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My local gaming club ran a Necromunda campaign recently, and some of us wrote some fluff for our various gangs as it progressed. Here's a bit I wrote for my enforcers gang - a security corporation called Darkwater, contracted by the local Arbites to enforce the Pax Imperialis in the lower areas of the hive. This is part one of three:

---------------------------

By all reckoning, District-99 should have been dead. Acrid, stagnated air, the absence of any water that wasn't contaminated with assorted pollutants, microbes, toxins or industrial effluence, and above all the complete lack of sunlight should have rendered this fetid corner of the underhive completely inimical to life.
Yet the unique set of selection pressures created by the poisonous underworld environment had forced evolution towards bizarre, alien branches of the tree of life. Fungal growths adapted to utilise the latent psi-waste from the Astropathic guild several levels uphive; the spore clouds released drove anyone who inhaled them into insane and destructive bouts of telekinesis. The iron-clad beetles that infested the abandoned manufactora adapted to feed on the rusting machinery; in turn they were fed on by the wirecrows, the ingested metal manifesting in razor-sharp metal wing feathers with which they slashed and hacked at their prey. Hairless, albino hounds hunted by sensing the vibrations of footsteps carried along pipes and walkways, their eyes having long since atrophied completely in the eternal darkness.
Still stranger organisms dwelt in the most remote regions. Some of the Arbite tech-adepts had speculated on the possibility of an abiogenesis event in the primordial chemical sump of the underhive: the spontaneous coming-into-existence of a new strain of life, its descendants undergoing hyper-evolution under the extreme environmental conditions.

Such conjecture was dismissed as fanciful at best and heretical at worst by the local Ecclesiarchy, but here in the claustrophobic darkness Viktor Arkady could well believe the rumours. He and Uri kept their weapons ready as they made their way through the abandoned administration buildings of a derelict mining facility. Even this far down in the hive, they were still several kilometres above what had once been the original surface of the planet. But the slow accretion of trace amounts of precious metals from waste material and industrial run-off over the millenia had accumulated and been compressed, until profitable seams of a mineable ore called polisolite had been created. The discovery of a seam in District-99 had sparked a small rush of prospectors and miners to the area, and several small settlements had sprung up. Why the mines had closed and the district abandoned had never been explained. Arkady noted the half-eaten meals in the mess hall, fuzzed over with cyan-coloured mould that glowed gently in the darkness.

They emerged into a large square space between three buildings that a rusting sign indicated was the facility's motor pool. Presumably once it had been crowded with heavy cargo lifters, but in their absence it felt open and exposed. The ghostly sound of the surrounding hive carried from kilometres away by conduits and pipelines drifted down from above. A shapeless mass sat in the centre of the yard, dark and obscure in the gloom.
Arkady flicked on the lamp pack attached to his bolt pistol as he approached the shape. Behind him Uri raised his shotgun to cover him.
"We should keep moving. The light will attract wildlife." he said.
Arkady didn't answer as, closer now, he shone his light onto the mass. Five or six bodies dressed in blood-stained work-clothes lay slumped in a huddled pile. A bullet wound was clearly visible in the forehead of a gaping face.
"Throne..." muttered Arkady. Uri moved forward to join him.
"What?" asked Uri. "We've seen bodies elsewhere. Violence is inevitable when everyone is rushing to abandon a district. They were probably too slow to leave here, and were attacked by raiders."
Arkady knelt by the bodies and looked up at him. "Uri, when was this district abandoned?"
Uri shrugged.
"Ten, fifteen years ago?"
Arkady turned back to inspect the nearest corpse.
"Then why are these still fresh?"
The hand swiped out of the pile and missed his face by an inch.
"Hell!"
Arkady sprang backwards. Uri snapped his shotgun up and aimed at the bodies. Scrambling to his feet, Arkady drew his pistol.
With an inhuman moan, one of the bodies untangled itself from the pile. Using its one arm, the corpse pushed itself upright. It seemed for a second not to see the shocked enforcers right in front of it. A distended tongue lolled from a mouth that hung open over a missing jawbone. An eyesocket was an empty fleshy hole surrounded by rodent bite-marks.
"What the hell is it?" hissed Arkady. Uri just shook his head, bewildered.
At the sound of his voice, the cadaver's head lolled round to face them. Uttering a hollow moan, it began to approach them on stiff, uncoordinated legs.
"Throne, drop it!" Arkady yelped. A blast from Uri's shotgun tore off the other arm at the elbow, and two explosive rounds from Arkady's bolter blew gory craters in the thing's chest.
Still it came.
"The head!" shouted Uri.
Arkady took aim, squeezed the trigger. The gun clicked: empty. He shrieked as the thing stumbled forward and bore him to the ground under its weight. It tried to snap at him with its non-existent jaw; gargled idiot noises spluttered from its mouth. Arkady screamed, pawing at its chest.
Uri swore, racked his shotgun, and blew the thing's head off. The echoes from the gun's retort bounced around the facility for several seconds in the quiet that followed.
Arkady took Uri's hand to help himself up, wiping the worst of the gore from his body-armour with his free hand.
"Thanks" he said.
Uri nodded. "When was the last time you heard of a zombie plague outbreak? I thought it been eradicated?"
"We can worry about it another time. We should get moving". His eyes were fixed on what remained of the thing that attacked him. Its overalls were drenched in blood and gore, but a symbol could just be made out on the front.
A symbol Arkady had seen before.
Uri thumbed a couple of fresh shells into his weapon. "We should go back. Call it in".
Arkady shook his head.
"No. We keep going. We have an appointment."
He ejected his spent clip, and slammed in a new one. Engaging the safety, he holstered the gun.
"And you don't break an appointment with the Meatsmith."

Part two:

-----------------------------------------

After an hour navigating through abandoned hab-units and derelict manufactora, they arrived at the house of the Meatsmith. It was a one story building in a desolate commercia district, nondescript apart from a soft glow from the windows. As they approached, Arkady noticed the bars covering the windows were humming, and the spaces between them held a translucent glow - a power field to discourage the local wildlife.
"I hate coming here" muttered Uri.
"We won't be long" replied Arkady.
He banged on the armoured steel door with his gloved fist. Almost immediately, the cover of a viewing slit at waist height shot back.
"Yes?" asked a cracked, squeaking voice.
Arkady crouched down to look through the slit. Wide, close-set eyes regarded him nervously.
"It's me. I'm here to see the Smith. Open the door."
The viewing slit was covered, and Arkady heard several bolts being drawn back. The steel door swung open.
"Come, come. He waits."
It was called Cisor, and it was the Smith's assistant. Arkady had never been able to determine its sex. Cisor stood a little under 3 foot tall, partly because it was permanently hunched over. Its eyes were wide and seemingly lidless, and sat beneath a flaking scalp surrounded by lank black hair. It wore a heavy, stained apron and a belt from which hung dozens of tools, of various shapes, sizes and composition. A complicated brass gauntlet covered its right hand, from which the more delicate of Cisor's tools and derma needles could be extended.
Cisor was short for incisor, Arkady had been told by the Smith on his last visit, a reference to the enormous overbite it possessed. It stank of cleaning fluid and formaldehyde and a thousand other chemicals.
They followed Cisor deeper into the building, down a green-tiled corrider. Ancient lumen-strips on the ceiling glowed feebly. From ahead came the sound of atonal whistling, and the clink of metal and glass.
They emerged into a high-ceilinged, circular room, brightly lit by overhead electrical lamps. Steel shelves lined the walls. On them sat glass jars of various sizes and shapes, most empty, but some filled with urine-coloured liquids in which fleshy shapes hung. Most were unidentifiable, but some were clearly human body parts; here a hand, here a pair of eyeballs.
In the centre of the room stood a steel gurney. On it lay Sergeant Nikolai Arbatov, commander of Darkwater Enforcement, naked save for a faded linen sheet covering his lower half.
Leaning over him, mechadendrites swaying mantis-like over his shoulders, stood the Meatsmith.

The Meatsmith stopped whistling and looked up. A mechadendrite swung down and adjusted the complicated lensed device he wore on his nose. Brass gears whirred and brought various lenses into focal positions.
"Ah!" he grinned. "My friends."
He laid the surgical tools he had been wielding down carefully on a wheeled table by the gurney, and approached them. The four mechadendrites attached to his spine swung lazily in the air above him.
"Viktor, Mikhael, I trust your journey was pleasant?" the Meatsmith asked. Arkady had given up asking him to refer to them by their rank or surname. Each time the Meatsmith had apologized profusely, then apparently would forgot 30 seconds later and resume his avuncular tone.
"Quite pleasant, thank you" replied Arkady. He had learned through trial and error that this was the response least likely to set the Smith off on an improvised treatise on the more interesting features and people of the surrounding district. He seemed quite unaware of the hellish conditions existing beyond his walls.
"You'll be wanting to see young Nikolai then" said the Meatsmith, turning and strolling back to the gurney. Arkady was forced to lean back to avoid a mechadendrite that swung round in the Smith's wake. He and Uri followed, Cisor trotting along behind them.
Back in what Arkady was beginning to think of as the real world, Darkwater had enjoyed the same benefits as the local Zone Enforcers. In return for enforcing the Pax Imperialis in the unrulier parts of the hive, they were equipped with Adeptus Arbites issue weaponry and equipment, and expert medicae care for any injuries sustained in the field. That had all changed when they were suddenly redeployed down into the depths, down into District-99. Convoys from one-oh-one made occasional visits to deliver ammunition and replacement equipment, but infrequently. Several times ammunition stocks had run dangerously low from fending off attacks on their makeshift headquarters by the underhive's dangerous and bizarre ecosystem, or from engaging in vicious firefights with the gang-members they had been sent to subdue. Worst was the lack of access to skilled medicae. Voicing these concerns to Grand Marshall Hauptmann before they had departed, Sergeant Arbatov had been given, almost it seems as an afterthought, the name and location of someone who he had been assured was a skilled and loyal freelance medicae.
That had turned out to be the Meatsmith. Information on him was scant, but he was rumoured among the few remaining inhabitants of D-99 to be the sole survivor of a Mechanicum expedition that had been exploring the lower reaches of the underhive back in 348 for an ancient device.
Whoever he was, his skill with bionics and augmetics was undeniable. Arkady lent over to inspect the dull metal shape that covered the left hemisphere of Arbatov's head. Thin, lighter coloured metal traces covered it like circuitry. The bullet from the fleeing mutant three weeks ago had fractured his skull quite badly, and caused some minor damage to his cerebrum. The Meatsmith had promised his implant would fully restore Arbatov's brain functions.
"When will he be concious?" Arkady asked, standing up.
"Tomorrow, I believe, tomorrow" replied the Smith, his back to them as he fussed through the crowded tools on the table.
Uri also inspected the implant. He frowned and turned to the Smith.
"Where is the scar?" he asked. Uri had been there when Arbatov's unconscious form had been taken by the mysterious bronze-masked figures. He remembered that the bullet had gouged a long and deep gash, long enough that parts of the scar should have been visible emerging from underneath the implant.
"Ah, you noticed that did you Mikhael? Very perceptive." replied the Smith, still sorting through his scattered implements. "I wanted to discuss that with you, as it happens. Ah, here we are."
The Meatsmith had finally found the tool he was searching for: a long and viciously sharp scalpel.
"Watch" he said.
The Meatsmith turned and slashed open Arbatov's belly with the scalpel.

Part three:

-------------------------

Arkady slammed into the Meatsmith and propelled him into a shelf-stack with his forearm against the surgeon's neck. Glass flasks and jars fell and shattered on the tiled floor. With his other hand he drew his bolt pistol and pressed it into the Smith's temple.
"What the hell is wrong with you, you twisted freak?" he snarled.
Behind him, Uri had swung his shotgun up. He spun round and adjusted his aim as Cisor hobbled past him towards Arkady and the Meatsmith. Yammering and tutting, it began to pick up the broken glassware, ignoring Arkady and the Smith.
Arkady had glanced round at Cisor's approach. When he looked back, the Meatsmith was grinning, showing teeth of various metals.
"Mind your back, boy" he said softly.
Arkady became aware of a slight pricking sensation at the back of his neck. Turning his head slightly, he saw one of the Meatsmith's mechadendrites reaching round behind him. In its brushed-steel claw, it held a dermo-needle with its point against his spine. The chamber of the needle was filled with a noxious looking green liquid. Slowly, Arkady lowered his gun, and released his hold on the Smith. The mechadendrite withdrew. Still grinning, the Meatsmith adjusted his ruffled labcoat. Cisor continued to pile the shards of glass and retrieve the spilled specimens, muttering and complaining to itself.
"Arkady. Come and see this" said Uri.
With a glare at the Smith, and keeping his weapon to hand, Arkady returned to the gurney. He turned to inspect the wound inflicted to Arbatov.
It happened slowly enough that at first it wasn't obvious. But after a few seconds, it became clear that the ugly gash in Arbatov's abdomen was closing. The enforcers watched in amazement as the last of the split flesh sealed itself. Grabbing a swab from the wheeled table, Arkady wiped away the blood. The flesh underneath looked like it had never experienced any injury.
"As I was explaining," the Meatsmith said as he came back to the gurney, adjusting his eyepiece, "I have discovered some physiological processes in young Nikolai that are a little unusual, to say the least."
"How long has he been like this?" asked Arkady, holstering his weapon.
The Meatsmith shrugged. "Since I received him. The effect is most pronounced when he is in a deep torpor, as he is now."
"What could do this?" Arkady asked.
The Smith shrugged. "It is beyond my knowledge. But you should see this as well."
One of the Smith’s artificial limbs snaked up to the ceiling and grabbed something. Snaking cables behind it, a bulky pict-screen was pulled down on its articulated support. The screen flickered green as it warmed up.
“I performed a cranial scan, naturally, to assess the extent of the damage to his brain. It was only when I inspected the images later that I saw it.”
On the screen a sagittal cross-section of Arbatov’s skull showed the dull cracks across the side of his head. But one of the Smith’s metal claws was tapping a brighter spot lower down, glowing emerald near the base of the neck. It looked to be no bigger than a millimeter square.
“Shrapnel?” asked Arkady.
The Smith shook his head. “That was my first thought. I did not want to remove it, as it was embedded in the spinal cord. So I did a high-resolution lode-scan, look.”
A mechadendrite tapped a large button by the pict-screen display.
The image on the screen changed to show the object, and was clearly a manufactured device. It was rectangular, and covered with inlaid circuitry similar to that on the implant in Arbatov’s head. A serial number ran down the side, followed by what looked like a company logo. Despite the small size and fuzzy greenness of the image, it was unmistakably the same emblem Arkady had seen on the workclothes of the thing that had attacked them earlier.

This is a bit of recovered-correspondence style fiction from earlier in the campaign:

SECURE TRANSMISSION BEGINS
MAGENTA LEVEL-CLEARED ONLY
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS IS FORBIDDEN

Sender: SENDER ID REDACTED
Recipient: RECIPIENT ID REDACTED

Timestamp: 3264451.M41 (est.)

Thought for the day: There is no such thing as innocence, only degrees of guilt.

2(TWO) ITEMS FOLLOW

ITEM 1(ONE)
Intercepted (optical tap) 261451.M41 (est.). Sender/recipient IDs confirmed.

+ To: Grand Marshal Gul Hauptmann, Arbites Enforcers Z-101
+ From: Sergeant Nikolai Arbatov, Darkwater Enforcement Corp.
+ Sent: 261451.M41
+
Beg to report armed encounter earlier this day with elements of itinerant tribal 'Ratskin' population while on recon patrol. Opposing force confirmed as 'Ulenni Vermin-Hunters' group [descript file attached], estimated 14 strong. Was forced to withdraw in face of superior numbers. Operative Oleg wounded by enemy fire: currently MIA, presumed dead. Request replacement to be sent from Arbites reserve sections ASAP. We respectfully remind the Grand Marshal that effective enforcement of the Pax Imperialis in the lower reaches of Zone-101 by our organization is only effective with sufficient manpower.
+
+THE EMPEROR PROTECTS

ITEM 2(TWO)
Verbal exchange intercepted by remote eavesdropping via skull-probe, 262451.M41 (est.) [co-ordinates attached]

Subject one {identity unclear (facing from probe) male h184cm (est.) w83kg (est.) identified by subject two as 'Viktor', presumed to be Viktor Arkady (operative of Darkwater Enforcement Corporation aka Zone-101 Irregulars) [pict/descript file attached]. Subject accompanied by unidentified quadruped, possible mutant/xenos origin. Possible infringement of relevant local genetic purity edicts logged and noted.}

Subject two confirmed as Nikolai Arbatov (head of Darkwater Enforcement Corporation aka Zone-101 Irregulars) [pict/descript file attached]

ARKADY (ONE): ... another of Hauptmann's boy-scouts? We only just got rid of Oleg.

ARBATOV (TWO): No, he's coming from the reserve sections. They're less... idealistic at that stage.

ARKADY: Even so...

ARBATOV: Once he's done his induction run, he'll see things our way, trust me. Down here the shine of guilder-credits is brighter than the Emperor's light.

ARKADY: Very poetic. And what of Oleg? If it's discovered we left him for those rodents to take we'll all be up against an Arbites firing squad.

ARBATOV: It won't be, Viktor. You worry too much.

ARKADY: It was a big risk Nikolai, there are other ways to deal with men like him...

ARBATOV: I had no choice. My source told me he was going to squeal to Hauptmann today.

ARKADY: I heard those filth sold him to the sub-Rift pit-miners. What if he talks?

ARBATOV: Half the slaves in that mine are the scum we clean off the streets. If he's smart he'll keep his former employee's identity to himself. Relax Viktor. When does this new recruit arrive?

ARKADY: In two days, then we [vocalisation from accompanying creature] ... wait, did you hear something girl?

{Detection algorithms activated. Skull-probe RTS}

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

This agent will continue observation.

TRANSMISSION ENDS - DELETE AFTER READING