++Inspiration Friday (Chaos Icons. Until 12/18)++

[Slave to Darkness]

Ahh finally, an excuse to continue where I left off last halloween, just need to find the original story again so I can remember where I left off. If memory serves me well Flint wet herself. 

[Slave to Darkness]

Oh as most people got wasted n the last story, hands up if you wanna be one of the characters in this one?

[EesiOh]

Oh as most people got wasted n the last story, hands up if you wanna be one of the characters in this one?

I would love the opportunity to get wasted/and or waste someone count me in

[Thedarkprincesnun]

Oh as most people got wasted n the last story, hands up if you wanna be one of the characters in this one?

Ok il be a character lol

[EesiOh]

Rotting Crops (this doubles as this weeks AND last weeks challenge) 

 

In a far off corner of Imperial Space lies a small feudal system. The system is ignored by traders and travellers despite the fact it is relatively prosperous and just to the side of a teeming trade route. Navigators are too afraid to go near it and ship captains are wise enough to only venture to the planet if they are in dire need of supplies. But there are certain times per millennia where no-one travels to the system, no matter what reason. In a battle in ages past terrible energies were released. Energies that wiped out entire planetary populations and glassed the planet surfaces. During this time the death and destruction caused a tear in reality itself. The tear itself is tiny, no larger than an asteroid, it does not spew forth corruption or daemons and so is mostly ignored. But psykers never travel anywhere near it, and time appears different in the system than out. In fact time has become so estranged from reality in this particular system, that every thirteen years there is a thirteenth month, and on that month the thirteenth day is feared by the people. Known as All Souls Night, it is a night of fear and dread. As the clock strike 11 on All Souls Night a pale and corporeal mist descends upon the surface of all the planets. As the Clock strikes 12 strange lights appear in the mist, green and smelling of sulphur and at the 13th hour. Green giants stalk the planet, screaming and howling zombies follow in there wake. The Green giants never engage the villagers in combat, merely watching in amusement as the villagers desperately attempt to hold of their own deceased relatives. When the night of chaos is done and the giants have dissipated, the locals fearfully wonder outside, the dead lie everywhere. The destroyed zombies rot into the ground, but of the ones not killed there is no traces, save for the holes they once occupied in the graveyards. Yet the locals know, The Impure will be back in 13 more years, to reap their rotting crops

 

[Carrack]

Oh as most people got wasted n the last story, hands up if you wanna be one of the characters in this one?

With such an appealing sales pitch, I can't resist.

[Kierdale]

Oh as most people got wasted n the last story, hands up if you wanna be one of the characters in this one?

Ah what the hell, I'll put my head on the chopping block too :D

[Slave to Darkness]

I will make all your deaths glorious

[Carrack]

 

 

People

 

 

 

Pendejo made the long walk up the service stairs to his new assignment. Although experiencing a little trepidation about having to work at a different hive level, he was overall excited about his first day at his new job. He was thrilled to be getting a better assignment after his last one had ended so badly. His previous foreman had accused him of stealing lasrifle power packs from the production line, but what was he to do, he hadn't had light in his hab since the invasion of Calebra Hive, and with a little unsanctioned wiring, he could use the pack to charge his lamp. He wasn't some underhiver used to eating, washing, and dressing in the dark.

 

The new assignment came within days of loosing his last one. Pendejo had a brief scare with a recruitment drive, but once again his forged medical exemption kept him from being thrown into the meat grinder as an untrained, under equipped militiamen. This assignment was promising to be more fruitful than the last one too. He was picked for the ration paste manufactorum on level 54. He liked his light for sure, but he was tired of his stomach growling day and night, always hungry. There was a time when Pendejo would of turned his nose at ration paste, but after two weeks of eating every other day, he wasn't quite so picky. He was looking forward to slipping a few tubes of paste in his socks to take home. Maybe he would even arrange a "dinner date", there were plenty of women willing to trade their affections for a meal, as the famine of war wore down their morals.

 

Pendejo entered the manufactorum and passed the extensive security check point to get to his orientation training on the main floor. He was a little dismayed that the checkpoint had as much security inward as outward. He would have to be careful with his pilferage. As he entered the main floor, a long line had formed up before an office door, he could hear the sounds of the manufactorum from behind the office. Pendejo took his place in line and made small talk with the woman in front of him. She was from Level 53 too, but they had never met. She said she was also thankful for the job after being unassigned since the arch-enemy had invaded. He asked about the militia and she pointed to her cane. The rubber cap at the bottom of the cane was unmarred and still had its full tread. Pendejo didn't judge her though, everyone knew the militia was a death sentence.

 

 

Pendejo's turn to enter the office finally came. He stepped inside to see four burly men by the entrance in plastic overalls stained with blood, no doubt from the marginal meats used in the paste. It was a common subject of speculation as to what was the source of the meat, there certainly wasn't many dogs roaming the streets anymore. A fifth skinny man, dressed in cleaner overalls, held a clipboard in one hand and told Pendejo to close the door behind him and present his papers. He did so, and as soon as the skinny man checked his name off the clipboard, a weighted sap struck him in the back of the head. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

 

Pendejo regained his senses, to the sounds of machinery and the pressing of strong arms holding him down on a metal chute. These were minor facts that he took in as shock from pain slowed everything around him down till he felt as if time was passing at a snail's pace. The major fact that dominated his last moments, was that he learned what the source of the meat being used in ration paste was. He was being fed feet first into an industrial grinder. Ration paste is people.

 

 

Since my first story was a Mothers Day story, and I had already posted it a few days before in the fan fiction board, here's my Halloween story.

[Slave to Darkness]

I will make sure you all have glorious deaths

[Scourged]

Good news! This week's entry a far more manageable length - 25% the size of my last one, heh. This week I give us all a glimpse of the home world of the Tachylite Changemongers renegade militia.

 

 

Here it is: Song of the Equinox

 

 

 

Song of the Equinox

 

Her arm still hurt. It had hurt for years and years now, a small but ever-present ache. The damned thing would seemingly never heal. It worried her mother. Lingering pains often led to complications, twice as often for those her age. It didn’t bother her, though. It never did, all through her youth. She was going to enjoy her life, despite a ridiculous pain. Besides, the Equinox had finally come, and the festivals would soon arrive. That alone was enough to ignore her arm.

 

Children of Tachylite, do not fear,

The Zephyr brings fortune to you all.

She had finally reached her eighteenth year. Every youth on Tachylite longed for that milestone in their life. It marked their invitation to the true spirit of the Equinox, the Transcendency Festival. Long had she waited to learn the secrets of the Festival! The days of silly games and youthful traditions were now behind her. Come the arrival of the tri-moon apex in the dead of the cold night, she would finally learn the secrets of Transcendency.

 

Rejoice with the changing of seasons

And make the sign of the Zephyrhost.

Yes, she would still paint her face to match her younger sisters’, and she would join them as they exchanged the regional fruits from the autumnal harvest - mother was too old to accompany them now. Yes, she would sit at the pyres and roast the sweet mallows the boys would collect from the fields. And yes, throughout the night she would join friends and strangers in singing the Song of the Equinox. But after all of that had passed, she would learn her culture’s greatest secret.

 

The Winds bring change upon Tachylite,

And change begets the autumn Harvest.

Oh yes, everyone had wild theories about the Transcendency Festival in the temples and scholas. Her friends believed it was a rite-of-passage where elders would welcome the youth to adulthood. The more dour children assumed it was a time of conscription to the planetary defense of Tachylite. The raunchier of her classmates crafted stories that it was a hedonistic orgy. The adults always remained tight-lipped, though. None would ever crack their stoic defense of denial. It infuriated the curious girl to no end, but not anymore after tonight.

 

Harvest is to be celebrated,

As it brings boons of food and new life!

Her arm still hurt, worse now. The light throb had progressed to a strong ache from elbow to fingertip. This was new. Her mother seemed quite distraught with the development. Some pain-stims and some ice was the recommendation. Common sense, of course. She already tried the stims, but they had little effect. Cold was easy on this planet - Tachylite never knew a day without ice and snow. But it didn’t matter. The pain wouldn’t stop her from enjoying the Festival.

 

It is when Zephyr brings the Harvest,

That we have arrived at Equinox.

The tri-moon apex had taken forever. She gathered with friends and strangers, all in their eighteenth year, at the great orchard. It was a very long walk from their habs, filled with excitement and rumored chatter. The festival needed to be in the wild. Large pyres illuminated the boundaries at eight points. She waited at the front of the crowd, having pushed through hundreds or more, and stared at the empty stage, adorned with gold and gemstones she had never before seen. Her arm still hurt.

 

Equinox yields such bountiful change,

Throughout Tachylite and her people.

She watched the crowd at her left part and make room for the eight cloaked figures. Their robes were rich in blues and yellows, ornate in design and material, but concealing all glimpses of the wearers. Their figures looked oddly hunched. They all reached the clearing and revealed the ninth man they escorted. She ignored her ever-painful arm as she gasped with the crowd, awestruck that the Zephyrmaster had joined them!

 

Praise Equinox, for it brings us all

Promises of wonderful futures.

The winds blew heavy as every youth took to a knee and made the sign of the Zephyrhost. The Chosen Father of the Zephyr Temple was among them! She could not believe it. The Zephyrmaster raised his staff and spoke in a whisper, his welcoming prayers carried on the cycloning wind sweeping through the crowd. At his instruction, the chanting of the Song of the Equinox began, thousands of young voices in chorus.

 

Heed the Zephyrmaster, may he guide,

The pious who worship Equinox.

Her arm hurt even worse, deep pains reaching past her shoulder now. But she continued to chant the Song in reverence. On and on she chanted with all those in the crowd, lavishing in the Zephyrmaster’s conjured breeze, impossibly warm on this winter planet. The crowd cheered after the completion of the final verse, soon silenced by their pious leader. She could hear him speaking softly, the voice still carried on the breeze. He called for those touched by the Zephyrgeist, the poor souls who - on this day of celebration - were wracked with the weighty pains of burden and purpose. Was that why her arm and chest throbbed so terribly? It must be, so she stood and walked, then ran toward the open.

 

For Him, make the Sign of Zephyrhost,

That he may know you serve the Zephyr.

Her arm hurt immensely, as did her chest and head. It was hard to focus, but she winced and persevered. The hundreds of others in their eighteenth year around her seemed to hurt like she did. So many touched by the Zephyrgeist! Their master was speaking again, louder now that they were so close. They had been chosen, and now they would Transcend. This was it! The secrets of the Festival finally revealed to her. The Zephyrmaster spoke of honor and duty, but she couldn’t care. Not even the pain consuming her entire upper body could distract her from the excitement.

 

Blessed will be the chosen servants,

Whom embrace Zephyr’s glorious Will.

The wind was howling now, whipping terribly at her clothes. The Chosen Father welcomed them to their Transcended life, and he laughed. On and on he laughed, but it was not a pleasant sound. She looked to her peers in the crowd, and those not grimaced with pain shared her confusion at the Zephyrmaster’s maleficent tone. When his eyes began to shine with aetherial light she grew worried.

 

Zephyrmaster reads the Winds of Fate,

He aids those chosen by Zephyrgeist.

Blue sparks of energy danced on the wind now, and it tore away her clothing in shreds. The robed acolytes pulled off their hoods and raised their hands high. Finally she could see the figures beneath the resplendent cloth, and they were horrifying. Flesh was every shade but normal, eyes number far beyond two, mouths gaped in places they shouldn’t, hands possessed features of beasts and monster, and not one of the eight acolytes was untouched by horrendous mutations. She screamed at the sight, but her howl was lost amidst the wind’s fury.

 

The Zephyrgeist is born in your soul,

Choosing only those who are righteous.

Now everything hurt. She had never known pain like this. The wind was screaming at her, filled with the anguish of the youth surrounding her. The Song of the Equinox echoed in her mind in the Zephyrmaster’s voice. Then she watched the skin on her arm split open, rending itself away, tearing off in the wind like her clothing moments before. She looked at the muscle and sinew, red and fibrous, and watched it quiver and swell. Her bones cracked agonizingly in half, and a bifurcated limb sprouted anew, conjoined at the elbow.

 

Fear not what comes of Zephyrgeist’s choice;

All pain is truly temporary.

She wanted to vomit but couldn’t remember how. She wanted to rip away the monstrous new arm, which swelled to a sizable girth and grew a new skin of brown and orange scales. The scales faded at her shoulder, now larger than her head. Hair fell out from every follicle in her flesh and flew away in the breeze. She curled into a ball to feel any comfort from the pain, but soon felt a grotesque popping in her spine. Her body lengthened, new vertebrae materializing within her battered back, new dorsal spines slicing out of her flesh into the air.

 

Have faith that the Zephyrgeist is wise,

Leading our people to Transcendence.

The pain was less now. The vertebrae continued to burst into existence, now pushing out from her tailbone. One, then three, then four separate tails - more akin to articulated tentacles - flailed in the unrelenting wind. The muscles across her torso quivered now, bulking and growing and multiplying like aggravated tumors. Her mass expanded into a top-heavy burden, and she wept stinging tears. They were not from pain, but the maddening acceptance of her fate. This is what it meant to Transcend. Venomous spines sprouted out of her mutated chest, dripping poison like her eyes dripped tears.

 

Have no fear of what changes are wrought,

As Transcendence is the greatest gift.

It barely hurt anymore. It would be over soon, she realized. That thought gave her no comfort. What would wait her once it was over? Her human legs were gone now, replaced with thick hooved and haired haunches of a beast. The right arm was next. It retracted into her body with a disgusting slurp, creating an inverted socket. Inside her body she could feel it changing, shifting, dissolving, growing, transforming, wiggling… until it all burst out with a splash of viscera. It was now an amalgamation of spikes, talons, and bone, multi-hinged insect chitin and serrated daemonic blades. Only her bald, weeping, screaming head was yet unaltered.

 

All Tachylite welcomes Transcendence,

Greeting arrival with Festival.

She accepted this. She didn’t want to, but what choice was left? She wanted to know what would remain of her mind when it was done. But thinking had become hazy. Slowly her thoughts melted into nothingness. Her inner monologue wasn’t coherent words as much as impulses. She wanted to run. She wanted to eat. She wanted to kill. All of this while her head was absorbed in creeping skin, obscuring all orifices save her mouth. The mouth still screamed and opened wide, then wider, then wider, stretching into a round, cavernous maw. The teeth had all distorted into fangs and needles, and the tongues now numbered three.

 

Do not fear our  joyous Festival,

For it shall enlighten your purpose.

 

The winds finally stopped. The screaming had finally finished. The Zephyrmaster cheered, and his acolytes cloaked themselves once more. The horde of youths untouched by the Zephyrgeist had watched the mass mutation unfold, yet none had fled. Now they knew what secrets the Equinox held. The Festival was complete.

 

Resplendent the Festival will be,

When we all gather in Transcendence!

It was eighteen years old. It remembered nothing of a mother or sisters. It only hungered. It was one of the hundreds upon hundreds chosen this Equinox on Tachylite. It had finally Transcended. It had never been happier. It no longer hurt.

 

 

[Teetengee]

is it possible we could extend this to 10/31, it being Halloween and all?

[Kierdale]

Likely I'll be updating the thread Saturday morning Tokyo-time (say...24hrs from the submitting of this post), so entries still have 24 hours.

I'd rather not extend it to Sunday for a couple of reasons: firstly participants have had a week, which should be enough time and I don't think anyone'll be getting sudden epiphanies come Halloween itself ;), and secondly it's a lot easier for me to update it on a Friday night or Saturday morning rather than Sunday (plus I don't want to cut short the next challenge).

I hope everyone understands.

[Teetengee]

sounds good to me, thank you.
(my story was already at 3 pages when I realized it had quite a ways to go still, but I will try my best to get it in under the time limit)
normally it has been being updated on friday morning (us eastern) and I was hoping to have a little more time.

[Kierdale]

Understood :) I'll try to keep it to Saturday mornings in future.

[Slave to Darkness]

Bugger, still working on mine... Need to get my finger out and finish it

[Teetengee]

ahhhh 5 pages and nowhere near done

pacing is everything, but pacing is killing me

[Zhaharek]

The Wire Man

 

Avostos Crouw, The Wire Man, Captain of the 16th Night Lord Company, strode, with a subtle confidence, through the shade-drenched halls of his ‘palace’. Avostos wasn’t overly fond of the idea of having a palace, unlike the preening creature that had given it to him. It was more of a gothic bunker than a palace after all. Avostos did like his quarter though, his present destination. He dismissed a vox query from Jal-eraz, of Fourth Claw, and resolved to talk to him the next day. Doubtless, it would be something interesting, if the rest of Fourth Claw’s history was anything to by. Avostos was looking forward to it, but he was looking forward to sitting on his throne and appreciating his own Wire Works more. Yes, the bone-crafted throne and the Wire Works were melodramatic, and the sort of thing that one of Avostos’s warp-mad ‘brothers’ would do, but the throne, inarguably looked good, and the ‘wire work’ had earned him his title, and Avostos was mighty proud of it. Most importantly, it generated fear, and with fear, came control, and through control, maybe eventually there would be justice. Avostos chuckled to himself. It sounded like something his father would have said.

 

The doors to his chamber swung open, and revealed his Wire Works, the first thing that anyone would notice when they entered the room. He walked through, to sit on his throne. The first piece’s one would pass were random mortals, all posed to look as if they were staring blankly at the occupants of the room. Avostos was acutely aware that these first 5 men and women were rushed, the stiff barbed wire that held the corpses in pose fully visible through the flesh. Only one of them had reached advanced rot, which wasn’t Crouw’s fault, the rest all stood on coolant vents, preserving them, but the one beneath this one had broken.

Next, were the Astartes. 4 of them, to be exact, kept in combat poses, and the wire fully hidden, since they still had their armour. Avostos recalled arguments that the armour would be better use if salvaged, but he managed to rebuff these by delving into nostalgia for the Great Crusade with the brothers in question. And, lastly, circling, his throne, were the unique individuals.

The young daughter of the governor of Tenjes IV, who had died, finally, after 7 days, with her mother’s name on her lips, after Avostos had made her into a living Wire Work, on live broadcast to her world. They surrendered the next day. Terror tactics in flawless action. She was presently posed as if having a cheerful discussion with...

Brother-Chaplain Altiius Verren, of some chapter that Avostos had never bothered to learn the name of, the only Astartes without a helmet on among his Wire Works, which showcased the hole in his forehead. The chapter had broken a few weeks later. Terror tactics in flawless action. The Chaplain and The Governor’s Daughter were on the left side. On the right side stood...

A pair of Ultramarines, their gauntlets clasped in a warrior handshake, wrist-to-wrist. It had taken a lot of staples for Avostos to change the defiant expressions they died with.

 

Avostos sat in his throne. Of course, merely reminiscing about what his past uses of fear couldn’t fill a whole night. So, he took a data-slate from his pocket and began putting together combat manoeuvres.

The Night Lord pondered on a flanking manoeuvre, tap-tap-tapping away at the screen. “Avostoooos.” He looked up, searching for the source of the voice. “Aaavoooosstoooooss.” He froze.

 

The Governor’s Daughters mouth was moving. Then her head turned, till she looked him dead in the eyes. “What in the warp...” murmured Avostos.

She smiled, and her mouth started moving again. “Why did you kill me Avostos? Why, Wire Man?” the dead thing asked. The Astartes heard the wires grinding as she moved, taking a step towards him. Adrenaline dumped into his system, and he drew his bolt pistol, fired at her. Nothing happened. CLICK. Fired again. CLICK. Again, and again, and again. CLICK-CLICK-CLICK. The pistol had jammed. 10,000 years of loyal service and his pistol jammed now. Anger growing his heart, he stood, “I am not some warp addled fool,” he said, gauntlet twisting into a fist, “You are either a Neverborn, or some figment of my mind. I don’t care which; I have no time for you.”

She took another step. From behind him, came the grinding of wires again, and a pair of voices, the Ultramarines, “Why did you kill us, brother?” Avostos went for his sword, and his hand closed on empty air. “I am not your brother!” yelled the Night Lord, his... unease raising. He shouted out, to be heard, “Zhaharek! Malos! Is this is some mystical joke of yours?” No answer. The sound of grinding wires became deafening. All of them. They staggered stiffly. Like broken puppets, arms reaching for him. “Why?” They chorused. Avostos moved away from them, until his throne crashed into his back.

 

One of the Ultramarines neared him. Avostos struck out, with enough force to shatter stone. His arm stopped. Wires held it in place, sprouting from the dead Ultramarine’s face. There was a scratching sound, and a stabbing pain in Avostos’s arm. The wires were burrowing into him. The Night Lord tried to pull back, yanking hard, desperate now, but it was fruitless. He was held fast. “Why?” they chorused again, as a small, pale hand closed around his other arm. The scratching sound, and the pain again. The Governor’s Daughter looked up at him, asking “Why?” in time, resonating, with all the others. Avostos struggled, with strength that should have freed him, and broken his captor’s limbs, but to no avail. He felt that pain burrow deeper. Looking for anyway out, he answered them, “Terror tactics. To win wars! Why else?” he growled as he spoke, from the effort of struggling.

 

The Governor’s Daughter smiled. The inside of her mouth was a garden of dried blood, red and vile. “We know why,” they all said, “You did it because you enjoyed it.” More of them had reached him now, and they clung to him, holding him in place, as one of the Astartes began to stride painfully towards him. Its hands ground up to remove its helm. Avostos didn’t even have the room to squirm, as they clambered over him. He could taste blood. The pain filled him now. He could taste metal. The Astartes was a few steps away. “You enjoy it because you’re a sadist, mad like all your brothers”, their choral voice was high and mocking now. “No, you’re lying!” protested Avostos, straining desperately against the wires. “I’m not like them!” The Wire Works were getting louder now, almost screaming at him, calling him monster, madman. “Traitor!” they all yelled, and began repeating it, getting louder and louder, and Avostos knew what was under the helm of the Astartes, who was now a mere foot from Avostos, the helm slowly coming off. “NO!” Avostos roared, the movement of his mouth becoming difficult as the wires reached his jaw, “The Emperor betrayed us, betrayed my father, betrayed me!” The helm came off, and Avostos stared in abject horror, “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!”

 

Avostos stared into the face of the Emperor he had betrayed, as all of the people he had tortured, maimed and killed, chanted “Traitor!” ...and screamed.

 

He was awoken, sometime later, by Jal-eraz. His Wire Works were unmoved, and his pistol was fine, and his sword was on his belt. A whispered threat had been enough to swear his brother into secrecy. Yet, from then on, something alien and perverse wrong sat in Avostos’s gut. It didn’t stop him from making more Wire Works, or going to war.

But it was there.

[Teetengee]

Scrap
Don't read the epilogue if you want more solid happy endings.
Part I

Hidden Content

The blinking light of an intermittent distress beacon blinked blue on the Magpie’s communication console as Captain Patricia Ortho watched it. The blinking came in sets, three blinks, then a pause, then three blinks, then a pause, then nine blinks, then a pause, three again, nine again, then a longer pause, then one, then seven, and so on. Although the computation matrix assured her the pattern didn’t repeat, every time Patricia returned her attention to it, it seemed to be three, three, nine, and so on. In any case she picked up the intraship vox, “Rosso, chart a course for that vehicle, and Skep, find out what you can about it before we get there, I want to know what kind of job we have today.”

The Kestrel was a corpse of lost glories as the Magpie glided across its surface to dock. Rosso Dex watched carefully as his vid-screens filled with the massive expanse of its heavily scarred hull. Whistling at the scorch marks and barely clinging on chips of paint scattered across the Kestrel’s warp-worn belly, he put down his lho stick to guide the Magpie in for a landing in one of the cavernous bays. “Easy girl,” he said, petting the cockpit wall with his half-gloved hand, “nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” The Magpie slowed to a halt and then skipped once before the maglocks gripped hold. Rosso mussed his mustache and fingered the buttons on his caproskin vest before picking up the vox, “Welcome to the Kestrel, please watch your hands and feet as you exit the vehicle and enjoy your stay.”

Skep Antone stood in grease stained overalls and a shirt that might have even once been white banging on his sensor equipment. “What do you mean ‘lifesigns scanner malfunctioning,’ I just replaced you! Throoonedammit!” Skep emphasized the last with a kick from a ceramite toed work boot. His bionic eye flashed yellow as he tried to diagnose the error in his equipment. Skep dropped to the floor and shimmied under the scanner, pressing an activation rune on his eye and flooding the cramped space with light. He started systematically removing all of the new components and testing them individually before replacing them within the machine. Finally, he jerked himself out from underneath on his back with an exasperated sigh.

“Pat’s wondering what’s taking you so long.” Astrid Yias stood above him, hands on fatigued hips and heavily built muscling fully visible in her black tank top.

Skep wiped his hands futilely on his front and replied, “You can tell the Captain that her ship is in need of new cogitators. The lifescanner is working fine, but the evaluators can’t parse the signal.”

“I’ll pretend I understood what you just said. Now, come on, you will just have to use the portable, and we will clear the place a couple rooms at a time.” Astrid pulled Skep to his feet and left the machine filled room at a leisurely pace. Skep switched to his cargos and grabbed a few pieces of equipment before bolting out the door and down the hall to the bridge while shoving them hastily in his pockets.

By the time Skep arrived in the cargo bay, the others were almost done putting on their void suits. He hurried over to put on his own when he heard a metallic ring from above him. He jumped backwards and stumbled with a scream as a figure in a child’s void suit dropped down from the rafters right where he was standing, landing gracefully. Laughter echoed out from the others as the figure pulled off its helmet to reveal what appeared to be a ten year old girl. “Emperor, you are such a fethin’ sap, Skep. And people think I’m a little girl. Ha, don’t bust your fethin’ ticker Skep, I ain’t no emperor-damned warp spawn.”

“Dammit Mouse, you fething stunted terror. If you give me a heart attack you are the one they’ll eat first while drifting if something breaks.”

“Nah, Astrid’s fethin’ huge! More fethin’ meat. Cannibal.” Lilian “Mouse” Harrok jabbed Skep in the side with her foot as he stood, a wicked grin lighting up her face as she finished speaking.

“Flirt later, let’s stay on task here. Did you manage to figure anything more out about this place Skep,” Patricia did not yell, she did not need to, had she not been picked up by a rogue trader in her younger years, she would have made for a fine imperial guard commander. As it stood, a commanding presence had kept her crew and herself alive when dealing with other scavengers and local arbites on more than one occasion.

“No sir,” Skep responded, “Mags is acting up again, refused to do the readings. I think she may have blown a cogitator. I brought a portable though.” He pulled it out and waved it as if to prove his point.

“Well, just let us know what you know when you know it, Skep,” replied Patricia as everyone finished their preparations.

“Will do,” Astrid checked the seals on Skep’s suit before making sure her carbine’s void seals were still intact. The click and hiss of pressurizing helmets joined the hum of the engines and the stamp of mag boots as the crew of the Magpie assembled in front of the airlock. Patricia’s voice, muffled and monotoned by the vox sent them forward.

The exit ramp slapped down with a silent thump, the impact reverberating through the floor of the vast and empty cave which was once the Kestrel’s busy docking bay. Evidence of wild lasfire could be seen burnt across the walls and floor, and the whole place was eerily empty, everything not bolted down having long since been sucked out of the open bay doors. Astrid lead the way, the light projecting from her carbine sweeping over the metal remains quickly and efficiently. She stopped a few times when the light caught movement, but they were only cables drifting in the void. Astrid raised one hand and motioned the others forward. The others followed cautiously as Astrid made the long journey to the door. Mouse pulled a set of tools from her backpack and began her work on the door frame as Skep took readings and the others stood guard. Everyone was as silent as the emptiness that surrounded them, uneasy about making an entrance with so many unknowns.

Finally Mouse’s voxed, “Throne yes! Fethin’ got it. Take that you fether.” The door opened with a hiss of escaping air.

“Looks like the seals are still up, we’re in luck,” said Skep, as they moved into the internal airlock, “Let’s see if we can find the bay controls so I can close up the front door.”

“Roger that. Maybe we can find a heater too,” said Rosso, hand drifting lazily to his sidearm.

Part 2

Hidden Content

Mouse made quick work of the rest of the task of cycling the doors. When the inner door opened the entire group could hear a faint continuous murmur, although they couldn’t quite make out the source through their helmets. They all stood in the airlock while Skep finished his readings. “Life signs are still coming up inconclusive, but there doesn’t appear to be any disease in the air and the climate is fine. We are good to go.”

Patricia was the first to remove her helmet, the click and escaping hiss deafening after the quiet of the vacuum. The air was cold, but not harmfully so in the short run, and as Patricia stepped into the hallway around the entrance she noticed a strange smell, not unlike that of pickles. Patricia walked slowly down the hallway a few steps until she noticed that the murmuring seemed to be coming from above her right ear. She stopped, cocking her head to listen. “Three, three, nine, three, nine, zero, one, seven …..” Her head snapped down, and she completely failed to stop paying attention to the string of numbers as she walked back to her now helmetless crew.

“Ok, everyone, I want to get this done quickly, we need to find out what this ship was hauling and get the valuables back. I would prefer not to have to call in trawler help on this one, so let’s prioritize relics and weaponry over too much heavy machinery. Once we take the good stuff I will let Alex know about the wreck so he can strip the rest, but we need some proof of purchase for him,” Patricia was an automatic, she had done the salvage runs so many times that even her growing concerns could not put a dent in her cool demeanor, “Astrid, you go with Rosso to the bridge, see if you can’t find a map. Skep, come with me and we will get this bay door closed. Mouse figure out what is on this ship.”

“Throne praised-fethin’-be, none of you to slow me the feth down!” said Mouse, rushing down the hallway activating her camo circuitry. “I’ll find you every-fethin’-thing they got!”

“Don’t get too excited Mouse, if you can’t handle being alone I’ll have to send Skep to babysit you.” Patricia said distractedly as the group split up to their separate tasks.

Astrid uneasily watched Mouse and then Patricia and Skep disappear down the hallways, before turning to Rosso to speak. He was standing under the vox, listening to the unending stream of numbers, head cocked to one side. “Come on Rosso,” she said, but he didn’t seem to notice, his eyes stared into the middle distance. Astrid snapped her fingers and Ross shook his head and picked up his feet to follow her.

Astrid and Rosso walked down the hallways in silence, listening to the half-heard murmured sequence mixing with the hum of the engines. Whenever they came to a door, Rosso would knock open the door with his left hand, right on his autorevolver, and then Astrid would clear the room carbine at the ready. The rooms were mostly empty, although occasionally one would be filled with scorch marks and large scrapes. Additionally, the smell of pickles grew ever stronger as they approached the bridge.

Eventually Rosso began to speak, false bravado colouring his words, “You know, this place is kind of cozy. With a new paint job and a better speaker system, why it could really be-”

“Shut up, Rosso.”

“What, I was just-”

“Shut up!” Astrid slammed him against the wall, holding his mouth shut, holding her breath. A series of scraping sounds carried up the hall. Rosso’s eyes grew wide as she released him, putting a finger to her mouth. He unholstered his weapon as Astrid began to move slowly toward the sound.

Astrid held the carbine up, finger poised against the trigger as she advanced toward the noise. Her cool temper calming Rosso’s jittery nerves as he fell in behind her, weapon also at the ready. The whispered numbers from the vox grew unbearably loud in his mind “Three, THREE, NINE…”

Suddenly a loud bang filled the ship, followed by a large grinding noise. Rosso spun with a shout and pulled the trigger on his revolver, a host pinging down the hall as it ricocheted off the metal walls.

“WATCH YOURSELF ROSSO! A stray shot could kill someone! Throne!” Astrid shouted as she snatched Rosso’s gun from him “It is just Skep switching us back to the main power.”

“Sorry, I thought-”

“Yeah, I know what you thought, you thought you saw something, but the next thing you see might be me, or Mouse, or Skep, so keep your head. Now, can you take this back and only bring it out again when we need it!”

“Yes sir, I mean, Yes Astrid,” Rosso said it sheepishly, and took the gun, still nervous, but under a bit more control. “Stupid,” he muttered under his breath.

Finally they came across the source of the scraping. A broken security camera was bent upward and dragging along the ceiling with each sweep. Astrid reached up and tore it from the wall, a spray of sparks streaming through the air as it relinquished its mechanical eye. Astrid turned to Rosso, and slapped it in his hand. “Here, have a souvenir,” She said with a grin.

Part 3

Hidden Content

Mouse picked up the gold and ruby knife and gave it a few experimental swings before tucking it into her belt. Verum in Sanguinem it said across the blade. Mouse continued her ransacking of the captain’s quarters efficiently, taking only the most valuable of goods, such as digital ornaments and a small tin of spices.

“Fethin’ traders, they always get all the good don’t they. Well, it’s fethin’ mine now. How do you like that, you creepy dead feths, how do you fethin’ like that!” Mouse said bitterly, as she pocketed the captain’s cigars. Movement in the corner of the room made her freeze. She waited, and when nothing happened slowly turned to see what was there. A vid screen had turned on, though the data were corrupted. Mouse saw an image of a man in a cell flickering together with images of the same cell empty on loop.

He would be visible for a few seconds, then the empty cell would show, then he would appear again. First he would lay down on the bunk. Then sit on the toilet. Then lay down. But finally he would just stand in the middle of the room, mouth wide, eyes rolled back, and head cocked to one side. The final image just flickered back and forth with the empty cell until finally his eyes snapped to the camera and the screen went dark. Eventually the vidscreen would turn back on and the sequence would repeat. Mouse stared at it for several cycles through of its macabre show before finally turning back to her work, “Fethin’ eerie; un-fethin’-settlin’. Thronedamn, what kind of sick feth was watching that ?”

The string of profanities did little to help though. She tried to angle herself so the image wasn’t to her back, but the hair on the back of Mouse’s neck stood up anyway. She finished collecting the valuable from the room as quickly as possible and scampered to the door. She looked up at the screen and screamed; the face was staring at her, filling the entire vid screen, head cocked to the side, mouth open in a silent scream. She ducked her head and ran out the door, ignoring the string of numbers that began to pump out of the speakers attached to the vid screens in the captain’s room.

In her terror, Mouse could not remember which way she had come from, and ended up fleeing even further into the bowels of the ship. Eventually she came to a stop. “Damn this body. Damn, damn, damn, thronedamn, where the feth am I going.” Mouse looked back and saw nothing but the lights of the hallways, now on full power as the Kestrel was waking. With a final curse she pulled out the suit vox and opened a channel. “Hi fethers. I got the good from the captain’s place and found some specs of some nonstandard fighter they pulled in. I am going to go find that . Let’s fethin’ make this a quick smash and grab. Mouse fethin’ out.”

There was no response as she followed the local map her survey equipment was generating for her. The Kestrel was a maze, access tunnels and repair shafts laced the repeatedly refurbished spacecraft like the tendrils of some malignant cancer, navigating it was more a matter of just heading for the bigger chambers and hoping for the best than it was any kind of exercise in logic or memory. Thankfully the equipment recorded her steps, or she never would be able to find her way out of this void-drifting labyrinth.

Mouse crept down the hallway, looking over her shoulder frequently and listening to the numbers still being broadcast throughout the corridors. Large echoing clangs rang through the ship periodically as the temperature rose, each one making her jump even if only a little. She followed the winding corridors towards a large chamber her map had marked as full of unidentifiable objects. As she approached she slowed considerably. Heavy lasfire had scorched this region of the ship, and there was also evidence of solid munitions. Activating her mag grips, she climbed up the wall and crawled across the ceiling to stay out of easy sight on her advance.

The door to the room had clearly been blasted open, and Mouse poked her head around what remained of the frame carefully. The scene in front of her was surprising. At first look the room appeared to be full of bodies. But on further inspection she noticed that there were only bloody rags. No bodies, no body parts, only the strong odor of pickles and a loud vox calling out the numbers “Three, three, nine….”

She continued into the chamber and took in the rest of the objects in the room. It was clearly some sort of work area, likely attached to a hanger bay judging by the tools present. In the center of the room, suspended from chains in the ceiling was a craft that matched the descriptions she had found in the captain’s room. Made of sleek flowing ceramite panels, it was fifteen meters long by ten meters wide and three meters tall. Imperial suspensor plates lined the bottom. Two long barreled cannons of a make Mouse had never seen before jutted out from the front of its hull. The rear access hatch was raised in the open position, and a cold green-blue light shone out into the room, flickering off and on irregularly. Unable to resist, Mouse eased her way down the chains, hanging from the rings by her fingertips, carefully moving each hand so as to not create any noise.

She clambered onto the hull silently, creeping forward until she could swing her head down to see the inside of the vehicle. She opened her mouth with a horrified “Feth me up. Side. Down.” The entire cockpit was covered in a tiny neat scrawl; numbers in a dark ink or scratched in the plastics and metals filled every surface she could see, even the underside of the control sticks. As she stared her eyes began to ache, and she flipped up away from the inexplicably painful writing. Breathing heavily, she studied the chamber and then opened her vox.

“Assume we are not alone on this fethin’ ship. Some serious went down here. We should get the feth out as soon as we can, I am on my fethin’ way. Shake the fethin’ ceramite out.”

She looked back toward the door and stopped. A small camera over the door was trained on her, seemingly unaffected by her vidscatter camo. Mouse’s heart hammered in her small chest, as she slowly, pulled a small shock pistol from her belt. Taking aim at the unwavering camera, she fired, and it exploded in a spray of sparks and red fluid, splattering the door with sticky residue and filling the chamber with a smell similar to vinegar. Mouse jumped off the fighter vessel and fled out of the room as fast as her short legs would carry her, trying to shut out the painful numbers beating against her mind.

Part 4

Hidden Content

Patrica stood with a confused expression reading through the damage reports Skep had found. They detailed a ship burnt out by an electrical storm. Many hands lost to suffocation. Almost all electrical components completely fried. Yet the lights were on, and the atmospheric equipment had been repaired. Closing the hanger door had only taken a few rune-strokes. Switching back from emergency power was no more difficult than flipping a few switches. The whole ship worked, and by rights almost none of it should. And the oddly familiar acrid pickle smell which was so overpowering in the machine rooms wasn’t helping her puzzle out a solution either.

Skep stood staring at his life sign monitor, still giving out inconclusive results. “It keeps saying that there is life all around, but only giving a life sign count of five. Us, I presume. I don’t get it; I can’t find anything wrong. Gah,” he sighed in exasperation.

Patricia began to pace the floor of the equipment filled room massaging her temples where some tension had quickly developed into a throbbing headache. Reaching into her pocket she pulled out a small brown pill and tossed it back, dry swallowing with a grimace. Pressing her palms to her forehead, she spoke, “Let’s go, there is nothing we can take from this room that won’t risk the rest of the Kestrel right now. We’ll meet up with Rosso and Astrid, and we can figure out the problem three. I mean three, there.” She shook her head between the last words, as if trying to dislodge the fugue that had set in.

“Are you ok Captain?” Skep asked, concern written large across his face.

“Yeah, I’m nine, Fine. I’m fine. Just a headache, I’ll be good in a bit,” Patricia finished with confidence as she tossed back her hair to reveal a pained smile, but even Skep could tell she wasn’t doing well.

“Ok, Captain, just let me know if you want to head back to the ship and direct us from there, I am sure we can do one salvage op without too much going wrong.”

Patricia smiled, genuinely, “Thank you Skep, I’ll let you know, now move Soldier,” she said with a laugh. The two filed out of the chamber, tracking Astrid and Rosso’s life markers on Skep’s instrument; Patricia occasionally squeezing her temples and clenching her teeth as they walked down the vox whispering halls.

A few turns later, their suit voxes crackled to life: “Assume we...Not alone..This fethin’ ship. Some serious ...Down here. We...get the feth out as soon as we can...On...Fethin’ way. Shake the fethin’...A mite…” The voxes whistled as they cut out. Patricia and Skep stared at each other.

“That’s not good,” Skep said.

“Move!” They both ran off down the hall, their boots clanging a quick beat across the metal floors as they slammed their way toward Astrid and Rosso’s slowly moving life signs. Patricia pulled out her firearm as they ran, saying a short prayer to the Emperor as she did so. The thundering echos from their footfalls rang back and forth on top of each other through the sounding chamber of the empty vessel, building a crescendo of noise that crashed out from them. Fists and legs pumping they ran down hallway after hallway until finally Skep stopped, gasping for air at a closed door as he doubled over, supporting his weight from the door handle.

“They..(pant), are..(pant) in there.” He wheezed. Patricia threw open the door and ran in, blind to any danger as she searched for her crew.

Part 5

Hidden Content

Astrid and Rosso were rummaging through the papers of the lab they had found for some sort of inventory, talking as they went. “So, when you going to tell that poor sap about your feelings for him?” Rosso ribbed as he opened yet another filing cabinet.

“I will shoot you Rosso. Don’t think I won’t. I don’t get many opportunities, and I would like to make sure her stopping power is still up to standards,” Astrid said impatiently, face ruddy, keen to finish the job and get off the floating graveyard they were working on. She slammed open another drawer and started roughly yanking through the rows of paper. “Who the warp still uses paper documents for this sort of thing? Seriously.”

“Blushing and changing the subject,” Rosso said knowingly, looking at her over the datacog wall. “You do like him don’t you,” he added with a laugh.

Astrid stood, blushing fully now, although exuding the aura of an enraged rhino. She began to speak, stopped and then collected herself, hands on hips. “Whomsoever I choose to sleep with is not for you to know Rosso, particularly because it you certainly never will.”

"Ha, well played, Fatigues," Rosso ducked back down before popping up quickly. "I found it, I found a records slate, this one is even in electronic, guess this retro-fan realized paper has its limits."

Astrid dropped what she was doing and vaulted over the datacog stacks, carbine in her right hand. "So what have we got?"

"Fuel is at twenty percent, and ox at thirty-five, but the only things that are flagged for restock are formaldehyde and coolant."

"Strange."

Just then Patricia burst through the door to the room, pistol in hand. "Mouse is on her way back, the message was garbled, but it sounds like someone else is on this ship. We need to find her and head back to the Magpie asap. Follow me!" Patricia left as quickly as she came in, leaving the bewildered and concerned pair stunned where they stood. Astrid was the first to follow, grabbing Rosso and dragging him out through the door where Skep still stood gasping for breath.

"Thank the Emperor you are ok," Astrid said when she saw him, picking him up in a bear hug that did nothing to assist his breathing. She winked and stuck out her tongue at Rosso before putting Skep back down. "Let's go find the little thief shall we?" She directed at Patricia.

"Where is her sign Skep, I want to move quickly." Patricia said, clearly irritated.

"I don't know, this warpblasted thing is acting up again. It says life signs are flickering on and off all over the Kestrel. It doesn't have anything useful to tell us, just nonsense data!"

"Let's hope so. Where did you have her last?" Patricia asked, creases deepening in her forehead.

Skep projected the automap onto the wall and drew a path with his finger, "We're here, and my last confirmed match was of her there, moving fast this way. If we go up here, and skip through this access tunnel, we should meet up with her."

"Ok, then that's the plan. Astrid you take point, all bring up the rear with Rosso. Skep, you keep trying to get that working, and keep your voxes off so we can hear if she calls in without delay. I am not losing one of my crew on a simple carrion job."

The four voidsuit clad scavengers ran along the arteries of the Kestrel ducking down side passageways and speeding without paying too much attention to their surroundings or the alarms that began to cut in and out alongside the stream of whispered numbers. When they got to the access tunnel, they found it locked, the first door that had been so since they had entered the airlock. "I may not have Mouse's experience, but I should be able to handle it," said Skep as he moved up to the door.

"No time," said Astrid as she shoved him aside and pulled up her carbine. "I'll blow it open." She opened fire on the lock mechanism, melting a series of holes around the handle until the door seal broke with a hiss, and the smell of burnt flesh and pickles washed over them. She grabbed the door and yanked it open before all of them stopped, staring in horror.

In front of them was something between a charnal house and a laboratory. Unfortunately, it was most definitely still a service tunnel. Inside, the walls were covered with flesh and sinew. Brains hooked up to each other by neural tissue were located over waldos made from human hands. Heat damaged machinery was mixed with preserved organs, and the whole process was wrapped in a thin skin of translucent material which kept in the foul smelling fluid mixture used to keep the system working. Skep turned to the side and vomitted on the floor, adding to the hideous stench.

"So that's where the crew went," Rosso added morbidly. "One giant servitor, bad way to go."

Patricia's commanding voice pushed aside any thoughts of turning back. "Each second we stay here we get further from our knowledge of where Mouse is. We keep going. This is the shortest way."

Part 6

Hidden Content

Astrid took a breath and carried on through the semi-living tunnel. She did not drop her weapon for a second and made sure that Skep stayed close behind her. Skep kept his eyes glued to either his scanner or the tightening muscles of her shoulders, hoping that if he stared hard enough he wouldn't have to think about what he had witnessed. Rosso moved quickly, not wanting to be left behind. Patricia began to count off numbers.

They moved close together in a bunch, all but Skep with eyes peeled for danger. Everyone's breathing was shallow so as to avoid taking in too much of the foul odors in any one breath. The ambling limbs above them moved about their business tending to the functions of the ship. The whispered numbers continued.

Finally they stepped out from the other end of the tunnel, back to the metal corridors of the Kestrel, back to where the smell was weaker and the sounds were louder, but now they knew what hid behind those walls. Shuddering, Skep turned around and looked down the tunnel with his bionic eye. "I see a shape, small, slouched against the wall, it could be Mouse. MOUSE! MOUSE!" He called down the hallway before Astrid or Patricia could stop him.

The childlike shape jerked and then stutteringly turned its head. It began to run at them screaming, its movements like frames in a bad vidclip. It shouted the numbers along with the walls. As it ran, it blinked out of existence. Three seconds in, one second out, three seconds in, one second out, nine seconds in, one second out, and on and on. Astrid and Patricia opened fire indiscriminately, but the creature shifted position in the hall each time it blinked in and out of existence, indifferent to gravity and notions of physics. Finally, Patricia, shouting out counted seconds, found some pattern in the thing's movements and landed a shot right through its helmet sending brains, shards of the void suit's helmet, and fragments of bone splattering across the walls and ceilings of the hallway.

The thing spun through the air, flickered out, and reappeared on the floor in a heap. Just as Rosso returned his once fired revolved to his holster. The thing twitched. Arms and legs shot out. Splayed fingers spread out on the floor and then popped up onto fingertips. The lolling head turned upward as it scuttled forward, continuing to blink in and out impossibly. The remains of the mask crumbled to the floor as it’s head cocked to the side. It looked at them out of its remaining eye through Mouse’s face, the back half of her head completely missing. Then its mouth opened wide, just a bit too wide, and its rapidly scuttling advance down the hall continued.

“We don’t have the tools for this!” Astrid shouted, with increasing alarm as she continued to pump the hallway full of shots.

“Pull back, pull back now! And fire on my command.” Patricia shouted it out before continuing to shout out counts, only now she was yelling out locations and orders to fire during each pause.

The four remaining human souls aboard the Kestrel continued their flight down the halls, taking a different path,since the flesh filled maintenance tunnel had locked behind them. Skep’s autoscanner projected directions at every intersection to navigate a way back to the Magpie. Rosso ran in front, preparing to clear any obstacles they might come across. Patricia and Astrid ran with their heads turned back, loosing shots into the pursuing horror.

As they were nearing the exit, Astrid’s shots, directed by Patricia, met their target. First they blew out Mouse’s knee, and then both arms and the other foot. Unable to chase them with any speed, the thing continued to worm along the ground, remaining thighs stabbing at the ground and flailing. Blood and bone smeared along the hall in her advance. Astrid gave a shout of success, but Patricia just kept counting as they both turned to the others. Having dealt with their pursuer for now, they doubled their speed, focusing only on moving forward and paying almost no attention to their surroundings.

Part 7

Hidden Content

Just as they were turning the corner to the airlock, the paneling in the walls dropped down and arms reached out, grabbing Rosso by the mouth. There was a sickening crack as his head was yanked sideway. The force was so great that one hand yanked off his lower jaw in a spray of viscera. Rosso’s body fell limp, his neck bent unnaturally against the wall and his firearm skidding across the floor.

Patricia, crying, howled in rage and anguish, not words but something far more primal. She unloaded salvo after salvo into the wall that Rosso lay against, until her gun began to glow and smoke and the wall was black and red. Skep stood there in shock, his scanner hanging from limp fingers. Astrid was the only one still in control, three tours in the imperial guard had seen to that. She ran forward slinging her weapon over her shoulder and scooped up Skep in her arms, slamming into the airlock.

“Come on, Captain. Pat! PATRICIA, come on!” Astrid shouted back, her head poking around the side of the hatch. Patricia looked up at her, expression blank, mouthing numbers. The captain’s head cocked to the side, and she started to shamble forward before flickering out of existence.
“FETH!, FETHING FETH!” shouted Astrid as she spun back into the airlock, mashing the controls.

The controls only glowed red flashing circles and nothing happened. Growling in frustration, Astrid said “Helmets, now!” Skep, too much in shock to think, just followed her orders. Once both had sealed shut, Astrid overcharged her battery and stuck her gun to the door, before quickly grabbing Skep and flipping around the corner with him. The blast shattered the airlock door and sent the slowly approaching Patricia flying.

Astrid grabbed Skep by the wrist and raced to the Magpie’s entry ramp across the floor. Pulling him up, she shoved him forward into the ship and ordered, “Get to the cockpit! Get us in the air!” He paused for a moment, staring at her. “NOW!,” she screamed and he ran off to the controls.

She spun around and slammed the airlock close runes, finally taking a moment to breath. Just as she was walking by the closing doors, something wrapped tight around her foot and Astrid was dragged to the ground with a scream. Kicking wildly, she grabbed a hold to the shrinking doors and looked back to see Patricia, unmasked and emotionless, screaming numbers at her and hanging from a tight grip on her ankle.

The Magpie’s engines glowed white hot as she began to lift off, airlock door consoles shouting obstruction warnings. Slipping further down due to her captain’s weight, Astrid hung precariously over the retracting ramp, kicking furiously at Patricia’s hand and head with her free foot. Finally, Astrid took one hand from the doors and, hanging just from her crooked right arm, pried off Patricia’s iron grip one finger at a time. Astrid scrambled on board and the airlock slammed behind her muffling the thud of Patricia’s body meeting the deck. The sound of the Magpie’s weaponry firing filled the thin air as it blew a hole in the sealed bay doors.

Part 8

Hidden Content

Astrid and Skep flew hundreds of miles before either dared to speak. Eventually, Skep spoke up, “We have to warn people. No one can be allowed to return to that ship.”

Astrid looked at him, with an expression he could not place. He picked up his scanner and was about to plug it into the central cogitators when she said, “Stop.”

“Why,” he asked, uneasy at her expression, “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s a good plan, I just think I am going to kiss you first,” she said it quietly, and then she jumped him.

Epilogue

Hidden Content

Epilogue:
“Sir, I am getting a distress call.”
“Yes, ensign?”
“It is from a ship called Magpie, sir. It is accompanied by some data, sir”
“What data.?”
“I can’t rightfully say sir, it seems to just be a string of numbers, three, three, nine…”

[Kierdale]

Thanks all for your Chaos Halloween entries. We had pieces ranging from the amusing to the truly disturbing. I’m glad Teetengee persuaded me to put off updating until Saturday morning as we had two excellent last-minute entries.

Thedarkprincesnun (Slaanesh’s holy sister?) gave us The Heart of Chaos telling us of the deepest, darkest depths of the Eye.

Meat for the Table was a tale of the capture and transformation of the loyalist brother Curwen, from the always-impressive Warsmith Aznable.

Dammeron gave us the excellent Abandon, a tale of a fallen son of Guilliman submitting himself to the tender ministrations of (if I’m not mistaken) a Dark Eldar. Shame on him Though I think my Psychopomps would welcome both Galathos and the Father with open arms...

Rotting Crops was EesiOh’s submission. A good zombie tale.

Carrack gave us a classic tale set within the 40k universe. And I must admit I didn’t see it coming (thought the character’s name should have tipped me off). And he gave us A Mother’s Love (not literally, of course)!

Song of the Equinox was Scourged’s entry this week. I do love these tales of the twisted, hidden rituals of commonfolk. And spawn. Anything with spawn. You know I love spawn.

What kind of Halloween would it be without Night Lords? Zhaharek served up a slice of VIII Legion terror in The Wire Man with the twist that the Lord was on the receiving end. The descriptions of the...artworks...were excellent and very original. It’s good to see Astartes having creative passtimes in which to express their artistic talents...

And finally Teetengee slipped in just before I closed the event for this week with his entry Scrap. An excellent story in the vein of Alien and Event Horizon with a salvage crew finding a drifting hulk and the horror within.

I thoroughly recommend reading it. Including the epilogue.

I’ll add a final note that I really think your writing has improved, Teetengee

And I gave you a model’s-eye-view of the game.

SlaveToDarkness...we await your entry and are keen to read of our demises!

Now for awards.

Plural.

I’m going to be a big softie and hand out four Octed Amulets this week as I simply could not choose a single entry which impressed me the most. Settling on four was difficult enough. In fact I typed and retyped this a few times before hitting `Post`.

Step forward Dammeron, Scourged, Zhaharek and Teetengee and claim your rewards!

And here begins our next challenge...

Interview with a Dark Apostle - We’ve had “Interview with a Chaos Lord”, “Interview with a Chaos Sorcerer” and “Interview with a Warpsmith”...and now it is the turn of the diabolical demagogues. Voices of the Gods propagating the unholy word. Tell us about these blasphemous preachers, these silver tongued corruptors. What role do they play in your war band (and its fall)? How are they viewed by its rank and file? Their fellow officers? What are their ceremonies and rites, their goals, schemes, victories, foibles and failures.

I finished painting my own dark apostle this week and, despite their rules lacking somewhat (why no bikes, jump packs, daemonic steeds?? No psychic mastery? No doom sirens for Slaaneshi?...one might as well use Sorcerer rules #ahem# I digress) I find these individuals fascinating.

For those warbands lacking chaplains/dark apostles, tell us of those individuals who fulfill a similar role (be it the spiritual leader/rite leader of the fallen Astartes or the Astarte who whips up the cult forces, etc.).

It will be interesting to see how original (which could be read as `how different from Erebus`) we can get...

The challenge runs until Friday November 13^th (a most suitable day!)

You have two weeks.

Let us be inspired...

[Warsmith Aznable]

Well done! I think this was the best challenge yet!

[Teetengee]

Thank you, Kierdale. I can't wait to read all of these stories!

(also, I will probably do some minor revisions to the above when I get a chance, I didn't have the time to proofread it very well...)

[Carrack]

This was an awesome week, for IF. Thanks for the challenge and the difficult task of judging this week's stories, Kierdale. I was wondering if anyone would pick up on the name of my protagonist for my story. :)

@Zhaharek, I actually got goosebumps reading your story.

@Teetengee, awesome. All I can say.

[Dammeron]

Kierdale: Many thanks indeed, sir. Glad you enjoyed!

[Kierdale]

Thank you all for your comments, and once again for your entries. My only regret is that I myself didn't take last week's topic seriously :D Ah well, next year.

Instead I spent more time on this week's piece.

It's a biggie.