The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 6: Vints Eats His Pride

Queasy green light half-filled the habhole. Vints Courraine smacked the side of the comms unit, and the unit took the cue as the grainy ashscape on screen began to resolve. The Orlock leader made the sign of the Cog and muttered thanks to the Machine God. He really needed to make this link.

The last stray scattered pixels faded out, revealing a green-hued face, heavy jowled, with a bristling moustache which curled around an emergent smirk. Vint's elation fizzed out like the fuse on a dud bomb rat. Just as the vox feed picked up, he said, 'O frag, it's Degister...'

A few kilometres above, in the relatively-lawful Orlock bastions of Hive City, Over-Comptroller Degister gurned maliciously into the pict-capper above the screen.

'I heard that, Courraine,' he said.

Down below, Vints tried to straighten himself up for what was bound to be a painful talk. Of all the hundreds of comprollers he could have got through to, it had to be Degister. The old fart held a grudge or twelve for the Hi-Viz Jackers...

'Ah, er, bad feed here, Comptroller, could you repeat...?'

'Feed's fine, Courraine. I know it's you, I'd recognise your conniving face anywhere....'

During the long hard toil of the Cruxrail project, Degister had been one of Vints and his Bedlam brothers' longest-suffering foremasters, victim of countless pranks - his recaf spiked with blindsnake, the brake cables on his tunnel runner cut, his work lectern rigged with a frag bomb - whatever the mischief, the Bedlammers would have pulled it on Degister at some point.

'... plus, your name's right here on my doc.'

Vints squinted at the waxy printout Degister was waving in front of the screen.

'Aye, Comptroller, so you know what I'm after...'

Degister eyed the printout overcarefully.

'Yeah.... the H8 Sector, isn't it? Looks from this here record that you and your boys aren't exactly stepping up for the house...'

Vints squirmed as the Comptroller pored over the stats.

'... looks like the house overall is doing just fine. These boys listed here, the, ah, Slagwell Springsteens and the Wasted... they got decent turf between them, they been meeting their violence quotas.... What gives with the Hi-Viz Jackers? Turns out life's tougher than you expected in the real Underhive?'

'Ah, well, see, about that,' said Vints with a grimace. 'First scrap we got into, these Van Saars basically took out two of our guys, and since then we've, er, we've not been able to get a foothold in the sector. Lot of other gangs down here, territory getting chewed up faster than fresh starch rash in an ashy shanty...'

'So what's all that got to do with us up here? The House of Iron expects; you deliver. That's the deal.'

'Well, yeah, and of course we will, Comptroller, but we - I - was wondering, maybe you could see your way to sending us a little extra, um, gear, or men, or...'

Vints trailled off. He was a downhive gang boss, thronedammit - this was humiliating.

Degister grinned, his slabby teeth beaming open contempt. 'So the great rogue Vintsen Courraine is here begging me for help?'

'I wouldn't say beg-'

'Is begging me for help,' continued Degister. 'Here's a pretty pass after everything that happened back on Cruxrail....'

He let the seconds tick by, relishing Vints's abjection, which somehow transmitted up the comms lines. And then, an abrupt end.

'Eh, I'll see what I can do.'

With that, Degister cut the feeds. Vints's pict display died, and the gang leader slumped against the console, forlorn, his fate bad and not his to own.

Uphive, Degister settled back in his comms cradle. For all he was enjoying twisting the knife on those Bedlam Town bastards, they were Orlocks, and so was he. Gang before house, house before the rest. Something had to be done, some consignment sent to aid the Hi-Viz Jackers. That was an oath-bound given. What exactly was sent, on the other hand....  there, maybe, Comptroller Degister could have his fun....

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 5: Fatal Flight

The alarm was raised when Ijax got pinned by a flurry of lasbolts - at last, Nubis Machina had come to spring Julius. As well as Ijax, Zammy, Rollo, Ivan and Vints himself were patrolling the warren of tunnels where the Jackers had stashed the captive; as for the Van Saars, they were running low on hands, so boss man Dutch had hired a couple of scummers for the raid.

Things escalated fast: Ijax took out the Van Saar who'd taken an opportunistic shot at him, as well as one of the scummers; Vints caught sight of Dutch himself, accompanied by two Machinites - the need for revenge was strong, and Courraine strode towards his rival, shots pouring from his bolt pistol and bouncing off the Van Saar leader's energy shield even as Zam was downed and Ivan briefly ran for cover.

Meanwhile, captive Julius freed himself and started making an escape - en route, he happened across 'Drop'n'Rollo' Zhevek, pinned by scummer fire. The Orlock ganger had tormented the Van Saar during his captivity - craving payback, Julius levelled his gun and blew Rollo's head clean off.

Jacker reinforcements arrived - Akilles and Dwice, guns blazing. They took out the other scummer, and a well-placed shredder shot from recovering Zam's combat shotgun took one of Dutch's bodguards out and set up the other for a barehanded coup de gras by Dwice.
Vintsen and Dutch exchanged shot range fire, the former being brutally wounded by the latter's combi-plasma. But when Ijax wounded Julius, who subsequently went out of action, Dutch found he was the last Van Saar standing. He promptly bottled.

So Rollo was dead, but there's no time to mourn in the underhive - the Jackers had got some nasty licks in against Nubis Machina, and their hard-won experience ws starting to show in their battle-skills. The feud between Vints and Dutch would continue....

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 4: Wych Craft

Dwice Necrofago had got bored of chucking stones at passing milliasaur grubs and moved on to idly picking at the bandage over his flesh wound. He gazed vacantly across the low-domed square of the settlement - nobody, nothing. A regular shift in Nu-Bedlam, the little one-volt town the Hi-Viz Jackers were calling home.

It wasn't quiet, of course - a few metres behind Dwice, in the brokendown hab-hole where the gang kept council, boss man Vints Courraine was tearing a strip off of Akilles Lebow after the gang's most recent misadventure, and raised voices echoed across the square. Dwice thought this was more than a little unfair - after all, it was Vints himself who'd taken the guilder contract, and who had reckoned only Akilles and Dwice, along with Ivan and Rollo, would be needed to guard the cache of guilder goods waiting for transit at the Sector H8 corpse farm. Easy credits for easy work, Vints had said, with the added bonus of seizing control of the corpse farm after the cache had been picked up.

The four Jackers had duly schlepped across the sector and started their watch, due to last just a few shifts. Who'd have thought a bunch of rogue helots would come creeping out of the darkness looking for trouble, and how were the four Jackers meant to see off a crew of ten, one of them a shockfaced wych no less?

Dwice shuddered as he recalled the helots' guttural slang and the blasphemous oaths they had roared while charging the Orlocks' position. The Hellhounds, they'd called themselves, and it was clear they worshipped the Wrong Gods.

The Jackers did the best they could - sharp gunplay from Akilles took one of the Hounds out of the fight - but the cultists were packing, pinning the Jackers down with their own heavy stubber. All too fast, the Hellhounds were about to swarm the Jackers.

That's when the wastedamned wych had stepped up, flying like a sump skeeter and breathing fire. The Jackers had scattered, Akilles bleeding badly. The wych prised open one of the stash crates - it was booby-trapped, and the frag charge knocked Dwice halfway across the corridor. The wych wasn't more than knocked down himself, though - and it was Rollo Zhevek who copped the worst of it, getting set on fire after he'd only just got over the burns inflicted by those muties at the mine. Dwice grinned - he'd already started calling his gang senior 'Drop and Rollo', and the nickname was sticking.

Anyway, that was about the long and short of it. With Akilles down and Ivan out of action, the Jackers had duly bottled it, rightly enough in Dwice's humble opinion. Akilles and Ivan got knocked out, Dwice had needed bandaging up, and Rollo was singed once again. But they were all still alive, thronedammit! Seems like boss man Vints didn't see it that way, though - the Jackers had let down the guilders and lost not just the turf but also the last scrap of reputation they'd carved out in the Hacked Knee war.

So things looked bleak, figured Dwice as he fidgeted away as his bandage, but what did Old Uncle Ghoulface always say back in Old Bedlam Town? When you've hit sump-bottom, the only way to go is spirewards…..

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 3: Enemy Mine

Visibly impatient, Vintsen Courraine paced about what passed for the main square of Nu-Bedlam, the squalid settlement the Hi-Viz Jackers called their hideout. A dozen shifts had passed since Akilles had taken the gang to stake a claim on Saint Piotr's Pits, an abandoned mineworks in the heart of Sector H8; in the meantime, Vints had shaken off the last effects of the shock-beating he'd received from the Nubis Machina boss, and was ready for some good news.

A grubby settlement juve came running out of one of the tunnelways that led off from the square, yelping away. 'They're back! They're back!' Vints braced himself.

Out of the tunnel came the Jackers, and Vints's heart sank: six fighters had set off, three walked back - the others were slung over their tired shoulders.

Ivan, Ijax and young Dwice filled their boss in on what had happened. The mines were packed with loot, and it was clear that the Jackers weren't the only interested party. A bunch of mutie scum calling themselves the Skymother's Chosen, were also prowling the depths. Both gangs had advanced with caution, as there were sounds of unspeakable horrors, the kind that would even scare a mutie, lurking in the shadows. Akilles had led Rollo and Ijax down one tunnel; Ivan, Zammy and Dwice headed down another. Quick-footed young Dwice gathered up a crate, but it was clear that the sumpkrok's share had been claimed by the Chosen - the sneaking would have to stop, and blood would have to be spilt.

Advancing, Rollo took a bullet in the arm, but Ijax took the offending mutie out with his autopistol before heading to palm off more loot on nimble Dwice. Akilles stepped up alongside recovering Rollo - the pair found themselves facing down a pair of particularly brutish muties, and had them pinned, but the Chosen got the drop on them and a moment later both Jackers were engulfed in flames from another mutie's weapon. Rollo succumbed to the flames, but flinty Akilles stood firm - until one of the big muties charged him and took him out with its oversized hammer. Meanwhile, Zammy got himself cut off from his fellows by a malfunctioning door - another flamer attack saw him panic and knock himself out on the bulkhead. With half the crew out of action, Ijax and Dwice fled, but Ivan at least had the nous to secure the two crates of loot before leaving the mine in the hands of the muties.

And that was that. The Jackers who'd been carried back slowly regained consciousness. Rollo's burns would likely keep him out of the Jackers' next fight; same for Zam, who was sounding decidedly sluggish after his head injury. Akilles, on the other hand, seemed not much more than singed - after waking up, he was back to his usual dour self.

Vints took stock - so they'd failed to claim the Saint Piotr's Pit, and still had no territory to speak of in Sector H8. So much for that. On the other hand, no-one had died this time, and the respective quick feet and quick thinking of Dwice and Ivan meant there was a whole load more credits in the Jacker's stash. Keep this up and they'd be able to replace the gangers lost in Weavers' Warrens.

Some you win, some you lose. But it's always nice to claim a bit of loot....

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 2: Baptism of Blood

The bulky silhouette of Akilles Lebow filled the  door to the hab-hole. Vinsten Courraine, still recovering from the energy-shield pummelling he'd received from Dutch, leader of Nubis Machina, winced as he rolled over to face the newcomer.

'Akilles.... that you?' muttered Vints.

'Yeah, boss...' Akilles had just returned from a desperate visit to the local doc.

'.... What about Droo?'

There was a pause, then Akilles threw two objects onto the rough rockcrete floor of the hab-hole. An autopistol and a wrench. Droo Macbacta's weapons.

'Sump-born doc was charging more credits'n we got stashed just to take a look,' said Akilles. 

Droo bled out while I was hagglin'...'

Vints exhaled heavily as he lay back on the bed. 'Well, frag it. That's him and Mevill both gone.  Welcome to Sector H8....'

Akilles grimaced bitterly, without much sadness - like any hivedweller, he'd seen plenty of death and brutality over the years.

Vints pondered what had gone down. The Jackers had faced Nubis Machina for control of the Weavers' Warrens tunnels. The Orlocks had done a decent job of outflanking the Van Saars, and things boiled down to a bitter short-range struggle in a few metres of corridor. Mevill had caught a faceful of woe - it seemed the Van Saars overestimated the threat posed by the juve - which had allowed the Jackers to pile in even as their ammo ran short. Ivan and Ijax took out an enemy ganger apiece, and Vints himself dropped the Machina champion Trix. But then Dutch had stepped up and the two leaders faced off. For all he pressed the attack, Vints had been unable to get through the Van Saar leader's impressive armour - turns out an armoured bodyglove, flak and an energy shield is tough work even for the teeth of a chainsword. Vints hadn't fared so well when Dutch battered him into unconsciousness. With the Jackers in disarray, Nubis Machina bottled the fight and regrouped, taking control of the tunnels.

'What now, boss?' said Akilles, bringing Vints back to the moment.

The Orlock leader exhaled again, all aches and bruises. 'Well, shame we lost two boys, but bodies are replaceable - reputation ain't, and we showed these H8ers what Bedlam Town boys can do. Plus, there's the captive....'

Akilles grimaced again. The captive. Ganger Julius, currently sporting a vicious headwound and trussed up elsewhere in the hideout.

'That's right,' said Vints. 'No doubt we'll be seeing those Nubis Machina scavs again before too long. Set the watch. And make sure they're  packing...'

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 1: Hi-Viz, Low Life

'What, ya mean we won't be headin' back to Bedlam Town after all?'

The crumbling domespace filled with oaths and curses as the assembled Hi-Viz Jackers voiced their dissent. It was Ivan Kohl who'd raised an objection, and the journeyman ganger's opinion counted for a lot among his fellows.
'Alright, you sorry sumprats, pipe down already!' bellowed Akilles Lebow, lurching to his feet and glowering at the gangers over the spattering campfire. Akilles was he gang's beta dog, long practised at barking or battering his fellows into line on the long shifts they'd worked on the Cruxrail project.

The discord died off and Akilles sat back down. Vintsen Courraine, the boss of the outfit, knew how to work an occasion, and he allowed the uneasy silence to linger a few clicks. He stooped to pick a shred of smouldering wire from the fire, dug out a twisted lho stick from a capacious pocket, and relit. The end of the stick burned as bright as the work garb that gave the gang its colours and name.

'Long and short of it, Ivan, is yeah - we ain't headin' back. And that's just as well, I say. Word is ol' Mad Dog Magellan's the top 'Lock there now...' A lopsided smirk broke through Vinsten's barbe, '... and we all heard the story about how Zammy Smit here pissed him off back when he was a greener than green juve!'

The gang erupted into raucous laughter. Some of the boys roughly elbowed Zam in the ribs, leering and guffawing. Zam shrugged, faux innocent - 'How was a little mook like me supposed to know...?'

Vints raised his hands, palms down, and gestured the gang back into silence. 'But anyway, my boys, my Jacks, I've had word from the overbosses. We're honour-bound to them and we've got a name of our own to carve out here in the guts of this hive.'

More raucous assent, stopping short as Vints continued.

'There's a new zone opened up down the River Shame - Sector H8, they call it. Domes and warrens cut off for more cycles than anyone can recall. Green hivers have already settled there, now the great houses want a piece of the action, and the overbosses have given us the nod to stake a claim in the name of Orlock. Blood, loot and glory, lads... are the Hi-Viz Jackers up to the task?'

The gang roared again, this time whooping and hollering with wild abandon. Fresh bottles of wildsnake were cracked open, bloodthirsty oaths were sworn, boasts and wagers were made over who would do the most scragging and looting in the campaign ahead.

Truth be told, Vintsen himself didn't know if his boys were up to the task. Sure, they'd done well running off muties and saboteurs from the Cruxrail works; sure, the crew bore the storied legacy of some of the great names of Bedlam Town - Necrofago, Kohl, Macbacta and more. But this was a whole new turf war against battleworn Underhivers. Would the Hi-Viz Jackers live up to the killer rep of the Bedlam Boys, or live down to the ignoble name of Bad Fate?

Vints took a long swig of wildsnake. They'd know soon enough.

The Hacked Knee Dominion Part 0: The Hi-Viz Jackers

Official records indicate that some two million workers were employed by House Orlock in the Cruxrail construction project (latterly known as the Gerontius Line). This ambitious industrial freight route was intended to link the Great Ash Gates to key house holdings in the core of Hive Primus, facilitating the movement of raw materials for processing and distribution. House-sworn enginseers and techprentices linked dome after dome with cavernous, quake-proofed transit shafts; indentured helots laid thousands of kilometres of heavy-duty rail; hardened gangers secured the lengthy perimeter against rival house agents and Underhive raiders.

As the project neared completion, foremasters and gang bosses looked to redeploy their human resources, only a certain proportion of whom would be required to maintain the operational line. Mech-wrights and serf-labourers were assigned to duties across and beyond the Palatine Cluster, and the majority of the gangs were sent to guard Ash Waste convoys or Orlock bastions and other holdings. Of the remainder, the deadliest and most loyal were invited to join the illustrious bodyguards of the House Overlords. This left the ungovernables, marked by their reputation for lethality and unpredictability. To them fell the one-way jobs, the suicide missions - the grim duty of claiming the most forsaken, tox-laden, bitterly-contested turf that Necromunda has to offer.

Such was the fate of the young sons of Bedlam Town, who'd migrated from their downhive slum in search of better prospects. They'd carved out quite the reputation in their assigned Cruxrail sector, treating their fellow workers with disdain and the overseers with disrespect. If the common maxim of House Orlock is 'gang before house, house before the rest', here was a crew of rowdies who'd learned the first part but neglected the second. Still, for all they cursed the Bedlammers' insolence, the foremasters would concede that the gang excelled in seeing off incursions onto their stretch of the line. Scavvy raiders would whisper fearfully of the sadistic tortures awaiting those captured by the Bedlam crew, and even the stealth-wreckers of House Delaque learned to direct their sabotage missions elsewhere.

When the time came, the Orlock overbosses summoned the most senior Bedlammer, Vintsen Courraine - a braggadocious man of notorious lineage – and bade him gather his fellows to carve out fresh turf in the most hellish quarters of Necromunda. For their colours, the gang maintained the regulation orange coveralls they'd worn while working on Cruxrail, and this also provided their name: the Hi-Viz Jackers. And so the saga of the sons of Bedlam continued, but this is a tale of the Underhive yet to be told.....