Recent losses were
hanging heavy over the Hi-Viz Jackers, and Akilles Lebow, in his new
capacity as boss, needed something to jolt his fellows out of their
static funk. Here was the perfect opportunity: an informant had
passed on the location of a H.E.A.T. parlay occurring out on the H8
badzones – Abraham Krass was due to meet with none other than Soho
Jones, the man who killed Vintsen Courraine.
Akilles ordered the
whole gang to haul boots, fully armed; revenge was the only thing on
the Hi-Viz Jackers' scopes as they trudged out of Nu-Bedlam. The hit
zone was in a wasteland tunnel-knot overgrown with mutant vegetation.
Here, the air was thick with drifting, vivid spores that reduced
visibility, and barbarous wrack-spines protruded from the mangled
decking, extending almost to the tunnel ceilings.
The Jackers split up
and came at the H.E.A.T meet from two directions: Akilles, Ralve,
Macks and Kaleb went one way, with Djo, Skew and new juve Noot in
support in a side tunnel, while Edz led Murgen and Kurtiz on a
flanking angle. Ahead, there was a crossways where shadows could be
seen through the spore-fog – Soho's helmeted head was
unmistakeable, as was the hunched, three-armed silhouette of Krass.
'Let 'em have it,
jacks!' roared Akilles, striding down the corridor towards the
crossways and opening fire with his heavy stubber. Kaleb did likewise
with his autogun, Macks fired a frag grenade that sent the H.E.A.T.
bosses diving for cover, and the rest of the Krass Dynasty and Wasted
Youth scrambled to protect their leaders.
Turned out, though,
that the three gangs weren't the only threat in this stretch of
underhive: the commotion disturbed the slow drift of the spores. As
they reeled and impacted on each other, some of them exploded with a
soggy pop, and soon the already-thick air was thicker still as
asphyxiating gas clouds wafted through the zone. To make matters
worse, the wrack-spines reacted to the intrusion with mindless
malevolence, firing off handfuls of needle-shards at whatever moved
in their domain. Before long, Orlocks and muties were cut and bloody,
easy prey if their opponents hadn't been suffering the same
vegetation-born violence.
Backed up by his boys,
Akilles got into a close-range exchange of fire with Soho. Meanwhile,
Krass set his chainglaive buzzing and attempted to outflank the
Jackers, but he hadn't reckoned on Djo Moge, who'd snorted a faceful
of some stimm or other and was quicker than usual on his feet. The
Jacker ganger sprinted forward and drenched Krass and a few of his
cronies with a blast from his hand flamer. The mutie cultists were
knocked down, some of them set ablaze – Krass and his familiar
Earache included. Ripe targets for the nearby wrack-plants.
Over the crossways,
things weren't going so well for Edz and his crew. Wasted boys Frisco
and Jack darted forward in counter-attack, closely followed by Stray
Tom. Jack threw down a flash grenade that pierced even the spore-fug
and left the Hi-Viz fighters sitting sumpkroks for a thrown blasting
charge. Edz was down, and bleeding badly.
Spores continued to
pop, releasing still more gas that nagged at the fighters' lungs,
weakening them further. Combined with the attrition of the
wrack-spine attacks, things were getting desperate, fast.
Mutie heavy Dagmar
scuttled forward, intending to take a mining laser shot at Akilles,
who'd stopped dead and was desperately trying to reload his heavy
stubber, but in the soupy air she mistook juve Noot for his boss and
blasted him straight out of the fight instead. This sent Djo running
back he way he'd come, right past Skew, who'd just been floored by a
solid shotgun slug. Nearby, Krass hauled himself to his clawed feet
and ran across the corridor, frantically trying to put out the flames
that were eating along his curved spine.
Stray Tom charged in to
take advantage of the photon flash, but Murgen's goggles had
protected him from the worst of the blinding light and he fought
back, keeping the Wasted at bay until his gangmates' vision cleared.
Meanwhile, Frisco lobbed another blasting charge towards the main
Jacker assault – it took Kaleb out and left Akilles floored and
vulnerable.
Djo had got his act
together, and Skew was wincing through the blood – together, they
made another run at the muties and put a couple more down. Over the
crossways, Murgen had somehow fought Stray Tom to a standstill, but
Edz had got his act together enough to take a shot with his mining
laser. The shot floored Tom, and Murgen took him out.
By now, the spores had
cleared enough to stop exploding, though visibility was still poor
and the wrack-spines continued to fire clusters of needles at nearby
fighters. Krass was still trying to extinguish his flames, but it
looked like Soho had an easy drop on Akilles.
That's when the hatches
and grilles across the scrap zone started rattling, and swarms of
blood-hungry scav-beetles poured forth, disturbed by the gunfire and
explosions,. Fighters who were standing had to swat and shake the
bugs off their clothing. Fighters who were pinned or down and
bleeding found themselves in desperate struggles to stop the insects
digging into their flesh or open wounds. Some of the already-weak
were taken out of action.
Soho reckoned he
wouldn't get a better chance than this. Breaking cover, he strode
over to prone Akilles. The two men had been right there at the start
of the Jacker-Wasted alliance, cycles ago at the Clam Breath Wastes –
it had been Akilles's resilience that had impressed Soho's old boss
and prompted the ceasefire. But those times were gone.
Soho reached up to his
sleeve and tore off the stitched badge that signalled the erstwhile
H8 Orlock Takeover. Holding the badge in his palm, he spat on it and
flung it down onto Akilles, who was feebly trying to scrape beetles
out of the rims of his carapace armour.
'You fragheads are dead
to us, Lebow,' said Soho, drawing his pistol. 'And real soon, you'll
just be plain old dead.'
Akilles grimaced. 'Go
suck a slimepipe, Soho.'
Soho aimed his pistol
at Akilles and squeezed the trigger, but just as he did so, a fresh
wave of beetles swarmed out of a nearby vent, and Jones stumbled,
trying to keep his footing. The bullet went awry, scraping the Jacker
boss's helmet and knocking him unconscious.
Then there was a
screech from nearby, and Soho whirled round to clock the source –
it was blazing Krass, staggering across the crossways, demanding that
his cronies come to his aid. Another frag shot from Macks burst
nearby, roiling the spore-heavy atmosphere and raising chitters from
the beetles.
For a few clicks, Soho
didn't know which way to turn – by the time he'd got his bearings
back, Akilles was gone, hauled away by the rest of the Jackers, who
knew when to cut their losses and flee. Abraham Krass, wreathed in
thinning smoke but no longer on fire, sidled over to Soho.
'What's thisss?' said
the mutie boss. 'Sssomehow they essscaped?'
'Looks like it,' said
Soho. 'Don't matter much, though. This is only going to bolster the
rep and turf of the Battersump H.E.A.T..'
Still, grudges were
renewed and forged that blood-soaked shift. When their paths crossed
again, Krass was determined he'd make Djo Moge pay for setting him
alight; Akilles and Soho both swore iron-bound oaths that the next
time they met, there'd surely be work for the corpse grinders.
Whether or not the
tumult of the guild war would allow them their chances was another
question. Either way, each gang boss hoped that next time the plants
wouldn't be so keen to get a piece of the action.