Hive Bottom

[anaris]

It rained. From above, a million rounds of liquid munitions were fired every minute, a deluge that washed the streets in filth and hurried travellers into shelter before it ate through their protective gear. It had been raining this chemical slurry for a week now, a week of events that led nowhere, of frustration. It had been raining on a walking god, and he was getting tired of it. He was getting tired of this waste, of the carelessness of those above, of the ash and debris of centuries that hid a metal floor beneath his feet. Perhaps there was nothing to be found, but he would not give up.

The drumming fall was soft against his skin. An ordinary man would be dead, but the acid hissed and ran off, leaving him unharmed. His robes, covered in a chem-cloak, were already pocked with holes where the rain had seeped through. He didn't care. Appearance mattered little here. His great height made him abnormal, his massive build an oddity, but still he had drawn not one curious gaze during his stay. Nobody cared. Their own lives were enough to be getting on with, or they were too intimidated to seek his death. An even split, perhaps. He lay and lamented humanity's fall in the bright nights, when he rested beneath the glare of artificial suns.

He had walked at the head of an army that crushed worlds. He had strode through the galaxy at the side of his lords and conquered in the name of the Emperor. He had held the fate of millions in his hands. He had built the crumbling edifice they called the Imperium with his blood, spilled across the soil of a thousand worlds, and this was what it had come to. Teeming masses crowded beneath the gaze of those with money, with power. Those who simply did not care. It made him sick, and it made him angry, and it made him hunt.

They came amongst their subjects in armour, ornate combat suits and mystical technology that bore them aloft on steel wings or sped them through the dust without a trace. They came to kill for sport, out of boredom. It was a travesty of care, a mockery of rule. He intended to teach them a lesson. Without weapons or armour, he would be easy prey for a Spyrer, or so they would think. But he was no human, not one of the creatures he had sworn to protect.

He was a Space Marine. Nomir Alestan strode onwards through the ash, ever watchful, seeking a trail.

[enlith]

Life in the spire had it's good points and it's bad points, as did everything else in the universe. Clean living, for example, and general law and order. Those such good points however, could also be viewed as bad points. Hak Gelantir flicked the rim of his crystalline tumbler, an empty ring chimed out as he did so.

He snorted, amused by his own boredom. The governers son necked the rest of his amasec. The liquid burned down his throat and warmed his insides. The middle-aged man pushed himself out of his chair, the leather covering it creaking a farewell. He clapped twice and the shutters infront of his desk began to rise slowly, bright light seeping into his gloomy office as a panoramic view of the grey sky was revealed before him.

He sighed, walking up to the huge windows, his one good eye following the arcing path of a laden Onero as it ponderously headed down to the lower levels of the Hive. As it disappeared through the thick layer of noxious cloud marking the end, or the beginning of the spire, depending on which way one looked at it, Hak turned away from the window, resting his gaze on the thick plasteel door set in the right wall of the room.

He paced over to it, producing a small chip from his metal cuff. He placed it into a box which rested in the wall beside the door and its lid slid to one side. Without hesitation Hak pressed his finger onto a small needle which protruded from the console before him. There was a slight whirring noise, and then an asserted click. Finally, he bent down, allowing the machine to take a retinal scan.

With all of the safety precautions over the plasteel door hissed open revealing a narrow causeway, ten feet long and three feet wide. There where no railings and either side there was a sheer drop, seemingly into the abyss. Hak walked across it with a praticed confidence stopping as he entered the circular room on the otherside.

This room was filled with a green glow and mechanical whirs and clanks filled the steamy air. In the centre of the room there was a clear cylindrical device, filled with what seemed to be smoke. There was another console attached to a railing that ran around the device. Hak made for it, punching in a few commands.

There was a sucking sound and the smoke that filled the tube was vented upwards, revealing a gleaming spyrer suit. It's beauty never ceased to amaze Hak, and he stared on in awe for a moment before entering one last command. The tube was drawn into the floor and Hak proceeded up a small flight of stairs towards the suit.

He took off his clothes and donned the skin tight under suit, flexing a few times, allowing it to creep into place. Next he fitted each individual piece of armour, plugging in the hardwiring devices and links that allowed his body to cope with the suit. Lastly he fixed on his helmet, jerking slightly as the probe entered the adaptor fixed to the back of his head. A burst of information was inserted instantaneously into his mind, blinding him for a moment. Hak composed himself, testing each of his combat arms in turn.

Everything was in good working order. He pressed a button to his left and the platform he stood on began to descend. Good hunting. He muttered to himself as he plunged into the depths of the under hive...

* * *

To be continued...

[stratigo]

The dust drifted and landed upon a prone form. He was covered in it. No one saw him as he blended iunto the ground almost perfectly. He'd been there for 4 days.

He was following up information he'd gathered about an overly large underhiver travelling this way. Of course there were dozens of such, but he hoped this would be the right one. There, a form. It was obviously large at this distance.

There was a muted sound. The distant form flew back like it had taken a battle cannon in the stomach. The prone shooter quickly jumped up, stowed his rifle, drew his pistol and ran towards the dead figure.

As he reached it there he could see the obvious and very large hole where the chest once was. But it was not the right person. A mutant definately, and thus justly executed, but not the one that had been looked for.

The shooter moved on. He didn't have a name, that had been long since erased in his training. Though he had adapted the persona of Kallen when he needed to interact with others.

He was an assasin of the Vindicare cult, on a mission of great importance. Rogue space marines. They could not be tolerated. Even one could do damage and organise revolts. Not only that but it would shake humanities faith in its great protectors, which is why information of Chaos Space Marines was so heavily supressed. Not only that but rogues were suseptable to the influences of chaos.

Kallen's target was one such rogue. He had been tracked to this planet, to this hive. But one hive could harbor billions, and inside the underhive were monsters and mutants. A place where a space marine could hide and not even be noted, Kallen had to find an new approach to finding his target. he had seven leads and all had come to nothing more than overly large mutants. It did not help that no underhiver had even seen one of the Adaptes Astartes.

The acidic rain started up again, dripping acid upon the tight fitting body suit. It sizzled and burned, but did no lasting harm. A bodysuit would stand up to much stronger acids. Kallen ignored it as he continued moving through the ash.