and alert you to any anomalies."

"Appreciated," I grumble and tap my vox bead, "Jaquelin?"

"Boss?" Her voice comes back crackling with static. We didn't leave the chimera that far behind… must be the damned tunnels. That knot in my gut gets just a bit tighter.

"Bug out," I order her, "get Bessy home, give her a once-over grab as many spare hands as she'll hold and sit on her, loaded for hell. Against my better judgement, I'm following a lead." I leave out where that lead is taking us, it won't matter if we never come back.

"Boss?" Surprise, fear, I sigh inwardly. The precinct isn't ready for this place to get nasty again.

"Just do it, and see if you can pull Arbiter Schultz out of whatever drug-crazed coma he's in. Tell him if he doesn't hear back from us in twelve hours… he's in charge."

"Technically, he's always in charge, sarge." Jaquelin quips.

I don't reply, and that tells her everything she needs to know.

"Frack me, alright, but God Emperor help you if I have to start writing your reports…"

"God Emperor help us all…" I mutter and cut the channel.

We form up, the tunnel stretching before us like the gullet of some vast beast. The air is stagnant, thick with the weight of untold centuries.

"Forward, then," I command.

As we move into the darkness, I can't shake the feeling that we're stepping over a threshold—from which there may be no return.

"Emperor protect us," someone whispers.

I echo the sentiment silently. The shadows seem to close in around us, the feeble beams of our lamp-packs swallowed by the void. Only the blessed beams of intense radiance from the Sister's armor seem to put the darkness in its place. Maybe it'll be different. We have a Sister, and her mechanicus companion. Maybe the trail will veer off or end before we get to quadrant D…

Behind me, Trebor hums a tuneless melody, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of excitement and madness.

"The harbinger leads the way," he murmurs.

"Shut it," I snap.

But his words linger, threading into the uneasy silence.