Thread: The Grim Darkness (Alvis & Ghostwolf)

Forget the power of technology, science and commmon humanity. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for there is no peace amongst the stars. Only an enternity of slaughter, and carnage, and laughter of thirsting Gods. This was not how he had envisioned himself returning to duty. The precinct fortress was busy, as it always was, clerks and administrative staff moving quickly to get tasks completed. Sitting at a massive desk and going over reports was not how Lupus Wolfe had imagined his life being spent. He'd been wounded in the line of duty assissting in a purge of Gunmetal City. A full clip from a Judgeslayer handcannon had struck him before he brought the assailant down. But six rounds from such a weapon was usually more than enough to kill a man outright. But Wolfe had faced worse than simple thugs in his career. A long stint of service as a member of an inquisitional cell had exposed him to things that no mortal man should have to face. But in many cases, mortal men were all that was available to face down the darkness. Just thinking about it send twinges of pain through old wounds, long healed. He flexed his right arm, the quiet sound of top quality servos quietly reaching his ear. He'd been reminded on occasion that even those pure of faith in the divine might of the Emperor might face down threats that they could simply not prevail against. He was a massive man, nearly seven feet tall, and thickly built with muscle from long service in the Adeptus Arbites. Even assigned to a desk here, he still wore the armour that he'd carried to bring the light of the Emperor and His justice to the darkest places in the sector. On completion of his third tour with the Inquisitor, he was granted leave to return to duty as an arbitrator. They'd offered him a high seat, the title of Judge, but he'd declined. He was not a politcal creature, he was a man of the streets. Shield to shield with his brethren was where he properly belonged. Time with the Inquisitor had proven that sometimes he must be more subtle, and he had learned well enough to be given cross training amongst the other fields of service within the Arbites. He was a force to be reckoned with in any arena. He looked up from his desk as marshal Fahlcrum approached him. Marshal. What can I do for you today? He asked, bowing his head respectfully. The Marshal was a much smaller man, but had earned his place near the top of the command chain of this Precinct. Wolfe. I have an assignment from you, should you wish to be away from the desk. Fahlcrum stated calmly. Emperor be praised. What have you for me? Riot control? Sweep of the underhive? A murder. In the Imperial Governor's palace. Lupus felt his heart sink. Marshal, I am...perhaps not best suited to this task. Yes you are. You've cross trained into the Chasteners, teh Detectives, and the Verispex. You served with the Inquisition, and your name carries enormous weight. Frankly Wolfe, we both know you could take command of this Precinct at any moment, and no one would stop you. Or object. Such is not for me. But if this is your order Marshal, then I shall see it done. It is. Bring the guilty to justice. The Emperor protects. The Emperor protects. Wolfe echoed the words, and stood, lifting his helm from the desk, and snapping it into place, obscuring most of his face behind the visored helm. He set out to secure trasport. The city was a massive one, Hive Primaris on the planet of Zweihans World. Nearly ten billion sould in this city spire that stretched to the skies. Within that spire were colossal vaulted ceilings, containing the many towered buildings of the cictzens. Not wanting to delay, Wolfe had commandeered aerial tansport, the Aquila shuttle heading towards the palace of the Imperial Governor. The sturcture would have housed thousands of citizens, had the structure been occupied by any besides one of the most powerful men on the planet. As it was, barely a quarter of that lived and worked within. The shuttle landed, adn Wolfe moved down the ramp, his pilot simply bringing the shuttle to a standby mode, and staying put. Wolfe moved within. Murder. And not a clean one. The body was a man wearing the livery of a Castellan, making this man teh right hand of the Governor. Wolfe looked at the scene, already knowing what had caused the wounds from long years on the battlefields. There was a bloody crater in the chest of the man, and one arm was gruesomely severed at the shoulder. Bolter wounds. That meant money. Training. Nothing casual. Well, at least it was better than paperwork. He turned to the aide that had been follwing him since he entered the building. I need the last people to speak to this man. I need surveilance footage, his itinerary, everything. And I need it now . Get to it. He looked around the room. Now it was time to wait until someone else appeared, either brought by the aide, or to happen across him. Either would be enough to level an interrogation.