Nightstalker (Dark Heresy)

[Destro_Yersul]

Chapter One
Whispers in Darkness

The small shuttle rocked back and forth, buffeted by re-entry and shaken by high velocity winds in the upper atmosphere of Scintilla. The tiny hold had no windows, its three passengers crammed in like sardines amidst the tangle of crash webbing and conduits.

Thick insulation in the walls shielded the hold somewhat from the scream of the engines, making it just barely possible to hear each other speak. The mission briefing had been necessarily brief, the entirety of it covering no more space than the screen of a single dataslate could display at a time.


Acolytes: Recently, there have been a rash of mutant sightings in the lower levels of Hive Sibellus. Normally, this would be no cause for concern. Mutation is common amongst the lawless denizens of such places. However, some of the mutants were known to be previously whole citizens, and the numbers in which they have been appearing have increased over the past several months, until it was decided that action must be taken.

Your task is simple: Enter the hive, and attempt to determine the cause. If any mutants should get in your way, feel free to terminate them.

-Inquisitor Voss

The pitch of the whining engines increased and then subsided to a dull roar, the decking shuddering briefly as all sensation of motion ceased. The front hatch slid open a few moments later, revealing a thin man in a flight suit and helmet.

"We've landed. Everybody out."

[Artemis97]

"Oh, so we have landed." Nicodemus Dorn mutters, disentangling his thin frame from the cargo netting. "Judging by all of the turbulence we were experiencing, I feared we were crashing." The dark little man complains further, straightening his long robes. He adjusts the mirrored lenses clipped to the bridge of his nose and looks around the cargo bay. "Has anyone seen where my staff rolled to? That last good bump knocked it from my grip."

[EleventhHour]

Solaria looks up wearily, bringing a glove up to run her hand down her face in a mixture of relief and unhappiness. A heavy blink, and she fixes the rough grey helmet atop her head, and spits out the toothguard. "I hate the flyboys. Freaking Navy. All the same. Two feet on the ground, thank you." Continuing on to mutter, though straying into the field of profanities, the woman kicks the staff that rolled by her feet toward the offending party. "Right here. Though I was considering using it to help myself up."

A quick pocket check for lost coins, smokes, charge packs, or anything else that might've fallen out of the dishevelled sets of pockets that serves as a coat rests on her shoulders over the grey plates of flak armour. Patting them content in the fact that everything is where it should be, and taking ahold of one of the overhead pipes to get onto her feet, retriving the lasgun from the floor and clipping it to the side of her pack, that gets roughly thrown over her shoulders, the guardswoman is ready to go. "At least it's better than the landers..."

[Mr. Moon]

Seemingly unphased by the shaky ride, a tall techpriest must duck down to clear the top of the hatch as it steps though. It wears it's blood-red robes proudly, the fabric clean and well cared for. Under the robes, it's body is encased in plasteel, which has been painted a sterile and carefully kept clean white, save for where the grey plasteel peeks through under bullet-shaped dents, and various scratches. It's limbs are long and thin, bone and muscle long ago traded in for cables and pressure gauges.

After getting out, the techpriest looks around with a head mounted on a five-inch long armoured neck that turns on one of the many pivoting points with a soft whirr. It's face has been replaced by a gasmask, the same clean white as the rest of it's body. It's unchanging expressions are molded through sharp angles into a face, with two large, almond shaped red lenses instead of eyes. The lenses glow softly, casting a red light over the harsh angles of it's 'face'. It adds no comment to the conversation of it's team-mates. Instead, it seems to be ignoring them as it looks around to gauge their location based on the map it had memorized before departure.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Old engines. Not to worry, we've taken her through worse than that." The pilot seals the cockpit and jumps off the ramp, waving to an approaching officious looking man with a dataslate held carefully in one hand.

The spaceport you have landed in is large and apparently situated somewhere near the bottom of the hive. Large metal awnings keep the storm outside from coming too far in, though the corroded metal decking near the outside is slick with rain.

Far above you, a tangle of pipes and gantries crisscross the ceiling, which comes down in a dome to meet a huge gate a few hundred meters away. Metal docking pads and shuttle berths line the area, some maintained better than others.

The pilot and the bureaucrat finish their conversation, the bureaucrat throwing up his arms and hurrying off while the pilot walks back towards you. "Welcome to Port Fury. Car's this way." Then he turns and walks off, obviously expecting you to follow.

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus frowns at the weather then sighs. Just like home. He follows after the pilot, his staff clanking against the steel deck of the landing pad. Was this man going to be their driver as well? I hope he can drive better than he flies.

[EleventhHour]

If you've had worse, you could do better. Solaria only sniffs, and slips a lho stick from her pocket rather than anwsering, striking a match and lighting the end thoughtfully, puffing it, then stomping the little flame-stick into the dirt of the ground. "Hive cities. They really make a person feel small." She spends a few moments staring upward at it, "Seen bigger. And seen them wrecked, too. I don't know how people live in these things."

[Mr. Moon]

"Varies heavily based upon social status and wealth." The techpriest speaks up in a female, sophisticated, British voice, that may or may not be it's real voice. As usual, it interprets the question literally, and answers accordingly as it strides behind the pilot in a somewhat awkward looking, loping step."Citizens who live on the lower levels live in extreme filth and poverty, even by normal Imperial standards. Average lifespan of 23.756 years, shortened by violence, diseases and drug-use. On the opposite end of the spectrum, hive royalty lives in relative and even extreme luxury, supplemented by inherited fortunes and off-world trade. Due to such poor living conditions, and lack of natural lights in the lower levels, animal and plant life is impossible, and thus, food must be imported."

[Artemis97]

"If you can call corpse starch food." Nicodemus mutters to himself before speaking up. "People live here because they must. Few have the means or the opportunity to escape this squalor. But, even in such adverse conditions, humanity survives. Without light or air, it endures. Even in the darkness, we thrive."

[EleventhHour]

"And there's the fact and ideal of the place. All I know is that it's a khekload of people, jammed in one dirty place, and is warp-dammed hard to fight in a place like that." She puffs the lho, blowing a trailer of smoke, "Doesn't matter. We're here to kill some flitch-dredging scum, and tell the locals not to make such a fuss about a few freaks."

[Destro_Yersul]

"Here we are." The pilot doesn't seem to have been paying any attention to their conversation, and has just opened the door on a groundcar that looks almost as old as the shuttle they took on the way down.

"It's only a short drive." He settles into the driver's seat, leaving them to get in of their own accord.

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus doesn't say anything in response to the guardswoman. He didn't trust himself not to say something he might later regret. The man struggles a bit to fit his staff into the car before climbing into the front seat.

[Mr. Moon]

With another, slightly louder whirrrrr, Imperatrice's neck retracts to the point where it's head is right between it's too-thin shoulders. Even with it's height reduced thus, the tech-priest still must duck down and hunch over to fit inside the car. Imperatrice takes a window seat, it head pivoted to look through the clear plastic, thus able to continue it's mental map.

[EleventhHour]

"Hm." She considers bringing the smoke inside, but decides against, flicking it to the ground and taking a seat, ignoring the personal space of the fellow as she shuffles in. A quick glance and sniff at the strange fellow confirmed all she needed to know. Coghead. Techboy, and gearbrains. The guardswoman shrugs, and leans back lazily. "So. Where're we off to?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"You're headed to a little safehouse maintained by the Inquisitor." Once everyone's inside, the pilot puts the groundcar into gear and pulls it out of the spaceport. "This is one of the biggest hives in the sector. Figures, what with it being the capital and all. It suits him to keep a couple places here and there, I guess."

[Artemis97]

"It is a good idea." Nicodemus agrees, watching the hive go by through the rain spattered windows. "Better than having to rely on someone else for lodging."

[EleventhHour]

"The Inquisitorial Suite, eh?" Solaria looks thoughtfully out the window at the passing hive-scape, "Well. I guess it's the calm before the storm." She doesn't add, of flith, but is defenitly thinking it. Then lazily tipping her mirrored visor over her eyes, it's time for a nap before they manage to actually get whereever they're going.

[Mr. Moon]

As the tech-priest watches out the window, a soft beep emits from somewhere deep inside it's inner mechanizations, as the light from it's left eye fades, then turns green as Imperatrice begins to record the streets as they speed past the groundcar, to play-back later in the case that an emergency escape to the shuttle was necessary. Accompanying the recording is a soft pinging noise every ten seconds, which may possibly become swiftly annoying to the car's more fleshy occupants.

[Destro_Yersul]

Fortunately, they don't have to put up with it for very long. The car rolls around a corner and enters a slightly more run down area. All the buildings here have been done in an older architectural style, and some of them are rusting, their metal eaten away at by humidity. The car pulls up outside one of the less damaged looking dwellings. Faded white lettering over the door proclaims it to be Block 13.

"Here we are."

[Artemis97]

Thirteen. Of course. What other number would be better suited for this particular mission?

With a heavy sigh, Nicodemus climbs out of the groundcar, again struggling to fit his staff through the door. The delay this caused allowed the rain to soak into his clothes. Yes, today was going to be a lovely day. He could just feel it.

[EleventhHour]

"Doesn't look like much." Solaria comments, looking blankly out the door before sliding over to get out, and climbing to her feet, "Inquisitorial, though. Probably nice and rich inside." Another smoke? No, no. Can't go through them all at once. She sighs, and waits for the rest to get out as well, "Beats the trenches. For now." The rain patters on her helmet and coat, but they've seen worse abuse, and will probably recieve worse before they leave.

[Mr. Moon]

As the car comes to a stop, Imperatrice cuts it's recording, the camera clicking off with soft metallic sigh as the lens returns to it's usual red glow.
Before climbing out of the car, the techrpriest pauses to lift it's hood over it's clean white head, and adjust it's robes - water was understandably bad for it's joints.

Thus prepared against the rain, Imperatrice opens it's door and unfolds it's spindly limbs, rising from the ground vehicle. Rain patters at it's cloak and slides off it ineffectively. The techpriest looks around itself, before it's expressionless eyes settle on the driver as it waits for him to open the door.

[Destro_Yersul]

The pilot fiddles with a key for a moment. If this building has a mechanical lock, it must not have been updated in some time. The hallway inside isn't much to look at either. The tiny foyer has a few wilted plants in clay pots, and mouldering carpet in a horrible floral pattern stretches off down the hall.

The doors lining the hall are thick metal plates, again opened with mechanical locks. Tarnished brass letters screwed to the doors provide a form of identification. 1A is the nearest, with 1B on the opposite side of the hall. Some of the letters have gone missing over the years; one of the doors is simply labelled 'D.'

The pilot walks off down the hall, unlocking the door to 1F and holding it open for the rest of you.

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus chuckles, seeing that the conditions inside matched the outside quite well. It contrasted so nicely with Solaria's prediction. The Inquisition might have nice things, but they were just lowly acolytes. Voss would not waste a single throne on them if he did not have to.

He follows after the pilot and slips past the man and into the room, not expecting the accommodations to be any nicer than what he had seen so far.

[EleventhHour]

"See what I mean? This place is just great." What? She's just to flat concrete walls, and rock-slab bedding, or the plain metal of starships and troop landers. "I mean, the upper hive would gilt the walls and that khekking garbage, but that's just a waste." Not that it would've stopped her from carving the gilt off the walls, if there was any. "Heh. Wonder who we're meeting here."

[Mr. Moon]

Imperatrice must stoop to cross through the doors, and even in the hallway it's head nearly touches the ceiling. As the others talk, it reaches up to remove it's hood with a pair of mechanical hands, now that the threat of water was absent. If the tech-priest has any opinion regarding it's new place of residence for the near future, it gives no sign.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Dunno his name. I think he's a psyker. He's only been here a couple days, but you're supposed to work with him on this." The apartment the pilot leads them into is as much as could be expected of such a place. The paint on the walls is peeling, revealing rusted metal beneath it, and the carpet is almost as bad as the one in the hall. A pair of overstuffed brown armchairs and a ratty couch sit in the main room, next to a coffee table that would be on a slight angle if it wasn't propped up with an old brick.

A small washroom stands to the left, visible through a half open door. A tiny kitchen unit is built in to the right, the linoleum on the floor cracked with age. One other door is visible leading right off the main room, though it is closed for now.

[Terumitsu]

The ratty couch had a single occupant, clearly visible for reasons soon to be described. It seemed that the occupant, named 'Wilhelm Novas,' had been busy making odd scribblings in a rather thick notebook. As of right now, one hand was resting lightly upon the grip of a laspistol still in it's holster while the other held the notebook quite firmly. If one were to take a good look at the open pages of the book, one would find a small blot of ink that had been made terribly recently... Perhaps right around the time that the door had been unlocked.

The man was clearly 'gifted' with albinism. Apparently he either welcomed it or hated it as not only was his hair shock white, (likely not due to his choosing, if one took a look at the roots), he wore somewhat tattered clothing that had seen many applications of bleaching agent as well. Although he was only midway through his twenties, he had a haunted look to his eyes... Although that might just be due to his nearly skeletal build complementing the bags under his eyes. Wilhelm eyed the 'intruders' with some suspision, chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek as he did so. "S'pose you're tha ones I'm ta work whit?" he asked with some mild caution in his tone, his fingers, both bony and bone-white never leaving the grip of the laspistol. Untrusting bastard...

[EleventhHour]

Solaria's smile is brisk and forced at best, "Great." She comments in a tone that suggests anything but, and entering the room to find the freaky fellow, her hand rests firmly and openly on the butt of her laspistol. "Psykers and cogheads all around. And I suppose we are. Not that we know what 'this' is, aside from cleaning up some scum that the locals are finding too creepy."

[Artemis97]

Niodemus' expression was, at first, one of sympathy. That is, until he noticed how their new colleague was gripping that laspistol. "So, if we can avoid trying to kill each other before we are even properly introduced, we can complete that task and leave this place." He suggests, scowling now.

[Mr. Moon]

As for Imperatrice, it's expression doesn't change at all.
Because it doesn't have one.
It might be a bit of an eerie sight to the psyker waiting for the group on the couch. It's glowing, red eyes survey the room, noting the albino, with his hand on his weapon. Also noted is the guardswoman's hand on her weapon, and the other pysker, scowling.
The tech-priest needed no calculations to decide that this was definitely a situation in need of defusing.

Stepping in between it's new comrades and it's even newer possibly-comrade, reaching under it's blood-red robes to withdraw it's rosette, which is held up for the psyker in bone-white, plasteel fingers. "Inquisition. You are our contact?"

[Destro_Yersul]

The pilot saves Wilhelm the trouble of answering. He's the one. So no shooting each other, or Voss will probably have somebody's head on a plate. You guys make yourselves right at home. I'm going to be staying with the shuttle. He moves into the kitchen, finally taking off his helmet, and drops it on the counter. "First, though, I could use some recaff..."

The battered old machine in the kitchen didn't look like it was in any shape to provide any when they last saw it, but nonetheless, the pilot seems to manage to get it working by whacking it a couple times with his fist.

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm's fingers slid away from his pistol and down to pick up his dropped pen. He set it very neatly in the center of the page with the little blot of ink and shut the book with a calculated snap before he said anything else. "Mnn. I'm sorry 'bou' tha. Can' be to careful." he mumbled in his defense. He went ahead and put both hands on his knees as he leaned forward slightly, just to show he wasn't wanting to shoot anyone. "So.. I'm guess'n we' all here, then?" he said in as polite a tone as he could muster.

[EleventhHour]

Solaria smiles, not entirely pleasantly, and keeps her hand resting on her pistol, pressing her advantage and going with the pilot for recaff, "Looks like." She comments on the albino's remark, peering at the machine suspiciously even after it gets working, "Hey, co- Err. Techpriest. Think you could make repairs on this thing?" She peers at the robed coghead, giving the suggestion that the guardswoman means after they get a cup or two out of it.

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus moved to sit in one of the arm chairs, deliberately choosing the farthest seat from the other Psyker. It wasn't a decision made out of any dislike for the other man. He was just trying to keep a comfortable distance between them.

"Perhaps we should learn each others' names so we need not call each other by our occupations?" He suggests, settling back into the chair. If the pilot and the guardswoman were going to have a recaff break, they were not going to be going anywhere soon.

[Mr. Moon]

Imperatrice's head rotates on an axis to stare at the pilot as his fist pounds against the coffeemaker, glowing red eyes fixing upon him in what would likely be a glare, had it's owner any eyebrows.
"I am Electro-Priest Imperatrice Kali. And yes, I have every intention of repairing this machine spirit." The sophisticated, female, British voice says through a circular gas-mask/speaker-unit.
The implications of "not now" however, are completely lost on the tech-priest, as it strides over to the pilot, pushing him out of the way with a bone-thin arm. White plasteel fingers begin to take the brewer apart, searching out the injury to the machine spirit, as a quiet but bafflingly swift stream of binary flows through her speaker unit.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Ow, Hey!" The pilot rubs his arm and glares at his only half-full mug of recaff before pushing his way around Imperatrice and dropping into the other armchair. "I'm Kell, for what that's worth."

The recaff machine gurgles irritably at Imperatrice as it's taken apart. The problem was mainly that it was old, and its parts were starting to fail in places. Everything was all worn and out of alignment. After tightening up a few bolts and making sure everything was in its right place, Imperatrice is able to seal the machine back up, the gurgling sound having become distinctly happier.

[EleventhHour]

"Err..." Well, you can't criticize them for effeciency. Maybe thier understanding of Low Gothic, though. Solaria watches curiously and absently anwsers the question in the meantime, "Solaria." And then tries to slip a cup into the machine when the coggi- Impeatrice, is done.

[Terumitsu]

"My Emporer given name's Wilhelm Novas." Wilhelm said. He would have said that it was a pleasure to meet them if he felt like lying at the time but it really wasn't worth the effort in the long run. Once Solaria is done with the recaf machine, he would grab a cup himself. Mostly something to sooth his ever-strained nerves. But untill then, he carfully opened up his notebook again and began scribbling once more. If anyone decided to try and read the chicken-scratch that passed for words on the page, they would likely guess that it was some sort of journal, judging from the content.

Seems he's not quite a social butterfly...

[Artemis97]

"And I am called Nicodemus Dorn."

Well, now at least he knew their names. It was a start. Perhaps that would make everyone more friendly. Or, at the very least, more willing to work together.

Nicodemus passes on the recaff. The stuff made him unnecessarily jittery. Instead he looks to Kell, getting right down to business. "Do we have any leads?" He then looks to Wilhelm, wondering if he might know something more as well.

[Mr. Moon]

Seemingly pleased with it's work, Imperatrice pauses a moment before backing away from the much happier brewer, making sure everything held together.
With the repairs made, the techpriest steps away, folding it's omnitool and returning it to one of the many pockets of it's robes. It takes a few, long steps out into the common room, before standing with it's back to the wall, it's white arms by it's sides. With nothing to input into the current line of conversation, it's likely no longer existent tongue, standing there, with an eerie, silent stillness.

[Destro_Yersul]

"If you've read the briefing, you know as much as I do. You guys are the investigation team, it's your job to find the leads. "

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm put a few final notes into his book and again carefully placed the pen in the middle of the page before snapping it shut. It seemed to be a bit of a ritual for him. "So I s'pose we betta start lookin'." Wilhelm said, thinking that he might as well get the obvious out of the way. "'s our job to use the muck-rake so I think we oughtta go ta where tha muck is." By that, he meant to go find the most recent sighting and try to work back from there. Though, if he could finish his cup of recaf first, that would be a pluss.

[Artemis97]

"Muck are they?" Nicodemus asks, a slight edge to his voice. The people of the lower hive were not muck, even if they were mutated somehow, they were certainly not muck.

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm tosses a slight questioning look at Nicodemus before he speaks. "'s just a turn 'a phrase. Means ta go where the problem is. Kind'a an old one, though." he said. While Wilhelm didn't have any particular hate of anything, aside from daemons, xenos, large spiders, and cold recaf, he didn't have any particular fondness either. He generally just wasn't fond of groups of people. Individuals he could deal with, though.

[Artemis97]

"I see." He replies, in a much more friendly tone. "I agree, then. We need to get to the root of the problem."

[EleventhHour]

"The root of the problem being that they live in flith. Have you seen the bottom of a Hive? I had to fight through one, once. Hell, I threw out that uniform rather than try to scrub the khek out of it." She frowns, and sips the recaff thoughtfully, and ponders, "But yes, we should head down there, after this cup." She raises it for inspection, "Maybe our... technologically tuned friend here can jack us a Magistratum link, and keep an eye on things while we get in the grit." The corner of her mouth quirks, maybe with the thought of the albino losing that otherworldly whiteness.

[Mr. Moon]

"Such could be arranged." The techpriest says from it's unmoving sentinel. "I simply require a terminal. Perhaps this building has one? As it asks this, Imperatrice's neck rotates as it's pupil-less red eyes survey the common room and what other rooms it can see from it's position. Would I be correct to assume you are all equipped with micro-beads." While it's words are phrased as a question, Imperatrice's likely synthesized voice carries no infection. Indeed, it's voice has a dull, droning tone.

[Destro_Yersul]

"This place? Unless it got upgraded since I was here last, I don't think it's got a terminal. I mean, you saw what the recaff machine was like." Kell raises his mug. "Thanks for fixing that, by the way."

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm guessed that the next logical step would be to leave the relitive safety of the rather 'cozy' hole in the wall here if the tech-er-Imperatrice wanted a terminal. He wasn't going to be the one to speak up, however, as he had only just gotten himself a cup of recaff. He drank it slowly, giving it little time to cool. He might be more inclined to going out once he had finished, however.

Of course, he said absolutely nothing. He wasn't sticking his neck out on this one, no sir.

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus doesn't bother to argue with Solaria. The filthy conditions were indeed a part of the problem, and not just in the Underhive. He adjusts his mirrored sunglasses before looking to the Techpriest."I have one, at least, Imperatrice." the Psyker answers. "However, I cannot speak for the rest of us."

[EleventhHour]

"I do." Solaria shrugs, and dropping the rucksack to the floor to go through it, "Should we do the traditional and split up, or will Impeatrice be going alone?" The guardswoman frowns, "And who would go with who? I can hardly let you two wander around the Lower Hive alone."

[Mr. Moon]

A soft, staticy noise that might be a sigh emits from Impertrice's speakers as no terminal immediately presents itself."Separation would be ill-advised," it says, "as several of our number are unfamiliar with the local terrain or customs. At least," the tech priest amends, "until I am able to procure a terminal, from which I should be able to convince the machine spirit to allow me access and follow you by camera. Because the majority of our number is equipped with micro-beads, communication should not be a difficulty." Should, yes.
As Imperatrice speaks, it's head swivels to face Solaria. "Guardswoman Solaria, you are familiar with hive worlds, yes." Another question.

[EleventhHour]

"Only in passing. I wouldn't say I could tell the difference between one and the next. Aside from the smell, wether it's on fire and who's dying under the Emperor's gaze." Solaria shrugs.

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm decided to make the obvious statement now that he had gone through half his recaff. It might as well be at lest... So, in a smallish voice he said: "Well, if wea ta go somewhea inna Hive, s'pose we make sure tha our beads are synch'd? Would be kinna messy an all otherwise. An, uh, all I know 'bout hives is they get more Nobbish the higha yeh go." the bony man said. Having been raised offworld (That is to say, off all worlds if one wanted some bad spacer humor), Wilhelm would be decidely useless in just about everything aside from basic reasoning till he got his bearings. He supposed that he would just have to keep his head down and things would be fine.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Look, I don't care what you do, as long as you get doing it." Kell has finished his mug of recaf and tossed the empty into the sink. "I'm going back to the lander. The rest of you, get cracking. The Inquisitor is going to want reports, and if I were you, I'd have something to report."

[Artemis97]

"It seems it will be up to me to navigate, then?" Nicodemus presumes pushing himself to his feet. "I can only hope this place is remotely like home..." He mutters, picking up his staff and walking towards the door.

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm stuffed his book down a pocket that was only just too small for it to fit properly and a few threads worked themselves loose as he did so. They seemed to have been resewn several times from the looks of it. The pocket was holding for now, at least. With that done, the psyker checked to make sure his guns were properly in place and donned the rather heavy cloak that had totally been resting on the coathanger up till now. It was a rather dark, muted gray, offsetting his preferred color of white that much more.

Nicodemus at least seemed to be more knowladgeable about hives than he, so Wilhelm decided that he should be the de-facto navigator at the moment as he picked up step behind him. Sure, they could still get lost but probably not as easily as they might otherwise.

[EleventhHour]

"Might as well lead. Come on Imp. I'm going to need you to... requisition some info off the locals. Should be fun, right?" And on out the door along with everyone else!

[Destro_Yersul]

Back out in the streets, it's quite light. The car is still there, but Kell has followed, and he's clearly going to be taking that back to the ship. "Best place to start looking is probably the local Arbites office. They keep records of all the reports, even if they can't be bothered to go check them out. If you want something more personal, check the bars for a guy named Drevin. He's a retired pilot. Friend of mine. Usually knows what's what around here."

[Artemis97]

"I believe the Arbites Office would be the best place to start." Nicodemus decides. If the way there was not immediately clear, he will ask Kell. "Do you know the way?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"It's not hard to get to. It's right next to the administratum tower, and you can't possibly miss that." Indeed, the tower was visible over the roofs of the buildings, reaching all the way up to the ceiling above them.

[Terumitsu]

Again, as mentioned before, Wilhelm was not feeling up to being the leader in a Hive. Although, he couldn't say he felt totally out of place. Really, aside from the lack of gravity variations as one moved through it, it felt like a really big starship what with the somewhat comforting feeling of being enclosed behind a wall of metal from the horrors of the outside. That and it was crowded and smelled of people. It was odd as he didn't like people but he didn't mind signs of their presence... Then again, it might just be something he had gotten used to over the years till it became ingrained.

But yes, that nice tidbit aside, he would be going Tower-ward. He wouldn't be leading but he might do some nudging along.

[Artemis97]

"Thank you." Nicodemus says to Kell before turning off towards the Administatum tower. "Keep a hand on your coinpurses." He warns the others as he leads the way.

[EleventhHour]

"Yes, yes. Out the door we go." And shutting the door after everyone, and then following along, Solaria accompanies everyone along on the trek to the Tower!

[Destro_Yersul]

Thr trip to the tower is uneventful. You end up walking upwards, slightly, and as you get closer to the tower the area you're passing through becomes cleaner and better kept. The tower itself covers an entire block. To the left of the metal collosus is the office of the arbites, in a squat building labeled with the precinct number in white stenciled letters.

The doors open into a modest lobby, decorated with paintings of the Emperor and the many litanies of justice. A bored looking receptionist sits behind the counter, pecking away at the keys of an ancient cogitator.

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus puts on a friendly smile and approaches the front desk."Good morning." He greets the receptionist in a cheerful tone. "We wish to speak to someone about the recent influx of mutated citizens into the higher levels of this hive." The Psyker explains, trying not to allow his distaste for their mission show.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Oh. Alright." The receptionist looks up from her cogitator. "Another one to complain about? Well, you'll want to see Investigator Fane. He's in charge of that one. You can get visitor cards and go up to meet him, or I can call him down for you."

[Artemis97]

Nicodemus glances over his shoulder at his companions before looking back to the receptionist. "I believe it would be best if we spoke to him in private." He decides, thinking that announcing their presence as Inquisition might cause an unneeded stir. "Might we have those visitors cards and directions to his office, if you would be so kind?"

[Destro_Yersul]

"Here y'go." The receptionist produced a handful of thin ID cards with 'VISITOR' stamped in a rather intimidating font on the front. The back had a number, presumably to keep track of the individual tags. Accompanying the tags was a large and well-worn ledger, filled with names, dates and times. "Sign here. Fane's office is second floor. Third door on the left from the elevators. Go down the hall."

Having indicated the hall in question with a perfunctory hand motion, the receptionist went back to poking the cogitator's keys half-heartedly.

[Terumitsu]

Wilhelm signed with an interestingly flamboyant signature complete with at least five unnecessary curls and three overly expressive loops to his letters. That and he drew a line under his name. This likely had a good story behind it all but it was doubtful he would tell any of it just yet. Probably had something to do with his notebook. As he wrote his name, he causually glanced at the other, most recent entries as a minor point of interest. Mostly something for his eyes to do for a moment or two.

That done, he would quietly follow Nicodemus with not more than a stifled sneeze. The air here was slightly agitating his nostrils.

[Artemis97]

"Thank you." Nicodemus says, taking the cards from the receptionist and distributing them to the others. He then takes his turn to sign the book. In sharp contrast to Wilhelm's overly embellished signature, this Psyker's handwriting was practically copperplate, thin black lines quickly drawn in efficient, precise strokes. With that done, he attatches the visitor's tag to the front of his shirt and sets off down the indicated hallway to the elevators.

[Destro_Yersul]

The elevators at the end of the hall were of the variety with a completely closed front, unlike the one in the apartment building with the gratings. A push of a button opened the interlocking door plates, and another push got the three rumbling slowly upwards. There were many lower levels to the building, apparently, but all of those buttons were marked as restricted access.

As the elevator rumbled to a stop on the second floor, the doors slid open with a whine. Before the party was a T junction, leading straight forward as well as left and right. At the end of the forward hall, some meters distant, it was apparent that the hall split there as well.