Lazko Ozwik had
followed the E-Sec trail to Foulnest because he'd heard it was boom
time there, the domes awash with credits as the caravan routes to the
ash roads opened up. The sort of place a man of his disreputation
could carve a living. Considering his less-than-spirestraight
history, Gunn's Guns seemed like just the crew to sign on with. And
so here he was, bringing his plasma gun to the fray for the outlaw
venators.
The scrap was a
slow-escalation op as four Foulnest mobs explored a high-level dome
cluster on the badzone fringes. Gunn's Guns, the Rustgate OMC, the
Foulnest Carrion and Precinct 13, all scattered about, scouting for
loot, but now converging in dribs and drabs a web of walkways above a
gaping chasm. 'Drifter' Zensen and Ozwik were first on the scene for
the Guns, but the latter was having trouble drawing a bead on
Rustgater Joe Genge.
'Fragdammit,' said
Drifter as his lasbolt yet again punched the wall behind the swaying
Genge, 'It's not me, I swear – it's that we spiked him with second
best when we ran into him in that tunnel.'
Old Joe was accompanied
by fellow Orlock Aberama, who was toting a lascannon. Overkill, to be
sure, but a solid deterrent. Ozwik and Drifter stuck to the shadows,
happy to let the Carrion fighters surge forward and draw the
Rustgaters away. And the enforcers were weaving their way around the
far side of the dome – Ozwik had been fully scoped in on the bad
blood between the Guns and Precinct 13, and agreed with Drifter that
it was wise to hold back until more of their crewmates turned up.
The venators watched as
the Carrion found themselves pincered by the Orlocks and enforcers.
All three opponents were taking casualties, but reinforcements were
trickling in steadily from the portals and ladders at the dome edge.
So too for the Guns – Ashman had clambered up onto the platform
below his gangmates.
Drifter hissed with
satisfaction as he finally got in a good shot. He'd been aiming for
Aberama, but the lasbolt ricocheted and sent Genge tumbling into the
pit below. A hit from one of the other gangs put Aberama down, and
Ozwik chanced a plasma shot, drawing more blood.
Most of the Guns had
arrived by now, and the badzones were once again proving their name –
the lumens flickered erratically, and unseen vents turbo-charged,
scouring the dome with intense gales. Fighters were swarming on the
walkways now – too many. As had happened before in these uppermost
reaches of E-Sec, the platform network wrenched free of its moorings
and plummeted to the domefloor below. Not as far as might have been
feared, but the whole domespace rumbled its complaint, dangerously
unstable.
The drop had taken
several fighters out and disoriented the rest, but the domefloor was
now a viable avenue of attack. Precinct 13 had been reinforced by
Murphy, their repurposed ambot. The mech-brute's target acquisition
systems gave it an edge over its fellow officers – it recognised
the Guns as most wanted targets and, eschewing the distraction of the
Cawdors and Orlocks, turned to lumber towards them. Mumbles and
Ashman opened fire, but their shots fell short.
By now, Jonn Gunn
himself had turned up, clambering down a ladder onto the domefloor
and moving to confront the ambot. He was late to the fight – ever
since the incident with the chrono crystal last cycle, he'd found
himself out of sorts and prone to getting lost in levels of Foulnest
he knew well, as if he hadn't walked those tunnels for a long, long
time. Now, his crew watched him advance under the walkway they'd
positioned themselves on – but then he froze between steps.
Gunn winced as
something flashed through his mind. A memory – of something that
hadn't yet happened. He could see himself and the Guns taking on
Murphy, see the ambot's melta blasts shimmer in the air, see its
buzz-bladed claws swinging. He could see his crew bleeding, dying.
'Forget this, boys –
it's not worth it!' he called up, and backed away and out of the
dome.
'What the frag?' said
Ozwik. 'He only just got here?'
'Hhh hrrrg,' said
Mumbles.
'Boss is the boss,'
said Ashman. 'He says we're better off leaving these skuts to scrap
it out, so be it.'
Gunn's Guns melted away
into the badzones. All except one of them.
The Delaque bounty
hunter had been assigned to the Guns by Guilder Van Scultis herself –
recognition of the gang's affiliation with the Coiners, even if that
affiliation couldn't be publicly acknowledged. A scrap-seasoned
veteran who'd bossed a gang back in Old Bedlam Town, there wasn't
much in the Underhive that Kayles Djyf hadn't seen in his long cycles
as a freelance. He was a capable fighter, but a prideful man. He
reckoned he could show these amateurs how to take out an ambot.
Black robes fluttering,
Djyf darted forward to the cover of a container stack. He craned
around the corner and fired his bolt pistol at the ambot. The shells
burst on its metal hide, and still it kept coming. Djyf resolved to
do this the old fashioned way.
He darted forward
again, pistol in one hand, stiletto sword in the other. The ambot's
auspex array whirred as it tried to accommodate this fast approaching
target. Too slow – Djyf was on it, pistol barking and sword lancing
into its armour. Ambot Murphy's interior readouts registered tox
influx into its organic components. Enough to weaken it but not put
it down. The ambot recalibrated its assault protocols and unleashed
hell on Kayles Djyf. The Delaque bounty hunter was lucky to escape
with his life. So much for showing the amateurs.
Precinct 13 won the
dome that shift, doggedly outlasting the Guns, the Carrion, and
finally the Rustgaters. The war for the Foulnest Rackets may have
been grinding to an end, but there were still plenty of creds to
claim, and plenty of blood to be spilled.