Standing on the viewing platform of the orbital station she was on, Hera would look down at the planet below her and sigh. Why the governor had thought this view was worth building a whole platform for, she would never know. All she saw as she looked down at the sprawling greysacape was the plumes of smoke and ash, the disgusting refuse of the worst of humanity and the heretics, mutants and witches that all scurried across Yunnalin V’s surface. “Pathetic,” she would mutter, turning from the scene and walking out of the room. The auto-door slid closed behind her, her footfalls muffled by the fineries she had yet to tear down.

It didn’t take her long for her to reach the brain of her latest operation. What had been the most degenerate room in the entire craft had been stripped barren and made anew- the chrome filed down, the hedonistic goods inside jettisoned to burn up in the atmosphere below and an icon of the Emperor set up, watching over the occupants as they went about their work. The Holo-Projector had been mounted in the centre of the room, a swivelling chair placed in front of it, and a servitor slaved to it, whilst elsewhere in the room cables snaked to new screens and machines carefully watched over by a techpriest.

As she sat down next to the Holo-Projector, the servitor would turn its head to her. “I live. To Serve.”

“Begin recording. Open communication lines to all contingents sent to me so far.” She would wait a moment as the servitor’s cogitators sent their commands to the techpriest for confirmation, and then settle in as it’s eye sparked to life, images of the yet-to-be-established connections between herself and the various individuals that had come to her summons. One by one their faces would pop up- Magos Eldarian Null first, Rapidly followed by Vindicare XXIII, then Justicar Hektor Autark, followed by Sister Superior Sabine, and lastly the Tempestus and Militarium officers.

Hera would look at the holo-projector in front of her, pause briefly to smooth out one of her eyebrows, and then opened her mouth and begun to speak. “Greetings Imperial forces. My thanks for your rapid and consummately professional arrivals considering the nature of my request. Our work here is only beginning, and although I do not expect all of you to survive, know that there is no higher calling than martyrdom in the name of the Emperor.” She waited for her words to settle, before continuing.

“The first order of business is to establish a planet-side base of operations from which we can use as a staging ground for further operations. Such a place must be located in the Upper Hive, must be large enough to quarter a significant number of personnel, and most importantly, must be easily defensible.” She would swish a gloved hand through the air, the servitor detecting the motion and automatically changing the projection from her face to a map of the city.

“There is one particular place that fits these three criterium perfectly. Although the now-deceased planetary governor spent most of his time aboard the orbital station I am currently located in, he also had a number of residences based in each of the Hive Cities planetside. Under normal circumstances, simply moving into these and requisitioning them would be remarkably easy what with the governor dead, however, unfortunately, our job will be made harder for a number of reasons. Let it never be said that the Emperor’s work was easy.”

“Firstly, the estate is well guarded by enforcers loyal to the planetary elite still. Justicar Hektor, it will be your duty, and no doubt your pleasure, to know that you are to be the one to dispatch them. Give them no quarter- they chose their side when they refused to lay down their arms after the execution of the old governor. Disobeying the Inquisition is heresy, and the wages of heresy is death. The guard will be accompanying you, to provide as both backup and to screen away any civilians from getting involved.

“The defence is being led by the governor’s eldest male child, Target Alpha.” Never refer to assassination targets by their name; whilst her wetwork operatives might be deadened to human empathy, she alas had to work to prevent her from feeling sympathy from these heretics. “Also there are a younger female, Target Beta, and an even younger male, Target Gamma. All of them need eradication. Assassins, this task falls to you. If the defenders are being particularly stubbon, use them to break the siege, but by the time my boots reach the planet, all three of them should no longer be breathing. Show no mercy; even the youngest of this accursed line are guilty.” The projector had transformed into images of the three targets, labelled just as the Inquisitor had said them to be.

“Secondly, we have learned that there is a Foundry in the Hive that, according to Mechanicus records, once housed Melta Torpedoes. It is imperative that these weapons do not fall into the hands of any that might use them against us. Magos Null, the duty of your Skitarii begins. Find your fallen brethren, give them the Omnissiah’s peace, and recover any instruments of destruction they may have forged. When you are complete in your duty, the manor should be clear and ready for the weapons to be housed. Their protection and eventual usage falls to you, Magos.

“Sisters and Brothers of the Ecclesiarchy and Tempestus, your duties are less monumental yet no less essential. Like every wretched Hive, Hive IV has no shortage of gangs. Your duties will be to expunge two of the most powerful. Reduce their quarters to rubble and their men to slag. The power vacuum left behind should leave the gangs too focused on clawing at each other to launch an assault on our new base of operations. Further specifics will be communicated to you after this message.” The image retuned to that of her face. “Lastly, ladies, gentleman and magos, your thought of the day. It is by the manner of their death that you will know the heretic, the mutant, and the xenos.”

The message cut out. Standing from the seat, the servitor mindlessly babbling a “farewell, Inquisitor,” she would raise a finger to the commsbead within her ear and tap it twice, cycling through channels.

“Stanislaus. Prepare your retinue and report to the shuttle bay of this ship. You have another chance to prove yourself to the Emperor. I will explain once you arrive.”

---

In a room twice defaced - once in the pursuit of depravity, then once again to restore it to the God-Emperor's grace - a choir of prayers reached out, gently embracing it with all its occupants within.

For as many priests and aides that sung and preached, there were only a few more attending. The ongoing sermon drew few in number, yet it was no less important. The men and women in the room, agents of the Inquisition all, had only recently completed the process of tearing down and disposing of the depraved interiors and accessories of the very same space station they stood in. Without mentioning a loyal servant's right to attend a sermon, there must be no room for doubt in the minds of the servants of the Holy Inquisition. Perhaps above all in the room in this regard came Interrogator Stanislaus Di Felice: apprentice to Inquisitor Hera, loyal servant of the God-Emperor, and a mutant.

The nature of Stanislaus' birth, mind, and body alike are all unseemly, stained by the vast impurity of the immaterium. To be tied to it alone is to risk the very lives of the many, but to draw power from it is the act of a madman. All the good such a vile mutant might do is die in the God-Emperor's name to extend his light to the countless worlds under his ward. Yet for Stanislaus, with the blessing of the God-Emperor, there is yet another way. Through tireless service, with the sacrifice of a thousand of his fellow witches and the blood of heretics beyond number, he might redeem himself in the eyes of the God-Emperor. For his redemption to be true, he must not falter. It's for these very reasons that even in a room of the Emperor's most loyal servants, the feeling of eyes boring into him is almost constant. It is his reality and it is a reality that drives him onwards.

"Interrogator..." came a meek voice, whispering in Stanislaus' ear. It was a voice he recognized immediately: only his autosavant, Birgitte, had a voice so gentle yet just vaguely robotic He cracked one eye open and turned his bald head - with a scalp covered in tattoos depicting images of his faith, a neat beard, and the Imperial Aquila displayed on his forehead with discolored, scarred skin - to glance sideways at Birgitte. A cascade of cables and steel protrudes from her robes and sprawls over her skin, including both her eyes and mismatched fingers. Braided hair slides between the cacophony of wires while a servo-arm holds up an almost comedically large tome made from a mix of cogitator and parchment, which she idly scrawls in as she whispers. "...Inquisitor Hera has called for you. I've held it for your prayer, but-.. ah-.." Stanislaus abruptly pushing to a stand mid-sentence, quietly enough as not to interrupt the sermon yet decisively enough to move with purpose, twisted Birgitte's sentence into a series of stammers.
"Speak, Birgitte," Stanislaus began, his lips unmoving yet his voice reverberating within her head, "you need not fear service. Our lord calls for haste?" For many in Stanislaus' retinue, the sensation of having a voice projected into their heads was certainly not foreign, but certainly not welcome either. Silence stood between the pair until they left the makeshift church. With some idle taps into the cogitator of her unwieldy tome, Inquisitor Hera's voice moved through to Stanislaus' microbead.

"Stanislaus. Prepare your retinue and report to the shuttle bay of this ship. You have another chance to prove yourself to the Emperor. I will explain once you arrive."

A simple enough order.
"The notice-to-move I set was five minutes, correct, Birgitte?" Stanislaus asked, this time with his tongue, as he glanced over his shoulder towards her while starting to pace down the corridor.
"Y-Yes, interrogator." she replied, as stiff as someone could be while visibly anxious.
"Summon the retinue to the shuttle bay. I expect them there in five minutes."
"Your will be done, interrogator." This time, instead of being stammered, the words spilled out at velocity. As Stanislaus turned his head back to face his front, his pace turned into a stride as he made way for the shuttle bay. Birgitte paced awkwardly for a moment before speaking once again.

A few moments late, Stanislaus' voice passed along the channel to Inquisitor Hera, monotonous as is standard:
"Your will be done, Inquisitor."

---

With a thud and a quiet sigh, Denis dropped into his seat and rubbed at his forehead. His age continued to manifest itself in different ways by the day. As if his graying hair wasn't incriminating enough, the aches and pains across his body only continue to get worse.
"Your vigor wanes, Sergeant." observed a disembodied feminine voice to his right. If it were any other voice, he might consider reaching out to bat it away.
"My vigor's been waning for years, sister..." Denis replied as he, after briefly rubbing at his eyes, lifted his head up to face Allane Hellenboldus. The pair shared a quiet chuckle, finding relief and solidarity in the shared struggle of their age.

It's no secret to anyone in the retinue that Denis has become, whether he likes it or not, something of a father figure. Most of the retinue - all except him and the sister beside him, really - are all young scions of some pedigree or another with something to prove, Stanislaus included; that's without mentioning most of the retinue being sourced from the Schola Progenium in some capacity or another. Even then, it's no secret that he can't really help himself. The career thrust upon him never allowed him to have children, but somewhere deep down, even he knows that he's embraced Stanislaus and some of the others as his own. Not that his stubborn self will ever admit it, of course.

As Denis thumbed at his eye to flick out some gunk, he turned his head to look at Allane. The vague sunken lines in her face paired with her buzzcut, bleached hair had become something of a comfort for him. If he was the father of the retinue, then Allane had to be the older sister. While her age didn't quite threaten his and she most definitely does have something to prove, she's taken on something of a mentoring role quite willingly - certainly more willingly than he has. As she's explained before, there are few better ways to purify the sins of a sister than to teach and guide; short of incinerating the enemies of the Emperor, anyway. In many ways, he was grateful to her for her solidarity and her shoulder in trying times. So much so that, as much as the thought made him shuffle uncomfortably, it may well be time to admit it.

"Sister, I think it's time that-.." Denis began, only to be interrupted by the screech of chatter in his microbead.
"Uh- attention:" began Birgitte, seemingly speaking on the move. "Interrogator Di Felice expects us in the shuttle bay in five minutes." Denis let out a frustrated grunt as he pressed himself to a stand.
"Hold that thought, I suppose." Denis grumbled as he started his way for the door.
"Tell me later." Allane affirmed. She was already upstanding when she heard Birgitte talking on the move. There was no doubt between them that it was time again.

Aboard the escort vessel detached from the Explorator fleet, Magos Eldarian Null was in what passed for personal chambers on board such a vessel. Numerous mechandrites hooked into dataports, sifting through countless records and data streams, observing and waiting for the Inquisitor Hera to finally begin tasking. The Skitarii detachment had arrived promptly, and instead of immediate tasking, they were left waiting for the other responding Imperial forces to arrive. Inefficient, which was noted, otherwise it was time to continue preparing the protocols and upload relevant information to the Skitarii Alphas, preparing them for the operations to come. The moment an incoming comm was received, a small portion of the Magos' attention and processing immediately diverted and, by unaugmented senses, responded to the comm hail immediately. The magos, at least over the line, was hooded and the facial features nigh undetectable, three glaring red dots from where the eyes should have been located indicating the to be expected extensive augmentation.

As the Inquisitor prattled on through taskings for each group, information and data was gathered and stored for further analysis and diagnostics. Hive side HQ has not been established, inefficient, and that meant, as the escort vessel would not suffice as an appropriate HQ position for the Magos, he would be accompanying the Skitarii until a local position, that did not deal with interference from the Hive constuction, could be established. Servitors were already fetching the Magos' gear, a sub directive snapping the appropriate subordinates into action. The escort vessel lacked the appropriate equipment for orbital guidance of Skitarii assets, acting as little more than transport to bring the Skitarii Ranger Alphas and their Magos to the planet and fulfill the obligation required by the Inquisitorial call for aid.

Orders were first dispatched to Adeptus Arbites and Astra Militarum elements. Arbites, law enforcement, typically well suited to urban combat. Ideal deployment for such forces, Militarum forces an unknown. Lack of uniformity between regiments means planning for requires further information. Typically useful for holding positions, likely able to hold cordon while Arbites secure the prospective HQ position. Given the likely number of specialist forces, this HQ prospect likely able to house and store not only relevant parties, but resources and munitions to execute their operations. Initial orders had already been issued to the Ranger Alphas, and they had already begun rituals to arm and prepare the machine spirits for war. The next orders finally, almost painfully slowly, came from the Inquisitor.

Leadership among the traitor forces split three ways between offspring of the former Governor. Assassin operatives confirmed with orders issued to such individuals. Most appropriate use for such individuals, three targets to be removed in tandem with the seizing of an HQ structure, organizing multiple prongs to strike at the same time. Likely best solution for Assassin forces is long range, near simultaneous elimination. Jamming or interfering with communications to eliminate ability to warn between targets also optimal if efficient means to eliminate all three at proper moments. However, the most relevant current information came forward next. Marching orders for the Skitarii tasked with assisting the Inquisitor, and secondary orders were uploaded to the Ranger Alphas as relevant information was downloaded from the data archives.

Upon mention of a foundry that housed Melta Torpedoes, the Magos already was linking to and cross referencing relevant information on operations in the hive. Quickly narrowing it down, the foundry in question produced great deals of voidship munitions, significant levels of torpedoes. No imports or exports, and a cessation from work order had been issued in response of the Damnatio sentencing. Loyal servants would have continued producing arms and munitions for the Imperium even in the face of such a thing until they had no further resources. The magos spoke candidly, at least as candid as one could expect of a senior member of the Mechanicus, though there was almost no humanity left by virtue of augmentation to the voice. "Inquisitor, there is no peace for the scrap code of the heretek. Objectives logged and downloaded. Departure routines underway."

Schematics for the Foundry, likely numbers and hierarchy, and other useful census and logged data was being searched, scrubbed, and prepared for use by the Skitarii team, while the Magos continued waiting for the call to end so that he would go join the Ranger Alphas. Final orders were given to Adeptus Sororitas and Adeptus Tempestus to sow discord among the gangs of the hive by eliminating the highest two gangs in terms of authority. No survivors, complete ruin. Vanguard operation should the full might of the Explorator Fleet have been called in, but it was not. Radium weapons poor choice for joint operations, despite high effectiveness in urban environments. Without senior gang leadership, lesser gangs rebel and turn on each other. Inefficient, but expected of such forces. Initial operations noted as securing vital resources, locations, and sowing chaos and preventing effective responses by hostile forces within the Hive. Ulterior motives of Inquisitor, as of yet, unclear but expected. Upon the closing thought of the day and cessation of the communication, the magos disconnected from the ship archives and communications directly, a weathered, worn servo skull hovering down from its dock and joining him as he strode out.

Servitors waited, weapons and equipment of the Magos waiting. Mechandrites and superior metal arms reclaimed weapons and equipment, arming and preparing without missing a stride. The Magos Null would arrive at the hanger of the escort vessel in short order, the Ranger Alphas in perfect ranks, already armed, online, and prepared for further orders. At the head of the ranks was Alpha Primarus RT-A-221, effective second of the Skitarii task force. No words were exchanged, blessed binary communications happening in far faster succession than verbal communication could ever possibly imitate. The Magos would not normally deploy directly so soon, but the aformentioned lacking HQ functionality currently available dictated initial operations must be overseen directly. The Ranger Alphas, upon deployment with their Magos, would operate even more precisely than normal. Such direct guidance had its benefits.

An increase in rank hadn't meant the end of Ingran's normal duties, it had simply piled more on. The Tempestor Prime commanded some of the deadliest men and women the Imperium had to offer on missions too dangerous or high stakes for anyone else to handle but that didn't mean she had someone to take care of her gear for her. Each Scion was responsible for every item issued to them, the proper upkeep of which was as sacred a duty as any other. Everything from the Omnishield helms that allowed them to see in the dark and while floating in the vacuum of space to the Slate Monitrons displaying how close to death they were had required hours of training to use and maintain. She had earned the brands on her chest that gave her the right to wield them and to dishonor her efforts by passing the work off to an underling wouldn't have sat well with her or her troops.

So Isadora did what every Scion had to: disassemble and reassemble every bit of gear she had to make sure all was in working order. Her monoscope was the first to be inspected, its lenses carefully cleaned and the bulb inside checked for any dim spots. The Slate was up next, re-calibrated to sync up with her body's lifesigns so anyone could see her state of health. The Prime worked slowly, deliberately, the same way any good craftsman treated their tools. Her trade was in death and her instruments were designed to help her deal it but the same basic principles applied. Her equipment was kept clean because she respected it and she respected it because it allowed her to do her job.

The servitor's beep came just as she had ejected the hydrogen flask from her Plasma Pistol, Ingran ignoring it for the moment required to whisper the rites of handling. Any deviation from the litany would spell disaster, a second's impatience enough of an offense for the fuel to explode with the power of a sun. Only when the volatile fuel was set to rest did she turn towards the hologram of Hera, bowing her head in greeting.

The first objective was standard enough. Get boots on the ground and capture an enemy fortification for their own use and ensure that no one in the area was left alive in order to take it back. The same sort of mission she had taken part in and led dozens of times now. Isadora studied the map as her fellows were given their instructions, calculating the fastest routes to and from the estates and all the back alleys and choke points branching off of them. Hive cities were interesting, much more tightly compacted than some of the flat agri and feudal worlds she had been deployed to. Plenty of spots for ambushes and and counter-ambushes, windows for snipers to pop out of and sewers where scum could scurry about in safety.

So the Arbites, Assassins and Guard would be handling the estates? An interesting combination, one that would no doubt prove to be effective. Her fellow Progenium graduates were damn good at kicking in doors and what little she knew of the throat-slitters was enough for her to be confident in their abilities. The rank-and-file Militarum were valuable if only for sheer numbers, every lasgun fired at the enemy a hammer blow from all of humanity.

The Scion officer sent silent thanks to the Emperor that the Melta torpedoes were under someone else's jurisdiction. The digi-weapon version hidden in her metal middle finger was destructive enough for her to want to avoid being nearby when a stray shot set off something larger. Let the Mechanicus handle those, dangerous technology was their domain. She was much more comfortable with the work assigned to her and the Soritas, the eradication of the local lowlifes. "As you command Inquisitor so it will be done."

There was nothing else to say. The orders of the Inquisition required no explanation and allowed no questioning save that of clarification and Ingran wouldn't have thought to do so anyway, not when she still had maintenance to do. The sun gun was carefully pieced back together and its machine-spirit placated with prayers of function before she stepped out to relay the orders to her troops. There was no discussion as Strike Force Lambda filed into the Devourer that would ferry them to the surface of Yunnalin V, no sound except that of armaplas rubbing against ceramite and power packs being fitted into weaponry.

Fifteen of the Imperium's best being sent to deal with a bunch of slum-dwelling thugs? The gangers should have felt honored.

To anyone outside the Officio Assassinorum, the deployment of assets to a simple Inquisition operation focused on clearing out a hive world of heresy would seem gratuitous at best, and a grossly excessive usage of assets at worst. And that is why individuals like that would never have made it into the employ of the Officio Assassinorum. The Assassin Temples operated as spymasters and intelligence agents as much as they did the cool steel blade pressed to the throat of the Emperor's enemies.

Heading the Assassinorum representation in this action was Vindicare XXIII. He had no understanding as to why he had been chosen for this operation in particular, and he did not care or want to know. He had no understanding as to why the Inquisition had damned this world, and he did not have any desire or need to know. The purposes behind his missions were utterly irrelevant. What mattered was that he had been given them, and he would carry them out to the fullest extent of his abilities. Of course, his purpose here was twofold. Inquisitor Hera was a person of note to the Officio Assassinorum, as were most every other Inquisitor, and keeping tabs on persons of note is not an opportunity the Assassinorum heads pass up lightly.

The holo-projector before Vindicare XXIII winked to life, showing the face of Inquisitor Hera. Speaking, she passed out orders to the various other assembled factions within the Imperium with the swiftness and stern attitude expected of someone from her position. The Inquisitor desired one of the former Planetary Governor's palaces as a planetary position for conducting further operations. Forces from the Adeptus Arbites, led by a Justicar Hektor, would be sent in to clear the estate, while the forces of the Astra Militarum would be used to hold the perimeter from external disruption and attack. The Assassin operations led by himself would be the third arm of this assault on the estates.

The primary target, designate Alpha, was the eldest son of the former Governor. The de facto leader of this rebellion, his death in conjunction with the seizure of his headquarters would, ideally, be a vital blow against the heretical rebellion. In order to eliminate all figurehead leaders of this fledgling uprising against the Emperor, the other two children of the Governor had to be eliminated as well. Beta, the Governor's daughter, and Gamma, the younger son. This trifecta of targets would likely be nestled deep within the estate's primary building, surrounded on all sides by layers of defenses and loyal guards. Such a mission would make a lesser organization balk and quiver in shame. For the Officio Assassinorum, it was just another operation.

Following the finalization of the briefing, Vindicare XXIII would give the Inquisitor a simple acknowledgement. "Orders received. Your will shall be done." Closing the holo-projection, the assassin quickly moved to relay the details of the operational briefing to his compatriot agents. Plans would be formulated for possible methods of elimination, but only so much could be accounted for before boots were on the ground.

To account for all possible situations, he'd devise a message for Justicar Hektor of the Adeptus Arbites contingent involved, as well as Captain Vayne of the assigned Imperial Guard deployment. How he obtained such communication details in such short time would remain a secret of the Officio Assassinorum, but both would find themselves presented with a messaged designated Alpha Prioris.

"To the estemmed Justicar Hektor and Captain Vayne, this is Vindicare XXIII of the Officio Assassinorum. As our current objectives occupy the same area of operations, I have felt it necessary to ensure there is a clear understanding of the importance of our collective operations. If anyone within your forces identifies targets Alpha, Beta, or Gamma, they should know to open fire without any hesitation. We will confirm the final kill in this situation. Likewise, if myself or anyone operating in my team is given the opportunity to do away with members of the guard detail or rebelling populace without compromising our primary objectives, we will do so in the interest of mutual cooperation."

Alongside the message, reminder images of targets Alpha, Beta and Gamma would present themselves, so that the respective force leaders could ensure their subordinates would know what the trio look like.

@BCTheEntity@Monochromatic Rainbow

It had been a while since Hektor had been tasked with active enforcement duties, let alone on the world he'd spent time presiding over as a Judge. He was pleased to say that, since his latest promotion, he'd not been a necessary component of the process beyond the natural administrative duties that came with governing an orbital system's force of Arbites - though he of course made time to keep himself in fighting shape, as was merely natural, and which suitable cybernetics further assisted with: a cybernetic eye bolstering his senses, a potent bionic heart and lungs for the body, and a Mind-Impulse Unit linked to his bolt pistol. It would never do to embarrass oneself by attempting to perform an execution with an empty weapon, after all.

That being said, when an Inquisitor declares an entire hive city in one's precinct Damnatio Memoriae, you don't send an Enforcer to lead the charge. Aside from anything else, Hektor knew for a fact that there were but five or six actual Arbites on-world, including the presiding Magistrate and at least one Verispex Adept. For the sake of certainty, and to facilitate interrogation and examination of the facts, another seven Verispexii accompanied him planetside, along with seven Arbitrators, a presiding Marshal by the name of Darius Lance (and the paperwork he'd have to fill out for requisitioning a Marshal for an execution team after the fact was going to be lengthy, certainly), and a cyber-mastiff handler who would not shut her damn mouth the entire way down. Really, was this the sort of thing to get excited about, a hive's inevitable destruction? Or was it just the fact she'd "finally", as she put it, get to put her "precious hounds" to use? She was a useful asset, not an inexpendable one.

Regardless, it was shortly after they landed and assessed the ground forces - Magistrate and Adept as expected, plus two Judges and two Arbitrators to spare - that the presiding official of the Adeptus Arbites was requested by the Inquisitor herself, a madame Hera by name. Nominally, that presiding official would have been the Magistrate, one Rheanna Kowl; with Hektor's arrival, the duty fell to him, which he suspected put her off a fair bit. Apparently, she sought to take her frustration out on Marshal Lance by claiming his lack of mind for the cases she presided over, and he in kind chose to take potshots at her lack of field skill compared to him.

That was something he had neither the time nor inclination to manage; leaving them to their bellyaching, he ordered the Arbitrators and Judges to decide who'd be staying behind to keep charge of the precinct-fortress, to arm up everyone else, including the Lockshields for this mission, and yes he knew they had Lockshields don't give him that lip; and the Verispex Adepts to follow on, before he accompanied the servitor calling for his attention to the intelligence room. Fond memories that he had of the location as a whole, this particular space was a bit barren compared to what they had in the orbital facility: nothing but matte surfaces, holo-screens, diagnostic tools and, after they had been put to work, a number of new Verispex Adepts working over what they knew of the situation in Hive IV so far, alongside the one who had been present already.

He allowed them their collaboration, and positioned himself before the largest screen in the room. Not long after, he found himself face to face with Inquisitor Hera; a number of other unknowns could see her face as well, though they were presumably all tied to the situation at hand if so. She provided a standard introduction for herself and thanks for their timely arrivals - though Hektor disagreed internally that martyrdom was the best fate, for in letting oneself die one could no longer protect His domain, His laws - and then got down to business. Amongst other, less crucial roles, the Inquisitor required a location to launch a more protracted assault of the Hive from, somewhere within the city proper; it transpired that one of the former governor's mansions suited this role perfectly, but that it was being guarded by... eugh. Enforcers.

Those louts. The precinct had taken steps to try and minimise corruption amongst them, notably by ensuring a given Enforcer did not serve on their own home planet as so many did, but it seemed the lax standards amongst them and the abstraction committed by the prior Justicar had taken their toll nonetheless. For if a superior could be seen committing such crimes of spirit freely, what stopped any but the most dutiful from doing the same? And when it came to planetary law and the minds of the corruptible, money often spoke louder than justice.

'I'll be sure to lay down the verdict they've earned for themselves,' he agreed, his tone a deep growl and his face nothing but contempt. With the backup of none other than the Imperial Guard and, it seemed, a group of assassins to boot, there was no chance the mansion would go unclaimed, though it'd need to be clarified to the Guard once they arrived that the Enforcers in question were likely armed and armoured similarly to the Arbites proper. The assassins would be better prepared by default, he imagined. With that, and he assumed announcements along similar lines from the other assorted leaders, the briefing ended there.

Now, the question was thus: what had caused this Hive to fall so far? What evidence could be gathered to ensure proper practice was being followed? And, at the back of his mind, the question every proper Arbites should ask themselves: did they actually have a case, or was this a framejob?

And even more quietly: if it was, then who should be punished for the framing?

Before he could consider these details in too much depth, he received another message. This time, it was keyed to him. Him personally, rather, given that it appeared on a much smaller wrist projector - quickly snatched up, put on, and finally tapped to receive a message of great apparent importance. And yet it was merely a message from the assassin in question, presumably their leader at that, essentially suggesting that all three members of the mansion assault would be prepared to kill the targets on sight, and that the assassins would assist in putting down the enforcers where they could. And, of course, the images of the three targets again, thankfully in a distinct file for reference. Whilst he was at a level where knowledge of the Assassin Temples was appropriate to possess - and if they'd made their way into official Arbites comms, they were surely no mere death cultists - he could only imagine how many perfectly good Arbitrators might find themselves unwittingly deceased if they learned too much.

On to other matters, though. The data needed to be passed on, and he needed somebody to assess the evidence. Who better than the Verispex who'd been here to start with? Seeking the face that hadn't accompanied him on the shuttle- one he knew, in fact, which hadn't aged as much as he'd have expected at that- he approached the man in question, who noticed belatedly, and promptly made a noise like some sort of strangled bird before composing himself.

'Verispex Adept Frea. Michael.'

'Justicar Autark- uh, Hektor, rather? Juh... erk. Emperor, I thought I was never going to see you again.' To his credit, he was clearly pleased. Despite his eccentricities, Hektor did fondly recall time spent examining cases as a Magistrate alongside Michael. The man was reliable, at least when it came to examination of evidence, and occasionally made some wry observations to boot; for now, however, it had to be business in full, and his own expression clearly showed that to the man.

'Do you know who these three are?' Hektor showed the three images, to which Michael's face immediately lit up with recognition.

'Ah, yeah, they're the governor's three children, sir! Well, former governor, is what I imagine, else the Hive wouldn't be marked as Damnatio Memoriae.'

'Indeed. Former children, too; they've been marked for death.'

'...ueh? Uh, oh-'

'You keep making those noises. They're as grating as ever. Anyway, follow me, you'll be joining us on the field.' Before the Verispex could fully process the order, Hektor had turned and walked off, making his way out of the intelligence room and back toward the central hall of the precinct-fortress. Verispex Frea ultimately found himself trailing after Hektor at about a meter's distance, and apparently couldn't help but ask 'Uh, Justicar Autark, is my presence needed?'

'You know better than to ask that question, Michael,' came a harsh reprimand. 'Even if an Inquisitor has declared an entire world unfit to exist, let alone a singular hive, we as adjudicators of Imperial law are bound to seek the evidence that damns it so. Such is our remit, lest we fall into the trap of abstraction, as you are aware.'

'Right, yea- yes, sir.' The reminder of their last case together was clearly sobering for the Adept, though it did not stop his mind working at incredible rates as always. 'And, well, since I am in that role... only, if the verdict's been passed already, sir, doesn't that mean the evidence has been gathered by the Inquisitor?'

'It may. This doesn't mean we cannot make certain. And if the evidence is missing, then we need to ask why.'

'...ohhh. Right, because if it's not-'

'And keep that thought to yourself, Verispex,' Hektor suggested, quieting down the conversation until they returned to the rest of the team. By now, all the Judges were armoured up, and all save one Arbitrator was armed to boot. Lance, having come down with it, was not overly out of place with a heavy stubber at his hip - they were, after all, on their way to fight a full hive city. By contrast, Kowl... had a bolt cannon. He recognised the design, for certain - the Vengeance bolt cannon, a Yunnalin-specific weapon with origins on the nearby forge world of Destructor. And not to mention the two-handed version of his own power maul pattern, which precluded use of a suppression shield... what was Rheanna playing at?

'Sir, all Arbites are equipped and ready to proceed, two Lockshields spare for yourself and Verispex Frea,' she announced, grinning widely beneath her helmet's visor. She seemed to relish the idea of heading out and cracking some skulls, if Hektor had to guess. 'Three Rumblers and a Repressor have been equipped for transport into the Hive City, and Arbitrator Vimes will be holding the fort along with the servitor and Verispex contingents; just tell us who's going in what, and we can be on our way.'

'Well done. Well done to you all,' he declared, folding his arms behind his back authoritively. 'Our work over the coming days and weeks will be tough, and against the multitudes of lawbreakers, even we may die. But, to die upholding the Lex Imperialis is to die protecting the Imperium itself, and it is to die doing the God-Emperor's will. Thus, it is up to us to ascertain Hive IV's crimes, and to pass our judgement upon it even at risk of our own lives. Mere heretics will not sway us; they will not bow our backs; they will not get away with defrauding the Emperor's own laws. Are we clear?'

'Yes, sir!' came the unified response.

'I said, are we clear?'

'YES, SIR!'

'Then,' he concluded, 'let us move out.'

Ave Imperator, my faith in You is my armour and my sword.

Sister Sabine prayed in her thoughts. She had recited the prayer times beyond counting since her earliest memories, ever since she had entered the Schola Progenium as a scared little girl. The Schola had burned her former life away with endless drills, lessons and sermons and shown her the way of the truly faithful. For the past two decades, she had been serving in the Order of the Fiery Thorn, defending the mankind and her Sisters against the Xeno, the Heretic and the Mutant.

Offer us strength to carry our tasks and duties, no matter how difficult the road is.

Her four Battle-Sisters were also praying. They had their own silent prayers for the Emperor to bless their mission. The Inquisitor had appointed a hive gang as the Sisters’ objective. The Scions Tempestus would attack another bunch of gangers. She had a few times fought alongside squads of Scions before, and so Sabine had no doubt they would not get their mission accomplished. They had arrived at the former planetary governor’s orbital station only recently, and they had been appropriated little space for themselves. They were not going to stay on the station for long. As fast they had finished their prayers and donned their power armour and weapons, they would head after the gang.

May only the few suffer for the benefit of many.

She had been chosen personally by Prioress Constantia to aid the Inquisitor in her purge of the hive city. Her sisterhood had equipped her with the precious powersword named the Furious Rose, which had been passing down from Sister to Sister within the Order for generations. Sabine had often used a powersword before, but none had been as well-crafted as the Furious Rose. It had a crimson tint and roses emblazoned on its hilt and scabbard. The names of the previous wielders were carved into the sword’s blade. Whenever the wielder died, her name and rank would be carved into the blade for remembering their sacrifices for the good of all mankind.

May my hand protect others and Your creation.

Sabine could trust any of them with her life, and their lives on her hands. Her Battle-Sisters were near her age and hailed across the Imperium’s dominion, but all of them had performed in their duties and hardships as expected and without failure. They all bore scars on them from training and battles.

And suffer not one heretic live a moment longer.

There was hardly a distinction between a ganger or a heretic to Sabine. The heretics were consorting with the powers opposing the Emperor of Mankind, the gangers killed, blackmailed, and smuggled people and illegal goods; both thrived in the dark and shadowy corners of the imperial society like weeds, spreading their vile roots and vines.

Ave Imperator, blessed be Your name.

She had conceived a straightforward plan to annihilate the hive gang. Hive gang’s upper leadership should be eliminated with absolute force and intolerance to raise absolute terror and fear on every level of the gang. Sabine had been passed intelligence of the gang’s possible hideouts and locations. They would flock and scatter like a knot of sparrows.

Our enemies are many, but we will prevail.

Gangs were very similar to a human body, she believed; lob off the head of the gang, and the rest should fall on its own weight. Attack their vital organs, and they would bleed to death. If any ganger tried to come between her and her prey, they would be cut down like weeds in a garden. The gangers had to be sent a message, and she had a perfect message ready in her mind.

The only mercy Daughters of the Emperor will deal to whom conspire with heretics is death.

As Hera walked, her brain slowly ticked through the threats that the teams she had designated would have to fight their way through. Firstly, was the hive itself. The palace assault at least had the advantage of occuring in the upper hive- thin atmosphere aside, it was the most accomodating to wage war in. Her research detailed a powerfully armed, but not particularly well trained group of enforcers- they had all been pulled from the largest and most prosperous of gangs. Foolishness on the part of the governor, but intelligent in the fact that they would all be intimitely familiar with the most brutal of combat. Not to mention, with all of them wearing flak armour and carrying autoguns, they could give the guardsmen a run for their money... As long as their chain of command held.

Of course, that was why she had dispatched another squad to handle that particular issue. A ten year old girl and a one year old baby boy wouldn't pose anything more than a speedbump to a squad of assassins, even if they were being protected by a retinue of bodyguards, and, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, even if the boy was stimmed and modified to high heaven, she doubted he would last more than a moment against even the temple neophytes. The lasguns of the guard would hold back any who sought to interfere; this was not a mission that would fail.

The skitarii though... A different breed. She couldn't predict them as well, and that made her nervous. They seemed faithful enough and competent enough that she needn't worry, but the priests of the Red Planet were not exactly the sort to be easily teased apart. She'd need to keep a very, very close eye on them, especially considering how crucial this mission was. Those melta torpedoes, if they were still on-world, could raze half the city to the ground if they fell into the wrong hands. Hands such as the gangs she had sent the sororitas and tempestus to dispatch.

Now, that should be a task that she needn't have to worry about.

As her neophyte and his retinue arrived, she would straighten her back, extending a single black-gloved hand out towards the docking port she was standing next to. "Stanislaus and co. Excellent timing." Was she being sarcastic or not? Difficult to tell. Rapping her knuckles against the wall, she let out a humourless smile. "Your mission will be unique, in that it will not be on the planet at all. There is a space station. Very similar to this one, except far more... Technically minded. I do not know who is on it, nor what condition it is in, thus, you will be outfitted with voidsuits for this mission. What I do know however, is that I want it either under my control, or if that's not possible, sent careening into the planet below to burn up. Your method of entry is going to be a breaching torpedo. Any further questions?"

Both Kowl and Lance saw fit to try and take one of the Rumblers, so that they could both "lead the charge", as if their desire to outcompete one another wasn't obvious already. Instead, to keep them from getting ahead of themselves and to make best use of their weapons, Hektor ordered both to take the Repressor, and installed himself and the next most senior Judge and Arbitrator on them instead. Sharing with the latter two: Verispex Frea on one, for the sake of protection through agility and early scene analysis; and Handler Ceras on the other, for the sake of keeping up with her cyber-mastiffs and to keep her from talking too much.

Naturally, the Rumblers would lead the way through the city and spireward. It seemed a lot of civilians were either avoiding the wider streets, or actively rioting in them. They had, after all, been declared the living and forgotten dead. However, dealing with them would be a simple enough job later, should it be proven that they deserved it; if the sight of the three assault bikes did not quell the riots, the Repressor's cargo of non-lethal equipment certainly would. And if it so happened that a crowd formed and refused to disperse, well, the angry jaws of two cyber-mastiffs were more than sufficient to strike terror into their hearts, and the sheer bulk of the Rumblers themselves didn't hurt matters either.

Eventually, of course, the bikes reached their destination, halting short of the mansion proper once it entered visual range. Within those walls, a potential army of Enforcers. How many? That marked Michael's first job here - to plan accordingly, of course.

'Verispex Adept Frea,' the Justicar demanded, stepping out of the vehicle along with the other troops, 'what are we looking at in terms of enemy forces?'

'Right...' With a cracking of knuckles, the Adept searched the area, scanning first visually, and then with one of the various auspexes in his suit. Details even Hektor himself wouldn't be able to divine would come naturally to Michael, of course - scuff marks, boot and vehicle prints that had barely left material on the ground, the age of these pieces of evidence and their relevance to the case. Within seconds, they had an answer, delivered in the most certain tone Michael ever really produced, almost robotic compared to his usual awkward cadence: 'At least thrice our own number, no vehicles. Aggressive, but not trained effectively, former gangers almost certainly. Low-quality carapace - still protective, but likely movement-restrictive. Standard weaponry: autoguns, autocannons. Non-standard weaponry: various melee armaments beyond standard shock mauls, grenade launchers armed with krak grenades, lascannon.'

'Pardon me, Verispex, a lascannon?' Autark asked, barely hiding the surprise in his voice.

'Yes, sir. But as stated, they are more aggressive than efficient. Inaccurate, like as not,' Michael proposed in the same sure tone. 'Likely that relatively few Enforcers are trained in the proper firing and reloading rites and procedures. The autocannons will be the bigger problem purely for area denial purposes - simpler to man, but still best to remove as soon as possible.'

'Fffrak it,' Hektor cursed, clenching his teeth and fist both. 'Well, you heard the man. We have heavy weapons, and likely teams who are rare in their capacity to make use of them. Handler Ceras, your job will be to find and eliminate these weapons teams before they inflict unnecessary casualties.'

'Yes, sir!' she replied cheerfully, saluting via the Aquila and gesturing to her seated charges. 'I've been waiting to put these boys to the test for solar weeks, now, it's been-'

'It must have been drudgery incarnate, yes,' Hektor interrupted, 'you don't need to explain how you feel constantly.'

'Ah, sorry sir,' she uttered, a little less exuberantly. 'I'm excited, is all. Ready to get punishing the people breaking Imperial Law, y'see.'

'I can tell, and I won't necessarily begrudge you that.' He wasn't one to quash people's personalities outright - just temper them, the way one would temper a sword to hone its edge. 'Just remember that the cyber-mastiffs aren't invincible, and that these are likely to be the most dangerous foes they face in this purge. If you break them, I can't simply requisition more.'

'Can do, sir. Of course, they're important to me, so I wouldn't just throw them into a wall of gunfire recklessly.'

'Mrh. As for the rest of us,' he instructed them and the other two Arbites, 'we'll make our initial entrance in the vehicles if possible, but once we're out, the Lockshields will prove our best line of defense against any and all opposition- especially you Verispex-' That caught Michael's attention somewhat. '-so ensure they're primed and ready. You have until the Guard secure the area of civilian activity and the Repressor arrives to ask further questions before we begin the operation.'

The Skitarii Alphas and the Magos boarded the transport in perfect order, locking into place as the briefs and first mission parameters were updated and downloaded to the Skitarii Alphas. Purge the scrap code traitors of the foundry, secure the blessed munitions should they remain present, and ensure they are reassigned to use by the Inquisitor. Better the weapons be used by nominal servants of the Imperium instead of tech heretics or worse, the uninitiated traitors. All relevant data and valid intelligence was being downloaded and processed as the transport departed from the transport and began heading down to the target hive in question, all the while the Magos was monitoring friendly communications while also searching records for information on this foundry.

Binary communications between the Alphas and the Magos were surprisingly limited, only discussing necessary items, or rather, a plan of attack on the foundry being planned. Nominally, a full taskforce would send more specialized forces in, but given the eventual joint operations that were no doubt going to come up, more specialized troops could not actually be deployed without interfering with the lesser troops that have been requisitioned by the Inquisitor, and the varied forces responding to the Inquisitor's call had been logged and relevant information was being processed and acquired for the purpose of planning out likely responses and uses in terms of combat allies and performance. It was efficient use of processing power while waiting for touchdown and disembarking.

Upon touching down, map data revealed that the Skitarii troops were going to be putting their augmentation to good use and started off at a brisk, but steady, pace. The classic reason the Ranger Alphas were augmented the way they were, and Rangers in general, was the ability for them to just move and keep moving, keep tracking down their foes, and hound them to the ends of the planet. The Magos was perfectly capable of keeping up as well, following the Ranger Alphas as they moved down the streets, either evading or simply pressing through any civilians, dealing with any that might attempt to bar or assault the red clad Ranger Alphas. The flamer was on point, the Volkite Caliver and Rotary Cannon bringing up the rear alongside the Magos. RT-A-221 was scanning ahead with the implanted Omnispex, relaying data through his tether and the entire squad was moving in perfect unity, the superiority of their design and builds keeping them moving deceptively quickly towards their target.

"Our armor's hard, our tanks are fast!"

The first line of the first stanza was barely audible over the roar of the engines as the platoon's Chimeras crawled along the ruined streets of the hive. Lieutenant Vayne's cybernetic vision scanned the surroundings as she lead her men in the discordant singing. The March of the Armageddon Tankers it was called, a military march dating back to the second war for Armageddon when the world had teetered upon the brink of fulfilling its namesake. The voices of her soldiers rang out dimly above the rumble of the Chimeras, out of sync and poorly coordinated, but heartwarming nonetheless.

"And our men and women full of courage!"

Their battered platoon had been ordered out of the staging grounds on the world, awaiting reinforcement to full strength. Effective immediately, those units that could be spared were now under the command of Inquisitor Hera. It had come as a great shock to the members of the platoon, and a smaller one to Vayne herself. There were plenty of units that were free for reassignment, especially by direct Inquisitorial order, and yet hers had been pulled from the rear before they could reinforce. It filled her with curiosity and apprehension, though she had offered no suggestion of her thoughts to the captain. Were she to meet with this Inquisitor in person however, she would have questions for her.

"Imperial tankers ready for action,
We are proud children of the Emperor!"

Even through the din of the singing and the engines, Vayne could hear her troops checking their gear, the individual tank drivers scanning their auspex equipment. Alongside the IFVs marched the troopers of each squad, their eyes peeled for signs of movement amongst the rubble or in the burned out husks of buildings above. The rattle and clink of thousands of rounds of heavy bolter ammunition, spare shotgun shells, extra power packs, and even more food rations. It had been a small war in and of itself with the quartermaster to procure so much extra supply, but she had been beaten off with the repeated insistence that the unit was to be deployed at the order of Inquisitor Hera herself. With their numbers already reduced by the heavy fighting elsewhere, supply shortfalls were the last thing the unit could sustain.

"Thundering with fire, glinting with steel,
The tanks begin a harsh campaign!
Called to battle by the holy Emperor,
The Commissar will lead us onward in this war!"

"Hey, Lieutenant!" A voice called from behind her, disrupting the already poorly coordinated rhythm. "Shouldn't it be 'the Inquisitor will lead us' instead? I don't see hide nor hair of old Yarrick 'round these parts. Heh, not as if he'd need us if he were here. Heretics would all shoot themselves before get in his way, I reckon!" Trooper Stanislav, bringing up the rear of the column, smiled broadly at his words.

"That'd break the flow of the song, you idiot." Called out a woman on the other side of the column. "Different number of syllables, song's already bad enough as it is translated from whatever hive it originated on, no need to make it even harder to sing." She paused, then added, "Besides, Yarrick has better things to occupy his time with than to wander around some pissant backwater hive world."

"Ay, fuck you too, Denisova! Who's to say this little errand won't end with up slaying some arch-heretic and being awarded our own cushy little world to relax on?" He shouted back to her, "I druther fight for some Inquisitor than a Commissar!"

Vayne sighed, grabbing the hailer of the Chimera's vox-caster equipment and speaking into it, the sound blaring out well above the noise of the machinery or the bickering soldiers. "You'll fight for the Emperor, you louts, or you'll be fighting for potato scraps with the ratlings on KP. Now everyone calm down and keep singing, we're approaching the rendezvous with the Arbites force. Let's give 'em a nice show, shall we?"

---

The second time around, the platoon had marginally better cohesion in singing the lyrics to the march, and Vayne had taken the liberty of setting the pre-recorded instrumentals for the march to play over the vox-caster. The discordant symphony echoed across the ruined cityscape as the treads of the chimeras churned through the streets.

Let enemies, who hidden in ambush, remember this:
We watch for him, we are on guard!
We want not a foot of foreign land,
But we will not give up a speck of ours!

Through the Vox, Vayne barked a false order, "B-company, split off and head to the north." Pressing a finger to her lips, she smiled thinly at the questioning looks of her subordinates. "Let's meet these Arbites then, shall we?"

---

Was she being sarcastic or not It was certainly difficult to tell, but undeniably foolish to assume.

Where Hera allowed herself the small luxury of a dry smile, Stanislaus was unmoving strict and stiff in his expression alike. The motley crew of Imperial personnel behind him, almost complete in their assembly, had about as much enthusiasm as he did. They all knew the score, so much so that Birgitte had already begun scouring for information through the cogitator of her tome while Enginseer von Toor, clad in red robes and with his Omnissian Axe stood up in hand, peered over her shoulder expectantly.

Stanislaus bowed his bald head, presenting the ink-clad canvas of saints and scripture that was his bare scalp to the Inquisitor.
"I bid you only name the station so that I might seize it in your name." The affirmation was near-monotonous and certainly direct. Not one man of the retinue mistook the Inquisitor's curt briefing as an act of negligence; it was for that very reason that Birgitte and von Toor had already begun to prepare the briefing for Stanislaus. Stanislaus had much to prove as an interrogator of the Inquisition and that task began with asking the questions himself; or, perhaps, by the extensions that were his retinue.

Behind the party, a cascade of staggered footsteps heralded the hissing of the airlock door. Even before the door slid open, the eyes of the Sergeant Agletdinova and Sister Hellenboldus already bore into it, both pairs to the likeness of meltas in themselves. In the open doorway 'stood' - if you can describe the ungraceful lean as standing - Parasha, with a bag tossed over her shoulder and a yet another fluorescent color spread through her disheveled hair. Perhaps 'talented individuals' referred to only most of the retinue. With an expression that quickly twisted into guilt, Parasha thumbed at the door controls to close the door, where she would - God-Emperor willing - wait patiently outside.

---

"How many times, Parasha? How many times have we had this conversation?"
The cramped interior of the boarding torpedo, utilitarian and lacking as it was, did little to make its payload feel welcome. Sergeant Agletdinova's chiding did little to help either. Parasha, the very same hungover chirurgeon, rubbed at her eyes with a quiet groan.
"Sarge, man, c'mon, can we just wait until-" she protested, hardly managing to open her eyes partway.
"Stanislaus lets you off with being an oaf when you do it quietly," Agletdinova interrupted, seizing the conversation again. "But really? You had interrupted us with the Inquisitor? You know that you're in her retinue, and that she decides what happens to you? Do you think that-"
"Look, Denis, I know that-"
"-that she decides what happens to you? He values you, but he won't protect you if she gives the word."

These sorts of exchanges were fairly common between Denis and Parasha. Parasha was young and eager, clad with potential but a little wild. Denis, on the other hand, was a man of many campaigns, a veteran Inquisitorial stormtrooper and, if broad suspicions are right, a man with a secret desire to be a father. It's only natural that he would try an guide her. It'd be concerning if he didn't, as that'd probably mean she's lost her value to Hera and Stanislaus by extension. Intentions don't change the throbbing of her hangover, though.

"And what's this, then?" Denis continued, reaching out to brush her lopsided hair aside. A series of bruises lined her neck, none too subtle once exposed past her hanging hair. "On a voidstation requisitioned by the witch hunters? You're not serious?" With a grunt, Parasha lifted an arm to swat his hand away.
"I get it, enough, just leave me be for a minute, okay?" Parasha retorted as she shifted her hair back into place.
"If you're sharp enough to go into operation, you're sharp enough to hear it." he asserted with a quiet huff. Behind him, Sister Allane glared over Denis' shoulder. The very drive of the glare was enough to make her shudder. If Denis was the stern father, Allane had to be the drill abbott mother-from-hell that made it a good-cop-bad-cop dynamic. As if Denis wasn't bad enough.

The crew in the front of the boarding torpedo made an effort to block out the lecture, if it hadn't become a habit already. As the boarding torpedo continued on his course, the trajectory traced out on a cogitator, Birgitte and von Toor both sporadically worked at cogitators of their own. Stanislaus, standing behind the pair with Scrutiny quietly roosting on his shoulder, stood behind the pair with eyes closed and arms crossed.
"There's no records of the station, interrogator, even with Inquisitorial ID." Birgitte explained, her lips pursed with frustration. "This is absurd. What sort of station eludes the Administratum and the Ordo Hereticus both..."
"Likewise, there is little I can determine from afar, interrogator." von Toor concurred, his voice stained with the mechanic hue of his clustered robotics. "Should you will it, I would examine the station personally."
"Let it be so, once the station is seized." Stanislaus announced, his body still bar what little is needed to speak. "Our priority is taking control of what may maintain the station's position in orbit. To that end, I will be placing my faith in your skills, von Toor and Mellem." From behind the trio, a fourth figure stepped into view: an armor-clad man of red, black, and steel, carrying a tall shield adorned with the inquisitorial I.
"I need only know the way, interrogator." Mellem affirmed, with a small nod to von Toor. While his enclosed helm did little to portray his emotions, his reliability is undeniable. The crusader, with his shield and sword alike, will undeniably be in his element in the corridors of a space station.
"And should we meet a foe like the less disciplined our own kind, Bruna, I will be relying on you to aid me. Likewise for you, Third Thorn." Stanislaus continued, drawing more figures from the shadows of the dark boarding torpedo: two women, once concealed betwixt ornate robes, breastplates, and masks, and another concealed betwixt all-encompassing dark clothing and armor. While one carries a stave bearing a symbol of the navigators and a laspistol.
"Like always, interrogator, we shall not be taken by surprise." Bruna confirmed, her emotions likewise concealed by her mask. The Third Thorn, on the other hand, offered no visible reply. Her silence was answer enough.

"Very well." Stanislaus annouced, bringing the collective payload of the boarding torpedo to a hush. "We seize the engines, then should the God-Emperor will it, we seize the station or we seal its fate. Take your positions and make ready."

The movements that followed were well-practiced: familiar and well-drilled, even for the motley crew. At the front stood Crusader Mellem, with his sword and shield at the ready. Behind him, Sergeant Agletdinova, with his meltagun in the fore, with Enginseer von Toor besides him with his Omnissian power axe. Next stood Sister Allane, combi-bolter in hand, who stood guard over the valuable and the inept: Stanislaus, Birgitte, and Bruna. Finally, in the rearguard stood the Third Thorn and Parasha: one with the mobility to guard the rear and the other in position to mend the injured.

So the retinue stood ready for the shudder that would follow: ready to enter the breach and face the unknown.

Sister Sabine’s squad was almost ready to board the transport to planetside. They had donned their armour and finished their prayers to the God-Emperor. No doubt clouded their minds, and Sabine was ready to commence her sacred duties.

She would brief her squad on the situation. They stood over a map of the city district. The gang’s hideout was an old warehouse. The building had fallen out of use, and the gang had taken it for their main base of operations. It had lots of open spaces inside, and a few dead corners. Its main entrance was on the southern wall, while the eastern wall had the emergency exits. The gangers did have antiquated weapons, but most could not punch through their power armour if the intelligence proved correct. She now talked with her squad to assign their tasks.

“Sister Iona”, Sabine said to a young, auburn-haired woman. Sister Iona the Younger, as her name suggested, younger than her namesake. There was already a Sister Superior named Iona in the Preceptory, and the elder one had suggested to give the nickname to denote the Sisters from each other. Sabine had served under the elder Iona for a while. Iona the Younger was the newest member of her squad, though all had served the Order for years. “Yes, Sister?” she answered to Sabine.

Sabine gazed her back. Sister Iona clearly had fire in her eyes. “We are going to split into two segments and enter the gang’s hideout from two sides in a pincer movement. The plan hinges on keeping their numbers in balance and attacking with great surprise. I want you to look after my back, while the rest of the Sisters attack from the eastern side.”

“I will do it gladly. I will have your back.” Iona had the clearest singing voice of Sabine’s squad, and she liked to sing and hum their battle hymns in the heat of battle. It was not quite orthodox, but Sabine enjoyed it.

“Sister Emilia, you shall lead the flanking element. I trust in your ability to strike terror in their hearts.” Siter Emilia was almost as dark haired as Sabine, but she was quite pale in comparison to her. She had been born on a irradiated planet, where the population spent most of their lives in bunkers beneath the earth. She was almost as old as Sabine and had served the Order almost as long.

“I shall not leave any of them alive” Emilia said. She had a quiet sister’s reputation, as she did not talk much, but she kept her calm in the thickest of fights. She would one day make a good leader for her own squad.

“Any questions on the tasks?” Sabine asked, shifting her gaze from sister to sister. Sister Adriana opened her mouth. Her face had the longest scars, after an ork had struck her helmet off her head. If the God-Emperor had not willed it, she would have died that day. “Has the drop site been scouted? I wouldn’t like to get into nasty surprises.”

“No, it has not been, but most of the nearby buildings only house civilians. It is a small square near the warehouse.” Sabine pointed the space two streets from the warehouse. “It should take only a moment to close the distance between the square and the warehouse, and the gang will be surprised with our wrath.”

“Hmm. I have a bad feeling about this insertion” Adriana said to the squad. She had an uncanny sense for foreboding danger. It had saved her quite a few times on the battlefields. “They have been announced that they will be purged, and they probably have taken the nearby streets for themselves. If I were in their shoes, I would have rigged most of the nearby streets with whatever explosives I have got in my hands.”

“You are right, but we must not suffer these heretics to live”, Sabine said. Adriana’s concerns had been often been correct in the past. “Every moment we talk here will give them more time to prepare their vile hive. And we have the rightful faith on our side.”

“The God-Emperor will know His own”, Adriana said, ending her questioning.

Ave Imperator, blessed be Your name, Sabine thought in her head and felt the hilt of the Furious Rose in her fingers. She would finally get to test the blade on the enemies of the truly faithful. “If you do not have further questions, be ready to board the transport.”

From the estate, movement could be heard. From their perch, the assassins could see a practical sea of yellow and black uniforms shifting behind the high walls as soldiers moved about. They looked like bumblebees; in colouration and in purpose, a swarming mass of armed drones responding to a threat to the hive. The doors of the estate would groan and begin to whine open; just enough for a single figure to emerge. Heavy carapace armour was swaddled by an oversized greatcoat, and from their scarred face and breasful of medals, it was clear that whoever this person was, they were no rookie enforcer. "Hail there, lapdogs of the bitch." His voice was deep and booming, carrying clear across.

"Gun me down like a dog, and my last dying breath will be spent laughing as your face is melted off, so why don't we both pretend to be reasonable individuals and par-ley?" He pronounced every word in a thick, scummish hiver accent. Sweeping his greatcoat back, a tremendous handcannon sat at his hip, the man's hand holding his coat back to allow him to draw the gun without interference if needed. "Hoi, look at that too. Another bitch, sent here from another world to fuck our affairs over." He spat on the floor. "Here's the long and short. I know your type, lawmen. There ain't no inquisitor up there, just some judge, and you've decided you want to crack this hive like a nut. We won't letcha. The legitimate authority of this planet now lives here, and you can either fuck off now, or do it after your teeth've been staved in with lead."

---

The manufactory was located deep within the hive; built over a thousandfold times. As the ebony robed figures stalked closer to the location they had been inexorably marching towards it, they would find it surrounded by a number of heavily-armed individuals, and judging by the lack of robes in kind (and the rather too human look of them) these were not fellow priests. Indeed, no sooner had they come into view of the building had the Magos received a familiar feeling datapackage; the size and 'weight' of which indicated it to be a private communication by another techpriest.

Foundry-Foreman/Talos C-3/They/Them/Lower Ranked/Respectful Hail/

Glory to you, Servants of the Omnissiah. We are beseiged. Our foundry carries within it weapons blessed by the machine spirit, rending and glorious. Our military might is weak. We fear not the harshest of gazes- come, probe us for heresy.

The entire transmission had taken less than the average human's reaction time to be commmunicated.

---

"I know-" Hera cut herself off and reached up to her face as Parasha staggered into view. She would lift up the sleek-fitting glasses on her face and scrutinise them, eyes unblinking for a good fifteen or so seconds, before finally letting her eyewear slip back down and turning her head back towards her henchman. She moved her head like a predator did; the rest of her body stock still so as to not alert her prey to her intentions. "I know not the name. Refer to it by the callsign 'Gravestone.'" Her lips had pursed into a frown, and then her hands would snap up to her chest. Interlocked thumbs, widespread palms pressed against her chest. The sign of the Aquila. "Go with the Emperor in your souls."

Once she had finished the salute, she took a step back and allowed the retinue to slowly filter into the torpedo. Once they had done so, she slid the hatch shut herself and pressed a finger to the commsbead in her ear. "Prep torpedo for launch into Gravestone." Inside the spartan tube, there were several of the form-fitting voidsuits that the retinue had been promised, well-cared for and with air tanks provided too. Three hours of oxygen, and then rebreathers to ensure that those three hours could last for closer to three days. As they donned them, the entire structure shuddered, the autoloader carrying it from the loading bays to the missile tubes.

"Prepare for torpedo launch. T-10 seconds." The torpedo tube locked shut behind the craft with a resounding clunk.

"T-9 seconds."

"T-8 seconds."

"T-7 seconds."

"T-6 seconds."

"T-5 seconds."

"Alright, get this over with." The voice that crackled through their ears was Hera's now.

"Launch expidated. May the Machine Spirit carry you true." A deafening explosion came from the rear of the craft as the initial boosters ignited. With g-forces that could easily render a man unconcious, the craft shook to life, and the crew inside were catapulted quite forcefully into the unknown.

Clad in the colors that they were, it was still unforgivable for any sort of individual to miss the fact that the Skitarii were moving through the hive streets at their untiring, unyielding pace. RT-A-221 picked up the crowd on the omnispex, before the burst transmission from the Foundry-Foreman was received by the Magos. Normally, mere humans would have to pause and hold a conversation, however, blessed augmentations allowed them to converse in the span of what it would take others to even inhale to prepare to respond in kind.

"Cordial Reply. Situation noted. Investigation will be processed during siege breaking." The Magos was clipped and precise, even for the unfathomably fast method of communication that the Mechanicus employed when communicating among each other. The hive was to be purged, and these unaugmented humanoids certainly would not be loyalists of any sort. RT-A-221 employed the omnispex again to sweep the crowd, picking out any high value targets, be it weapons of note, figures of apparent authority among the crowd, identifying markings or other general information, being logged and processed for gathering intelligence and further computing an ideal route forward. The mob of unaugmented hivers would be a hindrance to the ultimate objective regardless, so they would necessitate removal.

Nominal firing patterns were uploaded and applied to the targeting of each Skitarii Alpha. Cognis Flamer would be utilized to prevent any from getting too close, Rotary Cannon would be applied to rapid numbers depletion, Volkite Caliver reserved for any potentially unusual targets. Galvanic Carbines would provide steady fire to prevent any gaps in the screen, and positions were taken up, all plotted out and ideal for the situation. Not a word or overt sound was made by the Skitarii Alphas, taking position and waiting patiently, unmovingly, for the kill command. The moment the Magos issued the command, the Ranger Alphas would open fire in perfect unison, Galvanic Carbines hammering in volley after volley in unison, Rotary Cannon roaring to life, under precise control of its augmented wielder, whilst the Cognis Flamer and Volkite Caliver remained ready, the former for any foolish enough to close into reach of the flames, the latter for anything noteworthy that necessitated specialized focus. RT-A-221 and the Magos, both wielding Phosphor weapons, also scanned for targets requiring illumination and priority targeting, should any such things exist.

At long last, the Guard arrived. It was impossible to miss the Guard, as they were singing loudly as they came, blowing any semblance of cover as they did. Having been relatively hidden in the first instance, of course (at least as much as a cadre of loud vehicles could be), this was highly displeasing to the Justicar; yet even as their commander sent a B-Company (they had a B-Company?) round to assault the mansion from the north side, Hektor was thinking about how to make best use of this change of plans... the plan had been to burst into view abruptly and send the hounds in to take out the heavy weaponry. But now...

'Handler Ceras, Verispex Frea, take the cyber-mastiffs and a Rumbler,' he ordered. 'Look for a side entrance. The moment you find one that isn't outright barred, blow it away, and send the mastiffs through to take out as many heavy installation pairs as possible. Do not die.'

'Yes, sir,' uttered Michael, a little tense on the idea.

'Yessir, sir!' replied Ceras, smiling with wild abandon. Well, she was going to have a good time, at least; as for Frea, he imagined he might be slightly safer when he wasn't out in the open, and would be far more capable of finding any necessary evidence from inside the complex. Even as they and the dogs made their way off and around the complex, through streets that ought to be hidden from enemy fire for the most part, the Repressor made its appearance at last, its full payload of soldiers in tow. With the element of surprise thoroughly eliminated anyway, Hektor raised a hand in acknowledgement, then gestured affirmatively, directing the tank around and toward the front entrance. To the other two, Arbitrator and Judge, he simply uttered 'Weapons primed. Lockshields ready.'

Their approach toward the front was led by the tank, which halted within fifty meters of the outer wall as the apparent leader of the enemy forces appeared atop it. The triad of Arbites on foot approached behind three thick shields, a wall of plasteel and ceramite magnetically bound into a three-segmented barrier to deflect all but the most egregious weapons fire. And yet, for their heavy armament, the enemy was almost more heavily armed and armoured in kind - aside from what they now knew of their weaponry, the front entrance of the estate was closed and locked. It'd take more powerful equipment than what he'd brought to break in - which made it a good thing the Guard had their own options, after all.

And the man in charge, the dog who claimed they themselves were but dogs, made his statement. Claiming he was "the legitimate authority on this planet", and that he'd have them all gunned down if he was taken out now. What a disgusting joke. Angered now, Autark pushed the comms button on his shield, activating its voxhailer function and those of the lockshields to either side of him, so as to ensure his message was perfectly received by all ears on that battlement.

'This is Justicar Autark,' he announced, his voice naught but contempt. 'In case your Enforcers have forgotten, this Hive operates under the same rules as the rest of the Imperium. The governor is not the law. I am the law.'

He let that sink in for a bit before continuing. As Justicar of the Yunnalin System, his authority superceded all others within its bounds save the Lord Marshal of the Yunnalin Precinct and her superiors. The Inquisition were a grey area, of course. Mere Enforcers were not. 'The presence or absence of Inquisitorial activity is null. You are hereby charged with obstruction of justice and failure to uphold the laws of the Imperium, and ordered to relinquish all firearms and allow the Adeptus Arbites to enter and investigate this estate for evidence. Failure to comply will be taken as admission of guilt, for which the sentence will be death.' Granted, they were all going to die anyway, but if they were willing to open up and let the Arbitrators in whilst thinking otherwise, it'd be an easier entry by far. He might even allow them a quicker execution.

“To the gangs of the Hive City VI, you have been condemned to death on the grounds of heresy against the Emperor and His government. Surrender, drop your weapons and your execution will be quick and merciful” blared out the transport’s loudspeakers. Sabine had no illusions the gang would oblige her message, but at least the district’s civilians would have a warning to stay out of the Sisters’ way. Not that they were any less innocent of heresy.

“Thirty seconds to the site. Prepare for drop”, the pilot’s voice echoed in Sabine’s helmet. “There are zero hostile contacts or activity on site.” “Understood”, Sabine responded. She ran her fingers on the hilt of her sword and the grip of her bolt pistol. “Sisters, you know your duties. Be prepared for anything.”

The transport spacecraft thundered across the sky, weaving between mile-high buildings and slums. There were no windows, but Sabine could imagine the sorry state of buildings. The Silver Fang gang was one of the largest of the hive city and held the district under its heel. “Ten seconds to touchdown. Opening hatch” the pilot said. Their drop site was a square with barely enough space for their craft, but the pilot knew his job, and Sabine trusted him. The Sisters rose up to stand. The dim lighting of streetlights poured through the hatch. Their Sabbat pattern helmets could filter bright light and help them see in darkness.

There was no one at the center of the square, but a few civilians scattered and huddled on the sides of the nearby buildings. The Sisters drew their weapons as their left the transport. It is quiet, Sabine thought. A bit too quiet for my taste.

“Sisters, follow me. We are crusaders in unholy territory from now on. Communicate only when necessary.” She drew her power sword and activated it. The Furious Rose had a red hue, when it’s power was activated, and it hummed noticeably when Sabine moved it through the air. It felt like it was made into her arm. She loaded and locked her bolter pistol. They started to make their way to their target. The transports ascended from the drop site and blared a message from its loudspeakers. The Sisters of Battle have entered the district. If you into their way, you will be mercilessly cut down. Do not resist.

The district could be described as a sprawling maze of slums and deserted warehouses, but their helmets received navigational data for their target. They found the warehouse in no time at all. Sabine stopped her squad at a junction just before the warehouse. “Now”, Sabine said. “Sister Emilia, take Sisters Adriana and Anais and attack from the side.” Sabine pointed her power sword to a nearby street. “The side entrance I spoke of is that way and to the left.”

“Understood. The Emperor’s Will will be done” Sister Emilia said and led her detachment to the warehouse’s flank. Sabine turned to Iona and said “Sister Iona, with me. We are going the rough way in through the main entrance.” The young Iona nodded, and they left for the entrance. It was guarded by half a dozen gangsters in street clothes and what looked like rudimentary low calibre stubbers. They seemed on alert. Good, it is not going to be too hard.

Sabine walked upright towards the entrance. The gangsters saw her, towering over them in her power armour. They weren’t very tall people compared to Sabine. Hivers rarely were. It took them a good few seconds to start removing the safety from their weapons. Sabine shouted to them. “In the name of the Emperor, I am here to execute his will! The pain for your heresy is death!”

Sabine broke into light running and raised her bolt pistol, removing the safety. Iona came closely behind, revving up her chainsword. The gangsters’ eyes widened from the sight. A larger gangster shouted commands in heavily accented Low Gothic Sabine barely understood, but the intent was clear. Shoot at them!, he clearly said.

Her power armour caught a few rounds, but they barely scratched her armour before she closed the distance to the nearest gangster. She cleaved his arm almost cleanly off and shot the next one to the head. The first one fell to the ground, shouting in agony, the other’s body just stayed on it’s feet for a half a second before falling down like a sack of potatoes. Sister Iona brought one down with a nasty strike from her chainsword. A gangster went down with a ugly chest wound. Soon enough she scored another hit with her chainsword to another gangster, sawing his head off.

The last two were barely a challenge. Sabine attacked with a ferocity worthy of an Ork. She had fought Orks quite a few times, and gangsters were not much of an obstacle for her. In few seconds, the sounds of the skirmish went down. They could hear the sounds of distant chainsword in the background. Sister Emilia clearly had flanked the gang and getting the better of them, too.

The ground was littered with the bodies of half a dozen dead gangsters. Sabine examined her surrounding and saw no other movement from nearby buildings. She went to the main entrance and inspected the great warehouse doors. They were locked by a simple chain and a lock. She hit the lock a few times with the Furious Rose and it gave way, breaking down at no time at all.

The doors opened into a great storeroom with many shelves of contraband goods and weapons. The gang’s main income was from extortion and selling contraband goods as far as Sabine knew. Sabine could move through the shelves, but her power armour knocked a few shelves off balance. “Be careful, Sister”, she said to Iona.”

Sabine could hear the gangsters shouting and running at a distance. They probably were organising resistance and bringing the heavier weapons against them. Lighter stubber rarely could punch through power armour, but heavy stubbers could inflict great damage on them.

The whole warehouse was dimly lit, but it proved nothing to hinder Sabine and Iona. They moved with a fast pace though the storeroom, moving deeper into the warehouse. A handful of gangsters without weapons stood in their way, but they were swiftly and mercilessly cut down.

The next storeroom had many more gangsters, almost ready with their defences. They had brought a few shelves and piled all kinds of obstacles to act as improvised cover. A heavy stubber provided overwatch on a balcony over the room. There were at least a dozen gangsters in the room, as far as Sabine saw. No matter, they shall fall!

“You shall not escape this place alive, Daughter of the Emperor!”, a heavily muscled gangster at her. He was taller than most other gangsters. It seemed to Sabine that he had an archaic looking powered exoskeleton on him and a chainsword in his hand. The gangster had a battery pack strapped to his back. The exoskeleton had armoured plates bolted into arms and the stomach, but Sabine could tell it could not provide much protection against her powersword. “You and your whores will die here!”

“Then I shall join His side! You shall not, heretic” Sabine replied to him. She had planned that Sister Emilia’s element would come at any moment now from the flank, but it seemed they had been delayed. No matter, plans never work as well as you make them.

A hail of bullets hit her surroundings as soon as Sabine moved towards them. A shot from the heavy stubber hit her arm. The bullet did not go through but left a noticeable dent in her armour. She had to take cover. Her power armour could take punishment, but her intention was not to catch every bullet the gangsters had in their armoury. Sister Iona followed suite. Iona had started to chant one of their battle hymns with her clear voice. It didn’t carry well over the sound of booming stubbers and bullets hitting all around them, but it did provide courage to the young Sister under fire.

They moved from cover to cover towards the gangsters’ positions. A few hails of bullets hit them, but the gangsters firing, and accuracy was shoddy at best. They clearly trusted in the quantity of fire more than in the quality of their aiming. “Sister Emilia”, Sabine hailed with her commlink. “What is your situation?”

“On our way, Sister Superior” her voice answered. It was steady as it always was. “Sister Anais took a hit from a heavy stubber to her side, but otherwise we are good and heading your way.”

“Good. May Emperor watch over you” Sabine responded. She put her bolter pistol aside and took a frag grenade, pulling its pin and threw it at pack of gangsters in a one smooth well-drilled movement. “Grenade!” Sabine heard one of the gangsters shouting and jumping out of the way. She also heard the explosion and at least a couple of the heretics blowing up.

They were finally close enough to charge at the heretical gangsters. Sabine rose from behind her cover and pointed her bolter at a gangster and firing a short burst at him. The bolts crashed at him and burst into small explosions in front of her. She charged towards a few of them and swung the Furious Rose. The powersword cut flesh and bone almost like it was thin paper. Sabine heard Iona’s chainsword biting into flesh near her. Her chanting had not stopped for a beat.

They cut down most of the gangsters in what felt like seconds. Stubbers fell silent after one another, and after a short while, only the exoskeleton wielding brute was left. Sabine pointed her power sword at him. “Pray for your salvation, for I shall cut you down, heretic. Sister Iona, leave him to me.”

The brute pounded chest with his fist and revved his chainsword to speed. He had fury and anger in his voice. “I will avenge my men and make you bleed for what you have done today, bitch!”

The brute tried to strike Sabine with a fast swing, but she had trained sword fighting for most of her life, ever she had joined the Schola Progenium. You are too slow, maggot, she remembered her Drill Abbess scolding her a lifetime ago. She barely remembered her face, but her training had stuck in her muscle memory. Slowness will kill you and turn you into worm food.

The brute was strong, but also quick in his feet. He changed his footing and tried again and again in quick succession. Sabine took a hit, leaving nasty marks into her armour, but it still held on. She countered and parried his attack, making a riposte and striking his plate in the stomach. The blow made a deep dent in the plate and punched the air out of him. The brute fell down into his knees. The brute could not produce any intelligible words or sounds.

“Pray for your salvation, heretic, for I shall not” Sister Sabine said to him and drove the Furious Rose through him. The brute fell down with a dull look on his face. The sounds of battle echoed in the hall for few good seconds. A ghostly silence fell in place. After a while, Sister Emilia’s element joined Sister Sabine. “Warehouse has been cleared, Sister Sabine. No casualties”, Emilia said in a matter of fact tone. Her armour had taken hits and dents, and all of their armours had been drenched in blood and intestines. “We have been victorious today.”

Sabine nodded with approval and said to her Sisters. “Yes, we have. Let us call for our transport and move out to the extraction point. The Inquisitor is waiting for our report. Better not to keep her waiting.”

A single enforcer, presumably the leader of the would-be Governor's personal forces, had exited the fortress-estate. Vindicare XXIII's finger hovered unwavering beside the trigger well of his rifle. Killing this speaker during his attempted negotiations with the Justicar would be a sub-optimal usage of both their lives and his abilities. Keeping a careful watch over the front of the estate from his vantage, the heads-up display of his mask winked with indicators and waypoint markers designating points and individuals of interest.

Agent LII, while not a true Vindicare Assassin, was a skilled and valuable reconnaissance spotter and second set of eyes for Vindicare operations. While the skills of the Imperium's master marksmen were formidable, they could not be in two places at once, and operatives like Agent LII were designed to make up for that. From a secluded and secure position, he was able to keep watch and selectively tag hostiles and locations of importance.

Based on their combined observations, the fortress was nearly impregnable in design. The construction was concentrated in being defended from all directions from uprisings from the hiver population, with the only reliable means of entry being from above, despite the lack of any clear landing pad or other means of aerial insertion. The only clear-cut way would be to blast down the door or scale the walls, a classic siege.

Opening up internal vox-comms communications with Justicar Autark and Lieutenant Brusilov both, Vindicare XXIII offered them a basic relay of information from the viewpoints available to him, as well as a possible course of action.

"Justicar, Lieutenant, this is XXIII. Prep any means of breaching the main door now, secure all personnel from incoming fire, and ready any means of scaling walls that are at your disposal. Hostile at the entrance will be eliminated upon affirmation from Autark."

Unless any objections were made, if the affirmation were to arrive, the powerful Turbo-Penetrator round of the Exitus rifle would rip through the Enforcer sent to talk with the Justicar.

---

A wise voidsman once said that there was nothing elegant about a boarding torpedo. They were right.

The hull of the boarding torpedo shook violently, casting some aside while launching others off their feet. The steel of the torpedo groaned, the sound distorted into something ominous and sickly by the void of space beyond it. All the more, without even a chance for the retinue to steady themselves back into their oblong formation, the front of the torpedo began to scream. The wails of the space station hull quickly overpowered the groaning of the boarding torpedo, assailing the retinue with the sound of steel on melting steel. As the walls of Site Gravestone thinned, the pitch of the wails soared higher and higher, the whines threatening to bore through the crew's heads at its crescendo.

Then, with relief not unlike popping a sore pimple, the banshee screams and ominous groans dropped away with a final, anti-climactic thud. What little remained of the wall separating the boarding torpedo dropped to the floor and rattled to a standstill. For the Inquisitorial retinue, some still scattered, it was as if they had only breached into empty space. The rattling of the leftover wall echoing throughout the halls of the station was little comfort when all the crew had to face was darkness. Pitch and chilling darkness.

A scratch over the vox heralded a voice:
"Lights on," came Sergeant Agletdinova's voice. A mix of beams of light and gentle whirrs spread across the formation: some shining flashlights from their helmets and weapons into the cold darkness while others enjoyed the low-light vision of their own means. The team's newfound perception did little to comfort them: on the other side of the breach, there was nothing bar an empty hall. If there was, they would surely already be dead, given the delay.
"That was sloppy," chided Stanislaus as he tugged at the mechanism of his Condemnor Boltgun. "Move out."

---

Beams of light scanned the hallway, combing it in both directions. The stillness was almost suffocating. The team, assembled around the entry point, kneeled in a perimeter around Stanislaus, von Toor, Bruna, and Birgitte.
"Oxygen composition is approximately 20 percent oxygen and 79 percent nitrogen, Interrogator," explained von Toor, one of his metallic arms dancing at a personal cogitator while the other held his symbolic axe. His robotic voice flowed more smoothly over the vox than it did when spoken. "The air is safe to breathe."
"Which is curious, because the lights are out," observed Birgitte as she typed at her cogitator-tome, recording all events as they went. "Short of a systems failure, why would a crew leave the life support running but turn off the lights?"
"Either the station is running at such a power deficit that even red lights aren't safe to run, or the crew doesn't need it," explained Bruna. The navigator had spent countless time aboard the myriad vessels of the Imperial Navy. She had, quite reasonably, become the de facto authority on matters of voidfaring within the team because of it. "Or, at risk of making an assumption, perhaps it's beneficial to the crew to leave unwelcome visitors in the dark?" The team fell silent for a moment; the thought wasn't comfortable, but nobody dared question it, at risk of inviting disaster.

"Keep using your voidsuits for life support," ordered Stanislaus, while Scrutiny rubbed his beak on Stanislaus' shoulder through the eagle's own rather specialized voidsuit. "The Ordo Hereticus is not nearly that trusting. Where are the engines from here?"
"There is no indication, Interrogator." explained von Toor, his gaze already shifting to Bruna expectantly.
"Dare I risk a hypothesis, I would suggest we begin by descending." suggested Bruna, her expression concealed by her voidsuit. "Likewise, it would be prudent to attempt to access a cogitator or cycle an airlock door, to determine exactly what systems are and are not operational. I imagine you're eager to begin your investigation, Interrogator." There were few who could make such assumptions of Stanislaus without repercussion, and Bruna - advisor and teacher to Stanislaus both - was certainly one of them.
"You imagine correctly, Bruna," Stanislaus affirmed as he turned his body to face squarely down one stretch of the hallway. "Form up. Watch for signs of life, cogitators, doors, and maps."

The movements were well-practiced. The perimeter agents who were knelt rose to their feet and returned to their oblong formation, pressed out in two columns with one on either side of the hallway.

"Move out."

"Justicar, Assassin team, this is Lieutenant Brusilov. All forces are go. The Astra Militarum is in position and we are ready to commence our assault." Her radio call barked out over the comm feeds of her allies as she surveyed the terrain before them. She had deployed her autocannon heavy weapons team to the opposing side of the enemy compound, along with Corporal Svyatoslavovna for 'technical expertise'.

Vayne herself had crept towards the enemy emplacements, carefully concealing her form behind rubble, abandoned vehicles, anything that could mask her advance to the enemy sentries. In her hands were clutched one meltabomb, and one remote detonator. A small magnetic clamp helped hold the melta charge in place until such time as it was needed. Just as carefully, she had picked her way back across the ruined hivescape to her own unit, secure in the knowledge her snipers were providing overwatch.

At the Justicar's signal, from where she had deployed the Corporal and her autocannon team would come a howling tumult of sound. The roar of dozens of engines overclocked to maximum capability, the thunderous cacophony of an autocannon spitting its fury. The earth would shake from multiple heavy impacts as several hotwired vehicles would slam headlong into the perimeter walls. Whoops and yells, muffled by the sound of the machinery.

Vayne smiled, and fingered the detonator for the melta. Soon it would be time to unleash hell.