Work Text:
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Many Years Ago
"Any spark ya fancy, ma'am? Heh heh!"
Ceiling lights flickered. Rumble and growls. Smell of wet fur, urine, sweat, and fear.
The tiny creature, trembling, wrapped his claws around iron bars. Yellow, watery eyes gazed out. "..."
Figures stalked down a line of cages. Faces shadowed in the anemic halflight.
Boots shod in sump-croc hide squeaked on filthy concrete, sending a shiver up the tiny creature's spine.
Their owner - a short, corpulent man in a purple suit trimmed with exotic furs - waved a hand bedecked with jeweled rings. A three-eyed snake, the length of a man, coiled around his shoulders. The reptile's gaze wandered around at the collection of potential meals.
"Got me a Phelynx or three," the corpulent man said, gold tooth glinting in a wide, toadish wide. Motioned over his shoulder dismissively. "Rest're in storage, thereabouts. Int'rest ya in a breedin' pair, ma'am? No? Ah, no matter...there's more..."
A spot of flapping crimson caught the tiny creature's eyes. He craned his neck. "..."
A pair of hooves - artificial - clacked on dirty concrete, barely visible beneath the hem of long, red robes. Mechadendrites coiled behind.
"This beauty 'ere's a Gyrinx. Smoother temp'ament, an' they bonds well. Seems ta hate me, though," the man chuckled, shaking his head. "Ma'be you'll have betta luck wit it..."
Black fingers stimmed with a steel wrench, poking out of a pouch on a leather tool belt. "..."
"If ya lookin' for somethin' wit more bite..." the man said, leading them closer, gesturing to a larger set of cages. Hulking forms leered out from behind bars. "...Cthellian Cudbear's a..."
"RAWR!"
An ursine arm, covered in purple fur, darted through the cage bars and swiped at the air above the man's head. Fangs flashed from a snarling maw.
"Gah!" cried the beast-merchant, backing away rapidly. He grumbled, scowling. "Impudent beast..." He daubed his forehad with a handkerchief, pointing and barking, "Boys! Discipline!"
The woman in red stepped aside, as a burly guard stomped forward. Watched as he ignited a shock prod and jabbed it at the purple-haired beast.
Zzzt!
"Rrororro!" whined the Cudbear, retracting its arm and disappearing into the shadows.
"Don' worry, ma'am," said the corpulent man, grinning. "Nothin' a little pain can' fix. Is all these animals understand..."
Beneath a folded hard-hat, the woman's expressionless face contorted in a frown. "..."
She turned, shadowed eyes locking onto the tiny creature. Hooves stopped dead.
"...!" The mutant recoiled, backing up fearfully in his miniscule enclosure, shivering.
The woman's frown deepened. Face divided by dark seams, neck up to her chin encased in black polyethylene. "..."
The two - woman and mutant - stared at one another for a long moment.
"The aggression put ya off, eh?" the corpulent man muttered, looking over his shoulder. He chuckled again. "Heh heh, don' worry, Ms. Tech Priest...ah've got plen'y more where that came from..."
The woman's face turned to the man. Then to the mutant. Then around at the filthy cages. At their ill-treated occupants. Back to the man. Furrowed her brow. Color ran to her pale face. "..."
The tiny creature's eyes widened fractionally, as he saw the mysterious woman surreptitiously draw a laspistol from the folds of her robe.
"Khimerix, p'haps? Watch yerself, though. Heh heh! She's a dangerous one..."
Necromunda
Hive Primus
Underhive Dome V52-3
997.M41
Drip.
Condensation dripped from the underside of a colossal coolant tank.
Droplet tumbled through the dark, surrounded by pipework and scaffolds.
Passed through concentric rings of kilometer-tall heat sinks. Metal glowed red. Abruptly, the drop passed heat sinks cold as the grave.
Fell through a circular opening, into a vast dome. Glinted in the light of a ring of lumens set in the curved ceiling, each the size of a hab block.
Hit a layer of white vapor. Cold as night.
As it tumbled through the halflight gloom, the drop froze. Condensed. Molecules assumed a latticework of crystals.
Solid, cold, it passed out the bottom of the vapor cloud layer, alongside hundreds of thousands of its brothers. Tumbled end over end, buffeted by air currents.
Around it, illuminated by the muted glow from above, support struts lined the dome wall. A collection of scaffolds lined one wall, interspersed with the winking lights of observation decks.
It fluttered around the tip of a vox tower, glittering in the red light that pulsed like a beating heart. Air circulator vents blew it away, before it hit the broadcast tower's roof.
Hab blocks rose all around it, a dense canyon of rusted and ramshackle structures. Their roofs - gray paint chipped and stained by rust - piled with layers of white. Windows glowed with warm light.
Platforms hugged hab exteriors, grated floors trod by furtive figures. Some wiry and spry, others withered and leaned heavy on cold railings.
A neon sign blinked between three words in cycling colors: "RECAFF - TRANQ - STARCH."
The snowflake floated lazily over the frozen, crowded thoroughfare. Streets bedecked with festive decorations, residents swaddled in many layers. Air filled with the howl of wind, the calls of street vendors, and choirs of distant hymnals.
It landed in the palm of an upraised, polyethylene hand.
"..."
The Ara lowered her hand, staring down at the flake. Artificial eyes drank in minute details in its crystalline structure.
Folded hardhat tipped back, as Mistletoe looked upwards.
Stared, rapt, at the cloud-capped dome ceiling, as rays of light peeked through vapor. Upon the gentle snowfall that slowly accumulated on the underhive sprawl.
She blinked. "..."
"Ooof!"
Mistletoe staggered forward, as a taller figure bumped into her. "Ack!"
"Ah!" said the Star, standing up straight and hefting her autogun. Eyes wide, over her face mask. "Sorry!"
"You okay, Mist?" said the other Star, stepping beside the two. Cast serious glances at underhive passers-by. Beneath her withering gaze, the gestalts gave the tech priest and her bodyguards a wide berth.
"Y-yeah..." Mistletoe said, nodding. She looked down at the palm of her hand, and wiped the bead of melted water on her crimson robe. Looked around. "Just..."
"Oi! What's the holdup?"
The replikas looked ahead, down a narrow avenue choked with garbage, underhivers, and a layer of snow.
A grizzled man in a blue, sleeveless denim jacket (though with a white, long-sleeved, synth-wool undershirt) cocked a thumb over his shoulder. A red bandana around his forehead, and a grox-leather cap over his messy brown hair.
"We don't have time for holiday sightseeing!" The Orlock ganger scowled, calling, "We doing this or what?"
"Y-yes!" Mistletoe said, raising her voice. She trudged forward, followed by her bodyguards.
They left the relative warmth of the run-down rail station behind, its entrance yawning beneath rusted plasteel arches. A monument to grandeur Necromunda might once have possessed.
A banner of faded yellow hung across its mouth. It read, "Merry Imperial Fistmas!"
"Verzeihung, I..." Mistletoe huffed, hugging herself and shivering as they fell in line behind the ganger. "Brr...I was just...I've been this far uphive before, and it's...it w-wasn't this cold..."
"Uphive?" said Mack 'Attack' Mason, glancing over his shoulder with a confused sneer. "How far down do you lot live, again?"
"..." Mistletoe opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked over her shoulder. When one of the Stars gave a noncommital shrug, the Ara looked forward and furrowed her brow. Said flatly, "Ja."
The ganger looked over his shoulder, brow furrowed questioningly. "..."
A trio of children ran past, ducking between or around pedestrians. Laughed, and pelted one another with snowballs. One wore a yellow bucket on her head, angry eyes and a mouth grill drawn crookedly over it, to match a space marine helmet.
"..."
The adults watched the children dash away, delight on their little faces and exuberance in their voices.
"...well, whatever," Mack shrugged, rubbing hands wrapped in synth-leather gloves. He chuckled, continuing to walk. "Yeah, Coldtown's what it sounds like. Always colder than other domes."
Mistletoe's face lit up slightly. She raised a finger. "The systems normalizing your temperature must be broken."
"That's what the eggheads tell me," Mack sighed, leading them onto a wider street. Black, synth-leather boots stomped on plasteel floor plates. He skirted them around an obvious open section of panels, where snow piled atop exposed pipework and cables. "It is what it is."
"How long has it been 'what it is'?" Mistletoe asked, looking up at the overhead rail line that passed over a row of hab units and munititorum storage containers converted into shops. Their fronts covered in wreaths and ribbons painted or dyed yellow, with splashes of red. "That is, how long has it been broken?"
"Long as anyone can remember," Mack said, with another shrug. "Anyway, it's winter out on the Wastes, and the Spires can't well go on being cold, now can they?" He cast a bitter smirk over his shoulder, and flashed a rude gesture to the ceiling. "They siphon what little heat Coldtown gets every year, so we freeze our collective tits off." He looked over his shoulder and smiled, shaking his head. "...least the tikes make the best of it..."
One of the Stars shivered violently, despite herself. She cast a sheepish glance at her sister, blushing under her face mask. "..."
"..." Mistletoe, frowning, looked up at her bodyguard. Rubbed her arms. Looked around. Eyes locked on something. "Ah! A moment!"
Mack stopped, watching the strange tech priest walk over to a cart vendor. Scratched the back of his head, as the tall women diverted to keep up with their charge. He smirked, as passers-by gawked at the women with spindly legs. "..."
Mistletoe pointed at the peg-legged, scarred woman's wares. The Ara looked over her shoulder, asking her companions. When they shrugged and nodded, Mistletoe pointed again and held up three fingers. Upon hearing the price, she nonchalantly pulled a thick roll of credits from her robe and dolled them out.
"...!" Mack froze, looking at the quantity of cash the tech priest flashed around, without even haggling. The ganger part of his brain started running through a cost-benefit analysis of simply robbing the girl and breaking the whole deal off...
He turned around, and clapped his hands together, sucking in a sharp breath. Muttered to himself.
"Don't do it, Mack. You know what they say: Don't. Fuck. With the Gardners..."
"Oh lovelies...I see 'em!"
Snow fluttered across the snow-capped roof. Billowed past a huge, lime-green mohawk.
Its owner shivered, hugging her khimerix-fur jacket close. "Brr...'ate bloody Coldtown...what'd you say?"
"I said I sees 'em!" cried the lookout, from her prone position on the roof's edge. Waved over. "Come see!"
Two more women clambered over snowed-in, corrugated roofing.
Planting a needler for support, the ganger with the lime green mohawk knelt. Took the proffered binoculars.
"There!" the spotter said, smiling broadly as she pointed.
Behind her gas mask, the other Escher ganger smirked. Lowered the binoculars.
"Alert Yolanda and the others. We found the Gardners. Time to score."
Ding!
Gangers in denim, giant rat fur collars, and mirrored sunglasses looked sharply to the elevator door.
The Coldtown Crushers lowered weapons the moment their boss strode out, alongside their honored guests. Synth-wool scarves, woven in yellows and reds, with stylized fist patterns, wrapped around the necks of the replikas.
"Enjoy the view, ladies," Mack said, waving a hand out at the open-air to his right, the grated deck clanking with each foot (and hoof) fall. He smiled sheepishly. "Don't mind the boys, they're just here for security. And, uh...don't look down."
One of the Stars couldn't help herself. She looked down, and immediately took a step back towards the elevator, blanching. Hefted her autogun uneasily. "...!"
Through a thin layer of metal grates, the dome city floor yawned hundreds of meters below.
The other Star pulled her sister along. Their charge, accustomed to working at perilous heights, strode on unperturbed.
Glancing around at the Orlock gang, Mistletoe nodded to their leader. "Show me the place, and I'll begin working."
"Right this way," Mack said, gesturing onward. He led them toward a plasteel staircase.
As the replikas ascended, a young ganger nudged an older compatriot.
"...who're these birds?" the juve whispered, pointing at the replikas. "They're all full'a augs? Are they tech priests?"
"House Gardner," grunted his elder, polishing a heavy stubber. "AdMech-like, yeah. But they're their own thing."
"Gardner?" the juve said, scratching his scalp beneath a giant rat fur cap. "Never 'eard of an 'ouse like that."
"No wonder," said the older ganger, rubbing out a stubborn grease stain. "Live deep. Don't involve theyselves much in the bizness of the nobles and clans." He flashed a knowing glance at the boy. "Don't get any ideas, though. They's OLD. Old and strong. You don't wanna know what happens when they get mad..."
The juve swallowed. "Why're we 'helpin' them, then?"
Tossing a cleaning rag aside, the older ganger lifted his heavy stubber. Framed within a long beard and mustache, the man smiled.
"'Cause the new Lord Orlock decided he liked makin' creds better than he liked holdin' the old Lord Orlock's grudge against the metal women. In return for burying the chainaxe with 'em, this is House Gardner's Fistmas present to us..."
Patter of clawed feet. Clink of metal, porcelain, and bone. Creak and whine of seats. Flicker of desk lumens. Junk fished from piles. Tiny hammers against metal.
Rows of low work benches, crowded by diminutive mutants. Clawed hands expertly assembled and painted all manner of objects. Music boxes. Spyglasses. Grenades. Respirators. Tiny, poseable Space Marine dolls, painted yellow.
Above the door to the forgotten utility room, a propaganda poster hung. Faded, ragged at the edges, discolored by age. Holes from a hundred years of darts.
Below it, the door slid open.
Another diminutive mutant walked down a row of work stations, patting their kin affectionately.
They climbed low stairs, and up a squat step ladder next to a much larger desk. Cupped a hand to their mouth, and whispered to the hunched figure sat behind it.
"...two gangs...plus others...the Roost..."
Screwdriver pulled away. Long claws carefully set it down, next to an aluminum ration can filled with darts. Unfinished 'gift' set down carefully, next to a ledger scrawled with names, good deeds, and offenses.
The large figure turned his head. Sharp-toothed mouth whispered softly, over a long, scraggly white beard. "Colors?"
"Orlock. Escher." The little one tilted their head to the side. "...tech priest?."
The hunched figure exhaled through his long, ruddy nose. Sat up. Stared out across the room.
The imposing image of a yellow-clad Astartes warrior stared back at him. Pointed at him.
Beneath it, the caption read, "Dorn Wants YOU". Beneath that, a further message scrawled in cheap paint. "To Remember."
A scowl. A toothy sneer. A clenched claw. "..."
The young workers stopped, as their elder rose to his feet. They looked up, waiting.
A raspy voice. A sack picked up, laden with 'gifts'.
"...going out...intruders in the Roost...naughtiness is afoot..."
Click. Click. Snap.
"It should be done. Start her up."
A cover opened. A switch flipped.
BrrrrrrRMRMRMRMRMRM...
Icicles cracked and gears squealed. Fans spun to life. Warm air blew, and overhead lumens flickered on.
Jets of steam blew out into the freezing dome air, as colossal machines thrummed into action for the first time in three generations.
"Nice!" Mack said, clapping. "Maybe now, that manufactorum will start working again. Thanks!"
Hand supported on the service hatch, Mistletoe rose to her hooves and shut away the rumbling machines. "I'm just doing my job," she said, stowing tools in her belt. "Now, if you'll excuse..."
"FREEZE, LOVELIES!"
Click, click, click, click! Ratch!
Replika and Orlock alike brandished their weapons, as shapes appeared from the shadows.
A dozen women in gen-engineered fur coats, gas masks, mohawks, and eye liner emerged, weapons leveled. Autoguns, needlers, laspistols, even a chemical thrower. They spread across multiple levels, encircling their prey.
The Stars, autoguns drawn, silently stepped in front of the Ara.
"..." Mistletoe swallowed, hand hovering over the laspistol inside her robe.
From the line of Escher gangers, a woman with a bolt pistol and whip stepped up. Planted a boot on the railing of the upper deck. Leaned forward, bolt weapon aimed lazily with one hand.
Yolanda rested her other hand on her hip, and grinned.
"You're already freezin', a'course. But you get my meanin'. I'll be 'aving that tech priest now."
Beneath a rumbling fan, in a high shadowed corner, an Escher ganger knelt at the edge of a walkway.
She steadied needle sniper rifle on the railing, and aimed down sights. "..."
Through the scope, she spied the crimson-clad replika. Centered crosshairs over her heart.
A hand-vox sat by her side, tuned to her boss's frequency.
From the roar of the fans and her extreme focus, she didn't hear the large figure open a ceiling vent and drop down behind her.
The large mutant skulked, silently brandishing his claws.
"Mmmrr...Yolanda! Let's not be hasty abou-"
When Mack's hands reached for the holsters at his hip, the Escher woman above stabbed her bolt pistol at him.
"Uh, uh, uh! Baaad Mackie!" Yolanda taunted, wagging a finger at him. "We'll 'ave none a' that!"
"Alright, alright!" Mack said, holding his hands up. Furrowed his brow. "For Throne's sake..."
"The hell do you want!?" barked one of the Stars, autogun leveled at the Escher leader, heedless of weapons trained on her.
"'kay, get this, loves," said Yolanda, equally unconcerned by the weapon trained on her. "'ouse Ulanti gave us a job. We fetch your little tech priest friend..." She pointed a finger at the Ara. "...so's they can make 'ouse Gardner do...something involving a rail power embargo." She closed her eyes and shrugged. "Gonna be honest, I checked out of that conversation after I 'eard what they wanted and 'ow much they're payin'. Point is, give us the girl."
"..." Mistletoe took a deep breath. Placed a hand on the Star's shoulder, and leaned forward. Raised her voice, face serious. "Y-you tell H-House Ulanti our offer still stands. We'll lift the embargo and restore power to the Primus-Terminus tunnel, once they pay oxgelt for what they did to..."
"Yeah, 'm not a messenger, love," Yolanda said, disinterested. "We're paid to bring you to Ulanti..." She leveled her bolt pistol at the Orlock leader. "...and kill anyone what gets in the way. So if you please, Mackie, don't go bein' a hero...we both know you never were..."
"..." Mack sighed, looking back sheepishly at the Ara. "Exes, am I right?"
"Look, we've got you lot over a barrel, 'ere," Yolanda said, moving her pistol at the replikas in a circular motion. "I've even got a snipa, trained right at you, love." She plucked a hand-vox from her belt and thumbed it on. "Nance, get a red dot on the tech priest, will you? Demonstration-like."
Both Stars shuffled in front of the Ara, teeth gritted behind their masks.
Mistletoe ducked, hands over her head. "...!"
"..."
Curious, Mack looked over his shoulder. Frowned. "...uh..."
The Stars glanced down at themselves, then one another, confused.
"...?" Mistletoe peeked up, and looked curiously at her chest.
"...the 'ell...?" Yolanda muttered. She barked into the vox-hailer. "Ey, Nance! What gives? I told you to put a red dot on the...'ellooooo!?" She growled. "Nancy, why won't you answe-?"
Thump!
A woman's corpse fell down from the catwalks above and landed on the metal floor in front of the Orlocks with a wet thud. A needle sniper rifle landed at her side a second later, sliced in half.
Deep claw marks wept scarlet from her chest and face. Face contorted in terror.
"AH!" yelped the Orlock juve, flinching. In the excitement, he squeezed the trigger on his stub-gun.
POP.
"Ah!" Yolanda cried, as a pistol bullet grazed her forehead. A spray of scarlet arced through the air, as she ducked in panic. "SHIT, FUCK, SHIT!"
Immediately, all hell broke loose.
Weapons discharged with abandon. Flying every which way, as the coiled tension of the moment sprung into furious action. So sudden the firefight and so surprising the fate of the sniper, shots went wide.
"GET DOWN!" a Star roared, grabbing the Ara by the head and forcing them low. "Move, move, move!"
The other Star crouched and sprayed the catwalks above wildly.
Rt-rt-rt-rt-rt!
As the replikas dashed away from the utility hatch, Mack ran forward on instinct. Hands already reached for holsters, and drew twin laspistols.
Zap-zap! Zap-zap!
"Grragh!" Yolanda roared, running away.
Mack roared, diving out of the way of a spray of chemicals and running toward the nearest stairs.
"Yolanda!"
"Escher scum!"
Rt-rt-rt-rt-rt-rt! Rt-rt-rt-rt-rt!
"Orlock trash!"
Bam-bam! Bam-bam!
An Orlock ganger slid back into cover, removing the magazine from his autogun. Checked ammunition. Gritted his teeth, grinning. "Come on...let's karkin' go..." he muttered.
"...ah-!"
Thump.
"Rrragh!" Whipping around cover, the Orlock man squeezed the trigger.
Rt-rt-rt! Rt-rt-rt! Rt-rt-
"...eh?" he said, looking around in surprise.
His 'dance partner' on the opposite catwalk was nowhere to be found. Just her discarded bolter.
"Where'd you...?" he muttered, pointing his weapon every which way.
Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack.
"Eh!?" he gasped, looking up as a shadow passed over him. A chill ran up his spine. "Whas'at?"
Thump.
Heart skipping a beat, he turned just in time to see the swing of raking claws.
"AAAAAAAA-!"
"Move, move, move!"
Hooves clacked noisily on metal grates. Periodically, a Star would turn and squeeze the trigger on her autogun.
Rt-rt-rt-rt-rt! Rt-rt-rt!
"Don't run!" cackled an Escher ganger, running along a parallel catwalk. She leveled her needler. "Don't run! We just want to have a talk is all!"
Fwip! Fwip!
"Ack!" grunted a Star, as one needle sailed by her ear. She threw her arm in front of her face, and felt another thin projectile embed in her arm. "Shit!"
"Fuck off!" barked the other Star, spraying in return.
Rt-rt-rt-rt! Rt-rt-rt!
"Gck!" grunted the Escher ganger, stumbling as a bullet clipped her leg. "Throne-dammit!"
"A-are y-you alright?" Mistletoe panted, looking back with wide eyes. A laspistol in her hand.
"'m fine!" said the Star, glancing down at her arm. Sighed in relief, seeing the thin projectile stick from her artificial skin, its tip embedded in a titanium bone.
House Escher were infamous for their poisons. But a poison needle couldn't do much, if it hit parts of the body with no blood. Or oxidizing fluid, in her case.
Rt-rt-rt-rt-rt! Rt-rt-rt-rt!
"Keep running!" cried the other Star, pushing them forward. "Find a way out!"
"Uh...th-this way!" Mistletoe said, pointing toward a different direction. They turned, and rushed toward a darkened section of the high utility complex. "H-here!"
A set of stairs led up. The entrance blocked off by a grate and chains, but it was simple enough to climb onto a transitional level from their side.
The Ara's mechadendrites unfurled from her back, helping her begin her ascent.
"Nuh uh! You're not getting away!"
Bam-bam! Bam-bam!
Crash!
"Shit!" a Star grunted, as her left arm disintegrated at the elbow from a bolter round. "Argh!"
"Heh heh!" cackled an Escher ganger a floor up, as she wracked her smoking bolter.
"Machine God no!" Mistletoe gasped, looking down at the injured Star. Reached out a hand. "Come on, I can-"
"GO!" ordered the uninjured Star, spraying bullets (Rt-rt-rt-rt!) at the ganger. "We'll meet up later! Just get to safety!"
"But-"
"JUST MOVE!" growled the injured Star, pulling out a laspistol and joining in. Grimaced in pain. "Ngh...THAT'S AN ORDER!"
Zap, zap, zap! Zap, zap!
"...r-right..." Mistletoe gasped, before turning around and running up the stairs. Hooves clacked loudly, two steps at a time.
The Stars ran the opposite direction, spraying.
Zap, zap! Zap, zap! Zap, zap!
Bam! Bam! Bam!
"Yolanda, you tricky bitch!" roared Mack, running down a lenghty catwalk. Scarlet bolts flew from his laspistols, as he put as many support struts and pipework between him and his ex.
"Aw, I seem to recall you liked my tricks, Mackie!" Yolanda cackled keeping pace with the Orlock. Her bolt pistol fired, bursting pipes and denting struts.
Color rushed to Mach's face. "Not remotely what I meant!"
Their boots thumped on metal, the yawning abyss just below them.
Light poured over them, as they reached the end of the overlook.
Bam! Bam! Click!
"Ngh!" Yolanda grunted, discarding her bolt pistol. She reached for her belt.
"Hah!"
At the catwalk's end, silhouetted against a backdrop of white clouds and falling snow, the two wheeled on one another.
A whip cracked, and sailed out. Wrapped around the man's right wrist. Pulled.
"Yah!"
The two stumbled into one another, panting.
"..."
Light glinted off the knife pressed to the Orlock's throat. Its poison coating shined oily green.
"Heh..." Yolanda panted, keeping the whip high and taut. She flashed a toothy grin. "...guess...we're at one a' them 'impasses', eh?"
A laspistol pressed into the Escher's gut. Finger on the trigger.
"Guess so..." Mack growled, flashing his own grimacing grin. "Wanna talk it out, before we make decisions we'll regret?"
"With you, Mackie, 've never avoided making a mistake," Yolanda breathed, chuckling. Inclined her head back fractionally. "Why stop no-?"
Clink, clink, clink.
The two looked to the side.
An improvised explosive rolled to a stop next to a support strut, casing painted yellow. The 'present's' little red light flickered rapidly, and its mechanisms whined audibly.
Both gangers paled.
"Sshhhhhhiiii-!"
BOOM!
BRRRRRRRRR! BRRRRRRRR!
"Yeah!" cried the Orlock elder, grinning like a loon as he loosed volleys from his heavy stubber. "Yeah, you like that!? Have some more!"
An Escher ganger crumbled in a shower of scarlet, as an Escher juve scrambled for cover. Pawed in panic at her stub-gun.
"I'm not afraid of any of you bitches!" crowed the old man, scanning around with his large weapon. "I was poppin' Goliaths when you girls were still suckin' on your mamas' teats! I've seen it all! I've-"
Thump.
Heart skipping a beat, the man whirled around. Froze.
"N-no...NO!" the old man breathed, blanching. He staggered back, shaking his head. "No, it can't be! You're not real! You're no-!"
He threw his heavy stubber up.
Brrrrrrr-
Shing!
A weapon that cost the old man 130 credits, at a time in his life when he barely had enough for food, disintegrated before his eyes. Sliced into pieces by long claws.
"..." Yellow eyes stared into the ganger's soul. Sharp teeth barred.
The man stumbled back into a railing, hand fumbling for a knife and stub-gun at his waist. His heart raced. "....nnngh...no! It can't be...you're...you're...!"
Cold wind rippled through the mutant's long, red cloak. Light shined off the off-white trim of his collar, and matching hat. He reared back, savoring the strike against a naughty ganger, whose punishment was long overdue.
"PHANTA CLAWS!"
"...hah, hah, hah...!"
The Orlock juve panted, running full tilt around struts and down walkways. Sweat poured down his brow, as he waved his pistol toward any movement he saw.
"B-boss...?" he whimpered, head darting side to side. "Boss...Hoss...anyone!?"
Thump!
"Ah!" the juve cried, recoiling against a railing.
Another Escher corpse settled at his feet, neck snapped. Scarlet leaked from lacerations that bit through her breastplate.
"Shit, shit, shit!" the juve grunted, stumbling over her body and running.
Thump!
"Agh!" he yelped, as an Orlock ganger tumbled down from above, bloody and torn. "Ah!"
Thump! Thump! Thump!
Bodies rained down from the catwalks above, some discharging weapons uselessly into the air as they fell.
"Shhhhiiiiiiit!" the juve screamed, all color rushing from his face. He broke out into a dead sprint.
Light poured in from the observation deck, as the juve skidded to a stop beside the elevator. Slammed his fist against the button, and waited.
"Come on...c-c-come on..." he whined, looking fearfully over his shoulder. He could scarcely hear the sporadic sound of gunfire, over the roar of his heart.
Ding!
"Ah..." the juve sighed in relief, looking back toward the door. Panted, smiling.
Rumble.
The door opened. A red and white shape emerged, in front of a ceiling grate that creaked noisily.
The juve paled, seeing only the piercing yellow eyes of the creature as it advanced towards him, claws splayed.
"AAAAAAAAAGH!"
"Don't...let...go!"
Cold wind rattled the damaged catwalk back and forth. It hung diagonally down, slope growing steeper with each moment.
The Escher woman kicked impotently at the air, hands gripping the whip with all her strength.
"..." Yolanda looked down at the white abyss that yawned below her. Half blinded by light glinting off snow-covered habs. Looked up frantically, grimacing. "...M-Mack..."
"Don't...let go..." Mack grunted, sweat pouring down his brow. Left hand dug painfully into the metal grate. The right clung tight to the whip wrapped around his wrist. "Don't...let go, Yolanda...hear me?"
The Escher woman grimaced. Voice cracking. "C-come off it, Mackie...you'll let go. You'll abandon me...jus' like last time..."
"I won't!" Mack growled, panting. Felt and heard the damaged catwalk bend another centimeter. "Ngh...not gonna...let you go. Not again!" He strained his arm and shoulder muscles, trying to lift the entire woman one-handed. "I'm not...leaving you!"
"...Mackie..." Yolanda breathed. Then, her eyes shot open wide. She cried out. "M-M-Mackie!"
"Ngh...what!?" Mack groaned, eyes screwed shut as he tried to lift.
"LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU!"
Mack opened his eyes, then looked up sharply. Felt the shadow fall over him.
Silhouetted against the clouded skies, the mutant in the red and white cap and cloak leaned over him from the top of the impromptu ramp.
He raised his clawed hand.
"...nnnnaughty...gangers..."
Mack froze. Only a single thought went through his head.
Huh. Hoss was right. Phanta Claws IS real...
Shing!
Scarlet sprayed from Mack's left arm stump, as the two gang leaders dropped like stones to Coldtown below.
"...'s gonna be okay...just...hol' still..."
Plunger depressed. Medical spray filled chest cavity with foam, stopping the flow of oxidizing fluid. A bolt-damaged breastplate sat on the floor nearby.
"...hah...hah..." panted the Star, clutching her aching side. Grimaced in pain, as she sat up. "Th-thanks..."
The other Star nodded, discarding the foam sprayer. Took up her laspistol again with her remaining hand. Oxidizing fluid ran down her cheek. "N-need to...find..."
"GAAAH!"
Thump.
The Stars froze.
Clack, clack, clack, clack...
They tucked themselves against the support strut, hands over their mouths.
Heard a loping figure stop on the other side. Too large to be one of the gangers.
"..."
The creature sniffed the air. Wrinkled its long nose in confusion. Licked chapped lips.
Sweat poured down the faces of the Stars. Hearts raced.
"..."
Clack, clack, clack...
They relaxed, as the creature loped away.
Peeking out, the Star with the chest wound paled. Widened her eyes.
"Shit...that's where Mistletoe...!"
"Come out, come out, wherever you are!"
Limping, bleeding, panting, the Escher with the chemical sprayer smiled. Hobbled down the catwalk.
"N-no use runnin', girl...the Ulantis will have their prize...an' we'll get a rich reward..."
Struggling with a metal hatch, Mistletoe looked frantically over her shoulder. A single shaft of light fell over her widened eye. Her mechadendrites pulled away, as she stowed her wrench, and brandished her laspistol.
"S-stay back!" the Ara ordered, shakily pointing her weapon. Pressed her back against the hulk.
"Oh ho ho...what're you...hah...gonna do with that, little girl?" panted the ganger, limping forward. Scarlet dripped down her leg. Passing beneath a ceiling fan, she raised her sprayer.
Mistletoe froze. "...!"
Saw the hunched shape loom behind the gestalt.
"What's the matter?" said the Escher ganger, smirking. Sweat glinted in flashes as overhead fan rotated. "Phelynx got your...?"
Shing.
Her body collapsed. Her severed head bounced across the floor a second later. Scarlet painted surrounding metal.
"...haaaah..." Mistletoe gasped, sinking to the floor. Face pale.
Sharp teeth, soiled red fabric, and off-white fur trim flashed briefly, as the Phanta Claws strode beneath the fan. Clawed feet stepped gingerly over the Escher's weeping corpse.
Panicking, the Ara leveled her laspistol.
Zap! Zap! Z-shing!
Two scarlet bolts sailed over the mutant's head, as it closed the distance low and sliced the weapon in half.
"Ah!" Mistletoe cried, dropping the sparking laspistol. She shrank back, eyes widening, as the figure hunched over her.
"...haaaaa..." the Phanta Claws breathed. Yellow eyes glinted in the dark. He raised his claws again.
"Nnnngh!" Mistletoe grunted, brandishing a tool from her belt and readying her mechadendrites. In fear, she snapped her eyes shut, and leaned her head back against the metal wall.
When her face passed under a small shaft of light, the mutant paused.
"...ngh?" he breathed, mouth opening slightly.
"..."
When death wasn't forthcoming, Mistletoe cautiously opened her eyes. Turned toward the creature, half her face in shadow. The black seam on her face stood out against her pale skin. Light glinted off one eye, while another glowed a pinprick of red within her pupil, standing out in the shadows.
The mutant breathed. Raised a single claw, slowly. "..."
Mistletoe braced herself, shivering as it drew close. Flinched, as it poked the hard seam on her cheek. Then, furrowed her brow in confusion, as it traced the top of her folded safety helmet.
The Phanta Claws gaped, and pointed at the Ara's nose. Furrowed his brow, shivering.
"...you..."
????
Many Years Ago
Scarlet pooled from the corpulent merchant's chest. Spattered the concrete floor. Three-eyed snake slithered across his prone body, making its escape.
Guard corpses littered the exotic animals shop. A purple-haired, ursine creature knelt over one, having its first good meal in ages.
Half the cages open, empty.
The tiny creature shivered, as a coiling, metal tentacle swung its own door open. "..."
He gaped up at the woman in crimson robes, holding a smoking laspistol.
The Ara smiled.
"No one...deserves to be treated like...an object. No one...deserves..."
Now
"...'to be...a slave'..."
"..." Mistletoe blinked. Shivered in the oppressive cold. "...what?"
The Phanta Claws tilted his head to the side, puzzled. Then, shook it. Held up a claw. "...one...moment..."
The Ara watched, transfixed, as the hulking mutant set down a bulging sack, and rifled through it.
Her eyes widened, as he pulled out an object. "...?"
"...for you..." he said, holding up a transparent glass globe, set on a painted plinth. "...gift...for good, little girl..."
Mistletoe took the globe. Stared inside.
It sloshed with some transparent liquid. Inside, a detailed diorama of Hive Primus from the outside, a mountain of metal and spires. The mutant handed it to her upside down. So when she turned it upright, tiny white particles tumbled down over the hive.
"...!" Mistletoe looked up, just as the mutant staggered to his feet. "...why...?"
The mutant paused, half-turned, then stooped over the replika one last time.
Phanta Claws smiled a toothy grin, and rasped out a message.
"...Merry...Fistmas..."
And without another word, he withdrew into the shadows, and disappeared.
Scarlet soaked a fluffy bed of snow. Droplets led away across the roof.
A brown belt wrapped tight around a forearm stump.
Clinging to the warmth of a hab unit's roof-mounted heater, two bruised and bloodied figures embraced ecstatically.
"...mmh...damned idiot..." Yolanda gasped, kissing the Orlock ganger's cheek and lips.
"...ngh..." Mack muttered, kissing the Escher ganger's neck, while running fingers through her hair. "...stupid woman...makin' me worry...meh..."
Beneath the shadow of decks far overhead, two gang leaders aggressively made out.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
"Are you two alright?"
The Stars limped across the catwalk. Covered in repair patches.
"...we'll live..." said the Star leaning heavily on her sister. Clutched her side in pain. "Need to get back home..."
"...what's..." said the other Star, furrowing her brow. "Where'd you get that?"
"..." Mistletoe held the snowglobe reverently. Looked down at it. Then, looked out beyond the railing.
Coldtown stretched out below them. Shafts of artificial light shined down from cracks in the cloud canopy. The motley collection of habs, tram lines, and ancient prometheum tanks frosted by a blanket of snow.
"..." Mistletoe looked down at her gift, and forced a smile.
"...someone paying a favor forward, I think..."