At this point I realized I should have tagged along with the other team or stayed at home and spent time jacking into a data-stream or something more or less what I chose to do, which was to attempt to 'converse' with 'the public' concerning what I needed. Some read a low fellowship score as being bad with words, and I disagree. I think a low intelligence means being bad with words. A low fellowship means you do not know how to use them around other people, you have no social graces, no empathy and no 'gift of gab' as it were. I had a low fellowship. It was going to hamstring me, but before I get to what happened to Mr Silon, Tech-adept of low station, I will tell you what happened sequentially as the DM went one-on-one with each person, I being the last.

Devi, being a woman did get the chance to go first in this encounter. She went into a terribly run down saloon, the sort of place with grease on the windows and spit in the glasses and water in the beer. There were loose, bent nails in the floorboards and none of the stools sat just right, the sort that rock under your weight from age. The bar paid her no mind as she fit right in, and between rounds of, well, I can't say I'm acquainted with the game of 'hold your hand flat and stab between the fingers as swiftly as you can' but I know that I'd be laughed out of such an establishment for calling it that. Well, she played that, and with her agility she passed every time, wetting the old tables with blood and talking trash with the local toughs. Between games of "Don't stab your fingers" there was a bit of information acquired concerning the "Thule Syndicate". This will be shared later.

Mordeci, well, he managed to check in with the local Magistratum outpost which just happened to be run by one of his cousins, and jack-jaw his way into interrogating some of the local scum dumb enough to have been caught. One or two interrogations via beating people up creatively, he learned what he could and then used same knowledge in conversation with the local law enforcement. Local law shared in turn what they knew about the subject and over many pastries a brighter picture was painted of our potential investigation.

Myself, well, I must admit that my own shenanigans were slightly more involved because I was completely inept at the human interaction "thing", as my fellow would see it. You'd think that because my fellowship was so terribly low that I might just bump into a few people and gain no information whatsoever before deciding to go home empty handed. Yes, and no. Silon, fresh from his peaceful slumber after gassing the inhabitants of a residential block, walked toward the largest throng of people he could find and then began eavesdropping. Or rather he was attempting to do so covertly. Which means he was standing in plain sight listening to everyone, standing perfectly still at that. Without Bionic ears and other parts I was doing my best to hear anything about "Thule" or "Syndicates" when I was approached by a pair of relatively unsavory individuals who were very intimidating. One had a mohawk, one did not. I stood very still on the street corner, right next to the lamp post and these gentlemen attempted to shake me down, apparently completely unafraid of invoking the wrath of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Now, they were in my face, screaming, doing all sorts of terrible things and calling me names. They even attempted to take a few practice swings at me, threatening to "Cave my smart head in" and other such, but I was quiet. I was quiet because I had just successfully interfaced with the traffic system and was seeing through the surveillance cameras. After successfully blocking any images of myself from the system, I re-routed a city bus full of people straight through the intersection and caused a strobe-effect from the traffic lights to blind the driver, causing the driver in turn to run the two individuals in front of me over. Now, you might be saying that can't be the end of it. Unfortunately, you cannot so neatly tug a chain of events into play and then stop it at your whim. The bus went on down the sidewalk, running people over as the driver slammed on the brakes, rolled it and then tumbled into a marketplace. There were further traffic fatalities as a result of me tinkering with the lights and I said my appeasements to the machine spirits, encouraging them to 'play free while they could' before quickly exiting the scene as fast as I was able.

Now, I began to feel a bit cheated by the DM for these things to have happened, but I realized that I was trying to do things the way an adept of the machine god would, seeing as that I was gifted in nothing but technological ways and intellect, these would naturally be my foremost weapons against any assailant I encountered. Upon arriving back at the basement of the-house-that-I-killed (DM wording), I found the other two had been waiting for me and were excitedly chatting about what they had found about the Thule Syndicate. They looked at me and I looked back at them. They asked "So, how was your day" and I responded with a very, very calm "Accidents occurred."

Mordeci said "What, nothing like yesterday I hope?"

I responded, "Nothing like yesterday, today the cause of death was blunt force trauma."

They were quiet and then asked "how", and I explained about the bus, and the accident, in as calm, collected and objective a manner as I could. They were horrified but managed to compose themselves, beginning to lay out the intelligence they had gathered. They had more or less accepted me as not quite a party member and more so a force of nature that occasionally gets things done. Now, onto the subject of the 'big bad men' we were sent after. The Thule Syndicate or, "The Syndicate" as it was known locally, was involved in two things. On the surface of things they were running an urban reconstruction campaign, cleaning the streets with private security teams, getting rid of criminals, pushing out existing narco barons and dope fiends, helping people get off their addictions and even running a few homeless shelters. The Syndicate was run by a man by the name of Erasmus Thule. Thule was gaining popular support in the lower classes, though for what was unknown. The second thing known about the Thule Syndicate was that they were apparently involved in a rash of disappearances of prominent people, Imperial Clergy, Outspoken political adversaries, gang members, and so on. Their army and popular support had allowed them control of a very large portion of the lower hive and defended their turf so well that most criminals stayed far, far away in fear.

I mentioned that all I discovered is that a metropolitan bus transfers a tremendous amount of force when it collides with a human being. The group was quiet again, but we moved on.

Infiltrating the group seemed impossible, as Mordeci informed us that all informants within the organization had gone silent at near the same time, and any attempt for an under-cover operative of the Magistratum to penetrate the syndicate had failed, usually the officer's head showing up in a paper bag on the precinct's doorstep within a few days of the beginning of said investigation. We were beginning to wonder how in the hell we would crack this place open, when there was a knock at the door. Perfect timing, DM. Mordeci grabbed his shotgun, Devi had her compact laspistol and I, well, I kept myself seated as I felt that the group did not trust my instincts concerning human interaction choices.

At the door, there was not a gang, or a team of trained killers, or a mutant or anything else of any real imminent danger. There was, however, an envelope.

The coast was checked thoroughly to make certain there was no one dangerous around the corner, or lurking nearby, or ready to do us harm in any great way. We locked the door, and we sat around while Mordeci (Somewhat the de-facto party leader) read the contents. The letter said to "Come alone" and gives an address. Now, as far as traps go, this one was not very subtle at all. So, knowing this Dm as I did, I had to assume it was not a trap but rather some form of plot-hook in order to get us to walk in the direction he wanted. As well, I think he could tell he was stumped to a degree on how to get us as a group to his objective.

The address was apparently a closed theater in a crumbling ruin of a district not far from the boundary of where the Thule Syndicate operated. We arrived, alone, well, the three of us were alone and well armed but more or less alone as we could be given the circumstances. Out of the ceiling comes these bright lights, which don't focus on us but instead focus on a man standing on the stage. "I am Erasmus Thule" the man says, then adds, "And I hear you have been asking about me."

I do recall clarifying on a point. "I asked no questions concerning you." And to his credit, our opponent knew when to ignore those who were 'different' and instead focus on the likely leader of our group: the officious looking one. Mordeci stated that that the man had a certain flare for the dramatic, to which Erasmus seemed amused. Erasmus asked, "Why have you been asking about me?" I asked, flatly "Why did you covertly arrange to meet us in an abandoned Theater?" He answered "Because theaters are good at keeping loud noises inside them." I began an analysis of that statement with an audio-sweep of the building by shouting at varying volumes in different directions. A half minute later, after being quieted by Mordeci and my calculations only half done, I stated that "Mr. Thule's statement seems correct."

I am told by Mordeci to "Go misbehave somewhere else" and I describe my character slinking away, more sulking than anything as he and his accurate observations concerning the accoustic qualities of the building were unwanted. I milled around in the lobby, finding various things to fix (A few lights, a door hinge, an intercom, a popcorn machine) but soon was out of projects and so I did put my tools away to wander back into the room to find Mordeci shaking hands with Mr. Thule and Mr Thule saying "let's go, boys". The overhead lights shut off and ten armed thugs emerged from various hiding places to escort Thule from the building. I asked at this point what Mordeci had found out, only to discover that he had talked our way into the 'Syndicate' pending we dealt with a few "roadbumps" to prove ourselves.

Being that this is the sort of thing an undercover acolyte agent is expected to do, I by and large expected morally ambiguous shenanigans to ensue.

I was not disappointed.

The First mission we did to prove ourselves was to assassinate the community leader of a small talent show popular on the poorer side of town. This community leader had dealings with gangs in the past, was at one point a really ruthless clan-leader himself. After being 'born again' into the "light of the Emperor", he took up a much smaller position in the world by being a community leader, helping control the crime problem, running a soup kitchen and now this small talent show. By small I mean less than a thousand people attending, and as venues in the hive go, it's not all that great. Our initial plan is just to sneak in and sneak we do, as best we can at any rate. We get in with the crowd, none of us managing to take any weapons of size, between us is a compact revolver and a compact laspistol, and of course, my own innate ability to destroy things with the power of science.

So, Sneaking in as we do, we mill around with the crowd and prior to the show kicking off there is an imperial preacher, the same one by party reckoning that turned the former ganger around. He takes the stage and begins this speech about how even the most wicked and debased of us can be turned around by believing in the divinity of the God-Emperor. He then asks that those of us with the will and way to give, generously, to the local shelters so that the hungry can eat tonight. The crowd is moved and ushers pass the collection plate around, which quickly fills thanks to the pattering of thrones going into the pot. When the collection plate comes to me, I decide to pour the entire contents into my robe and pass a stealth check, to my amazement, to succeed. Mordeci is mortified at this and says "Put that back," To which I reply "our direction comes from a higher power, this money supposedly serves the same purpose, I am merely doing what is logical, taking my cut." Even Devi finds my behavior to be in poor form, but I counter. "I do not recognize this saint, I believe it is spurious." We get looks from some of the surrounding people but I pass the plate on. Mordeci whispers into my ear, "You wouldn't know an Imperial saint if it bit you." To which I replied "If they go around biting people, it is safe to say they are not an Imperial saint." Our verbal jousting complete, the lights dimmed and the preacher left the stage. What followed was more or less vaudeville of the 41st millennium. A man came on the stage in poor clothes and told jokes, he then left the stage, another person came out and played the Harmonium, then a pair of ladies had a series of songs together. I let Mordeci know that I was going to use the noise and lack of light to manuever backstage in attempt to cause a distraction. He mentioned that he would then leave a few minutes after me, with Devi, posing to be husband-and-wife, in order to capitalize in on the distraction to kill the target back-stage.

Now, I did try to move stealthily, but the DM imposed a very very healthy minus to my attempts to move silently, mainly because every step was 'ka-ching, ka-ching, ka-ching" from the many coins in my pockets. The people seemed not to notice overly though, as Tech Priests and their ilk are more or less always making odd noises or behaving in ways they do not understand. Oh, how thankful I was for ignorance that day. Now, I attempted to maneuver Silon to the stage entrance, where I was admitted, easily, as they assumed I was there as a technician for the faulty generator.

Faulty generator.

Faulty.

Must Fix.

I immediately found my way to the generator where an old man sat in dirty clothes attempting to explain his problem. There was an explanation of some sort that he needed the 'electro-mo-tricity' to shock his animal. Why? Well, as it would happen the DM was ripping pages from history. See, long ago when people were amused by animals on stage (prior to them being amused by them on the internet), folks would come from all around and parade about their unique critters. Some had hens that could play bingo, others had parrots that could sing, and some even had mules that could count, communicate, and do basic arithmetic. Certainly not, you might say, a trick is at work here. Certainly there is a trick, and that trick is called electricity. See, to give the illusion that a mule can do math, or count, or so on, the con-man will tell the audience that he taught the mule to 'communicate' by stomping its hooves. Guess what a mule does when you jolt it with electricity. Yes. Well, this man had some sort of creature that was more or less mule-ish but not a Grox (I have never seen a picture, but have heard plenty about them). He said that without the generator working he couldn't do his act and he'd be thrown out on the street. He said his mule-creature would starve and he'd be all alone. It was meant to be stirring to a human being with a sense of warmth in their heart when animals are mentioned.

Mr Silon, to his credit, was unmoved.

Silon told the man to take the stage and that he would tend to the abused machine as best he was able. And so, as the old man began his introduction with his animal, explaining how he had taught it using good Imperial book-learning, Silon worked upon the generator. There were two tests. One was to fix the problem. This, I passed easily. Now, there wouldn't have been another test had I not been . . tempted by my character's calling to Improve the machine to a degree. You see, it was running at sub-optimal efficiency. It had sat there, and rusted and been all alone backstage at this den of shenanigans and none had cared for it, spoke to it, soothed its machine spirit. I knew it wanted to be more than it was, I knew it wanted to be all that it could. So, I completed a very-hard tech use test to effect repairs so that the generator would be operating at factory-fresh efficiency.

Problem was, the man was in the middle of applying voltage to his Mule.

So, one second the Mule twitches and finishes the count to four, and the crowd applauds. Next second, lights flare, and the mule seizes, sparks shooting out of its mouth, electricity climbing between its ears like Jacob's ladder, fur standing on end. I watch the generator to ensure it is operating correctly, as one must during these changes in output to ensure that, well, it maintains its new vigor. I am told by the DM that I can see the Mule illuminated through the curtains. I say "that is fascinating" and turn my attention, briefly, to the incandescent mule before returning my attention to the generator. The mule explodes, showering the audience and there are shouts of "HERESY!" "WITCHCRAFT!" "WARP DABBLER!" The crowd throws things at the stage, a few shots ring out. The reformed gang leader jumps right past me and goes through the stage exit door. I, realizing the machine is all well, say farewell and then chase after him at my lumbering gait, losing coins along the way.

He runs right into Mordeci and Devi who manages to apply the Macho-Elbow to knock the poor former-ganglord over onto the pavement. Our target Unconscious, Mordeci bars the door to anyone attempting to follow while looking down the alley in both directions. There's a car at one end blocking the way (likely belonging to our former ganglord target) and at the other end some trash bins. Mordeci and Devi listen to the inside of the theater come apart as the crowd has turned on each other, violence broken out in full. People bang on the side-door furiously, trying to get out. Mordeci and Devi begin to furiously formulate this plan of action to kill this man, make it look like he was wounded in whatever-nonsense-the-tech-priest-cooked-up-in-there, and then leg it back to our hideout. It was at this time that the car's rear tire flattened our ganglord's face (I had slightly failed a driving test to stop before hitting my cohorts after having passed a tech-use test to soothe the vehicle into working for me willingly) . I said to my companions "HE WAS A VICTIM OF RECKLESS DRIVING, GET INTO THE VEHICLE."

Now, we go screaming down this alleyway, tires screeching and us flying through traffic, into another alleyway, and at breakneck speeds the whole way. Reason? Silon has determined to let the vehicle determine where it is happiest driving, which it being a big-block engine, is at high speed. Silon is a poor driver in this case but he manages to barely not murder the entire party on a handful of tests. Eventually, the party shouts him for him to slow down and begins to give him directions so that he doesn't kill everyone, despite him having been rather successful at not only acquiring funds, distracting the 'enemy', killing the target, and even now happening upon a vehicle for them. They were ungrateful but Silon realized they did not see the world as he did, and as such he would suggest cauterizing those emotional parts of the brain sooner or later.

It was about then we had a problem with some other gentlemen wielding firearms. You see, just because someone is a former ganger, and a ganglord at that, other people, former opponents of said person during their tenure of crime-lord are likely to not 'forgive and forget' just because they stopped being who they were. Now, an iconic vehicle for this said person then drives recklessly through their territory, and then, gentlemen, you have trouble. We were having ourselves shot at by two vehicles approaching from the rear, While these lads were having a shooting contest courtesy of our trunk and rear window, we returned fire with what pathetic firepower we had while Silon did his best to swerve around traffic and keep us from all dying of sudden-ejection-from-a-now-stationary-object.

Mordeci was empty and soon was Devi, the vehicles behind us were holed but not terribly and they kept pouring rounds into us with autoguns, auto pistols, and even a shotgun blast or two. Mordeci reached under the seat and said "come on, come on", the DM making him perform a spot check to try to find hidden guns, assuming that just because someone was a reformed ganglord they were not without an insurance policy. By this time, the party realizes that I have not shot at anything this entire time and Devi yells above the wind whipping through the open windows "Silon, are you armed?"

Silon informed them that yes, he was.

Mordeci said "THEN SHOOT AT THEM YOU IDIOT."

Silon began to object, that driving and shooting were not simultaneously possible without risking errors as he was driving through a now residential block at high speed and the vehicles were at a distance sufficient enough to . .

Mordeci ordered Silon, in the name of the Emperor, The Omnissah, and everything else "to just point his weapon out the door and pull the 'frakking' trigger!"

So Silon pulls out his Laspistol and blazes out the window while driving, just wildly firing. After a half-dozen shots, the DM rolls a few dice and chuckles. What happens next saves our asses. I had missed so terribly bad by myself having been terribly distracted at the time of our combat that I shot a few bystanders on the sidewalk, causing a panic of people running everywhere, which in a hive is more akin to a stampede. This rush of bodies blocked our pursuers, which did grind over a few dozen people before coming to a halt. We saw the crowd descend on the vehicles, what remained of the crowd at that rate, pulling the occupants out, intent on making them pay for brutalizing their fellow citizens.

We were all quiet in the vehicle for a time, coming back to our safe-basement and parking the vehicle a few blocks away to ease any suspicions that we were involved in any way. Silon said his farewells to the car and we went to the basement to do a thorough check of our supplies before the next 'mission'. My total haul from the collection plate, minus the coinage that was lost in the scuffle on the way out, was 273 thrones. A nice operating budget for some very low level operators. It was at this time we heard a familiar rapping upon our door. Who could it be? We opened it to find another lonely letter on our doorstep. Mordeci checked to see the coast was clear before closing and locking our door, taking the letter to the table where he read it aloud.

"Good job on the Ganger. Next, I must ask you to Kill the leader of the PDF company for this level of the hive." We thought we might have something worthy, at least Mordeci did in the letter itself as it implicated a man in a conspiracy to murder. However, the DM pointed out the paper was printed, and that Silon confirms that the paper is generic, belonging to any number of printing stations for any number of cogitators. I don't remember saying this in character, but the DM did so I kept my mouth shut. We pooled our resources and the DM let us know he was going to call our second session to a close. He forgot to mention our total gain of XP from the first session so told us we "earned an even eight hundred" for our efforts. This was more than enough to level up and play with. He told us to begin thinking of next weeks session, the demise of the PDF commander and bid us all a good evening.

And gentlemen, that's the story for next time. How we killed a man with an elevator.

All the best,

-Dave-

(Also, I realize there are many errors with word usage in this, but it was typed up early in the morning with recollection as best it can be, these events being some time ago.)

Your stories are great Dave. You've really done wonders for my week by posting them.

If I can ever be of help by relating an old yarn or two, I'm glad to do so.

Loving your tales of misadventure Dave.

Can we get the previous story?

>>15504393
http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/15494324/

Peg-Leg Dave, you have given me a reason to get up today. To read your stories and await the next with more vigor then I probably should.

You are indeed a scholar and a gentlemen.

>>15505136
By my own reckoning I am no terribly important person, though it is thoughtful of you to say such pleasant things. All I do is circle myself with people that help me laugh my way through life, and if you have that, you have it made.

Well gentlemen, I hate to give ground on any occasion but I must be off. There are things that need doing. In the coming days I shall likely return and offer another installment of the Dark Heresy stories.