There was discord afoot in Sector H8, with reports circulating of rioting mobs of helots and techworkers roaming the domes and tunnels, and the Hi-Viz Jackers had caught an open vox feed from some bigwig Electro-Guilder who found himself lost and alone in the middle of it all. Vints Courraine rightly couldn't ignore a cry for help from such a person of importance, and gathered a small crew - Griv, Tzig, Ivan and young Lorn - to run a rescue mission while the rest of the boys guarded Shallow Alley, Clam Breath and Nu Bedlam.
Tzig Oresson reckoned he'd found his chance. The gauntlet they were about to run would be hazard high - who'd notice, or maybe even care, if a stray bullet or krak grenade went Vints's way? It'd be a sweet thing to vox the news to Overboss Degister uphive, reporting the long-deserved demise of vexacious Vints.
The Jacker crew weren't the only ones to heed the Guilder's call. When they found the voltbroker in an old, ruined dome, he was already attended by a handful of Eschers from the Ash Roses, and a few of the Wasted, who were living up to their names - Rusty and the juves reeked of wildsnake.
Trigger fingers twitched when the Jackers clocked mutie boss Abraham Krass and a few of his Skymother's Chosen - the attempted takeover of Shallow Alley was still fresh in their minds - but Vints and Griv subtly reined the Jackers in. A Guilder's favour was worth more than cheap revenge, this shift anyway.
That this job would be trickier than a simple search and rescue had been evident when they'd hit the dome - one side was dominated by a looming skull effigy, all ablaze and surrounded by seven ripe heads on pikes. The Jackers had had enough run-ins with the Hellhounds to know when the dark play of the Wrong Gods was in effect.
And so it came to be - the guilder's fawning welcome to his rescuers was cut short by a ragged chorus of moans from all corners of the dome. The rioters had arrived, and as the rescue posse caught gimpse of them in the shadows, they saw dozens of hunched, shambling forms, limbs hanging loose and askew. Then the stench hit them.
It was Wasted Rusty who gave voice to what they were all thinking. 'Sumpdamn plague zombies!'
No nonsense from Ash Rose leader Amaranth. 'Okay, gals and gimps, let's move. Away from that freaky totem.'
She was pointing towards a cluster of exit points at the dome edge. To get there, they'd have to pass by a low watchtower and then head round the side of a tall rusted tower.
'Sound plan, human - er, woman,' muttered Krass sibilantly. 'I see some of those dead things might move to block our path - we shall deal with them.'
He led his mutie crew towards the near side of the tower. Vints, meanwhile, was shmoozing the guilder, much to Tzig's disdain.
'Alright, sir,if you wouldn't mind heading thataways -' Vints pointed to the exits spotted by Amaranth. '- we'll have you out of here in a click or two, no glitches. My name's Vints, by the way, Vints Courraine, Hi-Viz Jackers. Perhaps you've heard of me?'
Pathetic, lickspittle stuff, thought Tzig as the crew posse moved away from the dome centre. But without warning, a grenade dropped from above, detonating in their midst. The frag blast pinned several gangers including Tzig, who found himself unhurt but sprawling on the domefloor.
Then, a flurry of lasbolts from the high levels, left and right.
'Frag it!' called Griv. 'It's not just the plague zees! There's a sumpdamn cult out there!'
As if that wasn't figurable from the blazing effigy, thought Tzig, hauling himself up. As he got to his feet, he glimpsed a rangy figure beyond the nearest mob of zombies. The figure looked to be floating a few feet of the ground, and a strange dark light licked its brow as it gestured violently in the direction of the posse.
At the gesture, one of the Chosen muties flew sideways, victim of a sudden, unseen impact. Tzig watched the mutie hit a nearby walkway head first and fall to the ground, limp.
'Wych!' he cried, scrambling back towards the watchtower. 'The've got a wych with 'em!'
Ivan was a few paces away. 'Man, what have we got into here?'
Tzig grimaced and shrugged as more lasbolts flashed down from above. One was deadeye hit on the guilder, but there was an implosive boom as the merchant's displacer field kicked in and teleported him - several paces back, right where the gangs had found him.
The voltmerchant staggered, disoriented - he clearly didn't have to rely on his exotic security tech that often. One of the Wasted boys darted forward and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him round and directing him towards the cover of the watchtower's support column.
With a rippling moan, the zombies shuffled closer still.
Amaranth was yelling at everyone to haul boots past the tall tower. Tzig clocked Vints barking agreement - about right that Courraine would take orders from some toxpeddling Escher fragger, thought Tzig. He turned to Ivan, unable to resist sharing sharing this acid barb, but Ivan suddenly wasn't there.
That fragging wych again. Propelled by dark forces, Ivan was hurtling back around the watchtower support, slamming into Vints and flooring them both.
This brought a smirk to Tzig's face. Still, the Escher boss was right - they needed to get moving, and fast. He clambered over the watchtower anchor struts and scoped the route beyond the tall tower. A fair few zombies shuffling towards them, but not in the numbers they were back the other way. He readied a frag grenade and launched it at the nearest two - they fell, but weren't out. The dead don't die easy in the Underhive.
Tzig heard the roar of a flamer, behind him to his left. Turning he, saw it was Krass, who'd just blasted the vanguard of the stumbling column of zombies creeping round the other side of the tall tower.
Griv, stood between Tzig and Krass, was calling. 'Oresson! Show that three-armed freak how Jackers blitz zees!'
With that, Griv let rip into the same bunch of zombies with a shreddershot, felling a handful who didn't get back up. Tzig brought his grenade launcher to bear and fired the same way, taking out more of the mob. They'd thinned out the zombies in that quarter - time to push ahead. Krass and his lackeys were already scuttling back to the main posse.
Ivan was back on his feet and taking careful aim up the tall tower, way above their heads. His autogun barked and was met with a brief roar from the towertop. Then, a shaggy, horned form tumbled down to the domefloor, where it impacted with a wet thud, releasing the grenade launcher it was holding. One cultist sniper down.
But there was no time to celebrate. The oncoming horde of zombies had now practically reached the watchtower. Tzig could smell them, could see their rotten lips splitting as they gnashed their jaws in mindless anticipation. And beyond, the ragged shadows of cultists, driving the dead onwards, hellbent on making sacrifice to the Wrong Gods.
Tzig took up a position shoulder to shoulder with Griv at the base of the tall tower. There was a scream from the edge of the spore patch - the zombies had burst through and were swarming the two Wasted there.
Rusty had gone down, fetid claws and teeth digging into his flesh. Within seconds, he'd turned, lurching around to join the attack on his former comrades. The other Wasted battled bravely to deflect the grasping undead.
His back to the tall tower, Tzig took in the posse's attempt at a defensive line. To the left, Krass was seeing off oncoming zombies with almost laughable ease, decapitating one after another with his chainglaive. To the right, Lorn was out on his own, suddenly in close combat with the lead zombie of another tendril of the swarm. The juve was slashing frantically with his combat knife, lopping fingers off the zombie - but to his credit, he bought himself half a chance to duck and roll away, scrambling behind the watchtower base.
'We gotta get this done, fast,' said Griv, showering the nearest clutch of zombies with shreddershot.
'Where's the guilder?'
Tzig was craning his neck to catch sight when he felt his guts twist. Some unseen force grabbed him and slammed him sideways into Griv. Both men dropped, dazed.
Tzig's head swam as he hauled himself to his feet again. Time stretched. The first things he clocked were things further away, slow motion: Vints and the Ash Roses blasting and hacking holes in zombies; two lethally augmented cultists, wreathed in electrical halos, arriving at the dome edge and being met with aggression by Amaranth and her phyrr cat; the guilder and a bodyguard of Eschers and Chosen muties hustling ever closer to an exit tunnel.
Nearer things resolved: Krass's chainglaive tearing into yet more zombies even as the mutant boss inched backwards; the agonised screams of the second Wasted to be brought down and turned by the swarm; the stench of dead flesh, closer than ever.
The swarm was practically within grasp, spilling around the sides of the watchtower support. Tzig came snapping back to the moment.
Griv was a split-second ahead of him. 'Drop back, man, we're almost done, almost good to go!'
'We got an escape route?'
'Bet your boots. The Roses took out those techy freaks, looks like we're good.'
The zombies were so close now, Tzig could pick out their individual moans and see right into their dead eyes. With Griv, he scrambled back over the tower supports to join Ivan and Lorn under a sloping walkway.
At the dome edge, the guilder and his escort had reached one of the tunnels. A lasbolt danced down from the towertop - they'd neglected the second gunner up there - but again the merchant's displacer field kicked in. Tzig could just about make out the recorporation flash up one of the tunnels. With the escort right behind him, the guilder was safe.
'Let's go, boys!' yelled Tzig.
'What about the boss?' said Lorn.
Vints was only a few metres away, hacking away at the nearest of the oncoming swarm. Krass was just beyond, still wreaking havoc with his chainglaive - the mutie boss was clearly enjoying himself, but with the rest of the Chosen gone, he looked ready to depart.
'Frag the boss,' said Tzig. 'The guilder's safe, we done what we came here to do.'
'No way, man!' yelped Lorn, and darted out of cover toward the embattled leader. Another lasbolt rained down from on high and dropped the juve.
'Ah frag!' snapped Griv. 'Ivan, grab the kid and get gone! We'll cover you!'
Agile Ivan was already leaping forward and dragging Lorn's limp frame out of the path of the zombies before Tzig could voice an objection. He had no choice but to join Griv in blasting away, barely keeping the zombies at bay.
Seconds later, Ivan was heading for the exit, the juve slung over his shoulder. Over the way, Krass had retreated to behind a billboard, stopping to decapitate a couple more undead before fleeing the dome.
As for Vints, he'd taken down the zombies attacking him and had somehow ducked back behind his gangmates. The zombies were mere footsteps away now. The stench was overpowering.
Tzig glanced back. Vints was already at one of the tunnel exits.
Tzig caught his boss's eye. Vints grinned and winked. 'Sorry, boys!'
And then he was gone.
A wall of zombies pressed in from left and right, too close and too many to hold back with gunfire. Tzig and Griv swung their weapons deperately, fending off the undead as best they could.
'Frag this!' growled Griv, disengaging. Somehow, he slipped through the zombies' grasp and was away to the exit.
Tzig made to do likewise, but he stumbled, and a dead hand grabbed his hi-viz jacket. And then another. And another. And then rancid arms were wrapping around his limbs and ragged fingernails were digging into his flesh.
'Vintsen Courraine, you bastard!' he cried. 'In the name of the Iron House, I swear I will haunt you, I swear I will-'
His voice was drowned out by the roars of the zombie horde as they piled onto him and began to feast.
The dead don't die easy in the Underhive - but the living sure do.
Tzig Oresson reckoned he'd found his chance. The gauntlet they were about to run would be hazard high - who'd notice, or maybe even care, if a stray bullet or krak grenade went Vints's way? It'd be a sweet thing to vox the news to Overboss Degister uphive, reporting the long-deserved demise of vexacious Vints.
The Jacker crew weren't the only ones to heed the Guilder's call. When they found the voltbroker in an old, ruined dome, he was already attended by a handful of Eschers from the Ash Roses, and a few of the Wasted, who were living up to their names - Rusty and the juves reeked of wildsnake.
Trigger fingers twitched when the Jackers clocked mutie boss Abraham Krass and a few of his Skymother's Chosen - the attempted takeover of Shallow Alley was still fresh in their minds - but Vints and Griv subtly reined the Jackers in. A Guilder's favour was worth more than cheap revenge, this shift anyway.
That this job would be trickier than a simple search and rescue had been evident when they'd hit the dome - one side was dominated by a looming skull effigy, all ablaze and surrounded by seven ripe heads on pikes. The Jackers had had enough run-ins with the Hellhounds to know when the dark play of the Wrong Gods was in effect.
And so it came to be - the guilder's fawning welcome to his rescuers was cut short by a ragged chorus of moans from all corners of the dome. The rioters had arrived, and as the rescue posse caught gimpse of them in the shadows, they saw dozens of hunched, shambling forms, limbs hanging loose and askew. Then the stench hit them.
It was Wasted Rusty who gave voice to what they were all thinking. 'Sumpdamn plague zombies!'
No nonsense from Ash Rose leader Amaranth. 'Okay, gals and gimps, let's move. Away from that freaky totem.'
She was pointing towards a cluster of exit points at the dome edge. To get there, they'd have to pass by a low watchtower and then head round the side of a tall rusted tower.
'Sound plan, human - er, woman,' muttered Krass sibilantly. 'I see some of those dead things might move to block our path - we shall deal with them.'
He led his mutie crew towards the near side of the tower. Vints, meanwhile, was shmoozing the guilder, much to Tzig's disdain.
'Alright, sir,if you wouldn't mind heading thataways -' Vints pointed to the exits spotted by Amaranth. '- we'll have you out of here in a click or two, no glitches. My name's Vints, by the way, Vints Courraine, Hi-Viz Jackers. Perhaps you've heard of me?'
Pathetic, lickspittle stuff, thought Tzig as the crew posse moved away from the dome centre. But without warning, a grenade dropped from above, detonating in their midst. The frag blast pinned several gangers including Tzig, who found himself unhurt but sprawling on the domefloor.
Then, a flurry of lasbolts from the high levels, left and right.
'Frag it!' called Griv. 'It's not just the plague zees! There's a sumpdamn cult out there!'
As if that wasn't figurable from the blazing effigy, thought Tzig, hauling himself up. As he got to his feet, he glimpsed a rangy figure beyond the nearest mob of zombies. The figure looked to be floating a few feet of the ground, and a strange dark light licked its brow as it gestured violently in the direction of the posse.
At the gesture, one of the Chosen muties flew sideways, victim of a sudden, unseen impact. Tzig watched the mutie hit a nearby walkway head first and fall to the ground, limp.
'Wych!' he cried, scrambling back towards the watchtower. 'The've got a wych with 'em!'
Ivan was a few paces away. 'Man, what have we got into here?'
Tzig grimaced and shrugged as more lasbolts flashed down from above. One was deadeye hit on the guilder, but there was an implosive boom as the merchant's displacer field kicked in and teleported him - several paces back, right where the gangs had found him.
The voltmerchant staggered, disoriented - he clearly didn't have to rely on his exotic security tech that often. One of the Wasted boys darted forward and grabbed him by the arm, spinning him round and directing him towards the cover of the watchtower's support column.
With a rippling moan, the zombies shuffled closer still.
Amaranth was yelling at everyone to haul boots past the tall tower. Tzig clocked Vints barking agreement - about right that Courraine would take orders from some toxpeddling Escher fragger, thought Tzig. He turned to Ivan, unable to resist sharing sharing this acid barb, but Ivan suddenly wasn't there.
That fragging wych again. Propelled by dark forces, Ivan was hurtling back around the watchtower support, slamming into Vints and flooring them both.
This brought a smirk to Tzig's face. Still, the Escher boss was right - they needed to get moving, and fast. He clambered over the watchtower anchor struts and scoped the route beyond the tall tower. A fair few zombies shuffling towards them, but not in the numbers they were back the other way. He readied a frag grenade and launched it at the nearest two - they fell, but weren't out. The dead don't die easy in the Underhive.
Tzig heard the roar of a flamer, behind him to his left. Turning he, saw it was Krass, who'd just blasted the vanguard of the stumbling column of zombies creeping round the other side of the tall tower.
Griv, stood between Tzig and Krass, was calling. 'Oresson! Show that three-armed freak how Jackers blitz zees!'
With that, Griv let rip into the same bunch of zombies with a shreddershot, felling a handful who didn't get back up. Tzig brought his grenade launcher to bear and fired the same way, taking out more of the mob. They'd thinned out the zombies in that quarter - time to push ahead. Krass and his lackeys were already scuttling back to the main posse.
Ivan was back on his feet and taking careful aim up the tall tower, way above their heads. His autogun barked and was met with a brief roar from the towertop. Then, a shaggy, horned form tumbled down to the domefloor, where it impacted with a wet thud, releasing the grenade launcher it was holding. One cultist sniper down.
But there was no time to celebrate. The oncoming horde of zombies had now practically reached the watchtower. Tzig could smell them, could see their rotten lips splitting as they gnashed their jaws in mindless anticipation. And beyond, the ragged shadows of cultists, driving the dead onwards, hellbent on making sacrifice to the Wrong Gods.
Tzig took up a position shoulder to shoulder with Griv at the base of the tall tower. There was a scream from the edge of the spore patch - the zombies had burst through and were swarming the two Wasted there.
Rusty had gone down, fetid claws and teeth digging into his flesh. Within seconds, he'd turned, lurching around to join the attack on his former comrades. The other Wasted battled bravely to deflect the grasping undead.
His back to the tall tower, Tzig took in the posse's attempt at a defensive line. To the left, Krass was seeing off oncoming zombies with almost laughable ease, decapitating one after another with his chainglaive. To the right, Lorn was out on his own, suddenly in close combat with the lead zombie of another tendril of the swarm. The juve was slashing frantically with his combat knife, lopping fingers off the zombie - but to his credit, he bought himself half a chance to duck and roll away, scrambling behind the watchtower base.
'We gotta get this done, fast,' said Griv, showering the nearest clutch of zombies with shreddershot.
'Where's the guilder?'
Tzig was craning his neck to catch sight when he felt his guts twist. Some unseen force grabbed him and slammed him sideways into Griv. Both men dropped, dazed.
Tzig's head swam as he hauled himself to his feet again. Time stretched. The first things he clocked were things further away, slow motion: Vints and the Ash Roses blasting and hacking holes in zombies; two lethally augmented cultists, wreathed in electrical halos, arriving at the dome edge and being met with aggression by Amaranth and her phyrr cat; the guilder and a bodyguard of Eschers and Chosen muties hustling ever closer to an exit tunnel.
Nearer things resolved: Krass's chainglaive tearing into yet more zombies even as the mutant boss inched backwards; the agonised screams of the second Wasted to be brought down and turned by the swarm; the stench of dead flesh, closer than ever.
The swarm was practically within grasp, spilling around the sides of the watchtower support. Tzig came snapping back to the moment.
Griv was a split-second ahead of him. 'Drop back, man, we're almost done, almost good to go!'
'We got an escape route?'
'Bet your boots. The Roses took out those techy freaks, looks like we're good.'
The zombies were so close now, Tzig could pick out their individual moans and see right into their dead eyes. With Griv, he scrambled back over the tower supports to join Ivan and Lorn under a sloping walkway.
At the dome edge, the guilder and his escort had reached one of the tunnels. A lasbolt danced down from the towertop - they'd neglected the second gunner up there - but again the merchant's displacer field kicked in. Tzig could just about make out the recorporation flash up one of the tunnels. With the escort right behind him, the guilder was safe.
'Let's go, boys!' yelled Tzig.
'What about the boss?' said Lorn.
Vints was only a few metres away, hacking away at the nearest of the oncoming swarm. Krass was just beyond, still wreaking havoc with his chainglaive - the mutie boss was clearly enjoying himself, but with the rest of the Chosen gone, he looked ready to depart.
'Frag the boss,' said Tzig. 'The guilder's safe, we done what we came here to do.'
'No way, man!' yelped Lorn, and darted out of cover toward the embattled leader. Another lasbolt rained down from on high and dropped the juve.
'Ah frag!' snapped Griv. 'Ivan, grab the kid and get gone! We'll cover you!'
Agile Ivan was already leaping forward and dragging Lorn's limp frame out of the path of the zombies before Tzig could voice an objection. He had no choice but to join Griv in blasting away, barely keeping the zombies at bay.
Seconds later, Ivan was heading for the exit, the juve slung over his shoulder. Over the way, Krass had retreated to behind a billboard, stopping to decapitate a couple more undead before fleeing the dome.
As for Vints, he'd taken down the zombies attacking him and had somehow ducked back behind his gangmates. The zombies were mere footsteps away now. The stench was overpowering.
Tzig glanced back. Vints was already at one of the tunnel exits.
Tzig caught his boss's eye. Vints grinned and winked. 'Sorry, boys!'
And then he was gone.
A wall of zombies pressed in from left and right, too close and too many to hold back with gunfire. Tzig and Griv swung their weapons deperately, fending off the undead as best they could.
'Frag this!' growled Griv, disengaging. Somehow, he slipped through the zombies' grasp and was away to the exit.
Tzig made to do likewise, but he stumbled, and a dead hand grabbed his hi-viz jacket. And then another. And another. And then rancid arms were wrapping around his limbs and ragged fingernails were digging into his flesh.
'Vintsen Courraine, you bastard!' he cried. 'In the name of the Iron House, I swear I will haunt you, I swear I will-'
His voice was drowned out by the roars of the zombie horde as they piled onto him and began to feast.
The dead don't die easy in the Underhive - but the living sure do.