With a scream of pain, the last thug drops, a lateral slash across his back. He squirms, but is unable to escape.

And so, all the would-be assassins are soon cuffed and secured. It's not long before local enforcers arrive to take them into custody. You present them with credentials - not as Adeptus Arbites, but 'Special Investigators' in service of the Enclave, the planetary administration. They promise you full access to the prisoners anytime you should so desire, but they seem to hold little love of the Enclave. It's pretty clear they'd rather sort out their own messes.

As the smoke clears, the informant cautiously approaches. You see he has a limp, like his left leg possibly suffered some injury. It doesn't seem recent, he moves like a man well familiar with his partial infirmity. He speaks in a gravelly voice, propably testament to many years working the mines:

Maybe we should move off a bit? This place has too many broken tables for my tastes.

He indicates a place a ways off - not for any particular reason other than it hasn't recently been the site of an armed skirmish.