Compliance

by Mal Masque

Chapter Ten

Author's Note:

Apologies in the delay for this chapter getting out, keep an eye out for a secondary posting in a few hours to make up for this EXCRUCIATING wait to get this dang thing out.

Chapter Ten

---

“Alright…” Devon panted, his shoulders rising and falling in conjunction with his laborious breathing. He flipped a switch on the battery pack of his lasgun, depositing the empty cartridge onto the scorched carpet. The Captain staggered back a few steps and collapsed in the only thing untouched in the room: a velvet padded lounge chair. Everything else had been shot, slashed, reduced to ash, or completely stained in mutant blood. Sure, Devon had to expend all but one of his packs to keep himself alive, but it was either him or the two score and nine Genestealers that had ambushed him. Or maybe there were more of them, it was hard to tell amongst the half-melted corpses and strewn about limbs. Still, they were dead, he was not, and as a Guardsman, that was all he could really ask for.

After breaking off from Yamira to go and rescue Amber, Devon had chased after the carnage that the Genestealers had left behind in their wake. For an entire species of covert infiltrator mutants, they certainly never cared for cleaning up after themselves. Then he got lost. Immensely lost. He somehow ended up in back in the dining room, and yet didn’t recall ever going up the stairs. Devon did attempt doubling back, but somehow ended up in the foyer in the process. He ended up spending the next few minutes shouting indignantly and storming off in another direction. Only then did he finally catch up to the carnage, and the subsequent ambush that was waiting for him in the rafters. Which brings everything back to this point with Devon sitting in the undamaged chair amongst a bunch of dead, multi-limbed abominations.

“I’ll sit here just a bit longer,” Devon muttered. “Then I’ll go back to find Ms. Dust.” He took a pocket knife from his belt and raised his metal leg and inspected for a bare spot amongst a series of notches. After a bit of guesswork, Devon made a brief mark towards the back of his metallic calf. “There we go. Seventy-nine times I shoulda died but beat the reaper. One more and I beat the dead pool.” Something fell and clattered into the ground in another room, immediately catching Devon’s ear. Military instinct took hold and he leapt over his seat, diving behind the cover of an overturned, slightly scorched table. He pressed his back against the table, clutching his lasgun carefully as he listened carefully. Slow and methodical footsteps sounded from the far end of the room, almost cautiously moving about. Devon heard a single pair, then two more following behind, these next ones more rapid and hurried. Finally, they stopped, close to Devon’s position. They were too light to be Genestealers hurrying about, but Devon kept his finger on his trigger.

“Messy-messy, what an unsightly and garish mess,” rhymed a musical yet slimy voice. Devon’s heart sank and blood boiled at the sound of it. “The damage, the corpses, the stench! It all lacks a sense of... finesse.” Devon could practically hear Zasraman traipsing over the corpses like it were a dance recital. “Whomever is responsible for this has given me no end of distress.”

“It certainly is quite unsightly.” said a hoity woman. Probably one of those red girls that followed Zasraman around, the Daemon Sisters. Devon could never tell the two apart, even when they were together, so most he could do was guess. “So much collateral damage is going to result in an insurmountable amount of paperwork, I can tell.”

“Paperwork for us, dear sister,” said the other woman, either Kneesocks or Scanty, Devon couldn’t tell. “Or for the mortal authorities? Odds are, someone is bound to be buried in bureaucracy.” Kneesocks (or was it Scanty?) haughtily laughed, while Devon found himself mouthing ‘mortal’. His thoughts were disrupted by Zasraman clicking his tongue.

“Tut tut, my dear Sisters, thinking so much of work before any chance to play,” Zasraman said. “Focus more on the mission at hand, ‘tis best we do not delay. The genetic hungering broods would consume Celestia City swiftly, to them a boundless feast,” Devon heard one of Zasraman’s heels clack against the chitin of a partially mutated corpse. “If they had their fun before I could manage any, well, I’d be quite disappointed, at least.”

“Of course, of course.” said Scanty (or was it Kneesocks?). “First and foremost, we follow the tracker, make sure the asset is still alive, retrieve her, and possibly participate in some good ole fashioned stress relief a-la mass homicide, hmm?”

“You take all the fun out of things.” Zasraman pouted. “But no matter, for blood tainted most foul, doth my swords ever so sing! Onwards!” Zasraman’s odd and uncomfortably creepy laugh followed as he traipsed out of the room, with the Daemon Sisters following behind. Only after he heard their footsteps fade away did Devon move out of cover. The Armageddonite’s mind was rife with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, reinforcements had arrived and Devon was damn-sure that they could use it. Especially with the presumably innumerable number of the filthy mutants inhabiting this manor and the rest of the spire. On the other hand, the reinforcements were Merodi, and that could result in some matters being made a bit more complicated. On the other hand, it was Zasraman. Regardless of how many hands there were, Devon refused to let this opportunity slip by, especially with mention of them knowing Yamira’s location. Devon took a deep breath, readied his hand on the trigger of his gun, and sprinted down the corridor after the Harlequin and his cohorts. Another notch to add to his leg was coming soon, he could tell.

---

Silence had befallen the chamber as Zasraman made his entrance. The Genestealers had ceased all their activities to gawk at the garishly dressed intruder as he stepped away from the pooling mess of blood coming from the severed head of the giant alien lifeform. Zasraman flicked his blade again, spattering errant blood onto the floor, his plastered smile never breaking away from Lady Tzahah and her prisoners. Among which counted a very angry Yamira Kalov, whose unmarred face was turning red enough to match her own burned flesh. The Commissar herself seemed far more furious than the Genestealer Cult leader who just had her ritual so rudely interrupted.

“How?!” Tzahah shrieked. Her tongue flicked out of her mouth, still bearing the fresh wounds from being completely bitten off, like an irate snake. “How could a Xenos interloper find our most secret, deeply hidden lair?!”

“Oh, finding this place, so damp, so dismal, so horrifically nefarious?” Zasraman asked, lazily twirling his sword between his fingers. “I believe the matter of making your entrance a giant ruddy hole in the wall with shoddy plating as cover, only absolute fools with no eyes would miss a gaudy lair, so obvious.”

“That was a shit rhyme,” Cage called out. “But the rescue is definitely appreciated!” Were Yamira not bound by her wrists behind her back, she would have smacked the smoker upside his head. Zasraman flourished and bowed, despite the hisses the Genestealers were sending his way. Behind him came Scanty and Kneesocks, the two well-dressed red women each bearing far more serious looks upon their faces, their yellow eyes piercing like poisoned knives.

“Yes, this operation is certainly a combination of impressive and poorly coordinated,” Kneesocks said. “But it has to come to an end.”

“Quite right, dear sister.” Scanty added. “This rabble needs to be broken apart.” She turned to her sister and pressed her hand to her cheek. “Oh, this is a delightful part, which one of us should say it?” Kneesocks smirked and mirrored her sister’s gesture.

“Why don’t you say it this time, you’ve got the presence downpat with the stance alone?” Kneesocks offered.

“Oh, but I did it last time when we were in ‘Nest,” Scanty said. “You should do it, especially if you can get your glasses to glare with the lighting down here.”

“Oh, but the lighting is too dismal for it, but you can execute a far better stage presence with the moody atmosphere.” This exchange between the two sisters lasted a full minute, with much of the room growing progressively annoyed by the excessively playful banter. Someone was going to pop, either the furious Cult leader whose ritual was ruined, the furious Commissar in need of rescuing, the slightly irate Harlequin currently being upstaged, or the Armageddon Steel Legion Captain currently sneaking around the rafters for a clear shot.

“Oh, but you can make your gorgeous face downright terrifying for this very purpose, sister dear, you should have the honors.”

“Thank you, dearest sister, but really, it’s only fair for you to-”

“CHRIST, EITHER SCREW ALREADY OR GET ON WITH IT!” Cage shouted. All eyes fell on Cage, even the two Daemon Sisters who had been tussling each others’ hair. Cage shook his head and his casual demeanor slowly returned. “Sorry, sorry… I haven’t had a smoke in three minutes and I get really freaking wired without my smokes.”

“That’s your bloody biggest concern right now?” Yamira flatly asked. “Frakking addict.” The Daemon Sisters huffed and stood side by side, folding their arms across their chests.

“Very well, we’ll deliver our announcement together.” Scanty grumbled.

“That we shall, sister.” Kneesocks added. Zasraman lightly traipsed to the side, allowing the two red women access to the center stage. They stood side by side, their beautiful faces shifting to nightmarish caricatures of rage and bureaucratic ferocity. In this light, Yamira saw a change in these two women. They walked and talked as humans do, but the way they looked in this light, they seemed truly… demonic. Scanty and Kneesocks raised their hands above their heads, pointing to the ceiling as though to call upon the wrath of the heavens above. In a single dropping motion, they pointed to Lady Tzahah, and a burst of hellish green and blue flames burst around them. The Genestealers recoiled, Lady Tzahah hissed, and Yamira and Cage were nearly blown back onto their feet.

“By order of the governing universal power of Merodi Universalis,” The two sisters spoke in unison, powerful voices echoing across the walls of the cavern and rattled in everyone’s ears. “We, representatives of Expeditions and Military, declare you as obstacles to our ultimate goals of unity and governance. Your life has been declared forfeit! Surrender now, and you will be judged accordingly by the Justice Division.” A silent pall hung over the chamber, not a sound was made by any living being, save for the slow gritting of Yamira’s own teeth. Lady Tzahah looked positively stunned, her gold-capped teeth bared as she tried to manage some semblance of a response. Then finally, it came to her in the form of a chuckle. A small thing, barely audible save for those nearest to her. It soon doubled into proper laughter, her posh voice that she had used to introduce herself to Yamira and her company sounding easily in the dark. And finally, the illusion of calm that Tzahah had broke away into deranged cackling, her serpentine eyes wide with maddened mirth. It seemed to be infectious, as many other Genestealers in the vicinity slowly joined in with their own chortling hisses and laughs. The entire chamber echoed with the laughter of nearly a hundred mutants, all directed at the sisters and their Eldar accompaniment. Tzahah abruptly held her hand up, and the laughter ceased, but her smile remained.

“You order us to surrender?” Lady Tzahah asked. “I do not know if you outsiders have been taught the basics of mathematics, but we outnumber you in both bodies and firepower!” Several guns clicked and whirred in response to the proclamation, even from the Cultist who had stolen Yamira’s own weapons.

‘You’ll be the first.’ Yamira thought, shooting a sidelong glare at her captor.

“Again I ask, you have the gall to order us, The Children of Shan,” Lady Tzahah continued, making sweeping gestures with her staff. “To surrender to you? Dare I even consider asking ‘and what army’, or shall I simply have you torn piece by piece and reconstructed as genetic material for our growing war effort?” The sisters turned to each other briefly, looking more bemused than frightened by Tzaha’s proclamation. Slowly their eyebrows raised in perfect unison, then glanced back to Zasraman, who seemed to have almost fallen asleep whilst leaning on his sword. They cleared their throats and the masked Eldar seemed to have woken up.

“Sir, I believe they’ve just invoked a trope,” Scanty said.

“Asking for what army we have,” Kneesocks added.

“Care to respond accordingly, sir?” The two said in unison. Yamira watched the Eldar and his two accomplices carefully, their next moves would decide how many people would die on this night and whether she herself would be amongst the number. Zasraman slowly stood upright, his unnatural smile glimmering like a crescent moon overlooking a military graveyard. He raised his sword, a wicked thing of three hooked curves that glinted even in the darkened chamber. He seemed to be looking at his reflection in the blade.

“‘What army’ the golden-tongued serpent asks, I prithee?” Zasraman asked. He twirled his sword a bit and giggled, raising his free hand above his hand, fingers pressed against each other. A loud snap echoed throughout the room, and in an instant, the chamber was once again filled with laughter. Not the laughter of Genestealers, they had gone entirely silent at this point. This laughter was of unbridled jubilation and merriment, the kind heard when a rather amusing joke had been told, or when a most hated enemy was put down in a humiliating fashion. It washed over the chamber like a wave of merriment, many of the cultists recoiling in fear and raising their guns to shadows. Yamira only had to blink for a moment and everything had changed. Like a curtain parting to unveil a stage, blankets of invisibility were cast off, one by one, as tall, elegant and merry figures seemed to blink into existence. All with painted, smiling masks and coats of resplendent color, the Harlequins materialized with cackles and cheers, waving wicked swords and toting terrifying guns alike. They appeared on the walls, from the ceiling, behind boxes, even alongside the Genestealers, as if they were there the entire time. Zasraman lowered his hand and glared at Tzahah, and Yamira swore that faux smile of his seemed to widen. “I believe it is also cliche to say… this army.”

Yamira’s blood had reached the pinnacle point of boiling, she could feel it superheating in her veins. Reinforcements were one matter, but coming from not only outside forces, not only coming from a rival faction, not only coming from a filthy Xenos, but they were coming from Emperor-damned, knife-eared Eldar. And she was damned if she was going to let them fire off the first shot that was going to save her life. She took advantage of the stunned state of the Genestealers and their leader, vaulting onto her feet and bashing her head against the underside of her captor’s jaw. Her head throbbed from the blow, but seeing her stunned captor recoil and drop her weapons made it all the worthwhile. She quickly rolled to her sword and sliced the amplified blade against her restraints. By the time Tzahah had reacted, Yamira already had her bolt pistol drawn and aimed directly at her bald head.

“FOR THE EMPEROR!” she roared. Before she could pull the trigger, Tzahah opened her mouth wide, bearing her golden-capped fangs, and unleashed an ear-bleeding scream that rocked the chamber. Yamira felt herself staggering, Cage thrashed in his restraints with a pained look consuming his face, the Daemon Sisters fell to the ground with their hands on their ears, while Zasraman and the Harlequins just seemed upset at the thought of being upstaged. Tzahah snapped her mouth shut and swung her staff against Yamira’s head, clocking her in the side.

“CHILDREN OF SHAN, WE FEAST!” Tzahah bellowed. The Genestealers replied with their own hoots and hollers, their weapons readied once again.

“Ah, and now the show begins.” Zasraman muttered. He raised his sword overhead and gave it a twirl, a circle of glowing energy shining over his head. “Masque of the Crimson Bloom, commence the performance of a lifetime!” The Harlequins replied with huzzahs, prepping their weapons of wicked concoctions.

The chamber of ritual and industrialization became a warzone in an instant.

Yamira was fortunate that her blow to the skull had knocked her aside, otherwise her head would have been taken clean off by an errant shredder round. She had been at the center of many a battlefield before in her decades of serving in the glorious Astra Militarum, moreso as one of the Commissariat. She had learned to read the battlefield as a scavenger surveys a ruin, examining the surroundings and everything therein to locate worthwhile valuables, or in this case, suitable targets. Her survey pertained mostly to the two warring parties, the Harlequins and the Genestealers, both of which Yamira had years of experience fighting. The Genestealers were locusts, swarming the battlefield with weapons looted from the fallen, be they the enemies’ or their own. Strength in numbers, but quick to falter in savagery when the leader is lost. And with the Matriarch of the whole damn cult standing before her, it would be a simple matter of cutting the snake’s head off and leaving the body to writhe.

The Harlequins were another matter entirely. Yamira had encountered many of the Eldar factions in her travels and campaigns. Craftworlders and Corsairs had their protocols and witchcraft, the Exodites were organized savages, and the Dark Eldar Kabalites were nightmares of speed and sadism. These could be killed, once the patterns were studied and their vulnerabilities exposed. But the Harlequins? Yamira could never read the heirs of the Laughing God. They danced about the battlefields like it were a ballroom, bullets and projectiles curving around them as though they weren’t there, and slaughtering their enemies in artistic displays. Their swords were brushes, and their foes a canvas and paint all in one. They were unpredictable, only their madness and sheer jubilation in the kill could be expected. With these two killing each other, Yamira would be simply content to let them simply do the honors for her. Xenos and mutants still bleed.

Her tactical study was broken abruptly as the head of the golden staff slammed into the ground right next to her head, Lady Tzahah standing over her with her lengthy tongue slathering across her golden teeth. Yamira quickly rolled out of the way as the sphere crashed down again, jumping onto her feet and properly adopting a combat ready stance. Exchanging words would be pointless, honorable battle is the only language need be spoken here. Yamira swung her power-sword at Tzahah, but the cultist met the attack with her staff, catching it between two of the spheres that adorned the top.

‘Blast, my blade cannot cut through it.’ Yamira inwardly cursed. She reeled her sword back and swung again, only to be met with the same results. ‘What is the point of having a power-sword that can cut through most everything when there’s a nullifying metal that evens things out?’ Yamira yanked her sword back and opted to pull her backup weapon up to end the battle quicker. Tzahah reacted quickly and smacked Yamira’s hand with the butt of her staff, diverting her bolt pistol away and firing a shot into the fray, tearing clean through the head of a Genestealer Cultist that was attempting to tear the head off a downed Harlequin, reducing it to little more than a stump. Yamira quickly slashed again, holstering her bolt pistol to focus more on close-range combat, once again met by Tzahah’s block.

“You are impressive, Commissar,” Tzahah said, wrapping clawed fingers around her staff. “But you cannot hope to compete with my superior reflexes.” Yamira’s retort came as she broke away from the clash and swiped her sword across Tzahah’s face. The Genestealer ducked back swiftly, but something got nicked in the process: another portion of her tongue. It flopped onto the floor as Tzahah screamed again, her eyes narrowing to slits. “AGAIN?!” There came an opening that Yamira was quick to exploit, lunging forward and digging the tip of her sword into Tzahah’s shoulder. Again she screamed in agony, jabbing the end of her staff out and smacking Yamira on the back of her knee. The Commissar buckled and pulled her sword out, gritting her teeth as pain lanced up her leg, but quickly resumed the offensive to avoid yet another bludgeoning. Sword and staff met in a shower of sparks, electricity harmonizing across Yamira’s blade in blue bursts as it clashed against the tarnished gold of Tzahah’s staff.

As the two fought, Cage had been pinned on the ground due to a dead Genestealer completely falling on top of him, struggling under the chitinous weight of the mutant. He grit his teeth and squirmed underneath, trying to find some proper means of escape. Cage spared himself a glance upwards at the altar where Amber still lay, in a blissful slumber despite the battle going on. Worry and concern crept up his spine as he saw how dangerously close Yamira and the Cultist Matriarch were to fighting directly over the pony, spurring Cage onwards to get himself free. An explosion rocked the chamber, munitions likely exploding from an errant round, setting fire to a substantial portion of the room. More importantly for Cage, it was creating smoke, and plenty of it.

“Cigarette Daydreams!” Cage called out, smirking. The smoke suddenly snaked out, surging directly towards Cage and shoving the dead Genestealer off. “Thanks buddy.” Cage dusted himself off and, naturally, plucked three cigarettes from his carton bandolier and flipped open his lighter. Just as he ignited his silver trinket, a gunshot from some errant stub weapon shot past Cage, glancing across all three cigarettes and igniting them in a single motion. Though pondering the probabilities on how such an action could never be recreated again with such spectacularly insane results, Cage did still need to save the day. He turned towards the altar, watching as Tzahah stood directly atop the altar, prodding a very angry Yamira with her staff and smiling like a devil. The smoker immediately broke into a run, diving directly at the altar and bursting into a plume of smoke, wafting over Tzahah and Amber in a grey haze. Amidst the sickly coughs from Tzahah, Cage swiftly materialized his arms and picked up the slumbering pony, dragging both into the smoke and zipping away across the battlefield, startling Genestealer and Harlequin alike.

Yamira saw the intervention from Cage as the perfect diversion, the bald mutant was completely blinded and disoriented by his gift of smoke, even if it was some confusing sorcery from beyond the Warp itself. She had a clear stab at the Genestealer now, and she quickly drew her sword for a fatal strike. Cut off the head, the body will writhe!

“UPSTAGED, DEAR-HEART!” proclaimed Zasraman. Before Yamira could even register it, the Xenos had kicked her in the side, sending her stumbling off the steps and onto the ground. She quickly stood up, blonde hair falling in front of her face, parting a curtain to see that the damn Eldar had taken her place just as the smoke was clearing! Tzahah jumped off the altar and hastily waved the remaining smoke wisps away from her, serpentine eyes widening at the sight of not a half-scarred Commissar, but a smiling masked Harlequin standing before her. Immediately, Zasraman lunged, his wicked sabers gleaming as they collided with Tzahah’s staff, scissoring together mere inches away from her neck. Tzahah pushed back, trying to break the lock the Eldar had forced her into, but the Xenos was far stronger than the Commissar was. “It would be far too foolish for an artist such as I to not take part.” He shouted and kicked Tzahah in her gut, sending her sprawling backwards with a pained grunt. Already Zasraman was chasing after, twirling his swords around him in wide and vibrant arcs.

Yamira was furious, again and again, this flamboyant fool was testing her patience, and now he aimed to steal the victory of slaughtering the enemy from her? Absurd! Unbelievable! Absolutely heretical! She immediately sprinted after Zasraman and Tzahah, pausing only momentarily to lop the head off of a Genestealer Cultist that had the misfortune of getting in the way. She didn’t even acknowledge that the Harlequin it was quarrelling with offered her thanks, not that the gratitude of a filthy Xenos meant anything. Tzahah was just pulling herself up when Zasraman already appeared, swords raised overhead to strike her down in a single, decisive blow. They were brought down, but were immediately intercepted by the blue glow of a power sword. Zasraman gasped, his momentary lapse resulting in Yamira shoving his own swords back at him, the ornately carved hilts colliding with his mask and staggering him.

“The Xenos witch is MINE!” Yamira shouted, waving her sword about with renewed vigor. Zasraman stared back at Yamira with blank, black eyes, while the Commissar met the gaze with her single hateful eye and the point of her sword. He quickly batted the tip of her sword away and again tried to strike Tzahah, but Yamira was quick to catch his blades again. She refused to give the Xenos any sense of satisfaction, even if it meant his blood stained the floor. Yamira shouted as she slashed at Zasraman, but the Eldar quickly jumped out of the way, dancing around Yamira on the very tips of his curling toes. He continued to bounce around her, his bells ringing obnoxiously in her ears every time he hit the ground. In a rage, Yamira stamped her foot down just as one of the curls on Zasraman’s boot fully extended, pinning the Xenos down. He immediately fell flat on his face, a loud honk sounding as he hit the ground.

“Bad show…” Zasraman grumbled, voice muffled by the dirt. Yamira smirked, proudly reflecting on this moment again and again in her mind. The repeat of Zasraman’s fall was immediately interrupted by a painful bash on the back of her head, dropping her to the ground in agonizing pain. Tzahah stood over the two, staff in hand and face red with fury. She screamed and raised her staff overhead, set to bring the three orbs down upon Yamira’s skull like a hammer bludgeoning a nail. As they came crashing down and Yamira braced herself for immense pain, a curved and wicked sword quickly struck out and caught the orbs mere inches away. Yamira’s eye widened as she slowly looked over to her side, following the blade to the hilt, and the Xenos hand who held it. Zasraman’s white mask was stained partially brown with blood and dirt, but that smile still remained, unfaltering, unwavering, unnerving. He quickly swiped his blade out from under Tzahah’s staff, and left a pair of bloody cuts on the Matriarch’s shins.

Tzahah screamed and crumpled, dropping her staff onto the ground with a clutter. Vulnerability, the ultimate exploit! No more playing around on the battlefield. Yamira quickly shot her hand to her hip, snatched her bolt pistol from its holster, and pressed the barrel against Tzahah’s ample, bloodied chest. A single pull of the trigger was all it took. The bolt shell burst from the barrel, tearing clean through skin, flesh, muscle and bone, obliterating all that was in its path. When Yamira put her gun to Tzahah’s chest, the Genestealer faltered and fell backwards, resulting in the bolt tearing not straight through her body, but upwards, cutting through her ribs, her throat, her spine, and finally up through the back of her skull. She was dead before her blood even spattered against Yamira’s coat.

With the Matriarch dead, the rest of the Cult was soon to follow. Yamira drew her bolt pistol away from Tzahah’s bloodied corpse and searched to find another target. Much to her own surprise, there were none left. The Genestealers had been slaughtered wholesale by the Harlequins, bodies torn apart by shredder rounds and diced by elegant blades scattered the chamber in a disgusting arrangement. When she anticipated killing Tzahah would destroy the cult, Yamira did not expect it to be quite so literal.

“Well… the deed is done.” Yamira muttered, holstering her weapons. She turned to address Zasraman, offer some remark for saving her life, but again she was met with surprise. The Xenos was gone. She whirled her head about, the rest of the Troupe had vanished as well, even the Daemon Sisters were nowhere to be seen! The only traces of their presence were the scars left behind by their alien weapons. “... Frakking Xenos.”

“Commissar! Commissar!” called Devon from afar. Yamira felt a sensation of relief, knowing the Captain was still alive. She turned and saw Devon running up to her, his rifle bouncing in his arms. Cage and Amber were following behind him, Cage holding the still slumbering pony in his arms with a clearly pained look on his face. “Thank the Emperor it’s over.”

“That it is, Captain.” Yamira said. “With the Matriarch and Brood Lord dead, the rest of the Genestealers will devolve into ferality, making them far easier to exterminate.” She turned to Cage, nodding to him and the prone pony. “Amber Dust will recover, she likely was affected by a severe hypnotic attack and rendered unconscious.”

“Figured, those things had some jacked up eyes.” Cage said, clearly straining under Amber’s weight. “I’m totally sure Ambs will be fine once backup gets here, I wanna take a one hell of a bath once we’re back in the City.”

Yamira raised an eyebrow. “Backup?”

“Oh yeah, once I got Ambs away from you and Pope Snake-Eyes over there,” He gestured with a slight lean towards the mangled corpse of Tzahah. “I sent out a call to some people. They should be by any-” The thunder of boots echoed throughout the chamber like a rockslide, drowning out Cage’s words as hundreds of humans, Gems, and ponies wearing the grey and orange unforms of Merodi Military poured into the chamber, barking orders at one another and securing defensive positions. They had surrounded Yamira, Cage, Devon and Amber in seconds. “... Wow, ka’s really on point today.”

Shuffling through the crowd of soldiers stepped a woman, also garbed in the Merodi militant uniform, with skin as white as snow and hair like lilacs. Her stature denoted her of someone with years of military experience, especially with the way the rest of the soldiers seemed to regard her. Yamira and Devon stood by cautiously, while Cage did his best to stand at attention whilst holding a sleeping pony in his arms.

“Commissar Kalov,” she greeted. “I’m Captain Suzie Mash, Military Division. We intercepted your distress signal as soon as it was broadcast. It took a little coercing from the local authorities, but it seems we made it before anyone could be put in severe danger.” She paused to look around the room, surveying the carnage left behind during the battle. “More severe danger. We’ll escort you back to your ship and bring you and your team to Celestia City for rest and briefing.” Yamira never actually gave an answer before the soldiers started to guide her and the others out of the cave. If anything, she was holding her tongue at this point. Yet again, she had needed saving from a damn outside source. Humiliation weighed down on her spirit, but she refused to let them see. Nobody would see anything other than her scarred yet determined face.

---

“So, to recap: You found out that the Lord Governor’s lead advisor, one Leilani Tzahah, was actually a leading member of a cult of mutants, that was secretly attempting to infect Celestia City with a virus that would mutate every creature into… basically beacons for a race of alien locusts called ‘Tyranids’, but you managed to stop them by killing Tzahah with the help of a… surprise force of Harlequins.” Eve said. She placed her hooves atop her desk and gazed back at the bemused Commissar. “Is that the entire story?”

“Word for word.” Yamira replied. After being collected by Merodi Military, Yamira was immediately taken to the Relations Office while Amber was taken to Aid for medical treatment, with Devon and Cage going with her for potential support. The next hour had been spent in Overhead Eve Sparkle’s office, recounting exactly what had happened. Unfortunately for Yamira, there was no General O’Neill to buffer her in the presence of this Xenos leader, so much of the conversation was through grit teeth. Eve sighed and flopped back into her seat, her wings ruffling against her back.

“Right, this sounds completely par for the course for the level of crazy in this universe.” she muttered. “I’ll take everything you said as true, except for the part about the Harlequins.”

“Excuse me?” Yamira asked, leaning forward with her arms crossed over her chest.

“The Harlequins of the Crimson Bloom haven’t left Celestia City in weeks,” Eve said, tapping her desk. “Same goes for Zasraman and the Daemon Sisters. Tabs are kept on them at all times, we’d know if they were gone.”

“But they were there, Xenos.” Yamira firmly stated, rising from her chair and planting both hands against Eve’s desk. “They killed the Genestealers and vanished as soon as the job was done.” Eve used her magic to lightly push Yamira away from her desk and back into her chair, prompting a huff from the Commissar. “Won’t matter anyway. Knowing what happened, Lord Governor Velour is even less likely to accept offers for alliance from your Merodi now.”

“Oh, he already said yes.”

“WHAT?!” Eve winced, her ears twitching as she brought a wing to her metallic aids.

“We spoke to Governor Velour before we brought you in.” she explained. “After calming him down, we told him that, because of what happened, our Science division is currently developing a means to locate and distinguish Genestealers so that this doesn’t happen again. It’s quite similar to the Changeling Detectors that show up in many Equestrias, we’d just need to tweak it to scan right down to the cellular level.” Eve smiled, tilting her head slightly to the side. “In spite of all that happens, you and Amber succeeded in gaining Armastus’ alliance. Thank you, Yamira, you’ve done very well today.”

Were this coming from a High Lord, or commanding officer in the Astra Militarum, or even one of the Emperor’s own chosen, such praise would have brought a rare smile to Yamira’s face. But to hear it come from a Xenos witch that had bent the ear of the Emperor, it might as well have been a spit in the face. Yamira waited for no excuse to leave, simply standing and walking out the door, leaving Eve to her own devices. She need not lash out again after such an arduous day, she’d had more than enough. Yamira marched through the halls of the office, paying no mind to officials and workers that had passed her with concerned looks and wary stares. The faster she could get away from this building and all the damnable Xenos and their sympathizers, the better she’ll feel. She produced her personal vox (Amber seemed to call it a “cellphone”) from her person and quickly dialed a number.

“Ruttiger, pick me up outside of the Relations Office.” she instructed. “I wish to return to my residency and rest.”

“Yes’m, I’ll be there in a few clicks.” the Ratling replied. Yamira pocketed her vox and walked out the front doors, back into the technologically advanced wonderland of Celestia City. The shininess of it all still hurt her eyes to look upon it. Too much like an Eldar Craftworld. As Yamira stepped down the stairs, she was blocked by the appearance of a woman, with purple hair that draped past her knees and dressed in a black dress with diamonds patterned along the base. Up close, Yamira could see blood-red eyes and a distinctively bemused face. She tried to step past, but the woman merely stepped in her way again. Yamira attempted to move again, but the woman still adamantly blocked her.

“Move.” Yamira ordered. The woman said nothing. “Move out of my way, NOW.” Again, nothing. Her rage reached a peak, and Yamira raised her hand to strike the woman down. Before she fully brought her fist even close to hitting, the woman’s hand lashed out and grabbed onto her wrist. Yamira’s eye bulged at the fast reflexes of the woman, grunting from her crushing grip. Slowly, the woman lowered her hand, and brought Yamira down with her. She wordlessly turned around and dragged Yamira down the stairs, the Commissar struggling to both keep her balance and to break free. The two women entered into an adjacent alleyway next to the building, away from prying eyes. Yamira was released of the bone crushing grip, only to immediately be shoved against a wall. “What is the meaning of this?!”

“A warning, Commissar.” the woman replied. Her voice was young, yet a chill seemed to escape her lips with every breath, as though the grave itself were speaking. “My name is Delilah, I’m with a group of people who’ve been keeping a very close eye on you.” Yamira furrowed her brow. Something about this scenario seemed eerily familiar to her.

“Are you with those men from the… vague, yet menacing government agency?” Yamira asked. “They already gave me their little blathering shpiel, so best save your breath, little girl.” Delilah’s eyes flared and her scowl widened.

“DON’T INTERRUPT!” Delilah shouted, slamming a fist onto the wall right next to Yamira’s good eye. She turned ever so slightly, and saw the formations of a sizeable crater where Delilah’s fist lay. The smaller woman sharply sighed and slowly withdrew her hand. “Lost my temper… Damn it, I said I wasn’t going to do this. Alright, you listen very closely,” she grabbed Yamira’s collar and yanked her in close. “We’re going to be watching everything you do very closely. If you do anything that jeopardizes our mission, then your stay in Celestia City will be very brief, and very painful.” Delilah released Yamira from her grasp, dropping the startled Commissar on the ground. She started to walk away, but momentarily stopped to pay one last glance to Yamira. “And one more thing: Tell Cagey that if he misses another date night, he’s getting put through the wringer.” Yamira barely had a chance to offer retort when Delilah had completely vanished, leaving Yamira alone in the alley.

It took a bit of effort to convince herself that it was safe to move again. Yamira placed a hand to her chest to ease her unsteady breath, to little avail. Fear was a tool she utilized to inspire troopers, rare was it when she felt genuinely afraid for her own life. Yamira found herself staring at the crater in the wall. She had only been acting as liaison for Merodi Universalis for a week, and already her life had been threatened thrice over. Feeling the fear subside, Yamira steadily strode out into the street, where the familiar dull yellow of Ruttiger’s hover taxi. She wasted no time in walking up to the vehicle and seating herself in the back, the smell of Ratling providing little comfort.
Ruttiger leaned over his chair, glancing back at Yamira as he chewed on a cigar. “You alright back there, longshanks?” he asked. “Look like you’ve just seen the Reaper.” Yamira shook her head and waved.
“I’m fine, lieutenant.” Yamira said. “Just exhausted. Take me to the Dome.” Ruttiger shrugged and turned back to his wheel. As the vehicle hummed to life, Yamira turned to look out the window, her half-scarred face staring back at her with a melancholic gaze. A long rest would do her well after the arduous day she had, maybe another one of those lovely baths. Anything to take her mind away from the woes of her station.

Comments

[FanOfMostEverything]

One more and I beat the dead pool.

A man with a face only Nurgle could love popped up from behind the lounge chair. "Oh, Pookie, no one beats the Deadpool."
Then a gaggle of Pinkies dragged him out of the story.

Discussing the nature of tropes with a Harlequin. Oh, I'm sure that was a fin conversation.

Absurd! Unbelievable! Absolutely heretical!

Heresy doesn't really apply to nonbelievers, Commissar.

Frakking, killstealing Xenos...
Oh. Well, that's just 40K in a nutshell, isn't it? Internecine conflict between factions prolonging the actual problem for much longer than it should have lasted. At least it didn't get worse... probably.

Eve's skepticism feels arbitrary here. Why would Yamira make up an Eldar intervention? Yes, there's evidence against it, but what Imperial commissar would admit that they got Xenos backup? Of course, the Merodi have repeatedly demonstrated that they just don't get the Imperial perspective.
Heck, they apparently weren't even aware of Genestealers or Tyrannids until now. I'd think they'd want to get a Cliff's Notes version of the major factions in the galaxy. Sure, the Emperor's perspective would be horribly skewed, but it would gove them some mind of informational foundation.

And that conspiracy grows deeper and stranger as time goes on. Most curious.

[Black Hoof]

Good to see the main characters are safe and the cult is down. Now I wonder... Is a hivefleet coming? What was that about the Harlequins being there and not there?

[Amusementist]

Scanty and Kneesocks...

Panty and Stocking.

You sly little...