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Every now and then I do some fiddlin with words next to painting and converting. Decided that my minis needed a background and setting, and thought I'd share it with ll of you
Expect regular updates.
Feel free to comment if you want. I'd like that.


Necropocalypse



‘There’s two more downstairs…’
Kyll looked up from his stale excuse of a sandwich and peered into the deep shadows near the stairwell. He could hardly see where his compatriot Jackson was, despite the big man’s white suit and ridiculously large haircut. Somehow he always managed to blend in to his surroundings. At times it was just creepy how easy he made it seem.
‘So? They can’t climb ladders, the stairs have collapsed, and the building across the walkway is safeguarded by them boobytraps Clay set up.’ He returned to his sandwich and shrugged.
‘Besides, look at the bright side. Snow and her punks will think twice about attacking us here.’

Jackson Borr stepped out of the shadows and sat down on a stack of crates overlooking the staircase. He picked a few specks of dust from his jumpsuit before rummaging through his pack.
‘Where is Clay anyways?’ he asked as he opened a rusty can with his knife. The delicious smell of cheap canned dogfood caressed his nose.
‘Damned if I know,’ Kyll answered truthfully as he tried to chew through a piece of hard old bacon.
‘Probably on the roof though… He’s still trying to get that communicator to work.’
‘Let him. He needs to fiddle with things, you know that. At least this way he doesn’t touch any of our stuff.’

Both men chuckled, Kyll nearly choking himself on his meal. Enjoying the first relatively safe rest in days did them both a world of good. The last week had been hectic to say the least, with the group getting into three gang fights and two confrontations with the tainted, not counting the current one. Ever since their leader had gotten the idea into his head to pick a fight with one of the biggest gangs in the Angelon District. They were lucky enough to have escaped with their hides intact. The gang was now holed up in an apartment complex in the small town of Resilience, two days driving away from Angelon Prime. They had no idea where they were going now, but at least they were safe. Or so they had thought when they stopped here for the night. They had only just decided to use the house across the street as a rest-stop when the tainted showed up. They came from everywhere, and the quick decision was made to relocate here because of the limited accessibility. So far that had proven the right decision.
‘Any you boys want a drink?’
Abelard Alaerd’s bald head popped down through a hole in the ceiling. His one good eye, deep in the scarred socket, scanned the makeshift base the two men one floor below him had created for themselves. It wasn’t all bad, he decided. Some crates, a few horse blankets, good line of sight to both the stairs and the walkway. Some cover from an old cabinet and a pile of garbage. Almost habitable. ‘Got some good brandy here ya know… Some caffeine too if ya want it.’ When both men shook their heads Abelard quickly pulled himself back up and away from the gap. He shrugged and sat back on the soft bed he had found scavenging the third floor. As the scent of fresh caffeine slowly filled his post he took a quick sip of a ’56 bottle of ‘Emperor’s Blood’. The strong liquor warmed him, albeit shortly. It was getting colder, and nights were getting longer. Soon snow would come. Abelard hated snow. He hated winter. He hated the cold, the wet, the long nights. Cursing his luck like many times every day he took another swig. Ah, Caffeine was ready.

good read maus! i hope you stay true to your promise to continue this soon... i only stumbled on this as you don´t advertise... and you really should!


one question... the teinted... zombies or what?

please more of that! i see you haven´t updated for quite some time so, but now you get the attention for sure^^


cheers, vik

'Pour-me-one-too.'
Abelard looked up as he was pouring himself a strong cup of caff, a cold chill running along his spine. Throm Willins always had that same effect on him. The bounty-hunter had a way of showing up unnoticed, unheard. He never spoke, but his silence was usually overcompensated by that creapy servo-skull of his. It's metallic, shrill computer voice had a tendency to rattle your bones. The thing had to be damaged for sure, stretching entire sentences into one big single word.
'Black-please-with-some-sugar.' Alaerd poured an extra cup and handed it over. There was nothing wrong with Willens as is, he figured. It was that skull. It freaked him out. His hand involuntarily shaking, he added a good bit of liquor to the caff. He needed it. Throm Willins sat down at the window, resting his weapon on the sill. He raised his cup of caff at him, nodded, and drank. The skull stared it's one red scanner-eye at him. Below the tainted moaned.

Several stories higher Clay Stone cursed the foul gods of the warp for the hundreth time that evening, his curses accompanied by a little whisp of smoke coming from the communicator set at his feet.
'I assume that thingy didn't fit in that other thingy?' Dorin Savin chuckled. He'd heard the crackling when the device short-circuited, his eyes never away from the tainted on the streets below.
'Feth it, this thing is beyond my powers. What was Crown thinking anyways? I'm not a tech-priest for feth-sake.' Stone lifted the communicator and came straggling to the roof edge with it. He groaned loudly as he hoisted the device up the waist high ballustrade. He dared a glance over the edge, immediately feeling dizzy. He quickly stepped back. His acrophobia always got the better of him.
'What, you planning on tossing that thing on those Taints down there?'
'I was,' Stone stated the obvious. 'But I think I'll just let you do it instead. I'll just sit here, you know, back here.'
Savin gave the ancient communicator a little nudge. It seemed to hang over the edge for a moment before plummeting into the darkness. It crashed down on the pavement below, shattering upon impact, but missing any of the tainted.

A moment later the ballustrade just next to Savin spat apart, sending dust and fragments of ferrocrete flying. Somewhere in the town a shot rang out.




*****************
Out of story: Should I just write on in new posts like now, or keep adding it all to the first post? Or both?

Keep these additions coming in separate posts. And well done, this was a great read

Somewhere in the town a shot rang out.

Somebody yelled sniper.

Everybody jumped for cover. Kyll and Jackson both covered a window, not worried about the broken stairwell and the tainted below. One floor above them they heard cups drop and Abelard cursing.
‘They found us real fething fast,’ Jackson cursed. He checked the clip of his lasgun. Half. It would have to do. From somewhere above them someone yelled down.
‘Anyone see him?’
Jackson dared a glance outside. The town around them was dark, and he could hardly see beyond fifty meters. Nothing. Keeping his head down he crawled along the wall towards the next window. Behind him Kyll turned over a table and shoved it towards wall. He took up position behind it, allowing him a good view over at least the left part of the street. Jackson took another peek.
‘Nothing!’ he yelled up, looking around the floor for any usefull cover.
Stone and Savin were both face down on the ferrocrete roof. Not knowing where the sniper was, they didn’t dare come up, not even to hide behind the ballustrade. Stone slowly edged his way towards the stairwell.

*

The small one that had been working on some electric device was moving. Ever so slowly, but he was crawling towards that door in the back. Slowly his crosshairs edged towards the man’s head. A clear shot. A simple squeeze. Pop, and done. His target’s blue-ish outline started to fade. The Sniper slowly breathed out. His next order had better be to kill, not scare about.
‘I have one in my sights,’ he whispered into the small ear microphone. The only reply was static. He focussed on his scopes again. Darkness. The fading electric energies that had come from the communicator no longer registered. It posed no problem. Switching to heat signatures he could easily see his target crawling along the roof, nearly eight hundred meters away. Such a beautiful target. He waited. Ever so slowly the figure crawled towards the doorway.

‘Hold fire, observe only.’
The sniper cursed silently. He swung his weapon down, looking for the lower floors of the complex. The heat signatures showed up nicely. More easy shots if it wasn’t for the observe only. From his observatory he could easily see all seven of the intruders.
Alarm bells started to go off in his head. There had been eight. He scanned for them all again. Two on the ground floor. Two up one floor higher. The two on the roof. There had been two more, one building over. He searched around, found one. The female. In hiding, but from the wrong direction. He could easily shoot the back of her head off. Where was number eight? He quickly scanned the surrounding floors, sweeping them before going on to the next.

‘Lost something?’

The voice was unfamiliar to him. What was worse, it didn’t come to him from his earpiece. It came from behind him, and he had heard it with both his ears.
The sniper reacted on instinct. He rolled over from his vantage point, lifting his rifle and turning in the same motion. His eyes vaguely registered a black hole in a ring of metal, a flash and a bright light. Then his head exploded.
Jonathan Crown slung his bolter back over his shoulder and fumbled through his vest. He took a half smoked cigar from a dented metal capsule, and lit a match as he knelt besides the dead sniper. Inhaling deeply he checked for the comm bead he’d heard the sniper talk through. It was ruined when the high explosive bolter shell had taken the man’s head apart.
‘Heat signatures make your scope glow friend. Never forget that.’

Pretty good so far. Keep up the good writing.

*

Morning came, and before the sun was fully up they had all packed their gear. With the light of day the threat of the tainted diminished. Most scurried away to find shelter from the sun, those that were too slow, or too weak just dropped to the ground like they were dead. One could easily pass by one of those comatose tainted in the light of the sun. One could even sit on them. But dead though they looked, they all knew better. When the day ended and darkness fell, they would all rise again. Only destroying the brain or setting them on fire actually killed them. They all preferred the day. All but Throm, we never had a good mood during daytime hours. Kyll dragged his pack towards their APC. They would move on today, for as far as their gastanks would take them. Not far, according to Abelard, who usually drove the old armoured carrier they used as their mobile home. Fuel gauges read nearly empty. As everybody packed their belongings in and outside of the vehicle, Abelard Aleard got into a discussion with Jonathan Crown. Both men were holding up one end of a large map, both pointing at different locations and raising their voices in argument. Aline SeBreeze tightened the straps holding her pack to the turret’s outer hull and shook her head in the direction of the argueing men.

‘They could easily be a married couple,’ she chuckled. Reaching down she took another pack, presented to her by a grinning Jackson Borr. He patted the dust off his shoulder and nodded.

‘I thought they were actually,’ he said as he quickly combed his afro. Every bit of it had to be done right. No matter how tough the situation, you have to look the part, his father had always said. Jackson hoped the old man had not suffered much when the tainted came. He hoped dad would wait for him on the other side. ‘Those two are constantly bickering. Sometimes I wonder how in feth’s name it is possible that we get anywhere at all.’
Both laughed, causing the two debaters to stop and turn their heads. Borr and SeBreeze quickly acted busy.

‘I understand we need the fuel,’ Crown continued. His finger jabbed the map again. ‘we can reach Two Veins in three or four hours, less if we burn fuel and throw in the last barrel. But I’m sure Two Veins has a safe haven with working pumps, so using that last barrel will not be a problem. We’ll replenish there…’
Alaerd shoved his finger out of the way, indicating a region of his own.

‘Driamdar station is just an hour away. We can get there on this tank of fuel, and if need be we can use the drum to refuel and divert here, towards Ramulas. A small hyve city like that should provide ample hiding space.’

‘And ample opportunity to be seen too. No Abelard, we go to Two Veins, and there we refuel. We stay there untill the morning tomorrow, and then we continue on. We’ll work our way here…’Again he jabbed the map. ‘We go on untill we get to Reman Hyve. Pack up, and lets go!’


***


Green. Rusted and green, that was the only way he could describe it. Around him the massive steel structure supporting the Reman Hyve rose to the skies, fading beyond the edge of his vision. They were in terrible state, some of them nearly rusted through. Vitali Ambrusiov wiped the heat from his face with a rag, and gazed upon them in despair. He would be down here for weeks by the looks of things.
‘A darn mess we have here Growlf,’ he murmered to the scruffy dog sleeping at the stern of his boat. The dog lifted a lazy ear, let out a low growl, and went back to sleep. ‘I’d best get right on it.’
Ambrusiov was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, a three day beard and piercing blue eyes. Some would even say he had been handsome once, with his rugged unkemp looks. These days though he drank too much, gambled too much, and got in too much trouble.A few weeks away from the law, cleaning and repainting support pillars were what he needed, if not what he wanted. A few weeks away from his hippo of a wife were always welcome, but the idea of a few weeks without his favorite bars, well, that was something different entirely.

Ambrusiov readied his gear, checking to make sure he had a full can of tar and a decent brush. If he worked quick he’d be able to do three, maybe four pillars each day. He tied the sludge-boat securely to the closest pillar, and began the tedious work of attaching the magnet-locks to his boots. Last thing he needed now was a magnet failure when he was fifty feet above the foulest, most toxic sludge one could find on Remus. Reman Hyve had a lot of chemical plants, and they all dumped their coolants where it was easiest. The lower hyves. Ambrusiov donned his harness, attached three cans of tar and a set of brushes, and locked the chinguard of his helmet. He scratched the dog behind the ears.
‘You guard the boat now you hear.’ The hound lifted its head and opened one eye. It waggled it’s tail, hoping for some kind of treat. When it realized there was none, it closed his eyes again. Vitali laughed. ‘Always reliable you are Growlf. Reliable as plasteel…’ He patted the steel support. Certain his mag-locks were secure and his harness nice and tight, he mounted the first pillar. Starting at the top, some sixty feet above the sludge, Ambrusiov started the important job of tarring the support structure.

Hyve Reman. Hope of millions. Home of billions. Result of a short massive exodus when Diormon Gas and Cartal ore were still worth something, and when enterprising settlers could still make millions in mining or processing. Magnificent. Beautiful. It had been a grand centre of power once. Before the great conglomerates took over. Before people discovered both resources caused all kinds of diseases. Before the gas ran out. Before the ore veins ran dry. A hyve city the likes of which the galaxy had never seen. Even though Necromunda’s Hyves were known throughout the galaxy for its size, Ambrusiov was sure Reman was bigger. He was willing to bet it was bigger even than the factory Hyves of the Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars. He’d heard many an explorer say just that, and some had actually been there. Or so they said. Vitali gladly chose to believe them. He had to believe there was something that made Reman special. Something that made his efforts here worth while.
Maintenance worker Ambrusiov loved listening to the many vagebonds that visited the starport bars. He imagined it would be great to actually travel amongst the stars. Visiting all the places he had heard about in the tales. Macragge, Necromunda, the Sabbath worlds. While working on the pillars it was easy to let the mind drift. In his dreams, Ambrusiov was a hero of the emperium. He imagined billions would know his name, maybe even send prayers to him as a saint, while he travelled the galaxy discovering new worlds and spreading the word of the God-Emperor. He dropped an empty can of tar into the sludge below, and opened up a next one. The sludge slowly pulled the can under, smoketrails drifting away as the sludge instantly started corroding the tin of the can. Yes, he pondered. Saint Vitali Ambrusiov certainly had a nice ring to it. Below him the scruffy mut eyed him lazily, yawned, then slept on.

Feth, just the dreams of an old man, he cursed as he sat down later for a sandwich. The hound immediately got up from his slumberings and sat down right in front of him. It started to drool as it stared at the stale bread and moldy cheese vitaly fumbled from his cooler. Both felt warm and mashy. Once again the cooler had broken down. Ambrusiov shrugged. Out here on the sludge streams, everything eventually broke down. It was a given, and he’d accepted it years ago. Things broke down, you fixed them, they broke down again. How wonderful it would bei f you could actually buy new things when they broke down. He’d heard that on Cadia the people actually had places where the could bring broken stuff and trade it for new. If only he lived there…
Just dreams, Vitali thought. There was no way he would ever get off Remus. Here you had your place in the chain of things, and there was no way you could get out. Ambrusiov was a maintenance worker, as his father before him, and his father’s father. His three sons were all maintenance workers, and his grand-children would be too.

In the lower layers of Reman hyve there was no way to distinguish between day and night. With billions of tons of concrete and plasteel above them, the sun had not reached the sludge pits in centuries. Working this deep inside the hyve Vitali had only seen the sun three times in his life, but his body knew. It knew when it was time to stop working for the day. It was usually around six in the morning, when the first cravings for alcohol started. Four pillars after that moment, that was the rule. His own rule, and he held himself to it. Usually. There were days he needed that drink earlier, days he couldn’t cope with his fate, and needed the dullness sooner.Today being no different Vitali removed his mag-locks after he had done three pillars and tossed his harness aside. The hound jumped up, startled by the noise. It looked at him, growled, and curled up at its chosen spot again. Almost in protest it then turned it’s back to him. Again Vitali laughed.
‘You stupid beast. A great help you are. Scared of everything…’

You've gotta love the grim darkness of hive cities!

Nice story, MauS. I particularly enjoy the dialogue between the characters.

I must say, those tainted are pretty lazy zombies! Sleeping during the day...? Lazy buggers

The barren wastes of Remus sped by outside the armoured carrier’s small vision slits. Even the relatively low speed of thirty miles per hour seemed lightspeed when you look through a small rectangle where everything passes you sideways. Kyll figured his position in the small turret was better than the troop compartment fort hat reason alone. Well, maybe the benefit of manning the lascannons was a bonus too. Cramped inbetween the large lascannon batteries, and seated on a small metal plate connected to the turret ring, his position held little other benefits. In the troop compartment he usually lost all sense of time and direction, but here, looking at the targeter cameras, Kyll felt best at ease. He’d once tried the driver position, but everyone including himself agreed Abelard was better. Even when intoxicated.
As the miles of dirtroad grew, so did Kyll’s discomfort. Every shunt, every bump he felt resonating straight through the metal plate, and straight up his spine. If it weren’t for the safety belts he’d probably have been launched of his seat at least a dozen times. He had to spend most his time just trying to remain seated.
The red flashing light startled him. Contact in visual range.
Usually he beat the targeters to it. Holding the belts tight he tried to remain upright for long enough to check the screens. Abelard was really trying to fly today. He had to talk to him about that later.
‘We’ve got company,’ he stated calmly through the carrier’s internal comm system. ‘Two miles behind us, three fast movers. Looks like buggies or quads.’
The carrier was suddenly alive with activity. In the passenger compartment men grabbed their weapons, checking them for readiness. Kyll swung the turret around, almost kicking Borr in the face as his foot bumped off its restplate. Instead Kyll hit the fire extinguisher, causing him to cry out in pain as his ankle banged into it.
‘Anybody we know Kyll?’ Crown’s calm voice over the comm. Kyll tried to bite through the pain, but he knew instantly his ankle was broken. He tried to concentrate on the screens, but there seemed to be three of them now. They were dancing too, towards a dark corner. It was a beautiful dance too.

‘Feth! He’s out cold!’ Borr looked up into the turret and saw Kyll’s eyes turn away. A moment later his head lulled forward, banging the targeting stick. Again the turret swung round, the other way this time.
'Abelard, slow down! Saven, get him off that seat!’ Jackson quickly ducked as Kyll’s foot swung by again. The turret kept spinning, controlled by the stick wedged between Kyll’s head and the left battery. The APC slowed down almost immediately, and Saven wasted little time either. A moment later the spinning stopped, and Kyll slid to the threadplates below. Saven was already up in the seat when Jackson pulled Kyll away. Helped by Aline SeBreeze he manouvered him to the middle of the passenger compartment. As Stone immediately went for his aid kit both Jackson and SeBreeze took positions near the side gun slits. Willens was already covering the one to the rear.
‘Three buggies indeed, nobody we know!’ Saven yelled from up the turret. Without a comms set it was the only way he could keep them all updated. ‘Closing fast!’
Up in the crew compartment Abelard looked at Crown. They were only doing twenty-five and no evasive manouvers, waiting for an update on Kyll. Crown was frantically flipping through his data screens. He rubbed his eyes as the targeter screens came on. Behind them were three dune buggies, metal pipe chassis with large off-road wheels and a light but fast engine. Each buggy was manned by two masked men, one driving and one manning a pintle-mounted heavy stubber. Not really a match for their MBR-100 Armoured personel carrier, but strong enough to destroy their tires in no time. Crown read the numbers on screen. Optimum range for their lascannons. He turned in his seat.
‘Wait for it Saven! Only fire when fired upon!’ Crown yelled up into the turret. When Saven gave him an acknowledging nod he turned to Abelard. ‘Stop us in the middle of the road Abe, and block it. Lets see who we’re dealing with.’
Abelard slammed the brakes hard as he routinely turned the steering wheel. The twelve tons APC turned sharply, skidded ninety degrees, and came to a full stop, leaving barely three feet of room to the front and back of the dirt road. Utilising auto-lock Saven kept the turret aimed at the buggies at all times, making sure that his feet were on the guardplates. The APC fell silent, the only sounds now being the stationary engine and the soft moaning of Kyll.

*

Halfway through the second day Vitali was getting back in his routine. On occasion he had bragged to friends that he could do his job with his eyes closed, and when he got into his zone he nearly actually could. At those times his mind would wander off, usually to far away places. Today was no different. Aimlessly tarring up the support pillars of Reman Hyve at least physically, Ambrusiov was mentally exploring the vast reaches of Tallarn, a desert planet he had heard people speak of. It was said the most hardened soldiers of the imperial guard were usually Tallarn. Vitali could only imagine what it would be like to live on a planet scorched by sun. Out here on the lower levels of the Hyve he was really one of the lucky ones. Most of his friends and drinking buddies had never seen the sun. Perhaps on screen, or maybe through one of the many armaglass windows along the Hyve roundways, but never the real deal. In that respect he was blessed he figured.
Captain Ambrusiov of the Tallarn. He could do worse. Feth, he was doing worse. Here nobody would be chanting his name. Nobody would write stories about him. And why would they. He was just a lowly pillar-technician. There wasn’t even any real technician part in his job. But being Captain of the Tallarn, now that would make people remember you. Like that Al-Rahem people told him about. A true hero of the empire. Bold, fearless, heroic. Everything Vitali was not.
He was bothered in his fantasies when Growlf started barking below him. The animal was at the bow of his sludge-boat, barking into the darkness ahead. Vitali peered into the same direction, but saw only darkness. Darkness broken by supports, broken by more darkness. He decided to go down and see what the dog was making all that fuss about.

Together they both stared out over the sea of sludge. Growlf had stopped barking, but his entire posture, his entire demeanor told Vitali something was clearly off. Sure, it wasn’t the smartest dog in the world, but it definately was protective.
Swinging his searching lights left to right he suddenly saw movement. At the edge of his vision, blurry, but movement. Vitali aimed his search-light. From the top of a cluster of pipes dozens of tiny red eyes stared at him, about seventy meters out. Rats.
‘Stupid dog! Its just rats.’ Ambrusiov scratched the mutt’s ear and clambered back up top. ‘Just rats, priceless!’ Laughing out loud he sat down on the boat’s pilot seat and started un-buckling his boots. The dog lay down beside him, whimpering.
‘Oh come on,’ Vitali bellowed. ‘Its just a pack of rats you silly mongrel! No need to be scared of that, you’ve seen them hundreds of times.’ In fact Growlf had on many occasions even killed them. That was one of the reasons Vitali tolerated the beast on the boat. This cowardly whimpering wasn’t normal. Vitali stood up and clicked on the lights again. The rats had gone, leaving only silence.

It took him totally by surprise. Two mechanical tentacles took hold of his arms, coming up from the sludge without as much as a whisper. They glowed in a horrible green neon, emitting a punged freon scent as they casually snapped his wrists. The flaslight fell to the deck, suddenly drowning the boat in darkness as it shattered on impact. Growlf jumped up in the horror of the minty glow as Vitaly felt himself get lifted off the deck. Three meters above the deck the tentacles held him motionless for a second. Then they pulled, showering blood and intestines around the boat.
Somehow he had always known he would never see the galaxy, but the irony of being ripped apart by something from beyond it was lost on Vitali Ambrusiov.

1. Stand-up stand off.

‘Now what?’ Abelaerd inquired, his fists clenching the controls of the apc. The buggies were parked out of his line of sight, and he hated not knowing what was going on. Would he need to make a sudden break for it or maybe brace for impacts?
‘Now we find out who they are and what they want Abe,’ Crown retorted. He took a moment to adjust his augmented left eye before opening his hatch and standing up. ‘Keep that cannon at the ready Saven, just in case.’

It was a beautifull day really. The sun was warm today, but not too hot, and the light breeze was not nearly strong enough to blow up too much sand. There was hardly a cloud in the blue-gray sky. The dust thrown up by the buggies quickly settled, revealing three almost identical, mostly patched up dune racers. The men riding them were clad in long coats, all wearing leather face covers and protective goggles. They were armed with a ragtag of weapons, each and every one old and worn from abuse. As Crown hoisted himself up the hull of the APC he saw the driver of the lead buggy stand up on his seat. He waved.
Inside the MBR-100 Stone tried had just given Kyll his second dose of sedative before beginning the painfull task of setting the ankle. Instead of moaning Kyll just grinned, spaced out on a mixture of morphine and alcohol. Whatever he felt at the moment, it wasn’t pain.

‘What’s going on?’ Stone asked Jackson. The big black man shrugged.

‘Nothing much, they’re exchanging waves. One of them is now coming over here, on foot. Looks like the head honcho.’ Jackson stared out through the gun slit. ‘Looks like Crown’s meeting him halfway. Saven, you keep an eye on him you hear!’


‘Ahoy there,’ the masked man called as he approached the middle of the no man’s land between them. ‘Welcome to road sixty-nine. Are you having problems steering your there vehicle?’
He stopped there, and waited. Crown stopped some ten meters away from him. Not wanting to seem too threatening he tucked his thumbs in his belt and replied.

‘Thank you. No, no problems here. Would you mind explaining why you are chasing after us?’
The man in the mask took off his goggles and unclasped the faceguard. He had a rough, dusted face. Hard eyes pierced at him from above a crooked nose and a scruffy beard. A mouth chewing nicotarn revealed yellow teeth as he showed a wide grin.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he chimed, ‘did I forgot to mention this is my road sixty-nine. My name is Herwic Quatremain, and I own road sixty-nine. I own it, and I collect the tolls for it. That’s why we were chasing you, as you called it. You see, we figured you didn’t know, and therefor you forgot to come by and pay the tolls. So, kind people that we are, we came here to save you the trouble.’ He grinned triumphantly, brown nicotarn coloured saliva dripping into his beard. The buggies kept their weapons trained on the APC.

‘So you protect these roads you say,’ Crown retorted. He hated the scruffy tarn chewing highwayman already. There was no way he or any of his men were going to pay for anything. He nodded in the direction of the three dune racers. ‘With those buggies over there?’

‘Aye, with those,’ Quatremain agreed, narrowing his eyes to the tiniest of slits. He seemed to be thinking about something. Then his face cleared up again, the smug grin returning at once. ‘Concerning that, let us say a toll of two cans will be sufficient. Ofcourse you will then be free to travel up and down our roads all you like.’
Crown returned the grin, keeping as relaxed a posture as possible. The man was irritating him, claiming to own the road, and what was worse, demanding precious prometheum to travel on. They were short on fuel already.

‘That’s mighty kind of you Quatremain. The only problem is I can’t spare two cans of fuel, and I’m sure my men will not agree if I give you any.’ The sand pirate’s grin evaporated instantly, replaced by a look of surprise.

‘You dare refuse our generous offer?’ He reached for the elaborate duelling pistol on his belt.

‘Yes, I dare refuse it,’ Crown stated blank, not moving an inch. ‘Not because I do not recognize your claim tot his road, but because I simply can not decide such things for my men. So now we have a problem. Shall we fight for it, or do we just leave each other be?’ He didn’t want to give the raider any more reason to actually draw his pistols, but there was no way he would give up their precious prometheum. The man’s actual reaction he did not expect.

‘You have guts!’ the pirate bellowed, roaring in laughter again. ‘Standing there, telling me to piss off like that, I must say it takes guts!’ He started donning his mask again. ‘Follow us to our camp, we’ll get you guys some food. I like a stand-up man such axs yourself, and who knows, I might have some use for you.’

‘If it’s all the same to you, we’ll just move along.’

‘Oh, but I insist,’ Quatremain grinned. Behind him the buggies roared their engines. ‘It is not up for debate, emperor be damned. You will follow us, and we will talk, or we will fight it out now…’ His laugh had evaporated, a stern look replacing it. ‘Your carrier might be able to withstand our stubbers… but will it stop a hunter-killer?’ Two of the buggy gunners stood up now, each shouldering what seemed to be a worn metal tube of sorts. Quatremain’s grin returned.

‘How could I possibly refuse arguments like that,’ Crown stated as he returned to the APC. ‘Lead the way Quatremain. We’ll come along.’ For now, he thought.

‘Just follow them,’ Crown sighed as Abelaerd asked him if he was sure for the fifth time. The urban camouflaged APC was racing along road sixty-nine, following two of the buggies while the third brought up the rear. Up in the turret Saven kept a clean lock on the buggy carrying Quatremain.

‘They have a camp around here somewhere, and maybe we’ll find something usefull there. Besides, it’s not like we have anything better to do. With them around Snow and her men will steer clear of us for a while.’

‘Not likely,’ Stone replied from the bay. ‘She’s crazy you know. She’ll probably sent her goons in guns blazing anyway, just to make a statement. For her everybody is replaceable. Lets hope that Quatremain figure has some medical supplies for Kyll. I’m quickly running out of sedatives. He needs a rest, I need to set his ankle and wrap it all up decently. Following them is not that bad an idea if I can get Kyll patched up there.’

The raider camp turned out to be nothing more than an old gas station along road sixty-nine. Quatremain’s men had it boarded up and secured with a perimeter of barbed wire and tank traps. An old Chimeara functioned as the gate, being rolled out of the way as the column of vehicles raced into the compound. For Crown and his men it felt like they were being brought into the lion’s den. As they parked between two of the buggies the old chimeara was pushed back in place by a dump truck. The compound was secured again.

‘I don’t like this,’ Saven stated as he saw several dozen red blips show up on his ground radar. ‘Five buggies, two Chimearas, an old Russ demolisher, a gas truck, two dump trucks, several personal vehicles. I count at least three heavy gun emplacements, eight stubber nests, and I’m pretty sure the entire area off the road is littered with mines. There’s no way we’ll get out of here if they don’t let us.’

‘Look at it this way,’ Abelaerd chimed, ‘White will have a hard time getting in, and the tainted will be kept at bay too. If they have food, I’m okay with it.’