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11/26/11(Sat)20:06 No.17030445>>17030118 Money. Money money money. Hunter scurried, one hand on his plasma gun, and the other on his nuts. He'd found a corpse about ever couple meters. Some swinging from lumen posts. Some slumped against walls in the universal boneless posture of the recently dead. Some smeared in pink and crimson ribbons across the streets. All naked. And all with the genitals gouged out. Hunter gave The God-Emperor a lot over the years. But fuck the entire warp, and Cadia too for kicks, if he was losing his balls over this bullshit -dead OR alive. Above, below, around him the city breathed in whispers and gasps and throaty giggles and high, mocking, triumphant laughter. Strange, nerve-scraping music came in fading moans to him, hollowed by it's chaotic reverberations along the alley walls. The actual thoroughfares were no option. He'd strode confidently down one, head up, fearlessly like a righteous servant of the Emperor, the kind he'd learned to imitate at least, did. Fuck this city, it didn't -he ducked a pair of dangling feet, and something hurled him facedown into the street. Even as he was smashed down, Hunter was already curling into a ball -his hive-honed survival skills screaming for him to look hurt, look helpless, give Reeak time to set up a flank. He tore at his coat, seized his Sunburn pistol, pulled frantically as it got snagged- "Mon-keigh." Hunter froze. That voice. The supremacy in that voice. The unquestioning superiority of it's speaker. He clicked on his voxcorder. "Mon-keigh. You terror is sweet, Mon-Keigh. How far do you think you'll get, if we let you run?" Hunter rolled over, and finally beheld the being addressing him. He hissed out a curse from behind clenched teeth. "Hellions." |