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// If the path to salvation leads through purgatory, then so be it - Ahzek Ahriman, former Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons 
// Story: I Blame You, Too 
// by Whitestrake 
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@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I woke up not even an hour after I'd first went to sleep, and barely had time to put on my armor as I ran to the conference room. The other psykers, and their masters in the Inquisition, were similarly in a rush, and Gilded Unity was right beside me as I stepped inside. “Don't suppose anyone else felt that?” I asked, trying to muster a small smile, though I failed miserably.

“This is no time for jokes, Burned Man,” Lord Inquisitor Dorosa said, growling into her cup of recaff. I doubted she'd slept a wink, but wasn't about to ask. “We've got evidence of a warp rift opening somewhere in the underhive.” She slammed a fist on the table, activating the clunky hololith and displaying a three-dimensional map of the immediate area. Given that this was a hive city, there was  lot of ground to cover; numerous residential areas, manufactorums, and a dozen or so catacombs devoted to the dead, which had been cleared for use as storage centuries ago. “We've got its general location, but it could be anywhere in the this sector.”

The Lord Inquisitor zoomed in on the area in question, and I realized how seriously I had underestimated the capital’s size. As far as hive cities go, this was still tiny, but the small area the search was condensed to could house tens of thousands of people, and compared to the hive's entirety, it was less than a block, relatively speaking. “That'll take dozens of hours to thoroughly search,” I said, plugging my armor into the system to take control. “We still haven't eliminated the orks in this area,” I said as I showed the red contact glyphs that surrounded the residential block. “Fighting there will be half the problem, especially if we don't know what we're facing.”

“Precisely the reason I'll be leading the assault,” Captain Harkness said, and I was stunned to see him clad in terminator armor; I'm not too proud to admit I was slightly frightened by its gravelly vox and bulldog face. “We will be using the conclave's teleportarium to deep strike here.” He showed me where to put his squad, a five-marine terminator assault team, equipped for close combat. 

“Which means I need your men here,” the colonel explained, in the stern voice most officers had when they wouldn't take a kind no, sir for an answer. I opened my mouth to give him a very rude fuck off when Unity clamped her hand over my mouth. We were explicitly on Crius for our testimony, but he was a friend of the local inquisitors, and considering they could kill us for heresy, on top of countless other things, it was best we listen to him. For now. “Now, it's safe to say you handled yourselves fairly well yesterday, so, as much as it pains me, your mercs will be speartipping.”

I thought about the implications of his words, namely the fact we would quite literally be the very first wave of soldiers thrown against the warp portal and whatever the fuck it spawned, which could range from lesser daemons and chaos beasts, to a Bloodthirster or Great Unclean One, not to mention the myriad of  non-Chaotic beings which inhabited the warp. There was, for a brief moment, a chill that ran through my heart as I pictured an army of black-armored Space Marines, each a corrupted warrior seeking blood for their dark gods. Ceramite was beyond our abilities to defeat at a range, and only I had armor strong enough to counter a Marine's impressive physique.

“We'll be there,” I said, hoping I hadn't damned us all to an early grave.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I was pleasantly surprised to see Taylor and his mercenaries lined up, ready to pile into the back of a Chimera, right as the sun was beginning to rise. As unfortunate as it was, I was lumped in with their lot, as their handler, though I suppose it was better for us all if it made the Inquisition believe them under the Emperor's guiding light, which was as far from the truth as it could be. I nodded to them as I came to a halt just before the APC's ramp, and was shocked to see all eight of them salute me with precision I had only seen amongst storm troopers. “Mount up,” Taylor barked out, whipping around and storming into the Chimera after the other psyker, Gilded Unity, entered.

“I hope you've got room for us,” Inquisitor Vail said as she walked to me, trailed by Commissar Cain and the sorriest excuse for an Imperial Guardsman I have ever seen. Gunner First Class Ferik Jurgen, as he'd been hasty to introduce himself as, seemed a bit dull in the head, and reeked of something so foul I can smell it even now. “We wouldn't want to miss any action, especially not after he surprise yesterday.”

“Inquisitor Vail, Commissar,” Taylor said, nodding to each of them as he handed me a small dataslate. “We're ready to move at your command, sir,” he added, completely in a show of mock obediance that was sure to make Vail and Cain believe he cared for the Imperium. “If need be, we can make room.”

“Yes; I'm sure Gunner Jurgen would be able to assist in that endeavor,” I replied, hoping to foster some sense of camaraderie amongst the men I'd be fighting alongside. Honestly, until the day before, I'd been a civilian pilot, but I was an agent of His Holiness's Divine Inquisition now, and it was high time I acted like it.

“Pleased to meet you,” the disgusting little man known as Jurgen said, extending a grubby hand in greeting, minding what I imagined was appropriate protocol when dealing with civilians. Taylor, who must have been feeling surprisingly sociable that morning, slipped his mask off and returned the gesture with a small, genuine smile on his face. That expression soured the moment they made contact, and I doubted it was his irritation at smudging his glossy gauntlet. They shook once, and broke apart, trudging back to the Chimera to direct the mercs into a better seating arrangement. I noticed Taylor shiver a bit as he walked away, looking a bit ill.

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

Despite a near-hitch when Jurgen felt it imperative to shake the Burned Man's hand and reveal his nature as a blank, our journey into the underhive went without a hitch, save the occasional bump. The seating arrangement left the two psykers at the far end, with Jurgen near the ramp, which had the obvious benefit of keeping them away from him, and therefore avoiding pain or serious injury, but also allowed for him to be the first one out, and more likely to be shot and killed. That irked me to no extent, but there was no other way to divide the seats without mixing our groups or putting a psiker near Jurgen.

The Burned Man and his cronies were chatting in their own language, some barbaric dialect of Low Gothic that seemed to have originated from somewhere in the void rather than a civilized world. It seemed Inquisitor ill had a translator on him, because he kept on with them like he was one of their own, which, considering the charges weighed against them should they have refused this mission, may not have been a good thing. The driver told us we were nearing the battle zone, and in unison, the Burned Man, Amos, Amberley, and I all replied in the affirmative.

Almost as soon as the words left our mouths, an unholy racket of small arms fire pelted the front of our transport, though it was hardly of our concern as we pulled into position. We stood, ready to file out and get behind proper cover, when the front caved in under heavier fire. Unseen autocannons rained hell from across the way, tearing through our armor and making short work of our driver. Jurgen and I kicked at the ramp to force it down as the Burned Man fired his bolter through a gun port on the front, hoping, I suppose, to provide us with some means of cover.

One of the shells burst through the Chimera's hull, impacting on his chest. Then another came, and another. All told, he took five shots before he went down and Jacques, I recall that being the man's name, pulled him from the wreckage. Using a small mirror, the Pyromaniac, one of the mercs and an avid user of the flamer, peered around the corner, showing us a view we'd wish we'd never see.

Ten traitor Marines stood atop a pile of scrapped ork vehicles, laying heavy weapons fire down on our position.