Dark Heresy: To Do No Harm

[Lycan 01]

The planet Belachor V is just like any other hive world in the Imperium of Man. Its cities take the form of massive spires and towers, reaching high into the sky. Millions of people fill these monolithic structures, keeping the planet's industries running at the cost of their own blood, sweat, and tears. The hive's structure seems to reflect the social classes within it - aristocrats and nobles in the upper levels, white collar workers in the middle sections, and the blue collar workers and social outcasts in the lower portions of the hive. But in all these sections and classes, from the greatest heights of the hive to the deepest depths, there is one thing that can always be found: crime.

Crime is everywhere. All across the Imperium, hives are always havens for criminal activities of all form and function. Murder, theft, rape, kidnapping, deception, vandalism, arson, heresy - they can be found at all levels of society in these skyscraper cities. Perhaps the greatest example of this is the Black Market. Many hives are home to highly organized systems of theft, smuggling, fencing, and illegal trade. From the nobleman's contraband augmetics, to the junky's nightly fix, it is all courtesy the Black Market.

But recently, on the planet Belachor V, in the hive city of Arctus Prime, something has changed. The Black Market there has experienced a sudden influx of a certain product - human organs. Typically, this would be investigated by the Adeptus Arbites, and would not be all that noteworthy of an event. But for some reason, the city's Arbitrators have asked for help in this matter. Inquisitorial help.

---

After days of Warp travel aboard a Rogue Trader charted for Inquisitorial work, four Acolytes of the Inquisition found themselves dropped off on Belachor V. Without much ceremony or delay, they were transported to the hive city of Arctus Prime, where they were then sent to the offices of the Adeptus Arbites.

Now they find themselves sitting in a hallway outside the office of the department's Marshal. The hallways is rather bare and entirely white, sparsely decorated with a few steel benches and some framed inspirational quotes. The hallway is lit by both bright florescent ceiling lights and a nearby window, which allows the hive's artificial sunlight to filter through its iron bars. The door to the Marshal's office is a simple wooden door with a brass knob and a tinted window, which is emblazoned with the title "MARSHAL" in silver lettering. Every now and then, Arbitrators of varying rank and uniform will make their way up and down the hall, though they pay little heed to the Acolytes. Except for Acolyte Quint Pericles, who receives the occasional respectful nod or idle hand gesture from a passing brother-in-arms.

For now, though, the Acolytes can only sit and wait. They have been informed that the Marshal will see them when he is ready - and not before then.

Spoiler

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OOC Thread: http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=226634


Alright, here's your chance to introduce your characters, both to the game and to each other. Its likely you haven't had much interaction yet, so if you want your characters to be total strangers, that's fine. Or, perhaps they had some time to talk on the Rogue Trader ship or during the trip here, if you want them to already know each other to some degree.

At any rate, you have a few minutes to kill, then its on to the plot!

[loopy]

Jacques

Jacques sits idly, smoking a scrounged lho-stick and watching as the smoke disperses around the lazily-spinning ceiling fans. A speck of ash falls on his flawlessly white shirt, drawing a small curse from the nobleman.

Dressed in comfortable business slacks and vest, with Jacques lean build and hawk-like features he seems to be one greatcoat and brimmed cap away from looking like an Imperial Commissar.

"This is an unusual precinct, for a Hive," Jacques notes, taking another drag from the lho-stick. "Look at the wooden door. Must have cost an arm and a leg. My guess, this place has a noble who fancies himself a patron."

Jacques stands to stub out his lho-stick, then looks at the eclectic group of citizens around him. "What are we doing here, anyway? Did any of you even meet the... distinguished individual who we are now working for?"

[Timeless]

Arl Maellar

Standing erect against the wall, fully covered in the red robes of his calling, Arl ignores the coming and goings of arbiters in the hallway as tinkers quietly with the auspex unit in his hand.

After a brief burst of sparks Arl mutters a curse and looks up.

"I have not met the personage in question though I met an equally distinguished associate of theirs through whom I was instructed aboard our conveyance to this world"

Putting the auspex away and pulling out his data slate Arl keys it to the meagre briefing material available and then to the instructions he was given. Reading aloud from the slate "You are instructed to report aboard the vessel docked at the facility. You will be transported, with a number of others, to the hive-city of Arctus Prime on his Divine Majesties world Belachor V. You will report to the Marshal on arrival and then proceed to investigate the relevant activity"

Putting the slate away Arl looks up and nods at the door in front of them "It would seem that the budget that paid for that door did not have much left over to pay for information for us."

[Strawberries]

Tajah

The pale, black-haired woman is sitting, too. She has given up pacing more or less ten minutes ago. It felt good to be on solid ground again, and in a place that remembers her so much of home, but the wait is making her nervous. And the fancy surroundings aren't helping, either.

She jumps a little at the sparks shooting from the auspex unit before catching herself with a scowl "Me neither, ne'er meet him" she answers. She has a thick accent that betrays a low social origin "Man came with a letter, say'd I work for them, now. I think 'e was another drudge just like us". She laughs a bit, then shrugs, gesturing towards Arl "The letter say'd more or less what his says. Guess we'll all learn more when the Marshal d'cides to see us."

[Thragka]

The short, blue-eyed man with the tight haircut and goatee gave a smile. "I guess that means we're all in the same ship, then, info-wise" he said brightly. "Orders come down the line and we jump to it, hm?"

He drummed his fingers on the side of his seat in a quick rat-tat-tat. "I haven't had much of a chance to introduce myself until now. Quint Pericles, formerly of the Adeptus Arbites," he announced, as though it wasn't obvious from the uniform, "albeit far from here. I can see what your vocation is, tech-brother," he continued, nodding at red-robed Mechanicus, "but how about you two?"

[Strawberries]

Tajah stiffens, just a bit, quickly masking it with a shrug "I do lots of things." she answers "I can beat people up to make 'em talk. Jus' to name one." Also, she can make guns jam with her mind, and people forget they ever knew her...but the Arbitrator in the fancy uniform doesn't need to know that. "I come from a Hive just like this, so maybe they figur'd I would be useful. Name's Tajah."

[loopy]

(Curses, my first post must not have gone through)

Jacques

The nobleman eyes the arbitrator nochalantly. "I'm also from a Hive. Jorgumundr, if you've heard of it. The powers that be probably decided that you'll need someone of class and sophistication on this little adventure of ours."

"The name is Jacques, scion of the Du Khan trade empire. You can call me Jacq. The full title tends to be a bit wordy for most people." He flashes a grin through perfect white teeth, using a bit of self-deprecating humor to make his new associates more comfortable.

[Thragka]

Without ceasing his drumming on the side of the chair, Quint regarded the girl with a blank look and the young nobleman with a nod. "A pleasure." Although his voice was mostly flat, some lack of conviction, coupled with a twitch of his eye, made him seem a little ill at ease.

These are the sort of people who are chosen to uphold the law, he thinks. A kid who likely breaks it at every opportunity and a man who's probably never been restricted by it. He nearly frowned. And a coghead that might not even know it exists. Emperor on Earth knows what law he subscribes to. But so be it.

He smiled back at the group, all politesse and earnest friendliness. "It seems between us we cover all angles of investigation, then, hnh?" There it was again: that odd little strangled laugh.

"I've never been to a hive before," he added, almost to himself.

[Lycan 01]

"Never been to a hive before?" a gruff voice observes somewhat lightheartedly from the other side of the door. The wooden door then opens, and the Marshal casually strides out into the hallway. He looks to be about middle aged, with a strong jaw, stern features, and flecks of grey in his black crew-cut hair, though he may have access to age-regressing juvenant treatments. He surveys the Acolytes with piercing grey eyes, but wears a slight smirk on his face. The smirk turns into a smile, and he jovially states: "Well, you're in for a real treat then."

"Marshal Alexander Rorik," he introduces himself in a formal yet friendly manner, extending a black-gloved hand out for whoever wishes to shake it. He's clad in the standard Arbitrator uniform, albeit with many more medals and shiny bits, and a noticeable lack of bulky armor.

(Quint Only)

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Unless the Marshal has the balls to walk around without protection, he is likely wearing either wearing some form of light carapace armor under his uniform, or he has some sort of mesh lining in his clothes. Either option is likely very expensive and hard to come by.

"I've already been briefed on who you lot are, courtesy our mutual friends in the Inquisition. I must say, I think your handlers chose wisely, as you all seem to possess abilities and talents that will prove useful for this investigation. Ah yes, the investigation. I trust you've been kept in the dark about why you're here? Why you're really here?" the Marshal asks, quirking an eyebrow and folding his hands behind his back. "Unless you have any questions, I think we should head downstairs to the morgue, and get this show on the road."

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Now is your chance to voice any questions or concerns you may have.

Also, feel free to make Scrutiny rolls if you wish to see if he's hiding anything, or perhaps gauge his opinion of you.

[Thragka]

Quint immediately flashes off a technically correct, if somewhat unenthusiastic, salute. "Enforcer Pericles, sir." It's clear the ex-Arbitrator couldn't even conceive of introducing himself any other way. He then shakes the proffered hand.

"If I may, sir, why are we going to the morgue?" he asks, perhaps seeming less nonchalant than one should expect of an Inquisitorial Acolyte. "We haven't exactly been briefed yet."

[Lycan 01]

The Marshal gives Quint's hand a firm shake. "I like that enthusiasm, Enforcer. Wish more of my own men shared it. As for your question, you just answered it yourself," he smirks. "Our main lead in this case is currently locked up in cold storage."

[Timeless]

Frowning slightly under his hood at the mention of the Inquisition Arl Maellar steps forward from the wall. Leaning on the his staff, clasped in front of him, he stares at the Marshal for a second longer than is comfortable before nodding slightly.

[loopy]

Jacques

Jacques extends a hand to the Arbitrator. No harm in befriending a member of the local constabulary.

"Jacques Du Khan. A pleasure to meet you, Marshal Rorik. I am curious as to what you may have been told about me, I'll try and reign in my curiosity. Shall we head to the morgue? I'm eager to get started."

Jacques tries to get a measure of the man, and what he may have been told. He may be an incredible asset.

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Scrunity(Untrained):(Per 38) (1d100)[18]

On a side note, I'm surprised Scum don't start with it.

[Lycan 01]

(Jacques Only)

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The Marshal is certainly a rugged and experienced individual. And judging from his comment about the Inquisition, it could be a safe bet to wager that he's worked with them in the past. Also, your files may be whitewashed, because he doesn't seem to be treating you like a criminal or corrupt aristocrat. Either the info isn't there and your dossier is whitewashed, or he doesn't care. Being an Arbite on a Hive world, though, it seems like something he would care about...

[Strawberries]

Tajah just nods, fixing her gaze on the Arbitrator, assessing the clean-cut hair, his eyes, and mostly, the several medals in his uniform "Tajah" she says, briefly, without extending her hand.

((scrutiny - (1d100)[66](per 38)))

[Lycan 01]

(Tajah Only)

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Other than what you see before you, you can't really read the Marshal. He doesn't seem to be giving you any weird looks or anything, at least.

[Lycan 01]

The Marshal gives a respectful, smiling nod to Arl and Tajah, then accepts Jacques outstretched hand. "Right, now that introductions are out of the way, follow me."

Marshal Rorik leads the Acolytes through the Arbitrator facility, down several hallways and past several offices. They pass by the occasional Adeptus Arbites officer, as well as a few of the city's own police force officers, noticeable by their pale blue uniforms. "The city's got its own law enforcement, who handle the majority of the patrols, petty crimes, and smaller investigations," the Marshal explains offhandedly to the Acolytes as they walk. "The Arbites handle the more important cases, investigations, and prosecutions. Normally, the case you've been called in on would be something the local law enforcement would handle. But... as you'll see in a moment..." he frowns.

At the end of a hallway, there's a steel sliding door, with a keypad mounted on the wall beside it. The Marshal taps in a few numbers, and the door raises with a pneumatic hiss. The Marshal leads them into another, smaller hallway. White-walled and brightly lit like most of the other hallways they've been on, this one is different due to the fact that there are a pair of heavily armed and armored Arbitrators standing guard inside of it. The two officers are decked out in full carapace armor, and sporting autoguns with various upgrades. "At ease, troopers," the Marshal idly waves to them, and the two Arbitrators nod their helmeted heads before visibly relaxing. "Had to step up security a bit, just to be safe..." he remarks over his shoulder to the Acolytes. At the end of the hallway, the group finds a heavy steel door marked "MORGUE." The Marshal opens it with ease, then leads the Acolytes inside.

The morgue is set up like a traditional morgue. Its a large room, with a few autopsy tables and stations set up in the center, and walls lined with compartments holding trays and potentially corpses. It smells heavily of antiseptic, and faintly of stale blood. The center of the room where the tables are stationed is brightly lit, while the outer walls and corners are dimmer. Its also quiet. Silent as the grave, one could say.

In the center of the room, one of the tables is playing host to a sheeted body. Next to the table, there's what looks to be some sort of Techpriest. Rather than the typical red robes, their hooded attire is bright white with blue trim, and their idly hovering mechadendrites all seem to terminate in scalpels, syringes, and bone-saws. Silently reading over a data-slate, they stop and look up at the Marshal and the Acolytes as they approach. "Ah, Marshal Rorik. I was wondering when you would arrive. I trust these are the private investigators you mentioned?" the figure asks with enthusiasm, one of his mechadendrites plucking the dataslate from their hand and holding it aloft. His voice, somewhat surprisingly, sounds mostly like that of a normal human male, albeit with a slight mechanical tinge. His hooded form gives a nod to the Acolytes, and he introduces himself. "Greetings. I am Magos-Medicae Korlim Thane. Pleased to meet you." He then turns slightly to directly face Arl. "And blessings of the Omnissiah unto thee, my brother!" he warmly greets his fellow Techpriest, placing his hands together to form the symbol of the blessed cog.

"Now that you're all here, lets get started, shall we?" the Magos-Medicae asks rhetorically. Walking around to the side of the table opposite the Marshal and the Acolytes, he states: "Allow me to introduce you to John Doe, our key lead and witness in this investigation." With that, one of his mechadendrites slithers out, takes hold of the sheet over the body, and pulls it down to reveal the figure's head and upper torso - which are still all cracked open from the autopsy.

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Unmodified Willpower Test, folks! Its a pretty nasty sight, so unless you have the Jaded talent, you'll have to roll WP to avoid getting sick. Failure on the WP test will result in nausea and a -10 penalty to all checks for the rest of this scene. Failure by 5 degrees or more will earn you 1 Insanity Point.

The rolls can be made in the OOC thread, and you may then post your characters' responses and actions here. Good luck!

[loopy]

Jacques

The cold air of the morgue kept away most of the smell, but Jacques fair skin paled even further at the sight of the corpse. "Ah... Charming. If you'll excuse me, I'll be back in a second."

Jacques turns on the spot and exits the morgue. Leaning against a wall, he takes a couple of deep breaths to avoid retching. Fumbling around for a lho-stick that isn't there, he steadies himself and then heads back inside.

"Sorry about that. So, what do we have here?"

[Strawberries]

Tajah recoils a couple of steps, eyes fixed on the body, trying very hard to suppress a shudder. She has to swallow a couple of times before she can talk again "Throne on Earth, at least warn us, first!" she hisses, but it's obvious by the wavering of her voice that the lashing out is a way to mask her distress. She doesn't like dissected bodies. They remind her of things she prefers not to be reminded of.

It takes a couple of breaths, then she composes herself a bit, even if her complexion remains ashen "Uhm...so, yeah, dead pretty much. Do we know what of?"

[Timeless]

Breathing heavily through his respirator mask Arl Maellar pauses for a few seconds before pressing his hands together in the holy symbol of the Cog Mechanicum in return to the Magos.

“Blessings of the Omnissiah upon you Magos” he returns to Magos-Medicae Korlim Thane, a slight tremble in his voice betraying the lingering effects of the shock.

Greetings exchanged Arl walks over to the slab and stares down at the body examining it.

[Thragka]

Quint takes it as hard as the others, but makes not a twitch in response; in a way, this is more pathetic than if he'd excused himself to vomit. Some Arbitrator you, a deep, dark part of his mind purrs and rumbles. Here is crime, and then here you are like a frightened little child. Stare at that. The only truth in this world is we all come to an end, the Emperor's justice be damned.

After several seconds of total petrification, the Enforcer suddenly blinks rapidly, eyed darting around the room to take in any changes that he missed during his little fugue. He opens his mouth, but then thinks better of trying to force any words out, waiting for someone to offer an explanation.

[Lycan 01]

Once Jacques returns, the Magos-Medicae gives a slight nod of his head. "My apologies. I had assumed you were used to such things, given your line of work," he states.

"Yeah, well, even some our best investigators occasionally get green at some some sights. Can't blame 'em too much," the Marshal smirks.

"Yes, well, to answer your questions," the Techpriest gestures down at the mutilated corpse, "What we have here is a vagrant who's body was found on a public transit vehicle. No name or ID, no file or genetic identity in the criminal systems. Vagrant, from the lower levels most likely. It seems he boarded the transport on an unknown level when no one else was aboard or paying attention, and the passengers who boarded after him thought nothing of him. Assumed he was asleep, payed little attention, et cetera. It was not until somebody noticed the copious amounts of blood seeping through his clothes that someone deigned to pay him heed, and by then he was deceased. Cause of death was a combination of blood loss, external and internal, and also internal trauma. The trauma part is interesting. His organs were perfectly healthy. He just had too many of them."

The Magos-Medicae gestures down at the victim's cracked-open torso. Sure enough, it doesn't take medical experience to recognize that something is wrong with this picture. While his heart, lungs, and intestines all seem to be in the right place, a few organs and systems seem to be in the wrong place or in more greater number than should be. "As you can see, we have a second liver, misplaced gall-bladder, second pancreas, inverted spleen, third kidney..." the medically-inclined Techpriest states, pointing at each organ in question with a mechadendrite. "And... ovaries," he concludes, audibly perplexed.

"Now, if you'll look at the outside of the body, things get even more interesting. As I said, external bleeding was a factor in his death. The bleeding stemmed from... these..." Magos-Medicae observes, gesturing at a series of surgical scars and stitched-incisions along the man's flank and stomach. Several of them look to be healed or in the process of healing, while others still look recent, the flesh pink and livid where it has been carved open and then sewn back together. Some of the scars are small, while others stretch for a foot or more. "It would seem that someone was playing doctor with this pour soul. And he was not a willing participant," the Techpriest shakes his head. One of his mechadendrites grabs the man's hand and raises it up into the air. The man's wrist is bruised and rubbed raw, even covered in dried blood in a few spots. "Restrained. Forcefully. I also found traces of various drugs in his system. Antibiotics, clotting agents, sedatives... It would be my assumption that he was either freed or escaped, but was unable to seek help due to his mind being clouded by pain and chemicals. He managed find some way aboard the transport, and shortly afterward his body lost its ability to sustain itself."

"I think you can see now why we called for your help," Marshal Rorik speaks up, leaning back against a table with his arms folded over his chest. "This isn't some serial killer hawking his victim's organs on the black market. This is somebody growing organs in living people."

"Biological Heresy, and likely some form of Tech-Heresy as well," Magos-Medicae Thane interjects.

"Yup. Seemed like something you needed to know about. Something we should leave to folks in your line of work..." the Marshal somberly states.

[loopy]

Jacques Du Khan

As the Magos-Medicae lists the organs found in the vagrants corpse, Jacques expression flickers between bemusement, to interest, finally settling on concerned. He wanders forward towards the body and risks a glance inside it.

Finally, with a nod, he starts to speak. "As always, it is a pleasure to be amongst the servants of the Machine God, Master Magos." He inclines his head toward Thane. "And thank you for the consideration, Marshal," he adds dryly.

Jacques looks around at the group before continuing. "Several things spring to mind initially, and please, add anything that I have missed." Raising his left hand, he continues to speak. "One, what areas of the city did that public transit vehicle run through? Underhive suggests something different to a manufactorum district, after all."

"Two, this sounds like a commerical operation. Horror stories told to the children of my home hive were rife with Bleeders who lurked around corners and convinced one to... 'charitably donate' their organs. Maybe this is some deluded fools idea to replace juvenat treatments."

"Now, in regards to our investigation. We will need Ident cards allowing transit and freedom of movement throughout the different habs that make up this hive. Preferably redundant copies, in case the investigation is compromised at any point. Also, a writ of authority by the local Arbites Marshal wouldn't go astray either." Another slight bow, this time to Marshal Rorik.

"I'd request that any information collected by the Adeptus Arbites relating to this investigation be collated and forwarded to us. Whether that be biopsy reports, rumors, anything that could potentially forward a lead."

"Finally, some form of safehouse would be appreciated." Jacques sighs, and shrugs. "I know I may seem to be asking for a lot, but we are here to do the work of the Inquisition, and if it was deemed necessary for us to be sent here, I believe that the situation is more dire than it appears."

[Timeless]

While Jacques speaks Arl retrieves his auspex unit from where it was stowed in his travelling pack and uses it to make a visual recording of the body beneath him before making adjustments to do a chemical scan.

When he is done he straightens up, saves the results to his data-pad and packs it away before turning to the Magos-Medicae and speaking in a voice coloured with rage "Magos, I find this vile heresy most disturbing. I must request a copy of the autopsy, toxicology and genescan reports."

As he finishes speaking to the Magos he starts to pace near the body muttering to himself "Escaped on his own? unlikely given apparent likely condition and evidence of restraints. Facility abandonded? Natural disaster? Would be reports surely. Forgotten? Freed? by whom, not by captors, would be foolish. Multiple groups? Inadvertantly in other conflict? Renegade?"

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Auspex advanced scan: Tech use (int) (d100)[52] and Logic (int) (d100)[29]

[Strawberries]

Tajah realizes she has been unconsciously hugging herself and straightens up with a scowl. Stop it, damn it. You aren't a child anymore.

She forces herself to look at the body's face...which is the less horrific spot she can fix her gaze on. She has heard Jacques requesting all the details, but her mind is wandering in a direction of her own "How was he dress'd?" she asks "And did he have anyt'ng in his pokets?"

[Thragka]

Quint sucks in air through his teeth as Jacques began his litany of self-absorption. Sure likes the sound of his own voice. As Arl began to mutter, he waited for the young girl to say her piece before frowning at the Marshall.

"Of course, sir, we'd understand if not all of that information is ... available," he said dryly, eyes momentarily flicking to the young nobleman. "After all, we may end up having to follow a lead on the sly, without alerting too many people as to our real motives." Like, say, the whole damn hive if we barge around with the I branded on our chests. "Personally, I'm interested in the Black Market. You have a bunch of usual suspects for selling stuff that fell off the back of an auto, or the like?"

[Lycan 01]

"Hah!" Marshal Rorik lets out a small laugh when Jacques asks where the public transit runs through. "Good luck narrowing that down, boy. This transport covers at least 50 levels. The majority of the middle hive, some of the lower, and a few sections in the upper sector. Its a fool's errand trying to narrow down where he got on," the Arbitrator shakes his head. Then the Marshal frowns. "I'm not giving you false credentials. Authority or no, I'm not going to forge IDs - which you shouldn't need for movement and access, anyway. This investigation should be kept as quiet and unnoticeable as possible, and flashing Adeptus writs will jeopardize everything. There's a big difference between a private investigator asking a few questions, and a person with ties to the Arbites asking the same questions. People react differently. Word gets around. Investigations can be threatened, even ruined. I'm sure your friend understands what I'm talking about," he observes, gesturing to Quint.

"And we do have more material to provide you. Were aren't exactly done with the briefing... As for a safe-house, we may be able to provide you access to a small apartment nearby, often used as a staging ground or headquarters for Adeptus investigations. Its not perfect, but its secure..." the Marshal shrugs.


(Arl Only)

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Judging from the injuries to his wrists, and the fact that knowledge of his existence would threaten the operation, it seems logical that the victim's escape was unintended. He likely broke free, or managed to slip out in a moment of oversight.

"Oh yes, certainly," the Magos-Medicae nods to Arl, before extending a claw-tipped mechadendrite. "Allow me to see your data-slate, please. I will transfer the pertinent files."


The victim's face shows him to be about middle-aged, judging from the wrinkles and the patches of grey in his closely cropped hair. Judging from the nicks and scratches on his face and scalp, he was likely forcibly shaven regularly. Most of his teeth are either broken or missing. His eyes, already fogged grey, seem... odd. The man's left eye is slightly off center, and a tilted a few degrees downward compared to the right eye.

(Tajah Only)

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Your growing up in the depths of an Underdive has taught you how to recognize certain things. Its a mutation. Nothing serious enough to warrant Ecclesiarchy attention or condemn him to a life spent amongst the Twists. But also noticeable enough that it would shatter any hopes the man would ever have of a normal life or social acceptance. Yes, you've seen plenty of people with small mutant defects like this - all of them vagrants and social outcasts, unwanted, unimportant, and unknown.

"He was found clad in ragged and worn street cloths," Magos-Medicae Thane responds to Tajah. "Very dirty, unwashed, a few old blood stains on the inside. And his pockets were empty. All the more reason to believe he is a vagrant."


The Marshal catches Quint's glance at Jacques, and flashes a faint smirk. "Ah, I was right. He understands exactly how investigations like these should work. Enthusiasm and brains; I really wish I had more Enforcers like you. At any rate, you could certainly try the Black Markets. We don't have any current leads, as the local law tries to swiftly deal with any dealers or fences they dig up, but there are a few locations where you may be able to make some connections if you play your cards right. Underhive bars, gambling dens, houses of ill repute... You'd have to tread lightly, though. Asking too many questions or claiming any sort of authority will probably get you killed, or worse. But if you can keep low or undercover, you could probably find some good leads..." he muses.

"Now, I believe we had a bit more information to share, yes?" Marshal Rorik asks, turning to the Magos-Medicae.

"Ah yes, I've managed to finish genetic testing on the victim's redundant organs. A few of them came match the genetic codes of individuals in our systems. Strangely, their files all show them to be supposedly living, and no bodies found in recent months have matched their description or DNA..." Magos-Medicae Thane observes, plucking his data-slate from one of his many mechadendrites. Tapping away at it, he begins to list off his findings: "The kidney belongs to a hab-worker by the name of Josiah Rux, age 52, residence in the manufactorum districts in the lower hive, married with no children. Our inquiries into his status through his employer have gone unanswered."

"Bureaucracy..." the Marshal grumbles.

"The ovaries belong to a Miss Valeria Lilas, age 21, residence in the mid-hive residential districts, single with no immediate family. Inquiries into her status have been unsuccessful," the Techpriest states.

"Listed employer said she quit months ago, and we've only had one chance to check her residence - no one was home at the time. Maybe you'd have better luck finding her, or what happened to her..." the Marshal suggests a bit grimly.

"And the liver belongs to a Lord Hiram Cutheringham, age 34, residence-" the Magos-Medicae tries to state, only for the Marshal to interrupt him.

"Eccentric and reclusive aristocrat," Marshal Rorik states with a shrug. "Lives up in a private mansion in the Upper Sectors. We couldn't really dig up much dirt. Only reason he's in the system was because he was apparently "adventurous" as a kid and got his ass kicked by some gangers on his first visit to the lower sectors," the Arbitrator explains with a smirk. "He's so private, nobody can tell us if he's live or dead, or even when he was last seen. However, I think somebody of your position and talents..." the Marshal nods to Jacques, "Might have a lot more luck than we've had."

[Timeless]

Shortly after Arl stops muttering he ceases to pace and pulls his data-slate back out to pass it over to the Magos-Medicae's waiting mechandrite. That done he listens to the Marshal complete his description of Lord Hiram Cutheringham life.

When the Magos and Marshal finish speaking about the organs genecode and sources he speaks up while staring at the ceiling of the mortuary "So, organs grown to order or grown to ... superior specifications than this unfortunates own"

As he considers the implications of the latter his pale features, already made paler by the chill, drain almost completely as he considers the possible, even probable scale of the issue.

Turning to face the Marshal he places his hand on the shoulder of the corpse before continuing "I fear that if these people you name are not the intended recepients of these organs then they are now either already dead or much like this one was before his discovery."

Almost as an afterthought he adds "How did the other two come to be in your system files Marshall"

[Lycan 01]

"It would seem Mr. Rux saw his share of bar fights," Magos-Medicae Thane answers, idly poking at his data-slate. One of his mechanical limbs grabs Arl's own data-slate, and brings it back to the senior Techpriest. He begins to poke at the two slates in tandem, occasionally making an odd hand sign or binary tweet under his breath, as he is presumably setting up some sort of ritualistic data transfer. "As for Miss Lilas, it would seem she has been an upstanding Imperial citizen for the majority of her life, with no criminal activities or noteworthy events. She appears to be in the system voluntarily, which not an uncommon practice here. It lets potential employees run easy background checks, and shows that the individual has nothing to hide. Greatly improves employment opportunities and chances..."

[loopy]

Jacques

Jacques stops short for a second, chastened. "Apologies, Marshal Rorik. I may have gotten a bit carried away. Back to the matter at hand, we seem to have four people from completely different sections of society involved here."

"A vagrant, a hab-worker, an upstanding mid-hiver, and a reclusive aristocrat. Sounds like the prelude to a bad joke. Assuming that they didn't get together weekly for a knitting circle, we can assume that whoever is doing... whatever this is." Jacques waves his hand over the corpse, "Has access to every level of the hive, or is at the very least an accomplished snatcher."

"In your professional opinion, Marshal, what lead would you suggest that we pursue first?"