Chapter 1: Blood on the streets (IC)

With Adélaïde
"They do keep us in comfort here don't they? All of a fear that we might wake feeling healthy, wealthy and wise."

She looked up at Adélaïde still smirking before giving the free space a firm pat with her hand.
"Come sit and tell me about yourself traveller. I'm curious why you've been granny poking this time of the evening."

With Radomil
"'ere's been some fancy hands playing with that, no doubt. 'Ere I've a couple to throw as a sweet kiss."
The sailor handed over 4 charge packs, before taking possession of the gelt. Thrusting both hands into his pockets, he grinned at Radomil before turning to walk away.
"'unt's luck Boots. Wordo from da wise. Keep dat outa sight on board."
Starting up his whistle again, he strode back towards the main corridor.

Adélaïde sat a few feet away from the newcomer, her back not toward any exits; it was muscle memory.

She nodded her thanks. "Pilgrims always seem to have charms - trinkets - things they put they faith into. Was lookin' for somethin' like that. Name's Adélaïde. You?"

Following his nose, Gabriel walks casually over to the kitchen entrance. Smiling cheerily at one of the sailors he raises a hand in greeting.

"Hoi friend. Where could a fella find a decent cup of re-caf in this place?"

With Adélaïde
"As the sailors say, Hunts luck Adélaïde. I'm Mokosh, Moko if you are in a hurry. A charm you say? That's what got Witherwick muttering death curses? I was presuming you'd at least taken ole Marl out for a turn. Not that extended alone time with that limp rag wouldn't be punishment enough."

Reaching beneath her cloak into a small hip bag she rummaged for a second before her hand emerged clutched around something. Rotating slightly as it hung from a slim silver chain, the object was made up of hand woven reeds, coloured blue, green and yellow. Each strand wrapped around the other to make up the whole, with no apparent adhesive needed. Six straight arms stood out at sixty degree angles, and  it was about as large as a closed fist.
Since getting aboard the Canterbury's Flail Adélaïde had seen the same symbol in a variety of different forms, be they broaches, medallions or simply clutched in the hands of Pilgrims. Few though had been finished as elegantly as this one.

"Hallo, here it is. Well if its a charm you are looking for, I might be able to help you. Behold, St Barthomelu's Cross! The old and the pious say that it helps what was barren become fertilized, as well as aiding those looking for direction. I can't claim it has been a stirring success for me in either case."

There was an amused smile on Mokosh's face as she delivered this last.

With Gabriel
As he poked his head around the wall, Gabriel found a wide but low space, with the ceiling only a matter of inches above his head. The middle of the room was taken up with a large table around which sat several soldiers supping their brew. The back wall was made up of metal shelves upon which were stacked torso sized sealed canisters. These Gabriel might guess, held the pre-dried ingredients for the gruel.
A mammoth sink and drying area stood against another wall. Just next to this was a tall table, atop which stood an industrial sized re-caff jug.

A sailor was just pouring himself a mug when Gabriel made his entrance.
"Well if you want a decent cup you've....."
"Emperor's bleeding balls Droug, clap your yap."
"What? I was only sayin"
"You're always only sayin. First thing in the morning and last thing at night you're just sayin. In my blinkin dreams, you're there just sayin"
"Like I've heard better jokes outa you."

This conversation had a well worn quality, as if it had been long repeated. A third sailor looked up from the curled brown parchment he was examining and nodded at the jug.
"'elp yoursel. As 'e says, it tastes like grox shit but it should nae kill ya."
There was a snort from one of his companions who was shuffling a deck of the Emperor's tarot.

There was suspicious confusion on the woman's hard, attractive features. Mokosh had completely lost her with her initial jumble of witty banter, but the charm had caught her attention. It didn't come without questions though. She took it in her hands, twisting it around, and giving it a few good looks over.

"I 'ppreciate it, Moko. I do, but why you givin' me this just like that? What's the catch?"

With Adélaïde
Moko noticed the look on the older woman's face and her smile grew broader. Flipping her legs up so she could sit crossed legged on the bench she looked up at Adélaïde.
"A catch? I suppose most things do come with them in the end. 'Pending on your viewpoint of course. But with this? I was given it, liked it for a while, don't really care now."

She brought her two hands together, fingers interlaced apart from the two forefingers which stayed straight. Bringing these up to touch her chin, she thought for a moment, and then the smile returned.
"How about this? You trade me something you think is equal value to that charm. It can be anything you like. Whatever you think makes a fair deal."

Adélaïde considered the offer.

"S'pose I might've been too harsh in my reply. Blame it on the 'wise' pilgrims back there," she said with a jerk of the thumb over her shoulder.

"How 'bout this: I give you my friendship. Way I figure, it's the least I could do and give seeing as how I interpreted your intentions. Figure we both goin' to a new, unfamiliar place - might need someone to stay in touch with, someone to share a drink with, someone to break bread with. Maybe even someone to get into some trouble with?"

The last line ended with the slightest hint of a smile. Mokosh did have nice eyes, after all.

Gabriel smiles at the invitation, taking a mug from the counter and filling it with the hot re-caf.

"Thanks. I appreciate it. Mind if I sit in for a few?" He notices the sailor shuffling the deck of cards.

He takes a sip of the steaming beverage and extends a hand to the sailor studying the parchment.

"Gabriel."

With Adélaïde
Moko's eyes widened as she listened to Adélaïde.
"Now, that is a response I was not expecting. You surprise me Adélaïde, and in the most pleasant way. I am happy to accept your friendship in return for this charm, though to me, you are overvaluing it somewhat."

She smiled again, before leaning backwards and stretching her back.
"In the spirit of friendship though I must rectify a false impression. I am a native myself to this planet to which we are returning. A native who may not be welcomed back with open arms by some."

She gave a half shrug at this, before returning her feet to the floor.
"But that's not worth worrying about yet. I'm going to look forward to share a drink or break bread with you planetside. And most especially get into a bit of trouble. I'm guessing you may surprise me yet again."

Her eyes gleamed as she spoke these last, before she moved to the edge of the bench.
"I'm not exactly sure where I'll be making my digs immediately but if you leave a message for me at 'The Plugged Socket', it will get to me quick. Its a bit seedy and occasionally the U-Paets turn up to knock a few heads, but the staff there are fairly reliable. I'll await your message."

Climbing to her feet, she nodded at Adélaïde before winding her way through the increasingly empty benches. The mess hall was emptying out, with only a handfull of whispering Pilgrims left.

With Gabriel
The sailor studying the parchment looked up with surprise at the extended arm toward him. Close as he was now, Gabriel could see that the parchment appeared to be a letter of some kind.
"Ack no need for the 'igh and fancy 'ere. Yam."
He then nodded at the other three, "Droug, Inger and Renry"
Inger, the sailor who had been shuffling the cards looked up with interest.
"Clear up time in a bit. Only time for an 'and. Cough up"

The other sailors duly dropped their items into the centre of the table. A packet of Lho sticks, a bottle of Amasec and three doses of Slaught. They then turned to look up at Gabriel.

{If you want to take part in the card game, we'll play it pretty simply. Either roll Logic +10, or Deceive +10. I'll roll opposed to it and whoever gets the most successes or least failures will win the kitty. If you want to walk away, you can also do so.}

Gabriel nods in greeting at the rest of the sailors before removing his tie and unbuttoning the collar of his shirt; eagerly sliding a chair up to the table and taking a seat.

In response to their expectant gazes he grins. "Okay, okay. So let's see what we got here."

Rifling through his pockets he produces a crumpled packet of good quality Lho sticks and a worn lighter of Imperial issue, an aquila embossed in faded gold on one side.
He tosses them into the centre of the table and rolls up his sleeves, wide grin on his face as he looks around at the other men.

The woman's words take Cassandra back to her home planet, and to the events that set her on this path. Her choice to embrace the Sisterhood despite the distance it placed between herself and her mother. Her choice to defy the Palatine and attack the Heretek encampment though she knew it surely meant capital punishment.

Cassandra reaches over, cups the woman's hands in hers, and peers into her eyes.

"Yes, let us pray together. For who better to appeal to for strength than the God-Emperor, who sits upon his mighty Golden Throne and shepherds the entire human race through His works and the works of His most holy Saints. Through Them, we see how we can be stronger, more faithful servants to Him, and how we can overcome any obstacle in His name. If we follow the example of St. Yurri, there is no doubt in my mind that we..." She pauses, glances down meaningfully at the woman's belly, then back up at her eyes. "...will be blessed in the eyes of the Emperor, in this life and beyond. We will meet any challenge set before us, strong in our faith that the Saint and the Emperor are behind us, and that even should we die, we shall do so in His name and so will be guaranteed a place by His side as trusted servants in the next life. Yes, let us pray."

With that, Cassandra closes her eyes and bows her head, touching it to the other woman's head if she is allowed. Though she is not familiar with St. Yurri, she knows that the Saints of the Emperor are many and varied in their domains and works. She has no hesitations to praying to this Saint, and makes a mental note to research her further at the next opportunity.

With Gabriel
The other sailors had all smiled wolfishly as Gabriel threw his lot into the pot, evidently looking forward to gaining his items. Inger shuffled the deck one last time and then started to swiftly throw cards across the table. He did this with a smug smile on his face, evidently pleased with his impression of a card shark. This impression was manifestly unfounded and after several cards ended up in the faces and hair of those around the table, and he was loudly told to desist, with great and bloody punishment promised if he didn't. Inger finished dealing the cards with exaggerated care and slowness, evidently offended by his companions words, and then sat back with his arms crossed, refusing to take part any further.

The game started in earnest then, the other three sailors beginning aggressively. As each card fell however, their confidence started to change to concern, as it became apparent that they had chosen the wrong opponent. No matter what they tried, Gabriel had an answer to them, turning his own tricks and blocking theirs without trouble. As the final card turned, revealing the kneeling soldier, the other three were forced to fold and watch as Gabriel gathered in his winnings.

Inger of course suddenly found his voice again.
"Ahh oo's rubbish at cards now den? Was dat how your 'post to play cards? 'Oo must teach me 'ow. Such masters 'oo are."
Riled by both his loss and these words Yam immediately went on the attack, leaping over the table at his comrade. Loud swearing and the thump of fists and boots came from the ground where both were wrestling. Droug and Renry paid them little notice and instead looked over at Gabriel with scowls.
"You'd better clear out. Bell's just 'bout to ring and we gotta clean."
They firmly escorted Gabriel back into the mess hall, before turning to separate their companions.

With Cassandra
The woman stares back into Cassandra's eyes, a single desperate plea within them. It was clear that she knew that hope was unrealistic and yet to accept this was to give up completely.
She holds tight to the Sisters hands, and drinks in her words, like a shipwreck victim finally landed.
Lowering her head to touch the others, she begins to pray. There is almost complete silence in the tiny shrine. Candles flicker and drip. The carved statue of St Yurri stares down at the two kneeling women. While the sisters breaths sound rhythmic and relaxed, the other women's are more fluttering and anxious. But as the prayer continues, they slowly start to match in sync.

Eventually the other woman releases her hold of Cassandra's hands, and gently moves her head back. If Cassandra opens her eyes, she can clearly see that the woman looks settled. The nervous tension from earlier was gone, replaced with an exhausted and gut wrenching acceptance. Some realisation or resolution had evidently come to her.
"Thank you sister," she whispered, before slowly getting to her feet and slowly trudging out of the shrine.

When Cassandra goes to move, she notices a charm has been left on her lap. Though the metal is cheap, the symbol of the Imperial aquila is clearly visable. It is strung together on a string with a number of different coloured prayer beads.

Soon after the last bell of the evening began to chime through the vox speakers, indicating that it was time to return to the sleep pods. The lights in the corridors dimmed and though occasional sounds echoed indicating the presence of some night walkers, most of the ship retired.

The following day moved as had all others, prior to the arrival of the note. Bells chimed, marking time for prayers, for meals and for reflection. Each was followed by the rhythmic shuffling of cloaks as the Pilgrims retraced their steps yet again. To some this metronomic repetition was maddening and to others a comfort, a proof of order in a universe of fear and chaos. All patterns eventually break, and early the next morning you are awoken to a four blare cycle of the ships klaxon. The ship was preparing to enter the atmosphere of Sasson Nictor.

Hours later you are stepping down a thick metallic stairway, following a wide crowd of pilgrims into the dock. Your lungs and lips initially burn with each fresh breath, a blessing after the recycled dusty air of the ship. It is also noticeably colder out here, the winds whipping at any exposed body part, causing many of the pilgrims to try and disappear into their cloaks.
From what you can see, the dock is a massive structure, with the helms of huge vessels stretching off into the distance. The ships in your section are easily the smallest, all passenger transports of some kind, completely dwarfed by the cargo freighters. Each of the passenger vessels currently moored have separate stairs, all leading beneath a canopy into a squat square building many miles across.
If you choose to stare at all the vessels in sight, you notice that they were all commercial, and none military. If instead, you look at the exposed sky before walking beneath the dock canopy, you can see that it is blanketed with dark clouds.

The stairs finally flatten and divert into a corridor leading you deeper into the main structure of the port. After roughly twenty minutes of slow walking, it eventually opens out and you find yourself in a medium sized room. At the far end are a series of booths.
As you stand you notice that this large space is being used by the pilgrims to rejoin their groups, as many were separated following the squashed trudge out of the ship. Once whole again, they form lines at each of the six booths. Each of these contains a person in a dark green military uniform. Once a pilgrim reaches the front it looks like they are asked a number of questions before being waved through the wooden half doors next to them. Each booth is constructed of metal and the people in the uniforms are sitting behind a raised desk. Over their shoulders it is possible to see a row of black armoured figures wearing helmets, and each holding their weapons in readiness before them.

Adélaïde grinned to herself as Mokosh got up and left. She turned the charm over in her hand, briefly wondering if she held something of significant Imperial-religious value, or of something far more sinister. Sarge had said that there was suspected cult activity among the Saint's following on the planet. Either way, it didn't bother her one bit.

Been through a site worse than exposure to some bad juju trinket.

She placed it around her neck, letting it fall on top of her clothing. It helped complete the look of pilgrim.

+++

The following day, after her first meal and before the alarm klaxons announce the entrance into planetary atmo, she sought out the man who had called himself "Gabriel." He had been kind to Adélaïde. It didn't mean much, but it was a start. After him, she sought out "Cassandra." The two of them had seemed, to her at least, as the two with their heads most firmly settled upon their shoulders. They could play mommy and daddy to the group. Accountability was a necessity after all.

When she finds them, she proposes her plan.

"Thinkin' goin' through customs together is foolish - at least in a group big as ours. Shouldn't give anyone reason to suspect we in cahoots. Now planetside there are two places we can meet up without drawing suspicion: the internal rail station an' the mag-rail station. Thinkin' internal station should be our meeting point A, with the mag-rail station as fallback."

She let them stew it over for a moment before continuing.

"Got some hardware with me too - nothin' too crazy, but enough to raise an eyebrow. Gonna try an' pass myself off as a game-huntin' pilgrim. See the sites, say a prayer, kill a beast. Shouldn't be too hard a sell judgin' by the personalities I already met on this ship. But I sugges' we all have a good cover story goin' in, just in case."

+++

[Will offer what Adélaïde does when they make planetfall after she can confer with AT LEAST Gabirel and Cassandra - though all members would be preferable]

Radomil finds the group sitting together and joins them, cup of recaf in hand. "Whaddya hear, chief? How're we gonna get to this Philospher bastard? Seems to me marchin' in with colors flying's an easy way to get cooked. I've got discharge papers with me, easy enough to pretend I'm mustered out and looking for merc work. That'll excuse the artillery. Radomil sets his new pistol down on the table to emphasize his last point

Gabriel, well-pleased with his winnings from the previous night, sits with Adelaide and Radomil, smiling in greeting as the guardsman arrives.

Listening carefully to Adelaide's proposal he nods agreement, his earlier joviality replaced with a more serious candour.

"I think individual cover's will be safest until we know more and meet with this Philosopher. It's probably safe to assume that as soon as we set foot on that planet, someone will be taking note.
Friend or foe, it doesn't matter. Until we know what we're up against I suggest we stay dark. No need to draw any undue attention to ourselves. Not yet, anyway."

With this, he takes a sip from his recaf; smile returning as he digs around in his pockets, pulling out the packet of lho-sticks he won last night and casually turning them in his hand, inspecting the wrapper.

"Radomil. Do you think you could carry any extra weaponry or armour with you? I'm going to retain a side-arm but don't want to be seen with any Arbitrator issue gear. May as well sound a vox announcing our arrival."

He returns the lho-sticks to his pocket.

"I wonder where the others are?"

Octavius was wandering the ship's public spaces randomly, to pass the time until landfall, when he spotted some of the other acolytes.
While he was nor actively looking for them, he was not surprised to find them among the masses of pilgrims. There path have crossed a few times by chance since the first meeting.

"Radomil. Do you think you could carry any extra weaponry or amour with you? ... "

He greeted them with a sharp nod, listening to catch up on the topic.

I think i can get my stuff through the customs without a problem. Nobody will argue about what i carry below my robes. We should talk logistics nevertheless...

He looked around, as if to make sure nobody else was listening to their conversation.

Calculating our chances of success showed: crossing the customs each by our own favors our desired outcome the most.
We should therefore split up and assemble as a group behind immigration but before we face the  Philosopher.

Cassandra leans forward and nods.

"I agree, separately is the best course of action. My weapons are going to be a bit more difficult to pass off, I think. Perhaps I could wrap them up and present myself as someone here to petition entrance to the Argent Shroud..."

She trails off, considering. Security and deception are not her strengths. Grimacing, she is forced to admit to herself that she needs the advice of someone that does know these things. She turns to Gabriel:

"What do you think, suit? What would be the best way to get a chainsword and hand flamer past a customs checkpoint?"

"Sarge say Philosopher gonna contact us. Wouldn't worry about findin' him." She responded to Radomil.

"I could take a flamer - play it off as burnin' tough terrain. Can't say they'll buy it, and if it comes to choosin' between my weapons and yours, I'll let them confiscate the flamer first. But it could work." Adelaide's idea had about as good a chance as any of working. She shrugged.

In response to Gabriel, Radomil shrugs and says "Sure thing, Slick. Hell I'll ruck all the gear you lot think'll raise some eyebrows. I'll be walking around with more firepower than a greenskin on me, but better if I turn a few heads than the rest of you."

Radomil downs the rest of his drink and sighs. He barely slept again last night, and the mess hall's recaf was far too watered down. He lights a lho stick as he scans the table for another cup of recaf, spotting Gabriel's. "You gonna finish that, Slick?"

Gabriel smiles broadly at Radomil, pushing the steaming cup of recaf across the table to him.

"Please. Looks like you need it more than I do Sarge." he adds with a wink.

Turning to Cassandra, he considers her question.

"Those kind of armaments are likely to turn heads. At best I'd hope for them to be confiscated. Depends how much sway the planetary Sororitas has; and how convincing your cover story is..."

"It also depends on how serious the local heat is, and if they're willing to turn a blind eye to petitioners. Or anyone else for that matter."

Pausing for a moment, he continues.

"I had another idea. I could feed them a line about bringing you in to the local Precinct House for questioning, something about piracy, or trying to pass yourself off as a ranking member of the Ecclesiarchy. Flash some ID, bit of fancy patter. Depends how amenable you are to handcuffs, Sister?" At this, Gabriel barely manages to suppress a grin.

Cassandra listens to Adelaide's and Gabriel's suggestions intently. Gabriel's suggestive comment flies right past Cassandra, and she turns to look at him.

"Cuffs won't bother me, long as I have the key. If you think that this is the best way to get past the checkpoint, I'll trust your judgement. But..."

She leans closer, locking eyes with Gabriel over the table.

"Those weapons, particularly the chainsword, are holy instruments of the Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind, praise be unto Him. Should they be damaged, lost, or, Emperor forbid, destroyed, I will hold you personally and spiritually responsible. Do you understand me?"

She maintains eye contact with Gabriel until he responds. If he says anything other than an affirmative, she cuts him off with an abrupt hand gesture and repeats: "Do. You. Understand. Me?"

Gabriel locks eyes with Cassandra, his irreverent tone seemingly banished in an instant and replaced with something harder, colder.

"I understand."

He turns away, appearing somewhat irritated by her intense demeanor and the sudden and unexpected volatility of the exchange.

"It's up to you, Sister. I can't guarantee the security of your sacred armaments. Equipment we can get by without. Unless we work together and keep a low profile, we are liable to leave this planet in body-bags, or not at all. And no-one will give a gelded grox what is left behind."

Cassandra continues staring at Gabriel for a few more seconds and then nods, satisfied. She leans back in her chair.

"Good enough. I will pose as your prisoner. Now, if there is nothing else that I am needed for, I will go prepare my gear for transportation."

She stands, and if no one stops her, leaves to prepare.

With some weapons transferred and plans made the previous night, each of the acolytes join their separate queues for the booths. Radomil, with the Gabriel’s chest plate and shotgun in a duffel, along with the rest of his weapons lines up at the first queue. Octavius lines up in the second. After some consideration Adelaide moves to the fourth. Gabriel, leading Cassandra forward by their cuffs, moves into the sixth and shortest queue.

As you join each of your respective queues, you begin that millennia old waiting dance. Standing in line, occasionally shifting some limb or other, due to either boredom, frustration or to relieve blood flow. The two patrolling the lines, in their green uniforms, are the most visible of all the people in the room, both because of the movement and the attention those around you are giving them. Some choose to stare them in the eye, and some shift their gaze away, but there is a reaction from almost everyone. The faces of the man and woman patrolling are both similar, though it is clear that neither is related. Each of their faces is plain and unremarkable beyond one feature. Both share the same eyes, hungry hunters eyes, which work their way up and down over those queued. Occasionally they stop at one of these, and indicate them to join the shorter sixth queue. As Adelaide watches then it is not immediately apparent why they choose who they do, the figures in the sixth queue forming a seemingly average cross section of their fellow passengers. Both pause momentarily as Gabriel leads Cassandra to the sixth queue, their eyes moving over both before they return to the other passengers.

The woman in the green uniform, a dark skinned female in her late twenties, passes Adelaide in her queue, eyes moving up and down her body before continuing on to the pilgrim behind, who is standing with his head bowed. The olive skinned uniformed man, similarly moves past Octavius without reaction before stopping beside Radomil in the first queue. His eyes track over the ex-guardsman a second time before he indicates the shortest queue with his arm.


“Kindly join the sixth queue.”

The wait in their queues seems unending for both Adelaide and Octavius but eventually they find themselves at one of the booths. Up close you can see that the officer behind the desk is writing the details of the previous pilgrim into a thick ledger. A skull is implanted in the top right corner of the desk facing you. Between its open jaws is a mechanical device of some kind. As you step forward, it emits an audible click.

The officers behind the desks turns to look at Adelaide and Octavius. Both are middle aged, with thick necks and powerfully developed upper bodies. Both speak in similarly clipped and emotionless tones as they ask.
"Name."
"Reason for arrival."
"Occupation."

The sixth booth is a little different from its compatriots as there is a long table next to it, which is lined with trays. Two figures in black armour and helmets wait at this table. As each of you in the smaller line come to then they are indicated to place all their items into one of the black steel trays. While one of the figures checks each and every item, the other does a quick pat down of the person. If they discover any additional items on this search, it is removed.

(If Radomil, or Gabriel wish to try and hide any items on their person, please attempt a -10 Stealth check- otherwise I’m going to assume all items go into the tray.)

Once all the items have been inspected, the armoured guard holding them first goes up to the booth and details the trays contents before moving through a wooden hatch next to the booth and waiting on the other side with the items. The checked acolytes or acolyte is then indicated to continue forward to the booth.

The officer sitting behind the sixth desk presents an entirely different visual to her five companions. Slim almost to the point of emaciation, her cheekbones so sharp they look like they could cut, and the thick glasses which lean on them, magnify her brown eyes. Lank hair of the same colour is tied in a severe bun. The rest of the booth is identical though, including the ledger at the desk and the skull in the top right corner.

As Gabriel and Cassandra approach, the officer immediately stares at their cuffed hands before looking over the two.

“Could I have your names, the reason you have come to Sassan Nictor and your occupations. I will expect a reasonable explanation why you are both cuffed together.”
Her voice is higher pitched than you might have expected and in other circumstances might be comical. However, her words are also spoken with an absolute confidence and an active interest in both of you. Gabriel gets the impression that he should choose his words carefully, that making a mistake here is unlikely to be missed.

With Radomil, she eyes her newly written list of items before asking him,

“I would like your name, the reason you have come to our planet and your occupation. I am particularly interested in why you have so many weapons.”

Radomil produces his discharge papers and hands them to her. "Private Radomil Brezlov, Astra Militarum Composite Regiment Tetrus, 3rd Battalion ...err Tarn Company 8th platoon I suppose it was. No, sorry, 7th platoon. The 8th got killed near the end, they put me in the 7th instead. Just briefly, you see. Discharged right after. Paid my dues in the service of the Guard till the brass graciously decided I'd done my share and sent me on my way. I've come to this fine world cuz that's where they gave me a ticket to. Thought I might see about finding some mercenary work, since that's all I seem to be good for. The guns are on account of that."

Octavius was wearing his robes over his armour. The hood pulled deep into his face, the mechadendrite moving barely visible in the darkness beneath.
The immigration process was slow, the wait long. He reviewed the mission details again and again, running simulations for the best approach at the custom
booth.

"Name."
"Octavius Thidrek. Binary Identifier <binary blurb>"
"Reason for arrival."
"Pilgrimage to the Forge. Exchange with local Ordo. Business in the name of the Cog and the Omnissiah."
"Occupation."
"Infomagister of the Adeptus Mechanicus"

Octavius responded with the same clipped and emotionless tone as the officer.
The wait in the queue felt long. But waiting for the officer's response felt even longer. Each microsecond stretched to eternity.

Gabriel's body language and attitude immediately changes the minute the Acolytes set foot on the planet's surface. Gone is the earlier frivolity and cheerful ease; replaced with a stony-faced expression and a laconic terseness. Although far from a large man by Imperial standards, there is something indefinable about Gabriel's stance that projects an aura of calm menace; a confidence bolstered by iron-clad certainty in his rightful duty, his authority as an agent of the Imperium.


Stood in the queue, Gabriel's memory had briefly returned to his earliest days as an Enforcer, before his promotion to Investigator.
Lined up shoulder-to-shoulder with the other men and women of his precinct, clad in glistening carapace armour, grim expressions concealed by the Arbitrator-issue helm, shock mauls crackling in the fading electric light and a cyber-mastiff handler waiting patiently to unleash his silent steel canid upon an encroaching mob of angry Imperial citizenry. Sent to break up a worker’s riot in one of the lower hive manufactorum centres; the people had revolted after claims of ill-treatment and decrepit working conditions were ignored, agitators and demagogues had succeeded in adding further fuel to the quickening fire.
The growing sense of anger was soon quelled; roars of discontent became cries of fear and panic as the mass hurled itself against a gleaming black and silver-clad wall. They were met with a kind of calculated, efficient brutality that was taught and practiced day-after-day in Precinct Houses across the galaxy; all new recruits drilled, hammered into a squad of capable and ruthless keepers of the Emperor's peace. Cries of righteous indignation replaced by screams of the fallen and wounded, the metallic echo of the mastiff’s hoarse barks resounding in those nightmare streets, bones splintered by well-placed shock maul blows, smoke, fire…



Closing his eyes, he blinks as if to banish the memories and returns to the present as he and Cassandra are called forward.

With a kind of grim reluctance, he places all belongings on the table, including his own side-arm and Cassandra's stowed weapons.
Facing the female attendant, he stares her straight in the eyes with a well-practiced gaze; one usually reserved for Imperial savants, Administratum bureaucrats and other well-meaning but pedantic lackeys ignorant of Imperial Law. His speech is clipped, terse, as he snaps his ID open in a well-practiced motion that brooks no tolerance nor interference in his duty.

"Kantor. Gabriel. Adeptus Arbites. Detective Grade. One prisoner to bring in for custody and questioning at the Emperor's pleasure. Immediately."

He places extra emphasis on that last word, his gaze becoming even more stony, as if his very being could be rimed with frost, and every second spent in waiting was a luxury that he could ill-afford.

Anybody else in the queue who moves within six inches of himself or Cassandra will receive a similarly icy stare and clipped speech. "Please stand back."

It's almost as if the man who his companions met on the ship has transformed utterly.

As the group begins their descent down the staircase from the ship to the surface of the planet, Cassandra finds herself cuffed to the fancy detective and headed to a situation completely out of her control. She hates that, and finds herself thinking back to the glint of... something that she had seen in Gabriel's eyes in the pre-landing meeting.

God-Emperor, I hope he's better at his job than his first impression, she thinks to herself.

When they reach the surface of the planet, Cassandra feels Gabriel stiffen next to her.

Oh Throne, she groans to herself. The nerves are getting to him already. I knew I should have gone my own way.

Turning, she glances up at his face and her train of thought stops. Gone is the easy-talking, fancy-dressed gambler that she had met on the ship. In his stead is a steel-faced enforcer radiating the same sort of sense of self-assuredness that she had witnessed in senior Guardsmen and the elder Sisters. A surety of purpose so palpable you could not help but feel it.

... Perhaps this plan will work out after all.


As they approach the line, Cassandra begins whispering a prayer to herself and attempts to make herself appear both defiant as well as cowed. With the weapons she is carrying, it would do no good to pretend to be a whimpering mess, but she must also pass herself off as a properly captured criminal. Deceit is not something to which she is accustomed, but she reminds herself that many are the tools of the Holy Inquisition and if she is to do her duty to the Emperor, she must learn them. When Gabriel responds to the questions from the customs officer, she attempts to punctuate his statements with a sullen glare directed towards the woman. Or, at least what she hopes is a sullen glare.

With Gabriel and Cassandra
The woman reached out and took the ID from Gabriel and examined it. Holding it up to the light, she looked for creasing or smudging which would have identified it as a forgery. After running her thumbnail over its edges, she started to copy details from it into the ledger. Her quill work was measured and careful, and it was clear from her movements that she wasn't going to be hurried.

Handing the ID back to Gabriel, she spoke again, her magnified eyes watching both of them with interest. A small smile was gently playing across her face.
"Detective, we were not made aware that any prisoner was being brought in. What is the name of the prisoner? To whom, and which department are you bringing the prisoner to?"

Closer to Gabriel and Cassandra can see the white epaulettes on the womans shoulders which mark her as a Lieutenant. The crest on her breast shows three red V's, their arms intersected and all three in-front of a blue sphere.  Looking closely they can see written around the sphere 'Planetary Commissariat for Internal Affairs'

[If Gabriel wishes to, he can attempt to Intimidate or Deceive the Officer. Intimidate will be at -20 and Deceive at 0. Be aware though if he attempts and fails there will be consequences. He can also attempt to talk his way out of this without making either test.

Timing wise, Gabriel and Cassandra will have reached the head of their line first. Once we get through theirs, I'll move on to everyone else.]

Quote :

The officers behind the desks turns to look at Adelaide.
"Name."
"Reason for arrival."
"Occupation."

Adelaide moved swiftly and calmly through the lines, her shoulders were back projecting a confidence of stature, but her eyes never stayed on anyone too long - she would not be confused as to being cocky. She answered the questions in order after they were posed.

"Adelaide Beaudoin. Pilgrimin' an' leisure. 'Occupa...' Oh, you meanin' what do I do? Freelance tracker an' hunter - hence the leisure."

Maintaining a watchful eye on Cassandra, Gabriel addresses the Lieutenant, his tone formal, polite.

"Thank you Lieutenant. The prisoner's formal name has long since been purged from Imperial records but she has been travelling by several aliases, the most recent being Cassandra van Roche.
I was tasked with pursuing and apprehending her, and this has involved a lengthy period of undercover work. Due to the sensitive and transient nature of this action and the need for discretion, local planetary authorities were not informed. I am to escort the prisoner to the closest Arbites Station for check-in and then she is to be remanded in my own custody until such a time as I can return her to my own Precinct House for questioning and summary judgement.

I trust that you understand."

With Gabriel and Cassandra
The Lieutenant continued to stare at the two for a couple of moments, after Gabriel had finished speaking. Her eyes, as large as an egg when viewed through her glasses moved from one to the other, slowly taking both of them in. The silence had almost become uncomfortable when she turned back to her ledger and started to write beneath the section she had already completed. Three extra lines were added, before she reached over and stamped a red seal next to her words.

Looking back up she continued in the same tone as before.
"Continue through to Planet Fall, Detective. The closest Commissariat station is our Headquarters, located immediately behind the Administratum building. You can access Planet Fall via the Internal Rail Station, directions to which are clearly indicated outside. If you have any trouble with your prisoner, you can indicate distress to a Commissariat Officer and they can assist you.

She then indicated that they should pass through the wooden hatch next to the booth. Once through Gabriel is handed his tray by the armoured person in black, who then moved back through the hatch.

With Radomil
The woman took the discharge papers from Radomil and carefully copied their contents, along with his words into her ledger. She did not use her stamp when she finished. Handing them back to him, she gave a nod.

"Duty noted. Make sure you register at the Department for Freelance Adventurers, located within the main Administratum building in Planet Fall. If your application is accepted they will issue you with a permit licensing you to offer your services."

As with Gabriel and Cassandra, she then indicated that he should continue through the wooden hatch.

With Adelaide and Octavius
The officers noted down the details for both the acolytes into their ledgers, Octavius's taking a little bit longer to correctly note his binary blurb, before both were silently indicated to continue through their wooden hatches.

With everyone
Once everyone had passed through their hatches, and collected their items if needed, they found themselves in an open area. On either side of the large exit door, stood the black armoured figures. Most of the pilgrims hang their heads rather than meet the opaque gaze behind the helmets and passed through this door.
Despite their line being shorter Gabriel and Cassandra emerged into this area about half a minute behind Adelaide and Octavius who came through almost beside each other. Radomil was another half minute behind.

Once through the door, you suddenly find yourself outside, something which seems to catch most of your fellow passengers by surprise, if their bunching up outside the exit is anything to go by. The change in temperature is noticeable, though not as great as when you first exited the ship. There is a moisture in the air, foretelling of a soon to be coming rainfall.

The door you had exited opens out on to a pedestrian walkway, capable of fitting six walking side by side, and boarded on your side by the grey wall of the Port building,and on the other by a palatial highway. More grey buildings stretch on the opposite side. Individual structures are hard to pick out from its indeterminate oblong shape.
After pausing to gather themselves, the rest of the pilgrims and other travellers turn right and move on up the walkway. This continues straight, until it disappears into the shadow beneath a curved bridge. A sign immediately outside the Port building indicates that they are moving in the direction of the Internal Rail station. None walk the opposite direction, which is detailed as the way to the Mag Rail station.

As the crowd of your fellow passengers shifts, you can see the road more clearly. The wide and well maintained highway is empty save for two vehicles. The first of these is a boxy armoured car atop which is mounted a long barrelled automatic weapon. Someone in a blue uniform is behind this, and as the car rumbles by, the weapon makes a slow sweep over all standing on the walkway before continuing in the direction of the Mag Rail station.

The other vehicle is completely stationary. Long black and slim, it is clearly a civilian transport in the way the other was military or paramilitary. Its windows are all tinted, making it impossible to see in. Though still, the low rumbling sound of its engines is easily noticeable, indicating that it is not merely parked. What really catches your attention however are two little white flags on the front bonnet, showing the red capitol I with a skull in the centre. A symbol instantly recognisable across the Imperium as belonging to the Inquisition

Radomil picks up his bag and slings it over the shoulder as he allows the shuffle of the crowd to move him towards the Internal Rail station. The armored vehicle is a familiar sight for him, and he's seen what guns like that can do.

It occurs to him that that soldier might take orders from whatever heretic they were sent kill. What if the enemy already knew we're coming? If that gun opens fire, it could tear the lot of us to pieces in seconds. The crowd cover wouldn't to much good if it got a bead on us. Not unless enough pilgrims died to make a bulwark... but that'd require a fair heap of bodies. No, best to fight rather than run. Under his jacket Radomil put his hand on his laspistol. "When he opens up, I'll draw his fire. Maybe catch him in the head if I'm lucky. Might stand long enough for Cass to get close with that flamer of hers, cook the whole crew inside that metal box. That's how its gotta be, no time to get the long guns out of the bag." He flips the safety off the pistol.

As the car moves past him he lets out a sigh of relief. He chuckles to himself "Not yet I suppose."

Continuing along he notices the civilian transport, openly flying the inquisition colors. Radomil thinks to himself silently, "Seems a tad unsubtle, given the trouble we went through back there. Another trap, more than likely. Lure them us in and gun us down. Could there be a sinper? Maybe the whole vehicle was rigged to explode, or fill with gas. Won't be fall for it. Stick to the plan. Rendezvous at the Internal Rail, then to the Administratum building. Radomil walks on towards the Internal Rail. He'd feel better if he had a lasgun in his hands and he knew who the enemy was. He lights a lho stick to calm himself down.

Octavius made the sign of the cog and stepped through the wooden doors. He noticed Adelaidein the adjacent room but ignored her presence.  He immersed himself in
the flow of immigrants leaving the building.

He followed the crowd towards the Internal Railstation. His mechandrite allowed him a good view on the situation outside. Secretly taking pic recordings of both vehicles.

"Unable to identify armed troops. No visible insignia. Uniform not matching available information about the PDF or Adeptus Arbites.

Flags on the civilian transport indicate openly operating inquisitorial assets. Contradiction of available mission briefing.

CONCLUSION: Unknown paramilitary force operating. Unknown inquisitorial force operating. Flow of immigrants indicate Mag Rail station closed. Briefing information insufficient. More information required to asses situation."

Adelaide stepped through without issue and calmly, but surely made her way to the internal rail station. That was their primary meeting point, and as far as she knew, nothing had gone south. No problems. No issue.

She didn't even look to find any of the others with her eyes. Didn't pay attention to the big cars or the big guns on top of them. Didn't matter none at all - wasn't even threatening to someone like her and what she been through. It was almost comical.

She made her way to the Internal Railstation and waited for a meetup.

Gabriel nods and cooly thanks the officer before collecting the weapons and equipment from the tray and exiting through the wooden doors.

Leading Cassandra out onto the highway, he raises his eyebrows at the sight of the armoured vehicle and the car marked with the Inquisitorial insignia.

Releasing a slow breath he whispers to Cassandra.

"That didn't go too badly Sister. Once we're at the rendezvous point I'll have you out of those 'cuffs."

With that, and keeping the others in sight, he walks calmly towards the rail station, Cassandra cuffed to one wrist, the weapons case containing her chainsword and flame pistol in his other hand.

So far, so good...

Interspersed at various points amongst the crowd of your fellow passengers you move along the walkway. While you walk you start to notice some separation of the group. While the pilgrims continue to move at the same regular slow pace, the small number of other travellers quickly outpace them and strike off ahead. Adelaide catches a brief glimpse of Moko moving confidently forward, before she disappears into the shadow under the bridge. Behind you, the soft rumble of the stationary car's engine suddenly roars to life, and if any of you turn, you see it pull away from the kerb and accelerate down the highway.

As you move into the partial darkness under the bridge, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. The tunnel is fairly nondescript, a rockrete semi-circle, faintly lit with occasional glow orbs, and long enough to traverse in thirty seconds at your present pace. Halfway along you notice that someone has scrawled a slogan in white on the wall. In rough boxy letters, it reads,
'WE ARE THE CHANGE WE SEEK'.

Exiting the tunnel and back into the dull light of the day your find yourselves in an expansive open square. It is dominated by a two story building shaped like the letter L. A large white sign stretches over its multiple entrances, identifying it as 'Port Rail Station'. Four train tracks extend out from it, the first two on ground level, going to your left and right. The other two tracks are raised up a level, one curving beyond the station and the other back towards the port. The wide highway which was beside your walkway you can see turns at the square and continues left, in the same direction as one of the rail lines. The only vehicle presently on it, is the car from before which must have passed you while you were in the tunnel. In a couple of seconds it disappears around a bend.

The square is relatively busy. There are groups of pilgrims still, but also a variety of others. Administratum clerks, clearly recognisable in their off white robes, factory workers in their stained and rough boiler suits, a number of people in brightly coloured robes of higher quality and some with dark patterned cloaks with hoods pulled over their faces. Against one wall of the station there are a number of food stalls, behind which vendors are busy calling out their wares, in a mixture of different styles, from enthusiastic eye grabber to repetitive announcer. More noticeable but even harder to understand are the high pitched calls and shrieks of the children moving quickly through the crowd. While the adults mostly pay little attention to them, they do make way for the two pairs of two in blue uniforms, crossing the square in different directions. It is the same uniform you saw atop the armoured car and both are armed with shotguns and shock mauls.

In the centre of the square is a tall pole to which you can see a map is attached to either side.

[Everyone roll a +0 Awareness check and post in the OOC]

Cassandra's body goes tense as the gun passes over them, wrists beginning to strain at the cuff when she remembers that she doesn't even have her weapons on her. If that gun opens up, then there would be nothing she could do besides die for the Emperor. The truck moves past and she lets out a sigh. Again, she bitterly regrets the plan that led to her disarmed and in cuffs. Though she has to admit to herself that Gabriel did admirably in getting them through the checkpoint. Still, she cannot wait to be free of these restraints.

+++

In the square, she searches the crowd for threats. She clocks the car moving past and makes a mental note to discuss it with their contact, whenever they would meet up with him. For the rest of the crowd, she sees mostly the common folk. The back upon which the Imperium rests and the stalwart hands and bodies that supply the Emperor's armies. Her mother's people. She wishes for a brief moment that she could talk to them, assuage their worries and fear, and inspire in them the same great fire that burns within her. But no, that was not her path.

She sees the figures in the uniforms that she assumes to be arbitrators of some kind and immediately casts her eyes downward. It would not do well to attract attention to herself and Gabriel before he has a chance to uncuff her. The last thing they need is to have an armed escort directly to a precinct house. Quietly, she whispers a prayer that the arbitrators will pass by on their own business.

Adélaïde makes her way forward at a comfortable pace. She watched as Moko slipped away and made a mental note to meet up with her when she could, but that time was not now. The hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle, a familiar feeling.

Someone was watching her. She stopped to take a look around - like a tourist might. Slowly she turned, eyes gently caressing the multitudes that walked here and there. Among them was a man in a cloak with a fine suit underneath. Fitting in, but only barely. His head was bald and he was built well, someone who could handle himself.

His eyes were locked onto hers. So, she held his gaze. There was a slight nod of his head and he began to move to a map post in the center of the square. She waiting a moment, continued looking the part of the fascinated tourist, before gently moving over to the same spot.

If she catches the eyes of any of her comrades, she makes sure they catch her eyes before gesturing with them to the maps.

When she arrived, she didn't look at the man, keeping a little distance and her eyes on the maps. She waited for him to begin.

When Adélaïde approached the man was leaning forward, examining the map carefully. Stepping back he straightened and seeming briefly in thought, before he half turned towards the new arrival. A visitor who couldn't find what he was looking for, and knew there was probably a simple solution. From a distance it would look natural. Much closer to, however Adélaïde could recognise why this was a little different. There was no embarrassed smile, no attempt to soften the image so as to make the other more likely to help. Instead his face looked tight and strained, and despite his closed expression, she could read tension in his hazel eyes. They remained still on her though, throughout his question and his words were clear and fully enunciated with a resonant burr. It was an accent that was hard to define, like his general appearance. It wasn't clear if he had been born to privilege or not, but only that he was comfortable now inhabiting it.

"Greetings stranger, would you be able to help me? I am looking where I might find a particular bird. Do you know who I should ask for help with this?"

At this moment, there was no one particularly close to the map, except the two of you.

Ocatvius recognized a new face in the crowed. And he was sure that the person was not present during the debarking process.  He assessed that the newcomer should pose no threat to their operation.
"Maybe he just embarked late, or i missed him in the crowed", mused Octavius. But the he realized that he stranger looked eyes with Adelaide.
When they started to move towards the center of the square, Ocatvius decided to follow them covertly. Close enough so that he could intervene if needed, but far enough to not raise suspicion. It was possible that the stranger hat only singled out Adelaide and was not aware of her associates. When they arrived at the map, he was to far from them to hear if any words were exchanged.

Adélaïde kept her heterochromatic eyes on the map until he spoke. When he did, she turned her face toward him to listen. He saw immaculate skin the color of dark cocoa, topped with thick dreads of hair pulled back and tied that hung down her back, and two eyes - one green and one blue - drill into his own.

"I hear'tha Admin Headquarters had birds - red ones. But they kept in odd cages made'uh two circles. Dunno if that's what you lookin' fo' though."

With that, she waited.

This close, shotgun'll cut 'im in two an' risk little fo' anyone behind.

The tense stillness of the man's face did not ease as Adélaïde spoke and the eyes which remained on her showed not a flicker.
"That's exactly what I'm looking for. Something like this."
Both his arms were by his sides and as he finished his left hand quickly turned, before returning to its previous position. That brief second though was enough for her to see what was gripped in his palm. An intricately patterned seal which carried the same image Adélaïde had just described. The Inquisitorial seal of Yannick.

The man turned from Adélaïde and briefly examined the map again before half turning his head.
"I have to catch my train. When you have a moment you must tell me where you've seen that bird before. Ask at the Administratum front desk for the Office of the Ordinate of Weather Fluctuation and they'll show you through."

Straightening his head again, he moved forward past the sign and continued on towards the station entrance. His pace seemed relaxed and confident, a traveller in no particular hurry, his head slowly turning as he examined the people before him.

Adélaïde waited for the others to approach the map as the man left, confident their first contact with The Philosopher's man went well.

She continued to study the map, only this time for real. She was looking to mark out where Moko said to meet and any other place of interest. More importantly, she was looking for irregularities in the locations of places she had already been briefed on.

Radomil makes his way through the crowd toward Adelaide, still carrying the duffel bag of guns. He pretends to read the map as he stands next to his fellow acolyte. "Whatdya hear, Chief?" He leans in close, to prevent eavesdropping. "Station's awful exposed, and we don't know the enemy from our asses. We need to keep moving."

Chief? Adélaïde was familiar with the Gothic word, but where she was from it meant the leader. She couldn't rightly think that that was how Radomil meant it. She hoped not.

"Admin buildin's where we headed."

She didn't wait for the others to group up and get instructions. If they were smart, they were keeping eyes on one another and following the others' play. She turned and headed for the nearest train that would take her to the admin building.

Weaving carefully through the throng of pilgrims, Gabriel keeps his companions in sight. He notes the appearance of the unusual man, and his brief exchange with Adelaide.

Is that our guy?  

The blue-uniformed figures register in his peripheral vision.

"Time for us to to be leaving Sister."

With that he makes his way briskly, but without haste, to the train platform, keeping a bead on Radomil and Adelaide's position.

With Adelaide taking the lead the acolytes make their way through the crowd towards the station entrance. Most of those in front of them shift easily out of their way, though a number brush and bump against Gabriel and Cassandra, perhaps due to the larger shape the two present, still attached as if one. Their swift movement forward however prevented either of the groups in blue uniforms from getting a proper look at them.

The inside of the station is a fairly simple affair. Immediately as you come through its wide open doors, you can see a large concrete staircase leading up to the upper floor. A thin handrail separates it in half, with citizens climbing on the right side, and descending on the left. Lightly swinging above them is a thin metal panel embossed with the numbers, two and nine. The paint for these is bright and fresh, but already flecked with spots of something dirty yellow. Looking a bit closer, you can see the same stains in the corners of the station and occasionally on the tiled floor. The cause of the mess is noisily apparent, a number of winged creatures squawking and rustling among the iron beams in the shadowy cornered roof space. One or two sit atop embossed skulls, built into the four corners of the building, each of which has its jaw opened and something protruding from inside.

A meter or so to the left and right of the staircase entrance are further signs, these built into the ground. The sign on the right reads 'Shuttle to St Barthomelua', while its partner on the left 'Planetfall Station'. A concrete booth stands against the far wall. Behind an iron barred window, you can see yet another man in a blue uniform. This one though seems to be leaning back on his chair against the wall of his booth and only casually watching out.

As you pause by the entrance you can see a number of your fellow passengers turn to the right before the staircase. Most of the footfall though, is coming down the stairs and moving to the left. With the benefit of a large crowd it is easily for you to mix yourself among them and follow their progress, along a well worn path to wait in six lines at the edge of a platform. Your wait is not long and with a sudden startling hot wind, and the shriek of its brakes, the long tubular shape of the train comes into view. Its appearance catches you a little off guard. While most mass transit in the Imperium is square and blocky, and strictly utilitarian in design, there is an elegance to the circular curves of this train, which appears to have no edges at all. It is not immediately apparent either how the train is propelled forward. Up close you can see the track upon which it moved upon has no rails. Instead it is bordered by two dull black tubes, upon which the train seems to be resting, and nothing but open space underneath.

You do not have much time however to examine this any further, as the train quickly comes to a stop in-front of you and with a sharp whistle, the doors open and passengers emerge and make their way through the gaps in the lines. Some of those at the front attempt to push their way aboard before the train is fully empty, but most are patient waiting until all have disembarked. You follow the rest aboard in your turn. There are no seats inside the carriage, and while some of your fellow traveller are leaning against the curved walls, most are standing upright, holding on to handholds hanging down from the ceiling. Seconds later the doors shut behind you and without sound or ceremony you are moving. The ride is surprisingly smooth, and unlike any transport you have been on prior. It is only through looking out the windows at the tower blocks and vast dirty factories flicking by that you have any comprehension of how fast you are moving. For those who choose to not stare out the window, and at the other occupants instead, you notice some interesting differences in their behaviour. Those dressed in different coloured robes, both of low and medium quality conspicuously avoid catching the eye of anyone else aboard the train. The clerks, where they have space, spend their time inspecting data pads, or counting through their rolled parchments. It is impossible to see where those with hoods over their heads are looking. This is not the case though for those who are wearing work uniforms, boiler suits of different dull shades, and cooking aprons. Nakedly curious, they stare brazenly at the other travellers, occasionally muttering something to their companions. As your journey progresses you notice more and more of them start to stare at Cassandra and Gabriel and the buzz of their words begins to rise above that of a whisper. Their focused attention, begins to attract the notice of some of the other passengers, despite themselves.

The distant shriek again of brakes alerts you to the fact that your journey is almost at an end, and distracts most of the others to ready themselves for leaving. As you exit the train you immediately notice that this station is about twice as large as the one you have just left. Four other rail platforms stretch along to the left of yours. The station is also conspicuously cleaner, with almost no trace of animal dung, and rather than blank concrete walls, there are vast murals painted on all the surrounding walls. Giant figures stand triumphant on scorched and twisted battlefields beside their weapons of war, or speaking before vast crowds. Twisted mutated creatures cry out in pain and fear as they are burnt, bludgeoned and bloodied with righteous fury. In the centre, above the open exit doors, the largest figure of all stares down. Clad in golden armour and with his burning sword propped into the ground with both gauntlets over the hilt, his haloed and stern visage looks out at all who enter or exit the station. The Heavenly Father.

The station is also busier than the one you have just left. Trains appear to be constantly arriving and leaving, bringing momentary swells and lulls to the crowd. Through the open doors of the station you can see a wide open space, with a large curved set of stairs at one end, leading to an immense building. On either side of the exit doors are two more rockrete booths, similar but also larger to the one you saw prior. The one on the left is occupied by a number of officers in green uniform, and the booth on the right, a number in blue. You can also catch sight of more blue uniform flashing casually in the crowd beyond the station.

Keeping his eyes fixed dead ahead to avoid the uniformed agents, Radomil strides directly forward towards the stairs to the Administratum building and proceeds inside.