:: Visivious is seething in his thoughts as the car races to Port Gyre. His eyes are hot, rimmed in red, an unconscious Holthane lies next to him. There is a shuttle that must be intercepted. ::
No, wait, How did this all start?
“Skinner”, The Meeting with Holthane, the sector shattering knowledge of what was to come…
After my well crafted tale, false interrogations, acting worth the accolades of the adoring masses, and cementing the trust of “Skinner”, a buy was set between Holthane and myself. The location of said buy was colloquially known as Three Stakes’ Rest, more and extension of the lower hive than an overused and subsequently abandoned manufactorum of the middle hive. It was defendable and with high ground achieved by his men through the rusting catwalks that still, albeit barely, remained suspended above us throughout the complex.
Yet once again… the guardsman starts to pick a fight? What in all the Emperor’s glorious light was that meant to do? Smoothly insert us into the situation? And what was Conrad thinking?! I have the artifact in sight and very nearly in my possession when Conrad attempts to clumsily stab Holthane with a narcojet filled with Tranq… All goes to hell. The Emperor truly hates me.
I am stunned. I cannot move, I cannot react, I can only watch transfixed in horror as it happens. Conrad produces a syringe; he almost presents it to Holthane and then proceeds to slam it into his neck. Actually succeeding! I do not know who is more shocked, myself, or Holthane. Then Conrad somehow has 2 Frags in his hands that he throws to the catwalks and explode, raining rust and falling henchmen everywhere. I do not know what to do. I run. I do not help anyone, I do not grab the artifact, I just run, it is primal, it is survival. I hear shots ring out, but overwhelming all else I here the report of the largest gun I have ever heard and the sickening scream of Conrad. When gunfire has subsided, I emerge to find he was shot with a bolt pistol by Holthane. His leg is utterly destroyed, and I believe that he very nearly died. Holthane survives rendered inert by the Tranq, all others are dead, the artifact destroyed but still radiating the sickly sweet signature of the Warp. It is collected, we must continue on.
So much is purloined from his head, dealings, suppliers, contacts, records, emergency stash, layouts, buyers, but hitting me like a wave of soul chilling cold, A Demonhost, this is the delivery he was anxious to be present for, alacrity is paramount.
En route I find that Holthane’s oath cog grants access to Port Gyre’s loading tunnels. It is stamped with the seal of the Port Gyre Auctoriate Porteus, and he has a contact within Port Gyre, a conspirator in the Officio Auctoriate Porteus, Prefect Gaius Anteshern, who he has been paying to doctor the flight records of one particular shuttle, over and over again. An Arus lighter, the 341 Beta-Sky. It contains what we fear, and it is about to land.