Thy Fearful Symmetry - Dark Heresy (IC)

[Thanatos 51-50]

"I'd better stop stalling, then. And, since you're not one to bow to my authority...."
Red didn't bother to finish his sentence. He just squeezed the trigger.

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Half action: Fire grenade.
Init - (1d10+4)[5]
bs91 - (1d100)[23]
Other half action: Reload with frag

[Destro_Yersul]

With the solid metal of the door largely between him and the gangers on the beams, Tychon felt somewhat safer. Checking to make sure the sights on both fatebringers were active, he leaned around the corner, raising the pistols and taking aim at the ganger firing suppressively at the rest of his group. Something needed to be done about him, and fast.

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Fire! (1d100)[91]
(1d100)[55]
(1d10+5)[11]
(1d10+5)[13]
two shots, one with each gun. Both rolls should be against 71. One hit, one miss. nice damage roll, though.

[Thragka]

Tauron spent a long second in something approaching panic as Tychon snapped out an order and began to respond to the hail of gunfire with his own pistols. Frozen, bile rose in Drake's throat as he saw Tychon stand and make for the door after Red. He knew he should get up and follow, he knew he could if he willed himself too - but the further away Tychon got, the more inevitable it seemed that the gangers would fire again at any moment. And then, sickeningly, it was too late, and there was no more time to move forwards, only to scuttle backwards inelegantly.

Ashamed at his cowardice, Tauron scrambled closer to the dais.

[LCP]

Red

Rhodes raised an arm to shield himself as the firebomb shot towards him, drawing the thick fabric of his coat over his face. The grenade went off with an oily blast of smoke, its wash of flame cracking the ancient, flaking paint from the rusted walls. When the smoke cleared, the nobleman was stumbling back, beating frantically at tongues of flame that clung to the right sleeve of his coat.

---

1

The Auction Chamber

Tychon’s second shot struck its mark squarely in the chest, smacking the dangling ganger back in his harness. Crying out, the man twisted round, his eyes alighting on Tychon - the bulky vest he was wearing was evidently black market flak armour, by the way the Fatebringer round had failed to bring him down.

Across the room, Millie braced her pistol in both hands, raising it to take aim at the auctioneer on the stage. It was a truly monstrous side-arm, more alike in size and shape to a bolt pistol than to any sensibly-designed hand cannon – it fired with a raucous thunderclap of a sound, jerking Stubbs’ forearms back with the recoil.

The hiver’s aim was dead on. There was a crack of splitting metal, and the auctioneer’s head snapped back, the sheer momentum of the shot spinning him round to sprawl against the frost-rimed surface of the stasis coffin. Staggering back to his feet like a man concussed, he looked round at his attacker: the fox mask had split down one side, thick blood seeping through the dark fracture.

For a moment, he stood there, reeling. Then, as the autogun muzzles of Millie’s associates on the ground began to rise towards him, he sprang unbelievably into action, vaulting down off the stage to land cat-like on his feet. Even as he was straightening up, one gloved hand was drawing a powerful pistol of his own from under the neat black coat, his arm snapping straight to aim right back at Stubbs. The hiver had to throw herself to one side to avoid the return shot, the auctioneer’s bullet biting a sizeable crater out of the wall behind her.

In the centre of the seating, D’Aragnia’s bodyguard was already moving, almost as fast as the two lightning combatants trading shots on his right. Shouting for his charge to get to the exit, he followed her at a half-run, pausing at the edge of the chairs. His bionic eye fixed on the target Tychon had been shooting at, and the bodyguard raised his own pistol with expert speed. The shot missed the dangling ganger by inches, striking sparks from the ventilation duct beside him. Twisting in the non-existent wind, the hiver raised his weapon to search for the source of this new threat.

Taking her servant’s cue, D’Aragnia ran for the door. She could move surprisingly swiftly for one in such an elaborate dress – as she turned the corner of the door, she came to a halt, seeing Tychon blocking her path with his pistols in his hands.

[Rizhail]

As much as she wanted to dash across the room and remove the drugged up hiver's head from her shoulders, Nova wasn't willing to walk through a hail of stubber rounds to do so. "Out the door and regroup!" she called to Tauron and Jericus as she sprinted for the door.

"Too much fire to charge through for now, Gideon," Nova called between breaths as she caught up to Tychon and squeezed into cover near him. "If I can catch them at a moment when they're not firing, I can cover the distance to Stubbs and her crew in a heartbeat; until then, we need a different plan."

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End of turn willpower test vs. pinning: (1d100)[64] vs. 40

[Destro_Yersul]

"Madame." Gideon Kastor waved the Margravine past him, shifting slightly to allow her by. The gangers were enough to deal with for now, he'd rather not have to tangle with Phipps as well. "Wouldn't go too far this way if I were you. Mr. Bosc has the flank, and I heard some gunfire from further down."

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Assuming that allowing her past is a free action.

[LCP]

The Auction Chamber

Stumbling hurriedly through the door, the Margravine heeded Tychon’s words, hearing the crackle of flames from the corridor. Peeking out of cover, Tychon saw the other guests were scrambling for the same escape route – their prime position was quickly going to become a bottleneck.

Inside the chamber, the heavy stubber opened up again with a rattling roar, stitching the floor with bullets. This time, Millie’s man had found his aim: Grum the Ogryn howled in pain as the machine-gun rounds punched into him, shielding his face from the gunner’s fire with one massive forearm. Blood puffed and spat from the wounds the stubber blasted in his pale skin, but the abhuman’s scarred muscles were denser by far than human flesh.

Simeon, Norton and his retinue were scrambling up out of the seats, heading for the left wall and the cleanest route to the door. As they did so, the other gangers opened up. One of the reeling Beast House men on the far right was minced by a hail of bullets from above, the fully-automatic onslaught tearing his arm out of its socket even as he fell. Others dived for cover, one of the tattooed roughs who stood beside Millie firing wildly to keep them ducking. Tychon and Nova ducked back into the cover of the doors as the man Urbanus had been targeting returned fire, raking their position with an inaccurate spray of shots.

The two others on the ground had a bigger target in mind. Lifting their weapons to their shoulders, they sent two chattering streams of bullets Grum’s way. The giant staggered and roared, rosettes of blood blooming across his filthy vest, but still he soaked up the gangers’ punishment, feet rooted to the deck. The two men looked nervously at each other as Grum hefted his brutal shock prod, lumbering forwards into the charge.

Plastic chairs buckled and scattered aside out of the path of the bloodied juggernaut, Phipps and Norton throwing themselves flat in order to dive out of his way. Grum swung the shock-prod up over his shoulder like a maul as he came barrelling into his tormentors. The first blow connected like a thunderbolt, the snap of actual electrical discharge coming almost as an afterthought – trailing sparks, its victim flew back, stunned senseless. Strings of spittle sprayed from Grum’s rotten teeth as he bellowed in fury, turning on the next in line.

The Ogryn’s charge seemed to be a rallying point for the Beast House men. Following the auctioneer’s lead, one came vaulting down over the front of the stage, drawing a pistol and a vicious-looking blade. Tychon’s eyes were not on him, however – they were on the representative for the Constantine Conclave.

The other guests – Verenwyn, Norton – were already coming their way, the door Tychon had chosen being the fastest exit from the death-trap of flying bullets that the auction chamber had become. Simeon and Norton’s scribe were already at the threshold, Lazerus and his gladiator lagging a little further behind. The man with the brass hands, however, seemed to be displaying far less sensible behaviour. Rising calmly to his feet, he was proceeding at a walking pace around the front of the stage, heading for the main door through which they had first entered – the one behind the stage and the stashed cages. The gauntlet of stubber fire he had to cross to get there seemed not to bother him in the least.

---

1

The Corridor

Red watched with satisfaction as Octavian staggered back against the wall of the corridor, beating at the fires in his clothes. Sizing up another shot, his finger tightened on the trigger – he stopped as he heard a noise on the right, well past his smouldering target.

Looking round, he saw a quintet of human figures appear at the end of the corridor. They wore heavy flak coats, insignia-less and charcoal grey; beneath them, Red could see the glossy black plasteel of carapace chestplates. Their faces were covered by sculptural steel masks, like the faces of cherubs carved in a cathedral column. Armourglass lenses glinted behind the hollow eyes, dark and expressionless.

Five matt-black hellguns swung up, and five backpack charge units began to emit a rising whine as five wavering dots of laser light swung across the walls of the passageway towards Red...

OOC:

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There is something about the style of the masks that evokes - faintly - the masked men that Red saw in the mirror on Dain Rhealtha.

[Rizhail]

Nova jumped back a few steps, attempting to keep out of the gunman's line of sight. "Still a little too hot to charge into, though it looked like the Ogryn was having fun in there."

The assassin tried to steel herself, waiting for just the right moment to slip back into the auction room. "Do we want to stop Stubbs and her boys, or focus on moneybags making his way for the exit?"

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Moving left a bit to cut of LoS for the gangers.

Willpower test to break pinning: (1d100)[62] vs. 40

EDIT: Seriously? Is that the fourth or fifth 60-something I've rolled in a row? If it wasn't for the fact I get a +30 to my check next time around, I'd spend another fate point.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Let's keep the attention on Miss Stubbs. She's the one broke up this affair." Mr. Kastor waved Simeon and Rabilas through behind him, clearing his field of vision for another shot at the ganger on the ceiling. Another good hit would be likely to bring the man down, freeing their position from the immediate threat of return fire. "And Simeon, I'll give you the same advice I gave Madame D'Aragnia. Mr. Bosc has our flank, and from the sound of things..." Seeing his chance, the gunslinger took his shot at the ganger, the report serving to punctuate his words. "He's got his hands full. Unless you want a fight, don't go too far."

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Half aim, single shot. (1d100)[100] vs 91
(1d10+5)[8] damage. +2 more if he goes into criticals.

[Thanatos 51-50]

Red spared the approaching kill-team a glance.
Hellguns. That presented a problem. And they were going to fill the space between them with more las than he could get away from.
He wasn't going to have a better chance than this to take out Rhodes.

Al-Subaai did not pick Red out of the trenches because he hesitated before taking the shot.

"Primer Ratio Imperator." he muttered under his breath.
Then he pulled the trigger anyway. Three rounds.

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Yep. Methinks I'm going to use the semi-auto from the OOC thread. Be an outright shame to waste the chance to waste Rhodes.

[Etcetera]

Jericus cautiously rounded the corner, drawing a pistol the spitting image of the one wielded by the soon to be late Ms. Stubbs. He poked his head out past the wall, trying to get a look at the situation in the corridor without exposing himself.

[Thragka]

Tauron took a moment to collect himself, eyeing the Constantine representative as the man made his slow way across the room. Al-Subaai's words came back to him. You will locate Phaestus or his cat’s-paw, and capture them for interrogation. You will identify what Vyres has brought him, and secure it for examination, or destroy it if you cannot. There was no immediate opportunity to either identify or secure the coffin, and if the brass-handed man was working for Phaestus, it looked like he was heading for the exit in any case.

Satisfied that any immediate grandstanding would not be of long-term benefit to the Emperor, Tauron sprinted pell-mell for the exit and the rest of the acolytes.

[LCP]

The Corridor

Flames still licking at his sleeve, Octavian dived to one side as Red’s volley lit up the passageway. It was a fool’s game to try and outrun a lasbolt: Red corrected his aim to follow the nobleman’s path, the second and third bolts connecting solidly with their target. The first scored a scorched wound across Rhodes’ cheekbone; the second hit him squarely in the shoulder, smashing him back hard against the wall of the corridor.

Something small and metallic came tumbling Red’s way in reply. Grenade, came the instinctive reaction – looking to see where it had landed, he realised his mistake a fraction of a second before the photon flare went off.

White light flashed bright as a sun, making the smoky armourglass of his visor seem as transparent as water. Blinded, he stumbled back, hearing the whine and crack of hellgun discharges pierce the air with their staccato drumbeat. He had no idea where they were coming from any more, only feeling the heat of their passage as they blazed past him – miraculously, the first volley left him untouched.

From somewhere overhead, there was a mechanical hiss, and he felt water begin to patter against his helmet. The smoke from his firebomb had finally set off the station’s antiquated sprinklers.

OOC:

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The sprinklers are spraying the area of corridor stretching from 1 square behind Red to 2 squares beyond Rhodes. They put out the fire on Rhodes’ clothes and impose a -10 penalty to hit anyone inside their area of effect with missile attacks, making life a little harder for the kill-team.

Red is blinded for 3 turns - see p.136 of the core rules.

---

1

The Auction Chamber

“Simeon, I'll give you the same advice I gave Madame D'Aragnia. Mr. Bosc has our flank, and from the sound of things..."

While Norton’s clerk nodded in obedient terror, Simeon didn’t seem to be listening. Shoving straight past Tychon and the others, he ran straight for the corridor behind them, hanging a left and sprinting into the darkness. Turning to follow him, Jericus advanced cautiously to the junction – just as he was about to stick his head around the corner, there was a flash of piercing white light from somewhere on the right, and a fusillade of scarlet lasbolts screamed down the corridor.

Moving as quickly as he could before darting back into cover, he took his chance to look. Right in front of him, Red and Rhodes were stumbling back from each other, blinded by the flash. A spray of water was descending on them from fire sprinklers in the ceiling, raising a trail of thickening smoke from a dying fire on Rhodes’ coat sleeve. Beyond them, five dark figures in sinister steel masks were aiming heavy-duty las weapons in Red’s direction.

~

In the auction chamber, the fight between the hivers and the Beast House men was heating up. Cowering in cover, the handlers took pot-shots at their attackers: in return, they were raked with automatic fire, the ganger's bullets richocheting wildly from the cover offered by the animals' cages. Falling back after his mistress, Eustacia’s bodyguard traded fire with the ganger Tychon had been targeting, coming out of it worse when one of the man’s wild shots grazed his ribs.

As the handler in front of the stage ran forwards, the heavy stubber turned its lethal attentions on him, chewing chairs into plastic matchwood – the gunner’s aim was off again, and the Beast House man danced through the hail of fire unscathed. Seeing him coming, Millie stepped back, spinning her pistol back into its holster and drawing her chain-knife instead. Her other hand produced a cylindrical packet of paper, from which she poured a heaped handful of whitish-yellow powder. Clapping the hand over her nose and mouth, she inhaled deeply – when she took her hand away, her lips and lower chin were still caked with the stuff. Letting out a wild whoop, she cast the packet aside, pulling a long combat knife from her boot in her free hand. In her right, the chain-blade buzzed.

Her companions on the ground were not so fearless, and backed away as the shadow of Grum loomed over them. Bullets pounded the Ogryn, one striking the man he had laid out as well. The abhuman shrugged them off, barrelling forwards with a bestial roar. Millie stood in his way, grinning like a maniac – as the shock-prod swept round, however, she dodged in the wrong direction. Grum’s blow swept her feet from under her, the naked metal connecting with her shins with an audible crackle of electricity.

Behind the melee, one of the crouching Beast House men swung around the corner, raising a shotgun at one of the gangers’ exposed back. The weapon roared in the echoing hall, hitting its target hard – only the hiver’s flak vest saved him from a messy death. He still staggered from the impact, the breath driven from his lungs.

At the far end of the hall, Kyrie’s hunting rifle barked. It was almost a perfect kill-shot, but her dangling target moved at the last second. Instead, the bullet clipped the ganger’s skull, sending blood coursing over the skinwing tattoo that covered half her face. Rocking back and forth like a pendulum with the imparted momentum, the woman twisted round in her harness, searching the floor below for her attacker.

The handler who had survived the heavy stubber’s hail of bullets came rushing at Millie, but failed to connect. Behind him, the auctioneer seemed to have vanished, ducking under the dark struts that supported the stage to reappear in cover on the other side. Max was following his example, falling back to behind the shielding bulk of the generator; on the left side, the Constantine representative was still walking calmly towards the door the captain was now eyeing up for a sudden dash.

Norton and his gladiator now seemed to be following the lead of the man with the brass hands. A stocky hand cannon had appeared in the circus magnate’s grip.

[Rizhail]

Happy to leave the gangers to the Ogryn, and not too thrilled about potentially facing the beast herself, Nova remained where she was. She drew her swords and pressed her back against the wall, out of the way of anyone else who wanted to flee down the hall full of las fire.

"Either draw the shooters down to us or let them flee. Standing and shooting in a hallway is suicide!"

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Can't really see a good option for Nova, despite the lack of pinning this round. So, basically holding/skipping her turn. Especially since both Red and the kill team go before her, so she couldn't help him anyway.

[Etcetera]

Jericus pulled up the station maps on his dataslate, trying to find a route to flank the killteam.

[Thanatos 51-50]

God-Emperor! His eyes!

Red staggered away, torwards the wall, reaching one gloved hand out to brush its metal surface and followed it to the corner. He knew there was cover there, and he pushed off the corner, and began stumbling down the hallway.

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Full Move. 2S, 1SE, 1E. This triggers an AG test at -10, so:
AG28 - (1d100)[17]

[Destro_Yersul]

"Change of plans, then." The bright flash from the corridor behind them, and the appearance of Red, was forcing Tychon to consider his options very carefully. Only the ganger on the ceiling had a good angle on them. The rest, he could worry about later. Bracing his pistol with his forearm and squinting down the iron sights, Mr. Kastor took fresh aim at the ganger. Simeon, curse the fool, had ruined his last shot. "Nova, assist Mr. Bosc. Madame D'Aragnia, what is your man's name?"

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(1d100)[55]
trying this again. Same action, BS91.

damage (1d10+5)[11], again with +2 if it's a crit.

[LCP]

“Phipps,” said D’Aragnia, as Tauron came barrelling into cover beside them. “His name is Phipps.”

Nodding without shifting his aim, Tychon fired. This time, the gunslinger’s shot struck with devastating accuracy. The bullet nearly cut the ganger’s arm in two, punching through at the elbow in a spray of bloody cartilage and shattered bone. Arterial blood fell in a trickling rain to the floor below as the dying man slumped in his harness, hanging there like a corpse on a gallows.

Freed of the ganger’s suppressing fire, Phipps made a run for the door, slewing to a halt as he saw Tychon and Nova blocking the entrance. Seeing his mistress behind them, a moment’s reading of the situation seemed to inform the bodyguard that they were not enemies; nonetheless, he kept his guard.

Behind them, Red came staggering round the corner, still blindly feeling his way. Leaving the sergeant to his own devices, Jericus pressed his back to the wall, fingers dancing over the intricate symbols of the data-slates they had been given. Schematics flickered and flashed under his fingertips, and Jericus alighted on the zone he was looking for with astounding speed.

In the hall, the auctioneer had fallen back into the shadow of the generator, pressing in beside the terrified Vyres. Hugging the cover the great machine provided, he rose to the edge of his hiding place, loosing a roaring shot from his pistol at the man with the heavy stubber who was so brutally punishing his men.

The bullet missed by a foot or so, striking sparks from the duct to the gang gunner’s left. Swivelling in his harness, the man opened fire again, his heavy weapon’s mechanical chatter filling the hall with its echoes.

The auctioneer was fast, but the bullets were faster. As he ducked back into cover, one of them clipped the corner of his bloodied mask, knocking him sprawling against the deck – another tore the sleeve of his coat, while three punched messy bullet-holes into the generator itself. Wrenching noises of mechanical destruction accompanied their impacts, the shots spitting sparks and shards of broken metal as they struck home.

There was an electrical crackle from somewhere inside the humming block of machinery, followed by a sudden bang. With an ominous wobble, the humming of the generator slowed and deepened, before shutting off completely.

The lights went out. There was a heartbeat’s silence – and it was total silence. Even the gurgle of the stasis coffin’s tubes of coolant had ceased. Somewhere out there, Nova thought she heard Vyres whimper in terror.

From out of the darkness, there came a squeal of tearing metal, like a steel coffin-lid being ripped off its hinges. It was followed by a clattering crash, like a steel coffin-lid being thrown the length of the room and landing amidst a slew of broken chairs. Tychon was only guessing, of course, but that was what it sounded like.

There was a hollow clang somewhere up above, like a heavy blow against an empty oil drum, and the people in the darkness began to bellow and shout in wild confusion.

OOC:

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A new challenger appears!

Initiative: (1d10+20)[21]

The actions of the other NPCs take place in the dark, and so I’m not reporting them. There is no shooting for the remainder of this round.

Here is the map Jericus pulls up. Freight Elevator 42 is the lift you came down in. The map seems to believe that the auction room and the adjoining complex of the rooms to the right are empty and unused storage spaces. The rest of the zone is part of the refinery network.

And here is the combat map:

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Note that while the auction chamber is dark because the lights have shut off, the darkness in the corridor is just fog-of-war to mask the bits you as a group can’t see. The lights are still on outside.

Since the auction chamber is not light-tight, you can make Awareness checks to try and pick out where NPCs are moving (few of them have moved far from their previous location). For Grum, this is at -10. For Millie and her gangers, this is at -20 (even the ones up in the rafters – their luminum tats make them more noticeable). For everyone else, this is at -30. Shooting in darkness incurs a -30 BS penalty, regardless of the target.

Back to you guys!

[Destro_Yersul]

Mr. Kastor nodded, even as Phipps slewed to a halt in front of them. Speaking quickly, he slid one of the long pistols back into its holster, producing a lamp pack from his coat pocket in its place. "Phipps," he began, waving the bodyguard past him with the lamp pack. "I think we've been placed on the same side for now. There are likely hostiles in that corridor behind us. Mr. Bosc? Did you get a good look at them?" Flipping the lamp pack on, Tychon swept the room with its beam. Backlit as they were, the extra light wouldn't do anything to relay their position that wasn't already being done. "Oh, and I suspect Lot 11 has escaped. Ideas on what to do about that would be welcome."

OOC:

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Tychon and his lamp pack are placing priority on verifying three things: One, Millie is still down and out. Two: The large stasis pod has indeed been thoroughly destroyed and emptied. Three: The gilded lyrebirds are still there. Anything else you want to tell me is gravy. Further actions dependant on answers.

[LCP]

The beam of the lamp-back twitched through the shadows, sliding over the ghostly outlines of scattered and broken chairs. Swinging left, it alighted on the cages of the auction lots, casting golden reflections from the lyrebirds’ cage. The birds twittered agitatedly in the sudden glare. behind them, illuminated by back-scattered light, the Thyrrus pulsated with strange colours behind its dewy glass.

The beam swung right, and fell on Grum’s broad, sweat-stained back. The Ogryn twisted his thick neck to squint round at Tychon as it struck him – as the light slid off his shoulders, it illuminated two of Millie’s gangers dragging their leader’s stunned form back away from the towering abhuman. Tychon heard the giant’s angered snarl.

A little further right, and Tychon found what he had been looking for most of all. Lying amidst the wreckage of the seating, the door of the stasis coffin lay like the debris of a shuttle crash, two long rents ripped vertically through its thick steel. Turning the lamp back along its path, Tychon illuminated the coffin itself, standing ruptured and empty.

OOC:

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We’re still in combat time here; Tychon is first in the initiative order so the rest of you may as well have this information to act on.

I think between the chit-chat and the torchlight searching, Tychon has spent his full action for this turn.

[Destro_Yersul]

"I was right." Tychon's heart skipped a beat when the lamp-pack's beam alighted on the empty coffin. "It's loose."

[Thanatos 51-50]

"Wait. What's loose?" Red asked, frantically attempting to blink the painful white from his eyes. He frantically tried to push the Death Light into Jer's hands.
"Erasmus. Where are you?" he asked out loud.
"Frag in the chamber. Take the blighters out."

[Etcetera]

Struggling with the trigger assembly, Jer took the proffered rifle, poked the pointy end round the corner and fired.

(d100)[71] vs 33

[Rizhail]

"Well, at least neither brass hands nor Stubbs get to have it," Nova said sarcastically as she rummaged through the pouch at her waist. Finding her photo-contacts, she put them on but left them inactive for the moment to avoid being blinded by Tychon's lamp pack.

"What are we looking at down that tunnel, Bosc?"

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Yeah, just spending a turn pulling out the NVGs and NOT charging into either the laser death tunnel or the 'this room is about to be a scene out of every sci-fi horror movie' room.

[LCP]

Taking Red’s Sollex in hand, Jericus span round the corner, raising the stock to his shoulder and peering through the falling mist of water. He paused for a split second as he noticed two faint spots of laser light wobbling on his chest.

The first hellgun shot tore a molten scar out of the wall, a trail of steam hissing in its wake. The second ripped into Jericus’ arm with the smell of cooking flesh, nearly making him drop the gun Red had given him. Gritting his teeth, the tech-priest fired back. There was a dull thump of pressurised gas, and then an echoing boom as the frag grenade went off.

When the smoke cleared, the wavering figures on the other side of the sprinklers’ haze were still standing. Their armour seemed to have absorbed the worst of the blast – more pertinently, there were only two of them. The others had fallen back around the bend, Rhodes with them; one more waited at the corner, while these two were backing up with their guns squarely trained on Jericus’ cover.

In the auction hall, there were shouts and yelps as the combatants groped their way through the sudden darkness, their eyes adjusting much too slowly. Tychon’s roving torch-beam, however, had lit up the position of Grum the Ogryn for all to see – up in the rafters, the muzzle-flare of the heavy stubber began to flicker and flash, spitting bullets in the snarling giant’s general direction.

Suddenly, the stream of gunfire seemed to jerk to the right – then, with an abrupt, agonised scream, it cut off. There was a wet pattering, like a sudden rain, and the clang of something heavy and metallic falling to the floor. The shouts of the others stopped.

At the far end of the hall, there was a mechanical grinding as the main doors slid open, some party or other making their escape. Silhouetted in the dim light it brought, Nova could see the empty harness of Millie’s gunner hanging in ragged tatters, as if it had been pulled from the jaws of an industrial thresher – on the floor eight metres below it, the heavy stubber lay, its barrel bent through nearly thirty degrees.

There was a dark smear on the side of the ventilation duct that the shredded harness dangled from. Hypothetically, if a mangled body had been dragged swiftly up into the forest of pipes and girders between them and the ceiling, it might make a stain that looked a lot like that.

[Destro_Yersul]

"Lot 11, Mr. Bosc." Hearing the lasfire, Tychon looked back. "Don't be a hero, Erasmus. I need you to find us an exit." The gunslinger focused back on the auction room, and the dangling harness. Mangled fabric, a bent heavy stubber, and no sign of the ganger barring a bloodstain on the vents... It was on the ceiling, whatever it was. Tychon wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Making a mental note to look up often, he focused the lamp-pack's beam back on Millie and her two friends, then reconsidered. Flipping the beam back off, he dropped it into his pocket and pushed the door shut. That wouldn't hold it, if the stasis pod was any indication, but it might want to pick an easier target.

Edging his way past the others gathered in the hallway, Mr. Kastor put a little distance between himself and the door. "The one we came down is likely none too friendly at the moment."

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(1d100)[8] vs 91, targetting the injured ganger helping Millie.
(1d10+5)[9] damage. +2 if it crits.

Actually, the more I think about this, the less sense it makes. Changing my action, since Tychon goes first anyways and nobody has actually reacted to him yet.

[Thanatos 51-50]

"Five men with hellguns. Carapace armour. Probably Servants of Twilight." Red rattled off as the edges of his vision become more "impossibly blurred" than "Blinding white pain". "Obviously with Octavian."
"Anybody have a plan of attack for Lot Eleven?" he asked as his laspistol jumped to his hand. He hated being unarmed, even if his faithful Sollex was in a comrade's hands.

[Etcetera]

Jericus swore. That was the last time he did something for Red. Thankfully the shot had hit his left arm, at least. He passed the Sollex back to Red and picked up his Tranter again.

[Thragka]

Tauron unslung his pack from his shoulders quickly to retrieve his own lamp pack, activating it in his left hand once his bag was back on his back, and drawing his pistol in his right.

"More light, if you need it, sir," he said to Tychon.

[Rizhail]

"So, we have a monster loose in there and enemy soliders out here. Do we try to contain this thing? Get up station and get the hell out of here?"

Nova edged toward the corner, staying just out of sight of the hellgun wielding foes and peeking down the hall in the other direction. "I'm all for falling back, by the way. I'll fight anything that moves, but I'd much prefer to be able to see it coming."

Spoiler

Show

Rolling awareness to see if anything interesting is noticeable down the corridor away from the enemy squad. Because she's not dumb enough to stick her head out into the sights of a pair of hellguns.

Awareness vs. 48 (28 base, +10 skill mastery, +10 Heightened Senses Sight)

EDIT: Aaaaand guess who's so tired he forgot to actually put a roll tag in the post. >.> It's in OOC.