The Foulnest Rackets Part 17: The Shift Before Fistmas

'Twas the shift before Fistmas, and all through Foulnest,

The creds were now counted, the gangers took rest;

The rackets were claimed, much blood had been spilt,

Rivalries kindled, and turf kingdoms built.

The Dreadhooks held court down at old Dogsump Dock,

And Foulnesters feared the Rustgaters' knock,

These crews above all were top of the pile,

Winthrop without mercy, Ray Void with a smile.

Still, others had prospered and plotted revenge,

(Or at least to lop off the last limb of Jo Genge):

The Smokestack Needles held the smuggling routes,

Which, along with the ghast trade, filled their Escher-made boots;

The Carrion boys and their ally stimm-lords

Offered prayers to the Emprah for ill-got rewards;

The cold trade was run by the Veiled Cartel,

With melta in darkness they raised merry hell;

The Guns of Jonn Gunn some vexation felt

As they strained at their bond to the Mercator Gelt;

And Precinct 13 were the heroes unsung

As they upheld the law - or elsewise took a bung.

(Doyle the captain was pleased as can be,

For he had Gunn himself under tight lock and key;

Now the Guns were a-planning a jailbreak bold.

But that downhive tale is still yet to be told...)

The pickings were rich and the gangers felt blessed,

This truly was boom time in New Old Foulnest!

The markets were teeming, the furnaces lit,

The wagers and blood filled the old fighting pit.

But for each cred the gangs took, the Guilders got five,

There's the sour-born wisdom running right through the hive:

From spiretop to sumpbed, it scans e'er the same,

The Guilds grab the credits, the gangs take the pain.

What can you do? That's underhive life,

All scrapping and scragging and violence and strife;

Yet there's wildsnake to swallow and stimms to be sniffed,

Happy Fistmas to all, and to all a good shift!

The Foulnest Rackets Part 16: The Scrag Trade

To say that Jonn Gunn was dissatisfied with his treatment at the hands of Coiner Guilder Lymeris Van Scultis would be like saying that Hive Primus is somewhat tall. Ever since his crew had been outlawed, Gunn had been trapped in a web of obligation to the Guilder, the promise of bounties revoked keeping him compliant even as his hard-won reputation was dragged through the sump. It rankled with him, painful like a gutshot wound.

But the grizzled venator figured he had a way out: the second chrono-crystal that the Guns had acquired during the Great Power-Down. It would surely be of interest to Van Scultis, perhaps enough to persuade her to issue writs of pardon. The tricky part was gaining an audience with the Guilder – all contact with the Guns was conducted at a remove by Skinflint Devinscar, and Gunn didn't want to risk revealing his hand too soon. There was only one option: sneak into a Guild mart and confront Van Scultis in person.

This was what brought Gunn, Drifter Zensen and Ashman Gwalt to the secure zone in Foulnest Core that shift. The op was to infiltrate the market, locate Van Scultis, and strike a bargain. Simple enough, but there was bound to be an enforcer presence, not to mention other guns-for-hire who might fancy claiming a bounty or two. Gunn's Guns came scrap-ready, but were keeping their hardware hidden under capacious robes.

Drifter convinced one of the perimeter guards to look the other way for a few clicks, and the Guns entered through a heavy blast portal. Inside, the secure zone was teeming with activity. The side chamber they'd entered connected to the main hallway of the market, which was well-lumened by underhive standards, and notably so in contrast to the gloomy side chambers. Room here for all kinds of trade, overt and secretive. From previous trips here, before the outlawing, Gunn knew that Van Scultis would be holding court at the far end of the hallway, off to the left. Up ahead, a shame-mob was in full swing, with a sonorous-voiced preacher driving a gaggle of Cawdors in a righteous beat-down of some poor chained-up sinner.

'Gwalt,' said Gunn, 'we'll be needing a distraction, something to draw eyes towards that shame-mob. See if you can't get involved, stir up a little dust.'

'Spire-straight, chief,' nodded Ashman, and darted forwards.

He sidled into the edge of the mob and aimed a clumsy slap at the chained recidivist. 'Take that, ya scum!'

The Cawdors cheered his efforts, but the gaunt preacher was running a tight affair – he dashed over to Ashman and gripped him firmly by the arm.

'Son,' he said, 'your enthusiasm is most welcome. Let me ask you, have you truly heard the redeeming word of Him-On-Terra?'

Ashman squirmed. 'Well, aye, sure I do, I have. I mean, he's the big guy, the big ol' Emprah.'

The preacher fixed Ashman with a steely gaze. 'And blessed are we all to bask in his radiant light. But there is the coarse belief of the common man, and there is the utter devotion of the unstinting believer. So again, I ask you, have you truly heard his redeeming word?'

Gunn and Drifter watched as Ashman continued to squirm in the preacher's grasp, and the Cawdors continued to pummel the prisoner.

'Well that's not quite how I scanned it,' said Gunn. 'But we're on a clock here. Come on.'

They moved to the edge of the main hall, stopping behind a cluster of mercs and merchants who were passing the time of shift and taking a vague interest in the shame-mob. Gunn eyed the hallway.

'Fragdammit.'

'What's up, boss?' said Drifter.

'See over there, that fella in purple, the fancy uphive clothes?'

'With the hat? So what?'

'That's only Slash Memento. Bounty hunter, a good one, too. I know him, and he knows me. He scopes me, that's the sneak job down the pipe, and there'll be blood.'

'Right, right,' said Drifter. 'But he doesn't know me...'

Gunn caught Drifter's drift. 'Alright, get over there, get him talking or something, see if you can keep him from looking my way while I move on.'

Drifter nodded and stepped out across the hall. The blast door off to the right, beyond the shame-mob, rumbled open, and Gunn glimpsed grey and red armour. Precinct 13. The game had just got far riskier for the Guns, but what choice did they have?

''Scuse me, sir,' said Drifter, tapping his mark on the shoulder, 'but ain't you Slash Memento?'

The bounty hunter turned, looking askance at this rag-draped scummer who's accosted him. 'So what if I am? Who's asking?'

'Ah, I thought it was you, I seen picts. I gotta say, sir, I am a big, big admirer of your, er, work.'

Drifter was laying on the blather like he had with the doorman. Gunn seized his chance and shuffled off past the cluster of traders. As he passed, he overheard snips of their chatter, talk of how this was a usual shift at the mart: guns-for-hire looking for work; docs offering their services in Cutter's Corner; thronebotherers looking to talk to anyone who'd listen. Apparently, it was worth steering clear of the chambers the other side of the main hall – Goliath and Orlock crews facing off there over some longstanding bad blood. And, of course, the wares for sale, the offers, counteroffers and back-and-forth haggling. Nothing Gunn hadn't heard before.

Ashman had prised himself away from the preacher and was now parallel to Gunn on the other side of the hall. Gunn was edging past three hooded Cawdors and heading into a shadowy side corridor when the crackle of an enforcer helm-vox sounded: 'Hey, you!'

Shrinking back into the shadows, Gunn glanced back up the main hall. One of the Precinct 13 officers had used his riot shield to bash his way through the shame-mob and was advancing on Drifter and Memento.

Drifter grimaced. No choice but to brass it out.

'Officer! Ah, um, glad to see you! Can I maybe introduce you to one of the finest – no, er, the finest venator this side of the heat sinks? This is none other than Slash Memento. Slash – you don't mind if I call you that, right -, meet Officer, er, sorry, I didn't catch your...'

'Officer Malone and myself are acquainted, as it happens,' said Memento drily as the enforcer loomed over them.

'O, I scope it, right right,' said Drifter, grinning weakly. 'Well, in that case I'll leave the two of you to catch up on all the goings-on. Who's hot on the wanted list, and all that...'

He stepped away, fixing to head back the way he'd come, but he didn't get five paces. Shouldn't have mentioned the wanted list.

'Freeze, creep!' barked Officer Malone. 'You're one of Jonn Gunn's boys, ain't you?'

Drifter would have broken and run, but he was penned in between Malone and a new enforcer arrival – Rin the cybermastiff, who powered through the Cawdor crowd up the hallway. In a few clicks, they had Drifter Zensen pinned and magnacled on the deck. The shame-mob preacher bustled over, keen to lay the word on this poor recidivist and maybe bag a new convert to his cause.

If Rin was in the zone, Captain Doyle himself wouldn't be far away, and there was real toxy blood between the enforcer captain and the Guns. Even less time on the clock than Jonn Gunn had expected. He ducked down the shadowy passage, hoping to loop round and reconnect with the main hall right next to Van Scultis and her entourage. The sound of shots echoed through the mart, presumably those Orlock and Goliath rivals throwing down; Gunn prayed to Terra that it'd distract the enforcers and draw them away.

He ghosted through the gloom, rounding a corner and clocking Ashman, who'd similarly dodged being recognised by the coppers, at the lit junction ahead. Just a fat merchant and his bodyguards to muscle past, no problem. It was all down to these last few metres – if he could reach Van Scultis and claim sanctuary from her, Precinct 13 would have to back down.

But then there was commotion over beyond the junction: two Orlocks ran into view, shoving past Ashman and the merchant crew. As they dashed by, Gunn heard one of them: 'That Ray Void, fragdammit, he's crazy!'

Back on the other side of the junction, a couple of bloodied Goliaths were running the same way as the Orlocks, but they didn't get as far. Shots rang out, and the Goliaths dropped. The fat merchant, panicked, had his crew hustle him out of the line of fire.

As bodies cleared out of the way, Gunn gazed across the junction, past Ashman on the corner, far into the chamber beyond. There was Raymond Void, strolling forwards with a smirk on his face, bolter muzzle smoking.

But he wasn't the only rival boss on the scene.

'Jonn Gunn!' The amplified vox echoed down the corridors. 'This is Captain Doyle. I know you're there, you damned dirty skuthead, and I'm taking you in, dead or alive!'

No point in the disguise any more. Gunn cast off his loose robes, revealing his battered armour. Ashman did likewise.

Ray Void. doubtless accompanied by some of the Rustgate OMC, was a wild card here. Sure, there was bitter history between the crews, running back to the long trek across E-Sec all those cycles ago, but the Guns and the Rustgaters had worked together before, at the Battle of Foulnest. Plus, they were fellow outlaws. Surely that would count for something?

'Void!' called Gunn hoarsely, 'We've got the heat right on us here! What say we set our iron on them together?'

Void was approaching the junction, but still out of sight of the approaching coppers. He called back over his shoulder, to one of his crewmates out of sight, 'Hey, Jo! I got Gunn himself here, he wants to strike a truce! Whaddaya think?'

Gunn couldn't quite hear Old Jo Genge's answer. But, whether or not he'd listened, Void's decision was immediately clear – he levelled his bolter and took Ashman down in a hail of shells.

So much for an alliance.

Malone was striding forwards over prone, bleeding Ashman. With him was Officer Riggs, clipping a fresh clip into her bolter. Gunn glimpsed Ray Void darting around the corner behind them, heading straight for an audience with Van Scultis, and no doubt a deal of his own. The enforcers must have clocked Void's presence, but it looked like Jonn Gunn was the only outlaw on their wanted list this shift. Ragged sheen birds were coming home to roost.

With his crew out of action and Van Scultis beyond reach, Gunn realised that all he could do was run.

He turned back down the shadowy corridor, ducking as Riggs's boltershells ripped into the bulkheads around him. He was hit: the shots tore up his armour and drew blood. Malone was on him, stimmed up and hammering down with his shield, but Gunn had his power knife out, the blade keening as it dug into the enforcers armour and put him down. With one smart stab, Gunn finished the job.

No time to take satisfaction, though. Gunn took another step the way he'd come, but the lumenlight from the main hall way was smeared out by a towering silhouette. Captain Doyle.

'You're not walking away this time,' snarled the enforcer. He'd slung his shotgun and drawn his stubber for close-up scrapping. Gunn didn't doubt it was loaded with dum-dums.

'Let's see about that,' said Gunn, smoothly reversing his grip on the knife.

The two men traded blows, but each was a veteran of countless downhive death duels. Doyle sidestepped Gunn's knife swing with alacrity that belied his bulk; Gunn turned Doyle's stubber aside with his elbow and ducked beneath the enforcer's jabbing fist. Gunn dragged the knife back, but Doyle twisted to the side and the energised blade only scraped his armour. Doyle fired blind, point blank, but the dum-dum merely grazed Gunn's ear.

This could have run on all shift, but Riggs was muscling in, looking to back up her captain. Gunn's attention was split between his two attackers, and Doyle pressed the advantage. He drew his fist back, shifted his weight and threw a punch that connected squarely with Jonn Gunn's jaw, sending him reeling onto his back.

The scrap, the op, perhaps Gunn's life as a free man - all over in less time than it takes to reload a las clip. Enforcer Captain Doyle laughed grimly and unclipped the magnacles on his belt as he loomed over the fallen venator.

'You're nicked, my scum.'

The Foulnest Rackets Part 15: Get Glaw

Gunn's Guns heard tell that the Veiled Cartel and their rogue noble benefactor, Lady Astrid Glaw, had been scoped in the lower levels of Foulnest – this was tattle that demanded an armed response. There was a lingering score to settle, particularly with Glaw herself, but with Jonn Gunn otherwise occupied, it fell to Noomena Greyz to lead Snags, Mumbles and Lazko, as well as allied mercs Kayles Djyf and Bludgeoner Borb, on a takedown op.

The Guns tracked the Cartel down to a stretch of tunnels overgrown with aggressive vegetation – the Delaques were on the hunt for tox-sap and other derivatives which might make for good blade venom – and experience warned that the badzone plant life was liable to be as much a threat as the opposing gang. Scragging Glaw was the priority, and the plan was to split in two and pincer the crew she was running with. The op called for swift action – Glaw's entourage was small, but reinforcements were doubtless nearby and would turn up quickly once things got hot.

Noomena, Snags and Borb started moving through the tunnels, straight towards Glaw's last-scanned position. Snags was back in action after the chrono-crystal incident, which had affected him worse than any of the Guns except poor dead Ratbite. Considering how much he'd aged, Snags was looking remarkably spry, scuttling ahead and brushing aside the grasping tendrils of a stand of tangleweed that had shambled into his path.

'Take it easy, geez,' said Noomena, peering into the flickering gloom beyond. 'The Cartel are wily fraggers.'

'Heh, don't I know it!' said Snags, his face doubling its wrinkles as he grinned. 'I've scrapped with these creeps enough times to know what to expect.' He paused, unsure. 'Wait, have I already? Or is that's what we're here for?'

Noomena shrugged and moved past him. She could sympathise with his confusion, having endured a less intense but still confusing blast of time-displacement from the shattered crystal. 'I dunno, old man – but let's keep our scopes on the prize.'

Borb the Bludgeoner, scum for hire, shuffled along behind them, wondering what the frag these people were blathering about.

A tunnel or two over, Mumbles and Lazko were following Djyf into the gloom. They moved carefully so as not to trigger a barb-flurry from the jagged row of shardwrack spines that lurked in the corridor behind them.

Djyf suddenly stopped with a sharp intake of breath. He stared ahead into the dim lumenlight.

'What?' said Lazko. 'What is it, man?'

'Cicero...' hissed Djyf.

'Hrrrgh?' said Mumbles.

'I didn't think I'd cross paths with him again...' said the Delaque merc. Without warning, he sprinted off into the chamber beyond.

'Hey, baldy! Wait!' barked Lazko. 'Ah, skut, there goes the plan...'

And then the lights went out.

'Hrrgh hrr-rr,' said Mumbles.

'Plan beta is right,' said Lazko, turning back. 'Just as well we figured these creeps would pull something like this.'

Plan beta was for Lazko's sub-crew to drop their pincer move and reinforce Noomena and the rest on the main line of attack. There were bound to be more Cartel members in the zone now; better to scrape some safety in numbers than stay dispersed and get picked off piecemeal in the darkness. Lazko and Mumbles turned back the way they'd come, leaving Djyf to his fool vendetta – a showdown with the Cartel's resident spyker which ended with the bounty hunter on the deck, twisted in mind-wrought agony as Cicero floated over and slipped a dagger between his ribs.

Meanwhile, Noomena, Snags and Borb had muscled their way past the grappleweed to a heavy blast door. The zone's ancient security array was just about still running, and the venators clocked a staticky vid-display on the wall: Glaw and two of the Cartel were just the other side of the blast door, likewise advancing past grappleweed and shardwracks.

Noomena and Snags hadn't worked together that many cycles, but, perhaps aided by the skewing effects of the chrono crystal, they'd hit on a decent understanding of each other's tactical thinking: both favoured the high-risk move. Bludgeoner Borb had no such insight, which was why he was taken aback when Snags readied his shotgun and Noomena abruptly pressed the control switch for the blast door.

A lot happened in just a few clicks. The crews were close enough that it barely mattered that the lumens were out. As Noomena and Snags had expected, bloodthirsty Astrid Glaw was unable to resist charging, her expansive skirts billowing as she vaulted over a rough barricade and into combat with Snags. Perhaps it was his time-warped battle-nous, perhaps just sheer luck, but he weathered the rain of digiblasts with ease. Noomena darted fluidly into the fray, discharging her plasma pistol and lashing out with her stiletto blade. A sharp play which could have worked, but the Guns hadn't reckoned on Glaw's displacer field. As Noomena's blows landed, Glaw blinked out and reappeared a few feet away – just behind Snags and Noomena, and just next to Borb.

The scummer was utterly surprised by the noble teleporting in half a metre away. Borb's whole body twitched in alarm, his finger wrenching the trigger of his sawn-off shotgun, which fired jerkily. And blasted Lady Astrid Glaw's head clean off.

The disgraced uphiver stood for a moment, her towering wig balanced precariously on what remained of her skull, before dropping like a lump of rockcrete, her skirts settling on the rusty deck.

Op accomplished – but the Veiled Cartel were still on the prowl. Glaw's bodyguards were in the doorway. One of them, veteran Delvin, levelled his web pistol and fired an expanding tangle of goop that wrapped around Noomema, Snags and Borb. All three dropped to the floor, writhing as the web-chems constricted them.

Back around the corner, Mumbles and Lazko were sneaking forward, still looking to bolster their crewmates.

'Hhhm hhhrrr grrrh.'

'Yeah, I can't raise them on the vox either,' said Lazko. 'Something's gone sumpwards.'

Mumbles, a step ahead, peered out into the gloom. He couldn't make out anything. Then, there was a sharp hiss which built from silence to searing crescendo in a split click. Mumbles was on the deck, screaming through his rope gag before slipping unconscious. A solid melta hit, which could mean only one thing: the notorious Lucien, mastermind of the Veiled Cartel, was out there nearby, in the darkness.

But this wasn't Lazko Ozwik's first gang fight, not by a long stretch. Bitter-borne instincts kicked in and he levelled his plasmagun in the direction where, judging by the sound and Mumbles's reaction, Lucien was most likely to be lurking. He flicked the blast limiter off and opened fire, full power.

The scene was briefly fully lit as the plasma blast caught Lucien in the arm, cooking his hand. He didn't scream, but as the plasmalight faded, Lazko saw him drop. Job done – but then he felt a stab at the base of his spine. It wasn't a Delaque dagger, but a jabbing knot of grappleweed. Lazko gasped and went down, tendrils of weed wrapping themselves around his limbs.

Noomena was likewise entangled as she fought against the web that was digging into her flesh, drawing blood. She could just about see that Delvin and his crony were holding back, but she couldn't figure why. There was a grim moan behind her, and she twisted round. Just enough light to see that Snags was free of the web. Only it wasn't Snags. There was something clamped to his head. Another peril of scrapping in a jungle badzone. A brainleaf.

'Ah, skut,' growled Noomena as not-Snags lurched forward and fell on her. She just about had enough time to scan through what would happen next – provided he didn't bite her throat out straight off, the leaf on Snags would slough off a copy of itself onto her, and then she'd be...

Devlin held his gangmate back as the ancient man and sharp-haired woman – now drooling brainleaf zombies, lurched to their feet. Word had just come through on the Cartel's whispervox that Lucien was down and needed recovery, but actioning that depended on what the zombies did next.

To the Delaques' relief, they turned and staggered over to the still-webbed Borb, who'd used up his luck with the killshot on Glaw.

'That's that,' muttered Delvin. 'Let's grab the maestro and vanish.'

The Veiled Cartel vacated the badzone.

Half a shift later, the lumens were back on, the jungle had calmed down, and the brainleaves had withered and dropped off Snags and Noomena. Lazko, who'd frred himself from the grappleweed and was half-carrying the badly-burnt Mumbles, found them slumped against the blast door near what was left of Borb the Bludgeoner.

'You folks okay?' said Lazko.

'Aye,' said Noomena, wincing as she rubbed her scalp where the leaf had dug in. 'Frag me, I feel like I just got dredged out of the sump. What a shift. I hope the boss had a better time on his trip to the trading post.'

'Look at it spirewards, though,' said Snags with a grimace. 'We came here to get Glaw. And we got Glaw.'

'Well, he got Glaw,' said Noomena, nodding at the scattered bits of Borb.

Snags punched her arm gamely. 'Come on, that guy's the best scummer we've ever hired! He took out the target, didn't rat on us to Precinct 13 and – best of all – you and me ain't gonna need to be fed for a whole shift cycle!'