I ran.

The whole place it seemed was burning. Mighta been the whole damned spire for all I knew. Shoulda been... What do I care?

They like it that way. The Redemption. They like you runnin' scared. Runnin' in circles in the smoke. Y'know they got flugs in them masks of theirs? Yeah sure, the smart ones do anyhow. Not just a pretty face... Well them masks ain't pretty, but you know they come prepared to burn stuff. Photo lenses and smoke filters built in. Kitted out better'n the Arbites in some quarters. They're outlaws, sure, official line, but you make no mistake, the Redemption's the law, the Arbites don't sniff around their turf.

I made it out of the hab. Street so choked in smoke you can't tell inside or out but for the gak in the gutter. I found a trans-cab parked up behind the hab block and made for it. They make some of'em right tough to get into, but I got a knack for it by now. Picking the easy ones that is. Real gak-piece this one. Been had before now, a fella can tell. Throne, some of 'em been wired so often they don't even bother to fix it.

Kept my head down and got to work, but I can still hear 'em close. Autorifles rattlin' up their in the hab-block. Heard something hit the deck just outside, a big chair maybe, or a small body. I didn't look.

Smoke was gettin' in the broke window. I was runnin' out of air, runnin' outa time. Got one wire in my teeth, not the live one, that I'm knifing bare. I'm prayin' to the thing, ya know, like a cab driver at the lights. Y'ever hear 'em do that? They pray to their cab, to the machine, cabbies do. Throne, I dunno, guess the cab spirit didn't much appreciate my havin' at the ignition like that but I was prayin' all the same.

Thought I'd seen enough of fire but right then the sparks were a fella's best friend, I tell ya. Never was so glad to see 'em through the smoke. The engine fired up and the whole thing jerked alive. Hit my head on the wheel coming up, then I seem him. Ugly gold mask, glint of fire from beneath, he's lit and ready to burn, but then so am I.

Feth, I never floored a pedal like that. Tore outa there backwards on tyre smoke and promethium fumes. Big Ugly-masked feth was screaming, think I broke his foot maybe. He shot off a tank of juice but i was rollin'. Flipped it into drive and took off dodgin' slugs an' curses.

Gave it one last look in the rear view but nobody was chasing. Just all flames and dirty orange smoke behind. Out front its just a dark road to nowhere.

PAULY:"We were down in the sump-walks. Us two an' Snake-eyes."
STRAY:"He slipped off early on."
PAULY"Yeah, he don't hang wit' Juves. So he said"
STRAY:"Won't get his eel-skin boots dirty down in the sumps, more like."
PAULY: "He went to cover us from up top."
STRAY"Feth, his boots. He's a vain piece'a gak."
PAULY:"Nah, he just doesn't like you."
STRAY:"Oh yeah I forgot, he only has eyes for his Sweet Pretty Pauly."
PAULY:"Ah shove it, Stray!"
STRAY:"Hey, that's not my name!"
PAULY:"You shoot straight one time, I'll call you somethin' else."
STRAY:"You'll call me Boss before too long."
PAULY:"Emperor Save us, if you're ever runnin' the Knucklebones!"
STRAY:"I could roll the bones!"
PAULY:"You can't even roll your own lho sticks!"
STRAY:"This guy! You ever hear a kid shootin' his mouth off like it?"
PAULY:"Yeah, I hear you, Stray. I gotta listen to you all the time."
STRAY:"You can shut your big mouth! Anyway, like I said we was knee-deep in gak closing on the flank of some Skinner scouts."
PAULY:"Snake-eyes said they weren't scouts, said they looked like just regular Skinners."
STRAY:"Skinner Scouts are just regular... look forget it, we heard shots, right."
PAULY:"Snake-Shots, like BAP-BAP-BAP! He's got some real tight action on that auto gun."
STRAY:"Yeah, he's got a real tight grip on his piece."
PAULY:"You should ask him for some pointers."
STRAY:"Nah, I like it up close, at knife-point, you know."
PAULY:"That's what the girls say, only way you can get one!"
STRAY:"Feth this guy! Hey gimme another bottle; yeah same again."
PAULY:"And me, Stray."
STRAY:"And another one for my girlfriend too. Here, compliments of some Ratskin gak-licker."
PAULY:"Gyaaah, you brew this stuff yourself, Bubble?"
STRAY:"Yeah, I can tell."
PAULY:"No no no it's good!"
STRAY:"Yeah, I mean, it kicks like a bolter."
PAULY:"Like a Heavy Bolter, am I right?"
STRAY:"Like you'd know!"
PAULY:"No Gak, I been down to Shooters, tried all sorts!"
STRAY:"Wanted some experience holding a real weapon for once. Your gak-piece stubber'd be more use as a grenade. I've seen you dumdum'n your rounds. That gak is gonna blow up in your pretty face one'a these days."
PAULY:"Throne! I'll look like you! That Skinner's blunderbuss di'nt do you no favours with the ladies."
STRAY: "We can't all be pretty and dumb like you Pauly."
PAULY: "Yeah well I got brains enough to know when to duck once in a while, you know."
STRAY:"It's not that bad, he were miles away."
PAULY:"He still hit you! Which is more'n you managed with your pissing autopistol."
STRAY:"I was keepin' him and his mate pinned while we got up close! Knife work, you know."
PAULY:"Mmmhmmm. I'm pretty sure Snake-eyes downed one'f'em before we got there."
STRAY:"Well we finished the job, di'nt we. They stink worse'n the sump up close if you can believe it."
PAULY:"That's why I prefer to plug 'em from a ways off. Snake-eyes' got the right idea."
STRAY:"you're such a fething Coat-Tail, you'll be polishing his piece next! Here, you can start with polishing his boots."
PAULY:"What the feth is that?"
STRAY:"It's a blindsnake pouch."
PAULY:"...the feth?"
STRAY:"I took it off the Skinner with the buss."
PAULY:"Some Skinner gak, so what? I don't want that, it stinks."
STRAY:"for Snake-eyes' boots, you know? His Eelskins, he polishes them with blindsnake oil. Says it keeps him one step ahead."
PAULY:"Talk gak?"
STRAY:"For real, bro, Fat-Stax told me. That's why they call him Snake-eyes."
PAULY:"I thought it was a dice thing. Like when you roll snake-eyes..."
STRAY:"Is that good or somethin'?"
PAULY:"I dunno, I play cards mostly. But I ain't givin' him that thing. It looks like a Skinner's nut-sack."
STRAY:"Fine, I'll keep it myself."
PAULY:"May as well have one nut-sack on you."
STRAY:"Oh right, says Captain cajones here who's scared of handing Snake-eyes a Ratskin ball bag. Tell me who needs to grow a pair?"
PAULY:"You just like the feel of 'em in your hand."
STRAY:"Feth you Pauly. If you don't get done shooin' your mouth off I'm gonna shoot it myself."
PAULY:"You'd have to fethin' hit it first, you stray-bullet shootin' mother-feth..."
STRAY:"That's it! You...
PAULY:"Ah! Gak, you piece of ... "
STRAY:"Come here, I'm gonna..."
PAULY:"Get the feth off me! Ah! You stink of rat nuts."
STRAY:"Smells like victory, I reckon."
PAULY:"Smells like your mother!"
STRAY:"Emp'ra-Dammit you just don't know when you're beat. I'll make you eat these furry feths, I swear to feth!"
PAULY:"I'll bet you say that to all the girls!"
STRAY: "Ha, you're a funny feth, Pauly, you crack me up."
PAULY:"Dammit Stray, that gak is toxic. I'm gonna get Skinner-rabies."
STRAY:"Hey Bubble, another drink for the rabid dog here, wash the foam back down."
PAULY:"Throne I don't know what's worse, rat-nuts or this gak."
STRAY:"Hey, come on now, a toast, hey? House Goliath!"
PAULY:"House Goliath!"
STRAY:"Gyaaah! To the Knucklebones!"
PAULY:"Warp Yeah!"
STRAY:"Gyaaah!"
PAULY:"Whooo! Feth that really kicks."
STRAY: "That's a drink for real men right there."
PAULY:"Yeah, dunno how come he gave you one but you'll get used to it. It'll put hairs on you."
STRAY:"Drink up and shut your mouth will ya!"

All was quiet at the steelworks. As quiet as an industrial complex in the underhive can ever really be at any rate. It was almost hard to believe there was a war on.

It hadn't taken long for the tenuous peace to shatter. It had gone from a careless word to a fist fight to a shooting match in less than an hour and word had spread faster. It was only second shift and the steel mill was shut right down. Every Orlock within three districts was tooled up and flying gang colours.

Ricco caught a glimpse of a couple of reds keeping to the shadows on his right. He brought his las-rifle up to his shoulder and affixed a telescopic sight in place. It was a clumsy fit. He'd had to modify the weapon's casing to accommodate the scope but it was a worthwhile addition.

A closer look at those reds revealed one was Big Cornel's boy and the other was that fool Bruno who he always ran with. And if those two were here... As if on cue Roddie stepped into sight.
"Throne's Bones, Rod." He cursed. His little brother had lately been known to follow the older lads around but really he was just a kid. Ricco followed their progress along a gangway and into the plascrete refinery building.

"Damn, kids." Ricco took stock of his surroundings and slung his rifle on his back. "Fething babysitting as usual!" He climbed a steel ladder up a couple of levels and kept low as he crossed the skyway onto the refinery roof. The refinery was cold. Not good for business. The house contract was everything and steel quotas were sacrosanct. Whoever won the rights to this turf would have their work cut out; It was just the Orlock way, fight hard, work harder. The steelworks were the heart of the house.

The lack of smoke was unnerving, Ricco felt exposed. He dropped down inside the refinery and took up a position on a high gantry leading to a foreman's office. Voices echoed in the cavernous dark followed by gunshots and yells.

Ricco shouldered his weapon and scoped around. A group of soldiers in Cadena Black were skulking around the foundry floor, one dropped down into a pit hatch and the other two followed quickly after. Ricco stuck his head out over the rails and scanned the floors beneath. No sign of the boys.

"Juves on tour!" He moaned, "Fething great!"

A shaft of light beneath tore the working floor in two as the huge elongated shadow of a man stepped inside. He fired a long indiscriminate burst from his big stubber as a number of men fanned out behind him. They wore white, Greedo's Ghosts.

Cross hairs on the newcomer's ugly face, Ricco pulled the trigger. In the moment the man shifted just enough to take the hit on his shoulder. He was winged but not badly. A rattle of small arms fire followed and Ricco kept his head down.

The appearance of Greedo's boys was a surprise. The Ghosts had been an old adversary long ago rolled up under Acero's control.That they'd taken Cadena's side after all these years was bad news. Acero was losing his grip and there was a real chance they were in danger of being badly outnumbered.
"Black and White, like fething smoke and ash." He grumbled. "Still, we're Acero's Red Irons, hot out the forge."

Ricco risked a look over the edge and caught a BlackWatch ganger leading a couple of Ghosts up the main stairway. He took careful aim and plugged the lead man square in the chest, he went down and the ghosts took cover. Ricco made a run for it before they had time to get a bead on his position. He heard shouts from below, familiar voices, the lads were somewhere near.

Ricco ducked into the rear stairwell. Down below a riotous gunfight was underway. A mixture of las and auto rounds and a flurry of curses. He couldn't get an angle on anything from this hight and but he wasn't about to head down there. He checked his las-pack, still fresh. He'd done some work on his lasgun to boost the range. It had a tendency to suck the juice and run a little hot but he had a light touch and was getting good at using it as a long-las.

Across the stairwell he slipped into a hallway that turned around the corner of the building. An orange glow flickered on the ceiling from fires burning below. It wasn't coming from the smelting works. It was one of Acero's bars, The Iron Casket, where the fight had been instigated. The flames and the fighting had spread into the street. The whole hab-block was on high alert.

Ricco set up camp in an observation booth. The room was set high up overlooking the steelworks floor. The kind of place where an inspector might brood over the workforce and grumble about productivity. He barred the door and got to work. Grabbing a vid-screen Ricco gutted the thing with the butt of his gun. He dragged a box shelf off the wall and turned it to face out of the balcony and set the empty vid-screen frame on top. Taking position behind with a clear sight through the empty frame Ricco settled in to watch the action below.

Reds in greater numbers were appearing now. Big Cornel was there, Heavy Bolter on parade, a good show of Red Irons in support. They had control of the mezzanine. Down on the smelting floor a running battle was taking place. Old man Acero was personally taking the fight to the BlackWatch flanked by a guard of shotgun toting veterans. He walked the floor with authority and contempt bolt pistol in each hand delivering his judgement to the embattled watchmen. Ricco put an easy shot in the back of a big goon of a Ghost and then spotted the action developing up on the fourth floor. A couple of Cadena's boys had made it up high over the mezzanine and were in position to rain down death. One man got his first frag grenade away but the second fell to his knees clutching his throat before he pulled his pin. They crawled back into the shadows of an archway but not before Ricco took a second shot. It wasn't clear if he'd hit anyone but the second grenade emerging from the doorway fell wide of mark and caused no casualties below.

Nonetheless the mezzanine was under attack. Elements of both enemy gangs had used the momentary distraction to mount their assault and the Ghost with the big stubber was covering their advance. A thick knot of Black and White was gaining on their far flank. Ricco aimed a couple of shots into their midst but the range was too far and his las-pack whined as the power gave out. He quickly disengaged the lock and banged the release button. The thing was hot and burned his fingers as his pulled it free. Pulling another pack from his belt Ricco slotted it home and turned on the juice. Sighting for another target down below he took aim at a pair of BlackWatch gunmen who were keeping The Irons pinned. He had a clear shot and the first fell immediately like his strings had been cut. The second man stopped and looked up, looking for the shooter. He might have been looking right at Ricco when the lasbolt landed square between his eyes.

The lapse in enemy fire was all Big Cornel needed and his heavy bolter beat out a steady advance as the Irons on the mezzanine took the upper hand once more, the big bolter delivering thunderous hell. But in that moment the observation room erupted in a riot of bullets. The Ghost with the big-stubber, the same one he had winged early on had spotted his position and had the firepower to spray the whole room with hot lead. Ricco tucked in tight and prayed the little box shelf would catch the worst of it as stray bullets bounced and flew around his ears. Keeping low on the floor Ricco edged out on his belly. He waited for a lapse in the incoming hail of fire but only managed to catch sight of the big Ghost's heels as he made his move away. He'd be looking for higher ground and would be back for another shot soon enough. Ricco had better move.

A flash of red bandanas on the floor beneath caught his eye. Bruno was leading the two youngsters on a patrol of the upper decks. No sooner had they appeared when a Watchman with a shotgun stepped out of a doorway and blasted the three youngsters with a hot spray of scatter shot. Ricco took a knee and hammered a couple of heavy trigger rounds into the man's flank. The power-pack was fresh it could take it. The boys were stunned but the young Cornel to his credit kept his feet and crossed the distance to their assailant quickly dispatching the downed man.

The victory was short lived however as the man with the heavy stubber appeared back on the scene along with a trio of watchmen on both sides of the building. Cornel's boy was caught in the crossfire from three different directions and went down. Ricco thinking fast ignored the other targets hoping to catch the Ghost heavy off guard. A flurry of hasty shots took the man out of the fight but not before the watchmen had clocked his position. A fusillade of lasfire told Ricco he'd overstayed his welcome, one landing painfully in his right knee.

But Roddie and Bruno were on their feet again and making some noise. Roddie was green we could be. Ricco wasn't even sure the boy was properly armed. Bruno made an attempt at mounting a defence with his autopistol but the watchman who ducked away was uninjured. Ricco rose to his feet and only managed a single shot before the crack of return fire drove him into cover again. The little box shelf finally gave up the ghost and fell to ruin around his feet. Bruno had the good sense to keep moving and the juves made to flank the shooters. Ricco tried to give them some cover but the las-pack died after only two more shots.

Suddenly the door came crashing in. One of the BlackWatch gunmen had come for him. Caught off guard Ricco made a desperate grab for the man's knife arm. They struggled and twisted in a brief test of strength but Ricco had the quicker wits and the heavier boots. Stamping down hard on the man's softer footwear Ricco turned his body and let the man overbalance. He crashed to the floor amidst the mangled debris of the box-shelf and Ricco quickly applied his steel toecap to sweeten the deal. A rattle of lasfire around his head warned him off any further recriminations and he ducked out of the observation room.

Bruno and Roddie were hard pressed by the remaining two watchmen. Pinned at range and almost flanked they were glad of a reprieve when Ricco arrived behind the flanking enemy and dispatched the man with the butt of his rifle.
"Move!" He yelled at the dumbstruck boys. He took aim at the second gunman across the way and squeezed the trigger but to little effect. The pack was dead. He had been about to change it when the door had been kicked in. Too late now Ricco was caught with his pants down and he had no choice but to drop and crawl. Bruno and Roddie were moving though, they were gone into the hallway at the back of the building looking to come around behind the shooter who was keeping Ricco pinned.

Ricco fumbled in his belt for another laspack but took a burning hit in the flesh of his left arm. He shook the hot empty out only now realising he'd left his first empty in the observation room. Cursing he tried to collect the spent pack but it was too hot to handle.

"Ah feth-it." He grumbled, "if I make it outa this alive I'll celebrate with a couple of new ones. Last longer'n a recharge anyhow."

He slotted his last recharge in place and thought about how he'd get up for a shot but realised he was no longer under fire. Shouts and shots were coming from the hallway beyond.

"Roddie!"

Stumbling in a half run Ricco cursed his injured knee as he got on the move again. He burst through the door and shouldered his lasgun but the fight was already over. Bruno was lying stupefied against a wall watching the scene.

"Roddie!" Ricco's yell went unheeded.

The boy was kneeling atop the body of the BlackWatch gunman pounding away on the bloody mess of the man's skull.

"Roddie, stop!"

Ricco put the sole of his boot against his little brother's shoulder and shoved him hard. The boy fell startled and swung his bloody cudgel in the direction of the attack. A cast off splatter of blood hit Ricco in the face.

"... the feth, kid?" Ricco was shaken at the sight, the feral eyes of the boy bore little resemblance to his kid brother.

"We ambushed him," Bruno explained sounding half dazed. "Kinda..."

"Is that what you call it!" Ricco yelled exasperated at the pair, "You fething massacred the guy! Look at this gak he's a bloody mess!"

"He shot me!" Bruno whined pathetically.

Roddie was stubbornly silent but got up on his feet. He brushed his hair from his eyes with a bloody hand smearing his face in gore.

"He wasn't waring red..." Roddies voice was a distant echo of the boy Ricco knew.

"Emperor-suffering-feth, Roddie!" Ricco didn't know where to start, "I can see his brains!"

"He wasn't red." Roddie stammered, "I mean, he wasn't... Not like that, but... "

Ricco shook his head and moved to scout out the outer walkway the boys had entered from. His right foot slipped on the blood and his already injured knee protested painfully. He limped to the door weapon poised and pressed through on his guard. The riotous gunfight below had subsided to a smattering of parting shots echoing around the cavernous steelworks. The fight was finished. Cornel's son was nowhere to be seen.

Returning to the other boys he found them unmoved. Taking Roddie by the shoulder he shook him out of his reverie.

"Snap out of kid, we need to skedaddle."

Ricco dropped to his knee and wished he hadn't. Taking the lasgun from the dead Watchman he tossed it at Bruno.
"Here's a real gun for you gak-fer-brains."

Bruno's eyes lit up and he tried to stand, but he'd lost some blood and his head was dizzy. The body yielded a las pistol too. Ricco checked the safety.

"Take this you little animal."

Roddie took the pistol in a trembling hand.

"An' gimme a hand lifting this big dope... Not him, you dumb gak, that fella's dead as feth!"

Ricco slung Bruno's new lasgun over his head and the brothers each took an arm and hefted Bruno onto his feet. Ricco led the way across the stairwell and up onto the roof.

"Better take that pistol out of your pants before you blow your balls off, boy." He joked as they shambled across to the skyway.

"Best keep it handy for now." He added in a more serious tone, "We're not out of this gak yet."

A shot was fired in the air and a fat little man in a leather waistcoat and oily trousers holstered his gun satisfied that he had everyone's attention. Anyone in the immediate vicinity of the trading post who knew what was good for them scarpered.

Elmira held her nerve, stiff necked and proud. There was little point in panicking and anyway she had the measure of her opponent.

Balthazar Frissk was a stocky little rat of a man with a cheap looking bionic eye and pistol to match nestled in his sweaty armpit in a shabby holster. It looked heavy, clumsy and I'll maintained, appropriately.

"I'm only gonna tell you one more time little girlie," the man squeaked in his irritating nasal drawl, "I own all these here stalls see, from here to the armourers, see that, 'Frissk: Quality Metals and Dismantlers' that's me, Balthazar Frissk, by appointment of Madame George, and he don't like what he's been hearing about you girls and your..."

Elmira flashed a withering look at the little man who blinked and stammered a little before continuing.
"A-about your, you're taking things and... Well you an' your little princesses best stick to your own, er... places and what have you." He was fumbling, clearly out of his depth. Maybe he didn't have much experience speaking to women. He shifted his feet uneasily but catching another flash in Elmira's eyes he froze in place at a slightly awkward angle.

Elmira was standing next to a market stall that sold baked goods.
"Do these contain gestranol?" She piped in a lyrical tone. She made an elaborate show of selecting a pastry. It smelled good and she opened her mouth wide and ate the thing in a single bite.

"Thas real' goog." She said with genuine enthusiasm through the mouthful.

Frissk just stared. His tummy rumbled audibly.

"You own these too? You make these, little man?" She picked up another one but put it back in preference of a more colourful selection.

"They're so good." She took a great bite out of the frosted topping and smiled. "I think I'm going to like this neighbourhood. Here Alice, try one of these."

Balthazar hadn't noticed another woman standing at his shoulder. She hung like a tall black shadow in his periphery. A fluffy little pastry flew almost in slow motion across the distance between them and she plucked it from the air with a claw-like gloved hand.

"No thanks, El." Her face betrayed nothing. She crumbled the pastry onto the pavement in long drawn out motion punctuated by a dull slap as the creamy pink filling hit the pavement. "They're probably poisonous."

"What? No, no no no." The grubby man protested, " they're just plain old..."

"Poison!" Elmira exploded, "You sneaking, venomous rodent!" She drew her pistol in a flash of bitter recrimination. "You poisoned me!"

"Wait wait wait!" The man pleaded his hands in the air.

His bullets were rattling on the plascrete floor before he even noticed his weapon had been taken. Alice disassembled the sorry excuse for a firearm and let the pieces fall where they may in utter contempt.

"Now, now ladies... er, now I don't want trouble. We can all just relax, you know. You look to me like a couple of...

"Did you just look at me?" Alice groaned.

"That's what he said, Al."

"I didn't mean, look look..."

"He's still looking, Al." Said Elmira theatrically selecting another pastry.

Alice had the man by the lens of his 'bionic eye' which unsurprisingly came away in a two pieces leaving a red line on his face around where the rubber seal had been sucking. Balthasar's eye for quality metals was clearly a none too elaborate fraud. Alice tried hard to keep her dead-pan demeanour but she couldn't help but laugh a little.

"Balthazar Frissk you sly weasel." She mocked, "whatever will Madame say?"

"He'll be outraged!" The little man yelled, his abject shame overmastering his fear, "He's a man of high character and respect! Madame George will have your scalps you insolent whelps. Guards! Send for security!"

The irate scrap merchant's left shoe slipped on the cream puff filling on the pavement and he almost performed the splits. He recovered his fall, if not his dignity with an inelegant shimmy. Alice gave up all pretence and burst into a spontaneous peal of laughter.

Ignoring her he turned now to address Elmira but she was already right in his face, a long knife in one hand and a pastry in the other. Struck into mute apoplexy Frissk stood gaping at her like a fool. Where were the trading post guards? Where was his security?
"Guards!" He screamed in Elmira's face, "Guar..."
She plopped the morsel into his open mouth and shoved it right down his throat with two fingers.

"Not too sweet for you, I hope."

The man was on his knees wrenching and choking on iced pastry. He did not respond.

A three shot signal sounded across the trading post followed by a chorus of whoops and laughter.

"My compliments to the chef Mr Frissk." Elmira jeered, "try not to eat the rest all in one go you fat feth." She stuck a vicious boot into his ample gut which caused an eruption of blue icing and pastry onto the ground. It might have saved the man's life. Frissk gasped for air greedily.

The girls could hear the rumble of a security wagon entering the trading post gate. A loudspeaker announced their arrival like a hopeful invitation for any troublemakers to leave quietly.

Alice took Elmira by the wrist. "Come on, El. It's time to go."

Elmira struggled free and turned to watch the oncoming armoured car as it rounder the corner and turned in their direction. She aimed her laspistol at the thing and snapped off a contemptuous volley. The driver floored it; she had their attention.

"Well I'm leaving!" yelled Alice, as she ducked out, "just don't get yourself killed, El!"

Elmira stood alone now. The fat man was squirming away and she let him go. As the vehicle came on she dropped a pin on the ground and disappeared in a billowing cloud of thick white smoke.

The vehicle stopped short of entering the smoke screen and the guards disembarked. A commander sprayed the cloud with a liberal dose of slugs from a pintle mounted stubber before ordering the men to advance.

"Check your targets, I want them alive!"

Elmira laughed as she hit the trigger and the pastry stall to the right of the car exploded in a delicious fireball of sweet caramel scented smoke.

Elmira tossed the empty smoke grenade canister into the floor of Balthazar's Quality Metals as she walked by.

She took a deep breath. "I'm definitely going to enjoy this neighbourhood." She laughed, "it's just something in the air."

Delmar held his breath as the sentry passed overhead. He had already removed the clips securing the walkway grate which flexed and banged loudly with the man's heavy footfalls but he did not stop to investigate.

"Big Mistake." Delmar grinned. Such lax security in the VanSaar compound was a good sign. He folded his heavy Delaque trenchcoat and levered one side of the grate open. Keeping an eye on the sentry's back he laid the coat flat and ducked back down. With his coat in place the sliding grate made no sound. Cat-stepping silent as death he closed the distance of the sentries final steps in a heartbeat and an injection of warp-knows what went into the man's neck.

Whatever the mixture was it had the desired effect. After a brief almost pitiable resistance the man succumbed to the potent chemicals and became disorientated and quite amenable. Delmar led him to the open grate like a lamb to the slaughter and then dropped the big dope in head first.

Taking the man's thumb was the easy part. The plan had looked simple on the drawing board. Take the guys suit and "security items" and make for the VanSaar lock-up. The rest of the gang would provide cover for as long as they could while he got in and out with the goods. But in truth a VanSaar body suit was more like a second skin. There were more whistles and bells on this thing than a Spyrer's pyjamas and removing it wasn't easy. In fact it was down right repulsive. The smell of clammy flesh, the implants, the catheter! Worst of all was the profuse abundance of body hair! The man was an ape.

"I'm gonna be sick!" He complained, averting his eyes from the rippling mass of hairy flesh. The often noted Delaque aversion to hair was no mere enthusiasm for a skin-head asthetic. Primarily it was in the genes and those unfortunate Delaque who grew any hair at would clean shave. It was a deep seated disgust, indeed more like an abhorrence. The very idea of a full beard, the like of which his victim was sporting made Delmar almost lose his lunch.

He had to cut the suit free in the end as it would not stretch over the the man's big feet. Putting the suit on himself was another ordeal.

"...he feth is this thing?" He muttered under his breath. It looked like the suit had thee legs though one was some kind of long internal tube-like sack. He rolled it up and tucked it into the small of his back as he twisted and heaved the thing over his gaunt frame. Wires and tubes of various obscure and offensive purposes protruded from every angle and Delmar did his best to reconnect and activate all he could make sense of and hide the rest. There was no telling what he would encounter up there and the beards wore these suits for good reason: VanSaar districts were notorious for heavy industrial chemical processing and the kinds of gasses and liquids one might encounter here went beyond the hazardous into the realm of the positively lethal. The suit he'd taken was more than a likely disguise.

With his boots back on and the bright green bio-suit zipped up tight Delmar felt utterly ridiculous. "The things I do for this gang..."

He rolled up his big coat and stuffed it into his bag then drew out a few final items of his own. A strong leather hat with an orange tinted photo visor to cover his bald pate and his round black goggles (those were staying on) and a big yellow face-mask rebreather completed the look.

There were no pockets in the suit, not a single one.
"Where am I supposed to keep this fething thumb? " He asked of the dead ape at his feet.

The suit had webbing of some kind. There were a number of rings for hanging items on clips and a section on the left breast resembled a bandoleer-type arrangement containing three little silver tubes. He cracked one open. What looked like four silver button batteries dropped out. He discarded them, tube and all and pressed the thumb into the elasticated bandoleer slot.
"Good thing your boss didn't invest in retina scanners, eh?"

Raised voices were starting to drift down into the tunnel from the VanSaar complex above. Shouted orders and running feet. They were preparing for guests.

"Well, I'm all dressed up for the party." He joked, swinging his bag onto his back. "How do I look?" He checked the magazine on his Bolt Pistol and loaded the first round.

"Time to head to the ball."

I never was a religious man, least-wise, I never used to be. I mean, when the Redemptor Priests would hold their big tent revivals and we'd all sit cross legged on the ferrocrete floor hearin' about the Big E fightin' the ruinous powers an' his big golden throne an' all that, well we'd've quoted chapter'n verse for a fistful of sweet things... An' I guess we believed it all well enough too.

But 'taint the same when you're grown. You know how those things is paid for, the showy robes and golden masks, an' the Dexes so fat you dont know if they're fer readin' or fer climbin'. Its all money, heck the tents and the sweets too! It were all paid for at gun point. Stolen off'a us poor slobs. They taxed our faith to the bone while at the same time they indoctrinated us kids. Makin' darn sure they'd never run out of faithful little Cawdor settlers to leech off of.

Scaremongers and quacks and glory hogs. They used to be anyhow... Now, I dunno. Seems they don't even wheel out the priests and the tents no more. Don't preach no glory to try'n cover up their gak-stink. It's just gold-masked goons that roam the Cawdor settlements in packs. Extorting protection money.

Course Ol' Boneless ponies up every time. He's a weak willed sonovagun. They know there's no fight in him. Thinks he's doin' right by us I s'pose. Thinks he's keepin' the peace. But I dunno. The more they take... well, things don't get no better. Stuff breaks down, water stills, homes, families. There's no peace when your only choice is between the Custodes cells an' the street. Street ain't no kinda life in the Underhive. But I seen 'nuf dyin' 'round here to get to thinkin'...

They're killin' us, just slow and sure. Livin' here's gettin' to be like just goin' an' lyin' down in yer own grave. That's why I've gotta do this. There just ain't no other way. It won't be pretty an' it sure as death won't make no peace.

But this here settlement used ta be worth a damn, Marty! You remember? Time was we used to sing... used to shot cards an' smoke. You used to serve real booze, like over the counter, I mean.
Now... hell... Half'o folks is too scared to even step foot it the Bolthole these days. Most'll sell you out soon as lookit you. This town just ain't got no heart now they ripped it outa us. Don't no one care it all comes burning down. We just ain't got nuthin' more to lose.

I found them doin' the deal right there in the Sanctorum. No shame, I tell ya. Creds in hand and bare faces on show. I darn near gunned 'em all down right there a'fore the alter. Not that it makes much difference now I s'pose.

Well I sat back in the shadows and bit my tongue, knuckles white on the woodwork, all sweaty an' cold. They was countin' up. Pocketed the loot in their robes and turned to leave. I kept the old head down like I were prayin', and I'll confess maybe it weren't no act. I listened to their steely boots a'ringin' off the tiles as they walked on past. An' Old Boneless is blubbin' up there by the dais, I let him weep, weren't nobody listening.

Thing about waring a big hood an' a gold mask is you can't see gak. I just slipped out right behind them two sanctimonious thugs, sleekit as a Ratskin, two hammers already cocked. An' I don't care how heavy yer robes are nob'dy's getting up from a point blank stubgun to the back of the skull.

I emptied 'em both right there on the Sanctorum steps. Marty remembers, she were there. One of their masks hit the deck right a'fore her feet, all slick an' covered in... Well, I mean it were a mess. She di'nt even flinch, I swear she jus' nodded cool as ya like an' looked at me so much as ta say "Boy you gone an' did it now." She's a tough mama is our Marty.

I dunno what I expected, screamin' maybe or sirens or something but people jes shrugged an' went on about their business, like two dead redemptionists bloodyin' up the plaza ain't nuthin'. But they all knew the score.

I hit The Smokin' Barrel Tavern with the creds within the hour and the place was buzzin'. We all drank our fill on the redemption's tab. Not often we have the chance to really let go, see? The Redemption likes to keep us poor. Its true what they say, you know, 'bout how prejudice burns all the brighter when its all you got to burn. I saw a lot of good in them folks that night, in ones as usually got a lot of hate in 'em. More'n one pat on the back told me I'd done what everyone was a'hoping but I could see the fear still in the back of their eyes. Heck I felt it too and the party turned to panic soon enough.

News travels faster than plague virus down here in the underhive an' people was packin' their things an' hightailin' it outa town. Them as had someplace to go anyhow. Me, I was for arming folks and stickin' to our guns. When Marty took the old twelve gauge shotgun out from behind the bar it were like a sign fer the rest. Pretty soon guns an' knives an' cocktails was appearing outa the woodwork all over. I couldn't hardly believe we'd had 'em all this time.

They'd come for us, we knew that for sure but we knew these streets and we had a belly full of liquor an' resolve. If we'd only had the time to prepare... Guess we'd had all the time we needed, but we'd never had the heart for it til now. Til it were too late.

I know I was an idiot. I shoulda thought about it a whole lot more afore I done it. That's always been my trouble: Act first think later, ya know? "You weren't ta know, Casy..." That's what Delroy always says but I don' know...

We went from celebration to organisation to downright war in jus' a few hours. The Redemption don't mess around. An' I guess it'd been a while since they'd had themselves a real good shin-dig; seems every Novice, Acolyte and Deacon got their glad-rags out fer the party. I swear the robed worms was crawlin' right out the rotten woodwork afore they burned it all down that night.

Well we all made fer the Sanctorum. 'Course, it's the only place we got ain't a heap of gak built on gak. It's s'posed to be a sanctuary, ya know... well, I mean that's what I thought. Scary how fast four walls o' plasteel can go from refuge to death trap.

There were twenty or maybe more of us holed up in there. Had every door an' winda covered. Proper hold out for an hour or maybe two, flames an' yells building up outside all the while. The place is built inta a heavy structural wall, half the hive might be built on top fer all we knew, the walls just go up an' up inta the darkness. Never seen the ceiling till that night. The orange promethium flames glowin' off some darn pious architecture, all vaulted arches an' fancy stuff up there. Nevermind the hell we was sufferin' down below.

It were chaos, I couldn't tell you the way of it. First we was holdin' our own then afore ya know it someone's rippin strips off of the alter cloth fer bandages, fella's is burnt up or bleedin' out all over the tiles. We grabbed anything that were on fire and piled it up against the doors. It were some kinda barricade, man it were a pyre!

Soon nuff them as was up top manning windows had to come down from the smoke. Things got from bad to desperate right and quick then. Pretty soon they had deacons up on high pouring the Redemptor fire down through the unmanned windows. The place was a catacomb by then anyway. Dead folks, injured, scared. We was beaten sure, but they was only out fer blood.

Then I'll never forget, ol' Boneless he's still there! How he weren't dead yet... Man I near throttled him there an' then. But for once he steps up; pulls a key from round his scrawny neck. He's got some plan, something about the altar on the dais. We shoved it aside and he unlocks the trap. Stinks of gak down there, but its a lifeline. Marty whistles loud an' the rest of 'em fall in right quick. Accept Wrex of course, he can't hear so good, an autocannon will do that to a fella after a while. I wished he still had the thing but then we didn't none of us have nothin' good like we used to. Throne! We was down ta shootin' brass buttons from the upholstery at 'em by that stage.

We grabbed what little gear we could an' anyone as could move was shuffled down there. Had ta leave a couple of our own wounded behind, tweren't nothin' for it, Emperor forgive us. But that's just how it was. We was on the run now, just seven of us in the end. Me an' Marty an' Delroy. Wrex an' Bubba. Lucky and her kid brother Jos, Emperor rest him...

Boneless wouldn't come. I tried ta do right by him, much as it made me twitch but he wouldn't have it. Jus' give him one of my stub guns in the end. Weren't but a bullet an' a half left in there. Just hope he used it wisely.

"No, Mister Eldoro, it is you who does not understand!"
The old man stood in a rage and slammed his flat palms on the stone slab he called a desk. "You must understand this!"

The bounty hunter sat back in his chair. "Just Eldoro, please."

Eldoro folded his hands. He was all ears.

"I am in control of this situation." Acero continued, "It is not Cadena, or Elmira or that damned upstart Emperor-bothering Cawdor underhiver outlaw... "

"The Preacher, I believe they call him," Acero's man, who had been sent to retrieve the bounty hunter, chimed in. "His name is Casy."

"Yes yes, I know, Mister Han! Do not interrupt me!" Don Acero spread his hands upon the desk and closed his eyes. He had lost his train of thought.
"Where was I..?" he began.

"You were in control." The bounty hunter prompted without humour.

"I am! You need only look to the steelworks, to the trading districts and the contracts of the great houses that I supply. Am I not growing my empire, diversifying my business, exceeding quotas on all lines?"

"You have out-done yourself it is true."

Don Acero squinted hard at the hired man with bald contempt. "You will be silent and hear your charge, mercenary. You will be no more elevated in my estimation than most underhive scum until you prove yourself of worth. I do not listen to the gossip around the Iron Casket of lazy men in their cups and the ladies at their leisure. I have summoned you hence to see for myself."

"So now you have seen me. You have seen Eldoro in the flesh, as it were." The bounty hunter flexed his bionic hand for effect. It was quite a sophisticated piece of workmanship. "Do I disappoint you so?"

"That remains to be seen." Acero smiled, "You might consider this a... an opportunity."

"A test."

"As you say, yes." He waved Mr Han over to present the docu-slate. His man brought the tablet for Eldoro and a double shot in a fine crystal glass for Don Acero.

The bounty hunter coughed dryly.

"You will consider these documents carefully and select whichever target you so chose." Acero purred.

Eldoro scanned the list with evident concern, eyes widening.

"They are each and every one of them as good as dead already you understand."

"Then you'll not be requiring my services, Don Acero. I regret that we could not come to a suitable arrangement." Eldoro stood and straightened his waistcoat. His leather gun belts hung empty and loose. "I'll collect my weapons at the gate?"

"You will have your weapons when I mean for you to use them, Mister Eldoro." Acero crossed the room imposing himself between the bounty hunter and the door.
"You belong to me now, you understand. I cannot, of course allow you the option of employment amongst my many would-be rivals. Those named on that list in particular. You may of course go on your way once you have eliminated them.

Eldoro held up the docu-slate, he had done with his reading. Mr Han retrieved it swiftly and ducked away again as the bounty hunter remained standing facing the door and Don Acero.

"My gratitude will of course be well worth your time and best efforts. Mister Han, show our guest the small tokens I have prepared, by way of compensation, you understand Mr Eldoro."

The mercenary neither looked toward Mr Han nor turned from the door. The silhouette of the guard outside shifted in the panel screen, and behind the door, the locked gates, armed guards and a hab-block full of Acero's most trusted and loyal supporters played on his mind.

"It's just 'Eldoro' and I don't appreciate being rail-roaded."

"Now, now... Eldoro, you must understand it is nothing personal. I heard you were in town and I simply had to have you. You must take it as a compliment. I will hear no argument."

Acero finished his drink and gestured back to the table. Mr Han had set up a selection of cases, presented open for the bounty hunter's attention.

"You brought quite the arsenal along Mr Eldoro, I was most surprised. But were I to guess I would surmise you are a man of... practicality, utility even, if not of taste."

"The luxury of style over substance is rarely afforded one in my line of work, Don Acero."

"See here then," he gestured to the assembled booty on display "I can offer you both."

Eldoro raised an eyebrow at some of the wealth laid before him; much of it wrought in gold and adamantium. They were high-grade pieces no doubt, any one of them suitable for a Noble House Lord or their ambassador perhaps.

"Each one represents a particular thorn in my side, you see." Acero held out his empty glass and Mr Han quickly replaced it with another drink as he continued. "Let me begin at home with my dear friend Cadena." He spat on the deep-piled rug at the mention of the man's name.
"The chain forged in steel, strong yet flexible; for an Orlock, you see? This chain of course is no common Orlock street fighting flail but an item of exquisite Eldar craftsmanship. You will not find its like among the martial collections of even the Noble Houses let alone the trading posts of the underhive. A "Razor-flail" as it were in our human tongue.

"Beside it here, I present another prize with a highly esteemed provenance."

It was a boltgun; an Astartes pattern boltgun baring the icon of the Crimson Fists Space Marines Chapter.

"It is genuine I assure you." Acero purred in the bounty hunter's ear. "I have verified its authenticity in every way possible, short of handing it over to the Inquisition."

"And for whom might I win this treasure?"

"For the death of the outlaw Cawdor preacher who betrayed our operations against Cadena. The reward for the execution of a traitor should be an icon of the most loyal servants of the Emperor himself."

Eldoro made no comment. His thoughts were his own. Acero's smile dropped a little at the corners and he continued.

"This laspistol, an exquisite piece you'll agree, was made for the Lady Ulanti, I'm not sure which particular Lady but you can see the house crest there. It's clearly a master crafted piece; slender light and elegant, fit for a lady of high class and dignity. This I will offer for the head of that contemptible wench Elmira "the Demolition Diva" herself."

Acero noted the man's quiet, professional consideration of the item and moved on to the next.

"These final two pieces you will note are... of a different nature." He smiled and allowed Eldoro to get an eyeful before giving Mr Han a curt nod to close their cases. Eldoro had seen an Arbites issue power maul, albeit a richly appointed one. The like of which might grace the hand of a District Captain or perhaps might hang in pride of place above the desk of a man of even higher station. The second was a stave of black wood bond with silver rings and tipped with a barbed iron hook. Eldoro did not know what to make of it but as the casket was now closed he preferred not to speculate.

"Those last two concern, shall we say, some of my higher ambitions." The man's self-importance was stifling, "yet there is much low hanging fruit, as you can see, ripe to pluck."

"I know something of Elmira." The bounty hunter began, "That you consider her low hanging fruit is... "

"A compliment to your reputation, please."

"My reputation may be the problem. There is already bad blood between us."

"I'm sure you'll think of something. Or perhaps in the meantime you might wish to consider these other two?"

"Cadena I can approach, I have had some dealings with Greedo's Ghosts..."

Acero spat.

"... who I am reliably informed," Eldoro continued "have turned..."

"Yes yes, turned traitor!" Acero quickly interjected. "Like the treacherous Cawdor preacher and his flock. The Greedo brothers I can handle myself, that is already in hand."

"But not the Preacher?"

"Make no mistake I could squash that outlaw rabble easily. They are but a few mis..."

"The Faithful Few." Mr Han added unhelpfully.

"A few misguided and wayward souls who have fled into Delaque territory, Emperor help them, Ha! But alas, I am a busy man, Mr Eldoro. I have not the time to pursue the fugitives but neither can I allow them to escape my justice. They are wanted outlaws, for the arson of a Sanctorum no less. You will have competition in their capture no doubt."

Eldoro considered his options. "Elmira's power is growing rapidly, I see you have noticed. Too long a delay on our part their only serves to frustrate our efforts."

Acero smiled, the bounty hunter was keen, or greedy for the prize more likely. It was only to be expected, he thought. The Ulanti laspistol was a truly beautiful thing to behold, so sleek and shapely. He would almost regret to part with it were it not so woefully underpowered.

"But she knows me well," Eldoro explained, "truly she can read my every move. However with this..." He indicated the Razor-flail, the prize for the Orlock Cadena, "Had I this weapon in my hand and Elmira in my reach..."

"And Cadena's notch on your belt!" Acero added significantly. I am not a lending armourer.

"Naturally, of course." Eldoro assured him, "I chose first Cadena, a stepping stone to plucking Elmira, and the Preacher and his flock can await the cull in the tender mercies of Delaque territory, where as you and I both know there is little succour for saints."

"So we are agreed!"

"I must first inspect the flail, Don Acero."

Acero's face was the picture of outrage at the bounty hunter's suggestion. He bade Mr Han close the box. There could be no question of allowing such effrontery.

"Please understand, I do not doubt your veracity, Don Acero, I have no doubt whatsoever, I have seen it is clearly of Xenos make."

Acero was unmoved.

"You must concede that I am unlikely to ever have encountered so rare and exotic an item as this in my lifetime. Surely I would be a fool to assure you of Elmira's head having never held the thing. And you are not such a fool as to accept such an ill-conceived plan as a viable..."

"Alright alright, you may inspect the Xenos flail. But only to ascertain that it is fit for purpose. I will have Cadena dead before you may lay a hand upon it a second time. Do you understand me bounty hunter?"

Eldoro bowed his head in acceptance. Acero just rolled his eyes and waved a hand at Mr Han who presented the box. The Razor-flail was chill to the touch. So much so that Eldoro transferred it to his bionic hand. It was lighter than it looked and deftly balanced. He tested the flex and considered its range at arm's length.

"Well Mister Eldoro, will it do?" Acero was beginning to grow weary of the conversation.

"Oh yes Don Acero I believe so." And with that the bounty hunter struck out. The razor-flail flew in a clean sickle arc through Acero's body as if the man were a ghost and became lodged in the stone of the desk. The body fell in pieces upon the rug which drank up the blood greedily.

"I believe it will do just fine." Eldoro was genuinely surprised at the true deadliness of the thing. It was diabolically designed and impossibly sharp. He had difficulty in releasing it from the stone and so simply let go of the handle and allowed it to remain hanging there.

"Thank you, Eldoro." Mr Han said coolly stepping around the edge of the rug and retrieving a key from the desk drawer. "My compliments to Elmira, I trust she is well."

"She is now." Eldoro sighed. "And you, Mr Han, where will you go? Back to Cadena?"

"No, I think not." Mr Han sighed, "I will disappear again, try my luck with House Ulanti." He picked up the Ulanti Laspistol tucked it into the back of his belt. "Do you care for any of these? You won't be getting any of your own stuff back you understand. We'll be leaving here in a hurry."

Eldoro considered the remaining boxes. "Nice looking Bolter and all but I can't walk out of here armed. The power-maul I can conceal though, I'll have that but that devil's rope stays right there." He was pointing at the razor-flail. "I try and hide that under my hat I'll slice my own ears off. It's a bloody death wish anyway."

"Suit yourself." Mr Han closed the lid on the Bolter and picked the box up under his arm.

"What about that thing, the other one?" Eldoro was tucking the power-maul down his trouser leg but eyeing the last remaining box.

"Oh no, best leave that here." said Mr Han, his face turning pale at the thought.

"What is it?" Eldoro's curiosity was piqued.

"Oh no, really, best not to know. Now if you want your payment for this sorry mess you'll get me out of here before they find him."

"Madame George has prepared a Safehouse."

Mr Han did not look enthusiastic about the prospect but he had little choice. "Very well then, are we ready?"

Eldoro lifted a fistful of lho-sticks from the desk and deposited them under his hat. "Good to go."

Mr Han unlocked the door and ushered Eldoro out of the office following close behind. He locked the door behind them.

"No more visitors for Don Acero today, Bruno." He made a meaningful gesture with a half bottle of strong spirits which he passed to the guard conspiratorially. "No more of that for him either, eh? Needs to sleep it off."

Bruno winked and said no more.

"Alright then, Bounty hunter, we have our orders. Follow me."

"Good luck Mr Han." Bruno called after them, bottle raised in salute.

Mr Han raised a hand in parting as the two men walked away.