The hum of the servo harness accompanied the clack of the walking cane as the Man in the High Spire made his way through the crowds of the East Market, the prime location in the Drake Sector to source the kind of Items that ownership of was aggressively discouraged by the local enforcer precinct. It was to be expected he supposed, but why did the meeting have to be in the throne cursed East End. It may have been the chem synths, the corpse starch processing plant or the promethium effluvia, probably a combination of them all, but something always smelt wrong here, not nauseating, nor acrid, or foul, just ‘wrong’. Despite his slow progress and the bulk of his harness, the crowds seem to part unknowingly before him, the psychoteric whispers that surrounded the venerable delaque subtly making those around him uncomfortable and wont to look in any direction but his.
His vox link chimed inconspicuously. Retrieving it from the depths of his robes he glanced over the near indecipherable glyphs that appeared on it’s screen; ‘Hostiles, North, four’ and nodded. Deckard had spotted the Escher approaching from the other side of market. The power of the phantoms scope gave him an advantage over the other members of the gang when scouring the crowds for potential hazards. His informant had been correct then, the out hive smugglers were trying to play the rival gangs off against each other. For that they would pay, in time. Once they had been wrung dry of any usefulness they might offer of course. His voidborn cold trade contacts had tipped him off to the existence of the group of out hive smugglers, and after a number of discreet enquiries had been made, and a number of credits had passed hands, the group had reached out to see how an alliance with the Deelque of the Drake sector might profit them.
Another set of glyphs flashed over the screen; ‘position, query, action’ It was Deus Irae, the gangs Nacht Ghul, the assassin had already taken up forward position in the market and his impatience was showing. Easily the tallest member of the Gang’ Deus’ expertise in hand to hand combat was unparalleled, his barely restrained rage had been harnessed to make him a near invincible opponent, the melted mass of scar tissue that made up the left side of his face the living testament to his only failure. He had overextended his reach in the gangs last confrontation with the emperor be dammed Orlocks and took a melta blast to the face for his impatience.
‘Infiltrate, Strike, Converge’ The signal was sent that would set Deus of to silently stalk his pray, the remainder of the Adjustment Administratum at the market would work on persuading the locals that working with the smugglers, and therefore with the Delaque, would be in their best interest.
When the action started it was over almost before the Escehr knew what was going on. They were good, he had to give them that, and well prepared too. The lost daughters had advanced behind Flashoods, whispering who knows what honeyd words to the civilians as they passed. Their Matriarch, Michelle Emerson had taken a high vantage point to cover her sisters placing too much confidence in a Camoline cloak to keep her safe from the enemy approaching across the market. With a leap from concealing shadows and a flash of claws Deus Irae claimed another. Davina, the ranking Daughter left on the scene assessed the situation quickly and fearing they might be surrounded ordered the daughters out of there, stooping to scoop up the unconscious and bleeding form of Maxine as she went past. The Lost daughters would be back, in force, on those Sneaky bald bastards would pay.
