EVENING NEWS
Solare Memorial Progenitory Opened
Citizens of Tael III rejoice as the sub-sector's newest and largest progenitory was opened with much celebration today. Named in honour of the legendary stratega-martyr Trysta Solare, the progenitory has been completed after three years of diligent work. Featuring six hundred and twenty production lines and fifty socialization blocks, the Solare Progenitory is the largest in the entire Kalmian sub-sector and will be able to produce up to 20 thousand new Sidhae every day once fully operational eight years from now.
Feeling Lonely? Not On MilNet!
The tech department of the Imperium's most popular social network announces the launch of the newest generation of matchmaking software today. According to MilNet press liaison Claudia Dorn, the new software utilizes revolutionary semi-sapient quantum algorithms that will be able to match interested singles with 96.8% accuracy.
Legal Battle with Liberty Station at an Impasse
The Imperial justicars of the Aquila Reach announced reaching an impasse in the ongoing legal dispute between the sector's Space Administration and the Freelance squatters aboard Liberty Station. Despite the authorities attempts to evict the Freelancer population, citing increased criminality and incidents of piracy since their arrival, currently no law exists that would enable them to do so legally. Liberty Station was originally constructed and deployed by Aquila Reach State Mining Company in 2588 as a deep-space mining station to exploit the purported riches of the Hellebore system's asteroid belts. When the actual mineral yields turned out considerably below the expected, the operation was declared a bust and the unprofitable station decomissioned in 2593 after just five years in operation. ARSMC filed for bankruptcy before Liberty Station could be scrapped, leaving the station legally ownerless. This was exploited by the Freelancers under Right of Settlement and Right of Salvage clauses that authorizes freelancing Imperial citizens to claim uncontested properties for Imperial settlement or salvage. While reviving commerce in this remote region, the resettled station also attracted a criminal element, earning Liberty Station an unsavoury reputation and the ire of the local authorities. However, with the majority of residents being law-abiding Imperial citizens, their expulsion from the station has thus far not been legally possible, being the subject of a number of lawsuits and counter-lawsuits over the recent years. Archon Dalarius, ruler of the Aquila Reach sector, could not be reached for comment but has thus far not retracted his earlier statement regarding the settlers' right to stay. Many speculate that the lenience exercised towards Freelancers by Archon is a political move, a military operation to evict them would no doubt alienate the sector's Freelance citizens shortly before the archonal election upcoming later this year.
Berkshire Liberated
The Imperium's faithful allies in the Commonwealth of Altoris rejoice today as the industrial world of Berkshire was officially declared free of Skargh invaders. The planet was liberated after a three-month joint operation between Altorisian 1st Armored, 5th Line Infantry and 22nd Whitmore Fusilliers, Altmark 58th "Howling Banshees" Airborne, and Imperial Alpha Legion. The return of Archistrategos Arcadius Drax after over a month of unexplained absence is believed to have contributed to this victory considerably, leading some to speculate about a possible combat injury to the legendary commander. In keeping with principles of discretion, Alpha Legion press liaison would not comment on Drax's absence, only explaining that the strategos was "in sound health" and his absence was "duty-related". Whatever the reason for his month-long hiatus from action, his strategic genius is no doubt behind the string of victories secured in the Altoris Expanse in the past year, Berkshire being the third world to be reclaimed within a month. Altorisian Prime Minister Richard Blackwater visited the Imperial HQ on Berkshire personally to thank our troops for leading the liberation of the Commonwealth.
Tired of Life in the Ghetto? Enlist Now!
Ever thought what it would be like to travel around and see the galaxy but couldn't because of travel restrictions on humans? Not anymore! If you are at least 18 years of age*, able-bodied and in good health, then you are exactly what we are looking for! Join the Human Auxiliary Legion and experience the thrill of danger and adventure around the galaxy! Be the hero you have always dreamed to be and help your fellow humans against the alien menace! Report to your local Human Affairs Office and ask for an enlistment form today! Remember - service guarantees citizenship!**
*Able-bodied recruits aged 14 and above are accepted for non-combat roles.
** DISCLAIMER: Unconverted humans only eligible for limited citizenship without political rights.
AVE IMPERATOR, AND HAVE A GOOD EVENING!
---
The Cauldron
Bayit Gadol human district
Scatach Prime, Imperium of Sidhae
Marco Webley watched the news broadcast with minimal interest, the only part catching his attention being the reports of Arcadius Drax going missing for a month. Being in the business of knowing things, Webley knew that roughly a month ago, the legendary strategos had been sighted in this very town. He was last seen travelling to that new Mecharussian embassy just inside the Sidh quarters, most probably going on some classified assignment in the other universe.
Webley knew about the other universes and travel between them as one of those personally involved in the events that broke out following that fateful battle in Scatach's orbit. Those who did generally didn't make much of it, accepting it as just another wonder of living in an age of miraculous technology. Still, the Imperial authorities apparently deemed that the political implications of disclosing the exact nature of these Mecharussians would not yet be desirable - the news never made any mention of them besides a brief announcement that the Imperium has contacted another independent human power when the embassy was established. Webley and others who had been more deeply involved with the incident had been visited by a Judicatrix going by the name of Serena shortly afterwards, being asked to remain discreet about the exact nature of the "mercenaries" they had been fighting alongside with. Webley had thus far not uttered a single word pertaining to the matter, knowing enough to heed a Judicator's word when asked nicely.
The past few months had been rather intense. After the Empress's visit to Scatach and the following reforms, Webley had made the decision to apply for conversion. Admittedly, it was one that he still felt to be by far the worst experience of his life. He was still having nightmares from time to time, waking up screaming with lingering pain all over the body. Nonetheless, it had been worthwhile. Eventually the pain went away like they had promised, and he truly felt like born anew, as something better than before. Every sight, every sound, every smell felt so much more intense and intricate, Webley feeling astounded about the degree of detail that his original human senses seemed to have missed before. Then again, so did every emotion. He was still taking the prescribed prozium pills that new converts were recommended to take until they would get accustomed to their new heightened sensations and mood swings. Minki who had sponsored his conversion had likewise been of great help, guiding him through the hardest parts of the new life as a convert, introducing him to proper Sidh ways of living and thinking. Webley had joined the ranks of her disciples, studying the Word and the Way under her tutelage, and eagerly embracing their new identity.
Minki was different from the typical Word Bearers in that she did not demand her converted students to renounce their human roots entirely, arguing that the Emperor himself had never renounced his humanity either, so it was only fitting that Sidhae born as humans should not too. Still, Webley did feel a certain bit of arrogant pride over having endured the conversion and proven himself worthy to rise above the humble lot in life that his birth had accorded him. Some of his old friends and acquaintances derided him as a sellout because of this, but what did they really knew - he was still here, where many others hoping for the vaunted Sidh status were not, reduced to mindless husks by the tormenting conversion process and recycled or shipped off in stasis to serve as construction material for cybs or lobo-serfs.
Although Webley's life had clearly improved since the conversion, a small but by ghetto standards luxurious apartment in the Sidh quarters not being the least perk that it had awarded, there was still much to be desired. Oftentimes, the reactionary elements of the ghetto would still resist the sweeping reforms, and ordinary street crime was still very much a problem. While Urban and Domestic Securities dealt with the most of it, sometimes they simply didn't have the knowledge necessary to get the job done. This is where he and his outfit, composed mainly of former Greencoats and Sicarii, came in. Sometimes the jobs were as simple as asking the right people what the authorities wanted to know. On other occasions, it involved getting down and dirty, personally bashing in some skulls - just like the old days, except now it was done to uphold the law rather than break it.
Today had been no different. A debtor hiding from a man owed a considerable sum, a couple kids spraying anti-government graffiti much to the chagrin of Domestic Security, and a spiker cyber-vandalizing the freshly installed surveillance cameras on the former Eightball turf. The first two had been an easy job, straightening up and promising to mend their ways after a serious conversation and a stern warning. The spiker, however, had proven considerably more resistant, only having a change of heart after eating the motherboard of his computer. Three cases of illicit weapons contraband were also pending more investigation for tomorrow, most probably coming in from the Salvage Town that had sprawled around the wreck of the crashed dreadnought on the other side of Tel Adom after Imperial salvage crews had stripped it clean of any technological artifacts of interest. Webley had hence decided to come over to blow off some steam in the evening in preparation for the next day's work.
The Cauldron wasn't like he remembered it to be, having been completely rebuilt from rubble after being levelled by a Sidh artillery strike, but the new place still had much of the same rough charm. The same cheap booze and air filled with cigarette smoke, the same drunks looking for a brawl being thrown in the same wire cage to duke it out for patrons' amusement, the same gambling addicts pulling the levers of slot machines and the same hookers and shady characters offering their services to paying clients. Even the bartenders were mostly the same ones employed here before. Admittedly, now everything was somehow more civilized than before, an Urban Security patrol never being longer than 10 minutes away, and at least there were no more kids snorting coke or drunks lying unconscious in the toilets. What was missing here was probably the presence of Greencoats, the memories making Webley feel nostalgic every time he came here after a long day's work.
---
"Hey, handsome!" a woman's voice purred as a slender, lithe frame hopped on the stoll next to Webley, "You look like you could use some company. Mind if I join in?"
"Uh... no, not at all!" Webley responded, distracted from his thoughts, but not really interested. He wasn't really into paying for female companionship, though then again, this lass somehow didn't strike him as a hooker.
"You got a name?" the woman asked. Webley ran his gaze over her to examine. She was tall and slender, with olive-brown skin and black hair, wearing a short white dress that revealed and complimented her fine legs in white high-heels. A pair of brown eyes underlined liberally with an eyeliner gazed back at Webley with a look that seemed to express a mix of sadness and longing.
"Marco," Webley briefly stated, his years of experience in a ghetto gang having taught him to exercise certain caution even around attractive women.
"Nice to meet you, Marco," the woman smiled, "What is it you do for a living?"
"Stuff," he replied elusively.
"Like "super-secret-spy-stuff-I-can't-tell-anyone-about" stuff?"
"Not quite. I take care of problems."
"Are you a gangster?"
"No. As I said..."
"Come on, there's no shame in admitting it! Practically anyone who matters here in the ghetto is or at least used to be a gangster. Judging by your fresh augmentation scars, I'd say you were a gangster before. Let me guess - you are one of Minki's boys?"
"You are very perceptive. Is there a reason why you picked me out of all the folks here to pester?"
"Not very sociable, are you? To tell you the truth, that's because you are the only man around who didn't immediately start to drool like a dog when I came in this bar."
"Forgive me my tone, I'm just not accustomed to being approached by anyone who doesn't want to either ask a favour or sell me something. You must be from out of town, because I haven't seen you around here before."
"Magen David, actually. I work for the Freelancers, Varro's outfit, to be specific. They pay me to find customers for their stuff."
"Really? Because I really haven't seen you in these parts before."
"That's because I've never been to these parts before, silly! I only picked up the job six months ago. It's hard work, but also good money."
"I see. If you're one of Varro's folks, that's a comforting word. I didn't know Varro hired humans, though."
"Everybody these days does. Crazy, isn't it?"
"Yeah... I guess we could drink to our meeting then. Barmaid, a drink for the lady!"
---
The beautiful stranger mentioning freelancer Varro put Webley's mind at ease. Varro was a man of good repute, as much as that could be applied to a smuggler, and more importantly, had no grudge with any of the former Greencoats like quite a few in the ghetto did. The woman's Hispanic accent also betrayed her as from out of town rather than a native, and Webley knew there to be a number of Mexicalian and Nuevocolombian residents in the Magen David ghetto.
She turned out to be a skilled conversationist as well. While Webley wasn't the man to fall short of words often, he found his conversational talents eclipsed by her, listening with avid interest even as she didn't speak anything of particular value. Perhaps it was the way she spun words that seemed to flow like poetry from her mouth, or simply her voice that spoke in that adorable Spanish accent, with the soft seductive purr of a cougar in every syllable. Webley grinned at the thought of likening the woman to a cougar, seeing how she didn't seem to be much older than 30. She seemed quite interested in him and made little effort to conceal that.
Marco had always been partial to Hispanic women. Not only the lot of them were damn good-looking, but also had that fiery passion about them absent in women of other races. A couple drinks later, he was almost feeling like he could marry this woman whose name he didn't even know right here and now.
His new friend seemed to get a bit tipsy as well. As she leaned forwards to Webley, laughing about the crude joke he had made in an effort to amuse her, she dropped her purse to the floor.
"I'll get that!" he said, immediately leaning down to retrieve it.
"You are such a gentleman!" she spoke as Marco returned her purse to her arms, "What say you if we went somewhere else after this one last drink? Have a breath of fresh air, maybe?"
"Agreed," Webley nodded and finished his whiskey in a gulp. The woman chuckled and did the same, only to end up almost falling from the stool in the end, Webley quickly catching her by the waist. She threw her arms around him, leaning close to his face, mesmerizing him with the sweet scent of her black hair.
"You are quite a catch, Marco. I'd be eating dirt from the floor without you!" she said playfully and leaned closer to his ear, "I can think of a few better games than catching falling girls that we could play tonight..."
Any lingering suspicions or distrust collapsed under the deluge of base desire when she leaned forwards and bit his earlobe playfully. Barely able to restrain himself, Marco hurried outside with the girl on his arm, immediately pulling her into his embrace and a passionate kiss as soon as they left the bar. Her scent was simply maddening, Webley wanting to throw her down to the ground and take her here and now. The girl, however, gently pushed him away.
"Not here," she smiled, "Let's go over to my place! It's not far."
Marco mutely nodded, following her mindlessly like a pet on the leash. He had seen the ghetto's many stray dogs do this many times, mindlessly chasing after a bitch in heat in hopes of being the first to mate with her, so mesmerized with the prospect of mating as to be oblivious to any dangers. His head was beginning to feel strangely dizzy, as if he had drank one drink too many, something that he found strange, being a man who could hold his drink. Writing it down to the stress of work, Marco would muster his will to compose himself, not wanting to embarass himself in front of the lady as a drunk.
As they walked on, however, the dizziness only got stronger and stronger, and before long, Marco needed his new friend's assistance to maintain an upright stature. He was feeling a mix of shame about his weakness and lust roused by the sweet perfume emanating from her hair almost like a saintly aura that made her seem like a luminant angel lighting up the dark streets and alleys of the ghetto.
At one point, Marco realized that he had all but lost track of where they were going.
"Where... are we going?" he gasped, fighting against the urge to relieve his stomach.
"To my place, sweetie! We're almost there," his friend tweeted jovially like a canary bird, when Webley could no longer hold himself, leaning against the nearest wall and vomiting explosively much to his embarassment.
"Oh, poor Marco, had too much whiskey for tonight? That's a shame..." the woman patted him on the back with an embarassingly mocking tone, her voice now sounding eerily-flanged and distant.
"I'm... sorry..." Webley gasped before another portion of puke explosively escaping his mouth silenced him. An instant later, he slipped, landing face-first in his own puke, and couldn't even feel the pain as his face struck the pavement. Vaguely he saw the lights of a car roll up nearby, the door opening and two men stepping out.
"Put some plastic sheets in the trunk before you put that piece of shit in there!" was the last thing he could vaguely hear, spoken by the woman in Sidh, "Don't want him to piss and puke all over the place!"
---
location unknown
"Wakie-wakie!" a loud twack accompanied by a sharp sting of pain on the lower spine awakened Webley. His mouth felt like a bucket of sand with a sickening after-taste of stale liquor and puke mixed in for good measure, and his head was pounding with an overwhelming, dull pain. The revelation that he was hanging upside down stark naked with hands bound tightly behind his back around two feet above the floor as he opened his eyes didn't help improve his mood one bit.
"Where am I?! Who the fuck are you?!" he exclaimed angrily, struggling in vain to get a view of whoever had just indignantly struck him on the backside.
"Having a hard morning, I presume?" the voice of a man spoke from behind.
"Listen, I don't know who the fuck do you people think you are," Webley growled, "But I don't think you have ANY FUCKING IDEA of who you're messing with!"
Admittedly, his newly acquired Sidh status with the corresponding privileges had gone to Webley's head, as had his status as Minki's chief enforcer. Being accustomed to the notion of might making right in the ghetto, Webley had lately come to the habit of throwing his weight around perhaps more than was appropriate at times now that he had the might.
"Oh, I think we do," the man interrupted him, "I think it is YOU who doesn't have the slightest fucking clue about the abyssal depth of shit you have gotten yourself into! Inessa?"
The familiar sound of high heels walking across a concrete floor. Webley tried to look behind him, only catching glimpse of the familiar pair of smooth olive-brown legs, this time clad in black silken high-heels. A moment later someone turned him around, and he recognized his yesterday's companion. This time, she was clad in a short skirt and revealing blouse of black silk, her raven hair tightly combed back and tied in a braid. Her eyes now glared a shining steel-gray, indicating she apparently had disguised them with contact lenses yesterday.
"You spiked my drink, you fucking bitch!" Webley snarled, at the same time unwittingly trying to catch a glimpse beneath her skirt as she knelt before him. She probably had slipped a mickey in his glass when he had reached down to retrieve her purse, no doubt dropped purposely.
"You have a talent for noticing the obvious, Mr. Webley," the Sidh said patronizingly, caressing his cheek with feigned gentleness, "And by the way, "bitch" and other dog-related terms are no way to address a lady, much less one of equal standing, something that you as a Sidh should have learned by now."
"What do you want with me?!" Webley angrily demanded to know.
"Names and addresses," Inessa spoke, "More specifically, those who were involved in a certain incident of gang warfare 9 months ago pertaining to a group of Russian "mercenaries"."
"I don't know what you're..." Webley began to deny everything, when Inessa squeezed his mouth shut.
"Hush, hush there, honey..." she spoke, retrieving a cigarette from her purse and lighting it up, "You know very well what I'm talking about. Now, since you seemed like a rather nice guy yesterday, I'll tell you, no grox-shit, that I am on your side and only want things to end the best way they can for you. A few of your friends have already told me you are the man to talk to. So, for your own sake, be so kind and start talking."
"Look, lady, I don't know who the fuck you are, but if I'm not back in my office within the next hour, there will be a whole century of Urban Security on your doorstep, and.... AAAAAAUGH.... FUUUUUCK!" Webley tried to use intimidation, when Inessa took a hefty smoke from her cigarette, suddenly stood up and extinguished it on his exposed scrotum. As she stepped aside, she revealed three chairs with bloodied bodies tied to them in front of him. Despite the severe bruising, swelling and blood, Webley immediately recognized the trio as his buddies from the Greencoats, ones of the bunch with whom he had brought down Flannery.
"Stevie! Grissom! Kumar! YOU FUCKING BITCH, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM!!?" he roared furiously. The one going by the name of Stevie, a slim wiry red-haired lad with a freckled face and a huge nose, now broken and almost flattened from the beatings, appeared to be already dead. Grissom, a stocky bald man with a thick braided beard and rich Viking tattoos on his head and arms, barely seemed to draw breath, every inch of his body being beaten to a pulp and his fingers missing their nails. Kumar, a swarthy Indian lad who had worked as a fence for the Greencoats, was still moaning and movign slightly. A table apparently holding various torture instruments was placed next to the three, one of Inessa's male companions clad in a long black leather trenchcoat approaching it and selecting a power drill.
"The lads weren't very cooperative at first either," Inessa explained, "But we do have ways of loosening even the tightest tongues. So, please - names and addresses, Mr. Webley!"
"Fuck you!" he snarled, trying in vain to spit at her. Inessa shrugged and gestured to the man. With a move of practiced ease, he applied the drill just above Kumar's left knee and started drilling.
"YOU FUCKING WHORE! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" Webley raged, struggling in vain against his bonds as poor Kumar's shrieks echoed in the concrete room that was apparently somewhere underground, in the Undercity. The torturer looked up towards him sinisterly, withdrew the drill and then applied it to the back of his victim's head. After a few shrieks, Kumar began to twitch in agony, bloody foam dribbling from his mouth.
"This was just a demonstration, Mr. Webley," Inessa explained, "To avoid this and worse, I strongly suggest you cooperate."
"WHOOORE! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU'RE DEAD, YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD! WHEN I GET OUT, I'LL..." Webley raged on, when Inessa stepped closer and squeezed his mouth shut again.
"Hold on, Marco, I didn't quite hear that right? When you get out?" she chuckled, looking up to her companions.
"I like his optimism," the man with the drill remarked with a chuckle, other Webley's captors laughing as well and indicating there was apparently another man in the room, making it three of them.
"You see, Marco," Inessa explained to Webley, "Treachery has a way of biting you in the ass long after you thought the deed done and over, and your treachery is about to bite yours really hard. There's someone, an old friend, who's been very eager to see you and your buddies for all these months."
"I'm a Sidh, an Imperial citizen... You can't do this...!" Webley argued weakly, realizing that these three evidently had powerful backing, meaning that his status would likely not save him from whatever was coming.
"Watch me!" Inessa grinned, "But I hear him coming. We'll leave you to have a heartfelt chat. For your own sake, I suggest you don't try his patience as much as mine!"
Moments later, the door to the room opened, and Webley's heart dropped as he recognized Judicator Alain march in the room in all his dark glory. Of all the people out there who would likely hold a grudge against him, he had to be kidnapped by the very worst possible one of them.
"Hello there, Mr. Webley," the Judicator's voice radiated the cold of outer space in it's feigned friendliness, only matched by the cruel grin on his face, "It's been a while since we last met."
"Whatever it is that you want, Judicator, I ain't telling you shit!" Marco spitefully spat out, not really believing his words fully, his own eyes beginning to widen in horror as he began to realize why the Judicator was here.
"Oh, that's where you are mistaken, Mr. Webley," Alain looked at him with a bizarre, almost fatherly smile that made his skin creep, "You are going to tell me many, many things today. Leave us!"
His disciples obediently exited the room as Alain began removed his Judicatorial surcoat and put on a pair of rubber gloves.
"Now, Mr. Webley, we are going to have a little chat about the whereabouts of every single one of your friends that turned coat on a certain Miss Mildred Boughton on the day she died. Take your time to remember, I have all the time in the world..." was the last thing Inessa heard Alain say before the steel door behind her slammed shut. Moments later, muffled screams of agony and horror erupted from the room.
Inessa cringed and hurried upstairs. Although she was no stranger to torture, the things that Alain would inflict upon his captives lately were way too twisted for even her tastes.
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