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[This is the "IN-TIME" thread of the RPG. Rules questions etc. should be kept to the Off-Time topic]

Danny-Ironfists Tavern

As the search party approached the rundown shack with the neon signs all over it, one of the humble patrons was just thrown out by a burly bouncer, loosing a couple of his teeth on the landing. And a glance in the dark alley to the side implied he was more of a lucky one as the pair of bodies lying there in the dim darkness didn't really look like they were taking a nap.
A degenerate heap of villanry, backstabbing and betrayal if you asked any uphiver - a posh establishment for the gentleman or lady that has made something out of himself if you asked someone from the deeper layers of the underhive or the sump. The tavern could be found in the upper regions of the underhive and was the dedicated starting point for search party Gamma 6. The reason became soon clear, as a mere 20 yards from it, the floor suddenly dropped into the abyss. Chaotic and broken down as everything around here looked, one could argue that the wanton destruction caused by the Chaos-Astartes attack with melta-charges didn't make much difference to the pittoreske scene, but the vast scale of that giant whole defied such musings.

The Chasm... that's what the uphivers had started to call it. A poetic name for what basically looked as if an angry god had cast his fiery fist right through the sprawling mass of the hive, collapsing floor after floor until it looked like a giant volcano had a smaller eruption and built a secondary caldera. Crazy thing was, most of the people from around here that the search party had encountered so far didn't even knew what caused it. There had been some talk about some kind of attack on the planet, but the underhivers were so detached from the world up there - at best being treated as labor cattle - that most of the attack carried out by Chaos forces had kind of missed their attention. Sure they had seen some fighting, PDF-troops and their tanks leveling some building blocks and "stranger than usual" looking attackers making their way into the innards of the nether regions of the hive, but in the grand picture that was nothing too unusual and the suddend collaps had overall surprised the people around here. Still it was met with some kind of adventurous stoicicm. Whoever was around to muse about these things was relieved it hadn't been his or her district that had been dropped into the ground and there was much else to think about. If you acted smart, you might really cut out some nice peace of the cake right now. Lots of stuff lying around that fell down from uphive, lots of other stuff whose owner was dead or on the other side of the chasm, far out of reach now and of course: the balance of power was about to shift completely down here. Knives were grinded, new territories cut out and old grudges settled in the power vaccuum left by loisys command center dropping right on the fortress the Zarabastas - the most powerful gang down in this section of the hive, that had called the shots for decades.

_____________

Brigadier Gaston and Enforcer John had volunteered themselves - or maybe were volunteered? - like many others for one of the numerous search parties send downwards into the chasm in a frail attempt to search for those, that had been dragged into it by the explosion. The official-for-public reason was to rescue all survivors of course. The less official reason was to look for Governor Loisy and the highest ranking officers. The inofficial, but practical reason was to try to salvage at least some of the data and expensive equipment that was dropped and of course make at least an effort to calm the followers of the late Governor. John suspected as much, because while some two hundred search parties had been send downwards, that was still far too few to have more than a lucky shot at finding anything down here. It wasn't his first time in the upper layers of the underhive, having sometimes persued people here, but he was well aware that the next layers played by completely different rules. All the more reason that he had insisted their squad of 10 volunteers to look out for a tavern like Dannies in the hope of finding a local guide to help them.

One of the others from the search team was a young Brigadier of Kallenese decent, standing beside John, his lasgun at the ready and looking at the hovel suspiciously.


_________________________

Cold Eye squinted at the bowl of greyish goo the barkeep had gave her. There were big, grimy eyes of fat swimming on top, which was always a good sign, and there even seemed to be some meat in it. Some little bones too, rat she would think. Damn, this was a real posh place and usually much to expensive for her. But word on the street had been that the uphivers were scurrying around down here and if you made good with Danny, you might find a job around here and make some good money. It had cost her quite some scrap and trinkets she had found over the years to get on Dannies good side, she just hoped it would be worth it in the long run.
Starting at her stew, she thought about all the strange things she had recently seen. The strangest being the bright round light you could sometimes make out at the top of the big hole in the sky of the underhive. She had never seen such a thing, nor had any of her tribe. And the sense of space and distance made her feel dizzy when she looked up there. Where even was the ceiling? And what had happened to it?

"Enforcer, this place is a true gakhole. Are you certain we need to stop by here? Besides, I'm not entirely sure hivers are going to be kind to a PDF soldier, even less so to an enforcer who's been actively bashing their heads over for the past decade...". Gaston was nervously watching all around him, lasgin elevated for and ready for any sign of ambush as per his training. As Gaston was from a signals company, rather than a true frontliner, he didn't benefit from the training in the underhives that helped shape the raider regiments Saint Bonifatius' Reach sent away into the stars to sow terror into the hearts of the enemy. He, for what it was worth, had but standard military training, albeit incorporating experience transmitted by veterans.

He was truly nervous already. The decrepit place he was in made him feel somewhat claustrophobic, considering he had so far lived in the fields and had his short military carrier mostly spend outside guarding and servicing antennas and the like. Everything here was both huge, and crushingly narrow at the same time.

The enforcer didn't answer so far. He wore the badge of ecclesiarchy aligned enforcers - those few who, while technically disbanded, dared to still show their opposition to Loisy and their support for Cardinal Richemont.

"Power angry parasite" Gaston muttered in Kallenes tongue, speaking true, but at the same time, visibly overlooking the privileges that have so far come with him being of Kallenese ancestry.

But he was a proud person at heart, and if the enforcer went, he would not shirk away. But first, a precaution: he went to the nearest window, and peeped inside. What he saw made his blood run cold: a filthy mutant, a half rat thing, was nose in its bowl. And there were yet more. "Go first enforcer, you know how to handle these horrors better than I do, I'll have your back.".

He racked his lasgun on off handle twice to make sure all was alright, and waited by the door for the enforcer to make the most diplomatic entry he could.

Uphivers. Was this the chance Danny had talked about?

They looked so.... fat, so well-fed. They had clothing that was more than tatters, gear that still had a shine to it, and they smelled so different. She couldn't even describe that smell, other than it was smell like no other she had experienced.

She kept her stew carefully guarded, and watched the Uphivers from the corner of her eyes. Were they just recruiting more Starwalkers? If they were, she had to be ready to sprint out, bowl in hand. If they were here for something else though, she needed to be ready to pounce on.

Her eyes carefully saw only her bowl of stew. Her ears were tuned to what these fresh-faces were saying. Her nose was twitching from that smell. Her off hand was lingering by her boom-stick.

Was this what she had spent all that scrap for?

John moved into the tavern, one hand near his shock maul, in case it was needed, but otherwise looked to be at ease.

"They're not all heretics and mutants down here. Some are just normal folks that just...slipped through the cracks." John smirked as he said this, realizing the irony in his words as a massive chasm was very much nearby. Just stay alert, but keep your finger on the safety. If you are gonna shoot someone, it's got to be the RIGHT person."

Once he determines no one is angling to take a shot at him, John sidles up to the bar and places some metal coins on the bar, an unofficial currency in this part of the underhive.

"I'm not here to drink bar tender. But I do need information. We need a guide to take us further down into the under hive. You know of anyone willing to work for a shield (slang for enforcer) to earn some extra scrip?"

[John appears as an older man, probably in his early 50s. His armor and outfit would look very similar to how the Necromunda Enforcer models look. He was volun-told for this assignment, and he considered it to be a bad one, but his philosophy is that there are generally no "good" assignments as an enforcer anyway, and it certainly could be worse. He doesn't believe that anyone could have survived the explosion and was planning to make a token search and rescue effort, and then head home. At least that was the plan...]

The Barkeep came over to see what John wanted of him, his bionic left hand a testament to the establishments name. Emperor knew how a underhive came to such a fine prosthesis that looked fitting for an officer and more importantly how he kept it so long. Which likely meant he had some powerful friends and influence around here keeping him from ending in some alleyway with a knife in his back.

Danny eyed John and his companions as if he was evaluating some pounds of meat at the market, grinning a yellowish smile and moving a thick cigar stump into the corner of his mouth. "Might be me knows someun Gov... But I don't remember no more these days, ya know?" some credits had to change the owner before he pointed with his shining metal hand into a corner, were a scraggy looking... human? Was sitting at a bowl of stew "Ya might try ya luck with old cold eye. Best tracker I know around here. Right down from the sump." which he underlied with a gesture pointing his hand deep down under the counter. "Heard dats were all y'all uphivers wanna go these days. Enjoy yaselfs!" which he underlined with a booming laugh that is taken up by several of the other patrons.


__________

Gaston hung a little bit back towards the door together with the rest of the search party. Overall a mix of people that were in security business in one way or the other. Enforcers, PDF, private security, mercenaries. The main oddity was someone from the Admechpeople, if still a bit more human looking as the others he had seen before. Most of her (?) face was still visible and human and she didn't seem to be completely up in the clouds like some other cogboys which was... something. Her legs were artificial and looked like Skitariis, but she doesn't really look like a soldier - yet. Did the Skitarii had something like recruits? Maybe... and if so, Rho-453-Sigma was likely one of them.

The Underhivers in the Tavern eyed them like they were food - and if you could believe the rumors, some of them might quite literally consider the option. Yet they seemed to leave Enforcer John be for now, as if there was an unwritten etiquette going on between both factions. As if the Enforcer knew what he could and could not do around here without breaking the peace, as did the Scum that called themselves this regions population. But Gaston and the others were not part of this agreement and if they weren't heavily armed, this might play out a lot differently.

__________

Cold Eye saw some posh looking uphiver talk with Danny and pay him something - damn Danny made quite a cut on every interaction around here - and then point towards her with his shiny metal hand. The uphiver looked over and then shambled closer...

This was it. This was the moment that Cold Eye had been waiting for. She had to play it right.

As the Uphivers approached, she studiously kept her head down and sipped at her stew. No bother letting it go to the Sump now, no tellin' when she would get a sip again.

Once they were close enough, she hissed out, "Who need Cold Eye's gaze?"

Uphivers tended to grin up for boogity-woogity, To them, going down hive was a sorta' thrill, somethin' they did for giggles. Then, after good laughs they went home to 3-squares and no Sumpgaks or Longlegs at their backs.

John gestures to himself and his PDF comrad.

"The law needs it. That's who," he growls.

"We need a guide to the lower levels. I'm not sure if yah heard, but there was a bit of a war not too long ago. Part of the hive got blown up and fell down deep like. Me and my friend are here to look for survivors and salvage."

"What's your price?"

Gaston and his men nodded in constrained approval. The didn't like to deal with that kind of faithless scum that would betray them at the first turn, but on the other hand, even the veteran that volunteered alongside him didn't now the under levels enough to actually guide anyone. However, they thought that, if they closed on Cold Eye now, she would most probably get scared from the get go. Gaston himself while not a giant, was a tall and muscular soldier, who, considering the relatively frailler appearance of cold eye, could have almost disposed of her in one good blow. But he had no doubt she would amply compensate with agility and cunning in ample supply.

They just grimmly stayed by the door, lasguns at the ready, indexes on the safety, and checking the customers for any sign of hostility, each taking up a different field of view, waiting for John to settle this part.

Cold Eye appraised the Shield and side-eyed the rest of the Uphivers. She suddenly got the feeling that what she thought was worth somefin' and what they thought was worth somefin' might be different.

The Copper mentioned a war.... but those kind of things were always happen around here. Do big hole only brought that to a boil. How or why the great chasm opened, that was for the Emperor to worry about.

Cold Eye licked her cracked and dry lips slowly, dropped her voice to a whisper, "I want.... an Eye-sooo-top-pick Fuel Rod*..... for payment. If we cans scamper back 'ere"

With one of those, she could carve out a little place downhive for herself and what was left of her tribe and be away from all these Uphivers for good.

*=

John nods his head.

"Salvage for your services eh? I can work with that. But we'll have to work out the details once we've reached our destination. There is no guarantee of what we'll find down there."

"Just remember one thing...you don't bite the hand that feeds eh?"


Once he is satisfied that a deal has been concluded, John will gesture to the door, implying that he wants the under hiver to start leading the group as their guide.

The tracker nodded, "Me, Cold Eye. Get ya food and plenty water. It a long crawl about.

Cold Eye awkwardly joined in the with the group. Seeing a member of the Tech Cult reassured her that the Star could deliver.

She wasn't expecting much from these decadent uphivers. They would probably go down for a a few days, she would bag some Sumpgaks along the way, and then come back up for payment. Uphivers didn't have much stomach for the Sump, so they wouldn't stick around down there for long.

having successfully hired a guide into the deeper bowels of the hive, the search party leaves the tavern. But each of you feels a lot of looks on their back with some kind of unease. Cold Eye for once would not be surprised if one or the other within the tavern considered following you in the hope of finding some easier prey, after the dangers of the sump softened you up, and the Enforcer had seen his fair share of murders in this no mans land between upper and under hive to suspect as much.

But for now you are pretty save, as almost a dozen armed people working together are a bit much to chew just to get your hands at some lasguns and food. True to Cold Eyes recommendation you stock up on water and food - the former a slightly cloudy slurry with a distinct metallic aftertaste, the later your choice between some more or less nutritious gruel, dried or smoked meat, all of rather unclear origin. Cold Eye on the other hand had lived of much worse stuff and doesn't seem to have an aversion against the stuff.
After that little shoping trip you find yourself at the border of the chasm again, were the falling debris has formed some kind of descent in the walls. A narrow path, wide enough to walk three aside, if the leftern most doesn't mind tripping close to the edge of a long drop down. Most of the lower regions seem to be pitch dark, with some lights here and there breaking through were scavengers are looking for loot or the cataclysm has ripped open walls to inhabited halls or working machinery. So you will mostly only be able to see as far as your flashlights reach. A strong wind howls upwards in the centre of the chasm, still carrying dust from the settling debris with it, even after a week and it smells like... humanity to put it optimistically. over the years billions of souls have lived and toiled in this hive and all their - quite literally - sweat and tears and... other bodily fluids have ultimatly sickered down into the sump.

As you decent, you hear the rhytmic thumping of some kind of giant machinery in the distance. As you approach some more, you can almost make out voices envolved in a heated argument, maybe 100 yards in front of you. With a mechanical rasp in her otherwise melodic voice Rho-453-Sigma utters "There are 6 people there, and they have drawn weapons against each other... They stand over a body that... I'm not sure, might be a Militarum uniform."
It seems they have not yet noticed you, the question is: what will you do? Wait until they settled their grudge? Try to scare them away? Attack?

Gaston and his crew racked the on switches to make sure lasguns were at the ready, and he instinctively crouched behind a nearby debris of pipe. He wasn't the leader of this expedition, but if the man there lying was truly a brethren from the esteemed Imperial Guard, he had to be saved. Plus, he maybe was in the building when it exploded and could have had insights as to what to look for if they intended to find the Governor.

"Gaston, ready" He said in a trembling but firm voice as aggression and tension rose. His thumb laid on the side light of his rifle.

Besides, if they elected not to attack, Gaston didn't know what these guys arguing and throwing lead at each other were up to. Could be a good thing to provide covering fire anyway...

Side glancing while trying to make out the silhouette in the dark, he listened to what the others would say, in particular, the guide. Cold Eye could potentially be trapping them early on, but at the same time, only she would know the "best way" to deal with that scum, that is, the most effective, of not the most righteous...

John grabs cold eye by the shoulder roughly and then gestures with his free hand in the direction of the shouting and points. He whispers softly:

"Go get a good look at em, then come back an tell me what you see."

He motions for the group to hold position for the time being.

Cold Eye grumbled to herself. Why did she have to take all the risks? The metal lady told them all they needed to know.

She shrugged and slinked off into the shadows to take a closer look.

Gaston was pleased to see the underhiver go first, and hoped it was not a trap. He tilted his gun everso slightly, ready to aim for cold eye first if treachery was revealed. But he hoped it was none of it and they could rescue what was presumably a comrade... Or learn something. Or whatever. He had to focus and be ready to shoot.

Cold Eye sneaks ever so slightly closer, until she can make out a bit more. In front of her she can see two factions, on the leftern side three hulking brutes, whose grandfathers could quite possibly have had a fling for Ogrynladies. All three of them are packed with muscels to the brim and wear some primitive but nonetheless quite impressive metal-junk armor and heavy mauls. On their opposite site are three "normal" hive gangers armed with guns, the aforementioned militarum body to their feet. From the looks of it they were in the process of dragging him somewhere for whatever reason, before being jumped by the brutes who where trying to snatch away their plunder.
From this bit nearer, Cold eye also gets the distinct impression that the guy at the ground is in no good shape, quite possibly dead. At least that's no way or angle a leg should look like and he doesn't move at all.

Currently both gangs are still just shouting threats at each other, and her experience tells cold eye, that the smaller gangers don't really trust there chances here, but as the brutes are hesitant too, both are caught in a stalemate that's only waiting to be broke as soon as someone flinches.

Cold Eyes slinks back to the Star and fills him in on what she saw.

"Not our biz. We keep going?" she gestured with walking fingers.

She hoped to avoid getting involved with every conflict between here and the bottom of the Sump. However, she wasn't the one leading this party.

Gaston cries out to her in a whisper: "Are you certain that he is dead?". He still doesn't really want to potentially leave a comrade, but he thinks, if that were a trap, she would probably have reported the very opposite to get them jumping into the lion's maw. Well, it still remained the possibility that this was a preliminary event to the trap to make them at ease, but he doubted the underhivers would go to such length in an environment that was theirs. Keeping his rifle in the dangerous direction as per his training, he grunted:

"I hope she's not playing around with us, l'oeil de lynx, là". As usual, in kallenese, as he always did when frustrated. Truth be told, he spoke even high gothic with a strange set of intonations and stressing typical of kallenese langage.

"We're ready to leave John, but we're in good position to run through, your call.".

The whole thing didn't sit well with John Trader. Their guide had scoped out a situation between two gangs but it was impossible to figure out from the description if the dead body was actually dead. A deep seated anger began to stir within him.

"You heard the guide. The corpse, if it IS a corpse, has a militarum uniform. We might be down deep lads, but this is still OUR HIVE. We don't let these animals take our own away like that."

"Just follow my lead and get ready to fight."

John drew his auto pistol took a crouching position behind a piece of cover. Using his helmet microphone, he projected the following message very loudly.

"THIS IS THE LEX. WITHDRAW FROM THE BODY IMMEDIATELY OR FACE EXECUTION."

[Interaction attack to make the enemies subject to vulnerable condition if they choose to fight. I get 3 successes but the wrath die comes up as a 1]

Gaston and his men lighted up their flashlight and took their aim back. They look for the possibly biggest threat first, in their case, the one that has got ranges weaponry and could tear them apart from afar. But before that, he made sure to grip cold eye by the collar, drag her under cover with them, a few meters in front of them, and said: "you stay there, if anyone gets too close, shotgun it to the warp, you know the drill."

The mix of fear, Kallenese accent, and excitement that distorted his speech made for a very strange sounding high gothic and it wasn't sure cold eye would understand. Gaston sweated and shook heavily. This was his test now, his first axtuall skirmish, with actual opponents. His brain more or less stopped working and years of training took this vacant place now as adrenaline pumped hard in his veins... A quick Aquila sign between two short breaths, and it was about to get going.

John Traders Voice booms through the darkness, momentarily blurring out the heavy pumping of machinery heard from the background. The Gangers in front of you turn around surprised, immediatly hunkering down a bit and stepping away from each other suspecting a trap just like you did. "Its da friggin Pigs!" one of the more normal looking gangers shouts, when most of the Soldiers around Gaston light up their flashlights. As it becomes obvious how many you are and realizing that they would have to fight with two adversaries for their prize, most of the group with the guns decide to run for it and try to bolt, ducking away into the darkness - which doesn't necessarily mean you wouldn't be able to shoot them in the back, if you are so inclined.

Unfortunatly the other group, packed with bulging muscels and somewhat armored shouts in glee "It da fuggin Piggies! Cam on her, little piggies! Mes wants me sum bacon!", thumping their heavy mauls to the ground and getting ready to charge you! Now that you get a better look, you have your doubts on either their genetic purity or what chemicals they ingested, as they really look more than half Bullgryns than like humans. So even if you severely outnumber them and have the advantage of range right now, this is far from a easy encounter.

John realizes that one of the three has a somewhat brighter look in the eyes and some distinct markings on his ragtag armor lets him suspect that this one - lets call him Grog - is the leader.
Gaston on the other hand registers the Chestarmor of the left one - Mog - to be only loosely attached by a leather string to his left shoulder. An aimed shot might just pull it down, opening him up for an easier takedown.
Cold Eyes attention focusses a bit differently right now and she realizes that the heap of debris, Gaston pushed her down to for cover is quite a good sight obstacle leading around the arising encounter and that she might have a shot at sneaking around the three brutes and get in their backs - if she so desires. Or alternatively to hide away should this go southways without being detected by them.
All three of you also had a glimpse in the lamplight, that the third one - Zog - has three big and cruel looking grenades hung from his belt and is reaching for one right now. In between them knowing and using the cover provided by the terrain here, you should be able to get at least one or two good shots at them before they reach you, but then it might already get into bloody melee.

"Fethin punks."

John growls under his breathe as he sees the response of the ogyrns.


John shifts his autopistol in the direction of the ogyryns and immediately opens fire, full auto directly into the one he perceives as the leader, he empties the entire magazine in one go, holding the gun steady as he does so.

[Used salvo option to get 2 extra dice. Got 6 successes total, 4 successes from exalted icons, will use any additional shifts for extra damage]

Johns shot is right on target, peppering the Brute with autpistol bullets. But amidst him ducking and jumping forward, the Enforcer misses Grogs unarmored parts and most of the impacts just scrach the paint in his thick armorplates or leaves some cuts that don't seem to hinder him that much. The Brutes get some steps closer though...

Cold Eye sees that these are 'Roid Gangers, and she wants nothing to do with them. Shots start ringing out, and Cold Eye realizes she wants to get wide of the fighting. She quickly scurries around behind the cover, her Shotgun held loosely in her off-hand as she maneuvered around through the underhive to get behind these big boyz. For the most part, she was focused on keeping her head down as she hustled out of the line-of-fire and out of sight.

Amidst the mayhem, Gaston empties his clip in a wild volley, when the sargent suddenly slaps him back to his senses "Gaston, abruti, they're legging it, all teams, on the coming ones, from left to right, short bursts, fire!"

Gaston, with trembling limbs shaking out of control, painfully manages to reload under cover, before emerging back and shorting what only he probably called a "short" burst at the leftest monster rushing towards them, ready to aim at those other ones coming dangerously close should that damn brute finally lay done. He heard the sargent yell yet again "alpha, fix bayonets, get ready!". But Gaston is bravo team, so he keeps squeezing the trigger...

Even though not trained in coherent fighting, the whole mixed group of volunteers under Johns Command raises their lasguns in unisono and peppers the charging brutes with shots, focussing on the one priming the grenade for now. The hail of lasbolts slams into his armor uselessly, but soon the often underestimated quality of the humble lasguns shows itself... there where just so many of them. Where 10 shots fail, 2 or three do slam through chunks and slits, burning flesh and suddenly the brutes knees seem to get weak and shaky. Still running like a drunkard, he drops his maul and puts his hand to his neck, were one of the lasbolts has penetrated and burst some artery. Thick, bright red blut sprays through a wound and he coughs of blood, finally going to the ground. He tries to throw his grenade, but it only roles a mere meter from him, as he falls down, dowing nothing more than turning his thick skull into paste.


Gaston ducks out of cover, white as chalk and lets loose with his lasgun in his "short burst", until the tip of the barrel already starts glowin a dark red and steam forms were waterdrops from the ceiling hits it. Quite to his surprise and amazement... his panicked shot is quite effective. Most of the lasbolts miraculously hit the second brute in the joints and other weakpoints of his armor and while none of them are directly deadly, the sheer amount of torn away, exploded, burned and chared flesh let him collaps with a painridden groan only 2 yards in front of the Kallenese Soldier.

That leaves only the leader of the trio, now charging right into your mob and before you even know it he outright smashed one of the PDF soldiers that volunteered to pulp with his heavy maul, swinging wildly after the others who are on the brink of breaking. Gaston, the sergant, Rho-453-Sigma and John hold steady, but the others are not trained enough to build two teams, one keeping him busy with bayonets, to keep the others firing.
The brute itself seems madded with rage, his vision seemingly blurry from his bloodshot eyes. For a moment you can see some tubings pumping strange fluids into his neck and John might suspect that he took some combat drug.
Just this moment Cold Eye rounds the corner and reappears in the back of Grog.

"You are going to pay for that." John grumbles as he watches the large brute charge into the mob of PDF soldiers.

John holsters his pistol and breaks out the shock maul, then charges in, slamming the thing hard in the back.

Johns shockmaul slamms into his targets side and the stink of ozon fills the air as crackling sparks of lighting flow from its powered tip into the metal plat at his shoulder. But the hulking giant is a tough one indeed and still seems rather unaffected by the attack that would have brought a normal man down. But at least the electricity makes the muscles in his arm spasm for a moment, enough to throw his next attack of, so instead of taking the heads of another three of your company in a wide swing, he only grazes one of them at the helmet, throwing him to the side desoriented but alive.

As Gaston's lasgun runs out of power and makes a distinctive "tac tac" of the trigger uselessly hitting the back of its slot, he tried to make a few steps backwards, and fell, still chalk white, just to see one of his comrades smashed to atoms by the brute, and John having at it with its maul. "Merde", he groaned, dizzy, but still feeling like in a dream state, somewhat unreal. Their formation was more or less broken as the brute rampaged left and right and had made some others fall on the back too.

"Bordel, what's cold eye playing eye?" He swore in kallenese, not seeing her anywhere to help them out. Gaston scrambled to catch his rifle again and reload, frantically, and when he finally made it, he plugged another power pack into the socket, and crouched back into cover, squatting behind a pile of debris de brute had flung sideways as he charged. As usual in his native tongue, he shouted "Sergeant, what do I do?" But that's the moment he realised who had just been smashed into pieces by the brute: the sergent.

Mechanically, he took his rifle again, and from his cover, called his comrades to rally to him. This was more of a self preservation attempt than heroic taking up of command: he apparently reckoned that somewhat grouped, he would at least stand better chances. He repeteas the words of the deceased sergent: "Alpha, fix bayonets, forward, Bravo, at my commend short burst"!