THE FALL OF HYDRA-II
THE FALL OF HYDRA-II
Acid rain cloaked the ratway-streets of Hydra-II midhive's chow-district, chasing street vendors and peddlers indoors, even as runners unfurled their resistant shrouds and umbrellas.
Nuro crunched his way down the street, unperturbed by the rain. His gear was already acid scarred, despite a waxy sheen of standard-issue resistant buff. He had donned his ceramic-faced mask, and plugged the rebreather into his chest-mounted filtration unit. He scratched at the collar of his flak jacket, trying to itch the spot where he'd received his updated auto-immune boosting chip earlier that morning. It was probably reacting poorly to the three or four pints he'd just savored.
His helmet's vox crackled something indecipherable, and he clicked down the volume. Probably the damned rain. The sector's governor had refused to acknowledge the increase in violent weather patterns over the last few months, and had likewise refused to activate the localised shield generators, which would dissipate the worst of the rain. He heard the vox unit barking again - more garbled nonsense, and turned it down to zero volume. Rounding a tight corner, he found himself in a Dark Warren. Byways that carved through the midhive, the Dark Warrens were reminders of a past age. They were abandoned to the ravages of time, as the homeless, the addicts, or the insane flocked to them. In theory, you could cut your travel time in half, from one end of the midhive to the other, by following the Warren. But nobody did.
His breath now fogged the air, puffing out in grating rasps through his helm. The crude autosensors built into his carapace armor whirred as they adjusted to the intensifying gloom of the Warren. Nuro felt crunching beneath his booted tread, and stooped to inspect the ground. Scuttling over flakboard and grated metal were bugs; thousands of bugs. They flowed in some obscene pattern, like a shoal of fish darting through murky water. There was a shape there, in their movement, but Nuro pulled away before he could focus on it. His stomach turned, seconds before a quiet alarm trill buzzed in his ear.
With sudden focus, the mercenary slid his heavy shotgun from it's grox-leather sheath at his waist. He steadied his buzz, and calmly loaded a drum of man-stopping slugs into the beefy receiver. The weapon had been a gift to him from an old friend and previous employer - devoid of ornamentation, it was brutally functional. The leather of numerous belts and tags creaked and strained as he lowered to a ready crouch, readying his weapon and scanning the Warren. He could only see perhaps ten meters ahead through the deluge, and estimated that he was about that far now from the entrance he had come through.
Suddenly, a croaking bark cut through the pattering of the rain. The throaty noise was followed by a warbling, and the slapping of bare feet across the wet ground. Nuro shuffled backwards as best as he could, keeping a solid footing and steadying his weapon's barrel towards the oncoming sound. He briefly wished that Daur was with him; the brawler's bareknuckle temperament was always welcome in a close quarters mess.
Out of the haze, a figure bent nearly double came sprinting - it's flesh was pallid, and at a glance it appeared that the thing had a second set of hands in place of feet. 'Frigging' throne', was all Nuro got out before he squeezed the trigger. The scurrying thing made no sound as thumb-sized solid shells punched through it, dropping it to the rough ground. The rounds caught another figure mid-leap, arresting it's forward motion just as it came into view through the rain. Adrenaline flooded Nuro's system, along with the flood of a chem-cocktail designed to steady nerves and focus thoughts.
With a snarl, the veteran fighter snapped off two more controlled bursts, dropping four or five more things in the gutter. From somewhere behind him, he heard a soul-rending scream. It pierced through his headset, and made his eyes water. His now heightened mind raced, processing the situation. The bugs, the mutants. There must be something coordinated happening here - that scream came from the street he'd just left. These things must be escaping the Warrens. 'Frigging,' He was cut off by another wail. Turning on his heel, the man rushed out of the death-trap alleyway, and with weapon still leveled double-timed it the way he'd come from. The street was a scene of nightmare, and the haze from the rain only made things worse. He caught glimpses of hive workers rolling in the muck with mutants at their throats, while the local militia were struggling to compose themselves. There was blood running in the gutters now, no doubt running through the grating and raining onto the lower hive below.
A young woman came tumbling out of a cantina ahead of him, and Nuro trained his weapon on the doorway she'd just spilled out of. Squeezing the trigger, he pulped the torso of a she-thing that came screaming out of the dive bar, and kept on running. The girl had a crown of purple hair, braided and bunned like a helmet around her harsh face. She followed in his wake, and he made no move to stop her. Two blocks later, and they were halted by a wall of hive militia. The veteran skidded to a halt, and drew himself up, keeping his weapon leveled.
'Halt! Stop, and drop the gun!' the militia were disordered, but trying to retain some sense of order.
Nuro kept his shotgun steady, and with an audible growl unfastened a flap on his shoulder. He fumbled for a moment, before pulling out a small stone icon in the shape of an I, flashing it towards the troopers blocking the street.
The militia took a step back, and awkwardly looked amongst themselves. As they did so, Nuro noticed their peculiarly pale skin, and spied the edge of a poorly healed stigmata running up one of the men's neck. With another Snarl, this time intentionally amplified by his unmoving mask's vox unit, the men stumbled and fumbled for their own weapons. The girl with the hair dove straight into them, flattening one with a palm to the sternum, followed by a brutal knee into his groin. Not pausing to marvel at the girl, Nuro followed suit and laid into the poorly trained gang. There would be time for questions later, if they survived. He took a moment to key a code into the private comms channel he'd left open.
The two resumed their sprint without a word, fighting an increasing tide of humanity. He could see the small opening ahead, where a corner-pub and mechanical shop shared a relatively large, flat roofspace. As they approached, Nuro surveyed the building with a blink. It appeared quiet, and he led the girl inside. 'Upstairs - find your way to the roof - can you shoot?' The girl looked back to him as she made her way towards the stairs, and with a grim smile revealed a stub carbine, relieved from one of the militia they'd scattered. He cocked his head, wondering how he'd missed that. As the girl took the stairs two at a time, Nuro took a moment to avail himself of the open bar; snatching two bottles of joiliq, and a pair of ceramic jacks. The ale he'd enjoyed earlier was by now nearly cleansed from his system, with adrenaline and stimms taking it's place.
The roof was cluttered with a few benches, and an overturned table. Nuro nodded to the girl, who remained silent. She was scanning the intersection below, with a predator's gaze. It was eerily quiet. After a long moment, he swore, remembering that his vox receiver was at zero volume. Clicking it back to a reasonable level, he could hear Daur attempting to reach him.
Seven very long minutes later, the pair could hear retro-thrusters burning along the avenue towards them from the western concourse. Rain vaporized, and glass warped under the insane heat of the jets passing so close. With a heavy sigh, Nuro motioned to the girl, and made ready to move. The insectoid lander craft hoved into view, deftly maneuvering through the city streets. The craft spun on it's thrusters, presenting an open loading bay. Stood inside were three figures, holding tightly to rope catches hanging from the ceiling of the bay. Blue illuminators bathed the rooftop in cold light, and Nuro was momentarily blinded.
'Whose the girl?' It was Daur, shouting to be heard over the wash of the thrusters and the rain. Nuro covered his eyes, and yelled back. 'I don't know, but she's clear, I vouch - I don't think she speaks though!'
The craft inched closer, and one of the figures waved them aboard. 'We don't have time to argue, but I hope you're right. We've got work to do before we quit this place.'
Nuro hauled himself aboard the ship, and rolled his shoulders. 'I was just warming up to this place. They don't water their ale so much,' Someone cuffed his ear with a snort, helping haul him deeper into the craft. The bay door shut slowly behind them, and they could see figures appearing on the rooftop as the door closed and they began to ascend. 'So where are we headed eh?' We were caught with our pants down. I thought we had time'. A large form appeared, silhouetted between Nuro and the crew compartment. Not large, he thought; huge. A grating voice crackled through the bay, 'We head to the governor's palace-spire. Your timetable has been shortened, and I have responded to a petition for aid sent by your master. He awaits us at the main spire.
The loading bay was quiet for a moment, except for the faint thump and hum of their pilot's pound music escaping from the cockpit. The girl put down her looted weapon, and stepped toward the Astartes with hands spread in a gesture of peace. The titanic marine nodded for her to approach, and she did so; tugging down her tunic to expose a tattoo located above her left breast. The marine nodded, and motioned for her to accompany him into the main crew compartment.
'I... is that how it works?' Daur scratched his bearded chin, raising one eyebrow. Nuro punched him on the shoulder, and pushed past him. He tossed one of the ceramic jacks, and Daur caught it deftly in one giant paw. The brutish man smiled as Nuro revealed the joiliq. 'You know we'll be fighting again in..' - 'Seventeen minutes, warrior'. The Deathwatch answered, rejoining them in the compartment. He had removed his helmet, revealing a thickly bearded face, crowned with an elaborate top-knot. Tattoos covered nearly all of the warrior's exposed flesh, depicting serpents, waves, and other runes unknown to the men. 'Is that worth drinking?' The monstrous figure asked gruffly, gesturing towards the joiliq.
The men stuttered. 'Well.. uh, I - I suppose not before a firefight, no,' The giant barked a laugh that physically shook the men, and grabbed the bottle. 'It'll put a fire in you then?' he rasped, before taking a long pull of the amber liquid. A disappointed look crossed his face, and he shook his head. 'The Wolves of Fenris piss stronger than this, manling,' grated the monster as he returned the bottle. 'Though I appreciate and understand the ceremony.'
Daur and Nuro shared a look. If the completion of their objective suddenly required the aid of a Space Marine, they had good reason to worry.
