7: Fully Operational

I heard Braxton's screams of agony. There had been an initial thought that perhaps he had been a plant, sent to spy on us and bring back the real story of how our adventure on Luggnum had proceeded, but it turns out that that was just paranoia. A paranoia that had been carefully nurtured over the last few years and a paranoia that had kept me alive more than once. But it's also a paranoia that is not conducive to a good night's sleep. And, in this case, plain wrong.
 
But it seems that our Inquisitor's quest for truth goes beyond a simple debrief. I'm surprised it wasn't me strapped into whatever contraption they have. After all, my own lie of omission about where I had heard of the Genestealer threat was almost the first thing that Braxton contradicted. I almost wish it had been me. I have too much survivor's guilt already. I don't need more!
 
And so, for our troubles, for our ingenuity, and for the Emperor, may he live forever, blessing us with dumb luck, we are rewarded with a new assignment. In this one, we are well-equipped. A new hardened bodyglove that, despite its rigidity, fits better than anything I have worn since I left Io. A new pistol that would be the envy of any hiver I have ever met. And I was given the choice of rifle. I remembered meeting up with some of the 45th on Eftis, and one of their officers sported an Armageddon. Ugly-looking thing with good stopping power. A little loud for recon, but it turns out that a custom silencer does the job, turning it's familiar rattle-blast into a door-knock. Not bad. Also a few extra toys to play with for when the situation requires. And a brand-new chameleoline cloak that would have made anyone in the 57th jealous.
 
Our mission: raid a noble's compound on Scintilla and steal his stuff.
 
I really struggled to maintain a straight face when hearing that. The Emperor can have such a sense of humour. This was almost the exact same heist that landed me here in the first place! But this time, I would be backed with a team of professionals and solid equipment and not just Bryce and his janky hardware. And by professionals, I mean that we would be attached to an assault squad as some kind of special forces infiltration unit. A fellow named Thrungg had apparently been collecting the wrong type of stuff. I can only guess at what Rathbone is looking for here, but she has made her direction clear to us. Destruction of these objects is a last resort. Containment should be attempted.
 
It was a a long trip back to Scintilla. I think my 23rd birthday happened during this time, but I had lost track of the days, and there was no cake anyway. Plenty of time to be had to practice up some of the old skills, though.
 
And then we were jumping out of a perfectly functioning Valkyrie, into the recently breached roof of the noble's chapel. Grav-shutes deployed and thank the Emperor, they worked.
 
A small number of troops were in the chapel. And a gun servitor. There is always a servitor. While I landed in cover behind one of the pews, the servitor's first shot blew Yarn across the room. We retaliated, with Veck's new pet flying skull ingeniously finding the servitor's kill switch and shutting it down. The first shot from my rifle blew off half of one of the noble's guard's mouth, which was just messy enough to make them thrown down their weapons in fear. Hired help, clearly. This rifle had received the Emperor's blessing this day.
 
I kept my weapon trained on the guards and ordered them to lie face down while Veck attended Yarn. His diagnostics had indicated that his armour had absorbed most of the shock, and that he was just winded and was suffering from a couple of cracked ribs. I was sure I had seen the bullets rip straight through him. Clearly, the Emperor had also blessed Yarn. All signs that our path forward, though it would be full of pain and terrible choices, was also one of righteousness and justice. We would prevail!
 
The guards would not, however. Yarn took his vengeance before I had a chance to question him by straight up shanking him. The remaining guard tried to make a run for it, but was shot in the back by Braxton before I could even raise my weapon. It was just as well. I searched the bodies and discovered a set of keys, and some spare ammo. I know it was just a job to them, and disrespectful to their line of work, but at the same time we shouldn't feel the need to cripple our operation for a little sentimentality.
 
I took a look outside through one of the stained glass windows. The rest of the troops had touched down in the courtyard and had engaged the remainder of the noble guard. With that massive distraction, we would be able to search the interior without much interference. It was a good plan.
 
The corridor from the chapel was on fire and smoke poured out from the doorway. That's no problem for someone with a rebreather like myself, but it did limit visibility. We moved along cautiously. It turned out that the key I had looted earlier unlocked the door at the end. We set up position and threw the door open.
 
Thrungg, waiting for us. Waiting for Braxton. It's seems that Braxton is even better known than I had thought. And so, Braxton insulted Thrungg's parties. That had to hurt. But not as much as whatever Thrungg had done to himself. His left arm had been replaced by something else. A grey mass of writing flesh, clawed, spiked. Unnatural. I could see it moving as Thrungg spoke. His facial expression telling agony or rapture or both from one moment to the next. But my attention was drawn away and back from this as he released his two hounds, both almost demonic in size. Foaming at the teeth, they attacked us. Well, mostly they attacked Veck, quickly bowling him over and biting madly at the air in front of his face as he did his best to fend them off.
 
There was a flurry of gunfire, flashes of knives and other hand-to-hand weapons. Before we knew it, the hounds had been dispatched and Thrungg had been forcefully separated from both his new appendage and his life. No casualties on our side this time. The Emperor had blessed us with another victory.
 
We surveyed the carnage. The detached demonic limb lay there, its hand clenched but for one finger. As if beckoning.