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Cold-Eye uses a hand signal to take cover and hush-up. She gestures back to group, pointing out the location of the unknown and then indicating she has eyes on them.

She glances back at the group, looking for some signal on how they want to proceed.

Waiting for the others to respond, Cold Eye can narrow the idenity of the hidden figure down a bit. It seems to be human and from it's breathing it is scared. While it seems completely focussed on hiding and sitting out the approaching danger - your group - it is not very adept at it, so at least when you would have passed, you should have spotted it. It's too dark to make out more at the moment, but Cold Eyes instincts tell her, that the hidden person is alone at its spot, and that there is no one else around in the immediate vicinity.

Gaston sort of wakes up. Not that he had fallen asleep walking, but it was just as good as if he had. He noticed that all the others had taken position in 360 watch. He thinks about crouching and scanning the premises as well, but sees Cold Eye gesturing, and, in turn quietly -well, that is, as quietly as he could- moved to have a look at what she was pointing. For some reason, when he saw the silhouette, he felt as if it had seen him in return and elevated just in case. But no movement. Arms counts wasn't off. Eyes not unnaturally glowing or anything. apparently no gun. So far so good.

He lowered his guard, and hand waved to Cold Eye "we go try to talk?".

Cold Eye shrugged and glanced to John.

She carefully slung her shotgun to be less threatening, but kept her hand hovering near one of her steel knives. Based on what had happened so far, she expected the group to want her to go forward and talk to this shade. Why they assumed they weren't one of them, she wasn't sure, and wasn't going to ask. She wasn't sure if these Up-hivers expected her to do all the dirty work or not?

John nods to Cold Eye, even as he draw his auto pistol. He keeps his lumen off for now, not wanting to ruin his night vision and expose his position.

"Aye, find out what you can and report back."

Cold Eye nods, and starts to creep forward slowly. She keeps her knife hand hovering near her steel.

She moves to within talking distance, takes cover, and hisses; "Whoever you are by the rock, you aren't foolin' nuttin'. Come out real slow like and let me have a look at ya. I don't have time for no trouble."

Gaston doesn't really knows how to act. Seems like cold eye is indeed on her way to pourparleys, and he wouldn't like to botch that. But there is no way the thing that had been making that rattling noise and spying on them will be allowed to use that at his advantages, or that he will be caught unaware in an ambush yet again. He waves his hand towards the other soldiers. Gaston and his fellows scan the darkness...

(Perception roll or something?).

Cold Eye can hear an almost rodent like squeal, before a pair of small, grubby hands appears behind the rubble "Please! Please don't shoot me! I just want to go home!" a small female voice replies before the figure slowly crawls out from its hiding place. Upon closer inspection you believe to make out most of a simple Administratum clerk uniform underneath a heavy layer of dirt, mud and filth. It seems to be a young woman, her long brunette hair caked with dirt like the rest of her, battered and wounded with some improvised bandages that she applied as best as she could herself. She is unarmed, apart from a sharp piece of metal that she throws to the ground as she faces a whole lot of guns in front of her.

As she recognizes Gastons and Johns uniforms tears well up in her eyes, flowing down her face, painting little lines into the sooth, while her body is shaken from her sobbing "Thank the emperor!" she exclaimes. Unless they make an effort of keeping her from it, she closes in on John or Gaston, falling into your arms crying.
From the pins on her uniform you can make out that she worked in Loisys command bunker. For the moment she seems to overwhelmed to introduce herself, but as soon as you ask her she absent mindedly says "Kara... Kara Locklear."

Gaston pats the woman on the shoulder, trying to sound as reassuring as he could being himself in absolut stress and terror of a potential trap. He tries to talk to her in Kallenese to make her more at ease, as it is statistically highly probable. He asks what, were, and when, her own whereabouts and that of Colonel Loisy.

(Does she speak kallenese and does it make it easier to get inforlation from her?)

Cold Eye decides now is the time to keep to herself and let the others gather some info. She begins investigating a way forward for the crew, while they deal with this new Uphiver.

Kara does indeed speak fluent Kallenese, even though it doesn't seem to be her native tongue. But she seems to be more at ease talking to Gaston then to Cold Eye who keeps her distance anyway. Regarding the Guardsmans questions she answers as good as she can, but unsurprisingly her remarks are not that helpful. The last thing she remembers before the catastrophy was standing at the recaf-dispenser filling up her mug, as the world around her was suddenly drowned in fire, smoke, deafening noise and darkness. Next thing she conciously remembers is herself stumbling through some dark passageways in the underhive, bleeding into some bandages. Her memory of details of the last days is foggy at best as she is obviously shocked and might have suffered a concussion. While she tried to avoid any downhivers as good as she could, she hesitantly stutters about some fuzzy memory of fighting someone of with her improvised shiv - a sharp long shard of metal that she threw on the ground before and which - on closer inspection - is cacked with dried blood.

Unfortunatly she has neither seen nor heard of Loisy. "Can we go home now? Please?! I'll do whatever it takes!" she begs, looking at Gaston with big beseeching eyes while clinging to his chest - not really an uncomfortable feeling to say the least.

for Cold Eye

for John

Cold Eye half-listens to the women's story. She snorts a bit at the thought of her fighting off anyone.

She leans into the Badge, "This smells like a carcass left in the gutter too long."

After saying her peace, the scout moves out from the group and starts surveying the land, looking for any sign of where to go next. It was obvious that their newest party member was not going to be able to help with that.

Gaston was confused and frankly kind of helpless. While his mind was mostly focused on the mission, on his misery, on the principles as a soldier he was clinging to not to slip into panic or madness, he wasn't yet so far gone as to ignore Kara's plea for help. Although it was not far, as the thought of shooting her on the spot and carrying on flew through his mind, but he shook it away and tightened his embrace on the broken woman, somehow seeking some solace for himself. But after a few moments, he resorted to what a helpless soldiers resorts: ask the others so they he bears little responsibility on what's happening next.

Kallenese speech yet again resonated in the underhive, as they debated what to do with her. Gaston fiercely held to what he had already said earlier, when they found the corpse in imperial uniform: soldiers do not abandon their own.

While he wouldn't speak of it, Gaston also couldn't accept that Kara's story was far fetch. It did seem so, it did. And their was things that bothered him too: what if she was one of those Genestealers that dwelt in the underhive, he was taught? He peered deep into Kara's eyes, but saw nothing that alerted him. The colonel always said. It is the eyes. Not here at least.
Or was it an ambush nonetheless? He shook his head again. Either treachery, or it was true. If not, then though he was a great warrior in his own right, how would Loisy himself have survived? If he admitted that Kara couldn't, then the whole point of this mission disappeared and he had been brought on the brink of madness for naught. Nah, he thought, she must tell the truth...

(Asking to know what the other soldiers say before I actually do something).

John regarded the survivor with pursed lips and pensive thought.

"You are the first survivor we've found. That's quite a miraculous turn of events."

He looked at the group before him, trying to judge the best course of action.

Eventually he looks over to Gaston and speaks quietly in a hushed voice. "It's going to get harder for us the further we go in. More people will mean more noise, and this woman is going to either slow us down or get us killed."

"But still, the mission was to find survivor and we've found one."

"Gaston, Cold Eye, myself and the Tech Adept. The four of us will continue the search. The survivor should be escorted back to the surface along with you two." He gestures to the two remaining PDF soldiers. "But I'll want that spare grenade."

Then he looks to Gaston and Cold Eye. "We'll keep going as long as it's feasible, but let me make myself clear. This isn't a suicide mission. If we reach a point where it's not feasible to continue, than we'll head back with the rest. Once command knows that a VIP may be down here, then this place will be swarming with search parties in no time anyway. There's no shame in being cautious."

Cold Eye smirked. No shame indeed. Most stuff don't mean much if you're too dead to enjoy it.

She looked at Gaston, he was obviously nervous and didn't like it down hive, she leaned close to the Badge, "Maybe he help pretty lady back too? No like it in low dark,". She jerked her thumb towards the ceiling for emphasis.

Gaston was relieved. He had saved face because John agreed with him, and he didn't bear any responsibility for what flows from losing two soldiers.

At the same time, he was kind of worried that he'd now face everything alone. Because well, he can't say he was really good friends with John, and certainly not with Cold Eye. He wondered what they were thinking of him in return. After all, he was a definitely a signals operator, not a true warrior. Anyway. He added nothing, patted Kara, shook hands with his fellow soldiers, and and racked his lasgun.

He then walked everso painfully up to John and Cold Eye, and with hollow eyes, gestured that he was ready to go downwards into the hive.

 Easy E wrote:
Cold Eye smirked. No shame indeed. Most stuff don't mean much if you're too dead to enjoy it.

She looked at Gaston, he was obviously nervous and didn't like it down hive, she leaned close to the Badge, "Maybe he help pretty lady back too? No like it in low dark,". She jerked her thumb towards the ceiling for emphasis.

John shook his head before answering Cold Eye. "Nah...the kid is ready for this. He is going to do just fine."

John looked over to Gaston and nodded his head then gestured out into the darkness. "Let's move."

The grizzled enforcer was doing his best to put on a show and keep up the facade that he really wanted this mission to succeed. The reality was he wanted to live. But cowardice was heresy, and that was also a quick road to the grave.

The other soldiers that Gaston adresses seem equally undecided about what to do with Kara - who did not seem to pleased as Gaston pulled away from her to confer with his peers. Something that does not go unnoticed and earns the young soldier a slightly envyous look from his colleague Jacques. Overall they too seem to consider if it makes sense to take her with you. On the one side after getting that far down into the hive it would be efficient to say the least to collect more then one body and potential survivor before returning. On the other hand Kara would likely be a hindrance and of course they would not be terribly sorry to return to the upper layers of the hive.

Then John kind of breaks the gridlock as he orders some of them to return to the surface. "Sir, do you think it wise to move on in such a small group?" Kevin douptfully remarks and he does have a point. On the other hand continuing as a small fire team would make it tremendously easier to remain hidden and sneak your way around.

Be it as it may, the decision is made and while the four of you continue deeper into the sump, the other Kallinese start on their way with Kara. The women thanks you again, specifically Gaston, but as they depart you can see that she already shelters close to the side of Jacques, who grins back at Gaston. As long as you can still hold radio contact you hear them making good way, but finally nothing than static remains in your combeads.


[Upon returning Kara will be picked up by one of the bioscanners set up by the Adeptus Mechanicus and Administratum - as is Jacques who took his responsibility to stay close to her a little bit too liberal. A bullet dodged for Gaston and a lesson in the schemes of the genestealers...]



The four of you continue, navigating around obstacles to the best of your ability until finally Rho exclaims with a hushed, rasping mechanical voice "We must be close. The Machine spirit of the Auspex picks up a transponder signal. Somewhere around 200 metres..." a short distance on the upper layers, but in the chaotic, 3 dimensional labyrinth, that just narrows it down a bit.
A small distance in front of you, you can make out light and sound. If Cold Eye would have to guess she would put her money on some kind of market or trading post. Which means there are people - if you are a bit lenient with the definition of people. That could mean sources for information or maybe even the guy they were looking for himself, if they caught him. Could as well mean it is the last place they should look, as this big hat they were searching would avoid this, if he still moved himself.

John looks to Cold Eye.

"What's your take on this place?" He whispers quietly. "People that will deal with us or the sort that want to eat us...or worse?"

Gaston was at the back of the group, charging himself of rear surveillance as they went. Yet again, it was as good as if he were asleep, although he would react lighting fast to anything unusual, be it sound, light, or otherwise. He was thinking a lot, trying to catch some measure of self confidence, to no avail. He hadn't even noticed Jacques malicious grin. In fact, that whole affair with Kara flung him completely by. He was focussed on playing the soldier he was dressed as, and making sur nothing would set this mindset - or should he say, shelter- upside down. When he noticed that the group halted and that John was consorting with Cold eye, as per his training, he started scouting the place in circles wider and wider to make sure nothing, no remote detonated explosive, no ambush, no traces of someone, were threatening them. Especially from those damned Genestealers. Or more brutes.

He kept his flashlight shut so as not to render himself blind in the darkness. Everso carefully, painstakingly slowly, he went, step by step, scanning left, right, up and down...

Cold Eye shrugged. "Both? We need some hooks to reel. Better than wanderin' about we do now."

With that, she tried to move to a position where she could get a better look at the place, and gauge it's value.

John follows Cold Eye, keeping his auto gun drawn and fans out to get a closer look at the encampment and ascertain what sort of people...if they were even people, resided there.

Gaston didn't glaced at his comrades going downwards towards the light. He shrugged, and kept about what he was doing, stopping yet again to give a solid listen...

The trading post

You head out and reach a collection of hovels and small market stalls huddled around a stocky Rockcrete building looking like a cube of 6 yards side length. It is topped with arcane devices and antennae humming with electricity and from the looks of it it must belong to the foundation of the hive, likely playing some long forgotten role in its energy management. Whatever it does for the hive as a whole, here it is first and foremost a reliable source of energy and a myriad of powercables are hooked whereever it was feasible, drawing power for light and heat sources and all other needs a downhiver could have. The burned and crispy remains of some skeletons tell the story of some would be electricity thiefs that got unlucky or misjudged the amount of power running through these cables.
On top of that the walls of the cubic building are a good 4 foot thick with only small, slit like windows in the second story, so it is somewhat of a stronghold should anything attack the area. All together the reason why "Thunders Cradle" has established itself as trading post - the name shimmering on top of it in shaky neon sign letters.

The market is full with "people" of all types and colors and a concerning variety of shapes. But in contrast to your expectations they interact relatively peaceful, keeping the everpresent violence of the underhive down to the occasional shove, punch or kick to underline a point during the price haggling. As you enter you too seem to be covered under the umbrella of this precarious peace - helped by the fact that you are quite adequately armed. A bit unsure what type of clue to look for you drift through the crowd, as suddenly Rho makes a whiring sound of excitement noticing something on one of the stalls. As you join her you can identify a some shimering uniform buttons - and a generals rank pin. Gaston is sure of it, those are from the uniform jacket of Loisy himself and from the position on the stall John would suspect they were sold to the merchant very recently. The seller might even still be in the vicinity.

The trader at that stall is a saggy, old woman leaning towards fat, in baggy, sacklike clothing and with a sickly, greyish complexion. In the dim neon light Gaston would almost describe her skin as leaning towards a light purple shade, triggering his paranoia. Now it is up to you to discretely find out more about the whereabouts of the rank pins former owner

Cold Eye glanced meaningfully at the button, and then nodded towards John "The Badge".

Gaston finally catches up tontemhe rest, after having made damn sure the outskirts were not dangerous.

Upon finding Loisy's decorations, he gasps. Emperor, they probably ripped that from his corpse... He wouldn't willingly have given them alive,.he thought, yet clinging to the images he has got of his beloved leader to keep a goal and a little sanity.

But that's when he noticed the purple colour the woman had. And he was certain of it: Genestealers. He had been taught that again and again. He knew it without a shadow of a doubt.

Ragefully, yet silently, he caught John by the shoulder and uttered the single words: "Genestealer". "Purple". Saying it twice, once in Kallenese, then in accent heavy high gothic. "Eyes.".

His hands were tight around his rifle.

John nodded sullenly. Like a lot of the populace, John thought that the term "Genestealer" was just a Kallenese folk myth that stemmed from paranoia over mutation. Sure, the Kallenese descended colonists had passed down stories of alien horrors from other worlds, but all the human cultures that had come to live on this rock had similar enough stories. Why would the Kallanese stories be any more true than any of the other monster stories?

"Mutation is rife around here. We'll have to tolerate it for the time being." He mutters low under his breathe.

He turns back to the seller to address her.

"Oi, trader. These are some nice looking buttons. I might be willing to pay well for them. Where'd you get them from?"

Roll: Deception + fellowship: 2 successes. [Not going to waste wrath on social rolls lol]

Unsuccessful with raising John's awareness, Gaston grunts and tries to warn cold Eye that they should look out for "genestealer".

He draws him a precise image of what Genestealers are, how they live, what they do, and about the cults. The classes he knew almost by heart at this point.

"I can't yet say it IS a genestealer. I can say it sure looks like one so we should try our best to check. If so, this could change the scope of our mission... Mostly because we can't be sure the Colonel won't be of their number at this point". He almost cried at that last sentence, though he knew the colonel's faith made no difference to Cold Eye.

Cold Eye nodded along to the Kallanese soldier. He had no idea what this place was full off. 4-arms..... pffft..... Long Legs had 8. Razor sharp claws? What doesn't have those down here? He clearly had never seen a Ripper Jack. Hypnotic gaze? Yeah, so do Gak Toads....

However, the part about being infected and not even knowing about it..... well..... that was a bit unsettling. Her eyes involuntarily darted around to take a closer look at the people around her. She flared her nostrils to get a good whiff of them.

At least to John's eyes it still remains somewhat in doubt, if this was one of those Genestealer things or "just" normal mutation. He had at least skimmed the dossier that went around, when the formel counsel had started screening law enforcement and military with their biomedical scanners, and while the traders skin did not really look healthy, any discolorment might also be due to the colored neon light or some other issue. Even in the worst case she would merely be a pawn or infected human, not one of these Xenos themselves, as her head still looked rather normal. Nonetheless, he is on his toes due to Gastons warnings.

As he adresses the woman she looks him up and down and comments "Pay up den and Iz might tell ya - AFTERWARDS". Nothing in it for her to tell you her supplier before she made her cut herself. While you haggle for the price a bit, still arriving at some amount of ration bars, pain meds and synthehol that was ridiculous for some rank pinks, you can't really shake the feeling that some of the other folks around here inspect you like pieces of meat at the butcher shop - maybe even quite literaly. But due to some unspoken rule, the fragile peace holds for now.
Having made a satisfyingly good cut, the trader points over in the direction of some shady hovels at the border of the trading post. "Mighta seen the gal dat sold me dem pins go in dat way. Was lookin for a place for sum shuteye for ha. T'was a big gal, red hair, leaning to da chubby side. Crimson sash arounda neck. Had sum friends with ha"
An information handsomely paid, which might also spark the interest of others around her. Because if someone was willing to shell out for a tip, following that tip might be quite worth it. You shouldn't linger too long before following up on it.

As you approach the sheds and hovels - knowing what you are looking for - you make out a shed made from rusty metal sheets, where a bulky looking women fitting the description exchanges some words with a scrawny man with a large knife scar over his face, before ducking back into the makeshift hut. The man stays outside, smoking something, gnawing on some fresh meet from one of the food parlors around and keeping an eye on the surroundings. Nothing unusual around her, as sleeping without a watch is a sure way to loose your kidneys and worse.